It was a quiet evening in the palace gardens - mist curling over the grass, the lanterns flickering low in their silver sconces. Elenariel walked beside Thranduil, arms folded loosely, telling some story that involved an unfortunate misstep, a startled bird, and a rather indignant goose.
She was laughing by the time she reached the end of it. Thranduil, unsurprisingly, was not.
“You do realize,” he said dryly, “that no one else would be foolish enough to provoke a nesting goose?”
“I wasn’t trying to provoke it!” she said, scandalized. “I tripped!”
“Ah,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Then it was only your natural clumsiness.”
Elenariel froze mid-step.
She blinked. “That’s not very nice.”
Thranduil paused a beat too late, glancing sideways.
She wasn’t smiling anymore.
He straightened, defaulting to that cold elegance that made him untouchable. “It was meant as a jest.”
“It didn’t feel like one,” she said softly, voice still light, but laced with something raw.
There was a beat of silence.
Then: “You think so little of me?” she asked, not angry but genuinely curious. Genuinely hurt.
Thranduil's expression didn’t change outwardly but his eyes shifted, just enough for her to see the flicker behind the mask. Regret, maybe. Or guilt.
“No,” he said, voice low. “I think too much.”
That made her blink.
His tone was quieter now, less guarded. “If I speak too sharply… it is because I forget you are not made of stone.”
Elenariel gave a breath of a laugh, wry and soft. “I’m not. I bruise easy, actually.”
He turned toward her fully, and for once, there was no arrogance in his posture. Just a man who had said the wrong thing and knew it.
“I should not have said it.”
“Good,” she said, her smile slowly returning. “That’s better.”
A pause.
“Would you like me to trip over another goose to reset the mood?”
Thranduil blinked. Then - unexpectedly - he laughed. Quiet and genuine, just once.
“No,” he said, the ghost of amusement in his voice. “One ill-fated goose incident is sufficient. For now.”
And just like that, the tension softened, their steps falling back into quiet rhythm beneath the lantern light.
But the moment stayed with him long after.
Because for all the sharpness he wielded like armor, she was the one person who had ever dared to say:
A/N: so, the reader has a phone. It works. She uses it for a call, but I don’t make any mention of how she got to middle-earth or how her technology works without satellites. I just couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and I’ve been really wanting to start writing again [for no joke a year it’s been so long!] soooo. Here we are, hope you enjoy, Tilly if you’re reading this i want you to know it’s your fault I've started doing this again. Gremlin, xoxox
Warnings: established relationship [reader and Elrond are married], cunnilingus, sex whilst on the phone, oblivious third party[?], undescriptive work conflicts, someone contact HR, no beta we die like Boromir
Word count: 2.4k
master list
You pace around the study with the screen of your phone pressed to your ear. You're not sure how long it’s been just that it’s been too long. Your ear has begun to turn red and sore from how long the glass screen has been pressed to it and the idiot on the other line is showing no signs of stopping or slowing down enough so you can switch ears without missing anything anytime soon. Today has been long and tedious, filled with bothersome work and all you wish for is some peaceful time alone with your husband.
You continue to tell yourself that your work is important and you must continue the call and remain polite to this imbecile. In your mind your merciless with your insults, how you hated people who couldn't follow simple instructions. You don’t say much, you're afraid of what you might say if you try but also because there’s nowhere for you to get a word in. You try to distract yourself from your frustration by looking at the beautiful elvish architecture around you but as the moon light pours into the room you find yourself even more angry because you ought to be abed by now.
The man on the other end from work continues to rant at you about he doesn’t understand while also not letting you explain, and you resist the urge to throw your phone across the room and call it a night. Your tiredness has begun to grow, and you decide to take a seat at lord Elrond's desk to avoid the ache of your legs. Your sigh as you take you seat looking at the parchment on his desk, a soft smile crosses your face at the momentary distractions the thought of your husband brings. The moment is fleeting however as your thoughts are quickly pulled back to the man chirping away in your ear.
Alas he has given you chance to speak but you had not heard what he had said last. You stutter for a moment before he interrupts by yelling. You pull the phone away from your ear as he goes off about how he had spent so long explaining it to you and you hadn’t listened to one bit. You hear the door to the study creak as it swings open. You look over your shoulder and see your husband entering. The sound of the man on the phone yelling echoes throughout the room and you give Elrond a smile. A soft smile, one that says I’m sorry for not coming to bed to spend time with you, but gods be good can you see what I’m dealing with here?
