Thorin Fanfiction - Tumblr Posts
Oh my, thank you!! I love this so much! Can't wait for more. Great job! :D ❤🥰😭💖
Not Your Daughter
Here we are, finally getting my ass back to writing things! This was a request from darling @id-rather-be-in-middle-earth
Request: A thorin x reader where after the mountains reclaimed, readers parents who only want money come to visit. Like they manipulated her whole life and after being with the company she knows what real love is and she stands up to them like, “You’re our daughter.” “You have no daughter.” It can be a thorin pairing or thorin is her figurative father figure and adopts her after. You can do whatever, I’m not picky about it.
Author´s note: Bear with me, this is two part long story, as I wanted to write the backstory of how the reader ended up with Thorin and how their relationship formed during the journey.
Warning: mention of child abuse, poor parenting
Masterlist
Part 1
It had been five years since Thorin Oakenshield and his company reclaimed Erebor from the dragon and defeated Azog and his army with the help of Men and Elves.
Gazing down from the balcony in your chambers you let your mind travel back in time when you first met Thorin and his company. Now that you thought about it, you were the luckiest one in all Arda and you couldn´t stop a smile creeping into your face.
You were part of Thorin´s company ever since they found you wandering near the Shire nothing but torn clothes on. They were shocked while staring at your small shaking figure in the mud, one by one getting angry after you told them you escaped from your home because your parents got physical with you after they thought you didn´t work hard enough to bring money into the household.
None of the dwarves could fathom how parents could treat their daughter in such a way, your age couldn´t be much over eight which made them even angrier.
When you told them you then had gotten lost after hours of trying to find your way back home when it was getting dark, it was surprisingly Thorin who claimed you would be travelling with them as he felt obligated to find for you a better home. That sentence had made every warrior in his company turn their heads and look at Thorin like he had grown two heads on his shoulder.
Why? He didn´t know the reason why he should feel obligated toward a human child, you weren´t his responsibility but something about your teary eyes and light quiver of your lower lip resolved him to make up his mind before he could stop himself.
Keep reading
Oh my, thank you!! I love this so much! Can't wait for more. Great job! :D ❤🥰😭💖
Not Your Daughter
Here we are, finally getting my ass back to writing things! This was a request from darling @id-rather-be-in-middle-earth
Request: A thorin x reader where after the mountains reclaimed, readers parents who only want money come to visit. Like they manipulated her whole life and after being with the company she knows what real love is and she stands up to them like, “You’re our daughter.” “You have no daughter.” It can be a thorin pairing or thorin is her figurative father figure and adopts her after. You can do whatever, I’m not picky about it.
Author´s note: Bear with me, this is two part long story, as I wanted to write the backstory of how the reader ended up with Thorin and how their relationship formed during the journey.
Warning: mention of child abuse, poor parenting
Masterlist
Part 1
It had been five years since Thorin Oakenshield and his company reclaimed Erebor from the dragon and defeated Azog and his army with the help of Men and Elves.
Gazing down from the balcony in your chambers you let your mind travel back in time when you first met Thorin and his company. Now that you thought about it, you were the luckiest one in all Arda and you couldn´t stop a smile creeping into your face.
You were part of Thorin´s company ever since they found you wandering near the Shire nothing but torn clothes on. They were shocked while staring at your small shaking figure in the mud, one by one getting angry after you told them you escaped from your home because your parents got physical with you after they thought you didn´t work hard enough to bring money into the household.
None of the dwarves could fathom how parents could treat their daughter in such a way, your age couldn´t be much over eight which made them even angrier.
When you told them you then had gotten lost after hours of trying to find your way back home when it was getting dark, it was surprisingly Thorin who claimed you would be travelling with them as he felt obligated to find for you a better home. That sentence had made every warrior in his company turn their heads and look at Thorin like he had grown two heads on his shoulder.
Why? He didn´t know the reason why he should feel obligated toward a human child, you weren´t his responsibility but something about your teary eyes and light quiver of your lower lip resolved him to make up his mind before he could stop himself.
Keep reading
Oh goodness what a joy to read this one!!
The Task of Living (Thorin x Reader one-shot)
Love Confession feat. Thorin Oakenshield
Valentine 2023 Event by @sotwk
Summary: Two years after his triumphant reclamation of Erebor, Thorin returns to his former village in Dunland, seeking the woman he has loved since long ago.
