#thuringwethil x mairon

[annabthesolitarywriter]

So, I am really keen on including Thuringwethil in my fic and I think Elena Anaya would be perfect. She just fits. I imagine Thuringwethil to be a crazy, unhinged vampire whose obsession with Marion is ultimately the cause of her downfall. And she has definitely mastered that unhinged look. I loved her in Van Helsing and I might rewatch it soon because Hugh Jackman, Kate Beckinsale and David Wenham (Friar Carl 🥺)

Jonathan Rhys Meyers in his Henry VIII era gives me MAJOR Mairon vibes.

Ah, these two do look good together. Rest assured, she is making an appearance in Lady of Ithilien. These two need to come together again, it's been too long.

Headcanon: their relationship is destructive, dysfunctional and utterly toxic. He doesn't really love her (he just beds her because she's pretty) and she's obsessed with him and the power he's accorded her over the years. She loves him deeply—she has slaughtered millions to please him and she'd die for him—but her devotion isn't completely selfless. He may or may not end up getting rid of her once she's of no more use to him.

Rant over.

ELENA ANAYA as ALEERA in van helsing (2004).

[perlen-gold]

Melkor: Mairon’s mad at me :(

Thuringwethil: Because you stole the silmarils?

Melkor: No, that’s not it.

Thuringwethil: Because you got yourself in jail for a couple of thousand years without any conjugal visits?

Melkor: No.

Thuringwethil: Because you got robbed 'cause you got distracted by Luthien’s two hot arguments?

Melkor: No.

Thuringwethil: Because you crept into his forge again and hid all his tools?

Melkor: N- well, yes, but that’s not it.

Thuringwethil: Because you left the window open and it rained and every stack of documents on his desk got soaking wet?

Melkor: No.

Thuringwethil: Because you read his mail and scrawled stupid side comments and doodled wangs all over it?

Melkor: No.

Thuringwethil: Trouble with “performance” in bed?

Melkor: What- NO!

Thuringwethil: Did you ignore his safeword?

Melkor: What’s a safeword??

Thuringwethil: You forget to clean the toys?

Melkor: I AM all the toys he needs!!!

Thuringwethil: Because you screamed and killed the spider that was actually his friend?

Melkor: Wait, they were friends?!

Thuringwethil: Well, I really don’t know why he would be cross with you, Lord Melkor.

Melkor:

Melkor:

Melkor: I ... I said his ring ... you know, the one he’s just made ... well, I said it reminded me a bit … a bit ... of Voldemort’s horcruxes.

Thuringwethil:

Thuringwethil: You better call for a really good divorce lawyer immediately.

[overlord-of-fantasy]

Yummy orcs

Sauron: *Giving an evil speech from some tower of Angband*

Morgoth: *stares at Sauron's ass*

Thuringwetil, under her breath, drooling: Wow, the crowd down there sure looks like a batch of salsa...

Gothmog, already holding her back: Melkor still needs those orcs!

[sauron-kraut]

Summary: Thuringwethil and Mairon share a moment together after sharing a kill.

Set after the events in palsy, though one can be read without the other.

Pairing: Mairon x Thuringwethil

Words: 752

Warnings: explicit content, pwp, so much blood, corpse, cannibalism (might not count as such but to be sure)

As always: If you like this little piece, comments on AO3 are appreciated! 🖤

Not beta read!

Find the smut under the cut.

hunger

He is sitting on the stone floor of this chamber on Tol-in-Gaurhoth, cross-legged, in his white nightgown drenched in red, and licks gore from his fingers. Candlelit homeliness, cradled in copper stench. Mairon softly hums an old melody. She is lying on the bed, blissfully warm, bloated with blood that is not hers, eyes only half-open. Bare, for the heat of her skin and her monstrous bliss will not be contained within garments. Thuringwethil regards him. He looks up at her, pausing the beastly cleaning of his elegant hands. A short ache of affection beneath her sternum.

“Is your hunger sated, sweetling?” Mairon smiles. “Have you fed enough?” 

She leans back, props herself up against the slowly cooling body behind her. Red oozes from it into the bedding, painting a sea of ruby, his insides open where they tore into him like starving things.

“No more hunger to sate, no more thirst to slake, Mairon.” Thuringwethil sighs. “And yet, I have come alive at last,” she says and absently strokes the warm skin of her arm with two fingers.

She faintly becomes aware of wetness between her legs. Languorous gluttony has slickened her. Another hunger. 

Thuringwethil feels Mairon’s calm gaze on her, on her neck, her breasts, her blood-filled belly. On his bare knees, he shifts closer, then tilts his copper-haloed head and rests it against her inner thigh, casting his gaze up at her. His soft hair tickles on her skin, and she wants to reach out, touch it, doesn’t.

When he speaks, Thuringwethil intently watches his curved crimson-stained lips move, the glistening pink of his tongue as he overpronounces the words in his typical manner. That golden tongue that sweet-talks him his honeyed ways into the minds of many creatures. Want settles between her thighs, a ravenous, writhing thing.

“I shall pleasure you, if you wish.” One of Mairon’s hands finds her knee, gives a light push, opening her legs a little wider.

“Yes,” she says, merely a languid whisper, and “With your mouth?”

He offers her a toothy smile. “Mmmh, with my mouth.” His lips graze her skin, not quite a kiss. 

Need floods her now. Mairon hooks his arm under Thuringwethil’s knee, pulls her body towards the edge of the bloodied bed, towards him. The movement makes the corpse shift on the sheets. Hot breath on her, then a hotter, wet tongue pressing to her ready aching flesh. Relief draws a sigh from her, and greed tears at her moans. He does this artfully, as he does all, offensive perfection in lust and slaughter alike. It makes Thuringwethil clutch the sheets, roll her hips to better meet his blood-caked mouth. Mairon keens against her.

Her gaze wanders to his arm, which he has casually draped over her leg.

A flick of his tongue to the spot that makes her pant, and Mairon looks up at her through his long lashes, cat-eyes wide, his lips still on her curled into a smile. 

A forlorn sound withers on her teeth.

