Giada

☆ now a multifandom blog ☆

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I write for lord of the rings, the hobbit, skyrim, harry potter, & the marauders

my secondary blog is @drearydalilahs -> all of my reblogs are there :)

characters I write for are under the cut ↓↓

Lord of the Rings

Aragorn ☆ Arwen ☆ Boromir ☆ Eomer ☆ Eowyn ☆ Elrond

Faramir ☆ Frodo Baggins ☆ Galadriel ☆ Gimli ☆ Legolas

Meriadoc Brandybuck ☆ Peregrin Took ☆ Samwise Gamgee

The Hobbit

Balin ☆ Bard the Bowman ☆ Bilbo Baggins ☆ Bofur ☆ Dwalin

Fili ☆ Kili ☆ Tauriel ☆ Thorin Oakenshield ☆ Thranduil

Skyrim: Elder Scrolls V

Aela the Huntress ☆ Jarl Balgruuf the Greater ☆ Belethor

Cicero ☆ Brynjolf ☆ Faendal ☆ Farengar Secret-Fire ☆ Farkas

Ralof ☆ Ulfric Stormcloak ☆ Vilkas

Harry Potter

Blaise Zabini ☆ Cedric Diggory ☆ Cho Chang ☆ Dean Thomas

Draco Malfoy ☆ Fred Weasley ☆ George Weasley

Ginny Weasley ☆ Harry Potter ☆ Hermione Granger

Lavender Brown ☆ Luna Lovegood ☆ Neville Longbottom

Percy Weasley ☆ Ron Weasley ☆ Seamus Finnigan

The Marauders

Lily Evans ☆ James Potter ☆ Marlene McKinnon

Mary MacDonald ☆ Peter Pettigrew ☆ Regulus Black

Remus Lupin ☆ Severus Snape ☆ Sirius Black

Please note, I do not write nsfw or other such content on my blog & I will ignore asks that request it. Otherwise, thank you for looking through my navigation and have a wonderful day 🌿

[drearydaffodils]

Maybe I'll make you see through my words and my actions exactly just how much you mean to me.

Neville Longbottom x Reader Fluff, inspired by Pickle Bart (Mom Jeans) Summary: You spend an afternoon in the presence of your lover, and have a sweet date <3 WC: 800+

Neville had patches on his jeans, crudely sewn-on squares with colorful gingham and polka dots, and pink, embroidered hearts that you always left on the back pockets of his trousers after fixing the rips and tears. The pair was too short for him, and thus it exposed the patches of skin above his mismatched socks, but he wore them with pride simply because you had mended them for him. You watched him in amusement as he carefully stepped around the edge of the Black Lake, the tall grass brushing against his exposed skin. He held a thick, leather-bound book in his fingers, although you were admittedly focusing more on how the soft rays of sunlight framed his handsome features rather than what he was holding. You could see the gentle slope and bump of his nose, and his jawline, which you loved to trace and caress with your finger.

You were content to watch his clumsy movements while you sprawled on a raggedy picnic blanket, underneath the shade of a pine tree. It was the typical, weekend date spot that the two of you frequented, for it allotted far more privacy than the courtyard or other areas surrounding the school.

You could tell that Neville was murmuring to himself as he focused, and as always, when he was focused he was never paying attention to where exactly he was walking. With one misstep, his sneakers slipped and it was a miracle that he picked himself up in time, for he had come close to teetering down a wet slope of mud into the frigid water of the Black Lake. His eyes shot to yours immediately once he straightened, and a nervous smile overtook his features as you began to giggle at his misfortune. Even from a distance, you could tell that the tips of his ears were flushing into a nasty shade of red, which quickly coursed down his cheeks until it reached his neck. He shyly beckoned you over, his heart thumping in his chest as you pulled yourself to your feet in order to stand at his side. The hairclips that you had clipped his shaggy, overgrown bangs back with were slightly crooked, and he politely shifted his head as soon as your hand shot up to fix them. He could read every movement that you made, for he was so terribly infatuated with every part of your being. 

He cleared his throat after a moment of silence, the touch of your gentle fingers sending his heart into a frenzy. “I thought this… well, it’s only a non-magical plant, but I was sure it would grow around the lake. See, it’s in this muggle book…”

You shifted forward, your shoulder brushing against his as he pointed down at the letters and detailed drawings on the pages. He was looking for pondweeds, and despite the droll subject of his search, he spoke so passionately about the plant that it made your heart flutter. You could not help but observe his mouth as he talked, your eyes lingering on his perpetually chapped but surprisingly soft lips. You spent a moment too long imagining pressing your lips against his, because as soon as you had snapped out of your trance he had stopped talking completely. His hand scratched his cheek while he blinked down at you.

“Is there something on my face?” He inquired softly, closing his book and tucking it into his side. He was used to people’s disinterest when it came to Herbology, but the plain ignorance of his words hurt a lot more when it came from you. He craved your acceptance. 

You were quick to quell his worries, however. 

“No, Neville, I was watching you because you’re just so pretty.”

“Oh.” He straightened up, his cheeks growing pinker as you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. You could read his emotions as if he were mere words on a page, for he conveyed all that he felt through his quiet mannerisms and the infinitesimal shifts in his features. 

