Nolofin, do you remember that very memorable lazy morning we had a few weeks ago? I was being a bit of a brat, and…*blushes*…you disciplined me. It was wonderful, but…I don’t know how to tell you this…I’m pregnant, and it must be from that time, because you were away to see your brother before, and to survey the lands after. I feel so bad for this baby! What a way to be conceived! *laughing and crying and pouting at the same time*
“Oh?!” His eyes were saucers the longer he stared at you, slowly absorbing your words and the moment they registered, he flew out of his chair to embrace you. Laughing into your hair and planting kisses to the crown, he beamed, “What a joyous day today has turned out to be! You've blessed me with the best news I've received in a while. Oh, thank you for adding joy to my life!”
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To you who is lost
Chapter 1: Duty is the death of love
Chapter synopsis: Your husband leaves for despair and death. Left behinde, you are left at the mercy of others.
Warnings: Angst, abandonment, crying, pregnancy
Note: Usually I save notes for the end but this time I will also put some at the beginning. I am using their Quenya names (ex. Maedhros is called Maitimo).
Emmeril, Airin and llë are my OC's
You would lament thereafter for the lack of foresight. The wise in Arda would mourn their kindred, who had stepped out of bliss and into woe. Nerdanel, Amarië, Anairë, these great women of the Blessed Realm were linked in sorrow to those left behind. You joined this tragic assembly, united in regret. Days would waste away as you asked " What was there to be done?". Anguishing over every time you could have forestalled these harrowing events.
It had been a storm, slowly strengthening until its power was too great to prevail. Deceived, one and all had been taken in. Melkor's repentance had seemed so genuine. Save Tulkas and Curufinwe none had heeded any notion of trickery. Now the dark Vala's laughter rang in Angamando, echoing off the stone walls. In your own halls, you sighed. Brought so low you were a specter of the beautiful young elf maiden whose laughter had lit up Tirion. These days were dark with the Alduya felled.
"Will you come to bed?" Amarië, whose suffering was as great as yours, came forward. Together they cast their gazes to the darkness beyond. All of Arda had been plunged into an impenetrable shadow. Amarië's light was much dimmed, her golden hair hanging forlornly. She had always been pale and thin but her boundless joy had given her strength which many envied. They need envy no longer. Findaráto had sworn to return and Amarië held him to it. She was bound to him, although not formally, and believed he would return. For a time Amarië would remain before departing. She would dwell in her home and wait for Findaráto.
You had been gifted no such reassurance. Cast off, Maitimo had spurned every vow he made. Bitter words were exchanged, things that could not be unsaid. Unlike Amarië's stalwart serenity, you had wept. Your marriage had been waning for some time now. When Curufinwe stormed into exile you followed to Formenos. In Formenos you would lose your husband.
The laws of the Eldar commanded that husband and wife be one in all things. Never had you any cause to doubt these customs. Naturally, a husband and wife must cleave together. Growing up in a big, tightly-knit family, a certain worldview had been formed. There was never any doubt that if you married your husband would always protect you. And how could you not? Your father had always been so devoted to your mother, his desire to make her happy endless.
Your worldview had been, to a degree, changed when you married Maitimo. The house of Finwe had been in turmoil for quite some time. Since Finwe cemented his union Indis despite the protests of his son Feanaro, his progeny had torn at one another. Though to Nolofinwe's credit, the war was pitifully one-sided. Even those who had never encountered either prince heard of the brotherly animosity. A pungent cloud of this great house, many feared for the day a storm would break. Coming from a close family this was something of an anomaly. Your father had quarreled with his brothers, but nothing could sunder their bond. Your mother had her gripes with her sisters, but their love always brought them together again. Being the eldest of your family you had the unenviable job of keeping rambunctious youngers siblings in line. However no matter what troubles came your, love and affection remained. Perhaps this made the end inevitable.
You begged him not to leave that day. The death of High King Finwë plunged all of Arda into grief. Sickening amounts of blood were saturated into the ground. From there after that very spot was stained by Melkor's vile deed. The smell sent your head reeling and burning bile to bubble. You had never seen a dead body before and abhorred the slaughter of animals. They might think you weak for it, but you knew this sight would curdle the blood of even the most austere of elves. Wails of despair took the place of joy. The light had faded and everything became dark. If only it had stopped there, oh by Eru how you wished this was the worst.
It all started on a day filled with joy. Manwë had summoned the Houses Fingolfin and Curufinwë, ordering peace between the two families. Brother took brother in hand and promised peace and friendship. Though how sincere Curufinwë was remained unknown. Many times you had witnessed Curufinwë rage over his younger brother. He howled over the "spawn of Indis" and cursed him. Such festering resentment could not be swept aside by simple sweet words. "I know we should be glad. But I can not help feeling dread." Maitimo simply took your hand in his. "I assure you that nothing bad will happen." His smile reassured you. Oh how wrong he was. When the darkness fell confusion and fear reigned. Finwë was dead, the Silmarills stolen and half of the Edain of Valinor gone. The only respite was Arafinwë returning to take leadership.
All the lights went out. Melkor had drained the trees of all their light, and from there he fled. But there was no running from the darkness. Warmth and light were replaced by darkness and dread. Wails of the bereft took the place of laughter. You who had once been so full of joy had only despair for company. Things had been far from perfect even before the oath. When Curufinwë had been exiled your husband went with him. Of course, you understood his duty as the eldest son. But it didn't make the move from Tirion to Formenos. That day you had to leave behind all those you loved. Try as you might to sway Maitimo to stay, it worked to no avail. In those days you would have done anything for him, and so where he went you followed. You tried not to complain. Even when Curufinwë's temper became unbearable, or your friends stopped sending letters. You could not blame them, living in the court of temporary King Nolofinwë and keeping in touch with you was risky. At least your family was supportive. Your younger sisters and brothers But even in those cold days you still would never have thought Maitimo would leave you. The years had been trying, but he still cared for you in those days. Years later in the dead of night, as you lay awake, you wondered if every "I love you" had been a lie.
"Please, if you have ever loved me you would stay." He did not meet your eyes. He just looked back to the army assembling in the courtyard below. "Have I not followed you all these years? What could I have done for you to cast me aside!" You seized his arm. Gently he pried you off him. "Y/n, you must understand that I have to go. Of course you may follow me-" "I have done nothing but follow you! Maitimo this is suicide!" It was at this point your father in law chose to appear, ascending the steps in a storm of fury. "If you do not choose to follow your husband, as you are sworn to do, then you are no wife!" Temperamental, yes, but now there was the flame of madness dancing in his eyes. Curufinwë had taken leave of his senses. "My vows said that I would follow him as my conscious dictates! As your wife has stayed in Valinor so shall I." The comment was poorly timed. Anger beat so furiously in your chest that you thought not of the consequences. With a roar of unbridled fury, Curufinwë drew his sword. Horrified, both you and Maitimo stepped back. The tip was right at your neck, an inch further would slice the flesh. "Depart, faithless wretch! And do not let me find you lurking in these hall again lest I strike you dead!" Maitimo drew you away and behind him. "You will cease your insults of my wife." You stared up at him in awe. Here he was standing up to his father, possibly the greatest of the Noldor. You had thought at that moment Maitimo had seen sense. He led you off to a room, away from his father and the chaos below.
"Maitimo!" You flung your arms around his shoulders. An elated kiss was placed on his forehead. But his eyes were sad with what you later realized was guilt. Gently he pried you off of him. He was gentle but his actions indicated he wanted to put distance between you and himself. "Do-?" You were unable to finish. Maitimo closed his eyes and whispered something so quietly under his breath you almost missed it. Almost. "Please." "Maitimo?" Your temporary relief was dashed as quickly as it came. "Y/n, I must follow my father." One could hear a pin drop. Your world had been torn apart, fractured almost beyond repair. "My Lord-Maitimo! You must not!" Your body was shaking, horror gripping you like a vice. Your legs seemed unable to hold themselves, such was the agony you felt at that moment. Falling to your knees, you started to beg.
"Husband, if you have any love for me then-" Suddenly Maitimo's could not even meet your eye. "You will not sway me Y/n." His voice was hard, cold, a tone he had recently adopted and that reared its head more and more frequently. You could not believe what you were hearing. Your husband seemed to disregard the bond between man and wife, that they must always stay side by side. And here he was abandoning you at your hour of need. You were scared. Finwë was dead and the rest were in self imposed-exile. The journey ahead scared you. To leave the safe haven of Valinor was suicide. You could understand avenging the King, you had great love and respect for him. And as King he must be avenged. But this was beyond simple revenge. This very act would tear apart the house of Finwë, and all of Valinor. Your family. Curufinwë's heart had turned dark and following him to this end. And there was another, more overriding reason. A shaking hand went to your stomach.
It could be a lie to say that everything had been perfect before the darkening. Hard to admit, but your presence in the family was not welcomed by everyone. Curufinwë and his son who shared the same name looked upon you with disdain. You were to head-in-the-clouds for them to ever like. You tried, only to end in ridicule and failure. The escalation was partly your fault, afraid of causing trouble Maitimo was never told. Looking back, telling Maitimo might have been wiser. Alas, you did not. This was not to say the rest were unkind. Never had there been a great closeness between Tyelkormo, Carinstir and yourself, there was also never ill blood either. Though you were better acquainted with the latter's wife, Ilë. Macalaurë had always been kind but rather unapproachable, him being so proud. You supposed that was what Emmeril liked about him. The twins you were the closest to, out of the lot, Telvo and Pityo. His cousins hailing from the house of Nolofinwë you held a greater preference for. Save Turokáno who thought you rather silly.
There lay a great enmity between the houses Curufinwë and Nolofinwë. Or rather, Curufinwë held a deep mistrust and dislike of his younger brother. The ill sentiment had spread like a poison to all his kin, even the children. During the exile in Formenos you were forced to meet Findecáno and his younger sister, at times with Arakáno. Those years had been hard, especially for those such as Turkafinwë and Maitimo who forged deep bonds with their kin. Curufinwë the younger missed Írissë, despite his attempts to hide it. Those years in Formenos had been horribly lonely, bereft of company. With a family far away and friends forced to stay in Tirion company was limited. Only two friends had accompanied you. But denied company they soon started to despair. Despite what it cost you have them leave. Many tears had been shed that day. The resentment between the various members of Curufinwë started to devour the residents. Anger brewed, bitterness ensued.
"And Indis's brood wander those halls, our halls! What right... what claim does the House of Indis have to my father's throne! The throne of my forefathers!" Around Curufinwë's table everyone sat, save Ilë who pleaded exhaustion. The rest of you were not spared Curufinwë's rage. Sitting next to Maitimo your hands shook, his hand on your knee. The twins sat closest to their father, though Telufinwë not leaning in as close. Turkafinwë's seemed unusually thoughtful, for such a brash elf. Curufinwë the younger's face was obscured from shadow, his silent wife beside him. Morifinwë was leaning in towards Curufinwë with a red flush crawling up his face. Kanafinwë and Emmeril sat on the sidelines, observers of Curufinwë's rant. You would give anything to leave this table.
