#it's would be or fem!feanor

[sunincubeart]

[sweetteaanddragons]

I saw that post you made about fem!Feanor who has a bunch of daughters and one son and it got me thinking about what would change in canon if male!Feanor had a bunch of daughters...he would just go ballistic if anyone insinuated that he had so many daughters because he was trying for a son and I guess he would fight to get inheritance changed (no daughter of his is ever going to be less than fingolfin’s sons!)

You know what I honestly think would be the biggest change in this AU?

Feanor's reaction to the news he's getting a grandchild.

He's still happy, don't get me wrong! He's just also worried. So very worried.

Fem!Curufinwe's husband should also be very worried because he is definitely getting a very threatening shovel talk about how, if something goes wrong, Feanor doesn't care how long it takes or how certain Curufinwe says she is that she doesn't want to come back, Curufinwe's husband will be waiting on her.

(Of course, that might require him to face angry feelings toward Finwe for not waiting, which is a whole other can of worms.)

(Referenced post is . . . somewhere. I will try to track it down. Wish me luck!)

(Edit: It is here! I found it in my fic master list which . . . is a thing I had forgotten I had made, actually. I should probably update that at some point.)

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

hi!! I have a request, if it hasn't already been taken, for kinktober! Maybe a Feanor x AFAB reader and age difference/first time?? I was thinking that maybe she's his apprentice in the forge and though he didn't like her at first, he grows a liking to her. However, he feels a little guilty due to her being the same age as Maedhros (I'll let you decide what to do with Nerdanel 😅). Maybe they're working really late night and he finally snaps? Anyways, thank you!! Your writing is so awesome and I can't wait to read all your kinktober fics!! ❤️

I hope you like this!

"Arrangement"

Pairing: Fëanáro x Fem (18+ AFAB) reader

Themes: SMUT/NSFT

Warnings: Kissing | Age difference | Nipple Play | First time | Oral sex | Masturbation | Penetrative sex | Open/Poly marriage

Wordcount: 3.8K

Summary: After an outburst, Fëanáro makes a stunning confession while the two of you are alone in the forge.

Minors DNI | 18+

Fëanáro stood right behind you, his arms on his hips. “Take care when bending the prongs, y/n,” he cautioned sternly. “Gold so pure can twist and break very easily.”

“Of course, my lord,” you replied. Your attention never left the ring resting in its stand, nor did your hands shake while you bent each prong, slowly and carefully, over a flawless green emerald. Still, it proved to be a most daunting task. The gold was still warm and quite malleable, you had never crafted anything this fine before, and Fëanáro insisted on peering over your shoulder. That unnerved you far more than even the precious object taking shape beneath your hands. The firstborn son of Finwë never seemed to think highly of you or your skills as an apprentice smith. He never fully revealed the extent of his dislike of you, but you still saw it in his less-than-pleased eyes, and you heard it in the harsh bite in his voice. Perhaps, by doing well with this new craft, you would be able to please him for once.

The ring was now complete. Fëanáro circled around you, picked it up as gently as he would a delicate leaf, and held it to a nearby lamp, turning it this way and that within the light. His body was stiff, as it always was whenever he was around you. Nevertheless, he regarded the ring intently. As of this moment, he could perceive no discernible flaw.

“This will do,” he murmured, placing the ring upon a smooth marble slab resting on the workbench. The gold will cool soon. Then it would be presented to the one who desired it made, a noblewoman who wished to offer it as a courtship gift. “You may put away your tools and go home now, y/n.”

A sliver praise was better than no praise, especially from an elf as skilled as he. “Thank you, my lord,” you said, rising.

The ritual of setting the forge to rights was second nature to you now. Tools were returned to their proper places in shelves and drawers and racks. Your belt and gloves you hung on hooks driven into the wall, and your apron also. Fëanáro saw to the dousing of the furnace fire while you occupied yourself with dusting the workbenches, closing the shutters, and sweeping the floor. No one besides him or those equally skilled at the task were allowed to do so.

“Everything is as it should be,” you remarked after placing the broom in its little cupboard. The forge was now as neat and clean as it could be, but perhaps there was something you did not think of doing. “Is there aught else for me to do?”

Fëanáro did not turn to face you. He kept facing the furnace instead. “None, y/n,” he replied curtly. “You may leave now. In fact, I insist that you do.”

His tone gave you pause. “Have I displeased you, my lord?” You asked, glancing back over your shoulder. The ring gleamed upon the marble slab, its jewel burning like green fire. “Is the ring actually not to your liking?”

The elf’s back stiffened. “Please, leave.”

“My lord,” you said, stepping toward him, “I…”

“Get out!” Fëanáro roared, frightening you into taking a step back.

“Of course, my lord,” you mumble and turn in your haste to leave. “My pardons, my lord. I did not mean to anger you so.”

The doors seemed so far away, even when all it took was a few quick strides to reach them. Yet reach for them you did, your fingers fumbling with the heavy doorknobs and the heavier doors. They were always left this way for Fëanáro did not care for distractions, except for those presented by his wife or sons. The others were allowed entry only if they came on a matter of importance. If not, they were sent away.

So intent were you on trying to pull them open that you did not hear footsteps coming toward you, nor did you see the tall shadow falling across heavy oak adorned with silver and gold. A large hand fell over your hand, hindering you from unlocking the doors.

“Forgive me for shouting,” Fëanáro said. He was so close you could feel his breath against your hair. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

Fëanáro asking for forgiveness from anyone who was not his wife, his children, or even his father, was a rare thing. You swallowed and held onto your courage. You needed it for what you were about to say next.

“Why are you always displeased with me, my lord?” you inquired. The hand over yours trembled, and then it fell away. You turned around and looked up at your teacher. “Am I not good enough to serve as your apprentice?”

”You are worthy,” Fëanáro returned. His face was a mask; it gave nothing away. “You may be too spirited for your own good, but you have skill. I can see it in the ring you just made.”

“Is that a bad thing, my lord,” you said, your curiosity piqued, “being too spirited?”

“It can be, when you are in the forge.” Fëanáro reached out and lifted your braid. His fingers brushed over the silk ribbon adorning your hair. “There are many dangers present in places such as this y/n, dangers novices such as yourself do not easily see. It can blind you to them, and lead you to harm. It can also stop you from being all you could truly be.”

“Then why did you shout at me?”

“I needed you to leave. I still need you to leave. Please do not ask me to tell you why.”

He turned sharply on his heel and walked away, dimming the lamps while he did so. And, despite his plea—despite being gratified that you did not fail as an apprentice—you followed him. You needed to know why he touched your hair the way he did and why he needed you to be gone. Perhaps it was unwise to go after him in this fashion, but you believed you had no other choice.

“You must tell me, my lord,” you implored, trying to keep up with him. “Please tell me. Perhaps I can help you.”

“I cannot,” Fëanáro told you. He walked to the back of the forge, where a chamber made just for him lay. It was where he devised his newest creation, or where he went when he desired a few moments to rest and free himself from the weariness of his labors before returning to his family. “Please, y/n. I cannot tell you.”

“I am sorry, my lord,” you began, “but if you could just tell me what it is that is troubling you, perhaps I can—”

Fëanáro gave you no time to finish speaking. He muttered an oath, whirled around, gathered you into his arms, and kissed you. His kiss was full of fire and hunger, and it was so powerful it left you lightheaded and dizzy.

“This is why I shouted at you.” Fëanáro stepped back, his gray eyes now uncommonly dark. “This is why I wanted you to leave. Now do you understand, y/n?”

His confession stunned you. “You are already wed!” you exclaimed, horrified by what happened. If word reached the others, your reputation and his would be ruined. “You have a wife, my lord, and children!”

“Yes,” Fëanáro said. “My children. You are of an age as Nelyafinwë. So young.” 

“And your wife?” You demanded. “What of Lady Nerdanel? She will not take kindly to an intruder upon her marriage.”

“Do not fear my lady’s wrath.” Fëanáro smiled. It was the same arrogant, satisfied smile he wore whenever he knew something was in his favor. “For it was she who perceived my desire for you long before I did so myself. She will bear you no ill will. In fact, my lady asks, no, insists, that I invite you to join us, should you wish to do so, that is. She desires you also.”

You shook your head, unwilling to believe a word. “How do I know you are not uttering falsehoods, my lord? Others have done the same to convince a reluctant companion to share their bed.”

“I can show you, if that is what you wish.” Fëanáro extended his hand, his smile never leaving his lips. Many a maiden, and more than a few lords, deemed his smile a powerful weapon. Only a rare few could resist the spell it laid upon others. “Take my hand and open your thoughts to me, y/n. You will see that I am not uttering falsehoods.”

You closed your eyes and did as you were bid, your curiosity overcoming your fear. Fëanáro’s hand was large and warm, and still smooth despite a long life of crafting and wielding heavy tools. It did not tremble this time; it was unwavering instead. 

Memories that were not your own rushed at you like a flood. You breathed deeply and remembered your teachings. You sought the memories you were meant to see: Fëanáro standing in the shadows, watching you contend with molten iron while jesting with another elf. He was visibly exasperated by your conduct, but he was also afraid for your safety.  Fëanáro appeared again, this time smiling to himself as he watched you present Tyelkormo with a blunted dagger crafted to fit an elfling’s hands, and then he laughed quietly when you chased Tyelkormo around the forge in a desperate attempt to stop him from using it on an unsuspecting elf. Fëanáro then appeared a third time. In this memory, his eyes followed your every step like a lover’s would.

“You yearn for y/n, my love,” Nerdanel said in the vision that appeared after the others. She and her husband were alone, breaking their fast on porridge and honey and little fish roasted to crackling. Bowls of apples and pears and berries stood amidst them. Every other aspect of the chamber was shrouded in swirling shadows. “I cannot fault you for that, truly. Y/n is quite skilled, and she certainly draws the eye. Have you spoken to her?”

 “I have not,” Fëanáro sputtered, much to his wife’s amusement. He made no attempt to conceal his feelings; he knew Nerdanel would be insulted if he did. “I will not betray you, my love. I will not approach another for companionship.”

“What if I were to give you my blessing? Will you approach y/n then?”

“Why would you even suggest such a notion?”

“Because I can,” Nerdanel declared, beaming and spreading her fair hands. “And because, much like you, I find myself desiring your apprentice also. Perhaps we can all come to an arrangement of our liking.”

“But she is so young,” Fëanáro confessed. Nerdanel’s hearty consent and willingness to partake pleased him in a way he could not describe, but he still hesitated. Your young years had to be considered. “Y/n is the same age as Nelyo. You and I could very well be her firsts. The prospect of bedding you and I together may frighten her.”

“That is indeed true,” Nerdanel agreed. She steepled her fingers beneath her chin and lost herself in thought. After a while, she spoke again. “Here is what I propose you do.”

Suddenly, the memory of husband and wife talking and conspiring disappeared like a mist burning away in the sun. Fëanáro shrouded his thoughts and brought you back to the here and now. “Do you believe me now, y/n?”

“Yes.” There was no denying the matter; Fëanáro was indeed speaking the truth. “But to lay with you and her both…I do not know how I could even think of such a thing, my lord.”

“I understand,” Fëanáro said, his hand still in yours. “Which is why my lady proposed you and I become… better acquainted with each other first. Later, you can share her bed. And of course, the both of us after that.”

“I see.” You flushed from cheek to chest when Fëanáro knitted his fingers around yours and drew you closer. “But if this is what you seek, and your lady consents to us laying together, why did you try to chase me away before?”

“You are of an age as Nelyo, y/n,” Fëanáro reminded you. He reached out and caressed your hair, your cheek. Your throat went dry when he ran his thumb across your lips. “You are young, despite having already come of age. You should be with those your age, instead of cleaving to one as long-lived as me. It did not feel right.”

You looked up at him through your lashes. The sight of it made his breath hitch. “And what if I say yes, my lord? What then?”

Fëanáro flashed a wicked grin. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Then you will be given no cause to repine. Pray what is your decision, my lady?”

You looked around his arm. The door to his chamber was behind him. If you said yes, if you agreed to what was suggested, there would be no turning back. Still, the thought of having an elf as skilled as Fëanáro, and later, his wife, bedding you, proved to be too tempting to resist in the end.

“My answer is yes, my lord,” you said at length.

Fëanáro turned around and pushed open the door to his chamber. “Have you been intimate with another elf in any fashion?”

“Kisses, my lord,” you said truthfully and walked in after him. His chamber was simple yet elegantly adorned. Besides a soft and inviting bed, there was a hearth at the other end with a cheerful fire already laid. A chair had been placed before it, and a little table beside it. Cups and golden pitchers rested on top of it. A tapestry hung on one wall, uncommonly ornate and richly embellished. It must have been the work of Lady Miriel, no doubt, before she perished. “And an embrace or two. Nothing more than that.” 

Fëanáro led you to the edge of the bed. “Sit down, y/n, and make yourself more at ease. Would you like some wine to drink? Or Miruvórë, perhaps?”

“Miruvórë, my lord,” you said, bending down to remove your boots. It felt wonderful to be rid of them, even for a little while. “I do not care much for wine.”

Fëanáro nodded and crossed over to the table. “Then I shall serve you.”

The cup pressed into your hand was hewn out of crimson crystal and cold to the touch. The libation it held was cold also, and a pale, fragrant gold. You felt refreshed after the first sip alone.

“I still cannot believe it,” you said, nursing your cup. Fëanáro sat beside you, closer than he would have done before. His thigh brushed against yours. It sent a welcome shiver up your spine. “The renowned prince Fëanáro and his wife desire me for a shared companion. They want me to share their bed. The others would be amazed if they heard.”

“But they cannot hear,” Fëanáro said. He drained his cup in three quick swallows and set it down by his feet. “There are others who have arrangements like what my lady proposed, but they are not spoken of often. Not everyone understands.”

“Of course,” you drained your cup and set it down. Your stomach was a roil. Fëanáro would take you into his arms soon. Already, you could feel his eyes on you. “How do we begin, my lord?”

“Like this.” Fëanáro tilted your chin toward him, compelling you to look at him. Then he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to yours.

His kisses were unlike the others you had before. They were heated and commanding, and far from the clumsy, hesitant kisses you were used to. Fëanáro did not restrain himself either. He held you to him, sliding his arm around your waist and growling triumphantly when you clutched desperately at the collar of his tunic and returned his kiss with equal fire. His free hand wandered. It loosened the ribbon in your hair and carded through the locks that spilled free. It moved lower still, to loosen the lace of your tunic. Goosprickles rose all over your limbs when linen fell away and that same nimble hand came to rest over your breast.