“I got distracted by you, and I’m sorry. I’ll listen this time,” You quickly added, your hand curling around his bicep and offering a reassuring squeeze. His face was liable to burn off from how horribly red it had grown, for he knew in that moment that he was wholly infatuated by you. He bit back a smile as he ducked his head, his hands immediately moving to thumb open the pages of his book once more.

You don’t know how long he ranted to you, but you were content to listen to his sweet ramblings and the terrible jokes he occasionally added; he liked to awkwardly humor you in order to see the beautiful smile upon your face and to hear the sweet sounds of your laughter. It was a clear reassurance that, yes, you were dating him, and you did love him and wish to talk to him. There was nothing he valued more than security with you. 

And he knew, despite once thinking that he would never find his special someone, that you were the only person in the world that he would ever love so dearly.

[drearydaffodils]

Skyrim Fanfiction Masterlist

Ralof Where Your Loyalties Lie | Angst & fluff, 1.7k+ "The lilting notes that emanate from Sven’s flute tremors in the air. You push the creaking, wooden door of the Sleeping Giant Inn open, the warmth and light of the tavern providing a kind respite from the raging storm outside which has drenched your armor with frigid rain."

[drearydaffodils]

Where Your Loyalties Lie

Ralof x Reader Angst & fluff, childhood enemies to lovers Summary: A rainstorm forces you to seek shelter in the Sleeping Giant Inn, where you fall into the company of your childhood enemy, Ralof. You seek the fleeting shreds of his company, while ignoring the inevitability of your parting, for love cannot bloom on opposite sides of a war. WC: 1.7k+

The lilting notes that emanate from Sven’s flute tremors in the air. You push the creaking, wooden door of the Sleeping Giant Inn open, the warmth and light of the tavern providing a kind respite from the raging storm outside which has drenched your armor with frigid rain. Your footsteps leave muddy prints of water upon the stone bricks, though you pay no mind to the trail you leave behind, for you are too cold to care for something so menial. Your body trembles as your hand clasps a wooden chair, and you drag it towards the large fire pit that stands in the middle of the tavern. You believe that for a moment, like in the days of your youth, you can find peace in front of this raging fire whose heat washes over your bones.

The illusion only lasts for another minute, for you cannot remain anonymous with the damnable symbol that is carved so clearly into your armor. You hear footsteps resounding behind you, and you are forced to remove your helmet to peer at the figure whose shadow obscures your vision. Your eyes catch on golden, braided locks and bright blue irises that seem to be able to see every part of you. You sit up in your seat, annoying rising in your gut while you watch the man’s lips curl into a familiar smirk. 

Ralof pulls a chair up beside you, his bones creaking before he shifts to clap you on the shoulder, as if you are one of his fellow Stormcloak dogs. Your body betrays you as you feel a strange heat simmering in your belly, his warm hand searing through the wet layers of leather that stick to your skin. His eyes twinkle as he loudly proclaims, “You’d look like a proper war maiden in blue, my old friend. It’s a shame you’re wearing those… wet, red rags.”

Old friend? How many countless times has his sword clashed against yours, teeth gritting together as you fought against one another in the blazes of war? How many times had you let his blood spill onto the snow, only to foolishly spare him? Your mercy and the only ties you held to him were a result of the land in which you were born, and the province you were forced to share as your birthright.

“A shame, hm? You’d make a fine warrior if you’d drape yourself in red, Ralof, but you’ve always been too foolhardy. You fell in line with the wrong side,” You murmured with a soft sigh, shaking your head in that condescending fashion that always made his eye subtly tick. The two of you had bickered since you were but wee children, stumbling through the cobblestone streets and waving wooden swords at each other’s backs, although your childish dislike had grown into what you claimed was a palpable hatred.

Ralof’s gaze turned back to the roaring fire as your words made anger spark behind his vision. He was being oddly careful, and he had not yet bitten at the obvious bait you dangled before him. You knew him to be a true Nord; he was ruled by the potent emotions that simmered beneath his surface, by the thought of the halls of Sovngarde beckoning him to revel among all those honorable warriors who had come before him.

Perhaps his foolhardy emotions accounted for why he allowed his hand to linger on your shoulder, his calloused hands gently squeezing the skin before withdrawing. He let out a soft sigh, beckoning the oddly tranquil tavern. “This is a truce, is it not? Our mingling here?”

You reluctantly nodded at his words. Though the tides of the war were rapidly shifting, this quaint village that reared you would never see the gleaming of your steel, no matter if your enemy was sitting beside you. Within this land, you wished for peace above all of the petty conflicts that were, in their essence, a power grab; they were foolish struggles that led to the scouring of innocents and the letting of blood. However, you were no better than Elesif and Ulfric, who were vying for the crown, and that you knew. Fighting for the Empire was an easy way to guarantee a couple sacks of coins and a place to lay your head, but you liked to pretend that your morals elevated you over Ralof, whose passion lit the fires of his battle lust and gave him strength in the course of his battles. 

“Of course, Ralof,” You murmured, in response to his words, your words sounding far too tender as they fell from your tongue. Your gaze lingered upon him as he clenched his jaw, wordlessly observing your features with a look that conveyed far more than his callous words. 

