#FOTFICS May Challenge

[i-did-not-mean-to]

MAY-U - Glorfindel x Erestor

This story has been written for @sortumavaara and is accompanied by chibis made by this amazing artist!

Chibi commissions are open!

Characters: Glorfindel x Erestor

Prompts:Neighbours - Locksmith - If you ask me to beg, I'll beg

Words: 2 110

Warnings: a kiss (and potentially criminal activity)

Glorfindel squinted at the door accusingly.

The very next day, he vowed, he’d finally buy a doorstopper to keep those pesky drafts from accidentally locking him out of his flat when all he’d wanted to do was retrieve his mail.

Of course, it might have been a supremely silly idea to do so in the middle of the night, but—being a busy professional—he tended to these domestic chores whenever the thought struck him.

Unfortunately, even the best, most earnest resolutions in the world wouldn’t unlock his undeniably firmly closed front door now.

He considered calling Elrond, but he suspected that he’d gone through all of the seven spare keys his friend had been squirrelling away for emergencies: one, he’d lost at the mall, the other had fallen down an open manhole, two of them were surely somewhere inside his inaccessible apartment, and he couldn’t remember what happened to the others for the life of him.

Maybe, he mused, one was still in the old, battered car he owned but never drove. That sudden burst of inspiration did not help him much either, as the key to that accursed vehicle was in his bathroom drawer, inside his flat.

Fishing his old, battered flip phone, the little battery in the top right corner flickering alarmingly, out of his pocket, he reviewed his options with as much level-headed rationality as he could muster.

He didn’t doubt for a moment that his friends, annoyed and incredulous as they would undoubtedly be, would offer him food and shelter in his hour of need, but the thought of their faces and sympathetic cooing made his blood run cold.

Blowing a stray strand of golden hair out of his face, Glorfindel sagged against the closed door in dismay.

How did this always happen to him?

He was an accomplished ophthalmologist—respected and cherished by his colleagues and patients alike—and yet, he seemed utterly unable to manage something as fundamental as not leaving his flat without a key.

“Hello there, do you need help?”

Glorfindel shot up, banging his head against the doorknob and yelping loudly.

He’d never heard his mysterious neighbour, occupying the flat at the end of the landing, speak this many words in a row. And they were addressed to him!

“I’ve locked myself out,” he confessed in a tiny voice.

“Again?”

Grimacing, Glorfindel brought his hands to his face to hide from the disapproving gaze of the handsome stranger. If even his neighbour, who’d never granted him more than a sharp nod in passing, had caught on to his shortcomings, what were people in general thinking and saying about him behind his broad, muscular back?

“I could help you with that,” the other went on, callously disregarding Glorfindel’s existential crisis in his unshakeable pragmatism. “But you’d have to pay me the common rate for an emergency locksmith.”

That made Glorfindel look up once more; he’d always been so distracted by the darkly magnetic aura of the furtive, slender man with the impressive glower that he’d never stopped to notice that his clothes, while well-tailored, seemed rather threadbare and had been mended with meticulous skill.

The complex they inhabited was far from cheap to live in, and an ungracious but pervasive thought arose in Glorfindel’s befuddled mind: How could this man afford to pay his rent?

As far as he could tell, the mysterious siren with whom he shared a floor and the occasional lift ride went out at all hours of the night, often only returning after morning light when Glorfindel, rising from another night of bleak insomnia, got ready to go to work himself.

“Are you a locksmith?” he asked suspiciously.

“Something of the sort,” the smirking man gave back with a nervous shrug. “I can open your door, right now, isn’t that what matters?”

Glorfindel hesitated for a moment. “What’s your name?”

“Erestor, but don’t worry, there won’t be an official bill.”

The unshakeable sensation of doing something wicked and reprehensible overcame Glorfindel, but he nodded solemnly. “Very well, Erestor. I shall pay you…and I’d like to invite you to stay over for dinner sometime. As a reparation for the time you’ll lose getting me out of this mess?”

Cocking one eyebrow, Erestor moved down the hallway to retrieve his tools from his own flat. “This won’t take all evening,” he said calmly.

“Maybe…it could?” Glorfindel heard himself say in a voice that sounded considerably more suave and confident than he felt.

As soon as he was alone in the hallway again, Glorfindel pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation; his glasses were in the flat and his head had started pounding with a tension headache five minutes ago.

He truly hoped that Erestor would make good on his promise to overcome the treacherous lock quickly.

"You have to move away from the door," a soft, mocking voice resounded.

Glorfindel’s head snapped up, and when he beheld Erestor once more, his tongue went numb in his mouth—he’d tied up his glossy, dark hair neatly and squatted down before the lock, squinting at it in concentration.

The alluring shape of his behind and the elegant curve of his spine didn’t go unnoticed, and Glorfindel desperately tried to redirect his wandering thoughts to something less incriminating.

“Listen, I’m an ophthalmologist—if I can offer my professional services to you one of these days…”

Looking up from his work, his hands enviably steady, Erestor merely cocked one eyebrow. “My eyes are fine, thank you. There just seems to be a considerable amount of lint and other debris wedged into this lock. Do you ever check your key before ramming it into the keyhole?”

Shamefacedly, Glorfindel had to admit that he did indeed not do such a simple inspection.

“I see,” Erestor mumbled distractedly. “No problem!”

His slender wrists were moving delicately until Glorfindel heard the telltale click echoing through the deserted hallway, and his heart sank.

“There we are,” Erestor declared, provocatively pushing open the door and stepping back.

“Do you…want to come in?” Glorfindel asked, all but stumbling over his words.

To his surprise, Erestor seemed to consider his invitation for a few seconds before shaking his head in what looked strangely akin to dismay and regret. “I must be somewhere else. Another time, maybe!”

Softening that ambiguous rejection of Glorfindel’s clumsy advances with a radiant smile, he strode towards the stairwell, tucking his tools surreptitiously under his arm.

Glorfindel threw his suitcase on the bed—he’d only just come home from a symposium about new laser technologies, and he already yearned to be anywhere other than his deserted, slightly disorganised flat.

For three days, he’d been bathed in the company of his peers. At that moment, he’d found them rather dull and boorish, but he now regretted every ungenerous thought bitterly as the gaping emptiness of his own home seemed to expand like a black hole, ready to suck every last drop of light and happiness out of his soul.

Just as he was about to do something laughably dramatic, though, he heard the loose board outside his front door creak treacherously.

Rushing to the spyhole, he was taken over by a recklessly idiotic idea—so much for having overcome that first impulse of madness!

Before he could give himself a moment to think things over, he strode out the door and looked around as if searching for something, pointedly feigning not to notice Erestor standing just outside his own flat.

“I was sure I’ve left it somewhere around here,” Glorfindel mumbled, his eyes glued to the worn carpet, and suppressed a grin as he heard his door clunk shut. “Oh misery!” he exclaimed. “Locked out again! And it’s the middle of the night!”

“I wouldn’t have thought that eye doctors have to work this late,” Erestor commented dryly, gesturing at the long, white coat Glorfindel was wearing and his uncharacteristically neat, smooth hairdo.

“I’ve only just come home from a medical convention,” Glorfindel explained defensively, as he didn’t want the other to get exactly the right impression of what was happening here.

“And, instead of going to bed and resting, you came out here to search for…” Erestor cocked his head quizzically as if it was entirely normal to have vaguely flirty conversations with one’s neighbours in the middle of the night.

“My bag,” Glorfindel replied, trying his best to look appropriately crestfallen. “My medical bag! It was full of goodies too!”

“As I surmise that you’ve been inside your flat already, I dare say that you’ve retrieved your key from said bag and consequently took it in. Do you need help looking for it?” It was evident in Erestor’s tone that he hadn’t in the least bought Glorfindel’s little subterfuge. “I could unlock your door again, and tonight, I have no other plans, so I’d gladly take you up on that late-night snack if you’re not too tired.”

Startled, Glorfindel stared at the apparition in worn grey overalls—had he ever found sturdy work garb to be this attractive before?—partially obscuring a clean, orange button-down until he was sure that his eyes were positively bulging out of his skull.

“Or did you change your mind in the meantime?”

At once, Glorfindel shook his head vehemently, carelessly unravelling his uncharacteristically tidy bun. “By all means, unlock my door and come in!”

All fatigue seemed to have drained out of his system, and he was shifting from one foot to the other impatiently, overjoyed at the prospect of observing those nimble fingers at work again.

Erestor smiled, tapping his skilful fingers against his toolbox playfully, and waited patiently.

“If you want me to beg, I’ll beg,” Glorfindel murmured, suddenly struck with how profoundly unreasonable his whole ploy had been. “I just want to get back into my flat…now more than ever!”

With a breathy peal of laughter, the unorthodox locksmith bent to his task, humming happily under his breath at the sight of the flustered doctor hovering above him.

As soon as the door swung open with a protesting groan, Erestor burst into laughter. “Your pesky bag seems to have hidden in plain sight! It’s right there, in the middle of the foyer, glaring at us!”

Ducking his head in shame at being found out, Glorfindel slunk in and threw an exasperated look into his clean but empty kitchen—he’d not been home, and he knew his fridge to be woefully empty.

“Can I maybe tempt you with delivery food? I’m afraid I don’t have anything edible in the house,” he confessed, avoiding Erestor’s amused gaze.

“Aren’t you a doctor?”

“I’m an eye doctor,” Glorfindel laughed. “And pizza is food for the soul!”

That was a statement with which even Erestor, contrary by nature, couldn’t disagree, so he followed his distracted host into a slightly cluttered living room where he simply halted.

“You may sit,” Glorfindel invited, hoping that he could at least unearth something to drink from the depths of his refrigerator.

“I’m dirty,” Erestor replied.

“Take the overalls off!” Moving towards the kitchen slowly while also refusing to take his eyes off his guest in case he took him by his word, Glorfindel wracked his brain for something smart and charming to say. “Do you also come from work?”

“Something of that kind, yes,” Erestor grinned. The sound of the fastenings of his protective garment coming undone echoed through the tense silence between them, and Glorfindel swallowed thickly.

The need for a beverage was both eclipsed and exacerbated by the revelation of Erestor’s maddeningly form-fitting trousers and impossibly unwrinkled shirt, leaving Glorfindel hovering on the threshold of the kitchen indecisively.

“Are these yours?” Erestor asked with a hint of sharp interest in his voice as he held up a pair of lightweight glasses that had been threatening to slip off the coffee table.

“Hmmm,” humming his embarrassed assent, Glorfindel decided that the refreshments could wait a little longer.

“Very sexy! Put them on for me,” Erestor demanded, getting to his feet and padding over like a sleek predator on the prowl. “I do want you to have all your senses about you when I name my price for my second rescue mission!”

“I thought I’d pay for dinner,” Glorfindel said somewhat sheepishly as he took his glasses and slid them onto his face; Erestor’s impish expression—his twinkling eyes and the tiny wrinkles around his smirking mouth—came into sudden focus.

Before he could dispel the suffocating mist of confusion and desire pervading the room, Glorfindel felt a strong, slightly calloused hand wrap around the back of his neck, and then, warm, soft lips brushed across his own.

“That too,” Erestor smiled. “Later. Much later!”

↬ Masterlist

Thank you so much for joining me on this new adventure.

@fellowshipofthefics here's the last one for May!

Lots of love from me!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Babiiiiiiies…modern AU is my jam (don’t you know it?) and I am open for this.

Send in your requests and ideas and I’m on it 😝 when I say “I”, I mean of course “we”…

Here are my co-writers :

Cleo ⬇️. and. Ori ⬇️

I will be honoured to come up with something for you all ❤️

Shake off the dust, Fellowship! Last month was a good break to enjoy some of the wonderful fics you shared/created, but we’re back into writing mode once more! This event is a trope mash-up of sorts. You (or your followers) can mash together an AU Setting + Character Occupation + Dialogue Prompt. You have all month to make as many different combinations as you want! 

When you finish a prompt, don’t forget to submit it to our new form so we can share your creations for you!

In a situation like (AU Setting):

Assassin AU

Fake Dating AU

Raising a Child AU

Chance Meeting AU

Drunk/Night Out AU

Neighbors AU

Road Trip AU

Roommates AU

Commuter AU

Band AU

Secret Royal AU

Rival Shops AU

Your character is a(n) (Occupation):

Professor/Teacher

Chef

Genealogist

Street Performer

Tattoo Artist

Sailor

Interpreter

Driving Instructor

Video Game Designer

Bodyguard

Chiropractor

Pickpocket

Computer Programmer

Butler

Elevator/Lift Engineer

Police Officer

Dancer

Comedian

Tour Guide

Psychiatrist

Librarian

Reporter

Carnival Worker

Paralegal

Mechanic

Interior Designer

Nurse

Hair Stylist

Pilot

Anesthesiologist

Carpenter

And someone says (Dialogue Prompt):

“You’ve embarrassed me enough for one evening.”

“Please! Just stop it!”

“Am I under arrest, or not?”

“Because this is where I live.”

“If you do this, you’re dead to me.”

“Sweetheart, what did you bury in the garden?”

“This isn’t just about you. It’s about what’s best for all of us.”

“What do you remember about your mother?”

“Maybe you need to focus more on your life and less on mine!”

“What a thing to say…and on my birthday!”

“I don’t often get the chance to talk to someone like you.”

“You have a package for me?”

“I can’t stay long. I just had to see you.”

“I never meant to come between the two of you.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?”

“I didn’t even realize you were flirting.”

“I miss moments like this more than anything.”

“Don’t you remember? We used to do that in school all the time.”

“We’re not out of the woods yet.”

“I have to do something to help that child.”

“Tell me what you saw, for goodness sake!”

“Are you kidding me? We’re not ‘fine’!”

“Nothing’s THAT important, you know.”

“Well? What happened? I want all the details!”

“You were always the quick one.”

[i-did-not-mean-to]

MAY-U - Turgon x Caranthir

AH @elentarial, my friend! Have some cheeky Turgon for your nerves!

It was such a blast to write these two again! Thank you very much for submitting them! <3

Characters: Turgon x Caranthir

Prompts: Blind Date - Librarian - That's now how you talk to someone

Words: 2 200

Warnings: /

“No, Moryo, absolutely not,” Maglor spat, leaning suavely against the worn frame as if the half-closed door, obscuring the bigger part of his face, did not in the least disturb him. “You’re going on a date, not to a funeral!”

Grabbing the first item he could lay his hands on, a cherished book about ancient economies, Caranthir let his arm snap back to fling his unusual missile at the unwelcome intruder.

“Oi, I’m merely trying to help you! Nelyo has worked so hard for this,” Maglor lamented, lifting his skilful, pale hands in mock defeat while letting his unfairly handsome face melt into the doleful mien of one unjustly accused of a heinous crime.

“As if,” Caranthir grumbled bitterly. Nevertheless, he started undoing the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons on his shirt again. He’d quite liked the way the colour—a red so rich and dark it looked almost black—had complimented his complexion, but he had to admit that Maglor was much more stylish than him.

He had no other choice but to believe the mouthy fool!

“I think you should wear Curvo’s green shirt,” Maglor went on. “I just so happen to have it here.”

Cocking one eyebrow, Caranthir leaned back slightly. His younger brother was not known for letting anyone borrow his clothes without kicking up a fuss and starting a fight—hence, Maglor must have shamelessly stolen the garment from under the little one’s upturned nose.

“Tyelko’s and Nelyo’s wouldn’t fit you,” Maglor explained. “And you’ve told me one too many times how much you loathe my, if I may say so myself, impeccable and editorial style.”

“What’s wrong with my own clothes?” Caranthir muttered petulantly.

“They’re ugly. We all believe you’re doing it on purpose too! Even Námo wouldn’t be caught dead in those rags…caught dead, get it?”

Slapping his thigh, Maglor tossed his loot across the room with surprising accuracy. “Don’t let Curvo see you in it. And wear the tight pants mom bought for you last Yule!”

Caranthir grimaced—he hated those trousers with a burning passion. They made his legs look pathetically spindly and revealed his deplorable lack of a well-rounded, bouncy behind to anyone with even just a single involuntarily straying eye.

“Someone is waiting to meet you,” Maglor grinned. “Do you not owe it to them to at least pretend you’re somewhat of a catch?”

“Káno, stop antagonising him!”

Their oldest brother appeared, as ever surrounded by a halo of red hair and dignified impatience. “You look nice, Moryo. Wear the Yule-pants! And comb your hair properly!”

“This is ludicrous!” Turgon grunted as he was tempted to brace his feet against the wall to tear at the door with his whole body weight like some ridiculous character in an animated TV show for children. “Let me out, you idiot!”

“Say you’ll go on the date that I organised for you because I love you!” Fingon screamed through the door. He was stronger than he looked, and—unbeknownst to Turgon—he’d roped their sister into helping him keep the door closed despite their brother’s valiant efforts.

Ever since a rather unfortunate accident involving Argon, the cellar door, and about a dozen firefighters, there were no key left in any lock in their house, and manoeuvres such as the one they were enmeshed in at the present moment had to be fought out by strength and stamina alone.

“Fine,” Turgon finally relented. “I’ll go, but you and that wicked vixen of a sister shall do my laundry for two weeks.”

He’d known that it had been a mistake to leave his clean, orderly flat to come to the cesspit of chaos and destruction that was his family home, but his beloved older brother had invited him, and he’d felt compelled to spend some time with his siblings.

After all, they were constantly whining that they never got to see him.

“A blind date! This is real life, not a romantic comedy!” he grumbled as he swept past his giggling siblings to find something appropriate to wear.

“You can’t tell me that you spend all your time at work in the aisle of the encyclopaedias, Turno,” Fingon chirped. “We all know you’re lonely. As your brother who, it bears repeating, loves you, I’ve unbent the earth to secure this prime candidate for you.”

“Pah! We shall see!” Once more, Turgon was woefully certain that he was walking right into a trap, but—where his family was concerned—he couldn’t help trying to keep them happy and safe, and so he took his woollen coat off the hanger and went off to his date as one rode into battle: grim and determined not to fail.

Pacing up and down the street in which the small, cosy restaurant lay, Caranthir wondered for the seventeenth time whether he should not simply sneak away.

He could simply go to a dark pub and wait a few hours before returning to his familial home with an elaborate lie about where he’d been and what he’d done.

Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t sure how truthful Maglor’s depiction of their brother’s involvement was—if Nelyo had indeed set up this charmingly casual meeting in a tasteful ambience, there was a distinct chance that he’d also be made aware of Caranthir’s notable absence.

Thus, he traipsed across wetly shining cobbles aimlessly until a deep, full voice resounded behind him, hailing someone—as there was nobody in sight but him, Caranthir correctly deduced that he was the one being addressed in so gruff a manner.

“Hey you! Have you been set up by well-intentioned but ultimately clueless loved ones?”

Whirling around, Caranthir felt his eyes widen as they travelled along a tall, athletic frame that ended in a sharp-featured, alluringly stern face.

“My brothers have coerced me,” he admitted, drawing closer automatically. “They’re convinced that I’ll be eaten by a horde of cats I don’t even have…”

“Ah,” the stranger chuckled knowingly. “Believe it or not—the fate they project for you would be kinder than the one my siblings are painting for my own sorry self. If their teary-eyed prophecies are to be believed, I shall be buried under an avalanche of books that will slowly grind my bones to dust as I decay, ruining the tomes and leaving my family heartbroken.”