“Has anyone touched you like this before?” Fëanáro husked. He pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it began to throb. Then he dipped his head to taste.

“No, my lord,” you panted, throwing your head back when teeth bruised your tender skin. Fëanáro pulled at one nipple and then the other, lightly at first and then more insistently, before his lips and tongue took a turn. Each sensation that followed was wholly new, and each of them made you feel even more warm, feverish, and lustful than before. “Not like this.”

“Just so.”

Fëanáro straightened. He helped you out of your tunic and threw it to the floor. He moved to the floor himself, slipping off the bed and settling on his knees between your spread legs. He set himself to the task of undoing the belt and clasps going down your breeches, and when he asked you to lift your hips, you did so, watching as the last of your clothes were disposed of without ceremony. Now you sat before him, completely exposed and unable to discern what he would do next. The answer became plain when he lowered his head to the apex between your thighs. 

“Is this what you imagined doing to me, my lord?” You teased, bolder than even before. You brushed your hand over his hair, carefully loosening ribbons and braids. Fëanáro quivered when the tips of your fingers grazed over his scalp. “Or do you imagine your lady doing this to me while you watched?”

Fëanáro grunted and ran the flat of his tongue against your slit, again and again. Your body shook. Inflamed, you took your words even further.

“Or perhaps you wish to do more than just watch.” Never had you been this brazen before. Then again, never had you been with a companion like Fëanáro before. You made the most of it. You knew you had to. You did not know how long your arrangement with him and his lady would last. “Is that it, my lord? Do you wish to do more than just watch while Nerdanel and I cleave to each other?”

Fëanáro moaned softly. He gripped your hip to steady you, and he moved his other hand lower to free himself from the confines of his raiment. Soon, he was fisting his cock.

“My lady was right to counsel me to approach you.” Fëanáro reluctantly ceased what he was doing and rose. “And now I must ask you to move further up and lay on your back. There is more I crave to do to you, y/n.”  

The hush that briefly settled over the room was broken with the rustling of silk and linen and leather. Fëanáro undressed himself, his eyes never leaving yours. You drank in every line that met your gaze, overwhelmed by the thought that every aspect of his would be yours caress however you wished. When you finally moved further up the bed, Fëanáro joined you and moved up with you. When he lowered his head, you welcomed him with open arms. His kisses were languid this time, and all the sweeter. He propped himself on his elbow and stayed still while you ran your hands through his hair, down his chest, and over his thighs. Every inch of him you discovered was flawless. It was as if he was hewn by the skilled hands of the finest cratfsman.

“I must thank your lady when I am with her,” you whispered. “Only through her was all of this made possible.”

“I will gladly arrange a meeting.” Fëanáro smiled and brushed his lips over yours. He slipped his hand around your back to raise your hips. It encouraged you to loop your arms around his broad shoulders and spread your legs for him. “For now, let me think of just you and me.”

He pressed the tip of his length against your entrance, teasing you with gentle, shallow thrusts. It felt so good, but you knew there would be so much more. Fëanáro then pushed deeper and deeper, sinking his shaft further and further within the velvety confines of your body. When he breached you fully and sank home, pain lanced through you like a knife. Fëanáro went still when you whined, and he whispered words of praise to soothe you.

“Does it feel good?” He finally said, his voice full of concern. “Should I continue?”

“Yes, my lord,” you breathed. There was so much of him; you did not comprehend how big truly was until now, or how wonderful he felt. “Go on. Please.”

No more words were said. They were, in your opinion, no longer needed. Fëanáro chased his release while taking you to yours. He drove into you with wild abandon, making you gasp every time he ground his hips against the insides of your thighs. The feel of your nails marring his body and the sounds of your pleasure ringing around the once peaceful room made him forget all sense of himself.

“Oh, sweetling!” Fëanáro cried, unable to hold back any longer. "Oh, by the Valar.”

He did not stop, not even as he came and emptied himself of his spend. He took you over the peak and tumbled you over the edge, calling out your name as your own climax crashed over you. And it was your name that he called out. Just yours. Oh, there would be other occasions when your name and his lady’s would leave his lips, but for now, yours was all he uttered. You reared up, kissing him deeply even while he fucked you through your orgasm. Your nails dug into his flesh, marring him. Then everything went still, and he finally stopped moving.

The hearth at the other end was the first to become clear when you opened your eyes, then the room and the bed, and then Fëanáro himself. His chest was still heaving, and his lustrous dark hair had fallen all around him in a beautifully tousled mess. Its ends tickled you when it brushed against your torso.

“I am crushing you,” he said, and rolled off you. When he settled comfortably on his back, he held out his arm. It was an invitation for you to rest against him. “Now tell me, y/n. Do you still wish to continue with the arrangement my lady devised?”

“I do, my lord, very much so.” You inched closer and settled against the crook of his arm. A dreamy sigh parted your lips when Fëanáro moved onto his side, threw his arms around you, and kissed your brow. “I will gladly continue with the arrangement.”

“That is good then,” he said. “Rest for now. I will help you bathe and clean yourself afterward.”

[doodle-pops]

Let Me Dance For You

Feanor x reader

Kinktober 2023: Thigh–Riding

A/N: I have successfully attempted to write a dom reader and for all characters, Feanor. I fought with my brain to keep on the dom track as best as I could, I may have slipped off a few times, but I'm trying my best.

Warnings: fem!reader, thigh-riding, dom! reader, sub! Feanor, bondage, use of a cock ring

Words: 2.5k

Synopsis: You decide to give Feanor a special dance performance which involves him being in restraints and you in control.

List of Requests

Sitting on your haunches, you gazed at the magnificent work of art displayed before you, resembling a gift wrapped in an oversized red bow. You clapped meticulously, the sparkles in your eager eyes reflecting your pride and the dedication you had poured into achieving your goal through hard work, albeit unconventional.

The image of your husband, bound to the headboard with red scarves, completely nude, his erect member leaking with precum, beads of sweat tracing their path down his muscular body, and a gag in place, had you squealing with delight. It was a minor miracle that you had managed to convince him to let you take control this one time, and you couldn’t help but wonder when you might have such an opportunity again. Given his pride, it must have been eating away at him to be rendered a submissive plaything, incapable of movement or speech.

Certainly, there would be some form of payback for this treasured moment, but you were determined to make it a memorable experience for both of you. While some might feel sorry for being punished in return after reducing him to a sweaty, trembling mess of pleasure, you relished the thought.

Crawling between his legs and matching his attire, your fingers glided up his muscular thighs, and you marvelled at the involuntary reactions they elicited. His physique was taut, glistening with sweat. You licked your lips and grinned at his responses, knowing that he couldn’t do anything to resist or threaten you in his current restrained state. Continuing your domination, you dragged your nails up his legs, relishing in the choked moans that escaped his gagged mouth. The cloth ball inside was soaked with his saliva from all the grunts and groans he had vowed not to make, presenting a sight to behold as you turned him into a confused, overwhelmed mess. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted you to end his torment by untying him or riding his throbbing member.

His abdominal muscles clenched as your fingers reached his pelvis, tapping the V–line cut that led to his swollen arousal. The subtle twitches and jerks it made as more precum flowed from the tip and cascaded down the reddened head made you savour the moment. It was empowering to have control, reducing the egotistical man to pleas, begs, and moans.

Biting your lower lip and locking eyes with his mismatched blue–green gaze, which now held tears and frustration, you couldn’t help but giggle. You gripped his erection firmly from the base, causing a muffled groan to reverberate through the room, sending shivers down your spine and moistening your entrance in anticipation. However, the main event would have to wait as you fastened a silver metal ring securely around the base of his member. The room echoed with a combination of choked groans, frantic foot movements from the added restraint, and the rhythmic knocking of the headboard.

With a sly grin, you cooed at him, all the while stroking his engorged cock, “You’re desperate to cum, aren’t you?” You couldn’t help but chuckle, finding the situation oddly amusing considering the power you held in your hands.

Yearning to hear his voice as he begged for release, you reached up with your other hand and removed the cloth from his mouth. His first words were far from pleading. “Keep this up, and you’ll regret ever asking for control. Don’t think I’ll forget everything you’ve done so far.”

“Oh, come on now! You act as if you don’t tease me mercilessly when you’re in charge—this is just payback!” you retorted with an apathetic tone, refusing to release your firm grip on his erection. Each squeeze you administered was met with a hiss and a sharp thud against the headboard as he struggled to maintain his composure, unwilling to reveal how much you were affecting him. Little did he know that the swollen tip of his member and its crimson hue betrayed his true reactions.

He continued to breathe heavily through flaring nostrils, sweat droplets trickling down his body and accumulating in the recesses of his inky hair and clavicles. The glistening sheen on his skin accentuated his sculpted physique, even his hair cascading over his shoulders adding to the allure. It became a battle between fixing your gaze upon him and persisting in your torturous ministrations. Ultimately, your own arousal and desire demanded your attention, pulling you out of the trance–like state and compelling you to attend to your own needs.

Removing your hand from his erection and rising to your knees, you shifted further up the bed until you were poised over his muscular thighs. Your legs deftly found their place on either side of his chiselled, iron–like muscles, and your exposed core hovered tantalizingly close to his throbbing member. The intricate contours and interwoven muscles on his legs seemed to stretch on endlessly. Your nails once again ventured to trace along the crevices and curves, marking an ‘X’ over the spot where you intended to ride to ecstasy.

“What are you doing?” His question shattered your focus, pulling you away from your admiration of his sculpted physique. You turned your head toward him with an irritated expression, grumbling and uttering incoherent words that sounded like a muttered incantation to silence him permanently for the entire session.

“What else does it look like I’m doing? Pursuing my pleasure and disregarding yours,” you nonchalantly replied, tossing your hair over your shoulder. The roll of your eyes emphasized that tonight was all about you and not him; the world didn’t revolve around Mr. Know–It–All. “Since you seem to enjoy making threats so much, here’s my threat to you: keep talking as if I’m not in control, and you won’t be allowed to cum.”

Returning your gaze to his thigh, you slowly spread your legs, lowering yourself bit by bit until a blissful moan escaped your lips as your core made contact with his muscles. A low hiss lingered in the background, blending with your soft whimpers. The stark contrast between the warmth of your desire and the coolness of his skin sent shivers down your spine. You eagerly anticipated rocking your hips and leaving your mark of arousal across his perfectly crafted leg, watching as you succumbed to insatiable pleasure, one more alluring part of him.

With anticipation coursing through your veins, you gripped his shoulder tightly, your nails leaving their mark on his flesh as if branding him as your own. As you started to move your hips, the trembling breath escaping your throat didn’t escape his attention. He observed, captivated, as you surrendered to the intoxicating throes of pleasure. Your head arched backwards, and your luscious locks cascaded down your spine, a sheen of sweat glistening on your radiant skin. Your parted lips released a chorus of breathy whimpers that reverberated within the room, each note a testament to your flourishing ecstasy. With each rhythmic roll of your hips, his arms quivered, and he revelled in the electrifying sensation of your swollen clit grinding sensuously against his taut thighs.

Every movement, every undulation of your body, painted an erotic masterpiece before his eyes. He was entranced by the exquisite dance of your pleasure, your vulnerability, and the power you exuded at that moment. The room seemed to pulse with the palpable energy of your shared desire, a symphony of passion building to a crescendo. The convergence of your desire and his restraint added a tantalizing edge to the sensual tableau playing out before him. It was as if time itself had stopped, leaving only the two of you ensnared in this intoxicating exchange of pleasure and submission. From his vantage point, he could see streaks of wetness, imagining it smeared all over his restrained member.

With each roll of your hips, your nails dug deeper into his shoulder, causing his muscles to tense beneath your touch. A gasp and a shiver escaped him simultaneously as your ministrations continued. All he could do was watch and growl under his breath at the injustice of the situation, reduced to being your submissive plaything. The thought gnawed at him, but he couldn’t use his hands to free himself from the torment you had ensnared him in. If only he could untie himself and seize you, offering himself for your pleasure in any way you desired. Yet, he knew you had a penchant for orchestrating things your way, taking absolute control, and savouring the devious tricks you had in store.

Lost in the euphoria of your pleasure, waves coursed through your body with each rhythmic movement of your hips, and you squealed in delight. The combination of power and pleasure surged through your mind, leaving you feeling weightless.

“Nggh, fuck! I should have done this a long time ago, huh?” you cried out, your back arching as pleasure built to insurmountable heights, choking you. Your body collapsed onto his, but your hips continued to rock feverishly, chasing after your peak.

Fortunate that his hands were restrained, given your position, he had half a mind to tear the headboard off and take you with a passion that would fold you into the mattress. However, he remained respectful despite the cock ring you had placed around the base of his erection, denying him release and compelling him to abide by your desires. He stared at your trembling figure from the corner of his eyes, a dark chuckle escaping his lips as he shifted and flexed his leg to brush against your clit. Your nails dug deeper into his shoulder blades, but he was relentless, resuming the action, bouncing and shaking his leg beneath your gyrating hips. The collision of these opposing motions sent your senses into overdrive.

“Does it feel good, darling?” Feanor taunted, his self–praise evident in the smugness of his voice as you surrendered to his body and struggled to match the pace he had set. “Don’t give up on me just yet; show me what you’re capable of. Ride me like you ride those stallions, love. Show me your control.” He licked and bit his lips, groaning as a surge of pleasure shot to his cock, only to be thwarted by his restraints.

Responding with a sigh to his unexpected words of encouragement, rather than a provocative retort, you lifted your upper body away from him and shifted your hands to grip the headboard for added stability. Your head tilted back as you gathered your strength and rode his thigh with the determination of a skilled equestrian, readily embracing every challenge he presented with the tremors and bounces of his leg. Your clit pressed fervently against the contours of his muscular form, spreading your arousal across his leg.

The smooth, frictionless surface allowed for an effortless ride as you bounced and gyrated in circular motions, ensuring that the coil of pleasure in your lower abdomen steadily intensified. In this moment, you were grateful for his supportive presence, finding it preferable to his usual bratty and talkative demeanour. Part of you even considered the prospect of gagging him once more, just to savour his reactions to your actions.

