#maglor smut

[doodle-pops]

Modern AU: Sugar Daddy | My Sugar Daddy Loves Me

Headcanon: Maglor, Finrod, Ecthelion, Thingol, Elrond

Request: Hi Mina I hope you doing well could you please write a part 2 of your sugar daddy au? With Ecthelion, Maglor, Finrod, Elrond and Maeglin - Anon

A/N: Not gonna lie, I had a hard time envisioning Finrod as a sugar daddy since I link those who are Daddy/DILF material as a sugar daddy. He seemed so aloof as a sugar daddy and more like Friends with Benefits lol.

Warnings: a female-focused reader, smut, breeding/creampies

➽ Part 1 | Part 2

➽ Modern AU Series

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ. Maglor

➽ He’s a world-renowned pop star who is beloved by everyone, and you are his lovely darling he met during a backstage meet and greet when he slipped his number into your back pocket and whispered, ‘Call me.’

➽ Of course you called him because that’s how you receive gifts on your doorstep after every performance he has, world tours, or when his albums go platinum. You are the mysterious lover that his fans talk about because of paparazzi.

➽ For the most of your dynamic shared with him, you are kept a secret because, to him, it makes everything more thrilling. All those posts of him on vacation or tours with snips of your hands, legs or back, or the albums being written about you, make everything invigorating.

➽ On the days when he does return from touring, you are showered in affection abundantly. Necklaces and anklets with your name or his name, dozens of roses, lingerie, the latest fashion wear, a lump sum of money floating into your account and some days between the sheets.

➽ Plus, that pretty black credit card in your back pocket feels incredibly heavy with all the financial opportunities it’s allowing you to make. It doesn’t bother him with you swipe his card to make your purchases because he has lots of trust in you (please don’t rob him).

➽ The dynamic between you both differs from the others who would reward you for excelling at your job or studies. With Maglor, he’ll reward you for being silent as he takes you in the recording booth during breaks, support him during his concerts, and when he wins awards.

➽ Apart from dropping all the materialistic gifts on you, Maglor takes him time to worship you from head to toe. You are, after all, the inspiration behind his best-selling albums, and he has inserted your moans as background vocals on some of his songs.

➽ A passion lover you got as a sugar daddy with an oral fixation (best his mouth). He has to show you how talented those lips are; singing isn’t all that he can do with his tongue. Plus, he’s also a guitarist, so let the realisation sink in with those fingers.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ. Finrod

➽ Right off the bat, his type of sugar daddy isn’t for pleasure purposes and it’s the last reason why he was willing to care for you. He just wants someone to spoil and spend lots of time with because he’s rich and lonely in his mansion.

➽ Being spoilt is something you never have to question because he’s eager to be your sugar daddy even though he doesn’t consider himself as one. He’ll just tell you that he’s a good friend helping another friend out while handing you his unlimited credit card and a bunch of gifts.

➽ The adventurous type to call you up in the middle of the night and TELL you that he already booked you all a flight a trip to a tropical island for two weeks filled with various fun activities. The idea that you have classes or work tomorrow doesn’t sink in until you’re reminding him.

➽ It’s a frequent occurrence with him visiting/calling at early hours to check out new places in the city or for you to come over because his giant house is lonely. At some point, you are living in with him and all the maids have become familiar with you.

➽ If you’re a college student, you are funded, and yes, he does have an interest in your academics. However, he’s a lot more understanding if you fail a course because he’s the reason (making you miss classes with those trips); he might suggest dropping out and letting him permanently care for you because he can also get you a decent job without a degree.

➽ As I mentioned, pleasure isn’t something Finrod is interested in during the agreement. That’s something you would have to initiate one night as you’re relaxing in bed or returning from dinner. Take the lead and make him rethink his agreement to incorporate it often and scrap the ‘friends’ talk.

➽ He isn’t someone who becomes stressed, so if anything, you’re the one who’s getting the rough sex when you’re stressed. He is happy to help because if you’re keeping him company, he has to return the favour with an open mind. And trust me when I say, he’s good at what he does but acts casual as if he didn’t strip away your ability to walk.

➽ At least your time being his sugar baby will be fun and filled with excitement, something that outshines the finances and pleasure he blesses you with. His desire for companionship helps to make the dynamic between you two worthwhile.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ. Ecthelion

➽ Responsible for marketing some of the most valuable gemstones around the world; mostly invested in the diamond stock market. The first time you met him and stepped into his house, you noticed how much he was obsessed with the gemstone. You don’t complain because it’s what he gifts you whenever you perform well for him.

➽ He covers all your tuition expenses and living commodities and gives you one of his unlimited credit cards to shop for your heart's desires. In return, you must bring home good grades (he’ll tell you what’s good) and keep up your good reputation. He doesn’t want you to ever tarnish your reputation.

➽ Ecthelion is wealthy and educated, so he doesn’t mind getting involved and invested in your field of work or degree program. Depending on what it is, he’ll extend his knowledge, but if he doesn’t know, he’ll make attempts to get you good connections to boost your career.

➽ So long as you maintain your good grades and reputation, you’re in it for life. He’s taking you vacations to tropical islands, opera shows, shopping sprees, buying you the most expensive jewellery sets and clothes. You will be rocking the best designer clothes, Ecthelion isn’t standing for you wearing simple clothes.

➽ Of course, when you perform excellently for him, he will return the favour with more than just trips and money. He established in the beginning that he was seeking companionship during your deal, and as much as he wanted to keep things professional, something about the red lipstick you adore wearing sucked him in.

➽ Perhaps allowing you to give him a blowjob under the table in his office during a quick visit and leaving lipstick smeared all over his cock made him change his mind about keeping things professional. He was pleased when you agreed to make the relationship more intimate than hugs and kisses.

➽ He wastes no time whenever he’s stressed to relieve himself through you (with your consent). You’re his little stress reliever, and in return, Ecthelion doesn’t mind letting you use him to beat your stress. Sex is rough and steamy between you both. You are getting bent over countertops, work desk, pressed against the wall, he’s hungry beneath his professional demeanour.

➽ While he is a formal and sophisticated gentleman, and he would not touch you inappropriately in public, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t purchase you vibrator panties and plugs. You’re sitting beside him during a conference meeting and he’s causally playing with the speed on his phone, making you cum.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ. Thingol

➽ This sugar daddy is drifting over to the DILF side of things and do not be fooled by his silver hair, he isn’t old, he’s simply trendy and into the latest fashion styles. Giovani, Armani, Dior, Marco Polo, Ralph Lauren and the list goes on. Thingol is an old-money type of sugar daddy, and he adores showing off his wealth to you.

➽ To be honest, Thingol really want to be your sugar daddy because he saw you and liked you. At the time, you were a broke college student or young worker struggling in the business world who used the opportunity he was providing to build your career and status.

➽ Thingol doesn’t care about all that (at first), but he does ensure all your needs and desires are met. Tuitions paid, loans cleared, no negative credit score or empty bank account. You’re the rich student on campus or your job that everyone is jealous of because he makes sure the world knows you’re spoilt by rolling up in some custom Rolls Royce or Bently.

➽ Your unlimited credit cards weigh a ton in your pocket, but who cares because you’re rich and being pampered as you deserve? Of course, nothing in life comes for free and without payment. Thingol might carry some age because he has a fully grown child, but he isn’t old.

➽ He makes it clear that he would enjoy being intimate and seeking companionship in return for the wealth spent on you. Do you decline, of course not (you can’t, or you’ll end up poor again).

➽ Thingol is the definition of old is the new young. This man has the stamina to last for a lifetime and makes sure you’re always satisfied. He can be stingy and demand that you give him more attention (he’s a receiver more than a giver). You’ll have to catch him in the right mood for him to be on the giving end.

➽ But still, you can’t complain because you’re getting good dic—. Anyway speaking of spoiling you, he adores whenever you’re completely decked out in lingerie for him, i.e. just all the jewellery he bought for you and nothing else.

➽ He does have a slight breeding kink, but it isn’t intending to want children, so you have nothing to worry about. Thingol just enjoys the sight of prettying his sugar baby.

➽ Know that he’ll gift you some necklace or ring that informs everyone that you’re his and no one else’s. If you ask him if it means he’s proposing, he’ll reply with something along the lines of, “You’re already mine princess, wedding ring or not.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ. Elrond

➽ DILF number three and it makes perfect sense since he’s a descendant of many DILFs (Fingolfin, Turgon, Thingol). But Elrond doesn’t mind being someone’s sugar daddy, though his intentions are more for genuine purposes. If you want more, you’re gonna have to do all the work to show him that it’s more than paying your tuition and giving you money.

➽ Nevertheless, he covers all your expenses and demands that you perform excellently in your field of study or job. Elrond would even go out of his way to personally teach you (and no, I don’t mean bending you over the desk type of teaching) to ensure success is at your fingertips.

➽ This man is the most passionate and dedicated sugar daddy who cares about your well-being to a great extent. He’s well-rounded, so he’s fulfilling all your needs and wants, health, education, finances, basic commodities and living expenses. Please don’t disappoint him by failing your classes, he’s pulling all his money into the best tutors.

➽ In return for your devotion and passion for excellence, you are getting spoiled but not like the others. Elrond doesn’t mind giving you money or taking you on shopping sprees or trips around the world, he simply doesn’t want you dependent dependent on him to always provide since he’s building you up to become your own boss and financially secure.

➽ He’ll spoil, but not to that extent. Such a philosophical man, teaching all about life and how to be independent and headstrong.

➽ Now, as I’ve previously mentioned, if you want him to take you to bed, impressions are everything. Elrond’s the type to get impressed by your sense of elegance, sophistication and linguistics. Show him how skilled your tongue is, and he’ll be wanting more. No doubt he’s rewriting the contract in his mind.

➽ He has kids and knows how to ramp in between the sheets. In his state, he probably isn’t interested in more given his desire for companionship, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to be giving out creampies. The sight of it is his catalyst for wanting to give you more and keep you up all night.

➽ He’s a gentleman in the streets and will incapacitate you in the sheets. Tricks up his sleeves despite having an old fashion appeal about him. Give him a dance dressed in some pretty lingerie—nothing overly fancy, he likes elegance and simplicity—while he sips on whisky or brandy in a button-down shirt and his tie lazily discarded around his neck.

➽ Treat him well because running multiple companies is tiring, so relieve his stress while he relieves yours and you’ll be the happiest sugar baby ever.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @ladyenchanted @mcwentfandomtraveling @involuntaryspasms @aconstructofamind @addaigio

If you would like to be tagged, click the taglist link.

[autumnshighlady]

Tolkien Masterlist

Feanor

Wildest Dreams (ft. Fingolfin)

A Lesson in Language

Maedhros

coming soon

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

SERIES

The Professor series [WIP]

completed: Nesta, Gavriel, Feanor

coming soon: Rowan, Eris, Dorian, Maedhros, Helion

All I Gave You Is Gone (Tolkien x ACOTAR crossover) [WIP]

part 1 / part 2 /

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Day 19 | Prompt: Golden fruit

Pairing: Salmar x Maglor

Themes: NSFW | Smut-ish | Public fondling

Warnings: Heavy petting | Handjob as a reward.

Word count: 400+ words

Summary: Lessons take an interesting turn when Salmar gives Maglor instructions on playing the harp.

Also available on AO3

Rating:🔥 | Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume

"No, no, Káno. That is not how you strum the harp." Salmar retrieved the gilded instrument and laughed despite his growing frustration. "This is how you do it."

He made himself more comfortable on the grass and played a haunting air about a deep and abiding love that was found, and then carelessly lost. It was a theme of such indescribable beauty that it soon reduced Maglor to tears. When he stopped, nothing could be heard save for water bubbling in amber fountains and golden fruit swaying gently in a cooling wind.

"That was most wondrous, my lord." Maglor came closer, and held out his hand. Salmar returned the harp, but only after forming a most wicked idea. His student and companion had struggled to play for many a day now. Perhaps an incentive to do better was needed. "May I try again?"

Salmar agreed. Then he bided his time till the right moment presented itself. Maglor plucked at silver strings, unaware at first of the hand gliding up his thigh. Then warmth radiated through the silks of his robes. He opened his eyes, and shivered.

