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doodle-pops · 9 hours

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Bet On It

Elrohir x reader

Request: Elrohir, id love a friend's to lovers trope fic. reader can be also arwen or glorfindel's friend and they keep telling both them and elrohir to fucking confess to eachother but they refuse to because of the classic "I don't want to ruin our friendship,I can't lose them." They think they're subtle with pinning after one another but like everyone can tell they're in love. Casual physical affection, spending way too much time with eachother, "subtle" acts of service, etc. Idiots in love literally. One of them end up confessing after like a sweet moment, just a quiet whisper or a small kiss but it's enough for the other to finally confess too. Just a super fluff moment of them finally freely loving one another! - Anon

Warnings: fluff, mutual pinning, friends to lovers, confession, kissing

Words: 1.9k

Synopsis: You and Elrohir muster the courage to break old ties while recreating new ones as you begin a future together.

Walking up the familiar winding pathway that to the private getaway pavilion at the top, your feet softly padded against the steps until you made three raps to the wooden pillar. Somewhere, you heard the noticeable airy thuds of Elrohir’s feet coming your way eagerly, easily hiding a bag of jittery nerves. Casually the makeshift curtain drew back and revealed his evening radiance, attired in light blues and greys, a single braid to the right and his ebony hair loosely cascading down his back. Such was the simplicity of your dear friend, whom you cherished more than anything else in the world.

Through the momentary welcoming, your eyes dropped from his face to meet his chest, too fearful of giving away too many emotions already. Memories of Lady Arwen’s conversation replayed in your head about making a move otherwise it would be a great loss on your behalf, not before reminding you of her brother’s whereabouts.

Heart beating rapidly in your throat, you curled your toes against your sandals and exhaled. “Elrohir.”

“Y/N,” he greeted just as breathlessly as you. “Please come in. It is a wonderful surprise to have you visit.”

Gingerly you brushed past his shoulders, head dipping and eye falling to the floor as you entered his space. It was, and still is a haven of comfort and peace of mind for you when the world was hard on your shoulders. Now, it felt foreign with the looming messages of what you had planned to execute tonight…hopefully. Taking your time to observe the interior, not much had changed since your last visit, and nor had he finished the upturned book lying haphazardly on his bed.

“You still haven’t finished the Utopia Trilogy?” you laughed as you walked over and flipped the book over, scanning the page. “I thought you were a master at reading.”

Unbeknownst to you, your choice of conversational starter was an ice breaker for Elrohir, for even he was skittish and unsure of how to approach. Thankfully, luck was in the air.

Giving a lazy scratch to the back of his head, he made a guttural sound, almost like a deep whine and stomped over to pry the book gently out of your hands. Placing it back on the shelf, he spun around to purse his lips. “What did I tell you about judging my reading abilities? One does not rush a book, but timelessly enjoy it.”

“If timeless enjoying it means over a year, then by all means, continue,” you snickered and plopped onto his bed, shuffling your sandals off and making yourself comfortable. As easily as the conversation started, the rest flowed once Elrohir noticed the tension dissipating. Following suit, he climbed on the bed, sitting at the foot with his legs crossed and hands in his lap.

His honey-brown eyes flickered from the rumpled bed sheets to your feet to your face and then back at the sheets. “So,” he began quietly, “it’s been a while since we last spoke. How have you been?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Nothing new with me. Just wandering Imladris like a ghost, visiting the gardens and robbing all the local merchants,” you shrugged, your fingers idly found themselves tracing the mahogany armrest of the chair beside the bed. You were desperately fighting to keep your tone light. “And you? Last I heard, you all went as far as Forodwaith?”

Elrohir nodded with a tight-lip smile as he rocked back and forth. “Sort of. We met with the Dúnedain on the way and hunted some orcs all the way to the borders before turning back to come home—didn’t want to be away for too long. I tend to miss all my favourite people back home,” he explained, leading to you feeling a flush of warmth from his words, your heart beating a little faster prompting you to lift your head and lock eyes with him in the instant. A silent understanding passed between you two, then, with a small almost shy smile, he reached out and gently touched the back of your hand. “I’ve missed our conversations.”

You felt a shiver run through you at the contact, his touch sending a wave of warmth through your body. Wanting to duck your head or cover your face, you mustered the courage to withhold eye contact. “It’s good to be here,” you murmured lightly.

“It’s good to have you here,” he corrected.

For a while, the two of you engaged in effortless conversations, your body language morphing from tense to relaxed as your bodies shifted about the bed, slowly getting closer and closer. Discussing a myriad of topics that ranged from his adventures with his brothers and others to his daily duties and past, you covered the profound to the mundane. Topics of books, to your imagination, tales of old, uncharted dreams and future adventures beyond the lands of Middle Earth were thrown around gracefully and turned the evening into nightfall easily. The fullness of the moon rose from behind the clouds, shining glittering strands of light upon you both through the vine-covered canopy, aiding with the ambience.

Throughout your dialoguing, subtle gestures conveyed what words could not. Elrohir’s hand would brush lightly against yours as he passed you a cup of tea, a simple act imbued with unspoken affection. Your fingers would linger on his arm, savouring the warmth and closeness as you shared a moment of laughter over a shared memory. Each touch, though fleeting was charged with meaning, speaking of a connection that ran deeper than a mere friendship. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension, a dance of intimacy and restraint, each gesture a silent confession of feelings that lay just beneath the surface.

As the evening wore on, the moon dipping behind a cloud and hiding its light, a comfortable silence settles between you. Elrohir glanced at you, his expression contemplative. “Do you ever think about the future?” he asked suddenly.

You couldn’t resist looking at him surprised by the question. “Sometimes,” you admitted. “What brought this on, may I ask?”

He hesitated, his left shoulder bumping against your knees as he looked up from his lying position. The proximity was enough for you to catch a whiff of the mint of his tongue. “I was on a ride this morning with Lord Glorfindel, and he left me questioning myself and other things with his…choice of word,” he breathed and reached out to hold your hand and give it a small swing. “I just wondered what the future would hold for us. You and I, specifically.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the implication of them making your breath catch. Furthermore, the fiddling of his hand with yours increased your heart rate, leaving you occasionally needing to inhale.

The tension that was in the air now, a charged energy which made the room feel smaller and more intimate was sluggishly bringing your heads closer. Elrohir looked up, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. With bated breath, his voice dipped as his fingers intertwined with the hand he was playing with. “There is something I need to tell you, and I hope it doesn’t push you away or ruin things between us,” he said earnestly. “I care about you…more than a friend. I have for a long time.”

You stared at him for a long while, your heart pounding like a thunderous stampede of wild beasts. Lady Arwen’s words and teasing replayed in your mind as she told you about her brother crushing you for a long time. It was hard to see when all you saw was friendship and didn’t want to ruin the good you had. Opening your mouth to respond, no sound exited, so you closed it and remained breathless while he nervously held your hand, his thumb soothingly stroking the back of your hand repeatedly. His touch sent shivers down your spine. “I know it might come as a surprise, but I can’t keep it to myself any longer. I hope this doesn’t ruin our friendship.”

His confession hung in the air between you, the declaration that seemed to make time stand still. For a moment, you could only bashfully stare at him, the enormity of his words setting over you like a warm embrace. You didn’t know how to explain the urge that came over you when you licked your lips and darted your eyes to his, something he noticed and apprehensively craned his neck upwards to bridge the gap, his eyes closing briefly as if to savour the upcoming moment. In return, you closed your eyes when you felt his other hand slide around your neck to cup your nape and pull you closer.