“Do you have that many books at least?” Caranthir inquired, feeling oddly captivated by the rich timbre of the stranger’s voice which made him think of spiced hot chocolate and warm plaids on a cold winter’s night.

“I’m a librarian,” the other replied quietly. “Not the most exciting job—hence why Fingon, my oldest brother, thought that I needed an intervention. My name is Turgon, by the way.” “Fingon,” Caranthir repeated slowly, letting the name melt on his tongue. “He does not, by any chance, step out with a tall, lanky ginger?”

“Maedhros, The Beautiful? Why, yes? My brother is obsessed with that man,” Turgon answered without hesitation or false sense of coyness.

“Oh, that blasted liar! I’ll cut the strings of his favourite harp!” Caranthir cursed under his breath. So much for the heroic effort his brother had made on his behalf—he’d simply stuck his head, and possibly other body parts, together with his accursed boyfriend to get their respective boorish brother to agree to a blind date!

“I take it you know the red-haired Wunderkind?” Turgon asked sharply and held open the door.

Without really having noticed that they’d been moving while talking, Caranthir found himself stepping into the fragrant warmth of the restaurant.

“He’s my oldest brother. Not that anyone would believe that, what with him being so handsome and all…”

“Hey! That’s not how you talk to someone—not even yourself. I have no trouble believing that you’re related!” Turgon interrupted cuttingly. “The freckles and fierce look are a dead giveaway!”

Caranthir’s mouth opened and closed a few times without emitting more than a choking wheeze so shocked was he by the matter-of-fact compliment. He’d never been the kind of person to attract much gratuitous flattery, and so he didn’t quite know how to react properly, especially because Turgon’s eyes were confusingly clear and steady as if he’d not just said the single most gratifying thing Caranthir had ever heard.

“So, what is it you do?” Turgon questioned calmly as they were led to a little alcove in the back of the establishment by a discreet, soft-spoken waitress. “Just so I know how much I have to cut back on the ‘boring’ discussions.”

Blinking owlishly, Caranthir had to admit, if only to himself, that it was easy to see similarities between his brother’s sparkling paramour and the dignified but kind beauty sliding into a chair opposite him with perfect grace.

“I’m an accountant,” he croaked. “By all means, tell me about lists and tabulations.”

“Oh, I see why they thought this would be funny,” Turgon grimaced. “If my sister is to be believed, I’m boorish, headstrong, and deplorably tedious in all I say and do.”

“That was not my impression thus far,” Caranthir contradicted diplomatically. “Also, you wouldn’t even want to hear how my brothers describe me.”

“Shy, wicked smart, and as irascible as sensitive,” Turgon shot back without batting an eye. “At least, that is what I seem to recall from the most awkward dinner I’ve ever had to sit through.”

“Oh no,” Caranthir whispered in a long, sighing exhalation. “Nelyo and Káno are the charming ones, in general. You’ve not experienced true awkwardness until you’ve been to one of our family dinners.”

“Is that an invitation?” Turgon grinned. He turned to take the menus the waitress was holding out to them, giving her a grateful smile, and set them down at once without so much as looking at them.

“I didn’t have much faith in this endeavour, but I do not seek to purposefully, petulantly—as my siblings would say—sabotage it. So no, please don’t come to dinner with my six brothers and mad parents!”

“Fingon loves them,” Turgon commented softly. “He speaks very fondly of all of you. Either way, do you feel like proving our siblings wrong…Should we be adventurous?”

He spoke that word as if it was a naughty concept, and Caranthir couldn’t help the surge of frantic, electrifying energy pulsing through his every fibre and driving heat into his face.

“Yes,” he hummed even as his heart started pounding wildly in anticipation.

Turgon struggled to control the uncomely frown of concentration that threatened to overtake his brow; his eyes burned fiercely, and he regretted having given in to vanity and exchanged his glasses for contact lenses.

Why had his face chosen this exact moment to betray him? The corners of his mouth twitched as a soppy smile tried to claw itself to the surface, and his forehead quivered as he attempted to recall every tiny fragment of information about the charming stranger sitting across the table.

Surely, the disgustingly amorous idiots dancing through his parents’ house must have said more about one so extraordinary as Caranthir. Why couldn’t he remember?

Fingon might have had a point after all when he’d accused Turgon of never even listening to anything he said.

His future brother-in-law called him “Moryo”, but every time Turgon’s watery eyes returned to that narrow, beauteous face, all he could see was light.

Not only was this unexpected treasure a sight to behold, but Caranthir was indeed ruthlessly smart. He followed Turgon’s rather theoretical tangent about filing systems effortlessly, interjecting witty comments and clever jibes at all the right moments.

Moreover, he’d instantly agreed to let their waitress compile a tasting menu for them, so—despite his reassuring gravitas and reticent demeanour, he was not as risk-averse as everybody believed and claimed.

In a word, against all odds and despite his own scepticism, Turgon had to concede that his jolly, often frivolous brother had managed to conjure up the man of his dreams.

Maybe, the sullen librarian now mused, he could have spared himself the stress and indignity of this whole ordeal if he’d just been more open to Fingon’s invitations to accompany him to various events that had been attended by not only Maedhros but also his mysterious brothers.

The selection of dessert miniatures was served much too soon, and Turgon glared vindictively at the old clock hanging on a crooked wall. Where had the time gone?

“You don’t have to stay,” Caranthir said sharply, following his gaze. “I think we’ve played the game long enough for them to be satisfied with our effort. I’d totally understand!”

“I don’t live at home,” Turgon replied distractedly. “They don’t expect me back anyway. How much mischievousness have you left in the tank?”

“Years of it,” Caranthir gave back immediately, his voice ringing with conviction and renewed enthusiasm.

“Wouldn’t it be a lovely revenge on our meddling siblings if you wouldn’t go home either?”

“And where am I to hide?”

“I know a place. If you’re not too tired, that is.”

The intense darkness—hell fire and heavenly abyss—of Caranthir’s eyes seemed to swirl like galaxies trapped in finest crystal as he cocked his head curiously.

“Lead the way, handsome stranger,” he said resolutely. “I shall follow you anywhere!”

↬ Masterlist

Thank you so much for joining me on this new adventure.

@fellowshipofthefics here's the next one for May!

Lots of love from me!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

MAY-U - Russingon

This one has been written for @urwendii! It was such fun to write a Modern!AU Russingon, which is, as everybody knows, one of my all-time favourite things to do!

Characters: Maedhros x Fingon

Prompts: University - Elevator Engineer - I can think of worse company

Words: 2 200

Warnings: Stuck elevator, daring rescue mission, some body contact :D (they're still half-cousins in canon!)

“Oh shit!”

Fingon stared at the screen of his tablet in dismay—how could he have missed so flagrant an error?

Beneath him, there was a faint screeching, scraping sound, but he was too engrossed in his calculations to pay it any heed until it suddenly stopped.

Another wave of blind panic and self-recrimination washed over him, but he tried to counteract that utterly useless instinctive reaction by reminding himself that nobody even used this particular elevator. Everything was fine!

Sweat beaded along his spine—the presentation of his thesis was only weeks away, and the current setback did not exactly inspire much confidence in his eventual success.

He’d wanted to revolutionise the field of elevator engineering; a humble and rather dull aspiration one might well think, but Fingon had devoted himself to this task with as much boundless enthusiasm as he put in any of his numerous other projects and dreams.

Brow creased and lips pinched, he thus gave his meticulous computations another hard stare. Ah! Yes, if he just…

His stroke of genius that would save his academic career and the rotten, old elevator was rudely interrupted by a muted banging, followed by a voice calling out in so polite a tone and wording that Fingon was quite taken aback.

He’d not believed ghosts to be so extraordinarily courteous!

“Hello? Is someone there? The intercom seems to be out of order! Hello? The button is not working!”

Intercom? Button?

Oh Eru! Setting his tablet aside, Fingon groaned. This was just his luck! On the one instance all his efforts failed, there had to be a witness, enmeshed against their will in his entirely avoidable defeat.

Moreover, he couldn’t remember ever having heard a voice half as rich and enchanting as the one rising like a swirl of enticing mist at dawn from the dark abyss of mechanical malfunction.

“There’s a little problem with the elevator,” he called back, half-holding on to the ludicrous idea of merely being haunted by the phantom of inadequacy. “Hang on! Are you injured?”

“I thought as much,” came the deadpan reply from below. “Do you think it could be solved within…let’s say thirty minutes? I’ve got a lecture to attend, but I’m otherwise unharmed.”

“Students are not allowed in this part of the building,” Fingon said smugly, biting his lip when he realised that he, at least on the face of it, was a mere student too.

“I’m aware,” the other answered levelly. “I’m the lecturer, not an attendee. It’s my first one, though, and I’d hate to be a no-show. So, I repeat my question, can this hiccup be ironed out within the next half hour?”

His mind racing through a quick tabulation of what had to be done for the elevator to resume function at all, Fingon came to the inevitable conclusion that he’d have to disappoint the poor wretch.

He was about to say so when he saw movement in the elevator shaft. A moment later, the top hatch flew open and a silken mass of reddish hair, gleaming like burnished copper, appeared.

“Erm,” Fingon mumbled hesitantly, perched precariously on the edge of the control room entrance as he stared, mesmerised, at the stuck cabin just a few meters away. He remembered vaguely that he’d been about to say something, but the exact words had momentarily fled his mind.

The impressive mane shifted, and a pale, shapely face became visible, gleaming like marble in the unprepossessing brushed metal window.

“Ah! You’re still there,” the beauteous man with the magnetic voice smiled. And what a smile it was—Fingon relied on his excellent reflexes to avoid toppling to his death in his eagerness to lean towards that discreet siren call. “I take your silence as a negative, am I right? Maybe…I could climb out and try to pry open the elevator doors?”

Blinking, Fingon struggled to make sense of the sentence he’d just heard; his whole mind and soul were too thoroughly consumed by the near-transcendental charm of the mysterious apparition to focus on anything other than the way those pale lips twitched, and these light grey eyes twinkled with determination.

“Won’t work,” Fingon then croaked miserably. “The many outdated and outright perilous features of the elevator are exactly what I’m trying to amend and improve.”

“Do you have to use the elevator to get down from there?”

A long, slender arm—clad in perfectly ironed grey linen—was swung over the lip of the hatch, slamming a heavy leather bag against the roof of the cabin.

“I’m Maedhros, by the way,” the stranger, now halfway out of his metal cage, wheezed.

“Fingon. Yes. No,” Fingon took a shivering breath; he couldn’t fully grasp how so deplorably static a situation could be “too fast-paced” for his befuddled brain to follow. “I would have taken the elevator,” he tried anew, “but there’s an old door leading outside. I don’t think it has been used in years, and I’d have to walk all the way around and through the building to get back to my office, but theoretically, it could be done!”

“Nice to meet you, Fingon,” Maedhros said, his inflexion just ambiguous enough to make Fingon’s eyebrow quirk in suspicion. “If that is so, I shall come up and use that door if it’s all the same to you.”

His mouth opening to let out an incredulous guffaw, Fingon felt his breath hitch in his throat instead as the other lifted himself completely out of the blasted elevator.

He was huge—Fingon gasped like a schoolgirl, and then, he realised that he’d heard other faculty members discuss the very man, shading his eyes to look up at him hopefully.

The gossip and envious praise surrounding the new lecturer, pretty as a summer day and cold as a winter’s night, had hitherto been buried under far more pressing considerations, and Fingon had simply failed to connect the dots until now.

“Antique languages and societies, right?” he muttered distractedly.

At once, Maedhros’s face lit up. “That’s me—I see I’ve made quite an impression. I hope in a good way.”

A muscle twitched in his left cheek, and Fingon realised with a jolt of incredulity that this man—so self-possessed in the face of adversity and gorgeous enough to be eaten raw—was insecure about how people might perceive him.

“Whatever I’ve heard, it does not do you justice,” Fingon replied before getting a grip on his thoughts. “And words like ‘angelic’ and ‘mouth-watering’ have been used liberally.”

“Ah, sometimes I wish I was interested in women,” Maedhros replied sheepishly, tucking his narrow chin against his chest as if embarrassed. “They’re always so kind and generous to me.”

“I’ve never said a word about the fairer sex,” Fingon commented slyly.

That off-hand remark managed what a defective lift and a very athletic escape hadn’t achieved—Maedhros was positively speechless.

This, Fingon decided, was the worst possible moment to suggest physical contact, but if that masterpiece of human anatomy wanted to make it to his lecture in time, he would have to go along with Fingon’s half-baked plan.

“I can come down and push you up,” he said carefully. “There is a desk, nailed to the floor, in the corner, and you might just be tall enough to wedge in your feet to keep you steady. Or…you can just leave me here—I deserve that.”

“Nonsense!” Maedhros laughed, extending his arms and broadening his stance. “Come down, I’ll catch you.”

Feeling like the maiden heroine in an old-timey novel, Fingon twisted and turned until he could let his feet dangle into the void while holding on for dear life to the sharp-edged rim of the square door in the floor of the control room.

Strong arms were slung around his thighs.

“Let yourself slide down slowly—I’ve got you,” Maedhros promised.

“Take care, I’ve been told repeatedly that my ass is a danger to society!” Fingon warned, mortified at the thought that his new, exciting acquaintance would find himself smothered in the bulging flesh of his rotund behind.

“Consider me duly warned,” the victim-turned-saviour chuckled. “Now let go!”

Sending an arrow prayer to whatever Vala was available, Fingon slowly unclasped his aching fingers.

For a heartbeat, he was floating on a wave of fragrant warmth before the tight rope of living flesh slid up along his body, leaving a lingering sensation of flames licking at his sensitive skin that drove him half-insane with entirely improper want.

“Good day to you, Fingon. I’m sorry to admit that, according to my various brothers’ assessments, my behind is disgustingly bony. You might have been wise to bring gloves if you plan on pushing me up!” Maedhros chirped when Fingon turned around, at once lost in the wavering grey sea of the other’s luminous eyes.

“I thought I’d simply give you a boost,” the prospected engineer mumbled.

“I might need more than that,” Maedhros said with a wink.

Fingon remembered only too well how that man had hoisted himself out of the elevator cabin without any assistance, but he was smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself.

“I wouldn’t dream of wearing gloves then,” he said with a crooked grin accentuating his dimples in a way his mother qualified as “unfairly adorable”.

Without further ado, he gave Maedhros a leg up.

Twisting his head to flash a mischievous grin at his flushed helper, the tall redhead purred, “Push, my man, push!”

As his blood seemingly couldn’t decide what vital organ to provision, Fingon felt light-headed and deliciously dizzy, craning his neck to observe Maedhros’s less-than-graceful ascent which soon came to a suspicious halt, leaving the long, svelte legs swinging like the pendulum of an enchanted clock.

A man of action to his core, Fingon brazenly cupped the perky ass dangling before him and heaved.

He thought that his mind was deserting him for good—Maedhros, instead of using the momentum, seemed to grow heavier. Even though he’d managed to get a handhold on the doorframe above him, he throned on Fingon’s trembling hands like a king of yore.

“Ticktock!” Fingon reminded him half-heartedly.

“Shame, really,” Maedhros sighed and pulled himself through the hole in one powerful, fluid motion.

“If you could throw down my tablet…I shall spend the rest of the day trying to fix this mess,” Fingon called dejectedly. He was profoundly disgusted with how his first meeting with the most talked-about man on campus had gone down, and—despite his cheery, optimistic soul—he knew that he’d gnaw on this humiliating day for a long while.

“I think you’d be more comfortable here,” Maedhros objected. “Throw up my bag, and then I’ll pull you up, Mister Engineer. Trust your plan—it will work out!”

There was the clanging noise of furniture being shuffled around and the old desk creaking in protest, and then those long arms dropped back into Fingon’s field of vision, bracketing a beautifully flushed face.

“Come on!” Maedhros grinned in a heartening tone.

With a soft sigh, Fingon extended his own arms. Maedhros had rolled up his sleeves, and Fingon’s clasped his fingers around lean, freckled forearms firmly at the same time as he felt long, cool digits close against his own skin.

Again, he couldn’t deny how embarrassingly marvellous and precious it made him feel to be lifted as if he was but a dainty, little thing rather than a bulky young man.

Pushing himself off with as much vigour as he could muster to contribute as much as he could lest Maedhros throw out his back in this ludicrous sequence of daring rescues, he shot through the hole and landed flat on a surprisingly broad, well-muscled chest.

Much of an engineer he was, he thought hazily before the slowly blossoming smile of the much put-upon victim of his idiocy rendered the very act of forming coherent concepts patently impossible.

“You owe me a dinner,” Maedhros smirked. “At the very least.”

“Anything for a new colleague,” Fingon squeaked, afraid that if he thought too long on how his breath intermingled with Maedhros’s, he’d be tempted to kiss that rosy mouth until both their careers were irremediably damaged by their failure to show up where they were needed.

A moue of disappointment distorted Maedhros’s hitherto perfectly amiable visage.

“Ah! Maybe you could score one of those ladies that speak of me so nicely,” he said cautiously without making any attempt to shift Fingon’s crushing weight off his pinned body.

“May I remind you, I’ve still not brought up a single ‘lady’. Either way, you better run to your lecture. If, once the rush of adventure has worn off, you still want to spend time with the unluckiest bugger in a ten-mile-radius, you know where you’ll find me.”

Ostensibly pacified, Maedhros hummed in agreement. “When I return,” he chuckled, “I’ll have all the time in the world. I won’t even object to being trapped in the same elevator again. I can think of worse company!”

Even though he mumbled some expected polite verbiage, Fingon was deeply flattered and felt his motivation to solve the technical conundrum reawaken in his inexplicably tight, palpitating heart.

“Until later, brave saviour,” Maedhros grinned. “Don’t fall in…before I’m back.”

↬ Masterlist

Thank you so much for joining me on this new adventure.

@fellowshipofthefics here's the next one for May!

Lots of love from me!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

MAY-U - Ori x OC

Ah, a bit of self-indulgent nonsense!

Characters: Ori x OC

Prompts: Bookshop - Chiropractor - Librarian - Two things can be true at the same time

Words: 2 200

Warnings: FTM character, slight nudity, massages, innuendo

“Say, Charlie,” Fíli looked up from his beer with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Would you do me a favour?”

Charlotte, who only loathed her family’s nickname more than her actual, official name, narrowed her deep green eyes in instinctive suspicion before cocking her head inquisitively. “You can always ask. I still owe you one for letting me use your body for my anatomy study.”

“Abuse, you mean?” Fíli cackled and punched her shoulder playfully.

She’d known the young man for years and usually trusted him fully, but she’d witnessed the catastrophic consequences of his present facial expression once too often not to be wary of his next words.

“I’ve got this friend,” he started in his most melodious and persuasive voice, lifting his strong hands to nip her protest in the bud. “He’s been studying hard to become a librarian, and all these hours hunched over heavy books have left him with a sore neck.”

When she merely stared at him in wordless outrage, he chuckled. “He’s working in the little bookshop by the campus, and I’m sure he could get you a discount on that absurdly weighty tome of technical literature you’ve been eyeing!”

This gave Charlie pause; she’d been in that establishment more than once, but she couldn’t recall ever spotting a conspicuous hunchback on the premises. Then again, she was not actively paying attention to people when there were so many interesting and desirable books around.

“I’m a medical professional, not a masseuse,” she finally muttered. “And I’m not even licensed yet—I can’t go treating people willy-nilly.”