He gives you a sympathetic smile as he walks gracefully across the room towards you. He is not angry or upset at you any way of course, he simply wanted to see his wife, so he took it upon himself to stay up later with her [I know there’s that whole thing of elves not sleeping or sleeping less than humans but I don’t give a fuck]. The man on the line begins to calm down so you pull the phone in again, pressing it your ear. He's slowed down and if you learnt anything from before now was the time to listen, you stare at the wall ahead of you as you try to focus on his nonsense. You don’t pay much mind to what your love is doing while you do in hopes that if you can focus enough, you can get out of the call and use all your focus on him.
You sigh as you hear him say something incorrect you’ve attempted to explain entirely to many times. For once you cut him off instead of the other way around and begin explaining again. Your being somewhat aggressive maybe rude is the better word, that’s what Elrond loved about you, your fire. Never afraid to speak your truth a powerful and confident woman. That may contribute to his next actions. you glance around the room while you speak to the other man, and you realise you cannot see your husband. Just as you begin to wonder where he’s gone or when he left or if he said anything to you and you didn't hear it the same way you missed the creaking of the door you feel a tug.
Your confused for a moment as a certain someone from beneath the desk pushes up your skirt and tugs, a signal for you to lift your hips and allow him to push them up further. You smile at the mischievous act but hold back any audible reaction. "Yes, and I understand that but-...” your interrupted but the feeling of a tongue licking a stripe up your cunt. His tongue circles your clit before his lips close around it and gently suckle on it. “Uhm,” the noise you made while you tried to sound merely confused and gathering your thoughts sounded too close to a moan for your liking and Elrond seemed to agree letting out a rare endearing chuckle against you.
“Right,” you found your voice and your train of thought quickly enough though it wasn’t easy with your lovers skilled mouth against you so wonderfully. Your voice came out high pitched and you quickly adjusted it before continuing. “But the schedule has been made that way for a reason and-” you bite your lip, pull the phone away slightly and let out a small whimper as he alternates between sucking and licking your most sensitive spot now finding a good rhythm, one that will have your toes curling and your tongue howling his name. Your colleague seems to have heard some of it.
“What was that?” his voice asks distantly from the other line and pull the phone back in closer to hear and speak to him again. “Nothing!” you squeak as you can’t help but squirm in your seat or rather Elrond's seat as he continues his own work while you do yours. “uhh and- and it is too late to change it so... I-” you stutter and stumble along trying your best to get on with it. Gods, you never thought you’d say it but curse his beautiful incredible tongue. His hand squeezes your hip encouraging you to keep talking as his other hand lifts from your thigh allowing your skirts to fall on him a little as it comes down to begin prodding a pointer finger at your dripping hole.
Your eyes flutter at the feeling as he slowing pushes the finger in knowing just how gently and at what pace you need him to be, no one knows you like him. “So, I’m very sorry but you’ll just have to work around it like everyone else.” what should have taken no longer than half a minute took at least 2 but you got there eventually. Of course, he starts complaining again but you couldn’t care less. No longer did his obliviousness enrage you, his unwillingness no longer frustrating you and his voice no longer agitating, the sweet relief of your husband's tongue was always like a warm bath at the end of the day, though this workday had not truly ended yet. Some days it was kind reassuring words and all the affirmation you needed others it was sweet honey dripping pleasure until it made you cry.
His finger curls expertly inside of you, his tongue and lips feeling like the soft patter of rain, a long-awaited end to a drought. For moment you don’t listen you just feel. Feel the way the very tip of his tongue swirls around your clit precisely before flattening and pressing down with the perfect pressure on the whole top half of your cunt. His tongue swirls once more before his lips close around the bud. “Hello?” echoes from the phone pulling you out of your thoughts. Elrond begins to slip in a second finger as you desperately try to recall what he had said.
Instinctively your hips move with your love’s fingers, and he continues to please you through the stressful phone call. “Yes, I’m still here.” you squeak out the taste of blood spreading onto your tongue from your teeth of which had been insistently biting your lip to keep pleasure filled noises from leaving them. “Well, what do you say to my new schedule?” he asks as though you were the dumb insufferable one. Your lord husband's fingers reach deep and curl to caress that perfect spot inside you just as you go to say something, your teeth providing no protection.
