#the cloak and thorin i mean

[zevampirex]

Every duo be like : an ice cube on legs, and a volcano

[cowboybeepboop]

Magic

"Your hands are... quite magical, you know that?”

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut

Word count: 4.3k 

Summary: Modern reader falls for Thorin and captures his heart. 

Warnings: Soft thorin, unprotected sex, handjob, p in v sex

a/n: Idk I’ve been wanting to write smth like this for a while so hopefully it’s good. Let me know if you have any requests and I hope you enjoy. I’m also currently in school so I’m trying to write in my free time but it’s a difficult balance 😣💔

Gandalf had come across you lost and confused, wandering the trails of the earth. You remembered him, his face, from a movie you had seen in your world. “Gandalf?” You called out to him suspiciously. 

"Hm?" He looked around then spotted you. "Ah! A human! What are you doing out here all alone in the middle of the wilderness?"

“I don’t.. I don’t know?” You reply, stepping closer to him seeking the warmth of another body. 

Your stomach growled, you have been wandering for hours, maybe even days. Your clothes aren’t from this world and aren’t proper hiking attire. 

You adjust the skirt of your dress as you stop in front of him. “I’m not sure where I am..”

His bushy eyebrows furrow at your strange, out-of-place clothes, and a bemused look crossed his face. 

He took a step closer, noting your exhaustion and the state of your attire. "I can see that. You don't belong here, do you?"

Gandalf assessed your weary state and wrapped his large cloak around you gently, guiding you towards his horse. 

"You look exhausted," he murmured, concern in his eyes. "You can ride with me to Erebor. It is not far."

With a little help from him, you clambered onto the horse's back, settling between Gandalf and the horse's broad neck.

Gandalf led you through the winding paths towards Erebor, the mountain's towering presence growing larger and larger through the trees.

His horse carried you both steadily, and after some time, the grand entrance to the dwarven kingdom came into view. 

Gandalf dismounted first and helped you down from the horse before guiding you into the hall of the dwarven king.

King Thorin Oakenshield sat upon a throne carved from solid oak, a long, dark beard covering most of his broad chest. He regarded you with quiet curiosity as you and Gandalf approached.

"Gandalf," Thorin greeted. "You've returned. And with a strange companion?"

Thorin's gaze flicked between Gandalf and the strange human standing beside him. It was a woman, but not like any he had ever seen before. Her clothes were unlike anything from Middle Earth, and she appeared lost and dazed.

"Who is this?" Thorin demanded, his voice sharp and suspicious. "And where did you find her, Gandalf?"

You subconsciously hold the cloak closer to you, shifting under the scrutiny of the King.

Thorin's blue eyes, sharp and calculating, studied you closely. The way you clung to the cloak, the slight tremble in your hands, it all spoke of fear and uncertainty.

Gandalf stepped forward, gesturing to you. "King Thorin, this woman... she appears to be lost. I found her wandering in the wilderness, disoriented and bewildered."

“Y/N.” You say softly, “My name is Y/N.”

Thorin's eyebrows raised at the sound of your name. It rolled off your tongue softly, and he noted the gentleness in your voice. 

"Y/N," he repeated slowly, the pronunciation foreign on his tongue. He then turned to glare at Gandalf, his eyes narrowing with a hint of suspicion.

“I don’t mean to intrude..” you give the king an awkward smile. “But is there any food I might be allowed?” Your hand goes to your rumbling stomach, your expression a grimace.

Thorin's eyes softened as he heard your stomach grumble. He couldn't help but let out a small, gruff chuckle, amused by your honesty. 

"Starving, are you?" he asked, a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "We can't have that now, can we?" 

He then barked out a command, "Nori! Bring some food and drink for our new guest!"

You visibly relax, a small smile creeping up your lips. “Thank you.”

Thorin's stern demeanor softened slightly as he saw the relief on your face. "It's the least we can do," he replied gruffly.

Nori, a wiry, quick-fingered dwarf, came rushing into the room, carrying a tray of steaming food and a tankard of ale. He placed the tray on a table near you, a sly smile playing on his face. "Here you go, lass."

You reach out and give him a swift hug. “Thank you so much,” you grin widely as you take a seat, eyes sparkling.

Nori's cheeks flushed as he received an unexpected embrace from you. He chuckled and patted your back awkwardly. 

"No problem, lass. Just doing my job." He backed away, mumbling something under his breath about "soft humans" as he scurried out of the room.

Meanwhile, Thorin watched the exchange with a mix of surprise and fascination. He cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him.

Thorin observed you, watching silently as you took a small bite. His penetrating blue eyes studied your every move, his gaze unwavering. There was something about you that intrigued him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Finally, he broke the silence. "So, Y/N," he began, his voice deep and rumbling. "Can you tell me how you came to be lost in the wilderness?"

“Not really.” You chew eagerly, the cloak Gandalf gave you sliding down your shoulders slightly and exposing your skin to Thorin's gaze.

Thorin's eyes were drawn to the exposed skin of your shoulders as the cloak slipped down. A shiver ran down his spine at the sight of your bare flesh. He quickly schooled his reaction and returned his gaze to your face.

"What do you mean, not really?" he asked, his voice gruff, feigning indifference. "You must have some idea of how you ended up out there, lost and alone."

“I don’t..” you sigh, stopping your chewing as you look up at him. “I just remember falling asleep in my bed and then waking up in a cold dark forest.”

Thorin's brow furrowed at your response, confusion and concern etched on his face. "So... you just appeared out of nowhere?" he asked, his voice edged with skepticism. 

He took a step closer to you, eyeing the strange clothes you wore. "And what of your clothes? Those are unlike any I've ever seen."

“I was at a party,” you laugh, looking down at your revealing dress that is less than practical in this situation.

Thorin's gaze darkened as he took in the sight of your party attire, the low neckline and the bare length of your thighs on display. He swallowed heavily, his mind wandering to places he shouldn’t allow it to go. 

"A party, you say?" He repeated, his voice a little huskier than he had intended.

You nod, Thorin joins you at the table, encouraging you to eat as he continues to question you. 

A few weeks have passed since you arrived, you’ve become a little more versed in the world and palace. Having now met each of the many dwarves living in the palace.

As the weeks passed and you grew accustomed to the palace, he found himself seeking your company more and more.

The other dwarves had grown fond of you as well, especially Fili and Kili who teased you frequently and took every opportunity to make you laugh.

One evening, after a particularly long day, Thorin invited you to his private chambers once again. 

You carefully step toward his room, cautious and silent as to not wake anyone. You lightly tap on the heavy door, “Uh your highness?”

Thorin rose from his chair as he heard the soft tapping on the door. He took a moment to compose himself before calling out, his voice gravelly and deep, "Come in."

He stood by the fireplace, the amber glow of the flames dancing across his face as he waited for you to enter.

You struggle with the door, still not used to how heavy doors in this world are. “Fucking hell,” you murmur as you finally get it open, slipping inside and walking toward Thorin.

Thorin chuckled; he found your modern curses amusing and strangely endearing.

As you approached him by the fireplace, he took in your appearance. The low light of the fire illuminated your features, casting soft shadows across your face. He noted the way your gown clung to your curves, and his eyes darkened slightly as he fought to control his thoughts.

"Close the door," he commanded in a gruff voice, his gaze still fixed on you. 

The room was large and sparsely furnished, with only a few pieces of furniture placed throughout. The fireplace provided a warm, intimate setting, and Thorin gestured for you to take a seat on a nearby couch.

You close the door carefully, trying not to make too much noise. Having your back turned to the dwarf meant his gaze could wander your frame and each slight movement of your body. 

“Thorin,” you take a seat next to him. “Those doors are so damn heavy.”

As you settled down beside him, Thorin couldn’t help but notice the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. His eyes were drawn to the subtle movement of your body, the way the fabric of your gown clung to your curves.

He chuckled at your comment, a gruff sound that rumbled in his chest. "You'll get used to it," he said, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. "After all, you've been here for a few weeks now."

You’ve gotten used to being in his room as he’s been teaching you the history of his kingdom, but you’re never here this late in the evening. “Did you miss me?” You tease as you relax into the plush couch.

Thorin's lips curled into a small smile at your playful tone. He rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the hint of amusement in his gaze.

"Don't get too cocky," he grumbled, trying to appear aloof. "I just thought you might want to know more of our history, that's all."

But deep down, he had grown quite fond of your company. Perhaps a little too fond.

“Mm, do I have to learn?” You pout, tired from the day you’ve had. “Perhaps we can just relax..”

Thorin chuckled, his gruff exterior softening slightly at your pout. He knew you had been working hard and was pleasantly surprised by your suggestion to relax. 

"Hmm, you want to skip the history lesson tonight?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "And what would we do instead?"

“I could.. brush your hair! I could braid it.” You offer, not knowing the implications of your suggestion.

Thorin's eyes widened in surprise at your suggestion. He hadn't expected you to offer to brush his hair, let alone braid it. In dwarven culture, it was considered an intimate gesture, reserved for close family or lovers.

But he couldn’t deny that the idea of having you touch his hair was appealing. He found your presence soothing, and the thought of your fingers running through his hair was more enticing than he cared to admit.

"You... want to brush my hair?" he repeated, his voice gruff but tinged with a hint of curiosity. 

He shifted in his seat, watching you closely, his eyes darkened with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. He could hardly deny the effect your presence had on him, and the thought of you being so close, touching him in such an intimate way made his heart skip a beat.

“Why not?” You grin while scooting slightly closer to him. “It would be nice..”

Thorin's breath hitched as you scooted closer to him, and he found himself strangely compelled by the thought of having your hands in his hair. Despite his usual gruff and stoic demeanor, the idea of allowing you to brush and braid his hair felt oddly vulnerable.

He cleared his throat, trying to suppress his growing desire. "All right then," he grumbled, his voice betraying a hint of excitement. "You can brush my hair."

You grin, taking the brush from the table in your hands. “This is quite exciting.” You murmur, your hands on his shoulders as you kneel behind him.

Thorin felt the warmth of your hands on his shoulders as you knelt behind him, and a shiver ran down his spine. He closed his eyes, trying to compose himself as he felt your breath on the back of his neck.

"Exciting, you say?" he murmured, his voice low and gruff. "I never thought having my hair brushed would be so thrilling."

“I’ve been wanting to touch your hair for ages,” you softly undo the braids from his hair, your fingers nimbly gliding through. “It looks so soft.”

The honesty and softness in your voice sent a rush of warmth through his chest.

He swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper, "It’s not as soft as yours, I assure you."

The feeling of your fingers gliding through his hair was both soothing and arousing, sending tingles down his spine. He closed his eyes, relishing the sensation of your gentle touch.

You carefully brush through his locks, your fingers brushing against his back as you do so. 

Thorin's breath hitched slightly as your fingers trailed against his back, sending a ripple of heat through him. It took all his self-control not to lean into your touch, to feel more of your hands on his skin.

"You... have nimble fingers," he mumbled, his voice gruff and a touch huskier than usual.

“I take that, that is a compliment?” You murmur with a soft giggle as you begin to massage his scalp, the action is something your mom used to do to help you relax.

Thorin let out a low, rumbling sound of contentment as you began to massage his scalp, the tension in his muscles melting away under your touch.

He hummed in response to your question. "A compliment indeed," he murmured, his eyes closing as he leaned into your fingers. "You have a gentle touch. It's... soothing."

“Well, thank you.” Your nails gently scratch against his skin. The pads of your fingertips working at his scalp.

Thorin couldn’t help but moan softly at the pleasure of your touch, the soft scratching of your fingernails sending shocks of desire coursing through him.

He shifted slightly in his seat, trying to regain some control over his growing need. His body was on fire, every inch of him aching for more of your touch. 

"Keep that up, and you'll put me to sleep," he teased gruffly, his voice rough with suppressed desire.

“Maybe I’d like to lull you to sleep.” You tease, you adjust yourself, sitting down against the arm of the couch. “Just relax, you can lean against me.” Your legs spread, resting on either side of his body.

Thorin’s mind raced as you adjusted your position, the thought of leaning his weight against your soft body was both thrilling and terrifying. He could practically feel your thighs against his sides, and the thought was both enticing and tortuous.

But he couldn’t deny the aching need in him to give into the temptation of your offer. Without a word, he leaned back against you, his head resting on your chest as he allowed himself to relax into your embrace.

“Are you comfortable like this?” You question, fingers still working in his hair.

Thorin let out a low, rumbling hum of contentment as he leaned against you, the feeling of your fingers in his hair sending waves of pleasure through his body. 

He nodded, his voice gruff and slightly sleepy. "Yes, quite comfortable," he mumbled, his eyes closed as he savored the sensation of being so close to you. "Your hands are... quite magical, you know that?”

“They’re good for other things too…” you reply in a suggestive tone.

Thorin's eyes snapped open at your suggestive tone, his body tensing at the implication. He swallowed heavily, his mind immediately filled with vivid images of all the “other things” he wished your hands could do to him.

He cleared his throat, his voice rough and strangled. "Is that so?" he managed to reply, his eyes dark with a mixture of surprise and desire.

“Mhm,” you trail one hand down his chest. “I’ve been told that I’m quite skilled with my hands.” You bite down on your lower lip.

Thorin's heart pounded in his chest as you trailed your hand down his chest, the simple touch sending a wave of heat through his body. He swallowed heavily, the sight of you biting your lip sending his thoughts spiraling out of control.

He couldn’t deny that the thought of your skills with your hands aroused him deeply, but he fought to keep his desire in check.

"Are you now?" he managed to reply, his voice thick with suppressed need. "And who exactly has told you this?"

“They’re not important right now,” you mutter, “my focus is on you, love..” you slide your hand under his shirt, fingers brushing over his muscles.

Thorin's breath hitched at the feeling of your hand under his shirt, your touch igniting a fire in him that he could barely control. The way you referred to him as ‘love’ made his heart clench.

He let out a low, guttural sound as your fingers grazed over his muscles. Your touch was both soothing and arousing, and he found himself leaning into your hand, craving more of your touch.

"You're making it very hard to think straight," he whispered huskily.

“Mm, you’re very handsome my King.” You press a kiss to his temple, your other hand moving from his hair to his chest.

Thorin's eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of your kiss on his temple, his heart hammering in his chest at the simple yet intimate gesture.

"You... you have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. The feeling of your other hand on his chest made his muscles tense under your touch, his breath catching in his throat.

“Let me take care of you..” You move from behind him, your breasts pressing against his back as you move your hand to his trousers.

The feeling of your breasts pressing against his back sent a jolt of pleasure through Thorin’s body, and he let out a strangled gasp. He could feel the heat of you against him, and it was both tantalizing and torturous.

He swallowed heavily, his voice a hoarse whisper as he tried to fight the overwhelming desire coursing through him. "Take... take care of me?" he repeated, his eyes dark with need.

You kiss his neck as you slip your hand into his pants, fingers grazing over his hardness.

Thorin’s breath hitched as your lips brushed against his neck, followed by the feeling of your hand slipping into his pants. His body trembled with need as your fingers grazed over his hardness, and he let out a guttural moan, his head falling back against your shoulder.

"You’re... you’re driving me mad," he managed to gasp out.

“Relax. I’ll take care of you,” you whisper into his ear, your hand grasping his length.

Thorin's body tensed as your hand grasped him, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips at the sensation. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt such pleasure, and the feeling of your breath on his ear sent a shiver down his spine.

He forced himself to relax, his head falling back against your shoulder as he surrendered to your touch. "Please... yes, take care of me," he whispered, his voice hoarse with need.

You comply, your thumb brushing over his tip and spreading his precum. He pulls his trousers down, exposing himself to the cool air, your hand moves around him.

You begin to stroke him gently, your hand moving with a rhythm that you've learned from his reactions. Each stroke causes his breath to hitch, each touch of your thumb sends a jolt of pleasure through his body. "Is this what you want?" You whisper, your voice a seductive purr in his ear.

Thorin's eyes squeezed shut as he nodded, his body reacting instinctively to the exquisite pleasure you were giving him. His chest heaved with each breath, his heart racing faster with every stroke. "Yes," he managed to murmur, his voice a rough growl of need. 

You lean in closer, your breath hot against his skin as you whisper sweet nothings that only served to heighten his arousal. Each word was a caress, each sound a stroke of pleasure that painted images in his mind of what was to come.

Your hand grew bolder, your strokes more deliberate as you felt his cock swell and throb in your grasp. You knew you had him right where you wanted him, and the power of it thrilled you. 

"Y/N..." he gasped out your name, his body begging for more. He was lost in the sensation, the world outside of the warmth of your embrace and the feel of your hand on him ceased to exist. 

Thorin's hand reached up to clutch the fabric of your gown, his fingers digging into the material as he fought the urge to pull you closer, to feel more of you.

Your touch grew more insistent, your hand moving faster as you felt him growing closer to release. His muscles tensed, and you knew he was close. 

"I... I need you," he whispered, his voice strained with desire. "I need all of you."

With those words, the last of his self-control snapped, and he turned to face you, his eyes burning with passion as he pulled you into a bruising kiss.

As Thorin claimed your lips in a fiery kiss, his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you onto his lap. The heat of your body pressed against his, and his hands began to roam, exploring the soft curves hidden beneath your gown. 

His fingers traced the lines of your corset, desperate to feel more of your skin. Your own hands moved to his broad chest, exploring the firm muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. Each touch, each kiss grew more feverish as you both gave in to the passion that had been simmering between you for weeks. 

Your breaths mingled, gasps and moans filling the air as the intensity of your connection grew. The fireplace cast flickering shadows on the wall, dancing in time with the rhythm of your bodies. His hands found your breasts, cupping them gently before moving to untie the corset strings.

 As the fabric fell away, revealing your naked chest, Thorin couldn’t help but worship them with his mouth, his tongue flicking over your sensitive nipples, making you arch into his touch with a whimper of pleasure. 

