#fëanor smut

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

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

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

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

“Above all else”

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

Themes: Smut| Soft

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

Word count: 1.4k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is this how you desire it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[kiatheinsomniac]

KINKTOBER 2022

✩*⢄⢁✧day seventeen: knife play - Fëanor

tag: #Tyelpëlos Kinktober Event

word count: 3.6k

warnings: smut, NSFW content, MDNI, knife play, slight blood play, object insertion

The fire of the forge licked at your face while another fire kindled deep in your abdomen as you watched your husband’s back. You were perched on the workbench behind him, simply observing him as he worked after having wanted his company, even while he was still occupied with work. You couldn’t help but adore whatever material his shirt was made of: so thin, almost sheer, sticking to his skin in places with a light sweat and hugging the muscles across his perfect skin. 

Fëanor was an ellon unlike any other in mind, skill and appearance. He was built like one of the great two trees, towering above those around him and standing with the pride of knowing how admired he is. 

“Yes, it’s quite lovely, darling.” You replied when he turned to begin showing off to you what he had made, some sort of blade but you weren’t paying attention to that: your eyes were fixed on the way his hand curled around the handle, how his fingers glided so carefully across the sharpened edge. His hands were strong, accented by gentle callouses from all his time in the forges – a mighty hard thing to achieve for an elf – and he typically wore rings in the day but he had removed them for the purpose of not damaging them as he worked. 

“Is that really all you have to say?” The change in his tone dragged your lusty attention away from his body at last to meet eyes of flint, so ready to spark a fire, his jaw set tight in anger. “Have you even been listening?” 

“Of course I-” 

“Don’t lie to me.” Whatever you had tuned out in favour of taking in his physical form for must have been quite important to provoke such a reaction from him. Your husband was an angry ellon by nature, this much you knew, but many underestimated the capacity of said anger and he was actually very good at concealing his feelings, especially regarding minor affairs. “Your eyes don’t seem to be meeting what I show you. Perhaps you need a closer look?” His voice took a darker turn and you soon found yourself unable to get down from the workbench you were perched on when your husband came to stand between your legs. 

Your breath hitched when he leaned down over you and pressed the tip of the blade to your cheek, gently grazing it across your nose as though this were merely a tender caress while paying attention to not break your delicate skin. “How’s this? Do you see better now, melda?” His tone had a base of mockery to it and you would have nodded your head if not for the fear of accidentally earning a cut. 

“Your craftsmanship truly is unmatched, my love.” You replied, “I know of none other who could put such intricate detailing into the negative space of a blade.” You commented, a part of you hoping to satisfy his mood and another hoping to stir something else in him with the way you slowly spread your thighs apart further. 

“Oh, so you like this?” A part of you knew he was no longer talking about the blade in his hand. The knife came to dance against your throat as he leaned down over you more, daring you to lay down and submit or to stay upright and see how long you could hold out for before you caved in. Very carefully, you nodded your reply, eyes darting between his to try and anticipate what he might do next. “Well, I think that you should try and better express your appreciation, don’t you agree?” He mused. Once more you nodded and longed to lean forwards and close the distance between you two but the knife at your throat was as controlling as the familiar hand in your hair when he would kiss you: making all the decisions for you in just the way you craved, holding you still and controlling your kisses, your movements, everything. “Awe,” He cooed mockingly, “do you want me to kiss you?” 

“Yes please.” Your voice came out quietly, eyes already darkened with lust and so beautiful to your husband with the light of the forge behind him reflected in them. 

“Say it again.” He leaned in closer, breath fanning over your lips but his mouth just out of reach. 

“Please? Please can you kiss me?” That made him smile – or perhaps he smirked? – before closing that last slither of distance between you, his other hand coming up to grab the nape of your neck and hold you still as your lips collided, the blade at your throat pressing down just slightly. His hand was there to steady you, the warm metal to remind you of the situation you were in. Once he was certain you would keep the threat of his new knife in mind, his other hand rested on your shoulder for a moment before sliding down your front, pausing to cup your breast, making him groan against your mouth while you breathed out airily at the feeling. 

You carefully leaned up to cup his face in your hands, fingers dipping into his dark hairline where his ponytail was coming loose and some strands were slack enough for you to slip your fingers into that midnight silk and lightly tug. His hand slid further down to trace the curve of your waist before landing on your hip and squeezing firmly, beginning to caress the softness of your thighs with the fabric of your dress between your skin and his touch. 

After he seemed to grow frustrated with being unable to feel your skin beneath his fingers, he pulled away from what had been such a messy and passionate kiss, the tip of the knife coming up to tap twice against your kiss-swollen lips, just daring you to pout at him having pulled away from you. 

“Are you so desperate for my touch that you’d let me hold a knife to your pretty throat if it means being kissed by me?” The blade was still against your lips, rendering you unable to nod or reply. You simply gazed into his eyes, trying to pour your emotions out through them so that he could see that you had not meant to offend him, only that you had been so caught up in admiring him. “Such a needy little thing… You’d let me do whatever I like to you, wouldn’t you? You don’t care about the threat…” His last phrase was emphasised by a sting against your bottom lip, the knife being removed so that he could kiss you once more, sucking your lower lip into his mouth and soothing it with a lick before he pulled away. You could taste your blood and see it tinting your husband’s lips as his eyes raked down your body. 

You gasped when he roughly bunched the shoulder of your dress in his hand and pulled it towards him moment before sinking the blade into your neckline and dragging it downwards with a loud tear. Your dress fell to shreds around you as he sliced through your sleeves, tearing all the way through your skirt and leaving you in just your panties, sitting in the middle of what had once been your dress. You knew that it could be replaced though and knew that he was well aware that this was not one of your favourites. Your husband spoiled you and you knew that he would insist on replacing the dress himself. 

Your thighs felt stiffened while your back arched up when Fëanor tapped the blade against your clothed clit, such a dangerous object against such a sensitive area and it had your heart hammering in your chest. With lidded eyes, he watched as he slowly raised the blade upwards to carefully prod at your nipples, watching as they hardened with arousal. With a groan, he set the knife aside to help lay you down as his lips came to your chest, kissing across the tops of your breasts, sucking marks beneath them and revelling in all your little gasps and moans, how your legs had come up to circle around his waist, begging for him closer. He knew just how badly you wanted to be stretched around his thick cock but seeing you get turned on by the threat of a knife in his hand, a knife he had created, had piqued his interest and now he was more than willing to be patient. 

He gave your breasts equal attention with his mouth but the knife had yet to leave his hand, meaning that one of your breasts was always abandoned for attention as his free hand was being used to keep him propped up over you. You had tried to reach your hand up to stimulate yourself, only to have it swatted away by your lover, earning a whine from you and yet you made no other protest. Fëanor kissed his way down to your belly before standing up to tower over you, looking at your hair splayed about you on the workbench, your ruined dress, your hardened nipples, slick with his saliva and the way your back was arched to accentuate how your breasts were rising and falling with each panted breath. 

The knife dipped into the front of your panties and he pulled upwards, making a slight tear before repeating that process again and again, slowly, his eyes meeting yours as you froze, afraid of having such a sharp blade near somewhere so intimate. Eventually, they were cut from your legs and you watched with bated breath as the fingers of his free hand slid through your slit, pushing your wetness upwards to smear it over your clit and begin tracing precise circles, adoring all the little moans it pulled from you, watching how you would squirm. 

“You’ll have to stay still.” Your eyes opened to meet his at his words and you watched as the knife was twirled in his hand so that the blade now faced towards his body instead of your own. Your squirming did, indeed, stop entirely when the hilt of the knife ran through your wet folds and prodded at your entrance. 

“F-Fëanor…?” Your voice wavered and he merely shushed you, his fingers leaving your clit so that he could spread your legs wider, pressing your thigh down against the workbench as you hesitantly raised your head to look down at the knife pressing against your cunt. 

“Don’t squirm too much and this will feel no different to my fingers, melda, I’m sure.” There was a sadistic tone to his voice and a part of you wondered if you could come from having the handle of a knife inside of you; would the fear make such a thing impossible or would it only cause an early end? You couldn’t help but let out a loud gasp when he finally pushed inside of your waiting walls, your arousal more than enough to allow it to slip inside. Your legs jerked slightly and your husband merely tutted as he kept them spread apart enough with his hand so that you didn’t try to close your legs and cut your thighs in the process. “Stay still, little girl.” You could hardly pry your eyes away from watching as he sank the blade’s handle deeper into your pussy. The blade glinted in the light of the forge and you bit down on your lip to stifle a moan. Soon enough, you found your pleasure outweighing your fear as Fëanor picked up the pace, the crackling of the nearby fire being joined by the squelching sounds of you being fucked with a knife’s handle. Your husband could feel the increased resistance as the walls of your little cunt tightened around the weapon and his other hand finally, finally came up to caress your clit, making you come all over the warm metal. 

