#Richard Armitage x reader

[shangchiswife]

dating thorin headcanons!

hey guys i was rewatching the hobbit and i wanted to make this for thorin because he's a baddie.

thorin x gn!reader

Very, very closed off when you first meet him

It was Gandalf that thought you would be useful to the company as you were an excelled healer

Thorin’s focus is solely on reclaiming the mountain and he’s pretty skeptical of you and doesn’t know whether you truly belong in his company

Is the last to warm up to you when you joined his company 

He is amazed by how fast you become comfortable with everyone, especially his two nephews who you immediately started joking around with when you met them.

Thorin's perception of you shifts when he witnesses your compassion and skill as a healer. His respect for you grows as he watches you show kindness and empathy to the people that are hurt.

He also starts to understand why Gandalf put you in his company and how your role is important.

Once you’ve shown him that you’re able to be trusted he is comfortable around you

He also starts to get protective over you, especially during battles

Will literally scold you when you almost get hurt. “How careless could you be? You could’ve gotten killed?” he had said one time when an orc’s blade almost impaled you. You were hurt by his words but little did you know it was his way of showing that he cared.

Sometimes when everyone else in the company was asleep, you’d talk to him about your life and he’d tell you about his childhood in Erebor.

Overtime he began to trust you and found comfort in your presence.

When you both are by the fireplace you both steal glances at one another.

When he catches you staring, your cheeks give you away, flushing with warmth under his gaze.

His lips curl into a knowing smirk, his eyes dancing with amusement at your reaction.

Is also very chivalrous and is always looking out for you even if it means sacrificing his own comfort.

One cold day on your journey, you were shivering, and Thorin didn't waste a second before giving you his big fur coat.

When you protested, worried about him getting cold, Thorin simply smiled and brushed off your concerns, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "I'd rather see you warm," he said tenderly, his words stirring a flutter of butterflies in your stomach. 

Eventually, your stubbornness won out, and you convinced Thorin to share the coat with you. With a soft chuckle and a gentle nod, he relented, and the two of you huddled together for warmth.

Balin is the first to notice Thorin’s growing affection for you.

He wastes no time in encouraging Thorin to act on his feelings and express his love for you.

Initially Thorin was hesitant because of his responsibilities as leader and was also a little scared of ruining his friendship with you.

Finally he works up the courage to tell you his feelings for you and is pleasantly surprised when you tell him you feel the same way.

Fili and Kili tease have a blast teasing their uncle about his new relationship with you

They’re always wiggling their eyebrows, flashing cheeky grins, and cracking jokes whenever their uncle is around you.

Thorin is never hearing the end of them. 

The rest of the company thinks you guys are cute but are always poking fun at Thorin because he is always just in awe over you.

Thorin will sometimes get annoyed at all their teasing but deep down he appreciates the support from his company and the respect they give you.

He loves to show you the beautiful sights he encounters on the journey.

Despite his tough exterior, Thorin's actions always convey a sense of warmth and tenderness.

His gestures may be subtle, but they speak volumes about his affection for you.

Whether it's a reassuring touch or a lingering gaze, Thorin's actions make you feel truly cherished and loved.

Isn’t really a big PDA person but once you guys are alone he’s all over you.

But occasionally he will hold your hand or gently lift your chin with his fingers.

Sometimes if he’s feeling a little risky he’ll even kiss you on the cheek. “What was that for?” you’d ask, clearly surprised by his boldness."I couldn't help it," he'd reply with a soft smile, "You looked absolutely adorable." 

He loves being the big spoon and wrapping his arms around you so that you feel safe and secure.

He isn’t really one for words but he loves to gift you things like jewelry or even little flowers he finds while on the journey.

Also loves to braid your hair as braiding and hair in general is a big part of dwarven culture and it’s one way he shares his culture with you.

Wherever you are, Thorin’s gaze always seems to find you. Even when you're apart, you can feel his presence, his watchful gaze silently reassuring you that he's there, looking out for you.

He also gives you a promise ring and tells you his desire for you to rule beside him once he reclaims his home.

You practically almost make him fall over when you throw your arms around him and accept the ring. As you cling to him, Thorin can't help but chuckle softly, both amused and touched by your enthusiastic response.

Everytime he catches sight of the promise ring on your finger, he can’t help but smile and  feeling a rush of warmth and affection wash over him.

Once Erebor is reclaimed, you meet Thorin’s sister, Dis and immediately hit it off. She becomes one of your closest friends and offers you love and guidance as you start your new life in Erebor.

Thorin’s kisses are electrifying and always leave you breathless.

His kisses are rough and filled with an insatiable hunger that leaves you breathless.

Thorin's hands, usually steady and controlled, become rough and possessive as they roam over your body.

Despite the challenges you both face, your love for each other is strong. And you know that with Thorin beside you there’s nothing you can’t conquer.

[legolasbadass]

Italian Holiday, Part V

Summary: A few weeks before Richard leaves for Boston, he and Lorelei go on holiday in Italy to make the most of the summer and the time they have left together.

This story takes between the penultimate and last chapter of Office Hours and contains major spoilers for that story, so make sure you read it first!

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 4.2K

Rating: E

A/N: I know I've already posted a chapter this week, but it seemed fitting to post this chapter today... 😉💙

Read the full story on AO3

On the morning of Richard’s birthday, I wake early to pick up pastries and fruit for breakfast and a cake at the nearest bakery to surprise him. He is not big on birthdays, but I still want to make this day special. I hold my breath as I sneak back inside the flat, cursing the racket the keys make as I insert them into the lock. But thankfully, Richard is still sound asleep. 

After hiding the cake in the refrigerator, I make my way toward the bed. The crumpled duvet exposes Richard’s naked chest, which rises and falls in an even rhythm, golden under the morning sun sneaking in through the half-closed curtains. One of his arms is stretched out on his side, where I slept earlier, but he does not seem to have noticed my absence. Smiling to myself, I carefully sit on the edge of the bed and rest a gentle hand on his chest, running my fingers over the patch of hair between his pectorals and feeling the steady beating of his heart under his warm skin. There is something quite comforting about seeing him so relaxed, so at ease, and it is in moments like this that I realize just how much I will miss him when he leaves for Boston. My heart tightens at the thought, but I force myself not to think about it. Not here, not now, on this most special day. 

I am admiring the soft, grey hairs in Richard’s beard when he begins to stir. A moment later, his eyes flutter open, his sapphire irises shining like the glittering waves at the beach, and when his gaze meets mine, he smiles sleepily. 

“Good morning,” he says, his voice slurred by sleep. 

“Happy birthday, my love,” I whisper before leaning in to kiss him softly, my loose hair spilling over my shoulders, tickling his cheeks. 

He groans into the kiss as he wraps his arms around me, his large hands caressing my waist through the thin fabric of my dress. “Why aren’t you in bed?” he asks when we pull apart for air a moment later, sounding displeased. 

“I had to go pick up a surprise for you,” I answer with a smile as I bring a hand to caress his unruly hair, then let my fingers trace his temple before settling on his beard. He opens his mouth to retort, but before he can say anything, I add, “I know you don’t care for birthdays, but let me take care of you today, okay?” 

He grins in response and buries his hand in my hair as I lean in closer, supporting myself with one hand on the mattress. I let my eyes flutter close as I rub my nose against his, enjoying the way his beard tickles my cheeks before meeting his lips in a languid kiss. The kiss quickly becomes more heated, and as his tongue tangles with mine, I move to straddle him, welcoming the feeling of his growing arousal between my thighs. 

“A birthday present so soon in the day?” Richard teases, and I giggle, burying my face in his neck and inhaling his scent as I trail a path from his ear down to his Adam’s apple with my lips. 

His large hands rest on my bare thighs, gently stroking them, leaving no inch of skin untouched. Eagerly, they slip under my dress, all the way up to my hips, leaving the fabric bundled at my waist. My skin burns under his touch, and when I instinctively grind myself against him, I am rewarded with a gentle wave of pleasure. His hands dig into my flesh as he hardens under me, his body surrendering to the same sensations he awakens in me.

“Take off your dress, darling,” he suddenly says in a deep voice, fisting the fabric, and I shiver. 

Gazing into his lust-darkened eyes, I raise myself and slowly reach from the hem of my dress to pull it over my head, letting it fall to the floor before reaching for the clasp of my bra. Richard swallows heavily as he stares unabashedly at my breasts and the hardened peaks that beg for his touch. The love and desire burning in his eyes set my whole body on fire, and heat pools between my thighs, soaking my knickers. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, almost as if to himself, then licks his lips, momentarily distracting me. I desperately want to kiss him, to drown in his intoxicating taste while his beard scratches my cheeks, but I force myself to wait. This morning, I intend to draw out his pleasure and explore every inch of his striking body. It is his birthday, after all. 

I offer him a seductive smile before devoting my attention to his chest, pressing light kisses across his collarbone, then down into the valley between his pectorals. Encouraged by his increasingly ragged breathing, I lightly bite his skin, slowly inching closer to his nipples, and he groans and arches into my touch when I teasingly swirl my tongue over one. 

“Sweetheart.” The endearment is both a plea and a command, but I ignore him, making my way further down. “Please—I want you, Lorelei.” 

“Not yet,” I say, shaking my head before caressing his navel with my tongue. 

His hands are now buried in my hair, and I can tell he is holding back; he could easily take control and push me onto my back to have his way with me, but thankfully, he seems content to let me be in control for now. 

Never tearing my eyes from him, I settle myself comfortably between his thighs and press a lingering kiss on the tip of his hardness, then another, this time teasing him with my tongue, revelling in the low groan that tumbles from his parted lips. Smiling, I wrap one hand around him, letting it glide against him in tandem with my mouth, teasing him until the first salty drops of his pleasure meet my tongue.

Richard's moans grow louder, and his body tenses beneath me, muscles straining as I keep up the teasing rhythm. When I take him deeper into my mouth, he tugs on my hair and lets his head fall back, exposing the column of his throat to a sunbeam that travels across the bed, and I moan against him, mesmerized by this tender, handsome man I have the chance to call mine. The way he looks at me now, like I am all that matters to him in the world, makes my heart swell with a love so deep it takes my breath away. And suddenly, despite my desire to take my time with him, I can no longer ignore my need to feel him inside me and share this pleasure with him.

His groan of protest is immediate when I pull away, and I cannot help but laugh as I slowly move to straddle him once more, steadying myself with my hands on each side of his head. Even through the cotton of my knickers, I feel how warm he is, and I know he can feel how wet I am already. 

“Lorelei,” he groans in a deep, desperate voice, pressing his head into his pillow as he struggles to keep his eyes open. “Are you trying to kill me?” 

Another breathless laugh escapes my lips as I lower myself to kiss his jaw, and the new angle causes us both to moan. Richard’s hands are now tugging on my knickers in a desperate attempt to remove the last piece of fabric between us. 

Clumsily, I wriggle out of my knickers by raising one leg at a time, and when, at last, I am completely naked, I wrap my hand around his hardness to guide him inside me. As soon as he slips between my folds, I reach for his hand to steady myself; I am more than accustomed to his size now, but it renders me breathless each time. Inch by delectable inch, he fills me, stretches me, and when he is all the way in, his groan mingles with my moan. Then we still. Neither of us moves for a moment, and only the distant sound of waves and our heavy breathing reveal the passing of time as we lose ourselves in each other’s eyes, bathed in sunlight and the summer heat. No words are spoken between us, but I know we are both savouring every single second and imprinting each little detail in our hearts to cherish when we will be apart. 

The first time I sink down on him, the pleasure is so intense that it draws a shuddering gasp from both of us. Richard follows my rhythm, lifting his hips to meet me as I lower myself onto him, taking him in as deep as I can, desperate to give him as much pleasure as he so passionately offers me. One of his hands moves to my lower back while the other slides up to cup my breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. Heat swirls through me, spreading from my core all the way to my toes, as he gazes up at me with a mixture of awe and need, the blue of his irises almost lost in the depth of his desire.

Then, between two thrusts, Richard pushes himself up to kiss me, his beard scratching my burning cheeks as I whimper against his mouth. Even though it is only mid-morning and a refreshing breeze floats in from the open doors leading onto the balcony, the air is already hot and humid, and my skin is slightly sticky, but Richard does not seem to mind. Ardently, he covers every inch of my neck with kisses, and a soft, desperate moan falls from my lips as I let my head fall back, drowning in the sensations he stirs within me. 

That is always the flaw in my plan—he knows my body too well. So despite my intention to take control and draw out his pleasure, it does not take long before he sends me over the edge. Clinging to him, I cry out, my nails digging into his tanned back as I tighten around him. And that is all it takes to send him over the edge with me. Groaning my name, he buries his face in my neck, and we cling to each other, trembling as the waves of pleasure gradually subside, leaving us breathless and spent. I can feel his heart pounding against my chest, matching the rapid beat of my own, as his fingers trace lazy patterns on my back. 

“You certainly know how to wish someone ‘happy birthday,’” Richard says eons later, causing me to giggle.

“You deserve nothing less, my love,” I respond, kissing him softly before he lowers us onto the bed so that I lie on his side, one warm wrapped around his middle. Once I catch my breath, I snuggle closer and press a light kiss onto his sweat-slicked chest. “So, do you feel any different? Wiser, perhaps?”

Richard chuckles as he absently plays with my hand, then pauses. “I just feel even luckier. I mean, an old man like me, with a girl like you…”

I bite my lips but choose to lighten the mood by saying, “And I feel lucky every day I’m with you… my old man.” 

Another chuckle falls from his lips before he moves his hand up my arm, then into my hair to caress the tangled locks, prompting me to look up at him. “You really don’t think I’m old?” 

My heart tightens in my chest at the insecurity that softens his eyes. “Of course not! Not that there’s anything wrong with being old.” 

“Hm,” he mumbles, looking up at the beamed ceiling. “I’m getting more and more grey hairs—might have to start dying my hair.” 

“Don’t you dare!” He raises his eyebrows. “I happen to love your grey hairs,” I say earnestly as I run my fingers through his unruly curls. “I love the greys in your beard as well.” I accentuate my words with kisses along his bearded jaw. “I also happen to love the wrinkles at the corner of your eyes.” With my lips, I trace a path from his beard to the lines around his eyes. 

“You like my wrinkles?” Richard asks with raised eyebrows. 

I cradle his face with one hand and lean in until his lips are mere inches from mine. “I think they’re sexy,” I say before pressing a lingering kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“Really?” He sounds even more incredulous now.

I nod. “Surely I’ve told you before?”

“You haven’t.”

“Well let me rectify that, then,” I say softly, then kiss him once more as I bury one hand in his hair. “Your grey hairs are very sexy, as are the little wrinkles at the corner of your eyes. In fact, you are the sexiest man I’ve ever met—I’ve thought so since the very first time I saw you.” 

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles in amusement, but his cheeks are now red with embarrassment. 

“Yes—you were wearing a grey tweed blazer and a white button-up underneath, and your collar was undone, and I remember thinking that was very distracting,” I say, unable to hold back my giggle.

Richard grins, a twinkle in his eyes. “Well, I had no idea I was distracting you so much.”

I bite my lips. “And you know—I’ve seen photos of you from when you were younger, and I can tell you, you only get better with age, darling.” 

Richard chuckles, his cheeks still red. “Yeah, I was a lanky teenager and it took me years to grow into my big nose.” 

“Well, you’ve certainly grown into it. And other appendages...”

Richard’s laughter joins mine, and his chest rumbles against me as he pulls me closer. He is still smiling when he captures my lips in a slow, toe-curling kiss. Then another, deeper, more passionate. His tongue tangles with mine as I wrap my arms around his neck, my fingers pulling on the curls at the back of his head, causing him to moan and pull me even closer; my breasts are pressed into his chest now, and one of his hands slides down my back to caress my bum just as I wrap one leg around his hips, but then he groans and pulls away. 