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you rocked your hips against him, feeling his hardness beneath you, begging for more. The room grew hazy with desire as you both lost yourself in the moment, the world outside forgotten in the face of the passion consuming you.

Feeling the warmth of your skin and the weight of your breasts in his hands, Thorin's desire grew more insistent, his cock straining against your stomach. He broke the kiss, panting heavily as he looked into your eyes, searching for permission to take this further. 

Your eyes met his, dark with want, and you nodded, your hands sliding down to his hips to guide his cock against your wet, eager pussy. He groaned as the head of his cock teased your entrance, the sensation sending a shock of pleasure through his body. 

With a gentle rock of your hips, you encouraged him, and he pushed forward, sheathing himself inside you with a deep, guttural moan. You gasped as he filled you completely, the sensation of him inside you like nothing you had ever felt before. 

The room spun as he began to thrust, the sound of your mingled cries and the crackling of the fire the only noises in the vast space. Each stroke was met with a whimper of pleasure from you, your body moving in perfect harmony with his, your hips rising to meet each powerful thrust. 

The intensity grew, your breaths becoming more ragged, your movements more erratic as the pleasure built within you. Thorin’s hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding your movements, pushing deeper and faster as he chased his own release. 

Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving marks that would surely be visible tomorrow, but neither of you cared. The only thing that mattered was the overwhelming ecstasy that crashed over you both, leaving you gasping for breath and clinging to each other as the world outside the warm cocoon of his chambers faded away into insignificance.

You moaned into Thorin's mouth, feeling his cock pulse and swell as he claimed your body, the intensity of his thrusts increasing. His beard brushed against your cheeks, adding an extra layer of sensation to the already overwhelming experience. 

Your own hips met his rhythm, desperately seeking the peak of pleasure that was just out of reach. Your breaths grew quicker and shallower, your heart hammering in your chest as the pressure builds between your legs. 

Thorin's hands slid down to grasp your ass, lifting you slightly to change the angle, and the new sensation sent you spiraling over the edge. You cried out as your orgasm washed over you, your inner walls clenching around his cock, milking him for all he was worth. 

The dwarf king growled in response, his own release following closely behind, his warm seed filling you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. For a moment, you remained like that, panting and trembling in each other's arms, the only sound in the room the crackling of the fire.

Then, slowly, he pulled back, his gaze searching yours, a mix of passion, vulnerability, and something deeper that neither of you dared to name. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip, and whispered, "I never knew... I never knew it could be like this."

[rivendell-poet]

Hihi! Can I please have headcanons with the fellowship and Thorin's company having a short (like 5 feet) human s/o. And they be part of the fellowship/company, please? Please take as much time as you need!💕

Hello again! Here's your fill for thorin's company and a short reader. Again, the height isn't specified - but I used 4'9" and 5'0" respectively on height comparison charts. Last one was platonic, this one is definitely romantic - hope you enjoy!

*･༓˚✧❝𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « headcanons »

○ Thorin ○ Fíli ○ Kíli ○ Dwalin ○ Bofur ○ Bilbo ○

GN!Reader | No TWs | Wordcount : 1k

𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧

✧ He’s unusually tall for a dwarf, so is actually around your height. It’s a pleasant surprise for him and you don’t miss the satisfied grin on his face as he realises it.

✧ Doesn’t believe height should have to be a huge factor in most things, but doesn’t deny it’s nice to have the human he’s in charge of not be incredibly taller than him.

✧ It also means that when he gives you his cloak, something in him hated your shivering, it actually fits very well.

✧ Teasingly asks why you look surprised as you realise it’s not very small on you.

✧ Very relieved that he can give you proper dwarvish steel and armour, even when you aren’t sure you’ll find a set.

✧ Drags you into Erebor’s armoury to make sure there’s something for you, and there’s a second of silence as he checks your measurements. You both hope the blush on your faces isn’t too obvious.

✧ Thorin is also grateful you’re not much taller than him, because it makes it that much easier to dip you.

✧ And he can give you a quick kiss without needing to ask you to bend down.

𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐢

✧ You’re still taller than him, but not by an uncomfortable amount. And he’s completely fine with that.

✧ He still greets you with the same bow he greets Bilbo with, except this time there’s a wink.

✧ Doesn’t particularly care that you’re human and not a dwarrowdam - he can still love you just as well.

✧ It also means when he gives you one of his knives it still fits perfectly in your hands. Which means that, when he can make you a knife, he only has to worry about making it worthy of you and not about proportions.

✧ Sometimes tries to braid your hair standing up, if he’s got nothing better to do, but often asks you to sit down so he can do something more elaborate.

✧ (Is secretly sad that he can’t give you surprise kisses if you’re not already bending down.)

✧ Very excited to show you the jewellery still in the mountain.

✧ Both because he thinks it looks beautiful, and because you have a bet the majority won’t fit you.

𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐢

✧ Is the one who gets teased the most, out of the company. He’s also the one who’s most obviously in love with you.

✧ Kíli is almost late to his bow when he first sees you, instead staring for a bit too long before hurrying to dip down alongside his brother.

✧ Also the dwarf who most easily puts away his pride when he asks you to kiss him. You have to dip slightly, but in the second you do his eyes completely light up as you close the gap.

✧ Still big on hand-holding, even though he needs to have his arm slightly up for you.

✧ Really enjoys you braiding his hair, finds it very relaxing and almost completely leans into you when you do it.

✧ Is also happy to braid your hair, although that requires a little less spontaneity and a place for the two of you to sit together.

✧ Has a specific tug on your hand he uses to signal that he wants a kiss. It’s adorable, and also very obvious because he always starts blushing.

𝐃𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧

✧ If anyone is going to be taller than you, it’ll be Dwalin.

✧ Although he’s very grateful that he’s not massively taller than you - that at most it’s an inch or two. Because otherwise he’d be missing out on so many of his favourite things.

✧ He’d be missing out on seeing your smile so clearly, he’d be missing out on looking easily into your eyes as he says he loves you, he’d be missing out on easily being able to kiss you. The list goes on.

✧ Dwalin is one of the least obvious with his affections to you, but to almost everyone else in the company he’s obviously smitted.

✧ Makes a conscious effort to be gentle around you, although you reassure him he doesn’t have to be.

✧ You like his height because it makes it much less awkward for him to pick you up off your feet and twirl you.

✧ (But he’s probably strong enough to do that even if you’re a lot taller.)

𝐁𝐨𝐟𝐮𝐫

✧ An inside joke between the two of you is that, with the hat, you’re the same height. Of course this isn’t actually true unless he’s wearing a top hat.

✧ Which he does get, after Erebor is reclaimed. It’s just tall enough - and perfectly fitted - although depending on the height difference it does start to look comically tall.

✧ Doesn’t mind the height difference at all, it doesn’t stop him from admiring you.

✧ It does, however, make him leave a lot more ‘mess’ around his workspace in the form of wooden blocks.

✧ He can then easily kiss you when on them (although denies it if asked by anyone but you).

✧ Just tall enough to be able to dip you - and is very happy about this fact.

✧ Also grateful you're not much taller, because it means the toys he sometimes makes can still fit easily in your hands and he doesn’t have to adjust them.

✧ (He certainly would adjust them for you, however.)

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐛𝐨

✧ Largest height difference of any characters here. Would not let that stop him in any way.

✧ Except perhaps a little frown at the fact it’s harder for him to kiss you whenever he wants.

✧ However, he’s completely fine with walking up to you when you’re not busy and doing puppy-dog eyes.

✧ “Can I have a kiss, my love?”

✧ Is sad about the fact he can’t dip you. Doesn’t know how to feel about the fact you can - and do - dip him.

✧ He enjoys it overall, he can actually initiate the kisses. (And is ok with being gently moved around, in the appropriate context.)

✧ Winces the first few times you come into his house and he sees you almost hit your head on the beams. Covers a lot of the ceiling in fabric and pushpins until he can get a more permanent solution.

✧ Hides behind you when there’s a mild conflict. But goes in front of you to protect you if there’s ever any actual danger.

A/N : Hope you enjoyed! I also have one for lord of the rings - although it's a lot more platonic - and it can be found here. Thanks again for requesting <3

thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @celestialhole / @starwars2222 / @withasideofmeg / @nilintakan / @recordofragnarokfan2 / @ferns-fics / @fleurdemiel-145 ��� wish to be tagged?

[retellingthehobbit]

The biggest “fix-it fic” thing I’ve done in this comic is allow Bilbo to have his own Special Hooded Cloak while going on the Adventure— while in the original book he forgets to bring one and needs to borrow one from the dwarves. I changed it because that element of the book is too sad. You mean the hobbit that canonically has “whole rooms devoted to clothes” doesn’t get to pick a Quest Outfit? He can’t fling on his special gay little cape as he’s running out the door? Too tragic. Saddest thing that’s ever happened. Absolutely gotta change it for my mental health.

Thorin will absolutely still die tho

[freebee303]

I keep thinking about the tusks that Dain wears in his beard, and ik he rides a hog but he’s also one of Durins Folk, I like to head canon that Dain was an Ereborian Prince that was married to the Crown Princess of the Iron Hills.

Ik this isn’t lore accurate but idc I digress.

Imagine Dain and his wife Frera. Queen of the Iron Hills with King Consort Lord Dain at her side.

Imagine Dain with his ginger greyish hair, Erebor blue eyes and the tattoos on his forehead, the cuffs and beads in his hair and his scar wearing heavy cloaks and jewellery too.

Then him next to his wife, the Queen with dark skin, dreadlocks and beard braids weaved with metal and gems, furs and royal reds to contrast the Erebor blues, her piercing red eyes and tattoos and paint on her skin, piercings and most of all.

Hogs are Iron Hills steeds, Rams we’re Erebor’s.

Dain wears golden Hog Tusks in his beard. Frera wears Rams Horns adorned in silver in her hair.

Tehe this is going to be fun.

(I also like it cause it makes sense why he was called Lord Dain and not King Dain, also the fact that he ruled over Erebor while he still had the Iron Hills that he was responsible for)

Imagine Dain and Bimbo I mean BeeBoo I mean Bilbo getting along over dinner and Frera and Thorin are watching them because they totally have a thing for dressing their consorts up in jewels, silks and furs.

[nocturnalnella]

“The Weight Between Us”

Pairing : Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader.

Warnings : None. Only…their first kiss 💋

~ Chapter 4 ~

Laketown was asleep, but your blood was awake.

The fog coiled low over the dark waters, veiling the shivering stilts beneath the wooden houses. You stood at the narrow window of your room, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, staring out into the thick mist that blurred the stars. It was cold. Damp. Silent.

Tomorrow, you would march toward the mountain. Toward the dragon. And all you could think about was him…Thorin.

The argument still echoed in your bones, sharp and breathless. He had been livid — eyes flashing like stormlight, voice taut with fury. But underneath it all, something else had burned. Something hotter. Darker. Hungrier. You hadn’t spoken since.

Your feet moved before your mind caught up, each step a quiet protest against the creaking floorboards. You didn’t even know where you were going — until you turned a corner and saw him.

Leaning against the railing of the outside walkway, cloak barely shielding him from the cold. His hair was tousled by the wind, strands curling at his neck, glinting darkly in the lantern-light. The tension in his shoulders was carved in stone. And yet… his gaze was on the water.

“Can’t sleep either?” you asked, voice soft and low. He didn’t turn to look at you, but his shoulders lifted slightly. “No.”

You hesitated, then stepped out beside him, fingers curling around the railing, the chill of the wood biting into your skin. Silence stretched between you — heavy, loaded, laced with too many things unsaid. The lake lapped softly below.

You turned to him slowly, your voice barely a whisper. “Is it the mountain… or something else?”

His jaw tensed. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then: “Both.”

You watched him, how the wind tugged gently at the edges of his cloak, how his eyes flicked toward you and then away. His hands were braced against the rail, knuckles pale with restraint. “About the other night…” you began.

“No,” he said, sharply, and then sighed — a sound dragged from somewhere deep inside. “Don’t. If you speak of it, I may not be able to forget it.”

Your heart twisted. “You want to forget it?”

His gaze turned on you then — fully, directly. And it stole the air from your lungs.

There was something in his eyes you’d only ever glimpsed before — something raw, and open, and devastating. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t hatred. It was worse. Desire. Frustrated, starving desire.

“I have to,” he said hoarsely. “Because if I don’t, I’ll—” He cut himself off. Shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes,” you whispered. “It does.”

The wind curled between you, tugging at your hair. Your hand was inches from his on the railing. You could feel the heat of him, the tension in his body vibrating through the night.

And when you turned your hand, brushing the backs of your fingers against his, you felt it — the way he froze. The way his breath hitched.

“I can’t stop thinking about it either,” you said quietly. His gaze dropped to your lips.

And then, slowly, like he didn’t mean to but couldn’t stop himself, his fingers turned beneath yours — his callused palm pressing to your hand.

The contact was so small. So simple. But it felt like setting a match to dry kindling. His hand curled around yours — not tenderly, but tightly, as if he was anchoring himself. You stepped closer. You couldn’t help it. It was magnetic, this thing between you — this unbearable gravity. Your bodies didn’t touch. Not yet. But the space between you shimmered with heat.

“I shouldn’t,” he said, voice strained. “But I would give anything to touch you right now.” The words hit you like lightning.

You moved without thinking, stepping into him, into his heat, into the steady thunder of his pulse. Your chest barely brushed his. Your head tilted up. He was taller, broader, and every inch of him was carved from tension. His hand slid up, hovering — trembling — just above your jaw.

“Then touch me,” you breathed.

His fingers found your face. The first contact was like flame. He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your skin with reverence and hunger and desperation all at once. You leaned into it. His other hand found your waist — gripping, grounding, holding you like he’d fall apart if he didn’t. Your hands fisted in the front of his tunic. And then his mouth was on yours. It was slow. Painfully, achingly slow.

His lips moved against yours like he wanted to savor it — like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the taste of your breath. The kiss deepened in degrees, each moment adding heat, until your knees went weak and your breath stuttered in your throat. He kissed you like he was starving. You moaned softly, and that was the moment he broke.

His grip on you tightened, dragging you flush against him, his mouth opening over yours in a kiss that left you dizzy. It was heat and desperation and the soft, shattered sound of his breath pouring into yours.

His hand slid into your hair, tilting your head, deepening the kiss until you gasped.

Your back hit the wall — you didn’t even know when he’d walked you there. His hips pressed into yours, his thigh slotting between your legs, and still he kissed you like it wasn’t enough. Like he needed more.

Your hands slipped under his cloak, grasping at the tunic beneath, clutching the heat of his body. He made a sound — half-groan, half-growl — and broke the kiss only to breathe against your lips. “I told myself I wouldn’t,” he rasped. You were trembling. “Then don’t stop.”

He exhaled sharply. His forehead dropped to yours. His hands gripped your waist like he was fighting himself. “If I don’t stop,” he whispered, “I won’t stop.”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling, lips still tingling. His eyes — dark, wild, full of everything he couldn’t say — burned into yours.

He kissed you again. Once. Deep and slow and lingering. Then he pulled back. And the ache of that loss felt worse than fire. You stayed there, hearts racing, faces close, breath mingling. But he didn’t touch you again. And neither of you spoke.

Because you both knew — if you did, you would fall. And you weren’t ready to survive the landing.

[bitkahuna]

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but it won’t work.” He wanted to be firm, but he wasn’t sure he has the strength he needed. Fighting was hard. Weakness was easy.

Thranduil smiled, a soft curve of his lips that did not reach his eyes but still managed to seem sincere. "Oh, but Master Baggins, I am merely expressing my admiration. There is no artifice here." He leaned closer, the scent of pine and age-old wisdom enveloping Bilbo like a cloak. “You see, Master Baggins, in you, I see what so many of us have lost over the endless years: passion for life. A genuine joy. Appreciation of those little and quiet moments. I find you compelling.”

Bilbo’s breathing picked up. This was a mistake. A horrible mistake. While the dwarves could give him everything he never knew he wanted, there was something horrifyingly familiar in this moment. It was the romance and seduction Bilbo had always read about. Always dreamed of. The tender words and blurry mornings that led to messy beds. Yavanna help him, he didn’t want to say no. More than anything, he wanted to allow himself this. It was so perfect. So real. He could reach out and touch it. It could touch him. But a single touch, he knew, would end him.

“The words you speak to me, I’ve only ever read.” His heart lurched as he fought to keep it within his chest. Would he really choose this? Would he choose impending violence and a cold mountain over the warmth of this bright morning?

He could bargain, no doubt. Offer his body, his mind, his soul, his spirit, one or all to the elf king in exchange for his friends’ release. Tell them the bargain required him to stay behind and wish them well. Forget it all. Stay here. Lay back in the comfy haze and let the king do as he pleased.

“Which is precisely why I cannot let this continue.”

Rather than offense, more than anything, the king was curious.

“This is everything a hobbit could ever dream of. And I do not doubt that I intrigue you in the way you say. But just because I look a young fool does not mean I am one.” He shook his head. “This isn’t real. You want what you’ve lost because you cannot accept what you have. I would never be that for you, because I do not hate you enough to trap you in your past.” Bilbo stood in rejection of the sun.

———

The chambers were silent. Every hobbit in each room was sat before Bilbo, bated breath, as one of their own rejected an elf king.

“How could you?” Someone whispered, horrified.

Bilbo tried to smile, but it was flat. Tears threatened his eyes. His heart swelled. All he could think of was Thorin’s face in the moonlight. “I cannot explain.”

Bilbo would sit there, lost. Wondering. He could have had it all. He could have had so much. Yet that stinking dwarf in the dungeon, with his promise of a dragon's fire and a vague notion of a crown, kept him rooted in the ground in such a way that the sunlight’s haze would never have been able to take him. He was the cool glow of the moon.

Something weighed deep in Bilbo, and he took another sip of alcohol flavored with raspberries.

