#glorfindel x reader

[earthlybeam]

I adore your writing, could you write Glorfindel and reader teaching their kids to learn to ride on Asfaloth?

Thank you 💕

Glorfindel x F Reader | Noble Street Lessons: Teaching Your Son to Ride Asfaloth with Another Baby on the Way ❤️‍🔥🫶✨

Glorfindel version below. (In this your son name is Lórindel but you may change it.)

☀️𝓖𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓵

The morning sun spilled golden light over the rolling fields of Imladris, painting the world in soft hues of amber and green. A warm breeze danced through the tall grass, carrying with it the scent of wildflowers and earth, the gentle rustling of leaves in the trees overhead adding to the peaceful hum of the valley. The paddock lay before you, its wooden fence weathered yet sturdy, enclosing a space where Asfaloth stood in quiet majesty, his white coat gleaming like polished ivory beneath the light.

You stood just outside the paddock, resting one hand on the gentle curve of your heavily pregnant belly while the other braced against the fence for support. Your heart swelled at the sight before you—Glorfindel, crouched beside your five-year-old son, Lórindel, his strong hands resting lightly on the boy’s small shoulders. The little elf clung to his father’s arm, his wide blue eyes peeking cautiously toward Asfaloth.

To your son, the great stallion must have seemed impossibly large—tall and powerful, his strong frame a towering presence over the small child. The silver strands of Asfaloth’s flowing mane caught the breeze, lifting like banners in the wind, and his deep brown eyes held an ageless wisdom, calm and patient. Yet, despite his gentleness, there was no denying his size, and Lórindel hesitated, shifting on his feet, torn between awe and apprehension.

Glorfindel smiled, his voice warm and steady, the same voice that had soothed you so many times before. He reached up, brushing back a lock of Lórindel’s unruly golden curls. “Do not fear, my little star,” he murmured, his hands firm but comforting. “Asfaloth is kind. He will take great care of you, just as he has taken care of me. He has carried me through battle and across rushing rivers, through forests and mountains, never faltering. But today…” His smile widened, and his deep blue eyes shone with fatherly pride. “Today, his most important task is carrying my son.”

Lórindel’s fingers twisted into the fabric of his tunic, his small frame tensing as he glanced between his father and the great horse before him. His brows furrowed, uncertainty flickering in his young face. You watched from your place by the fence, feeling your heart squeeze at the sight of his hesitance. Slowly, you let your hand drift over your belly in soothing circles, offering him the reassurance he needed. “You are brave, Lórindel,” you said softly, your voice filled with quiet encouragement. “And you have the best teacher in all of Middle-earth.”

Glorfindel chuckled, casting you a playful glance. “That is true,” he admitted, tilting his head in mock humility. Then he turned back to Lórindel, his expression softening again. “Would you like to greet Asfaloth first? He likes to be spoken to kindly.” Lórindel hesitated, his fingers still gripping the fabric of his tunic, his small teeth pressing into his lower lip. The stallion stood patiently, motionless except for the occasional flick of his tail, his great head lowered slightly as though waiting for the child to approach.

After a long pause, Lórindel swallowed hard and gave the smallest nod. Encouraged, Glorfindel squeezed his son’s shoulder gently before standing, placing a steadying hand on his back as they took a slow step forward together. The closer they got, the more hesitant Lórindel became, his tiny feet moving with careful, deliberate steps, his breath quickened with uncertainty. Glorfindel moved with ease, his grip never wavering, guiding his son with the same patience and reassurance he had always offered.

When they were but a step away, Asfaloth let out a quiet, steady breath, lowering his great head even further so that he stood at the boy’s level. A warm gust of air huffed from his nostrils, stirring Lórindel’s curls, and the little elf let out an involuntary giggle at the sensation. Glorfindel smiled down at him. “He is greeting you,” he explained gently. “Would you like to touch him?” Lórindel hesitated only a moment longer before lifting a trembling hand, his small fingers hovering inches from Asfaloth’s velvety muzzle. His breath caught in his throat as his fingertips brushed against the horse’s warm skin. Soft. That was the first thought that formed in his mind. Softer than he had expected.

The boy’s hesitation melted into quiet wonder, his lips parting slightly as he traced his fingers gently over Asfaloth’s nose. The horse remained perfectly still, allowing the tiny hand to explore his face, and when Lórindel pulled away, he looked up at his father with wide, shining eyes. “He’s so soft, Ada,” he whispered, as if afraid speaking too loudly might break the spell. Glorfindel’s smile deepened, his hand ruffling Lórindel’s golden hair affectionately. “He is, isn’t he?”

From where you stood, you could see the moment fear turned into fascination, the shift in your son’s expression as awe replaced apprehension. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your lips curling into a warm smile. “You see?” Glorfindel murmured, his voice rich with encouragement. “He is your friend.” Lórindel beamed, his tiny hands reaching out again, stroking the great horse’s mane with newfound confidence. And as Asfaloth stood there, patient and unmoving beneath the boy’s gentle touch, you knew—this was only the beginning.

The shift in Lórindel was almost imperceptible at first—a loosening of his shoulders, the way his small hands moved with less hesitation through Asfaloth’s flowing mane. But soon, it became undeniable. The little elf, once so wary of the towering stallion, now stood beside him with ease, his fingers threading through the silken strands of silver-white hair, his touch growing more confident with each passing moment.

Asfaloth, ever patient, stood unmoving beneath the child’s gentle exploration, his deep brown eyes watching with quiet understanding. He had carried warriors into battle, raced against the wind, and outrun creatures of shadow, but this moment—standing still as a tiny pair of hands ran curiously along his mane—was perhaps just as important.

Glorfindel, ever the watchful father, knelt beside his son and placed a steadying hand on his back. “Are you ready to sit upon him, my little one?” he asked softly, his voice warm with encouragement. Lórindel looked up at his father, blue eyes wide with both excitement and trepidation. He hesitated only a moment before nodding. Glorfindel smiled, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight as he effortlessly lifted Lórindel into the air. The boy gave a startled squeak as his feet left the ground, clutching at his father’s arms.

But the fear was brief—before he could second-guess himself, Glorfindel had settled him carefully atop Asfaloth’s broad back, holding him steady as he adjusted to the unfamiliar height. The little elf gasped, his tiny fingers grasping fistfuls of Asfaloth’s mane. He wobbled slightly, his small body unused to the shifting feel of being perched on a living, moving creature. Glorfindel kept a firm but gentle hand on his son’s back. “Do not be afraid, ion-nín (my son),” he reassured. “Asfaloth is strong, and he will not let you fall.”

Still clutching the mane tightly, Lórindel swallowed hard and nodded. “Good,” Glorfindel murmured. “Now, sit straight—like this.” He placed a hand over his own chest, demonstrating the correct posture. Lórindel hesitated, then slowly straightened his back, his small frame stiff at first. His balance wavered, but Glorfindel’s steady hand remained behind him, offering both support and reassurance. You clapped your hands together from your place by the fence, beaming with pride. “You look like a true rider already, my love!”

At your words, Lórindel’s uncertainty gave way to a shy but radiant smile. He shifted slightly, adjusting to the feeling of being atop Asfaloth’s back, his confidence growing. Glorfindel nodded approvingly. “Very good. Now, let us take a few steps.” He took hold of the reins, his strong hand guiding Asfaloth forward at a slow, measured pace. The stallion obeyed without hesitation, moving with the same fluid grace that had carried his rider across countless leagues.

Lórindel let out a small gasp, his hands tightening in the mane, but he did not cry out in fear. Instead, he pressed his lips together, his brows furrowing in concentration as he adjusted to the gentle swaying motion beneath him. As they moved in slow circles around the paddock, Glorfindel continued to call out soft instructions. “Feel the movement of his steps, little one. Let yourself move with him, not against him. Trust him, and he will trust you.”

At first, Lórindel sat stiffly, his tiny hands still clinging to the mane, his body resisting the natural rhythm of the horse’s gait. But then, as the moments passed, something shifted. He loosened his grip just a little. His posture became less rigid. And then— A giggle bubbled from his lips. “It feels funny, Ada!” he exclaimed, his voice full of delight. Glorfindel chuckled, his heart swelling at the sound of his son’s laughter. “It will feel natural soon enough.”

For a time, Lórindel swayed in perfect harmony with Asfaloth’s slow steps, his giggles filling the warm morning air. His small frame had adjusted to the horse’s movements, his confidence growing with each passing moment. But then, as often happens with first lessons, confidence came faster than skill. It was a simple miscalculation—a shift of weight too sudden, a moment where his balance wavered. One second, he was laughing, his hands gripping the mane loosely. The next, he was slipping sideways, his little body tilting too far to recover. A startled gasp escaped him as he tumbled from Asfaloth’s back.

But Glorfindel was there. With a warrior’s reflexes, he moved swiftly, arms reaching out just as Lórindel slipped free. Strong hands caught him before he could hit the ground, pulling him securely against his father’s chest. The force of the fall left the child breathless, and for a brief moment, there was silence—no laughter, no cries. Just the rapid rise and fall of Lórindel’s small chest against Glorfindel’s steady heartbeat.

You, watching from the fence, let out a sharp breath, your hand instinctively pressing over the curve of your belly. You had known this might happen—it was inevitable. But still, your heart clenched seeing your little one in his father’s arms, his face buried against Glorfindel’s shoulder. Glorfindel rubbed his back in soothing circles, his voice calm and steady. “There now, ion-nín. You are safe. I have you.”

Lórindel clung to him for a moment, his small hands grasping the fabric of his father’s tunic. Then, slowly, he peeked up, his blue eyes wide with uncertainty. “I—I fell,” he mumbled. Glorfindel chuckled, pressing a kiss to his son’s golden curls. “Aye, you did. But do you know what my first lesson in riding was?” Lórindel sniffled and shook his head. Glorfindel shifted him so they were face to face, his hands still steady around the boy’s waist. “It was learning how to fall. And how to get back up again.”

The words lingered in the air, carried by the soft rustling of leaves and the distant murmur of the river. Lórindel blinked, his tiny brows knitting together. “You fell too?” A deep, rich chuckle rumbled from Glorfindel’s chest. “Oh, many times, little one. More times than I can count.” His voice dropped into a playful whisper. “I even fell off Asfaloth once.” Lórindel’s eyes went wide, his earlier distress momentarily forgotten. “You did?”

Glorfindel nodded solemnly. “I was smaller than you when I first learned to ride. And I was not half as brave.” That earned a small, wobbly smile from the boy, though he still nestled close to his father’s chest. Sensing the moment, you finally stepped forward, making your way to them with a soft, slow pace. You were not as quick as you once had been—your growing belly made sure of that—but nothing could keep you from comforting your little star.

As you reached them, Lórindel turned in his father’s arms, reaching out instinctively. You gathered him close, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead as your fingers smoothed over his windswept curls. “You were wonderful, my love,” you murmured, rocking him slightly. “Even the best riders must fall before they can truly ride.” Lórindel nuzzled into your embrace, his small arms wrapping around you as best as they could with your growing belly between you. “I want to try again,” he mumbled against your shoulder, his voice small but determined.

Glorfindel met your gaze over the top of his head, pride shining in his eyes. He placed a hand on Lórindel’s back, his fingers gentle but firm. “That is my brave boy.” But before the lesson resumed, there was one more soul who needed reassurance. Asfaloth, standing patiently nearby, lowered his great head, his dark eyes filled with quiet concern. Though he had not moved a muscle during Lórindel’s fall, he seemed to sense the child’s shaken confidence.

You turned, still holding Lórindel close, and reached out to the stallion. He responded immediately, pressing his velvety muzzle against your belly in a slow, deliberate movement. It was not just an affectionate nuzzle—it was protective, a silent gesture of understanding. You smiled softly, your fingers stroking along his nose. “You did well too, old friend,” you whispered. Asfaloth let out a low, rumbling breath, his warmth radiating against you. Lórindel, still nestled in your arms, hesitated before reaching out with one small hand, his fingers brushing against the horse’s soft muzzle.

“I think he was worried too,” Lórindel murmured. Glorfindel stepped beside you, placing a reassuring hand on Asfaloth’s neck. “Aye,” he agreed. “He is a loyal steed. And he will carry you well, little one.” Lórindel nodded, his fingers curling against Asfaloth’s nose for a moment longer. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned back to his father. “Can I try again, Ada?” Glorfindel’s golden hair gleamed in the sunlight as he grinned. “Of course, ion-Nín (my son) .” And with that, the lesson continued.

The morning had long since stretched into late afternoon, the golden light of the sun draping the fields of Imladris in a warm embrace. The air hummed with birdsong and the rustling of leaves, but all your attention was on the small figure perched atop Asfaloth’s broad back. Lórindel had tried again. And again. And again. Each time he had fallen, he had been caught. Each time he had wobbled, Glorfindel had steadied him. And now, after countless patient corrections and soft words of encouragement, something had shifted.

The hesitancy in his small hands faded as he gripped Asfaloth’s mane with less desperation and more understanding. His tiny body, once stiff with nerves, now moved with the horse’s rhythm, swaying naturally with each step. His shoulders loosened, his breathing evened, and his grip—once so tight it had been white-knuckled—softened into something instinctual. Glorfindel, ever watchful, took a step back, his guiding hand easing away. Asfaloth flicked an ear back, as if listening, as if understanding that his charge had finally found his courage. His steps remained slow, deliberate, steady as a river’s flow, ensuring the precious child upon his back remained safe.

And then it happened. Lórindel, no longer clinging, no longer afraid, let his hands rest lightly against the horse’s flowing mane. He sat tall—not perfectly, not yet, but naturally. He was no longer merely being led. He was riding. The realization dawned in his eyes first—wide and bright, shimmering like starlight against the deep blue of an evening sky. His lips parted slightly as his breath caught in pure wonder, and then, in a burst of excitement, he turned to look at you.

“Nana! (Mother) I am doing it!” His voice rang with exhilaration, the joy in it infectious, sending warmth flooding through your chest. A laugh bubbled from your lips, bright and unrestrained, your hands pressing over the curve of your belly as if to share the moment with the little life within you. “You are, my love! You are wonderful!” Lórindel beamed, his cheeks flushed with excitement. He straightened further, emboldened by your praise, his confidence soaring like a bird taking flight.

Glorfindel stood beside you now, arms crossed over his chest, golden hair catching the light. There was pride in his eyes���a quiet, unwavering kind of pride, the kind only a father could have. His hands, which had so carefully kept Lórindel steady before, now rested at his sides. Trust. In his son. In his steed. And Asfaloth, ever loyal, ever knowing, carried the boy with practiced grace, his hooves a rhythmic beat against the earth. The great stallion had carried warriors into battle, had outrun the forces of darkness—but today, his greatest task had been this. A small boy, five years old, finding his courage, finding his balance. Lórindel let out a laugh, filled with the kind of joy only a child could have.

He leaned forward just slightly, his fingers stroking along Asfaloth’s mane, as if to share his delight with the steed beneath him. And Asfaloth, in response, flicked his tail and let out a soft huff, as if to say, Yes, little one. You are riding now. And judging by the way Lórindel’s laughter rang through the golden fields, he would never want to stop.

By the time the golden hues of late afternoon melted into the deep purples and blues of evening, Glorfindel finally slowed Asfaloth to a halt. The great stallion came to a graceful standstill, his silver mane glistening in the fading light, his breath steady despite the long hours of patience he had given. Perched atop the elf-horse’s back, Lórindel was practically vibrating with energy. His little hands patted Asfaloth’s strong neck with excitement, his flushed cheeks glowing with the exhilaration of his first true ride. But even as Glorfindel reached up and lifted him down with ease, settling him gently onto the soft grass, the boy was already tugging at his father’s sleeve, wide-eyed and eager.

“Ada! Again! Please, again!” Glorfindel let out a warm chuckle, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “You have only just learned, my son. Asfaloth will grow weary if—” Before he could finish, the elf-horse flicked his ears back and let out a low, patient huff, his dark eyes calm and knowing. He was fine. Lórindel, of course, took that as undeniable permission. “See! He says yes! Please, Ada!” Your laughter rang across the paddock as you watched your husband press a hand over his face in mock defeat, his shoulders shaking with barely contained amusement. Finally, Glorfindel sighed, casting an amused glance at Asfaloth. “You are far too indulgent, my friend.”

Asfaloth flicked his tail as if to say, It is a small thing. Lórindel’s excitement was boundless as he nearly bounced on his feet, his golden curls wild from the wind and the constant movement. Glorfindel, ever the doting father, did not make him wait long. With effortless strength, he lifted Lórindel once more, settling him back onto Asfaloth’s back as though he weighed no more than a feather.