“Oh no,” Fíli exclaimed triumphantly. “This would be strictly non-professional. Really, it would be unethical of me to suggest otherwise.”

“So, he’s hot,” Charlie grunted as soon as she realised she’d blindly run right into the trap her friend had set for her without so much as earnestly trying to dissimulate it.

With a charming grin, Fíli shrugged. “Couldn’t say—I’m not into men. I don’t think there’s anything really wrong with him, so there is no need for you to deploy all your professional skills. See? No ethical dilemma—it’s just a little favour amongst friends.”

“That man—what’s his name?—is not my friend, though,” Charlie protested weakly, thinking of the book she desired so passionately and could not possibly afford.

“His name is Ori, and he could become your friend. I’ll tell him you’ll swing by—I’ll even throw in a pizza for the both of you to enjoy once the deep tissue massage is over.”

“You should have become a salesman,” Charlie grumbled but reluctantly agreed to present herself in the cosy bookshop the following day.

“You’re the best. I promise you won’t regret it,” Fíli cheered, pressed a resounding kiss onto her cheek, and sauntered out of the small pub without paying his tab.

Ori kept glancing at the door as if he expected Death personified to stroll in at any moment.

Ever since Fíli had ambushed him at closing time the previous day, he’d been in a state of high alert that did nothing for his already painfully tense neck and shoulder muscles.

Toying with a bookmark absent-mindedly, the future librarian wondered whether all Fíli’s friends were de facto worried whenever he declared that he had an “idea”. At first, the promise of a free massage had sounded too good to be true—Ori knew that he was in desperate need of a bit of relaxation—but, only too soon, that fleeting sense of nascent ease had dissolved in a surge of paralysing panic.

“Did you tell your friend…You know…?” he’d squeaked, dreading whatever answer Fíli could have given.

“I’ve told Charlie that it would not be a professional chiropractor session, so there was no ethical dilemma impeding the obtainment of a license in the future,” Fíli had grinned. “Just a little kneading between friends!”

“You know exactly what I mean! What did you say about me?”

“Nothing! I want it to be a surprise. We’re friends, after all, and all my friends deserve good things!”

“I am not a good thing!” Ori had exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air helplessly.

“To Charlie, you will be. Now shut up and don’t look a gift horse in the mouth!”

The mere insinuation that he was being ungrateful had had a chilling effect on Ori, and so, he had simply done as he’d been told and kept his mouth shut.

Only 10 more minutes until closing time, he now thought nervously as his eyes flew to the clock once more. Maybe, that mysterious friend would not show up after all. No doubt, Fíli’s college buddies had better things to do than to go dispensing much-needed healing interventions—free of charge moreover—to random bookworms they’d never met.

And then, the bell over the door jingled and a young woman strode in, her curly hair tousled by the wind and her round cheeks flushed with colour.

Ori’s heart sank.

“Oh Fíli, you ass,” she cursed under her breath as she approached the counter with unwavering determination.

Ori, who’d always felt so safe behind the solid wood, all of a sudden couldn’t shake the sensation of being woefully exposed on the small dais, akin to a sacrificial lamb about to meet its bloody demise.

“You must be Ori,” she said in lieu of a proper greeting. “How come I’ve never seen you around? Surely, I should have…”

“You’re a girl,” Ori replied sheepishly. “Fíli didn’t say…He let me believe…”

“Righto!” She threw her head back and laughed, wishing Fíli to hell for playing wicked games with his so-called friends’ emotions. “I’m Charlie, and I’ve been told that you needed a neck massage.”

“Charlie,” Ori replied softly, the wheels in his head clicking softly into place. He knew her—of course, he did.

The small, curvy woman had come in several times in the last few weeks to look at one specific book, and he’d often wondered whether he should simply offer to use his employee discount for her to purchase it. Ori knew they’d never sell the blasted thing at full price anyway; it was much too expensive and heavy, and the internet had made it patently obsolete.

“Do you want the book?” he asked as if he’d not heard or processed her very clear explanation for her presence in the shop.

“No, well yes, but not now…You’re almost off, aren’t you? Do you live far? I don’t think that you’d want to do this at your workplace, would you?” Charlie bit her lip nervously, blinking rapidly when Ori only stared at her, dumbfounded, instead of answering.

"Very close, actually. I have…I rent the flat upstairs, so…Do you really want to do that?”

No, Charlie thought, but she’d given her word to Fíli, and she was not the kind of woman to flake even if she was aware that she’d been tricked mercilessly. She’d not grant her friend the satisfaction of having cowed her so easily!

Ori, as she had secretly suspected, was exactly her type—pale and doe-eyed, he had the elfin charm of a porcelain doll and hair shimmering in all the shades of a midnight bonfire.

Few were the people who knew that Charlotte, her parents’ perfect princess, was both astoundingly indiscriminate when it came to the gender of her partners and laughably partial to gingers.

Fíli, of course, was one of those rare chosen ones who were all too aware of that particular proclivity of hers, and a part of her resented him ferociously for having hidden away a rare beauty like Ori all this time.

“Better late than never,” she muttered to herself as she watched Ori lock the register hastily and turn down the lights.

From his reduced range of motion and frequent wincing, she could deduce that Fíli had indeed been right in his layman’s diagnosis, and her professional pride was awakened at once.

Even though they all agreed that it would be better for her not to deploy any overly technical manoeuvres, she couldn’t help but think that a proper deep tissue massage would do wonders for the poor wretch.

“You know that for this to work, you’ll need to relax sooner or later, right?” she teased gently when Ori gestured at the small, squeaking door leading to the backroom jerkily.

The small “hmph” sound that escaped her host as he climbed the rickety stairs stiffly ahead of her made her smile instinctively, and she impetuously vowed that she’d make him unwind at all costs.

His flat turned out to be so small that they walked through the door and right into his crowded living room, and Charlie breathed in the warm, dusty air greedily as if she could learn more about the enthralling tenant through mere inhalation.

“Erm, do you need anything?” Ori asked, kneading his fingers fitfully as he tried to push a pair of worn sneakers under the couch with his heel. “A drink or…”

“A flat surface,” Charlie replied calmly. “If possible one that is accessible from every side…and a lemonade, if you have one.”

She’d only added the last part to give him the illusion of control, and she suppressed another grin when he dashed into the adjoining kitchen right away.

Oh yes, Fíli would definitely pay for this!

Listening to the clinking of glassware and the thump of a fridge door being opened and closed, Charlie assessed the cramped living room. If she half-converted the rickety sofa bed, she could push aside the coffee table and walk around the furniture with ease…she had to keep herself distracted, lest she dwell too long and too intensely on the endearingly wavering smile or the deep, dark eyes of her unwitting host.

“Here we are,” Ori spoke behind her and handed her a promotional glass with another heart-wrenching smile that made her shiver with joyful anticipation of she knew not what exactly. “I can give you every discount in the system for the book; I’m sure we can bring it down to an almost reasonable price!”

He was sweet, Charlie realised, and that alone made her all but forget about the blasted volume of wisdom, slumbering in the fragrant darkness downstairs.

“Let me earn it,” she purred, feeling for her bag across the mutilated couch. “Why don’t you take off your sweatshirt? You’re not allergic to arnica or mint, right?”

Ori shook his head but didn’t undress.

“There is something you need to know,” he murmured, visibly ill at ease. “Fíli should have told you, really, but…”

Beneath his wispy beard, his face filled with colour, and Charlie gripped her bag tighter to keep her hands from reaching out to dip her fingers into that entrancing pool of blossoming pink.

She nodded encouragingly.

“I was not…My biological sex does not correspond to my gender identity,” he said firmly, belying the tension in his shoulders and the quiver in his lower lip. “But I am a man!”

“Two things can be true at the same time,” Charlie replied in her most professional tone. “As it is, I might also need a towel, please. I will not ask you to take off any more than your sweatshirt if you’re not comfortable with that, but I need to have access to your shoulders. We usually cover the chest area of people with breasts.”

“Oh, they’re not worth the hassle,” Ori chuckled nervously. “So, I just wanted you to know…in case that changes things for you.”

“Other than me asking for a towel, not really. Why would it?” Charlie was genuinely confused. “Right. You’re only here as a favour to Fíli…I didn’t mean to imply anything improper…I’m sorry!”

“You’re cute,” Charlie interrupted his self-conscious waffling resolutely. “Fíli knew precisely what he was doing.”

She grabbed him by the shoulders, digging her fingers into the tense muscle tentatively, and looked him in the eye. “It changes nothing. Now, let’s start before I forget myself!”

Her breathy confession seemed to embolden Ori considerably, for he tore off his woollen sweater in one fluid motion and tossed it aside.

“Sports bra! Sensible choice!” Charlie praised and motioned at the cleared sofa bed. “Lay down please.”

On account of her previous act of unsanctioned vandalism, she now could comfortably crouch over him for the first part of the massage and thus managed to apply enough pressure to work out the knots of compounded tension progressively.

“You should watch your posture!” Charlie muttered as she got up and walked around the piece of furniture to stand over her softly moaning new friend.

“Will you come back if I don’t?” he asked dreamily.

“I’ll come back if you ask me back,” she replied immediately. “I’d rather not see you in pain, though. Now close your eyes and enjoy!”

No matter what she’d said before, she had to admit that she was thoroughly enjoying this, and—even though her hands grew tired—she wished that this moment would never end.

“Charlie,” Ori whispered then. “As this is in no way a professional intervention, I can take off the bra, if…”

“Yes,” she said with unmistakable fervour, relieved that her unshakeable sense of professional ethics would not be compromised by whatever happened next. “Please!”

↬ Masterlist

Thank you so much for joining me on this new adventure.

@fellowshipofthefics here's the next one for May!

Lots of love from me!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

MAY-U - Turgon x Finrod

This is one for MoonLord. And I've been asked to write children...let's see how that goes LOL

Turgon seems to be the winner of May as he got 2 stories! LOL

Characters: Turgon x Finrod

Prompts: Raising a child - Doctor/Nurse - I miss moments like this

Words: 2 100

Warnings: Child crying, sickness, injury, poisoning, hospital setting, disappointed love, pining

As soon as Finrod got the page, his blood ran cold as if a devastating premonition had come over him.

Hastening from the breakroom to the treatment area, he tried to control his breathing—it would not do to add to the stress of already panicked parents by being anything other than perfectly composed.

“What do we have?” he asked immediately upon crossing the threshold of the painfully bare hospital room, his hand outstretched to retrieve a tablet containing the intake summary.

“Finrod?”

His head snapped up—he’d not heard that voice in years, and yet he recognised the full, warm baritone, tense with fear, at once.

“Turno? What happened?”

“It’s my nephew; ‘Rissë’s kid. He snuck out, and we suspect that some evil creature must have given him something…I don’t know…”

Finrod’s head was spinning; the last news he’d gotten about his old friend had been that his wife had died in an unfortunate skiing accident. He’d waited for Turgon to call, and—when his phone never rang—he’d switched from general surgery to paediatrics on a whim.

A part of him had been painfully, jealously aware of the deplorable fact that Turgon would be a single parent, and he secretly yearned to be useful at the very least if he couldn’t be wanted by the one he’d adored since his early adolescence.

If one discounted that one sloppy kiss after too much stolen brandy, nothing had ever happened between them, and Finrod had never doubted that Turgon—dutiful and traditional to a fault—would end up marrying a girl his parents welcomed and cherished. He’d always been a stickler for the rules like that!

In a haze of agonising memories and embarrassing tenderness, Finrod ordered a bleary-eyed intern to run a whole battery of tests on the pale boy who lay, motionless and frail, on the bright blue covers of the hospital bed.

“I didn’t know…How is your sister?”

“Dead,” Turgon replied in a hollow voice. “That scumbag who impregnated her—it doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past now.”

“Please,” a tiny voice interrupted. “He’s so very sick. Can you make him all better?”

A girl, barely older than the patient, tugged on Finrod’s lab coat in her desperate bid to be heard.

“Is she…” Finrod asked, suppressing a shiver as he surveyed the intern sticking tubes and needles into the spindly arm of the stricken boy.

“She’s mine. Ours. Mine now. They’re both mine!” Turgon stammered in a choked voice. “I’m all they have left. They’re all I have left…and I don’t know how to help them!”

There it was, Finrod thought selfishly, the moment he’d been awaiting for so many countless years. At last, he could prove that Turgon had been wrong in shutting him out—no matter his own misgivings and gnawing disappointment, he could and would be an invaluable friend in times of need.

“Leave it to me,” he whispered before squatting down to be at eye level with the golden-haired girlchild who was still staring at him with that profound, uncanny wisdom only given to young children. “Do you maybe want to go play or…an ice cream? The cafeteria has quite an impressive assortment.”

Frowning at him as if he was daft, she shook her pretty head. “It’s late, and I’ve already had my dinner. My tummy would get upset, and…I can’t be sick now. He is sick!”

Her tiny, pudgy finger pointed at the boy with the unwavering determination of fate itself.

“Help him!”

Tears of all-consuming fear, fatigue, and frustration glistened in her ocean-blue eyes.

“In a moment, princess,” he murmured reassuringly. “We’ll have to find out what’s wrong first.”

At that moment, his fellow physician stepped into the room noiselessly, motioning to Finrod behind Turgon’s back to meet him outside.

“I’ll be right back, darling,” the paediatrician promised the little one, and—with a meaningful glance at his former friend—he left the room.

“Do you know this man? Are you too close to this? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!”

He wanted to deny that accusation, but the very words of overcompensating fury died on his tongue in the face of the gentle understanding and sympathy of his favourite colleague.

“We were friends a long time ago,” he confessed instead, averting his gaze.

“Just friends?”

“The man came in with not one, but two children,” Finrod sputtered, throwing his hands in the air helplessly. “Of course, we were just friends.”

“That means nothing,” his colleague quipped, laying a comforting hand on his tense arm. “He came in alone with two kids. I’ve yet to see a woman, or a man for that matter.”

“His wife died,” Finrod informed his co-worker dryly. “His sister died. And his nephew’s initial exams are not encouraging.”

“Take them down to the cafeteria. I’ll page you as soon as the analyses are in! Go!”

Nodding tersely, Finrod returned to the room—he’d imagined seeing Turgon again a million times, his fantasies ranging from passionate fights to deep-felt confessions of affection, but he’d never expected their reunion to feel this terrifying.

In his capacity, he saw too many gruesome fates to sleep easily, but the sight of the dark-haired, pallid boy broke his heart in a myriad of ways he’d never known before.

He remembered Turgon’s indomitably vivacious sister fondly, and he couldn’t quite comprehend yet that he’d indeed never meet her again to lovingly mock the overly stern beauty, who was now wringing his hands in unspeakable despair, with that easy complicity she’d always inspired in people.

“Let’s clear the room,” Finrod said softly. “I’ll keep tabs on the results, but you should get a coffee or something.”

“I can’t leave him—he…”

“He’s fast asleep,” Finrod interrupted, nodding ever so lightly at the curled-up form of Turgon’s daughter in a corner. “She doesn’t have to see this,” he mouthed.

The consideration Finrod showed the girl seemed to sway Turgon at last, who went over to scoop her into his strong arms. She blinked rapidly, willing herself back into the present in an act of self-control that left Finrod baffled and deeply impressed. “Let’s see if they have a hot chocolate downstairs.”

“Will the doctor also come?” she asked, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“This is my friend Finrod,” Turgon introduced in a soothing voice. “He can, of course, come with us if he wants to. Are you free?”

“My shift ended half an hour ago,” Finrod smiled. “I’m off-duty, theoretically. Don’t worry, I won’t desert you!”

He couldn’t help his voice’s sharp undertone; despite the dire circumstances, his sore heart would not be dissuaded from making itself heard.

“Thank you,” Turgon replied with humble simplicity.

“I’m Idril,” the girl piped up, holding out a tiny hand for Finrod to shake solemnly. “Very nice to meet you, Mister Finrod.”

Clenching his jaw, Finrod thought that many another person might have found her adorable, but he couldn’t oversee the deep trauma and depthless sadness that had turned this little girl into a tiny adult—polite, charming, and caring—beyond what her age promised.

She was supposed to gobble up ice cream and demand to be heeded by her father, not hold back her tears and suppress her weariness.

“Hello Idril,” he replied, leaning closer to the child’s golden head. “I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

“Are you a good doctor? Do you have kids?” she asked, seemingly emboldened by her father’s admission of familiarity and trust.

“I’m excellent,” Finrod answered truthfully with a wink. “And no, unfortunately, I don’t. Maybe, that’s why I take care of other people’s children.”

“It’s hard work,” she scoffed and patted her father’s shoulder in a gesture reminiscent of a mother’s indulgent empathy and pride rather than the puerile affection that Finrod had come to expect from girls her age. “Daddy is doing his best, but my cousin keeps running away.”

There was scorn in her voice now—she’d also lost her mother, but unlike her unruly relative, she’d turned her fear and pain inward rather than unleashing it onto the world in acts of impuissant rebelliousness.

“Can you help my father too? You like children, right?”

Taken aback, Finrod almost missed a step and had to grip the railing to keep from tumbling down the stairs.

If only Turgon had made the same offer, Finrod would have agreed at once, casting aside both pride and residual resentment to finally get a taste of the bliss he knew they could share.

Unfortunately, Turgon, true to himself, did no such thing. Instead, he gave his daughter a stern glance and shook his head almost imperceptibly.

He furthermore refused to eat anything, only accepting a cup of coffee after much coaxing, and buried his head in his long-fingered hands in silent despair as soon as they’d sat down by the scratched table, reeking of disinfectant.

“We’re doing our best,” Finrod promised. “He’s in good hands!”

To his surprise, Turgon pried one hand off his weary, pale face and extended it to him in a wordless plea for more substantial reassurance.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he whispered after having ascertained that Idril was sufficiently distracted by her frozen treat. “I must have dialled your number a thousand times, but what was I to say? I…I didn’t want to force you into accepting the burdens of my life—grief, loss, despair, and two young children—just because we were childhood friends.”

Scoffing, Finrod leaned back without letting go of Turgon’s hand, effectively pulling the other back into an upright sitting position.

“You’ve always been such a stuffy fool,” he grunted. “I would have been honoured and delighted to share the load.”

“I’ve married someone else,” Turgon hissed accusingly.

Finrod was not sure whether he was struggling with his own suppressed, misplaced sense of guilt or if he wanted to get a rise out of him, but he was too tired and heartsick by far to be goaded into a senseless fight.

“And I don’t hold that against you. You had plans and dreams, and I’ve never wanted anything other for you than to achieve them.”

At that, Turgon’s head snapped up, his eyes feverish and his mouth agape. “Really?”

“Of course! I won’t deny that I might have eaten half a tub of ice cream and watched a few soppy movies, but…” He nodded at Idril who was valiantly but vainly battling the instinct to crawl onto her father’s lap and close her eyes. “She’s perfect.”

“She is,” Turgon agreed. “She’s suffered so much. I…I hate that I can’t keep them safe—what good am I if I can’t even do that?”

“She is safe,” Finrod murmured soothingly, tightening his hold on Turgon’s cold, clammy fingers. “And we’ll do whatever we can for your nephew. Trust me as you once did!”

He looked over at Idril again before checking his phone.

“My colleague has started a treatment,” he informed his friend in the carefully detached voice of a professional. “I live just down the street. Why don’t you take the girl over, put her to bed, and I’ll be with you in a moment? I’ll go check on him now, but until the morning, none of us will be any the wiser. You must sleep! He’ll need you when he wakes up.”

