Thorin Fic - Tumblr Posts

@fizzyxcustard youve done it again!!!! The feelings, the frustration, THE HEART!! All so beautifully spoken!!

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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A Stormy Blessing: Thorin x f!reader

Content & Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, picnic gone wrong, sex in a cave, unprotected PiV (it’s fantasy, wrap it up), creampie, established relationship, a little dirty talk, a little praise, caught in the act (but have no idea), a little humor right at the end

Rating: Explicit, NSFW, 18+

Word Count: 1.6k

You and Thorin find time to finally have alone time. Planning for nice weather and a picnic, all that changes when a storm blows in. Taking refuge in a nearby cave, you and Thorin make the most out of the situation.

Hair color, skin color, eye color, height, weight, and body type are left ambiguous. It is written in 2nd person, so "you".

Requested by @protosslady

ao3 // taglist // ko-fi // masterlist

The rain is an unwelcome surprise.

You were supposed to spend the afternoon with your husband, away from all the duties and responsibilities that come with ruling. Erebor is in the process of reconstruction after Smaug’s occupation. Thorin’s plate is overflowing. Everyone needs him for something. He is stretched thin. Oftentimes, you only see Thorin at dinner, but you can’t even depend on that. It’s straining your relationship and all you wanted was a nice picnic with warm sunny weather.

Instead, you got a storm. A storm that blew in quickly and ruined the lovely day you had planned. You and Thorin had to make a run for it.

You’re soaked through. Shivering. The cave provides shelter from the torrential rainfall. A streak of lightening ripples across the sky. The resounding boom of thunder trails right behind it. The sky only darkens further.

“I can start a small fire,” offers Thorin, collecting some branches scattered about the entrance to the cave.

Gathering the hem of your dress, you twist it out between your hands. Water rushes to the ground, creating a mini lake in the rock. Thorin starts on the fire, while you pull the blankets out of one of the baskets. Completely dry.

“Thank the stars,” you sigh.

Removing the smaller one, you unfold it and lay it out next to the fire. You place the basket containing the food in the middle. The larger blanket goes around your shoulders, bringing with it sudden warmth as Thorin coaxes the small spart into a steady blaze.

You take a seat, opening the blanket in invitation when Thorin joins you. He snuggles close, until you’re nearly in his lap. Even soaked through Thorin is still a heater. His warmth chases away some of the chill.

Opening the picnic basket, you remove the sandwiches, handing one to Thorin as you remove one for yourself. Thorin unwraps it, brings it his face, and inhales deep.

“You used the hot mustard,” sighs Thorin before taking a massive bite.

By the time you unwrap yours, Thorin has already inhaled the first one and quickly reaches for another. He takes his time with the second sandwich and the two of you chat about the lives of others, steering far from your own lives.

It’s a quiet, comforting moment. Enjoying a meal together and simply relaxing seems like a luxury. It’s more than you’ve had in weeks. While the warm, sunny day is gone, you’re still with Thorin. You’re together. Actually together instead of sharing glances across the throne room, or passing each other by in the hall, running off to another meeting or appointment.

After the sandwiches come grapes and apples with a small selection of cheeses. Then it’s buttery pastries with sweet jam. Thorin sucks a bit of jam off his thumb and begins to pack up. You glance out at the rain. It’s still coming down at a steady speed.

“Looks like we’ll still be here for a bit.”

“Perfect. Then I can truly have you alone.”

When you turn to answer, Thorin is incredibly close. Closer than before. And his eyes, always the color of a freshwater stream, are darker. Deeper. As if the pupils have melted a little and darkened the blue in his eyes.

The tips of his fingers trace up your arm. It makes you shiver with the anticipation of that touch, the intimacy behind it, the promise it makes. Those fingers find the curve of your shoulder, dance up your neck, and finally find a home against your cheek. Thorin cradles your face in his hand, and you don’t care that you can feel the callouses. They’re a reminder of everything.

He leans in slowly, brushes his lips softly against yours with gentle tenderness. Delicate, like a feather against skin, ones that tease and evolve into something more passionate. Ones with tongue. Ones that fuel a fire in your belly.

Wrapping his arms around your waist, Thorin drags you into his lap. You go eagerly, wanting nothing more than to be close to your husband. His hands run over your back, hips, and then down to your ass where he squeezes, rolling his hips against you, telling of his intent.

