Thrown into Middle Earth with only foreknowledge that cannot be safely used, you, a modern woman, become an unwanted witness to an already written story. In the hidden city of Gondolin, you live under the protection of the Blessed Tuor, find warmth in the light of fair Idril, and draw the dangerous attention of Lord Maeglin, the king’s nephew while dreaming only of one day returning to your former, perfect life.
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What would be the elves' reaction to their s/o being terrible at cooking? And not because they can't make good food, but because whenever they try, something unexplainable happens. A little example below:
s/o: Honey, I know this might be much to ask, but can you handle the cooking?
Elf: Sure? Why?
s/o: It's just that I can't cook. I have either been hexed by Morgoth, or Eru himself has decided that under no circumstances am I allowed to succeed in cooking.
Elf: What do you mean?
s/o Well... Let me just show you.
s/o: *grabs up a bowl, fills it with cereal, and then adds milk. While pouring, the cereal catches on fire.*
s/o: *holding the burning cereal* So... because of this.
Reaction?
“Wow, aren’t you something else? Ha. Ha...” Believes you are cursed but loves you anyway…
Are reactions open? If not, ignore. Um but elves reactions to s/o getting in a bar fight and going wild, like this person became their embodied rage room, breaking dishes edit type vibes lol.
Scared, shocked, bewildered and confused. Why are you fighting? Why are you being so unruly? Your elves would be quick to pull you out of the fight, ignoring your protests and dragging you away from the individuals you were fighting. Expect a long lecture…
Are more inclined to stand from a distance and watch as you. Highly doubt that they would be concerned with the reason why you were raging. They know for a fact if you were unruly to this point, then it must have been for a good reason…
Maeglin and you decide to take the next big step in your relationship.
Words: 2.1k
Tags: smut, first time
A/N: I’ve had such insane writer’s block for the last few weeks jfc. I also started writing this last May, can’t believe it’s finally finished
Intimacy was something Maeglin had struggled with ever since you’d known him. It had taken countless years of seemingly hopeless mutual pining for the two of you to establish some sort of relationship and even then, there were times when he would get overwhelmed and withdrew for a bit.
Considering all this, you had been more than surprised when one late evening Maeglin had brought up the topic of physical intimacy in its purest form. He’d been blushing so hard you had feared he might faint, but thankfully it didn’t come to that.
Neither of you had any practical experience when it came to sex and you weren’t sure how much awkwardness that fact would add, but you were more than willing to give yourself to him and figure it out together. Maybe your penchant for erotic literature would finally pay off.
You straddled his lap, and he met you halfway when you leaned in to kiss him. Maeglin’s kisses were always a little rigid but there was no denying the depth of his feelings behind them. Even if he wasn’t the best at expressing his adoration for you, you knew deep in your heart that he loved you unconditionally.
His hands found purchase on your hips while your hands cradled his face. His tongue poked against your lips, and you eagerly welcomed him, whimpering in pleasure as your tongues caressed each other.
It wasn’t the first time you had kissed like this, but the promise of even more to come made an almost giddy anticipation run through your veins.
When you parted for air, you took a moment to lean back slightly and study his face.
“Are you sure about this? You know we don’t have to,” you said, running your thumb along his bottom lip while searching his eyes for any uncertainty.
Even if he had been the one to suggest this, nothing was more important to you than his comfort. The last thing you ever wanted was to overwhelm him or make him feel like he had to push himself outside his comfort zone to please you. You were ready to retreat at a moment’s notice if he expressed second thoughts and you knew he would do the same for you.
He smiled reassuringly and pulled you back in to rest his forehead against yours. “No, I want this. You have no idea how much.”
“Oh, I think I do,” you grinned smugly as you lightly ground your hips against the forming bulge in his pants, which earned you a breathy laugh.
