#gothmog x eonwe

[kisses-in-the-void]

I'm starting to like Gothmog × Eonwe, mostly because I want to ship Gothmog with someone, and it’d be pretty cool if he had an intense situationship with the Valar’s herald. Probably it's not exactly romance, and more like "enemies with benefits" thing.

I imagine Manwe venting to his loyal Eonwe about how upset Aule was to lose his best pupil, while birdy boy is just nodding along and thinking:

"Stupid Mairon! How could you betray Aule like that? Where are your priorities? Where’s your dignity? I just can’t believe it! Look at me, no matter how sexy Gothmog is, I would never abandon my master just to hang out with some crazy fire demon with anger issues and great abs!"

[saintstars]

Crossing enemy lines

[cilil]

Gentle June

AN: Last one @tolkienpinupcalendar. Thank you for all these fun events <3 this one's for the Firebird gang!

❀ Prompt: Reward, creampie & finger sucking | Gothmog x Eönwë ❀ Synopsis: Eönwë is in heat. Gothmog is more than happy to help. ❀ Warnings: Birdy boy in heat, bodily fluids, monsterfucking (Balrog), anal sex ❀ Short oneshot (~700 words)

"Please–!" 

Eönwë was sitting, no, grinding on Gothmog's lap with such vigorous determination and helpless lust that the Lord of Balrogs couldn't help being amused, keeping a large hand on the small of his back to steady his lover. The poor thing was leaking on both ends, he could both smell and feel it as droplets of seed and slick alike dripped onto his skin and sizzled there, though it did little to stop the frenzied rutting. 

Manwë's precious herald was in heat and, out of all people the pretty bird could have surely had, he was begging a him, a Balrog, for sex. Gothmog smirked to himself. How could he ever say no to such an earnest request? 

"Bird," he said, attempting to sound stern, "are you sure you're prepared? I can–" 

"Yes." Eönwë sounded almost petulant. Looking up through his eyelashes, he pouted slightly and lifted his hips. "Can't you feel it? I am... filthy. And wet. And..." 

Instead of answering, Gothmog let his hand glide down his backside, spread his cheeks with two fingers and pushed a third inside. Indeed, the poor Maia was positively leaking and clenched around the invading digit immediately, hips rocking back and forth for additional friction. Briefly, he glanced down at his belly where more treacherous evidence of his lust glistened on his skin. 

"Very well," Gothmog said and withdrew his finger, earning himself a needy whine in the process. "That should be enough." 

Without further pretext or warning, he seized Eönwë's hips with both hands, positioned him above his eagerly rising cock and pushed him down on it. The sounds that followed were glorious — a nigh animalistic screech, a helpless whimper, a desperate moan. His beloved was tight but pliable, making him feel as though his fána was sucking him in. Oh, how he loved that tight hole, barely able to fit a Balrog's length, yet taking him with the bravery of a Maiarin warrior. 

Eönwë let his mouth fall open, and Gothmog was pleased to see him nearly drooling from penetration alone. 

"Nobody ever fucks you properly in this wretched land of light and purity, hm?" he growled, accentuating his accusation by rolling his hips forward to reach deeper. 

Whimpering, Eönwë shook his head. Gothmog rewarded him by wiping his chin and pushing a finger in his mouth. Immediately, the smaller Maia began sucking on it. 

Good. Then he won't scream as much and his lord and lady won't notice. 

Still holding on to his hips with his other hand, Gothmog began moving. As perplexed as he was to see that nobody had helped themselves to such a pretty and needy Maia in heat before him, he was more than happy to be the one fucking it out of him. Judging by the state Eönwë was in, it would take a while, but thankfully strength and stamina were what a Balrog's fána was made for. 

Gothmog focused on the feeling of thrusting in and out of that tight, wet passage as fast as he could, bouncing the herald on his lap like a ragdoll. His claws dug into unmarred skin with such ferocious lust that he drew blood, yet Eönwë neither fought against him nor complained; it wouldn't be the first time he enjoyed a bit of pain. 

His orgasm took Gothmog by surprise, and he followed suit before he could restrain himself, taken off-guard by the intensity of it. Muscles twitching, tightening around him, pushing him over the edge alongside his lover, and seed filled the smaller Maia to the brim, leaking out of him even as he delayed pulling out. 

"More?" Gothmog asked. He could already sense that his beloved was not yet satisfied. 

"More." Eönwë stopped sucking on his finger to speak, then hastily added, "Please."

Fucked him so good he almost forgot his silly manners. 

Gothmog withdrew his finger to caress his cheek instead and kissed his lips. "Greedy bird." 

His deep voice vibrated with affection. It was going to be a long night, and he was going to enjoy every second of it. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel

@eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @melkors-big-tits @singleteapot

@urwendii @wandererindreams

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ There was no use in fighting this; and he had long since found out that it could feel quite nice if he didn't. ❞

⊱ Prompt: Captivity, master/slave ⊱ Pairing: Gothmog x Eönwë ⊱ Synopsis: [Valinor falls AU - in which Melkor's forces manage to conquer Valinor and enslave its inhabitants] Eönwë has been given to Gothmog as his pet and pleasure slave. To his horror, he finds that he enjoys his new role more than he should. ⊱ Featuring: Leash/collar, "pet training", fingering, rimming ⊱ Warnings: Dub-con, sexual slavery, sexual content; also the prompts are their own warning

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Finally starting @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December. This one's... fairly mild compared to other things on my list, so stay tuned for that. Suffice it to say: This AU will be featured several times. Enjoy!

He shouldn't enjoy this. 

He was supposed to resist, to fight until his last breath. 

And yet – 

Eönwë let out a quiet gasp when a tug on his leash demanded his attention and a claw was swiftly hooked underneath his collar to hold him in place. 

"You're so beautiful," Gothmog praised and leaned closer to nuzzle his hair. 

A few small agitated wing flaps was all Eönwë could do to resist, but it made no difference. If anything it delighted his captor to watch his desperate attempts at salvaging his dignity, like one would enjoy watching a pet pigeon frolicking around in its cage. 

"And you have such pretty wings too." Claws carded through his feathers and Eönwë found himself unwittingly making tiny noises of delight. It wasn't supposed to feel good... but he had been so alone for many ages. As sweet as freedom had tasted and as sorely as he missed it now, it hadn't sated his desperate longing to be touched. 

"Good bird." Gothmog pulled him onto his lap and wrapped one arm around him possessively, the leash firmly in his grasp. His other hand let go of the collar to continue petting his most prized prisoner. 

Eönwë didn't know what to think or feel whenever he was forced to let himself be touched like this. Surely someone like him who was only skilled in the art of war and woefully unfit for seduction couldn't be the kind of courtesan his new master desired, yet somehow he seemed steadfast in his decision to keep him for that purpose. The prospect had frightened him more than any sort of punishment or torture – but to his shock and surprise Gothmog had been strangely gentle. Good even. 

