I Want My Wife. Does She Want Me Too? - Tumblr Posts

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.

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