#oromë x reader

[edensrose]

ㅤㅤㅤ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 ❜࿔ 

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ ainur⠀〳 reader⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. what happens when the ainur catch you indulging yourself? ( minors dni ៸៸ sexual content ៸៸ explicit descriptions ៸៸ dirty talk ៸៸ fingering ៸៸ cunnilingus ៸៸ penetrative sex ៸៸ 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ៸៸ overstimulation ៸៸ edging ៸៸ use of aphrodisiacs ៸៸ nicknames ៸៸ orgasm denial )

· ⊰ note. oh this has been awhile in the making, enjoy<3

.°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ the admirers. 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 

𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆 , 𝒊𝒓𝒎𝒐 , eönwë, 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆.

he's absolutely taken aback by you. the way your head hangs, the way your back arches so that your breast jutt out and give him the perfect view of your body overall. how you play with your little clit and breathe out for him. the second he hears his name he's inching closer and revealing himself to you. shushing your embarrassment and pleading that you let him help — let him touch you, adore you, worship you. how could you refuse?

"You're so beautiful, my little dove." He croons, bringing a thumb to replace your trembling fingers. He flicks the pad over your clit, rubbing in motions he knows damn well will have you whimpering for him. 

"And to think you were doing all this by yourself? Why not ask me to take care of you?"  Manwë dips his head to press kisses along your jawline as he fondles your needy pearl. He chuckles at your meek bucks into his hand. "Aren't you a darling little thing?" That is all it takes before he's joining you upon the bed. Face buried between your legs. Eating you out as though you were the finest of delicacies to his divine lips. Having you cum on his tongue until you are squirming from overstimulation. “Can you give me another?” He groans, burying his face deeper and moaning against your sweetness as he grinds his own hips against the sheets. “One more princess. One more for me.’’

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒊𝒓𝒎𝒐.

he could practically feel your desire before he even entered the room — but oh, nothing prepared him for the sight of you. your desperate little rutting into your pillow, the quiet, breathy moans. he could sense it all: your need, your heat, and most of all. . . how it was him that you desired. he couldn't help but find himself over you, pressing kisses to your neck to let you know it was just him before whispering to your ear all the things he was going to do to you. 

"Such need, my petal. You are practically dripping." Irmo's lips feel hot on your skin as his fingers trace small patterns. Seeking to worship your body. He begins with your chest, his tongue circling your nipples. He'd chuckle at your little whines and begs for more — but he wouldn't let up. Not until your desire was pouring from you. 

"You want me to touch you? Hmm?" His croon is soft as his kisses trail down, pressing against your quivering thighs. Two delicate fingers swipe up along your slit, and he smiles at your eagerness. "That's it, my pretty petal." His tongue nestles against your clit and he groans at your taste as he pushes both fingers into your quivering walls. "Give in to all those filthy desires. . . And all for me." 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒘𝒆.

admittedly he was quite surprised when he came home after a long day of work to find you sprawled out and playing with your needy clit. after he got over the small guilt of leaving you waiting, arousal brimmed within him and he couldn't help but watch your little show. something cruel within him loved the way you whined and struggled to find your release. knowing good and well that just a few of his touches would send you off the edge. you needed him. which is why he made himself known — by replacing your hand with his. 

"I suppose my dawn grew too desperate, hmm?" Eönwë smiles at the way you gasp his name and wastes no time in rubbing his calloused fingers along your trembling slit. He joins you on the bed, kneeling beside your bare form and gazing upon you with the eyes of a hawk. Hungry, lustful, as he leans over you to bring your faces closer. 

"Oh sweetheart, you know that only I —" he bites back a groan as he pushes a finger into your heat and feels your wetness. " — can fuck this needy little cunt just right," his whisper fans against your lips and rewards you with both a carnal, fevered kiss and another finger that curls right into your sweet spot. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏.

nothing is better than coming home after a long shift of steering the moon, only to find you all desperate and riding his pillow with meek little moans and hushed gasps. he knew good and well how needy you could get with his shifts, and it sparks excitement within him like no other. he watches you, knowing that he is the reason for your state, before eagerly taking your thighs into his large hands and giving them a squeeze as he grinds his clothed crotch against your ass. whispering to your ear about how he's back to ruin this needy little hole. 

"Fuck, you're amazing," breath fanning your heated ear, Tilion muffles your mewl but shoving your face into the softness of the pillow that you once chased your release upon. It is rendered a mere object for you to cling to as your lover ruins you as promised. Back flushed to yours, lips worshipping your skin and of course — his pounding cock that splits you in two and has your body thumping against the bed with each of his overly eager thrusts. 

"Mm, that feel good, dear?" He pants as the arm loops around your waist brings his hand between your legs to abuse your clit. " — fuck," he groans against your ear, his deer ears twitching as he buries his head into the crook of your neck and inhales your scent. "Gonna. . . nhh, fuck this needy little hole until my next shift, eh? Gonna leave you dripping with me." 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

.°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ the sadists. 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒚 𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒔𝒎 𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎

𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐, 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓, oromë, 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐.

oh, he is so mean. he doesn't even seem the least bit surprised when he finds you in such a state. chasing after your high aimlessly as you buck and grind into the pillow below you. whining his name, pleading the fantasy-him for some kind of relief. it certainly was a daydream, he notes. for if it were the real him — he would have had his fun with you in this state first and foremost. 

Your little complaint is greeted by a brief spank to your thigh, causing you to whimper and limp further into the doomsman — your little ruts faltering in the slightest. "Now, where's all that enthusiasm? You'd rather a pillow over me?" Námo clicks his tongue, grabbing your chin so that you face him whilst you meekly grind into his lap. 

"You can do better than that, little one." He notes, eyeing how your fluttering slit soaks the material his robes — perfectly pressing against his tent. "What's that?" His voice lowers, a ghost of a smirk on his lips as he chuckles and grabs your hips, digging his nails into the softness of his flesh. "You wish to cum? Grind faster then."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓.

the dark lord has a particular rule that he would rather you follow. only he is allowed to touch you. but he knows well that you engaging in this sort of pleasure is merely a ploy of getting him to prove who your body belongs to. to fuck you into a state of devastating bliss. so you know what? that's not what he'll give you. oh no, all you will be left with is regret the second his voice found your ear and you registered the tight grip on your hair. 

"What's that?" Is all your whines are met with as you curl your fingers further into dark robes. Burying your face into his chest and inhaling his scent. Every stutter of your hips is greeted by a harsh smack to your thigh, causing you to limp further into him as he leans against the iron throne. You sit in his lap, full of his cock, yet no friction at all. And unable to take it for yourself either.

"Aww," Melkor croons, stroking a tear away from your cheek as you cry out to him in need. "What's that? My needy little slut wants to cum?" Icy lips ghosting yours, he breathes a chuckle before leaning back and placing his arms on the throne's rests. "Too bad. You're gonna sit there full of my cock until I say so. And not a second sooner."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒆.

you were doing this to spite him, he knew. he had denied you in favour of his hunting trip, so of course you would sprawl yourself out on his bed, on full display should he walk through the door whilst you finger yourself. mess his sheets. oh, he won't let you get away with it. he'll take his time, bring you to the edge only to leave you whining and clinging to his hair as he devours you like a starved animal. 

The ceiling became a mixture of blurs and hazes as your eyes threaten to loop back into your head. Lewd noises from below are exaggerated, stirring your arousal even further. Your head limps, you gasp, pant, squirm — all whilst tugging on white hair and begging for the high that you tittered the edge of. His tongue alternates with his fingers between your clit and slit. Your legs are tossed over his shoulders as he brings stars into your very vision. 

"Close, little deer?" He groans against your cunt, his slitted pupils glancing at you through his white lashes as his nails dig into your thighs. You nod, beg, clinging further onto his messy tresses in hopes that he'll give you what you want. But your teary eyes are met with a smirk as he pulls away at the last minute, spanking your thigh as you whine out your disappointment. "Did you think I'd just give you everything, little deer? Bad little sluts don't get to cum." Before returning once more.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏.

he'll just use it as an excuse to punish you. anything to have his way with you and get you squirming for him. calling his name as you desperately try to coax him into letting you cum. begging him to use you as he pleases if it means getting what you want. especially after he's left you tied up with one of his newest aphrodisiacs wrecking your body. 

"Can't hear you, precious." Dark nails curl your hair into a fistful as his hips continue their onslaught. Refusing to let up even as you squirm on his lap or limp into him and plead for his mercy. Plead for a break from the endless orgasms he's pushed you through. 

"Tired already? Wasn't it you that begged me to let you cum?" Mairon grasps your jaw in his hand and twists your head so that you are forced to look up at him — all whilst ramming into that devastating spot again and again. "Oh no, precious. We had a deal. I get to use this body until you can't take anymore." He leans into your ear with a cruel smirk tugging to his lips. "Now shut that pretty little mouth of yours and cum for me again."

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[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Destined

Pairing: Medieval! Oromë x Fem. Reader ( Ward of the Crown | Second Person POV)

Themes: Medieval! Ainur | Slow burn | Smut (Lemon)| Soft

Warnings: Arranged marriage | Use of a dagger during the wedding ceremony | Blood | Alcohol consumption | Mentions of injuries | First time | Kissing | Foreplay | Some explicit language | Oral (fem receiving) | Penetrative sex | Cream pie

Word count: 4.6k words

Summary: It was an arranged marriage to the lord of High Tree Hall and Hunter’s Pass, a man of little words, one who was known to be as wild as the forests and deep passes he ruled over. How would he conduct himself on his wedding night?

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

Full list of the great noble house of Valinor can be read here.

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here.

It was the height of summer; the air was warm and balmy, and the wind blew in hot even though it was near evenfall. Still, it was glorious. The air was sweet with the scents of wildflowers and pine. The sky was a vivid kaleidoscope of gold and yellow and orange and even pink when the minstrels called at your door.