“Well, there is one thing that doesn’t get better with age,” he begins, slightly breathless. “I don’t think I can make love to you again so soon, no matter how much I wish I could.” 

I cannot hold back my giggle as he brushes the hair from my face. His eyes shine with playfulness, but I still notice a hint of insecurity in his gaze, as though he is worried about disappointing me. I press a chaste kiss onto his lips to reassure him, then say, “It’s just as well—my legs are sore.” I kiss him again. “And I’m starving!” 

“That’s not good. We have lots of steps to go down to reach the nearest café.”

“No, we don’t. Why do you think I got up so early?” Richard raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “I got eggs, cheese, and fruit from the market. And I got us chocolate and pistachio cornettos at the bakery. I thought we could have breakfast on the balcony.” 

In response, Richard smiles and buries his face in the crook of my neck. “God, I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” I say, giggling and smiling widely as I hug him tight against me, pressing a tender kiss in his hair. 

Sometime later, we manage to leave the bed. While Richard goes to the loo, I steal one of his t-shirts to keep his scent on me even longer and slip into my knickers before going into the small kitchen. When he joins me, he helps me prepare breakfast despite my initial protests, seeing as it is his birthday. But we have always enjoyed cooking together, and when he wraps his arms around me to tell me this, I know he is thinking of how much he will miss little moments like this when he leaves. Neither of us speaks about it, though, because as long as we are here, we can pretend that time stands still, and he is not leaving anytime soon. 

We take breakfast out to the balcony, where a gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the potted plants. The sun has climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over the cliffs and the seaside town. As we sit across from each other, sharing laughs and stories, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixes with the salty sea breeze as the town below awakes. 

After a lovely breakfast and a long shower, we set out to explore more corners of the charming seaside town, strolling through narrow streets lined with colourful houses and charming shops. But we spend most of the afternoon at the beach, laughing and sharing stolen kisses under the warmth of the afternoon sun and in the refreshing embrace of the Ligurian Sea. In the evening, I bring Richard to a quaint restaurant, where we enjoy delicious pasta and a bottle of local wine. 

The sun has nearly set when we make our way back to the flat after dinner, our hands intertwined as I rest my head against his arm. 

“Today has been perfect, sweetheart,” he says as we reach the front door. “I don’t know how to thank you.” 

I smile up at him, my heart light and warm. “You don’t have to thank me. And the day isn’t over yet, birthday boy.” 

He raises one eyebrow and grins. “You’re spoiling me.” 

“Well, you never let me, so I’m taking advantage of this special occasion.”

Once inside, I pull him toward the balcony and make him sit down at the table. 

“Now close your eyes—and no peeking!” 

He chuckles but complies, and for a moment, I simply watch him, admiring the boyish grin that tugs at his lips and his tousled curls, enhanced by the humidity and the sea air. I cannot help but press a kiss onto his bearded cheek before darting back inside, smiling in excitement. In the kitchen, I hasten to retrieve the cake from the box, then grab the tube of decorative icing I bought this morning. The cake already looks amazing, but I want to add a little personal touch. Unfortunately, the icing comes out uneven as I try to spell out ‘Happy Birthday’ in the centre with a small heart at the end, but I know he will still appreciate it.

“I won’t sing you ‘Happy Birthday’ because I know you hate that, but I’d still like you to make a wish,” I say as I step back onto the balcony and carefully place the cake before him on the table. His eyes are still closed, and I smile to myself as I strike a match, then light the candles. “You can open your eyes now.” 

A surprised laugh tumbles from his lips as he opens his eyes and stares at the messy lettering on the cake. “Did you do that?” 

“I tried!” I reply, laughing at myself. 

“It’s perfect,” he says, raising one finger to swipe off some excess icing from the heart I made, then brings it to his lips and hums appreciatively. 

“Blow the candles before you lick the icing!” I chastise him, but I cannot stop smiling as I wrap my arms around his neck from behind. Richard stares at his cake for a moment, then blows out the candles, except one stubborn one. “Quick, or your wish won’t come true!” I say, but he succeeds in blowing it out before I finish speaking, so I cheer and press a kiss atop his hair. 

He squeezes me tight, then says, “What if it already has?” 

“What?” I ask, not quite understanding, but then I look at the candles, then back at him, and the meaning of his words is clear in his tender eyes as he gazes up at me. 

Smoke is still rising from the candles as he extends a hand toward me, inviting me into his arms, and I momentarily forget all about the delicious cake awaiting us as I sit on his lap. When he speaks, his voice is heavier than usual, though laced with tenderness. 

“You know, for so long I wondered if maybe there was something wrong with me,” he begins slowly as he absentmindedly caresses my arm, causing me to frown. “Everyone around me was falling in love, getting married, having kids, and I could never seem to make a relationship last, no matter how hard I tried. But now I understand why…I was waiting for you.” 

“Richard…” I swallow hard as myriad emotions clog my throat. 

“I’ve been on so many crappy dates over the past eight years, you wouldn’t believe. But it wasn’t these women’s fault—I tried, I really did, but I just never really clicked with anyone and I didn’t see the point in trying and—and risking my heart over again. But then I met you.” He smiles brightly and chuckles as though remembering something. “And everything was just so easy with you.” I open my mouth to retort, and seeing the look on my face, he chuckles and says, “Well, sure, we’ve had our problems—but I mean the connection between us. It just works with you—I’ve always been so comfortable with you, and you understand me in a way no one has ever understood me before. And you make me feel loved in a way no one ever has. I might not have known it at the time, but I fell in love with you the very first time we met. I remember you telling me about your research and what drew you to Tolkien’s work—and the passion in your voice was just…” He trails off then and smiles, and the love in his eyes makes my heart swell ten-fold. 

“And to think I worried I was boring you by rambling about Tolkien,” I chuckle at the memory, trying to ignore the frenzied beating of my heart.

He smiles again before pressing a soft kiss onto my lips, his arms now wrapped around my waist as the sun sinks below the horizon, submerging us in the gentle glow of twilight. 

“I know I’m leaving for a year soon…” Richard hesitantly breaks the agreement to avoid the topic of his departure during our holiday, and I look down at the unbuttoned collar of his linen shirt. “But I want you to know that… I can’t imagine my future without you. I want to enjoy many more lazy mornings with you and I want you to keep sharing all your brilliant thoughts with me.” I cannot help but chuckle and shake my head, and he smiles, squeezing my hand as he continues. “And I want us to go on many more holidays like this one where we dance under the stars and eat great food and have amazing sex,” he adds, causing me to blush, but then he swallows heavily, growing serious once more. “I guess I’m saying all this because… I want to reassure you that even though I’m leaving, you remain my priority. That future with you is my priority—and I’m sorry we have to put things on pause for a little while.” 

I swallow heavily, slightly overwhelmed by the love behind his words and the tenderness in his eyes. “I—I don’t know what to say.” 

“You don’t have to say anything, sweetheart,” he responds, ever so caring and patient with me, as he rests his forehead against mine.

“You know I want all that as well, right?” I eventually say.

Richard smiles. “Yes, I know. But it’s nice to hear you say it.” 

I chuckle, then bite my lower lip. “You’re wrong about something, though,” I say, and he frowns. “We’re not putting anything on pause. It’s just something we have to go through. Sure, it might not be as nice as going on holiday in Italy or that amazing sex you referred to…” He squeezes my thigh, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “But it’s still part of that future—our future.” 

His eyes locked on mine, he raises his large hands to cradle my face. “You saying that… you don’t know how much that means to me.” 

I smile shyly before pressing my lips to his in a fleeting kiss, trying to calm down the frantic beating of my heart. “Now, how about that cake…” 

Richard laughs, squeezing my waist. “Yes, please!” he exclaims, reaching out for the knife. “How big a slice do you want?” 

I chuckle and nod in approval of the generous slice he offers me. The cake turns out to be even more delicious than it looks, and as the night air grows cooler and the streets below grow quieter, we take our time savouring it, exchanging loving glances and fleeting kisses. 

Richard was definitely right; this holiday does just keep getting better.

Tag list: @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @enchantzz @myselfandfantasy @notlostgnome @laurfilijames @swoopswishsward @quiall321 @dianakc @sazzlep @albionscastle @evenstaredits @mistresskayla-blog1

Let me know if you'd like to be added/removed from my tag list or tagged in future chapters! 💙

[scariusaquarius]

a sweet treat.

CHRISTMAS ADVENT BONANZA 2K24 Day 2: Mulled Wine, Guy of Gisborne

Guy of Gisborne x Gen! Reader Summary: Nottingham is in high spirits, preparing for Yule celebrations. A certain Sheriff has a craving, and he knows just who to go to for his thirst to be quenched.

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A/n: Day 2 is here! I haven't written Guy in so long, I truly do hope that I captured his character. I have missed my blorbos so much <3

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Genre: Humor, Friendship, Slight Romance Rated: Everyone Warning: Fluffy, Alcohol Consumption, Alcohol Mentions

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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It was winter in Nottingham; the smell of burning wood and spices heavy within the air as the people stayed as warm as they could while snow dusted the ground. Snow-turned-muddy slush covered the paths where the horses frequented, a pink nose turning up slightly in disgust as his horse trotted through the town.

While the people were dreary, the heavy taxes still taking a toll, it seemed that nothing could damper a festive spirit; not even the Sheriff of Nottingham. Though, Guy of Gisborne wasn't too terribly interested in enforcing the law for the day.

Even he had a heart, he had to think.

With purpose, Guy of Gisborne steered his horse to the outskirts of Nottingham where a vineyard was situated; the harvest season freshly ended and the crops beginning to whither. There was a scent within the air; spicy and reminiscent of apple cider, and Guy's cheeks flushed.

It seemed his favorite vintner in Nottingham was trying a new recipe.

When he got to the door, Guy slid off of his horse, making a face at the mud beneath his boots before he knocked upon the door. There was a yelp, a crash, and suddenly, the door opened to reveal you. You were wearing a purple-stained apron, grape juice staining your fingers, and there was sweat running down your temple.

Your cheeks were flushed, and if Guy didn't know any better, it would have seemed you were...up to extracurricular activities other than wine-making.

"Oh! Hello, Sheriff, I wasn't expecting you."

Guy raised a brow, a smirk playing on his lips as he tilted his head.

"Truly? I do make it a point to come here after every harvest. Surely you would have remembered our annual meeting."

You couldn't help but to make a slight face at him, amusement coming over his face as he watched you become embarrassed by being caught.

"Ah, that's a good point. I've just been so busy that it slipped my mind. Come on in, it's way too cold for you to be standing out there."

Guy didn't hesitate, walking into the warmth of your home; the scent of spices and freshly-baked goods assaulting his nose and making him almost melt. You led him through the main home to the back where the wine cellar and the winery equipment was; barrels upon barrels stacked on top of one another. Your father was nowhere in sight, making Guy hum in interest as you began to speak.

"My father went to Barnsdale to sell some wine for the season, so the rest of the work has been left to me. I'm actually experimenting with the recipe this time. Here, have a cup and tell me what you think."

You grabbed a cup and a ladle, scooping up a hefty portion of steaming wine out of a pot that was situated over a low fire, various spices floating on the foamy surface. Guy was intrigued, looking up at you as you handed him the cup.

"Hot wine...and spiced? That'll be a hefty loss if this fails."

You gave him a look, placing your hands on your hips and raising a brow; making Guy chuckle in response to your sassy comeback.

"Well, I enjoy it, so even if it doesn't sell, I can stay drunk for however long I please. Now, would you please try the wine?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely."

Guy sniffed the wine first, looking at you the whole time. You seemed nervous, fidgeting from foot-to-foot as you watched him, and Guy hummed, positioning the cup away from his mouth.

"And what if this is a ploy to poison me, hm? Should I let myself believe a vixen like you wouldn't?"

"Oh, for the King's sake."

Guy grinned when you snatched the cup out of his hand and took a heft gulp, making a slight face from the heat of the liquid before giving it back to him and wiping the back of your hand against your mouth.

"There. No poison."

Guy chuckled before he teased, placing the cup to his lips right where your lips had been.

"I knew you couldn't...but now, I get a kiss by proxy. How lucky am I, the Sheriff of Nottingham?"

He wasn't sure if the blush on your face was from the alcohol or his words, but Guy was drinking it up as much as he could. When the hot wine touched his tongue, it sent a shiver down his spine and warmed him up so quickly that it felt as though sweat was already pearling at the back of his neck. His blue eyes were opened wide, his lips smacking noisily, and he hummed in appreciation.

"Now that is a cup of wine."

You beamed happily at him, grabbing another cup and pouring more wine in it for yourself, sitting down in front of him at the table.

"Truly, you like it? I was planning on distributing this at the market tomorrow. I think it would be very nice to share."

"Why not make a profit off of this? You would be highly regarded for such a delicious drink."

Guy was asking honestly; trying his best to understand your head and where it was that you were coming from, but you just sighed and shook your head.

"Gisborne, you know that I don't like to sell my creations like that. Regular wine, yes, but I always like to share my creations first before I ever consider selling. I want this drink to be something that can be enjoyed; not something that is sought after like the water and bread we already struggle to make."

Your words made Guy go quiet, and while you feared that you had said too much or somehow stepped over a line, it actually made the Sheriff think for a moment. There was a pregnant pause, the only sound within the room of Guy sipping his wine, and he replied back.

"Tomorrow, I will help you take this wine to the market and we shall let the people indulge."

You were in awe before you gently placed your hand over his own that was on the table, making Guy swallow slightly as he looked into your eyes.

"Thank you, Guy of Gisborne. I see that even the Sheriff can have a festive heart."

Guy scoffed, never letting your hand go as he spoke.

"Please, don't be ridiculous. I'm only doing this for the wine."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, Sheriff."

END DAY 2

[xxbyimm]

Have you ever written a fic from a dream you’ve had?

Ooh good question!! 🥰

The short answer is, yes I have! It's a smutty Richard Armitage x reader story, in which they catch up after not seeing each other for years.

It's not truly finished/published yet, I'm keeping it in my drafts until it's ready for reading. 🤣

[middleearthpixie]

Thank you for reblogging!

Can you please write a fic where Thorin falls in love with a human girl, but he thinks she is disgusted by his looks? 🙏

Hi there, Nonny!! I know it took me forEVER, but here you go and i hope you like it! 💜

The Harp

Summary: You and Thorin are friends, but then you find out his feelings for you run deeper, and he’s holding back because he feels he is not good enough for you.  

Pairing: Thorin x fem!Reader (post-sack of Erebor, pre-quest for Erebor)

Warning: None. Just fluffy fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 4.7k

***

He came into the dining room at the same time each evening and always sat at the same table—the one in the far corner, which was also the darkest corner of the room. He was polite, but kept to himself and you noticed how he always sat with his back to the wall and rarely did his eyes pause from scanning the room. 

The other diners eyed him with just as much suspicion but then again, they all eyed each other with suspicion as well. It was second nature to this lot, as they came from all four corners of Middle Earth. No one was actually from Emyn Vanya. No, every warm body had come from somewhere else to this tiny village on the outskirts of everywhere and yet somehow in the middle of nowhere. Some came to start over. Some came to forget. Some came to do both and some were just passing through. But everyone was from somewhere else and almost no one wished to discuss where that somewhere else might be.

You couldn't help but notice him, for he was a dwarf and the Grey Gander did not see many dwarves in their dining room. And not only that, but he was a handsome dwarf, to boot, with black hair, touched here and there with hints of silver, that spilled over his shoulders in a long tangle of curls. His most striking feature was his eyes, however, for they were the most piercing shade of icy blue you’d ever seen. There was a hardness within those pale eyes, one belied by his polite demeanor and deep, if soft, voice. 

