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lathalea · 1 day ago

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Day 15: Boop!

Today's fic for the Writer’s Month 2021 challenge (see @writersmonth for more info) is a request for one of the winners in my latest Majestic Monday sleepover. Hope you'll like it, @justfollowtheroad! Thank you so much 💙

Today's prompt: word: edge | setting: soulmate AU

Imagine living in Erebor at the time of its greatness, with prince Thorin as your... best friend?

Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: Thorin x Reader Warnings: fluff Rating: G As usual, you can read this fic here and on AO3.

Khuzdul: Mahal - Aule Kaminzabdûna - Yavanna Tahith (endearment) - little giggler Mudtelê - my heart of all hearts

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Boop!

The legend says that Mahal created the Dwarves from the hardest stone in existence to make them the sturdiest of all the races of Arda, but he balanced their nature with the softness of their hearts, pouring love into them. He wanted his children to be as happy as he was with his wife, Kaminzabdûna, so he made two dwarves from each piece of stone. All the seven fathers of Dwarves, including Durin the Deathless, had partners from the very beginning, their soulmates, but it was to be different for their descendants. Each of them had to find their Other Half.

The legend says that when the time is right and their hearts are ready, a mark will appear on the wrists of each couple. It means that on that day they have a chance to discover the identity of their soulmate. Sometimes they would see a glowing aura around their Other Half, sometimes all it took was a touch, other times the world around them would explode with colours, and sometimes they would simply dream of that person. It was different for each couple. If, however, a Dwarf hadn’t found their soulmate on that very day, the mark would disappear forever along with the chances for ever finding your One.

The Great Library was your favourite place in Erebor.

Being surrounded by countless books and scrolls on each and every subject you could think of, by the smell of parchment, herb tea, scented candles and polished wood, was the best feeling in the world. It was not surprising that a bookworm like you would spend as much time as possible in that place. Every evening you would head to the library. This day was no different, with one exception. There was something on your mind and you hoped you could reach the library before Thorin did to gather your thoughts. You would meet him there almost every day if your busy schedules allowed.

Thorin, or as everyone else would call him, Prince Thorin, was your... best friend. Yes, this is how you thought of him. You had been fast friends since before you could remember, and, if you believed what your mothers said, it all began when you were tiny pebbles. Apparently, one day some kid you played with took Mister Prickly from you, the stuffed hedgehog you never parted with.Thorin valiantly rescued your favourite plushie from the kidnapper, even though punching that boy meant a week with no desserts for the young prince. Since then, you had always had each other’s back.

As a kid, you had a few playmates, but no one was as close to you as Thorin and the feeling was mutual. You simply felt best in each other’s company. He was a Dwarf of few words who often seemed too serious for his age due to his duties, and you were a dreamer who sometimes would forget that there was a real world besides the ones you found in your books. Perhaps the reason that your bond survived until now was that you always felt comfortable in each other’s company: you made him smile and forget about his burdens, while he made sure that you spent some time outdoors and was always there for you.

When you reached the library, it turned out that Thorin wasn’t there yet. You sat by the fireplace, on the edge of your favourite armchair and opened a random book, but you couldn’t focus on the words written on its pages. When you thought no one was watching, you uncovered your wrist for a moment. The mark was still there, looking exactly the same as it did when you woke up in the morning. You swallowed nervously. Some dwarves waited for the mark to appear for years after they reached adulthood, and you received yours so incredibly soon after reaching battle age. You often dreamed about this day, wondered who would be your Other Half and what they would look like. There was never any doubt in your mind that you would find that Dwarf immediately. The reality, however, turned out to be different. A greater part of the day had passed, and you still didn’t know how to find them.

The mark on your wrist looked like a hammer and so you spent the day going through all the possibilities in your head. Were you supposed to find your soulmate, your One, in the Engineering Guild? Or maybe in the Forges? Was he a farrier or a carpenter? Or perhaps a member of the elite warrior unit, the Mahal’s Hammer? On the way to the library you even took a short detour and passed through the training grounds and the artisan quarter; you peeked curiously into several armourer’s workshops; you even passed by the southern halls where the stonemasons used their hammers and chisels to carve breathtaking statues from the green-veined stone. There was nothing. No loving glances, no fireworks, no rainbows, no ethereal music.