He called out for Orgnar and shelled out a couple of coins, wishing to brush past the tension that was slowly building between the two of you. It wasn’t explosive, but manifested as a thick smog that was beginning to rise above your ankles, causing your senses to stay on alert as heat pricked in your belly. It wasn’t often that you could sit beside Ralof and talk as if you were friends, as if you had not been torn apart due to your conflicting loyalties. You could see in your mind’s eye the rosy-cheeked lad who would linger on your porch, brandishing clever quips and witticisms that left you fuming and furious, but that vision did not match the hardened man who sat beside you. His pale skin was littered with small scars and a slight stubble upon his sharp jaw, the firelight flickering upon his handsome features. In another life, he might have been sweet on you. He might have crooned nordish poems to you in the moonlight, instead of silently sitting beside you with tiredness underlying the mirth in his expression. You watched him subtly frown as he took a sip of his ale, the sweet alcohol pleasantly burning his throat. You followed suit, quick to drown your misery in the inn’s cheap spirits. 

“I always hope I do not see you in the scuffles,” you eventually murmured after a lull in the conversation, your voice barely drifting over the sound of the crackling of the flames. “I always worry I’ll see your scruffy face down in the dirt.”

He raised an eyebrow, subtly shifting towards you with the grace of a cow. “You worry for me?”

“Should I not?”

The lack of an answer only caused a faint smile to pull at the corners of his lips, your coyness a reminder of his blissful youth. He let out a soft breath and braced his hand on the back of your chair, watching your features intently, and making your heart race within your chest.

“I am glad you do,” He muttered, his voice a low timbre in his chest. “I dream of you, my friend. Of you falling in battle, or lying beside me beneath the stars, and these visions haunt my waking hours. Seeing you in this tavern feels like… as if it was destined by the Divines.”

Heat spreads across your cheeks at his tender admittance, his words catching you so far off guard that you can only stay silent while he draws back into his chair. The idea of him lying awake at night, dreaming of you lying beside him or pondering over your whereabouts in his waking hours, was a strangely pleasurable thought. It is undeniable that the hatred between you two still simmers, and you know that it is a futile effort to reconcile, to cast away the loyalties and the oaths that you swore your lives upon for the pleasure of a night in bliss, but you feel so weak; you feel worn by the war and the bloodshed and the fighting.

You know that for only a night, you can humor yourself with the quirk of his slightly chapped lips and the charmingness of his smile. 

“You never placed much stock in the Divines as a lad,” You reminded him, easing his apprehension after the silence that followed his tender words. He’s already drunk a whole bottle of ale, and he calls Orgnar to bring him another. In true Nord fashion, he swallows his liquid courage to mask the pungent emotions that swirl within him and cause his heart to pump in his chest. He has always found you captivating, and he knows inside that this is the only moment in which he will ever be able to act on the desire that has always consumed him. 

“I know,” he nodded, handing Orgovnar a couple extra coins as the barkeep grumbled about having to leave his station. Ralof ignores him and turns back towards you, his knee knocking into yours and pressing against your skin, testing the boundaries between you that suddenly seem to shift. “War has changed me.”

“I as well.”

He nods his head then in understanding. He sits beside you as the moon rises into the sky and the heavens stop their outpouring of rain, and the conversation between you is steady. Patient. Every lull in the chatter ceases from being punctuated by awkwardness and grows to feel natural. He patiently talks to you while your clothes slowly dry by the fire, and it is not long before his cheeks are flushed from his ale and your senses are a little muddled. His hand lingers on you as he talks – on your shoulder, your bicep, gently shifting to cup your jaw in his warm, calloused fingers. He stares at you as if you are the only person in the room, and you know you can pretend for a night that you do not despise him. You can pretend, for one drunken, cold, mistaken night, that you are not an Imperial and he is not a Stormcloak. 

You allow him to clutch his hands in yours and murmur sweet nothings in your ear as pangs of tiredness grip the two of you. He leads you towards his room for the night, and presses fervent kisses to your lips, and basks in the glow of that which is forbidden between you. That which he believes is the will of the Divines, and that which you will deny for the rest of your waking hours.

[drearydaffodils]

The Hobbit Fanfiction Masterlist

Bofur Clumsy Fool | Slight angst with a happy ending, 1k+ words "Songs of long gone heroes and valiant deeds of battle rose and fell upon the vast halls of Erebor. A shadow cast by a blazing hearth illuminated you and another merry figure, who were avoiding the grand feast in the great hall."

[drearydaffodils]

Harry Potter Fanfiction Masterlist

Draco Malfoy Maybe I'm too young to keep good love from going wrong. | Angst, 1.2k+ words "'I’m a mudblood in front of all your friends, and yet you want to stand here and tell me that I’m the love of your life?' You gazed at Draco as moonlight streamed through the stained glass windows, and illuminated the sudden tightness of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes."

Neville Longbottom Maybe I’ll make you see through my words and my actions exactly just how much you mean to me. | Fluff, 800+ words "Neville had patches on his jeans, crudely sewn-on squares with colorful gingham and polka dots, and pink, embroidered hearts that you always left on the back pockets of his trousers after fixing the rips and tears."

