LOTR/Hobbit Imagines

Bagginshield - The Way to a Hobbit's Heart

Bilbo hurried up the lane to his front yard, struggled to open the gate in his haste and made his way inside. When the door closed behind him, it felt like someone had slapped him in the face.

Oh yeah, the smell definitely came out of his house. He coughed a few times, and his eyes started to water. He completely missed the leftover trails of smoke near the ceiling, and that was maybe for the better.

"Thorin?" he squeaked between coughs. "Love?"
No answer. Was he even here? And what was that pungent smell? It almost smelled like an onion died a painful death and was left to rot! But with added spices.
Now he almost wished it was Lobelia's cooking instead...

He left the entrance hall and stepped further into their home, making his way to the study. If Thorin was home, he would probably be there.
Bilbo hoped to find his other half hunched over a book, or too focused on writing a letter to his nephews to hear his calls. Not that he didn't trust Thorin to find his way back home on his own... okay fine, maybe he didn't.

Before he reached the study, his eye fell on the pantry. A rare curse escaped his mouth.
Empty jars, most of them tipped over, crumbs and pieces of vegetables on the ground together with a puddle of liquid that Bilbo wasn't too keen on investigating further.
He stood frozen in the round doorway. What had happened?

Flashbacks of that one fateful night when the company had barged in - uninvited might he add - and raided his kitchen and pantry flooded his mind.
Could they...?
No, he shook his head. It was too quiet for the company to be here. Plus Thorin would have mentioned it. There were no secrets between them. Not anymore.

He crossed the hallway and entered his kitchen. Or rather, what was left of it.
If he thought his pantry was raided, it was nothing in comparison to his kitchen.
There were dirty pots and pans all over the place, as if the dishes hadn't been done in weeks. Most of the cabinets were opened, the contents of the shelves in disarray or scattered over the counter. A lot of food made it to the floor as well, and it seemed like someone had tried to clean it up by shoving it to one side of the kitchen.

It looked like Thorin had tried to make something for dinner. Or a snack maybe? At least, he hoped it was Thorin who wrecked the kitchen. Because there wasn't a single hair on his feet that would even consider cleaning this up himself!

"Thorin, I really do love you but you got to learn to clean up after yourself," Bilbo muttered in frustration when he picked up a dirty kitchen rag from the floor.
"I'll keep that in mind," a low voice sounded behind him.

Bilbo swirled around and he forgot to breathe for a second.
There, in the doorway of the dining room, stood Thorin in just his dark blue tunic and black breeches, barefoot and an apron tied around his hips. A towel carelessly thrown over his shoulder and a casserole in his hands made it look like he belonged in a kitchen. But Bilbo knew better.

The dwarf himself looked like a complete snack. If it wasn't for the state of the kitchen and the foul smell still filling his nostrils, he would've jumped him without a second thought.
No, scratch the snack! His husband was a full five course meal. Bilbo took a deep breath. And by Durin's beard, was he hungry...

Thorin lifted the pot a little. Bilbo stepped out of the way so he could pass.
"It just needs a little more time on the fire."
It didn't. It really, really didn't.
That became abundantly clear when Thorin lifted the lid so he could stir in what looked like stew, and Bilbo had to grab the counter to steady himself.
Oh, well, at least now I know where that smell comes from, he thought. Breathe through your mouth, that's the key!
"You know, if you didn't like my cooking, you could've just told me," Bilbo joked while he took the pot off the fire again in an effort to save what could be saved, but not before he put the lid back on. "I think this is done, love."