#fëanor x reader

[lovelylovebug]

*Feanor is in love with Y/N, but because she is Fingolfin's best friend, he acts like he hates her*

*One day, he sees how some other elves call her ugly and she runs away crying*

Fëanor ran after you, but memorised the faces of the other elves before he followed you. He would have a word with them later. But now it was more important for him to comfort you. Seeing you cry caused a painful knot to form in his heart.

When he found your crying under a large tree, he settled down next to you. When you looked up in surprise, for you had not expected to see Fëanor, he gently stroked a strand of hair from your face. "You are the most beautiful elf in all of Valinor. Don't be sad just because others don't see your beauty."

[kiatheinsomniac]

— ꒰‧⁺ ☾ 𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐋𝐄 ˀ ☁️ *ೃ༄

──── 𝐌𝐘 𝐉𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐋, 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 ˊˎ - ☾ ⋆ ﾟ𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: buck moon jul. 2023 winner: @one7hell7of7a7simp who asked for some possessiveness hehe 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Fëanor x Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: possessive behaviour, marking (?), Fëanor thinking Fingolfin only exists to ruin his life lol

When Fëanor looks over you in your flowing dress, made of layer upon layer of soft, sheer oranges with a faint autumn leaf pattern around the skirt’s hem that subtly shows in the light like a mirage. He cannot help but smile and yet grimace at once. You look stunning. You take his breath away all the time and he sees you in the jewels he cuts, the ones he creates. He sees the curve of your cheek in the necklaces he makes, the sparkle in your eye in the earrings he crafts. 

But it’s also a problem. You look almost too good and the last thing he wants is his brothers drooling over you, especially Fingolfin. He approaches you from behind. You’re sitting upon a stool in front of a vanity, applying a little bit of tint to your lips and cheeks. Fëanor sets down the box he holds in his hands upon the table as he takes your soft hair into his hands. 

Without a word, he leans over you to pluck up your hairbrush from where it lays on the table in front of you. In his peripheral vision, he catches your eyes glancing up to his own grey ones in the mirror but his gaze is fixed upon where he’s pulling the brush gently through your hair. 

“What’s this, my love?” You ask as you peer at the box he’s set down beside you. It’s a deep red colour with a white velvet ribbon wrapped around it in order to keep it closed. 

“A gift for my beloved.” He answers simply, still tenderly brushing your hair. He leans down to press a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. You’ve perfumed your hair for the important event of meeting his family. You smell like lily of the valley and he takes a moment to just nuzzle his nose against the top of his head while one of his hands cups your cheek from behind. You’re so wonderful, the elleth that possesses his heart and he’ll be damned before he stands by while his brother falls for you and tries to take you away from him. 

Fëanor sets the brush down for a moment as his hands cradle your face beneath your jaw in order to tilt your head back so that you look up to meet his eyes, each of you appearing upside down to the other. He leans down once more to paint a trail of kisses across your face, starting from your forehead and then travelling in a straight line to your brow, your nose, passing over your mouth to your chin and then finally kissing your lips. It’s slow, soft and sweet. Each of his kisses is warm and tender like the simmering embers of his furnace when he is finished crafting for the day. 

“Open it, my love.” He takes the box back into his hands and sets it carefully in his lap. His arms drape over your shoulders as he leans down over you, his cheek pressed to yours. He watches on with a silent excitement within him while your fingers pluck up the end of the velvet ribbon and then pull, undoing the knot. You slip your hands beneath the white material in order to slide it off the box and then you slowly lift the lid. You want to savour this surprise, especially when considering the effort he must have put into it. 

You suck in a quiet, gasped breath. 

Inside is a set of glittering jewellery and, with this being your husband, he has not stopped at just earrings and a necklace, no. Inside, crafted from gold and set with larger red gems and smaller white ones, is a set of earrings, a necklace, rings, a bracelet and an anklet. 

“Oh, Fëanáro…” You breathe out in a whisper as you take up the largest piece – the necklace – in hand. The details on the gold are never ending, like the intricate branches of trees criss-crossing one another, overlapped by stem and leaf. Fëanor had abandoned no detail of them, adding a subtle amount of texturing and even working veins into the leaves. 

They weave around smaller white gems that reflect little rainbows and larger red ones that glimmer against the gold. Each piece is polished to perfection and is cut with such attention and symmetry that it’s without flaw at all. Even the chain that clasps around the back of your neck resembles the same leaf-like structure. The bracelet and anklet are styles similarly but are much more simplistic whereas the necklace cascades over your collar.

The rings are no less lavish, some more simple whereas others have larger, statement stones. They all follow the same theme as your dress and the necklace your husband has crafted to match it. Some are bare branches while others are crafted from golden branches or are made to resemble a leafy crown. The earrings are the most different though as it is the gems that are shaped like leaves – cut so thin, you wonder how many Fëanor might have broken before he got them right though you doubt the number is too high as he is the best in his profession – and they dangle from golden chains to make an effect like they are falling from the little branch cuff that crawls up the curve of your ear. 

“I’m speechless, they’re wonderful.” You say softly, truly at a loss for words as he takes the necklace and clasps it around your neck. Mine. Then he does the same with the bracelet. Mine. The rings. Mine, mine, mine. The earrings. Mine, mine. And at last he kneels in front of you and his hands glide to the back of your calf, gliding his hands over the curve of your soft leg as he sets your foot in his lap so that he can fasten the anklet around you. Mine. 

He looks up at you as his fingers gently caress your leg. You’re adorned now in jewels and precious metals that he moulded with you in mind. His craftsmanship is all over you and he hopes that it will serve as message enough that you are off limits. You’ve stolen his heart now. You have a piece of him and he will protect you and his heart in your hands for as long as he breathes air into his lungs. 

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🏷️@clumsycopy @edensrose @augustwithquills @involuntaryspasms @eunoiaastralwings  @spidergirla5   @wandererindreams @singleteapot @noldorinpainter @asianbutnotjapanese @yourfamilyfriendsatan @firagirl @aeonianarchives @batsyforyou

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

The cost of broken promises

A Fëanor one shot inspired by these reactions written by @doodle-pops

Pairing:  Fëanor x Fem. reader

Word count: 1.5K words

Themes: Angst

Warnings: Dark Fëanor | Mentions of torture |  Mentions of abandonment and exile 

Summary: Fëanor learns the identity of your father, and finds out that breaking promises come with a price. 

Rules and tag form can be found here.    

Fëanor felt many things in his life: happiness, especially when he was with his father. Sorrow for the mother he never got to see. Anger, for when his father remarried and sired more children. And, of course, pride. He felt pride when he crafted his first tool, the first weapon, for when he made the Silmarils, those three jewels that held the light of the Trees and were the greatest of his creations. Fëanor experienced it all, even wrath and love. Once, Fëanor felt love. It consumed his every thought. Fëanor would have done anything for that love until, one day, a secret came into the light and tore that love asunder.

That secret was the identity of your parents. No one knew who your mother and father were, and you refused to speak of them. You were parts elf and parts Ainu, and Fëanor considered himself the most fortunate of elves when he claimed your love. He was persistent, courting you, wooing you, making extravagant promises, and offering the world and his undying devotion if you accepted his hand and stood by his side. He would give you no cause to doubt his love, he said. You would have no reason to fear him, he said. He wanted you to trust him in all things, he said. 

You took him at his word and trusted him. You mustered your courage and revealed to him the identities of your mother and father. Fëanor was talking of marriage, and you did not wish to have secrets between you. You confessed that your mother was an elf who died giving you birth, and your father? Your father was the mightiest among the Valar, the one called the Marrer and the Great Deceiver, and many lived in fear of his name. You told Fëanor all, hiding nothing from him.

How he changed! In an instant, all the love he felt for you disappeared. His fine promises were all but forgotten. It did not matter that you were nothing like your father. He did not care that you went against Morgoth and broke away from his influence as soon as it was safe for you to do so. Fëanor was enraged. He turned a deaf ear to your pleas and hardened his heart to the tears coursing down your cheeks. You were the child of the Lord of Angband. In his eyes, you were an abomination.

"You are as great a deceiver as your father," he had declared. "Be gone from my sight and trouble me no more!" 

It was the kindest thing he said. Fëanor went on to say a great many things, all of them cruel and undeserved. And that was not enough for him. Fëanor, a mighty prince of the Noldor, decided to make an example of you. He made your connection to Melkor known to all, humiliating you before his people and casting you out with nothing but the robes on your back after making you watch the destruction of your home. You had nowhere to go. The other Valar appealed on your behalf, but Fëanor ignored them all. They could never force him to change his mind. It was against their nature to do so. And you were forced to wander, dependent on the kindness of those who crossed your path. 

Alas, you found no kindness. No one took you in. Door after door closed, and your life grew harder. Fëanor could not have been more pleased with himself. You would have led to his ruin, and he could not believe he allowed himself to love you. He was free.

Or so he thought. Many days after you were driven away, the strangest feeling came over him. It was there when he caught traces of your perfume clinging to his robes when he looked over to the chair you always favored. Wherever he went, wherever he looked, he would be reminded of you, and that feeling weighed down on him even more. It worried him, gnawed at him like a hungry dog gnawing at a bone, and nearly drove him mad. Fëanor did not know what it meant until one day, he walked past the burned husk that was once your home. He stopped by the charred ruins of a fence and looked. And remembered. 