And with that, the lesson continued. Lap after lap, Asfaloth carried his tiny rider with unwavering steadiness. Lórindel no longer clutched at the mane with desperation but rather let his hands rest lightly, trusting in both the horse and himself. His laughter filled the air, bright and uninhibited, his joy contagious.

You stood at the paddock’s edge, watching with a hand gently resting on the curve of your belly, your heart full. Glorfindel walked alongside them, always near but no longer holding the reins. He gave Lórindel gentle instructions now and then, but the boy hardly needed them—his confidence had bloomed like the first star appearing in the evening sky. You felt a soft nudge against your side and turned to find Asfaloth had wandered close enough for a moment’s respite, his great head lowering to press his muzzle gently against your belly. The action was slow, deliberate—not just affection, but protection. He had carried warriors into battle, but he knew this… This was far more precious.

Smiling, you stroked his velvety nose, whispering softly, “You have done well today, old friend.” Asfaloth let out a quiet breath, warm against your skin, before flicking his ears back toward the sound of Lórindel’s newest round of laughter. He was not finished yet. And neither was Lórindel. Glorfindel eventually stopped walking, standing beside you now, arms crossed as he watched their son ride with a mixture of amusement and pride. “I do not think he will stop unless we force him,” he murmured, shaking his head.

You laughed, leaning against his side, sighing contentedly as he wrapped an arm around you. “Would you have stopped, at his age?” Glorfindel hummed thoughtfully before chuckling. “No. No, I would not have.” And so, for another hour, Lórindel rode under the darkening sky, the stars slowly beginning to flicker to life above him. Eventually, even his endless energy began to fade, his laughter becoming softer, his movements less sharp. His little body, which had been buzzing with excitement all afternoon, now leaned forward against Asfaloth’s warm neck, exhaustion creeping in.

Glorfindel stepped forward and, with the same ease as before, lifted Lórindel down. But this time, the boy’s arms wrapped loosely around his father’s neck, his breath warm against Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Ada…” his voice was softer now, dreamlike. “I want to ride again tomorrow.” Glorfindel pressed a kiss to his son’s golden curls, cradling him gently as he walked toward you. “Of course, little star.”

You reached out, smoothing Lórindel’s windswept hair as he blinked up at you, his lashes fluttering sleepily. Your other hand, resting over your growing belly, felt a tiny flutter within, as if the little one inside you was already longing to join these family moments. Lórindel yawned and curled against Glorfindel’s chest, his eyes drooping shut. Asfaloth, standing nearby, lowered his head slightly, exhaling a soft breath. He had earned his rest tonight. You smiled, looking between them—your husband, your son, your ever-patient Asfaloth. This was happiness. This was family. And with another little one soon to join, your heart had only more room to grow.

The night air was cool and sweet, carrying the scent of earth and distant flowers, the melody of the river weaving softly in the distance. Crickets hummed in the grass, and the stars above glittered like scattered jewels, their light casting a gentle glow over the three of you. Lórindel had surrendered fully to sleep, his small body limp and relaxed against Glorfindel’s chest, golden curls splayed across his father’s shoulder. He breathed in slow, steady rhythms, the rise and fall of his little frame perfectly in sync with Glorfindel’s. One tiny hand remained loosely curled in the fabric of Glorfindel’s tunic, even in sleep unwilling to let go.

You watched them, standing close, your heart swelling at the sight. Glorfindel—warrior, protector, legend—was standing before you now not as a fearsome guardian of Imladris, but as a father, holding his son as though he were the most precious thing in the world. And he was. As if sensing your thoughts, Glorfindel looked at you, the starlight catching in his bright blue eyes. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something that needed no words. Love, devotion, the quiet kind of happiness that settled deep into one’s bones.

He shifted Lórindel just enough to free one arm and reached for you, his fingers brushing over your cheek in a feather-light touch before trailing down to rest gently against your jaw. You leaned into him instinctively, and then, without hurry, he closed the distance between you. His lips met yours softly, with no urgency—just warmth, just love, just the simple need to be close. The kiss lingered, slow and unrushed, a quiet exchange of affection beneath the silvered night sky. He smelled of wind and open fields, of the fading warmth of the day, and of something inherently him.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours for a moment, his breath warm against your skin. And then— A sharp, unmistakable kick against your belly. You gasped softly, your eyes widening, one hand instinctively pressing over the swell of your stomach. Glorfindel felt it too—his other hand had already been resting there, cradling the curve of your belly, and now he went still, his expression shifting from surprise to pure wonder.

“Ah,” he murmured, a soft chuckle breaking the quiet. “So, you are awake, little one.” His voice was low, affectionate, full of quiet amusement. Lórindel, still lost in dreams, stirred slightly but did not wake, sighing contentedly against his father’s chest. But the baby inside you was very much awake. Another firm kick met Glorfindel’s palm, more insistent this time. You laughed softly. “They are eager.”

Glorfindel hummed, his fingers spreading over your belly, as if trying to feel every small movement. “Eager, strong… impatient,” he mused, his voice dipping into something softer, something infinitely tender. “Like their brother.” His gaze flickered to Lórindel, and he let out a quiet breath of amusement. “And perhaps, a little like me.” You smiled, resting your hand over his. “And yet, I think they have your patience too. They have waited this long, after all.”

Glorfindel exhaled another soft chuckle before, with infinite care, he shifted down onto one knee before you. He adjusted Lórindel carefully in his hold, cradling the sleeping boy with ease while still keeping his other hand pressed over your belly. He bowed his golden head slightly, lips curving into a quiet smile as he gazed at the life within you. “I will wait for you, little one,” he murmured, his voice so low it was nearly a whisper. “Take your time. There is no rush.”

The baby kicked again, as if disagreeing, and Glorfindel let out another soft laugh, shaking his head. “Stubborn already.” His fingers traced slow, soothing circles over your belly. “You will be here soon enough, and when you are, you will be loved beyond measure.” And then, with the same gentle reverence, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your belly. His lips lingered there, the warmth of the gesture filled with a depth of devotion that words could never quite capture.

Your fingers wove gently through his golden hair as he remained there for a moment, simply breathing you in, the life you carried, the family you had built together. When he finally looked up, his eyes met yours, shining with love so deep and unwavering it left you breathless. Lórindel shifted once more, nuzzling closer against his father’s chest, and Glorfindel rose smoothly, cradling him with the same ease as always. He reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours as the two of you began to walk back toward your home, wrapped in the soft hush of the night. And as you walked, Glorfindel’s hand never left your belly—never stopped feeling the tiny movements of the life waiting to join you.

[doodle-pops]

Yo, elves reaction toward a knight s/o? Like their s/o was a wandering human knight who then accepted work from them because they needed money. They did not expect much from a human knight, but turns out this knight is like hella effective on the battlefield. Like can slice down a group of orcs with a claymore, toss a warg over a cliff, and can/will punch a dragon hard enough in the snout that it will make the dragon dizzy. They don't even question anything but think a lot of solutions that are practical. Then when the elves develops stuff for this knight, they realize they never seen their knight's face because they're constantly wearing a helmet. And when they ask the knight show their face, their s/o's face is actually hella attractive for a human. Reactions?

Utterly impressed but suspicious like was that really YOU…

— Fëanor, Curufin, Maedhros, Caranthir, Thingol, Maeglin, Turgon

Amused and intrigued and riddles them with questions…

— Fingon, Celegorm*, Argon, Celebrimbor, Glorfindel, Egalmoth, Ecthelion, Rog, Galdor

Respects them but is confused about how a human can do this…

— Fingolfin, Finarfin, Angrod, Aegnor, Gil-Galad, Elrond, Erestor, Gwindor

Gets weirdly attached and lowkey obsessed…

— Maglor, Celegorm*, Amrod, Amras, Finrod, Beleg, Elrohir, Elladan

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

I usually have slightly different headcanons for each elf but I feel like this is one that applies to every Tolkien elf.

They absolutely freak out every time their human partner is on their periods. Elf women do get periods but they’re not as often, heavy or painful.

Even if your periods aren’t that painful or heavy, the slightest mention of fatigue, blood, cramp or nausea and they are carrying you back to bed. Good luck doing absolutely anything because they won’t let you.

“I can make my own cup of tea.”

“Nope. Too sweet and delicate, must protect you.”

Carries you to bed and returns like 5 minutes later with every blanket, heat pack, tea and sweet they can find.

It’s so stressful for them but they mean well 😅

[sorcerousundries]

Lalala vs okokok with lotr and the hobbit

Your the lalala, they’re the okokok

Thorin, Fíli, Aragorn, thranduil, Elrond, Arwen, bilbo, gimli, Sam, Éomer, Glorfindel, Bard, Beorn, glóin, Tauriel, Faramir, Boromir, Haldir, Bifur, Dwalin, Balin, Dori, óin, Galadriel

They’re the lalala, your the okokok

Legolas, Frodo, merry, pippin, Éowyn, kíli, celeborn, also Arwen, Lindir, bombur, ori, nori, bofur, meludir

[rivendell-poet]

i absolutely adore ur headcanons posts with the lotr characters but i didn’t know how many characters you take requests for per headcanon post so i’ll keep it very short ehehe

how would the elves (legolas, thranduil, lindir, glorfindel, meludir, haldir and feren) react to human who is just affectionate even before courtship starts? morning hugs, lemme braid ur hair, surprise tackle hugs or see u later forehead kisses? just thought it would be funny to see the elves go beet red with perked up ears since y’know, they’re not as affectionate as humans

thanks so much! (and so sorry for the wait, completely my bad) legit an honour to have you request from me/say you like my works. and I completely agree with the thought being funny, and here it is as headcanons!

(full disclosure, i've written once/not at all for the last three characters - please tell me if they're ooc)

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « headcanons »

○ Legolas ○ Thranduil ○ Haldir ○ Lindir ○ Meludir ○ Feren ○ Glorfindel ○

GN!Reader | TWs : None | Wordcount : 1.3k

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ Depends on if he’s travelled with the Fellowship, or if he hasn’t.

✧ Either way he’ll go still for a second, eyes gently going to you as if to check you’re actually doing what you’re doing. And of course there’s a light blush that’s spreading across his face.

✧ He gingerly hugs you back, unsure whether or not to squeeze you in it like you’re squeezing him. And when you give him a little forehead kiss he simply freezes in your arms. 

✧ Wonders, just for a second, if you somehow started courting and he didn’t realise. Then he simply stays there and gives a smile.

✧ It isn’t forced, just slightly uncertain - he’s never experienced this before.

✧ Later comes up to you and awkwardly thanks you before retreating backwards.

✧ If he’s been in the Fellowship for long enough he starts to reciprocate the gestures on a smaller scale.

✧ Legolas can very easily be convinced to braid your hair as well, and he takes it very seriously.

✧ Lays out his cloak so you can sit on the grass. Does a few small ones so you can see which one is preferable.

✧ When you’re not courting he feels a little guilty doing it - as your hair falls through his fingers it’s almost like you are together. And he doesn’t want to take advantage of that. But he likes you too much to stop, and you braid his hair as well.

✧ Is probably the quickest of the elves to get used to it, aside from Glorfindel.

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐢𝐥

✧ In an odd way, he’s one of the elves who craves it the most.

✧ Everyone else has some casual touches, a reassuring gesture by a friend. But no-one is brave enough to touch the King of Mirkwood. Until you.

✧ He’s missed warmth, he’s missed the sense of other people that you can now bring.

✧ Thranduil finds himself at first leaning into the hugs, before remembering that he should be proper. That he’s maintained a colder persona for so long. (He still can’t fully hide his reluctance as he pulls away.)

✧ The people who know him well are surprised when he doesn’t admonish you, before they realise why. You don’t understand why the king is suddenly glaring at someone behind you.

✧ Eventually he starts to return the gestures as well, although to start they are more careful.

✧ As begins to braid your hair - the light touches causing some strands to escape and generally become loose - you remind him that you’re not made of glass.

✧ You’ve been able to almost tackle him with a surprise hug, he can touch you with more than a feather-light weight.

✧ Once the two of you start courting he accepts the gestures more easily, although he’ll never become quite as good at spontaneous physical gestures of affection.

✧ Throughout the entire time he remains impressively blush free, although he does tense quite a lot.

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ You’ve seen how the poor elf froze when Aragorn simply hugged him. He’s very unused to gestures like this.

✧ He does like them - or at least, judging by the way he’ll steadily grow red he thinks he does. Or maybe he simply likes you.

✧ You have almost certainly triggered his fight/flight/freeze instinct on more than one occasion with a surprise hug, although he’s getting better at it. There’s a low chuckle, and a small smile when he realises it’s just you.

✧ People being this naturally affectionate is a curiosity to him, but when it comes from you it’s something he’s eager to know more about.

✧ Although the gestures, the small kiss on your forehead in greeting and such, are at first stiff and uncertain he gets better with them.

✧ Half the time when he’s greeting you with a forehead kiss, his lips really want to ask you ‘what are we?’. Or perhaps kiss yours.

✧ Still, Haldir is content to wait for a while. Even if he freezes up, your gestures still mean so much to him.

✧ Things become clearer when you eventually start courting, and all the affection feels more natural to him.

✧ There’s moments where Haldir simply blushes as he stands next to you, but every day the elf becomes more sure of your bond - and gives more expression to it.

𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ Also blushes a lot, his breath slightly catching before he tries to amend whatever he’s done. A small cough, or perhaps a bow to you in greeting - a vague hope some of the red will have gone when he comes up again.

✧ How you greet him, the quick kisses or the hugs, pulls him straight into romance stories he hasn’t read (or at least acknowledged reading) since he was a young elfling.

✧ And even then the gestures where between those already together, not like the two of you.

✧ Yet he doesn’t ever draw away, finds his gaze lingering on whatever has occurred.

✧ After the first time you’d braided his hair he’d nervously approached you again, asking if you braid it the following day as well.

✧ What you’re doing is unusual, but he can’t bring himself to care. Even the worries he has about seem to dissipate when you smile at him, or say goodbye with a kiss.

✧ Even after you start courting he still can’t stop his face from blushing horribly. Although he no longer hides it - he’s proud to be that deeply in love with you.

𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ When you first meet him, your interaction is brief. Not too many words exchanged as he talks to you, and then again as you disappear. Except for ‘goodbye’ kiss you give him.

✧ It’s feather light, but as an elf he could feel it so clearly. The brush of your lips against his skin, the way your eyes had sparkled. How quickly blush had rushed to his cheeks.

✧ Meludir lifts a hand to the spot you touched him, almost as if expecting something. But there is nothing, just the memory of your affection.

✧ Unlike the other elves, he can’t help but try to seek out your affection. Returning a friendly kiss with a gesture of his own, even if he can’t quite bring himself to kiss you back.

✧ There’s always a smile on his face after you’ve done something, big or small, and a sprinkling of blush to accompany it.

𝐅𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧

✧ The first time you do such a gesture to him he’s quite certain that it’s by mistake.

✧ The second time you do it, or something similar, you can see him freeze for a second (trying to process it) before he turns to you. Almost confused, trying to understand why.

✧ Feren eventually just accepts it, although that doesn’t stop him from getting slightly flustered.

✧ As a diplomat the brief kisses, the friendly greetings aren’t too bad. He can adapt, he can get used to this new social interaction. What he can’t get used to is the more intimate gestures of affection.

✧ You truly see him flustered for the first time when you offer to braid his hair. The way he looks to you, words suddenly gone as you smile at him.

✧ It’s also these interactions he craves more than anything else.

𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐥

✧ There is a small part of you that’s, quietly, intimidated by the golden warrior. But when he laughs with you, a rich, lighter laugh than you expected accompanied by a radiant smile, you realise you have nothing to be afraid of.

✧ Still, the goodbye hug you give him is slightly shy.

✧ There’s a moment where he simply lets you hug him, before he ever-so-gently returns the gesture; careful to be light and to not trap you.

✧ The smile he had on his face is still there when you pull away, which gives you a little more confidence.

✧ And Glorfindel is so happy you have the confidence. He’ll still blush when you’re affectionate, but it’s more because he likes you than he’s embarrassed.

✧ (One exception is the kisses, which do turn his ears red. He still looks forward to them from you, however.)

✧ Will return quite a few of the gestures, although like Thranduil you have to remind him that you’re not made of glass.

