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gloomwitchwrites · 2 months

Text

Missed Hints

King Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, light angst, humor, pregnancy, suggestive themes, fade to black, established relationship

Word Count: 1.8k

With the pregnancy confirmed, you decide to drop little hints until Thorin makes the connections.

A/N: for @protosslady

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

“You’re pregnant, your majesty.”

Those two little words are enough to make time freeze. You are cold, a bit hesitant, and completely unbelieving of what you’re hearing.

“Are you sure?” you ask slowly, needing to know if you’ve heard her correctly.

The midwife, Lena, smiles broadly. “As sure as the sun rises in the morning. I’ve been doing this for close to thirty summers now. Rarely am I ever wrong.”

Lena’s assistant, Petal, matches Lena’s smile with one of her own. It is radiant and sunny, a stark difference from your sudden anxiousness. “This is wonderful news,” she exclaims. “King Thorin will be so pleased.”

“Indeed,” agrees Lena. “And so will the people when it’s formally announced.”

Both women sigh at the same time, but you are not nearly as excited as they are.

You and Thorin did try for a child many times in the beginning of your marriage. It was enthusiastic—and constant—but nothing ever came of it. While it bothered you, Thorin never seemed to care. He told you that all he wanted was you and that anything else was a bonus.

That is still true. Thorin loves you.

But Thorin is being pulled in a different direction. Erebor needs attention, and Thorin throws himself into service attempting to tackle every obstacle and difficulty on his own. Most nights, he comes to bed late—usually when you’re already asleep. When you wake, he is usually gone, off to take care of his abundant duties. They are piling up, becoming a burden. Thorin does too much, and while you admire him for his dedication, you miss him.

To know that you’re pregnant is a surprise. It’s not that you and Thorin haven’t been intimate, it’s just that it hasn’t been nearly as frequent as in the past. While Thorin is gone, you have your own duties and responsibilities. When the two of you do have quiet time together, intimacy is brief but passionate and almost always followed by the two of you falling asleep in each other’s arms.

“How far along?” you ask, trying to place exactly when it might have taken.

When your cycle never came, you didn’t think much of it. That happens sometimes. But then didn’t occur during the next expected timeframe. With its absence came irritability and random bouts of sudden crying you couldn’t explain. Certain foods smelt odd, and while you weren’t emptying the contents of your stomach, constant nausea made it difficult to complete daily tasks. You knew then that something was different. And now the midwife has confirmed it.

But even with an answer, you’re not sure how you feel.

“I’d place you at about ten weeks. Perhaps eleven,” answers Lena with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

“That far?” you squeak, wincing immediately with how upset you sound.

Lena and Petal’s smiles start to diminish. Their enthusiasm melts away, replaced with furrowed brows and soft lines of concern.

“Is everything all right? You look a bit faint?” Lena places her hand on your shoulder.

“Yes,” you reply, though it sounds like you’re gasping for air. “Surprised is all.”

Their smiles return but it’s subdued.

This is supposed to be a happy occasion. A child means an heir, and it also gives the people hope for the future. Much of Erebor is still in pieces from Smaug’s habitation. That doesn’t even begin to include all the damage and death from the battle. Dale, which was once abandoned and forgotten, is starting to see life again as well. The races of Men are returning to it, hoping to rekindle its long-extinguished flame.

A royal child is a symbol of hope. It’s a moment of celebration for everyone.

“I think a bit of rest for the remainder of the day will do you some good,” says Lena softly. “We will prepare some ointments that you can use to relieve any aches or pains. Bloating is likely, and as the body makes room for the little one, you’ll have some discomfort.” Lena taps her bottom lip and then turns to Petal. “We’ll need to prepare some liquid supplements to take with meals.”

“Of course,” nods Petal. She begins packing up their supplies.

Lena squeezes your shoulder before letting go. “I’ll come check on you in a few days. Bring a few things with me. We’ll talk more then, preferably with the father present.”

“Yes,” you reply, absently rubbing your belly. “That would be best.”

The two women bow and depart quickly, leaving you alone in the royal bedchambers. The room is quiet and your breathing sounds too loud in such a large space. With hands clasped, you twist them over and over again in agitation, needing to move but unsure of how to quell the anxiousness. It’s stubborn like the deep roots of a tree that refuse to give up the dirt.

How are you to tell Thorin? How do you approach this when you rarely see him. It’s just one more thing to burden him with. Perhaps, if you dropped a few hints? Covertly toss the pregnancy in his direction and see if he picks it up?

You know deep in your gut that you shouldn’t worry over this. Thorin will be happy. He will be.

You spend the rest of the day as Lena instructs. Reclining, resting, and reading. Thorin is supposed to return tonight for evening meal. Whenever he promises an early arrival, Thorin means it. Rarely does he make promises he cannot keep.

As dinner is brought in, and the table is set, Thorin walks through the door. There is a bit of soot on his cheek like he’s been in the mines, and his cheeks are slightly flushed. When he notices you, he beams, and there is so much love there that you simply want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“My love,” he says, moving toward you swiftly. The embrace nearly sweeps you off your feet. He plants a kiss on your forehead and draws back.

“You’re filthy,” you laugh, looking him over. Thorin has been in the mines.

Thorin shrugs sheepishly. “I had to help dig. Structural issues.”

“Wash your hands at least,” you playfully tease.

“Not interested in eating a bit of dirt?” he asks with a laugh.

“Go,” you giggle, pushing away from him.

Thorin disappears and you take a seat at the table. He reappears a few minutes later, face and hands clean. The clothes he wore before are also gone, replaced with simple, fresh attire. He takes a seat next to you, gaze darting over the spread.

“I’m starving,” you begin because it’s true even though you’ve been consistently snacking all day. “It’s like I’m eating for two.”

First hint dropped.

Thorin laughs, and the sound is sweet like honey cake. “I promise, love. You couldn’t eat for me. My appetite is insatiable.” When Thorin says insatiable, he pointedly glances at you with a heated stare.

You perfectly understand his meaning.

You attempt a different angle. “I’ve also been having the oddest cravings,” you say, starting to load your plate.

“What do you mean?” asks Thorin before he pops a chunk of bread into his mouth.

“Different foods. Things I’d never eat together otherwise.” It is common knowledge that pregnant women will often crave highly specific foods and food combinations.

But Thorin doesn’t appear to pick up on the hint. He frowns, then shrugs, continuing to eat without making a comment.

Sighing, you pick up one the freshly made rolls. “I think these buns need a bit more time in the oven.” You stare hard at Thorin, mentally sending message after message. “What do you think?”

Thorin glances up at you then down at his own plate that has five of them. “I think they’re perfect but if you’d like them more done, I’ll let the kitchen know in the morning.”

“Thorin,” you say flatly.

“Yes, my love?” His head slightly tilts, and his gaze becomes pointed. He’s starting to pick up on your agitation. You don’t mean to be cross, but you were hoping that he’d figure it out so you wouldn’t have to tell him outright.

Setting the roll down on your plate, you promptly divert the conversation to a different hint. “We’ve never talked about where we’d put the nursery.”

Thorin’s brow rises toward his hairline. “I didn’t think you wanted to discuss that until we crossed that hurdle?”

Does he hear himself? Does he understand the context of what’s coming out of his mouth?

“You’re right, Thorin. I didn’t want to discuss it until we needed to.” You repeat his words back to him, slightly leaning toward him as you speak to emphasize the point.

Still, it brushes right over his head.

“Some of the advisory council members have brought up financial concerns. Rebuilding Erebor is important but the needs of the people are pressing. Food. Proper housing.” Thorin begins slicing into the chunk of roast on his plate.

Maybe you are going to have to say it outright.

Licking your lips, you ignore Thorin’s change in conversation. “I did receive a few inquiries about baby clothes. Offers to knit a few items,” you shrug.

“That’s kind of them,” says Thorin slowly. “But why—” he pauses, “you’re not—"

Thorin’s features suddenly shift, becoming almost unreadable. His jovial expression is gone, replaced with a stern consideration.

Are you going to have to shout it at the top of your lungs?

Thorin’s lips part. Promptly shuts. Opens again. “Are you…” he begins but does not finish.

You start to nod, urging him on.

Finally, like light igniting in the dark, Thorin’s face transforms into one of shock, then pure joy.

“Truly?”

“Found out just this morning.”

Thorin abruptly stands, pushing himself and his chair away from the table. He is moving toward you, grasping your hands, bringing them to his mouth to kiss your fingers.

“Why not say anything?” he asks.

“I did,” you laugh. “Many times.”

Thorin momentarily frowns before his mouth turns up into a soft smile. “Clever.”

“You’ve been busy and I was unsure of how to tell you.”

Thorin’s thumbs rub little circles over your knuckles. “You can always tell me anything. Whatever is happening. Whatever is on your mind. I wish to hear it.” He kisses the tops of your hands. “Especially something like this.”

“Are you happy?” you ask, voice cracking at the end.

“Happiest I’ve ever been.”

Thorin pulls you up from your chair, his large, muscled arm sliding behind your waist. He drags you to him, his eyelids lowering seductively, all gentleness leaving him to be replaced with desire.

“Are you up for a bit of celebrating?” he asks.

“What kind of celebrating?”

“The kind that landed us here.”

“Thorin,” you gasp, lightly slapping his chest. He snatches your wrist, kisses the pulse point there.

“The food can wait,” and his voice ends on a soft growl.

“Thorin,” you repeat, this time with a rasp to your tone.

He seizes it, draws you even closer. “The food can wait?”

You nod. “It can wait.”

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@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath @mrsdurin @therealbloom @ninman82 @thewulf @ferns-fics @beebeechaos

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middleearthpixie · 10 months

Note

Can you please write a fic where Thorin falls in love with a human girl, but he thinks she is disgusted by his looks? 🙏

Hi there, Nonny!! I know it took me forEVER, but here you go and i hope you like it! 💜

The Harp

Summary: You and Thorin are friends, but then you find out his feelings for you run deeper, and he’s holding back because he feels he is not good enough for you.

Pairing: Thorin x fem!Reader (post-sack of Erebor, pre-quest for Erebor)

Warning: None. Just fluffy fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 4.7k

***

He came into the dining room at the same time each evening and always sat at the same table—the one in the far corner, which was also the darkest corner of the room. He was polite, but kept to himself and you noticed how he always sat with his back to the wall and rarely did his eyes pause from scanning the room.

The other diners eyed him with just as much suspicion but then again, they all eyed each other with suspicion as well. It was second nature to this lot, as they came from all four corners of Middle Earth. No one was actually from Emyn Vanya. No, every warm body had come from somewhere else to this tiny village on the outskirts of everywhere and yet somehow in the middle of nowhere. Some came to start over. Some came to forget. Some came to do both and some were just passing through. But everyone was from somewhere else and almost no one wished to discuss where that somewhere else might be.

You couldn't help but notice him, for he was a dwarf and the Grey Gander did not see many dwarves in their dining room. And not only that, but he was a handsome dwarf, to boot, with black hair, touched here and there with hints of silver, that spilled over his shoulders in a long tangle of curls. His most striking feature was his eyes, however, for they were the most piercing shade of icy blue you’d ever seen. There was a hardness within those pale eyes, one belied by his polite demeanor and deep, if soft, voice.

Night after night, this man came in alone. He sat alone. He spoke to no one other than you when you approached to take his order, just as you did this evening. He was polite, if reserved, and spoke only when absolutely necessary, which was an interesting change from the patrons who grew louder and more opinionated as they dove further and further into their cups.

“Welcome back,” you said with a smile as you approached him. “Might I fetch you a drink to begin?”

“Thank you. A tanked of ale would suit.”

“Of course. And do you know what you’d like or are you still trying to decide?”

He looked up at you with those striking eyes. “The hunter’s stew.”

His order never varied and you were certain you could just bring him a bowl of the stew without asking, which was why you couldn't resist a bit of playing with him. “I think we should start calling that your usual. Perhaps we should change it on the menu itself.”

That earned you one of the dwarf’s rare smiles. “I am not so certain that is necessary.”

“Well, you’ve been in here eight of the last ten nights and have yet to order anything different.” You couldn’t help teasing him. You sensed a hint of sadness in him, one that might explain the hardness in his eyes. And while it was a bit of a risk, teasing this man you didn’t really know, you had to admit, his smile made the risk worthwhile.

“But,” you added, taking your teasing further than you normally did, “you would have to tell me your name first. I certainly cannot ask to rename it Dwarf Stew. That would give the wrong impression, don’t you think?”

A darkness flashed through his eyes and you knew you’d overstepped. Your mind raced as you struggled to come up with something to smooth over his obviously ruffled feathers, knowing your employer would be furious if your flippancy drove away a paying customer. “I mean… that is… I apolo—”

“No,” he interrupted softly, shaking his head, “there is no need to apologize. And you’re right, it would sound odd. So, I suppose then, it would only be fair to tell you my name, wouldn’t it?”

Your heart beat a little faster at that. Perhaps it was but your imagination, but his voice sounded lower than it normally did. Lower and bit growlier. Had he, by any chance, noticed you the way you’d noticed him?

No, that was madness talking. Very few people noticed you aside from being their serving girl. You tended to blend into the background far too easily and since so many people in Emyn Vanya were only passing through, they paid little heed to you.

Still, that didn't stop you from replying, “It would, yes.”

To your surprise, that earned you a laugh. A genuine, honest-to-goodness laugh and one that sent flutters through you as it rolled across the small table in your direction. Like his voice, it was low and silken, and those flutters made you forget your own name for a moment.

“Very well,” he nodded, his eyes meeting and holding yours, “I am Thorin.”

You offered your name in return and added, “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Thorin.”

“And yours as well.”

Heat climbed into your cheeks and you ducked your head, saying, “I will be back in a few moments with your ale,” you hesitated, then added, “Thorin.”

“I will be here.”

Thorin sat back as you darted off and couldn't believe his cheek. What had possessed him to even think to flirt with you? Your interest had to be only because he was a paying customer, because there was no way a woman as beautiful as you could possibly be interested in him.

