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earthlybeam · 2 months ago

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Elves how would they react to their human s/o being so…human with their ‘odd quirks’ by elven standards

how would the elves react to this?

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Thranduil, Elrond, Gil-galad Versions are below.

Thranduil, being the proud and poised Elven King of Mirkwood, would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

𐂂 You grinning mischievously “I made us friendship bracelets!” Thranduil He raises a single, imperious brow, his expression hovering between amused indulgence and mild exasperation. “Bracelets? What purpose do these trinkets serve?” Before he can decline, the metallic click of the handcuffs echoes through the room. He freezes, staring down at his wrist, now bound to yours. His icy blue eyes narrow dangerously. “Is this some sort of mortal jest?” His voice is calm, but there’s a subtle, deadly edge to it. You beam at him. “Now we can really bond!”

𐂂 Thranduil exhales sharply, as though summoning every ounce of patience within him. He tugs lightly at the chain, his gaze flickering between the cuffs and your unapologetic grin. “You dare shackle the King of the Woodland Realm like a… prisoner?” As you shrug cheerfully, his lips press into a thin line, though a flicker of reluctant amusement dances in his eyes. “Fine. But you will remove these before the feast. If my court sees this, I will never hear the end of it.”

Another version

𐂂 You Grinning mischievously, you extend two shiny, interlinked metal cuffs toward Thranduil. “I made us something special—friendship bracelets!” you announce cheerfully. Before he can fully grasp your intent, you deftly clasp one cuff onto his wrist, the audible click resonating through the room. Without hesitation, you secure the other cuff onto your own wrist, binding the two of you together.

𐂂 Thranduil For a moment, the Elven King simply stares at his wrist, his expression frozen in shock. His usual graceful composure wavers as his piercing eyes shift from the unyielding metal band now encircling his wrist to the matching one on yours. Slowly, his gaze lifts to meet yours, his brows arching high in disbelief. “You did… what?” he finally manages, his voice calm but laced with incredulity.

𐂂 When he gives the cuff a light tug, the movement pulls your arm forward, making it abundantly clear that neither of you can stray far from the other. His sharp features twist into a mixture of irritation and exasperation as he leans back in his chair, his hand lifting to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Explain yourself,” he demands, his tone low and commanding, though there’s a flicker of something—perhaps amusement—beneath the sternness.

𐂂 You Smiling innocently, you lift your cuffed wrist with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s symbolic! You know, like how our lives are intertwined now. It’s a human tradition—or… well, maybe I improvised a little.” Thranduil He lets out a long, slow sigh, clearly summoning every ounce of his legendary patience. “Bracelets, you said,” he mutters under his breath. “This is hardly what I would describe as a bracelet. These are shackles fit for a dungeon!” His free hand gestures toward the cuffs as his lips press into a thin line, his irritation palpable.

𐂂 You Trying to stifle a laugh, you grin up at him. “Well, I didn’t think you’d actually wear a regular friendship bracelet… but these? Now you don’t have a choice.” For a long moment, Thranduil says nothing, his keen eyes narrowing as he studies your face. Then, without warning, he gives the cuff on your wrist another firm tug, pulling you closer until you’re nearly nose to nose with him. “And what,” he says, his tone dropping to a dangerously low register, “do you intend to do when I need to address matters of state? Shall I drag you into my throne room before my council as my… ‘symbolic companion’?”

𐂂 Despite his stern words, the corners of his lips twitch ever so slightly, betraying his inner struggle to keep a straight face. There’s something undeniably absurd—and, dare he admit it, endearing—about the entire situation. With a sigh of resignation, he leans back in his chair, the faintest smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth.

𐂂 “Very well,” he says, his voice softening as he casts a sidelong glance at you. “But if you think this means I will tolerate being hauled about on some wild human adventure, you are sorely mistaken.” His gaze lingers on the cuffs, then flicks back to you. “And pray, do not think this will go unpunished. I shall expect a full explanation… after you find the key.” The evening wears on, and though Thranduil maintains a carefully aloof air, his occasional glances and faint smiles betray his growing amusement. For all his bluster, he seems far more entertained than he would ever admit.

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You Burning your tongue on hot food despite claiming it’s “too hot.”

𐂂 You taking a bite “This is too hot. Thranduil He watches you lift the steaming food to your mouth, his expression betraying mild concern. “Then why—” Before he finishes, you yelp and fan your mouth, visibly in pain. His piercing blue eyes widen slightly, though his lips press into a thin, disapproving line. He sets down his goblet deliberately, studying you as though you’ve just confirmed every suspicion he’s ever had about mortal impulsiveness. “You knew it was too hot, meleth nîn, yet you ate it anyway. What were you hoping to achieve?” His tone is cool, bordering on exasperated, but there’s a faint undertone of amusement he can’t quite suppress.

𐂂 You try to respond, only to wince and motion wildly for water. With a resigned sigh, he reaches for a goblet, handing it to you with his usual elegance. “Drink. Slowly, if that is within your capabilities.”

𐂂 As you gulp it down, he leans back, one brow arched. “Mortals truly lack self-preservation instincts. I shall have to monitor your meals now, lest you burn yourself into oblivion.” His smirk betrays his fondness.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal)

𐂂 You bursting into uncontrollable laughter, clutching your sides as you snort between hiccups.

𐂂 Thranduil He stops mid-sentence, his refined demeanor frozen in place as he stares at you with a mixture of disbelief and horrified fascination. His elegant brows draw together, and for a moment, he seems genuinely uncertain if you’re choking or… some kind of woodland creature mimicking laughter.

𐂂 “Are you… quite well?” he asks cautiously, his deep voice laced with incredulity. But your hiccups only intensify as you wheeze, your snorts breaking through like a startled piglet. His lips twitch as though caught between a frown and a suppressed smile. He clears his throat, his regal composure teetering. “I fail to see what could be so amusing as to warrant… this display.”

𐂂 You clutch his arm for support, tears streaming down your face as another snort escapes. His icy blue eyes narrow, and he leans back slightly, as if distancing himself from the chaos. “Are humans always this… undignified when amused? Or is this a unique trait of yours?” Still laughing, you manage to hiccup out a garbled apology, but it’s clear you’ve lost all control. Thranduil exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose, though his lips curve into the faintest smirk. “If nothing else, meleth nîn, you have proven to be a source of endless… surprises.”

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

𐂂 You pausing in the doorway, staring blankly around the room with a furrowed brow

𐂂 Thranduil He looks up from his desk, the faint flicker of a candle casting shadows across his regal face. His piercing gaze lands on you as you stand there, motionless and perplexed. “Well? Are you going to say something, or shall I simply guess the reason for this intrusion?”

𐂂 You frowning, scratching your head “I… forgot why I came in here.” For a long moment, Thranduil says nothing. He leans back in his chair, one perfectly arched brow rising higher than you thought possible. He steeples his fingers in front of him, his expression caught between amusement and disbelief. “You entered my chambers… and you don’t recall why?”

𐂂 You nervously laughing “Yeah, I guess I just forgot. It’ll come to me in a second!” His lips press into a thin line, and he releases a soft sigh, one that speaks of centuries of patience worn thin by mortal antics. “You are aware that I rule an entire kingdom, are you not? That my time is valuable?” he remarks dryly, though his voice carries an undertone of exasperated fondness.

