Relationship: Thorin x Wife!Reader
Setting: Post Botfa, everybody lives au
Warnings: This is just porn, porn with (too much?) plot
Word Count: 3.3K
Summary: Based on these two awesome requests by @lathalea 😈:
You can also read the fic on AO3!
After being pestered all day by nobles and advisors, you finally shut the door to your private chambers and let the silence wash over you. Queenly duties were demanding—always had been, always would be. And though you were grateful for all the privileges the position brought you, lately, it had become slightly overwhelming. The reason being that Thorin, your husband, had left to participate in trade negotiations with the Iron Hills—a month ago already. His absence meant that you had to take on some of his duties, but more importantly, it meant that he was not there to comfort you after a long, stressful day.
Imagining his strong arms wrapped around you, you sighed and dragged yourself toward the bathroom. Your maid—always attentive and one step ahead of you—was already drawing you a bath.
At first, you had scorned the idea of having maids. You had never had them back in the Blue Mountains — you could not have afforded them even if you had wanted to offer employment to people in need. You had managed quite well without them, too. To this day, you still believed you could manage without them. You much preferred dressing and undressing yourself—or better yet, having Thorin do it—but there was no way around it. Having maids was a royal tradition, so you made sure to show them how grateful you were for all their hard work. Soon, you had found that they were happy to do things for you and even happier when they knew you were happy. There was mutual respect between you.
“Do you need help undressing, M’Lady?” your maid, Bera, asked kindly once the bath was ready.
Shaking your head, you offered her a warm smile. “No, I can manage. You have done more than enough for me already, Bera.”
“Another long day, M’Lady?”
Bera had been taught not to speak unless she was spoken to, but you would never expect that of her, and indeed you wanted her to share her thoughts with you. It had taken some time, but you were glad to see that she was getting more comfortable with speaking to you as though you were just an average person. You were an average person. Before being a queen, the wife of a king, you had been a regular weaver, the wife of a blacksmith. Even the title was no reason for you to receive special treatment. You were sure that no matter how exhausted you were, this was nothing compared to what Bera endured daily. Someone who laboured from dawn until dusk, never complaining, was far worthier of praise than you were. Still, you were exhausted.
“I’m sorry to hear, M’Lady,” Bera said, “but you never know, the day might still get better.”
A playful smirk tugged at her lips, but you were too focused on not falling asleep to inquire further about it.
“Well, perhaps,” you replied. “You may retire for the evening now, Bera. And I mean it: retire. That means no laundry, no mending clothes or waxing shoes. You deserve a real break.”
“Thank you, M’Lady. Have a good night, M’Lady,” Bera said with a quick bow. You had told her numerous times already not to bother with such formalities in the privacy of your chambers, but this time you let it slide with a fond smile.
“Good night to you, Bera.”
Once alone at last, you began to undress. You made quick work of unlacing your bodice, then pulling it off your body along with the sleeves and the skirts. As you hooked your thumbs over the band of your stockings, exposing the length of your legs to the soft candlelight, your mind drifted off to Thorin. Was he also getting ready for a bath, or perhaps already going to bed? At the thought, another sigh escaped you, the image of his muscular body—bulging biceps, stone-hard pectorals, narrow hips—caressed you like a cold breeze on a warm summer night, refreshing yet leaving a burning intensity behind.
Welcoming the feel of the hot water, you sank into the marble tub and submerged your head. The world faded to a muffled silence, weightless, timeless, and still, your longing would not fade away. Mahal, you missed him so much.
You were not the kind of person to fall apart anytime you were not with your partner. In fact, you often spent evenings apart, and not just because of your heavy duties, but because sometimes you needed space. It was also not the first time Thorin left to visit other clan leaders, but it had always been for a week or two at most. Never a whole month.