"What of our Uncle Arafinwë?" Maitimo was far too fond of his half-uncles for Curufinwë's liking. You could see his thin pale lips tighten. His dark blue eyes, bloodshot, narrowed in on Maitimo. "He is his mother's son." Curufinwë's stance was clear. Your thoughts went to Amarië who you had not seen in years. Last you heard Findaráto had pledged to marry her. Wondering if Curufinwë would allow you to attend their wedding, you looked outside. Formenos was cut off from the rest of Valinor. Held up in these mountains it was hard to see anything else. It only served to make you feel more nervous.
"Though, I do wonder if not everyone is paying attention." Curufinwë's tone made it seem he was scolding a child. Except it was you. "My apologies." Quickly covering your mistake, you sat there rigidly. "My wife meant no offense." Maitimo was swift to defend. Curufinwë looked ready to say more but chose to abstain. All you could do was stare at your lap, numb with anxiety.
Maitimo had changed. The bleakness and chill of Formenos had worn on everyone. Exhaustion had settled over the residents like a heavyweight. Loneliness became a constant companion, stalking you like a specter. In the beginning, it was not so bad. You spent time making this place a home. A small garden was built in the courtyard with help from Maitimo. Carefully you tended to the delicate petals, their white petals reflecting light. He would wind them in your hair, cascading down in a waterfall of flowers. They spent much of their time holed up inside their room. It became a safe haven, a world that separated themselves from all the torments outside. Light blue curtains adorned the windows, you had elected for a more simple style. Windows were left open a crack letting fresh air in. At times like these you could forget about everything.
The years passed and the bond between husband and wife started to crumble. A great toll was upheaving this family. Twelve years was but the link of an eyes to elves. For this family however, it dragged on. Every moment served to increase Curufinwë's rage and desire to avenge himself burned within. Like a disease it spread, its symptoms laying low the spirits of his heirs. Maitimo became sullen and the fire within seemed to flicker. The letters hailing from Tirion, where his beloved cousin Findecáno resided, remained unopened for days. When Maitimo finally did dare to gaze upon the contents they were for him only. Afterwards Maitimo would grow sullen once more and would disappear. Behind his back, although it brought guilt, you read its contents. It was the words of a cousin who missed his friend. He talked of times past and expressed joy in those to come. "I hope for further joy, so that all ill will become forgotten." He had written. Letters arrived from your sister as well. Airin was the closest in age to you, being only a few years your junior. Residing in the court of Anairë, Airin would provide information. King Nolofinwë ruled wisely and was much loved. Such tidings brought you no joy. Eru knew what Curufinwë might say. She was not the only one to bring information, Findecáno wrote to you as well, with affection that did little to curb a growing fear. He wished you well, that the days bring peace, but those words soothed not. There lingered an underlying anxiety to his words. Try as he might to cover it up.
"My dear daughter, we are well. But it would truly warm our hearts to know you too are well. Do not forget that all of us (yes, all of us) miss you dreadfully" Those letters remained in a safe wooden box. Sometimes you would read them when lonely. Even your brothers, who were a great many years younger, had written. Sadly, letters were no substitute for true company. Ilë, wife of Carnistir, was a good friend. But as time dragged on Ilë retreated and clung to her husband. Less and less she patrolled the halls, staying with her husband in solitude. Making friends with the other elf maidens, there was still a poignant loneliness. All they did was remind you of those left behind.
"It is merely your father's words, my love. Your uncle would never harm any of us." Your husband's anguish hurt you in turn. As a wife it was agonizing to know his pain and yet have no balm to heal the wound. Another one of Findecáno's letters lay forlornly on the bedside. Instead of bringing joy they served to torment. Maitimo was slumped against his chair by the windows. His bright blue eyes were focused on the mountains beyond. You stood beside him, fingers running through his red hair. For a while you said nothing. Gently you stroked his cheek which was unusually sallow. Leaning forward you kissed the cheek. Slightly, he leaned into your affection. "I know you will do what is right." Had those words strengthened him, or heaped on yet greater pressure onto Maitimo.
Everything changed when that great host left Valinor. You were left alone and exposed with no one to protect you. Everyone was either gone or wanted nothing to do with you. Maitimo had ordered those of his followers who stayed behind to protect you. But would they be able to? And could you, in good conscience, place those who were under your care into great danger? Thank Eru Arafinwë took pity on your condition. You had been barricaded in Formenos for fear when the youngest son of Finwë and his host came upon the fortress. To your surprise, he brought along Indis and Nerdanel. Despite your disgrace, they brought you with them to Tirion.
You sat on a bench with an outlook to the garden below. Despite its glamorous beauty, it brought you no joy. There was no light for the Two Trees had been utterly drained. It felt like divine providence, the trees set and your love as gone. Now it was dark as the hole in your heart. "Y/n, dear, you should no linger in the cold for so long. "Nerdanel stepped out onto the outlook. " Is it dinner already?" You drew your cloak tighter around yourself. Instinctively your hands cradled your ever expanding belly. "Yes. And Indis has prepared your favourite." At one times these temptations would have been rather tempting. But no food could fill you. Not now. "If not yourself then at least for him." "You are so certain?" Coming from Nerdanel the Wise the idea she might already know was not preposterous. Relenting, you got up. The baby was all you had left.
"And are we to forget that this woman chose to go into exile, against all common sense and decency." It was as you expected. Even with the new Lord of the Noldor beside you. It was Arafinwë's first council as leader (would that make him King now?) in the great halls. You remembered that last time you had been here. How Curufinwë unsheathed his sword and pointed it at his own brother. You recalled the horror and revulsion on the audience's face, and now all their eyes were on you. Every important lord and lady of Valinor were judging you. It hurt to know that some of them had once been your friends. Perhaps everything had been a lie. Your husband despised you and the rest of Valinor bore mistrusted.
"You forget, My Lord, that as a Princess and member of her lord husband's household, she was bound to follow him to whatever ends. It was only when it all became too much did Y/n depart from her husband. Her moral convictions won out, and despite their fëas being one she forsook him." Arafinwe's voice held a steely edge you had not yet heard before. The youngest son of Finwë was often misconceived as being shy, timid even. This was a misconception, he was simply quiet. Never should one misconstrue kindness for complacency. But one should never be complacent with the belief that silence means stupidity. Arafinwë stood up, white robes billowing behind him. You felt Nerdanel place a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Have we fallen so far that we would attack a lonely woman? If we are to proceed with revenge in this matter, are we truly worthy to live amongst the Vala and Maia?' Some had the grace to look ashamed. Despite this, there were still some who had misgivings.
"My Lord, if I may speak." Lady Nimlothel served the house of Nolofinwë, more specifically it was his Lady wife she owed her allegiance to. With an elegant stride, she took the floor. "You may." Arafinwë answered, although his eyes looked wary. "The Lady Y/n is not responsible for her husband's ill deeds. Although I would like to add that Lady Nerdanel never fled into exile, a most wise decision. I suggest that the Lady Y/n retire, at least for a time. It would be unwise to allow such a remnant of Curufinwë's treachery to remain here." You felt so cold, so alone. They might not lock you up, but exile was little better. You would hide away, a forgotten remnant in a far off castle. An embarrassing chapter of Arda's history. Arafinwë sat down, troubled. "This council is dismissed. We shall convey at morning tomorrow."
"We may reside by my parent's hearth. They extend this offer to you too." Emmeril had bolted the chest shut. Sitting on a bed you watched Makalaurë's wife hastening departure. She along with Airin, wife of Curufinwë the Younger (your husband's brother) remained in Valinor. Ilë alone had departed, swearing to follow her husband Morifinwë, to whatever end. You prayed to Eru she would be well. Airin had long since departed. Saddened over the loss of husband and son she departed, destination unknown.
"My Lady, is that all?" One of Emmeril's handmaidens entered. "Take these out to the yard, then we depart." Once the handmaiden departed Emmeril turned to you. "What do you hope to accomplish by staying?" The bond between Emmeril and yourself had never been great. It was not personal dislike so much as never truly understanding one another. Emmeril was stern and hard, chafing against your soft and easy nature. But she had never been cruel or given you reason for mistrust. Emmeril's reasoning was wise in this matter. Leaving Tirion could allow you to start anew. You might have done so if it were not for the babe that dwelt within you. What sort of life would your child have? A permanent exile for the rest of their days? Could you even call yourself a mother while condemning a child to such a fate? Emmeril may think you a fool, and perhaps she was right to think so. But you would not reveal this secret to her. Now was not the time and frankly you were not ready.
Emmeril did not stay long, but departed for her family's home. You watched her go until the last of her horses were over the hill. The room suddenly felt colder, more forlorn. A choked sigh bordering on sobs left your mouth. At times like these you would have walked in the garden with Ilë. Only it was pitch black out and Ilë was gone. A soft knock at your door alerted you. Amarië swept in, pink silk trailing behind. "Y/n, Nerdanel wishes to give council." Rising up you followed Amarië. The hallway was obscured with shadows, torches providing ailing light. Even with windows barred shut you could still feel a draft. Even Amarië seemed to feel it, drawing her robe tighter. Every step echoed in these silent halls. Most had either fled Tirion or barricaded themselves in their rooms. Only guards remained patrolling the halls.
Nerdanel had taken quarters next to Queen Indis. Was Indis even still queen? Suspiciously guards regarded your presence. "Lady Nerdanel had sent for Lady Y/n. Queen Indis is aware." They let you in with a look of reluctance on their faces. The swords on their sides glimmered in the torchlight. Only a short time ago none dared to disregard the Valar's ordinance. Now none dared leave their rooms without protection. Such were these sad times. Nerdanel bore her usual attire, baggy brown pants and a white shirt. Her hair, Nerdanel had her back turn to you, was tied in a loose braid. Rubble and tools lay scattered. When Amarië cleared her throat Nerdanel seemed to finally take notice. "Lady Amarië, thank you." Amarië curtsied and made to leave. "Hold-" "I must depart. Lady Nerdanel wishes to speak to you in private." Now it was just Nerdanel and you. Nerdanel lightly kicked a hammer out of the way and picked up a tray. You smelt citrus and a hint of cinnamon. Sitting down you watched Nerdanel pour a cup of tea. "Care for some?" You nodded. You had the feeling this conversation was not simple idle chat.
