#— ꒰🌺꒱ 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐬 ៸៸ tolkien ❜‧���

[edensrose]

"Love!" He freezes like a deer in headlights when your voice rings through his ears. Pale strands whip through the air as he snaps his head towards your direction. Form stiff. Red specks littered onto his white clothes and large wings. Manwë tenses. He meets your gaze. You meet his. The Archangel himself. A hero to the world. An alien of might and power known as a Valtúrë. Now barely able to move a muscle as he stares at his lover who has just caught him upon his return home from a day full of his typical duties. Warding of evil and protecting those in need. Silence sets like a thick sheet as you both stare at one another. As though waiting for the other to make a move. Before you speak up, with a smile on your lips. "It's your turn to do the dishes." You stride over to him and stand on the tips of your toes, pressing a kiss to his jaw and patting his chest. "I'll get dinner ready and you can tell me all about your day of kicking ass and saving civilians." Manwë only chuckles and leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "Whatever my darling wants. You're the boss, after all." He concedes with a wink. As though he was not the most powerful being on this forsaken world.

𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒐-𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆! 𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒖 : hero!manwe x human!reader — teaser

[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day seven : dance

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖   manwë ⠀〳 reader⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. the elder king finds himself enthralled by the sight of you during a banquet

· ⊰ notes. this man makes me so soft

He inhales, yet feels nothing. No ease, no soothe to his burning lungs, no remedy to his shallow intakes, but he still inhales. He, the Breath of Arda, Lord of the Winds — now left breathless.

Amber accented with deep purple eyes, that mimic the afternoon sky above, train on the figure ahead. Through the sea of robes until they land on the silken twirls, the graceful steps, gentle smiles. 

And he feels his chest tighten. None of it, however, is out of ill-will. Rather, the Elder King finds himself entranced by the Ainu ahead with such a stunning countenance and an even more gorgeous gleam. 

"My Lord," a voice draws him out of his little fantasy as Manwë side-glances at his herald with a sheepish smile creeping upon his lips. "Yes, Eönwë?" "Why do you stare?" He almost feels embarrassment threatening to swallow him whole, but the older clears his throat and turns his attention back onto you. 

"Is she not beautiful, Eönwë?" 

Taken aback by the sudden forwardness, Eönwë can only give a soft, "mn."

Manwë almost frowns at the response but supposes that his herald simply wishes to not overstep. "Surely you can at least admire her looks, correct?" "I trust My Lord's judgement." Eönwë's firm nod leaves his brother grinning and it doesn't take long for his gaze to fall back on you. 

He could ask you to dance — he should. Yet here he stands like a deer in headlights, nervous, questioning. He feels the stare of his Maia and knows exactly what his look means. Ask her, my lord, ask her to dance. 

A part of him was about to deny, he parts his lips to explain to Eönwë why he cannot do any of the sorts — yet stiffens when he loses sight of you. Or rather, when he finally notices that you are making your way towards him.

"Your Majesty," you bow, smile fainter as you smooth out your robes. "My apologies for approaching you so suddenly. However I —" You halt, sudden nervousness swelling within your stomach. How does one go up to the Elder King and tell him you took notice of his staring? Had you no shame? You take a glance back at the one who beckoned you forward, almost glaring at the grin Irmo presents you and the little hand motion straight after. 

"I just — I. . ." 

He's confused for a moment, but a darling smile soon tugs upon his lips as both realisation settles in and he catches sight of Irmo in the background. With a clear of his throat, he extends his hand, fair, lean and gentle as his face bears a soft countenance.

"I believe it is I who should ask forgiveness for my stares, my lady," he spares Eönwë a short glance who all but nods in motivation and steps away. "Might I ask for a dance? You were simply breathtaking."

You feel your cheeks burn and when you finally find the strength to glance up, you see pink spilling onto his fair face as well. With a giggle, you slowly slip your hand into his, a little more confident now that you have witnessed his own bashfulness. 

"It would be my honour."

With that, you pull him to the dancefloor, and albeit surprised, he soon lets out the softest of laughs and tugs you closer. A smile on his lips, a twinkle in his eye. He can only thank the stars for this blessing — to enjoy a dance with you.

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[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day six : doom

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖    námo⠀〳 reader⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. death is his domain, and yet námo finds himself slipping when he sees a vision of your demise ( angst ៸៸ death ៸៸ war themes )

· ⊰ notes. I am. . . not okay and now neither will any of y'all be <3

He has seen death ample times in his millennia’s worth of existence.

He has witnessed the grief and wallowing of thousands of souls that enter his halls.

He has even found beauty in it. Death, that is. The release of responsibilities. The fierce, icy grip that would soon lead to peace.

He admired it, he envied it.

And yet. . . The day that Námo perceived your final moments, he found himself unable to function. Unable to speak, eat, sleep.

Countless times has he seen death, and yet nothing shook him more to his core than the sight of you laying there on the battlefield. Your body painted with crimson and your eyes shut. That beautiful face of yours so serene despite the wounds that littered your fána. For a moment, he may have considered the possibility of you simply lost in slumber, if it were not for the scene of chaos that carried on around you.

That is what his world had become, chaos. The realisation that he could not protect you broke him in several ways. He knew that this was unstoppable. He knew that this was fate. But what the Vala also knew is that this was cruelty in its finest. For The One to have shown him such horrible imageries — of the person he holds dear no less. . .

Námo was in a state. To know that your end would not be a peaceful send off. You would pass away in the heat of battle, the day of Dagor Dagorath. He will witness your death and yet, despite all his power and might he will not be able to reach you.

For the first time in his entire existence, he wished to listen to the whispers. To defy the very law by which Eru governs. To escape the loop. To break the will. The sight of you laying there on the ground was simply too much to bear.

It keeps him awake for weeks.

Months.

And worst of all? He finds himself drawing away from you. For whenever he sees your face, images of that fateful day to come plague his very eyes. He cannot move, cannot speak. He is ill with anxiety. Choking on the bitter reality.

He shuts you out.

He shuts you out, and there is nothing you can do about it.

Even when his mind screams at him. Reminds him that this is the route that his Creator has set out for him, he still continues. He isolates himself from you. Like a puppet on the strings he obeys and is pulled in the direction of this unwarranted fate.

It matters not how much he tries to fight it. Nor how much he wishes to scream until his lungs pour with crimson as he curses the name he has only ever known as holy.

And it is not until you are lying there on that battlefield. Peaceful amongst the chaos. Unaware of his wailing agony and his desperation to get to you. To scoop you up in his arms and savour your warmth. To whisper into your hair and kiss your lips one final time

It is only then that he truly realises the meaning of the word doom.

