bapplenana

[bapplenana]

Find a cure for my heart | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x human fem!reader 👑

On the eve of the battle, you and Thranduil spent a night that spurred a flurry of letters while Dale grew as a city and you both grew too, first apart, then closer again. However, you couldn't bring yourself to burden him with the truth that your health was deteriorating with each passing day.

warnings/tags: sickness, angst, mentions of death (reader is actively dying but only realizes after Thranduil helps) hurt/comfort, happy end

words: 5,6k

an: finally finished this fic after working on it since January. If you are interested in being tagged when I post new fics– comment that under this post or send it to me in my inbox!

+ masterlist + rules

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Contrary to general belief, the elves did not return to their forests immediately after the battle.

In the stories told, there would be remarks, on how the Elvenking offered his help to the yet-to-be-crowned King Bard once more, bringing aid with however warriors he had left for disposal to search the endless chaos and ruins of Dale for survivors until many sunsets later.

They would speak about the sorrow of losing friends and family and neighbors to a war that had been won at costs no one could comprehend yet, and they would mention how the great Elvenking guided them through the darkest of nights for he had experienced this all before; the grief, the helplessness and the colossal question of What now, who's to say we haven't lost ourselves as well as those we have to bury?

Many had their own experience with the Elvenking, whether it was a hand pulling them off the ground, a loaf of bread delivered to them after days of fighting, or a warm blanket to huddle under to finally lay their body to rest under the watchful eye of Elves that had sworn to protect them.

You had your own story. A different one.

But it wasn't one with the Elvenking, no; the night before the battle, where the air was filled with the sound of blades being sharpened and children crying for their parents, you had met Thranduil, King of the Woodland Elves but most importantly: a set of strong arms that caught you as you stumbled out of Bard's tent.

You needed to run away from the discussions over how to draw the dwarfs out of the mountain.

You'd been a friend to Bard for many long years but standing in that luscious tent, being offered wine as the Wizard, Bard, and the Hobbit pondered over what was about to happen while you weren't sure your mind caught up on what had happened already, there was no room for friendship inside your panic-riddled chest.

Just as you flung open the tent flaps and tried to dash away to get some air, your foot caught on a root, and had it not been for Thranduil's fast reflexes, you surely would've planted your face into the dirt and mud.

Up until now, you had no idea what had transcended between the two of you at the moment where his arms held you up, his softening face looking down at your widened eyes filled with tears and your tongue too tied up and heavy to say anything other than: "Air– please"

Whatever it had been, likely an unspoken wish – by Thranduil or you, or maybe you both; it didn't matter – for someone who would not pass judgment over the urge to disappear from your skin and role and crown for one night, a fallen star flung across the darkened skies at the right time.

It felt as though Thranduil had pulled a sheet over your heads; your world narrowed down to this other soul and how beautiful and divine his body felt on yours as you found a way to survive the night before life as you knew it turned once more and the solid ground beneath your feet shifted and broke.

A few nights, while unforgettable and brooding with feelings neither of you admitted to, did not change that you had to move on somehow.

Although the Elves did not depart for Mirkwood immediately and Thranduil and you were given time in the aftermath to find the other in the cover of the night and under the pretense this was nothing more than mere distraction, a wishing star could only do so much shining before dimming out.

The day you awoke to a sunrise bathing the debris of Dale in a pinkish and warm light, pillars being rebuilt dipped into molten gold, and the cracks glued together, Thranduil's strong arms were wrapped around your middle as if he wanted to hinder you from sneaking away, you knew it was him who would leave you before the day was over.

And so he did.

Sunrise came and went and soon enough all the tents were packed up on horseback and wagons, leaving flattened grass as the only reminder they had been there at all if and there were goodbyes, political between Bard and the Elvenking who parted from the weary man and his children with the promise of support, and between you and Thranduil in the form of a slow nod.

Thranduil sat high on a dark stallion, dressed in silver and long robes that hid fingerprints that spoke of an attempt to cling to transience. His chin lowered, though his eyes were fixed on you.

You knew that nod carried the conversation you had whispered into the morning mist.

And it was all that wasn't said that motivated you to step away first and turn your back on the caravan that took away a King and a Lover.

There was much to do, the looming task of building up Dale needed everyone's full attention, and that included you.

Especially you.

There were houses to plan, accommodations to be made so that no one needed to sleep under the stars.

No one could ever pry the reason why you were keen on getting a roof under everyone out of your hands; a lonely part of you wanted the stars to remember you and Thranduil lying in the grass. And no one else.

The first letter arrived a few weeks after you hadn't had the heart to watch him go and threw yourself into one task after the other, dismissing even the smallest hint of sickness, like the heaviness inside your chest every time you lifted something heavy, or tiredness crashing down onto you in moments to catch your breath, to continue working, that you wouldn't find a moment to admit how much you missed him.

That utterly ridiculous mindset stopped as soon as the messenger Elf rode into the city and hand-delivered you the first of many envelopes with the nearly indecipherable handwriting of Thranduil.

Or the Elvenking.

Because the first letter, despite being addressed to you as well as Bard, who wouldn't have been able to read it in the first place, was a list of things the King would send and a question of what else was needed that he could provide.

"It's fine," you said to Bard through a smile that didn't reach your eyes as you read aloud the letter twice, from the greeting to the last paragraph that was signed 'the Elvenking Thranduil Oropherion, Lord of Mirkwood and friend of Dale'.

In the flickering light of the candle dripping wax onto the table between you, the dark circles under Bard's eyes were all the more prominent than when he was running around the city and there was a bottomless pit in your stomach that wouldn't want to add to the many things he was already worrying about.

"It's totally fine," you said to Bard when he asked if you had skipped over a private note from Thranduil or if there truly wasn't one (there wasn't, you had turned the letter over and over in your hands until the edges became soft and wrinkled) and you both knew that to be a lie.

You answered the letter in the same professional manner because even though you wanted to, you couldn't send a letter to a King helping however he could and expecting nothing in return with a smeared "I wish for your heart and our nights and for your voice to tell me we are alright" written under tears in another sleepless night.

The next few letters follow the same pattern, Elvenking Thranduil Oropherion would inquire if there was anything Dale needed and answer Bard's question on leadership and share his knowledge of what was fundamental for a new King, and you would write for Bard on the other side.

The weeks passed and so did the hope of rekindling that fire you had thought to burn in the both of you.

That Thranduil didn't see the need to reach out was a punch to the gut that left little room for anything else but disappointment of putting your effort into pulling on a rope that wasn't attached to something on the other end.

Why waste the dwindling energy of your exhausted body on someone who would live longer than the memory of you?

Every time a new letter arrived by messenger you would find Bard until one late evening you opened the letter by yourself and saw your name written in that beautiful sharp handwriting, not Bard's added in front or behind; only your given name and not your title.

Your hands shook as you stood in the frame of what was to be your house and the ink glued together the cracks of your heart.

'Forgive me for not writing to you sooner and for how sentimental I must sound. It has been weeks since I last saw you and every time I wander through my familiar halls, I find there is no soul around that could understand me how you did, whom I could tell what plagues my mind. The time we spent together has not left my thoughts. Neither has the promise to not grow apart too much and I apologize for not contributing to that. Now, if you would still have me, I would like nothing more than to hear how you are faring. As for me…'

Nothing had the power to stop you from running off that giddy feeling that spread through your chest as Thranduil, finally Thranduil, wrote about the happenings in Mirkwood; not even the cough that sat deep where suppressed laughter spilled into the grass you fell into– the letter clutched into your hands.

Thranduil and you fell into a routine then, one that was no obstruction for the many tasks at hand but made room for each other to hold on to the promise.

You would send out two letters, one on behalf of Bard whom you taught his signature as well as a few more words every fortnight you sat down together, and one addressed to Thranduil, filled with all the thoughts that ran through your mind that you wanted to tell him.

It was by no means as precious as the talks you had now many weeks ago, not when there were days you had to wait for a response instead of seconds.

You appreciated them all the same, every bit of himself that Thranduil wrote into his messages was countered with a confession of your own.

When he said he wished to know where his son had disappeared to or rather if he followed the direction Thranduil had given to him, you admitted to the nightmares that still plagued your mind, the dreams of fire and a monster that still rested in the lake.

You offered piece after piece, chipped bits of your heart into every letter that you sent away, and after a few weeks had passed, and Dale was taking shape with its houses raking their roofs to the sky and its people planting seeds and flowers, rooting themselves into what now was theirs, there was not much left of your heart that was completely yours and not Thranduil's and the letters of his proved that the same could be said about him.

What you did not mention, not with one drop of ink, was that the nightmares were no longer confined to the few hours of sleep you fell into.

There was a dragon, not just in the cold lake where your old home lay in ashes and was drowned in the ruthless darkness, but by the heavy weight on your chest, it felt like there was one inside you as well.

You were coughing as if there was smoke blocking your lungs, blackening out what little air you heaved for when a coughing fit took over your whole body.

It started small, a cough then, a sleepless night there; both accumulated to an uncountable amount and it got only worse as the season changed and the autumn winds lost their last warm touches and the trees bared their wooden arms.

You waved it off as a common cold, nothing that would hinder you from your tasks to becoming a liability the city didn't need in its time of growth.

Then, the coughing got worse, rougher, sometimes taking your voice for a moment until you found some water although that only helped for a small moment, like trying to extinct a burning building with just the water your bare hands could carry.

The worst part was the blood that stained the cloths, the sweats that not only held you awake at night but weakened you at day as well.

"I'm better!" you promised Bard on a night when he had to sit next to your bed, wringing out the cold cloths that lay on your fevered forehead.

His voice was a low whisper when he dabbed away the sweat, pushing your wet hair back with hands that were far too gentle for what you deserved for rotting in bed and not pulling your weight, "You're not, an' that's clear for everyone but you. Did you tell him?"

"Yes," you lied through your teeth, eyelids dropping close from exhaustion but you knew sleep wouldn't come, "he said it would pass, nothing to worry 'bout."

Three days later you were on your legs again, if not a bit shaky and needing more breaks than ever.

You sat in Bard's kitchen, a warm bowl of soup in front of you that tasted like ash and firewood, and ignored the silent pleading in his eyes to tell him what was going on and why you could barely lift the spoon of a soup that you clearly did not enjoy.

Winter wore your body down like rough sandpaper on soft oak, the cold winds and dark hours an enemy far worse than what you had to encounter on the battlefield. This had no logical explanation, nor was there an enemy you could see.

Your own body betrayed you and you had no idea what you had done to deserve it.

You knew that somewhere was a solution to it all, that was the string of hope leading you through the snow outside and the fire in your blood and bones, singing down what little fight was left on the days when the sun pushed away gray clouds and you felt normal and healthy.

The sole reason why you lied in letters filled with otherwise honesty as pure as heaven's snowflakes was that you did not want to be a bother.

Thranduil wrote how much of his time the dwarfs and their trading demands swallowed; he did not need another burden and you would be damned if he came because you had a small cold you couldn't get rid of.

You had promised Thranduil to visit him in spring when the soil was rich enough for the seed to take and the livestock could roam the meadows. If you weren't better by then you would ask him.

Until then work demanded all of you. Even if that was through a white knuckle grip on the last bits of health in aching bones.

⸺

Spring brought forth daffodils pushing through the cobblestone streets. Tilda, the youngest Bardling and a wonderful distraction on the days when getting out of bed was the hardest bounced excitedly beside you and pointed at the flowers.

"Like stubborn trumpets proclaiming winter is finally over!" she said as you followed her outside. "Spring is finally here!"

You disregarded the pain echoing through your body, the weight of guilt forcing you to spend the day with the girl.

She had been knocking on your door every morning, angelic eyes asking if you wanted to come and play with the lambs that she had taken too and this morning, you couldn't disappoint her.

"Aren't they just so pretty?" Tilda crouched down, gently cupping one of the blossoms in her small hands.

Lowering your gaze from the burning brightness of the sun you got a short glimpse at the yellow dots decorating your doorstep.

Then, suddenly, black spots appeared on the edge of your vision, taking you by surprise though they have been your companion for the better part of the last few days.

"Tilda–"

You tried to hold on to your doorframe, bruised hands frantically searching for a grip on the warm wood but they slipped and caught only the edge.

The last thought that crossed your mind was that you should bring Thranduil some of those flowers before you blinked and crumbled to the ground.

⸺

You woke up to the confusing taste of grass on your heavy tongue and the dizzying realization that you were not spread out on the street but tugged inside your bed.

Above you, moonlight fell through the opened window in the slanted roof above your head and you immediately closed your eyes again.

This had to be a dream.

Though your dreams had not been like this in a long time.

Peaceful. Comfortably warm. Silent except for the croaking of toads, the buzzing of insects outside, and the laughter and clattering of your neighbors probably enjoying the night more than you.

A groan passed your lips as you tried to sit up; a seemingly impossible task with the heaviness of your bones as well as the mountain of blankets that covered you.

"What do you think you are doing?" a voice you knew all too well sneered.

For a second you thought it to be a hallucination, a projection or your dazed mind still lulled in the fog of unconsciousness.

The bones in your neck cracked as your head snapped to the other side. There was no way you did not imagine the tall figure that should be across the woods in his palace; not in your bedroom.

"What are you doing here?"

"Merely strolling through the neighborhood," Thranduil's voice dripped with sarcasm, yet a subtle tension marked his stance beside the bed. "Now, enlighten me. Did you conveniently forget to mention this sickness in your letters?"

Ah, straight to the point.

"It's trivial," you waved it off, attempting to assert yourself by sitting up.

Naturally, consciousness promptly slipped away once more.

This time you were not that surprised by the sharp taste of grass on your lips when you came to your senses once more, pushed back into the pillows that had never felt this stuffed. You were still unable to move your leg more than from one side to the other under the blankets and Thranduil was still there, glaring at you through dark furrowed brows and hardened eyes.

You wanted to say something to break the heavy silence but all that passed your lips was a giggle that was more desperate and closer to insane than amusement.

One brow lifted. "Oh, how glad I am you are entertained by this," said Thranduil. He was as rigid in a frightening calm way but all of that was overshadowed by the cloud of confusion that muddled your thoughts.

"Noo," you drew out the word and continued giggling. This had to be insanity. "You jus' look very out of place here – wait. Turn around? I need to make sure you're really here."

He didn't fit into the cramped space of your house, his fine clothing stood out against the poor backdrop of crooked furniture, used towels hanging over stools, and the small layer of dust that covered the areas you hadn't been able to clean in a while; which was most of the bedroom and you didn't dare think about the state of the kitchen.

Where he deserved a throne out of gold you could only offer the chair next to your bed, the one that was crooked and leaned heavily to one side.

That being said, nothing took away the sheer amount of power he radiated.

It easily filled every nook and cranny or tight corner of your humble house, his voice as well as the image of Thranduil, King of the Elves, towering over your bed in long robes and bathed in the light of the night sky, glittering silver like the moon knew the importance of the Elf in front of you.

Thranduil remained stoically still. "I will definitely not do that," he said. "I am here. Where I should have been a while ago."

The accusation would have hit harder if you weren't drugged up on whatever medicine he had apparently fed you while you were out cold.

You shrugged your shoulders as well as you could with your arms bundled under the blankets. "I saw no reason, it was just a cold. Nothing I couldn't manage."

Well, you hadn't managed to handle it, that was the worst realization of the whole lie.

"Clearly," Thranduil said sarcastically and ground his teeth against each other. His arms were behind his stiff back and the way he tilted his head down to you made you feel like a child being admonished for bad behavior. "Do you know how much despair I felt when Bard's letter arrived this morning?" His voice was even but there was a resonance in it – a deep rumble akin to the ominous approach of distant thunderstorms over the sea. "Nearly indecipherable scrambles where he begged me to come; telling me that you have been asleep for two whole days?"

A crack in the form of a small tremor broke through the mask of the all-mighty Elvenking.

"This morning?" you asked, caught up by the first part and ignorant of everything that followed after, and you huffed while running the calculations through your head. "Thranduil, this can not be, the journey is not manageable in one day."

"Is this truly the point you consider most important?" He closed his eyes as a pained expression passed over his face. "You deem it impossible, yet I assure you, nothing could have hindered my arrival here; the boundaries of possibility, for once, were not a barrier but an aid. It reveals your scant regard for your circumstance if your worry fixates on my journey through the land. Not on the sickness that nearly stole you from this world. Two days –" Thranduil took a deep breath, "two whole days where those around you had no idea if you would ever awake again."

"But –"

"No, you can speak when I am finished," he commanded sharply. "You were reckless. Ignorant of your health as if your life was not precious." Thranduil spat the words out cold yet they burned. He was blind to the way you flinched and lowered your burning eyes to the blankets.

You shrunk deeper into the pillows, a hollow ache inside your chest that had felt empty from the pain ever since you awoke the first time.

"But –" you repeated helplessly. This time, he allowed you to continue and you did so in a whisper: "I didn't want to be an inconvenience."

"An inconvenience?" he sneered back at you, the flickering lights of a few burned-down candles casting shadows over the creases of anger edged into alabaster skin.

He took a step toward the bed and you saw a twitch in his lips that had you blanching.

The fury brooding inside him was not new, you had seen it on the battlefield before. In ice-cold cuts of his sword as he flawlessly executed the most brutal movements while his face resembled a mask of the most dangerous kind of rage – stillness.

Now, there remained little of that stillness.

"You were a greater inconvenience by nearly throwing away your precious mortal life, all because of your unfathomable stubbornness!"

"There was lots to do!" you snapped back. Shortly but surely, you were fed up with his anger and the insults he was throwing at you. "This town was suffering far more than me and don't you dare tell me I'm wrong," you had to bury your teeth into your lower lip to stop it from shaking. "Dale needed me!"

The pale skin was flushed red around his heaving chest and delicate ears. "And I do not?" Thranduil road and his voice boomed through your little bedroom loud enough for the cicadas outside to fall silent.

Immediately, your eyes watered. You felt trapped under his gaze, engulfed in pure heat hotter than any dragon fire.

You searched for a response inside you but found none.

All there was was chaos – the loud beating of your heart against your chest like iron being beaten and shaped though all that was formed was pain sharp like a sword edge; cutting through the layers of protection you had wrapped around your heart.

Thranduil slightly lifted his nose, staring down at you through thick eyebrows and a clenched jawline. "You were dying," he said and his nostrils quivered. "I can not fathom how you through that would not have been a greater inconvenience.

His expressions made up in sound for the lowered voice he'd used to speak about what you previously refused to acknowledge.

Never before had you seen him this out of control of his emotions, not even on the nights he had bedded you where he still had a hold on himself.

The way he stood before you, dressed in fine robes not fit for riding, the hem of them stained by dirt, his boots muddy, and his face full of anguish, it was as if he could have been kneeling at your feet.

You ignored the tears slipping silently down your cheeks. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"It was indeed, and far beyond that."

The tears made it impossible for you to continue looking at him and your head dropped down as a sob broke through you. "I didn't know," you panicked, "It didn't happen fast so… so I thought it'd pass but – and then it got worse and worse and I was so afraid to speak to anyone about it." The words tumbled into your lap, where, under the blankets, your hands were balled to fists now that the strength to do so had returned to your body, "I – I couldn't," the night air stung as your breaths turned into gasps, "They – Bard was exhausted and –"

Thranduil's face softened ever so slightly, pushing away the furious frown. "You are too pure for this world," he said quietly and – dealing a fatal blow to your ever-fragile heart – slowly went down on one knee next to the bed until you were eye to eye and his cold long fingers could gently caress your wet cheek.