Prompt: “You have to come back to me. Because I cannot do this without you.”
Requested by and Dedicated to: @the-fragile-heart-of-a-lady. Thank you for the request, the follow, and for letting me do a little something to help you feel better! This definitely turned out longer and more detailed than I had planned, so I hope it brings you some joy and comfort! <3
Word count: 2.4 k
Content: Romance, angst, drama, fierce dwarf-maiden, Everybody Lives AU, post-BotFA, King Thorin
Rating: T (Teens and up)
Warnings: Some sensuality
To Read on AOC: Link
Divider credit: @firefly-graphics
The Task of Living
Third Age 2943
Dunland
“Is she… is she yours?”
You smoothed a hand over the unbraided chestnut curls of the dwarf-child on your lap and shook your head. "My sister's. You probably don’t remember her."
His coal-black eyebrows knitted together, but only for a second. "Rith," he spoke her name with a triumphant little smirk that made you itch with a desire to smack it off his face. He set down his tankard of mulled ale on the table and leaned forward, the rickety old chair creaking underneath this small movement. “And how is she?”
“She is dead,” you said flatly, enjoying the flinch that wrinkled his perfect features. “Killed in an orc raid on the village six years ago, she and her husband both.” You gave your niece a quick hug and set her down, patting her lightly on the back. “Why don’t you go and help your Grandmother with the stew?”
“She needn’t have bothered, truly.” His keen blue eyes scanned the single-room cottage that presently housed three women across three generations. Although his gaze seemed mostly curious, his interest suddenly made you feel embarrassed about the dwelling’s small size and worn-out shabbiness.
“Of course she had to,” you hissed, rising abruptly from your chair. “What else are we expected to do when a king shows up at our doorstep, with no forewarning, but to scramble to pay respects and offer up what little provisions we have?”
Thorin rose to his feet, slowly, as though a dreadful weight burdened his stooped shoulders. Still, he towered over you, his regal demeanor undeniable despite his obvious attempts to dress in simple garb, with no raiment upon him other than the ancestral crown on his head.
“A caravan is on its way here,” he said. “Two dozen wagons loaded with enough food and supplies for a year. Enough for this whole village and its neighbors. It should arrive in a few days. The cargoes are heavy and the roads are troublesome. I decided to ride ahead with my guard because…” He faltered, but took a breath and pressed on. “...because I could not wait to see you.”
Oh no. You backed up a step, subconsciously resisting the allure of his presence, the implication of his words. Before you could turn away, he spoke again, “Perhaps we might move this conversation outside. There is still light out; we can take a short walk.”
Perhaps it would be easier to breathe and keep a clear head outdoors with all the fresh air. As you exited the cottage, you felt Thorin’s hand cup lightly around your elbow, in a courteous gesture to help you down the steps. You jerked your arm away, irritated by the silly nicety reserved for soft, high-society ladies who likely kept his company now.
In the corner of your eye, you spotted several armored soldiers by the sheep pen, tending to their ponies. You marched on in the direction of the little brook that bordered your property, determinedly and defiantly, leaving Thorin to hasten his steps to keep up.
“If I may say so, you look well--”
You stopped and spun around without warning. "Why are you here, Thorin?” You grimaced and corrected yourself. “Pardon me. Why are you here, your Majesty?”
“Thorin,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “You need not be so formal with me, not after so many years of friendship between us.”
Friendship. That word could not have burned you worse than a glowing hot iron straight out of the furnace. And suddenly it was thirty-five years ago, when you stood before each other in similar surroundings all the way in the shadows of the Blue Mountains, and Thorin told you with utmost conviction, that he could not accept your marriage proposal.
And you exploded. All the grief and pain and anger that you had shored up behind a wall inside your heart flowed like fiery lava on the slopes of an awakened volcano.
“Are you trying to hurt me?!” you cried. “Is that why you have come? Now that you have accomplished your great destiny to regain your throne, you thought it might amuse you to return to your former haunts and toy with the commoners you used to dwell amongst? Are you already so weary and bored of counting all the gold in the great Kingdom Under the Mountain?”
Thorin squared his shoulders and set his jaw against the accusations, incorrigibly stubborn as you had always known him to be. “I came to help. Both you and your kin.” He gestured at the house behind them, and the others beyond. “This land was also my home once.”