Was he mourning?

What did he mourn?

Why did he ache to think of Thorin when the man was only down the hall, perfectly safe and happy to be with him?

Or was it the end that never was? The haunting possibility that Bilbo could have made the wrong choice. He could have chosen to stay, and lost the dwarf forever. It was that very thought, he realized, that made him mourn for some version of himself that couldn’t have what he did now.

But the tears didn’t fall from his eyes until they landed on Mirabella Brandybuck. A spry and wise woman of nearly seventy, still appearing as in her late-middle age, as all elder hobbits do. She looked beautiful and radiant. But there was a sadness in her eyes. A knowing.

She lost her dwarf decades ago. Bilbo had his.

In that moment of brief eye contact, they both knew.

He sat by her, and she took his hands in her own.

“You know, Bilbo. I see the way that dwarf king eyes you.” She muttered, wanting to keep this between themselves. “I understand the choices you made.”

His lower lip trembled at the deep sadness within her voice.

“I had my own husband, my own children.” She trailed off as she fought back her shame. “And I did love him. My husband was a dear man, and he will always be in my heart.” She covered her reddening face with one fist, not wanting to show her sadness. Her hate. Her mourning. Was she truly allowed to love another man after her husband passed? They were only gifted ten years together before he passed in Fell Winter, and she was left with a small horde of cold fauntlings. “My children are my truest love.” She nodded firmly, calming herself despite the way her heart sank in its disgrace. “But I fear I’ve fallen in love with a ghost.” She shook her head. “He’s likely passed on as well.”

“Do you regret not chasing him?”

“No. Never.” She didn’t hesitate even a moment. “The children I had with Gorbadoc Brandybuck are the greatest joy I have ever known. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” Mirabella let a small smile come about her. “But, that charming dwarf.” Her eyes closed a moment, letting the tears fall so she could quickly wipe them away. “He may always haunt me as the greatest what-if of my life. I only hope I was able to haunt him the same.”

And so it was that they would both mourn for things that never were.

———

It was literally supposed to be a funny chapter about Bilbo telling the other hobbits about how Thranduil had hit on him to get him to admit why the dwarves were passing through Mirkwood but I wrote something else instead.

[maemae2998]

Chapter 4: Braids and…Bunnies?

Here you go! This chapter is pure fluff with several more planned . Crossed posted on my AO3 and with @practitionerofmischief

“Just say it, lass. I swear it isn’t anything bad this time,” Bofur laughed as you threw another acorn at him.

“That is what you said last time and had me unknowingly curse poor Dori!” While Thorin had Fili and Kili up with him towards the front of the group, a few of the younger dwarfs had opted to teach you a few new words in Khuzdul.

“I’ll vouch for him,” Ori called. “Ziriz khî is nothing bad.”

“Fine,” you sighed playfully, “ziris khi?”

Bofur and Ori cheered. “That was mighty close. Ziriz khî,” he corrected.

“Ziriz khî,” you said slowly, but correctly this time. “So what does that mean?”

“Golden one,” Kili answered as he and his pony fell back to you and yours. “A term of endearment for many, but particularly effective if they in question happen to be blonde.” He sent a pointed look towards Bofur.

“Golden one,” you whispered, liking the feel of the words on your tongue. You look around for Fili before finding him still talking with Thorin. You huff a breath out through your nose before turning back to the conversation. Kili sends you a questioning look, but is soon brought into the conversation as well.

Suddenly, the rest of the party stopped as they heard something approaching through the trees. Everyone drew their weapons and turned their ponies to face outward. The air was tense for a moment before a sled broke through the underbrush. A sled pulled by… bunnies? No, rabbits!

“Uncle Radagast!” you cry as you lower your bow and hop off of your pony to greet him with a large hug. The rest of the company, bar Gandalf, are bewildered. “What are you doing here? We are still a long ways from the Greenwood. Oh, hello rabbits!” The rabbits all hop up to you for attention and scritches, momentarily distracting you.

“Did they say uncle again?” Dwalin grumbled exasperated as everyone lowered their weapons.

Bofur huffs, “How many magic relatives could ya have, lass?”

“Well,” You stand holding one of the rabbits carefully in your arms, “I suppose only these two since they’re the only wizards who will claim me. Saruman still calls me the little woodland mutt

when he thinks I can’t hear.” You chuckle, showing that it doesn't hurt to hear, Saruman just dislikes most things by nature. You miss Kili and Fili’s matching growls and glares of distaste toward someone calling you such things.

Radagast looks like a cornered creature, his eyes darting side to side and watching the trees as though they were watching him first and his hands fidgeting like mad. “Uncle,” you call gently as you take his hands in yours, “What is wrong? What has happened?”

“D-dol- gul the woods, there is something- something wicked-” he stammers. Gandalf offers him a puff from his pipe and Radagast calms down. “There is something dark growing in the Greenwood,” he whispers.

Gandalf and you share a perplexed look. “Something…dark?”

“There are forces gathering at,” he looks around and pulls the two of you closer, “Dol Guldor.”

“The abandoned fortress?” You ask. “No one has gathered there in ages. It has been so safe I have ventured into it before.” You realise your mistake in admitting that as they both send you disapproving looks.

“Dark forces are at work there. The workings of a,” he pauses, “a necromancer.”

You hear the rest of the company make a small camp for lunch behind you as you stand shocked. “Necromancy isn’t real.” You look between Radagast and Gandalf. “You told me there was no such thing as true necromancy!”

“Because there isn’t, child,” Gandalf exclaims. “Radagast, you must have heard wrong.”

“That is what I thought at first too.” Radagast pulls something wrapped in cloth out from his cloak. “Until I found this pointed at my throat.” Gandalf undoes the binding at the top of the cloth and reveals an odd looking sword.

“I’ve never seen-” you start. Gandalf’s hand comes to rest on your shoulder.

“Go help the others dear,” he interrupts.

“No,” you insist, looking between the two of them though they will not meet your eyes, “I am not a child anymore. If something is wrong with my home I wish to know!”

Rumbling, deep and low, comes from the trees just above the company. “What is that? Wolves? Are there wolves?” Bilbo asks as the others draw their weapons.

“Those are no wolves,” Bofur responds as a warg descends upon the camp. It is quickly taken down by one of Kili’s arrows and a swift blow to the back of the head from Dwalin, but others can be heard not far behind.

“Who besides your kin did you tell of your quest Thorin?” Gandalf asks.

“No one.” The dwarves begin loading up what little they unpacked and look for the ponies.

“Who did you tell?!”

“No one! I swear it.”

“Well, it would appear you are being hunted. Get the ponies!”

“The ponies bolted,” Gloin calls.

“I’ll draw them off.” Radagast gets back on his sled.

Gandalf shakes his head. “These are Gundabag Wargs, they will outrun you!”

You chuckle and place the rabbit you had been holding back into its harness. “These are Rhosgobel rabbits,” you stand and smile at Gandalf. “I should like to see them try!”

The company heads off on the path intended while Radagast and his rabbits travel slightly off course to draw away the wargs. The company sprints across a field and into an outcropping of boulders. Radagast weaves in and out of the boulders on occasion. As you sprint from one boulder to another a scout sees the motion and wanders closer to examine.

Thorin nods to Kili as the dwarves take cover under a small ledge below the warg and scout. The both of you ready an arrow and step out from hiding together before shooting the warg in the shoulder and the orc in the chest. They fall and are quickly finished off by Thorin and Dwalin.

The other orcs notice the disappearance of their mate and hear the cry of the warg. “They’ve spotted us,” you call as you begin to run. You hear the ruckus of the party following behind you. You watch curiously as Gandalf and Bombur outpace you. Those two? Of everyone in the company, those two?!

You all screech to a halt as more orc scouts appear before you. “They’re coming!” Kili shouts.

“Kili! Shoot them! Shoot them down!” Thorin commands.

You and Kili comply, shooting down orcs and wargs left and right. In the mayhem you notice Gandalf has disappeared. “Where is Gandalf?”

“Has he abandoned us?” Dwalin, ever the pessimist, asks.

“He wouldn’t!” He wouldn’t…right?

The company forms a circle with weapons raised, ready to fight off the scouts or die trying. “Hold your ground!” Thorin barks.

The scouts advance only a few paces before Gandalf seemingly pops out of a hole in the ground under a nearby boulder. “This way you fools!” he calls as he ducks back into what must be a hidden cave.

Thorin glances back to him for a quick moment. “All of you, go, go!”

The company members rush towards the cave and jump in as you and Kili continue filling orcs with arrows. Thorin waits at the cave entrance counting everyone who passes him. “Kili!” he shouts as you are now the only two still out in the open. You glance at each other and begin running for the cave entrance as well. Kili all but shoves you into the hidden cavern before sliding in behind you followed closely by his uncle.

As you catch your breath horns can be heard from the field above. Out of nowhere a dead orc falls down the slope and lands at Kili’s feet. He whips an arm out to shield you and nudges it with his foot to assure it is as dead as the arrow in its throat suggests.

Thorin pulls the arrow from the orc’s neck and studies it before throwing it on the ground in disgust. “Elves,” he spits.

Dwalin appears from a crack in the wall. “There is a tunnel, but I cannot see the end. Do we follow it or no?”

“Follow it of, course!” Fili orders. The company follows suit in a line through the narrow passage that seems to never end. You hear Dwalin growl as the company comes to a halt on a cliff overlooking a lush green valley and a lovely town.

“Rivendell,” you and Bilbo sigh at the same time. The elegant city sparkles and shimmers in a way only an elven place is able. Elves, you think, what luck, without this passage Thorin may have refused to so much as set foot…” Your eyes widen as you look back at Gandalf with a satisfied smirk plastered to his face. He knew the passage led to Rivendell.

You were too caught up in your conflicting thoughts to notice much of the rest of the walk to Rivendell, next thing you knew you were being pushed into the center of a protective circle of bristling Dwarves as horses circled around.

“Does he mean us offense?” Gloin accuses.

Gandalf sighs, “He means to feed you.”

The boys pretend to discuss this new information and quickly ask the Elves to lead the way. “Find me before dinner,” you whisper to Fili and Kili before walking over to Gandalf and Lord Elrond still in conversation in Elvish.

“Ah!” Gandalf exclaims as you approach. “Allow me to reintroduce you to my niece-”

“We need to speak, Mithrandir,” You interrupt quickly before turning to Elrond and giving a small bow. “Lord Elrond, when you are able to spare him I need a word with the wizard.” You turn and walk over to a garden visible from the main entrance noting Gandalf’s worried expression. You only called him by his proper name when you were truly upset with him.

You hear a rushed apology and quick footsteps as he follows you just out of sight in the garden. “Need I remind you how much the Elves value politeness and-”

“What are you hiding from me?” You look out over a banister to a quiet pond, your back to Gandalf. “And how long have you been hiding it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“But you do,” you chuckle humorlessly. “You know much more than you have ever let on.” You turn around to glare at him. “You tricked Thorin into Elven lands.” You begin stomping towards him after every sentence. “You knew about the hidden passage. You attempted to turn me away from learning what was wrong with my home, my lovely Greenwood reduced to… Mirkwood. You assure there is nothing to fear but the fear in your own eyes calls your bluff!” The fire in your chest deflates. “What else have you been less than truthful about?”

He cannot meet your gaze as his mouth opens and shuts, the words unwilling to be spoken. “Then enjoy your secrets, Mithrandir,” You huff as you walk off in the direction the company had been led earlier.

An Elf maid shows you to a washroom and fetches new clothes for you while you freshen up. You stand before a large mirror donning a new, very slightly too big, tunic and thin trousers. You’ve just finished detangling most of your hair when you hear knocking at the door. “Come in!”

Fili and Kili walk in cautiously, one glancing about the room and the other watching the hall. “Hello, gaihith,” Fili calls as his eyes find you. Kili turns and quickly runs to embrace you causing everyone to giggle a bit. ��Why did you wish us to find you before dinner?”

You smile brightly and feel a blush spreading across your face. “I had something I would like to ask the both of you in private.” They share a look and nod urging you to ask. You breathe deeply, close your eyes and gather your courage. “Ka-e mababnulzant zanât-zu?” You say very slowly, taking care to get the pronunciation correct. (Can I braid your hair?) You fear they can hear your poor heart beating overtime in the moment of silence that follows.

They squish you in an embrace and plant kisses to both sides of your face. “Mahd, yes! Always yes!”

“Who taught you?” Fili asks after pulling back to allow you to breathe and holding you at arm's length.

“Balin,” you laugh, ever so slightly nudging Kili away from your neck. “Balin has been teaching me about Dwarvish courting and how to ask you during night watch. Do you really mean it? You’ll have me, both of you, to court?”

They both gently grab your chin in their hands, slightly squishing your cheeks up, and playfully turn your head to look them in the eyes. “Of course we mean it. We meant it when we said we both cared deeply for you and we mean it now that we should love to court you.” They gently bring their foreheads to rest on yours. “We are yours.”

“And I am yours’,” you sigh as the worry in your chest dissipates into pure joy.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Hi! Could I get a romantic and platonic matchup with The Hobbit, Marvel and X-men, please?

I’m Brazilian, i’m 18y, around 5’4 (165cm). My pronouns are she/her and i’m pansexual. I have very light skin, dark brown eyes and hair, I have some very light freckles and I do wear glasses. I love to dance, sing and write. My fav shows/movies are Criminal Minds, Lucifer, One Piece, Transformers, Marvel movies and Invisible City. I’m a Slytherin. My favorite colors are dark red, black and dark green.

I’m an extrovert, I love to party and go out with my friends and I specially love going out dancing. I like meeting new people and I absolutely love kids. My aesthetic could be described as the brave older sister who loves to help, but gets in some trouble and has super high hopes for the future, lol. Maybe some 2000s vibe. I love listening to pop, things like Lana del Rey, Marina, Taylor Swift, Maneskin, Bruno Mars etc. I have a special love for latin songs, like Shakira, Maluma, Anavitoria, Melim, etc.

Thank you in advance, hope ur doing okay!

Hello!

I would love to write some matchups for you!

<333333333

I hope you enjoy!

:)

I hope you have a good day/night!

Romantic and Platonic Matchups; The Hobbit, Marvel, and X-Men

---

Romantic;

~~~

The Hobbit;

Thorin Oakenshield -

You insist on joining the Company, much to Thorin’s dismay.

He sees you as reckless and inexperienced, someone who would slow them down.

Bilbo vouches for you, saying that you’re resourceful and clever, but Thorin remains skeptical.

He sees you as more of a distraction than an asset.

The rest of the Company is more welcoming.

Kili and Fili think you’re fun, Bofur enjoys your stories, and even Balin sees potential in you.

Thorin, however, keeps his distance, watching you with narrowed eyes, always waiting for you to mess up so he can send you home.

You prove him wrong in the best way possible - by being strong, adaptable, and quick-witted.

Whether it’s in battle or helping the group navigate, you refuse to be seen as weak.

Your cleverness reminds him of Bilbo, but your fire and determination are something else entirely.

You don’t take his insults lying down, and he secretly admires that.

He starts begrudgingly acknowledging your skills, offering small nods of approval when you handle yourself well in a fight or make a smart call during travel.

Kili and Fili tease him when they catch him watching you a little too long.

“Thorin, you’re staring again.”

Cue him grumbling and stalking off.

The enemies-to-lovers tension is thick.

You argue often, and every time you meet his challenge head-on, he finds himself more intrigued.

A turning point happens when you save his life - maybe by pulling him out of the path of an orc’s blade or tending to his wounds after a battle.

He’s shaken, both by the near-death experience and by the fear in your eyes when you thought he wouldn’t make it.

After that, he becomes protective, stepping in front of you during fights, making sure you eat enough, and being the last to sleep when you’re on watch.

The confession comes after a particularly heated argument where he snaps.

“Why do you have to be so reckless? I can’t-” He stops himself, struggling to find the words before finally admitting, “I cannot lose you.”

Thorin is fiercely loyal and protective, always making sure you’re safe.

He braids a small bead into your hair, a symbol of devotion in dwarven culture.

He doesn’t say much about it, but you see the pride in his eyes when you wear it.

When the Company makes camp, he lets you sit beside him, even giving you his fur cloak on cold nights.

He isn’t the most verbally expressive, but his actions speak volumes - tightening your cloak around you, standing beside you in battle, lingering touches when he helps you mount your horse/pony.

He calls you “my heart” in Khuzdul, and though he rarely says it aloud, you know what it means when his gaze softens and he looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in Middle-earth.

~~~

Marvel;

Sergei Kravinoff (Kraven) -

Mixed his personality with the movie version and comic.

You’re kidnapped by a powerful mob boss, locked away as leverage because of your important family.

You refuse to let fear control you, keeping your mind sharp and waiting for an opportunity to escape.

Kraven is sent in to eliminate the threat, but when he finds you, something about your fire and refusal to cower catches his interest.

Instead of treating you like a helpless victim, he sees the strength in your eyes.

He doesn’t offer you soft reassurances - just a smirk and a simple, “You fight well, little lioness.”

He keeps an eye on you after the rescue, checking in even when you insist you don’t need protecting.

He starts teaching you how to defend yourself, hands lingering on your wrists as he adjusts your stance, voice low as he murmurs instructions.

He calls you "lioness" or “little fire” because he sees the fire in you.

The tension builds slowly - glances held a little too long, the way he steps closer when another man looks at you for too long, how his voice drops when he murmurs in Russian.

The confession comes after a dangerous encounter where you nearly get hurt.

A small argument happens...

He loses his usual calm, growling, “Do you think I would risk my life for just anyone?”

(He maybe pinned you against a wall during all this, but-)

When you finally admit your feelings, he kisses you fiercely, as if claiming you as his.

He’s possessive, but not in a way that stifles you.

He spoils you shamelessly.