"My lord?"

"Do you want me to stop?"

Maglor licked his lips, his passions slowly rising when Salmar gave his thigh a gentle squeeze. Certain he was flushing, he said, "No. Never."

"Good." Salmar was pleased. His hand now slipped beneath the hem of Maglor's tunic, gentle but determined. "And so long as you play well, I will keep rewarding you. Carry on."

The elf continued even when a practiced hand moved between his thighs. Salmar gave another playful squeeze and smiled when the music eventually faltered, and he was rewarded with a moan that was as bewitching as his student’s singing.

"Start again," he commanded, and he drew back his hand.

Maglor gazed at his mentor, his startling azure eyes now dark with wild need. Salmar saw it, and thought no sight in all of Arda was more alluring.

"I will touch you," Salmar urged. "But as an enticement, nothing less than that. So if you want me to keep pleasuring you while you play...."

“I will play. I will play.” Maglor took to his instrument and sang again, greedy for more. Salmar waited and listened, then continued to indulge in his own way. His hand found its way back to that place between Maglor's thighs, and he groaned under his breath when he found the elf already stiff to his touch.

"You have been blessed in more ways than one," he admitted without shame. "And nothing pleases me more than knowing you are mine."

Maglor eagerly lapped up the praise. He did not waver either, no matter what his body demanded. Salmar took note of his composure and set himself to the task of loosening drawstrings and clasps. Maglor's breath did not hitch until Salmar took him into his hand.

"Continue playing," he insisted.

tags: @asianbutnotjapanese @cilil

[searchingforserendipity25]

fern and moss and root and blossom

daeron/maglor / ao3. for @silmsmutweek.

many thanks to @welcomingdisaster for sharing her enthusiasm and betaing expertise <3

Daeron’s long exile had turned him into a strange creature. So closely aligned to the Music that he could quiet down the voice of the wind in the trees with a sweet phrase and the turn of his wrist, quiet the sound of the surf with the might of his minstrelsy. Maglor, it had become swiftly apparent when they met once more, found it entirely disarming to be disarmed.

“Ai,” Maglor said, mighty voice trembling with a sharp thrill of fear, pulling with his blackened hands at the ivy and vines that were Daeron’s grip, Daeron’s conquering claim. “Have pity, minstrel. Not all of us bear our horrors so conveniently arrayed.” 

His nostrils flared - there was nothing feigned about the shuddering of his voice.

“That is not a very charming entreaty at all, with no poetry to be gleaned in it. Do you know, I do not think I shall,” Daeron said mildly, and felt the taste of blood in the air a moment before Maglor bit his cheek not to laugh. 

Bound with his back to a great elm, Maglor tugged at the chains of ivy that curled around him and held him down. Daeron felt the swift galloping of his heart as closely as if he had pressed a palm against his back.

It was only half for the spectacle of it that he struggled, and the pleasure Daeron took in feeling his body move against his will and bound to it. There was always a true edge of terror in it for him, a fierce flare of defiant shame.

His face gleamed in the moonless dark, gray and thin and terrible; his eyes shone silver, covetous and fey amidst the shadowed wilderness that trapped him in Daeron’s hold. 

Daeron tightened the hold around his throat warningly for a moment. Maglor’s breathing grew stilted for a moment, strained, before he eased his shoulders, forced himself to yield. 

Bound mercilessly, legs spread open by ropes of hibiscus and honeysuckle, Maglor could not reach him.

But he was not careless - violence would not serve him here, and so he made himself gentle. Turned his hand carefully around Daeron’s ivies, tugged lightly only, stroked the edge of a leaf, hummed a soothing note when Daeron's wilderness quivered, curling around him tenderly. 

“It is not poetry I wish from you tonight,” Daeron said, sounding severe to his own ears. He was not inclined to making it an easy victory for himself, nor an easy surrender for Maglor: but he felt half-impish, scattering trickling thirstles around his ribs and forced him still. "Nor any song at all of your own words at all."

His bare feet on the grass sank down, and grew cold. The mist was gathering, growing restless around them - Maglor's dark curls turning shadow-dark, his panted breaths deep and deeper with a voice nothing like the voice of one of the Eldar. 

It had taken a long tutelage, but under Daeron’s instruction Maglor had learned at last to surrender to be free. His sighed against Daeron’s mouth, let himself sink into his grip. 

The first true attempt to free himself shackled him more firmly; the second earned him a raking scratch of fingertips wrapped in briars, the third came shattered, half-pleading.

And then Maglor went very still. A row of brambles wound itself around Maglor's wrists, dangerously near the burned ruin of his hands. 

"Monstrous," Daeron said disdainfully, pressing a long sliding touch of his hand to the place where elvish steel had left scars on his chest. Maglor's own, warped fingertips curled in reflex, and the pain of it stole his voice for a moment. 

Maglor shivered with unfeigned want. The shadows clustered around him shivered with him. Already a damp fog rose in the air, to smudge the edges of the world, leech its colours and deepen its echoes. 

Daeron stepped back, ignoring Maglor's cry. 

Soothing, Daeron’s tendrils stroked his arms, rustled over Maglor’s bare shoulders. Caught as he was, it was a sweet temptation to kiss him to silence; and there was little reason for Daeron not to indulge himself tonight. 

Daeron’s long exile had turned him into a strange creature, so closely aligned to the Music that he could quiet down the voice of the wind in the trees with a sweet phrase and the turn of his wrist, tame the wild calls of the gull and quiet the sound of the surf with the might his minstrelsy.

His wanderings through the ancient forests, and the dangerous studies in song he indulged in with no teacher or king or dear lady to bind him had changed him greatly, more than was quite righteous and good. 

Maglor, it had become swiftly apparent when they met once more, found it entirely disarming to be disarmed. 

A game of nearness and glancing touches, control and grace. Maglor's voice rose and fell under Daeron's caresses. 

On moonless nights, when the stars were brighter in the sky, Elbereth's light clearer and purer, and Maglor was flushed and feverish, skin prickling with a faint burning - when Daeron's hold over the rhythm and melodies of the desolate wild places was most potent, then they met, only then. 

Daeron had missed the salt of Maglor's blood, had grown hungry for the delicate feeling of his pulse fluttering under his power. 

It did not happen every new moon, not even every year; the course of their exiles did not always intersect on those days, for they each held to their own domains, the duty they owed their grief and their lore. 

The vines he bore as part of himself only retracted back to their winding ways around his arms almost reluctantly. More and more often, Daeron stretched the moments to a sweet interlude, reveling in the heady feeling of his lover's pulse resonating from vine to skin to his own cock, before he willed himself to unshackle him.

 They were fond of Maglor's skin, ever-hungry, and willful, whimsically led by Daeron's stray, misplaced instincts. 

 To want to release - not to watch mesmerized his possessing strength, where the living instruments of his song curled, tight and tender and terrible, around Maglor’s yielding. 

They had agreed on it - moonless nights were for wildness, the darkest night of each year given over to the strangeness, pain and regret, grief and sorrow had made of them. 

Maglor gasped. Daeron’s fingers wound about his hair, tight and punishing; but he did not need them to stroke him. He pressed close against his buttocks, already slick with sweet nectar. 

Now, he did permit himself to smile. Maglor's charred hands were shadow and flesh at once, struggling against his might one last time, before he grew weary and wary and wise enough to pause, breathless under Daeron’s attention.

"I shall do better," Maglor protested,  a little desperate. "Will not any poetry at all serve? Let me please you, lord; I shall show you such images of glory you have not known before, and such a sweet ache of grief you will weep and be glad for it."

"I have no ears for your tales and lays, your bespelling treachery that traps the unwise in its riptide."

"Not even a joyful hymn? I would give you such a thing, as it is in my power."

"Nay," said Daeron dryly "not even that."

Maglor tilted his head back against the tree, rubbed his cheek against a heavy front of thick leafs. Looked at him under the startling darkness of his lashes, a rousing sight on any occasion, and rarely more than when Daeron could feel his shuddering veins, the rasping of air on his throat.

"You have not heard this one before, master: it speaks of lovers that meet only in the dark, and part in sorrow to meet again and torment each other before falling into an embrace."

"Nay," Daeron said, amused despite himself and striving to be dire, "not even that! Treacherous thing that you are, changeful and terrible, I would court foolishness to permit you the power of any narrative." 

Tendrils of mist curled around his legs, fluttered adoringly about his wreath of living ferns - a smell of the sea was in them, the ceaseless lust of the sea, dreadful and unnatural and dear to him. Daeron had grown strange and powerful in his exile, but so had Maglor, on most nights but for this one.

His hands of bark and amber ached to stroke the curve of Maglor’s cheek, the thin skin of his neck.

Half of his was his own want: half of it was Maglor's compelling will, tugging light and teasing. A reminder of his mighty power, diminished for tonight; and a slyer reminder, too, of other encounters, when it was Daeron that walked on moonlit hours by the shore, allowing himself to be enthralled by a spell sung over and with the whispers of the surf.

Daeron, too, had missed him; but tonight, Daeron did not soften, kept his rose-briars sharp as knives, his shielding walls of growth high as a siege around Maglor. He stepped back, and all the leaves of his dark forest rustled a song of longing in echo or his refusal. 

The rising shadows of Maglor's haunting draped themselves heavy and sweet about his shoulders, sunk gladly into the earth he claimed, tangled around his thistles - that much he did welcome. Always the darkness in him was easier to tame; all the rest was words and wind, proud grief to be pared down and horror to be matched by horror. 

"A touch, at least," Maglor said, voice rumbling, control fraying - the sea's waves and surf, the sea's own hunger speaking in and through and with his voice. "Have pity! I have missed you so, singer."

Daeron folded his hands, very nearly like the hands of the Eldar, and mightier by far, to watch Maglor's eyes on them lose their false Treelight, grow dark and dark through and through.

Nothing of Elvenkind remained in him, but for the memory of grief he clung to; if his strangeness was less visible at first than Daeron's, it was not because it was less absolute, and certainly it was far more hideous. 

Daeron was the forest, the trees, the grass and the soil. His power rose in him, unrestrained - all his flowers blooming, the leaves speaking in leaf-tongues, the torn sinking deep and drawing blood. 

He felt the rushing force of Maglor's fear in the air as the sea-chill, heady as a kiss. Satisfaction settled tight and warm in his spine already; but he meant to be patient.

There was no space for pretense between them. That was a lesson to be relearned every time, and Daeron meant to enjoy upholding it as well as ever he had. 

“Sing to me sweetly enough, perhaps, and I might consider releasing you after I have had my fill,” Daeron said, and reached out through the mist to gather the shadows close and tender about his chin. "But make it beautiful. I am of a mind for beautiful things, tonight."

[cilil]

rare pair bingo

⸙ Prompt: Phallic gags | Maglor x Imladris crew ⸙ Synopsis: Maglor has been captured and taken to Imladris. Unfortunately for him, Elrond and the others aren't as merciful as he hoped. ⸙ Warnings: The prompt, suggestive, Mags is there against his will ⸙ Double drabble | AO3

"He looks lovely like this, would you not agree, Lord Elrond?" 

Maglor tries his best not to choke on the phallus-shaped gag that has just been forced inside his mouth when Glorfindel pulls his head back by his hair none too gently. Tears gather at the corners of his eyes as he looks up at Elrond who watches this display with idle serenity. 

"Yes, very good," the Lord of Imladris concedes. "Though I think Erestor has more suggestions for us." 

"If I may be so direct, my lord," the Elf named Erestor begins, "while I think a minstrel without his voice is a fascinating display indeed, I do believe a kinslayer should not be allowed to keep his clothes." 

Maglor whines and tries to shake his head, but Elrond merely lifts a hand as if to silence him. "Then it shall be done. Glorfindel, if you would?"

"Of course, my lord." 

Mercilessly, a blade cuts through fabric and ruined clothes fall to the floor until Maglor is left bare and exposed. 

"Thank you. Better now, Erestor?" 

"Yes, my lord." 

