#love declaration

You slammed your finger against the elevator button harder, begging for it to close.

But the second you saw your boss’s blue eyes clock you, she was moving towards the door with gusto.

No matter how many times you pressed the button, the doors didn’t close.

She was 10 feet, 9, you saw the blue black bouse you loved on her. 

 8, oh come on.

You spotted the envelope opened the letter creased in her hand. 

There was a a metal scratching noise as finally the elevator doors groaned and started to close. 

7 feet, and can hear her heels now.

You really didn’t want to do this, that’s why you’d waited until she was in a lunch meeting to drop the letter on her desk. 

The elevator door is less than a foot from being closed but the fifty year old woman in her pencil skirt, heels, and blouse is jogging fully to the elevator now and her hand reaches out.

Sliding between the metal doors, and it doesn’t so much as kiss her knuckles before it opens

Your eyes cast down at your shoes. 

Mrs. Harkness presses the elevator button that your sweaty fingers had just been jabbing. 

The doors close once more, and you are holding your breath. 

“What is this?” Your boss turns to you, she looks positively put out. Or maybe something more?

“It’s my resignation letter.” Your voice doesn’t shake, thank god for small favors. 

You slink back to the metal handlebars on the side of the ugly metal elevator. 

“I have my PHD I promise you I know how to read. Look at me!” Harkness's anger flares and you flinch. Hating yourself for not getting your scripts filled, hating yourself for being emotional. 

You tried to open your mouth but Harkness snapped again. 

“Look at me, damn it!”

Your eyes snapped to hers, you smell the alpha in the metal box. 

The spit glistening on her bottom lip, you’ve never seen her so furious. 

You shifted on your feet and tried to look away, but Mrs. Harkness wasn’t having it. Fisting your resignation, she yelled again. 

“Don’t you dare look away from me while you abandon me! Look at me, while you throw away-all we’ve-” Her face pales and she changes her sentence mid way “-worked so hard to do-to do here!” 

“Mrs. Harkness, I said in my res-”

“I don’t accept, I don’t accept your letter or resignation. You cannot leave me.” Harkness insisted and you hated how your heart ached. 

She ripped up the paper like a child throwing a tantrum. It was stubborn and ridiculous, and god if you didn’t love her. 

How her pheromones were bursting, you smelled her rage, her fear, her…want. 

The elevator dinged and the two of you spun to see the doors opening on a floor you hadn’t chosen. 

Three people about to get on. 

“Elevators full, get the next one!” Harknes shouts and they look irritated. 

“There’s plenty of room.” The guy said but the CEO is pounding the buttons again, not allowing for such 

“Step onto this elevator and you're fired before you can press a button.” Mrs. Harkness's lip curled like some kind of caged tiger. 

They all backed up, like the floor was in fact lava. 

The doors closed once more, and this time, your boss smashes her fist against the emergency shut off. 

You're both cast in darkness except for the low white light glow. 

The air unit shuts off too and now you are in for a world of hurt. 

“No, bad idea, very bad” you whisper, but she’s by the buttons, and you can’t figure out how to explain the terrible error she’d just committed. 

“What did I do? Why? Why would you want to leave? Is it the pay, I’ll give you a pay raise! I’ll double it!” She says, chest heaving, and your panic is misread. 

“I’ll triple it, god your worth that and ten times more? Is it the workload? I know I ask too much of you-I call all hours! You need space-” Her voice cracks and you see the sweat trickle down the column of her neck. 

You press your sweaty palms against the metal wall and feel the heat. 

“Mrs. Harkness-” You try professionally but the alpha was practically snarling at you. And the chemical reaction was causing your heat to kickstart. 

Still, the CEO was terrified, and she was spiralling, and not understanding that the woman of her affections, the omega, was in a very intense predicament. 

Nor was she aware of what you were doing to her own body. 

Her hand went into her hair and her forehead as she tried to stop the panic attack, but losing you wasn’t something she thought to fear. 

“All those nights, I-I get it -but I thought we were. I mean I thought you-” She’s losing her mind in front of you. Real time, right here, in a metal coffin hanging in a skyscraper.

“Agatha-” You pant again, but the slick is rolling down your own legs, soaking through the expensive slacks, and you would soon drip down onto the floor. 

Your underwear like sandpaper on your puffy lips. 

Your knee tilted in, making you look like you were going to piss yourself. 

Agatha tried to stand up straight, but as you stared at her you wanted to yell, surely she could tell physically something was off. 

Her inability to read this situation was out of character on every one of her CEO business deals. 

And her face was flush, as she tried to stiffen up, not look like she wanted to fall to her knees and beg. 

But as she tried to find some model of decorum, her voice broke open;

“I-I’ll do anything-I-I can be better.” Your boss loses her ability to pretend this was about work. 

“Harknes, it’s just business. You’ll find someone else who ca-” You say, trying to detach, but your voice is hoarse. Your heat is already clouding you, and you can smell her. 

It’s not the perfume that sits on the top of her blouse fabric and wrists. 

Nope. 

You swear that feral bit of your vein can see the vein in her neck, the sweat, the heat - you blink a few times. 

What did your ancestors do without supressents? How were you supposed to do this?