A/N : Comes back to drop this fic with no explanation, leaves immediately again- Just kidding. I should be back again, sorry for the long wait; I've been very ill & then my laptop broke, so. 2025 been going... interestingly

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[n0tamused]

heard u were desperate for elf asks and me, the local elf fucker, has decided to grace your life pookie😚

elves who have still yet to start their courting with their human s/o, finding pieces of themselves in their work room or finding their human passed out over a table. huffing about human fragility under their breaths, walking over to drag them back to their bed for a proper rest, freezes before their ears turn a cute pink because their sweet mortal was musing about them. whether it be poetry draft, painting, art, sculpture in process, embroidery — anything. and elves adore art, so this is like skipping straight to “will you marry me?” before starting their dating

A/n: thank you for stopping by once again Nobu! Please stop more often hdhfhhs <3 I do hope you like this pookie. I planned to put even more characters into this, but that would have been too much for one post, so I'll separate it into another post tehee

Content: Thranduil, Glorfindel, Maedhros x GN!Reader, fluff hcs, a tinge of angst in Maedhros' part (ofc)..

𓄃Thranduil

-The vast forests of Mirkwood held much beauty, and even more when one looked closer into them. The trees were one of a kind, holding memories of old and having seen rises and falls of  both elf and man. Yet they all remained steadfast, roots holding them upright. In the same manner, Thranduil held himself

-It was an image not many could ever hope to replicate, and a trait many aspired to have, like big fancy shoes one hopes to grow into

-And perhaps you have spent too long in the Woodland realm, you’ve learned a lot, but a lot more was waiting to be learned as well. It came to a boiling point where you were growing fussy with yourself for not having a pipe through which to blow your steam out through. There was so much beauty and lore, yet you couldn’t find a way to capture it all. And seeing all of this, your tense display, Thradnuil had gifted you paints and canvases and brushes, and a whole new room so well illuminated that you could even paint in it during the night, given you had a good candle with you. 

-It came as a relief, having your own space, yet you felt indebted to him as much as you felt flattered that the elven-king cared so much about your comfort. When he had approached you with the request to court you, he almost seemed aloof, despite his request holding many thoughtful words and his gifts showing even more care. But that could be just the little voice of the devil that came with courting one of the most important figures in Middle-Earth. You didn’t express this much to Thranduil, for he really did his best at meeting you halfway with the courting traditions of men and elves.

-In turn you decided to paint him. Or, at least, try to do so. It would be worth it. So you set out on this quest and holed yourself in the painting room, having selected a medium sized canvas and the best colors you could ever hope to pair up with one another. The initial layout looked good, with Tranduil standing in the woods, surrounded by greens, oranges and reds, wearing an outfit he recently wore when he took you out on a walk through the forest. There is also a large elk approaching him in the painting, but you saved the animal to be painted last. You had covered most of the canvas, nearly finished with the backdrop of multiple tree trunks and you were working your way to the foreground when your vision began to droop and blur.

-Raising your head you saw that it was well past sunset and you could no longer see the color on your canvas as well, your candle was flickering out.

-But your chambers seemed a world away, you could not bother to try your legs to walk the distance. And the next best thing was the bench in the room, usually reserved for any guests you may have hosted, but tonight it would be your bed. You moved the plush pillows and the blanket around until you were comfortable, and you finally shut your eyes for the last time that night.

-Thranduil had wandered in some time later, finding it rather odd that he hadn't seen you for the entire day, and the guards he asked about your whereabouts had little answers as well. But his instincts told him you’d be here.

-He went in with his lamp, alone venturing into your space and  seeing the canvas first. For half a heartbeat he half-expected to find you behind it, painting in the dark - humans had weird ways of doing things, he realized

-But once he went around it, he only saw an empty chair and unwashed brushes, crusted with paint. And the unfinished painting..

-His breath stopped in his throat, his brows furrowing as he leaned in closer, shining the light of the lamp onto the canvas. He thought his mind was playing tricks on him, surely it wasn’t his likeness he was seeing in the sketch lying underneath the drying paint? But the worse option was to believe that it was another elf wearing his attire

-A soft hum snapped his focus away, and he turned to see you shifting in your sleep. It was then when he felt his ears begin to burn, his lips pushing into a thin line as he attempted to ease his heart from beating so terribly fast, too hard, he felt it beating against the bones of his ribcage

-He coughed into the palm of his hand then took a deep breath, approaching you after what felt like an eternity of waiting. It was in your shared interest that you sleep somewhere comfortable.. 

-Despite his racing thoughts, he did make it a point to talk to you in the morning about your courtship, perhaps this was your way to signal him that you were ready for the next stage..? 

☀︎Glorfindel

-There are not many things that can catch Glorfindel by surprise; he is a seasoned individual, both in the art of combat and in more mundane things. He has seen much, and more. His mind is not so closed off to the change in the world, and while he is used to planning things, strategizing, his mind does prefer to take life one day at a time. Let life be the present moment until tomorrow arrives.

-You came into his life rather unexpectedly, but he welcomed you all the same. What feelings began to brew he had hoped to keep secret for a while longer, but once he realized that things were not going to change and that his feelings were only growing, taking into account your mortality, he had approached you and asked to court you

-He delivered the speech elegantly, armed with his usual carefree and easy going demeanor, but once his breath fell short towards the end you could tell that this meant a lot to him. And stepping into this more intimate relationship with him felt much easier than expected, but now you just had much more affection from him, and you had the privilege of seeing him more as well

-It was only natural that your own nature led to you wanting, even needing, to preserve him in some form of a craft. To flatter him the same way he did you, or to simply have something to remind you of him when he wasn’t with you

-Poems you tried, but no word seemed sufficient enough to capture Glorfindel’s character. Art you tried too, but you proved not skilled enough to satisfy yourself with those results. So you turned to something else - embroidery. It wasn’t easy, but the process was more satisfying and the image that was slowly coming into reality made you much more happier than the other attempts at making something in the image of Glorfindel

-It was a bit of a challenge to discard the failed attempts from him, but embroidery was easier to deal with before the bigger image was beginning to materialize. ‘It’s only a little something I’m making…for decor!’ or ‘I wish to give my mother something as a gift’ and so on. Glorfindel did not distrust you on that. It made sense, and why would you hide anything from him, anyway?

-Perhaps you overestimated yourself with your human strength, staying night after night doing work or finishing the embroidery or being unable to sleep. But exhaustion finally caught up to you one evening as you were sitting by the hearth. The warmth of the fire was licking up your arms and the side of your face, tempting you to close your eyes, lulling you to sleep. And before you knew it, your heavy eyelids giving way to darkness to overtake you

-Glorfindel found you in your chair, chin on your chest and arms stretched down to your lap, fingers still touching the wooden hoop keeping the canvas in place. The needle was slipping from your fingers, hanging on by a thread. 

-Glorfindel shook his head and approached slowly, being light on his feet as he took the needle from your limb fingers. The thread pulled at the canvas as he picked it up, and it was then when he saw the picture you were making. His brows furrowed in focus and he felt more alert than a moment prior. He pried the wooden embroidery hoop from your hand and picked it up to take a closer look. Now that he thought of it, he hasn’t seen the progress made on this in a long while. 

-It was a field of golden flowers, carefully crafted with yellow thread and in the middle was a finished white horse, and a person - well most of them. They were unfinished and only the shoulders-down of the body was visible, but Glorfindel recognized the clothes as his own, and he could recognize Asfaloth in any format.

-He wasn’t caught by surprise often, he held and open and calm mind, but even if he had expected this, even if he did hope for this, it made his heart feel like bursting 

-He had to hold himself back from bowing down beside you, taking your sleepy face in his hands only to wake you up with a dozen of kisses

-Glorfindel really did his best to not cause a scene in that moment, and after a moment of simply admiring the artwork and tracing the pads of his fingers over the thread on canvas, his smile only growing, he had to remind himself that you were still asleep in a chair. And your back wouldn’t be thanking you in the morning for that

-After setting aside your embroidery, he gently picked you up and carried you to bed, smiling all the way and feeling how his chest swam with joy and a feeling he could only describe as a well-stuffed feather bed

-He laid you down, bringing the covers over you and for a moment longer he just admired you, having so much to tell you, but he settled with a kiss to your cheek for now, making a note to himself to make a better gift for you, and to ask for your hand soon.

⚔︎Maedhros

-There was little place for a human in Maedhros’ life, even as wars came and went and brought before him countless faces only for him to see them fall before him in the days following. He has seen much, too much, but there was only one path in his life, and it lay ahead of him.  Yet, even his path wasn’t made wholly of only the things he knew. There were things changing, with him and around him

-It was strange to have someone with him. Ever since you came into his life Maedhros had slowly begun to adjust the ways when it came to interacting with you, and what  chats you two had always managed to take his mind off of the constant battles and the Oath. It took a longer time for him to realize it and come to terms with his feelings, but once he did he plucked up whatever strength and elegance he could summon. He remembered the person he was before coming here, before everything, and he did his best to emulate that stability and a bit more cheerful demeanor. How much that works.. well you can imagine. But that does not mean he was bad at it, just not as good as enthusiastic as he imagined he’d be </3 He does think about it later and does wonder if you would have preferred if he asked in some other fashion

-Maedhros visits you when he can, although the truly private times between the two of you are far and few between with such a big host of people following him and waiting on his orders. He does treasure any moment he has with you. He hold your hand and kisses the inside of your wrists before he has to depart, kisses your forehead when he comes to see you and sits right besides you for as long as he is with you

-His heart had grown much more fond of you, it feels alive and the scars he bears nearly feel non-existent when he’s around you

-And little by little, you manage to get the old Maedhros from underneath the rubble. He had  taken habit to calling you ‘his light’ in elvish, among some other endearments

-It was a late night when he came to visit you, and he did expect he might not find you awake at the hour but he tried his luck regardless as he went into your chambers. Despite your earlier claims that ‘he doesn’t need to knock’ he knocked anyway, only opening the door when he got no response.

-And there you were. Sitting at your little table (although everything average to us is little to Maedhros-) with your head on your arms. A quil rested between your fingers, and a blotch of ink was left both on paper and the wooden surface. As much as it was endearing at first, Maedhros couldn’t help but worry. He hurried in, carefully closing the doors and peering at your face before he agreed with that little voice in his head - you were fine, just asleep.

-His large palm tenderly caressed your upper back, coaxing your sleepy self to move just enough until the point he could pick you up without jostling you around too much. Your bed was just beside the table, so after he had settled you in, he smiled at the  thought of your stubbornness to leave your work corner. He knew you could be stubborn beyond measure, especially about things that you held dear to heart

-Not wanting to depart yet, he went back to your table to see what he could do with the spilled ink and scattered papers

-He found a towel nearby and used it to suck up the wet ink - the dry splotches were beyond his skill. It was quiet work, but he found his mind wandering, one might even call it relaxing. 

-He was picking up papers absentmindedly, not wishing to overstep your own trust by peering into whatever it is you scribbled down

-And he held onto that thought until he glimpsed something he couldn’t ignore. Since when did you know elvish?

-It suddenly came into view, the papers he held in hand were all letters in elvish, although each stroke revealed you were a novice in the language, but he also saw effort and thoughtfulness. The first page began with ‘Dear Maedhros’ and then the rest continued on into a poem. Maedhros thought he was dreaming, and had to glimpse outside the window to remind himself where he was 

-He read through and found himself falling apart from within. Each line, each word, addressed to him held so much love and care, it meant more than any song some bard could sing of his valor in battle. And it was written by you - and you’ve seen how ugly he could be, yet you wrote how you loved him all.

-He was probably as red as his hair, but his lips also twisted downwards in this pout-like expression keeping tears at bay. His heart felt full, too full for him to manage. Maedhros doesn’t remember the last time he felt like this. And with his curiosity sparked, he peered into the crumbled letters scattered around, finding even more verses that were unfinished. On the corner of the table was a thick book, almost crumbling to ashes from how old it looked, but he recognized it as the first book holding the alphabet of men and elves, translations and grammatical rules to follow

-Maedhros sat down, not trusting his legs to keep him upright anymore, holding the letters to his chest.

Ⓒ n0tamused/jarttavia_. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[lamemaster]

Things the Silmarillion elves find adorable about a human reader

After surveying the recurring elves of this blog, here are seven things they find adorable about humans:

Waving Greeting

Maedhros froze the first time you did it. Across the military camp, you excitedly waved at him. Raising your arm high, you waved, smiling broadly, and your elf froze in his path. For a fleeting moment, he thought it must be someone else you were so happy to greet. But no. It was him. With unpracticed-stiff movements, he raised his own arm and waved back. He watched as laughter bubbled out of you, and you ran to him, leaving him utterly dumbfounded yet his heart leaping out of his chest.

Baggy Clothing

Glorfindel tries not to stare, but by Elbereth, it is hard. Drowning in his robes, you look utterly adorable. The way the sleeves flow down your arms, completely covering your hands, and how the fabric pools around your feet, it’s enough to make him squeal. He worries briefly that you might trip, but for now, he’s too busy enjoying the sight. Picking you up in his arms, he resists the urge to squeeze you, mindful of the last time he tried and how poorly that ended for him. Still, his heart aches at how endearing you look, swallowed by the robes that were never quite meant for you.

Breathless Laughter

The entire palace can hear it. Yet this does not stop the subtle smile it puts on everyone’s face. Sitting across from you, Finrod watches you wheeze with laughter, clutching your stomach as you fall off your chair. Your face is red, your eyes brimming with tears. “I think I peed a little,” you whisper through giggles as your friend continues laughing uncontrollably. Finrod loves the sight of such unrestrained joy, raw, rugged happiness amid marred lands. How wonderful it must be, he thinks, to express joy so freely.

Apologizing to Inanimate Objects

It’s not the first time Maeglin has seen you do this. Bumping into a corner, you mutter a quick “Sorry,” rubbing your arm as though the object could feel pain. Wooden crates, rocks, curtains, tables, nothing escapes your apologies, and Maeglin secretly adores it. It’s such an absentminded habit, and yet it speaks volumes about your nature. There is, however, one exception: when you stub your toe on something. Then, your mouth lets loose with the vocabulary of a seasoned sailor. Much to his dismay (and secret delight), Maeglin finds even this utterly endearing. But there’s absolutely no way he’s telling you that. He keeps that fondness locked away where you’ll never uncover it.

Love for Blankets

Fingon has trekked across the Helcaraxe. He knows the cold and understands the precious value of warmth. Yet, his appreciation pales in comparison to yours. He absolutely loves your ritual of joy at the sight of your bed. The way you jump into your blankets, rubbing your feet together, scrunching your eyes shut, and giggling. It’s a sight he never tires of. On nights when he gets to witness this, Fingon even mimics your antics, despite not feeling the cold himself. He delights in how you grin and snuggle into him, often followed by your sneaky attempt to press your freezing feet against his. Though he feigns annoyance, he treasures every moment of it.

Physical Touch

Beleg smiles broadly the moment you enter a room. Without fail, your eyes scan the space until they find him, and then you make your way over to sit beside him. Every. Single. Time.

He loves how humans gravitate toward physical closeness, finding contentment in proximity alone. Unlike elves, who feel bonds through senses, heartbeats, or thoughts, you seek him out with pure will. Every time you do, Beleg can’t help but put his arms around you, squeezing you in a way he’s seen you do to him. And when you hum contentedly, he melts just a little more.

Baby Voice

Celegorm can’t help but laugh at the way your voice softens when you bend down to pet Huan. Every time you see the hound, you greet him with exaggerated enthusiasm, “Who’s a goob boy?” Celegorm has, on several occasions, reminded you that Huan is older than your grandfather, older than your entire kind, in fact. Yet this knowledge hasn’t dimmed your excitement one bit. Your bubbly tone, the kisses on Huan’s paws, the endless stream of pets, Celegorm finds it both amusing and endearing. Much to your credit, Huan is completely putty in your hands.

[sh1-n0bu]

saw the simpsons meme and i just KNOW that a certain elf would be the type to joke like it

legolas or glorfindel, turning to their human s/o with drooped ears, holding up a paper: “are you 🍃ing me?”

[name], said human s/o, used to their dramatic ways: no, i’m not leaving you. we’re staying married until we die or set sail to valinor

legolas or glorfindel, quickly scribbling on the back of the paper before showing it to [name] with wiggling ears: “what a re🍃”

[mur4sak1]

How would elves behave during an argument?