“Yes!” you say to Elrond, a word very commonly passed around your bed chambers as the fingers on the hand not holding the phone curl into his hair though a certain unsuspecting man seems to have caught the words to. “Great, problem solved then, I guess.” he says sounding rather confused at my tone and volume. Your face burns a bright red as Elrond smiles against you, you feel beyond embarrassed. “No!” your eyebrows furrow and your voice is laced with shame and regret as you try to fix what you've done. “What? But you just-” he sounds offended now. “Yes. No! Well, I mean- I know but no we can’t do that.” you stumble, though deeply embarrassed you can’t help but feel even more turned on by the thought of the two of you potentially getting caught, again Elrond smiles like he’s caught you, like he found out a dirty secret of yours.
you can feel a warmth deep in your lower stomach now, pleasure getting pent up and soon to be ready to burst out through loud moans that will have you gasping for air and clenched muscles. your fingers curl in my love’s hair likely scratching his poor scalp though you don’t notice, don’t have enough room in your brain to notice. you hear the man scoff on the other end as you pull the phone away again. Even as you do you seal your lips as tight as you can as you whine and tilt your head back at these glorious feelings. Once again, you must unfortunately pull the phone back to the side of your still very red face.
“I’m sorry, I was being sarcastic when i shouldn’t of but really there is nothing I can do to help you any further you must-” your voice is getting very high pitched as the pleasure continues to build, an orgasm growing close, and you're beginning to run out breathe. To your bodies delight and your minds horror Elrond begins to increase his pace. The man on the line begins complaining but you quickly cut him off. “I should really get going now-” now it is you that is cut off by him by even more arguing with a louder voice which you come to be thankful for as little moans slip through the tight seal of your lips though he cannot hear them over himself.
You begin to panic as the warm wonderful feeling rises unsure what to do and your almost certain you won’t be able to stay quiet. Your hips twitch and buck against your husbands face as your hand pulls him into you more, gasps consistently escaping your lips now. Dangerously close to the edge now you must make a decision before you are found out. Fuck it you think and press the hang up button. You toss the phone on to the desk without care for its fragility. The phone buzzes with notifications from your angry coworker and you could care less but you certainly care a lot more about one thing right now.
Loud drawn-out moans escape your lips freely; your hips buck wildly, all but riding his face, as you chase your well-deserved climax. “Gods, yes! Yes!” you moan as his finger thrust in and out of you always hitting that one spot and his lips and tongue alternating at just the right intervals. He smiles against you yet again no doubt proud of his work as you cover your face out of embarrassment with your free hand. Your moans grow high pitched and shorter before your mouth falls open in a silent scream. Tears prick your eyes, your back arches, your toes curl in your shoes and your fingers in his hair as you look up to the ceiling. As you start to come down the tears in your eyes fall, your moans return in airy gasps and your muscles begin to relax. As he slows down the work of his mouth and fingers you begin to release the terribly tight grip your thighs had on his head.
You lean back in your chair; head still tilted towards the sky. Elrond’s gentle hands caress your thighs up and down and he lightly kisses the inside of your knee while you catch your breath. The two of you sit silently for a moment thinking about what just transpired. You take a deep breath and feel the ache in your limbs from the long day though even as your phone continues to buzz there is no signs of an ache in your mind. He always knew how to help you in the most delicious ways possible. After the moment has ended you push your chair back far enough to look under the desk at you lover.
The lower part of his face is wet a drop or two rolling off his chin. You can’t help but giggle at him. His laughter follows yours as he looks up at you from where he kneels still somehow looking so pure. You reach out a hand to help pull him up and push your chair back further. He graciously takes it and c Some days it was kind reassuring word and all the affirmation you needed others it was sweet honey dripping pleasure until it made you cry.
comes to his feet in front of you. You continue to hold hands as you look up at him. There is so much love in his eyes as he looks down at you and you know yours reflect your own feelings.
“I think I ought to allow you to distract me more often, husband.”