Nerdanel did not beat around the bush. After a sip, her grey eyes focused on you. The look was not critical, but the one she adopted when an important topic was at hand. "I heard Emmeril offered you a place at her family home. Why did you not go?" She was not being critical, just inquiring. "I have never been close to Emmeril. It would be an intrusion on my part." Nerdanel poured another cup. "Will you remain here indefinitely?" "Nerdanel I do not know what to do. I am lost. In leaving I condemn myself and the baby to exile. In staying ill may come too, for those that support the Houses of Nolofinwë and Arafinwë have no love of Curufinwë's kin." Nerdanel reached out calloused hands, worn by years of her craft. Your own was not so smooth, for years of gardening had hardened the skin. "Fate may be kinder to you. Our king wishes to provide what help he can." The attempt was well made, yet still you remained unsettled. "My fate is solely in the hands of others. If I stay then it is another exile. I banish my freedom. Perhaps I should leave and lessen others' hold on me." Nerdanel's gaze went to your belly. If one was unaware they would not know. But soon it would swell and then what would happen then? Your family would be harboring a potential heir. Arafinwë was good and wise, but the actions others you must look to. Would they see the baby as a contender? If you stayed at court then an alliance could be built and no one could accuse you of hiding.
"Do what you think is best for yourself and the baby Y/n. But do not forget, make sure you stand on your own feet."
Note: This story has been in my drafts since September and was originally meant to be a one shot. A story surrounding the lives of those who stayed in Valinor is something I have been interested in for a while now. I am unsure how long this story will be. I will also be using the Quenya pronunciation for everyone's names unless canonically one is not provided. All the sons of Feanor use their mother-name except for Curufin.
While I use Jodie Comers face in the gifs and aesthetics for this story it is not meant to be a face claim. I simply like to use a certain character/acter's face in each series.
My OC's (the unnamed wives of the sons of Feanor) are my stand ins for the wives in every fanfic going forward. This is unless I write an x-reader involving one of the three married sons. In that case I will simply write them out. But going forward in this story and others they will exist. I intend to make character profiles for them at some point.
If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know!
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When Fingon and Maedhros decide to tell their fathers about their relationship:
Fingon/Maedhros: I am telling you this because I want to know whenever you will disown me or come to my wedding and give your blessing
Fingolfin/Feanor: I would NEVER disown you BUT I do not approve
Fingon/Maedhros: …at least you are agreeing with your brother about something
Fingolfin/Feanor: *offended noise
Also
Maedhros: —and I love him, he loves me, we are very happy together—
Feanor: but you are cousins??!
Maedhros: Half-cousins, actually.
Feanor: *how dare you use my own words against me *bETrAyaL
Nerdanel: *laughing at Feanor
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In another life, I'd come for you
This one is for @ettelene (sorry if all the commas are wrong lol). Eh, it's a sort of fix-it, I guess...
You said "any pairing", but we both know what pairing comes to mind lol
Warning: Please be advised that Fëanor and Fingolfin are indeed half-brothers.
AU Prompt: Enemies to lovers
Dialogue Prompt: I didn't know you cared.
Words: 1018
Characters: Fëanor x Fingolfin
Warnings: Fight, blood, injury, innuendo (which counts as incest)
Fingolfin buckled under the vehemence of his enemy's last blow—fey, cruel laughter echoed in a storm of deafening mockery all around him.
He had fought valiantly, and thus he felt no shame as he ultimately had to admit defeat.
With a final, desperate thought of his beloved children, he let his weary head drop and prepared for the dark blade to descend.
Sparks—dancing like fireflies in the stale air—filled his vision, but the expected pain failed to cleave through his muscle and bone.
An all too familiar grunt of impatience and frustration resounded, and Fingolfin dug deep into his reserves of strength and willpower to pull himself up and face this new threat.
"Get up, you ass," Fëanor barked tempestuously. "Stand and fight!"
This fever dream, seemingly conjured up by an exhausted mind, wielded his gleaming blade with ferocious, self-forgotten determination, driving back the looming peril with vicious, reckless strikes.
A new burst of energy surged through Fingolfin's sore flesh—he had not seen his father's favourite son since that very weapon now standing between him and certain death had caressed his own throat.
It had been so long, and yet the wound of Fëanor’s prolonged absence had never truly healed.
Shaken by an involuntary fit of throaty laughter, Fingolfin threw himself back into the futile battle—he might well die on this day, but at least he would not die alone and unwitnessed.
He had too many enemies by far, he realised, despite his earnest efforts to be as agreeable to everyone as possible.
Here, at the end of the world, he was faced with the two most dangerous ones—locked in lethal combat for his life—the Dark Lord whom he hated with all-consuming, soul-destroying intensity, and Fëanor, whom he loved too much to forgive him for having deserted the familial fold in a fit of petulance and unjust wrath.
Drawn inexorably to his half-brother’s intense light, Fingolfin entered the furious fray, heedless of the danger, as a moth rushed to die in the embrace of a mercilessly burning lamp.
Side by side, those two valiant sons now fought as if the years of separation had been erased, and they were still but training in their father's courtyard before dinner.
After an eternity, the Lord of Death and Destruction took advantage of a lull in their attacks to flee headlong—he seemed less confident of his inevitable triumph now that two opponents were unleashing their wrath and unspoken frustration in flurries of strikes and slashes that wouldn’t abate despite their evident weariness.
"After him!" Fingolfin cried hoarsely.
"You are bleeding," Fëanor stated with strenuous equanimity, his broad hand—trembling with exertion—coming to rest on the dented plate of Fingolfin's armour. "Let me see how bad it is."
"I didn't know you cared," Fingolfin smirked cockily even as a strange sensation of pure joy mitigated the painful fatigue in his heart and body.
The touch of a cool hand sliding into the nape of his neck to steady his head as he was lowered to the ground felt wonderful, and he gave a little sigh of relief.
"You have always been such a fool," Fëanor chided harshly. "What were you thinking? To come out here all alone?"
"I would not lead those I love—my little brother or my sisters—into peril." Fingolfin pushed away the fingers methodically undoing the clasps of his armour to assess the severity of his injuries by touch alone.
Indeed, Fëanor's incandescent gaze was unwaveringly glued to the pale, tired face of one who had always confused and irritated him with his invincible charm.
"Maybe," that prodigal son hummed, "you understand me better now—love can make us do the dumbest things."
"You left," Fingolfin murmured, too worn out to care about how pathetic he sounded. "For all your faults and your irascible temper, we've missed you. I missed you."
I loved you—and you left. The sentence was left unspoken, and yet it seemed to reverberate through the devastated valley.
Fëanor’s hands clenched into fists at his side; he needed to focus on his task, he could not let himself be distracted by the things he would have to explain and apologise for later. They would be inconsequential if Fingolfin died of his injuries while he himself was drowning in reluctant self-recrimination.
Consequently, he bent over the prone figure to take up his meticulous investigation of the bleeding gashes and spreading bruises once more.
When he was finally satisfied that the one he had cherished and dreaded all his life was not dying, Fëanor lifted Fingolfin into his arms and turned to the hazy silhouette of finely wrought towers in the distance.
He had not been in the city for too long, he now understood, and it was time to make amends for the hurt he had caused the very people he had believed to protect by pre-emptively removing his intolerable person and his burning passion before they could harm those, he held most dear.
"I am home now," he whispered fervently, kissing Fingolfin's brow tenderly. "You are safe! Rest now, brave son of Finwë, you've done well, and the day is ours."
“Does this mean you are my enemy no more?”
Fëanor recognised the tell-tale shiver in the other’s voice —Fingolfin had always betrayed his hope and affection by the subtle, involuntary shifts in his inflexion—and smiled.
“I never have been, dearest, but I admit that I let you believe that for fear of what else I could be to you,” he then replied, tightening his tender hold on the weakened body cradled in his arms.
“As you’re everything to me,” Fingolfin sighed dreamily, “you might be my enemy as well.”
“Right now, I am your minder, and you are tired and hurt. Shut up and rest—when you awake, you shall be lying in your own bed.”
“Will you be there?” There it was again, that thrum as of a bow being readied for the fatal shot.
“I promise,” Fëanor said, feeling the cold, hard head of the arrow burrow deep into his heart.
@fellowshipofthefics: Here's the second for this month!!!
Thank you, @ettelene for this lovely prompt!
I am struggling both physically and mentally right now, so I'll be slow in posting, but I have written (or at least gotten a first draft) of all the requests I've gotten so far!
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A Song Only You Can Hear Chapter 5
The question was out of his mouth before he had time to think it through fully. He’d been watching his roommate weave his damp hair into a simple short plait for bed like he did every night and curiosity had gotten the better of him. ‘Why do you keep it so long? Surely it would be easier to cut it more conventionally, do you not get teased for it?’ The thought occurred to him that he found it hard to imagine Maedhros getting teased for anything. It wasn’t that he fit in exactly, he didn’t, but he couldn’t get his head around someone disliking him.
It may just have been him, he knew he could be a little biased when it came to his new friend, but he didn’t think it was. He had a presence, that meant no matter how quiet and non athletically inclined he was he commanded a kind of respect even from people who didn’t agree with him. He was polite and never made an ill timed comment, always calculating what he said beforehand and speaking so little that what he did say was listened to. This combined with his indisputably excellent grades and position of leadership meant that he was pretty untouchable in a way Fingon, though undoubtedly more popular, wasn’t.
Maedhros seemed wary of this topic by the way he frowned and waited a few seconds before replying. ‘Well, I suppose I just like it this way.’ He wondered if his queries might have come across as mocking in some way and mentally kicked himself for his lack of tact. Of course he’d offended him, now Maedhros probably thought he was trying to say that he should change it. He tried to think of something to say to ease the way back into a conversation but at that moment the dinner bell clanged and Maedhros was out the door at once.
He kept almost working up the courage to talk to him again but thought better of it at the last moment, reluctant to put his foot in his mouth again. He didn’t have long to dwell on it because he received a letter from his parents the next day and all else was put to the back of his mind. He read through the unnecessary small talk with a little eye roll but skimmed none of it, the rambling about the daily running and dealings of his father’s work so formal and drawn out he practically felt like he was there impatiently fidgeting in the corner until his father finished up and took him out for lunch or he was asked to make friends with some other politician’s child or a potential donor’s. He was good at that normally, he was enthusiastic, friendly and there was little about him people normally found objectionable. That had stopped being enough a while ago but he tried to pretend it hadn’t.
His father took a page or so to get to anything remotely personal or relevant, as was his way, but when he did Fingon smiled to himself with the image of Turgon working on his school project of a model bridge out of paper and Aredhel running rampant and causing mischief throughout the house yet escaping punishment. The last paragraph though gave him pause. It was put very delicately of course, his father was ever the diplomat, but the gist of it was very obvious. There was some form of Trouble going on in London and as well as he hid it, his father’s worry practically bled through the page. It was not as simple a matter as he made out.
The bit that confused him the most was an instruction to be wary of Feanor’s son’s intentions in talking to him. His father was never the paranoid type when it came to potential rivals, always grounded in reality, so there must have been more to it than he put in writing. He thought back to the others’ words and he had to admit Feanor had sounded like a man who could have caused Trouble, but that was just idle gossip nothing worrying. If there was truly something wrong his father would have said wouldn’t he?
