always confuses me when people get upset when they find freaks in the freaky fandoms…..like babe the fork IS going to be in the kitchen. just cause you’re not that flavor of freak you’re still in the kitchen too. and since we’re ALL in the kitchen we really shouldn’t be shaming the other utensils here.
Bard is not overly affectionate in public, but he's always touching you somehow.
Maybe a hand on your back.
Or his arm brushing yours.
Possibly standing close enough that you never have to wonder where he is.
He worries about you constantly and tries very hard not to show it. Every "be careful" is really an "i love you."
His children adore you.
You catch him smiling at you when he thinks you're not looking.
The kind of man who brings you an extra blanket without saying a word.
...kisses your forehead when he's tired, acts annoyed when you fuss over him, secretly loves every second of it.
"I can take care of myself, bard."
"Never said you couldn't."
"...then why are you staring at me?"
"Can never get enough of your beauty, darlin."
✧ Thranduil
Acts as though he is above romance.
Absolutely is not.
He remembers everything about you.
Your favorite flowers mysteriously appear in your chambers, notices when you're cold before you do, loves having you beside him during feasts and meetings.
His affection is quiet and elegant...
Brushing a strand of hair from your face, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, giving you jewelry because it reminded him of you.
Everyone in the woodland realm knows he adores you. He believes they are being subtle.
Nope.
He gets the softest look in his eyes whenever you laugh.
"Your majesty."
"Hmm?"
"You've been staring at me."
"Have I?"
"Yes."
"Then perhaps you should stop being so alluring."
✧ Thorin
The definition of "acts annoyed because he's in love."
He grumbles every time you worry about him.
Immediately does whatever you asked him to do (that's sooo not him, you've literally made him evolve)
He's icredibly protective...duh??
Stubborn beyond reason.
Loyal beyond reason.
And once he loves you, that's it. There's no changing his mind.
He secretly loves when you sit beside him while he works.
He loves hearing your voice even if neither of you are talking about anything important.
His rare smiles are reserved mostly for you.
Ohh he absolutely melts when you play with his hair.
...but don't tell anyone.
"You're staring again."
"Am not."
"Thorin."
"..."
"Thorin."
"...continue talking."
✧ Fíli
Golden retriever prince 100%
Absolutely shameless about loving you.
He compliments you every chance he gets.
Loves holding your hand, loves wrapping an arm around your shoulders, loves having you close.
Loves giving you kisses on your nose >-<
He's constantly trying to make you laugh.
The type to dramatically throw himself across your lap after a long day.
And tells everyone how wonderful you are.
Everyone.
Would fight a dragon for you, like the sweetheart he is.
And then brag about how impressed you looked afterward.
"Fíli."
"Yes?"
"You're smiling...still"
"Because you're you."
"That's ridiculous."
"I know."
✧ Kíli
Somehow even worse than Fíli.
He flirts with you constantly...never misses an opportunity to tease you.
He follows you around whenever possible and thinks your reactions are adorable.
He lovesss making you blush.
Surprisingly so so sweet when you're upset. The first to notice when something is wrong. The first to make you laugh again.
He's addicted to cuddling, no doubt in my mind.
If he could spend all day with his head in your lap, he would.
"You missed me."
"You were gone for five minutes."
"Exactly."
"Kíli."
"...so you did miss me."
✧ Fíli & Kíli (bonus)
You don't get a moment of peace.
Not one...
They just adore you.
Together...
*Slowly dislocating*
Loudly...
Constantly.
If one of them is teasing you, the other is helping. And if one of them is cuddling you, the other appears five seconds later.
They compete for your attention.
They both lose...poorly.
Because eventually they're both laying on top of you.
Fíli calls you beautiful.
Kíli calls you gorgeous.
Neither ever stops (but who's complaining?)
They're sooo protective, affectionate, and completely devoted.
Everyone in erebor knows exactly how much they love you.
"Move over."
"I was here first."
"That's not fair."
"Says who?"
"Says me."
"Boys."
"Yes?"
They both say in sync.
"Both of you behave."
MY WORK IS MY OWN AND I HAVE OWNERSHIP OF MY CREATIONS. DO NOT STEAL, COPY OR REPOST!
Rivendell greeted them with the coolness of waterfalls, healing silence, and the scent of blossoming trees. After the frantic ride through the wastes, fleeing from howling Wargs and ruthless Orcs, the Last Homely House felt like a dream come true.
For Thorin Oakenshield’s company, the past few weeks had blurred into one endless cycle of mud, sweat, blood, and road dust. And Y/N had shared every hardship equally. The dwarves had long grown accustomed to seeing her in an oversized man’s shirt, coarse trousers, and worn-out boots. Her hair was always hidden beneath a traveling hood, and her cheeks and nose were invariably smudged with soot or dried mud. She was a master at building fires, argued with the dwarves over stew portions, and never complained when forced to sleep on bare stone. In truth, amidst the chaos of survival, they had almost forgotten that a woman was traveling among them.
Only occasionally would the little Hobbit gallantly offer scraps of cloth, sourced from heaven knows where, so the girl could clean her face even a little. Y/N remembered that first awkward moment when Bilbo, looking embarrassed, handed her a clean piece of fabric to wipe her face after a downpour. Y/N had accepted it with surprise and wiped her face with relief. But when she pulled the cloth away, she curled her lip in disgust, noticing Bilbo wearing the exact same expression.
"I think I won't be giving this back to you," the girl cleared her throat, staring at the mixture of mud, sweat, and blood on the fabric. Bilbo nodded enthusiastically in agreement.
The dwarves had already visited the local fountain to wash, scrub their beards, and change into clean, albeit simple, tunics. They gathered on one of the open terraces awaiting dinner, loudly discussing Elven food as they fastidiously picked through salad leaves in bowls. Hardly anyone noticed Elrond smiling contentedly. Though a noble Elf, he took a certain pleasure in annoying dwarves.
"Where is Y/N?" Ori inquired, looking around the magnificent hall, his eyes scanning the table where Elrond, Gandalf, and Thorin sat.
"Some Elven maids led her away first," Fili grunted, popping a tomato into his mouth.
Their conversation died instantly when a beautiful lady appeared in the doorway. She stepped onto the terrace with confidence, seemingly oblivious to the pack of dwarves. There was something special about her; she was markedly different from the Elves, and that was exactly what commanded attention.
Dvalin froze, his wine cup hovering mid-air. Fili and Kili’s mouths hung open simultaneously, and Bofur dropped his favorite pipe.
Only by looking closer did they recognize Y/N’s features. The Elven maidens who had taken her under their wing had performed a miracle. The road grime was gone, replaced by glowing, clear skin. Her hair, freed from coarse knots, fell in soft waves over her shoulders, adorned with thin silver threads. But the greatest shock was the dress. Weightless, flowing silk the color of moonlight and young foliage draped softly over her figure, emphasizing her waist and the graceful line of her shoulders.
Y/N nervously adjusted a long sleeve, embarrassed by the intense, ringing silence of her companions.
"What?" she asked hesitantly, her voice sounding unusually soft. "I look silly, don't I? I told them I needed my old jacket..."
"Silly?" Kili breathed, the first to regain his speech. He stepped closer, as if afraid the vision might vanish. "Y/N, by Mahal’s beard... we simply forgot."
"Forgot what?" she frowned.
"That you’re a girl," Fili blurted out honestly, earning a sharp elbow to the ribs from Dwalin.