He stopped, most of his fingers covered in the glistening tears he'd freed you from and his thumb rested on the plushness of your lower lip. "The world would have lost its sunshine had you perished," his robes rustled as he drew closer, silver hair falling onto the blankets like stars flying across the skies, "You must promise me to be more careful or darkness shall be my companion from that day on."

How could you do anything else but break into tears once more?

They flooded your face too fast for Thranduil to catch them with his hand and he did what seemed more reasonable yet utterly out of character: he rose to push away some of the blankets and sat down on the mattress.

While his face showed some revelation of his thoughts at the meek bed of hay that surprised him, he said nothing except for a lowered: "Hush now, shh." while his arms found your shaking body and pulled you into his side.

He cradled you until there were no more tears to cry, until your cheeks hurt and your lashes clung together awfully damp, and then some more, his hands on your back, cooling down the firing heat that spread through you and the other in your hair. With tenderness, he massaged his fingertips into the areas where your head throbbed uncomfortably.

You cried for all the nights where you had suffered, drawing closer to a death you hadn't seen coming.

You cried out of relief that this was finally over, that you could breathe and inhale only the rich scents of Thranduil instead of smoke.

You sobbed uncontrollably long into the night, not caring one bit that by the time the wailing grew quiet and exhaustion rendered you weak enough to fall into his chest even more, Thranduils robes needed to be padded dry.

"Thranduil?" you asked and burrowed your nose into a spot of fabric that wasn't salty. "Can you tell me what was happening to me?"

He didn't start directly. Thranduil waited, his heart stuttering for a second that made you marvel that the muscle was affected by you at all despite the many proofs he had laid to your feet.

Were it not for the pounding headache you fostered and tried to push away by shutting away all the lights and leaving your eyes closed, you would have looked at his face to check for those minuscule expressions he only showed to you.

"At first I could not figure it out," Thranduil admitted at last and his previously stilled hand continuing the circular movements against your scalp, gathering hair between his fingers, "and that frightened me more than anything else. There was not a scratch or a wound, nothing that explained why you were hardly–" he flinched and his other hand held your waist tighter, "hardly breathing. Bard was the one who explained how much you fought against this illness all winter, ever since autumn to be precise. He spoke of the meals you denied, the coughing and shaking, the blood-soaked cloths, and how.. how you rarely slept and if you did, he told me he heard your whimpers and sobs whenever he passed your door."

"He noticed it all?"

"He loves you," Thranduil said, "He loves you just as much as his offspring."

You shut your eyes even closer, turning your head more into his chest as another layer of protection against the feeling of pain that flinched over your face like a stone skipping on water, leaving ripples of agony at the memory of the many times Bard had pleaded you to talk to him. "I never wanted him to hurt at my expense."

"He is aware you thought it to be better this way," Thranduil lovingly stroked your hair – and it was love, soft and beautiful like the elf who abandoned his kingdom to race to save you – "To go against his word to you declares him a strong man and leader, Dale will flourish under his guide and your gentle hand will provide your people all they will ever need."

"So what was it?" you asked the question eating away at you, "This sickness?"

Thranduil's fingers twirled a lock of hair as he hummed lowly, "The beast in the lake is at fault," he said, "and its body infesting the in any case dirty water that you used to still your thirst."

You lifted your head at that, staring up at Thranduil whose gaze was already on you. "The dragon?" you repeated perplexed, "I got sick because of that damned dragon?"

Thranduil nodded, "I sent out the order to have its carcass removed this instant, so no one else has to suffer this fate."

You drew your eyebrows together, the hard crease between them immediately found by Thranduil for him to smooth the frown away with his thumb and a soft click of his tongue.

"So I was the only one?" The conclusion was confirmed by another nod that sent you down another spiral of confusing thoughts and loose threats of a riddle that made no sense to you.

"A mystery," Thranduil said as if he could read your thoughts, "There is no explanation as to why you solely were affected and quite intense at that. I was glad to have brought Asëa aranion with me – although you required more than a handful until your heart finally calmed."

In a moment of contemplating silence, you barely managed to stifle a yawn.

Now that your body seemed to be fine again, all your muscles yearned for the sleep that had evaded you for the longest time.

Thranduil's pleasantly warm body around you lulled you into a state of calmness, his body heat and the memories of his touch you replaced with the feeling of his strong chest in your back, and his hands threading hair through his fingers.

He was curled up in your bed, in your home, not some tent under the stars though you could see them if you looked up and through the window.

As you did so, your eyes didn't travel further than Thranduil and the watchful look on his face.

"You're as beautiful as the day you left," you remarked in a whisper like a slip of your tongue but you meant every word.

While your body ached and wore new scars his hands and mouth hadn't explored yet, he could've been away for a day or less.

You lifted a hand to stroke over his left cheek, over the faint scarred muscles that you knew by whispers hid what he deemed hideous.

Thranduil caught your hand before it reached his cheekbones and his lips pressed a light kiss against the calluses, the signs of hours of work.

"Rest, meleth nîn, you need it."

There was no denying that the elvish words had meant something important, that was clear by the way his tongue had wrapped around the words and breathed them out like a kiss but his lowered lashes and downturned lips hindered you from asking what he had said.

This was not the time to question what was probably just for him.

Later, when you were not falling into the depths of sleep cuddled against Thranduil's chest, when you would step outside your house with his looming presence in your back ready to help you with every foot you set on the grounds, there would be stories awaiting you.

Stories of the Elvenking storming into the city on horseback and all alone, the wind seemingly carrying him faster than possible and the fury and worry on his face lowered all citizens to the grounds as he yelled for their King.

They would speak about the way he nearly broke down Bard's door and how he carried your unconscious body in his arms to your house, demanding for the crowd to make themselves rare before he had them all seized and locked into his halls for obstructing his path; and even though he had no authority, Bard was close on his heels and no one dared to object.

You would hear about the day he sat by your side, caring for you and barking out orders for more water, not the one from the lake but from the springs, and how Bard and his children were the only ones allowed to visit – explaining the yellow flowers that took up every single glass your house had to offer.

Thranduil would tell you the meaning of the words he had said that first night he had spent in your bed, fully awake and watching your sleeping form in his lap until the birds woke you up in the morning; and he would say these words on all the nights that followed.

With him in Dale, or you in Mirkwood – never apart from then on.

[bapplenana]

i don’t care that they’ve never met in canon, i wanna ship Carmilla x Tera and nobody can stop me 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

[bapplenana]

Happy Birthday Lee Pace!! 🎉

#happiest bday to this man right here #such a fine man #lee pace #thranduil #twilight garrett #lotr #the hobbit #the elvenking

[bapplenana]

"passenger princess" | final chapter

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 7,5k

❱ summary: the rules of a man keeping love from himself and the girl who broke them

❱ warnings: mature language

❱ an: so, here it is. The last chapter. This was originally 24k on ao3 and now we hit 42k and around 148 pages on google docs. This has been unbelievable and i'm so glad to have added this and that and posted on here <3 thank you all for every comment & kudos & repost and just all of it🩷

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

CHAPTER NINE: WHISPERS

The drive was a lot quieter than usual.

The radio still played classical music, the soft piano music filtering through the stereo and cradling you in welcome melodies. Instead of the usual chatter, you opted for silence, preferring to listen to Thranduil as he talked to you about his day in the softest of voices.

Once or twice you huffed out a wet laugh through your nose at something he sayed, a quip against one of his coworker or a joke he thought off, nearly soundless but Thranduils lips quirked up nevertheless.

He proved to be correct about the weather forecast too; shortly after the car departed from the city streets and ventured onto the highway, the skies opened up.

Initially, the rain descended in a gentle pitter-patter, small droplets defiantly challenging the windshield wipers. The lights of passing cars transformed into watercolor circles, providing a soothing spectacle that eased your eyes and calmed your nerves.

And not once left Thranduils hand your leg for longer than necessary.

You were watching him, looking at his side profile as he drove you through the night and quietly chatting. Giving you time. Not pushing you into telling him why he had to pick you up crying and had to hold you while you were crashing down a cliff.

He'd done it without a second thought, picking you up this godless hour like he hadn't been in bed already and abandoned sleep for you.

Thranduil, who waited for you to be ready to tell him what happened, throwing his evening plans for you overboard, once again coming to get you and comforting you with his touch; the spark inside your heart soared.

If this wasn't love, what else could it be?

By the time you arrived at the Oropherion home, the soft drizzle of the rain had turned into merciless streams of water crashing down to earth, obscuring the view out the front window as soon as the ignition died and the wipers came to a stop.

The seatbelts clicked loudly.

"I forgot an umbrella."

You turned your head from the shape of the house you could make out through the water streaming down the window to Thranduil. He had leaned forward to be able to look out the window as well, head tilted sideways and his mouth curled downwards at the sides.

"I guess we will have to run," you said softly.

"No. I will run, grab one of the umbrellas in the entry hall and pick you back up."

You let out a snort and your hand all but flew to your mouth.

"What?" Thranduil asked but you shook your head. "Why did you laugh?"

Your hand fell back into your lap, down to Thranduils one. "You don't have to run and then come back only for me to be dry. That's really unnecessary," you told him, biting your lower lip as you felt a smile blooming inside you "Though it is appreciated that you would do that for me."

He mirrored your smile and it's so heartful and warming, the way his lips changed from the frown and lifted up and you could see the smile reaching his eyes, his eyebrows relaxing as well as his jaw.

"Then let us run quickly and hope we are fast enough," Thranduil agreed, leaning towards you and opening your door, then his. He looked at you. "On go?"

You nodded.

"Three."

"Two."

"One."

"Go!"

Both of you jumped out of your seats, slamming the doors shut and then you were off. The rain poured down relentlessly as you and Thranduil dashed through the downpour towards the entrance of the house.

Within seconds you were completely soaked, wet from head to toe and your clothes clung to your body when you stumbled up the steps to the door, Thranduil close behind you.

So close, that he nearly crashed into you, as he took two steps at a time and stopped just a few centimeters from where you leaned heavily against the entrance, trying to wring out some of the water out of the sweater.

His hands landed next to your head with a thump as he stopped himself, the momentum of his halting resulting in his hair following his body, smacking against your face like a lasso. Not with much force but it still had you spluttering to get a few of the strands out of your mouth.

Thranduils face contorted in embarrassment as he realized what had you smacking your lips and huffing out a cough and he threw his long hair back over his shoulder. "Don't grin at me," he groaned while pulling his keys out of his pocket "I will die of humiliation if you ever speak of this in front of Legolas."

"What of?" you teased, "That you nearly ran me over with your tall body or that I got a taste of hair because you can't control that tall body?"

"Neither!" he growled, then yanked his keys out and jammed them into the keyhole. Before turning it, he stopped, locking down at you, flattened between him and the door.

His perfect thick eyebrows raised almost in a hesitant question in themselves. "You won't, right?"

Knowing he had been an – involuntarily – witness to many of the evenings Legolas and you had spent in their living room wearing your cutest pajamas and face masks that had scared him more than once, while you painted each others nails and gossiped like you would get paid for it by the minute, you understood the underlying fear in Thranduils voice.

Chuckling, you raised a hand, and curled your fingers around one of the few strands that clung to his drenched sweater and glistening jaw.

"I won't," you said but the eyebrows rose higher at the light amusement in your voice so you reassured him while brushing the strand behind his ear, following the curve of it to the pointed tip and felt him shuddering under the light touch.

"I promise! Pinky swear that I won't tell Legolas anything that involves your hair or your body," As soon as those words were out of your mouth, you grimaced.

Thranduil did too.

That didn't came out like you had wanted it to.

Even the simple thought of telling Legolas anything that involves anything private with Thranduil... no– you're sure that this would never happen.

You had tried talking to Legolas once more about the matter, checked in with him to ask what he thought of the progress you and Thranduil had been making after the cabrio conversation, and he had simply given you his permission if he wouldn't have to call you "mother"; a compromise you had rushed to agree to.

"Ew," you murmured, teeth being close to chattering as the wind slapped a fresh wave of rain your way "Never mind."

Thranduil nodded quickly. The one hand pressed against the door slid down and to your waist, leading you into the entrance hall after the key had turned and the both of you were stumbling into the safety of the house.

Inside, water dripping on the dark hardwood floors, Thranduils other hand found your waist as well, as he led you through the dark house from behind you.

You didn't bother with turning on the lights, you trusted Thranduil with finding his way through a house he had lived in for his whole life.

It almost ended in stumbling, especially given the trail you left behind, practically begging for a "caution: wet floors" sign. Thranduil was so near that you could feel not only his hands but occasionally his chest too, particularly when rounding corners or ascending stairs.

Somehow though you found yourselves in front of a closed door on the third floor with no injuries except for that ache in your heart that while being number than earlier, seemed to be a constant companion for the time being.

You knew in an instant what was behind said closed door.

It's quite an accomplishment to know what was behind it, looming, if you would have to be specific.

There were a lot of doors in the Oropherion house: the kitchen had three, there was a pantry door, Legolas bedroom door, the guest room doors, the library doors, the door to the cellar, and if you were in the right state – beer pissed if there was no other option but preferably wine tipsy – there was no telling where you would end up.

Well, the chances of you crashing into a storage room when you were aiming for the guest room you always stayed in were pretty high, high enough Legolas – or Thranduil nowadays – would accompany you up and save to the door, making sure you slept in the bed rather than a makeshift situation out of aprons and rags.

How easy it would be to lie and say that only happened once…

But no matter the level of alcohol in your blood and head, you never dared opening this door.

This was the only door you never touched, never even stopped in front of.

Sure, in your mind you were a regular visitor but that was between you and the fantasies coming alive ever since Thranduil had picked you up from that bar the one fateful night!

In reality, notably, a reality where you were much closer to those fantasies now than ever, there had never been an opportunity to come up to the third floor.

There were only three rooms up here.

The study behind the last door at the end of the hallway was where Thranduil would sometimes disappear into. You knew he hoarded some very special editions of books that you two had discussed.

The first door was to the old nursery, now no longer used but for an empty threat Thranduil held in his hands if Legolas dared to ignore the very few rules they had. If the threat was that Legolas would move back into the nursery or if Thranduil would bring out whatever was in there was not the matter, it was enough to bring Legolas back on track if needed.

And of course…

The master bedroom.

Thranduil's bedroom.

The one Thranduil was currently opening before you, his hands on your waist and his breath hot on your neck as he steered you into the room.

Unlike you, he didn't seem to give the situation a second thought, much less a third, fourth and from the way he kissed you on the back of the head and then walked to a door on the right side of the room, he wasn't on the verge of a nervous breakdown either.

You, on the other hand, could only stare at the room unfolding, exchanging the images of it you had drawn in your mind.

The bedroom you had imagined had been clinically tidy, in no more colors than grey, white and maybe he would be crazy and had thrown some black in there, and he would've had few pictures and books but just the barest minimum to have it look like this wasn't a furniture exhibition and not too much that the room could mess with the image of the cold, serious, stern and intimidating lawyer he put out for strangers.

For once, the walls were painted a beautiful dark green with gorgeous panels that graced them from the dark wood floors to the high ceilings, similar to the bay windows that reached the ceilings as well but had a slim bench.

The windows were framed by long rusty colored curtains. These windows would surely flood the room in the sunlight whenever the weather wasn't dark and gloomy like today.

Right now you couldn't even look out, but you knew from the guest room one floor under you, that this room had the perfect view of the garden that stretched behind the house and Thranduil would be able to look out right into the cherry tree.

There was a giant king-sized bed pushed against one of the walls without windows, the sheets midnight blue and most certainly silk, the pillows propped against the wooden headboard, and there were enough of them to make it look like the perfect place to disappear into sweet dreams.

Two nightstands were on either side of the giant bed, both had a simple lamp and some burned-down candles on them, as well as a book and a picture frame that was facing the bed.

On the left side of the bedroom door was another door left ajar, allowing you a small peak into the en suite bathroom, because of course Thranduil had his own private bathroom and you nearly snickered thinking of the many hair and skin products that he would hide in there.

On the window-side of the bed were two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, filled to overflow with books, many of which you recognized even from afar. There was also a comfortable-looking old wing chair in front of the shelves, a wine-red blanket thrown over its arms.

Your eyes wandered to the right side of the room, to the door leading to the walk-in closet where Thranduil was currently pulling out some clothes.

Next to the door was a small desk with another bookshelf. Papers lay scattered on the surface in front of a dark computer, around them opened books and even more picture frames.

The room shocked you in the best way possible.

Everything looked so… well lived in.

From the pictures on the wall, shelves and every surface that they fit onto in an aesthetical, home-y way, to the phone cable next to the bed (you would tease Thranduil about that later; after all was he the one always bickering with Legolas that he shouldn't sleep with his phone in his bed), and the used cup with a coffee stain on the side next to one of the many books next to the wing chair.

He had some potted plants as well, tall ones in between the windows and smaller ones on shelves and the benches, and they didn't even look close to dying.

Not like the little cactus in your room that you would forget to water and if you remembered you would throw in whatever you were drinking that moment into the pot.

You could even spot a pair of socks next to the bed. Next to the unmade bed.

Thranduil had said on the phone that you'd called him when he was about to retire to sleep but seeing the rustled sheets and a thrown of pajamas right before you made it all so real.

This was Thranduil's bedroom, littered with pieces of his personality and you were standing right in the middle of it…

… dripping on what was probably a very expensive carpet.

With that realization you took a step back, whipping back and forth on your heels, eyes landing on Thranduil.

"Okay, I took the liberty to pull out some clothes for you," Thranduil said and stepped out of the closet, a gray sweater and what looked like black shorts in his hands. "You can change in the bathroom over there, through the door next to the bed." The clothes landed in your hands, you carefully held them away so as to not get them too wet and Thranduils smiled at you. "If you need anything, yell, alright? There should be some towels in there as well and I have a spare toothbrush under the sink."

You just nodded.

Entering the bathroom was another shock, considering it was as big, no definitely bigger, than the whole of your room and you could have sworn even the curved bathtub was bigger than your bed.

Right then, it looked more comfortable as well.

You switched on the lights and instead of one big light, many smaller ones lit up and bathed the room in a somehow quiet light. How light could be described as 'quiet' was beyond explanation for your tired mind, it fitted nonetheless.

Peeling the cold and wet sweater off pulled more on your heartstrings than on the synapses in your brain that would normally scream because of the fabric clinging to your skin most unpleasantly.

You hoped you could wear it again another time. You carefully draped it over the edge of the tub and the dress you had put on followed regardless of how dry it had been thanks to the sweater.

You couldn't get it off fast enough.

Certainly, you were aware that you had it on; you could feel the fabric stretching over your curves.

However, the encounter with it in the large round mirror above the sink was a startling surprise. Before you knew it, your mind was replaying the events of the evening right before your eyes.

Quickly and trying to avoid the breakdown winding its way up your body you scrambled for a towel, drying off the rest of the rainwater on your damp arms and legs, as well as wringing out your hair in an attempt to at least stop the dripping.

Then you all but jumped into the warm clothes Thranduil had given to you. The sweater that now pooled over your hands was long enough to reach your thighs and as inviting as the thought of ditching the pair of shorts was, you felt the slightly cool air nipping your legs.

But not even the soft fabric and nice smell, pines, and laundry detergent, could hold off the impending tears that came up when you brushed your teeth with the promised toothbrush and stared at yourself in the mirror.

You were able to wash off the makeup with some wipes and now there was a red, puffy face that pulled the same grimaces as you, the evidence of your crying as clear as the hurt in your eyes.