His lips ghosted over yours before wandering down to your neck and you tilted your head to grant him better access, heart skipping a beat as he started to carefully nip and suck at your skin. It wasn’t enough to leave a mark, but it was exhilarating all the same.
“Do you want to move this to the bed?” he asked, his breath hot against your skin, and you nodded eagerly.
“Yes, that sounds good.” You pulled his head up for one more kiss and made to slide off his lap, but Maeglin simply picked you up and carried you the short way to the bedroom.
He sat you down on the edge of the bed and stood before you, letting your eyes wander over his still clothed body and settle on the erection straining his pants. You bit your bottom lip, imagination running wild with what would be found beneath the layers of fabric.
As if reading your mind, he brought his hands to his shirt and began slowly undoing the buttons. Your eyes were glued to every bit of pale skin that was revealed to you and your hands were itching to reach out and caress it.
He dropped his shirt to the floor carelessly and you scooted forward to catch his hands before they could start undoing his pants.
“May I?” you asked, and he nodded wordlessly. You couldn’t tell if the slight shaking of your hands was from nerves or anticipation, but it soon didn’t matter anymore as you came almost face to face with his freed erection.
Sure, your education had taught you the basics of male anatomy, but none of that could have prepared you for the sudden ache in your core and the wave of arousal washing over you at the sight of him.
Should you say something? You thought back to all the dirty words you had read characters exchange, the candid ways in which they had complimented each other’s bodies. None of it seemed feasible in that moment, the mess of feelings inside you leaving you tongue-tied.
You looked up at Maeglin’s face and saw a hungry look that surely mirrored your own. A simple “Can I touch you?” was all you could muster.
“Please do,” he rasped almost desperately, and you brought a hand up to gather some of the fluid that was starting to leak from the tip and spread it along his shaft in a slow motion. A strangled moan escaped him, and you could feel wetness gather between your thighs at the sound.
You began moving your hand up and down, watching his reaction closely. The way he looked at you with hooded eyes and unabashed desire gave you a surge of confidence and you leaned in to run your tongue across the tip slowly before taking it in your mouth completely and sucking lightly, all the while continuing the motion of your hand.
Maeglin let out a proper moan this time and squeezed his eyes shut. Before you could think about taking more of him in your mouth a hand came up to cradle the back of your head, pulling it off him gently. You threw him a questioning look, wondering with a small sense of dread if it had been too much too fast.
“Are you all right?”
An almost embarrassed blush spread across his face. “Y-yes, don’t worry. I just didn’t want this to … end too early,” he trailed off, suddenly unable to meet your eyes. Oh.
“I want to see you, too,” he blurted out before you could reply anything and you were at once aware that, unlike him, you were still fully clothed.
“I supposed that’s only fair,” you replied with a cheeky grin, hoping to put his nerves at ease. Judging by his tiny smile, you were more or less successful.
You rose from the bed and took his hands, guiding them behind your back to help him untie your dress. The fabric slipped from your shoulders easily and pooled around your feet, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. A shiver ran across your body as he raked his eyes over you hungrily and you wanted nothing more than to feel his hands on you.
You shuffled onto the bed and scooted backwards, Maeglin crawling after you without hesitation.
His strong arms, toned from spending hours in the forges, bracketed either side of your head, his ebony tresses falling around the two of you like a curtain.
“Kiss me,” you breathed and he happily obliged, lips moulding against yours as if they were made for each other.
He leaned his weight on one arm and ran the other hand briefly over your cheek before moving down to cup one of your breasts. You arched your back against him in encouragement and he pinched your nipple experimentally, erection twitching against your thigh at your muffled moan.
He repeated the motion, and you shifted your hips to grind the soaked fabric of your underwear against him, desperate for any kind of friction.
After being satisfied with the amount of attention he had given your breast, Maeglin’s fingers wandered even deeper down your body and toyed with the hem of your underwear.
“Can I take it off?” he murmured against your lips, and you simply lifted your hips in response, glad to be rid of that final barrier between you.