The first time he stepped into the Grey Gander, he’d noticed you at once, noticed how easily you smiled and joked with the tavern’s patrons. Your laughter was a silvery melody that made everyone turn in your direction and smile even if they had no idea what it was that made you laugh.

He noticed everything about you—from that amazing smile and intoxicating laughter to your beautiful eyes and easy grace with which you moved about the crowded dining room. You never seemed impatience, or irritated, and even when someone gave you a hard time about something, you never lost your temper and somehow managed to defuse the most volatile of situations.

The second night he’d come in, he’d witness such a scene, almost reaching for his sword, propped against the table, when the giant of man actually grabbed you by the arm. He had no doubt he’d have intervened if you needed it, but you didn’t. You smiled at the man as you peeled his fingers from your wrist and very sweetly informed him that if he touched you again, you’d turn him from a rooster to a hen in one fell swoop.

It was at that moment, Thorin lost his heart.

A foolish notion at best, as you would never feel about him the way he did you. Why would you? He was a dwarf. He had no home. He had been in line for a throne, but now supported himself by moving from place to place, taking work where he could find it.

That was what brought him to Emyn Vanya. His trade was blacksmithing and the village needed one. So, there he was, in the dining room of the Grey Gander, admiring you from afar and wishing he stood a chance at winning your hand.

It was just as well, for what did he have to offer you? A king with no kingdom was no better than a pauper, really. Not to mention, he certainly couldn’t compete with the men of Emyn Vanya, who were all taller, slimmer, and far more attractive than he certainly was. You would be a fool to even consider him.

But, he watched you from afar, watched as you moved from table to table, how you brought a beaming smile to the face of an old crone, how you soothed angry children bickering over a toy, how you made a crying infant smile by making silly faces until they could do nothing else.

How you focused on him as if he was the most interesting man in the room and not, for lack of a better phrase, a homely, homeless refugee.

If only…

He sighed as you approached with a tankard in one hand. His heart beat so much faster when you met his gaze. His mouth went as dry as the plains between his lost kingdom of Erebor and the city of Dale after the dragon Smaug torched it from one end to the other.

You set the tankard before him. “Your supper will be ready in but a few minutes, Mr. Thorin.”

Mr. Thorin. He smiled, shaking his head. “No Mister. Thorin is just fine.”

“Oh, well that wouldn’t be proper now, would it?” Your eyes almost sparkled as your easy smile curved your lips. “After all, we only just met.”

“This is true,” he nodded, reaching for the tankard. Then, on impulse, he added, “Perhaps you might join me one evening?”

You looked taken aback and he immediately berated himself silently. You fool! What is wrong with you?

But then you smiled. “I think I would like that. I have an off night tomorrow. Would that work for you?”

He was stunned, not only by your agreement, but by your suggestion. No woman ever approached him that way. He’d always been the one to ask. You were bold and he admired that. So, he nodded. “That would work just fine for me.”

“Wonderful. What time?”

“Half seven?”

“Half seven it is,” you told him. “And I’ll be back in but a moment with your supper.”

****

What were you thinking? How could you just blurt out an invitation to him that way? He must think you a harlot, or a wanton woman for doing so.

But at the same time, as you smoothed a hand along your skirts, you had to admit, you looked so forward to seeing him without having to wait upon him. It was a nice change of pace for you. A break in the monotony of your life that was work, sleep, and more work.

You’d told him where you lived, a rundown little flat above the florist’s shop, and at half eight, when the knock came at the door, you nearly jumped clear out of your skin. Then, laughing at your foolishness, you hurried to the door, before he thought you’d changed your mind and left.

You smiled as you pulled open the door. “You are early.”

“I allowed myself extra time in case I found myself lost. I’m still new to these parts and this town takes a bit of getting used to.”

“If you remember the streets run east and west, and the avenues run north and south, you might fare better.”

He bobbed his head. “I would, but there are three florists on this street alone.”

“It is a very competitive business in Emyn Vanya.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

You hesitated a moment and then stepped aside. “Come in.”

As he stepped over the threshold, you tried not to dwell on how shabby your flat was, with its scratched and scuffed hand-me-down furnishings. After you paid your rent and made certain there was food on the table, there was not much money left for luxuries such as nice furniture. Normally, it didn't trouble you. This was your home and you thought it cozy, if a bit rundown. But, when you tried to see it through Thorin’s eyes?

You saw exactly how awful it must have looked to him. Threadbare sofa. The armchair had a hole in the cushion thanks to a broken spring, which meant that not only was stuffing peeping up from the hole, one received a nasty poke in the backside, should they think to sit there.

And of course, there was that awful water stain in the far corner. You had no idea from where it had come, only that no matter how much you tried to paint over it, it bled through. You’d given up trying when paint fell into the luxury category.

But, he reached up for the frogs at his throat and then whisked his cloak off to drape over his arm. “This is lovely.”

Lovely? You looked about, wondering exactly what he found so lovely about it. “It’s a bit… ah… worn, don't you think?”

“Lived in, is how I would describe it.” He smiled at you. “Homes should be lived in. That is how they become such. Otherwise, they are but houses, flats, nothing more than buildings.”

You looked back at him. “Lived in?”

He nodded. “Lived in.”

Then he looked back at you and for a moment, you were rendered speechless. Did he have any idea whatsoever as to how handsome he truly was? Because if he did, he certainly did not act as if he did.

Of course, you kept that to yourself, especially when that night, a deep friendship was born. You had dinner together on the nights when you weren’t working. You spent off days together, sometimes running errands with each other, sometimes just doing nothing. He had a knack for the acrostics printed in the village newspaper and the two of you spent your share of days or nights looking up which answers you thought would work. It didn't matter. He had quickly become your dearest friend and while you loved that, you’d also begun thinking that perhaps there was a bit more to your relationship than only friendship.

It was too bad he’d never given any indication at all that he saw you as anything more than a friend.

So you stayed quiet. Autumn gave way to winter and the Yule holiday was only a few days off when you made your way to Thorin’s forge at the northern end of town. A bitter cold wind whipped down the narrow alleyway where his shop was located and you didn't have to look to know you were near it. The carved wooden sign identifying the forge creaked on its hooks as it swung in the wind. Through the swirling snow, you could still make out the word etched into the wood.

Blacksmith

Beneath that word, Thorin had carved symbols as well, and when you’d asked, he’d smiled and explained that they were a language called khuzdul, which was his native language, actually. He’d attempted to teach you some of it, and showed nothing but patience as you fumbled over seemingly simple words. Little by little, though, it became easier and left you wishing you had something like that to share with him.

But then you found something. One night, over several goblets of wine, he confessed that he once played the harp, but had lost his when he’d lost his home, but that was all he would say about either the harp or what happened to his home. So, you’d saved a bit of your pay each week and put it aside and then went to the music shop at the far end of town and found what you’d hoped would be a suitable replacement harp. It wasn't a big, grand instrument, as those were far beyond what you could ever hope to afford, but you hoped he’d like it the same. You couldn’t remember the last time you were so excited and impatient to give someone a gift as you were this one, which was why you braved the worsening weather.

So there you were, at the far end of a gray-shingled building with a roof in need of repair, listening to the almost melodic sound of metal striking metal. The closer you drew to his workshop, the warmer the air grew and as you rounded the corner, a blast of heat hit you square in the face. It was a welcome sensation as your cheeks felt quite numb from the cold.

He had his back to you and heat shot through you at the sight of him, shirtless in deference to that blasted heat, the muscles in his back and along his shoulders bulging as he held a piece of iron in one hand, a hammer in the other. The clang rang through you when he brought the hammer slamming against the iron, again and again and you couldn't help but just stare.

Your eyes roamed over his naked back, heavy with obviously well-earned muscle, and inked with black lines of varying sizes that covered his entire shoulder, stretched across his back, and into the opposite shoulder as well. You had no idea what the symbols and lines meant, but they looked very similar to the ones carved into the forge’s sign, so your guess was they were dwarfish runes or words.

The heat in the forge was brutal regardless of how cold it was beyond the walls. Sweat prickled along your back as you stepped closer. You didn't want to startle him. The iron with which he worked began with an orange glow, but slowly, as he pounded it flat, the glow faded and when he set down the hammer and used a pair of tongs to pick up the flattened piece and thrust it into a tub of water, steam actually rose from the tub.

“Thorin?”

He jumped, letting go of the tongs as he spun around and now heat shot up into your cheeks at the naked chest you found yourself staring at. Like his back, his chest was just as broad, with black hair swirled from one nipple to the other and down across his belly. More symbols had been inked across it, meeting with the design on his left shoulder.

“I am so sorry,” you stammered, tearing your eyes from that impressive sight to meet his startled blue eyes, “I was trying not to startle you.”

“What are you doing here?”

You hugged the package close. “I had to go and pick something up and thought while I was out, I’d stop by.” You peered around him, at the iron still resting in the water. “What are you making?”

“A sword.” He reached for the towel draped over the workbench and swept it across his forehead. “You should not be in here. It’s far too dangerous.”

“I will come no closer then. But tell me, who commissioned the sword?”

“No one. It is mine. I work on it when I’ve a bit of free time.”

“Might I see?”

“It’s not even close to being finished.” He came around the bench and stood before you. His black hair was damp at the temples.

“You don't have to stop on my account, you know.” You took a step closer to him, the urge to reach out and touch him so powerful, it nearly overwhelmed you. You wish you had the courage to tell him how you’d come to feel about him, as you’d had when you’d left your flat. You’d left there full of fire and determined to confess your feelings for him, but unfortunately, by the time you reached his forge, that courage evaporated like the water in the tub had.

“It would be rude of me to continue.”

“Not at all. I think it would be fascinating, watching you work.”

His gaze shifted slightly to his left and you followed it to see what he looked at—a heavy dark gray henley lay draped over a chair by his desk. Without thinking, you shifted the package to one arm and reached out to catch him by the upper arm as he stretched for his shirt.

“Wait, don’t,” you said, shaking your head.

“Don’t?”

You nodded. “I—what is this?” You traced your fingertips along the thick black lines curving his shoulder, unable to believe your own brazenness but unable to halt your touch as well.

“It’s my… my… it’s a raven,” he managed, his voice deep and huskier than usual. He cleared his throat. “The symbol of my clan, and my family crest.”

You could not keep yourself from tracing along those lines as little by little, the image of a raven wearing a crown slowly showed itself to you. You’d held back from telling him how you felt for so long, now that the opportunity to perhaps go beyond friendship had presented itself and you were not about to let it slip by. But… you had to be careful. It was a delicate matter and that called for delicate handling. The last thing you wished to do was destroy your friendship with him.

With that, you lowered your hand “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“This is for you, by the by.” You pressed the package toward him. “I know Yule isn’t for several more days, but when I went to pick this up, I grew far too impatient to wait.”

He stared down at it. “What is it?”

“Well, you have to open it to find out.”

He took the package and slowly unwrapped it and then just stared, his blue eyes growing shiny as he murmured, “How did you know?”

“You told me, silly.” You nudged him with your shoulder. “Remember? We were talking about how my neighbor plays the harpsichord and how awful it sounds and you told me you once played the harp. So, I asked Mr. Trumble if he could find me a harp for you and he did me one better. He made this.”

“He—” those blue eyes met yours, wide and incredulous—“made this?”

You nodded. “He did, indeed.”

He gazed down at the harp, and then back at you. “I—this—this is beautiful. I thank you.”

“There is one condition to it, however.” You nudged him once more. “You must play it for me.”

“Oh, I couldn't now. I’d be far too rusty.”

“Well, once you flake off all the rust.”

“Fair enough.” He offered up a smile brighter than any you’d ever seen from him. “You shouldn’t have done this, though. Save your wages, don’t spend them on me.”

“I didn't mind.” You shrugged as if you spent that kind of money all the time. “And it’s Yule, so it was but a small sacrifice.”

He stepped closer. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, you know. I will treasure it. And you.”

And with that, he leaned in and to your surprise, pressed his lips to yours. You froze at first, caught by utter surprise, as this was the last thing you’d expected him to do. For one maddening moment, you wondered if perhaps you were just imagining it.

But then, his lips moved softly against yours and your toes actually curled in your sensible boots when he brought his hands up to cup your face, and you knew that this was, in fact, actually happening. And how wonderful it was! The sensations that rippled through you were soft and sweet, the crisp, coarse hair around his mouth tickling at first, but then you found you didn't mind it so much as it was a caress of its own.

Your head did a slow spin, his kiss leaving you lightheaded and when your hands came to rest on those massive upper arms of his, your fingers pressed into muscle that greatly resembled stone of their own accord. You were afraid your weak knees might buckle on you at any moment.

His kiss was slow and sweet, teasing and gentle and when his lips parted and his tongue swept gently along yours, your head spun even faster. A rush of heat swept through you. Your lips tingled. Your heart beat harder and faster and it took every bit of will you had to not melt right into his arms.

When he drew back, his eyes were soft, swirling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place and he seemed as breathless as you were as he murmured, “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time now.”

“What?”

He nodded. “I do and I did and now I just want to do it again.” Then he paused, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his smile, into his eyes, “Unless, of course, you’d rather I didn’t.”

“No, I’d not rather that at all,” you told him, smiling as you curved a hand against his cheek. “In fact, I’d like it very much if you would do it again. And again. And I think you should keep doing, no matter where we might be.”

A low chuckle rumbled up from the depths of his chest. “So, I am not about to send you screaming into the snow?”

“Hardly.”

“Are you certain? I mean,” he rubbed his bearded jaw ruefully, a sheepish smile coming to his lips, “I know people whisper about me and poke fun at me behind my back.”

“They whisper about you because they are fascinated by you. And no one pokes fun at you. I know they think you’re quite an excellent smithy, judging by what I’ve heard. And I won’t even tell you what the women say about you.”

To your surprise, his sheepish smile faded and a darkness came to his eyes. “I can only imagine.”

“Have I said something wrong? I thought I was complimenting you. Do dwarves not like to hear how handsome they are thought to be?”

