pregnant reader who is upset her husband left without saying I love you
The moment he arrived home, he began to look for you - his wife. His whole world, his everything only to come face to face with said woman who refused to look at him.
"Please just tell me what is wrong."
"You've stopped loving me!" You wailed.
"And how did you come to that conclusion?"
"You didn't say goodbye, give me a kiss or anything when you left this morning!"
"You were asleep, I couldn't wake you up - not when you lay awake for more than half the night." He smiled softly, relieved that - that was the issue. He was afraid he had messed up somehow without knowing or meaning to. He sighed with his smile still evident. "I don't even think it's possible for me to stop loving you."
You sniffling was muffled as he held you firmly against his chest, refusing to let you go.
"My sweet girl, why would you ever doubt my love for you? Do I not give you every second of my being - devoting it to you solely?" He continued as you just silently began thinking it over, sniffling every once in awhile.
"You're making me feel foolish." You admitted.
"You are not foolish, you have every right to be upset - I should have spoken to you before I left in the morning. And for that, I apologize. Will you forgive me?"
"Only if you say the words you did not say this morning."
He chuckled. "As you wish, love. I love you." He paused, placing a kiss on your cheek."I love you-" Kiss "I love you." Kiss "I love you." Kiss "I love you." His smile only deepened as you let out a stream of giggles, a wide smile now replacing your frown.
"Is that enough for you, my love?" He questioned, holding your face in his hands.
"Maybe once or twice more." You falsely looked as if you were truly debating it.
He attacked your face with kisses before uttering one last, "I love you."
Sure, it was foolish to get upset over trivial things as such but he would never deny you anything. He would be certain to say what he feels for you to ensure your happiness. A very simple girl with a very in love man doesn't seem so bad at the end of the day.
"I suppose I love you too even after the stunt you pulled this morning."
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.”
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!
[The Hobbit characters + your wedding celebration]
a/n: shoutout to a big brained anon for requesting this - i had fun with it, as i haven't written these characters in a while! hope you have fun reading it and remember: reblogs+comments+nice asks feed & motivate the author 💕
summary: gn!reader, no [y/n], mentions of drinking, just silly fluff! i did the characters that inspire me so sorry if your fav's not here.
disclaimer!! no use of AI in my writing, ever.
༊ THRANDUIL
big royal wedding, a larger than life event which happens somewhere outdoors amongst the trees, beautiful and light
firstly, it is incredibly aesthetically elaborate and decorated; as well as quite ceremonial and lengthy, fitting for a very important royal couple
but most of all it is incredibly romantic, all things considered
the way he looks at you is just beyond. so much love.
his vows are very long and detailed and flowery, making you tear up, you swear you almost see a tear in his eyes too.
to say that you had the best of the best would be an understatement.
elves and highly esteemed guests come from all over.
it lasts long, both the ceremony and the party.
let me just say the drinks are STRONG AND GOOD. high chance of things getting out of hand eventually.
maybe it’s a custom or something, but you got lavished in gifts prior to the wedding.
it’s the stuff of legend all around elven kingdoms because it was such a momentous, perfect day.
he definitely toasts to you, waxing poetic, and everyone must be subjected to listening bc they don’t really have a choice mwahahah
؛༊ THORIN
dwarves take their big life events seriously.
it’s elaborate and ceremonious, quite serious during the formal portion of the event, but the party afterwards is an absolute blast.
it’s also a royal wedding which means it lasts longer than the usual ones and everything is so rich and elaborate
your ring is astonishing, as well as the finest jewelry handmade just for you and Thorin for this particular occasion.
he’s taking it so seriously and he was also very involved with the planning and fine-tuning.
the food is AWESOME and the drinks are abundant.
does he get slightly tipsy and carried away afterwards, when the most important parts are done and he can relax and enjoy the fact that you are together forever <3 maybe.
definitely holds a speech in your honor, making your face heat up profusely.
and a toast also. or multiple.
he will kiss you deeply multiple times throughout the night even though he usually keeps the PDA lowkey and is respectful but ITS HIS WEDDING HE MAKES THE RULES!
؛༊ BILBO
you know his birthday party, that iconic one? before that, there was this very special party!
the whole Hobbiton is buzzing and so many people are borderline meddlesome, and so curious about the fact that their strangest of neighbors is getting locked down 👀
Gandalf is obviously a special guest too, but alas, news of a good party travels far and wide so there’s a high chance of some dwarf friends showing up bearing finest gifts for the happy couple (and the gifts are very fine indeed, intricately crafted jewelry worth a small fortune, inspiring even more curious whispers all around)
Bilbo is STRESSING sooo much about everything, it would be endearing if he wasn’t stressing you out by proxy – he just wants you to have the most pleasant day! every now and then you need to calm him down as you get further into planning, but alas, he survives
there’s fireworks! in all your favorite colors
he stumbles over his words slightly during the ceremony but he can’t help it, he is just overcome by how much he loves you and that you’re actually getting married!
the party lasts until dawn basically; whoever survives, survives.
