#elvish reader

[velarisbeautyqueen]

A COURT OF SHADOWS AND DAYLIGHT MASTERLIST

Warnings: This fanfic will contain swearing, sexual content, and violence. More warnings will be added if needed!

Follow for more and let me know what you think!

Summary: As the war with Hybern grows closer and closer, the Night Court is desperate for allies to match the size of their enemy host and save Prythian for a horrible fate. Rhysand calls upon an old friend for aid.

Chapter One out now!

“we barely stand a chance of surviving hybern’s armies on our own. If armies from vallahan, montesere, and rask joined them…” cassian sighed and drew a line across his tanned throat.

“are those three territories…. powerful?” feyre winced after the words had slipped from her mouth. it seemed a foolish question.

“yes,” azriel responded with no judgement in his hazel eyes. “vallahan has the numbers, montesere has the money, and rask… it is large enough to have both.”

“so we have no potential allies amongst the other overseas territories?”

rhysand sighed heavily, leaning back in his armchair and pulled at a stray string on his cuff, “not one’s that would sail here to help.”

feyre’s stomach turned, “What of miryam and drakon? you fought for miryam and drakon centuries ago… perhaps it’s time to call in that debt.”

but rhys just shook his head, “we tried. azriel went to cretea.”

“it was abandoned, in ruin.” azriel said, “With no trace of what happened or where they went.”

“you think that hybern-”

“there was no sign of hybern, or of any harm,” mor cut in, her face taut.

“then you think they heard of hybern and ran?” feyre asked.

“the miryam and drakon i knew wouldn’t have run- not from this,” rhys responded.

the atmosphere of the room was suffocating. they were doomed. the army of hybern was a force rhysand had a feeling he nor anybody else in the room could even contemplate.

“there’s really nobody else?” feyre’s voice trembled slightly- betraying her dismay.

rhysand looked down at his hands for a moment, at a loss for what to do next.

“you know you can always call upon me, my sweet”

the words sent a shiver up his spine. his eyes darted to feyre, almost questioning if she had heard anything. her face showed no reaction, only contemplation at the challenge of gathering allies. a memory. that’s what the voice inside of his head had been. one he had not thought about in well over one hundred years.

“eowyn ” the high lord choked out. “we can call upon eowyn, and she will come.”

[crownedghostprince]

Elrond's Adopted Daughter Reader pt2

Lord Elrond and Adopted!Female!Reader

Fandom: The Hobbit

This is the second part to my silly little story. The first part can be found here.

(Y/N) was adopted by Lord Elrond at 7 years of age being an immortal human child, (human, but she has immortality exactly like an elf). Here are some more of her silly adventures with her family!

Requests: Closed. Requested: no.

Warning(s): Silly little writing thingy. Female Reader. No actual warnings! :3

Note: None.

Word Count: 1,250

[Third Person Perspective]

(Found on pinterest with no source, sorry)

The small child followed and watched as Lindir hurried back and forth between his different jobs. It had only been thirty minutes since Lord Elrond left with a group of Elves to chase some orcs away from their home. But to the small child kicking her feet from her chair, it felt like an eternity to wait for his return. There was much to do in Rivendell. Lots of things to be entertained by, lots of Elves to bother, but (Y/N) had to wait for her ada to return first as Lindir was simply too busy to keep an eye on her playing. So she sat as patiently as she could. As time passed, however, her patience wore thin and she found herself tormenting little ants on the ground by poking at them with leaves.

"Guests...at this hour? Who could this all be?" Lindir huffed. His jobs were finally almost finished, but he heard the sound of boots on stone at the front entrance to Rivendell. With a sigh, he gathered everything he was working on and made a small and safe pile to return to later. "Come, winimo." ((Little one)) Lindir called, striding over to help the child up from the floor. "Let us see who is visiting us at this hour." He smiled.

"Okay!" (Y/N) hopped up from the floor and clung tightly to Lindir's robe as she walked with him. "Were we expecting guests? Oh! Maybe it's Mithrandir!" She excitedly took guesses as to who the mysterious guests could be.

"Most likely, winimo." He hummed patiently. "We shall soon see. We did hear Mithrandir was near." He rounded the corner and looked down in the distance to the rounded entrance to their home. A large group of possibly thirteen dwarves, a hobbit and Mithrandir himself stood waiting. "Oh, dear. That's a lot more guests than I had anticipated." He sighed. More work for Lindir to deal with...

"Oh, Elo..." ((Wow)) (Y/N) softly gasped, ducking behind Lindir's robe a bit more to hide. "They look scary."

"Not to worry, (Y/N). They are probably very nice. Mithrandir is there as well, you want to see him again, don't you? Let us go greet our guests." Lindir pat the small child's head a couple of times before continuing forward and starting down the many stairs. His arm rose as he brought it to lay over his heart in a friendly greeting to Gandalf. "Mithrandir!"

"Ah! Lindir!" Gandalf returned the friendly gesture. (Y/N) remained completely hidden behind Lindir, even when he was descending the stone steps. She made no effort to speak up and greet Gandalf, as she suddenly felt very shy and intimidated by the scary group of dwarves. To a child, they looked quite tall and tough.

"We heard you had crossed into the Valley." Lindir told Gandalf in Sindarin. The dwarves looked on, confused as they did not know the elvish language.

"I must speak with Lord Elrond." Gandalf spoke confidently in the common tongue. Lindir nodded his head.

"My Lord Elrond is not here." He simply answered in the common tongue as the small child's head peeked out from behind his robes. She warily watched the large group of dwarves who were carefully watching Lindir and Gandalf converse. They seemed surprised to see such a small child appear from behind the elf.

"Ah, hello, (Y/N)." Gandalf greeted her warmly before turning his attention back to Lindir. "Not here? Where is he?" A moment had barely passed when an elvish horn could be heard in the distance.

"Ah." Gandalf smirked. With a raise of his eyebrows he ignored Lindir softly rolling his eyes, instead turning his attention to the approaching riders. A couple at the front of the group carried a banner as they strode into Rivendell with expertise and ease. They surrounded the dwarves and began to circle them to allow room for the rest of the riders in the crowded space.

"Gandalf." Elrond spoke from a top his majestic steed once they had all come to a stop around the dwarves.

"Lord Elrond." Gandalf approached with a grin. He brought his hand up to his heart in greeting. "Mellon nin. Where have you been?" He spoke fondly in the elvish language.

"We've been hunting a pack of orcs that came up from the South." Elrond answered in Sindarin as he dismounted his horse and strode over to Gandalf. "Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders." He swapped to the common tongue and handed Lindir his sword. Passing by he gave (Y/N) a pat on her head, bringing her to stand beside him as he rubbed her back to reassure her. "Something, or someone, must have brought them near." He raised an eyebrow to Gandalf, who in turn cleared his throat to speak.

"Ah, well, that may have been us." He gestured to the dwarves and hobbit for a brief moment. Elrond nodded and took a moment to gaze through the Company, seeing who was present and counting how many the group contained. (Y/N) attempted to look at all the faces in the crowd, but quickly became overwhelmed once more and pressed her head into her ada's clothing to avoid eye contact. Elrond stepped forward slightly when his eyes landed on Thorin and greeted him.

"Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain."

"I do not believe we have met." Thorin looked Elrond up and down quite briefly. There was a coldness to his voice and his agitation could be detected in his tone. But Elrond ignored the grumpy dwarf and simply explained himself.

"I knew Thror when he ruled under the Mountain."

"Funny...I don't remember him ever mentioning you." Thorin's cold gaze hardened into a glare. Elrond bit his tongue to contain any unwanted comments from coming out of his mouth. He simply took a moment to process the sheer levels of sass and attitude from Thorin. It was like he was talking to a teenager rather than a fully grown adult man.

Once more, Elrond swapped to Sindarin and spoke clearly to Lindir: "Light the fires and bring worth the wine." He then turned his gaze to look over the crowd of dwarves, "We must feed our guests." He decided. Lindir nodded and, with a slight bow, began ascending the steps back up to the kitchens. (Y/N) contemplated joining Lindir, or sticking to her ada when she was distracted by the dwarves stressing over what was said.

"What is he saying?" A red-haired dwarf looked from Gandalf, to Lord Elrond, and then back again. "Does he offer us insult?" He riles up the other dwarves who mentally prepare their own comebacks and insults.

"No, Master Gloin!" Gandalf shouted with a sigh. "He is offering you food." All the while, Lord Elrond watched in patience as the group huddled together and began to whisper. Still debating whether they want to stay for food, or not. Unaware of elves' perfectly good hearing. All (Y/N) picked up on when she strained her ears was 'Thorin' speaking to a taller, scarier looking dwarf.

"We use the restrooms, eat and then leave." Thorin whispered. But that was all (Y/N) could hear from the indistinguishable whisperings.

"Very well." 'Gloin' spoke up and stepped forwards. "Lead the way." He nodded and put his weapons away. (Y/N) was only seven, but she could practically feel her ada's patience wearing thin as if dealing with a massive group of children.

[floatyflowers]

Yandere husband Thranduil (Romantic) x Reader wife pregnant for the second time x Yandere son Legolas (Platonic)

Very Thanks ♥︎

"I'm pregnant" you announce in a cheery tone to your son, Legolas, who is shocked by the news as he never expected to have a younger sibling.

Coming to think of it, he is already an adult, 2900+ years old to be exact, so it's indeed a shocker to him.

But it made him jealous at the idea of having a younger sibling which will take all of your attention.

He didn't expect to leave with the fellowship and return back to find you pregnant.

"Is there something wrong, my love?" you ask him, gently placing your hand on his cheek, while the other hand is placed on your bump.

"No, I'm extremely happy, and I can't wait for the baby to be born, Naneth (mother)"

You smile, pulling your son into a hug, causing him to hug you back.

°°°°°°°

"Can I know why you decided to impregnate Neneth when your marriage is on the edge of collapsing, father?"

Thranduil smiles at his furious son, as he descended down the stairs of his throne, holding a cup filled with the finest Elvish wine.

"War is over and the ring has been destroyed, what is a better way to fix our marriage than to have a child"

"So, you decided to trap her with you?"

Thranduil moves a strand of his son's hair behind his shoulder as he stares directly into his son's eyes, smirking.

"You wouldn't be standing right here now if I didn't use this technique on her the first time"

[witchthewriter]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐑 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: I just wanted to write some fluff!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑨𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒓𝒏 🗡️

・At first, he tilts his head, lips parting like he might question it. But then he sees your expression; calm, trusting, maybe a little playful, and something in him softens.

“I can try,” he says, voice rough around the edges, but warm. “It’s been… a long time since I’ve braided anyone’s hair.”

・You sit together near the fire. His sword is laid beside him, boots still dusty from the road.

・And yet, he treats the moment like it deserves stillness. Like your request has pulled him out of time.

・His hands are calloused, weather-worn.

・You can feel him being careful not to tug too hard.

・He works in silence, brows furrowed in concentration.

・His fingers move slower than Legolas’, less sure than Faramir’s, but steadier than you’d expect.

・Every now and then, he huffs out a breath that sounds like a quiet laugh.

“You have too much hair for this to go unnoticed,” he murmurs. “The braid will hold, but only just. It may rebel before the day is done.”

・But still, he continues.

・And when he finishes...it’s a bit uneven. Slightly lopsided with a few bits of hair hanging out.

・Yet it was done with love and effort and the kind of care no one taught him

・He rests a hand briefly at the base of your braid, like he’s grounding you. Or himself.

“There. You’re ready.”

・And when he sits back, he doesn’t say anything else.

・But throughout the day he watches you, making sure it holds, and if were to come loose, you can come back to him.

・He'll braid it again. Every time.

𝑳𝒆𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒔 🌙

・He blinks once, slow and surprised, then tilts his head, curious.

“It would be my honor,” he says, with the kind of sincerity that makes your chest tighten.

・Legolas doesn’t ask why. Doesn’t tease.

・He treats the request with deep, quiet admiration. Almost as if you've asked him to perform an ancient rite...which you kinda have.

・He steps behind you in complete silence.

・With featherlight, gentle hands (you hardly feel them at first), he works. And he does it quite quickly.

・You realise this isn't the first time he's braided hair before.

“Each braid has meaning,” he murmurs. “Length. Type. Tension. In my realm, we braid for protection. For remembrance. For love.”

・You go still. He doesn’t elaborate.

・And then he sings.

・It's soft, in Elvish.

・And not one that you know. But it feels old. Comforting. Like wrapping your arms around a loved one you haven't seen in a while.

・When he finishes, he runs one finger gently along the braid’s edge

・And when you turn to look at him; eyes shining and heart full, he meets your gaze and adds, ever so softly:

“You should ask me again sometime.”

・Because this wasn’t just a braid.

・It was a memory.

・And he plans to make more of them with you.

𝑩𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒓 🛡️

・Oh how he melts.

“I’ve never been asked to do something like that...But I'll try.”

・He moves to sit behind you, shuffling so that his legs are around you.

・Boromir's hands are big, definitely too big for this, but he continues anyway.

・As he gathers your hair, gently brushing it out of your face and into his palm, he mutters:

“You’ll have to forgive me if it’s not Elvish-perfect,” he murmurs. “We weren’t taught much about braids in the White Tower.”

・And then he grows quiet, thoughtful. This isn’t just a braid anymore. It’s a way to show you affection...a part of him enjoys it.

・Although he is trying to make it perfect.

・At the end, the braid is a little loose, a little uneven, but strong.

・Woven like a promise.

・He secures it with a small leather tie from his own belongings; nothing special, but something his.

“There. Done.” A pause. “I hope it’s alright.”

・You turn to thank him, but he’s already looking away, trying not to smile.

・Fingers twitching like he wants to touch your hair again but won’t; unless you ask.

“If it ever comes undone,” he adds quietly, “you know where to find me.”

𝑬́𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒓 🏹

・He thinks of it as a challenge...straight away.

“You don’t think I can?”

"Ugh! That's not what I meant?"

"What did you mean?"

"Just wanted someone to braid my hair, you ass."

・You weren't even teasing him, but then it becomes a whole thing.

・He kneels down behind you like a man preparing for war. Cracks his knuckles. Rolls his shoulders. And in turn, you roll your eyes.

・When he actually starts, there's a shift. The bravado eases and he becomes focused.

・His rough fingers, to your surprise, are steady.

・And you can feel the care as well...and feel, a protective energy.

・Like if anyone tried to touch your braid he'd punch them.

・When he’s done? He absolutely beams. And before getting up, he tugs the end playfully, then stands back with his arms crossed.

"There. Just got your hair braided by a Third Marshal...that's got to be worth something."

・If someone compliments it later, he absolutely puffs up with pride (but plays it off like it was no big deal)

“Looks good doesn't it. I did it. She asked me. Only right I made sure it was done proper.”

・And although Eomer doesn’t say it out loud, in his mind he promises something wolfish and loyal:

No one touches what I’ve claimed with my hands.

𝑭𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒓 🌾

・At first, he blinks—slow and surprised, like he thinks he misheard you.

“You would trust me with something so personal?”

・He isn't teasing. No, Faramir is genuinely honoured.

・Because he's the kind of man who sees tenderness as something rare and doesn’t take it lightly.

・You sit between his knees, and he treats your hair like something sacred.

・The word 'gentle' repeats in his head over and over.

・His hands are warm as he gathers your hair from your shoulders

・His fingers accidentally touch the bareness of your neck and goosebumps erupt.

・You go red; luckily he can't see your face.

・Faramir barely speaks, only jums softly under his breath; something old, maybe a lullaby he remembers from his mother.

・Every now and then he asks, in a light voice:

“Does this feel alright?” “Too tight?” “Shall I start again?”

・Once he's done, (he took his time on purpose), he wraps the end with a small ribbon.

One you didn't know he'd been keeping. As he ties it, it's as if he's sealing a promise.

・For a moment longer than they need to, his fingers linger.

“There. You’re ready to meet kings and storms alike.”

・And if you could see his face, you would notice a faint flush on his cheeks

・Like he's been given something sacred...and he hopes you'll ask him again tomorrow.

𝑮𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒇 🪄

・His first reaction is a slight chuckle, partially amused.

“My dear, it has been centuries since I was asked for that favor.”

・He takes a seat and motions for you to sit in front of him. Your legs are crossed on the floor, and your hands are fidgeting in your lap.

・You can feel his long, elegant fingers begin to pick up hair. A slight shiver runs down your spine at the image of it.

・At first he murmurs, in a language you do not know. But his voice is peaceful, and you can hear the chirping of night bugs.

・He knows exactly what he's doing. You’d expect an old wizard to fumble, but Gandalf’s hands are steady

・It takes a while, but the murmurs turn into little humming and you cannot help but smile.

・The braid is meticulous, elegant, maybe a little too perfect.

・You end up with something that feels sacred, like it should be worn into battle or a coronation.

・After he's done, he gives a small hum of approval. In a wistful voice he says:

“So the wind will not catch your thoughts and carry them away.”

・And then he lights his pipe, looks off toward the horizon, and pretends it was no big deal.

・...But for the rest of the journey, he walks a little closer to you.

[dark-moonlust]

Orc King x Elf Princess PART 2: Throne of Desires

Pairing: orc king x elf reader

Summary: you worship your king’s cock with your mouth and then he returns the favor, tenfold. 😉

Warnings: minors don't interact!!!, 18+!!!, oral (male+female receiving), fingering, overstimulation, loads of cum.

Read PART 1 here!

The throne room was lit by four torches, casting shadows across the walls as you approached your husband, the King of the Orcs. He sat in his huge stone throne, wearing nothing but a pair of trousers, his muscled, scarred body exposed in all its glory. He emitted raw power and masculinity, and was watching you with smoldering black eyes. Unlike him, you wore elvish finery; a glimmering night gown, your hair spilling down your back like a waterfall.

“My Queen,” he said, his voice vibrating through you. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more, my King. You’ve had many meetings and obligations to fulfill, my husband,” you said as you approached, sinking to your knees between his legs.

He bent down and kissed your lips, his tongue licking into your mouth. “You shouldn’t be kneeling, my love. Stand up and ride me, like the good mate you are.”

You smiled mischievously. “But I want to stay here. Only for today, and worship my hardworking husband.”

Without losing time, your hands reached for his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle. His broad chest heaved with desire, his muscles taut. And he was already thick, a bulge straining against his pants, the sheer size of it making your breathing quicken. You cupped the fabric covering his cock which was getting bigger and bigger, and spread kissed over it, feeling the heat of his arousal.

Growled in warning, his hands settled on your shoulders. “No more teasing, my Queen.”

“As you wish, my King.”

Swiftly, you unbuckled his pants and dragged them down, your fingers deftly freeing his aching cock. The thick length sprang up from its confines, throbbing before your eager gaze. His shaft was massive and heavy, the tip leaking beads of pre-cum. Your orc’s breathing grew heavier and constantly growled from deep within his chest as he watched you with hungry eyes.

Mouth watering, you wrapped your fingers around his girth, marveling at its thickness and weight— you couldn’t fully enclose it all in your small palm. His pre-cum glistened in the low light, trickling down his length. You took the head of his cock into your mouth, suckling as if it was your favorite lollipop. The taste of him was a heady mix of salt and musk that made you crave more.

“Good, very good, my Queen,” he let out feral groan as his cock twitched.

Looking up at him, you began to pump his shaft in your palms while giving kitten licks to his leaking head. The more you stroked him, the more essence trickled from the tip. By now he had swelled to full mast, his cock a hard pole as thick as your forearm. His balls were just as swollen, heavy with orc seed and pulsing in your palm.

Desire pooled in your belly as you lowered your head and took him deep into your hot mouth, the sheer size of him stretching your lips wide. Your King’s growls grew deafening, his fingers forking through your hair, guiding you to take more of him into your wet mouth. His hips bucked, and you took him deeper, his cock kissing the back of your throat and causing you to gag. Your tongue swirled around him, head bobbing head up and down to please him.

“You’re so good for me, my Queen,” he rumbled, his voice husky but quivering.

Encouraged by his words, you doubled your efforts, pushing yourself to suck him deeper and harder. Breathing steadily through your nose, you hollowed your cheeks as you took him as deep as you could, your hands stroking the rest of him you couldn’t fit in your mouth. His hold in your hair hardened, his growls turning frantic, his thighs shaking in time with your movements.

“Fuuuuck— ahhh—I’m close,” he panted raggedly.

You didn’t slow down, you went faster to please him. You could feel his cock and balls throbbing, the pulses growing stronger as he neared his climax. With a final, powerful thrust, he filed your mouth and came, spurting load after load of his warm cum in your mouth. The force of his release was too much—it always was— and you worked your tongue, swallowing buckets of his seed.

Your mate pumped seed for seconds and seconds and suddenly he pulled out, a big palm pumping his cock and splattering the last of his seed across your face. Blinking, you stood there and took his marking, your cheeks and lips smeared with his cum, while his eyes looked at you with love and pride.

“Now it’s time to mark my face with your arousal, my Queen,” he drawled, kneeling before you and kissing your cum-stained lips.

Chest still heaving from his release, he lifted you, settling you on his grand throne. It was the highest seat of power and it would soon become the stage for your cries of pleasure. He tugged at the folds of your gown, your breasts spilling from the neckline. He cupped your pert tits, suckling and nipping at your nipples. Squirming, you arched against him, nails digging into his skin.

Dragging away your skirts, he kissed your soft belly, his tongue licking inside your bellybutton. You trembled when he continued to your creamy thighs until stopping at your glinting pussy. He draped your legs over his shoulders, his hands curling around your thighs and immobilizing you.

“Hmm, such pretty pussy,” he drawled, licking his lips. “So soaked for me.”

Callused thumbs opened your outer labia, his tongue inhaling sharply taking in your scent. Then he buried his face between your legs, his textured tongue parting your inner folds and licking long, slow stripes from your entrance to your clit. He devoured your slick as if he was starving, shamelessly eating you out and rubbing his nose against your clit.

The sensations took your breath away, sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body.

You began thrashing when you felt the stirrings of your orgasm but you couldn’t move. His hold on you was secure, his fingers digging into your inner thighs as he feasted on you without restraint. Gasping and moaning, you came hard, your hands gripping the arms of the throne. He licked you through your orgasm, casing you to turn frantic, your breasts heaving with each breath you dragged out of your lungs.

He gazed up at you as he worked your tender clit, his eyes dark with lust. “You taste so sweet, my Queen. Hmm, I could feast on you forever.”

“Ahh… my love,” you muttered, oversensitive and in sweet agony.

“Want you to cum again,” he rasped against you cunt. “Want you to mark me with your scent.”

“C..annn—can’t,” you whimpered, fingers burying in his hair and tugging. “Ahh, I can’t take it.”

A thick finger thrust inside you, his eyes blazing with demand. “Yes, you can and you will.”

And with that, he resumed his strokes, this time latching his lips at your clit while thrusting two fingers inside your tight pussy. His shoulders still held you open, and no matter how you begged and wiggled, he kept you there for his devouring. Slick sounds echoed through the throne room, mixed with your moans and his growls.

You lost track of time, writhing and begging for mercy.

But he was determined, kneeling between your legs and drawing one climax after the other from your body.

It was a wonderful and relentless assault on your senses.

When he finally decided to stop, he gave you the strongest climax out of them all, making your vision blur as you rode the last waves of pleasure. Your pussy clenched achingly around his digits, your juices flowing freely as he continued to lap at you, his face coated with your arousal. All you could do was surrender, your body trembling, your lips blabbering his name, your mind and heart belonging to him.

[earthlybeam]

Hey hi, (⌒‐⌒) if that's okay, I was wondering if you could do the idea I presented to you earlier, about how Elves would treat their pregnant partners during their pregnancies, I'm particularly curious about how you would write Thranduil, thanks in advance (〝⌒∇⌒〝)

(By the way, English is not my native language, so I apologize if I made any mistakes.)

