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undreaming-fanfiction · 15 days

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My brain refuses to sleep, so more drabbling! Probably modern-ish AU?

Steve makes a career for himself as a re-decorator (or de-decorator, as he loves to call himself). His clientele are those celebrities who rose to fame so quickly they have plenty of money, but they don't have time to make their houses feel like home. They just bought penthouses and mansions and now live in homes that are fancy, but they feel like hotels.

Steve is there to fix that.

One of his clients is the hard working rockstar Eddie Munson whose life path went from a trailer park to couch surfing to living with 4 people in a tiny apartment, then suddenly tours, hotels and boom! He has a house that looks like an IKEA prop.

He doesn't hide his distaste at the pristine condition of the place (yes, Eddie has a cleaner). "Oh god. A beige carpet?" he scoffs and he sounds so bitchy Eddie decides he likes him already.

He likes him even more when Steve puts on reading glasses. Damn.

Over coffee, they discuss what Eddie wants. Except Steve doesn't just...tell him. He doesn't give him any hints. He just keeps asking about Eddie's favorite colors, what movies he likes, does he have hobbies apart from music? Can Steve see some of the items that bring him comfort?

And Eddie's surprised. "Shouldn't you, like...be telling me what I'm supposed to want?" he asks the gorgeous man who almost wails when he sees the vase with fresh flowers ("This is the third place in a row that has this fugly thing! Is it like a status symbol? Uh, tasteless.").

And Steve just stares at him. "Uh, Mr. Munson?"

"Eddie."

Steve nods. "Eddie. Why should I have any say in what you want? If you ask me what's practical, easy to clean, what bounces off light well, that's another thing. But in matters of taste...you're the boss. You live here, I don't. (Pity, Eddie thinks) Now, let's change this place into somewhere you actually like staying, hm?"

They spend the whole afternoon talking. Eddie opens up about what he loved before the touring and expectations from his agent took that from him. He talks about the Lord of the Rings, Dungeons and Dragons, fantasy in general, and Steve listens, makes tons of notes and asks questions that make Eddie's heart bleed, such as "and who is your favorite Lord of the Rings character?" and "you mentioned elves, dwarves, orcs, wizards...so what is your favorite group?" and "which DnD class would you be then? I guess a bard? Is that too obvious?". Now, Steve doesn't know much about these things, but learns quickly and works with the info he has.

They walk through the house again, with Steve making notes and wincing at transgressions against humanity or at least against his taste in things ("Oh ew. EW. Glossy finish on a kitchen counter? What is this, a future crime scene?") and Eddie feeling equally amused and curious. Eddie orders dinner for them, it goes something like:

"I don't know what would be appropriate, any preferences?"

"Eddie, there's no time or space when pizza is not appropriate."

"What about a funeral?"

"It puts fun in a funeral."

"Touché."

They follow up on a bunch more things. Steve notices Eddie fidgeting and asks him like the mindreader he is if perhaps the place is too clean for him. "Minimalism is what everyone's trying to push," Steve says, not without sympathy, "but it's not for everyone. I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you seem like a person who'd love a more....personal, cluttered space."

And god, Eddie feels so seen. He tells Steve about all his favorite books and trinkets that he lost during a horrible earthquake in Indiana, so when he moved to the city it was just some clothes and his two guitars. Steve makes so many notes. "I've seen quite a lot of collectibles for your beloved trilogy," he says with a hint of a smile. "Is that something you'd like in your home?" Eddie can't nod any faster.

They talk about the budget (Eddie just scoffs at that, for the first time in his life money is not an issue), Eddie's absolute no go things ("No more vases, please! PLEASE. Also maybe the one room that can stay as it is is the studio, there's no decor"), if he has issues touching any materials, if he wants to keep any areas in the house neutral for visitors (he doesn't). Then finally, he asks Eddie if he wants to be more consulted or surprised.

And Eddie, tired and surprisingly relaxed from talking to Steve, just grins and says: "Surprise me, big boy."

Steve just smirks and makes one more note. "Oh, I will, Eddie."

...

Eddie goes on yet another tour for a couple of months, which is the ideal time for Steve to start working on the house.

Steve sometimes texts Eddie random choices, such as "Rohan or Gondor or both?" or "what's the best pub in the Middle Earth?" and Eddie usually trips over his feet trying to get to his phone after concerts to see if maybe he has another message from Steve. He learns bits and pieces about the man as well - he has a younger brother, Dustin, who is into the same stuff that Eddie is. Sometimes it goes like this:

STEVE: What's the best battle in the LotR movies?

EDDIE: The Ride of the Rohirrim, duh!

STEVE: Dustin says you're wrong, it's the last stand at the gates of Mordor.

EDDIE: The disrespect to king Théoden!

And finally, the big day comes. Eddie meets with Steve at the door. From the outside, the house still looks boring, but that's what they agreed on. At least for now.

But there's one notable difference and Eddie gasps when he sees it.

"I know we said no changes on the outside," said Steve sheepishly, "but I took the liberty to make one slight change."

Where the door used to be bland and white, it is now carved with silver etchings. It replicates the Doors of Durin. Eddie loves it.

Steve smiles at him. "Speak friend and enter, right? Dustin told me. Anyways, are you ready?"

Turns out, Eddie wasn't ready. Steve took all of the shiny and sterile surfaces and turned them into something beautiful.

The kitchen is now in warmer colors, brown and green, imitating the Green Dragon inn, plaque included.

Guest rooms have been changed, each to represent a group or a nation of the Middle Earth. Eddie thinks his uncle will love the Rohirrim one.

No more vases are to be seen, but Steve got potted plants ("almost immortal, as long as your housekeeper waters them once a week or so").

Eddie howls in laughter when he sees that Steve somehow managed to disguise all his security cameras as tiny eyes of Sauron.

The bathroom is inspired by the Rivendell, with soft tones and nods to Elvish architecture.

Eddie's bedroom resembles the Shire, with round shapes and homely motifs.

But Eddie's absolute favorite is the living room.

The only things that remain there that he bought are the massive TV and his stereo system with records. The rest though...

Gone is the ugly and sharp couch that looked like a geometry exercise. The new one is large and comfortable, with a couple of armchairs to finish the cozy feel. The coffee table and TV stand are more rough looking, with decorative ironwork. And then, around the room and on the walls...

"Oh wow," whispers Eddie and Steve beams at him.

There are collectibles and figurines that young Eddie Munson would have killed for. A replica of the Narsil hangs over the TV. It's cluttered but tasteful, still easy to clean, but Eddie always has something to touch, to play with.

And then he spots the bookcase and actually sobs. "What the fuck, Steve?" he asks, but there's no anger, just awe. "How did you know?"

The bookcase is full of Eddie's most beloved books, all that he told Steve about and more, but it's not just that. These aren't just pristine new prints - Steve managed to get both those and well-loved used copies. Most of them are the same editions that Eddie had before the earthquake. He runs his trembling finger over the back of the Hobbit and it feels like home.

"That was the hardest part," says Steve and leaves Eddie to rummage through the books, the old DnD guides and used comic books. "But I assumed you're sick of new and shiny. In fact, most of the collectibles are already used as well. They have some history. As for the books, uh..." He scratches his neck, embarrassed. "I will be honest, I don't read much. Dyslexia and some issues with the eyes, although audio books are making it more possible for me now. So I had to ask Dustin for help. We looked for editions published before the earthquake. I hope we got some of them right?"

Eddie just mutters "Sorry, I'm about to do something really unprofessional now" and pulls Steve into a bear hug. And Steve reciprocates.

"Fuck, this...this is everything," says Eddie into his shoulder. "How did you do this? Are you magic. You must be magic."

Steve grins. "I take it the surprise was a success then?"

Eddie finally pulls back. He would have loved to keep embracing Steve for a bit longer, but boundaries. "A total one. Wow. I mean. It's a lot, but so good. SO GOOD. How can I repay you?"

"You already paid me, Eddie."

"You know what I mean!" Eddie points and the books and apparently also a DVD collection he now owns. "This must have been so much more work than you normally do, no? I doubt every client has you memorize the members of the Fellowship."

"Not just that, but also why Sam is the best," Steve smiles at him and fuck. Eddie might be in love. "It was more than usual, but I loved it, Eddie. That's why I like my job so much, helping people find themselves again. You don't owe me anything. Although, if you're offering..."

"I'm listening."

Steve runs his fingers through that majestic hair. "So, I didn't tell Dustin that I was decorating the house for you, but he's a huge fan of your music. Like, massive, has every album, has been following your career from the start. And feel free to tell me it's too much, you are my client after all, but...he'd love to meet you. Over a pizza, maybe? The plain ham and cheese one you like so it doesn't have too many flavors?"

And Eddie melts. Because Steve still remembers his pizza choice from months ago, even though this definitely wasn't in his notes. He decides there and then that Steven Harrington is a national treasure.

"Sure, big boy," he smiles at Steve, and hopes he didn't imagine Steve leaning into the touch. "How about you invite him over for a movie night or something? With pizza of course."

It looks like Steve could kiss him, but he doesn't. Not yet. That only happens a week later, when they bump into each other in Eddie's kitchen when they scramble to make more popcorn for Dustin.

Steve stays the next night. And maybe a few after that. Always in a different themed bedroom.

They travel for work a lot, but when they are both in Chicago, they always meet in the Green Dragon kitchen, cuddle in the bed that would be far too large for a hobbit, and in the night, Eddie wraps himself around Steve and whispers: "My preciousssss."

And Steve can't really complain, because it's his fault that his boyfriend has re-discovered his dorkiness, so why would he mind?

#steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steddie drabble #stranger things drabble #steddie au #steddie fanfiction #dustin henderson #lotr steddie #ish #lord of the rings steddie #not proofread we die like Boromir MY BOY #ahem this got long #Steve the redorkifier Harrington #Eddie the reemerging dork Munson

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entishramblings · 5 months

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Watcher of Wanderers [Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: this was intended just to be a mini one-shot to get back into writing. although, I will admit I got carried away. oops. heh.

Pairing: Legolas X F!Reader

Song Inspo: Mountain Meditation by Chantress Seba

🌬️ I highly recommend listening while reading

Summary: Legolas senses a presence following the fellowship on their journey and it seems to be particularly fond of him.

Disclaimer: all mythology related to the reader was made up for plot purposes lol. not canon.

Word count: 5.6k (once again, idk why I’m like this)

Warnings: comfort, fluff, loneliness, flirting, suggested sexual innuendos, stalking sort of (yes, again, I know. you’re just gonna have to read it I can’t explain it)

Additional Content: moodboard linked here

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

When you are nothing but a breeze that passes through the travelers’ bending hair. When you are nothing but a tickle that brushes upon the vagabonds’ breaking skin. When you are nothing but a whisper that hisses upon the wanders’ deaf ear. When you are nothing but alone, you too are a voyager.

That’s what (Y/N) was, wasn’t she?

She sailed through the years, watching every war and every battle. She observed every lover as she observed every enemy. She attended to them all, from their start and to their end. She perceived them hunt—first for food and drink, the simplest things, then for more. She witnessed them build—smaller creations in the beginning, then large structures that reached deep into her sky. She gazed at them as they grew, in mind and body. They began as little screaming balls of flesh, then sprouted into large beings that walked and talked. They produced more of themselves. They multiplied. Families, they had called it. She saw each one of them go by, twisting with desire as they did with age. Each was sneaking to find something—riches, power, hope, love, safety—but it didn’t really matter. She just bore witness. She bore witness to the happiness and to the dread. Yet, even when it was dark and desperate, she did nothing. She was silent—as she was meant to be.

Cursed to ride the winds for all of her immortal years.

Cursed to guide them and bend them.

Cursed to behold them.

Cursed to be them.

Alone.

A Watcher of Wanderers.

She was unescorted, unattended, and unchaperoned. She was unaccompanied as she wove through the desolate lands of Arda. Through the oceans, through the deserts, through the mountains, she bent and bellowed. But (Y/N) didn’t need anyone to accompany her, for she simply didn’t exist—at least not in the way one would think.