Casting a glance at his focused expression as he gazed at the juncture where your core met his thigh, leaving your essence behind, you chuckled. He seemed deeply engrossed in watching you pleasure yourself rather than begging for you to take his cock, or perhaps he had grasped the dynamics of the situation. If he proved to be a good submissive, you were inclined to reward him generously instead of administering punishment.

“You’re doing so well for me, Náro...” your voice faltered and quivered as a new wave of pleasure coursed through your body. Glancing down, you noticed his lips attached to your breast, fervently suckling on your nipples to derive pleasure for both of you. You were grateful for his unwavering support.

“Hmm...” You hummed and muttered something incoherent as his lips sensually worked your breast, the vibrations rippling through your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your hands couldn’t help but cradle his head, pressing him further into your chest to continue providing his supportive efforts while your hips moved vigorously against his thigh. The intense friction between your bodies created a symphony of squeaks from the bedframe, accompanying the passionate rhythm of your lovemaking.

Every touch ignited your body like an unquenchable flame, fuelled by the fire that resided deep within him. It burned brightly, surging through your veins and becoming the source of your pleasure. You couldn’t discern whether it coursed through your bond, adding intensity to your soul, or if his own natural body heat generated a warmth that pushed the boundaries of your ecstasy. Somewhere amidst the sensations, you felt your body engulfed in flames. His touch was the catalyst, propelling you past the point of no return, transforming you into a wild maiden riding her stallion for dear life.

The exact moment of this transformation eluded you; all you knew was that your body was no longer under your control. Something or someone had taken over as you rode with abandon. Your hips moved in every direction—rocking, bouncing, grinding—everything to chase your orgasm. The relentless slickness that coated his thigh, your muscles weary yet relentless against the unyielding texture, all led to this moment. The climax had finally arrived.

A loud gasp escaped your lips as you arched into him, the sound resonating through the dimly lit room. The scent of your release filled the air, enveloping your senses as you crumpled into a ball in his lap. Small tremors coursed through you as waves of ecstasy travelled through every vein, ensuring total bliss was attained. Above you, Feanor remained fastened to the headboard, his lips slightly glossy from all the attention he had lavished on your breasts, sporting a satisfied grin. Your blissed–out state was his ultimate reward, a testament to his prowess even when you played the dominant role.

Heaving and gazing at him with hazy eyes, you offered a soft, appreciative smile. Your hand reached out to caress his chest, silently conveying a “Well done.”

His eyes travelled from his chest to your face, his tone carrying an authoritative edge. “Aren’t you going to untie me now?” His chin jutted outwards, gesturing to the knots and the cock ring. Somewhere caught in your ecstasy, his cock had grown anxious and frustrated without attention and care; should a removal not be made, he’d combust then and there.

“Mmmh, I don’t want to. You look so enticing all tied up, being so compliant and helpful,” you protested, closing your eyes and feeling the temptation to take a nap right there with him in your current state of bliss. However, to your unexpected delight, the sound of something cracking abruptly snapped you out of your drowsy reverie, causing you to cast a cautious glare at Feanor.

The calm expression he wore was rather disconcerting as he effortlessly freed his hands from the restraints and leaned down to meet your surprised gaze. “I warned you not to overindulge in your control, mírë. Now, it’s my turn to take charge.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @eunoiaastralwings @koyunsoncizeri @ranhanabi777 @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @rain-on-my-umbrella @the-phantom-of-arda @singleteapot @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @ilu-stripes @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365 @bunson-burner @batsyforyou

[asianbutnotjapanese]

Two sees merged

Characters: Miriel/Melkor & Fem!Mairon

Warnings: English is my second language, +16 kissing and Melkor finally having a woman says yes to him*she did not say yes but she never said no.

Note on names: Úlëaruinë means "pouring blaze" if it's wrong please tell, Ashjan is a word in Arabic and has two meanings "one of them is worry, sadness, passion, all in plural or tangle-twisted branches, branching out from everything." and the name I give to Melkor's lands.

Note: Melkor's hair colour is CDD6D4 in Hex or 205,214,212 in RGB.

No one blames Miriel for preferring land of Ashjan over Valinor, for although most of Melkor's land is underground and less of it is above, it was vast as far as the eye could see and no light from the trees could reach it, not that it did reach this coast anyway and this what Miriel preferred.

She walked through these corridors day after day from the moment Melkor returned, and she setting a foot in this territory. It was hard at first to adapt with everything around her, from the moment her soul left Melkor and moved into this new body, but she managed.

Standing on one of the balconies, her grey eyes spying the hoopoes flying over the fort bringing all the blabber and natter, her hand holding her white hair flying in the morning breeze, goosebumps appeared on her back and shoulders.

She wondered if the news from House Finwe, about Feanor maybe? she exhaled and shook her head, she need not be hasty. "Patience is the key to relief" Melkor told her "No right is lost if there is someone to claim it" vowing to reunite her with her son.

How long has it been since she saw her dear boy, how is he now, is he taking care of himself…is Finwe taking care of him? how many people she left on the other side. Will she see them again, will they accept to see her again after knowing who she is standing with.

She decides to end the day and return to her room, Miriel was not surprised to find Melkor behind her when she turned her face. It is not the first time he has been sneaking on her and it will not be the last.

"Lord Melkor" she noded her head, taking a few steps towards him but keeping a safe distance. "My lady" bending his knee with his right hand on his heart, his greyish hair doing nothing to cover his vile smile, "it is not cold to be out here, dear" Straightening his back, he raised his eyebrow, his voice was deliciously deep as always.

"And that is the reason why I was getting ready to step inside" She took a hold of her dress and walked towards the doors before Melkor's hand caught her. She felt the same scorch from his hand again despite his freezing skin.

"We must talk, Miriel" His voice full of delight turned to one of graveness, Miriel noticed the dimness in his eyes and sighed, she removed his hand from her and waited for him to start speaking.

Melkor let her move his hand away from her shoulder yet his fingers intertwined with hers, "I got news today,” his eyes stared into her soul. "It seems that King Finwe is welcoming his first male child with his other wife."

For the next few moments all what could be heard was the trees whispering and wind howling, Melkor's hand slowly went to Miriel's cheek wiping a tear. "It hurt me a lot to see you suffering my dear, but we cannot do anything about it".

It was predicted for Finwe to have more children with his second wife, otherwise why would he have remarried? Miriel kept telling herself.

She was frozen in place, trying to remember what she could of her life with Finwe, and racking her mind to remember the whispers of her little Feanaro when he visited her during her time in Lorien, what will happen to her baby, will he think he has been replaced like his mother?

Images of Finwe holding his first? second and third children swarm her mind and Indis in the back smiling at her family her family? It was supposed to be Finwe and Miriel and their children, not Indis.

"I swore you would get your revenge and I keep my promises, dear Miriel" she felt Melkor's breath tickle her ear, when did he get so close to her. "All what Finwe gave you and much more I will give, I will fulfill all your wishes"

Melkor approached her countless times after his release, but she kept herself aloof for she had little hope that she would return to Finwe. And him to her.

But now Melkor's hands slowly travel from her delicate fingers to her arms and up to her shoulders, callous fingers leave a burning trail after they pass.

Reaching her face, his thumbs brushing over her slim cheekbones, her soft lips parted slightly as he held her gaze. He tilted her head back slightly, exposing her delicate throat. With one of his hands, he traced the neckline of her dress, feeling the soft fabric under his touch.

He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches away from hers, their breaths mingled, hot and heavy. He could feel her pulse quickening under his touch, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink.

She finally gave into temptation and pressed her lips against his in a tender kiss, something she hadn’t shared in many long years.

"who am I to deny you?" She moaned softly as shiver ran down her spine, she didn't know if it was because of his black tongue asking to enter her mouth or because of his cold fingers that would leave a mark on her skin despite her clothes.

As they break apart, Melkor looks at Miriel, her pale face flushed, her chest rises and falls with every breath she takes. Before she could utter a word Melkor leaned his head towards her neck and planted a kiss, his cold breath making her shiver as he made his way to her ear and cheek.

Miriel bit her lip to keep her moans inside, she could feel her nails digging into Melkor's hand that roamed around her thigh.

Melkor's other hand moved down from her back to her rear and pushed gently, she arched into him pressing her body flush against his, feeling her soft curves mold perfectly against him made him groans softly.

Miriel nails digging gently into his shoulders as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms, carrying her to sit on the railing.

Before they could go anywhere farther someone cleared their throat behind. Melkor smirked and rolled his eyes, looking over his shoulder to Mairon who had her hands on her hips and tapping her foot on the floor.

"you're needed somewhere else, my lord" In a voice full of contempt, Mairon informed her master, her eyes gave Miriel a disgusted look and turned back to Melkor.

Laughing, Melkor shook his head and helped Miriel down, waiting until she disappeared from their sight. "You will never stop annoying me, will you, dear?" He walked haughtily towards Mairon, his silly smile splitting his face.

“The only annoying thing in here is that elf, my lord" circling her arms around Melkor's, Mairon guided them both towards the great hall. “How can you trust her is beyond my understanding”.

Melkor's mouth twitches upwards into a grim smile “all have their uses my lovely Úlëaruinë. Now why do you show me where I am really needed”

Tags: @batsyforyou @a-world-of-whimsy-5

[cilil]

Hi! I’m new to your blog and I don’t know if your requests are open ( if not I’m sorry just disregard this🫠) but if they are can you write something NSFW with Námo and a fem reader? Like maybe he sees her talking to someone in Mandos (like Feanor or someone) and gets jealous and then decides to remind her that she’s his? The spicier the better 🔥🔥🔥

Author's Note: I haven't officially opened requests for stuff outside of small events and challenges, but I was planning to do that sometime so why not~🖤

A Reminder

Characters: Námo/femMaia!reader Synopsis: Námo sees his favourite Maia spending a little too much time with a certain Noldo and decides to remind her that she belongs to him Featuring: Smut, BDSM, spanking, creampie Warnings: Explicit

"Come."

His command echoes within your mind, the force of his voice drowning out all others, and you find yourself losing focus on your current conversation. 

"My lord-?"

"Now."

You tremble slightly, causing the elven fëa in front of you to draw closer, thoughts of concern on his mind. Perceptive as ever, Fëanor has already noticed your moment of distraction and immediately asks, "Is something the matter?"

You compose yourself as quickly as you can and reach out with your fëa to send a few calming thoughts, not wishing to worry him. Given how gloomy and quiet the Halls of Mandos could be, conversing with the rebellious Noldo has become one of the more delightful activities for you – and one your fellow Maiar gladly leave to you, finding themselves exasperated by his temperament.

"I am afraid I must cut our conversation short," you respond and bow your head respectfully. "Lord Námo summons me."

"A pity." Fëanor regards you with a certain warmth, an unusual sight. It hasn't escaped his notice either that not many of both your and his own kind are willing to be in his company, and though apprehensive at first, your feelings of appreciation seem to be reciprocated. The thought makes you smile. 

"I will return in time," you promise, then hurry to appear before your lord. The sharpness in his tone earlier leads you to believe that he isn't in the mood to wait for you. 

Námo is sitting on his throne with an air of otherworldly elegance, one elbow placed on the armrest as he appears to be pondering some kind of issue. His eyes meet yours as soon as he senses your presence, and you feel heat and cold alike course through you like electricity. 

Something has displeased him. 

"There you are, my little raven." 

Námo's voice betrays nothing, yet he continues to regard you with thinly veiled discontent. 

"My lord," you greet him and bow deeply. "How may I assist you?" 

It feels strange to be so formal, you notice, after spending nights of passion in your lord's bed. Nevertheless, you know he prefers to court in private, and expects you to be on your best behaviour as a Maia of Mandos. 

Námo seems like he hasn't paid attention to your question, but doesn't keep you waiting for too long. "I appreciate your hard work and dedication, yet I must admit that I find myself displeased when I see you spending so much time with a certain Noldo." 

Your eyes widen. Until now, you weren't aware that he's been keeping an eye on you, let alone that he doesn't approve of your encounters with Fëanor. 

"He seemed like he was in need of company," you attempt to defend yourself, but Námo raises his hand, signalling you to be silent. 

"Your patience and kindness is commendable. My sister would certainly be proud," he says, yet in spite of praising you, his gaze betrays his displeasure. "And even so, you must remember that you belong to me first and foremost." 

Your fána heats up as his eyes roam your form, desire causing them to darken, and your heart flutters in your chest. You want to tell him that you do belong to him and no one else, but something tells you that Námo won't be satisfied with mere words. Not when he looks at you like this, not when he speaks to you with such possessiveness in his voice. He will seek to claim you once again, and the realisation sparks desire within you as well. 

You want to be his. 

"Perhaps a reminder is in order," Námo suggests, though you both know his words are more akin to an order, and beckons you closer with a small wave of his hand. 

You nod, flushing red under your hood and approach his throne with shaky steps. Will he take you right here, you wonder, to show everyone to whom you belong? It seems like it when he pulls you onto his lap and starts kissing you roughly, capturing your lips with his while his hands take hold of your smaller fána. 

"P-please, my lord... not here–"

Námo lets out a quiet chuckle. "You don't want me to spread your lovely legs and take you in front of my court? I feel like you would enjoy it..." 

His hand reaches underneath your hood to seize a fistful of your hair, tugging lightly to expose your neck for better access. 

"But you have a point. The sight of your true beauty is mine alone to behold, and I don't want others desiring what belongs to me." 

"Námo-!" 

You barely manage to call out his name before the world around you suddenly shifts and blurs. He's bringing you somewhere else, but you don't know where until your back hits something soft and you look up at Námo looming over you with a stern expression. A quick glance around reveals that you're lying on his bed, his left hand resting on your chest to hold you in place in case you choose to defy his silent command. You let all tension leave your muscles as proof of your obedience and look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to decide what should be done to remind you of your place. 

"Are you ready to be disciplined, little raven?" Námo asks. His voice is gentle and his mien relaxes as he utters those words, despite the lust and hunger shining in his eyes; even though he enjoys to be strict and dominant and his jealousy was very much genuine, he would never punish or claim you against your will. He knows he has acted on instinct and will not rob you of your chance to say no. 

"I am ready, my lord," you whisper and bite your lip, shifting on the bed as heat begins to pool inside you. "I think I very much am in need of discipline."

Námo accepts your words with a pleased nod. "A confession is the first step, but I am afraid you will still have to submit to punishment so you will remember not to stray too far from my side again."