He tried to push it to the back of his mind but it lingered like a bad taste every time he looked at the drawer he’d stuffed the letter into. If Maedhros had had ulterior motives clearly they weren’t worth putting himself through another conversation with his roommate for. He wasn’t avoiding Fingon per say but he wasn’t talking to him, though he supposed he wasn’t talking to Maedhros either. Every time he went up to his room Maedhros was either working or asleep and either way did not seem to want to be disturbed. Finally summoning up all the courage that he’d always thought that he had, though it had also been called a lack of concern about the consequences of his actions, he went into the library.
He walked until he found the nook in the corner where Maedhros was reading, so far tucked away from everyone else that he was sure this place was practically reserved for him at this point. He was bent over a translation of the Iliad with his brow furrowed but his posture more relaxed than normal. ‘Hallo, do you mind if I sit here for a minute? I can leave I don’t want to bother you.’ Maedhros visibly jumped at the sound of his voice, flipping the book over as if to hide it.
‘Oh it’s you, umm, no sit down it’s alright.’ Fingon nodded and sunk down facing him. Well this is going brilliantly. ‘Right. I just wanted to say that I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable earlier this week.’ Maedhros avoided eye contact, ‘You didn’t it’s fine, I just, I guess I’m sort of suspicious when people try to ask me questions, like they’re trying to catch me out or something. I’m not sure why. I, I know it’s small and ridiculous but it’s nice to be able to control something about yourself you know? No matter what other factors there are I like my hair like this and it’s small but it’s important in its own way.’ Fingon wasn’t sure how to go on but he ended up saying the first thing that came to mind. ‘I think it’s really pretty. It suits you.’ He flushed at the lack of eloquence and he noticed that he wasn’t the only one.
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Please write an essay on the merits of Maglor/Fingolfin. I'm listening.
excellent. you may regret doing so.
maglor and fingolfin share similar positions of being the second son to an important father and have carved out niches for themselves (maglor’s music vs fingolfin’s politics) as a result of this. where this pairing really gets me going, however, is immediately after fingolfin’s host arrives in beleriand. here, fingolfin has just suffered the loss of his (favourite? i choose to believe so) son, has spent 30 years fighting for survival on the helecaraxeë, shouldered the grief of his people and loved ones (because we all know that turgon got mega fucked up by elenwë’s death), is likely still reeling from finwë’s death and the noldor’s subsequent rebellion/exile, and was betrayed and abandoned by the brother he gave up everything to follow. that same brother who is now dead! before he has the chance to air any of this out! and, instead of his eldest nephew ruling in fëanor’s place, he instead meets maglor. maglor who never expected or prepared to be king, has little to no political experience, (is possibly dealing with the death of his youngest brother if we go with the crispy!amrod draft), and has given maedhros up for dead, because what else can he do! imo, this creates a delicious scenario for angsty conflict where fingolfin is both desperate to lash out and duty-bound to protect his people, and maglor is haunted by grief and guilt but will stubbornly hold onto his and his house’s power as long as he can. and then when fingon fucks off to rescue maedhros leaving maglor and fingolfin the heads of a very divided people held together on a string. and i feel like fingolfin would see ruling as more of a calling than maglor does, but maglor’s pride and his love for fëanor prevent him ever ceasing power to fingolfin, despite them both knowing he’s far more equipped for it. they’re both seeking to almost torment the other because they have their own guilt they can’t confront and the more they turn to each other, they build a relationship, and intimacy. and that guilt builds.
i think that a maglor/fingolfin relationship would be a perfect blend of repression, poor coping mechanisms, the confusion of familial and romantic love, seeking comfort in the other, and long debates over the nature of loyalty and duty. i think what began as a form of self-flagellation and punishment to inflict on each other turns to finding comfort in incredibly trying conditions turns to an affair they both hate themselves for but can’t bring themselves to stop. it’s also the perfect relationship to use if you want to pick apart the “saint fingolfin” narrative and get real gritty with them both.
in summary, vote magolfin in this year’s election
(also the potential for maglor/fingolfin to do the rhaenyra/daemon “take me to dragonstone and make me your wife” is incredibly sexy but I understand that it’s a completely personal taste)
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The Children of Hurin
aka The Curse of Turin
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Think You Can Warm Me Up
[Elves and Cockwarming x reader]
Request: What elves do you think would like cock-warming? - anon
A/N: This was a lot of elves to think for since I've added more over the months gone by. Enjoy!!!
Warning: smut, cockwarming
More: Brat Taming
Loves it – sometimes when they’re too busy to have sex with you but you want to feel them, they’ll suggest you sit on their lap, only to feel them raising your body slightly to slide themselves into you. When you lift your hips to move, their hands will be planted firmly on your waist with a stern look on their faces warning you to stay still. They’ll keep their hands on your waist, using it to pull you closer to rest against their chest and hold you down. Some use it for punishment when your bratty side comes out. They’ll rile you up by making out with you, having you grind on them feeling as though you two are about to have sex, but then when you’re about to ride them, they’ll lean in to whisper, “Not so fast love, no moving, sit right there and stay still or I’ll leave you empty. You thought I’d just give in and give you what you wanted, my poor confused little one” Other times, they’d use it to literally warm themselves up. When you two are relaxing as such, they’d throw the suggestion out to you and once you agree, the two of you will just be lounging about with their cock buried in you, staying warm. There are times you’ve fallen asleep with them buried in you. “You feel so warm and tight love, stop shifting so much, just stay still. This feels good, now we can cuddle.”
MAEDHROS, Maglor, CELEBRIMBOR, FINGOLFIN, FINGON, Finarfin, FINROD, AEGNOR, GLORFINDEL, GALDOR, BELEG, Rog, Elrond
Hates it – the first time you suggest the act, they were down to try it, but once you sank your warm hole onto their cock, it was over for them. Their hands would immediately shoot out to grab your waist, urging you to move but you’ll simply push it away and lean into their chest informing them that you’re not supposed to move. “It’s called cockwarming for a reason. Now stay still. Don’t get mad, remember you agreed to this, so sit and enjoy it.” This was absolute torture for them, they couldn’t take it anymore. Knowing that if they moved their hips right then, you’d probably hop off and that wasn’t part of their plan. Waiting till you were settled in and comfortable, with ease, their hands would sneak around your waist holding you firmly to their chest and without any warning, begin thrusting into you. You’d admit that this was not how you planned the session to go but with the way the tip of their cock was brushing against your soft spot, your moans gave it away. Now whenever you suggest it to them, they’d smile at you saying that they’ll behave, only to abuse your heat as soon as you sink down on their cock. The longest they’ve ever lasted was five seconds. “If you really thought I’d sit through all that torture, you’re absolutely wrong. Now be a good girl/boy and enjoy my cock.”
FEANOR, CELEGORM, Curufin, Turgon, ARGON, ANGROD, EGALMOTH, ECTHELION, MAEGLIN, ELLADAN
Mixed feelings – one minute it’s torture for them the other it’s blissful. It just all depends on their mood not so much yours. If they’re tired and just want to be warmed or you want to feel them, they’d let you go ahead without interrupting you. They’d simply wrap their arms around you and pull you in closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead and drifting off to sleep. Other times it’s when they’re busy doing paperwork and could do with a little relief. Letting you sit on their lap with the table hiding their cock buried deep in your heat, they’d let you lean into them so they could continue their work. “This feels good, didn’t think I’d be needing this, but after I’m finished here, I’d bend you over this table for a good fuck, hmm.” When you’re teasing them all day and acting up and then decide it’s time to kick it up a notch by making them feel you were about to ride them after your tedious torture only to sit still on their cock, now you’re just asking for it. They’d be grinding their teeth the entire time when you tell them not to move while pretending to do something important, informing them that when you’re finished then you two can go at it, they’re not going to listen, not when you were suffocating their cock. They wouldn’t care at that point, so say goodbye to whatever it was that you were doing. “Don’t you think this is a little too much love, don’t you think this has gone on for too long because I think so as well. How about we change that by having me fuck you, now.”
Maedhros, MAGLOR, CARANTHIR, Amrod, Fingolfin, FINGON, TURGON, FINARFIN, Finrod, AEGNOR, Glorfindel, GALDOR, Egalmoth, ROG, ERESTOR
Masterlist
Taglist: @spidergirla5 @eunoiaastralwings @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @lilmelily
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Over the last week, I decided to go ahead with bookmarking all the fics I've recommended over the years on AO3 since I abide by tumblr poll results always (and man pour one out for all the fic that never made it to AO3 or has since been deleted, sooooo many gems lost to time!) and it was a bit more than the ~3,000 I was expecting:
Hopefully, this will be easier than browsing the hundreds of recs posts I've made, since you can filter for any of the author's tags now!
These are mostly focused on Star Wars and DC fandom, but I did my time in the anime mines and occasional tours through some TV fandoms or movies. You can dig into everything unfiltered and start your own filtering, or the bigger fandoms you'll find:
MAJOR FANDOMS:
Each of these should have 100+ at minimum and, in the case of Star Wars, literally almost half of them are in that fandom. Look, Star Wars fandom might be a trash fire in a lot of ways, but it is ON FIRE with some good fic. (Older bookmarks not guaranteed to match my current sentiments, especially re: the Jedi, but they did catch my fancy at that point in time!)
STAR WARS: - All Star Wars -OR- All Star Wars minus the Obi-Wan/Anakin ship - OR- Nothing BUT Obi-Wan/Anakin
BATMAN/DC: - DC can sometimes be tricky, but you can do a Batman* search and get most of them (though, sometimes Nightwing* or Young Justice* or Superman* will catch some of the others). Honestly, though, you might want to just do a search for what character or dynamic you like and have fun from there, because otherwise you're getting a face full of my Dick Grayson Is The Center Of The Universe And I'm Making That Everyone Else's Problem agenda. ;)
MARVEL/MCU: - Marvel* will probably get most of the various properties, though you may want to filter for Defenders* or Guardians of the Galaxy* if you're interested -OR- Marvel* without the Thor/Loki
- These focus a lot on the Thor* fandom if you want to witness the results of like 8 years of constant voracious reading in that fandom (Minus the ship), because, seriously, I read a LOT of Odinson family fic.
- Bonus, just do a search for Maximoff* to find some really good X-Men: First Class-verse because, listen, I have been ALL ABOUT the Maximoff twins since long before the movies or MCU brought them over and I will DIE ON THE HILL of "Marvel, make Magneto their bio-dad again or I'm never reading another comic of yours ever".