He helped to ride you through your orgasm before withdrawing the blade, gently dragging it up your sternum and holding the slippery handle with both hands as he poised the blade over your heart, leaving enough room for your panting breaths. Your mind was torn away from its post-orgasmic haze at the sight. Your mind knew that you shouldn’t ever allow someone to put you in such a vulnerable position and yet your heart trusted him entirely. Fëanor only groaned at how you made no move to stop him, how you trusted him with your life to put you in such a vulnerable and submissive position. 

“Oh, my love, I have a long night planned for you…” 

☾ ⋆ﾟ  MASTERLIST / RULES / TAGLIST FORM

☾ ⋆ﾟ Buy me a coffee? ✧⋆.・゜Want to be tagged?

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[cilil]

rare pair bingo

AN: For my dear @nyarnamaitar🤍

⸙ Prompt: Deep-throat | Fëanor x Manwë ⸙ Synopsis: Fëanor enjoys the Elder King submitting to him. ⸙ Warnings: Smut, oral sex ⸙ Triple drabble | AO3

To have the Elder King on his knees before him was the most erotic thing Fëanáro had ever seen, sending a rush of power through his very being. He caressed his white hair, smooth and soft like wisps of cloud, and marvelled at the ethereal beauty of Ilúvatar's favourite to savour the moment. 

Manwë looked up at him with an expression he couldn't quite decipher, as if he was deep in thought, yet there was desire, unmistakable and raw. It was all the invitation Fëanáro needed to proceed. 

"Open your mouth," he commanded, and as soon as the Vala obeyed, pushed his cock past dutifully parted lips. 

White eyelashes fluttered when Manwë closed his eyes, objecting neither to the sudden, none-too-gentle intrusion nor to Fëanáro taking hold of his hair. 

He's made for this.

The crown prince of the Noldor would have laughed at such a notion once upon a time, but now he couldn't help feeling that way. He thrust in and out to his heart's content, yet Manwë never appeared to gag nor struggle with breathing. 

It would take more to elicit a stronger, more desperate reaction from him, Fëanáro thought, but today was not that day. Today he was going to enjoy plush lips and a soft tongue gingerly, almost hesitantly pleasuring him while he moved, the elegant curve of Manwë's neck as he bowed his head to take him deeper, the soft humming noises he made to show his enjoyment. 

Affectionately, Fëanáro stroked his head with his free hand. He had thought the tales of the Elder King's humility to be mere flattery, but it was true — and he could tell that he had done this before. 

And now... he's mine.

The thought, followed by another giddy rush, was enough to push Fëanáro over the edge. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

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[doodle-pops]

Let Me Dance For You

Feanor x reader

Kinktober 2023: Thigh–Riding

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

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

Words: 2.5k

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

List of Requests

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Masterlist

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

[lovefairymina]

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

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

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

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

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

May I request a Feanor x AFAB!elf reader and "Twas the night before Christmas"?

Lemon or SFW, you may choose.

Thanks for reading this, and just a short shout out to writers like you: YOU ARE AMAZING AND I HOPE YOU CONTINUE TO GET MORE FANS!

Eee! Thank you!

Pairing: Modern! Fëanor x AFAB! Reader (second person POV)

Themes: Soft | Smut

Warnings: Kissing | Foreplay | Penetrative sex | Cream pie

Word count: 1K words

Summary: Despite being tired, Fëanor decides to make it up to you on Christmas eve night

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

Divider by @estrelinha-s

The wind finally died down considerably, even as the snow continued to fall. Barely anything could be seen on the streets below, save for the sunflower-yellow street lights and the flashes of red and gold and green appearing in dozens of windows.

“Snowed in on yet another Christmas eve,” Fëanor observed, and he slipped his arms around your waist. He peered over your shoulder, hoping to see more of the world beyond the rooms the two of you called home. Besides the lights and the snow, he saw little else. “At least we don’t have to go anywhere tonight. Come back to the living room, my love. You’re cold.”

He headed toward the heater while you walked over to the sofa. “The tree is beautiful,” you noted, and you took a deep breath. The faint redolence of pine hung in the air. It was invigorating. “From where did your dad get it, exactly?”

“The scouts were selling them. Blue spruces mostly,” he explained when he returned to you. The apartment was warmer now, and more comfortable. And it was all the prettier now that the Christmas lights were turned on. “Dad got lucky with this one. All the other good trees were sold already.”

“It’s perfect, really.” Fëanor sat beside you and sighed. The drive from his father’s workshop was never long, but in the snow, it took almost forever sometimes. Today, he barely missed the storm that hit the city without warning. Now, he looked beyond worn. “Although I wish you didn’t put yourself to the trouble to get it for me.”

“Twas no trouble at all.” Despite his exhaustion, Fëanor’s mouth twitched in a smile when a kiss was pressed against his cheek. December was busy as always, and his father’s workshop was never short of orders. But everything was squared away, and the orders have all been fulfilled for the holidays. Now all he wanted to do was to rest and spend time with you, and not think of his job until after the New Year. “And you have done a wonderful job decorating the place. I’m sorry you had to do it all by yourself. And perhaps, I should make up for it, and for being away so much because of work.”

“Fëanor!” You cried when he pushed you onto your back and moved over you. “I thought you said you were tired!”

He rewarded you with a knowing smirk. “I am, yes,” he confessed, “but that doesn’t mean I’m so exhausted that I cannot do anything. Now, where was I? Ahh yes.”

He sought your mouth and drowned your protest with a kiss. On any other day, Fëanor would be all fire and passion, but tonight he was slower, tender, and a great deal gentler. Perhaps it was the exhaustion. Perhaps it was something else. You, however, found no reason to complain. He freed you from your clothes before freeing himself from his own. He stroked your arms, your throat, your belly, and your breasts—long, languorous strokes that ended between your thighs. He kissed you and touched you again, and again, and again, until it felt like every inch of your body was on fire. It was too much. And not enough at the same time. You pleaded as much. More, you said. Fëanor laughed softly, then agreed to give you more. He lifted your hips and grunted in satisfaction when you wrapped your legs around his hips, your arms around his shoulders.

Every part of him ached. The ache from finishing up work, from the torturous drive back home. Still, it was a good ache, and it was slowly forgotten when he slid his cock inside the warmth of your body. Fëanor sighed. Nothing else in the world could be as glorious as this, cleaving to your flesh and then losing himself in it. He savored every sensation, every flavor: the salt on your skin, the softness of your hair, the fragrance still clinging to them. It was all an invitation to do more, and do more he did. He moved slowly, rhythmically, drowning in your eyes, his grunts growing deeper and deeper the longer he went.

He felt so good. Everything about him and everything he did felt so good. Your entire body hummed as if electrified. Your hands glided over his back and combed through his thick, dark hair. Fëanor shivered and pushed in harder. It made you see stars behind your eyes when he did so. His mouth found yours again, and the kiss that followed was rough and desperate and more than a little greedy. It brought about fresh needs that took root and surged all over your body. You think to yourself: if all of this was a part of his plan to make amends for all the times he worked till late, then it was working splendidly. You clung to him while he took you to the peak and beyond. Fëanor did not let go of you even when you shattered beneath him and your orgasm ripped through you. You could not think, much less breathe. All you could do was drown in the unimaginable bliss that rippled through you over and over and over again. Then Fëanor kissed you again. His entire body trembled when he emptied himself inside of you. After a final silent cry, he stopped, and then the two of you went still.

The snow continued to fall outside, covering everything it touched in thick carpets of blinding white. But at least the wind had stopped a great deal, and the storm had passed. Still, it was wonderful to lay on that sofa and listen to the hush that enveloped everything. Fëanor moved, his chest still heaving from the exertion. He let you rest and went to the bedroom to fetch thick robes. Later, he drew you a warm bath. It was almost as wonderful as what he did to you in the living room. He joined you, rubbed down your arms, and repeatedly kissed your hair. It made you feel cherished.

“I know there are a few more hours left to this night,” he whispered, “but merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“Merry Christmas, my love,” you whisper in return.

[last-capy-hupping]

Have two chapters of AWY, documenting parts one and two of Solstice Day, which my blorbos have decided is a very important day for smut, fluff, and family drama.

[cilil]

Fëanor and Nerdanel for 27 (pegging) please :D

Gentle June

AN: Good one! I hope you don't mind that I also threw in some praise kink and gentle dom, it felt right x) @tolkienpinupcalendar here I go!

❀ Prompt: Pegging, praise kink, gentle dom | Fëanor x Nerdanel ❀ Synopsis: Nerdanel finds that Fëanor has been rude, and rude Elves get pegged. ❀ Warnings: Smut, the prompts, Fëanor has mommy (and daddy) issues ❀ Short oneshot (~850 words)

"You are a naughty boy, Fëanáro." 

Nerdanel embraced him from behind, trapping him against his workbench and caging him with her strong arms. Fëanáro turned his head to receive a kiss, his project swiftly forgotten and his tools slipping out of his shaking grasp.

"Y-yes," he agreed, uncharacteristically docile. 

Nerdanel rewarded him with a giggle and another kiss. "I wonder what your mother would have to say to that."