Hi there! No need to apologize at all—your message was perfectly clear, and I really appreciate the thought you put into it! That sounds like a fascinating idea, especially exploring how Elves, and Thranduil in particular, would care for their pregnant partners reader. He has such a strong yet deeply protective nature, so I can imagine he would be both regal and incredibly attentive in his own way. So enjoy 🥰🫶✨ Thranduil version below (Reader is Female within this.)

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

𐂂 The moment he learns of the pregnancy, he insists that you stay within the safest parts of the palace, away from stress and potential danger. If you try to argue, he simply states, “I will not risk you. Or our child.” in a tone that brooks no argument. He assigns trusted healers to monitor your condition and personally ensures they have the best remedies and care available.

𐂂 Thranduil fiercely protective and his vigilance now borders on obsession. No one is allowed to overburden you, not even yourself. Any duties of the court you insist on attending are met with a sharp glance. “You are my queen, not a soldier in battle. Do not test my patience, meleth.” He refuses to let you walk the palace halls alone—whether it is his hand on the small of your back or a silent guard at your side, you are never left unprotected. He does not allow you to partake in any travel, no matter how much you insist. His voice is firm when he states, “You will not set foot beyond the borders of our kingdom until our child is born. I will not risk you.”

𐂂 Your comfort becomes his utmost priority, and he ensures that everyone in the kingdom knows it. He has chambers redesigned for your needs, making sure every cushion, every chair, every inch of your space is as luxurious as possible. If your body aches, he massages your shoulders, your feet, your back with a tenderness that few ever witness from him. He commissions tailors to craft the finest silks that will not restrict you, personally selecting the fabrics himself. “Only the finest for the mother of my heir.”

𐂂 While his love has always been strong, there is a newfound softness in the way he treats you in private. He often runs his hands over your stomach, as if memorizing the life growing inside. “I wonder if they will have your eyes.” You wake up to him whispering to your belly in Elvish, telling your child of the kingdom they will rule, of the strength they will inherit. If he catches you struggling to get comfortable, he immediately adjusts your pillows, pulling you into his embrace. “Sleep, my love. I will not rest until you do.”

𐂂 Thranduil has never been one to tolerate disrespect, but during your pregnancy, his temper becomes even sharper. If anyone so much as hints at questioning your ability to rule while carrying his child, they are swiftly put in their place. “My queen carries the future of our realm. Watch your tongue before you speak ill of her.” He dislikes when others crowd you, even if they are simply well-wishers. His hand rests on your waist, a silent but clear warning: you belong to him, and he will allow no one to overstep. If another Elf dares to flirt, even jokingly, they will find themselves on the receiving end of Thranduil’s coldest glare. “You forget yourself. Do not mistake my patience for tolerance.”

𐂂 Thranduil does not often voice his fears, you notice the way his gaze lingers on you when he believes you are not looking Late at night, you feel the way he tightens his arms around you, as if grounding himself in your presence. One evening, he confesses, voice hushed “I have lost too much in this life. I will not lose you. I could not bear it.” He refuses to let you see the weight of his worries, but you can feel it in the way he kisses your forehead longer than usual, in the way his touch lingers when he brushes your hair back.

𐂂 To Thranduil, you are not just his queen—you are the mother of his heir, the most sacred being in his world. He treats you as though you are made of the finest glass, ensuring that you are never burdened with anything unnecessary. When you are emotional, he does not dismiss your feelings but pulls you into his embrace. “There is no shame in your emotions, meleth. Let them flow.” The way he looks at you is reverent, as though he cannot believe you exist, as though you have gifted him something beyond his wildest dreams.

𐂂 When You Feel Insecure or “Fat” Thranduil will not tolerate you speaking ill of yourself. The moment you express doubt about your appearance, he is cupping your face, tilting your chin up so you must meet his gaze. “Meleth nîn, you are carrying my child. You are the most breathtaking being in all of Arda.” His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. He runs his hands over your body, lingering on your belly with reverence. “You shine brighter than the stars themselves, and I will hear no more of this nonsense.” If you continue to fret, he distracts you—perhaps by pulling you into a slow dance, his lips pressing against your temple as he murmurs, “Do you not see what I see?”

𐂂 When You Crave Something Strange, No matter how odd your cravings, Thranduil ensures you have what you desire. If it is something the palace kitchens lack, he personally sees to it that it is found—whether it requires sending his guards to Lake-town or scouring the forest for rare fruits. He watches with amusement as you indulge, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “I do not understand how you find this appealing, but if it brings you joy, then so be it.” If the craving is truly bizarre (say, honey-dipped cucumber or salted berries with wine), he might raise an elegant brow, but he will not deny you. “You are a mystery, my love, but I would have it no other way.” He may even humor you by trying your strange food combinations—though whether he enjoys them or not is another matter entirely.

𐂂 When You Ache and Feel Sore well Thranduil refuses to let you suffer in silence. The moment he sees you wince or shift uncomfortably, he is at your side, guiding you to sit or lie down. “Tell me where it hurts.”He massages your feet, your shoulders, your back—his hands skilled and patient, working away the tension with slow, deliberate strokes. He draws a warm bath infused with elven herbs, carrying you into the water himself if necessary. He stays by your side, washing your hair with careful fingers, pressing kisses along your shoulders. If you cannot sleep due to discomfort, he stays up with you, rubbing soothing circles on your back, whispering soft lullabies in Elvish. He refuses to let you lift a finger, insisting he will handle anything that causes you strain. “You will rest, meleth, and allow me to care for you.”

𐂂 Thranduil, ever composed, is patient with your shifting moods. If you burst into tears over something small, he does not question it—he simply pulls you into his arms, rubbing slow circles on your back as he murmurs, “Cry if you must, my heart. I am here.” If you grow irritated or snap at him, he does not take offense. Instead, he chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You are fierce, even now. I admire it.” If you feel overwhelmed, he takes you somewhere quiet—perhaps a secluded part of the forest, where you can breathe freely, his hand never leaving yours.

𐂂 Thranduil knows the weight of carrying an heir, and he makes sure you never feel alone in it. He whispers soft words of encouragement against your skin at night, his hands splayed protectively over your belly. “You are strong. You are radiant. And you are never alone.” He calls you his queen with even more reverence than before, treating you like the most precious thing in his world. He reminds you, time and time again, that this child is not just yours, but his as well. “You do not bear this burden alone, meleth. We are in this together.” If ever you doubt yourself, he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm. “There is no one else I would trust to bear my child. You are everything to me.”

𐂂 Talking to Your Belly of course Thranduil may seem composed and regal, but when he thinks no one is watching, he kneels before you, pressing his forehead against your growing belly. “My little leaf,” he whispers to the unborn child, his fingers trailing delicately over your skin. “I await your arrival with great anticipation.” He talks about the things he will show them—the golden leaves of the forest, the hidden waterfalls, the beauty of the night sky. If you giggle and tease him about it, he only smirks. “They should know their father’s voice, should they not?”

𐂂 On particularly lazy afternoons, Thranduil insists you rest in his lap, reclining against him as he reads aloud from old Elven texts. His voice is smooth, lyrical, carrying the weight of ages, but it holds a gentleness meant just for you. Occasionally, he pauses to press a kiss to your temple or stroke a protective hand over your belly. “Are you listening, meleth?” he asks, amused when he notices you dozing off against him.

𐂂 Any time you so much as stand up too quickly, Thranduil is immediately at your side, hands on your waist. “You should be resting,” he chastises, but there’s no true scolding in his voice, only concern. If you attempt to brush him off, he lifts a regal brow. “Do not fight me on this, meleth. You carry my child; it is only right that I tend to you.” When you sigh in exasperation, he chuckles, kissing your knuckles. “Indulge me, my love. Let me care for you.”

𐂂 Every night, Thranduil pulls you close, one arm draped protectively over your belly. His touch is reverent, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispers sweet nothings in Elvish. If you wake in the middle of the night, you often find him already awake, watching over you with quiet adoration. “Sleep, meleth. I am here.” Even in the quietest moments, Thranduil’s love surrounds you—soft, unwavering, and endless.

𐂂 Overreacting to the Smallest Discomforts is to be expected all the time during your pregnancies, as the moment you sigh, wince, or even shift in your seat, Thranduil is at your side in an instant. “What is it? Are you in pain? Do you need a healer? Shall I fetch warm water? More pillows? Wine—oh, no, you cannot have wine. Tea? Blankets? A new chair? A different throne entirely?” He once nearly ordered an entire section of the palace remodeled because you mentioned the cushions weren’t as soft as they could be.

𐂂 What starts as a simple request for a crib turns into an entire wing of the palace dedicated to the baby. The room is adorned with enchanted starlight, handcrafted furniture, and silk curtains woven by Elven artisans. There’s even a tiny throne. When you point this out, Thranduil shrugs. “They are my heir. They deserve the best.”

Just a cute moment with thranduil

The air in Thranduil’s chambers was warm, the golden glow of candlelight flickering softly against the polished wood and stone. The scent of aged parchment and ink mingled with the faint aroma of the fresh flowers he had insisted be placed near your bedside—your favorites, of course. You lay reclined against a mound of silken pillows, your swollen belly rising and falling with each slow breath. Sleep eluded you, as it often did in these late stages of pregnancy, but the quiet company of your husband made the sleeplessness bearable.

Thranduil sat at his ornate desk, his silver head bent over a stack of parchment, quill in hand. His robes draped over the chair, his posture elegant yet ever watchful, even as he attended to his duties. Though his gaze remained fixed on his work, you knew his mind was never far from you—his ears attuned to every sigh, every shift in your position. You smiled softly, watching him. Even now, a king burdened with the weight of his realm, he had chosen to remain close, forsaking the grand halls of his court to work in the privacy of his chambers—because you were here. Because he would not leave your side.

And then it happened. A sudden, distinct movement within you. Not the fluttering sensations you had grown used to, but something stronger. A push. A kick. You gasped, one hand flying instinctively to your belly, fingers pressing against the place where the tiny foot had made itself known. Thranduil’s head snapped up immediately, the sharp scratch of his quill against parchment ceasing at once. His piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, and in an instant, he was by your side, moving with the silent grace only an elf could possess.

“What is it?” His voice was low, urgent, his long fingers brushing against your wrist before settling gently on your belly. “Are you in pain?” You shook your head quickly, your lips curving into a breathless smile. “No, meleth-nîn… the baby—our child—just kicked.” For the first time, all the centuries of poise and control Thranduil had mastered seemed to melt away. His usually composed expression softened into something wondrous, something almost boyish in its astonishment.

He said nothing at first, only watching your face as if needing to confirm the truth of your words. Then, hesitantly, he spread his hand over your stomach, his fingers splayed wide, reverent. “Again,” he murmured, almost a command. “Let me feel it again.” As if obeying their father, the baby stirred once more, pressing against his palm in a firm little kick.

Thranduil inhaled sharply, his lips parting in silent awe. His fingers flexed slightly, stroking over the place where the movement had been, his usually cool touch warm against your skin. His eyes—wide, unguarded—lifted to meet yours, and in them, you saw something raw and unspoken. A love so deep, it stole the breath from your lungs. “Our child,” he whispered, as if the words themselves were sacred. “They are strong.” You laughed softly, resting your hand over his, holding him there. “Just like their father.” Thranduil’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze dropping back to your belly. He remained there for a long moment, simply feeling, simply being with you and the life you had created together. And then, in a gesture so tender it made your heart ache, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss just above where his hand lay.

His voice, low and laced with emotion, murmured words in Sindarin—words meant for only you and the child within you to hear. And for the rest of the night, the king who ruled a great woodland realm never returned to his desk. Instead, he stayed with you, his hand resting over yours, waiting for every kick, every sign of life, his heart entirely, irrevocably yours. His hand remained on your belly, long fingers tracing delicate circles over the fabric of your nightgown. Every so often, his touch would still, waiting, hoping for another sign from the child nestled safely within you. When another tiny kick pressed against his palm, his lips curved into the faintest of smiles.

“So eager, are you?” he murmured, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. His head tilted slightly as if listening, his keen elven ears attuned to something beyond what you could perceive. “Do you hear me, little one?” His voice was low, smooth as flowing water, laced with a quiet reverence. He leaned closer, shifting onto his side so he could cradle you and your swollen belly with both hands, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your gown. He stroked gentle patterns along your skin, his touch featherlight yet possessive, as though grounding himself in the reality of what lay before him.

“You are strong,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “Already, I can feel it.” A quiet pause, his thumb brushing along the curve of your belly. “And stubborn… like your mother.” You let out a soft laugh, swatting at his shoulder, and he chuckled, a rare and quiet thing, his usual sharp edges softened by the intimacy of the moment. He pressed a kiss just below your navel, his silver hair cascading over your skin like silk. “But you will also be proud,” he continued, his lips grazing against you as he spoke, “and wise, and fair. You will walk among the trees and hear their voices as I do. The stars will know your name before you have even spoken your first words.”

You felt your heart swell at the tenderness in his voice, the devotion in his every movement. This was Thranduil as few had ever seen him—unguarded, vulnerable, fatherly. His fingers resumed their slow, reverent caress, his voice turning softer still. “I wonder… will you have your mother’s eyes? Will you share her smile?” His gaze flickered up to meet yours, and his hand briefly left your belly to trace along your jawline, his thumb brushing your lower lip. “I hope so. For she is the fairest thing in all of Arda.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but before you could respond, the baby kicked again—this time with more insistence. Thranduil let out a quiet breath of amusement, his forehead resting lightly against your stomach. “Ah, you grow impatient already, ion nîn…(my son) or sell nîn (my daughter),” he mused, his voice laced with affection. “We shall see soon enough.” You combed your fingers through his silver hair, and he sighed softly, pressing one final lingering kiss to your belly before looking up at you once more.

His gaze held something deeper than love—something eternal. “I will protect you both,” he vowed, voice firm, resolute. “Always.” And with that, he held you close, one hand never leaving your stomach, as though he could already cradle the life within.

Thranduil’s fingers continued their slow, reverent path over your stomach, tracing idle patterns, as if committing to memory every curve, every sign of the life growing within. His touch was warm, soothing, carrying the weight of an unspoken devotion that needed no words. But he gave them to you anyway. “You are a vision,” he murmured, voice rich and low, the barest hint of awe laced within it. His gaze flickered up to meet yours, the intensity in his eyes making your breath hitch. “Even now, especially now, you are more radiant than ever.”

Before you could protest, before you could even entertain the thought of disagreeing, he leaned down once more, his lips pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your belly. And then another. His lips moved with a gentleness that sent warmth spreading through your chest. He kissed the place where your child had just kicked, a reverent touch as though in silent greeting. “Ah, little one,” he whispered, his breath fanning against your skin, “you make your presence known well. Already, you are like your mother—fierce, full of life.”

Another kiss, just above your navel. “And yet, so small still… so fragile. But fear not, my love, you will be safe, always.” His lips trailed higher, slow and unhurried, pressing feather-light kisses along your ribs, his hands still cradling the swell of your belly as though it were the most sacred thing in all of Middle-earth. Then his mouth moved to the space between your ribs and sternum, his breath warm, his lips reverent. “And you, meleth nîn,” he murmured, his voice softer now, as if speaking directly to your heart, “do you know how precious you are to me?”

He did not wait for an answer. His lips pressed against the curve of your collarbone, lingering, savoring. His hands ghosted over your sides, up your arms, pulling you closer as he continued his slow ascent. A kiss against your throat, just where your pulse beat strongest. Another along your jawline. And then—finally—his lips brushed against yours. The kiss he gave you then was deep and lingering, a silent declaration of love that words could never fully capture. He kissed you as if you were something sacred, something eternal. As if you were the very air he breathed. When he pulled back, his piercing blue gaze held you captive, raw emotion flickering within their depths. “You are everything,” he said, voice hushed, meant only for you. “Everything.”

He shifted, gathering you gently into his arms, maneuvering you so that you rested against him, your head tucked beneath his chin, your body cradled securely against his. One arm wrapped protectively around you, the other remained over your belly, palm resting possessively over the life you carried. His thumb brushed slow, rhythmic strokes over your stomach, lulling you into drowsy contentment. “Sleep, meleth nîn,” he murmured, pressing a final kiss to the top of your head. “I will watch over you.”

And so he did. The scrolls, the letters, the weight of the kingdom—all had long since been forgotten. For now, there was only this. Only you. Only the life between you. And the king who would never leave your side. And for the first time in weeks, you found sleep, safe in the arms of your king, your love, your forever.

[fairytalelover33]

Are Those Tears?

Thorin x Female Reader

Prompt: When Thorin stares death in the face, you both realize your feelings for each other may be a little stronger than friendship.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Some slight blood/gore, mentions of death, Thorin being a softie for once.

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Nothing could have prepared you for this journey. No amount of training would have sufficed. The whole company making it this far virtually intact was a miracle within itself. You had all survived attempt after attempt on your lives. It seemed that the odds of completing this journey were in your favor, having escaped each encounter with mere scrapes and bruises.

But this time you might not be so lucky.

The muscles in your arms and core ache, as you cling desperately to the branch of a fallen tree on the edge of a cliff, your legs dangling hundreds of feet above the ground. You can hear the grunts and bellows of your incapacitated comrades, confirming that they are in the same predicament as you. The snarls and howls of the Wargs add to the cacophony, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You realize that the only thing keeping the large predators and their riders from swooping in and slaughtering you all is the blazing fire surrounding the tree you all cling to. Azog the defiler sits astride a white Warg, pacing back and forth in front of the wall of flames separating them from you. You see Azog and his mutt pause in their pacing, the pale orc's scarred face hardening.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

"Thorin, no!" Balin exclaims quietly. You lift your head as a large boot plants onto the tree trunk next to you. The figure makes his way past, through the flames, towards the pale orc. The long dark hair, peppered with streaks of grey, the broad shoulders, the determined stride. It was unmistakably Thorin.

No.

A sudden wave of desperation crashes over you, making your stomach turn. You just want to reach out and grab him, yank him back. You want to scream, to beg, to yell at him to just turn around. Your breathing becomes ragged, and one quiet word manages to claw its way out of your throat, repeating over and over under your breath, like a prayer waiting to be answered.

"No. No. No. No." Thorin's steps do not falter, his sword glinting in the light of the blazing inferno that lines his path. It feels as though the world is moving in slow motion as Thorin charges the pale orc, armed with his sword and his shield. His Oaken Shield. How life has a funny way of coming full circle. Azog the defiler guides his pale furred Warg in a mighty leap from the boulder he had been perched upon.

The blow dealt to Thorin as the white Warg collides with him in mid-air snaps you back to reality with a rush of dread. The force of the beasts bodyweight stops Thorin in his tracks, sending him crashing to earth. Reality sets in as you hear the rest of the company fighting the pull of gravity, straining to hold on to the strand of life that is this fallen tree.

Azog wheels his pale beast around, charging at Thorin once more, and sending a bone rattling blow of his mace to the dwarf's chest, knocking him back to the ground. A pang hits you directly in your heart, and flows through your bloodstream, some desperate feeling you can't quite place seeping into your very bones. You don't understand the feeling well enough to give it a name. All you know is that it gives you enough strength to muscle yourself up with a strangled cry, huffing and gritting your teeth as you clamber up to the trunk of the tree. You can barely feel the heat that burns the palms of your hands, red and raw from clinging to the rough bark of the tree branch.

The Hobbit, Bilbo, seems to have the same rush of bravery that you do, and you see his small form scramble up to the trunk of the tree, pausing to take one deep breath to right his turbulent mind before charging into the fray, armed with his little elvish knife.

The wretched hound of hell clamps its jaws around Thorin. The sickening sound of Thorin's ribs cracking reaches your ears, making your head swim. You can feel yourself call out his name in agony, but it sounds like someone else's voice is coming from your mouth as you stumble a few steps along the fallen tree. You right yourself in time to see the mutt toss Thorin like a farm dog tosses a snake, his form crashing onto a patch of hard rock on the hillside.

"(Y/N)!" Balin shouts as you start hauling it to where Thorin lays, hot on Bilbo's heels. "No, Lass! It's too dangerous!" No response comes from your lips, your mouth set in a grimace as you have a clear view out to where one of the Defilers minions is preparing to behead Thorin. He lies pinned upon the rocky ground, his breathing ragged, teeth clenched in defiance as he grasps around desperately for his sword.

You quickly overtake Bilbo, and with a muffled grunt you stiffen your shoulders, tackling the Orc with the force of your body weight, bowling it over. You can hear Azog's roar of dissent as you stop the orcs deadly blow mid swing. A sharp pain explodes like a lightning strike in your right shoulder, making you cry out. As you and the orc tumble away from Thorin, the filthy monster rolls atop you with a snarl, pinning you down. You struggle futilely beneath it, flailing like a madman, grasping for something, anything to protect yourself, and finding nothing. The orc raises its armored fist, pulling back to deliver a skull crushing blow.

Suddenly, the orc shrieks, blood spewing from its mouth, spraying you in the face. It falls to the side, revealing a fiery eyed Bilbo, delivering continuous blows with his small, but mighty blade. You gasp for air, viciously wiping your face with the sleeve of your tunic and scrambling away.

You crawl to the barely conscious form of Thorin, not caring about the rocks and twigs scraping your skin through the thin fabric of your clothing. Ignoring the shooting pain in your shoulder, you pull yourself up to your knees, cradling his head in your lap. His half-lidded gaze holds yours for a moment, as if trying to see into your very soul. A thin sheen of sweat coats his face as he murmurs a single word, before slipping into the warm embrace of unconsciousness.

"(Y/N)..." Thorin breathes out softly. If you had not been watching his lips move you would have assumed you imagined it. His eyes flicker shut, his ragged gasps slowing to shallow breaths. Tears well up in your eyes as you brush some of his sweat drenched hair from his regal face.

"Just hold on. Please." You whimper helplessly, gazing down at him. You look up to see the heart wrenching sight of Bilbo all alone, standing his ground as the monsters descend upon you, his hands shaking as he holds his sword at the ready. The hobbit plants his feet, swinging his sword wildly around in an attempt to intimidate the foes before him. Sparks fly from the burning portion of forest that surrounds you, and you feel a deep sadness, wondering if this is truly the end of your adventure.

You take another moment to gaze down at Thorin. You trace his face with your eyes, trying to memorize every feature and contour. Running your thumb over his cheekbone in a way you would have never been brave enough to do before, a sigh escapes your lips. With a shaky breath, you lean down, hesitating for a moment before pressing a feather soft kiss to his forehead, holding back the tears that threaten to spill. Wishing more than anything that you had been brave enough to tell him how you feel, you now vow to not go down a weeping, helpless mess. You hold back your tears, forcing yourself to stare defiantly back at the group of vicious carnivores that approach the three of you.

One of the Wargs snaps its head to the side, sniffing the air. A sudden battle cry makes you start, and you whip your gaze in the direction of the commotion. Your spirit lifts as the unmistakable figures of Fili and Kili come charging in from a gap in the flames, tailed closely by Dwalin. They attack the Wargs and their riders swiftly, slicing and hacking with their weapons. You try to get up to help, but your energy is sapped from wrestling the Orc. You opt to be a close-range protector to Thorin, crouching in front of him, your fingers wrapping around the hilt of his sword that you spotted lying a few feet away.

A vicious noise that you didn't know you were capable of making tears its way through your throat as a Warg stalks toward Thorin with a snarl. You grip the hilt of the sword tighter, your knuckles white as you prepare to fight tooth and nail to protect Thorin. You shift on your feet as you crouch low, poised to spring up and drive the blade straight through the roof of the beasts' mouth and into its brain.