After spitting out your toothpaste and washing your face once again, you turned off the lights and stepped back into the bedroom.

It was dark there as well, the room illuminated by the lamps on the bedside tables, their glow casting golden hues on the face of the man standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

Your lips were automatically drawn upwards at the sight of Thranduil, especially now that he wore the dark blue pajamas. His hair was thrown together in a bun at the top of his head, some strands framing his face perfectly and lining up with his jaw.

His tongue swiped over his lips, cerulean eyes watching you intensely and you didn't miss when they raked over your body and how they lightened up.

"Did you find everything?"

"Yes, thank you."

More silence.

Thranduil took a step towards you, stretching his hand out in a wavy indication to the bed. "Uhm–" he cleared his throat "I don't want to impose but do you want to stay here tonight?"

Your jaw fell open at the invitation which prompted Thranduil's eyes to widen in shock. "You don't have to if you don't want it! I can bring you back downstairs to your room if you prefer some solitude after today–"

"No–"

"I wouldn't be mad, love."

"Thranduil," the second his name fell from your lips he shut his mouth.

"I will never get enough of that," he said quietly and you tilted your head in question. "Before you, my name was such a strange sound on the lips of others. Now.. now I fear that nothing I'll ever hear will sound as beautiful as my name when you say it."

Your face flushed hot at this admission, spoken so honestly that you knew it to be true.

"Well, uhm, Thran– Thranduil, I wouldn't mind… sleeping here, I mean," you rambled on, the thoughts in your brain scrambled like eggs or flown away like the leafs on the cherry tree outside; his words were a strong wind shaking your composure to the point you adverted your eyes in the fear of proclaiming all your love all of the sudden.

What came out your mouth instead, was a long yawn.

The exhaustion of the last two hours (how it had been only two and not more since the party) was rushing to your head now that you were finally in warm and dry clothes and additionally in Thranduils company, your body aching for rest.

Thranduil ultimately smiled, nodding once before he placed his hand on your lower back and turned you around. "Then it would be my absolute pleasure to have you here with me this night and every night you wish. Now, hush hush to bed or else you'll fall asleep right there"

Your cheeks turned another shade of pink and you wished the guest room a swift goodbye, not once feeling bad about abandoning the room next to your best friend if it meant you could sleep next to Thranduil.

That one morning you had awoken on the sofa was the sweetest of memories, especially the feeling that his tall body hugging you close to his chest had awoken.

He was someone that could protect you.

The moment you climbed onto the bed – and yes, climbed; the bed was high enough to have you move with one knee first and then try to gracefully jump the last part – the fabric of the sheets drew you in with their soft and light feel to it.

Thranduil joined you, slipping under the sheet on the right side of the bed and arranging the pillows in his back to his liking.

You observed the action, the routine in the movement of his hands as they pulled out the hair tie that had held his hair back and now removed, let the silver strands fall down his back and sides.

He grabbed his phone after he discarded the tie on the nightstand, the glow of the screen in the dark reflecting in his eyes as he switched to his alarm app and turned off the one single alarm that he had.

You snorted at that, pulling his attention to you.

"Sorry," you quickly said at his raised eyebrow "I didn't want to snoop. It's just funny that you have a single alarm while my phone in the morning rings nearly at a one-minute tact."

Thranduil chuckled and looked at his phone before turning to you. "Oh, I wondered why the hell you were getting calls in the morning when you sleep here. Not even my line in the office is that busy. And you still oversleep with that awful noise blasting your eardrums," he teased and you rolled your eyes at him.

"I do not oversleep!"

"You don't? My love, I can hear those appalling ring tones for what? An hour, two?"

"That's not oversleeping," you retaliated and lifted your nose into the air "I simply set my alarms an hour before I have to wake up so I can get that sweet sensation of being able to fall back asleep again and again," you sighed, reminiscent of the moments your head was being pulled back into the world of dreams

"and again..."

"You can't possibly fall asleep in those five– no two minutes that your phone is quiet before the next alarm screams out," Thranduil looked at you with disbelief.

"Of course I can, I'm a student. I will even accept the five minutes I have when Professor Baggins is making himself a cup of tea"

The sole look on your face told Thranduil you were serious and he shook his head, laughing to himself.

"It's been a long day," Thranduil said and you stifled a yawn. He chuckled, leaning over the small gap between you and breathed a short kiss on your forehead. "Let's sleep, my love," he murmured against your skin there and kissed you again. "You need the rest and I do too. We shall not wake with any alarm, you will sleep as long as you want."

"Uhm, then I would never leave this bed. Ever," you said and grinned, leaning against his lips in an attempt to get another kiss out of it.

He complied, laughing while doing it and the hot air of his breath caressed your face nearly as intimate as his hands on the side of your face.

You smiled but feigned a serious voice, one that could sound threatening if your smile wouldn't have shone through it: "I mean it! I will never ever get out of this bed, you will have to deal with me being here until I've worn out these gorgeous sheets."

Huffing, Thranduil sat back, a grin wide on his face. "Oh, how terrible that sounds! Most unfortunate... for your friends and university. I shall call them right in the morning and tell them Sleeping Beauty has fallen into her slumber and there was nothing I could do against it."

The sheets rustled as you giggled and wiggled down until your head rested comfortably on one of the pillows.

He looked down at you, the grin fell to a dramatic frown as when he reached over and stroked your cheek. "This fate must be so hard on you; staying here with me for all eternity."

You copied the dramatic sigh of his and tilted your head to face the ceiling. "The journey will be hard, but these pillows are soft enough to even it out. Besides, I'm sure there are worse possible outcomes for my future than sleeping here and waiting for a pretty prince to kiss me awake"

Grinning a Cheshire cat-like grin you snuggled deeper into the covers, pulling the sheet up your chest and inhaled the very masculine smell of them.. Thranduils smell.

"Maybe you can send Legolas up here to try"

A low blow, yes, you knew.

But Thranduil simply raised his eyebrow, he was so good at that, you envied him and wondered if he was born with simple talent or if he had worked for the perfection of the timing and the arch, and pushed the hair that had fallen on his chest back behind him.

"I would lock the door before allowing that," his lips curled in amusement.

Looking him up and down you pinched your lips. "Now that you say that, you do have an astonishing resemblance to Mother Gothel," For a moment you pondered "We would only need to dye your hair black, a shame, but– oh look! You even have the same scowl!"

Thranduil did indeed stare you down, cerulean eyes glaring until you saw the tiniest twinkle of mischief not just in his gaze but in the corner of his mouth as well. "I fail to see a resemblance between you and Rapunzel but if you exchange the Adam Sandler look you are wearing right now with a white nightgown I could see you as a slightly more obstinate Berta Manson," He reached over again and poked a long and slender finger into the pout of your cheeks. "And look at that, even the third floor fits!"

You gasped out loud at that, feigning hurt across your features whilst crossing your arms in front of your chest.

But before you could think of anything to retort, a yawn took over for you, breaking the teasing.

Thranduil promptly dropped his act as well, not fighting the besotted smile as he gave you another kiss, this time to the cheek. His hair tickled you when he leaned down and you scrunched your nose.

"As much as I would love to hear what comparisons you could up with," he started and his voice was low, deep, rolling through your entire body in pleasant waves "I believe sleep is in order. Good night my darling, sleep well." He leaned to the side and grabbed the cable hanging there, connected it with his phone, and set it down on the table, turning off the lights while he was at it.

Without making much noise Thranduil settled into the pillows again and his legs brushed yours under the covers.

"Excuse me", he said softly and drew back.

The rain was still heavy against the windows, supported by a low rumbling in the distance and the howling of the wind that shook the trees outside the house.

Nature was loud with everything, from the brewing thunder to the raindrops collecting in a puddle on the window sill in a constant drip drip drip...

The silence inside the room was unbearable loud for you. The rustling of the sheets when you moved even the tiniest bit was as loud in your ears as the roaring ocean waves crashing against the shore, hell, you even thought your swallowing and blinking would make enough noise for Thranduil to hear.

Just as all the lights had gone out, something had settled over the room.

You couldn't put your finger on it, didn't know what it was exactly that was now present but you could feel it in your stomach.

It wasn't awkwardness.

Not like you had sometimes felt it after one night stands when the guy would stay in your room and it would suffocate you to have this person next to you that you really didn't want to have there.

Not like you had felt it the first time you had to crash at Aragorns and he you had fought about where you would sleep and he'd made the argument that you both were adults and could sleep in one bed after twenty minutes of back and forth.

You had kept your distance to him that night and it was like every bit of friendly affection was put on hold for the six hours you had tried not to move and accidentally brush against him.

It wasn't like that now.

It wasn't discomfort either.

It was more pressing, eating away at you and crawling it's way up your body, from your stomach where it fluttered similar to nervousness, biting down in your chest and had you taking a deep breath until you felt it in your throat.

You tried to swallow only to found your mouth full of words that pressed against your teeth and lips, urging to be said out loud into the silence of the room.

You slightly opened your mouth, wettened your lips as the words formed each other to a sentence.

A statement.

A question.

"You never asked what happened tonight."

A whisper.

And then, the rustling of sheets.

Thranduils voice was hesitant at first: "It isn't my place to question it. I figured you would either tell me when you are ready or not at all and I would be fine with it either way." While he talked you could hear and feel him moving, sitting up against the pillows again. "I was worried, god yes and so much, but as soon as I knew that you were safe– safe with me, then I gave you the choice," he talked quietly, concern etched into the words when he seemed to remember the phone call.

The answer wasn't enough to satisfy the restlessness that harbored your body, it seemed to fuel it further and you had to sit up as well to try to calm a few of the nerves. "Yes, but wouldn't you want to know?" you asked in the direction you could make his face out. "I had you driving to the city without telling you anything and you did it. Without question."

"Are you mad at me for doing so?" he asked, the frown audible in his voice.

Your frustration grew and you felt the childish need to kick your legs or cry again. "No!" you said, far too loud and immediately lowered your voice, "No, I'm not mad. I just can't wrap my head around it. If I had written any of my friends they wouldn't have let go until I told them anything and then try to strangle whoever is responsible."

In a second the lights were switched on again and you saw a horrified look on Thranduils face. "Whoever is responsible?" he repeated, the words strangely choked "I– sweetheart I believe you if you tell me you are alright but if there is anyone out there that hurt you I promise you I can help."

You lowered your head as he talked but soft and cold fingers on your chin forced you to look at him again.

His eyes wandered over your face with the same precision of taking everything in and he fixed you with a worried expression. "I care for you, very much so and I know this day was exhausting for you so if you want us to go back to sleep I'll rest but you worry me. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Could you hold me? Please?"

It took a lot for the words to come out, the question not an easy one but you found yourself being tugged over to Thranduil, the man pulling you without as much as a question or hesitation, and struggle.

You landed on his lap in seconds, your knees digging into the pillows at either side of him and you fell into his chest with a deep sigh.

Almost instantly his arms wrapped around you, pulling the sheet up to cover your back and him with it and you rested your head on his shoulder, your arms holding onto him with the same eagerness to hold him close as his.

"There was an argument at the party," you began, whispering the words into his shoulder loud enough for him to hear them.

"My roommate wanted me to meet a guy, the brother of the guy she had been hanging out with; and at first I made a joke about her with these two guys, brothers because she had been joking too but then she told me one would be there for me."

Pausing, you took a deep breath. Your hands had wandered, twirling starlight blonde strands between your fingers. It calmed you, grounded you.

"And I was shocked, really shocked and annoyed because why would she invite a guy for me to make out with as if I didn't have a say in it? Who does that? I have told here before that that's not something I do, especially not now…" your voice trailed off, "Not since you."

"She got angry so fast. In one second she was laughing about making out with two guys and in the next she said these really hurtful things and I stood there, listening to her yelling at me at a party I originally didn't even want to be at and she didn't stop, didn't pause, just throwing every negative thought she had about me on me like our friendship had meant nothing. Well, it wasn't really a friendship."

You were two identical puzzle pieces that had somehow pressed into each other when you had met in your shared apartment in the dorm three weeks before the start of university.

A friendship, much more based on forced harmony and the desire to desperately know someone in this new place than matching preferences.

The rest grew around the shared space, shared experience and somehow you found things you both enjoyed, partying mostly, before you concentrated on the friendship with the boys.

"She was so mean, Thranduil," you mumbled, hands continuing their work on braiding his hair absently minded. "I had to get out of there, it became to much too fast and I couldn't look at anyone anymore. The people there must have heard everything... there were some guys I knew from Saurons class– I don't even want to think about what they think of me now."

Thranduils hand stopped the reassuring movements on your back and they moved up to your neck, guiding your head to look at him.

"I am so very sorry that happened to you," he started and his eyebrows drew together over the cerulean eyes filled with concern.

"Firstly I think however she thought she was helping you with inviting that boy, she should've checked with you and accepted whatever answer you gave her. I don't want to defend her in any way but maybe in her mind that was how she wanted to spend the evening with you." He worded his opinion carefully, ever the lawyer and you could imagine that he had quite a bit of practice with Legolas as well.

"Yes, she did. After I moved into the dorm we went out.. a lot," you abandoned the finished braid and moved to the next few strands of hair, right behind his ear. "And sometimes she would bring a guy home and I did too, once or twice. It didn't made me happy, not really. I think she was jealous because I have Legolas and Gimli and Aragorn and with them I don't need some guy and alcohol to tolerate a party."

"But jealousy isn't a good enough explanation for hurting you, nothing is," Thranduil moved his head, giving you room to pull out some of the long hair from behind him before settling again. "Do you want to tell me what she said?"

You froze, hands still in his hair, thin strands slipping between your fingers like water.

'Do you know how disgusting it is to see you being driven home at night by a man as old as my father? Not to mention it's your best friend's father'

'At first I really believed you were sleeping with Legolas since you were always with him and god I would have understood that'

'Is he paying you for sex? Or what does he want from you of all people?'

It was like you were confronted with them for the first time, your body reacting to remembering the tone, the venom and you tensed up.

Thranduil felt it inevitably as your thighs squeezed around his legs and started to pull in to your chest.

"Hey," he whispered, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours "Breathe for me, darling. Everything is alright, you are here."

"No it's not," you let out a breath as instructed, sitting up on Thranduils lap. "It's not and it's not fair that she can say these things and here I am, stupid enough to believe them.. or not doubt them. Stupid–"

"You are not stupid!" Thranduil said, his voice taking on a stern tone "You are far from it."

"Then how do you explain that it takes a simple 'no one really wants you if you're not fucking them' to have me crying on a curb in the middle of the night?"

You nearly didn't dare to open your eyes again, not when the tears were starting collect in them like the rain drops on the window sill but then Thranduils hands cupped your face fully, hands on your cheek and his thumbs followed the curve of your trembling lips.

"Look at me. Please, look at me," he whispered and you couldn't not follow.

The sight of Thranduil was blurred until you blinked a few times, sniffing to fight the tears from falling.

Thranduil's face was so close to you, close enough to nearly feel the words he was speaking. "You are a wonderful woman, my love, and these thoughts are poisoning your mind. If she said these things she doesn't know you as I do," He paused, holding your gaze and his heartbeat thrummed in your chest.

It beat in the same tact as the rain against the window.

Building up as your hand slid down from his hair to his chest, halting right above his heart.

"You never kiss me," you said in nothing more than an exhaled breath and the beat under your hand stuttered.

His eyes flickered down to where his thumbs where swiping over your mouth, hesitation in them when he looked back at you. "I know, I know. I wanted to, god I wanted to kiss you every time I dropped you off at your dorm and hated myself for letting you go with that look in your eyes that waited for me to do so," his voice trailed off into a sigh, his nose nudging against yours "To be honest with you my love, I was scared of how deep I would fall if I got closer to you, that I would lose myself. Ever since the night you stood in front of that painting, I could feel myself losing control over the rules I had set."

"Rules?" you interrupted, too confused to let that conversation drift away from that specific point.

He sighed again. "Yes, rules. Stupid ones really. When Legolas started talking about you I was intrigued, glad he found friends, yes, but the more time he spend just awing about your wit and how smart you were, helping him through exams, forcing him to study the more curious I got."

Thranduil's hands followed the curve of your cheekbone, continuing to talk as he caressed the skin in gentle movements that kept your head steadied on him.

"And then imagine my surprise when I picked you up that night at the bar–" He kissed the tip of your nose, "and here you were, not only smart, polite and so nervous but beautiful as well. And then you came over more and more, spending the night, reading more books in my library than I could count and you started these discussions at the breakfast table"

Thranduil huffed at the memory, shaking his head minimally.

"Politics, literature, oh even that one morning when you convinced Legolas to not skip class and he went out of the house with his night wear just because he wanted you to stop talking! I knew that if I didn't hold myself back I would move through hell and back if you asked me to. So I thought of these rules."

"Not touching you, not staring at you in awe, not lingering in the living room when you were over–", he counted on his finger of one hand.

"You did a good job at that," you whispered. Thranduil huffed out a laugh, his whole body heaving under you.

He nodded, "Yes, I may have failed sometimes–" You stared at him "Okay often! All that fell away after the moment at the painting. I knew I would never rest peacefully if I didn't try to find out what your true feelings were after you stared up at me."

"That's when things moved a lot faster. Why you were all hot-and-cold. " you concluded, your head feeling all fuzzy after listening to him.

All of it fell into place then, the hesitant touches, the disappearing into his study.

Have you two been suffering for much longer if you could have just talked to each other? But then, the teasing and the tension had been utterly electrifying.

"And, please tell me if I'm wrong, the night you asked me out, to the concert I mean, were you sure then? That this could work?"

Thranduil nodded, nose once again brushing against you. His hands fell down to your waist, which you gratefully leaned into. Your face had grown considerably warmer with his fingers stroking your lips.

"It was either the concert or Netflix and chill," he responded in such a wishful tone that had you laughing out loud.

"That wasn't my proudest moment. I swear you asking me out on a date was unbelievable. I missed the whole lecture from Sauron the next day because all I could think about was if you had been serious"

"Of course I was serious, the evening is all planned out in my mind. Frankly, I had planned it when I got the tickets and still had to ask you if you wanted to go. But I think we are getting of track here," You stared at him, thighs shuffling nervously around. You saw him swallowing, adams apple bobbing in his throat as his eyes darted down to your lips.

"I think," he started with his voice an octave deeper than before "I would very much like to kiss you now– if you'll still have me"

All you could do was nod and then Thranduils lips hovered over yours, his eyes searching your face for a final permission and when you gave it to him in a barely audible "please," his lips finally touched yours.

The first kiss was soft, almost just a brush. It was the catalyst, the lighter for the fire sizzling inside you.

You closed your eyes and let yourself fall. Hands fisted in his shirt you leaned closer, closing the gap between you for another kiss, this one more daring, lips starting to move against each other in a hurry.

Thranduils hands grabbed your waist more forwardly, bunshing the fabric up, fingertips ghosting over your heated skin and you gasped into his mouth at the feeling of the cool and smooth digits.

He used it as an opportunity and licked over your lips with his tongue, crashing every thought you would ever had into a mess.

This was not like other first-kisses, this was not some fumbling around and trying to get into a rhythm.

Thranduil's lips moved with a purpose and directed urgency reflecting the hundreds of thoughts you both shared individually about this moment.

A deep and rumbling hum of appreciation vibrated in his chest and his hands spread all over your hips, holding you close to him as if you would ever think of leaving again.