She said it in a casual, teasing tone, yet they were both aware of the effect such words had on him. The blush on Fëanáro's face was deeply red like this tunic, extending all the way to the tips of his ears, and he instinctively leaned forward the second he felt his wife gently pushing against him. He loved the sensation of her weight on him, loved forgetting about pride and status and simply melting to be moulded by her strong, capable hands.

"Where is your toy, Fëanáro?" Nerdanel asked, calm and serious as if it was a normal, innocent conversation. 

Fëanáro, however, knew exactly what she had in mind and pressed his lips together to stifle a moan. "There's one in a box right here, second drawer next to my right knee. I made it earlier, just as you asked." 

"And the strap and oil?" 

"Also in the box." 

Nerdanel patted his backside appreciatively. "So you can be good."

"Only for you."

"And only for me will you improve your behaviour in other areas as well." 

Fëanáro opted to not talk back, instead listening to his wife retrieving the desired items, unceremoniously undoing his apron and pulling down his breeches. Here he was no crown prince or master smith, here he was but an unruly Elf waiting to get fucked with a toy of his own making. 

Nerdanel didn't bother undressing. She skillfully placed the strap around her hips and attached the toy before beginning to rub oil over it, her free hand resting on her husband's lower back to hold him down in the meantime. 

"What was that with the queen yesterday?" she began her brief interrogation.

"My father’s wife was disrespectful towards me," Fëanáro grumbled. He had known this would be brought up and prepared himself, though his anger had long since been extinguished by the far more pleasing prospect of punishment for his actions. 

Nerdanel's judgement was swift. "She wasn't. You were. And you knew your mother would be as disappointed as I am."

"Maybe."

"Fëanáro."

"Fine. I was..." He swallowed. "I was bad." 

His reward was a warm hand rubbing oil all over his entrance. 

"Well done, my love. And now you will make it up to me." 

Fëanáro nodded. "Yes, my lady." 

When it was his turn to be disciplined, he didn't receive further preparation, but he knew Nerdanel's intention wasn't to hurt him and the toy had been designed accordingly. Instead of the usual bulbous tips of more phallic designs, it had a tapered end and only slowly increased in circumference, interspersed with rounded, bead-like sections that served both as a more pleasurable texture and a scale of how much he managed to take. 

He lowered his head and did his best to relax. Nerdanel took her time pushing into him, the tip sliding in easily, then progressing bead by bead. The first two he barely felt, the third made him moan, the fourth proved to be a bit of a challenge, but she gently rocked back and forth a few times until he managed. 

"Good boy," she praised. "I knew you could do it." 

Fëanáro glowed with pride. Ambitious in all things, he wanted to show her just how good he could be, but Nerdanel decided it was enough. Instead, she took hold of his hips and began to thrust, decisively this time. His hole clenched around the toy, his mouth fell open. It felt so good, with its texture rubbing against his rim with every movement and its tip reaching deep inside, just where he wanted it. He could hear himself moan, but barely registered it as his own voice, his senses focused on that delicious sensation. 

There was no unnecessary flourish this time, no slowing down. Only raw physicality, driven by Nerdanel's strength and determination. Her goal was clear, and she handled him with the same precision and expertise as she handled her statues. 

It was impossible for Fëanáro to resist her for too long. He felt his muscles contract and the wet sensation of come spilling all over his stomach and workbench before he knew what happened. The toy being swiftly pulled out of him nearly prompted a needy whine, yet he knew better — he wasn't going to be rewarded until later, when she decided he had behaved himself. 

Nerdanel leaned over him, reddish-brown hair falling over him like a curtain. "You will go clean yourself up and then apologise to your father and his queen," she said calmly. "I will see you in the evening. Until then, be good." 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @numenhore @urwendii

[doodle-pops]

I'm Jealous Darling

Feanor x reader

Request: Hi darling I hope you're doing well! Can I please request a fic featuring Fëanor with a wife!reader where they have an argument and then she decides to annoy Fëanor by flirting with Fingolfin or something, followed by jealous rough sex and Fëanor being Fëanor, literally. It's okay though if you wouldn't want to write such a fic or the idea doesn't interest you! Love you and your writing! - Anon

Warnings: fembod, teasing, spanking, use of slut once, begging, mentions of overstimulation, multiple rounds and orgasm denials, rough sex, small aftercare

Word: 1.6k

Synopsis: Flirting with anyone was never a good idea when Fëanor was your husband, even worse when it was his half-brother, Fingolfin.

Slap

Your ass jiggled the brightest shade of red, flushed from the impact and stained with his signature.

“Are you sure you’re sorry mirё? I didn’t quite catch your apology the first time,” his lips ghosted the shell of your ear, prompting the stirring sensation already working up in your stomach. His voice was enough to melt your insides and do wonders, now that he was twice as displeased with your behaviour from earlier, it gave him enough reason to reduce his tone. Butterflies travelled their way through your stomach and down to your neither regions urging your arousal to flow messily on his cock.

It worked its way angrily into your heat, plunging itself deeper with every thrust as if it were attempting to rewire your brain and not only your insides. You could feel the venom from his wicked and tactical thrusts all because you made an effort to stir jealousy between him and his brother. Fёanor was making sure when he was finished, whether you wished to anger him through jealousy or not, your brain would never suggest his half-brother as an option.

Slap

“Are you just going to remain quiet…?” the lips that once ghosted your ear now travelled lower until they reached your shoulder blades and pulled back to reveal his pearly whites. Brilliantly they shone under the pale light from the fireplace, yet they sharply sunk themselves into your skin, desperate for a taste of the flesh he long desired for months. Your whimpers and cries were a result of his actions along with broken syllables of begging him for mercy due to how apologetic you were.

Face pressed into the mattress and tear-stained, you drooled and sobbed from the incessant pounding. It felt so good to be on the receiving end after months, but this was your fifth, sixth, or eighth time for tonight? You lost count of how many orgasms you received and were denied. All your brain was able to comprehend during the entire night was that you were being tossed about to his pleasure and liking. “Fёa-Fёanor—shit…slow down, pl-…please—ah!” voice squealing at the feeling of his fingers coming down to rub against your clit while the other entangled itself in your hair and yanked your head upwards, sending you into a pain stretching arch.

Bending his body for better access, his tongue slipped past his lips and licked a long, bold stripe from the centre of your spine to your left shoulder before placing another bite. “You don’t get to command me after your little stunt darling…I’ll have you for as long as I desire,” he breathed laboriously into your skin when his hips stuttered as you clenched around him, leaving another perfect ring of cream that was smeared further down his length as his pace picked up. His entire cock was covered in your arousal, cream and spit, and it pleased him to see how much you still wanted more. You were his hungry little wife.

The way your cunt sucked him inch by inch, refusing to let him breathe—to let him go—made his eyes roll into his head for a split second before he regained control. You had him slipping and getting too misplaced in the ecstasy he sought for.

“I-I’m so-…sorry Fёanor, please, you kn-know I have eyes f-for you—ngghh,” sounding broken and whiney as you begged for forgiveness, he scoffed and sent a harsh thrust your way, loving the fluttering of your walls around his cock. The little grip you would attempt to place on his every time he withdrew from your heat, fighting to choke and keep him lodged deep within, perfectly nestle, it made his heart flutter.

“Then why flirt like some slut with my half-brother, huh? Am I not enough!”

Within seconds, another round of precise and skilled rhythmical thrusts while his fingers toyed with your clit so delicately produced loud squeals and the beautiful sound of the pita-pat of his balls slapped against your cunt. Even in the distance, between the mix of pleasure and insanity, there was the unmistakable music of the bedsheets tearing beneath your nails. He paid no mind to them because one: it was not the first time it occurred and two, far worse things had been broken and torn up in your chambers; the sheets were replaceable. All that mattered was that your lesson was well-taught, and you got it through your skull to never go around Fingolfin or any half-brother for the matter.

“Y-Yes you are eno-…enough! Never you br-brother…ngghh.”

“I find that impossible to believe when you were all over him.”

Choosing to release your hair at the moment and watching as you flopped face-first on the bed, the same hand that held your hair trailed down your back and pressed down to send you into an arch. At that moment, he was able to reach deeper and allow his tip to hit your soft spot right off the bat. The spine-tingling convulsing your body gestured to as the pleasure knocked on your door thunderously had Fёanor grinning like he won a gift from Eru. There was never a dull moment with him especially when it came to granting you an orgasm. Though, this one came on harder given the consecutive denials he presented in the last couple of unknown rounds.

“Someone’s close, I can feel you…are you going to apologise?” his patronising voice rang out irritatingly with all the obvious and nowhere near underlying self-righteousness. He wanted you to know who was in charge and how much power he held over you. His pretty wife needed to know her place and never slip up again. “Come on darling…I’m waiting. Time is ticking…”

“Fёa…nor, pl-…please, I’m sorry—won’t d-do it ‘gain…”

Slap

“Hmm…not convincing enough mirё.”