"You look stunning, lassie," Balin smiled warmly, rising to bow to her. "But, truth be told, we truly aren't used to seeing you... like this."
"Though these Elvish rags are far too thin," Dori grumbled, eyeing the fabric as if it were no stronger than a spiderweb. "It’s pretty, I won’t deny it, but is this clothing for such a brave maiden? No warmth, no dignity!"
"Right you are!" Gloin chimed in, slamming his fist on the table. "When we reclaim Erebor, Y/N, we shall sew you a proper dwarven gown! Made of heavy ruby velvet, embroidered with gold thread along the hem and sleeves!"
"And with patterns!" Bofur added, giving her a cheerful wink. "Believe me, in dwarven attire, you’ll look much better than in these Elven petals. No drafts, and fabric thick enough to stop an arrow! We promise you that!"
Y/N laughed—sincere and bright—and the sound made Thorin Oakenshield, sitting at the other table, take a deeper breath of the Rivendell air.
The King-in-Exile had not uttered a word since her appearance. His piercing blue eyes followed her every move. Thorin felt something heavy and hot stir within him. He, too, had forgotten. He had forgotten how fragile and beautiful she could be, because every day he had seen only a brave brother-in-arms, ready to charge an Orc with a dagger.
But now...
Thorin listened in silence to the chatter of his kin, but his thoughts drifted far beyond promises of velvet dresses. He looked at her exposed neck, her slender wrists, and thought that Elven silk was indeed too pale for her. She needed deep, rich colors to complement the glow of her skin.
And jewelry.
His mind was already painting pictures that made his heart beat faster. Elven silver does not suit her, Thorin thought possessively. She needs the gold of Erebor. Massive, warm gold woven by master smiths. A heavy necklace of sapphires to reflect the starlight, mithril bracelets, rings set with deep emeralds. He would shower her with the treasures of the Mountain once they reclaimed their home. She deserved to wear treasures pulled from the very heart of the earth, for her spirit was harder and brighter than any diamond.
Thorin’s gaze flickered to her loose hair, and another thought flashed through his mind, causing his hands to grip the armrests of his chair tightly.
A crown.
Not just a circlet. The crown of the Queen of the Lonely Mountain.
He imagined that crown upon her head—a circlet woven of starlight and red gold, unworn for generations. Thorin pictured her walking beside him through the vast halls of Erebor, in a velvet gown, chiming with gold, wearing a crown that proclaimed her power and his absolute devotion.
At that moment, Y/N turned her head and met Thorin’s gaze. The laughter on her lips faded slightly, replaced by a soft, hitched breath. In the eyes of the King Under the Mountain burned a flame so dark, ancient, and possessive that shivers ran down her spine—shivers that had nothing to do with the cool wind of Rivendell.
Thorin slowly inclined his head in a slight, dignified half-bow, never breaking eye contact. He said nothing aloud. But in his gaze was an unbreakable dwarven promise: “Wait until we reclaim the Mountain. And you will see how a Queen is truly meant to look.”
Tolkien Preference- Their Favourite Body Part of Yours
Hair- Elrond
Elrond is absolutely enchanted by your hair. Long or short he loves to run his fingers through it. He could spend hours braiding it and is not above begging you to let him wash it for you. In the bedroom he doesn’t like to pull it, instead enjoys stroking or caressing it
Eyes- Glorfindel
Glorfindel can easily get lost in your eyes. Though he’s a powerful warrior, his biggest weakness is your eyes. He will sit and listen to you speak, loving the way your eyes light up. In the bedroom he begs you to look into his eyes constantly, especially when you cum
Lips- Arwen
Arwen loves your lips, not just kissing them, but staring and touching them. After an evening together she will trace her fingers over your lips. Sometimes she feels a little bad because she wants to listen to you speak, but she just gets so distracted by your lips
Breasts- Fili
Fili, like most dwarves, loves the softer parts of women. His favourite part of you are your breasts. He loves to lay on your breasts when you cuddles, and will have them in his mouth during sex. He can’t help watch them when you ride your horse or dance, and it drives him mad
Stomach- Bilbo
Bilbo is a hobbit, so of course he loves your stomach. Loves laying of stomach while you cuddle together. Will reach his hand under your shirt to feel your stomach. He also loves how your stomach gets a bit bigger after he’s fed you well, but he would never actually say that
Legs- Frodo
Frodo is short, even by hobbit standards, but that doesn’t bother him. His height just means that he can stare at your legs all damn day. Frodo like to sit against your legs while you read together, and loves to lay entangled in them post sex
Hands- Legolas
Legolas sometimes gets lost staring at your hands. He loves to feel your hand tracing against it chest, holding his hand, or grabbing his waist when you ride together. His eyes gets all starry staring at your hands grasping your bow and loosening your arrow when he tries to teach you archery
Ass- Thorin
Thorin has no shame in letting you know how much he loves your ass. In public he’s subtle, but he definitely will stare. In private he will grab and slap your ass as much as he likes, even when he growl at him, he kinda loves it
Thighs- Kili
Kili finds both comfort and arousal in your thighs. He loves to lay his head on them while you run your fingers through his hair. He also could live between your thighs, often telling you that suffocating between them would be his favourite way to die
Neck- Eowyn
Eowyn loves both the sweet little giggles you make when you pecks your neck with kisses. She also loves the intoxicating way you moan when she bites and sucks at your neck. She’s been distracted many times during training watching you wipe sweat from your neck. She often smirks at you every time Eomer asks why you’re wearing a scarf during warmer weather
Thorin with his dragon sickness, but it's not the gold and jewels he's hoarding...
It's you.
You've heard of the dwarven protectivness and intensity with which they care for their One, but everyone looks a little worried over Thorin's behavior. It isn't normal. Even by dwarven standards.
You aren't allowed to be out of his sight. He keeps you less than a hand width away at all times, guarding you with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue.
His jealousy even gets to the point you're just kept locked away in his room because he simply can't stand the idea of another being looking at you.
He worships you though. Truly. Completely. Especially when the two of you are alone at night. He's obsessed. Possessed even.
But he won't hear it.
Nothing will come between the King Under the Mountain and his Treasure
He is intensely private with affection. In public he may place his hand to your lower back or his finger tips may brush your hand as you walk… but in private? All restraint fall away and that dwarf is putty in your hands.
Forehead touches and knuckle kisses are his favourite form of intimacy.
When he is overwhelmed he will seek you out immediately. He will rest his forehead on yours and will take deep breaths until he steadies himself.
Calls you amrâlimê (“my love”) 24/7.
Thorin will put your needs above his own: making sure that you eat, taking note if you are sleeping enough. (This often leads to a heated exchange of words.)
You often end the day with sitting together in silence—his arm around you and your head against his shoulder.
He braids your hair every opportunity possible, treating it like a sacred task.
Rarely laughs, but when he does, it feels like a gift meant only for you.
Honesty. Always. If he makes you a promise, he will never break it.
A dwarf of few words, but will whisper words of affirmation in your ear from time to time.
Sometimes when he wakes in the night, he will reach over to touch you, ensuring you are still there. Some times he will rest his hand over your heart and other times he will (slightly roughly) pull you into him.
He trusts you completely and your counsel is one of the few he seeks without his pride getting in the way.
He will always listen when you speak. You have his uninterrupted attention.
You are the only one who can interrupt council meetings without consequences.