“It has not been your home for a very long time, Thorin.” You wrapped your arms across your chest, whether to shield yourself from the winter chill or from the dwarf who had shattered you irreparably, you weren’t certain. “Allow me to refresh the King’s memory since it has been so long: you abandoned it for the Blue Mountains. I was there. I left my own family and moved across Eriador to follow yours. But a humble life at the Lune would not satisfy you either, and you refused to settle and put down roots.”
At least not with me. You swiped at the corners of your eyes, furious at the tears that wouldn’t stop their descent. "You should not have come back here. We will manage well enough without Erebor's charity."
The old Thorin might have exchanged your rejection with biting words of his own; such was the pride that ran through the Durins' veins. But the face of the dwarf-lord before you softened as he continued.
"I came for you. To tell you I have not forgotten everything we shared together." The tone of his voice had changed; it cracked with desperation, pleading with you to accept his declarations. And then he uttered your name, and hearing it on his lips roused an ache inside you that was too much to bear.
You started walking again, stomping over the thick snow, following the line of naked trees along the frozen brook. He kept up with you in determined strides, raising his voice to a near shout as his passion grew.
"I have thought of you every day since we parted. Every memory I had of you, I kept close, even though it burned me as often as it kept me warm, because I refused to surrender hope that this day would come for us."
You shook your head wildly and pressed your hands over your ears, as though these gestures would be enough to make him stop.
“Amrâlimê, please...”
"Do. NOT. Call me that!"
You whirled around and punched him, slamming your fist into his chest, stopped by a wall of thick leather and muscle. While you considered yourself strong for your race, your strength fell short against a Durin. Thorin did not budge an inch, or even wince. Perhaps your predictable temper was the part of you least easily forgotten. So you hit him again. And again. Until you were pounding both fists repeatedly against his torso, his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you thought you could get him to feel just a small fraction of the agony he had put you through for over thirty years. Still Thorin refused to move or throw up any kind of self-defense.
How dare he! How dare he address you as such, in the tender manner that haunted you for decades even after you left the Blue Mountains to escape the unbearable sight of him. The precious endearment he would whisper into your ear on occasions of stolen intimacy, sigh into your hair in moments of peaceful contentment, moan against your skin whenever he made love to you.
Through your rage, you sensed the guards approaching to rescue their lord, and instinct prepared you to turn around and fight back like a cornered animal. But Thorin raised his hand at them in a signal to halt, and he finally reached out to catch your flailing wrists, easily ending your assault.
"I love you. As Mahal is my witness, my heart has ever belonged to you alone." He encased your hands tightly within his and held them against his chest, tugging you to him. "And you love me still, I can see it, however wretchedly undeserving I am."
You could not even think of struggling. It was too late. He was too close now, close enough for you to feel how real he was--his piercing eyes, his strong, calloused hands, the scent of smoke and steel that clung to the very hairs of his warm skin. These were not just a fantasy conjured by delirious longing, or a dream from the nights you cried in your sleep. Thorin was here. Alive and well, and here.
“I am truly sorry for all the pain I have caused you. Forgive me, Amrâlimê,” he murmured hoarsely, tracing the curve of your bottom lip with his thumb, sweeping down the softness of your jaw. “If I can have nothing else from you, I beg you to grant me that last kindness.”
That single moment of exposed vulnerability, of breathtaking sorrow and regret that radiated from him, reached you more than any of his expressions of passion. How much have the years changed him? The Thorin you knew could never bear to admit he was wrong about anything. Was it possible that rising to his kingship finally taught him humility?
“You have my forgiveness.” As you spoke this pardon, the remaining flames of your anger blew out to nothingness.
And Thorin smiled, his sweet, gentle smile, rare as the most precious gem but many times as beautiful. Your own smile felt like it would break your cheeks. He pulled you into his embrace and you sobbed into his neck, wondering if it was possible to die of happiness.
Drawing back, Thorin cradled your face between his hands, smoothing your tear-streaked cheeks, and rested his forehead on yours. “May I…?” Your breaths mingled in the soft whisper, and his eager lips already brushed yours even as he waited for permission.
"I may only ever kiss My One, whom they call Oakenshield," you said softly. "Where can I find him under the fine trappings of this great King?"
In response, Thorin gripped the heavy golden crown on his head and lifted it off. It slipped carelessly from his fingers and fell to the snow-covered ground with a dull thud.