Crying out in frustration because you knew what was coming next, you began to mumble apologies left, right and centre, hoping that it pleased him enough to reward you with your orgasm. You were working for it all night and daylight was breaking soon. Your limbs are sore and your voice scrapping against your throat the longer you whined and plead with him, trying your best to sound as persuasive as possible. “I promise, I promise, I swear to you that I-I won’t…please. Y-You kn-…know I love only you.”

Humming loudly, his hips never slowed neither did his fingers on your clit as he absorbed your pleads. They sounded worthy enough to some aspect to be tolerated, but he wasn’t going to allow you off the hook with just one apology— as your husband, it was important for him to ensure that his wife respected him and kept away from his siblings.

Instead of giving a snarky response like he normally did, the hand that rested against your spine applied more pressure and pushed you into the foulest arches of all time. His abdomen clenched as beads of sweat ran down his ivory skin, dripping onto yours and displaying the tempo of his newly set rhythm. All the muscles in his body appeared ripped and taunt from the tightness he was experiencing at the increased contraction around his length. The sheer power and force he placed into his thrusts were sending not only him but you into a frenzy. It was all too much to absorb and focus on at the same time. Everything was coming at you like an asteroid.

The incomprehensible mumblings, the drooling, the painful gripping of the sheets, the tears pouring down your face, and the twitching of your gummy walls around him were all the signs he needed to know you were approaching high. It was all too easy, and yet he wanted to keep it from you, just because he can. But a promise was a promise: you apologise and he’ll let you cum, the fact that to swore to him made his ego swell and heart tingle. The terrifyingly beautiful power he had over you. “Let this be the last time you ever pull this stunt—shit!” his voice somberly echoed from behind, yet it was chanted vociferously in your head like a prayer.

Being cut off mid-warning as both synchronously came, his body doubled over and landed atop yours, pushing you into the mattress.

Loud sighs and panting reverberated throughout the room as you both lay atop the other, sweaty and sticky from a long, laborious activity. Your body was filled with aches and sores from head to toe, barely able to move a muscle much less lift a finger, you lay there with his firm body resting against yours. He laid halfway on top of you for what felt like aeons before there was a slight stir followed by him shifting himself to pull out and roll onto his back. From his angle, your body appeared like one of the finest pieces he completed in the forges; soft bite marks and hickeys everywhere accompanies by his signature handprint on your ass.

He watched you lying there in silence, slowly drifting off to sleep before scooting closer and giving you a gentle shake, waking you, “Don’t fall asleep yet melda, we need to clean up.” His hands felt soothing on your body compared to the heat and weight they carried just minutes ago. You didn’t want to move from the tenderness that radiated, but he was adamant about having you two cleaned up.

Groaning when you felt his hands lift your deadweight body out of bed, there was a distant chuckle and a small whisper, “Lesson learnt…for now.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @spidergirla5 @lilmelily @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @rain-on-my-umbrella @the-phantom-of-arda @starborne0661 @singleteapot @asianbutnotjapanese

[lovefairymina]

*Hears the bedroom door open and leans back to see who it is* Oh Feanor, I was just going to hop in the shower, actually... if you wanted to join me *winks*

“I hope you know what you are requesting because the last time you asked me to join you, I was being held accountable for the damages I left behind…not that I minded,” he nonchalantly elaborated while disrobing and walking over to where you stood with a devilish grin on his face.

[elentarial]

A Dream of Fire (966 words) by Anonymous Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Curufin | Curufinwë/Curufin's Wife, Curufin's Wife & Fëanor | Curufinwë, Feanor | Curufinwe/Curufin’s Wife Characters: Fëanor | Curufinwë, Curufin | Curufinwë, Curufin's Wife Additional Tags: Cuckolding, Longing, Infidelity, Sort Of, Female Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Feanor is Spirit of Fire for a reason, Prophetic Visions, Not Canon Compliant, Not LaCE compliant, Not Beta Read Summary: Curufin’s wife is tired of spending her evenings alone while he’s in the forge. She makes her own entertainment.

Guys, I think I’m addicted to the kink meme. I need some wholesome prompts. 🤣 But anonymous requester, this was a joy to write.

[autumnshighlady]

Wildest Dreams (Feanor x Reader x Fingolfin)

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

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

word count: 6k

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

professor tolkien I am so sorry for this ily

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

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

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

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

It had almost felt real. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needed to talk to Fingolfin.

**********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!” You cried out, embarrassingly fast. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[myfavouritelunatic]

Penumbra - Chapter Five

“How is it that you have the power to give me the one thing I seek… above all else? I doubt very much that Artanis and I would have this chance if not for you specifically, Mairon.” There it was again, creeping in, buzzing about his head like a pest. Jealousy. If there was one thing Mairon did not have in his endless existence, it was someone to share it with. Someone to ignite the spark within his own heart, to give him meaning, to grant him more than what he’d already accomplished. And he had accomplished much, being a part of the Music, and serving Aulë like no one else. He knew it was why Melkor had seduced him so easily. That vala was the first one to show him true appreciation. If Mairon had mistaken it for love, it was not his fault. It was the one thing he yearned for most. He was so willing to see it where it did not exist. But during his time here, with Fëanor, with Artanis… he had glimpsed different kinds of love. The all consuming and possessive kind the elf lord holds for his niece, and the sweet idolatry of a young elf with innocence begging to be exploited. And oh had he exploited it.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: Not really any smut this chapter, lots of passionate kissing however hehe. 😘

Massive thanks as always for @klynnvakarian 's incredible artwork here!! 🥰

I really like this chapter and I hope you all do too! 🖤

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Son of Finwë

Pairing: Fëanor x Melkor (Curelkor)

Themes: Soft | Smut | Slow burn

Warnings: Mentions of blood and injuries | Kissing | Hand job | Penetrative sex | Cream pie

Word count: 5.5k words 

Summary: Fëanor swears fealty to Melkor, and in time, something more than Lord and Servant develops. 

Rating:   🔥🔥| Minors DNI | 18+

Want to be tagged? Want to know the rules? Read all here.

Author’s notes: As promised, here it is. My weird yen to pair Fëanor with Melkor. There are, I’m sure, holes in the story, but I tried to clean it up as much as possible. I also wrote the Valar as somewhat darker than I would have, although it is interesting to think of the Valar using less than noble methods to have their way.  

Melkor looked on, his mood darkening with each passing moment.

The son of Finwë was here, in this hall, feasting with the rest of his lieutenants. But that was not what troubled him, as Fëanor willingly swore fealty to Melkor's cause after the other Valar forced him to give up the silimarils. What incurred Melkor's wrath was the sight of Fëanor seemingly enraptured by another Maia in attendance.

It was irrational what he felt—those little arrows of jealousy that kept piercing his gut. Melkor considered himself above such petty feelings, thinking them a sign of great weakness and traits of lesser beings. He was first amongst all the Ainur after all, greater than all of them when it came to knowledge and power, and yet here he was, seated upon his high throne, his vexation growing as Fëanor listened to something Mairon said, and laughed. Melkor listened as that laugh carried over to him, his fana stirring in ways it had never done before. Then Mairon said something else, and Fëanor laughed even harder. There was that stirring again, something that would catch him unawares, and more often now. Melkor did not know when it began. All he did know it had something to do with the son of Finwë. And that it kept growing stronger.

Then Fëanor laughed once more, and Melkor found himself rising to his feet and making his way down the throne steps. A hush slowly enveloped the great hall as the Vala and high lord of Angband weaved his way around Orcs and Goblins and Shape-shifters and everything else in between. Thralls huddled in the shadows as he walked by, and the heavy thud of his boots echoed around the room. Melkor noticed none of it, so focused was he on what lay in front of him.

His two newest followers. One, a maia that once apprenticed under Aulë, and the other, one with piercing, bright blue eyes and raven hair. The first-born son of the high king of the Noldor, the one everyone called Fëanor.

"Lieutenant," he said in a waspish tone, and greeted Mairon first. "Son of Finwë. How goes your time with us?"

Fëanor leaned into his chair and smiled. "Quite well, actually. Mairon and I were exchanging stories."

Melkor arched a quizzical brow. "And those stories are?"

"My time with Aulë," Mairon said, his eyes still filled with mirth. "About all the things I learned. How I drove my mentor to distraction with my antics."

"Setting the sacred forge on fire more than once is far more than just an antic," Fëanor cut in.

"Not the entire forge!" Mairon protested in his defense. "Just a table. Or three," he mumbled into his wine.

Melkor narrowed his eyes as both chuckled, and another wave of jealousy stirred within him. He swallowed, unsure of these strange and unexplainable feelings that kept welling up within him. "And how are your duties, son of Finwë?" he asked, mostly to distract himself.

Fëanor's impish smirk did nothing to improve things. "Splendidly, my lord. I have finished working on a new blade. You should come by and see it sometime."

A chance to separate them, came the surprising thought. "I will see it now, then," he said.

