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gloomwitchwrites · 7 months

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Missed Hints

King Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader

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

Word Count: 1.8k

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

A/N: for @protosslady

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

“You’re pregnant, your majesty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is still true. Thorin loves you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Their smiles return but it’s subdued.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First hint dropped.

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

You perfectly understand his meaning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thorin,” you say flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

Still, it brushes right over his head.

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

Maybe you are going to have to say it outright.

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

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

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

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

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

You start to nod, urging him on.

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

“Truly?”

“Found out just this morning.”

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

“Why not say anything?” he asks.

“I did,” you laugh. “Many times.”

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

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

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

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

“Happiest I’ve ever been.”

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

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

“What kind of celebrating?”

“The kind that landed us here.”

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

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

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

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

You nod. “It can wait.”

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

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galatariel · 3 months

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Robbed of their homeland, the Dwarves of Erebor wandered the wilderness a once mighty people brought low. The young Dwarf prince took work where he could find it labouring in the villages of Men. But always he remembered the mountain smoke beneath the moon the trees like torches blazing bright. For he had seen dragon fire in the sky and a city turned to ash. And he never forgave and he never forgot. THORIN II OAKENSHIELD + The Fall of Erebor Flashbacks

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dailyadventureprompts · 6 months

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Do the ethnostates inherent in major fantasy ever feel real weird to you? You’ve got elftopia (full of elves, where everyone speaks elf and worships the elf gods), orc-hold (full of orcs and maybe their slaves, where everyone speaks orc and worships the orc gods), and dwarfton (made by the dwarves! for the dwarves!).

You might have some cosmopolitan areas, usually human-dominant, but those are usually rare enough in-setting that they need to be pointed out separately. Is this just based on a misunderstanding of the medieval era, and the assumption that countries were all racially homogenous?

This has been bouncing around my brain the last little while. Do you have any thoughts on that? Is it just in my head?

I think what you've noticed is a quirk of derivative fantasy writing, which like a lot of hangups with the genre originates in people trying to crib Tolkien's work without really understanding what he was going for:

Though it contains a lot of detail, Tolkien's world is not grounded. It functions according a narrative logic that changes depending on what work in particular you're focusing on at the time (The Hobbit is a fairytale full of tricks and riddles, Lord of the Rings is a heroic epic, The Silmirilion is a legendary history).

One of the reasons the races are separate is to instill the feeling of wonder in the hobbits as POV characters for the reader, other folk live in far off places and are supposed to feel more legendary than our comparatively mundane friends from the shire. The Movies captured this well where going east in middle earth was like going back in time to a more and more mythologized past.

In real life, people don't stay static for thousands of years, no matter how long their people live. They meet, mingle, war and trade. Empires rise and fall creating shrapnel as they go, cultures adapt to a changing environment. This means that any geographic cross section you make is going to be a collage of different influences where uniformity is a glaring aberration.

What the bad Tolkien knockoffs did was take his image of a mythical world and tried to make it run in a realistic setting. Tolkien can say the subterranean dwarven kingdom of Erebor lasted for a thousand years without having to worry about birthrates or demographic shifts or the logistics of farming in a cave because he's writing the sort of story where those things don't matter. D&D and other properties like it however INSIST that their worlds are grounded and realistic but have to bend over backwards to keep things static and hegemonic.

Likewise contributing to the "ethnostate" feeling is early d&d (backbone of the fantasy genre that it is) being created by a bunch of White Midwestern Americans who were not only coming from a background of fantasy wargaming but were working during the depths of the coldwar. Hard borders and incompatible ideologies, cultural hegemony and intellectual isolation, a conception of the world that focused around antagonism between US and THEM. These were people born in the era of segregation for whom the idea of cultural and racial osmosis was alien, to the point where mingling between different fantasy races produced the "mongrelman" monster, natural pickpockets who combined the worst aspects of all their component parts, unwelcome in good society who were most often found as slaves.

This inability to appreciate cultural exchange is likewise why the central d&d pantheon has a ton of human gods with specific carveouts for other races (eventually supplemented with a bunch of race specific minor gods who are various riffs on the same thing). Rather than being universal ideals, the gods were seen as entities just as tribalistic as their followers.

#dnd meta #history #tolkien #the orc dissertation #heavy topics

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runesandramblings · 1 year

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The Heir

Word Count: 2200

Pairings: Thorin x reader

Warnings: None

Description: Your pregnancy creates questions over the line of succession.

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d seen your toes.

As you waddled, quite literally, down the stone corridors of Erebor you realized you could not remember the last time you’d been able to see your feet. Sometime around the middle of your pregnancy it felt as though your stomach had doubled in size overnight, and you’d only grown since then. Dwarves were small, of course, but hobbits were even smaller and you supposed that was why your belly protruded far enough out that you felt it could tip you over at any moment.

“(Y/N), what might I ask are you doing out of bed?”

You turned slowly around, carefully as to not lose your balance, to find Bilbo standing behind you. His arms were crossed over his chest as he gave you a knowing, reprimanding look.

“You should be resting. Didn’t Oin order you to bed until the baby comes?”

Oh Bilbo, ever the worrier. Yes, Oin technically had asked you to remain in bed until you gave birth. Mostly due to your small size and the fact that you were now two days past his original estimation of your due date. But you’d grown restless. There was nothing to do, besides read, and you’d exhausted every book that Ori had been kind enough to bring you. There was also a big decision ahead to be made, and you couldn’t stop troubling yourself over it.

“Has he made an announcement?” You asked quietly.

