#feanor x reader

[lovefairymina]

Y/N, wearing an elegant dress for a party: Feanor, can you help me with my zipper?

Feanor, moving to do the zipper: Alright, sure.

Y/N: ... Put the zipper UP Feanor!

His hot breath ghosted your earlobe as he forward, snaking his large palms around your waist. “We have enough time to pull the zipper down and sneak out this dress before the dinner begins, mírë.”

[doodle-pops]

House of Feanor | When You Fake Your Orgasm

Request: Hi! I’m so happy you opened the request again!☺️ I wanted to ask if you could do the “When you fake an orgasm” with the Feanorians, the one for the Ainur was amazing!! Thank you and have a great day💖

A/N: I didn’t include the twins in this because I was unable to write smut for them. I don’t know why, but I can never envision smut for them, it doesn’t click for me. Sorry, but I also hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: smut, fem!reader, rough sex, spanking, fingering, overstimulation, edging, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, cunnilingus, oral sex (male and female receiving), manhandling, restraints, dirty talking, pet names (kitten, little one, bunny, good girl, princess), punishment, reader being mocked

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Feanor — I don’t know if I should clap you on the back and say, “Great job for challenging a man like him,” or be concerned that you chose to challenge a prideful man like him. Because baby, he’s not letting that slide on his pride. Verdict? Punished

He sensed it, the minute you tossed your head into the pillows and released the most ear-aching groan you attempted to have sound believable, he stopped. There was no shouting, no groaning or fuming like he usually did—he simply pulled out with a loud slick, the look of pure dissatisfaction on his face, and climbed off the bed to stand at the foot. There was a sharp gleam in his eyes the longer he looked at you, contemplating what punishment to dish out—so many options, a lot of time to execute them all, which one came first. He chose to say nothing, instead grabbing you by your calves and dragging you to the foot of the bed.

Before you could properly react, he snatched you by the arm and spun you around, planting your face into the mattress with a hand gripping the back of your neck to firmly keep you rooted. A high-pitched squeal left your throat, but it wasn’t from the sudden roughness of his actions, it was from the loud crack of a hand across your ass, followed by the immediate dragging of his fingers through your folds to harshly rub your clit. “Feels good doesn’t it? So good you could cum all over my fingers right now,” he muttered in your ear, pressing more weight against your sweet spot once he found it, causing a string of gibberish to leave your lips. “Then why don’t you cum right now. Fake another one if you dare.”

“F-Fea…nor—shit—was just a—ngh—joke,” you cried out as you wiggled your hips against the thrusting of his thick and calloused fingers.

“A joke,” he gasped lightly with humour in his tone before continuing, “then I too should give you one as well.” Then, he withdrew his fingers an inch away, listening to you crying out from the loss of pleasure. “Let me give you the best joke in the history of the Noldor—so good, that you’ll remember it forever and even learn a lesson from it.”

Maedhros — what can I say. Best rough fuck of your life? This man had his own sense of humour, and he was about to display how funny he could be during a crucial act since you wanted to play games.

The moment your lips parted to gasp, fingers digging into his biceps and legs tightening around his waist, he smirked. The hands on your waist slid downwards to grip your thighs and curl them into your chest, flush against your breasts while pressing his weight upon you, essentially pinning you beneath him. The new position had his heavy cock pressed deeper within your walls; you were scrambling to find purchase along his sweaty back. “Nggh, fuck—too deep, Mae,” you whined with a pout, brows furrowing and lip biting as he doubled the pace, making the bedframe shake.

“Hmm, I’m as deep as I should be,” he purred against your lips while one hand from your thigh reached up to grip your chin, forcing you to keep eye contact. He chose to roll his hips, his flared tip rubbing against your sweet post, prompting your eyes and walls to flutter as you genuinely came around his cock, a warm gush of your juices coating his length. “That’s more like it. That’s how you should look when you’re about to cum all over my cock,” he grinned and pecked your lips swiftly. “All fucked out, not that phoney performance.”

“M-Mae…please, ’s too much.”

“Uh-Uh.” He was having fun with this, giving your face a small shake while his grip on your jaw tightened. You could feel him deep in your stomach—getting deeper—and the loud squelching sounds of your cunt gushing around his length telling you that he didn’t plan on stopping. “I’m having just as much fun as you faking your orgasm, melda. Why should I stop when all you have to do is lie there and take my cock?” he whispered cynically with a wicked grin. “Or do you want to fake another orgasm again?”

You shook your head, struggling to keep up as another orgasm was approaching after he fucked you through the recent one.

“Good,” he hummed and lifted his body slightly off you, releasing your chin. “Now be a good girl and cum for me again.”

Maglor — the gentle poet isn’t always as gentle as everyone considers him to be, you know? Kano has his tricks up his sleeves, and one of them is ensuring that you’re not leaving this bed unsatisfied, no matter what it takes.

He didn’t even wait for you to finish before he came to a complete halt, staring at you with all the restraint and disbelief. And then, ever so slowly, he broke into a smile—a cunning, wicked smile. “My, my, my, princess. You didn’t tell me that we were performing. Had I known—” he growled and suddenly pulled out to flip you onto your knees, pushing your face into the pillows and sinking your back into a beautiful arch. “—I would have put on an equally, captivating performance as well.”

Whimpering, your excuses falling short when you felt his fingers trail down your spine to dip between your folds, spreading your wetness around to rub lazily circles around your clit. “I hope you know how great of an improviser I am—one of the best. So, I hope you can keep up. It would be a shame—a real shame if you were unable to…” That was all Maglor needed to do to have you falling apart under his touch. Those skilled fingers, working you to the brink and bringing you back down, edging you as if he was playing his harp and plucking strings of cries with each pinch or flick.

His other hand rested at the centre of your back, applying just enough pressure to warn you of his warrior’s strength underneath while his fingers ran through your fold, circling your clit and then down to your entrance, doing everything but sinking inside. The needy whines you released only fuelled him to continue his ministrations as you begged him.

“Kano, quit playing—please, put it in,” you groaned, voice muffled as you pushed your face into the pillow to swallow your needy cries which he revelled in.

“Kano quit playing,” he mocked, laughing at the end as he pulled his fingers away to give your ass a solid smack, jolting you forward. “How demanding? What are you, a star actress who can’t play her part correctly?” In an instant, just as the response was at the tip of your tongue, his cock plunged into your cunt and immediately started moving without an inch of reprieve. “Why don’t you leave the improvising to me, sweetheart, and just do what you’re supposed to. Cum for me when I fuck you.”

Celegorm — gosh, you’re giving his man a game. A thrill. A chase. He’s a hunter—this is the type of game he’s into. Make him work for his prize, and you, my dear, were so kind to delectably present him with the best challenge ever. One neither of you would ever forget.

Coming down from your so-called orgasm, had you trembling in Tyelko’s hold. Ankles locked around his neck, nails curling into his meaty biceps and jaw slackened as you mimicked the expression of ecstasy, but that was never enough to fool the hunter. For in an instant, he leaned into you further, pressing more of his weight against you, squeezing your thighs against your chest, caging you in like some prey with those gleaming, green eyes. “Little bunny wants to make me work to earn an orgasm from her, huh? Acting as though I wouldn’t know what this pussy feels like around my cock,” he taunted with a sickeningly, sinful laugh.

“T-Tyelko, don’t—” Your attempted words were immediately cut off by an abrupt tumble as he rolled over to place you on top, adjusting your legs to straddle his hips, yet pulling you down, chest to chest.

“Shh, kitten. You don’t need to speak—you’ve told me enough.” His cock still buried deep within, started moving sluggishly at first—just for a few strokes to get you relaxed—while he gingerly took both your wrist and bound them with one hand behind your back. As slowly as he moved, it was enough to make your stomach flip. And like the predator he was, his feet planted into the mattress and instantly thrust upwards with much more force jerking you forward, save for the strong arms around your waist.

A loud crack of his hand followed against your ass, groping the flesh before sending another, matching the intensity of his thrust. “Just like that—feels so good doesn’t it? Nice and deep enough to fake another?” he growled, increasing his tempo for the sound of sweaty skin clapping against each other to ripple around the room.

“T-Tyel–…ko—fuck! ’m s-sorry…slow down—ah!” Sputtering his favourite chorus of gibberish, he merely grinned and sunk himself deeper into your cunt, purposefully rubbing his cock head against your sweet spot which had your nails digging into your palms and more juices dripping down his cock.

“Not at all kitten. I’m right where I need to be,” he purred and cracked another hand across your ass. “Chasing as many orgasms I can get all night long.”

Caranthir — he doesn’t do anything half-assed, so why would you make him feel like he wasn’t performing up to standards, huh? Don’t you think that you’re about to be reminded to never test his skills?

A hand pinning the back of your neck to the polished desk while the other torturously dragged its fingers through your dripping cunt—if you thought Moryo was about to let it slide with a fickle excuse of ‘I was just tired,’ you were fooling yourself. He didn’t appreciate the gesture and was fixated on ensuring that you never thought about attempting your foolish jest ever again. And judging from how his fingers glided so smoothly through your cunt, your juices coating his palm and wrists, and the obscenely loud echoes of your thirsty walls sucking him back in, he was making a point. All of this when it was your umpteenth orgasm for the night, and he wasn’t letting up. No amount of, ‘I’m sorry,’ ‘Please don’t tease me,’ or ‘It was just a joke,’ could reduce the number of times you’ve cum all over him.

“Have you learnt your lesson yet, melda?” he questioned with such authority, yet a distinctive quietness in his tone. His question was followed up by a sudden contracting off your walls, spasming around his fingers as they remained still and pressing against your sweet spot. Within seconds, another gush of your arousal oozed out, making his rings and bracelets glisten under the lamps. “Hm, not yet it would appear.”

“Moryo—”

“Silence. You had your chance to answer and missed the opportunity. It is clear to me that you still crave more, so I shall give you more. Enough that you will not attempt such foolishness again.” There was a faint smirk in his tone as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the centre of your back, the same time his fingers regained their pace and continued to fuck you through your orgasm, into the next one. The tremble of your legs as shivered with oversensitivity made him laugh airily, not slowly or increasing his pace, keeping you right there, and giving you want you clearly desired from the start. “You’re doing so well, darling.”

Curufin — nothing misses his eyes. Nothing misses his focus, and you thought it would be a brilliant idea to test the man who was cunning, perspective and undoubtedly harsh when it came to dishing out punishment? Good luck.

“Open—wider.” Just as swiftly as the command came, your mouth was filled with the sliding of his thick cock between your lips to rest heavily against your tongue. He wanted to silence those nasally cries you emitted earlier, calling it the regular sounds you made when you orgasmed, and listen to you gurgling on his cock, rethinking your options. “Just like that. You sound much better.”

All you could do was look up at him through your teary lashes while he tossed his head back, hands tightening in your hair as he held you still. He didn’t move too slow or too quickly, just at the right pace to satisfy him and leave you clenching around nothing in anticipation. A soft, muffled whine escaped your throat when he pulled back, leaving his tip to rest against your lips, causing him to finally open his eyes and look down at you—with disappointment. “What’s wrong? Finally ready to apologise so I can make you cum for your ridiculous stunt?”

You nodded, pouting up at him with your teary eyes, knowing the effect it always had on him. “I’m sorry…won’t do it again.”

Instead, he scoffed. You were so shameless. Fake your orgasm and then had the audacity to be wet while he fucked your throat, wanting his cock to quench your heat. If anything, it made him more irritable. “I’m not so sure that you are sorry,” he corrected, biting his lower lip. “You just want me to stuff you with my cock like the needy little thing you are.”

“You can do whatever you want,” you pleaded. “I just want to cum.”

Rolling his eyes as he tapped his cock head against your lips, signalling you to open up, he pushed into the warmth of your mouth again, exhaling deeply at the welcoming of your heat and wetness. “I am doing whatever I want, darling. And that’s making sure you don’t cum like you wanted from the start.”

Celebrimbor — okay, why would you even try this stunt on this pookie wookie? He’s trying his best to bring you the best pleasure you ever had in your life with passionate precision and you of all things to do…fake your orgasm. Go stand outside in the rain, for making him feel like his performance wasn’t good enough,

His hips stuttered the minute you started vibrating and clinging to him, giving him a world-altering performance of you orgasming. There was a look of sadness washing over you as he continued to observe your shaking figure under him—you were so caught up in acting to notice that he had stopped and slackened his hold on your hips, slightly sitting on his hunches. The way his brain was calculating what to do in the face of such an event he never thought would occur to him. Then, he recalled—a conversation between two of his Lords he overheard speaking about their wives pulling this same stunt.

So, it was a thing. Just you attempting to trick him. He was still saddened deep down, but with a fervour.

Gingerly, he pulled his cock out and shuffled off the bed, noticing how you watched him with curious eyes. “Where are going? You haven’t finished?” you worried, sitting upright and frowning as he slipped back into his trousers, keeping it loose around his waist.

He said nothing as he reached into the drawers for a pair of handcuffs, designed just for you. A little something he was working on for a while to surprise you with, and what a joyous occasion it was for him to introduce them to you because, in mere minutes, your hands were cuffed to the headboard and left sobbing—begging for release, overstimulated. Tyelpë’s mouth worked so fervently against your pussy, giving you all the orgasms in the world so you would never test his abilities again.

A languid drag of his tongue against your clit, followed but a sharp suck had your toes curling, yet, unable to move from the iron grip that held them apart. You were beyond sensitive, unsure if he could milk another orgasm from your thoroughly wracked body.

“Hmm, do you think you can give me one more?” he peered up at you through those gorgeous emerald eyes. How could you say ‘no’ even when this was punishment? And yet you found yourself nodding slowly. “Lovely, let us see if this would be the one to remind you to never try that trick again.”

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[a-contemplation-upon-flowers]

“[No. I just wanted a way to bad mouth my half-brother without him understanding anything. I was a bit of a drama seeker,]” he explained, making you giggle. 

Not gonna lie, this had me in tears 😂😂. This is the fire elf indeed!

Soundless

Your father discouraged you from seeking the elf, but since you were desperate to have your locket fixed -- you decided to let his words go soundless in your ears. Turns out, the ill-famed Feanor wasn't so bad after all.

[] = Sign language

Warnings: mentions of a dead mother, hearing loss, rumors, Feanor's reputation, softness, and Feanor not being bad after all.

(Note: I decided to take a softer turn for this guy,)

---------------------------------------------

Your life has not been an easy one. Despite being born into nobility as the child of a Telerin lord, you faced your share of hardships from a young age. Your mother passed away shortly after your birth, and then you lost your hearing to a strange illness.

Growing up without the ability to hear the sounds of nature or music was incredibly challenging. Many people looked at you with pity, and some even speculated that you were cursed, given the unfortunate circumstances surrounding both your mother's death and your hearing loss. This placed a heavy burden on your father, who was left to care for you alone.

You two shared a great bond, and he had been genuinely a good father to you, helping you adapt to your disability and trying to make sure you were happy. However, you knew how tired he was and how he held a look of longing in his eyes. He was most likely still waiting for your mother to return from the halls of Mandos. 

Your mother had been born with a weak body thus the childbirth took a severe toll on her and her spirit. The Valar and the Maiar assured that she would heal over time, but it would take a long time. There was a high chance she would return when you had already grown into your teens. 

Your father was deeply saddened by the news and carried a heavy burden of guilt, believing that he was responsible for your mother being stuck in a state of recovery. Despite any rumors or beliefs held by others, he never allowed you to bear the blame. Instead, he shielded you from such notions, ensuring that you understood it was not your fault and that you were not to blame for your mother's passing.

You didn't want your father to blame himself, so you always strived to be on your best behavior and do things that would make him happy. You also wanted to prove to him that he didn’t always need to worry about you and that you could handle yourself, even if you were deaf. That was one of the reasons why you were determined to learn how to read people’s lips and make communication easier for yourself.

One of the only things you had from your mother was a silver locket.

Your father allowed you to keep it, and you held on to it ever since. Unfortunately, the lock had gotten stuck, thus making you unable to open it. 

Your father didn’t know what the locket held inside, so you pleaded with him to have someone fix it. However, since the locket was an older design from the First Age, none of the craftsmen knew how to repair it. They all advised you to dismantle the locket and salvage whatever was inside, but you were unwilling to do so. You were fond of the locket itself and didn't want to risk damaging whatever precious contents it held.

You began to lose hope when there were no more craftsmen to turn to, and even your father seemed less eager to save the locket. He eventually told you to simply keep the locket as a memory, assuring you that knowing what was inside was not important.

You valued your father's advice, but you also couldn't shake the desire to know what was inside the locket. Perhaps it contained a picture of your mother, since you had so few of them in the house, or maybe it held a cherished item she kept as a memory.

You then heard about an elf who was rumored to be one of the best craftsmen known in history: Feanor, King Finarfin’s older brother and the eldest of Finwe’s children. You heard that he had done troubling things in the past and nowadays lived in seclusion with his sons, rarely attending social events. Despite his reclusive nature, his reputation as a skilled craftsman persisted.

You felt hope for your mother’s locket, but when you asked your father if you two could meet him, he suddenly became angry and refused. You were startled as you had never seen him so angry before. 

Your father apologized for snapping at you and then explained that Feanor was not someone who should even be spoken about. Despite the passing of many years, the wounds he had inflicted were still fresh in the hearts of many. He was not to be trusted, so it's only for the best that you forget the whole thing.

Normally, you would have listened to your father, but your stubbornness to have your locket fixed strived you forward. 

During a celebration event with most noble houses and the city attending, you sneaked away from your father’s side and made your way to the workshop where you heard Feanor usually occupied alone with his gadgets. 

You had visited many workshops while trying to get your locket fixed, so you had a good idea of what to look for. It didn’t take long for you to find the place and walk inside. The workshop was empty, as most of the people were attending the celebration. Although it was a bit eerie to be alone, you pressed on until you found a door with light emanating from the room beyond.

You quietly peered inside and observed a dark-haired elf seated beside a table, engrossed in some task beneath the flickering candlelight. For a moment, you were awestruck, realizing that this was the famed Feanor, the elf who had allegedly committed terrible deeds.

With cautious steps, you entered the room, mindful not to startle the elf, and pondered how to approach him without alarming him. Unbeknownst to you, the door behind you closed shut, causing the elf to startle and snap his head towards you.

You were frozen in your place when you locked your eyes with Feanor. His features were sharp and he frowned when he saw you. For a moment, he looked a bit terrifying. 

“Child? What are you doing here alone? Where are your parents?” Feanor questioned, but you awkwardly remained quiet as you only managed to catch ‘here’ and ‘parents’ from his lips. Your lip reading skills weren’t the sharpest despite you having been trying to improve them. 

You took a deep breath and then tried to explain in sign language why you were there and that you had hoped he could take a look at your locket and perhaps know how to fix it since no one else knew how to. 

Feanor gazed intently at you as you signed, and then there was an awkward pause. You weren't sure if he understood sign language, and you mildly regretted not bringing a piece of paper and a pencil, which would have made explaining much easier.

Feanor’s eyes then softened, and to your surprise, he motioned his hand in sign language. 

“[Come here…]” he said. 

You then walked up to him and handed him your locket. 

He inspected it carefully, taking in the design and the lock. After he tested it and tried to open it, he then laid it down on the table. He grabbed one of the vials and what seemed to be a small tool. You looked at him curiously as he started doing something. 

He then glanced at you. 

“[Take a seat. This might take a while…]” He signed. 

You nodded and quietly sat on the opposite side of the table, watching as he gently poured drops on the lock. 

“[What is that?] you curiously asked. 

“[A type of acid. It can remove the rust that had locked the locket from the inside,]” he explained. 

“[Wait! So you can really fix it without having to break it?!]” you asked excitedly.

“[Of course I can. I do need to take the lock apart to clean the excess rust from the inside,]” Feanor explained while dropping drops on the locket. 

“[How do you know sign language?]” you asked. 

“[I was the one who first developed it,]” he answered, making your eyes widen. 

“[Did you or anyone in your family have hearing problems too? ]” you asked. 

“[No. I just wanted a way to bad mouth my half-brother without him understanding anything. I was a bit of a drama seeker,]” he explained, making you giggle. 

“[Then it was adopted by those who were unable to speak or hear words,]” he added.

“[How long have you been unable to hear words or sounds?]” he asked while cleaning your locket’s lock. 

“[My whole life. I lost my hearing somewhere in my birth,]” you answered.

“[Do you want to talk about it?]” Feanor asked, and you became excited. No one else besides your father has spoken to you in sign language this long. 

You then talked about your life. How your mother died during your birth, and how your father had taken care of you your whole life. You also talked about how your father seems to be blaming himself for your mother’s death and how you hated when others would look at you with pity and think you had been cursed. 

Feanor listened attentively while fixing your locket. 

After half an hour of talking and watching him work, you took a break, but then you saw how the elf in front of you placed all the parts back in the locket and opened it. 

You looked at him eagerly as he closed it and then opened it, making sure the lock worked properly before handing the locket back to you.

You grabbed the locket and took a look at what was inside. It was a small picture of your mother and father. They looked happy together, and there was also a small gem inside. It was most likely the gem your father gave your mother as a gift, and she had kept it inside the locket for safekeeping and carried it with her. You felt immeasurable joy looking at the picture and holding the gem. 

Your father would be so happy when you showed these to him. 

Feanor then caught your attention by tapping the table in front of you. 

“[The locket should work fine for now, but make sure to take care of it and not leave it somewhere where it could rust again, ]” Feanor explained. 

“[I will. Thank you,]” you signed. 

“[Now come on. I take you back to the entrance. You shouldn’t be here,]” he said, then stood up. 

You followed the elf out of the workshop, and you two then stood on the empty street while the celebration was still going in the distance. 