My fellow Aussie (cannot believe I finally get to say THAT!) is getting her Tolkien freak on and writing one-shots for your fav characters. Please go and show her some love as she's just starting out. Her Elrond piece is straight fire.
"You are powerful but are terminal in death" - Lord of the Rings x reader
Legolas
He first sees what you’re capable of in the heat of battle. You’re surrounded — too many orcs, not enough time — and you don’t hesitate. Your blade glows faintly with runes, but it’s not your weapon they’re afraid of. It’s you. You move like you’re part of the wind — faster than they can track, quieter than they expect. You burn through them like wildfire, controlled and furious. When it’s done, the ground is slick, and you're still standing, breath heavy, eyes glowing faintly like starlight trapped in mortal skin.
And it’s then that Legolas starts to look at you differently. Not just as an ally or a fighter, but as something rare. Something the world won’t get twice.
The others are talking after the fight, tending wounds, rationing supplies. You’re off to the side, leaning on a rock just slightly — not enough to be obvious, just enough for someone who’s watching closely to notice. He is.
The next time, it’s raining. A cold drizzle that makes even Aragorn frown. You stumble. It’s small — just a slip in the mud — but you catch yourself on a tree and don’t move after. Just breathe. Shallow. Tired. You think no one sees, but Legolas is already there.
He doesn’t speak right away. Just steps close, hands at the ready like he might catch you again. You avoid his eyes, and that’s when he knows. Really knows.
“How long?” he asks, voice soft.
You’re quiet for a while. Then: “It started before we left Rivendell. Got worse after Moria.”
It’s not fair. That’s what he thinks first. That the world could hold someone like you — sharp and brave and ancient-feeling — and still let you die. Still decide you’re dying.
From that point on, he doesn’t leave your side. It’s not suffocating. It’s just present. He’ll hold your pack before you can argue. Share his water even when you insist you’re fine. His hand hovers at your back on long climbs. Sometimes, when you’re asleep, he’ll just watch you breathe.
He doesn’t treat you like glass. But he does look at you like you’re a comet — here for a moment, bright enough to change the sky.
One night, you say, “I don’t want to be remembered for dying.”
He replies, “You won’t be. You’ll be remembered for what you survived long before it.”
--------
Aragorn
He notices it early. Not the illness — the strength. The way you walk like you’ve survived something you don’t talk about. He’s known enough warriors to recognize one who fights even when no one’s watching.
The Fellowship is still new when it happens. An ambush. A bad one. You’re surrounded, cornered. Aragorn is focused on protecting the hobbits when he hears it — that sound of magic cracking through the air like lightning through ice. He turns. You’re standing in the middle of it.
You don’t cast spells. You unleash them. It’s different. Older. There’s a heat to it that makes even Gandalf glance over with something like respect. The orcs don’t get close. They can’t. Not when the dirt is shifting beneath them and the sky above them trembles at your voice.
When it’s over, you don’t look proud. You just look tired.
He pulls you aside that night. Not as a leader — as a man who’s seen people burn themselves out for a war that never loved them back. “That power,” he says, “comes from somewhere. What does it cost you?”
You don’t answer. You just smile, slow and sad. “Everything. But it was never going to last anyway.”
It’s later, after Moria, when he understands.
You cough. Hard. It doesn’t stop for a while, and when it does, there’s blood on your sleeve. You try to hide it. Fold it away like it means nothing.
But Aragorn’s hands are already reaching for you. Not panicked — steady. Warm. He presses a hand to your back, feels the tremble in your spine. Your eyes are glassy.
“I’ve seen many wounds,” he says. “That is not one I can heal.”
You nod. “I know.”
And that’s when the quiet pact forms between you — unspoken but firm. He won’t try to fix it. But he will make sure you don’t carry it alone.
He stands a little closer after that. Keeps track of your breathing when you sleep. Adjusts the pace of the Fellowship’s travel without making it obvious. Never tells the others. Just holds the truth in his chest like a sacred thing.
You never asked him to care. But he does. Deeply.
One night by the fire, when everyone else is asleep, you admit, “I don’t want pity.”
“Good,” he replies. “You’ll never get it from me. Just loyalty.”
And you believe him.
--------
Boromir
Boromir doesn’t trust magic. Not really. It’s not that he’s afraid of it — it’s just never done anything for his people. Power, in his world, is something you earn with sword and grit. But then there’s you.