When you broke apart, gasping for air and chest heaving, you could only stare at him. Thranduil's gaze was wandering over your face, dilated pupils hushing right and back, taking you all in in a way, gaze so pure and open with all of his feelings pouring out of it, that your heart screamed and her bones ached.

It was then and it was right.

There was no more space, no more shadows, just you and him.

"Again"

taglist [still open]: @mushroomemeralds, @mssuguru, @solartoge, @12134z03, @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @lady-of-imladris , @finallyforgotten , @123forgottherest @tomhockstetter7-111 @marshymallo @emily-roberts @howlerwolfmax @tigereyesf @seththetinydemon

[bapplenana]

"I Didn't Know That I Was Starving Till I Tasted You" | hobbit

➛ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

➛ When you get stood up by your date all you want to do is morph with the couch, eat ice cream and watch Pride & Prejudice. It's a shame your roommate/best friend Thranduil doesn't agree with those plans.

➛ warnings/tags: modern!au, roommate!au, friends-to-lovers, chef!thranduil, swf, kissing

➛ words: 9,3k

➛ an: sooo let's ignore that i said i wasn't writing anymore <3 i'm still not taking request but i have a few fics that i'll post over the next few weeks!

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The sound of keys turning in the lock sounds through your apartment before the door opens and closes, making you wince.

The piano music playing through the expensive stereo system is loud enough that you could blame your reaction for not reacting to it. After a brief moment, a deep voice echoes from the hallway, marked by an incredulous "Huh?" and followed by an urgent "What?" accompanied by hurried footsteps.

"Hello?! What– what are you still doing here? You should be dressed up and in a cab by now!"

Your roommate and best friend Thranduil rushes into the living room, you can see his tall figure out of your peripheral vision.

Not that it would change where he stands.

You don't bother to turn around and continue to hide between the mountain of pillows and blankets you had accumulated on the couch, watching the movie playing on the big screen in front of you.

"Uhh– Mister Bingley arrived from the North," you comment on the happenings of the Bennets' house, a spoonful of ice cream held to your mouth.

Thranduil steps closer, dropping his coat and a bag on the wing chair next to the couch. "What–"

Instead of answering his question, you let the ice cream melt on your tongue, mumbling a "5000 a year?" with a mouth full of chocolate.

"Talk to me, woman!"

"He's single!" you sigh happily and throw a dramatic hand in the air.

Before you can lower it again, Thranduil snaps and snatches your hand, cold fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you towards him. Finally, you look up to him and are confronted with your very baffled-looking best friend.

"If you don't tell me why you aren't on the way to the fabulous third date with Marcus-"

"Jake."

Thranduil rolls his eyes at the interruption: "Fine, why aren't you on the third date with Jake right now and instead sulk on the couch watching Pride & Prejudice again? I thought we promised to take a break from watching it anyway."

You push out your lower lip, pouting. "I'm not sulking," you say in a tone so drawn out it completely defiles your statement. Thranduil doesn't say anything, he just lets his gaze slowly wander over the blankets you are buried under, to the half-eaten ice cream bucket to the TV where the Bennet sisters are currently caught eavesdropping on their parents' conversation. He doesn't need words to express himself, the judgment is silent in words but loud in the raise of his dark eyebrow.

"Fine," you groan, admitting defeat. "He canceled."

Thranduil's gaze softens as he sits down next to you on the edge of the sofa and he slowly drops your hand from his grip. "He canceled," he repeats, eyes falling back to the ice cream.

"He canceled," you confirm with a sigh "Just like I predicted- so I don't know why I even bothered to dress up. I even bought that stupid dress just because he wanted to go out to this new fancy Italian place. He canceled and because I waited 15 minutes for him to not show up, standing outside - in the cold might I add- I think I am allowed to sulk a little!"

In the end, you had talked yourself into quite a rage and fall back into the pillows, your arms crossed in front of your chest. "And no, you said I should take a break from watching that movie but since you are not my mother I am allowed to watch whatever!"

You pierce him with a glare but only for a moment before you deflate.

"Sorry for getting all bitchy there," you shuffle around, hands searching for the remote to stop the movie.

"It's alright," Thranduil says and cocks his head. "Now that you are done, am I allowed to go after him and nail his balls to the ground for standing you up?"

A smile tugs on your lips as you shake your head. "No, you are not. I'm sure he has his reasons." The reason wasn't spelled out in the message but after hopping around in the dating scene for a while now, you know what ´I'm sorry but I don't think we really fit. You are a great person though!´ means.

It was nothing new, though it hurt the same as it did the first time.

"Well, unless there was a sudden death in his family I don't see a reason why he couldn't have canceled before the date," he huffs "-you know like a normal person would do"

You shrug your shoulders. "It's done now. Maybe it just wasn't supposed to happen."

"No, it wasn't. Not with a guy like him," Thranduil shakes his head, the long braid of silver blonde hair getting even more disheveled by the movement. "You deserve a man that doesn't cancel, doesn't let you stand outside in the cold!"

"Yes," you sigh again, staring wistfully at the TV "my Mister Darcy."

"He was literally the reason why Elizabeth ran out into the rain and cold," Thranduil responds deadpanned and you throw a pillow in his direction which he elegantly catches.

"I will not stand for this Darcy-hate! Ugh, you are such a bad friend," you whine, "I got stood up and you are making fun of one of the two people who have never let me down.. one person now that you decided to be a meanie!" You once again pout.

This time it works, a little too well because suddenly Thranduil looks at you with that one look of him, the one that breaks through every defense you could build up. He looks at you like you just told him you were dying, all the compassion he can find in his otherwise cold heart spilling out of his cerulean eyes that wander over your face.

"You know you have every right to feel sad about the date not happening," he says carefully, tilting his head slightly in a way that oozes pity, "You were looking forward to it, you even bought a dress for it. Let me cheer you up, I can cook something for you and we can watch a movie later or we can go out and drink until I have to hold your hair in the bathrooms." He smiles softly, sincere and it makes you want to jump up from the couch and hide in your room.

You two didn't do sincere; you bantered, you made jokes on behalf of the other and you most certainly did not comfort each other after a failed date. Your friendship needed lightheartedness, it thrived on sarcasm and arguments about everything and anything that came to your minds.

But the offer is tempting, especially the cooking part. Thranduil is a chef, working in his own restaurant; 'The Green Leaf' and he did a damn good job at it. Most nights, like this one, he comes home and cooks for you because apparently, Goldfish crackers were not as good for your diet as one part of the name misled you to believe and even though you made fun of Thranduils diet as well, fully vegan and with a distaste for anything that made life worth living like chocolate ice cream, he knew exactly how to whip up a meal that had you salivating.

You stare him down, weighing your options. Option one was to remain on the couch where you would shovel the ice cream down until you would inevitably get sick, watching Pride & Prejudice and mourning the never-happening and probably very boring date you would’ve had.

Option two would entail a doubtlessly very delicious meal as well as the possibility of getting drunk as fuck in a bar.

The choice comes easy.

"Okay," you agree and raise a pointed finger at him as a victorious grin spreads on his lips "But-" you wiggle the finger "you will not do this out of pity because I do not need pity from a man!"

Thranduil's grin only seems to grow, lightening up his eyes "No of course not. No pity here. I promise!" He stands up from the couch in a hurry, grabbing the bag he had left on the chair. When you don't move except to reach for the remote again, he shakes his head. "Leave Mr. Darcy for another day, you have to change!"

"Change?" you ask bewildered, looking around the apartment. "I thought you were going to cook here and not at the restaurant. Why would I need to change now?"

Thranduil scoffs, turning his back to you to walk towards the kitchen, his voice growing louder as it's accompanied by the sound of the fridge opening.

"Because I know you spent the entire day planning your outfit. You said you bought a new dress and I will not cook you an entire meal for you to sit there in your sweatpants!" he calls out and you throw your head against the couch with a groan that has Thranduil leaning out of the kitchen door

"You want the food, you follow the chef's orders," he copies the raised finger in your direction "Don't be a brat, get your butt off the couch and into your room before I have to spank you! I'll call you when you can come out."

The threat is met with you sticking your tongue out and one second thinking you could defy the order but that is until he fakes a quick step back into the room and you peel the blankets away squeaking "I'm moving! I'm moving!" while stumbling through the living room. "Jeez"

Despite knowing he would never hurt you the thought of Thranduil spanking you has you blushing a ridiculous amount and you don't turn around so he doesn't see it.

"But just so you know, I will wear the dress but only so I don't have to squeeze myself into it after dinner when we go out!" you yell over your shoulder instead and you swear you hear him chuckle before you slip into your room and close the door behind you.

The sweatpants land on your bed, followed by the sweater you had put on after getting the text message from Jack. You remain in your underwear, which you hadn't been bothered to change and stare at yourself in the mirror of your wardrobe. You are confronted with the blush the spanking comment had left on your cheeks and down your neck, and you scowl at the image.

He is your best friend and roommate.

Get a grip!

The dress you had bought for the date still hangs on the wardrobe door, a short, and black number that wasn't something you would normally wear but when you had stalked the Instagram Account for the place you would’ve eaten at today, nothing already existent in your closet had seemed fitting.

Staring at it now you question the length as well as the relatively deep front and back. After all, this was a normal dinner with your best friend, right? Yes, you would maybe leave for a club or bar after this and you had worn all kinds of clothes for a night out with Thranduil in your company but this dress had been bought for the sole reasons of looking sexy and with the hopes of getting lucky.

You shake the thoughts away and grab the hanger with the dress on.

This was a normal dinner with your best friend and this was just a dress. He had seen you in other skimpy clothes and literally any other form of dressed as well as undressed on several accidental occasions. There is no need to think this over and fall into an endless spiral of doubts.

With a nod to yourself for this mature thinking, wow, aren't you a well-functioning grown-up? – you slip the garment over your head, pinching and twisting the fabric until it sits to your satisfaction.

The hem barely covers your thighs, just doing enough so it wouldn't flash your bottom at the slightest movement but showing enough leg for you to feel powerful. The same was with the deep neckline. Bending forward was not an option, though it would draw eyes on you, hopefully.

You put the discarded jewelry back on again, a subtle choker necklace and a pair of more flashy earrings with - sadly fake- diamonds dangling and catching the light in them. The makeup is done quickly as well, some touches of a brush on your jawline, some lovely shade of lipstick on your lips, the movement of routine flows through your body with no need to really think about it.

After spraying some of your favorite perfume on your neck and behind your ears you wait.

Sitting on the edge of your bed you wait and you definitely don't think back to Thranduil's statement. No. Never.

Maybe a little bit.

Because when he calls out for you a fifteen-minute heads-up, you feel the blush coming back and the suspicion confirms itself at the last look in the mirror. You raise your head, challenging the woman in the mirror with an arch of the eyebrow before walking out the door and into what could only be described as a fever dream.

The living room is dark, the moss green curtains pulled closed except for a small gap where the afternoon sun filters through into the flat. The dining room table is clear from all the jackets, mail and stuff that accumulates throughout the day and week that are usually thrown on it and instead, there are candles.

Candles!

Candles in silver candleholders, like actual burning candles. Next to the expensive-looking candleholders is a vase filled with lavender, full and flourished purple flowers that fill the room with a soft and dizzying smell.

Suddenly you are very glad you are not in your sweats anymore, there is a heat rising in your body and setting your cheeks aflame.

Fidgeting with your hands you quietly step forward into the room to the kitchen, your eyes flittering from the table to the cleaned-up sofas and then you can see Thranduil rushing from the counter to the stove.

His back is turned to you, offering you a view of broad shoulders and arms flexing beneath the white shirt he had changed into, and even worse, the tight black pants he now wears, showing off his long legs and- you look a little higher, checking him out and blushing like it's a guilty pleasure.

Of course, the pants would show off his perfect arse as well.

You shouldn't stare.

No matter how magnificent the sight is.

And oh, it surely is magnificent.

You snap back into reality, take a lavender-filled breath, and walk into the kitchen.

It's a beautiful kitchen, not one of the reasons you had first checked out the apartment but one that had tipped the arguments for it in the end. And you are glad it did, because when you had taken roommate applications Thranduil simply waltzed into it, nodded and offered you the first year of rent with 25% on top of it if you would remove the pop-into-the-microwave-Lasagna from the freezer and never dared to buy something like that again.

His brisk and bold and sometimes very harsh attitude would've maybe frightened any other person off but you had seen the money, the prospect of a cook as a roommate and a handsome one at that, and had held out the contract with one hand while the other threw out the lasagna.

And look where that had brought you.

The kitchen is now filled with more vegetables than you have ever seen in one place that isn't a market, there is nearly always a pot with something ready for you on the stove and the fondest memories you have with Thranduil are baking Christmas cookies, throwing flour into each others faces so that your hair had been colored white like Thranduils, or you learning how to cut vegetables under his stern gaze because "No, you can not cut a carrot the same way you cut the bell pepper!"

Now here he is again, creating a memory that will never let you go.

You let your eyes wander over the stove, where one pot is cooking rice, the other has some onions caramelizing with garlic from the smell of it and Thranduil has one pan in his hand, throwing some cut tofu into the air while he brushes some oil onto white dough stretched into hand-sized bits.

He is fully in his element, maneuvering what seems like a three-course meal without any help or breaking a sweat. Setting down the pan with the tofu (hadn't that been a fun journey of convincing until you had let him cook that without any protest?) he wipes his hand on the towel thrown over his shoulder and turns to the cutting board on the kitchen island. He has even more flowers on the island, pink gerberas and white orchids stand next to his array of mint, basil and rosemary.

You have no idea what has gotten into him, there have never been this many flowers in your apartment except for the few ones some of your dates had bought you and even then they landed in the trash a couple of days later.

Sometimes Thranduil had even said he had confused them for some swept-in leaves after you asked him where the last bouquet went.

The man was truly an enigma.

"Smells good in here," you say and lean over the stove.

Thranduil clicks his tongue against his teeth. With a soft growl, he presses out a "Move," not sounding really annoyed but disturbed by you being in his way and with a giggle you move away to grant him free access to the pots.

"What is on the menu today, Chef?" you ask as you hop onto the island. No matter how much space Thranduil needs for cooking, he always leaves that one spot on the corner free for you to sit on.

"Tofu Tikka Masala you noisy girl," Thranduil doesn't turn around and for a minute you want him to see you, see the dress you have put on but then your gaze falls onto his back again and you blush.

Thank god, he didn't turn to find you checking him out, again.

"Couldn't you have waited until I told you the food is ready? Now I have you sitting around here, distracting me, even though I don't have a lot of time to begin with."

You know he is lying. He had told you more than once that you were a pleasure in the kitchen. Not at the stove but looking pretty sitting on your spot on the island and not touching a thing.

"Well, we could have ordered some pizza," you tease him, and he grunts. When he still doesn't turn around, you lean forward, a smirk on your lips. "Or we could have gone out to 'Oakenshields' and-" The rest of the sentence dies on your lips as Thranduil's whole body snaps around and you nearly squeak when he leans into your space.

Nose against nose, he stares you down, cerulean eyes holding yours without any playfulness in them. "You are on very thin ice," he says quietly and while you know he still doesn't mean it like that, you squirm under the gaze and sudden rush of adrenalin that his proximity is causing your head to swim.

"Yeah?" you ask breathlessly, sounding way too excited for your own good, and you try kicking him against his chin but he catches your leg before it hits him, and as soon as his hands grab the bare skin he lets go again, falling back like it had shocked him physically.

Cerulean eyes drop, leaving your face that suddenly goes up in flames and for a second you can see his breath hitch, his chest moving at the sharp inhale of air as he takes you in. The moment builds up, the atmosphere between you changes and charges with something and for this short, stopped moment in time you allow yourself to think:

'What if?'

Then a timer goes off, distant at first but growing louder when Thranduil's face shifts back to the usual calm facade that reflects not a thing of what is going on in his head. He sniffs, hiding behind his dark eyebrows when he lowers his head and pats you gently on your thighs.

"I'll rather perish than go to 'Oakenshields'," he rasps, the raw edge in his voice the only remnant showing that he was affected by whatever that had been between you.

Then he turns around and pushes the tray with dough into the oven.

He covers it up professionally with the joke, of course, because Thranduil Oropherion could never have been seen with feelings that go deeper than what any human would consider barely amiable.

Yes, he is your best friend and he makes an effort around you to not be the coldhearted asshole he is too, for example, Thorin Oakenshield, owner of the restaurant slash bar that the last critic had called a "serious opponent in the gourmet chef world".

Thranduil took the news so well that he had a furious meltdown of cooking for nearly 20 hours to create a menu that he would serve the critic to show him Thorin was not to put anywhere near him on a culinary level before he threatened to buy the paper the man was working for and fire him.

He only calmed down when he found out the critic had persisted to order his own wine choices and not the ones Thranduil had carefully paired with each course so he had decided that the man had no taste whatsoever and he couldn't give a shit about what he had said.

You had seen the irony in his statement and the state of him, tired, overworked, still behaving like a diva and you had just stifled a laugh and helped him clean the mess in the kitchen.

It was one of those moments that shows you he cares more than he leads on, about life, about people, about what the world thought of him but when it comes to love the man is as warm as deep diving naked in the antarctic would be.

He can be nice, living with him was pleasant and it got a whole lot more comfortable when you got to know each other better.

He makes jokes, he shows you how much he appreciates you through his food, you two watch movies together, go out, get drunk, get home and giggle when one of you trips on the doormat and after a few months he even lets you fall asleep on him when you came home crying because a date didn't go well.

You had seen him drive home in a frenzy when his mother had called him about his younger brother breaking his leg climbing trees, and he had another friend, Bard, with whom he had a friendly get-together every now and again; it was only the romance part he never talks about, never shows, never ever makes room for.

While you go out for dates- he works.

When you meet someone at the club you dance, you make out, you go home with someone else- Thranduil just ignores any woman or man who talks to him.

Thranduil's love life (if existent) is a mystery to you and that makes it even more confusing why he had looked at you the way he did just now. Why would he suddenly decide to buy flowers, to cook you an entire meal because you had been stood up and play-dress up?

Your brain is steaming with these thoughts by the time you catch up with reality again, a snap of fingers in front of your face pulls you back and you blink, slightly dazed. Thranduil stands next to you, body facing the cutting board in front of him but you can see him sneaking a peek towards you out of the corner of his eyes.

"Do you know what you want to do after dinner yet?" he asks, slicing some cilantro and parsley.

His long fingers wrap around the shiny knife elegantly, drawing your gaze in and keeping it locked onto the movement of him cutting a lemon in half and drizzling a few drops of juice into the bowl with the herbs.

You try not to stare at the few drops wetting his palm.

"We should go out," you say, voice wavering in between a question and a hoarse croak. You swallow and move your head before your eyes follow a few seconds later, blinking up at Thranduil. "There is this new rooftop bar- they opened a few days ago and are still baiting people in with the two-for-one drink offer."

Thranduil smirks, leaning his hip against the counter and wiping his hand on the towel. "Ah, yes, because that went so well the last time?" he inquires, eyebrow raised teasingly.

"I couldn't possibly know what you are talking about, Thranduil," you purse your lips, suppressing the smile just barely that threatens to spill out at the memory of the last time you went to a new bar, trying out the "new and never been done before"-drinks the small hipster bar had promised you and that'd ended up being the worst cocktails you ever had.

"You still owe me for the trousers I had to get dry-cleaned because you missy-" he half-threateningly holds out his pointy finger again, "you missed the toilet"

"You could have shoved me in the right direction!"

"Ah yes, blame the man that saved you from throwing up all over your date," Thranduil turns away again, adding coconut milk and chopped tomatoes into the pot with the garlic and onions.