Finrod could see that Turgon wanted to protest by the way his dull gaze flared into life, but then, he settled down almost instantly.

He stood and lifted his sleeping daughter into his arms once more.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I do trust you.” He gave a bone-weary sigh. “I miss moments like this,” he admitted shamefacedly. “It feels so good not to be alone with an earth-shattering catastrophe for once.”

Pushing himself up on his tiptoes, Finrod pressed a tender kiss onto the waxy cheek of the one he’d always loved a little more than he should have. “Leave it to me—I’ll be home shortly!”

They walked towards the exit side-by-side, revelling in the echoes of a friendship they’d erroneously believed to be dead and buried.

“Hey,” Turgon called softly, shifting Idril to his other hip. “How come you’ve gone into peds?”

“You know me,” Finrod replied with a shrug. “You had a kid, and I wanted to be ready, just in case you’d ever waltz back into my life.”

His face fell. “Now, I wish I’d never even thought of so cruel a scenario. I…am sorry. I never wanted this to happen.”

“Me neither,” Turgon sighed. “But I’m glad you’re here. See you soon?”

“Very soon,” Finrod promised. “With good news, I hope.”

↬ Masterlist

Thank you so much for joining me on this new adventure.

@fellowshipofthefics here's the last (?) one for May!

Lots of love from me!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

I-did-not-mean-to, how are you?

are your may requests still open? what about commuter au with lift engineer with I can stay long I just had to see you

If you are comfortable, basically elevator sex 👀

with any elf of your choice 💕

Hello anon, I'm okay...(fell down the Silm rabbit-hole tbh)

But, anyway...Here's your ficlet, sorry for the delay :(

I made it a little spicy, so be advised :D

Words: 1,8 k

Warnings: NSFW, SMUT!!!, Haldir is an idiot lol

It was a spur of the moment decision that would not look good on your résumé at all were it ever found out, but the opportunity was too good to let it pass.

You were not stalking him, certainly not, but you just so happened to know that Haldir got out of the subway almost every day around 7:37 and then took the elevator up to the street in which his workplace – he was no less than the head of security of Lórien Inc. – was situated.

This sliver of information had been betrayed by the badge – neatly tucked into the back pocket of his jeans – rather than by his own confession though, and a pang of bad conscience hit you as you watched the monitor on which he had just appeared intently.

From this moment onward, it would be a game of chance and probability, you told yourself warningly; to your surprise and his bad luck, he got into the small cabin alone – a rarity at this time of day – and, as soon as the doors had closed in screeching protest, you turned off the current, effectively trapping it midway.

Maybe, you had scheduled your inspection – completely above board for you truly were a lift engineer, not that he’d ever asked about what it was you did for a living – so that you might get a glimpse of the man you had invited to your flat a few nights ago and who had simply vanished before breakfast.

It had not even been a random fling in a bar either; you had known him from sight and always thought that he was very handsome even if a little too serious. 

That night though, after a few glasses, he had smiled at you and one thing had led to another; you had been happy and elated to have taken that first step, only to know the rudest awakening of your life when he had snuck out before you had even awoken.

The disappointment and the sting of rejection had not sat comfortably, and – shrugging helplessly at the subway employee – you set out to confront Haldir about it.

Haldir looked at his watch again; he was not the type of man to suffer from nerves easily, but he was alone in the cabin, and he was not sure how long he could be stuck before anyone even noticed that he was missing.

The city was cut-throat, and Galadriel was not in the office on this day, so it was rather improbable that anyone would so much as bat an eye at one of the elevators malfunctioning; they’d simply take another one.

Likewise, people at work would surmise that he had finally taken their advice not to come in so early only to sit around making other people nervous by watching them like a hawk when there was no threat on the horizon.

Always better than to be locked in with a hysterical or claustrophobic person, he thought, for Haldir was only too aware of the fact that he was not good at talking to people and even less at assuaging their fears and doubts.

This almost laughable shortcoming was the very reason he had ruined his chances with a woman he had truly enjoyed; like an idiot, he had lain awake for an hour, careful not to stare at her while she slept, before giving up on finding the right words to express how much he had savoured their time together.

Finally, he had stolen away like a thief in the night, and he hated himself for it because he had seen potential in the way they had just clicked; she didn’t mind his taciturn spells and the sex had been beyond amazing.

As per usual though, Haldir had found a way to ruin every chance at bliss thrown his way and he was painfully aware of it as the recollection of the minutes spent in her arms kept haunting every step he took.

When a grinding, screeching noise resounded, his head snapped up in alarm only to be presented with an oddly familiar, very shapely behind and a pair of long legs dangling from the opening in the ceiling of the small cabin. 

“I can’t stay long, I just had to see you!” 

Oh, he knew that voice; he had heard that voice moan his name until it melted into a puddle of vague vowels; his heart stopped.

“What are you doing here?”

He looked utterly baffled and – had he not been so blindingly handsome in his three-piece suit – you would have fully relished that moment of triumph, but – as you really didn’t have much time before your little manoeuvre became highly suspicious – you simply placed both of your hands flat against his chest and gave him a hard shove.

“You could have been courteous enough to say goodbye, don’t you think?” you growled, trying not to be swayed by the earnest regret and guilt in his deep eyes that made you feel like you could see the sky despite being surrounded by sterile steel walls on all sides.

“I didn’t know how,” he muttered.

“Was I that awful? Did it really mean that little?” you spat at the same time, biting back the clichéd ‘I thought you were different’ even though it was on the tip of your tongue.

“No,” he interrupted you in a hard tone, pushing back against your hands as if he was eager to feel your warmth seep through the elegant fabrics, “I simply didn’t know what to say to you, and the more I thought about it, the less I found the right words. It was wrong of me, forgive me!”

You had expected everything: mockery, denial, even feigned anger or outright dismissal, but you were unprepared to deal with the wounded expression of knocked pride writ plain on the delicate but strong features of his marble face.

“Show me then,” you demanded when you realised that – even now – he would not go on; his jaw was set and trembling under the strain of preventing incautious words from tumbling out haphazardly.

Before you could brace, he had pounced on you like a big, sleek cat, his strong arms wrapping around your middle and his lips shifting frantically from your neck to your lips and back.

“I wanted to stay,” he breathed against your skin, “but I couldn’t face you. A woman like you deserves better words than I could come up with in that moment.” You could imagine him – lying awake, ruminating, chewing the words that dripped one by one from his dazed brain into his mouth – and the very thought fired up your hunger; maybe, you had literally fucked his brains out.

Time was ticking, but by now, you didn’t even care about it anymore because his hands slid under the stiff fabric of your professionally demure skirt to grab your ass passionately as he pushed you up against the cold cabin wall.

“I’ve thought about you though, all the time,” he confessed breathlessly before his lips plundered yours once more, despair and boundless greed making his movements slightly less controlled than you remembered. Already, you could feel the solid ridge of his erection dig against your most sensitive flesh through the paper-thin silk of your sinfully impractical underwear and you moaned into his mouth to keep him going.

“You deserve so much better,” he moaned, pulsing against you as if unaware of the layers of clothing preventing any actual penetration, “but God, how I missed you.”

Encouraged by his self-forgotten passion, you tugged his shirt out of the trousers and undid as many buttons as you could to slide your own hands under the fabric and across the expanse of his chest – heaving with lust – while his fingers pushed your panties aside to plunge into the waiting heat of your arousal.

“Do you…” he asked as if the slick proof coating his fingers were not convincing enough and groaned when you pushed against his searching fingers shamelessly.

“Make haste,” you begged, driven by an urgency that was only partially due to the employee waiting for your return patiently.

He undid his zipper one-handedly and before you could drive him on any further, he had pushed inside you, holding you up with his other arm.

Your mouth roamed hungrily across every inch of skin you could reach while he pounded into you, making the whole cabin rock with the intensity of all the sensations and emotions he could not put into words.

Sinking your teeth into his shoulder to stifle the moans and whimpers as he but grazed all those spots you wanted him to touch you in at his leisure, you cursed the fact that you were in a semi-public space and that you had no time nor inclination to spread out on the dirty floor of a subway elevator for him to feast on you as you both deserved.

It was a short but intense intermezzo that left your legs trembling as you adjusted your clothes as best you could while he rested his forehead against your shoulder in a rare display of vulnerability. 

This was not how he had imagined his commute to work, and the intensity of the unexpected climax left him disoriented and sluggish when he needed to be completely focused for work.

“I have to return,” you said after clearing your throat.

“I want you still,” he replied as if he had not heard you, “I want to make you scream. Loudly.”

Not a man of many words indeed, you thought, and a feline grin stretched your generous mouth into a feast he could not resist, kissing you once more as if his life depended on it.

“You know where I live, huh?” you smiled as he gave you a boost to get you out of the cabin again, peppering small, titillating kisses into the back of your knee joints adoringly.

“I’ll be there,” he promised, already making plans to send one of his employees to buy champagne and chocolate as another wordless form of apology.

“I’m counting on it, Haldir,” you laughed, “because this? It’s not over.”

Spreading your legs one last time to give him a preview of what awaited him at the end of the day, you made your way back to the office of the subway where you proudly announced that all was in order.

“Yes, I’ve heard that you had to adjust some things,” the employee nodded sagely, and you bit back a snort, “we are truly lucky that you were here to fix it right away. Poor chap who was trapped.”

“Oh, he was a proper soldier,” you replied in a light tone, “I think he’ll be alright.”

And with a cheery wave, you signed the papers, and were on your way to start your actual work – and there was a lot of it on this day – that had to be completed before you would see your renegade lover again.

So, there we are...I love my anons (how are you doing dears?) but it makes me kind of nervous to write spice for them 🙈

Either way, @fellowshipofthefics here's another one for the May Challenge :D

Lots of love from me...

@shalini I hope you'll find this and like it :(

[i-did-not-mean-to]

You have the best co-writers 🥺. Okay, I totally just threw this in a random generator but how about:

Secret Royal + Mechanic + "Nothing's THAT important, you know."

Ohhh I feel like this is going to be good. 😏

Hey, I did my best for this one :/

I have tried - out of respect - to tailor this a little bit, so...Ladies and Gentlemen, here comes an attempt at writing Bagginshield from me 🙈

Thank you so much for the request & I hope you won't be too disappointed 😞

Words: 1,7 k

Warnings: None

Being a mechanic was fiddly work, but – thankfully – Bilbo Baggins was a man who rejoiced in puzzles; many a person would have believed that his job was all about brute force – yanking and screwing – when in truth, he caressed engines back to life with such an exceptional precision that he was almost famous around here.

He didn’t look the part though; prim and proper – or vain as some people liked to call it – he straightened his waistcoat after having wiped his hands meticulously. Bilbo was a gentleman, he was a mechanic, and he was a mysterious bachelor.

Now, if one were to ask him, he would have scoffed and wrinkled his nose at the epithet ‘mysterious’ for – in his opinion – there was nothing enigmatic about the lack of a spouse; he simply was unmarried and if that gave rise to serious questions, he was inclined to doubt the intelligence of whoever was thus derailed by a fact so simple.

“Bilbo? There’s some dude outside who wants you to take a look at his car,” one of the neighbours – blight and blessing of his life – called through the small window standing slightly ajar to let some fresh air into the stuffy workshop.

“I am on my break,” Bilbo grumbled; what he meant to say was that he had just finished the task of the day and had been looking forward to curling up with a book in his office.

Maybe, people were right after all when they said – behind his back – that he was much too set in his habits for a man so young still and Bilbo deemed it lucky for them that growing irate at nosey townsfolk was not one of those habits then.

“No, but come look at him,” the neighbour went on.

“Him? It’s a boy-car?” Bilbo replied, relieved that the man could not see him rolling his eyes.

“No, you jester, the man…the owner of the car!”

With a deep sigh – and a last look into the floor-length mirror standing in the corner for convenience – Bilbo made his way outside to go look at all those fantastical things that had apparently appeared out of thin air.

“Hello, are you the mechanic?” a low, grumbly voice resounded, and Bilbo had to shade his eyes with his hand as he stared right into the light – only broken by the silhouette of the stranger – of the blazing midday sun.

“I am. Are you the ‘man…the owner of the car’?” Bilbo replied in a soft singsong voice; now that he had stepped out, he could clearly recognise that his neighbour’s words must have been overheard by said person.

“I am…I’m…Thorin,” the man said and extended a broad, elegant hand full of heavy rings and smudged with oil.

“I see you’ve tried to remedy whatever’s wrong yourself,” Bilbo quipped and walked around the man to take a look at the car – standing abandoned in the middle of the parking lot – without so much as a thought about how this new position would allow him to take in that stranger better.

Upon further reflexion, the shadow of that very same thought might have crossed the mechanic’s mind and he threw a quick glance – after all, he had been called forth to throw glances and looks at everything – at the man having turned around to watch Bilbo in turn.

He was taller than Bilbo, broad-shouldered and long-haired, and he had the bluest, most intense eyes he had ever seen; an unexpected warmth flooded Bilbo’s chest akin to the breathless awe he felt when coming across a particularly well-kept classic car.

What a beauty, he thought, and – him truly not being like everyone else – that realisation made him frown and scowl rather than smile at that picture of sturdy but gracious virility.

Moreover, he had not missed the heartbeat of hesitation upon identifying himself as ‘Thorin’; either that was not his true name or there was simply more to it.

“Bilbo Baggins,” he offered up his own full name, but the stranger simply repeated those two syllables that held the hint of a foreign pronunciation like vanilla and cinnamon – no matter how sparsely used – would always change the flavour of a cake.

“Alright, Thorin,” Bilbo chuckled, his fatigue and reluctance blown away by the curiosity a face such as this one inevitably inspired, “the good news is that there’s nothing seriously wrong with your car and the bad news is that it will take a day to get the necessary piece.”

Usually, he prided himself on his excellent connections and – of this much he was sure – all his other customers would have been delighted to know that he’d be able to fix whatever was wrong within 24 hours, but Thorin – clearly a stranger to these parts – looked disheartened.

“Oh no,” he grumbled, “I need to be on my way tonight. I have an important…meeting.”

Ah, there it was again, and Bilbo’s ears perked up; there was something that gorgeous stranger was hiding from him.

“Well, I cannot – in good conscience – let you leave in this car,” he set his foot down; despite his optimistic assessment, he would not compromise his professional integrity and let Thorin drive away in a potentially dangerous car that could give out at the most inopportune of moments.

“It’s important,” Thorin mumbled, rubbing that mesmerising hand over the dense, dark beard covering a strong jaw that was set stubbornly.

“It’s dangerous!”

“It’s really important!” Eyes the colour of glaciers and rock springs turned pleadingly onto Bilbo’s soft face, making his heart and bones melt a little around the edges, but not his resolve…never his resolve.

“Nothing’s THAT important, you know,” Bilbo huffed, “you could get into a serious crash, and I will not risk that.”

A tiny sliver of doubt lodged itself between his good resolutions and his professional pride now though; he could easily have offered a replacement vehicle – even his own – but for some reason, he felt almost irrationally jealous and possessive.

He didn’t want Thorin to leave before he could get to the bottom of that secret he was flaunting – veiled and impenetrable – so brazenly; Bilbo was indeed a man who loved a good puzzle and he itched to fiddle with this one until it was solved.

“You don’t understand,” Thorin looked around as if to check if not another dozen townspeople were hidden in the bushes lining the parking lot – a good and smart reflex in Bilbo’s opinion – before whispering: “I am to attend diplomatic talks of monumental significance.”

Bilbo chewed on that information for a second before straightening up and nodding slowly.

“I can lend you my own car,” he offered, “but you’ll have to bring it back in perfect condition once you’re done.”

“Oh,” Thorin’s eyes lit up with a joyous gleam – relief and gratitude swirling like stars in the depths of that azure ocean – and he was tempted to hug the small, soft man who looked so incongruous standing in front of his business, “I’d be ever so thankful. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

With a small ‘humph’ sound, Bilbo waved him into the building and flipped the sign on the door to deter any other customers from bothering him today; he was now officially ‘closed for the day’.

The awareness that he was basically locked in with the most handsome man he had ever beheld in his life made the skin under his freshly pressed white shirt prickle.

Mysterious, Bilbo remembered his earlier musings, there was nothing mysterious about the absence of a woman in his life, it was easily explained by his visceral reaction to this blindingly handsome creature headed for ‘important negotiations’.

“I trust you to keep this quiet,” Thorin breathed as he leaned against the wooden counter and pushed his passport over; he kept his palm – huge and strong – on top of it until Bilbo nodded with a small smile that melted into a shocked gasp.

“Your Majesty,” he squeaked.

“I see, keeping it quiet did not work,” Thorin laughed under his breath.

He flinched when Bilbo’s hand came to cover his own reassuringly, giving it a few short pats for good measure as he swore – on his mother’s grave – that he would not tell a soul about who Thorin really was.

“You can trust me,” he promised.

“Can I?”

“I decided to trust you not to wreck my car as you did your own!” Bilbo cocked one eyebrow at him; king or not, Thorin had arrived here with a damaged vehicle and Bilbo had agreed to handing over his own baby.

“You are right, Master Baggins, my apologies,” Thorin grinned; he was amazed by this little fellow who seemed so comfortable and cosy and yet took every curveball thrown at him in his stride as if he had never known a quiet instant in his life.

“Bring back my car,” Bilbo muttered, “and maybe a spot of dinner depending on when you expect to be back?”

It was brazen, but Bilbo had the instinctive feeling that he’d get along great with this foreign king; no doubt, he had been mollycoddled way too much and it would be good for him to spend some time with ordinary folk.

“Sure thing,” Thorin chuckled; he hadn’t laughed this much in a long time and already, his heart – aggrieved and worried by the talks he was heading to – felt lighter after this unfortunate intermezzo, which was an unexpected but very welcome surprise.

“I’ll see you then,” Bilbo replied sheepishly; he had not expected a literal king to agree that easily to his cheeky invitation.

With a flourish, he handed over his car keys, the small tokens in the form of different flowers jangling softly as they fell into Thorin’s hand as if into a ravine of flesh.

“I will be back as soon as I can,” Thorin promised as he tucked away his passport again without Bilbo having made so much as a copy of it.

Bilbo made an unconvinced sound; he was pretty sure that diplomatic incidents had a tendency to grow longer than expected and not shorter, but – as a frown darkened that heavy brow – he decided not to meet trouble halfway.

“Ah,” Thorin’s face cleared into a summer sky – radiant and painfully beautiful – once more, “as you have witnessed, I can be very persuasive. I’ll tell them that it’s important.”

As he strolled towards the door, he turned one last time to meet Bilbo’s gaze and grinned: “Some things are just THAT important."

So, here we are...

Lots of love from me <3

I guess this qualifies as @fellowshipofthefics <3

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Either or— or both the quote

if you want 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

Thrandy?

Oh yes...My pleasure :D Sorry this took a moment

Words: 1,4 k

Warnings: theft, fear

To say that you had been distracted would have been a weak excuse for the unpardonable mistake you had just committed, but it was hard to keep your thoughts straight when you were writing a stupid Romeo and Juliet story in your mind.

It ran as follows: your parents were the proud owners of a small bookshop in a quaint little street in which a hitherto rather inoffensive flower and decoration shop was situated as well.