[drearydaffodils]

Lord of the Rings Fanfiction Masterlist

Boromir Forevermore | Fluff, 500+ words "Boromir melted into your arms in the instant he was upon you. A soft smile marked his war-torn face as you moved one hand to gently stroke his cheek and moved your other hand to flip through the pages of your leather-bound book."

Legolas An Eternity With You | Fluff, 600+ words "The effulgent light of the moon and stars shone through the vast canopy of the Mirkwood forest and reflected on two lovestruck figures." Peregrin Took Strawberries and Blackberry Jam | Fluff, 1.4k+ words "Pippin stares at the empty parchment paper before him, a groan falling out of his lips. All he can think about is you, the Hobbit he saw at the market."

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ೃ⁀➷ Masterlist

Lord of the Rings

The Hobbit

Skyrim

Harry Potter

The Marauders

[drearydaffodils]

Maybe I'm too young to keep good love from going wrong.

Draco Malfoy x Reader Angst | Inspired by Lover You Should've Come Over Summary: The stress of Draco's sixth year is detrimental for him, and he seeks fleeting relief in stolen moments with you, hidden from the eyes of all. Unfortunately for him, the illusion of your relationship is beginning to crack. WC: 1.2k

“I’m a mudblood in front of all your friends, and yet you want to stand here and tell me that I’m the love of your life?” You gazed at Draco as moonlight streamed through the stained glass windows, and illuminated the sudden tightness of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes. His features drew together as he took a hesitant step towards you, his hands clenching at his sides, but you only took one step back. The distance between you had been cemented long ago, but you continued to speak, to worsen the hurt, to further the distance that had grown between the two of you. “Draco, don’t be silly.”

His shoulders slumped, for your words had scorned him and the implications of them settled in his belly unpleasantly. He felt nausea rising within him as he scoffed, his defensiveness acting as a shield for his aching heart. “I wasn’t being silly. I need you, you can’t… you can’t leave me now.”

You knew he was not lying to you, and yet the hurt only burrowed further within your mind, the roots of sorrow stretching throughout your bones and curling around your beating heart; squeezing, tamping down your pulsating emotions. You could not believe the man that stood before you, no matter how clearly you could see the pain written across his features.

“We were never meant to last. It doesn’t matter how it all felt in the moment,” you muttered quietly, your eyes drifting away from his whitening features, so that you were unable to watch the slight twitching of his eye and his sharp intakes of breath any longer. “I’m just a mudblood, and you’re a Death Eater.”

Draco closed his eyes, while moisture gathered within them and threatened to leak out of his eyelids. He felt as if the ground was crumbling beneath his feet and threatening to swallow him whole, and all he could do was hurriedly rub away the tears that spilled over his cheeks. He had always known that he could not have both worlds, but Merlin, had it been so wrong for him to try? You were the only person he had ever known that had understood him so wholeheartedly, who had dove beneath his arrogance and his complexities to see the melancholy within. You, and all your patience, had persisted even on those days in which he felt as if he was succumbing to his anxieties.

You could not leave now, could you? 

His gaze fell back to your features as you avoided his stare, and he could hardly bat away the hopelessness that threatened to consume him as he began to hurriedly stride towards you. His hands, slender and cold to the touch, grasped onto yours and pulled you closer. His eyes were flittering over your features silently as your body brushed against his, and his gaze grew no less insistent once you returned his stare. 

“Do I mean nothing to you, then? You don’t– you hardly look upset,” He muttered, his words aiming to hurt you and deflect the pain settling within him in spite of the way he was staring at you so intently. His defenses were only a farce, for you could feel how his hands trembled as they grasped onto yours, as if he was afraid you would fade away from him like smoke. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so quick to turn me away. Who else will love you like I do?”

Your gaze snapped up to his as your eyebrows began to furrow, eyes narrowing. Despite the show he was beginning to put on, you could see the tears gathering in his eyes and the way his mouth contorted into a deep frown. He was only pretending to be unaffected in order to preserve his pride.

“I was protecting you. They were asking about you, and I said… I said what would make them leave you be,” he breathed out, his voice hushed, his words urgent. You pulled your hands out of his grasp, eliminating the brief attempt to bridge the growing gap between the two of you. 

You could feel that familiar, terrible hurt consuming you from the inside out, as you choked out the words that you knew you could not contain within you any longer. You knew how this situation would end – either you would forgive him, and kiss the tears off of his cheeks, and pretend as if your secret relationship was not doomed to fail because of your growing bitterness and your resentment, or you could end it all with a final, parting blow.

“That doesn't make what you said any less degrading. I know now how you’ve always seen me, as a bloody mudblood, even though you would kiss me and- and pretend as if it did not matter,” You began, your voice rising in pitch as you took in a harsh breath. “You sneak me around, and you could never love me in public.”

“Because it’s not possible for us!" Draco’s volume rose to match yours as you spoke, his hands shifting to run through his platinum hair and yank at the strands forcefully. “I’m not going to risk your life because you decided to be delusional and utterly mental. You think I like sneaking around in the middle of the night? Seeing you in the great hall and not being able to say a word to you? Who do you think I am?”