You lower your gaze in a display of penitence. "Of course, my lord."

Both of you are more than aware that neither of you regrets this, yet you love to commit to playing your roles accordingly. Námo doesn't take off your robes, letting his hand trail down your body instead. Slowly and methodically, he pulls up your skirt to expose your lower body and removes your panties. You squirm in anticipation and watch as his long fingers wrap around your ankles and lift your legs with just one hand, pushing them closer to your chest to expose your backside. 

The first slap comes without warning, and you let out a soft gasp, realising that your lord intends to spank you. 

"Whom do you serve?" Námo asks, accentuating his question with another well-aimed slap to your other thigh. 

"Y-you, my lord–" 

Slap. 

"Articulate yourself properly." 

"I-I serve you, my lord..." 

A small smile, a curt nod. Nevertheless, he continues to spank you in-between questions. 

"And to whom do you belong?" 

"You – ah – I'm yours, my lord!" 

"Indeed." 

More slaps. Your ass and thighs start feeling warm. 

"Do you think I like to share what is mine?" 

"N-no, my lord..." 

"Very good, little raven. So where should you be?" 

"I should be... a-at your side... always–" 

Námo rewards you with one final slap, then rubs your reddened skin soothingly. Despite the pain – or perhaps because of it – you feel yourself getting wet. 

"Then you should know better than to spend all your time talking to rebellious fëar," he admonishes, "and if you keep disobeying me, I will have to use other means than just my hands next time." 

The prospect is tempting. You wonder if you should disobey him on purpose, just to see what punishment he will devise for you, but your thoughts are interrupted when Námo releases your ankles to spread your legs. He pushes two fingers inside you, letting out a content hum as he feels your wetness dripping onto his hand all too eagerly. 

"Good girl... so ready for me..." 

You can't wait to have him inside you. Thankfully Námo doesn't keep you waiting - you hear the rustling of fabric as he parts his robes just enough to free his erection and feel him entering you without further delay. He pushes slowly but steadily, savouring the feeling of your tight walls parting for him, and you claw at the sheets underneath you. 

"Ah– Námo-!" 

"Do you like this?" he whispers, leaning in to brush his lips against yours while he speaks.  "Do you enjoy being claimed, my lovely little raven?" 

"Y-yes-!" 

Námo allows you a few precious seconds of adjusting to his size before he starts moving. It's not gentle lovemaking this time, no – he fucks you with hard, almost frenzied thrusts, strict and merciless like when he passes judgement, making sure to penetrate you as deeply as he can. While your moans and cries of bliss fill the room, your lord is a silent lover, listening to the beautiful noises you make instead. 

He seizes your legs once again and pushes them up to your chest to go deeper still, pleased as your smaller fána arches helplessly underneath him and the song of your pleasure increases in volume yet again. 

"So good for me, such a good girl..." Námo groans, pupils dilating in pure lust and hunger until his eyes are dark like a starless night. "I will fill you with my essence so you won't forget to whom you belong... so they will all know you are mine..." 

You can only nod in agreement, and he fulfils his promise shortly after, releasing deep inside you. It seems to you as if he couldn't wait to fill you up, couldn't wait to lay claim to you in the most intimate way possible, and you take all he gives you.

Námo stays inside you for a while, making sure not a single droplet of his essence is wasted, and starts humming a soothing tune. You know this is yet another way for him to mark you, leaving an echo of his song on your fëa like an invisible imprint, ensuring that neither Ainur nor the fëar of Mandos will dare to come too close to you; and this, too, you accept gladly. 

"All mine," Námo whispers and kisses your lips. 

"All yours," you mumble obediently, eyes falling close as a sensation of comfortable weariness slowly overcomes you. 

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

taglist: @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @asianbutnotjapanese @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-defense-attorney @singleteapot @wandererindreams

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[streets-in-paradise]

Tinuviel - Eddie Munson x (Fem)Henderson!Reader

Word Count 1.4 K

Warnings: Tolkien References, specially regarding The Silmarillion. 

Summary: Your Tolkien nerd discussion with Eddie leads him to discover a new weakness of yours and he can’t stop testing it. 

Notes: If you have been arround my blog for a while you will notice that this is self indulgent, but I am doing it anyways. 

Glossary (simplified): Ainulindale and Valaquenta: the first and second books of The Silmarillion

 Silmarils: The most precious jewels that ever existed in Tolkien lore. Created by Feanor, one of the princes of the Noldor elves. Morgoth ( who Sauron used to serve before being a powerfull evil lord himself) stole them and that unleashed the war that is central for the argument on most of The Silmarillion. 

 Mellon: elvish word for friend. 

Tags: @losersclubisms​ @dark-angel-is-back​​

It wouldn't be the first time you would end up confessing an embarrassing secret to Eddie. He was the keeper of some of your greatest sins in and out of your nerd experience. Details about yourself that no one else in Hellfire would get to know were easier to tell when you were all alone with him.  

He was always more curious that judgemental, even when things wouldn't make sense to him at first hearing. 

" Let me understand this: you have read The Iliad as a kid, but you got lost in your first reading of The Silmarillion ?" 

He didn't mean to offend you, but you felt ashamed. 

" Are you disappointed? Am I going to lose my fantasy nerd club membership card?" 

Just the mention of that was plausible to him. 

" Of course not... How would I ever let you go?" Was his teasing reply. " Homer is only one of Tolkien's sources, but the Catalogue of Ships is a nightmare! The Silmarillion has richer catalogues with interesting descriptions of the people, their land, bits of their culture and their leaders. The second book of The Iliad is just a bunch of names and numbers being thrown at you. I would take ' Of Beleriand and its Kingdoms' over Book 2 anytime." 

" That's exactly the point, it's way more complex!" You defended yourself. " The Silmarillion has the history, cosmogony, religion and philosophy of a completely fictional world all in one while being a chronicle of the entire First and Second ages. The Iliad doesn't even cover the full ten years of war and you can support your reading with history books on mycenaean greece. My first reading of The Silmarillion was four years ago and I had to come back later for a deeper understanding... I guess I am not that smart." 

The worshiping instincts that his secret crush on you had created kicked in, triggered by your ramble followed by self bashing. He could have continued the normal flow of the conversation, but chose not to because he would never help himself when it came to you. 

" You are brilliant, the most brilliant girl I know. I love to hear you talk, you could read to me the Catalogue of Ships and I wouldn't get bored." 

You giggled and to him that was mission accomplished. 

" Well, i bet The Silmarillion is even more epic and beautiful in your voice..." 

"... What is saying a lot, my lady. " He sweetly added, thanking your compliment humbly. " I accept it only because I like flattery and it has an extra taste when it comes from you. Anything sounds sweeter; every praise more magnificent and every victory greater when it is told from your lips, Tinuviel. " 

Eddie had you used to all sorts of lovely compliments, but nothing he had said before affected you in the same way. He was surprised at how helplessly weak for it you seemed to be, wondering what hitted you so deep to end up like that. 

Only after you stopped hiding your face with your hands and your eyes were back on him he got a glimpse of explanation.

" Don't use that name in vain, it's too powerful. " 

The lovely nickname that the mortal heroe Beren gave to elven princess Luthien, the most beautiful of all tales. Their sad love story was the most legendary, serving as inspiration for Aragorn and Arwen in the Lord of the Rings books. 

How could you have done anything but melting with love? 

" It fits you perfectly. " He insisted, refusing to let it go because he knew you loved it. " To the rest of the world you may be a simple mortal lass, human for most. Populars may have confused you for a hobbit because of the taste and skill for hiding you kept for years, but they were all deceived. You are Tinuviel, more precious to me than the Silmarils of Feanor. " 

It was the most beautiful thing he had said of you, so romantic that you almost thought you were just dreaming it. 

" Eddie, don't play with me." You complained, a real clamor from your heart that you tried to hush afterwards. " I wouldn't have been an elven lady, not even in the Third Age. Besides, Dustin has already helped me pick a Tolkien character as kids: I have always been the White Lady of Rohan. " 

" Can't you be both? Just for me? " He sweetly asked, totally convincing you with his puppy eyes. " It can stay between us." 

" It MUST stay between us. " You corrected, just the idea of being called like that in public was getting you even more flustered. " I don't want the guys to make fun of us because you are the only one who can possibly think of using that word on me. It's a sacred nickname: something you say to a top level beautifull girl or someone you love. They will think it is a joke and I wouldn't blame them. " 

Despite being aware you would understand his sayings, Eddie was just realizing he practically dropped a love confession clothed in Tolkien metaphors. Perhaps it happened because most people wouldn't have catched the full meaning with such precision and he previously thought you were going to associate it only with praise on beauty. 

" You are the prettiest girl who speaks to them on a regular basis. Trust me, mellon. If I wouldn't be a firm leader our table at the cafeteria would have become the trojan war."

You chuckled with amused skepticism and he cursed himself for not admitting that both of your assumptions were right. 

“ Helen of Troy? That is way too much, Munson. What is wrong with you? Are you practicing pick up lines to tell Chrissy Cunningham in literature class? Remember you will need someone to distract the king in order to steal the queen.” 

Eddie didn't act called out in the slightest, but he did return the callout. 

" If someone here shall be Paris, it has to be Harrington. That pretty boy who says he is your friend seems to love stealing you from us." 

" ... and you love to confuse him with things you know he doesn't understand. Don't add this one to the list, alright?" 

 If he had to be honest, he would admit he was dying for doing the exact opposite and force him to watch your adorable reaction. 

However, he was then too focused in practicing his new trick. 

" If you ban the nickname in his presence I still have the elvish name. I can call you Luthien, although I prefer Tinuviel because I feel it hits differently, don't you think?" 

Your face was speaking for you, his teasing was just self reaffirmation. 

" It has more love, makes me feel loved somehow. " You forced an answer out of yourself. " I'm sure that hearing you read the book must be incredible because when you say that it sounds so good ... Would you read it to me someday? Even If it is just a few pages of Ainulindale or Valaquenta, I would love that. " 

Seeking to actively romance you in the finest way he had, he accepted your request and made it bigger. 

" Tell you what? That sounds fantastic, but we can still make it better. What if we cuddle in bed and I read you some of 'Of Beren and Luthien' ? " 

The surprise in your eyes was priceless, happiness filling you despite how unsure you were about your chances of survival to such a tender moment. 

" That would be so wonderful! Would you really do that for me, Eds?" 

It was his moment to make it even sweeter and he wasn't going to waste it. 

" Anything for you, my Tinuviel. "

[tar-maitime]

talking to the air

Rating: T Characters: Maedhros | Maitimo Relationships: Maedhros/Fingon, fem!Maedhros/Fingon, Maedhros & Sons of Feanor, Maedhros & Maglor & Elrond & Elros (mentioned) Additional: post-Nirnaeth, 2nd & 3rd kinslayings, War of Wrath, grief and mourning, background kidnap fam and gil-galad russingonion for flavor WC: 1.5k

Four times Maedhros talked to Fingon when he wasn't there...

“Why did you do it, you mad, mad fool?”

Maedhros half-shouts it through gritted teeth, pacing back and forth in her room in Amon Ereb. Her brothers can probably hear her ranting, but they know to leave it alone. They’re not who she’s talking to, anyway.

If she keeps the bed out of her line of sight, she can almost trick herself into believing that he’s sitting there actually listening. He’s not, he’s gone, gone, gone, and the gaping dark place in the back of her mind proves it, but she can pretend.

“Why were you on the front line to begin with? Have we not lost enough kings that way? Why couldn’t you have commanded from somewhere safer? Why couldn’t you have run, at least tried to run, when we knew we couldn’t win? Why did you have to be the hero?”

She knows why, of course, even without him here to tell her. Fingon was good and noble and would never ask his people to spend their lives without his being right alongside them. It is horrible and selfish of Maedhros to wish otherwise, to wish he had let just a few people lay down their lives for his instead of...

“You left me,” she spits out bitterly. “You left me, Finno. How could you do that? How could you expect me to forgive that?”

She sobs, and her knees go out from under her. “How can you forgive me for leaving you first, for retreating? I’m sorry, Finnonya, I’m so sorry.”

- - -

“I miss you.”

She says it almost casually, looking out from Amon Ereb’s battlements in the early morning. “It still hurts, every day - so badly some days, Finno - but I’m learning to live with it.”

It’s barely dawn; no one else is around. Maedhros has made sure to do this absolutely alone ever since the time, a few months ago, when Maglor had caught her at it and ventured to ask if Fingon was haunting her as a houseless spirit, tethered to her somehow. She’s snarled at him, spat that she could never be that selfish, that Fingon’s spirit was safe in Mandos and if he couldn’t have lived, then that was best.

There’s no one actually here that she’s talking to; she is sane enough still to know that. But it brings her comfort even so.

“It doesn’t feel like I should be able to. It doesn’t feel like we should still be living at all, sometimes, when so much is lost. But if we just stop, then Morgoth wins again, and I don’t know that I’m capable of that.”

She looks out over the mist that’s slowly parting to reveal the shape of the land, and leans on the parapet. She pretends, just for a moment, that she can feel the warmth of a familiar body leaning next to her, on her left where her vision’s never been quite right since Angband. 

“I think we’re settling in here, as much as we can settle in anywhere,” she comments. “It’s strange, to have a home that I’ve never gotten to show you. Everywhere else I’ve lived, you got to visit. I almost wish we’d come down here sometime, before the Bragollach, just so that I could have known you saw it with me.”

She pauses. “And no, watching the tapestries in the Halls doesn’t count. If you are.”

On her more self-loathing days, she thinks he couldn’t possibly want to waste more time being bothered about her. On her more cynical days, she thinks the Valar would never allow him the kindness of remaining informed about events on this side of the Sea. But this morning is neither, and she indulges in the pleasant thought that Fingon might know she’s talking to him, even though he isn’t here.

She spends a handful of minutes telling him the news of Amon Ereb, and the small doings of her brothers, before she has to begin her day in truth.

- - -

“I can’t do this. I can’t - I can’t do this.”

Maedhros sits on the edge of her bed, hunched over. She drags her fingers through her hair - still shorn close, all these years later - and tries to control her breathing. 

“I don’t know what to do, Finno, I - the Girdle’s gone, and Lúthien’s dead, and Tyelko and Curvo won’t listen to me anymore. They’re going to Doriath with or without me - they’re going to get themselves killed. And the Oath - ai, it claws at me for even thinking of trying to prevent them.”