Lavish gifts, fancy dinners if you want them, and anything you so much as glance at for too long is suddenly yours.

He’s a physical person - expect to be pulled into his lap, arms around your waist as he murmurs how proud he is of you.

He adores your love for dancing.

He’ll take you to ballrooms or clubs.

(If you want kids, via adoption or other, he'd love to settle down and have a family with you.

Calls you “мой огонь” (my fire) when he’s feeling especially soft.

If he's not feeling okay going out - since he is a rather solitary person most of the time - he would cook your dinner and you would both cuddle on the couch either watching TV or reading.

~~~

X-Men;

Logan Howlett -

You live at Charles’ mansion, and from the moment you meet Logan, he thinks you’re too much.

Too young, too bold, too full of life for someone like him.

You, on the other hand, see something in him beyond the gruff exterior - something lonely, something worth knowing.

He tries to keep his distance, but you worm your way into his life with easy conversation and unwavering kindness.

He finds himself drawn to your energy, how you pull him out of his brooding moods without even trying.

He teaches you to fight, watching with barely concealed pride as you land a hit on him.

“Not bad, kid,” He mutters, smirking.

He refuses to admit his feelings, thinking he’s too old, too damaged, too dangerous.

The breaking point comes when you get hurt - nothing life-threatening, but enough to shake him.

He’s by your bedside, gripping your hand tightly, mumbling, “Dammit… Don’t scare me like that.”

You call him out, telling him to stop running from what you both know is there.

He kisses you, rough and desperate, as if trying to convince himself this is real.

He’s gruff, but his love is felt.

Small touches, protective gestures, pulling you against him when you’re cold.

He lets you put on your favorite pop music, pretending to hate it but secretly enjoying the way you sing along.

He loves watching you dance, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, smirking as you twirl around the room.

He calls you “darlin’,” and when he’s feeling extra soft, “baby.”

Late-night drives on his motorcycle, you holding on tight as the wind rushes past.

He thinks he doesn’t deserve happiness, but every time he sees you smile, he starts to believe maybe he does.

~~~

Platonic;

~~~

The Hobbit;

Fili Durin -

You met Fili and Kili early on in the journey, and the two brothers immediately took a liking to you, mostly because you didn’t hesitate to put them in their place when they got too reckless.

While Kili was more outwardly chaotic, Fili was the one who made sure no one got seriously hurt - including you.

He had this natural instinct to keep you safe, even before you became close.

Thorin initially thought you’d be the more responsible one, but you quickly proved that, while you had common sense, you were just as easily swept into the brothers’ mischief.

You, Fili, and Kili were an inseparable trio - if one of you got into trouble, the other two were right there causing even more problems.

Fili always made sure you had extra supplies, even sneaking you bits of food when he thought you weren’t eating enough.

He taught you some basic knife skills, showing you the best ways to defend yourself in a fight.

“Not that you need it,” He’d tease.

Fili was the first to jump in if anyone (even within the Company) was giving you a hard time.

He wasn’t confrontational like Thorin, but he had a way of staring someone down until they backed off.

If you ever got hurt on the journey, Fili would be the one checking in on you constantly, making sure you were comfortable - even if he had his own injuries.

He also kept Kili in check whenever he thought his younger brother was being too reckless around you.

“She’s not that reckless, Kili,” Fili would remind him, even though you and Kili were usually the ones dragging him into bad ideas.

You and Fili had dozens of running jokes - most of them at Thorin’s expense.

“What do you think he’s brooding about today?” Became a common game between the two of you.

Kili often groaned about how you and Fili had a “big sibling bond” that left him out.

He didn’t like it when you both ganged up on him.

“Why do you get to be Fili’s favorite? I was here first!”

Fili trusted you with things he didn’t always share with Kili - like his worries about being heir, and his fears about what Thorin’s obsession with the Arkenstone was doing to him.

If you survived the Battle of Five Armies, and you all do, you are all one big happy family.

Slay.

~~~

Marvel;

Yelena Belova -

You were out on a casual walk, minding your own business, when a very sarcastic blonde woman made a comment about how “walking in the park alone at night is how people get kidnapped.”

You shot back a witty remark about how she was just as alone as you were, and instead of being annoyed, she grinned.

“Okay, you are funny. I like you.”

And that was the start of your strange but instant friendship.

Yelena is obsessed with your music taste.

She listens to Lana Del Rey with you and dramatically sings along to “Summertime Sadness” like she’s in a music video.

She definitely makes fun of your love for pop music but secretly adds some of your favorite songs to her own playlist.

When she finds out you love dancing, she demands you teach her.

“I am already a graceful fighter. This cannot be much harder.”

(Spoiler: it is harder, but she gets better after a while.)

You take her out to clubs with your friends, and she somehow always attracts the most chaotic people.

Yelena is the friend who hypes you up loudly.

If you post a selfie, she comments something outrageous like, “How do you look this good? This is unfair.”

She adores your extroverted energy because she can just sit back and watch you charm the entire room.

She doesn’t have to try - people just like you.

“This is good. You make friends, and I steal their fries when they are not looking.”

Despite her sarcastic nature, Yelena is incredibly protective of you.

If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, she’s already making plans to ruin their day.

She loves kids too, so whenever you’re around children, she watches you interact with them with this small, secret smile.

She trusts you in a way she doesn’t trust a lot of people.

