#fotfics july event
Text
Fireflies
Ah, my beloved @lordoftherazzles has been such a good friend and has sent me this lovely prompt.
Now, evidently, Razzy is queen of Bagginshield (and firefly scenes) but I hope that this might make her smile nonetheless...
Words: 774
Characters: Bilbo x Thorin
Prompt: Fireflies
Warnings: None
Bilbo swatted the fragrant air swirling around him lazily as if he could dispel the oppressive heat by simply waving it aside like an unwelcome relative out to get his best silverware.
Just within arm’s reach of him, Thorin hummed happily, utterly lost in thought.
Pressing his lips together to hold his smirk at bay, Bilbo decided not to harp on the fact that he had been right when he had claimed that Thorin needed a holiday.
"Dear," he had said in his most serious and convincing tone, "the mountain is wonderful, but wouldn't you like to spend at least part of the summer in a place where you can actually feel the sun on your skin?"
If he was completely honest though, his motives had been much less pure and selfless than his stubborn pride made him pretend.
As a matter of fact, he had lately started to desperately miss the Shire—as the warmer months rolled around, he yearned to see the fields scintillate in the glaring light and smell the complex perfume of the wildflowers behind his house.
Only, he knew that not even the most perfect summer evening in his childhood paradise would feel like home without that brave, strong, and endearingly awkward dwarven king of his.
To his surprise and relief, Thorin had not grumbled or argued overmuch but had willingly handed over the reins of his kingdom to his nephews and packed a much too heavy bag right away as if he had only been waiting for Bilbo to say the word.
"We should go in," Bilbo now murmured languidly as the penumbra behind his lids grew deeper and darker—the sun was going down in a halo of blood and he expected his beloved to hanker after a quick bath and a tankard of ale before dinner.
"Not yet," Thorin replied, his voice much clearer than Bilbo had expected it to be.
Alarmed, the hobbit sat up abruptly. "What is the matter?" he asked in a tremulous voice.
In his mind, various horror scenarios sprang to life, jostling one another in their race to Bilbo's frantically beating heart.
What if Thorin had only pretended to be at ease here for his sake and—in his heart of hearts—he hated the indolent, sometimes outright lazy days a proper hobbit could while away, lying in the grass and eating sun-sweetened berries all afternoon long?
Even worse, what if he had espied the black wings of a terrible messenger sent from the Mountain that had hastened here to recall them to their duties?
Bilbo swallowed and turned to the one he had loved so dearly for so long in tense expectation of a new catastrophe, his ears and nose twitching in alarm, ready to pick up on the slightest indication of a threat.
"Look Bilbo," Thorin whispered hoarsely and pointed a finger at the nearby bushes that had shielded their frequent exchanges of tender kisses—sticky with fruit juice and sweat—throughout the day.
Like dancing stars lighting up the nascent darkness, fireflies were swarming among the branches merrily.
It was a sight that warmed Bilbo's heart as it reminded him of the carefree, endless days of his childhood and youth.
Nevertheless, he could not recall ever having been so visibly overwhelmed or overjoyed by the spectacle as Thorin now appeared to be.
"They are like specks of gold and shards of precious gems," the dwarven king breathed, awe ringing in every word. “It’s been so long since last such a blessing was granted to me…thank you for reminding me, yet again, of these simple but invaluable pleasures.”
As he regarded his sapphire-eyed lover and brushed a chubby hand down the filaments of pure silver streaking Thorin's proud mane, Bilbo could only sigh in agreement.
"The wonders of the outside world," he chuckled softly. "I am glad that I got to share this moment with you."
His previous fears kept gnawing at the edges of his mind though and so, after another few minutes of contemplative silence, he finally burst out with the question that tortured him so.
"Why did you agree to come? Many are those who have tried to lure you from your throne without much success. Are you feeling quite all right?"
Waving a hand at the tireless flight of their twinkling visitors, Thorin shrugged sheepishly.
Grabbing Bilbo's chin between his strong index and thumb, he then bent forward to press a passionate kiss on those soft, cheeky lips.
"I heeded your demand," he then replied simply and soberly, "because you are my miracle of the outside world. And I'd not miss a second of it."
@fellowshipofthefics: here's another one :)
I hope you've enjoyed this, love <3
Lots of love from me <3
#og post#fotfics july event#Thilbo#Bagginshield#Thorin x Bilbo#fotfics summer stories#Week 1#Bilbo#IDNMT writes#Thorin#fanfiction#writing#tolkien writing#jrrt#Fireflies
58 notes
·
View notes
Text
Happy Summer, Fellowship! ☀️
We hope you’re enjoying the season, and with that, we bring to you Summer Stories! Now, if you recall, we did this last year, and we’re doing it again - but bumping it up a month!
For four weeks in July, we will drop various prompts for you to do with however you please! You could smash them all together into one project, do all five separately, or you can call out to your followers to send you prompts they want to see!
Don’t limit yourself to the suggestions above, we want to see your creativity, which comes in a variety of forms! Whether you write 100 words, or 1000+ words, we want to see it, so be sure to tag #fotfics and drop your stories into our queue via �� this form!
July 1st - 8th Prompts
Fireflies
Seaside
Beat the heat
Postcards
Evenings
#fotfics#summer stories#fotfics july event#july prompts#posting this a few days early as this blog will be joining the tumblr blackout!
46 notes
·
View notes
Text
cilil's summer stories '23
Masterlist down below ⤵
Let's have some fun in July with the summer-themed prompts provided by FOTFics~
𖤓 Prompt list: Week 1 ; Week 2; Week 3; Week 4 (prompts all taken now!)
𖤓 Length: Drabbles/shorts
𖤓 Genre: Any
𖤓 Characters: Mainly Ainur; if there are non-Ainur characters you'd like to see, feel free to let me know so I can see if I'm comfortable writing them
𖤓 Ships: All sorts of ships welcome
𖤓 Other/disclaimers:
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ No double prompts, please. First come, first serve.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ I'll try my best, but I'm a busy person, so fics may take time. If I get too many requests or don't feel like writing a prompt, I may have to consider rejecting it. Remember - this is a hobby♡
Have fun ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Requests now closed!
Queue: /
Finished:
𖤓 Evening ~ Navëquen
𖤓 Fireflies ~ Calamórë | Manwë x Námo
𖤓 Seaside/evening ~ Námo x reader
𖤓 Beat the heat ~ Melkor x Gothmog
𖤓 Postcards ~ Bagginshield
𖤓 Cocktails ~ Gothmog & Irmo
𖤓 Summer festival + money shot ~ Angbang
𖤓 Summer storms ~ Manwë x Eönwë
𖤓 Suntan/sunburn ~ Angbang
𖤓 Suntan/freckles ~ Ossë & Círdan
𖤓 Ice-cold drinks ~ Melkor & Tulkas
𖤓 Dandelions ~ Mairon x Arien
𖤓 Poolside ~ Melkor x Nienna
𖤓 Stargazing ~ Glorfindel x Thranduil
𖤓 Shade ~ Eöl x Aredhel
𖤓 Roadtrip ~ Daeron x Maglor
𖤓 Picnic ~ Fingolfin x Fëanor
𖤓 Grassy hillsides ~ Finarfin x Eönwë
𖤓 Campfire ~ Melkor x Maedhros
𖤓 Fireworks ~ Curumo x Aiwendil
𖤓 Frozen treats ~ Ulmo x Manwë
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
New Happy Accidents Universe Sequel is now live on AO3! I did this originally for the FOTFics event Summer Stories! Go check them out!
Seaside Secrets {E}
Summary:
Bilbo agrees to go on vacation with Thorin but neglects to ask where until it's too late, and is swept off to a seaside getaway far from home. The issue is that he can't swim, and he's too embarrassed to tell Thorin lest he ruin his vacation plans. Just how long can he keep this secret hidden? We also dive deeper into the secrets of Thorin and Dis's tumultuous childhood.
This is part three of my Happy Accidents Universe! I recommend at least reading part 1 before reading this!
#bagginshield#the hobbit#thilbo#bilbo baggins#thorin oakenshield#bilbo x thorin#FIAF(me)fics#fotfics#fotfics july event
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
Beat the Heat
For my first entry, I'd like to thank @searchingforserendipity25 for the amazing DaeMags Prompt.
Not included, Faeron the demon-spawn lol
Words: 710
Characters: Daeron x Maglor
Prompt: Beat the Heat
Warnings: Nudity, sexual innuendo
Daeron stared at his unexpected visitor in disbelief.
"How do you even bear this heat?" Maglor groaned, wiping a ridiculously ornate handkerchief across his fair brow.
Cocking his head, Daeron smirked at the sight of the heavy robes and the beautiful but entirely impractical layers covering and restraining that glorious body he so adored.
The mighty singer, if one was to ask him, was disarmingly cute when he was whining, especially when his grievances were as frivolous and easily remedied as his present gripe.
Even beneath the canopy of the dense trees of his native forest, the sweltering summer heat could not be outrun or avoided, but Daeron was comparatively unfazed by circumstances he was so deeply familiar with.
"Well," he smiled as he pulled his own light tunic over his head resolutely, "I can show you what we usually do when it gets too hot to breathe."
The unconvinced expression on the distinctly Ñoldorin face only stoked the fire of his own enthusiasm, putting even the blazing sun overhead to shame with its intensity.
Maglor’s brows knit in confusion before his eyes lit up with undisguised curiosity.
"That's what you get for wanting to parade around like the little prince you are," Daeron laughed provocatively and discarded his worn leggings as well before padding cautiously towards the edge of the lazy river noiselessly. “The Blessed Realm must be quite a place if everyone dresses up like that with no regard for their physical comfort and safety.”