He tossed it aside and made to drag his hand up your body again, but you held it in place between your thighs, guiding his fingers between your dripping folds and across your aching clit.
“I have wanted to do this for so long,” Maeglin admitted and with your help eventually found a rhythm with his fingers that had you mewling and gasping in no time.
“Me, too,” you replied breathlessly and captured his lips again, wasting no time to slip your tongue inside his mouth. Hearing those words made your heart swell with love. No amount of nights spent fantasising alone could compare to the feeling of actually having your beloved here with you, experiencing his desire for you first hand. You hoped dearly that he felt the same.
The prodding of a finger against your entrance brought you back from your reverie.
Maeglin searched your eyes for reassurance and when you nodded firmly, he carefully slipped his finger inside, watching your face closely for any signs of discomfort. As he found none, he started moving his finger in and out, picking up the pace steadily. Soon after, a second finger was added, and while the sensation was a little strange in the beginning, it quickly turned into pleasure.
When he felt like you had been sufficiently prepared, he withdrew his fingers and used the remaining slickness to coat his strained erection. You spread your legs wider in anticipation, making ample place for him to comfortably settle between your thighs.
He opened his mouth, likely to reaffirm your readiness, but you cut him off.
“Take me,” you almost begged him, and he didn’t need to be told twice. He lined himself up and slowly inched forward, giving you time to adjust to the stretch. It felt overwhelming, but in the best way possible.
Once he was fully inside, you stayed like that for a while, breaths coming in shallow huffs as you got accustomed to being connected so intimately.
At your urging, Maeglin started to move, burying his face in the pillow next to you, letting you hear his pleased huffs and grunts up close. The pace was somewhat clumsy and uncoordinated, but in that moment, it was everything you could have asked for.
“Stars, it feels so good,” he whispered in your ear, and you could only let out a needy whimper in response, reaching between the two of you with one hand to rub at your clit. The added sensation made you clench tightly around him and the delighted moan he let out at that almost sent you over the edge right then and there.
You tangled your other hand in his hair to pull him in for a messy kiss, catching his lip between your teeth before parting.
“I don’t think I can last for much longer,” he gasped against your lips, and you couldn’t fault him.
“Me neither,” you replied and sped up the fingers on your clit, determined to make him come with you.
“Just let yourself go,” you whispered, caressing the sensitive tip of his ear in encouragement. “Come with me, meleth.”
Your words seemed to have an instant effect on him, as his thrusts grew erratic at once, blindly chasing his pleasure.
“That’s it,” you cooed, feeling your own body grow tense as your desire continued to build. It didn’t take long for you to tumble over the edge, white hot pleasure shooting through your every fibre and clouding your mind.
You distantly registered Maeglin taking one last desperate thrust as your contractions around him sent him hurtling straight towards his own climax, filling you up with his hot release.
The two of you simply laid there for some time, catching your breaths and basking in the afterglow.
Ere he could collapse completely on top of you, Maeglin pulled out and flopped down next to you, pulling you into his side. His release slowly trickled out of you, but you paid it no mind. Cleaning up could wait.
Even now, his embrace had the usual slightly stiff quality, and you had to supress a good-natured snicker. Now was not the time to tease him.
You shifted so you could better look into Maeglin’s face and cup his cheek lovingly. He stared at you with an unreadable expression.
“What are you thinking?” you asked softly.
“I-“ he started but stopped abruptly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. You caressed his cheek with your thumb soothingly, giving him the time he needed to rearrange his thoughts. The look he gave you when he opened his eyes again was so tender and vulnerable it almost made you tear up. “I love you,” he whispered at last, and you leaned forward to nuzzle your nose against his, feeling your chest flooding with warmth.
“I love you, too, meleth-nîn. More than anything in the world.”