Whereas their encounters were far from what Eönwë had come to know as proper courtship, he had been neither beaten nor assaulted. Instead, he had been made to wear skimpy clothing, engage in cuddling and preening sessions with his captor, sleep in his bed and simply be around him. He was given treats and allowed to bathe, though Gothmog often insisted on watching him. It was strange and uncomfortable, but deep down Eönwë also found himself oddly intrigued by the prospect of being so openly and unabashedly desired by someone else; he couldn't fully indulge in the fantasy, fearing that kindness could turn into violence at any moment, and still he sometimes caught himself yearning. 

If only this could have happened differently. If only he wasn't just a pet. 

Rough, scaly skin brushed against his lips, and Eönwë parted them obediently, noticing that Gothmog had retracted his claws. Another small kindness. 

"You know what to do."

He did. It wasn't the first time they had done this, and while he didn't fear pain, he was relieved that he would receive some preparation for whatever was to come – especially when the thin, short robes he was wearing were pulled up and his legs were spread. Eönwë had expected to struggle, fight and bleed, and even though it would ease his feelings of guilt, he was glad that he didn't have to. 

Diligently, he licked Gothmog's finger until it was withdrawn and pushed against the resistant ring of muscle between his legs, attempting to enter him. Eönwë tensed reflexively – he still hadn't gotten used to being penetrated – but then forced his fána to relax. There was no use in fighting this; and he had long since found out that it could feel quite nice if he didn't. 

The first finger he took fairly easily, used to it after the last few rounds of "practice", but the second was still too much for his tight passage, untouched and unexplored for most of his existence. A pained whimper escaped him, and he clenched around the finger that was already inside him, his fána readying itself for the pain of being forced open – 

"It's alright," Gothmog murmured and briefly withdrew his hand to grab a bottle of oil and pour a generous amount over his fingers. The leash had long since been dropped and discarded; they both knew he had no chance of escaping and wouldn't try to. 

It was not alright, Eönwë attempted to remind himself – his home had been taken and the Elves and Maiar under his command had been captured and were surely suffering this very moment. Even so he took Gothmog's words to heart and let himself be soothed. He could take the sharp edge of a blade and the fury of a Balrog's whip and he could withstand the horrors of war if he had to; but the one thing he could not take was being defiled in such an intimate manner, the tender, innocent part within him that had spent ages waiting for his one true love being used and violated for the amusement and pleasure of his captor. 

For his own sanity, he had to believe that Gothmog's patience with him was a gesture of kindness and affection, and his eyes swam with gratitude when oil was slowly and gently spread all over his entrance and small praises were whispered in his ear. 

"Look how well you're doing with your training, little bird. In the beginning you could barely fit one of the little plugs." 

Eönwë nodded in agreement, tilting his head back to let Gothmog kiss his neck. It was true – even the smallest intrusion had caused him to tense up and cry, and he had required great patience and encouragement. With the added lubrication, two fingers now slipped inside him with relative ease.

"Soon you will be able to take me properly," Gothmog noted with a pleased purr, and Eönwë found that he wasn't as disturbed by the prospect as he perhaps should be. In fact, his fána was telling him just how nice it felt to finally have his needs met, no longer relying on his own fingers or various household objects to bring him relief whenever he was in heat.  

"Would you like a reward for being so good?" Gothmog asked him then, as if he had sensed his growing willingness and wanted to reinforce it. 

Eönwë had long since forgotten himself. "Yes, please." 

He was pushed forward, his face buried in the pillows of his new owner's luxurious bed, his ass up in the air, proudly displayed and begging for attention. Gothmog used his hands to spread him wide open once again and lowered his head. The feeling of a searing hot tongue had Eönwë flinch for a split second, then the pleasure of its rough texture brushing against his sensitive rim set in. He found himself moaning and mewling in delight, pushing his hips back to get more of that wonderful friction and inviting it inside. 

It's degrading, it's wrong, it's evil.

It feels so good.

He was no longer free and he was no longer pure, and yet this was how his deepest and most secret fantasies were finally fulfilled – to be desired by another, to be taken and pleasured without shame or inhibitions. He didn't have to court anyone, he didn't have to pretend; all he needed to do was to submit and be a pretty pet. 

He shouldn't want this. Yet when Gothmog briefly stopped to ask him if he liked his reward Eönwë begged for more, and the sheets underneath him were soon stained with the remnants of his most deplorable desire.

Thanks for reading! ♡

[pyroronchino]

Saur/Gothmog, Saur/Melkor [Metal!AU]

I hoped these sketches/concept arts would evolve further, cause I wanted to draw a small fanart comic for a very beloved fanfic where everything’s set in a modern!AU.🔥 I’m totally into the idea of the Valar’s songs in Arda as music genres — like, Manwë’s classical vs. Morgoth’s heavy metal. I imagined a little story where Mairon runs away from Aulë and Yavanna to Melkor, gets inspired by the music, and joins the dark side so to speak X)))

Unfortunately, it never went anywhere and just became my random hyperfixation for a few days… but I still revisit this AU in some of my sketches from time to time....💦💦

and some rkgk with Eonwe and Sauron

[saintstars]

“Our bond is an ancient one, little bird, and it is still strong even after all this time.”

You all need to go read this terribly tragic Fic by the brilliant @a-world-of-whimsy-5

"Here you’re just Eönwë, my oldest friend – and I have missed you very much.”

You also need to go read this much lighter Fic by @elennalore

[cilil]

For the kiss prompts asks: Eönwë and Gothmog, no. 6 on a falling tear

AN: My pleasure! ❤

Prompt: Kiss on a falling tear (prompt list here) Pairing: Gothmog x Eönwë Warnings: Some angst

Eönwë's wings twitch agitatedly and his talons scrape against Gothmog's scaly skin when he's carried into the Iron Mountains, out of sight of Angband and, hopefully, to safety. 

"I don't understand," he laments, the first thing he's said in a while. 

"I'm setting you free," Gothmog says quietly. 

It's a decision he hasn't made lightly and one he may pay for, but he's made up his mind and doesn't want to argue. 

His resolve, however, melts when Eönwë looks up at him with teary blue eyes. 

"Why? Am I no good even as your prisoner?" 

Gothmog stops abruptly when he hears a sob. He's freeing the winged Maia from captivity and he's crying because he thinks he did something wrong? What goes through Eönwë's head is truly a mystery to him at times. 

Gingerly, Gothmog pats his pale golden locks and sits down, placing him on his lap. 

"You know that's not true," he says. 

Yet his clumsy attempt at comfort does little to dry Eönwë's tears. Not knowing what else to do, Gothmog bends down to kiss and lick his cheeks until every single tear is gone. The liquid nearly makes him flinch as it touches his lips, but it evaporates quickly and leaves a pleasant salty taste on his tongue. Delicious.

"I'd give you the world," he mumbles. "And this is why I can't stand the thought of you getting hurt or killed in there, even if I want you by my side. Can't you see that?" 