She’s held the Oath back for years already - truly impossible circumstances will lull it to sleep for a time, and she’s been very good at convincing herself and her brothers that Melian and Lúthien constitute impossible circumstances just as much as Morgoth currently does. Before, long before, Fingon had kept it almost unnoticeable at times, her older vow easing the bonds of her later one.

But he’s gone, and there is no starlight in her mind, only the Oath and the waiting darkness and the raised voices of her brothers screaming at each other.

“I wish you were here,” she says desperately. “I wish you would come and help me with this. Somehow. Any way at all. Just by being here, even.”

She lets her hand drop, grips the stump of her wrist until her nails dig in.

“Or maybe,” she adds more quietly, “maybe it’s best. Maybe I would just drag you along with us.”

- - -

Sirion is burning around her. The soldier dead at her feet is wearing Fingon’s colors and sigil.

An escape from the Nirnaeth, some corner of her mind notes with detachment. Perhaps he went with Turgon’s retreating forces to Gondolin, and then here when that city fell. Only to be felled, after all that, by his former king’s disgraced kinslaying wife.

A dark, bitter chuckle seeps out of her. “Do you see?” she rasps. “Do you see what I have become?”

There is no answer, of course. Maedhros doesn’t even try to pretend that he’s there with her. 

He would not deign to give her even a scrap of his attention now. Not that she deserves it.

- - -

They’re camped somewhere in the middle of the wilderness, picking their way back to where Amon Ereb is hopefully still standing. Maedhros looks over at where Maglor is stretched out asleep, his arm over the tiny peredhil twins that are curled up against him. Against all sense or wisdom, he’s been stubbornly attached to them ever since he stumbled on them in the ruins of Sirion, and (displaying even less good judgment) the twins seem to have decided to overlook his sacking of their home in favor of latching onto him as the one safe thing in a world gone mad.

It can only end in tears, but Maedhros has had even less luck than usual persuading Maglor of that.

She tilts her head back, looking at the sky.

“What do I do now, Finno?”

The only starlight that answers is that which she can see above her.

- - -

...and one time when he was there.

The battlefield is chaotic and nightmarish, and Maedhros feels right at home.

Finally, finally, she has a chance to do something unequivocally right, to extinguish Morgoth’s creatures in as great quantities as her strength will allow. Perhaps she may even be permitted an honorable death in battle, one of these days, but until that occurs, she is going to be as much help as she can.

They have an unspoken agreement, her and Gil-galad and Finarfin. She will keep her forces well away from those of her once-adoptive-son and her uncle, and help the war effort however she can, and they in return will let her alone to do so rather than pursuing the issue of the kinslayings.

Someday, she might let them do so. Maglor has talked of it. But first, they must lay hands on the two Silmarils still in play, and raise the not-quite-grown twins (and keep them firmly off the actual battlefield), and also do something about the great number of orcs and other monsters that never seem to stop coming.

There is a gap, for a moment, a breathing space. Some of Finarfin’s forces are fighting nearby, though per usual they have not made contact. Maedhros glances their way as she moves towards the next wave of the enemy, and--

--stops. Catches the briefest impression of something, someone familiar. 

Finarfin’s fighters wear cloaks the color of elanor, and Gil-galad’s wear a blue that’s almost gray. But the warrior at the head of the pack is cloaked in deep, deep blue, and she swears she sees dark braids woven with gold escaping from under his helm.

He twists, and dark eyes meet hers.

“Finno?” Maedhros says, barely aloud, half without knowing it.

She doesn’t even register the orc chieftain coming up behind her.

[batsyforyou]

WIP Snippets

Thank you for the tag @a-world-of-whimsy-5 ! All that I'm currently working on is for the Valentine's Day event and I'm not finished with em yet and I don't really want to spoil em because I'm working really hard on em. So, instead here is a brief list that doesn't include all my Tolkien stuff because that has more detail and 48 prompts that are filled out. These are all basic ideas for possible headcanons and stories and the stuff I have listed on my masterlist are stuff that I'm also working on. For some of them I kinda want to work together with someone who knows the characters better than me. Especially, for Feanor and the elves going to therapy.

Life as Ghosts dog 

Life as Ghosts cat

Life as Ghosts neighbor 

Life as Ghosts roommate 

Life as Ghosts taxi/Uber driver 

Life as Ghosts maid/housekeeper 

Life as Ghosts friend 

Life as Ghosts gardener 

Life as Ghosts ghost 

Life as Ghosts bodyguard

Life as Ghosts girlfriend 

Life as Ghosts teammate 

Life as Ghosts sister

Life as Ghost Body Switching 

Life as Ghosts favorite waitress 

Life as Ghosts therapist 

Simon Riley as a Cat part 2

Camping with Simon Ghost Riley military and civilian headcanons

Life as Keegan’s dog 

Life as Keegan’s cat

How you met Keegan 

How you met Roach 

How you met Ghost 

How you met Soap 

How you met König 

Cuddles with Roach would be like . . . 

Combing and caring for Roach’s hair would include . . . 

Working as an radio/phone operator at the 141 base would include . . .

Braiding a cute braid into Ghost’s short hair that he lets grow you would be like . . .

Kissing Roach Spontaneously would be like . . .

Life as Roach’s dog

Piggyback rides with König would be like . . . With Fidget

Piggyback rides with Ghost would be like . . . 

Desk work with Fidget would include . . . reader + Ghost 

The fem reader gets stuck in a time loop from three days before Roach dies. She tried to prevent it from happening but can’t and in her final loop she decides to let him go, even though it kills her. So she goes to find him and tells him everything she feels first asking him how he wanted to be buried when he died and tells him that she loved him. And he tells her the same but two days later she is listening to the familiar calls over the radio and knows that he is gone. And she cries. Accepting it. He’s gone. (character ai has the dialogue.) 

Medieval Knight Ghost 

Fantasy world Knight Ghost 

Wizard reader and Knight Ghost on adventure 

How you met the Knights of 141

Princess reader x Knight Personal Guard Ghost

Getting saved by Knight Ghost on the road from thieves as a commoner 

Camping in the woods with Knight Ghost

Knight Ghost pledging to protect you the commoner 

Life as Knight Ghosts horse

Life as Knight Ghosts sword

The Knight Who Became King (Ghost)

Knight Ghost and Queen Reader

141 as royal guardsmen 

Ghost with Painter reader 

How Roach Keegan Ghost and Konig would react to you waiting for them at base with your baby. 

Keegan bus stop, down the block from your house. He also has a baby girl

Roach on base after his plane lands on the tarmac he has a baby boy

Ghost either base entrance or waiting for him at the park where y’all meet up because he felt uncomfortable with exposing you and any to base. He has a baby girl

König one base in the visitors office. He has a baby girl 

Soap doesn’t care he proudly introduces you and his baby boy to the team after spotting you in the lounge 

Comforting Roach once he returns from deployment would be like . . .

Roach comes back from deployment and you greet him at home hugs at the front door. (Might have written this already)  

"Breathe... breathe. Look at the stars, kid.” For Keegan.

Keegan sighed, “It's been a long day, kid.” Breathing in the ocean air he sided and looked down at your dogtags, tightly wound around his hand. “I’m going to miss you, doll.”

Breakfast with the scooby gang would be like . . .

Camping with John Sheppard would be like . . .

Tech Lab with McKay would be like . . .

Working in the cafeteria Would be like . . . (Stargate atlantis and SG-1)  

Daphne headcanons with Gamer boy + situations would be like . . . Daphne’s favorite thing would probably be sitting in his lap while he plays 

How you met Daphne as a gamer boy 

How you met Shaggy as a dog groomer . . .

Befriending Daphne would be like . . . Crime detective shows with gamer boy 

Daphne asking Gamer boy to help her make Fred jealous would be like . . . 

Scooby-Doo reacting to Atlantis would be like . . .

Befriends Ronon be like . . . McKay wondering if you have any self preservation instincts 

Flight Lessons with John Sheppard normal + fear of heights (life and situation) would be like . . .

Mediating with Telya would be like . . .

Visiting the Athosian encampment with Telya would be like. . .

Painting with Lorne would be like . . . .

Body painting with Lorne would include . . .

Bonding with Sheppard over clowns, the reader is also afraid of clowns, would be like . . .

Giving popcorn to Telya as a gift would include . . .

Helping Carson in the Med lab would be like . . . you have no idea what you are doing but you find it very interesting 

Lecure from Elizabeth would be like . . . misery  

Training with Ronon would be like infirmary . . .

Sympathy lessons with Evan and Ronon would be like . . .

Gym Time with Evan Lorne would be  . . .

Movie night with Lorne would be like . . .

A Goa'uld on Atlantis, an OC, would be like . . . . 

Allies with a Goa’uld would be like . . . 

Tok’ra on Atlantis would be like . . .

Movie night with Sheppard would be like . . .

Getting freaked out at night on Atlantis would be like . . . (hallways season 1)

Being on a mission with Sheppard’s team would be like . . . 

Being friends with Ford would be like . . .

Being friends with Radek would be like . . .

Being friends with Richard Woolsey would be like . . .

Being friends with Sargent Bates would be like . . .

Walter teaching you how to survive the SGC would be like . . .

Siler gossiping with you would be like . . .

Arts and crafts with Sheppard and Lorne would be like . . .

DIYs with McKay (room fixing) would be . . .

Meeting Todd would be like . . .

Being friends with Carson Becket would be like . . . His turtles and fishing 

Being friends with Codwell would including . . . getting personal favors when you need it and being assigned to the Deadalus 

Being friends with Malek would include . . . 

Asking Malek on a date would be like . . . 

Being in a relationship with Male would include . . . spicy passion 

Being assigned to the Tok’ra base as a representative for Earth would be like . . .

Dating Evan Lorne would be like . . .

Running from the wraith would be like . . .

Lunch with Glorfindel would include . . . 

Lunch with Elrond would include . . .

Being on a mission with Evan Lorne's team would be like . . .

Lessons with Bratac would be like . . .

Being stuck on Todd’s ship would be like . . . 

Being friends with Micahel would be like . . .

Being an intelligence alley to Atlantis would be like . . .

Being caught by Micheal would include . . . 

Working in the Science lab would be like . . .

Getting trapped in a closet with Sheppard would be like . . .

Being stuck in a hive ship by yourself would be like . . . trying to return to Atlantis 

Being friends with Telya would include . . . 

Working with the Wraith by yourself would include . . .

Rooming with Sheppard would be like . . .

Getting stuck in the transport by yourself would be like . . .

Lunch with O’Neill would be like . . .

Lunch with Daniel would be like . . .

Studying with Daniel would be like . . .

Rooming with Teal’c would be like . . . 

Rooming with Jonas would be like . . .

Living with Jonas on his home planet would be like . . .

Lunch with Carter would be like . . .

Working with Lantash and Martouf would be like . . .

Volunteering as a Tok’ra host would be like . . . “Oh heck no!” 

John Sheppard teaching you how to swim would be like . . . 

Future follow up to swimming with Sheppard would be cute date in pool 

How you met SGA and SG1 

Comforting Sheppard would be like . . . him sitting down facing away from you and you coming up behind him to hug him and kiss his cheek 

Spending the night with Evan Lorne would include . . . 

Having control room duty would include . . .

Having the night shift with control room duty would include . . . 

Having the night shift in the control room and having Sheppard visit you . . .

Having the night shift in the control room and working with McKay . . . 

Working the night shift in the control room and comforting Elizabeth's fears while Sheppard is overdue on a mission 

Sheppard’s favorite form of affection 

Roach’s favorite form of affection 

Keegan’s favorite form of affection 

Todd coming to terms with his admiration (crush) would be like . . .

Todd trying to learn human (Earth) culture through Dr. Keller would include . . . 

Todd trying to impress the reader would include . . . 

Sheppard noticing that Todd has a crush would include . . . Protective mood activation but he also doesn’t know its a crush just that a wraith has shown special interest in one of his people 

Beauty and the Beast Series starring John Sheppard, Todd the Wraith and fem reader 

Todd having a special interest in the scientist that Sheppard is dating and the two butting would be like . . . oh boy 

Drinking with John Sheppard would be like . . . most likely in the comfort of his own room on his day off. Would never get drunk drunk in case of an emergency but enough to take off the edge. 

Being McKay’s neighbor and caring for his cat would include . . .

John Shepppad and his lover who deals with bad self talk . . . 

Learning to be friends with Kavanagh would include . . . 

Helping Kavanagh adjust to social norms would include . . .

How the different members of Stargate Command and Atlantis find you in different states of undress 

General Roach headcanons 

Dynamic between Bjorn and Thomas. If I do another x reader I might make the Y/n of this story an oc so the Y/n of the new story can exist. And I was thinking about Fingon and Caranthir and maybe Maglor

Sheppard dealing with a depressed lover would include . . . 

Getting tattoos with your bf Evan Lorne would be like . . .

Nibbling and kissing Link’s ears would include . . . sitting on his lap 

Taking the elves to therapy would be like . . . 

Taking Feanor to therapy would be like . . . (Family therapy gone horribly wrong) 

Being obsessed with Simon's plush soft lips would include . . .

Erestor vs. Doctor Rondey McKay 

Mornings with König returning from deployment would include . . . 

I don't have time to tag anyone rn but if you want to share go for it!

[imfromthemiddlekingdom]

Okay I am going to completely re-write my maedhros/fingolfin fic. I realized the story would make more sense if it were a fem!maedhros au instead of a trans!maedhros au since I’ve made her craft fiber arts in that fic and it would make a perfect foil to Finwë/Míriel as Fingolfin was said to be most like his father in looks. I read a hc that fem!maedhros would’ve looked exactly like her grandmother but with red hair and I’m going to run with that concept. Imagine the angst that Finwë would feel seeing his first wife’s likeness marrying and having many children with his likeness. The angst that Feanor would feel seeing his eldest, the heir to the throne, marrying his half-brother, whom he was ambivalent towards (before melkor). The conflict he must feel towards supporting his only daughter in her marriage and his own conflicting feelings towards Indis’s children and how that might translate to his interactions with his grandchildren later on.