“Handsome?” He snorted as he shook his head. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve seen my own face and that is not how I’d describe it.”

“Well, perhaps you should but have Mr. Sinclair examine your eyes, for you are not only handsome, but very handsome.”

He stared at you, clearly not believing a word you said. “Thank you, but you are just being kind, as you’ve been since we met.”

“Thorin,” you caught his hands in yours, “I’ve been wishing you’d notice me as more than simply your friend, that you’d kiss me, and perhaps I’ve been too brazen in taking the first step. If you wish me to leave you alone, I will.”

“Leave me alone?” His eyes went wide and he shook his head once more. “No, no, I don’t wish that at all. In fact, I—”

A scarlet flush swept up into his cheeks and he went quiet. You waited for him to continue, your heart hammering away at your ribs. All you wanted was for him to pull you into his arms, to tug you flush against that massive chest, and kiss you until you forgot your name.

“You what?” you asked softly.

“I lied. About the sword.” He smiled then. “It’s for you, actually. For Yule. I meant it to be a surprise.”

“For me? But I don't even know who to wield one.”

“Worry not, for I will teach you. When the weather breaks.”

“You did this for me? You would do that for me?”

He nodded. “I would do anything for you, you know.” His eyes softened then as he smiled. “I love you.”

This was the last thing you ever expected him to say and you could only stare at him for a long moment, as your stupid brain forgot how to process words. The best you could muster was a whispered, “What?”

“I love you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for some time now, but how could I when I thought you would be embarrassed to be courted by me. So, I relegated myself to knowing we would only ever be friends, but now…”

“Embarrassed to be courted by you? Are you mad, Thorin? Are you absolutely and completely mad? Because you would have to be to think any woman alive would be embarrassed to be courted by you.” You shifted to wind your arms about his neck. “And no one has ever made something for me. At least, not something as beautiful as a sword. So, if I didn't already love you in return, I would have most definitely fallen at this moment.”

He smiled. “So, all this time, it would’ve only taken a sword to win your hand?”

“I’m a very simple woman, Thorin. You should know that by now.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he eased his arms about your waist, pulling you flush against him. He leaned closer, his lips just brushing yours as he murmured, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

You tried to think of something witty to reply with, but then his lips met yours once more and rendered words unnecessary.

***

Like it? Love it? Reblog it! Comments are also welcomed!

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intoxicated-chan · 3 months

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𝐀 𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐜𝐞 & 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 ⚘ 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒘

Summary ➳ Thorin’s heart swears to despise each and every dragon, but how could he come to hate its rider who longs for a home as he does?

Extra Information ➳ (Y/n) appeared in Mirkwood twenty three years ago with a baby dragon perched on her shoulder. Thranduil took her in to keep a promise to an old friend.

(A/n) ➳ I started writing this mid November of last year back when I started the Hobbit. I plan to upload this series either Spring or Winter. Feedback is greatly appreciated. I feel like this is more of my better works considering I wanted it to feel like the Hobbit/LOTR.

Word Count ➳ 610

Content Warnings ➳ Female Targaryen Reader, 3rd P.O.V, mentions the Doom of Valyria, mentions of death…

Series Masterlist || Chapter 1

(Y/n) watched from the corner, watching as each dwarf was pushed into a cell. Their complaints were falling on death’s ears.

She stepped out from the shadows and towards Legolas’s direction, wanting to know where the dwarves came from.

“What do you know of dragons, girl?” The dwarf’s voice was gruff, laced with bitterness as he eyed the dragon sigils embroidered into her clothing. “You wear it like a badge of honor.”

(Y/n) eyed him as well, realizing who the dwarf in the cell was. “You’re Thorin Oakenshield? Heir to the throne of Erebor.”

Thorin’s fists clenched around the iron bars. “You have yet to answer my question.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened in amazement. “I cannot believe it. I’ve-”

“(Y/n)! Dina!” Legolas commanded her to come. “Get away from the dwarf.”

With that, she walked away, leaving no room for Thorin or (Y/n) to say anything.

“Must you speak to them?” Legolas sneered, following you down the steps. “What reason do you have?”

“I’ve always wanted to see the infamous Thorin Oakenshield. It was not disappointing.”

“...Is it?”

(Y/n) nodded, a smile on her lips. “Yes. If what they say is true… If they reclaim the mountain, I would love to see the glory of Erebor.”

Legolas froze in his steps. “I am beginning to wonder where your allegiance lies.”

“What makes you wonder that?”

“...Go, I need to report to the King.”

She rolled her eyes, asking herself if her curiosity made Legolas or anyone else question her loyalty.

Of course, her loyalty lies with Thranduil, he saved her and took a human and a dragon in. A human not from this world.

The sun had begun to set when (Y/n) stood at Thorin’s cell. “Might I ask you something?” She began, breaking the silence.

He looked up at her, eyes wary. “What is it? Dragon rider?”

“If you had no memories of the kingdom or its riches, would you still fight to reclaim it?”

“Yes.” He answered without hesitation. “For it is not the gold or treasures that drive me, but the honor and memory of my kin who were lost. To reclaim Erebor is to honor their memory, to give those who wish for their home.”

He stepped closer to the bars as he spoke his words, loudly enough for the rest of the Company to hear. He spoke with bravery and pride, not a single once of shame in them.

(Y/n) listened to his words closely. It made her think of her own home, the writing of the book could not describe the doom correctly.

Only a dream, unsure if it came true…

(Y/n) became lost in her thoughts, she began to speak aloud. “I wonder…” She uttered. “What it would be to see Valyria, to walk the streets, see the dragons fly into the sky with my people on its back. I wonder if any Targaryens remain.”

She sighed, sitting down on the steps. “I wonder if the dream was true and the doom of my home was correct.”

Thorin, still irate from the encounter from earlier but genuinely curious about her side of dragons, sat as well. “Was it taken?”

“It was destroyed. A Targaryen had a dream, D… Daenys had a dream. She had foresaw the destruction. But I have no way to know if it was true, I do not know if Valyria still stands or if any Targaryens remain to rule the skies.”

(Y/n) looked up to the ceiling, closing her eyes to remember how Valyria was described. “To be home. I would give my life just to see it.”

“…May you find your way home, dragon rider… And safely.”

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harrypoppinss · 1 year

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How the Dwarfs show PDA

Thorins company x gn!reader

Warnings: an insane amount of fluff, implied smut

Thorin

Being the King of Erebor meant that he had a lot of responsibility on his plate. Even before the Dwarfs defeated Smaug and reclaimed Erebor, he wasn’t overly affectionate publicly; that didn’t change once he re-built his kingdom. Kissing is a no go, but instead he would just always have you hold onto his arm as you walked, or vise versa. But when you’re alone in your shared chambers, its like he can’t get enough of you. Thats when he always makes up for the lack of attention and affection that he can’t openly show like he wants to, but if he sees someone flirting with you then thats thrown out of the window; literally. He will pull you up onto his throne and make-out with you infront of everyone if he wants to… and he has… many times. But most of the time; not very into PDA.

Fíli

Like his Uncle, he has a lot of responsibilities since he’s the heir to the throne. But he doesn’t let that stop him. Once he’s done with his daily duties as the prince of Erebor, he gives you his undivided attention and affection. He always makes sure you’re able to stretch your legs, so he usually like to take late night walks through the mines as you two attempt to not be seen by the guards. One time though you did get caught doing… something. But that’s a story for another day and time. Sometimes he will literally just slip away from the meetings to go and be with you but only if Kíli is there to cover for him. He doesn’t have a problem with showing you how much he adores and loves you, even if that means getting his head chewed off by Thorin for skipping his royal duties.

Kíli

This man is literally the definition of PDA. He doesn’t have as many duties as his brother so he gets to spend his free time with you. He doesn’t care who watches you two as you walk through the halls of Erebor with his arm tucked tight around your shoulders; paired with a proud grin on his face that reads “yeah thats right they’re mine”. He doesn’t care if his Uncle scolds him for it, you’re his one. He tends to pepper kisses all over your face at random times, which inturn makes you incredibly flustered, sometimes his own brother has to pry him off of you. He’s just a lovey-dovey type of boyfriend and he is not afraid to show it to the whole Kingdom of Erebor.

Dwalin

Not a fan of PDA at all. However, if he sense that you’re having an off day, or if he sees someone openly flirting with you…. well then it’s like he’s a whole new person. He’ll pull you into his chest as he rubs circles on your back, giving the person that was attempting to flirt with you a death glare and grinning when he watches them basically shit their pants and scramble away. If its the scenario where you’re having an off day he will find someone to cover for him most of the time with a threat before taking you back to your shared house as he gives you his undivided attention and affection. All in all; this man can quickly become the worlds biggest simp for you.

Bofur

Like Kíli, he’s the definition of PDA. As soon as he gets home from work he’s all over you; literally. He will physically jump on top of you if you’re ignoring him, especially after a long day in the mines. Which usually leads to you forcing him to get up off of you so you can fix him a bath. Even when you’re doing that, his hands are wrapped around your waist as his chin rests on top of your head. In public it doesn’t change, his fingers are laced with yours and he’s constantly finding an excuse to kiss you. You have something on your lips? Kiss. You turn to look at him? Kiss. He wants your attention? Multiple kisses. He just adores showing you how much he loves and cherishes you, even during the journey to reclaim Erebor.

————————————————————

A/N:

Where to request a prompt for a character from LOTR/The Hobbit, Supernatural, The walking dead, FNAF? Here!

The masterlist? Here!

The prompt list? Here!

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sweetbutpsychobutsweet · 5 months

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Masterlist

Thorin Oakenshield x reader

Smoke, Iron, and Thorin (Ongoing)

Chapter 1- Smoke, Iron, and Thorin

Chapter 2- I Wasn't Completely Nude

Chapter 3- Anger Translator

Chapter 4- Like We Used To Be

Chapter 5- Care to Make a Wager?

Chapter 6- Owe You One

Chapter 7- The Voice of Hunger

Chapter 8- You Love Bread

Chapter 9- Good Girl

Chapter 10- What We Left Behind in the Flames

Chapter 11- At Least We'll Be Together

Chapter 12- The Wandering Widow

Chapter 13- Knock Before Entering

chapter 14- coming soon

#thorin x y/n #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x reader smut #thorin oakenshield smut #the hobbit #thorin oakenshieldx fem!reader #thorin oakenshield x afab!reader #thorin #thorin fic #thorin x reader #the hobbit fanfic #thorin x fem!reader #thorin oakenshield angst #thorin oakenshield x y/n #thorin smut #thorin angst #thorin oakenshield x reader angst #thorin x reader angst

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fizzyxcustard · 1 year

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One Night.

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, sexual references, angst, heartbreak, insecurity.

Comments/Notes: From the imagine, "You spend the night with Thorin, and then out of insecurity, you leave him." Requested by @lathalea. Timeframe of post-BOTFA requested by @sotwk

I hope you like the fic. As always, like, reblog and comment if you enjoy. If you wish to be added to any of my tag lists, let me know.

Thorin was lay beside you, his breathing slow. You watched his chest rise and fall. His dark eyelashes fluttered and his eyes moved beneath their lids. He had fallen asleep not long after your final round of love making.

You sighed. He was so beautiful, and didn’t even know it.

The night had become full of tension, which had followed his coronation celebration. Of course you attended, being a close friend of the new king. For many months and you had travelled alongside him, helping and fighting for him to re-take the mountain kingdom of Erebor. Thorin had taken you aside, complimenting you on your attire for the celebration, his blue eyes alight for you. Your first kiss had been outside the main hall, in a cold, empty hallway. Everything else that had followed was back in his bed chamber. The two of you had snuck away, hand in hand, still stealing secret kisses along the hallways.

Never before had you ever been touched in such a way as how Thorin touched you. His hot skin sent intense vibrations through you. His gaze made your heart thunder, and pulsate in other parts of your body, acknowledging just how aroused you were. His voice made sighs slip off your tongue so effortlessly.

You kept your eyes on him as he slept, recollecting the beautiful memories of him opening his heart, soul and body to you. When he had first slipped inside you, he had been over you, his large hands holding your legs open. You had welcomed him so freely in those moments. However, in your second round of pleasure seeking, you had climbed on top of him. He was laid out beneath you, vulnerable, offering it all. Those hands had been clamped on your hips, guiding your movement as the two of you ascended higher towards that wonderful, earth shattering climax. The third and final time, Thorin had been behind you. His lips remained on your neck and shoulder, showing you that even when he could not see your face, he still adored you and admired your beauty.

This was all wrong. Thorin was the most amazing man you had ever met. And you were just mediocre. Nothing special or of substantial value. You looked upon his sleeping form, studying his slim lips which peeped from beneath his moustache. His beard was neatly trimmed, despite him now growing it longer after reclaiming Erebor. That was a promise he had made many years ago. Once the mountain was re-claimed and he would grow his beard back long, as was custom with the Longbeard Dwarves.

Slowly, and you slipped out of bed. There was an ache in your chest. You loved Thorin so much more than you could ever express, but you were not worthy of his hand. A royal Dwarf deserved someone of standing and position, not a commoner like yourself.

Tears fell down your cheeks, reminding you of the man you were originally pledged to many years ago. He had told you he loved you, showered you with gifts, but made it known through his behaviour that you meant very little to him. His actions did not speak louder than his words. And, of course, his attention then swept elsewhere. Thorin would no doubt do the same. Such a beautiful soul would never cherish you and mean it! If this man from your past could not love you, then surely Thorin couldn’t either.

But you had never been touched, kissed and made love to in such a way as that! Every movement made you quake beneath Thorin’s touch, and his whispers of adoration made you shiver. Maybe he just knew how to please women and had rehearsed the words many times.

You re-dressed and slipped out of the chamber, giving Thorin one last glance. The ache hit you hard once again and you placed your hand on your mouth, stifling the uncontrollable sobs.

