Lords of Gondolin | When You Kabedon Them vs When They Kabedon You
Request: For the house gondolin would you be willing to do a group headcanon for kabedoning their s/o vs getting kabedoned by their s/o? 👉👈 Have a great December!
A/N: Oh anon, I hope this was done to your liking, and what you were expecting. Enjoy!
Synopsis: How the elves react when you corner them compared to when they corner you.
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.𑁍༊˚ Galdor
Galdor had never really considered himself the sort to be easily flustered. He was a warrior, a leader, someone who had seen battle and withstood its horrors without so much as a tremor. But then, of course, you had to go and press him up against the nearest wall, one hand braced beside his head, your expression positively devious.
He blinked at you as he tried to make sense of what was happening. “Are you trying to intimidate me?” His tone was dubious, a little amused even, but there was the faintest pink creeping up his ears.
The moment you leaned in, his composure wavered. He cleared his throat, but his voice had a rough edge when he spoke again. “This seems unfair. I am entirely unarmed.”
If you stole a kiss, he would recover quickly, cupping your face in his hands and pulling you in for another, deeper one—one that was far more calculated than your spontaneous attempt.
You did, however, manage to fully catch him off guard one evening after training when he was weary and unsuspecting. He had barely unbuckled his sword belt when you cornered him in the hallway. He actually took a step back before realising what you were doing. “...Must you do this while I am defenceless?”
If you ever caught him in a moment of deep contemplation and suddenly kabedon’d him, he would take an obnoxiously long pause before looking at you and saying, “Ah. You have finally lost your senses.”
When Galdor kabedons you:
He is not usually the sort to try and fluster you just for the fun of it, but if you had been provoking him all day, he had no qualms about giving you a taste of your own medicine.
He did not do it gently, nor did he do it lightly. One moment you were standing with him in the corridor, and the next your back was against stone, his arm braced above your head. He leaned down slightly, his voice low. “Let us see how you like it, hm?”
He would be very, very close. Not close enough to kiss you—no, that would be too easy—but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, could see the sharp amusement in his eyes.
If you tried to lean away, he would follow, not letting you escape quite so easily. His lips would quirk in amusement. “Is this not what you wanted?”
When he did kiss you, it was slow and deliberate, his free hand settling against your hip as if to keep you in place. “I think,” he murmured, “that you rather like this.”
.𑁍༊˚ Ecthelion
Ecthelion was entirely unreadable when you kabedon’d him. He merely arched a brow, his arms crossed over his chest as he regarded you with mild amusement.
“An interesting tactic,” he mused, as if you were in the middle of some military strategy discussion. “And what is your next move?”
You were prepared for teasing, for flustering him, but not for the way he subtly leaned into you, just enough that your breath caught. “Do you intend to keep me here all day, or shall we get to the part where you lose your nerve?”
You did not lose your nerve. You kissed him instead, triumphant, only to realise he had caught your wrist in his grasp, his smirk widening slightly. “Predictable,” he murmured, before reversing the situation entirely.
You were the one against the wall before you could even react, and now he was the one looking down at you, all dark eyes and silent laughter. “You will have to do better than that, meleth.”
You once tried to do this after he had been drinking, assuming his reactions would be slower. The plan backfired. Instead of looking surprised, he merely sighed and reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You are determined to test me, aren’t you?”
If you ever did this in front of others, he would react with the same composure, but there would be the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips, like he was trying not to smirk. The moment you were alone, he would absolutely pay you back for it.
When Ecthelion kabedons you:
It was always precise, calculated. He never wasted movement. One moment you were standing comfortably, and the next his arm was caging you in, his gaze sharp with amusement.
“I do wonder,” he murmured, “if you ever consider the consequences of your actions before you enact them.”
The problem with Ecthelion was that he was utterly unreadable. You could not tell if he was teasing or if he genuinely intended to keep you there.
He leaned down, close enough that his nose nearly brushed yours. “You do this often enough. I felt it was only fair to return the favour.”
He always left you thoroughly flustered, if only because he had an uncanny ability to anticipate your every reaction.
.𑁍༊˚ Glorfindel
Glorfindel was not prepared. At all.
One moment, he was talking, all confidence and charm, and the next—bam—your hand was beside his head, your gaze sharp and unwavering.
He blinked at you, utterly confused. “Meleth, are you feeling well?” Unlike Ecthelion, who would lean into the game, or Galdor, who would remain infuriatingly calm, Glorfindel simply did not know how to react.
You had to explain why you were doing it. That only resulted in him grinning at you in a way that made your heart race. “Ah. So this is meant to be intimidating?”
He made it impossible. He leaned against the wall like he was comfortable, like you had not just cornered him. “Oh no,” he said, grinning. “I am at your mercy. Whatever shall I do?”
When you kissed him, he hummed into it, pleased. “I should let you pin me against walls more often.” If you held your ground, he would try very hard to keep his composure, but the faint pink dusting his cheeks betrayed him.
Once, you caught him off guard—he had been mid-sentence when you abruptly pressed him against the wall. He actually stammered for a moment before laughing. “Alright, alright. That was well played.”
When Glorfindel kabedons you:
Oh, you were in trouble.
Glorfindel did not hesitate. The moment he decided to turn the tables, he moved—quick, effortless, and before you knew it, you were against the wall, his body caging you in.