Bilbo’s frown only deepened as he shook his head.

“No, I don’t believe he has.”

That did nothing to ease the anxious pit in your stomach. Your child could come any day now, and Thorin had still not announced what would become of the line of succession. You felt your heart torn in two directions as you thought of both Fili and your unborn son or daughter. Of course, you wanted your child to have a place in the line. But you also did not want to take away the birthright Fili had held since he himself was a baby. Thorin had never anticipated he would one day take back the mountain. He’d also never anticipated falling in love and finally marrying, after all these years. Fili had held the title of heir for over 80 years now, and it didn’t feel right to take that away.

“Ghivashel.”

You looked up to see Thorin strolling toward you, followed closely by Kili and Fili on either side. Both nodded, bowing their heads to you out of respect. Kili met your gaze with a smile as he lifted his head. You frowned as Fili forced a smile, but would not look you in the eye. The decision that lay ahead had forced a rift between the two of you. It pained you deeply. You’d grown incredibly close to Kili and Fili both on the journey to Erebor, and as your nephews by marriage your relationship had remained close in the years that followed. But the news of your pregnancy had raised the same question in Fili’s mind as it had the rest of the mountain: who would be the heir to the throne?

You couldn’t blame him for worrying. He was not upset with you, as he’d told you numerous times over your pregnancy. But the closer your due date grew, the more distant he became. You knew it was weighing heavily on his mind, as it was yours.

Both brothers excused themselves as they continued down the corridor, leaving you and Thorin to speak privately. Somewhat privately, that was, as you could still feel Bilbo lingering behind you. Ever your protector, as he had been for years.

“What are you doing out of bed? Shouldn’t you be resting?” Thorin placed his hand tenderly on your belly as he spoke.

You rested your hand on top of his as you also looked down at your bump. In spite of the questions, the doubts, and the decisions left to be made, you couldn’t wait to meet your little one. Watching Thorin prepare for the birth of your child had reminded you of all the reasons you fell in love. As crass and cold as he often came off to those who didn’t know him well, you knew there was a hidden soft side underneath. The caring, gentle man that you’d grown to know and love over the course of the journey to Erebor.

“I was just checking to see if you’d made a decision, yasthûn. It’s making me restless.”

He shook his head as he turned his gaze from your stomach to look into your eyes.

“You don’t need to trouble yourself over that, my love. You need your rest. I can’t have you going into labor in some obscure corner of the mountain.” He looked behind you to where Bilbo still stood. “Master Baggins, would you escort the queen back to our chambers?” He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “I will see you later this evening. Rest.” He said sternly, his serious expression cracking into a smile as he turned to follow in the direction Kili and Fili had gone.

You sighed in defeat as you accepted Bilbo’s outstretched arm. The two of you walked in silence for several minutes as he steered you back towards your rooms.

“Never thought we’d be here.” He said finally, breaking the silence.

“You mean with myself as a queen and you as a royal advisor to a king?” You asked as you waddled along beside him. You hadn’t either.

Bilbo had been your neighbor in Bag End. He had taken notice when you moved in as you were very young and lived alone, and he’d taken it upon himself to look after you. The pair of you had become close friends, often gardening together and exchanging stories over daily tea and cakes for years. On the fateful night of the dwarves' arrival to his home, you’d just so happened to be over for dinner. Gandalf had not anticipated getting two hobbits in the place of one, but he had willingly accepted your offer to join the party. During the journey something had sparked between you and Thorin, and although he was the holdout he eventually confessed his feelings after you’d defeated Smaug. The two of you had married shortly after the battle against Azog and his armies, and the rest was history.

You felt yourself growing tired as you neared your chamber door. It was amazing how such little effort wore you out nowadays. The baby could not come soon enough.

“Thank you, Bilbo.” You said, stopping before your door. “I’m always grateful for you.”

He smiled in return as held it open for you.

“Anything for you, dear friend.”

Your walk that afternoon seemed to have done the trick, and later that same evening you went into labor. Thorin had remained by your side through the entirety of your twelve hour labor, and you’d given birth to a baby girl. After a few days of debate over a name, Dis had actually been the one to help you decide.

“Rosina is such a beautiful name, (Y/N). How did you come up with it?”

Tauriel held your baby girl in her arms, rocking her gently. Oin had instructed you to have no visitors for the first two weeks, with the exception of Dis and Thorin. It was winter, and sickness often spread much more quickly in the cold months. After the ban on visitors had finally been lifted Tauriel had been the first to come and see your daughter, and she’d been spending every afternoon in your chambers since.

You smiled as you watched her with your newborn, wondering when she and Kili would have a little one of their own.

“Rosie is a popular name in Bag End, and I’ve always loved it. Dis altered it into Rosina, actually.”

“Well it’s a perfect fit for a little princess. I think she looks just like you.” She said, beaming down at your infant as she spoke.

The mention of the word princess instantly drew your thoughts back to Thorin, Fili, and the decision still at hand. It was nearing the three week mark since Rosina’s birth, and Thorin had still not made an announcement on his succession.

“I think she looks like Thorin.” You said, trying to turn your thoughts away from troubles that continued to plague you. “Especially when Dis holds her. You can really see the Durin resemblance.”

A gentle knock at the door interrupted your conversation, and after you called out that it was safe to enter Kili stepped into the room.

“My queen.” He greeted, nodding. His grin widened as he turned to Tauriel. “My love. (Y/N), are you feeling well enough to join us? Thorin has an announcement he’d like to make.”