What would happen if you didn’t find your One on time? Would you be condemned to lead a lonely life, tormented by the thought that you had a chance of happiness and lost it forever?

Thorin’s arrival interrupted your gloomy thoughts. A small smile appeared on your lips as his large frame filled his favourite armchair, next to yours, but he only responded with a nod, his brow furrowed. It seemed that you weren’t the only one who had a lot on their mind.

“Tough day?” you asked, looking at his aquiline profile and the cascades of his damp hair flowing down his broad shoulders clad in a brown rumpled shirt with yellow embroideries.

Thorin grunted in confirmation and tugged at his beard braid, not glancing at you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he was purposefully avoiding your gaze, but that couldn’t be true, could it? To make matters worse, his fingers drummed on the armrest. You know him too well not to notice how upset he was.

“Lots of work at the forges?” you moved along the edge of your seat, slightly towards him.

“Aye. More than I thought,” Thorin spoke solemnly, as if he was delivering grave news to you.

His eyes studied a bookshelf on the opposite side of the room. He rose as suddenly as he appeared.

“I’d better go.”

“Thorin, what is it?” you stood up as well and took a step towards him.

“Nothing of consequence,” he muttered, looking down, still not meeting your gaze. This was more serious than you thought. He was your best friend and you couldn’t stand idly by while he brooded himself into a dark cloud of gloom. Luckily, you knew exactly what to do.

Before he had the chance to move away, you lifted your hand and pressed your finger against the tip of his nose.

“Boop!” It was all you managed to say, because at the same time the world turned upside down for a blink of an eye.

It was as if a hot current passed through you, a tingling sensation that spread throughout your body, wave after wave, its epicentre in the place where your skin touched Thorin’s. You froze. You felt both hot and cold at the same time, your heart was beating as hard as a hammer against the anvil, some strange sweetness uncoiled in your chest, and you felt as if you were floating in the air. This is when his eyes finally met yours and you felt yourself drowning in the twin azure pools of his gaze. A wave of dizziness washed over you, making you sway.

“Tahith…” Thorin murmured huskily, using your childhood nickname that he was always quite fond of. His arms wrapped around you, steadying you, as if you were a ship on a stormy sea and he was your anchor, your rock.

You held on to him frantically, his shirt crumpled in your fists, noticing the rapid rising and falling of his chest.

“Thorin, what is happening?” you gasped, trying to calm yourself down, dizziness still lingering at the back of your mind.

His throat bobbed and then he did something that he had never done before. His forehead pressed lightly against yours and he gently cupped your cheek. And, to your utter confusion, he smiled widely, his previous sadness gone without a trace.

“I cannot believe it myself,” a small chuckle left his lips. “Tahith, is there perhaps a mark on your wrist?”

“I… How do you know?” You mumbled, but then Thorin’s arms encircled you once more. This time he was pressing you against your chest as if he was worried that you would disappear. You heard laughter budding in his chest and hugged him back, simply because it felt like the only thing you wanted to do. Because it felt right. Thorin murmured into your hair, “Oh, Tahith, you are the smartest person I know, do you truly not know what it means?”

Suddenly it all made sense. All those emotions and sensations, your worries, his brooding. This has to be it.

“Thorin, are you saying that…?” you whispered into his shirt.

“My mark… I noticed in the morning,” he spoke with hints of merriment in his voice as he loosened the embrace to look down at you. “At first, I believed it was a cave mole, so I assumed that my Other Half would be a miner. Mahal, I was such a fool! And so I hated that mark, refused to acknowledge what it meant, I did not even visit the mines!”

“Is that why you were so worried?”

“Aye, and so I went to see you, I wanted to tell you,” he whispered feverishly, his eyes searching your face. “But when I saw you in your chair, sitting with your book, those glasses on your cute nose, I simply stood here, cursing my fate, wishing that my mark would change into a book, but it would not…”

“What is it? Show me,” you took his right hand into your hands as he uncovered his wrist. “Thorin, this is not a cave mole at all!”

“I know, Tahith, I know that now,” he chuckled, sparks of merriment dancing in his eyes.

“How on earth could you confuse Mister Prickly with a cave mole?! I’m deeply offended!” You huffed, faking indignation, while your heart secretly welled with joy.

“I hope both you and Mister Prickly will forgive me one day,” he flashed his teeth at you in a mischievous smile. This was the Thorin you admired the most and, now you finally could admit it to yourself, you adored. You couldn’t stop yourself from giggling.

