#bilboxreader

[luna-redamancy]

Day 30- Just Shut Up and Kiss Me

Note: This is the last day! I hope you all enjoyed the 30-days of fics!

Pairing: Bilbo x Reader

It shouldn’t be this hard.

Kissing the love of your life to show affection. Shouldn’t be hard at all. But for Bilbo, it was like facing Smaug all over again. Terror ran through his veins as he thought of your reaction. You were only courting for a few months, your personality and charm winning him over instantly when you first met. So why is it so darn hard?

‘It’s because you’re scared of pushing them away’ Bilbo’s inner conscience answered, his eyes widening as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Just having washed his face, water droplets dripped from his eyelashes, nose, and chin, making a pitter-patter sound against the sink.

“No more excuses.” He told himself, his Took confidence coming out as he dried his face quickly.

Today would be the day.

.

.

.

.

Or so he thought.

As the Erebor Yuletide party continued around him, Bilbo wondered if he’d ever meet his goal. When he saw you arrive, he was breathless. Your clothes accentuating all the right places, your hair not even a dash out of place, your smile wide and glowing. Bilbo’s confidence deflated completely, so he decided to resort to moping in the corner.

Nursing his mug of ale, Bilbo observed the room, seemingly unseen by the party goers. Several drunken couples kissing clumsily in the corner got his brows furrowing as his mouth imitated the movement of kissing.

“What are you doing, Bilbo?” You raised a brow at him, walking up with your own drink in your hand. Jumping, Bilbo sloshed the drink over his sleeve causing him to mentally curse. “N-nothing, just observing the party is all, e-excuse me, I need to go wash off my sleeve,” Bilbo stammered, remembering why he was avoiding you. ‘If I can’t even kiss (Y/n), what am I doing trying to win their affection,’ He scolded himself as he made a dash to the bathroom to go wash his sleeve.

Pacing in the bathroom, Bilbo thought through a million different scenarios on how to approach the topic, while the Took side of him just screamed ‘Go kiss, no talk!’

Sighing, Bilbo rubbed his temples as he tried to come up with a solution.

When Bilbo left, a wave of concern flew over you as you tried to think of why he was avoiding you. Did he not want to court anymore? Did he find someone else? Biting your lip you took a deep breath and sat down your drink on a tray, following where Bilbo ran off to only minutes before.

“Bilbo?” You called, worry clear in your voice as you knocked on the bathroom door. Nearly jumping out of his skin, Bilbo’s heart raced a mile a minute, panic settling in. “Just a second!” Bilbo called, his voice high and nasally as he struggled to come up with an excuse for why it’s taking him so long.

“Bilbo, are you alright?” You questioned in a softer tone, getting no response this time.

“Bilbo, I’m coming in.” You announced, turning the doorknob to check to see if it was locked.

Opening the door, your gaze softened when you saw Bilbo leaning against the wall, his hands covering his face. “What’s going on Bilbo?” You questioned, walking up to him and carefully prying one of his hands away from his face. “I-I..” Bilbo didn’t want to say it, he didn’t want you to break off the courtship, he didn’t want you to leave.

“I’m sorry.” Bilbo started, suddenly looking up at you with a glint in his eye. “Wha--” Before you could finish asking him what for, his lips were on yours in a deep kiss. Eyes widening you squeaked slightly before slowly pushing back, responding to the kiss happily.

When the two of you pulled away you were breathless and Bilbo had a smug smile before it turned into a worried frown.

“I’msorry(Y/n)IjusthadtogetitoutanddoitalreadyIwasstressingsomuchoverthethoughtofyouleavingmebecauseIhadn’teverkissedyoubecausewearefarinourcourtshipandItrulydocareaboutyouanddon’twanttoloseyouandI’msorryIdidthatwithoutyourpermissioncanyoueverforgiveme?” Bilbo rushed, his face bright red with embarrassment as he rambled.

“Bilbo,” You interrupted, pressing your finger to his lips with a smile as he muttered a small “What?”

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

Tags-

@lady-of-lies @storiesbycaroline @earrolien @all-things-fandomstuck @xxno-wayxx

@theincaprincess @ashleygrrrl

[hannahkishi]

Now that was awesome piece of work. 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

Twin Peaks

Based on this imagine from imaginexhobbit: Imagine Bilbo seeing you naked and being so fascinated by your beauty and breasts that he accidentally tells the Company all about what he saw || Setting: at camp, in the woods || Genre: humor, hint of romance || More Bilbo fics || Fanfiction masterlist

Pt. 2 is here: Double Whammy

Keep reading

[decadentenemyturtle]

I’m lazy lady, Halleluja, I’m lazy lady

I feel like I’ve been far too lazy about writing fics in this summer, so I’m trying to motivate myself again. Posted already one fic earlier, tho I think it wasn’t any of my best ones. 

My coming fics:

Sibling!Fili/Reader/Kili fic coming in... End of summer/early spring. Depending how much I still write it...

Smut! ThorinxReader fic (my draft of it got deleted and I have to start it from beginning, so not coming any time now)

Hopefully another ThorinxReader fic, but it really depends...

Maybe BilboxReader fic, I haven’t given any thoughts for it yet.

Thorin’s company/Reader fic. Will be published after I get the sibling-fic ready

[a-daydreaming-writer]

Hobbits & Whiskey: Part II

Imagine  |  Characters: Bilbo x Reader  |  Words: 1028  |  Part One

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol

“... And then you bend it at the crease here, to make the wings.”

“Here?”

“No, there.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“And there you have it,” You said, proudly holding up your master creation, “A paper bird.”

Bilbo looked from your skilfully folded bird, to his own in his lap, which looked more like an oddly formed horse.

“I’m afraid I’ll never quite get the knack of it,” Bilbo said, shrugging soberly.

“Of course you will, you just need to practice,” You said, encouragingly, “Although, I think Ori will be reluctant to lend us any more of his parchment.”

You turned in unison to glance at the youngest Ri brother, who was rubbing the crease in his journal where he had ripped the pieces from, looking forlorn.

You caught Bilbo’s eye and couldn’t help but grin, a small giggle bursting from your mouth.

You had become quite fond of the hobbits company in the past weeks of travelling. You noticed that he seemed to be tripping and stuttering much less, which you saw as a good sign that his little addiction was fading... or he had simply run out of whiskey to drink.

Bombur’s voice rang around the campsite, signalling that dinner was ready. You leapt eagerly from your seat, your stomach growling.

Unbeknownst to you, the hobbit remained seated firmly in his place, gazing fondly after you with a dazed smile.

When you had finally managed to elbow you way back through the throng of hungry dwarves, you saw that your place beside Bilbo had been taken by Gloin.

And, quite eager to avoid the arduous stories bragging of his son Gimli’s many achievements, you took a spot beside Gandalf.

The wizard smiled warmly in your direction and continued to puff on his long pipe, every now and then emitting the odd ring of smoke.

“... Had a full grown beard by his fifteenth birthday, my lad Gimli did. Did I tell you about the time...”

Bilbo caught your amused gaze and mouthed a silent “help me!” before nodding politely towards Gloin, as if he were actually listening.

You let out a snort of laughter, and began to tuck into your dinner.

“I see you have become close to our burglar.”

You looked curiously to see who it was Gandalf was speaking to, and started when you saw his sparkling eyes on you.

“O-oh! Um, yes, I s’pose so,” You said, “He is quite lovely... once you get past the tripping and the stuttering...”

The wizard chuckled heartily, the action releasing a ring of smoke into the air before him.

“You’ll have to forgive him for that,” He said, “He means well, as all hobbits do. Though even the gentlest of folk fall victim to nerves.”

You paused, mulling over his words, and watch as he blew a tiny ship to sail mesmerisingly through the smoke ring.

“... Nerves?” You repeated, skeptically.

“Well of course,” Gandalf said, “You said it yourself; the tripping and the stuttering... all nerves.”

“But...” You faltered, your gaze flickering from Bilbo, to Fili and Kili. “You’re sure, Gandalf? He isn’t just... fond of the drink?”

At this, Gandalf’s considerate smile spread to a wide grin, and his booming laughter echoed through the campsite.

“I believe, if I’m not mistaken, that you have been made victim to one of young Fili and Kili’s pranks, my dear, ” the wizard said, still chuckling to himself.

You bit your lips, deep in thought. You couldn’t help but feel slightly annoyed at the wizard’s obvious amusement at your predicament.

“So... if it wasn’t drinking that made him act like that,” You thought aloud, “Then what in Mahal’s name would make him that nerv- oh.”

Bilbo was still listening ever politely to Gloin’s ramblings, completely unaware of your epiphany. When you caught his eye, you grinned warmly and waved. He immediately blushed and knocked over the cup resting beside him.

You giggled to yourself, unaware that you also were blushing furiously. You jumped up and headed for the smallest dwarf in the campsite, who was clutching a journal protectively to his chest. 

“Ori! I’m going to need some more parchment!”

[fantastic-artemis]

I have noticed a distinct lack of Bilbo x reader fanfics. Someone should *cough* write one for me *cough*

[averil-of-fairlea]

Every trick in the book

Prompt from the Drabble Games (now closed): “Sweetheart, what did you bury in the garden?” requested by @givemeadecentusername || Also incorporating this from @imaginexhobbit “Imagine Bilbo getting blushy because you always kiss the tippy tips of his ears.” || Drabble games fics || More Bilbo fics || More fics about “Of Lips and Fingers” (my idea of a “naughty book” in Middle Earth) || Fanfiction masterlist  || Fluff, humor, innuendo

More than six months had passed since making your half-hearted request that when “it” finally arrived - wrapped in plain brown paper with your initials in block letters  - you honestly couldn’t recall what you’d asked for.

The package was unceremoniously dropped at the front door with such a thud that it awoke you from your afternoon nap. You had run to the door, hoping it was Bilbo, returning home hours earlier than expected from a farmer friend’s abundant tobacco leaf harvest far on the other end of the Shire. But to your disappointment, there was only the mysterious package. No note.  

After giving the surrounding lush greenery of the beautiful hilly landscape a sweeping glance from left to right, hoping to catch the person who brought you the bundle, you shrugged, picked it up and went back inside, yawning and craving a cup of tea that your new husband so expertly made. You didn’t think you would miss him quite so much, especially since he hadn’t been gone very long.

As you shuffled past the piles of books and papers of the house you had called home since your festive wedding, it dawned on you what the package felt like: a book.   

Your eyes wide, you dug your nails into the thick paper. Bits and pieces sailed this way and that until you uncovered the mystery, confirming your suspicions.

You gulped as you stroked the edges of the cover and read the title of the salacious book in silence: “Of Lips and Fingers.”      

You couldn’t help but laugh out loud. What a different state of mind you were in when you overheard a few rambunctious people at the pub table behind you cackling about the detailed illustrations in the book, which had apparently made the rounds from one end of Middle Earth to another over many years. 

It was actually refreshing to listen in on the conversation. You had just returned from one of the most harrowing adventures you’d ever signed up for, in which you and Bilbo came dangerously close to losing your own lives and those of three friends, the heirs of Durin. And you had fallen desperately, unexpectedly in love with someone you were sure wanted nothing to do with you romantically, a person you could never imagine desiring before the journey: the fastidious, kind and brave Bilbo Baggins.