You were given the finest guest manse on the grounds. Oromë would have preferred to have you housed within High Tree itself, but custom decreed the procession. And that he not see you until the ceremony. 

Your chambers were a hive of activity. Maids rushed to and fro with dresses and shoes and flowers plucked fresh from a nearby meadow, taking great care when laying them out over the bed while you bathed and dressed and fixed your hair. Jewels caught the light of nearby candles and gleamed against your throat and ears and wrists. 

"Are you ready, lady y/n?" Lady Nessa said when she arrived to escort you to the Great Hall and your soon-to-be husband. 

You turned away from a silvered looking glass to face her. "As ready as I will ever be."

Nessa smiled and stood by your side while a maid helped you with the final touches for your dress, fixing your skirt and straightening your veil. Another helped drape a heavy cloak around your shoulders. At the appointed hour, you took your soon-to-be good-sister’s arm and let her lead you from your chambers.

By the time you had stepped out into the light, the horizon had turned into a slow burning ember. Deep blue and purple and black now bled into fiery red and orange. The first stars shone brightly overhead even as the sun slowly dipped beneath the tree line. Over you was a canopy of deep green velvet, richly embroidered with black thread, held up by several pages. Minstrels walked ahead, playing viols, flutes and drums and even trumpets while another page sprinkled white rose petals along the path. Beautiful lamps affixed to the low-hanging branches of nearby trees lit the way. 

The splendor of the moment did nothing to detract from the fact that life in High Tree Hall was nowhere as elegant and luxurious as life at Ilmarin, where the gardens were all neat and well-tended and the white marble halls were a riot of color due to the stained glass windows catching the sun’s glorious light. Here there were gnarled trees and ponds and flowers growing wild all over. The manses were built out of rough-hewn stone and mortar and thick wooden bark. The people that lived here were said to be as wild as their lord. 

Their lord. Oromë was liege lord of Hunter’s Pass and master of High Tree Hall. He had been in need of a wife and had asked the king for your hand after seeing you taking a turn in Ilmarin’s gardens not even half a year ago. After your father disgraced himself as a traitor, Eru stood in his place now. He was able to dispose of your hand to whomever he wished. And you could not say a word in protest. 

"My brother is eager to see you again." Nessa smiled. You dared to glance at her. Until a little while ago, it was Nessa who served as Lady of High Tree Hall. After tonight, that great honor would fall on you. If the lady had been bitter about her change in station, she didn’t show it. "He nearly dug a trench in the great hall by pacing about for what seemed like hours. He is that eager for the ceremony to begin." 

Eager to see me? Cannot wait for the ceremony to begin? You wrinkled your brow in confusion. Oromë barely spoke with you. He did not court you, or bring you little tokens. You could count with the fingers of one hand the number of times he had called on you, and that too only when the king was present. His letters, such as they were, had been brief, and few and far between. 

Nessa looked on expectantly, awaiting your answer. 

"I pray I will be a good wife to him," you say hesitantly. 

Nessa gave your arm a gentle squeeze. "Just as my brother prays to be a good husband to you."

You were not so sure. Oromë was known for his many passions and his wrath, and you felt wholly unprepared. Oh, your mother did talk to you upon your flowering many and more years ago, and of course you had listened to the scandalous chatter amongst the maids. Still, hearing talk of the marital act and actually having to go through with it were two different things altogether.

Will he be gentle, even a little? You wondered. Will he treat me with a kind heart and a tender hand?

The music slowly faded when the great doors of High Tree Hall loomed ahead, and the guards threw them open for the king himself. Eru had been resplendent this evenfall, garbed in black velvet slashed with cloth of gold. A heavy gold chain of linked flames had been draped loosely around his shoulders. His crown, an airy confection wrought out of a rare black metal and studded with emeralds, rested upon his brow.

"My lady y/n," he said and bowed respectfully, before extending his arm. "Shall we go in?"

Nessa gave your arm another gentle squeeze before dipping gracefully to her knees. "My king," she murmured, and rose. "My brother awaits you both."

You swallowed and looped your arm around the king’s, your eyes on Nessa’s retreating back the entire time. A blare of trumpets sounded, and you walked in time with the king. Minstrels took up their instruments again, and this time, a sweet, haunting air filled the great hall while a hush fell over the guests. Your gaze went straight to the proud lord standing by the roots of the great Silverwood tree that stood in the center of the feasting hall.

Oromë cut a striking figure. Tall and lean and fierce, with his thick black hair pulled back into a neat bun, he stood out from all of the others. He had been garbed in hunting clothes—all high boots and leather and light mail and soft wool. Heavy enameled green pins depicting a mounted archer in black fastened a thick pelt at the shoulders. A thin scar ran from brow to jaw, barely missing his right eye.  You took a deep breath and tried not to pay any attention to the guests looking at you. Their looks had been kind, but still, the attention was more than a little unnerving. When you looked back at the tree, you found Oromë looking right back at you. The beginnings of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. A warm flush crept up your throat when you reached the tree and the priestess who would join the two of you together, and Eru placed your hand on Oromë’s.

The ceremony itself passed like a blur. You listened to what was said, and said your portion of the vows. At one point, you could have sworn Oromë gave your hand a gentle squeeze. The priestess then unsheathed a sharp dagger and asked you to hold out your hand, palm facing up. The blade barely pierced the skin, but it still hurt. You watched while she did the same for your new husband. She then joined your hands and bound them with a new ribbon. You watched, enthralled, as your blood and his mingled and trickled, staining the thin strip of white silk a deep, deep, crimson.

"One body!" The priestess then declared to the crowd. "One heart! One soul! Bound as one in the sights of Gods and men! Cursed be they who try to tear them asunder!"

As her words rippled around the great hall, Oromë pulled you close and kissed you deeply. You had expected something that was rough and quick, but when his mouth opened yours, it was in a kiss that was tender and sweet.

"Mine," he whispered first, before adding, "Yours."

You looked on, wide-eyed, while he drew back. Guests broke into loud applause and cheers. You turned to face them, and felt a gentle tug on your hand. It was Oromë. He was trying to lead you to the raised dais at one end. You shook your head and rewarded him with a smile. It was time for the feast.

Again, there were differences. Feasts in Ilmarin were always lavish, but more than a little restrained. Here, the food and drink were served freely to anyone and everyone. Guests dined on thick soups and roast fowl and fish caught from a nearby river. There were flagons of ale and flagons of mead and flagons of a dark, bitter beer for anyone who had a thirst. There was wine too, a curiously light vintage that went very well with most of the food. Candles burned bright even as the great hounds of High Tree spread out next to tables and pelts and slept, having had their fill of scraps. Some guests started to fall asleep where they sat as well. Others wandered out of the hall in pairs of two and three and more, to engage in private amusements of their own. Lady Nessa made herself comfortable between Lady Varda and Nienna and Estë, and could be heard laughing merrily. The king stayed for as long as courtesy demanded before making his own excuses and leaving for the night. The revelry grew louder after his departure. 

Lord Tulkas had been singing the entire time, taking deep swigs of his ale in between verses. An auburn-haired woman clad in simple, soft green wool sat next to him, a pin bearing the bloodied hand of House Tarkil fixed firmly over her left shoulder. 

A captain of House Shield’s guard, you remembered. The one they call lady Meássë.

"Never engage him in a game of drink," Oromë leaned over and whispered. "Lord Tulkas will drink you under the table and continue drinking until dawn."

You believed him. Lord Tulkas was known to be able to hold his drink, and many of the others beside him could not. One by one, they made their excuses until his companion remained. 

"What about you, my lord," you observed after stealing a glance at his cup. "You have not drunk anything besides water all night." 

Oromë’s lips tugged at the corners. "Oromë," he insisted, "or husband, which is what I would prefer. As for my not indulging… well, let’s just say I wish to keep a clear head for what’s about to happen later." 

Your skin warmed. What’s about to happen later, he said. Oromë had been talking about bedding you. You turned to your meal, unsure of what to say. You tried to eat, but the cut across your left palm made it difficult to hold a fork. 

"Just use your hands," Oromë said, tearing a leg off a roast capon to show how it was done. "No one will mind. Eat. Please." 

You looked around the hall. Of those who had been eating, many used their hands. No one said anything. No one even seemed to mind. And the growls in your stomach made it harder to resist. Still, you took care not to dirty your dressing. The food was delicious, and you found yourself eating well from each dish. By the time the cakes and pudding had arrived, you found you could only manage a piece or two of lemon cake. 

Someone found a viol and launched into the bawdy version of "Lady Luck." Tulkas had stopped drinking but continued singing, this time joining in on the new song. Someone else found a flute, and "Lady Luck" soon changed to "Cup of Mead", which in turn soon turned into "Seven Lasses," a song that was even bawdier than "Lady Luck." Someone spilled their ale. Someone else shouted a vulgar joke. You struggled to contain your mirth. 

Guests took to the center of the hall and started to dance, while others clapped in tune. The singing grew louder while maids lit fresh candles. It started to rain outside, and servants rushed to close the shutters. More guests wandered out of the halls. 

Oromë took it as a sign that the time had come. He rose to his feet and extended his hand, and, you placed your hand in his. Few noticed, save for Lord Tulkas. He opened his mouth to say something, but Oromë cut him off with a quick, "Give words to your thoughts, my good friend, and I’ll break your fucking jaw." 

The lord of Stonehearth pouted before chuckling to himself. He leaned over to Lady Meássë and whispered something in her ear. Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of red, but she nodded in agreement to whatever it was he said. They left the hall not long after, arm in arm. 

No one followed either of you in the expectation of a bedding ceremony. Oromë led you around the dais to the chambers set aside for his own use. The walls were so thick, you were told, that no sound carried to the outside. You decided it was a blessing. You didn’t want the others to hear what went on. 