You felt your pulse quicken as you quickly stood from your chair. This was it.

Tauriel offered a reassuring smile as she placed Rosina back in your outstretched arms. She knew as well as Kili did of the tension surrounding the impending decision.

Your heart continued to pound in your chest as you followed Kili down the endless corridors. The walk to Thorin’s meeting space had never felt so long. What had he decided? Would Fili resent you and your daughter forever? Would your child ever take the throne?

You entered the room to find Thorin sat at the head of the table. Fili sat on his right, followed by his wife. Bilbo, Dis, Balin, and a handful of other advisors sat around them, all watching you expectantly as you walked through the door. The seat on Thorin’s left was open, and as you made eye contact he smiled warmly and stood to greet you. You felt all eyes in the room follow you as you moved to stand beside your husband. As you approached he reached out and gently took the baby from you, holding her in one arm as he pulled your seat out with the other. He beamed proudly as he stood at the head of the table, holding her out just far enough for the others to see.

“First things first. Please meet the newest princess under the mountain, my beautiful daughter Rosina.”

The room was filled with happy murmurs and whispered congratulations as the faces around the table exchanged smiles and compliments toward your newborn. You saw Fili smile up at her as well from his seat next to Thorin, though you could see the hint of sadness behind his eyes. Another pang of guilt and worry shot through you.

“I know there have been many questions and concerns over the line of succession in the past months.” He began, rocking your daughter gently as he spoke. “I never expected I would marry, or become a father.

“However, there is no doubt in my mind that I made the right decision in naming Fili as my heir. He has remained my faithful right hand for many years. He’s learned and absorbed everything I’ve had to offer. It is not merely a name that makes a king, and whether or not he is my son by birth he is willing and capable of leading Erebor one day.”

You exchanged a glance across the table with Fili as Thorin continued.

“Therefore, the line of succession will continue as follows. Upon either my death or retirement, Fili will become king under the mountain. But in order to remain fair to my own children, upon Fili’s death or retirement, the line will revert back to my daughter, and any future children she may have.” He paused, looking around the table. “Does this please you all?”

There was a chorus of affirmations and nods from around the table. Thorin turned to his nephew.

“Fili?”

The worried lines that had furrowed his brow for many months now had dissipated. You could see the relief and surprise across the young dwarf’s face.

“I am more than pleased, Uncle.” He said. “You honor me.”

“Fili will make a wonderful king.” You spoke up, smiling across the table. The decision had not been one you’d even stopped to consider, and you were thrilled. Fili would not lose his position, and your daughter would not be snubbed. It was a win for everyone.

Fili beamed back at you in response.

“Rosina will make a wonderful queen one day as well.” As he spoke he gestured to your daughter in Thorin’s arms, indicating he’d like to hold her. As he cradled the baby against his chest you felt your heart swell. Seeing the two of them together filled your mind with so many visions of your future as a family. You could see it now: Fili taking his little cousin under his wing as she grew, he and Kili both teaching her to play pranks on Thorin as they had. Maybe even little ones of their own for her to play with in the future.

“The first queen under the mountain.” Fili continued, smiling from your daughter up to look at you. “She’s going to make history.”

Yasthûn - husband

Ghivashel - my treasure

#the hobbit #lord of the rings #the hobbit oneshot #the hobbit trilogy #the hobbit movies #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit x reader #thorin x reader #thorin oakenshield #thorin #thorin x you #Thorin Oakenshield x reader #Thorin Oakenshield x you #thorin x y/n #king thorin #thorin oneshot #Thorin imagine

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mrkida-art · 1 year

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The tears of a king who was crowned far too soon

#the hobbit #my art #tolkien #lotr #dwarves #the lord of the rings #durin's folk #longbeards #thrór #thrór son of dáin #thorin's family #the line of durin #the royal line of durin #the war of dwarves and dragons #ered mithrin #the fall of ered mithrin #erebor #the king under the mountain

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samthekind · 1 year

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i love how no one died in the hobbit and thorin & bilbo got married and rebuilt erebor and ruled together for 40 years and then handed the crown to fili and then thorin & bilbo retired in bag end and then adopt frodo together and watched fondly as him and sam fall in love. ya know.

#i'm so glad all of this really happened exactly like this 🙂#bagginshield #samfro #my posts

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lazyzineknightwobbler · 4 months

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Do you think bilbo would have cried when Legolas brought Gimli to the undying lands. Just the thought of how unfair it was that his dwarf couldn't come. Because his dwarf has been dead and in a place where Bilbo could never follow, for a long, long time.

No matter how much he wished to have been able to see him again.

Or, do you think he had this silent sad smile on his face. The ache of not having his dwarf in his life had dulled throughout the years into the sharp needle prick sensation, the one you get when your foot falls asleep. It isn't there most days till you try to move it and then you are left with the sting. It would be a sort of comfort to tug at that sensation every once in a while. For Bilbo to know he still cared.

Would he be angry, that they took away his chance at finding him again. Jealous that these youngsters were able to grasp a happiness that he can only dream of.

Or, would Bilbo just be numb to it all? The old wounds opened and he sat with them in silence.

Do you think Gandalf rested his hand on Bibo's shoulder in silent support and understanding?

I think at the end of the day, he would still cry. Not in front of them, he would be happy for them, of course. But in the comfort of people who understood. He is happy to be here with Frodo, but some days, he finds his eyes wandering back to Erobor, where his dwarf was put to rest. In the halls of his forefathers. And Bilbo would wish he left just a bit sooner to have made it back to Erebor one last time. To say his final goodbye.

#lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #bagginshield #bilbo baggins

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fizzyxcustard · 11 months

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Desperation.

Requested by anon and @skeleton-on-wheels0

Taken from: "Imagine that you find out Thorin is in love with you. But you accuse him of only wanting you because you’re the only woman in the Company and he’s desperate. You deeply offend him."

Again, I’m going to post this as a drabble as it’s fairly short, and I won’t tag anyone.

“I am in love with you,” Thorin said softly as he stood next to you in Beorn’s barn. The midnight moon shone upon his face, highlighting his silver blue eyes, making them sparkle like aquamarine stones.

A shiver of anticipation raced down your spine at his revelation. Why on earth would Thorin ever feel something for you? Immediately your mind began rationalising his feelings, churning it all over in your mind. For a few seconds and you were silent.

“And you do not feel the same?” Thorin asked sadly. “I knew it was best I keep my thoughts to myself.”

“Thorin,” you whispered, placing your hand on his arm. “I…I know I’m the only woman in the Company and no doubt as a male, you’re going to have urges…”

“That is what you think?” he hissed. “You think this is all about me wanting to seduce you?”

“Please, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then how did you mean it?

Something snapped within you, a sore pressure point that had been prodded many times over the years. A place where a deeply buried scar lay untouched, waiting for someone to inadvertently uncover it with their words. A flash of anger hit you full force in your head and chest. “You’re just desperate!” you shouted.

With that, you turned around stormed away towards the back of the barn and slumped down on a bale of hay. Tears were falling down your cheeks now in quick procession which you rubbed away in frustration, only making your cheeks turn redder.

Thorin sighed and grit his teeth, sensing that your words came from a place of pain. However, those words had also deeply pained him in return. Did you think so little of him? Trust so little?

***

The next morning and the tension was still thick between you and Thorin. The whole of the Company, including Gandalf, all sat around a large table, drinking milk and eating honeycakes, specially made by the host himself. However, Beorn announced gruffly that he had no more honeycakes for that morning’s meal, and you were the last person he was intending to serve.

All the Dwarves, Bilbo and Gandalf looked on, their mouths full of food. Except Thorin. He was sat opposite you and immediately reached across to you and handed his cake to you. “Please, eat,” he said, offering you the cake and a sad smile.

“I can’t take your breakfast,” you replied.

“You can and you will,” Thorin said again, placing the cake on your plate.

“Maybe we could split it?”

Thorin didn’t respond, but instead kept his gaze locked on you as you broke the cake in half and then gave a portion back to him.

***

After breakfast, you and Bilbo began filling the saddlebags of the ponies which Beorn was lending you. He had since made more honeycakes, enough to see all of you with food for a good couple of weeks.

“May we have a moment, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked, suddenly appearing before you both. His eyes then moved to you, telling Bilbo that he wished to talk to you.

“Oh, yes, sorry,” Bilbo said, flashing a nervous smile.

“I wish to talk to you about last night. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way. That was never my intention to do so. But what I told you is the truth, and it has nothing at all to do with you being the only female in this Company. I am quite appalled that you think I would pursue you without any real feelings being involved.”

Your gaze locked with his and you began to speak. “It was unfair of me to say what I did, and I’m sorry. Very few men have ever shown any interest in me in such a way, and then I become a member of your Company and find that you, the rightful king of your homeland, somehow has fallen in love with me. It reads like a pathetic joke. Maybe once we get to Erebor and you see more women again you may…”

“No,” Thorin insisted. “Why do you think so low of yourself? Who has broken you to the point that you cannot accept a declaration of love? I’d hoped you had begun to trust me by now. It is clear you don’t.”

“I do trust you. Implicitly.”

“Obviously not. You cannot trust that my words are true, and that they come from my heart. I love you for everything that you are, for the woman you are. Not because of some lack of choice.”

The sadness in his eyes was so clear to see and it made a lump rise in your throat. To keep doubting his love and pushing him away would be wrong of you. It was obvious that Thorin was speaking truth.

#Thorin Oakenshield #Richard Armitage #Thorin x You #Thorin x Reader #Thorin x Fem!Reader #Thorin Oakenshield x You #Thorin Oakenshield x Reader #Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader #The Hobbit #Thorin Imagine #The Hobbit Imagine #Thorin Oakenshield Imagine #Drabble

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plussizefantasia · 1 year

Text

Fluttering Heart

Fluffober Day 13: Soulmates

Kili Durin x f!human!reader

Word Count: 1.5k

AN: OMG! This has definitely been my favorite to write so far. I love Kili with my whole heart and that for sure came out while I was writing. I really want to see about making this a longer series once October ends, if anyone wants to see that leave a comment and let me know.

divider credit @royallaesthetics

The culture of the dwarves is much like their treasure, kept under lock and key. Histories, customs, and traditions all are played very close to the chest of the stubborn race. The only beings who are let in on the secret are those lucky enough to be a fated match.

There are different names for these matches in every culture, Soulmates, true loves, twin flames. The dwarves called them Ones. To find your One was said to be the best day of your life. At least that is what Kili thought, he wouldn’t know though. He hadn’t met his yet.

His uncle’s one had been the Hobbit, Bilibo took longer to fall than Thorin but fell just as hard if not harder than the dwarf. The two were very much in love, it was sickening. His mother’s One had been his father, and he doesn’t remember much about their time together. Fee’s One was a lovely lass that had come from the Blue Mountains to try and establish herself as a seamstress under the mountain.