Recently though, old Oropher had left the business to his son Thranduil who promptly decided to open a small café – serving mysterious teas and other semi-magic potions – which made them your family’s rivals all of a sudden.

Your run-of-the-mill coffee and home-baked goods were clearly less attractive than the mystery inherent to the fantastical and enchanting ambience of the revamped flower shop, and that would have annoyed you much less if Thranduil himself had not been the most exquisitely intriguing creature you had ever met.

Brazen and arrogant, he had strolled into your shop with a self-satisfied smirk to purchase one of the lovingly crafted cinnamon rolls that were your specialty; he even went so far as to choose a small book of poetry – your favourite – that he slipped carelessly into the pocket of his coat as his long legs carried him out of the front door.

It was only then that you realised – shocked beyond what words could express – that you had left your own copy on a presentation table and that it had mysteriously vanished while you rang up that annoying pseudo-customer, flaunting his new-found wealth so shamelessly.

Had it been any other book, you would not have minded, but this particular tome contained notes and drabbles of your own that you had scribbled into it through the long years of your loving ownership.

“Blast it,” you cursed under your breath; for a moment, you considered running after him and simply asking him to swap the old copy with a new one, but you were sure that he’d demand to know your reasons for such a ludicrous request.

From what little experience you had had with the man, you knew that he was not the type to let anyone off the hook easily; he enjoyed teasing and mocking those he considered inferior to himself too much for that.

Switching the small, hand-painted sign swinging on the door to ‘closed’, you hastened after him, decided that you’d have to proceed with the utmost care if you wanted to swap the books without him noticing.

Despite the chill wind already carrying the first tentative bite of a crisp autumn, his open coat flapped in the draft like the sable wings of a mystical bird, and your heart beat a little faster.

It’s just the lack of regular exercise, you told yourself cantingly, and not at all the otherworldly beauty of Thranduil’s almost colourless hair shining like diamonds and platinum in the buttery glow of the timid sun, veiled like a virgin on her wedding day in a layer of clouds.

Your chance came when a random customer – not as if you’d take specific note of the stunning redhead making doe eyes at Thranduil – stopped him and, true to himself, he let himself be drawn into a lengthy conversation during which the lady touched his long, slender arm several times seductively.

Creeping closer, you inserted your hand into his coat pocket, drew out your own copy and replaced it with the brand-new one you had brought along; you might be a pickpocket, but you weren’t technically a thief.

Retreating slowly again, you turned on your heels and almost ran down the street back to your shop before your mother could come by and find it mysteriously closed in the middle of the day.

When you reached the door, panting and holding your precious personal copy clutched in your sweaty hands, you took a deep breath of relief.

You had never stolen anything ever before, but a strange sense of accomplishment and pride overcame you as you pondered the fact that you had managed to pull off your ludicrous plan; also, you had inserted your hand into Thranduil’s pocket, a weirdly intimate action that you would rather not dwell on lest you waste the rest of the workday as well.

After a mercifully uneventful day in your little corner of paradise, you finally locked the front door and pulled down the iron shutter that you father had installed recently.

As you walked down the street to the small house in which you had rented the second floor – despite your parents’ ardent protestations – you couldn’t shake the disgusting feeling of being followed.

Your little town was your nest; you knew everyone and didn’t usually feel unsafe in it and yet, you couldn’t help the cold shiver creeping down your spine as you dug into your pocket for your keys to save time and – if the worst were to befall you – defend yourself.

“Stop right there,” a velvety voice called out when – throwing yourself up the stairs in your eagerness to get a solid door between you and the world – you reached the front door of your building, “you little thief. What would your parents say?”

You whirled around in wordless shock and there he was, shining like silver-inlaid marble under the blurry halo of the streetlamp, Thranduil the Handsome.

In his slender hand, he held a bouquet of pale lilies that couldn’t compare to the elegant pulchritude of the crooked smile blossoming into mockery on his statuesque face.

“Thranduil,” you gasped, transported back into your youth when you would see him from the corner of your eye as he strutted up and down the street with his cronies; he was a tad older than you and you had never been part of the same circles, but somehow, you had still grown up side by side.

The shock and bad conscience sketched across your face made his own mien mellow into soft indulgence though and he admitted that he had known that he had grabbed your personal copy.

“It was a joke,” he laughed ruefully, handing over the bouquet with an affable smile, “but you seemed so distracted by something; it was in bad taste, forgive me.”

Then he took out the new edition you had slipped into his pocket and waved it slowly in front of your eyes.

“A thief,” he chuckled, “but an honest one. I confess I do regret the loss of that priceless artifact that contains all your thoughts.”

Your eyes grew ever rounder, the adrenaline not having subsided completely yet.

“Either way, where are you going? Were you going to throw yourself at the mercy of some poor, unsuspecting stranger or why did you choose this particular building, charming as it might be?”

Ever curious to the point of coming across as almost intrusive, Thranduil cocked his head inquisitively and gave you a dazzling smile to calm your frayed nerves.

“I chose this building,” you replied acrimoniously, “because this is where I live.”

“Oh truly?” He seemed surprised by that, “I wouldn’t have thought that you’d already moved out.”

“What you think is of no importance?” you grumbled, fiddling with your keys nervously while you wondered if he would insist on retrieving your copy.

“Alright,” Thranduil nodded slowly, “but I’d still be honoured to hear some of your thoughts though at least if that is permitted. How about a private book club?”

Well-meant irony tinged his deep, melodious voice now and you suppressed a warmer, more seductive shiver caressing your skin.

“My thoughts about what?” you asked wearily.

“My shop, your shop, the poems…” he shrugged casually and grinned, making a vague gesture that englobed seemingly the whole street, maybe even the whole world.

“You better come in then,” you sighed, finally pushing your key into the lock and accepting that – whether you wanted it or not – this man would manage to drag out your most secret and private thoughts so he could examine them like insects on a corkboard.

Interestingly enough, you were looking forward to the endless bickering and negotiations already; you’d give as good as you gave and let him have a taste of his own medicine.

With a peal of genuine laughter, you pushed open the door to your little realm.

I hope you liked this...

Lots of love from me <3

@fellowshipofthefics this is probably the last one for May (except Shalini decides to get something after all)

❤️

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Bodyguard Haldir + secret Royalty

This is for my lovely friend (I love you baby)

Words: 2,25 k

Warnings: violence, blood

Haldir was a professional – the very fact that he had to tell himself this in so many words might have hinted at the fact that, maybe, he was not as aloof as he tried to make everyone believe though – and he would behave accordingly.

In all his years in the service of Galadriel, a strong and ruthless businesswoman, he had never had any job even remotely as emotionally taxing as the one laid before him now; he was to play the bodyguard for a foreign dignitary, a young woman, while she was in the city of Lothlórien for diplomatic talks of the utmost importance.

“Haldir,” his boss had smiled – tight-lipped and charmingly enough for him to know that he was in serious trouble – as she had handed him the file of the young lady in question, “as she is such a tremendously vital part of these negotiations, she will be undercover; nobody is to know who she is.”

“I am to babysit a person who pretends to be someone else?” he had gasped in reply, “You seriously want me to supervise a young woman who’ll probably want to do all the things she’s never been allowed to due to her upbringing and name?”

Lady Galadriel – as the staff called her not without affection behind her back – had merely nodded and grinned.

That had been 2 weeks ago, and since, Haldir’s whole world had shifted.

“Princess Aahana,” Galadriel had introduced the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld, “this is Haldir; he shall be your shadow from now on.”

Oh, how those eyes – black as jet and ink – had radiated as they fell on him and – for the first time in his career – Haldir had wished, be it only for a single moment, that she might have seen him in his own well-tailored suits rather than the black on black uniform he was expected to wear while on a job.

“You’ve got to lose that suit,” she had giggled, “everyone will know that I’m travelling with a bodyguard otherwise.”

“As Milady commands.” He had hated the hollow sound of his own voice, but it had taken all his strength to dissimulate the treacherous tremor of admiration and breathless captivation he felt for that princess from a faraway land.

Already, minutes after that very first meeting, he felt his resolve mellowing; all his words of stern refusal of whatever fancies a young woman might have dissolved like snow in the sun upon seeing her fresh, open face full of life and joy.

Galadriel merely chuckled; she had been sure that Haldir was the right man for this job – conscientious to a fault but gentle enough to not disregard the princess’s well-being and happiness in the name of safety and decorum – and she loved being right.

“Ah come on,” Aahana, as she demanded to be called, laughed, “you look cute!”

Haldir made a face; he did not want to look cute, but – truth be told – he would have done almost anything to make his princess – for she was his for the time being – laugh; of course, he would have preferred to be called ‘handsome’, but any compliment falling like stardust from her perfectly shaped lips was a blessing he accepted in grateful humility.

It was hard to put into words how different she was from all the other people in his life; Aahana was a special kind of light that blinded his heart without hurting his eyes.

Looking at her felt as if he had slept through every single night of his life before, as if he had never seen the stars, for – unlike the pale and colourless beauty of those he called kin and friends – she made him discover and adore the endless nuances of duskiness.

Her skin was like velvet the colour of a sunset over the deserts he’d only seen once during his training years, and her eyes were as dark and mysterious as a moonless night.

Nevertheless, he had never seen anyone half as luminous as that young woman who could laugh and cry about almost anything; she had a quick wit and a tender heart, and – professional or not – he was already half in love with her.

On this fateful day, she had taken him into one of those malls where predominantly young people hung out to buy him a new set of clothes that would be less conspicuous as they walked down the street – discovering sights and restaurants – and visited museums of all sorts.

“I don’t know, Aahana,” Haldir muttered, looking down miserably at the tight jeans and the preppy sweatshirt she had chosen; it was the very opposite of the sober, clean style he usually preferred in his own private wardrobe.

“I like it,” she grinned, “it accentuates your butt.”

Haldir twisted and turned to check, freezing when Aahana’s soft fingers closed around his chin and directed his face and gaze to the mirror that stood in plain view just a few steps away from him.

“You look great, Haldir,” she repeated.

Someone cleared their throat and they both turned to the source of the ominous sound only to find an elderly saleswoman grinning at them.

“Is everything to your satisfaction, you lovebirds?”

Haldir froze, but Aahana only chuckled and assured the woman that they were more than satisfied with the wares; despite pretending to be normal citizens, nothing could dissimulate her good breeding and expensive wardrobe or – for that matter – his military precision and protective demeanour around her.

It was absolutely normal to think that they were lovers, Haldir tried to assuage the panic rising like acid in his throat, they were – after all – a man and a woman who went shopping for clothes together.

Also, Aahana stood suspiciously close to him, holding his face tenderly while she gave him one of those radiant smiles that always turned his insides to goo.

There was nothing strange about this and yet, he felt like he was breaking some sacrosanct rule by letting her encroach upon his personal space and break through the barriers of his heart so.

“You need to relax, Haldir,” Aahana laughed as they stepped out of the shop, “nobody will believe that I am not important if you keep looking at me as if I was made of pure gold.”

“It has nothing to do with your status, princess,” he muttered and bit his lip when he realised that he had said that out loud.

“Oh, really?” she pounced on this moment of inadvertent weakness with a sunny smile; her voice sounded like milk and honey – inflections of a faraway realm spicing it like her secret ingredients made her tea a symphony of subtle flavours – and he couldn’t help the slight shiver running up his spine upon hearing that sweet voice flow like a river of serene joy around him.

“You are precious,” he simply stated, hoping she’d leave it at that.

Truth be told, Haldir cared nothing about the peace talks or the monumental role this young woman was to play in them anymore; all he could think of was how pearly her laughter rang out and how beautiful she looked in the silken robes of her people.

She was colour where he was blankness and – whenever he saw his own skin on hers – he couldn’t ignore the jolt of pleasure the contrast gave him; Haldir had never wasted a single thought on his own appearance before, but he could admit that he felt more handsome by her side as if they brought the best out in each other – inside and out.

Sometimes, when she was distracted by other things, Aahana would almost walk into traffic and Haldir necessarily held her back – his hand hard and white as marble on the dusky satin of her skin – which would elicit an apologetic giggle from her that made his heart cramp with longing.

Beyond a doubt, Princess Aahana was the most gorgeous and enchanting woman he had ever met and ever since he had clapped eyes on her and exchanged the first words with that sweet soul, his mission had become secondary.

He would have died for her, he would have walked into the inferno of lethal flames and off a cliff to protect her, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with his loyalty to Lady Galadriel or professional dedication.

At night, he would dream of exhausting all his life savings to cover her in jewels and precious metals for he didn’t doubt that the most valuable of gems in this world deserved to be worn and showcased on the smooth perfection of her pristine skin.

“Haldir?” Princess Aahana interrupted his shameful daydreams, “what are you thinking of?”

He would not, he could not tell her; his fantasies of holding her in his arms, of carding those stiff, white fingers of his through the thick, silken hair presently held by an exquisite pair of pins, or of kissing those warm, smiling lips were preposterous, for they would never come true.

“Nothing, Milady,” he sighed, tightening his grip around her wrist as she tried to hasten across the street.

Haldir realised that he had been momentarily distracted by her beauty, but – in a painfully blinding flash – his awareness returned with a sharp sting, the metallic taste of apprehension making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up; someone was watching them.

“Milady,” he called, damning propriety to hell, as he wrapped himself around her like a shield.

To the people passing by, they looked like an ordinary couple hugging in the street, and nobody heard the muted ‘whoosh’ of a bullet finding flesh even though it missed its target by a hair’s breadth.

“Haldir?” Aahana stared up at the tremor of shock and pain that flashed over those features she had come to admire so much before all colour drained from them.

“Haldir!” she repeated, frantic now, as his cold fingers tightened around her upper arms; it didn’t feel as if he was trying to keep her from doing something injudicious anymore, on the contrary, she got the distinct impression that he was clinging to her like a man afraid of drowning.

“Get…to…safety…” he panted, his eyes huge with an emotion too close to fear to leave her unfazed, “run!”

That’s when – trying to pat his back reassuringly – she felt the sticky heat seeping through the new sweatshirt they had just bought.

“Go, princess, please,” he croaked, squaring his jaw in a heroic attempt not to topple and – in the worst case possible – take her down and pin her under his lifeless body.

Damn her pride, Aahana thought feverishly, damn the whole secretive nonsense; clearly, her enemies had found her after all and despite all the precautions that had been taken to keep them in the dark.

“HELP,” she screamed, a sob shredding her words into a cacophony of feelings, “help me! Call an ambulance!”

People started turning around, hastening to her side; they were all in danger, Aahana knew, but she accepted to build a human shield if only it would boost Haldir’s chances of getting to the hospital before bleeding out.

“Aahana,” he wheezed, “don’t! You need to…”

Words failed him as the pain and the numbing cold flooded his senses.

“Hush, friend,” Aahana caressed his cheek tenderly, “it will be alright. I’ll alert your people from the ambulance; don’t worry.”

For weeks now, he had kept her safe – physically as much as emotionally – and she would be unworthy of her title and its honours if she could not repay his dutiful kindness by stepping up in his hour of need.

It had been her fault; she had become too confident and frivolous.

If only she had listened to careful, measured Haldir, but now it was too late, and she prayed to her gods and his alike that he’d be fine; she knew not how she would deal with the guilt and the emptiness if he was to succumb to that insidious wound.

Wasn’t it funny that a man so discreet and stoic was taken down by an attack equally as silent and dignified?

“Milady,” Haldir gasped – jolted awake by a bump in the road – and felt around the sterile cloth for her hand, “why did you…? How could you put yourself in danger for me like that?”

“I don’t often get the chance to talk to someone like you,” Aahana replied softly, “let alone be with someone like you, or be myself for that matter; I owe you not only my life but what little happiness I have known in the last year.” With a gentle hand, she brushed away a strand of hair – tacky with sweat – from his fair brow as she went on: “I am not more important than you, Haldir, no matter what people tell you…what else did you want me to do?”

“Run, as I told you,” Haldir frowned at her, but he didn’t manage to look quite as severe as he would have liked to, “get to a safe house and call Lady Galadriel.”

“And leave you behind?” Aahana was aghast.

“Yes, I am but a small cog in the works,” Haldir replied without false modesty.

“Wrong,” Aahana protested, “you are the only thing that mattered in that instant to me….” He managed a sad smile – allowing himself for a single second to believe that the way she looked at him now was proof of more than just professional courtesy and basic human decency – and then, the world went black around him.

I hope you enjoyed this, baby, once again, I love you truly <3

You are a really pretty girl and I hope I didn't say anything offensive. Love you ❤️

@eunoiaastralwings have her read this one to you <3

@fellowshipofthefics second entry :D

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Farawyn prompt

Dearest anon, you've sent this in some time ago...

and I said I wrote it and wouldn't post it because I'm a scaredy-cat and a mess...

My lovely friend @legolasbadass was so good as to read the story and assuage my doubts, so if you still want it...here it is 🙈

Sorry for taking so long...

Words: 1,9 k

Characters : Faramir x Éowyn (yes, canon x canon...)

Warnings: trauma, mention of the military, mention of Denethor

Éowyn stared at the display of allegedly edible items for a long moment before squaring her shoulders; after everything she had seen and done, cooking dinner for herself would not bring her to her knees.

Unfortunately, she was the first to admit – in silence and only to herself – that she was not the best of cooks, blast it, she detested her own cooking, but – after a friend had teased her about it – she had sworn that she’d cook dinner and send said friend a picture of her masterpiece as proof.

Stubborn, her beloved uncle’s voice echoed in her head, and she had to swallow hard against the surge of self-pity; the way Theoden – king amongst men – had loved her and how bitterly she regretted his passing every day defied words, so she didn’t even try to explain.

She would resist the urge of aiming beyond what she could possibly achieve and envision a solid, filling dinner; hence why she moved away from the exotic produce and ‘new products’ section with a sigh.

“You…cook…Are the times so dire and the end so nigh?” 

Her brother’s text made her roll eyes that many a man had called ‘beautiful’, an assessment she had answered by stating rather firmly that they were sharp and observant which was more important by far than being nice to look at, and she simply tucked her phone into her pocket before turning back to the legumes she knew well enough to prepare them appropriately. 

Éomer’s mockery – devoid of malice – set her teeth on edge; unfortunately, there were very few things as motivating to her than to be told that she could not do something, even – or especially – when she had to admit herself that her chances of success were looking rather bleak. 

Ah, since she had to cook, she would go all the way and make something healthy or, at least, that had been the plan; as it stood now though, she would have to scale down to a stew or something similar. How hard could it be to simply cut up vegetables and toss them into a pot with a piece of meat?

Her inner monologue was interrupted by a discreet clearing of the throat and Éowyn whirled around – the military training in her bones revving up immediately even after years of civilian life – to face whoever dared interrupt her in this monumental moment of supreme concentration.

“Doctor? Oh, I…I should not have disturbed you; this might be strange…hello!” 

Her blank stare warmed into joyous recognition.

“Faramir, how have you been?” she asked, extending a slender hand for him to shake.

After leaving the force to care for her ailing uncle, Éowyn had decided to resort to making a living by following her other great passion: helping people, so she had become a psychiatrist, and a rather good one at that.

Ambitious, studious, and diligent, she had done her uncle and – despite his tender teasing – her brother proud, but it was also often tiring. She was never free of the demons of other people, which was especially hard on days when her own plagued her relentlessly.