he’s not one for much dancing in front of hundreds of guests, but he’s obliged to take you for a spin at least a couple times (and show you off a bit, he’s allowed to be sweetly possesive).
not removing his hands off of you for a single second – you’re his now, and also stunning, and why should he not be all over you, especially on this day?
a billion kisses and maybe even a small makeout session or two when he thinks nobody’s watching (except the nosy relatives who gasp, but they won’t remember much in the morning anyway…)
؛༊ FÍLI
the most romantic little affair ever.
as much as he was pushed to make it a big royal thing, he managed, with his charming stubbornness, to talk his uncle and brother into making it at least a medium-sized event, as per your wishes and comfort.
as much as he is involved with planning the whole thing by your side, his main priority is that you get everything you want, whether it’s a flower that is completely out of season, or a cake flavoring that can be found only three kingdoms away, he will pull out all the stops to make you feel like absolute royalty. to him, it’s in a way also proving that he will be an amazing, dependable husband
before the chaos of the day, you two ditch the traditions and actually get ready for it together, and of course, wedding braids are a must.
it’s very intimate and sweet, calming both of your nerves prior to the grand event.
the only downside is that now you have to wait to extend those sweet moments into something more, but you will definitely be sneaking off here and there to indulge in each other just a bit before the end of the party.
he will not leave your side for a single second all throughout the day, he is all but glowing with pride and joy with having found his one person for life, and making it official in front of those who matter to the two of you
one of the sweetest parts of the day was when the two of you shared the first dance as a married couple – he held you as close as possible and you will never forget the shimmering look in his blue eyes
؛༊ KÍLI
well the two of you crazy kids were feeling particularly adventurous and enamored that you straight up ended up eloping – when he was in love, that was it, and waiting and organizing something for months in advance wasn’t really up his alley; as long as you wouldn’t feel like you’re missing out on something.
he writes his vows in the form of a letter to you, as do you to him, and you read them out to each other somewhere beautiful, preferably during sunset or some romantic time like that.
there are definitely some wholesome and happy tears involved, but it’s certainly the perfect occasion for those!
naturally, you put each other’s hair into intricate braids, with the utmost love and care
you know what’s amazing?? there is nobody else around which means you can kiss each other to your hearts’ content!
when you return home as a very MARRIED couple, there is definitely a bit of commotion and surprise, but also… he’s a mischievous romantic, so at least his brother wouldn’t have been all too shocked
maybe you get talked into at least hosting a big dinner for the closest family and friends
he can only avoid his uncle’s insistence so much…
but it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things – you had gotten what you’d originally wanted anyway, so you might indulge those closest to you and let them partake in celebrating your love story
this dwarf is absolutely smitten with you and it’s evident on his face 24/7, he is just so elated at the thought of spending the rest of your lives together!!
my most beloved taglist @emmathefanficgal @sweetheartrosesz @bakingintheshire @stars-n-spirals
Hi!!! I love your Fili fics soo much!! If it’s not too much trouble and if it sparks inspiration, could I please request something with Fili and a female human reader who’s short, where the reader has been traveling with the group and is all dressed up and styled by the elves in Rivendell, maybe she’s much more comfortable dressed up too, and Fili sees her for the first time when she’s clean and with her hair done instead of all grungy from being on the road? No worries if not and I hope you’re having a wonderful holiday season🩷
Polished Manners
a story in which the elves take matters into their own hands and give reader a small make-over — which results in catching the eyes of a certain blonde prince
Fíli Durin x fem! reader (reader is implied to be shorter than the dwarves)
cw: mentions of self-doubt (only a little)
AN: I wanted this to be the first fic I write this year because the trope is just so adorable I could hardly contain myself. I'll be celebrating my birthday on Jan. 3rd so either I'll write a short blurb or start writing again on the forth. I hope you like the fic though 💓💓 Microsoft word crashed while writing this
wc: 5k+ (give it a chance pls I melted writing this)
You woke to the sound of water—soft, like a lullaby threading through the air. Rivendell’s waterfalls sang the dawn awake. It took you a moment to remember where you were. For days, your world had been uneven paths, mud-soaked boots, and the constant ache in your legs from trying to keep pace with dwarves whose strides were twice yours. But now?
Silk sheets. Warm light. The faint smell of flowers instead of wet earth.
Rivendell.
You sat up, blinking, half-expecting the illusion to shatter like a dream. But it stayed: sunshine filtered through sheer curtains, delicate and golden. The travel-worn pack you’d carried since Bree was nowhere in sight—someone must have taken it to be cleaned. Your clothes—the ones that had stubbornly collected dust and grime no matter how often you brushed them out—were also gone.
You slipped out of bed, feeling strangely small among the elven-made furniture, and opened the door. An elf waited—graceful, serene, impossibly composed. They smiled softly, as if they'd been expecting you.
“Come,” they said. “The baths are ready. Lord Elrond thought you might enjoy a moment of peace.”
Peace. The word alone nearly brought tears to your eyes.