All of them had told him how wonderful finding their Ones was, even Thorin whose One was not of the race of Dwarf and thusly did not feel the same pull that he had. Thorin had to actually make Bilbo fall in love with him, which amused Kili to no end because of how much their two personalities seemed to clash.

Kili hates spending time under the mountain now, he loves Erebor and takes pride in the fact that he was one of the brave few who had reconquered it, but everywhere he looked he saw people being happy with something he did not have.

The feeling went much deeper than those childhood squabbles he had had with Fili when the two pebbles would play together. Jealousy over toys was easily remedied, the ache that had recently taken up residence in Kili’s heart was much more difficult to push aside or fix.

So he had taken to going for walks. He had volunteered himself too many times to be the point of contact for the King of Dale. He had told Thorin it was because he wanted to prove that he could be trusted with matters of diplomacy. He might not be next in line, but he was still a prince and could take care of these things. It was on one of these trips to Dale that Kili met the very person who would change his life.

She was of the race of men and seemed to work in one of the few taverns that housed the nightlife of the town. Kili was in a sort of informal meeting with Bard, his son Bain, and the Captain of the Guard. They were discussing a deal between the two kingdoms where Erebor would provide the army of Dale with iron-forged armor and weapons and in turn, Dale would pledge their allegiance to the kingdom under the mountain in any future battle. Kili couldn’t help but find the humor in the reversal of roles as if the company had not asked and pledged the same things five years ago. This clause was only one of the facets that made up the current peace treaty in the works. It was Kili’s idea to have the meeting in a less tense and stuffy room than they were previously held in.

“Everybody has to eat Bard, why don’t we eat and talk at the same time? I’m sure we’d all be much more comfortable.” Bard had agreed at the behest of Bain who had laughed and reminded his father of the last time he had had a proper meal. After that, the men had embarked towards Bard’s favorite tavern. And judging by the way he had jovially called out to the man behind the bar, he was at least acquainted with the people who worked there.

Their waitress was a beautiful woman, who had skills like Kili had never seen, and he had been in a lot of taverns. She was able to carry three trays of piping hot food at the same time and at one point he had even seen her stack and move at least twelve pint glasses to a rowdier table towards the back of the establishment. And she did all this with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

If only he would actually get to talk to her. The tavern was busy and she seemed to be one of the only other people working besides the man behind the bar and whoever was preparing the food to be served. She was never in the same place for a very long time. After she had gotten their initial order she had placed their pints down and immediately zipped off to fulfill the next request.

Without the ability to actually talk to her, Kili had to settle for second-hand knowledge. “So what can you tell me about the woman who served us?” Kili asked nobody in particular.

“Why, do you fancy her?” Came Bain’s reply.

“No, but any woman that can carry that much and move that fast without wasting a drop is certainly one I want to get to know.”

“Her name is y/n, She’s apprenticed to Brant, the man who owns this tavern. She arrived in Dale a year or two ago. I think she's from Bree but she's settled here. I think she has an arrangement with him, when he finally retires the place will be hers.” Bard had explained, throwing a somewhat scolding glance at his son. Kili might be young and more carefree than his uncle but he is still a prince and Bard did not wish to offend him.

“Interesting, any idea why she left Bree? It’s quite a long journey to take on your own.” Kili asked.

“Why don’t you ask her?” A third, much more feminine voice replied. Kili who had not seen her make her way over to their table, had nearly jumped out of his skin. The other men tried and failed to hide their amusement at his predicament. “After all, I’m sure she’d be willing to tell you as long as she didn’t catch you talking about her when she wasn’t around.” She had said all of this with a smile spread across her face and delight in her voice. Kili wasn’t really sure how she felt about his impolite inquiries, but she hadn't chased him out of the establishment with a broom yet, so he thought he was okay.

“I’ve gotten everyone else settled and thought I’d come visit the King, how are you this evening King Bard?” her attention was firmly placed on the King of Dale now, and Kili longed for her piercing gaze to once again land on him.

“I’ve told you, it’s just Bard, all of this King nonsense will just go to my head,”

“Of course King Bard.” She smirked and turned towards the rest of the men. “Anything else I can get you, gentlemen?” With a firm nod at their newest order, she spun and headed back towards the bar.

“I think I’m in love.” Kili had said under his breath.

“I think it’ll take you much more than that to win her over.” Bain had replied, hearing Kili’s self-confession. “Every time we’re in here I see her turn down men. Granted, most of them are usually drunkards but the principle is all the same.”

Kili was certain that the fluttering in his chest and the feeling of light-headedness had to mean something. And given that both the feelings had started right after she had spoken to him, he was pretty sure he knew what it was.

“Here you are boys, four more pints and a basket of bread, on the house.” She had placed the basket of bread and little bowls of butter and honey on the table. When she pulled her hand away it bumped into Kili and sent a wave of shocks all the way up his arm.

#plus size reader #plus size!reader #fanfic #fluff #x reader #flufftober #kili durin #kili #thorin #bagginshield #just a little bit #kili x reader #kili the dwarf #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit #kili x you #kili x plus size reader #kili durin x reader #hobbit fic

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sweetbutpsychobutsweet · 6 months

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The Wandering Widow

Chapter 12

Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader

Summary: while recovering from the close call with Azog, you and the rest of the company seek shelter in a nearby tavern. unfortunately, it happens to be a tavern you have a lot of history with. will your traveling companions discover the connection between you and the seedy tavern?