Before you get the chance, a giant flurry of wind and feathers scoops up the Warg, the beast yelping as it is hurled unceremoniously from the cliffside. You scramble back slightly, your mouth falling open as you look to the sky in disbelief and slight fear.

Eagles bigger than you have ever seen circle the cliffs edge, swooping in to snatch and dispose of the Wargs and their riders. Some of the mighty birds use the wind from their wings to fan the flames that burn the forest, singeing a group of mutts. You feel a moment of peace, but it doesn't last long. Your eyes widen slightly, terror etching your face as one of the birds makes a beeline for you.

"Wait. Wait! WAIT!" You shriek, as the giant bird envelops you in its claws. The fur of Thorin's jacket, which you had been holding on to, slips from your grasp as the creature tosses you off the edge of the cliff. You tumble through the air, screaming bloody murder, before landing with a thud on the back of another eagle, knocking the wind out of you slightly. You curse under your breath as you gasp for air, trying to regain your bearings. Your eyes scan around, realizing that every member of the company was either caged safely in the claws of one of the Avians, or sat comfortably atop one.

You hear a rage filled roar in the distance as the eagles whisk you all away. You feel a pit in your stomach, realizing that Azog is still alive, and you know that he will never stop hunting down the line of Durin. Your stomach drops as your worried mind flickers back to Thorin. You try to spot him, your eyes scanning each of the birds. The morning sun makes it nearly impossible, partially blinding you. You tuck your face into the soft feathers you sit upon, tears pricking your eyes as you pray the eagles will land soon.

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Groggily lifting your bruised and battered head, you scan around, realizing the eagles are making their descent. They all circle slowly down, landing atop a rocky spire, where you can see for miles around. Your eagle lands last, and your heart drops as you see Thorin lying still upon the flat ground, the company standing around him. You slide down from the back of the eagle, crumpling slightly as your legs hit the ground. Fili and Kili appear at your side almost instantly, supporting you under your arms as you try to regain your balance. You wince as Kili bumps your shoulder, hissing through your teeth.

"Are you alright, (Y/N)?" Kili asks in concern, releasing your arm slightly.

"Yes, I just... never mind me." You tear your eyes away from Thorin, finding Bilbo a few feet away. You pull away from the brothers, limping over to hug Bilbo. "Thank you." You whisper, pulling back and meeting Bilbo's gaze. He nods, and nothing else needs to be said. Bilbo is smart enough to be able to read the emotion behind your eyes. Your hand rests on his shoulder, and you both smile softly before you turn your gaze back to Thorin.

Gandalf kneels beside Thorin, his hand hovering over his face as he murmurs some spell over his unconscious form. You can feel the tears of desperation welling up in your eyes as you look on helplessly, silently begging whatever God is listening to please, let him live. You can feel yourself shaking as the company waits with bated breath. Then, his eyes finally flutter open, the dwarf drawing a deep breath.

Hot tears fall from your eyes, and you don't bother to stop them. You feel as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. He lives. He clambers to his feet, aided by Dwalin and Kili. He shakes them off, the angry look on his face surprising you all. He locks eyes with you, before flickering his gaze to Bilbo.

"You two." Thorin says in an accusing tone, glaring at the both of you. A confused look crosses your face, the rest of the company looking on.

"What were you doing?" Thorin snaps. "You nearly got yourselves killed!" Your eyes lock onto his, and you don't bother wiping the tears from your face as you stand bewildered.

"Did I not say that you would be a burden?" Thorin hisses, stalking towards you. "That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?" You hold his gaze, teary eyed as he looks between yourself and Bilbo, seemingly berating you. He pauses for a moment, the rest of the company sharing glances in disbelief.

Emotion suddenly takes over Thorin's face. "I have never been so wrong, in all my life." He steps forward, embracing Bilbo, patting him on the back. You could almost laugh at the look of shock on Bilbo's face as he tentatively returns his hug. Thorin pulls back, meeting Bilbos eyes with an apologetic look. "I am sorry I doubted you."

Thorin's eyes turn to you, his face softening as he looks at your tear-stained face. He takes the few steps to close the distance between you. The company becomes rather quiet as he silently approaches, his eyes never leaving your face. He stops in front of you, pausing, and you sniffle slightly, looking down at your feet, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Your heart stops as his rough hand rises to your face, gently tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes search yours, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he wipes away a fresh tear.

"Are those tears, Amrâlimê?" Thorin murmurs, making your heart skip a beat. He brings his other hand to your face, wiping away the rest of your tears, even as your eyes well up more. "No more of those." He says quietly, leaning forward and nuzzling his nose against yours gently, before pulling back to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" He murmurs, his eyes scanning your form. His hand still cupping your jaw gently. You shake your head, your eyes locked on his. Kili speaks up at your lie, knowing you are indeed hurt.

"She hurt her right shoulder." Kili says, before falling silent with an apologetic look. You glare at him, sighing in defeat as Thorin calls over Oin to take a look at your shoulder.

"What about you? You definitely need to be checked out, Thorin." You say sternly as thorin guides you to sit on a rock a few feet away. A small smile graces his face.

"I appreciate your concern. But you come first." He says softly, making you blush profusely. He gives a nod to Oin before stepping away to speak with Gandalf. Fili and Kili make their way over to you, giving each other a knowing look. You narrow your eyes at them before tugging on Kili's sleeve, making him kneel down to your level on the hard ground as Oin examines your shoulder.

"Kili, what does... Amrâlimê mean?" You ask inquisitively, as you know minimal Khuzdul. The brothers share another look, smiling at each other.

"You will find out in time." Kili says cryptically, standing up with a grin after giving you a pat on the back. You give him an exasperated look, cursing as Oin adjusts your shoulder. The brothers turn away with smirks plastering their faces, leaving you to ponder what Thorin could possibly have said.

[rivendell-poet]

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 (𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐑)❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « scenarios »

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○ Merry ○ Pippin ○ Boromir ○ Faramir ○ Éowyn ○ Éomer ○ Bard ○ Thranduil ○ Tauriel ○ Lindir ○ Haldir ○ Elladan ○ Elrohir ○

GN!Reader | Wordcount : 3.4k (each individual around 200~ words) | TWS : None, suggestive at times.

« 1, 11, 12, masterlist »

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

✧ Aragorn prides himself on his composure, on being able to stay collected in most situations, and it’s generally the same with your relationship.

✧ That’s not to say he doesn’t adore you, but despite the blush on his face and love in his eyes he can generally stay focused.

✧ Until you two enter a sparring match together and he brings his sword up awkwardly.

✧ When the swords clash he has to hold himself steady, and you have slightly too much momentum in your blow - so you keep going forward.

✧ At the sight of you coming towards him he panics and draws the sword down, not willing to risk hurting you.

✧ That is until you keep going with the offensive, bringing your blade up to Aragorn’s neck.

✧ It’s the second time you’ve held him a sword-point like that, but this time you're smiling and that does something to him.

✧ He knows he should push the sword away, but he keeps staring, unwilling to break eye contact until what he’s doing fully catches up to him.

✧ When he does move the sword away it’s unskilled, and a second spar isn’t even on his mind until you mention it.

✧ Breathing heavily even once you take your blade away, he realises how much he’s blushing and that he can’t quite take his eyes off your sword.

✧ It certainly doesn’t help when you notice, and there’s a gleam in your eyes as you hold your sword for the next spar. “Round two?”

✧ (Not that he does well in that one either - he’s still distracted.)

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ Most days in Rivendell the wind is non-existent, as it is in a valley and (you’re pretty sure) protected by some sort of elvish marriage.

✧ While you were in the wilderness you were good at making sure your hair was tied up, but it’s something you haven’t had to think about as much in Rivendell.

✧ And out on the archery court your hair is moving slightly, just enough to blow into your eyes and slightly obscure your vision.

✧ A strand of hair gets in your eye, and you curse before you put your bow down - not wanting to make a knowingly imperfect shot.

✧ “Having trouble?” Legolas seems to appear out of nowhere, smiling at you as his eyes follow your hair - dancing in the wind.

✧ You give him a tired smile, eyes going enviously to his. Most of it’s still down, but it’s not flying everywhere. And although you’re fairly certain it’s elven genes, some of it might be hairstyle.

✧ “Will you tie my hair for me?”

✧ To you the question is innocent, but you notice the slight blush on Legolas’ face as he processes your question.

✧ He blinks before moving out of it, “Are you sure?”

✧ It takes a little reassurance, but he of course agrees to help with your hair - in whatever style you wish.

✧ You can still feel his hands still, and breath go in, when he takes the first strand between his fingers.

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨

✧ Frodo is somewhat easy to fluster, all things considered.

✧ Although he can still laugh with most romantic affections, or instantly return him, there’s a little bit of him that’s in awe of you - and that therefore makes him blush and freeze for a second in your compliments.

✧ The first time you see him truly flustered in your relationship is when you’re together in the garden, having breakfast together.

✧ Picking up a slice of toast, you ask for one of the jams to spread on it - and Frodo quickly holds it out to you.

✧ Without thinking you give him a kiss on the forehead in response, before your hand begins to close around the jar.

✧ When you feel how frozen his hand is around it you realise something might be wrong.

✧ Looking at your boyfriend, you quickly see the red that’s bloomed on his face as he looks at you.

✧ As you make eye-contact he shakes out of it slightly, realising and averting eye-contact with you while still becoming more red.

✧ Not wanting to ruin the moment, you’re gentle in taking the jar out of Frodo’s hand – giving it a brief kiss before you fully let it go.

✧ That’s what allows him to truly break out of it, laughing and trying to convey happiness.

✧ And giving you a proper kiss, as well.

𝐒𝐚𝐦

✧ Sam is very easy to fluster, both intentionally and not intentionally.

✧ You never mean to make him flustered, but it still makes you blush a little when you do.

✧ To see him stop and his cheeks become rosy, before looking at you and swallowing slightly - then avoiding all eye-contact.

✧ It’s the sound of your laughter that’s able to break him out of it, with a little nervous shift, before he looks back at you and apologises.

✧ A lot of it comes from compliments, like when you had first seen him in properly formal attire - a jacket cut neatly to him, almost wine red in colour.

✧ “You look beautiful.”

✧ His hands, which had been fiddling with a button, suddenly go still as he looks up at you (and his cheeks begin to turn the same colour as his outfit).

✧ “That’s mighty kind- thank. I- I mean.”

✧ The words tumble out of him slightly too quickly and he softly shakes his head. “Thank you, love. Although I truly don’t hold a candle to you.”

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

✧ Merry is a fairly hard hobbit to fluster, and more often than not it’s him that causes your cheeks to heat up and go into a large grin.

✧ Which is why you resolve to try and fluster him, one of these days.

✧ Pick-up lines make him light up as though you’ve gifted him mithril, but more often that not he’ll banter right back at you.

✧ So you determine that, to fluster him, you need to do something that he won’t be able to respond to as easily.

✧ Which eventually comes when you're leaving for the day and he comes to see you off, still fairly early into your relationship.

✧ Normally he comes up and wishes you a good day, while burying his face into your back with a hug.

✧ This time, instead of responding, you simply give him a quick kiss. “I love you, bye.”

✧ You can hear him begin to splutter something but you keep hurrying down the steps before turning at the bottom, seeing him still standing in the doorway - gently bringing his hand to where you kissed him.

✧ Sheepishly he makes eye-contact with you, and even from a distance you can see the love in his eyes.

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧

✧ Pippin had been in love with you from that first meeting, so (ironically while you weren’t dating) it was actually harder to not fluster him with certain actions than to fluster him.

✧ (Not to say he isn’t awed by you on a regular basis while you are dating.)

✧ In preparation for the Fellowship leaving, both you and Boromir decide to try and teach the hobbits how to defend themselves.

✧ Pippin is practising against thin air when suddenly he hears your voice from behind him, “Aim slightly higher.”

✧ The noise doesn’t quite make him jump, but he suddenly tightens his grip on the handle before looking at you. You congratulate him on how quickly he’s picking things up, and he can feel himself grinning before asking if there’s anything he could improve on.

✧ You comment that he could be holding the sword slightly higher up, and he tries to shuffle his hand to the position before seeing you shake your head.

✧ “May I?”

✧ Reaching out your hand, you gently take his and guide it into place - lingering on it a second too long before taking it off.

✧ He tries again, although this time is a lot more off the mark. (It’s not his fault his mind is on your touch rather than an imaginary target.)

✧ This time you laugh, although it’s kind. “Your grip is getting better. I have faith in you, Pippin.”

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ The first time you fluster him is also the first time you kiss, and the first time he sees you dressed so finely.

✧ He knows that he shouldn’t stare as long as he has, eyes following every inch of you and absorbing it all, but he also can’t bring himself to take his gaze away from you.

✧ Eventually someone passes through his field of vision and he’s brought out of the spell, but only barely.

✧ It doesn’t prevent his eyes from flickering to you again.

✧ Taking a deep breath, he stops his blush from becoming too obvious and tries to take in the rest of the event.

✧ Most of his attempt slips away when you congratulate him on his victory, and he doesn’t trust his tongue enough to give more than a simple response.

✧ The knowing glance you give is more than enough, and he sees when you slip outside.

✧ And, of course, he can’t help but follow you.

𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ Faramir is quite easy to subtly fluster, although it’s much harder to make him lose his composure.

✧ Some people he’s close to, and you of course, can still read his subtler queues.

✧ The way his eyes widen for a second, and he stands ever so slightly the straighter - the faintest beginnings of a blush dusting his cheeks.

✧ And of course how his eyes stray to you, how his greetings are ever so slightly slower as he needs to make that little more effort for every word.

✧ Most times he gets truly flustered are when you flirt, when he truly goes rosy and relaxes - staring at you with such love.

✧ You ask him, as he’s staring at you, why that’s all he does.

✧ “Because-” Faramir gently takes your hand, “Because I do not trust my words to convey how much love I hold for you. But eyes are a window to the soul.”

𝐄𝐨𝐰𝐲𝐧

✧ Honestly, it’s easy for Éowyn to fluster you than it is for you to fluster her. 

✧ (A fact she doesn’t often exploit, but will use to her advantage if she ever needs to.)

✧ When you do fluster her, it’s in the middle of a sparring match - with you steadily losing more and more ground.

✧ Unwilling to yield, you try to meet her blade and take another step backwards only to find you foot against the wall.

✧ She wastes no time in putting her sword to your neck, and you hold your hands up in a mock surrender.

✧ “My life is in your hands, fair lady. Whatever shall you have me do?”

✧ You say it with a surprising amount of earnesty, and you can see her suddenly blush - taking a deep breath but not taking her eyes off you.

✧ “Well, I-” she tries to think of a witty comeback but stops, looking away. “Would you call any who had a sword to your neck fair?”

✧ “Not at all.” Gently, you push her sword away and close the gap between the two of you. “Only you.”

𝐄𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫

✧ As a recent habit, once the other Rohirrim had left the room the two of you would spar again - improving Éomer’s skills day by day.

✧ One of the things you like most is his optimism of the task, that even when you beat him again the next spar will still be him trying his hardest.

✧ But he also listens to feedback, quickly adjusting any - even minor - combat errors, before thanking you.

✧ At the end of a session, you sit down to begin taking off your armour while Éomer gets water for the two of you, throwing you a water skin while drinking out of his own.

✧ Tired from the end of a long day, you mean to thank him and say what a good boyfriend he is. The words that come out of your mouth, however.

✧ “You’re doing so good for me.”

✧ He can feel himself blushing, thankful he’s turned away from you, and he takes a second to calm down.

✧ You’re equally red, but the sight of him freezing and trying to regain his composure at your words make you smile.

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐝

✧ Bard doesn’t get flustered too easily, he’s had years of being in love - and having to stay calm - for him to become a blushing mess every time you compliment him.

✧ More often romantic gestures are met with smiles, and perhaps a soft kiss, rather than an extravagant gesture.

✧ Then the two of you are walking through Laketown.

✧ And you call him darling.

✧ It’s a term of endearment he often uses for you, sounding lovely in his accent as he smiles at you with joy, but he’s never been called it himself. Not until you.

✧ You realise it’s slipped out at the same time he does, and tilt your head to see Bard blushing - obvious against his hair.

✧ Not helping the grin that comes over your face, a little laugh escapes you and after a second it’s joined by him.

✧ He shakes his head before looking at you, silently wondering when the last time he was this is love with someone was.

✧ When a simple term of endearment could turn his whole world - because it came from you.

✧ But, for a second, you do stop the bargeman in his tracks.

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐢𝐥

✧ As a show of affection and trust, Thranduil grants you access to practically every location in Mirkwood you could think of - although you only really explore the beautiful ones.

✧ Such as the gardens. Lush and full of flowers, the vibrancy of their greens looking so much more like Greenwood than what it is now.

✧ These gardens give you hope and, when Thranduil is in them, give you joy and a sense of security. The two of you walking among them as he compares you to the silken petals, you leaving the garden with a bloom in hand or neatly tucked behind your ear.

✧ It’s a habit of his to walk through the gardens and admire them in the early morning, a way for him to wake up and face the day without actually having to interact with people.

✧ But there you are, sitting in the garden with the sun’s morning light bathing you.

✧ There is not much sunlight in Mirkwood, but the little there is comes to this garden - comes to you.

✧ In the light you look almost ethereal, like a gift. Something magical and beautiful even to the elvenking.

✧ It is a sight he cannot break away from, stiffening slightly as you turn to see him in the light.

✧ You come forward once you realise he’s there, greeting your king and bowing, but for the first few seconds he cannot find himself thinking of the right words.

✧ “You… you looked radiant.”

𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥

✧ Although she’s collected in combat, Tauriel does tend to be more easily flustered when she’s sparring with you - never anything awful, but just enough to stop it being her best work.

✧ Making her need to take a breath slightly more quickly, her eyes averting as to not meet yours, although she does generally keep her eyes trained on your blades.

✧ But the way you’ve actually stopped her is with simpler gestures.

✧ The act of stooping down as the two of you are on patrol to take a flower in your hands, before turning it around and threading it into her hair.

✧ Taking your hand away to make sure it’s sticking before giving her a little kiss, and then walking off.

✧ It puts a small smile on your face as you hear her movements. Completely still for a second, before suddenly realising your moving away and rushing to catch up to you - usually complete with a teasing or embarrassed laugh and a hand around your shoulder.

𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ As a minstrel, Lindir’s poems are well recorded within Rivendell - scrolls of them carefully preserved, and still highly praised.

✧ He does not talk about them, of course, as most creators tend not to dwell on early works, but it is never kept secret.

✧ Which is how you discover them. And they are beautiful.

✧ They’re written in elvish, but by now you’ve a grasp on the language - and Lindir’s poems are the perfect mix of prose and structure to be read as a way for practice.

✧ Which is how Lindir finds you in your chambers, reading some of his poetry aloud.

✧ It’s a verse you’ve practised before, so it flows on your tongue - sounding exactly like the music Lindi envisions all his creation to be.

✧ You don’t even know he’s there, but there’s something intimate about it. Something that makes him being to blush, his throat feel slightly dry as he’s watching you.

✧ Looking up, you notice him. But instead of stopping you keep reading, instead conveying the poetry to him.

✧ And he is utterly in love.

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ Even with elven hearing, it is possible to sneak up on Haldir - especially as a fellow elf.

✧ You see that he’s near the window, relaxed (but not enough that you’d feel bad about disturbing him), and decide to sneak up on him.

✧ He notices a tiny amount of noise, before he suddenly feels your arms around him and your face buried into his neck.

✧ The words are muffled, but he still hears it when you say you love him.

✧ Suddenly you can feel the elven warrior tense up, and the arms that were enveloping you turn stiff and slightly awkward.

✧ Looking up you see his eyes stare into yours, confused but in love as well.

✧ After a second of silence he dips slightly to give you a kiss on the forehead, before burying his head into yours to avoid eye contact.

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐧

✧ The both of you are voracious readers, and (luckily) the two of you have a very similar taste in books.

✧ To the extent that, when Elladan looks at the book in your hand, he barely has to read a few lines before he knows what story it is - and then tries to make a quip that’s related to it.

✧ Some books are even more distinctive, like the binding of the one you currently hold - a gilded account of Beren and Luthien, if short.

✧ It’s a book he’s thumbed over many times, but he hasn’t seen you read it.

✧ Setting the book aside to greet him, the thought leaves his mind until a few hours later when the two of you are cuddling together, and you look up at him. “Thank you, my Beren.”

✧ “You- your-” the grandeur of their romance hits him suddenly, and he looks down at you. Blushing and questioning. “I-I’m not a… mortal man.”

✧ “It’s a term of endearment.” You smile up at him, bright even in his confusion. “I’m just trying to say I love you.”

✧ “I see.” Elladan feels his gaze draw down to you, and knows in that moment he would be your Beren - do any of the tasks set if you asked him too. “I love you too.”

𝐄𝐥𝐫𝐨𝐡𝐢𝐫

✧ Elrohir is no stranger to grand romantic gestures, he has about six of them planned in his mind for you at any given time, but you sometimes struggle with them.

✧ Not when he does it to you, he’s already an expert at gauging your mood, but for you to give something back to him.

✧ The idea of a romantic gesture appears in your mind as you're doing paperwork, and try as you might you cannot get it to leave.

✧ But, as the son of Elrond is returning soon, you don’t exactly have much time to plan.

✧ So you resort to one of the more basic tricks - a simple red rose from your garden.

✧ Bells ringing, Elrohir knows that you’ll be in your chambers when he returns. It’s a thought that puts an extra spring in his step, keeps his heart light when he approaches and turns the door handle.

✧ And there you are.

✧ Standing in the doorway, slightly bowed down to him - although still looking at him - with a rose in your hand. “My Elrohir.”

✧ For once, he can’t think of a romantic or particularly witty piece of banter. He can only feel his cheeks heating up more as he stares, swallowing when you straighten.

✧ Gently, you press the rose into his hand. A small smirk on your face, “Do you like it?”

✧ “I.” It truly isn’t a common occurrence, him being lost for words. “May.. may I kiss you, meleth nîn?”

A/N : It is now completed, so... hi to anyone re-reading this! Hope the extra characters have been just as good <3

« first scenario, previous scenario, masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @celestialhole / @starwars2222 / @xiaoseminence / @withasideofmeg / @ferns-fics / @fleurdemiel-145 / @chewgazellechew / @nilintakan / @stormchaser819 ✧ wish to be tagged?

[wild-lavender-rose]

What Comes After - LOTR

Pairing: Aragorn x fem!reader, Legolas x fem!reader, Boromir x fem!reader, Faramir x fem!reader, Elrond x fem!reader

Category: Preferences/NSFW

Summary: What they would say/do after you've cum hard for them

Warning: NSFW, insinuation of sex, aftercare

Legolas-

Whispered elvish between stuttered gasps of air

"Are you all right?"

Hovering over top of you, brushing the hair from your face, cradling your cheek as your body shivers from the aftershocks of pleasure

"I'm here, you're safe. I'm here."

Light kisses on your face

Holding you carefully as you both steady your breathing

Aragorn-

Shushes you as you gasp and shake, rubbing soothing circles against your thighs and hips while you come down from the high

Whispers assurances as he lays beside you, continuing to rub your sides and arms while watching your expressions closely

He smiles when you do, relieved that you're okay and he hasn't pushed you too far

Will run his fingers through your hair and compliment you on your performance

Gathers you into his arms the moment you reach for him, holding you close and whispering his love for you over and over again

Boromir-

Is initially proud of himself and the fact you're a quivering, gasping mess

His smirk fades as your breath remains stuttered, holding himself up over you

"Are you all right?"