“I need you-not not for work I can’t.” Agatha is making fists as her adrenaline skyrockets. 

“You need to start the elevator again,” you groan body completely pressed against the wall now. Your wincing, it’s painful, way worse then you had

“I don’t mean for work I mean for-” Agatha’s losing her ability to speak and you grunt and twist in pain. 

“ALPHA FOR FUCKS SAKE START THE ELEVATOR!” You scream and Agatha’s eyes bulge.

But so did the shaft in her pencil skirt.

Her hand reached out to the metal wall.

“You-you’ve never called me-“ The arousal deepens her voice and it’s doing things to your womb. 

You double over grabbing your stomach in pain, but you lift your face to see your boss. 

Fuck it.

“I quit because I was doubling the medically recommended doses of suppressants. We are too compatible, not just how we both order the same stupid take out! Not like I know how to help you in business deals or can anticipate your moves. Like stupid chemical type of compatibility. I’ve been heat sick for the past month and I’m out of suppressants- and I can’t sleep and all I can think of is the way you lick your lips - I can’t focus! I can’t do business because my uterus is just as in love with you as I am! NOW START THE ELEVATOR BEFORE I MOUNT YOU!” You yell at her and Agatha hesitates but her hand numbly reaches out for the elevator emergency button. 

Then her fingers flick the metal lever up, then down, and up again, back and forth it clicks, and you groan out an angry noise.

“Agatha!” You yell but the highly educated CEO is flicking the lever over and over and nothing is happening. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, this isn’t happening.” You shook and then knelt onto the ground. Hand trembling as you reached inside your pants pocket to pull out your phone. 

No bars. 

Of course not. 

Agatha is pressing buttons on the elevator, but her PHD must have in fact been in resignations and not the electrical work in lifts. 

“Your phone! Did you bring your phone?” You cry out at your boss. Her dark hair whips quickly as moves her hands to her hips. 

Pencil skirt, no pockets, of course not. 

“No, come on!” You looked up into the dead elevator ceiling. 

“Stay calm.” Agatha put her hands out, spreading her fingers but not coming near you. You can see the tent in her skirt, down to the girth and swelling knot near her base. 

“Oh my god, you so not telling me that right now!” Your fingers dig into your own thigh. 

“Bunny, what do you want me to say freak out, that’s what people say, right?”

“Oh my god!” You don’t - you can’t. 

“Take a deep breath!” Agatha’s nostrils flared, she was taking deep long intakes - high off the smell of you. 

“I’m not in labor I’m in heat and you smell like your going to be in a rut so don’t tell me to breathe! GOD SO LIKE AN ALPHA!”

The vein in Agatha’s forehead was pounding so hard you could see it from the three feet away. 

You were in the corner on the floor, and the CEO of this building was clinging to the corner with the buttons. 

“Bunny, I’ve been on suppressants for a rut since you interviewed. Trust me I’ve masturbated more than a frat boy. It’s amazing there’s anything left in my balls, it’s like you have a string connected to my cock!” Agatha shouts at you, and you wince again. 

“Don’t call me Bunny- Fuck and don’t yell at me! God poor you and your hyper sex drive and your lonely hand! I’m going to-” You stop degrading the most terrifying CEO in the United States.

Too embarrassed, the pheromones your body was trying to push out to calm the alpha. 

“I-my god, you smell so sweet.” Alpha puts a hand up to her mouth and nose but she’s inhaling like a pervert sniffing panties. 

“Tell you what, you stay in your corner and I’ll stay in mine.” You regard her like a prize fighter. 

“I-”

“No, don’t say anything kind or dirty- I like you too much. Just stop looking at me.” You say but Agatha spots the puddle on the floor, all the blood goes right to her shaft. 

“Baby-I.” Agatha’s voice deepens, she’s sorry, she feels horrible you know, you can tell. 

“Don’t look at me, if we do this-I get pregnant and you keep your fast track CEO life with your penthouse life and your rich parties! It’ll be me who’s got to quit and get big and fat! I’ll be alone putting child locks on my apartment with cracked nipples and endless nights of screaming baby and vomit in my hair! SO STOP THINKING OF FUCKING ME AND IMAGINE CHILD SUPPORT!”

The elevator shifts, no not shift, it lurches forward, and the alpha’s basic desire kicks in. 

So Agatha falls to the floor and grabs you. Cradles your body like it was all that mattered. Lifting you into her lap and curling around you so that whatever hell fell on you, fell on her first. 

But as the ground slanted to the right, your boss held on and waited for you to to descend to the bottom of the building.

But as you lie in her lap, her erection presses against your butt and you whimper and moan. 

You two are a sweaty heap on the floor. In the dark. 

Agatha holds herself back from biting your neck, deciding right there that if you two died, she wanted her last act to make sure you knew. 

You were it. 

You were panting faster, it was painful and erotic and all you wanted but now you felt crazed. 

You're scared, but Agatha’s arms around you are so tight, her lips move to your ear, and she speaks the truth;

“I would give up the penthouse, I’d get rid of the jag, I hate the damn lonely place and the stupid car. It’s just stuff, it’s all dumb, I’d- I’d get a minivan-”

You laugh weakly in her hold. Unable to ever seen that.  