“[Do you need me to escort you back there?]” Feanor asked. 

“[No. My father is pretty easy to find, and I don’t think he even noticed that I’m gone. I’m pretty quiet after all, ]” you answered. 

“[Very well, and by the way,]” he said, making you look at him curiously. 

“[Your mother’s passing was not your fault. No matter how tragic it was, you are not at fault,]” he explained. 

You looked down for a moment. 

“[But others think differently,]” you said. 

“[There will always be people who will judge you for what you don’t have. Don’t let their words get to you. Otherwise, your life will become difficult and harder to enjoy,]” he signed.

 “[And remember, hearless or not, your mother would have loved you]” he added. 

The thought made you smile. Your mother had a weak body, but it didn’t mean she did not want you. Your father and the rest of the relatives always explained how she was excited to have you. 

She might be in Mandos, but she was going to return one day. 

“[I won’t. Thank you, Mr. Feanor,]” you said, and he softly smiled. 

“[Now get along now. Your father will notice your disappearance soon enough,]” he said. 

You then suddenly hugged his legs, making him look at you surprised. He then patted your head as you freed him and began making your way back to the party. You waved at him, and he waved in return till he saw you disappear into the crowds. 

Feanor returned to his workshop, feeling pleasant over the encounter. 

[eunoiaastralwings]

This ask has been on my mind since like FOREVER 💗💗💗💗💗💗

I was wondering if you could do a feanorians x little brother ft nolofinwe where y/n was born very weak and frail but was still loved by his family dearly just that because of his frail body he's constantly bullied and hit by other elflings (and maybe some adults). Whenever he sees his brothers and father he feels so utterly useless but bottles everything up .

Make it end up in fluff please 🙏🙏

Thank you and have a wonderful day/night ❣️

characters feanorians x little brother reader ft. Fingolfin

fandom tolkien- the silmarillion

a/n am still uneasily writing about kids - so I made it into a headcanon. Idk if this is what you intended am sorry - so you can request else where because idk what else to do this - but I hope you at least like it @oggy4god

warnings angry overprotective family members xD

FEANOR:

As your dad - expect him to treat you the same as any other of your brothers. He doesn’t care whether or not you were born weak - Feanor still wants to achieve your goals and dreams, like each of his other sons did. He would help you achieve it too. 

Eru forbid if he witnesses anyone bullying you he will turn their lives to literal hell. He would protect you with his might and title - the most important to him being a father. He will allow no harm to come upon you. After your bullying incidents he keep just an extra eye and care on you - letting you know you can always talk to him. He will be extra caring on your side. 

If you ever feel useless compared to him - he will tell you otherwise and make you shine with your skills, no matter how small they may be, he is so proud of you.

NERDANEL:

I love her, OK? I could not miss your hot momma out. Just like Feanor, she wouldn’t see you any less. You receive a little more attention from her (sometimes your brothers are a little jealous of this but they understand and love you) - more care too. She will encourage you and help you every step of the way to help you achieve your dreams - she sits with you day and night.

Nerdanel is someone who doesn’t like to use the terms “weak” or people referring to you having a “condition” - she likes to think you were extra blessed by Eru, especially when you start to show your kindness and uniqueness to the world - showing your hidden talents. She is the proudest mother - and she shows it.

Your mother would be first to witness the change in your moods - you starting to get depressed. She knows you very well and finds the reasons behind it without having to even question. She likes to deal with it quietly - but if your bullies ceases to stop, she is not afraid to take it to the next level. If she uses her title among the Nolder for anyone, it will be for her children - especially you darling.

Sometimes she cries herself to sleep - thinking about all that you had to face alone and how hard it must have been for you and why you didnt come to her.

In seeing you like this - she understands depression and other mental illnesses so she advises and helps to start therapy or retreats among elves - knowing it is more common than one would think.

Oh - and if it comes to having to get getting revenge on the kindergarten moms who bullied her kid. . . oh, she will ! ! !

Nerdanel consoles her son -and then takes her revenge on those who mistreated him.

MAEDHROS:

As your oldest brother - he advises you like a 2nd father, he isn’t afraid to step in when Feanor is away to come and protect you. He lets you take it a little more easier in training. When you cannot achieve anything as fast as your brothers - he sits down next to you and comforts you with small pet talks. He tries to make you feel better about yourself by telling the number of times he failed before achieving something - letting you know how things take time and life isn’t about a race. Mae tells you to believe in yourself and that is the most important thing - he tells you to listen to yourself and the people that are family - “They say many things - but you mustn’t listen to them, but to the people you keep in here” - points to your heart.

When you finally learn to achieve a level in your training - he has the biggest proud face. He picks you up and places you on his shoulders, cheering for you. 

MAGLOR:

While your mother invites therapy for mental health - your big brother Maglor creates songs to boost up your self esteem. Ever seen music fights? - Yes, he does that to your bullies, before filling you with a heart warming and encouraging song like in those Disney movies - he becomes Baloo (The Jungle Book) or even Genie (Aladdin).

He becomes your personal cheerleader - singing from the top of his lungs as Mae carries you on his shoulders.

CELEGORM:

While he doesn’t show it well - he loves you greatly. If he ever sees anyone bullying you and making you feel bad about yourself - big bad brother Tyelko is going to threaten the very lives of your bullies, he becomes the bully of your bullies LMAOO.

He then feels better and drops in front of you - wrapping his arm around your shoulder insisting you go for a hunt that’s the only way he knows how to comfort. Otherwise he gets either Nerdanel, Mae or Maglor.

Expect Huan to be the bestest boi to protect you from big bad brother Tyelko is away to bully the bullies that tried to hurt you.

CARANTHIR:

If anyone learns of you being mistreated first, it is your overprotective big brother Cara - he sees red when he sees or hears of someone bullying you. Cara would straight up punch them in the face - he doesn’t care who/what they are: “HOW DARE YOU EVEN THINK OF LAYING A HAND ON MY BABY BROTHER?!”

His words are searing with deadly anger - making them cower in fear. He will make sure they apologize to you - the one that you deserve. While Cara is caring, initially he is mad at you for hiding or bottling up everything. Afterwards he vows to let no harm come to you. Cara knows what it is like to be judged on - because of his ruddy freckles skin. 

Slowly the both of you become closer to each other like this - gradually opening up to each other and he has the proudest look on his face when he sees you defending him, small tears even gathers in his eyes.

CURUFIN:

Like Cara - he is so mad you had no one told anyone of your mistreatments, he will report straight to Feanor. He doesn’t know how to comfort - he never learnt that so he pulls you to the others to give you comfort, though he becomes the extra pair of eyes to protect you from anyone who dares to mistreat you. He can be a little hard on you at times - but when he learns he’s causing you hurt too he immediately stops - he does care deeply for you but he doesn’t know how to help you otherwise.

AMBARUSSA:

Please - if your older twin brothers ever sees someone hurting you - expect them to prank (and scare) the life out of them. They are letting no one hurt you in any way - they take on their roles of becoming your big brothers very seriously - even if at times it seems like it doesn’t.

Sometimes during training they purposefully fall behind you making you go ahead of them or failing on pretend - because they love seeing that triumphant amazed smile on your face once in a while. They will literally do anything to make you happy - once even daring to cut the hair of your school teacher that was giving you a hard time - “He doesn’t deserve it - if he cannot treat someone as amazing you right ! ! ! - Even Atar isn’t mad at us!”

FINGOLFIN:

Best Uncle Nolofinwë seeing this precious little nephew getting mistreated? - Oh, he will not allow such a thing to happen, for a split second he is about to lose his anger like your father - but he controls it and does it the right way of reporting it and making sure they achieve their punishment to even dare to think of doing such a thing to you. 

Afterwards - waiting for Feanor to come, he will take your hands in his and talk to you in a calm caring voice - telling you it is OK to feel like the way you and that everyone does feel like this once in a while - but the most important this is not let it cast you down: “You may think you only feel like this, young one - but we all do. . .Some are better at hiding than others and it is never good to hide it. We must accept that sometimes we need a little help. . .a little encouragement from the bad thoughts - and most importantly. . .you must never let these thoughts or words of others plague your heart, my dearest little nephew. . .”

Feanor is a little jealous and scowling at how his half-brother is having a moment with his son - expect your father to be in a sour mood and scowling at Fingolfin for a few moments before he turns to you and provides you the best of comfort - also severing the punishments for your bullying while your uncle shakes his head but offers your something in between a smile and a smirk.

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[piorenek]

"Love bite"

Parring: Maedhros x reader

Type: fluff? little sugestive

Note: I had this in my drafts for long time. Enjoy!

Lazy afternoons with your dear redhead prince are always something you are looking for. Hugged to his side on the couch with a bit of wine in your glass, enjoying a warm day.

A little, silly thought came to your mind, but that required the attention of your lover. So you started staring at him, but apparently it doesn't turn out like you wanted. You decided to take a step further and hugged him, burying your face into his arm. And took an action.

"Did you just bite me?"

"No?" you looked at him with a smirk on your lips.

"No? I am certain that I could feel teeth on my arm." Maedhros puts away his book and turns his full attention to you.

"Oh, don't be silly, love. Even though you should be happy."

"Is that so?" He leans into you, making you lie down on the couch.

"Yeah. That means you're just so sweet and tasty that I can not stop myself from biting you." You smiled even whither.

"That makes perfect sense. Perhaps I should taste you too, hm?"

[nataliabdraws]

darling heart, i loved you from the start (I)

pairing: maglor x original female character

summary: at the start of the fourth age, olwyn gets a unexpected visitor on her doorstep

aka maglor gets the cottage core life he doesn't know he needs

warnings: N/A

word count: 3.8k

author's note: this is just a entirely self indulgent fanfic I wrote about my oc olwyn and maglor.

read full thing on ao3 (read to the end for some concept art!)

1.

The man arrives with the storm.

Olwyn sees him first as a dark blot against the horizon, teetering on the white stone cliffs of Langstrand. The wind howls, carrying the crash of waves against the rocks below, but the man walks with no caution. His cloak snaps wildly around his ankles, his bare feet gliding over the slippery, rain-slicked edge as if he does not fear the jagged maw of the sea waiting below.

She watches him for a long moment, rooted by the strangeness of the sight. The old stories creep unbidden into her mind—those whispered tales of spirits who sang with sweet voices to lead the unwary to their deaths. But those stories spoke of grace, of beauty that beguiled.

This man sways like a drunkard.

A gust of wind topples him forward into the grass, the rain drenching him further as he lies motionless against the over-saturated earth. It’s too far to see clearly, his face obscured by the veil of the storm, but the scene jolts Olwyn from her reverie.

Her chair scrapes against the wood floor as she rises, her heart lurching. She fumbles with the thick pelted cloak hanging by the door, the fastenings slipping beneath her fingers. Rain pounds against the windows as she pulls on her boots, rushed and graceless.

The door bursts open under her grip, the wind slamming against her, biting through her clothes and whipping her pale hair into her eyes, into her mouth. The storm roars around her, blinding and deafening as she steps out onto the wet stone path. She blinks hard against the rain clinging to her lashes and braces herself against the wind.

Olwyn starts toward the cliffs, her boots sinking into the slick, muddy earth as she hurries to where she last saw the man.

“You! Are you okay?”

Her voice cuts through the storm, but the wind swallows it whole, hurling her words over the cliffs and into the sea. The squelch of her boots in the mud is drowned out by the crashing waves below, each step splattering her calves with wet earth. The hem of her skirt clings heavily to her legs, soaked through.

She stumbles, her footing faltering on the slick ground, but her fingers catch the man’s elbow just in time. The contact shocks her—his skin is clammy and cold, like ice water soaked through flesh. Like he had been out in this weather far longer than she had spotted him. He shudders under her grip, a faint, involuntary tremor, and the wrongness of it sends a shiver racing up her spine.

When she turns him onto his back, he looks dead. Mud and seawater streak his face and clothes, dark hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes are half-lidded, rolled back into his skull, and for a terrible moment, Olwyn is certain she’s too late. But then she sees it—the faint rise and fall of his chest, fragile and uneven but undeniable.

Above them, the storm howls, a mournful wail that drowns out even her thoughts. Rain lashes against her face, relentless and cold, as she looks back toward the distant shape of her dwelling. The thatched roof barely stands out against the rolling cliffs, but the warm glow of lantern light cuts through the gloom, beckoning her back.

The storm will only worsen—she knows it will. The past few days have been unforgiving, and this stranger won’t last the night out here, not in this.

Olwyn grits her teeth, steeling herself against the weight of what she must do. Looping her hands under his armpits, she braces her legs and pulls.

“Come on,” she mutters, the rain slipping between her teeth as she speaks. The man groans faintly, a weak protest spilling from his lips, but his legs barely move beneath him. “Come on now, you can do it.”

With a grunt of effort, she hauls him upright, his body heavy and unyielding, nearly twice her size. His head lolls against her shoulder, his arms limp at his sides, but he stumbles forward when she tugs at him. The weight is staggering, but Olwyn is struck with sudden gratitude for her brother and the long hours spent wrestling calves and sheep in the past—this man weighs no more than calf her herd ever did, though the stakes feel infinitely higher.

Her humble cottage grows larger with each faltering step, the glow of the lanterns cutting through the storm’s darkness and blazing against her retinas. The light burns faint spots into the night sky behind it, but it promises warmth and safety, and she clings to that thought as her boots squelch through the mud.

At last, they cross the threshold. The door slams shut behind them, muffling the roar of the storm. The man stumbles once more, crumpling into her, his full weight bearing down on her shoulders and chest. She staggers but manages to hold them both upright, his skin like ice through her damp clothes, stealing the little warmth she has left.

The dim light of her home barely illuminates the path ahead, and she moves carefully, guiding them around the low table and through the curtain that separates the bedchamber. The weight eases as she lowers him onto her bed, the mattress groans beneath his weight. His breathing is shallow, each faint inhale barely perceptible, but it’s enough—it has to be.

Rain drips from her hair, trailing down her skin and soaking further into her dress. She shivers, her teeth clattering no matter how hard she clenches her jaw. Still, she pulls off her drenched cloak and tosses it aside, reaching for a dry one.

She wraps the warm fabric around the man’s freezing form, her fingers moving briskly despite their numbness. As she props him up to tuck the cloak under him, she begins rummaging for dry clothes. Her hands fumble, clumsy and slow, but she pulls out a tunic —old ones of her father's. The wool is rough and scratchy against her fingertips, but they're warm, and they'll have to do.

Olwyn works quickly, peeling away the soiled tunic that clings to his skin, the damp fabric resisting her at every pull. She shimmies the dry shirt over his head, yanking it into place with hurried efficiency as his arms flop limply at his sides. It’s far too large for her, and it will swamp him, but warmth matters more than fit.

Her breath catches for a moment as she catches sight of his frame—thinner than she had expected, his ribs stark against his chilled, pale skin. She barely has time to register the sight before he shifts, twisting suddenly away from her hands with a low groan. The sound startles her, her heart leaping, but she lets him go. He burrows into the furs like a wounded animal seeking shelter, and she moves to pull them up higher, tucking them carefully around his neck.

She pauses as her eyes fall on a stray lock of hair. It’s raven black, untamed and tangled, and the damp strands cling to his face. She brushes them aside without thinking, her fingers revealing the pointed tip of his ear beneath.

An Elf.

The thought lands heavy in her mind as she stares, taking him in for the first time with real clarity. There are no Elves in Langstrand—not anymore. Not for a long time. And yet, here one is, lying unconscious in her bed, draped in her father’s old tunic.

Her gaze lingers on the steady rise and fall of the furs over his chest, his breaths soft but rhythmic. Her hand drifts absently to her own ear, tracing the subtle curve of its dull point—a mark of her half-blood lineage, a quiet truth she has carried her whole life.

But he is not like her. He is pure-blooded, unblemished. Older. Other.

Something else entirely.

The dull ache in her jaw, from the relentless chattering of her teeth, pulls Olwyn sharply back to the present. She reaches for a rag and rubs at her face, the rough fabric dragging against her clammy skin. Her hands tremble as she works, clumsy and slow, and the chill bites harder when she begins peeling off her soaked clothes. The damp fabric clings to her skin, reluctant, but she shoves the garments aside and reaches for fresh underclothes.

She gathers her sodden clothes, the fabric heavy and cold in her arms, and drapes them over the back of a chair. The wet material drips onto the floor, dark spots spreading across the wood where the water falls, but she pays it no mind.

Reaching for her brother’s wool blanket, Olwyn wraps it tightly around her shoulders. The texture is coarse but warm, and the weight of it steadies her as she totters toward the kitchen area. The scent of soup, thick with salt and thyme and earth, hangs heavy in the air. It still simmers faintly over the coals where she’d left it hours ago, forgotten in the chaos of the storm. It had been meant to last her for days, but with a second mouth to feed, that feels unimportant now.

She ladles out the broth, the steam rising to warm her face, chasing away the lingering chill. Blowing gently at the surface, she takes a cautious sip. The heat stings her lips, her tongue, but her stomach growls in protest when she sets the cup down. The last of her bread had been eaten two days ago—there’s no sense in waiting now.

Soup in hand, Olwyn makes her way back to the bedchamber. The blanket clings to her as she pulls a chair up beside the bed and lowers herself into it.

The Elf stirs.

The movement is subtle, but it freezes her all the same. His brow furrows faintly, the lines of his features shifting ever so slightly, and she watches with bated breath. His chest rises and falls in shallow rhythm, his lashes fluttering as his eyes roll beneath their lids. The pale cast of his skin has softened, losing some of its waxy sheen, and the harsh lines carved into his face seem to have eased.

Her gaze lingers, tracing the high bridge of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw. The pointed tips of his ears peek through his dark hair, long and unmistakable, even in the dim light.

Then, his eyes open.

They are pale and distant, unfocused, as though he sees her but not entirely.

“I’ve brought you soup,” she says, her voice loud in the heavy silence of the room. She thrusts the cup toward him, as if the gesture alone might help him understand, as if he even speaks her language. “It will help warm you,” she tries again, softer this time, her tone gentle and steady. “Can you eat?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are fixed on the cup in her hand, and his nostrils flare, a subtle movement that gives her pause. Olwyn dips the spoon into the broth, steam rising faintly as she lifts it. She blows gently on the liquid, the warmth wafting between them, and holds it up.

“You have to eat,” she says, the words low but firm, a quiet insistence.

He blinks, his brow furrowing slightly, and for a moment, it seems as though he might speak. The corners of his lips twitch, a faint flicker of effort that never materializes into sound. His gaze drops to the spoon in her hand, and she sees it—a glimmer of understanding.

Encouraged, she presses the spoon forward, close enough to brush against his dry, chapped lips. “Here. Eat.”

There’s a hesitation, his body still save for the flicker of dark eyelashes. Then, his mouth opens, and his tongue darts out, tentative.

He swallows, the motion slow and deliberate. Olwyn nods slightly and dips the spoon back into the bowl, scooping up another measure.

His lips close around it this time, his tongue working as he swallows again. He blinks once, then slowly again, the deliberate rhythm of it matching his movements.

The process is slow, each spoonful a careful exchange, but Olwyn is patient. He eats halfway through the bowl before his lips part and the spoon falls away. He leans back, the furs pulling up around his chin as he shifts deeper into the bed. His eyelids drift shut, and his body slackens, the harsh lines of his face softening once more.

For a long moment, she watches him. The storm rages outside, battering the walls of the cottage, but the rise and fall of the blankets is steady, calm. In sleep, he looks smaller, almost fragile. Her eyes linger on the pale line of his throat, exposed and vulnerable, before she looks away.

Olwyn finishes the rest of the soup herself, the warmth soothing the tightness in her chest. Leaning back in the chair beside his bed, she lets her head rest against the worn wood. What was she going to tell her brother?

read full thing on ao3

[a-contemplation-upon-flowers]

Heyyyyyy, can I request a fic of Feanor + female!elf!reader and squirting?

Basically, Feanor is trying to make her squirt (as punishment or normally-- you choose). Idk why, but when I started simping for Feanor, I always felt like he'd want to put his S/O first and is obsessed with seeing her get overwhelmed with the pleasure HE is providing, so... please just this fic for your horny anon follower.

My dear anon, I have never written a squirting fic before, so I hope this first attempt passes muster.

“Above all else”

Pairing: Fëanor x Fem. Reader ( Elf / Second Person POV) | Location: Formenos

Themes: Smut| Soft

Warnings: Fingering | Overstimulation | Squirting | Kissing | Dirty talk | Explicit language | Rough sex | Penetrative sex | Cream pie

Word count: 1.4k words

Summary: Making his consort feel unimaginable pleasure is something Fëanor lives for.

Rating: 🔥🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+ | You are responsible for the media you consume.

Exile was a most wretched thing: confined to a single place, cut off from all those who could not or would not follow, having to wait until the allotted time had passed would have been unbearable for many.

Such was not the case for Fëanor. He found many and more ways to spend his time in exile, and not just in crafting and creating. The elven lord had more than one way to amuse himself while staying in the palace known to all as Formenos. And of those other amusements, many would only ever be found within the cool confines of his private chambers, such as now.  

"Yielding so soon?" The elf tsk’d and grinned wolfishly. "But sweetling, I have only just begun."

You found yourself snorting weakly. I have just begun, he says. Fëanor had been pleasuring you from the moment the light of Telperion waned and darkened, and the light of Laurelin waxed golden and glorious. He had unraveled your body in every way he had thought of, always bringing you to the edge of the precipice before drawing away and pulling you back, and always with a wicked smile that made his eyes burn like brilliant blue flames. He enjoyed every moment of listening to you whine and mewl, and watching while you writhed and shook beneath him. It mattered to his pride to know he was the only one who could make you sob into his shoulder even as you neared your release.