You paused at his words, the sheer emotion behind them causing your thoughts to still. Your shoulders slump as you let out a soft breath, unable to stop the insistent pain that was slowly consuming you in spite of the circumstances that surrounded your entanglement with Draco. You could not help but ponder the ‘what ifs’ – what if he was brave enough to love you in spite of the odds? What if he ran away with you, found a boat, fled the hand of the dark lord for you?

You knew, deep in your heart of hearts, that it was all useless ponderings. He would never choose you and risk his pride, his dignity, his family beneath the threat of Voldemort. Voldemort, whose hand hovered over the Malfoy family and threatened to crush the vestiges of it with a single whisper. 

“You still had no right to call me a mudblood,” you only repeated, the words now falling softly from your lips. Draco gnawed on the inside of his cheek as his hands hesitantly reached out for you, and upon your lack of movement, he urgently drew you into his hold and snaked his arms firmly around you.

“I didn’t,” he murmured, softly. His embrace lacked his usual warmth, for his limbs were shaking while silent tears fell from his cheeks. The relief of holding you had broken the damn of his emotions, and you could not deny him in your moment of weakness. His sorrowful cries rooted your feet to the cold tiles, and you knew in that moment that you were too weak to truly forsake him, no matter how deeply his words had chipped away at you. No matter how the thought of that word – mudblood - echoed in your ears like a gong, damning your secret relationship to an imminent tragedy; but for now, you allowed yourself to rot in the arms of your sobbing lover.

[drearydaffodils]

Forevermore

Boromir x GN!Reader

Tooth-rotting fluff <3

Drabble: 500+ words

Boromir melted into your arms in the instant he was upon you. A soft smile marked his war-torn face as you moved one hand to gently stroke his cheek and moved your other hand to flip through the pages of your leatherbound book. You were radiant in the dim candlelight, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander along your cheekbones and the scars that marred your skin—and the newfound redness that sprung upon your face in the instant his eyes flickered to your lips.

“Boromir…” Your eyes wandered from the elvish script of your book to the radiant depths of his eyes, and your hand fell from his cheek. Your voice was soft, as if you were afraid you would shatter the massive man should you ever raise your voice. Your eyes reflected such deep kindness that it made Boromir’s heart ache, and he did naught but grumble in response to his name and rest one of his hands upon your thigh. His uncharacteristic silence caused you to shift from where you sat, and you gently closed your book. His eyes trailed your movements as your hands moved to rest on his chest. He was sitting beside you, his gaze piercing into yours. “Is everything alright, my love?”

Boromir was lost in a trance as his fingers rubbed gentle circles onto your thigh, but he hurriedly snapped into reality as your melodious voice brushed past him like a soft breeze.

“I am alright, dear, but you are.. Valar, you are beautiful. I can hardly think much less speak around you.” Boromir muttered, his raspy voice causing nervous laughter to burble out of your soft lips. Your amused reaction only caused him to grow flustered. “I’m–it is serious, truly serious.”

“Incredibly, love.” You muttered as you leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his chapped lips. “I would never doubt you for a moment.

Boromir grunted in approval as he kissed you tenderly, his hands shifting to rest on your hips as yours found the roots of his hair. The feeling of his warm, calloused hands shifting beneath the fabric of your dress caused heat to rise within your body, and your breath hitched.

"Boromir." You spoke softly as the man moved to press kisses down your jawline and towards the base of your neck, gently unraveling your focus bit by bit. “I love you, honey, but I must finish my translations for the council.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Boromir said between kisses, and you ran your hands through his brown, soft hair, shaking your head softly. He only continued to kiss you wherever he could, the touch of his lips igniting warmth across your body.

“It truly is.” You murmured as you dipped down to connect your lips to his. He stared up at you as you broke the kiss, utterly entranced by your angelic features. “Perhaps.. if you let me finish my translation tonight, I will be yours.”

“I am not sure I can wait that long, my dear. Your absence will torment me.”

You laughed softly as Boromir cracked a wide smile before he regretfully stood up from his chair. He stared down at your reddening cheeks and parted lips and prayed to the souls above that he would not lose you—that he could kiss and praise you forevermore.

“I’ll see you tonight, Boromir. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[drearydaffodils]

Strawberries and Blackberry Jam

Summary: Pippin saw you once at the market, and he did not have the slighest idea of who you were. Without a clue on how to flirt with you, he devised a plan, but there are more than a few issues intercepting it.

A/N: This was so cute to write! I have a big soft spot for him, not to mention the other hobbits <3 I apologize for the lack of posts, I'll try to write something weekly but I've been quite busy lately! Also, this isn't the best thing I've ever written, so I apologize if it's not up to my usual standard!

Gender Neutral Hobbit Reader

1.4k+ Words

Pippin stares at the empty parchment paper before him, a groan falling out of his lips. All he can think about is you, the Hobbit he saw at the market. He hadn't the slightest clue of who you were, but he could picture you clearly in his mind, and he even remembered your purchases. A loaf of bread, a jug of milk, apricot and blackberry jam, and a wicker basket stuffed to the brim with strawberries. You had teased one of the market vendors with a sugar-coated smile, and for once, the spoiled boy wished he had to work his life away. It was a startling thought for a slacker.