But after so long in solidarity, watching and observing, (Y/N) wondered what it would feel like to be more than what she was. She wondered what it was to taste and touch, to smell and see, to live and breath.

She thought how pain must feel. How did it bring red to the surface of their skin? How did it bring tears to their eyes? How did it bring screams to their throats?

Still, she wandered more.

She thought how laughter must feel. How did it bubble in their chests? How did it bring water to their faces? How did it bring glee from their mouths?

Still, she wandered more.

She thought about how love must feel. How did it soften their gazes? How did it bring drops upon their cheeks? How did it bring proclamations to their lips? How did it feel to welcome in another soul? Was it safe—not that she would know what safety felt like.

Still, she wandered more.

As each day passed and each traveler followed, she continued to question, guess, inquire.

Some of these creatures were more in tune with the natural currents of the word. It was the immortal beings, distinguished by the pointy ears that lent them an air of otherworldly grace and their lightning-quick reflexes. They were not just any immortals, but those whose lineages stretched back to ancestors who had walked among the Valar themselves. At times, (Y/N) entertained the fantasizing notion that they possessed the rare ability to hear her, though she recognized that this belief was nothing more than wishful thinking. As a watcher of wanderers, she liked these ones best.

Yet that did not mean that others did not catch her eye, for she was curious of anything unusual from the regular patterns of life. And when nine—born of various blood—walked together, her curiosity peaked.

So, she followed them.

One was a Maiar, but not like her. He shared the same celestial origin, shaped as one of the spirits meant to aid the Valar in their worldbuilding endeavors. However, his form differed greatly from hers—a form (Y/N) yearned for. She had seen him many times before, puffing his pipe. He had many names, but most knew him as Gandalf.

Two more figures accompanied him, mortal beings aging like the rolling seasons. Burling and tumbling they went, with their countless heavy weapons. One emanated kindness, his heart a wellspring of warmth. She had seen him before too. But the other, he was….troubled.

Another was one of the immortal, graceful, pointy-eared race—elves, she recalled. He was fluid and elegantant. He was observant and evaluating. He was tranquil yet vigorous. (Y/N) liked this one. She always had liked the elves.

From the mountainous regions of unyielding stone came another companion—a burly and gruff figure. His anger resonated in the sharpness of his words and the boastry of his laughter. (Y/N) could feel his temperament through the earth's vibrations. It wasn't always pleasant

Next, matched four more. They were stompers and stumblers, in a clumsy sort of way; yet, it was evident that they held no desire to ravage the earth. If anything, they seemed to harbor deep affection for it. The sad one broke her heart, the kind one warmed her soul, and the last two made her giggle….and sometimes she thought the elf could hear it.

See that was the thing.

Initially, her fascination led her to accompany them, drawn by their sheer otherness—such a strange assembly of beings walking in unison. But as she ventured alongside them, she felt connected to them. She got to know them, and one seemed to know her….sorta.

The first time she noticed such a thing was when a sound of joy escaped her being.

The two silly ones, which she found out to be named Merry and Pippin, were cracking jokes at one another and performing a game of riddles. As they did so, they ended up breaking into an argument. The most ridiculous words they called each other: mushroom murderer, squash squisher, beet beater…..

She couldn’t help but release a whisper of amusement, and when she did, the elf—Legolas—abruptly halted. His eyes brimmed with uncertainty, and he swiveled his head, as though searching for someone.

But he couldn’t….

No…

He couldn’t have heard her….could he?

Of course, occasionally, all could hear her. In moments of anger, she would unleash her fury with deafening howls and piercing screams, causing gusts to bellow and trees to tremble. Her yell created a hollow sound as it funneled through the rest of the world—echoing upon mountains, bouncing off houses, riding along hills, drifting through the farmer’s mills. It took much frustration to create such a ruckus of vibrations. However, just a faint breath of joy? There was no way the elf could hear that….right?

…..

The second time that a strange encounter occurred was when the group stopped by a deep river. Legolas had wandered a little way away from the group where the trees were denser and the light was less, and oh of course (Y/N) followed.

There, the elf stripped off his clothing, letting the moonlight bend and dip upon his muscled form. The cool night air played gently against his bare skin as he ventured into the water, welcoming the invigorating sensation. With his hands, he meticulously scrubbed away any lingering grime, running his palms across his arms and fingers through his damp hair until no trace of dirt remained.

Gently, he laid upon his back, floating at the surface of the smooth river.

(Y/N) watched as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply and repeatedly. Meditation, she recalled the elvish creatures of the world calling it.

Eager to draw nearer, (Y/N) gracefully glided closer, brushing ever so lightly upon the surface of the ripples. She circled him, her gaze drinking in every detail of his form slightly obstructed by the water—his elegant facial features, his sleek hair, his sculpted biceps, his toned abs, the sharp v-line of his lower abdomen, and, she couldn't help but notice his rather large…

A soft giggle escaped her lips, her warm breath brushing against his cheek.

Instantly, Legolas sprang upright, his feet finding a place upon the rocks beneath the now turbulent ripples. He swiftly pivoted, calling out, “Who’s there?!”

(Y/N) was still, shock and uncertainty shrouding her.

Legolas' cerulean eyes darted anxiously from side to side, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He moved with haste, continually spinning around in search of…..something.

“You…you can hear me?” (Y/N) whispered.

He did not respond and his state did not change. There was not an ounce of any recognition across his features.

…..

The third time that Legolas was startled by the curious enigma that appeared to be haunting him was when the fellowship had set up camp for the night.

Gandalf and Legolas were on watch, their attentive gazes shifting from the crackling fire to the perimeters of their camp. Mithanduil contentedly puffed on his pipe, releasing wisps of smoke that ascended into the night sky. Legolas was methodically sharpening the tips of his arrows, preparing for the inevitable fight. The ambiance was strangely peaceful, with the imminent dangers appearing to be held at bay, at least for the moment, even in the face of the dread.

However, this serene atmosphere suffered a sudden intrusion, initiated by (Y/N)'s ever-present curiosity.

She loved watching the creatures of Arda. It was her favorite pastime over the eons. Well, her only pastime. After all, she was a watcher of wanderers. For, as her shapeless form, there was nothing more she could do with her existence.

Therefore, when the elf began to draw whetstone upon the tops of his arrows, (Y/N) wanted to observe. She crept closer to him, becoming entranced by the rhythmic and tranquil nature of his movements. Drawn into the spectacle, she leaned in further and further until, unintentionally, she brushed lightly against his form.

His hand instinctively reached for his shoulder as his wide cerulean blues initiated their frequent and fervent scanning of the dim surroundings—a routine that seemed to be occurring with increasing regularity nowadays.

Gandalf’s gray eyes drifted upon the elf curiously, his bushy brows lifting in questions.

“I swore…” Legolas began, still peering about the campsite. “I swore I felt…something.”

The wizard’s inquiring gaze only deepened, imploring the elf to add more to his rather empty statement.

Noticing Gandalf's unspoken request for more information, Legolas continued, "My apologies, Mithranduil. Lately, I've been sensing a presence. Yet, when I search for it, I'm met with nothing but emptiness and confusion."

Gandalf huffed before pressing his lips to his pipe again, his gaze drifting away in a dismissal of danger. “It is probably just (Y/N).”

“(Y/N)?” He questioned, still puzzled.

Gandalf glanced at Legolas, and with a nonchalant hum, he spoke again. “The spirit of the wind. A Maiar with a form that knows no shape.” He rolled his eyes as he gruffed out an additional mumbling sentence. “She has a particular fondness for elves.”

Legolas, still flushed with adrenaline, only stared at him. “I—I do not understand.”

The wizard’s gray gaze drifted back to the elf, who was clearly seeking answers. “(Y/N) is one of the Maiar, tasked many ages ago by Manwë to help shape Arda. She still lingers in this realm, often stirring up her usual mischief as she follows wanderers on their adventures."

Legolas frowned. “If she wanders this earth, why can I see her not?”

Gandalf drew another puff from his pipe before responding, "She was cursed to be without form, unlike myself."

“Cursed? But why?”

The wizard raised his bushy brows once more. “Her mischief irked many—especially Manwë.”

“What sorts of mischief do you speak of?”

Gandalf shrugged. “Inconsequential pranks and harmless tricks. Quite frankly, an annoyance to us all, but not dangerous.”

At that very moment, a gust of wind swept in rather forcefully, causing the wizard's beard to billow and lifting his hat into the air, sending it spiraling down to land by his feet.

Legolas's lips parted in surprise as the wind subsided, and Gandalf let out a string of curses and grumbles.

"I believe you might have offended her," Legolas remarked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

The wizard snorted, his irritation obvious, as he picked his hat up and placed it atop his head once more.

….

As the weeks continued on, Legolas took notice of (Y/N)’s subtle presence.

It seemed she was indeed traveling with them. On scorching hot days, a refreshing breeze would rise and caress them gently, offering some much-needed relief. As the autumn months settled in, that coolness transformed into a warm breath flowing through the air, comforting them. When they kindled fires, little gusts rushed forward, providing oxygen and nurturing the flames. If an item of clothing or a parcel were dropped, it would be delicately carried toward a hand ready to collect. It was as if the wind—(Y/N)—was assisting them along their quest.

It was particularly noticeable to Legolas that she often lingered in close proximity to him. Her presence seemed to envelop him frequently, becoming unmistakable and distinct.

When Legolas would be tasked to collect firewood, a gentle breeze would follow him. It would brush leaves out of the way to reveal dry wood and small sticks, perfect for kindling. The wind murmured songs among the soil, almost as if it were beckoning him to dance.

When Legolas would be hunting for food, a calm drift would search alongside him. It would twist through the brush, startling small prey to reveal them to him. The wind breathed wordless encouragement to him, as if challenging him to impress her.

When Legolas would be walking upon hard terrain, a playful gust would walk with him. It would blow his hair away from his face to reveal his features. The wind sent flirtatious laughter upon his elvish ear, chasing shivers along his nerves.

When Legolas would be changing out of mud or blood covered clothes, a devious wisk would linger behind him. It would push his tunic and undershirt upwards to reveal his muscled form then make his extra clothing scatter. The wind whispered sultry glee to him, teasing him in efforts to show more.

This mischievous presence that shrouded him seemed to flirt with him—challenge, play, and engage. Of course, Legolas recalled Gandalf's earlier assertion that the wind spirit held a particular fondness for elves, but the true depth of this fondness had only become apparent as her companionship persisted. He couldn't deny that their ongoing interaction held a certain allure, for he would be lying if he said their little game did not entertain him.

When the fellowship was in Moria, however, silence reigned. The usual gusts and breezes that had accompanied them were absent. It was as if the very air mourned with them. Yet, as soon as they exited, with grief heavy upon their soul, a quick adrenalized wind came to find them. It seemed to brush around the rocks, taking in the pain of the travelers and trying to process what it meant. Though, as the wind noticed one was no longer there, she took to sending warmth their way in hopes to soften the sorrow—shrouding Legolas for just a moment longer than the others.

When the fellowship was in Lothlorien, (Y/N) came too. Rustling up trouble among the elves with flirtatious gusts, lifting skirts and sweeping away cloaks, fostering much annoyance and embarrassment among the immortal elven folk. However, those brushes of wind often struck Legolas more than any other.

When the fellowship—or rather the three that remained—took to sprinting across Arda, the wind ran alongside them. It pushed them forward with encouragement, almost too eagerly and too persistent. It was as if she was whispering ‘hurry hurry’ in their ears—as if she possessed knowledge they did not. Though Legolas suspected neither Gimli nor Aragorn noticed the subtle guidance of the wind.

A watcher of wanderers indeed.

As the group arrived in Rohan, their hearts brimmed with renewed hope, for they had gained the knowledge of Merry and Pippin’s life and the presence of Gandalf.

Following Mithranduil's expulsion of the sorcery that had ensnared King Théoden, the weary travelers were ushered to various chambers where they could refresh themselves and find much-needed rest.