TOLKIEN/LORD OF THE RINGS/SILMARILLION/HOBBIT: - Tolkien* -OR- Hobbit* -OR- Lord of the Rings* searches will turn up most of my Elf-hunting, I primarily focus on the Sindar Elves, but look I can't resist my problematic Feanorian faves or that I will die on the hill that Fingolfin is the best ever. (You have NO IDEA how sad I am that so much fic on Stories of Arda or FFNET is not easily bookmarked on AO3, sob. I externally bookmarked a few of the bigger ones, but sooo many shorter faves are missing from my recs tag.)
CLAMP: - X/Tokyo Babylon legitimately bums me out because it's not a huge fandom and yet so much of what was written was pre-AO3 and lost when CLAMPesque went down or was never brought over from Livejournal, yet this fandom (well, the Seishirou/Subaru pairing) still burns brightly in my heart.
MINOR FANDOMS:
Ones that probably only have under 100 bookmarks (often around the 20-30 bookmarks range), but will at least give you a place to start!
ANIME/MANGA: Bleach | Cardcaptor Sakura | Dragonball | Finder no Hyouteki/Viewfinder | Katekyou Hitman Reborn! | Kuroko no Basuke | One Piece | Sailor Moon | Madoka Magica | Naruto | Princess Tutu | Trigun | Weiss Kreuz | Yuri!!! on Ice
BOOKS: Chrestomanci | Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint
DRAMAS: Nirvana in Fire | The Untamed -OR- Modao Zu Shi
TV SHOWS/MOVIES: Community | Game of Thrones -OR- ASOIAF | Good Omens | Hannibal | Highlander | The Old Guard | Our Flag Means Death | Stranger Things
VIDEO GAMES: Dragon Age: Inquisition | Final Fantasy 8 | Genshin Impact | Okami
BANDS: Arashi
All right, whew, that was actually a fun project, despite how much work it was to hunt down a lot of older faves to see if they were on AO3, hopefully you'll find this useful!
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Wildest Dreams (Feanor x Reader x Fingolfin)
summary: you've been caught in the middle of a competition between Feanor and Fingolfin's, and you can't imagine having to choose between the two. Thankfully, they make things easier
warnings: SMUT (kinda incest/y i guess since they're half brothers but nothing happens between them I swear), oral sex (m and f recieving), dirty talk
word count: 6k
requests: I’m not sure if you write for threesomes in this fandom (and if you don’t, please feel free to discard this ask): requesting Feanor x reader x Fingolfin, smut, where both of them are in love with the reader but reader doesn’t want to offend one by choosing the other, so she chooses to keep her difference, and Feanor and Fingolfin seduce her and agree to share her? Turn pleasuring her into a competition to see who is the better lover once and for all?
professor tolkien I am so sorry for this ily
DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE
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You wandered down the paths of the gardens, letting your fingertips brush the soft petals of the flowers that swayed in the gentle breeze. The air was sweet, something which you normally would have cherished on such a fine afternoon. But not today. No, today was different. Instead of appreciating the beauty of the nature around you like you usually did, your mind was far away. It was swimming in the afterthoughts of the dream you had last night, one that sent a blush to your cheeks at the mere thought of it.
That morning, you had woken up with a thin layer of sweat on your skin and a flush on your face. But it was not the product of illness, nor the result of a nightmare. No, it was from a dream filled with lust and pleasure. In this dream, your deepest, most shameful desires had come to light. You had been at the mercy of the princes Fëanor and Fingolfin, the two eldest sons of Finwë himself, as they performed acts on you so sinful that the mere thought of them sent shivers down your spine.
You could still feel their mouths on your skin, their fingers working magic and tongues hot against your body. The sensation of the princes inside of you lingered as if it had actually happened.
It had almost felt real.
You had dreamed of them before, but last night was the first time it had turned that sexual. For weeks Fëanor and Fingolfin had been competing for your affections, each trying to outdo the other with flirtatious comments and gestures. It had begun when Fëanor interrupted your lunch with Fingolfin, stealing you away from his half-brother to show you his work in the forges. The next day, Fingolfin had appeared at your door to personally escort you to dinner, gently placing a flower in your hair, claiming it complimented your eyes. Their competition had grown less and less subtle, and was beginning to irritate you. At first, it was flattering, but now it had become more of an inconvenience. Truthfully, a small part of your heart had always harboured a crush for both princes, and up until now, you had thought it easily concealable.
And so you continued your path down the garden, head in the clouds and paying no attention to the world around you as you savoured the sensations lingering on your skin from last night’s dream. Unfortunately, you were snapped out of your daze as you collided with a tall figure, your head smacking into a very muscular chest. Startled, you stepped back and looked up at the living obstacle, only to be met with the amused gaze of Fëanor himself.
“My Lord,” You stammered, dipping your head. “My apologies. I did not see you there.”
Fëanor snorted, “Clearly.” He said, obviously finding the situation rather entertaining. You dared to look up at him, but regretted your decision immediately. His lips were smirking with their usual arrogance, his grey-blue eyes piercing your very soul. His dark hair was loosely hanging around his face, which was not covered in ash from the forges for once. The mere image of his face looking down on your much smaller frame only brought back the images in your mind from your dream, and it sent an instant blush to your face. You quickly averted your gaze, hoping Fëanor would not notice.
Unsurprisingly, he did, as his smirk only grew more arrogant. His hand grazed your chin, tilting it up so you were forced to meet his gaze. You bit your lip, desperately trying to force the sinful images from your mind.
To make matters worse, Fëanor moved his hand from your chin to your face, pressing the back of his hand to your cheek. “Are you alright, my dear?” He said, the curiosity in his voice obviously feigned. “Your face appears rather flushed.”
You gritted your teeth. “I’m fine.” You said, much harsher than intended. The arrogant asshole knew exactly what he was doing. You hated the effect he had on you, how a simple touch could make your body react in such a strong way.
And Fëanor knew that. He removed his hand from your cheek, letting his fingertips ghost your collarbone has he brought them back down to his sides. “Perhaps you did not sleep well enough…” He mused. You stiffened at the mention of your sleep, and Fëanor noticed immediately and cocked his eyebrow. “Or perhaps, you slept rather well…”
The both of you knew what he was getting at, and at this you squirmed even more, mind racing as you tried to think of a response. Usually you were much more composed than this, but not today. Much to your annoyance, last night’s dream continued to cloud your judgement. He extended his arm and you took it, and the two of you continued on your original path through the garden.
“Did you dream of me, dear Y/N?” Fëanor inquired as you walked, noting the blush that had returned to your cheeks.
“I do not remember.” You stated, hoping that would be sufficient enough to make Fëanor drop it.
Oh how wrong you were, for your vague answer merely encouraged the prince. “Or perhaps you dreamed of my brother,” He sighed dramatically, but continued to watch you from the corner of his eye, studying the every reaction you produced.
This only made you squirm even more, as if he was reading your mind, delving into your deepest desires that last night had uncovered. You felt ashamed at your current state, how Fëanor was able to read you as if you were an open book.
“Uh…” You stammered. “I… I do not think so, my Lord.”
At this, Fëanor hummed, looking straight ahead. “So your dreams were not of me, nor my brother, then who? If you hold affections for another, Lady Y/N, I would have you tell me…”
“It’s not that.” You snapped, interrupting him mid-sentence.
At this, Fëanor stopped you both, turning around so that he faced you. He leaned down, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Tell me, my dear, perhaps you dreamed of us both…”
You breathed in sharply. It was all too much for you, his lips whispering things into your ear just as he had in your dream, his presence so close and threatening to consume you. You stepped away before your body could react further. “I… I am sorry,” You stammered, bowing your head with as much dignity as you could muster. “I must go.”
Without waiting for an answer, you walked away as quickly as possible. You knew it was rude, but you did not care. You hurried away before anyone could see your flustered state, mentally cursing at both yourself and the arrogant prince.
*************
You spent the rest of the day avoiding both Fëanor and Fingolfin, knowing that if Fëanor continued to further inquire about your dreams, he would end up with a broken jaw, and the guards would almost certainly throw you into a cell. You had skipped lunch, sneaking out into the forest through the kitchens and grabbing a loaf of bread from your friend on the way out. You chose to spend the next few hours under your favourite tree where you knew the princes would not look for you, letting your mind drift off again once more. Desperately, you tried to keep your thoughts civil, planning out your next letter to your mother and debating whether or not to continue the song you had been composing. But your consciousness would simply not allow you to focus on such trivial matters.
After a few hours, you finally surrendered to your thoughts, tilting your head back and resting it on the tree as you closed your eyes. You let out a sigh almost immediately, letting last night’s dream replay in your head over and over as you let the world around you fade away.
Unbeknownst to you, Fëanor was watching you from a distance. He had known of your favourite spot in the forest for some time now, but dared not disturb you. Normally he did not particularly care for the boundaries of others. He was a prince, and may inherit his father’s crown and titles one day and could do as he pleased. Fëanor would never admit it, but a small part of him feared that if he approached you in your secret spot, you would lose respect for him and become distant, which was the opposite of what he desired.
So he instead grew content with simply observing you from a distance, something which had become a daily occurrence for him. He noted the content on your face, and the hint of a blush on your cheeks, reminding him of your earlier state in the gardens.
Fëanor relished in the memory. Normally you were much more composed, but he liked the way you squirmed beneath his gaze, unable to hide the obvious thoughts that were racing through your mind as his lips brushed your ear. At this point he was almost certain that you had dreamed of sharing your bed with him, and possibly his half-brother, and that was why your encounter in the gardens had been so unusual. But the prince was not quite prepared for what he would hear and witness next.
It was faint, barely audible even to his elven ears, but you let out a breathy whisper: “Fëanor…”
His name coming from your lips in such a manner sent an all too familiar sensation down Fëanor’s spine. He held his breath as he saw you ever so slightly press your legs together, chest rising up and down intensely. Countless times Fëanor had imagined you beneath him, his name spilling from your mouth as his hands explored your body. He had thought about the ways he would claim you, and while part of him wanted to take you from behind and fuck you until you screamed, the other part of him wanted to see you beneath him, receiving the most satisfaction and pleasure you’d ever had in your life.
He bit his lip, relishing in how blissfully unaware you were of your surroundings until you whispered another name, “Fingolfin…”
Under any other circumstances, hearing your sweet lips whisper Fingolfin’s name would have sent Fëanor into a murderous rage frightening enough to make Morgoth cower. But not this time. Instead of being filled with jealousy, a brilliant idea came to his mind and he smirked. Your whispers were all the confirmation he needed to know exactly what you had dreamed of last night. Satisfied, Fëanor turned away and headed back to the palace.
He needed to talk to Fingolfin.
**********
After a while, you finally opened your eyes and sat up straight. You did not know how much time had passed since you had drifted off into your haze. You felt a cold breeze, realizing it was about to get dark soon. Collecting your skirt, you stood up, shivering slightly at the cold as you headed back through the forest.
When you arrived inside the palace, you did not bother to see if there was any food left in the kitchen. Instead, you elected to return to your chambers, where you hoped to have a hot bath and go to sleep. You arrived at your door and pushed it open, but nearly shrieked in surprise at the sight before you.