Given everything you’d been through, getting distracted by a naughty book enticed you. You told the rowdy group of men, women and Shirefolk your name and that you’d be staying in the beautiful area for at least three months, helping your dear friend Bilbo get re-settled before figuring out your next move. If they ever came across the book again, you asked that they drop it by your quarters at the nearby inn.  

“Might take longer ‘n three moons to get to you, my friend,” one of the women said. “People tend to get hung up on those drawings for a bit.”   

“Hung, indeed!” someone else said, setting off several seconds of laughter at the table.

“Alright,” the woman said, “soon as it’s made the rounds back to these parts, if you’re still here, it’s all yours  - as long as you don’t mind teaching us a few moves with that fancy sword on your hip.” 

You bumped mugs with her in agreement, even though you were in no mood to wield your sword any time soon, even for instructional purposes. But you doubted any of this would come to fruition anyway, so what difference would it make?

“Deal,” you said.

And then, just a day later as you helped him re-shelve his cherished books, Bilbo made his timid confession of love. Like a whirlwind, you went from a weary soldier-for-hire to an over-the-moon bride-to-be.

Cradling “Of Lips and Fingers” in your hands, you opened to the title page that had a simple line drawing. At first, it loosely resembled fingers around a pickle. Then you remembered the subject matter and did a double take:   

“Is that what I think it is?” you whispered.

Oh it was. And that was just the beginning.   

Thirty minutes passed as you you sat propped against the wall in the parlor, alternating between giggling, gasping, frowning, turning the book sideways and upside down to understand what you were looking at, and missing your hairy-footed lamb chop with a deep, fiery longing.   

“Hello, hello! I’m home!”   

Startled at hearing Bilbo’s voice exactly when you were thinking of him, you jumped. The sudden movement, combined with slamming the book shut, caused “Of Lips and Fingers” to pop out of your hands, fly into the air, and clip your nose on the way to the floor. ·        

“OW!”    

You rubbed your sniffer with one hand, scooped the book up with the other and stood, looking for a quick hiding place.         

“Darling? Are you hurt?” Bilbo called. 

“I’m fine, lamb chop!” I was just looking at drawings of nude strangers enjoying themselves…

“I’ve got quite a harvest here. Meet me in the garden to have a look and give your lamb chop proper welcome home?”  

“Uh…” You glanced at the stacks of books. You could stick the book in any number of piles but - and maybe it was just your nerves - you just KNEW Bilbo would sniff it out. No new book got by him.  

“I’ll be right there!” you called.    

In fact, you could beat him there, if he indeed had the bounty he claimed he had. It would take him a minute to drag the sack of leaves to the garden. Plus, his legs were shorter than yours. You could outrun him to the garden, stick the book into some freshly-turned earth and he would be none the wiser.  

On the way out, you put on your slippers from the bedroom, then exited through the back. You tiptoed up to the well and crouched, peeking from behind it to make sure he couldn’t see you. He was still struggling with the sack. You dashed to the garden, shoved “Of Lips and Fingers” into a patch of loose earth, brushed off your house coat and then ran toward Bilbo. He turned around just in time to receive your warm embrace.  

“I’m so glad you’re home!” Bending down so that your cheek rested on his shoulder close to his neck, you were in the perfect spot: near his right ear. You lifted your head and kissed the tip of it, felt him shiver in your arms, then switched to the left ear and gave him another gentle kiss. He laughed through a short sigh. You broke the hug, and smiled as you took note of his cheeks, which reddened whenever you kissed his ear tips.

“I’m glad to be back, too. But I was only gone for a few hours,” he said.  

“This is the first few hours we’ve spent apart since the wedding,” you reminded him.  

Bilbo gave you a smile as bright as sunrise and nodded. “True, true. Care to help me lug this away from the door?”  

“Certainly.” You grabbed the top of the cinched sack and dragged it to the garden with ease.  

“Careful! It nearly flattened me, getting it off the wagon…” Bilbo’s voice trailed off while he followed you, watching you handle the sack as if it were empty.

“Sometimes I forget how strong and fast you are,” he said, looking embarrassed.

“Years of training.” You took a quick look at the odd mound of dirt covering the book and wished you’d pushed it deeper into the soil.   

“Training didn’t give you those long limbs.” Bilbo dropped his head for a moment, as he did sometimes when he thought too hard about the differences between the two of you. “What did you ever see in me, fair lady?”  

You bent down and kissed his cheek. “We’ll be out here all day if I answer that. Next question.”  

Bilbo grinned and placed a small kiss on the tip of your nose. When he pulled away, his eyes were on the dirt.     

“Sweetheart, what did you bury in the garden?”    

Curses!  

Straightening up and glancing behind you, you intentionally didn’t look in the direction of the buried book.   

“Um…what? Nothing.”  

Bilbo tapped your shoulder and beckoned you to lower to his eye level again. You complied, melting in his tender, concerned gaze.

“You have never lied to me,” he said.

You sighed and stood erect. “I’m sorry, Bilbo. I lied because I’m ashamed.”    

“About what, my dear?”  

You walked over to the book and pulled it out of the dirt. After you brushed the soil off it, you handed it to Bilbo, and his eyes lit up.

“A new book, for me?” he asked, before opening it.   

“It was for me. I’m borrowing it, I guess.”  

Bilbo ran his hand over the cover. He started turning the pages. “Why would a book embarrass you, love? I know how much you like to read…oh! My.”   

Wanting to run and hide, you took a step back instead and bit your lip.

Bilbo stopped at one drawing and his jaw dropped. “My goodness, she’s certainly limber, isn’t she?” He brought his face closer to the page. “They…they both are. My, my, my. Wherever did you get this?” Bilbo fanned through more pages.  

“It’s a long story.”  

Bilbo held the book at arm’s length, squinting and angling it, just as you had. 

“These look like elaborate tricks performed by contortionists,” he said, amazed. He moved from the images to the book’s ridiculous narrative on lovemaking. “Hm. I’ve never read of coupling referred to as ‘two entangled flowers...’ ”         

“Bilbo, please stop.”                 

He closed it and looked up at you. “These acts…they interest you?”·        

“No. I mean, in a way. Maybe a few. But it’s not something I’m asking you to do. I was just curious. I asked to see this book before we got married - before I even knew how you felt about me. I didn’t think we could have a future together. I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“But you could be happier. More satisfied, yes?”  

“I am already satisfied. That is no lie.”  

Bilbo looked at the plain cover again, then placed it on top of the sack and reached for your hands.  

“I must admit, I’ve always been intrigued by the positions on page forty-three,” he said.

You wrinkled your brow. “Forty-three?”  

“Yes. The page you bent.”  

You stifled a laugh but failed to hide your shy smile.   

“Shall we try them?” he asked, keeping your hands in his, and taking a step toward you.

 Your face got hot. “Uh…which ones?”

“Every trick in the book.”

At once flustered and aroused, you weren’t sure what to say. You didn’t know if Bilbo was just proposing the shenanigans to please you or because he really wanted to try them. Maybe he felt self-conscious. The men and women in those drawings, with the same long limbs he’d just remarked about you, weren’t Hobbits. Maybe he felt inferior to them, and wanted something to prove.  

“You’re a perfect lover, Bilbo. The illustrators and writers of that book could learn a thing or two from you.”   

He smiled and rocked on his heels. “Let’s practice the suggestions we’ll submit to them for a second volume, then.”

“Lamb chop!” you gasped, followed by a surprised and pleased smile.

Bilbo laughed, grabbed the book with one hand and with the other started leading you to the back door of the house, closest to the bedroom.   

[averil-of-fairlea]

Twin Peaks, Pt 2: Double Whammy

Pt. 1, Twin Peaks || Pt. 2 is based on: Imagine Bilbo telling you he’s in love with you || thank you @pureimagination01 for the request :)

When you returned to camp, all you first saw was a rush of scurrying feet kicking up dust as they rounded a bend in the dense forest, with Bilbo whispering for everyone to “go, get out, get out!”

“Where are they headed in such a hurry?” you asked.

“Uh…the corn hash was a bit spicy for their stomachs. They all had to relieve themselves.” Bilbo rocked on his heels and scratched the back of his neck. 

“At the same time?” You picked one of several suddenly-available rocks and took a seat.

“Well, you know. They like to do everything together.”

You frowned and looked from side to side. “All righty…..”

“Anyway, it’s good we’re alone. There’s something I need to tell you,” Bilbo said, arching backwards and checking to make sure the lads truly had disappeared.

Uh-oh. You squirmed. Those last seven words were usually the lead-in to some awful news. You crossed your legs and laced your fingers together at your knees, waiting nervously.

When he was convinced that no one was peeking or listening in, Bilbo straightened up and looked at you sheepishly.

“W-w…” Bilbo started, his gaze sliding from your face toward the fire. “When…uh..”

You resisted the urge to ask him to just spit it out.  Whatever he had to say was obviously difficult enough without added pressure, but you were ready to scream in anticipation.

“When you were off a while ago,” Bilbo finally shot his words out, and met your eyes again, “I came after you to ask about supper…how much you wanted me to save you, and all that.”

You uncrossed your legs, then re-crossed them, switching which leg was on the bottom and returning your folded hands to your knees. You tried your best to remain expressionless.

“But what happened instead is…” Bilbo’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and he looked absolutely horrified just thinking of what he had to say next. Bringing his chin down, he peered at you with shameful eyes. “I saw you.”

As you processed his confession, from the beginning mumbling and stuttering to the last three truthful words, it looked to Bilbo as if you’d become petrified stone. You no longer fidgeted. The only things obviously moving on you were your blinking eyelids and rising and falling chest, which Bilbo tried to avoid looking at.

Finally, you released your hands from your knees and slid your top leg off the other, slanting them together slightly.

“Thank you for telling me, Bilbo.”

Your voice was calm, as was your demeanor.

“It was an accident, I swear it,” Bilbo said, answering as if you’d yelled at him accusingly, which is what he expected. 

“I understand,” you replied.

Bilbo shook his head. This was going entirely too smoothly.

“That’s not all,” he blurted. “I, perhaps, looked for longer than a second. It may have been ten seconds.”

“It sounds as if you were in shock.”

“And I made up a poem about you. No, not you exactly…well, yes, yes it was about you, but it was supposed to be about nature. A view of nature. I told it to the company, thinking they wouldn’t understand. But they guessed it, straight away. I didn’t tell them anything impolite, but…they knew.”

“A poem, about me? I’m flattered. I should like to hear it sometime.”

Bilbo dropped his head and swished it from side to side again, his curls becoming a blur.

“Please don’t ask me to say it again,” he asked.

“All right, Bilbo. As you wish.”

He raised his head and cocked it, his mouth agape, deep lines pulling his brows down.

“You are taking this incredibly well,” he said. “Why? Why aren’t you furious at me?”

You took a deep breath, leaned back and pressed your palms into the rough rock, slightly reclining with your straight arms as support.

“Well, it all sounds like a mistake. There isn’t a rude bone in you, Bilbo.”

“And what of the revealing poem?”

“Um…creative inspiration.”

“And the company? They know!”

You twisted your bottom lip in and bit it for a moment until you conjured up another answer.

“You had a very perceptive, captive audience. Those lads are quite smart.”