You nod but he doesn't believe you

Flips over and moves you so that you're laying on top of him

Rubs your back and cards his fingers through your hair as your body relaxes at the sound of his heartbeat

Still pretty proud of himself

Faramir-

Would think he had done something wrong

Kiss you all over, assessing you with worried eyes

Would hold you the moment you reached for him

Gazing into your eyes, whispering again and again "I'm here, I'm here"

You would kiss him deeply to assure him that you were fine, a kiss he would gratefully return

Elrond-

He would encourage you to cum one more time for him even after you've cum so hard

Would kiss you once you're totally spent, slow and deep

Whisper elvish in your ear

Would leave briefly to gather some wine, a basin of hot water and a cloth

Sponge bathes your sweaty, heaving body, leaving a trail of kisses in between

Helps you to drink some wine

Would hold you carefully, talking about everything and nothing as you fall asleep

Fanfic Masterlist

[entishramblings]

Haunting Me

[Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: I have been struggling to write (like usual), so I figured I would whip out a no pressure Legolas fic. ANYWAYS, I strangely loved writing this!!! Thanks for the request XOXO

Request: @goose-gremlin — “Could you maybe do a Legolas x Reader on their period?”

Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Reader is a member of Greenwood's Guard and is struggling with menstrual/period pain. Legolas takes care of her.

Disclaimer: I don't know elvish. I use the gracious elvish dictionary. Sue me lol

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: blood, menstruation/period, pain, PMS, slight nakedness (not anything spicy you filthy fools), fluff, sweet precious elf boy

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

(Y/N)’s nose twitched, the pungent, musty scent of the incoming vile beasts invaded the fresh earthy tones of the Greenwood forest. Her keen ears picked up on subtle scurrying, the sound carried by the drift of the soft wind. Her jaw clenched and her fingers adjusted the grasp of her sword as she felt the aura of the trees shift—a surge of adrenaline fueling her anxiety, worsening the pain in her abdomen. Briefly locking eyes with the other elves in her sector, spread among the trees alert and ready, she knew their moment of action was imminent.

(Y/N) summoned the little energy she had through a deep inhale, praying to the Valar that these spiders wouldn't be in such a frenzied state. Because, if so, fuck that. For at the present moment in time, she really didn't have the capacity to deal with that absolute, motherfucking horseshit.

Because, truly, getting killed due to slowness from fatigue and cramps from one’s bloodmoon cycle would be rather unfortunate and deeply regrettable. However, facing expulsion from the guard and losing her reputation as one of the hand-picked defenders of the royal line because of it would be even worse.

(Y/N)’s gaze narrowed as Prince Legolas, leader of the Greenwood Guard, raised a closed fist.

Nêl (Three).

Tâd (Two).

Mîn (One).

He opened his palm, signaling the command: Kill them. Kill them all.

With a firm thud, (Y/N)'s boots landed on the soft soil as she sprung from the trees. She was quick with her blade, hunting the spiders as if they were meaningless prey. Her weapon was an extension of her form. Every movement was fluid and graceful, a testament to her mastery of combat. Despite her pain, she spun and twisted with ease, severing the arachnids' limbs effortlessly.

As she fought, she made sure to keep an eye on the Prince, knowing that if anything were to happen to Legolas under her watch, the king would surely banish her. Besides, she harbored no desire for him to meet his demise. She found him rather…admirable. Nothing more than that—of course not.

As (Y/N) advanced upon one of the vile beasts, her senses tingled with warning. Abruptly, she halted in her tracks, narrowly dodging an arrow that whizzed past her stomach. Her eyes narrowed as she wiped her head to see just who fired that arrow. A scoff escaped her lips as she locked eyes with him: Rekón.

When the battle came to an end, (Y/N) strutted towards Rekón, who was wiping the edge of his blade upon his thigh.

“What the hell was that out there?!” She snapped at him.

“What is it you speak of?”

“You nearly put an arrow in me!”

He shrugged. “Perhaps, you should have been faster, Shadowfoot.”

She scoffed at Greenwood’s nickname for her. “You're lucky I am fast. I can assume you don’t want elven blood on your hands—especially my blood.

He sheathed his blade and crossed his arms. “Don’t exaggerate, (Y/N). It’s unbecoming. Besides,” he leaned in and his voice lowered, taking on a snarky tone, “I don't care if you're handpicked by the King to be the Prince’s shadow, you're a pain in the ass.”

“Really, Otuuk Fe`Saign (warg kisser)?! I could have you and your ass in the mud faster than you could say—”

The rather tense interaction was interrupted by Legolas clearing his throat beside the pair. “What is going on over here?” he demanded.

(Y/N) huffed, not taking her eyes off the man before her. “Rekón here nearly redecorated my abdomen with a fucking arrow!”

The Prince sighed. “You know we can’t always calculate every motion on the battlefield, (Y/N). I am sure Rekón meant no harm.” He paused, turning his attention to the ellon. “Rekón, in the future, mind your arrows.”

“That’s the reprimand he gets?! Are you fu—“

Legolas looked at the elleth. “Watch your language, Shadowfoot. I expect this attitude to be gone by the time we enter my father’s halls.”

With that, Legolas walked away, calling out orders to burn the spider carcasses and move out.

As he disappeared into the mess of elves, (Y/N)’s brows pulled downward in a grumpy frown. “Princeling Ass,” she murmured to herself.

Unbeknownst to her, as she turned away, Legolas' gaze followed her, seeking out her form and lingering as she walked away.

….

The sun had not yet risen when the Prince’s sector of the Greenwood Guard arrived back in the Palace. The warriors dispersed into the armory, diligently stowing their weapons and armor in their designated places. (Y/N), however, did no such thing. Instead, with a persistent scowl etched on her face, she marched through the room and passed through the arched exit of the armory—presumably heading towards her chambers. Legolas's gaze tracked her suspiciously as she departed.

As the day progressed, the members of the Prince’s sector resumed their usual routines. Because it was their first day back from patrol, they were exempt from basic guard duties and standard positions. Instead, they utilized the early hours of the morning to bathe and rejuvenate themselves before gathering in the dining hall for breakfast. The remainder of the day was theirs to unwind and compile their patrol reports—the King sought to stay informed about all occurrences and perspectives during patrols, for a darkness seemed to be spreading among his trees.

At supper, Legolas moved among the tables in the dining hall, gathering last-minute reports from the warriors in his sector. As he did so, he scanned the long wooden benches, searching for the scowling gaze that had accompanied the last couple of days of patrol; however, there was no such gaze and no such person that it belonged to. Simply put, there was no sign of (Y/N).

She had missed all three meals and had failed to submit her patrol report.

Legolas cleared his throat before he addressed the elves from whom he was collecting papers. “Have you seen Shadowfoot? I need her report,” he inquired.

They shook their heads, more interested in their food than one missing shadow.

Legolas sighed, but refrained from pressing further. If anyone knew her whereabouts, they would have mentioned it.

Therefore, he made his way to her quarters.

When he arrived, he knocked softly on the door, but was met with silence.

"(Y/N)," he called out, his voice carrying through the wooden barrier.

Still, there was no response.

After a moment’s hesitation, Legolas reached for the door knob and twisted it slowly. The wood swung open quietly under his touch, exposing the darkness of the room beyond. Moonlight filtered in through the opened window, casting shadows that danced across the floor, the curtains billowing gently in the cold night air.

Legolas carefully stepped through the threshold and closed the door behind him. As he took in his surroundings further, surprise crossed his features. He didn't know what he had been expecting since he hadn't been in (Y/N)’s quarters, but it most certainly was not this.

The room was a complete mess. Clothing lay strewn about, along with various trinkets—small hand-carved boxes, beautiful natural rocks, and melted candles absent of flame. Several stacks of books were piled beside the bed, a few of them open and their pages still. Her weapons were scattered haphazardly, some resting on the floor, others on the table or atop the dresser. Legolas even noticed a few knives embedded into the wooden door—a sight that would surely displease Ada.

It was chaotic but calm in a sort of strange way. Typical for (Y/N), he supposed.

The Prince moved to walk further into the room, but was quickly halted against his will. His foot had gotten caught and, if it wasn't for his swift reflexes, he would have face-planted upon the stone flooring.

Legolas sucked in a sharp breath as he stabilized his form. Glancing down, he discovered the culprit—a crumpled tunic tangled around his boot, its fabric caught between the lacings.

He immediately sighed in dismay.

The blond-haired Prince reached down to untangle the stubborn garment. It proved to be a more challenging task than he had anticipated, requiring a few moments of quiet curses and annoyed grunts before he managed to free himself. Carefully, he folded the fabric and placed it upon a nearby chair.

Cautiously, he advanced to the large bed. At first, he could not spot the warrior within, given that the fluffy comforter and mountain of pillows were blocking his view. However, when he pulled back the blankets slightly, sure enough, she was buried deep within. The pillows were arranged around her like a protective nest and she was laying on her side. Her hair was splattered across the cushioned fabric and her expression was…one of pain. Her brows were pulled tight, her nose crinkled, and lips slightly parted.

At this, Legolas frowned, for he was now troubled deeply.

Diligently, the Prince reached out to brush some hair from her face, but just as his fingers made contact with her cheek, his action was interrupted.

(Y/N) suddenly sat up, a knife in hand. With wild eyes, she tried to slam it into his carotid artery.

He reacted quickly, Legolas intercepted her arm, preventing the blade from reaching its target. For a moment, they both froze in that tense position, the gravity of the situation sinking in as they processed what was happening.

(Y/N) was breathing quickly and she appeared very disheveled and confused. It seemed to take her a moment longer to grasp the situation fully.

"Jukkete (fuck)," she breathed out, trying to catch her breath before snapping at him. "Legolas, I almost killed you!"

The Prince still held her wrist. “(Y/N),” he began, “Are you alright?”

She huffed. "You know better than to sneak up on me like that, Princeling!" With a sharp twist, she pulled away from his grasp and settled back into the blankets. “What are you doing here?”

He raised his brows. “Princeling?” he questioned, a hint of amusement in his tone.

(Y/N) only grunted in response.

He sighed. “No one has seen you all day and—“ his sentence abruptly halted as he noticed a red stain upon the comforter. “(Y/N), you are bleeding!” He exclaimed. Without hesitation, he grasped at the blankets, in an attempt to detangle her form from them, as he continued his babbling of concern. “Why didn’t you tell me you were injured on patrol?!”

“Legolas,” she interrupted, her voice firm.

“Is it from Rekón’s arrow?! I thought you said he ‘nearly’ hit you?”

“Legolas,” she tried again.

He yanked the blanket further.” Because I swear to the Valar if it was from him, I will—“

“Legolas! Stop!” She snapped, her patience wearing thin. “I’m not injured.”

His jaw clenched in frustration. “(Y/N), I have been a warrior for all my life, I know the site of blood. That is blood. You cannot lie to me. I am your sector leader, your Prince—“

“Legolas! It’s my bloodmoon cycle!” she interrupted, sitting up to glare at him once more.

An awkward silence settled into the dark room.

“You are in pain,” he stated.

“I’m fine.”

His brows raised again. “Now, why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you're a princeling ass,” she retorted.

“No. Because for the last three days of patrol, your demeanor has been notably irritable, as you are now. You've been favoring your left side, your jaw has remained tightly clenched, and your skin a shade too pale. Not to mention, you've consistently had your hand on your hip, I'm assuming in an attempt to try and alleviate discomfort, and you even vomited behind a tree on two occasions. And, here you are, Shadowfoot, in bed, sleeping the day away in dirty clothes and not caring that you lay in blood.” He paused before finalizing his evidence. “You are in pain.”

“You have been spying on me?! I am supposed to be your shadow.”

“I have been keeping an eye on you,” he clarified.

“Why?!”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. “Because you are a member of my sector. You are my responsibility.”

“You are my responsibility,” she corrected.

He released hot air from his nose. “I am required to keep an eye on all of my warriors, whether they were hand-picked to guard me or not.”

(Y/N) huffed, shaking her head. “Did you know Sethna took a pretty nasty hit to her leg?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” he gruffed.

“Legolas, did you know about it or not?”

A rather long moment of silence extended into the night before the Prince reluctantly responded in a low tone. “No.”

“Then you don't watch every warrior like you watch me.”

He inhaled slowly, trying to steer the conversation away from what (Y/N) was insinuating. “Is Sethna alright?”

“Yeah, she’s fine.”

Legolas nodded slowly, before returning to the main topic. “Why didn't you tell me you were in pain while on patrol?”

She rolled her eyes before muttering his name. “Legolas.”

“Why haven't you seen a healer?” he persisted.

She exhaled slowly, knowing Legolas wasn't going to let this go. “Because the healers document everything, and those records get attached to evaluations.”

“So?”

“So, I would be dismissed from the guard and relieved of my position!” she snapped.

He snorted lightly. “You would not be dismissed from the guard nor relieved of your position.”

“Others have gotten so for far less!”

Surprising her, his normally collected tone turned into a rough reply. “That doesn't mean that you would have!”

She frowned, her once loud voice now subdued. “What's that supposed to mean?”

He sent her a warning look, his eyes cautioning her against probing further.

Silence reigned for a third time that night before Legolas spoke softly. “Rest. I will draw you a bath.”

“Princeling, I do not need you to draw me a bath. I do not need a bath at all. Like I said, I am fine.”

He shook his head. “You are in pain. Let me help you.”

“Legolas–”

He cut her off. “(Y/N), do not try to argue with me on this. That is an order. Shadow or not, I am your superior and you will listen.”

With that, he stood and made his way into the bathing chambers, leaving the elleth alone with her thoughts.

She let out a slow, contemplative exhale before sinking back into the embrace of the bed once more. Lost in a haze of exhaustion, she must have drifted into a brief slumber, for it was only moments later that Legolas returned, his thumb brushing against her cheek. His voice, barely above a whisper, reached her ears. “(Y/N),” he urged softly. “Come. The water is hot. It will alleviate your pain.”

Groggily, she opened her eyes, confusion evident in the furrow of her brow.

“Come,” he repeated.

Gradually, she sat upwards, letting her legs dangle off the edge of the mattress. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth, praying to the Valar for the pain to settle.

“If the pain is too much, I can carry you,” Legolas offered in a gentle tone.

She scoffed, her eyes opening to glare at him. “I can manage on my own.”

With that declaration, (Y/N) stood up and took a few cautious steps forward. But before she could proceed further, a sharp gasp escaped her lips as the agony surged through her body, causing her to double over.

A comforting warmth enveloped her lower back as Legolas placed a reassuring hand there. He remained silent, respecting her pace and refraining from pressing his earlier offer.

A small whimper escaped her lips, tears threatening to escape from her eyes.

Legolas’ hand began to move in soft circles. “It will pass, Shadowfoot. I am here,” he whispered.

Slowly, she resumed her movement, inching her way towards the bathroom. Upon reaching the basin's edge, she gripped onto the sides tightly. She squeezed her lids shut once more, focusing on her breath.

Standing only inches behind her, Legolas spoke softly. “(Y/N), please, will you let me assist you? I hate to see you suffer.”

She exhaled through her nose, seemingly debating his offer. After a moment of contemplation, she relented. “Fine,” she stated, “but if you breathe a word of this—”

“I will not say a thing. I swear it,” he assured.

She nodded, accepting his promise.

“Let's get you undressed and in the bath then.”

With caution, his nimble fingers found the hem of her tunic and began to lift it over her head. Ensuring her stability by placing one hand gently on her hip, he then carefully guided her trousers downward, assisting her as she stepped out of them. Shaking slightly, she lifted each foot into the tub, one at a time, as the Prince's firm hand remained securely on her waist. Slowly, she lowered herself into the water, his touch barely trailing up her back as she descended. Her eyes closed and a sigh of relief escaped her lips, settling into the soothing heat of the water.

Legolas cleared his throat awkwardly. “I will just be in the other room. Call out if you need me.”

She simply hummed in response.

The Prince swiftly left the bathing room, making his way to the door leading to the hallway. Peering out, he caught sight of a maid. He called out to her and motioned for her to approach.

“Yes, my lord?” she inquired politely.

“I need you to fetch a new set of bedding and obtain the following herbs: valerian, boswellia, and athelas,” he instructed.

She nodded in understanding.

“And please, keep it discreet. I have an injured warrior in here who wishes for the injury to remain quiet.”

The maid nodded once more before hurrying off to fulfill his requests.

Legolas returned to the room, feeling the cool breeze from the open window once more. With determined strides, he crossed the space and closed it firmly, halting the chill from entering any longer. He then took to light some of the candles, casting a warm glow within the room before moving to the empty fireplace. He quickly grabbed kindling and wood from the basket beside the silent hearth, setting to task. Before long, the flames crackled loudly among the stone, radiating a comforting warmth that dispelled the lingering chill.

It was then when the maid entered, a large basket brimming with fluffy fabric in her arms. Placing it beside the bed, she then retrieved a pouch from the top. Approaching the Prince, she bowed her head. “The herbs you asked for, my lord.”

“Thank you,” he replied, accepting them graciously.

The maid took to changing the sheets, making no mention of the blood. Legolas cleared a space upon the table in (Y/N)’s room. Placing a cast iron pot—one of which was kept in each room—over the now vibrant flames, he filled it with water from a pitcher. As the water began to boil, he used a small bowl to grind the fresh herbs into a paste with a pestle. Once sufficiently smashed, he ladled some of the boiling water over it and allowed the mixture of herbs to steep, filling the air with its earthy aroma.

The maid, having finished her task of making the bed and straightening up, bid an awkward farewell to the Prince before exiting the room.

Legolas sighed, taking a seat in the chair beside the table, his ears attuned to any sounds from (Y/N)'s direction—just in case.

Nearly 45 minutes passed before she emerged from the bathroom. She was clothed in soft trousers and a loose top that hung off her shoulder, her hand pressed lightly against her abdomen.

“How do you feel?” he inquired, breaking the quietness of the night.

She turned her head towards him. “You are still here?” Her gaze swept across the room, trailing off as she took in the sight of the lit candles, crackling fire, and fresh bedding.

Abandoning the chair, he approached her and gently put his hand upon her bicep. “How is the pain, (Y/N)?”

As if suddenly drawn from her thoughts, she registered that he was indeed beside her. “I, uh, it has lessened a bit.”

He nodded, guiding her to the bed. Pulling back the clean sheets, he motioned for her to get in. Surprisingly, she complied, settling into the comfort of the fresh lavender scent emanating from the blankets and pillows.

Legolas briefly left her side before returning with a cup of tea, mixed from the healing herbs. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he lifted the cup to her lips, encouraging her to take a sip. “Drink this. It will help.”

The steam kissed her face as she took the cup from him. As she drank, the warm liquid flowed down her throat and into her stomach, providing instant comfort. When she finished, she passed the cup back to him. “How do you know how to make such a tonic?”

The Prince placed the cup upon the side table. “My father used to care for my mother during her bloodmoon cycle, before she passed from this world. She too had excruciating pain. He taught me the right herbs to mix, the benefits of heat, and—” he paused, his hand moving to her lower back, where he began to massage lightly. “—what points to press to alleviate pain.”

She exhaled slowly, letting her eyes flutter closed.

“He had said, ‘One day, you will have a wife who too suffers such pain. This you must learn for her.’ And I listened.”

(Y/N) did not open her eyes. “I am not your wife.”

Before he could stop himself, his lips betrayed his secrets. “You could be.”

At this, she opened one eye, as if she was trying to subtly evaluate what his words meant based on his body language. Sensing the sincerity upon his expression, her other eye opened too. She put her full attention on him. “What?”

His cheeks flushed, the tips of his elvish ears reddening, though the warm glow of the fire hid his embarrassment. He turned his head away. “Forgive me, (Y/N). I—I didn't mean to be so…so forward.” He hesitated, then looked back at her, seeing her flabbergasted expression. “I–I suppose there is no hiding it now. The reason I keep such close watch over you is because my heart won't let me do otherwise. I fear, well, I fear that you are not just a shadow following my path.” He exhaled softly. “(Y/N), you haunt me in the most beautiful way.”

She shifted from the pillows, drawing closer until her face was mere inches from Legolas’. “You–you care for me?” she whispered.

His hand tenderly cupped her cheek, his thumb moving in a soft motion. “More than I could ever put into words.”

“Legolas,” she whispered. “Your father did not assign me to your sector. I was supposed to be appointed to protect him. I—I requested to be assigned to you.”

The Prince’s gaze met hers. “Why, (Y/N)?”

“Because you too have been haunting me.”

Legolas wasted no time. He pressed his lips to (Y/N)’s in a gentle kiss and she responded eagerly. She tasted of herbal tea and hope, while he tasted of honey and peace. His hands gently cradled her face, while hers found their way to the back of his neck, fingers entwining in his hair. The scent of fresh lavender surrounded her, mingling with the aroma of pine that clung to him. In their embrace, their minds intertwined, both haunted by the other's presence—in the most beautiful way.

Slowly, they parted. Legolas pressed a kiss to (Y/N)'s forehead before speaking softly. "Lay down. Rest. I will watch over you."

She looked up at him. “Won't you lay with me? I am cold.”

He snorted, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips like the stem of a flower being plucked from a spring meadow. “You only want me to alleviate your pain, don't you?”

She grinned back at him. “Perhaps, Princeling. Though, I did not lie, I am cold.”

With a playful roll of his eyes, Legolas kicked off his boots and drew back the covers. He allowed his body to melt against (Y/N)’s, providing warmth as he gently began to massage away her tension.

A content sigh escaped the woman’s lips as she snuggled further into him, eagerly stealing his warmth and accepting the pain relief he offered.

“Princeling,” she murmured, “You better not breathe a word of this either.”

He chuckled lightly, “I will not say a thing, Shadowfoot. I swear it.”

…

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Legolas Tag: in the comments

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Secret Conversation- Thranduil x Human!Reader

Summary: Bard brings his Sindarin speaking friend when going to talk to Thranduil and Thranduil decides to flirt with her

Word count: 1, 352

A/N: italics is spoken in Sindarin

Though you hadn’t known Bard for very long, only looking after his kids for the past four months, when he told you of his meeting with Thranduil, you had insisted on joining him. You didn’t tell many people, but you did know Sindarin and you believed you’d be a good asset to your new friend.

Even though you stood beside Bard and he acted as a buffer between you and the famed king of the woodland realm, it was difficult to not feel intimidated. Even in such a simple throne in a cloth tent, he still held such power and grace to him, so much so that it was hard to take your eyes from him.

Honestly, you could have stared at the king for hours, but you decided that standing beside Bard and trying to not draw much attention to yourself was the best course of action. Unfortunately however, your wandering looks still managed to catch the attention of the elvish king, and his gaze often caught yours.

Trying your best to stay out of the way as you stood beside your friend, a guard came in to give word to Thranduil.

“What are they saying?” Bard gently asked you, not realising that the elves would definitely be able to hear him, though the whisper was extremely quiet.

“He’s just keeping Thranduil informed of the guard change, and that the number of guards will be increasing now that the sun is lower.” You whisper back as quietly as possible, although you knew he’d hear you.

Thranduil obviously heard your response and it intrigued him. As the kings gaze flicked over to the two of you, Bard stood straighter and your eyes fell to the floor. Though you did not look at him, you could tell Thranduils eyes were watching you intently.

Desperately you kept your gaze on the ground, hoping your knowledge of his language would not get you or Bard into trouble.

“So that is why you brought her along, because she knows of our language. Is that right, girl?” Thranduil teasingly enquires.

“Ye-yes.” You nervously whisper, as your eyes slowly rise to meet Thranduils enchanting stare.

“Interesting. How is it you know our tongue?” Thranduil continues to interrogate, appearing both intimidating and alluring as he looks you over while he talks.

“M-my mother was a linguist. She studied many languages and often acted as a translator for political matters. She shared her love of language and reading with me.” You timidly admit, the thought of your mother helping you to feel less intimidated before such a powerful king.

“She sounds like a very interesting woman.” Thranduil says, offering you a gentle smile, which you give him in return.