Legolas opted to bathe immediately, determined to liberate himself from the accumulated dirt and grime that had clung to his body through the arduous months of travel. He eased into the in-ground basin, the soothing warmth and enveloping steam creating a cocoon of comfort. He tended to his skin and hair with meticulous care until he finally felt rejuvenated. Elves did not like to linger in grime.

Emerging from the bath, he stepped into the adjacent bedroom, where his gaze was drawn to the open windows, allowing the cool breeze to waft in. The wind seemed to recognize him instantly, rushing forth with an almost mischievous enthusiasm. It nearly yanked his towel from his waist! It was only through his quick reflexes that he narrowly avoided a less than modest reveal.

Legolas ground his teeth. “(Y/N),” he mumbled in a chastising tone.

In response, the wind seemed to giggle, as if playfully toying with him.

He rewrapped the towel and hastened to close the windows, yearning for a night of undisturbed peace. Normally, he would tolerate (Y/N)'s whimsical outbursts, but on this night, his weary body and mind craved respite and tranquility.

Legolas changed into more comfortable attire and settled into his bed. He allowed his heavy eyelids to drift shut, for he craved sleep. But after a brief moment, they snapped open.

He watched as the curtains shifted ever so slightly, followed by the tapestry on the wall and the drapes above his bed. The blanket beside him rustled gently, and then, there was no movement in the room.

She hadn't left when he closed the windows.

She was still here.

Though he couldn't see her, he was acutely aware of her presence…right beside him.

The elf couldn't help but blush, a warm crimson hue creeping up upon his ears and cheeks. Oh, if his Ada knew he was flirting with the wind….

In an effort to divert his thoughts from such matters and avoid giving (Y/N) any indication that he was dwelling on them, the elf shifted onto his side, turning away from the playful Spirit whose home was the sky.

…..

Legolas took notice of (Y/N)’s presence among the battles at Helms Deep and the Fields of Pelennor; although it wasn't until the latter that he knew for sure she was actively fighting alongside him.

Amidst the relentless chaos, the elf wielded his two silver blades, using them with deadly precision to cut the throat of one orc and immediately behead another. He swiftly pressed on, eliminating as many of the enemy forces as he could.

The men around him were growing weary, their energy dwindling, but Legolas continued to stand firm, even though he too felt the drain on his strength.It seemed the dark forces had taken notice of the relentless devastation he was causing among their ranks, as they began to single him out. Hordes of orcs began converging on him, and Sauron's archers took aim. However, the arrows meant for him didn't find their mark. They veered off course, curving with an unexpected gust of wind, plunging directly into three orcs nearby.

Legolas whipped his head around in astonishment, but it took only a moment for him to grasp the source of this unexpected intervention: (Y/N).

As he continued to take down orc after orc, she remained by his side, using her ethereal presence to force the creatures back into one another, granting Legolas a distinct advantage and a brief moment to catch his breath. She deflected arrows aimed at him and extended her helping hand when he faced the Oliphaunt. She even lifted him up with a gentle drift when his footing faltered. (Y/N) followed Legolas throughout the battlefield, her commitment unwavering, even after the war had drawn to a close.

Exhausted and burdened by grief and relief, the mortal, battle-weary soldiers sought solace and took to rest, heal, and eat.

Legolas volunteered to wander the battlefield in search of any survivors.

He tread carefully, his feet moving softly over the blood-soaked and red-stained earth. The ground seemed to bear witness to the agony, uncertainty, and hope that had marked their strenuous journey. Legolas had never anticipated surviving the trials that had befallen him, yet here he stood, alive and persevering against all odds.

With a heavy heart and the absence of survivors to be found, Legolas, fatigued and drained, decided to make his way back to his comrades who were attending to the wounded and offering peace to those in need.

In a sudden fierce gust of wind, Legolas found himself surrounded by an unexpected swirl. Swiftly, he whirled around, his keen elven senses alert, just in time to witness an orc raising an axe menacingly above his head, poised to strike.

However, Legolas was not met with such a gruesome fate. The wind seemed to rise against the approaching beast, as though an invisible force hindered its advance. However, that force began to no longer be invisible. A strange, translucent figure began to materialize into the opaque form of a woman. She stood, her back pressed against his chest and her front pushing firmly against the would-be assailant. With her arms raised high, she held the axe at bay, preventing the deadly blow from falling upon the elf.

Legolas' lips parted in astonishment, his eyes widening as he struggled to comprehend the event unfolding before him. But everything transpired too swiftly for him to intervene. The figure solidified, to the point that he could feel her against him, and the axe came down at an unusual angle, slicing into the woman's side.

A cry escaped her throat, and she collapsed to the ground, her pain echoing through the air.

Suddenly thrust back into the harsh reality of battle, Legolas swiftly grasped the knife strapped to his belt. In one fluid motion, he drove the blade into the orc's heart. The creature gurgled for a moment, blood pooling from its mouth, before finally collapsing lifeless.

Without hesitation, Legolas fell to the unconscious woman crumpled at his feet. His heart clenched with dread as he noticed the crimson stains spreading across the delicate, iridescent fabric that cloaked his form.

"No, no, no," he murmured, his hands pressing against the wound in a frantic attempt to stop the bleeding. Panic tinged his voice as he glanced at her face, his voice rising in desperation, " (Y/N), you foolish Maiar. Why did you intervene? Why did you put yourself in harm's way?" His bloodied hand gently cupped her cheek. "Wake up. Come on, wake up!"

She remained unresponsive.

Swiftly, Legolas gathered her into his arms, keeping one hand pressed against the bleeding wound, and hurried towards the makeshift infirmary.

Pushing the doors open, he called out in a voice laced with fear, "Aragorn!"

Immediately, the urgent tone drew the attention of those nearby, even in the midst of the ongoing chaos of the healing ward. The Ranger, alerted by the distress in his friend's voice, swiftly moved past the curious onlookers, with Gimli at his side and Gandalf following not too far behind.

“A-an ax to the side. She’s bleeding heavily,” he sputtered out. “Please.”

Pointing to a makeshift bed, Aragorn commanded. ‘Get her on that cot! Quickly now.”

Gimili, entirely bewildered by the unfolding events and his friend’s frantic behavior, called out, “Laddie, who is that?!”

Legolas, gently placing her form on the cot, didn't even bother to look at his dwarf companion as he replied. “(Y/N).”

The dwarf shook his head and raised his hands in confusion. “Who the fuck is (Y/N)?!”

The elf sent Gimli a quick, almost exasperated glance. "The wind!" he snapped back, a bit too sharply.

Gimli’s eyes drifted around the room, his confusion turning into concern for his friend’s well being. “The wind?” he questioned. “Did ya happen to get knocked in the head, tree boy?”

It was Gandalf that chimed in. “(Y/N), a Maiar, the spirit of the wind. She has been with us throughout our journey.”

Aragorn shot the wizard a brief look as he swiftly cut away the mysterious, translucent fabric cloaking the woman and began tending to the deep, bleeding wound.

“With us the entire time?!” Gimli bellowed. “Then why haven't I seen her once?"

Gandalf peered over Aragorn’s shoulder. “She doesn't have a corporal form. At least, she didn’t. I’m afraid this is the first time any of us are seeing her.”

Legolas ran his bloodied hands through his hair, his fingers trembling with anxiety as he stepped back. His chest felt constricted with worry while his eyes remained fixated on the woman as Aragorn worked. “Can you do it, Aragorn? Can you save her?” he implored, his voice quivering with a mixture of desperation and hope.

The man met Legolas' gaze. His determination to save her was unwavering, even in the face of this strange reveal of a profound connection between a force he didn't know existed and his dear friend. Seeing Legolas’ pain, he responded firmly, "I will try."

Gimli, moving to stand beside the wizard, watched the scene with a mixture of concern and curiosity. He couldn't help but murmur, "I've never seen him so frazzled before." His words were filled with a deep sense of empathy for his elven friend, for this had clearly shaken Legolas to his core.

Gandalf let his gaze shift from the elf to Gimli, offering the dwarf a knowing look in response.

The watcher of wanderers had now become a wonder to the wanderers themselves.

……

Legolas sat in a chair beside (Y/N). He was quiet and still as he watched her chest rise and fall steadily. Aragorn had successfully treated her wound, preventing infection, though she remained unconscious. She rested soundlessly, her expression peaceful—despite Legolas’ bloody handprint, now brown, dried, and cracking, that lingered upon her cheek. Her features were graceful and elegant. Each curve and bend of her face accentuated her beauty. He wasn't sure what he had expected her to look like, though how she appeared made sense with her temperament. He could see her flirtatious streak, her mischievous tone, and her protective aurora. She was exactly what wind would be: strong yet gentle, fierce yet calm, emotional yet stern.

He watched over her, just as she had watched over him. So intently, that he didn't notice one behind him until a hand pressed firmly upon his shoulder.

"Legolas," Aragorn began, his expression filled with gentle concern as he inquired, "How do you know this woman?"

Legolas sighed, keeping his gaze on her. "She has been traveling with us," he explained.

The sound of wood scraping against stone told the elf that the Ranger pulled a nearby chair over to sit next to him.

“So Gandalf said. Though I do not understand,” Aragorn admitted.

Legolas shifted. “I started to notice strange occurrences—unexplained events.”

Aragorn raised a brow, “Strange occurrences?”

Legolas felt his cheeks heat as he cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, but more importantly, I noticed something helping us. Consistently.” He paused, “I asked Mithranduil about it and he told me of her.” He shook his head. “He said she was cursed to watch us—us inhabitants of Arda—and not be able to walk among us.”

“Then how is she here now before us, like this.”

Legolas glanced at his hands, a hint of nervousness in his expression. “I asked Mithranduil that too,” he admitted. “He said her sacrifice must have ended her limbo.” He then let his eyes land on his friend and he spoke once more, his tone almost fearful and definitely shy—something Aragorn had never seen from the elf. “If she doesn't survive, because of me, will Arda have wind no longer? I haven't felt a single breeze since she fell.”

Aragorn sighed. “I do not know, my friend. I do not know.” He reached forward and placed his hand upon his shoulder. “Please go clean up and rest. You are no good to her like this. I will take care of her, I promise.”

Legolas hesitated, “But what if she wakes?”

The Ranger sighed again, “If she wakes, I will send someone to—”

He was interrupted by a soft groan escaping from the lips of the Wind Spirit.

Instantly, both Legolas and Aragorn turned to look at the woman.

Her eyelids lazily blinked open, and she gradually became aware of her surroundings. A frown creased her face as she emitted another groan. Her hand moved slowly, making its way down to her bandaged side.

"What... what is this feeling?" she murmured to herself, puzzled by the sensations.

To her astonishment, Legolas responded, “Pain.”

She scrambled to sit upright in bed, the pain surging through her body but the sheer force of adrenaline propelled her actions. “You–you can hear me?” she whispered, eyes wide.

Legolas moved closer, taking a seat on the edge of the cot. In a gentle tone, he answered, "I can hear you. I can see you." He tenderly raised his hand to her cheek, resting it on the dried bloody mark already there. "And I can feel you."

A hushed gasp escaped her lips as she reached up to touch his hand. "It's... it's warm," she remarked, her voice filled with surprise. "I didn't expect it to be warm."

The elf smiled gently in response.

A mischievous smirk then graced her lips, and her gaze, rather unmistakably, wandered down his figure and briefly settled upon his pants. “Is everything this warm?” she inquired with a teasing tone.

Taken aback by her words and her brazen gaze, he cleared his throat. A noticeable flush crept across his cheeks and ears as he broke eye contact. With that, Legolas turned to face Aragorn, who stood behind him with raised eyebrows and a playful grin forming at the corner of his mouth. “My apologies, Aragorn.” He glanced back at the Wind Spirit. “(Y/N), this is—”

She interrupted him, her eyes on the other man. “I know who he is,” she said with confidence. “Aragorn, son of Arathorn the second, also called Strider or Wingfoot, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, and the Uncrowned King of Gondor.”