He dipped his feather back into his inkpot, and dramatically laid his head against his wooden chair. Frodo had asked him for a favor a few hours ago, though that was long forgotten as Pippin dreamt up more thoughts of you. He reimagined your soft looking hair and ruddy cheeks, and your eyes, oh your eyes were mesmerizing. You had made eye contact with him once (he was quite obvious when he stared), and the smile that lit up your face caused his cheeks to instantly redden.

He could not fathom why your presence in his mind would not falter, but it helped him to come to a slight realization. He would either be a coward, and ignore the chance that had been presented to him, or somehow win your heart. How he would achieve such a thing was a mystery to him, but somehow, he would work it out. Perhaps Merry could assist him.

With a frenzied grin, Pippin jumped out of his desk chair and flew out his Hobbit hole. Frodo’s insistence about the favor completely fled his mind, and the task that had been presented to him was left on the desk, without a single blotch of ink upon the paper. The Hobbit would have more than one issue come tomorrow morning.

•••

You laid upon your bed with a content sigh falling out of your lips. It was a bit difficult living alone, but you made it work and had multitudes of profit coming your way. Your daily market trips were a reminder of your childhood and a detox from your busy life, though the trip that morning had been a bit special. You had noticed a stranger among the market stalls that you had never seen before. All of the Hobbits of the Shire usually followed a schedule, which had allowed you to make friends with several of the Hobbits on your market days. You knew all of the vendors by name, and all of the people that attended at that time in the morning. Yet somehow, you had seen a stranger in the crowd.

It threw you off. He was rather good looking too– the kind of man your mother would have encouraged you to go after– but you only glanced at him from time to time. He had curly brown hair and a beautiful smile, and to your embarrassment, you accidentally met his brown eyes at one point. He had flushed pink, and luckily, you had managed to muster up a smile and move on to the jam stall.

It was embarrassing how that incident had quite a hold upon you, and even more so when you had mentally factored another market visit into your schedule. In all honesty, the boy probably would not even be there! You have never seen him all your life, but a feeling in your stomach forced you to have a little hope in your childish fantasy. You were not one to believe in chance and usually stuck to hard reality, but that time, you let your brain carry you away.

•••

Merry was of little to no help to Pippin. He had been a flirt whilst in his tweens, and yet, the only plan he had been able to come up with was to “talk to them!” Pippin had recoiled at the suggestion of merely walking up to you, and the thought of conversing with you sent panic running through his body. He was a hopeless fool and he knew it. Besides, he was not too positive that you would be at the market the next day. All he had done to plan the encounter was to make a few idiotic pick-up lines in his head, and other than that, he had no plan how to even approach you.

He also had not factored another person in his vague equation. Frodo was more than pissed about the lack of a letter from his cousin, and was currently sitting in Bag-End with a frown present on his face. The letter was simple– it would have been an apology to a farmer for an incident Pippin and Merry had blamed on Frodo– and yet the lazy boy could not even procure a lame “sorry.” Frodo was not going down in flames for an incident he had no absolutely no idea about. First, he would find Merry, and then hopefully he could knock some sense into Pippin.

•••

There was a stupid smile on your face as you walked down the path to the market. You had a basket in your hand– although you did not need to buy anything for the week– and a piece of paper in the other. You had written down your name and your address, in case you saw him and the encounter went well. You had dated a few Hobbits before, and the relationships never worked out, but you had a little bit of hope about this. Although you were not sure if the boy even had a thing for you in the first place, you were still grinning and thinking up scenarios in your head.

By the time you arrived, you did not see the familiar head of curly hair among the stalls, and you could not help but let a disappointed sigh fall out of your lips. Patience, you thought, since your gut feelings were almost never wrong.

First, you walked up to the jam stall and paid for another jar of blackberry jam, and had a short conversation with the vendor. Still, he was not there.

You walked around the square with your basket hitting against your leg, and mentally cursed yourself. Of course you had let your fantasies get a hold of you, you always did. With another sigh, you walked over to the fruit stand and purchased a few strawberries. As you were giving the vendor his money, you felt a peculiar tapping at your shoulder.

You turned around with a racing heart– what if it was him!-- and to your surprise it was. His face was beet red and he attempted to stutter out a few words, and you found it stupidly adorable.

“I’m, uh, I’m Pippin.” He mumbled, and you giggled. Your face flushed when you realized how kiddish you were being, but you wanted to keep up your confident facade, and could not falter for a second.

You told him your name with a wide grin and laid a hand on his shoulder to pull him away from the stall as a couple of people approached. He was a nervous fool, and you found it adorable.

“So… you come here often?” He said awkwardly, and you giggled– again– at his expression. He looked like somebody had slapped him.

“Once a week,” you answered, “but then I would not be able to see you often. How about-”

Your date offer was interrupted by a yell, and you cursed under your breath. You had been doing so well! Pippin stiffened and looked around the square, an apologetic look upon his face. Another Hobbit bounded towards him, and you could sense the aggravation that radiated off of him.

“Oh, hello Frodo, do you need something?” Pippin inquired.

“Yes, I need that letter.”

Pippin froze up at Frodo’s word.