The air within was pleasantly cool. Oromë led you past little rooms and a small hall before guiding you to an airy bedchamber. More candles had been lit, and a brazier had been readied for lighting. He kicked the door shut behind you both. "Would you like something to drink?" he asked. 

The last thing you wanted was wine, or anything else, for that matter. "No, my lord," you said before discretely looking around the room. It was the same as the hall, with a bed made almost entirely out of thick pelts at one end. "My stomach is a roil." 

"Husband," Oromë said. He made no move to leave his place near the door. "Are you nervous?" 

"A little," you confessed, and walked around, not stopping until you had reached a strange but beautiful bow hung up on one wall. Twists of gold and silver wood gleamed with a delicate light all of their own.   

"From fallen branches of the sacred trees in Starfall," Oromë said after a moment. "Lady Varda made it with her own hands after I slew the creature that tried to destroy them." 

"Ungoliant," you replied, shivering. 

"Aye." Oromë came from behind and rested a hand on your shoulder. "Her skull is here. I can show it to you tomorrow if you wish." 

You were curious despite yourself. Oromë had asked you for your hand after seeing you only once and calling on you only a few times. Now he was married to you, and about to take you to his bed. 

"Forgive my lord, but why did you marry me?" You turned to face him. "My father is a known traitor. My family has been disgraced, so why me?" 

"Husband," Oromë insisted a second time, and grew silent for a long while. He finally said, "As for why I chose you… I… I felt something the first day I saw you. I didn’t understand why it was happening. All I knew was that I had to be with you and you alone. It was only by talking to others that it finally became clear. We were meant." 

"But you barely spoke to me!" 

"And I must apologize for that. I… I have never been one for tender words. My sister has tried to teach me… and failed on that score. She hopes you have better luck instead." 

You smiled timidly. Oromë walked over to you, his boots barely making a sound over the smooth stone floor. 

"May I?" he asked when he was close enough to you. 

You swallowed, but nodded and stood perfectly still. 

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he urged, before reaching for your veil. There was a soft ping whenever a hairpin fell to the floor. Your veil soon followed, fluttering to the ground with barely a sound. Your cloak, on the other hand, fell with a soft thud. Your hair slowly loosened as braids and coils came undone. 

"Do you want me to stop?" Oromë asked again, this time reaching out to undo the clasps and fastenings of your gown. You felt it loosening, and you were too caught up with your own growing curiosity to say another word. You shake your head all the same, knowing he was expecting an answer. 

He nodded and slipped the gown off your shoulders and past your waist, letting it fall the rest of the way and pool around your feet. Your stays were next. He helped you out of your shoes and your jewelry. Soon, you were clad in nothing but a sheer silk slip. Goosebumps prickled all over your flesh when you stood there, nearly exposed. Oromë studied you, his eyes darkening with each passing moment. He took your hands and brought them to his lips, pressing gentle kisses over each of your fingers. A strange but pleasant jolt shot up your spine when he kissed your bandaged palm. 

"Would you get into bed?" he said. 

It was not an order but a request instead. You took slow, measured steps, running the flat of your hand over the pelts. 

So soft, you mused. Softer than even the featherbeds back at the palace.

You climbed into the pelts, all too aware of Oromë’s eyes following you the entire time. He proceeded to undress himself, first by slipping out of his boots before removing his garments. Cloak and tunic and mail and leathers soon joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor. You turned your gaze to your lap when the last of his clothes were disposed of and he stood naked in front of the bed. Curiosity got the better of you again, and you dared a glance. 

His back was turned to you, all lean and muscled, and covered in all manner of scars. Even his arms and thighs had not been spared. 

It’s as if he has known nothing but violence most of his life. You looked away once more when he came to bed. "Look at me," he said. 

You obeyed, and found hunger in his deep green eyes. Your own wandered. His black hair tumbled past his shoulders now, and thin patches of more black hair trailed its way down his chest. There were scars all over his torso as well. Some of them looked old and angry. "Did these hurt?" You found yourself saying. 

"In the beginning," he confessed, "They all did. Some worse than others. Do they frighten you?" 

"Yes," you admitted, "I have never seen anyone with such scarring before." 

"Never?" he said, his eyes filled with curiosity. "You never grew close to anyone who caught your eye?" 

"Never," you replied, even as another heated flush crept up your throat. A smirk worked its way across Oromë’s face. 

"Never?" he asked again. "No pretty handmaid caught your eye? No comely stable hand tried to steal a kiss?" 

"No," you said, "The king had his warriors dogging my every step the moment I set foot outside my rooms. And my handmaids were his spies, I am sure of it." 

"I see," Oromë said, as if considering what you told him. 

"And what of you?" you challenged. "I hear you never keep to the warmth of one bed." 

He winced and sat up straight. "I will not lie when I say that there have been others and…" 

"Will there be others even after tonight?" 

"Will you be content with such a life, wife? Being bound to a man who cannot honor his vows?" 

In your heart of hearts, you knew you would never be happy with such a life. "No." 

Oromë nodded. "Just so. As for the others… They will never be a threat to us. And they will not be a threat to you. I give you my word on this." 

And the word of those who lived in these parts was their bond. They would never go back on a promise, not even on pain of death. And he swore the two of you were meant to be. It gave you some small comfort. 

Oromë running his thumb over your knuckles put an end to your thinking. He looked at you again, this time with expectation in his eyes and not just hunger. He had been as nervous as you, though he was much better at masking it. 

When he saw you for the first time, wandering around the gardens of Ilmarin, he thought his body had been set aflame, but the heat was something he had never felt before in his life. That heat had pulsed and spread and filled him with a light that glowed from within. As the days melted into each other, heat and light simply grew, and it was only after he approached Lady Varda and her ladies for their counsel that it became clear. 

"Destined," Varda had said. "The Gods themselves had planned this union. Do not fight it." 

He didn’t fight it. Oromë approached the king for your hand. As the father of the realm and your guardian, Eru had every right to say yes or no. Fortunately for Oromë, Eru agreed to the union and issued a proclamation before the week was even over. Now you were here—in his halls and in his bed. He brushed his hand over your hair and your cheek. He let his thumb trace the lines of your sinful lips. When you rewarded him with a wistful sigh, he leaned in. 

The pelts were soft, but he found you to be a great deal softer. Your lips tasted of the cakes you had earlier—tart and sweet. Your hair slipped around his fingers like water. When he laid you down and found you trembling, he ran his hand over your arm to soothe you. 

"Could you kiss me again," you looked up at him and asked. "It makes everything feel wonderful when you do." 

Far be it from him to deny you! Oromë grinned and kissed you again, this time not stopping until your mouth slowly parted for his tongue. His hands explored every inch of your body, slipping beneath the silks of your slip to run over the warmth of your flesh. He sighed when you moaned into his kiss, and groaned when timid arms slid around his waist. Nails dug into his skin, marring it with little bruises every time he kissed a little deeper and pressed himself a little closer. Oromë found your slip and smallclothes getting in his way. 

"Lift," he commanded. 

There was a soft rustle when your slip was tugged over your waist and arms before being consigned to the floor. Your skin prickled when you lifted your hips, and your smallclothes slid up your thighs before being unceremoniously cast aside with barely a flutter. When you shivered and covered your breasts with your arms, he gently drew them away. 

"Let me keep you warm," he said, before lowering his head. 

He did more than just that. Oromë spent what seemed like ages worshiping your body. His hands may have been rough, but his touch was exceedingly gentle, caressing you as if you had been made out of fragile glass. He kissed every part of you, from the tips of your fingers to the insides of your thighs, not stopping until you were whimpering and trembling beneath him. He went lower, his lips leaving a warm, damp trail all over your breasts and your belly. Not satisfied with even that, he went lower still. Warmth spread just beneath your skin when he pressed his lips over your folds. All you could do was grab at the pelts, fingers digging into soft fur whenever he ran his tongue over your already slick heat. Nothing could be heard but your ragged breaths and his soft grunts. You murmured when sweet tension grew within your belly. It was intoxicating. And so wonderful. All the tales you had heard, all the gossip and scandalous chatter, were nothing compared to what your husband was making you feel—like your entire body had been set ablaze from within. His tongue felt hot and lush whenever it ran over your core. His lips felt so soft whenever they tugged gently at your already-throbbing nub. You were close. So close. It felt like you were on the edge of the precipice, about to fall. Then he drew away, pressing a soft kiss against the inside of your thigh. 

Sheer instincts drove Oromë now. Still, he fought to control himself, not wanting to go too far or too hard the first time. There would be plenty of time for all of that, he decided, once you had grown more comfortable with him and trusted him more. He moved over you, sighing softly when your legs slid open for him. His lips captured yours in a kiss. It was a distraction to take your mind off of what was to come next. 

You felt him. All of him. He moved slowly, piercing you inch by slow inch. There was pain, yes, and discomfort, but his kisses were so sweet and heady and drugging, that you barely paid attention to either. You tasted the traces of you on his lips and tongue, and fount it to be as sweet as his kiss.  And there was pleasure—a slow-building kind of pleasure that pulled you into a dark tunnel of desire. 

"More," you whispered. More was what you wanted, and more was what he gave you. Oromë moved with gentle, rhythmic thrusts, and soon grew drunk on your sweet moans. On your own urging, he went a little harder, a little faster, moaning deeply whenever he felt your walls tighten around his cock. Nails dug into his flesh again, inciting almost otherworldly growls. He dipped his head and kissed you until you were silent, and he lost himself in your sweet flesh. All he could do was feel the warmth of your skin, the heat of your kisses, and the softness of your thighs, even as they scrambled for purchase against his hips. When your hands brushed and curled around his hair and the tips of your fingers glided over his scalp, he lost all sense of control, pushing you harder against the bed with each thrust. 