"Very well." Elrond nods slowly. "Then let the council use him as they please. A silent songbird shall suffice as entertainment." 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @blauerregen @i-did-not-mean-to @saintstars

[elronds-library]

in all my dreams i drown

by homelikecatastrophe (@welcomingdisaster)

Part 1 of the great black deep

“I am not frightened,” Maglor says, bristling now. He lets his frustration take the place of that other emotion, of weakness, of… “It is another feeling entirely. A terrible thing I must speak, which I know certainly shall displease thee; and it displeases me horribly, casts me in a role that I do not like to play. I am not frightened, yet it is as a Doom upon me; as the knowledge of the armies of darkness beyond our lands, of the terrible many-armed things below stagnant waters. But it is not fright. I am—we are—not frightened.” “I will say those frighten me,” Maedhros says mildly.

Explicit, Rape/Non-Con

Words: 5,030

[whovianofmidgard]

Summary:

After Ages of courtship and regifting the Silmaril to each other every year, Maglor and Ulmo finally tie the knot.

Part of my Light Touched AU

Ch.1.: Discussions of a wedding Ch.2.: Smut (if those who want to keep this series at a Gen/Teen and Up rating they can skip it) Ch.3.: Reactions to Maglor getting hitched

For @silmsmutweek Day 1: Ocean, using the prompts: Tentacles, Asexual identities

Snippet:

Middle-earth, Third Age

Maglor let his body float atop the surface of the sea, enjoying the Sun's warmth as the cold water gently caressed his skin. He had no care for where the tides would take him, for here, surrounded by his Lord Ulmo's realm, he was safe.

It also helped that by the gift of his Silmaril, he was no longer in any danger of drowning.

He thought of the courtship, this dance the Lord of Waters had initiated and Maglor had at first clumsily followed, but now performed with sure steps. They had danced around each other for an Age, with the radiant Silmaril at the centre of it all.

Maglor enjoyed each step he took in time with the Music, and he wouldn't know what he'd do with himself if the dance abruptly stopped one day. Yet he knew a courtship was not meant to be stretched to eternity, and it would need to come to an end one way or another.

He knew which outcome he preferred, but the Valar were not so easily understood. They looked at the world, at the Music much differently than elves, and what Maglor wanted may not be the same as what Ulmo intended.

However, it never hurt to ask.

"My dearest Lord," Maglor spoke into the peaceful air, only the sound of the shushing waves around him. "As much as I look forward to our anniversary each year I have to wonder; for what end do we persist in our courtship?"

The usual silence greeted him, but the second son of Fëanor was used to Ulmo's ways by now. He felt the air still around him, and the water tenderly rocking his body in the cradle of its waves slowed to a sluggish pace, and he knew his words were being listened to.

"It may be presumptuous of me to hope for a marriage, but if it were my Lord's wish, I would gladly be your husband."

The water rippled around him and suddenly something wrapped around his leg and dragged him under.

Maglor laughed, not even slightly alarmed that he was caught in an undertow, the last of his lung's air bubbling around him.

Read the rest on Ao3

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Kinktober 2024 - Dirty Talk (Humiliation/degradation & bondage/shibari/suspension)

Maglor is forcefully rid of a few illusions by Daeron of Doriath.

Prompts: Dirty Talk (Humiliation/degradation & bondage/shibari/suspension)

Pairing: Daeron x Maglor

Words: 560

Warnings:Vulgar talk, reference to genitals, humiliation, bondage

Gritting his teeth in defiance, Maglor willed his muscles to relax.

He knew not with what dark spell Daeron had imbued the slender lianas that constrained his limbs, but he was too proud by far to struggle vainly against their hold any longer.

Dangling a mere foot above the mossy ground, he was unable to so much as shift his weight into a more comfortable distribution, much to the visible enjoyment of his ungracious host.

“What happened, Mighty Singer?” Daeron purred provocatively. “You’re not gagged, are you?”

The power of the wood dweller’s voice buffeted the bound Elf like a strong, fragrant wind, but Maglor merely glared wordlessly. He’d not give Daeron the satisfaction of getting him to beg.

“Not so mighty now, are we?” Daeron went on as he let his long, slightly rough fingertips drag along the beautifully chafed skin of his guest. “As ever, you Ñoldor bite off more than you can swallow. Was this not your idea?”

Breathing in slowly through his flaring nostrils, Maglor puckered his lips to keep from bursting into impassionate speech despite his firm resolutions not to engage in this absurd game.

“What did you expect?” Daeron whispered into his ear in a dangerously warm, sensual tone. “Did you imagine I’d take you out into the forest and bed you on a blanket of soft moss?”

Maglor narrowed his eyes suspiciously—he was appropriately wary of the insidious might of seduction and devastation Daeron’s singsong words held, but he couldn’t close his ears and mind to them even if he wanted to.

“Is your megalomania so out of control that you envisioned a scenario where I feed you sweet berries while I feast on your body, licking my way from your shapely ankles to your cock? Did you foresee that I’d let you take me against an old tree, our breathless voices startling the night birds out of their lofty perch?”

“Vulgar,” Maglor hissed, feeling the organic, verdant ropes holding his legs open cut into his swelling flesh as the corrupting magic of the fantasy his captor had conjured up seeped inexorably into his bloodstream.

“Ah, you’re still with me then. Good,” Daeron crooned, combing his fingers through Maglor’s unbound hair so skilfully that he drew a needy whine from the one who’d hitherto given him nought but sullen silence.

“My prince,” he added in a mocking tone that made Maglor gnash his teeth with fury—it was humiliating to be kept thus, immobilised and helpless, while that wicked wood siren purled like a poisoned stream, filling his mind with lurid, lewd visions of mindless abandon.

At that moment, he hated Daeron almost as much as he wanted him.

“You truly thought you’d have me on my knees, begging for your cock?” Daeron laughed as he saw the fiery glint in Maglor’s luminous eyes. “You’re on my home turf now, beautiful, and I will do to you whatever I see fit. How does that taste?”

Maglor was about to bare his teeth when Daeron’s lips pressed against his ferocious snarl in a kiss devoid of seduction or artifice.

“Like hunger and hatred,” Maglor replied in a hiss, craning his neck to pursue that ill-mannered mouth as it pulled away.

“Quite so,” Daeron cackled and sang the bonds tighter yet. “You’re mine—better get used to it! It shall be a long night!”

@tolkienpinupcalendar <3

Thank you so much for reading!

☞ Masterlist

[lovefairymina]

So… Makalaurë, I’ve heard many rumours flying around saying that Fëanorians have insane levels of stamina in bed, but I’m not so sure… I might need to test it out for myself *smirks and trails a finger down his chest*

Snatching you by your waist and pinning you against the wall, his lips trailed down the shell of your ear until it met your lobe. He took the moment to press his body against yours, sandwiching you between him and the wall. “You should be careful of what you wish for, my songbird. One session is equivalent to rolling around for days in the sheets. I do hope you can match my stamina.”

[doodle-pops]

The Intoxication of Pleasure

Maglor x reader x Celegorm

A/N: A very happy birthday to my best chaotic girlie who shares a single braincell with me @someoneinthestars!! I hope you enjoy what my brain cells have put together for you!! Luv yah!! I've been impatiently waiting for more than 2 months to post this :)

Warnings: fem!reader, threesome, dom–sub dynamics, double penetration, fingering (vaginal and anal), cunnilingus, slight rimming, anal and vaginal penetration, sub!reader, soft dom!Maglor, rough dom!Celegorm, doggystyle, impact play (spanking), body-worshipping, praising, pet names (princess, kitten, vixen, sweetheart), titty sucking, overstimulation, mirror kink, jealousy, unrealistic sex, voyuerism and exhibitionism, mention of reader being a recently deflower

Words: 8.3k

Synopsis: You find yourself caught between the bedsheets in a spontaneous rendezvous with two desirable Noldorin Princes.

“Easy princess, deep breaths…atta girl. You’re doing so well for me.” His voice was more compelling and intoxicating than you last recalled. No, that was a lie; his voice always made you drunk and left you stumbling about the place, lost out of your mind. It stripped you bare and laid you on a table before him like some sacrificial offering—not that you minded. Or perhaps, you did mind. When other maidens flocked to the Noldorin prince like the dangerously, beautiful devil he was, and he returned all their attention, how could you compete? You had nothing to compare, not even a candle to their flame, and yet through the miracle of the unspoken prayer, you found yourself basking in ultimate pleasure.

Riddled by the toxicity of his fingers as they searched for your sweet spot, desperate to listen to the endless chorus of your moans to which he devoured, they crooked and twisted devilishly. His lips gave your neck kisses, planting a litter of purple artwork as he trailed up and down, relishing in the vibrations and echoes in each chord he struck. So easily with a curl of his middle finger, he brushed your sweet spot and relinquished a relieving sigh from your lips. Without hesitation, his saccharine lips, dripping with honey fell upon yours to suck the melody out.

A prince as highly esteemed and noble as he would place his lips upon those of a nobody. A nobody who could not even look at themselves in the mirror. What did he see in you, surely not your beauty?

“You’re thinking too much My Lady—I can see the tension in your face…” His whisper trailed off as he leaned forward to carry his lips away from yours and kiss the centre of your brow. “Relax, tonight is all about you.”

You hadn’t the courage to reply, you still didn’t know how you responded the first time he offered to take you to bed. Did you nod, squeak, moan, bark, howl? For a guaranteed fact, your words were not used—so you believed. Nevertheless, whichever response you gave, it allowed you to lie bare beside the completely garmented Prince with his fingers buried deeply within your cunt, searching for the treasure you locked away. His touches were fleeting, everywhere all at once, and leaving your skin on fire. Goosebumps rose with each touch and ghosting of his breath.

“M-My P-…Prince…ah!” you gasped as your words were cut off from the skilful act of having your chords struck. A whine followed along with your hands curling into his shirt and popping a few buttons off. His skills were phenomenal to pull such an easy reaction out of you—now you understood why he was the greatest harpist of all time. Brushing his lips against your cheek, his lashes fluttered like a butterfly’s wings against your skin. His breathing was ghosting your skin and leaving goosebumps scattered everywhere. It didn’t matter the direction he came from or the strategy he used; you were putty in his hands.

“Ah, ah, ah. Maglor darling, it is Maglor,” he sighed, “if I’m taking a beautiful maiden like yourself to bed, we might as well become comfortable…because you will be moaning it later.”

There it was again. The undeniable, attractiveness of his voice and charisma. Every syllable that rolled off his tongue was perfection sucking you in like quicksand. Somewhere out in the desert he found and brought you into his mirage, treating you like a desert rose. The only difference was his mirage being perceptible.

Shutting your eyes because the sensation was too much, far less the intensity of his baby-blue eyes locked on your features, you tossed your head into his collarbones. Your position in his eyes appeared discomforting, leading him to hook your right leg over his left hip. Lying side by side and facing each other while his finger languorously thrust in and out your cunt, it was easier for him to pepper your face with more kisses and fill your mind with praises. Maglor was observant enough to distinguish the difference between a confident and unconfident woman. If you were bedding him, he wanted you to hold your head high as he took you into a field of pleasure.

Show him proudly that his pleasure was satisfying for a woman of your calibre. Show him his ability to make the intangible matter as much as the tangible. Prove to him that you value yourself above all others and praise your beauty as being the reason he was captivated to lust after you, a desert rose. Your delicacy and elegance despite your lack of experience was all too enthralling to not have you to himself—an admittance he would soon come to grumble over.

Pulling his two fingers out, listening to your whines and chuckling lowly, they danced around your entrance. A third finger had joined the mix and dipped in and out your entrance to secrete itself in your arousal; if you were going to take him, minimal pain to make the excitement pleasurable. Maglor refused to indulge in the inexperienced business of re-entering a recently deflowered lady. You were still sensitive to touch and pleasure, delicacy must be ensured. “Can you take a deep breath for me princess—just breath in…breath out…”

Following his words, hooked on every syllable like it was ambrosia, your breathing stilled before your chest heaved slowly to inhale and then exhale. The moment your body relaxed, there was the breaching of his fingers with the addition of tightness. The slight discomfort you first faced when he used two fingers returned as he used three. Somewhere in the distance while you focused on clenching and unclenching around his digits, Maglor was moaning and gasping under his breath at the awaiting tightness he would soon experience.