The og fic was real grimdark like warhammer 40k levels of grimdark and I don’t vibe with that anymore so I’m going to make a fix-it fic without all the kinslaying and betrayal but maybe keeping some elements of the start of the first age just so there’s angst in this fic. I don’t think I know how to write fluff fics anymore lmao. The last fluff fic I’ve written was 6 years ago and that still was angst with a happy ending. Maybe this re-write will turn into that too since I believe that without the first kinslaying the doom of the Noldor would not be proclaimed.

Thinking about how if Maitimo was born slightly before Nolofinwë and then went on to marry him and have kids, Feanor wouldn’t be so arson happy at Losgar. Maybe having grandchildren that shared blood with Indis may have made him less antagonistic towards them and made him more or less ignore them unless it was Nolofinwe who is the husband of his baby girl and must be glared at™️.

Thinking of maybe including some of my more “grimdark” plot lines into this new fic like maedhros still being held captive but it’s her son rescuing her instead of her cousin but make it more gut wrenching that her life was then traded for her youngest sons life or something. The og fic included the burning of the ships and Argons death when they set foot on Beleriland and she didn’t know that her baby died until she was recovered enough to ask for him only to find out that he died and breaking down from it like no torture from Angband ever managed to do. So many possibilities. I have so much time on my hands I’m going to write as much as possible just so I can read the fics I want to read lmao.

[kiatheinsomniac]

Hiii, thanks for opening requests! I'd love something NSFW with human!Reader x Feanor or Thranduil plus ❛ do not be afraid, little one. i will not hurt you. ❜ 

Thxxxx

notes: (I went for Fëanor bc this was my first request for him) ok so Fëanor meeting a human would be canonically impossible so here's my AU where Fëanor lives and Nerdanel has mysteriously passed away for convenience purposes AHAHA (I absolutely adore her though, don't get me wrong). I feel like he was quite OOC in this but I hope that the plot explains his behaviour was because he doesn't want to frighten off his only resource for understanding this 'strange race of mortals' lol. Perhaps I'm being too critical of myself and you all will enjoy this either way

pairing: Fëanor x Reader

word count: 5.8k

warnings: NSFW content, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, oral (fem receiving), size kink, hand kink (blink and you'll miss it), hair pulling

☾ ⋆ﾟ  MASTERLIST / RULES / TAGLIST FORM

Do not be afraid, little one. I will not hurt you

You had travelled outside the borders of Brethil for yet another hunt, wanting to escape from everyone and everything for a little while, to simply be outdoors. Your parents had been talking of arranging a marriage for you for years now but as of late they seemed to be taking it very seriously and had arranged meetings for you with two suitors, both of which you turned down. You didn’t want to marry, not anytime soon, anyway. You felt that it would restrict you to a home full of children that you would never be able to get a break from, that you would be torn from the freedom and peace that you found in the outdoors, from the success and productivity you felt when you returned home with good game. You didn’t want to say goodbye to that forever, not when you had so much time for it left. Marrying was not yet necessary. 

You knew that you were pushing the borders of Caranthir’s realm by now. You had seen the maps but knew little of their history: the more you stayed out, the less people knew you, the less suitors came knocking on the door. All you needed to know was how not to get lost, not who drew the borders. 

You had set up camp for the night, a small shelter of branches, your bedroll and a small campfire while your tools were laid out beside you. Making arrows had once been an activity that you did at home, but with your parents’ constant nagging to get married, you found that this too would be done outdoors, not wanting to spend long in the house at all. You were sanding down the shafts of a few new arrows to assure that they were straight, holding it up to your eye every now and then and using the light from the fire to determine whether or not you had got all the kinks out. You began measuring out where the feathers would need to be placed when a scent hit your nose. It smelled fresh, not earthy but floral and clean. Someone was out here with you and they were far too close for comfort. 

You knocked one of your finished arrows and leapt to your feet, peering around in the darkness. 

“Easy, I wish you no harm.” You spun around and found yourself having to raise your arm significantly just to aim at his head. He was tall. His hair was long and dark and he was beautiful, his pointed ears telling you that he was not of your kind. The look of distrust must have burned like wildfire on your face for this elf, who was very clearly much larger and stronger than you, to put his hands up in a gesture of peace. You lowered your bow. 

“I thought elves had lighter hair.” You spoke, wanting to try and provoke any ill behaviour now before he could have the chance to catch you off guard. 

“I am no Sinda.” He replied simply and you pursed your lips, thinking back to some of the soldiers of King Thingol that you had encountered on your hunts. 

“Then you must be the other sort of elf, the one which the Sindar do not like.” There was a look of both annoyance and amusement on his face. You wondered if he was trying to be patient with you. You hoped to wear any facade of his thin. 

“You would be right, many of the Sindar would see the Noldor gone from these lands.” 

“So I’ve heard.” You returned to sit on your bed roll, picking up your charcoal to continue marking out your arrows. 

“It is rare that I see hunting parties of mortals in my son’s lands.” Your eyes flickered back up to him at that. His son? But if his son was one of the Princes that ruled over a realm of Beleriand, wouldn’t that make him a King? A part of you now wished that you had studied the history of those maps. 

“We don’t usually go so far into these borders but have decided to extend our trip a little longer.” 

“And where is the rest of your party, might I ask?” You paused for a moment before slotting your arrow into the stand, picking up the clamped feathers and applying the adhesive. 

“Around.” You replied, pushing it towards the fire to allow it to set faster, “I’m not the most sociable person.” There was an edge to his voice that told him to go away, that you didn’t like how he was trying to figure out if you were alone out here. 

“I have little interest in tormenting you, mortal. In any other case, I would have begun the moment I saw you simply because I pleased.” 

“You could attack me at any moment, should it please you. How comforting.” You quipped and he frowned. 

“You are very distrustful.” He noted. 

“I am a mortal woman, it comes naturally. I distrust what could kill me and I distrust men – the two are often synonymous.” 

“So you prefer to seclude yourself?” 

“Oh, would you stop being so observant for five minutes while I try to figure you out?” You asked as you plucked up one of the arrows that had already been cut and feathered, beginning to taper off its end by curling a sharpener around it. 

“What have you figured out, little mortal?” He seemed smug now and it only made you shoot him a glare. 

“You’re a Noldor which means you come from the west, from what I’ve heard the Sindar elves say. You referred to this as your son’s lands and I am aware that it is Noldor Princes that rule over the realms which Beleriand has been cut up into, which would mean you must have some claim to the title of King. For a King to be talking to a lone hunter, you must either be worried that I’m actually some scout or you’re just a curious being and I should inform you that the former would be an incorrect assumption. I serve no one.” You gave a pause, “Except for my parents at dinner on the occasion that I’m home.” There. Now he knew that there would be people to look for you should you not return. 

“And why are you only home on occasion?” You frowned that he neither confirmed nor denied any of your observations and you set the arrow down in your lap, looking back up at him as he had now seated himself on the other side of the fire, legs stretched out as he rested on his side, propped up on an elbow. A very relaxed position, not an ideal one to attack from. 

“New arrangement: you answer one of my questions and I repay you by answering yours, deal?” His eyes twitched. 

“You mortals are very fond of bargains.”

“You elves are very good at alluding direct answers.” You threw back and he laughed lowly for a moment. 

“We have a deal.” 

“So, do you have a claim to the title of King?” You asked. 

“I do. But courtly matters are not my concern. I have other priorities.” You would ask about those later, “Why do you return home only on occasion?” 

“My parents want me to marry. I don’t fancy being cooped up in an overrun house like a bloody chicken.” You replied. You could see the question in his eyes already. “What are your other priorities?” 

“Someone has stolen three gems that I fashioned. They are mine, crafted from light before the sun or moon and I will see them returned to me.” A dark look shadowed his face and you had to both ponder that and the fact that gems could be made. You had only ever heard of them being found in the ground or in fresh landslides: you had found some pretty chunks of quartz that way. “Why does marriage not appeal to you?” 

“I am young and feel at peace in the outdoors. My life is short enough as it is and I will not waste it being trapped in a house. I’ll breach a hill or cliff face on my hikes and to see the green valley outstretched beneath me, forests in the distance, the mountains scraping against the sky. I come across blacksmiths or architects and I know that I would never have the opportunity to learn the beauty of such crafts if I were to be a housewife while my husband works… I know that I’ll never get to see and learn it all so it would be stupid to waste a single opportunity.” 

“You have an adventurous spirit.” 

“And I would need someone equally as adventurous for me to wish to marry him. That sort is few and far between where I come from and all as elusive as I.” You felt a weight on your chest as you thought over the inevitability of your fate. You would not abandon your family nor did you wish to abandon your freedom. You simply wanted more time but that was the one thing not provided to your race. “You said that you fashioned these gems.” You changed the subject as it began to grow heavy, “I was unaware that such a thing was possible, I was under the belief that they had to be found.” A large smile pulled at his lips and he sat up a little more as he began to explain the craft to you. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You had learned much from the Ňoldo elf that night, even earning an invite to his son’s residence on the shore of Lake Helevorn. Fëanor had held mortals with little regard beforehand. He had heard of Lady Haleth and her people from his fourth son but had been absent during the battle. You were a chance to understand the mortal world a little more, a world living right on the doorstep of some of his sons’ realms. 

Many months passed and you finally found yourself feeling at peace indoors. As you taught Fëanor of the human world, the two of you had begun making trips to the forges together and he had helped you to craft your own knife. You noticed how his question had turned from more general ones of your race to questions more specifically about you and you came to see from his interactions with those around him that he showed you a lot more patience than what seemed to be normal for him. You assumed it was because you were currently his only resource for all the inquiries he had to your race. 

Though, the atmosphere between you two had changed when you announced that you would be returning home at the end of the week. This was the longest you had stayed from home without a word to your parents and you knew that they would be worried sick by the time you returned. Tonight would be the final night that you slept in the guestroom of Caranthir’s that had been given to you. You planned to leave after breakfast the following morning. 

“You have been wonderful company and an equally wonderful student.” Fëanor spoke that evening in the forges as you watched him set what would be a sword to cool. 

“What? Even when I first laid eyes on you and tried to shoot you in the face?” You questioned with a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. He looked up at you with a glare and it only made you smile more at knowing he would allow you to tempt his patience like this. 

“You were wonderful company once you let me get past the trust issues.” He grinned and you scowled at him in return, though your eyes lingered over that smile of his, over his lips. 

You had been getting thoughts of this nature about him for a few weeks now but had thought better against acting upon them. You two came from very different words: he was much older than you, of a race that never fell to illness or age, a father and widow. You were more than sure that offering yourself to him in any carnal manner would only serve to offend him. You swallowed and tore your gaze away from those lips that looked so soft. 

“I hope to return here one day, should I be welcome to.” You spoke up before continuing to lighten the mood: “Even if I’m running away from a ceremony in a wedding dress.” 

“You will be welcome, no matter which is my sons’ realms I am in, Caranthir will open his doors to you, I know.” There was a pause, “Do you truly feel that your parents would lure you into a marriage without telling you?” 

“I’m almost without a doubt, especially after being away for so long without a word.” You shrugged, glancing into the flames of the forge and watching the fire lick at the air, dancing. A long sigh left your lungs. “It’s almost enough to make me not want to go back at all. But they’re my family and I love them. They want the best for me but cannot seem to see that we have very different ideas of what that is.” There was silence for a moment. “You are a father. What would you do in my parents’ shoes?” He took in a deep breath and stepped closer to the forge that he was leaning over with his hands, body rising up a little as he looked at you sitting on the nearby stool. 

“I have no daughters, as you know.” He began, “But, from what you’ve told me of how your people work, marriage is a chance for a woman to be provided for. I can understand why your parents want to see you have that stability, I would want it for my own daughter were I to have one. However, you strike me as an outlier, much like the woman who led your people to Brethil. You can provide for yourself and that, I would take as evidence that you can decide what is best for you.” You pursed your lips as you pondered over his words with a nod of your head. Perhaps you would just need to make a big display of the fact that you could provide for yourself to prove to your parents that they did not need to marry you off. 

Your eyes skimmed form the forge to the ellon’s hands as they curled around the edge of the stone workbench, watching the metal cool. He had beautiful hands, without a doubt. He had removed his rings while he was working but his hands looked powerful, lightly calloused from his profession but not in the same way you had seen of human blacksmiths. The tendons in the back of his palms were pronounced and veins snaked up his forearms. For a moment, you pictured how they would feel pressing against your skin. 

“Would you like to see?” One of those hands beckoned you closer and your head was momentarily snapped from the depths of the gutter that such a movement sent your mind to. You nodded your head, willing your blush away to no prevail, and approached the workbench. His hands glided through the air above the hot metal as he began to explain this phase of the crafting process to you. You were eager to listen to his voice, the passion as he explained his craft to you. He had a soothing voice: deep but not gravelly, like low chords in a harmony. So many things about you seemed to lure you in and you found it difficult to blame yourself, having yet to find an unattractive elf. 

You ended up listening to his voice more than his words and a new thought struck you: what if your parents couldn’t marry you off because you had already been taken by another? Sure, the idea of making a big show of how you could provide for yourself might work but this was bound to. You could think of none other that you would want to have as a first, surely he must be beyond skilled to have borne seven children, but then you drifted back to the belief that he may take offence should you offer yourself in such a way. Did you really plan to do such a thing or was this some strange way of making your fantasy seem more realistic? 

“Where’s your mind, little mortal?” He quizzed and your heart faltered at being caught not paying attention. 

“Weddings, unfortunately.” You skirted around the heart of the truth, “As much as I miss my family, I truly am dreading going back for that reason.” 

“And you have an idea for avoiding such a thing?” Hesitation. 

“No.” Another pause, too deliberate, “Only your earlier suggestion.” He leaned down over the bench that stood between the two of you, grey-blue eyes narrowing as the dark hair at his temples fell over his shoulders. He smiled minutely at what he found, whatever that may be, you were unsure unless he were a mind-reader. 

“You have an idea.” There was a smug tone to his voice, a knowing one. You prayed that it was only because he knew you were hiding something and not because he knew what you were hiding. 

“It’s… impractical.” You attempted to dismiss the subject with a wave of your hand. 

“It’s carnal.” He replied and your eyes burst open wide before your brows furrowed, how could he have possibly known?! “You’ve become easy to read – and there are some signs that your body will express without the need for words. He rounded the bench and you found him mere paces away, towering over you, “Your skin flushes…” His knuckled grazing against the back of your cheek, “Your eyes dilate…” His hand trailing down as his voice dropped to almost a whisper, “Your breathing quickens…” Fingers skimming over your collarbones with how you had loosened the ties on your blouse to withstand the heat of the forge. Your face felt as though it were on fire. 

