Fanfiction Hobbit Novels & Stories

Lincoln said with a serious tone of voice causing the mischievous smile on Fabian's lips to disappear and he looks at Lincoln seriously. "Okay, I'm telling you this in all seriousness, Lincoln. I don't care if you're my brother and my mate, but as far as I know, werewolves are naturally born horny and love having sex with their mates. I do love sex too, I fucked both men and women before." Fabian said to Lincoln and I don't know if he's being serious right now or he's teasing my brother again. But then I remember all those men and women in the Abbey, those young men were sacristans while those young women in there were nuns and it looks like they were all under intense hypnotism. Now I know

I praise Him most of all for turning the evil situation that had been hell pressed to do worse than just simply kill me, into a life made so full with happiness that I could never have asked for as much as He had given to me. In truth, my life had become a fantasy. A dream come true. Glancing back into my mate’s eyes, I could see that the same was true for him. I was well and truly his fantasy.

I was not so silent following in his shadow, my shoes slipping in the mud and my cloak catching on twigs. “There were servants, but…” He shook his head. “They either don’t last long, or they’re not very friendly. There were some brethren in the forest, but they’re not same as around the castle here. They’re wilder, less trusting of humans. There was a hobgoblin that I was trying to win over. I’d bring him cakes from the village. They like honey…” He smiled slightly at a memory.

His voice was like scraping knives Disregarding the skin desperately in need of moisturizer, I instantly hated Dumah. “He isn't Miss Manners either,” I scoffed. “So what are you? A Nazgul? Is Samael Sauron and I some wayward hobbit?” Dumah wheezed with laughter. “ITS BRAINS ARE ADDLED, I SEE. KNOCK IT ABOUT ONE TOO MANY TIMES ON THE DEATHBED, ROT LORD?”

Almost. Then, a scream ripped through the idyllic scene. A high, keening wail that sliced through the quiet like shattered glass. I slowly abandoned The Hobbit. From the safety of the porch door, I cautiously looked past my yard. My parents' house was nestled on the corner of two quiet residential streets, usually peaceful, so the ear-piercing cry rang like a bell of despair.

“One hit from Mama’s slippers gon’ have that evil sucker running away with this tail tucked between his legs.” I hear a thin voice laugh freely in the background. “Those slippers made of vibranium, for real.” Someone, probably one of her younger sisters, comments loud enough for me to hear. It makes me smile. “Testimony from someone with a lifelong experience.” Bibah adds, letting loose her mellow, wicked laughter. In the background, something crashes, someone says something with vehemence in a language I’m not familiar with. “Okay.” I nod to myself.

“Make it a good one.” “Oh, I shall!” it chittered, and with a flourish, it conjured a new narrative pocket in our world. This one wasn't tiny. It was a full-scale, shimmering mirage that overlay a corner of the garden. It depicted a classic, sweeping fantasy epic—knights, dragons, a quest for a glowing mcguffin. But something was off. The knight kept tripping over his own cloak. The dragon was afraid of heights. The glowing mcguffin was just a very persuasive lightbulb.

She was back at the estate, the folder open on the kitchen table, when her phone buzzed with a message from a Pennsylvania number she had saved under his name three weeks ago. Have you read the Silmarillion. Asking for research purposes. She stared at it for a moment. Then she typed back. No. Should I. The response came in under a minute. Probably not necessary. But the part about things being made for purposes their makers did not intend is relevant to something I am thinking about. She set the phone down and looked at the folder and thought about a twelve year old boy in Pennsylvania who had been almost shaped into something he did not choose and had gotten out and gone back to school and

She felt exposed in a whole new way — more than when he was inside her. “I… I don’t know where to start,” she said, voice shaky. “Start with the first one that comes to mind,” Ethan said. His voice was gentle but firm. “Be honest. Tell me what makes your pussy throb when you’re alone at night.” Lila took a deep breath. Her cheeks burned, but his fingers felt so good. “Okay… sometimes I fantasize about you taking me somewhere risky. Like in the backyard at night, where anyone could see us through the fence. Or… in your truck, parked on the side of the road while cars drive by.”

Dan raised an eyebrow, challenge clear in his voice. Freya's grin widened. "Well, we've got three hours of movie ahead of us. Plenty of time for a rematch." Dan's eyes darkened with desire. "Careful what you wish for, Anderson. I might just take you up on that offer." Freya shivered, not entirely from the chill. She took another bite of pizza, watching the screen as Gandalf and Pippin rode into Minas Tirith. "You know," she mused, "I always wondered how they managed personal hygiene on these long quests. No showers, limited supplies..."