The expressions on both men's faces contorted, morphing to sheer astonishment—how did she know all that?

(Y/N) grinned sheepishly. "I am the wind," she confessed. "I see and hear a great deal."

…..

The Minas Tirith Castle was cloaked in the deep shroud of a late moonlit night as Legolas walked through its ancient halls. The soft flickering of torchlight painted wavering shadows on the weathered stone walls, lending an atmosphere that resonated with the weight of its history. His footsteps were silent as he moved, and his thoughts followed suit, meandering through the corridors of his mind.

However, up ahead, a figure bathed in a gentle glow caused Legolas to abruptly halt in his tracks, his thoughts instantly converging on the woman.

“(Y/N),” he called out, approaching her. “What are you doing away from the House of Healing? You shouldn't be out of bed. You should be resting!”

She let out an exasperated sigh, not appreciating his chastising tone. "I am a watcher of wanderers, Legolas. Therefore, I too am a voyager. It is not in my nature to stay still."

Legolas released a heated breath through his nose. “That may be true, but you now have a corporal form. No longer are you just a breeze.”

She rolled her eyes, shifting her feet to hide the persistent pain emanating from her side. “I may not be a breeze any longer, but I still control all the winds of Arda. I could knock you on your ass in seconds, injured or not.”

Legolas chuckled lightly. “I never would have gotten involved with the wind if I knew she was so temperamental,” he teased.

(Y/N), suppressing a grin, responded with a snarky retort. “Oh, so we are involved, are we?”

The elf sent her a look, trying to hide his expression of amusement. “I would be naive to think that all the times the wind flirted with me, it was just a ploy.”

“Maybe I enjoy a ploy from century to century, Legolas,” she replied.

He laughed lightly at her jest, then took a step closer, his demeanor shifting to one of seriousness. Gently, he pressed his hand to her bandaged side. “(Y/N),” he began softly. “Why did you do it? Why did you get in between that orc and I?”

She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with sincerity. “You know why.”

“Say it,” he commanded.

“Because,” she began, her tone becoming shy and soft. “Because, I—I love you.”

Instantly, Legolas wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her close to him. He pressed his lips fervently against hers. As their mouths met with equal intensity, he tasted the essence of the wind. And oh, it tasted of adventure, suffering, and joy. It tasted of warm bread from the north, bitter nuts from the east, clear water from the south, and fresh fruit from the west. It tasted of eons and eons of wandering, yet still, she tasted of home. Her hands found their way into his golden locks of hair, twisting and tugging it lightly. He allowed her to siphon off his heat, for the wind was often cold and bellowing. Though, he could tell she was taking more than just his warmth—she was taking his love; and oh, he gladly gave it to her.

…..

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#vayawrites #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #legolas #legolas x reader #legolas/reader #legolas fic #legolas fanfic #legolas fanfiction #LOTR fic #LOTR fanfic #legolas one shot #legolas drabble #legolas love story #LOTR writer #LOTR writing

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galadrielspeaks · 2 years

Text

you guys seemed to enjoy my cringe-fail legolas sexy gimli post so here’s some more of my thoughts ab that dynamic:

-when legolas goes home and announces his engagement to gimli thranduil is shocked but every other elf is like “yeah checks out. that kid’s always been a little weird.”

-gimli goes home to announce his engagement to legolas and every dwarf promptly loses their SHIT at the fact that THE gimli, son of gloin, is betrothed. only to further lose their shit at the fact that it’s to that weird elf prince that they have never heard speak unless to send some sort of diplomatical message for his father but some dwarflings once saw him sobbing in front of a tree in the middle of a rainstorm while gripping a fallen branch.

-thranduil only gives his blessing to the proposal once he realises just how angry all of erebor is that their most eligible bachelor, gimli, the silver-tongued battle ready diplomant and descendant of kings, has been stolen away by thranduils weird tree-hugging naked star gazing hippie son.

#legolas #thranduil #legolas thranduilion #legolas greenleaf #lotr #gigolas #i’m on my cringefail elf bullshit #gimleaf #mirkwood #gimli #gimli son of gloin #tolkein #i genuinely want to write a fic ab this but i’m currently in the process of writing a very Large fic that is taking up most of my time…#maybe i can make some drabbles about them though #who knows!#are kid dwarfs called dwarflings or have i commuted some sort of egregious error here #cringefail legolas

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ethereal-maniac · 3 months

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Fili: their’s only one place I think y/n could be…

Kili and Dwalin: *nodding solemnly*

Thorin: well?

Fili: here *points on map of erebore*

Thorin: wait what? that’s in my quarters-

Dwalin: well, in your bed to be specific-

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mlmxreader · 3 months

Text

Warm Hands | Legolas x gn!reader (🍋)

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Legolas

81 “It’s been a long time” ❞

: ̗̀➛ Legolas finally comes home, but he finds you in a slightly... desperate situation.

: ̗̀➛ anal sex, anal fingering, swearing, praise kink

↳ @thesnowurzikdjinn

: ̗̀➛ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You were cold as you laid in bed, shivering and shaking beneath the thick fur blankets that seemed suddenly too thin; a slight breeze rolled through, although the windows and doors were closed tightly. It was dark out, the early hours of the morning starting to gently crawl through as the seconds trickled down like thick honey.

Slowly, slowly.

It was a shame, really, as you weren't used to sleeping alone; usually, Legolas was beside you, cuddled into you with his head either on your chest or his face pressed against the side or back of your neck.

He always felt so warm, and you suddenly hated the fact that you often told him to go away during the summer months when it was too hot for him to hold you; you should never have taken him for granted. You knew that, now.

You turned onto your side, rubbing your legs together and quickly running your hands up and down your biceps in a small hope that you could gain some, even just a little bit, of warmth. Missing Legolas and his soft, warm hands so terribly.

Promising to never take him for granted again.

You didn't even notice when the door opened, hardly able to hear it over the harsh creaking of the old bed frame beneath you; you never heard his footsteps, he was always so quiet, but the sight of his light hair and his soft smile in the darkness made you breathe out a sigh of relief.

You dared to leave the bed, attaching yourself to his body tightly as you nearly wept.

"Oh, I missed you!"

Legolas grinned, putting an arm around you as he felt your hand graze his own. "You're cold... why don't you use the blanket my father made for you?"

You shrugged, not really sure how to explain that you always felt bad for using it; it was a beautiful, soft and plush blanket that was always, always so warm and so snug.

You didn't want to ruin it, didn't want to wash off the smell of stardust or, even worse, infect it with your scent. You always felt terrible for using it, you just could never find the words to explain it properly to Legolas.

"I want your warmth," you whispered, taking his hands in yours as you smiled. "It's been so long, and I missed you so much, and..."

He didn't hesitate, kissing you softly as he cupped your cheeks with both hands, guiding you to the bed and laying you down; kissing you so gently and so softly as his warm, skilled hands worked to undress you.

Once the pile of clothes on the floor formed, Legolas smiled, running his hands up and down your body as he admired it so carefully; looking at each and every inch with adoration.

You couldn't help the quiet moan that escaped you, feeling his warm hands everywhere and the slight burning sensation that each little gentle caress left behind against your cold skin.

You squirmed beneath him, taking his wrist and gently guiding him down, but he paused just above your waist, tilting his head to the side as he hummed.

"I thought you only wanted my warmth."

You frowned a little, aching and needy all at once. "Legolas, don't be a fool, please... I want you, need you."

He withdrew, kneeling between your calves as he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before diving back in for another kiss; easily, he coaxed you onto your stomach.

Pausing for a moment to admire the shape of your ass; he let his hand rest on your cheek, leaning over you, his voice harsh and low. Mere huffs of air mixed with a few odd sounds.

"Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes," you breathed out, rolling your hips. "Please."

Legolas was gone by the time you turned around, only to return with some water based liquid; he groaned softly as he slipped two fingers in your ass to work the liquid against your tight walls, preparing you for him all too easily.

He tried to be quick, trying to satisfy your demands for him to hurry up and fuck you, but he needed to be thorough. Stretching your ass with his fingers and praising you gently, the warmth from his body radiating onto your back.

You begged one final time, and Legolas knew he couldn't wait any longer; lining himself up as he used his big warm hands to spread your cheeks, slowly pressing his tip into your ass before gently thrusting into you.

Buried at the hilt as he stilled for a moment, leaning over you with his hands either side of your head; he wanted to give you a moment, allow you to adjust to how thick he was and the slight burn of his light pubic hair against your bare skin.

But you were impatient, bucking your hips and already trying to fuck yourself on his cock as you pleaded softly, begging for him to move. Legolas could never deny such a lovely request, groaning softly as he snapped his hips, biting down on the side of your neck.

"I missed you so much," he murmured against the sensitive skin, his voice sending vibrations through you. "I thought about you every day."

You groaned softly, trying to match his harsh pace as you begged quietly for him to hold your hands, trying not to grin when his fingers laced and entwined with yours. "I need you so bad, love... I can't... unf... can't sleep when you're not here..."

He smiled, slowing down a little so that he could kiss the side of your face, grinning when you turned your head and kissed him softly. "I couldn't sleep, either. I spent too long putting up with your snoring, silence is... eerie."

"It's been a long time," you whimpered, able to feel him hit the exact right spot in your ass to make you gawk and moan, shudder and writhe, beneath him. "Legolas..."

"I'm here, love," he murmured, peppering the side of your neck in small, soft kisses. "I'm here. I've got you."

Nobody loved you the way that Legolas did, if you were honest. He made you laugh, made you squirm and writhe, but he made you smile and he made you actually feel wanted; whenever you were with him, you never felt unsafe or unsure about anything.

He made you feel confident, encouraged you whenever he was around. You could never believe that you were so lucky as to be able to love someone like him, let alone have that love returned. You could still remember the sigh of relief from Aragorn and Gimli when you announced that you and Legolas were moving in together.

You adored him, almost as much as he adored you. But with his long light hair tickling your skin, and the harsh and quick pace of his cock pounding into your tight, warm asshole - you knew you weren't going to last long.

He was hitting all the right spots, and the soft praises and encouragements that left his mouth had you clawing at the bed, desperate and needy as a little bit of drool slipped from your mouth.

You couldn't help it, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you tilted it back slightly, fucking yourself on his cock as your thighs trembled, toes curling as you moaned his name loudly; Legolas wasn't far behind, pressing his face to your neck as he softly grunted out your name, rutting his cum into your asshole as he gave your hands a firm squeeze.

"I've got you," he whispered softly. "I've got you."

You nodded against him, rolling your hips as you tried to catch your breath. "I'm feeling so much warmer now."

Legolas laughed, shaking his head fondly as he kissed your cheek. "I'm glad, my love."

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fili-urzudel · 5 months

Text

Porridge - Kíli Durin x Reader

Just a cute little winter themed drabble for our favorite little brother.

Warnings: mentions of broken bones, mentions of near-death, light crying, homesickness

Word Count: 0.6k

"Come in," the voice was muffled.

"How's my favorite—what in Aule's name," Kíli interrupted himself. Most likely because while he was expecting to find you on your bed, in your place was a very high pile of blankets, covering from the foot to the headboard.

"Shove it," the blanket pile groaned.

"What, are you hiding your shame?" Kíli chuckled, drawing closer and probing a corner of the bed before sitting down.

"No!" You exclaimed, finally throwing off the layers of blankets. "I—help me up, please," you muttered, and he obliged before you continued. "I have nothing to be ashamed of, that cliff was steep and I blame you for thinking it was a good idea to climb it—"

"When you said you adored goats, I assumed that meant you had some degree of their skill," Kíli smirked.

"—and I happen to be hiding from the cold because your mountain is bloody freezing," you finished with a dramatic pout.

"It's a mountain. In winter. Honestly, khebabmudtu, what were you expecting?" He teased, having found his way to the head of the bed and leaning his head against his hand, his elbow propped on the headboard.

He felt himself freeze when he noticed tears welling in your eyes.