The hour had grown very late, and Fëanor was in a mood to retire. He wanted to make his excuses, but that tone in Melkor’s voice—sharp and insistent… gave him pause and made him think. Melkor’s request was not a request. It was an order. And he looked like he was in no mood for refusal. Choking back a sigh, Fëanor nodded and pushed back his chair. Rest will have to wait a little longer. "Follow me, my lord," he said and rose.

As they descended deeper into the fortress, pale light found its way in through windows cut into Thangorodrim’s western walls. The light from a rejuvenated Telperion no doubt, swirling sheer rivers of the palest silver and blue, spreading far into the Ered Engrin. Fëanor looked up at it. He watched this display of light against thick black walls with his jaw clenched, then he yielded and let out a long sigh.

"Still vexed about the silmarils?" Melkor said, and he looked up as well. The blessed trees could not be touched now, not for anything. A ring of protection had been placed around both to shield them forever.

Of course, he was vexed. Fëanor did not want to give up the silmarils at all, but the Valar pushed him into a corner and forced him to choose: the jewels or the peace of his mother’s fëa. Oh, Fëanor did not know if they would truly follow through with their threat, but that Irmo was a tricky one, planting visions Fëanor did not wish to see. Not wanting to risk anything happening to his mother’s sense of peace, Fëanor yielded and relinquished possession of the jewels. The resentment that had taken root in his heart festered and grew until one fine day, Melkor came calling, offering him the chance to retaliate against those who had wronged him.

Fëanor had accepted his offer with eager hands.

"Always, my lord," he grumbled, turning his gaze to the looming doors of his forge. He opened them and let Melkor go in first, before following.

"You will get your chance to strike back soon enough," Melkor said, and looked around.

The heat within was not a shock. After all, it was a forge. On the other hand, the unusual blue light was. Melkor peered into a nearby lamp, one that he had never seen before. A clear blue flame burned within clear crystals. "Your work, I presume?"

"Aye," Fëanor held up one that was not yet finished. "I found a way to trap flame in crystal. This will never go out, not by air or water. We will not have to worry about light again."

Melkor nodded and kept looking around—at the tables filled with various sketches and at the shelves stacked with tools, all bearing Fëanor’s mark.

"You can look all you want, my lord," Fëanor said, making himself comfortable on a low bench. "But no putting your hands on anything," he added sharply when Melkor’s gaze cut to him. "Not unless you want something of yours broken."

And there it was. Fëanor’s famed sense of hospitality. Melkor quickly turned, to hide the beginnings of a grin. "I should have your hide for such insolence," he warned, though more amused than displeased. "But I will pardon it just this once."

"Of course," Fëanor murmured, his curiosity piqued. Melkor had slain many others for much less, but here he was, forgiving an elf no less. "And I see you have found the true cause for this visit."

He did indeed. Melkor was standing in front of a special rack, bearing a greatsword that gleamed red, orange, and gold, like a fire blazing from within. There was warmth too; Melkor could feel it even from where he was standing. He paid no mind to Fëanor's threat, for one such as he was above such trifles. He simply reached out and took the sword in his hand, the corners of his lips curling up when he heard a sigh.

"You sound like a much put upon mother, and not the famed firstborn son of Finwë," he snickered and swung the sword once, then twice. It moved swiftly and silently, the very air simmering as the blade moved through it. Melkor lifted it to get a feel of it in his hand. It was perfectly balanced, neither light nor heavy, as if it were made for him. This would be an excellent weapon to take to war, he thought. "This is magnificent work, son of Finwë, truly."

"Fëanor," the elf cut in, respectfully this time. "I would prefer if you called me Fëanor, my lord."

"Fëanor," Melkor said, slowly and deliberately, not slurring it like many of the others. "Well. You have outdone yourself, Fëanor. I will leave you to your tasks then."

"My lord?" Fëanor stopped him before he left. "The sword. I am not finished with it."

Melkor grumbled and cursed. Fëanor simply sat up straight and crossed his arms. Melkor glared, and hemmed and hawed, and Fëanor took a risk, preferring to not yield.

"I am a Vala," Melkor hissed when Fëanor remained unmoved.

"Yes, and that sword is not yet finished," Fëanor said, watching Melkor for any signs of temper. While there was no darkening of his mood, Fëanor still preferred to play it safe and appealed to Melkor’s ego instead. It was what his father would do whenever he wanted Fëanor to listen to him, though with poor success. "And surely the mightiest of all the Valar deserves nothing less than a perfect weapon."

His words appeased Melkor greatly. "I suppose you are right," he agreed, and returned the sword to its rack before taking his leave. "Finish it then. Farewell."

Fëanor gaped at Melkor’s retreating back. This was the first time he did not simply lay claim to something and call it his.

It was also the first time he said farewell.

Light from Laurelin made its way over the Ered Engrin, its vibrant, golden beams making the snow upon the mountains look like they were afire.

Bright, golden streams made their way into the fortress, and it was during this time that Melkor found them sparring in the training yard.

He kept to the shadows and watched as Mairon led Fëanor on a merry dance, always one step and one strike ahead. The Maia had the experience, having learned for a while under Tulkas and Oromë. He was able to anticipate the elf’s moves and block each attack with the deft use of a spear. Others had gathered to watch, with some even holding wagers to see how long it would take for Fëanor to yield. And Melkor kept watching, drawn in by Fëanor’s unwillingness to give up.

The sparring ended with Fëanor being knocked to the ground again. But instead of yielding and calling an end to the contest, he dusted himself off and rose for another round.

"You are a glutton for punishment!" Mairon cried, his chest heaving.

"And you are a dead Maia!" Fëanor smirked and wiped his hand over his bloodied lower lip.

Mairon snickered and readied himself for another attack. Only this time, Fëanor was better prepared. During their sparring, he had let himself lose, preferring to pay attention to the Maia’s footwork and searching for any tells in his movements. He found it in the way Mairon breathed just before he struck, in the way he shifted his feet before each blow.

The first blow was naturally blocked, but when Mairon moved again, Fëanor was ready. There was no impatience, no rush. Mairon brought down his spear, and Fëanor, anticipating it, blocked him. He countered, and Mairon deflected. Then Mairon abruptly moved and hit Fëanor across the chest, making him fall onto his back. Fëanor pushed himself to his feet, and this time, his temper slowly bubbled to the surface. Fëanor charged and was blocked. He charged once more, and Mairon hit him on the small of his back. On the third charge, Fëanor threw all caution to the wind with one last lunge. Mairon ducked and swung his spear at the backs of Fëanor’s knees, knocking the elf to the ground. When Fëanor tried to get up, Mairon kicked his spear out of his hand and brought his own down in a perfect arc.

"Yield," he hissed, the tip of his spear now barely a hair’s breadth over the curve of Fëanor’s neck.

"How did you know?" Fëanor brushed stray locks of hair out of his eyes and sputtered in disbelief.

"I was onto you less than halfway in," Mairon said and held out a hand, to help him up. "I am not the only one with tells, Fëanor."

Fëanor would have continued sparring had Mairon not stopped him. "You need to rein in that temper of yours first. And see to your wounds." he chided. "Rest and come back later with a clearer head, then we can start sparring again."

The elf reluctantly yielded and went away to nurse both his bruises and his wounded pride. Melkor followed him, overcome with worry. Mairon never held back when fighting, even if it was just practice sparring, and those blows of his were well-aimed and meant to hurt. He hung back when Fëanor opened the door, to give him time to settle himself, and went in only after he heard a curse.

"Sit," he insisted, pulling up a chair. Fëanor grumbled but did as he was told, making himself comfortable on the edge of his bed. Melkor looked around and found an ewer filled with fresh water. He emptied its contents into a bowl and ripped up a tunic Fëanor had left out on the bed to use the strips for cleaning.

Fëanor would have protested this last act but he was in too much pain to say anything. He kept still, trying not to take deep breaths as it hurt him even more.

"What were you thinking?" Melkor said as he dipped the piece of cloth into the bowl. "Challenging a Maia?"

Fëanor sighed. "I thought I could do it, but..."

"It was foolish, what you did," Melkor cut in, and he proceeded to clean Fëanor��s lower lip. "Mairon could have easily killed you."

"You sound just like my father," Fëanor muttered under his breath.

"Most unfortunate indeed, then, because you will not easily heed my counsel," Chuckling merrily, Melkor continued to dab and clean. "But I hope you will—too hard?"

Fëanor yelped when he pressed against the cut in his lip. "Yes," he said mournfully, and looked up.

Eyes the colour of obsidian and gold look right back at him, eyes that had witnessed the music of the Ainur and the creation of them all. Eyes that were, more often than not, cruel and pitiless. But not now. There was concern there, and something else. Something that made Fëanor’s skin warm in all sorts of ways. He coughed and looked away when Melkor quickly dipped his head and ran the damp cloth over his bruised knuckles.

"Mairon has a weakness. Just one," he said with a casual air, trying to mask his own inner turmoil. "There," Melkor gestured at Fëanor’s torso. "At the base of his left ribs. A parting gift, so to speak, after a skirmish with Oromë’s precious Tilion. Strike that point and he will be at your mercy."