Eönwë is no longer crying, but his eyes remain clouded with some sort of pain Gothmog isn't sure he understands. "Then why do you continue to be evil? You could–" 

The Lord of Balrogs shakes his head. "You know I've never been welcome over there in pretty paradise, evil or not. They don't like monsters."  

"Maybe neither am I, in that case," Eönwë draws his wings around himself to stop himself from shaking. "At least not the true me."

Gothmog snorts. "I know, bird, I know. But they'll take you back. Even if they know what you're capable of on the battlefield, they won't care. You're too pretty and obedient for a monster." 

He senses that his words cause more distress than encourage Eönwë, so he tries nudging him gently. 

"Come on. Fly home, bird."

"I..." Whatever protest Eönwë wants to utter ends in a sniffle. 

"No, listen. Get across the sea as fast as you can. Tell your lord you ran away because someone didn't pay attention. I'll say the same." 

"D-do you..." Again, emotions overwhelm Eönwë before he can finish his sentence. 

Gothmog holds his head in his hands. "I care enough about you to want you safe rather than hurt or dead, if that answers your question. Go now... please."

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist (sorry I have to format it like this until Tumblr stops breaking my tags):

@uruk-thighs @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to

@just-little-human @melkors-big-tits @numenhore @sauron-kraut @singleteapot

@stormchaser819 @urwendii @wandererindreams

[cilil]

𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞 | 𝐍𝐨 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞

𓄌 Characters/pairings: Gothmog x Eönwë (Firebird) 𓄌 Synopsis: Gothmog has been looking for an opportunity to meet a certain Maia again. Eönwë is hoping to become the target of a fierce hunter. 𓄌 Warnings: Smut, rimming, Eönwë is weird, Gothmog is a Balrog so it's monsterfucking 𓄌 Oneshot (~1.4k words) | AO3

"There you are, my pretty." 

Wide blue eyes met glowing orange when Gothmog stepped out of the shadows where had kept himself hidden.

"You are one of the Dark One's Maiar," Eönwë whispered as if the mere mention of Melkor was sinful, the plumage on his wings fluffing up defensively. "You shouldn't be here."

"I am," Gothmog said nonchalantly and walked closer. "Are you afraid?" 

He was curious more than anything. The object of his desire was a warrior like himself, of that he was certain and his lord believed it too, but the other Maia's fána was tense and anxiety written all over his face. 

"I can defend myself if it comes to... that," Eönwë said. Eyes narrowed, he surveyed the fire spirit in front of him. "You seem familiar." 

Gothmog chuckled. "Aye. We have met before, bird."

"Where? I don't–" 

"Have you truly forgotten? You wound me." 

Eönwë blinked. His brow furrowed as he searched his memory, until finally realisation struck. 

"Did you... were you the one who took me when I was caught by the Dark One's snowstorm?" 

"Yes." Seeing his uncertainty, Gothmog held up his hands. "I swear I didn't hurt you. I only brought you home." 

"You... were the one who..." Eönwë appeared to be lost in thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Well. And now?" 

"I, uh... just wanted to see you again?" Gothmog shifted on his clawed feet. 

"Not claim me?" Maybe he was imagining things, but for a moment Eönwë seemed almost disappointed.

"Claim you? Why?" 

"You have horns." He pointed at the magnificent pair sprouting from Gothmog's forehead. 

"Yes? I always do." 

"Oh." Slowly, Eönwë folded his wings. "Well, the Feast of Horns is currently taking place again, so I thought..." 

Gothmog didn't know too much about the customs of Almaren's Maiar and shrugged his shoulders. "My lord just told me it was a good opportunity because many of you would be out and about." 

He eyed the dejected-looking herald who politely nodded along. 

"Did you want me to? Claim you, I mean?" 

Eönwë's feathers immediately went up again, this time accompanied by a bright red blush.

"Would you enjoy that?" Gothmog continued to press, stepping closer. He was in range to smell the other Maia now and tried his best to hide the fact that he was greedily inhaling his scent. It was subtle, especially in an environment where plants and animals were abundant, but he caught it without fail, having familiarised himself with it when he had last held the herald in his arms. 

"Maybe?" Eönwë looked around sheepishly as if he was convinced that one of the Valar would jump out of the bushes to scold him for fraternising with an enemy. Still, there was undeniable excitement slowly seeping into his demeanour. 

Taking this as an invitation, Gothmog reached out to pet his head. The pale blonde locks were just as soft as they looked, as were the feathers on his ears that made them look like tiny wings attached to his head. 

Eönwë leaned into his touch for a moment, lowering his head in the manner of birds wanting their neck feathers preened, but then recoiled suddenly. "No." 

Gothmog withdrew his hand. "No?" 

Regret was written all over Eönwë's face immediately. 

"No, I meant... just not like this." 

"What do you mean then?"

He bit his bottom lip. "More... forcefully."

Gothmog frowned. "Isn't that forbidden on Almaren?" 

"Well, yes, but... you wouldn't care about that, would you?" 

"You speak in riddles, bird. And while you are pretty and I meant what I said about seeing you again, I won't be walking into any traps or let myself be ridiculed." 

Eönwë vigorously shook his head. "No, that... no, not at all. I swear it. I merely thought..." 

He seemed to be fighting with himself for a few moments longer before he answered. "I just want it like that, you know? Passionate, violent. But the others won't even hunt me properly. No one has come for me yet..." 

His shoulders visibly stiffened. "And I thought maybe you would be interested." 

"So you just want someone to be rough with you," Gothmog concluded. 

"Yes."

He reached out again, and the other Maia didn't protest. This time he seized a fistful of his hair and pulled on it, dragging him closer. 

Eönwë let out a small moan. 

"Like that?" Gothmog asked. 

"Yes. Exactly like that." 

It was all the encouragement he needed to throw the herald to the ground and pounce on him. Eönwë was struggling and frantically flapping his wings like a bird caught in the jaws of a predator, and it felt great to overpower him and hold him down with his mightier fána. Gothmog bit his shoulder for good measure, his fangs leaving deep marks. 

"Still enjoying yourself, bird?" 

"Yes, please go on." 

"As you wish." 

A chaotic coupling in the woods of Oromë wasn't quite what Gothmog had envisioned for this encounter, but he considered himself lucky. He had anticipated a more hostile and cautious reaction from Eönwë, certainly not to be asked to pretend to prey on him. 

And he would make the most out of it. 

Once he had successfully pinned his catch to the ground, he tore off his garments with his teeth. Eönwë watched him with a strange sort of tranquillity, dazed and intrigued by the display of monstrous ferocity, and it was a lovely sight. He was so sweet in Gothmog's eyes that he briefly considered eating him after all, but then he had a better idea. 

"Will you take me now, Hunter?" Eönwë asked demurely when the fire spirit rested his large head against his lower body, curiously nosing his hardening cock. 

"Better yet, you shall become a most delicious meal," Gothmog chuckled.

Not waiting for further questions, he placed Eönwë's legs on his broad shoulders, careful not to injure him with the sharp edges of the crystals growing on him, and dug his claws into the pliant flesh of his ass to reveal the tiny, twitching hole between his cheeks. 