Warnings: no use of y/n, angst, 18+, NSFW, minors do not interact, attempted fingering, brief descriptions of bloody wounds/injuries

Author's Note: This one ended up being a looong chapter but the next few installments include scenes I've been excited about writing for a while😊 I've already started writing the next one so hopefully it shouldn't take too long to post! Thank you so much to everyone who has already shown so much support to the previous chapters. It really makes my day getting to read all of your sweet comments😘

Word count: 3473

You’re vaguely aware of the sun shining down on your face, warming your skin. You squint at the bright light before the sun is blocked out by a shadowy form standing over you. It calls out your name and you groan in response.

“Am I dead?” you ask and the shadow laughs. “Not for lack of trying,” Kili says and you peel an eye open to squint at him.

“Thorin?” Kili nods to where the others are sitting a few feet away from you. You turn your head to see Gandalf crouching over a still-unconscious Thorin. Before you can start to panic, the wizard waves a hand over his face and Thorin jolts awake. He calls out your name hoarsely and Gandalf motions to where you still lay.

“Don’t worry,” he assures him, “she’s just fine.”

Dwalin and Gandalf help him to his feet and Kili brings a gentle hand to your back as you sit up.

Shaking off the help, Thorin takes a few steps closer, towering over you. He extends a hand out, and while you would normally wave it off, this time you let yourself take it. Sliding your hand into his you let him pull you to your feet until you’re standing face to face.

He takes a step back, keeping his hand intertwined in yours as he looks you over head to toe.

Your head is still throbbing from where you were knocked to the ground. Thorin’s gaze falls on the wound, his eyes widening in concern.

“I’m fine,” you assure him before he can overreact. Especially considering he’s in much worse shape than you are.

“You could have died,” he whispers hoarsely, brows furrowing in concern.

“Well you made almost getting killed by an orc look like so much fun,” you shrug, “I thought I’d join you.”

He shakes his head with a sigh, clearly satisfied you can’t be too badly injured if your sense of humor is still intact.

Reluctantly he drops your hand, stepping around you to address a relieved-looking hobbit.

“And you,” he snaps, “what were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!”

Bilbo blinks in shock. “Did I not say that you would be a burden?” he continues, stalking closer to the hobbit. “That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?”

Bilbo drops his gaze sadly and you’re about to give Thorin another head injury when he continues.

“I have never been so wrong in all my life,” Thorin sighs, enveloping the hobbit in a warm embrace.

“You saved my life, you saved her life,” he gestures to you with a rare smile.

“But I am sorry I doubted you.”

“No, I would have doubted me too,” Bilbo assures him. “I’m not a hero or a warrior. Not even a burglar.”

You laugh and step forward to give the hobbit’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as the eagles fly off overhead with the sunrise.

Thorin suddenly goes still beside you. You follow his gaze over Bilbo’s shoulder and gasp.

“Is that what I think it is?” Bilbo asks as you all walk closer to the edge of the cliff. Gazing in awe at the single solitary peak sitting on the horizon.

“Erebor,” Gandalf confirms. “The lonely mountain, the last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle Earth.”

“Our home,” Thorin smiles and looks over at you, a warm feeling blooming in your chest as he interlaces your fingers with his again.

You don’t tear your gaze from his until a chirping noise catches your attention as a dark bird glides overhead, seemingly headed to the same place as the rest of you.

“A raven!” Oin exclaims. “The birds are returning to the mountain!"

“That my dear, Oin,” Gandalf corrects, “is a thrush.”

“But we’ll take it as a sign,” Thorin says from beside you, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “A good omen.”

“You’re right,” Bilbo agrees, “ I do believe the worst is behind us.”

“I should hope so,” you sigh. “I for one don’t think I could stomach seeing one more orc until I’ve gotten at least a few ales in me.”

“We should find lodging in a tavern tonight,” Thorin agrees, “somewhere we can rest before continuing our journey.”

“Oh no!” you gasp turning to face him fully.

“Oin did you hear that?” you call out to the healer. “Thorin just agreed with me, it must be worse than we thought.”

The rest of the company chuckles as you all start to gather your things.

“I do believe The Wandering Widow is only a few miles from us,” Gandalf supplies. You freeze at the name, looking up to see the wizard giving you a mischievous grin.

Of course, you mutter to yourself, why wouldn’t Gandalf know your connection to that specific tavern?

You narrow your eyes at the wizard, daring him to reveal what he knows to the rest of the group. He just gives you a conspiratory wink and continues down the rocky path.

That wizard had better keep his mouth shut if he knows what’s good for him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The tavern is exactly as you remember it.

It’s been a few years since you last set foot on the booze-soaked floorboards, but not a single thing has changed since then. The decor is exactly the same, with the smell of mead and stale smoke still lingering in the air.

Even after all this time, you know there’s still a chance that the staff will recognize you. So you elect to disappear among your kin, sticking close to the group with your hood pulled over your head and your gaze cast downwards.

Gandalf split off from the group upon your arrival, volunteering himself to haggle with the owner over reserving rooms for all of you.

“He’s been gone awhile,” Bilbo remarks from behind the large mug of ale set in front of him. He took all of one sip of the drink before trying to surreptitiously slide the drink further away from him without anyone noticing.

“I’ll go check on him,” Balin offers, sliding his chair back.

“No,” you stop him, “I’ll go, I could use another drink anyways,” you lie.

While it is true you’re not nearly as drunk as you’d like to be, you suspect you already know the reason for the delay.

You can feel Thorin’s eyes on the back of your head as you go, reluctantly pulling off your hood as you duck out of the room.