Fëanor was lying on your bed, legs crossed as he casually fiddled with the corner of one of your pillows. He was not dressed in his usual fancy robes, but rather a simple pair of trousers with a loose white shirt. He gave you a smirk as you entered, noting the surprise on your face.
“Good evening, my dear Y/N.” Fëanor said innocently. “What took you so long? I was beginning to wonder if you got lost on your way to bed.”
After a few moments, your shock subsided. “What the fuck, Fëanor?” You snapped, not bothering with your usual polite greeting. “Why the fuck are you in my chambers? You can’t just walk in whenever-”
“Oh, but I can.” He interrupted, dismissing your outburst. “But that matters not. Perhaps now you will tell me more about your dream, little one.”
At this, you rolled your eyes, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind you. This time, Fëanor and his half-brother’s competitiveness had gone too far. “Seriously?” You said in an exasperated tone, your hands defiantly placed on your hips, all sense of embarrassment gone. “That’s what you came here to ask? Are you not capable of just dropping the subject?”
Before Fëanor could answer, a deep voice came from the darkest corner of the room. “I, too, would like to know about this dream.”
You practically jumped out of your skin. Out of the shadows emerged Fingolfin himself. But it was not the Fingolfin you had grown accustomed to seeing - the noble elf who always had a stoic expression on his chiseled face, consistently dressed in robes more elaborate than that of his brother’s. No, this Fingolfin was clad in similar attire to Fëanor, his toned chest showing behind the thin fabric. His dark brown hair was smooth, making you want to run your fingers through it. His eyes were even more silver than his brother’s, making contact with yours as he stepped closer to you.
“Okay….” You stuttered, beyond confused. “What the fuck is going on?”
Fëanor sighed dramatically, kicking his legs off the bed and standing up. The sons of Finwë walked towards you like predators stalking their prey. You felt your heart race, trying to step away only for your back to meet the wall behind you and you gulped. Simply seeing the princes like this was enough for all your sinful thoughts created by your dream to surface at the front of your mind. You pressed your legs together as they drew closer, stopping less than a foot away from you.
“The thing is, my dear,” Fëanor said, reaching out and brushing your fingers against your wrist before slowly dragging them up the length of your arm. “I have come to the conclusion that the reason your head has been in the clouds all day is because of the dream you had last night. It only took one touch from me in the gardens this morning to figure out all I needed to know about it…”
“My brother tells me that you dreamed of the two of us.” Fingolfin said, his voice feigning innocence just as his brother’s had earlier today. “And what do you presume we did to our lovely Y/N in her dream, Fëanáro?”
Fëanor chuckled, his movements on your arm not ceasing. “I think we fucked her into oblivion.” His voice dropped an octave. “Is that correct, meldenya [my love]? Did you dream of being at our mercy as we worshipped that pretty body of yours?”
By this point, you could resist them no longer. All day you had been fighting the sensations and emotions that stemmed from your dream, but between Fëanor’s teasing touches and Fingolfin’s lust-filled gaze, you finally caved.
“Yes.” You muttered meekly, face flushing with embarrassment. You felt arousal pool between your legs, and for a moment you hated yourself for reacting to the two noble elves so strongly when they had not really done much.
Fingolfin chuckled lowly, reaching up to cup your face with his left hand. “Do not be ashamed, my dear,” He soothed. “We only wish to give you what you desire.”
Fëanor leaned in, as he did earlier in the gardens, but this time his teeth gently grazed along the outside of your pointed ear. That sensation alone sent shockwaves through your body, every nerve in the sensitive area screaming that it was too much and not enough at the same time. “What is it exactly, darling, that your dream revealed your desires to be?” He murmured against your skin. “After all, we are generous elves — tell us exactly what you want, and you may have it. So, my dear, please do reveal exactly how that little dream of yours went down.”
Everything was spinning. Any sense of composure you had was gone under their touches. Fingolfin’s left hand trailed down your neck, brushing against your breast before settling on your waist and giving it a firm squeeze. You sighed, allowing Fëanor to continue his ministrations along your ear as you let your head rest against the wooden door. The air felt hot, your clothes too tight - if you could only just slip your dress off…
Your thoughts were cut off but a sharp squeeze by that large hand at your waist. “Your prince asked you a question,” Fingolfin all but growled, his voice full of dominance and leaving no room for debate. It was akin to the tone you had heard him use when giving orders, only this one was dripping with heat. “Answer it, darling, before we take matters into our own hands.”
The image was tempting — to allow the two elves to make the choices for you, doing with you as they pleased. But then the reality of the situation set in: here you were, a common-born elf with no noble family, with two of the most desirable elves in Arda ready to comply with your every wish. They held such control, such respect everywhere else, except for at this moment in your bedroom. In this space, you made the decisions.
They were yours to command, to wield like a sword.
You smirked. “Well, in my dream you both took my clothes off and carried me to the bed,” You began, hearing Fëanor hum his approval. “You took turns tasting me, as if I was your last meal on Arda. I dreamed of you both on your knees, allowing me to get lost in the pleasure of your fingers and tongues. Then Fëanor took me from behind, while Fingolfin claimed my mouth.”
The words tumbled out of you like a river bursting free from a dam. So long had you contained your desires, but no longer. Evidently, your words had an effect on the two princes. Fëanor’s breathing had become more noticeable, his attention on your ear diverted to your neck in the soft spot beneath your jaw, making you see stars. Fingolfin’s right hand had come up to knead your right breast, his left hand migrating to your ass with a firmness and assurance that made your knees go weak.
“See?” Fëanor purred. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now let us take care of you, darling. Let us give you everything and more.”
You whined as he pulled away, but it was cut short as the two elves began working in tandem to remove your dress. Fëanor pulled your arms out of your sleeves with a shocking tenderness, while Fingolfin’s thick fingers worked at the laces on your back. Within seconds, your chest was left bare. Instinctively, your arms went to cover your breasts, but strong hands clamped down on your wrists.
“Now now, let’s not be shy,” Fëanor mockingly chastised. “Let us see you, princess.” Before you could even comprehend a response, your arms were back at your sides. You almost sighed with relief as you were free from the constricting top of your dress. But what happened next nearly made you climax on the spot.
Fëanor got to his knees, pulling your dress past your waist and down to your ankles along with your panties. Fëanor, son of High King Finwë, the Prince of the Noldor, was kneeling before you as if in worship. His grey-blue eyes, which normally were clouded like the sky of an oncoming storm, were clear and looking up at you — still arrogant, but with a newfound awe as they surveyed your figure. You stepped out of your dress, moment of awe cut short as Fingolfin, determined not to let his brother have all the attention, swept you up into his strong arms.
He carried you over to your bed, placing you down on the mattress as if you were a piece of glass threatening to break under his strong arms. Almost immediately, he was on top of you, his muscular frame so close, but not close enough. Fingolfin leaned his head down as if to kiss you, but instead put his lips to your ear.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?” His deep voice was like velvet, a silky fog wrapping around all your senses. “How many nights I have pictured you under me, those starlit eyes staring into mine as I enter you? How I have nearly dropped to my knees just to beg you for one taste of you? How I’ve pumped myself dry imagining those lips around my cock? My sweet Y/N, you have no idea what you do to me.”
“To us.” Came the other male’s voice. Fingolfin’s confessions had you reeling, to the point you had almost forgotten Fëanor was there. You turned your neck to the right, allowing the elf on top of you to press warm kisses down the left side of your neck, nipping and sucking as he went. In turning your head you were faced with Fëanor, who had discarded his shirt. His muscles looked like they were sculpted by Aulë himself, each one toned and defined in ways you didn’t know possible from countless hours spent in the forges. Parts of his loose hair hung over his shoulders, framing his angular face as he stared at you.
Naturally, the eldest son of Finwë almost preened at the lust-filled look you gave him. Under normal circumstances you would have mentally smacked yourself for so easily stroking the prince’s already inflated ego, but it mattered not in this moment. All you cared about was that he touch you with those strong, practised hands. You whined as Fingolfin’s teeth grazed a sensitive spot along the column of your throat before moving down to your collarbone, sucking and biting gently as he went. One of his large hands had come up to your breast, kneading the flesh and causing you to gasp.
“You look so exquisite,” Fëanor purred as he approached the bed, looking down at your flushed form unabashedly. “Just laying there for us to ruin you. You are lucky Fingolfin is much gentler than I. He shall warm you up for me so I can make you scream loud enough for all of Arda to hear you.”
You yelped as Fingolfin harshly bit down on your nipple while boldly cupping between your legs with his free hand. “Do you think me unable to make her scream?” He growled, a dark glint in his eyes that sent chills through your body.
Fëanor smirked. “Not as well as I can.”
“Challenge accepted.” Fingolfin said boldly as he swiped a finger up your slit, collecting the ever-growing pool of wetness there. Your responsive noise was cut off as Fëanor’s large hand wrapped around your throat, his mouth swallowing your gasp and claiming your lips. He tasted like spiced wine and embers, encasing all your senses at once. The Prince groaned into your mouth, squeezing your throat harder. Your head spun between the dominance of Fëanor’s lips on yours and Fingolfin’s mouth slowly descending towards your core.
“Watch it,” The younger elf growled, lifting his lips from your stomach. “You said we’d take turns.”
Fëanor removed his lips from yours, rolling his eyes as he released your throat. “Get over it.” He said. “If you get to taste her pussy first, then I get to taste her mouth first. Fair is fair.”
Fingolfin huffed, but didn’t argue. With a new level of determination, he placed his lips back on your skin. You moaned, the sensation of his lips on your stomach making you tingle. The Prince��s hot breath fanned over your core, causing you to inhale sharply. “Ask me nicely.” He said, the closeness of his lips to your wetness making you squirm.
“What?” You mumbled, earning a chuckle from Fëanor, who had sat himself on the bed and was stroking your hair. Every so often, he tugged gently.
“I said, ask me nicely.” Fingolfin repeated, more sternly this time. The authority in his voice went straight between your legs, slick tracking down onto the soft sheets below.
Fëanor’s grip on your locks tightened as he chuckled again. “We’ve barely touched her and she’s already incoherent. Perhaps she cannot handle us and we should stop—“
“No!” You cried out, embarrassingly fast.
Fingolfin rested his cheek on the inside of your thigh, and you peered down at him. The sight of the towering, noble elf on his knees with his chiselled face mere centimetres away from your pussy made you dizzy. You had fantasized about this moment more than you cared to admit, alternating between the two princes most of the time. “Well, my love, if you want me to taste your sweet pussy, you have to beg for it.” He said lowly.
