#fotfics summer stories
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Prompt: Seaside Lakeside
Based on: New Bagginshield mer au!
I have a mer au sitting on the back burner right now, and every now, and again I get the itch to work on it, flesh it out, visit the universe, and this was a perfect opportunity. Consider this a “teaser” or “plot bunny”. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed this and per usual, I don’t know how to limit myself to small drabbles for these events. (3200 words)
I’m not sure how many I’ll finish, but I wanted to participate in a few of these Summer Stories prompts with some of my favorite universes!
Bilbo loved this time of year.
The ice had melted, and while the water was still cold against his scales and skin, there was something undeniably relaxing about it. The Long Lake was confining, but not so much that it felt like an uncomfortable cage. Just a tolerable one. It gave him freedom to roam, and rocks to perch on when he wanted to soak up the sun—which is exactly what he was doing at this instant.
Resting on his stomach, his tailfin lingering in the water with gentle sways, he had his head propped with one hand, watching the lake's shoreline and glaring. Often he would sit and watch those coming and going, though there usually wasn't much activity on this side of things, just the occasional platoon of dwarves or men who were passing by, but never for long.
Save for one, that Bilbo didn't really want to think about today.
Feeling something bumping at the end of his tailfin, glancing at the rather clear waters, it was a yellow blob beneath the surface that brought a small curve to his lips. “Hey you,” Bilbo murmured, reaching his hand into the water as the little octopi swirled around it, bumping at his palm and doing what Bilbo would call 'a funny dance' with those little tentacles flailing.
This octopi had been Bilbo's only friend for the many long years he'd been subject to this lake. A faithful ally, even though they never did speak properly. The little gestures, the faint noises the small creature gave off, and just the fact that it lingered around Bilbo more often than not was enough for the mer. He'd made a friend in captivity, in both the act of being captured, and maintained in the actual misery.
Feeling another press of the octopus's head against his palm, Bilbo cast a small glance towards the shore once more. “What am I doing? Just watching, enjoying the sun while I can...” He muttered as a shape began to take form, heading down from the rocks and grassy hills beyond the Long Lake, and it was a shape that Bilbo had seen more times than he could count on his webbed fingers.
It was that one dwarf he had never really wanted to consider, for every other dwarf that Bilbo had encountered thus far had been cold, cruel, and had zero heart within their chest. It was as if they were made of stone.
Narrowing his eyes, glaring so hard as if it might drill holes into the familiar dwarf, Bilbo had to wonder what kept him coming to the water time and time again. He was no fisherman, nor collecting shells, stones, or anything else of the like. In fact, this dwarf had made his appearance many times and had simply sat, or walked along the sand...harmlessly.
It made him wonder, and often scratch his claws against his head in confusion. If the dwarf wasn't down here for something malicious...then what was the reason? Perhaps the same reason Bilbo often found himself lazing about on the rocks to catch the sun's beautiful spring rays. To relax.
While having studied this particular dwarf from afar, Bilbo could tell you a variety of things about him already aside from the reasoning as to why he was here at all. He was dark haired, with eyes as blue as the sky, and wore these horrid metal capped boots with fur that made his tailfin twitch in discomfort. However, the faint lines to his face weren't from malice, unlike the other dwarves Bilbo had encountered. There was something different there, but perhaps that was his naivety getting the better of him.
One particular detail did cause the mer to lift himself up slightly and his face full of annoyance had dropped to something more neutral. A small discoloration upon the dwarf's cheek grabbed his attention. There was no blood, but Bilbo knew that fresh bruises were often the worst, at least by appearance. It was dark and nasty, like the furthest depths of the ocean that his parents had told him to stay away from—that and the clearings close to shore. Maybe a bit of his heart ached, and curiosity was tugging at him. Was it by accident, or like Bilbo, had someone laid their hands on him?
Sinking from his perch on the warm stone, Bilbo inhaled the cool water of the lake, his gills happy at the relief it brought as he eyeballed his octopi friend who blinked at him. Those little ears atop his head flapping in curiosity as if asking the big question. “I'm not sure, but...I want to get a closer look.”
The little yellow octopi was quickly swirling its way towards Bilbo, making faint bloop sounds barely audible to human ears, but to those semi-pointed earfins, it was clear as day. “Don't worry, I'll be careful. I've made that mistake before…” He urged, giving his friend a fond pat on the head before sinking further beneath the surface, and taking off towards the shoreline.
...
“A disgrace,” Thorin hissed to himself as he marched his way down to the shoreline, a hand idly rubbing the tender spot beneath his eye. Discipline it had been called, but Thorin didn't think of it as much of a lesson as it was a means to drive him away. Not even Frerin's cheerful attempt at some jokes had brought so much as a smirk to Thorin's lips before leaving the mountain.