A/N: Remember that English is not my first language so I hope I wrote in the best way <3

Characters: Rog, Galdor, Glorfindel, Maedhros, Legolas (bonus)

Rog: guys, this elf would be really scary. Contrary to what you might think, he would lose his temper very easily; he works all day in the darkness of the forges and when he leaves he just wants to have a good rest, so further stress from an argument would drive him out of his mind. He's the typical person who screams without thinking twice and says things he doesn't mean in anger. His way would destroy you every time, making you burst into tears from how bad he made you feel... but as soon as he saw a small tear running down your face he fell silent, forgetting everything that was happening; Was it him who made you like this? He was making the only person who loved him and who had always supported him in his darkest moments cry. He would stay still for some time, with a thousand thoughts in his head when a louder sob from you would bring him back to reality. He would apologize to you but he would do it without meeting your gaze, he is suffering too much for what he did and he wouldn't have the courage to see your destroyed expression. But you knew that he loves you more than anything after all. With difficulty you would get up and hug him as tight as possible, telling him that everything was fine, that you knew he didn't think those things and that you loved him... You couldn't see his face, but a tear fell from his eyes.

Galdor: NOW LET'S ALL GIVE A HUG TO THIS WONDERFUL ELF TOGETHER. He would always try to find a solution peacefully, without discussions and the need to argue, but if this happens you should not fear anything from him. He would NEVER scream, he would NEVER raise his voice, he would NEVER say anything mean to you just to hurt you or win the argument. I mean, it would be fantastic. Maybe due to particular circumstances you would have become so upset that you felt angry against the elf, but in any case he would have spoken to you in a calm and reasonable tone, making you understand that you didn't need to react that way. If the pain brought you to tears, he would hug you and console you like a defenseless child, helping you and trying to get you to vent so that he could fully understand what was troubling you so as to avoid misunderstandings. Galdor would have been able to understand and love you more than anyone else, always.

Glorfindel: It was rare to argue with the blond elf, but sometimes it happened and the situation became quite lively. Glorfindel always tried to keep his problems to himself and not involve others because he was convinced that difficult moments should only be faced with those you love. Furthermore, he certainly wanted to avoid all that useless gossip that many elves had on any topic that might attract their curiosity. Although his character was often extroverted and playful even in the saddest situations for this reason, when he argued with you it wasn't uncommon to hear shouts and snorts coming from your rooms. They would not be screams that expressed malice, but screams that asked to be listened to; it was natural for him to raise his voice when he wasn't listened to and in that way he expressed all his frustration and the pain that the discussion with you was bringing him. He always acted for your good and feeling attacked made him suffer, he wondered what he was doing wrong, what more did you want from him. But the intense mix of emotions inside him prevented him from acting rationally, forgetting how to express them and focusing only on everything you said. After a long time arguing like this you would have reached the point of being exhausted and progressively raising your voice would have left you breathless. You would stop to breathe for a fraction of seconds, with the certainty that everything would soon start again. But after rubbing your eyes, you looked at your elf's face and saw in him all the pain that he was trying to say to you through his tone of voice; his fists were clodes, his head was bowed, his forehead shiny with sweat and a few blond hairs stuck to it. In an instant you understood everything... You breathed a heavy sigh and quickly approached him to hug him, starting to beg him to forgive you and sobbing heavily between one apology and another... Caught off guard, after a few seconds he relaxed his arms and reciprocated the hug. Finally he let himself go to his feelings; he rested his head on your head and the wet of sweat combined with the wetness of a few tears. So he was able to express everything he felt and only at that point would you be able to clarify and return to being happy and in love as always "I just want to always be perfect for you".

Maedhros: I'm sure fights with the red-head would be very peaceful. Having grown up in a large family and in the role of an older brother, he had developed a lot of patience thanks to which he could easily handle any type of conflict with you. Contrary to what many might think, after Angbad Mae would not have vented the pain on you with shouts and insults, but quite the opposite. After the terrible torture he suffered, the only thing he wanted was to feel accepted and in you he found his salvation; in all the darkest moments where his mind couldn't differentiate reality from dreams you were there by his side to help him, without ever making him feel wrong and making him understand how strong he was to have overcome such a trauma. For this reason, he would feel like a terrible elf during arguments. He only wanted to offer you the support that you represented to him every day but instead he felt more like a burden to you. This would make him cry a lot, but in silence and alone, because he feared that with every little clash you would abandon him. He just needed time, time to understand that you would never, ever abandon him; you always told him that you loved him more than anyone else and that he needed your support to be able to return to the sweet, confident elf he once was, and you would do anything to help him. Needless to say, every time the arguments were resolved without even face them... there was too much love that bound your hearts to ruin it for superficial reasons.

BONUS. Legolas: So, I honestly see Legolas as the kind of elf who would be capable of walking away during an argument. Perhaps due to stress, lack of patience or lack of desire for confrontation, he could stop the conversation, pick up and leave the place where you were. But in reality his behavior would be the solution to the problem. In fact, the much anger that you had accumulated would have faded with distance and the passage of time and would have made both of you understand how much you cared for each other. Solitude would have helped Legolas to think clearly about the problem and find a possible solution to make them both happy. When you met again you would have made peace, both apologizing for your abrupt ways and organizing something to spend the evening together.

[themerriweathermage]

Modern AU Headcanons: Elves Reacting to You Being Hospitalized

A/N: I went through a life-threatening illness and had to have major surgery and I'm not really sure how I'm supposed to process that, so here I have a modern AU with the elves reacting to their s/o being hospitalized

Elrond

The half-human part of him is very worried and he drops everything when he hears you’ve been hospitalized

Not always able to make heads or tails of modern medicine but understands the severity of the situation

He’s ready to be on your beck and whim the moment you’re stable, and borderline refuses to leave your side

Very mother-hennish

Glorfindel

Bold of you to assume that Glorfindel isn’t glued to your side before anything ever goes wrong

There to hold your hand at all times, to the point that staff have to ask him to leave

Will not leave the hospital until you’re released, and won’t leave your side until he’s confident you are better

Giant glow teddy bear to cuddle with

Lindir

He’s panicked at first receiving the news that you’ve been hospitalized but quickly composes himself so that he can be there for you

Pre-packs a bag of the things he thinks you might need or want to take with him to visit you

Encourages you during recovery, but also listens to you vent

Offers to sing or play his harp to put your mind at ease

Haldir

The severity of the situation isn’t lost on him with his military background, but that’s as far as it goes

Modern medicine is more difficult for him to make sense of, but he’s more interested in knowing what’s wrong so that he can be detailed in his care of you during your recovery

Understands the importance of having things that are familiar to you during your recovery

There for you but also there to field questions from friends and family about your well-being

[agentflowerpot]

You cooked something you wanted them to try it by hand feeding them on a spoon so “hey will you try this for me please?” moves spoon closer to their lips and says “open”

Headcanons: Gil Galad, Celebrimbor, Thranduil, Elrond, Glorfindel, Haldir, Lindir.

This first post I hope anyone whom ever reads this enjoys, I been inspired by @earthlybeam random chaos love your writing so much makes my day ♡

Gil~Galad

You stood before Gil-galad, a small plate of steaming food in hand, the aroma of roasted vegetables and spiced honey filling the air. You had spent a good portion of the afternoon preparing it, perfecting every detail—just the right balance of sweetness and warmth. Now, you felt a spark of excitement, the hope that he’d enjoy it dancing in your chest.

“Gil-galad,” you said, your voice light with anticipation. “I made something special. Will you try it for me?”

He turned to face you, those sharp, piercing eyes of his studying you with a mixture of curiosity and caution. Always the composed king. “What is it?”

“Just a little something,” you replied with a grin, teasing him. “Go ahead, trust me. Open.”

You held out a spoon toward him, the delicate blend of roasted carrots, parsnips, and a drizzle of honey gleaming in the soft light of the room. You could see the slight hesitation in his gaze, though it was only for the briefest of moments.

He raised a brow, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You ask much of me, my friend,” he said in his usual, controlled tone, though there was no real reluctance in his voice.

“Open,” you repeated, your gaze steady but playful as you moved the spoon closer to his lips.

Gil-galad hesitated for a mere heartbeat before finally complying, his lips parting slightly as you guided the spoon to his mouth. He didn’t rush, but took the bite with calm elegance, the High King in him even in the simplest of moments.

His eyes closed for a moment as he chewed, clearly savoring the taste. When he opened them again, they met yours, warm and thoughtful, with a quiet appreciation.

“Well,” he began, a slight smile now forming on his face, “it seems your cooking skills match your ability to challenge me. This is… quite good.”

You grinned, feeling a small triumph surge through you. “I’m glad you think so.”

Gil-galad didn’t speak again, but there was something in his expression—something akin to soft amusement—that made your heart flutter. He had been the ever-dignified ruler, but in this moment, you could see a different side of him, a side that only you would know: the quiet joy of something simple, something shared.

“More?” you offered, your tone teasing.

His smile deepened ever so slightly. “Only if you insist.”

You could hardly keep the grin off your face as you moved to feed him another bite, this time feeling the weight of his gaze on you more than ever.

Celebrimbor

You stood in the kitchen, carefully placing the last spoonful of a delicate dish you’d spent hours perfecting—honey-glazed figs stuffed with creamy goat cheese and roasted almonds. The aroma was tantalizing, rich and sweet with a hint of warmth from the oven. You were excited, eager to share the fruits of your labor with Celebrimbor, who was lingering nearby, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he inspected one of his many crafted items.

“Celebrimbor,” you called, your voice light with anticipation. His head tilted up at the sound of your voice, those amber eyes momentarily shifting from the mithril work in his hands to you. He smiled, though the slight furrow between his brows suggested he was still thinking through something—likely a design flaw or a new idea for his next project.

“Yes?” he replied, his tone soft but curious.

“I made something,” you said with a mischievous grin, stepping forward with a small plate in hand, carefully holding the figs on a silver dish. “I know how much you appreciate fine craftsmanship, so I thought I’d offer you a taste of mine.”

You took a step closer, the plate balanced gently in your hands as you met his gaze. “Will you try this for me, please?”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking in a way that suggested his interest was piqued, though his expression remained mostly neutral. “For you?” he asked, his voice low with a hint of amusement. “I suppose I could be persuaded.”

Grinning wider, you leaned in slightly, taking one of the figs on the spoon and moving it towards his lips with exaggerated care. “Open,” you said, a playful note in your voice as you held the spoon just inches away from his mouth.

Celebrimbor blinked, a moment of hesitation flickering across his face. He’d spent a lifetime surrounded by the finest artisans and craftsmen, but this—this was different. There was a tenderness in your gesture that made him pause, just for a second, before his lips parted and he allowed you to feed him.

The bite was small, delicate, and as he tasted it, his expression shifted from mild curiosity to something warmer, something softer. His eyes closed for a brief moment, savoring the flavor.

“It is…” He opened his eyes, fixing you with an expression that was part surprise, part admiration. “Delightful,” he said, his voice thoughtful, the corners of his lips twitching with a restrained smile. “You’ve a talent for this, as well.”

You couldn’t help but grin, pleased with the reaction. “You don’t have to be so formal, Celebrimbor. You can say it’s fantastic if you want.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound rich and warm. “Perhaps you’ll hear that from me when I’ve had more. One is hardly enough to judge.”

You nodded, offering him another bite, this time bringing the spoon closer and meeting his gaze with a teasing gleam. “I suppose I’ll have to make more then. Wouldn’t want to leave you hanging with just one taste.”

He didn’t fight you this time, and though he maintained his usual air of dignity, there was an undeniable warmth in the way he accepted the next spoonful.

“You’re quite the temptation,” he murmured, a quiet but genuine note of affection in his words. “I must confess, I’ve rarely been so distracted from my work.”

A satisfied smile curled on your lips as you watched him, both pleased with the food and the response it garnered. It was rare for him to show such vulnerability, and it made every moment you shared feel all the more precious.

Thranduil

You watched Thranduil with quiet anticipation as you held out the spoon in front of him, a small, delicate spoonful of honeyed pears glistening in the soft light of the evening. The sweet fragrance of the fruit and spices seemed to hang in the air, almost teasing his senses. You had spent hours preparing this dish, carefully infusing the pears with a blend of forest herbs that you’d hoped would appeal to his refined tastes.

“Your Majesty,” you began, voice a touch playful. “Would you do me the honor of trying something I made?”

Thranduil’s gaze shifted from the fire, sharp and calculating, as though he were weighing your words against the silence of the forest that surrounded his kingdom. His eyes, as cold and green as the ancient woods he ruled, bore into you, but for a moment, you swore you saw a glint of curiosity in them.

You took a step closer, the spoon moving ever so slightly toward his lips. His posture didn’t change—proud, composed, and regal as always—but there was something in the air now, a shift, as if he was waiting for something from you. A challenge, perhaps.

“Try it,” you urged again, smiling mischievously, “I promise it won’t bite.”

A low, almost imperceptible hum vibrated in his chest, his fingers tightening slightly around the armrest of his chair, but he didn’t speak for a moment. Thranduil’s lips parted ever so slightly, eyes narrowing in that regal, almost imperious way of his. Still, his gaze lingered on the spoon.

“Open,” you said again, voice quiet but confident.

He hesitated, just for a second, as if considering whether to indulge you, but then, ever so slowly, he leaned forward. His lips parted just enough to accept the bite, and you watched him as you fed him the honeyed pears.

The moment the fruit touched his tongue, a soft sigh escaped his lips—one that was nearly inaudible, but you heard it all the same. Thranduil’s eyes fluttered closed for just a second, as though savoring the taste. When they opened again, you saw something akin to surprise flicker in their depths.

“…This is…unexpected,” he murmured, and for a fleeting moment, his usual arrogance seemed to soften.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “Unexpected in a good way, I hope?”

A small, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps,” he replied, his voice lowering just slightly. “It would be rude to say otherwise, wouldn’t it?”

You leaned in a little closer, offering him another spoonful, your gaze locked with his. Thranduil’s expression remained unreadable, but there was something in his eyes now, something that made you think you had won a small victory in his unyielding kingdom.

“Well,” you said, raising an eyebrow, “I’m glad to hear that.”

For a brief moment, Thranduil seemed to be lost in thought, a rare thing for him, before he met your gaze again, his lips twitching slightly. “Do not mistake me,” he said, his voice regaining its usual, regal tone. “I am still not accustomed to being fed like some pet.”

You chuckled lightly. “Oh, I’m certain the great Elven King can tolerate a little bit of indulgence.”

He only raised an eyebrow in response, as though silently challenging your audacity, but you noticed that he didn’t pull away. In fact, his fingers brushed the edge of your hand for a fraction of a second, the faintest hint of contact—brief, but deliberate.

It was enough for you to know that, despite his aloof demeanor, something about your small act of defiance, your playful challenge, had softened the armor around him—if only for a moment.

“Perhaps,” he said quietly, “you may do this again. But only if I deem it worthy.”

You grinned, knowing that this, at least, was a victory you’d savor. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Elrond

You stood in front of Elrond, a small plate of carefully prepared elvish honey cakes in your hands, the soft aroma filling the air. You were quite proud of the delicate treat you had made, the perfect balance of sweetness and texture that you hoped would please his refined tastes.

“Lord Elrond,” you said, a playful gleam in your eye, “will you try this for me, please?”

He looked up from his work, his piercing grey eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. His composed, noble demeanor never faltered, but there was a faint lift at the corner of his lips, a sign that he was accustomed to your antics.

His brow arched ever so slightly, but he said nothing as you held up the spoon, the golden cake perched delicately upon it.

You moved the spoon closer to his lips and smiled, “Open.”

Elrond’s eyes flickered to the spoon, then back to you, his gaze sharp and steady. There was an almost imperceptible pause before he slowly parted his lips, allowing you to feed him. As he tasted the cake, you watched closely for any hint of approval.

The sweetness lingered on his tongue, and for a moment, you wondered if he would give you the satisfaction of a compliment. His eyes softened ever so slightly, though he remained quiet, his usual reticent self.

Finally, after a thoughtful moment, Elrond spoke, his voice low and measured. “It is… pleasing,” he said, the words carefully chosen, his gaze still locked on you. “But I believe the true sweetness lies in your company.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his tone unexpectedly warm. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Well,” you teased, “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment, Lord Elrond.”

He gave you one of his rare, fleeting smiles—enigmatic and almost imperceptible—but the sincerity behind it was unmistakable. “A rare one, for you,” he added, his voice carrying a hint of affection, though it was wrapped in his usual quiet poise.

You couldn’t resist. “I may need to feed you more often if I’m to hear more of these compliments, my lord.”

Elrond, as always, remained composed, but there was a soft glint in his eyes that made it clear he had appreciated your light-heartedness—if only for a moment.

Glorfindel

You watched as Glorfindel took a seat, the soft glow of the fire casting a warm light on his features. There was something about his presence that made everything seem brighter—his golden hair catching the light, his easy smile, and that warm energy that radiated from him like the sun itself.

“Glorfindel,” you called softly, the dish in front of you nearly ready. “Hey, will you try this for me, please?”