"Tis too much, my love." You managed a smile while being pulled even deeper into a red haze of fresh lust. "I cannot take it anymore." 

"But you must take it, my love. I insist," Fëanor replied. His hand, callused but deft and practiced, was still warm while it toyed with your clit. 

"There she is. There is my good girl," he groaned under his breath, thrilling at the dreamy sigh he heard, at the sight of your eyes slowly closing. Fëanor was patient as always, starting with slow, measured strokes that grew and grew until they reached a tempo so heated that it felt like your entire body was ablaze. Sparks smoldered and came to life in the blink of an eye. Your breath reduced to sharp, ragged gasps. It was too much.

"By the time I am truly finished," Fëanor vows, "you will not be able to leave our chambers without my aid."

"I will hold you to that promise," you retort, and a grin began to form. 

Fëanor chuckled and turned his attention to the pleasurable diversion at hand. He meant what he said, every word of it. He slid a finger into the wet heat of your slit, moving it in gentle, rhythmic thrusts that sent shockwaves licking up your spine. In time, one finger became two, and two soon became three. His lips captured yours in a violent, bruising kiss that left you dizzy and weak. Fëanor breathed deeply when your mouth opened beneath his and your lips parted for his tongue. Like all other things, he took his time to savor them—the warmth of your mouth and the sweetness of your lips. Pain and pleasure collided and mingled when your nails raked down his back. It hurt, but it was a welcome hurt. It meant you were nearing your release again. Fëanor was glad, knowing only he could make you experience untold rapture more times than either of you could care to count.

This time, he was not going to deny you. But first, "Are you close, sweetling? Do you want to cum and spill onto my hand?"

The relief that washed over you was palpable. "Yes, my love."

"Beg for it." Fëanor insists, his thumb grazing your nub. The sharp intake of breath and the arched back that followed, delighted him to no end. 

The Valar sent me to this place, he thought, highly amused, thinking it to be my punishment. And here I am, living well and without worry, all while fucking my beloved consort senseless.

He turned his attention back to you. "Beg for it, sweetling. Beg like the good girl I know you are," he commanded again.

The sensations of his fingers stretching your walls and his thumb rubbing against your pearl proved too much again.

"Please, my lord," you plead, desperately and shamelessly, "please let me cum. Please. Please."

Fëanor drew in a long, deep breath and made an otherworldly sound when he heard himself addressed as, "My Lord." He had heard it often enough; it was true, but hearing you address him in such a manner made him quiver. He picked up his pace, growing drunk on the sounds you made, growling in approval when you contracted around his touch, and warmth soon poured onto his hands. He did not care about the drenched sheets. He moved between your thighs even as you struggled to catch your breath, so eager was he to take you to greater heights. You had helped accomplish one fantasy, to pour onto his hand. It went even better than he expected. But it was not enough, for another had to be fulfilled. Fëanor craved to have that same warmth to pour over his cock.

"Ready?" he questioned, spreading your thighs apart even more.

You respond by wrapping your legs around his hips. "Please."

Fëanor guided his shaft into your slick heat, inch by slow inch. You opened your eyes and found him bathed in the golden light of nearby candles. His blue eyes glittered like perfect jewels, his raven hair falling over his shoulders, brushing your skin like silk. He was utterly beautiful, and you told him so. Such praise pleased him greatly. 

It did not take long. Fëanor nearly sobbed when you sheathed him in a velvety embrace, when your hands moved over to cup his back to aid him. He laughed triumphantly, teasing and tormenting you with quick, shallow thrusts that did nothing to sate your growing need for more. 

"Is this how you desire it?"

"No, my lord. You know me better than that."

Fëanor chuckled. "Then how do you desire it?"

It was just like Fëanor to make you say it. "Hard, my lord."

Fëanor nodded, his gaze traveling all over your countenance. He loved what he saw and feasted on the sight before him: your body bucking beneath his with each thrust, your breasts heaving, your mouth parted in deep moans. It was what he craved above all else—to see the pleasure he gave you with his own eyes. He fucked you deeper than he had ever done before, his cheeks clenching with every time he drove himself into you, his moans soon growing thick and hoarse when a gathering took root and grew in his belly.

"Look at me," he hissed when your slick walls tightened around his cock. "Look at me when you cum."

Again, it was just like him to ask such a thing. You did as he bid, finding his eyes darkened and locked on yours. Fëanor’s lips tugged at the corners, his movements pushing you deeper against the featherbed. He somehow managed to keep his attention on you, muttering a quick "fuck" under his breath when you grabbed his arse and pushed him deeper. The new angle he found let him set a torturous pace. Fëanor’s eyes, now clouded and hazy with lust, remained open, marveling at you surrendering to the wildness he led you to. A few more moments were all he had, and Fëanor watched while unimaginable bliss flashed in your eyes and your orgasm ripped through you. He dipped his head and brushed his lips over yours, frantic and hungry, his hips undulating against the insides of your thighs. He sighed against your throat when his name rolled off your lips in a cry that seemed to rise from the very core of your being. Feelings were all that mattered now: nails gouging little indents in his flesh, your body shaking and shaking, the sinfulness of your warmth spilling onto his cock, the warmth of his spend filling your cunt. He groaned, long and deep, before stopping, his body growing limp.

You had lost track of time, your vision still dark and hazy. A hand slowly brushed over your hair. Warm lips brushed your forehead. The darkness that blurred your vision faded. The first thing to catch your eye was the flickering flames of candles, the fire sputtering in the hearth. You felt the warmth and heaviness of the elf resting over you and the silk sheets against your back. It was all so wonderful. Too lazy and content to move, you lay where you were, running your hands over Fëanor’s spine. He sighed softly, kissing your cheeks, your eyelids, and the tip of your nose.

"A bath is needed, I think," he decided, rising and sliding his arms beneath you to lift you out of bed. "And fresh linen. I am not finished with you."

[autumnshighlady]

Wildest Dreams (Feanor x Reader x Fingolfin)

summary: you've been caught in the middle of a competition between Feanor and Fingolfin's, and you can't imagine having to choose between the two. Thankfully, they make things easier

warnings: SMUT (kinda incest/y i guess since they're half brothers but nothing happens between them I swear), oral sex (m and f recieving), dirty talk

word count: 6k

requests: I’m not sure if you write for threesomes in this fandom (and if you don’t, please feel free to discard this ask): requesting Feanor x reader x Fingolfin, smut, where both of them are in love with the reader but reader doesn’t want to offend one by choosing the other, so she chooses to keep her difference, and Feanor and Fingolfin seduce her and agree to share her? Turn pleasuring her into a competition to see who is the better lover once and for all?

professor tolkien I am so sorry for this ily

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

You wandered down the paths of the gardens, letting your fingertips brush the soft petals of the flowers that swayed in the gentle breeze. The air was sweet, something which you normally would have cherished on such a fine afternoon. But not today. No, today was different. Instead of appreciating the beauty of the nature around you like you usually did, your mind was far away. It was swimming in the afterthoughts of the dream you had last night, one that sent a blush to your cheeks at the mere thought of it.

That morning, you had woken up with a thin layer of sweat on your skin and a flush on your face. But it was not the product of illness, nor the result of a nightmare. No, it was from a dream filled with lust and pleasure. In this dream, your deepest, most shameful desires had come to light. You had been at the mercy of the princes Fëanor and Fingolfin, the two eldest sons of Finwë himself, as they performed acts on you so sinful that the mere thought of them sent shivers down your spine.

You could still feel their mouths on your skin, their fingers working magic and tongues hot against your body. The sensation of the princes inside of you lingered as if it had actually happened.

It had almost felt real. 

You had dreamed of them before, but last night was the first time it had turned that sexual. For weeks Fëanor and Fingolfin had been competing for your affections, each trying to outdo the other with flirtatious comments and gestures. It had begun when Fëanor interrupted your lunch with Fingolfin, stealing you away from his half-brother to show you his work in the forges. The next day, Fingolfin had appeared at your door to personally escort you to dinner, gently placing a flower in your hair, claiming it complimented your eyes. Their competition had grown less and less subtle, and was beginning to irritate you. At first, it was flattering, but now it had become more of an inconvenience. Truthfully, a small part of your heart had always harboured a crush for both princes, and up until now, you had thought it easily concealable.

And so you continued your path down the garden, head in the clouds and paying no attention to the world around you as you savoured the sensations lingering on your skin from last night’s dream. Unfortunately, you were snapped out of your daze as you collided with a tall figure, your head smacking into a very muscular chest. Startled, you stepped back and looked up at the living obstacle, only to be met with the amused gaze of Fëanor himself.

“My Lord,” You stammered, dipping your head. “My apologies. I did not see you there.”

Fëanor snorted, “Clearly.” He said, obviously finding the situation rather entertaining. You dared to look up at him, but regretted your decision immediately. His lips were smirking with their usual arrogance, his grey-blue eyes piercing your very soul. His dark hair was loosely hanging around his face, which was not covered in ash from the forges for once. The mere image of his face looking down on your much smaller frame only brought back the images in your mind from your dream, and it sent an instant blush to your face. You quickly averted your gaze, hoping Fëanor would not notice.

Unsurprisingly, he did, as his smirk only grew more arrogant. His hand grazed your chin, tilting it up so you were forced to meet his gaze. You bit your lip, desperately trying to force the sinful images from your mind. 

To make matters worse, Fëanor moved his hand from your chin to your face, pressing the back of his hand to your cheek. “Are you alright, my dear?” He said, the curiosity in his voice obviously feigned. “Your face appears rather flushed.”

You gritted your teeth. “I’m fine.” You said, much harsher than intended. The arrogant asshole knew exactly what he was doing. You hated the effect he had on you, how a simple touch could make your body react in such a strong way. 

And Fëanor knew that. He removed his hand from your cheek, letting his fingertips ghost your collarbone has he brought them back down to his sides. “Perhaps you did not sleep well enough…” He mused. You stiffened at the mention of your sleep, and Fëanor noticed immediately and cocked his eyebrow. “Or perhaps, you slept rather well…”

The both of you knew what he was getting at, and at this you squirmed even more, mind racing as you tried to think of a response. Usually you were much more composed than this, but not today. Much to your annoyance, last night’s dream continued to cloud your judgement. He extended his arm and you took it, and the two of you continued on your original path through the garden.

“Did you dream of me, dear Y/N?” Fëanor inquired as you walked, noting the blush that had returned to your cheeks. 

“I do not remember.” You stated, hoping that would be sufficient enough to make Fëanor drop it.

Oh how wrong you were, for your vague answer merely encouraged the prince. “Or perhaps you dreamed of my brother,” He sighed dramatically, but continued to watch you from the corner of his eye, studying the every reaction you produced.

This only made you squirm even more, as if he was reading your mind, delving into your deepest desires that last night had uncovered. You felt ashamed at your current state, how Fëanor was able to read you as if you were an open book.

“Uh…” You stammered. “I… I do not think so, my Lord.”

At this, Fëanor hummed, looking straight ahead. “So your dreams were not of me, nor my brother, then who? If you hold affections for another, Lady Y/N, I would have you tell me…”

“It’s not that.” You snapped, interrupting him mid-sentence.

At this, Fëanor stopped you both, turning around so that he faced you. He leaned down,   lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Tell me, my dear, perhaps you dreamed of us both…”

You breathed in sharply. It was all too much for you, his lips whispering things into your ear just as he had in your dream, his presence so close and threatening to consume you. You stepped away before your body could react further. “I… I am sorry,” You stammered, bowing your head with as much dignity as you could muster. “I must go.”

Without waiting for an answer, you walked away as quickly as possible. You knew it was rude, but you did not care. You hurried away before anyone could see your flustered state, mentally cursing at both yourself and the arrogant prince.

*************

You spent the rest of the day avoiding both Fëanor and Fingolfin, knowing that if Fëanor continued to further inquire about your dreams, he would end up with a broken jaw, and the guards would almost certainly throw you into a cell. You had skipped lunch, sneaking out into the forest through the kitchens and grabbing a loaf of bread from your friend on the way out. You chose to spend the next few hours under your favourite tree where you knew the princes would not look for you, letting your mind drift off again once more. Desperately, you tried to keep your thoughts civil, planning out your next letter to your mother and debating whether or not to continue the song you had been composing. But your consciousness would simply not allow you to focus on such trivial matters.

After a few hours, you finally surrendered to your thoughts, tilting your head back and resting it on the tree as you closed your eyes. You let out a sigh almost immediately, letting last night’s dream replay in your head over and over as you let the world around you fade away.

Unbeknownst to you, Fëanor was watching you from a distance. He had known of your favourite spot in the forest for some time now, but dared not disturb you. Normally he did not particularly care for the boundaries of others. He was a prince, and may inherit his father’s crown and titles one day and could do as he pleased. Fëanor would never admit it, but a small part of him feared that if he approached you in your secret spot, you would lose respect for him and become distant, which was the opposite of what he desired. 

So he instead grew content with simply observing you from a distance, something which had become a daily occurrence for him. He noted the content on your face, and the hint of a blush on your cheeks, reminding him of your earlier state in the gardens.

Fëanor relished in the memory. Normally you were much more composed, but he liked the way you squirmed beneath his gaze, unable to hide the obvious thoughts that were racing through your mind as his lips brushed your ear. At this point he was almost certain that you had dreamed of sharing your bed with him, and possibly his half-brother, and that was why your encounter in the gardens had been so unusual. But the prince was not quite prepared for what he would hear and witness next.

It was faint, barely audible even to his elven ears, but you let out a breathy whisper: “Fëanor…”

His name coming from your lips in such a manner sent an all too familiar sensation down Fëanor’s spine. He held his breath as he saw you ever so slightly press your legs together, chest rising up and down intensely. Countless times Fëanor had imagined you beneath him, his name spilling from your mouth as his hands explored your body. He had thought about the ways he would claim you, and while part of him wanted to take you from behind and fuck you until you screamed, the other part of him wanted to see you beneath him, receiving the most satisfaction and pleasure you’d ever had in your life.

He bit his lip, relishing in how blissfully unaware you were of your surroundings until you whispered another name, “Fingolfin…” 

Under any other circumstances, hearing your sweet lips whisper Fingolfin’s name would have sent Fëanor into a murderous rage frightening enough to make Morgoth cower. But not this time. Instead of being filled with jealousy, a brilliant idea came to his mind and he smirked. Your whispers were all the confirmation he needed to know exactly what you had dreamed of last night. Satisfied, Fëanor turned away and headed back to the palace. 

He needed to talk to Fingolfin.

**********

After a while, you finally opened your eyes and sat up straight. You did not know how much time had passed since you had drifted off into your haze. You felt a cold breeze, realizing it was about to get dark soon. Collecting your skirt, you stood up, shivering slightly at the cold as you headed back through the forest.

When you arrived inside the palace, you did not bother to see if there was any food left in the kitchen. Instead, you elected to return to your chambers, where you hoped to have a hot bath and go to sleep. You arrived at your door and pushed it open, but nearly shrieked in surprise at the sight before you.

Fëanor was lying on your bed, legs crossed as he casually fiddled with the corner of one of your pillows. He was not dressed in his usual fancy robes, but rather a simple pair of trousers with a loose white shirt. He gave you a smirk as you entered, noting the surprise on your face.

“Good evening, my dear Y/N.” Fëanor said innocently. “What took you so long? I was beginning to wonder if you got lost on your way to bed.”

After a few moments, your shock subsided. “What the fuck, Fëanor?” You snapped, not bothering with your usual polite greeting. “Why the fuck are you in my chambers? You can’t just walk in whenever-”

“Oh, but I can.” He interrupted, dismissing your outburst. “But that matters not. Perhaps now you will tell me more about your dream, little one.”

At this, you rolled your eyes, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind you. This time, Fëanor and his half-brother’s competitiveness had gone too far. “Seriously?” You said in an exasperated tone, your hands defiantly placed on your hips, all sense of embarrassment gone. “That’s what you came here to ask? Are you not capable of just dropping the subject?”

Before Fëanor could answer, a deep voice came from the darkest corner of the room. “I, too, would like to know about this dream.”

You practically jumped out of your skin. Out of the shadows emerged Fingolfin himself. But it was not the Fingolfin you had grown accustomed to seeing - the noble elf who always had a stoic expression on his chiseled face, consistently dressed in robes more elaborate than that of his brother’s. No, this Fingolfin was clad in similar attire to Fëanor, his toned chest showing behind the thin fabric. His dark brown hair was smooth, making you want to run your fingers through it. His eyes were even more silver than his brother’s, making contact with yours as he stepped closer to you.

“Okay….” You stuttered, beyond confused. “What the fuck is going on?”

Fëanor sighed dramatically, kicking his legs off the bed and standing up. The sons of Finwë walked towards you like predators stalking their prey. You felt your heart race, trying to step away only for your back to meet the wall behind you and you gulped. Simply seeing the princes like this was enough for all your sinful thoughts created by your dream to surface at the front of your mind. You pressed your legs together as they drew closer, stopping less than a foot away from you. 

“The thing is, my dear,” Fëanor said, reaching out and brushing your fingers against your wrist before slowly dragging them up the length of your arm. “I have come to the conclusion that the reason your head has been in the clouds all day is because of the dream you had last night. It only took one touch from me in the gardens this morning to figure out all I needed to know about it…”

“My brother tells me that you dreamed of the two of us.” Fingolfin said, his voice feigning innocence just as his brother’s had earlier today. “And what do you presume we did to our lovely Y/N in her dream, Fëanáro?”

Fëanor chuckled, his movements on your arm not ceasing. “I think we fucked her into oblivion.” His voice dropped an octave. “Is that correct, meldenya [my love]? Did you dream of being at our mercy as we worshipped that pretty body of yours?”

By this point, you could resist them no longer. All day you had been fighting the sensations and emotions that stemmed from your dream, but between Fëanor’s teasing touches and Fingolfin’s lust-filled gaze, you finally caved. 

“Yes.” You muttered meekly, face flushing with embarrassment. You felt arousal pool between your legs, and for a moment you hated yourself for reacting to the two noble elves so strongly when they had not really done much.

Fingolfin chuckled lowly, reaching up to cup your face with his left hand. “Do not be ashamed, my dear,” He soothed. “We only wish to give you what you desire.”

Fëanor leaned in, as he did earlier in the gardens, but this time his teeth gently grazed along the outside of your pointed ear. That sensation alone sent shockwaves through your body, every nerve in the sensitive area screaming that it was too much and not enough at the same time. “What is it exactly, darling, that your dream revealed your desires to be?” He murmured against your skin. “After all, we are generous elves — tell us exactly what you want, and you may have it. So, my dear, please do reveal exactly how that little dream of yours went down.”

Everything was spinning. Any sense of composure you had was  gone under their touches. Fingolfin’s left hand trailed down your neck, brushing against your breast before settling on your waist and giving it a firm squeeze. You sighed, allowing Fëanor to continue his ministrations along your ear as you let your head rest against the wooden door. The air felt hot, your clothes too tight - if you could only just slip your dress off…

Your thoughts were cut off but a sharp squeeze by that large hand at your waist. “Your prince asked you a question,” Fingolfin all but growled, his voice full of dominance and leaving no room for debate. It was akin to the tone you had heard him use when giving orders, only this one was dripping with heat. “Answer it, darling, before we take matters into our own hands.”

The image was tempting — to allow the two elves to make the choices for you, doing with you as they pleased. But then the reality of the situation set in: here you were, a common-born elf with no noble family, with two of the most desirable elves in Arda ready to comply with your every wish. They held such control, such respect everywhere else, except for at this moment in your bedroom. In this space, you made the decisions.

They were yours to command, to wield like a sword.

You smirked. “Well, in my dream you both took my clothes off and carried me to the bed,” You began, hearing Fëanor hum his approval. “You took turns tasting me, as if I was your last meal on Arda. I dreamed of you both on your knees, allowing me to get lost in the pleasure of your fingers and tongues. Then Fëanor took me from behind, while Fingolfin claimed my mouth.”

The words tumbled out of you like a river bursting free from a dam. So long had you contained your desires, but no longer. Evidently, your words had an effect on the two princes. Fëanor’s breathing had become more noticeable, his attention on your ear diverted to your neck in the soft spot beneath your jaw, making you see stars. Fingolfin’s right hand had come up to knead your right breast, his left hand migrating to your ass with a firmness and assurance that made your knees go weak.

“See?” Fëanor purred. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now let us take care of you, darling. Let us give you everything and more.”

You whined as he pulled away, but it was cut short as the two elves began working in tandem to remove your dress. Fëanor pulled your arms out of your sleeves with a shocking tenderness, while Fingolfin’s thick fingers worked at the laces on your back. Within seconds, your chest was left bare. Instinctively, your arms went to cover your breasts, but strong hands clamped down on your wrists.

“Now now, let’s not be shy,” Fëanor mockingly chastised. “Let us see you, princess.” Before you could even comprehend a response, your arms were back at your sides. You almost sighed with relief as you were free from the constricting top of your dress. But what happened next nearly made you climax on the spot.

Fëanor got to his knees, pulling your dress past your waist and down to your ankles along with your panties. Fëanor, son of High King Finwë, the Prince of the Noldor, was kneeling before you as if in worship. His grey-blue eyes, which normally were clouded like the sky of an oncoming storm, were clear and looking up at you — still arrogant, but with a newfound awe as they surveyed your figure. You stepped out of your dress, moment of awe cut short as Fingolfin, determined not to let his brother have all the attention, swept you up into his strong arms. 

He carried you over to your bed, placing you down on the mattress as if you were a piece of glass threatening to break under his strong arms. Almost immediately, he was on top of you, his muscular frame so close, but not close enough. Fingolfin leaned his head down as if to kiss you, but instead put his lips to your ear.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?” His deep voice was like velvet, a silky fog wrapping around all your senses. “How many nights I have pictured you under me, those starlit eyes staring into mine as I enter you? How I have nearly dropped to my knees just to beg you for one taste of you? How I’ve pumped myself dry imagining those lips around my cock? My sweet Y/N, you have no idea what you do to me.”