Mairon briefly draws back and lets spit dribble onto his blood-reddened fingers before pushing one of them inside her, then another, yes, yes, this is good, don’t stop, her fullness makes her spit hollow truths, and at last she twines her fingers in his hair, pushing him down, presses his golden divinity to her, he lets her, her claw-like nails scraping his scalp. Lord, abhorred King of Men. Thuringwethil moans, a strangled sound in her own ear. A rush of power, always fleeting. Her orgasm comes like a blow, swift and harsh, imperative. More wetness softly oozes out of her, and her hips still. Rapture bleeds from her like carnage. She relaxes the grip on Mairon’s hair, tries to catch her breath. 

He withdraws his fingers, holds them up before his face, before closing his slick lips around them. Lust faintly rears up in her again, but she beckons him, and he crawls onto the iron-sticky bed and into her arms. 

Thuringwethil shifts, the body takes up too much space, and Mairon gives it a shove with his elbow. The dead man hits the floor with a thud. His insides spill onto the tiles. They will feed what remains of him to the wolves. Later, it can wait. 

“Come here,” Thuringwethil says quietly, draws Mairon closer, and he rests his leg on hers. She briefly drags her lips over his temple, her fangs, then gives in to fully sated sluggishness, and they slumber amidst butchery.

[the-angband-confessional]

Can angbang boys plus ancalagon tell us about their favorite ways to torment men n elves?

“We torment them in many ways,” Melkor eagerly begins. “Perhaps you would like to see the dungeons? There are implements of many kinds adorning the walls. We even have iron masks and hooks and even coffin-like boxes filled with little iron spikes on the inside. Mairon devised them himself.”   “Indeed,” Mairon agrees from his seat at the foot of the throne. “Although I prefer torments that do not lead to the spilling of much blood. Gothmog over there favors his iron brands, as does Lungorthin. Lady Thuringwethil enjoys taking wing and playing her own variety of hide and seek with the thralls. She enjoys it, but alas, the thralls do not. As for Ancalagon? He simply gorges them.”   “That is because he has little patience,” Thuringwethil complains, clinging to a rock formation in the ceiling. She shoots a look at the master. “I wonder why that is.”   Melkor has the decency to blush.

[cilil]

⸙ Prompt: Heartbeat | Angbangfang (Melkor x Mairon x Thuringwethil) ⸙ Synopsis: When they are together, Thuringwethil gets to feast. ⸙ Warnings: Biting, blood ⸙ Drabble

» AN: A gift for @saintstars, posted today as promised. This scene was inspired by this lovely artwork.

It was warm. It was pure bliss. 

It was as if the Void had never touched her. 

Thuringwethil wrapped one arm around Mairon and sank her teeth into hot, golden flesh. There was no cry of pain this time, no fighting, no searing, blinding fire – only a gasp of pleasure and docile acquiescence. 

When Melkor embraced him from the other side, she reached for him as well, searching claws scratching his cheek until she drew blood. Her pupils dilated, her nostrils widened; the scent was maddening. 

There was no greater delight than to feast on the essence of life itself. 

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

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taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-big-tits @melkors-defense-attorney @singleteapot @wandererindreams

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Whimsy's Christmas Special

Inspired by @cilil pick your Halloween adventure fic, and in light of December being a month of gift giving, I have created this little story where you could pick a gift given by either Melkor or those who serve him.

Enjoy!

Characters: Reader (Second person POV), Gothmog, Melkor, Tevildo,  Mairon, Thû, Thuringwethil

Warning: Major character deaths prior to the beginning of the story

Begin story

tags: @asianbutnotjapanese

[marchwardenofmordor]

The way I clutch my fucking pearls whenever anyone mentions Sauron and Galadriel to me like

*wretches*

ROP is fine. Like it’s fine. It’s fanfiction. It’s fine.

Ship Sauron and Galadriel if you want to, girls, it’s not up to me to dictate what you do for fun.

…But considering Melkor and Mairon, then Sauron and Ar-pharazon, Annatar and Celebrimbor… the way he canonically seeks out and seduces powerful men (with the exception of Thuringwethil)??? The way this bish crafted the form of Annatar specifically to seduce Tyelpe… (Which honestly considering the time period LOTR and the Silm was written in, and given that Sauron’s supposed to be the embodiment of what corruption does to a guy and is pretty much the antithesis of Victorian Society’s standards - albeit his industrialism - and that he’s basically the literal Lucifer - it only makes sense that he’d be lavender-scented)

Not only this but the Ainur/Valar and Maiar were known to pair up. And Melkor/Morgoth and Mairon/Sauron did not (pssst because they went for each other)

Please. When I say I’m gonna fuck Sauron, I say it with my whole ass, cock and cavern.

And I know Thuringwethil was technically his mistress or whatever but I physically cannot fathom Sauron ever being genuinely interested in women. Galadriel x Sauron just feels so viscerally wrong and I think ROP severely fumbled it in that aspect, because it makes no sense whatsoever. Celebrimbor was right there. Annatar was right there. THAT should have been the ‘situationship’.

Yet Amazon chose to create Halbrand instead to service the straight female fans and create a heteronormative semi-romance plot (despite going to lengths to be like “We love diversity!”) and I just—

*deep sigh*

Amazon preached diversity and then deprived us of a gay main (sort of) character. Gurl the haladriel shit was straight up cowardly.

While I loved Charlie Vickers as Annatar and loved the portrayal of Mairon, and also adored Celebrimbor… ROP was a flop in many ways.

The only way I could enjoy it was by reminding myself: this is just fanfiction. This is just some cis het fanfic which deviates from the canon.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Silm September 2024

September is a busy month for me, and I'll be on holiday...

BUT, for what it's worth, I'll try to get a few of these in!