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[edensrose]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ꒰❀꒱ 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐲!𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐮 ❜࿔

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ manwë⠀& melkor⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. manwë deals with his bastard of a brother whilst they try to pick a new colour scheme for their syndicate. he quickly remembers that there is no one who can drive him up the wall more than melkor ( dark themes ៸៸ blood mention ៸៸ corpse ៸៸ strong language )

· ⊰ note. idk but I've just been feeling them lately. their dynamic in this au is one of my favourites

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ au info post

♡. — 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒓

"Hmm."

Pale violet sweeps over the newly decorated wall. His cruxed index finger pressed against his lips and his thumb stroking beneath his chin for added effect.

"Not sure. Don't think I quite like the shade of red."

A click of tongue sounds through the office.

"You complain too much." Manwë rolls his eyes to the ceiling and flexes his hand against the wall. "What's wrong with it? You didn't like blue, you don't like red, what exactly do you like then?"

"Maybe black?" Melkor offers, running a thumb along the wall. As though feeling the new colour was possible.

"Vilisse is black." Drips Manwë's obviously exasperated tone as he arches his brow. "I thought Vilisse was green?" Melkor counters to which his brother sighs and shakes his head so that white locks bounce around him.

"Are we gonna settle on a colour or are you just going to paint fucking rainbows all over the syndicate?"

"That a challenge?" Melkor meets his sibling's irritated expression with a grin and a quirk of his brow. "I quite think your desk will look splendid in hot pink." He motions to the aforementioned wood to which Manwë tightens his fingers once more.

"That's Italian Maple you dick."

"Oooo fancy." Shrugs the older as he flicks his finger and sends a droplet of crimson onto the revered Italian Maple desk. "As if you couldn't just import a new one, Tweetie. Don't be such a scrooge."

Manwë inhales, reminding himself that his brother is right and refraining from slamming his head into the desk he had just stained. Instead, he fights back the urge to roll his eyes once more at the childhood nickname. It was hard to believe who was the true older of the two.

"The task is still at hand. What colour are we transitioning to? Lest you want to keep the old man's design?"

Melkor groans and hangs his head back after stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Decisions, decisions. . . How about purple? Maybe blue?"

"I thought you said no to blue?"

"Well I change my mind."

"For fucks sa —"

"You know what? I actually quite like the red."

With that last sentence from his brother, Manwë finally relaxes his fingers from the head of hair he was flushing against the wall. A loud thud echoes through his office and he nonchalantly steps past the body laying on his rich wooden floors. The crimson stains drip from the wall and soak into the ground as Melkor admires the 'shade of red'.

"Hey now," the older chuckles as Manwë's shoulder knocks with his as he makes a beeline for the door. "No need to throw a tantrum." He muses, spinning around to face the other's back. "All that blood's gonna get on your precious Italian Maple y'know!"

"Clean it up then." Manwë mutters, retrieving his handkerchief to clean his fingers from the sorry soul whose blood became a paint sample. "And come find me when you're done playing these fucking games."

He receives only a mocking croon before Melkor thinks to himself. Just before his brother leaves the doorway he calls out, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"You know, I think gold would do the trick. What do ya say?"

A moment of silence fills the office before Manwë glances over his shoulder with a curl on his lips. "Gold for glory. I like it." And with that, he steps out, yet not before calling back.

"I'm serious about that blood. Clean it up, lest I overload your flask with gasoline."

"Bastard."

"Dick."

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[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day three : shame ( eönwë )

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖   eönwë ⠀〳 ⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. the war of wrath will forever plague his mind, even after simple training sessions with his fellow maiar ( war themes ៸៸ blood ៸៸ killing insinuation )

· ⊰ notes. back at it again with bullying eönwë <3

Ilmarin’s pools were the perfect place to retreat to after a long day of training. Sweat, crimson and dirt wash off into the crystal-like waters, leaving his folded wings as pristine as always. His hands, calloused with aeons of swordsmanship, cup the clear liquid and pour it down his face. 

Yet the warm waters do nothing to quell the storm overtaking Eönwë’s heart as he continues to bathe. If anything, they remind him of the heat of battle. Of the rush that sent his mind into a high. Of the fresh blood that stained his armour, his skin, his wings, and especially — 

His sword. 

Cerulean hues cast a glance at his blade that lays elegantly in its sheath beside his clothes that he abandoned before venturing into the waters. There is a ringing in his ears and a whisper in the air. As though his very sword — a symbol of his title, authority and righteousness — mocks him. Taunts him. Reminds him of those fateful nights in which the ground flowed with res and screams poured through the air.

The faint glimmer of that same colour that Eönwë had grown to despise catches his vision within the pools. Slipping from his skin and drifting off into nothingness. 

It was just training, he tells himself. 

Training cannot be compared to the war. 

. . . Then why are these images plaguing him so? 

Eönwë makes the mistake of focusing on the swirls of red within the crystal waters and in doing so comes face to face with a monster. A being of true malice. Of dishonour. A soldier. A murderer. 

The General of Valinor’s Host Himself. 

A shudder courses through his body and he can hardly recognise the image that he stares into. The sight of his hair mangled and clotted with red. His eyes bloodshot. His face stained with dirt and smeared with the same shade of crimson that coats him entirely. This image certainly is not a reflection of his current self, who stands in the pools clean and flawless. 

Was he truly clean? 

As if to answer his question, spots of that same damn shade take his vision and he quickly turns to his arms. One, two, three — multiple. His hands and arms begin to surface with a deep red and his eyes shoot open wide in surprise. 

His hands are quick to splash water onto himself. He rubs his arms vigorously. He scrapes at the vision of blood and yet it refuses to dissipate. No matter how much he soaked himself in water or lathered on soap. No matter how much he frantically rubbed and scrubbed and begged it to go away. 

The lump in his throat barely allows a noise of distress to leave him as his hands practically claw at the deep colour. His eyes are agape and desperate as he argues for his mind to spare him these agonising games. 

“Stop,’’

“Stop —”

“S-Stop.’’

He inhales sharply, eyes brimming with tears. It mattered not how much he washed or how much he pleaded. Never would he be able to remove the stain from his hands. The crimson that now defined his very being. 

Even as he wept to the heavens and beseeches The One himself. 

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[edensrose]

Alright everyone! So as most of you know I've been creating a Hero-verse!Ainur Au and I've decided that it's going to be a pretty big and extensive au, however — I've been having trouble with deciding some factors

I've decided to involve my readers and have them vote for certain plots and devices. I've created a Google form and would really appreciate it if you could spare me just five minutes to answer ! ( Everything is anonymous )

I might create more if needed! Also note that I added some context of the au in the description of the form so that you are more aware of this aus' world and characters

🌺 You can find it here

Characters that are definitely apart of this au

Manwë

Námo

Melkor

Irmo

Eönwë

Mairon

[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day eight : flight

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖   manwë ⠀〳 námo⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. whilst flying through the airs in need of a break, námo is pleasantly surprised by the eagle that joins him

· ⊰ notes. this event should have been called a manwë event with how much I'm writing for him — not that I mind of course <3

‘Flying all by your lonesome, little raven?’

