These are not mine the imagines and oneshots from tumblr.
The author/tumblr account names are indicated in every chapter as I do not intend to steal that as it is their own works.
I edited the cover (found the pic on google)
DISCLAIMER : I don't ow...
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Thorin was going to fuss at you, that much was certain. The next time he saw you, he was going to criticize your sloppy fighting, which mirrored his own: looking across the vast chaos of fighters to find Your One.
Thorin was going to berate you for that, and he expected you to do the same to him.
And then relief, gladness and time would cool down the burn in your voices, and there would be only warm whispers for the rest of the day and night.
He would seize you in the rough way he knew, pressing you to his chest, and you would hang on.
The next time I see you... His thought trailed off as he swallowed back grief, remembering the last time he saw you.
Bilbo was more than a sneaky burglar, he was a sneaky lifesaver, seeming to appear out of nowhere to slide across the ice and plunge the sword into Azog's chest. Thorin was down from Azog's savage piercing to his foot, but not out.
Still in shock, Thorin thanked Bilbo, and a heartfelt exchange easily restored their friendship.
He asked Bilbo about your whereabouts, if you were even alive. The Hobbit stalled.
"We just have to find her, and I'm sure we, um, we will," Bilbo said, shaking like a leaf.
Thorin looked forward to an angry confrontation with you because if he could growl and bark, and if you snapped and snarled back, it would mean you miraculously survived the slash to your throat that he witnessed, but could do absolutely nothing about.
The pain searing in his foot as he hobbled along, with Dwalin helping him on his left, Dain on his right, and Gandalf and Bilbo leading, could not top the torment in his heart as the image of the spouting blood from your neck repeated in his mind.
The chatter among the small group surrounding him was centered on elation over the hard-won mountain, Azog's demise, and updates of Thorin's beloved nephews, who were returning from the brink of death.
Thorin only caught sight of the bunched crimson fabric in Dwalin's other hand when his friend carefully helped him cross the rubble at the razed front gate.
Thorin stopped moving, and Dwalin felt the ripped, soiled shirt burn under Thorin's expressionless gaze. Even through the dark blood he could make out the curved collar and the embroidered dove on the sleeve.
"She will be remembered with honor."
With that, Thorin continued the rough climb inside the mountain, leaning on Dwalin and Dain, but did not look at anyone.
——-
You could define the edges of the rugged, concerned face above you.
It was Bard, that killjoy bowman who tried to pass off what looked like gardening tools as weapons.