The halls were quiet and dark, with only the faint light of torchlight guiding your way. And by the time you made it back to your room, you grabbed a quill, ink and parchment. Your hand shook as you tried to write, which meant that your normally laced handwriting became more squiggled. A tear fell onto the parchment, splashing, and caused a swirl of black ink to form under your signature.

***

Thorin woke, his eyes adjusting to the dark room. He looked up at the ceiling of the room and sighed, recollecting the evening before. And as soon as he saw your face in his mind’s eye, he turned to see you had disappeared. He called your name into the gloom.

A dread hit him and his stomach twisted into a hard knot. Something was wrong.

Why would you disappear like this? Even though you could have just slipped back to your own bed chamber, Thorin felt something in the depth of his very being that told him that he would not find you there.

Thorin pulled on a robe, tying it at his waist, and made his way to your room, his mind full of questions. He didn’t even knock as he got to your door and let himself in, finding the room empty. A lump swelled in his throat. He approached your desk. A candle had been lit, and there under the flickering light, was a piece of parchment.

My dearest Thorin,

I cannot remain here. I do not belong. I will never be enough for you, my love. Go and find happiness. May Mahal bless you.

The letter was simple.

Thorin crumpled the letter in his hands, feeling a whole array of emotion wash over him. Terror and frustration seemed to form the knot in his stomach, which was now gaining momentum. Only the night before and Thorin had been on the verge of offering everything to you, a life together. That was all Thorin wanted. You, in every way. He thought that you had been willing to give yourself to him. You had even told him you loved him, shivered at his touch, become undone beneath him. The two of you had panted, sweat, groaned against each other. How could he just let all of that go?

He would not let you go.

He could not.

***

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lathalea · 10 months

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Wild Strawberries

Moodboard by @linasofia 😍

Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: Thorin x f!OC Warnings: smut, pure smut, so help me Mahal Rating: E (18+)

Summary: Several years after Erebor is reclaimed, Thorin decides to celebrate his beloved wife's birthday... and is very enthusiastic about it. A/N: This story is a birthday gift for @legolasbadass from Linasofia and yours truly. Once again HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LB! 🎉🎁🎈

You can find this fic on AO3.

Khuzdul: Bunnelê - my treasure of treasures

Leaving the northmost spur of the Lonely Mountain behind him, Thorin entered the forest at its foot. The lush, dark emerald sea of pine trees surrounded him; each of them at least as tall as two grown Men—their rapid growth being the result of the magic the elves of the Woodland Realm bestowed upon this land in exchange for goods only Erebor could provide them with. It was a bright summer day and the sun speckled the undergrowth of the forest with gold, as if someone scattered countless coins across it. A small smile curved up Thorin’s lips at the recollection of that very profitable agreement with the Elves and the role his clever wife played in hammering it out a couple of years ago. Anila… Ah, his sweet Anila and her talent of finding useful information in ancient tomes and musty treaties. Then, her cunning negotiation tactics side-blinded the Sylvan negotiator, driving every single clause home. The precedent she found—dating five hundred years ago—was instrumental in cornering the Elves and making them agree to their conditions. There was nothing better than the taste of flawless victory… especially if followed by a private but intense celebration that took place in his marital bed.

Taking in a deep breath, Thorin allowed himself to close his eyes and feel the tension leave his body. Being the king of a prosperous Dwarvish kingdom was a great privilege, but also a sizable burden; one that could have felt almost unbearable at times—if not for the assistance of his royal consort. Thank Mahal for the ancient tradition that required the king to take a wife. At first, this was to be an arranged marriage but one day spent in Anila’s company when they met for the first time, a year after Erebor was reclaimed, was enough for Thorin to know this would be an union of both hearts and minds.

Today was a special day: his wife’s birthday. Thorin’s most trusted companions and aides were working deep in the mountain, at the shore of the underground lake, preparing the celebrations for the evening: there were hundreds of candles to be lit and put onto minuscule boats that would float on the lake; countless flowers to decorate the caverns; dozens of dishes to be served, music and dances to be planned, and many other surprise attractions to be planned. Thorin’s task was to divert Anila’s attention until it was time for the celebrations—and diverting his lovely wife’s attention happened to be one of his favourite pastimes.

And so he found himself on the forest path, with a full picnic basket in his hand, on his way to Anila’s favourite hideout. From time to time, she would disappear with a thick roll of parchments and a quill and then return hours later with a mysterious smile on her face and ink-stained fingers. Thorin would take her hand into his, place an ardent kiss over her knuckles and ask what she had been up to. The smile on her delicious lips would widen, she would hide that roll of parchments behind her back, rise up on her tiptoes, peck his cheek, and murmur into his ear, “It is a secret of the state, my king.” The sultry tones in her voice would make his blood sing in his veins—that was a clear invitation to flirt, and with Anila, that game two of them played often ended with their clothes scattered all around, and them panting, their bodies entangled, in the most unusual places of the Mountain.

That was his Anila, an incandescent mix of fire and tenderness.

Today, she mysteriously disappeared before he woke, and now he was finally on her trail. He took a few more steps ahead among the brambles, careful not to make any noise, when he saw a familiar silhouette sitting on a blanket. It was Anila; her back was turned towards him, but he would recognize the dress she wore, one of her favourites, and the silky waves of her beautiful hair everywhere, dark as smoky quartz, the braids that adorned it, and the marriage beads with the sigil of his house he offered her over the marriage anvil on the day of their wedding. Her hair was side-swept to the right, uncovering the column of her neck, and Thorin licked his lips at the sight, wanting to press them against that smooth skin and taste it.

Later, he scolded himself. He was on a mission, after all.

After slowly placing the basket on the ground, he soundlessly kneeled inches behind her. Whatever Anila was doing, she was clearly focused, so much so that she did not notice his approach. Only when his hands covered her eyes from behind, she squeaked in surprise.

“Guess who…” Thorin murmured straight into her ear, his voice low and sensual. He was very much aware of the effect his voice had on her and he was determined to make a good use of it today.

“Thorin…! You scared me!” she chuckled, looking anything but frightened. Anila turned her face back towards him, taking his hands into hers and lowering them onto her lap. He still held her in an embrace and did not plan to let her go.

“Have I?” He lifted his eyebrow in amusement, moving his lips closer to hers. “May I remedy it somehow?”

Anila blinked, her eyes glittering with mirth.

“That would depend on the remedy, my king,” she offered.

He brushed his lips oh-so-lightly against hers. They were as soft as he remembered, and she smelled like those blue flowers he never remembered the name of, so sweet and innocent, like the break of a new day. When she held her breath as their lips joined for a few heartbeats, a sign that he had her full attention, Thorin deepened the kiss with as much tenderness as he could muster, his hand delving into her cascading hair, until he felt her body pressing against him in anticipation for more. A large part of him wanted to continue, coaxed by her dizzying closeness and that little sigh she gave, but he needed to follow his plan. It was his wife’s birthday and this day needed to be perfect—just like her.

He moved back slightly, giving her cheek a slight caress with his fingertips and trying to ignore the wave of arousal he felt looking at her slightly swollen lips, like fresh raspberries, her shining eyes, and her heaving bosom. She wore a green dress, one of her favourites, that happened to be one of his favourite garments of hers as well due to a generously revealing neckline. Mahal, this plan of his was more difficult to carry out than he thought. He was supposed to be the one offering distraction, not the other way around.

“I brought the remedy with me, my queen,” he hummed, placing the heavy basket between them and sitting down beside it. It contained the best delicacies the royal kitchens had to offer.

“A lunch?” she peeked under the colourfully embroidered piece of cloth that covered the basket. “It smells lovely.”

“I cannot allow my wife to starve, can I?” Thorin replied, taking in the way she looked at that moment—with a playful smile and golden specks of sun kissing her face, one of them dancing at the tip of her nose. He wondered whether his plan of having a romantic midday meal with his wife would be ruined if he was to kiss that very spot now.

“You are a very attentive husband. Let us eat, then!” Anila decided, putting away a stack of parchments from her lap to the side. Her fingers were stained with ink.

“May I ask what you were working on?” Thorin said, taking out all kinds of food from the basket. Freshly baked bread, three kinds of cheese straight from Dale, white radishes, a jar of honey, hazelnuts and a bottle of good wine from his private cellar.

“You may,” Anila reached for the bread. “But I will not tell you. Not yet, at least. It is not yet finished.”

“So it is as I feared. You are writing a memoir of our scandalous marriage,” Thorin crunched on a radish with gusto.

He adored making her laugh and the way her laughter found its way to her eyes.

“I doubt Erebor is ready for such a read,” she uttered between giggles. “Besides, technically speaking, the events pertaining to our marriage are a state secret and therefore cannot be made public.”

“Perhaps it is for the best. I do not think I would be happy if our whole kingdom would know of my wife’s talents,” he cast her a meaningful glance. “I would rather keep to myself the things you can do with your… ouch!”

A piece of bread hit him right in the middle of his chest as Anila cleared her throat loudly.

“... brilliant mind. I meant your brilliant mind!” Thorin explained, trying to make his words sound as sincere as he could.

“Truly? Is that what you are thinking about at this very moment?” she teased.

“What else? I am still in awe about the way you handled those envoys from Minas Tirith,” Thorin hoped he looked like an embodiment of innocence at the moment.

“Oh? Remind me?” Anila tilted her head and gracefully licked her honey-covered fingers. It made Thorin swallow hard. That vixen. She knew very well what she was doing to him, but he was going to be strong and so he continued this charade.

“That expression of shock on their faces when they understood they would be discussing matters of state with a woman! And the realisation that you completely outwitted them!” Thorin could not help himself but chuckle at the memory.

“Ah yes, I seem to remember something along these lines,” she admitted, lazily taking another bite of bread and looking into his eyes. A drop of honey landed on her shapely bosom, making Thorin lick his lips as it glistened in the sun.

“And so you should, bunnelê. You used their greatest weakness against them marvellously. I will never understand why the People of Men underestimate their women so,” he reached out to take her hand and placed a kiss on it. Not over the knuckles, oh no, his lips found the centre of her palm and pressed against her skin. She smelled like flowers in bloom and tasted like honey. Despite the food they ate, his hunger was far from satiated.

“Cultural differences, my love,” Anila replied, cupping his bearded jaw before freeing her hand from his. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her fingers brushing against his beard. “One of our greatest assets when dealing with Men.”

“Exactly as I said, brilliant mind,” he gave her a playful smirk that coaxed a silvery burst of laughter from Anila.

This atmosphere—and their mutual teasing—reigned throughout the whole meal, accompanied by the twittering of the forest birds and gentle rustling of trees. You are a lucky Dwarf, thought Thorin, enjoying the feeling of content, laying on his side, his body weight resting on his elbow as he admired the sight in front of him. A beautiful day spent with a companion who is not only beautiful but also smart… to the point of putting your willpower to a test with her merciless teasing. And she happens to be your wife. Just look at her, the way the summer breeze plays with her hair, the way she takes a sip of wine, her sensual lips wrapping over the edge of her cup, or the way her fingers seem to dance in the air as she explains something about that newest decree on mining safety. And the way she speaks your name, with so much feeling and softness in her eyes. Is she not perfect? The true queen of your heart?

Thorin would never put these thoughts into words, of course. His wife would surely think him ridiculously mawkish and overly sentimental. The king of the Khazad of the Lonely Mountain should be anything but ridiculous. The best course of action was to keep such maudlin thoughts to himself.

“I think a dessert is in order,” he decided after a few more moments of his reverie.

“A dessert? I feel so full, I do not think I can eat even a bit more,” Anila sighed.

Thorin simply said, “Wild strawberries.”

“What?” she gasped.

He placed a small woven basket in front of her, its contents covered with peppermint leaves.

“How…? This forest is too young for wild strawberries…” she whispered to herself, removing the leaves and seeing small, oblong ruby-red shapes laid out in layers. “They smell delicious. It has to be magic!”

“Try one and see for yourself,” Thorin gave her a triumphant smile. Surprising his wife was something he never had enough of. Perhaps it was also partially because of the enthusiastic way she showed their gratitude, but even a king could be self-indulgent from time to time, he decided.

“A rider from the Woodland Realm brought them at the break of dawn,” he divulged his secret, admiring the way his wife put one of the berries into her mouth. She closed her eyes and hummed approvingly.

“You asked King Thranduil for a handful of the first wild strawberries of the season?” she then asked.

“Aye.”

“And he agreed?”

“Aye.”

“And sent a messenger to you in the middle of the night?”

“As you can see,” he pointed at the berries in front of them.

“Are you truly telling me you had a peaceful conversation with Thranduil during which you agreed on something? Without shouting and cursing each other’s ancestors five generations back? I think I will go with the ‘magic’ explanation,” Anila shook her head, but Thorin noticed the sparks of laughter in her eyes.

“I did not say there was no shouting involved,” he humoured her.

“If you say so,” she chuckled and took another berry. “Mmmm… They are very sweet. Have you tasted them yet?”

Thorin shook his head.

Without a word, she put the berry into his mouth and let him close his lips over her lingering fingers a moment before she retreated them.

“Very sweet indeed,” he admitted, still feeling her caress against his skin. “Just like you.”

Now it was his turn to take a berry and offer it to Anila. Her lips opened a bit and she gently took it between her lips, the tip of her tongue brushing against his fingertips. A wave of heat passed through him, a multitude of thoughts flooded his mind, but not a single one of them was mawkish.

Before he had a chance to react, she put another berry into his mouth and sealed it with hers. A low purr escaped him when their lips met, her kiss even sweeter than the fruit, and he tasted her to his heart’s content. There was tenderness and gentleness in that kiss, but the song of her supple lips dancing against his spoke of fire kindling inside her—and in his mind, Thorin agreed that it was time for another kind of distraction. He covered her cheeks with a myriad of feather-light kisses, whispering words of adoration into her ear as her fingers ran through his hair, caressing his scalp, eliciting a groan of pleasure out of him. He pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, revelling in the way she responded to him, their bodies pressed against each other, their lips on fire. Then his lips traced a smooth trail along the line of her jaw, and found the way to her neck. Each of his kisses aimed at claiming her skin, every single inch of it. She tilted her head back invitingly and he continued his explorations, his lips finding the sensitive spot below her ear, and then adorning that place at the juncture of her neck and shoulder with kisses, precisely the way she liked it. When she rewarded him with a moan, he felt her body tremble in anticipation. Thorin was still hungry, hungry for her, even hungrier than before, and he refused to restrict himself any longer. Not on a day like this.