His men held your arms while he threw the first torch. How he smiled when the fire quickly roared to life. The sounds of wood crackling and popping while it burned and the roof groaning as hungry flames licked against the rafters were like music to his ears. His smile grew wider when the roof finally collapsed, and he heard a strangled noise, almost like a sob. Fëanor turned to you, his eyes alive with triumph.

"Take this abomination out of my sight," he commanded. "Our realm must not be tainted by Melkor's filth."

His words shattered what was left of your spirit. Fëanor remembered it—your stricken look—and went cold all over. His triumph, once sweet as honey, now tasted like ash against his tongue. That strange feeling weighing him down was clear now. It was guilt he felt. Guilt and remorse and shame. How it shamed him to see how weak his love was! How fickle was his character, how hollow were his promises! Fëanor was ashamed. You trusted him with your deepest, darkest secret, thinking he would keep true to his word, and he let you down in the worst way imaginable. He recoiled when he remembered the harsh words and how he humiliated you, ruined your life, and all because of who sired you, something you had no control over. 

Determined to right the many wrongs he had done, he searched for you. Eru alone knew how he searched for you. No one knew where you were. Not a trace of you could be found. Fëanor wept constantly, regretting his actions deeply. The sight of you being driven out of the gates haunted him and plagued his every dream. 

After the chaos that followed the destruction of the Two Trees, he had known no peace. His father was slain. The silmarils were stolen. He turned on other elves and encouraged his followers to do the same. Most were cursed for their part in the kinslaying, and he had no hope of ever leaving the halls of Mandos. His crimes had been too great for pardon. Morgoth tormented him in their final battle, taunting him about you, telling him how you were captured and tortured. Morgoth cried, "How easy it was to break her," and he thanked Fëanor for sending his errant child back to him for admonishment. 

And that was not all. After falling to Morgoth and entering the halls of Mandos, Fëanor learned that another had loved you in silence. As soon as word of your exile reached his ears, he searched for you, hoping to find you and bring you back. When he saved you, you were but a shell of what you were, utterly broken by everything you had to endure.

"The Lord Commander's love does not change like the passing of the season. It is steadfast and true. And he is patient, tending to y/n's every need with his own hands and without complaint." After having been moved by Nienna's pleas on Fëanor's behalf, Námo revealed to him your fate. Fëanor could never leave the halls or interact with the other fëar. There would be harm in him receiving a glimps of what was yet to come. Námo moved his hand over a pool of water beside his throne. It held visions of the past, the present, and the future. The inky black murk was as still as a mirror, and the images that floated to the surface were clear.

Fëanor could only watch while the Lord Commander held you, comforted you, soothed your fears, and wiped the tears that always fell. He recognized the burnished copper skin, the blue-green feathers, and the blue eyes that burned brighter than any lamp. It was none other than the Elder King's herald himself. Eönwë had loved you, he was told. He did not care about the circumstances surrounding your birth or who your father was. And he kept silent out of respect for your feelings for Fëanor. He had been away, on a mission on behalf of the Elder King. Upon his return, he learned of what happened and set out in search of you. Through the still waters of that black pool, Fëanor saw it all unfold. Bright steel cutting through the darkness, the anguished screams of orcs falling to a blade forged by none other than Aulë himself.  He saw the iron bars, you on the other side, covered in fresh scars, barely hanging onto life. It cut him deep, to know he was the cause of your torment. 

"With their graces leave," Námo went on, "the Lord Commander brought y/n to the safety of Ilmarin and has been the light scattering the darkness plaguing her."

Fëanor would have wept, but he could not. His fëa trembled violently with grief and pain. You were being cared for by another, loved by another. If only he had shown you the kindness you rightfully deserved, you would have been safe and in his arms. "Does she love him?"

Námo was truthful. It was against his nature to be anything else. "Y/n may not love him now, but she will come to do so, and deeply.” He studied Fëanor with eyes that had peered into the great mysteries of the universe and witnessed a great many things. “She will give him a child. This child was meant to be yours, Fëanor, son of Finwë. This child would have called you father and been the light of your life. Alas, such a thing will never come to pass now."

[caliawen]

Dating Fëanor (Headcannons)

Fëanor is an absolute sweetheart

He loves to do things for you, whether it be giving you a massage, make you food, relax with you in your chambers, etc

He will always be there for you, no matter the problem

He is the absolute best at comforting people (it comes with being a dad of seven)

Hugs, kisses, jokes, etc. You don’t even need to ask for, he’s offering!

He adores you and will do his best to make sure you know it

“You know I love you, right, meleth? You are a treasure, a precious gem, a wonder amongst the calm beauty of the world. I love you, I love you, I love you…”

Fëanor is big on words of affection and touch

If you don’t really like it when people touch you, then he’ll respect your boundaries

He’ll compensate by giving you lots and lots of gifts, as well as telling you he loves you more often

Fëanor adores to cuddle, it’s one of his favourite activities

Please cuddle with him he’ll never ask for it, he’s a little bit too prideful for that

Fëanor absolutely loves to make you jewelry or weaponry, it’s one of his favourite pass times

Necklaces, crowns, earrings, rings, daggers, swords, arrows and bows, you name it, he makes it

Fëanor is a bit insecure when it comes to love, so it means a lot when you tell him you love him

Of course, he logically knows you love him, no matter what your love language is, but his insecurity fucks with his logical side

Just a kiss with a whispered ‘I love you’ is enough to calm his insecurity

Fëanor is a master at teasing, especially if he’s taller than you

He’ll take something out of your hands and put it somewhere you can’t reach, laughing when you complain

“What? Don’t tell me you can’t reach that place, love. It’s not that high! Even Pityafinwë and Telufinwë can reach it!”

When you first started dating, he however carefully looked at his sons’ reactions to you when he presented you to them

It was very important to him that his sons liked, if not loved you

He relaxed when you incorporated the family without any problem

He was in a very good mood for a long while after that, because the people he loved the most had accepted you

His father had already given Fëanor his blessing for a marriage

All in all, Fëanor is a wonderful father and an amazing partner

@Caliawen

@theladyvanya

[i-did-not-mean-to]

A crash of drums, a flash of light

First request of this week goes to @wandererindreams who's asked for Fëanor x shy reader.

Thank you so much for this request! It was a really good one to start this week off with and get back into the flow :D

Words: 990

Characters: Fëanor x reader

Prompt: Fireworks

Warnings: None

"Where are we going?"

You clenched your hands into tight fists, creasing the fabric of your rich garments reprehensibly, to keep yourself focused on the radiant apparition walking before you so purposefully.

Fëanáro's voice ebbed and flowed like a river as he gave you an account of his experiments that was both too fast and too detailed for you to understand.

All you could gather from his excited explanation was that he had managed something quite extraordinary.

"Even the Maiar will attend," he now declared, pride ringing in his voice like a golden bell.

Despite your deep and paralysing confusion, you felt a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

In these rare moments of intimacy—in dark corridors and smoky ateliers—he was no longer the crown prince, the firstborn son of Finwë of the Noldor, but a free, incandescent spirit ready and able to push beyond the superficial perfection of this Blessed Realm.

"You were saying?" he then asked as if he had only now fully realised that you had spoken.

Almost tripping over your own feet in your haste to assuage the flicker of doubt and impatience flitting over his handsome face, you lifted your hands in a soothing gesture.

As Fëanáro turned around at exactly that moment, your cool palms landed on his broad chest. Unable to move, you had to endure his amused smile as he stepped back slowly.

"My apologies," you squeaked. The way your voice wavered and petered out like a candle in the wind made you flinch with shame.

For as long as you could remember, people had relentlessly admonished you to speak up and state your thoughts in a calm, collected, and coherent manner.

Despite all your assiduous practice and your stubborn resolutions, you had unfortunately not yet mastered the art of overcoming your natural reluctance to draw more attention to your person than was strictly necessary though.

Your mother usually called you "shy" in that indulgently exasperated tone of one who wished for things to be different but refused to inflict harm and hurt upon their own child willingly.

"I.." you tried again, battling the urge to gnaw on your lower lip in discomfort. "I merely asked where it was you were leading me?"

Truth be told, you would have followed Fëanáro anywhere—your trust in both his genius and his inherent goodness was not shaken by his fiery temper and his famed impatience.

Even though you could not deny that his words and actions sometimes could frighten you, you were convinced that you were not indeed scared of him.

"Come," he barked, "I want you to see this."

His hands were warm and strong as they curled around your upper arms resolutely and pushed you down onto a strange contraption that seemed to consist solely of a complex construction of interlaced rods and interwoven bands of silken fabric.

"How do you find my portable chair?" he asked cheerily. "It's made of many mobile parts that can be torn asunder without destroying their integrity. The cloth bands hold the bars together and thus, the whole chair can be transported easily."

"Ingenious," you breathed, awe-struck yet again by his brilliance.

"Now," he declared and pointed to the sky, "sit and watch."

A muted sigh of disappointment escaped you as you watched him scamper from view.