---
Steam curled through the bathing chamber like mist over a lake. Warm water lapped at your skin, washing away days of exhaustion. You sank deeper, eyes closing, and for once, there was no need to keep tension in your shoulders, no need to stay ready to run or fight or catch up.
Just… breathe.
It felt selfish, almost, to let yourself enjoy it when the journey ahead remained dangerous. But you’d never been pampered before—never had the luxury of gentleness. You tried not to imagine what the dwarves would say if they saw this. Well… some of them. You could already hear Bofur laughing kindly, and Dwalin grumbling that it made you soft.
But Fíli… You didn’t know. He was always difficult to predict.
He’d been kind to you. Respectful. Protective in his own way, though he never said so outright. He treated your height as a logistical consideration rather than a joke—walking beside you on steep paths, offering a steadying hand without comment. He never laughed when you lagged; he slowed his pace.
Still, you doubted he—or any of them—had ever pictured you looking like anything other than the road-worn stray who had stumbled into their quest. You weren’t sure you pictured yourself as anything else.
When you stepped from the bath, the elves had prepared clothing. Not extravagant—just… beautiful. Soft fabric in colors that reminded you of twilight, fitted to your shape with the kind of care that said 'you deserve this' . They braided your hair with gentle fingers, twisting it in patterns that mirrored the starlit motifs in Rivendell’s carvings.
You caught sight of yourself in a polished mirror.
Clean. Presentable. Almost elegant.
You barely recognized yourself.
“You look lovely,” an elf murmured.
“…Do I?” Your voice sounded small.
“There is more strength in beauty than most believe. Wear it proudly.”
---
Back in the halls, you found the dwarves gathered—voices loud enough to echo off the delicate arches. They looked comically out of place in this refined sanctuary, like a troupe of boisterous thunderclouds in a landscape of moonlight.
Bofur saw you first. His eyebrows shot up.
“Well now! Don’t you scrub up nice!”
Several heads turned. But one reaction mattered more.
Fíli stood near the balustrade, hair shining in the morning light, blades strapped to his back even here among the peace. He laughed at something Kíli said, but the sound faded as his gaze drifted across the room—landed on you—and stopped.
His smile stilled. His breath hitched. For a heartbeat, he just stared.
Not in shock.
In awe.
You froze, unsure what to do with his attention. His eyes traveled over the new braidwork in your hair, the fabric that fit just so, the shift in how you carried yourself now that you didn’t feel like a burden or an afterthought. Something softened in his face, melting all the lines that battle had carved there.
Kíli elbowed him lightly. “Brother? You look like a trout that’s forgotten how to swim.”
Fíli blinked, swatted him away, and stepped toward you. Slowly. Carefully. As though approaching a wild creature he didn’t want to scare off.
“You…” His voice failed for a moment. He cleared his throat. “You look—different.”
You curled your hands together, suddenly shy. “Is… that bad?”
“No!” His answer was immediate, too quick, like he couldn’t allow the possibility to exist. He tried again, gentler. “No. It’s… good. It suits you.”
You ducked your head, heart tripping. “The elves insisted.”
“Well.” His lips quirked, warmth returning to his voice. “I might have to thank them.”
Before you could think of a reply, Thorin barked orders from across the space, calling everyone to prepare for counsel. The others shuffled off, but Fíli stayed a moment longer—as though unwilling to break the moment.
He hesitated, then offered his arm. Not because he thought you needed help. But because he wanted you to know you deserved to walk beside him.
“May I?” he asked.
You slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow, surprised at how natural it felt.
“Yes,” you breathed. “You may.”
As you walked with him, you caught him glancing at you from the corner of his eye. Like he was memorizing this version of you—clean, confident, comfortable—and trying to reconcile it with the person he’d known on the road.
Not replacing one with the other.
Just… adjusting the picture in his head. Adding to it.
The council chamber of Rivendell felt like a place carved out of a dream—open air, carved stone, sunlight filtering through the leaves. The sound of conversation echoed like distant music, elves and dwarves and humans speaking in cautious diplomacy.
You stood with the company, hands clasped in front of you, trying not to fidget. You weren’t technically a member of the council. You weren’t royalty or a warrior of renown. You were just… you. The curious little traveler who had stumbled into a quest larger than herself.
But Fíli never moved far from your side. It was subtle—he didn’t stand in front of you like a guard, but beside you as though sharing his space was the most natural thing in the world. Every time someone jostled too close, he shifted, placing himself between you and them without drawing attention to the gesture.
You didn’t think he noticed he was doing it.
You did.
Thorin spoke with Elrond at length, their words heavy with duty and the weight of kingdoms, and you tried to listen. But your mind drifted—not from boredom, but because you could feel Fíli watching you. Not constantly. Not in a way that demanded anything. Just… glances. Checking in. A flicker of concern, like he expected you to vanish if he blinked too long.
At one point he leaned close—not touching, but near enough that his voice reached you alone.
“Are you all right?” he murmured.
“Yes,” you whispered back. “Why do you ask?”
He hesitated. Then: “You seem… quieter than usual.”