“What about your mark, Tahith?” he asked, placing his hand over your forearm.

“I spent an hour in the southern halls, staring at the stonemasons at work. By now, they probably think I’m some kind of a creep. I’m never showing my face there again and I don’t want to talk about it ever again. Besides, there is a lot of stone dust in my hair,” you grunted, uncovering your wrist.

“A blacksmith’s hammer! But it is certainly not a stonemason’s tool! Look at the heft, and the profile of the head, the surface…” he started explaining enthusiastically, a true blacksmith’s apprentice. His masters would be so proud of him if they could see him now. Unfortunately for them, they weren’t here, their loss. You had Thorin all for yourself and there was something urgent you needed to do; something you secretly dreamed of, but never dared to act upon it until today.

“Thorin,” you gently interrupted his lecture, trying to ignore the nervous fluttering in your stomach. “If it all means what I think it means, then… Shouldn’t we do something?” A moment of silence.

“Aye, we should. If you would like to, that is,” Thorin stepped from one foot to another, taking your right hand, the one with the mark, into his. Was it the light from the fireplace or were his cheeks above his beard slightly flushed?

“I… I think I would like to,” you admitted quietly, your voice trembling slightly.

He gave you a nod and slowly lowered his face towards yours. Your nose bumped against his and you giggled, but Thorin wouldn't give up so easily. He tilted his head, not letting go of your hand.

When his lips brushed against yours, that sweet dizzying sensation filled you once again, but this time you were prepared and held onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck, sealing your newfound love with a tender kiss that made you both forget the whole world around you.

“That was…” you murmured when your lips parted and your eyes met. You noticed that there was a new softness in Thorin’s gaze, something that had never been there before; or perhaps something that you had not noticed earlier. A flower of deep affection for the Dwarf in front of you bloomed in your chest and you realized it wasn’t the first one nor the last.

“... yes. Very much,” he agreed with a deep rumble in his chest and brushed his nose against yours. “Your lips are as sweet as honey, Tahith.”

“And your beard tickles,” you replied with a chuckle, pressing your forehead against his. “But I think I like it.”

“You’d better, because you are my One,” he brushed his fingers against your cheek. “And I am afraid that you are stuck both with my beard and me for the rest of our lives.”

“It sounds like a very good plan, Mudtelê,” you whispered and your hearts sang in joyous unison as your lips met again.

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Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it!

Fell like reading more? Here is my masterlist for the Writer's Month 2021 event.

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007 @amelia307 @anyaspidergirl-blog @jotink78 @rachel1959 @saltwater-in-the-afternoon @linasofia @legolasbadass @justfollowtheroad @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @yourqueenunderthemountain @reblogunderthemountain @guardianofrivendell @elrawienthewhite @xmly-xo @tschrist1 @nelleedraws @beenovel @vee-vee-writes @mcchiberry @shalinizhara @dumbassunderthemountain @errruvande

#thorin oakenshield #the hobbit #thorin #romance fic

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lathalea · 2 days ago

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The Lotus Flower and the Summer Wind

Summary: You are quite tired after a long day and decide to enjoy a relaxing evening by yourself, but the mischievous King Under the Mountain himself decides to thwart your plans in a very pleasing manner.

Rating: T

You can read it on AO3 here.

For @shrimpsthings, the best Shrimp on the seven seas of Arda!

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It has been a very long day. Your muscles hurt after the day’s work, the constant running back and forth, playing with the little ones, and making sure each and every single of the pebbles was properly tucked in for the afternoon nap. And then, there were their parents, too. You grunt. It’s not the first time you’re wondering how it is possible that some of these cute dwarflings have such bad-tempered parents, especially a father like Halfgrim. His daughter, Nanna, is the embodiment of sweetness, her hazel eyes always smiling at you as she follows your every step, her tiny hands holding on to your skirts. But Halfgrim is different, always haughty, always dismissive, always having a stick in his…., ahem, always claiming he knows what’s best for his daughter. The problem is, it’s his first child and he masks his lack of experience with pompousness while you’ve been taking care of the little ones for years and years. You could bet your favorite emerald necklace that he doesn’t have a clue that Nanna prefers apples to pears and the only way to make her stop fussing when it’s time to eat oatmeal is to tell her a good story.