Fire - Silvergifting - Drabble

I want you cause we’re both insane - Finrod x Maglor - 115

Chains - Maedhros x Sauron - Drabble

Open me up - Finarfin x Eärwen - Drabble

Power Dynamics - Haleth x Caranthir - 105

Now come and fuck me, baby - Melkor x Mairon - Drabble

Stars - Varda x Nienna - Double Drabble

The innocence is gone - Melian x Thingol - Drabble

Butt plugs - Erestor x Glorfindel - Drabble

In the most biblical sense, I am beyond repentance - Maedhros x Fingon - Double Drabble

Mutual Masturbation - Aredhel x Celegorm - Drabble

I want your leather studded kiss - Oromë x Celegorm - Drabble

Scars - Nerdanel & Anairë & Eärwen - Drabble

I drink the honey inside your hive - Aulë x Yavanna - Double Drabble

Outdoor sex - Nerdanel x Anairë - Triple Drabble

And I don't care what you say, I want to go too far - Finrod x Turgon - Drabble

Hidden Identity - Maglor x Daeron - Drabble

I try to talk refined for fear that you might find out how I’m imagining you - Fëanor x Nerdanel - Double Drabble

Seed - Curufin x fem!OC - Drabble

Darling, you're so pretty it hurts. - Finrod x Celegorm - Double Drabble

Ritual Sex - Galadriel x Celeborn - Drabble

Canine teeth in the side of my neck - Thranduil x Finrod - Drabble

Feathers - Gothmog x Eönwë - Drabble

And I run for miles just to get a taste - Aredhel x Thuringwethil - Drabble

Worship - Fëanor x Fingolfin - Double Drabble

Young lovers with their legs tied up in knots - Irmo x Estë - Drabble

Harem - Fingon x Sons of Fëanor - Drabble

My hands are shaking from holding back from you - Idril x Maeglin - Drabble

Biting/Bitemarks - Finwë x Thingol - Drabble

I burst into flames so brilliantly - Maedhros x Fingon - Drabble

[cinemairon]

Hi, I was watching the post about angbang vampire au

Can you give more info, since it looks interessing?

Oh! Of course! To be fair there is not too much to say as we started it as an Inktober theme, but we liked it and started developing it.

It's supposed to take place to a late medieval town which leaves under the fear of the Vampire (Melkor). One night in the winter, Melkor witnesses a teen boy falling to the frozen lake, lost in the woods. He decides to save him and secretly return him home. He soon realises, though, that he is the son of the town's smith, the one who creates the special weapons that hunters use in their attempts to kill him. Even so he feels fondness of Mairon and returns him home despite the danger.

As the time passes and he watches him from afar and gets infatuated by him as a person, his wit and his skill. Eventually he appears openly to his workspace when he is alone and the 2 of them have a rather explosive chemistry, challenging eachother in several levels. Mairon isn't though as open to express his feelings, but Melkor has his way with words and insightful as he is, he can see Mairon's ambition and need for freedom from the limitation of the life this town can offer him.

Eventually they form a secret relationship but the hunters are after Melkor making things difficult. Mairon helps him escape several times until he is caught helping them and he is banned as a traitor and attacked by them. Melkor saves him this time taking him to his tower away from there, and in order to heal him and for Mairon to be with him forever, he turns him into a vampire as well.

Mairon becomes powerful like him and we have him discovering the unlimited almost possibilities that lie ahead. Melkor trusts him to handle his wealth and utilise it giving him the chance to also craft with tools, metals and gems he never dreamt of before. So, the two of them, along with their little pet-"daughter", Thuringwethil, which is the bat of the tower, live in the tower getting to learn more and more for one another night by night and grow more powerful.

The scene from the drawing was from an rp when one night as they were walking in the forest they got to the lake they first met. Melkor asks Mairon how much does he remember from that night and points out he took him for an angel when he first opened his eyes while he carried him, which Mairon denies, as "Heaven is too boring for Melkor".

Lol, and I thought there wasn't much to say XD

I hope it answered your question and you find it interesting. What I enjoy personally is this rp is the sarcastic-flirting dialogues and the strong ENTP x INTJ vibe it gives off.

[overlord-of-fantasy]

A normal day in Angband

Melkor: Why do you act like we’re three year olds? Mairon, exasperated: WHY?!? Mairon points at Melkor: YOU TRIED TO HYJACK AN EAGLE! Mairon points at Gothmog and Thuringwethil: YOU NEARLY JUMPED OFF THANGORODRIM TO SEE IF YOU COULD FLY TOGETHER! Mairon points at Nimdel the orc, walking by: AND YOU ATE MULTIPLE DRIED LEAVES AND ROCKS OFF THE GROUND! Mairon: AND YOU ASK ME WHY????

[cilil]

I've got a few gems for you this week~

Lost Tale Of The Qorinómi by @maironite. The Tale of the Qorinómi is a story mentioned in Lost Tales, but ends up never being told because Tolkien didn't write it - well, now someone else is doing it for him! Work in progress, Arien x Eönwë (who may or may not be ghostwriting this), Melkor being Melkor and a few other appearances that I won't spoil💕

Red by @fraeuleinfriedhof. A wonderful drabble in which Mairon and Thuringwethil go hunting. Mind the warnings.

The Sacred Goose by @i-did-not-mean-to. Gothmog is attempting to catch domestic poultry in search of a golden egg - what could possibly go wrong? Definitely not a certain avian Ainu getting kidnapped... :P

Let the Vultures in by @demonscantgothere. Yet another lovely WIP by hel, this time featuring Silvergifting!

You should totally sub to Qorinómi and Vultures or else I'm coming to your house

Happy Friday, Fellowship! 💛

Fic recs are the best way to help promote someone else’s works! Find some of your favorite fics, they could be WIPs, completed, old, new, whatever you want to share, and rec at least (1) of them for us and your followers to see! Who knows, it might just be the fic someone out there is looking for!

Bonus: tag the author (if possible) and share with us why you are recommending this fic!

[sauron-kraut]

Summary:

He remembers the labour and pain of creating a body. Of giving birth to himself when the world was new.

Mairon and Thuringwethil visit Melkor in Angband, a good time ensues. Mairon thinks back on his creation.

Yes, I went there and let them have a threesome.

Hey, for once (almost) everyone is having a great time, which nearly never happens in my fics.