"I don't..." Looking down at his brother's handiwork, Maglor bit back the rest of his useless protestation. "I am sorry if I've left my more casual wear in my drawer when I set out for a potentially lethal quest."
Chuckling melodiously to himself, Daeron merely shook his head in quiet amusement.
Despite their consistent squabbling and impassionate fights, he liked Maglor and felt oddly honoured to be allowed to see behind the façade of the ever-stolid, hardened warrior and prince Fëanor’s second son generally presented to the people within the Girdle.
"Come here, Prince of Princes," he invited, extending a broad, tanned hand trustingly. "Lay off the burden of your station and your name, and join me in the purifying waters of the ever-young waters blessed by Ulmo himself."
"Bathing?" Maglor scoffed. He had expected a secret ritual involving rare, undiscovered plants and maybe even a few incantations as Daeron seemed so much closer and more intimately bonded to the fertile earth he lived and thrived upon.
The idea that his best remedy to the oppressive, asphyxiating heat was to simply throw himself into the cool river was almost disappointing.
At the very instant that thought crossed his mind and made his brow furrow in dismay, his gaze fell on the mesmerising skin—dappled by specks of sunlight filtering through the trees—of his host and all his misgivings subsided instantly.
“I wonder what they’ve taught you in that tree-lit paradise of yours,” Daeron commented sharply as he floated on his back on a clement current, “if you don’t even know that these garments—beautiful as they might be—are hardly appropriate for a summer day over here.”
A thousand replies came to Maglor’s outraged and rather vexed mind—they had not known and, moreover, had had no reason to even think about the meteorological conditions of a far-away world—but as he saw the peaceful expression on Daeron’s face, his desire to shed the stifling layers of heavy brocade took precedence over his irrepressible need to defend his honour.
“Go ahead,” Daeron grinned, getting to his feet again, “you may call me an ignorant savage now, but, tell me dearest Kanafinwë, is this not better?”
Maglor swallowed heavily. Rivulets of pure, cold water ran down the mesmerizingly broad expanse of Daeron’s chest and his wide stance let the young prince divine every curve and dip of his body through the shimmering, translucent veil of the river.
For some unfathomable reason, this hint and promise of nudity was more titillating and entrancing to him than the sight of Daeron’s bare flesh, stretched out on a carpet of soft grass.
“It’s…perfect. And so are you,” Maglor admitted and dove through the blessedly cool floods to embrace this paragon of ancient magic and sublime comfort.
@fellowshipofthefics Here's my submission for the first week of the July Summer Fics.
Lots of love from me!
#og post#fotfics july event#fotfics summer stories#DaeMags#Daeron x Maglor#Daeron#Maglor#Beat the Heat#Week 1#IDNMT writes#fanfiction#writing#tolkien writing#jrrt
42 notes
·
View notes
Text
Stormwatch
This first week starts off with @maalezzo's request for Bagginshield.
I have no idea what that drink is, but I would love to get a recipe and try it out :)
Thank you so much for this request! It was a pleasure to write it!
Words: 1k
Characters: Thorin x Bilbo
Prompt: Summer Storms (and cocktails)
Warnings: Innuendo
"What is this exactly?" Thorin asked, his dark brows furrowed with distrust and curiosity.
Even after all his years living abroad, his dwarvish nature made him wary of foods and beverages not formerly known to him—this unwavering petulance was one of the many things he was benevolently mocked for by his lover.
Unfortunately for both his stubborn prudence and his waist, living with Bilbo included a lot of new culinary experiences and this seemingly calm Saturday evening was no exception.
"It's a butter pecan whiskey sour," Bilbo repeated in his most patronising voice.
Nevertheless, he gave that stubborn head a fond pat as he sat by Thorin's side next to the open window and gave a satisfied, thrumming sigh.
"I love a good summer storm, don't you?" he asked wistfully as he leaned against the broad, sturdy shoulder of his beloved king.
Shrugging sheepishly, Thorin took a sip of his cocktail and allowed the corners of his mouth to quirk upwards with genuine delight.
More than storms, summer or otherwise, he loved sitting here with his beloved while nursing one of those outlandish but delicious concoctions Bilbo frequently came up with when Thorin had his back turned.
"I was quite intimidated by them as a pebble," he then confessed. "Inside the mountain, it felt as if the whole kingdom would come crashing down on our heads."
At that, Bilbo gave a sympathetic hum, intertwining the fingers of his free hand with Thorin's broad, sturdy digits consolingly.
"Later," Thorin went on, "it became even worse. Our lodgings—while in exile—left much to be desired, you understand."
Thorin fell silent as if embarrassed by this confession; Bilbo knew that he did not relish thinking back on these days of deprivation and despair, so he never pressed Thorin on the matter.
"Of course," Thorin then chuckled, evidently decided that he wouldn't let his ghosts ruin a perfectly comfortable summer evening with his lover, "back then, nobody would bring me cocktails and expect me to watch the storm ravage the landscape as if it was a marvellous spectacle."
"Isn't it?" Bilbo asked kindly even as a flash of lightning cut through the swirling blacks and blues of a stormy sky.
He waited until the angry roar of the thunder had rolled past and then smiled up at Thorin encouragingly.
"It is just like you—monumental, potentially lethal, and utterly beautiful—wouldn't you agree?"
Sputtering, Thorin took another gulp of his drink to gain some time; he never quite knew how to reply to the poetic declarations of admiration and love Bilbo came up with every so often.
"I am hardly a force of nature," he then opined feebly, "otherwise, I would have finished the fence you've asked me to build."
Waving an indolent hand, Bilbo lifted his own glass to his quirking lips.
"Never mind the fence now, dearest heart, we'll have plenty of time for that, once the storm is over. Let's just sit here and admire our half-finished work."
"Hobbits," Thorin muttered under his breath with undeniable affection; these strangely resilient, pugnacious creatures seemed to delight in all things natural in ways he was only beginning to fully comprehend.
There was an innate fearlessness about Bilbo that never stopped amazing and humbling Thorin.
While he had not been afraid of thunderstorms for many long years, the dwarven king would not have claimed that he enjoyed them immensely hitherto.
Now, he was willing to amend that assessment though for he could not deny that there was something profoundly comforting and cosy about the way Bilbo was curled up against his ribs, sighing every time the storm unleashed its destructive violence upon the unsuspecting but enduring land.
When the pitter-patter of rain turned into a vehement, deafening downpour, Thorin even found himself smiling with quiet satisfaction.
"Will your flowers survive?" he asked teasingly.
"Of course," Bilbo replied with all the vexation of an experienced gardener. "The Shire blossoms are hardier than they look."
"Don't I know that?" Thorin chuckled and pressed a tender kiss onto the mop of ever-curlier hair—the moisture and static in the air exacerbated the naturally messy look of that tangle of honey-coloured locks in unexpected but delightful ways indeed.
To his surprise, Bilbo turned away from the window and tilted his face up to welcome another onslaught of quite a different kind than the one they were witnessing still from the corners of their eyes.
Instead of punishing droplets of water, his soft skin was soon covered with passionate kisses.
In many a way, it felt as if the unbridled enthusiasm of the tempest was infectious and had invaded their very systems to cleanse them of old inhibitions.
Hidden from any prying eyes by a curtain of rain and the impenetrable darkness of the storm, they held on to each other desperately, clutching blindly at clothes and exchanging messy, sticky kisses.
"Oh, how I love you," Thorin exclaimed ardently as he drained his glass before plunging back into the bottomless pit of Bilbo's desire.
Much later, he lazily looked up from where he lay on the floor—comfortably entangled in Bilbo's limbs—to the deserted windowsill.
Picking up his empty glass, he gave it a little shake.
"Would it be too much to ask to beg for a refill? I think it shall be storming for another few hours."
Heavy-lidded and sleepy, Bilbo raised his head as well; his pride did not allow him to let any guest of this house go thirsty, so he pulled himself up slowly.
"You want to go on watching?" he asked, sincerely astonished.
Thorin merely hummed his acquiescence and winked conspiratorially.
"I'll get the blankets and you get the drinks?"
"It's a date," Bilbo laughed and sauntered back into the kitchen, his heart full and his stomach empty.
Eyeing the box of freshly baked scones sitting on the counter, he shrugged and grabbed it along with their topped-up glasses. A part of him sincerely hoped that this tempest would never end.
@fellowshipofthefics This kicks off the third week.
Lots of love from me!
#og post#fotfics july event#Thilbo#Bagginshield#Thorin x Bilbo#Summer Storms#Cocktails#fotfics summer stories#Week 3#Bilbo#IDNMT writes#Thorin#fanfiction#writing#tolkien writing#jrrt
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
Luminous rebellion
Thanks to @cilil, I sink deeper and deeper into the pit of despair of this ship...
Nevertheless, it was a joy and an honour to write this for my friend for the July Summer stories :D
Words: 785
Characters: Curumo x Aiwendil, Aulë
Prompt: Evenings
Warnings: Sweaty man?
Curumo shook his head impatiently, sending tiny drops of perspiration flying in a haphazard pattern onto his cluttered workbench.
"Why are you still here?" Aulë asked, confused. He had encouraged his apprentices and workers to take the day off as it was a particularly glorious one.
"Why are you not paying homage to my wife's work by strolling through verdant meadows and observing long-legged deer graze peacefully?"
Barely taking the time to give his master an impatient look, Curumo rolled his shoulders and focused on this last, vital part of his work.
He could hear Aulë's heavy foot tapping the plain flooring of the forge impatiently.