"Occupational hazard of being my friend," you say, giving him the brightest and most dearest smile when he holds out a spoon he'd dipped into the curry, before leaning in and wrapping your lips around it, letting the flavors swirl over your tongue.

Then a low hum leaves your throat, a sound not only shocking you but also Thranduil by the looks of it.

By the look of him.

There is a sudden pink covering his face, right around his nose, showing off his prominent cheekbones in a way that lifts the gorgeous feature even more. It is such an unusual sight, Thranduil, blushing, that you are taken aback by it and the spoon slips out of your lips, nearly falling when Thranduil pulls it out of your mouth, clearing his throat suspiciously loud and rough that it sounds physically hurtful.

He steps back, hiding behind a "Good then?" that you can only agree to with a low "Yes" because– firstly you could never correct him on the taste of something he prepares, he knows your taste well enough to always get the spices perfectly adjusted to your preferences, and secondly your head is blissfully empty for any other answer.

The moment passes, gets drowned out by another timer going off, followed by Thranduil shifting into chef-mode as you endearingly call the shift in his demeanor into a controlled acrobat when he starts handling all those pants and pots, stirring here, tasting there, focusing on everything all at once with a concentration that nothing could penetrate.

You sit back and watch him with a soft smile, observing him as he pulls the bread out of the oven, and exchanges the tray with two dark green bowls out of the cabinets to warm them up in the leftover heat.

He moves with a grace that you surely could not copy, all of his long limbs knowing exactly when to push the rice away from the burner, ducking away when the steam of pouring the hot water into the sink would have given your face a free steaming and all that while looking extremely put together with his tight pant- braid! and white shirt he didn't even bother protecting with an apron like he always forces you to wear.

It's frustrating and attractive how much confidence he oozes in the kitchen. You wonder how the cooks managed to do their job without dropping to the floor and praising him like the godly being he seems to be.

He looks perfectly put together when he finishes plating up and ushers you back into the living room, where you are forced to sit down while he disappears into the kitchen and brings the plates and bowls, shaking off your offer to help every time you can barely start the question.

So you do what is expected of you and you wait, brushing off some hair of your dress- long silver blond strands that you twirl around your finger.

The kitchen light gets dimmed and Thranduil comes into the living room one last time, holding a bottle of wine in his hands that by the looks of it, and by that you mean expensive as fuck, must have been nicked from the restaurant.

He fills your glass, then his own and finally sits down on the other side of the table.

Before you can say something, he raises his glass, "To this evening."

You smile and raise your glass to his, "To Marcus-" Thranduil's eyebrow twitches but you only smile wider "Thank god he canceled, I much rather spend this night with good food and good company"

A deep chuckle accompanies the soft 'clink' of your glasses. You take a first sip, holding Thranduil's gaze over the rim and over the flicking fire of the candles that illuminate his face just right. The wine is smooth, and refreshing as it wets your suddenly dry throat.

You use the plate in front of you as an opportunity to look away without it feeling like you are fleeing from his gaze, even if the thought is heavy in your stomach.

"Everything looks delicious, Thranduil," you say, gesturing to the bowls with the rice and tofu tikka masala, the dough that turned out to be naan that he placed on a wooden board between the flowers and the candle.

Thranduil gives you an appreciative nod, grabbing a naan and ripping it apart. "I tried to make something that comes close to your planned meal of chocolate ice cream," there is a mocking tone in his voice, a drawl on the words chocolate ice cream that is the perfect mix between friendly teasing and his true disgust towards it.

You let out a giggle, following his example of dipping the naan into the curry. "Oh, you are so gracious for trying but we both know that ice cream is high above this. It doesn't even fall in the same food category to be able to compare. If you truly look at it, it's its own category"

"Never mind everything I have said, I've forgotten that I'm talking to the person who thinks a cup of coffee counts as an entire meal. How very stupid of me"

"Not everyone can start their morning looking like you do and have the energy to go out for a run and then cook breakfast," you shoot back, the realization of the compliment slipping out pours onto you when you see Thranduil's lips curve into a very self-satisfactory grin.

"So you are awake to notice," he leans back in his chair, popping another piece of the bread into his mouth and looking so smug that the urge to kick him is rising in you again. "You simply choose to act like you are non-responsive until you've had your coffee."

Instead of kicking him, you roll your eyes and fill your spoon with rice.

Yes, that was one way to put it.

The other would be that you are simply too scared you would say something very stupid and inappropriate when you watched him do his yoga in nothing but very tight pants while you sat on the couch and pretended to stare into empty space that just coincidently was very close to his arching form in front of the window.

"Yes, I live by the rule that coffee comes before any man."

"How rude, to consider me 'any' man," you want to say something but Thranduil is quicker to continue, shutting you up with that gorgeous smile, "Am I not the only man in your life right now who you don't leave on read after a while?"

"That is a very low bar to measure yourself with"

"Darling, those men you date offer nothing but low standards."

You nearly choke on the wine you'd reached for when Thranduil says these words, this term of endearment he casually throws into the sentence, far too confident to be a slip of tongue, far too soft to be meant as mocking.

He said it as if it had never not been there, as if it wasn't completely out of character. For a moment you consider reaching over the table to poke him, to make sure he is really here and not some (very accurate, word class if it truly was one) robotic imitation.

There is a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that only seems to twinkle brighter the longer you stare at him and you wonder if he feels like he has won the discussion or if he can hear your brain mulling over the 'darling'.

Either way, he doesn't comment on it further, not on this nor the matter of your dating.

Why he thought to do so in the first place was a mystery to you, another piece of the puzzle that was this evening. He had made comments about the men you were seeing before, subtle phrases made after glancing over to your screen and the conversations you were having, never really cruel but you wouldn't say that they were particularly nice either.

Sometimes when you came home from a night out, you never brought them back to your flat, Thranduil would simply raise an eyebrow, not saying anything and so much at the same time.

You dig back into your food and like always conversation flows naturally between you. Pushing the teasing and the sizzling of something warm in your stomach that you had felt in the kitchen away into the back of your mind you let yourself enjoy the moment, the comfort of sitting at the table, a nice dinner in front of you and the home-y feeling that was in the air.

Curry and naan fill your stomach as the wine settles in your head and laughter slips your tongue.

Empty plates get pushed aside, forgotten on the side of the table until later, making room for you to prop up one elbow and let your cheek rest in the palm of your hand as Thranduil talks about his newest ideas for his restaurant.

The candles flicker, coloring both your faces golden as the last bit of sunlight sneaks away from the tiny crack in the curtains.

After another glass of wine and some well-coordinated cleaning up, a hand-in-hand process of taking the plates into the kitchen where you load the dishwasher and Thranduil wipes down the pots and pans in the sink, Thranduil throws you out of the kitchen again.

You hop into the bathroom, spend a few minutes staring at yourself in the mirror and try to think about the outcome of this evening.

A few hours ago you had been ready to go out with someone else but right now, in the dim light that is too bright to conceal how flushed your cheeks are and too dark to be the glimmering sparkle in your eyes, there is not one thought wasted on any other guy.

It's a complicated feeling, being confronted with the crush you'd harbored on Thranduil for a while now and while it wasn't always easy to keep it at bay, it had been nowhere near as hard to keep your focus on the big fat label of 'friendship' that was the only thing ever to be between you.

Yes, you know that that label should hamper the want.. the need to kiss the ever-living daylight out of Thranduil when he stared at you across those flickering candles but who wouldn't want to do that to an attractive man showering you with attention he had given you today?

Any normal-thinking person would.

At least that is what you tell yourself, that these feelings are normal because he is attractive and not just because you are attracted to him.

Back in the living room, you fall onto the sofa, legs stretched and feet propped onto the small table in front of the couch, and fight the urge to cuddle into the pillows more than necessary. Any deeper and you would for sure fall asleep and with how your evening is going, that that would be a shame was an understatement.

"Thranduil?" you call out when another minute passes and the noises of washing up had quietened down and Thranduil still wasn't out of the kitchen again.

"One moment," his deep voice responds with a subtle grunt, "You can begin your search for a bar and please don't let it be the rooftop bar you mentioned earlier."

On another day you would have chosen a bar or even a club to go to, especially after your stomach did that traitorous summersault at the sound of his voice again.

Tonight, with your cozy little apartment smelling like fresh flowers and curry and your mind clinging onto a possessive and dangerous thought of 'What if..'´ you suddenly can't think of anything worse than going out with Thranduil.

Going out would mean that Thranduil's attention wouldn't be on you alone anymore.

"Thranduil?" you call out again, "Let's stay in and watch a movie."

"What?" He pops his head out of the kitchen and you giggle at the sight of soap bubbles on his nose as he wipes his hand over his surprised face. He rolls his eyes, lifting one arm, - oh god his sleeves are rolled up, exposing far too much skin and veiny arms for you to think clear- and wipes the soap away. "I thought you wanted to go out."

"No," you draw the word out, still hung up on the smooth-looking skin, "We talked about going out or watching a movie," shuffling your shoulders into the pillows you smile at him "and I think we should watch a movie. It has been a while since we did that."

Thranduils face softens and he cocks his head, "It has," he agrees, the tenderness in his eyes reaching his voice.

With Thranduil running his restaurant and your work demanding more of you there hadn't been a lot of time you had sat down and watched something together recently.

You still had your mornings full of nursing coffee and yoga and the evenings where you weren't on a date or Thranduil away on business you had gone out together.

The summer with all its warm and sunny days and bars filled with cool drinks and long evenings fading into soft blue nights had been fun- that didn't mean you didn't miss cuddling into a blanket on the couch and watching a movie with Thranduil where you spend the entire time making small comments only to annoy him.

"How about you sort out what movie you want to see and I'll fetch us a snack?" he proposes and you let out a hum. Thranduil starts to turn away, then halters, "And if you could find anything other than 'Pride and Prejudice' I would be very grateful."

You did, in fact, not search further for the movie that you had started earlier.

Something that Thranduil comments with a loud "God, please do not do this to me," when he reenters the living room.

Stubbornly, you shake your head, your finger dancing over the buttons on the remote control. "You won't know if you like it or not if you never stay to watch it through! What if this is your movie? You say you don't have a favorite movie, Thranduil- this could be it!" Your arms flare in the air, pointing the remote to the screen while you try your best to sound as motivational as you can under the skeptical raise of his eyebrow - though the corner of his lips twitch, betraying his amusement however hard he wants to look self-assured in his completely (unreasonable) hate for the movie you consider one of the best of all time.

It's only when he saunters closer that you see what he holds in his hands and it momentarily lets you forget the never-ending argument.

"Ice cream!"

He laughs deep and rough, always a bit darker and richer when he has drunk wine, his voice and tone taking on the velvety edge that clouds your mind just as much as the alcohol.

"That was much more enthusiastic than the reaction to the soufflé I made you a while back. Should I take offense? Is this your revenge for my dislike of this Darcy that you so obsess about?"

Sticking out your tongue you grab one of the two buckets he holds out to you, as Thranduil takes his place on the couch; always on the longer side where he could stretch out his long legs. "Do not disrespect the man of my dreams or I will buy the mac-just-add-milk-cheese," you open the lid of the carton box, reaching over to the table to place it there.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Mhm, I wonder if they still have the ones that only need water?"

"Please just press play you vicious woman," Thranduil pokes his finger into your side, admitting defeat with a desperate sigh and opens his own box of ice cream. When he sees you staring at it, he rolls his eyes. "What now? Can't a man enjoy something sweet once in a while?"

"A man yes," you snort "But you-" you poke him as well, "you're always on me when I buy ice cream and now you eat.. what is that..?"

Leaning into his space you ignore how Thranduil swats at you gently like he wants to get rid of a fly "It's chocolate, no way! My, my, should I call your health insurance and warn them that we will need a checkup? Maybe a brain-"

"Goodness gracious!" Thranduil groans, a sound that reverberates through you as you are still leaning into him, one hand propped next to his thigh, "Will you shut up or do I have to do that for you?"

That does shut you up instantly.

Not a sound leaves your mouth - left wide open as if he had simply pressed paused on your whole body - and you slowly turn your head away from him and back to the screen.

Now, while he did shock you enough with his words to let the teasing about the ice cream slide back down your very much dry throat, you can't help it to at least attempt to have the last word.

To calm your racing heart if not to for the sudden lack of thoughts, "Only if you swear to watch the whole movie without talking shit about Mister Darcy"

"Half of it and a little bit of shit-talking?"

"All of it and none of that!"

"Just let me make my comments and I will buy you your ice cream next time."

You squint your eyes, challenging him to stay with the offer and consider if it's worth it.

You could easily buy your own snacks, you did it every day you went grocery shopping anyway but there was a satisfying pleasure in knowing that the great Thranduil, hater of all sweets, would not only pick out ice cream for you, but pay for it as well.

Maybe he would even throw in something else as well, if you agreed to him and let him make his jokes.

In the end, you were simply grateful that he was here, sitting on the couch to watch a movie he knows means a lot to you, despite his dislike for it, and maybe that was enough..

"Deal!"

Finally, you eagerly press play, allowing the soft piano music to fill the room a second time this day.

While you can't help but smile, muttering the words into the spoons full of ice cream, Thranduil is less mean than you thought he would be. In the beginning, you could see him rolling his eyes whenever Mr. Darcy came on screen - something you commented with a sigh and a giggle - but like you always predicted, he soon relaxed into the cushions.

His face softens, just like his comments, mouth corners turning up as he watches the discussion between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth in the reading room.

In one particularly dramatic scene, you turn to Thranduil with wide eyes. "See? See? Mister Darcy is just misunderstood. He's so in love with Elizabeth, but he doesn't know how to express it properly."

Thranduil rolls his eyes playfully. "Oh, please. He just needs to learn how to be less insufferable."

You lean closer to him, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know, you could learn a thing or two from Darcy, Thranduil."

He scoffs. "Me? Like what?"

Despite the tone he lifts one arm so that you can really lean into his side and you follow the invitation. Drawing your legs up, ignoring that the hem of your dress rides up your thigh, you scoot into Thranduil's space and rest your back against the length of his chest. His arm remains on the headrest of the couch.

You grin. "How to sweep a girl off her feet. Be a little less aloof and a little more... passionate–" your voice wanders into a wistful sigh, words getting lost as you watch with bated breath as Mister Darcy helps Elizabeth into the carriage.

There is a deep rumble behind you, a hot exhale of breath hitting the back of your head and while it seems like Thranduil wants to say something, he remains silent.

When you slightly turn your head, you see him watching the screen with a look in his eyes that you can't pin point.

"Why exactly does he flex his hand like that?" Thranduil quizzes with what sounds like genuine interest and you nearly bounce off the couch in excitement.

"Okay so there are multiple ways that this could be interpreted, some think it represents his armor cracking because he has been so buttoned-up, closed-off all the time and now his muscles betray the character he is putting on," you start, the words tumbling out of your mouth fast and rushed now that Thranduil shows his interest "It's like he is unraveling slowly but surely."

"It's also the first time they touch," you add.

Thranduil cocks his head, "It is?"

The grin on your face grows wider and you nod enthusiastically. "Yes! It's the first time they touch and it's pure skin to skin contact which was totally scandalous in their time, hence the gloves and long sleeves. Imagine going on through your life with these walls built around you as a way to protect your heart and then there is this infuriating woman."

"I can't imagine," Thranduil throws in yet it's so quietly that you nearly miss it.

Nearly.

Your tongue trips over a few words as you continue speaking, caught on what Thranduil had said under his breath as if it had been meant for only him, "-well and she.. she is rebellious. She does not follow the etiquette of wearing gloves, she speaks her mind freely and she contradicts everything that you have been taught," you count on your fingers "And she must have been the first woman in a long time that has touched him like that, even if it's as simple as using his help getting into the carriage"

"Mhm," Thranduil raises the arm that isn't behind you and taps his lips. "And you find that moment important for their building romance?"

"Without a doubt in my mind."

"Alright."

And with that, the topic is dropped and you both return to watch the movie.

That is until Thranduil's arm drops lower.

At first, you think it could have been unintentional, physics and gravity and all that stuff being the reason that his arm fell or slipped from the headrest on your shoulders.

It happens, maybe it had been tiresome to leave it up there, stretched away at such an angle. That is what you tell yourself in the few seconds where his arm simply.. stays still.. but then his arm bends at the elbow and the movement is so slow, so careful that your brain has enough time to forget the movie and focus on how delicately wary his hand comes into contact with the naked skin of your arm.

At first, it's just his fingertips.

Trembling ever so slightly they ghost over your biceps, giving the impression that he is still unsure on how to proceed and you wait, trying your hardest not to flex your arm and maybe scare him away and it's the hardest thing - this kind of touch was rare.

The waiting and effort are worth every second of agonizing stillness because following the tips is the hot palm of his hand, curving around your upper arm and holding you.

Your senses are aflame like the candles, lavender clouding your mind, cold ice cream melting on your tongue as the rough skin of his fingertips trails over your arm in the smallest circles.

Reflecting on the previous conversation there is one sentiment burning its way through your body, bringing with it all the moments of today, his hands on your leg in the kitchen, the storm of emotions crackling through his eyes like thunder, splitting his facade like lightening, the way he had reacted on spoonfeeding you the curry, the tension.

This has to mean something.

This has to be something.

You make up your mind to confront him about it even before he opens his mouth for the next commentary again.

"Darcy sure has a fantastic way to show his love," his tone was dripping with sarcasm.

"Nothing screams more 'I love you' than separating the sister of the woman you love from your best friend because you think the family is far too poor and lacks social etiquette," he scoffs, seemingly being his normal self and you would have believed him if his eyes didn't dart towards you, hinting at a touch of nervousness in those cerulean seas which lack the usual confidence.

"Maybe he is unsure how to tell her that he loves her," you say, holding his gaze.

"Well, there are other ways than this," Thranduil says, pointing toward the screen where Darcy is now standing painfully awkward in Charlotte's home that Elizabeth visits.

While you know that he is trying to follow Elizabeths advice of simple conversation, Thranduil doesnt seem to make that connection.

"Why aren't you out and about flirting with women?" It is a slip of the tongue, led on by the teasing you are so used to yet it comes out far too soft, far too wobbly. Quickly you add to the question with what is half cough, half laugh: "Huh, I mean if you are so sure that Darcy is doing something wrong, you should be picking up women, right?"

Thranduil raises an eyebrow in confusion. He opens his mouth, slightly tilting his head. "What? Why should I do that?"

Now you wonder if he was more stupid than you thought or if you heavily missed him having a girlfriend. Or not a girlfriend, or a partner. Were you that ignorant? Did you miss anything he told you about his sexuality?

"I–" you stutter "I didn't want to pry. I´m sorry. I.. I'm just wondering why you never go out on dates"

"Oh," there is a solemn look on his face "Ah, I had hoped this wouldn't come up for a while longer," He pauses, glancing at the TV and a feeble smile has the corner of his mouth twitching.

You don't have to follow his gaze to know that Mister Darcy has just followed Elizabeth into the rain; the only scene Thranduil has ever watched with you.

Maybe you had been ignorant before but the resigned tone in his voice is loud and clear. "We don't have to talk about it!" you rush in, "Really. No need to converse. Let's just watch the movie alright?" Without thinking about it, your hand moves to his chest, a reflex to gently pat him that dies when you feel the hard thumping of his heart through his shirt.

"I could never date someone, let alone think about a woman the way I think about you."