He doesn’t know what to make of you at first. You don’t boast. Don’t lecture. You just move — confident, quiet, and sharp as a blade no one sees coming. You speak when it counts. You act when it matters.
And then one day you snap.
Not in anger — in command. The enemy is gaining, arrows thick in the air, Frodo nearly taken. You raise your hands and the wind stops. Literally. Dead in the sky. Time feels wrong for a second. Then the ground cracks beneath the riders chasing you.
They fall. Horses scream. Your eyes shine like the first embers of war.
When it’s over, you don’t even look at anyone. You just walk away, slow, like your bones hurt.
Boromir catches up later. “That was… incredible,” he says, trying to find words. He’s not good with reverence, but he tries anyway.
You just smile faintly and say, “It takes more than you think.”
It’s not long after that he sees you collapse.
It’s nothing dramatic. You just sink down one afternoon while setting up camp, hand on your side like you’re holding yourself together. He’s the one who notices when you don’t get back up.
“You alright?”
“I will be,” you lie.
He doesn’t push. Just kneels next to you, offers you his canteen. You take it with shaking fingers. Try not to meet his eyes. But he sees it now — the blood in the corner of your mouth, the way you press your wrist like it’s keeping time that’s running out.
“How long have you known?” he asks, voice quieter than usual.
“A while.”
He doesn’t tell the others. Doesn’t treat you like glass, either. But he does start walking beside you more. Offers to carry your pack even when you refuse. He sharpens your blade for you when your hands tremble. Doesn’t say a word about it.
You catch him watching you, sometimes. Like he’s memorizing something. The way you move. The shape of your silhouette against the firelight.
“You’re not afraid of death,” he says one night, half to himself.
“I just don’t want to go quietly.”
He nods, almost proud. “You won’t. Not you.”
-----------
Thranduil
He knew before anyone told him. Before you stepped into his halls again. Before your cloak was off. He looked at you — really looked — and saw it in the corners of your eyes. In the way your magic curled close to your body now, protective instead of radiant.
“You’re dying,” he said.
You didn’t flinch. “I’m still standing.”
His hands curled around the edge of his throne. No fury, just something cold and shaking in his jaw. You had always unsettled him. And yet, he always made time for you. Even when kings did not kneel, he listened when you spoke.
And when you fought — gods, when you fought — there was no one like you.
He once watched you walk into battle without a word. The creatures were crawling over the stone like ants, too many, too fast. He was preparing his army, calculating losses. But you stepped in alone.
You didn’t raise a weapon. You raised your voice. Soft. Steady. And the forest answered. His forest.
The trees bent. Roots cracked stone. Vines turned to spears, and the sky grew dark with your fury. It was not a scream. It was a command. Ancient. Absolute.
He didn’t speak for hours afterward. Not because he feared you — because he grieved. That something so powerful could wear a mortal face.
Now, you could barely hold a wine glass.
“You should rest,” he said, when he found you by the window, overlooking his realm. Your fingers were trembling again, though you kept them folded in your lap like royalty.
“If I rest, I’ll stop,” you replied.
He stood in silence beside you for a long time. There was so much between you — words unsaid, years shared, no name for what you were to each other.
Finally, you looked up at him. “Will you remember me kindly?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
Instead, he dropped to one knee in front of you — the Elvenking — and kissed your hand like you were a queen, a relic, a farewell.
“The world will not deserve what it’s losing,” he said.
So this creator doesn't allow videos to be saved. I'm hoping you don't need the app to view the link because it is absolute comedy GOLD 🤣🤣🤣🤣 @redeemer46
Edit: @letmeluvurbutt Baby girl, even though we do this on the app anyways, I'll tag you in them on here too 😍
@redeemer46 Woman, I sent you to sleep with pleasant images. Allow me to welcome you to this new day with even more pleasant images (and thoughts.... Ahem... Waiting in your inbox 😝).
Established relationship Headcanons under the cut. Gender neutral as usual ❤️. Slightly NSFW but not too crazy.
-Being in a relationship with him isn’t easy, let’s be honest.
-Being two monarchs, the relationship must remain secret.
-His fear of intimacy makes him very hot and cold to start off with, but an established friendship beforehand would help.