He had needed some time to cool off from his earlier...mistake. Skipping out on an important meeting with the elves of Mirkwood had seemed like a decent plan at the time. There were advisors and ambassadors galore, why was his presence required? Not to mention, Thror always spearheaded those meetings without much of a word from anyone else. But apparently Thorin's absence had been noticed, and now he felt like he was about to be placed on hot coals from the forges.
Sighing to himself and staring at the water, while it didn't go on forever, there was something inspiring about it. It felt free to be down here, to have the breeze through his hair and beard, and the best part was that only a select few ever knew where to find him. This side of the Long Lake was often ignored for its lack of safety with all the rocks making it hard for the fishermen of Dale. The only time dwarves ever came down here...well, he couldn't even tell you why or if it ever happened. The point was, it was a little hideaway for Thorin, and today, he certainly needed a place to hide, lest he say something he'd regret in front of the eyes of many.
Pacing across the rock and sand, Thorin was grumbling idle nothings to himself, until the urge to hit or throw something became too great. He bent and grabbed one of the smooth round stones by his boots and chucked it as hard as he could. A dissatisfying 'plop' into the water with about as much grace as a newborn ram trying to walk. A scowl formed on his lips, reaching down angrily for another stone as the wise words of his mother began to float to the forefront of his mind.
“Calm yourself, young heart. The pain you feel now will be but a memory tomorrow, but do not take your frustrations out on those who do not deserve your wrath.”
Did that extend to inanimate objects too? Staring down at the smooth rock in his palm, Thorin tried to find a sense of calm. The lapping of the water against the sand and rock had always been soothing. It was at times like these where the dwarf was grateful that there wasn't that overly fishy smell around these parts as he closed his eyes to let it all soak in. Much to his relief, a bit of that anger began to subside in favor of peace. As those blue eyes opened once more, there was something distinctly softer about them. Eyeing the stone and then the water, Thorin was more focused and calculated this time, drawing his arm back, and letting that stone sail with a more angled throw, and as he had wanted, the rock skipped before ultimately disappearing.
It was an easy, and rather cheap, distraction. One that harmed few, not even the inanimate stones or water that were his supposed victims, right now.
The moments passed by, a slow repetition of skipping rocks, staring at the water, and wondering if heading back home was even worth it right now. These little expeditions away from the mountain never lasted too long, lest someone come looking and find his hideaway, but the more Thorin got his aggression out with each stone he tossed, watching the satisfactory skipping, the better he felt.
That didn't mean he was to confront his king anytime soon, or at all. While his heart was typically in the right place, it would do no good to argue with Thror. Not only because Thror was his king, but also his grandfather—his family, and there was nothing more important to Thorin than his family. They may disagree, but they deserved respect all the same.
Giving one more lone stone a toss, watching it skip farther than any of the others, Thorin took that as a good sign. It was time to call it quits on a high note of success, which had eventually spurred a grin to his lips. Being out in the sun and enjoying the breeze had done wonders to help those boiling emotions of his simmer down, and hopefully by the time he returned home, he could assess the situation with a clear head.
Grandfather deserved an apology for his negligence to the important duties of a prince.
Thorin had barely gotten a chance to turn before a 'plop' landed on the dirt and sand next to his boots, drawing his eyes downward. A wet stone of similar shape as one of the few he had thrown before. Smooth edges, and a small divot on one end. It caused his brow to raise in curiosity. Taking the stone in his hand once more, giving it a once over, it was promptly tossed in the same manner as before, and then nothing. Silence, save for the sloshing of lake water.
Perhaps it had been a mere coincidence, or a trick of the mind. Whatever it was, he wasn't about to linger to investigate, that is, until a rock pelted him in the back of the shoulders upon turning once more with a small oof escaping his lips. Whirling around to gaze at the water with a harsh glare, those bubbling feelings of irritation crawling back to the surface, his eyes searched desperately for the culprit. Someone—or something—was out there, and aiming for him.
The water was still, just as it was silent, until there was a quick splash, like a large fish had gotten close to the surface. It drew the dwarf's attention and only catching a glimpse of a flash of gold near some larger boulders embedded into the lake floor.
“Hm,” he mused to himself, watching a few more ripples move along the water's surface from afar. He'd heard rumors of some mythical monster laying in the water, but that's all he had ever chalked them up to be. Rumors. Scary stories to tell your ill-behaved pebbles before bed. False.
It would be silly to start believing in those stories now, but it didn't keep Thorin from investigating all the same. It was as if something were calling him back to the water. A type of gravitational pull that had him crawling across stone until crouched at the water's edge, resting on his hands and knees and leaning over. Thorin stared at what was his reflection to start, until another set of eyes and a formation removed his mirror image from the water's surface.