“Now I do have questions for your ears alone.” The king asks now in his own tongue, obviously not wanting Bard to hear.

Bard knows this is Thranduils intent and turns to you, worried about what he might have said. You give Bard a reassuring smile and look back to Thranduil.

“What is it you’d like to know?” You reply in his own language.

Hearing you speak Sindarin makes his eyes shine and a cheeky smile to appear on his face as he sits up straighter. Thranduil liked the way you sounded when you spoke in his own tongue. You sounded so enchanting and his fascination for you seemed to grow.

“Do you live with him?” Quickly came Thranduils first question, of what you’d assumed would be many.

“No, I simply care for his children when he is away working.”

Confirmation that Bard and yourself were not together seemed to interest him even more, as he now uncrossed his legs and positioned his body to face you more.

“Such a pretty young thing taking care of another man’s children. Surely you have wondered how it would feel to take on more wifely duties for him. Though he’s not my type, he seems to be the most handsome and intelligent man among your townsfolk. Has a thought not crossed your mind as to how he could make you feel? How his experienced hands may bring you pleasure?” Thranduils enchanting eyes bore into your own, as if he was looking into your very soul, pinning you to your spot.

Bard could sense that Thranduil was trying to intimidate you and put a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“We can leave if you like.” Bard kindly whispered in your ear, the comment making Thranduils grin grow.

You’d have to be blind to not be attracted to Thranduil and you were not one to back down from a challenge. You wanted to see how far he would go with this game, and honestly, you might have your own fun flirting back with the elvish king.

“Would you like that? Like to leave with him? Well not with him, he would still not warm your bed or draw pleasure from you in the way you desire.”

A slight smirk of your own played on your lips as you saw your opening to meet his challenge. What Thranduil was saying wasn’t necessarily wrong, of course you’d thought of Bard in such a way, but they were more fleeting thoughts of fancy than they were actual desires. The woodland king however? He was beginning to fill you with desires.

“What if I chose to stay here? Would you fulfil my desires, Thranduil?” The kings body erupted as he heard you speak his name.

“I have only slept with the race of men. Tell me, would a night with you bring greater pleasure than what a man could provide?” You meet his challenge in a way he was not expecting. He smirked and looked down as he saw the way you held onto Bards forearm, pretending it was for courage, but both you and the king knew it was to tease him.

“Oh you sweet girl. I have lived more lives than all the men you’ve had combined. I could draw pleasure from you that you had never thought possible. Why if your friend wasn’t standing there, I’d taking you right now in this tent. I’d want to be slow with you, give you your pleasure again and again, but with the way you tease me, I think I might have to take a different approach.” Thranduils flirting continues, though his voice is kept neutral as to not draw too much attention to what you both were really talking about.

“And what approach would that be, your highness?” You meet his challenge, his formal title making the fires inside him grow.

“A more assertive one. Where I rip your blouse down the middle so I can see more of what I know is a beautiful body, and so I can bite and kiss and lick more of your skin. I can be a very tolerable and patient elf, but you have made me desperate. I would push you against the table and take you from behind. I’d have you in a way no man ever has before, but that would be just the beginning of our night. If you don’t leave with him, I will have you in every way there is to have a lover, for as long as your human body can take.”

By the time Thranduil had finished talking, your body was on fire, and you were about ready to pounce on him right here and now, but you knew you had to keep a calm disposition with Bard still standing beside you.

Turning to your friend, you keep your eyes serious as you look to him.

“Go back to the children, I need to discuss some things with Thranduil. I’m not sure how long I’ll be but I’ll find you in the morning. I’ll be okay.” You sweetly explain to your friend, covering any suspicion of ulterior motive.

Bard turned to look at Thranduil, giving him a warning look, before turning back to you.

“Okay, be safe and I’ll be keeping an eye out for your return.” Bard sweetly smiled at you, before leaving the tent.

Turning to Thranduil, you both wore matching devilish smirks.

[crownedghostprince]

Elrond’s Adopted Daughter Reader pt1

Lord Elrond and Adopted!Female!Reader.

Fandom: The Hobbit

(Y/N) was adopted by Lord Elrond at 7 years of age being an immortal human child, (human, but she has immortality exactly like an elf).  Here’s some of her adventures with her family!

Requests: Closed. Requested: no.

Warning(s): None.

Note: This is actually to help me learn different Elvish words and how to correctly use them, but I made it into an entertaining, cute fanfiction. <3

Word Count: 1,132

[Third Person Perspective]

(Found on pinterest with no source, sorry)

It was another peaceful day.  The waterfalls glistened in the bright, warm sunlight as butterflies fluttered nearby, hovering over beautiful pink and orange flowers that bloomed down the cliff.  Rivendell was a beautiful place to live and (Y/N) loved every aspect of it.  Being young she was in awe of everything that existed and moved.  She would ask her ada ((father)) what each thing was and what it could do and he would patiently answer all of her questions.

He would teach her a little about the stars, very basic medicine, food and cooking, sewing and music - literally anything she was curious about.  She loved hearing the elvish words for everything as well.  She struggled to pronounce words, but Lord Elrond promised that would come with time and practice and that she was doing very well in her classes.  This pleased her and she’d skip along happily, continuing on with her day.

“ Mithrandir!  Mae g’ovannen.”  ((Well met.))  Elrond greeted Gandalf nearby where (Y/N) was playing with some butterflies and cats.

“Lord Elrond!  Mae g’ovannen, mellon nin!”  ((Well met, my friend))  Gandalf returned his greeting, placing a hand over his heart - the friendliest greeting in elvish.  He dismounted his horse, patting it briefly before approaching his friend.  Elrond embraced Gandalf in a quick hug with a big smile on his face.

“I trust your journey was safe.”  Elrond conversed as he and Gandalf walked up the stairs, leaving Lindir to watch (Y/N) as usual.  Lindir didn’t mind, he didn’t have worry about finding something to talk about to be polite when he was tired enough already.

“Lindir!  Look!  The butterfly landed on the iaul nose!” ((cat))  (Y/N) suddenly called from where she was playing, pointing to the scene she just described.  Lindir couldn’t help but smile at the childish joy over such small things.

“Elo!”  ((Wow!))  Lindir walked over to examine closely, “How wonderful!  Although, the cat doesn’t look too impressed.”  He noted.  (Y/N) grinned up at him from the patch of flowers she was in.

“He’s so silly!  I love him!”  She giggles, swishing a stick on the ground for the kitty to chase and swat at.  Lindir loved children’s lalaith ((laughter)) it brought him joy and comfort.  A reminder that not everything is corrupted by the evil’s of the world.

♡ ~~~~~~ ♡  

Later that night, (Y/N) sat at the dinner table with her ada, munching on her chips and he and Gandalf conversed about Gandalf’s adventures and worries.  Gandalf was concerned about ‘The Lonely Mountain’ but (Y/N) wasn’t listening and was instead focused on the pretty music Heledir was playing on his lyre. She really wanted to learn how to play the harps or lyres that the elves would use, but her ada said she was still a bit too young and rough and that she might just break them.

He promised to teach her when she was a bit older, so she was pretty content to wait until then and to just continue learning the flute.  (Y/N) was so wrapped up in her thoughts she didn’t realize she finished her food already and could now play with her older brothers, Elrohir and Elladan.  She turned to her father and waited patiently for him to finish talking with Gandalf.

“Ada?”  She asked, tugging at his robes for his attention as he sipped his wine.  He turned to her and smiled gently.

“Yes, winimo?”  ((Little one)).

“I’ve finished my food, may I go play with ‘Ro and ‘Dan, now?”  She questioned with a tilt of her head.

“Yes, you may.  Well done, iellig.”  ((my daughter)) He answered with a chuckle.  Her eyes lit up with excitement and she quickly gave Elrond a hug with a quick:

“Thank-you!”  Before she hopped down from her seat and darted off to find her brothers.  They were teaching her a little bit of archery and she absolutely loved it.  She was certain it was the best thing in the world to ever exist!  Although she would sometimes miss her target and the arrow would hit the stone wall nearby, bouncing off and disappearing into the oblivion - forcing the siblings to look for it together.  As the siblings took a break from their archery session, still early evening, (Y/N) decided to ask them a question.  “When I’m older, can I be a maethor ((warrior)) like you two?”

“When you’re much, much older we’ll welcome your company and skills!”  Elrohir grinned, ruffling her hair.

“You’ll make a great maethor one day, (Y/N)!”  Elladan agreed.  (Y/N)’s eyes lit up with excitement once more as she jumped up and swung an invisible sword around the air.

“That’s right!  I won’t let the bad guys hurt my family!”  She promised, pretending to fight invisible orcs as her brothers cheered her on.

“That’s the spirit!”

♡ ~~~~~~ ♡   

Soon enough, the day had fully melted into night and the moon was high in the sky, shining like a crystal in a cave.  (Y/N) knew it was time for bed, even though she didn’t really want to sleep.  She had so much fun she wasn’t keen on wasting time sleeping.  Elrond made sure she was tucked into bed, however, and even read her an interesting story about elves and their travels.

She was so invested in the story she didn’t realize she was yawning and dozing off - picturing in her mind, adventures with the elves.  Elrond chuckled and quietly closed the book after finishing another chapter, setting it down on her bedside table.

“Nooo, I don’t want to sleep yet.”  She tiredly yawned, rubbing her eyes a bit.

“It’s alright, winimo, I’ll remain beside you a while longer.  You’re safe and not missing out on anything.  When you awaken, you’ll find the world ready for you once more.”  He promised as he brushed her fringe out of her face so it wouldn’t irritate her as she slept.  She sighed softly.

“Okay, ada...gi melin.”  ((I love you))  She muttered, already fast asleep.

“Ollo vae, winimo.”  ((sweet dreams))  He whispered.  He kissed her forehead and remained by her side for a little while before noting she was alright.  He then quietly walked to his favourite spot to study the stars where Gandalf was already waiting.  Why Gandalf was suddenly so interested in the stars was beyond him, but Elrond could never say ‘no’ to sharing such an interesting subject with a good friend.

The stars were Elrond’s favourite thing to gaze upon and study.  He knew almost all the moons and their phases, the stars and constellations and their names, how to identify shooting stars and other astrological anomalies.  He was happy Mithrandir came to him with questions.  He happily answered and explained everything he could until Gandalf retired for the night.

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (6)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: I hope you all have found ways to cope after the breakup, but here all your questions will be answered on what went down pre-August! Special shoutout to @just-fics-station @thepurplecrown @clarkysblog @hotdismylife and @sprinklesprinkle888 for sharing your ideas and indulging me with the lovely, crazy discourse!

To everyone, I am so chuffed at how this has become OUR story - our lil self-indulgent Ewan Nation production. You all are aces <3

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

In the aftermath of the breakup, the reader and Ewan throw themselves into their work, trying (and failing) to avoid any trace of the other. Will they remain this way - former lovers doomed to drift in each other's orbit?

Some time before August

New York City

The lush office was laden with expensive wooden antiques, one side with built-in shelves displaying film awards and plaques of varying degrees of prestige. A full glass minibar occupied the other side.

The casting director introduced himself as Bruce, insisting that Ewan call him by his first name and not any of that "sir or similar stick-up-the-ass names". Ewan can see him as a mentor or maybe even a friend, Bruce insisted.

After all, they were going to help each other out a lot.

The discussion was straightforward enough, never mind the saccharine tone Bruce seemed to be so good at. Aimed at making Ewan feel welcome, coddling him, remarking with awe at his projects thus far. But there was a fakeness to it. Ewan steeled himself, trying to adapt to the style of conversation. After all, if he is in this for the long haul, then he would have to get used to these situations.

Bruce appraised him, leaning back on his leather swivel chair. "How are you with the fantasy genre? All that YA, lovesick stuff the kids eat up so eagerly nowadays? Personally, I haven't got the taste for it, but it always makes bank, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, well, I'm a fan of all movies. I definitely see why the fantasy genre has made such an impact on audiences, especially with the romance element, you know, I get the appeal."

"Well, son, we've got a solid franchise in our hands here. Some adaptation of an elf-human love story, mind you, it sound ridiculous, but you know how it is. And the team seems to be in agreement - you fit the bill for the male lead. The male elf lead - " he almost guffawed at the thought, then collected himself " - hope you don't mind my saying that you've got elvish features yourself. Long nose, long jaw, lanky. The teens are going to eat you up."

"Ah," Ewan smiled curtly, nodding. There was a backhanded compliment if he ever heard one. "Well, sir, I've read the script - at least, the bit that was sent to me - and it looks quite promising. I'd be honoured to - "

"Of course, of course!" Bruce exclaimed in pleasure, cutting Ewan off mid-sentence. "And there's the case of your leading lady, and this all boils down to chemistry as you know. Our top contender is that Jenna Ortega girl from the Netflix show, you know her?"

Ewan nodded, well aware. He's seen her work, and thinks that she is a top actress of her generation, but leave it to Bruce to reduce her to being that girl from the Netflix show.

"Yes, she's a very talented actress," Ewan replied.

Bruce hums in agreement, head bobbing as a smirk materialises on his face. "Think she's a looker?" he said openly, without shame.

Ewan laughed nervously, his words caught in his throat.

Bruce, characteriscally oblivious to the discomfort of others, carried on. "I only ask because we're going to need you two to be pretty chummy with each other when you jump on this project. It's kind of a condition of the whole thing, but really nothing to concern yourself with." He waved a hand in the air, his proposition barely carrying any weight in his mind. But Ewan was catching on, and he started to develop a dislike about the whole deal.

"What do you mean?" Ewan asked.

"It's pretty common in this business, son. There's a reason why young, new actors like yourself opt to remain unattached so to speak, so they're always open to a PR arrangement or, you know, just so their - your - hoards of fans would think they got a chance with you," Bruce explains lazily. "In this case, since you and Ortega are, as I said, unattached, getting you two together would fuckin' do wonders for our movie."

Our movie, he said, convinced that Ewan was all in, because why would any young actor refuse such a golden opportunity? Franchises like this can set up an entire mainstream Hollywood career.

Ewan thought that he wasn't unattached. Granted, his date with you was yet to happen, but he already felt bound to you. He wished you were the one tapped to be his love interest. Very little acting would be needed there. Maybe he might even be inclined to go along with the idea of selling the relationship, using it for publicity for the film, but even that made him uneasy.

The industry offered a lot of privileges, but more often than not, they come at a cost.

"Sir, I - "

"Bruce."

"Right, sorry. Bruce, I have to tell you that I'm not exactly unattached."

"Got a partner?"

Ewan actually found himself smiling at the thought of you being called his partner. His first easy smile since entering this office. "Yes, she's an actress herself," he agreed.

"I heard of her?" Bruce asked with obvious disinterest. You were but a wedge in his flawless plan.

"She's kind of a new talent like me, but she's brilliant. She plays Alyna Rivers in our show."

"Ah her," Bruce loosened up a little. "I get it, she's a piece."

Ewan cleared his throat loudly, his jaw clenching on instinct. "So, like I said, I'm with her. I'm sorry but this whole PR arrangement with Jenna wouldn't work."

"Look, kid, I want my movie to do well, alright? I got a lot invested here. This PR thing has proven to be highly bankable time and time again. If you don't trust me, I can ask the team to show you the data on all that. It's a lot of boring numbers, but shit, the numbers are never wrong."

"I don't need to see - "

"If you wanna be with your girl, you can, but you just gotta learn to hide it. Sweep it under the rug, you know. Don't canoodle in public, you crazy kids," Bruce offered, like that made things any better.

"You want me to hide my relationship?"

"Hey, now, come on. Word gets around. Isn't your girl also doing this exact same thing with Jacob Elordi?"

"Not anymore, I don't think," Ewan clarifies, "and that was... that was hardly anything. They weren't obligated to do it. It just worked by chance because they were both single for a time."

"Po-ta-to, po-tah-to." Bruce clicked his tongue before making his next point. "So you see how it works, your thing with Ortega won't be any different."

"Do I have a choice?" There it is, the defining factor.

Bruce smiled slowly. The calculating and menacing air about him intensified, and it was obvious he was not there to be Ewan's friend.

"It would be stupid to refuse something like this, kid."

Ewan's blue eyes flashed in return. None of this was ideal, but his nan raised him well, and he knew better than to falter on his values in times of trial.

"Sir, what's stupid is if you ask me to hide my real relationship for the sake of mere publicity for a film."

"Stupid you say?" Bruce sneered, having already discarded Ewan in his mind, his fragile ego bruised. "What a shame."

There wasn't much to say after that. Bruce was clearly not disinclined to reveal the ice that settled in his veins, and it dawned on Ewan that it had always been the case. There was no true hospitality here.

For bigwig casting director-slash-execs like Bruce, this was a transaction. And Ewan was not about to put what he has, or what he could have, with you on the line.

There has to be another way to advance his career. If not bigger productions, then at least those with less domineering producers.

"That is a shame," Ewan said, getting up from his seat. "I won't waste any more of your time, sir. Thank you for considering me."

Bruce's eyes darkened even further. "You're actually refusing me? For some girl?"

Another genuine smile formed on Ewan's face at the thought of you. Some girl.

But you're not just some girl. He nodded without a trace of doubt in his mind, before reaching out to shake Bruce's hand. "If you don't mind, sir... I have to go and see my darling."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Near the end of August

Los Angeles

The modern space sported a minimalist yet rustic feel, the interiors a blend of sterile white and sleek wooden surfaces. Very LA, as they say. The windowed walls offered plenty of light, as well as precious views of the valley below.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Donna," you greeted Ewan's publicist as she ushered you in her LA office.

"No problem at all, sweetheart," she said. "Please, have a seat. Would you like some coffee or tea? Ewan always has his coffee with way, way too much sugar. Mind you, if that kid wasn't active and boxing all the time, I'd be worried for his health."

You smiled fondly at her genuine concern. "Don't even mention the cigarettes."

"Oh, yeah," she scoffed, settling down on the chair across from you. She could have sat down at her desk, making the meeting more official, but Donna's always had a friendly and open way about her. "So, my sweet, how's your new movie coming up?"

You respond eagerly. The dialogue flowed freely, talking about your film and the lukewarm reception of season 2 of House of The Dragon. And finally, Ewan.

"I really thought he would get the Greta Gerwig film," you said. "Everyone said he was perfect for it. I think Greta herself had nothing but praises for him when they met on Zoom."

She sighed thoughtfully, "I thought so too. And, theoretically, he did have that one almost booked up. But there was an issue with one of the producers, which - I don't even want to get into that."

You shook your head, catching on whom she hinted at. "Donna, I heard... well, it didn't go too well in New York, didn't it? Ewan told me about it but... if you can tell me more, I just want to understand why - "

"Sweetheart," she offered a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes, "you should talk about this with Ewan."

"I tried. But he wouldn't budge. Mallory told me... that it might have been because of me that he didn't get the role? And also why he's struggling to get roles now? Donna, I... I can't have that."

It took some time for her to formulate a response. She didn't want to step in something that's none of her business. Your relationship with Ewan is yours. But when his career is on the line, she supposed that she needed to have some say in that.

"He met with this top producer in New York. This real old money Hollywood guy. For decades, he's built careers for the greats, you know - Pitt, DiCaprio, Theron, and whatnot. There was a franchise project practically offered to him on a plate, but Ewan refused, because a non-negotiable was that he would have to hide you in favour of a PR arrangement with his leading lady."

You swallowed, the weight of the truth making itself clear. "Couldn't he have just done the movie without that?"

"You would think," she grimaced, "but some producers... when they want something, they have to get it. And well, Bruce wasn't lying, that would have sold the movie well."

"I thought we were past this," you expressed sadly. "I understand how PR relationships work. Just recently, I found myself kind of in the middle of one. But there was no pressure, it wasn't forced on us, and it was meant to be all in good fun."

"I know, sweetheart," she insisted, reaching out to squeeze your hand. "Bruce is an outlier now. Most of the time you do get lucky, with an all-around supportive production team, just like with your project with Elordi."

You hummed in agreement on that positive note, but your mind kept drifting back to Ewan.

Donna continued, wrapping up her story, "but Bruce is still here, and he still has a lot of power. But you know, it'll be fine. Ewan's got such a huge fanbase and so much talent that it'll only be a matter of time before something else knocks on his door."

You wanted to share her sense of optimism, but something ate at you. What else will Ewan have to sacrifice just to be with you? This was his dream, his one dream, and you were standing in the way. How much longer before he is offered another project but he refuses to take it for your sake? Your thoughts blurred together, bordering on irrational, but you couldn't help it.

All you could picture was the unabashed sincerity on his face, that sense of wonder, when he told you that acting had always been his dream.

Being tied down to you, this early in his career, would surely only hurt him. And you don't think you're worth it.

"Ewan loves you, sweetheart. Anyone with eyes can see that," Donna said after a while, heeding the storm brewing in your expression.

He loves you. It was true.

Less than a month in, and you've already found yourself with a love that you've never felt before. And perhaps never will again.

And that was the problem.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Late September

The podcast moderators are overly welcoming, if not a little loud for Ewan's taste.

The BBC podcast is called Loose Ends, and it's one of the first things Ewan agreed to take on upon returning to England.

He had wanted to head straight home to Derby, to bury himself in his heartache and bitterness, but the team for the show tapped him for a couple more promotional stints, riding on the high of the season finale. And who better than Ewan to offer to the media, the undeniable fan favourite.

Clad in an old gray shirt and blue jeans, people would think he just rolled right out of bed. He didn't really have the motivation to put in more effort. The only striking thing about him is his newly bleached head of hair, supervised by his stylist for a photoshoot a few days ago.

It was ironic, the timing of such a change. Ewan knew that if word got out that you dumped him, he would never hear the end of the joke of that being the reason for his hairstyle change, typical of all heartbroken sods.

Everyone bursts into laughter when he tells them about his mum's reaction to his nude scene. It feels like going through the motions, and he must have been so out of it, so forlorn, that his team prepared an outline for him prior to the interview. The questions and answers all pre-agreed.

Make them laugh. React as required. Remember to speak when spoken to. The mantra goes on in his head.

And don't think about her.

An impossible task, worsened when a moderator goes off script and asks, "Now it wasn't me who saw this, as I'm not on social media myself, but one of our interns did mention that you ventured into Instagram recently? Is that true?"

Oh fuck.

"Mmm, yeah, I guess," Ewan laughs nervously, his hand massaging the back of his neck in a self-soothing motion.

"And your first post went viral? What can you tell us about that? Our listeners would love to know."

"Uhhhm - " He remembers that the broadcast is live, and he can't exactly ask them to edit this part out, so he quickly settles for something indirect. Inconclusive. Safe. " - did it go viral? I'm not too sure how that thing works. I haven't used any kind of social media before."

"Apparently it did! And it had to do with the subject featured in that photo, Ewan. Your costar - "

"Mmm," Ewan stops him there, "didn't you say that you don't use Instagram?"

"No, I think I'm too old!" The moderator laughs.

"It's insane, that whole thing," Ewan shakes his head. "I don't know how to handle it. I'm logged off most of the time."

"Oh, you log off?"

"Yeah, yeah, helps me keep my focus, you know. Keep calm and all that."

"It can get frivolous, can't it?"

Ewan hums in agreement, and thankfully, the moderator moves on to his last question. One that does not breach the subject of you.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Another day means yet another media stint for Ewan, this time for Now TV.

Still in London, his stylist Davey and the rest of the team prepare him for a day of brief interview clips, to be posted on the social media pages of the company.

Davey had half-joked about Ewan needing even more concealer than usual, the shadows under his eyes having significantly deepened after the breakup.

Some of his team have gotten wind of what happened. They would curiously ask about you, how often Ewan keeps in touch with you while you're on set...

You must be on FaceTime everyday!

Is it hard to be doing long-distance so soon?

Do you miss her? Is that why you're not getting any rest?