“You would never get a minivan in this city.” You whisper and wince in pain again. 

“I’d get us a paddled bubble on wheels, keep you two safe. Plus the best car seat. I’d rub your feet when you're gorgeous and swollen. I’ll wash the vomit out of your hair, buy you French fancy creams, and put them on your nipples yourself.”

You both moaned when Agatha’s cock tip seemed to like that idea too much. 

“You just want to fuck an omega in a heat without a condom.” You squirm in her lap and Agatha’s arms wrapped around your middle don’t lessen. 

“I want to push inside of you and bite your neck so no one ever gets the chance to.” Agatha admits trying to make a joke, and be honest. But you both moan as you shift against her. 

“Stop flirting.”You whined, but you felt her shaft press against you and you didn’t want her to be such a gentleman anymore. 

“You're in my lap, it’s all I can do to breathe in your scent and pray I don’t devour you whole.”

“Aggie-” You moan, having never called her that outloud before. 

But the lights turn on. 

“What fresh hell?” The alpha growls. 

“The elevators working.” You wine, and Agatha pushes a possessive scent. 

“Please don’t attack the nice firefighters trying to get us out of this- Agatha?” You groan as she moves her arm and reaches as far as she can. Smashing it to stop the elevator again. 

“Agatha!” You yelp but she pushes you onto the ground, her blue blouse ripping open, and she has you in a cute little bunny humping position. Her fingers finding the waistline of your trousers and yanking the wet fabric down. 

A cute little breeding pose. 

You gasp at the cool air against your pussy. 

“I’ll learn how to put a car seat in tomorrow, okay?” Your boss promises and you’ve seen her build companies and empires of money and power. If the powerful alpha could do all that, well, she could do anything. 

You grunt, and the idea of Agatha being a good parent only makes you want her more. 

The alpha’s hands move down your ass cheeks, and you’ve never wanted to be someone's so badly.  

Agatha’s cock leaks in her tight skirt as she pushes your lower back further down. Loving you with your hands and knees. Your ass in the air, slick coating the inside of your thighs. 

Agatha’s mouth waters, and her knot pulsates at the scent of you. 

“Fuck,” you can’t breathe, and try to hump her face. 

“Bunny, call me Aggie again. I’m not your boss; you resigned.” 

It has been a while since you’re friends in this pub. There is only one pub since the rebuilding of Erebor was still ongoing. The place is busy, and princes or not, Kíli and Fíli drink here every Friday night. 

When you entered, you wanted to surprise them and you were waiting for the right moment to join them, but you didn’t expect they would talk about you. Especially about this subject…

“You were drunk, both of you,” Kíli resumes. Fíli gets his head off his arms and sighs again “Drunk or not, you don’t sleep like that with your…”. Someone shouts in the pub while he finishes his sentence. “As if you regret it,” Kíli laughs. “Stop that Kíli!” Fíli shouts seriously.

They should change the subject now, right? But, should you really join them after that? Then you hear “There are things I regret in my life, but this is the worst and you–”. A group of happy dwarves shout a new time their happiness while you freeze. Kíli is looking at you, as surprised as happy to see you. He speaks to his brother while you already start to run away. You don't see Fíli hit the table with his fist even less standing up so suddenly that he spills his beer all over his brother.

You literally run away until you're almost home. In two streets, you will be in the cosy place Thorin gave you under his mountain. Your steps slow down as you realise how stupid you are to think everything could be the same after àthat. You suspected that Fíli avoided you since you spent a night together, and you have your answer. It's clearly unnecessary to talk more to him. It was a mistake. Period. 

Maybe it could be different if you could have talked the next morning. If only he wasn’t a prince, he wouldn’t have early duties every morning. Especially when he was in your bed! Who sends a guard to fetch someone in the bed of his… his what anyway? You’re just his friend. Well, “was” now.

When you’re almost arrived at your place, you hear your name shouted from afar. You could recognise this voice everywhere, so you quickly hide in the first street you see. Except that before being a prince, Fíli was a warrior, and you can’t escape a warrior that easily… Even though you take another way to go home, someone grabs your wrist when you arrive at your front door. Of course, it’s Fíli. And not a happy Fíli. Everyone who’s walking in the street is looking at you since everyone knows Erebor’s heir.

“Listen Fíli. I don’t want a drama. Like you said, let’s forget. And if you don't want to see me again, well, I understand,” you say as you try to get back your wrist. “No. We need to talk. Let's inside,” he simply says as he opens your front door and leads you inside.

After lighting a few candles, you put the last one on the table. You barely turn toward Fíli that he is already in front of you, not leaving you the time to say anything. He clears his voice and you notice how he is nervous. You never see him like that. Not even when he speaks to Erebor’s people officially. “First, I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier to talk to you since that night. I had a lot to do but the main reason is I was ashamed.” You repeat the last word he said, unstable to keep your surprise. Yet, he continues, his eyes looking at the candle, “I should never sleep with you. We were drunk.” “Yes, we were drunk, but not enough not to know what we were doing,” you say seriously. His eyes turn now to yours, “Yes, maybe, but I should court you first.” He runs a hand on his face as if it could help him to breathe better while your heart starts to beat stronger. When his eyes come back to you, your heart stops beating. Were his eyes always so mesmerising?