"I’m close," he whispered against your neck. "Are you?" 

"Gods yes," was all you could manage, raw and desperate. 

When you raised your hips, Oromë found a new angle that allowed him to go as deep as he could manage. His nails dug into your thigh as he set a torturous pace, his cheeks clenching even as you writhed wildly beneath him. A few more moments were all it took before the world went dark in your eyes and your body splintered while your orgasm ripped through you. You couldn’t think or even breathe. All you could do was feel the heat spreading beneath your skin and the bliss that washed over you. You barely heard it—Oromë spilling his seed with a deep, satisfying grunt. 

A hand brushed over your hair. You open your eyes, slowly taking in the room that came into view and the man that still hovered over you. His chest heaved with each breath he took. His eyes had been filled with what looked like worry. Was he worried he hurt you? Was that why he looked so concerned? A slow, satisfied smile worked its way across your face. You lifted a hand and caressed his cheek.   

"Husband," you whispered softly. "There is no need to worry. You didn’t hurt me." 

"Are you certain?" Oromë asked, even as he trembled upon hearing you call him husband for the first time. 

"You didn’t," you insist, too lazy and content to sit up straight. "This night went better than I anything I could have dreamed." 

Relief brought a wide smile to his lips.

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

[dirty-ainur-confessions]

Who of the Valar could have a breeding kink? How would they go about it, when introducing the reader (their beloved) to it?

♡. melkor

it seems from his obsession with wanting to create life. it's something that you'd notice after the numerous times that he's filled you up and it would be in your best interest to bring it up. once you do, he'd be shameless about it. and once he's certain you're into it, oh boy. he's favourite thing in the world is to fuck you for hours, having you full and dripping with him before he slips a toy in so that his 'seed isn't wasted.' he tells you how pretty you are when you're just begging to be stuffed full, how gorgeous you are pleading for him to breed you

♡. manwë

as a vala with avian traits, this kink would come about due to the fact that he falls into heats. as his first heat with you approached, he would inform you of it and give you the option to stray away from him until the week is over. if you refuse, well, get ready. manwë in heat is ravenous, desperate. he fucks you like, well, a creature in heat. relentlessly pounding you into the sheets even whilst the both of you release for the umpteenth time. pulling and caging you in multiple positions. fucking you in front of a mirror so that you see how eagerly you take his seed. ( with pre consent ) you'll wake up hours after having fallen asleep to his cock parting your walls as he holds you against him. making sure to fuck another load into you, telling you what a good little darling you are for him, so prettily taking his seed

♡. oromë

he assumes that this kink somehow extended from his more prominent one: predator/prey. just the thought of forcing you against the forest floor and fucking you like an animal in heat has him embarrassingly hard. he'd bring it up to you, wishing to try it out during one of your next 'chases'. you agree and let's just say that it might have been the fastest oromë has ever caught you. he shoves you into the ground or a tree, already rutting into you as though he had no self control. he tells you how he's going to breed you thoroughly. stuff you full, right here, right now. and it is exactly what he does. fucking you within the forests so that your pretty moans echo. all while begging for his seed, begging for him fully claim you. oh, he simply goes wild with the amount of times he's seen his essence travel down your pretty thighs

[cilil]

Hi again! I did not see bath/shower sex marked off of the Spicy Bingo

May I request that with Mairon and Fem reader???

OR OR OR hear me out Orome and fem reader

🫣😁😁😁

Please and thank you!

Author's Note: Thanks so much for your request! I decided to go for Oromë because I really felt like writing for him and noticed I haven't really done so (at least not in terms of smut).

Also sorry it took a while, I was sick for a few weeks. Hope it's worth the wait!

ೃ♡⁀➷ Spicy Bingo: Bath/shower sex + Oromë x reader ৎ୭

"There you are, my little deer," Oromë says softly and reaches for your chin to gently tilt your head and guide you into a kiss. "Do you miss the company of a fellow hunter?"

ৎ୭ Synopsis: After another successful hunting trip, Oromë joins his favourite Maia in the shower.

ৎ୭ Featuring: Fem!reader, Maia!reader, 2nd person POV, smut

ৎ୭ Oneshot (~950 words)

The hunt was successful. 

You smile to yourself as warm water flows down your fána, easing the tension of your muscles. Nothing makes you feel more alive than joining your lord on his hunting trips, running through forests of Valinor and chasing prey to your heart's content; and nothing makes you happier than Oromë's warm, proud smile when you and the other hunters show him what you caught and the way he praises you. 

"Good girl."

A pleasant shiver goes down your spine upon recalling his words and the way he said them to you with his deep, mighty voice while his large hand playfully ruffled your hair. Oromë doesn't shy away from showing you affection, and you appreciate it, even find yourself craving it. 

As if your lord sensed your desire, you suddenly feel his presence when you reach for the soap and strong arms wrap around you from behind soon after, pulling you flush against his taller, stronger fána. Your breath hitches as you notice that he, too, is naked. 

"There you are, my little deer," Oromë says softly and reaches for your chin to gently tilt your head and guide you into a kiss. "Do you miss the company of a fellow hunter?" 

His free hand slowly trails down your side and you lean into his touch, enjoying the feeling of his calloused palm exploring you. Yet before you can close your eyes and lose yourself in the pleasant sensation of being so close to your beloved Vala, you suddenly find yourself pushed up against the shower wall. 

It's in situations like these that you truly realise how much taller and stronger Oromë is, his muscular form nearly hiding your fána from view as he leans in for another kiss, and you look up at him in awe. Your hands reach for his broad shoulders to hold on to, and you feel a rush of wetness between your legs when he continues to toy with you. Lips claim yours, hands caress your skin and cup your breasts before one makes its way further and further down until a finger dips between your dripping folds. 

"My little deer is excited," Oromë says, a low purr rumbling in his chest, and pushes inside. 

You arch your back and rock your hips against his hand. "Yes, my lord... please-!" 

"Please what?"

His green eyes twinkle with amusement, and you know what he wants to hear. 

"Please fuck me. I need–" 

A soft moan falls from your lips when his thumb teasingly brushes against your clit. 

Oromë chuckles. "How could I say no to such a request after you did so well for me today? And especially when my darling fawn is asking so nicely?" 

He withdraws his hand and lifts you up with ease. Your legs wrap around his hips reflexively, and you let out a low whine when you feel his cock slowly entering you, your walls parting to welcome him inside. The Vala of the Hunt isn't known for his gentleness, yet he's always careful not to hurt you and patiently waits for your fána to get used to his size before he starts moving. 

You feel him seizing a fistful of your hair, carefully pulling on it to expose your neck, and peppering it with small kisses and bites. Oromë's thrusts are slow and deep as he focuses on his task, and you feel another rush of excitement when you think about your lord marking you in more ways than one, for everyone to see to whom you belong. Moans and whines keep spilling from your lips, despite your best efforts to keep your noises down, reminding yourself that the rest of hunters are close by as well. 

"Oh no, little one. Do not deprive me of your beautiful noises," Oromë whispers in your ear and gently bites your auricle. 

You nod, and your lips part to accommodate his request–yet before you can so much as gasp in surprise, he lets go of your hair and starts fucking you hard and fast, his patience wearing thin. Reflexively, your hands wrap around his neck for support. Even if Oromë hadn't told you to let him hear your voice, you wouldn't have been able to remain quiet. It simply feels too good to be claimed and taken with the fierce passion of a hunter, to be supported and held in place by his larger, stronger fána, to rest your face on his shoulder and inhaling his wild scent. 

Eyes half-lidded, you watch droplets of water running down his muscular chest, but your reverie is interrupted when you feel Oromë's hand between your legs once more, now more determined than ever to coax a sweet climax out of your trembling body. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, eyes closing as you helplessly rut against him until you finally find your release and clench around him hard, as if to draw him into an embrace of bliss. 

It doesn't take long for Oromë to follow suit, and he lets out a low growl when he thrusts inside you one last time and fills you with his essence. The thought of being marked by him so thoroughly, of carrying his scent for days, if not weeks, to come makes you feel dizzy with pride and contentment. 

"It seems you will have to wash yourself again, little deer," he says, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "But worry not. I will take care of you." 

You nod, relieved to still have his arms around you; whether your legs could carry you after this, you aren't sure. Yet only one thought remains on your mind as you bathe in the heady afterglow of your climax–your beloved Vala is pleased with you.

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

taglist: @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @asianbutnotjapanese @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @floraroselaughter @i-did-not-mean-to @singleteapot

spicy bingo master post | my masterlist | tag list form

[ainur-confessions]

❰❰ LIFT ❱❱ sender carries receiver over their shoulder + reverse for Oromë or Tulkas (pretty please?)

❪ ♡ ❫ ── oromë | lift prompt

“oh? is that what you think?”

“yup,” pointing your nose to the air with a proud smirk, you fold your arms across your chest as you stare upon your lord. “you might be the vala of the hunt — but it seems that you are faring behind as of late. I wonder why?”

oh, you knew why. of course you did. you were such a wonderful distraction to your lover, so much so that he had missed his target more than he should have on your present hunting trip.

you delight in the way that his forest green hues narrow and his head quirks to the side. almost as if giving you a chance to reconsider your statement — yet you hold your head high. with that pointed, self-implored look that almost drove him mad with annoyance.

you were the love of his life, certainly, but by eru did you have a way of getting on his nerves.

the two of you had agreed on a bet. whoever was to hunt the lesser game would be subjected to the victor's rule for the entirety of the day. it seems that with your little distractions that you managed to clamber to the top — resulting in your win over the literal vala of hunting.