Éowyn was a passionate woman who took things to heart (after all, it often seemed to her that it was the biggest part of her) and so she was as selflessly invested in this new venture as she had once been in combat. No man left behind, whether that was under literal fire or in the pits of one’s own torment, that was her credo and remembering her own beliefs, she smiled, no longer daunted by something as mundane as cooking dinner.

Faramir had once been entrusted to her for assessment – even though she had been far from having seniority or the necessary practical experience – because he had been due to leave active duty and her superior had thought that she would be able to relate to him more easily.

To this day, he was one of her favourite case-studies and a person she wished she had met outside of work.

“What do you remember about your mother?” 

“Not much, unfortunately.” A minute side-glance before those startingly clear eyes returned to her face.  Regret and guilt, Éowyn wrote down in a neat even though rather simplistic hand, but too polite or too controlled to give in to the pain – might be lying about how much he remembers as if shielding me was the right course of action.

“How about your father?”

The flinch was almost imperceptible, followed by a detailed description that was full of praise but sounded a lot like he was talking about a celebrity he had never met in his whole life.

Mother dead, problematic relationship with the father, she scribbled underneath her first observation.

The mention of his brother, another sore subject for he was ‘missing in action’, made his eyes sparkle with open, honest, and intense affection though and Éowyn had to admit that this look of pride and hopeless longing was one she had seen in her own mirror once too often.

It was unprofessional, but she shared that tiny titbit, that single morsel of information, with him: she too had a brother who was loved and revered…and whose protective wing underneath which she had grown and thrived cast a shadow so huge and dark that she could understand only too well how love – even the purest and deepest form – could be laced with the poison of envy.

In the end, her assessment reflected her own personal conviction: despite having suffered trauma and neglect, Faramir was intelligent, sensitive, and well-adapted; he had a keen mind, a good understanding of situations and their possible outcomes, and a gentle heart that was able to reach depths of empathy that were rare and precious.

Her professional mind was quite satisfied with this, but her wild heart had resented the fact that such a favourable appraisal meant that she wouldn’t see him again, and Faramir did not strike her as the kind of man who would seek out therapy on his own, convinced that he’d be bothering her when she had better things to do and other people to tend to.

What she had not written down in her professional evaluation of a man going back to civilian existence rather than life was how handsome he had been, or how sweet and genuine his slightly hesitant smiles were.

“So, what are you doing here?” Faramir asked, pulling her back into reality rather abruptly by the charming inflection of his soft voice.

It struck him that this was a particularly unfortunate question to ask in the middle of a supermarket, so he tried to specify and explain at the same time as Éowyn burst out “Because this is where I live.” 

“I meant, what brings you to this supermarket in particular, but yes, I guess…” Faramir smiled, a little embarrassed.

“Yes, clearly, I don’t live in the supermarket. My flat is just around the corner though and I’m getting supplies to cook myself dinner,” she replied and wanted to melt into the floor never to be seen again when he explained that he had been living in the area for a few months now and had never met her before.

He was an ex-patient, she reminded herself, he didn’t need to know that the reason why he had never encountered her was that she rarely went grocery shopping because she didn’t cook as much or as well as she should.

“So, what are you making?” Faramir pressed on, evidently having overcome his initial embarrassment about approaching her in the vegetable aisle.

“Erm…stew?” she said, cursing herself for sounding so insecure; insecurity was deadly, insecurity led to hesitation, and hesitation led to mistakes and fatalities.

“You don’t sound convinced,” he laughed, nodding at her cart in which only non-edible items were neatly piled; one could take the girl out of the force, but one could not take the military training out of the girl.

The soft smile of recognition and empathy on Faramir’s face felt like a physical caress; of course, he understood how strange some of their habits might seem to people who had never even set foot where they had been encamped for months and who had never relied on those little things to make sure they’d see another sunrise.

“I am not a good cook,” she confessed quickly; it felt good to say this out loud and – the man was good at his job – her superior had been right when assuming that she would find it easy to build a rapport with Faramir, so she didn’t feel half as ashamed as she thought she would.

“Ah, one cannot be good at everything,” Faramir waved her words aside with an easy grace that he never granted himself, and Éowyn did not hesitate to bring this to his attention which made him avert his gaze in the same way he had done the first time they had met.

“You are right,” he then – to her surprise – admitted after a second of silence in which both wondered if that was the end of their conversation, “I am still working on focussing on my talents and skills rather than my shortcomings. Actually, while on the subject, I am quite a good cook, so, why don’t I prepare dinner and you give me some more pointers on how to adapt to civilian life again?”

He had not made many friends, Éowyn thought, she did not doubt for a second that he was well-liked by everyone he met, but he still had trust issues.

“Faramir, you know as well as I do that your problems do not stem from your time on the force,” she sighed under her breath.

“I do,” he nodded slowly, “but one step at a time?”

“Alright,” Éowyn agreed, strangely elated at the thought of not having to cook and eat alone after all, “I’ll help you, because I have sort of sworn an oath to cook myself dinner tonight.”

“Cheeky,” Faramir commented, but was already grabbing several vegetables confidently from the shelves and putting them – in a clean, ordered fashion as expected – into his own shopping cart, “but I’ll take this as a sign. I have been thinking about calling your office for some time now.”

“Oh,” Éowyn sighed, “I think it would be great for you to come back to therapy. You deserve to be happy, you know?”

A small chortle of awkward emotion escaped his lips before he admitted that he had also been thinking about his own happiness and the potential healing, but that therapy per se had not been the way to go about it that had come to his mind.

Éowyn cocked her head inquisitively while her heart sped up in her chest and her hands grew deadly still with concentration.

“What did you have in mind then?” she asked.

“Dinner?” Faramir laughed and held what looked like it might have been a cabbage aloft.

“Dinner is a good start,” she agreed and when he beamed at her, she realised that she no longer felt as tense and miserable as she had been upon entering this place anymore either; maybe, she thought, they would be good for each other in ways nobody could have predicted.

After all, her boss – a man with decades of experience and oodles of published papers – had believed that they’d get along well, and he was never wrong. 

“Yup, cooking…and it looks like I have a date.” 

Her message to Éomer sent, she turned off her phone and smiled up at her companion; brave to the extent of recklessness, Éowyn was ready to see where this new adventure would take her.

I am trying to go out of my comfort zone and write the things I believe I cannot write...

I am trying hard for y'all!

Lots of love from me <3 If you liked this, please drop me a line or so...

And never feel shy sending me an ask :D

@fellowshipofthefics guess this is another one for the May Challenge lol <3

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Come sail away - Part II

So, here's the second part of this :D (Part I)

Words: 3.6 k (I'm so sorry...it's rather long for me)

Warnings: NSFW, SMUT, Citrus all around...and sea, and accidents, and the usual nonsense

Summary: Fíli and Maura are taking out the boat while Lexi has an unfortunate accident!

With an exclamation strangled by a fit of laughter, Maura slipped out of her bikini bottom as well and jumped after him, letting the blessedly cold ocean swallow her just as Fí’s arms closed around her body and brought back the heat.

“Hello beautiful,” Fíli laughed and pressed a salty kiss onto her lips while he treaded water with the ease of a duck and the elegant strength of a big cat.

“Hi baby,” Maura replied and slung her legs around his, shamelessly rubbing herself against his groin underwater until he went cross-eyed with want; she was entirely naked while his swimming trunks grew tighter and more uncomfortable by the second.

“Oh God, I want you,” he moaned when she dug her fingers into his hair and pulled on it so his face floated like a sacrificial offering on the azure sea.

“If you can catch me,” Maura laughed, “you shall have me, but you’ll have to catch me first.”

And – before he could fully process her words once more – she had let go of him and pushed him under, already swimming away from the boat in elegant, forceful movements.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Fíli groaned and dove after her ambitiously.

The way her naked body cleaved the waves made him dizzy with desire, his mouth felt dry despite the endless amount of water around him, and the hot knot of lust thrumming in his gut paralysed his legs; Fíli decided that he would have to close his eyes if he didn’t want to literally drown in his love and concupiscence for this woman.

They were more or less of one height and so it took longer than he would have liked to admit catching up to her, but – in one last, herculean leap – he closed his arms around her legs and pulled her under the surface.

Her body flowed like warmer, smoother water through his hands as she rose up again, whipping back her long hair, looking black with wetness now, and laughing breathlessly.

“Let’s get back to the boat,” he purred seductively. Thankfully, she did not try to race him back as well for – by now – Fíli deemed himself fortunate if he didn’t sink like a stone.

“Oh, how I yearned to be alone with you,” Fíli admitted as they reached the small vessel, but then, a terrible realisation hit him; they had not let down the little latter that was to be attached manually.

“Erm,” Fíli chuckled, “I guess I’ll have to give you a boost.”

“Why can’t I give you a boost?” Maura asked suspiciously.

“I’m stronger, you’re lighter, take your pick,” Fíli said, his words underscored by rumbling laughter that melted into blubbering when his chin slipped under the surface of the water.

When his hands espoused the curve of her ass though, Maura knew that he had much baser motivations for privileging this constellation; while she scrambled madly for purchase – her wet hands slipping on the worn plastic – his thumbs curled inwards, pressing seductively against spots that were too close to different erogenous zones without hitting any of them.

She groaned, fighting the desire to let herself sink back and hence invite more of those tantalising caresses with which Fíli teased her now under the pretence of heaving her back onto the dangerously swaying cockleshell.

When she had finally made it onto the hot, sticky deck, she turned around to pull Fí up as well.

“Nice view, definitely the right decision,” he commented as her breasts hovered only inches away from his face and – true to his playful nature – he gave them a quick nip as he pushed himself up to match her efforts.

Crashing into her and slamming her back, he came to rest – panting with exertion – on top of her naked flesh; she was made for this, truly, the way the sun caressed her skin – bejewelled with millions of sparkling diamonds of water droplets – made her glow like a goddess of old.

There was no doubt in his mind about this: Maura was the kind of woman that had pushed men to go to war in hopes to be allowed but a glimpse of her glowing beauty in the blazing sun; her whole being seemed to be moulded from silver and gold, adorned with luxuriously dyed silks and encrusted with the rarest gems, and he felt giddy with pride that he was the one getting to hold her in his arms.

There was not a pearl in this whole ocean more precious, not a dark creature more mysterious, and not a drop of water more scintillating than her; he had never needed anything or anyone as much in his whole life.

Ori bit his lip, wondering what would be considered too cute now; he had already overstepped the boundaries by cradling her hand in his, but – at the same time – he was strangely reticent to let go of it.

“I hope they’re alright,” Lexi mused, looking out on the water that seemed smooth as a mirror in the distance.

“No doubt, Fíli is an excellent swimmer. They’re probably doing unspeakable things on that plastic sloop.” Ori rolled his eyes – envy battling indulgent mockery – but froze when Lexi uttered a heart-rending sigh.

Did she dream of things like that, he wondered, did she imagine herself as the heroine of some three-pence romance novel?

“I’m a solid swimmer,” he burst out, not entirely sure where he was going with that.

“I do not doubt it,” Lexi laughed, her eyes sparkling when she turned around to face him.

Her mouth went dry all at once; he looked like the kind of statue one found half-buried in the dark sands of the ocean floor, a monument to the deities of cultures long forgotten.

The way the reflection of the sun on the water danced in waves – white on white – over his chest mesmerised her; she knew now what his skin felt like and – as by divine intuition – she was sure that he’d taste like salted caramel – sweat, sea spray, and innate sweetness – if she was to give in this time and steal that kiss.

In her dazed mind, the picture came alive: his fingers splayed on the small of her back and her lips pressed against the thrumming skin on the side of his neck; oh yes, she could imagine the undulating rocking of his body swayed by the current and the feeling of the thin layer of cold water being warmed between their flesh as she’d cling to him loosely.

He struck her as the kind of man who would be game for that kind of harmless tenderness.

“What is it? Do I have something on my face?” Ori asked nervously, his gaze glued to the sluggish dancing of the waves – mirrored in the depth of her eyes – to avoid being distracted by her scantily clad body glistening like gold and amber.

Every fibre in her body yearned to just flow against him softly as did the lazy water, but she held herself back – memories of the awful dates she had suffered through only recently resurfacing like flotsam – and merely shook her head.

So engrossed was she in his beauty though that she had not taken any heed of the jellyfish aggregating in the shallows until an ominous, roughly triangular, grey shape startled her into stepping back in surprise.

Her foot landed squarely on one of the creatures, making her slip backward, and she uttered a piercing cry as a sharp, stinging pain cut through her.

Before she could land on her ass though, two arms were thrown around her writhing body and she was lifted out of the water carefully.

“Blasted beasts,” Ori hissed as she got heavier in his arms when he waded to shore.

“Oh my God, what happened? It was a joke,” Kíli cried, splashing frantically in his efforts to join them rapidly; he hadn’t noticed the jellyfish either and was overcome with guilt.

He was wearing a ridiculous imitation of a shark fin on his head, but unfortunately, Lexi could not even appreciate the situation as it felt as if her whole leg was being stabbed by flaming hot needles.

“You got to pee on it,” he screamed as he stumbled but caught himself just in time.

“What?” Ori stared back at him in wordless shock.

Lexi was in considerable pain still, but she couldn’t help wondering if he would truly whip out his private parts on the beach; she knew for a fact that it was a bad idea to pee on a jellyfish sting, but she waited to tell him so until his hand actually went to his trunks.

“This cannot be the first time this has happened,” Lexi groaned, “maybe we should go to the pharmacy and ask them what to do? Get a cream or something?”

“I’ll go,” Kíli exclaimed, already sprinting up the sand towards the road, “again, I am so sorry!”

As the first panic following the incident was subsiding, Lexi could now at least conjure up a weak smile as she watched the shark fin bob chaotically along the road, but as she tried to set her foot down, new barbs of pain shot up her leg.

“I’ll bring you in,” Ori smiled, “hold on.”

Oh, it was indecent, Lexi thought, but one of the easiest way to carry another grown-up, if one was not an action-hero, was to have her sling her arms around his neck and her legs around his torso while his hands supported her ass.

“Would you really have peed on me?” she asked as he rammed his shoulder into the French window in hopes that it would spring open on its own.

He smelled like sea, salt, and sunscreen and – pretending to be weaker than she actually felt – she dropped her cheek onto his shoulder to feel his skin against her own.

“If it had helped,” Ori chuckled, “maybe the sight would have amused you? Laughter is the best medicine after all.”

“Hmmm, you can still show me,” Lexi replied dreamily, “but I doubt that I’d laugh.”

He made a strangled noise deep in his throat, carrying her past a series of doors until he reached hers, muttering that he wondered if she was suffering from toxic shock.

“Take me to the bathroom?” she pleaded.

One look told her that the area looked as if she had put it into particularly vicious stinging nettles, which – in a way – she had: red, swollen, and acutely aching, her foot looked like it was destined to end up as minced meat.

“Alright,” Ori said nervously, “what would make it less painful? Cold water?”

He sat her down onto the rim of the bathtub and turned the old-fashioned faucets to fill it with ice-cold water while they waited for Kíli to come back from the pharmacy.

Careful to stay behind her at all times, he had to reach quite a bit, but the friction of her almost naked body – clammy and yet so warm – against his own unclad skin had had effects on him that he’d rather not rub in her face – quite literally as she was now seated at the perfect height – accidentally; in a few minutes, or so he hoped and prayed, it would subside anyway.

A draft – smelling of sun and ocean – blew in through the open window and Lexi shivered slightly; Ori was torn between offering to leave her so she could get out of her wet bikini and the reticence to desert her when she was in pain.

After wavering for a few seconds, he wrapped a towel around her and closed the window while Lexi moved her foot – red and slightly swollen – in the cold water languidly.

“Thanks for catching me and carrying me all the way,” she whispered without turning around to look at him; she found it somewhat peculiar that he’d stand behind her back, but – at the same time – he would have had to climb into the tub if he had wanted to face her.

“My pleasure,” he replied in a voice that sounded so earnest that it made her smile.

“You are not on any dating apps by chance?” she quipped, remembering that laughter was the best medicine apparently.

“No,” Ori laughed, “never had much success with that; it eats away at what little confidence I have. Why? Want to go on another disappointing date? I am pretty sure ‘had to slather him in sunscreen before stepping onto a jellyfish’ wins the prize anyway.”

“Hmmm, that’s not how I would have described it,” Lexi mused silently, “but yeah, I’d definitely swipe right on you.”

“You would?” Ori sounded honestly surprised, “Even though I was not in the least cute?”

“You can be cuter than this?” Lexi imbued her voice with a challenging note.

“Oh, watch me!” Ori laughed and squeezed her shoulder shortly when he heard Kíli come back, his naked feet slapping against the wooden floorboards and his frantic panting echoing through the whole cottage.

“You drive me insane,” he groaned, “I cannot think of anything but you.”

There were so many other words he wanted to say, but this was neither the time nor the place to bring up the wishes and needs of his yearning heart; sooner or later, he would have to let her see just how needy he truly felt underneath the air of bonhomie and the pretence of careless charm, but not quite yet.

“Is that so?” Maura cocked one eyebrow, her body blurring in the blinding sunlight as she lay – sprawled out and comfortable – with her eyes now closed as if the world only existed to serve as a backdrop to her glory.

Instead of answering, Fíli tore off his own swimwear – sticking uncomfortably to his heated skin – and covered her body with his; the literal sun was hence replaced by a metaphorical one, his hair glowing like a halo around his ruggedly handsome face when she pried open her lids upon realising that a shadow had fallen on her seconds before his skin came to rest on hers.

“Let me just look at you,” he breathed, more to himself than to her; he had seen her a thousand times and yet, as soon as she was out of sight, he berated himself for not having looked at her more.

“You idiot,” she laughed, lifting her legs to pull him closer again after he had risen to his knees to drink in the way the light played on her curves – painting highlights and shadows across the paradisiac expanse of her bare chest – or to follow the faint lines of dried salt that all led to the dimple of her navel still holding that last drop of ocean water like a sacred chalice.

“I love you,” he whispered, giving in to her tugging willingly and groaning when his cock brushed against the wet heat that was nothing like the cool ocean they had just left.

His lips – and all those beautiful words – travelled down Maura’s warm skin; “I adore you” – kisses down her neck; “I cannot live without you” – a flick of his tongue against the salty peaks of her breasts, “I miss you as soon as you’re gone” – a dip of that same tongue into the hallowed pool of sea water in her belly button; “You’re mine” – a chaste, closed-lip kiss on the velvety skin between her legs.

“Fí,” she sighed; it was a plea and an exhortation so airy translating a yearning so voracious and deep.

When he allowed that devout tongue – busy in the worship of the goddess who was sun and moon to him – to delve into the salty heat of her lust, they both moaned at the same time; she smelled like the ocean, and she tasted like heaven.

Writhing on the rough surface of worn plastic, Maura saw stars spinning overhead in the endless blue of a midday sky; eternity contracted into a single grain of sand under her helplessly clawed fingers as he lapped at her lazily like the sea washed against the shore.

Fíli listened to her pant his name as he brushed his thumb – broad and as smooth as the algae-covered rocks – from the entrance to that cave of wonders to the pearl of her lust and back in slow, deliberate strokes.

“Come to me,” she begged, but he was unable to let her off the hook; he had caught himself a mermaid – mesmerising and dangerous – and he could not let her slip back into the depths of the ocean.

Redoubling his efforts, he felt her tense under him.

The spasms shaking her felt like an underwater volcanic eruption; the sea – so calm and placid on the surface – seemed to be churning wildly and Maura felt herself being tossed around violently from the sheer intensity of her release.