You’re one of the few people she lets see her vulnerable moments.

~~~

X-Men;

Rogue -

You were one of the few people who didn’t treat Rogue like she was fragile or untouchable when you first met her at the school.

You made a point to sit next to her at lunch, crack jokes, and include her in things without making a big deal about her powers.

She didn’t say it outright, but she appreciated that more than you’d ever know.

You introduced Rogue to some of your favorite artists, and she got super into Lana Del Rey and Taylor Swift.

“I don’t get all this pop music,” She’d say, even as she secretly played “Blank Space” on repeat.

She adores watching you dance.

Sometimes, she wishes she could join in, but she’s scared of accidentally touching someone.

To make her feel included, you’d teach her some dance moves that don’t require physical contact - maybe even choreographing a whole routine just for fun.

Rogue may seem quiet, but with you, she’s got a sarcastic streak a mile long.

You both joke about the wildest things, and people at the school are shocked to hear her laugh so much around you.

You have sleepovers where you watch 2000s movies and make fun of the cheesy dialogue.

You and Rogue totally make a habit of sneaking out past curfew - not for anything bad, just for late-night talks under the stars.

You refuse to let anyone make her feel bad about her powers.

If someone so much as implies that she’s dangerous, you shut them down so fast they don’t even know what hit them.

She, in turn, is fiercely protective of you.

If anyone at the school upsets you, Rogue is right there with a scathing remark and a glare that could kill.

She admires your energy and optimism.

Sometimes, when she’s feeling down, just being around you is enough to lift her spirits.

Rogue isn’t the easiest person to get close to, but with you, she wants to.

She values your friendship deeply and considers you one of the best things to ever happen to her.

[middleearthpixie]

The Ties That Bind ~ Chapter Five

Summary: Although Erebor is his once more, Thorin knows there is still a great threat to the peace of Middle Earth. Azog is gone, but another has taken his place and has sworn to finish what Azog began. Erebor is back, but it’s sadly lacking in protection and as much as he hates the thought of it, Thorin knows there is one thing that will guarantee the safety and continuation of his line.

War is coming and all Eirlys of Mirkwood wishes to do is fight alongside her brother Legolas and the other elves, united with Men and Dwarves in their attempt to quell the renewed tensions between them and the orc army of the north. But, her father, Thranduíl has other plans. Unite his kingdom with the newly reestablished kingdom of Erebor and use the power of both to defeat the orcs.

An arranged marriage that neither side wants, but both sides need. But what happens when the two sides realize that maybe—just maybe—being together isn't quite as bad as they'd thought...

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Eirlys of Mirkwood

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Although Erebor is his once more, Thorin knows there is still a great threat to the peace of Middle Earth. Azog is gone, but another has taken his place and has sworn to finish what Azog began. Erebor is back, but it’s sadly lacking in protection and as much as he hates the thought of it, Thorin knows there is one thing that will guarantee the safety and continuation of his line.

War is coming and all Eirlys of Mirkwood wishes to do is fight alongside her brother Legolas and the other elves, united with Men and Dwarves in their attempt to quell the renewed tensions between them and the orc army of the north. But, her father, Thranduíl has other plans. Unite his kingdom with the newly reestablished kingdom of Erebor and use the power of both to defeat the orcs.

An arranged marriage that neither side wants, but both sides need. But what happens when the two sides realize that maybe—just maybe—being together isn't quite as bad as they'd thought...

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Eirlys of Mirkwood

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.5k

Read on AO3

“What happened to you?”

Eirlys smiled at the mix of concern and exasperation in Madris’ voice, for it was a far too familiar combination. Still, she waited until she tugged off her snow-spattered boots before answering, “I was saving my future husband’s skin.”

“What?” Madris took the boots to place them outside the door to Eirlys’ chambers, where they would be picked up to be dried and brushed.

Eirlys nodded. “The fool went off into the forest, became lost, and almost stumbled into that blasted orc pack that insists on testing us.”

“And you went alone?”

“Do not think to scold me, Madris. If I’d stopped to get assistance, Thorin would most likely be dead, for not only was he lost, but he was also unarmed. So, I did us all a service, helpless and spoiled though I am.”

Madris sighed softly as she took Eirlys’ cloak to hang up. “It was still foolish of you to do, Your Highness.”

“Why? I am more than capable of taking care of myself and if it weren’t for me, who knows what would have happened to Thorin if I hadn’t gone after him?”

“He is a trained warrior,” Madris reminded her gently. 

“One who ventured into the forest unarmed and unawares.”

“Be that as it may—”

“No,” Eirlys broke in sharply, shaking her head. “There is no be that as it may. I kept him safe. I made certain no orc arrows found their mark and I’ll not apologize for it.”

“Your Highness, may I be frank with you?”

“If I tell you no, will it stop you?”

“Not likely.”

“Go on, then.”

“You cannot keep doing things like that. Not once you are married. You will be the queen of Erebor, and will need to present yourself accordingly. Part of that is not feeling as if you must rescue your husband at every turn.”

“I feel no such way, but it’s good that I listened to my instincts and followed him, wouldn’t you say? And besides, I am not the queen of anything yet and if it means giving up every part of me, I want no part of it!”

With that, she marched away from Madris, out toward her terrace. The snow had stopped and sunlight broke through, but it did little to ease her blackening spirits. Was this how her life would play out now, with her every move being watched and scolded? Madris was planning to come to Erebor with her, did that mean she would act as mother and teacher and scold her at every turn? If that was so, Eirlys would far rather go alone.

She stared out at the trees and foliage, all draped in mantles of white. She didn't want to think about the time where she would no longer be able to walk in her woods, where she felt so comfortable no matter where in Mirkwood she ventured. The only part of the woods she avoided was were the spiders had claimed the trees as their own. But otherwise, the forest was her playground, her place of serenity, where she went when she was troubled or confused or at a loss. Somehow, she knew Erebor would be none of those places for her.

Footsteps sounded softly behind her. “Your Highness?”

“Go away, Madris. I need no further lectures.”

“I do not wish to lecture you, but you must know what will be expected of you in the coming days.”

“I know what’s expected of me. I am to become someone completely different and hope to the skies that I like the person she is.”

“I think you will become someone different simply because your life is about to change, not because anyone is unhappy with who you are.”

“Aren’t they, though?” She turned her head to meet Madris’ gaze. “Isn’t that why you just told me I cannot keep doing the things I do now? You find fault with my need to be alone in the woods with only my thoughts for company. Does that mean he will as well?”

“Of course not. But,” 

“Not atMadris leaned on the woven railing. “But, you will not have the freedom you do now. And you will have even less when you and His Majesty have children. Think you they won’t keep you busy?”

Eirlys’ cheeks grew warm and she couldn't help her slight grin. “I hadn’t thought about children, to be honest.”

“Well, you probably should, for I’ve no doubt that one of King Thorin’s first duties as a husband will be to sire his heir. But,” Madris caught her by the chin and smiled, “you needn’t look so frightened, you know. It’s not a terrible thing at all.”

“Madris!”

Eirlys jerked back from her maid as Madris chuckled. “What? It isn’t. You’ll see. And your husband to be is quite the handsome man. I think you’ll find you rather like your marriage bed.”

The heat in Eirlys face swept through her entire body and she couldn't meet Madris’ eyes any longer. Casting her gaze downward, she said, “We should not be discussing this.”

“Actually, we should, for this is what your mother would have done.”

Now Eirlys looked up. “What?”

Madris’ expression softened, and a hint of maternal warmth slipped into her voice as she said, “It would be her job to impart upon you the knowledge you need when it comes to relations with your husband.”

The urge to squirm surged through Eirlys, so to alleviate it, she curled her hands into tight balls, her fingernails biting into her palms. “Must we talk about this now?”

“We must, yes. You need to know what he will expect.” Madris caught her by the chin again, her smile soft. “Because he will most definitely be expecting to consummate your union.”

“Madris, please…”

“It is important. You need not be scared, for I imagine he will be gentle with you, and you should know that it might hurt a bit, but that is temporary and will pass. And when it does—”

“Stop it!” Eirlys stepped back. “I need to hear no more, Madris, and I wish to hear no more.”

“Do you know what is supposed to happen?”

“Yes! I am well aware!” 

Madris looked stunned by this admission. “You do?”

“Yes! My father does talk to me, you know, and he spoke of this long before now. So please can we not let the matter drop?”

Madris’ cheeks grew red as she slowly nodded. “Of course. But, if there is anything you wish to ask me, you may.”

Eirlys shook her head emphatically. She would absolutely melt if this conversation were to continue along this vein. Yes, she knew what Thorin most likely expected of her on their wedding night and while Thranduíl had made it clear it was her duty to submit to her husband, he’d also blushed and offered up a grin when he assured her she would not see it as submitting once she realized what said submission entailed. It was difficult to say which of them flushed the worst, as he certainly seemed just as uncomfortable as she was at that moment. It was, no doubt, the most awkward moment of her life. 

Although, this one came perilously close.

“Madris, please… this is so uncomfortable.”

“So you’ve no questions?”

“Not a one.”

“Oh, thank the stars!” Madris exhaled heavily, clasping her hands together. “For I think I’ll melt as well if this goes on any longer.”

“Then we will agree that this never took place?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good.”

****

“Thorin, a word?”

He bit back an oath as Thranduíl appeared as if from nowhere. Pausing and pivoting toward the elven king, he nodded. “I suppose, yes.”

“Good.” Thranduíl gestured to the doorway to his right. “Join me?”

He followed Thranduíl into the Throne Room, and was immediately transported to the first time he’d stepped into that room. At first, Thranduíl offered him aid, but in the end, their meeting closed on not-so-civil terms, with Thorin being bodily dragged out of the room to be brought to the dungeons far beneath their feet.

“Come in and please, sit.” Thranduíl gestured to the far side of the room, where there stood a marble-topped table surrounded by straight-backed chairs that did not quite fit in with the esthetic of the room.

Thorin drew out a chair to sink into. “What is this about?”

“You needn’t look so suspicious. I wish only to hammer out the remaining details regarding your marriage to Eirlys.”

“And what details remain? I thought we’d agreed the wedding will take place here in the coming days, and afterwards, she and a maid will travel back to Erebor with us.”

“There is also the matter of her dowry.”

Thorin’s back stiffened. “Dowry? I need no payment, Thranduíl. Nor will I accept one.”

To his credit, Thranduíl actually seemed surprised. “You won’t?”

“No. I gain access to your army, and you to mine, and Erebor gains a queen and one day, an heir. I will not accept payment for any woman, least of all the one who will become my wife.”

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.” Thorin sat back, tapping a forefinger on the marble tabletop. “I understand the tradition, but have no need for it. And I’d rather not have my wife think I see her as merely another possession, for I don’t. In time, I’ve hopes she will be an equal partner to me.”

Thranduíl sat back in his own chair, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as if he’d expected none of this. It was almost amusing, and for a moment, Thorin wondered what the elvenking would do, if he should suddenly not only change his mind, but increase the amount he would accept?

But the truth was, he had no desire to receive payment for Eirlys’ hand. He needed no money or jewels, of course. Erebor teemed with gold, silver, jewels, and all of the precious metals and rare stones he could ever hope to need. As his wife, Eirlys would want for nothing. He might not be happy about marrying, but he would certainly take care of his bride.

Besides, he had the feeling he was getting the better end of the bargain as it was, for where Eirlys would be stuck with him, a plain and rather odd-looking dwarf, he would have a stunningly beautiful elf maiden with shimmering golden hair and strikingly deep blue eyes on his arm. He would be the envy of every man in Middle Earth when they saw his queen. And perhaps that was shallow of him, but he couldn’t deny the truth of it. 

“Then I will have the invitations sent at once,” Thranduíl said. “And we will set the date for three weeks from now. That will allow time for travel from the far corners of Middle Earth as well as time for Eirlys’ trousseau to be completed. So, all I need from you is the list of guests you wish to attend and I will see that done.”

“Of course.” Thorin nodded slowly. “I have kin in Ered Luin and in the Iron Hills, and I will also need an invitation sent to Bilbo Baggins, in the Shire.”

“I will see them sent. I’ve often wondered how Master Baggins has fared. Have you kept in touch with him?”

“I have, but I’ve not heard from him of late. Hopefully all is well with him.”

Thranduíl tapped his fingertips against the marble. “We will know soon enough. And if you change your mind in regards to a dowry, you will let me know.”

“I will,” Thorin slowly rose from his chair, “but I cannot see me changing my mind. As I said, I have no need to be paid for marrying the princess. We both benefit from the union, and that is enough.”

“I must admit,” Thranduíl also rose, “upon our first meeting, had someone told me I would be welcoming you into my family, I’d have thought them mad. But, now, I am doing just that.”

“You are not alone,” Thorin told him with a grin, “for I’d have thought myself mad for even considering the possibility.”

Thranduíl held out his hand. “I do welcome you, Thorin. Both Legolas and I do.”

“And I thank you.” 

“And now, if I might dispense a bit of advice where my daughter is concerned?”

Thorin didn't even trouble to hide his smile as he replied, “Will it make dealing with her easier?”

That earned him a chuckle. “Have you not yet learned that she is a headstrong woman?”

“I have learned it all too well, actually.”

“So, then there is no making it easier and my advice would be to make no attempt to change her. Do not underestimate her, either, for she will surprise you at every turn. Know that hers is good heart and a powerful mind and do not take either for granted.”

There was a serious note to Thranduíl’s voice, one Thorin had never heard in all of his dealings with him—from the time when he and his company were imprisoned in Mirkwood to his most recent negotiations where Kíli and Tauriel’s wedding was concerned. Not even when Thranduíl made a heartfelt argument for the return of a certain necklace, did the elvenking sound so serious.

“I do not think you need worry,” Thorin assured him, shaking his head, “for I have no designs on changing the princess. I rather like her the way she is, even if she is too blunt for her own good at times.”

“Ah, you’ve noticed that about her.”

“Just a bit.”

“Then you should know the secret is not to fight her. At least not straightaways. It is sometimes easier to let her think she she is getting her way and then later, when she’s come to her senses, you tell her why you’ve decided the way you have.”

“With all due respect, I fully intend to treat her as an equal and will seek her counsel on any important decisions that need to be made.”

Thranduíl offered up a queer look. “Are you so certain that is wise?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? You just finished telling me not to underestimate her and that she has a good mind and heart.”

“And she does, but she also has been rather sheltered and kept away from the realities of the world. You and I both know there is a world of difference between here and out there.”

“I do, and I’ll keep it in mind, but to be honest, I think she will be just fine once she adjusts.” Thorin replied easily. “And now, if you will excuse me, I’d like to return to my chambers and freshen up before supper.”

“Of course. And I will let you know when the invitations have been sent out.”

“Please do, thank you.”

“Of course.”

Thorin took his leave then, and as he walked away to make his way back to his chambers, he wondered if Thranduíl actually knew his daughter at all. 

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo

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If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

[gwen-ever]

Chapter 2: Cry me a river

HELLOOOOO, my favorite band of chaos gremlins! 💖 Guess what? We’ve got NEW CONTENT! Yes, finally, the wait is over—this chapter has some juicy new info about the oh-so-complicated past between Geira and Thorin. 🎉And oh, we’re not stopping there! Let me throw some questions your way (because I love torturing you all with mysteries): 1️⃣ What do you think the tattoo means? Is it just some cool dwarven ink, or is there something deeper at play? 2️⃣ What about the bracelet? Is it just a shiny trinket, or does it hold secrets that could change everything? 3️⃣ And seriously, what could Balin have done to make Geira hate him with the fire of a thousand dragons? 🐉🔥 Was it something petty, or is there a major betrayal lurking in their history? I NEED to hear your wild theories, folks, because honestly, your guesses fuel my creativity (and my endless need for drama)!Now, go on, dive in, and let me know what you think—your comments give me life! 💬✨

Summary: When Smaug arrived, he not only killed the dwarves of Erebor, but he also destroyed the lives of the few who survived… whether he did it on purpose or not.After a hundred years, a part of Thorin’s past will come back to haunt him in the form of a dwarf who last knocks on the door of Bilbo Baggins’ house, resurrecting old grudges and the pain of a life no one wants to talk about. Geira, daughter of Geiri, is anything but an open book, an exiled who no one wants around, a warrior who has no one to fight for, but only an oath she must fulfil.

Relationships: Thorin x FemaleOC Rating: M Warnings: none. AO3 LINK: HERE

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following days seemed to mirror the Company’s gloom: the relentless sky sent forth its dark grey clouds heavy with rain. Even the trees' canopies failed to shield them, allowing raindrops to seep through, drenching them despite the hoods of their cloaks.

Thorin hadn’t glanced at her even once, nor had he spoken to her since that evening. Bilbo always rode beside her, but aside from exchanging a few simple words, he remained silent, sneezing loudly or muttering unpleasant remarks about the rain or Gandalf. The wizard was perhaps the only one undeterred, continuing to ride and humming occasionally.

It didn’t take long for her to realise that their argument hadn’t just torn her own soul apart but had also wounded the entire Company. In the end, her aunt had been right about one thing when it came to the line of Durin:

"A kingdom reflects its king."

And at that moment, Thorin's kingdom was this Company. Like it or not, her presence and very existence had exacerbated the oppressive silences that had hung over her from the start.

Surprisingly, the rain vanished suddenly by mid-morning, replaced by a clear sky devoid of even a wisp of cloud. And as she had expected, the collective gloom of those days was swept away by the song of a handful ofswallows and the chirping of distant crickets under the warm spring sun.

"Stop, wait!" Thorin commanded loudly, raising his hand sharply and tugging Minty’s reins.

The dark mare reared onto her hind legs.

Geira pulled her reins and halted instantly, as did the rest of the line, taken aback by the sudden order. The only one who failed to stop—and she wasn’t surprised—was Dwalin.

The warrior had been riding directly behind her, but with a couple of nudges to his pony, he moved up alongside his leader as usual, positioning himself right at his side.

"What’s wrong?" Dwalin asked bluntly, leaning toward Thorin.

Puzzled, Geira turned her head to peer past the cluster of dwarves ahead. They were near the edge of the forest, just before a valley filled with small hills and thickets. Yet strangely, instead of leading them out, Thorin had come to a complete halt and remained silent.

A glance at the sinking hooves of Thorin’s pony in the mud was all she needed to understand the problem—and why they had stopped.

"A marsh. And it’s raining," she muttered to herself, a growing unease creeping over her.

Bad news.

Perhaps her words carried clearly, for around her arose grunts and sighs, along with a few accusing glances directed at her as the bearer of unwelcome news.

"You're joking, right?" Bombur sighed heavily from behind her, murmuring with a full mouth.

Gandalf, riding beside her, slightly turned his horse to look at the dwarf.

"I fear not, Master Dwarf... and this is not to our advantage, particularly given the hour," he murmured, casting an enigmatic glance toward the sun. She understood instantly, looking up.

It was low—too low. Sunset was approaching, and they could not stop here for the night.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bilbo draw closer, examining the expanse of mud and grass.

"What do you mean by ‘marsh’?" Bilbo asked, perplexed.

"It means we can’t proceed without risking the ponies drowning in the muck and losing our damned supplies in this swamp, Master Hobbit," Dwalin snapped, his stony face turning toward the end of the line.

"Oh no, no, no, no!" Dori cried out, his voice growing increasingly shrill, drawing her attention.

The dwarf gently tugged the reins of his dragging pony and shook his head, much to the bafflement of his younger brothers. "I’ve endured four days of rain, six days of riding, but this—I will not. I am not about to crawl through a filthy, stinking swamp. You’ll have to drag me!"

Gloin squinted, his mouth drawing into a firm line beneath his red beard. “As if we’ve got any other choice, Dori,” the dwarf retorted sternly.

“My alternative is to turn back and find a way around. There’s got to be some route that avoids this hellhole of mud and filth!”

“And add miles and miles to our journey? Brilliant idea, brother,” Nori said sharply from his side.

“Any other bright ideas?” Bofur chimed in with a wry grin, his accent lilting as he leaned forward on his pony. “Or are ya just lookin’ to moan us all to death, eh?”

Quickly, another round of bickering broke out over what should or shouldn’t be done.

Geira, however, couldn’t tear her gaze away from Rosalie’s hooves, noticing how short her legs seemed compared to Gandalf’s horse. Crossing the marsh would be a risk—not just for them but for the ponies as well. Yet turning back wasn’t an option. There simply wasn’t enough time.

The voices around her grew louder, overlapping and drowning out the cheerful chirping of birds. Even Bilbo attempted to chime in, stammering something incoherent amidst the racket. But then, a low growl cut through the noise.