With deliberate anticipation, Elrohir took his time to bridge the gap until his very own teasing antagonised him, forcing him to exhale before his lips collided with yours. A muffled groan from him turned into a grunt when he felt your hands reach out to cradle his neck, fingers scraping against his scalp leaving him shivering. Elrohir felt greedy in the moment as the first continued; years of silently loving you came pouring out in waves of passion and tenderness.

When you finally pulled apart, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other, the world around you seeming to shimmer with newfound brightness. Elrohir’s eyes were soft, filled with a deep, abiding tenderness. “I can’t believe I was a fool for not believing Lord Glorfindel’s words at first,” he muttered, shaking his head with a smile. “I thought you wouldn’t feel the same because we’re just friends.”

“That makes to both of us,” you softly laughed. “I too didn’t believe your sister, but when she told me that both she and Elladan were betting on it, I had to do something about it.”

“Wait,” he cautioned as he sat upright, “my siblings conspired through betting. Come to think of it, Glorfindel did mention something about not wanting to lose a bet…of course.”

Sliding your hand off his neck to return to cradling his hands and playing with his fingers, rocked back and forth due to the overwhelming excitement in your chest. Finally, all your emotions came pouring out and the doubt you both feared was proven wrong. Roaming your eyes over his face, you leaned in, catching him off-guard, to kiss his lips once more, loving the sensation of his soft lips on yours. Fortunately, Elrohir did not mind the distraction you provided, reducing his plotting to deal with his siblings to focus on you before him.

“I’m glad I took the leap of faith and told you my heart,” he whispered through the kiss, cradling your cheeks and leaning in for another.

The two of you sat there for a while, simply holding each other, basking in the warmth of your newfound happiness. Eventually, as the night wore on, you found yourself lying side by side on his bed with his arms wrapped protectively, yet lovingly around you as your conversation about the future returned in delight. There was a sense of peace, a feeling that everything was right with the world now that you had finally confessed your love. All the weight was off your shoulders and replaced with bliss.

“I never want to be apart from you,” he said. “I want to spend every moment with you, to share my life with you.”

Your heart swelled as you looked up at him, your eyes softening. “I would like that as well.”

Leaning in, pleased at your response, his nose bumped against yours as he pecked your lips. “I can’t wait for our future together.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @aconstructofamind @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @addaigio @lamemaster @elficially-done-with-life @eunoiaastralwings

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must-be-mr-boggins · 3 months

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Taking a 5-second break from the Bagginshield angst to bring you this meme I created after an all-nighter, enjoy.

#lotr #lord of the rings #aragorn #books #movies #tolkien #what about second breakfast #like yeah girl what ABOUT it #I’m both parties in this scenario tbh #sorry if this has been done before #I’m just a girl #a girl running on 3 hours of sleep

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scyllas-revenge · 1 year

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A Shield Against the Snow

yet another only one bed scenario, because I’m obsessed with them

Boromir/Reader (gender neutral)

Word count: 1,472

Rating: T

Here’s my next installment of How to Cope with a Middle Earth Bed Shortage, this time with our beloved Boromir! (previous chapters include Eomer/Reader and Legolas/Reader).

Read on AO3!

“We’ll have to share.”

Boromir turned to look at you incredulously as you held your bedroll out to him, and for a moment you feared that your suppressed longing had revealed itself in your shaking voice. But your whole body was shaking with cold as it was, and it seemed you were safe.

“It’s our only option,” you added weakly.

Boromir had lost half his supplies in the snow hours earlier, nearly tumbling into a ravine in the treacherous climb up Caradhras. The two of you had gone scouting ahead for a safer path, but were now facing a night in a snowstorm alone, lost, freezing, and with a single bedroll between you.

“Nonsense.” He turned away, looking irritated. “Go to sleep, and I will keep watch.”

“Keep watch for what?” You gestured to the forest of boulders and ice, ominous in the dying evening light. Too inhospitable even for a campfire. “There’s nothing out here but snow.”

Boromir pulled his cloak tighter around himself and didn’t answer.

“If you’re not going to sleep, we might as well keep walking,” you went on, raising your voice over the biting wind. “We might be able to catch up with the Fellowship by dawn.”

“So late, and in this blizzard? The sun is setting, and soon we will be utterly blind!”

You jabbed a gloved finger at him in triumph. “Then how do you expect to keep watch?”

“I—” But you had bested him, and he scowled. “Just go to sleep.”

“You’re being ridiculous!”

“The Men of Gondor can outlast a little snow.”

“Boromir, you’ll freeze—”

“I cannot share your bed!” He was breathing hard. “I cannot. I beg you, do not ask me again.”

You had expected a show of protest—Boromir always was a stickler for propriety—but the vehemence of his refusal stung. All these weeks the Fellowship had traveled together, he had never spoken so coldly to you. Always he had been kind, warm, talkative, seeking to walk by your side or offer you extra food at mealtimes. There had even been moments when his hand had rested on your shoulder, his eyes fairly glowing with what you had thought—what you had hoped was…

“I thought you were more practical than this.” Bitterness sharpened your voice to a swordpoint. “Would you truly rather freeze than lie beside me for a night? Just to stay warm?”

“Yes.”

He may as well have slapped you. Valar, he hadn’t even hesitated. But the shock of pain subsided quickly, fury taking its place. “Yes?” You stormed toward him, the bedroll shaking in your gloved fists. But the snow had frozen slick on the rocks at your feet, and Boromir’s hand darted out to steady you as you slipped.

Your eyes locked. He was all tension, jaw clenched, fingers tightening on your arm. Something desperate warred behind his eyes.

“Yes?” The word ghosted from your lips in a puff of white, a furious challenge.

“Yes.” His grip tightened, tightened, nearly painful. “For your warmth would burn me.”

“What?”

His breath billowed out in uneven clouds before him, anguish roughening his voice. “To lie beside you, to feel you pressed against me all through the night, to feign indifference all the while—” He released you and stepped away, shaking his head. “It would destroy me utterly.”

You stopped feeling the cold at once.

Boromir must have seen the shock in your eyes and stepped back again. “Forgive me. I had hardly wished to burden you with my desires, least of all now, here.”

“Desires? But how—how long have you…”

He lowered his eyes. “You will think me a barbarian, for I have wished to share your bed since first we met. Though I admit, I had imagined rather different circumstances than this. I am sorry to bring you discomfort,” he added, misreading your stunned silence. “Sorrier still to threaten our friendship. But you understand now why you must sleep alone.”

The bitter wind whipped at Boromir’s hair. Squaring his shoulders against the cold, he turned away into the darkness to begin his watch.

“Wait.” You shook your head breathlessly, finding your voice at last. “No. Share with me. Please.”

You set down your bedroll in the shelter of a little rocky outcropping, in as much shelter as could be found from the wind, and turned back to him.

But the desire in your voice had been lost in the freezing wind. “I cannot…” His mouth moved, but no sound came out. Misery twisted his features, and he stepped back once more.

You came to him instead, reaching out a gloved hand to sweep the snow from his broad shoulders, your fingers lingering on his collar in a gesture he couldn’t possibly misunderstand. “It’s so cold, Boromir,” you whispered. “Let me keep you warm.”

A shudder ran the length of his body, and he pulled you into his arms so urgently that he stumbled in the snow, gathering you to his chest with a breathless laugh. “Yes,” was all he managed to say. “Yes, love.”

And you kissed him.

Boromir’s lips were cold and chapped, but so were yours, and it was a sweeter kiss by far than any you'd conjured up during your long journey together. You melted into his embrace, heedless of the wind biting at your skin, and you clung to each other tighter even than the snow clung to your hair and cloaks.

Already you were warmer than you’d been in weeks. That wasn’t saying much, of course, considering how long the Fellowship had been hiking in the snow. And while Boromir’s mouth was invitingly warm, you felt no heat from his gloved hands, nor the snow-encrusted cloaks and furs between your bodies.