"I have something to finish," he grunted and turned his attention back to the task at hand.
If Mairon had not made a major fuss by arriving late and dishevelled, he would already be done, Curumo thought, fighting down the flutter of nerves that made his stomach roil uncomfortably.
"There is someone waiting for you, I think," Aulë added in a muted tone. After having observed the handiwork of the young Maia for a time, he had finally understood what tremendously important work had kept him inside when their very essence was inexorably drawn to the wild outdoors.
"I know," Curumo moaned. He was late, he was so terribly late. He had promised Aiwendil that they would go down to the stream he so loved, and he had planned every moment of this day so meticulously that impuissant rage threatened to choke him as he realised how much of a mess he had made of things.
Undoubtedly, that nervous, endearing bundle of insecurities and sweet affection was already declaring him a lost cause. He would not leave though, Curumo knew, because Aiwendil was nought if not steadfast and patient. He deserved better!
This thought spurred Curumo on more than all the bright light and warm air in Valinor could have—he would not let Aiwendil doubt his word or his own worth!
When he had finally finished, his master gave him an appreciative nod. "That is well executed," Aulë praised, "now, go!"
All but running out of the forge, Curumo forgot about the deplorable state his hair and clothes were in; all he could think about was that Aiwendil was waiting unwaveringly and that he himself had solemnly promised not to desert him.
"Oh dear," Aiwendil cried out when he caught sight of the harried, wild-eyed expression on the other's face as he slithered into the clearing where they usually met. "I didn't want to keep you from important work. I am sorry!"
"Don't," Curumo barked breathlessly. "It is I who should be sorry for being so unpardonably tardy. Where are we headed then?"
When Aiwendil didn't move but only stared at him, nervous and visibly undecided, Curumo confessed that he had been looking forward to this outing all day.
He would never have admitted as much out loud, but nothing quite compared to seeing Aiwendil in his element—peaceful, calm, and enchantingly happy—and Curumo couldn't wait to witness that profound change in the usually so fretful and scurrying demeanour once more.
"Here," he said gruffly, pushing his brand-new creation, still hot from the welding, into Aiwendil's shaking hands. "I've made it for you, because...I don't want you to get lost."
It took a moment until Aiwendil managed to pry his admirative gaze from the strong, imperious Maia in front of him, but when he dropped it to the surprisingly heavy present, he couldn't swallow down a gasp of astonishment and deep-felt emotion.
"Oh," he whispered, tracing the intricate lines of the small lantern tenderly.
"I know that you follow your feathered and furry friends deep into the woods," Curumo explained awkwardly, "and I think that it's rather dangerous."
He could see that Aiwendil initially wanted to object and then thought better of it.
"That is ever so kind," he squeaked instead, "let me grab a candle and we can take it down to the stream, so we don't have to be back quite so early."
Curumo cocked one eyebrow—as far as he was concerned, they could stay out all night, watching the light change and the fireflies dance, but he had not expected Aiwendil to be willing to so blatantly disregard the rules of decency and the prescriptions of their respective Valar.
"I will send someone to let Lady Yavanna know," Aiwendil smiled patiently. "She'll understand."
Throwing a puzzled gaze back into the direction of the forge, Curumo nodded absent-mindedly. Yes, he thought, maybe she would.
"Well," he then said, pulling a candle out of his trouser pocket, "if Mairon can come and go as he pleases, I don't see why we couldn't. Lead the way."
@fellowshipofthefics here's the next one.
Lots of love and all my gratitude to @cilil 💖💖💖
#og post#fotfics july event#Curumo#Aiwendil#Curuwendil#Evenings#fotfics summer stories#Week 1#IDNMT writes#fanfiction#writing#tolkien writing#jrrt
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dandelion, Destroyer of Drinks
Ah, @lordoftherazzles, my beloved friend!
I have taken the liberty of coming up with yet another AU to keep you on your toes and amuse you! I hope you know how much I love and admire you! <3
Words: 1262
Characters: Thorin x Bilbo
Prompt: Dandelions
Warnings: Haunting
Humming, Bilbo Baggins gave the antique teapot—rumoured to be haunted by the grumpy ghost of a long-dead king—a careful wipe.
"How are you today, Dandelion?" he asked and grimaced, his button nose twitching with dismay.
He really had to get out more, he thought wearily. His friend and kinswoman Primula, who had set him up for numerous blind dates with very nice but extraordinarily boring potential partners, was quite right in claiming that he was slowly but inexorably growing shrewd.
Unfortunately for Bilbo, his life—on paper at least—attracted the kind of interested parties that absolutely did not fit the intimate and outrageous fantasies he harboured within his jealously-guarded bachelor soul.
Moreover, he had to concede that he might indeed be rather peculiar if one got to know him a little better.
Before he could linger on that particularly discouraging thought though, the small bell over the door chimed softly.
Making a beeline across the shop, avoiding knickknacks and precariously balanced furniture with the confidence of a sleepwalker, Bilbo rushed to greet his first customer of the day.
"Hullo?" a full, melodious voice called.
Rounding a high shelf full of miniatures of different animals, the proud owner of "Baggins Antiques and Curiosities" almost collided with a tall, muscular fellow in a worn flannel shirt.
"Hi there," he greeted breathlessly, "I beg you to forgive me—I was just in my little garden."
"Garden?" the fellow muttered incredulously and cocked one dark, unfairly shapely eyebrow.
"Well, not a real one, of course," Bilbo chuckled awkwardly. "Would you like to see it?"
To his surprise, the man nodded and lifted a sturdy hand to signify that he was ready to follow Bilbo into the bowels of his small shop.
Again, the antiquary was astonished because—for all his impressive bulk—the stranger threaded his way elegantly even if somewhat noisily through the narrow spaces between display cabinets and single chairs.
"What can I help you with today then?" Bilbo asked, throwing what he hoped would be understood as a kind and politely interested look over his shoulder.
It might well have been true that he hid an adventurous streak under his impeccable waistcoat and cravat, but he certainly was not the kind of scoundrel who'd lead handsome strangers into an inescapable labyrinth for his own amusement.
"It's my sister's birthday soon," the stranger rumbled. "Dís—that is my sister's name, I mean..."
The man fell silent again and Bilbo heard him mumble something unintelligible under his breath.
"I am—as you can imagine—Bilbo Baggins," Bilbo introduced himself, suddenly unbearably keen to learn who this gorgeous man was and why he had entered this shop in particular when there were several high-end luxury boutiques just around the corner.
"My name is Thorin," the man replied with a soft sigh. "And Dís is my only sister—and the mother of my two beloved nephews."
"Ah," Bilbo muttered, "while I cannot claim that women and their preferences are my areas of expertise, I'd feel remiss if I didn't point out the very pricey shops in the vicinity that cater to exactly that clientele."
Holding his breath, he cursed himself for wilfully sabotaging the first—and potentially only—chance at selling something on that day.
Thorin snorted dismissively.
"Yeah," he drawled, "she's not that kind of woman, I am afraid. She'd be deadly vexed if I gifted her something expensive but bland."
Immediately, Bilbo's heart lifted.
"If you're in the market for strange and wondrous things," he purred conspiratorially, "you're at the right address."
When he turned around once more, he found that Thorin had stopped by the first editions and was studying him intently.
"I agree," he grinned and gave Bilbo a slow, intense once-over that made the comfortable, calm bachelor's blood heat up and tint his cheeks a becomingly rosy shade.
"My garden," Bilbo stuttered breathlessly and pointed at an oasis of flower-themed objects.
"Oh, Dís is a terrible gardener," Thorin hooted and started browsing the wares.
Meanwhile, Bilbo observed the cautiously gentle way in which those broad, blunt fingers lifted, balanced, and caressed crystal roses and marble tulips.
Despite his better knowledge and deep-seated sense of propriety, he couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to have those very hands explore and pet his own ageing skin with such interest and tender care.
As Thorin moved gingerly through the organised chaos of Bilbo's eternally frozen landscape, he suddenly stiffened like a hound catching a scent.
"Oh no," Bilbo cried, "not Dandelion. It's haunted."
He chuckled awkwardly—he could hardly believe that he had said this out loud. No doubt, he would lose both a customer and the most appetising sight he had had in months within a single second if he didn't manage to keep his thoughts from flying out of his mouth willy-nilly.
"Haunted, you say?" Thorin's eyes gleamed with humour and enthusiasm. "Nothing too gruesome, I hope?"
Flapping his hands in a manner that was highly dangerous in this setting and for which he would have reprimanded any other person, Bilbo made an undignified sound somewhere between a snort and a stilted chuckle.
"No," he then said in a damnably high and thin voice, "no, just a grumpy ghost who will ruin your tea."
Meditatively, Thorin turned the antique teapot—covered in lovingly hand-painted dandelions—in his mesmerizingly attractive hands.
"Ill-tempered teapot?" he mused aloud. "Oh, that is just the thing for Dís."
Bilbo frowned. The old porcelain vessel and its cooky history had been with him for many years and he was strangely reticent to let it go now.
"Don't worry," Thorin said softly, searching and holding Bilbo's gaze across a patch of crocheted blueberry bushes. "We'll take good care of Dandelion and—if you dare—you are more than welcome to come to tea one of these days."
"But..." Bilbo started and then stopped himself from spouting more semi-superstitious nonsense.
"My money is on my sister and her '7-berries-tea'. What about you?"
There was that expressive eyebrow again, arching in unmistakable challenge.
"I'll bet against the both of you," Bilbo heard himself rumble as he crossed his arms. "Dandelion will ruin even the best of teas. I'll bring a backup gift, just in case you admit defeat."