A small laugh escaped you. “I’m trying not to embarrass anyone.”
“If anyone here is embarrassed by you,” he said softly, “it would be their mistake, not yours.”
He said it with such conviction that it startled you. You turned to reply, but the council reached a point of tension—a raised voice here, an objection there—and the moment fell away.
Still, the warmth lingered.
When the council finally dispersed, the company filtered into the gardens, each dwarf settling into their own way of coping with the clash of politics and prophecy. The air smelled like rain on stone and pine needles warming in the sun.
You found yourself alone for the first time since morning. Or so you thought.
Fíli found you before long.
He approached slowly, bootsteps soft on the grass. Not hesitant—but careful, like he respected your space. You sat on a low stone bench overlooking the waterfall, and he stopped just short of joining you.
“May I sit?” he asked.
You nodded.
He dropped down beside you, elbows on his knees, staring out at the falls. His braids gleamed like gold wire in the sun. Silence settled—not heavy, just there, like a comfortable blanket neither of you needed to shake off.
“You look like you belong here,” he said at last.
You blinked. “What do you mean?”
“In this place. All of this—” He gestured at the archways, the gardens, the gentle breeze lifting the leaves. “It suits you. More than the dust and danger and sleeping on rocks.”
You smiled, a little embarrassed. “I thought you’d say it made me look out of place. Like a stray dog someone brushed and put a ribbon on.”
His brows drew together, expression sharp and offended. “I would never say that.”
The fierceness of his voice surprised you. He turned to look at you fully, gaze steady and unguarded.
“You are not a stray. You chose this road. You walk it with us. That makes you part of the company—no matter how you’re dressed.”
It was rare to hear him talk like that. Fíli laughed easily, teased easily, fought bravely—but this direct honesty was something else. A glimpse beneath the confident exterior.
“And besides,” he added more quietly, “I think you look… well. Wonderful.”
Your heartbeat stuttered.
You turned away before he could see your expression, but he noticed anyway. You could hear it in the soft laugh he tried—and failed—to hide.
A short while later, Kíli called from across the garden, waving both arms like a child trying to signal a ship.
“Fíli! Come on! Spar with me before Thorin starts lecturing us again!”
Fíli groaned. “If he disapproves of seeing us fight, imagine how he’ll react to knowing we were avoiding him.”
Kíli shouted something about honor and blades and "stop stalling, brother!"
Fíli didn’t stand. Not yet. His fingers brushed the stone bench, just beside your hand. Not touching, but close enough to feel the possibility of it.
“I’ll see you at supper?” he asked.
“Yes,” you said, finding your voice. “I’d like that.”
His smile was brighter than the midday light.
He stood, took a few steps, then paused and looked back once more—as if committing you, clean and braided and unburdened, to memory.
Kíli tugged him away, laughing.
The moment remained.
Dinner was a lively affair. The elves were patient hosts; the dwarves were loud guests; you were somewhere in between, trying not to spill anything. After hours of travel rations and woodland scrap meals, real food felt like luxury.
Bofur leaned across the table with a wink. “So. About this little transformation of yours…”
You sighed, bracing.
He grinned. “I approve! Always said you had a spark to you. Now look at you—proving me right!”
You laughed, tension easing. “I think I just needed a bath.”
“A bath?!” Dwalin barked. “That’s all it took?”
Nori smirked. “We should throw half this company into the water, see if we get miracles.”
Fíli, you noticed, said nothing. He ate quietly, though his gaze lifted to you more often than he looked at his plate. When he did speak, it was only to agree with whatever compliment the others offered—not to repeat it, but to confirm it, as if speaking of a fact rather than an opinion.
At one point, when the table’s energy was high and no one was watching, his hand brushed yours beneath the table. Not an accident. Just the barest, tentative touch.
Enough to ask a question wordlessly.
You answered by not pulling away.
He stilled, as though that small contact meant more than any spoken declaration.
You wondered if it did.
By the time dinner ended, laughter chasing the lantern light up toward the carved ceilings, you felt… different. Not because of the dress. Not because of the braids.
Because you weren’t invisible. Not to them. Not to him.
On your way back to your room, quiet halls stretching long and starlit, you heard footsteps hurrying behind you.
Fíli.
He slowed when he reached you. Hands behind his back. Biting back nerves.
“I—uh—I wanted to ask you something,” he began, stumbling over the words like they were unfamiliar terrain. “Tomorrow, before we leave… would you walk the gardens with me? Just us? There’s something I’d like to say away from the others.”
Your breath caught.
Was this—?
You swallowed. “Yes, Fíli. I’d like that. Very much.”
He exhaled, relief flickering across his face like sunrise.
“Good. Then I’ll meet you here. In the morning.”
He hesitated, as if debating something.
Then, gently—so gently—he bowed his head toward you. Not a formal dwarven bow, not quite. Something smaller. For you alone.
“Sleep well,” he said.
You wondered, as he walked away, if your heart would ever return to a normal rhythm again.