You shivered in his arms. Without speaking, you both trudged, still clinging to one another, to your bedroll, climbing hurriedly inside and draping your snow-encrusted coats and cloaks over the covers for extra warmth. It was more cramped than you’d anticipated, but you found you didn’t mind. The length of Boromir’s body was pressed tight to yours, and you grinned, nuzzling even closer to him.

Boromir wrapped his arms around you, drawing the covers as far over your heads as you could to shelter you from the wind. And without wasting a moment he slanted his lips over yours again, his fingers carding through your hair. He still wore his bulky gloves, making the gesture more uncomfortable than romantic. You laughed fondly and drew away.

“Let me.” You untangled your hair from his glove and took his hands in yours. Inch by inch you slipped the worn leather from his fingers, first one hand and then the other. His eyes were locked on your movements, his breath hushed.

You removed your own gloves next, and the warmth of his bare skin against yours was more welcome than a roaring fire. You gathered his fingers in your smaller ones, heating them against your lips with a long breath. Gently, you massaged his heavy palms, his calloused fingers, his broad fingertips.

“Had I known what sharing a bed with you would be like,” Boromir whispered, eyes slipping shut contentedly, “I would have mislaid my bedroll days ago.”

You laughed, withdrawing one hand slowly to trace the side of his face with your fingertips—the unkempt beard, the weathered skin, the little lines at the sides of his mouth where his smile widened. You had never touched his face before, and you wondered how you’d managed to go so long without doing so.

Boromir mirrored your gesture, cupping your face in his hand. With his other he propped himself above you—protecting you from the worst of the elements even now—and kissed you as though he’d been thinking of nothing else all those weeks you’d traveled together.

He drew away only to press a kiss below your ear, his lips parting hot against your racing pulse. You gasped, arching into him—and the covers above you shifted, sending a flurry of snowflakes cascading into your faces.

The next minutes were spent spluttering, coughing, shivering, knocking knees and elbows as you hurried to readjust the blankets above your heads.

Peace fell again at last, and your breathing calmed.

The wind was quieter now, as though it regretted its former cruelty, and the sun was nearly gone—Boromir’s face was little more than a warm silhouette under the blankets.

“Is this better?” you whispered, the last of the snow finally brushed away.

Boromir swept a strand of your now-mussed hair from your forehead. “No. I wish I could feel more of you tonight.” His voice was soft, the words ghosting warm over your lips.

“So do I.” Your fingers played at the hem of his tunic. “Perhaps, if we were very careful…”

For a moment he looked tempted, but you both knew it was a foolish idea, and he drew your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “There will be time for that later, my love. I would hardly have you freeze to death now.”

“No, nor I you.”

He laughed softly. “You return my affection, dearest—how could anything harm me now?”

#boromir #boromir x reader #lotr fanfic #tolkien fanfic #only one bed #is this just a bunch of cliches glued together with commas and em-dashes?#yes it is but i stand by it #god i hope these only one bed scenarios aren't getting old #i mean that won't stop me but still

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mandolinearts · 2 years

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"Do you remember when we first met?"

"I thought I had strayed into a dream."

a little lord of the rings au ✨ prints available here :)

#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #sandman #my art #lord of the rings #the evenstar is the ruby in this scenario #listened to the lotr soundtrack for two hours straight and knocked this out lmao

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frodo-with-glasses · 7 months

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So uh. I might’ve found a pattern here.

From The Fellowship of the Ring, “Three Is Company”:

From The Two Towers, “The Uruk-Hai”:

From The Return of the King, “The Houses of Healing”:

Now I know Tolkien hated allegory. And I know LotR is not a copy-and-paste parable about WWII (which he didn’t fight in) or even WWI (which he did). But the man did see war, and so did people he loved, and he had a non-zero amount of trauma, and some of that is gonna make its way into his writing somehow.

And I think his soul might’ve had something to say about soldiers being forced to walk until they dropped from exhaustion.

#lord of the rings #lotr #honestly i think the first quote is the most chilling in this context??#like the second one pretty clearly portrays the horror of those marches #and the third seems like a realistic best-case scenario: you walk until you drop and then a familiar and beloved voice wakes you up #but the first is?? almost desperately happy?? like he’s reaching so far to say ‘no i swear this traumatic thing could be beautiful and good’#‘it could be good!’#‘IT COULD BE GOOD!! I SWEAR’#‘PLEASE JUST LET ME HAVE THIS’#and you get this sense of desperation #like he wishes a tall and beautiful Elf was there to help him and the other exhausted young men up when they stumbled and fell #i dunno if i’m making any sense but it kinda makes my heart hurt #i feel like i’m peeking into an open wound in this man’s soul

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sillylotrpolls · 6 months

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#lotr #lord of the rings #dracula #poll #polls #very plausible scenarios

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madwomansapologist · 11 months

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Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 3 - A finite deal

Navigation | Series Masterlist | AO3

series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

third chapter synopsis: After being bitten by a warg, after almost dying, something changed. Something evolved. Things can't stay the same forever. You just didn't imagine they would change so fast. Or that Thranduil was as bad with goodbyes as you. [3K]

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug. a lot of blood.

glossary: Lossëistar: Ice Mage┆Mithrandir: Grey Pilgrim┆Fovren: Fool┆Maenwë: Clever girl┆Pedig edhellen: Do you speak elvish?┆Dôl gîn lost: Your head is empty┆Qenta Eldalien: History of the Elves┆Novaer: Farewell┆Mellon: Friend

Blood seeped into the wooden flooring. It ran down the table legs, dripped from its corners, and gave a new color to the brow floor. The healer’s hands, crushing seeds and heating saps for the ointment, stained everything with a scarlet mark.

In the corner of the room, frozen in time, Thranduil found himself impotent. There was nothing he could do. Nothing but watch. And so he did.

He saw when the healer ripped the arm of your blood-soaked dress. The Elvenking saw your shoulder ligaments. The chewed meat of your arms. The damaged veins. The unconscious tremors. Thranduil saw your lifeless face, your colorless lips, your paralyzed body.

He took you to a healer, but it's difficult to differentiate it from a slaughterhouse.

Luthien took the warm fabric off your shoulder. The once blue fabrics were now burgundy. She left them aside, holding the bowl with ointment. Without hesitation, Luthien poured the ointment onto the bite.

A convulsion gripped your body. The tremors would knock you off the table if Luthien hadn’t caught you. A pained moan scratched your throat, but your mouth didn’t open to release it. Your eyes moved under closed lids, but you weren’t awake. Even your fingers writhing in agony did nothing but bruise the skin of your own palm.

“What are you doing to her?” The Elvenking screamed, finally able to act.

She took the needle, dipped it in what was left of the ointment, and sewed it to her skin. With each movement, the more you squirmed, but Luthien didn’t give up. “I am saving her, fovren.”

If the Elvenking sought her out, then he must be smart enough to not take offense. Luthien held you in place, sewed you up, cleaned you. When she was done, Luthien wrapped your shoulder in clean bandages.

Thranduil asked, stepping closer. He wished you looked peaceful, but you didn’t. No one could mistake you for someone sleeping. He touched your closed fist, just the tip of his finger sliding over your cold skin. Thranduil didn’t dare to hold you. “When will she wake up?”

The lack of answer shivered him.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Two days are nothing but a mere blink in the life of an Elve. And for the first time in a long, long time, such a short amount of time seemed endless for Thranduil. Minutes stretched, hours didn’t change, dusk didn’t come and dawn never seemed to approach: Thranduil is patient. He can wait.

