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#oakenshield hall
skylightangels · 1 year
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no because in movie!canon, thorin is literally in love with bilbo. how else am i supposed to interpret the acorn scene. the mithril scene. the "you have no claim over me." if it's not gay then what is it?
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velvet4510 · 21 days
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love the headacannon that Bilbo just breaks into mahal’s halls to see his dwarves and mahal is just like “where did this small sassy creature come from????”
like one day mahal just bursts into Thorin’s room holding Bilbo by his collar
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poedameronwifey · 2 months
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A true home(The hobbit Fanfic)
Chapter 15
Author's Pov
Now let's get back to the book before Renee and Lilith get even more hangry. We need some Grumpy Thorin because who doesn't like Grumpy Thorin. If you don't, Your parents never loved you...Kidding. Or am I? Okay I'm really kidding but you really are uncultured. Now I think we should listen to what the grown ups have to say, aka, Lord Elrond and Gandalf and a childish dwarf but it's fine because we love him.
Third Pov
Lord Elrond was looking at the swords that Thorin and Gandalf found in the troll cave. He paid close attention to the runes on the swords.
"This is Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver. A famous blade, forged by the High Elves of the West. My kin. May it serve you well" Thorin bowed his head in thanks before Lord Elrond turned his attention to Gandalf's sword.
"And this is Glamdring, The Foehammer. Sword of the King of Gondolin. These swords were made for the Goblin Wars..."
Bilbo was listening as Lord Elrond spoke. He wondered if maybe his sword was anything special. He unsheathed out a little and examined it, turning it over, Balin took note of this.
"I wouldn't bother laddie. Swords were named after the great deeds that they do in wars."
"What are you saying? My sword hasn't seen battle?"
"I'm not actually sure it is a sword. More of a letter opener really." Bilbo looked at his sword and then back at Balin. Unsure of what to think. Lord Elrond turned to Gandalf, returning the sword to him.
"How did you come by these?"
"We found them in a troll-hoard on the Great East Road, shortly before we were ambushed by orcs."
"And what were you doing on the Great East Road?"
Thorin then excused himself. Gandalf was trying to think of something. Lord Elrond just watched as Thorin walked away.
"Thirteen dwarves, A halfling and three women. Strange travelling companions Gandalf."
"These are the descendants of the House of Durin. They are noble, decent folk. They are surprisingly cultured. They've got a deep love of the arts."
"Change the tune, why don't you. I feel like I'm at a funeral."
"Did somebody die?"
"Alright lads and lassies there's only one thing for it."
Oh dear. Here we go. Get ready everyone.
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The girls were clapping their hands for Bofur' s beautiful performance. He bowed and winked at them. The elves seemed to disagree but they didn't care. Lilith and Kate were cheering and shouting. Renee hugged him when he sat down again, making Kili frown.
"Bofur, that was absolutely amazing."
Aww thank you lass. I'm glad you enjoyed it."
Hell yea we did. Damn That was fucking brilliant. Right Kate, Lily?
The two nodded with wide grins. Bofur just laughed and gave them a wink.
"Why don't you lassies sing something for us? I seem to remember you singing a lot on our journey. Beautifully might I add."
Everyone's eyes were in them, even the elves. They just looked at them with wide eyes. The girls looked at each other.
"Hmmmmmm I mean sure but our music is very different from yours. You still want us to sing?
The dwarves just nodded with grins. Renee looked at her sisters. She wanted to make sure they were okay with it. They nodded at Renee, all of them turning to the dwarves.
"Sure we'll sing for you but just give us a moment. We need to change into something more comfortable."
They excused themselves and walked to their room, closing the door behind them. They helped each other with their dresses and changed into some spare clothes they had.
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"Okay so what song?"
"Hmmm, we should do something from the 2000s. It's the safest option."
Renee and Lilith nodded to Kate's statement. Renee got her phone and started looking for a song. Lilith put her hair up into a messy bun while Kate put hers in a low ponytail.
"What about Teenage Dream?"
"Not bad but I don't think that's the one."
"On the Floor?"
"Nope."
"Wait, I think I found the perfect song. Hall of Fame."
"Yes that's it."
Now that they had a song they got everything they needed and left the room to where the others were. On the way, Renee put her hair up into a ponytail. The tables were pushed back and there was a huge space for the girls to perform. The girls walked up the stairs, gaining the attention of everyone. They quickly walked over to Gandalf, asking if he could make the music louder. He did a quick spell and the girls got ready.
"Alright Sorry we were late boys. We were looking for the perfect song. Most of the music is... questionable but we managed to find something. So bare with us okay. If your ears end up bleeding, we warned you. Are you girls ready?
Kate and Renee nodded. Soon music filled the air. The girls hummed along to it. (It's Karaoke so they will be actually singing).
(All of them Renee Lilith Kate )   (This is so you know who's singing to avoid confusion)
Yeah, You could be the greatest
You could the best
You can be the King Kong
banging in your chest.
You can beat the world
You can beat the war
You can talk to God
Go banging on his door
You can throw your hands up
You can beat the clock
You can move a mountain,
You can break rocks
You can be a master,
Don't wait for luck
Dedicate yourself and
You gon find yourself
Standing in the Hall of Fame(Yeah)
And the world's gonna know your name (Yeah)
Cause you burn with the brightest flame (Yeah)
And the world's gonna know your name (Yeah)
And You'll be on the walls in the Hall of Fame
You can go the Distance
You can run the mile
You can walk straight
Through hell with a smile
You could be a hero
You can get the gold
Breaking all the records they
Thought never to be broke, yeah
Do it for your people
Do it for your pride
How are you ever gonna know
If you never even try?
Do it for your country
Do it for your name
Cause there's gonna be a day
When you're
Standing in the Hall of Fame(Yeah)
And the world's gonna know your name (Yeah)
Cause you burn with the brightest flame (Yeah)
And the world's gonna know your name (Yeah)
And You'll be on the walls in the Hall of Fame
Be a champion
Be a champion
Be a champion
And you'll be on the walls
In the Hall of Fame
Be students
Be teachers
Be politicians
Be preachers
(Yeah)
Be believers
Be leaders
Be astronauts
Be Champions
Be truth-seekers
X 2
Standing in the Hall of Fame(Yeah)
And the world's gonna know your name (Yeah)
Cause you burn with the brightest flame(Yeah)
And the world's gonna know your name (Yeah)
And You'll be on the walls in the Hall of Fame
Yeah, You could be the greatest
You could the best
You can be the King Kong
banging in your chest.
You can beat the world
You can beat the war
You can talk to God
Go banging on his door
You can throw your hands up
You can beat the clock
You can move a mountain,
You can break rocks
You can be a master,
Don't wait for luck
Dedicate yourself and
You gon find yourself
Standing in the Hall of Fame
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When they were done, there was a short silence. The dwarves and elves had never seen anything like that before. It was so unexpected. Bofur started clapping and it started to pick up , causing everyone to do the same. The dwarves were shouting and cheering. Kili was looking at Renee with so much love and admiration. He had never seen anything so enchanting like that before. He saw how she looked as she danced. Like she was in a trance and nothing else mattered. She looked so beautiful. He knew he liked her but now he didn't know if it was just like or if it blossomed into love.
Fili could not take his eyes off Kate. Her voice was so enchanting. It was like he was under her spell but he didn't care. He knew that he liked her but now she was certain it was more than that. He liked her-No he loved her. He found his One and he knew he had to tell her soon. He couldn't get her out of his mind since that night in Bag End. He tried to deny it but it was no use. He was in love with Katherine Baggins. He was scared. Not of his feelings but of what his uncle will say if he found out. For now he needed time to think and come up with a plan. All he knew was that he loved Katherine and he was determined to find out if she felt the same.
Thorin didn't know what to feel. Hearing Lilith sing brought back the memories of his past love. In fact everything about Lilith reminded him of her. He hated it. He didn't know how to feel. He thought that maybe this was punishment for not looking for her well enough. All he knew was that he was going to find out what this meant and why Lilith reminded him of Elenor, his past lover.
Everyone hugged them and gave compliments. Bilbo hugged his daughters, telling them how proud he was of them. Balin, Oin, Dori and Gloin gave them a pat on the shoulder with a smile. Bofur and Nori gave them hugs. Bifur signed something which Bombur translated for them and gave them each a hug. Ori came to them and complimented them shyly before walking back to Dori. Fili and Kili gave them each a hug and wouldn't stop complimenting them. Lilith laughed at them while Renee and Kate blushed. Thorin and Dwalin had yet to say something. The girls walked over to Gandalf and Lord Elrond. The two were extremely impressed.
"My dear girls, that was an amazing performance."
"Aww thanks Gandalf. We've been dancing and singing since we were kids. But we haven't really done it in a while. We're glad you liked it."
Renee smiled as she looked at them. She walked up to him and gave him a hug, causing Lord Elrond to smirk and Gandalf laughing as he returned it. As the girls leave, lord Elrond turns to Gandalf.
"They are bright young girls. Lilith reminds me so much of my daughter. It's almost nostalgic."
"I agree. Renee reminds me of my daughter, Aurora and even looks like her. It's like looking in a mirror. When I first saw her in Bag End, I thought it was her. My little Rory. She acts a lot like her. If Minerva were here, she'd agree."
As they silently looked back at the girls, they saw a glimpse of a young Elenor and Aurora. It made them miss them even more. The girls walked to Thorin and Dwalin, causing the two to look at them,
"Soooo what did you guys think? You haven't said anything yet. Wait, was it that bad? Damnit. Kate, Reni, we should have done Demons."
"Aye Lassies, it wasn't bad. It was actually very good. Didn't know yer can dance like that. I quite enjoyed it."
"He's right. It was a wonderful performance, girls. Probably one of the best I've seen in a long time."
Thorin gave a slight smile causing Dwalin to nod along to his statement. The girls gave them big smiles, received that they liked their performance.
"Thanks. It's been a while. But it sure was a lot of fun. Glad you guys enjoyed it. Who knows. Maybe we'll do another one some time. Right, Kate, Lilith?"
They nodded, causing Dwalin to win at them and Thorin to chuckle.
"We're holding yer to that, lassies,"
The girls winked back and excused themselves. They said goodnight to everyone and headed to bed. That tired them out so they quickly washed up and went to sleep.
At least they're not sleeping on the ground this time. Got to enjoy this relaxation before they have to leave again and before they go see the "great" white wizard.
This was going to be the best sleep they've had since Bag End.
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whiteladyofithilien · 2 months
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What do you wanna bet that Smaug just kept this playing on loop as his relaxation track as he bopped out for decades under the mountain
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fandomnerdflynn · 1 year
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The sound of a little one's giggles echoed through the stone halls, followed by a delighted shriek and deeper bellows of laughter. A small head of ebony curls hung upside down in strong, tattooed arms that held him firmly. "Again, Uncle Dwalin! Again!"
Dwalin laughs again, setting the boy down. "Alright, Frodo. This time you have to outrun Nori and Bofur too." Frodo nods excitedly, big feet racing down the hall as the three chase after the fauntling.
Bilbo watches from his seat, a smile stretching to the crow's feet of his eyes. They've been getting deeper lately, matching the deepening smile lines. He's had more reason to have them lately.
"Good to see you, laddie." Bilbo jumps a little, turning to see Balin sitting down beside him. "The greys suit you well."
Bilbo touches his hair shyly, keenly aware some of his golden curls have been turning silver. "Ah. Raising young ones will do that, I suppose." As if he has not been fretting over the silver strands since before Frodo came to live with him.
Balin gives a warm smile, eyes turning to the other dwarrow and the fauntling. "Indeed. He seems like an energetic young lad. Reminds me of the princes when they were that young." A beat of silence between them. ".... Fili and Kili would have loved him, y'know. They would have encouraged him to be a little menace, but they would have cherished him just as we do."
Bilbo gives a nod, taking a deep breath. Visiting Erebor brought up a lot of emotions and memories, most of which he tried to suppress. In the Shire he could pretend they were still in the lonely mountain. Here, among his friends, missing them hurts like missing a lung. "I know. And Frodo would've loved them too."
".... And I hope you know Thorin would've adored him. Just like another nephew." The words are spoken softly, cautiously. A rock set on top of an already straining dam.
Tears spill down cold cheeks, hiccuped sobs muffled by the back of a hand. Balin's own hand takes Bilbo's free one to rub soothing circles. It's been over a decade and it still tears him apart, just as much as the day it happened.
He sniffles when he's calmed down a bit, gripping Balin's hand tightly. "He would have... I'm convinced he does. And he'll get to tell me all about it when I see him again."
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ghostwholikesghosting · 2 months
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The Hobbit/LoTR Masterlist Part 1
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||All the fanfics, both reader & OC to do with The Hobbit will be here. Both completed and coming soon.
||Characters in Part 1; Thorin Oakenshield, Fili Durinson, Kilo Durinson, Bofur, Dwalin, Bilbo, Bard, Thranduil, Legolas
||Travel to; The Hobbit master list Part 2
||Back to; Nagivation
||Travel to; Fandoms & Characters I do
Symbols & their meanings.
|| ⚫️ = Incomplete || 🟢 = Complete || 🟡 = Discontinued || 🔵 = In drafts || ♣️ = Series || ♠️ = Oneshot || 🔒 = Head Cannon || 🔓 = Drabble
|| ☀️ = Fluff || ☔ = Angst || ☁️ = Hurt/comfort || ⭐ = Smut 🔞
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The tallest dwarf of Thorin Oakenshield and company at 5 foot 2, Thorin Oakenshield is a proud dwarf, like most of his kin are. He’s loyal and selfless for a king of such gold and wealth. However, he did suffer from greed for a time. Contracting a mental fever called; Dragon Sickness.
||Safe in my arms
||Warnings; Illusions to death, grief, angst
||Summary; Imagine Thorin helping his father out of Erebor during Smaug’s attack, when he realises that his One is not with the remaining dwarves. That must mean they’re still in Erebor. Without second thought, Thorin makes his way back into the burning city, searching everywhere he can. — Balin dragged him out of the front hall just in time, for it was about to turn into a bath of fire and smoke. Believing for them to be taken by the desolation of Smaug, Thorin mourns the loss of his One until Thorin Oakenshield and company finally make it to the lost mountain. They’re alive and well. Bringing them into a home-crushing hug, he sobs about how he’s never been happier. — 🟢, ⚫️, ♠️ || ☔, ☁️ || Thorin x GN!reader/OC || 3rd person, they/them, No name used
||Flower, Gleam and Glow
||Warning; Character Death (not for long)
||Summary; An unexpected member of the mission reveals herself as Gandalf’s apprentice, it is found out that the half-elf has magic that can be harnessed by her voice. And that’s why she’s under Gandalf’s wing. So it doesn't get used for bad. A tongue of silk is better than a tongue of silver, though. And she is no different. Naturally having some distrust of the half-elf for her blood, any and all suspicion was eradicated when she saved the young heir from a stay warm. Come that day, the company accepted her with open arms. Especially the young prince. During the Battle Of The Five Armies, when she’s with Gandalf, her heart drops at the mention of Azog’s ambush. Much to Gandalf’s protests, she makes her way to the top of the frozen waterfall in hopes that she can get there in time. Unfortunately, she was out of luck. And she arrived at the top during Azog’s and Thorin’s battle. Fighting off the Armada of orcs to give Thorin a chance, she watches the scene where Thorin kills Azog gets killed, she feels as if she can't breathe when she watches Thorin fall. Racing over to him, feeling as if she has no other option, she uses her magic to heal him. And though she's still new to her magic, she does it against her better judgment. — ⚫️, ♠️ || ☔, ☁️ || Thorin x F!Reader/OC || 3rd person, She/her, no name used || Inspired off of Healing Incantation Rapunzel
What I feel it would be like to Court Thorin Oakenshield
||Warning; TBD
||Summary; Some headcanons of being courted to Thorin Oakenshield — 🔵, ⚫️, 🔒 || ☀️, ☁️, ⭐ || Thorin x GN!Reader || 2nd person, you/yours, no name used
Thorin after a long day of training his nephews.
||Warnings; N/A, maybe a little steamy. But nothing more.
||Summary; A simple ramble about Thorin massaging his pecs before you both get into bed after a long day of doing his kingly and uncle duties. — 🟢, 🔓 || ☀️ || Thorin x GN!Reader. || 2nd person, you/yours, no name used
Guard Dog Privileges
||Warnings; Harsh language, murder, hints of sexual tension
||Summary; Thorin Oakenshield, a prince, a king, a warrior. He doesn't need protection, does he? Well, before the fall of Erebor, his father thought he did, and hired an elven ranger to be Thorin’s personal guard. And the stubborn elf kept that promise. His brooding and intimidating presence earned him the nickname; Thorin’s Guard Dog. — 🔵, ♣️ || ☀️, ☔, ☁️, ⭐ || Thorin x M!elven!Oc || 3rd person, he/him
Pointed teeth
||Warnings; Blood, gore, implications of character death, smut
||Summary; Thorin Oakenshield, son of Train, son of Thror. The rightful heir to The Kingdom Under The Mountain. On a mission to reclaim his home from the vile beast; Smaug with 12 other dwarves, a hobbit, a wizard and a half-elf, times will be hard. Especially for the tallest dwarf of the company, who’s harbouring a secret. — 🔵, ♣️ || ☀️, ☔, ☁️, ⭐ || Vampire!Thorin x F!half-elf!reader/OC || 3rd person, she/her, no name used. || Inspired off of Viky’s what if post on Tiktok
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The second to youngest of the company and the heir to the throne of Erebor. The future king under the mountain. Golden-maned and inexperienced with things outside of the blue mountains, Fili is as loyal and as brave as dwarves can come. His blue eyes carry a friendly caring nature to them. But beyond the rash decision-making, he does with his brother, he’s more of an observer than a speaker.