He looked up, raising an eyebrow in curiosity, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “What is it this time? Something I can’t resist?”

You smiled, holding up a spoon of steaming porridge. It wasn’t just any porridge, though—it was a special recipe you’d made, infused with berries, a touch of honey, and a dash of cinnamon. It was rich, comforting, and warm, much like the way Glorfindel made you feel whenever he was near.

“Open,” you said playfully, moving the spoon closer to his lips.

Glorfindel chuckled softly, glancing at the spoon, and then back to you. “Is this some sort of test, my friend? You’ve been known to challenge me before.”

You didn’t answer, just grinned and held the spoon steady.

“Very well,” he sighed dramatically, a mock pout pulling at his lips. “If I must…” And with that, he opened his mouth, letting you feed him the bite.

The moment the flavor hit his tongue, his eyes widened, and for a split second, he looked completely taken aback. “Well, I didn’t expect that,” he murmured, reaching for the spoon with an exaggerated air of seriousness, though his lips were still curved in amusement. “This… this is good. Too good, perhaps. Are you sure you didn’t sneak in a little magic?”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “A little bit of magic, maybe. But mostly just love… and a lot of honey.”

Glorfindel laughed heartily, his golden laughter ringing through the room like music. “A dish made with affection,” he teased. “How can I refuse?”

“Will you eat the rest?” you asked, handing him the bowl.

“Of course,” he replied, taking the bowl from you. “But I may require a second helping to ensure I am not mistaken about its excellence.” He winked, taking another bite and making an exaggerated hum of appreciation.

Your heart fluttered at the playful moment, the light teasing between you two feeling like something more. “I’m glad you liked it,” you said softly, watching as he polished off the rest of the food with a satisfied sigh.

Glorfindel set the bowl aside and leaned back, his gaze softening. “You are truly a marvel, my friend. Not just with your words, but with your cooking as well. You have my loyalty forever, if only for the meals you provide.”

You grinned. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to keep feeding you, won’t I?”

“Oh, if you insist,” he replied with another laugh, the warmth between you both settling in like a familiar, comforting embrace.

And in that moment, as he smiled at you, you couldn’t help but feel that, yes, this was a kind of magic all its own.

Haldir

You stood in front of Haldir, your excitement bubbling over as you presented the dish you had spent hours perfecting. The warm, sweet scent of roasted root vegetables and spiced honey filled the air, mingling with the slight tang of fresh herbs. You could barely contain your grin as you stirred the concoction one final time in the pot.

“Haldir,” you said, practically bouncing on your toes, “Will you try this for me, please?”

His brows furrowed in suspicion as he looked down at the spoon you were holding out, but he didn’t refuse. The glint in your eyes told him this was a request he could not decline.

You slowly moved the spoon closer to his lips, your voice soft but commanding. “Open.”

He hesitated for only a fraction of a moment before parting his lips, the look in his eyes one of mild curiosity mixed with uncertainty. As the spoon hovered just inches from his mouth, he studied you with a raised brow, a quiet challenge in his gaze.

“Do not make me regret this,” he murmured, though there was a trace of amusement in his tone.

With a grin, you fed him the bite, watching intently as he tasted it. Haldir’s expression remained neutral for a long, agonizing second, and you held your breath. Then, he swallowed, his lips pursing slightly as he considered the flavor.

“It’s… interesting,” he said at last, voice measured but with a hint of something faintly approving. “What is it?”

You were already beaming, pleased that he hadn’t immediately recoiled. “Roasted root vegetables with a honey and herb glaze. It’s a recipe I wanted to try.”

Haldir gave a small, approving nod, his face softening for just a moment as he dipped his head. “Not bad, for a mortal dish.”

“You know, you can say you like it,” you teased, taking the spoon back. “It won’t kill you.”

He gave you a side glance, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps. But I am still uncertain of this… ‘mortal’ food.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” you laughed, offering him another bite. “Come on, just one more for the sake of science.”

Haldir raised an eyebrow, then sighed. “You will be the death of me,” he muttered, but he allowed you to feed him another bite. His reaction this time was slightly more positive, his lips quirking in a rare, reluctant smile.

“Fine,” he said, leaning back. “I suppose it’s not entirely terrible.”

Lindir

You had spent the afternoon in the kitchen, experimenting with a new recipe that you were sure would impress Lindir. You had crafted a delicate blend of spices and herbs, preparing a savory dish with a hint of sweetness—a roasted root vegetable puree with a dash of honey and rosemary, topped with toasted nuts for a little crunch. It was simple, but you were certain it was perfect.

Lindir was lounging by the fire, absorbed in his lute, the soft hum of the strings filling the room. You watched him for a moment, smiling to yourself, before moving toward him with the spoon, the dish balanced carefully in your hand.

“Hey, will you try this for me, please?” you asked sweetly, already moving the spoon closer to his lips. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, the faintest glint of curiosity in his gaze.

“Try what?” he asked, brow furrowed, though he didn’t pull away. You could see the wariness on his face—he knew you well enough to recognize that this was no ordinary request.

“It’s something I made,” you said, teasing him with a grin. “I promise it’s not poisonous.” You hovered the spoon a little closer, maintaining that playful glint in your eyes.

Lindir shifted his weight, sighing dramatically as if he were about to indulge you, though you saw the tiny twitch of a smile on his lips. “Very well,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, leaning slightly forward. “But I expect a full report on what I am about to ingest.”

You smirked. “I’ll consider it an honor. Now, open.”

There was the briefest hesitation before his lips parted, just a fraction, enough for you to slide the spoon inside. As soon as he tasted the puree, his eyebrows shot up, and his eyes widened ever so slightly.

“Well?” you prompted, unable to hide the eager anticipation from your voice.

He chewed thoughtfully, the taste seeming to settle on his tongue as he processed the flavors. For a brief moment, he seemed lost in it, his usual composure slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of surprise.

“Hmm,” he finally said, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, “it’s unexpected. But… not unpleasant.” His voice was laced with amusement, though there was still a note of genuine intrigue beneath his words. “I must admit, you have caught me off guard.”

You leaned in, grinning widely. “Caught you off guard? I’m glad I’m not entirely predictable.”

He rolled his eyes, though the smile that tugged at his lips betrayed his amusement. “You are nothing if not persistent. And insufferable.”

“Oh, come now,” you said, pretending to be wounded. “I just wanted to share something delightful with you.”

Lindir’s eyes narrowed playfully as he tilted his head. “Delightful, indeed. If a little… adventurous.”

“You like it,” you teased, eyes twinkling.

“I did not say that.” He raised an eyebrow, though you could see the faint glint of affection in his gaze, despite his usually cool demeanor. “But I will give you credit. You do have a talent for surprises.”

“Not just a talent,” you shot back. “I have a gift.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, clearly humoring you, though there was no denying the fondness in his voice as he continued to watch you with a mixture of bemusement and quiet admiration.

[earthlybeam]

Elves how they would react to finding you (reader) asleep in unusual or unexpected places.

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Thranduil, Elrond, Glorfindel, Celeborn Version below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The grand doors of the throne room swung open with a low groan, pushed apart by two silent elven guards who bowed as their king strode past them. Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, entered with the unhurried grace of one who knew the world would wait for him. The faint, almost musical sound of his boots against the stone floor resonated softly in the stillness of the hall. His platinum blonde hair, fine as silken threads of moonlight, cascaded over his shoulders, catching the warm glow of the enchanted lanterns that lined the room. His robes, a rich blend of forest-green and gold, billowed behind him like the rippling of leaves caught in a gentle breeze. The delicate embroidery of vines and leaves that adorned the fabric shimmered faintly, as if alive with magic. With one hand, Thranduil lightly adjusted the cuffs of his sleeve, the motion precise, as though even the smallest detail of his appearance had to be impeccable. There had been much on his mind before his arrival. He had spent the morning in quiet reflection, walking alone among the ancient trees of his woodland realm. The whispers of the forest were as familiar to him as the beating of his own heart, and they had provided him with much-needed solace after a morning of deliberations with his advisors. Now, with his thoughts ordered and his patience carefully restored, he returned to his throne room, seeking the tranquility of its familiar grandeur. Yet, as his sharp gaze swept the room—taking in the towering carved columns that reached like ancient oaks toward the vaulted ceiling, the intricate tapestries depicting the history of his people, and the soft, ethereal glow that bathed the space—he froze. For there, sprawled across his throne as though it were the most natural thing in the world, was you.

For a heartbeat, Thranduil did not move. His steps halted mid-stride, his long fingers still resting lightly on the folds of his robes. His gaze sharpened, narrowing as it landed on your insolent, audacious form, draped across his grand seat as though it were a mere lounge chair. One leg was hooked lazily over an armrest, the other dangling precariously off the edge, while your head lolled back in serene, unbothered slumber. The sight might have been offensive had it not been so utterly absurd. One elegant brow arched high on his otherwise stoic face, betraying a mixture of disbelief and amusement. The audacity! It was as if you had declared yourself ruler of Mirkwood in his absence. Yet, as he studied the scene further, his lips twitched ever so slightly, threatening a smirk. Your utter shamelessness reminded him of a lounging house cat, basking in stolen luxury, oblivious to its impertinence. He allowed himself a moment to enjoy the ridiculousness of it all. Then, slowly, he strode forward, his boots clicking faintly against the stone floor.

“You remind me,” he began, his voice low and smooth, “of a pampered house cat who saunters about as though it owns the palace.” His words echoed in the empty hall, the quiet humor lacing his tone unmistakable. His lips curved into a subtle smirk as he came to a halt beside the throne, his piercing gaze fixed firmly on your slumbering form. “For your information, this throne is mine. And it is hardly meant for lounging.” When you failed to stir at his entrance, Thranduil’s lips curled into a faint half-smile, a sigh slipping from him, heavy with a mixture of exasperation and a subtle amusement. His gaze lingered on the sight before him: you, sprawled across his throne as though it were your own personal sanctuary. One arm dangled loosely over the armrest, fingers lightly brushing the ornate wood, and your head tipped back in a peaceful, untroubled slumber. Your leg rested lazily across the opposite armrest, its casual placement a quiet defiance of the regal seat you occupied. The sheer audacity of your relaxed position, so out of place in this grand hall, sparked a glimmer of bemusement in his sharp eyes. For a long moment, Thranduil simply stood still, watching you with quiet fascination. His gaze softened ever so slightly, amusement mingling with something warmer, a rare tenderness that stirred beneath his usual cool demeanor. Was it affection? Or perhaps just the odd comfort of seeing such a carefree display in a room so often filled with the formalities of his rule? It was a rare sight indeed, and one he found oddly captivating.

But his patience was not without limit, and despite the lightness of the moment, curiosity began to win out. He had to know whether you would acknowledge his presence at all. With a fluid, controlled motion, he took a single step closer to you. His long, elegant fingers reached out, not tapping on the armrest, but gently nudging your foot with a soft push. The touch was deliberate, light, yet firm enough to break the stillness between you. His eyes, though, never left you as he waited, his expression a careful blend of mock severity and quiet amusement. The nudge barely disturbed your slumber. Instead, you shifted in place, murmuring unintelligible words as your body lazily adjusted, seemingly trying to block out whatever dared to interrupt your peaceful rest. A barely audible grumble left your lips, muffled by the soft cushions of the throne, as you pulled your leg back slightly and mumbled, “Five more minutes…” The words were thick with sleep, and there was a childlike petulance to them, as if the world could simply pause until you were ready to face it. Thranduil’s eyes softened as he watched the fleeting defiance, his lips quirked in a smirk at your quiet refusal to acknowledge the presence of your king. You had claimed his throne as your own, and now you dared to dismiss him with nothing more than a sleepy demand for time.

Thranduil stilled, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and bemusement. Five more minutes? His mind barely processed the words, his sharp gaze flicking over your relaxed form sprawled across his throne. He was the King of Mirkwood, a lord of the Eldar, a figure of ancient authority, and here you were—ignoring him, dismissing him as though he were some doting servant instead of one of the most formidable beings in Middle-earth. The audacity of it had his heart stirring with a sharp mixture of irritation and humor. He exhaled a long, dramatic sigh, one that might have seemed irritated to anyone else, but the gleam in his eyes gave him away. He was far too amused to be genuinely angry. With the elegance of someone utterly accustomed to being obeyed, Thranduil bent at the waist, his long fingers reaching out effortlessly. Before you could even react, he swept you into his arms, lifting you as though you weighed nothing. The sudden motion jolted you from your slumber, and your body stirred instinctively. Your eyes fluttered open, and for a brief moment, they were wide and confused, the sleep still thick in your gaze. Your expression distorted in surprise, your mind struggling to comprehend the change in position. Thranduil’s piercing eyes met yours as your grogginess collided with the bewildering reality of being cradled in his arms, and for a heartbeat, you looked at him as if you weren’t quite sure what was happening.

“What—?” The question slipped from your lips, still half-formed and lost in the haze of sleep. His voice, smooth as velvet, cut through your dazed state. “You’ve claimed my throne,” he murmured, his tone rich with regal mockery as he settled back onto the seat with effortless grace, pulling you gently onto his lap. His words carried a quiet authority, though there was an unmistakable glint of amusement beneath the surface. “I shall claim you in turn.” You grumbled faintly, still too drowsy to put up much of a protest. You tried to return to your comfortable position, your voice muffled as you snuggled closer to him, “Mmm… It’s not what it looks like… just… borrowing it for a moment… keeping it warm for you…” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep. Thranduil’s lips quirked at your half-hearted protest, the subtle humor in your words only deepening his amusement. He arched a brow and, with a small, knowing smile, leaned in just slightly, his voice low and filled with mock curiosity. “Keeping it warm for me?” His tone was playful, laced with a hint of his usual regal authority, though it softened as his gaze lingered on you. He chuckled under his breath, the sound rich and melodic. With a smooth, practiced motion, he adjusted you more comfortably in his arms, settling you further into his lap. Your body shifted against him, your head now nestled in the crook of his shoulder. Thranduil’s long fingers grazed your cheek as he swept aside a few errant strands of hair, his touch so gentle it contrasted sharply with his commanding presence. The softness of his actions was a quiet reminder of the affection that lingered beneath his often-imposing demeanor.

His fingers traced the curve of your face, moving with a tender precision that made his touch feel like something intimate, something meant only for you. “Such gratitude,” he murmured teasingly, his voice a soft purr that vibrated through the air. “I should expect you to purr, yet instead, I receive grumbles. Perhaps I’ve spoiled you too much.” You made a small, unintelligible noise in response, your protests a mere murmur beneath the weight of sleep. It was enough to make him chuckle softly again, the sound warm and deep. His lips curled into a small smile as he leaned back in the throne, the high back of it supporting him as he gazed down at you with that characteristic mix of amusement and tenderness. His fingers continued their soothing path along your shoulder, then down your back, the slow rhythm of his touch a balm against the weight of the world. Though his eyes sparkled with mirth, there was a gentleness in the way he held you, as though he were savoring the rare quiet between you, a moment of peace in the otherwise ever-demanding life of a king. He was content to let you rest, for now, the world outside could wait.

For Thranduil, this moment was an odd mixture of exasperation and contentment. He wasn’t used to such… informality. Such audacity. Yet here you were, completely unbothered, utterly unafraid in his presence. You had dared to fall asleep in his throne as if it were a mere chair, and while he might have been expected to take offense, there was something about it—something about the ease with which you claimed his space—that he found… endearing. As your warmth pressed gently against his chest, a soft shift in your position, Thranduil’s gaze softened. He tilted his head back ever so slightly, allowing the weight of centuries and responsibility to ease, if only for a fleeting moment. He glanced across the hall, where the flickering light of enchanted lanterns danced across the stone, and for a brief second, the usual burden of ruling seemed to lighten. The quiet of the throne room, usually heavy and full of formality, felt oddly peaceful with only the sound of your soft breathing breaking the silence. With a tender shift, he rested his chin lightly atop your head, the position oddly comforting, as though you had both created a small, shared sanctuary within the vast emptiness of the hall. His voice lowered to a soft murmur, just above a whisper, words meant only for the stone walls to hear. “You are a maddening creature, Mellon nîn,” he said, his tone rich with affection and something unspoken, “But perhaps, that is why I let you stay.” For a king who had long ruled alone, the quiet intimacy between you both felt surprisingly welcome, even amidst the rare silence of his throne room.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

Lord Elrond sat at his desk, his eyes scanning the carefully arranged scrolls before him. The study was bathed in the soft, golden light of the afternoon, casting long shadows across the room as the quiet rustle of parchment filled the air. His fingers moved with practiced precision, lifting one scroll after another, sifting through the ancient texts with an air of quiet determination. There were few things that could pull him away from the depths of his work, and the passing hours had done little to diminish his focus. His thoughts, sharp as ever, were entirely absorbed in the task at hand, yet beneath the surface, a sense of something else stirred—a lingering awareness of the presence nearby, one that never failed to bring a sense of calm to his soul.