"Hey," he said, voice softer. "What's wrong?"

"It's never this cold back home," you whimpered. "And no one here makes porridge the way Ma made it, and I can't make it myself because of my daft ankle, and I—I just..." you sighed, breaking off. "I miss home but I want to stay here, too."

Kíli frowned. He had seen you upset, sure, and he had seen you heartbroken—sure as Mahal when you thought he was dead—and he had more than definitely seen you angry. But he had never seen you distressed over something that even you would consider trivial.

"You mind?" he asked, already lifting the stack of the blanket corners to slide into the generous bed with you. You shook your head quickly.

"I'm not sure that it counts for much, but I understand," he said slowly. "I spent most of my life in Ered Luin, and I still feel a little homesick for it sometimes. I can't imagine what a big difference it is from the Southlands. But I'm glad you chose to stay here."

"God only knows why," you sniffled.

"Well, I was hoping for me," Kíli smiled, and you rolled your eyes. "But seriously, khebabmudtu, we all love having you here. Anything that can help make you stay, I'll do it."

You gave a grin-grimace. "Thanks, Kí," you said, and leaned into his side, much to his surprise. He was all too happy to wrap an arm around your shoulders to keep you there. "What does that word mean?"

He hesitated for a moment. "What word?"

"Khebabmudtu," you said, stumbling a bit over the consonants.

"Heart forge," he whispered, and when you looked up at him, confused, he knew he had to say it louder. "It means heart-forge. The forge where my heart is made."

"Hmm," you hummed shortly, snuggling into his ribs. "I bet you say that to all your lady friends."

He wanted to laugh. He couldn't believe you still didn't believe that he was the ugly brother. "No," he replied simply instead. "Just you."

Just you.

You liked the sound of that.

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guardianofrivendell · 1 year

Note

If you do requests, I would love a Fili one! Specifically, his hobbit gf who has short hair tells him she’s going to grow it out so that he can finally put it in braids <33

A/N: this was such a cute request, thank you so much for sending it in (and your patience!)! Hope you like it!

Fíli x fem!hobbit (unnamed) OC

Requested: obviously

Warnings: just lots of teeth rotting fluff I guess?

Word count: 753 words

Always yours

“You’re staring again,” she said without taking her eyes off the page of her book. As handsome and charming as her companion was, the story she was reading was too intriguing and she really wanted to know what the heroine would do next.

But there came no response to her comment and eventually her curiosity got the best of her. She peeked over the edge of the paper, straight into the bright blue eyes of her intended.

“See? I knew I was right,” she teased with a smile.

Fíli chuckled, the sound reverberating in his chest, making her smile even wider. There truly wasn’t a lovelier sound.

“Such beauty as yours is meant to be admired, ibrizinlêkhê, you cannot fault me for doing so.”

She twirled a lock of hair around her finger as she resumed her reading, a blush colouring her cheeks at the given praise. Even after months of courting she still wasn’t used to the numerous compliments Fíli showered her with.

“Your hair’s getting quite long,” Fíli commented as he let his fingers glide through her deep brown curls. “I suppose it’s almost time to cut it again.”

She didn’t miss the disappointment in his voice, even though she knew he’d tried to hide it. She usually let her curls grow until it reached her shoulders, or until it was at ‘proper Hobbit-length’ as she’d always say, before the scissors would appear. Even though Fíli knew hair wasn’t as important to Hobbits as it was to Dwarrows, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness every time his future wife took out the scissors.

But now it almost brushed her collarbones, the longest it had ever been and Fíli loved it. How the curls danced around her face as she was running around the kitchen, cooking yet another feast, or how they framed her perfectly round face as she was engrossed in one of her books, shielding her from prying eyes. His fingers itched to braid her auburn locks, to take three strands and weave them together, following an all-too-familiar pattern, sealing it with a bead containing his sigil and making her truly his in the eyes of Mahal. But he respected her too much, and the last thing he would want for her was to abandon her own culture.

“About that…” she began, pulling him out of his thoughts. She went to the heavy wooden chest of drawers, took something out of the top drawer and placed it in his hand with a shy smile. A pair of scissors.

Fíli’s eyes went wide at the suggestion. “You cannot ask me to… I can’t-”

He loved her with all his heart, she was his whole world without any doubt, and there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do if she asked him to, but this request was really pushing his limits.

The Hobbit girl laughed, her giggles like tiny bells in the evening breeze, and she folded her small hands around his large one holding the scissors, closing it with an encouraging squeeze.

“I don’t want you to use them,” she reassured him, “I want you to keep them, since I have no need for them anymore.”

Fíli stared at her, his features twisted in confusion, before he realised what it meant. He dropped the scissors and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest, the book she was reading toppling to the ground but neither of them noticed. As he let go of her, his hands moved from her waist to cup her cheeks, brushing a strand of hair out of her face with his thumb.

“I know how important this is to you, and your kin. You’ve done so many things to make me feel at home. So I decided I wanted to grow out my hair, long enough for you to braid it. And I think we’re there, don’t you?”

Fíli positively beamed with happiness, blinking a few times as if he couldn’t believe what had just occurred. He closed the already small distance between them with a small tug, and kissed her hard, a kiss full of passion and promises and want.

As they separated, both catching their breaths, he took something out of his pocket, and opened his hand, revealing a silver bead. “I’ve carried this with me ever since we started courting, but I never thought... Ibrizinlêkhê, would you do me the honour of letting me braid your hair?”

She smiled, her eyes a little teary at the sheer happiness and nodded.

“Always.”

Permanent taglist: @roosliefje @kata18033 @entishramblings @artsywaterlily @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose @marvelschriss @kumqu4t @the-banannah @dark-angel-is-back @the-fandoms-georgie @lathalea @xxbyimm @katethewriter @aredhel-of-gondolin @elvish-sky @moony-artnstuff @kirenia15 @vicmackeybullshxt @hey-its-nonny @beenovel @cassiabaggins @shethereadinghobbit @justfollowtheroad @laurfilijames @fizzyxcustard @brokennerdalert @linasofia @naimadrawsstuff @errruvande-2-0 @amaryllis23 @enchantzz @narniaandthenorth @sketch-and-write-lover @blairsanne @ruthoakenshield @midearthwritings @alone19-24 @medusas-hairband @ren-ni @kyramaximoff @megnotfound @middleearthpixie @aduialel @tree0frog @trappedinlimbo15 @brethil13

Fíli taglist: @bluewingedangel @spidergirla5 @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @clumsy-wonderland @i-always-come-back-xoxo

#Fíli #Fili x reader #Fili drabble #Fili Durin #The Hobbit #The Hobbit fanfiction #The Hobbit drabble #Guardianofrivendell #lotr #The Hobbit imagine #The Hobbit request

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thatfanficstuff · 8 months

Note

Ahhhh!!! I'm so happy to see you on my feed again!! I'm so sorry life has been so rough on you and your family. Hopefully everything with your mom and husband and ankles goes well! 💖💖💖

I have a gif for the writing thing if you want to/feel up to it. No pressure though! I'm just so glad to have had you pop into my feed again 🥰