Lady Aerin, however, couldn’t afford to be patient. Not anymore.

She always knew you would wake up. Aerin never doubted that. She knows you’re stronger than you look. Not only that: Aerin knows how stubborn you can be. You will die on your own terms. She’s certain of that. Aerin just has to wait.

What she can't do is ignore that the Elvenking is still there. Is to lie to herself that in the next hour he will grow bored and finally travel back home. Is to pretend to not understand that Thranduil cares.

So Aerin wrote for Gandalf.

She wrote about the Elvenking stay at the inn. About that blasted dam. About that look on his face, how his eyes followed you since the moment he saw you. Aerin wrote about the attack. About your condition. Your unconsciousness. And when she finally had courage to do so, Aerin wrote about the warg.

Aerin knew where to address the letter. In her office, preparing the bird to carry her message, if only she’d known what was happening on the other side of the inn Aerin would have added a few lines to the letter. But she didn’t know, and soon the letter that reached Gandalf’s hands was missing substantial information: you had finally awakened.

Scared, aching, somehow still tired: but awake. Your eyes took a while to work, soon you saw the ceiling of your room. You spent a while staring at it, memories caughting up with you. You remembered running down an embankment, wheat leaves tickling your arms, a howl. The warg. You understood why you felt a pressure on your shoulder. And why you smelled like blood.

And despite all those hurtful memories, all the pain you were feeling, a smile still made a way into your face. You survived a warg. How many people can say that? You survived. Somehow you always do that.

The peace of your realization was interrupted when your bedroom door opened. You couldn’t see what was happening, your neck didn’t obey your commands, but you heard the creaking. And you heard Gildor’s voice.

“Master Elrond will surely be grateful, your grace. He already is.” Pretty words, but you could see beyond them. Gildor wasn’t saying what he really wanted. Maybe he too fears being impolite. “But this isn’t your realm. You don’t have any obligation with us. Why take the risk?”

Silence took place over his words. When you thought maybe you were alone again, a velvet voice made a way into your ears. “I’m becoming kind.”

“Annihilating that nest was kind enough, your grace,” said Gildor.

“It wasn’t. It was about pride,” Thranduil’s tone went lower. Like he was putting a lot of effort into talking. “This is about being noble.”

Familiar words. You’ve said something similar before. Another context, another reason for you to speak about kindness and nobility. You don’t know what they are talking about, but it seems important.

Your questioning might have continued, but Gilgor’s surprised gasp caught your attention. Not just yours, but Thranduil’s as well.

“Maenwë,” he whispered. It felt just like velvet.

“Still don’t know that one”, your own voice surprised you. It wasn’t the same anymore. It was tiring, rough, hoarse. So different from your usual playful, light tone. It scratched your throat.

“Clever.” Thranduil walked across the room, never taking his eyes off yours. Gildor was no more there. The discussion no longer existed. The world could have burned to ashes and the ashes scattered by the wind and he wouldn’t have noticed. Nothing existed to Thranduil, nothing but your uneasy eyes. “It means clever.”

You laughed. Or you tried, since the pain it caused made you cough. What just hurted you more. “Of course it means,” you murmured. “I still have an arm, right?”

“You... You do, maenwë. You do not feel it?” Thranduil somehow remembered that Gildor was there. “Find Luthien.”

You looked at your shoulder again. You forced your other arm to pull the blanket off your torso. Nothing was missing. “Just to be sure,” you responded. You leaned on the bed, trying to sit up.

Thranduil understood your intentions. He touched your arm, cold fingers raising goosebumps on your skin. “Stay,” Thranduil whispered. You didn’t have enough energy to disagree. “How does it feel?”

“I’ve been through worse,” you smirked. But as your words faded away, the truth escaped. “I thought I was dying.”

“You slept for two days.” You thought it was his way to say: ‘So did I’.

Thranduil’s hands found something on your bedside table. You couldn’t see what he was doing, your neck wasn’t cooperating, but you heard water splashing. When his hands returned to your field of vision, you saw a glass of water. “I don’t think I can hold it.”

Thranduil set the glass on the bedside table and moved closer. You could feel his heat. The ghost of his touch still linger on your arm. “Can I?”

Without really understanding what he meant, you nodded.

Thranduil lowered the blanket to your waist. You felt his hand slide across the mattress and fit behind your back. His palm heated your sore skin. You lifted your head when he tried to place his other hand beneath it. Calmly, very carefully, Thranduil helped you to sit down.

“Your skin is so warm,” the Elvenking murmured. Thranduil was talking more to himself than to you. He touched your forehead, his contact lasted for a few seconds. You leaned unconsciously against his touch. “But not feverish.”

You sighed. Everything aches. Every single part of your body. But when Thranduil touched you… It felt a little bit better. Just a little bit.

Then he grabbed the glass and brought it close to your face. You could feel your body heating. Be helped to drink a glass of water. There was something so intimal about it. So domestic. To help someone conclude such a simple, mundane task. And to do it simply because you’re close enough to.

The world is a horrible place. So ill-formulated, uneven, indifferent. It’s a place filled with horrible creatures, corrupted humans, malevolent diseases. It’s a place where an inevitable darkness hides in the light, where evil deceives the good, where innocent lives perish simply because that’s how it is. That's how the world moves on, in its wicked way.

But the world is also the only place where you can smell the rain. Where you can eat sweet strawberries. Where you can feel leaves tickling your skin. Where you can dance. Where you can quench the thirst of those who need help.

You leaned in, extinguishing the distance, silently allowing him to help you. Allowing a king to serve you. Your lips embraced the glass, and Thranduil tilted it calmly. You didn’t even know you needed water that bad.

“Thank you, your grace” you whispered. It was like the world had slowed down. You should be worried. You should be freaking out about your shoulder, about your recovery, about everything. But all you can do is watch Thranduil putting the glass on the bedside table.

“You should not thank me,” Thranduil’s words made you blink. “I hope one day you can forgive me, maenwë. You gave me your trust, and I couldn't defend you.”

You chuckle. It burned your throat, but you were getting used to the pain. “I am pretty sure you killed a warg.”

“Not before it hurted you.”

Thranduil blamed himself. He blames himself for not being able to protect you, someone he knew for a few days. Not even a week has passed since you both first met. ‘You slept for two days.’ Did he really think you would die? Did he think you wouldn’t awake? How was it to spend two days thinking that maybe someone would die because you couldn’t protect them?

That was serious. A king is apologizing to you, hoping you could forgive him some day, because he really thought you were about to die. Thranduil killed a warg, found someone to heal you, but for him it wasn't enough. You guess you would feel the same in his place.

Understanding where his blame comes from, but also not thinking his feelings coincide with the truth, you search for a way to make him better. “Teach me Elvish,” you said.

“What?”

“Teach me Elvish and I shall forgive you.” With a lot of effort, you were able to move your good arm and reach out to him. You heard steps from the hallway, people were coming to see you. “And a new dress. I have a preference for violet.”

Thranduil stared at your hand. He hesitated. Looking again into your eyes, he saw no trace of anger. Of hate. Of regret. You didn’t blame him. You really didn’t.

Thranduil held your hand, gently so as to not hurt you, and took a deep breath. “Deal.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Your routine for the next few days was simple. Someone brings you food when it's time to eat, Aerin helps you with your bath after lunch, Luthien examines you every morning. And for the rest of the day… you do nothing on your bed.

You knew Luthien before, but never really stopped to talk to her. Now, without further choice, you discovered that she’s a great healer and the best gossip girl ever. With stories about people that you don’t know and that she doesn't really care about, Luthien entertains you.

And you are really grateful that she does that. Because for the rest of your day, you have nothing else to do.