A moment later, though, he returned—he was out of breath and beaming brightly.

"The sky," he reminded you, clasping your frail chin in his imperious fingers and tilting your head up gently.

Fire bloomed across a field of inky darkness and your hands flew up to shield your face.

"No," he insisted. "You're safe with me, I promise."

Streaks of colour exploded with a sound akin to a thousand horses thundering through the darkened sky.

"It's...beautiful," you whispered, shaken by this unprecedented cunning and daring.

From somewhere in the distance came the awed murmurs of other onlookers, but Fëanáro seemed to have forgotten about everybody outside of the small clearing over which you were presiding so regally.

"Give me your words, oh quiet one," he urged, falling to his knees before you. "Long have I known that we are not alike in mind and manner. Where I say too much—to the point of enervating others—you keep your own council and your dignified peace. Let it not be so now, I beg you!"

As ever when you were asked to speak, a dense fog of anxious unease settled stiflingly upon your every confused thought.

For Fëanáro though—who was gracious, generous, and grandiose—you had to at least try to overcome that deplorable flaw of yours.

"I have never even imagined anything as marvellous as this," you confessed. "It seems that you've managed to harness light, strength, and colour to paint in between and beyond Laurelin and Telperion."

Satisfaction and pride made his eyes gleam—you could see still the reflection of his mesmerising invention in that hypnotising gaze and an exhilarating excitement surged within your core.

"Do you want more?" he asked, his voice deep and thrumming.

By this time, you were no longer sure that you were still talking about the blazing flowers he had planted into thin air, but you found yourself nodding obediently, nonetheless.

You opened your lips as if to speak, but you found that you could not. What words would do justice to his radiance, pulling you under like a wave of embers cresting into foaming light?

Blindly, you groped for his hand and brought it to your still aimlessly moving lips.

Gratitude. Wonder. Love unspoken, love unknown.

Demure, quiet, and soft-spoken as you were known to be, you understood in that very moment that this extraordinary creature staring at you with the intensity of a thousand hallowed trees might well be able to kindle a savage inferno within you as much as within the placid, cool air of an otherwise uneventful moment under Telperion's clement shimmer.

@fellowshipofthefics here's the first for this week.

Thank you so much and lots of love!

[memoriapraeteritorumbonorum]

Letters to Fëanor - I

Author's note: I recommend listening to this song while reading.

-

You are right in front of me, and yet, you have never been so unattainable. 

No matter how desperately I try to reach out to you, you only seem to drift further away. 

I feel helpless. Wounded so horribly.

Trapped in the cold, iron grip of Grief himself. I can feel his boney fingers digging into my sore skin, pulling me closer to him the longer I let my eyes wander across your face. Even Nienna cannot stand to see me weep. I just want it to end. 

Sometimes I ask myself whether you are aware of the pain you have inflicted — and continue to inflict — on me. Whether you realize that I am scarred forever, because of your inability to feel. 

You left me. Countless times, you drained me of every last drop of life I had inside of me, took advantage of my unconditional love — how I curse myself for loving you, so very deeply, so innocently. 

How does one cope with the realization that the person you love most had better stay out of reach, although every fiber of your being screams for their embrace? To be caressed and cared for, to be loved? Is that too much to ask for, oh Eru, to just be loved? 

How do I cope with the desperation overcoming me every time I see you? Every time you stand in front of me, I struggle to keep my composure. I wear a mask, a facade if you will. I put on an act for everyone to see.

It hurts on levels I simply cannot put into words, for I fear my heart will shatter and break and I will be left to pick up each little piece, all by myself, like I have always been. 

I do not want to mourn you. I never wanted to. And yet, I cannot rid myself of Grief. All these years have made me realize that him and I are supposed to walk hand in hand, never to be separated. And so I find myself clutching onto him for dear life, because he is the only one remotely close to mending the gaping hole in my soul. The hole you brutally punched into my heart the day I was born.

But I love you so. In this life and every single one that follows. 

I love you.

That is my fate, my demise. 

[doodle-pops]

Turn Back the Sands of Time

Feanor x daughter!reader

Request: Can I request a fic for Feanor, coming back to Valinor after hia death, finding out Nerdanel had been pregnant when he left and she gave birth to a daughter. And if possible, this daughter has Miriel's sewing gift. – anon

A/N: I took a different route to how their interaction would occur and made this quite sentimental than I intended :)

Warnings: female reader, soft angst, softness and comfort, reconciliation

Words: 2.4k

Synopsis: With the return of your father to the Blessed Realm, an attempt at rekindling what was never forged, is pursued.

“Leaving so early?”

Your mother’s voice reverberated through the morning air, clear yet carrying a stern undertone. The sun had ascended over the hills and forest, casting its benevolent warmth upon the damp, fertile earth, coaxing the crawlies to retreat to their hidden abodes.

Startled by her sudden intrusion, you jerked in surprise, twisting your neck to find your mother positioned in the doorway. Her hands firmly rested on her hips, already adorned with small flecks of clay and dust. A hasty bun confined her hair, and she wore the familiar work coveralls that marked her dedication to the tasks at hand. “Oh, you gave me a fright!” you awkwardly chuckled, your attention momentarily diverted from the contents of your basket. “I’m... heading out.”

Her bare feet made no sound on the polished floorings as she traversed the distance, positioning herself beside you. With keen observation, she watched as you hastened your packaging, attempting to conceal the contents within the basket. Despite your efforts, you weren’t as clever as you believed. However, she remained silent, extending her left hand to rest against your waist. Leaning in, she placed a tender kiss on your cheek.

“At least be safe on the road. You can borrow a few of my cloaks, they’ll keep you warm, and good luck. I cannot tell you how to decide, but when you do, know that it is something you will have to live with.”

Suddenly, she vanished through the backdoor, setting you on the arduous path to Formenos after brief stops at Tirion’s market to procure supplies. Pastries, breads, salted meats, and fruits were gathered in an attempt to ease any potential awkwardness.

Alone on the road for five days, you revisited regions where you had once stealthily ventured. The surroundings were steeped in familiarity as you leisurely strolled by. The rhythmic clopping of your horse’s hooves on the gravelled road, the subtle rustling of trees and bushes, vast open fields where the wind hummed its tune, and the delightful symphony of birdsong and frog croaks accompanied your journey. Small creatures scurried at the feet of your horse, some perching on your shoulders or head. Nightfall descended, only to be swiftly replaced by the break of day, marking the conclusion of your expedition.

As you arrived at your destination, the wear and tear on the landscape became evident. Paint had faded, stones were missing from pillars and posts, wood showed signs of decay, and windows lay shattered. Face-to-face with the relentless march of time and the scars of neglect, you confronted the tangible evidence of one’s transgressions.

Dismounting from your majestic stallion, you carefully secured him to an apple tree before continuing on foot. The path led you through a gateway and into a garden adorned with a subtle array of colours—some signs of life still blossoming. Your keen eyes noticed the adjustments since your last visit, becoming attuned to the intense presence and weight that the surroundings now bore.

With each step, the gravel and dust beneath your sandals resonated against the cobblestone, creating a symphony of soft crunches until you abruptly halted before the colossal red door, proudly displaying the house sigil in shimmering gold. Tightening your grip on the basket and assuming a more composed posture, a sense of tension gripped your throat, akin to barbed wires constricting around it.

Summoning your courage, you knocked on the door, the sound echoing three times in tandem with the palpitations of your heart.

Initially, it seemed like no one was home, but an imposing presence lingered in the air, prompting you to raise your hand for another attempt. However, before your knuckles could make contact, the hinges groaned, and a towering figure emerged. A giant of an elf with fiery red hair and silvery eyes loomed before you, meeting your tentative gaze. While a hunch suggested his identity, he was not the person you had come to meet. An acute observation of his appearance left you trembling at your core.

His features were the same as the portraits hung in your mother’s workshop, a stark difference to the descriptions your uncle Arafinwë explained. There were no scars, missing ligament or whitening of his hair, but it was still enough to elicit fright in your bones. The stories were enough, running their course to remind all of his actions.

“No trespassing, this is private property. Whatever business you are conducting, take it elsewhere,” he muttered under his breath with emptiness in his eyes before shuffling to slam the door in your face.

Luckily, you stuck your hand out. “Wait, please don’t! I uh…” you fumbled and exhaled, “I came to speak with Lord Fëanáro. Is he in?”

“If you are here to lay blame on him for his actions, I would suggest that you get in line—”

Waving your hands frantically in his face, you panicked. “No, no, no, no! You have it all wrong. I’m not here for that; I’m here to simply speak with him.”

“Speak with him?” Maedhros meditated. “Did King Arafinwë send you?”

Your eyes widened in disbelief at the surprising intensity with which your own brother reacted to your simple desire to speak with his father. It was truly perplexing that, despite all that had transpired, he continued to share living quarters with Fëanáro. Your assumption that their relationship had soured after recent events was swiftly proven incorrect.

Clearly, his perspectives on Fëanáro differed significantly from yours, and he held personal convictions that he preferred to keep to himself. The intricacies of their business remained shrouded in mystery.