“No no no no no no!” Bilbo said,  pacing before the fire pit. If he couldn’t get a rise out of you, he could do it all by himself.

“What’s wrong, Bilbo?”

“What’s wrong? WHAT’S WRONG?” He stopped about a yard in front of you. “I came upon the most beautiful sight I have ever seen, or will ever see, in my entire life, and I stayed for longer than I should have, because I was completely spellbound, and because I am thoroughly and madly in love with you and want to spend my life with you, and you don’t put up one objection?”

Having completely emptied his soul, Bilbo felt woozy, realizing that his big confession about seeing you nude had turned to an even bigger confession of wanting to be your lover. 

He managed to stay upright, and watched a slow smile spread across your face, and your eyes shine with glee.

You stood and contained your own sudden dizziness as you moved closer to Bilbo.

“Why would I object,” you said, placing your hands on his shoulders, “when I rather hoped you would see me?’

His mouth hung in a long oval. “You did? Why?”

“Because….” You gathered your nerve. “Because I love you, too, Bilbo. I can’t recite off-the-cuff poetry about it, but I do.”

Bilbo’s face was aglow with amazement over how these awkward few moments had quickly evolved into the most surprisingly enlightening experience he ever had.

“You love me?” he whispered. Your smile said it all.

Bilbo lifted his hands to the sides of your face, framing you in them like delicate artwork.

“When were you going to tell me, my dear?” he asked.

You cleared your throat and stalled for a bit, then said, “after I made a confession of my own.”

Dropping his hands to your shoulders, Bilbo’s face fell into a confused expression, all frown and shifty-eyes, broken by a nervous smile.

“What confession would that be?”

“When we stopped at Beorn’s house, and after you went off to bathe, I searched for you to ask if it was all right if you had water with breakfast, since Fili was drinking all the fresh milk-”

“I WAS NOT!” Fili’s voice shouted from behind a large bush. Immediately there was a chorus of “shhh!,” “shut up, you idiot!” and the familiar swatting sound of Bofur’s hat to Fili’s head. You smiled at the interruption and eavesdropping while Bilbo rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Anyway,” you said, “I saw you.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. “You-you did?”

“I sure did, and let me tell you.” You brought your arms around him, and he followed your lead. “I’m not sorry. You are highly favored, Bilbo. Highly. I was already in love with you, and then I really fell.”

Bilbo threw his head back and laughed. Part of him felt like such a cad for finding your observation so flattering, and the other part of him did not care one stinking bit.

He leaned forward and planted a small, tender peck on your lips, then smiled proudly as he snuggled against your twin peaks.

“Did you hear that, lads? I am highly favored!” he shouted.

There was an envious grumble of recognition as the company emerged from their eavesdropping spot.

“Aye, we heard,” Bofur encouraged, “now shut up and enjoy the view!” 

[averil-of-fairlea]

Always Lying

Before instituting a self-imposed no-more-writing-about-traveling-to-Middle-Earth rule, I submitted the madness above to @thefandomimagine || Warnings: cursing (lyrics) || for @eringobragh96

Your time in Middle Earth was brief; you’d been advised this was the rule when visiting fictional realms, never the exception.

The only time that the magicae argentum allotted you was three days. Then, you were to return back to the comfort and realness of home.

Passed down from your earliest alchemist ancestors, the “magic silver” coin would give you the once-a-year opportunity of stepping into whatever make-believe world you whispered into it just before giving it a flip. 

As soon as it landed, you would be in your fictional fantasy, where you had absolutely no honorable or fate-changing purpose whatsoever. 

Your task was simply this: to have a good time in your chosen realm, in whatever manner your heart desired, until time was up. 

No coin, no return.

When you came of age and for the first time flipped the dull, rusted and rough coin into reclaimed Erebor, you - the devilish soul you were - happened to be in the mood to make two kinds of trouble while there.

Arriving right near the sea of gold inside the Lonely Mountain, you let out a quick yelp and spin as you excitedly took in your surroundings, falling down and laughing hysterically over the fact that you were actually in Middle Earth. 

Within seconds, the Dwarves of Erebor had surrounded you, pointing weapons at you and demanding to know who you were. 

Because you didn’t look like much of a threat, they accepted your story that you were an honest person on the run from some shady people you owed money to, and had been hiding out nearby ever since the dragon fled. You told them that you only recently stepped inside. 

Thorin opposed granting you asylum, but he was already too deep into the gold sickness to keep up the fight.

Bilbo took an instant special liking to you. He mistakenly thought it was alarm he saw on your face as you adjusted to an unexpected adventure. He could relate.

But it was nothing more than mischief twinkling in your eyes. Knowing all you knew about Tolkien’s story and Bilbo’s role in it, you made him your target.

“I’ve already told you, Thorin, I have not seen the Arkenstone,” Bilbo said for at least the third time on the second day of your visit. You were standing next to him on the throne dais, before the weary king.

“Hmmm ohh my god,” you muttered, too low for anyone to hear the lyrics, but just enough to get on their nerves. “Stop fuc-”

“What is that grating tune again?” Thorin demanded. You had mumbled the parody song before then, much quieter, every time Thorin asked Bilbo point-blank if he’d seen the heart of the mountain. But no one had asked you about it until that moment.

“Why You Always Lying.” You smiled and winked at the Hobbit, who gulped as you kept low-key singing.

You stopped when Thorin shot up angrily from the hallowed seat. 

“What are you accusing me of, stranger?” he asked, his eyes wild.

“Nothing, nothing! Please excuse us,” Bilbo said, taking your hand and hurrying you down the platform stairs.

Walking fast out of Thorin’s sight, Bilbo asked what possessed you to sing such a song about the king.

“I wasn’t singing it about him, Bilbo!” you cackled.

“Then, to…who, me? What have I stolen?”

“I wonder if he knows that I know that he’s lying right now!” you recited, pointing to his waist coat.

“What?” Just then, he patted his pocket, and in a sudden panic, you did the same. 

That’s when you realized you were without your coin. 

You stopped walking, released Bilbo’s hand and screamed, sending an echo through the wide halls. Bilbo implored you to hush, until you explained your loss, but not the magic of it. You only said that without your coin, you could never go back home.

If there was one thing Bilbo understood, it was the importance of home. So he didn’t hesitate to start helping you retrace your steps in agonizing detail, for another day, to no avail.

As time sped forward, your hyperventilating kept you from thinking straight. War was coming! How would you ever get back home?

You couldn’t say anything to anyone about the true importance of that coin, not even to your friend, whose dishonesty with Thorin was becoming annoyingly more noticeable to you.

After Dori offered you some potent spirits in an effort to calm you down, the more you started to see Bilbo as a lying little ass who was playing games with not just poor Thorin’s crumbling mind, but everyone else’s as well. 

For all I know, he has my coin! you thought, not once considering it was the Dwarvish wine talking.

“What is that?!” You heard Thorin snap the words as he emerged from a dark corridor, rushing over to you and Bilbo with murder in his eyes. 

The two of you were sitting on a bench. Bilbo was exhausted from the futile search for your coin, and you were exhausted, tipsy and agitated by his secret.

“In your hand!” Thorin boomed, as Bilbo stood up, frightened.

“It’s - it’s nothing,” Bilbo said.

“Hmm oh my GOD!” you sang with angst, pulling at your hair and rocking in your seat like a stark raving mad lunatic, distraught over having to stay in this realm.

“Not now,” Bilbo pleaded.

Thorin looked at you, puzzled.

“Why are you singing that lying song again?” Thorin barked.

All at once you bolted up from the bench, bent into a squat, and placed your hands on your knees, trying to get at Bilbo’s eye level. You nearly lit him on fire with your breath.

“ ♪ Why you always lying…♪”

“L-lying?” Bilbo sputtered, looking from you to Thorin with a nervous smile. “All right, then, I think the wine finally got to you.” 

He attempted to take you by the arm, but you stood upright and spun out of his grasp. You started replicating Nicholas Fraser’s moves from the “Why You Always Lying” video that you make you laugh until your face hurt. 

Then you launched into the lyrics, louder than you had previously:

“♪ Why the fuck you lying

Why you always lying

Hmmm ohh my god

Stop fucking lying! ♪”

“ENOUGH! What is this absconder and cheat talking about?” Thorin demanded of Bilbo, who only shrugged. “Are you lying about something, Bilbo?”

‘’‘Sconder? Cheeeeeeet?” you slurred, before Bilbo could answer. “You don’t know the Half-ling about cheats!”

Bilbo pulled on your shirt.  “Come now, off to bed!” he chirped.

“Take your thieving hands off me, you liar!”

“Thieving?” Thorin growled, his eyes blazing through Bilbo. “What did he steal?”

“Give me my coin, Bilbo!!” you hollered.

His expression, one of pure hurt, pierced through your tipsiness and despair, and made you want to take him in your arms and hug him forever.

“I do not have your coin,” Bilbo said quietly.

But what really shot you into sobriety was the rage in the king’s eyes. You couldn’t let things unfold this way. It wasn’t up to you to reveal Bilbo’s secret.

“Thorin,” you said quickly, stepping between him and Bilbo, and forcing yourself not to teeter. “Bilbo’s right. He didn’t take it. I lost my coin because I was careless.” 

You turned to your friend. “I’m sorry, Bilbo.” He accepted your apology with a small smile.

Thorin kept his eyes on you suspiciously as he reached inside his lovely fur coat and retrieved something from it, holding it out to you as you looked back at him.

“Are you speaking of this coin?” he asked. “I found this ugly thing yesterday.”

Gasping with delight, you snatched your special magic silver from his palm and shrieked your thanks and kissed the coin. 

Thorin just shook his head at you while Bilbo smiled brighter, glad to see you so happy and relieved.

After your brief celebration, you hugged Bilbo and whispered right into his ear, “You really do need to stop lying. But I know you will in good time. Best of luck, Bilbo.”

You kissed his cheek, then turned to Thorin. You were about to bow to him when you remembered the other trouble you wanted to make while you were in Middle Earth.

Grabbing him by his fur collar, you pulled Thorin to you and planted a kiss on his lips, with plenty of tongue. He was perplexed, but didn’t pull away.

“You are a such a good kisser,” you breathed, “and that is no lie.” Breaking from him as the coin started to feel hot in your hands, you knew it was ready to get to work, as this was the end of the third and final day of your visit.

You could have sworn that you saw a glimmer of sanity in Thorin as he touched his hand to his overworked lips. Your sudden smooch was more like true lust’s kiss than true love’s, but if it helped him climb out of the gold sickness any faster, maybe you really did serve an honorable purpose there. 

And maybe, because of that silly song, Bilbo would confess a little sooner that he had the Arkenstone, and his reasons behind taking it.

The last thing you imparted to Thorin was not to ever take on Azog alone. His only response was a frown, but somehow, you knew the advice sank in.  

When they asked where you were walking off to, you explained that, now that you had your coin, it was time to go home.

“But…” Bilbo said as you left. You’d stamped an odd impression on him, to say the least. But he would miss you terribly.

“Show him what’s in your hand, Bilbo!” you called as you ran down the corridor, out of their view. You heard the beginning of the acorn conversation just before you whispered into the coin and flipped it, back to the comfort and realness of home.