He'll need some practice anyway if he ever wants to take a cock inside that, he thought and leaned forward to begin licking it. 

Eönwë's reaction was both immediate and intense. His heels dug into Gothmog's shoulders, his muscles tensed and trembled, and sounds so wonderfully obscene he hadn't thought them possible escaped his throat. 

"Yes, please, right there..." 

Only he would say please while getting eaten out by an Úmaia in a forest, Gothmog thought to himself, feeling a strange fondness budding and blooming in his chest. What a precious little bird he had caught himself, so different from the heroic persona crafted for the public eye. There was something intimate about seeing him like this. 

Even when presenting himself in such a lewd manner, Eönwë was so enticingly pure. The way he reacted to being touched this way made Gothmog wonder if it was his first time letting another enjoy his fána. His flesh tasted like fresh rain and smelled like a summer breeze, full of life, warmth and beauty, and every inch of it was as clean as if he had just returned from a thorough bath. 

Slowly but steadily, he worked his tongue inside. Eönwë was tight and despite his best efforts not quick to yield, yet Gothmog remained patient. His work was, however, brought to an early end when he felt muscles tense and was greeted with the sight of pearly white seed staining a heaving torso. 

Patting Eönwë's thigh, he withdrew and removed his legs from his shoulders. The prospect of fucking that tight little hole right then and there was tempting, but Gothmog decided to hold back. He had given his favourite bird a taste of bliss, just as he himself had tasted it, and hoped to have roused his curiosity enough that they could meet again in the future. 

Eönwë had turned his head to the side and hidden it underneath one wing, still panting heavily. 

"I am ready," he declared. 

"Not today, bird," Gothmog said. "Your hunter has had his meal and may in time return for another, should you wish it." 

"Y-yes... that would be nice." Eönwë wrapped his other wing around himself as well to complete a protective cocoon of sorts, shame hitting him hard now that his lust died down. 

Gothmog ruffled his feathers affectionately. "You're very pretty, and I don't mind you being a freak, if that is your concern."

"I am not–"

"Sure thing, bird.”

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @saintstars @singleteapot @urwendii @wandererindreams

[cilil]

Matryoshka Meet & Greet Challenge

✍ Prompt: Collecting things | Eönwë ✍ Synopsis: Eönwë looks through his personal collection for comfort. ✍ Warnings: / ✍ Drabble ✍ SWG archive

Celeg Aithorn, the sword given to him by Lord Manwë himself. 

A golden anklet he had received as a token of friendship from Arafinwë. 

An eagle figurine made out of glass, a gift from Ingwion. 

Nolofinwë's training sword that he kept in his honour. 

A beautiful crystal shimmering in fiery shades of red, purple and blue, the origins of which he had never revealed to another — a gift from Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs. A courtship offering, to be exact. 

Eönwë retrieved it from its hiding place and snuck it into his nest. Somehow, it was still warm in his palm. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @singleteapot @stormchaser819 @wandererindreams

[cilil]

wait wait wait, it took me so long (i was binge-reading all your fics hehe) to realize the romeo-and-juliet type of relationship eonwe and gothmog have going on. its even better because tolkien once envisioned gothmog and eonwe to be the children of melkor and manwe so them meeting up secretly is sooooooo sweet but heartbreaking, like they are on opposite sides, and they know they'll eventually fight each other. but gothmog died first, so how did eonwe handle that. imagining him trying to live after gothmog's death is just asdkjakdakds

You're too sweet❤️❤️❤️

And yes, this is what really sucked me in too once I realized it! We (my friends and I) started out seeing Firebird as more of a crack ship or something that's maybe hot for smut, but then we realized the old Lost Tales connection and the doomed, tragic love and the parallels between them and... everything.

In a weird way, Gothmog falling in Gondolin was mercy for them both. Otherwise a confrontation during the War of Wrath would've been pretty much inevitable, especially if Gothmog had once again been ordered to go after the Elven kings (Eönwë can't just let him kill Finarfin and it's not like he's that terrible of a friend either). They would've fought each other, knowing that they have orders and that the other knows and understands this as well.

As for what the outcome of that fight would've been, I'd say 70-80% in Eönwë's favor, with this being a sort of average between "they duel and it's just them" (which is more beneficial to Eönwë) and "because the forces of evil cheat, Gothmog gets random assistance from other Balrogs" (similar to what happened with Fingon). Even if they refused to kill the other in the end, someone else on their side happily would. One of them would've wound up dead for sure.

Eönwë tries to take comfort in the fact that this scenario has been avoided and soon realizes that Melkor currently can't bring his Maiar back - so Gothmog also stays dead - but that means he no longer has the one person in his life who understands him. In all his other relationships, he has to perform; whether that's actually true or not is another question, but Eönwë definitely feels that way. It's not like he can tell, say, Manwë, Finarfin or Eärendil about his killer instincts and how he sometimes has the urge to hack, slash and dive bomb people.

What makes this worse is that Eönwë also can't express his grief, or at least he has to pretend it's just about Gondolin. How would he explain that he's mourning the evil Lord of Balrogs more than the brave warrior Elves?

It gets even worse in the one verse where he has an egg and now has to hatch it alone (which may or may not even be possible without another fire spirit) and can never tell anyone where it came from.

Maybe Eönwë goes into the War of Wrath so readily because he doesn't have much to lose. He doesn't feel quite at home or connected and has nobody to talk to about it and nobody to make him feel accepted and loved regarding the parts of himself that he always has to hide. But he also can't just... give up. He's immortal. Even if he died, Manwë would still be more than capable of bringing him back. And he has a purpose to fulfill.

So yeah. Poor Eönwë indeed😭

And now I'll go and dig up (pun intended) some Firebird headcanons for Ainur Week

[cilil]

Day 7: Gothmog/Eönwë | Friendship & Romance

AN: Just a collection of random cute headcanons for these two and their dynamic :3

✧˖° Characters: Eönwë, Gothmog ✧˖° Pairing: Firebird (Gothmog x Eönwë) ✧˖° Headcanons

› Eönwë's preferred humanoid fána is roughly the size of an Elf (a bit bigger), which makes him about... (drum roll) half the size of a Balrog! Even when fluffed up in righteous anger, he looks like a tiny little twink next to Gothmog.

› Due to not being an avian Ainu himself nor being around them much, Gothmog had no concept of what feathers are when he saw Eönwë for the first time and proceeded to describe them as "bird leaves" to the other Balrogs. When they finally properly talked ages later, Eönwë was very confused what the hell Gothmog was talking about whenever he brought up "those fluffy bird leaves". Eönwë's complaint that birds and trees are very different things was countered with "but they're both flammable" by Gothmog.

› Gothmog greatly enjoys playing with and preening Eönwë's plumage, using his claws to do so. Eönwë wants to return the favor, but doesn't know how exactly Balrogs even preen, so he polishes crystalline parts of his fána instead.