"well," oromë exhales, stringing his bow upon his back as he slowly inches closer. “seems as though you have won. shall we begin?”

your brows knit with suspicion and suddenly, you are on-guard. “why are you looking at me like that. . .”

you barely have time to process a thing before strong hands clamp down on your sides and you are yelping as you are tossed into the air. right over his shoulder in a careless motion that leaves you squeaking and squirming.

“oromë!”

“I am under your rule, am I not?” you can almost hear the smirk in his voice as he begins to walk back to your shared cottage whilst you kick and struggle upon his shoulder. “and as such, I shouldn't let my lady walk after such a tiring day.”

“jerk!” you laugh, running a hand down your face. there's no telling how unpleasant he'll make this little wager's win for you. but it certainly was worth it.

“keep squirming and I'll drop you, little deer.”

[ainur-interactions]

I'm carefully prowling, making no sound, all focused on the target, that is Oromë. I keep staying hidden in shadows, using anything to conceal my presence, I even hold my breath, in order to not give myself out, until I make my move. Just a little closer...Once I'm sure, I pounce close to him, stealing a kiss and flee with mischievous giggle.

the vala had sensed your presence long ago but chose to humour you as he was curious of your motives. oromë spins around just in time to be pounced on and kissed oh so suddenly. he wasn't quite expecting it but his arms hook around you immediately and tug you against his body.

“now,” he chuckles breathlessly, brushing some of your hair. “surely I should return the favour?” with that he tackles you himself, kissing you until your knees are weak.

[feralteapot]

It’s that time again, the valar brainrot has returned .

O who will indulge me in my ideas.

I bring forth once more: crowlike forest girlie claimed by Oromë

Doesnt interact with many others except him and wildlife. Spends too much time in moss filled ponds and tree hollow <nests> and collects little trinkets like a crow.

And have i mentioned hide and seek? Cause I’m a little creature with obsessions. All of the forest hide and seek. For fun and also fun.

[yandere-ainur-confessions]

would you write a headcanon of how valar and maiar fall for darling and start to be obsessed with them? (did I do it right?? I'm so nervous lol)

❪ ♡ ❫ ── 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰, 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 - 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 . . .

  ♡. 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒕 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

they remember it so vividly. the day that you walked into their life. passing by them in all your perfectness. your beauty, your demeanour, the small little smile that you gave them once you caught their unintentional stare. many would call it just a chance encounter. the gardens, a banquet, a mere passing interaction - but oh, you will scorn their mind for all eternity. did you feel it too? the connection that they felt? the song of your fëa, surely it was singing for them? it will drive them mad and they will be eager to meet you again. when you recognise them, their heart would sore. so you did feel the same? oh, if only you knew what you had gotten yourself into. they'll make it their life's mission to learn every little thing about you. stalking, you say? no, they're just lovingly learning more about their soulmate. now they are convinced that you are meant to be theirs. and it certainly would be unfortunate if you didn't think so too

𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆, 𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒌𝒂𝒔, ulmo, vana, 𝒗𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒂, yavanna, 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒏, aiwendil, 𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒆, luilire

♡. 𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔

you were most likely one of the few people outside of their family to show them true kindness. it felt like they were on air. that day that you aided them with something, or defended their name from others. they remember how fast their heart beat, how their song shifted to a thousand symphonies as they gazed at you with wonder. to think. . . that someone actually cared. from that day they grew hungry for your affection and favour. eager to seek you out and hope that you would continue to show them the kindness and attention that they were greedy for. you made them feel so. . . complete. they've never loved someone so wholeheartedly, so completely, until the day your touch grazed their hand and you smiled at them so warmly. they hope that you feel the same and will do just about anything to gain your attention, even if it's subtly. and should you place your attention elsewhere? you'll regret it.

𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐, 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓, aule, nessa, 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏, curumo, gothmog, osse, 𝒏𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒏, almion, 𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒏𝒆 

♡. 𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆

they have known you for the longest time. it feels like they've loved you for even longer. they are one of your closest companions, the person that you turn to when in need of aid. the one that you cry on when you're sad. the one that has been with you through every good and each bad. they boast in such a fact - that they know you so intimately and that they are the person that you rely on. . . but there is a deeper sense of longing within them, a yearning for something more. they feel possessive over you. after all, aren't they your everything like you are to them? why can't you see that the two of you are meant to be together? every time you bring up someone else they feel a bit of their sanity chipping away. they'll make you see how much you need them. how much they love you. after all, if you didn't feel the same, why did you lead them on? you have to take responsibility. they'll make sure of it, make sure that you know who you belong to.

𝒊𝒓𝒎𝒐, orome, 𝒏𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒂, este, 𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒘𝒆, ilmare, arien, melian, 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒎𝒆, 𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆, erulisse, 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒆

[luna-redamancy]

The Huntsman of the Valar (Oromë x OC/Reader)

I hope you enjoy it, @dicksoutformtl​ 

Note: This is a reader-insert but it was requested that the reader be an older ex-military veteran that served in Vietnam. No gender is specified. Mentions of fighting, death, and PTSD.

You certainly didn’t plan for your weekend to go like this, fighting for your life with your two dogs in a valley between two thickets. You were making pancakes, talking to one of your dogs about your plans for the day when suddenly you were encased in a bright light, and now? Well, you were here. 

“Shit,” You grunted as you dodged a weird humanoid creature, its blade-like arms narrowly missing you as you swing your weapon at it, a sword you found amongst the dead in the valley. Slicing through its neck, you moved to swing again when whimpers caught your attention. 

Swinging your head, you spot one of your two companions, your most beloved hound-dogs, whose jaw was clenched on another of the creature’s arms. One of the creature’s other legs was through her gut, her blood pouring into the dirt below. It was trying to kill you, you realized as it swung your precious companions to the side, a defeated whimper escaping her mouth as she collapsed to the ground, breathing turning ragged. 

“No,” You frowned, sadness and anger combining into a ferocious beast as you finished off the creature in front of you before racing towards the other. You had heard the phrase “blind with rage” before but never had you truly experienced it yourself until this very moment. Not even during ‘Nam. You didn’t recall the creature’s growls, nor its attempts at your life, or even your own final blow as you cut off its head. 

“Sweet thing,” Enemies taken care of, your attention shifted to your sweet hound. You called her Daisy, her personality like a bright flower in your life. The other, Jett, was whining and whimpering as it sniffs Daisy. 

“Hey, sweet thing,” You cooed, tears filling your eyes as you dropped to your knees. Your body was too old for this type of moving but you paid your aching joints no mind as you shifted to sit next to her, carefully pulling her head into your lap. 

“You did such a good job, girlie,” You murmured, fighting the tears but failing miserably as they ran down your cheeks, breathing shaky as you stroked her head. She let out a whine at your state, shifting to press her head further into the flesh of your thighs. 

“I’m alright,” You reassured, giving a sad grin. “You saved me again,” You leaned down to press a kiss to her head as she chuffed out a response, breathing growing more and more labored. 

“You can let go, Daisy,” You choked out as Jett pressed himself up on both of you, letting out low whimpers here and there. “It’s okay, you did well,” You spoke through your tears as she shut her eyes.

As she gave out her last breath, you lost it, sobbing against her furry head as Jett pressed his head on your other side. Your own injuries didn’t matter, despite how much they stung and felt like they were pulsing, you couldn’t help but ignore them as you mourned your beloved hound. 

You didn’t know how long you sat there through the night, but as the early hues of morning light began to filter through the sky, you knew you had to do something.

“There’s likely more of those things out here, Jett,” You murmured, lifting your head as he licked your cheeks. 

“We gotta bury her,” As much as you wanted to stay curled up with her and waste away, you had a responsibility to Jett, you couldn’t let him suffer the same fate.  

Bones aching, you fought through the pain and stood up, looking around the valley for anything that could serve as a digging device. Spotting a weird-looking shovel object in the belt of one of the dead, you pulled it off and set to work. 

“Six feet deep,” You murmured to yourself as you began to dig, recalling how you had to bury a childhood pet once when you were younger, long before the days of war and hardship you experienced as an adult. “Six feet deep so no other animals can smell it and try to disturb the body,” You remembered your dad telling you as the two of you dug the hole. 

Jett somehow caught on to what you were doing, using his two front paws to help dig with you, the hole growing deeper and deeper until twigs snapping caught your attention. Holding the shovel like a weapon, you stood over Daisy’s body, glaring into the bushes as a horse emerged, its rider staring at you with a confused expression. 

All this carnage, not one but several of Morgoth’s creatures laying dead and amidst it a mortal with a dead hound and another growling ferociously. 

Oromë didn’t know what to say, somewhat speechless as you looked him up and down, his own hounds emerging from the woodland.

“Well..” You dropped your defensive stance, making Jett look between you and the stranger. 

“Don’t just stand there and gawk. Make yourself useful.” You returned to digging the hole, an intrigued Oromë soon dismounting from his horse and muttering a phrase in a language you had never heard before, and suddenly the hounds were helping dig as Oromë came close with his own shovel. 

“You aren’t from here,” Oromë simply said, noting that the hound by your side looked nothing like the one of his world, but he recognized the essence of its spirit just like his own hounds. 

“That’s for damn sure,” You grunted, stretching your back as you looked at the hole. It was deep enough now. 

“Thank you for helping,” Your mother would kill you if you weren’t polite, even if you have no idea where you were or who this person was. 

Oromë didn’t respond, but simply watched as you approached your former companion, face etched into a frown as you gently scooped her body up from the valley ground as if she was still alive and would whimper in pain. 

You looked to the sky to avoid crying again, shaking your head as you brought her to the hole, hopping into it to gently lay her down in the earth. 

“Thank you,” You whispered to her, kissing her snout one last time before turning to face Oromë, holding out a hand for him to help you out. Oromë grasped your hand and pulled you out of the hole, before wordlessly helping you fill it back with dirt. 