Thorin’s last letter lay open on your desk, his familiar elegant handwriting looking up to the ceiling. It had arrived four days ago already. You had no reason to worry for his safety, but the thought that he was too busy to write was enough. He was thinking of you, day and night, you knew it, but he knew that reading his words every night was your biggest comfort in his absence. Now you did not even have that.
After washing your hair and scrubbing your body with rose-scented soaps, you let your head fall back on the edge of the tub. The water was still warm—bless Dwarven engineering!—so you remained there for a while longer. Your eyes were slowly fluttering to a close, making way for pleasant dreams of your husband, when a deep, familiar voice echoed through the room, making you jump.
“I expected you to be much more enthusiastic about my return.”
Water splashed around as you turned to face him, your heart thumping madly in your chest. Was it possible that he was even more handsome than when you had seen him last?
“Thorin!” you exclaimed, your yearning flooding the syllables. His presence only heightened your desire—your need—to be kissed and touched by him. Then, you noticed how he was leaning back against the wall as though he had been standing there a while. “How long have you been standing there!?”
You and Thorin had bathed together more times than you could count, but having him watch you was different, especially because you had been oblivious to it. More importantly, however, that time could have been spent much more productively, say, with him joining you and … you lost your train of thought.
“Long enough for me to realize just how foolish it was of me to leave you for so long,” he said with a less than subtle glance at your exposed breasts.
“Hmm, it took you all that time to realize that?” you teased. “Just so we are clear, let me show you exactly how foolish you were for leaving me for so long,” you said, biting your lips as you beckoned him forward with a seductive finger.
Never tearing his eyes from yours, he slowly walked toward you, but any desire to draw this out left both your minds as soon as you touched. In an instant, both your arms were around his neck, your fingers tangling with those dark curls, while his strong arms circled your waist, pulling you toward him so that your breasts were pressed against the hard iron and leather of his travelling clothes. The kiss was hard and intense, bordering on violence as his teeth grazed your lower lip, but there was softness, too, his lips against yours professing love beyond the scope of language.
You continued to taste him, feasting on his presence as though he would be your last meal. Then, his hands forcefully groped your behind, pressing you even more firmly against his arousal, sending liquid lava straight to your core. A sound between a moan and a gasp escaped you. His clothed hardness was harsh against your tender sex, but you only softened further, eager to be filled by him.
“Not fair,” you whined between fervent kisses, “you are still fully dressed.”
“Hm. that can be arranged, My Lady,” he replied with a chuckle.
As eager as you were to continue kissing and touching him, you sank back into the tub to watch him instead, your arms folding over the edge of the tub so that you could rest your chin over them. Thorin’s eyes darkened considerably as he began to strip under your hungry gaze. He started with his belt, which clanged against the floor with finality—a promise that it would not be worn again for a good long while. You licked your lips at the thought and the sight unfolding before you. His tunic and brigandine armour already on the floor, his fingers moved to the laces of his undershirt, which he then pulled over his head, revealing his naked chest, which heaved in tandem with your pulsing arousal. Already, you were slick with need and getting more so with every moment. You pressed your thighs together in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure; the gesture did not escape Thorin’s notice.
Chuckling, he shook his head slowly. “Eager, are we?”
“You did make me wait a month,” you replied, slightly breathless as he tossed off his boots and moved to his trousers. Thorin loosened one laced, then a second, then a third, painfully slowly, until you were nearly squirming with impatience. Then, finally, he tugged the leather down his muscled legs, allowing his member to spring free—impossibly hard already, ready to grant you endless pleasure. You sighed.
“Come here,” you said, panting slightly. Mahal, you were a mess. A shameless, wanton mess. Somehow, you knew Thorin did not mind, so you did not let yourself be embarrassed by the fact.
