pregnant reader who is upset her husband left without saying I love you
The moment he arrived home, he began to look for you - his wife. His whole world, his everything only to come face to face with said woman who refused to look at him.
"Please just tell me what is wrong."
"You've stopped loving me!" You wailed.
"And how did you come to that conclusion?"
"You didn't say goodbye, give me a kiss or anything when you left this morning!"
"You were asleep, I couldn't wake you up - not when you lay awake for more than half the night." He smiled softly, relieved that - that was the issue. He was afraid he had messed up somehow without knowing or meaning to. He sighed with his smile still evident. "I don't even think it's possible for me to stop loving you."
You sniffling was muffled as he held you firmly against his chest, refusing to let you go.
"My sweet girl, why would you ever doubt my love for you? Do I not give you every second of my being - devoting it to you solely?" He continued as you just silently began thinking it over, sniffling every once in awhile.
"You're making me feel foolish." You admitted.
"You are not foolish, you have every right to be upset - I should have spoken to you before I left in the morning. And for that, I apologize. Will you forgive me?"
"Only if you say the words you did not say this morning."
He chuckled. "As you wish, love. I love you." He paused, placing a kiss on your cheek."I love you-" Kiss "I love you." Kiss "I love you." Kiss "I love you." His smile only deepened as you let out a stream of giggles, a wide smile now replacing your frown.
"Is that enough for you, my love?" He questioned, holding your face in his hands.
"Maybe once or twice more." You falsely looked as if you were truly debating it.
He attacked your face with kisses before uttering one last, "I love you."
Sure, it was foolish to get upset over trivial things as such but he would never deny you anything. He would be certain to say what he feels for you to ensure your happiness. A very simple girl with a very in love man doesn't seem so bad at the end of the day.
"I suppose I love you too even after the stunt you pulled this morning."
Being a girl is: When you realize that you were falling for a fictional character during his first appearance but suddenly found out that he already have a love interest/lover then you suddenly get mad for not researching about them immediately when you first saw them
⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!
a/n: I just wanted to write some fluff!
ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ
𝑨𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒓𝒏 🗡️
・At first, he tilts his head, lips parting like he might question it. But then he sees your expression; calm, trusting, maybe a little playful, and something in him softens.
“I can try,” he says, voice rough around the edges, but warm.
“It’s been… a long time since I’ve braided anyone’s hair.”
・You sit together near the fire. His sword is laid beside him, boots still dusty from the road.
・And yet, he treats the moment like it deserves stillness. Like your request has pulled him out of time.
・His hands are calloused, weather-worn.
・You can feel him being careful not to tug too hard.
・He works in silence, brows furrowed in concentration.
・His fingers move slower than Legolas’, less sure than Faramir’s, but steadier than you’d expect.
・Every now and then, he huffs out a breath that sounds like a quiet laugh.
“You have too much hair for this to go unnoticed,” he murmurs.
“The braid will hold, but only just. It may rebel before the day is done.”
・But still, he continues.
・And when he finishes...it’s a bit uneven. Slightly lopsided with a few bits of hair hanging out.
・Yet it was done with love and effort and the kind of care no one taught him
・He rests a hand briefly at the base of your braid, like he’s grounding you. Or himself.
“There. You’re ready.”
・And when he sits back, he doesn’t say anything else.
・But throughout the day he watches you, making sure it holds, and if were to come loose, you can come back to him.
・He'll braid it again. Every time.
𝑳𝒆𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒔 🌙
・He blinks once, slow and surprised, then tilts his head, curious.
“It would be my honor,” he says, with the kind of sincerity that makes your chest tighten.
・Legolas doesn’t ask why. Doesn’t tease.
・He treats the request with deep, quiet admiration. Almost as if you've asked him to perform an ancient rite...which you kinda have.
・He steps behind you in complete silence.
・With featherlight, gentle hands (you hardly feel them at first), he works. And he does it quite quickly.
・You realise this isn't the first time he's braided hair before.
“Each braid has meaning,” he murmurs.
“Length. Type. Tension. In my realm, we braid for protection. For remembrance. For love.”
・You go still. He doesn’t elaborate.
・And then he sings.
・It's soft, in Elvish.
・And not one that you know. But it feels old. Comforting. Like wrapping your arms around a loved one you haven't seen in a while.
・When he finishes, he runs one finger gently along the braid’s edge
・And when you turn to look at him; eyes shining and heart full, he meets your gaze and adds, ever so softly:
“You should ask me again sometime.”
・Because this wasn’t just a braid.
・It was a memory.