Morning in Rivendell felt like waking inside a held breath—soft, suspended, waiting. Cool air drifted through the corridors in gentle drafts, carrying the scent of pine and distant rivers. You dressed in the elven-made clothes again, not out of vanity, but because they felt like armor made of comfort instead of metal. Like proof that you could be something other than survival and dust.
When you stepped into the hall, Fíli was already there.
He stood with his back turned, hands behind him, rocking slightly on his heels the way he did when nerves nipped at the edges of his confidence. His hair was freshly braided, beads catching flashes of gold in the early light. For a moment, he didn’t notice you.
Then he turned—and froze exactly the way he had the day before.
“Good morning,” you said softly.
Fíli blinked, recovered, and bowed his head in greeting. “Morning. You… well. You look ready for the day.”
“I hope I am,” you murmured. “Though I admit I haven’t walked anywhere yet. I might trip the moment we step outside.”
His grin appeared—quick, bright, unguarded. “If you fall, I’ll catch you.”
He said it easily, like a promise already made.
You walked together through Rivendell’s gardens. The path wound past fountains and carved bridges, through clusters of flowers that looked like they’d grown from music rather than soil. For a time, silence filled the space between you—not sharp, not awkward. Just there, like a companion.
Fíli broke it first.
“I used to think of you as—” He paused, reconsidering. “Someone the road changed. Someone who needed it.”
You swallowed. “And now?”
“And now,” he said slowly, “I see there was more to you the whole time. Not hidden. Just… waiting for room to breathe.”
The words hit harder than he probably meant them to. They felt like being seen—truly seen—in a way that was frightening and comforting all at once.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever had room before,” you admitted.
“Well,” he said, voice warm, “I hope this journey leaves space for you. Even when it’s difficult. Especially then.”
He glanced down at you, expression softer than the mist curling off the waterfalls.
“You deserve that much.”
You reached a quiet alcove where the stone railing overlooked the valley. Birds wheeled high above the water, their calls echoing like distant bells.
Fíli stopped walking. His boots scuffed lightly against the stone. You turned to face him.
He looked nervous. Not frightened, but uncertain—like someone stepping toward the edge of something important.
“I asked you to walk with me because there’s something I wanted to say,” he began. “Something I’ve been trying to find the right words for.”
You nodded, encouraging.
He exhaled.
“When you joined us, I thought you might turn back. I thought you were… fragile.” His face twisted with frustration. “That was wrong. You’ve held your own through everything we’ve faced. Longer marches than you should have had to endure. Nights without rest. Storms. Goblins. The things most of us have trained for, you survived through will alone.”
You opened your mouth, but he raised a hand—not to silence you, but to finish his thought before courage escaped him.
“But even then, I only saw how strong you were because the world made you be. I didn’t understand that strength can be quiet. That it can look like gentleness. Like patience. Like choosing kindness when you’re cold and tired and scared. I never thought that was less than steel.” His gaze was steady, earnest. “Now I think it might be more.”
He didn’t look away. Didn’t retreat into humor or bravado.
“I’m glad Rivendell gave you a chance to feel comfortable. To rest. To feel… like yourself.”
Your throat tightened. “I didn’t know I could.”
“You can,” he said. “And I hope you will. Even after we leave here. Even when it’s hard.”
He stepped closer—not invading, just offering.
“And I hope—if you want—it doesn’t have to be something you face alone.”
The breath you released trembled.
“Fíli,” you whispered, unsure how to gather everything you felt into one sentence. “I don’t know what to say.. ”
He smiled sadly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know.”
He reached into his coat, hesitating only briefly, and withdrew something wrapped in cloth. He offered it, palm open.
“For you.”
You unfolded the cloth carefully. Inside was a small charm—a simple piece of worked metal shaped like a knot of three interlocking lines. Dwarven craft. Not ornamental. Not expensive. But personal. Something someone made with intention.
“It’s.. a traveler’s token,” Fíli said quietly. “From the Blue Mountains. Kíli and I were given matching ones when we came of age. I… well. I traded a bit with one of Elrond’s smiths to make a third.”
“You made this?” you breathed.
His ears went pink. “I helped. Somewhat. I held the metal and got very specific and very annoying about the engraving.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it—warm and helpless.
You lifted the charm. It felt solid in your hand. Safe.
“Fíli,” you said, voice shaking in the softest way, “I… don’t know what this means.”
He swallowed. “It can mean nothing. If that’s what you want. Just a token for luck.” Then, quieter:
“Or it can mean you’re not walking the world alone. That someone is choosing to share the road with you.”
You looked up. He held your gaze, nervous but unflinching.
“It doesn’t have to mean more than that,” he added. “Not until you want it to.”
Your heart felt like a small, trembling animal learning it could uncurl. Slowly. Carefully.
“I want it to,” you whispered.
Fíli’s breath caught. “You do?”
You nodded. “I don’t know what comes next. But… yes. I want that.”
Something in his expression went soft at the edges, like molten metal cooling into something strong.
“Then we’ll figure it out,” he said.