As his hand reached out for another scroll, his fingers brushed against the edges, but the parchment slipped from his grasp. He watched it roll from the desk and tumble to the floor with a soft thud. Elrond’s attention flickered briefly, his mind momentarily distracted as his gaze followed the parchment’s descent. A small sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back in his chair, the weight of his focus lightened for just a moment. He remained still for a beat, letting his eyes briefly drift over the papers, before deciding to rise and retrieve the wayward scroll. As he moved toward the fallen parchment, something unexpected caught his eye. Beneath the edge of the desk, tucked into the shadowed corner of the room, lay the form of his friend. There, sound asleep, was you. The sight of you, so peacefully curled in such an unorthodox position, brought a fleeting smile to Elrond’s usually composed face. The sight was endearing, unexpected, and far more charming than he would ever let on. Your legs were tucked up toward your chest, your head resting on your arm with your face hidden in the curve of your sleeve, hair spilling around you like a silken cascade. One hand was curled beneath your cheek, your other arm loosely draped over your body, as though you had simply fallen into a moment of comfort and rest, right there in the quiet of his study.

For a moment, Elrond simply stood there, his usual serene expression softening as a faint flicker of amusement danced behind his dark eyes. His lips, so often set in a stern line, tugged ever so slightly at the corners, the rarest of smiles—small, soft, and fleeting—curving his mouth. It was not the first time you had fallen asleep near him, but there was something about the sight of you curled beneath his desk, so utterly unaware of the world around you, that stirred a tenderness he seldom allowed himself to feel. Elrond’s hand hovered for a moment, resting on the edge of the desk as he studied you with quiet affection. Your rhythmic breathing, the way your chest gently rose and fell, was a gentle reminder of the peace you brought to his heart. The sight of you here, in this place so close to him, softened the edges of his usually meticulous and composed demeanor, a warmth filling him that not even centuries of experience could shield him from. A chuckle stirred in the back of his throat—quiet, almost imperceptible—but one that could not be contained. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to indulge in this rare bit of levity, marveling at how effortlessly you had slipped into his world, leaving traces of warmth and comfort wherever you went. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, rare and soft, though it remained, for a moment, hidden beneath the seriousness of his expression. It was only when the scrolls and papers on his desk seemed to pull him back to the present that Elrond decided to bring you from your peaceful slumber.

He couldn’t help but be struck by the sight—the way you appeared so content, utterly unaware of the world around you, lost in the quiet sanctuary of sleep. His heart warmed at the sight, even as he felt a playful glimmer stir within him. Quietly, he reached for a thick book resting on his desk, its weight reassuring in his hands. He dropped it onto the surface with a deliberate thud, the sound echoing through the room like a small thunderclap. He couldn’t help but be struck by the sight—the way you appeared so content, utterly unaware of the world around you, lost in the quiet sanctuary of sleep. Your form was curled up beneath his desk, small and peaceful, like a gentle ripple in a still pond. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair spilled out around you in a tangled mess—there was something so serene about it. Elrond’s heart warmed at the sight, even as a playful glimmer stirred within him. It was rare to catch you so unguarded, so completely absent from the cares of the world. He found a small amusement in it, and with a quiet, thoughtful smile, he decided to indulge in the moment.

Quietly, he reached for a thick book resting on his desk, its weight reassuring in his hands. His fingers brushed over the pages as his gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer. He then dropped the book onto the desk with a deliberate thud, the sound echoing through the room like a small thunderclap. The noise shattered the peaceful silence, its sharpness undeniable in the quiet study. The sound caused you to stir immediately. Your body shifted beneath the desk, a low murmur escaping your lips as you slowly blinked up at him, eyes still heavy with sleep, fighting to adjust to the light. You struggled for a moment, eyes squinting, as though the waking world was still a hazy place, and for a brief second, you simply stared at him in confusion.

A soft, sleepy hum escaped your lips, your brows furrowing in mild disorientation, as if you were still caught between dreams and reality. Elrond’s gaze softened instantly, his heart tugging at the sight of you, the fog of sleep thick in your eyes. It was a quiet, endearing thing to watch you struggle in the half-light of consciousness. His usual composed demeanor faltered just slightly, as an affection he couldn’t entirely conceal shimmered behind his calm exterior. Seeing the way your body remained still, trying to fight off the clutches of sleep, Elrond’s voice slipped out, steady and calm, but with a teasing warmth that wrapped around his words like a soft blanket. “It seems my study has gained a new resident,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips as he allowed a gentle humor to color his voice, though the quiet care that usually guided his tone was still present.

You blinked up at him again, your confusion giving way to the fog of sleep. You rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the haze, but your attempt to make sense of the situation only made Elrond’s amusement grow. His lips parted in a quiet chuckle, a sound rare enough to make the air around him feel warmer. As you continued to stare at him, his chuckle deepened—just a hint of affection behind it. Still blinking, your voice came out thick with sleep. “What—what time is it?” you mumbled, your words slurring slightly, clearly still not fully awake. “Did something… fall?” You yawned, stretching as best you could while still tucked beneath his desk, your body moving with the languidness of someone pulled from a deep, peaceful slumber.

Elrond couldn’t help but smile more at the sight. His usual solemnity melted in the face of such vulnerability, the love he held for you clear in his expression. The way you lay there, so peacefully unaware of the world around you, made something stir deep within him—affection, tenderness, and a quiet joy. He allowed himself a rare, soft smile, the kind that only you could bring out of him. He leaned down just a little closer, his breath gentle in the stillness of the room, and his voice, though steady, carried a playful warmth. “It seems you’ve found a very comfortable corner of my study,” he said, the words laced with both amusement and the fondness he felt for you. His eyes twinkled softly, a lightness there that not many would see, and certainly not when his mind was usually so focused and heavy with the burdens of leadership. Kneeling down to your level, Elrond reached out, offering you his hand with a graceful fluidity. The gesture was an effortless blend of strength and gentleness, a clear invitation to rise, yet with an undeniable tenderness that matched his quiet care. His fingers hovered just within reach of yours, patient and calm, allowing you the time to decide if you were ready to take his help. His brow arched slightly in amusement, the faintest trace of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he waited for your response.

“Come now, little one,” he said, his voice a soft melody, his tone like a gentle caress against your sleep-dulled senses. “Surely there are more suitable places for rest than beneath my desk.” There was a teasing edge to his words, but beneath that lightheartedness, there was a depth of care—an affection that was always there, even when his voice was steady and composed. He was concerned, though not in a way that felt overbearing. It was the sort of concern that felt natural, the concern of someone who cared for your well-being as deeply as he did. Still groggy from your unexpected nap, you made an attempt to push yourself upright, but your body, heavy with the lingering pull of sleep, didn’t seem to respond as you’d hoped. The sudden movement was a little too much, and your legs wobbled beneath you. A soft, sleepy murmur escaped your lips, a confused sound that was almost entirely made up of a yawn. Before you could regain your balance, Elrond was there—his hand steady, his grip firm but not forceful—guiding you back to a more stable stance.

You stumbled slightly, and in your disoriented state, you accidentally bumped your head lightly against the edge of the desk. A soft thud, not painful, but enough to make you wince in surprise. Elrond’s smile widened, though the tenderness in his gaze never wavered. His quiet chuckle filled the space between you, warm and soft, like a ripple in still water. But the amusement quickly shifted into a more protective concern, and he was instantly attentive to you, his eyes searching for any sign of discomfort. “Careful, Mellon nín,” he murmured, his voice lowering to a near-whisper. The soft tone held an edge of worry, though it was quickly masked by the calm, steady assurance he always carried. His fingers grazed the spot where you’d bumped your head, though his touch was light, checking for any signs of injury. “I’ll not have you injuring yourself,” he added, his words gentle but firm, as if to remind you that he would always be there to catch you when you needed him. The care in his voice was unmistakable, and though you were still a little dazed from your nap, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of comfort in the quiet reassurance he offered.

With a small, reassuring sigh, Elrond helped you find your feet fully, his hands guiding you toward a more comfortable chair. He moved with practiced care, as always, attending to your needs with a quiet dedication that came so naturally to him. Without speaking, he rose and went to a nearby table, where he had previously prepared a fresh cup of herbal tea—still warm, its soothing aroma drifting through the air. He placed the cup gently into your hands, his gaze unwavering, yet filled with tenderness. “Drink this,” Elrond said quietly, his voice both affectionate and firm. “I’ll not have you wandering my halls half-asleep.” The concern in his voice, though steady, carried an undercurrent of warmth, a reflection of the deep care he held for you. You took the cup, sipping slowly as he observed you from across the room. Despite his own work awaiting attention, Elrond’s gaze often flickered back to you, a soft smile tugging at his lips, though he remained composed. It was clear that, while his mind was occupied with his tasks, part of him was wholly devoted to your presence, finding contentment simply in knowing you were close.

You took a moment, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eye, the sleepiness still evident in your voice. “Thanks, just what I wanted!” you said, a hint of sarcasm lacing your words, though the gratitude was clear beneath your teasing. You had intended to keep resting, to remain lost in the peaceful haze of sleep, but there was a part of you that appreciated his care, even if you weren’t entirely thrilled with the interruption. As the warmth of the tea began to settle in your bones, the lingering exhaustion of your day weighed heavier on your body, pulling at your consciousness. Without a word, you shifted from the chair, your movements slow and languid, almost as if the weight of the day had caught up with you all at once. You moved towards Elrond with an ease that came from knowing he would be there, his presence a constant source of comfort. Slowly, carefully, you settled yourself in his lap, your head naturally seeking the warmth of his chest. The act, though wordless, spoke volumes—a request for closeness, for the quiet reassurance only he could offer.

Elrond, ever attuned to your needs, didn’t hesitate. His arms encircled you with a natural grace, as though this was the most familiar thing in the world, the way his body seemed to instinctively know how to shelter and protect you. You felt the strength of him beneath you, his heartbeat steady and strong, a gentle rhythm that began to slow the pace of your own thoughts. His embrace was secure yet tender, holding you as though you were both his greatest responsibility and his deepest joy. You nestled into him, letting go of the last remnants of your grogginess, surrendering to the comfort of his warmth. Elrond’s hand, the same one that had guided you with care earlier, moved to your hair, his fingers brushing through it in soft, rhythmic strokes. The sensation was soothing, almost hypnotic, as though each touch was meant to calm not just your body, but your mind as well.

He allowed the silence to stretch between you, broken only by the quiet sound of your breathing and the occasional soft chuckle that escaped him as he regarded you, half-lost in the moment. “You seem to have no intention of leaving,” he murmured with a teasing lilt to his voice, his breath warm against your skin. There was a lightheartedness to his words, yet the affection in his tone was unmistakable. “I think I’ve made the mistake of offering comfort to someone far too determined to take advantage of it.” A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he continued to stroke your hair, the motions slow and deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world to simply be here with you. The playful edge to his voice never faltered, but beneath it, the care in his touch was clear—each movement tender and full of a quiet, deep affection. “Mmmm…” you mumbled sleepily, your words slurring slightly as you burrowed deeper into his chest, your exhaustion still clinging to you. You didn’t have the energy to fight it anymore, and honestly, you didn’t want to. “I’m just… here to… help you… with your work…”

Elrond chuckled softly, the sound rich with warmth, as his fingers continued their soothing rhythm through your hair. He could feel the tension leaving your body, the weight of the day beginning to melt away, and he felt a quiet peace settle over him in response. His smile widened, the affection in his gaze deepening as he responded with gentle humor, though his voice was still full of tenderness. “Yes, of course,” he said, the teasing edge to his voice still there, but it was tempered with love. “I suppose you’ve been quite the help in keeping me company.” And so, in the calm of his study, with nothing but the steady beat of his heart and the quiet, rhythmic motion of his hand through your hair, the two of you shared an unspoken understanding. Elrond resumed his work, his attention divided between the task at hand and the precious presence nestled in his arms. He knew, as always, that the simplest moments—like this one—were often the most meaningful. The peace of the moment was perfect, and with you in his arms, all was right in the world.

☀️𝓖𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓵

After finishing his tasks in the stables, Glorfindel paused for a moment, leaning lightly against the handle of the broom he had just set aside. The warm, earthy scent of hay mixed with the familiar tang of leather saddles and oiled tack filled the air, a smell he had long since come to associate with calmness. The soft snorts of horses and the occasional rustle of hooves shifting against the stable floor provided a steady, almost rhythmic background, one that always eased the weight of the day from his shoulders. He reached up, brushing a damp strand of golden hair back from his forehead, his gaze sweeping the tidy rows of stalls one last time. Everything appeared as it should: the straw fresh, the feed buckets filled, and the horses content. Yet, as he turned to hang the broom on its usual hook, his sharp eyes caught an unusual detail.

One of the stall doors at the far end was slightly ajar, its sturdy wooden frame left just wide enough for a sliver of light to spill through. Glorfindel frowned faintly, his mind already cataloging possibilities. It was rare for the stable doors to be left unsecured, rarer still for one of the attendants or elves in charge of the stables to overlook such a thing. Straightening, he moved toward the stall with quiet, measured steps, his boots barely making a sound against the worn planks of the stable floor. His keen senses remained alert, his eyes flicking briefly over the nearby surroundings to ensure nothing else was amiss. As he approached, his hand brushed instinctively toward the hilt of the blade that rested at his side—a habit born of countless centuries of vigilance. He did not truly expect danger here, in this peaceful sanctuary of Imladris, but old instincts were difficult to silence entirely. The faint creak of the floor beneath him and the soft rustle of hay reached his ears as he closed the gap between himself and the open stall. Glorfindel’s frown softened into something more thoughtful as he reached out, fingertips brushing lightly against the edge of the door. It swung inward with a faint groan, revealing the scene within.

He hesitated on the threshold, his sharp gaze adjusting to the dimmer light inside the stall. What he saw made him pause. His hand, still resting on the door, stilled entirely, and the faintest flicker of surprise crossed his expression. The sight that met his eyes made him pause, his breath catching in his chest before it escaped in a faint, incredulous chuckle. There, nestled comfortably on a thick bed of hay, was you—completely unaware of his presence, lost in peaceful slumber. Your form was curled slightly on one side, one arm tucked beneath your head like a makeshift pillow, while the other rested limply against your chest. The golden straw beneath you framed you like a halo, catching the light that filtered in from the high stable window. Your face, serene and softened by sleep, was partially obscured by a stray lock of hair that had fallen across your cheek. The gentle rise and fall of your chest marked the rhythm of your deep breaths, each exhalation soft and unhurried, as though the world outside held no urgency. Your legs were bent slightly at the knees, with one ankle resting lazily atop the other, and the hem of your tunic was slightly rumpled from the uneven surface of the hay.

But what truly made the scene so endearing—so utterly absurd—was the presence of the large horse standing just beside you. Its dark eyes glinted with a quiet intelligence as it leaned down, its velvety muzzle gently nudging at your hair, as though ensuring you were still breathing. The beast exhaled softly, its warm breath ruffling the strands of your hair, an almost protective presence looming over you in the small, intimate space of the stall. Glorfindel suppressed a laugh, one hand rising instinctively to cover his mouth as he marveled at the sight before him. The combination of your utterly relaxed state and the horse’s quiet, almost guardian-like demeanor struck him as both amusing and unexpectedly charming. He shook his head lightly, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips, as he leaned a shoulder against the doorframe to take it all in.

His smile deepened as he leaned casually against the doorframe. His arms crossed over his chest as he took a moment to observe you. This was indeed a unique horse, but in a way he hadn’t quite expected. “Well, well,” he murmured to himself, “What a unique horse we have here.” He watched for a few more seconds, the peacefulness of the scene filling him with quiet amusement. Finally, an idea struck him—a little playful trick, something to rouse you from your slumber in a way that would surely draw out a reaction. He reached down, scooping up a handful of loose hay from the floor. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he lightly sprinkled it over your hair, his voice carrying that familiar teasing lilt. “Rise and shine, my curious little steed. Your stable duties await!” The teasing voice broke through the haze of your dreams, tugging you back to reality in a way that was both jarring and strangely gentle. Something soft landed atop your head, and you groaned faintly, instinctively brushing at it before fully opening your eyes. Your mind, still foggy with sleep, struggled to make sense of the sensations around you—the scent of hay, the warm breath of a nearby horse, and the sound of restrained laughter.