“Enough! Silence!” Thorin roared, his eyes flashing as he glared at the Company. Instantly, all voices ceased, and every wide-eyed gaze turned toward him, including hers. Thorin gestured sharply toward Dwalin at the back of the line.

“Dwalin, move to the rear and ensure everyone stays in position! Fili, Kili—take the centre and do the same,” he barked, glancing at the two brothers before shifting his gaze to her.

Geira held her breath but met his eyes squarely, refusing to be intimidated. Thorin’s lips parted slightly as if he were about to give her an order, but he quickly closed them and turned away, ignoring her entirely as he had for days.

She bit her lip. If he wanted to pretend she didn’t exist, he was free to do so.

Gently, she tugged Rosalie’s reins and shifted into the newly ordered formation. Cautiously, she positioned herself in perfect alignment, ahead of Fili and Gloin, and preceded by Balin, Bilbo, Gandalf, and Thorin, forming a straight column where everyone would be covered.

“I don’t like this at all,” she heard Bilbo mutter with a resigned sigh.

“Nor do I, lad,” Balin replied unexpectedly.

Cautiously, they began trudging around the edge of the dark mire. As soon as the ponies stepped in, the muck rose to their calves, accompanied by a foul stench of mud, leaves, and rotting wood.

A shiver of disgust ran down Geira’s spine, but she bit her lip to keep still, while the others made no attempt to hide their revulsion. Groans, coughs, and colourful expletives echoed as each struggled with the foul conditions.

The brown mud clung to her hands; leaves, twigs, and tiny insects stuck to her clothes, crawling or buzzing as they went.

“Keep the ponies’ noses up. Don’t let them lower their heads into the mud,” Thorin ordered, marching ahead without looking back.

Geira leaned down, pulling Rosalie’s reins and placing a firm hand beneath her neck to steady her. The pony was far from pleased, shaking her head irritably.

 “Stay still, that’s it… just a bit longer,” she murmured into the animal’s ear, stroking its neck soothingly.

Midway along the edge of the marsh, the mud had climbed nearly to their knees, and the ponies were quickly growing restless, nickering and pausing intermittently.

“By Durin’s beard…” Gloin grumbled irritably ahead of her when Bungo , Gloin’s pony, came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the line, blocking everyone behind him.

The pony whinnied loudly as Gloin tried to coax him forward with a tug, only for Bungo to shake his head stubbornly.

“Gloin…” Balin tried to interject, but the elder dwarf’s voice was drowned out by another loud groan.

“Why won’t you move, Bungo?” Gloin demanded insistently, giving the reins another sharp tug—harder this time.

The pony neighed again, thrashing more violently, clearly confused and frightened by its inability to move.

“If he keeps struggling, he’ll get stuck!” Geira shouted, raising her voice above the increasingly agitated cries of the pony.

But Gloin persisted, yanking the reins again. At that moment, Bungo reared, kicking his hind legs dangerously close to Rosalie, who began to panic in turn. The chain reaction spread quickly, and soon all the ponies were jittery and frightened, starting to move on their own.

A sharp gasp escaped her lips as Rosalie jerked forward so hard that the reins scraped painfully against the buckles of her bracer, reopening a freshly healed wound.

Dwalin growled loudly, wrestling to calm Myrtle with visible difficulty. “Hold still, you stubborn beast!” he barked impatiently at Gloin, whose actions were making matters worse.

“Mr Gandalf, do something!” Dori called out anxiously.

The wizard remained unruffled, murmuring something to his horse to settle it, sparing only a brief glance at Dori as he lifted his staff slightly to keep his own steed steady.

If this continued, they’d all sink into the mud, losing their supplies and nearly all hope of success.

Without thinking—or weighing the consequences—Geira acted: she leapt off Rosalie and waded into the swamp, sinking nearly to her neck in the filthy mire under Bilbo’s astonished gaze.

She held her breath as the stench reached her nose, a shiver of disgust running through her from head to toe.

“Gloin, Fili, dismount the ponies!” she ordered sharply, moving towards Gloin’s pony and throwing a glance at the prince. He looked at her in confusion but followed suit, plunging into the mud with a horrified expression.

Gloin’s pony bucked even more stubbornly at its rider’s insistence, nearly landing a hoofed kick square in her chest.

“I don’t take orders from you!” Gloin roared, refusing to spare her even a glance.

“I’m not giving you orders—I’m trying to help!” she shot back firmly, trying to grab the pony’s reins and keep it steady.

“If you want me off this pony, you’ll have to pull me down yourself!”

“If you don’t get off that pony, Gloin son of Gróin, the swamp will swallow us whole!” she pressed, growing weary, too weary even to check her acid tone.

For once, they had to listen to her!

The pony, distressed by their bickering, started to move in panick nearly unseating Gloin. Her attempts to grab hold of the pony’s halter became increasingly futile as she wrestled with its thrashing.

With a deep sigh and an even deeper effort, she silently sent a prayer—a damned prayer for help and a blessing to the only one who might knock sense into Gloin. Still trying to calm the pony with her hands, she cast a pleading look towards Thorin, who stood watching impassively. His cold gaze shifted between her and the pony without offering a word or command.

 If they waited for his direction longer, they’d drown thanks to his pride.

“Uncle…” Fili called out to Thorin, approaching her through the mud and branches, looking bewildered and concerned by Thorin’s lack of direction.

Thorin pressed his lips together, his jaw tightening before fixing his stern gaze on Gloin.

“Gloin, do as she says,” he commanded sharply, holding her gaze briefly before turning back to Gloin.

The red-haired dwarf seemed unconvinced but obeyed nonetheless. He dismounted the pony with great difficulty, grumbling in irritation as his beard sank into the brown muck.

No sooner had Gloin left Bungo than the pony calmed enough for Geira to grasp the straps at its head in a quick motion.

She turned to Fili beside her, gesturing towards the two unaccompanied ponies. “Fili, take Daisy and Rosalie’s reins and make sure they follow,” she instructed with a grunt as Bungo tried to free himself from her grip.

Then she looked over the pony’s neck at Gloin. “Gloin, go behind Bungo and push steadily. I’ll pull from the front. Let’s try to keep him calm, or he might get stuck.”

Though visibly irked at the thought of taking directions from her, the dwarf nodded silently, casting a glance upwards in search of further orders from Thorin—which did not come.

Once both dwarves were in position, she moved in front of the black pony, gripping the sides of its bridle tightly to steady it as much as possible.

“One… two… push!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, beginning to pull on the straps.

She clenched her teeth, groaning with the effort as her muscles trembled under her skin. She threw her head back, pulling with all her strength.

“Come on, Bungo, move…” she muttered through gritted teeth, glancing back to see the other ponies had made it to the far side of the swamp.

Before she realised it, the reins suddenly became lighter to pull. Astonished, she looked to her side and saw Thorin, as mired in mud as she was, pulling the pony by the reins from the opposite side.

A lump formed in her throat as she found him beside her. His white teeth flashed as he pulled harder on the reins, his gaze fixed straight ahead, ignoring the mud that smeared his blue cloak and half of his dark hair.

The shock of his gesture froze her briefly. Only when Thorin frowned, ready to pull again, did she follow his lead.

Bungo continued to resist, though Gloin tried to soothe him with murmured words. But after a few more attempts, she felt the ground beneath her shift as the pony’s hoof stepped forward. Thorin noticed it too, and as she stepped aside to let the pony pass, he did the same, wrapping the reins around his wrist and continuing to pull.

When they finally reached the far bank, Geira felt as though the ground would give way beneath her. Taking a few steps, she freed herself from the mud, leaning both arms against a tree trunk and pressing her forehead against it in exhaustion.

It was perhaps the most arduous and absurd thing she’d done in years, but they were safe—every one of them, along with their supplies.

“What a mess…” she heard Dwalin mutter behind her, followed by the thud of someone likely stepping off a mud-caked steed.

“Many claim mud is good for the skin and works wonders on beards, you know?” Bofur teased.

“Shut your mouth, Bofur,” came the retort, followed by a disgusted grunt and the muffled sound of coughing as Bofur’s laughter rang out, joined by a few others she couldn’t identify.

Bilbo’s groan grew louder, accompanied by gagging noises. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he murmured weakly.

“Oh, come now, Mr Baggins—a bit of mud never hurt anyone,” Kili jested.

“A bit of mud? I look like I’ve emerged from a dung heap—or worse, my bath! Damn it all,” Bilbo snapped shrilly, provoking more laughter and jests from the company.

As soon as Geira felt she’d recovered some strength, she tried to lift her face from the moss-covered trunk. Her heart was still pounding furiously, not just from exertion but also from what Thorin had just done.

He had helped the company, not her, she told herself. Don’t dwell on it.

She glanced down at her clothes, completely covered in muck. The filth clung to her shirt, black leather vest, and trousers, even seeping into her boots. She didn’t dare imagine what her face looked like. With a shrug, she let the heavy fur cloak drop to the ground, though the sticky sensation and stench clinging to her nostrils didn’t diminish in the slightest.

Her gaze shifted to Gloin, who stood with his face close to Bungo’s head, speaking to the pony as though addressing another dwarf. He responded in a low voice while stroking the animal’s muzzle with both hands. Her eyes wandered to Thorin, standing a little further ahead. He had just removed his cloak and laid it over Minty, his brown mare. Balin assisted him by holding Deathless , Thorin’s sword, which he had carried for as long as she had known him.

Almost involuntarily, she ran her fingers over her own sword, brushing a layer of mud from its pommel and clearing the sticky foliage from the grip with her thumb. She would have to clean the blade as soon as she found a place to wash—a necessity for everyone at this point. Both ponies and dwarves were caked in filth, and even those who hadn’t leapt into the swamp to help Gloin were covered in sticky brown muck up to their waists.

In the distance, Dori’s beard braids were smeared with mud, and with a disgusted expression, he tried wiping them clean on his shirt sleeve, muttering indignantly all the while.

“Well, Master Dori, at least we’re out of the swamp! Surely you’d have preferred this over more rain?” Gandalf teased, riding his horse near him.

Dori scrunched his nose, looking down at his soiled clothes and hands. “It’s a pity we now smell worse than goat dung!”

Gandalf chuckled heartily, giving his horse a gentle nudge with his heels as he rode towards the edge of the forest, disappearing briefly behind it while humming a little tune.

Geira shook her head.

Wizards and their mysterious ways.

Bifur was riding nearby, muttering to himself as he tried to clean his axe on a leaf as large as his head. “ Ei Nai’rikhi jalaibsêk inîn !”

“You’ve got a point, cousin,” Bofur chimed in, waving the hat he always wore in front of his face. “Finding a nice spot to clean up would be a miracle right about now. We’d need to find a…”

“A river?” Ori cut in suddenly, his tone surprised.

The young dwarf was standing at the forest’s edge, peering through the bushes and trees ahead.

“Exactly, Ori, a river!”

“N-no… no…. a river…” he stammered, still pointing towards a small gap between the trees.

Curious, Geira looked over at the youngest member of the company, as did everyone else. Ori pushed aside a cluster of branches with his arm, revealing how the grove ended abruptly, opening into a small clearing. At its centre flowed a narrow river, with small rocky hills rising in the background—hills that had seemed so far away only moments ago.

In astonishment, Geira blinked several times, wondering if it was a mirage.

“A river…” she murmured to herself, a spontaneous smile forming on her lips.

“Could we not take advantage of this and have a bath?” Balin suggested to Thorin, who was still gazing at the small passage. “Given our condition, lad, it seems an ideal opportunity.”

Whether it was the advice of a friend or Balin’s own desire, the decision was made before Thorin could protest.

“Oh, praise great Durin! I’ve never been so happy to see water in my life!” Dori exclaimed enthusiastically, throwing his arms into the air. Without waiting for approval, he grabbed his pony’s reins and hurried towards the small path Ori had indicated.

There was barely time to head towards Rosalie before they all followed one by one, making their way through the bushes.

Gandalf observed them with amusement from his horse as they passed, cutting through the undergrowth and sparse trees that separated them from the clearing, taking the ponies with them. Judging by their whinnies, the animals were delighted to smell water.

This was all too perfect—too perfect to be real.

They should have heard the sound of rushing water, yet there was none. In that moment, Geira remembered how Gandalf had slipped away earlier, ignoring Dori’s questions and humming as he vanished. 

The answer to all her questioning dawned on her.

She watched as everyone followed Ori’s directions unquestioningly, under the watchful eye of the wizard, who was busy packing tobacco into his pipe. She picked up her cloak from the ground and placed it over Rosalie’s back, the pony nudging her cheek in gratitude.

“A little rest for you too, at last,” she whispered into Rosalie’s ear, receiving another gentle nudge in response.

As Geira passed Gandalf at the entrance to the narrow path, she gave him a knowing look.

“You had something to do with this, didn’t you?” she asked bluntly, a smile of amusement tugging at her lips.

The wizard widened his eyes in mock innocence. “Me, my dear? Absolutely not! Whatever gives you that idea?” he replied slyly, giving her a quick wink and clearing the path ahead of her with the tip of his staff.

“Thank you,” she nodded in appreciation.

The wizard didn’t reply, only widened the path further with an enigmatic smile.

Holding Rosalie’s reins, she made her way through the light brush, weaving between branches and broken tree trunks. Once she emerged, she had to take a deep breath, though opening her mouth wide was difficult. This was Gandalf’s handiwork. In her entire life, she had never seen anything in nature as perfect as this clearing. A small waterfall tumbled from a hill into the clearing, encircled by clusters of trees. A well-trodden path of smooth, round stones led to the river, across which a ford of large flat rocks led to pastures on the other side of the crystal-clear, almost transparent stream.

The entire company was already inside the clearing. Many had tossed their soiled clothes onto the short grass, leaving a trail leading to the water. They splashed about in the stream, laughing boisterously and pouncing on each other like children, though most were well past that age—far, far past it.

Others, mostly the older ones, sat on the rocks beside the river with their eyes closed, savouring the moment. A few who had not yet entered the water were busy undressing. Geira spotted only the black curls of a certain dwarf in the middle of the water and had to make a conscious effort not to let her eyes linger on him.

After freeing Rosalie, she settled on the riverbank and began removing her boots, placing them neatly beside her. She did the same with her sword, unfastening it carefully from her belt and setting it next to her after cleaning the blade lightly with her palm.

Next, she tackled the intricate laces criss-crossing her chest. With a sigh of relief, she finally managed to free herself, breathing deeply for the first time in what felt like an eternity after removing the infernal contraption. In moments like these, iron armour would have been a dream compared to the torture of  leather bodice.

“Geira?” her name was called hesitantly.

Distracted by her thoughts, her hands, which had been fiddling with the ties of her shirt collar, paused as she looked up.

Bilbo stood beside her, still fully dressed except for his pink jacket and blue waistcoat. His fingers fidgeted nervously, and he was deliberately avoiding her gaze, his eyes dramatically fixed skyward.

“Bilbo, is something wrong?” she asked, noting his reluctance to speak.

“W-what are you doing?” he stammered, refusing to meet her eyes.

“I’m undressing. I need to wash too, you know?” she said with a chuckle at his embarrassment.

“Yes, yes, of course, you need to wash,” he muttered in a deeper voice, “but… here? With us?” he asked, scratching his chin nervously.

Confused, she raised an eyebrow. “Of course, I’ll bathe here with you… where else would I do it?”

“But… but… don’t you see the… the problem?” he asked, glancing at the river and then quickly back at the company already splashing about, blissfully unaware of their conversation.

Geira couldn’t understand why she shouldn’t bathe there. “What problem?”

Bilbo’s face grew redder as he darted his gaze briefly to her chest before jerking it away again. Clearing his throat, he raised a hand to his mouth. “You know… you…” he gestured vaguely, pointing first at her and then at the dwarves in the water. “And them…”

“You mean… the fact that they might see me without clothes?” she asked, starting to grasp his point.

“Y-yes, that they might see you without clothes… others… I mean…” he stammered, gesturing wildly towards Fili and Kili, who had just launched themselves at Nori and Bofur with splashes and laughter, only to be thrown into the water amidst roaring guffaws.

“You’re worried the company might see me naked?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Exactly…” he confirmed, still refusing to look directly at her.

Geira had to resist laughing at the sight of his trembling hands. His naïveté stirred a deep sense of affection in her.

He truly knew nothing of the world, it was true. He knew even less about his companions.

She stood up abruptly, and even then, Bilbo refused to glance her way, despite her being fully clothed. Instead of reaching for his hand, she placed her own gently on his shoulder. He flinched at her touch, his wide green eyes finally meeting hers.

“Don’t worry, Bilbo,” she reassured him. “They’ve already seen me naked… more than once, actually,” she admitted, barely stifling a laugh as his eyes widened further in shock.

“What?!”

His startled exclamation only made her smile. “Most of them, at least. And I’ve seen them naked too.”

“How?!” he exclaimed again, gesticulating wildly.

Geira searched for a suitable explanation, or at least a half-truth, to avoid revealing too much. She wasn’t ready for Bilbo to know her past—not yet.

“When travelling like this, as we are now, we have to make compromises. One of them is deciding what we can and can’t do,” she began, gripping his arm gently. “For us, a body is just a body—nothing more. We don’t feel shame or embarrassment about it. It’s like… it’s like being clothed, in a way,” she explained in the simplest terms she could.

Bilbo’s expression shifted from embarrassment to curiosity. Tilting his head slightly, he squinted at her. “So, you’ve travelled with them before?”

Her jaw tightened, and she felt her breath catch. She had said too much, betrayed herself.

Nodding stiffly, she released Bilbo’s shoulder. “A long time ago. I travelled with… with some of them… a long time ago,” she murmured, her gaze drifting towards Dwalin, who was reclining among the water and stones, basking in the sunlight. Her eyes traced scars across his abdomen and chest and the thick muscles of his arms. She still remembered how he had gotten those scars. She had been there.

“So… what you did… what they hold against you… it happened while you were exiled…”

“If you like, Bilbo, I can move further away from you if it makes you uncomfortable to see me,” she interrupted with a smile, unwilling to continue the conversation, especially about those terrible days.

Bilbo pressed his lips together, then offered her a gentle smile. He had clearly realised this wasn’t a subject she wanted to discuss. She felt guilty, but she wasn’t ready—not yet, and perhaps she never would be.

Bilbo shook his head. “No, it’s not fair—I’ll turn around,” he muttered, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender before shrugging nervously.

“As you wish,” she murmured softly, more to herself than him. She quickly shed the remaining layers of her clothing—the trousers and her red shirt—placing them with the rest of the pile near the riverbank.

The moment she was naked, a slight chill sent goosebumps across her skin.

As the soles of her feet touched the smooth but firm pebbles, her face twisted into a grimace, though it softened the moment the cool, clear water enveloped her. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she sank into the river up to her neck, tilting her head back to let the water soak into her hair.

She stayed like that for a while, basking in the sun’s warmth on her face and the river’s coolness, which eased her weary, aching muscles. The sunlight painted small spots on her closed eyelids while the water’s currents brushed softly against the scars on her arms and legs.

Dipping her head fully underwater, the sounds of the forest and joyful cries became muffled. She could hear only the faint hum of the riverbed as her breath slowed. When her lungs began to burn, she surfaced quickly, gasping and rubbing the water from her eyes, pushing her hair back from her face.

With a few strokes, she reached a rock in the middle of the river. She leaned against it, crossing her arms and resting her head atop them, exposing her back and letting the water soothe every fibre of her body.

She deserved a moment of peace.

For long minutes, she lay there, listening to the birdsong and the rustling of water, along with the distant chatter and laughter of the company. The droplets on her skin dried under the gentle warmth of the sun. It was so tranquil that she felt as though she had travelled back in time, wandering through forests as she had in the past. How many streams and rivers had offered her respite during her journeys, witnessed the same melancholic and wistful expression she wore now?

She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Every time she opened an eye and glanced towards the company, no one seemed to be looking at her. Yet as soon as she closed her eyes again, that strange sensation returned.

“Geira?”

Bilbo’s uncertain voice made her open her eyes and turn to her left. The hobbit, still wearing his shirt and trousers, was swimming nearby, trying not to look directly at her.

“May I?” he asked, motioning towards a rock close to hers, clearly hesitant.

“Of course,” she said with a nod, inviting him to join her. Without hesitation, he settled onto the nearby rock, leaning back as she had, letting the cool water lap around him.

They sat in companionable silence, listening to the wind whistle through the trees, the river’s gentle flow between them, and the noisy chirping of birds. Her unease lessened, knowing Bilbo was nearby. It’s brief whistle further eased her spirit, calming the storm within her.

“What does the tattoo on your back mean—the two ravens?” he asked suddenly. A terrible pang struck her chest as she straightened in the water, placing a protective hand on her scarred shoulder.

“Why do you ask?” she whispered, her fingers brushing the outline of the bird’s wing.

“They were talking about it earlier,” he explained cautiously, gesturing vaguely behind her. “I’d tried to approach the others, making my way through the chaos, and as I got closer, I overheard them mentioning your tattoo. It seemed important to them, so I wondered…”

“Thorin?” she interrupted, gritting her teeth as pain stabbed through her chest.

Bilbo nodded silently, staring at the water lapping his stomach. “Fili and Kili were asking questions… then he and Balin…”