He carefully reached for your hand—pausing long enough to give you room to pull away. When you didn’t, his fingers laced with yours slowly, reverently. Like he’d been waiting a long time for permission.
His palm was warm. Calloused from training. Steady.
You stood there with him, overlooking Rivendell, and for the first time the journey ahead didn’t feel like a cliff you were about to fall from. It felt like a road.
One you didn’t have to walk alone.
Eventually, voices rose from the courtyard—a sign that the company was gathering. The moment had to end. The road was calling again.
Fíli squeezed your hand once before letting go.
“We should join the others,” he said. “Before they come looking.”
“They would,” you replied. “Some loudly.”
He laughed. “Kíli most loudly of all.”
You started down the path, but Fíli paused. You looked back at him.
“One more thing,” he said, voice low. “When I saw you in those clothes yesterday… I didn’t think you looked like someone changed by elves.”
“No?”
He shook his head.
“I thought you finally looked like someone who remembered she deserved care.”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Words wouldn’t fit past the feeling in your chest.
Instead, you reached out and took his hand again.
This time he didn’t let go.
Packing to leave Rivendell felt different than arriving. On the way in, you had been dust, exhaustion, and the thin edge of hope. On the way out, you were still all those things—but now wrapped in something gentler. Something chosen.
Dwarves packed loudly, of course. Armor rang like bells. Boots thudded. Voices ricocheted down elegant corridors never meant for so much clamor. The elves bore it all with a kind of resigned serenity that was very nearly admirable.
You tightened the straps on your bag—a clean bag now, mended by skilled hands—and adjusted the little token Fíli had given you. You wore it tucked beneath your clothing, close enough to feel when you breathed. Not a secret, but not a spectacle. A promise in progress.
Fíli found you as the last of the company filtered out to the courtyard. He didn’t swoop in or hover; he just stepped beside you like it was the place he was always meant to stand.
“Ready?” he asked.
“I think so,” you answered. “Ask me again when my feet hit the road.”
He chuckled. “If they slip, I’ll catch you.”
You snorted. “At this point I’m starting to think you want me to fall, just to prove your reflexes.”
His eyes sparked with mischief. “If I did, would it work?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Worth a try,” he murmured, smiling.
In the courtyard, the company gathered. Thorin spoke with Elrond, voice low with the gravity of future choices. Kíli practiced restless footwork with his bow, unable to stand still for more than two breaths. Bofur hummed something cheerful and off-key. It all felt familiar now—reassuring in its chaos.
You stepped forward to join them, but before you crossed the last few paces, Fíli reached out, fingers brushing your sleeve.
“May I walk beside you today?” he asked quietly.
It was the carefulness in the question that undid you. Not possession. Not assumption. Choice.
“Yes,” you said, steady and sure. “I want you to.”
His expression warmed, like sunrise finding a window.
Then Kíli appeared at his brother’s shoulder with the subtlety of a falling tree..
“So!” he declared, clasping his hands behind his back like an innocent man. “Anything interesting happen on your morning walk?”
Fíli froze. You froze. Kíli’s grin widened like a child discovering contraband sweets.
“No?” he continued. “Nothing at all? Not even, say… emotional revelations? Promises of shared futures? A quiet moment on a balcony overlooking the waterfalls?”
Fíli groaned. “Kíli.”
“What?” Kíli asked, eyes bright. “Just trying to spark conversation. I’m making memories here.”
“You weren’t there,” Fíli pointed out.
“Not physically,” Kíli agreed. “But spiritually? I was absolutely there. Watching. Cheering.”
You pressed a hand over your face. “I’m going to start falling on purpose and see if I can take you with me.”
Kíli gasped. “You wound me! And so soon after I gave my blessing—”
“You didn’t,” Fíli muttered.
“I did in my heart,” Kíli countered. “And that’s what matters.”
Despite yourself, you laughed. It broke whatever tension lingered, and Fíli’s shoulders eased. He looked at you—really looked—and his smile turned into something small and private.
The road from Rivendell curved along the cliffs. The air was crisp, the world sunlit and wide. And though you were back on uneven ground with a pack tugging at your shoulders, it didn’t feel like returning to hardship.
Fíli stayed beside you, matching your tempo without fanfare. Not slowing down so you wouldn’t be left behind—simply choosing to walk with you.
“So,” he said, voice low enough not to carry. “When we reach camp tonight—there’s something I wanted to ask. Nothing heavy,” he added quickly. “Just… something.”
“Should I be worried?” you teased.
“Probably,” he said gravely. “I’ve been thinking.”
You gasped. “Dangerous.”
“The deadliest of all my activities.”
Your shoulders brushed as you walked. The contact lingered—a small spark of awareness in the air. Not urgent. Not demanding. Just a steady warmth.
You wondered if anyone else noticed.
They did.
About an hour after setting out, Bofur fell into step behind you like a man casually not-being-subtle.
Fíli heard his name and tensed like a startled deer, but didn’t turn around.
You cleared your throat. “He’s just being polite.”