||Stars Atop the Mountains
||Warnings; TBD
||Summary; Fili, ever the observant Prince. He knows all the guards of Erebor off by heart. Not that he has anything personal with them. No. He just likes to know the dwarrows and dearrowdams who are working to protect him and his people. However, he’s been falling slack as of late with that. Balin has given him a lot to study with the ancient dwarves and his Uncle teaching him how to be a just King for when he becomes king under the mountain. So he’s more than thankful to get a day of respite on Durin’s Day to celebrate with friends and family. A new face behind the ancient dwarven helmet intrigues the curious prince. So he takes it upon himself to get to know the new guard. — 🔵, ⚫️, ♣️ || ☀️, ☔, ☁️, ⭐ || Fili Durinson x M!Dwarfguard!OC || 3rd person
||Flower, Gleam and Glow
||Warnings; Character Death (not for long)
||Summary; An unexpected member of the mission reveals herself as Gandalf’s apprentice, it is found out that the half-elf has magic that can be harnessed by her voice. And that’s why she’s under Gandalf’s wing. So it doesn't get used for bad. A tongue of silk is better than a tongue of silver, though. And she is no different. Naturally having some distrust of the half-elf for her blood, any and all suspicion was eradicated when she saved the young heir from a stay warm. Come that day, the company accepted her with open arms. Especially the young prince. During the Battle Of The Five Armies, when she’s with Gandalf, her heart drops at the mention of Azog’s ambush. Much to Gandalf’s protests, she makes her way to the top of the frozen waterfall in hopes that she can get there in time. Unfortunately, she was out of luck. And she arrived at the top during Azog’s speech about the end of the Durin line, when he killed Fili. When the orc general dropped the young heir, the half-elf made her way to him in hopes she could bring him back. Feeling she has no other option, she uses her magic to heal him. And though she's still new to her magic, she does it against her better judgment. — ⚫️, ♠️ || ☔, ☁️ || Fili x F!Reader/OC || 3rd person, She/her, no name used || Inspired by Healing Incantation Rapunzel
New faces
||Warnings; Mentions of death, fighting, stubborn dwarves, mutual pining, Fili being an oblivious prince and smut.
||Summary; A friend old of Balin’s. Bound to the old dwarf since they owe Balin for saving their life, the old dwarf goes to a tavern one day during the early stages of the quest to recruit the ranger. Making the Thorin Oakenshield Company from 15 members to a strong 16. Well when Balin returns to the company with a mysterious figure, the dwarves are naturally on guard until they prove themself. As the mission goes on, Fíli, the golden-haired prince keeps catching himself staring at the hooded, mysterious ranger who’s apparently Balin’s friend. Could something come of it? — ⚫, ♣️ || ☀️, ☁️, ☔, ⭐ || Fili x F!Oc || 3rd Person, she/they
What I feel it would be like to Court Fíli Durinson
||Warning; NSFW headcanons are mixed within.
||Summary; Some headcanons of being courted to Fili Durinson — 🔵, ⚫️, 🔒 || ☀️, ☁️, ⭐ || Fili x GN!Reader || 2nd person, you/yours, no name used
Biker!Fíli Durinson headcanons
||Warning; N/A
||Summary; Headcanons of Biker!Fíli to do with Mechanical hands — 🟢, 🔒 || ☀️ || Fíli x F!Mechanic!Reader || 2nd person, you/you're, no name used
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The youngest of the company. Brown-haired and brown-eyed, he’s Thorin’s youngest nephew. Full of life and careless with his actions, Kili is the equivalent of 18 in the age of a dwarf. Brave and reckless with his actions, all he wishes to do is make his uncle proud of him.
Puppy Eyes
||Warnings; Smut, Minors, get out of here.
||Summary; Tensions have been high. Guards have not been down in days and the dwarves are exhausted. When you’re as alert as you are, sleep is not very refreshing. The last homely home of the West is days gone, and their guide, a ranger, hired by Gandalf, is as brooding and as quiet as ever. Sparing no more than a few words a day. Otherwise, their gaze is on their map or on the horizon. Well, fate has its way, doesn't it? With a near run-in with goblin Kings and murderous bears and orcs and nearly losing their leader, all the dwarves want to do is sleep. And they have a roof, finally! After a plentiful meal and some ale, Kili disappears out of the house to relieve himself. Only to find their Ranger looking up into the sky. One thing leads to another and the young dwarf finds his fantasies coming true. — 🔵, ⚫️, ♠️ || ☔, ⭐ || Kili x F!Reader/OC || 3rd person, A fad body, no name used other than “Ranger”
Flower, Gleam and Glow
||Warnings; Character Death (not for long)
||Summary; An unexpected member of the mission reveals herself as Gandalf’s apprentice, it is found out that the half-elf has magic that can be harnessed by her voice. And that’s why she’s under Gandalf’s wing. So it doesn't get used for bad. A tongue of silk is better than a tongue of silver, though. And she is no different. Naturally having some distrust of the half-elf for her blood, any and all suspicion was eradicated when she saved the young heir from a stay warm. Come that day, the company accepted her with open arms. Especially the young prince. During the Battle Of The Five Armies, when she’s with Gandalf, her heart drops at the mention of Azog’s ambush. Much to Gandalf’s protests, she makes her way to the top of the frozen waterfall in hopes that she can get there in time. Unfortunately, she was out of luck. And she arrived at the top while Thorin and Dwalin were battling an armada of orcs and Kili was fighting Blog, she bore witness to Kili being stabbed in the back by Bolgs orcish blade, she made her way to him. In a desperate attempt to get Kili to come back, she uses her magic. — ⚫️, ♠️ || ☔, ☁️ || Kili x F!Reader/OC || 3rd person, She/her, no name used || Inspired off of Healing Incantation Rapunzel
Bows and Bowstrings
||Warnings; N/A, just a friendly competition with the young Prince
||Summary; There’s nothing like having a bit of a friendly shooting competition with the young prince of Erebor. Bored on your day off, free of duties, you expect to feel relaxed. But with nothing to do, your fingers itch to do something. You find yourself in the woods near Erebor. Bow in hand, ready to do some hunting when your beloved prince appears out of nowhere and duels her to an arrow-shooting contest. Halfway through, your bowstring unexpectedly snaps. — 🔵, ⚫️, ♠️ || ☀️ || Fili x GN!Reader || 3rd person, they/them, no name used
Sweet like nectar
||Warnings; Pure smut
||Summary; Thanks to @mossthebogwitch NSFW HC post with Kíli, I can't stop thinking about Oral fixated Kíli. So have some smut of a pussy drunk Kíli. (I can finally put my CoD fic reading to use and use the skills I’ve obtained) — 🟢, ♠️ || ⭐ || Fíli x F!Reader, you/yours, no name used || 642 words
A Hunters Game
||Warnings; Smut with a plot? Primal play, overstimulation, knife play (slight), cunnilingus, unprotected P in V, breeding kink
||Summary; Day’s off. Who doesn't love a day when you get to relax from all your duties? That's not Kíli’s plan. Oh, no. Loring you out into the woods that surround Erebor under the pretence that you two are just going out hunting. But what you don't realise is it’s you who's the hunted today. — 🔵, ♠️ || ⭐ || Fíli x F!Reader, you/yours, no name used ||
What I feel it would be like to Court Kili Durinson
||Warnings; TBD
||Summary; Some headcanons of being courted to Kili Durinson — 🔵, ⚫️, 🔒 || ☀️, ☁️, ⭐ || Kili x GN!Reader || 2nd person, you/yours, no name used
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A mining dwarf with a humour. Brown-eyed and brown-haired, like Kili, Bofur is easily spotted with his hat that seldom comes off. Endearing and likeable, it’s hard to hate such a joyful dwarf. Being disastrous for stating the obvious or saying things without thinking, that’s what the company love him for. As well as his music and songs.
Yours Truly - Bofur
||Warnings; N/A
||Summary; It’s been about 6 or so months since Bofur left for the mission, leaving his lover and their two children in the Blue Mountains to reclaim Erebor with 13 other dwarves. They woke up never knowing if he was alive or not. Hearing his name made their soul tremble with memories, and warmth, and pain. It made their heartbreak a little more each time they looked into someone's eyes that had the same colour. But one fateful day, they got a letter from their beloved. He was alive. And Erebor had been reclaimed. — ⚫️, ♠️ || ☔, ☁️ || Bofur x GN!Reader/OC || 3rd person, they/them, no name used
What I feel it would like to court Bofur
||Warnings; TBD
||Summary; Some headcanons of being courted to Bofur — ⚫️, 🔒|| ☀️, ☁️, ⭐ || Bofur x GN!Reader || 2nd person, you/yours, no name used
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Short tempered and aggressive. You can get no more dwarvish in temper than Dwalin. As Loyal and as stubborn as they come, Dwalin would do anything he possibly could to protect his friends and family.
What I feel it would be like to court Dwalin
||Warnings; TBD
||Summary; Some headcanons of being courted to Dwalin — ⚫️, 🔒|| ☀️, ☁️, ⭐ || Dwalin x GN!Reader || 2nd person, you/yours, no name used
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No taller than 3 foot, yet with the courage of a dragon. Bilbo Baggins, burglar, adventurer and story writer. The list can go on. Once a hobbit who never thought of leaving the shire, now a hero. Clever and quick-minded. Yet humble and moral all at the same time.
What I feel it would be like to court Bilbo
||Warnings; TBD
||Summary; Some headcanons of being courted to Bilbo — ⚫️, 🔒|| ☀️, ☁️, ⭐ || Bilbo x GN!Reader || 2nd person, you/yours, no name used
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A pessimist of a human, Bard is quick to assume the worst side of things. Almost like an overthinker. But once you get to know him, he can be a very generous and a happy person. The father of a son and two daughters, Bard is raising the three alone. All while being a mere boatsman. Gone for no more than a few days — Before the destruction of the laketown.
What I feel it would be like to court Bard
|| Warnings; TBD
||Summary; Some headcanons of being courted to Bard — ⚫️, 🔒|| ☀️, ☁️, ⭐ || Bard x GN!Reader || 2nd person, you/yours, no name used
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The elven King of the wood realm; Mirkwood. Often bringing himself across as stubborn and cold, he is often cold and cruel to those whom he should be close to. Especially his son; Legolas. Thranduil is a widow who isolates himself within his castle.
What I feel it would be like to court Thranduil
|| Warnings; TBD
||Summary; Some headcanons of being courted to Thranduil — ⚫️, 🔒|| ☀️, ☁️, ⭐ || Thranduil x GN!Reader || 2nd person, you/yours, no name used
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A Prince and a man of few words is the ultimate way to describe Legolas. He prefers to let others do the talking but isn’t afraid to pipe in when needed. — But that’s the older Legolas. The younger one is much more of a conversationalist. Troubled yet headstrong, his main focus is to get rid of the spiders that are taking over Mirkwood.
What I feel it would be like to court Legolas
|| Warnings; TBD
||Summary; Some headcanons of being courted to Legolas — ⚫️, 🔒|| ☀️, ☁️, ⭐ || Legolas x GN!Reader || 2nd person, you/yours, no name used
233 notes · View notes
epilogue-and-prologue · 7 months
Text
Affections
Fandom: The Hobbit Ship/Pairing: Thranduil x F!Reader Trope: Unrequited love that’s requited after all Note: No idea. I probably made heavy mistakes in the mythology. Don't hesitate to point them out if need be. Warnings: Miscommunication, father-son relationship, rejection Word count: 6 282 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstareditd @fizzyxcustard @sotwk
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“Legolas!”
Seeing your friend after so many years made you so happy, your eyes were watering even before you could feel his arm embracing you.
“My dear friend. I am so glad you could finally come home.”
Decades earlier, the young prince and you had learned and grown together under the watchful eye of the Mirkwood. Small ones were a rarity, but two at the same time almost never happened. Once an adult, it became clear you needed to leave the palace’s grounds and see the world for yourself. The only kin you had left was your aunt Ede, and she encouraged you to go, despite being torn upon your departure.
Now, finally, you were coming back to your place of birth, filled with new memories and new experiences. During the war, you were following the refugees, learning medicine and healing amongst them as you had for the past decade. Fortunately, this knowledge became of vital importance after the conflict and here you were, talking animatedly with the Crowned Prince, sharing adventures and stories.
“I am sure your father must not have taken kindly to that friendship.”
Legolas laughed, his long hair moving with the winds around.
“No, he did not. Gimli is a close friend of mine and I would not allow him to be treated with the disrespect my father is so easily using. — Still. Of all the people present in the Company, the only one you find to be a friend is the son of Gloin? The very last member of Thorin Oakenshield’s entourage? — I did not choose, you know. And…”
Before he could finish his sentence, you stopped your steps. The place had grown so much since you last were there. The tallest trees reached peaks you could not see anymore, cutting into the sky slices of clouds and sunshine. The hall around you felt heavier. More grounded in stone than in wood. Ravages of the Great War had reached even here, it seemed. From the stairs in front of you, a tall she-elf, with her dark auburn hair and her proud stature, was staring right. Your feet guided you to her in a hurry. Her embrace felt like a warm bath, smelling of lavender and a quiet temperance you needed in that moment. Ede was one of a kind. She was the one who had taught you the basics to healing and the plants, as well as the stars. Your mother had been a valiant soldier of the King’s army. She perished on the front of the battle of the Five Armies. Ede became a support and an ally in the pain of her loss. It made you two grow closer, especially when her brother - your father - left for the Shores after his wife died. He did not see the future in as much brightness as he used to and did not want to become a hindrance for you. It was with the certainty of meeting him again that you let him go.
“Aunt Ede, I have missed you so much. It is a genuine pleasure to see you. — As it is for me, child.”
She pushed a strand of hair back, watching you intently with those profound dark eyes of hers. Once Legolas reached you, he saluted the Royal Healer before leaving the both of you, a soft smile on his face. You spent the rest of the day walking around and rediscovering the grounds with your aunt. They had planted bigger gardens next to the Healers Quarters. A gardener had been appointed specifically for them, allowing time and space for the now withering Ede. She was growing tired more easily and, despite her appearances, was becoming more depressed by the day. Her work was never done in this place, being the sole reference for every other healer in the woods and sometimes outside of the country and into others. Everyday that passed made her long for her home in Rivendell. Her husband had gone back the year before and the separation was taking another toll on her, time only making it worse. At the first signs of dusk, she brought you to your room, next to her own. It contained a simple bed and a desk as well as two tall windows, looking out on the garden below. The bag you carried when you arrived finally found a space to rest too next to the neat sheets.
“Child, I bid you goodnight. We shall talk more in the morning. -Yes, my aunt. I wish you pleasant dreams and a restful sleep.”
She kissed your forehead, smiled and closed the door behind her. Soon you crumbled into the heavenly made bed, but could not find sleep. After all, the real reason of why you left had been kept secret from everyone. Including yourself. You were becoming more agitated with every minute passing before meeting the King. You had not left on particularly good terms with him, a show of restraint on your part, inclining you to keep quiet and move on. Nevertheless, the memory kept replaying in your mind, as you felt yourself drift into a soundless sleep.
In autumn, the leaves fell, and Legolas was in the trees. Well, one tree. The tallest at the time, a great oak with leaves reaching into the sky as if trying to touch it. The Prince loved to climbed its branches, storm or high wind was of no matter to him, wanting to admire the sky more than anything. Also, it was the only place his father would not think of searching him in. Lately he had been adamant in having his son with him at all times, protected and locked in, close to him where he could not be lost. Or killed. That oak was where you found him.
“My Prince, I am afraid your kingly father will be upset with both of us if you do not come down this instant.”
Silence. Thranduil had asked you personally to go in search of his son. Out of the two of you, you were in appearances the more mature one. Even now young adults, you could not help yourselves and hid from each of your parents whenever you could, spending most of your times observing the wood’s life. The fleeting murmurs of the trees settled, leaving a melody of singing birds behind. Soon, he came down, looking sheepish.
“I am sorry. I did not mean to cause my father’s anger towards you. — No need to apologise. I understand why you would want to hide. Yet, you can not do so forever Legolas.”
He nodded, following you back inside. His father had grown tensed and tired after his wife’s death. Her warmth was the heart of the forest and once she was gone, every winter became colder and colder. The King only grew more weary of the outsiders, leaving no choice but to close the borders to most of them. You knew him in happier times, grew with his son and should have grown attached to the Prince. Yet, in your heart, Thranduil had the only space you could allow to be filled. It had pained you to acknowledge it, more so when Legolas’ mother passed. A voice inside wanted you to reach out and to pull the pain away from him. From them both, but you could not. As well as Thranduil’s borders closed, his mind and soul did too. For the longest time, he retreated so far inside that no one could reach in. Not even his son. Your arm looped around Legolas’ shoulders, trying to comfort him however you could.
“Do not fret. He was scared to death you broke your neck. Once he sees you intact maybe he’ll calm down”
It did seem to make him chuckle at least, as he leaned into you. You felt ashamed feeling this way towards a brother’s kin. It was a torment you would not wish on anyone not even your greatest enemy. It became a soft agony and then a feeling deeply buried. Sometimes, you hoped you would find yourself looking at Legolas the same way you looked at Thranduil. It never happened and you grieved the proper relationship that would never be. It had been talked about, making a match between the two of you. The Prince could have been inclined. Your own affections lead you to say no, to the disarray of your parents and Legolas’ poor heart. He never resented you for it but you did. You resented yourself so much it blinded the young spirit you had into biding yourself to this place, when nothing new could be learned, nothing new could be seen. No new love would grow. Ede had mentioned leaving before. The idea was taking roots but Thranduil’s actions were the final push into the adventure of your life.