Before she could catch her breath though to beg him anew, Fíli had slipped into her with the same ease as displayed while jumping into the water; the familiar and yet ever exciting feeling of being stretched and filled made her groan with pleasure.

They were one – with each other and with the universe – and he started moving to the rhythm of the sea; every wave rocking the boat seemed to make him flow in and out, and the gentle tides of his tender lovemaking conjured up a happy smile on her face.

Soon though, the invisible storm was back and hurled them around mercilessly – flinging them against the rocks of passion to shatter like seashells – as Fíli surged and crashed into her like the angry, stormy North Sea threw itself against the rocky shore in defiance.

Their whimpers of encouragement and self-abandoned pleasure bled into the cacophony of the seagulls screaming somewhere in the distance until – with a shuddering, hoarse scream – Fíli lost himself in that other kind of wet paradise, pumping his own warm contribution into her while hugging her to his chest almost spasmodically.

The feeling of his coarse chest hair against her sensitive nipples was enough to push Maura over the edge as well – that second climax coming fast and hard on the heels of the first one that had never been allowed to fully ebb away and lose itself in the sands of time – and she sank her teeth into the flesh of his shoulder in an insane attempt to not let him go.

“My God,” Maura laughed, “they’ll think that we’ve drowned.”

Fíli just shrugged; he was fairly certain that none of his kinsmen had wasted a single thought on him this far, but then again, he didn’t exactly know how long they had been gone.

He was perfect, Maura thought hazily, the way he was stretched out – naked and proud – under the sun, letting sea water and other fluids dry on his skin that was already gilded by the golden rays; unapologetic by nature, Fíli didn’t feel the need to hide who he was in private, and she felt honoured to be allowed to witness these moments of vulnerable truth.

“As much as I’d love to stay here forever like this,” she sighed, “I think we should get back. You can sneak into my room after dinner?”

The summer camp atmosphere – secret meetings and stolen kisses – stoked their desire more than either one of them would have cared to admit.

“If you manage to get away from your chaperone, you mean?” Fíli chuckled as he slipped back into his wet trunks with a grimace; he could imagine the women sitting on a bed, booze at their side, and gossiping about men while doing their hair to go nowhere at all.

“Hmmm,” Maura winked, “we’ll see how she has fared with those two.”

Fíli’s face grew serious.

“We should really get back,” he mumbled, “I wouldn’t put it past them to have chased her all the way home with their idiocies.”

That, he thought, or into hospital; he had been reprehensibly selfish, he should never have left a poor, unsuspecting woman alone with his brother and his cousin.

He was a computer programmer, not a nurse, Lexi tried to remind herself, but when Ori came back, cream in hand and sat down in the cold water without so much as a groan to take another look at her foot, all those reservations just drained out of her mind.

“All done,” he said after having checked for stingers, dried, and treated her foot, “I think it should be fine, but I can go get you something against the pain?”

“No,” Lexi smiled, “it’s better already. Thank you. So…Would you help me back into my room so I can get out of these wet things, please?”

Ori swallowed heavily but nodded.

“Mister,” Lexi laughed, “you wanted to whip out your cock in front of me! Don’t tell me you’re a prude now?”

“It was for first aid,” he mumbled miserably, but extended his hand to her and – when she tottered – he lifted her, still wrapped in her fluffy towel, back into his arms with a tiny sigh, “I would never do anything like that…I’m not a creep.”

“Oh, but I am still aching,” Lexi whispered into his ear and the low moan she earned for that had nothing to do with her weight or the physical effort of carrying her.

“I don’t really know what you mean…”

Lexi just rolled her eyes and – unable to withstand the constant temptation of his siren skin – she turned her head and pressed a careful kiss onto his cheek that flushed with heat almost instantly.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying? I didn’t even realise that you were flirting!”

“Evidently,” Lexi laughed, “and I didn’t expect to do so, but…you’re just too cute not to…”

“Damn,” Ori exclaimed in a strangled voice, “Fí and your friend will roast me like a lū’au pig!”

So, this was the second part of this and - as you can see - there is room for a third and final part...if anyone would want to read that...

Please let me know!

@laurfilijames thank you for having my back on this one and motivating me ❤️ your support means everything ❤️

Ah yes, @fellowshipofthefics, this one theoretically qualifies as well :D

Lots of love to all of you from me <3

-> Part 3

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Leafy 🍃 here!

Can I request for Thranduil for Modern AU May challenge?

The following?

Assassin AU

Dancer

"Am I under arrest or not?"

I was initially thinking of Legolas, but maybe Thrandy will make it more fun? 🙈🤫

Hello my dearest leafy anon...

Oh, this one was fun to write 👀

I hope you'll like it...<3

Words: 1,5k

Warnings: Weapon and assault (also slight horniness)

You had worked a good many jobs before and even though you were aware that your chosen profession might be unsavoury to many a person, you also had to tell yourself that – at times – it was a necessary evil. It was not as if life had presented you with much of a choice and, moreover, you were exceptionally good at what you did.

This one was different though, you could feel it in your bones; sooner or later – this much you had always known – this whole enterprise would combust, and you’d end up either in jail or on the receiving end of the services you offered yourself, for the right amount of money.

Thranduil.

A single word on a black card, thick paper, every letter embossed and gilded; whoever your client was, they had enough money and hatred to go through the trouble of finding you for the express purpose of getting rid of the elusive dancer.

The fairy-king, you mused, as your eyes swept over the meticulously compiled dossier on the man; nobody knew how old he truly was or where he had come from, to many it even seemed that he had just magically appeared on international stages one day to enchant and beguile spell-bound audiences with the otherworldly beauty of his moves.

“Whatever have you done to have a hit put out on you?” you whispered at the stylised portrait on a flyer advertising his latest performance in one of the most illustrious theatres of the city.

Knowing that he was an accomplished and diligent professional, you could surmise that he would be there in this very second, practising.

“He won’t know what hit him,” you muttered under your breath, surprised at the surge of pity and regret in your ice-cold heart at that thought; being as successful as you were, you had the luxury of being able to pick and choose your targets and usually, you liked to believe that you only took out people who were a menace to society.

The money had been too good, you tried to assuage yourself, and you don’t know what he has done to some poor soul.

A dancer though? A creature of airy elegance and ethereal beauty? What cruel and wicked deed of his would warrant so drastic a step?

Forcing the lock on the backdoor of the theatre was ridiculously easy and you slipped into the unlit corridors like a ghost, melting into the wavering shadows between discarded props and racks of costumes.

“This is not right,” you heard someone growl as you rounded the corner and cowered just beneath the stage; looking up, you caught a glimpse of the single most beautiful creature you had ever beheld in your whole life.

He seemed to float across the scuffed planks of the stage – twirling graciously – to the discreet piano concerto flowing out of the overhead speakers like water; again and again, he interrupted himself and a moue of impatient annoyance cleft that perfectly symmetrical face in which heavy brows gathered like storms clouds over sky-blue eyes.

Evidently, he was alone, and this was your moment to strike, but you found yourself transfixed by the beauty of his dancing.

While every sparse movement of yours was guided and ruled by necessity and purpose, his were akin to art – valuable and justified by and in themselves – and you couldn’t prevent the pang of burning envy rushing through your veins.

You were efficient, you were the best, you were uncontested, and yet, you were nowhere near as gracile as this man; moreover, you were – by nature and by design – invisible whereas he was spinning like a shooting star in the limelight.

“Come on, Thranduil,” he hissed into the empty room, “get it right!”

He was hard on himself – unduly so – for you found his routine flawless and when the knives slid into your hands as if by magic, your fingers curled around the engraved hilts one by one. This was your moment, you urged yourself into action once more.

Contrary to common belief, you were not a person of great violence; efficient, clean, and as cold as ice, you struck like a snake and vanished again.

There was no pleasure, no gloating, and no unnecessary delays in your carefully thought-out plans; you simply completed the job, got your money, and went back to being a phantom until the next time someone ferreted you out.

As you stepped into the blinding light, the man spun around gracefully – his ice-blue eyes interested and alert –and ducked out of the trajectory of your stabbing motion with a single fluid leap.

“I had wondered if this would happen,” he mused, ebbing and flowing like an ocean under your amazed gaze; nobody had ever been able to avoid your lethal assault.

“Your steps give you away,” he went on when you mutely calculated the odds of getting out of this one alive, “I dance to the rhythm of my heart and – quiet as they may be – your feet hitting these planks create a dissonance.”

When you lunged again, his hand – long-fingered and smooth – closed around your wrist and stopped your arm mid-movement.

In a completely unexpected move though, Thranduil twirled you around as if you were but a paper doll suspended on a piece of string, and when his chest – hard and wide – crashed into your back, you couldn’t help but follow his lithe steps to the edge of the stage.

“Is this the life you’ve chosen for yourself?” he asked, his breath ghosting warm and slightly laboured across the back of your neck and the sensitive curve of your right ear, “Is this how you want to go down? I can make a civil arrest, you know?”

You didn’t doubt that; his body – carved out of marble by thousands of hours of hard work and iron discipline – was towering over your own and as you excelled by being inconspicuous and fast rather than by wielding or applying brute force, you were only too aware of your disadvantage in this situation.

A low, hostile growl bubbled up in your chest and disrupted the perfect melody of his regular heartbeat once more.

His hand was still holding your wrist while the other curled around your throat ever so lightly – almost tenderly – as he held you against his body like Prometheus or Maedhros chained to a rock.

“Am I under arrest or not?” you hissed when – after what felt like an eternity – he had still not made any kind of move; you had started to feel lulled yourself by the dull thumping of his heart – encased in glorious flesh only veiled by a thin camisole – and the smell of fresh, clean sweat.

“That remains to be seen,” he whispered into your ear, “drop the knife and look at me.”

You did as you were asked, turning your head slowly to drown in the cold lakes of his eyes while a deliberate, almost mocking smile blossomed on that sensual mouth and made you want to trace that enchanting curve with the tip of your finger or of your tongue.

“Did I – personally – offend you somehow?” he asked, humour flashing like lightning through the depths of those irises, “Or is this just business?”

“Business,” you admitted, “the money was really good.”

“I can match whatever they’ve promised,” he grinned, “I can give you even more than that; I can offer you a way out.”

“How?” Suspicion made you frown and squint at him in instinctive distrust.

“You are good,” he admitted, “but this must be tiring.”

You had found your master in this stranger, so you were thankful for his compliment as it softened the blow to your ego considerably.

“How?” you repeated.

“Stay with me,” he muttered, “have my back! I won’t arrest you and we will never speak of this again.”

Warmth crept into his expression now – a sort of detached empathy that was too disinterested to be polluted by something as vile as pity – and you swallowed nervously; what he was pitching was more than a job, it was a home, a mission, a place you would call your own.

“Why?” you asked, the doubts increasing by the second rather than abating; why would a potential victim offer you heaven on earth?

“I like the sound of your steps,” he winked, “and – as I have learned tonight – I am in dire need of someone to watch over me.”

This one was different, you had known it; in your bones, in your heart, in your soul, you had felt that this might be your last hit.

Only, you had never even considered that the death of your work persona – a name nobody would ever speak again – would be followed by the rebirth of a person long lost and almost entirely forgotten.

“Deal?” His fingers unclenched and he pushed back a strand of colourless, long hair out of the most handsome face you had ever seen.

“Deal,” you agreed and – in a moment of stupid intuition – your hand found his in the darkness and held it for a long moment while overhead only the dust motes danced in the bright beams of the stage lights.

@fellowshipofthefics So, here's another one :D

I hope this has amused some of you, if you, your input would be very welcome indeed 😞

Please good Sir, gentle Ma'am, can you spare a comment for me? My soul is starving 🥺

Lots of love from me <3

[i-did-not-mean-to]

surprised to find me into your ask box for au?

Yes,me too, girl! 😆

setting— drunk/night out au

occupation— reporter or librarian (I'm a document controller these are the only things close to that job— which might help me read it myself now, because relatable! 🤞)

Diagloue— maybe you need to focus more on your life and less on mine

GO WILD! 🤣

-Tara💝

Well...wouldn't that be my biggest honour and pleasure? I think so...

So...Modern!AU...for you, it would have to be Erestor, right?

Words: 1,6k

Warnings: verbal abuse, alcohol consumption

It was not as if Erestor didn’t like you, he was far from the monster people made him out to be sometimes after all, but he really didn’t know what to think of you or how to interact with you, and that made him nervous.

Being nervous – in turn – made him taciturn and hostile which was exactly the opposite of a promising reaction.

For years, he had been safe and sound in his little library – seeing journalists come and go – and he had followed their careers with benign disinterest until the day one of the hotshot reporters had decided that he was now too famous and important to do his own research himself.

The wide-eyed, sweet-tempered woman they had dug up from somewhere – you – who was hired to do just that for that self-important prick had intrigued him from the very start, but – knowing full well what people said about him behind his back – Erestor had merely given you some helpful tips from time to time when you had been looking for a very specific source.

Watchful by nature, he had also been the heart-broken and utterly helpless witness of your short dalliance with the man who should have been your mentor and your friend, and who ended up destroying your self-confidence by treating you like something easily expendable.

One day, Erestor knew, he would have to come out of his shell if he didn’t want to be found dead and covered in dust between the rows and stacks of books, but the more he watched how other men treated good, honest women, the deeper his disdain and hatred for all things romantic grew. It was hopeless and that made him angrier than it should have.

Who was to guarantee him that – being rather clumsy and inexperienced in these things – he would not end up hurting someone like you by accident? Nobody, that was right, and hence, Erestor stayed in his corner and watched as the days dripped past like rain running down a windowpane.

You had practised the speech in the mirror of the small upstairs bathroom for 5 minutes, but once you stood in front of Erestor, all the words – so carefully prepared – were blown right out of your mind.

“Can I help you?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow impatiently.

“Well, yes,” you admitted sheepishly, “we’re going out for drinks tonight and I wondered if you would like to come?”

“Why? I do not work at your paper…Why would I come?”

“I had hoped you’d come,” you mumbled quietly; you felt safer when he was around, ever since that debacle with your boss, the library had become the only place you felt really comfortable in.

“Truly?” he sounded somewhat sceptical of that affirmation, but if you really wanted him to sit in a dank room and drink beer, who was he to deny you? “Alright then. Where are we going?”

You could hardly believe that he had accepted your invitation and – for the rest of the day – you could barely sit still or focus on any of your tasks so excited were you to be spending an evening outside of work with the mysterious librarian you so liked to see.

He was a tad older than you but still so blindingly handsome with his serious mien and his deep eyes that seemed to hold a hint of indulgent mockery and impatient intelligence whenever they met yours.

“You truly got the old grump to come?” your boss jeered as Erestor appeared at the end of the street, wrapped in an elegant dark wool coat, and walking briskly toward the group waiting in front of the pub.

“Yes,” you replied not without pride and the joy tinging your voice made the man’s mood turn bitter within an instant.

True to his nature, Erestor spent most of the evening just observing the people around him; they were a loud and disagreeable bunch at the best of times, and the alcohol did nothing to make them more bearable.

Annoyance started building in his chest and when that one asshole he hated anyway because of how he had treated you took the liberty of disparaging and mocking you in front of all your senior colleagues, Erestor squared his jaw in frustration to keep from leaping over the table and punching him right in the face as he would have deserved it.

It was obvious that you were ill at ease as well though as you kept downing glass after glass at a speed that soon made your head feel fuzzy and your heart lighter; you knew of course that this was just a momentary respite that you’d pay dearly in the morning, but somehow, as the alcohol entered your bloodstream, you no longer cared about how helpless and isolated you felt.

The jokes made at your expense and the glances full of pity and disdain respectively that your colleagues gave you became irrelevant as the whole world started to blur and float around you.

“Baby,” your boss – not entirely sober either – slurred, “should I take you home?”

For a moment, you hesitated; he had broken your heart and you knew for a fact that this was not him coming back to you, it was merely a matter of convenience and alcohol-induced horniness.

“No,” Erestor intervened, “I’ve got her. You’ve had quite enough yourself; I’ll take her home and make sure she’s safe!”

That last word, safe, was sharp as a blade and your boss flinched back as if Erestor had physically rebuffed him.

“Woah there, aren’t you a little intense, Mister Grumpy-pants? Always moping around amidst those books seems to have done you no good,” the man jeered, “you wouldn’t even know what to do with a lady that drunk, would you? I’d be surprised if you knew what to do with any kind of woman.”

“Maybe you need to focus more on your life and less on mine,” Erestor replied coldly, “for I know exactly what to do with a lady who has had more than her fill: bring her home and make sure she’s alright. The fact that you’d have other, more sinister plans makes you a despicable creature.”

Without wasting another thought or look on your boss, Erestor slung his arm around your waist, slammed down a few bills on the table, and all but carried you out.

“You…you don’t need to do that,” you slurred; the cold air hitting you straight into the face made you feel a little better even though your thoughts were still kind of sluggish and hard to decipher.

“I don’t trust that pig,” Erestor grunted as he escorted you down the road, “do you live far from here?”

You shook your head – dizziness making you claw your fingers into his beautiful coat – and pointed at a complex just within sight.

“Alright,” he grumbled and – after giving you a long, warning look – he lifted you into his arms and carried you to your door.

“Flash the lights thrice so I know that you made it home alright,” he demanded, cupping your cheek almost tenderly as you buried your face in his collar when he set you back down.

“I am sorry he said those things to you,” you whispered, too tired and sad to withstand the embarrassing neediness flooding your being and pushing you into his living, breathing, comforting warmth.

“I care not,” Erestor almost barked, “I am sorry he did those things to you though; he didn’t deserve you, and his jokes are truly horrible. Please, do not worry about someone like him.”

“You really think that he didn’t deserve me?” Your eyes lit up with hope and – as you looked up at him – you realised that his lips were but a breath away from your own.

“I know that for a fact,” he whispered, his words ghosting warm and fragrant across your face, “you’re smart, diligent, and beautiful. You were so far out of his league that he probably just got scared, little ridiculous man that he is.”

Erestor was right, deep within your heart you knew that he was; his own arms were strong and reliable though as they curled loosely around your swaying form.

“Do you want to come up?” you asked, emboldened by the way he held you, but Erestor gave you a surprisingly soft smile as he shook his head, a hint of regret flashing over his beautiful face.

“You don’t know what you’re saying, dear, you need to sleep.”

“Please? You can just hold me? And make sure that I am truly okay?” You hated yourself for sounding so desperate and clingy, but the fatigue, the alcohol, and the memory of all the terrible things that had been said about you this evening weighed heavily on your heart all of a sudden.

“I’ll bring you up and we’ll see,” he finally agreed, taking your hand and not letting go until you had unlocked the door.

Erestor waited patiently on your couch for you to go through your night-time routine and when – washed and changed – you wobbled back into the living room to sit down next to him, he allowed both of you the pleasure of pulling you into his careful embrace once more until you had fallen asleep against his chest.

One day, he knew, he would have to tear down those walls around his heart.

He truly hoped that day would be the very next one when you’d wake up in his arms with a rueful smile.