Night after night, this man came in alone. He sat alone. He spoke to no one other than you when you approached to take his order, just as you did this evening. He was polite, if reserved, and spoke only when absolutely necessary, which was an interesting change from the patrons who grew louder and more opinionated as they dove further and further into their cups. 

“Welcome back,” you said with a smile as you approached him. “Might I fetch you a drink to begin?”

“Thank you. A tanked of ale would suit.”

“Of course. And do you know what you’d like or are you still trying to decide?”

He looked up at you with those striking eyes. “The hunter’s stew.”

His order never varied and you were certain you could just bring him a bowl of the stew without asking, which was why you couldn't resist a bit of playing with him. “I think we should start calling that your usual. Perhaps we should change it on the menu itself.”

That earned you one of the dwarf’s rare smiles. “I am not so certain that is necessary.”

“Well, you’ve been in here eight of the last ten nights and have yet to order anything different.” You couldn’t help teasing him. You sensed a hint of sadness in him, one that might explain the hardness in his eyes. And while it was a bit of a risk, teasing this man you didn’t really know, you had to admit, his smile made the risk worthwhile.

“But,” you added, taking your teasing further than you normally did, “you would have to tell me your name first. I certainly cannot ask to rename it Dwarf Stew. That would give the wrong impression, don’t you think?”

A darkness flashed through his eyes and you knew you’d overstepped. Your mind raced as you struggled to come up with something to smooth over his obviously ruffled feathers, knowing your employer would be furious if your flippancy drove away a paying customer. “I mean… that is… I apolo—”

“No,” he interrupted softly, shaking his head, “there is no need to apologize. And you’re right, it would sound odd. So, I suppose then, it would only be fair to tell you my name, wouldn’t it?”

Your heart beat a little faster at that. Perhaps it was but your imagination, but his voice sounded lower than it normally did. Lower and bit growlier. Had he, by any chance, noticed you the way you’d noticed him?

No, that was madness talking. Very few people noticed you aside from being their serving girl. You tended to blend into the background far too easily and since so many people in Emyn Vanya were only passing through, they paid little heed to you.

Still, that didn't stop you from replying, “It would, yes.”

To your surprise, that earned you a laugh. A genuine, honest-to-goodness laugh and one that sent flutters through you as it rolled across the small table in your direction. Like his voice, it was low and silken, and those flutters made you forget your own name for a moment.

“Very well,” he nodded, his eyes meeting and holding yours, “I am Thorin.”

You offered your name in return and added, “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Thorin.”

“And yours as well.”

Heat climbed into your cheeks and you ducked your head, saying, “I will be back in a few moments with your ale,” you hesitated, then added, “Thorin.”

“I will be here.”

Thorin sat back as you darted off and couldn't believe his cheek. What had possessed him to even think to flirt with you? Your interest had to be only because he was a paying customer, because there was no way a woman as beautiful as you could possibly be interested in him. 

The first time he stepped into the Grey Gander, he’d noticed you at once, noticed how easily you smiled and joked with the tavern’s patrons. Your laughter was a silvery melody that made everyone turn in your direction and smile even if they had no idea what it was that made you laugh. 

He noticed everything about you—from that amazing smile and intoxicating laughter to your beautiful eyes and easy grace with which you moved about the crowded dining room. You never seemed impatience, or irritated, and even when someone gave you a hard time about something, you never lost your temper and somehow managed to defuse the most volatile of situations. 

The second night he’d come in, he’d witness such a scene, almost reaching for his sword, propped against the table, when the giant of man actually grabbed you by the arm. He had no doubt he’d have intervened if you needed it, but you didn’t. You smiled at the man as you peeled his fingers from your wrist and very sweetly informed him that if he touched you again, you’d turn him from a rooster to a hen in one fell swoop. 

It was at that moment, Thorin lost his heart.

A foolish notion at best, as you would never feel about him the way he did you. Why would you? He was a dwarf. He had no home. He had been in line for a throne, but now supported himself by moving from place to place, taking work where he could find it. 

That was what brought him to Emyn Vanya. His trade was blacksmithing and the village needed one. So, there he was, in the dining room of the Grey Gander, admiring you from afar and wishing he stood a chance at winning your hand. 

It was just as well, for what did he have to offer you? A king with no kingdom was no better than a pauper, really. Not to mention, he certainly couldn’t compete with the men of Emyn Vanya, who were all taller, slimmer, and far more attractive than he certainly was. You would be a fool to even consider him.

But, he watched you from afar, watched as you moved from table to table, how you brought a beaming smile to the face of an old crone, how you soothed angry children bickering over a toy, how you made a crying infant smile by making silly faces until they could do nothing else. 

How you focused on him as if he was the most interesting man in the room and not, for lack of a better phrase, a homely, homeless refugee. 

If only…

He sighed as you approached with a tankard in one hand. His heart beat so much faster when you met his gaze. His mouth went as dry as the plains between his lost kingdom of Erebor and the city of Dale after the dragon Smaug torched it from one end to the other.

You set the tankard before him. “Your supper will be ready in but a few minutes, Mr. Thorin.”

Mr. Thorin. He smiled, shaking his head. “No Mister. Thorin is just fine.”

“Oh, well that wouldn’t be proper now, would it?” Your eyes almost sparkled as your easy smile curved your lips. “After all, we only just met.”

“This is true,” he nodded, reaching for the tankard. Then, on impulse, he added, “Perhaps you might join me one evening?”

You looked taken aback and he immediately berated himself silently. You fool! What is wrong with you?

But then you smiled. “I think I would like that. I have an off night tomorrow. Would that work for you?”

He was stunned, not only by your agreement, but by your suggestion. No woman ever approached him that way. He’d always been the one to ask. You were bold and he admired that. So, he nodded. “That would work just fine for me.”

“Wonderful. What time?”

“Half seven?”

“Half seven it is,” you told him. “And I’ll be back in but a moment with your supper.”

****

What were you thinking? How could you just blurt out an invitation to him that way? He must think you a harlot, or a wanton woman for doing so. 

But at the same time, as you smoothed a hand along your skirts, you had to admit, you looked so forward to seeing him without having to wait upon him. It was a nice change of pace for you. A break in the monotony of your life that was work, sleep, and more work.

You’d told him where you lived, a rundown little flat above the florist’s shop, and at half eight, when the knock came at the door, you nearly jumped clear out of your skin. Then, laughing at your foolishness, you hurried to the door, before he thought you’d changed your mind and left. 

You smiled as you pulled open the door. “You are early.”

“I allowed myself extra time in case I found myself lost. I’m still new to these parts and this town takes a bit of getting used to.”

“If you remember the streets run east and west, and the avenues run north and south, you might fare better.”

He bobbed his head. “I would, but there are three florists on this street alone.”

“It is a very competitive business in Emyn Vanya.”

“So I’ve noticed.” 

You hesitated a moment and then stepped aside. “Come in.”

As he stepped over the threshold, you tried not to dwell on how shabby your flat was, with its scratched and scuffed hand-me-down furnishings. After you paid your rent and made certain there was food on the table, there was not much money left for luxuries such as nice furniture. Normally, it didn't trouble you. This was your home and you thought it cozy, if a bit rundown. But, when you tried to see it through Thorin’s eyes? 

You saw exactly how awful it must have looked to him. Threadbare sofa. The armchair had a hole in the cushion thanks to a broken spring, which meant that not only was stuffing peeping up from the hole, one received a nasty poke in the backside, should they think to sit there. 

And of course, there was that awful water stain in the far corner. You had no idea from where it had come, only that no matter how much you tried to paint over it, it bled through. You’d given up trying when paint fell into the luxury category.

But, he reached up for the frogs at his throat and then whisked his cloak off to drape over his arm. “This is lovely.”

Lovely? You looked about, wondering exactly what he found so lovely about it. “It’s a bit… ah… worn, don't you think?”

“Lived in, is how I would describe it.” He smiled at you. “Homes should be lived in. That is how they become such. Otherwise, they are but houses, flats, nothing more than buildings.”

You looked back at him. “Lived in?”

He nodded. “Lived in.” 

Then he looked back at you and for a moment, you were rendered speechless. Did he have any idea whatsoever as to how handsome he truly was? Because if he did, he certainly did not act as if he did.

Of course, you kept that to yourself, especially when that night, a deep friendship was born. You had dinner together on the nights when you weren’t working. You spent off days together, sometimes running errands with each other, sometimes just doing nothing. He had a knack for the acrostics printed in the village newspaper and the two of you spent your share of days or nights looking up which answers you thought would work. It didn't matter. He had quickly become your dearest friend and while you loved that, you’d also begun thinking that perhaps there was a bit more to your relationship than only friendship.

It was too bad he’d never given any indication at all that he saw you as anything more than a friend.

So you stayed quiet. Autumn gave way to winter and the Yule holiday was only a few days off when you made your way to Thorin’s forge at the northern end of town. A bitter cold wind whipped down the narrow alleyway where his shop was located and you didn't have to look to know you were near it. The carved wooden sign identifying the forge creaked on its hooks as it swung in the wind. Through the swirling snow, you could still make out the word etched into the wood. 

Blacksmith

Beneath that word, Thorin had carved symbols as well, and when you’d asked, he’d smiled and explained that they were a language called khuzdul, which was his native language, actually. He’d attempted to teach you some of it, and showed nothing but patience as you fumbled over seemingly simple words. Little by little, though, it became easier and left you wishing you had something like that to share with him. 

But then you found something. One night, over several goblets of wine, he confessed that he once played the harp, but had lost his when he’d lost his home, but that was all he would say about either the harp or what happened to his home. So, you’d saved a bit of your pay each week and put it aside and then went to the music shop at the far end of town and found what you’d hoped would be a suitable replacement harp. It wasn't a big, grand instrument, as those were far beyond what you could ever hope to afford, but you hoped he’d like it the same. You couldn’t remember the last time you were so excited and impatient to give someone a gift as you were this one, which was why you braved the worsening weather.  

So there you were, at the far end of a gray-shingled building with a roof in need of repair, listening to the almost melodic sound of metal striking metal. The closer you drew to his workshop, the warmer the air grew and as you rounded the corner, a blast of heat hit you square in the face. It was a welcome sensation as your cheeks felt quite numb from the cold. 

He had his back to you and heat shot through you at the sight of him, shirtless in deference to that blasted heat, the muscles in his back and along his shoulders bulging as he held a piece of iron in one hand, a hammer in the other. The clang rang through you when he brought the hammer slamming against the iron, again and again and you couldn't help but just stare. 

Your eyes roamed over his naked back, heavy with obviously well-earned muscle, and inked with black lines of varying sizes that covered his entire shoulder, stretched across his back, and into the opposite shoulder as well. You had no idea what the symbols and lines meant, but they looked very similar to the ones carved into the forge’s sign, so your guess was they were dwarfish runes or words.

The heat in the forge was brutal regardless of how cold it was beyond the walls. Sweat prickled along your back as you stepped closer. You didn't want to startle him. The iron with which he worked began with an orange glow, but slowly, as he pounded it flat, the glow faded and when he set down the hammer and used a pair of tongs to pick up the flattened piece and thrust it into a tub of water, steam actually rose from the tub.

“Thorin?”

He jumped, letting go of the tongs as he spun around and now heat shot up into your cheeks at the naked chest you found yourself staring at. Like his back, his chest was just as broad, with black hair swirled from one nipple to the other and down across his belly. More symbols had been inked across it, meeting with the design on his left shoulder.

“I am so sorry,” you stammered, tearing your eyes from that impressive sight to meet his startled blue eyes, “I was trying not to startle you.”

“What are you doing here?”

You hugged the package close. “I had to go and pick something up and thought while I was out, I’d stop by.” You peered around him, at the iron still resting in the water. “What are you making?”

“A sword.” He reached for the towel draped over the workbench and swept it across his forehead. “You should not be in here. It’s far too dangerous.”

“I will come no closer then. But tell me, who commissioned the sword?”

“No one. It is mine. I work on it when I’ve a bit of free time.”

“Might I see?”

“It’s not even close to being finished.” He came around the bench and stood before you. His black hair was damp at the temples. 

“You don't have to stop on my account, you know.” You took a step closer to him, the urge to reach out and touch him so powerful, it nearly overwhelmed you. You wish you had the courage to tell him how you’d come to feel about him, as you’d had when you’d left your flat. You’d left there full of fire and determined to confess your feelings for him, but unfortunately, by the time you reached his forge, that courage evaporated like the water in the tub had. 

“It would be rude of me to continue.”

“Not at all. I think it would be fascinating, watching you work.” 

His gaze shifted slightly to his left and you followed it to see what he looked at—a heavy dark gray henley lay draped over a chair by his desk. Without thinking, you shifted the package to one arm and reached out to catch him by the upper arm as he stretched for his shirt.

“Wait, don’t,” you said, shaking your head.

“Don’t?”

You nodded. “I—what is this?” You traced your fingertips along the thick black lines curving his shoulder, unable to believe your own brazenness but unable to halt your touch as well. 

“It’s my… my… it’s a raven,” he managed, his voice deep and huskier than usual. He cleared his throat. “The symbol of my clan, and my family crest.”

You could not keep yourself from tracing along those lines as little by little, the image of a raven wearing a crown slowly showed itself to you. You’d held back from telling him how you felt for so long, now that the opportunity to perhaps go beyond friendship had presented itself and you were not about to let it slip by. But… you had to be careful. It was a delicate matter and that called for delicate handling. The last thing you wished to do was destroy your friendship with him.

With that, you lowered your hand “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“This is for you, by the by.” You pressed the package toward him. “I know Yule isn’t for several more days, but when I went to pick this up, I grew far too impatient to wait.”

He stared down at it. “What is it?”

“Well, you have to open it to find out.”

He took the package and slowly unwrapped it and then just stared, his blue eyes growing shiny as he murmured, “How did you know?”

“You told me, silly.” You nudged him with your shoulder. “Remember? We were talking about how my neighbor plays the harpsichord and how awful it sounds and you told me you once played the harp. So, I asked Mr. Trumble if he could find me a harp for you and he did me one better. He made this.”

“He—” those blue eyes met yours, wide and incredulous—“made this?”

You nodded. “He did, indeed.”

He gazed down at the harp, and then back at you. “I—this—this is beautiful. I thank you.”

“There is one condition to it, however.” You nudged him once more. “You must play it for me.”

“Oh, I couldn't now. I’d be far too rusty.”

“Well, once you flake off all the rust.”

“Fair enough.” He offered up a smile brighter than any you’d ever seen from him. “You shouldn’t have done this, though. Save your wages, don’t spend them on me.”

“I didn't mind.” You shrugged as if you spent that kind of money all the time. “And it’s Yule, so it was but a small sacrifice.”

He stepped closer. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, you know. I will treasure it. And you.”

And with that, he leaned in and to your surprise, pressed his lips to yours. You froze at first, caught by utter surprise, as this was the last thing you’d expected him to do. For one maddening moment, you wondered if perhaps you were just imagining it.

But then, his lips moved softly against yours and your toes actually curled in your sensible boots when he brought his hands up to cup your face, and you knew that this was, in fact, actually happening. And how wonderful it was! The sensations that rippled through you were soft and sweet, the crisp, coarse hair around his mouth tickling at first, but then you found you didn't mind it so much as it was a caress of its own. 

Your head did a slow spin, his kiss leaving you lightheaded and when your hands came to rest on those massive upper arms of his, your fingers pressed into muscle that greatly resembled stone of their own accord. You were afraid your weak knees might buckle on you at any moment.

His kiss was slow and sweet, teasing and gentle and when his lips parted and his tongue swept gently along yours, your head spun even faster. A rush of heat swept through you. Your lips tingled. Your heart beat harder and faster and it took every bit of will you had to not melt right into his arms. 

When he drew back, his eyes were soft, swirling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place and he seemed as breathless as you were as he murmured, “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time now.”