Kinda targeted toward elves with siblings. What would be the elves's reaction toward their s/o who doesn't get along with one of their siblings? Like the two constantly jabs at each other, throwing insults and making each other mad. But, then the two end up in a dangerous situation and the elves' s/o saves their sibling despite their lack of liking for each other. Their s/o's response is like "Yeah, I don't like your brother/sister. Personally, I would love to see them suffer from the consequences of their actions. However, I know what it's like to lose a sibling, and I do not want you to experience that " How would the elves respond?
A/N: I know a few of these characters don’t have siblings, but let’s just go with the idea of them having since OC siblings exist for them.
Grateful but doesn’t outwardly display strong emotion, though they feel it deeply…
— Maedhros, Maglor, Caranthir, Turgon, Rog
Doesn’t hesitate to thank their s/o, showing clear appreciation and even admiration.…
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.”
Request: It's timmeeeee! Yayyyyy!!! Okay okay, so... I'm thinking a fic where maeglin has a crush on y/n but is unaware on how to approach it... For obvious reasons. So he goes to his best friend Salgant for advise. Salgant then suggests tthat because humans have brought along their festive traditions, that maybe maeglin try at upcoming feast the mistletoe trick and of course our boy maeglin is low key petrified of the idea. I just really wanna see some maeglin and Salgant works because there's almost none so write it however you prefer, I'm very curious about your take. Have an incredible festive season luv! You deserve it❤️🤍 - anon
A/N: I was not expecting such a simple fic to become this many words, but that’s what happens when you have the power of imagination and free will to create.
Words: 2.6k
Warnings: none, fluff, kissing
Synopsis: Torn between willingly approaching you and cowering being a wall, Maeglin resorts to requesting dire help from his dear friend, Salgant, all for the sake of not making a fool of himself around you.
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“I…require your advice.”
“You’re telling me,” Salgant said, leaning back in his chair and regarding Maeglin with an expression of poorly concealed delight, “that you, the great craftsman and lord of Gondolin, have been utterly undone by a mortal?”
Maeglin’s sharp glare could have cut stone. “I came to you for advice, not mockery.”
Salgant held up his hands in mock surrender, the silver rings on his fingers catching the light. “Peace, my friend, peace. I mean no harm. But you must admit, it’s a rather amusing predicament.”
Maeglin crossed his arms and leaned back against the chair, his dark eyes narrowing. “If you find it so amusing, perhaps I should seek counsel elsewhere.”
“Now, now,” Salgant said, sitting up and waving a hand to placate him. “No need for that. I’ll help you, of course. But first, tell me—why haven’t you simply spoken to them?”
The young Lord’s expression darkened further. “Because I do not know how. I am not…adept at such things. And I do not wish to make a fool of myself.”
Salgant’s eyes sparkled with curiosity as he set his harp aside. “Do you now? And here I thought you were beyond the reach of such concerns. Pray, tell me more.”
Maeglin hesitated, his pride warring with the desperate need for guidance. Finally, he relented. “It concerns the mortal…the one called Y/N.”
“Ah,” Salgant said, his lips curling into a knowing smile. “The human who has caught your eye.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “Go on.”
Maeglin scowled, unused to feeling so exposed. “I do not know how to approach them. They’re…different. Humans are different. I cannot gauge how they might respond or even whether they would entertain the notion of…of courtship.”
Salgant leaned back, regarding Maeglin with a thoughtful expression. “You, my dear Maeglin, are in luck. It so happens that I have been observing our mortal guests with great interest. Their ways are peculiar, yes, but not incomprehensible.”
Maeglin arched an eyebrow. “And what do you suggest?”
A mischievous glint appeared in Salgant’s eyes. “The Midwinter Feast. Humans are fond of traditions, are they not? One such tradition involves mistletoe. Do you know of it?”
Maeglin shook his head, his dark brows furrowing. “What has mistletoe to do with this?”