He values your presence at his side, especially at formal events. Your presence simply calms him.
He will remove his crown the moment he enters your shared chambers. With you, he is not King, he is simply Thorin.
Does not underestimate your strength, he knows you are capable of handling yourself — but gods help anyone who threatens you.
Will subconsciously stand in front of you in situations his mind deem as dangerous.
His rage is cold and terrifying when you are harmed (or even insulted, let’s be honest)
While his rage would never be directed towards you, Thorin can be quite the jealous and moody type, which has led to a fight or two between the two of you.
Struggles to express his emotions.
Getting Thorin to open up and have a conversation after an argument is … a challenge. Often needs time to go and pout before willing to have a discussion.
Is absolutely the type of dwarf who will to go to bed angry (if he goes to bed at all, that is).
Very much a stubborn dwarf, but your chances of receiving a sincere apology are much higher than anyone else.
But at the end of the day,
He rules better with you beside him and everyone notices.
Reader is kept as neutral as possible. Aside from implying they have hair long enough to be braided for some characters.
English is not my first language.
My requests are open so feel free to request anything else (I write for a plethora of characters)
My masterlist
Kili
This poor guy had spent so long trying to flirt to no avail. It seemed that no matter how much he braided Reader's hair they just weren't catching on. Was he doing this wrong? Or were they just not interested and ignoring him to be nice instead of outright turning him down? God he'd begun questioning everything.
Until Gandalf came by having noticed Kili's rather pathetic attempts at flirting, placing a grounding hand on his shoulder and speaking in a rather amused tone.
"You know it's only dwarves that flirt like that, right?"
Kili just stared up at him, utterly confused and a little embarrassed now, though he knew the only way find a way that actually works would be to ask for help.
"Well... What should I do, then?"
Gandalf took a puff of his pipe and chuckled, giving a small shrug and responding lightly, not wanting to make Kili feel even worse.
"Just get them some flowers. It's a small thing but if they like you back they should realise what it means."
Kili just stared up at him, seeing how horribly it has been going up until now, of course he had more questions. But he decided to just trust Gandalf on this one.
He showed up by Reader's bedroll, right before they were about to fall asleep, with a bunch of flowers held messily in his hand, each of them picked from around the forest. He tried to keep them relevant to reader some the colour of their eyes, some matching the colour of their clothes.
"I got these for you..."
He was a little nervous but he stood upright, trying to seem confident, giving reader a sheepish smile as he handed them the flowers.
"I hope you like them..."
Fili
Fili figured out just messing with reader's hair and braiding it wasn't going to cut it. Seeing as reader hadn't said anything in return or returned the gesture. So he assumed it was just a difference in cultures. He wasn't going to ask for help from someone else though. If he was going to do this he was going to do it himself.
So he started experimenting. Talking to them more, staying by their side more. Generally getting to know them and stuff. The more he knew the more he could use it to flirt, no? It started small of course.
Giving reader bits of his meal he knew they enjoyed. Offering to eat the stuff they didn't like. Cutting up fruits for them and giving it to them as snacks throughout the day. Simple acts of service.
Then he decided to take it a little further. Helping them with cleaning and sharpening their weapons. Setting up reader's bedroll for them nearer to the campfire so save them a warmer spot. Just quiet ways of showing affection until they caught on.
Thorin
He clearly wasn't sure of how to flirt. He didn't want to do it the dwarven way, braiding and taking care of reader's hair because he didn't want the rest of the company to know. Much less that sassy wizard who was sure to tease him for it.
So he decided to do it by giving them things. Always making sure to find a way to make up excuses for why he was doing it. The sword they'd found in a cave that he gave to reader instead of keeping? Just to help them stay safe. Plus why would he use an even made weapon of all things. Obviously he wouldn't have kept it for himself anyways. The rings he handed them? They weren't worth much anyways. Plus he had enough of them.
Then it started becoming a little... Extra. Actually valuable things, things that Thorin wouldn't even trust his own nephew's with. That sort of thing.
Thranduil
He's a lot more open with his flirting than the three dwarves we've just talked about. He'll show his love in pretty much every form he can. Physical touch? He's got it. He's practically worshiping reader from head to toe. Making sure to show an equal amount of love to each part of them. Gifts? It would be an insult to assume he doesn't provide gifts. Anything reader wants they get almost instantly. Acts of service? Might not be directly from him but he'll order servants around to do things that will save reader time and effort. So that close enough for him. Words of affirmation? He's making sure to praise reader for every act. Even if it seems insignificant to others.
It's quality time where it gets a little more complicated. He's a king. So obviously he's going to be busy. Which may be why he's so excessive when it comes to everything else. He's trying his best to make up for his absence through the things he does when he actually has time to be around reader.
Bofur
He's a lot more open than the rest of the dwarves. He knows that even if his flirting goes unnoticed or unreciprocated it won't be the end of the world. So he just took to flirting by trying to make reader feel as comfortable and welcomed as possible on their quest.
He took note of their eating habits. What they like eating. What they didn't like eating. Any small things that helped them enjoy their food. What helped them rest easier. Preference on watch times. That sort of thing.
And he used that knowledge to make them feel as best as he could. Preparing their favourite foods on days that didn't go that well. Trying to use as little ingredients they disliked as possible. Offering to take watch at times they knew reader would rather be asleep at.
Bilbo
He's a lot more physical with his affection than anyone else. Anytime the company had to camp anywhere remotely cold? He's huddled up as close to reader as possible. Anytime they're out traveling? Staying by reader's side, trying to get any excuse to hold their hand.
Something dangerous happened? He's hugging them the moment the group is back together. They fight exceptionally well or do their job better than usual? He's squeezing their shoulder and making sure they know they're appreciated.
Is it subtle? Not at all. Practically everyone knows of Bilbo's feelings for reader. But that doesn't make it any less sweeter.
Gandalf
With the amount of times he just disappears out of thin air he doesn't have much time to actually spend with reader. But he does make up for it thought other things he did.
Using his magic to help reader was the biggest example of it. Using it to make their pain go away whenever they get injured. Using it purely for entertainment in the early hours of the morning when they're keeping watch together. The lot.
Not to mention bringing them little trinkets from his journey. The smallest thing that reminds him of them will be picked up and in reader's travel pack by the time he'd back.
Warnings - Smut, language, male genitalia, mention of bodily fluids, creampie, rough sex, lowkey breeding kink (maybe?), slight dom themes (Thorin and Fili)
Pronouns & POVs - None, third-person.
Pairings - Thorin x Reader, Fili x Reader, Kili x Reader
Word Count - 2,500+
A/N - I am once again stumped on the full smut I am writing and was listening to music when "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" by Daft Punk came on which for some reason sparked this idea. (I have had this sitting in my drafts for far too long.) Pure smut under the cut!
Read on AO3 Read on Wattpad
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»
- thorin
Harder. When it came to your past lovers, there always seemed to be something lacking when it came to more intimate activities. It was not that your past lovers were awful, but they never seemed to get you to the finish line, so you began handing out fake trophies.
It was hard to explain your desires. It was not that your previous lovers treated you poorly in or out of the bedroom; they treated you as if you were a fragile flower in and out of the bedroom, and that was the issue.
It was not an issue outside the bedroom: you loved being doted upon, having your every wish and command acted upon without question. Yet, when it came to inside the sheets -- you preferred it hard. It was simple, the easiest thing to grasp in your mind, but your previous lovers seemed to absorb the information as well as glass absorbs water; it doesn't.