Thank you so much friend! I'm glad to be back even if it's just doing little things. And Thranduil! We all know how much I love a sassy blond.

~~~

His Queen

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

Thranduil had been shut up in meetings and hearing petitions for the last several days. You'd seen him at a handful of meals where you ate in silence to allow him some peace and then he'd give you a kiss and head off to his next obligation.

You were surprised one evening when one of the guards informed you that your presence was requested in the throne room. You nodded in acknowledgment and let him lead you, though you were more than familiar with the way.

When you arrived, the guard stayed in the hall and shut the door behind you once you'd entered.

The king seemed lost in thought but lifted his head and gave a smile as he saw you. "Ah, meleth nîn, I have missed you."

He moved toward you as he spoke and you met him halfway. He grasped your hands in his and lifted them to his lips. After pressing a kiss to the knuckles on both hands, he stepped back to look you over.

His smile widened. "You look like a queen."

Your cheeks heated as you shook your head at his foolishness. "I doubt that, my king."

He led you to his throne and sat you in it before bracing his hands on the arms and leaning forward. "Oh, but you do. Would you like to be one?"

"Excuse me?" You asked after giving yourself a moment to process.

The corner of his mouth curled in a pleased smirk. "Marry me, my stars. Be my queen."

Rather than answer, you grabbed his face in your hands and pulled him into a kiss. His arms wrapped around you to lift you from the throne only to sit in it himself and pull you into his lap.

When you pulled apart, he gave you one of his sweet, true smiles he saved only for you. "Should I take that as a yes, my queen?"

"Yes, you should, my king. "

#thranduil x reader #kat answers stuff #lotr fanfiction #the hobbit fanfiction #gif drabble

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drabblesandimagines · 1 year

Text

Unspoken

I might come back and revise this, as I'm not sure I'm completely happy with it, but hey-ho!

Inspired by my constant earache.

Wordcount: 2390

Pairings: Legolas x you

----

It had been a long, hard night – that was for certain. You hadn’t got through completely unscathed as there were bruises developing and a few cuts here and there, but at least you still had your life.

As dawn broke, it was a relief as you saw the calvary upon the hill, racing down in their thousands. And that was your mistake - allowing yourself to be distracted, before something cracked into your skull and the world went black.

Slowly, the world came back into view, albeit in flashes at first. Spurts of light in a field of darkness before it all faded away once more. As the world focused more in front of your eyes, you realized you were in one of the great halls of the keep, which now seemed to be a makeshift clinic. Cots were lined up across the floor, all filled with a wounded soldier, now including yourself.

Then it struck you what was off. There must’ve been hundreds of others in here, there must’ve been chatter, moans of pain, the scuff of boots on the concrete floor but to you there was nothing but ringing – high-pitched ringing, everything muffled behind it.

You shot up, hoping the rapid movement would make the high-pitched tone clear and things would return to normal. Unsurprisingly, it achieved nothing. A hand suddenly gripped your shoulder and you flinched – turning your head to see Legolas sat beside you, uncharacteristically crossed legged, but with a relieved smile on his face. You stared blankly at him, seeing his lips move but no words reached your ears through the barrier of ringing. Slowly, his smile dropped into a frown when you hadn’t responded. His hand squeezed your shoulder and his lips moved again.

“I…” You hesitated. Thinking it was one thing but saying it out loud… “I can’t hear you. I can’t… There’s just ringing.”

He leaned in closer to you, his lips moving frantically. You leant back and rubbed your left ear. You weren’t sure why. Your fingertips came back with tacky blood and you looked back up at the elf – you didn’t need to hear at that moment to know there was concern in his voice, the alarm in his eyes said it all. Your heart began to race – you’d be useless to everyone now in the quest they’d set out upon. You could try to adapt, of course you could, you were an exceptional fighter, but it would take time to learn. Time you or anyone else didn’t have right now...

Firm hands grasped both of your shoulders – you realized you’d been staring off into the distance as your mind raced with all the implications. The sudden touch forced you to look at him. Legolas smiled - you imagined he’d hoped it was reassuring. His lips moved again, maybe more slowly than they had previously, but you shook you head. “I can’t understand you” Were you shouting? Maybe you were shouting.

He paused, a thoughtful look on his face before he gave a slight nod. Legolas opened his arms wide and then almost seemed to hug the air, trying to encompass it all within his arms, before pointing to the right. You stared at him, confused. Was he quite well…? He smiled, before repeating his movements, two, three times, before something clicked in your mind.

“Are you trying to say it’ll be all right?”

Legolas nodded enthusiastically, delighted that you’d put together his performance. He got to his feet and then held his hands out flat in front of him, pulling them back smoothly before throwing them forward. Was he telling you to wait there? Where would you even go? You nodded, “I’ll wait…?” He beamed, before striding out of the hall at great speed.

You reluctantly laid back down on the cot and stared at the ceiling. Maybe if you closed your eyes you could pretend it was just you in this room…

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before Aragorn appeared above you, a gentle smile upon his face. He looked weary and wounded, but it was good to see the man in one piece. The ranger offered you his hand and helped you to sit up before he knelt next to you.

Aragorn opened his mouth as if to say something and then stopped, perhaps realizing it would be pointless. He then smiled again and tucked his hair behind his ear and cupped it, then he gestured to your own. Ever the gentleman, asking permission.

You nodded and turned your head, soon after you felt his fingers brush your hair away and lightly pull at your ear lobe in inspection. You stared into the hall, watching some of the women distributing water and food a couple of rows up from you, willing yourself to hear a single word through that awful ringing.

After a moment or two Aragorn moved onto your other ear. You noticed his fingers also came back with that sticky, almost dried blood but he didn’t seem alarmed by its presence. He leaned back and nodded, before squeezing your hand in reassurance.

Legolas soon returned, clutching a scrap of parchment, an ink well and a quill of all things – you couldn’t think of where he’d obtained those in the aftermath of all that had occurred last night. He laid it all down on the floor, uncorked the ink well and dipped the quill, looking expectantly at the ranger. Aragorn’s lips began to move and Legolas began to transcribe in his beautiful calligraphy. It felt like an agonizingly long wait before the elf held up the parchment for you to read.

Aragorn believes that the cause of your hearing loss is due to your eardrums being burst. Do you recall any injury?

You nodded. “I think I took a hit to the head.”

Aragorn’s lips moved once more and Legolas scribbled.

That would cause such an injury. To his knowledge, these heal after some rest and the hearing will return in the next few days.

You nodded, before Aragorn’s next words made Legolas frown ever so slightly, but the years together had made you an expert at reading his face.

Aragorn suggests we move you to more private quarters whilst you heal.

“No. I don’t want any special treatment.” You directed your words straight at the ranger. In turn, he replied directly to you.

He wouldn’t give you it, but it’s for your safety. It’ll only be for a little while until your hearing returns. I know you won’t like it, but I agree.

You gave Legolas a hard stare for that one. He quickly jotted down another word in response.

Please?

“Fine, but only until I get some hearing back.” You conceded, reluctant but you knew they’d eventually get their way, somehow or another. “And I’m not being there completely alone – I’d expect you all to join me.”

You’d settled into a small side room and you had got your wish of company – Gimli, Aragorn and Legolas all joining you. Well, Aragorn always seemed to be up half the night and Legolas varied between how much he wanted. The room was small, so there was little distance between the bed rolls but he’d set his up next to yours and seemed to settle down only to encourage you to do so. Gimli, however, had never seemed so well-rested since this whole journey had begun.

After the joy of seeing Gandalf once more, you settled into a bit of a routine. Day by day, the ringing subsided substantially but everything else still sounded like it was submerged under water. There wasn’t much to do to pass the time – you begged them to give you busy jobs that wouldn’t involve conversation and you could just put your head down and get on with them. One of the days you had accomplished little else than gather blunt blades from the battle and set about them with a whet stone. You’d insisted that this was something you could tackle on your own, but that didn’t stop Legolas appearing by your side constantly through the day. He’d also obtained more parchment and they all took turns noting things down in order to make you feel involved, which you appreciated but it made for awfully stilted conversation. Aragorn made you hot compresses – he’d tried to get you to take some herbs for the pain but you’d declined. There were far more injured men than you who needed the relief, but that didn’t stop him noting every time you winced.

You sensed some tension between Aragorn and Gandalf on the third day – the scowls on both of their faces said enough. The ringing had finally ceased altogether but sounds of the world continue to be muffled beyond comprehension despite how much you strained. You pestered Legolas and Gimli to tell you what about when you were alone in the room that evening, but the elf kept tapping on a previously written sentence.

It’s nothing for you to worry about.

“You’re not being fair, if you’ve heard something you need to tell me.” You’d pestered, “It’s upsetting enough that I can’t hear, but now that you are keeping secrets from me…”

Legolas’ brow furrowed as there was an exchange of words between the elf and the dwarf. Then he began writing – though you could note a slight reluctance.

Gandalf wants to move on to Isengard. Aragorn refuses until you can accompany us.

“No, I told him that I don’t want any special treatment.” You protested. “You should be gone already!”

This is why I was reluctant to tell you. Aragorn has made his choice and we stick by him. The Fellowship is already splintered enough.

“Where is he?” You stood up, determined to confront the ranger but the elf’s hand grasped your wrist and pulled you firmly back down – luckily the impact cushioned by the bed roll. Your reflexes were usually much better than that but your balance had been somewhat off, something Aragorn had assured would right itself as your ear drums healed.

One hand kept a tight hold of your wrist as he scribbled down on the parchment.

Please. I am not going to transcribe an argument. We will go as soon as you are well enough. Truth be told, Aragorn needs the rest as well. I’m sure it’ll only be a day or two more, if you are patient.

Patience had never been your strong suit. In fact, it had taken you years to learn it and not act on a whim, but you’d been told – and rightly so – that if you wanted to fight you had to tolerate it.

“Fine,” you grumbled, admitting defeat. You laid down and faced the wall, pettily. “Goodnight, then.”

You woke sometime later, but it was hard to tell exactly how long. There was a small slit in the stonework so you could tell it was still dark. You must’ve rolled over in your sleep as you were now facing back into the room and could see Gimli’s slumbering form in the other corner, his chest rising and falling heavily. You were sure he must be snoring. Aragorn’s bed roll was unoccupied, but that wasn’t really a surprise. Apparently he was often found late at night with his pipe, staring up into the night sky in contemplation and did not wish to be disturbed. Besides you, about a metre away, was Legolas – lying poker straight on his bed roll, his arms crossed across his chest and his eyes firmly closed. You weren’t sure how that was comfortable – you’d always slept on your side, an arm under your head as a pillow.

Trying to get comfortable again, you rolled back over to face the wall but your mind no longer seemed to be tired. Instead, dark thoughts swirled around – what if your hearing remained at this level? Aragorn couldn’t hold back forever, and you were still mad that he’d delayed their departure this far due to you. They’d have to leave you eventually, though. You would surely only be a nuisance as communication would go, and though you could still swing a sword around - you’d tried the day you’d sharpened all the blades – you hadn’t accounted for your balance. It had taken time for you to learn how to fight with two swords, but even just with one the weight felt terribly off, and when you’d lunged forward in a thrust technique, you’d nearly gone head-first into the wall.

You were determined, you knew you were – you’d always accomplished everything you’d set your mind to but it had always taken time, and that was something you were very aware was becoming limited. Tears burned at your eyes and you swallowed, before rubbing furiously at them with your hand.

Suddenly, an arm slipped around your waist and you jumped before relaxing at a familiar touch – Legolas. He pulled you over and onto his chest, squeezing your hand. Your head was flat on his chest and you’d missed the sound of his heartbeat, only to feel something different. Vibrations tickled your cheek and you thought he must be singing in a quiet, bass tone. Your heart skipped at his comfort – it was far too dark in there for him to write down reassuring notes when he heard your distress. You squeezed his hand back in a thank you, pushing the unhelpful thoughts deep down in your mind as you concentrated on the comforting pulsations…

You awoke the next morning in the same position, but aware something else was very different to what the last few days had entailed. Although slightly dulled, you could hear grunting. You sat up in shock and stared at Gimli.

“What is it?” Legolas’ soft voice came from behind you. You turned back to him and he frowned, reaching for the parchment. “Sorry…” he mumbled, forgetting himself.

“I can hear Gimli snoring!” You beamed. “It’s not as clear as a bell, but I can hear him. And I can hear you!” You were giddy.

“You can?” Legolas smiled in return, reaching for you and pulling you closer. “That is wonderful news, though I have one regret. For you see, I had rather hoped these words would be the first you’d hear…”

He leant in and whispered three words into your ear that made your face flush.

#legolas x reader #legolas x you #lotr x reader #drabbles #reader imagines #lord of the rings #no pronouns

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nomelwelloy · 6 months

Text

Legolss drabble / imagine | Legolas x reader

☆彡

Legolas nimbly dismounts his horse, giving it a soft pat as he hands it over to the stable hand, before he navigates the winding streets of the White City, up steep flights of stairs, weaving through fish markets and stone gardens, until he reaches the shopping streets and dips into the jeweller’s store.

You look up at the rattle of the door chime and a smile blooms on your face, as does a warm feeling in your chest. “Legolas,”