The barely-there line on Mairon’s waist. Fëanor thought he had been imagining things at the time. "Why are you telling me this?" Fëanor asked slowly, trying not to dwell on the fact that Melkor’s hands, cold as they were, felt pleasant when pressed against his own.

"Just a suggestion, that is all." Melkor thought it best to leave before his tongue truly loosened and betrayed his inner thoughts. "These bruises require more than just water," he said and quickly pushed away from the bed, his chair scraping against the stone floor. "I will have a healer see to you."

"Of course," Fëanor gave Melkor a searching look after seeing confusion flash in his eyes. "My thanks, my lord."

Melkor gave him a curt nod before leaving, his hands balling into tight fists. With each step he took, his thoughts kept spiraling toward the elf, the son of Finwë. No, he corrected himself. Fëanor. It was Fëanor.

He shook his head, furious with himself. Fëanor was just an elf. An incredibly skilled elf, but still an elf, a being of little significance to a Vala. Melkor continued walking through the darkened corridors and halls, ignoring the Orcs and thralls scurrying out of the way, his mind racing. No matter what he did, his thoughts circled back to Fëanor, his arrogance and sudden flashes of temper, his undeniable skill, and finally, the scent that came off his skin.

Melkor sighed, his shoulders slumping as he neared the doors to his chambers. Fëanor’s skin smelled of smoke and leather and smoldering embers, and beneath it all, the sweet scent of the larinquë flower that grew in the pastures of Yavanna. It seemed to seep into all of his senses, like dark hooks for the fëa. Melkor’s hands suddenly trembled when he flexed them. He could still feel the impression of Fëanor’s palm against his.

In his own chambers, Fëanor lay in bed, flushed and more than a little breathless. He tried to rest, but rest kept slipping away from him. He tried to discipline his thoughts, but all they did was circle back to before, when he looked into Melkor’s eyes and found them softening at the sight of him. No one had looked at him that way, not even once, and he did not know whether he should be fearful or flattered by the attention, for this was Melkor after all. Fëanor finally sat up and rubbed his eyes, having given up on rest completely. His body ached, even after the healer’s careful ministrations. After allowing himself a few whimpers, he splashed cool water from the basin beside his bed, and got dressed.

Pain or no, a visit to his forge and long hours of toil was in order. Something to occupy himself and keep his mind firmly off of Melkor was necessary.

Elf and Vala soon found themselves entangled in a strange sort of dance. For days and weeks, there would be stolen glances, of hands brushing when one passed the other in hallways or corridors. Melkor started to seek Fëanor out for his counsel, and Fëanor found himself to be the only one who could talk Melkor out of doing something that could only end in defeat. Both started to seek the company of the other for no reason, but neither knew what to truly do with it.   

The true shift came one day when Fëanor found his way into the very bowels of Angband and the pits where the dragons were bred.

Oh, he had been warned not to come here and that the dragons did not take kindly to unwelcome visitors, but he could not help himself. He held up one of his lamps as he made his way down dark, musty stairways, going lower and lower, until heat washed over his skin. It kept growing and growing, until it felt like he was standing in front of a roaring furnace. His face lit up, and his heart giddy with the sense of anticipation. He had found them. And he was not alone.

Melkor was already here, talking to an Orc, one that was paler and stronger and taller than the others. There were more like him, tending to the many fell beasts Melkor bred within these pits using magic and other darker arts. Fëanor stopped just before the last few steps and dithered, wondering if he should simply turn back and leave. Alas, the light from his lamp was already seen, and his scent was already caught by the beasts that lived within these tunnels. One of them, a great winged creature that was all black with shots of deep crimson, reared its head and opened its maw in a roar that threatened to tear the tunnel walls asunder.

"Calm, Ancalogon!" Melkor cried, calling the beast’s attention to him. The dragon, larger than anything Fëanor had ever seen, snarled and huffed before facing his master. The Orc then shouted an order, one in a tongue Fëanor found painful to the ear, and the dragon retreated deeper into tunnels, the ground trembling with each step it took. By the time it retreated into its lair, all that was visible of it were ruby-red eyes, which glared out from the darkness.

“You were most unwise, coming down here," Melkor said, though not in the least displeased by Fëanor’s intrusion. "Ancalogon could have swallowed you whole and no one would have even known."

Fëanor could not tear his eyes away from the beast that continued to stare. "How… how old is he?"

"A decade, no more than that."

"A decade? But he is already bigger than a small mountain range."

Melkor beamed at this. "And soon he will be big enough to bring all of Arda to heel."

Fëanor swallowed, his skin prickling when Melkor placed a hand on the small of his back and slowly pushed him forward, as if to guide him. "Do you just have dragons down here?"

"No," Melkor said, thrilled that he had someone besides Mairon to talk to about his creatures. "There are many and more things down here besides the dragons."

He said no more, preferring to let Fëanor see with his own eyes. And Fëanor saw much, from the Balrogs whose roars sounded like blazing infernoes, to the werewolves that were as large as war horses. He stayed for as long as he could, walking over stone bridges and peering into deep chasms, before the heat started to have its way with him and he grew dizzy. Melkor kept a hand on Fëanor as he led him out of the tunnels.

"I forget the hröar of the eldar are not like the fana we create for ourselves," he said thoughtfully. "Your body is more susceptible to corruption and pain."

"And yet Mairon has a weakness in his," Fëanor countered, disappointed when Melkor took his hand the moment they entered the main halls.

"He was wounded by another Ainu wielding a weapon dipped in the dews of Telperion, that is why," Melkor said. He had murder in his eyes when a pair of Orcs stopped and stared at the unusual sight of their lord talking companionably with an elf. Fearful of incurring his wrath, they hurried away into the shadows, hiding behind thick columns, keeping as far away from him as possible.

"I see," Fëanor said, realizing the moment had come for them to part. He had his own duties to see to, after all. "Well, I will take my leave of you then."

"Can I watch?" Melkor could not bear for him to depart so soon. "I… I will not get in your way."

The elf stopped mid-stride and turned. The request took him by surprise. Even though they spent more time in each other’s company, Melkor never stopped by the forge, not even to see the sword that was meant for him. And Fëanor, first and foremost, was unaccustomed to spectators gawking while he worked. Second, he was shocked that Melkor would even ask such a thing of him in the first place.

"You are High Lord of Angband, and a Vala, no less." He heard himself say. "You need no-one’s permission to watch."

Melkor coughed, and for once in the many ages of his long existence, he did not know what to say.

"But I suppose I can agree," Fëanor continued, his stomach tying itself up in knots. "Providing you…"

"Do not put my hands upon anything," Melkor crossed his arms and grinned—slow and deliberate — and Fëanor was left momentarily breathless as he watched the way Melkor’s lips curved, the way his eyes seemed to brighten. "Not unless I want something of mine broken. We have an accord, Fëanor."

Fëanor took a choppy breath before swallowing and composing himself. "Very good," he said, his heart racing. "Shall we go then?"

During the last meal, Fëanor found he had no appetite, despite the many tempting dishes spread out before him. He simply stared into his goblet of wine, and then realized he had no thirst either. He sat there, lost in his thoughts, while the rest ate and drank and jested and argued around him.

He had enjoyed his shared time with Melkor. The two of them completely lost track of the hours passing, each learning something new about the other. Fëanor learned how Ungoliant came to Melkor, willing to swear fealty if he helped her feed from the sacred trees and the wells of Varda. He had refused, seeing the folly of helping such a creature consume from the source of such immense power and risking her betraying him once she had what she craved for. And he was proved right in the end. Ungoliant turned on the one who did help her, some foolish Maia who thought they knew better.

And Melkor was full of questions—another surprise for Fëanor. Those questions were both curious and personal, making Fëanor reveal parts of him that he did not do so to others. He spoke of his mother and her passing, and how he visited her resting place in the Gardens of Lórien. He spoke of his anger at his father's remarriage and at Indis intruding upon their lives.  Fëanor had questions of his own, about Eru, the other Ainur, and Melkor tampering with the great music and how he created his fell beasts. Melkor answered as much as he could, for there were things that even he did not have the power to say.

When Fëanor worked, he felt Melkor’s eyes following his every move. When he got him to help, he felt Melkor standing closer than he should, his touch lingering longer than it should, and, truth be told, Fëanor found himself welcoming this, once even leaning into Melkor when they were standing by the furnace, putting the finishing touches on the sword, his breath hitching when Melkor pressed himself even closer and larger hands squeezed his.

Fëanor raised his eyes, turning them to the high throne at the far end of the hall. There was Melkor, brooding as always. Then he turned, his gaze fixed on Fëanor.

Everyone and everything else were soon forgotten. Eyes the colour of jet and gold bore into vivid blue ones, darkening with each passing moment. Then, Melkor seemed to tire of the revelry. He rose and made his way down the steps of his throne, his eyes on Fëanor’s the entire time. When he walked past Fëanor’s table, his hand slowly reached over to brush against Fëanor’s hair. On impulse, Fëanor waited just long enough for Melkor to leave the hall before making his excuses and following.