He locked his gaze with those hazel eyes that emerged from the water until a rounder nose bumped the tip of his. Starting to lean back, his movements were followed, and the finned creature kept rising out of the water until half exposed.
Thorin, without a single thought in his head, remained seated on his knees, mesmerized and fascinated by those gem-like eyes, and the small glittering of gold that coated the fins that made up this mer's ears. A few moments of staring, no longer nose to nose, Thorin finally rasped out a low, “hello”. A set of clawed hands were suddenly at the sides of his face, tugging him down towards the water quickly, and near viciously.
Panic flooded every ounce of the dwarf as his hands pressed to the ground, scrambling as if he might be able to dig his fingers into the stone to keep him from being pulled into the water. As quickly as his face had been grabbed, his mouth had been claimed, and all of those stories about mythical monsters that dragged you into the water and drowned them were surging to the forefront of his mind.
Surprisingly, the finned creature did not tug on him much more. In fact, everything about that terrifying grip at his head had softened, feeling more like a gentle caress than an act of murder. Was this how they succeeded in collecting their prey? To give one a false sense of security and comfort before taking them to the depths below? Whatever it was, Thorin's anxieties began to calm, and his fingers didn't claw into the rock beneath him quite so forcefully.
Whatever magic this lake water creature was bewitching him with was taking its hold.
Those once alert blue eyes were far less focused, falling half-lidded as he leaned into that kiss he was given, finding it hard to think about much more than those enchanting hazel eyes. Deep hues of earthy green, surrounded by specks of blue and gold, it would make the mines in the mountain look bland in comparison, wouldn't it?
Finally, his eyelids completely dropped, and his lips parted at the silent request of an opposing tongue against them. Compliant to the mer's physical wishes, and some bubbling desires of his own, Thorin held very little resistance at this point, exhaling deeply through his nose and trying to somehow manage to fill his already aching lungs with oxygen. The burn in his chest was worth it as the mer’s aggression against his tongue intensified. If felt as if he were being devoured. If this was what it felt like to drown, then Thorin couldn’t say it was painful in the slightest, which was a comforting thought. Not that he favored the outcome, but there was a hint of peace of mind about him at the very least.
A thumb gently rubbed beneath his tender eye, causing his eyes to screw closed a bit tighter at the discomfort, and a sound tore through his chest. It was that sound that seemed to pull the mer from his lips, leaving Thorin chasing with eyes half-glazed, finally meeting those hazels again, though this time they were flooded with concern.
“It hurts?”
Oh, Mahal above, even his voice was enchanting. It took Thorin a few moments to register that a question had been presented, and the discomfort it was alluding to. “No, it feels...wonderful—” Leaning forward, ready to bump foreheads with the mer, it was the rubbing of a thumb against that facial bruise that had him wincing again. “Ah, that...”
Now the question made sense, and it had nothing to do with a kiss that brought the dwarf discomfort in areas that were far from his face. Willing away what bothered feelings he could, Thorin did refrain from leaning forward any longer, caught in the eyes of concern and curiosity, it was like being viewed in a new light that didn't give him the expectation of simply 'dealing with it'. He had no walls to put up, no princely mask to wear, he was just...Thorin.
“How did you receive it?”
This question drew Thorin back, but not out of those slippery, yet soft, hands that cupped the sides of his face. Clamping his jaw shut, whether wearing a mask or not, it would do no good to start lamenting about his familial woes. He just didn't have to act like it didn't hurt, for once.
Bilbo's observational skills were on high alert, watching how the dwarf's eyes shifted, and how his jaw set firmly, shadowed by facial hair that wasn't nearly as long as the other dwarves he'd been face to face with. Then again, he'd never been face to face with any of them quite like this before. Thinking of them sent shivers up his spine, and not of a comforting variety. “Did someone hurt you?”
“Perhaps,” Thorin muttered low, content for once to keep eye contact broken.
“Intriguing,” humming, Bilbo retracted his hands, letting them rest on stone instead of the warm flesh of the dwarf's cheeks.
“What's intriguing is why you haven't drowned me yet,” another grumble from Thorin, and while he hadn't figured what he said was humorous, it spurred a lighthearted laugh from the mer. Those eyes he'd been addicted to so quickly were full of life and light, unlike anything he'd ever seen before.
“Drown you? Oh, you are a strange dwarf, aren't you!”
“Then...then what was....?” Grazing his fingertips to his lower lip, confusion taking over his features, Thorin shifted awkwardly before hearing another, lower chuckle from the gold-finned creature.