You blinked slowly, confusion clouding your thoughts as the scattered pieces of the scene began to come together. Your hand brushed through your hair, dislodging loose bits of hay that clung stubbornly to the strands, though a few still stubbornly clung to your shoulders. The distinct crunch of the straw beneath you was the next realization that surfaced—hay? Why was there hay? It wasn’t until the familiar voice sounded again, this time accompanied by the faint shuffle of movement nearby, that you snapped fully awake. Jerking upright with wide, bewildered eyes, you looked around, your gaze darting to the open stall door and the tall, golden-haired figure crouched just a few feet away.

“Glorfindel?” you mumbled groggily, your voice thick and raspy with sleep. You squinted at him, your frown deepening as the drowsiness slowly loosened its hold. He was grinning, his blue eyes sparkling with unmistakable amusement as he rested one elbow on his knee, casually watching your disoriented attempts to make sense of things. “What in Middle-earth are you doing here?” you finally managed, though your tone came out more accusatory than you had intended. Your fingers brushed through your hair again, pulling out yet another stubborn piece of hay, as your sleep-heavy mind reeled. How had you managed to fall asleep in a horse stall? And, more importantly, why did he look like he was enjoying this far more than he should? Glorfindel’s soft chuckle filled the air as he stood, effortlessly steadying you when you wobbled a bit. He didn’t answer right away, simply brushing a few stray pieces of hay from your shoulder, his grin widening. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said, his voice light with amusement. “It seems you’ve found a rather unusual bedmate.” He gestured toward the horse that had stayed by your side, now curiously sniffing at your disheveled hair. “Though, I must admit, I find your choice of company rather charming.”

Despite the haze of sleep still clouding your mind, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you looked toward the horse, who had seemingly become your unlikely guardian for the nap. “I wasn’t planning to fall asleep here,” you muttered sheepishly, brushing more hay from your hair. “It’s just… so cozy.” He raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “Cozy? In a stall?” His voice held the teasing lilt that you were slowly coming to expect from him. “I suppose I can’t argue with that. Though I’d suggest next time, perhaps a blanket instead of hay.” His words softened, and there was a warmth in his eyes as he helped you steady yourself, clearly both amused and concerned for your well-being. You couldn’t stop a sleepy frown from forming, even as you appreciated his gentle manner. “You don’t have to scold me,” you mumbled, still trying to clear the cobwebs from your mind. “I’m not scolding,” Glorfindel replied with a soft laugh. “I’m just… making sure you don’t wake up next to a horse’s tail next time. Now, how about a little breakfast, hm?” His voice was warm, his teasing now edged with a kind of protective affection. “You’ve certainly earned it after your… unique nap.”

His laughter echoed in the quiet stables, and despite the lingering grogginess, you couldn’t help but smile at how easily he’d lightened the mood. The gentle teasing, the way he helped you stand and guided you toward the exit—there was something comforting about his presence, something that made the sleepiness fade even faster. The horse, too, followed behind, as if reluctant to leave its new companion. Glorfindel’s playful nature and teasing were all on full display, but it was also clear to you that, despite the lighthearted jesting, he cared for your well-being. He didn’t scold, didn’t make you feel foolish—instead, he made sure you woke up in the most reassuring way possible, with a smile and a gentle hand guiding you. And, as you walked toward the stable doors with Glorfindel by your side, you couldn’t help but feel that, while you might never hear the end of this little nap, his playful nature made it all the more bearable.

🩵𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓸𝓻𝓷

Among the Roots of a Mallorn Tree

The golden light of Lothlórien filtered through the dense canopy of the mallorn trees, their silver leaves shimmering like living stars. The air was filled with the soft murmur of wind through the branches, the distant songs of birds, and the subtle rustling of the forest’s life. It was a perfect day to walk the ancient woods, the stillness broken only by the occasional step of a passing elf or the rustle of an animal darting beneath the underbrush. Celeborn, tall and composed, moved gracefully through the forest, his gaze both sharp and serene as he took in the beauty of his realm. However, today something was different. As he wandered deeper into the woods, his sharp eyes caught a glimpse of movement among the roots of an enormous mallorn tree. For a moment, he thought it was a small animal curled up in the shade, nestled against the ancient wood. His steps slowed, and his heart softened with the brief thought that the forest’s creatures had claimed the spot as their own. But as his gaze focused further, the shape became clearer, and his brow furrowed slightly in recognition. There, nestled among the thick, gnarled roots of the mallorn, was you.

There, amongst the gnarled and twisting roots of the great tree, lay your form, curled up and almost indistinguishable from the earth itself. The thick, knotted roots cradled you like a natural bed, and your body was draped in the shadows of the mallorn’s silvery leaves. Your face was relaxed, eyes closed in peaceful slumber, and a faint smile curled on your lips. The only movement was the slow rise and fall of your chest as you breathed deeply, so utterly at ease in this unexpected spot that Celeborn couldn’t help but feel a mix of fond amusement and affection. He stepped closer, his long, fluid movements bringing him to your side with silent grace. The soft rustle of leaves beneath his boots barely disturbed the tranquility of the moment. Leaning over, he observed you for a moment, appreciating the way the intricate roots seemed to embrace you, as if you had become one with the ancient tree itself.

He couldn’t deny the gentle smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. You had always managed to find the most unusual places to sleep—be it on a bench, curled up by a fire, or now, amid the roots of the great mallorn. The sight of you, so utterly relaxed, made his heart ache with tenderness. “Truly, you have an uncanny ability to find the most… unusual places to sleep,” Celeborn whispered softly, his voice carrying the warmth of the surrounding forest. His hand hovered above you for a moment before he brushed a single leaf from your face, the light touch tender and filled with affection. As his fingers gently swept the leaf aside, your hand stirred in response, a soft, unconscious motion. You swiped at the air with a casual gesture, as if swatting away an irritant, but your fingers never made contact with anything—only the sensation of Celeborn’s touch lingered, unnoticed in your dreamlike state. He smiled warmly at the delicate moment, his touch remaining soft as he placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle shake, careful not to startle you from your slumber.

“Wake up, my friend,” he said, his tone barely more than a murmur, though firm enough to rouse you from your slumber. “It seems the world has moved on without you.” You stirred at the gentle motion, letting out a low, half-hearted grumble as you shifted slightly, clearly reluctant to leave the cocoon of warmth and comfort the roots had provided. A soft groan escaped your lips as you burrowed deeper against the gnarled wood, as though willing sleep to pull you back under. For a few moments, you were lost to the haze of dreams, the earthy scent of the forest and the rustling whispers of the wind lulling you to stay.But the presence beside you was impossible to ignore. The voice—calm, comforting, and always familiar—persisted, tugging you further from the fog of slumber. Slowly, begrudgingly, your mind began to clear, and you cracked one eye open, squinting up at him in reluctant acknowledgment. Celeborn stood there, a patient smile on his lips, his silver hair catching the soft light of the mallorn leaves. His gaze, warm and steady, met yours as you blinked the last remnants of sleep away, a half-formed grumble still escaping you as if protesting the very idea of waking.

You let out a tired laugh, the sound soft and rough as it broke through the lingering haze of sleep. Rubbing your eyes with slow, deliberate movements, you stretched your arms high above your head, your body still heavy with drowsiness. “I… must have fallen asleep without even realizing,” you murmured, your voice thick and low, as if the very earth beneath you had conspired to hold you in its gentle, grounding embrace. The warmth of Celeborn’s presence seemed to surround you, his steady gaze pulling you further from the tendrils of slumber that clung stubbornly to your bones. His smile softened, the corners of his lips curving with unmistakable fondness as he crouched beside you, careful to keep his movements slow and unintrusive. “I can see that,” he replied, his voice rich and warm, the faintest hint of teasing in his tone. “Though you seem to have chosen a very… intimate spot. It seems the roots have accepted you as one of their own.”

Your eyes widened slightly as his words brought clarity, and you blinked, suddenly more aware of your surroundings. Looking around, you noticed how the massive, winding roots of the mallorn tree curled protectively around you, like a cradle crafted by the forest itself. Above, the ancient tree stretched endlessly into the sky, its golden leaves shimmering in the dappled light and whispering secrets to the wind. The realization brought a soft chuckle to your lips, still tinged with sleep. “I suppose I’ve become a part of the tree, then,” you said, your words accompanied by a sheepish grin as you glanced back at him. “Perhaps it’s just too comfortable here…” Celeborn’s eyes crinkled slightly with amusement, though his concern remained evident in the way his gaze lingered on you. Extending a hand, he spoke gently but with purpose. “It may be comfortable, but the ground is no place for a proper rest, my dear.” His hand was warm and steady, his voice carrying that familiar blend of amusement and care that always put you at ease. “Come, let us find you somewhere more fitting.”

You hesitated, the idea of moving feeling far too strenuous in the wake of such a deep slumber, but with his hand there—a quiet promise of support—you found yourself reaching out. His touch was firm yet careful as he guided you upward, his strength effortless as you swayed slightly, unsteady on your feet. The sleep that still clung to you made your limbs feel heavy, and you leaned lightly against him, seeking his warmth and stability. Celeborn’s hand remained at your back, a gentle anchor as you regained your balance. The familiar scent of the forest mingled with the faint, calming fragrance that always seemed to surround him, grounding you further in the present. “You’re patient with me, Celeborn,” you murmured softly, your voice carrying the faint remnants of drowsiness as you leaned into his side, your steps tentative. “Always waiting for me to wake up, always guiding me through.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound like the rustling of leaves caught in a soft breeze, rich with warmth and the kind of affection that ran deep and steady. “Patience is a virtue, my friend,” he replied, his voice low and soothing as he began to lead you forward. “And with you, it is always worth the wait.” His steps were slow, measured, and unhurried as he guided you through the tranquil woods, his hand remaining at your back, steady and sure. Though the journey to a more fitting resting place would be a short one, neither of you seemed in any rush to reach it. The golden light filtered through the canopy, bathing the two of you in a gentle glow as you walked. Sleep still clung to your mind, but with Celeborn’s quiet, unwavering presence at your side, the line between dream and wakefulness felt blissfully blurred. No matter how many times you wandered into the forest only to succumb to sleep in the most unexpected of places, you knew you would always find him there, patient and ever-watchful, ready to guide you back to safety. And though you still felt the pull of slumber, there was a comfort in knowing that you could lean into him, that his presence would always feel like home.

[doodle-pops]

When You Flirt With Them For Fun

Headcanons: Maedhros, Celegorm, Finrod, Glorfindel, Elrond

Request: [Mixed Selection] May I request headcanons for a flirty human reader with Celegorm, Finrod, Glorfindel, Maedhros and Elrond? Reader is flirting with them but she actually has no romantic interest in them. Genre and being sfw/nsfw don't matter for me - dealer's choice. Thank you in advance!!

A/N: I went with the SFW route that was slightly suggestive, it felt more befitting given the ‘non-romantic interest’ and I was in the mood for a good laugh. This was just a lovely request, anon. Thank you for the request!

Synopsis: When you decide to flirt with them despite being romantically uninterested in them, all for the sake of fun.

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Maedhros

𑁍 You had no idea how you ended up befriending Maedhros, but once you did, you realised something very important: the Eldar were woefully unprepared for human audacity, and Maedhros, in particular, had absolutely no idea what to do with you.

𑁍 “You should smile more,” you told him once, watching as he adjusted his vambrace with that usual, distant intensity. “I bet it’d make all the ladies swoon.”

𑁍 He blinked at you, unimpressed. “I am a Prince of the Noldor. My concerns are not—”

𑁍 “Oh, so you already have them swooning? I should’ve known.” You smirked, tapping a finger against your chin in mock contemplation. “Is it the brooding thing? Or the battle scars? Or maybe it’s the hair—tell me, Maedhros, how many maidens have tried to braid flowers into it?”

𑁍 The strangled noise he made was priceless. It became a game after that. You, being utterly shameless, and Maedhros, being utterly unprepared for someone who flirted without actually meaning it.

𑁍 “Would you catch me if I fell?” you asked once, lounging across a bench like some ancient philosopher contemplating the meaning of life. And Maedhros, ever pragmatic, glanced at you and said, “You are sitting down.”

𑁍 “Hypothetically.”

𑁍 “...I suppose, yes.”

𑁍 “Would you cradle me in your arms and whisper soft reassurances?”

𑁍 “No.”

𑁍 “What if I cried a little?”

𑁍 He closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose like he was summoning every ounce of patience left in his soul. You were his worst nightmare.

𑁍 Once, after a particularly ridiculous exchange, Maglor (who found you endlessly entertaining) finally asked, “Are you actually trying to court my brother?”

𑁍 “Oh, absolutely not,” you replied without hesitation. “I just like to see if I can make him malfunction.” The absolute horror on Maedhros’ face was a thing of beauty.

𑁍 “You are malfunctioning,” Maglor pointed out.

𑁍 “I am not—”

𑁍 “Name one time you’ve reacted normally to them.”

𑁍 Maedhros opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then just glared at you. “This is entirely your fault.”

𑁍 You gave him a dazzling smile and fluttered your lashes. “And yet, you keep me around. Hmm. Almost like you enjoy my presence.”

𑁍 “I do not,” he lied blatantly.

𑁍 Eventually, Maedhros stopped protesting, but the sighs of long-suffering continued. You were convinced that, despite his protests, he secretly enjoyed your antics. After all, he never once told you to stop.

Celegorm

𑁍 Celegorm first mistook you for a genuine suitor, which was honestly on him. You had flirted outrageously, batting your lashes and trailing your fingers along his arm while calling him ‘my mighty hunter.’ He had puffed up like a peacock, utterly convinced that you had fallen for his rugged charm.

𑁍 “I understand,” he had said gravely one evening, after you had draped yourself over the back of his chair and whispered something about strong hands and archery skill. “It is difficult to resist me.”

𑁍 You nearly choked on your wine. “Oh, you sweet summer child,” you laughed, patting his shoulder. “I just like watching you squirm.”

𑁍 Celegorm sat there, utterly frozen, like a man who had just been hit by a metaphorical wagon. He stared at you, at the sheer audacity, before narrowing his eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game, human.”

𑁍 “Oh, but you’re so fun to mess with,” you grinned, winking.

𑁍 After that, Celegorm dedicated himself to turning the tables. He flirted back with wild intensity, cornering you in halls with smirks and murmured threats of “revenge.” It became a game, a constant back-and-forth of smouldering looks and ridiculous one-liners. The moment you actually backed off, he huffed in disappointment. “What, giving up already?”

𑁍 “Of course not,” you grinned, sauntering past. “I just like keeping you on edge.”

𑁍 One day, he finally called your bluff, leaning down so close his breath brushed your ear. “You talk big, but I don’t think you could handle me.”

𑁍 You burst into laughter so hard you had to clutch your ribs. “Oh, Tyelko, if I wanted to handle you, I’d have done it already.”

𑁍 He stared. You sauntered away, leaving the great hunter standing there, looking more hunted than ever.

Finrod

𑁍 Finrod had your number from the start. The very first time you tried to lean into him and sigh about how ‘utterly entrancing’ his eyes were, he simply raised a golden brow and smirked. “Oh, is that so?”

𑁍 You pouted. “Must you ruin my fun?”

𑁍 “I would never, but I am curious—do you say this to all elves, or am I special?” he purred, clearly amused.

𑁍 “Oh, you’re special, all right,” you grinned, tapping his chest. “Most elves just blush and stammer. You, however, are proving to be a challenge.”

𑁍 Finrod delighted in the game. He indulged you with little flourishes—offering his hand with an elegant bow, leaning in when you whispered something ridiculous, murmuring things in Quenya just to watch you shiver dramatically and sigh, “Oh, if only I knew what that meant!”

𑁍 “It means, ‘You’re absolutely shameless, and I adore it.’”

𑁍 You gasped, pressing a hand to your heart. “Finrod! And here I thought you were an honourable prince.”

𑁍 “Ah, but honour and amusement are not mutually exclusive,” he grinned.

𑁍 He was insufferable. Worse, he was better at this than you were. One night at a feast, he casually kissed the back of your hand and murmured, “My dear, if you keep looking at me like that, I may start to believe you.”

𑁍 “Oh, don’t do that,” you laughed, squeezing his hand. “I’d hate to break your heart.”

𑁍 “You overestimate your power, my dear,” he chuckled, though his eyes shone with a twinkle.

𑁍 “Oh, do I?” you purred, trailing a finger up his arm. “You wouldn’t be the first elf I’ve made weak in the knees.”

𑁍 “And yet, I am still standing,” he mused. “A mystery indeed.”

𑁍 “Well,” you smirked, “there’s still time.”