"Bring it on," Thorin laughed, cradling the teapot in the crook of his massive arm. "If you want to win my sister's heart, you might want to bring a little toy for the boys. Something indestructible—it can be haunted as well, Kíli, my nephew, could turn the devil himself into a friend."
"Oh, the winning charm is a family trait then?" Bilbo grinned and bit the inside of his cheek as soon as he realised what he had just revealed.
"Seems so," Thorin smirked and winked. "Either way, Mister Baggins, it has been a pleasure. And, before you think that I am trying to dupe you, I will extend another invitation. We have more than enough cursed and haunted family heirlooms in the attic. You've been so good as to show me your treasures—would you like to see mine?"
"I'd love to," Bilbo admitted. His eyes almost bulged out of his head when Thorin bent over the counter to scribble his full name and address onto a scrap of old letter paper lying by the antique till.
"Give me a call," Thorin laughed as he put down thrice as much money as Dandelion was worth next to the note. "And I'll get you front-row seats to the epic showdown between Dís the Destroyer and the Terrible Teapot."
@fellowshipofthefics: Here's another one.
Lots of love from me...always a pleasure getting your requests and prompts, my beloved!
#og post#fotfics july event#Bagginshield#Thorin x Bilbo#Dandelions#fotfics summer stories#Week 4#IDNMT writes#fanfiction#writing#tolkien writing#jrrt
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
All that glitters...
I want to thank @elentarial so endlessly for this amazing prompt. I am known to love Halenthir and I had so so so so hoped that someone would have the Galaxy-Brain to request Caranthir for this!!!
I had a proper blast!
Words: 1275
Characters: Caranthir x Haleth
Prompt: Freckles/Suntan
Warnings: Slight innuendo, cranky Caranthir...
"La...Haleth."
Dissimulating the amused smirk that tugged at the corners of her mouth upon hearing the oh-so-dignified elven lord struggle with the proper form of address she had previously demanded he use, Haleth of the Haladin turned around and staggered back as if struck.
Instantly, Caranthir's brow darkened ominously, and his stance widened as if he expected her to pummel him to the ground.
Clearly, Haleth thought as a reluctant fondness surged within her breast, he had thoroughly misunderstood the sudden eager gleam in her eyes.
What he had mistaken for the unsheathing of belligerent steel had indeed been the kindling of passionate fire.
"You have bidden me dress lightly," Caranthir muttered in the low, thrumming, and barely intelligible voice he only used when deeply uncomfortable. "I did not seek to insult your sensitivities or your taste with my apparel."
"You look wonderful," she exclaimed earnestly. "Forgive me for staring so shamelessly, but I've never seen you quite so...undressed."
Her clumsy choice of words had dismayed him, she realised with a twinge of regret as the one who had ever struck her as so imperious and cold-blooded crossed his mighty arms above an unexpectedly well-defined chest as if to hide the thin tunic, letting her divine the tantalising beauty of his bare torso underneath.
"You were made for moonlight," she whispered more to herself than to him, "but, by the remote Valar's grace, doesn't the bright sunlight flatter you?"
"Mock me not," Caranthir exploded, his taut lips an ugly wound within the writhing expanse of milky white and angry red of his complexion. "I've come here to spend a day in friendship—had I known that you've invited me to deride me cruelly, I would have stayed where I was."
Haleth's face softened at his flustered irritation.
"Step into the light, Lord Morifinwë," she coaxed, "for my eyes do not rival yours and I'd see you clearly."
Doing as he was told, Caranthir moved towards her—standing in a small clearing inundated by the sweet song of a nearby stream—steadily, despite the reservations that were betrayed by his guarded gaze.
"Oh, would that I had but a fraction of your power," she sighed, "so that I might stem the inexorable trickle of moments throwing themselves irrevocably into the sea of time."
"I cannot stop time," Caranthir murmured, the shiver in his voice divulging clearly how dearly he wished that such a feat might have been within his powers.
At that moment, many profound truths were revealed to Haleth and she was humbled by the enlightenment she had been granted so unexpectedly.
As she stood and gazed fixedly upon this marvel come from another world, entirely forgetting about the humble repast she had brought, she witnessed the incredible miracle of golden rays kissing smooth skin with all the fervour of a long-lost lover.
While her own complexion was hardened and marked by wind and weather, the wondrous creature facing her warily had ever seemed beyond influences as painfully mundane as sunshine and heat.
Thus, she was amazed to see colour—rosy and sweet as a summer dawn—mist over those broad shoulders, and, unable to withstand the draw of such a prodigious spectacle, she stepped closer yet until she could feel the heat of his body radiate into her own flesh.
"You have freckles," she exclaimed breathlessly.
Nodding tersely, Caranthir launched into an impassionate diatribe about his various brothers' skin and the differing degrees of freckles—ranging from a fine dusting to a full coverage of dark specks—they were burdened with and grimly cautioned her once more against ridiculing and taunting him.
"I've heard tales about your kind, arriving here, decked out in gold and gems," Haleth said without paying any heed to his irascible tone, "but I'd never have suspected this to have been their meaning."
As if moved by a power beyond her own, her hand settled on his slender wrist before travelling up the length of his taut arm.
"It is good and proper to marvel at your strength," she went on, disregarding the blatant lack of a response from him, "but what a peculiar sensation it is to be struck dumb by the extent of your beauty."
"Do you dare insinuate that the damnable spots of discolouration marring me please you in any fashion?" Despite the harshness of his words, Caranthir's tone was soft and almost pleading now.
"Indescribably, yes," Haleth confessed. "I now understand why you are not destined to die."
Grimacing, he averted his face for he was keenly aware of the prophecy of doom he would not outrun.
"Something so perfect must not be unmade," Haleth smiled, cupping his cheek and pulling him down gently to breathe a tender kiss onto that sun-warmed, gilded skin.
As her lids fluttered shut, she imagined that she could feel the tingling sparkle of his freckles against her lips and taste their metallic sweetness on her tongue.
A desperate madness overcame her then and she dragged him down to the soft, moss-covered ground with her, moaning softly into that forbiddingly severe mouth.
"We cannot stop time," Caranthir repeated, his voice strained as if he had been holding his breath, "but I can offer you this moment. What would you have of me, Milady, as you've refused all the gifts I have presented to you in humility as well as in anger?"
Pushing herself up onto her elbow, she looked down at the relaxed, open expression on his timelessly beautiful face.
"I would have the gold of the Eldar," she whispered, "I would accept their indestructible stone, their unparalleled white steel, and all their treasure so I might find comfort in that exquisite sight that is seldom revealed to my kind."
Panic replaced the mellow contentment in his gaze.
"I...I should be loath to leave you now, but, if you grant me a week's time, you shall have all that. I shall personally deliver these gifts to you," he exclaimed in solemn promise.
"Fool," she cackled, tapping his patrician nose with a slightly trembling finger. "Take off that sorry excuse of a tunic. It is not and never has been material wealth I sought from you—I asked you to allow me to behold all the beauty and skill of your people, not to own it."
Tentatively, she let her hand slide down the side of his throat caressingly. "All I've ever wanted to witness—in wonder and amazement—is right in front of me now. Don't you understand?"
Surging up to capture her lips in a stifling, crushing kiss, Caranthir threw his arms around her and pulled her flush against his beating heart.
"You may not yearn for possession," he whispered against her warm, fragrant mouth, "but I was in earnest when I offered you whatever I have to give. Myself, if I might be so bold, first and foremost."
Lifting her as if she weighed nary more than a child, he set her down on his thighs and lifted his tunic slowly from his torso, revelling in the way her hungry, incandescent gaze seemed to devour every inch of bared skin.
"I have vowed to never let you see me weak and thus confirm the disdainful prejudices your kind harbours for my people," Haleth whispered breathlessly, "but you make this an impossibly hard resolution to uphold."
"It is I who offer, nay beg, so how does that make you weak?" he smirked playfully.
"If you put it like that," Haleth laughed, rising to her knees to give him more room, "I don't see a reason why you'd stop undressing so soon. Life is short and every moment precious, make haste!"
@fellowshipofthefics Here's another one that is very near and dear to my heart!
Lots of love and tons and buckets of gratitude from me!
#og post#fotfics july event#Halenthir#Caranthir x Haleth#Summer Storms#Suntan/Freckles#fotfics summer stories#Week 3#IDNMT writes#fanfiction#writing#tolkien writing#jrrt
24 notes
·
View notes
Note
What you said in the server 3 minutes ago.
Bagginshield.
Postcards.
Bracelets.
Author's Note: Alright then. Let's try out something new🧡
Characters: Bilbo/Thorin (Bagginshield)
Synopsis: [Modern AU; Thorin is in a band] Bilbo is back home after joining his boyfriend on his last tour. Thorin sends him a special gift to celebrate.
Warnings: /
It's good to be home.
Bilbo hums to himself as he waters the flowers in his garden, relieved to see that none of them seems to have been neglected too badly in the weeks of his absence.
Except...
He sits down in the grass once his work is complete, his watering can resting on his lap.
I miss Thorin.
Oh, how he loves that stubborn, temperamental, tough, awkward and utterly gorgeous man for bringing chaos and joy into his life – well, admittedly not so much the chaos, he's never exactly been the spontaneous type, but they're patient with one another, and with Thorin by his side, he feels like many things that used to be daunting for him are much easier now.