“What will you do after this?” Oromë broke the silence as you two sat on the ground in front of the grave, a daisy flower resting neatly on top of the dirt as the hounds lay in a circle around it as if to mourn together. 

“I don’t know,” You said simply, “I’m not from here, I don’t know how I got here and now Daisy-” You took a deep breath and looked to the sky again.

Oromë nodded, understanding you without needing you to say exactly what you were thinking or feeling. Grief was all-encompassing. 

“Who are you?” You couldn’t help but ask, finally voicing your curiosity as Oromë’s hounds approached for pets. 

“I am Oromë, commonly known as the Huntsman of the Valar,” He explained, “I hunt those vile creatures and protect those who live in the forests.” Oromë frowned, “and I sincerely apologize, mortal, for I did not make it in time to prevent your own companion from falling to the fate that so many of Morgoth’s victims had succumbed to.”

Early morning was now long past, and late afternoon replaced it. The two of you had talked for hours, about your lives, about all the decisions that had brought you here. 

“Come with me, (Y/n),” Oromë said as he stood, “I will guide you to shelter, where you can be safe and live without fear.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be without that,” You chuckled to yourself, recalling all the therapy visits after you came out of the military, the nightmares, and the hypervigalence that accompanied the trauma.

“Well, from physical attacks you will be safe,” Oromë said, understanding what you were hinting at. 

“How’s that?” You questioned as the two of you walked from the forest, Jett walking by your side and Oromë’s hounds on his as Oromë held the reigns of his horse and walked it beside him also. 

“With this,” Oromë fished out a pendant from his satchel on his horse. A jade stone with a small hole on the top and a chain looped through it to wear as a necklace. It was engraved with symbols you didn’t recognize, the stone feeling strange in your hand as he gave it to you. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s a symbol, my symbol,” Oromë spoke as the two of you walked, and soon people came into view and their homes soon after. 

“You are under my protection now, my friend,” Oromë gave you a small smile. “And I hope the next time we meet, it is not under such dark circumstances.” Oromë’s eyes drifted to Jett, who patiently sat by your side, awaiting your guidance. 

“And I would like to give you a gift also, if I may?” He asked as he looked back to you. 

“You’re giving me a home, and protection,  and now you want to give me another gift? Oromë I think-”

“You deserve it, you fought valiantly against creatures that have killed thousands,” Oromë halted your argument, as he put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. 

It was silent for a moment, before the sounds of twigs snapping and bushes rustling caught your attention. Two hounds jumped over rocks and bushes alike as they bound toward the two of you. 

“I would like to gift you company, for both you and your surviving hound,” Oromë spoke, kneeling down to pet Jett as the two mystical hounds stared at you with kind eyes. 

You extended your hand, allowing them to sniff you. “Well, I can’t say no to this,” You fumbled with your words as the dogs became familiar with your person. 

“Good, I wasn’t going to let you.” Oromë grinned as he nodded towards the house up ahead. You turned to look, a small wooden cabin greeting your eyes. 

“May we meet again, (Y/n).” 

By the time you turned back, Oromë, the Huntsman of the Valar, was gone. 

 Forever Tag

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The Silmarillion - None Currently 

[edensrose]

╰₊ 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕◞ ₊˚:

. ˚◞♡ 𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕◞ ₊˚﹕ only writing for the valar & maiar. lots of oc content will be included. best written characters include manwë, námo, irmo and tilion. be sure to check out my ainur characterisations to understand how I interpret them.

. ˚◞♡ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 & 𝒂𝒖𝒔 ◞ ₊˚﹕

꒰ events﹕valentine kisses ꒷꒦ 2k vamp!ainur au ꒷꒦꒷ athelas drabbles ꒷꒦꒷ kinktober 2022 ꒱

꒰ aus﹕incubi!valar ꒷꒦ merc!ainur ꒷꒦꒷ vamp!ainur ꒱

. ˚◞♡ 𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒓 ◞ ₊˚﹕

˚◞❀˳ manwë◞ 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒊𝒎 ꒱ ₊˚⊹

˚◞❀˳ námo◞ 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝒘𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 ꒱ ₊˚⊹

˚◞❀˳ calamorë◞ 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 ꒱ ₊˚⊹

˚◞❀˳ irmo◞ 𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒖𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒆 ꒱ ₊˚⊹

˚◞❀˳ melkor◞ 𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 ꒱ ₊˚⊹

˚◞❀˳ oromë◞ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒈𝒖𝒏 ꒱ ₊˚⊹

. ˚◞♡ 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒂𝒓 ◞ ₊˚﹕

˚◞❀˳ eönwë◞ 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚 ꒱ ₊˚⊹

˚◞❀˳ tilion◞ 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 ꒱ ₊˚⊹

˚◞❀˳ ossë◞ 𝒊𝒇 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 ꒱ ₊˚⊹

˚◞❀˳ mairon◞ 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒇𝒖𝒏 ꒱ ₊˚⊹

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Snippet from future Medieval! Ainur fic

Eager to see me? Cannot wait for the ceremony to begin? You wrinkled your brow in confusion. Oromë barely spoke with you. He certainly didn’t call on you or court you. His letters had been brief, and few and far between.

Nessa looked on expectantly, awaiting your answer.

“I pray I will be a good wife to him” you say hesitantly.

Granted, this can still change, but I cannot wait to finish and upload this, hopefully by the 7th. 

[dirty-ainur-confessions]

Imagine, you are Oromë's apprentice. As a result of both your nature and his teachings you get so intuned with your instincts and bodily needs, that one day, presence of your admired mentor triggers a heat in you. It itches more and more, and no matter what you do, it doesn't stop, only get all more intense whenever Oromë's around, to the point it starts to hurt. And that's when Oromë finally senses it within you.

oromë hadn't the slightest idea of your heat for quite some time, especially because he had to separate from you when word got out that a dark creature had slipped itself into valinor. he had left you for a few days, and upon his return he found you curled up in your bed - hugging onto the coat he had left in your dwelling on accident. yet what really caught his attention was the way you rutted your hips against a pillow between your legs as you buried your face into the coat, inhaling his scent, wishing that he was there.

needless to say, the huntsman would soon understand what was going on. and if not that, then he certainly caught the vanilla scent and the way your slit leaked with slick - almost begging him to take you there and then. 

once you have acknowledged his presence and he calms down your small spout of embarrassment and panic, he almost goes feral when you practically throw yourself at him, hands clawing at his shirt, hips grinding against his as you beg him to sate the undying heat within you.

it is then that he can take no more - his lips are on you, his hands are too and before you know it he's shoving your face into the pillows and rutting against your hips like a wild animal. fingers tangled into your hair, growls and grunts against your ear as he takes what he has wanted from day one. 

"needy little thing, aren't you?" the vala pants against your ear, eyes travelling between your legs where you squirt around him once more. his thumb continues its onslaught on your clit, and he delights in the way that you crumble into the sheets and cry out his name into your pillow. "what's that?" he chuckles, grinding his hips against your ass and delighting in how your knees give out once more. 

"more? my little deer wants more? even after I've fucked her senseless?" the hand in your hair forces your head back and it retreats to your jaw to clutch the soft flesh. "look at you,'' he whispers, ghosting his lips over yours. "my need little slut.'' his hips begin pistoning again and he holds your jaw still, pressing his lips to yours and parting your mouth with his tongue. he's not finished with you until he's completely scented, marked and claimed you as his.

[cilil]

𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞!𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝒾𝓇𝓈

Characters: Manwë, Varda, Oromë, Námo and Irmo; reader's gender is unspecified - all up to your imagination~

Featuring: Dom/sub dynamics/undertones, predator/prey kink, soul sex

Warnings: Possessive themes, bit of rough foreplay and sex, smut/suggestive

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who voted on my recent polls. I'll be trying out a bit of a new format, combining headcanons with small scenes/imagines, with this one and hope you'll find it enjoyable. If there are other characters you'd like to see for this, feel free to suggest and keep an eye out for future polls!♡

Manwë

ଘ The Elder King is a romantic lover and enjoys courting you, though even during these early stages he finds ways to subtly claim you for himself: He showers you with gifts like jewellery with sapphires (his signature gemstone), robes in his colours, objects decorated with feathers or bird-shaped items and writes poetry for you which he recites and sings for you both in private and in public.

ଘ Once Manwë has successfully conquered your heart, he makes sure to publicly display his affection for you by making you sit on his lap, kissing you and wrapping his wings around you at every opportunity.

ଘ In the bedroom, little remains of Manwë's calm, serene demeanour. He loves marking your body with his talons, covering you in love bites and engaging in breath play to make you feel just how much you need his element - need him.

ଘ Manwë has a breeding kink that gets particularly strong when he's in heat or nearing it and loves filling you up to make sure that his essence remains inside you as long as possible and his scent stays on you, deterring any other suitors from approaching you.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

Your lips part to release a soft gasp when Manwë pulls you closer and presses open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck, biting and sucking gently to leave blossoming marks. His mighty talons draw patterns on the naked skin of your back, causing you to arch and lean into his embrace; he is careful not to hurt you, though you already know you will be covered in thin red lines once he's done with you. 

"My little dove," Manwë croons between kisses, his voice deceptively soft; he caresses you like a warm, gentle breeze, though you know a mighty storm is slumbering underneath his calm exterior, ready to be unleashed, should anyone else attempt to touch what is his.

"Yours," you whisper. Your hands claws at his robes as Manwë continues to mark you as his for all to see; the Elder King's mate and lover that no other would ever dare to lay claim to.

Varda

✧ The Queen of Stars is often absent from the daily affairs of Valinor in favour of tending to her creations in the depths of Eä, but she makes sure everyone knows exactly who you belong to even when she's not present.

✧ Varda loves giving you pretty necklaces, bracelets and other jewellery adorned with charms that are filled with her starlight, protecting you and burning anyone who attempts to touch you without her permission.