“We, Dwarves, always court their One first. I know Men do differently, but I shouldn’t touch you like that. But your dress… Mahal, you were stunning in this dress that night. I behaved like an idiot… Mahal, I really do blame myself,” he pauses for a breath. A murmur escapes your lips, “their One?”. Something changes in his eyes. You swear they looked at your lips before coming back to your eyes. “Am I your One?” you eventually ask in a quiet tone. “Yes, you are. I have loved you since I saw you. But I also know Men’s mores and I don't expect anything from you,” he declares in a serious, almost sad, tone. “You love me?” you stupidly ask, still stunned by his words.

A smile appears on Fíli’s face. The first smile since that night. A chuckle escapes his lips as his fingers find your cheek, warming it with the memories of what they have done to you. “Are you just going to keep questioning me?” he laughs, his moustache’s braid bouncing. You laugh too, the whole tension vanishing. “Even if I’m of Men, I only sleep with the person I love,” you shyly say. That's all it takes for Fíli to kiss you, this time with  all the love he has for you.

Kili

Since you joined Thorin’s company, you have made friends with Fíli and Kíli. The time you enjoy the most is after dinner. They tell stories about their childhood in the Blue Mountains or some anecdotes about everyone while you tell them about your world. Like them, you can’t stay quiet for a long time, so most of the time the others shout at you to go somewhere else to talk. Which you do. 

Fíli is always the first to go to sleep. That’s why the others don’t make fun of him when you barely can open your eyes in the morning when it's time to leave…

Talking with them at night has become routine and when you arrive in Rivendell, without having to worry about the next day, you spend your first sleepless nights with them. After some time, Fíli doesn’t stay with you late less and less since Thorin seems to need him more and more in the morning.

As the quest goes on, you can’t speak with Kíli in the evening. Fatigue, injury, watches, cold, danger, it seems that everything is trying to avoid you to enjoy your evening. Little by little, there comes a time when you can’t remember the last time you had a long conversation with Kíli and you miss it terribly. During the day, you make some jokes but it’s not the same.

So, as soon as you’re feeling safe, you can’t keep your tongue, you and of course Kíli. The first night at Beorn after Gandalf introduced everyone, you and Kíli spoke all night. So much time to make up! Fíli joined you for the first hour, but he quickly abandoned you.

The next morning, it takes you some time to remember where you are. You hear some voices from afar, but according to the bright sun, it must be late, especially since everyone is already up. Everyone except Kíli still sleeping next to you. Well… Behind you. His arm around your waist. His hand on your stomach. His head buried in your hair… He is too close, right? You can even feel his breathing in your neck. Should you stay like this? You definitely can’t move without waking him up, and you don’t want to wake up in this position. Especially with your cheek as red as a tomato.

But… Breakfast is calling you. As soon as you try to move his hand, his arm holds you stronger, your back pressed against his hard chest. He eventually grumbles, “Don’t move.” You chuckle, “But they won’t leave us anything to eat.” He laughs too, but doesn't seem to move. You wait, trying to find a good idea to wake him up until he says in a sleepy voice, “I want to wake up like this everyday…”. You stay still a moment before turning to him and joking, “Without breakfast?”. His answer doesn’t wait, “With you. In my arms. Every morning.”

Oh. Well. You want it too, but it sounds complicated, right? A woman of Men, a Dwarf prince. Plus, you’re poor. Oh and useless as well. You still don’t know what you’re doing in this quest.

Tired of waiting for your reaction or your answer, Kíli suddenly sits up, his arms crossed on his chest, his hair in a mess, but above all, his frowning eyebrows. “I was saying that I love you, you know?” he says in an upset tone. “Don’t joke with that Kíli,” you sigh, starting to feel hurt with a joke like this so early on a morning that was starting off so well. He already joked about this in the past, flirting with you randomly. He even already kissed you without saying anything afterward. Well, maybe because you almost died and you didn’t have the time to talk about this but…

“I’m not joking! I truly love you!” Now he’s not frowning, his eyes look sincere. You want to believe him. “But you always joke about that,” you grumble in a pouting face. “Not about this. Never. Amrâlimê, I kissed you after we ran from the gobelins because I was so scared of losing you. I couldn't see you and I thought you had stayed behind. When I saw you, I couldn't control myself…” You stop pouting, hoping he says the truth. “Really?” you ask in a shy tone. “Really,” he confirms, a smile widening on his lips. You can't resist a smile like that. “Because I love you too, and if you lie, I’ll–” Of course you can’t finish your sentence. As soon as Kíli hears your words, he leans over you and kisses you. He begins slowly, barely brushing your lips, but when you kiss him back, his ardour takes over. As one of his hands keeps him from falling on you, the other one begins to touch your hip. Even though you would love to continue, you were thinking of stopping him when the door of your makeship dormitory opens. “It's nearly midday! Time to get up, night owls!” Fíli exclaims until he sees what his brother is doing. “Alright, pretend I didn't come,” he says as he turns towards the door. “But I won't be able to hold the others back for long.” He closes the door behind him, leaving you and Kíli laughing like teenagers caught in the act.