You watched him intently as he lowered himself into the tub before you. His eyes met yours, shining with the love and longing that were surely mirrored in your own gaze. Then, you offered him a sensuous smirk as you crawled toward him, but any attempt at seduction was ruined when you practically threw yourself into his arms, causing water to spill out of the tub as your mouth desperately sought his. Thorin steadied you with his strong arms, one on your thigh, coaxing you to wrap your legs around him, the other on your bottom, pressing you against his manhood. Unconsciously, you ground yourself against him, coating him with your wetness.
Around you, the water ebbed and flowed, following the curve of your hips as you moved against Thorin with purpose. His lips moved away from yours to trail down your neck, looking for that secret sensitive spot that only he knew about. Once he reached it, his mouth closed in on it, intent on marking you with the vitality of his passion and the extent of his adoration. You moaned, purred, and sighed in his ears, your fingers raking through his hair to untangle the knots—albeit creating new ones in the process—as your core throbbed with desire, causing Thorin to groan.
His hold on you tightened, leaving trails of redness on your skin that would turn to bruises. Lovely, delicious bruises that would leave you with no doubt as to how much he missed you during your time apart. Then, between two kisses, he slipped inside you, unceremoniously, as though he had never left at all, but the tingles in your belly and the covetous caresses you shared were proof that you had been apart far too long. Each kiss, each touch, seemed to be saying, I am here now, I am here and I am not leaving. He gave you a moment to adjust, his lips ghosting above yours before he started to move.
“Oh, Thorin, I missed you so much,” you moaned as he rocked his hips once, tentatively, then a second time, igniting sparks along your spine.
“I missed you too, ghivashel,” he growled, burying his face in your neck to bite your earlobe as he thrust all the way in once more.
Another moan escaped you. There was something about the way the intimate word fell from his lips that always turned you hot and ready for him. And now, in your deprived state, it might have been enough to send you over the edge, but you wanted this to last a little longer at least.
Pressing your nails into his chest, you tangled your fingers in the valley of coarse hairs, which now glistened with the myriad water rivulets trailing down the ridges of his abdomen. His hair, too, was wet now, spilling over his broad shoulders and clinging to the muscles there. The sight, paired with the slight crease on his forehead and his hooded eyes, sent you even deeper into the throes of ecstasy. Sometimes—often—you could not believe how lucky you were to have such a handsome dwarf as your husband. You had not married him because he was handsome, obviously, but it was a pleasant detail, especially in moments like these.
Spurred by your wordless pleas, Thorin intensified his movements. You wrapped your legs more tightly around him as one of his arms reached out to grab the edge of the tub to steady you. Then, his lips closed in on one of your nipples, sending a powerful jolt of pleasure through you. Your walls clenched around him as you followed his rhythm. Thorin cursed, the sound tangling itself with your moans before echoing against the stone walls.
“Did you think about me … about us … did you imagine this moment at night?” Thorin asked, panting and moaning as he now held your waist with both of his hands, controlling the way you rolled your hips against him.
You moaned at the scandalousness of his question, but you would have been lying if you said you had not expected this from your husband. Your Thorin. Here at last, with you—inside you.
Suddenly, you completely forgot what he had asked you.
“What — oh, Thorin!” you gasped as the tip of his hardness hit that particular spot, deep at the back of your cavern. He hit it once, twice, and from one moment to the next, white light flashed in your eyes as you tipped over to climax.
Thorin held you with two strong arms wrapped around your waist and continued to move inside you as wave upon wave of indescribable pleasure ravaged you, leaving your body limp like a castaway, floating over the aftermath of a storm.
“My, my, you really were in a hurry,” Thorin chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss onto your hairline as you pressed your face into his chest, still breathless. He allowed you a moment of rest, then tentatively rocked his hips once. A soft moan escaped you as he moved against your sensitive muscles, which already prepared themselves to take more of him. Thorin chuckled again. “And you are insatiable.”
It was your turn to chuckle, but it soon turned into a long, low moan as he thrust within you, still holding himself back so as not to hurt you.
“More, Thorin …” you sighed, your head still resting over his chest, as the tingles in your core turned to insistent, almost painful throbbing.