“What?”

He nodded. “I do and I did and now I just want to do it again.” Then he paused, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his smile, into his eyes, “Unless, of course, you’d rather I didn’t.”

“No, I’d not rather that at all,” you told him, smiling as you curved a hand against his cheek. “In fact, I’d like it very much if you would do it again. And again. And I think you should keep doing, no matter where we might be.”

A low chuckle rumbled up from the depths of his chest. “So, I am not about to send you screaming into the snow?”

“Hardly.” 

“Are you certain? I mean,” he rubbed his bearded jaw ruefully, a sheepish smile coming to his lips, “I know people whisper about me and poke fun at me behind my back.”

“They whisper about you because they are fascinated by you. And no one pokes fun at you. I know they think you’re quite an excellent smithy, judging by what I’ve heard. And I won’t even tell you what the women say about you.”

To your surprise, his sheepish smile faded and a darkness came to his eyes. “I can only imagine.”

“Have I said something wrong? I thought I was complimenting you. Do dwarves not like to hear how handsome they are thought to be?”

“Handsome?” He snorted as he shook his head. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve seen my own face and that is not how I’d describe it.”

“Well, perhaps you should but have Mr. Sinclair examine your eyes, for you are not only handsome, but very handsome.”

He stared at you, clearly not believing a word you said. “Thank you, but you are just being kind, as you’ve been since we met.”

“Thorin,” you caught his hands in yours, “I’ve been wishing you’d notice me as more than simply your friend, that you’d kiss me, and perhaps I’ve been too brazen in taking the first step. If you wish me to leave you alone, I will.”

“Leave me alone?” His eyes went wide and he shook his head once more. “No, no, I don’t wish that at all. In fact, I—”

A scarlet flush swept up into his cheeks and he went quiet. You waited for him to continue, your heart hammering away at your ribs. All you wanted was for him to pull you into his arms, to tug you flush against that massive chest, and kiss you until you forgot your name.

“You what?” you asked softly.

“I lied. About the sword.” He smiled then. “It’s for you, actually. For Yule. I meant it to be a surprise.”

“For me? But I don't even know who to wield one.”

“Worry not, for I will teach you. When the weather breaks.”

“You did this for me? You would do that for me?”

He nodded. “I would do anything for you, you know.” His eyes softened then as he smiled. “I love you.”

This was the last thing you ever expected him to say and you could only stare at him for a long moment, as your stupid brain forgot how to process words. The best you could muster was a whispered, “What?”

“I love you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for some time now, but how could I when I thought you would be embarrassed to be courted by me. So, I relegated myself to knowing we would only ever be friends, but now…”

“Embarrassed to be courted by you? Are you mad, Thorin? Are you absolutely and completely mad? Because you would have to be to think any woman alive would be embarrassed to be courted by you.” You shifted to wind your arms about his neck. “And no one has ever made something for me. At least, not something as beautiful as a sword. So, if I didn't already love you in return, I would have most definitely fallen at this moment.”

He smiled. “So, all this time, it would’ve only taken a sword to win your hand?”

“I’m a very simple woman, Thorin. You should know that by now.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he eased his arms about your waist, pulling you flush against him. He leaned closer, his lips just brushing yours as he murmured, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

You tried to think of something witty to reply with, but then his lips met yours once more and rendered words unnecessary.

***

Like it? Love it? Reblog it! Comments are also welcomed!

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[artredray]

Thorin Oakenshield

Nothing has changed in 10 years, I still love Richard Armitage as Thorin. I decided to do all the characters in drawings to commemorate them all.

Thank you all for your patience. This drawing was very time-consuming to work on because of the large amount of detail. I hope you enjoy this portrait of Thorin Oakenshield. https://www.instagram.com/p/DBBnZiBCgu5/?igsh=MXhzNmhvOWNhcWt3eQ==

[lathalea]

The Arrival

Yes, my beloved readers, it's time for another Thorin fic from yours truly!

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader/OC (pick one) Rating: G Warnings: none Author's notes: Thorin and his Company have reclaimed Erebor and started rebuilding their kingdom. Everything seems fine except for the fact that the King Under The Mountain is eagerly awaiting the arrival of someone very dear to him... Also, I want to apologise to Peter Jackson for stealing some lines from An Unexpected Journey and J.R.R. Tolkien for appropriating and rephrasing one sentence from The Lord of The Rings.  I'm a hopeless romantic, what can I say? You can find this fic on AO3. For @legolasbadass 💙💙💙

Khuzdul: Iglishmêk - dwarven sign language Kurdelê - my heart Lukhdelê - my light of all lights

The King Under the Mountain, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, the second of his name, also known as Thorin Oakenshield, the king of Durin’s folk, was not a patient Dwarf—and yet he waited. He had been standing on the main terrace above the Great Gate of Erebor since the moment when the first rays of the morning sun gilded the distant peaks of the Iron Hills. His eyes, however, were turned towards the west, where the jagged tops of the Misty Mountains grazed against the pink sky. As he took a deep breath, fresh spring air filled his lungs. It was his—and his people’s—first spring in Erebor since it was reclaimed. The winter after the Battle of Five Armies passed in a blink of an eye. The kingdom was being rebuilt and prepared for the returning Dwarves, food stores had to be replenished, new trade agreements had to be signed… but among all those duties, something else kept Thorin awake until late on many a night. His memories.

The memory of a pair of hands gently resting on his shoulders as he sat behind his desk, and the sweet timbre of the voice that went with it, “Come, Kurdelê, it is time we reposed for the night, those reports can wait until the morning.”

The memory of those soft, sweet lips pressing innocently against his cheek and murmuring something scandalously indecent into his ear.

The memory of how her body felt in his lap, his arms around her waist, her arms around his neck, her forehead pressed against his, her silver laughter as she pretended to scold his rash behaviour, so unbecoming of a king.

The memory of her bare skin in candlelight.

But there were other memories, too. Their lengthy late-night conversations about anything and everything. Their secret escapades to the market, or to an inn, dressed as common folk, pretending to be a couple of travelling merchants. Their wanderings through the Blue Mountains in search of the best view of the sea in the west (his choice) and the most beautiful flower glades (her choice). 

During the lengthy council meetings he had to hold almost daily in Erebor, he would recall how much her presence changed the dynamics of similar gatherings back in the Blue Mountains. Her reasoning was swift, and her no-nonsense approach to the matters of state made even the most ancient council members nod in approval. Even now, he would—out of habit—turn to his right, wishing to discuss a matter with her or ask for her insight. But she was not there, and so he would give out a dissatisfied grunt and return to the matter at hand. 

He knew that the only thing he had to do was wait, and he abhorred it. But there was nothing to be done. No sane person would risk crossing the Misty Mountains in the middle of winter. Now, however, the spring came into its own right. And he sent his best men to the High Pass to oversee the approach of the first dwarven caravan from Eriador. It was supposed to bring the first group of his people returning home, merchants, masters of craft, their families and belongings… and her. The whole Erebor was waiting for the arrival of their kin—the symbol of a new beginning for the Mountain and its dwellers. Many eyes turned to the west, counting the days, making wagers, discussing the route the waggons must have taken, and the current road conditions. It seemed that in those days, only one topic existed: the caravan.

But Thorin could only think of her lovely hand in his.  Of her kindred touch.

As soon as a raven brought word from the caravan, reporting that they have succesfully crossed the mountains, he could not stop himself from looking to the west, and hoping. 

This was the fifth day he spent on the terrace, waiting for any signs of the caravan’s approach.

On the first day, Gloin waited with him in hopes of seeing his wife and son, but was called away due to some issue in the treasure chamber. Thorin stayed, cursing the enchanted forest (and its haughty king, for good measure) for daring to obscure his view. Sadly, neither the forest nor its king moved out of the way.

On the second day, Dwalin asked Thorin whether he was growing mawkish in his dotage, staring at the edge of Mirkwood like a lovesick whelp—a question he had to take back on the training grounds. 

On the third day, Dori asked whether Thorin would rather wait inside, on account of that nasty rain, and drink some warm tea with honey. No, said Thorin, he would not. And that envoy from the Iron Hills could join him there, on the terrace, by the way.

On the fourth day, Nori, Bifur and Bofur kept Thorin company, amusing him—and themselves in equal measure—with the latest gossip straight from the taverns of Erebor (all two of them, for now). He had no idea that several hundreds of dwarves, mostly newcomers from the Iron Hills and the White Mountains, could wreak such havoc. And marry so swiftly and in such numbers. Spring was truly in the air.

Now, on the fifth day, he stood alone, and waited. Roac was circling the Long Lake below, giving out a single caw from time to time, “Still nothing.”

And then, a hunting horn rang out in the air. Thorin knew its sound all too well.

“Balin!” he exclaimed to his friend who sat in the hall beyond the terrace. “Sound the alarm!”

The elderly dwarf raised his head from above a piece of parchment, slightly puzzled.

“Call out the guard,” Thorin insisted, feeling his impatience take the better of him. “Do it now! 

“What is it?” Balin rose from his seat, his scroll forgotten.

“The caravan!” Thorin gestured excitedly—perhaps a tad too excitedly for a Dwarf of his stature—towards Mirkwood, where a long line of waggons started emerging from the forest. “They will be here soon!”

She will be here soon. 

Over a year passed since the last time he held her in his arms, since he braided the silky dark waves of her hair, and since he looked into the brilliant, wise eyes of the woman he loved. To him, it felt like an eternity, and in that very moment, as he hurried down the stairs that led towards the Great Gate, he made a solemn promise to himself.

When the caravan arrived, most of the Dwarves were already gathered outside of the mountain. The guards held their heads high, presenting their weapons in an honorary salute, not leaving their posts, but even they cast curious glances at the newly arrived, trying to find familiar faces in the crowd. Thorin smirked at his thoughts. They looked as impatient as their king.

He knew the protocol of such meetings like the back of his hand, requiring him to stand by the gate, look regally, and welcome the newcomers to their new—old—home. His resolve wavered, however, when he saw a familiar figure clad in a green, fur-lined gown getting down a waggon, helped by one of the guardsmen. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Without thinking, he took a step forward, and then stopped, recalling who he was and what he was expected to do. He was also not allowed to leave his post, just like his guards. Instead, he observed from a distance, admiring the way the waves of her hair fell down her shoulders as she looked around, perhaps slightly disoriented, taking in the surroundings. Thorin saw the exact moments when her gaze rested on the mossy stone shaped by his ancestors into statues of warrior kings. Then her gaze moved down, focusing on the green marble of the Great Gate. Her eyes widened, her lips formed an “O” and then moved, she spoke something, but her words were lost in all the commotion. In that very moment, she reminded him of that bright-eyed maiden he had met for the first time in a mountain meadow half a world away; the maiden who laughed at his abysmal jokes, who fit so well in his arms when they danced, and who accepted his awkward courting efforts. The time that passed between then and now did not take away her ability to wonder and enjoy the world around her. She endured so many hardships on the way from the Blue Mountains to Erebor, so many cold nights on the road, faced so many dangers, and yet she never wavered in her decision to leave the Blue Mountains behind to be with him and their people. Now, she was finally here and, at last, he felt complete. Being able to see his own kingdom—their kingdom—through her eyes, and to see how amazed she was at the view, was a reward on its own. 

Thorin could not stop himself from smiling when her eyes finally met his. 

“Welcome home, my…” he began signing in iglishmêk, in that discreet way they often did on official occasions when the eyes of many would rest on them.

A light flush bloomed on her cheeks, she responded with a smile, and began walking towards him, oblivious of her escort and the joyous crowd around her, forgetting about the protocol, moving faster and faster, a giggle escaping her lips, her braids danced in the wind, her cloak flowed behind her, and…

“Thorin!” she called him in that melodious voice of hers, and there were diamonds in her eyes, or perhaps it was only his vision that suddenly turned very blurry, and he opened her arms, and thought “the Abyss take the protocol!”, and he rushed towards her, ignoring Balin clearing his throat in embarrassment, because she was finally here, and he had waited long enough—and they finally met halfway.

He wrapped his arms around her and felt her pressing into him, and there was laughter, and more tears in their eyes, the diamonds of happiness, those most precious among gems, and he was finally able to finish that sentence.

“Welcome home, my wife,” he rasped out, pressing his forehead against her, breathing in her familiar flowery scent, the one he adored so much. This was her, finally her, in his arms, and only she mattered in this very moment, not the crowd cheering around them, witnessing this moment of tenderness between their ruling couple, not even his kingdom, nor the world around them—now, it was only her.

“I missed you, my love,” she murmured, holding tight onto him, as if she wanted to make sure he would not disappear, and a wave of warmth washed over him. “I can’t believe I’m finally here, with you, after all those months…”

“Neither can I,” he agreed, cupping her cheek tenderly and eliciting a small sigh from her. “It was much too long, Lukhdelê.”

“Aye, it was,” she nodded, her eyes searching his face, as if learning it anew.

“I made a promise to myself,” Thorin continued. “Never again.”

“Oh?” she tilted her head in that alluring way of hers, and he had to suppress the improper urge to kiss her passionately in front of his people.

“Never again shall we part for so long. I crave you by my side, my heart,” he stated, bringing her hand to his lips.

“Then I will be looking forward to you upholding the promise,” she graced him with a teasing smile that made his blood run faster. “We have been apart indeed for too long, and so were our people. I believe it is time for us to work on improving their morale, would you not agree, my king?”

“Your wish is my command, my queen,” he agreed and took her in his arms again, and then their lips met. Sweetness intermingled with warmth, tenderness fueled the fire inside them, and he cared not that they stood in front of the gate in the sight of many.

After all, who cares about protocol when you have to properly welcome your wife home?

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[fizzyxcustard]

Desperation.

Requested by anon and @skeleton-on-wheels0

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, I didn’t mean it that way.” 

“Then how did you mean it? 

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

“Maybe we could split it?” 

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do trust you. Implicitly.”

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

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

[freyasigtryggrsdottir]

Imagine: You are a human warrior and Thorin wants you to stay

The wait is over, I'm here again as a writer, with better english. Thanks to @mrsdurin <3 Because a lot of time, I changed my nickname, the masterlist is old, so I will make a nw, fresh one too. (And maybe I will wrote a drabble from this) ______________ You: *sitting on a rock, after a tiring day, under the stars, with Bard, his family and the company, after retake Erebor, but everyone live* Bard: What will you do now? You killed a lot of our enemies. You: I don't know *sigh* Probably I will go to somewhere far away and help to others. Kili: But Uncle, don't want that *says with a wink* Fili: Brother, is not our business You: Your uncle, never said he wants me to remain here *you just watching the stars with sad face* Bard: *hugs you* You can live with us, if you want. Thorin: *sits beside you, after he hears the whole conversation not too far away* We need to talk *he points to the cave, which is your temporary home* You: *nod, and go to that place with Thorin behind you* Thorin: I want you to be here *he gently holds your hands* You helped a lot, Erebor is now your home too *smiles* You: I would like to, but I'm just a human *smile sadly* Thorin: You are great warrior, and maybe....one day...but of yourse if just you want, my Queen.

[legolasbadass]

Italian Holiday, Part III

Summary: A few weeks before Richard leaves for Boston, he and Lorelei go on holiday in Italy to make the most of the summer and the time they have left together.

This story takes between the penultimate and last chapter of Office Hours and contains major spoilers for that story, so make sure you read it first!

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 1.3K

Rating: T

I am sitting on the balcony, wearing shorts and one of Richard’s t-shirts, my knees tucked under my chin, when he finally returns to me. His hair is still wet and unruly from the shower, and his white shirt clings in places to his damp skin, but none of that is as enticing to me as it usually would be. Right now, I can only watch his face, which is still clouded in frustration and hurt. 

“I’m sorry,” I say hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry I snapped at you like that. I didn’t mean to.” 