You lock your legs around him and drape your arms around his neck. His beard scratches against your skin and even though it scratches, it’s comforting, and reminds you how real he is. That he is here in your arms and not off somewhere else.

Thorin runs his hands over you again pressing his erection into your sex with each upward roll of his hips.

“I want my wife.” He growls into your mouth. “Does she want me too?”

“She does,” you say, nipping at his bottom lip.

Thorin slides a hand between your bodies and disappears beneath the hem of your dress. It glides over your thigh and dips into your heat, fingers parting your folds to seek the warmth there.

Thorin moans low in his throat when he feels how wet you are for him.

“I’ve been aching for you.”

His words ignite the fire in your loins. How long has it been? How long since you’ve heard Thorin’s voice drenched with desire, with his need and want for you?

Thorin growls again, one finger pressing against your entrance. The slight intrusion is welcome, and you roll your hips into it, pushing yourself onto his finger until it’s inserted to the knuckle. His other hand goes to his pants.

When Thorin struggles, you take over greedily, quickly undoing enough that his erect cock springs free. It’s hot in your hand. Nearly scorching. A pearly bead blooms on the head.

“I’m going to remove my finger and then I want you to sit on my cock. I want you to ride me. Claim your king.”

Thorin removes his finger with deliberate slowness. You glimpse your slickness on his finger before it disappears beneath the blanket as Thorin grips your hips and helps you guide them upward enough that he’s perfectly aligned with your entrance.

The tip presses into your sex. There is a brief, solidary pause, and then you begin to sink, sucking more and more of him down as your cunt swallows his length. Thorin moans and your fingers dig into the fabric of his tunic, pressing half-moons into the skin underneath.

He’s stretching you. Filling you. It’s an intrusion but it’s welcome. You forgot just how big he is, how good he feels inside you. When he’s buried to the hilt, you pause, breathing heavy. Shifting even a little makes your body buzz with the thickness of him.

He presses a kiss to your throat and then gently bites the skin.

“Ride. Me.”

You do a little test first, rocking your hips a bit. You both moan in pleasure.

“Take what you need from me,” Thorin murmurs against your throat.

You do, starting with a steady, rolling rhythm that has you sliding up and down his cock deliciously. It hits all the right spots and you’re able to take control. He doesn’t push. Doesn’t shove you back down. Simply being with you is enough for him.

He runs his tongue along your bottom lip at the same moment you roll back down his length, adding a little more momentum.

“Perfect. So perfect.”

His hand slides between your bodies again, this time to seek your clit. He circles it with a finger, using your wetness against it. Your cunt shudders and squeezes with the sharp intensity of that touch. You’re needy for him. The tension is coiled tight, and it’s been waiting all this time for him.

Thorin grinds his hips upward as your movements faulter. As the pleasure shakes and startles your body so suddenly that your brain needs a moment to catch up.

“You were made for me.”

He swirls his finger against your clit again, and again, until the building buzz bursts through your brain like waves breaking against rocks. As you come undone, Thorin takes control, thrusting up into you, his finger still skillfully rubbing you into euphoric need.

It only takes a few more before Thorin is releasing too, bathing your womb with himself. You’re collapsing into each other, clinging and happy even though the storm rages outside.

Thorin gives you nothing but tender kisses. “We might be here longer yet.”

You smile deviously. “I guess we’ll have to make the most of it.”

“This is it!”

“Mushrooms!”

Fili and Kili left right before the storm broke, going to their secret cave the two of them had discovered weeks ago. Roasted mushrooms, ones crisped in bacon fat and eaten with charred tomatoes, are a favorite.

The mushrooms only grow in the darkest reaches of the cave. It isn’t far inside, nor is the cave a massive network of tunnels. It’s a simple in and out.

But when they plucked what they could, stuffed their pockets full with an eagerness to return home, they found their way blocked.

It’s not a rockslide or a cave in.

It’s their uncle, and his wife, clearly lost in passion while a storm raged outside.

They sit on the cold floor with their backs to a massive rock. Fili has his hands over his ears while Kili has his head stuck between his legs, knees pressed to his ears as they both desperately try to block out the noise.

“This is the worst,” mutters Kili.

“Worse for you, ya? Wasn’t she your friend? Had a little crush on her, didn’t you?” teases Fili.