“Whatever my queen commands,” Thorin purred in your ear, his fingers now clutching handfuls of your hair as he moved inside you fast and strong, intent, not only on fulfilling his own pleasure but on giving you even more.
“Then I command you to … stay … do not leave again …” It took all your might to focus on forming those words, your mind focused on his intoxicating smell all around you and that incredible strength with which he moved inside you. So sure. So powerful. So … perfect. Yes, it was perfect. He knew exactly where to touch you and how. Always with the perfect angle, the perfect intensity, and the perfect, deep, luscious voice, whispering all the right, naughty things in your ears.
“I cannot find any reason to object, amrâlimê — you are utterly bewitching,” Thorin replied, then swallowed your next moan by kissing you deeply, in a way that would have surely thrown you off your feet if he had not been holding you so firmly.
“I’m — I’m close again, Thorin,” you panted, your hips now rocking in tandem with his hips so that he sheathed himself all the way inside you every time, hitting the back of your cavern with precision.
“Wait for me … a little longer, amrâlimê,” Thorin groaned.
The water now splashed almost violently around you, rising above the edge of the tub and crashing against the stone floor. Neither of you paid it any attention. You now lifted yourself to look at him, gazing deep into his eyes. Thorin twitched inside you, then spilled himself inside you with a harsh, guttural groan. You followed suit so that both of you rode out your peak of pleasure at the same time, your eyes locked on each other, enveloping the other in a veil of love that you both knew would never waver, much like your passion.
Thorin continued to move inside you for a little while, but you a boneless, convulsing mess. It took you an even longer while to recover your breath, but when you did, you could not stop smiling. It was silly, really, how hopelessly in love you were with him even after all these years, but you were so grateful for it. And you were so grateful that he was finally back so that you might tell him over and over again how much you loved him—even if he already knew it.
“I promise I will get Fili to go in my stead next time,” Thorin said after a while, his arms now wrapped loosely around your waist as he left myriad kisses on your hairline and forehead. The touch was so gentle, so attentive, that your heart could not help but skip a beat.
“Good,” you replied, raising your head to meet his gaze, which looked back at you with such pure, brimming adoration. “Because it was awful. Those advisors of yours are al ill-mannered, ungrateful bunch.”
Thorin’s laughter echoed through the room before nestling in your heart, keeping it warm. “They need a firm hand to keep them in check.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying I cannot do the job?”
“Not at all, amrâlimê, only that they are probably threatened by such an intelligent, strong woman as you.”
“Better,” you said, kissing him, your hand lazily tracing the outline of his bearded jaw. “Why did not write to say you were coming home?”
Thorin smiled against your lips. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
You hummed. “It was a wonderful surprise,” you agreed, causing him to chuckle at the innuendo.
You basked in his embrace for a long moment, sharing soft kisses as his hands caressed your back before you pulled away to grab the bar of soap. Thorin shot you an inquisitive stare.
“You rode all the way from the Iron Hills. Surely, you do not think I will let you sleep in our bed before you are clean?” you said teasingly as you began to lather his skin.
“Sleep?” Thorin repeated questioningly with a suggestive caress on your bottom. “Or …?”
You laughed and shook your head. “Who is insatiable now?”
Thorin smiled back at you and left a lingering kiss on your lips. It took a while longer to finish washing him, given that he kept interrupting you by touching your most sensitive places and kissing you deeply—not that you complained, of course—but in the end, you still made it out within a reasonable amount of time. Thorin dried you both before scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to the large bed, where he proceeded to make love to you all night long.