...but Ewan would only laugh uncomfortably, dismiss it by bringing up another topic or shifting the attention to someone else, or excuse himself to go for a smoke.

He'd been drowning himself in cigarettes and caffeine during the day, pint after pint in the nighttime. Aimless.

He is coping. He knows how it must look, but he deserves this. He deserves to drift for a while. It's the only thing he can do to keep himself from jumping on the next flight to Atlanta and begging for your hand back.

You said you love him. You did. He hangs on to it like a beacon in a storm. No matter how pointless it may seem, with you choosing someone else over him.

Work is becoming something of an anchor, something that keeps him from spiralling. He's an actor, and he has always wanted to be an actor. People now have expectations of him, and he will answer the call.

The interview session begins with generic questioning, stuff he's answered before on several occasions.

How special is the bond between dragon and rider?

What is a funny moment from set that you can share?

How similar are Aemond and Daemon?

All safe. He's proud of himself for not breaking mental clarity thus far. You're in the back of his mind, dormant as a memory, and not something looming darkly over him. For a while, at least.

But then he is asked, If you could invite any 5 people to a Ewan Mitchell dinner party, who would you pick?

"Matthew McConaughey - "

You.

" - Bruce Lee. I think they could strike up an interesting conversation - "

Your name echoes in his mind, and he can't control it.

" - Andrea Riseborough. She's just a chameleon, like in any role she undertakes -

You have great taste. Even if you would make him eat spicy food again, he'll take it. He'll endure anything for you.

He's stumped for a second, lump in his throat, and his effort in avoiding you leads him to mention someone who will always be a comfort to him.

" - Maybe my nan, because I miss her -

Your name. He has to say your name. Who else? Think of someone else.. but who else? Who would be better?

" - and then, another person. Let's make it from the show... it would be Alyna Rivers."

"Oh really?" The interviewer asks. She's not really meant to respond in this instance, but she knows that the fans would go crazy about any mention of you or your character, so why not jump on this opportunity? "Can you tell us why you chose her?"

"Uhhm, well, she's just an amazing character, you know, fiercely loyal, beautiful, tenacious," Ewan replies easily, "so yeah, she would make for good company."

It is obvious that he is describing you just as much as he does Alyna Rivers, and no doubt, the fans will catch on to this detail.

Later, he's asked about his favourite part about season two, and he duly answers, "Seeing more of Aemond and Vhagar's bond and how that perhaps have gotten stronger. Aemond has definitely reined her in, after the accident at Storm's End."

Then, "There are some new additions to the show. Do you have a particular favourite?"

Another obvious piece of bait. And he takes it, he doesn't care anymore. What's the use of denying the truth?

"A favourite new character? Oh, well, uhmm... I really do like Alyna, and I think I've said before that Aemond and her are quite similar in a sense that they both know what they want and how to achieve it. It's just a shame they're on opposing sides, because if those two get together... " he trails off, leaving it up to the audiences to fill in the rest of the thought.

And they eagerly do. The clips where Ewan mentions Alyna get the most traction, flooded with comments that more or less talk of the same thing -

We know why you chose Alyna, Ewan. We know your ways.

He could have said Alys. Or Gwayne. Or even the ghost of Daeron ffs. But nooooo.... it's Alyna Alyna Alyna 😮‍💨

I wonder if she's there behind the scenes

yeah shes definitely lurking in the background!

Aemond and Alyna better have at least a scene together in season 3!!!!!

Someone kidnap Ryan Condal and make him write this

Ewan doesn't see any of it. Not that he's missing out, because he soon feels the need to call his younger cousin to ask her how to turn off his notifications on Instagram.

Day in and day out, his one single post gets dozens of new comments and likes, a brutal reminder of what he's lost. He could just delete it, and get rid of his profile entirely, but he hates to imagine the discourse that would follow.

All the invasive allegations and rumours. So he leaves it be. It makes no difference to him now. Let people believe what they want.

To his chagrin, he finds himself scrolling on his home page once in a while. The addictive element to it was true, and for him, it's exacerbated because the things he sees are often related to you.

Photos of you from fanpages and news accounts. Ones where your friends have tagged you. It's a toxic habit, looking through it all, but he can't help himself.

Then one day, as he's slouched on the seat in his London apartment, phone propped on his knees, he sees a cutout photo of his face on the corner of the screen. He clicks on it, and it's an image of him interposed among different posts. Posts which he apparently liked.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he cusses at himself, reading the caption.

Boyfriend lurking? - Ewan Mitchell may play a formidable TV villain, but in real life, he's just like us. Click on the link in bio to see his series of liked posts!

Dread takes root in him, followed by self-loathing. Why couldn't he just keep off this bloody thing? He takes to the comments to see what he has allegedly liked on accident and it's predictably photos of you - you at a premiere, stills of you as Alyna, and even, heavens fucking forbid, a behind the scenes shot of you getting pretty close with Jacob Elordi on the set of your film.

He vividly remembers seeing that last one, because he went on a bender after coming across it.

Cursing himself and his wayward, sticky fingers, he exits the app and deletes it from his phone.

Whatever goes on there, whatever people might leave on his profile, he washes his hands of it.

He calls up several of his mates, asking them if they want to come over for a few drinks.

"Again, Ewan?" one of them exclaims. "C'mon, you gotta take a breather, mate."

"I don't need a breather." I need her.

"Ewan - "

His composure breaks, all his damned frustrations rising to the surface, and he confesses, "I wonder if she thinks about me."

"Hang in there, mate. We're coming over."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

October

The director finally yells a satisfied, "Cut!"

It's only taken a good twenty-something takes for you and Jacob to nail a challenging scene. You had been on a roll since the beginning of the shoot, the last few weeks seemingly a breeze on paper, though it's a constant struggle to keep it together.

You've had to quell your internal dialogue so it does not stray to him. His smile. The feel of his skin against yours. His way of subtly picking up on details, and doing sweet things that surprise you as a result.

But you received word just before the scene that a few of your friends have come to visit, waiting back at your trailer - Phia, Fabien and his girlfriend, Bella.

And so, as if on instinct, Ewan is all you can focus on, every repressed memory of him rushing in like a tidal wave.

Do they know? What could you possibly say to justify what you did? You can only hope he took on that project, to give you a bitter sense of vindication.

It's the only thing that keeps it all the bay, the only thing that keeps you from jumping on the next flight to England and grovelling at his door.

Phia has her arms wrapped around you the moment you open the door to your trailer, loudly squealing, "I missed you!"

You sink into the hug, comforted by her presence.

As well as the fact that she represents some connection to Ewan.

Phia, Helaena. Helaena, Aemond. Aemond, Ewan.

It's a sick game to play, but it's what you have.

"Hey, yous," you hug Fabien and Bella in turn. Not long after, you're all lounging on director's chairs right outside your trailer, enjoying a bit of sun.

"How's our big Hollywood star?" Phia quips, her lips curling in her trademark pleasant upturn.

"Hardly a star," you shake your head fondly. "More of an indie darling."

"Of course, of course," she relents, before going on a monologue about how she's been keeping tabs on your project, how she just adores the costume designer whom she spoke to at length while you were working, and how the rest of the cast is rooting for you.

The rest of the cast.

"Ah, are they?" you ask, making a conscious effort to not simply blurt out his name. What does he think? Has he mentioned you at all?

Do they know?

Do they secretly hate you for what you did?

"Mhmm, right Fabs?" she says.

"Oh, definitely." Fabien agrees right away.

"How's your film? Are you done shooting in Philly?" you ask him.

"Just about done, but I think we're doing some final reshoots next week. I'm just glad my girl's here to visit," he slings an arm around Bella, who smiles and leans closer to him.

You smile at the sight, but it visibly falters. Ewan could be visiting you on set right now, just like Bella with Fabien, if you hadn't fucked it all up.

They notice.

"Love," Phia sighs, her tone softening. "I just want you know - we want you know - we're here for you, okay? No matter what you went through with... " A pause. Like saying his name would open up the floodgates.

Your gaze falls to your lap in shame. You pick on invisible lint on your trousers. Bite your lip. Breathe deeply.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

"So you guys know, huh?"

"Well, more or less," Phia says. "I just spoke with... Ewan... recently. He's back in Derby for the time being, and he's - "

"He's a bit rough," Fabien says firmly. He's not taking sides here, but he's heard from Ewan, and he feels the need to have his mate's back. "Look, I don't want to pry, but what happened? It seemed like you guys were doing so well together!"

"You don't have to tell us," Phia adds, shooting Fabien a look. "But if you want to, we're here to listen. We love you both and we just want to help, love."

You feel your eyes welling up. Leave it to Phia to be oh so sweet. You can't lie to them, you don't want to. Even if you did, they would see right through it.

Your friends know you too well.

"I... I miss him."

Phia squeezes your hand, and the whole story is about to spill out of you when you hear your name being called.

It's your assistant Clara, letting you know you're needed back on set.

You swallow back tears, standing on your feet, trying to maintain enough composure so you can grant yourself access back to your character.

"Go do your thing, superstar," Phia smiles comfortingly. "We'll be here when you're ready."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

November

"I'd like to propose a toast," Tom declares out loud in the empty pub, "to Ewan, Hollywood's new elf... Lord? Prince? Ah sod it, cheers!"

Round the table, Ewan, Fabien, Luke and Elliott all raise their pints with a collective, "Hear, hear!"

The pub has been cleared out for the lads, thanks to a favour called in by the twins, with the owner being their gym buddy and good friend.

"Thank you," Ewan replies, smirking. "I am your new elf prince, address me as such."

"Your ears have never been pointier, mate," Luke quips.

After a month of moping back home in Derby, or recovering as Ewan prefers to put it, he got a call from his manager telling him that the offer from Bruce still stands.

Apparently, the production team for the movie still had him tapped as the prime choice for the lead. After observing his audience metrics and overall viability, they decided that the movie would fare the best with him in it.

They had planted some half-baked announcements in the media, stating that it was Ewan against Joseph Quinn and Manny Jacinto for the role, and the fan reaction veered in Ewan's favour by a landslide.

Even though Bruce had an unsavoury word or two to say about him, he was willing to work past it, so long as Ewan would be more amenable to his demands.

After careful deliberation, Ewan chose to throw caution to the wind, and accept the role. So what if he has to pretend to have a real-life romance with Jenna? This is what you wanted.

"I'm glad you finally came out to see us, mate," Fabien says. "It's been a while."

"Yeah, fuck's sake. Remind us never to break your heart! That was tough to witness, you hunkerin' down out there all mopey and whatnot," Elliott laughs.

"Mmm." Ewan takes a swig of his beer to hide the wince he couldn't hold back. His friends, and most of the cast know by now, not in too much detail, of what went down between the two of you.

A typical short-lived romance of two actors. A summer fling. Most of them would look back and only see it as that.

Even though it was so much more. Even though Ewan still recalls how warm and soft and beautiful you felt as you whimpered underneath him, the loss of you as painful as getting hit by a freight train.

The liquor helps. Burying himself in work helps. Denial... well, that certainly helps the most.

When he goes out to the back garden for a smoke break with Fabien, he tricks himself into believing it's mere curiosity that compels him to say, "Phia mentioned that you guys went to Atlanta."

Fabien is rendered off guard, because he knows what's coming. "Yeah, we did. Bella came with us too. She was visiting me on set," he says, measuredly.

"Mmm." A long drag, a flick of ash towards the ground, an unaffected shrug - and eventually, with as impassive of a tone as he can muster, Ewan asks, "So how is she?"

Fabien smiles knowingly. "She's doing great. Her film's looking pretty good." He's privy to the truth, after he and Phia managed to gently coax it out of you over several martinis at a hotel bar in Atlanta. But he doesn't think it up to him to reveal that to Ewan, out of respect for your privacy.

While he might not share your sentiment, he thinks it's not in his place to tell Ewan that you basically lied for his sake.

But that doesn't mean he won't drop a helpful nugget or two.

"You know, I don't exactly know what's going on... but her and Jacob came across as nothing more than friends."

Ewan's hand freezes mid-air, the cigarette inches from his lips. He loathes the sense of hope that immediately bloomed in his chest. He's so bloody easy. One miniscule hint, and his delusions break through the wall of indifference he worked so hard to build.

"She said she has feelings for him," Ewan stresses, trying to convince himself. What was the fucking point of all this... this pain... if you never did?

"Hey, mate, I dunno," Fabien puts his hands up, "just telling you what I saw."

"It doesn't matter." It does. "She ended it." He wants you back, he will always want you back. "It's better this way."

"Is it?"

Ewan doesn't answer. He doesn't know how to, without grossly embellishing the truth.

Fabien watches his friend, sensing his hesitation as he averts his gaze. One thing becomes clear to him - you and Ewan are far from being over.

So he says, "She misses you, you know."

Ewan regards him with a stony look, one that slowly softens to reveal the broken boy inside. For but a moment, before he clears his throat and throws the butt of his cigarette on the ground.

"Let's head back inside."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

December

You're back in London, as production for your film is paused for the upcoming holiday season.

Work is supposed to be the last thing on your mind, but it just so happens that your manager has you booked for a chemistry read for a yet undisclosed film.

Phia came over to your apartment, insisting that she help you get ready. When you asked how she found out about your audition, she was quick to say that she was up for the role as well but didn't think it was right for her.

"Why not?" you ask, as she hovers over you, patting blush on the apples of your cheeks.

"Oh, you just get a feel for these things."

"Phi, it's just a chemistry read," you say, when she reaches for the mascara. "I don't need to get all dolled up for this."

She gasps, "Oh, but this is showbiz, darling. We always have to put a face on."

"Fine," you relent. "Do your worst."

The makeup she ends up doing on you is minimal, but it enhances your features just the right amount. You rush through your final preparations, folding up the script sample you were given and stuffing it in your purse.

Phia stands out on your balcony, in the middle of a call. The window screen is slightly open, so you hear snippets of the conversation as you walk by.

"Is he ready?" she asks. Who's he? You assume it's the guy you are doing the read with.

You don't know about him, but you are ready, so you stick your head out to say, "I gotta go, Phi."

"Oh!" She startles a little, angling her phone away. "Already?"

"Yeah, the read's at 4, I believe. Just lock the door when you leave, 'kay?"

She hurriedly whispers something to her phone, presumably ending her call. "I'll actually head out with you," she grins. "My work here is done anyway."

"Any plans for the night?"

She shrugs, "Might meet with Tom and Martha."

"Oh, why don't I meet you guys after my thing?"

"Uhhhm," she chews on her lip, thinking. Under her breath, you barely hear her mumble, "... hoping you'd be busy."

"What?" A restrained chuckle escapes you, confused as to why she's being so coy.

"Nothing," she tilts her head. "We can meet if you'd like."

The weird exchange is out of your mind when you arrive at the casting agency. You run the scene through in your head as you walk in the building, up the elevator, down the long hallway.

It's a heartfelt scene, if not a little tense, a dialogue between reunited ex-lovers.

Your manager Polina and publicist Mallory greet you at the doors, swiftly briefing you before directing you in.

"They're waiting, just walk right in, doll," Polina says.

"Okay, wish me luck!" You have your hand on the door handle when Mallory strangely remarks, "Don't hate us, sweetheart!"

"Why would I - "

"Go, go," Polina guides you in, then shuts the door behind you.

The office sports an spacious and open layout, with plenty of natural light streaming through large windows. The primary workstation is partially hidden behind a subtle partition. You see silhouettes of a few people behind it, so you walk down that way.

The figures reveal themselves soon enough - the casting agents you recognise as Patrick and Amie, sitting in front of the actor you're meant to read with.

A range of emotion washes over you, but you don't even have time to reckon with them. The casting agents divert your attention from Ewan, as they approach you with wide smiles in greeting.

"So nice to finally meet you!" Amie croons. "Take a seat. You two already know each other, of course. Between us, there won't really be a question of chemistry here."

"Right?" Patrick adds, looking between you and Ewan. "The fans sure think so, and we have to say we already agree."

"So just give us a minute to set up," Amie says. "Then we'll start."

You smile stiffly, settling down on the opposite end of the couch. You keep your gaze straight, trying to keep your attention on Patrick as he sets up the camera. Your heartbeat races the entire time, and you feel your hands getting clammy.

"They're all in on it," you hear Ewan say, prompting you to finally look at him directly. You take him in hungrily, admiring his outline, ever so handsome with his Targaryen-blonde hair and black leather jacket.

A weak "Mmm?" is all you can muster.

"Our teams, Tom, Phia... they set us up. Tom came over and I overheard him on the phone with Phia."

"Oh," you mumble. He doesn't even spare you a glance, leaning on the armrest on his side of the couch. He looks as if he'd rather be anywhere but here, next to you, and it hurts.

It's what you deserve.

"Is this not a real chemistry read?" you ask meekly.

"I suppose it is," he laughs humourlessly, "but it's not a coincidence that you and I just happen to be the only ones scheduled for today." He turns to you, giving you a critical sideways glance. "Didn't see that coming, did you?"

"I... I can leave if you want - "

"Mmm," his brows furrow, "you do seem to be good at that."

You look away. He is not being fair, but you weren't neither, that wretched night back in September.

And he is making you pay for it now.

But then you hear him speak in a softer tone, "Stay."

Stay. When you look at him once more, his attention is entirely on you, arm outstretched on the couch like he just tried to reach for you but decided against it.

Stay, he asked. So you do.

It's what you should have done, months ago.

"Okay, guys. Whenever you're ready," Amie says. She and Patrick take their seats in front of you, with the camera on a stand between them.

The script crinkles on your lap as you hold it with shaky fingers. "It's been a while," you read out your opening line.

The dialogue plays out twisted and ironic, now that you know who your scene partner is.

"Hardly," Ewan responds in character. "I feel like no time as passed."

"Feels like a lifetime."

He pauses, then sighs, "Do you even miss me?"

"How... how can you even ask me that?"

"How can I - "

"Why didn't you... why didn't you fight for me?" your voice breaks, the lines hitting a bit too close to home.

"You're a fucking hypocrite," he spits with venom. "You weren't exactly giving me anything to fight for."

"I did it for us. I did it all for us." If you didn't feel like crying at the weight of the scene, you would have rolled your eyes at the similarities.

"Like I said - nothing to fight for."

"Nothing? So you're telling me I was nothing to you."

"No," he levels you with an icy look, "you were everything to me. Everything. But you left me behind, and for what? So you can run off with the rebel sect?"

"The mission needed me. You wouldn't understand." You feel a sense of relief when the sci-fi elements roll in, otherwise you might have given in to your emotions and sobbed right there on the damn couch.

"I needed you," Ewan says, eyes not leaving yours. "I needed you and you abandoned me, just like that."

"And are you not better for it? When I left, did they not make you General?"

"See, that is the difference between you and I," he says coldly. "I wouldn't have traded what we had for anything - no position, no amount of wealth, no glory... I would have chosen us every time."

"Aaand cut!" Patrick jokes, effectively breaking the tension.

The two of you have unconsciously drifted closer, now only a foot part. Ewan does not drop your gaze, watching you closely. You see his eyes flit down to your parted lips, and he leans in almost imperceptibly.

"Alright, how about we go one more time?" Amie says, diverting your attention. "Give us a different take, and then that's it!"

Ewan settles back on his end of the couch. When he reads his lines again, his tone is harsher and he no longer meets your eyes.

Patrick and Amie commend you both afterward, singing praises about your acting abilities. Ewan is polite as always, blushing and grateful, but he practically dashes out of the door when the meeting finishes.

You're left standing with Amie, as Patrick has taken to his laptop to file the footage.

"The way he looks at you," she sighs dreamily, referring to Ewan. "You'd think the sun shone out your arse, doll."

"He... he was just in character," you disagree. "He's a good actor, as you know."

"Yeah, I mean, he nailed the part's rancour perfectly. But his eyes - oof - you've got a good one there."

Oh. Of course they would still assume you and him are together.

How desperately you want it to be true.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

An hour later, you've just sent Phia a text saying - You owe me. Where do I meet you guys?

But you hear a knock on your apartment door. If you didn't buzz anyone in, it can only be a neighbour or someone the doorman recognised.

Someone familiar to you.

And it's him.

"Ewan?"

"I need to speak with you."

You step aside so he doesn't linger at your doorway. He walks past you, a welcome if not unexpected presence in the room.

You can't decipher his expression, his gaze angled downward as he leans against your kitchen counter.

When the silence becomes almost deafening, you laugh awkwardly, about to make some silly remark on whether he is still in character. But he doesn't let you diffuse the tension.

"I want you," he blurts out without warning. "God help me, I still want you. I think I might have a fucking problem because how can I... after what you did - " A momentary glance of betrayal, but you see the spite clear in his eyes. " - but I do. I can't get you out of my system."

"I'm sorry - "

"I don't need that," he says sharply. "I don't need your sorry. I need you. I need to have you, and maybe this way, I'll satisfy whatever pointless desire I still have in me."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying - I'm asking - will you let me have you?"

"Ewan, I don't under - "

"I'm saying that we should sleep together," he says bluntly, and it feels like the rug has been pulled from under your feet, "but only just. You won't be mine, and I won't be yours."

"You're kidding."

He shakes his head, before adding, "Don't worry. It'll be our little secret. To the rest of the world, I'll have a different girlfriend anyway."

His words register, along with the bitter ache at his words, that you won't be his, he won't be yours. This is purely for pleasure. There used to be love here, and now he just craves the comfort your body allows.

You'll be using each other.

You should refuse. This is not healthy; this is not how you move on. Can you even go back to being good friends after this? But also - what have you got to lose?

What, except for him, and for good this time?

What, except everything?

"So what do you say - " He closes in on you, and with every bit of malice intended, the name no longer possessing the sweetness it once held, he sneers, "- darling?"

💌 next chapter

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @livcookesgf @onlyrealjoy (continued ... )

Some notes in the margins...

Well well well... the transition from friends to lovers to strangers to angsty FWBs sure is a slippery slope!

The time jumps are so we get through the moping quicker! It's mostly back to the regular shenanigans in the next part. Only, you know, angst-ridden. But you hurt Ewan, reader. *wags finger* Don't say you didn't expect this switch! Tsktsk

So what now - will you accept this arrangement? Will things ever be truly okay? Part 7 is going to be hot and hilarious and stupid and messy, just as the doctor ordered.

Let's hash it out in the comments, shall we? 🗡💕

[burr-ell]

I was reminded today of the work Laura did with Vex from roughly episodes 59-72 of C1 and just how much was going on in the background to get from beat to beat, and it really is a showcase of her work at its strongest.

We start with the Feywild conversation in 1x59, where she's fretting so much about going to Syngorn and facing her father again that she's truly vulnerable to someone who isn't her brother for the first time; she is then immediately validated and supported when Percy not only reassures her personally of her worth, but declares it to her father's face and by extension to all of Syngorn. Following that, she's still flirtatious, but she's now more tenderly affectionate and playful with Percy, teasing him about being grumpy in the mornings and having a shooting competition mid-battle. She has a conversation with Vax in 1x63 where he insists that the title was nice but she didn't need it to be worthy, and then immediately following the break, Laura actively has Vex seek out Percy to talk about the title and how much she appreciates it.

Following the battle with Saundor, Laura repeatedly mentions that when Vex goes to sleep, she keeps holding Fenthras and hearing Saundor's words—unwanted daughter, unproven ally, selfish and cruel—over and over in her mind. She takes some extra time with the card-reader in Ank'harel in 1x65 to ask about whether she made the right choice to reject Saundor. After the emotional turmoil of Percy's death and her confession at his resurrection, they still have a "really third-grade" moment in the library in 1x70 where even when the entire rest of the party knows, she can't say it to Percy himself. Instead, in 1x71, she fusses endlessly over making sure Percy's sniper nest is secured before the Vorugal fight.