He lay her on the blanket, her eyes shining, her cheeks slightly flushed, the round peaks of her breasts rising and falling, her hair scattered around her head, glowing in the sun like a halo or richly veined marble, and he found himself in need of stealing yet another kiss.

“Anila,” he murmured, “you are breathtaking.”

She did not reply—busy with stealing a kiss from him this time and wrapping her arms around his neck—while his hand travelled down until he felt that round, supple softness under his palm and the warmth that seeped through the thin fabric of her gown. He played with the idea of simply ripping her bodice—her whole gown—apart and feasting on her naked body until dusk and beyond… and then wrapping her in his cloak and smuggling her back into the mountain for a long and eventful bath, the birthday celebrations be damned, but this tempting plan had to wait. Instead, he gave her breast a gentle squeeze and proceeded to undo the front of her bodice while his lips slipped down her neck and found the sweet spot on her left breast that tasted like honey.

“The High Council…” Anila gasped as his tongue swirled over her skin and then his lips closed over the spot again. “That meeting tomorrow… They will be scandalized when they see that hickey, my love…”

“We both know they will not say a word about it,” he chuckled. “Just as it happened last month, remember?”

“I forget what a clever strategist you are. Yes, I remember, Master Finulv was speechless, Balin pretended not to notice anything, and you could barely keep awake during that council meeting. That high collar doublet suited you very well, by the way,” she admitted, helping herself to the buttons of his tunic.

“It was my attempt at covering the proof of my wife’s fiery temperament,” he smirked, observing Anila’s nimble fingers at work. “I do not think I was successful. Master Bragi did not dare to lift his gaze from his notes even once.”

His wife’s only response was a chuckle just before she covered his lips with hers.

Among the kisses and caresses generously bestowed upon each other, among their whispers and sighs, they eagerly shed most of their clothes. Thorin gave out a satisfied hum, admiring Anila’s sun-speckled skin, the alluring curves of her body glowing as if imbued with the light of thousands of Ereborean diamonds. He was certain there were words that could describe this vision of ethereal beauty before him, but he could not find any.

“My king seems to be lost in thoughts,” he heard her say playfully. “Allow me to help you.”

Anila lowered herself in front of him and her hands started roaming his body, releasing him from his trousers. Her kisses burning a bold path on his lower abdomen, and he found himself unable to take his eyes off her; of her nimble fingers wrapping around his already hardened manhood; of her hair like silk between his fingers, of her lovely lips that closed over his tip, of her sultry gaze, of the soft heat he was delving into, of her palm that…

“Anila… Mahal…” His wife knew him so well and she knew exactly what would please him, but today was not about him. “Allow me to take care of you first.”

“I was under the impression that you were in the mood for dessert,” she looked up at him innocently, licking her lips. Vixen. Merciless vixen. And he wanted more of her.

“Oh yes, I do,” he smiled, moving towards her.

“A dessert…” she gave out a chuckle when his lips greedily closed over her nipple, lavishing it with attention. Between the gentle nibbles and soft kisses scattered over her rosy peaks, among her sighs and his praising murmurs, his hands painted devout patterns along her body, in an act of physical worship. Thorin did not wish to stop; he craved to cover all off her body with his kisses, to bedeck it with his caresses, to offer his queen endless ecstasy. He wanted to offer her as much pleasure as he could and revel in her rapture. Soon she was stretched beneath him, pleading for more, her fingers entangled with his hair as his tongue drew spirals around her navel, his lips covered the softness of her lower belly, his hands caressed the roundness of her hips.

When his kisses finally moved to her thighs, and his hot breath skimmed the mound between them, Anila whispered, “Have mercy...”

“What do you wish for, my queen?” He lifted his gaze to her face, her eyes hooded with pleasure, her lips slightly parted, her breathing fast, her fingers playing with her nipple. What a beguiling view it was.

“I want you to please me, Thorin,” she whispered, parting her legs slightly. This was the only invitation he needed.

“Your word is my command,” he replied. Settling himself between her legs, he cupped her bottom, enjoying its round firmness. It fit perfectly in his large hands and he lifted her slightly. Anila moaned in delight when he eagerly buried his mouth between her thighs, his beard brushing against them. She writhed beneath him as he showered her most intimate places with kisses and caresses that brought her the most pleasure. His tongue explored the folds of her womanhood. The taste of her arousal made him even harder than before, made him dizzy with desire for her, but that had to wait. Now he was intent on pleasing her this way and so his lips found the most sensitive point on her body, tenderly tugging on the silky bud, and then started sucking on it. He heard her whimpers, her incoherent mewling spurring him on, and he continued his ministrations, pleasing his queen.

He gripped her thighs firmly when his tongue sank rhythmically into her, evoking waves of elation, one after another, each of them stronger than the previous one. Thorin recognized the signs all too well, and he drove her further and further, among the heights of pleasure, bringing her closer towards the very peak of ecstasy with every caress. Purring into her flesh, he caressed her swollen nub with his thumb, feeling how she arched against him as waves of pleasure sent tremors of ecstasy through her body, and he relentlessly kept on taking her even higher until her blissful moans and praises echoed through the forest. He stopped only after Anila went completely limp beneath him, one of her hands letting go of the fistful of the blanket.

Thorin moved up towards her, pressing his lips to her shoulder, and then brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. Her eyes were shut, her face flushed, her long eyelashes casting small shadows on her cheeks, beads of sweat covering her forehead. His caress caused a small smile to bloom on her lips, but her eyelids remained closed.

“Is my queen pleased?”

“A little bit…” she muttered, smiling still. “But I wouldn’t mind a second… no, that would be a third course.”

“Insatiable woman,” he whispered teasingly, kissing her collarbone. His fingers busied themselves in lining out the shapes of her breasts and unhurriedly following the curves of her ribs. Then his tongue joined in, exploring new, exciting paths on her body, each of them punctuated by her moan. Mahal was a great architect indeed, creating such wonders as this woman beside him. Compared with the elegant lines of her body, he felt like a block of unhewn stone; and yet when she lay so close against him, it felt as if they were made from the same piece of rock. Perhaps the Creator put all of his energy into making Thorin’s life companion perfect and decided it was enough. In fact, she was more than he could ever hope for. Absent-mindedly, he took Anila’s hand into his and placed a tender kiss onto her wrist.

Anila gave out a content sigh and opened her eyes, oblivious to his thoughts.

“Insatiable? It is because you have spoiled me rotten,” she stated. Her hand found its way to the back of his neck, coaxing him closer to her, and when she closed the distance between their lips, he hummed approvingly. A new fire woke in her and there was hunger in her kiss, the same hunger that had been wreaking havoc through his body since the moment he saw her alone in this place. Her hip brushed against his erect member and he let out a low growl-like moan. Patience was not one of his virtues.

Anila found his hand and placed it over her breasts.

“Make love to me, Thorin,” the words were simple, but the timbre of her voice brought a much deeper meaning with them. And the desire in her eyes met with tenderness in her gaze.

“My queen,” he murmured, offering her an affectionate kiss, the softness of her lips giving him a promise he was eager to see fulfilled.

His kisses were careful, measured, and yet thorough, each of them aiming at telling her things he was unable to say with words. One of his hands caressed her body, eliciting sweet little sighs from her, until it found the secret trail that led his fingers to the treasure she hid between her legs. The moans that filled his ears in response to his feather-light caresses sounded like music.

“Is this to your liking, my queen?” he asked while his fingers explored her boldly, dancing in circles around all her sensitive spots and enticing even more moans from her. This, combined with feeling how aroused she still was, caused his manhood to throb even more in anticipation. He took a deep breath, trying to control himself.

“You know it is very much to my liking,” she admitted, bestowing a smile upon him. “But I need more.”

Thorin could not stop himself any longer. Taking his manhood in his hand, he growled with arousal, feeling her wetness against him. Anila tilted her hips, offering herself to him and he cast her a satisfied look, devouring her with his gaze. It was not long before he pressed his tip to the heat of her core. An unhurried thrust of his hips brought him home, his torments rewarded at last. He lowered himself over her and repeated the movement, studying her face as she bit her teeth into her lower lip.

“Yes, Thorin, more,” she whispered, taking deep breaths.

As he covered her body with his, Anila seemed so small under him, almost fragile, and yet she was perfect. He knew he needed to be gentle with her at first, and he did that gladly, anticipating the bliss that awaited them both. He could feel how snug she was around him, how an occasional tremble of pleasure came from deep within her as he carefully moved another inch forward.

As her body accommodated to his hardness, he gave another slow thrust, filling her completely. Her breath hitched and she welcomed him with a small cry of pleasure.

“My lovely, lovely Anila,” Thorin whispered, unmoving, his lips brushing against her forehead, his thumb running across her cheek. He knew his size was a challenge for her, but every single time she took him in with passionate eagerness that multiplied his arousal. “We fit so well together, do we not?”

“We do,” her melodic, dreamy voice reached him, her breath wafting against his sensitive earlobe. “I don’t think I will be able to let you go.”

With these teasing words, she wrapped her legs around him, lifting her hips slightly. That made him burrow himself even deeper into the dewy paradise of her womanhood.

“Then don’t,” he rasped out. “We can stay like this for as long as you like. Only say a word, my queen.”

“Then take all the time in the world with me,” she decided.

And so he did. With his movements slow and measured, his eyes remained on her face, revelling in the growing signs of ecstasy he noticed. Anila, his wife, his queen, deserved all he could give her—and more. Her first (or rather third) peak of ecstasy came soon, just after he changed the pace, murmuring seductive promises into her ear. Her lengthy moan rang out in the air as her body trembled with ecstasy. It took all of his resolve not to follow her over the edge at that very moment, but Thorin denied himself that pleasure. He was not finished with her, there was more he wanted to give. He paused, cradling her face in his hands, placing a tender kiss on her burning hot lips, waiting for her to recover, but Anila’s affectionate gaze once again rested on him as she asked for more.

Soon he found himself finding the perfect rhythm, sinking inside her for what seemed forever. As he drowned in Anila’s eyes, their moans intertwined, celebrating the union of their bodies. They were drifting away together on the sea of their shared passion. Every thrust was a promise of endless joy Thorin would offer her, every caress was imbued with his adoration, echoed by his whispers until they came together as one. She clung to him, responding to his every move, her nails sinking in his back, driving him forward, demanding more, and he gave it to her in a series of rapid thrusts, the waves of their bliss growing higher to finally wash over them in pure rapture.

***

“Happy birthday, sweet Anila,” he murmured as he rolled on his back, his arm wrapped around her, but she only hummed something incoherent in response and cuddled up closer to him under the clear blue sky above.

They remained in a sweet, languid embrace for an eternity—or perhaps minutes—Anila’s head resting on Thorin’s chest, her arm limp across his stomach, her hair scattered across his body, his nose full of her flowery scent. Their breaths evened out and the only sounds around them came from the birds in the trees and he found himself drifting off to sleep.

“Thorin…” Anila breathed into his skin after a longer while.

“Hmmm?” He opened one eye reluctantly.

“You are as wild as these berries,” she pointed towards the forgotten fruits, now scattered among the grass.

“Am I?” He hummed into her hair.

“I think I will have to personally thank King Thranduil for your fervour,” she replied with a smirk.

“Don’t you dare, wife… unless you’d like to be spanked,” Thorin protested.

She chuckled and he felt her hand travelling down his abdomen, “Is that a promise, my king?”

“Insatiable woman,” he managed to say before her lips stopped him from talking for a very long time. For perhaps all the time in the world.

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#thorin oakenshield #the hobbit #fanfiction #thorin #richard armitage #thorin fic #thorin x oc #thorin x reader

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mlmxreader · 3 months

Text

Kingslayer | Thorin Oakenshield x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Thorin

21 "I have spent a lifetime alone... and now I know I'll never be alone again"

36 "It's where I come from"

37 "You can take a lot of things from a man" ❞

: ̗̀➛ When Gandalf hires a sellsword, Thorin takes a liking to them a little bit much.

: ̗̀➛ mentions of murder

: ̗̀➛ @vampiboi

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You were used to being alone. All your life it was all you had ever known; a cold bed, a quiet room, an empty chair opposite your own. All you had ever known was the cold hand of being alone, and it had become something you had grown numb to; you didn't take any notice of it anymore, as if the chill had become naturalised within your system.

You never knew what it was like to have somebody there with you; you never knew what it was like to be loved and to feel the warmth of home. Home was just some distant rumble amongst the clouds that you didn't understand; you laid your boots wherever you stayed for the night, and never stayed for long either.

Your talents as a tracker and a scout became useful to many, and when you met Gandalf, you were suspicious at first; with his thick grey eyebrows and the brim of his grey pointed hat covering his eyes, you could never be sure what great secrets he kept hidden within his long silver beard.

But money was money, so you agreed to lend him your sword for a while. A skilled fighter, you weren't exactly an uncommon sight amongst other sellswords; but for whatever reason, Gandalf chose you. He hired you for your sword, your tracking abilities, and your scouting skills; you never questioned any more of it, until he handed your contract over to Thorin Oakenshield.

"You're to obey his commands, now," the tall and booming wizard told you. "Thorin will see you are payed fairly."

Money was money. You didn't mind so much. Whatever gold your sword was worth, you weren't one to question who paid for it, or how. You had done many things for some coin in your pocket; slaying orcs, clearing out trolls from caves, destroying goblin nests, slaughtering spiders.

It was all the same to you. Loyalty was not your forte, and Thorin seemed to know that; you were distant from everybody else, and even when the Dwarves were destroying Bilbo Baggins' hobbit hole, you stayed outside. Guarding the door. Just like Gandalf, you were prone to wander and to scout ahead as much as run off to track down something to eat.