“Everything!” Salgant declared, rising to his feet with a theatrical flourish. “It is a human custom that when two people find themselves beneath a sprig of mistletoe, they must share a kiss. It is playful, innocent, and altogether charming. The perfect opportunity to express your interest without the risk of outright rejection.”
Maeglin paused as he swivelled his head to watch from the balcony, his onyx eyes tracing your figure as you moved amidst the crowd below. You were laughing at something one of your companions had said, the sound soft and melodic even to his keen ears. The sunlight caught strands of your hair, making it seem as though it had been spun from molten gold. A curious warmth stirred in his chest, one he had come to associate with you.
Maeglin then returned his focus to his dear friend, drowning out the noise of the city in the background, his discomfort evident. “You want me to ambush them under a plant?”
Salgant laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Not an ambush, Maeglin. A moment. A chance to make your feelings known in a way that is both subtle and daring. Imagine it—her surprise, her blush. You must trust me in this. Have I ever led you astray?”
“It is foolish,” Maeglin said, his tone flat.
“It is effective,” Salgant countered. “And besides, what have you to lose? Your pride? You’ve risked far more for far less. If they respond positively, then you’ll know they share your feelings. And if they do not…well, you can always blame it on the tradition. A harmless misunderstanding.”
Maeglin hesitated, torn between his apprehension and the flicker of hope Salgant’s words inspired. “I do not know…”
“Do it for them, then,” Salgant said gently, his tone unusually sincere. “They deserve to know how you feel. And you deserve to tell them.”
“Very well,” he said, at last, his voice quiet but firm. “I will consider it.”
“That’s the spirit!” Salgant said, clapping his hands together. “Now, let’s discuss strategy. Timing is everything, of course, and you’ll need to ensure that the mistletoe is placed in a location where—”
Maeglin groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as Salgant launched into a detailed plan. He wasn’t sure whether he would survive the feast, but one thing was certain: he was in far deeper than he had ever intended.
**
The Hall of Feasts was ablaze with light and colour that evening, its high ceilings adorned with garlands of evergreen and glittering lanterns. Tables laden with food and drink stretched across the room, and the air was filled with the mingling scents of roasted meats, sweet pastries, and spiced wine. Laughter and music echoed through the hall as elves and men celebrated together, their differences momentarily forgotten in the warmth of camaraderie.
It had started innocently enough. You, a human of the Edain, had arrived in Gondolin with a small group of your kin, seeking refuge from the dangers beyond its secret borders. Your presence had been a curiosity at first, something novel in the otherwise elven city. But where others had gradually accepted you with polite distance, Maeglin found himself inexplicably drawn to you.
You were unlike anyone he had known—your perspective refreshingly frank, your laughter unguarded, and your warmth like the spring sun on winter snow. And yet, for all his knowledge of smithing, mining, and strategy, Maeglin found himself utterly at a loss when it came to you. His feelings unsettled him. He didn’t know how to express them—whether he even should.
Maeglin stood near the edge of the room, his dark attire lending him an air of brooding elegance. His sharp gaze scanned the crowd, seeking you amidst the throng. He had taken Salgant’s advice—though not without misgivings—and now all he needed to carry out was the most excruciating part of the task, guiding you towards the mistletoe.
When he spotted you near the hearth, engaged in lively conversation with a group of elves and men, his heart raced. You looked radiant. You wore a dress of deep green, the colour of evergreen leaves, and your hair was adorned with small silver ornaments that caught the light as you moved. To Maeglin, you looked more radiant than the stars themselves. For a moment, he hesitated, his confidence faltering in the face of his own insecurities. What if you laughed? What if you rejected him?
“You’re staring again,” Salgant muttered, appearing at his side with a goblet of wine in hand. “At least try to be subtle.”
“I am not staring,” Maeglin replied, though his voice lacked conviction.
Salgant rolled his eyes. “You’ve been standing there like a statue for the past quarter of an hour. If you don’t move soon, people will start to think you’ve been turned to stone.”