› Eönwë loves eating, a bit of a guilty pleasure of his because Ainur don't need food and are generally supposed to leave it for the Children. Gothmog has no such qualms, so he hunts for him and feeds him, saying that since he caught the prey anyway, they shouldn't waste it. Both of them enjoy hunting, but typically don't hunt together due to some... disagreements regarding what is and isn't appropriate prey.

› To honor and appreciate Eönwë's prowess as a raptor anyway, Gothmog eats everything he's given in return. This includes the times when what he was given was not necessarily food, but Balrogs have no problems with that.

› Eönwë sometimes spars with Gothmog. They both know that the respective other is resilient enough to have a proper fight - something Eönwë has to be careful with whenever he spars with his Elven companions in particular - and appreciate the opportunity.

› Gothmog knows that, when it comes down to it, Eönwë is the better warrior in terms of raw skill, even if he, as a Balrog, is physically a lot stronger. He's not ashamed to admit it, though keeps his mouth shut around Melkor and Mairon.

› Eönwë and Gothmog can't bathe together since Gothmog hates water and Eönwë isn't fully fireproof. They need separate tubs/pools. Gothmog will (re)heat the water, though.

› While cuddling, Eönwë loves to tuck himself under that big heavy Balrog head and wing hugs Gothmog (shout out to @i-did-not-mean-to❤️).

› While Eönwë grows winter plumage to deal with the temperature on Taniquetil, Gothmog prefers to hibernate - with or without cold weather, Balrogs just love to sleep when they're not fighting. During these hibernation periods, Eönwë sometimes sneaks him some hot soup or shiny things to make sure he's alright and resting well.

› They mutually agree not to argue about morals and allegiances too much, but Eönwë will complain whenever Gothmog talks shit about Elves and makes jokes about his Noldor kill streak.

Thanks for reading! ♡

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@ainurweek

[cilil]

Summer Stories

AN: I gotta say I love doing what they're doing here, bit of a personal thing. I used to put my caramel candy near heat sources so it's not as hard as a brick when I eat it... ah memories. Now I want a Balrog too.

Prompt: Sweets | Gothmog x Eönwë Synopsis: Gothmog makes sure Eönwë gets his treats. Warnings: /

"Another one." 

Eönwë obediently parts his lips to accept a soft piece of caramel Gothmog has been warming in his palm. 

They're resting on a now charred patch of grass together, the Balrog flat on his back, the other Maia on top of him, wings lazily draped across the two of them; so very indecent, yet so irresistible cosy and intimate. 

"You don't get many treats, hm?" Gothmog mumbles, gently nudging his companion as he's happily chewing. 

"Rarely," Eönwë admits. "I... It's not my place to help myself to the Children's sweets."

"Pity. You're quite sweet yourself when you do."

Thanks for reading! ♡

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[cilil]

Bollywood Challenge

𝐂ⱺ𝗂𐓣𝖼𝗂ᑯ𝖾𐓣𝖼𝖾𝗌 ⱺ𝖿 𝐅α𝗍𝖾

𖹭 Pairings: Eönwë x Mairon, Eönwë x Gothmog 𖹭 Synopsis: Sometimes Eönwë wonders if his life is just like Manwë's romance novels. Sometimes he even thinks the One may be laughing at him from above. 𖹭 4 1/3 drabbles | SWG archive

Eönwë remembers no other mission as vividly as this one, scouting the northern wastes for signs of Melkor and his creatures, when he was unexpectedly caught in a snowstorm and eventually fell, crashing into an icy mountain. 

He remembers cold, pain and then sudden warmth as his mind remained unconscious and his fána was held by something big and strong. 

He remembers being carried, his head resting comfortably against something broad and muscular, the faint presence of another, warm breath on his skin.

And at the end of it all he remembers waking up, not knowing who his rescuer was. 

~

Eönwë often recalls the first time he met Mairon, that talented, beautiful and utterly frightening Maia, working with the same precision and persistence as a bird of prey when it was hunting. He still knows how many times he found excuses to visit him in the forge and remembers his clumsy attempts at striking up conversations. 

Nevertheless, Mairon had seemed to enjoy his presence, to be amenable to any possible advances, to like him. 

Until the day he no longer did. 

Though at least Eönwë found out soon after what, or rather who, had forever stolen Mairon's favour from him. 

~

Eönwë remembers the time he chanced upon a servant of Melkor. 

Part of him hoped it was Mairon, part of him dreaded the possibility, but it wasn't him. 

It was another spirit of fire, one he had never seen on Almaren, one that had taken a giant, monstrous form of flame and shadow. 

Even so, something about this one suddenly felt familiar. 

Gothmog he was called, and he was the Lord of Balrogs, as his kin had come to be known.

Eönwë fled, yet somehow he's regretted it ever since, wondering what Gothmog might have had to say to him. 

~

Eönwë has been seeing Mairon in his dreams ever since that day when he finally found him again. After everything was over, after his dark master had lost. 

In the end Mairon was the one who came to him, and Eönwë foolishly hoped it meant something. That he was truly sorry. That he would come back with him. That things would be alright and they could continue where they had left off all those years ago. 

But Mairon had merely wanted protection and absolution and vanished when Eönwë couldn't give it. 

Maybe that was truly all he ever wanted then. 

~

Eönwë remembers hearing the story of how Gothmog finally fell in Gondolin. To this day, he knows not why the Lord of Balrogs sought him out once, or what he meant to say. 

 ˚ ੈ✧̣̇·˖ 　˚ .　　　✶ ˚　　✦　. 　 ˚　.　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　.  ˚　

Thanks for reading! ♡

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[cilil]

A little more warmth

Eönwë was more surprised that the Balrog had actually remembered the concept of payment in lieu of pillaging than by the offer, but his head and ears were nicely warm now, and he was more fond of the cute white and yellow patterns on blue than he had assumed; he did, however, fear for the bobble's safety just a little bit.  "If it isn't too much trouble," he said, polite as always, yet failed to suppress a giddy smile and blush. Who would've thought that one day he would be the one getting pampered by a big, strong Maia instead of all the expectations of courtship resting on his shoulders? 

❅ Pairings: Gothmog x Eönwë, background Fingon x Maedhros

❅ Characters: Eönwë, Gothmog, Ori, Maedhros, Fingon, Caranthir, Aiwendil (briefly), Nári (mentioned), a guest appearance by a very special mortal

❅ Synopsis: After Gothmog successfully talked Eönwë into going on a date asked Eönwë out, the two Maiar visit the market together to buy some gifts, argue and enjoy each other's company - while making everyone else's day significantly worse. Also featuring a few fun cameos from my giftee's favourite characters.

❅ Featuring: Canondivergence/AU - everyone's alive and happy, holiday fluff, awkward dates, bickering, marketplace stroll, kissing, holding hands, fluff & humor

❅ Warnings: Some sexual humor and innuendo

❅ A gift for @i-did-not-mean-to, written for the @whiteoliphaunt exchange. IDNMT also kindly let me use this super cute star divider.

➥ Read on AO3

"Do you think this is... appropriate?" Eönwë asked bashfully, referring to the fact that his hand was presently being held by a larger, clawed one. 