Upon hearing the familiar voice ring through his ears, Námo rears his presently ebony-feathered head and beholds the mighty wingspan above him. So, that is where the rays of light went. . . they were blocked out by none other than His Majesty.

White, elegant feathers flap through the skies. Twinkling yet slitted sapphire eyes peer at his fellow Vala who also takes the form of a winds' creature. The two of them soar through the skies — one noticeably smaller than the other, yet majestic in every right. A contrast of colours that flutter through the air.

'Have you been stalking me, Your Majesty?'

Námo hears a chime in Manwë's fëa, as though the king had laughed at his little tease. The great white eagle lowers himself so that he is flying side-by-side with his lover.

'Is it so wrong of me to crave my dear doomsman? I heard your song in my skies. How could I turn down the opportunity to soar with you?'

If Námo could, he might have smiled. Instead, to show his appreciation he turns directory and flies a few circles around the larger bird. Brushing their feathers together and nuzzling their soft heads.

'How about we retire to your halls? I would much rather see your true form.' Námo offers, only to receive another chuckle through his head which causes his heart to flutter in the slightest.

'Is someone calling me pretty?'

Námo nearly forgets how to fly. His wings stiffen and he falls a few inches before quickly flapping his wings in panic and regaining his composure. He shoots his head in Manwë's direction, cursing his beady raven eyes that can hardly produce his typical icy glare.

'How about we land? You shall receive a pinch for that one.'

Another laugh as Manwë nuzzles his head against his lover's before agreeing. 'As you wish, my darling.' While Námo might not see it in this form, he can feel Manwë's smile in the air.

And so the two love birds soar through the skies. Dancing through the winds and fluttering amongst each other as they return to Ilmarin's Halls.

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[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day three : shame ( navëquen )

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖   navëquen ⠀〳 vanimóre⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. he hates whenever his mind wanders back to angband, but it is the only way he gets to remember vanimóre as of late ( minors dni ៸៸ suggestive descriptions ៸៸ slight dark themes ៸៸ angst ៸៸ scar mention ៸៸ suggested masturbation )

· ⊰ notes. a quick reminder that navëquen belongs to my beloved friend @cilil ! please give him some love, he and vanimóre are my comfort ship <3

He can still feel the chains. 

Still feel the cold. 

Still feel the heat of those stunning crimson eyes staring him down.

With a hushed breath, Navëquen flutters open his grey gaze. To his dismay, it is not the beautiful crimson staring back at him but instead the ceiling of his chambers. His quiet, barren chambers. 

Alone. As always. 

A sigh parts his lips and the Maiar rises from his lying position with great effort. The empty air serves to chill his pale skin and he brings the sheets around him. Yet whether this was to warm up or hide his own flesh from his keen eyes was up for debate. 

Flashes of his dream pour into his mind. Navëquen pulls his lower lip between his teeth and attempts to banish these thoughts of longing. Of desire for the one he knows feels none of those for him. 

'I wonder what he might be thinking right now.'

His own conscience taunts him and he shuts his eyes. He indulges memories for the time being. The chill of chains encircles his wrists once more and the warmth of dark lips caressing his neck sends shivers down his spine. A mirage of rough hands slip down his sides, trace his thighs and before he knows it, Navëquen’s own thumb traces his inner thigh. 

He bites down hard on his lower lip and a bitter feeling nips at his fëa. His lean fingers slowly stroke at the scars of his still healing fána. 

And for a moment,

Just a moment,

He could still feel his touch. Cold and unforgiving, yet to Navëquen, it must have been the most loving and tender gesture he had ever experienced. Even if his counterpart stared at him with such hate and spat venom that brined his heart in agony and burned his ears. 

“Vanimóre. . .’’ he breathes, and the shame nearly eats him up from the inside out. How could it feel so wrong to say his other half’s name? A taint on his tongue. A scandal to his standing. And yet. . . He cannot stop himself from slipping his hand higher. 

His dark hair flushes against the pillows as his head hangs back. A heated gasp leaves his lips as images of his beloved cloud his vision. He needs this. He needs relief. He needs to feel loved again. 

Navëquen shuts his eyes, hoping that it would ease the guilt gnawing at him as his hand sets to work. To feel such immense humiliation over touching himself to the man who has hurt him — and yet is still the one he will always run back to. . . it is almost too much to bear. 

So he allows himself to slip into the bliss. Even if it is for but a moment. As the image of crimson hues overtakes him.

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[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day one : crown

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖   manwë ⠀〳 ⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. the elder king takes a moment to truly take in the meaning and implications of his crown, as well as remember what pain it led to

· ⊰ notes. starting off the drabble challenge strong with a lovely mirrored drabble alongside my @cilil 's! please check out hers here !

The icy winds of Taniquetil whistle through Ilmarin’s halls. The shine of Tilion’s vessel shines down onto the white marble, creating an almost ethereal glow as the King steps through his own home. 

Long had sleep escaped him. As memories flooded his mind. Thoughts of the past, of what could have been and sadly, what is now. It was days such as this that Manwë envied the slumber of the Children. If only he could give into such a delight and allow it to put his mind at ease. 

As his sapphire robes drag across the white floors and his steps are nothing but the pitter-patter of a minuscule dew cloud, his tired eyes spot a figure. Tall and majestic. Refined and held-together. Yet something in those orbs presently as dark as the night sky told a different story. Weariness. 

His own reflection. 

Halting in his step, Manwë gazes into one of the many pools of Ilmarin. He has seen his mirror image before. Why did this leave him silent? Mournful? Perhaps it was simply the expression he has worn since he rose from bed, but what his gaze truly fixates on is the elegant piece of jade resting atop his head. Extending feathered wings from the sides and decorated in sapphires. 

The Elder King’s Crown. 

A symbol of leadership. One of hope to some. Yet to him, in this moment, it served only to taunt him. It feels as though the mere weight of it will drag him into the pit of the very waters that he stares at. 

His delicate fingers brush against the edges and ease it off of his head, allowing for some loose strands of white to frame his face. As he holds the insignia of his right to rule in the palms of his hands — he feels no joy. No pride. Nor hope. 

Even in his strong hands, the crown feels heavier than iron. And in his eyes, it looks like nothing but a heavy stone that rests atop his head. 

A familiar voice rings within his ears and a sigh escapes his lips as he lowers the crown and stares into his reflection once more. He sees not the righteous and wise Elder King, but a young man. A boy even. With weariness in his eyes and an ache in his heart.