“Uncl—King Arafinwë did not send me, I sent myself,” you stated with pride, straightening out any fears in your posture and stretching a confident smile across your lips. “Can you tell him that a…a Lady Y/N is here to speak with him?”

The moment your name fell past your lips, you saw the micro-expression of your brother’s eyes widening before composing themselves. His stance changed from no longer blocking the entire doorway to standing aside and granting you a peek inside. You were half expecting him to make a scene, yet he proved otherwise.

Maedhros’ eyes fluttered and flickered around your frame, contemplating on his next decision. Exhaling, he stepped outside, shutting the door behind and ushered around you figure to the left of the house. “He’s situated on this side of the house. It’s quicker and less…obstructive. Follow me.” And you partially understood what he meant—the bloodstains from where your grandfather was slain, still staining the floors. However, it was the unwarranted meet-and-greet of the rest of your brothers.

You weren’t here for them, and Maedhros was kind enough to spare you.

The journey unfolded in a discomforting silence, compelling you to tighten your grip on the basket as the minutes passed. Your elder brother guided you through a labyrinth of twists and turns, eventually leading to the distant sounds of a babbling stream and the faint rustling of paper being crumpled. As you approached an archway, entwined and covered in an overgrowth of vines, the scene unfolded before you—Fëanáro, seated on a bench, holding a charcoal, and engrossed in fervent scribbling on parchment, an expression of exasperation etched across his features.

Despite the openness of the surroundings, the air felt stifling. The heavens above offered a solution to wash away the lingering muskiness, and yet, it persisted. How could anyone discover peace or find reprieve in such conditions?

“I’ll leave you to speak with him.” He offered a polite smile, and with a bow of his head, Maedhros departed, leaving you to face his father in privacy.

Acknowledging the bow with a graceful return, you redirected your attention towards the man seated on the weathered wooden bench. His appearance had undergone a noticeable transformation since your initial encounter—his once neatly tied hair now cascaded loosely, and his attire, less polished, resembled something reminiscent of what your mother wore when she was in her element. Absent were the ornate rings that had adorned his fingers, and there was a notable absence of any jewellery embellishing his clothing. In this particular moment, he existed simply as Fëanáro, the man who had seemingly returned from the realm of the deceased. The elf who had…

“How long will you linger in the shadows, child?” came his soft voice. It was much mellow that the confrontation shared with your mother.

Taking a large gulp of air, you crossed the archway, entered his space to stand at the entrance and called out. “Greetings Lord Fëanáro.”

A resounding cry escaped his lips the moment his eyes fell upon your timid figure. Joy and agony intertwined in his heart as he realized that his child had come to visit him. With a swift, almost spring-like motion, he abandoned his seat, forgetting the letter that lay there, and hurried over to stand before your magnificence. It was the first time he had a clear image of the daughter he had denied himself the knowledge of. In your features, he saw not just you but also your mother and the reflection of his eldest.

An intense yearning surged within him, a desire to reach out and grasp you, to finally experience the touch of a creation that bore no marks of his mistakes. However, hesitation gripped his mind, as the unexpected loomed overhead like ominous clouds threatening to unleash a storm. The uncertainty lingered, questioning whether the rain would be cold or warm, if it would bring wrath or peace—or perhaps an outburst of everything.

“You…” He laughed breathlessly with disbelief at the tip of his tongue. “You’re all grown up. I was told about you during my return, unsure if a meeting would occur. I had glimpsed you at your mother’s, hoping to be acquainted. Unfortunately, I had not been blessed.”

“Hm, I decided to come see you on my own after…” your voice trailed off, indicating his reunion with your mother. “Well, she had the inclination that I was coming to see you, yet she did not stop me. I wanted to hear from you on my own.”

His facial muscles engaged in a silent struggle, battling the instinct to react to every nuance of your words. His hands, twitching with the desire to pull you into a comforting embrace, held back, understanding that such a gesture might inflict more harm than healing. Your perceptions of him were coloured by his transgressions. You possessed ample reasons to maintain a distance, not just from him, but also from your own brothers.

“What is there for me to tell you when you are aware of everything, my child?” he responded with reservation.

“Why?”

Your question lingered in the air, a stain that defied any attempts at removal; not even the heavens’ rain could cleanse it.

One question. Millions of reasons. One answer, and yet, he chose to walk away with his back turned and head hung in shame. His body collided with the bench with his head in his hands facing the floor.

“What answer might I give to you that would satisfy your perspective of me?” he uttered. “You’ve heard it all; I chose the Silmarils over my family… Why you ask? Pride, maybe arrogance or my blind foolishness. I led my children into death and one by one I watched them succumb to the same madness as me.”

“But you have me who was spared from the doom. I exist, someone you can change for. Someone who can be the answer to why.” Were the words wanting to spill from your lips, however, now was not the time. There was much to be possibly kindled to know how much your words weighed.

Stepping closer to where he sat hunched, you placed the basket beside him and knelt. Your hands were hesitant to touch his, but you managed to pry them off his face. “You know, there’s a saying that ammë says,” you whispered akin to the wind, “it’s something along the lines of, ‘second chances don’t come around often, but when they do, they appear in mysterious ways. It’s only if you desire it, then possibilities will arise’. If you want forgiveness, you can start with me. Show me the you who wants better.”

Fëanáro lifted his head, his mismatch teary eyes locking on your compassionate ones. He was stunned at your sympathy when his wife would not spare him the chance. If only he had not been so foolish, the family he desired would have existed before his very eyes. “You do not truly mean your words? Your mother would not pardon me—”

“I am not ammë; your quarrel with her is between you both. I am Y/N and this is between us. I choose to try building this relationship so long as you work with me,” you corrected with confidence laced in your voice. Your eyes were stern, filled with assertiveness and the reflection of faces you’d never met. “You have to want this.”

He considered with sorrowful eyes, too fearful of repeating his past and ruining his last blessing. With deliberate actions, he shifted to sit upright and meet you head-on. “Then I make no promises...no oaths.”

“Good, because I was prepared to convince you anyway possible since I brought treats for us to indulge, and I would hate for them to waste.” Your eyes darted to the basket filled with delicacies for you both to snack on during your formal meet-and-greet. “Imagine how awkward it would be had you rejected, and I had to return with a filled basket of treats.”

“You could have left it with your brothers. I’m sure they would be thrilled to learn their sister brought treats for them.” Fëanáro felt a surge of pride at the flow of your interactions, lacking awkwardness and tension. It gave him a sense of purpose to understand that all good things were not lost.

Though his refusal to utter the words of “Thanks” remained in his heart, for he knew Eru had heard and seen his gratitude.

Snickering as you reached for the basket to produce a blanket, you threw him a whimsical side eye. “I doubt that. You should have seen how the giant redhead was staring at me. I thought I was about to be thrown like a javelin out the yard,” you giggled.

“Maitimo?”

“Ay, I thought he was going to toss me out! Though it seems that the others are here as well?”

“Would you be willing to meet them?”

“Maybe another time, I only came with enough energy to deal with you.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @ladyenchanted @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @hermaeuswhora

[elficially-done-with-life]

My Little Fire

Fëanor & daugther!reader

Summary: You, Fëanor's daughter, go to visit your father in the forge.

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Fëanáro immediately realised that he was being watched, for he could see his beloved daughter's silver hair glistening as she secretly peeked around the corner of the forge.

It was the hair she had inherited from Míriel that Fëanáro would recognise it anywhere.

And he knew it didn't belong to Tyelkormo, as his boy never went near the forge for fear his father would force him to stay inside all day.

"Little fire?" It was one of at least a hundred nicknames he had come up with for you over the years. Nerdanel made fun of it because there were so many, but how could he not? You were his sweet, wonderful daughter.

You peeked around the doorframe again and your eyes lit up when you saw your father.

Fëanáro laughed softly and put aside the necklace he had just forged for Nerdanel and approached you.

He put his hands under your arms and lifted you up in his arms to press a kiss on your cheek.

"What brings you here?" he asked gently and then added a little hopefully: "Do you want to learn to work in the forge?"

You grimaced. "Too much fire." you mumbled softly. "I do not like fire."

"Right, you do not. "Fëanáro nodded. Two years ago, you once had a bad nightmare about burning ships and your family in the middle of them and have been afraid of fire ever since.

But that had only been a dream.

"But then what brings you here, my dearest daughter?" he asked with a smile

"Well, you Atya! I missed you!" you announced.

Fëanáro laughed and rubbed his nose against yours affectionatly.

"But also that I have to hide." you whispered softly. "Nelyo, Moryo and I are playing hide and seek."

Fëanáro grinned. Normally his Morifinwë always held back in such games, but you had him practically wrapped around your finger. You were born after Curufinwë and had practically attached yourself directly to Morifinwë and now you were inseparable.

If you couldn't be found, one simply had to keep an eye out for Moryo, usually ypu were holding his hand, sleeping curled up in his side while he embroidered or persuading him to play with you and the others.

Then Fëanáro heard footsteps.

"Let us hide you then," he said quietly to you and you pressed a hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle.

Fëanáro took a cloak from a handle he had placed in the corner of the forge where the fire couldn't reach it and threw it over you.