Your mood has noticeably shifted with the anxiety over returning to this tavern with the company in tow. Thorin made no mention of your change in mood during the journey here, but you know he's noticed by the way you keep catching him watching you with that concerned look in his eyes.

Thankfully he doesn’t bring it up. Either because he’s too relieved you’re both alive to pick a fight right now or because he can sense how badly you’d like to avoid this conversation with him right now.

You can hear the raised voices before you even push the door open.

Sure enough, the wizard is in a very heated argument with the tavern owner.

“Have you gone mad?! No establishment in all of Middle Earth would charge that much per night!”

“Well, good luck finding another establishment willing to accommodate that many dwarves at once.” Grumbles the red-faced proprietor. “1500 a night. Take it or leave it.”

“Bertram Blackwood,” you sigh dramatically from the doorway, “are you trying to take advantage of my friend here?”

Both of the men turn to look at you in surprise. Bertram whispers your name in surprise.

“As I live and breathe,” he chuckles dryly. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you anytime soon. Not since you disappeared like a thief in the night.”

“I didn’t actually steal anything,” you remind him, “I only took the money I was owed.”

“Took a lot more than that,” he grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest, “lost a lotta my regular customers when my headlining act up and left.”

“Yes I do recall hearing lots of complaints across the land when a famous tavern dancer suddenly stopped performing,” Gandalf chuckles.

How he was able to figure out that was you, is a mystery you aren’t prepared to solve right now.

“I’m afraid I was presented with an opportunity I couldn’t refuse. But that’s not important right now. Perhaps, you’d be willing to give my friends and me a discount? For old time's sake?”

You bat your eyelashes and try to give Bertram your most charming smile.

He just scoffs at your attempts. “If you want to bring ‘old times’ into it, it’s just gonna cost you more, girl.”

“We’ve been traveling for some time now, and many of us are injured,” Gandalf pleads, trying to appeal to his emotional side. You should have explained to the wizard that Bertram Blackwood has no emotions to appeal to.

“You think you’re the first to show up on my doorstep with some sob story? You don’t stay at The Wandering Widow for a vacation, you stay when everything else has gone to shit.”

“Okay, okay,” you sigh, rubbing your temples. “What if we pay you the regular rate and…” you huff reluctantly, “I’ll put on an encore performance while we’re here.”

A triumphant smile creeps onto Bertram’s face and Gandalf raises a brow in surprise.

“But!” you stare them both down, “you both have to swear that you won’t breathe a word of this to the others. Especially, Thorin.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

After swearing them both to secrecy and paying for the rooms, you and Gandalf return to the others with arms full of ale.

“Everything alright?” Thorin asks the both of you as you slide another drink over to him.

“It is now,” you assure him, as you bring another mug to your lips.

“The owner was trying to overcharge us but we handled it. We’ll have several rooms for the next few nights.”

He nods tersely and goes to reach for the ale you set in front of him.

As soon as he lifts his arm he visibly flinches in discomfort, reminding you that hours ago a warg tried to turn him into a chew toy.

“Have you had Oin look at those bites yet?” you ask and he nods over to where Oin and several other dwarves are slumped against the table, surrounded by several empty tankards of ale. “Our healer seems otherwise engaged at the moment.”

“I can do it,” you offer, not wanting to see him pushing through the pain any longer.

He raises a brow, unsure about your healing abilities. And rightfully so after all your botched attempts to patch the both of you up as children when you were out getting into trouble.

“I can at least dress it for you,” you assure him, “so it doesn’t get infected. It’s not like I’m offering to perform surgery or anything.”

“As long as you promise not to use any sharp objects near me,” he grumbles, slowly rising from the table with a groan.

“I’m afraid I can make no such promises,” you sigh, leading him up the stairs to your rooms.

“As long as I don’t lose a limb I suppose you can’t make things worse,” you glare over your shoulder at him, and the small smirk he tries to hide as he climbs up the stairs behind you.

Reaching the end of the hallway, you push open the door to a spacious bedroom. Thorin closes the door behind you with a click as you shrug off your cloak.

It's only then that you realize what you’ve just volunteered yourself for. The two of you are now alone for the first time since… he convinced you to end your survival fast using sexual favors.

And if memory serves, the warg bit him around the midsection which means… “You’ll have to take off your shirt,” you instruct him, purposefully trying to avoid making eye contact.

Instead you busy yourself by digging through your discarded bag, searching for the tinctures and bandages you might need.

Taking a shaky breath you finally turn to face him, biting your bottom lip absentmindedly at the sight of him pulling his shirt overhead. His back is still to you and you let your eyes trace the corded muscles of his back.

You’re so lost in thought that you forget to avert your gaze as he turns to face you. He smirks when he catches you watching him. “See something you like?”

You roll your eyes, strolling closer to him with your arms full of medical supplies.

“Just sit down,” you grumble, tossing the items onto the bedside table before giving his shoulder a gentle shove until he sits down in front of you.

Your fingers absentmindedly run down his chest as you assess the wound at his midsection. Teeth marks line his abdomen in a semi-circle, still red and angry.

You bite down on your lip again, not expecting it to be this bad. It's a miracle he walked all the way down the mountain without showing any signs of distress. Whatever healing Gandalf used to bring him back to consciousness must have helped to keep the discomfort to a minimum.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” you mumble, walking across the room to dip a clean rag in the basin of hot water. If he hadn’t been wearing several heavy layers that warg would have bitten right through him.