-His partner has to remind him that they care for him as much as he cares for them, and the constant back and forth isn’t fair.
-Either he wants this, or he doesn’t. He can’t have both.
-His eyes soften in understanding, and he bows his head to press a kiss to their knuckles.
-“Forgive me, meleth nîn.”
-It would take some time to get him to open up. He’s spent so long building walls that he thought were impenetrable, the idea of allowing someone close to his heart is difficult.
-He’s almost forgotten how.
-His fear of intimacy extends to physical intimacy btw.
-He hasn’t been touched in centuries, beyond a simple handshake or placing a fatherly hand on Legolas’s arm.
-The vulnerability frightens him, though he’d never admit that.
-After his wife’s brutal death, the idea of loving someone again is terrifying. Which of course means that he is wildly protective.
-What makes the fear of intimacy easier to overcome is the fact that his partner has their own kingdom to rule, and so there are often long periods of time where he can’t see them.
-He says that he is a patient man, but he is not.
-Not when it comes to his love.
-He feels pathetic; unable to sleep at night for his longing. And when he’s finally almost asleep, his hand will reach out for their arm, their chest, and find only empty space.
-So when he gets the chance to see them again, to be alone with them, he can hardly contain himself.
-He tries to hide his excitement, but it’s obvious in the way his humour lightens and his eyes gleam in the days leading up to their arrival.
-Once they’re finally in his grasp, he all but drags them back to his chambers.
-He spends hours worshipping them, making them fall apart and cry out his name, memorising every inch of their body.
-Though the sex is passionate and loving and pleasurable, his favourite moments are the ones where he can just hold them in silence.
-Where he can listen to them breathing, feel their pulse under his hands, run his fingers through their hair.
-There are moments where he wishes that they didn’t have to keep this a secret, but he knows that the political implications would just be too much for both of them.
-The disappointment in not being able to love them freely is outweighed by the joy of loving them in the first place.
・❥・“And here I thought we were sparring, not settling a grudge.”
The morning sun filtered through the canopy, casting golden light across the training grounds. Dew still clung to the grass as Elenariel circled Thranduil with a wooden practice staff in hand, already regretting her decision to accept his generous offer of private instruction.
He looked far too pleased with himself.
“Keep your weight off your heels,” he said, circling lazily. “Unless, of course, you’d like to fall in front of me.”
“I’d rather trip you,” she muttered, shifting her stance.
He smirked. “How charming.”
They moved. Quick, practiced strikes. She parried once - twice - until he twisted his staff and tapped her ribs.
Hard.
“Ouch!” she gasped, stumbling back a step. “Not that hard, please!”
Thranduil, maddeningly composed, twirled his staff once and tilted his head. “It was barely more than a suggestion.”
“It was a bruise, you smug, overgrown—” She cut herself off, drawing a slow breath. “You did that on purpose.”
“Obviously,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes. “And here I thought we were sparring, not settling a grudge.”
He stepped forward, lowering his weapon slightly, voice dropping to a lazy murmur. “You did challenge me to be honest in combat.”
“I also challenged you not to break me in half,” she snapped.
“An odd request,” he mused. “I’d think you’d enjoy the closeness.”
Her breath caught. She hated when he did that - when he slipped beneath her guard with words instead of strikes.
“Is that your strategy?” she asked, circling him again, keeping her tone light even as her heart picked up speed. “Flirt your opponent into surrender?”
He smiled - wolfish, elegant. “It’s worked before.”
She lunged, her staff sweeping up in a sharp arc. This time, he didn’t block fast enough - she clipped his hip.
“Ouch!” he hissed, stepping back.
Elenariel grinned. “Not that hard, I hope?”
He blinked at her, then laughed. Quiet and breathless, genuine.
“No,” he murmured, rubbing his side. “But I deserved it.”
She twirled her staff once. “You usually do.”
They stood there, breathing hard, just a little too close. The morning light caught on the curve of his jaw, the fire in her eyes.
Neither stepped back.
“Shall we continue?” he asked.
“Oh, definitely,” she replied.
And they moved again - faster now. Closer. Each strike not just a test of skill, but of patience.
discoholicmusic
jbbartram-illu
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
prguitarman
janainaart
snowghoul
jacobvanloon
dededos
theartofmadeline
stormborns