Bilbo 

During the quest, you easily became friends with Bilbo. He is a charming person, and you and he have a lot of things in common. Little by little, you understand your feelings for him were more than friendship, but you stayed quiet about it, the quest was too important to think about anything else. After the success of Erebor's quest, Thorin, the new king, offered you and Bilbo to live under the lonely mountain. Bilbo missed too much his home to stay here. Yet, he promised to visit them one day. For you, the choice was harder. The mountain seemed great. You would be glad to help with the rebuilding, but without Bilbo, it wouldn't be the same. So you decide to follow him. 

It's obviously impossible for you to live in the Shire, so you have settled in the closest Men’s town: Bree. You have found a correct job and people are nicer than you would have thought. For visiting Bilbo, it's 6 days walking from door to door, but you quickly decided to use a horse. (You really miss trains and buses…) So now you live two days' ride, you visit him when you can. Bilbo offered to visit you in Bree, but with his ponies’ allergy, you prefer coming to the Shire. 

The Shire is beautiful, even more than all Bilbo told you during the quest. He always finds something interesting to show you. Hike, food, drink, festivities, landscape, market, watching the sky with Old Toby,... You enjoy every time you spend with him. At first, Hobbits looked at you strangely, but now, you could say you have drank tea with all of Bilbo's neighbours. Lucky for you, the closest inn of Bag End, the Green Dragon Inn, has one room at Men’s size, which you found weird until Bilbo explained it’s usually Gandalf’s room.

One summer evening, you’re dining in that very inn with Bilbo after a long hike in the east, on an outside table, the wind glowing softly on you. “I’m glad you’re here,” Bilbo says as he finishes his meal. “You always worked during the summer’s festivities and I always wanted to see you.” “Oh, no. Don’t tell me it begins tomorrow…  But I’m leaving tomorrow!” you sadly sigh. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” “I thought you knew,” Bilbo says as it was obvious. “It’s the same dates every year. And you saw the tent and everything under the Party Tree, didn't you?” “I thought it was over... Wait here, I'll check with Mr Whitfoot if I can stay in the room tomorrow night.”

Unlike usual, Bilbo is unable to read your face when you come back to your conversation with Mr Whitfoot, the innkeeper of the Green Dragon. “The bad news is I can’t have the room, but the good news is because Gandalf reserved it,” you smile bitterly,  already regretting not going to the summer festivities with Bilbo.

“You can stay at Bag End. I have enough room for you,” he said with a little nervousness in his voice. You notice his embarrassment and you don’t want to impose yourself at his home. “I don't want to disturb you, I’ll think of it tonight and I’ll answer you tomorrow morning,” you explain with a smile. “You won’t disturb me at all, but alright, we’ll talk tomorrow,” he says, finally smiling again like usual.

Of course, you accept to stay at Bag End. The festivities, Gandalf, sleeping in Bag End, just next door to Bilbo’s, waking up together, eating breakfast together, like a married couple. Alright, let’s stop now!

Gandalf is still the same. You spend a part of the night chatting with him and Bilbo, with some other curious young hobbits. At some point, after eating and drinking too much, you both decide to go back to Bag End. The night was very fun – despite Lobelia intervention when she learned you were staying in Bag End. In Bilbo’s smial, you still can hear the laughs and the music from the Party Tree. “You’re sure I can stay here? Your cousin, Lobelia didn’t seem happy about it,” you joke as you’re taking off your shoes. “According to the latest news, Bag End is still my home,” he grumbles as you’re unable to hide your smile, enjoying his reactions every time you talk about Lobelia. “She can say whatever she wants, it’s my home!” He could have grumbled a long time if you hadn’t burst out laughing. “Alright. I get it,” he sighs before laughing with you. You both are tipsy and you continue to laugh until you reach your room.

“If you need anything, I'm just in the room next door,” he smiles as you enter the guest bedroom. If you weren’t as tired and as tipsy, you would have noticed the room has changed. The room is at your size. Both the ceiling and the furniture. “You know your home by heart. I could make tea with my eyes closed!” you laugh, not noticing Bilbo’s cheek becoming pink at your words. “But thank you for letting me sleep here. Nights are not cold, but I never say no to a bed when I can have one!” “You’re welcome. Don’t forget to wake up early if you want breakfast,” he says, smirking. You can’t count how many times you miss the first breakfast in the Shire.

Do you wake up late? Yes. Of course. The bed is so comfortable, the room is so quiet, the smell is so good… with a little touch of bread, tea, jam, egg,... You jump out of the bed and hurry up to the kitchen. Bilbo is smiling, “Good morning.” Has Bilbo been waiting for you? It’s the first time you have breakfast with him since the quest is over, and something feels different now. The table looks so perfect. How many times have you dream of waking up here like that? 