Upon arriving in the King’s room, you caught onto three things. The first, he was still worried sick, apparently repeatedly pacing the room with no signs of stopping soon. The second was that once he saw his son, he embraced him, where you had seen him lash out in anger at others. The third, you were sure that when his eyes landed on you, he would burn you right where you stood. He took his time, checking if his son was alright if he was injured, who’s idea was it to go out and hide like that. Once his nerves settled, he dismissed Legolas, closely watched over by two guards. As the Prince left the room, you shared a soft smile, already knowing what was bound to happen. Once he was gone, the air left the room and the reprieve you had ended right there.
“How dare you?”
Thranduil’s voice was carrying across the room. He was standing as far away as possible from you, as if trying to avoid catching a disease you had.
If only that was the reason, he would sleep better nights. Not watching the stars peak and go down every morning, growing mad with every time he saw you. He knew it was, in truth, for another set of reasons entirely. His body was betraying him. His heart ached in the most delicious ways, retreating from its hiding place. He would have thought it dead if it weren’t for you. You with your sharp mind and loud laughter. You who had a spirit all of your own. You who were the oldest friend and confident his son had. How could he feel that way for you, he never wanted to know. It would have meant accepting he nourished feelings for you. He watched you grow and become a mighty warrior and a spirited young elf. Once well in adulthood though, that was only then that he noticed you. Before that you were a shadow compared to his wife’s memory. He saw and perceived all too well your longing looks and tight smile for him only to see. It touched his otherwise dead heart. The pain of knowing that it could never be and the blossoming feelings he carried for you were growing inside of him intertwined. Now, your eyes haunted him at night, hot and feverish, lingering in his mind. He longed to be touched by you, when he knew he should not have. The remorse was ever present. What would she think of all of this? She would want him happy, cared for and content. He wanted it too. He would not yield, not crumble under your stare. He had to protect his people from disappointment in their ruler. He could not afford jeopardising his rule so. Even for your beautiful mind and gorgeous soul.
“How dare you compel my son into acting so? You and your ideas! Of course you were the one to give him such ideas about freedom and… — Your Majesty, with all due respect, I gave him what he asked of me, nothing else.”
He was livid. What he asked of you? A jealousy he had forgotten the name of, formed in his stomach, giving his wrath a fuel to keep on burning. What did he ask of you? What did you ask of him?
“How could you? You are full of yourself. Arrogant. Reckless. Do you not know the influence you have over him? How dangerous that could be?”
He could see you, bowing your head, biting your tongue. He drove the knife deeper still, wanting you to react, to do something. Anything was better than you not reacting at all. Especially to him. The cruel intentions in him a reflection of his frustrated state at seeing you and not touching you.
“Answer me!”
The scream rang through your body. Teeth clenched, you had been biting your tongue this entire time, not wanting to make this situation worse. Although, he was on the right path for it to get worse.
“Why would I? You seem to have all the answers already! About your son, about me!” You kept on going, even as he stepped closer and closer to you, domineering and hovering over you. “He needs to experience life! If you can not give him that, at least give this to his mother!” This touched a nerve, his face darkening with fury. Where he knew you were right, he wanted to make you quiet. Those truths either he was not ready to hear. “She would certainly not want her only son to go to the Shores having never touched life with his own hands. Never fighting for what he believes in, never seeing the sun high in the sky or never feeling the touch of a lover, because of you. Sire, you cannot keep him in a gilded cage like this. Either you let him go or he will escape.”
He was invading your private space now. You could not look up. You would not look up.
“How would you know how to care for a child who is not your own? — I know him better than you think.”
Better than you lingered in the air, unsaid, deeply felt. His long fingers gripped your jaw pulling your eyes along them, then his deep burgundy robe before meeting his darkened pupils. He narrowed his eyes, the very tip of his fingers were burning with the yearning of touching you. He could not give in. He would not give in.
“Do you now?”
His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, in what was supposed to be a show of power. Both of you knew it was not, still thinking the other to not know about it. His teeth bit lightly into your earlobe before you could stop him. Frozen in place, you did nothing when his lips drew goosebumps down your throat. In a swift movement, he sucked a deep bruise into your skin. You cried out as he held your face in place, merciless in his grip. It was not a cry of displeasure and that surprised him. As your hand gripped the one holding your face, he searched your expression looking for a momentary lapse in judgement. Maybe something to stop him. Something to tell him this was wrong. He found nothing of the sort. He slid his fingers from your jaw to your cheeks, finding comfort into the plump and supple skin of your face, before all but tearing himself apart by kissing you. You kissed him in return, feverish and wanting. Too soon, he stopped. Disgusted with himself, he turned around, hurting like never before. His weakness was showing, all too visible to his own eyes.
“Go. Now. And never come back. — Sire…”
Your voice was but a whisper, the fluttering of your heart where his skin had met yours turning your whole body into a beating drum.
“Leave! Leave and never show your face again!”
Tears threatened to fall from your eyes. You did not let them and left the room, closing the door as hard as you could behind you. Once in your room, everything went blank. Almost as if on drugs, mechanically, you gathered your things, warned your aunt of your departure. She did not question it. She knew of your yearning to leave and did not stop you either. Only accompanied you to the main road, wishing you farewell and a heartfelt goodbye. Legolas received a delayed goodbye, by letter. He was angry with you, but understood. You never told him about what happened and it said a lot about his forgiving nature that he did not hold that hurt against you today. She figured Thranduil might have something to do with it when the next day he asked about you. He seemed hurt beyond measure when she told him you were gone, almost surely never to return.
The first rays of the sun sneaked through the glass windows, shades and hues of red and yellows nesting into the corners of the room. After a change of clothes and a frugal breakfast, you accompanied Ede to the gardens along with her pupils, witnessing the classes she gave to elves from all backgrounds and all horizons. Midday approached and she took you aside after leaving her students.
“Child, we need to talk. — Yes, aunt Ede. What do we need to talk about?”
Her next words startled you as much as they turned your world upside down.
“I will be direct, my child. I need you to replace me, here, at the palace. I need you to become the next Royal Healer.”
*
Ede and you had carried that conversation long into the night. She was adamant that it was you who was supposed to carry on in her place. On the other hand you were less than convinced. Especially considering that she always described the task as a burden - more so in the last years. You would not negotiate with her and complained, exposed, revealed what you feared and felt unable to do. She would hear none of it. Her sole purpose here was to give her place to you, of that she was certain. Deep within her a longing of her home had taken root and she had wanted to leave for a long time. If only for her sake, you had no other choice but to do what she asked. For your own, you would have to face Thranduil when that day would come. Maybe, it was for the best. You could not stay in this place of ignorance and avoidance. A quick walk through the garden and you found yourself, face to face with Legolas, all smiles and a hint of mischief in his eyes you were worried about.
“Good morning to you. -And good morning to you, my friend.”
His smile did not falter as he proposed to accompany you through the palace, talking animatedly as usual, until finally you reached the healers quarters.
“I do have a question though. — Yes, what is it?”
As he opened his mouth to say something, he closed it again, his eyes drawn to something - or rather someone - in the room behind you. The door had been left ajar. Distinctively you could see Thranduil’s back and when he stepped aside, your aunt Ede too. Her brows were furrowing and her lips were pinched in a thin line. That could not be any good. The King on the other hand, was towering over her, rolling his eyes and pinching his nose every time she spoke as you would do with a child. That, that was intolerable. Legolas tried to stop you, his hand slipping from your arm only to be left bewildered and strangely, amused, when you stepped inside, slamming the door open.
“Your Majesty. Aunt Ede.”
You bowed your head as he observed you from head to toe. Since that night, it was the first time he was seeing you again. As you, him. A beating sound rang in your ears. His sharp eyes looked down upon you, considering your face, your lips. He stopped and turned towards Ede again.
“Your Majesty, this is… — We shall talk about it at another time. ”
She bowed and did not dare question his statement. He stepped out of the room without another word, only mildly surprised at finding his son at the door. He inherited his need to meddle in other’s affairs from his mother. It both amused him and annoyed him to no end.
* “Ede, what was that about? — Oh, nothing. Have you eaten yet? I was hoping we could eat together and talk some more about your new position?”
There was no negotiating her. Soon, she led you towards a secluded spot under a willow tree you used to hide in when you were a mere child. It’s blooming branches looked smaller now, even when surrounding both of you in its fresh shadows.
“Aunt, please tell me what this talk was about. With the King.”
Ede sighed, plugging some grapes from her bag. She stalled, settling down cheeses and bread at a luxuriously slow pace.
“Aunt… — Yes, I know. Listen, it is a matter between the King and I and… — Was it about me? — Sort of.”
You snorted loudly, startling a few birds in the tree.
“What do you mean? — It was about my replacement. He disagrees with my choice.”
That should not have stung as much as it did.
“And I told him that I would not be changing my mind anytime soon. And that you would be taking my place in three weeks time as per what was planned. — Wait… Three weeks? From now? It’s too soon, Ede.”
She shushed you with a finger against your lips, as she did when you were younger.
“No discussion, no negotiation.”
She proceeded to tell you all about the Royal Healer’s position. You were to tend to the Royal Family, anytime day or night, big or small wounds. Fondly, she recalled a time when Legolas was still small, and had fallen off of a tree, breaking his wrist. He had been restless for the long process of the cast and even more when he had to not use his arm for weeks after that. Being light of foot was not something you were born with and he had mastered it with numerous injuries and various broken bones. You recalled the infinite patience his father had to show. The prince was not as quiet and calm as he was now. She kept on with an extended list of places you were expected to go and help, as well as the palace. Indeed, she had taken it upon herself to replace the old healers in all the neighbouring villages. Most of them had been replaced, yet there was still work to do and new persons to train. At the first lights descending in the sky, she excused herself, exhausted that she was. She kissed your temple and walked away.
Your room felt smaller once you reached its bed. The walls seemed to be getting closer with each moment and soon, you could not stand it any longer. The night had just settled, the first stars showing above. Without much thinking, your feet wandered around the place, finding bushes and crannies, the deep river you knew. Several times, you passed by the willow you had eaten under earlier that day. Somehow, it drove you to its shelter, the rays of the moon shining through the leaves, giving the place an eerie and melancholic air.
Carefully you immersed yourself in this small reprieve of the world.
What you did not know was that you were not alone, sneaking around at night, unable to sleep.
* Once done with the argument, Thranduil had left the infirmary in a hurry, not wanting to dwell in a room where you were. Inadequacy was not something he was fond of feeling. Legolas followed him back to his chambers. He could sense his son’s amusement from behind him. When he turned around, stepping into his bedroom, the very same son had the audacity to laugh wholeheartedly.
“You do remember you owe me allegiance, even as my son and heir.”
The elf struggled to gain back his composure and nod. Finally he had come to his senses.
“Yes, Father. Although I choose to find our relationship into its more domestic issues than its governmental ones.”
Or not.
“Legolas, I swear on your mother’s grave if you do not explain why you are mocking me I will send you to an early retirement deep in the forest with nothing but bread and water to survive, as well as the animals to keep you company.”
That made him stop. Thranduil’s threats were always outlandish. They were also never made in vain or carelessly. Legolas stepped closer to his father, leaning in as in confidence. The King’s eyebrow lifted in a show of not being impressed. From where he was sat, he could see the sparkle in his son’s eyes. The one that meant no good.
“Your affections are showing, father. — My…”
If he had not been angry to begin with, he might have been now. He thought back to that night and could not wash away the culpability creeping in. After you had left, he had spent sleepless nights, without an end to his thoughts about what he could have done worse. Never better. In fact, he had come to the conclusion that where you were concerned, things was to be left alone. A sort of status quo, left undisturbed. Nevertheless, he stayed quiet. The silence worried Legolas.
“Father, I never meant any harm. — I know.”
He couldn’t face Legolas anymore, a veil covering his vision. The King felt the weight of the past years weighing him down, sitting in that chair behind this table, his future in the eyes of his only child. How much he had wished there had been other children with her. Legolas was as perfect now as he was when he was born but he was alone. He released a heavy sigh.
“Sit.”
Legolas obeyed, fearing something worse than a stern talking to.
“Nothing is ever meant to happen between…” The name on his tongue travelled down his throat to his heart. He chocked on it. “It is not meant to be, my son. Of my own fault. No harm can come to her. Not more than the one I have already done.”
Questions began plaguing the prince’s mind, almost wondering aloud what his father could have done to deserve your absence and his longing. In a way, those questions were answered shortly after he thought them up.
“I was the one who chased her away. — You…”
Thranduil’s hand stopped him. It barely lifted in the air, before resting again.
“In a very unkind manner. The behaviour I had was… Unworthy.”
No other words were necessary for he was one to choose them precisely. His close circle knew that. That knowledge was what made his son get up and look at him, with so much disappointment in his eyes he could have made his father drown in it if he so much as wished it. Legolas did not have any will in himself to do so. Instead, he channelled this frustration and shame into his words, chosen carefully as he had been taught to, many times before.
“Did you even try to talk with her? — No. — Why?”
His tone had taken a harsh turn, startling Thranduil in his immobility. No good excuse came to mind. He had been afraid and incapable of voicing his apologises. With you gone, gone was the possibility of redemption. Now that you were here again, he could try. Legolas’ mother was still in his mind, chastising him for his actions. He had come to accept that he would never forget her. That she would remain his conscience for the years to come, the years until his disappearance from this Earth. He had known her for so long, she would always be there. Telling him when he was doing wrong too. Even if it was with the voice of their only child, now grown, looking at him with something akin to violence in his eyes.
“She is out there, thinking she has done something wrong, when you could have freed her from that burden long ago. That, father, is not an unworthy behaviour. That is the behaviour of a coward. — How dare you speak to me in such a way? I am still your King… — Not as long as you behave like this, you’re not.”
He strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. His words resonated against the walls and the mind of the one left behind. A deep frown settled on his forehead, erasing all traces of previous fury. A weary hand pinched his nose, narrowing his eyes at his own anger. In a careless gesture, Thranduil pushed everything off of the table before him. Papers, ink, quills… everything went flying across the room. The only thing left were his hands gripping the edges of the table, ready to throw it too. Soon, he found himself crying silent tears, trying desperately to stop them from falling. His hands were shaking, a whole body tremor going through him, as sobs escaped him. This had to stop. A knock at the door interrupted him in his misery. Quickly he composed himself and followed the council servant outside, attending absentmindedly the meeting he was supposed to preside over. Legolas’ absence thrust another surge of sadness, pure and raw, through him. His absence only making him think about yours. In this scenario, he could lose you both. He could have none of it.
Once the first rays of sunshine started disappearing behind the clouds and down the horizon line, his feet brought him to his son’s chambers. He had to at least try to make this right.
* Under the willow tree, you laid, head resting against the trunk, eyes up in the sky. Sleep would still elude you, in the most peaceful ways this time. The clouds were moving with the winds, hiding and showing the numerous constellations up above. A rustling of leaves brought you back to solid ground quickly. Someone had found your hiding place, of all the places in the palace.
“Legolas? What are you doing here?”
The shadow did not answer, only advanced and stepped in the moonlight. It was indeed Legolas, but his eyes were different. A solemn toll had taken hold upon them and it was strange, if not completely out-worldly to watch him be this serious.
“I fear, the same as you. I could not sleep. — How did you find me?”
He did not answer right away, throwing a glance behind him before looking back at you.
“I followed you.”
Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. His steps had gotten more silent with the years, apparently. From your room to this place, you had not heard him once, not even in the gravel or the grass.
“Listen, I am here…” He hesitated a moment. “I did not meant to follow you. It was the only way. The most opportune one. There are things you need to talk about. I thought that if I was the first to show, you would feel less incline in running. — The first to show?” Fear ran through you. “What have you done Legolas? — I talked with my father.” Something sank within you. “About you.”
Your voice died in your throat. “I never meant to overstep my position, as your friend. I was worried about what he could have done to warrant such guilty actions from him. — What actions? Wait. Did he tell you…?”
Thranduil’s voice interrupted you both. His tall stature loomed over, albeit hunching over to pass through the leaves and come to you.
“Legolas, would you leave us for a moment, please.”
The gentleness in his tone surprised you. It seemed it was a normal occurrence for the Prince who reached and squeezed your arm reassuringly before leaving with a bow of his head.
“I believe we have much to talk about.”
Neither of you said another word, before he stepped forward and sat down next to you. It felt awkward to see your King in such an informal setting. You could see the discomfort it brought him to be this close to you. You were about to get up and go, when his hand pinned yours to the space between the two of you. Stunned, you looked at him straight on. He avoided your gaze at all costs, not taking the risk to say hurtful things again, out of spite. Out of fear.
“My rank demands an exemplary behaviour and it seems I have failed in that task.”
Your breath caught in your throat, you kept staring at his profile, making it hard for him to keep going. Through greeted teeth he added more words you never thought you would hear from him.
“My actions towards you were nothing short of ungraceful and puerile. You have my deepest apologies.”
Finally, he looked at you, tall and head held high. That was as far as he would go. Legolas might have had a hand in that forsaken apology. It was a needed humiliation, if he was to keep you in his court. With him. Near him.
“Sire, you have my sincerest thanks for this. There was no need for you to do so and you demonstrated a great kindness by this gesture.”
His face relaxed slightly, his jaw unclenching. His hand was still on yours. The feeling erupting from that meeting left you dizzy and energised at the same time.
“Was that all, Sire?”