"Let me show you," he said, and waited no more. He kissed you with the hunger of years of longing, deeply and greedily, pausing only when you whimpered for breath you could not catch. He backed you up underneath a tree, which you leaned against to aid your weakening balance as Thorin pressed on, his mouth leaving your swollen lips only to descend your neck, worshiping every inch of skin he could access.
"Durin help me," he growled into the curve of your shoulder, exposed where he had nearly torn your sleeve off. His chest still heaved from exertion and barely restrained lust. "I must have you again." He raised his eyes to meet yours, and the look in them made you swallow hard, conscious of your own depraved desire for him. "But it should be in the proper way you deserve."
"You are the only one I would ever have," you said, combing your fingers through a section of his thick black hair, now beautifully mixed with silver stands.
He took your hand to his lips, kissing your palm repeatedly before saying, "So would you return to Erebor with me?"
Your hesitation made him wrap both arms tightly around you, his entire body tense with the lingering fear of being separated from you again.
"You have to come back to me. Because I cannot do this without you."
"Do what?" you asked, caressing his beard to calm the anxiety you regretted causing him. "What task is it that the great hero of Erebor needs a humble peasant's help in accomplishing?"
"The task of living." Thorin cupped his hand underneath your chin and gazed at you with soft, earnest affection. "A life with you was the only treasure I ever desired, but duty forced me to deprive myself of it. But no longer. I have avenged my family and restored our honor and our house. I have led our people back home. The time has come for me to pursue my own joys and pleasures, and those exist only in you."
"But my lord. My love," you whispered, once again moved to tears by the gladness his words roused in you. "Am I still a suitable match for you now that you require a consort to rule a kingdom by your side? I am not fit for the legendary grandeur of Erebor." You gestured at your attire, from your unadorned hair, your plain brown wool dress with a patched up skirt and worn, dirt-caked boots. "Just look at me."
"Indeed. I look at you with great pleasure," Thorin said, with a smirk that immediately made you blush. "When I look at you, I see my dreams fulfilled. I cannot imagine providing Erebor with a braver, kinder, wiser, or more radiant Queen."
"If you would still have me, that is." He held out his open palm to you, revealing an item he produced from the folds of his robe. Fading sunlight bounced off the high polish of the small, silvery-grey stone. You gasped when you recognized the betrothal bead you had offered him so many years ago. He must have rescued it after you had flung it away in your heartbroken grief, and kept it safe with him all this time.
"I fought through dragonfire and armies of orcs so I may live to see this day, so I may get a second chance to accept and wear this." Hope and fear battled in his intense stare, which bore down on you with heavy anticipation. "But now the course of my fate rests entirely upon you. Will you have me?"
He held his breath in the brief silence before you closed his fist around the bead and smiled. "I will have you for the rest of my life and whatever else lies beyond, Thorin Oakenshield." You placed a tender kiss on his knuckles. "So let us go home and see to this task of living… my King."
Tagged by request: @aduialel @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @laneynoir @auttumnsayshi @achromaticerebus @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @heilith @absentmindeduniverse; @undeniableadrenaline
For more of my stories, please see My Masterlist.
If you would like to be added to my tag list, please sign up here: Tag List Sign-Up.
Heart’s Mark.
Summary: In which Thorin meets his One at an inn, not too long before his Quest.
Based on my own prompt; soulmates who find each other by a mark and the other’s name in Dwarven Runes.
Fandom: The Hobbit.
Relationship: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Liv.
Rating: Teen
Warnings: a little bit sensual.
Content: Dwarven Ones/Soulmates, soulmarks, pre-Quest, a bit angsty, hea, everyone lives/no one dies.
(I will be loading this entire fic to Ao3.)
The sounds of loud talk and raucous laughter jars my ears as I carefully skirt through the hazy common room with the laden plate and pint. It's no busier than usual, but it always seems too crowded whenever I'm laden with someone's supper and drink. And I have no desire to have my arm knocked and be scolded for my supposed clumsiness. Neatly avoiding a handsy fellow who's clearly had a pint too many, I arrive at my destination; the back table where the Dwarf sat, placidly smoking.
Thorin sits there quietly, drawing reflectively at his pipe and thinking about the fateful meeting with Thârkun back in Bree yesterday. For the first time in years since Erebor was sacked, he feels hopeful. As soon as he returns to his halls in the Blue Mountains, he's calling the Seven Families together, and so make the march to reclaim his people's home. His thoughts flee when the bar maid approaches with his supper and drink, and he watches her with some interest. Pity that some of these Men weren't being more respectful to her; no Dwarf would dare show rudeness to a Dwarrowdam, or her family would demand satisfaction, he thought. One drunken fool grabs at her, kindling some anger in him.