It appeared hopeless until you had met Thorin.
The journey to the Misty Mountains had been treacherous. One that had left all members littered with new bumps and bruises, as well as new scars that littered their bodies alongside bruised, potentially even fractured, bones.
Throughout the journey, the company of dwarves experienced several hard struggles. Ones that took them many hours, if not days, to resolve; their nights often spent pondering as they gazed upon the stars. Yet, the stars held no answers regarding the hardest hassle they had dealt with: convincing you to accept aid.
It was not if you were neglecting yourself; you accepted food and medical aid when needed, yet you refused items the company of dwarves attempted to gift you -- such as new clothes and boots. You had been perfectly fine repairing your clothes when you had a moment. After all, the cloak you journeyed with had covered any tears within your outfit, so it was not as if the world could see the flesh the cloth once shielded.
You reminded yourself that you had to travel light: extra luggage meant extra weight, which meant extra aches and pains from lugging around said weight all day. Yet, there had been the odd occasion upon your travels where an item had caught your eye.
You had managed to stay strong until you passed it. The most beautiful pair of boots you had yet to see, in a color you adored and a style you knew was comfortable for travel: they looked perfect. You could not help but approach the stall, making small talk with the woman who ran it as you examined the boots from afar; they even appeared to be your size!
It appeared to be too good to be true, and that it was. You had been a few coins short of purchasing them, and attempting to barter the boots down to what you had was out of the question -- you needed the coins to pay for your next meal.
"How much?" The dwarven king asked from beside you, his sharp sapphire gaze glued upon the same boots. The suddenness of his deep voice startled you as you were quick to look at him, as he stood there with his arms crossed at his chest, leaning back slightly, a stance he often did while in thought.
"How much for the boots?" The dwarf repeated the question in a low and serious tone as his gaze rose from the boots to the seller. The seller calmly restated the price for the item in question, earning an amused "That's all?" from the dwarven king as he handed over the payment without hesitation.
Yet, the boots did not remain in the dwarven king's hands for long, as they quickly fell into your grasp as he thrust them into your arms.
"Hurry up." The command left his thin lips in a low tone as the heat of his gaze examined your body from head to toe. "We need to find a tailor; you're practically in rags." The words became distant, accompanied by the tap of his boots against the creaking wooden dock. A creaking almost as hard as when the frame of your bed shakes as he pleasures you.
The sharp thump of the bedframe bouncing against the wall danced throughout the air, accompanied by the melody of your moans as the dwarven king continued to drive his hips into yours. Each inch of his hardness pounded into you, the squelching click of skin slapping against one another growing as loud in the air as the bedframe against the wall.
His hands would tightly grasp upon your legs, your legs spread upon his shoulders, new boots upon your feet as they bounced slightly against his back with every hard thrust of the king's hips. His gaze upon you would be lustful as a smirk spread upon his thin lips.
"That's it." He'd breathe, his breath caressing your face as he leaned down, pushing you further into the bed and pushing further into you, allowing every inch of his cock to have a chance inside of you before sliding out. "Give me every inch of you. Show me why I spoil you." He'd purr, lips hovering a breath above yours as his eyes remained locked onto yours.
His harsh gaze would urge you further into submission, to give into the hardness of his thrusts and the hardness of his cock.
A hardness that left you utterly entranced: how it stretched your inner walls perfectly, carving itself deep into your center as the rhythmic pulsations of his lust lulled you closer to the brink of release.
The dwarven king was far harder in many ways compared to your past lovers, yet it was a hardness you craved.
──────
- fili
Better. The terms of your love life had always been lackluster. The lovers of your past rarely managed to wow you, and upon the rare occasion that they managed to, it always appeared to come with terms and conditions.
It never felt as if you were the priority, yet you sat idly by for many years as you patiently awaited with the hope that a lover would make you feel special, wanted, and better than any had before. And, as if an answer to your nights of blandness, Fili came into your life.
And he was better.
The moment you had met, the golden-haired prince had whisked you off your feet. It was not through his title, nor was it through lavish gifts or promises that would be broken, no. He listened.
You had been enthusiastically speaking of a weapon you had found upon your travels, going into depths about the elaborate carvings upon it and what origins you had suspected it to be. You had been raving about this weapon for many paths now, excitedly showing whoever would listen.
"And, best of all, I haven't needed to--" The words had stalled in your mouth as you noticed how the dwarven company rolled their eyes at your rambling. A heat began to spread beneath the flesh of your face as your lips shut suddenly, and the warmth of embarrassment began to spread from the center of your chest as your gaze fell.
"Haven't needed to what?" A familiar voice had spoken, one deep and full of warmth. "I am listening. And I would like to see this magnificent weapon." The golden-haired prince spoke, a smile upon his thin lips as your gaze lifted from the ground and onto him.
The warmth within your chest had quickly eased from the uncomfortable sensation it felt moments prior, as the speed at which your heart raced now turned to various fluttering as your gemstone-colored eyes locked with his ocean-colored pair.
You had felt the harshness of his calloused palm upon the back of your hand, gently rotating your hand to fit into his before he applied a soft pressure upon it, a reassuring squeeze as the smile upon his thin lips softened.
"Go on." A phrase the golden-haired prince had used for various events. The most frequent was not in comfort, though it always made you feel better when he spoke it while he was deep inside you.
The thickness of his manhood would stretch out your inner walls, expanding them to mold perfectly around his throbbing cock, feeling the pulsation of his heartbeat, his arousal, within one of the most sensitive parts of him.
His thrusts would be deep and slow, allowing you to feel every inch of his throbbing length as his eyes scanned your face. It was as if you were a novel, and he was reading you, jotting down mental notes of what made you gasp in pleasure and what made you hiss in pain.
The bed would creak rhythmically, the headboard hitting against the wall, creating a beat that danced alongside the melody of your moans.
"That's it." His tone would be full of praise as he stroked your cheek; the sensation of his calloused thumb brushing against the flesh of your cheek would send a wave of pleasure down your body. "Let me hear how good it feels." The heat of his breath caresses your face as he leans closer to you, causing his thrusts to deepen as he does so: ensuring his cock reaches the most sensitive and pleasurable spots within your core.
That was what you adored about Fili; it wasn't only his pleasure he did this for, but your pleasure as well.
Your lips would entwine with his, your moans muffled against his thin lips as he continued the same pleasurable pace. The faint taste of ale lingered upon his lips, becoming more apparent as you parted your lips, giving his tongue access to yours.
Tongues entwined in a sloppy dance, breaths becoming uneven and deepened until you both parted. Lungs expanded vastly as the pair of you gasped for air, a string of saliva connecting your lips as your gazes met.
"I love every sound you make, every noise that escapes your beautiful lips." Fili would breathe, his lips curved into a lopsided grin as his hips continued to jut against yours, ensuring that the familiar tingle of pleasure would roam throughout your body before he would even recognize the knot within his abdomen. That your hands would grasp at the sheets of the bed, or your nails would claw down his toned back before he would allow his grip to tighten upon the flesh of your hips.
That your lips would be stuck open as a slew of moans fell from them before he uttered a single curse of pleasure. That the sweet nectar of your being would cascade upon your skin before he allowed his seed to paint your sensitive inner walls, or allow it to coat the flesh of your abdomen.