“I stole the words from your tongue, so to speak,” Bilbo teased, finding the dwarf's cheeks growing rosy to be adorable, though he wasn’t quite sure why. Pulling himself to perch on one of the lower stones still barely covered in water, those clawed, and webbed, fingers of his twisted at his lap nervously. “I wanted to speak with you, and now here we are, speaking. I'm not drowning you, and you're not...” His tail shifted uncomfortably at the thought, especially as he noticed just how the dwarf was eyeing his scales.
“I’m not what?”
It was Bilbo’s turn to be silent as his eyes dropped to a few of the wounded spots, his fingers caught with one another and a grim look took over his features. Pursing his lips as his earfins flickered, the idea of exploring this dwarf simply because Bilbo assumed he was ‘different’ was feeling like a mistake.
“Did someone hurt you?”
The question turned around on Bilbo was startling, and his earfins straightened, barely moving as he caught the same concern he had worn when questioning the dwarf’s facial injury out of the corners of his eyes. “Perhaps,” the mer grumbled low, feeling an ache in his chest as his arms curved around part of his tailfin that he pulled towards his chest. As if on cue, a few of the unhealed sore spots where some of those golden scales once were, throbbed in discomfort.
Much like a bruise.
#bagginshield#thilbo#the hobbit#thorin oakenshield#bilbo baggins#raz wips#razzywrites#razzledrabbles#fotfics summer stories#fic: mermaid au???#i'll add a title later once i actually have one#razpb
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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
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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!
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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
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Hello fellow bagginshield enjoyer and fantastic author of fanfiction! I offer you part of my nonexistent soul (Bagginshield took it all years ago) for "Roadtrip" for the summer writing prompts, if you feel so inclined. If not totally fine with me!! Much love, -E 🍻
I DO FEEL VERY INCLINED! Thank you for the prompt. 🥰 I took some liberties with the road trip prompt, but I'm very happy with the results, and I hope you are too! It ended up being just shy of 2k.
This was for the FOTFics Summer Prompts event!
~~~~~~~~
Title- Wrong Path, Right Choice {T}
Bilbo sat in his car, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. This was not at all how he wanted this trip to go. His GPS told him this was a shortcut through the wooded area. After driving for over an hour and not seeing any sign of…well, anything, he knew he was in trouble. He was only on this road trip because four months of intense writer's block had put a dead stop to his next novel. His editor recommended he take an adventurous holiday to get the juices flowing. Well recommended was a strong word. His editor and cousin Prim had a car and cabin in the mountains booked for him in under a week of his tentative agreement. He had started coming around to the idea as the trip approached. He didn't mind driving, and the scenery between Michel Delving and the Misty Mountains was beautiful. However, 30 hours in a car is still 30 hours in a car, and a lot can go wrong in that time. Like right now as he sat at the side of the road in a steaming car that would not start. Not that he wanted to try after the sound it made right before it died. The icing on top of the cake…no cell service.
Bilbo got out of the car and did a cursory inspection of the vehicle. He couldn't tell you what he was looking for, but it seemed better (and maybe safer) than sitting in the car. Eventually, he just kicked the tire and sat on the trunk with his head in his hands. He had surprisingly little time to wallow in his misery when a beat-up dark blue truck pulled up behind him. Bilbo tensed.
"Hey, are you alright?" He was not expecting to hear a low, gruff baritone voice, and it temporarily shocked him out of his suspicion.
"Yes, I'm fine. I don't know if I can say the same for the car." The man stepped fully out of the truck, and the look of him made Bilbo falter. He was very attractive. He had long silver-streaked black hair currently spilling out of a messy bun. He was big with broad shoulders and a stern disposition. Very fit but not in a bodybuilder way, more in a practical way. Bilbo looked back at the still-steaming engine to hide the shock and blush on his face.
"Have you called a tow truck for it yet?" Bilbo couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or just not a conversationalist. He sounded very matter-of-fact. He waited to hear Bilbo's explanation of no cell service before ducking his head back into the truck. “My name is Thorin Oakenshield, by the way.” He placed what looked like an odd walkie-talkie in his lap and walked to the front of the car to pop the hood. Bilbo was distracted by the way Thorin’s muscles seemed to ripple under the very thin shirt he was wearing. He sat there stupidly for a moment until he remembered himself.
“I’m Bilbo…..Baggins! Bilbo Baggins. Thank you for this?” He held up the little phone. “I’m not sure what it is or how to use it, however.” He felt the weight on the car shift as Thorin walked back around.
“It’s a satellite phone. You should be able to use it like any regular handheld phone.” Bilbo was getting a little agitated by the man's clipped tone.
“Well, thank you, but I don't have the number for a tow truck memorized.” Bilbo held the phone back to him with perhaps a little more attitude than usual. This was already a trying day, and his patience was thin enough already without being made to look the fool.