“Please, brother, I beg you. Stop talking.”

Fili elbows Kili in the knee, which only breaks the seal he’s trying to create, allowing in the unwanted noise coming from the exact place they need to get to.

“I’m never going to let you forget this,” chuckles Fili.

Kili groans and deliberately thinks of nothing but mushrooms.

taglist:

@chaosartic @everydayiamtrifling @slovoss @shireluva @foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv

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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Strong

My real life is quite stressful atm, my mood is not great, and the last thing I should do is write fics, but hey, guess what, I needed to compensate. Sorry not sorry. Here is a hurt/comfort Thorin fic. I got inspired by the following request by @shalinizhara-deactivated2021100 (Shalini, if you're reading this, we miss you and hope you'll come back soon 💙):

Maybe reader is like a very emotionally fragile person but holding it together, pretending their ok to others. After being strong for a long time, they finally break down after seeing something from the past, which brings all the emotions back. Thorin then comes home to find them a sobbing mess, and trying to hide themselves away from Thorin as they are ashamed of crying in front of someone?

Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: Thorin x Reader (Modern Girl in Middle Earth) Rating: T Warnings: emotions, hurt/comfort

I hope you’ll enjoy it!

As usual, you can read this fic here and on AO3.

* * *

The Quest of Erebor was a success. The greatest dwarven kingdom was reclaimed, the Battle of the Five Armies was won, the line of Durin remained unbroken, the enemy was defeated, and Thorin Oakenshield was officially crowned as the King Under the Mountain.

And you were there to see it all, from the very beginning. As Bifur’s, Bofur’s and Bombur’s newest friend they met on the road, you joined them on the way to Shire where they were about to meet the whole Company. The three Broadbeams vouched for you and so you became the fourteenth member of the group. Bombur praised your skill in finding the best forest treasures, berries and mushrooms, Bifur approved of your skill with throwing knives, and Bofur admired your ability to spin amazing tales.

The latter came in very handy every evening on the road when all of you sat by the bonfire, resting after yet another long day. It became clear that you took on the unofficial role of the Company’s “Morale Officer”. Everyone would forget about the hardships of traveling as soon as the evening came and you were telling them yet another fantastic story, or making them laugh so that they would forget about the aching muscles, hunger or cold. As days passed, you noticed that the leader of the Company, Thorin Oakenshield, became one of the most attentive listeners. His gaze would often rest on your face, on your lips, as if he didn’t want to miss any of the details of your story, as if your mouth was a spring of life-giving water and he wished to drink it all, to the last drop, making you feel this strange warmth in your chest. It felt… good to be appreciated.

It seemed that Thorin’s appreciation of your storytelling skill only grew during your journey. He made sure you were always safe – he even shielded you with his own body once when a warg was about to lunge at you, and thrust Orcrist into the beast’s chest, killing it on the spot. Thorin was somehow always around whenever your stubborn boot laces became too entangled, whenever you needed help getting on your pony, or whenever Fili and Kili tried to play a mischief on you.

You knew how important the Quest was – both for Thorin and his people – so you tried to do your best to keep everyone’s spirits up with your tales. Even in the Elven King’s dungeons you refused to give up and told them the funniest anecdotes and silliest stories from your life. The Dwarves chuckled and started exchanging their own funny stories, but what mattered for you the most was Thorin’s smile that reached all the way to his brilliant eyes – you saw it clearly through the bars of your cell. That was when you realized what that warmth you felt in your heart meant, that warmth that bloomed every time he looked at you or brushed his shoulder against you by accident or when he just sat next to you, smoking his pipe in silence and looking into the distance.

Perhaps you were a talented storyteller, but you certainly weren’t the most courageous one when it came to your feelings. Besides, you were taking part in an important Quest and matters of the heart seemed trivial in comparison with a huge mountain and a dangerous dragon within it. Besides, Thorin was the King of Longbeards and you were just, well, you. No one special, not a great warrior nor a noble lady. Just the regular you. So you kept quiet, enjoying Thorin’s silent albeit reassuring presence, allowing yourself to cast a glance or two at his majestic profile when no one was looking or dreaming away about running your fingers through his wavy, luscious hair. Knowing that he was there was enough for you to make the Quest bearable. You were not a seasoned traveler, you didn’t have a proper stamina or powerful dwarven physique, and you were used to the comforts of your home. Every day on the road put an enormous strain both on your body and on your mind. The thought that you could be attacked by Orcs, goblins or a huge, fire-breathing dragon at any moment kept lingering at the back of your head, even when you slept, resulting in nightmares at night and nervous glances thrown around during the day. The only respite you found in your stories and in Thorin’s presence.