How did they end up like that, you ask? I have no idea. I'm taking suggestions.

Not beta'd!

Warnings: explicit, child death, mild gore, they're their own warning

[cilil]

Hiiii I’ve been following you on ao3 but I found you here as well:)

Can I ask you would you write a short story about Maedhros X Thuringwethil?

I know it’s a very rare ship😂

𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝑭𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆

AN: Sure! A short story it is indeed (hope nobody is disappointed) - I've just been playing around with some ideas and would be down to revisit this plot line sometime in the future; not right now, though, as I'll be quite busy the next few months x) Anyway: Enjoy!

.☾. Pairings: Maedhros x Thuringwethil; implied/background Melkor x Mairon .☾. Synopsis: Whenever they're not being watched, Thuringwethil sneaks into the dungeons of Angband to see her favorite Elven prince - and secret lover. .☾. Warnings: Implied violence/torture, injuries (not too graphic), blood, blood drinking, vampiric Maiar .☾. AO3

A scream echoed through the hallway. 

Thuringwethil's ears twitched, alert. Could it be his voice? She hoped so, and at the same time that it was not. It would be a sign that he still had the strength to scream, but she didn't want him to be in pain. 

With bated breath, hidden in the shadows of Angband's heigh ceilings where she perched, she waited for her Maiarin brethren to exit the dungeons so she could check on him. Her prince. Her favourite. 

Wings folded, claws digging into tiny cracks within the stone that she had grown to know intimately, she waited. It took hours, but Thuringwethil had to be patient; it had to be safe to go or else she would risk both of them being punished. Her master had seen her prince's beauty as well and didn't like others coming near him; hopefully Mairon kept him too busy to watch his favourite captive all the time. 

When all had left and she sensed no more Maiar nearby, Thuringwethil descended from her vantage point, swift and silent. Gliding through the shadows with ease, she retraced paths and steps she had long since memorised, would find in her sleep if she had to; especially once she caught his scent. Faint it was these days and often laced with the smell of blood and fear, yet that only made her crave it more. 

It was a dark and lonely cell they kept him in, deep within the fortress and away from even the other prisoners. Thuringwethil willed her fána to become formless for a moment, allowing her to pass through indestructible iron bars, and appeared in front the Noldorin prince trapped inside. 

Maedhros was chained to the wall as usual, though through some miracle somebody appeared to have granted him the mercy of loosening his chains enough for him to sit. He was hunched over, a shadow of the proud, glorious prince who had made Thuringwethil's heart beat faster when the Balrogs brought him in, and his head hung low, red locks obscuring his face. 

"My love," she whispered, kneeling in front of him. "My love, I have returned." 

Slowly, Maedhros raised his head. He seemed tired, but his blue eyes regained their usual gleam when he saw her, relieved that it was the one being in this fortress who wouldn't hurt him. Not on purpose at least; Thuringwethil had bitten him by accident a few times. 

"Be careful," he rasped, "Sauron was here earlier–" 

She recoiled. She knew of course which names the Elves had taken to calling her master and her peers, but to hear them spoken in front of her remained jarring.

"You must not use such names here," Thuringwethil cautioned. "They will punish you if they hear." 

"More than they already do?" Defiance lit up his face for a moment, then it was gone again. Maedhros sighed. 

"Call him what you wish, but the fact is that he visited earlier and I fear he may return in time." 

"Don't worry," Thuringwethil moved closer to wrap her wings around him. "He has sought out our master for the night. We won't see him here for a while." 

Maedhros made a low noise of disgust upon hearing this news, but leaned into Thuringwethil's touch as she cupped his cheeks with both hands. There were a few fresh wounds on him, she could see them clearly now; scratch marks across his face, neck and chest. His earlier encounter with Mairon had to have gone as well as one would expect from a jealous Maia who despised incarnates. 

"Let me take care of you," she said gently, bringing their foreheads together. 

"Hungry?" Maedhros retorted, flashing her a crooked smile. 

He was beautiful when he smiled. Thuringwethil wished she could see it more often. 

"For you? Always," she admitted shamelessly and pulled him closer with her wings, pressing her body against his. 

Maedhros let her. He never fought back when she wanted to touch him or drink from him, and Thuringwethil adored him for it. A willing victim, especially one as pretty as him, was always a special treat. 

She licked the scratches on his face first, carefully tracing them with her tongue. There was still some fresh blood underneath, flowing into her mouth as she cleaned his wounds. His neck was next, and she had to stop herself from biting down when her lips caressed the soft, vulnerable skin of his throat and felt veins pulsing underneath. She could easily kill him if she lost control, and sometimes she felt as if he wouldn't mind that; though perhaps less because it was her and more so because it would allow him to escape this place. 

Thuringwethil shook off the thought. It wasn't like she could blame him for it — if she was trapped like he was, she might feel the same. In fact she herself had been trapped and lost once upon a time, and her master had rescued her, though she couldn't remember what had happened. 

Gentle, she tugged at the collar of Maedhros' tunic to expose one of his shoulders and began licking the wounds on his chest, right above his heart. He let his head fall back and was breathing deeply, enjoying the sensation of her warm tongue's rhythmic strokes. 

"Thuri..." His voice sounded rough, almost desperate, and it sent a shudder through the Maia. It felt as though something inside her lower body twisted into a knot, desperate to be undone, and Thuringwethil lifted her head, eyes dark with desire. 

She kissed him then, her beautiful prince, and tasted his blood — from her own tongue or from his, she couldn't tell. Maedhros' lips were dry and chapped, yet when he kissed her back she felt enraptured; she could imagine how amazing he would feel and taste if he wasn't chained up in her master's dungeon, but instead living in a palace or a forest full of trees and sunlight, the ones his kind loved so much. For him, she would even go to such a place. 

Thuringwethil withdrew to let him breathe, caressing his hair in the meantime. "I am so glad to have found you," she whispered, "yet even so, I wish things could be different. I would offer to set you free if I had the power, but I owe my master my life and he is much greater and stronger than any other of our kind." 