You shake your head. It’s evening now and you finally have some time for yourself. You definitely aren’t going to spend it on thinking of stuck-up dwarves like Halfgrim. A long, hot bath will do you good, you decide.

The air in the bath chamber is filled with a sweet flowery scent when you slowly slide into the bathtub. The water is pleasantly warm, just the way you like it and there are rose petals dancing on its surface. A sigh escapes your lips when your tired muscles start relaxing as you rest your back comfortably, your body fully submerged. The light of dozens of candles surrounds you, casting fantastic shadows on the stone walls and you allow your mind to drift away.

You don’t know how long you’ve been dozing off when a deep baritone voice murmurs into your ear.

“Are you in need of assistance, my lady?” you feel his warm breath fanning your skin.

“Perhaps,” you reply, not opening your eyes. A small smile appears on your lips. You know this voice so well and you recognize the scent of pines, pipe tobacco and leather that reaches you.

“Allow your humble servant to assist you then,” there is a mischievous tone in his voice. You chuckle when one of his dark temple braids brushes against your cheek, tickling you slightly. You’re wondering what he is up to this time.

You graciously allow him to proceed and soon you feel his wide, calloused hands on your shoulders as he slowly starts massaging them, each careful, skilled move removing the tension from your body.

“Long day?” his voice sounds behind you as he moves one of his hands to your neck, slowly caressing it.

“You have no idea,” you nod slightly.

“Is it the shoulder again?” his low rumble fills the chamber. You know that if you were to look at him now, you would see his azure eyes glimmering with the reflected candlelight and there would be that focused frown on his handsome, familiar face.

“Mmmm,” right now, all you can do is hum, basking in the relaxing pleasure of his touch as his impossibly warm and attentive hands move to the part of your body that decided to act up again.

“Let me see what I can do about it,” he says, and you think that nothing is impossible to him, perhaps even chasing the pain away. He is the King, after all.

As he returns to his ministrations, his touch seems to fill your whole world. He has the hands of a great warrior used to holding deadly weapons but his adept fingers are able to bring you great relief. You sense the tenderness in his movements as his skin brushes against yours, rubbing you gently, meticulously untying the muscle knots hidden under your skin, one by one, your sensitive skin submitting to his soothing touch. Soon, you are not sure where you end and he begins, as if the surface of your skin melted together with his, your senses heightened, multiplying your sensations, the water flowing around you, the hot steam enveloping you both like a soft cocoon. You feel like a lotus flower floating on the waters of endless bliss. His touch is like warm summer wind caressing your petals and bringing respite, all the pain and discomfort forgotten.

“Your skin is as smooth as the most exquisite silks, my lady,” he murmurs, the movements of his hands slowing down. “I could not live with myself if I allowed it to turn into a raisin,” there is a playful tone in his voice. “Would you care for a towel?”

“Indeed I would,” you admit and at the same time, anticipating your wish, he is already by your side, offering you the aforementioned piece of thick, unbelievably fluffy fabric. It smells like pines, like him.

As you leave the bath, leaving all the tiredness and worries behind, he caringly wraps you in the towel and spares a few moments to braid your damp hair into a royal braid, securing it with an emerald clasp he had given you along with your necklace.

“Any further wishes, my lady?” the king looks into your eyes and you can see the wrinkles of joy in the corners of his eyes as he smiles at you, his white teeth contrasting with his thick, dark beard. You can’t help but notice his damp raven locks flowing down his naked, muscular shoulders.

“I believe I need to be transported out of this chamber,” you order and his arms wrap around you almost immediately as he swoops you off your feet, carrying you away. You throw your arms around his strong neck, your fingers intertwining with his sable mane, your body pressed against his stone-hard chest.

You leave the bath chamber in style, like a princess, no, a queen, you correct yourself, enjoying the closeness of his strapping body.

“And where should I direct my steps, my lady?” he asks, that mischievous glint appearing in his gaze yet again, his eyes never leaving your face.

“Why, to bed, of course, my lord,” you smile.

That is when Thorin grins widely and asks in that sensual, alluring voice of his, his chest rumbling against your skin. “The question is: yours or mine?”

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Read it? Like it? Reblog it!

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @sherala007 @shrimpsthings

#Thorin Oakenshield #thorin fic #romance fanfic #the hobbit #tolkien #fanfiction

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