“To us.” Came the other male’s voice. Fingolfin’s confessions had you reeling, to the point you had almost forgotten Fëanor was there. You turned your neck to the right, allowing the elf on top of you to press warm kisses down the left side of your neck, nipping and sucking as he went. In turning your head you were faced with Fëanor, who had discarded his shirt. His muscles looked like they were sculpted by Aulë himself, each one toned and defined in ways you didn’t know possible from countless hours spent in the forges. Parts of his loose hair hung over his shoulders, framing his angular face as he stared at you.

Naturally, the eldest son of Finwë almost preened at the lust-filled look you gave him. Under normal circumstances you would have mentally smacked yourself for so easily stroking the prince’s already inflated ego, but it mattered not in this moment. All you cared about was that he touch you with those strong, practised hands. You whined as Fingolfin’s teeth grazed a sensitive spot along the column of your throat before moving down to your collarbone, sucking and biting gently as he went. One of his large hands had come up to your breast, kneading the flesh and causing you to gasp. 

“You look so exquisite,” Fëanor purred as he approached the bed, looking down at your flushed form unabashedly. “Just laying there for us to ruin you. You are lucky Fingolfin is much gentler than I. He shall warm you up for me so I can make you scream loud enough for all of Arda to hear you.”

You yelped as Fingolfin harshly bit down on your nipple while boldly cupping between your legs with his free hand. “Do you think me unable to make her scream?” He growled, a dark glint in his eyes that sent chills through your body.

Fëanor smirked. “Not as well as I can.”

“Challenge accepted.” Fingolfin said boldly as he swiped a finger up your slit, collecting the ever-growing pool of wetness there. Your responsive noise was cut off as Fëanor’s large hand wrapped around your throat, his mouth swallowing your gasp and claiming your lips. He tasted like spiced wine and embers, encasing all your senses at once. The Prince groaned into your mouth, squeezing your throat harder. Your head spun between the dominance of Fëanor’s lips on yours and Fingolfin’s mouth slowly descending towards your core. 

“Watch it,” The younger elf growled, lifting his lips from your stomach. “You said we’d take turns.” 

Fëanor removed his lips from yours, rolling his eyes as he released your throat. “Get over it.” He said. “If you get to taste her pussy first, then I get to taste her mouth first. Fair is fair.”

Fingolfin huffed, but didn’t argue. With a new level of determination, he placed his lips back on your skin. You moaned, the sensation of his lips on your stomach making you tingle. The Prince’s hot breath fanned over your core, causing you to inhale sharply. “Ask me nicely.” He said, the closeness of his lips to your wetness making you squirm.

“What?” You mumbled, earning a chuckle from Fëanor, who had sat himself on the bed and was stroking your hair. Every so often, he tugged gently.

“I said, ask me nicely.” Fingolfin repeated, more sternly this time. The authority in his voice went straight between your legs, slick tracking down onto the soft sheets below.

Fëanor’s grip on your locks tightened as he chuckled again. “We’ve barely touched her and she’s already incoherent. Perhaps she cannot handle us and we should stop—“

“No!” You cried out, embarrassingly fast. 

Fingolfin rested his cheek on the inside of your thigh, and you peered down at him. The sight of the towering, noble elf on his knees with his chiselled face mere centimetres away from your pussy made you dizzy. You had fantasized about this moment more than you cared to admit, alternating between the two princes most of the time. “Well, my love, if you want me to taste your sweet pussy, you have to beg for it.” He said lowly.

You whined, pouting a bit. You were a proud elf, and begging was not your strong suit. Sensing your hesitation, Fingolfin smirked, and began snaking his way down the bed towards your feet. He grabbed your ankle and lifted your leg up, placing feather light kisses along the inside. Slowly as ever, the prince made his way down your leg, kissing and nipping as he went. Right before he met your core, he pulled away and repeated the pattern on your other leg, causing you to whine. 

“Poor thing.” Fëanor said in mock sympathy, stroking your face with his calloused fingers. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he bent down and whispered in your ear. “All you have to do is say the word, and I’ll throw him aside and show him how it’s done. You won’t need to beg, I’ll give you whatever you want, sweet thing.”

“Don’t listen to him.” Fingolfin said sternly, drawing your attention back to the elf between your legs. “Focus on me. Once you ask, I will be yours to command. All you must do is beg for it.”

“She won’t break.” Fëanor snorted impatiently, clearly waiting for his chance.

Fingolfin responded confidently. “Yes, she will.” Lazily, he lowered his head and dragged his tongue around the edges of your core, centimetres away from where you needed him most. You let out a shaky breath, toes curling as your eyes squeezed shut. It was torture — blissful, but excruciating torture. It wasn’t long before you felt your pride begin to crack, the tough facade you thought you had slowly crumbling.

“Please.” You mumbled, voice breathy and barely above a whisper.

The Prince smirked in satisfaction, kissing your mound lightly. “Please, what?”

“Please, Fingolfin,” You gasped, fighting the urge to clamp your legs around him and drag him closer. “Please use your tongue on my pussy. Please, my lord.”

Satisfied, Fingolfin finally lowered his mouth to your cunt, licking a bold stripe up your slut. You cried out, nearly in tears at the overwhelming pleasure as the prince began to skillfully devour you. Your hands quickly found themselves tangled in his hair, earning a heavenly groan from the male. He was taking his time with you, each movement confident and strong and eliciting an intense reaction. Your head spun, legs weak already with the pleasure Fingolfin was bringing you. 

“Open your eyes.” Fëanor’s strong hand tangled in your hair again, tilting your head down and forcing you to look down at the sight before you. “Is this what you dreamed of, darling? Being our little plaything, begging for us to make you feel better than any other male could? How many nights have those little fingers taken up residence between your legs as you imagine this very scene, trying to find relief but never quite scratching that itch?”

You garbled something of a response, but you weren’t even sure what. Fëanor growled, tightening his grip. “I asked you a question, pet. How many times have you touched yourself imagining this?”

“Many nights…” You managed to gasp, ensuring to keep your eyes on Fingolfin, who took your clit between his lips and sucked.

“Good girl.” Fëanor purred. “But I bet your fingers aren’t nearly as satisfying as our tongues, or our cocks, are they?”

“No.” You arched your back, feeling that tightening buildup inside your body as you approached your orgasm faster than you’d care to admit.

“Naturally.” Fëanor loosened his grip on your hair. “Now look at Arakáno as you cum on his face.”

You obeyed without thinking, letting yourself get lost in the pleasure as Fingolfin’s tongue tipped you over the edge, sending shockwaves through your entire body. Fingolfin moaned with you as you tugged on his dark locks, the animalistic sound echoing throughout the chamber as you rode out your climax.

Panting, you caught your breath as he pulled away, leaving your legs trembling. He climbed up your body, his massive form towering over yours as he leaned down and kissed you. You felt in a trance, body a trembling mess. You wondered how you would endure multiple rounds if you were this weak already.

You didn’t even realize how Fëanor had slunk down to take Fingolfin’s place until firm hands snaked under your thighs and gripped your hips firmly. Without a warning, he dove into your still sensitive pussy like a man starved, loud slurping noises filling the room. You cried out, trying to squirm away, but Fëanor’s grip was like iron and you couldn’t move. 

“That’s it, darling.” Fingolfin purred. “Let us hear you. Let the whole palace hear you.”

You no longer attempted to bite your lip and conceal your noises. Your moans sounded throughout the room as Fingolfin firmly grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head. You whimpered, almost completely immobile. You were overstimulated from your first orgasm, yet the older prince had no mercy on you as he continued to devour your wetness. While Fingolfin was like the water’s current, calculated and steady, his half brother was akin to a hurricane of fire. His movements were fast and unpatterned, designed to send you towards the edge as fast and as ruthlessly as possible. A single tear ran down your cheek as you pleaded — not even sure what you were pleading for.

“Ease up, Fëanor.” Fingolfin said sternly, noticing your tear.

The heir lifted his head for a moment and scoffed. “She can take it. Can’t you, pet?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes, I can take it. Please, just don’t stop.”

“Thought so.” Fëanor smirked triumphantly before delving back between your legs, doubling his efforts. Two of his thick fingers found their way inside your tight walls, causing you to cry out even louder. Quickly, they found that spot deep inside you that made your entire body jolt.

You could practically see Fëanor’s ego inflate at your reaction, feeling the satisfied smirk of his lips on your clit as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. Your release approached at light speed within minutes, but just as you were about to fall over the edge, Fëanor pulled away.

“No!” You cried out pitifully, wanting to kick him in the face at your loss of an orgasm. Before you could protest further, those strong hands on your hips flipped you over onto stomach. Fëanor yanked your hips back so you were up on your knees, and Fingolfin released your wrists, allowing you to push yourself up onto your hands. 

“Are you going to take our cocks like a good little slut?” Fëanor cooed, unlacing his breeches and pulling them off. Fingolfin had also begun removing his shirt, letting the fabric fall to the floor to reveal his toned body. Your mouth watered as he began removing his breeches, his large cock springing free. He smirked with pride as you drank in the sight of him, giving himself a firm stroke as he walked towards the edge of the bed.

You gasped as Fëanor pressed his thick cock into you, rutting back and forth and caressing your ass with skilled hands. “We’re going to stuff both ends of you, pet. I’m going to fill that tight pussy of yours with my cum, and you’re going to take every drop of it with pride Understood?”

You nodded, pressing your ass eagerly into Fëanor’s cock. He chuckled, slapping your ass one last time before pressing the head into you. You moaned at the stretch, forcing yourself to relax as the Prince slid himself into you with surprising slowness. “Gods above,” Fëanor groaned behind you. “You feel incredible. Even better than I imagined.”

Your toes curled at the thought of the Prince fantasizing about this moment just like you did. Your thoughts were interrupted as Fingolfin brought his cock to your lips, gently tracing them with the head. “Open.” He commanded, gently but sternly. 

You obliged without thinking, body responding to his orders on its own. Eagerly, your jaw stretched to wrap your lips around him, sucking gently. Fingolfin sighed deeply, the noise sending pleasure down your spin. You inhaled through your nose, opening your throat as best you could to accommodate his massive size.

“Good girl,” Fingolfin praised as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. It was a sight that took your breath away — the noble prince with his head tilted back and eyes fluttered shut in bliss at how you made him feel. “Look at you, taking me in that smart mouth of yours so well. It’s like you were made for this, weren’t you?”

Fëanor grunted, beginning to move his hips and thrust in and out of you. He swore, picking up the pace. Fingolfin did the same, gently fucking your face. You were in heaven, the two elven princes filling you up as they found a rhythm that made you see stars. Your body jostled between them like a rag doll, your arms fighting to keep yourself upright as they increased the pace.

The room was filled with the sounds of sex as they mercilessly pounded into you for what felt like hours. Tears spilled down your throat as you gagged on Fingolfin’s cock, taking breaths through your nose whenever you could. Fëanor gripped your hips so tightly you knew there would be colourful bruises the next day — bruises you would be proud to stare at in the mirror.

Your body crescendoed to the release you were denied earlier, beginning to shake as you approached it fast. You began to clench around Fëanor’s cock, and he moaned. “That’s it, pet.” He growled, ploughing into your cunt. “Cum all over my cock like the slut you are. Fucking take it.”

You whimpered, screaming around Fingolfin’s cock as one of Fëanor’s hands reached down between your legs and firmly rubbed your clit. That was all it took for you to explode, shaking uncontrollably as your orgasm took over. You saw white, Fingolfin letting out a loud groan as the vibrations from your noises consumed his cock. Fëanor moaned fiercely, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you. 

Fingolfin followed a few minutes later, and you eagerly swallowed every drop he spurted down your throat. Your jaw ached and every bone in your body was spent, but you were in heaven. A thin sheen of sweat covered the Princes, their long hair clinging to their muscles as they panted. You collapsed as they pulled out of you, landing on the soft bed as you caught your breath. Wordlessly, the princes began to tend to you. Fingolfin grabbed the glass of water from the nightstand and gently brought it to your lips, smoothing your hair as he did so. Fëanor brought forth a damp cloth, gently wiping you down. They murmured gentle praises, and you basked in the glow of their attention. They settled you under the sheets, each prince taking up residence beside you and caressing your body.

“So…” Fëanor hummed as you began to drift off into sleep. “Who won?”

Fingolfin’s quiet but stern scold was all you heard before you let yourself slip into unconsciousness. 

[witchofhimring]

To you who is lost

Chapter 2: The girl with daises

Chapter synopsis: Once you were the cheerful maiden with daisies.

Warnings: Angst, abandonment, crying, pregnancy, bullying

Note: I absence from updating has been due to school. Any future updates will be more frequent from here on.

You had numerous friends as a child. As they bloomed into adulthood they developed skills that won them acclaim. Only what could they say about you? As a young child you were called árë, for there was light and warmth wherever you went. While your friends were creating creations of renowned you flittered around. Dancing like light upon the land they heaped praise upon you. It was why you wore daisies as they represented everything a maiden should be. Still, there was a widening emptiness in you. What was there to achieve with your gift? None had abused you for it and yet nothing could banish such feelings.

Early one morning you woke to sunlight. The fluffy orange cat who had found a bed in your sheets yawned luxuriously. Stretching out you reveled in the sensation of a quiet sunny day. Your door opened and in came ílë, blonde hair streaming behind her. "Mother has made breakfast." ílë's family lived next to yours and had cultivated a close friendship. Your parents had a hard days ride to the court of Queen Indis. Due to age and the seriousness of their journey you had been left behind. This invoked no sadness as court was tedious and stifling. Young you may be, but responsible enough. A friend of your mothers checked in every day on your younger sister, brother and yourself.

When you woke the little ones up there was much grumbling. Almiel huffed and rolled over, refusing to get up. Ciryon followed his sisters lead and dove under the covers. This was nothing new. Normally it was your duty to care for the younger ones. Some days Almiel awoke without fuss. If she did not then it was lots of grumbling, with Ciryon following her lead. Not missing a beat you pulled away the covers and opened the window. The chirping of birds drifted on warm air. Groaning, Almiel rolled over with a great yawn. "We are going to ílë's for breakfast." Going over to Ciryon's bed you removed the blankets. "I won't." He grumbled, but upon seeing the Almiel was up Ciryon sat up. Leaving them to get changed you went to find a dress. It was warm and merry out today, so you settled for a light blue dress with long sleeves. It was light with no ornaments though it suited the weather. Your siblings were ready in a moment. No doubt excited to partake in a delirious breakfast.

ílë, who had briefly ran next door, returned. All four of you left and hurried inside. ílë's house always impressed you with its marble fixtures. Possessing a door of rose opal colour, the symbol of ílë's family hung above. Upon entrance you were treated with an indoor fountain, light shinning down from stained glass windows. ílë's family was important in the court of Queen Indis and had connection with the Vanyar. On the maternal side she was descended from King Ingwë, although distantly. Coming down ornate stairs was the only member of the household you were not taken to. Ellótë was ílë's elder sister, although you did not know her very well. At a distance the two looked alike, but once one looked closer they could clearly see differences. Ellótë would have looked nice if she did not constantly look like she was observing everyone and everything. She was not cruel or even unkind, just aloof. "Do your parents know?" It was you who answered. "Yes, of course." The words were friendly enough, although they lacked warmth. Despite being slightly older you cowered. Ellótë's simply nodded and glidded off. 'You should not think my sister means you any harm.' Your friend reasoned.

Turning left the group entered the great hall. A large marble table stretched from one end to the other. It's high ceiling made you have to crane your head up to see. The high chairs presented during formal celebrations were put away and benches now served as seats. At the head sat Lord Falastir cut an impressive figure, sitting there in a fine silver robe. His golden hair hung loose, eyes like sapphires. He hailed from a great family. His father was King Finwë's right hand man, his mother a woman of great renown. Falastir's ancestors had faithfully served kings, thus he was seen as a worthy contender for the hand of Erulissë, King Elwë's relative and ílë's mother. ílë' greeted her father with a kiss before taking a seat. After her came you, who greeted him in a similar matter. Then came your siblings who professed their gratefulness. Once everyone was seated the doors opened and food was brought. "Where is Ellótë'?" "We saw her earlier, Atar. Although I know not where she went." Secretly you were grateful. Childish it may sound but Ellótë' scared you.

At some point Lady Erulissë swept in. ílë jumped up from her seat and rushed forward. "I hope my lateness is not inconvenient. I received a letter from King Finwë. He has invited us to Tirion, along with you're kin Y/n. No doubt you shall receive a letter from you're parents." "Really! We are to go to Tirion!" You shared a look of excitement with ílë, who returned one of equal jubilation. "Is there a party?" Almiel asked eagerly. "Why yes. His eldest grandson has just reached adulthood and the King wishes to celebrate." Elves did not commonly make great celebrations on every birthday. That being said, when one reached adulthood a party would be thrown in their honour. You had celebrated your own a while back.

The rest of breakfast was spent talking about the upcoming party. Little did you know that this was the beginning on a great change.

It did not take long for your parents to return. Immediately upon returning they were getting ready to depart once more. Quickly everything needed was packed, and to the delight of both you and Almiel new dresses were made. "I can hardly let either of you be seen in anything less than splendor. And you Y/n are a woman grown. So remember to show you're best." In a short time the rest of you're kin, cousins and all, arrived. Because you were no longer a child it meant a horse would be needed. Only children rode in the carriage. Relishing having to opportunity to act as a woman grown, it made you sad to not be traveling beside ílë. ílë must remain in the carriage with the younger ones. Instead, to your great chagrin, Ellótë was your company, for she too was grown. Thankfully she had nothing to say, and likewise it was the same for you.

The great party, made of many important families, stopped at a house belonging to Arafinwë. Arafinwë, youngest of Finwë's sons, was the most fair in temper and appearance. He great the party flanked by wife and four children. Findaráto, his eldest and heir, walked up to your horse and took the reigns. His apperance and bearing nearly took your breath away. It was no exaggeration to say he was the fairest of King Finwë's. Golden hair of the Vanyar fell to his waist in waves. Blue eyes that were reminiscent of glittering gems looked welcomingly upon you. His aura held the bearing of a king's grandson, beautiful and gentle. You tried not to look to pleased when he took your hand. Giving your greetings to Lord Arafinwë and his wife you were spirited off to join your family. Unfortunately the prince had to leave you. Hiding your disappointment you went to find Ilë. She was being assisted by one of Arafinwë's sons. He gave you a smile and was quickly whisked away to greet another. "Do you not think they look so handsome." She giggled. "Have you seen Prince Findaráto?" Ilë shook her head and you eagerly took her hand. Trying to chance another glimpse of the prince you noticed your younger sister being lead by a woman. From her bearing and clothes you supposed this was Artanis. She was lovely as her brothers. What separated her was the bearing of pride clearly evident. Not a cruel sort, but the type that drew people to her.

"I believe you are the sister." She gave you a winning smile that made your face grow hot. "Lady Artanis." You greeted her with a curtsy. Giving you an approving nod Artanis bid your sister to join her family. "I apologies if she was any trouble." Trying not to stumble on your words it took some difficulty not to shy away. "Not at all. She is a credit to your house." With that, Artanis was called over and she wished you well. This left you in charge of Ilë and your sister. "Where is Ciryon?" Almiel pointed over to your parents. They were talking to an elleth, a noble one by the looks of her. Black hair hung to her knees, pearls adorning the tresses. Her navy blue gown was plain yet carried and air of regality. Her very being seemed to be the very embodiment of nobility.

"Should we?" Ilë looked to you. Her support, tepid as it may be, encouraged you. Ilë and Almiel followed you, slightly intimidated. When your mother looked over she said "And these are our daughters. Y/n is our eldest and Almiel the youngest. Girls, this is Lady Anarië, Lady of the House of Nolofinwë." She smiled and your face grew hot. Because you had only recently reached adulthood Lady Anarië was still a stranger. Long had your family been in the service of her house. As a young woman your mother had been a companion. The same path was expected of you. In a short period of time you would serve a great lady. Lady Anarië lead all of you in for tea, however only Lord and Lady Y/n truly spoke. Keeping quiet you sipped tea and hoped to make a favourable impression. Unfortunately you were not blessed with wit or confidence. What you had learned to do was sit politely and look pretty, like a daisy.

'When are we leaving?' Almiel whispered. Placing a small hand on her shoulder you whispered 'Not now. Hush.' The food was delectable but you had to make pains to to seem greedy. Small morsel after small morsel went into your mouth. You were thinking of this upcoming journey. At court you would have to be on form always. As the eldest daughter the pressure was on you to perform. 'Y/n will love Tirion. I promise on my honour to keep her safe until such a time as she passes into the hands of my mother-in-law.' That got your attention. Looking up from the food, eyes darting from Anarië, Toronto, ON to your mother. 'Is that not good news?' Your mother proclaimed. You felt Almiel tug at your dress. 'Sorry?' Immediately you felt stupid. As you so often felt in company. Trying to ignore the embarrassment that ran through you, you nodded, curtsied, and said "Of course". Anarië clapped her hands together. 'How wonderful! You need to worry Y/n you will feel right at home.' That was when your brain caught up to what was actually happening. Your mouth opened up like a fishes before gulping shut. On the outside you merely looked nervous, inside you wanted to run.

And you said absolutely nothing in the plans of your own future.