But every command Thorin gave you, you executed it without hesitation or question. His money was good, and he was a man of his word. While the others slept, you would stay up, guarding them and watching over them until dawn broke; you didn't have to, but if your employer was to be killed in his sleep, you wouldn't have anyone to pay you.

Gandalf would check in on you on occasion, but whenever he spoke to Thorin about you, he would receive nothing but praise. Thorin had a soft spot, it seemed, and it made the old wizard smile as he nodded along; it was why he had picked you to begin with.

After all he had heard from your previous employers, not only were you perfectly skilled and qualified for the adventure, but you were exactly the type that Thorin liked.

But as the others slept, Thorin couldn't; he knew where you would be, on the edge of the camp that they had made and smoking your pipe, and dragged himself over. Sitting beside you on a rather large rock. He noticed your sword, and the words engraved upon it in your own language; Kingslayer. He raised a brow.

"Kingslayer?"

You nodded. "I killed a king with this sword."

"Why?" Thorin asked, assuming that there must have been a good reason for it.

You shrugged. "He was killing children. Ordering his men to kill them as they slept in their mothers' arms. So I drove my sword through his chest until it came out the other side."

"Were you paid?" He questioned.

You shook your head as you let out a soft laugh. "No. I was paid to kill his second in command. So I did. But when I saw the order... I killed him, too. A bonus, I suppose. Compensation."

"That was noble of you," he said quietly. "Do all sellswords have morals?"

You glared at him for a moment with a raised brow. "No..."

"And what about you?" He asked. "If I offered to pay you, would kill children?"

"I'd have one question," you told him.

"Go on."

"How much?" You asked.

"You can do it yourself, but you don't like it when Kings do?" He asked.

You shook your head, clicking your tongue. "A king who gives the order should be the one to wield the sword."

"And what about me?" Thorin mused. "I give you orders."

"You pay me," you huffed. "I don't give a rat's if you're a king. Money is money."

"And what of loyalty?"

You scoffed. "I'm loyal to the highest bidder. I have no home, no banner, I have no king. I have nowhere, except whoever pays me the most."

"What if I were to buy your services permanently?" He asked. "Would you have a home, a banner, a king, then?"

"You couldn't afford it," you scoffed. "A sellsword is one thing, but a tracker and a scout are another - my rates are higher each day."

"I'm sure I can afford it once I take my home back," Thorin said assuredly. "Your skills are impressive, Kingslayer, you would do well as a guard."

"A guard?" You chuckled. "No one's ever asked me about that before."

"I'm sure no one else has seen how brave you are before," he admitted. "I could give you your own home. You would be your own master."

"But still employed by you," you pointed out.

"Would you consider it?" Thorin questioned.

"If the money was good enough," you agreed. "Thirty gold coins a day."

"I can afford it," he agreed. "Come here."

You stood up as he did, sheathing your sword as you followed him up the small hill, he positioned you in front of himself, and pointed over your shoulder.

"That mountain over there," he started, "it's where I come from. It's my home, and once we reclaim it, you will be my guard. My right hand. You will be in charge of my armies and my affairs. For forty gold coins a day."

You hummed, clenching your jaw at the closeness. There was no doubt that Thorin was beautiful; his dark hair with a spattering of grey here and there when you looked close enough, blue eyes that made sapphires look dull, and his voice... his baritone, thunderous voice.

You cleared your throat as you took a step aside, holding out your hand.

"I will hold you to your word," you warned.

"I'm a king," he chuckled, shaking your hand. "You have not just my word, but my family's honour behind it."

You smiled, still holding onto his hand. "I have spent a lifetime alone... and now I know I'll never be alone again."

Tugging you closer by the hand, Thorin smiled back as he nodded. "You will have me... and I'll forge you a new sword - one of the finest steel and with the sharpest blade. It will cut a dragon's throat."

"Like a black arrow?" You asked.

"Yes," he nodded. "You will shed your Kingslayer title."

You smiled as you laughed softly, shaking your head. "You can take a lot of things from a man - a title earned by action is not one of them."

"Believe me," he whispered, allowing his gaze to drop to your lips. "You won't be the Kingslayer for all time."

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bitkahuna · 3 months

Text

I have normal thoughts but also, wouldn’t it just be really neat if while in the throes of dragonsickness, Thorin became obsessed with Bilbo. Like, in a really morally questionable way, but not to the point of crossing any serious lines. But like, also, what if

—

“You wanted to see me?” The hobbit asked, staring up at Thorin on his throne, flanked by both Balín and Dwalin.

“I wanted to ensure your gift was suitable.”

“Oh, yes. I learned all about mithril and I must say, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned.”

Bilbo might have his doubts, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew what Thorin was after. Naturally, Kíli spilled the beans on his suspicion that Thorin might be trying to court Bilbo. Rather than be bashful, he immediately believed it.

“Have you tried it on?”

“Of course. It fits wonderfully.”

“Show me.”

Bilbo went red as he looked up at the king whose lust of gold was quickly becoming something else. Those hungry eyes bore into him. He saw the king’s greedy hands clench.

Fuck.

His pants were tighter than they used to be. Well. They used to be pants. Now they were so tattered he’d cut them into shorts.

The most shameful part of it was that Bilbo, for a moment, wasn’t sure he truly wanted to slay this dragon. For the first time, someone was earnestly pursuing him. Someone wanted him in a way that was beyond carnal. Someone who pushed beyond his coy display and gave him what he wanted.

Thorin wasn’t in his right mind.

Bilbo couldn’t want this.

But he certainly liked it.

“I’ll go put it on.” His voice was much quieter than he intended.

“Here.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened as he looked to Dwalin and Balín, who seemed momentarily dumbfounded.

“Turn around.” The king insisted. But when they hesitated, he nearly barked the command, “Turn around!”

They both shot Bilbo a concerned look before turning away.

The hobbit slowly reached up and pulled his arms into his shirt before looking up at the dwarven king, making sure this was what he wanted.

The king nodded.

Bilbo pulled his shirt off and revealed his form.

——

Excerpt from Yavanna, Guide Me on AO3

#bagginshield #bagginshield fic #bilbo x thorin #thorin x bilbo #thorin fic #dragon sickness #fanfiction #ao3 author #fanfic #ao3fic #fic excerpt

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cauliflowertree · 1 year

Text

thorin oakenshield—i fell in your arms tonight.

—thorin oakenshield x human!reader

summary: you've sustained a serious injury.

warnings: blood, injury, mentions of death.

word count: 0.9k

fanfic no. 042.

a scout had been the beginning of a series of unfortunate events, the remnants of which had left you with an arrow in the abdomen. through the tumultuous ordeal, the adrenaline coursing through your veins had propelled you to safety, but once the imminent peril had dissipated, the realisation of your injury had taken its toll.

try as you might to ignore the searing pain, your body's plea for aid, as the dwarves discussed amongst themselves where to go from the cave you cowered in together, you felt the stone wall against your back as your body began to give way.

but the dwarves had made their decision - you would venture through the narrow passage and hope the destination to which it led would be hospitable to your company. but as thorin watched those he was responsible for head one by one after one the other through the small entrance, he noticed your stillness.

eyes flickering down to your hands that held a wound gushing crimson liquid, his breath hitched. "you're bleeding."

"it's minor," you lied, battling to stand up on your own two feet without the support of anything else.

gandfalf helped you to steady yourself while thorin removed your hand from the stab wound, examining the injury for himself. he said nothing for a moment, looking to gandalf with a gaze that felt as if he had finalised your future.

"do not act as if this is where you leave me. i am perfectly able to carry on, i simply need a bandage."

"of course," gandalf said with a weak smile. "thorin," he urged.

shakily, thorin called for oín, the healer of your small company. oín was gentle with you, having grown fond of you over the course of the journey, despite the entirety of the dwarves having been sceptical of a human joining their cause.

he bandaged you as well as he could, sealing your wound beforehand with a small portion of his own ointment, and declared you fit to continue. but thorin was still wary this decision and decided to remain close to you, should you find yourself struggling and in need of a helping hand.

the journey through the slender passageway was treacherous for none but you, feeling with every step a sharp pain in your abdomen that could not be tamed. thorin winced with you, feeling his stomach churn at the thought of losing you on the road. every breath that hissed through your teeth frightened him, and he gently laid his hand on your back, reassuring both you and himself that this path would eventually end and you would be able to rest, though he was not sure himself of this hope.

it wasn't until you arrived in rivendell that you felt some sense of ease, though it was to vanish upon thorin's protests. his distrust of elves prevented him from walking any further into the sanctuary you so craved. to be so close yet so far to relief was agonising, and the anxiety forced your body to the floor, writhing in pain as you began to bleed through your bandages at an alarming speed.

thorin was immediately silenced, rushing to your assistance as he rested your head on his bent knees, cradling your cheek as oín removed the bandages to try his best to help. you had never felt such pain, such blistering agony that forced the tears from your eyes unwillingly.

"i'm frightened," you stuttered through uneven breaths. "am i going to die?" you found yourself asking, ignorant to such an injury and its consequences, blinded by the fear this suffering had imposed upon you.

the dwarves fussed around you, gandalf was adamant that you needed elvish medicine, but thorin was still, contrast to what you saw in his eyes as you laid with your head in his hands.

"no," said he, firmly but gently, determined to see you live through this affliction.

elves descended, ushering the dwarves away, receiving serious objections from the dwarf prince, though he relented eventually when he saw there was nothing he could say to convince them to let him stay with you. last you remembered was thorin's blue eyes trailing after yours with worry evident within them, just as the rest of the company's.

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡

when you woke, feeling a soft bed beneath you, a tautness in your abdomen and sunlight creeping into your resting place, thorin smiled. he had waited for hours by your bedside, refusing to eat or sleep until he knew you were out of danger. with elvish medicine and care, it did not take long for you to wake, feeling a great deal more refreshed than you ought to have done after your ordeal.

"how are you feeling?" he asked softly.

"better," you replied earnestly, sitting up carefully.

the sun's rays were dipping below the horizon, casting a strange crown above thorin's head that was oddly fitting. he came to sit beside you, placing his hand in yours.

"i was worried."

"i know," was your response.

"you should be more careful," he teased.

"you should work on your heroics," you laughed, squeezing his hand.

"agreed," replied thorin with an easy smile, pushing the hair from your face, snaking his arm around your neck so his hand rested on the back of your head and pulled you down to him.

your foreheads rested together for a moment in silence, a moment to be grateful for this turn of events, before gandalf cleared his throat behind you, revealing the entire company watching the scene before them with smiles on their faces, both from relief and amusement.

requested by @auroracalisto

🏷 @velvetcloxds @entishramblings

#thorin x reader #thorin x you #thorin x y/n #thorin fanfiction #thorin fic #thorin imagine #thorin drabble #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield x you #thorin oakenshield fanfiction #thorin oakenshield imagine #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit x you #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit fic #the hobbit fanfiction

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andinthedarknessbindthem · 1 year

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Thorin X Hobbit!Reader - Return

Requests are open!

✿ Words: 2,612

✿ Themes: Kinda(?) Angst, Fluff

✿ Prompt: You are the sister of Bilbo, and had come with them on their quest to the lonely mountain. Over the time of your adventure, you develop a crush on the dwarven king. You head back home to the Shire to tie up some loose ends but return back to your real home.

✿ Posted: 2/20/23

Smaug had been slain, Thorin recovered from his gold sickness, and the line of Durin had finally been returning to normal after their near-death experiences. Everything was finally peaceful.

Your brother had left Erebor a week ago, and now it was time for you to follow in his footsteps. It was a very abrupt decision that you made last night. This meant you haven't told anyone in the company, but that's because you didn't want anyone to make a fuss. That and everyone was so busy beginning the restorations of the mountain.

The banquet hall that you all shared was empty when you first awoke, so you took your time packing some of your small items into the bag. You’d just tied an extra blade to the side when you heard someone walk in.

"Are ya leavin?" Bofur’s voice echoed from the doorway, but you could hear his steps on the stone floor moving further into the room. You looked up at him from where you sat on the floor and softly smiled.

"I am. I have things to tie up at home," You started, standing up to fluff your bedroll from the dusty floor. "And I'm worried if I don't leave now, I won't be able to in the future."

He raised a suspicious eyebrow, "Did you at least plan on saying goodbye to everyone?" You let out a small laugh at that.

"Of course! I am not my brother." You joked. Dropping your neatly folded bedding onto your bag as you walked over to Bofur, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders in a tight hug.

Afterwards, you made your way down the hall, stopping whenever you spotted one of your friends. Most of them seemed understanding but some seemed more sad than others. Especially, Ori. Ori wouldn’t let you go and Nori ended up pulling him away before giving you a half-hug with the arm that wasn’t holding Ori back. Dwalin gave you one of his gruff slaps on the shoulder and wished you safe travels. You’d received a few offers of a travel companion, but you turned them all down.

When you made it to Bombur, he had just finished breakfast. You gladly helped him plate up the food for everyone and clean up the mess. Plus, it gave you a little more time to talk with a few of them. You gave a tight hug to Bombur before picking up the last plate for Thorin, who always lost track of time in the mornings. It also allowed you to show a bit of your appreciation and adoration for him.

You slowly made your way down the halls until you were standing in front of the grand doors to Thorin’s council chambers. It had become normal for you to always greet Thorin and bring him breakfast before starting your morning trek through the mountain. But today, your stomach churned nervously as you stared at the door. You sucked in a breath, bringing your hand up carefully, and gently rapping your knuckles against the wood.

You tensed even more when you heard the faint voice, "Enter."

You used your free hand to push open one of the doors and slide in, closing it behind you with a loud click. "Good morning, Thorin." You hummed as you ambled towards him.

"Morning." He let his head rest in his hands as he stared at a parchment laid precariously before him. You reached down and pulled the paper out from in front of him, quickly placing the plate down in its spot. His head rose quickly, most likely to scold you for taking the parchment from him, but you placed a hand on his shoulder and he quieted.