“As are you,” he reminds you, wincing when you gently bring the damp rag to the edge of his wound. Bringing your free hand to his shoulder, you step closer to Thorin. Until you’re standing directly between his legs.

When you bring the rag back to the edge of the wound he tries to jerk away again. But this time you maintain a firm grasp on his shoulder to keep him in place.

He clenches his jaw and his hands snake up your thighs to rest on your hips. Fingers dig deeper into your flesh with every stroke of the cloth. His grip is so strong it should be painful, but instead you have to suppress a moan at the feeling of Thorin's fingers bruising your skin.

“I haven’t yelled at you yet,” he grinds out, trying to distract himself from the pain.

“You yelled at the hobbit,” you remind him, “isn’t that close enough?”

He lets out a weak laugh as you set the cloth down and pick up the tin of salve beside you.

“You jumped in first,” he grunts as your sticky fingertips brush against his skin. “He was just following your lead.”

“I suppose,” you hum absentmindedly.

“It was reckless,” he grumbles.

“Mmhmm,” you apply the rest of the salve to the wound.

“You almost died right in front of me,” he reminds you.

“I know, I was there,” you reach for the bandages, beginning to wrap his wound.

“I almost lost you,” he whispers, “I- you can’t do something that dangerous again.”

Your fingers go still on the bandages and you look up at his face.

“Why do you think I did it in the first place? Out of boredom? You were the one who ran head first into the jaws of a warg, did you think I was going to just sit back and watch you lose your head?”

“Is losing your own head any better?” he narrows his eyes at you.

“This is the part where you thank me for quite literally sticking my neck out for you.” You tie off the bandage at his midsection a little tighter than necessary before tossing the excess off to the side. “Is it really so hard to accept help when you need it Thorin?”

Crossing your arms over your chest you level a steely glare at him.

You expect him to return the look, but instead he just reaches for the discarded rag beside you. Brushing your hair out of your face, he lifts the rag up to your head. You try to jerk yourself away but his free hand is still at your hip and he holds you firmly in place.

“Is it really so hard to accept help when you need it?” he throws your words back at you and you relent with an irritated huff.

He gently wipes all the blood and dirt from your face. Removing all the evidence from your most recent brush with death. As if it will be enough to make either of you forget you almost died in each other's arms. The only time you want to be lying on top of Thorin like that is in a much different scenario.

A scenario you can't help but imagine, now that you're alone together again.

As Thorin focuses on cleaning your face, you focus on studying his. His brows are furrowed in concentration as he cleans the head wound.

Thorin stills when he catches you watching him, and you don’t bother to divert your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that, lass,” he growls in warning.

“Or what?” you tilt your head at him, the edges of your mouth quirking up into a smirk.

He remains still as a statue under your challenging gaze. You slowly glide your hands up his bare chest, wrapping your arms around your neck. He growls your name under his breath, nostrils flaring as he tries to restrain himself from taking the bait.

You know it's probably not the best time for it. You’re both injured, and it’s been a very long day. But that only seems further reason for the two of you to release the tension on each other.

You lean forward to rest your forehead against his and he drops the cloth, encircling his arms around your waist.

“Can you tell me what you’re sitting on right now, my king?” you whisper.

“A bed,” he grumbles as you gently press your lips against his forehead.

“And do you recall what you said would happen the next time we came across a bed?” you pull back to look at his face and his eyes darken at the memory of the last time your limbs were entangled together like this.

“I only said I would fuck you in a bed,” he smirks up at you, “I didn’t say it would be the next one.”

“Suit yourself,” you sigh dramatically, “I’ll just have to ask someone else.” You go to pull away from him and with a low growl, he yanks you right back in until you’re practically in his lap. He releases a hand from your waist to grip your jaw, pulling your face down to his.

“There will be no one else,” he growls before crashing his lips against yours.

You moan against the kiss before bringing your hands up to his shoulders, giving him a gentle shove back onto the bed. You break your lips from his to crawl your way up his body. Careful to not jostle the wound at his abdomen.

You’re about to seat yourself on Thorin’s lap when he suddenly wraps his arms around your waist, flipping you both over so he is towering above you.

Burying his face in your hair, he slowly glides his tongue against the junction where your neck meets your shoulder. Playfully biting at your skin you wrap your arms around his neck again, pulling him down closer to you with a deep moan.

Thorin's free hand brushes against your side, tracing the curves of your body all the way down to your ass. “Did you really think I would pass up an opportunity to have you all to myself?”

He snakes a hand down your trousers, cupping the heat between your legs. You tighten your arms around his neck, keeping your bodies glued together as he starts to tease your dripping entrance.

His lips brush the shell of your ear. “You’re all mine tonight,” he whispers before plunging a finger all the way inside of you.

You open your mouth in surprise, a cry of pleasure traveling up from your diaphragm. But before it can pass your lips you’re interrupted by the creak of the door swinging open.

You both jump at the intrusion, turning to see Kili and Fili standing frozen in the doorway with eyes wide. “Uhhh,” Kili’s jaw goes slack as he grips a bloodied rag in his hand. “Kili, uh, sliced his hand on a broken bottle,” Fili mumbles trying to look anywhere but at the two of you. “Balin said you were already patching up Thorin so we thought…”

With a heavy sigh, you let your head fall back against the pillow beneath you, looking up at Thorin. He narrows his eyes at you, subtly shaking his head.

“Come on in,” you grumble across the room, reluctantly pushing Thorin off of you.

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@lyl1pad @bruhk @eri-s-big-sis

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