You knew this day would come. Ever lesson, dance music, painting sewing and so much more was to prepare you for this. But it had all come so quickly it sent your head spinning. You had wanted to spent time are your friends place and figure out your craft. Instead you would be sent far away to Tirion. Almiel and Ciryon had wept buckets of tears making it harder. Worse still, ílë would not be coming. Her parents wanted to wait another few years which while not long felt far away. One comfort was that you could visit home one last time before leaving for a new life. The remaining journey was made in silence, at least on your part. You were torn between excitement and sadness. Living at your would not be horrible. Many would consider you very luck. If you had chosen this then the situation might have been different. Now as an adult you would still have your future written by others. With neither the willpower or bravery, you were a flower petal in the wind.

Keeping back tears you bid your father and brother goodbye. They could not know your true thoughts. Ciryon wept buckets of tears that made you want to cry. Even your fathers eyes looked glassy, and yet you still remained stalwart. Riding had never been so hard. The only comfort you had was your mother and sister. Almiel had kicked up a storm when it was suggested the party leave without her. 'It may be a good die. Almiel is older now.' Your mother had reasoned. Grimly you wondered why your little sister, not yet an adult, had more spirit than you. Perhaps that was why you had no gift, your fire was non existent.

Several days passed on the way to Tirion. You tried to think on how lovely Tirion was, how lovely the balls had been. And you might find a match. These thoughts slightly uplifted your spirit during the journey. In order to be prepared you were given new dresses, that was something. Your parents could visit, friends to. And you could always make new friends at court. Or at least try to.

The night before you would arrive at Tirion, and a new life, you found yourself staring out the window. Nighttime always made you feel lonely. Telperions light ruled over Valinor at this hour. Having a preference for its younger twins light Laurelin you sadly stared at the sky. The night banished rays of light, of fire. A state without fire was a despondent state. If represented a lack of will, being lesser. Not that you had voiced these grievances to anyone. They might consider it an insult to the trees themselves. Telling the truth however was far worse in your mind. Some things were better kept hidden.

What would your life be like? Anarië had shown you the room you would sleep in. It was beautiful with light blue walls, golden pillars and a window opening out onto a beautiful garden. Anarië had been more than kind to you. Yet you would be but one of many ladies in her train. You would have to rely on your pitiful yourself, and that was a terrifying thought. Keeping hope was difficult in the face of such darkness.

The day you entered Tirion it was raining. Grey clouds blocked Lauriens light much to your dismay. Given the sudden turn of the weather your mother, sister and yourself were now in a carriage. Behind you in another were other attendants. 'Will we see the queen?' Almiel inquired. 'Likely not, your sister is serving the Lady Anarië. And one day you may too.' Almiel shook her head. 'I want to serve the queen.' Stubborn, you knew she would likely get her wish. Yet you could not bring yourself to resent her. Your own shortcomings were not her fault. Up to the marble palace your carriage trundled, bearing you along like a piece of luggage.

Under a canopy in the courtyard were a group of women. Guessing it was the delegation summoned to great you, you suddenly felt yourself sweat. These elleths were do doubt unhappy about having to wait out here in such weather. When the carriage stopped you summoned whatever courage you processed and got out. Immediately and elf stepped out and held an umbrella above your head. The four that were waiting took a step forward. Tentatively you made the remaining gap. 'Lady Y/n, we are pleased you have arrived. Our lady awaits you in her chambers.' Golden hair tumbled to the elleths knees. Her blue robes were adorned with pearls which even in this weather were brilliant in colour. Comfortingly she was smiling which made you brave enough to look at the others. Stern, but none looked angry. At least that was good. Ladies who served the royal household did many such tasks. Feeling better with this thought you relaxed ever so slightly.

They greeted your mother and the blond one bent to say kindly 'Hello there, you must be the sister.' Going up the long marble stairs was hazardous for one not accustomed to such. Thankfully being born as the First Children had advantages, and remaining upright was easier. The tall archway was white adorned with beautiful carving of leaves and words interwoven with them. On the left hand side was a large wheel. When the order was given it burst into motion and the large doors swept open. The entrance hall was white with silver banners hanging from pristine walls. Statues lined the rows looking down on anyone who passed through. Every footstep echoed, making you think of many creatures scurrying. Light came in through windows in the ceiling. Normally that was the case but given the weather torches were needed. A large throne draped in silk sat on a raised up platform, though as of now it was empty.

Going through a side passage you were lead of several flights of stairs and down a hall. Finally you came to a door embodied with a golden sun, surrounded by a disk. With a knock on the door you were let in. Anarië sat in the midst of her ladies. They sat sewing, reading or chatting away only to fall silent upon your arrival. Smiling, Anarië rose to her feet saying 'Welcome to the home of King Finwë.' Into a deep curtsey you bent, one practiced many times. With a gracious hand she rose you up. 'I thank you My Lady. It was very kind of you to allow me to serve.' With a wave of the hand Anarië insisted it was no great effort on her part. 'Gloriel, please assist Y/n in getting settled in.' Gloriel was the blond elleth with pearls. 'Pleased to meet you. Follow me.' With one last glance back at the elleths you followed Gloriel out.

'The other rooms are occupied by other ladies of the household. Queen Indis's reside on the upper levels.' Gloriel gave you a tour of the West Wing, which was now your home. Already your luggage had been brought up. Your new bedroom was so grand, but you could not imagine this being your home. Back home your bedroom was smaller and slightly messy, but it was home. This felt like a strangers room, likely was at some point. 'Feel free to make this place your own.' Gloriel stepped into the room after you. 'You will get used to this place. It will simply take time.' You wanted to tell her that this would never be your home. Not that those words every left your mouth, Eru forbid! 'Thank you, that is very kind.' Gloriel let you setting into the room first. There were four trunks in the room. Two processed clothes and the others various artifacts. Older clothes you sorted out first. More interesting were the new ones. Admiring each dress you hung them up in a grand dresser. Servants could do this task but you had requested to do it yourself. Once that was completed you set about with the smaller things. A comb and hand mirror were placed on a silver vanity. Jewelry, perfumes, books and other things found their come in cabinets and drawers. Lastly was your gardening kit. In a desperate attempt to find some sort of ability you had considered gardening. They called you the Daisy-Maiden and gardening seemed like something you could do (or so mother said).

Stepping back, you felt the place looked more familiar. Perhaps once you lived here for a bit things would be different. 'Well I should hope so. I will not be bothering with her if she proves to be a chore.' The haughty voice made you want to run and hide. When the door opened you nearly jumped. Glormiel entered followed by a sour looking elleth. She would have looked beautiful. had she not that scowl on her face. Her dark brown hair and eyes were lovely. Her strong arms showed she was not unfamiliar with physical exercise. High cheekbones and narrow set eyes put you in mind of a cat. A silver gown showed off the slim outline of her figure. 'Y/n, this is Emmeril. I sorely hope the two of you will get along.' There was a warning edge to her tone, although you had a feeling it was not meant for you.

Emmeril did not spend much time with you. The moment she could Emmeril pawned you off to another. You tried not to feel hurt by it. Besides, most others were nicer. Varya and Faniel, cousins to Queen Indis, were both golden haired and very kind. Faniel had herself just arrived from King Olwë's court. Varya was slightly younger in years than yourself, although she had been here longer.

The moment you arrived there was hardly time to relax. A ball had been planned for the return of King Finwë's eldest son and his family. For hours on end the ladies of Anarië were sent sewing. The king had ordered banners with his sons sigil emblazed upon it. Why there were not others made already you did not know. 'Is there always such a fuss whenever the prince returns home?' Sewing by a window looking out on the garden you were partly sewing partly watching Emmeril practicing her swords work. Steele gleamed in the sunlight wielded by her strong hands. Like a dancer every move was precise. 'Every time. However I do not believe Curufinwë likes them very much. Varya was completing the finishing touches to Anarië's golden down. 'Truly? Then why does the king put them on?' You inquired. 'He does love the prince and misses him greatly.' 'Does Prince Curufinwë often leave court?' 'He does.' 'Why?' Rather than answer Varya simply shrugged. You had your own guesses. It was well known that the eldest son of the kind bore no love for the queen. She that had replaced his mother as queen was as detested back then as she was now by Curufinwë. Traveling was perhaps his way of scorning her presence.

'His three eldest will be attending.' At that both let out a giggle. Excitement caused you to nearly jump up. 'Truly!?' 'They are! Have you met them?' Shaking your head you waited. 'oh Y/n you are in for such a treat! They are all so handsome.. especially.." They both dissolved into giggles. Feeling very hot you knew who they were talking about. Curufinwë's eldest son went by several names. Maitimo, meaning well-formed, was said to be tall, fair and handsome. Never having met him it left his precise features to the imagination. Trying not to look to excited you went back to sewing. Yet your thoughts lingered on the handsome prince.

'They are here!' Night had come and the ball had begun. While Anarië was making the rounds welcoming guests you and several others had slipped off. Your presences would not be noted, at least for such a short period of time. Younger ones such as yourself went out to the large balcony overhanging the courtyard waiting in great anticipation. Any moment the princes would be coming. Eagerly everyone looked out until you cried out 'There!' A crimson carriage drawn by large black horses came trundling off the path. Everyone watched as it stopped at Prince Curufinwë stepped out. Coming out after was his wife Nerdanel. Next came stumbling out two, one with hair light as Laurelin's rays and the others hair black like his father. Lastly exited the eldest. He was just as they described, flaming red hair, tall, and yet more beautiful. Had someone told you he was a woman on first sight you would have believed it. He glanced around before looking up. For just a fraction of a moment your eyes met. Something powerful moved in you at that moment. Seized with such a ferocity you left like to faint.

Staggering back you nearly fell. At that moment the rest had decided to head in. Glad that your momentary lapse in propriety had gone unnoticed you lingered behind. You were shaking with something you could not explain. Excitement? Heart beating you wanted to flee and speak to him at the same time. Following, you stopped at the entrance of the Great Hall. The rest were already crowding the princes. As much as you desired to join them you had not the bravery. You could see Maitimo's copper locks. He was smiling charmingly and talking to maidens. You wanted to join them, but something was stopping you. Standing there alone, you cursed yourself for such timidity.

The next time you saw Maitimo it was a week later. King Finwë had ordered a picnic and had his whole family attend. Apparently it was considered completely normal for Princes Curufinwë and Nolofinwë to glair at each other from opposite end of the clearing. Sitting under Anarië's canopy you enjoyed the crisp breeze. With you were Faniel and Anarië's only daughter Írissë. 'Mother, when will Tyelkormo arrive?' 'Soon, my love.' For someone whose name meant "hasty-riser" he sure was taking his time.

'My son, and you brought Maitimo.' Anarië smiled seeing her nephew. 'Aunt.' Maitimo looked completely relaxed in her company. You heard rumors that Curufinwë resented his younger brother in part because his eldest was good friends with his. Maitimo's head turned towards Írissë and yourself. Trying not to seem to shy you greeted him politely. 'Findecáno, will you take your sister and Y/n with you?' Feeling bashful you graciously rose. Findecáno took your hand and with a dazzling smile. Not wanting to seem like a complete dolt you politely allowed him the lead.

Not too far away some other ladies and royal children were playing. Írissë, wanting to play with her favourite cousin, rather unceremoniously abandoned Maitimo. Findecáno at least remembered to courteously sit you down before himself running off. To your surprise Maitimo, rather than take off, sat down beside you. Sitting there Ridgely you considered what to say. But it was Maitimo himself who started the conversation. 'You are my aunts newest lady.' 'Yes My Prince.' At least your voice had not trembled. He had a soft voice, yet deeper than you had imagined. Maitimo spoke as if every word was thought of beforehand. Then he gave you a smile. Quite lovely, the rays of Laurien illuminated his already fine features. 'Well then, it is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.' Deciding for a simple answer you said 'I thank you for your kind welcome.'

For a while more the two of you sat there in silence. Then, once more, it was Maitimo who began the conversation. 'What is it that you do?' 'I am sorry?' 'What I mean is, what is your skill?' Or goodness. Feeling extremely uncomfortable you wondered whether to speak the truth or not. But before you could act Maitimo's attention was taken by his third brother and cousin, who at that moment chose to fight one another. As he raced over to separate the two you felt profound relief.

The first interaction what been rather quick and only half remembered in later years. But for the next few weeks your thoughts drifted, ever now and then, to the prince. Yet life went on and soon your thoughts diverted elsewhere. Life had settled into a new normal and soon you felt quite at home here. You had friends, although you wrote to ílë often. She was doing well and ever letter asked about court. Eagerly she waited at home till it would be her turn. Truly you hoped she would be in the service of your lady. But it may please her parents to put ílë in the service of Queen Indis. or, and you did not want to consider this, be sent to serve Eärwen. The court of Arafinwë did not linger at the court of his father. Like Curufinwë he preferred to reside elsewhere, although for different reasons. You really hoped your friend would not be sent so far away.

Curufinwë briefly left with his wife Nerdanel and a select few member of his household. His sons were surprisingly left behind in Tirion. This could partly be due to the fact Queen Indis was currently enjoying a seaside vacation and therefore not in the castle. You would end up meeting Maitimo on a warm day when your sister had come to visit. While you were away Almiel had grown even more beautiful. Taller, her h/c hair had become glossy and shinny. Much of the baby fat younger children had seemed to melt away leaving behind a lovely woman. Eagerly she listened as you told her about the court. 'Oh Y/n I so want to join you at court!' Placing an arm around you, Almiel was assured that her time would come.

Striding around the secluded pond, the silence was broken when a group of horses clattered into the clearing. Startled, you brought Almiel to your side. There was a hunt going on. At the very head was Maitimo. 'is that the prince!' Almiel whispered. Sinking into a curtsy you took Almiel by the hand. 'Lady Y/n, I had not thought to see you out here.' Maitimo got off his horse and bid his men to continue on. While you knew this was simple courtesy it still made you nervous. Almiel was practically shaking with excitement beside you. You placed a hand on her shoulder. Maitimo laughed. 'I did not know you had a sister. Before you could speak Almiel beat you to the punch. 'Mai-my prince.' You nearly keeled over from mortification. She had nearly called the prince by his name!

Thankfully Maitimo it seemed took no offence to this. He asked if the pair of you would like to walk with him. 'We are having a picnic just over the hill.' As Anarië had given you leave it was quite alright for you to take such an excursion. For the short walk shrouded by trees Maitimo and you sister spoke. You walked a few steps behind them in silence. A few times you opened your mouth, but words never left. Eventually you consigned yourself to staying outside the conversation.

coming onto an oncoming clearing, Maitimo gave the pair of you leave before running of. You joined the mother ladies and talked about all sorts of things. Eventually your sister suggested a game with several younger ones. Deciding it would be prudent to keep an eye on her you followed. Just over a small hill was a crate in the earth. Rocks lead to a pond where a waterfall was falling into. On a rock you perched and quietly watched. Every now and then Almiel would show you something she found. But otherwise you said nothing else. That was when Maitimo arrived. He took a seat beside you. 'Will your sister be coming to court?' He inquired. 'Yes. I hope she will serve in the court of My Lady Anarië. It will be easier to help.' 'Your care for your sister.' 'Of course.' 'Ah, such is the duty of older siblings.' His mouth twitched. 'I dare say your task is harder.' Then, realizing it sounded rude, quickly said; 'Of course I do not suggest yours are badly behaved-' Maitimo started to laugh. 'Oh but you are right.' Relief filled you. 'They tell me your brother brought in a great big dog last week.' You said, attempting small talk. Maitimo nodded and told you of how Oromë gave Turcafinwë an enormous dog. You regaled him of Almiel's mischief. 'And the next thing you knew there were a group of ducklings following her inside! I tell you, it caused quite the ruckus. my mother has hardly touched duck since.'

The both of you enjoyed the warm long day. Hours passed with the pair exchanging tales. By the end Maitimo bid you farewell, saying you should send him more stories as he found them very entertaining. And then two days later he was gone. For years the pair of you did not met. This might have been one conversation that lead to nothing, if not for a visit from Nerdanel with her newborn son.

You did not write to Maitimo. He had written nothing to you since that day and thought Maitimo was simply humoring you. Not wanting to seem impertinent, you resigned yourself to looking back at this encounter with fondness. Year went by and you had other matters to worry about. Almiel finally came to Tirion and went into the service of Queen Indis. It made you sad but it was what she wanted. Apparently she caused quite the fuss at home. While others thought her impertinent, you admired it. Had you her spirit things might be different. On a better note ílë did come into your mistresses service.

Like last time it was quite an unassuming day. Varya, Faniel, ílë and yourself were looking at sketches of dresses. Another ball was being put on (King Finwë did love his parties) and everyone needed new gowns. 'That one is pretty.' Varya pointed to a sleek white gown adorned with swan feathers. 'Pretty, but I would hem the train less someone stumble on it.' Faniel advised. 'Perhaps the male-folk should not be so clumsy.' You jested. 'By the way, is anyone going with someone?' Your hands gripped. There was someone, but not of your choosing. Some elf you hardly knew had taken a fancy and asked Anarië. You were so alarmed and nervous you could not gainsay either of them. Later you cursed yourself as now the ball seemed less exciting.

There was a great storm roaring outside. Rain battered on the windows as Telperion's light could only just be made out in that grey mass. Anarië and several older ladies were working on a new tapestry. You could smell the beeswax candles bringing light to the room. Everything was fairly peaceful before there was a knock at the door. Gloriel entered, swept a curtsy, and said; 'My Lady, Lady Nerdanel is here.' Anarië nearly dropped her needle. 'Already? In this weather!?' Everyone stood up as Nerdanel came in, baby in arm. 'Nerdanel! And this must be Atarincë.' Anarië held the baby for a while, cooing over him. Once the greetings were over everything settled down. Unlike her sisters-in-laws and the queen Nerdanel brought no retinue of ladies, or men for that matter. She seemed quite happy to do everything herself. And so the night went on with little changing.

The moment when Maitimo and yourself met was under less than satisfactory circumstances. Your day had been going so well when Almiel raised objections about tending to Indis during the ball. There was a handsome courtier she had an eye on. They had made plans so sneak of while the revelries took place. While you did not object to the boy, you did take issue with Almiel sneaking off. 'Almiel, the queen will be expecting you.' Haughtily Almiel glared at you. In a fury you erupted and Almiel responded with a familiar tenderness. 'Is everything alright.' So wrapped up in anger you dismissed Amliel in an uncharacteristic flare of stress. Without even looking at this intruder she flounced off. Standing, stewing in your hot emotions, you did not take notice of Maitimo coming up behind you. 'Ah, I see your younger sister has come to court.' For a moment you were unable to speak. Then, turning around confused, you made to regail this stranger the tale of your frustration. 'I-' Mortified, you wanted to be swallowed up by a great dark hole. Maitimo was standing right before you. Oh how terrible this was!

Anger was gone replaced by complete and utter mortification. Never before had you been so embarrassed. 'Lady Y/n.' he gave you a courtly bow. In return you made a clumsy attempt at a curtsey. 'I see you are having trouble with a younger sibling.' With some relief you recalled that conversation from so long ago. yes that was right, he would understand. Still, you would rather he had never come across this mess. 'What did she refuse to do?' Why he took such an interest you did not know. 'My sister is simply being rash.' Although unhappy with her you still had no desire to see her in trouble. Instead of Maitimo simply deciding to leave, he continued his interest. 'In what way?' 'I am sorry...she does not mean to be bad.' Could you lie? Yet that felt wicked. 'My sister is young.'

Maitimo seemed to realize that to intrude further would be unbecoming. 'I did not receive any letters.' He said changing the topic. With a burning face you confessed that you though he would find it impertinent. To which he laughed and said you could do no harm in doing so. 'So, may I ask why you are down here?' Now that you thought about it, why was the prince here. This was the servants quarters and you were only down here to have a private conversation with Almiel. 'To get away from my brothers.' Smiling slightly, you told him of a small hiding place in the woods when your siblings acted up. 'I was not always a very good sister and daughter. It is after all my duty as the eldest to help.' Maitimo shrugged. 'I confess that to chastise you in this matter would be hypocrisy.' 'Do you hide often?' 'At times.' For some time the pair of you chattered away about siblings. You learned many things, the antics of his third eldest brother, the sneaking out at night and many more.

Sunset had fallen by the time you two broke apart. Afterwards, two days later, you wrote a letter.

Notes passed back and forth between the pair. Even after Maitimo left for his fathers castle in the mountains. About every second week there was a letter, either from you to Maitimo or the other way around. This was you found out Maitimo, aside from having a very elegant manner of writing, was a gossip. By Eru he could give you and the other ladies a run for your money. Letters were a very interesting affair.

By this time Maitimo had become a sort of facet in your life. Not overwhelming, but there. Whenever he would visit the two of you would sit and talk for a while. It was a relationship no one but the two of you knew. Although you liked your friends there was something absolutely delicious about having this secret.

And so years went by before the next great change in your relationship, where it became friendship.

The reason one would not call this a "friendship" before is because it lacked substance. There was joy to be found but it is like the acquaintance between two who regularly sit beside each other yet do not interact apart from that.

This time it was you visiting him. Or rather your mistress visiting his mother. The palace Nerdanel had been allocated upon her marriage was smaller than most but very lovely. You supposed this was the only way Nerdanel and Anarië could met up when not at Tirion. According to Maitimo his father would sooner set himself on fire than allow the "pestilent of the half-brother" enter (although Curufinwë would sooner have said invaded) his domain. Nerdanel had greeted Anarië group before everyone had tea. Once formalities were over everyone could do as their hearts desired. Here was far more relaxed than the palace. Varya, Faniel and yourself took a stroll in the large garden. Everything was overgrown and that simplicity excited you. The only downside was ílë's absence. Despite that you were determined to make the most of it.