𐂂 You grinning sheepishly “I’m sorry, I’ll just—uh—go.” As you turn to leave, he raises a hand, stopping you. “No. Stay.” He gestures to a nearby chair. “Sit there until you remember. Let us not risk you wandering aimlessly and forgetting your way back as well.”

𐂂 You obey, his sarcastic quip making you chuckle nervously. He shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Mortals,” he mutters softly, returning to his work. “Endlessly baffling. And yet, I find I do not mind nearly as much as I should.”

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side�� before settling in.

𐂂 As you lie beside Thranduil in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the grand windows of his chambers, you let out a small, frustrated sigh. Carefully, you flip your pillow over, smoothing your hand across the “cool side” before settling your head against it with a satisfied sigh.

𐂂 Thranduil He notices immediately, his keen elven eyes watching every movement, even in the dim light. His brow furrows slightly as he props himself up on one elbow, his silver-blond hair spilling over his shoulder like liquid starlight. “What peculiar ritual is this?” he asks, his voice a soft murmur edged with curiosity.

𐂂 You glancing at him, a bit surprised “It’s… flipping the pillow to the cool side. It feels better. He blinks, his expression a perfect mixture of incredulity and faint amusement. “The cool side of the pillow?” he repeats slowly, as if testing the absurdity of the phrase. “And this… improves your comfort?” You nod earnestly, hugging the pillow closer. “Absolutely. It’s one of life’s little pleasures.”

𐂂 Thranduil’s lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile threatening his composed facade. “Mortals,” he muses, leaning back against his own array of perfectly arranged pillows. “You are remarkable in your ability to find solace in the most trivial things.”

𐂂 You grinning playfully “Don’t tell me you’ve never done it.” He arches a brow, as if the suggestion alone is preposterous. “I have endured centuries of life, meleth nîn, with pillows precisely as they are. And I assure you, I have managed quite well without this… cooling ritual.”

𐂂 You teasing “You don’t know what you’re missing.” With an air of regal exasperation, he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Perhaps not. But I find your mortal habits endlessly fascinating. If such a small thing brings you joy, I see no harm in it.” As you settle in, he lies back, watching you with a faint, affectionate smirk. “Though, if you attempt to flip my pillow, you will find my patience has limits.”

📜𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

Elrond, lord of Riverdell being the proud and poised would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

✶ Elrond watches with a mixture of curiosity and mild surprise as you present the friendship bracelets, his elegant features softening into a rare, genuine smile. “Ah, how thoughtful, meleth nín,” he remarks in his usual, measured tone, admiring the delicate craftsmanship. The idea of bonding in such a simple, yet intimate way seems to resonate with him.

✶ But then, as you reach for the handcuffs, his brow furrows, and he instinctively steps back. “What is this?” His voice, usually calm, carries a hint of bewilderment. The concept is unfamiliar to him—metal handcuffs, a binding that holds his wrist captive to yours in a way that neither aligns with his elven customs nor his understanding of affection. His ancient mind, accustomed to more refined and deliberate forms of connection, pauses for a moment to process.

✶ As the handcuffs click shut, he glances at his bound wrist and then meets your gaze, his eyes soft yet filled with confusion and a flicker of amusement. “This is… certainly unexpected,” he murmurs, adjusting his posture to avoid discomfort. He shifts his focus, feeling the weight of the metal and the subtle tug between you. “I did not know that this was how you humans chose to express your affection,” he adds, his voice laced with a mix of bemusement and fondness. Yet, despite his hesitation, there’s a warmth in his expression as he gently takes your hand, his fingers delicately brushing against your skin. “I admit, this is a new experience for me. But, it seems I shall have to adjust to it, as I always do for you.”

✶ The notion of you choosing to bond him with such an odd but sincere gesture fills him with a surprising sense of tenderness, even if it is, by his standards, rather unconventional. He could never deny your earnestness or the bond you share, even if it comes in the form of metal handcuffs. With a faint, wry smile, Elrond allows himself to soften further, clearly amused. “Shall we walk like this, then?” He asks, his voice steady yet laced with affection, knowing full well this gesture is just another example of the delightful quirks that make your relationship uniquely yours.

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You Burning your tongue on food even though you just said, “This is too hot.”

✶ Elrond sits beside you at the table, his demeanor calm and composed as always, yet there’s a slight glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he watches you eagerly reach for a steaming dish. You’ve made a meal together, and though Elrond typically prefers his food to be perfectly prepared, he appreciates the gesture you’ve made.

✶ You lift a spoonful to your lips, only to immediately flinch. “This is too hot,” you murmur, but despite your own words, you take a bite anyway. Elrond’s sharp eyes catch the slight wince on your face as you quickly pull away, feeling the burn on your tongue.

✶ His brow furrows, concern flickering behind his composed expression. “Meleth nín,” he begins, his voice tinged with both affection and mild reproach, “You knew it was too hot, yet you persisted?” His gaze softens, and his lips curve into a slight smile. “You should have waited, love. Such impulsiveness may not be wise, even for someone as remarkable as you.”

✶ He watches as you try to recover from the burn, unable to stifle the small chuckle that escapes him. The contrast between his measured patience and your impetuousness amuses him, though his worry for your well-being is apparent. Reaching for a napkin, he gently dabs at your lips with it, his touch tender and careful. “Let me care for you,” he offers quietly, his voice soothing.

✶ Elrond, always the one who considers every action with utmost deliberation, finds your momentary lapse in judgment endearing, and though he would never make such a rash decision himself, he cannot help but love the spontaneous, human nature that you display. “Next time,” he says softly, “allow me to help you, so you do not suffer such a simple burn.” He leans in closer, brushing his lips lightly across your forehead, a silent promise that he’ll always be there to care for you, in all your little quirks.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting.

✶ Elrond, ever the dignified and composed elf, is quietly enjoying a moment with you, his keen eyes studying your face as you recount a particularly amusing story. As the words tumble from your lips, the melody of your laughter fills the air, and Elrond finds himself enchanted by the sound—a light, melodic laugh, so full of life and warmth.

✶ But then, in an unexpected twist, your laughter becomes a bit too much for you to control. It starts as a simple chuckle, but before long, you let out a hiccup, followed by another, and then… a snort. Elrond’s eyes widen in surprise, his usually controlled expression giving way to a rare, genuine look of shock. He watches, almost frozen, as you hiccup again, and this time, the sound resembles a pig’s squeal, high-pitched and almost animalistic.

✶ He can hardly believe what he’s witnessing. His mind races for a moment, unsure of how to respond, his elven dignity momentarily shaken by the sheer absurdity of the situation. Yet, as you continue, each hiccup and snort seemingly more ridiculous than the last, a deep, melodious laugh escapes his lips—completely uncharacteristic of him. It’s low and rich, the sound flowing out naturally, filled with both amusement and affection.

✶ “Ah, meleth nín,” he says, his voice both amused and tender, his lips curling into a soft, affectionate smile. “I must admit, I have never known anyone so… charming in their displays of joy.” His voice is filled with adoration as he watches you, utterly captivated by your unrestrained laughter. “It is… an unexpected sound, but one that I find utterly endearing,” he adds, his gaze softening as he watches you struggle to control yourself.

✶ Elrond’s usual calm demeanor returns, though he can’t quite hide the amused sparkle in his eyes. He reaches out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch tender. “You are quite a wonder, my love,” he says with a quiet, affectionate laugh. “I have seen many strange things in my long life, but none as delightful as this.” His voice is a perfect mixture of warmth and playfulness, the image of his centuries-old wisdom softened by the joy you bring into his world.