Maeglin ignored the remark, his attention still fixed on you. Salgant sighed dramatically. “Fine. Have it your way. But remember, the mistletoe is in place. All you need to do is get them there.”
“And how, exactly, am I to do that?” Maeglin asked, his tone sharp. “I cannot simply drag them across the hall.”
“Of course not,” Salgant said, looking scandalised by the very idea. “You must be subtle. Start a conversation, and draw them in. The rest will follow naturally.”
“Nothing about this feels natural,” Maeglin muttered, but Salgant only grinned.
“Then you’d best hope they find your awkwardness endearing.” With that, he clapped Maeglin on the shoulder and disappeared into the crowd, leaving him alone once more.
But then you turned, your gaze catching him from across the room. A smile bloomed on your lips, and you raised a hand in greeting. Maeglin felt his resolve strengthen, the sight of your smile banishing his doubts. He moved towards you, weaving through the crowd with the practised ease of a warrior.
“Lord Maeglin!” you warmly greeted as he approached. “I’m glad you came. I was beginning to think you might avoid the feast altogether.”
“I considered it,” he admitted lowly. “But it seems I was drawn here nonetheless.”
You tilted your head, studying him with a curious expression. “Drawn? To the feast, or to the company?”
“The company,” he said before he could stop himself, his honesty surprising even him.
Your eyes widened slightly, and a blooming smile graced your face. “Well,” you said softly, “I’m glad for it.”
“You look…very lovely.”
You smiled, and his heart skipped a beat. “Thank you. And you are as striking as ever.”
He felt a faint flush rise to his cheeks but quickly pushed it aside. “I hope you are enjoying the feast.”
“I am,” you said, nodding. “It is quite different from the celebrations of my people, but no less beautiful. And you?”
He hesitated, then said, “I find such gatherings…overwhelming. But they have their merits.”
You tilted your head slightly, studying him. “Overwhelming? I never would have guessed. You seem so composed.”
Maeglin glanced away, the faintest flicker of unease crossing his sharp features. “Composure is easily mistaken for ease. In truth, I prefer quieter settings.”
“I can understand that,” you replied, your voice softening. “Large gatherings can be exhausting. But I am glad you’re here. It wouldn’t feel complete without you.”
His gaze snapped back to you, surprise flickering in his dark eyes. He opened his mouth to respond but found himself at a loss for words. You, meanwhile, seemed perfectly at ease, as if the compliment had been the most natural thing in the world.
A moment of silence passed between you before you broke it with a gentle laugh. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“You did not,” he said quickly, though the faint warmth in his cheeks betrayed him. Desperate to regain control of the conversation, he gestured towards the hall. “Would you care to…walk with me? Away from the crowd.”
Your smile widened, and you nodded. “I’d like that.”
He led you away from the throng, weaving through clusters of laughing guests and past the tables laden with food and drink. You followed him without hesitation, your presence a quiet reassurance. As you walked, Maeglin’s thoughts raced. This was his chance. Salgant’s ridiculous plan rested on him manoeuvring you beneath the mistletoe now discreetly hanging in one of the quieter alcoves.
The corridor you entered was far less crowded, its walls lined with draperies depicting the history of Gondolin. The torches burned lower here, their light casting soft shadows. The laughter and music from the feast hall grew muted, leaving only the sound of your footsteps.
“This part of the city is so peaceful,” you said, your voice breaking the quiet. “It feels like stepping into another world.”
“It is often overlooked,” Maeglin replied. “Most prefer the grandeur of the main halls. But I find solace here.”
“You have a way of finding beauty in stillness,” you observed, glancing at him. “That’s rare.”
He hesitated, unsure how to respond. Your words were kind, but they touched something deeper, a part of him that longed to share more of himself with you yet feared rejection. Finally, he said, “Stillness allows one to think clearly. To appreciate what might otherwise be missed.”