“You’re going so good for me, love,” he praised once again.

Your replies were broken moans and mewl the more his finger slunk further along your gummy walls. You felt stuffed from just his fingers; you knew he was more than those fingers judging from the bulge you felt earlier. Once all three digits were nestled nicely within your cunt, they flexed and crooked immediately to attack your sweet spot, not bothering to thrust or twist, competently. Maglor knew from the sheer pressure building up as your pleasure increased, that it wouldn’t take long for you to achieve the high he sought from the start.

The painfully digging of your nails as they switched from the front of his shirt to his biceps, curled and dug into his skin leaving moon crescents. At this point, he had no care for what happened to his garments—you could tear them apart for all he cared—they no longer mattered. You were the prize, the target, the treasure he sorted and lusted after; to have you he shall.

Continuing the arching of his fingers, his thumb stretched upwards and rested casually on your clit to rub lazy circles. It was the response he expected, your legs became incapacitated and spasmed around his slender waistline. Your body was torn between wanting to run away or stay bound to the pleasure, and Maglor was pleasantly gracious to assist you with a complex decision when his right hand snaked around your back and locked you in place. A heavenly sight you were the more you convulsed and moaned breathlessly in his arms. You clung to him like a leech the more his fingers abused your sweet spot.

“Just like that sweetheart…just like that. You’re almost there,” he cooed as he pressed his lips to your forehead, “come now my flower, cum for me.”

His words were a compulsive drug for within the moment they left his lips, your body reacted instantaneously. Clenching around his fingers and placing them within a vice grip, it felt like your walls were attempting to mould themselves and take their shape—an interesting act your body displayed. Your mind might have been foggy and attempting to unscramble the reason why a beautiful Prince would desire you, but your cunt was blatantly giving hearts and hugs as though it already knew why. Consider yourself slow or uncertain to believe that the Prince found you attractive.

Vibrating in his arms as your dams broke and coils snapped, tears sprung from your eyes. The little droplets of saline rolled down your cheek and dampened the collar of Maglor’s shirt, adding to the endless drool that soaked the material—not that he didn’t mind. “Shush, it’s alright darling, it’s alright. Just take a deep breath and breathe…”

Lifting your head out the crevice of his neck, you stared at him through your blurry eyes and sniffled. You never had the pleasure of experiencing an orgasm, be it solo or with a helping hand, and it was orgasmic. The slight shivers of your body were slowly fading, leaving behind random jolts to attack your senses. It didn’t help when Maglor nudged his head against yours to meet his devilish eyes before the feeling of a pair of lips colliding against yours. He was sending you into another bliss when his tongue slipped past your lips after the gentle nibbling of his teeth on your lower lip. You had no experience kissing the linguistically famed artist, even if though you engaged with him minutes earlier, no progress was made.

The left hand that was wedged between your thighs withdrew, smearing your arousal on your skin as it travelled upwards to grip your jaw and keep your steady. It felt like fire and ice blazing your skin at the same time. The thought of him smearing your arousal across your skin would have been a revolting act but caught up in the rapture of sweet passion, it turned you on more—much to your self-esteem. Your arousal flowed the more you locked lips and tongue and thought about his decorating you like his favourite artwork. It wasn’t often, or never, someone loved the image of your silhouette. You were caught in trepidation, resisting the urge to gag at the revelation of the Prince truly wanting to savour your temple.

Wanting to deepen the kiss, Maglor pushed against the tides and rolled you onto your back, hovering above. Knees between your legs, he pushed aside his robes to give you more samples of what was to come. He rubbed his bulge against your aching core, snickering at the high-pitched whines that escaped your lips and the frantic spasming of your legs. The sensation was too much, it was overstimulating, not that he cared. He was greedy and drowning in lust.

“You sound so beautiful when you sing like that.” He pulled away to kiss your neck. “I love the sounds you make for me.” Another was placed under your earlobe before his lips dragged lower to attach themselves at the junction. A vividly bright flower was left for the world to see and know he claimed you as his.

Squirming under him, your hips wiggled and rocked against his erection as the pleasure grew substantially. “Ma-…Maglor, fuck! Please, please…more,” you begged and tossed your head backwards.

At first, he hummed at your request before breaking into a chuckle. Feeling a sense of pride whelming in his chest, he leaned closer to whisper into your skin, “You want me to give you more princess? Is it that good?”

“It would be if you stopped teasing her so damn much and give her what she desired. I’ll tell you what, you really are the worst when it comes to teasing people Káno.”

Your body froze at the intrusion of another invading your privacy while Maglor visibly sagged, annoyed. Clinging to the prince and attempting to shuffle your body to hide from the scrutinising eyes of the dangerously seductive silver-haired male who came to stand to your right, you cowered. Above you, Maglor did nothing as he rolled his eyes and heaved at his peace being interrupted. Once he noticed your discomfort, he rolled over to your right and hid you from his brother. His right hand pressed you into his chest while you shrunk your body to hide the rest.

A round of boisterous laughter ricocheted off the walls. The prince was amused by your actions; you were still unconscious of your femme fatal prowess. He spent a solid five minutes observing the shyness in your motions and voice; his brother was doing one hell of a poor job at making you feel like the Goddess he would worship you as.  

Keeping his eyes on you, Maglor brushed a lock of hair out of your face and offered a sympathetic smile. “Have you no manners to knock, Tyelko?”

“Oh, I did háno, but her moans were clearly drowning your hearing abilities. I must say,” he hummed, then kissed his teeth, “she sounds delightful. Like a Goddess worthy of being worshipped.”

As the words left his lips, Maglor felt you sigh at the indirect praise before he tensed and cast his brother a side–eye. The glint in his eyes glowed under the luminescence of the fireplace as he was locked in a heated battle of determining his brother’s genuine intentions. No interruptions were done within purpose, especially ones like this. To make matters more trivial, of all the brothers, Maglor was the last person Tyelko would intercept given their…differences. Whatever the reason was, it had to be noteworthy.

“State your purpose,” he demanded, casting his head to give his full attention.

No response came—no verbal response. A hungry grin was returned with eyes roaming your lithe figure hidden from his lustful gaze. Maglor wasn’t the only person who was enthralled by you all night; two Feanorians you managed to capture and wrap around your dainty fingers; you were indeed a spectacle. Tyelko’s response was enough to drive Maglor off the edge in a spiral into fury. In return, Tyelko was faced with a harsh glare that would have seen shivers up his spine if the moment was…momentous.

“We do not require the presence of an unwanted guest. Leave!”

Finding his brother’s response more of a catalyst to jest than feeling threatened, Tyelko refused to leave. He remained tall and straight with his arms folded behind his back and head high. His green and brown robes, edged with golden embellishments rested seamlessly against his body and only shifted to the tune of his movements. His forest-green eyes glimmered and darkened.

“Oh, come now háno. It was no jest, nor my intention to make your skills appear inconsequential to mine. Consider it a…gift, to the lovely young, innocent lady in your arms. Why experience one when she can have two…for the first time? She deserves to be adulated in many ways; we can give that to her. What do you say?”

There was no mistaking his words as an act of compulsion, getting under your skin and kissing every inch of your body, and leaving you craving for more. Your insides clenched and tingled as his honey-like words lingered in the air, and butterflies pooled in the pit of your abdomen. Two Feanorian princes desired me.

“I don’t—”

“Not you háno, the little Goddess wrapped up like a present in your arms. What do you say to the proposal kitten?”

Stunned by the abrupt confrontation between both brothers, you felt as though you were intruding on something personal for a moment. The tension had risen, too dense to be cut with anything, and the sexual tension was following. Peeking your eyes over Maglor’s right shoulder, you caught the ravenous eyes of the predator eyeing you like a prize. It placed you in a chokehold. If he could growl and snarl to prove his dominance at this moment, he would; only his brother prevented the animalistic behaviour. His eyes were beckoning you to choose the answer your self-esteem would never allow.

Parting your lips to reply, you breathed and stared. You could sense Maglor’s stare on your face, reading and perceiving your micro-expressions; in combination with his brother’s stare, your arousal was increasing. The act of Tyelko pulling his lips back to reveal his pearly whites told you that he was aware. Nevertheless, you were unable to formulate a response.

“Still hesitant about why we would take you to bed? Oh, oh, kitten! We would never take a nobody to bed. Only a woman of your calibre and magnificence would catch our eyes; a sanctuary deserving of being praised.” Using the opportunity provided, he stepped forward and held his hand out for you to take, ignoring that darkened glare Maglor threw. “Why don’t you let me show you something. Don’t worry, I’m not stealing you away.”

Switching stares between his hand and Maglor’s face, you didn’t want to make a decision to upset the older, but you didn’t want to pass up an opportunity. With hesitation in your movements, once there was no one to prohibit you, your hand reached out to rest in his. Gentle were his actions as he pried you off the bed and guided you to stand before the body-length mirror.

Your eyes were anywhere but the mirror as they roamed behind to glance at Maglor who silently sat against the bedhead with his arms behind his head and lips pressed tightly. It was another hand that cupped your face and focused your attention on the image of you standing bare before the mirror. Tyelko’s towering figure stood ominously with gestures of the unknown. His famished gaze that roamed your body prompted your hands to cover up your erogenous zones, however, he was quicker. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, princess,” he whispered and dipped his head in the crook of your neck to land an unexpected kiss. “Don’t cover up your beauty.”

“Y-Your Highness…ngghh.” His actions made your words fall short once his tongue peaked past his lips and licked a bold stripe up your neck. Stopping behind your earlobe, his teeth came down to bite your flesh followed by his tongue licking the area to soothe the sting. His hands first started at your thighs, roaming the area and rubbing your skin with his calloused palms. It was a foreign sensation compared to Maglor’s softer skin, but nonetheless, enjoyable.

“I find it insulting that you allowed my dear brother a sample of your honey and not me. Say, sweetheart, will you give me a taste?” His hot breath sent shivers down your spine and goosebumps across your entire body. Your eyes shut and your head tossed backwards to rest against his shoulder, giving him access to your neck. You weren’t sure what he was exactly asking for, but you were happy to oblige if he continued with his actions. They were equally addicting as his passive brother who sat like a mannequin on the bed.

Breathing laboriously, you nodded, allowing his hands to continue exploring your body. It wasn’t impossible to distinguish what his question meant when his enormous hands parted your legs and pushed you into his body. They roamed the inner of your legs, dancing torturously close to where you would kill to have him. “Open your eyes kitten, look at how beautiful you appear as I undo you,” he ordered. Even his patience was dwindling when the bulge in his leggings was aching at the sight of your glistened folds.

Finding it impractical to look at yourself being touched, you shook your head and looked at the ceiling. From the corner of your eyes, you noticed his silver hair shifting out of the way to reveal his domineering glare. “I’m not asking. I said look!” he demanded.

It was only natural that your body obeyed his wishes and locked eyes with your hazy, fucked out state. Your eyes roamed the mirror and landed on his hands running up and down your body, cupping and squeezing your breast before tweaking your nipples. While he did so, his hips casually grounded against your ass to ease the ache. A fire had engulfed your body as the mixture of his mouth and hands set you ablaze. His movements were aggressive, you could hear the guttural groans escaping his throat the more he groped your body.

Along the line, his fingers brushed lightly against your fold, occasionally parting them to slip into your entrance and collect your arousal. You found it impossible, now that the sight before you was hypnotic, to look away from his hand motion. There was a moment when the air became still, and all other movement ceased as his middle finger dipped in your folds and then brought to his lips for a taste. Your breathing froze as you marvelled at the action. That’s what he meant.

His vibrations passed through your chest as he hummed in delight at your taste. As a reward, his hand tilted your head to meet his lips in a vigorous kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. It was slightly salty, not too sweet, not too tangy, manageable.

“Only a Goddess could taste so divine, and I desire more—”

His words were hurried and broken, not able to spit the rest of his sentence out as he pressed you against the cold glass and dropped to his knees. You couldn’t move out of the constrictive hold he had on your waist or from the way your breasts were squished against the mirror. All you felt was the parting of your cheeks and a hot tongue against your cunt. A series of unidentifiable squeals and gasps left your lips at the crude act but turned into a deep inhale when his tongue travelled further south. He was shamelessly eating you out from behind, slurping and groaning as your arousal smeared his cheeks and dripped into his mouth.