"Just stay under it, then Nelyo will not be able to see you."

The very next second, Nelyo entered the forge and looked around. His red hair was tied back in a braid and the freckles on his forehead rippled slightly as his eyes landed on his father.

"Atya?" A slight smile played around his lips and Fëanáro knew immediately that his eldest son had seen through him. "Why are you standing so far in the corner?"

"You know, Nelyafinwë," Fëanáro grinned mischievously, "somethimes one has to look at ones forge from a different angle."

A soft giggle sounded from under his cloak.

Nelyo laughed softly. "Got you!"

"Nelyo!"you shouted loudly and jumped out from under the cloak to tackle him in a hug.

"Y/N!"Nelyo exclaimed happily, wrapping his arms around you.

"Now I just have to find Carnistir. "Nelyo said, looking at his father.

Fëanáro raised his hands in defence. "I was just hiding one child."

"Me! I know where he is!" you shouted in a chant and danced around your big brother."

"And where?" Nelyo asked, although he was aware that you wouldn't tell.

You put your hands on your hips and said with feigned indignation: "I am not betraying my Moryo!"

Nelyo laughed and tousled your hair, "That is probably for the best."

"You two. "Fëanáro shook his head with a smile. "Why do you not look for him upstairs? I do not think he is outside. Irissë is visiting and she and Tyelko are tearing everything apart and you know Morifinwë does not like that.

Nelyo laughed, picked you up and threw you over his shoulder.

"Hey!" you shouted indignantly.

"I am off to find Carnistir," he said, kissing his father on the cheek as a farewell and carrying you out with him.

Fëanáro smiled gently as he looked after you. He really loved his children.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[lovefairymina]

*Y/N loses a chess game for the 5th time in a row. Slam hands on the table*

Alright Náro! The next time you beat me, you have to go skinny dipping in the cold lake tonight!

Placing his hands under his chin and smirking, he leaned forward while making direct eye contact. “Then I’ll work even harder to beat you so that you can join me for a midnight swim.”

[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

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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. 

[kiatheinsomniac]

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

Thxxxx

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

pairing: Fëanor x Reader

word count: 5.8k

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

☾ ⋆ﾟ  MASTERLIST / RULES / TAGLIST FORM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are very distrustful.” He noted. 

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

“So you prefer to seclude yourself?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“You mortals are very fond of bargains.”

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

“We have a deal.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“You have an adventurous spirit.” 

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

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🏷️@clumsycopy @edensrose 

☾ ⋆ﾟ Buy me a coffee?

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

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

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

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

“Above all else”

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

Themes: Smut| Soft

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

Word count: 1.4k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is this how you desire it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[edensrose]

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ modern!tolkien characters ⠀〳 ⠀reader ❜᭡

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ “ asking them to shower with you - ❪ minors dni ៸៸ slight nsfw ៸៸ suggestive content ៸៸ modern au ៸៸ námo and manwë made me waaayy too weak for this ❫

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ THRANDUIL

ʚ was probably on his way to a meeting, standing at his mirror and fixing his watch and collar

ʚ glances over and sees you there in the towel

ʚ clears his throat, considers the possibilities

ʚ calls to galion to reschedule all his appointments before pulling you in

ʚ "might I remind you that whatever happens next is entirely of your own doing."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤLEGOLAS

ʚ in the middle of breakfast, munching down on his cereal

ʚ most likely chokes on it when he sees you there and goes a bright red

ʚ just stands there, blushing, staring

ʚ swiftly puts his bowl down and ushers you to the bathroom

ʚ "forget classes, might as well call in sick now."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ MAIRON

ʚ doing his eyeliner when you call for him

ʚ looks at you through the mirror, narrows his eyes — he just did his makeup

ʚ places his stuff down, cups your throat and drives you back into the bathroom

ʚ "since I'm going to ruin this freshly done makeup, my rules."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ MELKOR

ʚ most likely had just gotten out of the shower as well, was doing his hair

ʚ knows damn well he had a meeting but then he saw you there in your towel

ʚ doesn't even think twice before grabbing you by the shoulders and pushing you back into the bathroom

ʚ "the meeting? you have bigger things that worry about."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤMANWË

ʚ getting ready for work, was most likely about to leave when you called for him

ʚ spins around to give you a kiss and then sees your state

ʚ clears his throat at your request, hands find your waist

ʚ all it takes is one kiss

ʚ "you know exactly what you are doing to me, alright darling, I'll play your game."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ IRMO

ʚ was most likely still in bed and trying to get up for work

ʚ whined a little when you called for him but then he turns to see you and hears your offer

ʚ you've never seen him spring out bed so quickly

ʚ "well, that's one way to get me out of bed. we may end up back there, however."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤNÁMO

ʚ fastening his belt and finishing up the final touches

ʚ spots you from the corner of the mirror and already knows what you'll offer

ʚ sighs, undoes his belt and coils it around his hand

ʚ presses his lips to yours and backs you up into the bathroom

ʚ "I'll give you an hour. under my terms."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤEÖNWË

ʚ was cooking breakfast for the two of you

ʚ turns to you and nearly drops the frying pan with the eggs, clears his throat

ʚ sighs contently, puts the stove off and tugs you to him by the wrists

ʚ "I suppose I'll be having breakfast anyway, hmm?"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ FËANOR

ʚ was sketching out some designs at his desk

ʚ saw you and simply stared, shamelessly doing a once-over of you

ʚ places the pencil down, stands up, takes your waist and tugs you to him

ʚ "since you adore disrupting my focus, make it up to me."

taglist — @kiatheinsomniac @augustwithquills @m-shade @nerdydcfan @flowerchildishere @camilomyshiningsun @bugnug @algae-rave @snakesofindia-sursesaji @theroguemaia @heraluthor @the-girl-king @qwerty-19923 @livialounalamontagne @afternoonhours

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[caliawen]

Overwhelming Love

Pairing = Fëanor x reader

Genre = General audiences

General ratings = fluff & angst

Content warnings = none

Reader’s gender = afab!reader, but no explicit gender (only pronoun used to describe reader is ‘you/your’)

Word count = 2,9k

Notes = second fic!! 🥳🥳🥳 I hope you enjoy it! Here are some words you should know before you read = málonya means ‘my friend’, lomba means blind, melinya means ‘my dear’, lissëhón means sweetheart, vanimelda is the highest word of praise for beauty (beautiful and beloved, elven-fair), ammë means mother and finally, yonya means ‘my son’

Fëanor had always felt insecure with the love people gave him. Since his mother died and his father remarried to have other children, he felt as if he wasn’t enough. Why would his father want other children if that wasn’t the case? And so, he outdid himself in everything he did to have his father’s attention. That was how he found his passion for writing and smithing.

One day, in the palace’s library, he felt for the first time that type of love he read so much about. You were browsing the shelves, Laurelin’s rays were caressing your skin gently, making you seem ethereal. For the first time in all of his life, Fëanor was speechless. Your beauty seemed to exceed that of Varda Elentári. Seeming to feel his eyes on you, you turned and looked in his gaze directly, before he abruptly tore his eyes away and faked reading. His cheeks were hot. You caught him looking at you like a creep! Of course you didn’t know that he was admiring your beauty, you didn’t know him!

Fëanor was torn out of his thoughts as he heard books being delicately put down on the table in front of him and a chair scraping against the floor. He snapped his head up and his eyes grew comically large as he saw you smiling at him. You spent a good hour reading with him, before leaving with a small ‘goodbye’. He couldn’t believe it. You had sat with him! Even if you hadn’t talked, you had supported his presence enough to stay seated with him for an hour.

The next few days passed in the same manner. Fëanor seated himself at his usual table and you arrived later, picking a few books before seating yourself in front of him. You gave him a shy smile and then you read in silence until you left after murmuring goodbye. Fëanor became used to this routine, so he was shocked when one day, in the middle of reading, you cleared your throat. He looked up at you and saw you shyly looking into his eyes.

“My name is (Y/N)”

He looked at you dumbly, before he realized he was supposed to introduce himself.

“I’m Fëanáro.” He said, awkwardly. He mentally beat himself, for that was his first impression of him to you. Awkward and not knowing how to converse. Normally, he didn’t have any difficulty talking, but you seemed to make his brain melt so that the only thought left was you.

“It’s nice to meet you, Fëanáro.”

You went back to your book, smiling gently and blushing. He was perplexed. After his mediocre introduction, you still didn’t mind his presence? You must be the incarnation of patience..

“What are you reading, if you don’t mind me asking?” He said, after searching for a long time for something intelligent to start a conversation with.

You looked up from your book, surprised, but also seemingly happy.

“Well, you see…”

That was the day Fëanor made his first friend. You were kind and patient, even with him. You listened as he rambled on and on about one of his discoveries or a topic he was passionate about. It seemed with each day, your beauty became more and more all-consuming. From the tip of your ears to your boots, Fëanor thought you were pretty. Your fëa was the cherry on top of the cake. You were so gentle and funny and respectful, he couldn’t imagine what ’perfect’ was if it wasn’t you.