[averil-of-fairlea]

Heavy Metal

ThorinxReader

based on this imagine from @imaginexhobbit || Setting: forest along the quest before arriving at Beorn’s house || Warnings: Removal of braces by a handsome blacksmith. Do not try this at home. || Songspiration: Trust by Megadeath (I actually love the intro more than the rest of the song, which has nothing to do with orthodontics)

For your own sanity, you started to put your entry into this world far in the back of your mind.  

Though you still had a plethora of questions about why the flight of stairs marked “DO NOT ENTER” at the Halloween haunted house led you to good and bad fictional worlds (you couldn’t get out of King’s Landing fast enough! Stupid Joffrey was still alive!), you realized that understanding the details might scare you more than you could handle at this point.

You stepped into worlds one after the other like you were turning pages in a very thick storybook. Westeros, Neverland, and now, Middle Earth.

As fictional fate would have it, you were on the heels of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.

Only Bilbo acknowledged you until he was rebuffed by both Thorin and Dwalin. A few days after that, Gandalf defied the two grouches and took it upon himself to hang back from the group to talk to you.

You told him your unusual tale, and he thought on it for a few minutes as you walked the dusty road together.

“You would be wise to steer clear of anything presenting itself as ‘haunted,’ ” Gandalf said gravely.

“It was supposed to be fun.”

“There are harmless tricksters, and then there are demons. In taking those stairs, you stumbled upon the latter. How else would you explain encountering that malicious King Joffrey you mentioned?”

No argument there. No more haunted anything.

“About your predicament,” Gandalf said, “I can send word to the head of my order asking how to return you, but it will take a few weeks, I’m afraid.”

Weeks? It was like a punch to the gut, but what could you do? 

“I understand,” you said meekly.

“Now, onto another matter,” he said, first making sure the others weren’t within earshot before going on. “Why are there metal chains on your teeth?”

And that’s the question that moved your obsessive thoughts from the creepy stairs and world-jumping to what was supposed to happen the day after Halloween: finally getting your braces off.

The Nov. 1 appointment had been set for several weeks. You had even planned a little party to celebrate, and cleared your phone’s storage to handle a boatload of selfies and group shots with your friends.

You had the traditional kind of braces, with the brackets and wires. You explained to Gandalf what they were and how they worked.

Then you asked him not to tell the company about your teeth chains or where you came from. You were a strange enough bird to them; no need to make them any more suspicious of you than they already were.

After that conversation, when you weren’t creeping behind the group,  you dashed into every business you encountered in every little town, looking for a Middle Earth version of an orthodontist to remove your braces.

You were getting quite desperate. Of all things, you simply needed the normalcy of a dental visit, a reminder that you were still you.

But - and it should not have come as a surprise - no one knew how to help you, and actually looked at your corrective metalwork in fear.

Sitting behind a wide-trunked pine tree one late afternoon in a wood hissing with noisy insect life, about to eat a handful of blueberries, you suddenly heard a voice above you say, “don’t eat those, child!”

Your head jerked up to see the white-haired Dwarf named Balin standing over you, his eyes wide.

“Why not?” you asked, placing your berry-free hand in front of your mouth.

“Those are pokeberries. They’re poisonous.”

You gasped and threw them away from you. Terrific.

“Glad I came over,” he said.

“Yes, thanks. What brings you?” You were used to being avoided, not approached. Lowering your hand, you reminded yourself to keep your lips tight when you spoke, so you wouldn’t startle him - yet.

“Gandalf will be back in a bit, but he wanted me to tell you his friend Saruman had good news about getting you home, though it still won’t be as quick as you’d probably like, he said.”

Your heart leaped anyway at just hearing the word ‘home.’ Gandalf had found a way! 

“I’d be happy to give you some food and a mug of water,” Balin added, turning around to see if his leader was watching: he was. With disdain. 

Bilbo used to sneak you food but Thorin told him to stop doing that, as you might be a “spy.”

You stood. The top of Balin’s head came to your chin.

“Instead of food, good sir,” you said, “do you know someone who can get rid of these?” You stretched your mouth into an exaggerated smile, and Balin stumbled back.

“What in thunder are those?!” Balin asked, his voice rising.

“Braces. I need them to be taken off.”

“I’ll say!! Why are your teeth in torture devices?!!”

You shook your head. “No, no, you see, they straightened my crooked teeth. But now the job is done and I need to get them off.”

“Er, why not wait till you’re home, child? Didn’t someone there put them on?”

“Yes, but I don’t know when that will be. And without proper oral hygiene and all this harsh water I’ve been drinking, they’re really starting to bother me.“

He frowned as he stared at your mouth. Finally, he said he had an idea of someone who might be able to help, and that he’d be back. You leaned on your tree and waited, watching him return to camp and talk to Thorin.

And a few minutes later, who should stroll up but the company leader himself.

“You have metal on your teeth, spy?” he said, frowning harder at you than Balin did.

You straightened up quickly from your tree post and nodded, forcing yourself to talk through your onset of both jitters and irritation. “I’m not a spy, and yes, I have metal on my teeth that needs to be removed.”

“Stoop and open your mouth.”

You did as he barked, and he got so close to your mouth to peer inside that you actually felt like you were in Dr. Craig’s chair for a second.

Thorin backed up, and you straightened your legs.

“What else is there besides metal? A plaster of some sort?” he asked.

“Yes, exactly… sort of! Bonding cement.” You were so glad he got the gist. “In my land, the people who put these on and take them off are called orthodontists. Is there someone like that here?”

Thorin turned around and started walking off, toward camp.

“Stay there,” he said over his shoulder.

You returned to your tree lean, facing away from the company’s camp this time as you silently gave thanks. You were ecstatic  that even though Thorin was obviously still dubious of you, he was being speedy about summoning a professional. FINALLY! 

But after several minutes, Thorin came back with a small box of tools, accompanied only by Balin, Dwalin and Bilbo.

In each hand, Balin was holding buckets of very hot water from the nearby spring, boiled over the campfire. Anxious-looking Bilbo juggled several towels and a lantern, while Dwalin held a bottle of whiskey in one hand and in the other, a small bowl with a white blob in it: lard.

“Is this a cooking class?” you asked nervously. “Where is the orthodontist?”

“I am he. Sit on that stump,” Thorin said, gesturing toward the hunk of wood a couple of yards away.

“And here,” Dwalin said, handing you the whiskey. “Take a few swigs.”

“Wait a second,” you said, hyperventilating and backing away from the bottle. “You’re going to do it? Do you know what you’re doing? These are my teeth!”

“He’s worked as a blacksmith, child,” Balin said, setting the pails next to the stump.

“SO WHAT?”

“Metal is metal, spy. Sit down,” said Thorin.

 Dwalin set the lard on the ground to unscrew the whiskey bottle top.

“I don’t drink.”

“Trust me,” Dwalin said, both of you looking at Thorin’s daunting “dental” tools, “you do today.”

You grabbed the bottle, trepidatiously took a few swallows of the burning whiskey and coughed like you were dying before thrusting the bottle back in Dwalin's hands. Then you started toward the stump, wringing your hands the whole way.

You would gladly forget what happened over the next two hours if you could.

Dwalin sloppily applied the nasty lard on your teeth, trying to help loosen the bonding agent. Thorin sterilized his rudimentary tools in one pail of hot water, and at several points during the arduous procedure, he had you lean over the other bucket, teeth bared like a rabid animal, and a towel tented over your head in an effort to further weaken the stubborn cement.

As a side benefit, the steam opened your facial pores nicely.

The rest of the company left camp but stayed back, gathered in a circle, craning their necks to see what was going on. 

Throughout the ordeal, Bilbo held the lantern up in one hand and with the other  patted your shoulder reassuringly. When he got in Thorin’s way, he handed Balin the lantern and went to your leaning tree, calling out, “You’re doing great!” while you howled.

“Ihyooo weh ma tee ow, ah wih kihyooo!!!” you growled to Thorin, your head tilted back as far as you could go while Thorin twisted and bent your wires with two different tools.

“What was that gibberish?!” Dwalin roared, not expecting an answer.

Thorin interpreted as he worked: “The spy said, ‘if you rip my teeth out, I will kill you.’ ”

“I NUH UH PY!!!”

“Sure, you’re not a spy. Now stay still!”

“I SEH, I NUH UH PY!!!”

“Quiet.”

About 30,000 tugs later, Thorin was done.

Your brackets and wires and the peeled off adhesive lay in a small pile on one of the towels that Bilbo brought. With another, he gently wiped your face and told you how brave you were. Everyone else was busy cleaning up.

Your neck, cheeks, gums and tongue were sore, as if you’d been repeatedly pummeled. Your teeth felt gritty in some spots, slimy in others. You used one untouched end of the face towel to run along each pearly white row. 

Even though you were applying very soft pressure, it hurt. But you didn’t want to imagine how bad the pain would have been without the whiskey. 

Delving into your back pocket, you brought out your phone and turned it on for the first time in weeks. 

“Another torture device?” Balin asked, staring at the phone curiously, along with the others.

You laughed. It was the most accurate description of a phone you’d ever heard.

You had shut the phone down at 40 percent battery power after it became painfully apparent that Verizon didn’t have service in fictional worlds.

Switching to your camera, you looked at your wonderfully straight teeth, smiling like there was no tomorrow.

“Ok, time to celebrate!” you announced happily, leaping from the stump. “Braces are off, and I’m going back home…someday soon, I hope. Gather ‘round the torture device!”

Bewildered, everyone, including the onlookers, did as you asked, with Thorin standing beside you.

“We’ll have to do this a few times to get everyone,” you advised. 

“Do what?” was the murmur.

They all had a thousand questions about the unusual rectangle in your hands, which you promised you’d answer later. You raised the camera up high and told them to smile. They didn’t ask why they were grinning at a flattened box with a looking glass in it; they just obliged.

At the last second, before you pressed the button, you leaned over, pecked Thorin’s cheek and whispered “thank you, doctor.”

His face heated up to the boiling point as you snapped the photo.

“You are welcome, sp…” he started, until you flashed a bright, beautiful, grateful smile at him. “You are welcome.”

[averil-of-fairlea]

It’s a Funny Story

+ this imagine: Imagine Dwalin making you breakfast in the morning while wearing nothing but an apron || Setting: Bilbo’s house in the present a few years after the war in which all Durins survive; flashback of Reader’s house before the quest || Characters: Fem!Reader, Dwalin, Bilbo, Bilbo’s wife || Genre: humor, romance, fluff || Songspiration:  “How Sweet It Is To Be Loved By You” (James Taylor) (Marvin Gaye) || Note: Bilbo’s wife Arya is not the GoT character of the same name :)

 “How Did Dwalin Propose to You?”

Mr. and Mrs. Bilbo Baggins had an absolutely gorgeous table set to welcome you and your husband Dwalin to first breakfast.

As much as you enjoyed the decadent meals served on gilded chargers in the mountain kingdom’s lavish dining hall, you loved the genuineness and comfort of Bilbo’s display of fresh fruits, breads, boiled eggs and cheeses.

He had even cultivated the seeds from the chocolate lily flower he’d found on the way to the Lonely Mountain, the same flowers from which he’d plucked petals and sprinkled them over your “honeymoon suite” in the middle of a wood. The beautiful buds were the ideal, sentimental touch.