And then after all of that, we get the culmination of that work: the conversation she has with Percy in 1x72 about forgiveness. She reveals how inspired she was by his choice to forgive his worst enemy, and how she connected it to Saundor being so lost in his betrayal and grudge that he became a corrupted shade of himself. And then she brings it to the Elvish language, how Fenthras in part means growth, how not only do you have to forgive other people to grow you have to forgive yourself, and she reveals that she carved the Elvish word for forgive directly onto Saundor's old bow. It's an incredibly beautiful and romantic conversation, yes, but it's also a major moment of personal triumph for Vex, taking this Vestige that effectively represented bitterness and resentment and not only restoring its original meaning, but adding to it, making it hers, and on top of it all letting go of trauma and abuse at the hands of an elven city. It's stellar character work, mostly in these small details that add up over time, and they culminate in this absolutely incredible moment that just feels so earned.

[eebeewrites]

DILF Mafia! Elf BF x Nanny! Chubby Reader

Synopsis: After getting unexpectedly fired from your previous nanny job, you take the first job offer you can find; even if it seems a bit shady. It's really not too bad; you're living in the most gorgeous house you've ever seen, your paycheck is more than you could ever imagine, their father is kind, and even if their mother is out of the picture, the kids are sweet. However, you quickly learn what kind of occupation pays for such a nice house, and your handsome salary.

Tags: 18+, modern fantasy, mafia au, sub reader, dom love interest, fem chubby reader in mind, parenting au, eventual violence and drug references, eventual smut, smut with plot. Potential slow burn depending on if my adhd cooperates

WC: 4.1k

Continuing with rewriting stories for some of my older OCs, with all of them being somehow connected to each other! Here's the rewrite for my lovable mafia dad Ronan; you can read his original story here. The other connecting stories in this universe can be found here!

You didn’t watch the news much. 

Why would you? Your job kept you plenty busy. Being a live-in nanny was a job that kept you on your toes, days lasting ten, sometimes twenty hours. Yet you were paid well, and you liked the family you lived with well enough. When you were called into your boss’s office, you thought little of it. You were on a first name basis with both parents, and they seemed happy to have you. Yet when you walked into the room, sitting down in the fine upholstered chair, there was a sense of tension lingering in the air. 

“Is…is everything alright?” You asked, breaking the silence. 

The father sighed, mumbling your name under his breath before pausing to composure his thoughts. “We…were incredibly grateful, for your years of service to our family.”

Immediately you knew. You were being fired. 

“Please, know you haven’t done anything wrong, and we’ll give you a glowing recommendation to whatever you pursue next, but…our financial situation has…changed, to say the least.” 

You listened carefully as he vaguely explained what caused such a change, but all you could think about was what to do next. This wasn’t just a job, it was where you lived. It was a good job too; would you find another employer who would compensate you like this? Who’d be so kind and understanding? You weren’t sure. 

It was hard, telling the children you worked with how circumstances had changed. Yet you couldn’t wallow for long; perhaps two weeks' notice was generous in some fields, but it still didn’t feel like nearly enough time. You spent every waking minute of your free time scouring job offers, yet none of them came close to matching what you were making now.

All but one. It looked sketchy; a Craigslist ad advertising $10,000 a month for a live-in nanny; fifty miles outside of the city. It looked like a scam, but you were just desperate enough to give it a shot. Like any other job, you submitted your resume and hoped for a response. 

You got one quickly, within just a few hours. The message was short and sweet; the top of the message read just “INTERVIEW” alongside a date, time, and address; tomorrow at six PM. The time wasn’t too out of the ordinary, given half the reason you were hired was due to parents needing to work. 

You drove over to the address; despite the eerily concise response and quiet drive, the house was impressive; right on the water, not another house for miles, but built with the same grandiose architecture as the houses of other families you had worked with. 

Despite the beauty of the house, you couldn’t help but be a bit on edge. You looked around, noticing quite a few cameras. Not the most abnormal thing you had ever seen, most people with this kind of wealth invested heavily in security. Still, the feeling of being watched was more intense than other interviews. 

You walked up to the door, and before you could even knock, the door opened. Standing before you was a well-dressed man; Elvish, fit, blonde hair and pale skin, and oddly familiar. You could’ve sworn you had seen him before; perhaps in the newspaper or on television? It’d make sense, given the fancy house. “Hey. The nanny, I assume?” 

“That’s right.”

“Great. Come on in.” 

You followed him inside, looking around at the tall ceiling of the foyer. The walls were adorned with all sorts of paintings in various styles, some much older than the other. You had seen both old and new money, but it was apparent they were the first. 

He led you over to the living room, “just uh, sit there for a moment. He’s still in a meeting. My brother, I mean.”

“Oh, that’s no problem.” The more you looked at the man, the more certain you became. You had seen him somewhere before. You couldn’t pinpoint where, but you were sure of it. He looked around the room, tapping his foot impatiently. “You do this a lot?” He asked. Clearly, he hadn’t read your resume. 

“For about a decade, yes.” 

“Nice. He should be done any minute.”

“That’s fine. I um,” you were given no other information outside of the interview. Most families at least told you their occupation. “May I ask what he does? Your brother?”

“Ah, intrigued I see?” He asked with a smile. “We own several businesses across the city. He runs the back-end, I run the front-end. After all, someone’s gotta be a pretty face,” he laughed. “No offense to him. Well, maybe just a little,” he joked. “You know the big casino downtown?” 

You nodded. 

“Yeah, that’s us.”

You looked around the room. There weren’t many signs of children from what you had seen, the house so far seemingly clean and well-organized; something you didn’t see often when nannying. “How many children does he have?”

“Two. Twins. Spoiled little bastards,” he laughed again, but you weren’t sure if he was joking. You heard a door open, and out came a man. Just like his brother, he was well dressed; long blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, pointed ears clear to see. “Ah, so nice of you to join us.”

“Sorry, things got a little heated,” he said with an awkward laugh. “I’ll take it from here, Finn.” 

“Of course,” his brother gave both of you a nod and left. 

“So, let’s get started,” he held out a hand for you to shake. “I’m Ronan, the father.” 

He seemed nice enough. Once his brother left, the interview felt fairly…normal. He asked you about your job history, your education, if you’d be comfortable living with them, all sorts of standard interview questions. By all metrics, the interview seemed to be going well. 

He walked you around the house, giving you a tour of the property. The first floor of the house was immaculate, but the second floor made it obvious he had children. 

“They’re twins,” he said. “Five years old, one boy, one girl.” He seemed to light up when he spoke of them. His brother wasn’t entirely wrong about them being spoiled. Each had their own sizable bedroom, along with a playroom that envied any you had ever seen; it even had a sink and refrigerator in it. All sorts of shelves lined the wall with materials for arts and crafts, toys, dress-up costumes, anything a kid could want. “Adriel’s really into dinosaurs and animals and stuff, and Amara’s really good at ballet. Well, I don’t know for sure, but she says she is, so I take her word for it,” he laughed. 

Throughout all of your conversations, never once did he mention the mother of these children. You were having a good time, he seemed sweet, but you couldn’t help but be curious. Was she not in the picture? Perhaps she worked? You weren’t sure. 

“So…where are they now?” You asked, now standing at the end of the deck facing out onto the water. You didn’t expect to meet the children on the first interview, but you were curious why they seemingly weren’t around. 

“Oh, I had their cousin take them out for a few hours. He’s uh, he’s in college, but you know, family business,” he shrugged. “A lot of people come around here, it’s uh, kind of our base of operations, in a way,” he said with a laugh. “But that’s about it. So…” 

“So?”

“You’ve got the job, if you’d like it.”

A huge weight was lifted off your shoulders. You didn’t question the speed of it all; your new job was secured. “I’ll take it.”

——

Leaving your last family was emotional. You thought you were prepared, yet you couldn’t help but shed a few tears seeing those kids for the last time. 

Arriving on your first day with your new family, you were much more nervous than you had been for other first days. What were you thinking, taking a job without even meeting the kids first? 

You had elected not to unpack your things right away, not wanting to overwhelm the twins you had heard so much about. You knocked on the door, and this time, your employer had answered. 

He seemed happy to see you, again well-dressed in a white shirt, slacks, vest, and tie. This time though, his sleeves were rolled up, revealing several tattoos. You couldn’t get a long enough look to discern what they all were, but you could tell there were quite a lot of them. 

“Hey, come on in. I uh, gave them a bit of a rundown, and they’re super excited to meet you.” You followed him inside, walking towards the stairs, seeing two shadows quickly disappear as you walked up. 

You followed Ronan to their playroom, both of them sitting on one of the couches. Both of the children seemed to struggle to sit still, although in different ways. The boy seemed nervous, perhaps even a little scared as he stared down at the floor and away from you. The girl on the other hand was brimming with excitement, wide eyes tracking your movements as you sat down across from them. 

He introduced you to them, “she’s the person who’s going to help take care of you both while I’m working.” 

The little girl wasted no time getting up and grabbing what appeared to be a bunch of construction paper stapled together. She sat down in between you and her father, leaving the other little boy alone. “I made this. It’s a book about me and my brother.” 

“Oh, that’s very-” you instinctively reached to grab it, thinking she was giving it to you, but she pulled away, opening up the ‘book’.

“I’m gonna read it to you.” 

“Oh. Okay.” 

Her brother moved closer, sitting on the floor next to the couch as she started to read. The pages were filled with crude drawings of her, her brother, and other family members.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Ronan smiled, leaving the room as if to give you some time to bond with both of the children. 

“‘My name is Amara. I’m five. I love ballet and chocolate and I can do a handstand,’” she spoke slowly as she read her own words, scribbled down in crayon. It was quite impressive for a five year old. She turned to face you, “do you wanna see me do a handstand?” 

The last thing you needed on your first day was something going wrong. “Maybe a little bit later. Why don’t you keep reading me your book?”

She nodded, turning the page. “‘My brother is named Adriel’. That’s Adriel,” she said as she pointed at her brother. 

“Hi,” he said quietly. 

“‘Adriel is shy but likes dinosaurs and rocks. He’s a picky eater and he wears glasses.’ Sometimes he doesn’t like to talk. But that’s okay.” 

You gave him a warm smile, and he seemed to relax a little bit. 

She turned the page yet again, this time showing a drawing of the house, several stick figures in front of it, one of whom was crossed out with a large red X. “That’s me, and daddy, and Adriel. That’s mommy, but she’s not here anymore, so that’s why she’s crossed out.” She pointed to a few other figures, one in a suit and the other in a skirt. “That’s Uncle Finn, he’s kinda scary sometimes, but he brings us cool stuff from the city. That’s Callon, he’s our cousin. He wears really cool clothes and has a boyfriend, but I’m not supposed to tell you that.” 

The little boy finally spoke up. “His boyfriend looks scary, but he’s nice. Him and his other friend played video games with me, and they brought us pizza.”

She pointed to two other people in the background, “Cedric is our uncle, I think. He’s kinda quiet when he’s here, but he’s really smart. And then that’s Serena, she’s mean sometimes, but she helps us if we get sick.”

It was quite a group to remember. “And do all of these people live here at the house?” 

“Only sometimes. They all usually come over once a week for daddy’s big meeting, but sometimes they come  stay if it’s an emergency.” You weren’t sure what kind of emergency she was referring to, but you didn’t ask. “Sometimes there’s other people that daddy says we’re related to, but I don’t know all their names. I think we’re related to a lot of people. But that’s it!” She exclaimed proudly as she shut the book. 

You spent the next few hours playing and getting to know them. Amara seemed as if she could talk for hours and hours, whereas Adriel still seemed a little hesitant at times. Still, you felt as if things were going well, the rest of your first night uneventful. You had worked for quite a few rich families, but never one so wealthy. You ran into even more faces as the day went on, ones Amara’s book hadn’t covered; a personal chef, a housekeeper, a gardener, and other household staff came and went as the day went on, yet you hadn’t heard any names you recognized from Amara’s story. It made your job easy; you didn’t need to cook or clean, you could devote all your attention to taking care of them. 

You got them cleaned up after dinner, reading them both a story before bed. They scampered off to their rooms, and as far as you knew, your work was done. There were still a few things left in your car, so you decided to finish unpacking. You walked out through the garage, only to find nearly every spot was now occupied, along with a few cars out front. When did all these people show up? And where were they? 

You brought the rest of your things inside, and the house was suspiciously quiet. There were more people here than before, you were sure of it. You walked back down to the first floor, unable to hear any additional voices as you walked between each room. You decided to look around, but when you heard footsteps from below, you panicked. It had to be the door that led to the basement; you moved behind one of the walls dividing the hallway, the kitchen, and the living room. You weren’t sure why you were so on edge; you had no reason to be. Yet something felt…off. Why was he having a meeting this late at night? How’d they get inside undetected? You hid behind the wall; so long as whoever was approaching stayed in the kitchen, you should be able to stay undetected. 

“I’m so fucking tired of this shit,” said a man’s voice. He sounded younger, perhaps in his twenties, yet his tone was one of exhaustion. “I don’t get it. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable!”

“Not really,” it was a woman’s voice this time, sounding a bit older; perhaps thirties or forties? Although, this was a family of elves; it was highly likely your guesses were completely off. “Although, it’s not…uncommon, in our field.”

“In our field,” he repeated in a mocking tone. “It’s weird. Besides, just because I was alright with it once, did they think I’d be willing to do that kind of shit forever?”

“Alice did.”

“Well, Alice is a cunt, so there’s that.”

Silence lingered between the two of them, a brief moment of tension before they started to laugh, the smell of cigarette smoke wafting towards you. 

“You gotta be careful kid,” she paused, presumably taking a drag from a cigarette. “Ronan hears you saying that shit, he’s gonna beat your ass.”

They were talking about your boss. Who was this ‘Alice’ person? 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I just…if I did it…I mean fuck, what would I tell him? ‘Sorry I cheated on you, my dad needs blackmail material on a CEO, hope that’s okay.’ Yeah, no.”

The statement left you in shock; did running a business like this really mean accruing that many enemies? Who was making this boy blackmail a CEO? Why? Ronan didn’t mention having any other children. Perhaps this was his brother’s son? You tried to remember his name, but you had learned so many names today it was lost on you, still in shock over the boy’s declaration. 

“Well…” the woman hesitated. “You wouldn’t need to tell him.”  

“Yeah, but I’m not fucking evil. By the way,” he continued. “You missed a spot, last job. He got all freaked out, I had to tell him I fell through a window.”

“Did he believe you?”

“Of course not, he’s not an idiot.”  

She sighed, “much to your dismay, you’re not the only one I have to patch up. Your paper cuts are not as important as others gunshot wounds. Be more careful.” 

You thought back to Amara’s words; “And then that’s Serena, she’s mean sometimes, but she helps us if we get sick.” Was it common for rich families like this one to have a healer on-call? Was she being facetious? She had to be. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I need to get back to school, I have class tomorrow,” the boy sighed, both of them starting to walk off. Once you couldn’t hear their footsteps, you walked back to your room. You weren’t necessarily afraid, but it was clear something wasn’t right. 

You tried not to think about it. You had taken the job, the kids were sweet, and you really shouldn’t have been listening in on them anyway. 

Still; gunshot wounds?

You had almost finished getting ready for bed when you heard a light knock on the door, the clock reading 10:47. 

You answered it, and there was your boss Ronan. “Hey, I know it’s super late, but-”

“That’s okay,” you tried to stifle a yawn but failed. “What’s up?”

“I don’t wanna take too much of your time, but I just wanted to ask if everything went alright? They seem to really like you, I just didn't want you to feel like I was hovering over you, and then I had my meeting, but I just wanted to check-in.”

You nodded, “things went well, I think. I’m glad you think so.” You had so many questions you wanted to ask, but you kept things brief. “Do your meetings usually go this late?”

“Yeah, it uh…it can be tricky getting everyone’s schedules to align, so you know. Is what it is. Well, thank you for your hard work, let me know if you need anything.” 

You quickly learned he was a busy man. A kind father, doing his best to spend time with the two kids while running a collection of successful businesses. As days passed, you started to notice the way others within the house looked at you.

It was a look of disgust, or fear, but hesitancy; as if there was something they all knew that you just didn’t. You tried not to pay it any mind, but couldn’t help but return to the conversation you overheard the first night. 

The boy seemed to have grown attached to you rather quickly, Adriel always taking the chance to hold your hand or lay on your shoulder. It made sense, given how he’d lost his own mother. This wouldn’t be the first time you’d be ‘filling in’, so to speak. Amara seemed to like you, but she wasn’t nearly as clingy, opting instead to show you things, like her drawings or dances she had made up. 

“You’re good at being nice,” the little boy mumbled as Amara twirled around the room, a movie playing quietly as Adriel was about to drift off to sleep. 

“Oh, well thank you. I try my best.” 

“There’s a lot of people being mean lately. But you’re nice.” Before you could question what he said, he was asleep. You looked back over to Amara, blissfully unaware of the world around her. Yet something about the boy’s words felt almost cryptic. You were curious, but…you didn’t want to lose this job. So, you decided ignorance was bliss.

You were woken up in the middle of the night by a knock on your door, a tiny voice calling out your name. Technically, these were your off hours, you shouldn’t need to do anything; but you weren’t going to just turn the kid away. You opened the door, and there was Amara, standing there in her pink pajamas. 

“Hi.”

You yawned, rubbing your eyes, “hi, what’s going on?” 

“Um…can I sit with you for a bit? I…I can’t sleep.” 

She was so sweet, you couldn’t say no. Between her and her brother, she seemed to be much more independent, being the shoulder for him to cry on often. Yet she had gone through the very same things he had with their mother gone; you were more than happy to sit with her. “Sure.”

She walked in your room, heading for the window. She looked outside, your room facing the dock down below, the moonlight reflecting on the water. Her eyes widened, letting out a gasp. “Boat! The boat’s out!” 

You were still half asleep, you hadn’t even registered the quiet hum of a boat engine coming from outside. You looked out, and sure enough, there was a boat. Despite the lights being out, the people down at the dock didn’t bother to quiet their voices. One of them was almost definitely Ronan. Him and his brother were standing out at the dock, calling out to whoever was on the boat. 

“Can you open the window? I want to say hi to daddy.” 

“Sure, but…just wait a moment, we don’t want to interrupt him if he’s…”

What was he doing?

“We don’t want to interrupt him if he’s working.” You opened the window, their conversation much easier to hear. 

“Ronan, I promise you, every source I have has told me this address is still off the feds radar,” said his brother, speaking at a normal volume.

“It’s not the feds I’m worried about. The feds may not see it, but every other organization will make the connection once the news breaks.” 

“Even so. The only people that come here are blood. They’re more likely to hit me in the city than come all the way out here. The most likely scenario is they’re gonna go after the safehouse up North. We know that, we can prepare for that.”

“No, we don’t know that.”

“Yes, we do. These people are nothing if not predictable. And again, they can’t act on information they don’t have. Besides, name one other time you’ve seen anyone else out here on the water. No one comes through here, it’s your own little oasis. Now come on, let him finish the job, and we can determine our plans for the safehouse tomorrow. Hells, they won’t even know he’s gone until a week I’d say.” 

He relented, letting out a sigh. “Fine. But I want someone out here for the next month. Just in case.”

“I can arrange that.” Finn turned to look back at the boat, walking back to the edge of the dock away from the window. He held his hands up to his face, amplifying his voice. “Hey, Callon?”

“Yeah?” His voice was barely audible, but it sounded like the man you overheard before in the kitchen. 

“You can drop it now. Well…actually, back the boat up just a little more.” You could hear the boy groan, before the boat engine kicked back on. “Yeah, right there’s good, international waters and all that.” 

You heard the sound of something falling into the water, the waves slowly rippling forward. Whatever he dropped into the water, it must’ve been heavy. He drove the boat back to the dock, and when he got out you saw he wasn’t dressed the same as Ronan and his brother; instead of the fine suit, he was sporting an outfit of all black, complete with a mask over his face. As soon as the boat engine was off, the three of them on the dock, Amara stuck her head out the window and called out to them. 

“Hi!” 

The three of them looked up at the window. Ronan and Finn looked horrified, while her cousin, Callon, just laughed, walking back inside. You stared back at them, all of you in disbelief. Finn gave Ronan a pat on the shoulder before following Callon inside, Ronan now the only one looking back at you.

“So…I suppose we need to talk about some things.”

Part 2

thanks for reading!! i hope you enjoyed it! definitely going for more of a slow burn with him, but who knows how long that slow burn is going to last. lots of setup in this first chapter, but i hope you liked it!! also for those who read the old version, pls no spoilers for anyone in the comments! this is an alternate version of Ronan's story, so some things will be a bit different :D

RONAN TAGLIST: @damnitimasimp @sketchlove @madam8 @jar0fhoney @hikaakox @gurlie919

[fantasydreamland]

Sorceress

legolas greenleaf x fem reader

Summary: You join the three men on the journey to fight against Saruman, and one does not trust you. Legolas is suspicious of you and your perfection, until he admits to himself those feelings were just masking his true feelings that he had quickly developed for you.

Notes: 18+ ONLY!!! Smuttt, enemies to lovers, angst, violence/minor gore in battle scene, alcohol consumption, p in v, fingering, oral (m&f), masturbation (m), fluff, possible spoilers.

Word count: 6k

(I got a little carried away with this one)

masterlist

“She is going to help us.” Aragorn says as he, Legolas and Gimli sit at a table inside the inn while they wait for your arrival. “She is supposed to be a great sorceress. We need her.”

“We cannot trust some old woman we do not even know. Why can we not simply go without her?” Legolas questions with furrowed brows.

The idea of a stranger joining them on their journey left him feeling extremely uneasy.

“Who told you I was an old woman?” They hear a voice behind them.

You lower your hood as the inn door closes behind you. You walk towards the men and they stand to greet you. You give a friendly smile to Aragorn whom you had just recently met and agreed to assist. Legolas’s eyes go wide in surprise as he takes you in. You appeared young and basically flawless, nearly elvish beauty but something even more rare. You had piercing purple eyes and beautiful porcelain skin. Below your cloak your long purple dress clung to your figure, Legolas had to clear his throat to force himself to stop staring.

As Aragorn goes to speak Legolas says- “Forgive me, my lady.” He bows his head. “I simply cannot trust someone I do not know. And I find it rather odd that the other sorcerers I have known appeared quite old in age yet you look remarkably young.”

“Well, I do not trust you either yet. We have only just met after all… And I doubt you have ever met a female sorceress.” You give him a catty smile. “The concept of eternal youth should not seem that odd to you, elf.”

“Hey now.” Gimli cuts in.

“I did not mean any offence, sir.” You turn to the dwarf before turning your gaze back to Legolas. “I have a great admiration for the elves. They can be quite impressive.”

Legolas fought his lips curling into a smile as your eyes remained deeply connected for a moment.

You all sat down at the table and started quietly discussing the plans. Legolas’s eyes kept drifting towards you anytime important information was mentioned, still untrusting of this (beautiful) stranger before him.

**********

Legolas continued to keep a close eye on you, still unsure if he could trust you. He is always skeptical of strangers but there was something too enchanting about you. He felt bewitched every time your eyes would meet. You were too perfect, no one is that perfect.

“We should take the passage through the cave here.” You say pointing to a spot on the map that you and your three companions were hovered over.

“It would be safer to go around. We have no idea what lurks in that cave.” Legolas responds.

“Perhaps, but it will take us three times as long.” You gently argue as Legolas gives you a scowl in response. “Besides, I have passed through it once before. We should be fine but we will remain on our guard for any surprises.”

“Surprises?” Legolas retorts. “How do we know this is not some trap you have set for us?”

“Legolas.” Aragorn says firmly.