You can’t read, as your head throb still. Luthien said that you probably fell on a stone. Nothing to be worried about, but it needs time to recover. And walking requires a gigantic effort. Which means you can go out looking for someone to talk to.

After the third day, even sleep was boring. Who could ever imagine you would feel tired of napping? Not you. It would’ve been your paradise a week ago. But now that you’re leaving your old dream of having nothing to do, you realize that it means only having the company of your bed and your window. A boring limbo. Except for the nights.

“Pedig,” repeated Thranduil. This time he slowed down. “Edhellen.”

Sitting in an armchair in front of your bed, Thranduil had two books in his hand. Reading from one of them, his velvet voice never was so treacherous. It’s harder to understand his accent than from the elves of Rivendell.

You took a deep breath. “Pedi edellen.”

“One more time,” the Elvenking encouraged you. “Pedig edhellen.”

Your face was already burning. You didn’t imagine it was so embarrassing to barely learn a language in front of someone. Or maybe you did. A few people have tried to teach you elvish, and you never stood still long enough to even the most delusional person consider you had a lesson. “Pedig… edhellen.”

“I knew you had it in you,” Thranduil’s words were pretty, but you saw his smile turn into a smirk. Thranduil was amused by your difficulty.

“Don’t laugh at me,” if your arm wasn’t unusable you would’ve thrown a pillow at him. Fortunately. What happens to someone that throws a pillow at a king? “What does it mean?”

“‘Do you speak Elvish?’” Thranduil didn’t contain his playful smile.

Those teaching sessions were already routine. Thranduil comes after dinner, and stays until one of you wants to sleep. He usually is the one to say goodbye. There's a sense of freedom that comes at night that no one wants to let go. So, even when you are tired, you try not to show it. Just so it can last a little longer.

“Very funny,” you rolled your eyes. “Teach me how to swear.”

Thranduil closed the book, the dry thud embarrassed you. “Maenwë,” there it was. The strong accent. It fades when he speaks in common, but it shines again whenever he gets back into his native language. “What will people think?”

You straightened the pillows behind you and clasped your hands in your lap. “Indulge me.”

“As you wish,” Thranduil sighed, but you knew he was entertained. “Dôl gîn lost.”

You wore the bangade, but your wounds no longer bleed. It hurt, but not as much as when you woke up. It was impossible to ignore, you couldn’t hold an apple in your right hand, but it was getting better.

“Dôl gôn lost”, you repeated.

Thranduil stands up and moves towards your bed. “At the first try,” that made you smirk. “What doesn’t that say about you, maenwë?”

You pouted. “That I have a natural talent for linguistics?”

Thranduil held one of the books out to you. “Probably”, the Elvenking confirmed.

It was heavy, old, you could smell the aged pages. Leafing through it, you saw Elvish in golden handwriting. But you also saw your own language on it. On every couple of pages there was different engraving, all so beautiful. You couldn’t control yourself, you needed to bring it to your face and sniff it.

Thranduil swallows hard. “Try reading this once a day,” he told you. Concentrated on analyzing every engraving, you didn’t notice him staring at you. “Is a collection of myths.”

You slid your finger across one of the drawings that caught your eye. Even on dry pages the blond hair is still so alive. “Qenta Eldalien.”

That surprised Thranduil. Maybe you do have, after all, a natural talent. “History of the Elves.” He walked towards the door, a funny feeling came over his face.

“You didn’t tell me,” you shouted when you noticed that he was leaving. Thranduil held the doorknob and turned to you. “What does that mean? ‘Dôl gîn lost’?”

“Your head is empty.” You sighed. Of course he wouldn’t teach you something really bad. “Sleep well, maenwë.”

Instead of sleeping, you spend the night reading.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Warm water trickled down your body. Aerin dipped the sponge in the water before running it over your skin. She runned that soft sponge over your back, cleaning the spots you couldn’t reach.

You couldn't say that everything was back to normal. The bite scar on your shoulder would never go away. The pain when stretching your arm would never leave you. The time spent in bed would never be recovered. You’re not back to normal, but you didn’t want that to happen either.

Fear that nothing will survive. Fear that something will. The change, the new, is terror. The change, the new, is craving. Part of you wish that nothing bad had ever happened to you. The other smiles when waking up every morning. You survived. Nothing will change that.

Watching the golden leaves falling through the cracked window, you had a new experience. Without realizing, you open your mouth and a melody comes out.

Back in your room, wrapped in a warm towel, you noticed something new. As you approached your bed, you couldn’t look away from the fabric stretched over it. Violet. So thin it felt like holding flour. So soft. You almost felt bad by touching it, for being unable to keep it pure as it is now.

When you asked for a dress, you thought Thranduil would get something like the other one. Neutral, made of resistant fabric, made for those who need to walk and to work. The kind of dress that the wearer doesn’t care if it gets dirty or not. You didn’t expect this.

This isn’t a dress for someone that works with horses. For someone that gets muddy. For someone that runs, that likes the feeling of almost falling, that often passes through trees and animals. This isn’t a dress made for someone like you.

You wore it without thinking twice.

“You were singing”, Aerin sat on your bed.

You admired yourself in the mirror. “Was I?” You caressed the fabric. So soft.

“I never heard you singing before.” Aerin was flabbergasted at your dress. All the fine fabrics came together over your body, the lilac hugging you warmly. “And it’s been almost a year since I’ve known you.”

“Fourteen months,” you corrected her. You never did something like that before.

“Oh.”

You said nothing while getting dressed. You’ve never done anything like this before. To correct her. Never. When you turned towards Aerin, choosing between pretending that nothing happened or apologizing, you realized she had left you alone.

You were unsure of what to do. You went through the inn, walking without purpose. Feeling suddenly alone, you walked out of the inn to see the horses again.

You just didn’t imagine that everyone wanted to do the same. All the elves who came from Mirkwood were out there with their mounts. Within seconds, your surprise turned into realization. They wore their armor. This was no coincidence. They were leaving.

You ran to the stable, trying not to be trampled by horses, searching for him. He wasn’t on the field. Thranduil has already left? Without even saying goodbye? When you finally made it to the stable, you saw the gigantic elk. And you saw Thranduil mounting it.

“You are leaving?” Your breath was a mess. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

Thranduil hoped you were still sleeping. Or that you were busy with something and didn’t notice what was going on outside the inn. How he hoped you wouldn’t catch up. Thranduil would prey, down to his knees, to not see you again.

He didn’t want a last memory. He didn’t want a goodbye. Thranduil didn’t want to move with a sour taste in his mouth. He wanted to go remembering you swearing in a language you don’t really understand. Thranduil didn’t want a goodbye.

Thranduil wanted to spend his days imagining if you liked the dress. He didn’t want to see you wearing it. He didn’t want to see your braid hair. Thranduil didn’t want to see again how beautiful you were. How ethereal you look.

Thranduil didn’t want to see you, because he knew he would never be able to forget you.

But he can’t stay. Thranduil should’ve come back to Greenwood a week ago. Thranduil has responsibilities, lifes to care about, a realm to rule. He shouldn’t be here. Thranduil may not know a lot, but he knows when it's time to go. “It’s good to see you well, maenwë.”

You blinked. That’s all he had to say? You tucked your hair behind your ear. “You didn’t say goodbye,” you repeat yourself. You didn’t know what else to do.

“I thought you were sleeping,” he lied. Guiding his elk, Thranduil passed through you. He looked away first. “Goodbye, maenwë. Farewell.”

That’s all he had to say. Goodbye. Farewell. You watched him, so aware of how you must look. A pretty braid, a fancy dress, a cruel deception. That’s how a fool is supposed to look? And all he had to say was goodbye.