One day, Fëanor saw you talking to another ellon at the ball his father threw for his coming of age. He didn’t understand why he felt so jealous. You had the right to pursue anyone you liked! So why did he covet your love like he did with his father’s? He ended up feeling angsty for a good amount of time, his jealousy making him snappy and insecure. What if this ellon didn’t like him and wanted you to stop being his friend? The rational part of his mind told him that you were probably only talking to him, flirting at most. You wouldn’t abandon your friendship for someone you weren’t in a relationship with.

He went outside, brooding in silence. A few minutes passed before he heard someone come his way. He looked out the corner of his eye, choking on air as he saw you. You looked concerned and he disliked himself for it, but he felt a strange sense of satisfaction at the fact that you left that ellon to go check up on him.

“Are you alright málonya?” You asked him, your brow furrowed in confusion and worry.

“I… am not..” he confessed hushedly.

“What is wrong then, Fëanáro?” You seemed to be truly concerned now, for he never admitted to being anything other than ‘perfectly fine’.

“I wish for something I probably cannot have..”

You looked deep into his eyes, seemingly searching his fëa. He turned his gaze away, afraid of your reaction if you were to find out.

“Fëanáro… tell me. Please..”

He felt the words of admission come out of his heart and up his throat, in his mouth, he only had to open it and he would be free-

“Why don’t you go back to that ellon you were talking with? You seemed happy with him.” He snapped instead, shame curling inside of him at his cowardice.

“Are you…jealous?” You quietly asked.

Fëanor flinched, not expecting you to see through his words, but then again, that was underestimating you, for you were the smartest elf Fëanor had ever come across. His silence seemed to be enough of an answer for you, because you took his chin in your hand and turned his head so that he was facing you.

“Oh, you lomba man..” you sighed, something like fondness taking over your features.

“I have loved you for a very long time, Curufinwë Fëanáro Finwëyón. You have a brilliant mind, you make me feel all fuzzy inside and meeting you at our spot is like coming home. I cannot tell you how many times I daydreamed about kissing your lips and holding your hand. You make me irrationally happy, Melinya. If you would have me, I would be yours..” you confessed, looking at his mouth towards the end of your last sentence.

He put his hands on your hips and tugged you towards him, kissing you passionately. To know that you felt the same way as he was a relief to Fëanor.

“I wish to court you properly, lissëhón. Can I?” He asked, breathless from your kiss.

Your enthusiastic nod and kiss is enough of an answer for him.

~~~

Your wedding was the biggest and most beautiful of the century. Everyone was in high spirits. It was fun to dance with you, but what was most wonderful was seeing your constant smile as you talked to guests.

Fëanor tore his gaze away from you as he saw your parents approaching. You were the exact copy of your mother, except for your smile. Your father had ginger hair and he had given you his smile. They were wonderful people and he was more than happy to have them as his in-laws.

He was teased by your father for his constant looking, but Fëanor couldn’t stop. You seemed to be radiating happiness as you walked towards him and your parents. It was incredible how Fëanor found himself falling deeper in love with you every day that passed.

~~~

The birth of your first son was a joyous occasion. Maitimo, you called him. Well-shaped one. You were absolutely right, for your child was beautiful. He had inherited his grandfather’s ginger hair and freckles, the eyes of his father and he had your ears, nose and lips. He was the joy of both your hearts.

The birth of your second son was an even more joyous occasion, for Maitimo was the one who had asked for a sibling. He bounced up and down, excited at the prospect of having a brother to play with. Makalaurë, you named him. Forging gold. Once again, you were dead on with the name, for little Makalaurë seemed to make songs more powerful than the Valar, spinning them from gold and leaving all hearts who had heard his singing aching for more. He had inherited his father’s hair and face and your eyes, nose and smile. He was magnificent.

The birth of your third son was followed by exclamations of joy and happiness. Makalaurë and Maitimo were ecstatic at the thought of another brother. Tyelkormo, you named him. Hasty-riser. He was a bundle of energy and woke you up at ungodly hours so that he could play. He was also quick to anger, filled with insecurities and quick to defend his loving family. He had Míriel’s hair, his father’s eyes and your ears, smile and nose. He was breathtaking.

The birth of your fourth son was a cacophony of delight. Everyone had waited long for this little one and he was finally here. Carnistir, you named him. Red face. It had surprised you all that your fourth son had a permanent blush on his face. It was however clear to all that it was adorable. Kisses were pressed on his cheeks constantly and hands caressed his hair. He had inherited the hair of his father and of his eyes while he had your smile and personality. He was calmer and more solitary, preferring to spend time with you than with other kids his age. He was your bliss.

The birth of your fifth son was filled with amusement. This little one looked so much like his father, it was comic. Atarinkë, you named him. Little father. It was more than fitting, for your fifth son attached himself to Fëanor and never let go. Everything his father did, Atarinkë had to do. He looked to Fëanor with awe in his little eyes and wanted to be held by him all the time. He loved his brothers and his parents more than anything in the world. You had no doubt you were heroes in his eyes. He was your euphoria.

The birth of the twins rocked the house. No one had really expected two babies when you had announced you were pregnant. Ambarussa you named them. Top-russet. It was fitting, for they both had the ginger hair of your beloved father. Your reasoning for giving them the same name was because they were born together and were fated to have one name. You still decided to give them separate names anyway. Minyarussa, you named the first one. The first. It was in relation to their birth order, for Minyarussa was the first one to see the light of Telperion. Umbarto, you named the second one. The fated. You had seen something, yet refused to tell Fëanor, which worried him, but at the same time, he didn’t want to push you. They were your rapture.

~~~

The rational part of his mind wailed in despair at what he had done. The Fear, however, was too strong. He had lost his father, he couldn’t lose his sons too, was what It whispered to him. And so, he bound himself and them to an oath. He was leaving Valinor to avenge his father and protect his sons from the Valar, they who hadn’t taken the menace that was Melkor seriously, they who had failed to protect them, they, who in a sense, were a part of the reason his father died. He would protect his sons, at all costs.

You weren’t in agreement with The Fear. You told him that this was madness, that he couldn’t do this, to abandon the oath and go back to how things were before. The rational part of his mind screamed at him to not do this, that you were right and that he would lose you if he didn’t heed your pleas. The Fear, however, was too strong. It killed the rational part of his mind with It’s fists and screamed at him to get away from this place. You didn’t come with him to Arda.

~~~

In his final moments, Fëanor thought back to what you had said and the rational part of his mind rose from the dead to tell him you were right.

~~~

Fëanor didn’t know how many years he spent in the Halls of Mandos. Time passed strangely there. Or more accurately, time had no meaning in these halls. When he was released after he had repented for his crimes, he learned that his sons were also free. He learned that Maedhros had married Fingon and that the former had adopted twins with Maglor. He had a second grandson, another one than little Celebrimbor, named Elrond.

You came to see him shortly after he was released. You both looked at each other, strangers again. He desperately wanted to go back in time and undo his mistakes. Oh, how he longed to wake up with you in his arms, to create you new jewelry and to brag with you about your sons’ accomplishments to other parents. He knew he had lost this privilege and that it was his fault. He knew he had lost you.

However, a glimmer of hope appeared in his chest as you slowly came forward, inches away from him. He raptly listened to what you had to say.

“I do not wish for us to separate our fëas, Fëanáro. What you did was cruel and pure madness, and I do not think I can ever forget what you put our sons through. However, our sons vouched for you. They explained to me that at the time of the oath, you weren’t yourself and that you weren’t okay mentally. I want you to heal, my love. Then we can see where we stand, as you are yourself again.”

“I promise I will heal, vanimelda. I promise.”

~~~

Fëanor kept his promise. He went to Lórien to work on his mind and fëa. It was an arduous journey and he sometimes wanted to give up. The rational part of his mind screamed each time he thought about that to not waste his only chance to win you back. His sons sometimes came to visit him. He apologized to all of them and to Celebrimbor. He was miraculously forgiven.

Fëanor had the pleasure to meet Elrond and his wife, Celebrían, along with their sons, Elladan and Elrohir. It was awkward at first, but slowly, they all warmed up to him. This gave him hope that one day, you could welcome him back into your arms.

~~~

The first time he met his mother in millenia, he cried. He fell into her arms and she hugged him to her chest, crying too. Torrents of tears fell down his cheeks, joy and hurt mixed together. He felt like Nienna had struck him down with grief as he could feel her lips kissing the crown of his head. Míriel rocked him back and forth, humming a tune he remembered was from his childhood.

When he had calmed down, he met his mother properly. They talked for days on end, taking back the time that was cruelly wrenched from them.

“Do you think she’ll ever take me back? Do you think she could love me again, ammë?”

His mother looked at him with love overflowing her eyes.

“Of course, yonya. Please let me meet her when you have won her back!”

~~~

His mother’s words carefully tucked to his chest, he made his way to you. His heart beat-no pounded in his chest and his stomach had a weird fluttery feeling inside of it. The greatest elf who ever lived, Curufinwë Fëanáro Finwëion, was nervous. He knew his sons would welcome him, but you, he had no idea. He hoped, oh how he hoped.

When he stood before you, Fëanor found himself speechless for the second time in his life. You were a beauty to behold, your magnificence unable to be described with words ; you were a feeling, someone to look at. One could not describe your beauty, they had to see it and to experience it.