Maedhros shook his head. "You forget that I am oath-bound to reclaim my father's jewels which are now set in your master's crown. Even if you freed me, where would I go? Even if I fled, which path would I take that wouldn't inevitably lead me back here?" 

"So even after all this time you insist that you must suffer and ruin yourself for the sake of your dead father?" 

Maedhros leaned forward, letting his lips brush against hers once more. "Forgive me, my love, but out of all beings on Arda I hoped that a Maia would understand." 

Wordlessly, Thuringwethil nodded. It was true, her kind knew all too well how it was to be bound by fate and oaths of fealty. Maedhros couldn't betray his father just like she couldn't betray her master, and even if they could never be together outside of secret rendezvous and stolen moments, this fate they would share, for good and for ill. But for a few precious moments even that would be meaningless, as she lost herself in another kiss. 

Thanks for reading! Thuringwethil's "debt" to Melkor is a reference to my general headcanons for her (tldr: She got lost in the Void and he found her), but whether you want to go along with that or assume he deceived her about her past and took advantage is up to you ;)

taglist: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @urwendii

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

A Lord’s Proposition

Prompts “bite me” ”if you insist” and “each of my thoughts about you are improper”

Pairing: Melkor x Fem. Reader (Elf / Finwë’s daughter with Miriel and Fëanor’s twin| second person POV)

Themes: Slowburn |  Smut (lemon-ish) | Soft

Warnings: Corruption | Oral (Male receiving) | Fingering | Kissing | First time | Marking | Penetrative Sex | Cream pie

Wordcount: 4.9K words

Summary: Melkor had kidnapped you and kept you confined to a tower while he travelled to Utumno. He has now returned, and asks for you.

Rating: 🔥🔥 Minors DNI | 18+

For rules and tag form, read here. 

To the person who requested this, I hope you like it. 

You looked out a barred window, your heart aggrieved by the sight that befell your eyes.

There was no starlight here. None could be found in Angband. The sky was murky black from the thick smog of smoke from the keep’s many furnaces. The air was damp and cold and foul. The scent of ash and smoke and worse crept in through the windows and clung to your garments. Some days, the smell was so strong that it made your eyes water and bile rise at the back of your throat. You had no choice but to bear it all in silence. You were a prisoner, utterly dependent on the favor of the one who held you captive. 

Still, you supposed, it was a better fate than most. You turned your attention from the sky and peered into the gloomy courtyard. Thralls scurried to and fro like mice desperately trying to escape the talons of an eagle. They were like wraiths, mere shadows of the fair and glorious beings they once were. That was how your captor liked to see them: fearful, half-starved, and brought down to the lowest point of their existence.  

Not just them, you realized with great dread. I am one of them. The daughter of a race he loathes with a murderous passion, so the poets and singers say. How long will it be before I am made to sip from the cup that was forced onto them?

Your skin prickled out of fear. You closed the shutters of your window and sharply turned away as soon as a wretched scream carried through the courtyard. You did not want to dwell on that sound or from whom it came. There was no need to feed your nightmares with fresh fodder. 

You studied your chambers like you always did, ever since your capture. The walls and floors were bare black stone, the pelts were thick, and the rushes were new. Besides the old hearth, there was a basket filled with blocks of peat instead of wood for a fire. The bed was small but comfortable. You reflected on the remnants of your last meal. The bread and roasted meat had been fresh, the water was clean and cool.

Mine may be a wretched lot, but it is still better than theirs, you reminded yourself. Much better than theirs. 

Someone knocked on the door. It was loud and insistent. You made haste to answer it, your shoes clicking over the floor. You expected to find a thrall and came face-to-face with her instead.

Thuringwethil, they called her. Woman of the secret shadow. Herald for the Dark Lord. The first vampire. Her eyes gleamed like new rubies. Her wings dragged behind her whenever she walked. A gown was draped over one arm.

"My lady." You quickly dipped to your knees even as the words stumbled out of your mouth. Anything to not anger her. 

A gale of laughter greeted you. It was shrill and painful to the ears, like nails over brittle glass. You had to stop yourself from physically wincing.

"You certainly have good manners, little elf," Thuringwethil replied, and looked over you critically. "That will serve you well with him, I think."

"With him, my lady?" You sputtered in disbelief. "Which him?"

Your mind was a roil. There was more than one him here in Angband, and each one was as mercurial as the next. Was Thuringwethil speaking of Mairon, Melkor’s most favored advisor? Or was she speaking of that Balrog high general? The one who could change from a creature of great beauty to one that inspired nothing but sheer terror? Or was it the Maia who found great joy in changing into a giant cat and tormenting everyone who crossed his path?

"Him," she said, and moved around you in an elegant flourish. Her wings trailed behind her over the floor, all black and deep crimson. You took a deep breath and sighed wistfully. The very air around her smelled like a meadow in full bloom. It did not surprise you. Thuringwethil used to be Yavanna’s Maia after all. "Lord Melkor, no less. He has returned from Utumno and wishes to dine with you."

You gave her a measured look. You were a prisoner, captured and carried off after a daring raid in the heart of Valinor itself. And now you have been invited to dine with your captor, the Lord of Angband, no less. The prospect frightened you. 

"I… I hope I will not offend Lord Melkor," you blurted out, and hoped this invitation was not a ruse to heap unspeakable agony upon you. 

"I see you truly are nothing like that heedless, foul-tempered brother of yours," Thuringwethil observed, not unkindly. "And I promise, he will not be offended by anything you do." 

She did not give you time to think or frame a reply. She went on to add, "Thralls will see to your bath now. An orc will come to fetch you once you have finished."

You shivered and nodded in fright. Thuringwethil took her leave of you, practically floating out of your chambers in a swirl of wings and lace and night-blooming roses. You walked over to your bed and ran the flat of your palm over your new dress. It was soft to the touch and dripping in gems, and finer than any gown you possessed before.

So lavish, you mused. What does he want from me?

There was another knock on your door. This time it was hesitant and timid. "Come in, please," you said, and moved away from the bed. 