He cared for your pleasure as much as he cared for you. He was simply better.
──────
- kili
Faster. The speed at which your love life progressed had always been slow. The lovers of your past seemed to enjoy silly games instead of commitment, and for the rare few who desired something more -- they seemed to move even slower.
It felt drawn out. It felt as if your previous lovers had held a meeting on how to waste your time, yet you held onto faith that you would find a lover who wanted to belong to you as much as you wished to belong to them.
And though your heart had yearned for a faster pace in terms of romance, you were not prepared for the fast dwarven prince.
The night air nipped at the flesh of your skin, and the soft crackling of the campfire danced alongside the sounds of the woods and your dwarven companions. Some of your companions were off eating their stew, a mix of mushrooms and other things they had managed to forage within the woods, though you'd never question where they found the meat or spices that went into it.
The low chatter of their voices nearly muffled the gentle sounds of the fire; the soft sway of its light and warmth reminded you of its presence as your gaze remained glued to the stars above. It was a brief moment of peace within the sea of chaos that had become your life, and though you had lost the comforts of home, the dwarven prince who sat beside you had found those comforts within you.
The sound of your voice, the scent of your skin, the light that shimmered within your eyes; you became his home on the road. Yet, he had been too nervous to say anything until that night.
Either overcome with confidence or immense stupidity, the dwarven prince could not help but blurt out the three words that had been swirling around his mind since the moment he laid eyes upon you.
"I love you." His voice echoed throughout the makeshift campsite, his amber gaze glued upon your face, and a sea of laughter erupted from his fellow companions. The heat of his cheeks burned as bright as the fire before him, yet he did not back down as your sparkling gaze met his. "Y/N, I love you." He repeated, his confident voice wavering as the words left his lips. A wavering you would hear in far more intimate events.
The rapid thumps of the bedframe bouncing against the wooden wall echoed throughout the not-so-silent room. The sounds of the bed were so close together in pace that a thump barely had enough time to become an audible sound before another came in its place, masking the previous one as fast as it was made.
His cock raced within you, desperately stretching out the inner walls of your core, as his face was buried within the crook of your neck. The heat of his short, quick breaths tickled the side of your neck as he inhaled your scent.
"So good." The words wavered in pleasure upon his lips, hanging upon the tip of his tongue before escaping in more of a whimper than a moan. "You feel so good." His words would become a full whine of pleasure as he held onto you.
His hands would be tightly clenching at your arms, grasping so tightly that his nails would begin to dig into your skin. A delicious twinge of pain and pleasure flooded your sensations as his cock would continue to rapidly carve itself deep inside you.
His breaths would come out as quickly as his movements, each harsh thrust a silent devotion of his love, his neediness for you. His head would remain buried in the crook of your neck, allowing his whimpers to vibrate against the exposed skin as the burn within his hips grew hotter.
His body moved like a well-oiled machine, never ceasing in action as it brought you closer and closer to the brink of release. And as fast as you were thrown overboard, drowning in the sea of pleasure, the dwarven prince dived in after you.
He was far faster than your exes, yet he always ensured you came first in all scenarios.
──────
Want to read one part at a time? Read separately on AO3
Thorin, Fili, Kili
Want to read it as a book? Read separately on Wattpad
Thorin Oakenshield x Reader
— A king shields you from winter, revealing warmth beneath stone.
The mountain winds never stopped.
Even after Erebor was reclaimed, the air that wove through its stone corridors carried the same restless chill—sharp, insistent, as if the mountain remembered every year it spent hollow and grieving.
You stand at one of the high carved archways overlooking the valley, letting the breeze brush your face. It smells of pine and cold stone. It feels alive.
“You’ll catch a chill standing in the draft like that.”
You don’t have to turn. There is only one voice that sounds like a storm trying not to soften.
“Thorin,” you greet, smiling a little. “I wanted fresh air.”
His footsteps approach, slow and solid. Dwarves do not glide like Elves—Thorin’s presence is weight and earth and quiet authority. When he reaches your side, he folds his arms across his chest, dark hair fluttering in the wind.
He watches you first. Always you.
As if he can’t help it.
“You humans,” he mutters, though there’s a warmth beneath it, “always chasing the breeze as though it’s a friend.”
“It is a friend,” you counter gently. “It makes me feel… free.”
Thorin’s brow furrows, thoughtful. He turns his face toward the wind, letting it lift the dark strands from his cheek. For a moment, he looks younger—less burdened, less kingly, almost… peaceful.
“I forget,” he says after a long silence, “that you are not made of stone and fire as we are.” His voice lowers. “That you need the sky.”
You blink, surprised by the softness—by the understanding.
Then the breeze picks up, colder this time, tugging at your cloak. Before you can react, Thorin shifts closer. Not touching. Not yet. But close enough that his body blocks the wind from hitting you fully.
“You should stand on the other side of me,” he says quietly. “The wind will not bite so sharply.”
You meet his eyes, rich and intense.
“Are you shielding me from the breeze, Thorin Oakenshield?”
He grunts, chin lifting.
“I am shielding you from the cold.”
It isn’t the same thing, but you let him keep his dignity.
The wind sweeps through again, tugging more insistently this time. Thorin exhales, frustrated with the elements themselves, and suddenly he’s shrugging off his heavy fur-lined cloak.
You raise your hands in protest. “Thorin, no—”
But you gave in soon enough and lowered yourself where he was able to drape it over your shoulders, the weight swallowing you in warmth and the scent of leather, steel, and something profoundly him.
“You feel the chill more deeply than you admit,” he says, tone gruff but eyes gentle. “Let the mountain winds bother me, not you.”
Your breath catches, but he pretends not to notice.
Together, you stand at the archway as the breeze stirs the valley, carrying distant echoes and the promise of winter.
After a long, quiet moment, Thorin speaks again—low enough that the wind nearly steals it.
“One day,” he says, “I hope you will let me show you the places where the breeze sings through the stone. Where the mountain breathes. I think… you would find it beautiful.”
Your heart thuds hard enough to feel in your throat.
“When you invite me,” you whisper, “I’ll go.”
Thorin’s jaw tightens, a flicker of something unguarded crossing his face.
“Then I invite you,” he says.
And though the mountain wind still bites at him, he doesn’t move—
because you are beside him, wrapped in his cloak, and for Thorin Oakenshield that is warmth enough.
Summary: When Thorin's Company gets a chance to rest at the hidden valley called Rivendell, you get the chance to be pampered like a noble. Thorin notices, and you notice him noticing, and there's no way you can't talk about it. (wc. 3k)
Warnings: Reader is female body coded; she/her pronouns.
Listening to: 'Black Swan' Instrumental cover by NUMERO
Masterlist || AO3 link
If the water was food, you would call it delicious.
After weeks spent on the road, days of horseback and nights laid in soil and stone, the steam and hot water felt heavenly. Delicious, divine, mouthwatering. You swore when you sunk into it, never once having the pleasure of anything other than a lukewarm bath in your whole life, let alone the streams of cold river water in recent times.
Then again, you’d never been to Rivendell before either.
You were no dwarf, however your ancestors had been one of the handful to escape Dale. Not many men survived the day Smaug attacked that city, the ones that had were forced to relocate to a town on the nearby lake. Not your family. For as long as you could remember you’d been travelling merchants, convinced that one day - some day - your family could lay their roots back in Dale.
After all, even dragons couldn’t live forever.