Thorin is part of a rock band, and to this day Bilbo can't help chuckling a little whenever he remembers how he, Bilbo Baggins, who has been called everything from boring to bourgeois by most band members throughout the early days of his and Thorin's relationship, has unexpectedly and inevitably become a part of this life. He smiles to himself as he remembers how Thorin asked him - or rather begged him, due to his own stubbornness – to join him on his last tour. Bilbo gave in eventually, swayed by his boyfriend's earnest attempts at helping him pack and plan and making sure he was comfortable throughout the whole ordeal.
Admittedly, he has never liked travelling. He has been on vacations before, naturally, but he's always found it to be rather stressful – so many things to organise, so much to worry about. How some people are able to just hit the road without meticulously having planned everything has always been a mystery to Bilbo.
But for Thorin he wanted to try, wanted to show him that he too can adapt and go outside of his comfort zone, and he never imagined it could be so fun. Chatting and joking around with Thorin and others, taking breaks in-between gigs for some sightseeing and couple activities, enjoying each and every performance and after-party – including the time Thorin surprised him with a song written for him that left Bilbo speechless, blushing like crazy in public and utterly smitten by him – and becoming part of the group... it made Bilbo feel more alive than ever before.
The telltale sound of his mailbox interrupts his spontaneous bout of reminiscence, and he sets aside the watering can to investigate.
To his surprise, he finds a cute postcard depicting a seal with a funny hat and a little gift box attached to it.
"Hey Bilbo,
hope you're doing well and enjoying home.
We're currently on our way to the Grey Havens Festival and things seem to be going alright so far. Wish us luck – this'll be a big gig. Can't wait!
I decided to get you something to celebrate our last tour and many more to come. Hope you like it!
Love, Thorin
P.S.: I don't know how to write postcards, but I remember you said you love getting them so I tried my best."
Bilbo holds the card close to his chest after reading, a huge smile lighting up his features.
He remembered-!
They call and text each other regularly of course, but Bilbo has a certain faible for some things people consider to be old-fashioned these days, and postcards are one of them.
Curious and excited, he swiftly opens the gift box and finds a seashell bracelet and a small note inside, reading "For my brave boyfriend who made our last tour the best of my life".
Bilbo puts the bracelet on without hesitation, practically glowing with pride. It's one of the sweetest and most thoughtful gifts he's ever received, and he already can't wait to add the card to his cherished picture wall and take pictures for Thorin.
If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡
taglist: @i-did-not-mean-to
read more? main masterlist
get tagged for my writing? tag list form
request something for summer stories? info post
#bilbo#bilbo baggins#thorin#thorin oakenshield#thorin x bilbo#bagginshield#modern au#short#oneshot#short and sweet#the hobbit#the hobbit fanfiction#summer stories#fotfics#fotfics july event#cílil writes#my writing
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
Afternoon delight
This is not the first time that I am writing this pairing for @lycheesodas, but it might well be the first time that I make it spicy...
Another NSFW one for Week 2 - Please be advised!
Thank you @lycheesodas for your faith...I hope this is okay...
Words: 1133
Characters: Beleg x Mablung
Prompt: Picnics & Multiple Orgasms
Warnings: NSFW, Smut, nipple play, oral sex, anal sex
"You're so beautiful," Beleg whispered, awe-struck at the sight of Mablung's naked body, seated politely on the forest floor.
Letting out a strangled noise, somewhere between a scoff and a moan, Mablung merely shook his head and reached for the basket full of wild strawberries he had carried gingerly all the way from Menegroth for his lover's delight.
Every once in a while, they managed to have these secret picnics in secluded spots deep within the forest that seemed to be only known to them, and they cherished those stolen moments of blissful togetherness.
Mablung knew the voracious expression in Beleg's eyes only too well and his treacherous body reacted instinctively—hence why the fruit he judiciously cradled in his lap now was but a flimsy defence against the inevitable onslaught of torturous tenderness his insatiable lover seemed to be plotting.
"So steadfast," Beleg went on crooning, falling to his knees and advancing slowly towards his visitor, "so very generous. Let me make it up to you."
"Are you going to hunt us dinner then?" Mablung asked, suppressing the tell-tale quiver in his voice—his throat was burning with the effort and his fingers tightened around the rim of the basket fitfully.
Upon arriving, Mablung had immediately been relieved of both his gifts and the better part of his garments and pressed against the rough bark of an ancient tree to have his mouth captured savagely while Beleg's clever fingers slipped between his thighs, awakening Mablung's desire as easily as he drew a bow.
Even after so many years—oft far apart in body but inseparable in thought—Mablung could hardly fathom how this bright-eyed, ever-smiling wood sprite of old could have him panting and shivering in the throes of maddening passion within mere moments.
As much as he questioned that strange spell he was under, he could not deny that he had relished the way Beleg seemed to drink his every hoarse cry and desperate whimper from his very lips while pressing against him mercilessly.
By rights and experience, they should have been long past the phase of unbridled, desperate rutting against one another until they spilt over their joined hands, but—at times—the long separation and the burning longing would not countenance any delay.
Thus, their reunion had started with a clash of heated bodies writhing in symphony and messy kisses spread haphazardly across heated skin before they had suffered the humiliating ordeal of washing their soiled clothes in the nearby river.
Sated, they had then stretched out on the soft carpet of wild grasses and green moss to exchange stories and news while letting the sun, filtering delicately through the canopy overhead, dapple their skin with specks of dancing gold.
"I have missed you so," Beleg admitted, settling his palms high upon Mablung's thighs and bending down to pluck a single strawberry out of the basket with his mouth.
With a groan of renewed excitement—would Beleg ever stop having this devastating effect on him?—Mablung shifted self-consciously.
"So delicious," Beleg went on playfully and pressed his sticky lips against the taut stomach of his rigid colleague and paramour.
For a while, Mablung could but watch and witness as Beleg ate his way to the bottom of the basket—he could feel his warm breath through the weaving and the awareness of the proximity of those strawberry-stained lips to his by now undeniable arousal made a thin sheen of sweat break out on his shivering skin.
Suddenly, Beleg sucked his teeth in disapproval and twisted around to reach for his pouch, granting Mablung a breathtaking view of his elegant spine.
"Even when it's hot," the renowned archer remonstrated, "you must not neglect proper padding during training."
Frowning, Mablung looked down at his ever so slightly chafed nipples and rolled his eyes.
"You exaggerate," he tried to assuage the other's worries, but before he could protest further, Beleg had whipped back and was kissing him breathless.
"When I am not there," he said insistently, his eyes flickering with a feverish gleam, "you must take the very best care of yourself!"
He smelled like a meadow in bloom and tasted like wild strawberries, Mablung thought dazedly as he was pushed flat on his back.
An acquiescent hum passed his lips as he stared at the dancing leaves above their heads—the fresh aroma of ground herbs progressively pervaded and saturated the air, and he had but a moment to wonder before Beleg's mouth returned to his skin.
Laving his sore nipples with a tongue coated in a paste of healing plants and saliva, Beleg painted a kaleidoscope of coloured marks across Mablung's chest.
This was healing, care, a claim, and an earnest attempt to dissimulate the shining beauty of Mablung's complexion by making it blend in with their surroundings.
"Don't stop there," Mablung whispered, tossing the basket aside and laying bare his reawakened need to the curious, flashing eyes of the one he loved so deeply.
Yes, they were indeed beyond torturous friction, foiled by breeches and tunics—as those warm, tender lips closed around the tip of his cock teasingly, Mablung was sure of it.
In time with the swaying branches Mablung was still gazing at distractedly, Beleg's mouth ebbed and flowed against him like the river lapping against unmoving stones.
Just as the forest seemed to melt and dissolve around him, Mablung shot up. It would have been too easy to allow Beleg to bring him to completion thus, while he lay there in criminal indolence and inactivity.
"I have brought something for you as well," he purred and produced a vial filled with a clear, viscous liquid.
Pouring it over his hands and Beleg's seductively perky behind liberally, Mablung set to work to grant as much pleasure as he had received.
"Do you begrudge the forest your seed then?" Beleg teased over his shoulder with a wink.
Grunting his acquiescence, Mablung lined up and pushed into the unseen realm he called "home" with tender determination.
Encircling Beleg's hips with his arms—confident that he would not pull away—Mablung closed his slick hands around the sceptre and jewels of a king without a throne.
The airy sigh, melting into the unintelligible whispering of the wood, escaping Beleg at that contact drove Mablung to distraction faster and more violently than either one of them had expected.
All inhibitions and good resolutions of restraint fell from him like heavy chains cast off—he surged freely into the welcoming, tight heat of his beloved without ever letting go of his agonizingly swollen cock.
The forest, the air, the nearby river and those two lovers became one, breathless and relentless, until they collapsed into a deafening silence in which their little part of the world was torn apart and made anew unheeded.
@fellowshipofthefics Here's another outrageously spicy one!
Lots of love from me!
#og post#fotfics july event#Beleg#Mablung#Beleg x Mablung#Let's hope nobody else finds this#Picnics#fotfics summer stories#Week 2#IDNMT writes#fanfiction#writing#tolkien writing#jrrt#summerofcum2023
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
Obedience
@cilil - demon-spawn from Hell - has pitched two of my best boys. Of course, I could not resist! LOL 😁
Please be advised, this is a spicy fic, containing the prompt "Cockwarming" from the summerofcum prompt list.
All credit for the composition and elements goes to @cilil too. We have long conversations on discord that nobody must ever read 🙈
So...here we go...Week 2 ("Summer Festival" is still waiting for a claimer! )
Words: 1538
Characters: Eönwë x Gothmog
Prompt: Campfire - Cockwarming
Warnings: NSFW, smut, rimming, anal penetration
Eönwë looked around, scanning his surroundings frantically, as one awoken from a fever dream.