"Here you are, sir," I set down the plate with a soft clank before him, and begin to set down the pint. He smiles almost shyly- this Dwarf has the prettiest smile I'd ever seen- and reaches for his pint with a soft "thank you." As he takes the pint, his large fingers brush against mine softly; they're rough from labor. A fiery spark flits up my left arm from where our fingers touched; it ends with a tingle at the strange birthmark I'd had since birth, there on the inside of my lower arm.
"Oh," I exclaim. The tingle was sharp; thank Eru I had managed to set down everything without it spilling. Ignoring the shouts for more ale, I stand there, holding my arm.
"Did I hurt you?" The Dwarf's concerned voice resonates through me; it's deep, warm, and wraps itself around me like a lover's embrace. Such an idea brings a flush to my cheeks; he's a patron for goodness' sake, and I'm a respectable girl, Liv daughter of Wilfrid, bar maid though I am.
"No, you haven't, sir. My arm just started tingling here," touching my lower arm "right there, it's the bird shaped mark with the runes- why, what is it?"
He looks as if he's seen a ghost or something worse; his blue eyes fixed steadfastly on the mark on my lower arm, his breaths coming in short huffs of surprise. Wondering, I look too- and am speechless.
Her mark is glowing with a soft light, silvery as the thrice precious mithril of Khazad-dum. Thorin recognizes the mark; it is a raven, the Royal Bird of Erebor. It has been so many years since he'd seen that mark; only those who were soulmates to members of the Royal Family ever had the raven as a birthmark. His parents had each known the other by the raven mark to be- no wait!
This girl is a daughter of Man, a race that looks down on the sons of Durin, treats them with disrespect and scorn like beggars, and act as if they were possibly thieves ( all this hurt and irked Thorin endlessly), yet she has the mark of the raven- and the runes that clearly spelt his name on her arm. It's impossible, she shouldn't have it. He tries telling himself that his corresponding raven mark with its runes isn't tingling too, that it's just some strange after effect of the recent cold rains, but it's no good lying to himself. Mahal had made his children to endure.
"This isn't just a birthmark." I start when the Dwarf speaks to me. He is regarding me gravely as he speaks, his thumb rubbing a spot on his vambrace; I am lost in his silver blue eyes; they remind me of some mountain lake. Only they're filled with some unexplainable emotions.
Somehow instead of feeling nervous, I feel some other feeling I can't explain, now the surprise of seeing my birthmark glowing had passed.
"What is it?" I whisper, despite the loud talk and laughter drowning out my voice.
"My people call it the Heart's Mark; when a Dwarf is born, he has a mark upon his skin, usually his arm. He also has the runes of his One's name near the mark. His intended One will have the same as well. When they touch for the first time, the mark glows and each feel a tingle, running from the contact to the mark. Then and only then will the Dwarf know he has found his One. Each Dwarven family has a different Heart's Mark." He pauses, then adds softly; somehow it's almost intimate, despite us being in the very public common room. "My family has the raven as a Heart's Mark."
"The Heart's Mark. I love that term; it's- it's lovely, tender." He actually looks a little pleased, or rather his eyes show his pleasure. "Why, we have something similar, only it's called a soul mark- oh!" I freeze, realizing the significance of what had happened.
In the Blue Mountains village where I'd been born and raised, everyone had a soul mark. Mine had been considered a curse, since I never met my mate when I was of wedding age. The elders had ordered me to leave, despite my parents' pleas; if a girl couldn't find her mate, she was considered useless and unfit to be married, according to their decrees. I'd then come here to work at this small inn on the Green Way, saddened and hopeless. I was certain I was going to die as a lone maiden.
But now- "How are we soulmates? It could never work," I whisper, now that the shock of discovering my Soulmate had lifted, " surely it was a mistake. Dwarves and Men weren't meant for each other."
"It can't be a mistake. It shouldn't be." He is serious, realizing that he hadn't expected his One to be a daughter of Men. It hurts to see his disappointment- before he skillfully masks it behind those beautiful eyes. "But, maybe it is."
A loud shout from a patron ends our talk. I am all too glad to go, heart aching at the thought that I'd finally found my soulmate, but we couldn't have each other.