Thranduil could see the hope on your face. Brows pulled down, frowning around your beautiful haunting eyes, lips pinched in a thin line. What took him over he would never know, for he did not recognise himself behaving like this.
“No. The kingdom is deeply grateful to have you back here with us. This land deserves excellency and perfection. That is why I can be demanding of my people. As well as of you.”
His hand gripped yours. You did not stop him from doing so, letting him finish his thoughts. He seemed to be needing it as much as you. A prickling in your eyes made you withdraw your hand for a moment to wipe it out. Your fingertips erased the tears down your cheeks, while your tongue felt as a leaded weight in your mouth.
“I understand.”
Only then did you put your hand over his, squeezing lightly. A sharp hope ran through him, a knife of helplessness felt deep in his bones. He did not want to recognise the feelings growing inside of him. He knew what they were anyhow.
“Thank you.”
Words ran away in the night. Your eyes found the sky again, the stars and the moon above lighting your way in the dark. He was staring. You could feel it. You kept on looking away, biting your lips and swallowing your tears down your throat. If this was what you could get, then you would take it. At least he was sorry. Your feelings, you could deal with on your own. Thranduil’s stare was boring into you with little care for his heartbeat accelerating. Here he was, sitting in the grass, in the middle of the night, watching someone he thought he had lost. Something to smile about, finally, he thought. He was committing to memory the shape of your nose. The curve of your chin. The apple of your cheeks, the soft trace of your eyebrows. The stubbornness and intelligence hiding in your eyes. As he did back when, his hand slipped down your cheek, bringing you to meet his eyes. He settled in your throat, slender fingers finding their place under your jaw. Half hooded eyes and a sharp inhale from your mouth were all it took for him to meet your lips. Slowly, both his hands came to cradle your face.
Then, you were the one to pull away. He frowned, trying to meet your eyes. You wouldn’t. Cradling his hand against your cheek, you pushed it away. Deep within, the restlessness of your heart had not gone quiet with his words. Only louder, the beating in your chest trashing around, begging to be freed.
“My lord, I… I understand. I really do understand what is at stake, here.”
You met his eyes, full of something you never thought you’d see again. Worry.
“Nonetheless, I want more.”
Thranduil opened his mouth to stop you. You stopped him first, the palm of your hand quietly overtaking his senses, when meeting with his face.
“This. What is happening here, I will not have it hidden away. I cannot. Not after this long. I…” You licked your lips, anxious at his reaction. “I belong to you. In whatever shape or form. But, if you give me this…” The skin of your thumb caressed down, meeting his lips. He had stopped moving. “There will be no going back. All out of the shadows. And, if you break my heart a second time, I will not be coming back.”
For someone with a patient talent for words, the King was left speechless. No proper sentence could carry his meaning. Only gestures, actions and demonstrations of his affection and commitment could. So he did. For the first time with you, he became hesitant, his mouth shaping itself around your throat, your open neck bathed in the moonlight. He clung onto your waist as one would a lifeline, your hands threading through his hair when he kissed you. His hunger and thirst for you was unmatched. Unparalleled. He had forgotten what that felt like.
That night, as many others afterwards, you found yourselves bound together, under the willow.
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lathalea · 3 months
Text
The Shrieking Monster
✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨ This is a gift for @babe-bombadil as part of the @whiteoliphaunt 2023 exchange. ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨ Happy New Year everyone! 🥳
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Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield & Dis & little Fili & Kili Rating: G Warnings: family fluff Author's notes: A story set in the Blue Mountains about Thorin trying to be both a ruler and a good uncle at once. Young Fili and Kili are making it a tad difficult in their own cute way. Special thanks to @naryaflame for your linguistic help with a name :) If you prefer, you can read this fic on AO3.
Khuzdul: Thorinuldûm - Thorin’s Halls, the settlement of the refugees from the Lonely Mountain in the Blue Mountains Amad - mother
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1. 
It was a perfect morning. Thorin stretched and yawned, settling himself on his favourite chair in the kitchen. The air that whiffed into the dwarven stronghold from the outside felt warm on his cheeks and smelled like spring. As he sipped his morning tea, that strong, aromatic blend Dori bought in Bree, his sister appeared at the threshold. She gave Thorin a bright smile and, seeing her steaming mug on the table, she sat next to him. The lazy silence of the early hours of the day was soon broken by the appearance of two dishevelled pebbles, one with a thatch of golden hair, the other – with his hair as brown as a bear’s fur in winter. After the mandatory morning hugs, Thorin readied breakfast while Dís prepared her sons for the day, humming to herself. Thorin could not stop himself from smiling. His sister was probably already thinking of her visit to the market. She adored going there in the morning, especially on the days when the merchants arrived with new goods – and today was one of those days. Thorin sighed. As much as he wanted her to have a very much needed moment of respite – his sister-sons were quite a handful, to put it mildly – he was painfully aware of what it was going to mean to him. Half a day of having his eyes around his head and his ears pricked up for any unusual noises they may create… or worse – the ominous silence. In the past, there was only a handful of moments when he and Dís realised that the boys went completely silent. It never bode well. 
This day, however, started with the pitter-patter of the boys’ bare feet, chatter and laughter, and the clatter of their bowls as they ate their oatmeal. Dís reminded them to behave while she was gone, and left for the market. Fíli seemed very content about this state of things, knowing well by now that staying with his mother’s brother meant visiting various places in these halls, like forges, or assisting Thorin in other exciting ways. It was different with Kíli – his loud wails of protest at being so cruelly abandoned reverberated against the walls of their home. Thorin imagined they must have followed their mother through the corridors of Thorinuldûm for a long while. Her Little Bear, as Dís called him, was still too young to understand the connection between Mommy leaving, and the sudden appearance of candied rhubarb or his favourite cream toffees.
Distracting Kíli from his misery was not easy, but Thorin managed it by offering to take the boys for a new adventure. Their big blue eyes shone as he told them they would be going to the lower levels of the city together. It was a real treat – Kíli had never been there before and Fíli visited them only a handful of times.
Thorin had a mind to visit the Engineers’ Quarter and show the lads around while discussing some technical issues with one of the water engineers. And so they began their adventure. As they descended down the wide stone stairs Kíli stumbled and yawned, so Thorin decided to carry him the rest of the way. Soon Little Bear began snoring in his arms, and Thorin attempted to ignore the fact that his own tunic was becoming gradually soaked through with his nephew’s saliva. He also started suspecting that the moniker “Little Bear” must have surely come from the fact that Kíli seemed to weigh more and more with every step, like a true bear.
“At least he is not crying,” Thorin muttered to himself, and kept on walking. Thank Mahal for silver linings.
As they arrived at their destination, however, the situation got worse. The Engineers’ Quarter was a crowded place that smelled like tar, coal, and burned leather. Not minding the much larger adult dwarves in their soot-stained clothes who carried – or carted – their wares from one place to another, curious Fíli began rushing between them, oblivious of the chaos he was creating. He took a look at the wheelwright’s workshop here, and then he had to see the toolmaker’s booth there; he then insisted on seeing how parchment was being made, and attempted to find the place where they manufactured those shiny cogwheels. If not for his golden mane, Thorin would have lost his nephew at least a couple of times. Brór, the water engineer he had a meeting with, joined Thorin in the chase for the high-spirited boy. Instead of looking at the water supply pipeline blueprints and trying to fix a problem with water pressure, they ended up unwillingly playing a hide-and-run game to the delight of the onlookers. Seeing your own king running back and forth through the great cavern with one giggling pebble strapped to his chest while chasing after the other one must have been very amusing… for anyone but him, Thorin thought with resignation. His resignation grew even more when he noticed Fíli climbing onto a tall work table… and jumping down onto a heap of coal.
When Thorin finally caught the runaway, they were both out of breath. Although it was rather Fíli who caught his uncle – the boy ran into him and clung to his left leg as if a throng of orcs chased him.
Fíli raised his teary-eyed face to Thorin and sobbed out, “A monster wanted to eat meeee…”
“A monster? Here?” Thorin’s brow furrowed.
It took him a while to reassure Fíli that no monster was going to eat him. In turn, Thorin promised to get rid of the said monster that apparently lurked in a nearby chamber, and shrieked at him. He left his nephews in the care of Brór who tried to look solemn, but his twitching lips betrayed him. Thorin grunted and entered the chamber, carefully looking around, adjusting his eyes to the dark surroundings. And then he saw two glowing points of red. And heard the shrieking.
2.
When Thorin returned to Brór, Kíli was fast asleep once again. Leaving Little Bear in the engineer’s care once again, he took Fíli’s hand and led him to the entrance of the dark chamber. When they opened the door, they both heard the continuous shrieking now. His nephew stopped and refused to walk inside, covering his ears and closing his eyes.
“There are no monsters here, Fíli.” Thorin reassured the boy. “See for yourself.”
“Nnoooo…” muttered Fíli, hiding behind his uncle.
“Do not be afraid,” Thorin added. “Nothing will hurt you here. I promise.”
On the bench by the door stood a lantern. It took him a moment to light it. With the lantern in hand, Thorin crossed the threshold and approached the nearest lantern that hung on the wall, and then another, and another. Soon, the whole chamber was bright as day, each lantern giving off a pleasant yellow glow.
“You can come in now,” Thorin smiled encouragingly.
With his ears covered and his eyes set on the shrieking, wobbling entity in the middle of the chamber, Fíli shook his head.
“This is not a monster.” Thorin stepped towards the huge bulbous shape that made so much noise. He placed his hand on the top of the strange shaking thing and added, “This is a washing barrel.”
Fíli blinked and took a good look at it. The two red glowing points did not look like a pair of evil eyes any longer. Those were two ball-shaped lanterns standing on top of the… thing. That shrieking noise now seemed to sound like a couple of cogwheels that needed a bit of oil, and not like a monster’s screech. And the arm that seemed to reach out to grab him before, turned out to be a cast iron lever.
“A… barrel?” Fíli looked at his uncle and took one uncertain step towards him and the strange contraption.
“Correct. A barrel that washes your clothes,” Thorin explained in an even voice and at the same moment the shrieking stopped. “Look, it has just finished the washing cycle. Let me show you how it works. First, you open this hatch, like so… Watch out for the water! These clothes are clean, they only need to be wrung out and dried.”
As he spoke, Fíli slowly started closing the distance between them, his eyes becoming wider and wider.
“... but if you want to wash your clothes,” Thorin continued, “you need to put them inside, here, and add some soap suds. Then you close the hatch, pour some water here, crank this lever a few times, do this, like so, and wait for the washing barrel to finish its work!”
Thorin kept on talking until Fíli seemed to be completely in awe of this new piece of machinery, his fear completely forgotten. He peppered his uncle with tons of questions: how many cogwheels were there, how many times one should crank the lever, what the barrel was made of… and so on, and so forth. When they left the chamber, there was a big smile on the boy’s lips instead of tears. 
On their way back home Fíli exclaimed, “This was the bestest adventure ever!”
Thorin thought that sometimes being an uncle happened to be quite rewarding. Even if his tunic was still wet from Kíli’s sleepy drooling.
***
His attitude completely changed less than half an hour later, when his nephews disappeared. Both of them. At once.
Stumbling over several painfully angular wooden toys, Thorin searched the boys’ bedroom. Nothing. He even looked under their beds (twice!), but there was no sign of the boys anywhere. They weren't sitting in the common kitchen nor searching for snacks in the pantry. Nor in Dwalin’s rooms where Kíli liked to play hide-and-scare with the big warrior. There were nowhere to be found – not in the rocking chair by the fireplace, nor even in Balin’s study by that large desk where Fíli liked to play so often. Thorin closed his eyes. If he did not find his nephews before Dís returned from the market, his sister would have Thorin’s own head on a spike. The wrath of dwarf-women was ten times fiercer than the one of dwarf-men. In the case of his little sister, the number was much higher, at least a hundred times. And Thorin would do everything he could to avoid being on the receiving end of it.
There was no time to lose. He recruited Dwalin, Óin, and Halkatla, Balin’s wife, to the task of finding the boys, but they returned empty-handed. No one had seen the boys since their early lunch. Then, they were supposed to take a nap, and Thorin remembered their yawning as they closed the door to their bedroom behind him.
And now they were gone. Kidnapped? — No, impossible, Thorin thought. Dwarves cherished their children like the greatest treasures they were, and no one else was allowed into Thorinuldûm. There were no goblins nor other dangers here either. It felt as if the boys magically disappeared in a puff of smoke. Thorin looked around the wide corridor he stood in, but he found no traces of the missing boys.
“Have you checked all of their favourite places?” Halkatla asked, her red-and-silver braids clinking as she turned her head towards Óin.
“Aye, we did,” he nodded. “Not a sign of them.”
“Those wee rascals! I bet they are up to somethin’.” Dwalin said. “They remind me of us. Remember that time, Thorin, when we were around their age or so, and half of Erebor was lookin’ for us all day long?”
“It would be difficult to forget it,” Thorin admitted. “We wanted to avoid another boring lesson with our tutor…”
“...and instead we went to explore the mines! What a shame we lost our way,” Dwalin grinned and nudged him. “It was fun!”
“Aye, fun on an empty belly. If only you had not forgotten our food,” Thorin replied, relieved that his nephews had a proper meal at least.
“If only ye had not forgotten that map ye were supposed to borrow from your father’s desk,” Dwalin chuckled.
Before Thorin could form an adequate riposte, a mousy-haired dwarf approached him.
“M’lord, Master Brór says that the pipeline is fully functional again,” the messenger bowed.
Thorin gave him a nod of thanks. At least he brought a piece of good news. Master Brór was a skilled engineer, and the way he handled Thorin’s own sister-sons…
“Either way,” Dwalin continued, “we had a real adventure on that day, hadn’t we, Thorin?”
A thought appeared in Thorin’s mind. Master Brór. An adventure.
“There was one place where we have not searched yet,” he turned to his companions.
“I am listening,” Halkatla tilted her head, reminding him of a curious raven.
“The Engineers’ Quarters.”
***
Master Brór was more than happy to receive words of thanks from Thorin in person for fixing that pipeline issue once and for all. Despite Thorin’s hopes, he had not seen Fíli or Kíli since they left the Engineers’ Quarters with their uncle earlier that day. Dwalin muttered a curse under his breath.
“Well, that’s it. I’m goin’ to check the workshops,” the warrior said.
“I’ll take the ones on the left, you take the ones on the right,” Halkatla followed him.
“Let’s go,” Dwalin replied, his voice trailing off as he walked away. “And those wee cave bats would better be there or I swear…”
Master Brór addressed Thorin, “I will spread the word as you requested, my lord. Someone must have seen them, I am certain of it. They could not have simply disappeared.”
Thorin agreed with him and began his own search. The rocks could not have swallowed them whole! Magic was out of the question as well, there had to be a logical solution to this! Thoring pulled at his short beard in frustration. Wandering through the area and looking for any signs of his nephews in places they visited earlier that day, he wondered if Óin had any luck. The healer was waiting at their home in case Fíli and Kíli returned there on their own. Perhaps the three of them were already sitting by the fire, with Óin telling the boys countless amusing stories, while Thorin and his companions were checking every nook and cranny on the lower level, going out of their minds with worry. He raised his head, listening to a peculiar sound and trying to figure out its source. It sounded like… shrieking. It was not at all difficult to recall Fíli’s eyes shining with fear, awe, and then curiosity at the sight of the washing barrel.
Without thinking, Thorin turned his steps towards the chamber that housed the “monster” Fíli had been so afraid of not so long ago.
When Thorin arrived at his destination, the door was ajar. Thorin could hear the shrieking very well, but there were other sounds too. Very familiar sounds.
He took a deep breath and shouted, “Dwalin! I found them!”
***
When Thorin stepped inside the chamber, the sounds became even clearer. One of them he identified as uncontrollable giggling, and the other one, slightly muted, sounded like: “Woooo! Woooo! Wooooo! A carousel! Woooo! Faster, Fíli! Woooo!”
Thorin breathed out a sigh of relief only to be struck by a pang of dread a moment later.
Fíli stood by the washing barrel, cranking the lever, grinning from ear to ear, and laughing. Kíli was nowhere to be seen, but his enthusiastic shouts seemed to be coming from inside of the barrel. Inside, not outside. Thorin swallowed; he considered screaming in terror, but something told him that this was most definitely an example of behaviour unworthy of a king. It took him a moment to melt the ball of ice that was forming in his stomach. He closed the distance between him and the barrel in a blink of an eye.
Thank Mahal, the hatch was open. Inside, Kíli sat with his back against a wall of the large metal container inside the machine, surrounded by various articles of laundry, with a happy grin on his face, and a stray sock on top of his head. A wave of relief washed over Thorin.
“Uncle Thorin! Uncle Thorin!” Fíli exclaimed. “We’re playing carousel! Want to jump in?”
Thorin did not.
“It is time to return home, boys,” Thorin simply said, taking Kíli out of the barrel. His clothes were damp and he smelled like those violet flowers Dís liked so much, but other than that, he looked happy, and what’s more important, he was in one piece – just like his older brother.
“But uncle...” Fíli started.
“Your amad will be home soon. Do you not want to see what she bought at the market?”
“A sugar horse? She promised!” The boy recalled his favourite treat.
Holding Kíli firmly against his chest with one arm, Thorin held out his hand to Fíli.
“Let us go and see,” he said with a smile as his nephew’s tiny hand grabbed his.
There would yet be time for scolding and for a conversation about not sneaking out anywhere alone, but for now, the only thing that Thorin wanted was to safely bring his little rascals home.
He only hoped they would manage to reach their halls before Dís returned.