✶ Elrond, ever the one to maintain control in most situations, finds himself thoroughly enchanted by the vulnerability you display in this moment—your laughter, so unrestrained, so human, only deepening the bond between you both. “Shall we continue, my sweet troublemaker?” he asks, his tone filled with a soft, affectionate teasing as he watches you try to compose yourself. “I believe I shall need time to recover from such a display of… charm.”

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

✶ Elrond stands by the window, his gaze sweeping over the peaceful valley of Rivendell, his mind occupied with matters of great importance. The stillness of the moment is disrupted as you enter the room, your steps light yet purposeful. However, when you reach the center of the space, a sudden pause overtakes you.

✶ For a moment, you simply stand there, looking around the room as though you were searching for something. The air between you both is filled with a quiet tension as Elrond notices your confusion. His brow furrows slightly, his keen elven senses immediately catching the subtle shift in your demeanor. “Is something troubling you, meleth nín?” he inquires, his voice gentle yet filled with concern. His deep eyes, which have seen so much in the long years of his life, soften as he studies your expression. You stand there, still, seemingly unsure of why you entered the room in the first place.

✶ You blink, slowly processing, and then, with a soft sigh, you murmur, “I’ve forgotten why I came in here.” A small, knowing smile tugs at the corner of Elrond’s lips, and for a moment, he can’t help but feel a deep fondness for you. He steps toward you with quiet grace, his long, elegant strides never once faltering. His touch is light as he gently places a hand on your shoulder, an anchor in your moment of confusion.

✶ “It is not the first time,” he says softly, his voice filled with warmth and understanding. “Such things happen even to the most diligent of minds. Fear not, my heart. The memory will return, in time.” He watches as your face softens, a hint of amusement returning to your features. His smile deepens as he regards you—your quirks, your humanity, the way you so often forget, yet always seem to be so effortlessly yourself.

✶ “My love,” Elrond continues, his voice laced with a gentle teasing, “it is in these moments I am reminded of the beauty in your simplicity. A thousand years of wisdom may not protect one from forgetting the smallest of details. I, too, have had my share of such lapses in thought.”

✶ He steps closer, his presence enveloping you with calm and reassurance. “Perhaps you were simply drawn in by the peacefulness of this room. Or, mayhap, you were distracted by thoughts of us, as I often am.” His eyes twinkle with a soft affection as he regards you. “Whatever the reason, do not fret. You are in no way alone in this. I, too, have often found myself lost in my thoughts, only to be reminded by a gentle nudge from the world around me.”

✶ He lets out a soft chuckle, the sound warm and full of affection. “Shall we sit for a while, then? If the reason for your visit escapes you, perhaps a moment of rest will bring it back to mind.” As you take a seat beside him, Elrond leans in just slightly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch delicate. “Do not worry, melethril nín. Sometimes, it is not the purpose of the visit that matters, but the quiet presence we share in these moments.”

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

✶ Elrond watches quietly from the corner of the room as you prepare for the evening. His long, jet black hair gleams softly in the gentle light of Rivendell’s hearth, his dark eyes following every movement you make with an intensity that betrays his usual calm demeanor. He’s no stranger to the simple acts of daily life—after all, he’s seen countless years pass in Rivendell, where the moments of peace are as precious as gold—but there’s something endearing in the way you go about these small routines.

✶ As you prepare to settle into the bed, he notices your particular attention to the pillow, your hands moving to flip it to the “cool side,” a habit that has become second nature to you. There’s a slight smile on his lips as he observes, his expression softening with fondness. The simple, human gesture is both quaint and deeply charming to him, reminding him of the beautiful uniqueness of your nature, so different from his own.

✶ He watches you with an air of quiet admiration as you finally lay down, the cool side of the pillow now beneath your head. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, a mix of awe and tenderness in his eyes, before he slowly approaches the bed, as if drawn by an invisible force. “Elvish pillows, though soft, do not have the same… comfort,” Elrond muses, his voice low and smooth, with an underlying note of amusement. “I have often wondered about this particular custom of yours, meleth nín.”

✶ He stands at the edge of the bed, his tall form casting a long shadow across the room, his presence as steady and eternal as the stars themselves. There’s a warmth in his eyes now, a tenderness only visible to you as he regards you, the love he feels for you evident in every glance. “Do you find it truly so different from the way we do things?” he asks, taking a seat beside you with a grace only an elf could possess. “I confess, I am fascinated by these small rituals that make you… you.”

✶ His fingers brush lightly against your hair, and there is a deep, quiet reverence in his touch. The cool pillow, the little quirks of your routine—he cherishes these moments, knowing they are part of what makes you human, what makes you his.

✶ “If it pleases you,” Elrond continues, his voice soft but sincere, “I will see if I can find a way to make your pillow more… to your liking. I will take whatever steps I can to ensure your comfort, for that is my duty as your partner.” His eyes search yours for a moment, his hand resting on the pillow now beneath your head. “But perhaps it is not the pillow that brings comfort, but simply the presence of another to share the night with.”

✶ A quiet, affectionate smile spreads across his lips as he leans down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, his voice barely above a whisper. “Rest now, melethril nín. You are safe here with me. And if you need to flip the pillow again… you need only ask.”

👑𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-galad, being the proud and poised elven king of Lindon , would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

🜲 Gil-galad would stand still for a moment, his sharp gaze landing on the metal cuffs now binding you both together. His usual composure would falter for just a second, eyes widening slightly in surprise. His lips might twitch into a barely noticeable smile, though he quickly masked it, his regal demeanor reasserting itself.

🜲 “Well,” he begins in his smooth, steady voice, “this is certainly a creative gesture, my heart.” There’s a glimmer of amusement in his tone, but also a touch of wariness. As a king, he’s accustomed to authority and independence, and the idea of being physically bound, even symbolically, might make him momentarily uncomfortable. He would gently touch the cuffs, his fingers brushing over the metal as though considering the weight of the gesture.

🜲 “You certainly know how to make your affections known,” he continues, his voice softening with tenderness. His noble nature keeps him from fully expressing the sudden warmth that fills his chest, but there’s a soft, almost playful look in his eyes now.

🜲 “You’ve captured me in more ways than one, it seems,” Gil-galad would add, his voice carrying a quiet affection. Despite his usual reserved nature, there’s a vulnerability in his words, showing how deeply he cherishes this bond. Though he stands as a High King, in this moment, he would be tethered to you in a way only love could achieve, silently affirming that, despite his reservations, he was yours.

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You Burning your tongue on food even though you just said, “This is too hot.”

🜲 Gil-galad watches with quiet concern as you burn your tongue, even though you had just warned yourself of the heat. His sharp gaze softens in a rare moment of affection, though his expression remains composed, as is his nature. He immediately shifts into a protective stance, moving closer as you react to the burning sensation. His tone is gentle yet authoritative, a voice that’s both soothing and filled with care.

🜲 “Patience, my moonlight,” he says, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You must learn to heed your own words, for even the most steadfast may falter when it comes to something so simple as food.” He speaks not with reprimand but with quiet amusement, his wisdom guiding his response.

🜲 Gil-galad places a hand on your shoulder, his touch firm but reassuring. “Shall I fetch something to cool it?” he offers, ever the considerate king, despite the situation’s triviality. He watches you closely, his gaze not critical but full of concern for your well-being.