“What? I am sorry but this all seems far too suspicious for my taste. How do we know she is not working for Saruman?” Legolas continues with frustration as his eyes go back and forth between you and Aragorn. You just stare at him blankly. “Why is she helping us so willingly if she is not a spy meant to trick us? I do not trust her!”

“I am helping you to fight against Saruman because like all of you I do not wish to see this world destroyed by evil.” You state sternly, tears beginning to fill your eyes that were firmly focused on Legolas. “If you cannot find a way to trust me we are doomed… But if that is not enough, and you remain convinced I am just some horrible evil witch, I will figure out some other way on my own and leave you all alone…”

Legolas simply stares at you in surprise, not quite sure how to respond.

“You may let me know your thoughts in the morning.” You say before he can respond, with a slight shake in your voice as you fight back tears. “I’m turning in for the night.”

And just like that, you walk off without another word or ‘goodnight’ to anyone. Legolas feels a sinking ache his stomach. He could tell you were genuinely hurt by what he said and he felt quite guilty about it now. You had not truly given him a real reason to mistrust you so deeply. He just believed you were too good to be true. Too perfect. Maybe deep down he was simply trying to mask the unwanted feelings he was quickly developing.

“I am going to turn in as well.” Legolas says lowly to Aragorn and Gimli. “Goodnight.”

He walks off to his room which was directly across from yours. His heart and feet stop at the sad sound of you crying in your room. His advanced hearing could hear your soft sobs through your door, though you were clearly trying to remain unheard. Another wave of guilt washed over him.

He felt a magnetic pull towards your door and was nearly about to knock before deciding against it. He retires to his own room instead, unable to find any rest as you overtook all of his thoughts.

**********

The next morning Legolas was quick to rise. He was eager to see you and apologize profusely. He waited anxiously at the table you had been at last night. After some time, his head perked up at the sound of feet approaching from the hallway. His expression quickly sunk when he saw Aragorn and Gimli come around the corner.

“Do you know if (y/n) is awake?” Legolas asks.

“Ay, she is awake.” Gimli responds, giving a knowing side eye to Aragorn, making Legolas raise his brow at them.

“Her room is empty…” Aragorn says hesitantly, avoiding direct eye contact with Legolas. “She must have left in the night.”

“All because you could not keep your mouth shut!” Gimli points out.

“Gimli.” Aragorn says sternly.

The dwarf grumbles an apology. Legolas hardly pays any attention to the insult or the apology as his mind races from the news of you being suddenly gone. He feels sick to his stomach, not completely sure why your absence affected him so deeply. As he goes to say something the inn door opens and you walk inside, your hood up and your bag at your side.

“Forgive me, I was restless this morning and went for an early walk.” You say blankly to the men at the table as you walk over to them.

Legolas lets out a quiet breath of relief. The feelings he had thinking you had left just proved how badly he wanted you to stay with them, with him.

“I trust you have made your decision?” You ask Legolas directly.

“I have.” He stands from his chair. “I have decided to trust you.” He states.

“Oh!” You say in slight surprise. “Well, I suppose that is good then...”

Legolas raises a brow at your dry tone, you notice.

“I was expecting a much different response.” You explain.

“Please forgive me, my lady.” Legolas gently takes your hand in his, you let him. “My behaviour last night was unbecoming of me and you did not deserve that. You have given no reason to earn such disrespect. I am truly sorry.”

Your slightly pursed lips curl into a pleased smile. This was not what you were anticipating at all. You truly thought he despised you. You assumed it had already been decided last night that he would certainly choose to be rid of you. You did not know that he actually had made his decision last night, it was just not the choice you expected. You were oddly relieved as you realized you not only didn’t want to part from the crew, but you did not want to part from Legolas.

“You do not understand how glad I am to hear that.” You smile to him.

He smiles back and places a kiss to the back of your hand before letting go.

“Well then, the adventure continues!” You say to the group of men before you all continue your journey.

**********

Legolas was quite impressed seeing you in battle. Your powers were incredible but what blew him away was how skilled you were with a blade. You stuck closed together during the fight, like magnets. There were multiple times you pulled a brave move that saved his life and he, yours.

One attack had you knocked on your back. You fought hard, pushing against your enemies dagger that was getting closer and closer to your throat. You were too exhausted to use any more magic to save you, your life flashed before your eyes when the tip of the dagger touched your skin. Suddenly, the enemy lets out a pained scream and you see the tip of a sword sticking out of its eye, it’s blood splattered on your already blood coated face. You see Legolas standing over you as he kicks the enemy to the side so he fell to the ground and not on top of you. He reaches his hand out and pulls you up.

“Thank you.” You pant.

“No problem.” He pants back, both of you exhausted from battle.

After the battle you all began to flee back to your meeting spot. You climb on your horse and go to Legolas’s side.

“Climb up!” You call down to him.

“I need to find Arod!” He calls back.

“He is safe! Gimli already took him!”

“That little…” He snarls. “Alright, let me steer!”

“Just get on!” You shake your head at him.

He climbs on behind you, the saddle forcing your bodies to press closely together. You ride off and the friction between you in the saddle begins causing a panic to rise in Legolas as his member quickly hardens behind you. He tries hard to concentrate on absolutely anything else but with your butt bouncing and pushing up against him as you rode, it made it impossible. He prayed to the gods that you would not notice but you were secretly smirking to yourself as you clearly felt something hard pressed against your backside. You casually push into him even more as you continue your journey, your cheeks quickly heating at his desire for you.

**********

You rest and celebrate from battle at a nearby inn. Gimli boldly challenges Legolas to a drinking contest. Several mugs of ale later the dwarf was piss drunk laughing loudly.

“I feel something…” Legolas suddenly says, lifting his hand and rubbing his fingers together. “A slight tingle in my fingers… I think it’s affecting me.”

Gimli cheers loudly, raising another cup as they both continue to drink. After some time Gimli lays passed out on the table and Legolas is stumbling towards where you stood against the wall with your now empty cup.

“You seem to be having fun?” You smirk at him.

“Quite.” He smirks back, a drunk smile stuck on his face. “Do you think you could point me to the direction of my rooom?” He slightly slurs.

You chuckle at him. “Come now, I am heading back to mine as well.”

He follows you down the dimly lit hallways of endless doors and couldn’t help but continuously glance in your direction. He was too busy drinking with Gimli that he hadn’t noticed earlier just how revealing your dress was. The purple fabric wrapped around your body in a way that left your back and arms fully exposed. The sight of the few freckles scattered across your back made his cheeks heat, though that could also be from all the ale. The dress was long and flowed openly as you walked, briefly exposing your bare legs underneath. Then his eyes slowly wandered up to the low cut V of your dress, revealing a sinful amount (he thought) of your large breasts. He felt a jolt go down his spine and shoot directly to his member.

You stopped suddenly and his eyes met yours.

“We are here.” You say a little awkwardly, gesturing to your rooms that sat across from each other at the very end of the halls.

His cheeks darken, unsure how much of his gaze you had caught.

“Goodnight, Legolas.” You smile before leaning in and placing a soft kiss to his cheek.

You turn towards your door when his hand grabs yours.

“(y/n)…” He says in a whisper, leaning in closer to you as your hands remain connected.

“Yes?” You whisper back, eyes searching his.

“I am not sure when I will have the courage again to say this…” He says as his other hand cups your cheek, causing your heart to race. “I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And the most interesting, kind, wild, and courageous woman I have ever met.”

You can’t help the wide grin that spreads across your face at his words. Before you have time to respond he closes the space between you and captures your lips in a searing kiss. It was deeply passionate, hungry. Your hands cling to his shirt as you kiss him back desperately, happily letting his tongue slip into your mouth. His hand moves into your hair as he pushes you back up against the wall. His lips fall to your neck, kissing and sucking gently.

“Legolas…” You breathe.

The sound of his name softly falling from your lips like that just spurred him on. His lips continue to ravish your neck and move down your chest as his hand grabs at your breast. A soft moan escapes you and the need for him fills your veins like fire. You wanted him so badly… but not like this.

“Legolas…” You whisper again, this time gently pulling him off you. “I think we should slow down…”

“Yes. Sorry. Yes, you’re right. I am sorry. I should not have-“ He stutters a bit anxiously.

“No! No. You have no reason to apologize.” You say reassuringly.

“I should not have assumed-“

“Legolas.” You say firmly, cupping his cheek in your hand. “I want you. I want you much more than I would care to admit… But when, or if, that moment happens… I want us both to be fully in the right state of mind.”

“Yes… you are right.” His hand covers the one on his cheek. “I would also like to be able to ravish you… fully.” He gives you a devilish smirk as his eyes drift from your lips back to your eyes.

His words make you blush and he watches as you bite your lower lip. It took both of you all of your will power to finally pull away.

“Goodnight, (y/n).” He says, taking your hand to place a kiss upon it.

“Goodnight, Legolas.” You give a blushing smirk before you turn to walk into your room.

Your eyes meet his a final time as you both go to close your doors. No words are said but the look between you was an unspoken promise for later.

Sleep was difficult to find as your mind races thinking of the steamy kiss you had just shared with Legolas. The thought of your tongues intertwined, his sinful mouth all over your neck and chest. You had a taste of each other and now the desire for him was driving you absolutely mad.

Legolas was in no better shape. The alcohol began to fade from his system but he still felt drunk on the memory of your lips on his. His hard member pressed angerly against his trousers. He couldn’t help himself. He would blame the blinding lust on the alcohol later, when he was completely sober and trying to reason his actions. For now, he shoved shame aside and pulled his aching cock out and began slowly stroking himself. His hand speeds up as intoxicating visions of you flash in his mind. Your revealed skin, the freckles on your back and your long pale legs. His lips on your sinfully exposed chest. The soft gasps and moans that slipped from your perfect lips. What finally pushed him over the edge was your voice ringing in his ears ‘Legolas… Legolas…’ Your soft whispers of his name had his release shooting across his stomach as a choked out moan escapes him.

He cleans up for bed and rest finds him surprisingly fast after that. His dreams were filled with nothing but images of you.

**********

A loud rumble of thunder wakes Legolas in the night. His mind instantly begins to race at the memory of the steamy kiss you had shared just outside the door. He could not resist the strong magnetic force pushing him to go and see you. After several minutes of debate he throws off the blankets, revealing his shirtless upper half and heads towards the door.

He quietly closes his door behind him before stepping towards yours. He was desperate to see you but also did not want to wake you if you happened to be sleeping through the loud thunder continuing outside. He knocks lightly on the door, not to wake you if you were asleep but loud enough you would hear if you were awake.

His heart stops as he hears your footsteps getting closer and watches as the door slowly opens.

“Legolas?” You ask in a sleepy whisper, peaking out the door.

“Apologies my lady, I hope I did not wake you.” He responds quietly, careful not to wake anyone else in the nearby rooms.

“No, the thunder woke me… Though I have hardly been able to sleep.”

You try to ignore the heat pooling between your legs at the sight of his bare toned upper body and his rarely loose hair tucked messily behind his pointed ears. You also notice his eyes scan over your form. He nearly lost all restraint right then and there, at the sight of your nipples poking through your thin night dress.

Before you could ask what he was doing at your door in the middle of the night he says in a whisper- “I could not stop thinking about you...”

You can’t help but smile as your eyes connect, electricity sparking silently between you.

“I have not been able to stop thinking about you either…” You say lowly. “Do you… do you want to come in?”

Legolas smirks and nods before boldly capturing your lips and walking you both into the room as he closes and locks the door behind him.

“Are you certain?” You ask him in a pant, breaking the kiss. He knew exactly what you were referring to.

He knew he was certainly not in his right mind with the way you haunted his thoughts. But he knew he was now completely sober and knew for certain this is what he wanted. You were what he desperately wanted.

“I am certain.” He responds, looking deep into your eyes. “Are you…?”

You nod a little too eagerly, making him chuckle. He kisses you again and you both make your way over to the bed. You boldly pull your night dress over your head, leaving you completely exposed before him. You watch his breath catch and fire flicker behind his eyes as he takes you in.

“Lay down…” He says in a seductive whisper.

You don’t hesitate for even a second before getting into bed. He quickly climbs over top of you and leans in. A nearly silent moan escapes you at the feeling of your breasts pressed against his bare skin. His lips hover just above yours as your noses brush.

“You are… exquisite.” He whispers before capturing your lips again.

This kiss is much more slow, tender. Like he’s savouring every second and every reaction from you. Each gentle flick of his tongue against yours calculated and deliberate. His lips move to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and then sucking harshly.

“Legolas! You are going to leave a mark…” You yell in a whisper.

“Good. Then everyone will know who you belong to.” He says in a husky voice against your neck.

His words send a shiver through your entire being. He continues his light torture on your skin, sucking and gently nipping his way down your collarbone. Once he reaches your chest he does not hesitate to take your breast into his mouth. You moan as his warm tongue circles around your nipple, he moves to the other breast to do the same before kissing down your stomach, your breathing now rising and falling frantically.

“Tell me if you wish for me to stop…” He says in a rough, deep voice that you had never heard from him before.

You shook your head at him. Having him stop was the very last thought on your mind. He gives you a devilish smirk before his mouth moves down onto your core. You gasp loudly as his tongue instantly begins working against your clit. Your fingers bury into his silky white hair as soft whimpers escape you.

He slowly slides in his long slender finger, testing you before he adds a second. The way he begins to curl his fingers inside you as his tongue relentlessly works at your pearl has you crying out his name. You were grateful for the loud rain and rumbling thunder masking your moans while Aragorn was sleeping in just the next room.

Legolas subconsciously begins grinding against the bed as he continues ravishing you, his achingly hard member screaming to be released. His fingers work faster as he feels your beautiful thighs tighten around his head, warning him how close you are. With a final cry out you come undone, pulsing against his fingers and soaking his face.

He pulls away and you look down at him, his glistening face between your legs, messy hair, cocky smirk and heavy lustful eyes staring into yours. You felt like you could come again just from the sight of him.

You pull him to you and kiss him hungrily, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“I need you inside me, please.” You pant, you could not wait a moment longer to have him.

He growls at your words as you reach for the hem of his trousers. His pants are quickly thrown to the floor and he lets out a shaky breath as your delicate fingers wrap around his length. He glides his tip against your core making you gasp. He smirks to himself before pushing into you. You let out a relieved moan in tandem, both of your mouths dropping open. Legolas stills inside you for a moment, the feeling of your warmth wrapped tightly around him had his head completely spinning.

“Legolas…” You pant.

He looks deeply into your purple eyes and the connection of it makes your heart skip a beat. He presses his lips to yours before sliding out and thrusting back into you. You moan into his mouth as he does it again while continuing to chase your tongue with his. His lips move to your neck as he gradually increases his speed. He can’t help the moans and grunts that escape him.

“Gods (y/n)… you feel fucking incredible.” He groans against your ear, causing goosebumps all over your skin.

You could not remember if you had ever even heard him curse before. You moan loudly in response. Suddenly he sits up, falling out of you causing you to whine from the sudden loss. He lifts your legs onto his shoulders before leaning down and plunging back into you. You cry out and he begins pounding into you relentlessly. The new angle and merciless speed quickly makes you see stars. Your mind goes completely blank other than his name and the amazing feelings he was sending throughout your body. Your nails dig hard into his biceps as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. You let out a long final moan that rings in loudly his ears. Loud enough that you were certain the thunder did not mask it.

You are completely breathless as he continues slamming into you, now chasing his own release. He lets your legs fall back down to his waist, wrapping around him. Another orgasm creeps up and threatens to overtake you.

“Fu-ck!” Legolas moans loudly as he spills into you, the intensity of it making him dizzy.

You moan loudly with him as he triggers your release once again. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist and pull him deeper into you as he fills you with his seed.

He rolls over, crashing onto the bed beside you. You both lay there facing the ceiling panting, trying to catch your breath and bring your minds back down to earth.

“Wow… that was… wow.” Legolas says between heavy breaths.

You let out a breathless chuckle in response. He pulls you in close and you cuddle up to him. He places a kiss on your head and softly plays with your hair as you peacefully fall asleep.

**********

The next morning you wake and look to Legolas with a mischievous idea in your mind. You could not stop replaying last nights events in your head. But there was one thing you realized you had not done. With that in mind, you slowly pull the blanket down his body, revealing his morning wood. You begin to place soft kisses all the way down his stomach, making him slightly squirm under your lips.

“What are you doing?…” Legolas mumbles sleepily.

“What does it look like I am doing?” You smirk at him before sucking on his tip, causing him to let out a sound between a gasp and a moan.

His heavy lidded eyes meet yours and his mouth parted, already breathing heavily.

“Do you want me to stop?” You pull away teasingly.

“Gods no.” He breathes before placing his hand on your head, gently urging you back down.

You smirk to yourself before you take him fully into your mouth, forcing a loud groan to escape him. You continue to bob your head, taking him fully down your throat. Legolas’s mind was completely blurred, all he could think of right now was beautiful, magnificent, you… and the feeling of his cock slamming against the back of your beautiful throat. Your actions quickly bringing him to his release.

“Gods (y/n), I’m going to-“ He chokes out.

Just then there’s a loud knock at the door. You pull your mouth off him with a ‘pop’ and look to the door then at Legolas, concern on your face.

“(Y/n)? Are you awake?” Aragorn calls from behind the door and you hear Gimli mutter something else to him.

“Ignore them.” Legolas urges in a desperate whisper, cupping your cheek with his hand. “They’ll go away if they think you are still sleeping. Just… ugh, please do not stop.”

You smirk and give him a small nod before taking him into your mouth once more. Legolas tries to hide his soft moans as his fingers tightened in your hair. He was so, so, close.

Another loud knock. You ignore it and continue bringing him towards the edge.

“(Y/n)?” Aragorn calls again. “Sorry to disturb you, but we cannot find Legolas. His things are still in his room but we cannot find him anywhere. We are worried something may have happened.”

“Oh for fucks sake...” Legolas huffs and storms out of bed, grabbing the sheet to wrap around his naked waist.

You watch from bed as he stomps over to the door, pulling the other blanket up to your chest to hide your exposed body. He swings open the door and you see Aragorn flinch in surprise as he takes in Legolas’s half naked form wrapped in a crumpled white sheet and an annoyed look plastered on his face.

“Legolas? I- I-“ Aragorn stutters and then spots over Legolas’s shoulder you lying in the bed, peaking at them both from under the blanket. “I- I am sorry… Just, um, come meet us at the bar when you are, done- I mean, ready…”

Legolas simply nods, trying to bite back a smile and keep a stern face until they were out of sight.

“Well, that solves that mystery!” Gimli laughs loudly once the door is shut.

Legolas makes his way back to you with a smirk.

“Well, that was incredibly awkward.” You chuckle and get up from the bed, leaving the blanket behind. “I suppose we should get ready.”

Legolas’s eyes flicker with fire as he takes in your naked body now standing right in front of him.

“As they said, we will meet them when we are done…” He says lowly.

He lets the sheet around his waist drop to the floor and your eyes glance down to his hard member before meeting his eyes again. The raw desire in his eyes causes fire to spread throughout your body.

He grabs both of your cheeks and pulls you into a passionate hungry kiss. You whimper at the intensity. He quickly flips you around and leads you back over to the bed.

“On your knees, love.” He whispers sensually in your ear, causing you to shiver with goosebumps, his hardness pressing against your back.

You follow his instructions and get onto the bed on your knees. You bend forward, giving him perfect access to you. He growls at the sight before him. You feel his hands grab your butt and hips. He shoves himself into you and you yelp out a moan. He wastes no time and starts a fast and relentless pace.

“My love…” He pants. “I- I cannot last long.”

You had brought him so close to sweet release with your mouth only moments ago, before you were interrupted, and it was making it impossible for him to last any longer. He was fighting hard to hold back at the very edge waiting for your response.

“It’s alright, my love. Come for me...” You breathe.

Hearing those words in your enchanting voice pushes him right over the edge and he finally lets go of the last thread of restraint. He grunts loudly as he comes deep inside you, his head thrown back and his fingers digging hard into your hips.

He rests against your back for a moment as he catches his breath. He pulls out and you both quickly get cleaned up and dressed. You made sure to choose a high cut dress to hide the many love marks that were spread across your neck and collarbones.

“Ready?” You smile at him.

“No.” He smirks and pulls you close against him.

He kisses you, gentle and slow. His tongue lightly glides over yours only once, before he places a final kiss to your lips and pulls away.

“I wish to stay in this room with you all day and night...” He gently pulls the neckline of your dress down to reveal your skin, before softly kissing your neck, following the trail of marks he had left last night.

“Mmm.” You hum. “I wish for that too…”

It takes all your strength to pull away from him as he nips at the sensitive spot on your neck. Your hooded eyes meet his and he watches as you bite your lip, which causes even more desire to fill him.

“But we cannot…” You sigh, eyes still connected intensely.

“You are right…” He sighs back, reluctantly pulling away from you.

He grabs his things from his room as you gather your own things and head out together.

**********

Aragorn and Gimli were waiting at a table in the bar area of the inn, just where they said they’d be.

“It’s about time!” Gimli calls loudly, Aragorn nudges him to be quiet.

“Apologies gentleman.” You say shyly as you sit down at the table.

Legolas sits in the empty chair across from you and you felt your stomach tighten when your eyes meet. You could hardly focus on what Aragorn and Gimli were discussing. Your mind swirled with the pleasure you had just shared only minutes ago and all the wild memories of last night. The feel of him, the look of his body, the taste of it, his pleasured facial expressions, his moans and sighs… it all flooded your mind. You tried to snap back to reality and focus but your eyes met his again and you could tell by the fire in them and the slight smirk creeping in the corner of his mouth, he was thinking about all of the same things you were.

You bite your lip trying to fight back your own knowing smirk. The action catches his attention and you watch his eyes look from your lips back to your eyes, somehow with even more fire behind them. There were unspoken words behind his gaze that you understood. All he was thinking about right now was being inside of you again and taking you right here on this table. And your lustful stare back at him told him that is exactly what you wanted too.

“Could you please stop eye-fucking eachother? We have important things to discuss!” Gimli yells with a laugh, startling you back to reality.

“We weren’t-“ You clear your throat, choking back the embarrassment. “Sorry. Please continue.”

Legolas simply smirks and shrugs. You both turn in your seats to fully face Aragorn and Gimli as they repeat the plans you missed. For a quick moment you dared to glance at Legolas again and when his eyes met yours, they were full of heated promises for later when you could finally be alone again.

**********

Later that night you find yourself tangled in the sheets with one another. He enters you for the second time that night.

“I have to ask you something.” He mumbles against your ear as he spoons you from behind.

“What is it?” You breathe out as he continues to slowly move in and out of you.

“Did you use some kind of spell… or magic on me?… Because the way I feel about you… the way you completely consume my mind… and my body…” He says between slow thrusts, placing a gentle nip to your neck. “I feel bewitched.”

You chuckle shyly, the confession of his feelings making your heart soar. You turn around, making him slip out of you. He whines at the loss of your warmth but then your lips find his in a fierce kiss as you move to straddle him.

“I did not use any magic on you, my love.” You mumble against his lips.

You grind against his length, causing his hands to grab onto your hips.

“Though, every time our eyes meet…” You say as your eyes meet intensely. “I feel bewitched by you.”

“I feel like I am in a trance whenever I am near you. Your eyes, your lips, your wicked mind, even your scent… You-“ His words are cut off with a groan as you sink down onto his cock. “-intoxicate me.” He chokes out the last words.

**********

You could not get enough of one another. You were all over each other every chance you got to be alone, whether it was time for bed or you had a moment to sneak off somewhere. Aragorn and Gimli could hardly stand to be around you both sometimes with the sexual tension constantly bubbling between you two. But it was not just the sexual desire and lust… the romance, gentleness and love that you shared between you was just as intoxicating as any of it. You fell deeply for your handsome male elf and he fell deeply in love with his beautiful sorceress.

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