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[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day two : obsession

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖   valyaren ⠀〳 amaurë⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. valyaren watches the prince train with his maiar and contemplates his conflicting feelings about him ( dark themes ៸៸ obsessive behaviour )

· ⊰ notes. can't believe that the first thing in writing for val is immediately exposing him for what a creep he is lmao

'Surely, he knows what he is doing to me?'

The Vala's eyes slither as he watches the Prince battle with such grace. Majestically evading attacks of his Maiar and dealing tenthfold back. While still maintaining a smile blessed by the heavens on his lips.

Amaurë Ilwion. The Prince of Valinor. The Darling of Heaven.

And his greatest desire.

Valyaren maintains his gentle, genuine expression as he observes the Prince's fighting style. He was fluid in every way. Swift. Graceful. Like a spirit of air should be. But Valyaren cannot seem to focus on observing and judging this style as he is tasked to do. Instead, he is too caught up within his own thoughts and unholy desires.

'He is beautiful.'

'He is magnificent.'

Valyaren almost releases a shaky sigh. Oh, to make the Prince his. To feel his perfect skin beneath his fingers. To breathe in his intoxicating scent of fresh jasmine and vanilla. To make the darling his and only his.

These desires were far from righteous, oh he is well aware. He has long since given up on trying to force a lid onto his carnal thoughts. The Prince is too tempting, he tells himself. This is far from his fault, he assures.

'Yet such chaos.'

His brows crinkle in the slightest and his lips nearly curl into a frown. He recalls the frustration that he feels towards Amaurë. The loathing that he holds for the son of discord. An incarnate of chaos.

'He must be kept under order.'

He sucks in a breath.

'I must quell this fire within him.'

A faint, twisted smile finds his lips. His amber hues glint with a flash of excitement.

'I must tame him — I must maintain order. . . I need to have him.'

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[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day nine : memories

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖   airilin ⠀〳 lúilírë⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. lúilírë laments over what once was, and what could have been. why did his beloved sea song leave him in favour of darkness?

· ⊰ notes. this is a future outcome to the drabble that my lovely friend @cilil wrote which you can find here

"Look, I spent the whole day diving to find one that is as pretty as you."

"I. . . this is the loveliest gift I have ever received. Thank you."

Blinking away the cloudiness from his pale azure eyes, Lúilírë pushes himself against the chair of his bedroom and lets out a hushed exhale. Discarding the charcoal onto the sheets of parchments where he previously sketched out battle strategies, his arms fall limp over the seat rests.

His head rolls back and he gazes at the intricate designs of the ceiling. Counting lines and deciphering patterns. Hoping to immerse himself in a sea of useless thoughts that will drown out the ocean appearing before his mind's eyes.

The sound of gentle tides crashing against rock. The scent of salt. The feel of tender skin against his. Arms of ardour surrounding him as gentle lips mould into his.

The song of the sea calls to him.

And like the fool he is, he shall always listen.

A soft cloud of air condensate exhales from his lips as he sighs and aimlessly hangs against the chair. It mattered not how sharp Lúilírë's mind was — during days like this, where all he felt was the once comforting touch, saw those sparkling hues and heard that enthralling, honeyed voice, there was no possibility of escaping the past. Nor the memories that flood his mind and clutch his heart like a vice.

What haunted him most was the voice.

The voice of a thousand adoring songs.

The voice of a being once tender.

The voice that once whispered endearments to his ear.

The voice that once. . .

He sucks in a breath at the memory.

— told him that he loved him.

His fingers move on their own will. Gliding up the back of his neck before wrapping around cold mineral. With a small tug, his long, silky blue hair falls down around him. Soft strands framing his eyes and face in an elegant, barely dishevelled manner.

Lúilírë brings his hand forward and opens his palm to observe the object. In his grasp lies a white jade hairpin. Decorated at the end with a few thin chains of silver and gems of sapphire. Set in an arrangement that mimicked a flower. Yet what was the true spectacle of the hairpin was the sphere at the centre. Flat in some areas, round in others and shining with purple, blue and pink undertones against white magnificence.

"I will get you as many as you like. . . Whatever my favourite little pearl's heart desires."

Cold fingers clench around the hairpin subconsciously and Lúilírë finds himself with a break in his otherwise proud or blank expression. Something true. Something raw.

Something broken.

The strategist takes a few moments to stare at the accessory, specifically the pearl of memories at the centre before his eyes flutter shut and his body leans forward.

Once he pulls the hairpin closer, his lips meet the pearl.

As do his tears to the jade.

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( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ please consider liking, reblogging and / or commenting if you enjoy my work! all feedback is greatly appreciated ♡

[edensrose]

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ eden's 20 drabble challenge, to be posted from may 8th - 28th. includes reader inserts and oc content. feel free to join me by writing drabbles too! tag me or use the #athelasdrabblechallenge tag on your drabbles ~ note that titles separated by a — are separate drabbles

·⊰ 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏 : manwë

·⊰ 𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 : valyaren / amaurë

·⊰ 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒆 : navëquen — eönwë  

·⊰ 𝒉𝒐𝒕/𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅 : manwë / ruinë  

·⊰ 𝒐𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆 : fëanturi ( implied calamórë )

·⊰ 𝒅𝒐𝒐𝒎 : námo / reader  

·⊰ 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 : manwë / reader  

·⊰ 𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 : calamórë ( manwë / námo )  

·⊰ 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 : airilin / lúilírë

·⊰ 𝒈𝒊𝒇𝒕𝒔 : navëquen / vanimóre — almion / amaurë

·⊰ 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒎 : manwë / ruinë — áreniel 

·⊰ 𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆 : ruinë — almion / amaurë

·⊰ 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 : irmo / reader

·⊰ 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒆 : manwë / reader

·⊰ 𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒎 : manwë / erulissë — eönwë / amaurë

·⊰ 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒏 : ruinë

·⊰ 𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔 : erulissë — yavanna / reader  

·⊰ 𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒆 : manwë — lúilírë & eönwë  

·⊰ 𝒔𝒖𝒃𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 : eönwë / reader — námo / reader

·⊰ 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒆 : erulissë — navëquen / vanimóre  

[edensrose]

I don't even know what I'm doing anymore but anyway, my ocs and their toxic(?) traits

Erulissë "you're all so lucky I'm fucking nice" Almanna

Vanimóre "really damn creepy when you take the charm away" Carnërosse

Ruinë "no idea how to communicate so I'm just gonna be a bitch" Naraiwë

Amaurë "son of melkor? me? whaaaaat" Ilwion

Lúilírë "hey remember that embarrassing thing you did back in eighth grade? let's talk about it." Lairívë

Lúmirë "oh my leg is broken? I still have a meeting though" Elenvérë

[edensrose]

Do you have any headcanons for Mairon and Melkor (separate) accidentally killing their s/o, bonus if they are human and they are just gone for eternity.