Geira’s gaze drifted to Thorin, seated on the opposite riverbank, talking with Balin. The older dwarf’s eyes were fixed on his king, but for a moment, she swore Thorin glanced her way. She could only see his broad back, yet it was enough. That back, sculpted like pure marble, bore scars and a tattoo she knew by heart. His tattoo was similar to hers—a single raven, crowned.

Old anger stirred within her chest, and the more her fingers touched the permanent mark on her back, the more it begged her to unleash her wrath. But she restrained herself; she had to. She had promised.

Enough of the past—her last confrontation with Thorin had been enough.

She dropped her hand from her shoulder, crossing her arms over her chest and lowering her gaze. Rising from the water, she headed for the shore.

“It means nothing, Bilbo,” she said hastily, grabbing her clothes from where they lay near the river. She clutched them to her chest, determined to wash them and rid herself of these intrusive thoughts.

“From the way they spoke, it didn’t seem like nothing,” Bilbo countered softly.

She must have shown too much vulnerability, even to Bilbo.

Trying again, she spoke firmly, as if issuing a warning. “Please, Bilbo, it truly means nothing…” She hesitated. “Please, let it go.”

Bilbo didn’t respond further. She only heard him sigh as he let the matter drop. Perhaps he had realised the situation was far more complex than he had anticipated.

In silence, she scrubbed her clothes in the river, washing away the dirt, as though trying to cleanse her mind of negative thoughts. Soon, she would do the same for her sword.

“For what it’s worth,” Bilbo said after a long pause, shaking his head as if banishing unwanted thoughts, “I… well, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened to you, but whatever it was—if it’s any comfort—I think Thorin or anyone you might have wronged will forgive you, in time.”

“And what if I don’t want to be forgiven? Or if it’s I who must forgive?” she snapped, scrubbing the last layer of mud from her trousers and leaving Bilbo no time to reply.

Yet, as before, she immediately regretted her outburst. Her emotions would be her undoing.

With a heavy sigh, she lowered her gaze to the water, brushing her fingers over the intricate metal bracelet always fastened to her wrist. “You don’t know dwarves. You don’t know Thorin.”

“And you…?”

A faint smile graced her lips as her fingers traced the delicate craftsmanship of the bracelet. Its links were as light and strong as dragon scales, precious enough to construct a palace.

“I thought I knew him, a long time ago… a very long time ago,” she murmured, her voice fading.

“What happened between you two? I mean… before… before the exile?”

“There are events that leave a deep mark on you. The coming of Smaug was no different. It changed us—both him and me,” she said, pausing to take a steadying breath. “He used to smile more,” she murmured, a painful ache tightening her chest as she fought back a tear she had sworn never to shed again.

She heard Bilbo inhale, preparing to ask another question, but before he could speak, the voices of the company rose. Many of them began emerging from the river, signalling to both that it was time to move on.

Geira left the water quickly, eager to put distance between herself and the emotions Bilbo had stirred within her. Gathering her dry clothes in her arms, she left the wet ones near the sacks and sheathed her sword. With brisk steps, she walked towards the forest.

The grass brushed against her toes, the leaves of low-hanging trees grazed her skin, and the approaching sunset warmed her gently. Its rays dried the tips of her short hair, curling them slightly at the ends.

The grove grew denser, with oaks and shrubs increasing with every step she took, as did the silence enveloping her.

She was retreating again, needing those few minutes of privacy only a cluster of trees could provide. She didn’t want to see anyone’s face—not for a while.

She stopped after a short distance, unwilling to wander too far and risk making them search for her.

Scanning her surroundings for any uninvited visitors, she eventually felt assured of her solitude, though not entirely at ease. With a huff, she draped her clean clothes over a curved branch and began dressing quickly, piece by piece.

She secured her trousers, covering the two rune-like stripes tattooed on her thighs, and slipped on her white shirt, hiding the tattoo on her back and ensuring no one—not even herself—could see it again.

Tense as a bowstring, she reached blindly for the leather corset on the branch, but as she grasped it, her wrist caught on two small twigs.

Geira tugged her hand free, but the green wood didn’t break immediately. She was forced to look at it again, and her gaze fell on the bracelet of pale metal glimmering like moonlight in the waning sun’s rays.

Until the last breath.

“No, no, no, no!” she muttered aloud, yanking herself free and looking away immediately. “Let it rot! Let it all rot, him and everything else!” she growled, fumbling with the clasp that kept the cursed thing secured to her wrist.

She wanted to throw it away right then and there, in the middle of nowhere. She didn’t even want to sell it—she just wanted it gone, never to be seen again. She didn’t want it near her or on her, didn’t want to see it anymore. It was the last reminder of what she had been—not for Erebor, not for herself, but for him. What he had once meant to her.

Her hands began to tremble, her breath came in uneven gasps, and her throat tightened, making even breathing painful.

She tried to remove the bracelet, but the more she pulled at its clasp, the more the indestructible metal seemed to cling to her arm like a vice. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed at it, yanking it with such force that it hurt, but it refused to move.

With a despairing groan, she gave up, slumping against the branch in front of her, resting her elbows on it and burying her face in her hands.

Tears threatened to fall again, but she forced them back, clenching her eyes shut. She couldn’t keep reacting this way—she had to be strong, as she had always been taught, as she always had to be.

She needed to be like she was in battle—unfeeling, unemotional. Even now, she had to remain hard, unable to cry any longer.

Blowing out a sharp breath, she ran a trembling hand through her damp, tangled hair. Suddenly, a rustling sound different from the others made her ears perk up. Something had stepped on fallen leaves.

She straightened immediately, her senses on alert, scanning the area for the source of the noise. She knew exactly what it was.

“Go away, Bilbo,” she said wearily, rubbing her temples with the tips of her fingers. “I’m not in the mood to talk.”

Her head throbbed as though a hammer was repeatedly striking it, adding to the exhaustion weighing on her body.

“You still have the habit of making assumptions without first being certain, lass,” came a rasping voice, making her lift her head from her hands. “You’ve always been so impulsive.”

At the sound of that voice, Geira hastily pushed the bracelet back under her shirt sleeve.

“Some habits are hard to break, Balin, and flaws are even worse,” she replied coldly, not even turning to face the older dwarf.

Hearing his voice alone made her skin crawl. Looking at him would only worsen the turmoil within her. Instead, she continued dressing, grabbing the corset she hadn’t managed to don earlier and wrapping it around her shoulders and waist.

“I’m sorry. I never intended for this particular trait of yours to be considered a flaw,” he said calmly.

“It’s always been treated as one, though, if I remember correctly,” she retorted acidly, fastening the straps around her waist. For days, he hadn’t given her so much as a glance, and now he wanted to talk as though nothing had happened, as though the years between them didn’t exist. As though everything that had transpired was a fleeting memory. And he wanted to talk about her faults.

He had no right. He could go back to scheming with his king.

The older dwarf chuckled softly. “Not when it came to taking charge. You’ve always been the most capable in that regard. It’s one of the reasons you were always the best.”

“It was only training,” she interrupted tersely.

“I didn’t mean the best at fighting—I meant the best overall…”

Geira stayed silent, hoping in vain that time had made Balin less intrusive, that he would leave her alone without trying to twist the situation to his advantage, as he always had.

He was, after all, a politician. He had always been one. She remembered when he would visit her home with her father, sitting in his study for hours, filling out documents and preparing speeches for the king. She didn’t want to be yet another page for him to analyse.

“Why are you here, Balin?” she asked bluntly as she finished fastening her corset. “If you wanted me to hurry up, you could have just left. I would have caught up in a few minutes.”

“I came to apologise for what my brother said to you a few days ago. It wasn’t fair of him, and I wanted to thank you for what you did today.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

“Dwalin does what he wants when he wants, as he always has. Your apology, like his, isn’t necessary. And your gratitude isn’t either. I did what needed to be done to ensure everyone survived,” she explained, kneeling to pull on her boots and avoid letting the situation spiral further. “I can handle things on my own without anyone’s thanks.”

The older dwarf sighed, remaining silent for a few moments. “I know, I know, and so do the others…” He paused, taking a heavy breath. “Even Thorin. Though he’ll never admit it, he knows.”

At the mention of that name, she felt her back burn as though the tattoo beneath her shirt flared to life. Her eyes itched to glance at her wrist where the bracelet lay hidden.

“I don’t care what he knows or doesn’t know. He has nothing to do with my decisions anymore. I do what’s right, not under his orders—and certainly not for him!” she snapped, nearly growling as she bent to tighten the straps on her boots.

Balin took a small step forward. Instinctively, she stepped back, clenching her teeth.

“You’ve taken the hobbit under your wing. For that, I think a thank-you from all of us is warranted. He wasn’t quite the companion we’d expected,” Balin continued, his tone measured.

“I don’t want your gratitude, Balin. I don’t want gratitude from any of you!” she shot back sharply. “Bilbo deserves the same chance to survive as the rest of us. He deserves it. He was thrown out the door with nothing but a push and nothing to guide him, without so much as a clue how to cross the threshold.”

Balin remained quiet, offering no reply. The birdsong filled the silence, and she had no intention of adding to her earlier words. She had told him what he needed to know.

She secured the leather strap around her calf, then repeated the motion with the other, waiting for Balin to leave.

“Your father… where is he?”

Her hands trembled, and she kept her gaze firmly fixed on the ground, clenching her fingers with all her strength.

“He’s dead. A hundred years ago, near the banks of the Adorn,” she murmured, her voice as controlled as she could make it, stripped of all emotion. “He’s buried there, at the base of the highest hill I could find,” she added, recalling the small cairn she had built with her bare hands and the runes she had carved in mere hours. “The closest thing to a mountain for miles,” she muttered to herself, rising to her feet despite the sharp ache in her chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No, you’re not sorry, Balin. So don’t waste your breath on these empty platitudes,” she snapped, her voice low but cold. “My father died in exile, and his grave is in exile. Nothing can change that—not your sorrow!” she spat, glaring directly into his eyes.

“What happened, Geira,” Balin began cautiously, “what happened to you… it wasn’t an easy decision for anyone to accept—or to make, for that matter. On either side.”

“Don’t speak as though you opposed it, Balin. No one did. No one said a word that day!” she shouted, stepping closer and jabbing a finger at his chest. “We were cast out like wild animals, forbidden from speaking to any of our kind for the rest of our lives! Everything was taken from us!”

Her voice rang out, echoing through the small grove. The fury she had suppressed for years finally poured out.

He had been there—Balin, like so many others, had watched silently as Thorin, Thráin, and Thrór had exiled her and her father. They had seen, they had heard her pleas, and yet no one had done anything then, nor in the 120 years that followed.

Balin’s lips quivered beneath his white beard, his face clouded with sorrow. “No one could have said anything in the face of such a verdict. It wasn’t easy, Geira—not for anyone,” he said softly, emphasising the word anyone to make his meaning clear.

“It wasn’t easy?” she shouted again, her voice raw, almost breaking into tears she refused to let fall. “For whom? It didn’t seem hard for him—or for anyone in this company!”

A shadow passed over Balin’s eyes, and his expression darkened.

“It was a very difficult time, Geira,” he murmured, lowering his gaze.

He couldn’t even look at her.

“... far too difficult.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, laced with pain and words left unsaid. It was laughable, how Balin still believed Thorin might have cared, might have suffered for her, when he had been the one to order her banishment.

With a wry smile tugging at her mouth, she stepped closer to Balin, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “Look me in the eye and tell me you think I’m not a traitor. That I didn’t deserve what happened to me—or what my father endured. Tell me he doesn’t think the same.”

“That day was terrible, and the years leading up to Smaug’s arrival were even worse. What happened to you is…”

“Answer the question!” she hissed, her voice as cold as ice. “Look me in the eye and tell me, Balin!” she then shouted, her voice erupting with all the strength she could muster.

Balin flinched at her outburst but continued to gaze at her with sorrow, his mouth slightly open as if ready to respond. Yet no words came. His eyes met hers, searching her soul, but he could not offer the answer she already knew.

“See? Your apologies, your regrets—they’re meaningless to me, just like all the other lies,” she whispered icily.

Without waiting for a reply, she brushed past him, leaving the old dwarf and all her anger and pain behind her. She headed back to the others—and inevitably towards the source of her suffering.

------------------------------- TAG LIST: @mrsdurin

[rivendell-poet]

Hihi! Can I please have headcanons with the fellowship and Thorin's company having a short (like 5 feet) human s/o. And they be part of the fellowship/company, please? Please take as much time as you need!💕

Hi! Thank you so much for your request, and I'm so sorry it took so long. Also, thank you so much for the last part - it's small but means a lot 💕 (should be doing one for Thorin's company as well)

*･༓˚✧❝𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « headcanons »

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Gimli ○ Boromir ○ Pippin ○ Merry ○ Sam ○ Frodo ○

GN!Reader | No TWs | Can be read as platonic or romantic | Wordcount : 1.7k

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

✧ He’s the person you have the largest height difference with. Because he’s weirdly tall. 

✧ When the two of you stand next to each other Pippin will sometimes stare. He’s confident that one of you isn’t truly human. Who that is depends on the day.

✧ Aragorn isn’t really bothered by it, cares more about if you can handle yourself on the battlefield.

✧ Does make sure that you have the weapons you need constantly.

✧ Knows it’s probably difficult to find the right sized ones, so after a battle he can be found sharpening yours (generally while humming something).

✧ Has forgotten about the height difference once when you were cold and he gave you his cloak.

✧ Tried very hard not to laugh when you become completely swamped in the fabric and almost fall over.

✧ (He mainly succeeds.)

✧ Will fetch anything you need off the high shelves, and always puts it back on the lower shelves.

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ Closest of the ‘big people’ in terms of height difference. Not that that means much, because he’s still six feet.

✧ Is constantly asking you to describe the flowers you find. If they’re at a stage he finds it ok, will ask you to pick them up and hand it to him.

✧ Always tells you to ‘watch your head’ whenever he goes through a hallway he has to duck under. Has yet to correct himself on doing this.

✧ Treats your height a lot like he does Gimli’s, except he gets used to you slightly quicker.

✧ If you have not packed a bow he is very sad you can’t do archery together.

✧ Scours places for bows of your size with a slightly worrying intensity.

✧ Eventually, after the war is over, he commissions you one. It’s very beautiful, with dark wood and a gold leaf inlay of the different places you’ve been and enemies you’ve fought.

✧ Is actually a very good archery instructor, treats you how he would the others and it works out.

✧ Will fetch you anything from the high shelves, you just have to ask him first.

𝐆𝐢𝐦𝐥𝐢

✧ Closest in height to you. Is very relieved to find someone else of a normal height when surrounded by everyone else.

✧ You’re taller than he was, but he doesn’t care. Just happy that even though you’re taller than him you’re still almost on the same eye-level.

✧ Is very smug to the others that his weapon is around the same height as you - so the easiest to pick up. And with the best tutor.

✧ Does try to teach you how to use the axe, in some ways is a very good teacher but not all the time. Good offensively, lacking some defensive manoeuvres.

✧ Tries hard to learn your fighting style if you offer to teach him.

✧ Always insists you get first pick of everything when the Fellowship find items that can fit the two of you.

✧ When running across the plains the both of you blame the other one for being the slowest. Both of you also claim to be the better sprinter, neither of you have intentions of proving this claim.

✧ Would happily get you something from the high shelf if he could reach it. Has tried to convince you to climb up via him to get something instead of asking for help.

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ Along with Aragorn, he also doesn’t make a very big deal of it. You were trusted to be in the Fellowship, what else matters?

✧ You like to sometimes pretend you can’t see the height difference between Aragorn and Boromir and insist Boromir is the taller one. Both men know you’re probably faking, but neither correct you (for different reasons).

✧ Asks you for help to teach the hobbits how to spar, for example if a certain move he wants to teach them would be too risky - and what your advice is.

✧ Has supervised matches between you, Merry, and Pippin before. To your surprise he actually gives genuine, entirely unbiased feedback to all of you.

✧ Small part of him is amused by the fact his shield covers most of you. Would never say that out loud.

✧ (Boromir also finds it comforting, because it just means that it will be easier to protect you.)

✧ Very occasionally sketches out shield designs for you, if he has a lot of free time with most others being asleep. Writes the symbolism behind them in the margins.

✧ Will happily fetch you things from the high shelf. Puts them back onto the same high shelf out of instinct, then realises what he’s done and puts them onto a lower one you can reach.

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧

✧ Believes (lies to himself) that one day he may be as tall as you.

✧ Therefore constantly asks about how different life is when you’re as tall as you are (at the start of the Fellowship) despite the fact you’re only a foot and a bit above him.

✧ He insists that being your height will solve a lot of the problems he has in life. Merry says it’s better to just humour him.

✧ Has asked for piggy-back rides from you a few times. When you finally agree his eyes light up, there is pure joy as he sees the world from your perspective.

✧ After the entdraught one of his first thoughts is of you.

✧ Pippin wants to be taller than you. When he sees you again he runs straight into you, pulling you into a hug and then seeing if he has to look up to meet your height.

✧ Is crushed when he realises you’re still taller than him. Although he is around 4’8” now - so there’s much less of a height difference.

✧ Can finally reach the same shelves you can, and gives you the items from them even if you were just getting them.

✧ Has tried to climb up a shelving unit before to get to the top shelves. It ended as well as you think it did.

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

✧ Very surprised by your height, but also very enthusiastic. Didn’t think he’d ever be able to have conversation with a big folk without them constantly looming over him.

✧ Finally has someone other than Pippin he can show the little alcoves to, and then can spend time with them there.

✧ Every so often he’ll underestimate your height and you won’t be able to fit in - he’s always very apologetic when this happens.

✧ Only person who offers his cloak, and it’s actually a reasonable size for you. Slightly short but better than the other options, so you gladly take it.

✧ The thought of him being taller than you after taking the entdraught doesn’t even occur until he sees you again. Keeps his intentions fairly well hidden.

✧ Does the same thing he did with Pippin - ‘subtly’ measuring your height with his hand. Vehemently denies everything if caught doing it.

✧ Asks you about your tailors and if you own any patterns once he’s nearer your height. For the first few months you can see a lot of your stylistic choices find their way into Merry’s wardrobe.

✧ Would fetch you things from the high shelf if he could. Alas, he cannot - and he also values his dignity enough to not try and climb them.

✧ (Has secretly climbed them once with Pippin. The reason he doesn’t do it again is because he knows it will fail.)

𝐒𝐚𝐦

✧ Still thinks you're tall enough for the height difference to be slightly intimidating. He isn’t scared of you, it just comes from the tallest person he knew before you being around four feet.

✧ Other than that he treats you as he would everyone else, most respectfully and always looking out for your best interests.

✧ You are the person he goes too instinctively if he needs someone slightly taller than himself. Is always very apologetic about it, and promises to make it up to you.

✧ Generally makes it up to you by giving you one of the best portions of whatever he’s cooked for the night. Often with ingredients you managed to find for him.

✧ Also searches places to see if they’ll have weapons of the correct size for you.

✧ Is just as good as the people actually trained in combat, although it’s because he’s closer to your height - not because of his martial prowess.

✧ After the cave troll fight you’re the one he goes too, shyly asking if you’ll give him a few lessons.

✧ Sam is a very diligent student, and always gives you a bright smile every time. Thanking you for letting him protect Mr. Frodo that bit better.

✧ Unfortunately, he needs you to get him things from the ‘high shelves’ - but he would certainly help you if he could.

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨

✧ Subtle and polite look of amazement the first time he sees you, internally checking your height compared to his.

✧ He is somewhat sad that you’re just too tall to appreciate a lot of his walking sticks. Does find one or two in Bilbo’s collection that could be given to you.

✧ Always touched whenever you find him a ‘walking stick’ esque branch, although it’s sometimes slightly too tall for him.

✧ Often points out flowers and other beautiful things to you and Sam, because you’ll have the best view of it.

✧ After Aragorn, you’re his go-too person to hide behind and ask for protection. He feels bad about it the first few times, but you’re always there to reassure him.

✧ You and Aragorn have both moved in front of Frodo for protection at the same time. Always a moment of awkward silence and then shuffling into a decent position for the both of you.

✧ When seeing you, Pippin, and Merry all laughing together - one of them reaching out and ruffling your hair - he is somewhat envious about them now being around your height.