“Bombur told me you didn’t have dinner,” You sighed. “And on my way here, Balin told me you never slept last night.”

Thorin let out a long sigh as he leaned back, eyes closing slowly. He looked so tired with the dark bags under his eyes. “I had more important matters to attend to.”

“You need to take better care of yourself Thorin, you’re still recovering.” You let go of his shoulder, placing the parchment next to his plate. He just huffed in response.

You took a few steps back, thinking over how to tell him you were leaving. It had been so easy telling all of the others, but the thought of telling Thorin made your heart ache and stomach churn.

“Thank you, for your concern.” Thorin’s voice broke the silence and you bowed your head. He opened his eyes, going back to look over the parchment but this time he picked at the food on his plate.

You couldn’t help but take in a shaky breath to attempt to calm yourself before speaking. "I'm sorry, I know you’re probably busy but can I take up a moment of your time?"

His head lifted to turn towards you, swallowing whatever food was in his mouth. "I'm never too busy for you."

Thorin’s sweet words made it harder for you. You evaded your eyes as you spoke in a whisper, "I’m leaving, Thorin." Your head snapped back up when you heard the legs of his heavy chair slide against the stone ground, he was standing now, eyes burning into your own.

"When are you leaving? Why?" His sudden hostile tone shocked you, he was so tired not even seconds ago.

"As soon as I sort out my stuff and say the last of my goodbyes.” Your voice quivered when you watched him turn his face from you. “I knew if I didn’t leave now, it would only be harder!”

"Let me send someone with you, it's not safe-"

You cut him off, "No. I need to do this myself." You could only watch as his shoulder tensed and relaxed in front of you. "Thorin, I'll come back. There are just a few things I need to sort out at the Shire.” Your words were but a whisper as you took a few steps to him, going to reach out and touch his shoulder, but he reeled away before your fingertips could even brush against his furs.

"Go then.” His cold tone and words cut deep into your heart, your eyes welling up with tears.

“Thorin-”

“Be on your way!” He roared, his head half turning so you could see the left side of his face. His thick brows were furrowed and eyes slit. You hated this side of Thorin, yet you could understand his anger. You knew he didn’t mean to react like this, he was never good at controlling his feelings.

You stood up straight and bowed your head, moving quickly to the door. You kept your back to him as you sucked in a deep breath, "I think I'll miss you most of all, Thorin." You slipped out of the door, quickly wiping off whatever tears fell down your cheeks. You could hear a loud clattering as soon as the door shut behind you. You so wanted to look back, but you knew you had to keep going forward.

You continued making your way around to say the last of your goodbyes and soon enough, it was time to go. You slipped out of Erebor, waving to Nori and Gloin who were watching the gate, and made your way back home.

It was scary at first, being alone and camping in the woods. But the knowledge from your first travels made you feel at ease. Soon enough you were back home at the Shire.

-.-.-.-.-.-.- 1.5 Years Later -.-.-.-.-.-.-

You hadn't planned on being away so long, but life had another way of flipping things around. After giving away your hobbit home, you acquired a pony for your trip and gave what you wanted to keep to Bilbo to hold on to. You didn't plan on coming back, despite your brother begging you to. He knew better though. After your adventure, you felt like the peace of the Shire was uncomfortably silent and boring.

The path to Erebor seemed more worn than before, and you even came across a few Dwarrow heading in that direction. You all traveled together through the forest but lost them when they broke off to go towards Dale to check out their improving markets.

You nearly couldn’t contain your excitement the closer you came to Erebor. You smiled to yourself as it came into view. The gates were fixed, holes were patched, and it looked chocked full of life. The birds and vegetation had returned to the mountain and the air had a sweet smell to it. You watched from down the path as what looked to be a Dwarrow family passing through the renewed gateway, four armored dwarves allowing them through.

As you approached, two of the dwarves aimed spears in your direction, causing you to pull back on the reins of your pony. "Stop! Whats yer buisness here?" One of the armored dwarves holding a sword shouted.

"I'm here to see Thorin." You called, swinging your leg over and slipping off your pony, you held your hands out to show you held no malicious intent.

A dwarf's eyes furrowed as he kept the spear pointed at you. "The king is not seeing any diplomats." His voice grumbled.

"Oh! Believe me, I’m no diplomat.” You laughed at that, placing a hand over your chest. “I'm part of the company of Thorin Oakenshield."

"You are a hobbit, a woman hobbit! I haven't heard anything of you." One of the dwarves yelled from above. Little did you know, his yell reached the ears of someone close to you.

You sighed and placed your hands on your hips. "Can you please find Dwalin, Balin, or anyone else by any chance?" As soon as you said that, Kili's head looked over the wall.

"Well look who finally decided to show up!" His voice yelled happily, your head turned up, a large smile spreading across your cheeks.

"Hello, Kili!" You laughed and turned towards the dwarves who reluctantly let you pass them now. One of them pass kind enough to take your pony as you walked in.

You could hear the quick steps coming down a set of stairs to your right, but you weren’t prepared to brace yourself when Kili slammed you into a bear hug. “I missed you so much!” His laugh was loud in your ears.

"Kili!" You whined as he squeezed you once more. When he finally let go you playfully slapped his chest.

"We’ve been worried sick about you! We got a message from your brother saying you left the Shire over four months ago!"

"That's my fault, I got sidetracked a few times along the way.” You said sheepishly. He hooked your arm in his, directing the dwarves to give your pony the best care and that your belongings be brought to one of the rooms in the royalty wing.

It was a lot warmed than you remember inside the mountain and plenty more lively as Kili took you on a grand tour to show what’s been changed since you’ve been gone. You were so happy to see your friends again and they seemed happy to see you. Though walking around with the prince did earn you a few odd looks from other Darrow’s, you held your polite smile despite that.

You stood in the industrious kitchen, watching as Bombur worked tirelessly with a few other dwarves. It was such a change from what you remember before. You had a lovely chat with him about the influx of ingredients they were able to receive now that the trade lines were opening.

Bombur pushed a plate into your hands, and you looked at him quizzically. “Take this to Thorin, will ya?”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You patted his back with your free hand before leaving.

You were happy to help, but your nerves started to creep up on you. You ambled down the halls towards the council chamber. You were admiring all of the new adornments on the wall, but mostly you were avoiding the inevitable; seeing Thorin. Eventually, you stood in front of his intimidatingly large door. You sucked in a breath and lightly knocked on the door like you would before.

"I'm busy!" You heard his voice growl from inside.

You rolled your eyes and decided to enter anyways. You pushed the door open and kicked it shut with your foot.

"I said I'm-" His voice trailed off as he stared at you.

You evaded his eyes and walked forward. "I'm sorry, I know. Bombur asked if I could bring your dinner to you." You hummed and walked to his desk, reaching over him and sliding the plate in front of him. You stood there for a second as he stared at you like you were a specter. You rubbed your hands together and bowed your head. "Sorry for the intrusion, I'll come back later." You sputtered, turning to rush out of the room, but instead, arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back onto Thorin's lap. You turned your head to him, mouth agape. You hadn’t expected him to react this oddly. You expected a cold look or even a simple ‘It’s great seeing you!’, not this.

"Where have you been?" His voice was soft and gravelly as one of his hands moved to cup your cheek.

"Thorin, I'm sorry." You looked into his eyes, your hands resting on his toned chest. He looked so exhausted and worn out. "I really didn't mean to be gone so long."

Thorin sighed, his head leaning forward and resting against your own. "You have no reason to be sorry. I treated you so coldly that day.” You could feel the brush of his beard against your chin. “I was worried that you wouldn’t return to me, that in my fear and anger, I let you slip through my fingers.”

You blinked rapidly in confusion, “What… What are you saying?” It almost sounded like he was professing his love to you.

“I cannot bare to lose you, (Y/N). My heart ached every moment while you were gone and I couldn’t find a reason why you plagued my every waking thought.” His hand dragged down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps. His eyes were soft and his breathing shaky as he continued. “Then it came to me. I love you. I love the way your hair falls upon your face, the way your nose scrunches when you’re irritated with me, the way you cared for me when I was injured.” A blush spread over your cheeks, but he wasn’t done. “I love the way you smell in the morning, the way your eyes sparkle in the sunset, and how your laugh was full of warmth.”

His eyes darted between your own, looking for any response from you. Your hands lifted to cradle his face, his eyes shutting as he waited. It was your turn to speak now, but you were completely awestruck at his confession. You sucked in a shaky breath before lifting yourself and gently pushing your lips together. Your stomach tingled as his lips moved along yours delicately. Your chest pressed to his as his hand pressed against your back, trying to move you impossibly closer. His soft kisses turned fiery as he devoured your lips. You heard a slight hum coming from his throat and you whimpered in response.

He pulled away first, his hard chest rising and falling as he brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. "I've been waiting for this for too long." He cooed, pressing your foreheads together again.

“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting, my love.”

#lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit thorin #thorin oakenshield #thorin fic #thorin x you #thorin x reader

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gloomwitchwrites · 4 months

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Misunderstanding

Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, possessive / jealous Thorin, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, established relationship, table sex

Word Count: 1.5k

A misunderstanding gives Thorin cause to remind you that you're his.

A/N: For @protosslady

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

“My queen, how should we allocate these funds?”

You glance at the parchment and frown. With Erebor reclaimed, reconstruction has begun, but with it comes all sorts of complications and roadblocks. Most of Erebor needs serious repair and attention. The majority of the remaining population lives outside, something that Thorin is increasingly growing upset about. He wants his people back home, and that is admirable, but with Smaug previously making a home here, the structural integrity of some portions of Erebor are in question.

Sighing, you consider all the options before answering. “Let us focus on residential areas for these. When those spaces are suitable for habitation, we can begin moving people out of tents and into homes. That is priority.”

“Of course, my queen.” The aging dwarven men around you bow deeply, many of their long, gray beards brushing the ground.

As they straighten, the door to your private study bursts open. Thorin stands in the doorway. There is a fire in his gaze and his chest heaves as if he’s just run a mile. It’s startling. He’s upset, but you’re not sure why.

Everyone around you turns and bows toward their king.

Thorin’s gaze passes over each of them before landing on you. He strides into the room, purpose in every step.

“Leave us,” he commands, his voice ringing loud and clear in the room.

They all bow a second time before quickly collecting their things and making a swift exit. Thorin approaches, and you move toward him, reaching out once the last of them have closed the door behind them.

“Thorin—”

Your husband reaches for you, pulls you in by the waist until you’re pressed up against him. His hand is on the back of your neck, the small hairs catch in his fingers as Thorin slowly arches your throat.

The look of hunger in his eyes is different. He wants you—needs you, but there is something else swirling there, lingering in his heart, making you question this sudden intensity.

“I need to kiss you,” he says, and it’s almost a groan.

“My lips are right here,” you reply with a soft giggle. “You may always kiss me whenever you wish.”

Thorin shakes his head slowly. “I’m not talking about your mouth.” Thorin leans in, his lips almost brushing yours, but his free hand grabs at your upper thigh, indicating where Thorin is wanting to put this mouth.

“Oh,” is all you say in surprise.

The hand around your neck slides away, and then Thorin is gripping your hips, moving to the undersides of your thighs to lift you off the stone floor. You wrap your arms around his neck, and Thorin deposits you on a nearby table.

While he is careful with you, there is an underlying harshness you notice in his gaze. That fire from earlier is still there. It’s like Thorin needs to punish you, or consume you, make you bend to him until you’re nothing but a perfect, pliant thing under his hands. The idea of it warms you between your legs. Your thighs rub together and there is no hiding how slick you are.

Thorin pushes your legs apart and steps between them. He starts at your knees, then your thighs, hips, and up the sides of your body until his hands grip the front of your dress.

“I’m feeling impatient,” he says, before putting all his strength behind his next movement.

With two quick jerks, Thorin rips the front of your bodice open, tearing the dress cleanly in two. Before you can even utter a verbal protest, Thorin’s lips are pressing against yours in a demanding, hungry kiss.

“I’ll buy you more,” he murmurs before his hands return to your body, this time caressing bare thigh. His touch is a forge fire, and you burn, surrendering to him as you begin to fall back against the table, legs widening as he settles between them.

You moan as Thorin kisses his way up your leg and to the inside of your thigh. Every brush of his lips sends pulses of heat from his mouth to your pussy.

“Please,” you whimper as Thorin’s lips brush against the spot that’s aching for his touch. “Please.”

“Tell me,” he says, the pad of his thumb parting you. “Is this for me?”

“Yes,” you reply as you hear just how wet you are.

“Only me?”

“Yes,” you say again, voice nearly breaking as he strokes over you.

Thorin’s hands grip your hips and tug you closer to the edge of the table. Then he pushes your legs wide open until the insides of your thighs feel stretched. He drags his fingertips through your wetness.

Your soft moan becomes a strangled gasp as he licks a wide stripe up your sex. Mewling with pleasure, you grab at him, one hand tugging on the neckline of his tunic, the other digging against the table.

“Delicious,” he groans. The tip of his tongue circles your clit, and without thinking, you pull hard on him, ripping some of the fabric.

His hand snatches your wrist. Thorin guides it down to the side of your thigh. Then, he grabs the other one. Does the same. With one hand, Thorin keeps your hands from straying. His grip is unyielding, and while you tug a bit, you meet firm resistance.

Thorin shakes his head. Then his head dips back between your legs, and you’re completely lost to him. Your eyelids flutter shut as he sucks your clit and traces around your entrance with a free finger. Then he presses in, and you groan loudly.

“Mine?”

“Yours.”

Thorin is inserting a second finger, pumping them in and out of you as his tongue laps at your clit. The coiling tension within your core twists tighter with every drag of his fingers and each swipe of his tongue.

Thorin curls his fingers and your back arches off the table. You feel his grin, and then he stays the course, working you at that perfect pace until you fall apart around him, crying out his name, the sound echoing around the room.