But then the dragon was killed, Erebor was reclaimed, and the great rebuilding started. Every day more and more Dwarves would appear at the Lonely Mountain, happy to return to their homes, and all of you had your hands full with work, trying to make Erebor a comfortable place to live again. You barely saw Thorin these days as he spent long days negotiating with Dain, Bard and Thranduil so that everyone in Erebor would have enough food and supplies to survive the winter.

You were staying in your temporary quarters, a couple of tiny rooms you shared with Bifur and Bofur while Bombur moved out to live with his family as soon as his wife arrived in Erebor. It was a good enough place to sleep at, much better than the hard ground you remembered from the Quest. You didn’t complain, especially since your companions made sure you were comfortable, but you were looking forward to a moment when you could have a place of your own. You have grown to love Erebor, its beauty, its huge staircases, suspended walkways and secret passages.

One late evening, close to midnight, you were returning to your place after yet another exhausting day, countless hours filled with hard work when you heard voices nearby, just around the corner. They didn’t sound too friendly and when your name echoed against the stone walls of the corridor they stood in, you stopped in your tracks.

“She’s a straggler, that’s what she is!” One voice said. “Aye, a stray without a master! She’s not even a Dwarf!” A woman said, the Blue Mountains accent ringing in her words.

“I couldn’t stomach that Hobbit and I was happy to see him go, but when is she going to leave our Mountain? She’s overstayed his welcome!” Someone else exclaimed.

“What is she still doing here anyway, that slacker? Hard-working Dwarves like us are rebuilding the place while she’s probably sifting through our gold and keeping the best jewels for herself!” “Aye, she’s constantly around the treasure chamber. I even saw her leaving it once with a full pouch in her hand. A thief, that’s what she is!” “Why does the King allow this anyway? Why doesn’t he just banish her from our Mountain?”

“They say His Majesty keeps her as a pet for his amusement, if you know what I mean!”

Nasty chuckles filled the air and it was enough for you to turn around and run away from that place, tears streaming from your eyes, not caring where your feet carried you. Familiar images filled your head. Echoes from your past. You were back at school and your close friend was once again accusing you of that awful thing you never did, telling you that your friendship was over. They never spoke to you again after that, even though you tried to explain, to tell them that you had no idea who did this and why. They just wouldn’t listen. All those feelings came back crashing down on you again. This time you were accused of being a lazy loafer and a thief, among other things, but it didn’t matter. Deep down you knew that if you tried to confront those Dwarves and explain everything, they wouldn’t listen to you anyway, just like your friend hadn’t. In their eyes you were worthless and honourless, two of the greatest flaws, according to Dwarves. You knew how it all would go from there: soon, everyone would be gossiping about you, casting accusing glances at you and ostracizing you, whenever you went.In a week or two, there would be no one in this Mountain you could call a friend, and you would have to pack your things once again and leave into the wilderness, having no place to go to. No home.

You stopped in front of a double door adorned with golden patterns, blurred by the tears in your eyes. The King Under the Mountain’s chambers. Thorin’s chambers. You were sure that he wasn’t there, still busy with all the negotiations, and yet it was the only place you wanted to be at now. Alone and away from prying eyes. As you entered the chambers, you saw fire burning bright in the fireplace in his parlour, and there was an armchair beside it, beckoning to you. You threw yourself at it and covered yourself with a wool blanket that had hung from one of the armrests, trying to grab at the illusive feeling of safety it offered, sobbing into the soft fabric. It smelled faintly like a pine forest, summer rain, and iron. Like Thorin. Even more tears rolled down your cheeks. Soon, the words of your alleged thieving would reach his ears and he would make you leave this place, and you would be alone again, wandering aimlessly from place to place like a stray dog.

You didn’t know when the exhaustion took the better of you and you fell into a shallow, restless slumber. A hand rested on your shoulder, making you wake up with a sudden gasp.

“Mimûna? What is the matter?” A familiar, rumbly voice filled your ears. Mimûna. He started calling you with this nickname during the Quest, whenever you were alone, but you were always too shy to ask what it meant.