Glorfindel

𑁍 Glorfindel was used to admiration. Being a golden-haired, heroic Balrog-slayer tended to make one rather popular. He was not, however, used to your particular brand of shameless flirting.

𑁍 The first time you called him ‘the most devastatingly handsome warrior this side of the sea,’ he nearly choked on his drink. “I beg your pardon?”

𑁍 “Oh, don’t be shy,” you teased, elbowing him. “You know you’re devastatingly handsome. I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

𑁍 He recovered quickly. Too quickly. “Oh? And are you thinking about me often, then?”

𑁍 You grinned. “Only in my most sinful dreams.”

𑁍 Glorfindel coughed. You watched, delighted, as a flush rose high on his cheeks. “You are scandalous,” he muttered, shaking his head.

𑁍 “And you like it,” you sing-songed, linking your arm through his.

𑁍 From that moment on, he was both wary and intrigued. You kept him on his toes, throwing winks and suggestive remarks his way whenever the opportunity arose. One time, after he returned from a sparring match, you fanned yourself dramatically. “By the stars, is it hot in here, or is it just you?”

𑁍 He stared at you, sweat still glistening on his brow. “Do you ever stop?”

𑁍 “Why would I?” you asked, propping your chin on your hand. “You’re such an easy target.”

𑁍 “I am not an easy target,” he huffed, crossing his arms.

𑁍 “Oh, Glorfindel,” you sighed, shaking your head. “You poor, oblivious thing.”

𑁍 One day, he turned the tables on you, cornering you in a hallway and leaning in just close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin. “Tell me, my sweet tormentor,” he murmured, “what would you do if I took your teasing seriously?”

𑁍 You blinked up at him, your brain stalling for a moment before you grinned and placed a finger on his chest. “I’d be very flattered,” you said, trailing your hand down his tunic before giving him a light shove. “But I’d still be messing with you.”

𑁍 Glorfindel groaned, his face forming a grimace. “You are intolerable.”

𑁍 “And yet, you keep coming back,” you sing-songed, winking as you strolled away.

𑁍 He watched you go, muttering something about humans and their wicked ways. But later, when you caught him smiling to himself, you knew he secretly loved every second of it.

Elrond

𑁍 “Lord Elrond,” you greeted with a smile that was all teeth. “I just want to say that you have the most magnificent bone structure I have ever seen. Have you ever considered the impact of your jawline on the mortal population?”

𑁍 Elrond, to his credit, barely reacted. “No, I have not.”

𑁍 “Tragic. I fear you underestimate its power.” He did not dignify that with a response.

𑁍 It became a sport after that. You flirted. He ignored you. You got more ridiculous. He remained completely, frustratingly composed.

𑁍 “Do you ever get tired of being the most attractive person in the room?” you asked one day, chin in hand, watching him review some diplomatic scrolls.

𑁍 “No,” he replied absently, eyes still scanning the parchment. “It is a burden I have learned to bear.”

𑁍 You choked on your drink. “Oh—so you do have a sense of humour!”

𑁍 His lips twitched, and you swore, just for a second, you saw a glimmer of amusement in those grey eyes.

𑁍 He got his revenge once. You had leaned in far too close, examining his ever-stoic features like some fine work of art, when he turned his head abruptly and murmured, “You are staring, my friend. Do you wish to kiss me?”

𑁍 You jerked back so fast you nearly fell out of your chair. “No!”

𑁍 “Ah,” he said, entirely unbothered, turning back to his scrolls. “How unexpected.”

𑁍 Sometimes, the elves who served him gave you looks of sheer disbelief. You were speaking to Elrond Peredhel, leaning casually against his desk and saying things like, “What if I wrote you a love poem?”

𑁍 “Please do not.”

𑁍 “Too late, I’ve already started. ‘O Elrond, fairest of the fair, with hair like—’ ”

𑁍 “No.” You could almost see him regretting ever acknowledging your presence.

𑁍 Glorfindel, who had been watching the entire ordeal with great amusement, leaned over and whispered, “I have never seen him so consistently harassed before. You are a marvel.”

𑁍 “Thank you,” you said, preening.

𑁍 And yet, despite all his sighs and why must you do this looks, Elrond never once dismissed you. If anything, you sometimes caught him glancing at you with that small, knowing smile of his, like he found you far more entertaining than he’d ever admit.

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[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

How the elves prefer to kiss a short parter

(Elves are said to never really be under 6’4 and I’m thinking partners under 5’4)

Standing on a table

They find it hilarious and makes it easy to kiss you or pick you up if they want to continue the kiss elsewhere. They think it’s even funnier if you still have to go on your tippy toes.

Glorfindel and Lindir

Picking you up

Loves feeling you this close and making you feel safe. They won’t lie, they love that it means they can grab at your thighs and ass.

Haldir and Thranduil

Crouching down/On their knees

They like meeting you down to your level. If they’re on their knees it makes you both laugh but they love it because it makes them feel like they’re worshipping their sweet little love.

Legolas and Meludir

[cambion-companion]

Hugging the Elves (blorbos)

Elrond ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Elrond is a healer, of both body and heart. His home of Rivendell is where those blessed enough to gain entry find refuge for their spirit. Elrond would hug like a father comforting his child, he would wrap you into a secure embrace. He smells like familiar spices and fresh warm cloth as you bury your head against his shoulder. The long sleeves of his robes wrap around your body and offer solace under their weight. He will smile down at you gently, a fond crinkling around his eyes full of wisdom and starlight.

Glorfindel

Sunshine incarnate, Glorfindel's hugs are enthusiastic and don't be surprised if he lifts you into his arms and twirls you around once or twice, especially if he has been on errantry and not seen you for a while. His long golden hair would get in both your faces and he would laugh, bell-like, as he gently brushes it away. He smells of a fresh summer breeze carrying the light scents of flowers and evergreen trees as you press your cheek to his chest. I also see him as being fond of taking your face in his hands, enjoying looking into your eyes and reading your emotions there. When you are in need of comfort be assured Glorfindel will always be ready to offer you a warm embrace as you bask in his glowing presence. His very touch is enough to chase away any creeping darkness from your mind. (yes I am madly in love with him can you not tell)

Arwen

Arwen doesn't hug very many people, so when she opens her arms to you it is a gift indeed. She smells of lilac and midsummer nights spent by the lake under the stars. Her hair is as soft as goose-down and the gossamer of her sleeves slips between your fingers. She holds the back of your head lightly as you lean against her, closing your eyes and enjoying the feel of her chin tucked against your head. Arwen will also peer into your eyes, as they are windows to your soul, and give you a soft understanding smile before engaging you in light conversation and laughter.

Thranduil

(as a brief aside, I do not at all like the characterization of Thranduil in the movies as they turned him into King Thingol of Doriath who is much different in temperament. thus, this will be based on his book self)

Thranduil is regal and guarded, yet he has a warmth about him you have grown accustomed to receiving from the Elves. Like Arwen he does not embrace others readily, but will receive your affection with a broad smile and happy chuckle. His hands placed securely on your upper back as you lean against him, breathing in his scent of juniper berries and pine. This hug will be brief but meaningful and leave you feeling elated and refreshed. He will then invite you to dine with them and perhaps accompany his folk into the forest to dance and frolic to the sound of harpists and singing.

Legolas

Legolas is full of laughter and wit and will accept your hug with joy, squeezing you tight against him as he ruffles your hair about in an affectionate manner. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and inhale the smell of leather and woodsmoke. He will hold you against him for as long as you wish, even rocking you side to side if you remain in his arms for long. When you do pull away Legolas will grasp your forearms and beam at you, making a witty comment, his countenance brightening when you laugh.

Finrod

(Yes, I have to include this golden boy)

The first among Elves to befriend humans, even the first to see them, Finrod has a special place in his heart for his mortal friends. He loves giving and receiving hugs and will wrap you in his arms readily and with reverence. His golden hair tickles your face and he laughs, looking down at you as you scrunch your nose at the sensation. Finrod smells of the ocean winds that form the waves and the carpet of moss that covers forest floors. He is Valinor mixed with Middle Earth, belonging to both and yet neither. There is a sadness to his grip as he brushes a stray hair from your face after you pull away. But as ever with his kin the sadness in his eyes swiftly turns over to mirth and he takes your hand before pulling you along with him to your next adventure.

let me know who else I should write these for!

[glykerniaz]

Our longing love

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ𓄹⠀𓈒⠀ㅤׄ glorfindel x top!reader ⋆.˚ ⠀ㅤ𓄼

ᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠ✎ᝰ. ౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ 

 

Emile Anderson - Glorfindel ( tentative)

( synopsis. ) You are the sixth Istari sent to Middle-earth, a Maiar of Mandos. You met Glorfindel in the Halls of Mandos, and shared a deep romantic bond with him. When he was sent back for his second life in Middle-earth, no one ever imagined that he would meet you again in Imladris.

( tags. ) top!reader , bottom!glorfindel , Istari reder , using fingers , climax , male reader , soft , smut , friend to lover.

( a/n. ) i found out somebody request this- (My frist time wrtiting)

You never realized just how important you became in his life. The beautiful memories between you and him are always circling in his mind.

From the moment he met you after his death in the Halls of Mandos.

You are the shining light, radiant and calm, just like your Valar. You are his sanctity. Even the kiss you left on his lips imprinted upon his soul.

Oh... you made him pray to the goddess of the stars, Varda, but it seems the one who listened to him was the just Lord Mandos.

Until today, his prayers will come true.

The afternoon sky, bathed in sunlight, slowly shifted westward. After three long days of patrol, Glorfindel was desperate to ride his trusted steed back to Imladris. Yet, this time, there was something different, something special about the journey home.

Upon arrival, Glorfindel wasted no time issuing orders for the patrol to disperse before heading to report to Lord Elrond of Imladris. His golden armor shimmered brilliantly under the sun, and as he approached, a familiar sight caught his eye—a tall gray hat. In an instant, he recognized Gandalf, the Gray Wizard. But it was not Gandalf who made his heart skip a beat.

Eru, was he hallucinating?

His heart thundered in his chest, loud enough that even the sixth Istari, the enigmatic figure conversing calmly with Lord Elrond, might have noticed.

You were different.

But you were unmistakably you.

The one who made him hope for the halls of Mandos once more.

You were unlike any other Istari—no flowing, aged robes or dwarven-like beard. You seemed... human, more so than the last time he saw you. But he recognized you immediately.

You noticed him too. Your eyes met his, and a small smile played at the corner of your lips. Your movements were quiet and deliberate, but in a blink, you stood before him.

"Glorfindel," you greeted softly, your voice warm and familiar.

He swallowed hard, his usual composure faltering. He stammered, trying to form words, but you spoke first.

"It's been a while, Laurëfindil."

Eru, he was about to faint.

His cheeks burned, and the sound of your voice made him feel like a young elf again, inexperienced and hopelessly infatuated.

"Y-Yes," was all he managed to say.

You leaned closer, your breath brushing his ear as you whispered, "I’ll come to you tonight."

"Will you—will you really?" he asked, breathless.

You didn’t answer, only smiled before leaving him standing there, flushed and dumbstruck, under the curious gazes of Lord Elrond and the twins. Embarrassment surged through him, and he quickly excused himself, retreating with all the speed he could muster.

In the solitude of his chambers, he found himself scrubbing fervently in the bath, as if preparing for a sacred rite. The thought of you made the tips of his ears redden beneath his golden hair.

When evening fell, he caught glimpses of you from across the dining hall, though no chance to speak arose. It wasn’t until he returned to his quarters and heard the soft knock—knock, knock—that his heart leapt.

You had arrived.

Was he presentable enough?

Glorfindel barely realized how flustered he was as he opened the door. Before he knew it, he had thrown himself into your arms. He couldn’t recall the moment he surrendered to the strength of your embrace, but he knew he had longed for it, for you, deeply and fervently.

"Eru, you’re still as endearing as ever," you murmured, your lips curving into a gentle smile as you pressed your nose to his golden hair, planting a tender kiss there as though it were a treasure.

"I-I missed you. I’ve waited for the day I could return to Valinor—for you," he whispered, nuzzling against your chest. The door behind him clicked shut as if sealing him away with you, in your world.

His lashes fluttered closed as he rested in your arms. He would give himself to you entirely.

You laughed softly, holding him securely. Your strength, the firmness of your embrace, stirred thoughts in him that were unbecoming of an elf of his stature—thoughts he dared not voice but could not banish.

Who would have guessed you could reduce him to feeling like an inexperienced youth once more?

You led him to the bed, yet nothing untoward passed between you—not yet.

The night was spent in quiet conversation, sharing tales of the centuries that had kept you apart. He lay against your chest as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His bright eyes gleamed with warmth, his golden hair cascading like a waterfall over your shoulder.

Your gaze, unwavering and fond, made his lips curl into a shy, innocent smile. Yet Eru, even as he basked in your presence, his mind betrayed him with images unfit for an elf.

He imagined how it would feel to have your arms wrap around him, holding him as he lay beneath you, waiting for the heat of your touch to fill the void within him.

The thought made him flush deeply, his ears burning crimson. He swallowed hard, wondering what it would feel like to have your hands, your fingers exploring the places he had kept sacred.

He had never experienced such things.

But he wanted to.

And you would be the only one he would ever give himself to.

Glorfindel sat atop your chest, his hips tilting back to press into the friction between your hand and his lower body.

His pants had vanished, leaving only a loose, silky long-sleeved shirt that hung just to his thighs. His lashes fluttered closed.

His lips pressed together as if to stifle any embarrassing sounds from escaping-sounds that might disturb the neighbors. After all, elves have excellent hearing.

You can see his blunt cheeks when you tease him with a juicy finger. Who knows how well he responds to your finger when it stretches through his butt.

Glorfindel's , stingy, hard nipples, rancid under his slippery fabric with your chest and grip your hair tightly, surging you down to catch his poor lips.

Your mouth is like his paradise. Your touch circling him makes him tremble like a bullied rabbit.

Your finger acts excellently. It bothers and causes his thought to fade and think of the acacia of how deep your finger gets into him. His wall strangles around your finger, tightening every time his finger presses around.

You just teased him. Press your finger in his butt while your mouth occupies his cavity.

He was extremely obsessed, almost unconscious. Until — "Ahh!"

His sweet moan survived the longing kiss. His butt is crushed towards you like a rabbit that has been raised by his master.

You find his sensitive sweet kiss easily. His wall nibble to get your finger to touch like this, raging in.

He fussed out the clams, moaning together with a hug around your neck, like finding a mosquito in the midst of this distraction.

He wants to know what it will be like if what's in him is not your finger. But your thick chicken bar that makes you dream.

His slippery long-sleeved shirt was skinned up until he saw the stiff, rancid nipples that twitched to your touch.

His chicken betrayed him by sharpening the pearl colored liquid. The steep hill plows on your belly and demands your muscles to work.

Now he is so beautiful and seductive that you can almost stop breathing.

His hands are sandwiched to the side of your cheek. His red pointed ear twitch His face was hot and his white body turned red like a plum.

He brings you near his bird for you to drink a beautiful pink candy on the top of his chest. Your other hand will not let him have to freeze when it pumps his cock until now. Glorffin is almost liquid as a jelly on his body.

Your fingers, your hands, your mouth, pamper him like a shift will make him exhausted until tomorrow's ridge.

"Hng! Don't-Don't stop"

He is fully outside. He is now yours

"Don't hold back my beautiful voice. Let them hear who my golden flower belongs to, Laurenfindel"

His eyes wide open. His walls fasten around your fingers, holding your fingers in him when everything is raging, wandering at him. Until his tens of thousands of years of innocence is lost with your hands.

"I-hngggg, I'm done (your name)! Ah-ahhh!"

His pearl colored water shed on your hands. His belly was blurred by his curls and he made a beautiful moan at his ear, until it was almost impossible to stop.

You kissed his forehead and rubbed his cheeks lightly. His golden hair group looks messy. No. — He looks messy on your chest.

"So beautiful, my flower"

You compliment him and withdraw your finger from his butt. Then gently massage at his beautiful soft entrance.

He fell down and tucked his face on your bouncing stall. His body is not shaking. And his chest rises and falls heavily from trying to breathe.

He is liquid on your body. He is yours.

During your thoughts, the floating mule can sense his mischievous hands. His beautiful blue eyes, like the spoon, look at you lustfully, but they hide it with a glow.

Glorfindel's magefully lips will speak with a hoarse voice from this blissful activity.

"Can I give you some flavor?"

After tonight, the elves in Imladris look at Lord Glorfindel and you with strange eyes.

dividers ➵ @chachachannah @anitalenia @cafekitsune