🜲 Though this moment may seem small, to him, it’s a reminder of the care and responsibility he feels for those he holds dear. It’s in these small gestures, these fleeting exchanges, that his true affection for you is made evident. He doesn’t need grand displays; his love is shown in the subtle actions of attentiveness and understanding.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal).

🜲 Gil-galad stands motionless for a moment, his usually calm and composed demeanor faltering as he watches you laugh with such abandon that it quickly escalates into hiccups and snorting. The sounds are unexpected and unrefined, almost animalistic in their intensity. At first, he blinks in mild surprise, not accustomed to such unrestrained expressions of joy from anyone, let alone his beloved. His brow furrows ever so slightly, as if he’s trying to understand the source of this particular outburst.

🜲 But soon enough, a soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and his stern gaze softens with an affectionate warmth that rarely shows. His posture remains regal, but there’s a flicker of something else—an admiration for the raw, unfiltered joy you’re displaying. He never lets go of his dignified nature, but your laughter, full of life and free from restraint, melts something inside of him.

🜲 “You have a way of surprising me, my heart,” he says, his voice smooth and steady, but now tinged with an affectionate amusement. His usual solemnity is touched by a rare playfulness. As your hiccups continue, Gil-galad can’t help but chuckle softly, the sound low and quiet but genuine.

🜲 “You laugh with the sound of a creature most ungraceful, yet I cannot help but admire the joy you bring,” he continues, his voice warm but steady, his tone not mocking but filled with a sense of endearment. His gaze never wavers from you, taking in the beauty of the moment despite its messiness. The High King of the Noldor, usually a symbol of restraint, finds his heart lightened by your unpolished charm.

🜲 Reaching out with a gentleness that contrasts his usual command, he places a hand on your shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly. “Take a moment to breathe, my little flower,” he says softly, his voice filled with a quiet concern that reveals how much he cares for you in these small, personal moments. Even as you snort or hiccup, his presence is unwavering, calm, and steady. He doesn’t laugh at you, but rather with you, seeing in your laughter a vulnerability and joy that reminds him of what it means to be truly alive.

🜲 When you finally regain control, he would look at you with fondness and say, “No matter how unpolished, your laughter is a treasure to me.” His words are gentle, but they carry the weight of an everlasting love, as deep and sincere as his commitment to his people.

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

🜲 Gil-galad watches with quiet curiosity as you stand in the doorway of the room, momentarily frozen, eyes scanning the surroundings as though searching for something you cannot quite place. His sharp elven eyes observe your confusion with a subtle, amused glint, but his expression remains composed, ever the dignified ruler. He knows the feeling all too well—his long life has often required a great deal of focus, and he’s had moments where his mind wandered despite his best efforts.

🜲 For a fleeting second, he stands silently, studying you with a soft, unspoken affection. His voice, when it comes, is warm but gentle, tinged with a hint of mirth that he rarely allows himself to express. “It seems that even the wisest of us are sometimes led astray by the mind, my heart,” he says, his tone calm yet filled with understanding. His words are not mocking but reflect a genuine empathy, for Gil-galad, despite his regal nature, is not unfamiliar with moments of distraction and confusion.

🜲 He steps closer, his movements fluid and dignified, but his eyes betray a tenderness as they meet yours. “Shall I assist you in your search? Perhaps together, we may uncover what was so important that brought you here.” His words are light, though there is a deeper warmth in them that only someone close to him would notice.

🜲 He would never rush you or press you for an answer, but rather, he’d patiently stand by, offering his quiet presence to help you find your footing again. His role as a leader of Elves is never far from his mind, but in this moment, he chooses to focus on your small human struggle. There’s no sense of impatience in him, only a sense of calm encouragement. He might even gently place a hand on your shoulder, a subtle gesture of support, his gaze never wavering, as though he is ready to help you in whatever way you need.

🜲 “Do you often forget what brings you here, my little flower?” he would ask softly, his voice laced with affection and concern. The depth of his care for you is evident, even in the smallest of moments, showing that his love for you transcends any regal distance.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

🜲 Gil-galad watches with a quiet fascination as you flip the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in, his sharp elven gaze observing the small, seemingly insignificant act with a kind of patient reverence. To him, such simple, human gestures hold a deep beauty. The night has fallen, and while his mind is often preoccupied with the burdens of kingship, in these moments, his attention is solely on you. His expression is serene, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he silently admires your ability to find comfort in small things.

🜲 As you settle into bed, he steps closer, his tall, commanding presence as regal as ever, though now softened by the warmth of intimacy. “I see you have found the secret of a peaceful rest,” he says, his voice smooth and calm, a hint of amusement coloring his words. “Such a simple thing, yet it speaks volumes of the care you take for yourself.” His tone carries an affection that contrasts with his usually serious nature, showing a side of him that only you are privy to.

🜲 Gil-galad would pause for a moment, watching the way you relax into the coolness of the pillow, his eyes softening. “In a world where so much is constant and unyielding, it is a comfort to know there are small, simple pleasures to be found,” he continues, his voice gentle but filled with a quiet reverence for the simple joys you bring into his life. He is a King who has borne countless burdens, but watching you find peace in such a small, human act makes him feel grounded in a way he rarely experiences.

🜲 When he finally joins you, his movements are graceful, measured, and yet filled with a quiet tenderness. Gil-galad would lie down beside you, his own pillow perhaps a bit colder than the one you had flipped, but his presence beside you is a warmth of its own. He would take a moment to simply enjoy the tranquility, allowing the weight of the day to slip away in the stillness of the night, only for a brief moment remembering how precious these quiet moments are with you.

🜲 With a final glance at your now-resting form, he might quietly whisper, “The coolness of the night is nothing compared to the warmth you bring to my heart.” His voice is a low murmur, barely more than a soft breath in the quiet of the room, but the depth of his affection is clear. Even in these simplest of moments, his love for you is quietly ever-present.

I’m working on the other characters like , lindir, haldir, feren, meludir, Galion, elros, elladan, elrohir, Legolas, celeborn, erestor, glrofindel, círdan, adar 💚🍃

#king thranduil #thranduil #thranduil x reader #thranduil headcannon #thranduil of mirkwood #Elrond #elrond x reader #Elrond of Rivendell #elrond peredhel #lord elrond #elrond headcanons #ereinion gil galad #elvenking gil galad #gil galad #gil galad x reader #gil galad headcanons #the hobbit #lord of the rings #the rings of power

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earthlybeam · 20 days ago

Note

Hello! can I please request elves not knowing our language well enough like innuendos or slang and getting the reader flustered by saying something double meaning ..😏😏😏 (like sleeping together spicy or not)

Apologies for the delay—I’ve been working on this in bits and pieces. I wasn’t sure which character you had in mind, so I went ahead and worked on my main three I write for. If you’d like me to focus on a different character, feel free to leave a comment or request it directly. Hope you enjoy!

↓

Thranduil, Elrond, Gil-galad Version below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵 (two versions below)

(First one)

The air around you is cool, a refreshing contrast to the lingering heat of the day. You stand near the tranquil waters of the forest stream, looking out at the setting sun filtering through the trees. The serenity of Mirkwood feels almost overwhelming, the world slowed down to the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional bird call. You feel yourself relaxing—until a familiar presence at your back reminds you that this stillness is about to be broken. You hear the soft crunch of leaves beneath boots before Thranduil’s voice reaches you, smooth and unhurried. “You look worn, my guest,” he remarks, his tone soft yet authoritative, like he’s seen the fatigue in your posture from a distance. You turn to face him, the King of Mirkwood, his figure standing tall and imposing, yet there’s something unexpectedly gentle in the way he regards you. “I could make you feel so good with just a little pressure, you know,” he says, his voice low and oddly intimate, a slight, lingering pause in the air between his words. His fingers graze the bare skin of your shoulder, the touch so light it’s almost like a whisper of contact. But that small touch carries more weight than it should. You swallow, caught off guard by the sensation, a shiver running through you at the lightness of his caress. His fingers press just enough to leave a warmth lingering, a promise that extends far beyond the simplicity of his words.