“Press and hold three, that should call the forestry service. Tell them you’re half a mile past road marker 14 on the River Running Crossroad.” Thorin returned to his truck as Bilbo made the call. Twenty minutes and a frankly ridiculous amount of money later, a tow truck was on its way. The ETA was two hours. Bilbo let out a long-suffering sigh and leaned back onto the car's back windshield. He heard Thorin laugh for the first time since meeting him and sat back up. His annoyance overcame his manners, and he snapped a little.
“I very much appreciate your assistance Mr. Oakenshield, but I’m not in the mood to be laughed at.” Bilbo hopped off the trunk and pushed the phone into Thorin’s chest. “You can go back to wherever it is you live and pat yourself on the back for your good samaritan work for the day.”
“Let me guess. It’ll take two hours for the truck to arrive, and it costs three times as much as you thought it might.” Thorin sounded very sure of himself.
“I…Yes,” Bilbo replied sourly.
“Well, come on then, you might as well wait in the back of the truck. Better than standing around.” Thorin started walking back towards his truck.
“Wait! You’re not leaving?” Despite his outburst, there was a pinch of relief in his voice. He was surrounded by dense trees on both sides of him, and if he was being honest, he had absolutely no idea where he was.
“It’ll be dark in less than an hour. Would you rather I left?” His voice conveyed he knew exactly what his response would be, and he scrambled over to the truck bed. He looked at it wearily. He had just met this mysterious mountain man and was apprehensive about climbing into a truck with him, regardless of how unbelievably attractive he was.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve noticed there are not a lot of people on this road. Why were you on it?” Thorin had the gall to look amused.
“What were you doing on a forestry road? When Bilbo didn't answer, he replied to his first question, “Look up and northeast of here to your left. That’s a fire watch tower. My tower. You’re not the first to turn off on this road and break down. Most people stick to the Greenway, but an unlucky few split off.”
“Wait, so you live up there?” Bilbo had to admit a place in the middle of nowhere with peace and quiet for weeks sounded like a dream. It intrigued him enough that he made to climb into the truck only to realize that no matter how you sliced it, he was far too short to climb into the back with any level of grace. He looked nervously at Thorin, who lost none of his previous amusement. In one effortless swoop, he picked up Bilbo by the hips and sat him on the tailgate before climbing in after him.
“I live there half the year. I’m a fire lookout.”
“Doesn't that get lonely?”
“Not on days like this when I have people to rescue from their own bad decisions.” Thorin winked and reached into what Bilbo thought was a toolbox. “Soda?” Bilbo took the offered can and broke into a laugh.
“Arnt you supposed to offer me a beer in a time like this?” He popped the tab and was grateful for anything to drink. He was incredibly thirsty, and this was caramel-colored gold.
“Can't drink on the job,” Thorin replied, opening his own can and settling against the cooler with his legs stretched in front of him. Bilbo fiddled with his can. So was helping because he was obligated to do so. He had to admit he found that a little disappointing. They just sat and drank in comfortable silence, listing to the sounds of descending night. Soon it was pitch black outside, with the only light source being the stars overhead and the sliver of moon that could be seen in the sky. Bilbo leaned back and marveled at the sky. The last time he had seen so many stars was at his childhood home. He could still remember his father pointing out the constellations and his mother telling him their stories. He could almost forget he was sitting on the side of the road. Almost, until Thorin moved to sit next to him, the hard line of his body pressed against his side.
“The stars are clearer here than at home. Like someone painted them across the night sky.”
“That sounds like it came from a book,” Thorin commented.
Bilbo chuckled, “Maybe it will one day if I have something to say about it.”
“So you’re a writer then?” Thorin asked. Bilbo shook his head yes.
“Fantasy novels. Nothing so interesting as your job, but I love it.” Bilbo kept his eyes on the sky as he said it. “You must meet a lot of people in half a year. Do you make it a habit of sitting with all the people you rescue until the tow truck comes?”
“Only the cute ones.” Thorin teased. Bilbo’s face turned scarlet, and he was grateful the darkness covered the blush on his face.
“I bet you say that to all the cute boys you rescue.”
“I do,” Thorin replied. Bilbo tensed a little involuntarily. “Which would bring my grand total to one.” When Bilbo turned his head to look at Thorin, and found his face incredibly near. “Unless that’s a ridiculous thing to say, in which case we can just go back to looking at stars.” Bilbo was not someone who took spontaneous leaps, but isn't that what this road trip was supposed to be about? He was starting to grow a sense of adventure. Hoping this wasn't a mistake, he closed the distance between them. Thorin made a surprised sound and quickly recovered until his hands were wrapped around his waist. This man was a good kisser. Bilbo had never been held more gingerly and solidly than in this moment. His hands found their way into the mane of hair on Thorin's head, pulling it out of the tie used to pull it back. He was practically in Thorin’s lap, now enjoying being lavished with deep kisses and soft touches. They made out in the back of the truck for about 10 minutes before the blinding light of the tow truck illuminated them. Bilbo groaned in disappointment. Thorin chuckled and affectionately smoothed the curls that had fallen into his face behind his head. He gave one last little peck before getting up and helping him out of the truck. Thorin went to speak to the truck driver, and Bilbo got all his necessities out of the trunk.