I just need some angst to function

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ mairon, melkor ( sep. ) ⠀〳 reader⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. accidents happen, unfortunately, this is not something that the dark lords can ever fix ( death of reader ៸៸ blood mention ៸៸ war mention ៸៸ descriptions of death )

· ⊰ note. oh this was absolutely heart-clenching to write but I loved every second of it. hope you enjoy!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏.

ʚ He never thought that his efforts to finish what his master, the former dark lord, had started would cost him his very heart. Perhaps he would have rathered that. His heart being ripped from his chest rather than the sight of your pupils dissipating and your eyes dulling, the scream that wrenched from your lungs and the way your body collapsed to the stone floor 

ʚ Mairon was well aware that the power required to form the one ring would be immense and he was willing to sacrifice everything to ensure its creation. What he didn’t know was the one ring would not only drain him of his power — but yours as well. And unfortunately, you were not as powerful of a maia as he was. 

ʚ Whilst he forged the final touches and encrypted those cursed phrases along its underside, he ignored your little peeps and soft calls of his name. When you told him that you had an easy feeling. In fact, he went as far as to tell you that you were simply overreacting 

ʚ But it was only when he finally uttered the spell that would pour his power out into the ring that he realised the horrifying truth — your strength, the little power that remained within you would be snatched up as well. Despite his weakened state and trembling knees he tries to push himself to you, only just managing to get his arms around you when your legs had given out 

ʚ Mairon was frantic, clinging to your quickly disappearing warmth as he watched the life drain from your eyes. He was desperate, muttering a horrified ‘no’ over and over again as he watched your life be taken by that damned ring. Even when you stared up at him with such soulless eyes, he could not bring himself to accept what he had done 

ʚ “Y/N, no, please — please.’’ 

ʚ Had he truly lost you too? The last being that he had any sort of connection to? The last person who he felt anything for?

ʚ Mairon could do nothing but hunch over your form that day with a harrowing cry that tore through each and every crevice of Orodruin. He cradled you in his arms for hours, lips against your hair and promising that he would ensure your death was not in vain. Perhaps that’s what further drove him to accomplish his goal

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓.

ʚ It was a fit of rage. One he couldn’t quite overcome. But when he finally pulled himself from the storm of rage that clouded his eyes and he now witnessed a familiar crimson on his palms — his claws. Not to mention the look of utter horror on your face before you fell into him, a hole torn through your clothing just as one had been ripped through your very chest. He knew that there was no going back 

ʚ Melkor always considered himself to be slow to anger. While he does seem to have quite the temper, the majority of the time it is quite the act. He pretends to exude anger so that he frightens those before him. But to genuinely drive the dark lord to anger is a fool’s ploy. Nor has he ever genuinely been angry at you. Perhaps irritated or possessive, but never rageful towards you. And even the incident of your death was not brought on due to the anger he held for you

ʚ It was during the war of wrath, towards the end of it. Melkor was well aware that his army outside the iron barriers of Angband was quickly depleting, that his defeat was nigh. What wasn’t helping his already gruelling mood was your worry. Of course, you were anxious. Should the Valinor’s Host succeed you knew that your lover would be dragged off and flung into the void. There would be no more trials, no more appeals, he would be gone forever. Which is the very reason you attempted to coax him into admitting defeat, in hopes that the valar would take mercy on him should he show remorse for his actions 

ʚ It seems that it was all it took for him to lose it and before you knew it a cry tore from your throat, just as his clawed hand tore through your chest and impaled your heart. You looked up to see the storm in his eyes and the look of hatred on his face. You couldn’t even process what it was that he shouted at you, only that you would die here. With not so much as a gentle embrace but rather a look of utter hostility

ʚ When Melkor eventually came to, he foolishly ripped his hand back out in shock — causing blood to gush from your wound further as you fell forward onto him. He was in shock, to say the least, as he held you. The music stopped, the dissonant tune that was associated with his presence. Everything went silent, deafening. He could say no words. He could shed no tears. Instead, he merely felt your warmth fade and listen to the beat of your wounded heart come to a standstill 

ʚ When the host tore through Angband, all they found was Melkor on his throne. Without his crown, without the prideful stature, he wore like a medal. All they found was a broken vala clinging onto the lifeless body of his beloved.

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[edensrose]

hi! your writing is absolutely lovely and I'm so captivated all the time!

can I request a Legolas x reader where she's part of the fellowship and was with him (she's an elf) during the company as well, and maybe she believes him to be in love with tauriel and so she distances herself because she's in love with him, and grows close to aragorn and Legolas gets jealous and maybe one day he confesses and kisses her? and aragorn is like "i knew it! finally!"

thank you so much 💕

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ legolas ⠀〳 elf!reader⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. years of waiting for him, you finally decide to do what's best for your own well-being, no matter how hard it may be. but what happens when what you initially believed cannot be further from the truth? and legolas finds himself jealous of your new distraction? ( some discourse ៸៸ jealousy ៸៸ thoughts of unrequited love ៸៸ abrupt kiss )

· ⊰ note. hi there love! thank you sm! I hope this is to your liking ♡ sindarin translations are in the comments!

ʚ You and Legolas knew each other for as long as you could remember and throughout the years you stayed at his side. After the events of the mountain, all that had come to pass, and even when his father sent him to Rivendell; you were there, at his side. Of course, in your own right, given the fact that you were one of Mirkwood’s highly skilled rangers and grew up training amongst the palace guards; it was only natural for you to be sent on the minor quest with Legolas, not only as his friend but also to serve a type of ‘guard’

�� Due to knowing him for such a long period of time, this meant that you witnessed most events that he had gone through. Specifically - his liking towards Tauriel. Now, it would be a lie to say you hadn’t felt something for the prince. . . no, it was more than that. Before she even entered the picture, you were undeniably in love with Legolas

ʚ It hurt, watching him fall in love with her, look at her with that affectionate gaze that you could only dream of being the object of. Sure he treated you as his closest companion but that’s all you were - a friend. And even after he realised she held no interest for him and in the process, had his heart broken as yours was a lingering voice in the back of your head told you he was still in love with her. After all, it is a rarity for an elf to love a second time within their lifespan

ʚ And perhaps that hurt more than anything else, knowing that Legolas would never look at you in the same light that he regarded her. But, you held strong. Forcing down the agonising feeling and staying at his side even long after she took her own path; you did so right up until the present, where the new Fellowship of the Ring was formed. Albeit nervous, considering you promised the king to bring back his son after the delivery of the letter, you knew damn well he would have your head if you didn’t stick it out with Legolas and instead returned to Mirkwood. Which was one of the main reasons you decided to stay 