Thralls walked in carrying pails of clean, warm water. Another pair brought with them a small copper tub and a towel. A thrall filled the tub with water before adding fragrant oils. Another helped you out of your robes, her eyes downcast. Her fingers fumbled with the sash; it was as if they had all turned into thumbs. You wanted to talk to her, to ask how she came to be here. All you did, in the end, was bite your tongue.

I must take care of what I say to them. It may cause more trouble for them if I do. 

The sweet-smelling water was a welcome relief from the smells of the outside world. The thralls sluiced water over your hair before gently brushing out any tangles. One of them went to work on your nails and feet. It felt strange, to have them wait on you in such a manner. It was stranger still, given the cause for such pampering. 

She said nothing I do could offend him. I am certain now that he must want something from me. What is it? 

You had seen Melkor before. He had come calling on your brother; his words like honey. You were by an upstairs window, looking down on the gardens where they stood. Fëanor had been furious with the Vala’s intrusion. He grew even more enraged when the Vala glanced up and caught you looking, his lips curling up at the corners. Their exchange grew heated. Fëanor sent Melkor away, but not before Melkor managed to steal a second glimpse of you. That was all you saw of him until after your capture, when you were presented to him like a prize, your arms and feet bound in iron, your clothes reduced to rags. He said nothing. All he did was sit on his lofty throne and look down on you, his eyes roaming over you in a way that made a flush creep up your throat.  

You never saw him after that. Melkor kept you confined to the tower you now lived in. No one was allowed to see you save for the thralls that had to tend to you and Thuringwethil. The other Maia were allowed nowhere near you. Even the orcs were allowed nowhere near you, until now. 

It is as if he does not trust the others with me.

A thrall held out their arm, to help you out of the tub. You stood still while they toweled you dry, your cheeks ablaze when they first helped you into the wisps Thuringwethil brought with her. The garments were so soft, you did not even notice them. Next came the dress, an airy confection of lace and silk that clung to your body. Then came a pair of soft slippers and finally a perfume, one that was dabbed on each of your wrists and behind your ears. The thralls wanted to style your hair, but you declined, insisting on wearing it loose.

"The master calls," insisted the orc that came to escort you to Melkor’s private chambers deep within Angband. "Come."

You followed him silently, walking through lofty corridors and vast halls, each as empty and dimly lit as the next. Your footsteps echoed all around you even as you sunk deep into your thoughts. Melkor had insisted you be brought to him alive. He had kept you in a tower, apart from the thralls and other prisoners. He had provided you with decent food and drink, even new garments. No one was allowed to harm a hair on your head. And the way he looked at you when you were presented to him, his eyes dark with hunger. The memory alone was enough to give you pause. 

You shook your head. No. It could not be. Melkor desired nothing but the complete dominion of Arda. He treasured nothing but power and causing pain. That was what the songs said. That was what your father and brother said. And yet…

And yet…

He kept me safe. Made certain my needs were seen to. Did nothing to cause me harm. Were they all wrong? 

The orc stopped by large wooden doors, each more than twice your height. "Let her in," he snapped at the guards. They obeyed and opened the doors for you. "Get in," he mumbled almost in politeness. 

You meekly stepped over the threshold and made your way into a chamber as large as the halls you had passed. There was a soft thud. That was the sound of the doors closing behind you. You were truly trapped now.  

The room you were in was nearly as silent as a tomb. And poorly lit. There were no lamps, or torches. Just a dim fire sputtering away in the hearth. 

"Come closer, little elf," a deep voice called from behind you.  

You gulped in fright but turned in the direction of that voice.

"Closer," it called. "Come closer."

One measured footstep followed another. You walked on hesitantly, not stopping until you reached a smaller chamber filled with the light of several candles. There was a large bed in one corner, and a small table at the far end. This room, too, was empty. You were confused now. Where did that voice come from?

"Does this please you?" 

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard the voice behind you. You turned on your heel and found yourself looking at your captor. Melkor was studying you with a quizzical gleam in his eye. "My lord," you murmured, and gracefully dipped to your knees, remembering your courtesies. 

He laughed merrily. "Thuringwethil was right. You do have nice manners." 

You looked at him, shocked. She spoke to him about me. Why would she do that? 

Melkor smirked and looked at you approvingly before walking over to the table. He pulled out a chair and gestured for you to join him. It confused you even more. The table was devoid of food and drink. 

"The food…" you breathed out and struggled for words. Melkor was as glorious as the day you first saw him. The image of him standing there and watching you was enough to muddle your mind. "There… there is no food, my lord."

"There will be food," he replied, "for later. For now, sit."

You obeyed and made your way to the table, your skin prickling the entire time. You glanced at Melkor and found his eyes following your every move. There was something dark and primal in his eyes, something you could not quite describe. 

"I will not mince words,” he said. “The reason why I summoned you," Melkor waited till you made yourself comfortable before moving to the chair opposite yours. "Is because I have a… proposition to make."

"Proposition?" You repeated, baffled. Melkor was one of the most high. There was no need for him to ask anything of anyone when he could simply take whatever, and whomever he desired, without so much as a "by your leave."

“Yes." Melkor studied you before saying, "A proposition. I wish to make you my companion. I made this offer to your brother. I was hoping he would put a word in where your father was concerned…"

The day he called on your twin. He had asked for you. You kept asking why and Fëanor refused to explain the cause. He grew angry whenever you asked. Your father finally forbade you from broaching the topic. 

"But the fool refused," Melkor snorted in derision. "Now that I have you here with me, I would like to ask this of you myself. Will you be my companion and bind yourself to me?"

You swallowed and wrung your hands. His companion, he said. You did not even know what it would mean. What little you knew of intimate relations between elves came from the books you read while the others were away. "Your companion, my lord. What would I have to do? Read to you? Play the harp?"

Melkor laughed again, softly this time. "Your family has kept you ignorant of many things, I see. I do not wish you to merely read to me and amuse me with music, little elf. To put it in simpler terms, I want you to share my bed."

Your cheeks were aflame. To share his bed. You had read enough books to know what that meant. "To share pleasures with you…" you sputtered, "but if I go back, if the other elves find out what I allowed you to do to me, I will be ruined."