Your eyes fluttered open, your cheeks and the blanket still wet from your despair. Your heart clenched in your chest when you saw Thorin’s face and noticed the worry splashing in his eyes. But there were also tired lines on his forehead and shadows under his eyes. Thorin came here to get some rest after a long day and found you where you shouldn’t be. The truth was, you were disturbing his peace and crying like a pathetic baby instead of being strong and braving all the miseries with ease like every proper Dwarf in your place would.

“Thorin!” You whispered, completely mortified, frantically wiping the tears from your cheeks, hoping that he hadn’t noticed your moment of weakness. You always did your best to appear cheerful in front of everyone, especially when he was around, no matter how tired, sad or weak you felt inside. During the Quest and afterwards, the whole Company needed cheering up, and that was the only thing you were really good at. If Thorin saw your real face, if he realized how bitter your tears were, how your heart resembled a chipped porcelain cup and not a battle-hardened flawless diamond, he would surely cast you aside and shun you, just like those other Dwarves already did.

“Are you unwell?” He asked, crouching next to the armchair, his hand still resting on your shoulder, the warmth of his fingers permeating the fabric of your blouse.

“No, no! I’m fine! Everything is well, but it was so noisy in our quarters, and I wanted some sleep and I thought you wouldn’t even notice me taking a short nap here, away from all that hammering!” You tried to smile faintly. “I’m sorry, I think I’ve overslept…”

You tried to rise, but froze when Thorin’s hand moved up, cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing a curved shape across it.

“Why have you been crying?” A shadow of a growl echoed in his voice, his brow furrowing.

“Me? Crying? I was just taking a nap, nothing more...” You shook your head in protest, hoping he wouldn’t notice how your lips trembled from your suppressed sadness. Thorin looked angry and he would probably become even more so if he saw the real you and realized how pathetic you were.

“I know you, Mimûna,” he offered in an even tone, his gaze softening, his thumb caressing your cheek, your skin tingling pleasantly under his touch. “Something made you sad. What was it?” You just shook your head and looked away, unable to face him. A lump of ice grew in your throat. Your eyes welled with tears again, reflecting the hurt you felt, but also because you just realized that this was his first caress, something you have dreamed of for months, but it was also his last one. Soon, Thorin was going to see how unworthy you were, and you would have to remove yourself from this place, leaving both your happiness and your heart behind.

“I see your pain. Will you not share your troubles with me?” He offered, but you remained silent, staring blindly at the mantlepiece on your left, above his head. You were too afraid to speak, knowing very well what would happen if you opened your mouth. Besides, all of your strength was tied up in you trying not to fall apart in front of the person whose opinion mattered more to you than anything else in the world.

“I see,” Thorin spoke again after a pause. “I may not have earned your confidence, but if there is any way I can mitigate your…”

“Oh, Thorin,” you interrupted him and clung to him, the last shreds of control over your emotions disappearing into thin air. Your hands clasped his tunic as you buried your face in the soft fabric covering his broad chest, staining it with tears, muffled sobs escaping your throat. Nothing else mattered any more, only his soothing warmth and his arms that slowly wrapped around you, enveloping you with a cocoon of safety, while your body shook helplessly, your last defenses crumbling.

As that storm of emotions wreaked havoc inside you, Thorin held you close, murmuring soothing words, gently caressing your back, your beacon in the dark sea of sorrow, your safe harbor, giving you his strength. You took it eagerly, hungrily, not daring to think what would come next. You wanted to stay in this moment for as long as you could.

“All will be well, Mimûna, do not think otherwise,” his murmur reached your ears as his lips brushed the top of your head.

But you knew the harsh truth.

“If only…” you sighed and looked up at Thorin, the fire crackling in the hearth softening the lines on his tired face. “I’m so sorry to have bothered you. You should be resting now and here I am burdening you with my silly outbursts. I’d better go.” You wanted to get up, but Thorin’s arms held you gently, not letting go of you.

“There is no need for you to leave. You can stay here for as long as you want, until you feel better,” a soft rumble left his lips, his face so close to yours that you could see the specks of silver in the blues of his eyes, radiating comfort and warmth.

“But…” He shook his head, “My mother used to say that a good night’s sleep makes it easier to tackle the troubles in the morning, whatever they are. It seems to me that this is exactly what you need. Will you stay the night?”