The bed is comfortable and warm, but Thorin can't sleep at all. Images of the girl and her glowing Heart's Mark keep passing through his mind insistently as he shifts around in the bed that was made for Men and not a Dwarf; pleasant images of her soft thick hair, her healthy curves, her eyes, and the glowing raven mark that somehow marked her as his One. Even now in the darkness, he can see his Heart's Mark glowing on the inside of his muscular arm.
It's a grave mistake that happened; she was born with the wrong Mark, he tells himself firmly. She should have a Man as her mate, not a Dwarf. Certainly not him especially; he has an uncertain future ahead, namely the quest into the East, the many dangers, and the Worm himself.
"What if it wasn't a mistake? Mahal doesn't make mistakes when he forges his children; surely the Father of Men doesn't either. You know that, Thorin son of Thrain," the soft voice in his soul whispers, "you're well versed in the lore of your people. Go to her, tell her, and don't leave until she's wearing your beads."
Thorin snorts in the velvety darkness; that last bit sounded like Dis; she'd been telling him he needed a son of his own to succeed him, despite his protests that he had Fili. With a sigh, he gets up, pulls on his tunic and boots, and is reluctantly approaching the door when a shy knock resounds upon it.
I couldn't lie there in bed anymore; the thoughts of this Dwarf being my soulmate kept coming back. It wasn't and shouldn't be possible; we were each of a different race. And yet I couldn't stop my thinking of him; his long black wavy hair with its silver strands, his broad, strong figure, his silvery blue eyes, and that voice- I cut my thoughts short.
He's a Dwarf, he's different, and somehow it's a mistake that we're soulmates, I tell myself firmly. It was probably a freak occurrence that we have matching marks.
"For shame! Eru doesn't make mistakes, you foolish, foolish Liv," my common sense scolds me, "there's no Man out there with a raven and Dwarven runes on his arm. Go to the Dwarf at once."
Quickly, before I change my mind, I rise, slip on my dress and shoes, and slip down the darkened hall. A blush covers my cheeks when I recall how I watched when the Dwarf left for his room. No one else was in this part of the inn tonight. I find the room quickly enough; I tap on the door, then stand there blushing furiously. I wouldn't blame him if he was annoyed or angry at being awakened.
The door opens slowly; to my surprise, he is up and clothed. He is equally surprised, or rather he hides it better, but his eyes soften when he sees me. My surprise increases when he says, softly:
"I was coming to you, my One."
Those few words are all it takes. He sees her maidenly blush, but her eyes show her happiness. She knows. Within a moment, the girl has entered the room. Thorin closes the door between them and the world outside, then he turns to her again. "I don't believe we've asked each other our names. I am Thorin Oakenshield."
"I am Liv Wilfrid's daughter," Liv says softly, "I was from the Blue Mountains. I came here after the elders of my village sent me away, because I didn't find my soulmate when I'd reached wedding age." Her voice trembles a little.
Naturally Thorin is angered, for his One's sake. She is too precious to deserve such ill treatment. "They had no right to treat you like that; my people treat their women with far more respect than that, and wouldn't dare cast one out!" His voice is dark with anger.
"It's in the past now, Thorin. I probably would never had met you if I had stayed, nor would they have allowed our wedding; they weren't fond of Dwarves. Please do not think of avenging me; I'm not worth that." She is trying to calm him, and apparently it works, for he feels the anger slowly departing from him. Liv has a soothing voice, comforting and soft, he thinks.
"You're worth more than what you've said of yourself, Amrâlimê," he says, "my beloved One."
Liv doesn't understand Khuzdul, the secret language of his people, but she must've understood from the the way he said it that it was an endearment, for a shy smile blossoms on her face as she approaches him. Taking her hands ( and marveling at how soft and tiny they are in his large, calloused ones), he draws her closer, then they melt together into their first embrace.
I am lost in bliss as I wrap my arms around Thorin's neck and broad shoulders; this is a dream, it should be, and I dread waking up from it. Yet my Soulmate, my One, is here and real; his heat penetrates my clothing, and his strong arms are wrapped around my waist while he pillows his head against my breast. I bury my fingers in his hair; it is thick but silky soft. He starts, then hums a little when I begin stroking it; evidently he loves it, for he relaxes against me. We just stand there, lost in the blissful feeling of having found each other.
Then Thorin raises his face to look into mine; there's a question and an awakened dark desire in his blue gaze. "Liv..." he whispers, his voice a sensuous growl. It awakens something in me, and I understand without words what he wants.