Thorin retreats but he does not back away. Instead, his mouth is on your bare skin, biting and sucking, leaving marks behind as he trails up your body. They are harsh, demanding, possessive marks of ownership. Rarely is Thorin ever like this, but he does not stop until he makes it to your mouth, sliding his tongue inside so that you can taste yourself.

This lingering moment is short. The second Thorin breaks the kiss, he undoes the front of his buckle, and the two of you are desperately pushing it away.

When Thorin slides in, you both moan loudly. You fall back against the table, clinging to his arms as he sets a pounding, steady pace that rocks the table. Each thrust makes the wood vibrate at the legs scrape across the stone floor. This a frenzied mating. A dire need. Whatever has possessed Thorin makes him hungry for you in a way you’ve rarely seen him.

His next thrust hits deep, and the friction is intense, pulling the coil tighter again until you’re keening, leaning up from the table as your body squeezes around him. That orgasm breaks him. His resolve snaps, and then you’re trapped beneath him, your fingernails digging into his skin as Thorin takes for himself.

He groans, leans forward, forehead resting against your own as he finishes. You feel it pooling within you, threatening to escape the moment he pulls away.

“I heard that you spent most of the day with a man,” murmurs Thorin, his nose lightly brushing against yours.

The middle of your brow scrunches in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why would that upset you?”

“It was reported to me that the relationship seemed…close.”

Frowning, you think back to the events of the day. You consider every place you visited and everyone you talked to. As you shuffle through all the possibilities, you pause on one, and then laugh so hard you snort.

“What?” he asks, drawing back slightly.

“Did the person reporting on me mention that man was my older brother?”

The tops of Thorin’s cheeks turn a bright red. “They—no. They failed to mention that.”

While part of you is annoyed that Thorin would immediately gravitate toward the worst, you also know that he’s under immense stress, the kind that might tear away and chip at his own confidence.

“Next time, when someone tells you something like that again, what are going to do?”

“Talk to you first,” he replies, his cheeks growing even redder.

“Although, I did like this.” You emphasize your meaning by rolling your hips, moving along his softening length. “Perhaps I should be a little friendly with an actual stranger. What will that get me?” you tease.

Thorin drags you off the table and into his arms. “That’ll get you bent over the nearest surface.”

“Is that a promise, my king?”

“Willing to test me?”

You grin, knowing that you certainly will.

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @mrsdurin @therealbloom @ninman82

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crazyhearttragedy · 6 months

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The Protective King - thorin x reader

You had been a part of Thorin Oakenshield's company for a long time now. You were a skilled warrior, and had proven yourself in battle many times. You and Thorin had developed a deep bond over the course of your travels together, and you admired the way he carried himself - strong and uncompromising, never backing down from a challenge.

One evening, after a particularly grueling battle, Thorin noticed the bruises that peppered your skin. "Is someone hurting you?" he asked, his voice low and serious. You looked up at him, surprised by the sudden question.

"No, no one is hurting me," you replied, trying to dismiss his concerns. But Thorin was not to be deterred.

"I have seen the looks some of our companions send your way," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "If anyone is laying an unkind hand on you, I will not tolerate it."

You felt your heart swell with gratitude at his protectiveness. "Thank you, Thorin," you said softly. "But there's no need to worry. I can take care of myself."

"Of course you can," Thorin replied, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "But that doesn't mean you have to face everything alone. You are a valued member of this company, and I will always be there to look out for your wellbeing."

You looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity in their depths. In that moment, you felt safe and secure, knowing that you had someone like Thorin watching over you. And for that, you were grateful.

#y/n #the hobbit x reader #hobbit x reader #hobbit #the hobbit #thorin fic #king thorin #thorin #thorin x reader

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rosedurin · 5 months

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Sometimes I randomly get super sad thinking about all the fics I’ve read on Quotev (yes that’s where I got my start many years ago😂) and how I’ll never find them again. Im also sad that I just got used/comfortable with Wattpad right before it switched to whatever it is now😭

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thepaperpanda · 1 year

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A Herbal Soup || Thorin Oakenshield x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: the talent you possess in the kitchen gets complimented by Thorin during a stopover in Rivendell.

Warnings: none

Word count: 575

Author: Rouge

A/N: today’s prompt: Dinner Cooking

The journey to the Lonely Mountain was far from easy - you had to face trolls, orcs, spiders, and other foul creatures you never knew existed.

During the quest, you questioned your motives and the fact you agreed to help Gandalf - you were only a human and could add only the skill of wielding a sword; you even hacked heads of a few orcs.

The company was fortunate to have made it to Rivendell where you all could have rested upright for the first time since several days ago. On the night when Gandalf sought Elrond's assistance, you joined the Dwarves at their small campfire while Elrond was translating the Moon-letters on Thrór's Map.

“Have you seen Thorin?” You asked Kíli after taking place by his side.

He nodded while biting into food he held in his hand. "Yes. In fact, he went with Elrond and Gandalf."

Nodding, you immersed yourself in one of Balin's tales. After feeling a little hungry, and since the food the Dwarves had acquired a taste for was not something you longed for, you got up and went to ask the Elves for a cauldron and some herbs. The Elves agreed to let you use their kitchen after hearing your request; it was a blessing and you felt honored. You chopped carrots, celery, and some parsley and its leaves, and added a few potatoes, herbs, and spices to a pot over the fire. You smiled at yourself as you inhaled the herbal smell of the soup you were making.

A sudden question asked in a deep tone echoed from the walls of the kitchen, "What are you doing, Y/N?"

Looking over your shoulder, you smiled at Thorin as he entered the chamber. "I'm cooking soup. Would you like to try it?"

As Thorin got closer, he simply nodded.

A spoon was passed to him and you shifted aside so he could get closer to the pot.

He gathered some liquid on the spoon, then he blew at it a few times and slipped the spoon past his lips. Seconds later, he smiled, "It's really tasty, Y/N. I never thought soup without meat could taste so good. Perhaps I'd add something spicy to it."

"Can you peel a big onion and a few peppers for me?" You asked. "Is everything okay?"

Thorin nodded, doing what you've asked him to. “In some way, yes. Elrond read the Moon-letters, which said: ‘Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the key-hole’, so we are running out of time since Durin's Day is just around the corner,” Thorin said as he passed you the onion and started to chop the peppers.

Over the fire, you fried the onion until it turned golden, then added it to the soup, followed by the peppers. “I’m sure we’ll get to the right place on time, Thorin. Be of good cheer.”

Thorin only listened to you, his expression remained unchanged as he grabbed some peppercorns and threw them into the pot.

Thorin helped you clean the kitchen and threw away the peeling while remaining quiet.

As soon as the soup was ready, you let him try it.

Thorin looked at you after tasting the broth. "It's very tasty, and I take it as a huge compliment from a carnivore," he said. "Who would have thought humans are capable of cooking so well?"

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sweetbutpsychobutsweet · 4 months

Text

What We Left Behind in the Flames

Chapter 10

Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader

Summary: sleeping arrangements are debated and a late-night talk with Bilbo has you reliving moments of your childhood with Thorin by your side

Warnings: no use of y/n, angst

Author's Note: Thank you sooo much for your patience with my new updating schedule (if you can really call it a schedule lol) If there is anyone I forgot to add to the taglist please just send me another message to let me know. Enjoy and have a happy new year :)

Word count: 1528

“Search to the back,” Thorin calls out to Dwalin, “caves in the mountain are seldom unoccupied.” The rest of the company starts to shuffle into the damp cave. “There’s nothin’ here,” Dwalin’s voice calls out and you all start to drop your things down in relief. “Right then,” Gloin rubs his hands together in anticipation, “let’s get a fire started!” “No,” Thorin stops him, “no fires, not in this place.” You shiver and pull your cloak tighter around your shoulders. There is a horrible draft in the cave and you’re already soaked to the bone from the rain storm. “Get some sleep,” he instructs you all, “we start at first light.” You plop your wet things down onto the cavern floor. Everyone’s starting to unpack the necessities for the night, unfolding bedrolls and blankets. Finding free spaces on the cavern floor to claim. You’ve never put much thought into where you slept when setting up camp with the company. If you were in a particularly bad mood, you’d sometimes try and sleep as far away from everyone as safely possible. But now that you stand here, shivering in your rain soaked clothing, there is only one thing you desire: warmth. And if you cannot have a fire, there is one enticing alternative…

Your gaze drifts to the other side of the cave where Thorin speaks with a frustrated looking Balin. The two are huddled closely together. Do you dare sleep next to Thorin tonight? The two of you had certainly crossed quite a few boundaries already, but only ever behind closed doors. Never while the rest of the company was there to witness any form of affection between the two of you. Would Thorin object to allowing them any kind of clue as to what has already transpired between the two of you? Do you even want them to know? It almost feels like admitting some sort of defeat. Thorin finally wore you down after all your claims of not being able to stand him. Fili and Kili would never let you hear the end of it. “Bofur,” Thorin calls out, “take the first watch.” He turns away from Balin, briefly catching your eyes as you stand there watching him, still frozen in indecision. You can tell he’s having the same internal debate over your sleeping arrangements. He averts his gaze from yours and instead turns his back to you, heading towards the furthest corner of the cave. Ouch That decision has been made for you then. It should bring you some relief but instead all you can feel is…hurt. But there’s really no reason to. Just because the two of you had been semi-intimate a couple of times doesn’t meant that you’re now…together. You aren’t even sure if you want to be with Thorin that way. Publicly, romantically, or however it was you used to imagine the two of you growing up. Back when you were just a young, foolish girl. So certain that the dashing dwarven prince you’d grown up with would be by your side forever. One way or another. Marriage and courtship were never anything the two of you discussed but Dwarven society demanded that you would both marry someday. Not long before Smaug arrived, your parents were already bringing by the occasional suitor. Desperate to try and marry you off, as if that would ever tame your wild nature the way they hoped it would. And of course Thorin would need a queen. A fully dwarven queen. Someone of status, not the half dwarf girl he spent all his time with. But even though you both knew you’d be married off eventually, it was always implied that you’d still be in each other’s lives. You’d been best friends since childhood, why would that ever have to change? You couldn’t imagine ever having to live without him. That is, until you did. Until he left you no choice.

You pick your things back up with a huff. Fine then. If we wants to give you an orgasm then immediately go back to being a grumpy asshole, that’s on him. You toss your pack against the cave wall. Angrily unpacking your things next to a very quiet Bilbo. Thorin has always been very hard on the hobbit, tonight especially. After nearly plummeting to his death over the slippery cliffside, the last thing he needs is Thorin’s aggressively cold shoulder. You feel bad for the poor thing, but you’re too busy festering in your own frustrations to say so. After piling on every single blanket you own, you angrily lay down to sleep. Glaring up at the cavern and pulling the blankets all the way up to your chin. Everyone else is already asleep. Snoring away in a deep slumber, clearly exhausted from the day’s journey. Your eyelids are starting to droop as well. But just before you can drift off, a soft voice whispers your name from beside you. Your eyes snap back open and you turn to look at a sheepish Bilbo. “Can I ask you something?” he whispers. You yawn and rub your eyes, turning onto your side to see him better. “I don’t mean to pry, but I heard some of the other’s mention you’re only half dwarf. Is that true?” “Yes,” you nod, “on my father’s side. My mother is-was a human.” “Is that common in Erebor?” he asks curiously. “Not at all,” you laugh quietly, “My father was a very well respected lord in Erebor. My mother was the daughter of a merchant from Dale. He would take any excuse he could to go into town and visit her stall. When they eventually decided to get married there was quite a fuss. My mother’s family wanted nothing to do with her- or me for that matter. But luckily my Father was very good friends with Thorin’s father, Thrain. They’d grown up together, they were as close as brothers. He blessed the union and when I was born he helped ensure that I was treated as a full Dwarven citizen, just like everyone else.” “It must have been hard growing up though, I can’t imagine everyone was as accepting as Thorin’s family.” “At times,” you admit, “but I had friends in high places. And people would rather hold their tongues around me than risk the wrath of those friends.” “You mean Thorin?” Bilbo asks bluntly, and you peek over your shoulder at your king, making sure he is still asleep. “Everyone says you two used to be thick as thieves, practically inseparable.” You can see the steady rise and fall of Thorin’s chest even from here. “He was my best friend,” you confess in a soft whisper, not tearing your gaze from him. Even in his sleep Thorin looks cross. That ever present frown still on his face as he holds his sword close to his chest, as if someone will attack him in his dreams.

“What happened?” Bilbo asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the memories of dragon fire and the anguished screams of your kin. “Smaug didn’t just take our home and our loved ones,” you can still feel Thorin’s strong arms wrapped around you as he drags you away from the flames, kicking and screaming in protest. “Every dwarf that walked out of those halls that day, did so with a piece of themselves missing. Joy, innocence; it all had to be left behind in the flames. Thorin had to step up and become a king, everyone was looking to him now. And I finally had the freedom I’d always longed for, but at a price I wasn’t willing to pay. We both had to leave behind our childhoods in Erebor, we had to grow up quickly to survive this new reality. We started to show our true colors, and neither of us liked what we saw.” “You were angry,” Bilbo translates, “both of you.” “There are many different kinds of anger, Master Baggins. His made him stubborn and afraid, mine made me reckless and bitter. Those don’t mix well together.” “I don’t see why you two can’t get that back now,” he insists, “you were both young and grieving, surely enough time has passed since then?” “Time has nothing to do with it,” you hiss, a sharper edge coming into your tone, “He’s done things I can’t forgive, and he’d never forgive me if he knew half the things I’ve done since we last parted ways.” “What have you done?” “You wouldn’t understand!” you snap, your voice slightly louder than you had intended. “Go to sleep, hobbit,” you insist, rolling onto your other side to turn your back to him. After a moment or so, you hear him settle back into his bedroll. Your gaze falls back to Thorin’s spot across the cave. You could have sworn you saw his eyes close as soon as you look back in his direction, but you’re too tired to care. Your eyelids droop as you fall into a deep sleep, dreaming about that view from the doorway of the inn, tears running down your face, curses and insults screamed at his back as Thorin walks away.

Next Chapter

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