Bofur snorted. “Lass, that lad’s been polite since the day we met. This is different. This is the sort of polite that’s practically holdin’ a banner sayin’ ‘look at me, I care.’”
Fíli tripped. Just slightly. He recovered immediately and pretended he hadn’t.
You tried not to laugh. “Bofur, it’s fine. We’re just—figuring things out.”
“Aye,” Bofur said. “I know. Just wanted to say: if it ends with you lettin’ him braid some of ya' hair, we'll pretend not to see. Fo' a while at least.”
Fíli made a noise of despair.
You smiled. “Thank you.”
“What are uncles for?” Bofur replied.
“You’re not my uncle,” Fíli muttered.
“Spiritual uncle,” Bofur corrected.
Kíli shouted from ahead, “Spiritual uncles can give blessings too!”
“No they cannot!” Fíli shouted back.
When you finally stopped for the evening, the world glowed with dying sunlight. A clearing opened by the river, and the company set about making camp.
Fíli approached you once more.
“Would you sit with me?” he asked. “Just for a moment.”
You nodded. You found a fallen log overlooking the water, away from the bustle. The river shimmered with the last of the light, the sound of it like a lullaby.
Fíli sat close—not touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating through the space between you. He fiddled with his hands, searching for words.
“I know the road ahead is dangerous,” he said. “And I know there are no guarantees. For any of us.” His gaze flicked to you. “But if there is room on that road for something good—for a reason to hope—then I want to make space for it.”
Your heart slowed, not with fear, but clarity.
“What are you asking?” you murmured.
He swallowed. “I’m asking if it would be all right… if I stayed by your side. Not because you need me. Not so I can protect you or worry over you. Just because I want to.”
You breathed in. Out.
“Fíli,” you said softly, “you’re already there.”
He blinked, uncertainty cracking.
“I want you beside me,” you continued. “Not as a guard. Not as a prince. Just… as you.”
Silence. Then a slow exhale. Like he’d been holding his breath since the moment you left Rivendell.
He reached for your hand again. This time, when your fingers laced, it was certain. Not tentative. Not hesitant.
Chosen.
Fíli leaned just slightly toward you. Not asking for a kiss. Not assuming one. Just sharing the same space, the same air, the same moment.
“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted quietly.
“Neither have I,” you said.
“Good,” he whispered. “Then we can learn together, " he said, fingers already in your hair, playing with it absentmindedly.
As night settled, the company gathered around the fire. Kíli clocked the hand-holding immediately, elbowed Bofur, and both looked delighted. Thorin noticed next. His eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in assessment. After a long moment, he inclined his head once, almost imperceptibly.
Permission.
Respect.
Maybe even approval.
No one made a spectacle of it. No one teased loudly. The world didn’t stop and point. Life just… continued. With Fíli’s hand in yours and the token resting against your heart.
The journey ahead was still long. Still frightening. Still uncertain.
But now, for the first time, the road felt like something you could survive.
Not alone.
Never alone again.
Night fell in quiet layers—soft darkness, crackling firelight, the hush of the river threading through the trees. The company settled in around the flames, each dwarf finding a comfortable sprawl of bedrolls and cloaks, the subtle sounds of sharpening blades and murmured conversation fading into the rhythm of sleep.
Fíli sat beside you, close enough for warmth but far enough to give you a choice. He always seemed to give you choices.
“You should sleep,” you murmured.
He shook his head. “You first. I’ll take the watch.”
“You had the last watch.”
“I don’t mind,” he said, gaze drifting toward the darkness beyond the trees. “There’s a peace here tonight. I’d rather keep it than hand it off.”
You wrapped your blanket around your shoulders and settled on your bedroll. The air held a lingering chill, curling around your ankles and wrists the way night air always did on the road—sharp enough to bite. You lay still, trying to get comfortable, trying not to shiver.
It didn’t escape him.
Without a word, Fíli slid his cloak from his shoulders and draped it over you. The fabric smelled faintly of travel and metal and the campfires of a hundred nights before this one.
“Fíli,” you whispered, “you’ll freeze.”
“I’ll live,” he said simply. Then, after a beat: “But if you don’t take it, that would be a different story.”
You hesitated. He lowered himself beside you, not under the blanket, just near enough that his presence reached you like a hearth’s heat.
“Is this all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” you said. And it was. It truly was.
He lay back, hands behind his head, eyes on the stars peeking through the canopy overhead. For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. The fire crackled. Someone snored. Someone else muttered in their sleep about food.
It felt normal. It felt like belonging.
Fíli’s voice eventually broke the quiet, soft enough that only you could hear.
“There’s a saying in our language,” he murmured. “A dwarven phrase I grew up with. My mother used to tell us before long journeys.”
You turned your head to look at him. “What does it mean?”
He hesitated, then spoke the words in Dwarvish. "Baruz-kadad amrukh farn.”
They rolled like mountain stone, warm and deep and old.
“It means,” he translated slowly, “may your steps find a road that welcomes you back.”