You nodded, your expression thoughtful. “I think I understand. Sometimes, it’s in the quiet moments that we see most clearly.”
You walked in silence for a while longer, the air between you filled with a comfortable sense of understanding. As you approached the alcove, Maeglin felt his pulse quicken. The sprig of mistletoe hung from the ceiling, a delicate cluster of green and white against the stone. It was subtle but unmistakable.
He slowed his steps, glancing at you to gauge your reaction. You followed his gaze, your eyes landing on the mistletoe. A flicker of recognition passed over your face, and you turned back to him with a soft smile.
“Mistletoe,” you said, your tone light and teasing. “A curious tradition, don’t you think?”
“It is,” Maeglin agreed, his voice quieter than he intended. He felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the seconds stretching into an eternity. He knew this was the moment to act, to take the leap Salgant had urged upon him. But his courage faltered, and he could only stare at you, his heart pounding.
You tilted your head, your smile softening. “Maeglin?”
“Yes?” he managed barely above a whisper.
“Do you believe in traditions?” you asked, your tone carrying a playful edge, though your gaze was steady.
His breath caught. “I…suppose they have their place.”
“Then perhaps we should honour this one,” you said, stepping closer. Your voice was gentle but sure, and the warmth in your eyes set his heart alight.
Before he could lose his nerve, you tiptoed and met his lips. Their slight roughness—due to him biting them all night—brushed yours in a kiss that was uncertain, almost reverent. The world seemed to still be around him, the weight of his fears and uncertainties falling away in the light of your closeness. The faint falling of the snow outside, the wind coming to a gentle halt, the sound of the chattering from the main hall disappearing—all stopped for you two. Your lips were soft and warm, and as you kissed him back, his heart ascended.
When you finally pulled away, your eyes met his, a faint blush colouring your cheeks. “See? That wasn’t so difficult.”
Maeglin stared at you, his usual composure utterly undone. “I…I was afraid,” he admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “Afraid you would not…welcome it.”
You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “You have no reason to fear, Maeglin. Not with me.”
He paused momentarily as the next words on his mind came forth to the tip of his tongue. Taking a deep breath and gathering every ounce of courage, he attempted. “Then, you would not mind me asking if you would be interested in allowing me to court you?”
“I do not like your uncertainty. Are you sure you wish to court me?” you returned with a hopeful gleam in your eyes, encouraging him to be more confident with his question.
“I…I do! It’s just…” His voice trailed off, as did his eyes, falling to the floor. But when he felt your hand reaching out to tenderly squeeze his, his eyes snapped back to yours and he exhaled. Squaring his shoulders and standing prouder, he met your gaze head on, his hand reaching out to clasp the same hand that held his, confidently. “Y/N, I would like to court, and hope that you will accept my proposal.”
Your lips broke into a smile that reached your eyes as you nodded your head, pleased at the surge of confidence he emitted. It was impossible for you to reject his offer, not when he overcame a boundary all for you. Returning a gentle squeeze to his hand, enjoying the size-difference as his hand enveloped yours, you hummed. “I would that a lot, my lord. I accept your proposal.”
Request: Hello! May I request yandere headcanons for Maeglin and Maglor (separately), perhaps with a human reader? Also, I really love your blog you write incredible stories :))
Pairings: Maeglin x human reader & Maglor x human reader
Genre: Dark themes. Maeglin's is gorey >"<
AN: Thank you for requesting this! I enjoy writing dark themes and this definitely was my cup of tea. I hope you like it.
Next up- Finrod x Valyrian! Reader Fall trope event list
Maeglin- (yandere reader)
A mangled mess of limbs was how you found him, withering beneath the ruins of the fallen city.
Somehow, against all odds, he lived. An amalgamation of mass bound to a body. Condemned to survive in a body tortured by death’s refusal to grant him peace.
He had endured this state for nearly a year, trapped between life and death, as if the world itself were determined to deny him release.