***
When Dís crossed the threshold of their home later in the afternoon, she was greeted by complete silence. Her sons were nowhere to be seen, which was very suspicious. They were always the first ones to run to her and see what she brought them this time. She expected Thorin to welcome her and help her unpack her basket, as usual — but he was not there either. Was this that ominous silence she dreaded so much whenever her boys were executing another of their silly mischiefs? Not really. It seemed as if their home was empty… until she heard a familiar sound coming from a nearby chamber. Dís put the basket on the floor and tiptoed deeper into their halls.
The picture that unfolded before her eyes was the last thing she had expected. Her brother was half sitting, half lying on the sofa, his legs stretched out in front of him, his head resting on the backrest, his eyes closed. Fíli was cuddled up to his uncle’s side, his hair tousled, making her think of a skein of golden yarn. Kíli lay on the opposite side of his uncle, his head resting on Thorin’s lap and turned towards her. He had his thumb in his mouth. Dís could clearly see the darker stain of drool on her brother’s trousers and stifled a giggle. 
All three of them were asleep, of course. And all three of them were snoring in perfect unison. If she closed her eyes she could almost imagine that she had a working sawmill in front of her.
This scene was too adorable for Dís to interrupt it, so she decided that she would let her three boys sleep a little longer. There was no harm in a little nap, after all. Besides, she was tired, and there was still some space left on the sofa…As she drifted off to sleep beside them, her last conscious thought was: “Why do all three of them smell like my lavender laundry soap?”
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177 notes · View notes
gloomwitchwrites · 4 months
Text
Spiced Wine
Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader
Content & Warnings: brief alcohol use, dancing, fluff, romantic tension
Word Count: 2.2k
During a winter festival, you dance with a stranger.
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist
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Winter is knocking on the door.
There is a thin dusting of snow upon the ground. All of Erebor and Dale is out this evening with little regard for the chill. The solstice begins tonight and with it comes the changing of the season along with celebrations to mark the end of the harvest.
You stand just outside Erebor’s massive doors. A large crowd enters, seeking the warmth within the dwarven halls. King Thrór is hosting a massive feast full of food, lively music, and dancing. While Erebor is the host, all of Dale is invited, and that also includes many of the surrounding communities.
This will be your first time entering the dwarven kingdom, and you’re nervous. Sweat blooms in your palms, and you aren’t sure whether you should see this through or turn tail and go home.
But if you return home, you will be alone, and you’re sick of being alone.
Your life in Dale is pleasant, and you enjoy working in one of the few bookshops, but it is almost always only you. Most of your family is gone or dwelling in faraway places. There is only you to rely on, and over the last few years, more and more of the men in Dale have been…forward with their intentions.
Their attention is nice, but it’s also exhausting. Every time the bell over the door rings, you expect it to be a customer. Most of the time it’s one of the many single men wishing to speak with you. You have to put on a smile and get through it as best you can.
You want to enjoy yourself tonight, even though you’d rather return home. Fortunately, you haven’t noticed any of your admirers, and you’re silently thankful for it. The last thing you need this evening is to chase off your group of men. They’ll follow you around, and then everyone else will avoid you.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, you turn your nerves to steel, and walk through the massive entryway and into the main hall of Erebor. You follow the crowd, moving with them as they veer to the right, entering through several small archways.
As you near, you spot several tables. There are masks resting upon the wood in little rows, and you silently thank all the gods you know. Walking up to the nearest one, you consider your options. Before you is a beautiful assortment, each mask unique and different. The craftsmanship is exceptional. You settle on a gold mask that will cover everything but your eyes and mouth.
Securing it in place, you feel much lighter than before. With the mask, your flock of men will not find you, and even if they do, they might not realize that it is you that they’ve found. From there, you become one with the crowd, walking beneath more arches until you’re herded into the grand banquet hall.
The walls, ceiling, and floor are all made of smooth stone. The ceiling is high, and the pillars that support it are intricately carved with the images of dwarven kings from ages before. Hanging from the ceiling are strands of lights and different flora from around the area that thrive in the frigid temperatures. Those same plants are also around the room in various arrangements and displays.
The large room is separated into two sections. On one side is the food and drink. There are long tables there as well. People gather around the tables of food and near the massive barrels where people fill their cups. A good many attendees are also seated at the long banquet tables where they talk amongst themselves while they eat. The other side of the room hosts the music and people dancing.
Everything is warm and comforting. With the mask, you’re beginning to relax. You can do this. Walk the room, chat with a few people, eat some delicious food, and partake in a glass or two of strong drink. Then, you can return home, and curl up in bed with a book as the snow falls.
Starting at one end, you do a small lap, eventually making it to the large casks where people fill their cups. You delicately reach for a goblet and present it to one of the dwarves who guards the taps.
“What will it be, lassie?” he asks with a kind smile. His wrinkles crinkle when he grins.
“What do you have?”
“Well,” he begins. “There are lots of options, but there is spiced wine that just came in. It’s strong, flavorful, and filling. You won’t need much to make your toes warm.”
You laugh. “That sounds lovely.” You hand him your cup and watch as he fills it almost to the top. “Thank you.”
You take the cup and bring it to your lips. The flavor bursts on your tongue and your shoulders sag with happiness.
“Good, isn’t it?”
You nod and lightly wipe at the corner of your mouth. “Indeed. Many thanks.” He inclines his head and starts speaking with a new guest.
As you step away, you sense a change, as if someone were watching you. Pausing, you scan the room, making sure to not appear obvious in your observation. Has one of the many bachelors from Dale noticed you? Do they see you at this moment?
When you don’t notice anyone staring, you push out into the crowd, doing slow sweeps with the turn of your head. Still, nothing and no one grabs your attention. Frowning, you stick to the perimeter, stopping to chat with a few people you know.
Deja, the woman who runs the flower shop next to the bookstore you work in, leans against a nearby pillar. A man has her cornered, talking her ear off, and she’s not even paying attention. Finding your in, you saddle up beside the man.
“Deja! I’ve been looking for you!”
At first, she frowns, but then she grins mischievously and grabs your outstretched hand. The man sways a bit, and nods in confusion, stumbling off to find another woman to talk at.
“Didn’t recognize you under that mask,” she laughs, the two of you making a home against the wall.
“Trying to avoid notice,” you reply, sipping on your wine.
She snorts and leans in. “I don’t think you’re successful.”
You frown. “What do you mean?”
She points her chin to a spot across the room. You follow the direction and immediately freeze. There is someone watching you. It’s one of the dwarves and the finery he wears is a deep royal blue. Interwoven into the fabric are threads of silver and metalwork that speaks to influence. He wears a silver mask that matches all that detail work. His dark hair is neatly braided, and pulled back, but you notice the soft waves and the way he holds himself.
“You’re mistaken,” you laugh nervously, this time taking a large gulp of your drink.
Deja shakes her head. “Then why is he heading this way?”
“He isn’t,” you insist, and Deja laughs loudly.
“Hand me your drink.”
“What?”
Deja snatches the cup right out of your grasp. “He’s going to ask you to dance.”
You’re about to snap back, but Deja is right. He is right there in front of you and Deja is walking away quickly, enjoying your spiced wine.
“May I ask for a dance?” The stranger presents his hand, palm upward. The rough timbre of his voice is surprising. Your body responds to it, a small piece of you buzzing with pleasure.
Maybe it’s the spiced wine finally making its way into your system. “Of course,” you answer, taking his presented hand.
Your stranger leads you out into the group of dancers. The song that begins is slightly upbeat, and you allow him to take the lead. It is a song and dance you are not familiar with, but he makes it easy to keep up, and you don’t stumble over your feet or his.
His control is impressive. Elegant, but strong. Purposeful. There is power in every step, as if he is in battle and not moving through a coordinated dance.
“I do not know your name,” he says, spinning you into his arms.
You move away, and for some odd reason, your body doesn’t like that you do. It wants you to curl back into him. It is such a strange sensation.
“And I do not know yours,” you tease, not knowing where this sudden flirtatiousness is coming from. Is it from the wine? Surely not. You didn’t even drink half of it. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re wearing a mask, and he is a stranger. There are no stakes.
The music cuts out, and then the two of you are face to face. Mere inches apart.
The music swells and begins a slower tune.
“Another? So that I may know your name?” He asks so kindly. You cannot refuse him.
Nodding, you allow him to slip an arm around your waist and pull you close. You lick your lips, preparing to give him your name, but notice how his blue eyes track the movement of your tongue. It sends an immediate heat to the space between your legs.
You give him your name, and he hums softly like it pleases him to hear it.
“I am Thorin,” comes his reply. He looks expectant, as if waiting for some sort of reaction, but the name isn’t entirely familiar. There is a slight sense of knowing, but it escapes you.
Perhaps the wine is doing more than you previously thought.
“It’s a pleasure.” You bow slightly, and you notice a bit of color blooming near the edges of his cheeks.
The two of you slowly move with the crowd of dancers. His hand on your waist is like a brand. It is hot, as if melting through the fabric of your dress to touch your skin. It feels like a new crush, like one you had when you were younger, and your emotions ran wild.
While the hand on your back is fiery, Thorin’s strength is palpable. The way he guides you across and around the dancefloor is a testament to that. Even wearing such finery, you see the ripple of muscle underneath. Your own hand, which rests on his shoulder, also clearly picks up on his strength.
There are plenty of men in Dale who are warriors. Several of them even actively pursue you. So why is Thorin any different? Why is your body responding to him like it’s as natural as breathing?
At this point, you cannot put it all on the wine. Maybe it’s because you don’t feel pursued, nearly hunted down every day. He is not pushing, and that is a welcome respite from the many months of men wearing you down, hoping that you’ll simply give in.
“You are from Dale?” he asks, guiding the two of you into a turn.
“Yes. I run a bookshop there.”
He smiles and you instantly melt, loving the attention. “You’re a reader then?”
“Yes. Are you?”
“When I have the time, I do enjoy it. Yes.”
The people around you fall into a dip and Thorin responds in kind. When he brings you back up, your foreheads are nearly touching, and your mouths could easily close the distance if one of you made the first move.
Perhaps it’s only a second, but the two of you hang there in that moment. Close, but not closing the distance. Thorin’s blue eyes are piercing. Sharp. They are like steel swords. You are cut through, down to your core, and you are unable to look away.
The music tapers off, but Thorin does not pull away. He does not remove his arm from around your waist. And you do not remove your hands from him.
“I should go,” you murmur, but make no move to break contact.
“Should you?” asks Thorin, his head tipping to the side as he examines you.
And you do draw back from him, even though it’s painful. Thorin releases you, but remains unmoving, his hands slightly outstretched before him as if you’ll step right back into them.
“Thank you. You’re a lovely partner to dance with,” you say just as the music begins to swell again.
Thorin bows deeply, and the gesture momentarily steals your breath.
“Enjoy your books. Perhaps you may find me amongst your shelves one day.”
He turns and leaves, disappearing into the crowd. Turning on your heel, you bolt for the door, your chest heaving as your heart hammers.
Deja steps into your path and her hands grab your shoulders. “Are you leaving?”
“Yes,” and you almost choke on your answer.
She frowns, her brow creasing. “Did he hurt you?”
“No!”
She sighs, her relief spreading across her face. “Oh, thank goodness.” Deja releases your shoulders and places her hands on her hips. “I’d end up in Erebor’s dungeons for assaulting the crown prince if he had.”
“The what?” you splutter, eyes round and alert as you turn around to look for Thorin.
“Did you not know?” asks Deja skeptically.
You swallow, and don’t answer.
“By the gods,” laughs Deja. “What did he say to you?”
Gripping the front of your dress, you turn back to Deja. “He said he might come to the shop.”
Her eyes widen a moment before a mischievous grin spreads across her face. “He likes you.”
“Don’t say that,” you hiss.
Her laugh is loud as she grabs your wrist and guides you to the exit. Tucking her arm around yours, she pulls you in close. “You’re giving me detail of this encounter.”
taglist:
@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado
290 notes · View notes
thesecretwriter · 11 months
Text
my king, my love - thorin oakenshield
pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x female reader
warnings: angst – a fight with thorin, fluff – sweet moments from thorin & smut – in a library, minors dni.
summary: in which y/n and thorin are courting each other, and though they live in the same kingdom, they have never felt more apart.
word count: 2.2k
a/n: as promised, here is the thorin oakenshield fic. I will forever be a thorin Oakenshield loving girl.
minors/ageless blogs dni. 
masterlists
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“All I’m asking for is some time with you. I barely see you anymore,” you express sadly.
Thorin is aware of his absence from your side, and while he wishes he could spend every waking moment with you, the kingdom requires his attention too.
“The kingdom is thriving under you rule. Since the war of the five armies you have not rested,” you say frustrated.
“Amrâlimê… please,” he pleads with you to understand.
You have been nothing but understanding to Thorin. He needed to put himself first.
“King Thorin, you’re needed for a discussion regarding the trade,” one of the kingdoms advisers said interrupting you and Thorin.
You look away in defeat, you knew he would go to the discussion regardless.
He stepped toward you, but you retreated.
“You should go,”
He can hear the defeat behind your words.
With one last look to you, he followed the dwarf.
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“I thought after the war things would be better,” you tell Bofur as you help him in the kitchen.
“His just doing what he believes is right,” Bofur tries to reason.
“Hasn’t he been doing that since the beginning?” you ask sadly.
Bofur smiles at you sadly.
“I think we should bake a cake,” Bofur suggested, he was trying to make you feel better and knew your love of sweet treats.
“That’s a good idea,” you smiled at him and began to take out what you needed for baking.
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“Just a little taste,” Thorin heard Kili’s voice echoed through the halls.
“You better not, I will wack you with this spoon,” he heard you threaten.
Growing curious at the commotion, he followed the source of the noise and came to the sight of you trying to pry Kili away from your mixing bowl.
“Hello uncle,” Kili greeted.
You grew tense at his words and took that as your chance to continue mixing.
“What’s happening here?” his question was directed at you, but Kili answered.
“Our dearest y/n here is baking. She refuses for me to have a taste of the batter,” Kili complains.
“You better stop worrying her before she really does wack you laddie,” Bofur chuckles as Kili swipes his finger into the batter.
You gasp and hit him upside the head.
“Ow,” he rubs his head but enjoys eating the batter.
Your eyes finally meet Thorin’s eyes which hold longing in them.
“Your majesty,” you greet him by bowing your head.
Everyone in the kitchen freezes.
Not once have you ever addressed Thorin as that, he always made it known that you were his equal.
“Everyone out now,”
Everyone exits immediately. Just as you’re about to do the same, Thorin’s grip on your arm stops you.
“Not you amrâlimê,”
When he knows the other dwarves are out of ear shot, he turns you towards him and settles his hands on your waist, pulling you to him.
“You know I see you as my equal,” he murmured and moved a few stray strands away from your face.
“I’m addressing you as what you are, our king,” you say with no emotion.
“Please don’t say it like that,” he says sadly.
“Like what?” you say sharply.
“Like that is all I am to you,” he shouts.
“Isn’t that what you are?” you ask stubbornly.
He signs tiredly.
“To everyone else, yes, but to you I am Thorin,” he leaned in and settled his forehead to yours.
You don’t say anything else to him. He finds comfort in the silence and having you close to him.
“I miss you,” you whisper.
“I’m right here,” he insists pulling away.
“Yes, but you’re not here,” you take his hand and settled it on your heart.
His own heart skips a beat.
“What are you saying?” he asked scared of what you might answer.
“It feels as though I am not bound to you, as though you’re not my other half,” your words break with a sob.
Only then did he realise that you were crying.
“I am and always will be yours,” he assures you.
You can’t take the overwhelming of emotions you are feeling, so you step away from Thorin for some space.
“My heart has belonged to you since the beginning,” he says further.
“No Thorin. Your heart belongs to the kingdom, and maybe I’m being selfish in saying this, but I have not felt your love as of late,”
Thorin is rendered speechless by your words.
You knew your words hurt him, but this all you’ve been feeling lately and Thorin needed to know if before it escalated to mahal knows that.
“I need to go. Excuse me,” you say wiping your tear and walking out of the kitchen.
Thorin stood there and knew what he needed to do.
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It had been 3 days since you had been avoiding Thorin. You exited any room he stepped foot in and even used others as an excuse to avoid interacting with him.
“I never knew the kingdom had a library,” you say to Balin as he guided you through the old hallways.
“The library has not been used since the time Thorin’s grandfathers ruled,” the door to the library had an emblem of ancient Dwarfish words.
“I’ll let you explore it las,” Balin said respectfully bowing his head.
You thanked him as your ran your hand over the door.
Just by the sight of it, you knew it was made by non-other than the dwarves themselves. You had seen Thorin make many objects with the skills he attained.
You unconsciously reach for the courting bead occupying a braid in your hair. The very same one that Thorin made just for you.
With a sigh, you push the doors of the library open. It was dimly lit inside, but not enough for you to not be able to see.
The smell of vanilla surrounded you, the scent being your favourite.
You walk into the library and take in the sight of the shelves occupied with books that tell the many tales and history of dwarves, elves, men, and creatures alike.
As you linger along the bookshelves, the sound of shuffling captures your attention. You reached for the satchel around your waist and grab your dagger.
“Who is there?” you ask cautiously making your way toward the noise.
You hear the noise again. “Show yourself,” you demand.
Coming out with his hands raised in surrender is Thorin.
He is dressed in clothing he once wore in the blue mountain, not the royal attire that you found him in as of late.
You put your dagger away.
“Why didn’t you say it was you?” you ask annoyed.
“I wasn’t sure if you would want to be in my company,” he answers.
You gawk at him.
Is he serious?
That is the opposite of what you wanted.
“That is the last thing I would do,” you say and walk toward him.