Bending down further ( thank Eru I was born shorter than most women), I place myself within reach. He cups my face in his hands, then his warm breath caresses my lips, sending quivers through me, then- his lips are moving against mine.
I moan softly, then I am kissing him in return, enjoying the rough silkiness of his beard against my hands and cheeks, his calloused fingers on my jaw, his own very masculine scent that wafts around us, and that sensuously heated kiss that swiftly enkindles a flame deep within me. When he finally parts my lips and captures my tongue in a wet, hot, open mouthed kiss, I forget myself and moan loudly.
"Hush, Amrâlimê, I want no one to hear us." Thorin pulls back enough to warn Liv. He wants no one by to witness as he claims his One; this moment is theirs and theirs alone. Indeed, the thought of this moment being ruined by some rude intruder stirs a fierce jealousy within Thorin.
"Sorry." Liv has the loveliest blush. Unable to resist, Thorin takes her lips again, relishing how soft and smooth Liv's skin is. He takes his time tasting her mouth, as she moans and kisses him back with equal desire. Her hands thread through his hair, making him quiver at her touch. Mahal, she is difficult to resist. He wants her so badly, to make her his, and plait his beads into her hair, to make her his Queen.
Presently they part, breathing hard from roused passion and want of air. Thorin rests his forehead against Liv's forehead gently while his hands reach for and clasp her waist gently. She's breathing hard, her hair is tousled, and her lips are puffy from their kiss. But she's beautiful with her glowing cheeks and eyes. Thorin feels a strong jolt of desire just looking at her. But as strongly as he would like to lay her down in that bed and make her his, he restrains himself.
"My One," he whispers, content to just hold her, "for many years, I thought I would never find you. I'd met many Dwarrowdams; none bore the raven and my name. I was resigned to being alone, like so many of my people. I didn't know that you were here and waiting, just as you didn't know I was out there."
"It was a long, lonely time, Thorin," I whisper, resting my hands on his broad shoulders, "I thought I wouldn't ever meet my soulmate- my One. My Maker thought otherwise, and I thank him."
"As do I." Thorin's broad hands take mine and he leads me to the bed. My stomach flutters, even as my lower belly warms with desire. "I will not dishonor you, Liv; while you are my One, this isn't the time nor place to be as one with you." He sighs gravely as he sits upon the bed. I sit down too, facing him and still holding his hands. While a part of me longed to be with Thorin, the rest of me was grateful that he respected my virtue. "First, I would wed you before we become one in the truest sense of the word. But not tonight, or for a time; I have serious business to undertake."
He then tells me of meeting a Wizard called Tharkûn back in the village of Bree and of a quest to retake his and his people's homeland from a dragon. My heart sinks as I listen. "But- what if you don't ever return? What would become of me? Thorin, let me come with you!"
"The Wild is no place for a woman; this will be a dangerous quest even with an army of Dwarves. I have no desire to lose you, Liv."
"I have no desire to lose you, Thorin!" I don't care if others hear my sobs and tears. I can't lose my Soulmate, now that I've found him. "If you are killed, I may die, if not, be alone again. Please don't go!"
Thorin is unmoved at first, then seeing that my tears won't stop, he pulls me close, murmuring soft words in his mysterious language. I bury my face in his tunic and cry softly. It doesn't help that his scent and heat surround me, reminding me that he will be gone, maybe to never return, on that quest of which he'd spoken of. Life was so cruel; it finally let me find my Soulmate, and now it would take him from me.
At last, I raise my head. Thorin looks so serious, but there's a deep sadness there. "Liv," he whispers, "I wouldn't go if I didn't have to. But it's my people's homeland and mine too, and it will be your home too. I must regain it back. I must."
"Will-will you come back?" I whisper tearfully.
"I cannot promise that. But if I do reach Erebor, I promise to send for you swiftly; I will send one of the ravens with a message when the Mountain is retaken. I'm sure not all of them perished when that thrice accursed Smaug came."
Thorin fingers some of Liv's tresses gently as he speaks. Her hair is beautiful; long with golden highlights amid the brown. How beautiful it would look with gems, golden chains, and mithril beads plaited into it. He acts upon it. "Amrâlimê, it is traditional for Durin's Folk to braid their One's hair with the betrothal braids and beads. Since we are, by virtue of our Heart's Marks, betrothed, allow me to braid your hair."