And then, there was you. As a wandering bandit, the sight of Gondolin’s ruins had seemed a fortune, a treasure mine promising riches to last a lifetime.
Yet amid the remnants of shattered stone and splintered wooden furniture, there he lay—the last survivor of the city’s fall. The one who instigated it all.
The incestuous bastard who, miraculously, had survived it. Every elven bards’ latest villain, the one sung of in recent ballads with curses on their lips.
You lifted the broken elf, cradling his twisted form—if his position could even be called that. His eyes, devoid of lids, remained fixed on you, unblinking, raw from months of crying out for help that never came. Gods, even now, he was beautiful.
Thus began your labor. Five days passed as you set bones that had grown crooked with time, wrapped him in scraps of cloth salvaged from the ruins, and nursed him with poppy milk poured into his helpless lips. With his face streaked by dried tears, he grew drowsy, finally slipping into fevered dreams.
As he lay shivering in your arms, lost in visions of a life that had abandoned him, you brushed your hand over his unmarred skin, tracing the contours of his trembling eyelids.
You murmured softly, your voice a mix of promise and threat “I would never let anyone hurt you. They’d have to get through me first... and believe me, they wouldn’t make it.” As if your reassurance could pull him back from his dreams of the past life without you.
Here, in the grave of his past, he was yours. No one would come for the one even death had forsaken. He was yours alone, bound by fate’s cruelty and your own claim upon him.
Cupping his damp cheek, you grinned, a glint of madness in your eyes. “My darling incestuous bastard,” you whispered, a low cackle slipping from your lips.
Maglor- (yandere character)
Maglor would follow you into death. Not even Eru Himself could hope to take you from him. No one would ever take what was his, not again.
The wedding was swift. In fact, the secondborn Fëanorian had insisted upon it within weeks of meeting you, brushing aside your hesitations with fervent kisses.
Your concerns about the doom of mortality were hushed in whispers and promises; if death was a gift granted to Men, then Maglor would seize it back from its giver. His breaths would ebb and flow with yours. Nothing could alter that.
It was all he could do now. Time had sharpened his resolve, even blunted the burns of the Silmaril, leaving behind only faint scars.
He had glamoured away his past, letting his skin heal so he could become the perfect lover for you, forsaking his true name for a new one.
Peldis, he called himself. A mountain elf from distant valleys. By sheer luck, you hadn’t noticed the faint scent of brine lingering about him, nor the care he took in combing his tangled hair until it shone.
You hadn’t glimpsed the quiet ferocity with which he shed his former self to stand before you, a stranger made whole in the reflection of your wants.
It had been one fateful night, when the ache of the Silmaril consumed him, that he’d first seen you.
Or rather, he’d caught sight of you wading in moonlit waters, bare as the light itself, utterly unguarded. He hadn’t looked away. The years had been long, and the Fëanorian had been starved.
The vision of silvery moonlight tracing your body had entranced him, struck him with a longing sharper than any oath.
You were it, he thought. The Silmaril reborn. Perhaps even better than any of his father’s works. You were more than a cursed jewel.
Like a viper shedding its skin, Maglor transformed himself into Peldis. A convenient presence in your village, a simple trader of carved wooden combs.
It had not taken him long to notice the way your own hair flowed down your back like silk, and he knew, watching you, that you would come to him.
From offering a delicate comb for your hair to placing the ring upon your finger, Maglor had orchestrated each moment, each touch.
The songs of your fairytale romance made it easy to draw you into his arms, into the warmth of your bed, far from prying eyes and whispers.
And there, as he held you close, his touch guiding you deeper into his embrace, he tugged your soul into a quiet submission, bending your will and your mind to his desire.
Maglor knew what was best for you. And in this life, that place was here, wrapped in his arms, your heart tethered to his.
Even in the harmony of the Timeless Halls, yours would be the song he would compose. His muse. His beloved. You were his, now and forever.