Tyelko’s entire face was buried between your cheeks without any care as he continued to enjoy his dessert. His tongue probed around your clit, flicking the tiny nub like a switch before bringing it into a suction and rolling it around. The more he tasted you on his tongue, the deeper his face was pushed into your heat, almost like he was attempting to suffocate. His actions were animalistic, living up to the duty of being a hunter, as his tongue swirled, and lips nipped at your nub. In between, his tongue would lavishly lick bold stripes from bottom to top to bottom before slithering past your entrance.

“Y-Your High…ness…” Your voice was whiny and shaky as you mumbled incoherent speeches into the lust-filled air. In the background, Maglor had his attire discarded, leaving him naked with his hand wrapped around his cock. The sight of you being eaten out was provocatively sinful and heavenly. If only his brother hadn’t intervened, he would have had his tongue buried in your cunt for hours. Perhaps another time when Tyelko couldn’t be a bother.

With every push against your body causing your back to arch and nipples to rub against the cold glass, you exerted an opposite force prompting Tyelko’s face to bury deeper. He was having the time of his life as his tongue slithered across every surface he could cover. There were moments when his tongue travelled south and probed past the tight ring of muscles. All you could do was listen to the forceful commands of the princes telling you not to take your eyes off the image. You had to watch as he made you cum all over his tongue and dove back for seconds.

“Stop squirming so much!” he groaned with irritation. The oversensitivity was doing things to your body; you didn’t know how to react. It was different from Maglor. His was filled with softer touches and warmth encompassing, but his brother’s was purely rough and focused on sedating his appetite.

His large hands that gripped your waist, slid lower to your thighs and spread them wider. Its action easily allowed his tongue to wiggle its way along your passage and feel your walls clenching around it. Your body’s natural reaction as another wave of pleasure took over was to push against his tongue, riding it. Your consciousness was poking you to come to your senses and remember that it wasn’t ladylike to behave vulgarly, but your frivolous conscience told you to move. In the end, Tyelko didn’t care whether you rode his face or not, he knew you were close, and he needed to taste it again. However, he did notice the hesitation in your timid movements, and when he did, his hands assisted with your motion. Rocking your body and grinding your cunt against his tongue, he groaned and growled in satisfaction. He wanted you to lose yourself.

The jealousy from the sight before him was spurring him on to snatch you out of his brother’s hold and whisk you away. But he was adamant about getting you to see your worth; perhaps his brother’s interference wasn’t a terrible idea, however, he was practically taking you away from him. Narrowing his eyes as he looked on, he read your body and saw your orgasm taking over. Choosing to act now, Maglor scurried off the bed, ushered to your side in time to catch your convulsing body and pulled you against his chest.

A heated glare between the brothers was exchanged while you were losing all form of composure and functionality in Maglor’s arms.

“I told you háno, I’m not here to make you feel inconsequential. There’s no need to get jealous,” Tyelko jested. His mouth was covered in your arousal, and even his cheeks were smeared. Taking a moment to clean his face, licking his lips to savour your taste, he rose from his position to disrobe.

The action forced Maglor to pique in disinterest and anger, but he was shut down by the claim of this being desired by you. Had you not accepted his hand earlier, he would not have stayed to show you pleasure. “Consider it like this háno; we can have her together, and when I’m finished, she’s all yours…unless she seeks me out,” he suggestively chimed with a wiggle of his brows. His hands had already removed his robes and tunic, and now his fingers were unbuttoning his shirt, leaving him standing in his leggings and boots.

Dropping his eyes from forest green to your sweaty face, Maglor’s face softened, as did his voice. “Y/N, do you wish to partake in this union…being taken by both my brother and me?”

Calculatingly drifting out of your state of unconsciousness, your lashes fluttered and captured the image of the God that was holding you in his bare arms. His naked skin, flushed against yours felt fantastic. Your breast pressed against his chest and your nipples tingled with every breath you took. This is what it felt like to be truly desired.

“W-What?” you confusedly asked.

Humoured, he scoffed and graced you with a softened smile. “Is it alright if my brother and I take you at the same time?”

Jerking your head back at the vulgarity of the question, you had never heard of acts like this being performed. “Is that allowed? I have never heard of such an intimate act before; usually, it’s…it’s just two people,” you stuttered with widened eyes.

Your innocence would be the death of them both. The moment your words escaped your lips, they forgot all about the miniature competition and sought to ensure that you experienced the pleasure of two lovers simultaneously. Tyelko was the first to chuckle at your purity and reassure you that it was more pleasurable than one lover. Less to say, he was the more eager one of your three, hence his straining cock in his leggings. He wanted to get this show on the road.

“Rest assured my Lady, while it is considered taboo, it is equally pleasurable,” Maglor soothed and removed your hair stuck to your sweaty face. “I’ll do my best to ensure that you are satisfied…you might return for more.”

Giggling at his statement, you felt some jittered leaving your body while the majority remained when you came face to face to the sight of a naked Tyelko standing at the foot of the bed. Boots and legging discarded, his cock stood proudly with an angry head and leaking precum furiously. You had seen your fair share of male genital drawn in books, but never realistically. Come to think of it, you had forgotten you were naked in the arms of a naked Maglor whose cock was pressing against your thigh and smearing its precum. You weren’t made aware until now.

Your body froze but your eyes weren’t resisting the urge to look between you both and gaze at the proud erection he sported. It was equally as angry as his brother’s and lacked girth, though it made up in length and shape. Focusing on Maglor’s cock, the audience it gained caused it to twitch in anticipation the longer your innocent stare rested upon it. For instance, Maglor licked his lips and whispered for you to touch it, instead he praised you and withheld his patience to devour you. “Do you see what you do to me? No other woman can have that effect on me, my Lady,” he groaned in your ear before turning you around and guiding you over to the bed.

Tyelko stood impatiently stroking his length and rolling his eyes at the exchange. Poking his tongue past his lips in aggravation, he was rewarded his wait with the sight of you being guided to where he stood.

Your much smaller figure crossed the empty space and brushed closely past Tyelko, allowing him to breathe in your pheromones. He didn’t miss the small, coy smile you threw over your shoulder before approaching the bed. Cheeky vixen! His right hand released his length and made an impact with your ass, propelling you forward and stumbling onto the bed. The loud gasp that left your throat urged him to step closer and deliver another to your bare cheek. His left hand gripping your nape and his right hand rubbing your ass, a howl ripped past his lips as he landed another slap, reddening your ass with his large hands. Something for you to remember him by.

The cries that slipped from your lips were easily devoured by Maglor who came afront to comfort you. He knew how ‘lost in pleasure’ his brother was capable of becoming. His lips, you forgot what they felt like, swallowed all your cries as his tongue slipped into your mouth. There was a hint of that strong Noldorin wine on his tongue the further it danced with yours and coaxed your moans. Your position felt awkward, having to be on all fours and your ass being spanked while craning your neck painfully to meet the sweet lips of your Prince. However, knowing that you were about to experience the first-time pleasure of two princes instead of one, the awkward pain was worth it.

“How do you want us sweetheart?” Maglor asked, breaking the kiss to admire your reddened face and whisper against your lips.

Flashing your eyes to meet his, your words were cut short by the intrusion of a finger slowly probing into your ass, stretching you open. Jaw slacked and eyes rolling, your head dropped into the mattress leading to your back arching more into his touch. It felt foreign having something slipping in there, but your mind told your body to relax because it would become pleasure.

“I’ll take her from behind while you…get her the way you wanted,” answered Celegorm.

Nodding his head at the decision, Maglor looked down at your body and smiled at the reaction you expressed. You were doing so good for them; how could they not reward you. Reaching down to cup your chin and tilt your head upwards to meet his smirk, he bit his lower lip at the sequences of events to unfold before the night was over.

“I’ll take her first since I had her before you encroached, you can step in after she’s comfortable.”

“Oh?!” Celegorm’s brows raised; his night was growing more excited by the hour. “Well then, I’ll leave you to the first act háno; please don’t take forever, I’m getting impatient.”

Stepping away and walking over to the wine table to pour himself a glass, Tyelko made himself comfortable and waited for his turn. Meanwhile, Maglor seemed to be thrilled with having you all to himself and planned to stretch the moment out for as long as he could before his brother intervened once more. Rolling you onto your back and reclaiming his position above you, he brought your legs to rest on either side of his hips. His dainty fingers ran up and down your thighs, easily sliding closer to your sex to build the anticipation.

His lips were reattached to yours once more and prying all the moans he could devour in that instant. Your hands were excited running up and down his back, enjoying the feel of his muscles rippling under your touch from every shift in his body. With every touch, he would shiver and groan into your mouth, wanting you to know the effect you had on him. “Do you see what you do to me, princess? Look…” Breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against yours and breathing in each other’s air, he urged you to look down at where his erection angrily rubbed against your inner thigh. A slight shift in his hips and it would brush against your outer lips.

“Only a beautiful woman like yourself could do this to me,” he hissed, gasping when your lips brushed against his tip. Dragging his eyes to hold yours, he grinned and released a single laugh. “Eager for me just as much as I am.”

“I-I am. I…I want this, please,” you begged and flashed him a doe-eyed look.

Groaning at your innocence, his right hand moved to run his fingers through your fold and slip past your entrance to test the waters again. Finding no resistance and only warmth, he withdrew and used your arousal to coat his cock. Smearing your juices along his length, he sighed and shifted his hips closer to place his tip just at your entrance, though the action made you tense. He felt your nails dug into his back muscles while you sucked in your breath. Nuzzling his head against yours, he planted a kiss on your cheek to calm your erratic heart.

“I know it has been a while since you last…” he trailed off not needing to complete the rest, “I need to you breathe for me; breath in…now breath out.”

It was the same directions he delivered earlier to ease your fear of pain.

Finding it difficult to look away from where his cock rested and into his hypnotic eyes, you shut them and followed his instructions. Your chest heaved erratically at first, breathing arduously with your heart hammering against your ribcage, feeling like you would pass out from the sheer intensity of the moment. Fortunately, Maglor was kind enough to breathe in sync with you once he became conscious of your trepidation. Breathing in and out, feeling his chest and his warm skin brushing against yours, your muscles relaxed, and the stress eased. Your nails eased their viscous grip on his back and your breathing flowed with a constant cadence.

“Maglor…” you breathed.

“Yes?” he responded breathlessly.

“I’m ready.”

There was a loud buzz in his ears when your words rang before the room fell silent, he even forgot his brother sitting in the distance sipping on his wine. His left hand moved to hold your hip while his right ran his cock through your fold before returning to your entrance and easing in. For every deep exhale you took, he moved an inch deeper and felt the tightness of your walls suffocating him, and for every inhale, he stopped. He was almost in, and with a few more pushes and he breached your walls to enjoy the pleasures of being purely visceral. The loud gasp let out by you both at the experience of being stuffed and suffocated sang in harmony, but it was short–lived when Maglor could no longer bear the wait and moved first.

His idea of testing the waters to open you up was to get your walls affiliated with the shape and weight of his cock moulding your gummy walls. To believe that you were this tight after all the relaxation methods was astonishing. Feeling incapacitated by the quick movements of the gentle Prince, he switched your positions to allow him to batter your walls from underneath. One hand in your hair to tug your head backwards and his mouth leaving dozens more of purple flowers, the other gripped the fleshiness of your ass and groped. You were doing so well for him, voice sometimes stuck in your throat, a vigorous thrust would choke it out. Gone was your nauseating feeling and in place was the plethora of ecstasy.

Crying out Maglor’s name sentence after sentence and begging him to not stop, his cock would push deeper, something bushing against your cervix. Your body would do nothing else but spasm and tremble like a leaf in his arms the further you both tumbled around in the abyss of pleasure. Feeling the immensity of the weight of his cock resting snuggly and sliding like silk along your walls had butterflies swarming in your tummy. Your toes curled at the rise of a new pleasure and your back arched, pressing your nipples against his sweaty chest. The luscious friction felt sensational with every push of your body for every thrust he sent your way.