"The other elves will not find out.”

“Why not?”

“Because your brother is not coming for you," Melkor said simply. 

"He is coming for me!" you insisted. Your eyes stung with hot tears threatening to break free. Melkor was the prince of lies. That was what they all said. You refused to believe him, thinking he was lying to you even now. "Fëanor is coming for me!"

"He is not, little elf," Melkor replied gently. "Fëanor is not coming for you. His hunger to create the silmarils has consumed him."

Despair of the acutest kind settled over you like a thick fog. The creation of hallowed jewels, each containing the light of the two trees, was all your twin talked about. He would think of nothing else until such priceless treasures rested in his hands. You knew him well enough for that.  

"And your father’s thoughts have been consumed with the new family he is creating with his second wife. No one is coming for you." Melkor reached over and placed his hand on top of yours. He gave it a gentle squeeze. "Say yes, little elf. Take my hand, and every comfort imaginable will be yours. I will be yours."

You sat there, feeling alone and wretched. Your brother was not coming for you. Your father was not coming for you. Days had bled into weeks and weeks into a wholly different season, and no one had come for you. There had not even been a whiff of an elf seeking you out. Your kin had abandoned you to your fate, and the knowledge of it was too much to bear. It made you want to cry, to scream and tear out your hair, but such acts were useless. They would not set you free, and they would not make your kin search for you. You turned your attention to Melkor. He offered a life you were once accustomed to. Perhaps he was not lying. Perhaps he was telling the truth. But still, to say yes to him and take him inside of you…

"The others… your servants…" you whispered, "What will they say?"

"Nothing." Melkor smiled and spread his broad hands. "Life in Angband is different. You can be with whomever you wish, whenever you wish, and however you wish. No one will say a word in protest."

"No one?" You glanced at him, trying to get a sense of him. "Not even you?"

Melkor ground his jaw and growled. His eyes narrowed to thin slats. "You are mine, little elf. All of you belong to me."

Goosebumps rose all over your flesh when he said it. The sheer possessiveness in his tone was enough to make you forget your sense of dread and excite you to the point of actually considering his offer. 

"Before I say yes," you licked your lips nervously and confessed, "I… I must tell you I have neither the… skill nor the… experience… in such matters. What little I know has come from books."

Melkor’s lips tugged at the corners. "I thought as much. But first, you must say yes."

To say yes. To take his hand and bind yourself to him for all time. You thought of your suitors, how all of them bowed their heads and walked away without a second glance the moment Fëanor denied them. Then there was Melkor, who willingly risked war and doom to bring you here. You knew what your answer would be.

"Yes."

"Come."

He rose and took you by hand, helping you out of your chair and leading you straight to his bed. You eyed the silk sheets and the soft pillows. To just lay in that bed was temptation enough. Melkor did not give you time to think of much else. He grabbed your arms and kissed you before you could say another word. 

The books spoke of kisses that were sweet and soft, like feathers. Melkor’s kiss was none of that. It was all heat and wildness and hunger. His tongue glided over the seams of your mouth before pressing against your lips. You sighed helplessly and parted them for him. His mouth tasted like some dark spice you could not get enough of. Melkor smirked in triumph, his breath heating your flesh.

"How easily you yield, little elf!" he cried when you tugged on his tunic to pull him closer. "And how fortunate I am to have you in my grasp!" He laughed again and placed his hands over your shoulders, pushing you down onto the edge of the bed. "Tell me," he cooed softly, "What else did you read in these books?"

You looked at him, your eyes widening when he undid the buckle of his belt. "I…" You glanced at him, then at what he was doing. He was loosening the drawstrings of his breeches. "I have read about certain acts, but…" Your cheeks heated when he tugged it down just enough to free his cock. "But…"

"It was not enough?" Melkor asked and caressed your cheek. "Then I will guide you. Open that pretty mouth for me, little elf."

He waited, neither forcing nor demanding that you obey. A thumb glided over your lips, making you look at him. "Open little elf," he insisted gently, "Go on."

The sight of him all exposed and hard proved too tempting. You opened your mouth, eager and willing and curious, struggling to breathe while he sank his length. Melkor moved slowly and gently, his hands delving into your hair and keeping you steady. He groaned and shivered when you ran your tongue along his shaft and let curious hands skim over his thighs. His hand glided over to cup your cheek. You opened your eyes and found his fixed on yours; his mouth parted in a silent moan. 

"I have been thinking about you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, little elf," he confided, whimpering when your tongue brushed over his tip. "Each of my thoughts about you have been improper."

Melkor was gentle with his instructions. "Loosen your jaw, little elf." He caressed your cheek again to catch your attention. "You clench it too much."

It was easier after that. You reached up and clutched the edges of his tunic, your mind going hazy with bliss. Everything you felt, from the hands brushing over your hair to the little ridges brushing against your lips to the soft grunts you heard, was dark and sinful. You had often wondered what such acts would be like while reading books forbidden to you, but no words could describe what you were feeling now, all feverish and wanton. 

Melkor drew back and pushed you onto the sheets. You gazed at him, surprised, and more than a little disappointed. "Move further up, little elf," he chuckled, running his thumb over your swollen lips. "I want to claim you as mine."

Again, you did as he asked, even more eager this time. You moved further up the bed, trembling whenever you felt the wetness between your thighs. Melkor undid the clasps of his tunic one by one. You expected to find vast parts of him withered and deformed, as the songs said. What was slowly revealed instead was the stuff of a maiden’s dreams: a fana that was all supple muscle and devoid of flaw. His skin was the color of new steel, and his arms were large and strong. 

Not once did he use that strength to force me, you mused, flushing when the mattress sank and he crawled into bed with you, boots on and all. Melkor pushed your thighs apart with his. His hands slid under your skirts. 

"I…" You found yourself trembling with growing need when the flat of his palm glided over your leg. "I thought we must be undressed, my lord."

"Next time," Melkor promised. He hiked your skirts up to your waist and shoved his hand down your undergarments, ripping them apart with one tug. "For now, let me do this."