Last night was spent settling into the guest room in the hole in the ground after your long journey, hugging and sipping wine, and sharing memories of the company’s quest, of which you were all a part. This morning you looked forward to catching up on Bilbo’ and Arya’s life since the reclamation of the Lonely Mountain and the war.

As the couple sat across from you and Dwalin and gushed at each other, it dawned on you that you didn’t know how Bilbo had proposed. So you asked.

They could hardly stop smiling and giving each other lovey-dovey eyes throughout the story of Bilbo’s impromptu question on bended knee, within hours of arriving in Bag End after leaving Erebor.

“That’s absolutely adorable,” you said, while Dwalin just grunted. You smiled at your gruff hunk of burly love as you sipped your peppermint tea and he plopped six boiled eggs on his plate.

“So tell us,” Bilbo said, taking a small bite from a square of bread, “how did Dwalin propose to you?”

“PZZZZZZZ!” 

The tea in your mouth sprayed forth like a geyser, showering Bilbo, Arya, and all their food.

Years before, pre-Lonely Mountain Quest:

“So, what do you think of this getup?” 

Dwalin stood before you in what appeared to be only a red and white plaid apron with frilly sleeves. His bulky thighs popped out from under the hem, and his hands gripped the sides of a tarnished silver tray as if doing so was keeping him dying of embarrassment. The smell of blackened bread wafted from a plate.

Looking up from your pillow, you squinted, then widened your eyes, then squinted again. You sat up.

“What are you doing here? And…what are you wearing?!”

Dwalin decided to turn around slowly, so you could see EVERYTHING.

“First tell me how I look,” he said.

“Well!” you exclaimed, hoping you were fully awake, “I, uh, I-I think you look -”

“-f*%~ing ridiculous, right?”

“No. You look wonderful.”

“How does my ass look?”

“Not as good as mine-”

“No one can compete with that!”

“-but lovely, nonetheless. Why are you in an apron?”

“I asked those imbecile Ri brothers for advice on a way to ask ya something important, something you’d remember. Those knobs came up with this. I should have listened to Thorin.”

“Ask me what?”

He put the tray at the foot of your bed and came to your side. He opened his mouth, he closed it. Then he frowned.

“Come on, I didn’t put that courting braid in your hair for nothing, did I?”

You propped up on your elbows and looked at him with narrowed eyes..

“Surely that isn’t your important question, Dwalin.”

He gulped and sat down beside you, then stroked your special braid, from root to the end of the hair bead he made you.

“I’m just a brute. But you - you are magic. And you make me feel…what’s the word?

“Lovely?” 

“Aye. Lovely.” He meant it, too. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes I will, you lovely brute.”

“It’s a funny story…”

“I am so sorry!!!!” You felt around for your napkin so you could sop up the mess from your tea spray. Meanwhile, Dwalin threw his head back and cackled to the ceiling.

You got up to pat Bilbo and Arya dry, mortified that you’d actually spit on your hosts and friends.

“Must have been quite some proposal,” Arya remarked as you wiped her forehead. 

“It’s a funny story, that’s for sure. So sorry about this. I’ll prepare some more food.”

“No, no, dear. We’ll clean up in a moment and refill on second breakfast later,” Bilbo said. “Go on with your story.”

Returning to your seat, you wondered why the images churning in your head were greatly exaggerating what actually happened. 

In reality, the apron hem fell just above Dwalin’s knee.

But in very bad hindsight, all you could see was the apron stopping much higher, letting his sexy war hammer peek through.

“BWAHAHA!” you laughed maniacally as you threw down your napkin. Dwalin chimed in with chortles of his own. Bilbo and Arya stared at you both, borderline frightened. 

Dwalin beamed as he sat all the way back in his chair and popped an egg in his mouth. He put his feet up on the table, right next to the empty boiled egg platter.

When he proposed, the tray had a small plate of curved strawberry slices on it, clumsily cut with the side of a spoon, and a slice of bread, slightly burnt on the edges.

But your distorted recollection showed everything on fire, including the tray.

You gave Bilbo and Arya the “wait a second’ sign with your lifted right index finger as another laugh crashed over your lips and into your tea cup.

“HOO HA HOO HOO!”

“You know, you can tell us some other time,” Bilbo said politely, exchanging a smile with his sweetheart.  

But you didn’t hear him. Reaching up and over to Dwalin, you slapped his shoulder hard a few times, your belly and shoulders still bouncing. 

“Hee-hee…oh, Mahal, oh Mahal….let me catch my breath….Ok, Ok, so first he called for me from my front door while I was still in bed…and then when he walked around the corner to my room…heh heh…Dwalin was wearing this…this….PLEH HAHA!!!!!!”

Dwalin grabbed you into a bear hug, sat back and kissed your forehead as you roared together. 

Mr. and Mrs. Baggins joined in with their own giggles, and thought of Bilbo’s proposal -  how informal,  unexpected, and insanely romantic it was.  

It might not have been for everyone, but it was perfect for the two of them, just as Dwalin’s proposal was perfect for the two of you.

[averil-of-fairlea]

Luck

(BilboxReader -Pt. 2 of I Had No Idea)

imagine having to lean down to kiss Bilbo || imagine discovering Bilbo’s ears are very sensitive || imagine Bilbo asking you to marry him || imagine Bilbo impeccably dressed for your wedding ||  || imagine Bilbo being mesmerized, finding you naked in his bed

Characters: Bilbo, Fem!Reader, little bit of Gandalf || Genre: romance, fluff/humor|| Ring 1 photo source Ring 2 (below) || Words: || Setting: on the way home from the Lonely Mountain; Bilbo’s bedroom || for sevenandtwo and pureimagination01

The journey with Gandalf to the Shire was almost eerie in its quiet and uneventfulness.

You were accustomed to being wedged between the euphoria of falling in love with your best friend and the constant worry of anything and everything tearing you apart. 

It felt strange to be free.

“The borders of the Shire.” Gandalf said the words with some regret. “It is here that I must leave you.”

“That’s a shame,” Bilbo said, as you both approached him. “I quite like having a wizard around. Seems they bring good luck.”

Gandalf smiled like a proud grandfather and nodded toward you.

“Well, now you have something much, much better than luck.”

After you clumsily embraced Gandalf, your hands heavy with trinkets, he asked if he could have a word with Bilbo in private. A nervous expression came over Bilbo’s face.

He told you which direction to head in and that he would catch up shortly.

You were actually grateful for the solo time. Perhaps alone, you could talk away the jitters.

Neither you nor Bilbo had discussed where you would sleep, let alone your living arrangements. All you knew was, you couldn’t go back to Bree. There was nothing for you there. You had everything with Bilbo.

“Ooh, you’re a fast one with those long legs, my lovely bloom!” Bilbo rushed up as fast as he could with all his jangling, cumbersome loot. He stopped and rose up on his tiptoes to plant a kiss on your cheek, but you beat him to it. Leaning down with a silly grin, you smooched his rosy cheek, then his soft lips. 

After you pulled back, he sighed dreamily.

“Everything OK between you and Gandalf?” you asked after some silence.

“Oh, yes. He just wanted to talk about…a-about...” Bilbo hesitated, snuck a glance at you with a side eye, then cleared his throat. “Luck.”

-----

Any plans you and Bilbo had for a relaxing afternoon, cuddling by a fire in the hearth and holding each other while sipping chamomile tea, were thwarted when you walked into an auction in progress and a bunch of inconsiderate so-n-so’s sashaying off with his beloved things.

Instead, the afternoon was spent getting the quaint house in some semblance of order.

“We will get it all back, Bilbo. I promise.” you called from the pantry, where you finished organizing what remained of his pots. Stepping out, you found him by a window in the corridor, looking out into the bright light.

Eyes still straight ahead, he reached out his arm and waited for you to wind your body close to his. You rested your head against his mass of curls.

“I don’t need it all back,” he said quietly, and in almost the same breath, he snapped, “except that!”

He tore away from you and stomped down the hall, muttering and shaking his right index finger to the ceiling.

“They better not have found it, they better not have touched it! And if they did, so help me if they took my Mother’s pride and joy!”

You had seen most of Bilbo’s emotions and reactions during the quest, but never had you witnessed him in a quite the snit he was in at that moment.

You heard a lot of clanging and banging, and then a loud “Thank goodness!” followed by deep breaths.

Staying put, you called for him, and he hurried back to your side.

“Please sit, my love,” Bilbo said breathlessly,  gesturing toward the bench under the window.

You furrowed your brow and studied him. He was a bit on edge, but not completely anxious. He seemed determined, and relieved, and ready for something.

You took a seat and crossed your legs.

“Whew!” Bilbo whistled, looking down at a small dark red box in his hand that you hadn’t noticed when he returned.

A box for a ring.

You swallowed, feeling torn in two, as if you were having an out-of-body experience, watching this unfold.

Bilbo got on bended knee and held a loving gaze with you as he cradled the box in his hands.

“I know this isn’t the most romantic backdrop, what with all manner of rubbish on the floor, but I don’t want to wait. I hope that’s not selfish. It’s just that  - the journey, the war, even coming home and finding everything nearly gone - all of that has taught me that I cannot, and should not, waste any time in telling you what you mean to me, and that I wouldn’t be the Hobbit that I have become without you, the woman you are. You are the bloom that makes every day worthwhile. There isn’t a flower in my garden that can compare to you, in the beauty and happiness you bring to my life.”

Still supporting the box with both hands, he placed it on your knee, and opened the top, revealing a small diamond, hugged by a shining half circle of gold, all atop a perfect band.

“My lovely bloom, my closest friend, will you do me the absolute honor of marrying me, and making me the luckiest Hobbit in the Shire?”

----

When Bilbo said he would waste no time, he meant it.

After your tearful yes, followed by lots of hugs and kisses and smiles, you both collapsed on the bench where the proposal had taken place. You were more exhausted than you ever realized, and slept well into the next afternoon, only waking to tinkle.

But two late mornings later, right in his garden alive with cherry, violet and lemon-colored blossoms of several varieties, you tied the knot in front of all who could fit within the space. 

Dressed in a dapper black velvet waist coat, white formal shirt and dark wool trousers, Bilbo looked more handsome than anyone you had ever seen - man, Hobbit, Elf or Dwarf. 

He was spellbound at how beautifully you fit his mother’s antique, tea-stained silk dress, another item from the well-hidden chest that had also kept her ring safe. One of the signet rings Thorin caught you eyeing in Erebor, and generously gave you, served as the perfect wedding ring for Bilbo.

The afternoon feast took place in the garden and spread into a nearby field. It was too bad there was no time for the Dwarves or Gandalf to get there, but neither of you wanted a long engagement. Being together and in love on the quest was your engagement.

------

“Bilbo! You don’t have to carry me over the threshold! Really!”

“Of course I do! Are you ready?”

“Oh, no…”

Bilbo gave you no time to run. He lowered into a deep bend, then, with an arm around your waist and the other behind your knees, up you went. You both laughed hysterically as he pushed open the unlocked door.

You were about to slide out of his arms there in the foyer, but he had a very good hold of you, and hadn’t let you go.

“Where are you taking me?” you asked.

“The same place I’ve wanted to take you for more than a year. My bed.”

Bilbo crossed the rounded entryway into the room, which was heavy with walnut and oak furnishings. A hungry look on his face, he placed you gently onto the edge of the mattress, which was covered in a leaf patterned, thick comforter. There were four tapered posters at each corner, and large cream pillows against the carved headboard.