But long had one sat in the shadows and awaited his turn; seeing that your fun had begun and despising the loneliness, he rose from his seat and strutted over. The interaction was abrupt and ephemeral when fleeting kisses from a cool mouth ran down your spine and bit your left cheek. Squealing, you fought to toss your hand around and glare at the perpetrator only to feel a sharp tug at your hair. “N-Not so fast princess, eyes on me; I want you to look at me darling,” crooned Maglor. His voice was beyond stable for someone pounding into you lightning fast.

Biting your lips to the sound of his angelic voice, your walls clenched around him in response, causing his hips to falter. You could hear the lowly whispered ‘oh fuck’ under his breath.

“Hold there Káno, I’m joining,” announced Tyelko.

Using the moment to still his hips, there were two pairs of hands that now rested on your hips and ass. Maglor, wanting to distract you from the tension and ache you would experience, dipped his head lower to capture your breast in his mouth. Your breasts were supple and round, a feature he eyed all night—one that caught his attention and had him tripping. The little sensation gained from his gesture relaxed your body but didn’t take away from the feeling of oil being drizzled over your hole and a finger slipping inside. As delicious as the sensation was, you hated the snail’s pace he was thrusting his finger and clenched to suck him in.

“Shhh, ah, fuck Y/N!” cried Maglor. Your walls choked the living daylight out of Maglor’s cock, completely forgetting that he would experience your contractions.

“Hmm, somebody’s eager for more!” cheered Tyelko at the same time.

Breathlessly chuckling and feeling a bit more light-hearted now that you were deeply engaging in the pleasures of the flesh, you whipped around to cast an impatient look at the silver-haired male. You received a flash of pearly whites and a finger wiggling at you to behave yourself. “Patience princess, I’m trying to make things smoother.”

Groaning and whining at his response, you dropped your head into the mattress beside Maglor’s while he was busy feasting away at your plump breast. By the time he was finished, you knew your chest was going to be covered in endless hickeys.

Resisting the urge to clench around his fingers was impossible for every new digit he inserted since you were constantly choking Maglor’s cock. The contrast in the gasp and laughter that escaped their throats whenever you did so earned the constriction on your hips tightening and turning into a vice grip. You were dangling on a leash the longer they dragged out your night, wanting to focus on their indulges. The desperation was growing under your skin till the point of not being able to take the impatience any longer. Nails digging into the mattress and teeth biting the sheets, you were drooling at the sluggish behaviour of Celegorm opening you up to take him.

You just wanted his cock to fill you up like he promised, not take forever, but your thoughts were soon incomprehensible the moment his digits withdrew, and his tip slipped in. You were choking on the air from the first few inches of his thick cock gliding deeper. Legs trembling, toes curling, drool escaping your mouth and eyes shut, you were clenching around them both at the shearing burn of being stretched painfully and stuffed by two enormous cocks. He wasn’t even halfway in when he paused to snort at your legs shaking from the increased satisfaction.

“Look at you, begging for my cock and now you can barely take it. Looks like you’re about to cum right now…” His voice was sickeningly aggravating the more he taunted your soul about your incapability to handle his well–endowed length.

“Fuck, please. Move, just move please, both of you,” you whined.

Finding your reply humorous, Maglor detached his mouth from your nipple and whispered, “As you wish love,” before driving his feet into the bed and thrusting into you with a newfound pace. There was a moment of confusion and disorientation in your brain when hands were reshuffled—one was rubbing your clit, and you didn’t know who—to grip your waist and press against your back, pushing you into a foul arch.

The impeccable satisfaction of being completely engulfed and devoured at the same time was magnanimous. The blindingly vivid spectrum of euphoria surging through your veins with each push and pull, the in and out and the weights of mouth and hands, pleased your appetite. Chants of perfection were hurdled across the room at how well you took them or how beautiful you appeared fucked out; only were able to attract such a reaction.

The power you held within your hands—and cunt—to make Noldorin Princes submit to their knees and worship you like the Goddess you were like you were beauty beyond comparison, your body a temple. You could feel the tears sprouting from the corners of your eyes the more their words lustfully infiltrated your senses and stimulated a pang in your heart. The heavy breathing and the sloppy kisses against your skin, the slipping of their hands to grip your sweaty skin, the roughness in contrast to gentleness, what an experience to behold.

With your eyes rolling into your head and drool running from the corner, a harsh round of slaps was equally delivered to your ass to wake you up. The regress from unconsciousness into awareness to meet forest-green eyes staring into your own had you confused. When were you yanked upwards to meet his chest?

“Welcome back kitten, we thought we lost you for a second,” he growled. His eyes were focused on your face, observing every microsecond of pleasure that was displayed. He wanted to read those pretty eyes and distinguish if you were still doubting your femme fatal prowess abilities. Honestly, you had him and his brother putty in your hands; neither could get enough of you. “Look at you, the most beautiful woman in the world in our arms, making us lose ourselves. Powerful aren’t you?”

Finding it impossible to formulate a coherent response, you breathlessly whined when Maglor brushed against your sweet spot. Your eyes twitched and rolled as though you were possessed and Tyelko found that impressive. To see how lost and dancing on the edges of something higher than the heavens you were, was praiseworthy. Leaning in to capture your lips and sighing once they collided, your tongues danced and pried songs from each other’s throats. It was messy and hurried from the energetic and frantic thrusts on either end; the acceptance from your walls with the aggressive moulding and reshaping was short-circuiting your brain. You were losing your capacity to function as durable as you were from the start. They were corrupting you to accept and let go, let loose and be free, express yourself and believe in your abilities.

The churning of the plethora of pleasure from every end, the kissing, the finger playing with your clit and hands all over your body, had your orgasm bubbling in a cauldron. The imperishable flame was building and strengthening to heights unimaginable, it burnt your insides and slowly melted the dams.

“You’re such a good girl for us sweetheart. Are you gonna cum for us?” praised Maglor, his face flushed and sweaty from the vigorous workout you were giving him. His brows were pinched as he observed the rhythmic motion of his fingers against your clit and you bouncing on his cock. The build–up of the ring of cream around the base was a filthy sight to behold, perfection.

Finally breaking from the orgasmic kiss with a string of saliva dangling between your lips, a feral grin was returned as an act of favour. Your lips were sweet as ever and he still couldn’t imagine how you weren’t aware of this. Trailing his hands away from your chin, it returned to your back to push against his brother’s chest so he could switch his position and change the angle of his thrusts. One foot on the bed and one hand on your back, Tyelko found the treasure of his pleasure. With the arrival of your orgasm, everything was contracting at an unrecordable rate, making his hips stutter. “Eru, you feel fucking good!”

Mewling at the increased pressure in your hips the more Maglor’s cock battered your insides and sweet spot and his fingers rubbed away at your clit, your body began convulsing. The violent convulsion sent every muscle in your body to suffocate their cocks with urgency to milk them. All three of you were hissing and groaning as your highs were approaching rapidly. Head lulled and resting in the crook of Maglor’s neck, hiding your face as the growing pressure made you easily lose composure, you dug your nails into his biceps and teeth into his shoulder.

“M-Maglor…it–it’s too much, I–I so…ughh.”

Whispering sweet nothings into your ear, all he had to do was give a kiss to your forehead before you came tumbling down. The quick jerk of your body in his arms and twitching of your muscles pushed both of them into overdrive. First, there was a loud grunt, followed by moans before stillness took over and the feeling of their release flooded your passages. Unfortunately, with your sensitivity, the pulsing of their cocks as they spilt their release into you made you cry out and dig your nails deeper into Maglor’s arms. The overview of your orgasm breaking down and washing over you like tidal waves felt like rain after drought. Topped with their highs following yours, the feeling was indescribable.

Going limp in Maglor’s arms, you felt Tyelko’s silvery tresses tickling your back as he slumped over your form, dealing with the aftershocks. He secretly didn’t want to pull out, but he also needed to rest. Heaving and finding the energy to straighten, you felt a small kiss in the middle of your spine and a callous hand rubbing your ass while he eased out. The hissing emitted from you made him wince; he knew you wouldn’t be able to walk for a couple days, and he patted his back. Stepping aside to flop at the end of the bed, Maglor took the opportunity to ease out and roll you onto your side.

You lay in the middle with your left leg tossed over Maglor’s waist and facing him in the aftermath of your rendezvous. Behind you laid Tyelko with his face buried in your hair and an arm slung over your waist, sleeping. It was just you and Maglor left awake, pillow–talking.

“How are you feeling?” he asked politely.

Deliberating, you pressed your lips together to suppress a yawn before answering. “Tired and sore. My legs feel wobbly.”

“Well, I hope—” His words were cut off by the ill-mannered snoring from his brother on the opposite end. Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, he leaned closer so your noses were touching and whispered, “Well, I would advise you stay in my chambers for the next few days, that way I can care for you.”  

“Care for me, whatever do you mean?”

“I was not able to have you all to myself like promised…and the best way to treat your soreness is more therapeutic activities.” He grinned and leaned in to peck your nose.

Blinking at his assertiveness, you softly giggled. “One night is not enough for your hunger My Lord?”

“One night is never enough when it’s a person of magnificence like you…I want to cherish you more—” Another snore cut his words off as though it was deliberate. Huffing, he turned to you again and reassured you. “Perhaps in the morning when my brother has departed, I’ll show you what I mean.”

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

[searchingforserendipity25]

Experimental Exchanges of Oral Traditions Among the Eldar | On Ao3.

Maglor/Daeron. Explicit fic. For Silm Smut Week @silmsmutweek, prompts from Day 3 and 4 (self & craft/lore, magical and supernatural elements, dom/sub, toys & props, shades of teacher/student).

Their first conversation- discussion, truly - happened very swiftly after meeting, when Daeron asked with his best sly courtesies if there were any texts written on the feats of the Noldor in Beleriand already, and Maglor had barely looked up from filling his brother's wine goblet with an absent-minded, "O, I am sure we will get to it in time; but I am not sure there is much use holding with written memory anymore."

Daeron had set down his own goblet a little more harshly than was polite. Matters had devolved considerably afterwards.

After their Flight - their Siege, their Exile - the Noldor had taken to reconsidering their relationship with material crafts and immaterial memory-keeping. This, Daeron gathered afterwards, varied greatly between those that had crossed the Helcaraxë and those that had taken to the sea on stolen ships. 

Whether it was a deep commitment to vanguardist theory, the wary wisdom of a cavalry chieftain, or pure idleness, Maglor rarely cared to jot down anything of his works to paper. In his father’s Tengwar or Daeron’s Cirth, or the notation systems of his invention he found much to admire unstintingly; but he did not keep diligently to the rituals and methods of writing down his work, either.

He was all for living memory instead, a passionate teacher far more than a careful scribe. Teeth and tongue, memory and enchantment, these Maglor valued far above ink and parchment in his own art. 

The smiling, arrogant warrior that had argued with Daeron on the merits of communal chants over carved walls had been ruined altogether. All the same, he was proven correct in one thing only. Maglor's bone-deep and infuriating certainty that he would live on to remember and keep remembered all the songs and lore of his people proved true at the last, and past the end of all tales he could claim a right to tell.

It was because of his dues owed to minstrelsy that he had not dashed himself against the shore, all the long years of Beleriand’s catastrophic sinking. He had clambered over many a sinking cliff instead - sang the salt-spray away from his path, raised himself up through the torment of the Starkindler's judgment whenever he started to sink into drowning.

 Deliberate, he went up and onward, survived the end of his own lament, and in so doing made certain it would be kept alive always.

 Daeron, however, had spent that time rather busier preserving the ancient waters and forests of the Eldar with enchantments of hiding and protection, and setting down the history and poetry and lore of the Sindar instead. Songs ought to be recorded, deeds fell and great, the voice of the sea put to carved bark before it faded. It was enough that the record existed, he felt; though at times he liked to bring them out and read them to the birds that came to sit as an attentive audience to the recitation, and sang the melodies entangled in the verses backs at him in their own chirping trills.