You felt the weight of it settle in your chest—not heavy, but rooted. A blessing, not a prayer.
“Is that what you wish for me?” you asked.
Fíli turned his head then, eyes finding yours in the dim firelight. “No,” he answered. “Not just that.”
He shifted, bracing himself on one elbow, leaning just slightly closer—not enough to trap you, only enough to make the moment real.
“I wish,” he said, voice steady but threaded with something vulnerable, “to be someone that road leads back to.”
Your breath caught. He waited. Not demanding. Not expecting. Just waiting in the space between question and answer.
You reached out, fingers brushing his—the barest touch, like testing the edge of dawn. He didn’t move except to turn his hand so your fingers could slide into his. It felt like choosing something. Not a story. Not a dream.
A future.
“I hope it does,” you whispered. “I hope it leads to you.”
Something in him loosened—tension melting away as if it had been waiting for that single sentence. He lowered his forehead to yours, not quite a kiss, not quite a bow. Just contact. Just closeness. A promise made in silence.
“I’ll walk with you,” he murmured. “As long as you’ll have me.”
You squeezed his hand. “Then stay.”
He laid back down beside you, closer this time, sharing the blanket. Not wrapping around you, not overtaking your space—just a warm line of presence at your side, solid and reassuring.
The river sang. The fire dimmed. The stars held their breath.
And as sleep pulled you under, the last thing you felt was Fíli’s thumb brushing the back of your hand—once, like punctuation. A quiet vow in the language of touch.
Not a beginning.
A continuation.
Together.
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The barrels struck the riverbank with a series of hollow thuds, rolling dwarves across the muddy grass. Bilbo crawled out of his barrel coughing, Bofur was complaining loudly about smelling like fish, and Kíli declared dramatically:
“I am never bathing again!”
You pulled yourself out of your barrel, soaked from head to toe. Your hair stuck to your cheeks, your shirt clung to every line of your body, and your boots felt like small, personal lakes.
You sat down and tugged one off.
Waterfalls. Actual waterfalls poured out.
“Ugh…” you groaned. “Lovely. I’m storing enough water to fill a pond.”
And then—
A splash behind you. A grunt of effort. A shape pulling itself out of the river.
You glanced up.
And froze.
Fíli Durin climbed out of the water like some sort of dwarven warrior carved by Mahal himself.
His golden hair, usually neat and braided, was dripping down his shoulders in wild waves. Water ran down his cheeks, soaked his shirt, defined the line of his arms, his chest, his waist—
Your thoughts short‑circuited.
He gave his head a quick shake, sending droplets flying. His shirt clung tightly to him, outlining every toned muscle you had absolutely never noticed before.
You swallowed.
“Oh no,” you whispered to yourself. “Oh no no no—”
Fíli caught sight of you.
And smiled.
A warm, bright, devastating Fíli smile.
“There you are!” he said cheerfully, jogging toward you. His soaked clothes made soft squishing noises, which should have been funny but somehow wasn’t funny at all because his wet hair was sticking to his jaw and his braids were plastered to his shoulders and you were going to PASS OUT.
He stopped in front of you, hands on his hips, dripping everywhere. “You all right? You look a little— flushed.”
“F‑flushed? No! No, not flushed. Perfectly fine. Just— boot. Wet boot. Very tragic.”
You waved your boot like a trophy of shame.
Water sloshed out.
Fíli laughed, the sound warm and rich. “Here— let me help.”
He crouched beside you, close enough you could smell river water, leather, and something warm you refused to identify.
He lifted your other boot gently, tipping it upside down.
You tried very hard not to stare at the way his wet shirt stretched across his back when he leaned forward.
You failed.
Spectacularly.
Fíli looked up at you through damp lashes, his smile soft. “There. Better?”
Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.
“(Y/N)?” he asked, brows knitting together in concern.
You forced a sound out. “Yes. Good. Fine. Perfect. You’re wet.”
You wanted to die.
He blinked. Then his lips twitched, just a little. “So are you.”
“I— yes— I know— I’m— aware.”
You stared at the ground, praying it would swallow you.
Fíli leaned closer, voice warm and amused. “You look very cute when you blush, you know.”
Your soul left your body.
Kíli jogged past, dripping equally as much. “Look at them! They’re both broken!”
Fíli ignored him completely.
He offered you his hand.
“Come on,” he said gently. “Let me help you up.”
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
You took his hand.
And instantly regretted it— because his hand was big and warm and calloused and you had zero ability to be normal.
Fíli pulled you to your feet, keeping your hand in his a moment longer than necessary. His eyes sparkled with something soft. Something warm.
Something that made your knees weak.
“You sure you’re all right?” he asked softly.
You nodded quickly. “Yes. Yes. Completely. Totally. Fine.”
You absolutely were not fine.
You were drowning worse than you had in the river.
Fíli smiled — slow, knowing, devastating.
“Good,” he murmured. “Stay close, then.”
And with that, he turned to gather his weapons.
Leaving you standing there, face burning, boot dripping, heart racing like you’d just run the length of Erebor.
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.