“Alright, here is a receipt and a number to call tomorrow. Let me know if you’re riding with me or your friend here.” He took the receipt and walked back over to Thorin.
“Thank you for all your help and for…. He fumbled for the right words, and they never came. Here’s where I’m staying and my number if you’re curious or….” Bilbo was getting frustrated with his inability to form sentences. “Thank you for passing the time with me.” He decided to leave his embarrassing fumbling to that and turned to leave. A hand caught him around the forearm, and he stopped.
“It takes two hours to get to the service station and only 45 minutes to the fire watch station. It’s getting pretty late, and you haven't even had dinner. I could take you to the service station in the morning. If that’s something you want?” Thorin’s face looked so hopeful, and Bilbo’s chest swelled. He shook his head in agreement, and Thorin beamed. The duffle bag in his hands was taken from him and thrown into the truck bed.
“Hey, Bofur!” The truck driver looked up. “He won't need a ride!” The driver just gave a thumbs-up and a chuckle. They watched the tow truck pull away into the distance, and Bilbo climbed into Thorin's pickup.
So what if he never ended up making it to that cabin Prim booked. This was a much more interesting adventure.
~~~~~~~
I might post this one on AO3, idk yet. All of my drabbles will get posted at some point.
#bagginshield#the hobbit#bilbo baggins#thilbo#thorin oakenshield#bilbo x thorin#summer stories#fotfics#FIAF(me)fics
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Campfire ghost stories for the summer stories, pretty please?! 💜💜💜
Ooooh, this one will be hard. I don't typically do ghost stories, actual stories or within them XD
Sitting around the campfire every night was both his favorite and least favorite part of the journey so far. Especially after he and Thorin had their hug on top of the Carrock. It was a truce, and it allowed Bilbo to sit closer to the dwarf King in the evenings as he had been wanting since he ran out his door.
However, even sitting next to Thorin did not make Bofur's ghost story easier to hear. He had thought that he had heard ghost stories before - exchanging them around a campfire was common enough for hobbits. But their ghost stories were about spirits who played tricks and stole their food, despite not being able to eat it themselves. Not about spirits that could cause actual death and hated the living.
Bilbo gave another shiver as he tried not to listen too much. He didn't want to leave, was the problem. He might have, before, but now, he had the warmth on his right side from Thorin's body, and it was something he thoroughly enjoyed. Not even Bofur's gruesome story could take him away from this.
Bilbo nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt an arm descend on his shoulders. Not just any arm - Thorin's. As soon as he realized, Bilbo relaxed before he shot Thorin a curious look. The dwarf pulled him closer and then dropped his head so he could whispered in Bilbo's ear. "I know you do not enjoy the ghost stories. I will not let anything happen to you."
Warmth suffused Bilbo's chest and he smiled to himself. Maybe he should have argued, tried to prove that he wasn't actually scared or that the stories didn't impact him. Maybe. But then Thorin's warmth would leave him, and it really was everything he had wanted up until now.
Bilbo shifted slightly and draped his legs over Thorin's so he was sitting sideways in the dwarf's embrace. Thorin hesitated for a second before he rested his hand on Bilbo's calf and tugged him even closer, which Bilbo didn't think was possible. He was sure he would be embarrassed tomorrow - he was practically sitting in Thorin's lap! - but right now he couldn't care. He was warm, and he felt safe. "Thank you, Thorin." His words were quiet as Bofur droned on.
"Anything for you, Burglar."
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MK's Moves: February Wrap-Up
hi all! here's a little check-in/update for my writing during the month of february. :) i had some huge things planned - some of them panned out and some of them didn't. but all the support i have received has been near and dear to my heart. thank you very much.
Chaptered Fics:
dream a little dream of me. 12/13 chapters. the famous cheating fic! i have been working super hard to get this fic done early in the year to make way for some others. it's got ONE chapter left to write/post and that's it!
At The Heart Of Time. 10/42 chapters. this is my "thorin dies 57 times trying to reclaim erebor" fic. my goal is to finish this story by the end of the year and i think i'm off to a strong start already!
Sweet Like Summer. 5/5 chapters. written for fotfics' valentine's bingo, this is just a sweet exploration of how frodo finally tells sam he loves him. dedicated to my dearest razz.