ʚ Don’t delude it, it wasn’t as if you held no regard for Legolas, but over the years. . . it started to become more of a challenge to simply swallow your feelings. It’s common knowledge that an elf can die of a broken heart and as your time at his side progressed, you felt as though you may indeed face such a devastating end. For no matter how hard you tried, it seemed that your heart continued to beat for him and the love that you held for him doubled, tripled, despite knowing it was something you could never have. Once you two returned to Mirkwood, you were planning on talking a miniature break, to distance yourself form him and focus on the well-being of yourself. However, with this newfound quest it seemed that your plans would have to wait 

ʚ So, with a heavy heart you decided to use this time to practice. Perhaps it would make it easier for when you eventually went home. Luckily for you, you found yourself getting along with a particular ranger who had recently made your acquaintance - Aragorn. You found yourself growing increasingly close to him at a surprisingly rapid rate throughout your quest and honestly? It kept you away from the desire of being at Legolas’ side at all times. It soothed the ache of your heart from having to distance yourself from him and made it slightly easier

ʚ However, what you didn’t anticipate, let alone notice, was the pair of eyes that always seemed to be on the two of you. Whilst you were so preoccupied growing closer to Aragorn, you can completely looked over the fact that something. . . Bothered Legolas. Of course, you saw him acting up a little, but you chalked it up to the nature of this journey you all found yourselves on. Little did you know that whilst you would play around and laugh with the ranger; Legolas watched with disdain. Since when was this a thing? He always thought it was you and him against the world; yet now everything was Aragorn. . . No, don’t tell him: did you fancy Aragorn? 

ʚ Contrary to your belief, you meant more to Legolas than a simple friend. As fate would have it, Legolas had fallen for you, but after the entire fiasco with Tauriel he decided to keep it hidden, in fear of not only rejection but possibly ruining a friendship he has had for centuries. Yet now. . . it seemed as though history was repeating itself. Did you have a thing for Aragorn? Is that why you grew so close to him all of a sudden? Was there a blooming romance? Were you in love with him?

ʚ It ate at Legolas alive and seeing the two of you constantly with one another did not make the situation better, especially when he noticed the growing distance between you and him. It only made him further believe that you were indeed, head over heels for this ranger. And soon? His disdain turned into something far greater. . . Jealousy. 

ʚ He couldn’t manage it. Seeing you with Aragorn all the time, laughing with Aragorn, just  Aragorn, Aragorn, Aragorn! It drove him up the wall far more than he would like to admit, And as time went on, the jealousy toiled and twisted, no matter how hard he tried to push it down. . . until one night during a little stop at an inn, he could take it no more. 

—

“Legolas — For goodness sake! Ow!” 

A whine breaks through the icy midnight air as you are unceremoniously tugged out of the inn by your prince in a manner you have yet to experience from him. Certainly, a circle of red would find your wrist by the time he decided to release it. 

“Must you handle me so gracelessly?’’ You huff, bringing the abused hand to your chest and facing the elf before you. Cerulean hues, once serene like that of a clear sky, now brimming with storm clouds. A swirl of emotions you could not pinpoint not decipher. Apart from one key fact: he was anything but happy. “What has you in such a foul mood?” You arch a brow, and rightfully so — for it was abnormal for Legolas of all people to hold such a conflicted look within his eyes. 

“Y/N. . .’’ The name falls from his lips in a tremble, a vexed one. “Why do you linger by his side at all times of the day?’’ Clenching his jaw, Legolas forces down as much bitterness in his tone as he can muster. “Why is it that he is suddenly the object of all your attention? I never see him without you and vice versa.” 

For a second you are confounded, caught off-guard not only by his out-of-character behaviour but also his words. “Aragorn?” The lightbulb clicks, yet only partially. “He is simply my friend, Legolas. Do you have a problem with me befriending -”

“I do when you act as though I am nonexistent.’’ He cuts you short, leaving you taken aback by the sudden. . . is that irritation in his tone? 

Legolas takes advantage of your silence and soon the minuscule surprise turns into a greater shock. “Everywhere we go, somehow, you always have to be at his side — talking and laughing with him as if it is just the two of you. He is the first person you look at after a joke, the first person you seek after slumber, in fact; he may indeed be the only person you look at throughout majority of the day! When we rest, you face him, when we venture, you are at his side. Has he become so important that the rest of us are invisible to you?”

It takes you a minute to both collect your words and process his. Has he truly been paying such close attention? By the looks of it, he was readying his tongue to list off the various other instances he’s noticed, so you swiftly chimed in. “Does it matter that much, Legolas?” 

And in that moment you were unsure whether such a question was deemed wise. For the second it met his ears, the storm within his sapphire hues roared on and twisted, practically displaying a mix of lightning and thunder; before you knew it, he found purchase on your shoulders and tugged you forward unceremoniously. 

“Are you that blind!?” With furrowed brows, he locks his gaze onto yours. “Can you not see why this affects me to such degree? Or is it that you simply don’t care? Rhaich! I am in love with you Y/N.’’ 

And if his words were not shock-inducing enough, then surely the feel of his lips pressed against yours a mere moment later was. 

Your heart altogether froze in beat, unmoving and as stiff as the rest of your body, for every muscle and fibre within you tensed all at once from the abrupt motion. Starstruck. That was the appropriate phrase. As time stood still you gaped with expansive eyes at the prince who. . . was kissing you. Who confessed to you. 

A thousand questions circled your mind. Did you hear correctly? Had you dazed out? Was this a dream — was Eru messing with you? 

If it wasn’t real then how did you feel him? If it was just a daze, why did his warmth radiate against both your body and mouth in such a comforting manner? No, it had to have been real, for the way he held, kissed you, felt unlike any dream your mind had ever conjured up. 

Yet just when you were hoisting yourself from the ocean of haze, the warmth fled.

As if sense kicked him square in the head, Legolas suddenly jolted back. Your immobility and frigid form prompted him to believe he had taken it a step too far. Fingers quake in their grip on your shoulder and panicked hues face you. “Y/N -” He starts, hold loosening on your form. “I — goheno nin, I wasn’t -” 

It’s your turn to cut him off as you reach out and haul him back in by the material of his cloak, leaving him the one to gape with enlarged eyes, albeit, for a shorter amount of time as his mind quickly registered the moment and allowed his body to ease as yours did. 

Legolas takes your waist on instinct, flushing you against him as you simultaneously loop a pair of arms around his neck, mewling with delight at the feel of him returning the kiss; ten times more passionate than the last. His kiss was gentle, lips impossibly soft, even more so than the countless times you imagined such an exchange. The warmth of his body against yours send a wave of delight up your spine and a flurry of butterflies to run wild within your chest as he somehow managed to pull you closer. 

And you begged, you prayed to ever divine being in existence that this was real. That you stood there beneath the mood with the man you have loved century after century, in his arms, sharing such a passionate moment of adoration, affection, love.