Daeron was not much impressed with tales kept ever-changing by painful fits of divine madness and punishment , nor the regret that kept Maglor from setting down the last edited version of his laments. Any aimless wandering could be a pilgrimage, if the walking-song was worth singing; but this windswept, sea-bound dedication to mourning rituals was wildly irregular, too.

Daeron, too, was fearful, of the finality of the finished epilogue, the lingering silence and written word. There was great terror to be faced once the ink with all its dear lost names was dried, and not a letter more could be changed nor altered.

That had been no reason not to invent the letters, and was now no reason not to write in it. To sing at all was a fearful vocation; that was why it had to be sang, that was what they were for.

 And that was all the more cause for Maglor to follow his exalted example. Him alone was rightly named Daeron's match in the craft; and the evil of his deeds did not unmake his obligation or absolve him from his duties. To write did not make ancient lore less or more foolish, nor the past kinder; but he wrote so it might be hoarded. If that was greed, then Daeron was covetous indeed, but wise about it.

That was Daeron's covetous demand, when their paths crossed, and their conversation turned once more to familiar lines turned bitter with the alteration of the years.

He could speak with him of the futility of alphabets and records in isolation, the grief that absented itself from any audience and yet demanded to be retold. He could concede to sharing wine and gathered berries with Maglor, to walking in shared purpose for a time. If not, he would not have call him from the through the wrecked shores to the deep forests, and bedded him in the grass.

But he would not, Daeron told him very clearly, keep company to those terms of service to song as Maglor employed. He could not have him truly, and would not, until there was a thing finished and complete in itself to be had.

He had no patience left for anything less than a dedication to perfect records. Differences in stylistic approach and cultural memory be damned - he, too, was a high master of the craft, as high and higher, and remained so as much due to his song being sung and by the fact of his wisdom replicated and captured on wax and parchment, etched his own Cirth upon hollow trees and painting on the walls of dry caves. The alphabet he had designed was a matter of pride, still, and never more necessary, kept alive into perpetuity.

It was all very well for Maglor to argue, high-minded and eerie-eyed, that every living thing was a vessel to the memory of its wounds and loves, and the singer  in exile the living vault of the dead - but he could not be permitted to think to live like this was to do true service to either the dead or the craft.

There were standards, even in exile. Lore and art were their own craft, with their own principles - what were minstrels for, if not to outlast the past and keep it alive in proper and decent fashion? Changing the length of mourning cantos and solemn ballads with every day's new and renewed grief was not tolerable minstrelsy.

That there was nothing decent at all in Maglor was not Daeron's concern, as long as he could still sing.

To sing alone was not enough. Maglor had forgotten it, set aside that vocation in preference of foul, foul works, but that did not mean that it had forgotten him in turn.

To be the best of singers one had to give one's over to be heard, written, read back to him, the principles applied to him still. The thankless sea did not count; and a song had to be heard, even if only by the birds, for it to be made true and final all the way through. Daeron meant to uphold these principles and see them upheld, even if discipline must be called for.

It was not justice, but justice was not his craft. Punishment, absolution, the fate of the many - these things he had only trusted to his ling and the stars. The stars had pronounced their sentence, and Maglor kept himself alive to suffer it; Daeron did not think to contest the matter.

Maglor thought him strange and wonderful for this hierarchy of concerns; but Daeron had never been prince nor warrior chieftain. He, at least, was under no false impression that his worth to the Music rested anywhere else than in preserving it.

Maglor raised up his scorched hands in wry defense and self-accusation: Daeron was not moved. Heavenly punishment was not an excuse to be considered, and if anything only a greater encouragement to perfect his dedication to the art.

"If you cannot decide upon it, nor write it yourself, I can do both with my own hands, " he said dismissively. The offer alone blanched Maglor's cheeks of all colour with shame; but Daeron had not much patience for that, either. "Though you will have to decide upon the final form of your works, and dictate them."

"Dictation alone will not suffice, for such a task," Maglor said, the deep, soft-edged timber of his voice turning softer and rougher. Sea-voiced, he could not hide the tide swell of his desire when he looked upon Daeron's righteous visage, the deep-rooted steadiness of his devotion to lore-craft. "Your demand is just and sensible. I am certain I can find a means to apply myself to the challenge of it at last - under the guidance of Daeron, among all singers the most masterful."

Daeron did agree. It was a sound notion: the means, he felt strongly, were justified altogether by the righteousness of the ends. His lady Lúthien, of whom he sang still with terrible fondness and terrible grief, would be well-pleased. She had always encouraged him to advance beyond the set order of things, to be ever inventive with his minstrel's art.

This work would be burned, afterwards. They had found an uneasy middle ground in that - a final version of Maglor's laments, set down in Daeron's script by Daeron's brush. And then it would be burned: for it had been the way among the the cavalry warriors of the Gap to burn their dead.

But first, the ink had to be crafted, and then ground down. The fur of the brushes hunted, treated, oiled and carefully sewn. The paper was thick, made to last, spread out in a scroll. Daeron had for an archive many dry and enchanted places; this would be but another bound manuscript, kept through the Ages undamaged.

At times he rested, and with the hand that did not hold the brush laid a grounding touch upon Maglor's head. He ran it through his loose curls, touched his cheeks to feel him working to keep Daeron's cock warm and full and well-tended. 

Maglor looked at him desperately, flushed and stuffed. His fingers, clasped tame and terrible behind his back back, clenched convulsively at times; otherwise he was very careful to be still as Daeron worked, and eager to please him as he rested.

Silenced for once, he swallowed hungrily, drank deep of his taste, was eager to have his stifled sounds fucked quiet when Daeron found a moment to ease his eyes and indulge himself in grasping the hair at the back of his neck and forcing himself in deeper into the tight throat that held him.

"Enough," Daeron said gently, drawing away and stroking his taunt neck until the shuddering passed. He was not without pity; the lantern flickered wearily, and the joints of his fingers ached with a steady scrivener's pain. "Not long now to finish for tonight once this lay in complete." 

Daeron brought the tip of the brush to Maglor's mouth, stroked his mouth idly as he wetted the tip in him. Ink-stained, he panted against Daeron's knee, chased after the touch when the brush passed, tender and slick as a kiss, over his lips.

"Daeron," he rasped, entreating. "It is not well done. I have forgotten, I am certain I did it better once. The meter is all wrong: and the version is not that which is ought to be-"

"It is as I set it down to be," Daeron said, and made it a final thing. 

Maglor's protesting mouth swallowed in a gasp when Daeron pressed his fingers into its wet heat, smearing the ink on his tongue, easy and possessing where his cockhead had been.

He held himself uncaring of words spoken while at work, uninterested in red-rimmed glances and shaking whimpers; Maglor knew it well by now.

It inflamed him all the more, fed the rushing dizziness of his mind's work and his body's submission. A fine balance must be kept, to keep him grounded and attentive - the vast scope of his thoughts pliant to Daeron's grasping mind, all the disharmony and force of the voice of the sea studied at length, learned slowly, with science and care.

It inflamed Daeron no less, in truth. He grasped firmly at his hair, pressed back inside his yielding mind, rocked into his mouth, and Maglor sank into his thrust, took him with a moan, rocking on his knees to take him deeper before Daeron grounded him down with a stern hand.

Daeron waited a moment longer before looking into his eyes and heart. His blue-black mouth stretched obscenely around Daeron; but more obscene by far was the bright glint of his eyes, and the gratitude of his savage, aching spirit at being made bare and made tame.

 Kneeling before him and under Daeron's high desk, Maglor gave himself over to translation in surrender. Laid out clear and plain as the paper and the ink, the wide expanse of his mind was singularly open and singularly focused on the words, the tempo, the transcribing of his compositions through hands not his own. 

He waited until the slow, easy rhythm of thoughts and mouth had been found again. When Daeron picked up the brush again, Maglor applied himself likewise, tongue and memory and throat, all joined in purpose. They went at a good pace, all things considered; but Daeron made certain to be thorough with every letter, careful with the lines of his Cirth, for the due honor and dignity of the thing. 

[elronds-library]

give me some madness i can get off on

by thurinngwethil (@aredhels)

Long has Makalaurë fought against the temptation of Findaráto but tonight he decides he is going to try out a different tactic.

Mature, No Archive Warnings

Words: 901

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ "Come, Mulkhêrînim, and do not be shy. The Elf-prince is yours to use tonight, for this is how the Lord rewards his loyal subjects." ❞

⊱ Prompt: Pillory/stocks, free use ⊱ Pairing: Númenórean cultists x Maglor, Mairon ⊱ Synopsis: Mairon captures Maglor and brings him to the Temple of Melkor as a gift to his loyal followers. ⊱ Featuring: The Cult of Melkor is also a deranged sex cult now because Mairon said so, references to past Angbang ⊱ Warnings: Non-con, ritualistic gang rape, sadism & voyeurism (on Mairon's part in particular), the prompts by themselves

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December; we're nearing the end (one more regular chapter that I have already written plus a bonus fic I'm currently working on).

Mulkhêrînim - (Adûnaic) - Children of Melkor. Thought it would be a lovely way for Mairon to address them like that as an ultimate affront against Eru. Translation by me with the help of this dictionary (because in the Tolkien fandom even the nasty porn needs linguistics!)

"I have a special gift for you today, oh faithful Mulkhêrînim." 

His loyal cultists mumbled among themselves when Mairon presented them with the exquisite treat he had captured. 

At first glance, it appeared to be yet another captive, like the innumerable amount he had caught in the service of his lord – a dark-haired man, albeit handsome by incarnate standards, was kneeling on the dais in front of the altar, his head and hands secured by a hastily erected pillory, naked save for a flimsy loin cloth. 

The more perceptive among Mairon's followers, however, had already noticed what made this one special: The pair of pointed ears sticking out from the mess that was his hair, almost defiantly announcing his identity as one of Ilúvatar's immortal children. 

"Is that an Elf?" one of the cultists gasped, pointing at the helpless prisoner. 

"Indeed it is, very good," Mairon purred and stood next to the Elf in question to almost tenderly pull his hair out of the way to show them off. "But not any Elf; I have captured one of royal blood." 

The whispering among his followers intensified, and he savoured the tension before the anxiously awaited revelation. 

"Meet Prince Makalaurë, also known as Maglor, the last living son of Fëanor!"

Laughing and jeering erupted from the crowd, their faces changing from curious to ravenous within seconds. Maglor, however, remained quiet, merely pressing his lips together and hardening his gaze. 

I suppose his dear brother told him what happens to those who talk back, Mairon thought with a pleased smirk. 

"Our minstrel's lonely wanderings have finally come to an end, so that he may grace us with his presence instead," he declared with a grand gesture, smugness bleeding into his tone like black ink dripping into water. 

"Will he be a sacrifice to the Lord?" a younger cultist asked. 

Mairon laughed. Oh, Melkor would be delighted to witness this scene; he could practically hear his gleeful laughter echoing through the temple from beyond the circles of the world, could see his eyes gleaming with dark amusement, could feel his joy – but he swiftly tore himself away from his memories and imagination, lest he be distracted for too long. 

"Perhaps he will be in time," he drawled, "though for now he shall serve you." 

His mortal followers, while loyal and so very eager to attain the immortality he had promised, didn't seem to grasp the meaning of his words, looking up at him expectantly. None had the courage to ask. Mairon suppressed a sigh of exasperation and the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and stepped aside so they could properly admire Maglor's scantily clad form.

"Have you never dreamed of getting a taste of what we will conquer? Of enjoying the pleasures of immortal flesh?" He chuckled. "Such rare blood is too precious to spill with haste, would you not agree? After all..." 

In one swift movement, Mairon raked his claw-like golden nails down Maglor's back, drawing blood and eliciting a piercing scream. 

"He has such a beautiful voice, for which he is renowned to this day. What a waste it would be to not enjoy his illustrious company..." 

Murmurs of agreement rose within the crowd, and a few cultists came closer, looking up at their high priest as they waited for permission. Mairon stepped back to make space for his followers and beckoned them with an elegant wave of his hands, causing the golden bangles on his arm to clink and tinkle. 