Richard remains silent, his eyes fixed on some dehydrated potted plant in the corner of the balcony. 

“I’ve just been so stressed lately. You know what the pressure is like, especially when you’re just starting out. And you’re right—I do need a break. I desperately need a break. But when I allow myself one, I just start to feel like I’m at risk of falling behind and missing out on opportunities, and I can’t afford that. I mean, even when I’m giving my research my full attention, it doesn’t always turn out the way I want it, like with this paper…” 

“What paper?” he asks, and I look up, almost surprised to hear his voice after his unbearable silence. 

“I submitted a paper for this edited collection on maps in contemporary fantasy, but it got rejected. I just got the email about it today.” 

Understanding dawns on Richard, and his eyes soften as he takes a seat next to me. “I didn’t even know you’d submitted a piece for that.” 

“Well… at first, I didn’t tell you because you were so busy preparing for Boston. We were both so busy. And then I started to feel more anxious about it as time went on but… I don’t know… you already had so much on your plate—I didn’t want to bring this up when it’s so minuscule compared to you working with Stanley Griffin.” 

“Sweetheart… you have to tell me these things. I want you to tell me—no matter how busy I might be.”

“I know—I’m sorry,” I sigh, running a hand through my messy hair. “Honestly, I feel so stupid for not telling you after making such a big deal out of us needing to share everything with each other.” 

He reaches out to gently squeeze my thigh. “I just want to be there for you, like you’ve been there for me,” he says softly. “I would hate to think you’re not sharing things with me because you think I’m too busy.” 

“You’ve never made me feel like that, Richard, I mean it. You’re always so supportive,” I hasten to reassure him, and his shoulders slump in evident relief. “This was all in my head and—and I’m sorry. I promise I’ll talk more. Because I really don’t like it when we fight, and you don’t deserve me snapping at you like that.” 

He offers me a soft, crooked smile. “I don’t like it when we fight, either.” 

I smile back at him hesitantly, the tightness in my chest slowly dissipating. Then he lets go of my thigh and, leaning back into his chair, opens his arms in invitation. 

“Come here.” 

My smile widens as I eagerly take refuge in his awaiting arms. Once I am comfortably settled on his lap, he wraps his arms around me and presses a series of tender kisses into my hair as I rest my head on his chest, comforted by the steady beating of his heart and the smell of rosemary and sandalwood from the soap he is so fond of. We remain in this embrace for a long while, basking in the sun’s rays. In the streets below, the city is alive with tourists and locals enjoying the warm summer evening, the gentle hum of their voices and laughter rising up to us, blending with the distant sound of music. But up here, it is just the two of us, sitting in comfortable silence, wrapped around each other. As it should be. 

“Do you want me to just keep holding you or can I offer my opinion on the situation?” Richard eventually asks. 

I pull away from him just enough to meet his eyes. “Your opinion?” I respond, raising a hand to brush one rebellious strand of hair away from his forehead. 

“I really do think you deserve a break. I know how stressful those first few years after you get your PhD are, especially when you’re trying to secure a permanent post at a university. But overworking yourself will just hurt you more in the end. And, sweetheart, you’ve accomplished so much in the past year alone. You started working at Exeter, your first monograph was published, and you organized an incredibly successful conference, at which you also presented an amazing paper. I didn’t even do half that the year after I got my PhD, and I turned out alright, didn’t I?” 

I chuckle, feeling so grateful to have him by my side, yet still unable to completely shake off the knot in my chest. 

Sensing my discomfort, Richard presses a tender kiss onto my temple. “What’s really worrying you?” 

I take a deep breath as I snuggle deeper into his embrace. “I just… sometimes I worry—what if I don’t get offered a permanent post at Exeter? What will happen with us then?” 

“Oh, sweetheart…” he breathes out, squeezing me tight. “Firstly, I think, if somehow, the college were to not offer you a permanent post, they would be making a terrible mistake, and it would make me question if it was really the right place for me,” he says playfully, causing me to chuckle. “Secondly, I think, if it came to that—which I really doubt it will—then we will just figure it out. We’ll make it work just like we’ll make this year apart work.” 

“Really?” 

He offers me a tender smile. “Really. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m quite mad about you, so trust me, I’ll do everything to ensure I get to kiss you, hug you, and make you smile and laugh every day.”

I smile, his tender, honest words, combined with the love shining in his eyes, making my heart swell tenfold. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he responds before kissing me softly.

“No, I love you more,” I whisper against his lips, giggling. 

 “I fear this could go on for quite some time,” Richard chuckles as he pulls back, gazing lovingly into my eyes. “How about we just have dinner here tonight?”

“I’d like that.” 

“I could go to the shop and get some ingredients while you take a shower.” 

“You take such good care of me,” I say as I press a lingering kiss onto his bearded cheek, feeling so much happier than I was earlier. 

After exchanging a few more kisses, I stand up, glancing at the pastel-coloured houses on the other side of the street as I stretch, but before I can open the French doors leading inside, Richard rests a hand on my back, urging me to turn around. 

“I don’t remember packing that t-shirt,” he says with a frown, clearly amused.

I bite my lower lip. “Oh, er, I brought it, actually. In my own suitcase.” 

“Oh?” 

“Well, you see, I knew I would end up borrowing a t-shirt from you to sleep in, but I wasn’t sure if you would think to account for that when calculating how many t-shirts to bring, and I also didn’t want you to use up your limited luggage space with clothes I would be wearing so…” 

Richard laughs before leaning in to capture my lips in a deep, languid kiss, and all I can do is wrap my arms around him, the sparks he ignites in me letting me forget about the strain in my neck from tilting my head up so much. 

“Have I mentioned how much I love you?” he muses after we pull apart eons later, breathless, our cheeks warm and our lips slightly swollen as we stand under the golden evening sun. 

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[scariusaquarius]

beneath thunderous skies.

John Porter x Fem! Reader

A/n: I WAS ALMOST LATE. Sorry this is short, i havent felt well today :((( i hope you guys like this one! Also, forgive any inaccuracies. I did some research but wasnt able to come up with an original source for the legend of the thunderbird rip but I'd love the information if anybody provides!!

WEEK ONE, May 2nd - Thunderbird

-

Genre: Friendship

Rated: Everyone

Warning: None :)

-

Author: ScariusAquarius

-

The sun was a brilliant orange as it set over the desert horizon, a cold breeze setting in. Dark clouds were overhead, and you sighed as you stared out at the landscape from your tent.

Your gun was tucked into your side; loaded and at the ready should you have company. As thunder rolled in the difference, a voice came from beside you, almost startling you.

"Rain in the desert?"

You glanced over, greeted by brilliant blue eyes as he raised an inquisitive brow, and you chuckled.

"It's not that uncommon, John."

John shrugged, nibbling on a Twizzler as he sat back against his cot.

"I've never seen it before."

You chuckled again before glancing back outside, saying.

"You know, there's an Indigenous legend about a creature that can summon storms like this. With a flap of its wings, thunder comes. When it's eyes flash, lightning appears."

John glanced at you, asking.

"What is it?"

You smiled at him as the last light of the day shined before dipping below, the storm rolling in as the thunder drummed aggressively, lightning shining over the two of you.

"It's called the thunderbird."

John looked intrigued, asking.

"Where did it originate from?"

You shrugged and replied as you glanced back outside.

"It's kind of widely accepted in all tribes, but I'm not entirely sure which coined it. It's been passed all around."

John stayed quiet before humming, laying his head back and closing his eyes.

"Thunderbirds, huh?"

Thunder crashed across the sky as he smirked.

"Pretty peculiar."

[END DAY 2]

[greenandsorrow]

MASTERPOST || HELLO MY OLD HEART (ongoing)

Pairing; mainly Thorin Oakenshield x fem!faerie!reader

Warnings; fighting scenes, descriptions of injuries, death & loss, sexual undertones at times, middle earth magic, angst & hurt, mean!reader, selfish!reader, immortal!reader, reader with fem anatomy, a not sugarcoated Thorin, I have read the Silmarillion and you should too

Summary; Thorin & company set out to reclaim the kingdom of Erebor from the claws of the cunning Smaug. On their way out of Hobbiton they come across something peculiar. Faeries in Middle Earth have gone extinct, but you have managed to survive against all odds. Your unique beauty and mischievous but still kind character captures the king's heart. His suspicions towards your magic will soon be replaced with a deep love for the real you. Are you ready to go on an adventure?

Author's note; I love the Hobbit. I have some issues with the movie adaptation but that hasn't stopped me from rewatching it relentlessly. The book is like a blanket of comfort to me and I've been smitten with the fictional character of Thorin for too long 🥹

You can ask to be added to this fic's taglist!

THE HOBBIT

An unexpected journey

soon

The desolation of Smaug

Battle of the five armies

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DO NOT COPY, DO NOT REPOST, DO NOT USE ON ANY AI PLATFORMS EITHER.

[bookworm-with-coffee]

Stories . . .

( Thorin Oakenshield x Child!Reader)

(A/N); Hello, readers!! Happy to present this fic as the sequel to "Excuses" ! I finally thought it was time!!

Pairings; Thorin x Reader (Platonic)

Plot: Thorin returns to the Shire not just to see Bilbo...

Warnings; None, cavity creating fluff

Part One

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It was high morning in the Shire, the sun reaching its peak and spring in full bloom. To the day, it has been 3 years since the quest to reclaim Erebor was completed and Bilbo Baggins had saw fit to return home. He never expected guests of any kind, especially after the quest business. Save for one inquisitive little Hobbit...

Thorin Oakenshield, now King Under the Mountain, had left late by the standard of years. He had intended to visit the Shire again sooner, but establishing peace in the Dwarven colonies had taken longer than first anticipated. He had left from Erebor weeks ago, leaving Fili in charge of the runnings. The young Dwarf had done much to impress his uncle in the quest for Erebor and Thorin had no doubt that the kingdom would run smoothly in his absence with Fili in charge. Yet now, he needed some days of peace, away from home. He had seen much, too much, of war and politics in the last few years. His people were finally at peace, helping rebuild homes of their own and that of the people of Laketown. Thorin, with great difficulty, had also established good relations with Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. There was peace, a hard-earned peace. And finally, he could rest.

With a smile, he pulled encouragingly at the reins of his pony. "Come on", he murmured. "We're here now". The grasses and trees of the forest had at last pulled away, to reveal stone and dirt paths into the small Shire city of Hobbiton. Ever prosperous and oblivious to such things beyond their borders, there was an element of serenity that allowed Thorin to sigh and relax at last. Of course, the Padfoot— no. Padfeet family were not impressed with the new face entering their domain. The King had come armed to the teeth with baggage for a week's stay. This was not a welcome sign to them, nor to the prudish Hobbits that also avoided him. He cared not, however. His mind was fixated on an old friend.

Thorin slipped down from the saddle of his pony, gently caressing her face. "Well done", he whispered with a grin. "And thank you". Giving the animal a well deserved pat and apple, he turned at last to the nearby Hobbit holes. He remembered after all this time which one it had been where his young friend had lived. It had been over three years since she had last seen him. Three years since she'd given him the coin which he wore as a royal pendant around his neck. A sign of luck that he'd carried with him over so many distances. He wondered if she'd forgotten him after so long? Children grow and many things end up being forgotten, after all.

His ocean orbs spied a woman that was familiar to him, tending the gardens of her home with love and care. "Fair morning to you!".

The King's greeting startled the woman at first, but her eyes lit up at the sight of the familiar Dwarf. "Mr Oakenshield!", she exclaimed, throwing aside her tools and gloves to open the gate between them. Without hesitation, she hugged the larger Dwarf. "What a welcome surprise it is to have you here!". Thorin returned the embrace with a few gentle pats to the maternal woman's back. (Y/n)'s mother was a kind individual, always fussing over others. She pulled away in a flurry, smiling in a sudden bout of excitement. "I have a person who would love to see you!".

"Where is she??". He had the eagerness alike to a father wishing to see his daughter after being away. Knowing this, the Hobbit excitedly shouted for her daughter who had gone to play in the streets. Within moments, little footsteps made their way up the path.

Before the King could turn to meet them, a smaller figure had knocked into him, attempting a tight embrace. He laughed whilst his younger counterpart happily cried out, "Mr Thorin!!".

"Look at you!!", he mused, enthusiastically lifting her from him and into the air above his head. "You're so big and tall now! I hardly recognised you!". (Y/n) giggled,

"It's also because of my teeth!". At her proclaimation, she pointed to the few gaps she had with the now adult-looking teeth.

"Most definitely". He laughed, finally holding her like he did many years ago. He even bumped her head with his own - a Dwarven custom to friends and family. One he still practiced with his nephews...

"I just knew you'd come back!". To his amusement, the smaller Hobbit grinned, grabbing at his braids and chestplate scales restlessly.

"Of course! I told you that I would try, didn't I?".

"Did you get back your home??", she pressed with the greatest curiosity.

"Yes, dear one, at great cost. I have a great many stories to share with you of my travels".

"Did you fight monsters? Did you–".

"(Y/n)! Calm down, he's only just gotten here, Love!", her mother chided with a chuckle. "My apologies, Mr Oakenshield".

"It's no trouble", he grinned allowing the small girl to bury her head into the crook of his neck.

"If you're not busy, we were just about to have Luncheon. Would you like to join us?".

"I would hardly like to impose—", he tried to politely downplay the offer.

"Of course he's staying, Mother!! He's hungry!! He's just too polite to say so!". Thorin's brows rose at (Y/n)'s interruption, finding it hard to keep back his laughter at her cheekiness.

"It looks as if I'm staying", the statement came out more like a question, but he offered a polite bow of gratitude to (Y/n)'s mother. The young Hobbit hollered for joy as the raven-haired King followed her mother into their home. Nowhere near as big as Bilbo's house in Bag End, but it was beautifully set out and open. The smells of freshly cooked food and the security of home lingered in the air. And it was that fair noon that Thorin Oakenshield truly found himself at peace, joyfully recounting the various stories of his company to (Y/n) and her mother.

The young Hobbit with her pointed ears had never listened more intently. Thorin's voice was no longer kingly in nature, but soft and playful. He let every different story be an enigma; (Y/n)'s eagerness greatly reminding him of the late nights he shared in the Blue Mountains, storytelling to his nephews. He missed those days and greatly wished that in his younger years that he had settled to have children of his own. Despite this, he was grateful for his two nephews and the young Hobbit he had befriended for life.

His gorgeous blue orbs shimmered as he told the girl of his time in Rivendell and the chase that lead them there. He told her of mountains that could move and fight! Of Goblins, Orcs and Wargs. Of Eagles and Beorn with his monstrously huge house. Of the city on the Lake and the evil Dragon who had taken his home before burning down theirs. He told her that many fought for his home in Erebor and that there had been five different armies.

"I am now King of Erebor, young one", he spoke to her gently. "It is why I have taken so long to return. And why I may not visit as much as I'd like". Her mouth fell open in wonder,

"If you're the King, are you not allowed to leave??".

"I can leave. As long as I leave my nephew, Fili, in charge. He will be King after I am gone".

"That will never happen!", (Y/n) protested to amusement, snuggling into his side. "You'll live forever and ever and I can come and visit you!".

"When you're old enough, dear one", he assured. "I pray that someday you will venture to Erebor to look upon the halls of my great home. To perhaps meet those of my house, as I have come to know yours; and be welcomed as kin".

"I will one day! I'll go to Erebor! I'll visit you, I promise!!". Thorin smiled fondly, softly rustling the (h/c) curls on the little Halfling's head. "And be welcomed as kin! Whatever that is".

"It means family, (Y/n). You, Master Baggins, my people. All of us are part of each other. You will come to understand it all one day. And I will be a proud Dwarf to see that day come".