“Trust me enough to let me,” he adds, and it’s almost a challenge, though not in the way you’d expect. There’s a quiet command in the suggestion, the kind of confidence that comes from a ruler who knows the power of his own allure. His words hang in the air, curling into your thoughts like a slow, intoxicating pull. You open your mouth to respond, but something in his gaze stops you. His eyes—always calculating, always observing—lock with yours, and suddenly, everything feels far more personal, far more intimate than it should be. Your heart beats faster, a fluttering in your chest that you don’t quite understand. It’s not just the offer of a bath, not really. It’s the way his fingers linger, almost imperceptibly, against your skin, as though waiting for you to make the next move, to decide what happens next. Your thoughts race, clouded by an undercurrent of something you don’t know how to define. Did he mean it the way you think he did?

Your cheeks flush, a crimson warmth spreading across your face. You try to compose yourself, to steady your breathing, but the heat of his touch refuses to fade. You find yourself unable to meet his gaze, unsure whether you should speak or remain silent. You didn’t expect this kind of attention, not from someone so regal, so commanding. And certainly not from someone who feels like an enigma wrapped in a thousand years of experience. Thranduil watches you closely, an unreadable expression passing over his features. He doesn’t comment on your flustered silence but offers you a small, almost knowing smile, his gaze never leaving yours. Without saying another word, he turns and begins walking toward the hidden pathway leading deeper into the trees.

“Come,” he says softly, his voice still smooth but with a certain undertone of reassurance, as if he is guiding you rather than commanding you. You hesitate for just a moment, unsure of whether to follow, but you find your feet moving behind him almost instinctively. There’s a curiosity gnawing at you, a mix of confusion and anticipation, as you trail after him through the thickening forest. The path grows quieter the further you venture, the sound of the forest dampened by the thick canopy above. You walk in silence, the tension from before lingering in the air, until you come to a secluded stone chamber, the entrance concealed by thick vines and foliage. Thranduil steps aside to allow you to pass, his gesture graceful, yet his eyes are still focused on you—unwavering, assessing.

The room before you is bathed in a soft glow, the flickering light from several candles casting long shadows against the stone walls. In the center of the room, a large pool of water waits, steam rising from its surface. The scent of lavender and something musky fills the air, calming and inviting, a sharp contrast to the electric tension that still crackles between you. It’s only then that you realize exactly what he meant by his earlier words. The bath. The pressure. It’s not just a physical offering—it’s something more intimate, more vulnerable. Your eyes widen in realization as you glance back at him. He’s still watching you, waiting for you to come to terms with the situation. The flush on your cheeks deepens as the realization sinks in.

Thranduil’s gaze softens for a moment, though his confidence never wavers. “I find that a long day’s journey is best followed by a moment of true relaxation.” He speaks with such ease, as if this was a perfectly normal offer, but you can’t shake the underlying tension between the two of you. You stand there for a moment, at the threshold of the bath chamber, a part of you wanting to turn and walk away, to ignore the way his presence fills the room and how you suddenly feel as if you’re being held in a delicate balance. But you don’t. You step forward, drawn by a force you can’t explain, still unsure of what exactly you’ve stepped into. Thranduil’s voice breaks through your thoughts, warm and deep as ever. “Don’t worry. I will make sure the waters are to your liking.” His hands, smooth and practiced, reach for the edge of the stone basin, and you feel his gaze on you like a tangible thing, though his tone remains gentle, almost reassuring. You realize in that moment that whatever you had imagined this encounter would be, it’s nothing like what you’ve expected. It’s far more intimate, more intimate than you were prepared for, but something tells you, as his eyes flicker to you once more, that this moment—whatever it is—might be just the beginning of something far deeper than you had anticipated.

(Second one)

Thranduil’s presence surrounds you, a palpable force that draws you closer with every step you take. His steps are measured and calm, but there’s a magnetic energy in the air that leaves you feeling disoriented, as if your very thoughts are caught in a haze. You follow him instinctively, your mind still tangled in the weight of his words, which seem to echo through the space in your mind, growing louder and heavier with each passing moment. As you walk, you can feel his gaze on you, unwavering, almost predatory in its intensity. The air between you two is thick with something unspoken, a quiet tension that sets your heart to racing. You can’t seem to escape it—the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way his words weave a spell around you, drawing you deeper into his influence. “I could show you how to be truly loyal,” he says again, his voice smooth, each syllable slipping over you like a velvet caress. But this time, the weight of his words hits you differently. The phrase itself, at its core, seems simple enough. Loyalty. You’ve heard the word before, perhaps from your own lips or from those of others. It’s meant to convey trust, duty, service. But in his voice, there’s something more—a hidden layer that twists the meaning, that turns it into something else entirely.

The way he says it, so slow, so deliberate, sends a shiver down your spine. You almost feel as if the word has taken on a life of its own, as though it’s no longer about allegiance or honor, but something far more personal, far more intimate. It’s as if he’s promising you something, something you’re not entirely sure you’re ready for. His words hit you like a spark in a dry field, igniting a fire you can’t quite control. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize that his suggestion is more than just about loyalty in the sense you’ve known. It carries a weight, a pull that makes your pulse quicken, your chest tighten, and your mind start to wander down paths it shouldn’t be going. Your face flushes, the heat creeping up your neck, as you begin to wonder if he’s implying something far more sensual. Loyalty? you think to yourself. It seems innocent, but the way he said it… the way his voice lingers on each syllable—there’s a darkness to it, a quiet invitation that feels charged with promise. You’ve been around the king long enough to know that he’s not a man of simple words. Every sentence feels calculated, every glance laced with purpose. The thought of loyalty becomes something else entirely in your mind. It shifts from the idea of service to something more personal—more visceral. Your stomach tightens, a flicker of something stirring deep inside you as your thoughts race down that path. What did he mean? The heat in your cheeks intensifies, and you find yourself stumbling over your own thoughts, as though your body is reacting before your mind can make sense of it all.

His gaze never wavers, watching you closely, as though he can sense the confusion, the uncertainty, the sudden shift in your demeanor. That knowing smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, and the flicker of something darker, more dangerous, dances in his eyes. It’s a look that says he knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly how his words are landing on you, and it makes your heart race even faster. He tilts his head slightly, a motion so small, so imperceptible, that it only serves to draw you in further. He’s watching you closely, his eyes scanning your face for the smallest change, for that flicker of recognition. The tension between you thickens, a quiet storm gathering on the horizon. He’s waiting, and you can feel it, the expectation hanging in the air like a breath held just out of reach.