His fingers grazed your slick heat. The friction was delicious enough to make you see stars. Melkor trembled. He actually trembled. His touch was gentle, almost worshipful in its exploration. He propped himself on his free arm, just so he could watch you while he slipped a finger inside of you. It made your breath hitch when that finger slid deeper and deeper. 

"My lord," you moaned without even realizing it. He dipped his head and ghosted his lips over yours.

"I am here, little elf," he purred softly, brushing his hand over your hair. He dipped his head again, nibbling your earlobe and sighing when your arms circled his back. 

He had been thinking of me since he first saw me, you remembered. When was that?

"M-my lord?" Your back began to arch with each thrust of his finger. He inserted a second as carefully as the first, groaning whenever your warmth clenched around them. "W-when did you first see me?"

"When I was allowed to return to Valinor," he confessed softly against your neck. "I saw you with your father and brother near the Ring of Doom. I stayed in the shadows and watched you. Even then, I knew I had to make you mine."

The Ring of Doom. When your father was called to hear the Valar’s verdict on his appeal to remarry. That was a full century before Melkor approached your brother for you. 

A hundred years was but the blink of an eye for an elf. Lesser still for a being such as him. But still...A hundred years. He had been seeking me out over a hundred years. Your hands brushed over his hair while he nibbled at your earlobe. The thought of him marking you with his teeth was enough to make your pulse scramble. You grew a little bolder. 

“M-my lord?" You mumbled shyly. "W-would you c-consider marking me?" 

“Bite you, little elf?"

"Y-yes. B-bite me."

Melkor raised his head, his dark eyes darkening even more. You heard a low and otherworldly growl. The sound inflamed you. "If you insist," he said, leaning in and running his tongue over the hollow of your throat. "Turn your head to the side, little elf."

He peppered the soft expanse of your throat with kisses that were bruising and almost violent. Every time his teeth grazed the curve of your neck, your nails would dig into his back. "Melkor," you sighed again. "There. Right there. Oh."

"Now everyone who sees you will know you are mine." He lifted his head and admired the canvas he had made out of your body. When he drew his fingers away, it made you feel strangely empty. "Rest your legs over my hips, little elf." Melkor hovered over you, the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance. "And do not tense. Can you manage this?"

He wanted to claim your maidenhead. You looked up at him, trying to decide what to do. If he did, if you said yes to this, you could never go back. The other acts you could hide in lies, but not this. Never this. No elf would stay married to you once the truth came to light. Your family would never welcome you back. Your father would not wish to ruin the prospects for any child born to his second wife, and your brother… you shivered. You did not want to even think of what Fëanor would do to you. 

Why am I fretting over what others will say, when those others have already turned their backs on me?

Melkor’s knuckles drifted over your throat. He may never ask for you again. He could send you away and carry on like nothing happened. It would would you deeply if he did. But the memories would feel so sweet. 

You made up your mind. You moved your legs over his hips, the insides of your thighs rubbing up against the supple leather of his breeches. It felt strange but wonderful. "I am ready," you whispered.

“I will be gentle," Melkor promised, trembling again. His kiss was soft and so very warm. He kissed you until you were breathless, kissed you until you moaned, and your hold around him tightened. He guided his shaft inch by slow inch into your slit, stopping whenever you whimpered to give you time to breathe. His hand glided over your thigh, your belly, his words a sweet melody in a tongue you had never heard of in your life. It put your entire body at ease. He would move again, now slowly, now gently, filling you in ways you never thought possible. He stopped again, this time after claiming your maidenhood. He looked at you with questioning eyes, as if asking for permission. 

"Yes," you assured him, sighing when he moaned and started to move. 

He was so big, and it felt uncomfortable. And he was gentle, just like he promised. Pain and discomfort slowly gave away to a pleasure that had no name. Every time he moved, every time he found a place that sent jolts of deep ecstasy licking up your spine, you clung to him, moaning his name shamelessly. Melkor’s lips crushed yours in an all-consuming kiss. At your own urging, he went a little deeper, a little harder, a little faster, growling when his hips slapped against the insides of your thighs. It was too much. And not enough. And intoxicating all at the same time. Melkor knelt up and dragged you with him. 

"Kiss me," he demanded, "and make it count."

His fingers dug into the back of your dress, his nails ripping into the fabric the moment your mouth opened over his. His tongue tasted like wine when it pressed against yours, and his hair felt like silk when it slipped around your fingers. A tension that was sweet and drugging grew in your belly. 

"So-something is ha-happening," you mewled, not knowing what it meant. "I... d-do not understand…"

You may not have known, but Melkor did. "Soon, little elf," he whispered, latching onto the curve of your neck. A mixture of kisses and nips of the teeth skimmed over your throat. "A little more. Just a little more."

That soon came faster than you could have thought. Your muscles coiled and tightened, and snapped, like your body was splintering into a million different pieces. You could not think. You could even breathe. You were lost in a sea of untold rapture. You barely felt it, Melkor’s hold on you tightening even as your nails raked over his skin. You barely heard it—a deep grunt of satisfaction when he thrust one last time, and a torrent of his spend filled you.

The world had gone still, so very still. Your thoughts were still muddled when Melkor laid you on your back. You were silent while clarity slowly crept in.  

Melkor had claimed all you willingly gave, and so much more. He made you experience joys you had never experienced before. And now you braced yourself, your heart gripped in agony, thinking he might prove the tales told about him true and send you away, never to seek you out after that. The books did not prepare you for the pain of his rejection. You prepared yourself anyway, your body still shaking when the featherbed sank again under his weight. Melkor threw an arm over your waist and drew you to him. Both arms encircled you now, even as he buried his face in your hair.

"I will have your possessions moved to my chambers. Rest for now, little elf." He mumbled and pressed a chaste kiss over your shoulder. "When you wake up, I will bathe you, and we will dine together. Perhaps you could even read to me."

tags: @lemonivall​ @cilil​ @edensrose​ @wandererindreams​ @asianbutnotjapanese​