“Do you want tea?” he asks as he takes the kettle off the heat. “Good morning,” you murmur as you sit down on a chair at your size. As you’re half-asleep, you don’t notice you’re still in nightdress, light for summer nights, but Bilbo did. Oh, he did, and that’s why he shakes his head as he repeats his question. “Yes, absolutely!” you exclaim with a broad smile. “I never saw a table like that for breakfast! So many dishes! Bombur would be jealous of your cooking skills! I’m glad to be hungry! Everything looks so good! Can I try each plate?” you ask with great enthusiasm, perhaps a little too much. “Oh, sorry. I’m very loud for a morning. It’s rude and annoying…” Bilbo sits in front of you with two cups of tea. Despite your behaviour, he looks happy. The morning rays of light gently illuminate his hair and face. You could easily get used to this every morning...

“Not at all. I've had mornings noisier than this,” he smiles as he sips his tea. “And yes, you can eat everything you want.” “Don’t say that or I’ll really eat everything,” you laugh as you spread jam on your buttered toast. “I don't even have a third of this table in Bree, when I have breakfast. I mean, at home.” You still don’t use to live in Bree as your home.

“I can make breakfast like this whenever you want,” he says in a too serious tone for a morning as you’re savouring one of his cheeses. “I’d love to, but I don’t think I can stay another night. I have to go back to work,” you say, a little sad not to enjoy another night here, and another breakfast. A long silence makes you feel that something is wrong. Bilbo is too quiet for such a morning. You raise your head from your plate to see him looking at his tea, turning his spoon in his cup endlessly. “If you stayed here, you could have breakfast whenever you like,” he says quietly. You’re about to repeat your former answer, but Bilbo doesn’t give you the time to do it.

 “I wasn’t talking about tomorrow. I mean, yes, I’d love you to stay tomorrow, but I meant for all the mornings. I mean. Oh Yavanna, I’m ridiculous…” As he talks, he gets so upset that he gets to his feet and comes to stand in front of you, one fist clenched and the other hand pointing at you with his spoon. He breathes a last time before looking at you, his eyes eventually softening. “If you want to, I would love you to live in Bag End with me.”

You’re speechless first. Then, “I can’t. I mean, I’m of Men. No one wants somebody like me here,” you sigh as you look at your feet, feeling your tears welling up. “I want to,” Bilbo says, determined, as he takes your hands. “And I'm sure all the hobbits you know won't object. The whole Shire has realised a long time ago how I felt about you and they've all accepted you already.” “Your feelings?” you suddenly ask, your eyes searching for an answer in his eyes before his words. Yet, his eyes frown. “I wouldn't ask you to move to Bag End if I didn't love you. I'd even offer to make you a breakfast every morning, I don't know what more you need…”

At this point, you can't hold back your laughter. Before his upset face, you react quickly. Pulling on his hands, he steps towards you close enough to feel his fringe caress your forehead. “I need a morning kiss, and I’d stay here forever,” you murmur. His cheeks become redder than ever and his hands become sweaty, but when he decides eventually to kiss you, his lips are softer than you had imagined. Softer and sweeter.

Thorin

Tonight is the first night you spent with Men since Bree. Lack-town is still an unwelcome place for you and the company, but Bard and his family are very nice with you. With Sigrid’s help, you’re warm now and you don’t smell fish anymore. The children are already sleeping as some of the company. You don’t know how to thank Bard since you don’t have money like the others, so you offer your help in the house. After helping Sigrid with the dishes, you ask what you could do, and she explains they have some damaged clothes that need stitching and she has no idea how to do it.

So here you are, sitting in the corner of the table, in the light of a candle, mending some clothes. Everyone is busy with their own business when Thorin sits next to you. You first don’t notice him, focused on your task. He put a warm tea next to you before speaking. “Do you want to be my Queen?” he says, as serious as ever. No one reacts, pretending to be still busy. “Queen of what?” you chuckle, still focused on your task. “Queen of Erebor,” he answers after making sure that Bard was no longer there to listen in. You don’t notice how serious he is, all it takes for him to ask you that here, in front of the others. He is not the type of person who expresses his feelings in front of everyone, so you don’t take it seriously. “But there is no Erebor,” you say, not seeing how troubled he is with your answer. “Not now,” he continues after a long silence in which the crackling of the fire is the loudest sound. “But Erebor will be with us soon.”

A smile appears on your lips as you finish what you have planned before going to sleep. After you take the tea that Thorin gave you, you turn to him. Now you notice how serious he was, how sad his eyes are despite his calm behaviour. You take a moment to repeat the conversation in your head. He is about to stand up when you exclaim, “Wait, wait, wait!” You put your tea on the table, then raise your hands in front you.  “You want me as your Queen? Wait. But you. That what you said? But. I’m confused,” you heart is beating too fast to say a correct sentence. When Thorin sees that your hands are shaking, he hesitates to take them. “I know I’m good in organisation and papers, but that shouldn’t be a reason to title me as a Queen. Should you choose someone you love? I thought Dwarves only chose to spend their life with their One. Oh, maybe royalty doesn’t work like that.”

A laugh echoes in the room. Bofur gets Thorin's blackest look of his life. But for you, his eyes are sparkling and a smile eventually appears on his lips. A genuine smile. “That's correct. I want my One as my Queen,” he says, his eyes not leaving yours. Now your cheeks are burning and you stop breathing. Do you really properly understand what he is saying?