✧ However, he’s also grateful that he’s kept the same height. So Frodo isn’t too sad about it.

✧ Would fetch you things from the high shelves, although in reality you need to fetch things for him.

A/N : Hopefully you enjoyed, not entirely sure why this one turned out so platonic. But I am making one for thorin's company and I'll try make that one more obviously romantic. Thanks so much for reading and requesting!

Update : Here is the one for Thorin's company <3

thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @celestialhole / @starwars2222 / @xiaoseminence / @withasideofmeg / @nilintakan / @ferns-fics / @fleurdemiel-145 / @chewgazellechew / @recordofragnarokfan2 ✧ wish to be tagged?

[urdadisgae]

Bagginsheild headcanons because I’m obsessed again

- dwalin had to tell thorin to stop staring at Bilbo so intensely the way he was because to the average hobbit it look like he wanted Bilbo dead

- thorin was like but like it’s a look of love and dwalin was like does Bilbo know that

- thorin passes all his courting ideas past dwalin

thorin: dyou think he’d like to be awoken with my singing and harp

Dwalin: I genuinely think he’d like to be awoken with a knife and screaming

- thorin audibly sniffs Bilbo when they hug

- it freaks out everyone else but Bilbo thinks it’s endearing

- Bilbo loves thorins cooking even though it’s inedible

- thorin had marriage beads and rings made the first night he knew he wanted Bilbo

- bilbo encourages kili and fili to do backflips off the throne much to thorins dismay

- thorin asked bombur for some help to make breakfast for Bilbo but realised after thorin smashed open 6 consecutive eggs beyond use that one morning could not be enough time to help him

- all dwarfs love bilbo because he��s so different to other dwarfs but is nice and endearing

- this makes thorin only slightly jealous even though he knows bilbo would never even look at another dwarf twice

- thorin farts underneath a blanket and traps bilbo underneath it

- thorin is genuinely thrown off the first time bilbo gets him back

- thorin doesn’t take his jacket or crown off in his room because Bilbo always does and thorin loves when he does

- just gives him a reason to be close and kiss him

- this means that when Bilbo is mad at him he will just stare at him fully clothed still while bilbos already in bed

Bilbo: If you apologise I might think of taking off your crown and cloak

Thorin: I can’t imagine what I did wrong

Bilbo (who got blanket trapped in a fart in the morning): really!? Nothing rings out to you??!!? Nothing at all?????

Thorin: nope

Bilbo (not turned away from him and falling asleep): you’re right you didn’t do anything wrong

[princess-oakenshield]

Let Me Love You - Chapter 97 Dragon Sickness

FilixOC, with side KilixOC and ThorinxOC. SPOILERS FOR BOTFA! After the three die, they wake up and find themselves in modern day NYC. They are taken in by three sisters.

The fire had burned low, glowing quietly in the deepening dark. They had eaten simply—what was left of the dried meat, and a few late-season mushrooms Jasmine had foraged with Fili earlier. Now, most of the camp was settling.

Mattea was half-reclined beside Kili with her splinted ankle propped on his thigh, grumbling softly as he tugged a blanket over her legs. Jasmine sat close beside Fili, the two murmuring quietly as they packed away the small cooking pot and tidied the space.

Erika rose from where she’d been folding their cloaks and glanced around. Her eyes found Thorin easily.

He was sitting just beyond the firelight, on a smooth stone at the base of a gnarled tree, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely.

Something in her tugged. She stepped toward him.

“May I?” she asked softly, as she neared.

He looked up, his expression unreadable for a moment—but he nodded.

Erika settled beside him, close enough that the edge of his cloak brushed against hers. They sat in silence for a while, the fire popping gently behind them.

Then Thorin shifted slightly, his gaze catching on something near her temple.

A breeze stirred, brushing a loose strand of hair across her cheek. He reached out, slow and careful, and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers paused when they brushed the silver hair clip.

“You’re wearing it,” he murmured.

Erika smiled, quiet and sure. “I wear it every day.”

He looked at her a moment longer, ran his fingers down her cheek gently, then turned his eyes back toward the landscape they were overlooking from their camp.

She waited a beat before speaking.

“Earlier,” she said, “when you mentioned Bilbo. You said you owed him an apology.”

His jaw tensed.

“I don’t mean to press,” she added gently, “but you looked… like it still lives in you. Whatever it was.”

A long silence stretched between them. The others’ voices were still audible in the background—Kili laughing softly as Mattea teased him, Fili murmuring something that made Jasmine smile—but out here, under the quiet trees, it felt like another world.

Thorin spoke at last, his voice low.

“It was dragon sickness.”

Erika didn’t speak, letting the words come in their own time.

“I thought myself stronger than it,” he continued. “Smaug was gone. The mountain was ours again. But I… changed. The gold poisoned my mind. I trusted no one. I… ordered Fili to throw Bilbo from the rampart.”

Erika’s expression didn’t shift—but her hand moved, barely, just enough to rest near his.

“He refused,” Thorin said quietly. “Of course he did. So I stepped forward to do it myself. I—” His voice faltered, shame sharp in it. “I nearly cast him down. A friend who had only ever tried to help me. It was only in the final moments, when battle broke upon us, that the madness cleared. And Bilbo was there when… when I died.”

His eyes were dark now, haunted, his shoulders still.

“I remember the look on Bilbo’s face when I threatened to throw him off the rampart,” he said. “Not anger. Fear. And sorrow. Like I had broken something… a real friendship.”

Erika let the silence settle. Then, very gently, she said, “And you carry that with you.”

“I do,” Thorin said. “Not because I haven’t tried to let it go… but because I don’t ever want to forget what I became. It wasn’t long ago. Just weeks, really. A month, perhaps two.”

He turned toward her then, slowly—his voice low, but not guarded.

“And now you know. I have spoken more to you tonight than I’ve spoken of it since.”

His eyes searched hers.

“I don’t want you to see me as less.”

That admission landed heavy, but it wasn’t desperate. It was raw. Honest. A man who had clawed his way back from ruin, now terrified of being seen through the wrong eyes—her eyes.

Erika reached for his hand fully now, her fingers folding over his. She held it firmly, grounding him.

“I see you clearly,” she said, voice steady. “And nothing you’ve said makes me think less of you. If anything… it tells me what kind of man you really are.”

Thorin didn’t look away. His hand gripped hers tighter—not hard, just present.

Her shoulder brushed his. She leaned into him then, gently, resting against his solid warmth.

For a long time, he didn’t move. Then slowly, carefully, he turned his head and let it rest lightly against hers.

They stayed like that, neither speaking. The fire behind them cracked low, and the sound of the others faded into the hush of wind.

And for that quiet hour under the stars, the burden of the mountain—the ghosts of gold and madness—grew just a little lighter on Thorin’s shoulders.

[crystalbeetle888]

Voyage into the Unknown Pt.5

Master List Pt.4 - Pt.5 - Pt.6

It was an early start for the company the following morning, Thoirn wanted us out of town by lunchtime. “You will accompany me, and I shall purchase your travelling items” Thorin states, throwing on his armless fur coat over his armour. I finish getting ready, throwing on my denim jacket, and walk with him down the stairs and outside to meet up with the rest of the company. The dwarves turn to greet us, well, Thorin mostly. “I will be acquiring the appropriate gear and attire for Y/n today, the rest of you, stock up on food, we meet by the gate at high noon” Thorin explains to the group who nod along before dispersing, except for Fili and Kili who make their way over. Looking over at Thorin panicked, I coughed, gaining his attention away from talking to Gandalf. I shoot him a pointed look and tilt my head towards his nephews. He seems to catch the point, stepping around me and between his nephews and I. Thorin has a quiet conversation with them before they look over and nod, before turning around and walking off. Thorin returns to my side  “What did you tell them?” I ask. He glances at me briefly “You need not worry yourself, come, let’s get your supplies” He briskly walks away not waiting for me to catch up. Groaning, I chase after him. The streets bustle with people on their way to work. Vendors line the streets with stands of food, spices, linens, and other miscellaneous products. I catch up to Thorin as he struts over to a store with a hanging sign in front, ‘Tailor’ it reads. ‘Damn his little legs move fast’ I think to myself. 

Thorin holds open the door as I enter, a young looking girl no older than sixteen sits at the counter “Morning young masters, what can we do for you?” she smiles “She needs to be fitted for two tunics, preferably linen” The young girl nods “Aye we can do that, and just what colour would the lady prefer?” she jots down some notes in a small leather-bound book. “Uh, grey or blue I suppose?” I look at Thorin who shrugs in response. “Mmh Hmm” The girl hums jotting something down, “Alright Miss, this way, we’ll get your sorted in no time, your husband can sit outside” she calls over her shoulder at Thorin, as she whisks me away into the back of the store. Through some draped curtains, is a sectioned off room with a stool in the middle, and a table with an assortment of sewing equipment off to the side. “Well, go on, stand up there” She says impatiently, and I quickly hop up. “You haven’t done this before have you?” She asks, “What gives you that impression?” I question her, “Your silly clothes” She says like its obvious, as she begins to take my measurements, around my arms, waist, bust, and neck. The girl flurries around the room, measuring, taking notes, walking in and out the room, and grabbing different fabrics, before she finally settles on something she likes. “It’ll only take a jiffy to sew these up for you” She says looking at me expectantly. “Uh-” I stutter. “That means you can go now, come back later” She smiles awkwardly. I nod and hurry thorough the curtains and out the store, Thorin leaning up against the wall outside. “How did it go?” he asks standing up fully, “She said to come back in a ‘jiffy’” He nods. “Let’s get your other items, then we’ll return here” He says leading the way. Following behind him again we wander from store to store. He buys me a short brown leather cloak, with a fur lining, a pair of leather arm bracers, leather and fur boot covers, a brown belt with both a sword sheath, with a sword of course, and a small matching pouch, the tailored shirt, and thick cotton trousers. Thorin also buys me some miscellaneous items for the journey. "These aren't Dwarvish make but they'll have to do" He hands me off the items "Because Dwarvish is better?" I ask shoving the stuff into my pack. He gives me a look "Of course it is".

Walking back though the market and towards the front gate, the company stands around idly chatting with one another. Once arriving at the group, Thorin walks over to Dwalin and Balin and I join Bilbo. “Morning mate” I smiled at him. Bilbo looks up at me “Good evening actually- goodness what happened to your face?” He whispered panicked, “Nothing. It happened last night” I shush him. Bilbo looks shocked “Did Thorin-” He hesitates to continue, covering his mouth with his hand, “Gosh no, I- ran into trouble last night, but I’m fine really” My answer doesn’t seem to put him at any ease. Luckily though, Thorin calls for the company to move out before Bilbo can mother me any more.

The company mounts their ponies, and I my new full sized horse I affectionately named Minnie, as she was black and white. Trotting away from the town, I continue to make small talk with Bilbo throughout the rest of the day, avoiding the dwarves so as not to let them see my bruised face. ‘Don’t need to give these old farts an extra reason not to like me’. 

Despite Thorins’ generosity it’s obvious that they’re not convinced I’m capable of contributing anything worthwhile to this journey. The mens’ constant 'check ins' over the last nine days makes this painfully obvious. However nice it is to be looked out for, these men still think I’m useless, and it is beginning to wear on my nerves.

Thorin stops the company in a small clearing, next to a slow dribbling waterfall. “We make camp here for the night” He calls out. Groans can be heard from the  men as they dismount their ponies and tie them to some trees. Gloin and Oin wander off to collect firewood, Bomber, Bofur, and Ori prepare dinner, Nori and Dori tend to the horses, Bifur and Dwalin attempting to catch some fish, Fili and Kili attempting to hunt some rabbits, and Balin, Thorin and Gandalf ruminate over the map, leaving Bilbo and I to do nothing.

I huff in frustration, 'I won't be useless' I think, trekking over to Thorin “I want something to do” I interrupt their conversation, the old men turning to look at me in surprise. “No” Thorin responds shortly. “Thorin, I refuse to be useless” I argue. “How about you tend to the ponies lass?” Balin says, hoping to defuse the situation. “No, she needs to rest” Thorin repeats firmly in his decision. “More than the rest of us Thorin?” Balin questions. Fed up, I flick the hair from my face and tuck it behind my ear, Balin finally piecing it together “Oh Thorin, she won’t break” He chides him “Go on lass, find a way to help out ” he smiles warmly at me. I smile back, and prance away towards the ponies, finally happy to be taken seriously.

Meanwhile, Balin gives Thorin a very pointed look “What happened to her face?”. Thorin sighs “She was confronted by some Wild-men last night” he explains “She apparently dealt with it herself”. Thorin wasn’t just upset by her injury, a woman under his watch is his responsibility. Whether or not he wanted her there, she was his concern now and she deserved more respect and care whilst amongst the men. At Least that’s what Thorin believed. “Just because she got hurt doesn’t mean she’s helpless” Balin lectures him “Mahal knows you earned a bruise or two from battle” he chuckles to himself much to Thorin's dismay. “She is not like us, the race of men is soft”, Balin looks at him knowingly “You might just be surprised by her” he suggests, knowing just how difficult he is to impress and stubborn Thorin can be.

After feeding, brushing, and watering the ponies Bofur calls out for dinner. Rabbit stew, made from the catch Fili and Kili brought back. Sitting down by Bilbo I patiently wait my turn, wooden bowl in hand “Here, let me wait for you” I look up to Kili extending his open hand “Thank you” I say passing it to him. He grins and wanders off to wait. Bilbo coughs, gaining my attention “If I may comment, I don’t think you should hide things from them” he gives a pointed look “If you were injured would you want them fussing?” I side eye him discreetly. “Point taken” he laughs quietly “Seeing how they coddle you, makes me feel better about how they treat me” I look over at him, clearly agitated. “Really?” I roll my eyes. Kili returns, strutting over confidently holding the two bowls “Here you are my lady” He hands it over before sitting down next to me. I look at Bilbo who stares back awkwardly. I huff and tuck my hair behind my ears, revealing the bruised side of my face. Turning back to Kili, he doesn’t seem to notice as we converse over dinner. Until, he offers to take our bowls to wash, down by the lazy river with Bilbo, “What happened?” He asked, concerned “I’ll tell you later aye?” I reply, smiling gently. He frowns, eyebrows furrowed intensely “As soon as I return” he points at me, before collecting the rest of the bowls from the company and heading down to the river.

After some time Kili and Bilbo return, the rest of the company dispersed, doing their own thing. I lay on my bed-roll looking up at the stars, campfire to my side as Kili approaches with his bag. He sits next to my laying form and sets up his bed-roll an arms length from mine before laying down quietly. A long moment passes before he speaks “What happened last night?” he asks quietly. “Some Wild-men harassed me and the Innkeeper's daughter so I bashed them” I whisper back. Kili reaches over and gently takes my hand “I’m sorry, that happened, I-we should have been there for you” I squeeze his hand in comfort “You can’t always be there, plus I’m a big girl, I can handle myself” I joke. He gives an airy laugh “Yes you are” A moment of silence fills the air. “Did you rough them up good?” He turns to look over at me, and I smile before laughing “I fucked them up so bad”. He lets out a loud chortle “You know I’ve never met a woman that utters such profanities” I smile cheekily “Just part of my culture mate” I state proudly, really emphasizing my Australian accent.

“Is that the outback culture?” he asks “Yes, are you spying on me Master Dwarf?” I joke. Kili laughs sheepishly “I might have questioned Bilbo about you” I squeeze his hand “You could have just asked me” He smiles over at me, the glow from the fire illuminating his face with golden light. His deep brown eyes gleaming, his long flowing hair cascading over his wide shoulders, glittering in the light. His hand is calloused yet gentle as it holds mine, toughened by his laborious training. Kili stares back at me, basking in the warm silence.

Across the fire Thorin sits, watching his youngest nephew chat up their human companion. “How long do you think it will take him to braid her hair?'' His older nephew asks in Khuzdul. “Not long at this rate” he replies. “And you are okay with this?” Fili looks at him questioningly. Thorin gives him a knowing look “Only time will tell if she is his one, and he will need to make that judgement himself” he takes a long puff from his pipe. 

Honestly, Thorin wasn’t sure which one of them was more oblivious to their own budding feelings at this point. Fili hums in thought, the two smitten adults across the fire continue to talk amongst themselves, holding hands, until they eventually fall asleep next to each other.

Master List Pt.4 - Pt.5 - Pt.6

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Round 3, Poll 4

Heart of the Mountain v. The Raven Prince

THE POLL IS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE POST! CLICK "KEEP READING".

Heart of the Mountain: (Evil Arkenstone AU)

“We need to prepare for the refugees from Esgaroth. See to it that we get supplies sent from the Iron Hills. The fact that we have the Arkenstone in our position should be enough for Dain.”

“I’ll see it done.” Balin stated softly.

He nodded as he slunk off somewhere he could talk to Bilbo in private. Something strange was going on and he feared what that meant for their brave little hobbit. He managed to get them out onto the ramparts before he pulled the Arkenstone back out, setting it on the ground in front of him. 

“Bilbo?” He asked hesitantly.

For a long moment, nothing happened and Thorin feared he had truly lost the hobbit forever. Then the Arkenstone began to brighten and out popped the glimmering version of their burglar, brushing off his sleeves.

“Sorry, you won’t believe how crowded it is in there.”

Thorin cocked his head to the side, having so many questions, but deciding to ask the big one.

“What is going on?”

Bilbo shrugged. “I don’t know. What did that voice say? Something about gold?”

Thorin blinked, having almost forgotten about that. 

“Dig deeper.” He repeated. “In the gold, your heart will finally be free.”

“Your heart?” Bilbo chirped. “Do you mean…me?”

Thorin couldn’t answer that. Not right now. He also couldn’t meet Bilbo’s eyes which he felt like was far more telling.

“The Arkenstone is referred to as the Heart of the Mountain. Perhaps it just means ‘your heart’ as in what is trapped inside the Arkenstone.” He offered up a pathetic excuse.

“Oh. Right.” Bilbo agreed.

However, Thorin was fairly certain he caught notes of disappointment in his voice. He felt his heart leap and decided that was worth exploring later.

“So we have to dig in the gold to get me free. The last line, something about a lock and key. So you have to put the Arkenstone in this thing you find.” Bilbo summed up.

“Not just dig in the gold.” Thorin murmured. “Dig deeper. We have to open the mines again.”

Bilbo snorted. “With thirteen dwarves? Most of which won’t understand because I no longer exist to them. 

Thorin and Bilbo let the silence hang over them as the magnitude of the weighed on their shoulders. 

“Thorin.” Bilbo finally began. “It’s not your fault. If…if we can’t do this…”

“No!” Thorin interrupted, holding Bilbo’s gaze. “You have never once given up on me. Not when you came back from the Goblin Tunnels, not when you saved me from Azog, not when you rescued us from an elvish prison. I won’t give up on you. There has to be something we can do.”

Bilbo’s expression softened at his declaration, hitting far too close to the thing Thorin would not give a name. Thorin’s gaze went back out over to the still burning Laketown in the distance. He felt his chest tighten. This was supposed to be the easy part. Where they finally could rebuild. His nephews beside him, and Arkenstone in hand as he called on Dain for masons and supplies.

The Raven Prince: (Swan Princess AU)

Thorin’s head felt heavy and his body…odd. What happened? Did he have too much to drink last night? He tried to piece together the fragments floating in his memory. He had been at a festival. Bilbo had been there…Bilbo had accepted his bead! A sort of contentment floated across his mind knowing he at least remembered the most important thing. But what happened after that? He had been summoned to the castle and then…

Cloaked figure…fire…magic…his father…

“ADAD!” Thorin cried, jumping to his feet.

At least he tried to jump to his feet. They weren’t sturdy under him like he was used to, and he jumped far too high to be normal. Also his voice. It wasn’t right. It was like a weird croak. Thorin’s gaze spun around his environment, trying to get his bearings. But he wasn’t in the throne room. He didn’t even think he was in Erebor at all! The stone was different and the treasures and gems glowing in the firelight weren’t crafted in their halls. Thorin tried to step forward when there was a tug at his foot. He looked down, only for a couple of things to catch up to him all at once.

The first was…this wasn’t his body. It was covered in dark feathers and his legs were thin and scaly. It was almost like he was…a bird. And the second thing that seemed to send him over the edge, there was a leather knot looped around one of his legs holding him tight. Thorin squawked, jumping again only to realize it wasn’t just a jump, he was flying! 

“HELP! SOMEBODY, HELP ME!” He cried, but he couldn’t even understand the words as they left his…beak?

By Mahal, what was happening? Before he could spiral too far at the impossibility of his situation, the door at the other end of the room opened and a cloaked figure entered. Thorin glared. The sorcerer.

“My Prince,” He mockingly bowed. “So glad to see you awake.”

“What is this? What have you done to me?” Thorin demanded.

His voice came out as squawks and caws though which had the snake-like man smirking.

“Oh dear, that didn’t sound very polite. I suppose it is a bit too much for your…’bird brain’ to comprehend though.”

Thorin clapped his beak. Get his fingers anywhere near Thorin and he would show him ‘bird brain’. Smaug seemed to understand that much as he kept far out of Thorin’s reach moving to the other side of the room. 

“You see, my little spell was meant for your father. Steal the king, weaken Erebor, come in and conquer all. I’m sure you get it.”

Thorin shivered. Conquer? His kingdom was in trouble!

“But honestly, this works out to my advantage.” The sorcerer continued to gush. “Because your father is consumed by grief, I will still have my war, and then I have my little puppet raven as a legitimate claim to the throne.”

“I’ll never be your puppet.” Thorin growled.

“And best of all, you won’t have a choice. There’s no escaping this spell except if I allow it.” Smaug grinned. “Poor little Prince Thorin.”