LOTR/Hobbit Imagines

Fíli and Kíli - Perfect

Fíli & Kíli & fem!reader (platonic, no use of Y/N)

Requested: no

Warnings: talk about fat-shaming, refusing food, my favorite nickname returning, this is a very self indulgent fic

A/N: I wrote this ficlet because I experienced something similar this week and I had to write something about it to deal with how I felt and what I wished people around me would've said to me. Everyone deserves a Fíli and Kíli as their best friend, and I hope this comfort fic can help anyone who needs it. Never forget, you're perfect the way you are 💚

*

Fíli knocked on your door, the sound of it echoing through the corridor. When there came no answer, he met his brother's worried eyes.

"Try again," Kíli said, "maybe she didn't hear you the first time."

Fíli raised his eyebrows in a "you think?" kind of way, but did as his brother suggested and knocked a second time, calling your name as well. Still no answer.

"Here, let me try," Kíli pushed his brother out of the way, shoving the plate of food they brought in his hands and knocked a couple of times with a lot more force. "It's us, your two favorite dwarves in the whole mountain! Open the door, mimûna!" (little one)

"Leave me alone!" They could barely hear your muffled voice through the thick wooden door but unfortunately for you, the Durin princes had known you a long time. They immediately noticed something was wrong, your voice was hoarse and missed its usual spark.

They looked at each other and agreed there was no way they were leaving you like this. Something was wrong and as your friends, they were here for you. Even if you didn't want them there, they at least had to know you were safe.

"We're coming in," Fíli announced before he turned the doorknob and gave the door a firm push.

They found you sitting on your longchaise looking out the window, huddled in thick woolen blankets and furs. Without saying a word, Fíli placed the plate of food on the window sill and took a seat at the end of the chair, pulling your feet on his lap. Kíli crouched right next to you, feeling your temperature with the back of his hand, surprised to feel you weren't having a fever.

"Are you ill?" he asked, taking in your appearance. You didn't look sick, but your eyes were red and puffy and you hadn't come out for lunch or dinner that day. You not feeling well would be a logical explanation in his eyes.

You shook your head. "No, I'm fine."

Fíli placed his hand on your shin and gave a light squeeze through the blanket. "Don't take this the wrong way, mimûna, but you don't look fine." He then noticed the tissues and the dried-up tear streaks on your cheeks. "Have you been crying?"

Kíli's head shot up at his brother's words, worry etched on his face. "Are you hurt?"

You sniffed and wiped a few more tears out of your eyes, the brother's worried questions enough to make you emotional again.

"No-no, I'm okay. Really, it's nothing, I promise," you assured them, attempting a smile to back up your lies. You weren't fine, and the last thing you wanted was to be left alone again but you didn't want to tell Fíli and Kíli what had happened.

"We didn't see you for lunch or dinner, so we brought you a plate," Kíli said, pointing at the plate on the window sill. It was filled with potatoes, roasted meat and a few vegetables, your appetite usually rivaling that of the two brothers combined. "Don't worry, we can go for more if it's not enough."