You’d overheard the exiled dwarf-king Thorin speaking with the grey wizard Gandalf at an inn. An accident really. You were there on your own business, but you couldn’t help insert yourself into the conversation.
You had convinced them - though Gandalf was on board with a lot less convincing - to go back to your own kin and try and rally them to join too. Thorin was to meet with representatives from seven kinds of his kinfolk, and between them and your ever-growing clan of man you could amass enough bodies to take back both the city of Dale and the mountain. You’d left with a pep in your step, convinced yourself that it would be an easy feat.
It was not.
You’d forgotten the last person to be as convinced as you that your family would return home was your grandfather, and he was laid in an unmarked grave at a wayside. No one else thought it possible except you.
Remembering the feeling that settled in your stomach when they looked at you like you were a little girl with a foolish idea still made you feel sour and heavy. Worse? The feeling you got when Gandalf and Thorin and all those people in Bilbo’s house looked at you when you told them you were the only one of your family to come join them.
Soaking in the hottest bath of your life in a hidden elven valley made all that feel like an age ago.
You closed your eyes. Your limbs were weightless. Steam rose and kissed your cheeks and eyelashes. The scent of healing salts and relaxing oils filled your nose. Just about anyone could walk in on you at that moment and you’d care very little.
Eventually someone did walk in, two she-elves, and you spent the rest of your time in the bath with them both carefully untangling and washing your hair. They had the patience of angels, and fingers that worked like magic. They almost put you to sleep.
By the time dinner rolled around, you were wandering the halls behind your escort like you were walking on clouds. Your hair was loose, and they’d given you slippers and a temporary gown to wear while someone mended and washed your clothes. Both must’ve been made with the same fabric, coloured like starlight and softer than silk, flowing around you like chiffon. You’d come across fabrics of many kinds in your life as part of a merchant caravan, but never for your own use, and never anything like this.
You felt like you were in a dream. You felt like a princess, not the daughter of an exiled wanderer.
Walking into the balcony dinner was being served in, you stopped in your tracks. If you cared more you would’ve been embarrassed that none of your companions seemed to have had the same treatment as you.
They were still in their travel clothes, though their unwashed state wasn’t unusual - you came to learn they were messy eaters and often bathed after dinner, not before. Besides the elves, you were the only one in such fine clothes.
Though you quickly decided they must’ve declined any offer that you received of fresh clothes, and you also decided it was their loss. You’d never felt nor looked better in your life.
“Well well, don’t you sure scrub up nicely.” Bofur was the first to notice you, and the first to make a comment. You - having had any shyness melt off you during your bath - milked all the comments that followed for all their worth.
You winked at Bofur, twirled when Dwalin asked, even did a curtsy before turning away and walking over to the only unclaimed seat in the room at the table with Gandalf, Elrond, and Thorin - all with a big grin on your face.
“You made use of the hospitality.” Gandalf said, eyeing you with a cheeky look on his face as you sat down.
“I’ll have you know in some places it’s very rude not to let someone extend generosity. I wouldn’t want to disrespect our gracious host.” you replied.
“From what Mithrandir had told me you’ve all had quite a journey to get here. I’m glad to hear you made yourself comfortable.” Elrond said, gesturing toward the food and drink laid on the table. Gandalf picked up the conversation from there, you presumed about whatever small-talk they had before you walked in.
You couldn’t help how your attention drew to Thorin - it normally did, no thanks to the big fat crush you’d grown for him over your time spent on the road. This time your attention was his because he was being very, very quiet. When you caught his eyes - which wasn’t hard, since he was already staring at you - he cast his sight away at his plate so fast it was like he was burnt.
“Are you alright?” you asked, quietly, leaning closer to his side.
“I’m fine.” he said quickly, keeping his eyes fixed down, “Just trying to stomach this food.”
“Thorin,” you hissed, nearly kicking him under the table. You looked up at Elrond, who thankfully either didn’t hear or chose to ignore his comment, “These people have been nothing but kind to us, you could at least pretend to be grateful while in their presence.”
He looked at you. You were prepared for him to throw some anti-elf snark your way but instead you watched as his eyes filtered over your face and body and his face softened. He heeded your words, letting it go with a grunt.
If you wanted to get to the bottom of his strange demeanour - because he was acting strange outside the expected sourness - you’d need to corner him later.
Thorin physically felt like throwing up when you walked in on dinner. He could barely stomach any of the leaves on his plate after you sat beside him.
You were just so, so beautiful.
You were pretty, obviously so. Many of his company would treat you with more kindness or softness than they should because of it, and it didn’t go past his notice that he himself was like that too. Then you proved yourself worthy beyond your good looks.
Back when they camped at the ruined farm you’d chased after Gandalf when he and Thorin disagreed. Everyone let you go, convinced that since you held no dwarven stubbornness that you could persuade the wizard to not stray too far. It got late, and neither you or the wizard returned. It ended up being a blessing when everyone else got captured by trolls.
You’d burst through the brush and all but gorged out one of the trolls' eyes before they cornered you in turn. Thorin remembers as clear as day the way you circled on the spot and held out your sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, eyes keen and feet light. Some warrior goddess personally made by the smith sent to save them. You’d landed a few heavy blows, held your ground for a time all on your own, before your weapons were knocked from your hands - then Gandlaf saved the day and brought daylight a few inches closer before it was too late.
Thorin could also remember the way you turned to look at him - well, them all really - after. The way the sun shone past your features, like a halo with your skin glowing, and he believed for a moment that perhaps you were a she-elf who’d bewitched him. There was no way a daughter of a man could have his heart beating like a field mouse by just looking at him.
Then you walked into dinner here at Rivendell, and well… He couldn’t look at you at all.
The gown those elves put you in was a floor-length white, off-the-shoulder, with sleeves that were almost dramatically long. Showing off your collarbones as it shimmered in the evening sunlight, fitting you perfectly. It made his throat swell up and his chest tight and his palms sweat like a madman.
Not that Thorin didn’t love you in your regular travel clothes, but - wait.
Love?
Oh Mahal, this was more than just some silly fondness or superficial feelings. He was in love with you. He could feel it now, almost see it in front of him - the pull. The feeling all those before him spoke of but he was yet to believe. It tied around his heart, tight and strong and warm, and it stayed there all night long.
Even while getting Elrond to read the moon runes on map to the mountain, that underlying tug toward you once the realization awoke never once let up. It was always there, right from the moment he warmed up to you - a stranger - at the inn in Bree. It stayed all the while, lying in wait until he was able to give it a name, which by doing so he also gave it weight and, above all, power.
Dwarves were a very private kin, very rare occasions were marked for pomp and celebration, and this? This was something marked by a quiet conversation, and something to mark outwardly to only those who noticed. But you were no dwarf.
You were a daughter of man, and he had no idea how to confess that you were his One. He had no idea if you even knew what that meant.
“Thorin, can I talk with you?” Your voice jolted him from his thoughts.
You stood beyond him in the hallway, face and features lit by moonlight, which a look on your face as gentle as your words. Balin, who had been walking with him back to their temporary room, bid him goodnight. Thorin might’ve missed his quiet and knowing look if he was less careful.
Then he was alone with you.
“Is everything alright?” he asked, joining you as you shifted toward one of the alcoves. This place was full of hiding holes - if Thorin didn’t think any better he’d say they were for all the scheming of elves, but for this moment he was grateful for the privacy.