“Oh, I forgot about that-”

“Because of some lovely person, yes, Merry told me.” Frodo snapped, and your face heated up a little bit as he turned his head to you. “You must be them, my apologies.”

“It’s no matter. Here, Pip,” you handed the flushed boy the slip of paper in your hand. “I’m free tomorrow at six o’ clock, in case you’d like to come over. Would you?

“Of course!”

“Don’t be late for dinner.”

You sent him an apologetic wave and exited the market square with a triumphant grin on your face. The event didn’t go as you had planned, but it had gone better than you had ever thought it was. Although you were joyful about it, Pippin was in a pool of regret as Frodo dragged him off.

[drearydaffodils]

Clumsy Fool

Request by @bisexualbumblebeeblogs : Hey! I hope you’re having a great day! I was wondering if you take requests? If yes I’m humbly begging for something fluffy with Bofur, if not then it’s totally okay!

Summary: Bofur has been acting strangely around you, and it is not until one night that he finally reveals why.

A/N: ILYSM, Bofur is one of the best things to ever grace this Earth and I refuse to think otherwise. This dude never leaves my mind ngl. Also the end of BOTFA never happened in my mind 😁

Warnings: This actually came out kind of angsty, I apologize! And this isn't my best writing, I have no idea what happened in my brain while I wrote this.

GN Hobbit Reader

1,000+ Words

Songs of long gone heroes and valiant deeds of battle rose and fell upon the vast halls of Erebor. A shadow cast by a blazing hearth illuminated you and another merry figure, who were avoiding the grand feast in the great hall. You did not mind the raucous festivities of the dwarves, but every so often you longed for peace, like how it was in the Shire. Bofur had always insisted that he should join you in those rare moments, and although it was a bit annoying at first, you soon fell prey to his wit and charm.

The dwarf placed his pipe between his lips and huffed absentmindedly, his eyebrows furrowing whenever a smoke ring did not appear. You stifled your laughter as you gazed at the end of the wooden object, which was not lit. Instances like that had become commonplace, as he had begun to act clumsy in your presence. In the last week alone, he had dropped and crushed a bag of potatoes he had fetched for Bombur, set a precious tapestry on fire, and dropped his favorite dagger into a mining chasm. The occurrences had escalated to an extremity you had not deemed possible, and the dwarf had become the laughing stock of his kin.

You did not allude to the fact that you were wholeheartedly concerned for him, but his carefreeness was a matter that ceaselessly imposed upon your mind. Especially at that moment, as he continued to hopelessly conjure smoke rings.

"Bofur?" You muttered, and your breath caught in your throat as he pulled his pipe out from his lips and flashed you a charming smile.

"Yes, lassie?”

"Perhaps,” you smiled, “if you lit your pipe, it would work."

He gazed at the end of the object, and a breathy sigh fell from his lips.

“I s’pose so.”

He lit it that time, and contentedness spread across his features as a smoke ring wafted up to your bedroom ceiling. You watched the white clouds as they lazily soared through the air, and snuck a few longing glances at the dwarf. He may be a clumsy fool, but there was something about him that drew you towards him. He had snuck his way into your life, and you would be a damned idiot if you let him slip out of your grasp. You tapped your fingers upon your armchair and quietly pondered why he had become inept around you.

Were you a bother? Was he acting out to, perhaps, scare you away? Surely not, as he was sitting beside you at the moment. He always looked happy around you, but was he truly? Did he hide his aggravations with you behind a wall of positivity and good fortune?

Another question sprung up in your head, and this one overtok the last. Was Bofur tired of your affection towards him? You had scared away a large amount of would-be suitors that way, but surely he would not do that to you, right?

You looked back at him, once more, and shook your head as his pipe began to slip out of his lips. He looked like he was lost in thought, but what could trouble his mind so much that he didn’t even realize he was smoking?

You cautiously reached over and pulled the object from his lips, and he snapped back into focus.

“This was about to fall.” You murmured, as you set the pipe on your dresser. Bofur groaned and shifted to put his head in his hands, and you were left far more confused than you had previously been. “Bofur?”

“I’m sorry, lass, I really am…”

“You’re sorry for?..”

He simply shook his head, and you shifted closer to him. He leaned into your touch as you placed a hand upon his shoulder, instead of shying away like you thought he would. He was not acting normal, but what had you done to upset him?

“Bofur, please, what is it?” You slowly pulled his hands away from his face, and he stared at you for a moment. Regret was clouded over his eyes, and he shifted his stare down to the tiles as you sucked in your breath.

“Ye are going to think me a fool…”

“I will, if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” You grasped his hands in what you hoped was a gesture of comfort, and it sent your heart racing when he did not move to stop you. He paused for a moment, before he murmured three binding words.

“I love ye.”

Your jaw went slack and a fiery blush spread across your face, and you almost dropped your hold on his hands. He loved you? Is that why he could not focus around you? No, this had to be an elaborate joke orchestrated by the Durin brothers, who were probably laughing behind their hands right now. You glanced around surreptitiously, and Bofur sighed.

“I know, lass. I’m an old dwarf, ye don’t have to say a thing-”

“You love me?” You interrupted.

“Yes.”