You knew you couldn’t avoid him forever, in fact you had only been avoiding him to gain a clear thought process from the events of the days before.
He smiles in appreciation when you stand in front of him.
“What do you think of my attire?” he asked with a raise of a brow.
“Very handsome,” you reply in the same tone as his.
“I thought you would be busy,” you say to him curiously.
“It was about time Fili got some guidance in ruling the kingdom,” he casually states as he held his arm for you to take.
You loop in your arm in his and look to him questionably.
“I take it was no coincidence that Balin showed me the library then?” you ask.
“No. I asked him to bring you here. I know you find solace amongst books,” he answered and led you further into the library.
You walk past bookshelves and come in sight of a couch fitted for two, beside it a table with a candle and a few books.
“I thought it would be fitting for me to show you some of my favourite books,”
He motions toward the couch for you to sit, he takes a book from the table before joining you.
You watched him in awe as he flips through the pages.
He can feel your eyes on him but does his best to avoid making eye contact with you.
“This a story my mother would read me when I was little. Its about two dwarves who were in love but couldn’t be together due to their families’ differences,” he tells you.
You look down to the book and see that it has illustrations of the story. You run your fingers up and down the page, Thorin intwines his fingers with yours.
“Amrâlimê. Since the day my mother first read me this story, I made a promise to forever love the dwarf I would one day come to love,” he said finally meeting your eyes.
“Thorin-“ you’re cut off by Thorin.
“No. I need to say this,” he insists.
“I haven’t been true to my promise, and in the few days without you, it made me realise how easily I could lose my love,”
You shake your head at his words.
“Thorin, no matter the distance between us, I could never stop loving you. All I wanted was for you to take care of yourself,” you explain.
“I understand, but that does not take away from the fact that I have indeed been neglectful to you,” he leans forward, and you feel the tip of his nose touch yours.
You stare into his eyes, and they speak more words than you could ever verbally express.
He connects his lips to yours and pulls you impossibly closer to you.
You moan into the kiss when he makes you straddle him.
“‘miss you,” he murmurs against your lips.
“‘m right here,” you reply.
You pour all your emotions into the kiss, making sure Thorin is aware of just how much he means to you.
He hands roam your clothed body. When he goes to trail kisses down your neck, you come to your senses.
“Thorin, what if someone walks in,”
“They don’t know we’re here,” he states and goes to undo the lace at the back of your dress.
You could feel him harden beneath you.
“Been to long,” his words were becoming slurred on lust and love.
He easily undid the top of your dress and took time appreciating your breasts. You moan at the feeling of him teasing you.
He looks up at you in awe, never had he been so in love.
“I love you,” he says as he pulls back to look at you more.
“And I you,” you state.
He wraps an arm around your waist and moves so that he is above you and you lay beneath him. Your legs are secure around his waist.
“You’re addicting amrâlimê,” he lays kisses as he rids you of your skirt.
He takes the time to admire your beauty. Your chest rises from arousal and your lips are parted, craving to has his lips on yours.
He does quick work of taking off his own shirt and pants, the be as bare as you are.
“My love,” you announce as you reach for him. He smirks at your words and feels his pride rise.
You feel his cock brushing against your thigh and reach between the two of you to take hold of it, he hisses in reaction.
“Y/n,” he warns.
You rub the tip of his cock to your wet folds, coating his cock and make him moan in pleasure.
“Need to feel you,” he groans.
You align his cock with your entrance and move your hips forward, indicating for him to move as well. Thorin does not waste a moment. He puts all his body weight on you and fills you to the brim.
He swears in khuzdul under his breath, but does not hesitate to rock his hip forward, not leaving space between the two of you.
You are all but moaning in his ear and letting his know just how good he is making you feel.
“Thorin,” you plead.
“I know amrâlimê. I know,” he acknowledges your pouted lips and knitted brows.
He buries his head in your neck and inhales your scent, feeling himself becoming intoxicated by you.
He knows you are close when he feels your nails scratching down his back.
“Yes amrâlimê, mark me as yours,” he encourages.
His words tip you over the edge, and your tightness makes him meet his moment. He kisses you through his orgasm and moans into your mouth.
All that can be heard in the quiet library is the sound of both of your laboured breathing.
“I want to marry you,” he murmurs against your lips.
“Isn’t that the purpose of courting?” you ask with a chuckle.
He takes his cloak to cover the both of you as you cuddle on the couch. You cuddle into his check as his arms hold you close to him.
“I want there to be a wedding, soon,” he explains.
You peer at him in disbelief.
“You mean…”
“Yes, I mean that we should begin planning our wedding right away,” he chuckles at your expression.
“You mean it?” you ask.
“With every beat of my heart. I want to make you my queen.” He admits.
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cloverboii · 9 months
Text
Thorin Oakenshield is not the sharpest tool in the box, and he was not thinking exactly straight when he allowed Bilbo Baggins to join them, but he had come up with a mental bullet list of possible outcomes for the entire journey — from everyone dead, to some dead, to him dead, to Bilbo dead... And, then, the slightest chance of everyone surviving and heading to Erebor, with every single limb still attached to their bodies, and fighting against the same dragon that ruined Thorin's life — and started the long list of traumatic experiences that shape him.
The only thing Thorin never counted with — never occurred to him, not even in those nights when he let his mind run wild... was that every single dwarf in the world would fancy Bilbo Baggins.
Of course, starting with himself.
As Mahal called for him as the roar of battle diminished, reduced, came to a sweet, rather eerily silent nothing, Thorin was forced to face the cruelest of truths in the world: he was, is, and will always be in love with Bilbo Baggins. He knows that his kin is prone to loving once — some twice, or thrice, or none —, and that they would rather die than seek anyone else. He can recall those tales about fated partners, about souls that match each other perfectly. He even remembers how Dís fell in love with her husband — straightforward, no hesitation as they danced in the new halls of his kin, their eyes never leaving each other's gaze, their hearts beating at the same pace as they waltzed and the world was white noise in the background of the start of their love story.
Thorin has never sought such an adventure for himself. He couldn't, not when everyone needed him: Smaug took his home when he was too young, too naive for a world full of hatred and distrust. What he didn't know back then, he had to learn it while being part of the survivors of the attack wandering through Middle Earth. Even now, his back hurts, his shoulders sag at the weight of carrying his little sister — such a frail child —, one hand firmly grabbing Frerin's. Both so small, robbed from their mother and left with a gone king and grandfather, and a mourning, withering father.
Thorin considers that his father's blatant grief — his figure, a mere corpse walking with bags, following orders and weeping at night — was the first nail on the coffin of his heart. He doesn't even remember crying for his mother back then: everyone else did it for him, sobbing for every single dwarf that fell because they couldn't stop a dragon attracted by the greed of their king, and Thorin swore himself, one night when Dís begged for their mother, to never bring such distress on his kin.
Looking back to his past, Thorin's story is one of loss — losing his home, losing his dignity, losing his status, losing his mother, losing his grandfather, losing his brother — he was such a sunshine in Thorin's life, wasn't he? Never giving up, never failing to smile when feeding Dís, never letting Thorin fall on his knees. And Thorin lost him.
Frerin was the last nail to his heart. Thorin knows he is not exactly the gentleman he could be — trauma has woven the connections in his brain, and he is ready to say goodbye when needed. He keeps himself detached from others, or so he likes to tell himself; he prefers to believe that, deep down, he has done his best in raising Dís, on being there on the day of her wedding, on the day that Fíli came to the world and, years later, Kíli followed. He trained them — he looked over them, harsher than ever, scared, terrified of burying down their bodies as he had been forced to do with Frerin.
A child will always grow up to bury their parents, but should never be forced to shovel down the earth for their sibling, and even less their nephews.
All in all, Thorin Oakenshield has kept everyone at arm's length. Only Dís can break into that vulnerable side of his — only his little sister, with her big eyes, her smirk that resembles Frerin's so much, that looks like their mother more than ever... Only her can kick him awake, awake from the slumber in which he lives, putting everyone's needs above his own.
And then came Bilbo Baggins.
Bilbo Baggins. A hobbit. So frail. So weak. So easy to faint. So unprepared for the wild life, for the perils that would face them. He belongs to cosy homes — when thinking of Bilbo, Thorin can see him wrapped up in blankets, sitting against a comfortable bedhead, reading a book the pages of which are torn, used, visibly read thousands of times, and yet they pull a sigh from the hobbit's lips, a sigh of content, of disappointment, of happiness.
Bilbo Baggins. A fake burglar. A hobbit who has a heart of gold — of more gold than any that Smaug could have ever treasured. A hobbit so selfless, so scared of everything outside his home and yet willing to help them.
Bilbo Baggins. A beautiful being with lovely curls, with wrinkles of his age, with soft eyes. A hobbit that wears his heart not even in a sleeve but on his palms. Huge feet that stomp when he is annoyed, much for Thorin's amusement, and pointy ears that blush when he is embarrassed, much for Thorin's fluttering heart.
Bilbo Baggins. A hobbit that could have gone on with his life, and yet risked it for thirteen dwarves that barged uninvited into his smial, a chaos of chattering and drinking and gobbling down food plus the tale of a dragon and a certain death wish. A hobbit that outwitted trolls, that survived a thunderbattle of giants, that found his way out of a town infested with goblins, that saved them from Thranduil's cells, that encouraged them to find the right spot for the key and even riddled with a dragon. A hobbit had faced Thorin's worst nightmare — the red scales that haunted him in his sleep, in a nightmare from which he always woke up sweaty and paralysed in fear —, and had won.
Bilbo Baggins. A hobbit who never hesitated to check on him. Who smiled at him. Who joked with him. Who hugged him when he suffered from his nightmares and promised not to tell anyone. Who woke him up from his madness — him, following the steps of those before him, and yet Bilbo's voice had been so clear. Pristine clear, piercing through the darkness that isolated him.
Thorin might not be the sharpest tool, indeed, but as he was there, holding on to dear life, exhaling his regret to Bilbo, he considered confessing — telling Bilbo that he loved him, that he was the reason Thorin had not given up mid-journey when everyone despaired, that he was the One and Only for Thorin and that the mithril shirt was a token of secret courtship, not open friendship. He pondered, as life slipped away, if it was worth it to let his heart win the battle for once.
Alas, he is a coward, and could not. He could not say it. He could not whisper it, not when Bilbo was sobbing, tears falling down those beautiful cheeks that lost so much fat — Thorin's worst sin is, definitely, having given Bilbo a life worth of trauma with such a journey. Or so whispers his heart, which also accuses him from betraying his promise and bringing the same sorrow to everyone than those before him.
And now? Now he is the King Under the Mountain due to some miracle — not even Gandalf, in his infinite wisdom, has a clear answer for it. It has been a tough adventure of its own, indeed, to stay in bed, covered in bandages and balms, his lungs almost surrendering to the pain all the time. A fight he has not engaged alone — not when everyone keeps an eye on him, aiding him, and he has been forced to realise that he should have always let others see him... so that the burden was lessened.
It's in the darkness of his room, one night, when the tears start to pour. It's when he has enough strength to lift his arms and wipe them away; when his voice is back, yet can only offer soft whimpers that escape him without control; when his mind takes a hundred-year-deserved break from its duty to keep his heart under chains, and now it yells, screams, lashes out in pain.
It's in the darkness of his room when a smooth palm caresses his bearded cheek; when a honey-dripping sweet voice whispers that everything will be fine; when pointy ears hear, again, that which Thorin has never, ever shared with anyone.
And, now that Thorin can walk around Erebor and see — not help in — the entire, huge project of making it a home again...
... now is when he realises how Bilbo Baggins must be the most coveted hero in the world.
Thorin first notices it when he is wandering through the halls, alone, aided by two makeshift canes. He sees Bilbo's curly hair in the distance — he could recognise him anywhere in the world —, carrying a pile of books. It is impossible for his heart not to flutter and for his lips not to curve into a smile, and he finds his voice to say Bilbo's name; and yet Bilbo's attention is snatched by another dwarf, definitely younger than Thorin.
Bilbo laughs, his ears becoming redder, and, suddenly, Thorin has turned around while his heart is stabbed, a greater pain than his almost final blow leaving him without air in his lungs.
And it happens again — when Thorin wants to eat together with Bilbo, when they find each other in the halls and stop to speak, when Thorin goes into the greatest library of any dwarven hall (besides Khazad-dûm) to seek Bilbo; there's always a dwarf — the same, different, from any gender — covetting Bilbo's attention, desiring to speak with the brave halfling — hobbit, Thorin wants to correct them — to hear his story, or use his small body for something, or simply chat him up, trying to seduce him into a courtship.
And Thorin becomes sick with jealousy each time. Each single time, he departs, leaving a confused Bilbo behind. However, he is terrified to snap, to snarl at someone because they look at his hobbit with heart eyes, flirting in front of his very own face — and then he is horrified by such possessiveness because, does he even deserve to call Bilbo his?
Took him from his home. Almost led him to be eaten by trolls. Pushed him away. Insulted him. Doubted him. Almost killed him with his own hands.
Also loved him. Gave him his coat on cold nights. Laid next to him in Beorn's barn. Let him see a Thorin that no one had seen in so long.
He is not worthy of Bilbo, and yet he longs for him. Thorin feels ridiculous, despicable, even, every time he steps in the way. The jealousy monster takes him over, and then comes the shame of not having self-control — he should have never let his heart dominate him, not when it died when Frerin passed away, and yet Bilbo has resurrected it and holds it in his soft, tender hands.
Bilbo Baggins is free to choose — and Thorin doubts that he will stay much longer, even if he has lived in Erebor for the winter, pushing his return to The Shire to spring. And then, from spring, to summer — never truly showing any sign that he wants to leave, almost as if he was giving himself time to wait for something that escapes Thorin's wit and knowledge. He has caught Bilbo sighing in the distance, curly hair stroked by the wind as his elbows barely reach the bannister of a balcony, eyes lost as he gazes down on the entirety of Erebor — he has caught Bilbo with paper and ink in his hands, writing and crossing out whatever he did before burning the paper in the nearest fireplace.
What is Bilbo Baggins waiting for to leave? To leave him behind? How could Thorin even dare to propose to Bilbo to stay? To tell him that he needs him there, being with him?
No chance.
Except there is a chance.
As the temperature starts to get hotter, Thorin is surprised to see Bilbo with a bag in his hands. His hands run cold — his entire blood freezes as he connects the dots. Bilbo is grabbing stuff to prepare himself to depart the Mountain. He is leaving to the Shire. He is leaving, this time, when summer is up and it is hot enough. He is leaving, and probably will celebrate his birthday in the middle of the road, or, if he reaches, with those elves of Rivendell — not with Thorin, though. Not with his new found family.
He is abandoning them all, and Thorin has found out because he couldn't help himself and knock on Bilbo's room, wishing to see him at late hours.
"Thorin!" Bilbo greets him with a smile, bag still in his hand, and Thorin cannot find the words inside himself to return the greeting. Bilbo's smile falters a bit. "It's rather late... Do you need anything?"
"... Can I go inside?"
Heart thumping, he steps inside Bilbo's room. The door clicks shut behind him, and his hands grow sweaty. This room is such a copy of the Bag End that Thorin could rescue from his memories — he asked the dwarves to decorate it exactly like that to make Bilbo feel home, to seduce him into staying, and yet he is leaving. He is leaving, and Thorin hasn't told him the truth of his heart.
Again.
"I have thanked you before," Bilbo says as he circles Thorin to stand in front of him, "but let me express my gratitude again. This," he looks around, nostalgic smile tugging at his lips, "is amazing."
"Wanted you to feel like home." Since when does Thorin's voice sound like that? So foreign.
Bilbo's eyes soften. "I do." The hobbit looks around for a chair and misses Thorin's softening gaze as he fantasises about the meaning of those two words. "Here, come sit down! I've lost my hobbit manners with you lot."
The teasing tone makes Thorin chuckle as he eases himself on the chair. "A hobbit being more dwarven than hobbit? Impossible."
"Wait until my cousin Lobelia hears about this, she would want more than the silverware!" Bilbo giggles — a sound crafted by Mahal himself —, and Thorin's heart is long gone into a race. Then, Bilbo stares at him, and he wishes to hide somewhere deep under the Sun. "So... Is there any reason for your late visit?"
I missed you. I long for you. I love you. "Nothing much... I haven't seen you in the last few days."
Coward. Coward. Coward.
"I see." Bilbo sits down on his bed, his fingers playing with the blankets, pinching it. "Well, I've been busy."
"With?" Thorin hates the hopeful tone in his voice.
"My journey back home."
There it is. The blow. The lack of air. Thorin's hands become fists on his hands — can he dare to be selfish? When Bilbo is gauging his very expression?
"When?" Thorin whispers, unable to get more than a choked voice out of his throat.
"Next week." That's so soon. Bilbo tilts his head a bit. "I... have nothing to keep me here much longer. I mean, I have the Company but..." Bilbo sighs, looking down. "... You lot will be... well, without me here."
No. Thorin wouldn't. He would plunge into darkness. Why can't he say it? Why can't his heart win this battle and express itself? When Bilbo's eyes weigh on him like that, almost as if the hobbit expected something from him? Get a grip!
"I wish you a good journey back."
Silence reigns after Thorin's words. The dwarf looks down to his lap — he's done it. He has pushed Bilbo away, far away, against his heart's wishes. Bilbo has no reason to stay — he is betraying himself to let Bilbo go, even if they are nothing more than... friends. It stings. It stings how his want has grown this much, and how he will never take a Consort after Bilbo abandons Erebor.
He won't be able to.
"... I might be seeing things but... You have a way to say exactly what you don't mean, Thorin."