@eunoiaastralwings I hope this was not too terrible for you :D

@fellowshipofthefics Third entry for the May Challenge :D

Lots of love from me for all of you...and if you have an obscure character you want to see written in a Modern!AU, I might just be your gal hahahaha

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Fellowship of the Fics May Challenge

Bagginshield (11 - 25 - 24) for @sunnyrosewritesstuff

Haldir x Southasian OC (11 - 10 - 11) for anon <3

Erestor x Reader (5 - 21/22 - 9) for @eunoiaastralwings

Thranduil x Reader (1- 17 -3) for 🍃anon

Legolas x Reader (5 - 27 - 16) for 🍃anon

Come sail away (7 - 13 - 17) (Ori story)

Fíli x Reader (9 - 4 - 4) for @saucyminxbrainspill

Faramir x Éowyn (4 - 20 - 4&8) for anon

Haldir x reader (9 - 15 - 13) for anon

Fíli x reader (2 - 1 - 1) for @guardianofrivendell

Thranduil x reader (12 - 12 - 4) for @eunoiaastralwings

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Come sail away - Part IV

-> Part III

Dearest @laurfilijames, I hope this can entertain you while you're resting. I love you ❤️

Words: 3.9 k

Warnings: NSFW, SMUT! (also soft boys and praise)

Summary: The grand finale (so basically...sex)

“Do you think they’ll be alright?” Maura sat down on one of the deserted deckchairs standing alone and forgotten along the empty beach, drawing Fíli in to follow her like the moon moved the ocean without ever touching it.

“I don’t know,” Fíli replied slowly; he respected her too much to lie, “I am truly sorry that this didn’t work out the way we had hoped it would; Ori is a good dude, but he’s not super convincing.”

“There lies the problem,” Maura interrupted him rather harshly, “he is a little too convincing; he’s scared her half to death and I understand her!”

Fíli’s eyes narrowed as he caught the hint of trembling in her voice; he knew that he could intimidate a man if he tried to, but he had never expected or wanted to frighten the woman he loved with all his heart.

“You’re just all a little too perfect,” she grumbled, “and it is uncanny.”

“Kíli is dumb as fuck, he’s been in love with his best friend for ages and hasn’t caught on yet. Ori might well already be crushing on a woman who has no interest whatsoever in him, and my poor ass is hung up on a lady who doesn’t seem to be interested in taking this relationship any further. We are far from perfect; Kíli and Ori have managed to injure that poor girl, I mean, come on!”

“She injured herself,” Maura contradicted, “and where do you want to take this relationship?”

“I want to be allowed to come to your apartment,” he burst out, not thinking about it beforehand.

“To my apartment? When?” Maura frowned at him, at a loss about what he wanted to say.

Fíli just shrugged; he didn’t know how to make her understand that all he wanted was a place in her life that was entirely his, but if he had to ask for it, it would always feel like a well-meant but not very earnest gift.

“Ok,” Maura rubbed her chin absent-mindedly, “apparently Lexi and I both had a point; I love you, I do! You can come to my flat whenever you want, whether I am there or not; you are welcome, you know?”

“Kíli will be back soon,” Ori sighed against her lips, but somehow, his hands wouldn’t obey him when he tried to retract them from her skin.

Lexi didn’t care; Kíli was a grown man, and he didn’t need anyone to come and turn on the TV for him. She had no doubt whatsoever that he would be peachy on his own, especially as she was convinced that it was him and not Maura who had ratted on her.

Her friend would never make it that easy on her, no, Maura would have wanted her to slink down in abject shame and seek Ori out.

Once again, the other woman’s insult came back to haunt her; how often had she moaned about wanting a man to actively come after her without being pushy or even so much as confident about winning her over.

“Why did you come up?” she asked, compelled by some intrinsic desire to hear something disappointing.

“I was worried about you; I told you, I am a natural worrier,” he chuckled, still unable to let go of her even though the heat of her naked body was slowly seeping into his veins and firing up his own blood; she was beautiful to him and it had been a time since he had last held a naked woman in his arms, trembling with a tension as old as time.

“Am I yours to worry about?” she teased him and felt his lips quirk in dismay before he admitted that – obviously – she was not his in any way or form, but that he couldn’t – once again – help it.

“You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met,” Lexi sighed.

“I am sorry? Believe me, I’d also rather be sexy like Fí or funny like Kí,” Ori muttered, “but I am – undeniably and irreversibly – cute, little Ori. Ori and his computers. Ori and his books. Ori and his hopeless inaptitude when it comes to women. Believe me, I’ve heard it all before.”

“I think you’re sexy,” Lexi confessed breathlessly; she remembered his arms around her body and the cute, snow-white butt she had gotten but a glimpse of, and she would have lied if she had claimed that her standing naked pressed against him had nothing to do with that spontaneous striptease before dinner.

“Don’t mock me,” he whispered, “I know better than that. So, are you alright?”

“More than alright,” she replied, letting her hands fall from his shoulders to his upper arms to pull him closer in hopes to seduce him into another one of those slow, melting kisses; she could smell the sweet scent of his skin under the run-of-the-mill deodorant and the clean smell of laundry detergent, “bring me back to bed, please?”

Thinking of her foot, Ori lifted her the way he had several times before, only – even though she had been scantily clad before – she was completely naked now and when the soft flesh of her chest was pressed against him without the protective layer of wet, clammy fabric, the effect was quite a different one.

His clothes seemed to burn on his skin as if he had developed an allergy to cotton in the last few minutes and heat crept up his neck to pool in his cheeks while her eyes sparkled like pearls on the bottom of the sea with unspoken promises.

“Is this seduction?” he asked quietly as he set her down on the edge of the bed but didn’t retreat.

“It is whatever you want it to be,” Lexi purred sensually when she recognised the slow burgeoning of lust in his gaze.

“Oh, then let it be seduction, please,” he laughed in self-derision, “or let me flee this room and your naked self.”

After a second though, he added: “No pressure, it was just a joke. I am…not like that.”

Of course he wasn’t, Lexi thought with a mix of emotion and pity; he evidently thought that telling a woman that he wanted her was sexual harassment, even if she presented herself naked and obviously inclined to be kissed by him.

“Come here and kiss me again then,” she invited and giggled when he stepped up to her immediately; she let her thighs fall open to accommodate his form and gave a small huff of surprise when he simply dropped on top of her, his lips caressing her own ever so carefully.

She could feel the solid ridge of his arousal press against her and tilted her hips to get more of it, strangely excited by this unspoken confession that – beyond the shadow of a doubt – was mortifying in the highest degree to the poor man himself.

“Is Maura around by the way?” she asked to give him some time and room to breathe through the panic flickering in his eyes.

“No, she’s gone out with Fí,” Ori informed her sheepishly, “why? Do you need her?”

“Well yes,” Lexi patted her salt-crusted hair, “I need someone to spot me while I shower; I guess that honour falls to you now.”

The expression of horror and desire on his face made her laugh out loud, but he diligently scrambled up and extended a hand to her.

“Alright, let’s go,” he declared bravely and grinned at her.

“You are aware that you’re going to get naked and hold me while I balance on one foot?” Lexi asked as she hobbled over into the bathroom.

“Maura would have held you? Naked?” Ori stared at her in wide-eyed amazement; the images running through his mind made his blood boil and Lexi’s exhilarated laughter did nothing to dispel the heat.

“Yes, it’s much less sexy than you imagine it to be,” she chuckled while she leaned heavily on his arm to step over the rim of the bathtub gingerly to get the water running.

“Ah, well,” Ori muttered indecisively, looking down in utter and abject misery at his treacherous body that would show her in a second just how erotic he found the mere idea of two beautiful women cuddling under running water.

“Get rid of the clothes and come here,” Lexi laughed; she had to lean against the wall not to lose her balance which was dangerous enough as the wet ceramic was slippery, and her head was spinning.

Her word was his command and – reluctantly but steadily – he peeled out of his sober, unexciting garments to lay bare the soft body of a man who spent too much time hunched over flashing screens in dark rooms; once more, he wished he could display the sun-kissed muscles his cousins paraded around so proudly to provoke that amazed look women generally got when gazing upon them.

“Well hello there,” she laughed when he stood – naked as the day he had been born – under her blazing eyes that were sparkling with amusement.

“Don’t mock me, kissing a naked woman who tells you about another naked woman hugging her wonderful body necessarily has an effect on a man,” Ori grumbled, stepping in behind her and extending his arms readily for her to lean on.

“I am not mocking you,” Lexi sighed, “you are truly too precious to be true.”

He held her through her whole intricate shower routine, flinching every time her hands brushed his body and stifling a moan as she let her palms lavish suds across her generous chest just underneath his very nose; he was not a tall man, but God knew he was tall enough to look over her shoulder and follow the movement of those slender fingers across sun-kissed skin.

“Need some?” Lexi asked and gave the shower gel bottle a tentative shake.

His first instinct was of course to tell her that he had already showered, but his voice had been washed down the drain together with the rest of his dignity.

Lexi turned around in his arms, settling her cheek on his shoulder as she had before and he couldn’t help tightening his arms about her, pulling her closer and hence intensifying his own torment as her warm, wet skin was now flush against his own heated flesh.

“I might have ruined my bandage,” she whispered, watching the discreet shiver rippling through his skin to die in the darkness of his eyes; he was beautiful in ways he could not fathom himself and she couldn’t get enough of it.

“I’ll redo it,” he promised, stepping out almost hastily and leaving her swaying; before she could collapse though, his arms were back – solid and reliable – and he swaddled her in another towel before lifting her out of the tub and onto a small – mercifully empty – cabinet.

As he knelt in front of her, Lexi was overcome with a sense of self-possession and playfulness that was exceedingly rare for her and so she let her thighs drift outward – knowing full well what view he’d have from his position – and waited for him to look up.

“Woman,” he cursed when he finally did, pressing his lips ardently against the inside of her calf, “are you purposefully trying to drive me insane? That’s not very nice, you know? You keep saying how sweet I am to you and yet, you keep torturing me.”

Fíli pressed her down flat onto the woven surface of the chair, covering her neck laid bare by the flimsy sweater that felt soft and worn under his lips with kisses and her body with his.

“I want this,” he murmured, “I want to take you while only the moon and the ocean are our witnesses.” “A holiday fling?” Maura joked, but he nodded solemnly.

“Yes, I want to be your holiday bimbo, your Christmas ugly-sweater-partner, your wedding plus-one, your TV buddy…”

“My man,” she whispered, “is that it? You want to be my man?”

The light jumper she had thrown on was slipping off her shoulder and his lips caressed and teased this new spot of naked skin for a moment before he hummed his acquiescence; was it so wrong a yearning?

Already, her legs squeezed him in that rhythmic way that made his thoughts fly apart; urgency surged like a wave within his chest and his fingers clawed at the irritating, shifting garment as he dropped his hips to grind against her, grinning when her lips parted in a silent moan of pure desire.

The air smelled like salt and secrets and Fíli took a deep breath to regain but a quantum of control over his urges, but when her own sweet scent mingled with the aroma of freedom, a desperate groan escaped his gritted teeth.

“I need you,” he whispered, and his eyes started to water – blinking was impossible when Maura looked so beautiful in the moonlight – when her tongue drew lazy patterns onto the side of his throat.

“We’ll be arrested,” she giggled, but her hand was already feeling down his quivering stomach to tease the pulsating bulge between his legs; she was wrapped around him like a protective layer of flesh and beauty, and he wished that this would be his shroud.

“If you keep doing that,” he said while cocking an eyebrow, “they won’t even have time to unpack their handcuffs before I’m done.”

“Want to come to my room later then?” Maura asked as she inserted her hand between his clothes and his skin; all of this had a summer camp feeling indeed, the blind fumbling behind a rickety beach shack and the clumsy kisses in the darkness.

“I don’t think I can wait that long,” Fíli admitted, “I want you, right here, right now.”

Maura could think of worse places to have sex than a deserted beach – some of them having been explored thoroughly with Fí before – so she leaned back and let him crash over her like wave, leaving wet trails of kisses on her skin that seeped into her veins to drum her blood up into a storm.

Their bodies seemed to have a mind of their own because – even before any conscious decisions or plans were made – his hips started rocking against Maura automatically, exerting delicious pressure that was just enough to make her whole body tingle with want but not sufficient to get enough friction to truly satisfy her.

“Don’t you just love the sea?” Fíli sighed, breathing in the fresh salty smell as deeply as he could.

Maura rose up against him and – in moment of tenderness – he switched their positions and set her down on his lap, putting his chin on her shoulder and encircling her shivering body with his strong arms; despite their insatiable hunger for each other, they both yearned for these quiet moments of deep-felt connection that could so easily get lost in their hectic lives.

Caressing her throat with one hand, Fíli traced the lines of her body – the smooth elegance of her arms and the tight curve of her hip – with his fingertips of the other, lost in the sensation of holding her like the shore held the sea: loosely and yet passionately.

“I do,” she replied and let her eyes flutter shut slowly; she lost herself in his sweetness and when his fingers dipped into her heat quietly, her sigh melted into that of the ocean breeze.

She had expected urgency after his words, but his touch was slow and coaxing, his fingers trailing absent-mindedly over the soft fabric that was already damp with her arousal which only exacerbated his own, and yet, the surge of hurried desperation seemed to have abated.

This was moon-love – calm, sweet, and deep – unlike the fiery rush of passionate encounters under the blazing sun; everything seemed to have slowed down and time ran lazily through their intertwined fingers.

“I love you,” she breathed into the night air and moaned when his warm palm slipped under the camisole she was wearing to unhook her bra and cup her breast gently, kneading it in time with the slow song of the waves.

Her breath hitched in her throat when he slowly pulled down her shorts just enough, holding her – propped up on her knees – against his chest still while freeing his leaking cock from the confines of his own trousers leisurely to let it graze – hot and silky – against the skin of her bum.

Arching her back, Maura made sure to let him feel just how ready and aching she was for him and when his hand – smoothing caressingly along her flesh – was replaced by his cock, breaching her slowly, she let her head fall back against his shoulder in self-forgotten revelry.

Steadily and tirelessly, Fíli rocked her like a ship on the waves, his hands reaching around her to tease her all the way to the stars and back tender and intimate; as she exploded into seafoam and starspray, Maura yearned to eternalise this moment forever.

The sky was full of light and her heart was full of love for the man who could hold her without chains.

She felt him shiver behind, against, and around her and his soft moans of release sounded like music to her muted senses.

“Let’s stay here for a bit,” he whispered, tightening his arms around her almost fully dressed body, “to hell with brothers and cousins.”

“To hell with them, indeed,” Maura grinned, enjoying the sticky warmth of their lovemaking dripping onto the eternal and mute witness of the starlit sand.

“What’s going through your mind then?” Lexi asked coyly, waiting for him to meet her burning gaze.

“This,” Ori whispered and trailed soft kisses along the curve of her calf up to her knee, “tell me to stop!”

“I won’t,” she laughed, the sound breathy and strangled with want as that ridiculous, little moustache of his grazed along her tingling skin so slowly that she thought that she would go mad before he ever made it to the juicy bits.

“This is unlike me,” he tried to defend himself even as his hands slid up the outside of her thighs and tugged hard at the towel veiling her naked form from his questing eyes; she could see that he was earnest enough, the heat of embarrassment and passion sitting high in those rosy cheeks, and she even forgot to feel inadequate when that flickering look settled on her own mesmerised face.

“You’re beautiful like that,” she praised; often had she dreamed of a man like him – someone who could kneel without having to compensate by feigned anger – and now that she could look down on his glowing features, her heart galloped furiously within her heaving chest.

He merely hummed before caressing her with a tongue she had expected to be tied by good manners and overwhelmed astonishment; slow and teasing, his fingers slid along the swollen expanse of her flesh, and she couldn’t stifle the shivering cry of relief.

Despite her own lack of inhibitions, Lexi had had a hard time finding any man who was attractive to her and willing to touch her at the same time; being drawn to shy, quiet men had ever been more of a curse than a blessing to her.

That was…until she had met that gracile creature sitting devoutly between her open legs and devouring her as if she was made of chocolate and cream.

When she tried to pull back, overcome with the intensity of the sensations that kept rocking her body like shockwaves, he tightened his grip around her legs and pursued relentlessly until her head fell against the cold, hard wall behind her with an audible bang.

She whined his name more than she called him, begging for him to stop, imploring him not to; her mind dissolved like a drop of blood in the ocean and her body melted into those churning waves of insanity.

“Beautiful,” she panted again when he stood up clumsily, holding on to her hips as if to steady himself, and tilted her face towards him in invitation of another one of those sweet kisses.

When it fell like summer rain onto her open lips though, Lexi had to admit that this was far from enough; pushing herself up on the small cabinet, she plundered his mouth recklessly, going as far as to nibble on his lower lip in her greedy need of his unconditional mellifluousness.

The smell of his skin and the taste of her own lust on his lips were intoxicating; far from being satiated, Lexi closed her legs behind his lower back like a vice in an effort to draw him closer to that voracious heat thrumming deep within her lower abdomen.

“Woah,” he exclaimed when the tip of his cock but brushed her wet folds, achingly ready for him, “are you sure you want to do this?”

Lexi cocked one eyebrow at him.

“I am; are you?” she laughed, rubbing herself against him to make him feel just how much she wanted him.

“Very much so,” he admitted passionately, but the soft, nipping pecks he lavished upon her throat were still torturously tender and sweet; the contradiction between the throbbing testament to his unbridled lust and the cautiously delicate blandishments of his lips drove Lexi half insane.

She wanted to imprison him in the purgatory of her desire and burn every brick of that wall he had erected around his heart to the ground; when he pushed into her slowly, she rocked forward to meet him mid-stroke, sinking her teeth into his bare shoulder.

As expected, he flinched, surging forward and filling her to the brim, and she made a sound so deep and vulgar that she would have been ashamed of it if she had but the awareness to mind it.

“Let me take you to dinner,” he moaned as he started moving inside of her, “let me invite you out. See me again?”

Lexi agreed, she would have agreed to sacrificing her firstborn son in this moment of blind, mindless, irreverent passion, but a part of her also really enjoyed him.

His breathing accelerated and she increased the tension of her legs, forcing him to pound into her with short, deep bursts that made him grit his teeth in his struggle not to lose control.

“Oh, you’re glorious,” he panted, letting go of her leg for a second to cup her breast and – when he contorted impossibly, straining against the constraint of her legs to close his lips around her right nipple – a second orgasm – flatter, faster, and sharper – singed through her like a live wire.

To witness how the tension rose in a crescendo before draining completely out of her face was more than Ori could take and – burying himself deep within her – he climaxed with a tremulous cry of sheer relief.

It should not have surprised Lexi that he didn’t pull out and leave right away; it was strangely in character for him to hug her against his frantically beating heart and kiss the top of her head tenderly.

“Dinner then?” he whispered, a note of apprehension in his voice.

“Dinner,” she agreed against his skin, “and then…my place or yours?”

“You…” Ori fell silent. “You want to repeat this as well?”

“Yeah,” Lexi laughed, “you can bet your sweet ass on that. Would you imagine that? I guess there are plenty of fish in the sea.”

So, that was the last part of this story...special thanks to @laurfilijames for the inspiration and the readership :D

If anyone reads this, I hope you enjoyed it <3

I'd be glad to get a comment or a reblog if you have the time <3

Thank you and have a lovely week

Also remembered I had promised to do a taglist...Sorry .-.

Taglist:

@blairsanne

@fizzyxcustard

@laurfilijames

@myselfandfantasy

@legolasbadass

@linasofia

@lathalea

@midearthwritings

@guardianofrivendell

@mismaeve

@middleearthpixie