How long had he been walking aimlessly into the wilderness in his attempt to flee the busily milling crowds that he perpetually needed to inform of some Vala's new decree or prohibition?
Dutiful and sober, he did not object to the crushing workload resting on his broad shoulders but—at times—he yearned to spread his wings and feel nought but his Lord’s merciful wind against his unguarded face.
An involuntary shiver ran down his spine—even after all the time that had passed since the death of the two trees, Eönwë still struggled to remember that the silver moon gave much less warmth than the golden sun.
Sighing, he made to turn back; it was outright undignified and shameful how far he had run without noticing and now, he had been surprised by the faltering heat seeping out of the ground underfoot to dissolve in the misty night air.
Just as he took heart at the thought that he would simply hasten back to his post without wasting a single look or thought on this wild, abandoned land outside of the dwelling places of Valar and Eldar, a flicker of red caught his eye.
"It is forbidden to kindle a fire," he started to remonstrate with the delinquent who had apparently thought to counteract the creeping chill by starting a campfire to warm themselves by.
"In the name of Eru and the big bird, yes, yes," a gravelly, raucous voice drawled. "I want to draw your attention to the fact that I did not indeed set ablaze any of the hallowed creations of the high and mighty Valar you seem to serve so diligently."
Drawing closer, Eönwë stopped dead in his tracks.
What he had mistaken for a merrily burning fire was—he could now discern this with humbling clarity—the naked body of a Balrog.
"Detestable foe!" he thundered, lifting his arm as if to strike before he remembered that he had set out woefully unarmed, not expecting to meet an ancient enemy this far from the hubs of civilisation.
The Balrog turned slowly, his eyes gleaming like gems backlit by the fire of Aulë’s forge, and gave a delighted chuckle.
"If it is not the messenger bird, sweet carrier pigeon of the Valar," he purred, sitting up on his haunches without any noticeable consideration or shame concerning his shocking nudity. "You may call me 'foe' if that is your pleasure, but I'd much rather you use my name."
"Which would be?" Eönwë asked with feigned distaste and ignorance.
Of course, it was rather simple for him to recognise Gothmog—Lord of Balrogs—who had been amongst the last to have been returned to this plane of existence and granted a physical body once more.
"Have you come then to demand further penance?" Gothmog asked, a wry smile stretching his lips into something sharp and vaguely threatening. "Or is it a re-enactment of your greatest triumphs that you seek?"
Glowing eyes observed every twitch rippling across Eönwë's face with undisguised curiosity.
"Oh," Gothmog hummed, "it is a defeat you're looking for. Do you want me to take this weight off your shoulders—throw you down and hold you still? I can do that; I am good at it."
It was a bold claim that made Gothmog's tail lash about in an involuntary admission of nervousness.
To his own astonishment, Eönwë paused and considered that offer. He had not expected to find the idea so alluring, but now that he allowed himself to drink in the bulging muscles and iridescent skin of the creature eyeing him speculatively, he had to admit that his body tensed in joyous anticipation.
The thought of handing over the reins to someone else for a while sounded too delicious to be fully fathomed.
Momentarily, he hesitated but the insidious chill that was swirling up from the now damp ground was so wonderfully chased by a burning hot hand setting on his shoulder that he let out a shuddering sigh.
He was well aware of the peril he was in, but the tension between his worst apprehensions and his most depraved hopes only exacerbated his desire to lean into the yet innocent, casual caress.
"Ready to get your feathers singed, little bird?" Gothmog murmured, leaning towards Eönwë in a cloud of soothing warmth and smoky fragrance.
Elegant and elemental as a volcano bursting with veins of liquid fire, he towered over the herald in a way that made Eönwë feel almost delicate and frail in comparison.
Despite the erroneous accounts coursing through the tales of the Children, Gothmog was merely wreathed in flame rather than having actual, functional wings.
Thus, he plucked playfully at the long, white feathers covering the impressive appendages that adorned Eönwë's strong back.
"Beautiful," he whispered and started circling the radiant, immaculate hero of wars long past like a huge, hungry lizard cornering a guileless dove.
"What heinous crimes will you do unto a servant of Manwë?" Eönwë gasped as the seemingly innocuous touch thrummed along his every nerve to set his core aflame.
"Worry not," Gothmog promised, "your defilement will be wrought of pleasure and obedience."
This was a game they both knew only too well and Eönwë knees buckled automatically—he had kneeled countless times in the name of duty, and he felt no humiliation at performing this old-familiar gesture of reverence.
Already, his acute awareness of the despicable identity of the presence looming over him like a nefarious shadow was fading fast, supplanted by a shameful neediness that knew neither morality nor bounds.
"No whips," Gothmog laughed in a muted voice, "just delicious pain."
With a quick flick of his wrist—an undeniable testament to his skills—he wrapped the long, silken strands of Eönwë's hair around his palm and tugged none too gently.
Eönwë's back arched and his wings trembled, but he did not shift from his position.
Heat was flooding back into his limbs, hitherto stiff with cold, and he gave another throaty moan of relief.
"I've not even started," Gothmog jeered and, with a single swipe of his deadly claws, tore his invaluable garments, fashioned by the deathless hands of the most exalted of the Valar, right off Eönwë's pliable body.
Even though his torturer had sworn that his trusty and universally dreaded whip would not be used, Eönwë felt a lash of searing heat against his buttocks and yelped.
Still, he did not pull away as that torturous thread of magma pushed its way into his body, swirling lazily against the innermost walls of his integrity and lapping teasingly at hidden pressure points that made him see his Lady's most cherished creations dance wildly behind his closed lids.
His bones seemed to melt and, when he felt Gothmog shift behind him, he braced for the unleashing of furious violence that would burn him clean of his doubts and misgivings.
Vowing that he would not give Gothmog the satisfaction of quailing and squirming in terror, Eönwë lifted his chin proudly and fixed his eyes upon the horizon.
It was as he braced as inconspicuously as possible, that he noticed how both the cold and the pervasive boredom that had plagued him had dissolved under the ministrations of that hot tongue, opening and stretching him with the diligent, purposeful determination of one who could but obey his natural inclination to do things properly.
Pressure. Heat. Bliss.
Eönwë let out a garbled cry as a pillar of flame seemed to shoot up through his spine—part of him now almost welcomed and craved the anticipated and dreaded pain that was surely to follow.
As soon as he was fully seated within the hallowed herald though, Gothmog stilled.
Staring at the back of Eönwë's head, in a secluded, deserted clearing, he realised that he was free to do whatever he wanted to Manwë's servant.
Recollections of the exquisite works of blood and bone he had wrought in the past flashed through his mind—Gothmog knew that the storm of carnage and devastation he could unleash upon this docile pet bird would be glorious to behold indeed.
His blood sang with covetousness at the thought of hurting Eönwë in ways that would make him beg for the utter dissolution of his own flesh. Yes, Gothmog thought, the choice was his and the power flowing through his veins was intoxicating and corrupting.
To their shared astonishment, it turned out that what he truly desired was to curl around that strong, winged back and shield it from the cutting, cold air biting into their skin.
"Aren't you a pretty bird?" he cooed, carefully dislodging small fragments of twigs from between the shiny, soft feathers vacillating in front of his blurry eyes.
"What..." Eönwë gasped, pressing back into that arousing heat piercing him to the core. "Why won't you move?"
"Penance," Gothmog replied calmly and went on smoothing and petting the shivering wings with tender care while soaking in Eönwë's intimate, sweet heat with self-indulgent abandon.
"Standing still, you know," he added wisely as he pressed a searing kiss onto the nape of that slender, pale neck beckoning to him, "is not always a bad thing."
@fellowshipofthefics Here's the second one for the second week then :)
Thank you @cilil for progressively poisoning my mind! LOL This was a pleasure to write <3
Lots of love <3
#og post#fotfics july event#Eönwë#Gothmog#Eönwë x Gothmog#Gotty best boy#Campfire#fotfics summer stories#Week 2#IDNMT writes#fanfiction#writing#tolkien writing#jrrt#summerofcum2023
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
Love Potion
@lordoftherazzles my friend, my saviour, has been so good to provide me with a request right away and I am diligent.
So...here we go...Week 2 (There are still plenty of prompts open :) )
Words: 1154
Characters: Dwalin x Nori, Ori
Prompt: Ice-cold drinks
Warnings: Alcohol, a kiss, reference to trauma
Nori looked over at his younger brother dubitatively—he had a lot riding on this afternoon picnic, and he wanted everything to be just perfect.
"Didn't you say that you were going to the river with Fíli and Kíli?" he asked in a slightly unnerved tone as Ori kept fidgeting with the checkered tablecloth as if he had all the time in the world at his disposal.
"Do you want to get rid of me?" Ori shot back, a vexed, injured expression in his deep, dark eyes as he finally caught on to his brother's evident nervousness and impatience.
"Yes," Nori exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "The last thing I need today is my baby brother bustling around to witness my inevitable shame."
Shaking his head mournfully, Ori gave the decorations a last pat and stepped back from the little table they had erected in the middle of the small meadow behind their cottage.
"Suit yourself," he muttered fondly and gave Nori an encouraging smile. "It looks really nice, you know? You're right though, it's a terribly hot day, and I should be off."
Feeling bad for having chased away Ori—who was inoffensive and helpful by nature—Nori decided to sacrifice a part of his special surprise for his own guest to make amends for his harsh words.
"Here," he called, running after Ori's retreating figure and handed the young lad a battered flask. "Be careful!"
Mahal, Nori thought, he started to sound like Dori.
Shaking himself in disgust, he went back in to swap his worn tunic for a newer, cleaner, and more flattering one and thus began the long waiting.