You try to say something, but your words are blocked in your throat. Staying with your mouth open makes the future king chuckling. At the end of the room, you hear two dwarves sneezing exaggeratedly, “Heiswaitingforananswer” then “Notinthreedays”. Fíli and Kíli earn the same look as Bofur, but you don’t see it. As you only realise everyone in the room is looking at you, you suddenly stand up. Understanding you, Thorin stands up too, takes your hand and leads you outside.

As it’s dark and late, no one would see you, but the most preoccupying thing is the cold. Before you say anything, Thorin puts his jacket on your shoulders. “Tell me if you’re cold,” he says seriously, but his jacket is so warm that you already forget about the weather. “Do you really mean it? Why do you think I’m your One?” you shyly ask as you close the too big jacket on yourself, taking advantage to hide your burning cheeks. When you look back to him, you’re surprised to discover a new facet of Thorin. An (cute) embarrassed Thorin is in front of you. “Mahal, how should I tell you?” he begins as he runs a hand on his face, stopping on his mouth. “I know you're my One because I love you. And this is why I want you to be my Queen.” He swallows his saliva with difficulty, waiting for an answer from you that doesn't seem to be coming. “But maybe my feelings for you are not mutual, and if I offend you in any way, I apologise,” he says as his eyes sadden gradually. 

“No!” you eventually cry out as you grab his hands, surprisingly warm. You already touch them a few times, but never like that. “It’s mutual. Your feelings. I mean my feelings,” you sigh, trying to compose yourself. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this in this Men’s town when we’re almost at Erebor, but–” He cuts you off, “I don’t want you to stay here with your kin. I saw how you look at the town and… that man.” You frown, firstly because he stopped you while you were talking, secondly because he doesn’t trust you. “What man?” “The one who lets us stay in his house,” he grumbles.

When you arrived, the entire lake shimmered with floating lotus lanterns—soft green and gold, glowing as if the stars had descended to rest upon the water. The air smelled faintly of lotus and ozone. Above, the moon’s reflection rippled with each gentle wave.

You turned, stunned, only to find Dan Heng already watching you from atop a gentle slope. In his Vidyadhara form, he looked carved from moonlight—his horns softly glowing, his long hair drifting in the evening breeze.

“It’s not just a tradition,” he said as he descended toward you. “In ancient times… it was believed that when the Imbibitor Lunae fell in love, the lotus would bloom beneath his feet.”

And with that, he extended a hand to you.

You took it.

He led you across a path of floating stones he’d summoned from the lakebed—each one blooming with an ephemeral lotus as you stepped. When you reached the heart of the lake, a massive lotus flower emerged, large enough to serve as a bed of petals. There, a silken blanket, fruits, tea, and books awaited.

“You did all this?” you whispered.

He didn’t smile—but there was softness in his eyes. “A memory… from a myth. I remembered it, and I wanted to rewrite it—with you.”

There, wrapped in starlight and Dan Heng’s quiet warmth, you spent the night nestled on a lotus built from myth and love. He read you ancient poetry in a voice touched with nostalgia, and between verses, his fingers laced through yours, like dragon coils embracing the moon.

It was suspicious how quiet the Luofu had been that day—no paperwork, no war drills, no sudden alerts.

But then came a summons—from Snowmoon of all people—delivered in the form of a little red ribbon tied around your wrist by a yawning Cloud Knight, who smirked and said only: “The General awaits. Follow the lion.”

You did.

Snowmoon trotted calmly through the lower courtyards, through bamboo-laced walkways, until you arrived at a secluded garden—newly bloomed, seemingly overnight. A table was laid out under a wisteria tree, glowing lanterns drifting lazily in the air. A gentle breeze played with wind chimes shaped like Cloud Knights’ swords.

And there, lounging with a single plum blossom tucked behind his ear, was Jing Yuan.

“I thought I’d surprise you,” he said with that familiar lazy smile. “We generals don’t only wage war and nap, you know.”

“I was beginning to doubt the second one.”

He chuckled and gestured you to sit. “Tonight, you don’t have to worry about anything but which dessert you want first. Or… if you’d rather dance under the stars instead.”

You arched a brow. “You dance?”

“I don’t usually—but for you?” He stood, taking your hand and pulling you close. “I’d forget every strategy I’ve ever known, just to learn the rhythm of your heartbeat.”

And so you danced, slow and laughing, wrapped in his warmth and the heady perfume of plum blossoms. And later, when you rested your head on his shoulder, he murmured, “I’ve lived long, but this… this will be one of the memories I hold onto most.”

“Come to the observatory,” his voice had said over the communicator, as brisk and cryptic as ever.

You arrived expecting charts, graphs, maybe some lecture about the orbital decay of a distant planet.

You were wrong.

He stood in the middle of the dome, dressed impeccably, with only soft starlight and crystalline projections surrounding him—slowly moving constellations and equations glowing gold and blue. The floor had been transformed into a galaxy, with lights dancing beneath a glass pane like walking on stars.

“Veritas…” you breathed. “What is this?”

“It’s… a variable,” he said, oddly shy. “A moment outside the theorem of logic. A proof of the unquantifiable.”

You blinked. “You made the galaxy… romantic?”

He looked away. “I had to admit something difficult. That no theorem, no truth, no data has ever made my pulse quicken like the thought of you.”