'You must love this Y/n.' Faniel said. 'Yes this is very lovely.' 'Not doubt when you get married you will own a lovely garden.' A sinking feeling settled in the pit of your belly. gardening was not your calling. But with no gift gardening was all you could think of doing. 'Do you think Queen Indis will join us?' Varya picked some lavender. You could have kissed her with relief. 'No. At least there are no plans as of yet.' You said, disappointed. 'Well I hope so. You should know Ereme had yet to give my gold ribbon back.' Faniel huffed. 'Why not ask for it back?' Varya asked. 'I intend to. She should have given it back long ago.' 'Then you would be within your right to accost her soundly.' The two girls agreed, you remained silent. 'Could I accost someone?' You did not dare voice your worries.

Maitimo had quite suddenly strolled onto the path. In fact he had quite nearly ran into the three of you. Quickly curtsies were made. 'Rise up. I see my aunt has arrived. I must say hello...Y/n! How are you?' Both your friends looked at you in astonishment. 'V-very well.' You tried to make the smile seem natural but the stares were nearly intolerable. He did not dally very long. Soon he was off and the interrogation begun.

'You never told us!' 'What is the nature of the relationship?' 'How did the two of you meet?'

The barrage, well intentioned, made you want to flee. You told them it was hardly a relationship. That all this amounted to was writing meaningless words. Unsatisfied, they eventually stopped when it became clear you were as yielding as iron. After swearing them to silence the walk continued and nothing more was spoken. At least on that day.

'Turcafinwë!' Maitimo was not shouting at you. Still it was frightening. Normally so calm, Maitimo now seemed apoplectic with rage. You had not meant to overhear this conversation. Having been dismissed early that day, the few menial duties being done, today was given over to pleasure. Hiding behind a bush you read The Queen's Ballads, written and based off the love Queen Varda had for King Manwë. Daytime was spent enjoying stories of love when the commotion quite rudely disturbed you. Getting up you saw Maitimo towering over his silver haired brother. A few feet away was Huan, the rather large dog Turkafinwë owned.

'In the house! Turcafinwë what have it told you!' You would have ran away, and would have, had a tear not rolled down Turkafinwë's cheek. feeling moved to pity you stepped forward. 'Is everything alright?' Maitimo did a double take. 'No. We are quite alright.' His tone was clipped, eyes still on Turcawinë. Now you truly wanted to flee, but Turcafinwë looked at you so imploringly it was impossible. 'What did he do.' Shooting his brother an petulant look, he said; 'Let a filthy Huan into the house.' Looking over at the golden haired dog you saw a fine layer of mud on his paws. Oh dear. 'And now I will be the one who has to clean this mess up!' Large muddy pawprints lead their way up to the house. His anger seemed to understandable. Still, years of having to look after Cirdan and Almiel made you use to such scenes. Although never had such a large dog been brought into the house.

'Why do we not get maids or servants?' 'Because I will be blamed for this. Even though my brother here is practically grown.' 'Such is our lot.' You said, trying to take the sting out of the situation. When Maitimo still looked sour you offered to assist in the clean up. 'You need not trouble yourself.' Insisting, Maitimo eventually relented. And so for hours the three of you busily got to work. Such labor was nearly backbreaking, yet it was all worth it. As sun set the floors were practically glittering. Afterwards Turcafinwë made himself scarce. Exhausted Maitimo and yourself collapsed on the entrance stairs. 'I thank you.' 'It is no problem.' 'Ah yes. Two younger siblings.' he nodded 'I recon not as exhausting as so many brothers.' 'You speak truthfully.'

That was when you said something that transformed the relationship. Mere acquaintances rarely touch on anything too deep. Normally such sentiments are kept to those better known. But with your guard down and feeling utterly relaxed, you said; 'In truth I find it quite unfair. I mean, what if we are older? Should we constantly shoulder every burden simply on account of being born first?' Maitimo's head came up. Then he was on his feet pacing. 'You are quite right. Sometimes I find it quite infuriating.' Quite agreeing, and feeling deep seated frustration you had never given words to, you told him of how despite the love, there was resentment. 'She tore apart mummy's dress and I got the blame.' Years later the injustice still stung. Maitimo was an attentive audience. 'And your own troubles must be greater, as a prince.' He nodded. 'Tis true.' Looking out onto the sunset, you said 'If only I had the strength to tell others my feelings.' You could not imagine telling your parents this. They would be greatly disappointed and that worried you. 'Sometimes it is alright to draw a line.' The light shimmered in his bright blue eyes, and the two of you took each other in.

This was the true beginning. From that point on your relationship changed. No longer was he a mere prince but one so entrenched in your mind. Two days later Maitimo met you in the tea room and proudly told you of how he spoke to Nerdanel. 'I promise I was perfectly polite with my mother. But I told her in no uncertain terms that would I take responsibility for my siblings actions which are not of my doing.' Smiling, you congratulated him on the victory. If only you were so resolute.

This relationship brought many things to your mind. the more you bared to Maitimo the more you wondered about certain aspects of your life. Timid and shy, you told him of how you wished to be free, to make your own choices. He was sympathetic and told you of his woes concerning Curufinwë. 'It is just to very hard Y/n. He pulls me one way when my heart feels another. I love my cousins and yet he seeks to tear us apart.' As more and more was revealed you finally shared a great secret. 'I do not have a gift.' Like telling some dark secret you whispered it. Sitting in a room alone the two of you need not worry for eavesdroppers. 'Are you sure?' Maitimo questioned. 'I mean, what talent do I have? Everyone said I was good at gardening so that is what I chose.' Maitimo thought for a moment. 'What if your gift transcends such physical tasks?' 'Sorry?' You puzzled over what he had said. 'I think not everyone's gift is physical.' You gave him s small smile. 'That is kind of you to say.' 'No I mean it. What is my fathers gift?' You wasted no time in saying; 'He's a smith.' 'That is true. But it is not what sustains him, not like what music is for Maglor. It is the fire within him. His will to be great. His fire. That alone makes him great. Each elf belongs to something that makes us one with the world. An essence that dwells within us. I too have no physical gift. Sure, I excel at a great many things. But I have a feeling there is something else. Something that I belong to.' You pondered on his statement for a long time.

'See? No more garden.' Your parents had been quite shocked to find a prince come to visit. Once the walls of formality were down Maitimo did not bother with displays of majesty. He visited you as any normal person might visit a friend. Now everyone knew the prince was your friend, which was quite embarrassing. Today the two of you made war on your part of the garden. 'There. Do with this area as you will.' The two of you looked at the place where flowers and fruits once grew. You liked gardens, but laying waste to this area was liberating. When you were little mother had said this small plot of land could be yours. To do with as you wished. Feelin pressured to garden you planted there. But now it was time to truly make it yours.

The plants and fruit was not put to waste. Maitimo helped you make and make jam, and bundle up flowers to give up. Once that was done you raced back out to your plot of land and spun around. 'Look Maitimo! Its all mine!' Giggling like a child you danced on the grave of deception. Maitimo joined in the revelry, not caring how ridiculous the pair of you looked.

Your parents were to come home before dinnertime. While meat cooked in the oven you went upstairs to change. Maitimo stayed downstairs to keep an eye on things. After a while you came downstairs to find Maitimo reading. To your surprise it was The Queen's Ballads which had him so enthralled. Maitimo had once said romance books, while not wholly unappealing, were not his style. Yet it seemed he was not entirely honest. Just as you had been dishonest about your "gift". Making a noise, Maitimo jumped up blushing furiously. Nearly falling over with laughter, you tried to console him while in the grips of laughter. When you finally calmed down Maitimo looked like a tomato. It was not Maitimo reading romance that was so funny, but his abashed reaction which sparked hilarity.

'Wait no! Do not put it away.' Maitimo paused in the act of hiding his shame. 'I did not mean to tease you. Just your reaction.' Still looking abashed, Maitimo sat down. You walked over and looked to see which ballad he was on. 'Do you like this book?' he nodded. 'I thought you did not like romance.' Maitimo looked down at his feet. 'I do not mind it.' 'But why hide it?' Taking him by the chin, you tilted his face up. 'I told you my secrets, now you should tell me yours.' Your smile made him smile. And the two of you spent the remaining day reading. Just as he encouraged honesty from you, so did you in him.

When you fell in love with Maitimo one could not say. The pair of you were around each other so often it was hard to tell. Often these days he came around to court. The two of you would spent time talking about books while going on long walks. These meetings normally took place in private. It was better than way. Now that it was known the prince was your friend lots of questions were asked. Thankfully Anarië put a stop to it, and other events took their course so that soon this matter was forgotten.

Laurelin's light covered the sky in its great golden blanket. Nearly hidden by tall grass Maitimo and yourself gazed upwards. 'My father would never, imagine!' His words had merit. Curufinwë would rather pitch a fit than subject himself to the loathsome embrace of a romance novel. 'Ridiculous things.' He would say. This came from an elf who married one bar beneath him. For Nerdanel was not of royal stock, nor was she very beautiful. At least in the conventional way. It was her mind and spirit Curufinwë fell in love with. You told Maitimo their own story was quite like a romance novel itself. The pair of you nearly laughed and imagined how Maitimo's father might make of that statement.

'Your father would be the princess.' Maitimo snorted. 'Well, he is royalty.' The statement was so ridiculous Maitimo looked ready to heave up his lunch. If someone came across the field they would hear giggling. But no one did. 'What would I be then?' He asked. Sitting up with a straight far, the replied; 'The troll'. 'Hey!' He gently pocked you in the side in well humored reproach. 'What would you be then?' Maitimo had settled back down onto the ground. 'I? Why, I would be a queen.' Being silly, you stuck your nose into the air in what you felt a very good imitation of his father. 'Oh? And why is that?' You shrugged. It seems like the best roll, so long as one it not the villain. Do you not think I would make a good queen.' 'I think you would make a rather fine one.' After that, Maitimo settled into silence. You suddenly realized he was not entirely at ease. 'Maitimo?' 'Yes?' 'Are you alright.' His cheeks turned slightly pink. 'Its my grandfather the king. He wishes me to marry.' Your own face heated up. 'To whom?' He shrugged. 'They have no one in mind. But they all seem to think that because my father and uncles married early I will to. And the woman I marry may one day be a future queen.'

For the first time a sick twist of jealousy reared up within you. Slight nausea crawled in the pits of your belly. The idea of this unchosen woman (whoever she might be in the future) sickened you. It was an ugly emotion you were not entirely familiar with. Naturally you had felt jealousy before. Only never before had it been so powerful, or painful. 'Do...do you have anyone in mind?' You dared. 'No one as of yet.' This should have made you happy. Instead you felt plunged into the depths of sadness.

King Finwë was not the only one considering Maitimo's options. Those were hard days. Everyone else seemed keen to touch on the subject, everyone expect you. While countless maidens would no doubt be disappointed when someone was finally chosen, they would move on. Maitimo was merely a fantasy they would soon forget. But he was your friend and you had the horrid feeling that when he married, you would be utterly heartbroken. At night, alone in your room, you prayed to the Valar for guidance. If only there was some remedy. To either cast off these feelings or for him to return them. You liked to imagined he loved you. Yet you were convinced that was day dreaming.

'Y/n dear, are you well?' Nerdanel was an unfamiliar person to you. Kind, but not one you have ever been well acquainted with. The two of you sat in her tea room. An invitation had been issued to you by Maitimo. Having arrived early Nerdanel graciously allowed you inside. Maitimo was still out hunting with his brothers at this time. For the past few days Maitimo's future had nearly consumed you. Yesterday there had been a rumor of Maitimo being seen with an elleth. Torment had gripped you until it was revealed to be some cousin on his mothers side, not him.

'I am very well. Last night I did not sleep so well.' Nerdanel had a way of looking at you. Like she could see far beyond. Nerdanel's silver blue eyes were so like her eldest sons. But there was a depth to them no other had. Telperion's light alone could match it. 'My son is eager to see you.' Did she know? Feeling bashful, you wondered if she could truly see things. 'As am I.' You tried a smile but it was forced. 'My son sets much by you.' You nearly collapsed right then and there. 'That is...kind of him.' Trying not to stutter, it became harder by the minute to remain composed. Perhaps she did not like you. Oh Eru that would be wretched. 'My son talks a lot about you. He said the two of you met up when Huan was loose.' This time the smile was real. 'Yes. I remember that. Maitimo was quite irate.' 'I have no doubt about that. Afterwards Maitimo quite refused to deal with Turcafinwë's antics.' You wondered if she knew of your involvement in persuading him down that particular path. 'That may be for the best. His face was red as a tomato!' Idle chatter was stopped when horses came clattering into the courtyard. Standing up, the pair of you looked out the window. Maitimo's red hair was easily spotted. Nerdanel laid a strong hand on your shoulder. 'I think, Y/n, you have little to worry about. Although it will not come about of your design, I think.'

Curufinwë looked down at you with those hard grey eyes. Before you he stood, looking at you like one gazing upon something unpleasant. You had never even exchanged words with the eldest prince, only knowing of his reputation. Crimson red hung over his figure, reminding you of those childhood tales about angry spirits. His black hair hung about him like some shroud. Hands clutched each other as you attempted to remain outwardly calm. Any moment you expected him to come flying at you shrieking like some harpy. Surrounding him were other such cold hearted elves. Only ílë had been allowed to accompany you. Even with her presence you felt utterly defenseless.

'I hear you have been around my son.' He made it sound like you were some leech, rather than his sons friend. You tried to say something, anything to defend yourself. A look of outrage crossed his face and you wanted to flee. Fainting seemed preferable. 'Have you anything to say?' Shaking your head, you considered running, pride be damned. Your silence only seemed to spur him on. 'It would seem you have taken to my son Maitimo in some way. You are often seen together, you in his wake. I wonder what you mean by it.' Finally, you spoke. 'We are simply friends.' The words were weak, pitiful. Yet Curufinwë seemed to hold no pity. 'If you are a spy, which I believe you to be, then I will seek retribution! Do not think be blind of my half-brothers machinations! A sly cunning creature you may be, but I am not to be fooled. Do not think me like some young love smittened boy. Is that what you think I am!'

This was worse than you had imagined. Tears welled up in your eyes, body shaking. An elf, looking worried, leaned over and whispered something to Cururfinwë. 'Are you bought by this display!' He turned on his companion. The elf bowed and stepped back. His companions were starting to look uncomfortable. Curufinwë did not seem to notice, or at least not care. His attention was back on you, his victim. 'The house of Nolofinwë will not be intertwined with me and mine. This foolish girl is not fit for my sons company. I will speak with my father the king and he will deal with you. Now get out!'

You fled, ílë hot on your heals. Sobs bubbled from your throat in painful gasped. Everything swam before you in the race to safety. Like a wild animal was chasing after you, you ran, not even noticing ílë calling out. Reaching your room you slammed the door shut and slid to the ground. For how long you cried one could not say. Eventually someone did knock and you stumbled to your feet. There on the threshold stood Anarië. 'Your poor girl.' She pulled you into a warm embrace. For a moment you stood there rigidly, then relaxed and cried anew. Once you were suitably calm she lead you to bed. 'Warm tea and a good nights sleep. You need not attend me tomorrow.' Someone pushed back the covers. Slipping into bed you were given a cup. A taste of mint, and you started to doze off. Soon you slipped into sleep, Anarië's thin fingers stroking your hair.

You did not witness the next days happenings. But Faniel, Varya and ílë regaled you with the details. Apparently Curufinwë had gone to the king, who agreed to your banishment. But the next morning Anarië had stormed in and brought her brother-in-law to task. There had been an uproar as the two exchanged words, none kind. Eventually the king and Nolofinwë had to break them apart. After both had pleaded their cases the king made his final decision. You would only temporarily be sent away, and not officially. It stung that you were to suffer such a punishment, but it was the best that could be done. The next day your things were packed up. Your friends and lady bid farewell. 'We will see you soon.' Promised Anarië taking your hands. Her words made you want to seep. She had been so kind. Giving a curtsey, you said; 'I thank you for your kindness.' And with one last look at the devastated look on your friends faces, you were gone.

Your parents were sympathetic. Rather than chastise you for improper conduct, they were kind. Your mother ranted about Curufinwë, saying things you did not think she would say. 'This shame is not on you, but that odious prince!' Home was much the same as it had been since both its daughters left. Cirdan was still at home. Nearly an adult, he was good at writing. His room was filled with scrolls and books. Days were spent listening to his thoughts of various writers, and what he would create next. Staying at home was not so terrible. You received plenty of letters from friends and Almiel. Old acquaintances greeted you warmly. Everything seemed well, so despite the injustice of it all you felt better.

Once the shock had worn off you now had the chance to think on your situation. Every time you remembered Curufinwë's chastisement your face burned with anger. Everyone you spoke to agreed this was badly done. If only you could tell Curufinwë yourself. One could dream. Missing your friends, it became hard to make new ones. You sent a note to each of them, this was not the end. Maitimo's letter was the hardest to write. Apologizing for all the trouble caused, you begged his pardon and offered to give space if so desired. Crying, you had sent it out with a heavy heart. Perhaps you were not wholly innocent. He was likely suffering because of your friendship. Believing this was the end you swept for days.

Some nights you slipped out of the house into the woods. Cloak obscuring your identity, the lonely figure with a broken heart wandered into its shadows. Telperion as your only light you traveled down old paths half forgotten. On your neck was a pendant bearing the insignia of Nienna. May the Lady of tears take mercy on you. All you could think of doing was waiting for things to get better.

You would go back home, where your parents absolutely forbid you from ever speaking from Maitimo again. Reluctantly you consented out of habit.

"Hello, I hope this is not an intrusion. I am here to see your daughter Y/n.' Maitimo's voice made you nearly drop the book. Hardly daring to believe it you stood up on shaking legs. Presently you were completely unprepared for visitors, much less a prince. Even if he was a friend. Grabbing a robe to throw over your evening dress, you stood there frozen in your room. A knock sounded at your door and mother pocked her head in. 'Y/n, you have a friend.' Nervously you followed her down the stairs. Standing by the entrance was Maitimo. He did not look angry, on the contrary Maitimo looked delighted to see you. 'Y/n, I hope you are well.' Coming down the steps you unconvincingly told him everything just fine. Naturally no one believed this, poor liar that you were.

Maitimo had suggested a walk, just the two of you. Likely for the best as this was not something your parents needed to witness. Walking into the woods you followed Maitimo, all the while wondering what to say. Convinced Maitimo was here to break things off you tried to remain calm. 'Do not cry.' Not that you were ever good at this. Emotional by nature you were disposed to weeping. Every step sent leaves rustling on the ground. Each time you wondered when Maitimo would speak.

'I am sorry for what my father said.' 'Its alright.' 'No it is not. I will have you know the pair of us have hardly spoken to one another since.' This did not make you feel any better. 'Please do not on my account. I would hate to be the cause of any discord within your family.' Maitimo snorted. 'If anyone had caused trouble it is my father.' 'Does he truly believe I am a spy?' Maitimo sighed. 'I hardly know the mind of my own father.' For a few more steps the pair of you walked. 'When will you come back to court. I plan to stay a while longer.' Feeling a chill you replied; 'I do not know. Your aunt may call upon me soon.' 'Happy to hear that. I miss your presence.' Did he still desire your friendship? The momentary elation was quickly quashed with the knowledge that this could not continue. He was already in enough trouble as it was. And who is to say he will continue this friendship. At the walks end you promised Maitimo your friendship, not having the bravery to indicate otherwise.

Maitimo stood before you, arms crossed. For the first time he had a frown on his face. Anarië had summoned you back to court after a short time. Thankfully Curufinwë had left with most of his family. Most except his wife and eldest son. Avoiding Maitimo you had kept to your tasks. Two weeks past in this vain, until Maitimo tracked you down. 'Sorry. Lady Anarië requires my attendants.' Eyes downcast, you tried to hold back the tears. 'Have I given a reason for offense.' Tea rattled in its cup. 'I hold nothing against you My Prince. You have given me no offense.' To your surprise Maitimo's hands touch yours. Looking up, you realized his eyes were oddly bright. You felt like dying right then and there. For the first time you felt small, something disgusting and worthless. Many time in your life you had felt lesser, but never like this. Because you could not help not having a gift. Yet you had made the decision, completely of your own free will, to hurt him. You tried to convince yourself that this was for the best. In truth you had not the heart the pursue this. With no fire burning in your soul, you could not stand up to royalty or handle a broken heart, which would solely be the outcome of all this.

'My father sees sense Y/n. We do not love each other and....and he knows that now.' Nothing could have hurt more than those words. What sin had you committed that the Valar should punish you so harshly? A tear rolled down your cheek. Immediately Maitimo pulled out a handkerchief and wiped away the tears. While meant to be comforting it only threw you into greater turmoil. His words and touch hurt more than if he had slapped you. You knew it would come to this. Maitimo would never come to love you. And in time he would completely forget about some silly little girl who once loved him.

'I beg your pardon, My Prince. But we can no longer continue this friendship. It grieves me to hurt you so, but it is best if we part ways.' For a few moments Maitimo stares at you. There was a mixture if hurt and shock on his face that made you want to weep. For a few moments he just looked at you with those eyes. Eyes that were a mixture if blue and grey, giving them a silver look in Laurelin's light. 'Is this because of my father. For I can assure you he will do no such thing again. My aunt and the king brought him to task for it.' Any other might have felt relief at such words. But the warnings from your parents and Curufinwë overpowered your personal desires. All your life you had obeyed the commands of others. So engrained in you it was that to do elsewise was beyond you. And so you acted their decision.

'I am sorry.' Was all you could say. And you could hear his breath pick up. Avoiding his eyes you looked to the floor. Maitimo's stance suddenly changed. You felt him go ridged before saying; 'Very well. I bid you good day, My Lady.' Formally he bowed, turned on his heel. and left. Watching Maitimo go you could only think of the look in his eyes. He left you alone in that hall with only loneliness and self disgust for you inner weakness.