Ghivashel: Treasure of All Treasures
Amrâlimê: My Love
Taglist: @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @mcchiberry @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to
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I never see anyone talk about how Thorin has just accepted the fact that he'll never have an heir of his own, from the beginning of the movies (because I still haven't procured a copy of the book yet, and book canon must always be treated more or less separate from movie canon). He says stuff to Fili like, "When you become king..." as though he won't ever father a child to take over after him. Unless I missed some dwarven cultural thing where Fili would actually be the heir either way, I can't be the only one who thinks this is odd (and really sad), right? Okay, now I'm starting to doubt myself and wonder if I really did miss something. Whatever, I'm gonna keep explaining my thoughts on this.
There's almost no reason I can see that Thorin would be so sure he'd never father an heir. He's still rather young, and he's certainly attractive enough to find a lover. I can think of only four (potentially five) possibilities:
Thorin is gay (which I know would make many shippers happy)
Thorin is asexual
Thorin does not deem himself worthy of love or otherwise finds faults within himself that he believes would drive love away
Similar to the last one, Thorin doesn't believe in love, for lack of a better way to phrase it, or he just doesn't believe he'll ever personally find it
Now, #3 and #4 could combine to make: Thorin doesn't believe he could ever settle down and/or start/have a family. This could potentially be a fifth possibility, but seeing as it's more of a combination of two of the already listed possibilities, I wouldn't consider it to be a separate/additional one.
Now, time for me to explain some of my ruled out possibilities, which you are more than welcome to argue in favor of. I am, of course, not the end all, be all voice on this matter, and I may very well be mistaken about some of this.
One of my first thoughts had been that maybe Thorin is just a restless soul, wants to keep being out there, in the world, fighting. He wouldn't/couldn't slow down for love. But he was ready to take up a position as king. A lot more work is involved with being king than a surprising amount of people seem to realize. You sort of have to settle down for that kind of position, and he was already prepared to do so, more or less.
Speaking of being prepared to take up his position as king, you cannot convince me that Thorin believed he wouldn't survive the journey (though I welcome you to try). He wouldn't prepare himself for the eventuality of taking the throne if he didn't believe he'd get that far. And there was no way for him to know that he would die, anyway. He literally had no reason to believe this.
An extension of that, however, that I really did consider, is that maybe he believed he wouldn't survive very long after assuming the throne. This could actually hold a little weight. However, I have one issue with this: Why? Why would he believe this? Literally the most dangerous part of his life, dealing with a dragon, would have passed by that point. He's a capable fighter and fairly intelligent, so I don't believe he would be worried about assassination attempts. Not to mention, his grandfather went gold crazy, which probably made him an insufferable king for his subjects, but he was never assassinated. So, what would cause an abrupt end to his life after he assumed the throne? I did stop to consider that maybe he had a terminal illness or something, but I highly doubt that for multiple reasons that I believe to be evident, so I won't waste time elaborating.
One final consideration of mine is that Thorin knew (or believed) in the back of his mind, no matter how much he told himself and others, "I am not my (grand)father," that he would succumb to dragon sickness. This one is actually immensely believable, and I haven't entirely ruled it out. I don't think I even need to explain this one all that much. Part of why it isn't included in the four possibilities listed above is because I felt like it could be considered a/the cause of #3 and/or the second part of #4, both of which are basically my elaboration on this one. If he succumbed to the dragon sickness, it would be an understandable reason to find yourself unworthy of love (#3). And as a greedy, dragon sick king, you're unlikely to find real love, partially because you care more for gold than other people but also because, as harsh as it sounds, not very many people would enjoy your company that much as a result (second part of #4). I think it sort of goes without saying, anyway, that dragon sickness is, for one reason or another, not very conducive to love or lovers. I'm sure we can all agree on that.
That's about all I have for this topic at the moment. If I think of anything else, I might edit this or reblog it or something. Maybe I'm just overthinking this, and he's actually training Fili as a "just in case." Regardless, I'd love to see what you think, especially if you have something to add. Agree? Disagree? Let me know! (Especially if I really did just miss a dwarven cultural thing. Yeesh, would that be embarrassing after I already typed this all out.) With that, be safe, and have a great day/night/afternoon/evening!
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