・And he plans to make more of them with you.
𝑩𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒓 🛡️
・Oh how he melts.
“I’ve never been asked to do something like that...But I'll try.”
・He moves to sit behind you, shuffling so that his legs are around you.
・Boromir's hands are big, definitely too big for this, but he continues anyway.
・As he gathers your hair, gently brushing it out of your face and into his palm, he mutters:
“You’ll have to forgive me if it’s not Elvish-perfect,” he murmurs.
“We weren’t taught much about braids in the White Tower.”
・And then he grows quiet, thoughtful. This isn’t just a braid anymore. It’s a way to show you affection...a part of him enjoys it.
・Although he is trying to make it perfect.
・At the end, the braid is a little loose, a little uneven, but strong.
・Woven like a promise.
・He secures it with a small leather tie from his own belongings; nothing special, but something his.
“There. Done.”
A pause.
“I hope it’s alright.”
・You turn to thank him, but he’s already looking away, trying not to smile.
・Fingers twitching like he wants to touch your hair again but won’t; unless you ask.
“If it ever comes undone,” he adds quietly, “you know where to find me.”
𝑬́𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒓 🏹
・He thinks of it as a challenge...straight away.
“You don’t think I can?”
"Ugh! That's not what I meant?"
"What did you mean?"
"Just wanted someone to braid my hair, you ass."
・You weren't even teasing him, but then it becomes a whole thing.
・He kneels down behind you like a man preparing for war. Cracks his knuckles. Rolls his shoulders. And in turn, you roll your eyes.
・When he actually starts, there's a shift. The bravado eases and he becomes focused.
・His rough fingers, to your surprise, are steady.
・And you can feel the care as well...and feel, a protective energy.
・Like if anyone tried to touch your braid he'd punch them.
・When he’s done? He absolutely beams. And before getting up, he tugs the end playfully, then stands back with his arms crossed.
"There. Just got your hair braided by a Third Marshal...that's got to be worth something."
・If someone compliments it later, he absolutely puffs up with pride (but plays it off like it was no big deal)
“Looks good doesn't it. I did it. She asked me. Only right I made sure it was done proper.”
・And although Eomer doesn’t say it out loud, in his mind he promises something wolfish and loyal:
No one touches what I’ve claimed with my hands.
𝑭𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒓 🌾
・At first, he blinks—slow and surprised, like he thinks he misheard you.
“You would trust me with something so personal?”
・He isn't teasing. No, Faramir is genuinely honoured.
・Because he's the kind of man who sees tenderness as something rare and doesn’t take it lightly.
・You sit between his knees, and he treats your hair like something sacred.
・The word 'gentle' repeats in his head over and over.
・His hands are warm as he gathers your hair from your shoulders
・His fingers accidentally touch the bareness of your neck and goosebumps erupt.
・You go red; luckily he can't see your face.
・Faramir barely speaks, only jums softly under his breath; something old, maybe a lullaby he remembers from his mother.
・Every now and then he asks, in a light voice:
“Does this feel alright?”
“Too tight?”
“Shall I start again?”
・Once he's done, (he took his time on purpose), he wraps the end with a small ribbon.
One you didn't know he'd been keeping. As he ties it, it's as if he's sealing a promise.
・For a moment longer than they need to, his fingers linger.
“There. You’re ready to meet kings and storms alike.”
・And if you could see his face, you would notice a faint flush on his cheeks
・Like he's been given something sacred...and he hopes you'll ask him again tomorrow.
𝑮𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒇 🪄
・His first reaction is a slight chuckle, partially amused.
“My dear, it has been centuries since I was asked for that favor.”
・He takes a seat and motions for you to sit in front of him. Your legs are crossed on the floor, and your hands are fidgeting in your lap.
・You can feel his long, elegant fingers begin to pick up hair. A slight shiver runs down your spine at the image of it.
・At first he murmurs, in a language you do not know. But his voice is peaceful, and you can hear the chirping of night bugs.
・He knows exactly what he's doing. You’d expect an old wizard to fumble, but Gandalf’s hands are steady
・It takes a while, but the murmurs turn into little humming and you cannot help but smile.
・The braid is meticulous, elegant, maybe a little too perfect.
・You end up with something that feels sacred, like it should be worn into battle or a coronation.
・After he's done, he gives a small hum of approval. In a wistful voice he says:
“So the wind will not catch your thoughts and carry them away.”
・And then he lights his pipe, looks off toward the horizon, and pretends it was no big deal.
・...But for the rest of the journey, he walks a little closer to you.
