Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar Day 13: Fantasies/Masturbation
Andreth, 395 words, rated E - full ficlet visible below the cut
On the edge of summer the nights were warm and humid but not yet rainy, so the Bëorians ate outside at long rectangular tables. Conversation passed from person to person haphazardly.
“Didn’t Andreth know one of the elves protecting Dorthonion? What was that name again… Aegis?”
“Aegnor,” Andreth said, trying to keep her voice as cool as wind-rippled water, but failing to keep her breath from quickening.“His name is Aegnor. And yes, I knew him.”
It had been four years, and it had been a while since she had last thought of him. Life was busy and fulfilling. And yet simply speaking his name was enough to invite arousal, longing, excitement and sadness, tinged all through with sharp anger. Ridiculous. She sat with it for the rest of dinner.
—-
When at long last the meal was over, Andreth retreated to her room. She thought of Aegnor’s face as bright as morning light, and the way he had looked at her, into her. She pulled at her breasts and rolled her nipples between two fingers, and her whole body seemed to relax into place. Her mind wandered to a happy memory, a day they had gone swimming in the Aeluin, circling around each other and racing but wanting to draw closer, splashing and enjoying the vibrancy of the day despite this, and talking, talking about anything and everything, whenever they paused for breath.
She pushed at the base of her abdomen to increase the tension and then plunged her finger into her familiar warmth, making narrow circular movements that turned into nearly straight up and down, as sharp and quickly as she could manage, inviting the exquisite pain, leaning into it for as long as she could bear.
She pressed at her abdomen again, and began to brush her fingers feather-light across her clit, inevitably tangling them in her curls as she moved but using that to increase the friction. Her face twisted with pleasure, and she closed her eyes to better imagine Aegnor’s hands instead of her own, Aegnor’s face near hers, as close as she had always wanted… Aegnor, Aegnor... She used both hands now, one with a finger moving inside and the other swirling on top. And in that moment she could not feel regret for what could have been, what she had lost - only thankfulness for the experience of right now.
Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar, day 2: "massage"
For day #2 of @officialtolkiensecretsanta Advent Calendar 2021 (NSFW version!)
Summary: Annatar would be more worried about Celebrimbor's long days of working at the forge, if he wasn't so enamored of the way that Celebrimbor responds to massages afterwards.
Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar, Day 4: "Fruit cake"
For day 4 of @officialtolkiensecretsanta 's Advent Calendar event!
Title: There Are No Pineapples in Mithrim
Rating: Gen
Characters: Fingon, Turgon, Aredhel
Words: 298
Summary: The Noldor who have crossed the Helcaraxë are spending their first Yule in Middle-earth, and Findecáno wants to do something special to celebrate. But his plan is proving harder than he hoped to execute.
Read on AO3 or click the readmore below to read it here!
(Author's Note: Since we just arrived in Middle-earth, Quenya names are used: Findecáno=Fingon, Turucáno=Turgon, Macalaurë=Maglor, Irissë=Aredhel.)
"Pineapples," Findecáno asked desperately. "Please tell me they at least have pineapples in Middle-earth."
Turucáno glanced pointedly outside at the frozen lake, and the eight inches of snow already on the ground, and growing deeper. "Pineapples, if Yavanna isn’t personally sustaining them, only grow in warm and humid climates; there certainly won’t be any here."
"This is ridiculous!" Findecáno threw up his hands in frustration. "Look, I was never expecting I could recreate Mother's Yule cake recipe exactly, but I thought I could do something. But all I could get from the Sindar were a few dried apples and prunes!" He sighed. "Nothing is the same without the light of the Trees."
"I suppose if you wanted to ask--" Turucáno tossed his head dismissively toward the south, not even willing to name the party he meant. "They might still have some supplies left, if they were careful with them."
Findecáno stared soberly at the wall in the same direction. It was true; those who had crossed by ship would not have been forced to scrabble for any last scrap of food long before their journey’s end, and might still retain some small horde of dried fruits brought from Valinor.
But he couldn't cross to the camp on the other side of the lake, and he didn't think his brother really expected him to. Their father wanted to limit contact between the two hosts of the Noldor, lest simmering tension rise to outright conflict. And in any case, his heart couldn't bear to see Macalaurë wearing Finwë's crown in his elder brother's place. Once had been quite enough. “I--”
"I'll go," said Irissë with a roll of her eyes, pulling her cloak over her shoulders and tromping out into the storm. "But I get the first slice of cake."
Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar Day 6: Love Letters
For day 6 of @officialtolkiensecretsanta‘s 2021 NSFW Advent Calendar!
Title: naur nín
Pairing: Thranduil/Thranduil’s Wife
Rating: M (Mild nsfw warning)
Word Count: 855
Summary/Tags: "Have you been staying warm? Or are you as chilled in my absence as I am in yours?” Hithriel imagines him smiling to himself after writing that and rolls her eyes. Romantic Fluff & Mild Sm/ut.
[Read on Ao3]
-
Hithriel does not run back to her chambers, but it’s a very near thing. The letter, clutched so tightly in her hand that it nearly dents the parchment as she crosses the threshold into her rooms, is the first she’s received from her husband in many months. Quickly, she grabbed the small silver letter opener from her desk and cut it open.
While Thranduil’s visit to Rivendell was strictly diplomatic, not hearing from him for such a long time had made her a bit nervous. She pulls the letter from the envelope and unfolds it with softly trembling fingers, just barely skimming over the contents.
She lets out a long sigh and holds the letter to her breast, eyes slipping shut as a wave of soft relief flows through her. Elrond’s letterhead shines bright in the candlelight of her chambers, but she’d know her husband’s quick, curling penmanship anywhere.
The parchment is thick and the lettering is heavy. She can feel the ridges of each penstroke as she runs a fingertip along the back of the paper and she can almost imagine the frustration her husband had felt while penning it.
Letting out a soft chuckle, she takes a long sip of her wine and sinks onto the chaise in front of the fireplace. The crackling embers provide just enough light to make out the words and the warmth of it makes her toes curl.
“My love,” the letter begins, and she smiles softly, running her fingertip over the words. A fond affection flutters to life in her chest and though it is tempered by longing (to see him once more - to hear those words aloud-) it is comforting all the same.
“I am afraid that I must delay my return,” Her heart sinks, “The council has yet to come to an agreement…” She reads on, paying only half-mind to the long-drawn updates of the council proceedings, until-
“Winter is slowly showing it’s first signs in the valley. It snowed for all of five minutes yesterday and Elrond is already kicking up a fuss about boarding up before the weather turns. It has been a bit brisk in the evenings, I will admit. I miss your warmth at night, naur nín,” Hithriel lifts her wineglass to her lips and takes another sip, tongue darting out to catch a stray droplet of wine clinging to her lower lip as she reads on.
“I find myself longing - for not only your warmth curled around me in the night, but your wit in each of these tedious meetings, and your touch waking me each morning. I must confess that this past week has been agonizing, for I have been plagued by dreams of the first winter season we spent together.”
Heat rises in her cheeks, as she knows very well what he’s referring to. They had been married in late Autumn, many years ago now, and a snowstorm had caught them at just the right wrong time, leaving them conveniently stranded together in a cabin for nearly a month.
A small mischievous smile turns the corners of her mouth as she reads on, because trust her husband to combine both business and pleasure into the same letter--
“I imagine the cold has already well-reached our halls. Have you been staying warm? Or are you as chilled in my absence as I am in yours?” Hithriel imagines him smiling to himself after writing that and rolls her eyes.
“When I sit by the fire, wrapped in the cloak you gifted me, and I still feel as glacial as the unforgiving tundra of the north, I imagine you next to me. Your hands covering mine, warming the tips of my fingers as you press those soft, lingering kisses you seem to be so fond of along my jaw. I yearn for your closeness - for your hröa pressed against mine - for your thighs wrapped tight around me as --”
Hithriel’s eyebrows knit together at the scribbled-out part of the rest of the line. Her heart is beating quick in her chest, a slow-burning heat of arousal stoking higher and higher. And yet, the line stops, mid-sentence, and is followed by a thick black spill of ink upon parchment. Hithriel frowns and lets out a long breath.
“I miss you.”
I miss you as well, she thinks, as she finishes off the last of her wine. The letter ends rather abruptly with the next line - the script seemingly rougher and more rushed than those preceding it.
“Perhaps, if there were some sort of urgent business in need of tending at home, I may be able to make it past the mountains before the first true snow… With longing, Thranduil.”