“Hello, Fëanáro.”

Oh, how he loved how his name rolled off your tongue!

“Hello, (Y/N).”

He had no idea where to start. He had so much to say, yet so little words came to him. When you looked at him and gave him that little smile that made him fall in love, he knew everything would be alright.

~~~

Fëanor woke up, feeling for once at peace. He looked into his arms and found himself smiling, for you were there. The day before, after a long discussion filled with tears, you had accepted him back. That night, you had rekindled your fëas and it felt amazing to feel you again.

That day, Fëanor took you to meet his mother. It was a meeting that made his heart swell with the love he held for the two of you. He invited his sons along and his heart almost burst at the sight of his mother hugging her grandchildren. He looked at you and knew that the overwhelming love he held for you was right. He now knew peace, reunited with his family, even if he missed his father. Yes, this was indeed where he was supposed to be.

@theelvenhaven

[i-did-not-mean-to]

500 words for Tara

My dearest @eunoiaastralwings has been so good as to give me a small prompt to get back into writing ❤️

So, for her anon & for her, here are 500 words about Fëanor and an overworked reader!

After a long day in the forge, Fëanor strode into your shared bedchamber energetically only to be stupefied to find the bed empty and the room plunged into darkness. 

He knew of course that you had been considerably swamped lately, but he had nonetheless expected that you’d be fast asleep at this time of night, especially because he himself had worked far beyond the point where it was advisable to handle hot metal and heavy equipment.

“My love,” he sighed dejectedly under his breath, shrugged back into his already discarded robe, and resigned himself to venturing forth again despite his earnest desire to curl up on the soft piece of furniture and sink into oblivion.

Every step he took jostled his tired bones and, as he finally reached the heavy door barring outsiders from your sanctuary, he leaned his forehead against the cool wood in overwhelming exhaustion. 

Without knocking, he entered the room; you sat slumped over on a chair, your chin cradled in your palm, and your complexion waxen with fatigue.

“Fëanor?” you cried out, alarmed, as you sat up straighter and blinked owlishly into the bright light falling through the open door in his wake. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s time to go to bed,” he declared decisively, “you’ve worked too much already. Rest is the sister of productivity and just as important.”

Lifting both your hands, stained by your relentless labours, pleadingly, you breathed: “Let me just finish this really quickly.”

Fëanor smiled but shook his head slowly; he remembered all the times it had been you who had dragged him out of the forge or from behind his desk when he had neglected his own health.

“No,” he insisted gently, “it’s enough! Come now.”

Your brow darkened and you simply turned your attention back to your work – as you had seen him do a thousand times – but it was hard to eclipse his presence, radiating like a beacon and filling every corner of the room with his warmth, try as you might.

After a few moments, he started speaking once more; in fact, he narrated – in great detail – every step of his own endeavours of the day in the forge.

Soon, his melodic voice drew your eyes back to him and he grinned wickedly.

When your eyes drifted shut, he bit back the triumphant cackle bubbling up in his throat; his sons knew this dark power of his only too well for he had used the bundled might of his most boring descriptions on them many a time before.

“I am fascinating,” he mumbled when he lifted you into his arms and pressed a tender kiss onto your brow, “when I choose to be.”

As he put you down on the soft mattress and, throwing his own garments onto the floor in his eagerness to join you, slipped under the covers beside you, he kissed you once more very gently so as not to wake you.

“Sleep well, beloved,” he whispered, “and may we both have another gloriously productive day come tomorrow.”

As it's not my request, I thought I'd rather not be too forward.

If you see this, dear anon, and you want my take on Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, or Caranthir, let me know.

I can also offer erm...Fingon? Finrod? Any of the dwarves? lol

Let me know.

Lots of love from me <3

[memoriapraeteritorumbonorum]

The Sons of Fëanor behind closed doors

Author’s note: A collection of random intimate moments between you and your favorite Fëanorian. Part 1/? There will definitely be more parts to this!

-

Caranthir

Carnistir always runs warm

It doesn’t matter how cold it is outside, his temperature never seems to drop. Must be his blood cuz its boiling  

In the evening, you’ll find him looking through the bookshelves in your chambers, thinking about which one he’s going to read to you

This is a routine you have established quite early on, him being a bookworm and you loving the sound of his voice and storytelling abilities 

He always comes back to join you right when your feet start getting cold. The second he sits down beside you, you bury them underneath his legs, certified personal heater 

He shudders at the coldness and shoots you an annoyed look, scolding you about how you should put on socks. 

"You’re going to catch a cold." 

"Not when I have you right here!" You grin and are met with him rolling his eyes 

When he opens the book, you throw your arms around his neck and look over his shoulder, waiting for him to start reading, but he just seems to be flipping through the pages aimlessly, too distracted by your sudden proximity

His face grows redder with every second

You snuggle into his hot cheek, and he feels you smile against his skin.

How is he supposed to focus?? Manz is flustered

"You do remember where we left off, right?" You ask teasingly, he just clears his throat and mutters something about chapter three. When he finally finds the chapter he lets out a breath he seemed to be holding forever 

Is it hot in here? Nope, just Cara’s body temperature which is off the charts by now 

There’s something about his reading voice, the way it sounds soft like a velvet blanket, yet so sharp

And though you’d love to listen to the story, the exhaustion takes over you, leaving you half asleep on his shoulder near the chapter’s end

He puts down the book and rests his head against yours for a moment, secretly smiling to himself in pure bliss before gently picking you up and carrying you to bed

Eru, the things you do to him, but he wouldn’t have it any other way 

Maedhros

This gentle giant loves it when you play with his hands

He noticed a long time ago how fidgety you would get whenever something was making you nervous

Your anxiety shows itself in you cracking your knuckles, playing with the rings on your fingers, pulling at the fabric of your clothing 

Sometimes, however, you wouldn’t have anything to help reduce your anxiety 

He made it a habit to look for that twitch in your fingers, and whenever that happens, he just takes your hands into his

And since his hands are significantly larger than yours, it would only take one of them to encapsulate both of yours, and squeeze them reassuringly (we’re obviously talking pre-oath here oop) while the other tends to whatever it is he was doing before

Although open displays of affection are frowned upon, he considers your comfort more important than the judgement he would receive 

Let’s be real, nobody would dare to ever voice their disapproval. It’s Maedhros they’re talking to, zero fucks given here

This morning, you have been sitting next to Mai in a meeting for the longest time when one of the attendees decides to criticize some of the contributions you have made earlier. You freeze. Heart starts beating impossibly fast at the tone of his voice, pointed and condescending. Eru. Do you answer? Are you supposed to answer?! He’s looking right at you. Eruerueru-

The second Mai’s hand finds yours under the table, the tension leaves your body. 

You take it with an urgency he recognizes all too well. One of your hands holds on to his wrist while the fingers on your other one intertwine themselves with his, your thumb drawing hectic circles into his cool skin. Your grip on his wrist tightens at times and you take deep breaths, trying to remain in control 

You let go of his wrist and trace the veins on the back of his hand, trying to memorize the way his skin feels on yours, before you turn his hand around in your lap and do the same thing with the lines on his palm

His hand is relaxed in your grip, gradually transferring some of that energy to you

He’s just so tall and self assured — the complete opposite of your current state — you could find solace in his presence alone if it weren’t for your itching fingers 

Your movements become slower the longer you stay in contact with him

It’s like his fëa gathers in his hand, knowing you need it to touch you directly to come to your senses

And so the rush wears off, eventually the attendee stops talking and you are able to form a response that is just coherent enough to be said out loud in this setting

And as a result of your bond and the indemmar emerging from it, Maitimo proceeds to expand your argument in his own words, closing the case gracefully as ever without letting anything show 

You don’t know what you’d do without him, especially in situations like these 

Maglor

Contrary to popular belief, Makalaurë is a clumsy individual 

You have to give that to him, his mind seems to be running nonstop, I imagine him to always be on the edge of sensory overload — just look at the world around you, how could you not want to capture every single aspect of it in poetry and song? 

So, naturally, he’s not always fully present, at least not when he’s scribbling things on paper

You can tell whether to talk to him or leave him to his affairs by the way he’s sitting, the speed and loudness of the quill on his paper.

The more he hunches his back, the more he squints his eyes, chews on his lower lip, the messier his handwriting appears, the jerkier he moves the quill — that’s when you know not to disturb him

Although sometimes, you yourself are quite preoccupied and forget about it

"LAURË!" you call out as you burst into his room, feet stomping on the wooden planks so enthusiastically their creaking could be mistaken for a cat screaming after having been stepped on its tail 

Poor Laurë is so startled, he jumps out of his skin, dies and is reborn all at once

The quill in his hand slides across the paper with the sudden movement of his arm and, yikes, the ink pot is sent flying along with pieces of parchment

He yells, eyes wide, hands in the air, frozen in place, a literal deer in the headlights

You stop dead in your tracks and cover your mouth in shock, immediately regretting your loud entry

"ERU, Y/N, DON’T DO THIS TO ME" "I’M SO SORRY!!" "WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING?!" "I DON’T KNOW!!"