You part for but a second in need of air, only to be towed back in as one of his hands now caresses your cheek. It’s the contrast of both gentle touch and desperation of his ministrations. And with every time it broke the time apart was barely enough to ease the burning in your lungs — yet neither of you cared, for the feel of being apart for too long was more than either of you could bear for the given instant. As the decades, centuries — eons-worth of emotions poured into this single, time-stopping moment. 

Only when your knees felt weak, threatening to buck and when the sear in your chest became too much to bear, did the two of you at long last, part. He strayed not far away, as if afraid to lose you once more if he were to drawback but an inch more. Alternatively, you relished in the closeness, the lingering warmth as breaths mingled and eyes stared into one another oh so deeply. 

Silence, a comforting one at that, settled amongst the night. Or perhaps it was your own doing, for the sounds of crickets chirping and other midnight clatters were droned from your ears. All you heard was him, his heart — all you felt was him, all you saw was Legolas. 

After moments of hushed staring, a thumb rubs at your cheekbone and after clearing his throat, the elf murmurs: “I will take that. . . as a positive.’’ 

You cannot help but giggle at the soft pink scattered across his pale cheeks. “Yes,’’ bringing a hand up to his face, you return the gentle caress and lean up to touch his forehead with yours. “I love you, Legolas.’’ His breath hitches, bringing a smile to your lips. “It is something I’ve wanted to say for the longest time. . .’’ 

“It is something I have wanted to hear for eons.’’ 

Cerulean pools brim with everything you could have ever wanted. Adoration, devotion and most importantly. . . love. 

He loves you.

Legolas loves you.

Your heart somersaulted, singing to the heavens as it, at last, joined with his. And just as you are about to tug him back in for a second round of breathless kisses — a voice renders you both still. 

“I wondered when the two of you would get your heads out of the clouds.”

While you expected Legolas to loosen hold on you, you were pleasantly surprised when he instead pulled you closer. “. . . You knew?” He questions, all eyes now on the ranger who stands but a few feet away. 

“As if it was not obvious,’’ he chuckles, hands at his hips. “It’s about damn time.’’ Aragorn sighs, turning on heel and finding his way back into the inn. “Well, you two seem to be of good health. Do not let me stop whatever. . . that was.’’ Pertaining to the closeness of your forms and your hands which were buried in blonde locks, the ranger finds his way back from where he came. 

Cheeks burn in embarrassment so you seek refuge in the warmth of Legolas’ chest, deciding to ignore Aragorn’s little statement and instead focus on the feel of the elf’s arms around you.

And there you stayed, two hearts now one, under the glimmer of stars. You were his and he was yours. At long last.

[edensrose]

Hey :> Could i please request thanduil/reader smut where reader loses her virginity to him? And he's kinda dominant but also gentle cos its her first time.

Thank you so much :D

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ thranduil ⠀〳 reader⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. tonight would be special, for tonight, thranduil finally claims you entirely and makes you his queen ( smut ៸៸ minors dni ៸៸ sexual content ៸៸ penetrative sex ៸៸ nickname usage ៸៸ rough sex ( towards the end ) ៸៸ explicit descriptions )

· ⊰ note. hi there! hope this is to your liking. I honestly am a little nervous even putting this out since I kept second guessing myself and writing in stages — hopefully it doesn't suck too bad phaha

Gasping for the sweetness of air, shoulders tense, head lolled back 一 you await the burning in your lungs to fade as you gradually come down from the clouds, the blissful high. The blurs of colour melt away and soon enough, you are faced with the source of your most recent state. . . the elvenking himself. 

He rises from your heat with a grace that only an elf could muster; despite oh so vigorously driving you up the wall but a moment ago. The smile on his lips would lead anyone to believe that he hadn’t just sent you to the stars and back with nothing but his tongue. 

What a trickster. 

“Are you alright, my darling?” 

The nerve! To ask such a question as if he hadn’t caused you to keen and cry out whilst being brought to nirvana repeatedly. Your glare earns a chuckle and soon, silvery tresses cascade around you. 

“Worn out already. . . Should I be surprised?’’ A shiver crawls up your spine as cold lips trail a series of wet kisses along your neck, teasing at marks left behind by his majesty. “After all, this little hole is a virgin.’’ You gasp, hips craning into his hand as a finger leisurely drags along your slit. 

“Thranduil,’’ he bites back a groan, the way in which you whine out his name is beyond heavenly. It shoots straight to his already pulsing shaft and almost sends him over the edge. Almost. If it weren’t for the voice in his head reminding him that this was indeed, your first time, surely 一 you would have been fucked into the mattress by now.

Sapphire hues meet yours for a mere moment before you are pulled into a kiss, passion, want, need. The king poured all of these vast and raging emotions into one single act of intimacy, whilst all you could do was cling and attempt to return it all. The fire had been lit once more, surged on by the feeling of a new pressure against your heat and Thranduil’s eager desires. 

“Meleth,’’ he groans, grasping your face after forcing himself to part from your lips; which intoxicated him far more than even the finest elvish wine. “Are you ready for me?’’ His voice is shaky, words but a murmur. “I am unsure if I will be able to stop once we have started.’’ 

It was a warning, that much you could tell. From his throbbing length flushed between your labia to the unsteady breathing above 一 it took not a genius to deduct that your elven lover was holding on by a thread. The chance to back out was now, although you were certain Thranduil would internally curse a thousand times and over; you knew he would withdraw the second you gave word. 

Glancing down at where your heats met, you almost shivered at the sight of his cock, upright and ready to claim you as his own once and for all. It’s almost frightening, but you enjoy the thrill, the unknown waters you seem to venture deeper and deeper into. 

You would be lying if you said you weren’t as needy as him, for you had lost yourself to the lust and pleasure long before this point had even been reached. All thanks to him. His touch, the way he brought you so high 一 eager. You were eager for the bliss his eyes silently promised. 

“I. . . I’m ready.’’ His gaze finds yours in search of any hesitance, he finds none. You take his face between your hands and whisper your want, your need. “My king, I am yours to take.’’ 

Thranduil exhales a groan. What had you done to him? Surely, you must have been aware of your hold on him; the ability to tear him down into nothing but a man greedy to have it all. He’d almost call it cruel, the way you enticed him. 

“As you wish;’’ he starts, repositioning himself to hover over you whilst icy hands capture your hips and bring them forward. “Tonight. . .’’ Pale sapphires bore into your soul, distracting you from the tip of his cock rimming your hole. 

“I make you my queen.’’ 

Your breath lodges within your throat and all you can do is gasp as he finally breaches your most sensitive walls. It’s the sting, the burning stretch and abrupt fullness that leaves your head spinning and falling back into the pillows. He follows in-suite, face looming over yours as he claims what’s his. Inch by inch, steadily, agonisingly. Tears sting your eyes and when your voice finally returns you let out a meek whine. 