You walked. Ran. Outside the stable, you saw him organizing the small army. You walked up to him, not caring if he was speaking. If he wants to pretend that’s enough, if for him it’s enough, then Thranduil can live with that. But it's not enough for you.

If he's going to leave, if you'll never see eachother again, let it be done correctly. “Novaer,” you licked your lips. Farewell. You hesitated, searching for the right word. “Mellon.” Friend.

Embarrassed, you turned back to the inn. You walked towards it, you didn’t want anyone to see you running, and by the time you locked yourself in your room tears streamed down your face. Hidden behind the curtains, you watched him go.

Thranduil didn’t look back. Or else he wouldn’t be able to go forward.

That night, you slept hugging your new book. That night, Thranduil slept thinking about how you couldn’t say ‘mellon’ correctly even if your life depended on it.

[Forth Chapter]

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

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nowandforalways · 9 months

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I'm absolutely in love with this picture from the Watermill Theatre's twitter:

And there are many reasons, but one of the biggest ones is this:

"Alright, the hobbits are responsible for a lot of music in this show, and it would be nice if they could be playing and singing at the same time. So we've got Nuwan on guitar, Geraint on cello, and Amelia on a seemingly infinite number of random instruments - Louis, do you play any instruments that are portable? And that you can sing and play at the same time? No? Okay...just, ah....just hit this bottle with a fork I guess?"

#lotr musical #louis maskell #i realize that probably Frodo is left out of the instrumentalists for plot-related reasons #maybe Louis and his Real Legs are doing things that would make it difficult to have an instrument on his person at all times #but my hypothetical scenario is funnier so i'm going with it #thank you and heyday #hehehe

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runawaymun · 1 year

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So we all are aware of the various pining possibilities re: “it was then that Elrond first saw Celebrían, and loved her, though he said nothing of it.” I usually like to take this the mutual “they’re stupidly competent at everything but each other” pining route, but can we also consider: Elrond falling fast & hard for Celebrían to the point that it’s not even a question that she’s his One True Love but also suppressing all outward signs to the point that no, one— absolutely no one— is aware that he’s in love with her.

So consider, someone suggesting like “hey, so-and-so is really cute and I think you two might get along, why don’t you two go out on a date?”

Elrond: “I can’t ask them out! I’m marrying Celebrían!”

Everyone, including (especially) Celebrían:

#the mental image of this scenario just tickles me ok #it feels on brand #he is so Stupid #celrond #Elrond x Celebrían #Elrond #Celebrían #unfinished tales #the silmarillion #LOTR

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galadrielspeaks · 1 year

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currently listening to Whip My Hair by Willow and suddenly came upon the headcanon that elvish “raunchy” dancing has nothing to do with moving seductively like how we humans do it but rather with whipping your hair while you dance / playing with it. basically just image a dance circle of elves in the club and they’re all hyping up the elf in the middle but instead of throwing ass and swinging hips the elf is just absolutely WHIPPING their hair

#i mean it’s canonical elves find hair extremely attractive so!!!!!#if we consider this scenario Whip My Hair is to elves what WAP is to humans #i rest my case #silly time 🕰️#lotr

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doodle-pops · 7 months

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Kiss It Better

Elrond x reader

Kinktober 2023: Aphrodisiacs

Warnings: fem!reader, aphrodisiac, rough sex, marathon sex, manhandling, semi-public sex, Elrond being a tease

Words: 4.3k

Synopsis: When Elrond mistakenly adds aphrodisiacs to your sleep–inducing tea, your quest for a peaceful night’s rest takes an unexpected turn. Elrond, being understanding and patient, comes to your aid, ensuring you find the sleep you were looking for through rare methods.

List of Requests

“Oh dear!” Staring at the empty contents of the supposed bottle of wormwood powder and then lifting the actually clear glass of wormwood, Elrond’s tongue kissed his teeth at the accident he caused. A first–time mishap and on a grand scale, he was sure how the effects of the mistakenly emptied contents of what should have been wormwood, but accidentally giving lavender in a copious amount, would have. You were sitting impatiently, twirling around on his stool, complaining about feeling overly feverish and sensitive. To make matters better, it was approximately eight minutes since you drank the concoction he stirred up a storm to create.

There wasn’t much the healer could do aside from staring at the bottle, defeated before silently placing the empty jar onto the shelf and stepping away with concern in his eyes. Those brown eyes darted everywhere else to inspect for any other mistaken bottles of herbs and powders he may have accidentally mixed into the tea for your lethargy. His hands moved at the same rate his eyes followed, falling on every surface of empty bottles and out–of–place containers. Even the opened books were not spared from his investigation, should he have unknowingly flipped to the wrong page, he might as well consider.

“This,” he sighed as he reached for another jar he was sure of using, this time labelled incorrectly once he smelt the contents within and became aware of it being another floral powder, “will get me into trouble once the higher effects begin to kick in. Though, it should have begun…” His eyes trailed off the half–filled jar to rush towards the page where the instructions lay before him. For a second, just a second, Elrond was almost certain that the universe was playing tricks on his brain as he decoded the measurements written on the page.

Two teaspoons

One teaspoon

Two and half teaspoon

One tablespoon…

“Lord Elrond…” Your voice echoed annoyingly from the outer room as your temperature began to increase and the sensation of having clothes covering your body became irritating. You were confused about the effects of what his homey remedy for lethargy was giving off, far different from the usual teas you consumed within the past year. Now, fanning your face and neck while giving aggravated tugs to your dress, you whined to him once more. “Lord Elrond, please, what is happening?”

With a pregnant pause, his head cocked to the side and his ear flicked at the change in your tone, you were already under the fire. Deciding that it was wiser to keep the truth about his mistake under the radar, Elrond whisked himself out of the storeroom and into his office where he came across you dabbing a cloth dipped in the bowl of cooling waters along your neck. Regardless, the action appeared more provocative than intended as you ran the material along your elongated neck and parted your lips to release a long, quiet groan. Your ability to distinguish decorum with the flames building intensely within was absentminded. There was no time to stop and become self–aware of the performance you were putting on due to his slip–up.

Elrond on the other hand was unsure if to continue standing silently in the doorway and observe how far your actions would take you or snap you out of it and treat the issue. Shifting on his feet and taking a deep gulp as you wrung the cloth and allowed droplets of water to fall against your skin to provide coolness, your eyes opened and caught him staring with a jar in hand and his eyes honed on your confrontational display. “Lord Elrond,” you called out nonchalantly as though you were not lacking decorum, “what is happening to me? I thought you gave me a tea for my tiredness?”

Scepticism flooded his expression as he attempted to avoid your gaze, solely due to the siren look you threw and the disappointment of informing you of his blunder as a healer. Walking into the room, he stepped around the opposite side of the table and away from you to place the bottle of lavender at the centre. His palms were faced down and his head hung with his lips twisting, thinking of every possible solution and answer to return. “It…It would appear that—”

No, he couldn’t say that.

Cautiously rounding the table while his fingers trailed along the edge, he turned his focus to you as he approached you from your side and came to stand beside you. Wordlessly, he gingerly pried the cloth out your fingers, careful not to touch your skin and dabbed it across your forehead, making notes of your slight shivering and increased arousal. This was the bare minimal interaction with a cloth hindering skin–to–skin contact and you were already affected. Swiftly dipping the cloth into the bowl of cool water, he continued to dab at your forehead and the rest of your face, doing his best to avoid your neck to entice any behaviour.

His lips were pursed as he remained steadfast on applying the first step into solving your crisis, brown eyes following the motion of his hands until you began sighing too frequently. His eyes fell upon the bob of your throat and the parting of your lips the moment you shut your eyes to focus on the lingering sensation of his touch. It was then he decided it was a wrong idea to become close and personal to treat you.