You knew of sex but had no experience in it whatsoever; beyond women’s gossip and what you had seen of animals you knew very little so feeling a widowed ellon’s hands on your skin made you feel dull in comparison to what his skills must hold. 

Your breath came out in a nervous, shuddered sigh and you closed your eyes for a moment to try and ease your embarrassment at being caught thinking of him in such a way, knowing he would soon demand to know just what had possessed your mind. 

“If I have been… taken by another, it will make it very difficult, almost impossible, for my parents to find a willing suitor. It will only urge them to believe that I can provide for myself.” 

“And you wish to be taken by me?” Those fingers you had just been admiring were now absentmindedly tracing up and down the pulse of your neck. 

“There is none other I can think…” Words became lost to you as his thumb swiped across your lower lip and gently pulled down on it, noting how his eyes had become lidded. 

“May I touch you?” His voice grew quieter with the question. 

“Please.” Was all you could think of in response with a minute nod of your head. His hands were quick to land on the sides of your ribcage, tracing the curves of your body down to your hips and reaching even further down to hoist you up by your thighs, fingertips digging into the softness of your flesh there with a light groan. You let out a gasp and wrapped your arms around his neck for support, unable to resist caressing some of his soft, dark hair between your fingers. 

His nose brushed against yours as he set you down on a different workbench, lips grazing yours in an almost-not-there touch for a moment before his lips crashed to yours and you couldn’t help the small moan that fell from your throat as you tangled your fingers in his hair, feeling his hands run firmly from your thighs, over your waist and back down. His tongue swiped against your lips and you realised that you were trembling with excitement as he pulled your body even closer to the edge of the bench, pressing you flush against his chest. You found yourself parting your legs to make room for him and his hands wandered even further up to hold you just beneath your breasts. 

“Let me in…” He whispered against your mouth and, unsure, you parted your lips, almost whining when his tongue began to explore your mouth between kisses. His lips pressed to the corner of your mouth before travelling to your jaw, making your head fall back both to allow him more access and due to the pleasure of his thumbs swiping over your hardening nipples. Lips pressed flush to your skin, you felt him suck down on the supple flesh of your neck and your hands ran from his hair down his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt. 

With your hands now clutching the fabric in your fists, your mind wandered to what his body looked like under the clothing. You had seen from some of his fitted trousers that his thighs looked powerful, could tell from his shoulders and rolled up sleeves that his arms were strong. You could only imagine what his torso must look like, perhaps also marked with scars from the battles that he told you so little of – you had come to the assumption that they must have been against orcs or some dark creatures of their kind. 

“May I…?” You found it hard to voice the words as you simply tugged on the material. 

“May I remove yours in turn?” He murmured against your skin, tugging at your neckline to graze his teeth against your collarbone. You quickly nodded your head and he took a small step back, guiding your hands down to the hem of the shirt so that you could pull it over his head. You had been right in your imaginings of his body: he was muscular and covered in scars of varying sizes, you reached out to trace your fingers against the white lines before you felt his fingers against the skin of your belly and you raised your arms for him to remove your blouse. You fought the urge to cover your breasts shyly. 

His hands came up to cup the softness of your breasts, thumbs flicking over your hardened nipples and you, in turn, ran your hands over the hills of his abs, his skin rather soft other than any scar tissue that you skimmed over. He reached a hand behind you to help ease you to lay back, his palm pressing up slightly to guide your back into an arch, his other hand continuing to tease your breast. He leaned down over you and you suddenly felt the true size difference between you, his body caging you in. 

His dark hair fell around you like a curtain as he leaned down to give you a fiery kiss that seared your skin as he trailed down to your breast, making you tangle a hand in his long hair again as his lips wrapped around one of your hardened buds and sucked down. The noise that you let out made him press his hips to yours, making you push back against him at the sweet friction it provided, even with your clothes still in the way. 

His hand and mouth switched places before both hands went down to undo the ties on your trousers. While he was doing that, you reached down to tug at the bows on the laces of your boots before kicking them off as he tugged your clothing down your legs. You looked away bashfully, turning your head to the side and covering your face with your arm as he leaned up to look down at you, utterly bare before him. A groan of approval left his lips as his hands roved over the curves of your silhouette. He was yet to be sure of whether or not this applied to all mortal women but you were certainly more curvaceous than any lithe elleth he had seen and it was beyond enticing. 

He took your soft thighs in his hands and pushed them upwards, letting them rest over his shoulders and you drew your arm back to steal a glance at him. 

“What are you doing?” You asked quietly, looking down at him where he was kissing the inside of your knee. He gently shushed you in response. 

“Do not be afraid, little one. I will not hurt you.” Fëanor had a very authoritative voice, this much you had learned from the very first time you met him and it was consistent in his character. Now, however, he was so softly spoken, as though you were an injured bird in his hands, and it made your heart soar. You trusted him. 

“I trust you.” You murmured and his lips grazed a line along the inside of your thigh until you let out a shrill gasp when his tongue lapped along the length of your slit. Your hips and legs tensed in his hold as you jerked against his mouth, feeling those powerful hands reach up to hold you down against the stone bench. Your breaths came out in pants and whimpers as he lightly sucked on your clit and then trailed down to dip his tongue into your entrance, the wet sounds of it causing your face to flush with heat. His fingers caressed your thigh, feeling how tense your muscles were. 

“Relax…” He murmured against you, “I’ve got you.” You focused on steadying out your breathing even despite how your head felt as though it were swimming, releasing some of the tension from your limbs. “Good…” He drawled out and you let out a moan as you felt one of his fingers slowly sinking into your cunt. He curled his finger upward and rotated his wrist each time he withdrew it from you, trying to find that soft spot within you. When he did find it, your head fell back with a call of his name and he continued to rub over that spot each time he pumped his finger in and out of you, all while his tongue was lapping against your clit languidly. 

When he withdrew his finger, you whined at the loss, only to moan once more at the feeling of his wet tongue against your even wetter entrance. His hand returned by sinking two fingers into you. You bit on your lip to muffle an utterly depraved moan as he sucked down on your clit while his fingers sank all the way into you.

“Come for me…” He murmured against the bundle of nerves, “Don’t hold anything back, just let yourself feel good and come for me.” You could feel the vibration of his words against you and you quickly nodded your head in compliance as his fingers set up a quick pace, drawing slick sounds from your tightening cunt. 

You reached down to tangle a hand in his hair, the other hand gripping the wrist of the arm slung over your waist, as you felt an overwhelming pleasure pool in your abdomen. Your orgasm was ultimately triggered by Fëanor adding a third finger, sweetly stretching your walls as you came. He eased you through your orgasm before withdrawing, leaning up to look over your flushed skin and heaving breasts as you came down from your high. 

“We can stop now, if you’d like.” There was a certain smug look on his face that showed he knew exactly what your answer would be. You quickly shook your head. 

“No, I need this and I want you.” Your voice came out airy and you reached down to curl a hand against his hip, glancing down to see the outline of his hardened cock under his clothing. 

“Ah, but you don’t need me too?” You shook your head again, fingers gripping him even harder. 

“No! Yes! I need you!” You exclaimed and he grinned down at you, seeming to enjoy dangling the prospect of pleasure over your head like this. He opened his mouth to tease you just a little more but all that came out was a groan as you cupped his cock and stroked through his clothing, “Please.” He leaned down over you once more and captured your lips in a passionate kiss, making you moan at being made to taste yourself in this way. His other hand was preoccupied with unlacing his apron and trousers, dropping one to the floor while the other was pushed to his thighs. Your eyes flickered downwards in an attempt to see the size of him but his fingers under your chin tilted your head back. 

“Look at me.” His characteristic authority bled into the soft voice he was using with you and you found yourself wanting to do nothing else other than what he said as you felt a pressure against your entrance. “If it becomes too much to bear, you will tell me and I will stop. I do not want to hurt you, do you understand?” You nodded your head, “You have words, use them.” The way his hand rested over your throat and his thumb sweetly caressed your jaw as he said this made heat flood through you. 

“I’ll tell you if it becomes too much.” He let out a sigh, trusting your words as the tip of his cock breached your walls. You whimpered at the stretch, reaching up to tangle one hand in his hair as the other curled around the muscle of his bicep. You pulled him in for a messy kiss to distract you from what you could only hope would soon be pleasure enough to rival what he had previously given you. His hand skimmed over your belly and you gasped at the feeling of his thumb brushing against your clit, making you bury your face into his neck with a moan. “I know…” He murmured against your skin and it only made you bring your legs up to wrap around his waist as much as you could. When he slightly withdrew his hips, you pressed your towards him, chasing him almost and gasping softly when he pushed back into your heat. 

You had only taken in about half of him but you sought more if it would mean erasing the pain that came with the stretch of taking something so big. You continued to push your hips towards him, meeting him with each shallow thrust that became longer at first and then deeper, his thumb still languidly stroking your clit. 

“More, please…” You keened when the pleasure finally outweighed the pain and he set his palm down on the stone beside you, another hand sinking into the softness of your thigh to hold your leg against his body. 

This, by far, had to be the best of all the plans you had concocted to avoid being married off if it came with enough pleasure to send your eyes rolling back like this. You tried to bring him even closer with your legs, nails raking down his arms as his hips began to snap into you. He leaned down closer to you, his arm working under your legs to hook it over his shoulder, pushing it towards your chest as his lips came down to meet yours again, nose trailing across your cheek before taking your earlobe teasingly between his teeth. 

“So tight and taking me so well…” He groaned into your ear and you revelled in having him close enough to hear all his sounds of pleasure, turning you on to no end because you knew they were all because he was buried in your cunt. “Can you come for me again? Hm?” The tone of his voice made you feel so much smaller and inexperienced than him and yet it only served to turn you on more. You nodded your head as one of your hands tangled in the softness of his dark hair. 

One of his hands cupped your breast, teasing your nipple before trailing down lower to press his palm against your lower abdomen. The pressure made you call out his name in a moan as your body seemed to tense up and relax all at once, pleasurable shivers wracking your frame as the intensity of the sensation only built up and up and you were beyond impatient to see it all crash down. 

You could do little more but call out a series of pleas, laced with his name, as you were pushed ever closer to the edge. The pleading only seemed to make him up his ante so you did your best to not let it melt into a string of nonsensical babbles as your walls spasmed around his cock as he made you come a second time, continuing to fuck you through your orgasm to the point that he pressed two fingers into you vermouth, putting pressure down on your tongue, to quieten you – you might have been alone but you were still in the forges, after all. His breath came out in a choked moan and you whined at the loss of him inside you before feeling a trickling sensation on your abdomen, glancing down to see the last of his orgasm dripping from his cock, his white cum painting your skin. 

Perhaps if you didn’t feel so exhausted, you would have been more shocked at how you had possibly just taken something so large inside of you but you could do little more than let your head fall back to the stone with a satisfied hum. He cleaned you off with your discarded panties before tugging up his trousers and tying the apron back around his waist. He eased you up and tugged his shirt down over you before you laid back down. 

“That doesn’t look very comfortable.” He noted as you brought your legs up to curl up on your side. 

“I’m used to sleeping on the ground wherever I go. It doesn’t bother me.” You mumbled in reply. When you cracked your eye open a few minutes later – feeling that your body had finally come down, feeling cooler, your lungs and heart having slowed – you were met with the very welcome sight of a shirtless Fëanor working on that sword over the workbench. With the sweet ache between your legs, you wondered if you would even be able to ride out on your journey tomorrow morning. 

It certainly wouldn’t hurt to stay just one more day. 

🏷️@clumsycopy @edensrose 

☾ ⋆ﾟ Buy me a coffee?

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

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."

[doodle-pops]

Hey Mina

I love your content, istg it gives me will to live. You are so talented - I can’t even. Anyway back to the prompt.

How would the male elves react to a really good fem warrior? (Namely feanorian & gondolin)

I was thinking about it and was like hmm would they be disgusted or impressed because honestly I have no idea.

a/n: I don't see anyone being unimpressed when great skills and swordsmanship are being displayed. More amazed if anything. For this, I see Feanor being both impressed and prideful as well :)

They would stand under the shade, arms folded across their chest and a heavy look upon their faces. Deep in focus as they observed your fluidity and agility. They were spellbound at how lithe and graceful you were, dancing like a petal in the wind. Any moment again and they would have mistaken you as a dancer and not a warrior. The sheer skills and strategy you displayed within a short moment would provoke them to usher to your side and wish to learn from you. “You have caught my eyes with your remarkable skills, My Lady. Perhaps you would be kind to teach another warrior your ways?”

Feanor, Maedhros, MAGLOR, Amrod, Amras, Celebrimbor, GLORFINDEL, ROG, EGALMOTH, Galdor, Ecthelion, MAEGLIN

Their posture and expression were readable, they were impressed but too prideful to admit your skills. Knowing themselves to be great warriors having fought with more than just creatures and building their swordsmanship, to meet another just as amazing as them would urge a prideful response. Mentally admitting you were good, yet still attempting to find some little fault in your movement. They are the batch who needs to be sparred against in order to have them swallow their pride. But of course, when you do prove your excellent swordsmanship skills, you expect a request for training. “Hm, you fight well, better than I expected. Perhaps we can train together and exchange techniques.”

Feanor, CELEGORM, Caranthir, CURUFIN

[polutrope]

for the character asks, Melian!

You and @undercat-overdog both sent me this one! And it's a good one. A complicated character I've thought a lot about and still don't feel much closer to understanding.

Sexuality Headcanon: idk, pansexual I guess? she does not understand this question.

Gender Headcanon: Ainu (Generally fem-presenting. Sometimes tree-presenting, bird-presenting, etc.)

A ship: Not to be boring, but Thingol. It's a fascinating relationship to explore - just, WHY? I interpret their relationship as ultimately very tragic. I believe she had good intentions and did really love him, in her eldritch way, and it just goes so badly.

A BROTP A Gen relationship: Daeron. [put this explanation under a cut because it got a bit long - how shocking]

A NOTP A rarepairing: Eöl. I have this one cracky theory that she met Eöl before she met Thingol and it didn't work out. An unrequited situation would be interesting here also.

A random headcanon: I think she feels a lot of guilt for her unique 'intervention' in the affairs of the Children largely failing. Also I think the starry ceiling of Menelrond changes based on what's going on in her mind.