Smooth hands cup Thorin's bearded cheeks. He melts at the touch — the familiar gesture from Bilbo, who is staring down to him with such a chaos of emotions in his eyes, all fighting to come forth and all hesitant to stand under the spotlight and be seen and read by Thorin. Thorin thaws, his heart pounding against his ribcage, as he dares to lift his gaze and meet Bilbo's eyes. Small thumbs caress his skin, sparks of fire burning him down and fuelling the warmth that spreads through his chest and makes it want to break free.
"Do I?" Thorin mutters, bewitched, weak to Bilbo's touch.
"You do. It's your way to stay safe." Bilbo's stare jumps one blue eye to the other one, his attention unwavering. "You push others away."
"I thought we were speaking about-"
"And change the topic." Bilbo's tender smile disarms Thorin. "Are you upset because I'm leaving?"
Thorin hesitates. He cannot trust his mouth, so he nods, slowly. Bilbo's smile widens, and the hobbit leans down ever so slightly, yet it has Thorin one step away from trembling.
"Do you want to know why I haven't until now?" Thorin waits patiently for Bilbo to continue. "Because I had hope."
"Hope?"
"This adventure has made me gain attention — unwanted, mostly." Bilbo sighs. "Go here, do that, and a long list... Everyone wanting to hear my tale, my thoughts, but this is not my first rodeo, Thorin, and I know when someone desires more than a brief conversation with me."
"I see," Thorin says curtly.
"You don't." Thorin stares at him, befuddled by Bilbo's sad smile. "You fail, again, because there is one single being I craved attention from, and he didn't give it. He turned away whenever we met. He left me behind, confused. He didn't look for me."
"I did," Thorin defends himself before he realises he has assumed that Bilbo is speaking of him. "Sorry, I shouldn't-"
Bilbo lets out a soft chuckle. "No, you're right." Thorin recoils a bit, embarrassed. "Thorin... I am telling you all this because I want to leave without regrets. It is a long way to the Shire — so long, that I hope that the next time we see each other, I will have forgotten about the very same reason why I've stayed away from it for such a long period of time."
"And that is?"
Bilbo leans down even more. His forehead is warm against Thorin's. His voice is a tender whisper, full of raw emotion, and it has Thorin blushing with so much force that he feels dizzy.
"It is that I love you so much that I thought about dying when you almost did."
Thorin finds, suddenly, that the words are easy. That they roll out of his tongue. That they have broken free from their prison, and that the key was held by Bilbo. Bilbo, always Bilbo.
"Me too," he says, hurriedly. His hands reach to Bilbo's hands, gripping them. "I love you."
Thorin Oakenshield may not be the sharpest tool in the box. He may have not been thinking straight when he brought Bilbo Baggins with his Company into a dangerous adventure. And he may have never thought of falling for Bilbo, and Bilbo falling for him, and both alive with an Erebor that is coming back to life as a phoenix does.
However, if there is anything certain for Thorin Oakenshield, is that Bilbo's lips on his are the truest bliss on this cruel world — that for each wound in his soul, Bilbo's touch closes it up — that for every time Thorin feels undeserving, Bilbo's voice is a soft embrace that reminds him of his worth.
Thorin may have never counted with every dwarf fancying Bilbo Baggins. But Bilbo Baggins always counted with Thorin falling for him since Thorin woke up from battle and his eyes bore a deep love screaming for help to be free.
He always held hope.
And Thorin responded to that call when it was withering away — and, like Erebor, gave them a new beginning when everything was almost lost.
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Care To Make A Wager?
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Chapter 5
Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader
Summary: There's only one bathing pool and all of the pent up tension between you and Thorin finally starts to come to a head in the form of a bet
Warnings: smut, 18+, NSFW, Minors do not interact, angst, fingering, spanking, light choking, biting
author's note: Ahhhh! I'm so excited to finally share this chapter with you guys!!!!!! There will be plenty more spiciness to come between these two, and that is a promise, dear reader😉
Word count: 3686
To say you were in need of a bath would be a massive understatement. After spending so long on the road you felt as though you were covered in a permanent layer of dirt and dust. Your boots were caked with mud and your hair seemed to be harboring an entire forest of leaves and twigs. 
When Lord Elrond offered you rooms to wash up before dinner, you were all too happy to accept. You had spent so much time in Rivendell over the years that you knew exactly how to get to your regular guest suite. 
The wardrobe was still full of fine gowns and shoes in your exact size. The well-worn books you had failed to return to the great library still sat undisturbed in a pile next to the bed. It took a great amount of restraint to keep yourself from running your fingers along all of the familiar elven luxurious. Not until you had scrubbed all of the dirt and grime from your skin. 
There is a large bathing pool right outside your room that you are all too eager to step foot in. It is always filled with warm, flowing water, and the ceiling above remains open to reveal the sky overhead. You grab yourself a clean towel and practically skip through the adjoining door.
Only to stop short when you see someone else has already beaten you to it. 
“No!” you shout in frustration and Thorin turns to see you pouting angrily at him from the doorway. 
He chuckles at your frustration from where he already stands in the warm waters up to his chest. You take extra care to direct your glare right at his face, refusing to let your gaze wander down to all the exposed skin.
“Sorry lass, not fast enough this time,” 
“Thorin,” you growl, “do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to visit this pool again?” he just shrugs at you. “There's another one down the hall I’ve been told, if you hurry you might still be able to beat the others to it.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” you snap before letting out a sigh.
“I can’t use that one,” you mumble, “it’s too…deep.”
Thorin stares at you in confusion for only a moment before barking out a laugh.
“Are you saying,” he chuckles, “that after all these years you still haven’t learned how to swim?”
You growl at him before turning around to march back to your room. 
“Wait!” he calls after you, still laughing. “I’m sorry, lass. We can share if you’d like? There’s plenty of room.”
You turn back to look at him suspiciously. He’s right, it’s a very large pool you could easily fit several people at once. The problem is that sharing it would mean taking your clothes off in his presence. It’s one thing for him to be naked, while you stand there fully clothed. But the depth of the water prevents you from seeing anything below his chest and you have a lot more…parts, that require coverage. 
It’s not that you feel insecure about your body, especially with all of the low-coverage outfits you’ve worn while performing. It's just that the idea of Thorin seeing you in that capacity feels… different. 
“I won’t look,” Thorin promises, seeing your internal debate.
The water looks so refreshing and warm,  you can’t help but think it would be worth the risk.
“Fine,” you relent, tossing your towel nearby and toeing off your boots. “But if I catch you peeking you’re walking out of that pool with fewer parts than you had going in.” He turns around slowly to face the wall when you reach up to undo the laces of your trousers, shimmying them down your legs before letting them fall into a muddy pile with your blouse not far behind.
You cautiously dip one foot into the water, slowly lowering your body all the way in and  a contented sigh escapes past your lips before you can stop it. 
The water comes up to your shoulders, and you try to rearrange your hair as best as you can so it covers your breasts.
“Alright,” you tell him, and he cautiously turns to face you again. 
His gaze slowly trails down every inch of exposed skin, lingering just a moment longer on the ends of your carefully placed hair.
Thorin takes a cautious step closer towards you and your breath catches in your chest. He slowly moves closer and closer to you until he’s standing right before you. If you were to drop your gaze, it would be safe to assume that you could see all the way down his torso, perhaps even further… which is exactly why you keep your chin held high and your eyes locked on his. 
He lifts one hand up out of the water and lifts it up reaching towards your chest ever so slowly. Your eyes widen and you temporarily forget how to breathe in anticipation as his hand finally makes contact… with the bar of soap beside you.
He takes a few steps back with that self-righteous smirk on his face as he starts to run the soap between his hands.
“Is something the matter?” he asks you tauntingly, “one might say you look… disappointed.”
You let out a growl and angrily splash water in his direction but he just laughs at your irritation.
You turn around to dunk your head underwater, wetting your hair enough to start lathering in one of the fragrant shampoos sitting by the side of the pool. 
With the product now in your hair, all of the dirt and debris finally starts to untangle itself from your head. All except for one particularly stubborn twig that seems to have knotted itself around several strands of your hair in one of the most inconvenient and unreachable places on your head. You yank and pull at it blindly but no matter how hard you try it only seems to make it worse. You could try adding more products but it would be pointless.
“Could you help me please?” you ask with a frustrated sigh. Thorin hums in confirmation behind you and you feel the heat radiating off him as he wordlessly approaches you from behind. 
You let your arms fall back to your sides in the water as his strong hands come up behind you to take their place. He delicately starts untangling it one strand at a time. Moving gently to try and avoid causing you any pain. You can’t remember the last time someone’s played with your hair like this, and the sensation causes your eyelids to flutter closed and your shoulders to droop in relaxation as you sink slightly deeper into the water.
“I could teach you if you’d like,” he says quietly, “to swim I mean. It’s an important skill it just might save your life one day.”
“Sure it is,” you reply sarcastically, “you just want an excuse to grope me underwater,”
His fingers still for a moment, “It doesn’t have to be underwater, but if you’re offering…”
You tip your head back to look at him with your eyes narrowed, pretending to give it some thought.
“Hmm, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your generous offer my king.” you reply formally, “I have very high standards for all my lovers, I only share my bed with those who can give pleasure just as well as they receive it.”
You’re only half joking to get under his skin, but Thorin doesn’t seem to take it that way. 
His grip on your hair gently tightens, and he leans down to bring his lips beside your ear.
“Are you implying that I’m incapable of bringing a woman to climax?” he whispers darkly.
Shivers run up your spine and a hot clenching sensation forms in your belly. You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly.
“Care to make a wager on that?” he challenges.
“Very funny,” you smirk nervously, trying to dig yourself out of the hole you’ve quickly gotten yourself in.
“I’m not laughing,” he replies darkly, one of his hands leaves your hair to trace a slow, agonizing path down the side of your neck, before landing on your shoulder.
“I bet I could make you come, right here, right now, using only my fingers.”
You gasp at the filthy images that start to fill your mind and you’re forced to squeeze your thighs together to help relieve some of the ache.
“How about we make a deal,” he drags his other hand along your spine causing your back to arch in ecstasy. “If I can make you come, you have to let me teach you how to swim.”
You laugh at his request, before thinking of a condition of your own.
“And when you can't, you have to let Lord Elrond look at the map.” his hand stills on your back and you half expect him to refuse.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he brings both hands down to your hips and roughly pulls your back up against his chest. “Deal,” he whispers before playfully nipping at your earlobe.
One arm snakes around your belly to anchor you closer to him, while the other reaches up to grab one of your breasts. You moan as his hand squeezes and massages the soft flesh. 
He growls into your ear and thrusts his hips deeper into your backside, making it all too clear to you just how his body is reacting to yours.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?’ he asks, his hand on your breast starting to trace slow circles around your now hardened nipple. You bite your bottom lip trying your hardest to suppress the sounds of pleasure his ministrations threaten to pull from you. 
“Do you know how many times, I’ve had to find some excuse to slip away, just so I could touch myself to thoughts of you in those damn trousers? It’s all I can think about.”
A wicked grin crosses your face. It brings you great satisfaction to know just how much of an effect you have on him. 
“Tell me,” he whispers from behind you, his free arm moving down the curve of your ass to give it a rough squeeze. “When you touch yourself, what do you think of?”
His hand slides around your hip to slowly inch closer and closer down toward your core. You arch your back to encourage him to keep moving his hand closer, but he stops right above the spot where he knows you need him the most. 
You let out a whine as he stubbornly keeps his hand frozen in place.
“I asked you a question,” he reminds you, “who do you think of?”
You tip your head back to rest against his chest, your eyes meeting his. You smirk at the dark lust you see in his eyes, swimming with desire for you. You think about lying to him, giving an answer that you know will make him angry, unhinged. But you don’t want to risk him moving that hand any farther away from your core.
“You, Thorin,” you whisper to him, “always you.”
He roughly brings his lips down to yours in a fierce kiss, and at the same time, he slides his fingers down the rest of the way to trace large circles around your core.  His hand at your breast reaches up to wrap around your throat, applying gentle pressure to keep you in place as he gives his tongue the freedom to explore your mouth.
You let out a moan before you can stop yourself, and you can feel the smirk on his face without even having to open your eyes. His teeth scrape against your bottom lip as his fingers start to tease circles around your entrance, one finger tracing the outside before pulling further away again.
You whine at his teasing and thrust your hips up to try and bring the entrance closer to his fingers. 
He abruptly pulls his hand away when he realizes what you’re doing to roughly grab you by the hip, the hand around your throat tightening the smallest amount in warning.
“Uh, uh, uh,” he chides in your ear. “Behave yourself.”
He removes his hand from your throat and presses it between your shoulder blades, gently bending you over in front of him. He keeps a gentle hand on your hip and brushes all of your hair to one side of your neck, exposing your entire back to him. 
Your hands reach up to grip the edge of the pool with a gasp as he starts to kiss his way down your spine slowly. 
“Can you do that for me?” Thorin asks, “Can you be good?”
You nod eagerly as his lips hover over the curve of your backside that remains above the water.
You jolt in surprise as a hand comes down to your ass with a sharp smack. 
“Use your words,” he demands, gently rubbing the now tender skin of your cheeks.
“I’ll be good,” you whisper hoarsely, “I promise.”
Thorin hums in approval as one hand slides down your bottom to tease the entrance to your core once again. His other reaches up to grab a fistful of your hair. With a gentle tug, he is pulling your head back to look at him.
The hand at your core leaves you briefly empty and wanting. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as two of his thick fingers push into your mouth. You can already taste the sweetness of yourself on him as he presses them deeper into your mouth. Your tongue licking and sucking every drop of yourself from them. 
You let yourself put on a little show for him, imagining it wasn’t just his fingers in your mouth. Your eyes flutter closed at the idea of what it would taste like, what it would feel like to have that beast currently pressing against your thighs deep inside of you.
“Eyes open,” Thorin warns with a sharp tug of your hair.
He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, leaving you such a disoriented drooling mess that you don’t even notice where he’s relocated those fingers until they’re plunging deep inside you.
Thorin releases the hand in your hair to cover your mouth just barely fast enough to muffle the scream of pleasure you can no longer contain. 
You push your hips back onto his fingers, signaling for him to start moving and he is oh so happy to oblige. He does not start slow, his brutal pace has you arching your back and crying into his hand at how quickly you can already feel your climax approaching. 
That fire in your body is growing hotter and hotter and yet you still need more.
You desperately reach back behind you, blindly searching for his cock in an attempt to give yourself some kind of anchor in the storm of pleasure. As if sensing your intentions already he growls your name in a low warning, giving his fingers an extra deep thrust to catch you off guard. 
You gasp into his hand, your fingertips just barely grazing the tip.
“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Thorin reminds you.
Shit. you think to yourself. The deal.
You were so confident that all of his talk would not be able to translate to the bedroom, that the only reason his fingers were deep inside your throbbing pussy right now was as part of a childish bet.
A deal to finally find the answers hidden in that map, to help you enter Erebor, and most importantly to knock his ego down more than a few notches.
If you let yourself come on his fingers like this he wins. You’ll have lost the wager, and he’ll be able to lord this victory over you for years to come.
You can’t let him win, you just can’t.
You bite down hard on the rough hand covering your mouth to try and distract both of you from your current task but it still isn’t enough to slow his pace. His eyes narrow at you from above, a wicked grin spreading across his face, seeming to relish the pain.
You growl in frustration, desperate to think of some way, any way to put a stop to the rising flame in your core.
You try thinking of the most unsexy things imaginable: Orcs, rotten fruit, trolls, too-tight corsets, chamber pots. 
But no matter what you try the only thought you seem to be able to hold on to is Thorin.
Thorin who has his fingers inside you.
Thorin whose enormous cock is still pressed up against you.
Thorin whose beard keeps tickling your bare back.
Thorin whose blue eyes look like the hottest part of a burning flame.
Thorin whose deep voice sends shivers down your spine.
Thorin who left you.
Who abandoned you, lied to you, broke your heart.
A hot angry tear slides down your cheek and you bite harder into his palm, enough to feel droplets of blood start to roll down your chin and mix with the salt of your tears. 
You hate him. He betrayed you, broke your trust, and left you all alone. And he has the audacity to still make you feel things for him? After everything?
Perhaps after everything, he owes you this much. A mind-blowing orgasm, deal be damned. You’ll convince him to share the map some other way.
You’re feeling a pleasure so intense, so intoxicating, that when his fingers finally hit that one perfect spot inside you, you let yourself come undone on him. You’re too high on your own bliss to even care that you’ve lost the bet.
You wait for Thorin to start gloating, to rub it in your face that you were wrong. But he doesn’t.
He just slowly removes his fingers from your core and his bloody palm from your face and quietly disappears behind you in the water. Your head suddenly feels impossibly heavy and you let yourself slump over the edge of the pool, exhausted and trembling.
Thorin reappears behind you with a gentle hand on your back, while the other brings a warm cloth against your skin. 
He gently turns you to face him and you’re too tired to put up a fight. A strong arm wraps around your back to hold you upright against him. He brings the warm cloth to your face, gently wiping the mess off your chin and your lips, before trailing it farther and farther down washing every inch of exposed skin with an intense focus. 
It’s getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open. Sensing your fatigue he drops the cloth as soon as he’s done and starts to slowly lead you out of the pool. 
“Wait here,” he whispers as soon as you’re out of the warm water’s embrace, cold and shivering. You cross your arms over your chest to try and warm yourself before a soft towel is gently wrapped around your body. You attempt to take one, shaky step back towards your room and are immediately swept off of your fawn like legs into Thorin’s arms. 
He carries you back into your suite, the both of you undoubtedly dripping water across the marble floor as he gently places you on the bed.
