#and surprise Glorfindel cameo because I can

[runawaymun]

Hey there! I love your writing ❤️ Could I please request something fluffy for Lindir, with a reader that is like really though on the outside as a defense mechanism, bc she had a bad childhood. But with him she's very sweet and caring. I hope it's ok, and thank you!

Fem!Reader x Lindir - Porcupine

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, romance - with a dash of mild angst because I can’t help myself.  warnings: Just a mild reader injury and implications of a less-than-stellar childhood, per the prompt.  for: @who-ever-said-i-was-nice reader pronouns: she/her Sindarin translations:  Uchnuad - stupid thalielen mell nín - my beloved champion

“It does not hurt,” you insist. 

Glorfindel looks so mournfully penitent and you want to smack that expression off his face. Of course, your shoulder does hurt where he’d knocked you back during your sparring match, but it’s second nature to ignore it and you’ll be fine in a minute anyway. He’s working on you with your footwork and the last thing you want is to be babied. 

“Should I walk you to the healing halls? Maybe to Lia, or Lord Elrond--?”

“--Glorfindel! I am fine.” It comes out sharper than you had intended, and he winces. “Can we get on with the match?” 

Reluctantly, he takes up his training sword again and you yours. By the end you’re sweaty and your knuckles are bruised and a little bloody from where Glorfindel landed a hit, but you’re getting better at your footwork and making it harder for him to strike, and the more it hurts the more fiercely you ignore it until eventually he ends the match for both of you. 

“I can keep going.” 

“No,” Glorfindel lowers his sword and steps away from you. “You will stop.” 

“Uchnuad,” you mutter as you stalk out. Two of the other elves sparring in the training yard give you apprehensive stares, unable to believe that you’ve called the balrog slayer stupid. That was the other thing: the more pain you were in, the spikier you got. You put your training sword away and kept your face purposefully neutral as you went up to your room to wash up. 

Maybe you hate yourself a little bit, but you’re not sure if that’s because of the weakness or how mean you get to everyone when you sense that you might be vulnerable. The longer you stay in Imladris, the harder it is to keep wearing your shell, but relinquishing it scares you. It has served you well since you were small.

Lindir’s in your bedroom when you reach it, dusting an already-clean bookshelf. He’s hyper-focused on it and doesn’t turn to look at you, instead asking:

“How did your training go?”

“Fine,” you grumble, unbuckling your boots so you don’t track mud in. He hates that so much. 

He looks up and his eyes grow round and luminous. “You’re hurt.”

“Fuck it all! I am fine! I won’t break!” you exclaim, yanking one boot off and hurling it to where it goes next to the door.

He flinches at the profanity. You’re not sure you’ve ever even heard Elvish soldiers swear, let alone sweet, proper, anxious Lindir. You hate the flinch. You hate that you’re the reason for it, even though it isn’t anything like your flinches whenever someone reaches for you too quickly or raises their voice.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, standing awkwardly at the threshold and feeling like an intruder. You bend to slide off your other boot and collect its twin from where you’ve thrown it and set them both neatly by the door. Satisfied that you won’t track dirt onto his clean floor, you come over and take his hand in your own and bring it up to your mouth to kiss his knuckles, then his palm. “I’m sorry,” you say again. “I just don’t like people fussing over me, is all.” 

“Then I fear you are in the wrong place,” he says, voice warm with shy humor. He squeezes your hand. “Lord Elrond so likes to take care of people and Glorfindel is the most overprotective ellon I know, and I-- I am just about the fussiest, neurotic creature--” 

“--I love it,” you interrupt before he can slide down some self-depreciative slope. 

His small, pink mouth opens in a little surprised ‘o’ and he blushes to the tips of his perfect ears. You link your arms around his trim waist and draw him close to you, resting your forehead against his. 

“And I think you’re just about the only person who I’d let fuss over me.”

He shifts to press an adoring kiss to your forehead and his eyes fall to the mud splattered on the front of your breastplate and he can’t help but use his cleaning cloth to polish it off. 

“Then allow me to fuss, thalielen mell nín.” 

#lord of the rings #the hobbit #lindir #lindir x reader #lotr x reader #lindir x you #lotr imagine #And Rohan Will Answer! (Requests) #here it is finally! #I hope you like it! #Lindir is another one of my favorites omg #and surprise Glorfindel cameo because I can