General Opinion: I find her the most sympathetic of the Ainur, whom I tend to side-eye quite intensely. [Also putting the rest of this below the cut].

A BROTP A Gen relationship: Daeron. Because:

... there were none more beautiful than Melian, nor more wise, nor more skilled in songs of enchantment. It is told that the Valar would leave their works, and the birds of Valinor their mirth, that the bells of Valmar were silent and the fountains ceased to flow, when at the mingling of the lights Melian sang in Lorien. (Of Thingol and Melian)

and although [the Sindar] were Moriquendi, under the lordship of Thingol and the teaching of Melian they became the fairest and the most wise and skilful of all the Elves of Middle-earth. (Of the Sindar)

[Daeron] it was that made music for the dance and song of Luthien, before Beren came to Doriath; and he had loved her, and set all his thought of her in his music. He became the greatest of all the minstrels of the Elves east of the Sea, named even before Maglor son of Feanor. (Of Beren and Luthien)

I know the implication of the last is that Daeron became great because of his love for Lúthien (I want to talk about this so bad right now but focus!) but I think it's no coincidence that the greatest elf minstrel ever had the goddess of song for a queen.

I have written their relationship as a complicated mentor-student type of thing with a maternal figure flavouring. My hc is that he's a bit of a prodigy from birth but Melian picks him out when she first shows up with Thingol. She takes him under her wing and turns him into a supercharged Song-wielder. More supercharged, perhaps, than a poor Child of Eru can handle. Oops?

General Opinion: I love how she interacts with the Children in a totally unique and intimate way; I love that she messes up; I love that she is the only Ainu to procreate (excluding Ungoliant maybe) and the tragedy of a being older than Arda, who will exist beyond Arda, losing her child; I love that she holds it down in Beleriand, defying Morgoth's power, through the whole First Age while all the other Ainur are, at best, sending dreams on streams and, at worst, binge-watching the Doom of the Noldor from on high.

Oh! And I love the stuff in NoMe about her being the leader of the guardians sent to Cuiviénen - the others being the Maiar who would later be the Istari (!!). I think it says a lot about how Tolkien saw her character that he gives her that role. Melian and Olórin would be another amazing relationship to explore.

[eunoiaastralwings]

Unexcepted Love - Chapter 11

chapter one chapter two chapter three chapter four chapter five chapter six chapter seven chapter eight chapter nine chapter ten

featuring erestor x fem oc

fandom tolkien- lord of the rings

Tara stared at the book in her hand – while she waited for Lady Taniara for their usual evening tea.

She had been staring at the words for 30 minutes now – but the elleth still wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what was written there.

Her mind was somewhere else – it kept replaying the words Erestor told her.

Isn’t this what she wanted?

Her love wasn’t unrequited anymore – so why was so hesitant in accepting the truth?

Erestor spoke his feelings clearly – albeit is wasn’t any declaration of love, but it was Erestor.

She sighed and rubbed her temples – what was wrong with her?

Tara should accept this – why else would she be concerned about his well being and take care of him while he was under pain.

Her fingertips could still feel the trace of the scar she felt on his face.

The elleth felt utterly stupid.

No – there wasn’t any ill feelings towards the ellon – there was still her unspoken love for him.

So why was she hesitating in accepting his hand? – Some part left like it was humiliation she put herself in – showing up drunk into an ellon’s chambers.

Then – there was the usual snarky Erestor again – who demanded she was still not equipped to do more than corrections.

Love interest or not – Erestor never let work flatter.

The only thing different from before – was the linger touches and gazes.

“Sorry, am late, mellon nin.”

The sound of her friend’s voice was enough to pull the elleth out of her mind.

She smiled at the eldest daughter of Imladris as she explained of her twin brothers kept delaying her.

“They just want to spend time with their big sister.”

Tara winked – causing Taniara is roll her eyes.

“Outsiders might think otherwise.”

They talked about their days – how the celebrations were a success as they prepared each other’s tea.

The fresh smell of chamomile filling the air as they conversed. Tara telling of Greenwood and Taniara spoke about Lothlorien and her grandparents.

Tara wondered how her friend felt to be connected not only the line of Finarfin, but also the line of Fingolfin – 2 of the three sons of Finwe himself.

But luckily enough – Taniara didn’t have to worry about her ancestors causes, her parents had cleared as much as they could for the lives of there children. Her paying most of the price – thankfully she’s safe – in the fields of Valinor.

“Is there anything going on between yourself and master Erestor?”

Tara’s tea suddenly went down the wrong way – she coughed for her dear life.

The questions flew out of nowhere – changing the topic of discussion.

Taniara leaned across in concern and rubbed her friend’s back.

“Are you alright?”

She asked, alarmed.

“Am OK – but why suddenly ask me that question?”

The flustered elleth asked – she then began to wipe away any bit of tea spilled on her dress.

“It’s just you’re always together – something could blossom. Not to mention the fact – Master Erestor seem to be less – how do I put this – less grumpy?”

Tara almost rolled her eyes.

“He’s just satisfied he can dump the dirty work on someone else.”

The elleth grumbled – surprised she was suddenly talking about the same ellon that made her heart beat fast and made her cheeks red like the fourth son of Feanor.

“Really? – Mellon nin, you do not find him charming?”

“Why – do you?”

The elleth asked back with a laugh.

“I admit he can be charming – but I have grown to see him as an elder brother or uncle of sorts – than anything else.”

Tara hummed in thought.

“But how do you mind him?”

“I do not know – is he as handsome as King Thranduil? Or even prince Legolas?”

Tara smirked.

“Isn’t princes Legolas younger than you?”

Lady Taniara raised an eyebrow.

“One can dream, milady.”

Causing the elleth next to her to burst out laughing.

 “This is scandalous behavior, lady Tara.”

“Only because my lady requested these words.”

At that Lady Taniara rolled her eyes.

She was about to retort back when Arwen came into sights.

“Muinthel – father wishes to speak with you.” (sister).

Lady Taniara sighed.

“Am afraid, we have to cut this short, mellon nin.”

“It is alright, Master Erestor has left me plenty of work anyways.”

Taniara nodded and left.

Arwen stayed with Tara for a few minutes – before Aragorn came to whisk the elleth away.

Tara smiled fondly at the couple – and hoped the future would be bright for them.

She got – getting ready to leave when she suddenly bumped into a familiar face.

“Well?”

He questioned her.

“What?”

She frowned at him.

“Would you call me as handsome or more – than that sassy king of Mirkwood and his prince?”

Tara’s eyes widened in horror.

“First of all – you should not be addressing the king like that! – Second of all, you should not be eavesdropping of other people’s conversations.

She hissed.

“Is it my fault yourself and young Lady Taniara’s voices is loud for any walking souls to hear? – Am sure you’re precious king Thranduil could hear you from here. Isn’t he the one that spoke wise words of your skills, my lady?”

Tara rolled her eyes.

“He only did so because I indeed possess those qualities – not because I was busy giving him favors. At least – he saw the good in me – than judge me at first sight and insist am good enough!”

Tara felt tears prick her eyes – but there it was.

The truth – she finally learnt why she was so hesitant even though she loved him so much.

It hurt so much – the one you loved even though they returned your feelings still saw your skills and everything you stood for worthless.

There was different between loving a person – and loving a person for who they are.

Erestor needed to understand that – he only saw what’s on the outside – not anything Tara’s eyes viewed.

He gritted his teeth and balled his fists.

Little did she know. . .

form for taglist

Fic taglist:​​ @i-did-not-mean-to @involuntaryspasms

tara's taglist: @mslizziesblog @spidergirla5 @wandererindreams @aeonianarchives

elves of imladris: @queenstarlight2

erestor’s taglist: @itsdameron

[youareunbearable]

I don't think I'm gonna do anything with this so have a Fem!Caranthir WIP. If you wanna see more from my Daughters of Feanor series, check out these other chapters on my Ao3 Here and Here

When it comes to Elven kind, Morimíriel knew her family was odd.

Typically, Elven families had only three to four children, and that was back in Valinor where things were supposed to be safe. She remembered hearing tales from her grandfather about how most Elven families only had one or two children because the threat of the Dark Hunter was too real for anyone to feel safe enough to raise a family.

So she knew that her family of six other sisters was large and an oddity. Not only for the size, but also because Morimíriel knew that she and her sisters were predicted to be sons instead. She had grown up hearing others whisper that all the daughters of Feanor were cursed, twisted pieces of Song that came out wrong.

Morimíriel had always scoffed at those whispers, hardly believing it and rolling her eyes. She would elbow her sister in the side when Makalaurë would look worried and start muttering.

That being said, she had never heard anyone call her family a blessing from the Valar before.

Morimíriel fluttered her eyelashes as if trying to clear her vision of dust. “Beg pardon, I must have misheard, you said my sisters and I are… gifts?”

The Dwarf king, Tirlun son of Verlun, that sat across from her gave an amused chuff. “Aye lassie, one daughter would be enough to bless any household, but seven!” He let out a low whistle and leaned back in his high back chair. “That is something unheard of! Your family must be blessed by Mahal! Tell me, how’s your families’ crafting abilities?”

Morimíriel was a little thrown. This is the first time she is really having a conversation with King Tirlun, while they did have a brief “I have discovered your people near our home and I’ve come to speak with your leader except we have a huge language barrier but I’ll accept you as my new neighbor” kind of interaction, she mostly just interacted with the traders and slowly taught them Sindarin as they refused to teach her their language. Even if she was far better at languages.

The Dwarves seemed like curious creatures, clever and skilled with weapons and metals. She had shown them the wool and wine and cheeses that her lands produced, they showed her their fascinating trinkets with parts that moved with gears and inks that only appeared under certain moon phases and beautiful jewelry that she hadn’t seen since Valinor.

The Dwarves had seemed a little snobbish when dealing with other Elves, but seemed charmed by the expressive way she acted, which had done nothing but cause her problems with her own people. They loved the way her cheeks would flush at any type of emotion, they laughed and egged her on when she would fly into a rage at her cousins’ letters, and more than willing to spar with her. They also enjoyed when she was a little bit more loose with her dignity when too deep into her wine cups, laughing at her relaxed posture, scathing wit, and being more than willing to be led into a drinking competition. So far, none of the Dwarves have won, but she has won their respect it seems. Even if her own retainers looked like they were one more scandalous incident away from writing letters to Russë begging her to shake some sense into her younger sister.

As if Russë would have the time between her husband, Makalaurë’s dramatics, keeping one eye on Tyelkormë and Curumíriel and the other on the battle against the Enemy in the North. As long as Morimíriel didn’t cause strife within the Finwë family and also checked in on Ambarussa and young Tyelpe to make sure he doesn’t suffocate under Curumíriel’s brooding, then Morimíriel could do whatever she wanted. It was nice to have such free reign.

Free reign that allowed her to be overlooked when, say, some expenses weren’t cataloged when she filled her taxes for that year. It also helped that she was easily able to guide her uncle’s tax collectors towards her poor cousin Finrod, who according to her Dwarven trading partners was much wealthier than her if he could afford such large and pricey commissions from them. She just had her sheep and cattle and wine fields, not a whole lot compared to whatever her cousin must have over in his two (two! Who needed who two??) kingdoms.

Back to the conversation at hand, Morimíriel cleared her throat. “Well, my family is very trained in multiple crafts. My maternal grandfather and my father both trained under, ah you call him Mahal correct? Well they learned smithing in his forge, though my grandfather prefers masonry, architecture compared to my mother’s love of sculpting. My father is a jewelsmith, and while he does create pieces of art with gems, his artform is in crafting the gems himself. Here,” she removes some rings off her fingers and passes them over to the Dwarven king. “My father created that red gem, see how black it looks but if you shine it in the lamplight it’s actually a dark red? He said his inspiration was from my hair when he crafted it.”

The Dwarven king made a sound in intrigue, and twisted the rings around, looking at their engraving and the gem cuts or whatnot. Some other Dwarven officials leaned closer to also take a look at Elven made gems. It was strange to hear that they made the gems and not mined them as is normal. But they were Elves and Elves were very strange indeed.

Morimíriel continued, “My younger sister, Curumíriel, or Curumír in this common Elvish tongue, is one that takes after our father the most in terms of skills. She is more interested in jewelry making than the crafting of gems, but she also has taken to blade making since we’ve landed on these shores.” It was better not to mention how… quirky Curumíriel’s interests were when it comes to creating things in the forge, something her son clearly got from her. Brushing past that thought, Morimíriel reaches down and unbuckles a dagger from her hip, offering it to the Dwarven king handle first, and trading it for her rings, which she slips back onto her fingers.

One of the Dwarves whistled at the dagger, clearly impressed by the folded steel blade. Morimíriel had noticed that the Dwarven steel blades did not look nearly as pretty as Noldor-crafted steel, but they did design some interesting engravings into them. She had bought a set of Dwarven throwing axes for young Tyelpe a couple of years ago since he would have appreciated the designs, and received nothing but a scathing letter from Curumíriel in return for sending her son “faulty” weapons.

“Curumír has a son, young Celebrimbor, who had trained at my father’s knee as a boy and learned to love the forge. He grew up learning how to make gems and blades, and while he can make fine jewelry, his interests are a little… fickle, shall we say.” One of the Dwarves snorted, clearly understanding the pains of having an apprentice that was trying to find themselves in their artfield. “Right now he’s taken a great interest in weaving magic into objects, typically jewelry he’s made.”

Best not to mention his new strange interest in figuring out how to tie someone’s fea into objects. He claims he wants to learn because Feanor managed to tie his fea into the Silmarils, but luckily he hasn’t had any progress in that field. Now, based on his letters, the boy is interested in the concept of time, which really has everyone but Curumíriel worried. Shes just proud that her son clearly has her genius, Morimíriel thinks he inherited her insanity.

(Caranthir has a convo with the dwarf lord, talks about the rest of her siblings and basically getting validation that her and her family are special, and that her and her sisters are something to be valued which is nice cause no one else really says anything nice about them, especially the other elves cause not only Feanor but also because they all "lost their value" once Mae gave up the throne. The dwarves invite her to an important dwarf gathering that she brings Celebrimbor to, which starts his love of Dwarves. Caranthir signs a nice treaty with the Dwarven King that she sends along to Mae, knowing that they would love to have an alliance with the Dwarves. Makes her feel smug that clearly shes the best sibling out of the batch)