"How else am I supposed to let everyone know that this hot piece of ass is mine?" Gothmog retorted, chuckling when he looked over to see his not-quite-official lover blushing furiously. 

"Language," Eönwë hissed and squeezed his hand for emphasis, but made no move to pull away. Gothmog had suspected for a while now that he secretly enjoyed open displays of affection and even desire more than he would like to admit, stuck in his mindset of etiquette and propriety as he was. 

"Let's get you something to keep your ears warm, hm? The tips are all red," Gothmog teased, gently tugging on the smaller Maia's feathered ear before pulling him over to the nearest market stand that had any sort of textiles for sale. 

A Dwarf with reddish brown hair was currently leaning over a box filled with wool, engaged in spirited conversation with a dark-haired Human, only for their fun to be woefully interrupted by the appearance of a Balrog. 

"Hey you," Gothmog addressed the Dwarf. "Do you have something to put on the head of a pretty little hero? He's all red from the cold." 

"Gothmog, please." Eönwë flashed the duo an apologetic smile. "He is... very enthusiastic today." 

"Oh, um... that's lovely!" the Dwarf replied with as much elation as he could muster, still seemingly spooked by the way two Maiar had just interrupted his conversation. "I have a couple of hats you could try... woolly ones, some with bobbles too –" 

"A bobble hat. Blue if you have that," Gothmog interrupted, grinning from one non-existent ear to another. 

"Must you always attempt to ridicule me?" Eönwë grumbled, his plumage fluffing up defensively, but the Balrog patted his head as their unwilling acquaintances beheld the spectacle. While the Dwarf searched his wares, nervous but determined and smiling unerringly, the Human appeared to be strangely entertained by the scene she was witnessing. 

"I have blue with a bit of yellow –"

"Perfect." Gothmog snatched the hat he was offered and placed it on the smaller Maia's lovingly patted head, pulling it over his eyes in his enthusiasm. 

"Aww. You look cute. Do you like it?" He flicked the bobble with his claw while Eönwë adjusted the hat and smiled at the friendly Dwarf. 

"It is very lovely, my dear –" His sharp eyes caught the small name tag made of clay that was attached to a thick woolly shawl. "Ori." 

"And it suits you, good sir," Ori complimented, "the blue matches your eyes. Well, um, your current ones, I mean. Mahal told us that your kind can change that at will, but –" 

"Yes, he's very pretty, with and without his blue eyes. And he's my boyfriend," Gothmog cut in, a hint of smugness in his tone. "Do you want the hat, bird? I'll get it for you." 

Eönwë was more surprised that the Balrog had actually remembered the concept of payment in lieu of pillaging than by the offer, but his head and ears were nicely warm now, and he was more fond of the cute white and yellow patterns on blue than he had assumed; he did, however, fear for the bobble's safety just a little bit. 

"If it isn't too much trouble," he said, polite as always, yet failed to suppress a giddy smile and blush. Who would've thought that one day he would be the one getting pampered by a big, strong Maia instead of all the expectations of courtship resting on his shoulders? 

Gothmog, lord and brother to the bane of dwarven kind, leaned closer to Ori who flinched a little. "You. Do you accept gems as payment?" 

"G-gems? Yes, certainly... uh... which ones do you have?" 

Instead of answering, Gothmog merely pointed at his gem-encrusted shoulders. Ori's eyes widened. "Oh! Yes, one of those is quite alright!" 

 ˚ ੈ✧̣̇·˖ 　˚ .　　　✶ ˚　　✦　. 　 ˚　.　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　.  ˚　

"I am most grateful for your kindness, but did you have to scare the poor Dwarf like that?" Eönwë rebuked, the bobble on his head wobbling from the force of his righteous indignation. 

Gothmog took advantage of his momentary distraction to reclaim his hand and hold it as they continued their market stroll. 

"Hey. Now the little guy has a trophy for his bravery, facing the mightiest and most terrible of all Balrogs!" He chuckled to himself. "Nári would try to fight me on that, but she isn't here." 

"Thankfully so." While Eönwë feared no opponent on the battlefield, neither the bite of a Balrog's whip nor the edge of their blades, he knew to respect the sharpness of her tongue. 

"Don't let her hear that either." Gothmog looked around for other things of interest, then suddenly pointed at another stand. "Speaking of people with flaming hair, isn't that the Elf who escaped you back in the day?" 

It was indeed. The former high king of the Noldor, known as Maedhros after his time in Beleriand, was busying himself with the making of candles, carefully dipping them in wax over and over again until he was satisfied with their shape and thickness. 

"How do you even know about that?" Eönwë asked, referring to his companion's previous question. 

"Mairon told us everything," Gothmog shrugged, "and this one escaped us too. Slippery little Elf. But still just as flammable as his father."

Eönwë elbowed him warningly. "If we are to talk to him, please refrain from making such comments. And don't set anything on fire." 

"Fine." 

Maedhros appeared to be blissfully oblivious to their approach, focused on his candles as well as a certain other Noldo manning a stand close by, carving soap and exchanging the occasional glance and smile with him. Eönwë recognised Fingon, yet realised too late that this other former high king was, unfortunately, yet another victim of Gothmog in particular. 

Before he could intervene, they had already spotted each other, and a huge grin appeared on the Balrog's face. 

"Soap, huh?" 

"Would you prefer me carving something out of your horns?" Fingon retorted, managing a smile that was a little too pleasant in return. 

"You could certainly try, little Elf."

"I could indeed. You don't have your friends with you this time." 

"Enough. No more of this," Eönwë said firmly and greeted the two Noldor with a respectful nod. "May we have a look at your wonderful work?" 

"Sure. Though I am not sure what you need a candle for if you have a Balrog with you," Fingon said with a cheeky wink at Maedhros. 

"Some of them are scented," the red-haired Elf hummed, watching wax drip from the candles he was currently working on. "I suspect Balrogs are not." 

"Perfume is even more flammable than incarnates," Gothmog said lightly and walked closer to Maedhros' stand to take a whiff. "What's that supposed to be?" 

"Berries. The others are vanilla and sandalwood." 

"Ah." Gothmog continued sniffing. "Interesting." 

"Nothing you would find in Angband." 

"Heh. You know it." 

Eönwë made sure to stay close to his companion and admired the candles. 

"I didn't know this was one of your hobbies," he said. 

"He has developed quite the skill with candles and other things like them." 

Maedhros blushed furiously, and Gothmog eyed the two Elves as if there was something suspicious about the comment, though whatever hidden meaning it held was lost on the ever innocent wind spirit. 

"And you with soap it seems," Eönwë chirped happily, ignoring the awkward atmosphere, and walked over. "So many lovely scents too... may I touch these?" 

He pointed at the artfully sorted and stacked bars of soap.

"Of course."

"I've had candles, but never soap," Gothmog commented and lowered his head to sniff a green bar Eönwë had picked up for closer inspection. "What's this scent even?"