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"Uncle!", Kili bounded into the throne room with his usual spirit. Thorin bowed his head in greeting to his second nephew. Much had changed for Kili. He had finally grown a small beard and his royal duties had increased tenfold. Alike to Fili, he had truly made the mountain King proud.

"Kili. I trust you bring good news?".

"I do", the younger Dwarf grinned. "We have guests". Thorin's brows rose, his hand lifting in approval.

"By all means, let them in!". The King found himself dumbfounded as Bilbo strayed in, however, it was not him that Thorin's eye had caught. He stood, agape at the Halfling who now followed the first into the room. Although many years had passed, his older eyes would still know her face. She grinned up at him with (e/c) eyes shining with wonder and familiarity. Kili stayed if only to watch the joy meet his uncle's eyes.

"I'm here, Mr Thorin. I kept my promise".

The End. . . .

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Thank you to any and all of you who have taken read these two short fics and support me!! Again, I hope you enjoyed!!

As always, let me know what you think! Any and all feedback is welcome!! ❤🥰

And if any of you wish to be a part of my taglist for any other posts I may or may not make in future, let me know below!! (Just note!! - I am multifandom, so specify which posts to be specifically tagged in!) ❤

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TAGLIST; @fizzyxcustard

[middleearthpixie]

Can you please write a fic where Thorin falls in love with a human girl, but he thinks she is disgusted by his looks? 🙏

Hi there, Nonny!! I know it took me forEVER, but here you go and i hope you like it! 💜

The Harp

Summary: You and Thorin are friends, but then you find out his feelings for you run deeper, and he’s holding back because he feels he is not good enough for you.  

Pairing: Thorin x fem!Reader (post-sack of Erebor, pre-quest for Erebor)

Warning: None. Just fluffy fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 4.7k

***

He came into the dining room at the same time each evening and always sat at the same table—the one in the far corner, which was also the darkest corner of the room. He was polite, but kept to himself and you noticed how he always sat with his back to the wall and rarely did his eyes pause from scanning the room. 

The other diners eyed him with just as much suspicion but then again, they all eyed each other with suspicion as well. It was second nature to this lot, as they came from all four corners of Middle Earth. No one was actually from Emyn Vanya. No, every warm body had come from somewhere else to this tiny village on the outskirts of everywhere and yet somehow in the middle of nowhere. Some came to start over. Some came to forget. Some came to do both and some were just passing through. But everyone was from somewhere else and almost no one wished to discuss where that somewhere else might be.

You couldn't help but notice him, for he was a dwarf and the Grey Gander did not see many dwarves in their dining room. And not only that, but he was a handsome dwarf, to boot, with black hair, touched here and there with hints of silver, that spilled over his shoulders in a long tangle of curls. His most striking feature was his eyes, however, for they were the most piercing shade of icy blue you’d ever seen. There was a hardness within those pale eyes, one belied by his polite demeanor and deep, if soft, voice. 

Night after night, this man came in alone. He sat alone. He spoke to no one other than you when you approached to take his order, just as you did this evening. He was polite, if reserved, and spoke only when absolutely necessary, which was an interesting change from the patrons who grew louder and more opinionated as they dove further and further into their cups. 

“Welcome back,” you said with a smile as you approached him. “Might I fetch you a drink to begin?”

“Thank you. A tanked of ale would suit.”

“Of course. And do you know what you’d like or are you still trying to decide?”

He looked up at you with those striking eyes. “The hunter’s stew.”

His order never varied and you were certain you could just bring him a bowl of the stew without asking, which was why you couldn't resist a bit of playing with him. “I think we should start calling that your usual. Perhaps we should change it on the menu itself.”

That earned you one of the dwarf’s rare smiles. “I am not so certain that is necessary.”

“Well, you’ve been in here eight of the last ten nights and have yet to order anything different.” You couldn’t help teasing him. You sensed a hint of sadness in him, one that might explain the hardness in his eyes. And while it was a bit of a risk, teasing this man you didn’t really know, you had to admit, his smile made the risk worthwhile.

“But,” you added, taking your teasing further than you normally did, “you would have to tell me your name first. I certainly cannot ask to rename it Dwarf Stew. That would give the wrong impression, don’t you think?”

A darkness flashed through his eyes and you knew you’d overstepped. Your mind raced as you struggled to come up with something to smooth over his obviously ruffled feathers, knowing your employer would be furious if your flippancy drove away a paying customer. “I mean… that is… I apolo—”

“No,” he interrupted softly, shaking his head, “there is no need to apologize. And you’re right, it would sound odd. So, I suppose then, it would only be fair to tell you my name, wouldn’t it?”

Your heart beat a little faster at that. Perhaps it was but your imagination, but his voice sounded lower than it normally did. Lower and bit growlier. Had he, by any chance, noticed you the way you’d noticed him?

No, that was madness talking. Very few people noticed you aside from being their serving girl. You tended to blend into the background far too easily and since so many people in Emyn Vanya were only passing through, they paid little heed to you.

Still, that didn't stop you from replying, “It would, yes.”

To your surprise, that earned you a laugh. A genuine, honest-to-goodness laugh and one that sent flutters through you as it rolled across the small table in your direction. Like his voice, it was low and silken, and those flutters made you forget your own name for a moment.

“Very well,” he nodded, his eyes meeting and holding yours, “I am Thorin.”

You offered your name in return and added, “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Thorin.”

“And yours as well.”

Heat climbed into your cheeks and you ducked your head, saying, “I will be back in a few moments with your ale,” you hesitated, then added, “Thorin.”

“I will be here.”

Thorin sat back as you darted off and couldn't believe his cheek. What had possessed him to even think to flirt with you? Your interest had to be only because he was a paying customer, because there was no way a woman as beautiful as you could possibly be interested in him. 

The first time he stepped into the Grey Gander, he’d noticed you at once, noticed how easily you smiled and joked with the tavern’s patrons. Your laughter was a silvery melody that made everyone turn in your direction and smile even if they had no idea what it was that made you laugh. 

He noticed everything about you—from that amazing smile and intoxicating laughter to your beautiful eyes and easy grace with which you moved about the crowded dining room. You never seemed impatience, or irritated, and even when someone gave you a hard time about something, you never lost your temper and somehow managed to defuse the most volatile of situations. 

The second night he’d come in, he’d witness such a scene, almost reaching for his sword, propped against the table, when the giant of man actually grabbed you by the arm. He had no doubt he’d have intervened if you needed it, but you didn’t. You smiled at the man as you peeled his fingers from your wrist and very sweetly informed him that if he touched you again, you’d turn him from a rooster to a hen in one fell swoop. 

It was at that moment, Thorin lost his heart.

A foolish notion at best, as you would never feel about him the way he did you. Why would you? He was a dwarf. He had no home. He had been in line for a throne, but now supported himself by moving from place to place, taking work where he could find it. 

That was what brought him to Emyn Vanya. His trade was blacksmithing and the village needed one. So, there he was, in the dining room of the Grey Gander, admiring you from afar and wishing he stood a chance at winning your hand. 

It was just as well, for what did he have to offer you? A king with no kingdom was no better than a pauper, really. Not to mention, he certainly couldn’t compete with the men of Emyn Vanya, who were all taller, slimmer, and far more attractive than he certainly was. You would be a fool to even consider him.

But, he watched you from afar, watched as you moved from table to table, how you brought a beaming smile to the face of an old crone, how you soothed angry children bickering over a toy, how you made a crying infant smile by making silly faces until they could do nothing else. 

How you focused on him as if he was the most interesting man in the room and not, for lack of a better phrase, a homely, homeless refugee. 

If only…

He sighed as you approached with a tankard in one hand. His heart beat so much faster when you met his gaze. His mouth went as dry as the plains between his lost kingdom of Erebor and the city of Dale after the dragon Smaug torched it from one end to the other.

You set the tankard before him. “Your supper will be ready in but a few minutes, Mr. Thorin.”

Mr. Thorin. He smiled, shaking his head. “No Mister. Thorin is just fine.”

“Oh, well that wouldn’t be proper now, would it?” Your eyes almost sparkled as your easy smile curved your lips. “After all, we only just met.”

“This is true,” he nodded, reaching for the tankard. Then, on impulse, he added, “Perhaps you might join me one evening?”

You looked taken aback and he immediately berated himself silently. You fool! What is wrong with you?

But then you smiled. “I think I would like that. I have an off night tomorrow. Would that work for you?”

He was stunned, not only by your agreement, but by your suggestion. No woman ever approached him that way. He’d always been the one to ask. You were bold and he admired that. So, he nodded. “That would work just fine for me.”

“Wonderful. What time?”

“Half seven?”

“Half seven it is,” you told him. “And I’ll be back in but a moment with your supper.”

****

What were you thinking? How could you just blurt out an invitation to him that way? He must think you a harlot, or a wanton woman for doing so. 

But at the same time, as you smoothed a hand along your skirts, you had to admit, you looked so forward to seeing him without having to wait upon him. It was a nice change of pace for you. A break in the monotony of your life that was work, sleep, and more work.

You’d told him where you lived, a rundown little flat above the florist’s shop, and at half eight, when the knock came at the door, you nearly jumped clear out of your skin. Then, laughing at your foolishness, you hurried to the door, before he thought you’d changed your mind and left. 

You smiled as you pulled open the door. “You are early.”

“I allowed myself extra time in case I found myself lost. I’m still new to these parts and this town takes a bit of getting used to.”

“If you remember the streets run east and west, and the avenues run north and south, you might fare better.”

He bobbed his head. “I would, but there are three florists on this street alone.”

“It is a very competitive business in Emyn Vanya.”

“So I’ve noticed.” 

You hesitated a moment and then stepped aside. “Come in.”

As he stepped over the threshold, you tried not to dwell on how shabby your flat was, with its scratched and scuffed hand-me-down furnishings. After you paid your rent and made certain there was food on the table, there was not much money left for luxuries such as nice furniture. Normally, it didn't trouble you. This was your home and you thought it cozy, if a bit rundown. But, when you tried to see it through Thorin’s eyes? 

You saw exactly how awful it must have looked to him. Threadbare sofa. The armchair had a hole in the cushion thanks to a broken spring, which meant that not only was stuffing peeping up from the hole, one received a nasty poke in the backside, should they think to sit there. 

And of course, there was that awful water stain in the far corner. You had no idea from where it had come, only that no matter how much you tried to paint over it, it bled through. You’d given up trying when paint fell into the luxury category.

But, he reached up for the frogs at his throat and then whisked his cloak off to drape over his arm. “This is lovely.”

Lovely? You looked about, wondering exactly what he found so lovely about it. “It’s a bit… ah… worn, don't you think?”

“Lived in, is how I would describe it.” He smiled at you. “Homes should be lived in. That is how they become such. Otherwise, they are but houses, flats, nothing more than buildings.”

You looked back at him. “Lived in?”

He nodded. “Lived in.” 

Then he looked back at you and for a moment, you were rendered speechless. Did he have any idea whatsoever as to how handsome he truly was? Because if he did, he certainly did not act as if he did.

Of course, you kept that to yourself, especially when that night, a deep friendship was born. You had dinner together on the nights when you weren’t working. You spent off days together, sometimes running errands with each other, sometimes just doing nothing. He had a knack for the acrostics printed in the village newspaper and the two of you spent your share of days or nights looking up which answers you thought would work. It didn't matter. He had quickly become your dearest friend and while you loved that, you’d also begun thinking that perhaps there was a bit more to your relationship than only friendship.

It was too bad he’d never given any indication at all that he saw you as anything more than a friend.

So you stayed quiet. Autumn gave way to winter and the Yule holiday was only a few days off when you made your way to Thorin’s forge at the northern end of town. A bitter cold wind whipped down the narrow alleyway where his shop was located and you didn't have to look to know you were near it. The carved wooden sign identifying the forge creaked on its hooks as it swung in the wind. Through the swirling snow, you could still make out the word etched into the wood. 

Blacksmith

Beneath that word, Thorin had carved symbols as well, and when you’d asked, he’d smiled and explained that they were a language called khuzdul, which was his native language, actually. He’d attempted to teach you some of it, and showed nothing but patience as you fumbled over seemingly simple words. Little by little, though, it became easier and left you wishing you had something like that to share with him. 

But then you found something. One night, over several goblets of wine, he confessed that he once played the harp, but had lost his when he’d lost his home, but that was all he would say about either the harp or what happened to his home. So, you’d saved a bit of your pay each week and put it aside and then went to the music shop at the far end of town and found what you’d hoped would be a suitable replacement harp. It wasn't a big, grand instrument, as those were far beyond what you could ever hope to afford, but you hoped he’d like it the same. You couldn’t remember the last time you were so excited and impatient to give someone a gift as you were this one, which was why you braved the worsening weather.  

So there you were, at the far end of a gray-shingled building with a roof in need of repair, listening to the almost melodic sound of metal striking metal. The closer you drew to his workshop, the warmer the air grew and as you rounded the corner, a blast of heat hit you square in the face. It was a welcome sensation as your cheeks felt quite numb from the cold. 

He had his back to you and heat shot through you at the sight of him, shirtless in deference to that blasted heat, the muscles in his back and along his shoulders bulging as he held a piece of iron in one hand, a hammer in the other. The clang rang through you when he brought the hammer slamming against the iron, again and again and you couldn't help but just stare. 

Your eyes roamed over his naked back, heavy with obviously well-earned muscle, and inked with black lines of varying sizes that covered his entire shoulder, stretched across his back, and into the opposite shoulder as well. You had no idea what the symbols and lines meant, but they looked very similar to the ones carved into the forge’s sign, so your guess was they were dwarfish runes or words.

The heat in the forge was brutal regardless of how cold it was beyond the walls. Sweat prickled along your back as you stepped closer. You didn't want to startle him. The iron with which he worked began with an orange glow, but slowly, as he pounded it flat, the glow faded and when he set down the hammer and used a pair of tongs to pick up the flattened piece and thrust it into a tub of water, steam actually rose from the tub.

“Thorin?”

He jumped, letting go of the tongs as he spun around and now heat shot up into your cheeks at the naked chest you found yourself staring at. Like his back, his chest was just as broad, with black hair swirled from one nipple to the other and down across his belly. More symbols had been inked across it, meeting with the design on his left shoulder.

“I am so sorry,” you stammered, tearing your eyes from that impressive sight to meet his startled blue eyes, “I was trying not to startle you.”

“What are you doing here?”

You hugged the package close. “I had to go and pick something up and thought while I was out, I’d stop by.” You peered around him, at the iron still resting in the water. “What are you making?”

“A sword.” He reached for the towel draped over the workbench and swept it across his forehead. “You should not be in here. It’s far too dangerous.”

“I will come no closer then. But tell me, who commissioned the sword?”

“No one. It is mine. I work on it when I’ve a bit of free time.”

“Might I see?”

“It’s not even close to being finished.” He came around the bench and stood before you. His black hair was damp at the temples. 

“You don't have to stop on my account, you know.” You took a step closer to him, the urge to reach out and touch him so powerful, it nearly overwhelmed you. You wish you had the courage to tell him how you’d come to feel about him, as you’d had when you’d left your flat. You’d left there full of fire and determined to confess your feelings for him, but unfortunately, by the time you reached his forge, that courage evaporated like the water in the tub had. 

“It would be rude of me to continue.”

“Not at all. I think it would be fascinating, watching you work.” 

His gaze shifted slightly to his left and you followed it to see what he looked at—a heavy dark gray henley lay draped over a chair by his desk. Without thinking, you shifted the package to one arm and reached out to catch him by the upper arm as he stretched for his shirt.

“Wait, don’t,” you said, shaking your head.

“Don’t?”

You nodded. “I—what is this?” You traced your fingertips along the thick black lines curving his shoulder, unable to believe your own brazenness but unable to halt your touch as well. 

“It’s my… my… it’s a raven,” he managed, his voice deep and huskier than usual. He cleared his throat. “The symbol of my clan, and my family crest.”