That stunned silence was all he needed.

Ratio led you to a platform in the center where a floating table materialized. Dishes materialized on cue—your favorites, precisely prepared. The dome dimmed, and you could see the real stars overhead, glittering as if listening in.

“I could give you theories. Equations. Formulas for every chemical that makes up desire,” he said, pouring your drink with perfect steadiness. “But none would explain the way your smile reorganizes my world.”

And when he took off the alabaster mask that evening—revealing not just his face, but the raw sincerity in his eyes—you knew this was the greatest discovery of all: his heart.

The elevator ride to the top of Penacony's Vault Casino was quiet — at least on your part. Aventurine, ever the enigma, stood beside you with a lopsided smirk and one hand behind his back, golden rings catching glints of the elevator lights.

“You’ve been tense all evening, darling,” he purred. “And here I thought dressing you in something expensive and scandalous would do the trick.”

You roll your eyes, half amused, half nervous. “You said we were attending a ‘high-stakes demonstration’—that’s not exactly romantic.”

He laughs — not just a chuckle, but a full-bodied thing, sharp with irony. “My dear, everything with me is a gamble. But I never place a bet I can’t rig.”

The doors open with a soft chime.

You step out… and into another world. The rooftop has been transformed into an ethereal oasis — a private garden lounge aglow with floating candlelight and softly chiming windchimes shaped like roulette wheels and playing cards. In the center is a crystal table with a glittering spread: your favorite dishes, a bottle of aged fruit-wine, and two intricately carved dice resting atop gold-trimmed velvet napkins.

Your breath hitches.

Aventurine steps behind you, placing both hands on your shoulders. His voice softens — not his usual showman’s tone, but something deeper, gentler.

“I spend every day bluffing empires and dancing through knives,” he murmurs. “But tonight… no games. Just you, me, and a bit of controlled chaos.”

You turn to look at him. He’s smiling, but not his usual cocky grin — this one is real, aching and rare.

As you sit down, he pulls out a card from behind your ear with a magician’s flair — The Lovers.

“Fate dealt me a cursed hand once,” he says, voice lower now. “But then I found a wildcard… you.”

You had no idea why Jiaoqiu insisted you arrive hungry.

It wasn’t until you stepped through the curtain — woven from silken threads and medicinal herbs — that the scent hit you. Garlic oil, sesame, citrus glaze… and something faintly nostalgic. Like the night he first made you tea when you were sick.

The terrace glowed with paper lanterns and bioluminescent flora. The centerpiece: a custom hibachi grill, nine iron plates arrayed in a square — his signature healing “nine-square grid” reimagined into a full-course meal.

And there he stood, in a dark crimson chef's coat, sleeves elegantly rolled, fox ears twitching as he sliced vegetables with absurd precision.

“You’re late,” he said, hiding a soft grin. “Now I’ll have to dock your dessert.”

You laugh. “You’re really cooking for me?”

“I am many things,” he says as he begins grilling skewers with a soft sizzle, “but above all, I am a healer. And today, I want to heal your soul through… grilled shrimp.”

The first course is sweet, buttery lotus root. The second, seared peach-glazed duck. With each bite, you feel lighter, like he's folding warmth back into places long gone cold.

Midway through the final dish, he pauses. “I used to think healing was only ever temporary,” he murmurs, eyes closed. “That all I could do was delay the inevitable. But with you…”

He opens his eyes — pupils glowing faintly. “...I find myself wanting to try again.”

After dinner, he takes your hand and guides you down a spiral garden path. There, beneath a canopy of night-blooming flowers, rests a hot spring, quiet and secluded. He bows slightly.

“My second surprise. I thought… perhaps we could wash the day away. Together.”

You flush, and his grin turns boyish. “Purely medicinal, I swear.”

When Anaxa asked you to meet him “where silence used to kneel,” you knew it wouldn’t be normal.

What you didn’t expect was a forgotten amphitheater, overrun with ivy and faintly glowing glyphs—repurposed by him into something sacred in its rebellion.

Dozens of books circled the platform, each opened to a page of your shared favorites. A phonograph played soft music built from haunting, forbidden tones — notes once outlawed for resembling “the cries of the damned.”

Anaxa stood at the center, a star of chalk and flame beneath him, his cloak gently fluttering. His uncovered eye gleamed in the moonlight.

“You came,” he said, as if relieved. “Even after I called this a date and a desecration in the same sentence.”

You step closer, heart pounding. “You said you had something to show me.”

He gestures to a structure in the center — a kinetic sculpture of fractured mirrors, candlelight, and singing wires.

“I built this to reflect every version of myself — the heretic, the visionary, the grieving brother, the fool… but none of them felt whole until I saw myself through you.”

The sculpture begins to turn, casting prisms across the ruined stones.

“This,” he whispers, “is my apology for loving you in riddles. And my vow — that if there’s a god who made you… I’ll defy them every day to keep you.”

You barely breathe as he steps forward, slipping a gold-threaded glove into your hand. “Will you dance with a madman, love? Just for tonight?”

And you do — through broken moonlight and poetry, through whispered philosophies and fragile confessions. You dance not with a monster or a scholar, but a man burning to be understood.