“Would you let me?” His voice is soft, almost soothing, but there’s an undeniable edge to it. An authority that lingers in the command. The question itself, the way he asks it, is layered, rich with implications you aren’t entirely sure you’re ready to face. His words drift through the space between you, thick with that unspoken promise, and for a moment, it feels as if time itself has stopped. You can feel the weight of it, the anticipation hanging heavy in the air. The flush on your cheeks deepens, and you swallow hard, unsure of how to respond. His presence, the way his words have wrapped themselves around your mind, has left you breathless. You’re not sure if you’re responding to the promise of loyalty in the way he means it, or if you’ve misinterpreted it entirely, your thoughts racing into dangerous territory. But Thranduil, ever the observer, sees the shift in you—the way your breath quickens, the subtle tension in your shoulders, the flush in your cheeks—and it only serves to further amuse him. He’s playing with you, testing the boundaries of your control, and you can’t help but feel as though he’s already won.

Thranduil steps closer, his presence overwhelming as the air between you seems to narrow, charged with something unspoken. His smirk deepens, a subtle curve that holds both amusement and intrigue, as though he’s unraveling every thought tumbling through your flustered mind. “You’re trembling,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a tone that feels like silk brushing against your skin. His hand, so light yet deliberate, grazes the barest edge of your wrist. The touch is fleeting, almost innocent, but it sends a wave of heat coursing through you. His gaze sharpens, watching as your lips part slightly, caught between a breath and a response you can’t seem to find. “Don’t worry.” His words are a low purr now, each one carrying a weight that presses down on you. “I’ll show you exactly how to handle it.” Your chest tightens at his phrasing, the suggestion hanging heavy in the space between you. He seems so certain, so effortlessly calm, while your thoughts spiral deeper into dangerous territory. The confidence in his tone, the commanding edge laced with that undercurrent of promise, leaves you unsteady on your feet. You know—you know—he means something else entirely, but the way he says it… your cheeks burn hotter, and you can’t stop yourself from imagining something far more intimate.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭 (two versions below)

(First one)

The sun had set, casting a gentle twilight glow over the valley of Rivendell. The golden light reflected off the rushing water that wound its way through the valley, bringing with it a sense of calm. The two of you had taken a stroll earlier, as you often did, your arm linked with Elrond’s as you walked side by side, occasionally exchanging soft words or comfortable silence. But now, the day had worn down, and you found yourselves in the quiet warmth of Elrond’s study, where the glow of the fireplace danced over the high, arched stone walls. He had been seated at his desk, reading through scrolls of ancient knowledge, but his attention shifted to you as he noticed the slight tension in your shoulders. You were curled up in a chair, your legs tucked under you, and your posture stiff. The weight of the day—of your thoughts, of your quiet anxieties—had settled on your body, making you uneasy. You hadn’t realized how tense you were until Elrond’s gentle gaze swept over you. His piercing eyes softened in concern.

As the leader of Rivendell and one of the most ancient of the Elves, Elrond had seen countless expressions, heard many words, and understood much of the hearts and minds of those around him. But the slight crease of your brow, the tension in your shoulders—these things spoke to him without words, louder than any speech could convey. He stood from his desk, his movements deliberate and calm, yet there was a tenderness in the way he approached you. “Mellon nín,” he murmured, his voice low, “You carry the weight of many thoughts this evening.” He moved closer, his presence filling the space, a steady, comforting warmth. The proximity between you both—just a step away—was enough to send a quiet ripple through the air. He was a tall figure, regal in his manner, and yet now, he leaned down slightly, his gaze fixed on you with both understanding and something softer.

He knelt down beside your chair, his hand resting lightly on the back of it. His fingers brushed the delicate fabric of your sleeve, the touch of his skin just enough to draw your attention to the closeness, the subtle pull between you. “You’re so tense,” Elrond said, his voice carrying an innocent sincerity, unaware of how his words might be interpreted. He leaned in slightly closer. “Shall I massage you? You’ll feel much looser under me.” The words slipped from his lips in perfect sincerity, his intent to ease your discomfort pure, but they hung in the air between you both, carrying a double meaning that left you with a quick breath. The way his gaze lingered just a moment too long made your heart skip. Elrond, for all his wisdom and centuries of experience, seemed blissfully unaware of the innuendo his words had inadvertently conjured.

Your breath hitched at his words, a flush rising to your cheeks as his innocent suggestion landed. You knew Elrond, knew how his mind worked, and yet there was something in the way he spoke to you—so direct, so matter-of-fact—that it felt a little too intimate, a little too close to the edge of something deeper. His words were innocent enough, the kind he would offer any guest in need of comfort or care, but his proximity—the warmth of his hand just behind your shoulder, the way he was bending just slightly to meet your gaze—made everything feel… different. You shifted in your seat, feeling the heat in your cheeks. The space between you both, so often a comforting familiarity, now felt charged. His deep, velvet voice, his gaze steady and soft, seemed to understand exactly where you needed to feel safe, but in that moment, his words somehow stoked the fire of your own flustered thoughts.

Trying to compose yourself, you cleared your throat, offering a forced smile, but the playful glint in his eye made it hard to keep your composure. “Elrond…” you began, but your voice faltered slightly, unsure whether to address his words directly or to brush it off. His brows furrowed ever so slightly in concern. “Did I say something wrong?” You hesitated, looking at him. His earnest expression was almost too much to bear. He truly did not seem to realize the effect his words were having on you. How could he, when his understanding of language was so direct, so innocent? He had always been somewhat naïve to the nuances of human interaction—those sly little jokes or innuendos that often slipped past him. “No… No, it’s nothing,” you said quickly, trying to regain your composure. “I just—wasn’t expecting it.” You laughed softly, but the flush on your skin remained.

A soft chuckle escaped him then, low and melodic, as he leaned in just a touch closer, his face now mere inches from yours. “Ah, Mellon nín, I meant only to ease your tension. I would never wish to cause you discomfort.” He reached out then, fingers gliding over the tense muscles in your shoulder, as if trying to physically soothe you. His touch was gentle, purposeful, and you couldn’t help but feel the unspoken understanding in the way he moved. Elrond was so tender, so deliberate in his every action. His closeness only amplified the heat that had begun to settle beneath your skin. “I will ease your discomfort,” he said quietly, his voice both reassuring and soft. As he leaned in just a little closer, his breath brushing your ear, the innocent nature of his words took on a different edge. For all his wisdom and poise, Elrond’s understanding of the subtleties of human relationships had its limits.

Yet, in his earnestness, he seemed to have unwittingly created a moment where closeness became more than just physical, but something more intimate, something personal. Something you weren’t sure whether to welcome or to shy away from. You exhaled slowly, trying to calm your racing heart. His presence, his touch, had the power to disarm you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. And yet, as you looked up at him, you knew—despite the growing warmth between you both—that there was something undeniably genuine in Elrond’s actions. He was here for you, as always, whether you needed the massage he offered, or whether you needed space to clear your thoughts. Still, the tenderness in his gaze, the soft, deep sincerity that flowed through his words, left you wondering just how much of his affection was truly as innocent as it seemed.

(Second one)

The room was quiet, save for the faint crackle of a fire in the hearth. The high stone walls of Rivendell’s training hall stood as a testament to the skill and discipline of its people, and tonight, you were once again in Elrond’s care. You had come here to learn, to train in the ways of combat and defense, and Elrond—masterful as always—had been a patient, dedicated teacher. His lessons, though often stern, had always been delivered with a quiet kindness. Tonight, however, there was something different in the air. You could feel it, a shift. Elrond had been watching you closely as you practiced your swordplay, your form becoming more fluid, more precise with each strike. You had improved under his guidance, but this evening, it felt as if he were less focused on the formality of training and more on the connection between you both. He stood behind you now, the weight of his presence almost overwhelming, his tall figure casting a long shadow over the floor. His hands were behind his back, watching intently, but there was a certain softness to his expression. A small, approving smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he observed you, the practiced ease with which you handled your weapon now a point of pride.