Bilbo stroked your face and kissed your lips for probably the five-hundredth time that day. 

“Don’t you mean, ‘our bed’ now?” you said.

Bilbo looked down at the dress, and his mouth and eyes opened wide at your spilling cleavage.

The spice that had been in his tone, and on his face, vanished. 

Turning pale, Bilbo abruptly pulled away, and started puttering around the room.

You nearly got dizzy as you watched him dash here and there, becoming a blur. He lit candles, even though there was still plenty of evening sunlight streaming through the round window. He fluffed the over-stuffed pillows, straightened the pictures of relatives and landscapes on the walls, and tested the integrity of the built-in chest of drawers.

“Wouldn’t want them falling on us in the night,” he said, shaking the handles.

Bilbo was nervous.

You smiled to yourself, then got up from the bed and walked over to him, lightly touching his shoulder.

“May I trouble you for a cup of water, Bilbo?” you asked sweetly.

A very big grin spread from ear to ear, and he nodded enthusiastically. He wanted nothing more than to finally make love to you, but the heavy shot of nerves made him want to keep puttering instead.

“Anything for you.”

No sooner had Bilbo disappeared down the hall than you peeled out of your dress. Your undergarments should have been a breeze to take off, but since you were in a hurry, of course they felt like they’d been painted on.

You grunted and groaned while wiggling and twisting out of them, wishing you’d given Bilbo a longer list of things to fetch. You thought about calling out for a small plate of food but seeing as how you’d just finished a massive wedding feast that combined all the Hobbits’ meals and then some, Bilbo might have found that strange. 

Anyway, he was coming back. You heard his feet sliding against the wood planked floor.

“One cup of water for my lovely bride, coming up!” he sang, entering the room with a happy bounce.

One cup of water for his lovely bride dropped to the floor.

For a second, it was difficult to tell if beholding your buck-naked body on his bed had put him into temporary shock or permanent petrification.

Absolutely nothing on him moved.

“Don’t worry about that spill. I no longer thirst for water,” you said in your most come-hither voice. 

Bilbo wiggled his nose in that adorable way, then made himself take one step, and another, and more, until he stood by the side of the bed.

“I knew it,” he sighed. “I am the luckiest Hobbit in the Shire.”

You sat up, eagerly reached for his coat collar with both hands, and pulled him down with you onto the bed, peppering his face with kisses. Your hands wandered up to his ears, following the curves and ridges to the pointed tips - your first time doing so. Bilbo cried out and shuddered so hard it felt like an earthquake had hit the room.

“Mmm. I had no idea, Mr. Baggins,” you whispered, stroking him again. 

Soon, both of you were enjoying something much, much better than luck.

[averil-of-fairlea]

“I Had No Idea”

Characters: Bilbo, Fem!Reader, Bofur, Thorin || Setting: camp along the East Road + Rivendell || Genre: fluff || Photo sources: checkerbloom || travel journal  || imagines are from thereandbackagainimagines || for sevenandtwo and amalthea9

Slamming the small black leather bound journal shut, your eyes widening to five times their normal size, you could do nothing for a while but stand frozen.

Then you cursed the curiosity that, just a few minutes before, had you picking up the unfamiliar book by the river bank and flipping through it.

If you had taken a half a second at the very start to look inside the front cover, you would have seen that it read: Property of Bilbo Baggins. And you would have returned it  to your friend, with haste.

But you didn’t do that.

Now you knew he was in love with you.

-----

Thorin’s plan was to keep moving long before mid-morning, but that time had now come and gone as everyone waited for you - a jill-of-all-trades from Bree who did a number of important tasks, large and small, for the company - and for Bilbo to stop wildly looking around for something he wouldn’t name.

“Have you lost the handkerchief I made you?” Bofur asked from across the freshly extinguished fire. A soft gray veil of smoke drifted from ground to treetops.

Bilbo stopped and cocked his head at Bofur.

“Uh, you didn’t exactly make that. It’s a badly ripped piece of cloth. And  no, I’m not looking for it.”

“This yours, Bilbo?”

Trying to sound casual, you walked past him with your clean, damp change of clothes in one arm, the journal in the other. 

You didn’t wait for an answer, and you didn’t look at him as you flung the book sideways, knocking him in the chest. He bobbled it a few times,  gasping as he desperately reached for the bound edges.

You went over to your flopped bedroll and grumbled “who did this?” though you knew very well it must have been a frustrated Bilbo, searching for the diary filled with complaints about the ill manners of the company, and confessions of love for you.

Bilbo finally had a good grip on the diary, which suddenly felt unusually heavy in his hands. He realized that he must have mistakenly dropped it near the river while freshening up, before you appeared to splash your face and wash your only other shirt.

Concentrating on gathering your belongings, you didn’t offer your usual, sincere, “good morning, Bilbo!” There was no smiling at him, asking if he got enough rest and breakfast, and talking about the small pleasantries of life you both longed for: a warm cup of spearmint tea, tartan blankets, pumpkin soup, a stack of books, honey cakes.

When a pair of large, hairy feet came into view, right near your secured bedroll, you still didn’t stop fiddling, although there was nothing more to do.

“Thank you,” Bilbo said softly.

“You’rewelcomeBilboanytime.” You were now scooting leaves around into little piles.

“WE ARE LEAVING!” Thorin called up ahead. The rest of the company was close behind him.

You slung your backpack strap onto your shoulder, picked up your bedroll by its roping and, with your head still down, you started to stomp up the trail.

“Did you read it?” Bilbo asked quietly, not moving.

---

You stopped walking, head still aimed at the ground.

 Bilbo shuffled up and stood in front of you, peering at your face.

“Did you read it?” he asked again.

“Yes.”

You couldn’t get the apologies and reasoning for your snooping out fast enough. 

I honestly didn’t know who it belonged to.

I didn’t bother checking the front for a name.

I’ve seen you writing in a journal a million times but never paid attention to what the cover looked like. 

In fact I’ve never even seen it closed, you write in it so much.

“I’m so sorry, Bibo.”

To your surprise, his mouth swooped to one side in an adorable, off-center smile.

He sighed loudly. “I’m actually glad you know. Unless...you already knew.”

You shook your head. “I had no idea.”

Now, you were always truthful with Bilbo; you had absolutely no reason to lie to him. But there was something about those four words, however sincere, that rang false to you.

Bilbo sighed again, rather dreamily. His face was flushed.

“This isn’t how I had planned to tell you. In-in fact, I wasn’t sure how to tell you, or if I should. But now-”

“KEEP UP!” Thorin was not amused by your lagging.

Bilbo excused himself,  rushed over to his things, gathered them quickly and efficiently, and began walking toward the group.

When he realized you were still standing in the same spot behind him, dumbfounded by everything that had transpired in such a short period of time, he turned around and waved you to him. 

You moved, but weren’t sure what else to do now - with your friendship, with this knowledge of the depth of his feelings.

Would you continue to speak about pleasant things? Would you greet each other warmly, share bits of your meals together, as you always had?

You ambled up to him cautiously, wishing he could hear, and answer, all of the questions you had.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said, as your steps fell in line with each other. “I’m in love with you. I’m not going to bite.” 

Bilbowas amazed at how at ease he felt, after all his agonizing and pining.

You breathed out a short laugh and bumped playfully against his arm, noticing for the first time how beautiful and gentle his eyes were, and wondering why that observation unleashed a thousand butterflies in your belly.

-----

“This would only happen to me, here in this beautiful, harmless place.”

“Shh. Don’t fret. And stop pulling away.”

Bilbo was busy cleaning your hand in one of the small fountains in Rivendell, just a stone’s throw from the stone you tripped over. 

You’d fallen to the ground, and nicked your right hand on the corner of the low ledge bordering the fountain and lush hibiscus garden. 

You and Bilbo were on a walk, the conversation between you still skirting the subject of his newly-revealed amorous feelings, when you lost your balance.

You’d been doing that a lot lately.

So had he.

Thankfully, he was able to keep his equilibrium and employ quick thinking. Taking your injured hand in his, he brought you to the fountain and dipped your hand into the clear water.

You drew back at first, as he worked to remove the tiny pebble bits from the wound. But soon the burning subsided, and you felt only his caring hands massaging your skin under the water.

“There are clean cloths and bandages in my pack, Bilbo.” You nodded toward the fallen bag. He left your side, swiped the bag from the ground and returned, fishing through the side pocket until he found the supply kit.

Bilbo lifted your hand from the water and patted the cut gently and thoroughly dry with a cloth. You felt no pain, but a slight twinge in your gut: butterflies again. You breathed out loudly, pushing back his tousled curls.

Bilbo’s gaze went from the wounded band to your eyes.

“Are you alright? Did that hurt?” he asked, concerned.

You shook your head.

Wrapping the bandage around your palm, Bilbo tucked in the edge under the layers he created. He looked at his work, staring at it as if he’d never seen a hand before.

He brought your fingers to his mouth, and kissed them.

“All better, my lovely bloom.”

Stupid stupid stupid, stupid, he berated himself, horrified that he’d broken the unwritten rule between the two of you to never bring up his feelings in any form, shape or fashion - certainly not by calling you the not-so-secret name written in his diary.

The butterflies were working overtime. You mouthed “Bilbo” as your eyes searched his.

And then his hands grabbed onto your shoulders and pulled you to him swiftly, though he didn’t need to. You were already falling toward him, drawn to him magnetically. He wasted no time conveying just how much he’d longed to do this. His lips were soft and his tongue strong as it slipped into your mouth, over your little moans.

His hands made their way to the sides of your face as you returned the passion, and let the butterflies travel where they may.

It was only the need for air that made you both break the kiss. And even then, panting and sighing your name, he found the energy to peck you lightly on the tip of your nose, and on each cheek.

Bilbowas about to kiss your forehead when you brought your mouth to his again for several long, sweet seconds.

“I love you.”

You said it in unison, in perfect harmony. Then Bilbo brought you closer, and wiggled his nose against yours as both your smiles lit up the entire valley.

[averil-of-fairlea]

A Dream and A Star

imagine || Characters: Bilbo, Elf!reader || Setting: Rivendell, Beorn's house, Mirkwood, Battle of Five Armies || Words: 1,880 || Genre: Romance, super angst || Songspiration: The End of All Things || Warning: its a double dose of heartache for Bilbo and Tauriel

Ólon

You saw him through your bedroom window, looking back, looking for you. Maybe the sadness on his face was a farewell; maybe it was a promise to return. Maybe it was an apology, for he was clearly not in control of this decision to flee Rivendell.

Watching him, the ache in your heart was almost more than you could bear.

The leisurely walks through the gardens with the Hobbit , the long talks, the visits over tea - you tried to tell yourself that those were part of your duties as a member of Lord Elrond’s official welcoming party for guests.

Bilbo seemed one of the few in the company of Thorin Oakenshield to put any trust in your kind. In fact, he was more compatible with Rivendell than some Elves you knew.

It took only one tour of the valley with you to convince him to stay close by your side for the rest of the visit. You saw something in him, a purpose, loyalty and sweetness that you’d never seen in even the most virtuous Elf.

Bilbo never failed to tell you how he believed that he could be happy there someday.