He had not given his most anxiously awaited guest a clear timeline—it had been important to him to make the whole plan sound as relaxed and spontaneous as possible, despite the meticulous planning that had gone into that insouciant air of careless flirtation—and consequently, he did not know when the other would arrive exactly.
"He'll come," Nori muttered and touched his elaborate hairdo for the umpteenth time to make sure that it was flawless.
It was quite unlike him to be this nervous about what—on the surface at least—was nought but an informal visit from an old friend.
Ori had been right, and the weather had been glorious these last few days so when he had met Dwalin in the square, he had casually invited him to come share a cold drink while sitting in the meadow and laughing about their overly prim and proper siblings.
They had done this a thousand times before so why was his stomach in knots now?
Maybe, Nori had to admit, it was because he now was acutely aware of the effect Dwalin's strong, tattooed arms had on the colony of critters having taken up residence in his stomach or because he could no longer ignore the fact that his breath stuttered every time those seemingly serious eyes glistened with secret glee.
It was entirely foolish, but Nori couldn't help feeling that he didn't want to spend sunny summer days with anybody else. Come to think of it, he could also not imagine a better companion for cold winter days or mellow autumn days or any other season or moment of his life.
"Oi!"
Not one to insist on procedure, Dwalin had simply rounded the house and was presently stomping determinedly towards the small clearing, a box carefully balanced in one of his massive paws.
"The other ones out?" he asked good-humouredly as he let himself fall into one of the chairs Ori and Nori had brought out prior to his arrival. "Just us?"
"Just us," Nori acquiesced—he hated how his voice broke at the end of the sentence as if he was not sure of himself.
Mahal's beard, he had but two brothers and he was well capable of keeping track of them.
"Balin sends his best regards," Dwalin grumbled on complacently, "and his meatloaf."
"Oh, goodie," Nori exclaimed in earnest delight and patted Dwalin's bare shoulder awkwardly.
It was a sign of friendship and trust as much as a concession to the merciless, blistering heat that he had not donned the heavy leathers he was usually clad in.
Instead, he wore a light tunic and a pair of cut-off leggings that would have made Dori blanch with how crooked they looked, spanned taut around Dwalin's impressive calves.
"Let me get the drinks," Nori squeaked and dashed back up to the house to catch his breath before he could do something unpardonably stupid.
Taking out the pitcher from the icebox, he gave a heavy sigh.
No doubt, Dwalin expected some local ale, provided by one of the surrounding breweries but—on this most fateful of days—Nori had taken the enormous risk of baring a part of his soul to his taciturn friend.
He had picked up the recipe for the fruity, summery concoction on one of his most desperate thieving trips—in fact, it had been entrusted to him by a young woman who danced for coin.
Spending all her days in sweltering alleys, she knew how merciless the heat could be and had taught Nori how to stir up a refreshing, reinvigorating drink that would not addle his senses overmuch.
It had been many long years since last he had even tried to emulate her prowess, but today, for Dwalin, he had given it his best try.
Nori's fingers were clasped tight around the cold container as he made his way back slowly, dreading that Dwalin would mock him and the fruit of his labours.
At the sight of the cut-up slices of berries and apples floating in the aromatic liquid, Dwalin cocked an inquisitive eyebrow, but he didn't demure.
Indeed, he took the offered tankard eagerly and drank deep.
"That is delicious!" he cried out, astonishment in his voice, as he sprang up for no apparent reason. "You've got something..."
Leaning over his befuddled host, he cupped one of his bearded cheeks tenderly and bent towards him to kiss away the scrap of blueberry clinging to Nori’s proud moustache.
"There," Dwalin muttered throatily. "Even more delightful than the first mouthful."
Whimpering under his breath, Nori melted into the embrace of those strong arms and gasped when Dwalin's cold cup touched his back, making him jerk forward instinctively straight into Dwalin’s broad chest.
"Now, this," Dwalin purred and took another appreciative sip, "is too good to be kept a secret. In the name of fraternal loyalty, I will have to demand you hand over the recipe so I can present it to Balin as a token of my love."
It was Nori's turn to cock a sceptical eyebrow.
"You'd have to catch me first," he then hooted and, twisting elegantly, he ran off towards the nearby line of trees.
Guffawing loudly, Dwalin drained his glass, poured himself another few swigs, downed those as well, and gave chase.
@fellowshipofthefics Here's the first one for the second week then :)
Thank you @lordoftherazzles for the prompt, you're a lifesaver (and if you ever want one, please feel free to ask me, I never know when people would like any...)
Lots of love <3
#og post#fotfics july event#Dwalin#Nori#Dwalin x Nori#Ice-cold drinks#fotfics summer stories#Week 2#IDNMT writes#fanfiction#writing#tolkien writing#jrrt
26 notes
·
View notes
Note
I was wondering if I could request Ossë for suntan/freckles prompt for Summer stories 2023...I so curious about how would YOU depict him :). I love your writings <3
Author's Note: Awww thank you! Hope you enjoy this little drabble - I read your headcanons for inspiration ^^
Characters: Ossë & Círdan (can be read as platonic or romantic)
Synopsis: Ossë discovers something new about his fána.
Warnings: /
"You have silver spots all over your fána," Círdan says, eyes gleaming with mirth as the Maia starts inspecting his blue-tinted skin.
"I do?" Ossë turns his head to glimpse over his shoulder and down his back, then squints at his reflection in the water. "Hm. I didn't notice."
"You've been at the beach often these days," Círdan notes. He appears to be contemplating something, until he suddenly smiles and pats Ossë's speckled shoulder. "I didn't know water Maiar can get freckles."
"Freckles, you say?" Ossë looks down once more, then grins. "You know what? I think I like them."
If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡
taglist: @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @singleteapot @wandererindreams
read more? main masterlist
get tagged for my writing? tag list form
request something for summer stories? info post
#osse#ossë#cirdan#círdan#drabble#perfect drabble#oneshot#silmarillion fanfiction#silmarillion#fotfics#fotfics july event#summer stories#cílil writes#my writing
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
A crash of drums, a flash of light
First request of this week goes to @wandererindreams who's asked for Fëanor x shy reader.
Thank you so much for this request! It was a really good one to start this week off with and get back into the flow :D
Words: 990
Characters: Fëanor x reader
Prompt: Fireworks
Warnings: None
"Where are we going?"
You clenched your hands into tight fists, creasing the fabric of your rich garments reprehensibly, to keep yourself focused on the radiant apparition walking before you so purposefully.
Fëanáro's voice ebbed and flowed like a river as he gave you an account of his experiments that was both too fast and too detailed for you to understand.
All you could gather from his excited explanation was that he had managed something quite extraordinary.
"Even the Maiar will attend," he now declared, pride ringing in his voice like a golden bell.
Despite your deep and paralysing confusion, you felt a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.
In these rare moments of intimacy—in dark corridors and smoky ateliers—he was no longer the crown prince, the firstborn son of Finwë of the Noldor, but a free, incandescent spirit ready and able to push beyond the superficial perfection of this Blessed Realm.
"You were saying?" he then asked as if he had only now fully realised that you had spoken.
Almost tripping over your own feet in your haste to assuage the flicker of doubt and impatience flitting over his handsome face, you lifted your hands in a soothing gesture.
As Fëanáro turned around at exactly that moment, your cool palms landed on his broad chest. Unable to move, you had to endure his amused smile as he stepped back slowly.
"My apologies," you squeaked. The way your voice wavered and petered out like a candle in the wind made you flinch with shame.
For as long as you could remember, people had relentlessly admonished you to speak up and state your thoughts in a calm, collected, and coherent manner.
Despite all your assiduous practice and your stubborn resolutions, you had unfortunately not yet mastered the art of overcoming your natural reluctance to draw more attention to your person than was strictly necessary though.
Your mother usually called you "shy" in that indulgently exasperated tone of one who wished for things to be different but refused to inflict harm and hurt upon their own child willingly.
"I.." you tried again, battling the urge to gnaw on your lower lip in discomfort. "I merely asked where it was you were leading me?"
Truth be told, you would have followed Fëanáro anywhere—your trust in both his genius and his inherent goodness was not shaken by his fiery temper and his famed impatience.
Even though you could not deny that his words and actions sometimes could frighten you, you were convinced that you were not indeed scared of him.
"Come," he barked, "I want you to see this."
His hands were warm and strong as they curled around your upper arms resolutely and pushed you down onto a strange contraption that seemed to consist solely of a complex construction of interlaced rods and interwoven bands of silken fabric.
"How do you find my portable chair?" he asked cheerily. "It's made of many mobile parts that can be torn asunder without destroying their integrity. The cloth bands hold the bars together and thus, the whole chair can be transported easily."
"Ingenious," you breathed, awe-struck yet again by his brilliance.
"Now," he declared and pointed to the sky, "sit and watch."
A muted sigh of disappointment escaped you as you watched him scamper from view.
A moment later, though, he returned—he was out of breath and beaming brightly.
"The sky," he reminded you, clasping your frail chin in his imperious fingers and tilting your head up gently.
Fire bloomed across a field of inky darkness and your hands flew up to shield your face.
"No," he insisted. "You're safe with me, I promise."
Streaks of colour exploded with a sound akin to a thousand horses thundering through the darkened sky.
"It's...beautiful," you whispered, shaken by this unprecedented cunning and daring.
From somewhere in the distance came the awed murmurs of other onlookers, but Fëanáro seemed to have forgotten about everybody outside of the small clearing over which you were presiding so regally.