His gaze never wavered from you, studying your movements, the subtle fluidity of your form, the grace that was slowly becoming evident. You have done well, he thought, but the satisfaction of seeing your progress only deepened the quiet hunger to see more. To guide you further. To understand you more fully. He could feel your energy—a faint tremble in your stance as your muscles burned from the exertion, the focus in your eyes that spoke of a deeper engagement than simple technique. It was a connection that went beyond instruction. His voice, when it came, was soft, measured, and tinged with a warmth he often reserved only for those who proved themselves worthy of his trust.

“You’ve been such a good student,” Elrond said, his tone low, the hint of praise lingering in the air. “I can see the effort you’ve put in. Would you like to know what happens to those who please me?” He stepped forward, his presence drawing near. The words, though they could easily be interpreted as praise for your progress, seemed to hang in the air with an almost too suggestive quality. His smile lingered just a moment too long, and the glint in his eyes—the subtle flash of something darker, more possessive—suggested there was another lesson at play.

It was as if he were offering more than just guidance. As if his approval meant something deeper. Something he had not yet said aloud, but you could feel it nonetheless. His words echoed in the stillness of the room, and for a moment, the weight of the air between you both seemed to thicken. You straightened instinctively, unsure whether to respond with gratitude for his praise or to question the meaning behind his words. Elrond had always been so careful, so precise in his speech, that the unexpectedness of his tone took you by surprise.

At first, his statement appeared innocent, almost like a mentor’s simple acknowledgment of your hard work. But the way his smile curved at the edges, the way his eyes softened with that knowing glint—suddenly, you weren’t so sure. There was an unspoken weight in his voice, a shift in his demeanor that was hard to ignore. It felt as though there was more to this than mere praise for your training. He was closer now, his presence towering over you in a way that made your breath catch. His words—were they a test? An invitation? You couldn’t tell, but the air felt charged. You knew he was a master of more than just combat and wisdom; his understanding of people, of connection, was something that had always been subtle, even hypnotic. You could feel your pulse quicken as his proximity made the room feel smaller, more intimate. What happens to those who please him?

The question lingered, and you found your own thoughts flickering—should you ask him to clarify, or did you already know? Had you somehow crossed a line without realizing it? His quiet confidence, his effortless power, made everything seem so delicate, so easy, as if he could command anything with just a look. You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, but there was something about him that made it difficult to hold onto your usual composure. His praise was a rare thing, and you’d always known that earning it from him was something special. But now, the edges of his words seemed to promise something more—a lesson that could very well be more personal than you’d anticipated.

The silence between you two stretched, thickening the air. Your heart pounded against your chest as his gaze never left you, an intensity in his eyes that made it difficult to breathe. His words, though seemingly innocent, were loaded with meaning you couldn’t quite grasp. You felt your mind scrambling for something to say, something to break the tension, but all you could hear was the steady rhythm of your breath, growing faster with each passing moment. It happened before you could stop yourself. The words slipped from your lips, an unbidden response to his question—almost a whisper, but they were there, unmistakably. “Please you, my lord?” The moment the phrase left your mouth, you froze, feeling a rush of heat surge through your cheeks. The words had sounded so innocent, so formal in your mind, yet hearing them aloud, spoken directly to him, suddenly carried a weight you hadn’t anticipated. You hadn’t meant to say it like that, but there it was, and the immediate flush on your skin made it clear that you understood exactly how that could be taken.

Elrond’s expression didn’t falter. His lips remained curved in that knowing smile, though now, there was something in his eyes that made your pulse spike even further. He was no longer simply the patient teacher, the wise healer, the master of Rivendell’s ways. No, now there was something more, something darker, flickering just beneath the surface of his calm demeanor. His voice was soft when he finally spoke, but it was laden with a layer of amusement, as if he found your slip both endearing and… intriguing. “My, my,” he said, stepping even closer, his presence now almost overwhelming. His words felt like a caress against your skin, both gentle and possessive. “It seems you’ve already understood part of the lesson, though not quite in the way I intended.”

He leaned down slightly, his breath brushing your ear, and the proximity made everything inside you tighten, an unfamiliar tension pooling in your stomach. There was no escaping the look in his eyes now, the glint that told you he knew exactly what had just happened, and the way he was savoring the moment made you realize that the balance between your training and something else entirely had shifted. “I didn’t expect you to be quite so… eager,” Elrond murmured, the faintest trace of a tease in his voice. Your heart hammered, your thoughts in disarray. You had never meant to sound… that way. But now, it seemed your slip had opened a door to something you weren’t sure you were prepared for. His proximity, the heat of his gaze, the soft, commanding tone of his voice—it all swirled together, threatening to pull you into something deeper, more complicated.

You shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to respond. Did you try to correct yourself, explain it away? Or did you simply accept that your slip had led you down a path you might not have been able to turn back from? The answer, it seemed, lay in the tension that still hung heavy between you both, a tension that, for the first time, you weren’t sure you wanted to escape. Elrond’s lips quirked slightly showing his amusement, as if he were waiting for your response, patiently observing the way your mind worked to piece together the right words, or whether you would simply… remain silent, letting the moment unfold on its own. The choice, it seemed, was yours.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭 (two versions below)

(First one)

The small, dimly lit meeting chamber hummed with quiet tension. The heavy wooden door closed behind you, cutting off the noise of the bustling halls. A faint smell of polished wood and old parchment lingered in the air, but it did little to mask the energy that crackled between you and Gil-galad. He stood near the center of the room, his regal armor gleaming under the soft light from the high windows. Even in the stillness, his presence was undeniable. The way he stood, tall and poised, every inch the king—yet there was something about the way his eyes followed you, focused with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but something about this moment felt different.

Gil-galad’s gaze remained on you, calculating, as if he was measuring more than just your physicality. He’d always been a master of reading the room, and you could sense that, just as in battle, he knew exactly what kind of challenge to present to draw out your true strength. He stepped closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor the only noise that broke the silence. “I would show you the full extent of my strength,” Gil-galad’s voice was low and controlled, but there was an undeniable edge to it—like the calm before a storm. His eyes never left yours as he continued, his words slow, deliberate. “But only if you can prove you’re worthy of it.” You blinked, momentarily stunned. Was this a challenge of combat? Or something more? There was a dangerous undertone to his words, one that made your heart flutter uncomfortably in your chest. He wasn’t just speaking about strength in battle. You could tell. The way he phrased it, the soft command in his tone, suggested that this challenge was more than physical. It was something deeper, something rawer. A game of wills, a clash of desires, emotions, and unspoken promises. Your body tightened, and before you could stop yourself, your mind wandered—unbidden—to places it shouldn’t. You thought of him not as a warrior but as a lover, the power that surged through him in a far different context. You imagined his strength, his solid frame pinning you against the bed, his hands gripping you with that same firm intensity he used in battle. The thought hit you like a sudden wave.