“You mean… Sleep? Here? With you?!” your eyes widened. Once a proposal like this would make your heart beat faster but after what you’ve heard tonight it took a completely new meaning. “I can’t…!”

The frown on Thorin’s forehead deepened, “I hope you know that I respect you too much for any indecent proposals. I am offering you my bedchamber at your sole disposal for the night. I will be on the other side of the door, here, sleeping on this settee, in case you need me.”

“No, we can’t… I mean, this is not right, I won’t tarnish your reputation any more, there are rumors…” you bit your lip that quivered treacherously.

“My reputation…? Rumors? What rumors?!” He growled, flames kindling in his eyes.

“I… It is nothing. People talk...” you swallowed, cursing your stupid mouth.

“Is that what made you upset? You will tell me what it is that you heard,” he spoke slowly, in the commanding manner of the king he was, with that unmistakable glint in his eye that made your knees weak and melted your resolve.

And so you told him everything you heard, your words interrupted by sobs, bracing yourself for the inevitable. Your exhaustion took the better of you and you wanted to be done with it as soon as possible instead of tormenting yourself for weeks. It would be better for Thorin to hear about it all from your own mouth.

You searched for the first signs of disappointment on his face, but they didn’t come. Instead, Thorin growled, stood up and started pacing across the room.

“How dare they?! Calling you a shirker, a thief, and even a wh--” he stopped in his tracks. “Who are they? I need to know!” “I don’t know, I only heard their voices…”

“Do they not know of your merits?” He roared. “Of your contribution to the Quest? Where were they, those Dwarves from flesh and bone, when I asked for help? And now you, a woman of Men, with no obligations to my people, work long hours every day, even though you could simply take your share in gold and leave! Does that mean nothing to them?”

You looked at Thorin in awe, the flames of wrath filling his eyes. You couldn’t believe your ears.

“Know this,” Thorin approached you, taking your hands in his. “You have proven yourself more than worthy in my eyes and this is why I chose you to make an inventory of the treasure chamber with Glóin! This is why he put you in charge over the payouts for the workers, because I trust you more than those serpent tongues! They lack all honour!”

You swallowed the tears that suddenly felt sweet on your tongue, “So… Do you believe that I’m not a thief?”

“We had only one burglar in our midst that I am aware of,” he gave you a little smile. “And we both know that it is not you.”

“Do you really think so?” “Have I ever lied to you, Mimûna?” he rumbled softly, the storm in his eyes slowly dissipating. A small, hopeful smile danced on your lips, “Does that mean that I can stay here, in Erebor?”

“I would not have it any other way. In fact, I hope that you decide to stay here for as long as you live, if that is your wish,” his eyes rested on your face, waiting for your reaction. “I would like that very much. I have begun to think of Erebor as my new home,” you admitted quietly and you felt Thorin’s hands squeezing yours gently.

“Your words bring me great joy. I know how fond you are of the world outside of the Mountain,” his throat bobbed as Thorin spoke.

“I am, but I think that I have fallen in love with… with Erebor,” you added clumsily. “There is no other place I’d rather be.”

A new light shone in Thorin’s eyes, “If this is how you feel, If you truly wish to bind your fate to Erebor, then I would like to ask you to hear me out.” You nodded slightly in encouragement.

“I must admit that I expected you to leave us soon, just like Master Baggins did, and therefore I did not wish to burden you with my feelings. But if there is a chance you can return even the smallest part of my affections…” Thorin cleared his throat. “I reclaimed the kingdom of my people. We are prosperous. I now have enough means to marry and can offer my future wife all the comforts she may crave. I know that there are many eligible ladies under the Mountain, but it is you I wish to be with, to call my queen until the end of days. It is you my heart has been beating for since the moment I have met you.”

You felt the scorching heat of his last words on your skin as your lips met for the first time, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. Your kiss was gentle, like the first rays of sun caressing the first snowdrops that braved the last remnants of snow, the first heralds of spring after a long winter.

“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Thorin asked as your lips parted, kissing the tips of your fingers.

“I think I have just said yes,” you chuckled, the familiar warmth spilling in your chest, but this time all the pain and despair were finally gone. “I will be honored to become your wife, my king.”

As you said it, you realized how true these words were. Thorin was the only one who reigned over your heart and filled it with joy.