When your parents said you best come home it was obeyed. Anarië was sad to see you go. Faniel and Varya were sad to see you go, and ílë was nearly in tears. The room you had lived in for years was emptied of all your things. It went back to the cold room you arrived in long ago. Never did you imagine coming into Anarië's service would cause you such pain. Once this place had felt foreign, bit leaving it made you feel empty. All your friends would be torn from you. And Maitimo...oh what had you done. He was a Tirion no longer, having gone to his fathers castle. There was no farewell, no last words. You thought he hated you. And one day you would be a mere memory. He would move on and find another more worthy of his love. And you would whither away dreaming of what could have been. This state was most hateful and it had been of your own making.

It rained all the way back to home. Cold rain and strong wind battered against the carriage. Beating and raging, you felt a strange satisfaction. Unable to express your full pain in any meaningful form you liked to think the weather expressed it. From Tirion to home the pain accompanied you, and lingered longer. When you arrived on their footstep your mother pulled you in close. Weeping in her arms you did not tell her the full extent of your pain. Never before had you felt so small. Like a child you had allowed everyone to pull you where they willed. You might as well be a child for all the good that did.

You bedroom was done up. Mother had placed flowers on your night table and windowsill. The sheets smelled like lavender like all those years ago. Books suited to your tastes sat in the bookshelf, waiting for you to read them. Anyone would think this the loveliest room in all of Valinor. But as the door shut behind you, it felt like a prison.

The story might have ended there. In fact, your role in this chapter had ended. Your part was played, your use spent. Now all that was left was the actions of others more willful than yourself. There were however three who still had their part to play. In Tirion palace two women stayed up and pondered what to do. Almiel had plead with Indis that she might take a short break. Once granted she speed of the Nerdanel's castle were her eldest son currently resided. Lady Anarië pondered over Y/n's condition. She was not blind to the situation and her eldest son had told her of Maitimo's plight. So that very night she picked up her pen and wrote three letters. Almiel would see Maitimo first. She convinced him of her sisters great love for him. Shortly there after he and Nerdanel received letters. Anarië pleaded Y/n's case so effectively that Maitimo immediately set out.

One fine summers day you sat looking out a window. The market just a few blocks away brought most of the town to its stalls. You watched couples go, arm in arm and felt miserable. Worst yet, it was partly one of your own making. You wondered what Maitimo was doing now. Was he still wroth? You wondered how you might act once news would come of his marriage. That would be an evil day for you. How would you be able to bear it? You imagined walking arm in arm towards the market, in a world where you made the decisions. Your imagination was so overcoming that you could actually see him.

A tall elf with tumbling red hair was walking towards your house. At first you thought it a mere illusion before he looked up and Maitimo's eyes met yours. You could hardly believe it. What was he doing here? Remaining seated, you watched him knock on the door and your parents greet him. Soon he was on the second floor. For a moment the two of you simply stared before he walked over. Kneeling down, he took your hand in his. 'Y/n, if you would hear my case then please listen. I know there are those who would have us part, but I want you to know that is not my wish. Nor do I think it yours. So if you will have me, I swear to love and cherish you to the end of my days. But if you say no then I will press you no further. I leave the choice in your hands. Send be a letter with your answer.' He pressed a kiss to your hands, bid you goodbye, and left.

Afterwards you parents were won over. They saw what you desired and championed his and your cause. And so that night you wrote a letter.

Maitimo slide the silver band on your finger. Applause erupted throughout the great hall as hundreds who had assembled to witness the marriage of Curufinwë's eldest son, stood up. Rainbow flooded into the hall as as light came through stain glass windows. All your friends and family had come. A crown resembling daisies intertwined sat upon your head, a dress white as snow fluttering with every move. As you advanced down the stairs well wishers pilled in and it took nearly and hour to leave. The fresh morning air was a blessed relief as the pair of you walked towards the carriage. Now inside and alone, Maitimo took you by the chin and pressed a kiss to your lips. His eyes were so beautiful. Cradled close, you had never felt so loved. But there was one thing looming over you. This should have been the happiest day of your life. The day you married the elf you loved. But you knew that despite your merry state, you had hardly played a role in it.

Notes:

I want to thank everyone for being so patient in waiting for part two. It has been a few months but I want you guys to know I have not abandoned this fic. Part two was a bit difficult to write as I kept changing things about the readers backstory 😅. The next chapter will not take as long (hopefully).

I wanted this chapter the demonstrate the readers lack of autonomy in her own narrative. She makes very few decisions in her own life. It is only when others such as Almiel take action that she is able to accomplish her desires. While the reader certainly consents to the marriage others are the driving forces. In a way this links her with Maitimo's plight later on. Maitimo and his brothers follow their father with full faith in his guidance. Despite the fact they are full grown the sons seem to find it difficult to disobey Feanor. Although Maitimo does refuse to burn the ships, showing he is more likely to disobey than the rest, there is still that compulsion to follow. We will get more into Maitimo in the next chapter. After chapter 3 we will have less flashbacks.

Daisies have several different associations in various cultures however they are usually affiliated with attributes such as humility and innocents. They are a reflection of the readers current world before everything went down. This will be brought up again in later chapters.

I also want to thank everyone for your patients. The past few months have been very busy.

[batsyforyou]

Mini Headcanons for Squishing their Cheeks Elves Addition + One Maia

Tags: Dramatic kisses, Squishing faces, crack?

Author's note: I already stated in my cod part of this but random nonsense is todays order lol.

Squishing and kissing Glorfindel’s cheeks.

would do the same to you. Squish your cheeks and return your kisses. The affection makes Erestor sick lol 

Squishing and kissing Lindir’s cheeks

equals red tomato. He is embarrassed but loves it. Prays Elrond isn't around and that Erestor doesn't hear of it. Eventually he does grab a hold of your hands and kisses them.

Squishing and kissing Feanor’s cheeks

would equal in Dot. Dot. Dot. Blink. Would let it happen for like five seconds if it's in his office but if you try that with him in the forges your affections will get rejected a bit rudely. But don't take it to heart the forge it his main love lol

Squishing and kissing Celebrimbor’s cheeks

Would include baby melting into your touch. Giving you his best doe eyes + heart eyes while listening to your giggles. If it's in the forge he drops everything and freezes before he gets a hold of himself. Though his first reaction is freak out and get you away from what he’s working on. Because it's hot and potentially dangerous. But after that he kisses you with the passion only a feanorian can have.

Squishing and kissing Fingon’s cheeks

he pouts cutely and after getting his lips kissed he’d grin and move to tickle your sides. 

Squishing and Kissing Eönwë cheeks

You curl your finger and gesture for the tall maia to bend down to your height. Curious he raises a brow and accommodates you. Is shocked and surprised when you squish his cheeks and begin kissing him so dramatically. He flushes red embarrassed. Might even spot a judgemental Mairon peaking over his shoulder. “My love please.” Despite his 'disapproval' he lets you do what you want. His wings melting into the floor while listening to your happy giggles.

Squishing and Kissing Finrod's Cheeks

you tug on his hair and give him a good deep kiss to entice him closer before squishing and kissing his cheeks with vigor. He laughs and squeezes your hips and lifts you into his arms to set you on his shoulder. Showing off his strength and then it's his turn to laugh as you go bright red in the face.

Overall most of them can do without their faces getting squished lol.

Masterlist

[sorcerousundries]

A relationship with Fëanor (Moodboard)

[lovefairymina]

*Y/N loses a chess game for the 5th time in a row. Slam hands on the table*

Alright Náro! The next time you beat me, you have to go skinny dipping in the cold lake tonight!

Placing his hands under his chin and smirking, he leaned forward while making direct eye contact. “Then I’ll work even harder to beat you so that you can join me for a midnight swim.”

[doodle-pops]

A Promising Future

Feanor x human!reader

Request: Hello!!! Hope everything is okie dokie on your end!! So this is like an alternative timeline sorta thing. Could I maybe request a fic where a severely wounded Fëanor does survive the battle, but he's badly hurt, barely holding on, and a mortal!reader helps him recover? We know Fëanor would be too proud to accept any help from anyone let alone a mortal, but over time he comes to rely on the reader, and secretly enjoys being doted on? And mayyyybe little bit of romance between them...?😁 Hihii! Thank ya and take care!!!💖💖– @koyunsoncizeri

A/N: This was an interesting piece to spend a long time concocting. Most pleased with this yearning troupe—gives me life. Thank you for requesting and giving me soft Feanor.

Warnings: canon-divergent (Feanor survives), pinning (deep-seated yearning), comfort, soft content, confession, soft Feanor

Words: 2.8k

Synopsis: And it terrified him—a mortal who was able to break down his walls and leave him yearning like a fish in search of water. Who were you to make him this weak?

Masterlist | Navigation

The dim glow of the fire flickered against the modest wooden walls of your home, casting long shadows that danced and shifted as the flames licked at the logs. Outside, the wind howled faintly, a distant voice in the vastness of the night, but inside, warmth and quiet enveloped the space—save for the occasional grumbling of your stubborn guest.

“Oi, cease your movements, your wounds are still fresh.”

Nothing.

“Will you put that down? That is not a toy.”

Nothing.

“Oi, elf boy! Quit moving or you will feel this hot wooden spoon.”

Well, that did something.

Standing there in a widened stance, hand on your hips, sleeves rolled up to your elbows and a look of ‘so help me God, I will throttle you,’ on your face as you stared at the raven-haired elf trapezing your dollhouse-sized home—compared to his towering seven foot and more frame. Still covered in bandaged and faint scars from his tumble with those fiery creatures in the North, Feanor paused midway examining a jar filled with some liquids that smelt like alcohol and what appeared to be venomous creatures, to throw a look of ‘come hither.’

“You mortals,” he murmured, tilting the jar and watching the brown substance shift loosely within. “So quick to violence.”

“If only you knew,” you sighed, returning your attention to the bubbling cauldron over the fire. “I spent all morning hunting down your favourite mushrooms because you are a picky bastard, and yet here you are, prancing about my house like an overgrown child instead of resting.” You were tempted to launch your wooden spoon, freshly drawn from the cauldron, and wack his head with it, but that would only create another session of his temper tantrum.

As you stirred the soup, inhaling the fragrant steam curling from the surface. Behind you, you could still feel him, standing there, likely observing you with that unreadable expression of his. He had done so for days now—watching you as you moved, as if you were a puzzle he could not quite solve.

You heard him hum—a sound of neither agreement nor dismissal—but he finally set the jar back onto the shelf. A small victory, you supposed. “What is this concoction?”

Heaving, you focused on the heat and stirred the soup, adding in the fine herbs. “It is a cure for venomous injuries.”

“And how does it work?” he inquired, holding the jar up to the light. The size difference between his hand and the jar made it appear like a small bottle.

“If one were to be bitten by a venomous creature, consume a mouthful to purge the body of the toxins. Would you like to test it yourself?” you replied, unamused at his fascination. To this day, you still do not understand the fascination that his kind had towards humans. You were smaller, some matching the height of elven women, slower, aged and less refined—hardly any reason to be enchanted. Rather, disenchanted was a better response, yet you were stuck with one who broke the typical themes of interest.

“Once again, you mortals have sedated my curiosity—for a moment,” he muttered before seeing the jar once more and turning on his heel to scour the tiny house.

You rolled your eyes at his comment. There it was again—the ever-condescending ‘you mortals…’ followed by some half-hearted remark that barely qualified as praise. As if you should be grateful that a being as great as he had taken an interest in your primitive existence. First Thingol’s kin, and now him—a different race of elves who had a fondness for the arts, or perhaps just him.

Turning your head to catch him staring at the metalwork of your water system—which he had been learning for the last two weeks—his mouth was moving at an unrecognisable speed. Muttering calculations and theoretics of the mechanics he was taught by Aulë and Mahtan, comparing them to your craft.

“How long are you going to stare?” you called out, not breaking his focus or attention, but enough to earn you a grunt. “You are genuinely obsessed; most would not be.”

“I am not most.” Came his subtle response while he stroked his chin as though he had a beard.

Giving a small ‘humph’ and setting your spoon down, you stepped away from the fireside and began gathering the bits of mess lying around the house. “You are indeed not most,” you commented with a smirk. “You are simply an elf who had seen death which resulted in you being draped in excessive bandages. Most would not charge at three or more fiery beasts and expect to win—clearly, you are more.”

Thankfully, your head was down as you gathered the doily and withered flowers off the table, missing the ‘how dare you’ expression. Anyone else would have melted on the spot, even squeak out an apology, but you, unbothered. In the two weeks he had been within your company, you had done more damage than the Balrogs had managed—quell his pride. You could sense the heat of his glare, smouldering it was in fact, less than in the beginning, it only served as humour to your bored, tranquil days. Something that felt more like calm amusement than the wrath of a fiery storm. Tolerable.

“I will have you know that I—”

“—faced the mightiest of foes, the Great Enemy of the North, and survived to fight another day,” you interrupted, finally looking up to give him a tender smile with a small, reassuring shake of your head. “It is not something to be taken lightly.”

His arms folded across his chest—then immediately unfolded as he winced at the motion, pain flickering briefly across his expression. He tried to suppress it, his pride refusing to acknowledge his own weakness, but you had seen it.

Sighing, you step toward him. “Sit down before you rip your stitches,” you said, the amusement in your tone fading into something softer.

He did not move, prompting you to exhale slowly, tilting your head. “Fëanor.”

His jaw tightened as if warring with himself before he begrudgingly moved to take a seat on the wooden bench near the hearth. There, he sat stiffly, as if the mere act of compliance wounded him more than the battle itself.

You crouched in front of him, fingers reaching for the bandages around his ribs. He flinched—just slightly—but did not stop you as you carefully unwound the wrappings to inspect the wounds beneath. The deep gashes had closed, the flesh mending slowly, but bruises still painted his skin in shades of deep violet and blue.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its glow casting shifting patterns of gold and amber across the wooden walls. Shadows flickered along the grain of the floorboards, elongating the space between you and him, yet the air between you felt unbearably close. He sat stiffly on the bench, his mountainous frame oddly subdued, his shoulders still drawn taut as you crouched before him, carefully unwinding the bandages that bound his wounds.

His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, the flesh no longer torn as it had been when you first found him—broken, battered, but not defeated. Never defeated. The bruises remained, deep smudges of violet and blue painting the edges of his ribs, but the worst of the gashes had closed, and healed over time and care.

“You heal well,” you murmured barely above a breath as your fingers ghosted over the smooth, newly-mended skin.

There was a sharp exhale through his nose, shifting slightly beneath your touch. “Of course I do,” he scoffed, but his usual sharpness was absent. The words lacked their customary bite, ringing hollow in the thickened air between you.

You glanced up at him then, your face close to his, close enough to see the exhaustion lining his sharp features, the way his lips parted slightly in an unspoken thought. The firelight caught the dark waves of his hair, casting a soft sheen over what should have been wild and untamed, yet now seemed almost...hesitant. He was always a force of motion, a wildfire that consumed all in his path, yet now, he was still—unnervingly still.

His mismatched eyes, filled with the sparks of something unknown, burned into you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. He was watching you again—not as the strange mortal who had taken him in, nor as the healer who had bound his wounds. There was something else in his gaze now, something unreadable, something unwanted if the flicker of tension in his jaw was any indication.

“You should be grateful that you are here, alive,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly, the corner of your lips barely curving into a smirk. “You should count your blessings.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Fëanor did not answer immediately, and for a moment, you wondered if you had finally pressed too far. He was not one to dwell on the past—his entire life had been defined by the forward momentum of his will, the sheer force of his existence too great to linger on what was. And yet, something unreadable shifted in his expression, something that did not belong to the proud warrior who had fought fire with fire, nor the brilliant craftsman whose hands had shaped wonders beyond mortal comprehension.

It was a hesitation. A pause in the storm.

He swallowed, the movement barely perceptible, but you caught it, nonetheless.

Grateful?

He should have been dead. Would have been dead, had it not been for you, a mere mortal who had found him among the scorched remains of battle, who had dragged his barely-breathing body from the clutches of death itself. He should have resented you for it.

He had been a king. A leader. A father. A husband. He had known what it meant to be bound to another, to share space, to accept care. But that life was gone, shattered long before his body ever fell to the flames. His marriage had ended long before death had first reached for him. And yet here you were—offering him care he had long since forsaken, offering him patience, offering him something he had not asked for but had begun, over these weeks, to expect.

But he didn’t. And that was the problem.

No one had dared tend to him since Nerdanel had left. No one had been allowed. And yet, you—a mere mortal, a lesser being by every elven measure—had not only mended his wounds but had dared to scold him, to tease him, to touch him with the ease of one who did not see the legend, only a man.

That should have infuriated him. And yet, his gaze continued to linger.

On the curve of your lips, the delicate line of your throat as you tilted your head, the stray strand of hair that had fallen loose from behind your ear. The hands that had time and again seen to his wounds with the care he had not deserved. The very same hands that had struck him with a wooden spoon the first time he had tried to move before his body was ready.

He had scoffed at it then. But now, in this closeness, in this unbearable stillness, he was left to reckon with a far more troubling truth.

What was this? This need?

He had come to like it.

The doting. The attention. The quiet, steady presence of you in this little home.

He had craved it.

A sickness took root in his chest, something far more suffocating than his wounds, far more dangerous than the lingering weakness in his limbs.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, his knuckles taut beneath his skin. It does not matter, he told himself. He was leaving soon. He had to leave. He had no place here.

And yet.

And yet.

His next words left his mouth before he could stop them, low and quiet, as if they had been stolen from the depths of his mind before he had a chance to cast them aside.

“Then I only have one blessing to be grateful for.”

Your breath hitched slightly, hands stilling against his skin. There was a brief moment as you searched his gaze, unsure if he truly meant what you thought he did. Enough for him to know that you understood. His expression remained unreadable, but the way he held your gaze—steady, unwavering—sent warmth curling in your chest. The space between you was unbearable now, the air thick with something unspoken, something vast and terrifying in its weight.

Your fingers, still resting lightly against his bandages, trembled for the briefest moment before you swallowed, pulling your hands away.

“The soup will be ready soon,” you murmured, standing and turning away.

Fëanor exhaled, slow and measured, as if that breath was all that was keeping him from being swept into something he could not control.

He did not stop you as you moved away. And yet, as he watched you—this stubborn mortal who had refused to let him die—he could not shake the thought that had begun to take root. That leaving this place, leaving you, would be a battle of its own. And damn anyone who prevented him—he could not leave without you. And it terrified him—a mortal who was able to break down his walls and leave him yearning like a fish in search of water. Who were you to make him this weak?

And before he knew it, the words came tumbling out before he could stop them. He did not look at you immediately. He stared at the floor, at the dying embers in the hearth, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“I am leaving soon,” he said at last, quietly.

You stilled, spoon in midair and bowl in hand, swallowed past the lump in your throat. “I know.”

A pause. Then, you felt his hand reach out to gingerly curl around your wrist, prompting the spoon to be released, as if you were his most precious glasswork—enough to keep you there.

“I do not wish to go.”

Your breath stuttered.

Slowly, hesitantly, you turned to face him. He finally lifted his gaze, and in that moment, Fëanor, the great and mighty warrior, the King of the Noldor, was just a man. A man who had lost everything and had, in the most unexpected of places, found something worth holding onto again.

And for the first time, he admitted it.

“I do not wish to leave you.”

A quiet stillness settled between you. The weight of his words hung in the air, unspoken yet undeniable.

You studied his face—the proud tilt of his chin, the flicker of uncertainty in his mismatched eyes, the way his fingers still curled lightly around your wrist as if hesitant to fully commit to what he had just confessed. It was not an easy thing for him, you knew. He had spent so long burning, consumed by his own fire, forging himself into something untouchable. And yet, here he was—revealing something raw, something fragile, something he had likely never intended to say.

You exhaled softly.

“Then don’t.”

He blinked. Just once. As if startled by the simplicity of your response. No grand proclamations, no desperate pleas—just a truth laid bare, plain and unembellished.

His grip on you tightened just slightly, as if testing whether he could believe in it.

You tilted your head, your voice quieter this time. “Stay, if that is what you want.”

There was no demand in your tone, no expectation. The decision had always been his to make—would always be his to make. And for a man who had spent a lifetime consumed by choices that had shaped empires and shattered worlds, perhaps this—this—was the one choice that truly mattered.

His lips parted slightly, something unreadable passing over his expression.

Then finally, his fingers slipped from your wrist, only to settle against your hand instead, turning it palm-up in his grasp. His thumb brushed absently over the skin there, his gaze still searching yours as though waiting for some unseen force to pull him away.

It never came.

“…Then I will stay.”

Not forever. Perhaps not even for long. But for now.

And somehow, for a man who had always burned too brightly, too briefly, that was enough.

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @ladyenchanted @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @hermaeuswhora @elficially-done-with-life @feanorynz @6esi @the0twst0shrimp0mc @ella-error505 @will-0-wsps @xximmortalkissxx

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[lamemaster]

Elves with morosexual tendencies

AN: Random af idea. Sorry Nerdanel but I cannot resist writng Feanor with this one.

Genre: Fluff

Maedhros✋🏻:

Let's just say elder brother tendencies tend to carry on to other aspects of life. Specifically, when he sees you struggling with "deteriat" for the fifth time. Maedhros stifles a smile, the memory of your early love letters flashing in his mind.

He could still recall the scandalized heat that rose to his cheeks when one enthusiastic letter declared "coitus welcome" instead of "courteous welcome." Another endearing misspelling had him picturing you at court, charming dignitaries as a "courtesan" instead of a "courtier."

"Hey! It's not my fault that your world doesn't offer autocorrect," you mumble, your brow furrowed as you return your attention to the report – a rather dry document on trade routes that desperately needed a touch of your usual spark.