“…and you are a large part of that.” It was the first time he’d ended his musings with that confession.

Shocked, you tried to keep your balance as you sat across from him on a bench overlooking the valley’s highest, most captivating waterfall.

The last drops of red wine stained the elegant glasses resting on the ground. Bilbo’s feelings took you by surprise -  not because he actually admitted them, but because he said almost verbatim what you were about to tell him: that you had never felt more at peace in your home than over the last few weeks. And he was a large part of that.

“Ólon, I feel the same way,” you said, your secret nickname for him slipping in the rosiness of the moment.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Bilbo answered. Then he furrowed his brow and tilted his head to the side. “But what does Ólon mean?”

You giggled and closed your eyes, hoping that when you told him, it wouldn’t scare him off. But before you had the chance to share it, he moved closer, placed his hands on your arms, stretched his neck up, and kissed you.

If you could have spent the night on that bench -  with Bilbo’s tousled curls pressed against your chest in warm embraces, with his fingers twisting the ends of your hair into coils, his kisses remaining shy, no matter how much his lips touched yours - you would have.

But he retired to his guest quarters and you returned to your home well into the night, agreeing to meet for a sunrise breakfast in the same spot.

It was not to be.

You kept your eyes on the departing company, with the leader, Thorin, saying something sharply to your Bilbo, making him turn around and trudge up the pass.

You had just gotten dressed in your robe, preparing for your breakfast with BIlbo. Your bow and quiver full of arrows were close by, in the large cabinet by the front door.

You debated alerting Lord Elrond to what you saw, to stop them.

But something told you not to.

Something told you to follow them.

A Star

After Bilbo got over his shock when you grabbed his hand and pulled him as hard and fast as you could away from the great skin changer, he held you so long in Beorn’s house that you finally had to pry his hands from your waist.

“How did you escape the goblin tunnels?” he asked, head craning up, fingers in yours.

“I never could get in,” you sighed, still feeling the fright that overcame you when you realized the fallout from stone giants’ battle had blocked the path. “I tried, but I only walked round in circles for what seemed like forever. At last I ended up on the other side of the mountain, where I saw all of you gathered.”

“And Azog?” Thorin asked, accusingly. “How did you escape him? Or were you aiding him?”

Bilbo’s eyes shot freshly sharpened blades at Thorin. “Aiding? Are you implying-”

“I knew we had a follower,” Gandalf interjected. “and the eagles knew we had a follower. You must have told yours that you wished to stay back, to remain unseen.”

You nodded at Mithrandir as Bilbo stroked your chin, completely forgetting the last harrowing moments and the roaring around the house, completely forgetting that the two of you weren’t alone.

“How can you a hide a star?” He looked at you with twinkly sparkles in his eyes.

“For the love of Durin…” Thorin muttered. He spun off, disgusted.

‘One Love To Another’

With your similar clothing and Elven-crafted bow, you were able to briefly blend in with the spider-fighting Silvan Elves in the forest before the captain of the guard got wind that you were with the intruders, not one of her warriors.

But for some reason, she protected you, gesturing for you to hide as the Dwarves were searched and questioned. And again, leading into the great halls of the Woodland Realm, she signaled for you to stay quiet, in the back, unnoticeable, and away from Prince Legolas. You heard him call her ‘Tauriel.’

And in the rush of it all, you lost Bilbo.

As soon as Tauriel had the chance, she broke from the group and whisked you away to a pantry near the kitchens, ordering you to stay put until she returned - which was not immediately.

You weren’t sure how much time passed when the door slowly cracked open and Tauriel stood, looking at you crouched on the floor.

“King Thranduil will kill you if he knows you were fighting alongside Dwarves.” She held a small lantern and pitcher in one hand, bread in the other.

You stood too fast, legs achy. “Thranduil has no authority over me. Besides, I am in love with their Hobbit companion,” you said.

She frowned and stared at you for a long time, as if you didn’t hear her the first time.

“King Thranduil will kill you for that as well.”

You did not fear Thranduil. If he hurt or detained you in any way, woe to him when Lord Elrond found out.

“Have you seen him?” you asked desperately. “My Ólon?”

Tauriel looked completely flabbergasted. “You call him this?”

You smiled, just thinking about your Halfling, knowing in your heart that he was unharmed.

“I have not yet told him what it means,” you answered.

“To be called that…one race to another…”

“No. One love to another.”

Tauriel looked into the dark corners of the pantry. Suddenly she caught herself losing focus and shook her head to your question.

Then she gave you the bread and water pitcher. After you ate she brought you to her private lavatory to freshen up.

“Why are you helping us?” you asked as you towel-dried your hair.

She looked at you, past you, into the lantern flame, and back into your eyes, the whole time taking note of your use of the word ‘us.’

“Because I finally see who is the real threat, and who could be…a friend.”

She brought you back to the pantry, returning later with more food, water, and a break to wash up, but still no news of Bilbo.

Something Good

You were reunited with Bilbo in Lake-town - once again, surprising him when you showed up at the bowman’s door.

Once again, you explained how you hid - this time by donning the Silvan Elves’ armor given to you by your new captain friend and fighting Orcs down the river - and once again, questioned suspiciously by Thorin.

Once again, Bilbo called you a star. His star.

During any rare private moment from that point on, you both spoke of returning to his home in the Shire after this business was all over, gathering his most beloved books and things, and returning to Imladris with you. Thorin’s quest and Erebor’s gold and gems paled in comparison to that future treasure.

You begged to take Bilbo’s place as burglar, but he promised you he would  exit alive, because he had so much to live for.

“I love you, my Ólon,” you said, as he disappeared into the mountain.

Bilbo hadn’t asked what ‘Ólon’ meant since his first inquiry. He rather liked the mystery of it, and besides, coming from you, he knew it had to mean something good.

The Dream

As you ran with Bilbo, fighting off Orcs and creating as much of a protective circle around him as you could, you made two mistakes.

The first was separating a little too far from Bilbo after you urged him to warn Thorin about the Ravenhill trap.

And the second was turning your head to look for him.

That’s when the blood-drenched blade entered your chest and went clean through.

“Bilbo!” you screamed as you met the ground. Your voice echoed. There was no response. Blood gushed from your wound, and you stared at the sky, seeing night in the daylight.

The next sounds you heard came from two people over you, each reciting supplications in familiar and unfamiliar tongues as their outstretched hands radiated archaic powers of restoration. You tried to open your eyes, but everything about you felt heavy, including your lids.

“Not you, too.” It was Tauriel. She started to repeat the appeals but broke down halfway through them.

“Come on.” That was Mithrandir, sliding his hands beneath you and lifting you up. “Bilbo needs you.”

At hearing Bilbo’s name, you tried harder to open your eyes.

Mithrandir carried you to Ravenhill, hoping for the best: that friends were alive and foes were slain.

But Bilbo had just said his final goodbye to Thorin and was trying to regain his composure, so he could find you. He just knew you were OK; he’d never seen anyone fight so valiantly.

And then there you were. Gandalf stood on one of the few patches of earth not covered in ice and lowered you down, holding you until Bilbo ran over and sat by your side, cradling your head in his hands.

You were never so happy to see anyone in your life.

“Bilbo,” you asked, your voice hoarse, “is it time to go home?”

Bilbo kissed your forehead, the tears streaming down his face. “Yes, my shining star. It is.”

Reaching up, you wiped Bilbo’s face.

“My dream. My Ólon. That’s what you are.”

Bilbo quaked with a new wave of grief as he kissed your cold lips, holding your face in his hands.

“A dream and a star,” he sobbed, “doesn’t that sound wonderful, my love? Aren’t we just perfect together, you and I?”

You heard him. You felt him crumble by your side.

And then you saw the Shire, in all its beautiful greenery and rolling hills. There was friendliness in the air, much dancing and singing and laughing, into the night. The skies were alight with millions of white twinkling flame, one standing out brighter than the others. It shone on you as you helped Bilbo transport his books to an awaiting carriage. Reclining on the cushioned seat, you saw  it was only you on the carriage, waving goodbye to your tearful Halfling, your dream, and finally embarking on the journey home.

[averil-of-fairlea]

Those aren’t melons, Bilbo Baggins!

imagine || request || Words: 713 || Characters: Bilbo, Fem!reader || Genre: humor, (budding) romance || Setting: the marketplace in the Shire || Photo source: “Melon cantaloupe”. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons 

The fruits at the market stand are looking especially fresh, colorful and robust on this warm, sunny afternoon. You peruse every overflowing bin and basket, trying to decide on something besides the soup-and-muffin meals you usually prepare for yourself.

After purchasing a dozen oranges and four cantaloupes, you put them in your over-the-shoulder sack, liking the idea of creating a simple salad with different textures and tastes, but with flesh in the same color family.

Something light and sweet would be a nice change of pace, you think.

A smile spreads across your lips before you can stop it, and certainly before you completely figure out why it’s there. Then, serendipity lends you a helping hand: ‘light and sweet’ reminds you of Bilbo Baggins, who just so happens to be heading fast in your direction. His head is turned to the left as he finishes up a conversation with someone.

You’re fairly accustomed to not making eye-to-eye contact with Bilbo - at least not for very long. You both are too timid to do so, though you have enjoyed the limited amount of time you’ve spent together. After he returned from his adventure, he seemed a bit different - more reserved, maybe? You don’t know for sure.

But you do know that holding a lengthy gaze is just as difficult for you as it is for him.

You utter his name just a half second too late. For some reason, you just knew he’d face forward in time.

CRASH!

“Oh! Oh, my!” Bilbo bends down and begins scrambling on his hands and knees for the runaway oranges and melons, working in such a frenzy and seeming so flustered that he almost seems to be gathering the fruit blindly.

“It’s OK, Bilbo,” you assure him, joining him on the ground.  You hate to see him so worried over an accident. “This will still make a lovely salad. No harm done.”

In the process of trying to grab too many oranges at once, Bilbo accidentally knocks them into each other and they roll in different directions. You catch two of them and he feels around for the others.

“Must be some salad you’re making,” he says nervously, still not daring to look in your eyes as he continues collecting.

Suddenly he stops, kneading two rounded mounds in his right hand. “Might want to return these melons. They seem a bit too ripe.”

“Those aren’t melons, Bilbo Baggins!”

Bilbo finally looks up and gasps, his offending hand underneath both of your breasts, alternately balancing them, jiggling them, squeezing them.

“I, uh…I’m terribly…”

“Remove your hand at once!”

Bilbo snaps his hand back and examines it with awe, as if he has just touched lightning and can’t believe he lived. But he’s also full of remorse. Two accidents in less than two minutes? He is convinced you think he’s a total dolt.

“I am so, so sorry! Please forgive me!”

You snatch up the last of the fruit and plop them into your bag, then stand up. Bilbo does the same.

“You should be sorry, Mr. Baggins.”

“Truly, I am. I would never dream of disrespecting you, of touching you in that way…”

“…without my permission.”

“Yes! Exactly! Without your permission!”

Bilbo freezes again. He briefly looks at you, then side to side. Finally he wiggles his nose like a twitchy rabbit and forces himself to meet your smiling eyes.

“W-w-would I ever get your permission?” He practically whispers it.

“Not here at the market.”

Bilbo breaks out into a wide smile and chuckles nervously. “No, of course not.”