You whined, pouting a bit. You were a proud elf, and begging was not your strong suit. Sensing your hesitation, Fingolfin smirked, and began snaking his way down the bed towards your feet. He grabbed your ankle and lifted your leg up, placing feather light kisses along the inside. Slowly as ever, the prince made his way down your leg, kissing and nipping as he went. Right before he met your core, he pulled away and repeated the pattern on your other leg, causing you to whine.
“Poor thing.” Fëanor said in mock sympathy, stroking your face with his calloused fingers. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he bent down and whispered in your ear. “All you have to do is say the word, and I’ll throw him aside and show him how it’s done. You won’t need to beg, I’ll give you whatever you want, sweet thing.”
“Don’t listen to him.” Fingolfin said sternly, drawing your attention back to the elf between your legs. “Focus on me. Once you ask, I will be yours to command. All you must do is beg for it.”
“She won’t break.” Fëanor snorted impatiently, clearly waiting for his chance.
Fingolfin responded confidently. “Yes, she will.” Lazily, he lowered his head and dragged his tongue around the edges of your core, centimetres away from where you needed him most. You let out a shaky breath, toes curling as your eyes squeezed shut. It was torture — blissful, but excruciating torture. It wasn’t long before you felt your pride begin to crack, the tough facade you thought you had slowly crumbling.
“Please.” You mumbled, voice breathy and barely above a whisper.
The Prince smirked in satisfaction, kissing your mound lightly. “Please, what?”
“Please, Fingolfin,” You gasped, fighting the urge to clamp your legs around him and drag him closer. “Please use your tongue on my pussy. Please, my lord.”
Satisfied, Fingolfin finally lowered his mouth to your cunt, licking a bold stripe up your slut. You cried out, nearly in tears at the overwhelming pleasure as the prince began to skillfully devour you. Your hands quickly found themselves tangled in his hair, earning a heavenly groan from the male. He was taking his time with you, each movement confident and strong and eliciting an intense reaction. Your head spun, legs weak already with the pleasure Fingolfin was bringing you.
“Open your eyes.” Fëanor’s strong hand tangled in your hair again, tilting your head down and forcing you to look down at the sight before you. “Is this what you dreamed of, darling? Being our little plaything, begging for us to make you feel better than any other male could? How many nights have those little fingers taken up residence between your legs as you imagine this very scene, trying to find relief but never quite scratching that itch?”
You garbled something of a response, but you weren’t even sure what. Fëanor growled, tightening his grip. “I asked you a question, pet. How many times have you touched yourself imagining this?”
“Many nights…” You managed to gasp, ensuring to keep your eyes on Fingolfin, who took your clit between his lips and sucked.
“Good girl.” Fëanor purred. “But I bet your fingers aren’t nearly as satisfying as our tongues, or our cocks, are they?”
“No.” You arched your back, feeling that tightening buildup inside your body as you approached your orgasm faster than you’d care to admit.
“Naturally.” Fëanor loosened his grip on your hair. “Now look at Arakáno as you cum on his face.”
You obeyed without thinking, letting yourself get lost in the pleasure as Fingolfin’s tongue tipped you over the edge, sending shockwaves through your entire body. Fingolfin moaned with you as you tugged on his dark locks, the animalistic sound echoing throughout the chamber as you rode out your climax.
Panting, you caught your breath as he pulled away, leaving your legs trembling. He climbed up your body, his massive form towering over yours as he leaned down and kissed you. You felt in a trance, body a trembling mess. You wondered how you would endure multiple rounds if you were this weak already.
You didn’t even realize how Fëanor had slunk down to take Fingolfin’s place until firm hands snaked under your thighs and gripped your hips firmly. Without a warning, he dove into your still sensitive pussy like a man starved, loud slurping noises filling the room. You cried out, trying to squirm away, but Fëanor’s grip was like iron and you couldn’t move.
“That’s it, darling.” Fingolfin purred. “Let us hear you. Let the whole palace hear you.”
You no longer attempted to bite your lip and conceal your noises. Your moans sounded throughout the room as Fingolfin firmly grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head. You whimpered, almost completely immobile. You were overstimulated from your first orgasm, yet the older prince had no mercy on you as he continued to devour your wetness. While Fingolfin was like the water’s current, calculated and steady, his half brother was akin to a hurricane of fire. His movements were fast and unpatterned, designed to send you towards the edge as fast and as ruthlessly as possible. A single tear ran down your cheek as you pleaded — not even sure what you were pleading for.
“Ease up, Fëanor.” Fingolfin said sternly, noticing your tear.
The heir lifted his head for a moment and scoffed. “She can take it. Can’t you, pet?”
You nodded, breathless. “Yes, I can take it. Please, just don’t stop.”
“Thought so.” Fëanor smirked triumphantly before delving back between your legs, doubling his efforts. Two of his thick fingers found their way inside your tight walls, causing you to cry out even louder. Quickly, they found that spot deep inside you that made your entire body jolt.
You could practically see Fëanor’s ego inflate at your reaction, feeling the satisfied smirk of his lips on your clit as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. Your release approached at light speed within minutes, but just as you were about to fall over the edge, Fëanor pulled away.
“No!” You cried out pitifully, wanting to kick him in the face at your loss of an orgasm. Before you could protest further, those strong hands on your hips flipped you over onto stomach. Fëanor yanked your hips back so you were up on your knees, and Fingolfin released your wrists, allowing you to push yourself up onto your hands.
“Are you going to take our cocks like a good little slut?” Fëanor cooed, unlacing his breeches and pulling them off. Fingolfin had also begun removing his shirt, letting the fabric fall to the floor to reveal his toned body. Your mouth watered as he began removing his breeches, his large cock springing free. He smirked with pride as you drank in the sight of him, giving himself a firm stroke as he walked towards the edge of the bed.
You gasped as Fëanor pressed his thick cock into you, rutting back and forth and caressing your ass with skilled hands. “We’re going to stuff both ends of you, pet. I’m going to fill that tight pussy of yours with my cum, and you’re going to take every drop of it with pride Understood?”
You nodded, pressing your ass eagerly into Fëanor’s cock. He chuckled, slapping your ass one last time before pressing the head into you. You moaned at the stretch, forcing yourself to relax as the Prince slid himself into you with surprising slowness. “Gods above,” Fëanor groaned behind you. “You feel incredible. Even better than I imagined.”
Your toes curled at the thought of the Prince fantasizing about this moment just like you did. Your thoughts were interrupted as Fingolfin brought his cock to your lips, gently tracing them with the head. “Open.” He commanded, gently but sternly.
You obliged without thinking, body responding to his orders on its own. Eagerly, your jaw stretched to wrap your lips around him, sucking gently. Fingolfin sighed deeply, the noise sending pleasure down your spin. You inhaled through your nose, opening your throat as best you could to accommodate his massive size.
“Good girl,” Fingolfin praised as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. It was a sight that took your breath away — the noble prince with his head tilted back and eyes fluttered shut in bliss at how you made him feel. “Look at you, taking me in that smart mouth of yours so well. It’s like you were made for this, weren’t you?”
Fëanor grunted, beginning to move his hips and thrust in and out of you. He swore, picking up the pace. Fingolfin did the same, gently fucking your face. You were in heaven, the two elven princes filling you up as they found a rhythm that made you see stars. Your body jostled between them like a rag doll, your arms fighting to keep yourself upright as they increased the pace.
The room was filled with the sounds of sex as they mercilessly pounded into you for what felt like hours. Tears spilled down your throat as you gagged on Fingolfin’s cock, taking breaths through your nose whenever you could. Fëanor gripped your hips so tightly you knew there would be colourful bruises the next day — bruises you would be proud to stare at in the mirror.
Your body crescendoed to the release you were denied earlier, beginning to shake as you approached it fast. You began to clench around Fëanor’s cock, and he moaned. “That’s it, pet.” He growled, ploughing into your cunt. “Cum all over my cock like the slut you are. Fucking take it.”
You whimpered, screaming around Fingolfin’s cock as one of Fëanor’s hands reached down between your legs and firmly rubbed your clit. That was all it took for you to explode, shaking uncontrollably as your orgasm took over. You saw white, Fingolfin letting out a loud groan as the vibrations from your noises consumed his cock. Fëanor moaned fiercely, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you.
Fingolfin followed a few minutes later, and you eagerly swallowed every drop he spurted down your throat. Your jaw ached and every bone in your body was spent, but you were in heaven. A thin sheen of sweat covered the Princes, their long hair clinging to their muscles as they panted. You collapsed as they pulled out of you, landing on the soft bed as you caught your breath. Wordlessly, the princes began to tend to you. Fingolfin grabbed the glass of water from the nightstand and gently brought it to your lips, smoothing your hair as he did so. Fëanor brought forth a damp cloth, gently wiping you down. They murmured gentle praises, and you basked in the glow of their attention. They settled you under the sheets, each prince taking up residence beside you and caressing your body.
“So…” Fëanor hummed as you began to drift off into sleep. “Who won?”
Fingolfin’s quiet but stern scold was all you heard before you let yourself slip into unconsciousness.
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rare pair bingo
AN: Pairing suggested by anon (here). Thank you kindly!
⸙ Prompt: Prostate stimulation | Fingolfin x Hador
⸙ Synopsis: Hador promises to show Fingolfin a new kind of pleasure and takes good care of his lord.
⸙ Warnings: Smut, fingering
⸙ Quadruple drabble
"Are you sure about this?"
The proud High King of the Noldor seemed almost shy in that moment, glancing over his shoulder.
Hador smiled and rubbed his lower back to encourage him to lie back down.
"I am, my lord, and I will be gentle. But in order for you to experience this pleasure, you must relax."
"I do trust you." Fingolfin smiled as well and gracefully laid back down, resting his head on a pillow and allowing his legs to be spread.
The Elven king, Hador thought, had never been more beautiful than in this moment, completely nude and at his mercy in a way, yet valiant even in his vulnerability. Fingolfin's hair fell down his back and shoulders like fine, dark silk and his body appeared to almost glow in the candlelight, touched by the ancient light of the Two Trees of Valinor.
There was nothing that Hador wanted more than to show him all those wondrous pleasures he had promised.
He uncorked a vial of oil and poured a generous amount over his fingers as well as Fingolfin's exposed backside. Gently and carefully, he spread it all around his entrance first, forcing himself to resist temptation and not push inside immediately.
Fingolfin let out a small gasp, and Hador wondered if it was the first time he had been touched like this, though he lacked the courage to ask. Even so, it encouraged him to enter his lord with one finger, suppressing a groan when he was greeted by a tight, hot passage.
For a brief moment Fingolfin tensed, but relaxed swiftly when his body adjusted to the sensation. Hador then pushed deeper and curled his finger, searching for the spot — until a sudden, shaky moan confirmed his success.
"There, my lord?" he asked calmly. The triumphant smile on his lips betrayed him, but the Elven king couldn't see it in his current position.
"Y-yes, there," Fingolfin whispered, barely audible. "I think..."