“This is clearly a terrible idea,” he muttered, taking a step backwards and pondering on how to properly assess you.

“Elrond, forgive me, Lord Elrond,” you corrected and hopped off the stand to step forward, crossing the gap in three strides, “please just tell me what is happening and why does my body feel this…way.” At the end of your words, you began twitching, majorly at the junction where your thighs met your pelvis. The growing ache between your legs provoked you to squeeze your thighs together and shift from left to right.

Worry befell his eyes, and he bit the inside of his mouth at the progress of actions. “Alright, you need to sit and remain still, and refrain from touching me,” he ordered, frustratingly.

“Touching you?” You frowned and took three steps backwards to meet the stool.

Building a storm within the clustered spacing of his office, Elrond rapidly answered as he reached for a clean mortar and pestle, “Yes, no touching me because you might get the urge to do something like that to sedate the pain.” Having placed the instruments on the table not too far away, he placed his hands on his hips and turned to cast a worrisome look. “I made the wrong tea due to…mislabelling. I picked up the incorrect ingredients and gave you aphrodisiacs in extremely large doses.” His voice had shrunk at the end of his confession knowing fully well that you would blow a fuse.

“What?!” you shrieked. “Elrond, are you serious? I’m trying to gain hours sleeping, not sleeping around.”

He couldn’t help but find your statement to be entirely humorous as it slipped out and released a muted chuckle, hidden by the dipping of his head. “I apologise, the fault is entirely my own,” he clarified with a clearing of his throat. “However, if you can only sit still and allow me to cure it, you’ll soon be on your way to sleep.”

“And exactly how are you planning on curing this? Because to my unfortunate knowledge, somebody gave me aphrodisiacs in large quantities and claimed it was a new sleeping tea. Perhaps it wasn’t an accident and done on purpose. No wonder why I felt odd the minute I drank it,” you muttered with apprehension and cast a side eye at him. To blame Elrond was entirely not you and only the herbs taking its toll on your frustration. All in the act of attempting to have its purpose served.

Unaware of this being an effect, conversely, Elrond grew tired of your antics and snapped with fury in his voice, laced with weariness and concernment. “And I believe you have a way of solving this problem with all your complaining?” he challenged and slammed the mortar upon the table. “You seem to doubt my ability to remove the issue.”

“Of course, I do, especially when you appear as equally as weary as myself, I have every right to question your capabilities as a healer!” you reacted, shooting from your seat and standing beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “If you were the healer you claimed to be then I would not be in this situation—”

“Your pupils have dilated tremendously,” he whispered, causing his warm breath to fan your face prompting you to lean in closer unconsciously.

“So what?” you replied.

“And your pulse is becoming erratic,” he added, becoming aware of the proximity of your body.

“Let it—I don’t mind if it goes a bit high when I’m around you.” Fingers crawling up his arm, you kept eye contact with his gorgeous brown eyes and inched yourself closer until you wedged yourself in the gap between him and the table. Bodies pressing against each other, driving you insane, you reached out to hold him closer in an attempt to step away. Albeit, he wasn’t attempting to distance himself from your close–body figure, pressing against him.

“You’re thinking too much, Elrond,” your voice seduced while your finger reached his chin to tug it forward, mending the gap. “Just admit this was all a part of your plan and you desired me as much as I do. Just imagine,” you began, standing on your toes and placing your lips beside his ear, “how good it would feel to release all your tension in me. When was the last time you had a good time?”

“Y/N, think about this carefully,” he cautioned lowly, body shuddering when your lips kissed his earlobe and knowing that sense had disappeared the minute you consumed the tea. It was only a futile and last–resort attempt.

“Picture it Elrond,” you taunted and took his hand to wrap around your waist. “Us naked and entangled while you satisfy both our needs. Just think of how good you’ll fuck me.”

You proved the power and potency of the herbs and flowers was displayed by the rush of his arms instantly knocking all the parchment and instruments off in haste and hoisting you on the table. Tugging at your leggings and knickers until they were flung across the room, your bare legs met the cold air and his fingers. You trembled under his touch, your chest heaving and sweat building as the erraticism of your pulse escalated immensely, you cried out for him to get on with the show and stop teasing. You wanted to feel his body against yours without clothes hindering the sensation.

Reaching your hands out, they haphazardly yanked at his apparel and flung each piece across the room without care and concern. Your fingers desired the need to touch his skin and have the warmth of it pressing against yours to cool the raging fire crawling like molten lava across your skin. Inch by inch it sluggishly trailed, engulfing your entire body into flames while he stood there leaving you to take care of the matter on your own. The cruelty behind his reclusive actions, palms against the tabletop and standing between your legs while he breathed in your air and left you to undress him and then yourself increased the ache between your legs. Whining his name and frowning at him for provocation failed, for all he did was stand there with his brown eyes locked upon your pouting expression.

“You want me to assist you, don’t you?” he lowly chuckled, turning on the heat. “In fact, you need me to assist you.”

“Elrond, please don’t tease me any longer,” you wailed, tugging on the neckline of his shirt to bring his lips a little closer to meet yours, only to have him pull away at the last minute. “Just…Just fix it!”

“And here I thought you said I was incapable of such,” he corrected as his right hand slid up your back to meet the laces and give the bow a tug, unravelling it. With his thumb and forefinger gripping the end of the lace, he continued to unravel it until the bow was undone, leaving the rest of the intricate lacing to loosen. Straightening his posture and left standing in his leggings and shirt, he pulled you upright to unravel the tightness of the lacing and loosen the upper portion of your dress to allow his skilful fingers to peel it off artfully slowly.

The entire time, your hands were frozen on the buttons of his shirt and your eyes focused on the sleeves of your dress being tugged down your arm until they were caught at your elbow. The palpations of your chest could be heard and figured out by Elrond through the flustered expression you cast and the build–up of perspiration. The stickiness coating your skin, Elrond’s fingers swiped against it as he tugged at the front of the dress, prying your cleavage out from the confinements and into the open for his eyes to feast upon.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” he quizzed once most of the upper portion had been removed and took a step back, prying your fingers off the buttons to finish the removal of his clothes. “Is it because you need my care and touch desperately?”

His hands rubbed circles into your hipbone, provoking more sounds to fall from your lips. He wanted to witness how putty you would easily become for his remedy after all the smart–mouthing you were capable of relaying. To witness the hooded, lazily look in your eyes which morphed into want and the parting of your lips to moisten it as his body rocked into yours, enticed him to take the remaining steps to completion.

Towering above you flushed and semi–nude, both hands ran up your legs, over every curve and bump, pushing your dress until it bunched around your waist. Measuring the gap between you, he stepped closer to fill it, also yanking your body closer till it was flushed against his chest. The ripples of goosebumps once your breasts were squeezing on his chest, nipples hardened and rubbing deliciously upon the smoothness of your Lord’s skin, shot across your ignited body. Little whimpers and sighs were emitted at the action of your bodies firmly pressed without any space in between to disturb the tension being created.

Gathering the energy to reach for the rest of your sleeves and tugging it off completely, now your dress pooled perfectly around your waist, he slipped his hands under your thighs and brought them to encircle his waist. The yelp you emitted was swallowed up by his lips colliding with yours and wasting no time in giving you the chance to adjust. Elrond pried your lips apart with his tongue and went to work fervently to savour the sweet taste of your kiss. His groans, at first, were inaudible. Being devoured by your lips as you made attempts at eating his lips or rather his face—your fingers were clawing into his nape and back, pushing him deeper into your body as though you wanted him to morph into you.