“Everything is fine with me,” you started, a wistful look upon your face before you seemed to remember why you’d called him over, “I just wanted to make sure you were alright, you were acting more stand-offish than I expected at dinner. And before you start I know you said you were fine but I don’t think you are.”
“Why might that be?” he asked, looking up at you carefully.
“Well, I don’t know. I guess I can just -”
“- feel it?” he suggested. You looked at him surprised, and slowly started nodding.
“Yes. I feel it. Is that too strange of a thing for me to say?” you asked.
“Not at all.”
“You answered that very fast.” you replied, smiling carefully, and Thorin felt his heart starting to beat faster despite how composed he was determined to remain on the outside.
“I suppose that just means I knew what to say,” he said. You hummed in reply, then lent back, waiting. “What?”
“You never answered my question.” you said. “Something is bothering you, isn’t it? You’re not usually one to beat around an answer. You’re normally so straightforward.”
“You never actually asked me anything,” Thorin was quick to say, then lent back against the wall and crossed his arms - as if that was a suitable defence for what was going to be your oncoming onslaught to his decision to keep his true feelings to himself.
There was no way he could just blurt out that he loved you, that his feelings were so deep it was as if he was made with them already engrained in his soul. He needed to wait for the right time.
“Well then, your majesty, tell me what’s bothering you.”
Thorin stood there for a moment, watching as you made yourself mirror him on the other side of your alcove. The soft look on your face, the kindness in your eyes, how that dress made you look more precious than any jewels he remembered from the mountain hoard. What was bothering him was easy to name, because it was you.
“Me?” you said, face freezing, and so did his heart.
Did he just say that? Out loud? That you were the one that was bothering him? You certainly were the one on his mind, making him act ‘strange’, but you’d never been a bother once in the whole time he knew you.
“No, I didn’t mean -” He started quickly, breathless.
“Thorin it’s fine,” you started, pushing off the wall slightly, and with your voice stiffer than before, “You’ve always been honest, I like that about you. You can be honest with me, if there’s something I’ve done to upset you I’d want to know.”
That weight in his chest, the feeling in his heart, felt like it was cracking with every word you said.
“You’ve never upset me,” he said, stepping forward as if he’d be able to stop you if you chose to leave. He would’ve reached for your hand if he wasn’t so concerned about you fading away. “You’ve never bothered me. It’s me, it’s all me. I can feel myself reacting in some certain way around you and tonight it just became too much. I didn’t know how to act, so I didn’t act in any way at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I feel for you is beyond love. It’s like how I feel was built into me, I’m made to feel this way about you and after years alone it’s strange how naturally it comes to me now.”
Thorin watched your face twist to one of hurt to confusion, then a hopeful kind of bittersweet, before you spoke.
“Love?”
Ah, he did say love, didn’t he.
“I suppose men have no other word for it.”
“Alright,” you started slowly, “So what word would you have for it?”
“Lansel. Amrâbulnâs. Take your pick.” He said, and he could tell from looking at your face that you had no idea what they meant. He sighed, taking a moment to translate before speaking again. He could feel heat rising to his cheeks before he even said it out loud. “Love of all loves. True love, or soul-mate.”
“Soul-mate?” you said softly, as if in a dream. He finally was able to meet your eyes again. “You believe in that?”
“We call them our Ones. That there is one person made for us and drawn to us, just us, to love. One great true love for a lifetime, only to be found once. Men do not have this?”
“For us it’s just a story. Fairy-tales. No such a thing exists for us.” Thorin felt his heart sink. Men did not have soul-mates, so they did not have Ones. Was he doomed to a one-sided all-consuming love for the rest of his long miserable life? “We do have something else, though.” you said, voice soft as you looked out the window.
“What is it?” he asked, daring to be hopeful one last time tonight before giving up.
“Black swans.”
“They do not exist.” He said, and you smiled.
“That’s what everyone thinks. One of my cousins said his father found a flock of them once, on a lake far far away. Men do not have all the knowledge in the world. Black swans can be seen as a sign that rare and unpredictable events can exist too, that impossible things aren't so just because they haven’t been seen to happen. Soul-mates may just be rare or unseen in mankind, so they perhaps are black swans too. Not non-existent, just unheard of.”
“You think yourself one of these swans?” Thorin could see your beauty liken a swan, soft and graceful.
“I think I’ve felt a pull to you since we met. I’ve felt it turn into love, a love of all other loves I’ve felt before.” you said, and Thorin could feel himself drawing closer to you as you repeated his earlier words. “It comes naturally, like I was made for it.”
“Are you sure?” Thorin asked, close enough now that he could could every one of your lashes, and every mark on your face. His question was double-edged. Were you sure about this? About him? Were you sure about how you felt?
“Yes.” you said, and he felt you lean closer. Now he could feel your breath on his lips, smell the wine from dinner and all the oils your hosts let you use on your skin during your bath. “I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life, more sure than when I forced you to say yes to me all the way back in Bree.”
He smiled. So did you, so wide and full he could almost feel it as much as he could see it. Your eyes were bright, and he felt young again.
“Alright then.” he said, feeling your hand slip into his, soft and cold compared to his large calloused fingers. “My One.”
“Amrâlime,” you said, whispering against his lips. He pulled back slightly, registering your word. He frowned, then smiled.
“You know Khazdul?”
“I’ve lived amongst you for months, and you all speak it all the time. I know a word or two.” you said, smirking.
“You could’ve said that before you made me explain myself.” he said, but all you did was laugh, light and carefree and Thorin felt his heart flutter in a way that made him feel more alive than he ever had before.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
(You've come this far; remember to support the writing you love by giving a reblog <3)
characters included- Aragorn, Kili, Fili, Thorin, Boromir, Faramir, and Legolas
y'all, I went overboard, I had wayyy to much time on my hands after work so here's 7 characters (my fingers are cramped now, worth it though :) )
Aragorn-
Aragorn is deeply perceptive — quiet, but emotionally intelligent. He notices things long before you voice them.
One evening, you’re sitting together by the fire in the quiet of Rivendell, and your silence stretches just a little too long. Your gaze flicks to his tall frame, the way he moves with natural grace, even with the weight of destiny on his shoulders and then to your own hands, small and fidgeting. You feel it surge: the ache that you're not enough, not fitting, not worthy.
He shifts closer.
“You think I do not see you,” he says gently, dragging out his next words. “But I do. More than you know.”
You try to brush it off with a laugh, but he takes your hand and presses it to his heart.
“There is strength in you that no sword could match. If you have learned to believe you are lesser because the world has not learned to see you clearly, then let my eyes be enough - for now.”
He doesn’t offer empty reassurance. Aragorn offers loyalty, steadiness. He loves you for the depth of your mind, your differences, the resilience in your smallest gestures. And he reminds you with his actions, again and again.
Kili-
Kíli notices something’s off when you flinch away from his teasing.
He’s sprawled on the ground after a sparring match, laughing, trying to tug you down beside him yet you hesitate. He sees your eyes dart to your body with a scrutinizing glare, hears the sharp edge to your voice when you mutter, “Maybe you’d be better off with someone more like you.”
Silence.
Kíli's expression drops. He gets up, brushes off his knees, and stands very, very still.
“Is that what you think?” he asks softly.
When you nod, he wraps his arms around you, lifting you slightly off the ground until you can’t ignore the closeness, the affection.