His expression broke your heart. He looked utterly distraught; his brow was creased and he was frowning. You took a deep breath and mustered up all of your courage, because by Mahal, you couldn’t stand to see him joyless.

“Bofur, I love you too.”

His head jerked up and he met your gaze, as all of his previous worry melted from his features.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

He let out a sigh of relief and let go of your hands, so he could pull your body against him. Your blush darkened and you laid your head on his shoulder, as you stared into the dying embers of your fireplace.

“I s’pose I should explain,” He dryly chuckled. “I’ve loved ye since the journey, but I thought ye would return to the shire, with Bilbo. I only thought ye stayed here because ye had a job.”

“You truly are a fool."

He grinned and looked down at you, his expression causing your heart to skip a beat.

“I thought about ignoring ye, lass.” He admitted ruefully.

“And instead, you destroyed Erebor in your wake.”

He grimaced at your joke and you smiled proudly, as you laid a hand upon his cheek.

“You could have simply kissed me, y’know. It would’ve made everything easier.”

He laid his hand over yours as you noticed a light pink blush peppering his cheeks, and leaned closer to him. He looped his arm around your waist and pulled you against his chest.

“May I?” He muttered, and you leaned in without a moment of hesitation. His beard tickled your face as your lips locked together, and he rubbed his hand up and down your waist. He broke apart after a few moments and leaned his forehead against yours. “Was that a good apology?”

“It could’ve been better.”

He shook his head playfully, and leaned in to kiss you once more. You were content in his embrace, and barely noticed the cold draft that crept into your room once your fire went out. He may have been dumb enough to suppress his feelings, but it was all worth it in the end.

[drearydaffodils]

An Eternity With You

Request by @anzaisaki : Hi thereee, can I request a Legolas with a s/o who is touch-starved when they're about to sleep plz?

A/N: Oh my gosh, this was so adorable to write, thank you for requesting! It takes me a while to write short drabbles like this, but I'll try to write at least three a week <3

Meleth nîn : my love / melda : dearest

Gender Neutral Reader

600+ Words

The effulgent light of the moon and stars shone through the vast canopy of the Mirkwood forest and reflected on two lovestruck figures. You sat upon a cushioned armchair with your arms intertwined around your lover, Legolas, as a soft breeze whizzed past you. Wisps of platinum blonde hair tickled the reddened skin of your cheekbone, and a quiet giggle flew out of your lips. The elfling glanced down at you with a small smile.

"Meleth nîn, are you cold?" He cupped his hands around your face and gazed upon you, in awestruck wonder, before pressing his lips to your forehead.

"A little,” You yawned.

Legolas lowered his hands and tightened his grip around you as you pressed yourself further into his warm embrace. Drowsiness tugged at the corners of your eyes as he propped your head upon his broad chest. He reminded you of a home you had left long ago, before it had been overrun by the malicious orcs of Mordor. Although they had long been erased, they still haunted you in the shadowy depths of your mind, and Legolas was your comfort from their eminent terror. He was your peace and your serenity, and he chased away the threats of your subconscious mind by his mere presence alone. Perhaps, you sometimes thought to yourself, you were the same symbol to him, the same anchor.

As your train of thought mindlessly wound throughout your mind, you slipped farther and farther into an oncoming slumber. Legolas faintly chuckled and shook your body lightly, his breath hitting your forehead.

“Y/n, melda, we cannot sleep out here.”

You mumbled incoherently under your breath as he gently pushed your body beside him, and stood up from the armchair. You reached out, longing for his warmth once more, and he gently scooped you up in his arms.

“Legolas… where are we going…” It was a struggle to keep your eyes open as sleep retained its hold upon you, and without your senses, you clung onto your betrothed ceaselessly. He did not complain in the least bit, in fact, he enjoyed every exclusive moment that he could spend with you. You were the most beautiful being to ever walk upon Middle-Earth in his eyes, and he knew his love for you would never diminish. He would not allow the passage of time to relinquish his adoration for you.

“To our bed,” he responded to your question, as he traversed through the dimly lit halls of Mirkwood. He finally reached the comfort of his room, and a light breath of relief fell from his soft lips. Every moment he spent with you was like a weight being lifted from his shoulders, and he clutched onto the youthful feeling like a landline.

After passing through his door, he immediately set you down upon his mattress, but you clung onto his arm with a grip of iron.

“Legolas…”

“Yes, meleth nîn?”

“Please stay here…”

He had planned on extinguishing the candles that lit up the corners of his extravagant room, but he did not wish to disturb your sleep. However, he could not bear to see your sorrowful face as he would retreat away from you, or hear your sleep stricken voice call his name. You were a clingy mess whenever the moon rose upon the darkened sky, and since he was more than entranced with you, he would abide by your every request without a moments’ hesitation.

He slipped into bed beside your form and you wrapped your arms around his torso. A ghost of a smile pulled on his lips as he shifted you to lay on top of his torso, and leaned down to pepper kisses on your face. You hid yourself in the fabric of his tunic, perhaps to avoid his affection, or perhaps it was a result of your dream-like trance, but nevertheless, all of your actions caused a fluttering sensation to dance within the elf’s heart. He caressed your hair with his nimble fingers and let out a sigh of contentment. He would spend eternity within your hold, if the gods would allow it.