Despite her obvious sadness, Liv's eyes glow. "Oh yes, Thorin, please do! Do I do anything with your hair to show that you're mine?"
Thorin admires her interest in his culture; he vows to teach her the sacred Khuzdul language when she comes to his reclaimed home. "You may braid mine as well. Do not be afraid to touch it; lovers may touch each other's hair. It's very intimate; you have no idea how affected I was when you touched my hair." The memory of Liv's fingers combing through his scalp and hair sends a strong surge of warmth through Thorin. He whispers a prayer to Mahal that the quest may succeed- and that he be preserved from the madness that affected Thror.
He braids her hair then; an intricately stranded plait behind her ear that he finishes off with the courtship bead- a pretty little thing of silver set with tiny white gems. He'd made it long ago in his youthful days when he'd thought he'd find his One among his people. Now it gleams in the hair of a daughter of Men. Nonetheless, she is his One, and when Liv admires the braid, a strong swelling love for her rushes through Thorin.
Then Liv does his braid- a simpler one, though she finishes it with the rune engraved silver bead Thorin gives her. The gentle caress of her soft hands sends heat flowing through him, inflaming his desire for her more strongly than before.
I've finished the betrothal braid, admiring it as it lies alongside his temple braid, but I can't let Thorin go, not just yet. After touching his hair, my hands wander across his shoulders and arms to slide back up to clasp his face. By Eru, his beard is like rough silk under my palms; the sensation sends pleasant sparks thrilling through me. His eyes flutter shut and he nestles into my palms with a contented sigh as his hands reach for and clasp my waist.
The timeless words are there, but I am afraid to say them, fearing to seem unmaidenly. Yet a part of me wishes to say them before tomorrow comes, and we must part. I nestle closer to him, sliding my arms down around his shoulders, and am rewarded when Thorin, wrapping his arm around my waist, cradles my head in his hand and draws it down to rest his brow against mine. "I could sit with you like this all night, Amrâlimê," he murmurs, "but there is tomorrow, and my return home."
"Yes," I whisper, trying to be brave, "but take care of yourself, and send for me as quickly as possible after you reclaim your mountain."
"My impatient, precious Liv," he nuzzles my nose fondly nevertheless, "I'll send for you quickly so we can begin our life together." The rest is lost in what are apparently endearments in Thorin's own language as he pulls me against his hard chest.
It was now nor never. "Thorin, I- I must tell you something. Something important before you're- gone tomorrow."
"What is it, Liv?" His blue eyes are keen with interest and curiosity. I feel much braver now, emboldened. Pushing back his raven and silver strands from his brow, I whisper softly, only for our ears:
"I love you, Thorin Oakenshield."
He is silent for a moment, which sends my heart plummeting down into my boots. What if it is contrary to Dwarven tradition to say such a thing? Did I manage to offend him? I hitch back slowly, giving him his space.
Then suddenly Thorin is drawing my face back; his heated mouth is on mine, and before he seizes my lips in a passionate kiss, he growls sensually "I love you too, Liv Wilfrid's daughter. My Amrâlimê..."
The rest is lost as we kiss passionately, gripping each other tightly, not worrying about the morrow.
At last, Thorin and Liv part reluctantly, breathing hard and nerves vibrating from the kisses and touching. But they still can't stop touching each other; even as Thorin speaks, he still strokes Liv's sides. "Stay with me, my One, for the night. I promise you that your virtue is safe with me," seeing how she looks a little apprehensive, "I prefer to wait until after Erebor is retaken before you become mine; I wouldn't have you be called dishonorable, even though you are my One."
"I will stay, Thorin." Liv's smile is so bright, bright as fire lit gold, as she nestles closely now; her hands keep wandering across his shoulders and chest as if she can't get enough of touching her One.
She is so soft and warm, all curled around him as he drifts off to sleep; Liv is taller, but somehow she seems tinier in his massive arms, Thorin thinks. She is soft and almost delicate, not like a sturdy Dwarrowdam. But when he glances down at their arms all entwined within each other and sees the Heart's Marks glowing softly, he feels a sense of completion. She is his One, his Amrâlimê, his future Queen.
"Mahal, make me worthy of her."
Tagging list: @fizzyxcustard, @lathalea, @sotwk, @glassgulls @heilith @court-jobi
If you wish to be removed/ wish to be tagged, please let me know.
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