“Darling,” he says with a quiet rush of air, like the sight of you has stolen his breath. His smile mirrors yours, and his eyes shine. “My apologies for the wait,” he pads around the counter, peering at your workstation. He touches your shoulder, desperate for the slightest connection to you even while you’re in the midst of work, yet cautious enough of your task at hand.

When you secure the final ringlet to the headband, however, it is swiftly set aside to crush him in your arms.

Almost like a competition, Legolas squeezes you as tightly, taking a deep breath as he presses his face into your shoulder. You do the same, tightening your hold while he waltzes the two of you into the middle of the shop, doing a little spin on the spot.

He smells of fresh earth and jasmine and ozone, but his hair carries the slightest hint of his citrus-scented wash. This tugs at your heart, and you’re suddenly hit with immense nostalgia; brief flashes of memories in Mirkwood, of days spent lounging in bed, sparring and racing one another through the forest’s twisting, ancient trees, and stargazing by those said trees, sometimes falling asleep to her soothing winds and quiet lullaby. Legolas would watch over you when you do, his hands soft on your hair in absentminded ministrations.

You sigh into his neck. “I’ve missed you,”

You can feel his smile, and his hand comes up to the back of your neck, stroking fondly. “As did I,” he brushes over your lips with his own. “My love,” he presses a littler firmer. “My starlight,” Legolas steals another breath, his mouth moving ardently against yours. “Meleth nin,”

You melt against him before you even know it, going weak in the knees when that familiar term of endearment slips past his lips. You’ve ached to hear it for months, imagined it on lonely nights and busy days until finally, your lover is before you, quelling the absolute longing you didn’t know was so intense, until he stepped through the door.

Your eyes are closed, relishing in his warmth when you hear a noise from outside. Cracking open one eye, your face flushes when you see one of your regulars knocking the glass window, a teasing grin plastered into her face. You instantly move away, groaning inwardly with a little wave, and you are already begging for the floor to open up and swallow you whole right there.

“Hello, hello!”

The door jingles, and Legolas turns, naturally placing himself between you and her. “Good afternoon,”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt such a sweet moment,” she giggles, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I just wanted to check on that order I placed,” she gestured, “the hair piece?”

You clear your throat and straighten yourself, going behind the counter to retrieve the package. “Here,” you pass it to her and receive her payment. “Just in time for the festival too,” you add, but her arching grin makes it difficult for you to continue being polite.

“Oh yes,” she glances between the two of you with another sweet smile, “Everyone will be there, it’s going to be wonderful!” she hugs the package to her chest. “It’s about to start! Don’t want to be late,” she turns to Legolas before she leaves, shooting him another grin. “It was so lovely to meet you, I’ll see you two later!”

When the door finally shuts, you groan, cursing quietly, much to Legolas’s amusement.

“She… she’s a bit of a gossip,” you explain, head in your hands. “Always nosying about other people’s lives…” you huff in exasperation. “Oh, she’ll have the time of her life with this!”

“We cannot let her have all the fun.” Legolas grabs your hand and he twirls you on the spot. “Shall we go too? I even brought the tunic you liked,”

You feign a gasp. “You came all prepared! How devious!”

Legolas laughs, pressing a kiss to your temple, gently rocking you sideways in a little dance. “It has been too long,”

You hum in agreement, letting a brief silence settle as you consider the idea of going, of all this time and distance you’ve spent apart, waiting and making do with irregular letters and quiet longing.

You feel the adrenaline begin to build in your veins, and with a firm resolve you twirl Legolas around, catching him close to you. “It is decided! A festival we shall go, and a gift I have prepared, for my princely elf.”

The handmade circlet that rests upon his head is perhaps your finest work to date: Thin silver curling gently in ornamental half ellipses upon his forehead, encasing a small round moonstone in the center, metal curving around it like vines. It’s random moments throughout the night when you dance and drink and laugh yourselves silly until your stomachs hurt, and Legolas has to catch you before you trip over yourself, when the circlet catches the light and reflects the same soft shine in his gaze towards you. It is stirring, and it makes the months of waiting and yearning all seem like a foggy memory, now that you are back in each others arms.

☆彡

a/n: more of an idea dump that just kept going until it became this! I am not entirely clear on the city’s layout and have written it very generically but I find it quite fun to come up with things esp given it’s awesome structure?? hope you enjoyed reading it though! (also thank you for all the love on the most recent Legolas drabble ;; <3333)

#also please excuse any typos #editing it with my eyes half closed #legolas #legolas imagines #legolas drabbles #legolas x reader #Lotr #lotr drabbles #lotr imagines #nomelwelloy

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itsfeckinwimdy · 1 year

Text

A Surprise Proposition

Kili x Reader

Reader Pronouns: N/a.

Prompt: "Are we just gonna... keep holding hands?" "Dunno. It's nice though."

Word Count: 349 words

Warnings: n/a

LOTR + TH Masterlist

Published: 05/02/2023

From the moment Bard appeared on the shoreline to collect the barrels from the elves to the two of you standing together on the barge for warmth, you had been hyperaware of a hand holding yours.

Maybe it was nothing and you were just overthinking it once again. Or maybe it was something, especially as the dwarf holding your hand had practically confessed his feelings for you whilst you were locked in the dungeons of Mirkwood.

Deciding to break the ice, unlike the barge, you were on, you cleared your throat to get your companion's attention.

"Are we just gonna... keep holding hands?" you tentatively asked. The brunette prince turned to face you whilst your other companions continued to squabble over money to pay the bargeman.

"Dunno. It's nice though." he shrugged back. Kili adjusted his grip on your hand before bringing it up to lay a kiss on the back of it.

"Kili." You stated, wanting a serious answer from him.

"Y/n." He replied in the same tone of voice.

Kili kept his eyes locked with yours before bringing his other hand up to brush a strand of your hair back behind your ear. You froze as he did so, knowing that him touching your hair was a big deal for dwarves.

"Well, when we finally get a moment to ourselves then I would like the honour of braiding your hair." Kili smiled at you, a hint of a teasing grin hidden underneath. He looked back out at the water covered in fog as your stunned silence allowed for a moment to gather his, and your, thoughts.

"I presume you understand our customs and what I'm implying," a teasing smile plastered on his lips. He knew that you understood the severity of his words, having explained with Bofur what different braids and beads in dwarves' hair and beards meant to you towards the beginning of the journey.

You let out a small scoff at his words, not one of displeasure no, but more in disbelief and excitement.

"You know, I'd never thought you'd ask." You teased back.

#kili x reader #kili durin x reader #kili imagine #kili fanfic #kili fanfiction #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fanfiction #pronouns: n/a #fic: drabble/imagine #tree writes lotr + th fics

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entishramblings · 2 months

Text

Haunting Me

[Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: I have been struggling to write (like usual), so I figured I would whip out a no pressure Legolas fic. ANYWAYS, I strangely loved writing this!!! Thanks for the request XOXO

Request: @goose-gremlin — “Could you maybe do a Legolas x Reader on their period?”

Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Reader is a member of Greenwood's Guard and is struggling with menstrual/period pain. Legolas takes care of her.

Disclaimer: I don't know elvish. I use the gracious elvish dictionary. Sue me lol

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: blood, menstruation/period, pain, PMS, slight nakedness (not anything spicy you filthy fools), fluff, sweet precious elf boy

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

(Y/N)’s nose twitched, the pungent, musty scent of the incoming vile beasts invaded the fresh earthy tones of the Greenwood forest. Her keen ears picked up on subtle scurrying, the sound carried by the drift of the soft wind. Her jaw clenched and her fingers adjusted the grasp of her sword as she felt the aura of the trees shift—a surge of adrenaline fueling her anxiety, worsening the pain in her abdomen. Briefly locking eyes with the other elves in her sector, spread among the trees alert and ready, she knew their moment of action was imminent.

(Y/N) summoned the little energy she had through a deep inhale, praying to the Valar that these spiders wouldn't be in such a frenzied state. Because, if so, fuck that. For at the present moment in time, she really didn't have the capacity to deal with that absolute, motherfucking horseshit.

Because, truly, getting killed due to slowness from fatigue and cramps from one’s bloodmoon cycle would be rather unfortunate and deeply regrettable. However, facing expulsion from the guard and losing her reputation as one of the hand-picked defenders of the royal line because of it would be even worse.

(Y/N)’s gaze narrowed as Prince Legolas, leader of the Greenwood Guard, raised a closed fist.

Nêl (Three).

Tâd (Two).

Mîn (One).

He opened his palm, signaling the command: Kill them. Kill them all.

With a firm thud, (Y/N)'s boots landed on the soft soil as she sprung from the trees. She was quick with her blade, hunting the spiders as if they were meaningless prey. Her weapon was an extension of her form. Every movement was fluid and graceful, a testament to her mastery of combat. Despite her pain, she spun and twisted with ease, severing the arachnids' limbs effortlessly.

As she fought, she made sure to keep an eye on the Prince, knowing that if anything were to happen to Legolas under her watch, the king would surely banish her. Besides, she harbored no desire for him to meet his demise. She found him rather…admirable. Nothing more than that—of course not.

As (Y/N) advanced upon one of the vile beasts, her senses tingled with warning. Abruptly, she halted in her tracks, narrowly dodging an arrow that whizzed past her stomach. Her eyes narrowed as she wiped her head to see just who fired that arrow. A scoff escaped her lips as she locked eyes with him: Rekón.

When the battle came to an end, (Y/N) strutted towards Rekón, who was wiping the edge of his blade upon his thigh.

“What the hell was that out there?!” She snapped at him.

“What is it you speak of?”

“You nearly put an arrow in me!”

He shrugged. “Perhaps, you should have been faster, Shadowfoot.”

She scoffed at Greenwood’s nickname for her. “You're lucky I am fast. I can assume you don’t want elven blood on your hands—especially my blood.

He sheathed his blade and crossed his arms. “Don’t exaggerate, (Y/N). It’s unbecoming. Besides,” he leaned in and his voice lowered, taking on a snarky tone, “I don't care if you're handpicked by the King to be the Prince’s shadow, you're a pain in the ass.”

“Really, Otuuk Fe`Saign (warg kisser)?! I could have you and your ass in the mud faster than you could say—”

The rather tense interaction was interrupted by Legolas clearing his throat beside the pair. “What is going on over here?” he demanded.

(Y/N) huffed, not taking her eyes off the man before her. “Rekón here nearly redecorated my abdomen with a fucking arrow!”

The Prince sighed. “You know we can’t always calculate every motion on the battlefield, (Y/N). I am sure Rekón meant no harm.” He paused, turning his attention to the ellon. “Rekón, in the future, mind your arrows.”

“That’s the reprimand he gets?! Are you fu—“

Legolas looked at the elleth. “Watch your language, Shadowfoot. I expect this attitude to be gone by the time we enter my father’s halls.”

With that, Legolas walked away, calling out orders to burn the spider carcasses and move out.

As he disappeared into the mess of elves, (Y/N)’s brows pulled downward in a grumpy frown. “Princeling Ass,” she murmured to herself.

Unbeknownst to her, as she turned away, Legolas' gaze followed her, seeking out her form and lingering as she walked away.

….

The sun had not yet risen when the Prince’s sector of the Greenwood Guard arrived back in the Palace. The warriors dispersed into the armory, diligently stowing their weapons and armor in their designated places. (Y/N), however, did no such thing. Instead, with a persistent scowl etched on her face, she marched through the room and passed through the arched exit of the armory—presumably heading towards her chambers. Legolas's gaze tracked her suspiciously as she departed.

As the day progressed, the members of the Prince’s sector resumed their usual routines. Because it was their first day back from patrol, they were exempt from basic guard duties and standard positions. Instead, they utilized the early hours of the morning to bathe and rejuvenate themselves before gathering in the dining hall for breakfast. The remainder of the day was theirs to unwind and compile their patrol reports—the King sought to stay informed about all occurrences and perspectives during patrols, for a darkness seemed to be spreading among his trees.

At supper, Legolas moved among the tables in the dining hall, gathering last-minute reports from the warriors in his sector. As he did so, he scanned the long wooden benches, searching for the scowling gaze that had accompanied the last couple of days of patrol; however, there was no such gaze and no such person that it belonged to. Simply put, there was no sign of (Y/N).

She had missed all three meals and had failed to submit her patrol report.

Legolas cleared his throat before he addressed the elves from whom he was collecting papers. “Have you seen Shadowfoot? I need her report,” he inquired.

They shook their heads, more interested in their food than one missing shadow.

Legolas sighed, but refrained from pressing further. If anyone knew her whereabouts, they would have mentioned it.

Therefore, he made his way to her quarters.

When he arrived, he knocked softly on the door, but was met with silence.

"(Y/N)," he called out, his voice carrying through the wooden barrier.

Still, there was no response.

After a moment’s hesitation, Legolas reached for the door knob and twisted it slowly. The wood swung open quietly under his touch, exposing the darkness of the room beyond. Moonlight filtered in through the opened window, casting shadows that danced across the floor, the curtains billowing gently in the cold night air.

Legolas carefully stepped through the threshold and closed the door behind him. As he took in his surroundings further, surprise crossed his features. He didn't know what he had been expecting since he hadn't been in (Y/N)’s quarters, but it most certainly was not this.

The room was a complete mess. Clothing lay strewn about, along with various trinkets—small hand-carved boxes, beautiful natural rocks, and melted candles absent of flame. Several stacks of books were piled beside the bed, a few of them open and their pages still. Her weapons were scattered haphazardly, some resting on the floor, others on the table or atop the dresser. Legolas even noticed a few knives embedded into the wooden door—a sight that would surely displease Ada.

It was chaotic but calm in a sort of strange way. Typical for (Y/N), he supposed.