The last piece of paper lands on the ground, the air settles down and only then do you see the damage — splotches of ink are littered all over his desk and notes, his hands and sleeves. He sits there, with his upper body turned towards you, staring at his work on the floor, slowly breaking out of his state of shock and moving to pick it up with shaky hands

You hate to admit it to yourself, but he’s so unintentionally funny with his big eyes and startled movements. You can see how he’s trying to coordinate his thoughts again as his hands reach for each piece of paper below, sometimes grabbing the air instead of the actual object 

Somebody help this man

And Eru forbid, when he sees the spilled ink on his notes, he goes through all the stages of grief right in front of your eyes and you feel even worse for the laughter that’s bubbling up inside of you

He’s like a sloth, slowly collecting his belongings with calculating eyes

You hastily step to his side and help him arrange everything on the desk, then proceed to get a washcloth to wipe away the spilled ink

When you’re finished, you are met with judgemental eyes 

"I’m sorry, I’m really sorry," you manage to get out before the laughter bursts out of you. Laurë huffs and before you know it, his blue fingertips smear the leftover ink across your face

"Hey!" you yelp when he picks you up and carries you outside

If it weren’t for the loud breath he lets out through his nose, you would have thought he was really mad at you, but he just puts you back down, trying his hardest to hide his smile upon seeing the blue lines on your face 

"I’ll just come back later," you purse your lips and look up at him. He shakes his head at the mischievous twinkle in your eyes before leaning down to kiss the top of your head and then slamming the door in your face lol 

Celegorm

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that Tyelko loves nature

You, on the other hand, have certain things you’d prefer to stay away from, such as spiders 

And as much as you love him, his "conquer your fear" mindset is anything but dear to you. You’re a firm believer of respecting people’s fears and not forcing them to change that, whereas he thinks practically and doesn’t always consider your thoughts, such as right now

He came running into your room when he had heard you scream in fear, ready to attack whatever was threatening you, or so he thought 

So there you are, standing on a chair, pointing at the spider in his hand

"Tyelkormo, I swear on my life, if you come any closer-" 

"Y/N, you can’t be serious, it’s tiny." "I don’t care!" You yell, slowly stepping down from the chair and backing up

He smirks "You can’t be that scared, love" 

And all the alarms in your head go off when he steps closer to you, spider enclosed in his hand that is extended towards you

When your back hits the wall, you know you’re done for

"Tyelko-" "Just look at it!" He laughs at your reaction, knowing he won’t actually do anything. Deep down, you know it too, but he just loves to poke fun at you and you fall for it every single time

You think he'd leave it at that, but he actually dares to open his hand and of course, the spider jumps out in a frenzy, beginning to rope itself down from the palm of his hand

And you SCREAM, poor Tyelko actually has to cover his ears that's what he gets

The spider hurries away into some corner and you make a leap for the bed, grab a pillow and throw it at Tyelko, yelling at him to take it outside

When he finally does, your rage is still very much present and you take another pillow from behind you and hit him repeatedly

"Don't-" hit. "you-" hit. "ever-" hit. "do-" hit. "that-" hit. "again-" hit. "do-" hit. "you-" hit. "understand-" hit. "you're so annoying!!!"

He's obviously unfazed, if anything his smirk has grown even bigger

His arms snake around your waist and pull you close, cradling your head in his hand

"Did you seriously think I was going to let that spider harm you? You're so easy to tease, love"

Curufin

"Close your eyes," he instructs softly before carefully placing the item in your hands. He spent hours working on this, both scared and excited for your reaction

When he tells you to open your eyes again, they fall on a set of beautiful earrings. But that's not what makes you tear up!

Months ago, you had mentioned how much you missed the color of forget-me-nots in the winter time. It was a silly little thought you had voiced on a leisurely stroll with him on a rather cold morning, not expecting him to actually take it to heart like this

But here you are, in your hand these rose gold earrings, shaped like forget-me-nots, with little shimmering gems in the center — the same color as your favorite spring flower.

"Curufin!" you gasp, looking up at him

He just smiles and for the first time ever, he looks flustered, bashful, even

He's always so calm, stoic and levelheaded. To see him deliver a gesture like this is unusual to say the least

"Here, let me help you put them on," he gently takes the earrings out of your hands with his calloused fingers

You notice a band-aid on his left index finger, did he hurt himself when crafting these?

Once the earrings are on, you step in front of the mirror and Eru, the smile that blooms on your face almost makes his heart stop

Curvo was never one to display a lot of emotion, he just never deemed it necessary

But seeing you touched like this made him question what was so bad about letting his guard down sometimes

Especially when you would look at him, and his heart would erupt into a million tiny butterflies upon the effects of his gesture

Amrod

You're sat on the wooden fence framing the fields close to your estate, watching the cows

The sun is just about to set and you catch yourself staring at him

"Is there something on my face?" he suddenly asks and raises his eyebrows, you're caught in the act

Quick, think of something to save yourself from the embarrassment!!! Or else he'll never stop teasing you about this!!!

So you flick his forehead and watch him open his mouth in protest

"Hey!" "What are you gonna do, Pityo?"

You stick your tongue out and jump down into the high grass, watching him do the same, ready to follow you for some revenge

The air is quiet, and the first fireflies are already buzzing around the fields when he starts chasing you through the flowers

Your giggles and screams make the cows raise their heads one by one, disturbed by these two strange creatures running around them

Usually, Amrod knows not to run too close to the cows as it would agitate them, but he's just too caught up in the way your laughter tickles his pointed ears and the way your h/c hair flows in the wind — he doesn't notice one of them standing closer to him than he has anticipated

So yeah, poor unfortunate Pityo bumps into that cow. And he stumbles. And falls. And when he realizes what he's fallen into, he yells. And when you realize what he's fallen into, he's done for

"NO WAY!!!!" "STOP"

He gets up and looks down at his linen shirt which is now an earthy, lovely shade of brown

When you come closer, you see the blush on his cheeks, his ears growing redder and redder

"Not a word to my brothers!" he warns, pointing his finger at you

"What do I get in return?" you ask and clasp your hands in front of your body, a shit-eating grin on your face pun intended

He looks around helplessly, trying to come up with something to keep you from running off to tell everyone about this mishap

He just huffs in defeat, shoulders slacking "I'll do whatever you want, just don't tell them."

You don't know why, but seeing him at your mercy like this makes you feel bolder than usual

"Kiss me." It's a short and sweet proposal.

You can see in his face that he's expected anything but this, because manz GASPS and is frozen in place

He's been crushing on you for quite some time, and the two of you certainly shared a cheeky bond, constantly teasing each other in a loving way, but kissing you???

He's at a loss for words and just stares at you in disbelief, mouth opening and closing in an attempt to reply but failing miserably

You've never seen him so flustered when he usually has a snarky comeback for every situation. He's so cute.

You carefully take a few steps closer to him until you're a few centimetres apart and look up at him with a timid smile, waiting for his reaction. And he gazes into your eyes with a newfound vulnerability that makes your heart beat a lot faster than it already does

And when he finally makes up his mind and decides to go for it, the sun has set

His lips hover over yours before softly laying themselves upon yours like a secret in the dark, only to be whispered aloud in your presence

Amras

"Telvo, I'm really tired, how much longer do we have to walk?" you ask, the ache in your feet is almost unbearable at this point

He came into your room this morning, asking you to accompany him on his quest to find mushrooms to try an old recipe for a stew he had found in the library

You don't know how many times he's already come knocking at your door demanding your help for the most trivial things, but you comply every time, you just can't help it. Some of your best adventures are made with him

So there you are, wandering along the path leading back to your home, your apron full of mushrooms of all kind, Telvo walking in front of you with that bounce in his step indicating his good mood

"We're almost there, look!" He points towards the house on the edge of the valley you're passing through, although it's a bit too far for your liking

You groan, stumbling over a root sticking out from beneath you and having the mushrooms tumble all over the ground

"Oh no..." you sigh, looking up at your companion who's surprised at your exhaustion

"Are you alright? I'm sorry if I made you walk too much!" He stammers, crouching to pick up the mushrooms and put them back into your apron, which you had folded into a makeshift bag

Once they're all in there, he turns his back to you and gestures for you to hop on, which you do gladly

"Y/N, Y/N, you're spending too much time indoors. Look at how exhausted you are!" he snickers and resumes his trip towards your house. You just snuggle into his shoulder and blow into his ear

"Not everyone can run around in the forest all day, you know?" to which he just shakes his head and laughs

Once you're inside, you begin to prepare the stew, bickering and joking around all the while

"Eru, hopefully this will taste good. Where did you even find that recipe?"

He tells you about a collection of old, dusty books hidden away in his father's library. Some traveller had devised this recipe a long time ago. It's said to warm you from within with its unique taste. You could listen to his rambling for hours. He's always had a talent for discovering the most random things and taking them straight to you, his partner in crime and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Once the stew is done, you dig in, and who would have thought? A blissful warmth spreads throughout your bodies, caressing your bellies and putting satisfied smiles onto your faces

"Told you it was gonna taste good," he mumbles and winks, beckoning you to come and sit next to him so you could enjoy the incoming food coma together

He really is full of peculiar ideas, your beloved redhead