“But maybe, say, if we were to spend more time with each other, and if we found that we liked each other…”

“I do like you!” he exclaims, shocking himself with his honesty.

“I like you, too.” 

That’s it, it’s over! After all this time, after all the shyness and keeping your eyes on his shoulders when he spoke, the truth comes out. 

That wasn’t so bad at all. 

You adjust the bag on your shoulder, unable to stop yourself from beaming. “How about we go stargazing tonight, around 8:30 or so? We’ll make an evening picnic of it.”

Bilbo looks so delighted that he can’t close his mouth. His eyes shine and his entire face is bright.

“Sounds splendid! I’ll bring some bread and cheeses,” he offers.

“And I’ll bring the fruit salad.”  

“Very good,” Bilbo nods and you both turn to leave, going in opposite directions.

Suddenly Bilbo calls your name. He simply intends to wave goodbye and reiterate that he is looking forward to your picnic.

“I can’t wait to taste your melons!” Bilbo shouts, immediately realizing with a sorrowful groan that he’ll have to hobble home on one gigantic hairy foot, because the other one is stuck in his mouth.

[a-daydreaming-writer]

Hobbits & Whiskey: Part I

Imagine  |  Characters: Bilbo x Reader  |  Words: 1028  |  Part Two

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol 

From the very moment you had arrived at Bilbo Baggins’ home with the rest of your Company you had sensed something off about the hobbit. And you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was.

Was it because he would never look directly at you? Partly. Or was it that every time you spoke to him he seemed to ignore you? Well, that was just plain rude. No, what really puzzled you was the fact that every time you saw him he was either tripping over something or falling flat on his face.

Not that you could blame him. With feet as big as he had who wouldn’t trip so often? Though admittedly you had seen quite a few hobbits on the way out of the Shire and they seemed to be able to walk properly.

You had to wonder whether there was another reason for the hobbit’s clumsiness.

“Do us a favour and hand these out, lass,” Bofur said, handing you two wooden bowls filled with boiling soup.

You took them without hesitation and made your way around the clearing Thorin had chosen as your rest point for the night, handing out bowls to each dwarf. You had managed to complete a full circle before lastly reaching the hobbit.

With a bowl of soup held steadily in your grasp, you made your way towards Bilbo. Apparently, you made more noise than you thought in your determined stride, for the hobbit looked up immediately and jumped up from his seat.

“I have your supper, Bilbo,” you said, holding the bowl out tentatively towards him.

“O-oh! I- um, not that hungry-” Bilbo slurred, as he backed away from you.

You blinked, confused by his reaction.

“I- um, I go now,” he said. He tripped over violently as he stumbled away from you in the opposite direction.

“What in the name of Mahal...?” You mumbled.

This wasn’t the first time Bilbo had had such a reaction to you, and it was beginning to worry you the more it occurred. Had you done something wrong? Or said something offensive?

Still frowning and feeling slightly dejected, you sat on a log by Fili and Kili, deep in thought. 

“What’s biting you, lass?” Fili asked.

“Hobbit got your tongue?” Kili snickered.

Ignoring the youngest Prince’s comment, you sighed and turned to face them.

“Do I look... scary to either of you?” You asked.

The Prince’s stared, dumbfounded at you.

“Scary is not a word I would use to describe you,” Fili smirked, whilst Kili nodded in agreement. “Why d’you ask?”

“Well...” You looked around you to make sure no one was listening, “It’s... Bilbo.”

“Bilbo?”

“He acts so strangely all the time,” You said, barely containing your frustration. “He stutters and trips and constantly avoids me. Sometimes I feel like it’s because of me, but I have not once seen him act normal!”

There was a moment of silence, before Kili exploded with laughter, falling off the log he had been sitting on and rolling around on the ground clutching his stomach.

You rolled your eyes impatiently, waiting for him to calm down.

“I’m being serious, Kili!” You said, tersely, “I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

“You honestly don’t know why Bilbo acts that way in front of you?” Fili asked, eyes wide.

Kili sat up suddenly, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“You’re serious?”

“By Mahal-”

“You can’t think of any reason why Bilbo, a male, acts so flustered around you, a female?” Kili deadpanned.

You blinked and shook your head.

“You’re a lot less smarter than I thought you were, lass,” Kili smirked, “It’s so obvious he’s-”

“-Drunk,” Fili interrupted.

“Yes, drunk - wait, what?” Kili frowned. “Oh... yes, of course! He- he’s drunk on... whiskey!”

“Whiskey?” You repeated, disbelievingly, “But I thought hobbits weren’t fond of alcohol.”

“Well, this one is,” Fili said, sighing and shaking his head, “It’s an addiction, really. He needs proper help, the poor lad.”

“Aye... perhaps you could help him, lass!” Kili suggested, grinning broadly, “You know... show him the right way.”

You frowned and looked back to where Bilbo was sitting. It would explain alot... how he could never string a sentence together or walk properly.

“I think you’re right, boys,” You said, “He obviously needs help, and I suppose I could try.”

“Excellent!” Kili grinned, “Why not start now?”

“Now-?”

“Yes, now!” Fili said, “Not a moment to lose.”

They both gave you encouraging nudges in Bilbo’s direction.

“Um... Bilbo?” 

As you had expected, the hobbit sprung to his feet and began stuttering incoherently. 

“Bilbo, it’s okay,” You said soothingly, holding up your hands, “I’m here to help you.”

The hobbit stopped stuttering immediately and tilted his head.

“H-help me?”

You nodded and gestured for him to sit again. You took a seat beside him, noticing how his hands were shaking slightly.

Poor fellow, you thought.

“I know about... well, I understand your problem,” You said, smiling kindly. When he still looked confused, you continued gently, “Why you’re always stumbling near me, or can’t speak properly...”

His face immediately turned a bright shade of scarlet.

“Oh... I- well-”

“It’s okay,” You said, placing your hand gently over his. His hands immediately stopped shaking. “I just want you to know if you ever want to talk, I’m here for you.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. He looked from you to where your hands were touching in his lap and slowly smiled.

“Well... t-thank you,” He said, timidly.

You smiled brightly and stood up, an invigorated spring in your step. You caught Fili and Kili’s gazes and they grinned broadly and gave you the thumbs up.

Smiling to yourself, you walked over to your bed roll to settle down for the night, your heart feeling considerably lighter.

“You should not toy with the feelings of others, lads,” Balin said reproachfully to the Prince’s, as they sat giggling to themselves.

Fili shrugged, “It’s gonna be a long journey... might as well have some fun.”

Balin sighed and shook his head slightly. 

Well, they weren’t wrong, he thought, as he watched Bilbo smiling dreamily in your direction. This would certainly make for a more interesting journey.

[a-daydreaming-writer]

An Awkward Trip

Imagine  |  Characters: Bilbo x Reader  |  Words: 925

“Watch your left side, lass!” Dwalin huffed impatiently, lowering his axes.

“I am watching it!” You growled, wiping the sweat from your brow.

As the youngest member of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, your fellows wanted to be sure you could properly defend yourself over the journey. Unfortunately for you, this meant rigorous training sessions with Dwalin after each long day of travelling.

You would refuse outright because you knew very well you could take care of yourself. But Thorin had insisted, and you could not disobey your King. After all, he had let you join his quest with so little fighting experience.

“Do you want to end up on the end of some orc scum’s sword?” Dwalin asked, harshly. 

“Is that a trick question?” 

Dwalin narrowed his eyes warningly and you raised your hands in defeat.

“You should know your basic blocking techniques by now,” Dwalin said.

“I do know them, but it’s a little hard to practice them when your opponent is twice your size and strength,” You retorted.

“That’s not gonna stop an orc is it?” Dwalin growled in return.

“I think she’s doing quite well,” a small voice piped up.

Both you and Dwalin turned in surprise to the Company’s burglar sitting on a fallen log not far from where you were practising. For a moment, Bilbo looked like he was about to speak again, but under Dwalin’s menacing glare he quickly shut his mouth.

You fought hard not to blush at his sweetness. From the very beginning, you had been rather curious about the hobbit, having never seen someone of his race before. Fili and Kili taunted you endlessly about your so called ‘infatuation’ with Bilbo, though you would never admit it was more than just pure curiosity that drew you to him.

“Thank you, Bilbo,” You said, turning to look smugly at Dwalin.

The burly dwarf raised his eyebrows, looking from you and back to the hobbit again.

“You think so?” he asked Bilbo, “Why don’t you go ahead and train her then, ay?”

“W-what?” Bilbo spluttered.

“You obviously think you could do a better job,” Dwalin said. He scooped down to pick up a short thick branch to use as a practice knife. “Come on then.”

By now they had caught the attention of most of the Company. You could hear some quiet snickers and giggles behind you, and you would bet your life they belonged to Fili and Kili, the little shi-

“I- I didn’t mean to offend you, truly,” Bilbo said, shaking his head quickly, “I only meant-”

But Dwalin continued to hold the branch in Bilbo’s direction, staring him down in a stony silence.

Gulping, the hobbit rose to his feet and took the branch from Dwalin with slightly shaking hands. He didn’t look at you once, his face bright red.

You sighed impatiently, “Dwalin, this really isn’t necessary-”

“You were the one complaining about having too large an opponent, lass,” Dwalin interrupted, smartly, “Let’s see how you go now.” This time it was his turn to smirk smugly. You could have hit him.

You turned to see Bilbo staring at the branch in his hand, as though unsure of what it was he was holding.

“Um... you attack first,” You said, hoping your nerves of being so close to him wouldn’t affect your skills, “And I’ll practice blocking.”

“A-attack you?” Bilbo said, his mouth gaping. 

You looked at him pleadingly; you wanted this to be over as much as him.

He took in your wide eyes and his cheeks reddened even further. He steeled himself by taking a long breath and raising the branch weakly. Slowly and cautiously he began to move towards you, and you readied yourself to block his oncoming attack.

But just as he had gotten within two feet of you, one of the hobbit’s large feet became lodged beneath a rather large root that he had not noticed. The branch went flying from his grip as he stumbled forward, his hands grappling in front of him to find something that would ease his fall.

Unfortunately for you that something happened to be your chest.

One of Bilbo’s enclosed fists collided with your breast as he stumbled, causing you to leap away in shock.

The silence in the campsite was deafening. It seemed every member had seen Bilbo’s little trip. The hobbit had frozen mid-fall, his eyes widening as he realised what part of you he had hit.

“Did you just... punch her boob?” Kili gaped.

And just like that, the entire Company began roaring with laughter. Fili and Kili were rolling around on their backs, crying with mirth. Dwalin was hunched over from the force of his laughter. Even Thorin wasn’t able to suppress his small smirk.

As if on cue, your eyes met Bilbo’s timid ones, and you couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped you. The hobbit seemed to practically deflate in relief, for he too smiled sheepishly.

“I... well- I um, apologise for that,” he said, straightening up and scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

You nodded profusely and, with a small smirk gracing your lips, you peaked pointedly down your shirt. “That’ll definitely bruise.”

That sent Fili and Kili into a renewed fit of giggles.

For a split second, Bilbo looked worried you were serious, but you quickly fixed that by sending a large grin his way. His frown quickly turned to a sweet smile that sent your heart soaring.

Well, that was definitely something to check off your bucket list.