The Prince moved to walk further into the room, but was quickly halted against his will. His foot had gotten caught and, if it wasn't for his swift reflexes, he would have face-planted upon the stone flooring.

Legolas sucked in a sharp breath as he stabilized his form. Glancing down, he discovered the culprit—a crumpled tunic tangled around his boot, its fabric caught between the lacings.

He immediately sighed in dismay.

The blond-haired Prince reached down to untangle the stubborn garment. It proved to be a more challenging task than he had anticipated, requiring a few moments of quiet curses and annoyed grunts before he managed to free himself. Carefully, he folded the fabric and placed it upon a nearby chair.

Cautiously, he advanced to the large bed. At first, he could not spot the warrior within, given that the fluffy comforter and mountain of pillows were blocking his view. However, when he pulled back the blankets slightly, sure enough, she was buried deep within. The pillows were arranged around her like a protective nest and she was laying on her side. Her hair was splattered across the cushioned fabric and her expression was…one of pain. Her brows were pulled tight, her nose crinkled, and lips slightly parted.

At this, Legolas frowned, for he was now troubled deeply.

Diligently, the Prince reached out to brush some hair from her face, but just as his fingers made contact with her cheek, his action was interrupted.

(Y/N) suddenly sat up, a knife in hand. With wild eyes, she tried to slam it into his carotid artery.

He reacted quickly, Legolas intercepted her arm, preventing the blade from reaching its target. For a moment, they both froze in that tense position, the gravity of the situation sinking in as they processed what was happening.

(Y/N) was breathing quickly and she appeared very disheveled and confused. It seemed to take her a moment longer to grasp the situation fully.

"Jukkete (fuck)," she breathed out, trying to catch her breath before snapping at him. "Legolas, I almost killed you!"

The Prince still held her wrist. “(Y/N),” he began, “Are you alright?”

She huffed. "You know better than to sneak up on me like that, Princeling!" With a sharp twist, she pulled away from his grasp and settled back into the blankets. “What are you doing here?”

He raised his brows. “Princeling?” he questioned, a hint of amusement in his tone.

(Y/N) only grunted in response.

He sighed. “No one has seen you all day and—“ his sentence abruptly halted as he noticed a red stain upon the comforter. “(Y/N), you are bleeding!” He exclaimed. Without hesitation, he grasped at the blankets, in an attempt to detangle her form from them, as he continued his babbling of concern. “Why didn’t you tell me you were injured on patrol?!”

“Legolas,” she interrupted, her voice firm.

“Is it from Rekón’s arrow?! I thought you said he ‘nearly’ hit you?”

“Legolas,” she tried again.

He yanked the blanket further.” Because I swear to the Valar if it was from him, I will—“

“Legolas! Stop!” She snapped, her patience wearing thin. “I’m not injured.”

His jaw clenched in frustration. “(Y/N), I have been a warrior for all my life, I know the site of blood. That is blood. You cannot lie to me. I am your sector leader, your Prince—“

“Legolas! It’s my bloodmoon cycle!” she interrupted, sitting up to glare at him once more.

An awkward silence settled into the dark room.

“You are in pain,” he stated.

“I’m fine.”

His brows raised again. “Now, why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you're a princeling ass,” she retorted.

“No. Because for the last three days of patrol, your demeanor has been notably irritable, as you are now. You've been favoring your left side, your jaw has remained tightly clenched, and your skin a shade too pale. Not to mention, you've consistently had your hand on your hip, I'm assuming in an attempt to try and alleviate discomfort, and you even vomited behind a tree on two occasions. And, here you are, Shadowfoot, in bed, sleeping the day away in dirty clothes and not caring that you lay in blood.” He paused before finalizing his evidence. “You are in pain.”

“You have been spying on me?! I am supposed to be your shadow.”

“I have been keeping an eye on you,” he clarified.

“Why?!”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. “Because you are a member of my sector. You are my responsibility.”

“You are my responsibility,” she corrected.

He released hot air from his nose. “I am required to keep an eye on all of my warriors, whether they were hand-picked to guard me or not.”

(Y/N) huffed, shaking her head. “Did you know Sethna took a pretty nasty hit to her leg?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” he gruffed.

“Legolas, did you know about it or not?”

A rather long moment of silence extended into the night before the Prince reluctantly responded in a low tone. “No.”

“Then you don't watch every warrior like you watch me.”

He inhaled slowly, trying to steer the conversation away from what (Y/N) was insinuating. “Is Sethna alright?”

“Yeah, she’s fine.”

Legolas nodded slowly, before returning to the main topic. “Why didn't you tell me you were in pain while on patrol?”

She rolled her eyes before muttering his name. “Legolas.”

“Why haven't you seen a healer?” he persisted.

She exhaled slowly, knowing Legolas wasn't going to let this go. “Because the healers document everything, and those records get attached to evaluations.”

“So?”

“So, I would be dismissed from the guard and relieved of my position!” she snapped.

He snorted lightly. “You would not be dismissed from the guard nor relieved of your position.”

“Others have gotten so for far less!”

Surprising her, his normally collected tone turned into a rough reply. “That doesn't mean that you would have!”

She frowned, her once loud voice now subdued. “What's that supposed to mean?”

He sent her a warning look, his eyes cautioning her against probing further.

Silence reigned for a third time that night before Legolas spoke softly. “Rest. I will draw you a bath.”

“Princeling, I do not need you to draw me a bath. I do not need a bath at all. Like I said, I am fine.”

He shook his head. “You are in pain. Let me help you.”

“Legolas–”

He cut her off. “(Y/N), do not try to argue with me on this. That is an order. Shadow or not, I am your superior and you will listen.”

With that, he stood and made his way into the bathing chambers, leaving the elleth alone with her thoughts.

She let out a slow, contemplative exhale before sinking back into the embrace of the bed once more. Lost in a haze of exhaustion, she must have drifted into a brief slumber, for it was only moments later that Legolas returned, his thumb brushing against her cheek. His voice, barely above a whisper, reached her ears. “(Y/N),” he urged softly. “Come. The water is hot. It will alleviate your pain.”

Groggily, she opened her eyes, confusion evident in the furrow of her brow.

“Come,” he repeated.

Gradually, she sat upwards, letting her legs dangle off the edge of the mattress. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth, praying to the Valar for the pain to settle.

“If the pain is too much, I can carry you,” Legolas offered in a gentle tone.

She scoffed, her eyes opening to glare at him. “I can manage on my own.”

With that declaration, (Y/N) stood up and took a few cautious steps forward. But before she could proceed further, a sharp gasp escaped her lips as the agony surged through her body, causing her to double over.

A comforting warmth enveloped her lower back as Legolas placed a reassuring hand there. He remained silent, respecting her pace and refraining from pressing his earlier offer.

A small whimper escaped her lips, tears threatening to escape from her eyes.

Legolas’ hand began to move in soft circles. “It will pass, Shadowfoot. I am here,” he whispered.

Slowly, she resumed her movement, inching her way towards the bathroom. Upon reaching the basin's edge, she gripped onto the sides tightly. She squeezed her lids shut once more, focusing on her breath.

Standing only inches behind her, Legolas spoke softly. “(Y/N), please, will you let me assist you? I hate to see you suffer.”

She exhaled through her nose, seemingly debating his offer. After a moment of contemplation, she relented. “Fine,” she stated, “but if you breathe a word of this—”

“I will not say a thing. I swear it,” he assured.

She nodded, accepting his promise.

“Let's get you undressed and in the bath then.”

With caution, his nimble fingers found the hem of her tunic and began to lift it over her head. Ensuring her stability by placing one hand gently on her hip, he then carefully guided her trousers downward, assisting her as she stepped out of them. Shaking slightly, she lifted each foot into the tub, one at a time, as the Prince's firm hand remained securely on her waist. Slowly, she lowered herself into the water, his touch barely trailing up her back as she descended. Her eyes closed and a sigh of relief escaped her lips, settling into the soothing heat of the water.

Legolas cleared his throat awkwardly. “I will just be in the other room. Call out if you need me.”

She simply hummed in response.

The Prince swiftly left the bathing room, making his way to the door leading to the hallway. Peering out, he caught sight of a maid. He called out to her and motioned for her to approach.

“Yes, my lord?” she inquired politely.

“I need you to fetch a new set of bedding and obtain the following herbs: valerian, boswellia, and athelas,” he instructed.

She nodded in understanding.

“And please, keep it discreet. I have an injured warrior in here who wishes for the injury to remain quiet.”

The maid nodded once more before hurrying off to fulfill his requests.

Legolas returned to the room, feeling the cool breeze from the open window once more. With determined strides, he crossed the space and closed it firmly, halting the chill from entering any longer. He then took to light some of the candles, casting a warm glow within the room before moving to the empty fireplace. He quickly grabbed kindling and wood from the basket beside the silent hearth, setting to task. Before long, the flames crackled loudly among the stone, radiating a comforting warmth that dispelled the lingering chill.

It was then when the maid entered, a large basket brimming with fluffy fabric in her arms. Placing it beside the bed, she then retrieved a pouch from the top. Approaching the Prince, she bowed her head. “The herbs you asked for, my lord.”

“Thank you,” he replied, accepting them graciously.

The maid took to changing the sheets, making no mention of the blood. Legolas cleared a space upon the table in (Y/N)’s room. Placing a cast iron pot—one of which was kept in each room—over the now vibrant flames, he filled it with water from a pitcher. As the water began to boil, he used a small bowl to grind the fresh herbs into a paste with a pestle. Once sufficiently smashed, he ladled some of the boiling water over it and allowed the mixture of herbs to steep, filling the air with its earthy aroma.

The maid, having finished her task of making the bed and straightening up, bid an awkward farewell to the Prince before exiting the room.

Legolas sighed, taking a seat in the chair beside the table, his ears attuned to any sounds from (Y/N)'s direction—just in case.

Nearly 45 minutes passed before she emerged from the bathroom. She was clothed in soft trousers and a loose top that hung off her shoulder, her hand pressed lightly against her abdomen.

“How do you feel?” he inquired, breaking the quietness of the night.

She turned her head towards him. “You are still here?” Her gaze swept across the room, trailing off as she took in the sight of the lit candles, crackling fire, and fresh bedding.

Abandoning the chair, he approached her and gently put his hand upon her bicep. “How is the pain, (Y/N)?”

As if suddenly drawn from her thoughts, she registered that he was indeed beside her. “I, uh, it has lessened a bit.”

He nodded, guiding her to the bed. Pulling back the clean sheets, he motioned for her to get in. Surprisingly, she complied, settling into the comfort of the fresh lavender scent emanating from the blankets and pillows.

Legolas briefly left her side before returning with a cup of tea, mixed from the healing herbs. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he lifted the cup to her lips, encouraging her to take a sip. “Drink this. It will help.”

The steam kissed her face as she took the cup from him. As she drank, the warm liquid flowed down her throat and into her stomach, providing instant comfort. When she finished, she passed the cup back to him. “How do you know how to make such a tonic?”

The Prince placed the cup upon the side table. “My father used to care for my mother during her bloodmoon cycle, before she passed from this world. She too had excruciating pain. He taught me the right herbs to mix, the benefits of heat, and—” he paused, his hand moving to her lower back, where he began to massage lightly. “—what points to press to alleviate pain.”

She exhaled slowly, letting her eyes flutter closed.

“He had said, ‘One day, you will have a wife who too suffers such pain. This you must learn for her.’ And I listened.”

(Y/N) did not open her eyes. “I am not your wife.”

Before he could stop himself, his lips betrayed his secrets. “You could be.”

At this, she opened one eye, as if she was trying to subtly evaluate what his words meant based on his body language. Sensing the sincerity upon his expression, her other eye opened too. She put her full attention on him. “What?”

His cheeks flushed, the tips of his elvish ears reddening, though the warm glow of the fire hid his embarrassment. He turned his head away. “Forgive me, (Y/N). I—I didn't mean to be so…so forward.” He hesitated, then looked back at her, seeing her flabbergasted expression. “I–I suppose there is no hiding it now. The reason I keep such close watch over you is because my heart won't let me do otherwise. I fear, well, I fear that you are not just a shadow following my path.” He exhaled softly. “(Y/N), you haunt me in the most beautiful way.”

She shifted from the pillows, drawing closer until her face was mere inches from Legolas’. “You–you care for me?” she whispered.

His hand tenderly cupped her cheek, his thumb moving in a soft motion. “More than I could ever put into words.”

“Legolas,” she whispered. “Your father did not assign me to your sector. I was supposed to be appointed to protect him. I—I requested to be assigned to you.”

The Prince’s gaze met hers. “Why, (Y/N)?”

“Because you too have been haunting me.”

Legolas wasted no time. He pressed his lips to (Y/N)’s in a gentle kiss and she responded eagerly. She tasted of herbal tea and hope, while he tasted of honey and peace. His hands gently cradled her face, while hers found their way to the back of his neck, fingers entwining in his hair. The scent of fresh lavender surrounded her, mingling with the aroma of pine that clung to him. In their embrace, their minds intertwined, both haunted by the other's presence—in the most beautiful way.

Slowly, they parted. Legolas pressed a kiss to (Y/N)'s forehead before speaking softly. "Lay down. Rest. I will watch over you."

She looked up at him. “Won't you lay with me? I am cold.”

He snorted, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips like the stem of a flower being plucked from a spring meadow. “You only want me to alleviate your pain, don't you?”

She grinned back at him. “Perhaps, Princeling. Though, I did not lie, I am cold.”

With a playful roll of his eyes, Legolas kicked off his boots and drew back the covers. He allowed his body to melt against (Y/N)’s, providing warmth as he gently began to massage away her tension.

A content sigh escaped the woman’s lips as she snuggled further into him, eagerly stealing his warmth and accepting the pain relief he offered.

“Princeling,” she murmured, “You better not breathe a word of this either.”

He chuckled lightly, “I will not say a thing, Shadowfoot. I swear it.”

…

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