There it was again, the casualness that had tainted the 'Darling' from earlier. You would have laughed, hell, it is already bubbling up your throat when the heaviness of his confession crashes down on you and all that leaves you is a choked sound and a sudden lack of air has you gasping.

The combination of both hurts but not enough to cover the flutter in your stomach.

"What?" you ask not because you didn't understand him, you had heard every word, every syllable clear and distinct, but because you can't believe that you had heard it.

Your hand still rests atop his chest, feeling the heartbeat- hard and fast.

The same way he suddenly pressed his mouth on yours.

It happens quickly, leaving no time for you to react how you want to react and the only thing you can do is gasp.

The kiss ends as swiftly as it has started at the sound yet Thranduil doesnt withdraw completely. His mouth hovers over yours, his breath ghosting over your dry lips. There was a question in it, the same that is in his eyes when you gather the courage to look up.

Thranduil wasn't this hesitant, he was efficient, confident and so fucking sure of himself that his lack of those qualities right now spoke just as much as the kiss itself.

In the background, you hear rain but all you feel is your mind clearing up like the sky after the downpour.

Without further hesitation, you nod and Thranduil lunges forward again, this time with enough force that you lose your balance - or maybe it was the feel of his lips on yours that prevented you from catching yourself as you fall backward and crash into the pillows.

As far as first kisses go, most of the ones you had with guys were significantly worse. They were usually awkward, sometimes even uncomfortable because you weren't yet attuned to each other, but you weren't kissing a strange guy in a bar here.

You were kissing Thranduil.

You had been friends for years, you had seen each other in the most embarrassing situations, he had probably been confronted with your unclothed body more often than others, and if there was one thing he had noticed, it was what disappointed you about your dates.

And while he kissed you silly and stupid you were happy about exactly this perceptiveness.

His hair falls around you like a curtain, his chest presses against yours and you get so used to the weight of his body on yours like it has never been different.

And you hope it will never be any different.

"Shit," Thranduil groans against your lips, and you open your eyes, smiling up at him in a daze.

"What?"

"Now-" he kisses you again "Now that we got this out of the way.." Another kiss, a soft bite on your lips and you are so fucking glad to know that no woman has experienced this from him in a while. You are getting addicted to his kisses fast "..can you please stop dating these assholes and let me take you out for a real dinner?"

You nod hastily and lift your head to catch his mouth again. You only let him go for another second, when the perfect place pops into your mind - the last thought for the rest of the evening probably.

"Let's go to 'Oakenshields'"

[bapplenana]

"passenger princess" | chapter eight

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 4,6k

❱ summary: the stormy side of summer; falling down a rabbit hole of doubts

❱ warnings: mature language, descriptions of weed & alcohol, description of a panic attack

❱ an: forgive me? This is the second to last chapter and I'm not me without a bit of drama

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

CHAPTER EIGHT: PANIC

The music around you was loud, the air sweltering hot. Heavy bass pulsed in your veins, mixing with the cold beer that you lifted to your lips trying to cool down just the slightest; it helped only a little and only for a brief moment, a hint of moisture in your throat before the stale and stuffy air caught up with you again.

No matter how many frat parties you had been to, the number of guests fitting in the much too small and mostly couch-filled houses always surprised you.

And here, in the living room you got dragged into, were obviously far too many. A mass of sweaty bodies pressed tightly together and swaying back and forth to the songs blaring from the speakers.

You leaned against the wall where you'd spent most of the evening, staring over the rim of your cup at your roommate.

'Oh, you really need to come to this party,' you repeated her tearful words from this morning in your head. She had blindsided you as you were about to head off to Aragorns, had begged you to accompany her because 'Oh I don't want to go there alone and we haven't been out in so long'.

Apparently, there was a tiny bit of guilt in you. In the weeks before university had started, you knew no one and had blindly followed her to these parties until you had met your boys, and yes, she was right about you then going with them rather than her.

Plagued by your good heart and the promise of 'We'll do it like we used to, just the two of us!' you had forced yourself out of your comfy clothes and Thranduil's sweater and thrown on one of your party outfits instead.

Nothing came of the "just the two of us".

Within minutes of your arrival, she'd been pulled onto the dance floor by one of the (in your opinion, look-alike) blonde residents of the house.

The only thing you had done together was pre-drink some shots in the car of an acquaintance who had given you a ride.

It didn't sound nice, and to most others, your roommate's behavior would probably be 'unfriendly' and 'selfish,' but while she preferred to dance with strangers, you had previously used these parties to, well, make acquaintances elsewhere.

With the promise of a real date from Thranduil and the text messages you'd been sending back and forth to each other all day and even for the past weeks, the thought of repeating your earlier party experiences left a bitter taste in your mouth.

And it was almost more disgusting than the beer here- however that was possible. The beer was disgusting. Really fucking disgusting.

Life had taken a turn on you, growing rosy and soft at the sharp edges.

The giddy feeling of bridging that space between you and Thranduil accompanied you throughout the days and nights, you saw no need in the hook-up culture that came along with these kinds of parties.

As if on cue and as if he had read your mind, your phone vibrated in your other hand.

Thran: Darling, I hope you arrived safely! xx Thranduil

The smile that spread on your face when you read his message was unavoidable.

Thranduil had a habit of signing every message with his name, even though you (and Legolas) had explained to him several times that it was not necessary.

With every day that passed, you discovered more very kind and terribly sweet quirks about Thranduil, and every day you fell more in love with him.

You: we did. four shots into the night and i want to leave again

Thran: Oh no! Did anything happen? xx Thranduil

You: nothing that should surprise me, its a frat party lmao

Thran: You seem to enjoy them when you go out with Legolas. xx Thranduil

Thran: A lot, if I remember the many nights where I had to pick you guys up from some house correctly xx Thranduil

There was a truth behind it that you couldn't deny.

Frat parties with Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli were clearly preferable to you, because your boys wouldn't just leave you alone.

Well, at least not for an entire evening.

Legolas had a knack for wandering off at these parties, though he never got far until he was surrounded by swarming girls and boys.

Another advantage of going to parties with them was that Aragorn knew everyone and you never had trouble getting in anywhere, no matter what kind of party it was.

The pick-ups by Thranduil increased again, now that summer break called for more parties and more outings.

With you last on the route and Legolas asleep and unresponsive in the back seat, Thranduil drove the rest of the way always with his hand in yours or on your legs and every time he accompanied you to the front door you hoped.

Hoped his lips didn't land on your forehead or your cheek. Hoping that he would finally kiss you like the look on his face showed. It was frustrating to stand in the dark alcove with him, looking up at him and feeling only his thumb on your lips as he put his hand on the back of your neck.

It was tempting to call him, just ask him to pick you up from this party and then you could drive around in the night, hands intertwined and without a care in the world.

To be honest, you were already dialing his number in your mind when you lifted your cup and looked back at your roommate as you drank.

Your clear conscience gnawed at you as you grimaced slightly biting into the plastic without breaking it. What you could use besides your less-than-ideal mood was a beer-soaked dress.

You: yes, with the boys!

You: roomie ditched me to make out with some Beta Chi Theta guy

You: i got crypto explained to me three fucking times

You: and i swear either i will die of boredom or blackout from the bowl they are serving here. its like 90 perc vodka

Thran: Typical for boys. Thinking a woman has nothing in her head because she is gorgeous. xx Thranduil

You: You think i am gorgeous? ;)

Thran: You are really cheeky for someone that got ditched xx Thranduil

You: wow. shouldn't you be reading a book or play golf, old man?

Thran: Shouldn't you be dancing and not texting with a still young and handsome man? xx Thranduil

Thran: Why are you going to these parties with your roommate if you suffer this much? xx Thranduil

You: most times you get free entry and drinks just bcs you got your tits out :)

Thran: That is definitely not the sentence that I have expected xx Thranduil

You: you want proof?

Thran: ...

Three dots ...

Nothing

Then again the three dots …

You had to bite your lip, and yet the grin spread all over your face as Thranduil visibly tapped away at an answer for a long time.

As much as it frustrated you to see the dots disappear again, the flirting had clearly improved your mood.

"Oh my god, girly–"

With both hands in front of her face, trying to catch her breath, your roommate fell against the wall next to you, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide open.

Without words, you held your cup out to her and grinned as she put her head back and drank the beer in a few gulps, after which she puckered her mouth.

"This shit tastes like ass," she said, wiping a hand across the corner of her mouth.

"Are you surprised?" you asked, letting your gaze wander over the crowd. "Where did you leave your boy-toy? The way he had his hands on you, I'm surprised to see you here beside me and not on some bed upstairs."

Snorting, your roommate held her hair to the side "Fuck me, it's so hot in here," she cursed and you longed for some fresh air as well, there was only one window open in here and a group of smokers were leaning out of it. "Kíli just went to get his brother," She turned her head, grinning broadly and started giggling "We were at a party at their place the other night and Girly— Fíli is such a hottie!"

"Brothers?" you asked, one eyebrow raised skeptically "Don't you think one is enough?"

At that, the giggling died down and a surprised and slightly reproachful look landed on you. "Babe, you of all people shouldn't be judging, don't you think?"

Slightly startled at the tone in her voice, you leaned away from her, seeking eye contact, but she rolled her eyes and then there was that smirk on her face again.

"As much as I would appreciate a trip to Paris," she was the only one laughing at this innuendo, "Fíli isn't coming for me. Well, at least not today." She paused to fan herself again and you thought you had to shake her to make her continue speaking. When she did, however, you wished you had never started the conversation.

"Fíli is coming for you, babe! Look at you, standing around all alone at this party, it's so lame," She smiled at you and put a warm hand on your bare arm. "In the old days, I would have had to hold your hair now or found you in one of the bedrooms."

"Coming for me?" you asked in horror, your thoughts a single merry-go-round at the sudden change in mood. "Why would you invite a boy I don't know over because of me? Just because I made the mistake of sleeping with some fratboy once in the very beginning?"

"You've changed sweetie and I just want to help you have fun again."

"I'm having fun," you replied bitterly, "Believe me, it's not on me why I'm standing around here alone. You wanted to come here together!"

"Yeah, because I thought that would make you finally stop thirsting after old men!" your roommate cried, and a slap would probably have been more pleasant than her words.

They came crashing down on you like a bucket of cold water while you got even hotter. You could feel your breathing first stop and then become faster, more irregular, and it slipped slightly into the uncontrollable.

She wasn't done, though. Cheeks flushed, she pressed a long fingernail against your chest and pushed you against the sticky wall.

"Do you know how disgusting it is to see you being driven home at night by a man as old as my father? Not to mention it's your best friend's father, Girl. You're constantly on the road, sleeping in his sweater and even here you prefer to write with this old fuck instead of finally finding someone your age. At first, I really believed you were sleeping with Legolas since you were always with him and god I would have understood that."

Anger burned in your belly, bubbling and hissing, fighting its way up with every word thrown at your feet, and by the last sentence, you were ready to forget all your notions of moral rightness.

The temptation to show her what you could do with your anger was as present in a twitch of your hands as the taste of blood in your mouth. You hadn't even realized you'd bitten your lip until metal spread across your tongue.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," you snapped at her in a tone that couldn't have been more bitter.

"Oh no?" She challenged you, her red-painted lips twisted into a sardonic grin. "Tell me," she moved closer, leaning far too close into your personal space for your liking right now, and you tasted alcohol and the acrid smell of weed on her breath.

"Is he paying you for sex? Or what does he want from you of all people?"

The music around you was loud and you felt hot and cold at the same time. The bass boomed in your ears and yet you thought you perceived nothing louder than the suspension of your heart at that moment.

It happened very quickly, the poisoned words had barely bitten you, you already felt a touch of dizziness, a spinning of the room and with it disintegrated the image that you had had so far of your roommate.

You couldn't find words to express what you wanted to say. You wanted to scream at her, push her, insult her, tug and tear at her and beat her with similarly poisonous claws until she felt even a hint of the pain spreading through your body.

There was so little air in that house.

Sweat and alcohol, weed and smoke stung your lungs with every attempt to take a deep breath.

Your legs moved on their own as you fought your way through the crowd, past blurry faces.

Out, you had to get out.

You needed air.

You fled the house, the words anchored deep in your chest, where they dug deeper with each breath until your chest threatened to explode.

Not knowing where to go, the main thing your brain screamed was away, you stumbled across the porch, hearing someone calling your name, but you didn't stop.

You kept running, lapsing after a while from running to walking more slowly until even that became far too much for your feet.

Looking around you didn't recognize the houses around you, and the thought of going back the same way you pushed away as quickly as it had come.

The silence coming from the sleeping family homes around you was almost as bad as the music of the house. Your heart beat loud enough that it throbbed dully in your ears and no matter how athletic you might be, your breath rattled and burned in the freezing night air that crept around your free legs and arms.

Shivering, from anger, cold or pure exhaustion from it all, you couldn't tell, you pulled at the hem of your dress and lowered yourself to the curb.

Legs pulled to your chest you ran your hands over your face, over glowing cheeks and as you tried to take a deep breath you felt your jaw tighten and only a sniffle could be heard in the silence.

A "fuck", slipped over your lips, quietly and rather an exhalation of air instead of letters. Your mind was in chaos, driven by a big 'what the fuck just happened?' thoughts piled up in an unassailable crowd. It felt surreal, and as much as you pleaded it was a figment of alcohol, the events burned inside you.

You stared at the ground in front of you, your roommate's last words echoing in your ears, and the image of your friendship tore before you like a rubber band stretched too long. It had been inevitable in the end, that was clear to you, because you had never really fit together.

Only the hostility had been a surprising guest.

She had been so driven to hurt you and her weapons had found their target.

What had seemed to you before like a solid foundation of trust and respect crumbled beneath you and your throat tightened at the thought of going back to your dorm.

Sniffling, you unlocked your phone, which you thank god hadn't dropped as you'd run. Immediately you stared at the last opened chat with Thranduil and the wave of emotions crashed over you again.

Before the bitter words could bite into your insecurity, however, you had already dialed his number and held the phone to your ear.

Only a few seconds later the dialing sound disappeared and was replaced by a coarse, "First you leave me on a sweet promise and then you call when I want to sleep? Tze tze, darling" A single, miserably failed attempt to suppress a sob was enough to change the tone in his voice from a drawled tease to concern.

He spoke your name with such concern that a second sob followed the first, "Is everything alright... what happened? Darling, the background is so quiet, where are you?"

You didn't have it in you to repeat the argument, didn't want to say hateful things to him over a phone even if they hadn't been your words.

Instead, you hugged your legs with your free hand, pulling them closer to you. "I don't know where I am"

On the other end of the line you heard him inhale sharply, a commotion of rustled blankets, then bare feet on floor.

"Nothing happened to me," you quickly forestalled his question, and then immediately felt the pain in your chest again, and tears gathered in your eyes on your next breath. "Thranduil, I–" you began, but your voice broke. Hearing him had been enough to open the floodgates of your held-back despair, the battle with yourself for your composure was lost.

Alone on the side of the road, in a neighborhood that was foreign to you and with nothing on you but what you were wearing and your cell phone, you felt so cut off from all warmth that you couldn't help but cry.

Thranduil said your name again, this time with more urgency, "Send me your location and I'll come to get you."

"You don't have to," you protested weakly "You wanted to sleep"

"The only way I'm going to be able to relax and close even one damn eye today is if I know you're safe, and nothing is going to stop me from making sure of that myself."

While sending him your location you also put him on speaker phone, your phone cradled in your hands.

"Okay, I can be there in fifteen minutes. Are you safe where you are?" asked Thranduil and you heard his front door slam.

You looked around, but except for a dog in the distance, no one seemed to be near you. "Yes," you managed to say before the tears took over again and shook you.

A car door was pulled open and closed again, the familiar click of its key and purr of the engine followed, and despite your crying, the familiar sounds filled you with a slight warmth.

As much as you wanted to make yourself smaller, to put your head between your legs to hide from the world, you didn't dare to turn your back completely to your surroundings.

It tore you apart piece by piece.

The evening had not gone at all as you had wished. It didn't have to be much, a few free drinks, conversations about courses of study and how awful some professors were, then maybe a couple of dances with girlfriends and before you knew it you would have been back in your bed, snuggled up in Thranduil's sweater.

But no.

How could you have been so wrong?

Your hands clawed into your upper arms as your body shook from your sobs. Nails pressed into your skin in a way that would surely leave marks, but you didn't fight back. Didn't stop.

Why had you opened up?

A bitter voice haunted your thoughts, whispering to you that it had been inevitable. Of course, you couldn't even enjoy a relationship; if you could call that with Thranduil a relationship.

He wouldn't even kiss you. They were ghosts, insecurities hidden under white sheets with grimaces cut into them, who knew how to use their tricks so that within a few minutes you were a complete mess.

What had started as anger toward your roommate took a quick downward path into your fears.

Your roommate had given the ghosts an opening, had purposefully punched a hole in your walls, and now your head was trapped in a stream, ever downward.

Doubt ate at you, made you question Thranduil's feelings.

You clung to whispered words at movie nights, the feather-light touch of his hand on your back wherever you were, and the smile, very different from his grin, much more genuine, gentle, and given only to you.

Tears fell too fast to wipe them away and sucked the last bit of strength that had kept you upright until now out of you like it was never there at all.

In another state, it would never have occurred to you to give in to doubts.

In another state, you were aware of how much progress you'd made in conversing and growing comfortable being the person the other could rely on, how heavy his touches were in their meaning.

A fleeting brush of his fingers over your shoulder or back as he passed you, a hand in your side as he walked you to the guest room after long parties, as Legolas fell asleep on the couch, or when he grabbed your hand to help you out of the car, because no matter what the weather, he was always at your door to open it.

It was easy to lose yourself when you were hurting, to question what was real.

You must have switched off completely, because suddenly you were bathed in the bright light of headlights and a dark car shot towards you much too fast.

What would have otherwise been guaranteed to send you running was a welcome sight to you, and you were on your feet even before the car stopped in front of you.

The next sob that went through you and shook your whole body was accompanied by a simultaneously relieved but also longing wail.

Thranduil jumped out of the car, the door open behind him and the engine continuing to purr, and you didn't wait a second longer before throwing yourself at him.

For a moment the ghosts disappeared, driven away by the oh-so-familiar face whose eyes anxiously scanned you for injuries.

His arms immediately embraced you, pulling you to his chest and wrapping around your torso like a shield. One of his hands grasped your waist, stabilizing you as he realized you were falling fully against him, his other stroking your back first in even motions until they brushed up your shoulder blades and then wrapped around your neck.

Your hands clawed at his sweater, crumpling the fabric between your fingertips as you clung to him. Turning your head so that your ear rested against his chest, the place your cheek pressed against was quickly drenched with tears and there was no doubt you would apologize when you could speak more again without being interrupted by sobs and whimpers from your throat.

"Shh, I'm here," Thranduil murmured, lowering his head to yours. Soft lips traveled a familiar route from your forehead, to your temple, down to your ear, leaving kisses so gentle that your heart contracted in shame at ever having doubted them.

"I'm here," Thranduil repeated, and you could feel the movement of his lips against your skin, feel the vibration of his deep voice in his chest. "Follow my breath, in and out, okay? In, you're doing so well my love, and out slowly, very good."

A few minutes of deep, concentrated breathing passed to force yourself back into a stable state.

Eased through it by Thranduils low voice in your ear, reverberating through your entire body just like the breaths he took for you to mimic him.

Guided by the slow rise and fall of his chest, your lungs filled themselves with his scent instead of the harsh and cold wind, clouding you in the faint smell of lingering perfume that had worn off this late of an hour.