Melkor was aware that Fëanor was only a few paces behind him. He walked through mostly empty corridors, making his way down one tunnel after another. On and on he walked until he reached the thick wooden doors of his private chambers. Fëanor followed him still, his pulse scrambling, his blood roaring in his ears. He did not turn back, not for anything. Something tugged at him, as if the very center of his being was shifting and pulling him to the Vala. He stepped through the open doorway without a moment’s hesitation, and found himself pulled into a passionate embrace. 

Melkor’s kiss was far from tender. Fëanor staggered by the sheer heat and intensity of it, his whimpers swallowed by kisses that burned him to the core, by lips that tasted like a heady wine. He felt arms tightening around his waist, and he yielded willingly, twining his arms around Melkor’s shoulders as Melkor lifted him and carried him to a large bed. Melkor never slept in it, and he never knew why he even had one in the first place. Now he was glad he did. He set Fëanor down on the edge and pulled away with a deep, satisfied sigh.

No words were said, for words would have simply ruined everything. Melkor helped Fëanor out of his clothes and made quick work of getting out of his. He pushed Fëanor back into bed and moved over him in a heartbeat. Skilled hands streaked over him, hands that were hot and possessive, urging him to take. And take Melkor did, his lips crushing Fëanor’s repeatedly. He kissed Fëanor until he was breathless, until he was moaning and trembling beneath him. When nails raked down his back, as if to mark him, and legs came to rest over his hips, he opened his eyes.

Fëanor’s lips were already bruised, his eyes darkened with lust, his breath harsh and ragged. His hair had spread out all over the silk sheets like spilled ink. Melkor took a moment to savour the sight before him before pressing his lips to Fëanor’s once more. This time his kisses were soft and gentle, his hand tangling itself in Fëanor’s hair. Melkor never knew what true pleasure was like—to have something given to him so freely. It frightened him, made him want to pull away and end everything and then Fëanor reared up and dragged him in with a kiss.

It felt so right. Everything about Fëanor and what he roused in him felt so right. Damn it, he thought. Damn his fears. Melkor groaned when Fëanor’s hands pulled at his hair and when his kisses turned into more teeth and tongue. Melkor’s hand glided lower, over trembling flesh, trailing over little dips and curves and the hardness of Fëanor’s thigh, before wrapping around his already erect cock.

"Fuck," Fëanor rasped, his voice already hoarse. His nails scoured Melkor’s flesh as the latter soon found a rhythm he liked. Melkor’s strokes were slow and languorous, his grip tightening and releasing. He watched, utterly enraptured, as Fëanor arched into him as his eyes slowly closed. He propped himself on his free arm, his lips brushing against Fëanor’s repeatedly, the nails digging into his back going unnoticed.

Fëanor found himself being pulled deeper into a dark tunnel of desire. No amount of pleasure he had felt over anything else could compare to this, the jolts that shook him, the coiling he felt in his belly and the sweetness that enveloped him completely. His hand rose weakly, tangled itself in Melkor’s hair. His moans spilled free as his very fëa soared higher and higher.

The sounds Fëanor made were deep and drugging, and Melkor grew drunk on them. He heard his name, moans turning into pleas, a brittle voice begging him not to stop. He did not stop. His strokes were ceaseless now, his ears honing into the sound of each sweet little gasp, of each quickening breath. He felt it, the hardening in his hand, and looked up just in time to see Fëanor’s mouth open in a deep, guttural cry. They were so close by then he felt a sudden spurt of warmth against his belly. Fëanor shuddered beneath him before going still.

Melkor wondered if this was it, and then Fëanor pulled him in for another kiss, his hips lifting. "Now," he demanded, his body craving to be filled. "Now."

With a growl, Melkor grabbed onto his hips and knelt up, lifting Fëanor’s back higher off the sheets. "Are you certain of this?"

"Yes," Fëanor breathed, his fingers digging into the sheets that had twisted around them when Melkor slickened two of his fingers and penetrated him. Lust clouded his mind as he felt the movement inside his body, preparing him, and he whined when Melkor pulled out. When nails dug into his hips, he braced himself, for he knew what would come next.

Melkor’s grip on Fëanor’s hips tightened as he entered him, slowly and carefully, not wanting to cause too much pain. Fëanor had to bite down on his lower lip as jolts of pain washed over him. With the pain came slow pin pricks of pleasure as Melkor pushed in even deeper, his cock filling him completely. Hands glided over Fëanor’s thighs, his belly, as if to soothe. Fëanor looked up at him, caught the questioning look in Melkor’s eyes.

"I am ready," he said, and closed his own.

Melkor pulled his hips back before pushing back in, fucking him slowly. Fëanor’s hands nearly ripped into the sheets as Melkor went faster and faster, pushing him even deeper into the bed. He opened his eyes and found Melkor’s squeezed shut, his moans growing louder and louder, and Fëanor’s slowly matching his. A hand moved over to find his, fingers lacing around each other as bliss of the most acute kind, something Melkor could not even fathom, washed over him. His breath and movements grew erratic as his hips ground against Fëanor’s thighs, and then his entire fana shook. Muscles that had coiled and tightened snapped, and it felt like his fana had splintered as his orgasm ripped through him. He nearly collapsed over Fëanor, bracing himself against his hand just in time. Then he blinked as consciousness came over him and opened his eyes.

What happened was something he had never experienced in the entirety of his existence. Not the pleasure or the warmth or the sheer intimacy of it all, certainly not the knowledge that even in this frozen world, one could form a bond of the deepest kind with another. And it was all due to an elf with bright blue eyes and black hair. Melkor blinked, opened his eyes. He found Fëanor looking up at him.

Fëanor, for the first time in his life, felt utterly satisfied and conpelte. He looked up at Melkor, at the warmth in those dark eyes.

"I do not have to leave, do I?" He breathed, hoping this would not be the end.

Melkor smiled back before leaning in and kissing him, softly this time.

Everything made sense now. The jealousy, the stirrings he felt in his fana, his yearning for Fëanor’s company. The words he will say, but not now. There was still much for him and Fëanor to discover about each other.

"Never," he whispered, before pulling Fëanor up into his arms.

Tags| @cilil​ @edensrose @asianbutnotjapanese @fictionfordays​ @floraroselaughter​

[thelordofgifs]

End of Year Fic Recs

Thank you @sallysavestheday for the tag and the kind rec 💕

Recommend up to 5 series or multi-chapter fics from 2023 that everyone should read (multi-year WIPs count, if the last update was in 2023).

Recommend up to 5 single chapter fics/one-shots (long or short) from 2023 that everyone should read.

Recommend up to 5 fics NOT from 2023 that everyone should read (oldies but goodies).

Recommend up to 5 of your own fics (completed or WIP) from 2023 that everyone should read.

Five WIPS from 2023:

we will make this place our home by @leucisticpuffin. 200k, AU, kidnap fam. The loveliest softest 1970s AU! It feels like reading all my favourite cozy childhood books and the characterisation is impeccable (Maglor my DARLING). Cannot recommend enough.

seabird by @welcomingdisaster. 24k, AU, russingon. "Give me a quick russingon prompt for smut week," Lena said. I obliged. This happened. Anyway the dynamics are so so good and the characterisation is so so good (Maedhros you little IDIOT) and the suspense!! is so good!! Everyone go and read it immediately.

ashes, ashes, dust to dust — the devil's after both of us by @that-angry-noldo. 9k, AU, Finarfin and Maedhros and Maglor. Maedhros and Maglor come up with a plan to capture the High King of the Noldor in return for the Silmaril. SUCH good m&m (I am a single-issue voter ok!) and incredible Finarfin/Eonwe dynamics as well, I cannot wait to see where this fic goes next.

Atandil by @eilinelsghost. 105k, canon compliant, Finrod/Bëor. The best worldbuilding, THE most gorgeous flowing heartrending prose, absolutely incredible characterisation... I am so so obsessed with this series you can't imagine. Still weeping over part 14 a month later.

And Love Grew by @polutrope. 8k, canon compliant, kidnap fam. A newer WIP, but I'm already so hooked! So far the characterisations of all the Fëanorians have been delicious and there are SO many compelling OCs as well.

Five one-shots from 2023:

Sea-Bells and Sunlight by @actual-bill-potts. 4.5k, canon compliant, Finrod and Lúthien and Beren. Lúthien finds both Finrod and Beren in the Halls of Mandos. LOVE the shifting dreamlike nature of Mandos here, and my darling Lúthien is so so perfect. Also all the Finrod feels... aahhh.

Somewhere To Return To by @searchingforserendipity25. 4k, canon compliant, Maedhros and Maglor, russingon. Just the softest loveliest most heartbreaking post-Thangorodrim fic. LetMaedhrosNap2k23.

the world to come by @arrivisting. 4k, AU, Fëanor/Nerdanel. A chilling imagining of Arda Remade, featuring some incredible Fëanor characterisation and the most gorgeous beautiful prose.