Thranduil halts, pelvis flushed to yours as the room fills with a series of heated pants and trembling murmurs. You can all but cling to your lover whilst he cooes a hundred promises, assuring you that the searing pain will last but a moment. Things such as: 

“You are doing so well,’’ 

“Meleth you feel so good.’’ 

“A little more, my darling, just a little more.’’ 

You greedily accept his praise and reassurance, letting it distract you from the feel of his steadily rocking hips. His length eases in, dragging against velvety walls and leaving your eyes fluttering from the tiny intrusions. “Thranduil,’’ You call once the sting subsides, replaced by a dull ache. 

The sudden restriction of your core leaves him groaning as you pull him in by gaze once more. “Are you ready, my darling?’’ He’s barely holding on, driven to near-madness by the warmth of your cavern, the tightness that encases his cock and traps him in this torturous haven. 

Hunger. Like a ravenous predator, his eyes meet yours, promising more than you could ever imagine. Pleasure beyond your wildest dreams, the high you so desperately yearned for. It almost feels dangerous, what you’re getting yourself into 一 and yet you nod, accepting the uncertainty and all its mystery. “Please,’’ it’s all the confirmation he needs. 

Thranduil’s hands find your hips once more and raise them in the slightest. The once minuscule entries now turning into drawn-out thrusts. He pulls out, only to fill you to the brim again. And again, and again. 

The previously slow pace is replaced by a more moderate one that has you gasping as your core flutters around his manhood, begging, pleading for more despite only recently adjusting. The searing heat returns, yet this time it is more than welcomed, much like his cock which thrusts within, leaving not a spot untouched in its way. 

“Th-Thranduil,’’ he has to shut his eyes, unable to behold the sight of you. Head hung back, lips parted and back arching as you give yourself to him. He fears that if dares to glance down he’ll lose hold of the restraint he has oh so desperately been holding on to since the start of the evening. Your moans do little to help the difficulty, drawing out his own groans of delight as his nails press into your skin further, fingers trembling and displaying all that he’s holding back. 

It’s the sound of your voice, the tremble of his name 一 the pleading and squelching of your core as it greedily accepts his every intrusion. The breathy moans which escalate into desperate mewls and the faint bucking of your hips. All of which makes it all the more harder to keep himself from throwing your legs over his shoulders and bringing you both to bliss until neither of you can take any more. 

Thranduil makes the mistake of looking down at you and instantly sucks a breath. You feel the falter in his pace and flutter your eyelids wider in an attempt to look at him. Furrows brows, clenched jaw, it’s enough to stimulate your need even further. 

“My king,’’ it’s a soft murmur but enough to catch his attention. “More. . .’’ Nails find purchase on his shoulders as your legs find his waist. “M-More please,’’ you rasp. 

He can take no more. 

The elvenking responds by grabbing ahold of your hips and driving himself the deepest yet, knocking the air straight out of your lungs and leaving you clutching to his pale flesh. “It’s as if you are trying to send me over the edge.’’ His voice is low, unsteady 一 a mere shadow of its usual self. “My pretty petal, so eager to be claimed.’’ 

You are unable to even process the series of events. All you see is him, all you feel is him. With knees now brought to your chest you can do nothing but claw at the sheets as a strong hold keeps you in place. The feel of his cock more pronounced than ever as it seeks to bring stars to your vision. 

“Thranduil!” “This is what you requested, is it not?’’ 

A mewl is ripped from your throat, a series of pants and gasps filling the room before your jaw is in his grasp once more; forcing your gaze upon him. “It is what you begged me for. To claim this little virgin hole?’’ 

You can do nothing but gape, parting your lips and staring into cerulean hues now wild and firm, boring into your very soul. Yet you can focus not, for all your attention is on the snapping of his hips, the feel of his tip touching that one bundle of nerves that makes you cry out in desperation. “Th-There - There!” 

The words are jumbled and slurred as if you’ve become drunk from the bliss overtaking your body one tidal wave after another. You buck your hips, frantic for that sensation once more. 

“Here?’’ He drives into it again, prompting your eyes to loop back into your head. The only word mustered being that of his name and hushed pleads interrupted by your countless gasps and mewls. 

A familiar feeling pools within the pit of your stomach, sending all your senses into overload. It’s blistering, devastating, you’re unsure how much longer you can hold on. With Thranduil’s fingers now capturing your clit between his thumb and forefinger, combined with the heat of his kisses down your neck and shoulder 一 of course, not forgetting the feel of his cock practically splitting you in two, it’s beyond more than you could ever imagine. 

Searing, hot, like a rapid, undying fire you pleaded with heavens to never be put out. With eyes barely open you try to warn your lover, yet your walls did it for you. They clamped down, earning a curse in his mother tongue as fresh, red marks now stain the skin of your hips. 

“C-Can’t - I can’t,’’ you cry. “Thranduil -” 

He cuts you off with his lips, dragging you into a kiss full of passion you had yet to experience from him. Hunger, vigour, it’s intense and demanding, like that of his tongue which soon joins the mix 一 invading you in yet another way and stealing your breath for the umpteenth time. 

“Cum, my queen’’ his voice almost missed your ears after he parted from the kiss, straying only an inch away. “Cum for your king.’’ 

It’s all you needed to finally shatter around him. White clouds your vision and a violent jerk overtakes your body as all your nerves tense and contract. It’s blinding, fierce and in a fervid moment, you arch your spine and finally release the blistering heat with a cry of your king’s name 一 surely heard by all of Mirkwood. 

Tremble, that is all you can do. You are taken to the stars above and in a sudden, shattering second, dropped once more. Your form hits the sheets, head spinning, gasping for air 一 you barely even notice Thranduil being brought to his own release and shuddering out your name in the process. The once fervent snaps melt into nothing but a few bucks until he steadily comes to a stop. 

Your swollen lips are captured by his own more, slower, gentler, and still just as passionate. Unable to return, you merely hum and lean into him; sighing at the feel of his length retreating from your core and leaving behind a strange, empty feeling. 

It takes a moment to gather his composure, and even longer to catch his breath 一 but soon Thranduil draws away and instead positions himself at your side. Within seconds you are in the warm embrace of your lover, kisses pressed to your hair as the sheet tickles your moist skin. 

“Rest.’’ It’s a quiet whisper, yet all the more adoring. “You did so well, my queen.’’ He sighs, pressing a peck to your mouth. “But for now, rest.’’ 

There was no rebuttal, you had no energy for it. Your head lolled against your king as you found refuge in his warmth, snuggling into his embrace as observed your limping form and shutting lids. 

He smiles, bringing your head to his chest. “Gi melin.’’