"Fir," Fingon answered. "You probably didn't have that in Angband either." 

"What's a Balrog supposed to do with a tree anyway? Turn it into firewood?" 

"Please never repeat that when Lady Yavanna is near," Eönwë chided. "Speaking of the lords and ladies though – which scent do you think would please Lord Manwë and Lady Varda, Fingon?"

"Vanilla," Gothmog snorted and proceeded to heartily laugh at his own joke while his three former and current enemies stared at him in silent disbelief. 

 ˚ ੈ✧̣̇·˖ 　˚ .　　　✶ ˚　　✦　. 　 ˚　.　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　.  ˚　

"No. Absolutely not."

"Yes. Very yes." 

"Gothmog, please. How am I supposed to look anyone in the eye after this?"

"You don't have to. I could just take you home and keep you as my pet bird until the end of Arda." 

Eönwë glowered at the grinning Balrog. 

"You are not going to publicly purchase lace underwear for me," he said, slowly and empathically. "Neither I nor poor Caranthir want to have that conversation, I would imagine." 

"If that angry little Elf doesn't want to talk about lace, he shouldn't be making it," Gothmog huffed and gripped Eönwë's hand to pull him over to the stand of Caranthir who was already eyeing them with mild dismay. Unfortunately for the heroic herald, he lacked both the size and strength to prevent the inevitable embarrassment. 

"Hey you," Gothmog greeted the Noldorin prince with his usual lack of courtesy. "Do you think you have something that would look cute on my boyfriend?" 

Eönwë's sigh of exasperation caused all nearby textiles to flutter dangerously and Caranthir to stare in disbelief. 

"Manwë's herald is dating a Balrog of Morgoth?" 

"You watch what you're saying, Elf. The boss doesn't like that name," Gothmog growled before the other Maia could respond. 

Caranthir was still staring. Eönwë resisted the urge to hide his face underneath his wings and cleared his throat. "We have... become more closely acquainted." 

"That's his way of saying we're dating, yes." Gothmog smacked the counter with his free hand. "While I'm at it: Be sure tell your uncle too. Tell him that I meet up with the pretty bird to train now, and afterwards we f–" 

"Gothmog!"

"What?! Just making sure."

"You have said more than enough!" 

Caranthir blinked a few times, watching as the two Maiar turned back to face him after their brief argument. 

"You... you meant that?" 

"Yes! Need I say it again?" 

"No. Please don't." 

He cast one last glance at Eönwë who merely closed his eyes and prayed that all his embarrassment would be cleansed in Arda Healed. 

"Well..." Fighting to regain his composure, Caranthir began to look through his completed pieces. "Are you looking for anything specific?" 

Gothmog shrugged. "No idea. I don't wear underwear myself, so..." 

"Just look for... any sort of bottoms," Eönwë mumbled, the word alone causing him to blush. He didn't consider himself overly squeamish with language – at least not after all the foul words he had heard during the War of Wrath and after – but part of him feared this statement could somehow end up revealing too much. 

"Good idea, bird." Gothmog pulled him closer and rubbed his cheek against the side of his head. "I can already imagine how cute your ass would look in some nice lace panties –" 

Caranthir let out a choked noise of discomfort, but Eönwë's attention was preoccupied with something different. He had dealt with the lewd and vulgar behaviour of Melkor's servants enough times to predict what might be coming next and seized Gothmog's wrist before he could touch the part of his anatomy he was referring to. 

"Not in public," he hissed. "Or else I shall be forced to draw my sword and take your hand."

"Feisty bird." 

"I am a warrior. Never forget that." 

In the meantime, Caranthir had selected a few pieces. With an expression that spoke of defeat, the fire in his dark eyes dim, he showed a skimpy piece of soft blue fabric with white lace. 

"That one would match your hat," he commented. 

Eönwë was unsure whether it was mockery or an earnest attempt at being helpful. 

"Thank you for your trouble," he said with as much grace as he could. "Though I am not sure if you need my measurements or anything...?" 

"You could just try it on," Gothmog suggested with a gentle nudge. 

Maia and Elf alike stared at him, utterly mortified. 

 ˚ ੈ✧̣̇·˖ 　˚ .　　　✶ ˚　　✦　. 　 ˚　.　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　.  ˚　

"You are terrible." 

Eönwë's tone was still accusatory, but Gothmog remained unfazed. 

"Drink, bird," he encouraged with a gentle nudge – one that would have still sent any incarnate flying, but caused only a mild rustle of feathers thanks to the smaller Maia's impeccable stance and balance. 

"Fine," Eönwë mumbled and took a sip of mulled wine, critically eyeing the beverage. The taste was more pleasant than he had anticipated, but he needed to be careful not to drink too much, lest he be seen tipsy or even drunk in the company of a Balrog. His lack of alcohol tolerance was something other Maiar, particularly those in Oromë's, Tulkas' and of course Melkor's service, liked to tease him about. 

"Hey, don't look so glum. Don't you like shopping?" Gothmog held the bag filled with various items they had acquired up with one claw, and Eönwë couldn't help chuckling lightly. Neither of them seemed like the type to enjoy a quiet marketplace stroll, but it had been surprisingly pleasant, even with the Balrog's tendency to tease and intimidate other visitors. 

"I will never hear the end of this," Eönwë lamented, though more for show than out of actual annoyance, and downed half of his cup for dramatic effect. "Buying underwear together with the Lord of Balrogs... oh the amount of questions I will have to answer." 

"I don't get why people are even wondering," Gothmog shrugged and practically inhaled his wine, causing steam to rise from his mouth and nostrils. "I mean, what's there to ask? Everyone's seen that cute ass of yours, and I bet I'm not the only one who –" 

"Enough," Eönwë hissed. Aiwendil, who had been feeding some pigeons nearby, was staring at them with wide, curious eyes, but squirrelled away when he realised he had been noticed. 

"Anyway. It's mine and I want it to look pretty." 

"If you insist." 

"Aw, birdie..." Gothmog wrapped one arm around his shoulder, and Eönwë found himself reflexively leaning against him despite his (futile) attempts at salvaging his dignity. "I was hoping that, if I get you some nice stuff for your collection, you'll be in the mood to try on those panties later... and show me how pretty you look in them..." 

"We shall see if your behaviour warrants such a reward."

"Must you always be so strict with me? And with yourself too?" 

When Eönwë looked up at his companion, surprised by his observation, Gothmog's smile was weirdly disarming. 

"Y-you need to understand that I need to maintain a certain decorum, even though I... admittedly have grown quite fond of you," he attempted to explain himself. 

Gothmog shook his head. "Eh, I'm sure they want you to believe that, but you also know we think differently. You deserve to have fun too." 

His expression shifted to a devious grin. "As do I. May I perhaps have a kiss then?" 

"In public?" Eönwë asked nervously. 

In lieu of a response, Gothmog dropped the bag, fished a mistletoe twig out of it and held it over their heads with his free hand – an easy feat thanks to his greater size. 

"See? Now we're basically socially obligated to kiss." 