✧ When she makes love to you, she ensures that you will remember her touch and others see the marks she left on you as will - in case anyone was doubting that you are hers - by painting luminous constellations on your skin with her fingers, twinkling little stars reminiscent of notes in a song of her love for you.

✧ Varda also gives you water from her wells to drink, enjoying the thought of her essence filling you and providing you with light and refreshment. She will stop at nothing to make sure the powers of darkness and evil stay far away from you.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"Hold still, my little light," the Queen orders, pushing you down and into the soft sheets of her bed with gentle authority. 

You blink nervously when you see the tip of her index finger glowing with sacred, primordial light, ready to paint the canvas of your bare chest with tiny, glittering stars. 

"Will it hurt?" 

Varda smiles and leans down to kiss your brow. "Of course not. There is no evil in your heart, dearest; my light would never hurt you." 

Her starlit touch is hot, and for a moment you fear it'll sear your skin, but as soon as she begins caressing you, reminiscent of the gentle strokes of a paintbrush, the sensation changes to a comfortable heat. You raise your head to watch as she turns you into another one of her masterpieces, and your beloved Queen looks pleased whenever her nimble fingers elicit small noises from you, her luminous eyes holding your gaze while she slowly works her way lower and lower. 

Oromë

♘ Oromë is a hunter with all his heart, so once he has caught you, he certainly won't let anyone take away his favourite prey. He loves giving you trophies from his hunting trips to wear as accessories, a not-so-subtle message to all that you now belong to him.

♘ But that won't satisfy him for too long. The huntsman of the Valar is a wild and passionate lover and covers you in bite and scratch marks every time he takes you, making sure they are visible too.

♘ Oromë loves all sorts of cuddling and physical affection and actively initiates it whenever an opportunity presents itself. While this is certainly done for his and your enjoyment, he also wants others to see that you are his and his alone and ensure that his scent will be all over you even when he isn't around, in order to ward off unwanted attention from other suitors. For the same reason, he also breeds you thoroughly.

♘ If you are a good little pet for him, Oromë will reward you with a lovely collar he made specifically for you, letting everyone know that he has claimed you and intends to keep you.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

Oromë's large hands hold on to your hips with a strong, bruising grip that has you whining into the moss below. You already know not to expect mercy whenever you play his favourite game of hunting and catching his prey, a symbolic earning of his right to claim you. 

"What a lovely little deer," Oromë purrs and leans forward to bite the juncture between your neck and shoulder while he enters you with the fierce determination of a feral beast. 

Your cries and moans only spur him on to thrust deeper and harder, his hands keeping you in place with the strength and steadiness of an experienced hunter. As far as you know, you two are alone in this part of his woods, yet something tells you that he wouldn't mind if one of the other hunting parties found you – to see him taking you, marking you, filling you with his seed to ensure that his scent you be on you for days to come. 

Námo

☯ The mark of a Fëantur may be subtle, though no less intense than those visible on your skin. Once Námo has taken you as his lover, he binds your fëa to his, leaving an echo of his song and a ghost of his touch with you wherever you go. Those proficient in ósanwe and/or attuned to spiritual matters feel the Doomsman's presence wherever you go, no more than one call through your bond away.

☯ Nevertheless, Námo knows that not all Incarnates are able to sense and heed his silent warning, so he also presents you with clothes and jewellery to adorn your body. He likes long, flowing robes in dark colours, veils and little charms shaped like crows and ravens, similar to his own attire, and greatly enjoys seeing you wearing those, an unmistakable sign of belonging to him.

☯ When he isn't present and you are outside of his halls, Námo may occasionally guide your fate in whichever way he sees fit to make sure you return safely. Those who attempt to harm you will face the Doomsman's wrath.

☯ Yet as much as he wishes to protect you, Námo wants nothing more than to own and mark you in the most intimate way possible - which is your fëa. Should you ever be slain, or once his need and longing overwhelm him, he will whisk you away to Mandos, keep you there until the end of the world and fill your spirit with his song and essence time and time again until you know no other than him.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

Cool lips kiss the nape of your neck when Námo takes you, slowly and deliberately, enjoying the way your smaller form trembles in his arms. He's sitting on his throne with you on his lap, your robes covering the illicit image of the Master of Fate penetrating you, yet the small moans falling from your lips and the movement of his hips betray the truth. 

"Let me have you," Námo whispers, and you know he wants more than to claim just your body, so you open your mind to him as well. 

The sensation of his fëa reaching out to touch and intertwine with yours is just as intense as the joining of your bodily forms. Your helpless noises increase in volume despite your best efforts to hold back, yet Námo doesn't seem to mind – in fact, you begin to suspect that he wants the residents of Mandos to look up at his throne and watch, so they will know who you belong to for all ages to come. 

Irmo

☾ No one has escaped the loving arms of the Lord of Dreams without remnants of glittering dream dust on their clothes and skin, and you are certainly no exception, quite the contrary: As Irmo's favourite little butterfly, he makes sure to touch, embrace and cuddle you to his heart's content, and ever since your courtship started, you feel like the dream dust has never left you again. He feigns innocence, yet you suspect that this is very much his intention, so everyone can see his touch upon you even when he isn't around.

☾ Irmo crafts a special dream catcher for you and makes sure you wear it at all times, an unmistakable sign of his love for you. It contains a small part of himself and his power, and he taps into it to ward off nightmares.

☾ He also likes entering your dreams, spending time with you there and, most importantly, ensuring that no other suitors may ever find their way there, because you belong to him and him alone. When you sleep in his gardens, you often wake up feeling his lips and hands kissing and caressing your body, leaving trails of dream dust and, at times, colourful patterns on your skin.

☾ As much as he enjoys claiming your body, he desires nothing more than to possess you in spirit as well, so that the union of your fëar leaves a permanent mark on your very being, filling you with his song and his essence.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"Here? In the middle of your garden?" 

Irmo merely laughs in response and rolls you over on your back to climb on top of you, his iridescent butterfly wings fluttering excitedly. 

"Why not, my darling petal? Is our love not the fairest and most beautiful thing my garden has ever seen?" 

Glittering dream dust falls from his wings and hair as he leans forward to kiss you, and you soon find yourself feeling both soothed and excited by his presence and the comfortable weight of his fána on top of you. 

Sensing your emotions, Irmo's gentle hand sneaks between your legs and finds you willing and eager for him, ready to be taken. He breaks the kiss to gaze at your face, delighting in your blushing cheeks, half-lidded eyes and parted, wet lips, panting softly as you look up at him. 

"I will make love to you until you fall asleep in my arms," Irmo whispers, "and when you do, I will continue to make love to you in your dreams." 

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[doodle-pops]

Let Me Put You In Your Place

[Elves and Ainur Brat Taming x reader]

A/N: I contemplated on whether to post this now or later, but to post it I must.

Warnings: smut, spanking, manhandling, mature themes

Ultimate brat tamers – they live to tame you, they love when you act up leaving you to run your mouth and carry on with your outrageous attitude, leading you to believe that you have the upper hand, that you can have your way and get away with it. How wrong were you? Your bratty behaviour was their number one kink. What triggered them into overdrive was the look you gave when you disregarded their warning stare. Waiting till it’s just you two in private, they walk right up to you and easily bring their hands around your neck, backing you against a nearby walk and bracing their other arm beside your head. Maintaining eye contact, they’d bring their face close to yours leaving only an inch of spacing between your lips before speaking. “Whatever gave you the impression that you could act like that…towards me, huh?” they’d apply a little more pressure around your neck causing you to resist the urge to roll your eyes into your head. “What do you have to say for yourself? Nothing, not so much of a talker now, huh? Why don’t you throw another one of your tantrums for me, right here and now? Don’t be shy, you clearly weren’t minutes ago.” it was a trick question because no matter how you answered, your punishment was booked. They would have a ball of a time punishing you – they want to see, make, and hear you beg for them. There were times when their patience ran thin and all they’d do was drag you off to a secluded area before bending your over to fuck the attitude out of you whilst making you cry and beg. You would learn your lesson, or maybe they expect you to repeat the same mistake so they could ravish you again. It’s their kink after all. “Oh no sweetheart I’m not stopping, you wanted this because you knew it would lead to this like every other time, so take it.”

FEANOR, Maedhros, CELEGORM, CARANTHIR, CURUFIN, Amras, FINGOLFIN, Argon, Angrod, ECTHELION, Maeglin, BELEG, Elladan, OROMË, TULKAS, Tilion

Sneaky brat tamers – OH, THEY ARE THE WORSE OF THEM ALL. They enjoy taming you, it’s a favourite activity in the bedroom that brings a bit of spice to your life. However, it’s not their ultimate kink like others, they don’t mind when you act up because they know that you know that they know your motives. Since that’s the case, they aren’t really in a hurry to tame you because they have their own trick up their sleeves. They’d sit and watch you throw your attitude from time to time, leaving you to carry on thinking that they’re not bothering you, truth is, they were making a silent list of everything you did over a period of time before they strike. Waiting for you to get comfortable and relaxed, falling back into your regular attitude, that’s when they’d strike. You’d walk into the trap without realizing it one bit, only when they asked you to try something new tonight that’s when you realized what they planned. “What’s wrong love? I thought that this was what you wanted from the beginning when you had thrown all those tantrums? You thought I didn’t notice? Oh, but I did, I mean look at the state you’re in…it’s all because I paid attention.” their hands would be gripping your cheeks as they spoke to you so sweetly while watching your fumble around for your words. “Shhh, you don’t have anything to say besides moaning my name tonight and apologizing...the moaning will come later though,” Flipping you over onto your stomach, they would pull your ass in the air, rubbing it lightly, “Here's what's going to happen...I'm going to fuck you into this bed and you're not going to cum unless I feel sorry for you, but firstly, you’re going to count and if you miss, we restart. So, let’s see how many times you’ve acted up? It's alright though, you can mess up if you'd like, we have all night.”