Hador brushed against the spot again, followed by another moan from his lord. "Does it feel good?"
"Yes," Fingolfin breathed, "please, I need..."
If he was begging already, then he was doing something right, Hador thought to himself. He pulled back to add another finger, then began moving inside the king — a steady, rhythmic back and forth, mimicking thrusts, making sure to hit that spot again and again.
Fingolfin's moans were music to his ears.
Thanks for reading! ♡
taglist: @elanna-elrondiel @saintstars
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Nolo, what can I do to bring you into bed?
*asks sweetly kissing his jaw and sits on his lap wearing an almost transparent nightgown*
Snatching your hands and bounding them behind your back, his other hand cupped your jaw to bring your face closer to his. His silvery-blue orbs were glittering under the flickers of the swirls of fire. “Perhaps if patience was practised, I would have you against this table right now. However, I believe you're in need of a spanking first and foremost. Get into position...”
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To You Who Is Lost (chp.1 teaser)
"My vows said that I would follow him as my conscious dictates! As your wife has stayed in Valinor so shall I." The comment was poorly timed. Anger beat so furiously in your chest that you thought not of the consequences. With a roar of unbridled fury Feanor drew his sword. Horrified, both you and Maitimo stepped back. The tip was right at your neck, an inch further would slice the flesh. "Depart, faithless wretch! And do not let me find you lurking in these hall again lest I strike you dead!" Maitimo drew you away and behind him. "You will cease your insults of my wife." You stared up at him in awe. Here he was standing up to his father, possible the greatest of the Noldor. You had thought at that moment Maitimo had seen sense. He lead you off to a room, away from his father and the chaos bellow.
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Forever Together
Pairing: Argon x Reader
Summary: You and Argon share a quiet moment together while travelling over the Helcaraxë.
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
You felt like your skin was on fire as Argon's warm hands stroked over your exposed skin. It seemed so long ago since you had last felt his warmth.
It had been a long time. You had set out on the ice several weeks ago, but you had rarely rested, and when you had, Fingolfin had assigned your husband some sort of task. Of course you understood that this was important for your survival, but you still felt cold and abandoned sometimes.
Argon seemed to notice that. While you continued to fight your way through the snow during the day, Argon, who always walked in front next to his father, fell further back to take your hand for a moment. His fingers clasped yours and the ice no longer seemed so cold to you.
After a while, Fingolfin had decided that you would have to take a longer rest, as all of you were getting slower and slower due to your exhaustion, making you even more vulnerable on the open road than you already were.
So you put up some tents to protect you from the cold and you tried to get some sleep.
When you fell asleep you were freezing, but when you woke up you could smell Argon's familiar scent and feel his hands gently rubbing every bit of skin they could find to keep you warm.
You kept your eyes closed for a moment. You had missed his gentle touch so much.
The warm days in Valinor when you had picnicked or gone swimming in the lake together seemed centuries ago.
"I know you are awake," he whispered and kissed you gently on the forehead. You could hear the smile in his voice. He pulled his hands away and let himself slide under the covers behind you.
You whimpered softly and snuggled back against Argon. "Please do not stop."
He laughed softly. "Do not worry, my love, I will prevent you from freezing to death." He wrapped his strong arms around you and turned you round so that the tips of your noses were touching.
His warm breath brushed over your face and drove away any feeling of cold. "Do not worry, Melda." Argon whispered and kissed you softly. His hands gently stroked down your body, from your cheeks to your hips, where he pulled you even tighter against him. "Tonight I am all yours."
He winked.
"Arakáno!Turukáno, Elenwë and Itarillë are right in the tent next to us. So we won't be doing anything like that." you said, but you had to smile.
When Argon saw your smile, he let out a pleasant sigh. One of his hands travelled back up to your face and gently stroked your lips to trace your smile.
Then he leant forward and kissed you again. At first his lips brushed only lightly over yours, but soon his kisses became firmer and more passionate. He pushed himself off the ground a little and carefully rolled onto you.
Your hands stroked through his hair and soon found their way to his cheeks.
You let out a surprised noise. "Arakáno?" You broke away from him. "Oh, why are you crying."
His cheeks were full of tears.
Argon's fingers gently stroked your cheek as he looked down at you.
"Because you are only here because of me. You deserve better than a tiny tent in the cold, wet snow. I am so sorry that I cannot give you more."
"Oh Arakáno." You gently took his face into your hands and began to brush away his tears with your thumbs. "Do not blame yourself."
"But it is true." His other hand found its way to your hair and stroked softly over it.
"Yes," you said softly, "I am here because of you. I am here because I love you anb because I cannot bear to live apart from you. I would make that decision again if it meant having you by my side. Because Valinor would be colder than the Helcaraxë without you, Arakáno."
He looked at you from his gentle eyes as more tears ran down his cheeks. "Thank you," Argon finally said, "Thank you for being by my side."
"Let us always stay together, no matter where we go," you said softly, wrapping your arms around him.
Argon lowered his head onto your chest, a position you don't normally lie in as he was so huge, while you gently stroked his hair.
"It will be all right, my dearest Arakáno."
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
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Remember to participate in the Yule and Advent games if you want to win a ✏️DRAWING✏️!
Rules can be found here and the Advent games are here with Finarfin, Fingolfin, and Feanor!
Yule day 1, Galadriel x Celeborn: Count the fruits and the flowers
Yule day 2, Luthien x Beren: Where can Luthien´s sigil be found?
Yule day 3, Caranthir x Haleth: Where is the pine tree?
Yule day 4, Maedhros x Fingon: How many colors are used in the glass of the windows?
Yule day 5, Melkor x Mairon: How many Wolves can you find?
!WINNER PRIZE!
21-25 Yule;
You can win a drawing in my usual style, with full body as the largest, and up to three characters! If you want a drawing of an animal - or an animal to appear, it will take the place of one of the characters.
Advent;
You can win a chibi drawing with a simple background, with the highest number of characters in it being two!
Read more
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— ꒰‧⁺ ☾ 𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐋𝐄 ˀ ☁️ *ೃ༄
──── 𝐌𝐘 𝐉𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐋, 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 ˊˎ -
☾ ⋆ ゚𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: buck moon jul. 2023 winner: @one7hell7of7a7simp who asked for some possessiveness hehe
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Fëanor x Reader
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1k
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: possessive behaviour, marking (?), Fëanor thinking Fingolfin only exists to ruin his life lol
When Fëanor looks over you in your flowing dress, made of layer upon layer of soft, sheer oranges with a faint autumn leaf pattern around the skirt’s hem that subtly shows in the light like a mirage. He cannot help but smile and yet grimace at once. You look stunning. You take his breath away all the time and he sees you in the jewels he cuts, the ones he creates. He sees the curve of your cheek in the necklaces he makes, the sparkle in your eye in the earrings he crafts.
But it’s also a problem. You look almost too good and the last thing he wants is his brothers drooling over you, especially Fingolfin. He approaches you from behind. You’re sitting upon a stool in front of a vanity, applying a little bit of tint to your lips and cheeks. Fëanor sets down the box he holds in his hands upon the table as he takes your soft hair into his hands.
Without a word, he leans over you to pluck up your hairbrush from where it lays on the table in front of you. In his peripheral vision, he catches your eyes glancing up to his own grey ones in the mirror but his gaze is fixed upon where he’s pulling the brush gently through your hair.
“What’s this, my love?” You ask as you peer at the box he’s set down beside you. It’s a deep red colour with a white velvet ribbon wrapped around it in order to keep it closed.
“A gift for my beloved.” He answers simply, still tenderly brushing your hair. He leans down to press a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. You’ve perfumed your hair for the important event of meeting his family. You smell like lily of the valley and he takes a moment to just nuzzle his nose against the top of his head while one of his hands cups your cheek from behind. You’re so wonderful, the elleth that possesses his heart and he’ll be damned before he stands by while his brother falls for you and tries to take you away from him.
Fëanor sets the brush down for a moment as his hands cradle your face beneath your jaw in order to tilt your head back so that you look up to meet his eyes, each of you appearing upside down to the other. He leans down once more to paint a trail of kisses across your face, starting from your forehead and then travelling in a straight line to your brow, your nose, passing over your mouth to your chin and then finally kissing your lips. It’s slow, soft and sweet. Each of his kisses is warm and tender like the simmering embers of his furnace when he is finished crafting for the day.
“Open it, my love.” He takes the box back into his hands and sets it carefully in his lap. His arms drape over your shoulders as he leans down over you, his cheek pressed to yours. He watches on with a silent excitement within him while your fingers pluck up the end of the velvet ribbon and then pull, undoing the knot. You slip your hands beneath the white material in order to slide it off the box and then you slowly lift the lid. You want to savour this surprise, especially when considering the effort he must have put into it.
You suck in a quiet, gasped breath.
Inside is a set of glittering jewellery and, with this being your husband, he has not stopped at just earrings and a necklace, no. Inside, crafted from gold and set with larger red gems and smaller white ones, is a set of earrings, a necklace, rings, a bracelet and an anklet.
“Oh, Fëanáro…” You breathe out in a whisper as you take up the largest piece – the necklace – in hand. The details on the gold are never ending, like the intricate branches of trees criss-crossing one another, overlapped by stem and leaf. Fëanor had abandoned no detail of them, adding a subtle amount of texturing and even working veins into the leaves.
They weave around smaller white gems that reflect little rainbows and larger red ones that glimmer against the gold. Each piece is polished to perfection and is cut with such attention and symmetry that it’s without flaw at all. Even the chain that clasps around the back of your neck resembles the same leaf-like structure. The bracelet and anklet are styles similarly but are much more simplistic whereas the necklace cascades over your collar.
The rings are no less lavish, some more simple whereas others have larger, statement stones. They all follow the same theme as your dress and the necklace your husband has crafted to match it. Some are bare branches while others are crafted from golden branches or are made to resemble a leafy crown. The earrings are the most different though as it is the gems that are shaped like leaves – cut so thin, you wonder how many Fëanor might have broken before he got them right though you doubt the number is too high as he is the best in his profession – and they dangle from golden chains to make an effect like they are falling from the little branch cuff that crawls up the curve of your ear.
“I’m speechless, they’re wonderful.” You say softly, truly at a loss for words as he takes the necklace and clasps it around your neck. Mine. Then he does the same with the bracelet. Mine. The rings. Mine, mine, mine. The earrings. Mine, mine. And at last he kneels in front of you and his hands glide to the back of your calf, gliding his hands over the curve of your soft leg as he sets your foot in his lap so that he can fasten the anklet around you. Mine.
He looks up at you as his fingers gently caress your leg. You’re adorned now in jewels and precious metals that he moulded with you in mind. His craftsmanship is all over you and he hopes that it will serve as message enough that you are off limits. You’ve stolen his heart now. You have a piece of him and he will protect you and his heart in your hands for as long as he breathes air into his lungs.
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