One-Shots:
Between Two Lungs. 2.7k words. another exercise for me in writing sweeter, fluffier fics. some braiding/dwarf culture and quiet moments on the quest.
My Lover's Eyes. 2.6k words. an exploration of grief in the wake of the hobbit with some insight into the "real" reason bilbo adopted frodo.
Angel With A Shotgun. 2.4k words. this is my first work in exploring alison blaire/jennifer walters as a romantic ship and i'm super happy with the way it turned out. it even inspired some larger works to come...
WORD COUNT (FEBRUARY): 31,933
Goals for March:
Forged In Amber - my fili/sigrid amnesia story, outlined at ~28 chapters. i'm really looking forward to getting this fic up and running! i am trying to bank a couple more chapters to get a good headstart, but expect it soon.
Far Beyond A Star - upcoming alison/jen fic, outlined at ~20 chapters. dimension hopping, curses, a gay little warlock, multiversal date nights. what more could you ask for?
Mutual In Divine Love - a new jan/wanda fic that explores the 8 different kinds of love. a little late, but originally meant to be for valentine's/femslash feb.
stand by the man that you call home - a one-shot i'm working on to explore the impact Iron Man Vol 1. #124-125 on tony's personal life.
At The Heart Of Time - i'm looking to get half of this fic underway by the end of the month. currently i'm sitting at chapter 14.
[REDACTED] - a secret/surprise project coming by the end of the month as a very special gift for a very special someone. :)
March Events:
Multiamory Month (March 1-31)
March of the Noldor (March 1-31)
Manwë Week (March 11-17)
C + C Week (March 17-24)
Feanorian Week (March 25-31)
Quicksilver Week (March 25-31)
as always, my askbox is open for any and all questions/comments about my writing. i would love the chance to open up some more about this stuff. :)
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Master List
So... I write things. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. If you'd like to be tagged in any of them, let me know!
Also, if you enjoy something, please reblog to your heart's content! Comments are always welcome as well!! <3
You can find my stories here and at AO3.
Fandoms I Write For:
Lord of The Rings - Boromir, Éomer, and Haldir (I've not tackled him yet, but want to. hee hee)
The Hobbit - Thorin, Dwalin, Frerin
And in the near future - The Boys - Billy Butcher
Please read my note on requests before submitting. 😉😀
Multi-Chapter Works
Damaged Goods - Ray Levine x ofc Theo Bailey (Stay Close AU) Complete
The Hobbit
~ Thorin ~
Something in the Night ~ Thorin x ofc Nina Carren (Post-BOTFA AU Where Everybody Lives) 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 |
Brilliant Disguise ~ Thorin x ofc Sophie Asharm (Post- BOTFA AU Where Everybody Lives) | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 |
~ Completed Works ~
After the Fire - Thorin x ofc Jasna Stoneham (Post- BOTFA AU Where Everybody Lives)
Miss Fortune ~ Modern!Thorin x ofc Alex Prescott -
Playing With Fire ~ Modern!Thorin x ofc Leda Andrews - (Pub AU)
Where I Belong ~ Thorin x ofc Noelle James (modern NYC/DoS/BOTFA AU)
More Than Meets the Eye ~Thorin x ofc Arielle Farran (Post- BOTFA AU Where Everybody Lives)
Someone to Watch Over Me ~ Thorin x ofc Seren Gilwynn (The Hobbit, Slight AU)
In Time ~ Thorin x ofc Amara (Post-BOTFA AU Where Everybody Lives)
~ Frerin ~
Seven Days ~ Modern!Frerin x ofc Syd Prescott - Complete
Better Days ~ Modern!Frerin x ofc Elena Madison - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 |
Lord of the Rings
~ Boromir ~
Promise Me ~ Boromir x ofc Gabriella (LOTR AU Where Everybody Lives) -Complete
Living Proof ~ Boromir x ofc Kaia (LOTR AU Where Everybody Lives) ~ Complete
Letter to You ~ Boromir x ofc Nora (LOTR AU Post-War of the Ring Where Boromir Lives) 1 |
One Shots/Drabbles/Shorts
~Miscellaneous Shorts~
How Will I Know ~ Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, Kili, Fili, (Modern AU) ~ This ties loosely with In Time, and The Cellar & Other Stories.
~ Dwalin ~
(Oldest to Most Recent )
Durin's Garage AU - Good Trouble - Updated 10/25/2022 - This WILL be updated in the near future!