And this was when your tiredness ruined the mood, making you yawn. Thorin chuckled and it felt good to join him.

“Will you stay the night, then, Mimûna?” One of his eyebrows rose playfully. “We could both use a good rest.”

“Rest? Is that what you had in mind?” You felt your cheeks burning, not daring to think about what such a night could bring and how many times you imagined certain things to happen.

“That is all that I have in mind until our wedding night,” Thorin nodded with a glint in his eye and then grinned. “Unless we change our minds along the way.” “Thorin!” you gasped.

“But tonight, let us sleep. I wish to simply hold you in my arms until dawn.”

“After what I told you, me staying in your rooms all night long, is that wise?” You voiced your concern, even though your heart cursed you for it. “There will be rumors…”

“If there is anyone who does not approve of my choice of wife, they can leave the Mountain. We will announce our betrothal tomorrow. Everyone will hear of your hard work and deeds during the Quest.” “I don’t care about being painted as a saint. As long as you see me for what I truly am, everyone can think I’m Smaug in disguise,” your regular sense of humor finally returned, and you felt like a great weight was lifted from your shoulders.

“Then I cannot wait until I see you breathe fire at them,” Thorin pulled you closer to him and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. “And now allow me to take you to bed before you fall asleep standing.”

Effortlessly he lifted you from the floor and carried you to his bedchamber in his strong arms, bridal style. As you wrapped your arms around his neck, you felt brave enough to press your lips against his bearded cheek and were rewarded with a satisfied hum. Something told you that there were more things than being carried in Thorin’s arms that you were going to enjoy a lot.

Thorin placed you gently on the bed and covered you with soft furs. After a few moments, he joined you, his chest brushing against your back, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you gently towards his body that radiated warmth.

“Sleep now, Mimûna,“ he whispered into your ear, shivers running down your spine as his low velvety voice reached you. “I will watch over you.”

You gave out a satisfied sigh, enjoying his closeness, your worries completely forgotten.

“Thorin? What does Mimûna mean? Why do you never call me like this in public?”

“It means Little One in Khuzdul,” he replied. “A term of endearment for someone you hold very dear.”

“Are you telling me you were dropping hints since Rivendell and I have been completely clueless?!”

“This is the only liberty I dared to allow myself since that day you rejected my offer of gathering wood together,” he admitted.

“Your offer of… what? I was so tired that evening, I could barely feel my legs! Have I missed a hint there too?” Your eyes widened.

He chuckled, “I’m afraid so. The dwarven couples have a long tradition of gathering wood together.”

“Is this the Middle Earth equivalent of Netflix and chill?”

“Pardon?”

“Nevermind. Why has no one told me anything?!” You exclaimed and promised yourself to have a serious talk with Bofur.

“They thought you weren’t interested in me either. Everyone saw that you refused that roast boar I hunted especially for you.” “But I don’t like boar meat!” You wrinkled your nose. “You can only imagine how confused the Company was when you ate all the food Beorn offered you. We thought you would stay with him.”

“But his food was delicious! And besides he’s not a Dwarf, I’m sure his kind has different customs,” you retorted.

“We won’t know that now, will we?” He hummed into your hair.

Suddenly things started making more sense in your head.

“Wait a moment, is this why you were so extremely grumpy at Beorns, spending every single evening alone outside, brooding at the stars?”

“I was in quite good humor on the last evening before we left that place,” he protested. “Was it because you knew I was coming with you?”

“Perhaps,” Thorin chuckled and embraced you tighter. “But this, this was worth waiting for, Mimûna. Now I have you in my arms.” “And I think I will stay like this for a long time,” you stifled a satisfied yawn.

“I can ask no more than that,” Thorin murmured into your ear, still holding you tight and enveloping you with warmth.

As the tension left your body for good and your eyelids drooped, you whispered, intertwining your fingers with his, “I think I’ll go to sleep now. I’m exhausted. Very happy, but exhausted. This was a very bad evening… and I’m glad it’s ending.” “Worry not. I will stay here with you until it turns into a good morning,” these words rumbled in Thorin’s chest as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, your heart beating steadily in your chest. Perhaps it was a chipped porcelain cup but now, when it rested in Thorin’s protective hands, it felt like a flawless diamond.

* * *

Khuzdul: Mimûna - Little One

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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?"