"I'm sorry," When you spoke, your voice was raspy. The words were scratching in your throat, it would most likely be sore later, and half of them are muffled by his sweater, but you felt that he heard you in the way that his muscles tensed. "I'm so sorry."

Your eyelashes were sticky with tears, pealing open to tilt your head just the slightest bit for you to look up at Thranduil.

His eyes were on you already, and with a soar of your heart you discovered the puffiness under them, the redness coloring his cheeks.

Had he been crying? For you? Because of you?

Slowly you raised on arm, stroking over the slight discoloration of his ivory skin.

He caught your hand in his, breathing another kiss on the inside of your palm.

"I was so fucking scared," he started, holding your gaze through half-lidded eyes "I was trying to talk to you on the phone but you stopped talking and all I could hear were your cries and god, I was so fucking scared that I wouldn't be here in time. The scenarios in my head–" his whole body shuddered trying to fight those thoughts visibly coming up again, the breath he lets out hot against your hand. "I would have never forgiven myself."

"I'm so so sorry," you whispered "I wasn't sure who to call."

"You have no need to apologize for this. Okay? Never apologize for calling me, whenever and whatever it is about. I rather drive through the country to pick you up than have you call a cab." Thranduils nose nudged against your forehead.

His gaze was slowly softening, the initial worry not disappearing but dwindling to be replaced by a relief that you at least seem to be physically alright.

"Come, let's get you out of this dreadful cold. It looks like it will rain soon and you, my darling, deserve to be warm and comfortable."

'I am warm', you thought loosening your grip on his sweater, 'you make me feel warm.'

You didn't say it, instead, you let him guide you to his car, his arm still around your waist and when he opened the door for you you had to hold back another sob.

There, laying on the black leather, was the green sweater you loved so much on him.

The one he wore when he had you pressed against the painting in his hallway, the one he had worn the first morning you came over after that evening, still giddy and blushing all over, as he had sat next to you at the breakfast table and his legs had ever so slightly brushed against yours, while Legolas and Gimli were discussing your weekend plans.

He had worn that sweater the first time he had held your hand in the darkness of his living room, a movie playing on the TV and Legolas asleep on the other end of the couch, and you had held your breath, as he slowly reached between you, intertwining your fingers in each other and smiling at you.

Pulling it over your head you felt your hands trembling.

There were so many words on your tongue, forming sentences out of the feelings bubbling inside you like a hot pot of water that surely would boil over sooner or later and you could pinpoint the exact moment it did because as soon as Thranduil sat down in the driver seat he reached over and gently placed his hand on your leg.

"You don't need to tell me what happened but know that I'll listen to you when you want to."

You were fighting the tears once again, this time it was from the overwhelming warmth that spread through you. Thranduil was here, with you, and his voice carried to you like a comforting embrace and you no longer were alone.

Oh, how wonderful it felt. The kindness in his words was a flame inside you, lightning all the places that were left raw and hollow and cold with haunting ghost touches and it soothed away the pain that the venomous words had left you with.

There was not a chance that you could get anything out of your mouth without breaking down into a crying mess. so you just nodded, resting your hand over his and squeezed it.

It wasn't much.

But it was enough for the moment

taglist [still open]: @mushroomemeralds, @mssuguru, @solartoge, @12134z03, @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @lady-of-imladris @finallyforgotten , @123forgottherest @tomhockstetter7-111 @marshymallo @emily-roberts @howlerwolfmax @tigereyesf

[bapplenana]

To Meet Under the Stars | Thranduil

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff

▹ Words: ~3k

▹ Summary: In light of the stars, Thranduil finds himself entirely enchanted by a mysterious masked woman.

▹ Notes: I love masquerade balls, that is all. Unedited because we die as men.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The light of starlight was something sacred to the elves. 

In the times of old, before the moon and sun had been created, Varda placed the stars in the sky, illuminating the world for the elves to see. For all other races, stars were just light that guided their way at night, but they were so much more for the elves. They held the promise of life unsullied by the evil of Morgoth. A beautiful display of glistening diamonds that held the light of creation. To honor the stars was to honor Varda herself.

Under the canopy of stars, the wood elves of Eryn Galen celebrated the first night of the autumn equinox. The moon was full and high in the sky as lords, ladies, and commoners alike gathered for the party. The echo of minstrels ensured there would be no corner of the kingdom not lit with joy. Dragonflies darted across ponds, and crickets hid in the forest, chirping to the beat of the lute. There were festivities all throughout the kingdom, but the main attraction was the masquerade ball held within the palace of King Thranduil. Only guests of high esteem were invited to dance under the lush canopy in the company of the royal family. 

And there you were, with summer in your hair and winter in your eyes. Dancing through the crowd, illuminated in the silver light of the moon, you were the vision of a goddess. A soft halo shone upon your silver-gold hair, pinned in an updo with stray pieces that cascaded down your back. Flowers in purple, blue, and silver hues were placed upon your head like a crown, creating the silhouette of a queen. A silver mask encrusted with enough jewels that it glittered under the light concealed the top half of your face, two holes allowing your eyes to glow in the dark. A grin born of pure ecstasy was outlined by the lipstick on your lips. 

No one could recall who you were nor when you’d arrived at the celebration. It was as if you were always there, lying in wait and dancing with the ghosts of the open-roof ballroom. A laugh rivaling the minstrels' songs hung in the air where you stood and followed your every sweeping move. 

From the high table, with a glass of wine precariously hanging in his hand, Thranduil watched you. He couldn’t help it. It was as if you were weaving some sort of spell, casting it upon all who watched, paralyzed by your song and enraptured by your dance. You were beautiful, quick as a whip, and light as a feather. Each step seemed calculated and purposeful, yet so loose it could only be natural.

Thranduil couldn’t recall ever meeting you, so certain he’d know your laugh even if he couldn’t see your face. His advisors tried to make idle conversation as Legolas spent his time with the other members of the guard, drinking and laughing. Thranduil couldn’t be bothered to even pretend to listen, intently focused on the way your summer blue dress flowed like water around you. It nearly felt sacrilegious to directly look at something so beautiful, like staring at the face of Varda herself. 

“It is a beautiful--” his advisor beside him began to speak, talking so slowly it made Thranduil’s lips curl in slight irritation that was hidden by the goblet he held. He watched as you threw your head back in laughter, finding amusement in whatever the elf lord you were speaking with said. It took all his willpower not to roll his eyes as he drank more sweet wine. 

The elf lord offered you his hand, which you gracefully accepted. Instead of dancing through the crowds alone, you twirled in the arms of another man. It made Thranduil’s stomach turn in a way it hadn’t for centuries. 

You and the elf lord you danced with would flit in and out of his vision, yet the merriment never left your expression, and when the face of your dance partner would face Thranduil, he could see just how enchanted the man was by you. His grip on the goblet tightened, knuckles turning white. 

The song seemed endless, drawing out the end of it for as long as possible. Part of Thranduil was tempted to bark at the minstrels to begin a new one in hopes you would once again be left alone, but he didn’t. A king needed to maintain his composure, even if everything inside was screaming not to. It seemed silly to be so taken by a woman whose face he couldn’t even see. 

“Have you tried one of these cakes yet? They’re quite--” 

“Galion.” Thranduil interrupted the man previously speaking, gaining the attention of his butler. The advisor that had been interrupted scowled yet said nothing else as Galion stepped closer to Thranduil. 

“Yes, my king.”

Thranduil pointed at you, Galion’s eyes following his finger. “Who is that?”

His eyes narrowed as Galion leaned closer to try and get a better look at you. Yet not a glint of recognition twinkled in his eyes. Did anyone here know who you were?

“I’m afraid I am unfamiliar with who she is. Would you like me to fetch her, my king?” Galion asked, his attention returned to Thranduil, whose eyes furrowed in mild annoyance. 

“That will not be necessary, Galion.” He waved his hand, and Galion returned to his previous seat. It would be easy to bring you to him, he was the king, after all, but he didn’t want your meeting with him to seem forced upon you. He already had enough of a reputation as a cold, unfeeling man; it wouldn’t do any good to give you a reason to believe them. 

The song ended, and you stepped away from your partner, lowering into a curtsey that he returned with a bow. Thranduil stood, the legs of his chair scraping on the floor; he didn’t bother giving a weak excuse for his exit. If he doesn't act soon, you might slip from his fingers. Thranduil took long strides down the platform and disappeared into the sea of elves. 

He pushed his way through the crowd, most too lost in the magic of the music to pay their king any mind. He could see you, dancing alone with your eyes shut. The grin on your face was wide, never wavering in the slightest. The distance separating him from you was dwindling, the anticipation making his palm sweaty. The crowd parted, and he could’ve pulled you into his arms if he wanted to. 

But as he opened his mouth, you disappeared into the crowd, so preoccupied you never saw him coming. Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, his misty eyes searching the crowd for you, but you were nowhere to be seen. Had you merely been a figment of his imagination conjured by the trickster spirits rumored to hide in his forest? Perhaps you had been, but Thranduil was determined to comb through the crowd hoping to see you again.

Then, a flit of blue brightened the corner of his eye. He turned, seeing you dart from dance partner to dance partner, now on the other end of the room. A cat-like grin appeared on the edges of his mouth; he’d found you. Once more, he pushed through the crowd, not moving his eyes from you for one second, afraid you’d disappear without a trace if he did.

The crowd would pulse, and you would get closer to him before suddenly spreading out towards the treeline. Thranduil would get close enough to smell your floral perfume, but you'd dart in another direction before he could take your delicate hands in his. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was on purpose; you probably hadn’t even noticed him. Your eyes never locked with his that never strayed from you.

But the gods seemed to smile upon him that night, and as the crowd came closer, Thranduil snatched your hand. Your body twisted to face him, the grin on your face never faltering. The perfume you wore was distinctly jasmine, vanilla, and something sweeter, tantalizing enough to bring him closer to you. His hand was rough in comparison to yours, much larger too. 

“May I have this dance, my lady?” His voice was velvet smooth. Thranduil stood out like a sore thumb as the only one in the crowd without a mask. 

“You may, my king,” you curtsied before placing your other hand on his shoulder as his hand found its place on your waist. Wasting no time, the two of you twisted and spun through the crowd in an airy waltz. You had the grace of a swan, maintaining a poised elegance with a child-like grin. Thranduil felt himself falling deeper into whatever spell you had cast. 

A witch, that’s what you had to be. There was no other explanation for the hammering of his heart or the delight your touch elicited. 

One step back, one step forward, one to the side, and repeat. Another spin, extra flourish added for flavor, and the movements continued. Neither of you spoke, eye to eye, unable to look away from one another. Thranduil found himself counting the flecks in your eyes, convinced they held a thousand little stars in them. 

Perhaps you hadn’t been an illusion placed to taunt him but a gift from the Valar themselves. 

All too soon, the song ended, and the dance was finished. As he watched you do before, you stepped back from Thranduil and lowered into a sweeping curtsey. He wanted to ask you to stay with him, not only for the night but the rest of eternity, but he found himself tongue-tied.

“It was an honor to dance with you, my king.” Your voice was soft and warm, like the spiced tea he would drink before bed. He wanted your name, to lift the mask you wore and lay his eyes upon your face entirely. He needed to see the face of the woman that would surely haunt his every dream. 

Thranduil blinked, and in the brief time, his eyes weren’t on you, you’d disappeared. He half expected for there to be stardust left where your feet had been, but the only proof you’d existed was the imprint of your heels in the grass. His eyes scanned the crowd, twisting his body and craning his head, yet you were nowhere to be seen. But this time, instead of seeing flashes of your dress or silver hair, you were nowhere to be seen. You’d disappeared entirely.

Thranduil stood in the crowd a moment longer, hoping for a glimpse of you before deciding to return to his seat at the table. Perhaps from the high crowd, he could ascertain where you were. Thranduil returned to his seat, acting as if he hadn’t suddenly rushed from the table to dance with you, ignoring the questioning glances from his advisors. His goblet of wine in hand, eyes on the crowd, Thranduil sunk into the music and lost himself in thought. All of them were plagued by you. 

And there he stayed as the hours ticked by, seemingly in a trance. No one at the table bothered to strike up a conversation with Thranduil anymore; it was like trying to converse with a brick wall. So they settled in silence, occasionally remarking about the party with the other guests. 

“My king,” Galion returned to his side. “The lady you danced with has stepped away to the gardens.” Galion’s tone was even as if he were merely commenting on the weather. Thranduil side-eyed him, noticing the tinge of mirth on Galion’s smile. Thranduil tilted his head to the side, then slowly nodded. 

“Perhaps I should ensure our guest is enjoying the festivities.” 

Thranduil stepped away from the table and followed the path toward the garden’s you just slipped into. He took long strides to reunite with you sooner. This time he was determined to get your name and to peek beneath the mask you wore. 

When he finally stepped into the garden, he saw your back turned to him, fingers dipped in the fountain's water. Your posture was relaxed, hair loose and flowing, no longer pinned in the updo it once was. It flowed like liquid silver, furthering his conspiracy that you were a celestial being born of the gods. Precariously hanging in your hand was the mask you’d been wearing, thumbs rubbing against the ribbon that tied it in your hair. The minstrels were now a distant hum, the flowing water, and the chirp of crickets the only song in the gardens.

He stopped a few steps from you, trying to find the words to say. It’d been so long since he’d been made to feel like a shy elfling, nervous about approaching his first crush. A king should be dignified and confident, but he felt all of that crumble in your presence. 

Your ears twitched as Thranduil shifted in his spot, head raising at the sudden intrusion. Slowly, you turned, unsure who to expect would intrude upon your solitude. But of all the people you imagined stepping into the garden, you never anticipated it would be the king. He nearly seemed awkward and unsure in his place, fingers smoothing wrinkles on his robes that weren’t there. 

Immediately you lowered into a curtsey, but the king didn’t acknowledge the movement. His eyes were wide and mouth slightly agape as he stared at you. As he looked upon your face, this must’ve been how the first elf to gaze upon the stars felt. The curves and lines of your face were soft and delicate, the vision of beauty. Your eyes seemed even brighter in the dim lighting, an unsure, shy smile curling on your lips.

“My king.”

He remained silent, too wonderstruck to speak. 

“If you require to be alone, I can--” You began to walk towards the exit, but as you passed Thranduil, his hand reached out and caught your arm. You turned to face him, uncertain. Thranduil’s hand trailed down your arm and intertwined with yours, a soft smile on his lips.

“Of all the people who desire my presence, yours is the one I desire most.”

You swallowed thickly, your mouth suddenly dry. You’d been close to the king only hours ago, sharing a dance with him. Yet the privacy of the gardens and the sweetness of his words, it all felt much more intimate. 

“Then I shall stay.”

Thranduil’s grin widened as he guided you further into the gardens. The flowers were vibrant and lush, a true testament to the skills of the elves. A canopy of trees diffused the moon's light, reflecting off the fountain and casting a spotlight on you. 

“I have a confession.” Thranduil suddenly stopped, eyes intently watching your face, noticing how your lips slightly parted and your eyes glowed with curiosity. “I have found myself quite enchanted with you, my lady. It seems foolish, not knowing your face until this moment and not having your name.”

“It’s Y/N, my king.” You interrupted, a charming smile curling your lips. The hammer of your heart matched the tempo with Thranduil’s. 

“Y/N.” He muttered your name quietly, your name on his lips making your stomach curl. Of all the ways you anticipated this night's end, strolling the garden with the king was not what you could’ve predicted in your wildest dreams.

“Y/N. If I may be so bold, I would like for this to not be the last time we meet. I desire more of your company.” 

Thranduil stepped closer, the heat he radiated warming your chilled skin. Gossebumnps followed where his hands touched, a shiver rushing down your spine. Subtly you pinched the back of your leg, convinced this was nothing more than a dream. Yet you didn’t wake; this moment was real. 

“If I may speak freely, my king?”

Thranduil nodded his head. “Please, you may call me Thranduil. No need for such formalities.”

You tipped your head at him as the smile on your face brightened. 

“If I may speak freely, Thranduil.” You corrected, with an almost mischievous lilt to your voice. “I would much desire more of your company as well. I have heard many rumors of your cold and detached demeanor. I’ve heard of how harsh you can be, yet I have seen nothing of that.”

“I’m glad the whispers of the court haven’t scared you away, my lady.” 

The smile on your face curled into a teasing smirk, eyes illuminating. “You’ll find it’ll take more than malicious rumors to scare me away.”

Thranduil's finger twirled around a lock of hair that framed your face. He seemed relaxed and more at ease than you'd have imagined. 

"A strong will and a fair face, Varda herself must've crafted you."  

His words made your face flush red, so deep it was seen in the dim lighting of the garden. 

"Pretty words you speak, my king; I'm eager to learn if your words match your heart." 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Tags: @jmablurry | @lunatichaotiche | @aearonnin | @emiliessketches | @vibratingbones | @moony-artnstuff | @ranhanabi777 | @kenobiguacamole | @ceinelee | @thranduil | @samnblack | @abbiesthings | @Strangebananabatranch | @bitter--fruit | @keijibum | @lifestylesleep | @themerriweathermage | @im-a-muggleborn | @sweetheart-syndrome | @boyruins | @AwkwardBecomesYou | @delyeceamaitare

[bapplenana]

Extended Gate Scene in 4k

[bapplenana]

"They say flowers that bloom in the moonlight are the most beautiful - and truly, the most captivating beauty blossoms in the shadows"

I'm back to bring you some delicious Donna x maid food. 😌 Yep, I'm still around and kicking and alive. I had to deal with two very not nice health problems back to back, so it has been a ✨TIME✨ since I posted. Missed you all! 🥰 I'll try and return to the drawing board slowly and mindful of my energy. And I hope that you also take care of your precious selves! ❤️ Thank you for being patient and sticking around!

[bapplenana]

"Your girlfriend is evil!" "Your girlfriend is cruel and horrifying!" Well, she's a joy to me. Maybe it's a you problem.

#mother miranda #castlevania carmilla #unohana yachiru #miranda priestly #alcina dimitrescu

[bapplenana]

All's well when it ends up with you

(Mother Miranda x Reader)

*pic creds to owner, got it from pinterest

Word count: 1061

I thought of the song Margaret by Lana Del Rey feat Bleachers and then i just found out it's Valentine's Day somewhere in the world so yh

When you know, you know

ps: fluff🥰

ps2: song at the end

ps3: not proofread pls lmk any mistakes

----------------------------------------------------

The first time you saw each other was at a Conference in Switzerland, you thought she was the smartest person in the room.

The second time was only a few months later during an University presentation in London, you went only to accompany your friend. She noticed.

The third time she went after you, she didn't know why she was so interested in you, maybe you’d make a good experiment. Therefore, she “ran” into you at your daily coffee run.

The scientist was quick to stop you on the street. “Hi, I’m sorry you’re just so familiar. Have we met?”

You stared at her wide eyed, recognizing her from the conferences. “Hi! I-yes. I saw you at the lecture in London. Though, I don't think we talked.”

She gave you a smile and nodded. “I’m Miranda.” The woman said, offering her hand.

You were quick to introduce yourself and shake her hand.

It started slow, Miranda would bump into you in the street until you knew each other enough to exchange numbers. If questioned she would say it was to make the experiment easier, that it was necessary to fully know you for research.

𓄿

For the first time in decades the scientist was nervous to talk to someone. You were sharing a glass of wine on your balcony, sitting in comfortable silence.

Miranda was playing with her rings, lost in thought of your possible reactions to her proposal.