He never did it seriously. It was always playful, always teasing. One arm braced above your head, his other hand catching your chin. “I wonder,” he murmured, “if this is how you feel when you do it to me.”
He made everything ten times worse by smiling through it, utterly delighted by your reaction.
“You look rather lovely when you are trying not to blush.”
If you tried to escape, he would just chuckle and lean in further, trapping you even more effectively. “No, no. I worked hard for this. Let me have my moment.”
The worst part? He would always kiss you after, slow and deep, as if he had won whatever game you were playing.
.𑁍༊˚ Egalmoth
Egalmoth was far too confident for his own good, so when you kabedon’d him, he did not look the least bit intimidated. If anything, his lips quirked in amusement as he tilted his head. “Ah, so this is how we’re playing today?”
He was annoyingly comfortable with it, even bracing one hand over yours as if he were the one trapping you. “How daring. What do you intend to do now?”
The moment you leaned in, he smirked and closed the distance for you, catching your lips before you could even tease him properly.
He was the worst person to try this on because he would never let you win. If you thought you had the upper hand, he would simply turn the tables on you before you even realised it.
You once caught him off guard—truly off guard—while he was reading. He nearly dropped the book, his eyes flicking up to yours with uncharacteristic surprise. That was a victory.
“Is this some new form of strategy?” he mused. “Because if so, I must say, I quite enjoy it.”
If you really wanted to fluster him, you had to get creative. One evening, you cornered him when he had just finished bathing, his hair still damp, his robe loosely tied. That was when he let out a sharp breath and actually hesitated.
When Egalmoth kabedons you:
Oh, he lived for this. You had done it to him once, so naturally, he had to return the favour—dramatically.
It was never just a simple kabedon. No, he had to lean in, let his fingers ghost over your jaw, tilt your chin just so—all while wearing that insufferable smirk.
“Caught you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement.
If you tried to look away, he would chuckle, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “Now, now. You started this game, meleth. Do not falter now.”
He would always steal a kiss at the end of it, just to make sure he walked away victorious.
.𑁍༊˚ Rog
Rog was not easily flustered, but he was a bit too straightforward for these kinds of games. When you kabedon’d him, he just stared at you like you had lost your mind.
“Are you trying to threaten me?” His tone was dubious, but there was an amused spark in his eyes.
You leaned in closer, trying to keep up the act, and that was when you saw his reaction—his hands twitched like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. His ears went slightly pink.
“You are playing a dangerous game,” he muttered, his voice lower than before.
The moment you actually kissed him, he melted into it before realising what had happened. Then, with a scoff, he pulled you into a proper kiss, one that left you breathless. “Next time, you will have to do better than that.”
You tried it once while he was in the middle of explaining battle formations to his men. The reaction was instant. He just stopped, his mouth slightly open, his soldiers staring.
“I—” He blinked down at you, utterly baffled. “...Now?”
If you ever pinned him properly, using all your strength, he would let you, just to humour you. But the moment you got too smug, he would effortlessly reverse it, his grin sharp. “Nice try.”
When Rog kabedons you:
He was fast. One moment you were standing there, and the next your back was against the wall, his arm braced above you, his other hand resting on his hip.
“So,” he drawled, entirely too amused. “How does it feel to be on the other side?”
He did not tease like the others—he was too confident for that. Instead, he just watched your reaction, his sharp gaze taking in every flicker of emotion.
If you blushed, he smirked. If you tried to act unaffected, he would leanin, just close enough to test your resolve.
“You do this too often,” he murmured. “Perhaps I should start returning the favour more.”
He always kissed you at the end, but his were deep, possessive things, leaving you breathless and very aware of how easily he could overwhelm you.
.𑁍༊˚ Maeglin
Maeglin had spent his whole life controlling his emotions, keeping his expressions carefully neutral. But when you kabedon’d him?
He froze. Not visibly, not obviously—but you saw the sharp intake of breath, the slight tension in his jaw.
“What,” he said slowly, “are you doing?”
His voice was too steady, too controlled. You could feel the way his pulse had quickened slightly beneath that carefully crafted mask.
You leaned in, tilting your head, watching for any sign of weakness. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to react but refused to.
“This is—” He cut himself off when your breath ghosted over his skin, his grip tightening. He knew he was losing.
The second you kissed him, his entire frame went tense—but then his hands shot up, gripping your waist with sudden force, pulling you in.
“You like doing this to me, don’t you?” His voice was low, almost a growl.
He let you win for exactly five seconds before flipping the situation entirely. Now you were the one caged against the wall, and he was far too close. “Let us see how you like it.”
When Maeglin kabedons you:
He was silent about it. No teasing, no warning. One moment you were standing, and the next you were trapped.
His hand was braced firmly against the wall, his eyes dark as they flicked over your face, taking in every tiny reaction.
He didn’t need words. He just let the tension sit between you, watching as your confidence wavered.
And then slowly he leaned in.
“You do not look so smug now,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
You were the one flustered now, and he relished every second of it.
He would wait before kissing you, just to see you squirm, just to make sure you felt the anticipation. And when he did kiss you? It was deep, slow, utterly consuming.
“You thought this would be a game,” he murmured afterwards, his lips brushing your ear. “You should have known better.”
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