You found yourself blushing—a heat flooding your face that spread rapidly through your chest. You couldn’t look away, but you couldn’t stop the surge of thoughts either. Was that the kind of strength he was speaking of? Was he daring you to enter a different kind of battle? One where his strength would take on a far more intimate form? You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, your breath catching in your throat. Gil-galad, ever perceptive, saw the change in you immediately. His lips curled up into the faintest of smiles, but there was no hint of mockery—only a knowing look, as if he could read your thoughts more clearly than you ever could. His gaze deepened, and for a moment, he was still—waiting, watching, allowing the silence to hang in the air between you like a taut rope ready to snap. You swallowed hard, your pulse racing as his next words came with even more weight than before, his voice dropping an octave lower, more gravelly. “You think you can match my strength in more ways than one?” he said, his words slow, testing, his breath warm against your skin as he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Prove it. Show me you’re worthy.” Your heart skipped a beat, and a wave of warmth rushed over you, thick and heavy. There was no mistaking what he was implying now, no ambiguity. Gil-galad wasn’t just offering a challenge of strength, he was inviting you into something far more intimate, a space where emotions, desires, and vulnerabilities tangled together.

You could feel the tension thickening, swirling between the two of you like an unseen force. His posture was perfect, commanding, yet there was a subtle shift in him now, something just for you. His eyes never left yours, daring you, waiting for you to respond. But the only thing you could feel was the heat in your chest, your lips dry, your body both frozen and yearning. How would you respond to a challenge like that? The words were barely on your lips, but before you could speak, Gil-galad spoke again, his voice softer now, but just as heavy with meaning. “I’ve seen your strength.” His voice was almost tender now, though still laced with that underlying edge. “But now I wonder… how far you’re willing to go to prove it.” You swallowed again, your mind a whirl of confusion and desire. He was daring you. But to what end? You couldn’t even find the words to explain how his presence, his strength, and his challenge had you reeling.

The silence stretched unbearably as your thoughts churned in disarray. Your heart pounded in your chest, so loud you were sure Gil-galad could hear it. The weight of his gaze, the intensity of his words, the challenge in his posture—all of it was too much. You wanted to respond, to summon some clever retort or steady reply, but nothing came. You simply stood there, caught in the maelstrom of emotions and desires he had so effortlessly stirred within you. Then, the corner of his mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk, and he took another step closer, the faint sound of his boots on the stone floor breaking through the haze clouding your mind. Before you could retreat, his face was inches from yours, his tall frame towering over you as he leaned down slightly. His breath was warm against your skin, his voice low and teasing as he finally broke the silence.

“Earth to Y/N,” he said, a rare flicker of humor coloring his tone, though the intensity in his eyes never wavered. “Are you still with us, Y/N?” The words startled you, pulling you back to reality with a jolt. His tone was playful, but the proximity, the way his voice wrapped around your name, and the sheer force of his presence made your breath hitch. You tried to respond, but your tongue felt tied, your thoughts still caught somewhere between propriety and the wicked turn your imagination had taken moments before. “I—yes, my king,” you managed, though your voice cracked slightly. The heat in your cheeks deepened as you quickly looked away, but it was impossible to escape him. He didn’t move back. If anything, he leaned even closer, his presence utterly overwhelming.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. “Because you seem… distracted.” Your eyes snapped back to his, wide and alarmed. His gaze searched yours, and there was no denying it—he knew. The faint smile that lingered on his lips told you that he’d read every thought that had crossed your mind, every inappropriate flash of imagery you’d tried so hard to suppress. “I—no, I’m not,” you stammered quickly, though you cursed yourself for how unconvincing you sounded. “Is that so?” he asked, his tone casual but his words deliberate, as if testing the weight of each one. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Because for a moment, you seemed far away. Lost in thought. Or perhaps…” He let the sentence trail off, the silence more damning than any words he could have spoken.

Your pulse raced, and your knees felt weak as his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that left no room for escape. You couldn’t tell if he was toying with you, testing you, or something more, but every inch of your body was hyperaware of him—his closeness, his strength, the sheer power he exuded even in such an intimate space. “I’m not distracted,” you said finally, though your voice lacked the conviction you so desperately wanted to project. He smiled then, a slow, knowing smile that sent another wave of heat through your body. “Good,” he said softly, his voice carrying the same weight it had before, but now laced with unmistakable amusement. “Because I’d hate to think my words went unheard.”

(Second one)

The air between you and Gil-galad seemed thicker than before, a charged stillness filling the dim chamber as if the very walls were listening. He stood before you, radiating a calm and calculated strength, his piercing eyes fixed on you with a weight that made your heart thunder. The subtle tilt of his head and the way his fingers rested lightly on the edge of the table spoke volumes, though his words were yet to come. There was an undeniable authority to him, but it wasn’t the kind of authority that demanded—it was the kind that commanded. “I know how to break a person,” he said at last, his voice low, steady, and smooth as molten silver. The words sent a jolt through you, not because they sounded cruel, but because of how deliberate they were—measured and intimate, like a confession meant only for your ears. “But I would much rather see you surrender willingly.”

The way he spoke made your mind falter, tripping over the multiple layers in his statement. Was he speaking of battle? Testing your defenses, your resolve? Or was this something else entirely? You swallowed hard, but your throat felt dry, and the faint heat already rising in your chest now rushed through you like wildfire. Your gaze darted to the floor briefly, unable to meet the intensity in his eyes, but the moment you did, the unbidden thought crept into your mind—a thought you couldn’t unsee. Surrender. The word seemed to echo in your mind, taking on a form all its own. Your traitorous imagination painted the image with startling clarity: you, on your knees before him, your head bowed in submission, not in defeat but in something far deeper, something raw and entirely outside the bounds of propriety. The thought burned through you like a brand, and you felt a flush creep up your neck and into your cheeks. You tried to push it away, to remind yourself of who he was and who you were, but his words… they lingered. The way he had said willingly felt too intimate, too knowing, and it unraveled you further. Gil-galad, perceptive as ever, noticed the change in your posture immediately. His gaze sharpened, his lips curving into the faintest smirk—not one of mockery, but of quiet understanding. “You hesitate,” he said softly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward, his tone low and coaxing. He took a step closer, the movement precise and deliberate, closing the already small gap between you. “I—” Your voice faltered, caught somewhere between protest and surrender, but the words wouldn’t come.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but somehow heavier with meaning. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “What it means to surrender. What it would feel like.” Your heart leapt into your throat. He couldn’t possibly know what had just crossed your mind, could he? The thought was mortifying, but the way his voice dropped, the way his words lingered, made you wonder. “N-no, I wasn’t,” you stammered, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “No?” he murmured, stepping even closer. His presence was overwhelming now, his height, his posture, the sheer weight of his attention all crashing down on you like a tide. He studied your expression carefully, and for a moment, you thought you saw the barest flicker of satisfaction in his gaze. “Then why are you blushing?” You froze, the words catching you off guard. Your lips parted, but no sound came out as you scrambled for a response that wouldn’t further incriminate you.

“Do not lie to me,” he said, his tone soft but commanding, a gentle nudge that stripped away your defenses. “You can deny it all you wish, but I see it. The idea tempts you, doesn’t it?” The weight of his words made your knees weak, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you wondered if he would notice if you truly sank to them now. The image in your mind surged forward again, unbidden and undeniable. You, kneeling before him, surrendering not out of defeat but because of the trust and power he exuded—because of the unrelenting pull you felt toward him.

Gil-galad leaned in slightly, close enough now that you could feel the heat of him, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. “There is no shame in surrender,” he murmured. “Not when it is given freely.” Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare up at him, your pulse pounding in your ears. The weight of his presence, his words, his gaze—it was too much. You felt like you were unraveling beneath him, but the faint, knowing smirk on his lips suggested that he wouldn’t let you fall completely. At least, not until you chose to.

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