“I don’t want someone like me,” he murmurs into your hair. “I want you. I love how your mind works, even if it runs a thousand miles a minute. I love how you stand beside me even when you’re scared. And I love this”—he touches your nose to his— “shortness. It means I can protect you and kiss the top of your head.”
He makes you laugh even when you’re crying. That’s Kíli’s magic. He loves deeply, earnestly, and without a single condition.
Fili-
Fíli is more reserved than Kili. Thoughtful, a bit more poised, but when you start withdrawing, he notices.
You’re quieter lately, dodging his compliments, brushing off his touch. One evening the tension draws to an edge and he corners you, gently-firmly, when you're both tending your weapons.
“You think you’re not good enough for me,” he says bluntly. “Why?”
You shrug, eyes lowered. “I just… I don’t always understand people right. I forget things. I talk too much, or not enough. I’m not a warrior, or royal—”
Fíli crouches before you, his golden braids brushing your knees. He takes your hands in his calloused ones.
“Royalty doesn’t make someone worthy of love,” he says. “Kindness does. Courage does. Being honest, even when it’s hard - that is what I admire.”
He places your hand over his chest. “You are exactly who I want beside me. Never let old titles or foolish voices tell you otherwise.”
Thorin-
Thorin’s love is fierce, protective — and hard-won.
So when you flinch at a council meeting, too aware of your place beside him, too small, too unsure, too unlike the rest of the proud, battle-scarred dwarves yet Thorin sees it.
Later, in the quiet of your chambers, he places his crown aside and sits next to you.
“I do not want a queen carved in stone,” he starts. “I do not need perfection.”
You try to explain the ways your mind doesn’t always process things easily, the moments when you shut down, the way his legacy feels like a mountain beside your self-doubt.
Thorin doesn’t interrupt.
And then, he says softly, “I know what it is to feel unworthy. I have stood in the halls of my ancestors and doubted my right to even breathe.”
He cups your face with rough hands. “But you give me peace. When the world is too loud, you are the quiet I reach for. When I forget myself, it is your voice I remember.”
He kisses your forehead with reverence. “You are not lesser. You are my balance. My heart. And you deserve love not in spite of who you are, but because of it.”
Boromir-
He doesn’t take it well. Not because he’s angry at you, but because it hurts him to see you carrying that weight.
The moment the words come out “I’m not what people expect when they see you. You could do so much better than someone like me”-Boromir turns with a look like someone had knocked the wind out of him.
He sits beside you without a word, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, and pulls you firmly against him.
“Do you think I care what people expect?” he says eventually, voice rough. “My whole life, I’ve tried to live up to what others thought I should be. And none of that brought me peace. But you? You bring me peace.”
He gently taps your temple with two fingers. “Whatever storms you carry in here, you don’t face them alone. Not anymore.”
He kisses your temple and holds you like he’s shielding you from the world.
Faramir-
He notices before you say a word. The way your shoulders curl in slightly around others. How you hesitate to speak in front of the council. How you apologize for being “too much” and “not enough” in the same breath.
When you finally break and whisper, “I don’t know how someone like you could love someone like me,” Faramir doesn’t speak for a long moment. Instead, he cups your face with both hands and leans in, resting his forehead against yours.
“Do you know,” he whispers, “I used to believe I was unworthy of love too?”
You blink, surprised, but he continues softly. “I grew up in the shadow of others- measured and doubted, Then I met you. And you never asked me to be anything but myself.”
He pulls you into a gentle embrace, voice barely above a breath.
“You see the world in your own way. And it's why I love you. Not in spite of who you are, but because of it.” he continues to hold you with a weeping gentleness as you work through this now, together.
Legolas-
When you tell him- eyes cast downward and voice cracking, that you feel out of place beside him, he doesn’t laugh, doesn’t offer surface-level reassurances.
He simply kneels in front of you, lowering himself until he has to look up at you.
“You speak as if love is earned through perfection,” he says quietly. “But I am not flawless. I have doubts. I have fears. And I am not untouched by time, though mime nostale seem so.”
He reaches up, brushing your cheek with a feather-light touch.
“I chose you not for how the world sees you, but for how you see the world. You remind me that there is softness even in pain. Beauty in difference.”
He offers a rare, gentle smile. “And I quite enjoy looking down only because it means I can look at you.”
Then, leaning forward, he whispers, “You do not need to reach my height. You already reach my heart.”
Includes: Thorin, Fili, Kili, Legolas
Warnings: mention of injury (very vague)
request for anonymous!
Thorin
Everything stops, and he's immediately taking it upon himself to fix it. Whether it's a blade wound or a sprained ankle, he's doing everything he can for you---and if it's life-threatening, as fast as he can. While his bedside manner is sub-par, he's focusing all his energy on keeping you alive. Comfort would come later when he knew you were okay. It's also the only time he's not so hesitant to be rougher with you, when necessary of course. A stab wound or gash? He's tearing off any clothing in his way, packing the injury full of kingsfoil with little regard for the way it might sting. Dislocation? He's popping it back in without hesitation or warning. When he's fighting against time, it's his top priority, and he sees no sense in prolonging your pain or risking any further injury. But rest assured, as soon as he's made sure you're physically okay, you'll hear him audibly exhale as his touch softens and his arms encircle you, hushing your cries and drying your tears.
Fili
When anything happens to you, his heart leaps to his throat and pounds in his chest with a whirlwind of emotions---mainly fear of losing you and guilt from not preventing it. His immediate response is to keep you right next to him where he has you in sight. He assures himself that as long as you're with him, nothing else can happen to you. As soon as there's a moment to get you out of harm's way, he's scooping you up in his arms and getting you somewhere he can have a look at you. If others are near, he's yelling orders to get you what you need. It's one of the few times you'll hear him actually raise his voice. He does his best to keep you calm and comfort you while he works, either packing the wound or tying a splint or stitching you up. Thorin will keep an eye on it all, but knows he taught Fili well when it comes to medical emergencies. And no matter how much he's panicking internally, Fili's exterior is steady and calm---soothing you with assured softness, firmly holding your hand, talking you through what he's doing. He knows that minimizing your distress is the best way to make sure it all goes smoothly, and it's one of the things he's best at.
Kili
He definitely freaks out a little (a lot). His first reaction is to eliminate whatever caused your injury. If it's an orc, it's dead on sight. If the injury was something more spontaneous like falling or breaking something, his hand switches at his bow anyway with the instinct to protect. As soon as he notices any sense of pain or distress from you, it's as though he feels it himself. He holds your hands while Thorin and Fili come to help, trying not to cry as he watches the way your eyes well with tears. He assures you over and over that he wishes he could take the pain on himself and away from you. When he knows you're okay again, he doesn't let you out of his sight for at least the next few days, his own mind hyperaware of every possible threat.
Legolas
It's one of the only times you'll actually see panic on his face. His eyes will widen and his face sort of drops, sharp eyes instantly assessing what went wrong. If it's serious, he delivers you to a healer before you can blink. His whole world stops until you're okay again. If it's something more minor, that initial spasm of his heart will settle as he decides what's best to do. He'll focus firstly on calming you down and reassuring you it will all be okay, that he'll take care of you. Then, he methodically does what needs to be done, talking you through every step and praising how well you're doing. After you're patched up, he subtly hints that perhaps you should stay inside for a while, suggesting some indoor activities that might prevent you from getting yourself hurt again.
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