"Give me your words, oh quiet one," he urged, falling to his knees before you. "Long have I known that we are not alike in mind and manner. Where I say too much—to the point of enervating others—you keep your own council and your dignified peace. Let it not be so now, I beg you!"
As ever when you were asked to speak, a dense fog of anxious unease settled stiflingly upon your every confused thought.
For Fëanáro though—who was gracious, generous, and grandiose—you had to at least try to overcome that deplorable flaw of yours.
"I have never even imagined anything as marvellous as this," you confessed. "It seems that you've managed to harness light, strength, and colour to paint in between and beyond Laurelin and Telperion."
Satisfaction and pride made his eyes gleam—you could see still the reflection of his mesmerising invention in that hypnotising gaze and an exhilarating excitement surged within your core.
"Do you want more?" he asked, his voice deep and thrumming.
By this time, you were no longer sure that you were still talking about the blazing flowers he had planted into thin air, but you found yourself nodding obediently, nonetheless.
You opened your lips as if to speak, but you found that you could not. What words would do justice to his radiance, pulling you under like a wave of embers cresting into foaming light?
Blindly, you groped for his hand and brought it to your still aimlessly moving lips.
Gratitude. Wonder. Love unspoken, love unknown.
Demure, quiet, and soft-spoken as you were known to be, you understood in that very moment that this extraordinary creature staring at you with the intensity of a thousand hallowed trees might well be able to kindle a savage inferno within you as much as within the placid, cool air of an otherwise uneventful moment under Telperion's clement shimmer.
@fellowshipofthefics here's the first for this week.
Thank you so much and lots of love!
#og post#fotfics july event#Fëanor#Fëanor x reader#Fireworks#fotfics summer stories#Week 4#IDNMT writes#fanfiction#writing#tolkien writing#jrrt
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
Drink with me
This is for you, my dear @lordoftherazzles as a heartfelt "Thank you" for all your support of (S)wiped out.
Here is a little update on Bilbo's expansion plans.
I love you! Your friendship means the world to me!!!
Words: 1370
Characters: Thorin x Bilbo
Prompt: Cocktails
Warnings: alcohol consumption, inebriation, sexual innuendo
Thorin was a man on a mission—as he entered the deserted bar after having taken a long, restoring shower in Bilbo's cramped bathroom, he hastily tied his hair up while walking, promptly bumping his elbow into the doorframe.
"If you think that I cannot smell that you've used my shampoo instead of the disgusting, cheap poison you insisted you preferred, you're very much mistaken, Mister," Bilbo chirped teasingly.
Grimacing, Thorin shrugged; he was not about to admit that he liked the way Bilbo's ridiculously expensive shampoo made his wavy hair feel.
Nobody could ever know about that, otherwise, his sister would never let him live such a damnable, petty weakness down.
After all, he had been just fine with his all-in-one soap for most of his adult life—almost, at least.
"Hit me with your best shot," he replied, desperately trying to change the subject. “I mean, cocktail.”
"Maybe you should have a sandwich first?" Bilbo looked at him dubitatively.
A good many select bottles of liquors, juices, syrups, and other ingredients were lined up on the counter of the bar and—as he was nothing if not ambitious when it came to culinary delights—he didn't want to risk Thorin flagging before they had made it through the list of potential brunch cocktails.
"I don't see what's wrong with an honest ale," Thorin said with an innocent gleam in his eyes.
The fact that he utterly adored the creative drinks his beloved had come up with for their movie nights was another well-guarded secret of his.
Knowing with absolute certainty that nothing distracted and challenged Bilbo more than having his plans cavalierly dismissed—even in jest—Thorin wisely played that card rather than having to beg for a drink.
"You'll see, you uncouth, uncivilised, ignorant loudmouth!"
Even as he suppressed a grin, Thorin took his usual spot at the bar—the third stool from the left corner of the counter—and blew a strand of flyaway hair out of his face while waiting for the first part of their experiment.
Bilbo started measuring, pouring, crushing, and swirling fervently.
When Thorin whipped out his notebook though, his head flew up and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"What is that?" he asked warily.
"I made a list," Thorin answered with a provocative smirk and tapped his broad index against the open page. "Presentation, fruitiness, acidity, balance, colour, composition, and that je-ne-sais-quoi that would make the drink extraordinary."
Gasping and gaping, Bilbo glared at Thorin who reached over the counter to grab his hand and breathe a devoted kiss onto the back of it.
"I am taking my role as trusted taster of your unparalleled genius very seriously, my darling," he purred, eyeing the half-full glass longingly.
As a matter of principle, Thorin had decided not to follow the making of the cocktail in too much detail so as to not falsify his assessment by building up expectations and random criteria.
Why did half of those drinks have to have names that were in no way related to their flavour profile anyway?
Finally, Bilbo set down a tiny glass in front of Thorin and—holding his gaze testily—he let a small paper umbrella drop into it.
"Ey!" Thorin exclaimed. "If you are stingy with the drinks, at least don't waste a single drop with stunts like that!"
Then, reciprocating Bilbo's unrelenting glare, he wrote down in big, bold letters "No cocktail napkin" in the presentation column.
"Mahal's stony balls! Drink and shut up!" Bilbo groaned, flinching a little when he realised that he had started to emulate Thorin's colourful and utterly irreverent way of cursing.
Rolling his eyes in a thinly veiled attempt at pretending to be merely doing his boyfriend a favour, Thorin took a tiny sip.
An obscene moan of delight escaped him—the mere drop of liquid seemed to melt and expand on his tongue, exploding into an oasis of zesty freshness interlaced with accents of mellow sweetness that was devoid of the disheartening stickiness of artificial sweeteners.
"Do I detect a floral note?" he asked eagerly; the question made Bilbo's brows furrow and travel up his forehead in astonishment.
"I've added some of Primula's flower syrup—a secret family formula she won't even share with me," Bilbo confessed, excessively impressed and charmed by the refined palate Thorin had developed in the course of their relationship.
"That is a solid summer drink," Thorin praised, "something for sweltering evenings to sip on while having a discussion with friends."
Bilbo nodded; this was exactly what he had had in mind when designing this specific beverage.
They made their way through several other recipes as the evening progressed and the light faded—Thorin complimented each and every one of them and, once or twice, he even gave Bilbo invaluable and pertinent input on what notes were missing.
"I think," he mumbled now, regretting his decision to refuse the sandwich that had been offered earlier as his vision began to grow ever so slightly blurry at the edges, "this could do with a dash of cinnamon or cardamon to balance out the heaviness of the cream, don't you think?"
Tapping a sugar-coated finger against his lips, Bilbo snatched Thorin's glass from his numb fingers and took a swig himself.
"You...by Yavanna's green grace, you are absolutely right," he cheered and thumbed through his notes to jot down a reminder in the margin.
"I also think," Thorin slurred, "that I deserve free cocktails—for life—in exchange for my help!"
Smiling fondly, Bilbo came around the counter and slung his arm around the strong back of his partner in love, in crime, and in life.
"Forever," he whispered and pressed a loving kiss against that cherished temple behind which so many marvellous ideas had sprung to life. "What would I do without you?"
"Drink alone," Thorin giggled and turned his unfocused, pleading eyes onto his favourite face in the world.
"On that matter, can I have a full drink?"
"I think you've had quite enough," Bilbo mused and, finding himself unable to resist the surge of almost desperate tenderness and love he felt for this man, he gave Thorin another resounding kiss.
Humming happily, Thorin rummaged through his pockets and slammed his car keys on the counter.
"One more," he begged, "one full drink and then, I promise, I shall let you take me to bed and tuck me in!"
Chuckling to himself, Bilbo returned to his workstation, wriggling a warning finger.
"One," he insisted, "and we'll share it. This one is called 'The Heart of the Mountain', and it is dedicated to you, my sweet."
It was only the leaden fatigue weighing down his limbs that kept Thorin from bobbing up and down on his chair like an impatient toddler while Bilbo fussed with his elaborate recipe for a good while.
"Give!" Thorin demanded, making entirely undignified grabby hands at the tall, beautifully decorated glass in Bilbo's hands.
Long forgotten were his misgivings as he let his tongue wipe up a bit of the sugar covering the rim of the oblong drinking vessel—it tasted like blueberry, his favourite, and a beatific smile spread across his face.
As he took the first deep gulp, the fragrant warmth of spiced rum intermingled with the sharp crispness of something cool and minty inundated his palate and his lids shivered with raw sensual pleasure.
Fire and strength unfolded on his tongue, expanding into a complex flavour profile that spelt out more than just naïve love or hopeful affection.
This was a testament to the true understanding Bilbo had of Thorin's nature and a proof of his own courage.
Many would have quailed to take on such a potentially overpowering mix of strong flavours, but not Bilbo.
He had seen and processed all the seemingly contradictory facets of the man slumping in his chair across the bar and had woven them into something truly delicious.
"How does it taste?" Bilbo asked in a tone that made it very clear that he did not doubt this drink in the least.
"Like love," Thorin replied, "and I am honoured to share this drink with you. What say you, should we take it up and finish it in bed?"
@fellowshipofthefics here we go. This concludes Week 3.
I can't wait for the last week! This was such immense fun!!!
#og post#fotfics july event#Thilbo#Bagginshield#Thorin x Bilbo#Cocktails#fotfics summer stories#Week 3#Bilbo#IDNMT writes#Thorin#fanfiction#writing#tolkien writing#jrrt
16 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
bruisedbabe
Freddie says
urbanuniverse
Urban Universe
semplicemente--me--stessa
Semplicemente Me stessa
kalyanamfurniture
kalyanamfurniture
gilaxvii
This is NOT Skeleton, if you think it did, FUCK what you thought