"Did... did I already say you are –"

"Terrible? Yes. And smart and handsome too."

"Was this Melkor's idea?" 

"Maybe. Does it matter?" 

It didn't, and Eönwë knew just as well as Gothmog did that he tended to talk too much and ask too many questions when he was flustered. Accepting that he had been outsmarted by his fiery lover and mortal enemy, he proudly raised his head to receive a searing hot yet gentle kiss. 

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

[cilil]

rare pair bingo

⸙ Prompt: One-bar prison | Gothmog x Eönwë ⸙ Synopsis: Gothmog decides to put his pretty bird on display. Eönwë may or may not enjoy it more than he wants to admit. ⸙ Warnings: Sex toys, dirty talk, smutty ⸙ Triple drabble | AO3

"You look lovely like this," Gothmog purred. 

The only response he received from Eönwë was a strained groan and a small rattling sound as he attempted to shift his position. His favourite enemy was currently standing atop one single iron bar, its end snugly wedged between muscular cheeks, its tip inside him. To ensure that he would stay in place, his ankles were fettered and chained to the bar, and his hands were bound behind his back. A gag Gothmog had forgone for the moment, wanting to hear the song of his lover's pleasure. 

Eönwë's awkward shifting caused the toy at the tip of the bar to press inside him at a different angle, and he moaned softly. "D-do I...?" 

"Yes. Very much so." Gothmog affectionately ruffled his pale golden locks, his fána glowing with pride. Such a pretty little angel, bound and helpless, and he belonged to him and him alone. 

"Will you leave me like this?" Eönwë asked, eyes half-lidded and slightly teary. "Will you go attend to your duties and make me wait for your return?"

"You ask me as though you want me to make you suffer a little," Gothmog laughed. "So you tell me. Do you enjoy being on display like this? Do you like standing here with a toy inside you, waiting for your master? Do you want to beg for my attention when you can't take it anymore?"

He watched Eönwë's muscles tense and flex as he tried his best to keep his bound fána from reacting to his words, but the effect they had on him was obvious. Grinning, Gothmog reached down to give his hard, leaking cock a few lazy strokes. 

"What my pet bird wants, he gets," he cooed, "so be good for me now, and I'll reward you later."

Thanks for reading! ♡

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[cilil]

Day 5 ~ Love & Creation

𓂃🖋 Characters/pairings: Gothmog x Eönwë 𓂃🖋 Synopsis: Eönwë has been experiencing strange feelings for his enemy out of all people and decides to write him a letter. 𓂃🖋 Warnings: / 𓂃🖋 Oneshot (~1k) | AO3

Gothmog, 

admittedly I do not know why I am choosing to write this letter. Perhaps it is a mere flight of fancy that you will rightfully ridicule me for, or it may not even reach Angband, as a land of fire and ice like the one your lord rules over is rather perilous for ink and paper. Either way, I apologise in advance if this letter causes you any trouble or distress, but I have nobody to turn to, and you are the only one I may in good conscience speak to regarding this matter. 

I enjoyed our recent encounters. It may not have seemed that way, I know, but I did. I also realise we were both merely following orders from our lords, and the fact that we had conversations beyond that could be regarded as inappropriate by our respective sides already. 

Nevertheless, for all the posturing and bickering, I found myself feeling strangely... understood? While my peers around me know me as a capable warrior, few ever ponder the implications of it, accepting my efforts to be gentle in nature regardless, whereas you see violent acts, no matter who commits them, as something necessary, something to be viewed with pragmatism. In my opinion a little too nonchalant, if I may add, but I will not deny that your stance was strangely refreshing. 

I feel that I could confess to you, my enemy out of all people, the worst I have done and the worst I have thought about doing and you would not even flinch. You would not be afraid of me. You would not think less of me. At worst you would accuse me of hypocrisy; though I assure you that I am trying my best, just as I suppose you do, evidenced by your rather impressive record of foul deeds. 

I will also admit that merely writing these lines makes me wish to speak to you in person, so I could indeed confess all these things to someone who will simply accept that part of my nature. Perhaps you are even laughing as you read this, wondering how a Maia born for war could have such strange feelings about their very nature. 

But I know you do understand. I know I never saw you among the Maiar of Almaren, and you revealed to me that you and your kin were never welcome among us and became the first to follow your lord. You know how it is when parts of your being are dangerous and unacceptable to others. 

I wonder if you ever wished you could change, though I am not so naive as to believe that you would entertain such a conversation through letters, if the very premise of this one has not already invoked your ire or disdain. And perhaps embracing the worst of Ainurin nature has at least freed you from your doubts, which is something I may, willingly or not, condemn, but am able to acknowledge. 

I know you cannot, will not and are most likely unwilling to help me, and I do not expect you to. In fact, I would already be grateful and honoured if you read this far. However, what I will ask of you is that we meet again. I cannot explain the desire to be in your company, as strange as it may sound, though hopefully you will find it flattering at least. 

If you are willing to see me again, of our own accord and without orders to constrain us this time, you can entrust a message to the bird I sent you, or come to the northern wastes near Helcaraxë at the next full moon, if correspondence by letter is not agreeable to you. I shall be watching and waiting, and you have my word that I have no intention to attempt to deceive you. As long as you extend the same courtesy to me, there will be no need for weapons and bloodshed; for I must warn you, I shall not let myself be trapped or captured easily. 

I hope to see you soon. Eönwë

Gothmog's brow furrowed. It was such a silly idea, to write what amounted to a strange sort of confession and send it to a Balrog, the kind of Maia that was notoriously on fire, but also sweet in a way. 

He had, that much he had to admit, conversed with Eönwë in a friendlier manner than he usually would, finding himself irrevocably taken with his effortless beauty and precious mannerisms, from the pompous posturing to the furious blushing to the various bird-like behaviours he displayed. 

It was a pity, Gothmog had often thought, that such a creature was both too pure and innocent and too determined to follow his master's morals, seemingly forever out of his reach, while also far too strong and capable to simply be claimed and possessed by someone like him. Even if he had decided to resort to violence to get what he wanted, he knew Eönwë would have likely defeated him — in a fair fight at least — yet it only made him more endearing and desirable to him.

And now Gothmog had been granted a rare blessing, an improbable streak of good fortune: His favourite enemy wanted to talk to him and see him. 

It seemed too good to be true, to the point where he should perhaps wonder if he was being lured into a trap after all, but he doubted it — the letter felt too honest in its chaotic, almost desperate pouring out of Eönwë's heart, addressed to someone who, as far as the poor herald was aware, might not care to hear it. Also the good thing about being an enemy of the forces of light was that they were far less prone to lies and deception, with Manwë and his flock of avian servants being the worst offenders when it came to candour. 

Gothmog proceeded to hide the letter in a pile of rocks immediately and curled up next to it. He was going to sleep on this — quite literally — and once the next full moon rose, he would indeed go to meet Eönwë. Maybe, he wondered as he closed his eyes, the pretty bird would let him pet his wings if he listened to him in return. 

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