You’re almost disappointed to see that he now has a towel covering his bare waist.
You expect him to leave you now if he has no interest in gloating, but instead, he crawls onto the bed with you. His body heat is such a welcome feeling that you don’t protest when he settles in right behind you wrapping a strong arm across your wet skin and pulling you in closer towards him by your waist. 
“You were trying to fight it weren’t you?” 
You shiver at the sensation of his breath tickling the back of your neck.
“How could you tell?” you ask him.
He chuckles against your ear before giving it a playful bite. 
“You always have this look on your face, whenever you’re trying to restrain yourself. I’ll admit it’s not a look I see often as you tend to say or do the first thing that pops into your head without thinking it through,” he grunts as your elbow reaches back to jab him in the ribs.
“What made you change your mind?” he asks in a serious tone. “You could have easily fought me off if you wanted to.”
“I know,” you reply with a sigh. “As much as I hated the idea of letting you win, I figured after everything you put me through, betraying and abandoning me, at the very least you owed me a mind-blowing orgasm.”
You can feel Thorin tense up behind you. You crane your neck to look back at him and he’s staring back at you with an intense look on his face that you can’t quite place.
“I would have thought you’d be flattered to hear me refer to it as ‘mind blowing’” you laugh nervously. He blinks at you and gives a weak smile before slowly untangling his arms from your waist so he can rise to a seat on the bed.
“The others are waiting,” he says, “we should head to dinner before someone comes looking for us.”
You nod silently, not having enough strength to call him out on the convenient change of subject.
“You go ahead,” you tell him, knowing you’ll need some time to process everything that’s just happened. “It might take me a while longer to finish getting ready,” you lie.
He rises from the bed, still clearly deep in thought as he crosses the room to head back to his own suite. He pauses for a moment with his hand on the doorknob, like he has something else he wants to say to you. But instead, he just disappears through the door without another word.
You let out a deep exhale and press the heels of your hands into your eyes.
“I can’t believe I just let Thorin Oakenshield finger fuck me,” you groan.
Next Chapter
Taglist:
@mrsdurin @thetaekwondofeline
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fizzyxcustard · 1 year
Text
True Courage.
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Masterlist of fan fiction
Fandom: The Hobbit
Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Sexual harassment, fluff, mutual pining
Comments/Notes: From the imagine, "Thorin takes a stand for you when a lecherous man won't take no for an answer and keeps bothering you."
This fic touches on a bit of a nerve, as something similar happened to me a few weeks ago when travelling home; so why not put my experience to a good use and make a fic out of it? However, I hope you like the fic. As always, like, reblog and comment if you enjoy. If you wish to be added to any of my tag lists, let me know.
Your stomach lurched and you recoiled as the man took your hand in his. "You are very beautiful," he grinned, staring at you.
It had started off with you being polite, listening to the man talk about his life, and eventually his wife. Then he started nudging closer, his body almost right upon you. You had looked around for any sign of someone who may help you escape. But all the residents of Lake-town were too busy in their own conversations or inebriated. The Company seemed to have disappeared and you could not see anyone you recognised in the sea of heads swarming around you in the Master's main hall.
The man kept trying to catch your gaze as you averted it elsewhere, completely sickened by him. His continued chattering away, but your mind was ablaze, contemplating an escape. The feeling of his hand on you made you feel dirty, defiled.
Across the room and Thorin had a clear view of you. A man who looked easily old enough to be your father was sat beside you, his hand resting on your thigh. Thorin grit his teeth and moved through the crowd toward you, having to shove a few bodies away.
"How about a kiss?" the man asked you, his breath almost upon you.
You shoved his hand away and shifted further out of your seat.
"How dare you!" an angry voice came. "You will leave her, unless you wish to be spitting your teeth out upon the floor."
"Thorin?" you whispered, looking up. His face was livid and fierce. You had never seen Thorin so fired up; his eyes were dark and his teeth were bared.
In your embarrassment, you got up and dashed from the scene. Tears were welling in your eyes as you raced out into the cold air outside. Your whole body was shaking, and sobs suddenly overcame you, uncontrollable. It may have been almost winter with a flurry of snow on the air, but you still felt as though your whole body was on fire. Anxiety and adrenaline raged through your veins. The fight or flight response had been activated, only a little too late. It would have aided you better when you were sat with the hideous man.
"Are you alright?" a voice came from behind.
Jumping, you turned around to see Thorin behind you. Instantly you threw yourself at him, finally feeling safe. "I'm sorry," you sobbed on him.
"Shhh," he cooed into ear, brushing his fingers through your hair. "You are safe." Thorin's heart thundered in his chest, both at the feel of you in his arms, but also at the feeling of you shaking. His chest was full of both love and anger, intense and all consuming. How dare someone touch you against your will. How dare someone reduce you to a sobbing mess like this!
You looked up at Thorin, his arms still around you. You were safe here against him. Looking at his face, his expression soft but also full of concern, began to wash away the edge of your fear. It re-formed your crumbled composure, mending the pieces of a broken confidence.
Thorin cupped your cheek and his thumb dried the tears which were glistening on your reddened skin. "No one will harm you, I promise."
Ever since first meeting Thorin six months previously, at the beginning of the quest to re-take Erebor, and you trusted him. There was something in his eyes; a steadfast resolve and a deep-seated sense of honour.
Thorin couldn't take his eyes from your gaze. Having your skin against his made his breath hitch. You were beautiful, and since the moment he met you, he felt as if you were a special, one of a kind flower which he didn't dare touch. He hadn't dared touch out of a fear of offending you. But now that need to be in contact with you was too much. Cradling you had made his heart swell.
Feeling Thorin's touch was something you had imagined far too many times, and now that it was a reality, it was a softer touch than any fantasy had ever allowed you to experience. However, the more he gazed at you, shame entered your heart. "I'm sorry that I'm not brave like you."
"No..." Thorin began.
Your head turned to the side, twisting from his touch.
"No..." he whispered again, sadly. "Never say that."
Tears welled again. "I'm a coward. I froze. I'm ashamed."
"Never be ashamed," Thorin told you, his voice somehow deeper. "Do you understand me? You have nothing to be ashamed of. Absolutely nothing!" Anger dripped from his tone. "He violated your intimate space. No one has the right to do that. No one. And freezing is natural."
"I've never seen you freeze."
"Do not compare yourself to me. My reactions are learned, after years of experience."
If there was one thing that Thorin had always been drawn to, and it was your innocence. In your innocence of being polite and kind, you had entertained the lecherous man for a short while. Thorin, on the other hand, was hardened off to a polite and kind demeanour. You were open to people, welcoming. Thorin was shut off. Now, who was the brave one?
"Bravery isn't only found in battles," Thorin told you, stepping back from you. "It's seen in allowing yourself to be vulnerable and opening your heart to others. You have a courage that I could only dream to have, dear one. I walk into battle, ready to face the pain of a sword in my flesh. But you are ready to face the pain of a broken heart through being vulnerable in someone else's sight. That is true courage."
"That's not courage. That's just being too trusting and being ridiculous," you hissed.
Thorin smiled and then took your hand, kissing it. "You dare to trust. You have no idea how courageous that is. I wish I had a heart such as yours."
A wave of anticipation washed over you and you sighed. "In that case, this is me being brave. You do not need to wish for a heart such as mine, as you already have it. You've always had my heart, Thorin."
Thorin exhaled loudly, smiling, and cupped your cheek again. Then took your lips in a kiss, his beard tickling you. The heat rose and your kiss deepened.
As your kiss ended, Thorin pressed his forehead to yours. "My love," he whispered. "My brave love."
***
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fantasyinallforms · 1 year
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I will be celebrating April fools by fooling myself into thinking The Hobbit ended with Bilbo Baggins ruling Erebor by his husband Thorin Oakenshield's side.
~~
Man, didn't you all just LOVE that wedding scene at the end of the movie? The dwarven halls looked lovely decked out in flowers 💐
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sotwk · 2 months
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Historical Event in the SotWK AU:
The (Non)Involvement of Thranduil in the Sack of Erebor
Could Thranduil have helped kill Smaug and save Erebor?
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Disclaimer: The content in this post is mostly headcanon created for the SotWK AU, founded on canon details from the books and movies.
Context: Timeline of Thranduil's History in the Third Age
c. TA 1000-2000 - Thranduil, his family, and their people spend one thousand years fighting and enduring against the rise of Dol Guldur and the darkness and evil creatures that have infested and overrun the southern regions of Greenwood the Great.
Alas, by TA 2000:
Nearly all the woodlands south of the Old Forest Road had been abandoned.
The Woodland Realm's population had been reduced to nearly half of the great number it reached during the Golden Age of Thranduil's rule.
Many Silvans were killed by the onslaught of spiders, orcs, and other dark creatures or poisoned by the sick forest itself (air, water, food). A few even faded from grief and despair, which never before happened to the resilient Silvans.
The Silvans' famously high birthing rate dropped to nearly zero, leading to a "lost generation" and fears of gradual extinction.
TA 2063 - Crown Prince Mirion dies in direct combat against the Necromancer, resulting in Thranduil's vengeful razing of the fortress (SotWK HC), and the Council of the Wise's investigation (through Gandalf), all of which forces Sauron to abandon Dol Guldur. This begins the period known as the Watchful Peace. 
During the 400 years of the Watchful Peace, the Silvans regain hope and courage, and with that, their ability and desire to have children again.
TA 2210 - Thorin I abandons Erebor to join his kin in the Grey Mountains in TA 2210. The Lonely Mountain is abandoned for three-hundred and eighty years. 
TA 2460 - The Watchful Peace ends. Sauron returns with increased strength to Dol Guldur.
TA 2509 - Princess Itarildë’s mother, Nimeithel (oc), dies trying to defend her cousin Celebrían from the Orcs. Lady Celebrían sails to the Undying Lands the following year, and Queen Maereth is devastated by the loss of her two dearest friends.
TA 2589 - When their halls in the Grey Mountains come under attack by Cold-drakes, Prince Arvellas dies attempting to aid the Dwarves (defying his father's orders for the only time in his life). Dáin I and younger brother Frór are both slain, and Thrór inherits the kingship.
TA 2590 - King Thrór returns to Erebor with the Arkenstone to re-establish the Kingdom under the Mountain. Thrór's younger brother Grór leads others to the Iron Hills.
TA 2601 - Prince Turhir leaves Mirkwood, unable to cope with the trauma and guilt over his brothers' deaths. (Further details withheld to avoid fic spoilers.) His departure strains Thranduil and Maereth's marriage in a way it has never suffered before.
TA 2746 - Thorin (Oakenshield) is born in Erebor. Maereth sends gifts to honor the birth of the new prince, in an attempt to heal the friendship with the House of Durin that was broken after Arvellas's death. The gifts are accepted, but the rekindled friendship remains tenuous, especially since Thranduil has lost his desire to remain allies with the Dwarves he holds responsible for Arvellas's death.
TA 2760 - The continuing strain on their marriage forces Maereth and Thranduil to agree they need time apart. Maereth leaves Mirkwood to reside in Imladris for several years. (This is the only separation they have in the 2,900 years of their marriage.)
TA 2765 - Thranduil (trying to prove to his willingness for peace with the Dwarves again, as Maereth wants of him) commissions the jewel-smiths of Erebor to make a necklace from the White Gems of Lasgalen. However, when he comes to claim the finished necklace, he is turned away by Thrór, who (under the influence of dragon-sickness) claims that the gems were ill-begotten treasure from Khazad-dûm, and belonged to the Durins by birthright. Thranduil holds in his anger at the insult and does not press the matter, not wishing to completely sever the alliance that means so much to his wife.
TA 2770 - Smaug lays waste to the town of Dale and captures Erebor with all of its treasure.
tldr: Thranduil was not at his best when Smaug came to attack Erebor. He had many problems of his own, and he had very legitimate grievances against Thrór and his kin.
Unfortunately, Thrór was never forthcoming with his grandson, Thorin, about the deep history between the Durins and Thranduil's family, so as far as Thorin and his people believed, the Elvenking and his family just "lacked all honor". Nothing could have been further from the truth.
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How did Thranduil react upon hearing of the attack?
The Elvenqueen was still in Imladris during the attack, and was therefore not present to give Thranduil council. Because of their separation, Maereth's mind was closed off to Thranduil's, and so she could not be reached through ósanwe. The younger princes, Gelir and Legolas, lacked the ability to telepathically communicate across that great a distance.
It was Gelir and Legolas who pushed their father to ride out with their army to help the Dwarves. Even though the bitterness of Arvellas's death still remained, Thranduil heeded his sons.
They had a solid plan to kill Smaug.
Thranduil had fought against fire-breathing dragons during the War of Wrath, and he knew what it would take to kill one: nothing short of a hero's self-sacrifice.
There was one weapon in Mirkwood that was surely powerful enough to pierce dragon hide and flesh: the great broadsword (or claymore) of the late Crown Prince Mirion.
Mirion's sword was forged by the prince himself (he was the best bladesmith in the realm), and was made from a special steel sourced from Khazad-dûm centuries before its fall. (Thranduil's sword was made from this same steel, which was also crafted by Mirion and given to his father as a gift.)
The sword was so large and heavy, only three people were known to be able to wield it: Mirion, Thranduil, and Turhir. Only Mirion had the strength and sufficient practice to wield it single-handed when needed.
Therefore, any attack using the sword would have to be carried out by the Elvenking himself.
For reference, Mirion's broadsword is about as massive as "Ice", Ned Stark's Valyrian sword from Game of Thrones.
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In order to defeat Smaug, Thranduil's strategy would have been to attack the dragon himself with the sword. Gelir, Legolas, and the rest of his army would provide enough diversion to allow the Elvenking to get close without being burned by dragonfire.
What actually happened during the attack?
Thranduil was gripped by indecision and did not act as soon as he received the news of Smaug's descent. He already knew that any action they take against the dragon would mean loss of life for his people, and that made him hesitate, which caused some delay.
But he DID gather his army, his last two sons (who refused to be left behind), and marched out with the intention of engaging.
However, once Thranduil saw with his own eyes he fiery wrath of Smaug and the destruction he was capable of, and sensed the dragon's greed and evilness, the reality of the situation and the weight of old memories crashed down on him full force.
He remembered how he almost died from dragonfire, how painful those burns were, and how long it took him to recover from the physical and emotional scars. (And he only survived due to Valinor-level healing!) Did he want his soldiers to suffer the same, even if they survived?
He remembered that he had already lost one son (Arvellas) to dragons, who gave his life to help these same Dwarves, and received little gratitude for it in return. Was he ready to risk his last two sons?
And lastly, Thranduil realized, with almost full certainly, that killing Smaug would cost him his life. Was he ready to leave his wife a widow, his sons fatherless, and grandson saddled with the burden of kingship in such dark times?
The answer to all those questions was NO. So he made the difficult decision to turn back.
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Thranduil's real mistake (that you can fault him for. Maybe.)
An argument could be made that even if Thranduil didn't want to directly engage with Smaug, he could still have sent his army to shield the Dwarves of Erebor and the people of Dale and help them get to safety. Less civilian lives could have been lost.
They didn't have to completely turn around and go home. They could have still tried to to something--as his sons (especially Gelir) would argue later on.
However, at that point, Thranduil choked on his reluctance to risk anything any further, after everything his family and kingdom had already been through. His sons were especially chomping at the bit to slay the dragon, and things could have easily gotten out of hand if they stepped into the same field as Smaug.
By retreating completely, Thranduil eliminated all risk.
And yes, the bitterness of Thrór's treatment (those damn jewels), and the way Arvellas's death was handled (the Durins never properly honored the prince's sacrifice) still lingered. It certainly factored in the decision to (selfishly?) leave the Dwarves to their fate.
Thranduil HAD warned Thrór "of what his greed would summon", especially after the fatal attack of the cold-drakes on the Grey Mountains. And Thrór certainly did not listen.
What was fair, then? How much responsibility still fell on Thranduil to help the Durins, given all these facts?
Aid was delivered in the aftermath; but the Dwarves considered it "too little, too late".
When Smaug had finally locked himself up in Erebor with his precious treasure, Thranduil did send out aid to the refugees of both Erebor and Dale. When Elvenqueen Maereth finally returned from Imladris, she spearheaded this effort.
Mind you, it's not like Mirkwood was swimming in excess resources at this time. But they still gave whatever they could to the thousands displaced, including medical aid, food and clothing, and even temporary shelter.
The men of Dale accepted the aid and help in finding new dwellings, including resettling in Esgaroth.
The Dwarves accepted the Elves' aid, but only to some extent.
Thrór wanted Thranduil to prove his allegiance by helping them to force Smaug out of the mountain, which of course Thranduil flatly refused to do.
The proud and angry Durins therefore declared him and his people faithless, and chose to move south to Dunland, instead of accepting Maereth's offer to help them rebuild near Mirkwood.
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The Elvenqueen's final attempt to reconcile her family and people with the House of Durin would be during the War of the Dwarves and Orcs (TA 2793). However, her tragic death only worsened the divide between Thranduil and the House of Durin; we see this in Thorin's anger during his capture in the events of The Hobbit.
It all ends happily.
Healing and reconciliation would finally be achieved a century and a half later, during the Battle of Five Armies (TA 2941), where the Elves of Mirkwood play a role in saving the lives of King Thorin and his nephews. Once Erebor is reclaimed by the Durins, the two kingdoms become fierce allies and remain so for the rest of their histories.
(Yes, the SotWK AU is proud to be a Durins Live AU. <3 )
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This HC post was written in response to an Anonymous request for a "Family Historical Event" submitted back in July 2023.
For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist
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