You could not keep yourself from tracing along those lines as little by little, the image of a raven wearing a crown slowly showed itself to you. You’d held back from telling him how you felt for so long, now that the opportunity to perhaps go beyond friendship had presented itself and you were not about to let it slip by. But… you had to be careful. It was a delicate matter and that called for delicate handling. The last thing you wished to do was destroy your friendship with him.

With that, you lowered your hand “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“This is for you, by the by.” You pressed the package toward him. “I know Yule isn’t for several more days, but when I went to pick this up, I grew far too impatient to wait.”

He stared down at it. “What is it?”

“Well, you have to open it to find out.”

He took the package and slowly unwrapped it and then just stared, his blue eyes growing shiny as he murmured, “How did you know?”

“You told me, silly.” You nudged him with your shoulder. “Remember? We were talking about how my neighbor plays the harpsichord and how awful it sounds and you told me you once played the harp. So, I asked Mr. Trumble if he could find me a harp for you and he did me one better. He made this.”

“He—” those blue eyes met yours, wide and incredulous—“made this?”

You nodded. “He did, indeed.”

He gazed down at the harp, and then back at you. “I—this—this is beautiful. I thank you.”

“There is one condition to it, however.” You nudged him once more. “You must play it for me.”

“Oh, I couldn't now. I’d be far too rusty.”

“Well, once you flake off all the rust.”

“Fair enough.” He offered up a smile brighter than any you’d ever seen from him. “You shouldn’t have done this, though. Save your wages, don’t spend them on me.”

“I didn't mind.” You shrugged as if you spent that kind of money all the time. “And it’s Yule, so it was but a small sacrifice.”

He stepped closer. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, you know. I will treasure it. And you.”

And with that, he leaned in and to your surprise, pressed his lips to yours. You froze at first, caught by utter surprise, as this was the last thing you’d expected him to do. For one maddening moment, you wondered if perhaps you were just imagining it.

But then, his lips moved softly against yours and your toes actually curled in your sensible boots when he brought his hands up to cup your face, and you knew that this was, in fact, actually happening. And how wonderful it was! The sensations that rippled through you were soft and sweet, the crisp, coarse hair around his mouth tickling at first, but then you found you didn't mind it so much as it was a caress of its own. 

Your head did a slow spin, his kiss leaving you lightheaded and when your hands came to rest on those massive upper arms of his, your fingers pressed into muscle that greatly resembled stone of their own accord. You were afraid your weak knees might buckle on you at any moment.

His kiss was slow and sweet, teasing and gentle and when his lips parted and his tongue swept gently along yours, your head spun even faster. A rush of heat swept through you. Your lips tingled. Your heart beat harder and faster and it took every bit of will you had to not melt right into his arms. 

When he drew back, his eyes were soft, swirling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place and he seemed as breathless as you were as he murmured, “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time now.”

“What?”

He nodded. “I do and I did and now I just want to do it again.” Then he paused, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his smile, into his eyes, “Unless, of course, you’d rather I didn’t.”

“No, I’d not rather that at all,” you told him, smiling as you curved a hand against his cheek. “In fact, I’d like it very much if you would do it again. And again. And I think you should keep doing, no matter where we might be.”

A low chuckle rumbled up from the depths of his chest. “So, I am not about to send you screaming into the snow?”

“Hardly.” 

“Are you certain? I mean,” he rubbed his bearded jaw ruefully, a sheepish smile coming to his lips, “I know people whisper about me and poke fun at me behind my back.”

“They whisper about you because they are fascinated by you. And no one pokes fun at you. I know they think you’re quite an excellent smithy, judging by what I’ve heard. And I won’t even tell you what the women say about you.”

To your surprise, his sheepish smile faded and a darkness came to his eyes. “I can only imagine.”

“Have I said something wrong? I thought I was complimenting you. Do dwarves not like to hear how handsome they are thought to be?”

“Handsome?” He snorted as he shook his head. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve seen my own face and that is not how I’d describe it.”

“Well, perhaps you should but have Mr. Sinclair examine your eyes, for you are not only handsome, but very handsome.”

He stared at you, clearly not believing a word you said. “Thank you, but you are just being kind, as you’ve been since we met.”

“Thorin,” you caught his hands in yours, “I’ve been wishing you’d notice me as more than simply your friend, that you’d kiss me, and perhaps I’ve been too brazen in taking the first step. If you wish me to leave you alone, I will.”

“Leave me alone?” His eyes went wide and he shook his head once more. “No, no, I don’t wish that at all. In fact, I—”

A scarlet flush swept up into his cheeks and he went quiet. You waited for him to continue, your heart hammering away at your ribs. All you wanted was for him to pull you into his arms, to tug you flush against that massive chest, and kiss you until you forgot your name.

“You what?” you asked softly.

“I lied. About the sword.” He smiled then. “It’s for you, actually. For Yule. I meant it to be a surprise.”

“For me? But I don't even know who to wield one.”

“Worry not, for I will teach you. When the weather breaks.”

“You did this for me? You would do that for me?”

He nodded. “I would do anything for you, you know.” His eyes softened then as he smiled. “I love you.”

This was the last thing you ever expected him to say and you could only stare at him for a long moment, as your stupid brain forgot how to process words. The best you could muster was a whispered, “What?”

“I love you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for some time now, but how could I when I thought you would be embarrassed to be courted by me. So, I relegated myself to knowing we would only ever be friends, but now…”

“Embarrassed to be courted by you? Are you mad, Thorin? Are you absolutely and completely mad? Because you would have to be to think any woman alive would be embarrassed to be courted by you.” You shifted to wind your arms about his neck. “And no one has ever made something for me. At least, not something as beautiful as a sword. So, if I didn't already love you in return, I would have most definitely fallen at this moment.”

He smiled. “So, all this time, it would’ve only taken a sword to win your hand?”

“I’m a very simple woman, Thorin. You should know that by now.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he eased his arms about your waist, pulling you flush against him. He leaned closer, his lips just brushing yours as he murmured, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

You tried to think of something witty to reply with, but then his lips met yours once more and rendered words unnecessary.

***

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[luna-writes-stuff]

All Of My Love, Thorin Oakenshield

Song link

Fanfic, gn! reader

Fluff, reunion fic

Word count: 2912

Tw: everyone lives because you can’t fuck corpses (necrophelia still isn’t okay, guys). Despite this comment, this fic is all fluff no smut so… Mentions/descriptions of injuries. Bathing but no insinuation. Established relationship. There is no Tauriel/Kili here so cry about it.

Summary: When the company finally reclaims Erebor, you set out on the travel to the kingdom to meet with your husband again. However, upon a arrival, you notice that a lot more is on his mind than he tends to let on. You try to comfort him the best you can.

Buy me a coffee/force me to write more

“Should I fall out of love, my fire in the light? To chase a feather in the wind.”

One thing that was worse than leaving for a suicide mission, was not going on one, then watching the one you love most take the quest. It was his given right, of course. There wouldn’t be any other who could possibly set out. But when he told you to stay, you could have sworn your stomach had begun to carry a new feeling of heavy.

There were arguments - fights over his decision, but not once did he change his mind. Not even when you tried to follow them. It was his sister who would spot you and drag your reluctant form back to camp.

When you married him, you had made a vow to never leave one another, so this had left a painful taste for you. You understood him, and you knew why he had to go. But you didn’t understand why he had wanted you to stay. Love be damned - he had promised.

The letter couldn’t come soon enough. The longer the months grew, the more anxious you became, even to the point you struggled to fall asleep. When the first letter from Erebor came, you were one of the first party members to set out for the travel. It would take days until you finally reached the mountain.

“Within the glow that weaves a cloak of delight. There moves a thread that has no end.”

Having taken over for Thorin whilst he had been gone, had gained you an insane amount of respect from the other dwarves, so the travel had been relatively easy for you. But the moment you stood mere miles from the mountain, you had to halt for a moment, and let everything properly sink in.

The letter announcing Erebor had been reclaimed had come from him; you knew he was alive. But his sentences were brief and straight to the point. And you weren’t used to that kind of writing from him. It had worried you. Sure, he might have been fine, but what of the others? You truly had no way of telling.

“Shall we continue, my lady?” One of your companions asked, ripping you from your thoughts. You spared him a curt nod, and with that, the group continued walking again. Your anxieties would have to wait.

“For many hours and days that pass ever soon. The tides have caused the flame to dim.”

The travel through Dale had been heartwrenching. Mankind had still been rebuilding the city, but the state of the buildings and streets had been pathetic beyond words. You couldn’t imagine having been here whilst the dwarves were reclaiming the mountain. Shallow stares and brief nods were thrown your way as you climbed towards the entrance of Erebor.

When you reached the huge entrance, the air got stuck in your throat. From behind you, you heard some companions sob with glee - some even falling to the floor. You had reached the mountain proclaimed to have been impossible to enter. And the mere sight of it had shaken you to your core.

A figure neared you from a distance, and you had to squint to be able to tell the distinct features. A gasp of surprise left you as you took off running, nearing the figure quicker than he could reach you.

“Dwalin!” You exclaimed happily, pulling him into an embrace as you reached him - one he quickly returned. “Lass, we’ve been waiting for you!” He laughed heartily. It briefly made you forget the turmoil in your body earlier.

“Get in! It’s freezing out here.” He spoke as he parted from you, then gesturing for your company to follow him. After years of mourning and months of longing, you were finally back home.

“At last the arm is straight, the hand to the loom. Is this to end or just begin?”

A room had been appointed to you quickly, giving you your time to bathe and get dressed. As you stepped foot into the tub, you quickly noticed your reddened skin, likely from the freezing cold outside. You involuntarily shivered at it, the water feeling almost boiling. You tried to resist the feeling, clutching the edges of the tub tightly. Leaning your head down, you gave your body time to adjust to the heat, clenching your eyes shut at the burning sensation.

“Do not break the tub, please.” An all-too-familiar baritone once rang through the room, immediately causing your head to snap up. You must have been too caught up in the sudden temperature shift to have noticed him entering your chamber.

“Thorin,” You sighed relieved, getting out of the bath as quickly as you could, hissing at the biting cold now gnawing on your skin. You fell into Thorin’s embrace as he wrapped his arms around you, clutching you tightly. He fumbled for the edges of his coat, before covering you in them as well, now holding you against his shirt.

“You had me worried ill,” you mumbled, your head buried in the crook of his neck as you relished under his warm touch. “Ghivashel, I wanted nothing more than to write you every day.” He returned, his voice now equally hushed as his hands seemed to grip you even tighter.

“All of my love, all of my love All of my love to you. All of my love, all of my love All of my love to you.”

You might have stood there for minutes, but when you parted, it was still too soon for you. You noticed the faint distress on his face, though it wasn’t enough to immediately alert you. You didn’t know what he had been through, and you wouldn’t ask him just yet. For now, you were simply glad to be reunited with him.

“Get back into your bath,” Thorin spoke, observing your shivering figure. You dismissed him, reaching for the towel. “It can wait.”

However, before you could wrap the fabric around you, his hand halted you. Gently holding your upper arm, he turned you to face him. You didn’t feel ashamed under his gaze. If anything, you felt confident under it. “I’d rather not have you sick,” He mumbled. “You only just got here.”

That made you smile slightly, laying the towel back on its earlier place. You reached your hand up, your fingers lingering on his marital braid, toying with the bead slightly. It had clearly been polished.

“Will you join me?”

“The cup is raised, the toast is made yet again. One voice is clear above the din.”

And that is where you had found yourself right now, in the arms of the dwarf you had fallen for so many years ago, as naked as the day you were born. The water was a warm blanket around you, and his arms were a welcomed addition. You were gently scrubbing the dirt from your arms when your eyes fell upon his leg. Unable to surprise the hiss escaping your mouth, you turned to look at him.

“How did that happen?” You questioned worriedly, before your eyes fell back on his mangled leg. Bruises and cuts littered it, but most apparent of all was the huge cut on his foot. You resisted the urge to lean down and touch it.

“Azog,” He answered through a whisper, sending shivers down your spine. “Azog?” You repeated, looking at him incredulously. “I thought he had died.” “As did I,” He confessed. “But he is truly defeated this time. I made sure of it.”

You didn’t ask him about it. It seemed to not be something he wanted to talk about. Instead, you grabbed one of his arms, wrapping yours around it as you leaned back against his chest. Thorin seemed to relax under the notion, his head coming to rest atop yours. It had given you the perfect opportunity to obverse further extent of his injuries.

“Proud Arianne one word, my will to sustain. For me, the cloth once more to spin, oh.”

“How is the rest?” You wondered after a while, the question almost hesitant on your lips. “Alive,” He answered, the rumble of his voice reverberating through his chest. “Not in great shape.”

Though they were at least alive, it had been what you feared. It must have been the reason he had been so curt over his letter. His mind was easily preoccupied, and the thoughts of his companions in agony would be enough to leave him distracted.

“Your nephews?” You risked, a lump forming in your chest. He was silent for a while, before finally answering: “Fili is on bed rest. Should be back up in a matter of days. Kili doesn’t really talk. Rarely left his brother’s side.”

You hummed in understanding, rubbing soothing patterns over Thorin’s arm. “Reminds me of someone who wouldn’t leave his sister’s side after she fell out of that tree.”

Thankfully, that managed to get something similar to a chuckle out of his throat.

“All of my love, all of my love, All of my love to you. All of my love, all of my love, yes, All of my love to you.”

“They’ll live,” He continued. “I think Kili is more heartbroken than physically injured.” “Naturally,” You tried to understand. “He and his brother are close.” “It’s not that.” Thorin sighed, as if the topic hadn’t been one he would love to discuss.

He placed a kiss on the top of your head before continuing: “He has it out for an elf-maiden.” You let out a quiet ‘ah’ of understanding. “Don’t think the feeling is mutual.” You were silent at that, shaking your head in sadness. “Poor lad.”

“Yes,” Thorin agreed. “I might have let him run off with her if she had returned his efforts.” “Wow,” You added, slightly stunned. “Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”

Another chuckle came from him as he kissed your shoulders, his head now resting beside yours. “He had an awakening. Years too late.” “Yes, well,” You sighed. “The elves are douchebags.” A third chuckle came from him upon your words, his hair falling over your shoulders, the cold metal of the beads creating goosebumps over your skin. It had been a while since you had been so close to him, and the feeling of it had been better than you had originally remembered.

“Yours is the cloth, mine is the hand that sews time. His is the force that lies within.”

Silence struck the pair of you, both of you lost in your thoughts. There were so many things you still wanted to ask him, but you’d wait for debriefing tomorrow. Meanwhile, Thorin had too many things he wanted to tell you. He wanted to tell you about his new friend, about the battle with Azog, the fight against Azog, the reclaiming of Erebor… But there was one thought he couldn’t manage to shake. It was almost as if it was begging to come out.

“I lost my mind, amrâlime,” His voice suddenly cut through the room. “I think you would have left me if you had seen me.” His tone had a much more sombre sound to it than it had held earlier. You could hear him swallow before he continued: “I would have.”

You wanted to turn around in his arms, facing him completely, but his arms wouldn’t let you. He probably didn’t want to let you take a proper look at his face - a notion you hated, but you respected it for now. Instead, you looked at him over your shoulder, your face etched in concern. “Thorin, what happened?”

Another silence split the room, causing your heart rate to pick up slightly. You knew what had happened to his grandfather, and how frightened he had been that it would happen to him too. You remember having to reassure him for weeks before he left that he was stronger than his grandfather. Deep down, you hoped he had just lashed out at the elves and that that had been it.

But fate wouldn’t have it.

“Ours is the fire, all the warmth we can find. He is a feather in the wind, oh.”