For every bite of your lip, your fingers tightened at his nape and gave small tugs to his hair, and for every swipe of his tongue against yours, you dug your nails into his back to leave your signature. The kiss was unlike any other you had experienced, perhaps with the mixture of him being your Lord and you his assistant, the thrill was heightened led to his touch being voracious.

Conversely, Elrond was a master in his art and possessed infinite levels of control unlike you in this situation at a time like this. Breaking the kiss much to your disappointment, his lips remained a few centimetres apart. “Are you going to give me an answer?”

Your body jerked in his hold as his question left you furious at the leisurely time he was taking to fix the issue. The blood under your skin was boiling causing the fingers gnawing at his neck and back to force him into hurrying up. “Would you quit it and just fuck me already? Put the heat out and just make me feel good!” you wailed.

For the first time in years, Elrond felt rejuvenated at the game he played with you. It wasn’t something he was ever fond of, always preferring to make the moment romantic and full of adoration and love, but today sparked a newfound delight. All the while you were yapping and running your mouth, being demanding and obnoxious, the hands that once held your thighs already slipped between your bodies to unsheathe his cock from his leggings and guide it towards your opening. He was thrilled your attention was focused on getting him to comply that you were oblivious to your wish being fulfilled.

“Is this what you wanted me to give you?” With his body at present pressed against yours, there was no room for your eyes to witness the motion of his cock approaching your cunt, only to feel the breaching with an eye roll and heave. Thankfully your hands flopped off his back to brace your body upright on your forearms, you were given the most precious sight of his cock sliding in and out, already covered in a sheet of your arousal. The only thing left for him to do was to pick up the pace.

“You want me to give you pleasure?” he goaded. “But you told me I lacked the capabilities.”

A mischievous grin was set upon his face as the rocking of his hips remained steady and at a snail’s pace. No amount of gripping his hips or pressing the heels of your ankles into his back would increase his speed; not until you gave him an answer.

“Please, please, please. J–…Just give it to me Elrond…” crying out with a solid flop against the table, as much as your body was being stimulated, it wasn’t at the rate required to soothe the ache. “I just want your cock…”

As desperate and pitiful as it sounded, it was pleasant to his ears somehow and fuelled the course of his actions. Leaning his body lower, his hips maintained their rhythmic pattern, leaving behind the soft pitta–patter of his ball being soaked by your drenched cunt. It made his eyes widen the realisation of the desire you contained to be relieved and how much he gave you to consume. Pleased in ways unimaginable, his left hand cupped your face for his thumb to run over your lips before feeling your lips wrapping around the tip and your tongue swirling around it. Eyes widening, yet kept holding his finger, they were fixated on the motion of your lips.

Hissing, his lips formed a smirk at the inability of you to give a response before barrelling away. With his right hand occupied on your waist, he used it to guide your hips to meet the increased tempo of his thrust, awakening the temptress within you. Provocative moans from the depths of your soul escaped your lips and left him more aroused from the start. Even through the action of your sweet lips sucking on his finger, he could precisely and clearly hear each syllable of your melody the more he drove his cock into you.

He couldn’t believe how right you were about the last time he gave himself away so freely to the highs of ecstasy. Your words replayed in his head about releasing all his tension while curing your problem; considering it beneficial when he was problem solving both your issues in one shot—a good remedy.

Letting himself loose, Elrond flung his head backwards to join you in harmony as moans fell from his lips. The tightness of your cunt, a feeling he missed and enjoyed, wrapping around him suffocatingly without a moment of reprieve spiralled him into ecstasy. Your snuggly held him in possession, considering him yours with every stroke he delivered, kissing your sweet spot like no tomorrow and leaving behind stains of his precum to quench the flames. The rigidness and robustness of his cock, the perfect weight resting within your walls were accepted with familiarity. Allowing you to remodel and mould your insides to suit the shape of what he desired. A place where he could return for release and satisfaction.

With the first wave of your fire cooling from sinister rolls of his hips, loudly slapping against the inner of your thighs, you sighed in euphoria. This was the relief your body craved all these months, not sleep. The sensation of being twisted into different positions, from lying on your back to being placed on your side with your leg over his shoulder, a different type of workout that proved to be the best form of lethargy. There wasn’t a position your legs were being tossed into the deeper he drove his cock to have it touch placed unheard of. When they were considered myths, your Lord Elrond proved them false with the wicked flex of his hips to bury himself in the depths of your core, emptying the first release of tension before pummelling again.

There was no stopping when you were now being placed on your stomach, your right foot planted directly into the floor with your left hitched on the table and his hips smacking against your ass. You could have sworn that he was the one who drank the tea instead of you, but with a quick reality check of the volume of releases you made in the last half an hour, it was you.

The deliberating crawl of your cramps as he fucked you like no tomorrow, fingers massaging the back of your thigh while his lips whispered filth in your ear, eased the pain. Even when your stomach clenched and your walls cramped around his cock as the coolness of your orgasm quenched the flames, his fingers ghosting over your skin was a better sensation and stimulation. You could stand there for as long as he desired and take the vigorous pummelling he gave, even if it left you bedridden, it would been the best rest and treatment for your weariness received. It might encourage you to make checks more often than usual.

On Elrond’s end, he could say the same thing. His right hand intertwined with yours upon the table, sweaty chest rubbing against yours and finger massaging your thigh, he would have to make frequent schedules for another visit. Nevertheless, he only wished for the constant slipping and sliding of your bodies to cease. It made things difficult for him to hold and keep close, albeit it allowed for the sounds of his hips meeting your ass to reverberate in the depths of his eardrum, placing a pleasant smile on his face.

“Your cries sound better than I imagined, Y/N.” His voice trickled into your ear like caramel, melting away any remaining tension in your bones. Your body visibly sagged into his chest; head lulled atop his shoulder while your lips remained parts to release your broken, stammering moans. “Tell me, is the treatment to your liking? Would you like me to ease the ache once more?”

Breathlessly fumbling around with your words, your fingers tightened in his and pressed into the table, knocking your knuckles into the solid wood at the swelling of his cock, expanding your walls. The violent flooding of his cum seeping into your cunt and being pushed deeper with the intention of being kept there, left you shaking. Your body couldn’t handle the intoxication of his presence entering you again, speeding up the process for another wave of your orgasm to break through and mix with his. Your cries were all he was listening to while he relentlessly continued to pound away at your walls, loving the hypersensitivity he sent you into.

“Oh fuck, El–…rond!” Wailing into the heated air, your breath condensed at the rise in temperature of the office. Your body’s urge to collapse was prohibited by the gentle encircling of his right arm, still entwined with yours, around your waist to keep you upright and against his sweaty chest. The amazement you held at the unshakeable power he wielded to continue round after round as though his limit was endless. You were beginning to consider the acknowledgement of you being hit with aphrodisiacs was false and simply made up to lure you into his trap.

After all, he was a descendant of a Maia, a powerful at that, being able to ensnare you with the hypnotic look in his eyes was enough to have you at his beck and call. Imagine what his voice was doing as your insides churned and melted with the melody of his moans against your earlobe. Lips kissing the tips and breathless groaning at the squeeze you gave; Elrond summoned you to him like a siren calling its prey.

“Just like that, I’m sure you can give me another and another and another,” he encouraged, placing more pressure on your sweet spot as he ground his hips into your ass and rubbed the tip of his cock against it. “Just let me take care of you. I’ll make you feel better.”

He was unappeasible and outmatched you.

And yet, it did not terrify you, only enticing you to further give in and allow him to care and tend to your needs. His touches and words were all that were required to provoke your body into rejuvenation. He could kiss away the pain, ghost his lips over your skin or breathe against it and all would be well. His remedy to heal your ache was the best and always provided satisfaction.

Masterlist

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