The One Where Zana & Dwalin Spend Their First Yule Together
The One Where Zana Faceplants
The One Where Dwalin is Totally NOT Jealous
Meet the Fundinsons
The Morning After
The Cellar
~ Thorin x Reader Inserts Master List ~
The Getaway -Modern!Thorin x reader
Monday - Modern!Thorin x reader
Durin's Garage AU ~ The Chance You Take - Modern!Thorin x reader
Yule - AU!Thorin x reader
~ Asks Master List ~
A Walk in the Woods - Thorin x reader (Post-BOTFA Where Everybody Lives)
Absolute Beginners ~ Thorin x reader (Post-BOTFA Where Everybody Lives)
In This Moment ~ Thorin x reader (Desolation of Smaug Slight AU)
Blind Date ~ Guy of Gisborne/John Porter Crossover AU
Stroll ~ Guy of Gisborne/John Porter Crossover AU Part 2
Dessert ~ Guy of Gisborne/John Porter Crossover AU Part 3
Lockdown ~ Guy of Gisborne/ John Porter Crossover AU Part 4
Cake ~ Guy of Gisborne/John Porter Crossover AU Part 5
Hot Apple Cider ~ Thorin Oakenshield x Reader (Post-BOTFA AU Where Everybody Lives)
Fireworks ~ John Porter x Reader
The Fountain ~ Lindir x fem!reader
The Escape ~ Thorin x ofc Carys Greenleaf
The Escape, Part Two ~ Thorin x ofc Carys Greenleaf
The Harp ~ Thorin x fem!reader
Fair Enough ~ Éomer x fem!reader
~ Challenges Master List ~
The Courtyard - Dancing/Dipping Partner
A Kiss in the Rain - Kissing in the Rain
Bed of Roses - Rose Petals in the Bedroom
Showstopper ~ Modern!Bard x ofc Aislinn Dale (Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2022)
The River ~ Thorin x Fem!dwarf reader (Gates of Summer Exchange 2022)
A Bit of Home ~ Thorin x Fem!Reader (FotFic Pinup Calendar 2023)
Midsummer Night ~ Frerin x Belladonna Took (Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2024)
Long Walk Home ~ Boromir x ofc Eleri (Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2024)
The Woods ~ Boromir x ofc Kaia (Tolkien Pinup Calendar 2024)
Second Time Around ~ Boromir x ofc Brynne (Tolkien Pinup Calendar 2024)
~ Armitage Summer Splash Master List ~
WEEK 1
Make Me ~ Prompt #1 ~ Thorin Oakenshield
Bygones ~ Prompt #2 ~ Lucas North
The Note ~ Prompt #3 ~ Ray Levine
The Other Woman ~ Prompt #4 ~ John Porter
In Vino Veritas ~ Prompt #5 ~ Guy of Gisborne
Now or Never ~ Prompt #6 ~ Ray Levine
Misunderstanding ~ Prompt #7 ~ John Thornton
WEEK 2
The Tavern ~ Prompt #8 ~ Guy of Gisborne
Brewster's Place ~ Prompt #9 ~ John Proctor
Runaway ~ Prompt #10 ~ Raymond de Merville
Middle Earth’s Next Top Model ~ Prompt #11 ~ Moodboard
Stolen Moments ~ Prompt #12 ~ Thorin Oakenshield
Waiting ~ Prompt #13 ~ John Porter
Hurt ~ Prompt #14 ~ Lucas North
WEEK 3
The Lake ~ Prompt #15 ~ Raymond de Merville
The Visitor ~ Prompt #16 ~ John Proctor
Quiet ~ Prompt #17 ~ Thorin Oakenshield
Angel ~ Prompt #18 ~ Guy of Gisborne
Inked ~ Prompt #19 ~ Lucas North
Vampire ~ Prompt #20 ~ Claude Becker Moodboard
Body Swap ~ Prompt #21 ~ Ray Levine Moodboard
WEEK 4
Family ~ Prompt #22 ~ Thorin Oakenshield
Pizza - Prompt #23 ~ Raymond de Merville
Hit & Run ~ Prompt #24 ~ John Proctor
Fifty ~ Prompt #25 ~ Ray Levine
Leap of Faith ~ Prompt #26 ~ Guy of Gisborne
Homecoming ~ Prompt #27 ~ John Porter
Sweet Dreams ~ Prompt #28 ~ Lucas North
WEEK 5
Vacation ~ Prompt #29 ~ John Proctor Moodboard
Magic Kingdom - Prompt #30 ~ Raymond de Merville
#Thorin Oakenshield#Hobbit Fic#Hobbit Fanfic#Fan fiction#The Hobbit fan fiction#Thorin x OC#AU#everybody lives au#thorin#dwalin#Dwalin x OC#Thorin x reader#modern au#Ray Levine#Ray Levine x OC#armitage summer splash#Raymond de Merville#Lucas North#DoS#BOTFA#Stay Close#LOTR#Sean Bean#Boromir#Boromir x OFC#Gerard Butler#Frerin
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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