Quicksilver by @clothonono. 26k, AU, Indis/Míriel. Beautiful beautiful writing and wonderful characterisation. One of the fics that made me adore Indis.

What Will the Kinslayer Lord Do Next? by @tanoraqui. 3k, canon compliant, Maedhros and Maglor. Ok this is a spin-off of The Minstrel and the Star which you should also read because it's excellent but. again. SINGLE-ISSUE VOTER. and this is a top-tier m&m fic, all that tenderness and grief and bitterness and some delicious musings on the Oath and Silmarils.

Five older fics:

and one man, in his time, plays many parts by @lintamande. Canon compliant, Maglor and his younger brothers. One of my favourite Mithrim-era fics.

seven years of holidays by @jouissants. 10k, AU, kidnap fam. Elrond and Elros find a strange elf in the woods. Excellent kidnap fam dynamics and absolutely beautiful prose.

A reason to live (a reason it is not permissible to die) by Chestnut_pod. 27k, canon compliant, Eärendil/Elwing. Absolutely incredible Sirion worldbuilding and a wonderful depiction of Elwing.

elves, once by @ceescedasticity. 43k, canon compliant. THE most horrifyingly plausible theory of how orcs came to be. Both heartbreaking and fascinating.

It's the New World, Darling by @avantegarda. 107k, AU. A truly delightful 19th-20th century AU of the silm. Nothing makes me laugh as much as Victorian!Fëanorians.

Five self-recs:

The hard bit!

Ilimbë. 15k, canon compliant, Fëanor/Nerdanel. I still think this is the best thing I've ever written! Check it out if you're interested in Greek mythology, or in baby Fëanor making an idiot of himself.

the fairest stars. 78k, AU, Maedhros & Maglor, russingon, Beren/Lúthien and more. Probably my favourite of my fics, if not objectively my best. I know I love to hate on tfs for being completely insane, but I'm also pretty proud of it. It's got some of my best m&m, a rather in-depth exploration of the nuances of the Oath of Fëanor, and SO SO MANY cliffhangers. A silly bullet point fic that is also somehow the one I've put the most thought and effort into over the year.

in the breaking. 2k, canon compliant, Maedhros & Maglor. Still very fond of this one.

Inflection. 9k, canon compliant, kidnap fam. A very difficult one to write, but I'm proud of the result.

The Stranger. 928 words, canon compliant, Maedhros and Maglor. A very tiny little ficlet, but I like how I captured the post-Thangorodrim dynamics here.

Going to tag everyone I mentioned here, if you'd like to share!

[meadowlarkx]

Some March fic recs!

For Tolkien Fanfic Reading Month! Limiting myself to stories I read in March (but posted anytime). (header by Anna Zakharova on Unsplash)

picnic by @swanmaids - A bored and reckless Aredhel goes to Vána's orchards seeking adventure and has an experience. This lush and sexy fic feels like a warm summer afternoon. I love how seductive and eerie Vána is here!

Kiss and Marry by @thecoolblackwaves - Have you ever looked at Celegorm and Curufin and thought, "They should be the stars of a romcom"? No? This fic is here to reveal that wonder to you.

弄假成真 by Divano_Messiah - Maglor has been telling people at school that he has a boyfriend. Maedhros is jealous until he learns who it is. (I admit I read this via google translate, you can too...)

Envy by @polutrope - In Tirion, Maglor and Elemmírë struggle to handle each other's reputations with equanimity. The people around them try to respond. This fic is so funny and sweet--I love this take on Elemmírë and Fëanor's guest appearance is hilariously him.

Youthful Regrets by kitkatkaylie - Turgon and Maglor fall in love in Valinor before Turgon's engagement to Elenwë. I really like the personality contrasts of this ship, with Turgon opening up to Maglor, and how this story sketches out their relationship through the whole arc of Silm to its bitter separation.

I risk my life to make my name by @maironsbigboobs - The brave knight Galadriel goes on a journey to meet the Green Woman Melian and her fate, ft. adventures along the way. I love how Tolkien is blended with Arthurian conventions here--it works so well and brings out the myth vibes of Silm that I love so much!

Strange Currencies chapter 12 by @jouissants - This is such a beautifully-crafted tale in every regard, but I want to especially mention this flashback chapter I read in March, covering Maedhros' and Maglor's voyage on the swan ships up to just before Fëanor's death. The horror of the Fëanorian Noldor arriving in the dark with their distrust, inflated ego, and total lack of knowledge of Middle-earth comes through here so, so vividly--this part can be read by itself, go check it out!!

Oubliette by Stramonium - Horrifying and so vividly written scene of Maedhros in Angband, isolation, and monstrosity. Poetic and awful, I can't do it justice in summarizing it.

arrangement for flute and harp by @jouissants - Maedhros is determined to work late, so Maglor and Fingon decide to entertain each other. The Himring atmosphere and incredible character dynamics make this also really sexy smut such a wonderful story.

whatever you would crave by @eight-pointed-star - Sooo sexy ficlet in which Fingon and Maedhros attend to Maglor's Needs. Short but immensely powerful.

scherzo for ink and parchment by @dovewifes - Charming and comedic missives exchanged between Maedhros and Maglor during the Long Peace, ft. romantic endearments and the invention of emojis. Maedhros' so-apparent love for Maglor is something I especially cherish about this fun fic.

Star-kissed by @aipilosse - Celeborn of Doriath rescues recently-of-Gondolin (and silver-haired!) Celebrimbor from a predicament in Nan Dungortheb. Incredibly clever, funny, and hot!

Purification by @zealouswerewolfcollector - Thingol is curious about Maedhros: throne sex ensues. A favorite ship of mine in a flavor I'd never considered. Incredibly intense and super well-written.

Comfort from a Heavy Hand by @undercat-overdog - After the Bragollach, Mablung tends to an injured Beleg, and they seek comfort together. The wreckage and destruction of the battle feels so vivid in this one, and the dynamic of Beleg/Mablung as past teacher and student (and current battle companions) is wonderful.

Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow by @welcomingdisaster - A brilliant installment in an ongoing Children of Húrin AU series that has the most beautiful, unsettling, and dreamlike atmosphere. In this fic Maedhros teaches "Cáno" about pleasure in preparation for their marriage bed. Catnip to me personally!!

Proxy by @aipilosse - Celebrimbor comes to reproach Celegorm in Nargothrond after Finrod's departure. They fuck. Gender, tension, messy and complicated emotional dynamics all around. The dirty talk is so so good.

Star of the Nevrast Shore by joanofarcstan - Silmarillion filk of one of my favorite folk songs! What more is there to say!! A sweet tale of Gondolin told from Voronwë's point of view, recounting the love between him, Tuor (the star of the Nevrast shore), Idril, and Maeglin.

A Light Burns in the Forest by fictional_hr_department - Thranduil and Oropher escape Menegroth with child Elwing. The title and art by @lycheesodas give me chills and the atmosphere of the fic as they make their disorienting journey to Sirion really brings to life the terrible aftermath of the second kinslaying.

By Your Side by HiyoriTomioka - fem!Eärendil and Elwing support each other in this ficlet... such a good vision of this ship, and the way Eärendil thinks about Tuor and Idril here with longing uncertainty makes me think of a trans!Eärendil even though that is not explicit.

Something Sleepless in Mirkwood by @imakemywings - Thranduil sickens as the Greenwood does. Elrond tries to heal him, but can't understand at first what's happening. Brilliant and canon-compliant (To Me) wry, proud, and eerie woodland king Thranduil--go give this a read!

A boat, my boat, out upon the River by Tethys_resort - Sméagol is trying to craft his own boat to take fishing. His family keeps getting in the way. This sweet fic paints such an idyllic picture of proto-Hobbit life and made me really feel the tragedy of Gollum.

The Fortress by TheLegendCreator - Brief and haunting fic in which a Dwarf visits the ruins of Himring and they have a conversation. I love the view this offers of Maedhros and the fierce loyalty Himring and its folk had for him.

one whole with my other by @i-am-a-lonely-visitor - Indis' marriage to Finwë is transferred to bind her instead to reembodied Míriel. This turns out to be a good thing. An incredibly touching, beautifully wrought and worldbuilt story. I just love it so much.

The Number One Exercise for Relieving Work-Related Stress (Click to Find Out!) by @imakemywings - Date night in Mirkwood. Maglor (Noldorin princess, ex-kinslayer) adorns herself for the benefit of Thranduil (the Elvenqueen)--or that's her plan, anyway. This story is so sexy, so funny, and honestly so touching. I just adore this ship as a happy ending for Maglor and their relationship is gorgeously fleshed out here.

Cousin, Sister, Lover, Queen by broken_pencils - Lesbian Éowyn discovers desire... through Éomer's betrothed Lothíriel. Lothíriel is a stealth fav for me from the Éomer fics I used to read as a kid and I really enjoyed her here, and the lush atmosphere of this story.

His Return by @danmeiljie - Beautiful, tender scene of Maedhros and Maglor reuniting as per @tari-cua's art. Such lovely descriptions in this one and so cozy.