"My love, I am your autocorrect," Maedhros chuckles, his amusement evident as he plops down next to you. He reaches over, gently taking the parchment and circling the misspelled word. "It's 'deteriorate,'" he writes with a flourish, the familiar fondness warming his gaze as he watches you pout playfully.

🌲Beleg🌲:

He is no stranger to this special brand of humans. Turin Turumbar was a handful, but you... you were a different kind of chaos. Beleg blinked, taking in the scene before him. The door to your shared home lay in splinters on the floor, a gaping hole now marking the entrance.

"You did what?" he finally managed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and weary amusement. You stood there, a sheepish grin plastered on your face, your hands twisted together in a nervous knot.

"Listen!" you began, your voice taking on a frantic edge. "The door wouldn't open, and the baker was just leaving these incredibly heavy rolls, and I—"

"And you decided the best course of action was to batter it down?" Beleg interjected, his eyebrow raised. "Because apparently, pulling is a concept that eludes some humans."

"Well, it wouldn't budge!" you protested. "And I needed the rolls for lunch! Besides, I thought perhaps it was just slightly jammed."

Beleg sighed, shaking his head. Maybe living with a human wasn't such a bad idea after all. It certainly kept things interesting. He grabbed a nearby broom and gestured towards the splintered remains of the door.

🔥Feanor🔥:

"We cannot use flamethrowers to melt driveway snow," Feanor declared, his voice laced with a barely contained fury. A vein pulsed ominously in his temple, and his normally fiery eyes seemed to crackle with indignation.

You, however, remained undeterred. "Why not?" you countered, tilting your head in innocent curiosity. "It will get the job done quickly and efficiently."

"And burn the house down in the process?" Feanor retorted, his voice rising in disbelief. Had you truly lost all sense of reason?

"But Feanor," you persisted, a mischievous glint in your eyes, "think of the time we'll save! Plus, the dramatic exit the melted snow will make leading right down to the street? Unforgettable!"

Just then, a curtain twitched across the street, and a bewildered neighbor peeked out their window. "Is everything alright over there? We saw sparks!" they called out, their voice laced with concern.

"Oh nothing just my elf tweaking," you smile blindingly at the neighbor, completely oblivious to Feanor's growing sense of dread.

Feanor groaned, burying his face in his hands. He could picture the headlines already: "Couple Sets House Ablaze in Attempt to Melt Driveway Snow."

The sound of heavy boots stomping towards the front door did little to soothe his nerves. Curufin sauntered out, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and slung the coveted flamethrower over his shoulder with a dramatic flourish.

[theelvenhaven]

Interrupted Lazy Morning

Feanor x Reader 2.1k Words * * * 

You rolled over as your eyes blearily opened as you could feel the slivers of Laurelin meeting your lids. Slowly peeling them open to find that it was now waxing into morning, the sounds of birds sang their soft tunes just outside the open windows. With the white sheer curtains billowing as Manwe’s breeze blew into the room. Offering a comfortable coolness as you hunkered beneath the heavy comforter. 

You could see the way trinkets of beautiful glass sparkled as Laurelin’s light ebbed into the room. The way that it lit up the warmer tones of burgundy tapestries and the golden family crest on them. The furniture even seemed to have a warmth to it, that made it all the more inviting to stay in your room. Not wishing to leave this space.

Though try as you might to grow comfortable beneath the comforter, you could already hear the sounds of little voices beginning to talk. Indicating that your sons were already up and moving and would soon be expecting you to make an appearance. You sighed out, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to muster up the motivation to get up out of the bed. To not give into your desire to be lazy, so for a moment you rolled over. Wishing to see if Feanaro had already gotten up out of bed, and to your surprise your husband was laying there still asleep. 

It was so rare for him to still be in bed at this hour, usually getting out of bed just as Telperion fully waned to get into the forges. But it would appear that you got to have his presence in bed, you rolled over fully onto your side and pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder. Feanaro’s face was fully relaxed and content, instead of the normal furrow that was to his brow, making him look even more beautiful and youthful than he already was. 

His black hair was splayed beneath him, fanning out across his pillows entirely. You heard him release a soft breath at your kiss to his shoulders, your lips cold against his hot skin. You smiled softly to yourself, feeling blissful seeing your husband there relaxed. Too bad you didn’t get to enjoy it you thought to yourself, as you rolled over again, this time throwing your side of the comforter off of you to get out of bed. 

But before you could move to sit up, you had missed the sounds of your husband rolling over, feeling a strong arm wind around your waist. Pulling you across the bed and your back hitting Feanaro’s chest, as you squeaked out in surprise. Between his sneakier motions and the surprising strength he had used with you to keep you in bed. 

“Feanaro..” You argued weakly as he put the comforter back over you, coming to nestle his head behind yours. His grip unrelenting, and you knew even if you tried you weren’t going to be able to escape his hold. 

“The children are awake.” You answered him softly, and only heard him hum in response. Only prompting him to wind his other arm beneath you to hold you in full as if a defiant who cares. 

“Maitimo has them…” Feanaro argued, and while you usually did not like to put on your eldest son the responsibilities of parenting and being the figure in charge- knowing he was his own person- this was one of the rare times Feanaro was putting it on him. They were in fact in safe hands with Maitimo around, and you knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to Tyelko and Carnistir… Makalaure was old enough to help him if need be. At least you knew that was what Feanaro’s argument would be.

“He is our son, not our babysitter.” You countered weakly, feeling a tinge of guilt still at the idea of your eldest being in the parental role. Feanaro hummed at your words, only giving you a squeeze and not releasing you regardless of what your argument was to him. 

“He will be fine if he’s the babysitter for another hour or so.” Feanaro added in his deep voice, almost grumbling as you felt his lips come to press a kiss to your shoulder. For a moment you felt reassured by your husbands argument. Content to be close and trust that you weren’t taking up too much of Maitimo’s time. 

Surely he had plans today with Findekano and the rest of his cousins. Plans that didn’t involve rambunctious little heathens for small elflings, Tyelkormo especially. Whom you could hear loudly yelling and running down the hallway back and forth. His little feet stomping on the floor hard with every step he took. Making you snort. 

“If I could have half the energy that Tyelkormo has…” You breathed out as you closed your eyes, relaxing in Feanaro’s hold. You heard your husband snort out in response to your words, knowing that any elf in Valinor would wish to have a smidgen of the energy he had. If only he knew how to harness it and distribute it…

“Don’t we all wish for it.” He muttered, knowing that was part of the reason why he hadn’t gotten out of bed for the forges this morning. A rare thing when he felt so low on energy that he couldn’t get out of bed to go and enjoy his passion. Though it was nice to be able to lay in bed with you and just relax. Even if Tyelkormo was screaming bloody murder with Maitimo trying to find ways to shush him. 

Bribing him with food, it was a real test of diplomacy trying to get him to comply to anything that wasn’t his idea. Feanaro smirked listening to the retorts, as loud and annoying as it could be on occasions, he certainly wouldn’t trade this for anything. Again he pressed another kiss to you, this time to your neck, lingering for a long moment. Feeling you shudder beneath him as his breath tickled your skin. 

“You have equal energy as he does, I don’t know what you are talking about.” You laughed out, bringing your hand to come and rest over the top of his calloused ones. Feanaro huffed in response, knowing it was true. It was certainly where he got all that energy from. 

“Like father like son I suppose.” You heard him grumble out, feeling him stretch partial against you before he relaxed against you. His body resting close to yours, his chest against your back. You could feel his heart beating, and feel the gentle breathing as it tickled your hair and skin. You closed your eyes again as it grew quiet outside the bedroom. 

Figuring that Maitimo must have been successful in bribing Tyelkormo with food to be quiet. Usually one of the best ways to get him to do something that you needed him too, when it suited him at least. It wasn’t as though you could use outside as a threat or a bribe, it was the only place suitable to entertain his energy. A place that he felt most at peace at and was likely to pick a fight with Carnistir. 

You could feel sleep starting to creep back up over you, your breathing slowing down. Your body relaxing in full, you were perfectly warm with Feanaro against you and the comforter over you. Unbothered by the light of Laurelin that came into your room, dozing off perfectly. Even Feanaro’s grip had loosened against you, indicating he too was falling back asleep. 

That was until you heard;

“MUTINY!” Coming from your fair haired son at the top of his lungs, making you both jump but you could hear the quiet curses under your husbands breath. No sooner did you hear the screaming did you both open your eyes to see your bedroom door fling open so hard it bounced off the wall. With Tyelkormo zooming across the bedroom, still screaming with Carnistir hot on his heels. 

And Maitimo and Makalaure too shushing him and trying to wrangle the two of them, but the tot- Carnistir- only shrieked out when Maitimo tried to grab him. Before you felt Tyelkormo jump into the bed, and Carnistir was at your bedside grabbing the edges of your comforter in an attempt to climb up the bed. Whining as he did so. 

“I DON’T HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU HANYO!” Tyelkormo yelled out defiantly as he stood there and you felt Feanaro part from you. Bringing you to move over to the edge of the bed and reach down to grab Carnistir who immediately crawled onto the bed with your aid. Coming over to cuddle you and bury his face in your chest. 

“Tyelko!” Maitimo said firmly, and you watched as your rambunctious son seemed to reconsider it for a moment. His pointing finger seemed to fall halfway, before he decided against it, opening his mouth to speak before you watched as Feanaro reached up to grab Tyelkormo. Pulling him back to lay against the bed, fighting against flailing limbs and yelp of surprise. 

“You know what happens to members who commit mutiny?” Feanaro asked, and you watched as Tyelkormo seemed to grow quiet before shaking his head no at his words, 

“They end up jailed, consider this the start of your sentence.” He quipped out, snugly wrapping his arms around his smaller feisty son. Who began to try and fight against his father, who was much stronger than he was and easily overpowered the little elfling. With your eldest sons only watching on in amusement. 

“Sorry Ontar and Atya, we tried to keep them from coming in here.” Makalaure said out to the two of you, feeling Carnistir move to lay on your whole body. His head turned away from the disaster happening next to you as Tyelkormo continued to flail and try and fight against Feanaro. 

“You’re cheating Atya!!!” Tyelkormo insisted, while you only laughed out. 

“It is alright, I was going to get up sooner, but was roped into being lazy.” You answered him, as you brought a hand to rest on Carnistir’s back and began to rub gently. The three of you turned to look over at Feanaro and Tyelkormo to see that Feanaro somehow had managed to subdue the little elfling who was frowning furiously. 

“Atya you’re a cheater!” Tyelkormo said angrily and with a pout on his lip as he glared up at the ceiling even as Feanaro came over to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“All is fair when you’re committing mutiny, Tyelko.” Feanaro added only making the elfling huff out in response to his words. You snorted out at the situation Tyelkormo found himself in, before you reached over with one hand to pinch his side, making his lips twitch into a smile. Knowing it tickled. 

“Aw look at that pouty face Tyelko.” You said in a high pitched voice, with a lighthearted tone to go with it. Continuously going to pinch his little side, making him squirm and start to laugh out. Trying to wiggle in Feanaro’s hold to get away from you and the small attack Feanaro was enacting in kisses on his face. 

“Ontar! Stop it!” He laughed out as you continued, 

“Only if you yield, anonya.” You laughed out, feeling the dip in the bed as Maitimo and Makalaure both sat on the foot of your bed watching the scene unfold. You continued to tickle him, 

“NEVER!” He screamed out in hysterical laughter, but you knew if you kept it up he’d eventually fold and give in. So you kept at it, while he twisted wildly in Feanaro’s hold, 

“OKAY! I YIELD ONTAR!” With that you immediately stopped, and Tyelkormo finally took some relieved breaths, and you chuckled along with Feanaro at the situation that your wild son had found himself in. 

“How about breakfast?” You said, and before you could get an answer from any of your children you watched as Feanaro gathered Tyelkormo in his arms and stood from the bed. Before slinging the elfling over his shoulder. 

“I think that is a wonderful idea.” He said, before moving to make way towards the door. Carefully you gathered Carnistir in your arms before you too scooted and slid out of bed, putting him on your hip. To which he clutched tightly to you. 

While you would’ve wished for your lazy morning to not have been interrupted, you wouldn’t trade these moments for the world. They were absolutely worth seeing your husband play with your shared children, and you loved seeing it all. 

* * * 

Tags: @saviorsong​ @lilmelily​ @dicksoutformtl​ @fandomhoe101​ @celebrimbor-telperinquar​ @red-riding​ @miriel-estelwen​ @ta-ka-shi-ma​ @nerdysimpy​ @thegirlwithoutaname87​ @anunexpectedsideblog​ @spidergirla5​ @eunoiaastralwings​ @eternalabysss​ @noldorinpainter​​

[animatorweirdo]

Soundless

Your father discouraged you from seeking the elf, but since you were desperate to have your locket fixed -- you decided to let his words go soundless in your ears. Turns out, the ill-famed Feanor wasn't so bad after all.

[] = Sign language

Warnings: mentions of a dead mother, hearing loss, rumors, Feanor's reputation, softness, and Feanor not being bad after all.

(Note: I decided to take a softer turn for this guy,)

---------------------------------------------

Your life has not been an easy one. Despite being born into nobility as the child of a Telerin lord, you faced your share of hardships from a young age. Your mother passed away shortly after your birth, and then you lost your hearing to a strange illness.

Growing up without the ability to hear the sounds of nature or music was incredibly challenging. Many people looked at you with pity, and some even speculated that you were cursed, given the unfortunate circumstances surrounding both your mother's death and your hearing loss. This placed a heavy burden on your father, who was left to care for you alone.

You two shared a great bond, and he had been genuinely a good father to you, helping you adapt to your disability and trying to make sure you were happy. However, you knew how tired he was and how he held a look of longing in his eyes. He was most likely still waiting for your mother to return from the halls of Mandos. 

Your mother had been born with a weak body thus the childbirth took a severe toll on her and her spirit. The Valar and the Maiar assured that she would heal over time, but it would take a long time. There was a high chance she would return when you had already grown into your teens. 

Your father was deeply saddened by the news and carried a heavy burden of guilt, believing that he was responsible for your mother being stuck in a state of recovery. Despite any rumors or beliefs held by others, he never allowed you to bear the blame. Instead, he shielded you from such notions, ensuring that you understood it was not your fault and that you were not to blame for your mother's passing.

You didn't want your father to blame himself, so you always strived to be on your best behavior and do things that would make him happy. You also wanted to prove to him that he didn’t always need to worry about you and that you could handle yourself, even if you were deaf. That was one of the reasons why you were determined to learn how to read people’s lips and make communication easier for yourself.

One of the only things you had from your mother was a silver locket.

Your father allowed you to keep it, and you held on to it ever since. Unfortunately, the lock had gotten stuck, thus making you unable to open it. 

Your father didn’t know what the locket held inside, so you pleaded with him to have someone fix it. However, since the locket was an older design from the First Age, none of the craftsmen knew how to repair it. They all advised you to dismantle the locket and salvage whatever was inside, but you were unwilling to do so. You were fond of the locket itself and didn't want to risk damaging whatever precious contents it held.

You began to lose hope when there were no more craftsmen to turn to, and even your father seemed less eager to save the locket. He eventually told you to simply keep the locket as a memory, assuring you that knowing what was inside was not important.

You valued your father's advice, but you also couldn't shake the desire to know what was inside the locket. Perhaps it contained a picture of your mother, since you had so few of them in the house, or maybe it held a cherished item she kept as a memory.

You then heard about an elf who was rumored to be one of the best craftsmen known in history: Feanor, King Finarfin’s older brother and the eldest of Finwe’s children. You heard that he had done troubling things in the past and nowadays lived in seclusion with his sons, rarely attending social events. Despite his reclusive nature, his reputation as a skilled craftsman persisted.

You felt hope for your mother’s locket, but when you asked your father if you two could meet him, he suddenly became angry and refused. You were startled as you had never seen him so angry before. 

Your father apologized for snapping at you and then explained that Feanor was not someone who should even be spoken about. Despite the passing of many years, the wounds he had inflicted were still fresh in the hearts of many. He was not to be trusted, so it's only for the best that you forget the whole thing.

Normally, you would have listened to your father, but your stubbornness to have your locket fixed strived you forward. 

During a celebration event with most noble houses and the city attending, you sneaked away from your father’s side and made your way to the workshop where you heard Feanor usually occupied alone with his gadgets. 

You had visited many workshops while trying to get your locket fixed, so you had a good idea of what to look for. It didn’t take long for you to find the place and walk inside. The workshop was empty, as most of the people were attending the celebration. Although it was a bit eerie to be alone, you pressed on until you found a door with light emanating from the room beyond.

You quietly peered inside and observed a dark-haired elf seated beside a table, engrossed in some task beneath the flickering candlelight. For a moment, you were awestruck, realizing that this was the famed Feanor, the elf who had allegedly committed terrible deeds.

With cautious steps, you entered the room, mindful not to startle the elf, and pondered how to approach him without alarming him. Unbeknownst to you, the door behind you closed shut, causing the elf to startle and snap his head towards you.

You were frozen in your place when you locked your eyes with Feanor. His features were sharp and he frowned when he saw you. For a moment, he looked a bit terrifying. 

“Child? What are you doing here alone? Where are your parents?” Feanor questioned, but you awkwardly remained quiet as you only managed to catch ‘here’ and ‘parents’ from his lips. Your lip reading skills weren’t the sharpest despite you having been trying to improve them. 

You took a deep breath and then tried to explain in sign language why you were there and that you had hoped he could take a look at your locket and perhaps know how to fix it since no one else knew how to. 

Feanor gazed intently at you as you signed, and then there was an awkward pause. You weren't sure if he understood sign language, and you mildly regretted not bringing a piece of paper and a pencil, which would have made explaining much easier.

Feanor’s eyes then softened, and to your surprise, he motioned his hand in sign language. 

“[Come here…]” he said. 

You then walked up to him and handed him your locket. 

He inspected it carefully, taking in the design and the lock. After he tested it and tried to open it, he then laid it down on the table. He grabbed one of the vials and what seemed to be a small tool. You looked at him curiously as he started doing something. 

He then glanced at you. 

“[Take a seat. This might take a while…]” He signed. 

You nodded and quietly sat on the opposite side of the table, watching as he gently poured drops on the lock. 

“[What is that?] you curiously asked. 

“[A type of acid. It can remove the rust that had locked the locket from the inside,]” he explained. 

“[Wait! So you can really fix it without having to break it?!]” you asked excitedly.

“[Of course I can. I do need to take the lock apart to clean the excess rust from the inside,]” Feanor explained while dropping drops on the locket. 

“[How do you know sign language?]” you asked. 

“[I was the one who first developed it,]” he answered, making your eyes widen. 

“[Did you or anyone in your family have hearing problems too? ]” you asked. 

“[No. I just wanted a way to bad mouth my half-brother without him understanding anything. I was a bit of a drama seeker,]” he explained, making you giggle. 

“[Then it was adopted by those who were unable to speak or hear words,]” he added.

“[How long have you been unable to hear words or sounds?]” he asked while cleaning your locket’s lock. 

“[My whole life. I lost my hearing somewhere in my birth,]” you answered.

“[Do you want to talk about it?]” Feanor asked, and you became excited. No one else besides your father has spoken to you in sign language this long. 

You then talked about your life. How your mother died during your birth, and how your father had taken care of you your whole life. You also talked about how your father seems to be blaming himself for your mother’s death and how you hated when others would look at you with pity and think you had been cursed. 

Feanor listened attentively while fixing your locket. 

After half an hour of talking and watching him work, you took a break, but then you saw how the elf in front of you placed all the parts back in the locket and opened it. 

You looked at him eagerly as he closed it and then opened it, making sure the lock worked properly before handing the locket back to you.

You grabbed the locket and took a look at what was inside. It was a small picture of your mother and father. They looked happy together, and there was also a small gem inside. It was most likely the gem your father gave your mother as a gift, and she had kept it inside the locket for safekeeping and carried it with her. You felt immeasurable joy looking at the picture and holding the gem. 

Your father would be so happy when you showed these to him. 

Feanor then caught your attention by tapping the table in front of you. 

“[The locket should work fine for now, but make sure to take care of it and not leave it somewhere where it could rust again, ]” Feanor explained. 

“[I will. Thank you,]” you signed. 

“[Now come on. I take you back to the entrance. You shouldn’t be here,]” he said, then stood up. 

You followed the elf out of the workshop, and you two then stood on the empty street while the celebration was still going in the distance. 

“[Do you need me to escort you back there?]” Feanor asked. 

“[No. My father is pretty easy to find, and I don’t think he even noticed that I’m gone. I’m pretty quiet after all, ]” you answered. 

“[Very well, and by the way,]” he said, making you look at him curiously. 

“[Your mother’s passing was not your fault. No matter how tragic it was, you are not at fault,]” he explained. 

You looked down for a moment. 

“[But others think differently,]” you said. 

“[There will always be people who will judge you for what you don’t have. Don’t let their words get to you. Otherwise, your life will become difficult and harder to enjoy,]” he signed.

 “[And remember, hearless or not, your mother would have loved you]” he added. 

The thought made you smile. Your mother had a weak body, but it didn’t mean she did not want you. Your father and the rest of the relatives always explained how she was excited to have you. 

She might be in Mandos, but she was going to return one day. 

“[I won’t. Thank you, Mr. Feanor,]” you said, and he softly smiled. 

“[Now get along now. Your father will notice your disappearance soon enough,]” he said. 

You then suddenly hugged his legs, making him look at you surprised. He then patted your head as you freed him and began making your way back to the party. You waved at him, and he waved in return till he saw you disappear into the crowds. 

Feanor returned to his workshop, feeling pleasant over the encounter.