"Come, Mulkhêrînim, and do not be shy. The Elf-prince is yours to use tonight, for this is how the Lord rewards his loyal subjects." 

A heady mix of lust and greed filled the room, and he inhaled it eagerly, a warm shudder going through him. He was going to enjoy this spectacle greatly. 

Had he caught any other Elf, he would have to be worried that their fëa would all too soon flee to Mandos, unable to endure such violation, but the Fëanorion's ill-fated oath would keep him chained to his hröa. 

Robes billowing behind him as if moved by an unseen tempest of malice, Mairon strutted around the altar and leapt onto the lap of Melkor's statue with feline grace, taking a seat like a king would sit on a throne. 

"Do you see that, precious? Almost like home," he whispered to the statue and pressed a reverent kiss onto the cold marble hand, exactly where his ring would have been. 

Maglor didn't scream when his loin cloth was torn off him, nor when greedy hands explored his body and fondled him like a common whore. He didn't grace his captors with any pleas or protests. Only when one cultist knelt behind him and forced his cock inside, he finally cried out. 

Mairon smiled. Awaken their lust, and they are reduced to mere animals, as you taught me yourself. 

The scene unfolding in front of him was chaotic, erratic and filthy, just like Melkor would have loved it. The Man's coupling with their Elven captive was frenzied and hasty, gripping his hips with his knuckles white, chasing his pleasure. Maglor himself was soon silenced – in spite of his wonderful voice and the lovely sound of his screams – by another cultist forcing his mouth open to shove his cock down his throat.

"Let's see what else he can do with that talented tongue of his," another commented on the act, followed by raucous laughter. 

Mairon considered chastising them for not appreciating the beauty of a voice trembling with pain and despair, but instead kept a serene expression as if it had been an amusing statement. He couldn't quite fault them for it; after all, mortals were ever so impatient, and their new toy had many of them to satisfy. 

Whenever one finished inside of him, another would take their place. A young initiate was sent to retrieve some oil for additional lubrication and returned with a pitcher containing the very same sacred oil that was used in their ritual sacrifices – another thing too entertaining to be irked by, and thus Mairon remained silent, smiling and nodding along whenever one of his followers looked up at him for encouragement. 

"Let us see if they can break him, precious," he whispered to the statue. 

Maglor's head hung low whenever no one held it in place, though he had little room to move. The pillory kept him upright even as knees gave in, and seed had begun leaking out of him and down his thighs. Mairon was delighted to see droplets of red marring creamy white and caught the distinct scent of blood. Still, it didn't stop his followers from using their new toy like wild beasts mounting one another during mating season. Some also opted to help themselves before or after their turn, spilling onto whichever part of Maglor they could reach. 

Mairon hadn't paid attention to the passage of time, but he estimated a few hours had passed when they were finally done with the Noldorin prince, readjusting their robes and withdrawing from him while glancing up at their master. Abandoning his comfortable seat on the statue – though most unwillingly – he stepped closer to survey the results. 

Despite no longer being gagged, Maglor was eerily silent. His entire form was stained with viscous white, his face in particular, his lips were swollen, his legs trembling, his hole loose and leaking. 

Mairon graced his followers with a bright, pleased smile as if they had done him a great kindness and placed his fingertips together. 

"Well done, Mulkhêrînim. Our Lord shall look down upon you with benevolence and grant his favour to those who stand against his enemies." 

Maglor let out a small snort, yet the spark of rebellion was short-lived when Mairon backhanded him across the face with graceful elegance that belied the force of his blow. 

"Now take our guest to the King's dungeons and make accommodations worthy of a prince." 

The sweet smile on his face then twisted, showing sharp teeth, and his voice darkened as he added, "And make sure he cannot escape, lest you wish to invoke our Lord's wrath." 

Thanks for reading! ♡

[fuckingfinwions]

Started all the way back for Silm smut week day 2, Seduction and Mistaken identities (at least briefly)

__

Amras slowly closed the door to Maedhros's sitting room behind him, careful not to alert anyone that the highest of Feanor's house had a visitor so late. He was so focused on silence, he didn't notice the silhouette seated by the fire was too short, and jumped when the voice was all wrong.

"He's not here."

"What?"

"Maedhros isn't here. He's planning so many details over at the Nolofinwean camp, he's staying in a guest room there for a week," Maglor explained.

"What makes you think I was looking for Maedhros?"

"These are Maedhros's rooms, Amras."

Amras blushed. "I know that. I'm allowed here, I have a key."

"I saw." Maglor took a long drink of wine.

"Wait - how did you get in?"

"I also have a key to our eldest brother's chambers. For the same reason you do."

"It's nice to be with family."

"Yes, it is. But neither of us can have Maedhros tonight, and laying in his bed by myself is less than appealing."

That couldn't be meant how it sounded. "Nothing is stopping you from going back to your own rooms."

"The bed there is just as cold."

"You are making disgusting insinuations about our brother," Amras said, hopefully sounding normal and familial rather than jealous.

"Disgusting insinuations would be wondering why exactly Nolofinwe and Fingon need Maedhros overnight, and if they're in one bed or three."

"How much have you been drinking?!"

"Oh, not a lot. Much less than some nights while I was king, and you never called me on it then."

"When you were king, you didn't go around accusing people of incest!"

"Is a father and son that much worse than two brothers? Don't worry though, I can live with being second in Maedhros's affections. It's just being fourth for his touch is a bit lonely tonight."

"Fourth?"

"There's Fingon, of course. And you, and perhaps Nolofinwe. Though I suppose that's uncharitable to Maedhros, he might just be happy to get the real deal after making do with me."

Amras was a bit lost. "You're real too."

"Oh I'm not. But I don't mind. I filled the role of Feanor in front of Nolofinwe, and the role of King Maedhros for our people. Those were both much less pleasant than being in our brother's bed and not listening too closely to what name he calls."

"How can you be so casual about that?"

"If you can't be honest with family, who can you be honest with? Besides, I know you understand. You spent enough nights in Maedhros's tent when we first landed."

"I was grieving."

"Grieving so hard that you left bitemarks on Maedhros's shoulders."

"What - how did you see those!"

"I admit he and I more often do things face to face, but he did turn away to sleep sometimes, or get dressed. He's never asked me to stop watching."

Amras paused a moment. "You've been with him for that long?"

"He finally noticed my offer in our first exile, though I've been making it for far longer. Like I said, I know I'm not who he wants most. And you?"

"I'm not who he wants most either."

"Nor is he who you really want. I do believe that you were grieving Amrod, at least to start."

"Keep his name our of your mouth, murderer."

"Fine. I didn't actually mean to dredge all this up, I'm sorry."

"Did you actually have a point, besides getting drunk in Maedhros's rooms without him?"

"Yes. As you said, Maedhros isn't here, and won't be until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest." Maglor looked expectantly at Amras.

Amras nodded, as Maglor seemed to be waiting for a response. "That's true."

"You want him, and can't have him tonight. I want him, and can't have him tonight either."

Amras blushed, but nodded in admission.

"I have a lot of experience of what Maedhros is like in bed, and practice at letting my lover see what they wish in me. You have practice at fucking one brother and pretending he's another. And we'd both be so lonely if we went back to our rooms."

"I would - wait. Are you serious?"

"Desperately."

Amras knelt down in front of Maglor to look him in the eye. "You're drunk."

"I can still stand, and not just on my legs."

Amras placed one hand on the arm of Maglor's chair. "It would be such a bad idea."

"Any worse than we've done so far?"

Amras said, "No," and leaned in for a kiss.

[lovefairymina]

Maglor, what would you say if I just... surprise you, arriving in your study and sit on your thighs?

Deciding to tease you more and indulge in your fantasy, he manspread in his seat and rubbed his thigh tantalizingly. The smirk smeared across his face accompanied by his lip biting was a the draw you in. “Hmm, if you did so, I'll have no choice but to surprise you with something more. I believe you would enjoy being bent over my desk?”

[doodle-pops]

Modern AU: DILF! Maglor

SFW and NSFW Headcanons

A/N: Once again, I have returned with my modern AU headcanons after so long. I’ve promised you all DILF headcanons for Maglor after it won the poll from last year. Sorry for the long wait. Do enjoy!

Warnings: female reader, pregnancy, breeding, lactation kink

➽ Modern AU Series

SFW

⊰ DILF! Maglor who…has adopted two children, Elrond and Elros and lives in a small-town neighbourhood. Despite his age, he has the most youthful-looking appearance that has all the mothers fawning over him every time he drops his sons off at school. He has a few grey streaks in his hair, but people tend to brush it off as his natural hair colour and not a sign of his ageing.

⊰ DILF! Maglor who…catches your eye one day at the supermarket while he’s out buying groceries for his kids. It was Elros who ran off in the middle of shopping and allowed Maglor to bump into you. He was kind enough to pay for your few items.

⊰ DILF! Maglor who…finds you cute and when he discovers that you live within the neighbourhood, uses his sons as a means to get you to talk to him since he was nervous in the beginning. When he gains the confidence, he’ll make regular trips to your home and spend the evening cooking and teaching you tips.

⊰ DILF! Maglor who… invites you over for Sunday lunches so you and the twins can bond in the kitchen as you assist them with cooking. He’ll stand in the doorway and observe how perfect you look interacting with his sons, and can’t help himself from thinking how lovely you were for him.

⊰ DILF! Maglor who…loves to bring you with him in the mornings whenever he’s dropping off the twins just to make all the other parents jealous. He’ll pull you in for a side hug and swoop in for a peck to make everyone get the hint that he’s taken and you all are a family.

⊰ DILF! Maglor who…spends his time off taking all four of you on family-oriented holidays and shows everyone who’s ogling him that he’s taken by the most beautiful partner in the world. He loves to give you tons of kisses and then laugh whenever Elrond and Elros scream ‘ew’ or ‘yuck’.

DILF! Maglor who…smiles brilliantly the first time he hears Elrond and Elros address you as mother/mummy. It was a dream come through and all that he needed to commence the final act…put a ring on your finger and make you his wifey.

NSFW

⊰ DILF! Maglor who…pulls you into the backseat of the car after he dropped his sons off at school for a quick fuck because you two were interrupted this morning by the twins. Everything is sweaty and hot as he folds you into some challenging position to suit the cramped spacing. It becomes a ritual whenever you both have to drop them off at school or pick them up.

⊰ DILF! Maglor who…finds the most obscure places to have quickies because the twins are so attached to you, they never wish to give you a break and leave you alone for a second. Sometimes early in the morning as you’re making breakfast, in the shower or in the cabinet when the twins are out of sight…for five minutes.

⊰ DILF! Maglor who…takes you to neighbourhood parties the other mothers are hosting to rub it in their faces that there’s no way they can fit themselves in between you two by sneaking away for a quick session in the washroom and hoping that the others hear.

⊰ DILF! Maglor who…reads up on lots of medical books for pregnancies because he’s been wanting another child to care for and who else could be more perfect than you to bare his next baby. He ensures that you’re eating right and he’s fucking you enough times a week to increase the chances of impregnation.

⊰ DILF! Maglor who…loves to rub your stomach every session and whisper about how you’ll look lovely with a round belly and carrying his child. He praises you all the time to reassure you of any doubt you’re having as he folds you into a deeper mating press before releasing himself into you. Makes you keep his cum in you longer than usual for certainty.

⊰ DILF! Maglor who… is thrilled to learn that you’re pregnant and shares the news with his sons before having a little family celebration. He’ll take you all out for ice cream and let the twins eat as much as they want because he knows it’ll put them to sleep so you and he can celebrate in private back home.

⊰ DILF! Maglor who…keeps you active throughout your pregnancy because he’s gravitated towards your belly and how you’re glowing. It’s worse when he observes how the twins constantly surround you, rubbing your growing belly, and talking to their sibling.

⊰ DILF! Maglor who…has grown an affinity for your breasts now that they’re all swollen with milk and will massage and squeeze them for you anytime they’re hurting. However, once the baby is born, he finds a way to become useful anytime your breasts leak. Lactation kink unlocked. He adores how plump your breasts have become.

⊰ DILF! Maglor who…is blessed for the new addition to his little family and is grateful for having you in his children and his life.

Masterlist

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