You were quick to notice, turning your head to look at her and holding her hand to stop her fidgeting. You gave her a gentle smile. “What’s on your mind?”

She took a deep breath. “What do you think about moving to Romania with me?”

𓄿

You were sitting in your living room trying to process everything the now priestess explained to you regarding the village.

Miranda was in front of you, watching the gears turn in your head. She tried to reason with herself that if you rejected she could always force you to go, but it wouldn't be the same, you wouldn’t be the same.

The scientist was surprised when all you did was nod and say “wild”.

𓄿

Miranda realized she was in love with you a few days after arriving. She was watching you lazily set up your room, you’d stop everytime you found something interesting to either dress it or tell it’s entire story.

You were wearing a cowboy hat while telling the exact concert you bought it for.

You noticed her staring at you with a small smile. Momentarily stopping the story. “You okay?”

Miranda furrowed her brows and nodded. “Yeah, I’m great.”

𓄿

You noticed you were falling for the priestess way earlier than her. It was around the second time she hung out at your place, the woman insisted on cooking for you, so you sat on the counter watching her master your kitchen.

You would try to crack some jokes and she would look at you in disapproval.

You were laughing at your latest one while she stared in confusion. “Come on, you gotta admit this one was funny.”

The priestess slowly shook her head. “You’re insane.”

You smiled widely. “Clinically proven, baby, nothing new.”

She rolled her eyes with an almost unnoticeable smile.

But it was enough for you to notice so you spend the rest of the night trying to make her smile again.

𓄿

It was not only your first year at the Village but also Valentine’s day. The townsfolk had already decorated when you were walking by to buy some groceries. You weren't sure how Miranda felt about the day, but you couldn't resist buying a few flowers.

And that's how you ended up behind her at the lab holding a small vase with a red tulip. You gently touched her shoulder after hiding the flowers behind your back. “Heyy, the town seems very passionate about Valentine’s day. Did you know that?”

Miranda turned to look at you and tilted her head. “I don’t really…care…about what they do.”

You chuckled. “Well…I got you a flower, in a vase, because it’d feel like a murderer if it was in a bouquet.”

Your hands trembled slightly when presenting the tulip to Miranda.

She carefully took it from your hands and nodded, awkwardly looking at you.

You felt like your heart was about to explode with how fast it was beating. “So, I-um-I’m gonna go, bye.” You said before almost sprinting out of the room.

Miranda was confused, extremely confused. Maybe you got the wrong flowers, maybe you didn't mean “love” and it was all a silly mistake.

You couldn't love her, not after all she's done, after all you've seen. Why would you feel even the slightest affection for her.

The more she stared at the flower the more she’d want you to love like her. She regretted not saying anything, what if you thought she didn't care for you.

So she did what she does best, she researched all she could on Valentine’s day, it was mostly useless but knowledge nonetheless.

Once she deemed her findings worth it, she went after you with a stack of papers and the flower.

You were reading in your room when she got inside looking like a woman on a mission. You confusingly stared at her when she sat in front of you. You were about to speak when she cut you off.

“The flower means love and according to my research you’re supposed to gift flowers or chocolate to your partner on this date. Those are facts.” She looked at you for confirmation.

You nodded and started to nervously pick on your nails. “You-you don’t have to feel it back, really, we don't even need to talk about it.” You said, with an equally nervous laugh.

Miranda nodded with a serious face and got out of the room a few moments, later returning with a flower made of silverware.

She presented it to you. “It’s shiny and a flower.” The priestess took a deep breath before speaking again. “I don't like to admit when I don't know something. But I don't know how this works or why you like me. Although I am absolutely sure this isn't going to end well. So…think before you accept this.”

You smiled, quickly accepting her flower. “I’m willing to try for you.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Good.”

----------------------------------------------------

requests are open: masterlist

[bapplenana]

like a wasp and a hungry spider…

[bapplenana]

Anonymous: I just rewatched the devil wears prada, and can't stop thinking about reader hanging out with the twins helping them with homework or something when one of them asks reader when their gonna marry Miranda. Which catches reader off guard so the twins say because they're the happiest with them compered to Miranda's previous marriages, while their talk she comes home and smiles to herself that the twins approve highly of reader. Do you think she would bring this up to reader or would she keep it to herself for later? Btw I love your works and I hope you have a great day :) aslo sorry if it's a long ask I just had this bubbling in my brain after watching

Cute T^T I could go for some Miranda right about now XD Let’s get into it!

The sun was slowly setting over the bustling streets of New York City as you found yourself sitting at the kitchen table of Miranda’s elegant townhome. The twins were engrossed in their homework as they rapidly fired questions at you.

“Y/N, what’s the area of this triangle?” Caroline asked eagerly, pointing to a diagram in her math textbook.

You smiled, leaning closer to inspect the problem. “Let’s see. Well, to find the area of a triangle, you need to multiply the base by the height and divide it by two.”

As you explained the concept, your mind began to drift. You couldn’t believe how close you were with the girls now. They were hellbent on getting you fired when you first started working for Miranda… But, it had been almost a year now and the two have come to adore you. You and Miranda have grown inseparable also. You two have been dating seriously for the past few months and you’ve never been happier. It feels like everything in your life is falling into place finally.

Lost in your thoughts, you were taken aback when Cassidy suddenly spoke up, breaking the silence. “Hey, Y/N, when are you gonna marry our mom?”

You shot up ramrod straight, your heart skipping a beat and face flushing violently. You looked at the twins with wide eyes, unable to comprehend the question. “What?! Where’d that come from?!” You panic, trying not to look like an idiot… But failing.

Caroline and Cassidy exchanged a mischievous glance, as if they had been expecting this type of reaction out of you.

Caroline spoke with an air of confidence, “Well, it’s just that Mom’s been married twice before and she didn’t seem very happy. But when you’re around, she smiles more and she’s a lot calmer. Maybe you could be the one for her,” She explains, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Your mind was racing, trying to process the implications of the twins’ words. Did Miranda truly feel that way? Was she happier with you than anyone she had ever been with? Or was this simply a product of childhood innocence and wishful thinking?

However, before you could collect your thoughts, Miranda’s elegant figure appeared in the doorway.

Oh, shit. Did she hear any of that?

Miranda stood there for a moment, observing you and the twins with a soft, loving smile on her face.

“Well, well, what a lovely surprise, darling,” Miranda said to you, her voice filled with warmth and genuine affection. “I didn’t expect you to be home yet.”

You cleared your throat nervously. “U-uh! Yeah! Yeah, Nigel got the final print ready and I brought it home so you could take a look,” You stammered.

Miranda thinks you look so cute when you’re flustered like this. She grins softly. “Thank you, my love,” She tells you. “How is the homework coming along, you three?” She asks, addressing all of you.

Caroline and Cassidy jumped up from their seats, eager to show their progress to their mother.

As she approached the kitchen table, Miranda’s eyes briefly caught yours, a glimmer of understanding passing between you.

Fuck. You could sense that she had indeed overheard the earlier conversation between you and the twins. You hope she isn’t freaked out or anything.

As usual, though, Miranda’s tells are not obvious. Great. Now you’re going to be stressing all night about what she’s thinking.

Miranda easily guided the conversation towards the schoolwork, taking note of the twins’ achievements and offering her support and praise. She was proud of their work, but her gaze kept returning to you, more so than usual.

As the evening progressed, you couldn’t help but wonder if Miranda would ever bring up the twins’ words. If she would even acknowledge that she overheard what you three were talking about. You are deeply in love with this woman. So… Honestly, yes. You have thought about proposing to her. Multiple times… Before you chicken out. You try to remain neutral for now. You can’t show your cards. You have to see what Miranda will say first.

There were moments tonight when it seemed as though Miranda was on the brink of broaching the subject. Her eyes lingering on yours a little longer, her smile a touch more tender.

However, the night wore on, you began to fear that Miranda would keep her thoughts to herself for a later time. Perhaps she wanted to give you both space to process the unexpected revelation, to let your emotions settle before addressing the complexities of your relationship.

Eventually, bedtime arrived. Miranda helped the girls get ready and cleaned up and you tucked them into their beds.

As you followed Miranda out and began to turn off the lights, Caroline suddenly looked up at you with a soft smile. “Hey, Y/N. Can you come here for a second?” She whispered conspiratorially.

You quirked an eyebrow in confusion. “Okay,” You said with a grin. “One sec, babe,” You told Miranda. She nodded with a smile and waited just outside the bedroom door.

You walked over to Caroline’s bed. “What’s up, bud?” You asked.

“Y/N, even if you don’t marry our mom, we’ll always love you,” She said quietly. She turned and looked at Cassidy, silently asking if she agreed.

Cassidy nodded rapidly. “Yeah! We love you, Y/N!” She said excitedly.

You felt a lump forming in your throat, overwhelmed by the depth of the girls’ feelings. “Thanks, you two. That means a lot to me. I love you both too,” You say and give them each a kiss on the forehead.

As you made your way out and closed the twins’ bedroom door, Miranda was still in the hallway, her expression now unreadable. She wordlessly took your hand and led you to her room.

“I heard what the girls said earlier,” Miranda told you, her voice filled with a mixture of raw emotion and uncertainty. “And, while you may not have an answer for them right now, I want you to know that I cherish what we have,” She smiled softly. “I’m glad they can see what I see. You are a wonderful person, darling and I love you so much.”

Your heart swelled with happiness, understanding the weight behind Miranda’s words. You leaned in and gave her a kiss, savoring the beautiful woman in front of you.

The path ahead might be uncertain, but the bond you shared with Miranda and the girls was undeniably special. And for the time being, that was enough – A cherished family in the making, filled with love, laughter, and the promise of a future where anything was possible.

Masterlist

[bapplenana]

We'll Be Okay

Request by @jess4yuu: Can I get a Miranda Priestly imagine where the reader is Miranda’s gf and she hurts the readers feelings then Miranda does all she can do to earn forgiveness from the reader

Pairing: Miranda Priestly x Reader

Word count: 852

Warnings: lil angsty, hopeful/open ending

A/N: I love this request so much! I love reading works where Miranda hurts Andy so to be able to write a little imagine where she hurts US? Yes. Yes, you can get a Miranda Priestly imagine. I hope this is what you were looking for? ;-; Lmk! <33

__________

Miranda let out a frustrated sigh as her call went to voicemail for what seemed like the 100th time.

You two had a big fight and the editor may have said some things that she immediately regretted once they left her mouth.

You left the townhouse two weeks ago and she hasn’t heard from you since. Even Nigel and Emily haven’t heard from you. ‘Probably because she knows they’ll tell me,’ she thought.

Oh how she hated herself for that night.

Miranda had gotten home after a horrid day at the office. The photoshoot was pushed back two hours, three models called in sick, the new second assistant spilled coffee on the new mockups, it was an endless day of wrangling incompetent workers. She was hungry, irritated, and exhausted, and she just wanted to eat and go to sleep, but she still had the book to work on.

You came into the study and stood behind the lounge chair she was seated in. She felt your hands on her shoulders as you tried to give her a massage but she shrugged you off with a huff, “I don’t have time for this Y/N.”

With her back turned to you, she didn’t see the shock pass over your features before it turned into concern, “You always liked to get a shoulder rub while you work on‒”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

Miranda wasn’t thinking clearly. She was too irritated from today and going over the book made it worse.

“Miran‒”

“I don’t have time to give you the attention you seem to always need. I have real work to get done unlike whatever it is that you do at your job. What I would really like is for you to leave.”

"But Mira‒"

"Leave. Go."

And so you did.

She didn’t mean to last out at you. You of all people didn’t deserve that. She didn’t know what she was thinking, she wasn’t thinking.

And now she was here.

Over 20 missed calls and multiple texts that were left unread.

Miranda had called your friends on multiple occasions and she was always met with a dead-end. You had told your friends what happened and they were happy to cover for you for the time being. The editor even tried your parents but it didn’t surprise her when they said you don’t tell them anything anyway.

The only thing that gave her hope about contacting you was when you’d return all the gifts she had sent to you.

After the first few days of sending flowers and gifts to your workplace, she found hope when she received a package herself. Granted, you were sending back the new Donna Karan line she had sent you, but you still thought of her and when she saw your handwritten note on the package, her determination grew.

Over the next few days she had sent you everything you’d ever need and want. The clothes you sent back that day were hand picked by her personally. She worked together with Donna to gather pieces she knew you would like. When you sent that back, she tried to send jewelry and watches. Both the jewelry and the watches were custom pieces designed by Miranda herself but even then you sent those back.

A few days of back and forth turned into two weeks.

The most recent gift was flowers that she wanted to deliver personally. Well as personally as she could deliver them.

She knew it wouldn’t be the best to show up to your workplace so she sent the next best thing: her first assistant.

As a lover of flowers and their meanings, she sent you the best bouquet that could properly convey how she felt:

Iris’ to symbolize her hope. Gladiolus’ to represent her sincerity. Dark red Carnations to represent her love and affection. Yellow Pansy’s to symbolize her thinking of you. Many white Peonies to represent her regret and apology. And many purple Hyacinths to symbolize her respect and gratitude towards you.

The flowers were dropped off two days ago and she hasn’t heard from you since.

She was losing hope. She didn’t want to lose you, she couldn’t lose you.

The returned gifts gave her a spark of hope that she could fix things but after the repeated attempts she couldn’t help but to doubt herself a bit.

As she was rubbing away a headache, the new ‘Emily’ set down a bouquet of flowers on her desk, “These came for you Miranda.”

The woman waved the girl off as she took the flowers and set them on the windowsill behind her. She leaned back in her chair as she looked over the bouquet. There were only two kinds of flowers.

Canterbury Bells and White Lilies.

One symbolized that you had received her gift. Together they represented faith, rebirth, and commitment.

Miranda held her breath as she gently opened the given card.

Suddenly, she slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. The few words on the card had her feeling a wave of relief and guilt and sadness washed over her.

“We’ll be okay -Y/N”

[bapplenana]

Anonymous: Reader is in love with Miranda Priestly, and hasn't told her yet although the entirety of Runway has guessed. How would Miranda react if reader and her are stuck in an elevator together and reader ends up fainting in her arms?

I love it! I was inspired by the line Miranda says to Andy about smacking her little head on the pavement lol. Let’s get into it!

Your feelings for Miranda Priestly seem to be an open secret among the Runway staff. You… Don’t have a very good poker face. While Emily frantically scurrying behind Miranda as she rattles off daily tasks to the redhead has become a long-running joke in the office… You kind of just stare shamelessly at the Editor-in-Chief’s bottom whenever you follow her. People often quirk knowing eyebrows at their co-workers as they witness your apparent obsession with Miranda’s backside.

“Guess we know for sure that Y/N’s team ass,” An intern says to a group of her peers one morning, cracking them all up after you and Miranda walk by (And the editor is no longer within hearing distance).

It’s also not hard to pick up on the way you act like a total idiot around Miranda and trip over your words whenever she asks you a question. It’s a wonder she hasn’t gotten fed up with you and canned you yet.

Emily and Nigel just love to tease you too. “So, when are you planning to propose, Y/N? I’d like a heads up if you expect me to do a decent wedding spread for next month’s issue,” Nigel smirks as he leans against your desk.

You tilt your head in confusion at him as you try to work. “Uh… Propose?” You ask.

“Of course, Y/N. Don’t tell me you haven’t planned on asking Miranda to marry you,” He grins.

Your cheeks burn harshly at this. “Wh-what?!” You splutter.

Emily can’t help but join in. “Give them time, Nigel. They’ll have to fish out the ring from a box of cereal first,” She giggles.

The two laugh their asses off at this.

You huff and try to just get back to work. It’s not your fault that Miranda’s a literal goddess. How are you expected to not have a gay panic attack every second of the day when Miranda’s sitting no more than ten feet from your desk?

Today has been busy as hell. Well, more so than usual, at least. You’re currently on your way to pick up some crucial documents for Miranda when you suddenly find yourself tripping and colliding with the ground. Your face smashes harshly into the pavement and onlookers gasp at the severity of your fall. You black out for a second or two and feel yourself being pulled to your feet by a few people trying to help.

“You okay, kid? Hell of a fall…” One guy asks.

You shake your head to clear the stars from your vision before answering. “Honestly? Not really. That fucking… Sucked,” You manage to blurt out, making those around you chuckle sympathetically.

“I think you’d better get this checked out. Head injuries are no joke,” A woman standing beside you pipes up.

You feel a dull thud in your head, but the urgency of your tasks keeps you from agreeing. You turn and smile at her. “Wish I could, but I have to get back to work. Thanks for the help, though, everybody,” You tell the kind people who stopped to help you.

The little crowd that has gathered around you erupts in concerned murmurs, but they don’t know Miranda Priestly. Being late with Miranda’s paperwork is a much bigger threat to your health than a bump on the head.

As you navigate through the day, the dizziness and lightheadedness persist, making it challenging to concentrate. You also find yourself having to stay late with Miranda, assisting her with tasks long after everyone else has left the office. Just when you think for certain that your head is about to crack in two, Miranda miraculously decides that she is done for the night.

“That’s all, Y/N,” She says simply and waits for you to grab her coat and belongings for her.

You’re so distracted by your headache that you didn’t even hear her speak.

After you have made no attempt to move, Miranda’s head whips to you immediately. “Y/N. We’re leaving,” She snaps irritably. She hates repeating herself.

Your eyes widen and you hurriedly rush around to get her things and put her coat on her. You faithfully follow her to the elevator and she, surprisingly, allows you to get in with her instead of making you take another one.

The confined space of the elevator car amplifies the swirling sensations in your head. You bring a weary hand up to rub your eyes, trying to make yourself feel more alert.

Miranda looks over at you with a raised eyebrow. “You’ve seemed rather off today, Y/N. Is something bothering you?”

You attempt to brush off her question. “I’m fine… Just… A head… Ache,” You mumble. Your voice is slurred and your eyes seem so blank.

Miranda’s eyebrows shoot up at this. She’s never seen you look like this. It alarms her greatly. You don’t sound well at all. Her piercing eyes study you intently. “I think you need to get some rest, Y/N. Maybe consider taking tomorrow off?” She suggests, her fondness for you overtaking her need to put up a tough front. She likes you… A lot. More than she would like to admit.

“I’m good,” You try to to assure her quietly. You’re too out of it to even process the unbelievable offer Miranda just made you. A fucking day off? Unheard of.

Miranda sighs as she looks at the state you’re in. She feels really guilty that she worked you so hard today. She should have let you go home ages ago. She just… Likes having you around. Even if you two aren’t directly interacting. You bring her a great sense of peace and calm. Truthfully, she didn’t even need you here tonight. She was just being selfish and wanted to keep you all to herself without other people barging in and… Oh, wait. That… Kind of sounds like a… Crush, doesn’t it? Is that why she enjoys your company so much? Miranda’s cheeks flame at this.

But, before Miranda can even begin to freak out about her silent revelation, the elevator jolts suddenly and you stumble, feeling weaker than before.

Miranda tries to steady you by gripping your arm, worry etching her usually composed features. “Are you sure you’re alright, Y/N?”

But before you can respond, a wave of dizziness overtakes you and the world around you blurs. You feel yourself swaying, and the next thing you know, you’re enveloped in Miranda’s arms as unconsciousness claims you.

… Unfortunately, Miranda is a very petite woman and you… Kind of just end up flopping on top of her.

If only Emily and Nigel could see you now. Falling for the boss…

Note: This was so fun to write.

Masterlist

[bapplenana]

Them💙❤

[bapplenana]

i am a bit late, but anyway Happy New Year everyone!! 🥰