MAEDHROS, MAGLOR, Curufin, Amrod, FINGON, FINROD, GLORFINDEL, Ecthelion, EGALMOTH, ELROND, Elrohir, IRMO, MANWË, NÁMO

One-Time brat tamer – they’re a bit similar to the sneaky ones but the difference is that they really tend to overlook your attitude and tantrums and only strike when it’s overbearing. It’s not a build-up of all the tantrums you threw before, it’s just for that one you were performing earlier on thinking that you could get away with it. They wouldn’t even notice the other times, it was just this performance tonight that triggered them. The thing is though, you’d never know which performance of yours would be the right one to rile them up until you’re bent over or pressed down into the mattress having the life and the attitude being fucked out of you. Walking right up to you, they’d calmly speak informing you to step aside with them, not once would you pick up a hint of anything. It’s only when the door is closed and your back is slammed against the wood and you see the glint of arousal but displeasure in their eyes, you’d understand. They’d take their time to deal with you since you believed you had all the time in the world to act up. “The entire night you carried on and on ignoring the stares I’d cast at you, warning you to behave…too many chances were given and now all’s gone. What do you have to say for yourself? You’re sorry? I don’t believe so.” They wouldn’t be aggressive with their movements, but harsh to deliver their message, yes, they would. However, they do expect you to learn your lesson and let it be a one-timer. “Don’t ever let this happen again, understood? I don’t need to repeat myself, do I? Good, because if I were you, I wouldn’t want to keep this up love, you’d come to regret it,” with a small smirk on their faces which speaks that they enjoy the thrill of taming you.

Caranthir, CELEBRIMBOR, Turgon, FINARFIN, Aegnor, Galdor, ERESTOR, ËONWE

Masterlist

Taglist: @edensrose @cilil @spidergirla5 @eunoiaastralwings @aconstructofamind @mysticmoomin @lilmelily @noldorinpainter

[ainur-interactions]

Orome my love we must definitely fuck in the woods the next time we go hunting ;)

the hunter chuckles briefly before moving the arrow that he had been sharpening away and patting his lap with his other hand. “why not indulge me a bit before then?”

[lamemaster]

Glimpse of You

Request: Can i request a Maedhros x female teleri reader fic? They were madly in love with each other but fate had other plans for them. They would have been married within a few years, but Maedhros took the oath, which lead him to be on the opposite side. The Noldor's left valinor. Thousands of years later, reader, has an fateful encounter with Maedhros, who had just returned from the Halls of Mandos. Will fate give them another chance? The ending is up to you. I love the way you describe things. 💕

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Maedhros x Vanya Reader

Summary :It is just an infatuation you tried to remind yourself of, but all those thoughts seem to fly away the second you tried to muster them. It was a mistake. Hope in such situations was a cruel fate.

AN: Thanks for requesting. Soooo I already have a Maedhros x Teleri reader fic. Which is why I went with a Vanya reader. Hopefully that works.

“Maitimo,” a frail figure shuffled through the woods. Deep dark woods where once Ungoliant hid from light. Woods that were forgotten by the people of Aman. No one wandered in the unhabitable cursed forest. Even the beasts of Yavanna and Oromë had abandoned them. Whatever was left behind was twisted by the corruption of some unknown force.

In those woods walked one elleth. Aimless, without another companion, she walked as if searching for something. Something obscured by the darkness. Her own light dimmed with the passing of time. Every day the dark of the forest clung closer to her. Yet, she continued her journey.

By now her eyes, which had once shined with the divine light of the two trees, dulled. They seemed to be glazed as if lost in a dream-like state. Long golden tresses that had once shined with the glow of Laurelin were now matted with dirt and debris.

Weeks of restless walking had worn her feet now bled with countless untreated wounds and blisters. Whatever shoes she had been wearing were lost long ago but nothing seemed to break the trance that lay upon the elleth.

In quiet whispers, tearful pleas, or panicked screams, she called for someone. One name came to her lips. She uttered it like an unanswered prayer. Tears had dried a while ago. Elleth who had once held the fire of Illuvatar in her now nothing more than a wraith.

Stumbling on the wayward roots, she fell multiple times but no matter how hard the fall, she stood back up. Even as her breath became too heavy for her body and the trees closed around her, she pulled herself up.

“Illuvatar! y/n, he is coming this way.” A group of Vanya elleth huddled together. Together they whispered excitedly. One of the elleth in the group, you tried to swat your friend as you tried to hide away from the unwanted attention that your friend had bestowed upon you.

There seemed to be a hum of excitement in the palace of King Ingwe. The reason for this upheaval was the Noldorian princes who now made their way toward the court to pay their respects to the King of Vanyar.

It was an astounding event because these two princes were not sons of Prince Nolofinwe or Prince Arafinwe. They were sons of Crown prince Feanor. Prince Nelyafinwe and Prince Makalaure.

Rumors around the city said that their reason for the sudden visit was related to the second youngest son of Crown Prince Feanor. It was not unknown that Prince Makalaure held a deep love for music and songs. His craft was famous all over Valinor. So, many had assumed that the reason for the princes’ visit must have something to do with music. After all, Vanyar were known for their songs and poetry.

"By Varda, he is indeed well-formed," your friend exclaimed as she gazed at the Noldorian prince. The palace of King Ingwe was abuzz with excitement as the Noldorian princes, Prince Nelyafinwe and Prince Makalaure, made their way toward the court to pay their respects to the King of Vanyar.

This was an exceptional event because these two princes were not sons of Prince Nolofinwe or Prince Arafinwe; they were the sons of Crown Prince Feanor. Rumors circulating in the city suggested that their sudden visit might be related to the second youngest son of Crown Prince Feanor. Prince Makalaure was renowned for his deep love for music and songs, which were famous all over Valinor. Many assumed that the reason for the princes' visit had something to do with music, considering the Vanyar's reputation for their songs and poetry.

Your friend, however, appeared to care little about the reason for the visit. She had come to the court that day with one purpose in mind—to catch a glimpse of the most handsome son of Feanor.

Prince Nelyafinwe was admired by many. His honey-sweet words and unparalleled looks left many elleth stuttering and blushing uncontrollably. In fact, your group of elleth friends had spent hours meticulously preparing for this day. They had braided their hair with great care, and some had even purchased new dresses specifically for the Noldorian prince's visit. Many among them dreamed of a forbidden romance that would set both the courts of Taniquetil and Tirion on fire.

Amidst the crowd that had gathered for the prince's arrival were you and your chatty friend, who seemed incapable of staying quiet. A part of your mind couldn't help but wonder if her incessant talking might indeed draw the prince's attention, though perhaps not for the right reasons.

While you had put in a considerable effort to look your best that day, you didn't harbor much faith in the romantic fantasies swirling around you. You had seen the prince before, and despite his tall stature, soft-spoken nature, and enchanting green eyes, you had kept your feelings hidden.

Your father was not a renowned craftsman like Mahtan, nor was he an influential courtier. He was a tutor, dedicated to teaching elflings to read and write. Your mother had been a librarian, spending her days among scrolls. Growing up as an only child, your life had been uneventful but peaceful.

As you tried to silence your friend's chatter with your hand, you noticed disapproving glances directed your way. You attempted to avoid awkward eye contact with the onlookers when you suddenly locked eyes with the Noldorian prince. Panic surged within you as you realized he was staring directly at you. Your friend had calmed down somewhat, but you were frozen in place, feeling as if your entire being had ignited.

You attempted to remind yourself that it was merely an infatuation, but all rational thoughts fled the moment you tried to grasp them. They vanished completely the instant the eldest Feanorian prince bestowed upon you the gentlest of smiles. He looked at you in a way that no one ever had before. With one smile, Prince Nelyafinwe shattered every last bit of your self-restraint.

"Y/n! He looked your way!" Your friend's excited voice pulled you out of your stupor, and you tore your gaze away from Prince Nelyafinwe. Without a second thought, you seized your protesting friend and hurriedly retreated from the bustling crowd. You blocked out whatever your friend was saying, realizing that hope in such situations could be a cruel fate.

Looking at your retreating back, Nelyafinwe felt weird. He had intended to spot the elleth who was so openly impressed by his well-formedness, but when his eyes found the loud elleth, he could not ignore you next to her. You, who were unsuccessfully trying to quiet down your friend. The endearing pink that dusted your cheeks made his heart skip a beat. A smile had made its way onto his face. He knew his smiles well and had mastered them as a politician, but this smile was unlike any other. Then, just as you made eye contact, his heart felt full.

In that quick second, he saw your eyes widen. The pink of your cheeks darkened as you both gazed at each other. Y/n, your name, he heard as her friend shook you with the force of Tulkas. Flinching, you rushed away without a look back, leaving Nelyafinwe a little disappointed.

His smile remained yet; the emotion that had lingered in his eyes moments ago was now gone. Just like you, the name he had heard.

Hidden in a tucked-away tree in the royal garden, a nightingale sang a song. A song that had started to weave itself with a momentary glance.

And so, it came to pass.

Love came to your doorstep and barged in without so much as a knock. Like an uninvited guest, it made itself comfortable. With every passing moment, it blended itself into you. Becoming a part of you. Taking over your life, your senses, and your entire being. It took everything until all that was left was a wandering wraith.

Ages had passed. Sins had been repaid. But one still burned in penance. One ellon who after eons repenting in the hall of Mandos, now knelt in front of the dark woods. With every rise of the Sun, he made his way to the same forest and waited. He waited yet; nothing came. None answered his calls. Engulfing darkness remained, unwashed by tears shed.

“Y/n,” he called out.

“Y/n…”