“The gold. It got hold of me.” He admitted, his voice almost inaudible had you not been sitting this close to him. His breath was hot on your neck, making you aware of what exactly your proximity was. It wasn’t as if the warm skin on skin contact couldn’t tell that. “I almost killed my company,” He went on, “I let everyone outside Erebor suffer. They were begging for shelter and I let them freeze to death.”

And just like that, you were at loss for words. His greatest fear happened to him. That would explain his letter, and his adamence in revealing anything. If it had shaken you just half as much as it shook you, you couldn’t blame him for any of his actions. You swallowed thickly, doing your best to soothe him: “Did you avenge them?” “I should have let them in.” He ignored.

You sighed at him, understanding his conflict. “Yes,” You admitted. “But did you avenge them?”

He seemed to think that over, seemingly unsure of what to answer. “I fought for all of them.” He ultimately muttered, simultaneously dropping a huge weight from your shoulders.

“Good.” You whispered.

“All of my love, all of my love, All of my love to you. All of my love, all of my love to you now.”

He didn’t respond to that. You didn’t blame him. You felt for the conflict in his head - it was happening in yours as well. Be that as it may, it was up to you now to soothe him. To comfort him in any way you could. And since he wouldn’t allow you to turn around, words would have to work.

“A good king makes wrong decisions, but he always tries to make up for them.” You advised, toying with the ring on his finger. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed to him. It slowly brought him back from his thoughts, but he wasn’t out of the woods just yet: “Wrong decisions don’t include letting the helpless die when I could have easily prevented that.”

You resisted the urge to utter another sigh. Of course this lay heavy on his mind, but what was done was done. He of all people should know this: “You and I have both seen what madness gold brings with it. I think it is a miracle it no longer affects you. Perhaps for the best.”

With those words, he let out a low hum, a first sign of agreement. He knew you were right. But he had promised to never fall under that forsaken dragon spell, and it had taken hold on him as easily as it was to count to three. The idea that it could still happen again frightened him.

“All of my love, all of my love All of my love, love, sometimes, sometimes. Sometimes, sometimes, oh love.”

“I cannot enter the treasure room.” He confessed, the truth sounding even harder when it was spoken aloud. “You don’t have to.” You comforted. “I’d rather you keep from gold than risk losing your mind again. I’d much rather have you like this.”

At last, he allowed you to turn in his arms, his grip loosening slightly. You took the opportunity immediately, putting your legs on either side of his body as you sat in front of him. Now you could see his broken expression.

“Would you have a broken king?”

You gave him a sympathetic smile, grabbing both his hands as you squeezed them in reassurance: “I would have a broken man.”

“It’s all my love All of my love, all of my love, to you now.”

“What happened was unfortunate, I understand.” You emphasised. "But we cannot turn back time.”

One of your hands trailed up to reach his cheek, rubbing it gently, relishing under the touch of his stubble. “Don’t dwell on what could have been. Your company has lived, that is enough. The people have Dale. You did it, Thorin.” He nodded at your words, closing his eyes in silent bliss, leaning into your touch.

“Thank you.” He hummed, before his hands found your back, pulling you against his chest, your skin flush to his. You could feel the burdens lifting from his body in one long sigh, his arms coming to a gentle rest around your figure, his head thrown back in relaxation. Then, he spoke up again: “I haven’t returned to the throne room since the battle.” “I could walk with you.” You offered.

You felt his head shift slightly to look back down at you. “I want you to walk with me everywhere.” You smiled against his chest, kissing it softly. “I can do that.” A hum of content rumbled through him, his voice now a much looser tone. “I am glad you are in my arms again. I’ve missed you.” “The feeling is mutual.” You assured, a fond smile crossing your features.

“Good,” He mumbled. “I love you, amrâlime.” The words shot new butterflies through your stomach, something he always managed to do, regardless how long the two of you had been together. You chuckled at the sound, making yourself comfortable against him.

“I love you.”

“All of my love, all of my love, all of my love to, to you, you, you. I get a little bit lonely.”

[lathalea]

Entangled 2/10

The first question I'd like to ask you today is: Do you remember a little fic called The Best Day of My Life I wrote a while back? Don't worry, me neither ;) It simmered in my head and what started off as a standalone ficlet, grew into something bigger. Back then, it was written in the first-person narrative, but as it grew into a longer story in my head, I decided to change the subsequent chapters to the third-person perspective. This story was born from an inspiration I found when researching certain medieval traditions, especially when it comes to arranged marriages in royal families, and the role women played in these arrangements. It inspired me to wonder what it would look like in Dwarven societies of Middle Earth. I hope you enjoy it! Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit) Rating: G (subject to change) Warnings: ANGST Summary: Arranged marriages are common among the dwarven nobility. After reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, the Kingdom Under the Mountain needs to be rebuilt. Thorin agrees to marry a lady from the Blue Mountains, securing a mutually beneficial alliance with the Broadbeam Dwarves. Lady Mista is said to be a practical and hard-working dwarf-woman, willing to give him an heir who would secure the line of succession. A decent queen material, his advisors say. If only Thorin could let go of his past… You can find this fic on AO3 (search for lathalea). Special thanks for @legolasbadass for all your help and support 💙 ✨ Chapter list: Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 ... ✨ Entangled Masterlist

Khuzdul: Azsâlul'abad - the Lonely Mountain (both the mountain and the dwarven kingdom known among Elves and Men as Erebor) Uzbad ra zabdûna undu ‘Urd - King and Queen Under the Mountain

TA 2942, one year after the Reclamation of Azsâlul'abad

“Your Majesty, My Lady, brothers and sisters in stone, we have all eagerly waited for this moment,” The High Priest’s sonorous voice rang out in the festively decorated Great Hall of the Lonely Mountain. “May the Pleating Ceremony commence!”

It was happening. 

Mista swallowed. It felt as if the eyes of every single person present in the cavern were on her. As instructed earlier, Mista took off the veil that had covered her hair which was unbraided and adorned only with minuscule diamonds, and stepped stiffly towards the King. Her hands were clammy, and she tried not to stumble. The slippers and the opulent ceremonial gown she wore were incredibly uncomfortable and heavy. What a blunder it would be if she landed on the floor face down at that very moment! The court etiquette did not forbid her to wear her glasses, so at least she could see her surroundings clearly… including the crowds that gathered for the ceremony in the Great Hall. 

Closing her eyes, she focused on her breathing, then something brushed against her temple. Mista flinched like a startled pony.

“No need to be alarmed, My Lady.” A low, rumbling murmur reached her ears. It was the King’s voice; she could have recognized his calm, confident manner everywhere. “Allow me to choose a suitable lock of your hair.” “By all means, Your Majesty,” Mista mumbled, feeling how close he stood to her, his arm brushing against hers, and how his fingers slowly ran through her hair. She did not know that a male touch could be so gentle. The only people allowed to touch her hair before this day were her mother, sister, and personal maid.

“Thank you, My Lady. Would you allow me to compliment you?” the King said and, not waiting for her reply, he  added. “I do not think I have seen such exquisite hair before.”

“I… thank you, Your Majesty,” she whispered, attempting to calm herself. Did the King himself truly think her hair was exquisite? A realisation dawned upon her. Of course not; he must have referred to its uncommon length, that was all. It was the only source of Mista’s pride — perhaps the colour of her hair was plain and common, but she had always kept it long, and currently it reached almost to her knees. And now, the King’s nimble fingers ran through it, once, twice, and then began pleating her hair slowly, each of his movements deliberate. It was a surprisingly pleasant sensation, but even then, she did not dare to open her eyes especially when the tips of his fingers lightly brushed against her cheek, making her tremble at the sensation.

“It may help you to imagine that there is only you and me here.” His quiet voice reached her again. 

“Pardon?” Mista’s breath hitched.

“During straining official functions I tend to imagine that there are only stone statues around me, carved in amusing poses. It helps to tackle the nerves.”

Mista’s eyes fluttered open and met the King’s azure gaze. An encouraging smile danced on his lips moments before he returned to braiding.

“I did not know someone like you could feel… nervous, Your Majesty,” she heard herself say.

“My coronation felt ten times worse than facing the enemy during the Battle of the Five Armies.” His reply made Mista chuckle. His smile widened, making his handsome face even more alluring. For a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe, simply staring at him. 

Click.

The King clasped his bead around her new braid. Gold encrusted with onyx contrasted with the plainness of her mousy hair, but the pattern made it somehow more refined. She took the braid into her hand and admired its even, elegant weaves.

“It is beautiful, Your Majesty,” she whispered.

The King gave her a thankful nod. Mista felt his intent gaze on her. His Durin’s apple bobbed. Something was not right… Why were his features so tense?

It took her a moment to understand. With her cheeks burning, she took a step towards him. How could she have forgotten that now it was her turn?

“May I…?” Her voice failed her, but no words were necessary. The King lowered his head towards her, his hair flowing freely in front of her eyes. 

With trembling fingers, she picked a thick lock of hair on his left temple and divided it into four parts. His hair was smooth and thick, making her think of a wolf’s fur, but it smelled like sweet oils from faraway lands in the South. Mista wanted to keep on braiding it for as long as she could. She thanked Mahal that she knew her personal pattern by heart — otherwise, she would have surely entangled his hair or ended up with a bunch of knots instead of the braid. Focused on plaiting it, she forgot about everything around her — there was only the King, Thorin, the Dwarf who unknowingly captured her heart a long time ago. Now, with every weave, she was willingly bestowing her whole self upon him.

Her bead was made of bronze and tiny sapphires from the Blue Mountains. For some reason, it refused to close around the King’s braid, making Mista sigh, but then one of his large, warm hands encircled her fingers that held the bead, and pressed it harder together. 

Click.

It was done.

Mista’s heart beat faster and faster as the King Under the Mountain took her hands into his. They were facing each other in a way that allowed everyone gathered in the Great Hall to see them from the side.

“Foreheads,” the High Priest whispered, barely moving his lips, holding something in his hands that glinted in the light of hundreds of lanterns.

The King squeezed her hands gently and lowered himself towards her once more. Mista took a deep breath and stood on her tiptoes so that their foreheads could meet.

His skin was pleasantly warm against hers, his nose brushed against hers, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. Instinctively, she closed her eyes, but the last thing she saw were his lips, slightly parted, and so close, so very close to hers, and there was his beard too, and she wondered how it would feel if…

“What Mahal has joined over the marriage anvil, no power shall break apart until the end of days,” the High Priest exclaimed, his voice loud and clear, like the sound of a gunmetal bell, drowning all of her inappropriate thoughts. 

“Thorin, son of Thrain, Mista, daughter of Milva, you are now husband and wife. Uzbad ra zabdûna undu ‘Urd!”

Loud cheers filled the spacious cavern as the white-bearded priest bound their hands together with a thin but unbreakable mithril chain — a symbol of the eternal bond they forged a moment ago. This was one of the most revered traditions of Mahal’s Children: Dwarves married only once. Mista read a treaty once that explained the origin of this ancient tradition: one of the oldest Dwarven legends said that each of the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves had one spouse, and that each couple was made from one piece of stone, destined to be always together, as one mind, body, and heart. A long time had passed since Mista was an overly romantic lass who believed that each Dwarf had their beloved Other Half somewhere in the world. Now she was over one hundred and thirty years old, and during her lifetime, she saw too many dalliances, clandestine affairs, and broken promises to believe that her people were capable of loving only once and only the right person. Dwarves were a fiery race, with molten lava running in their veins rather than cold pieces of rock. Nevertheless, their marriages were the cornerstones of society, crucially important to every family, and so a wedded couple was supposed to be like a rock: steady and unbreakable. That was Mahal’s will, as the priests said. Therefore, the dissolution of marriage was impossible. If a Dwarf broke their marital vows — which, as dishonourable as it was, happened from time to time — they would still remain married to their spouse. Even death did not end it, as her people believed that they would remain married even in the afterlife, in the Halls of Awaiting. That was why Dwarven courtship would often last many years so that the future spouses had ample time to know each other well before they made this irreversible decision.

Mista’s courtship lasted one month. That was how much time Lord Tair, her father, needed to finalise negotiations with the King Under the Mountain. During that time, she never saw her future husband. That was to be expected — the Blue Mountains were almost half a world away from King Thorin II’s kingdom, Azsâlul'abad. Instead, his envoys arrived with the marriage contract signed in his own hand and a chest filled with customary gifts for his future bride: jewellery, hair combs, and a traditional courtship cloak. There was also a letter addressed to her. It contained all the obligatory niceties along with His Majesty’s apology for his absence due to the fact that his kingdom was being rebuilt and needed all of his attention at the moment. He assured his bride, however, that he was looking forward to meeting her in person and offering her as much hospitality as he had received in Tumunzahar years ago.

He remembered.

Over one hundred years had passed, and he still remembered his visit to her home city. Precisely like Mista. She never forgot how gallant and handsome he was, how his words dried her tears, and how he made her feel as if she, the ugliest girl at the feast, were the only woman in the whole world.

Perhaps that mawkish idea of Dwarves finding their Other Halves was not true, but she was certain of one thing: she still loved the same Dwarf as she did all those years ago. Her heart belonged to Thorin Oakenshield.

And now she was his wife. Her eyes were still set on the glistening links of the mithril chain that joined her hands when she heard the High Priest’s words.

“My King, My Queen.” He bowed with reverence, “It is time for your wedding feast.”

The only thing she could think of at that very moment was how good her hand felt in her lord husband’s reassuring hold.

***

The feast that celebrated their nuptials was an event like no other. Mista had never seen any revelries that were full of equal splendour. Countless guests from all seven dwarven realms were entertained by minstrels, musicians, dancers, and other performers. The food was delicious; wine and other liquors flowed endlessly, like the River Running, and everyone was merry. Mista sat on a grand chair placed on the King’s right hand. Now, both of them wore their crowns and royal insignia, and together, as the newlywed ruling couple of the Kingdom Under the Mountain, they accepted countless toasts and congratulations from the well-wishers throughout the evening. Mista tried her best to act with decorum worthy of the queen she had become hours ago, and she even managed to appear unflustered whenever the customary “May Mahal bless your union with countless heirs!” reached her ears. 

From time to time she managed to steal a glance at the King’s – her new husband’s – majestic profile, struggling to believe that this day was not a dream. But then she remembered the marriage braid hanging at her temple – and a similar braid in his hair. She truly was the great Thorin Oakenshield’s wife.

It was two bells after midnight when the weariness started to creep up on her.

“Is the feast to your liking, lady Mista?” the King turned to her, clearly noticing her attempt at stifling a yawn.

“Indeed it is! Forgive me, the celebrations took a toll on me, I’m afraid,” she explained, feeling the growing heaviness of her crown on her temples.

“It is perfectly understandable,” Princess Dis, the King’s sister, said. “It has been a long day. Perhaps it is time for you to repose.”

“May I…? Does the protocol allow it?” Mista took a hopeful look around the Great Hall where the feast was as lively as it was at its very beginning.

“May I remind you that now you are the Queen?” the King offered. “You may leave whenever you wish to do so.”

“And my brother will accompany you,” Princess Dis interjected, and then addressed the King. “Tonight you are only allowed to leave together.”

Mista caught a strange look they exchanged, and – after a noticeable pause – King Thorin said, “Very well.”

“Shall we, then?” He rose from his chair and held out his hand to Mista.

Leaving the Great Hall was not as easy a task as Mista expected. They had to endure another round of the official farewells, wedding toasts and felicitations from their numerous guests.

“Have a wonderful night!” Princess Dis exclaimed in a sing-song voice as they were stepping over the threshold.

“Aye, and a long one, too!” Dwalin, the King’s Captain, added, and they both laughed.

Their words sounded innocently enough for Mista at first, but they made the King clear his throat in visible embarrassment. 

And then it dawned on Mista. One more thing awaited her.

The wedding night.

✨ Chapter list: Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 ... ✨ Masterlist 💙💙💙 Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it! 💙💙💙

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