Hithriel grins, running her thumb over her husband’s signature, excited for the first time in what felt like months. Carefully, she folds the letter back into its envelope and stands, striding over toward her desk. It takes less than an hour for her to pen her reply and have it swiftly on it’s way to Rivendell.
Galion does not question her when she gives the order for no one to interrupt her that night.
Tolkien Secret Santa Advent (NSFW) Calendar Day 19: Wax Play
(special thanks to Jor and Bug for the inspiration)
@officialtolkiensecretsanta
Rating: Explicit | Word Count: 535 | No Archive Warnings Apply
Read on AO3
Angband.
“Now, my lord, you must keep still.”
Melkor was not entirely certain how he had gotten himself into this situation. No, that was not true. He knew what he had said; he had complained to Mairon of some inconsequential matter, and the Lieutenant had responded sharply that he needed to learn some patience. And of course, he had not been able to hold his tongue, and he had demanded that Mairon teach him.
He should have known that this was his maia’s plan all along.
Mairon finished the lasting binding and stepped back to admire his work. Melkor felt rather like one of his experiments on the lab table; naked, limbs spread wide, hands and feet bound to the bedposts. Mairon had taken tender care to use silk ties, cautious of his burnt hands and wounded foot. The maia’s sharp gaze roamed over him, the fire of lust in his eyes. But as always, Mairon was restrained, calm, as he turned away to fetch something from his desk.
“I fail to see how this will teach me anything but frustration, Lieutenant.” He knew how the title stroked Mairon’s ego, and the maia’s eyes flashed as he turned back to him, the candle in his hand. Melkor’s eyes widened.
“Mairon -”
Mairon hushed him and smiled, leaning over. In his hand, the wax began to heat, slowly dripping over his fingers. His smile turned serious, lips pouted in concentration, as the wax painted a delicate web over Melkor’s skin. Working slowly, he traced a pattern down each limb, beginning at the arm. The patterns converged over Melkor’s chest, where Mairon teased each nippled with the tiniest drop of wax, in the shape of Mairon’s sigil. There was a bright look in the maia’s eye, as he relished in this desire for control.
Melkor arched, the sharp sting of burn mellowing out into pleasure. He whined, and he pleaded, he commanded, but Mairon would not stop, would not give him the touch he craved, only the teasing burn of candle wax.
“Mairon,” he gasped, as a drop of wax burned over his navel. He was achingly hard; he wanted his maia now. “Mairon, please, I need you.”
“My Lord,” Though his face remained still, there was laughter in Mairon’s voice. “I am here to teach you.”
His hand traced the gaps between the wax pattern he had made, fingertips light and teasing, until they came to his thigh, and his hand slipped between Melkor’s legs. Mairon said nothing, but Melkor, it was a victory.
Mairon’s warm hand curled around him, as his other hand let the wax drip dangerously close to his groin - but he trusted Mairon. The drip landed on his inner thigh, cooling quickly against his cool skin. Mairon’s sharp nails picked off the little disc easily, and he smiled, admiring the contrast of the red mark against Melkor’s pale blue skin. “Perfect.”
Melkor sighed, arching up, as the maia’s fist curled around his cock again, but Mairon pushed him back down and took his hand away. Melkor groaned, his maia laughed, intoxicating.
“You will have nothing until you have patience.”
It was going to be a long evening. Melkor looked forward to nothing more.
And once more, an update on this Tolkien Secret Santa mini-event:
We are very excited to report that the Gen Advent calendar prompts are all claimed now. Thank you to everyone who signed up to create fluffy, cozy, generally non-shippy holiday treats for the entire fandom to enjoy. We appreciate all of you!!
We still have the rest of the NSFW Advent calendar to go, though! Here are the prompts we’re still trying to fill (as of November 10, 9:00 PM UTC):
Advent calendar, NSFW:
Wrapping & Unwrapping presents
Massage
Everything Dark
Couch Cuddles
Wax play
Mirrors
Ice cubes
So, if you’re interested in preparing just a yummy, bite-sized fanwork for one of these prompts, please do sign up! save your friendly neighborhood TSS mods from writing multiple prompts, ahaha
For day #21 of @officialtolkiensecretsanta Advent Calendar 2021 (Gen version!)
Summary: Elwing watches her children play in the snow, regretting some of the things they have never known and fiercely proud of others.
Rating: Gen, No Archive Warnings Apply (but it's a bit sad!)
