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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 2 months

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A brother's instructions

Day 5 for @manweweek

Rating: E

Prompts: Free of Evil | Opposition

Pairing: Manwë/Melkor for Sofie (nyarnamaitar)

Themes: Dead Dove | Smut

Wordcount: 2.7k words

Summary: Prior to his wedding to Varda, Manwë’s brother calls on him, offering to teach him how to satisfy his bride in a way he does not expect.

Minors DNI | 18+

This fic is also available on AO3

“I hear you are to be wed.” Melkor leaned against the doorpost, the dark pools of his eyes glinting in the starlight that spilled freely into his brother’s chambers. “And I have come to offer my felicitations, brother mine.”

Manwë turned to face him, his lips forming a bashful smile. His brother’s visits were always welcomed, especially now that an occasion of great significance loomed large before him.

“My thanks, brother,” he returned warmly. “Lady Varda’s wish to be wed to me was wondrous for me to hear.”

“Indeed, brother mine. Indeed.” Melkor was perfectly calm, perfectly amiable. Deep within him, however, anger rose like a tumultuous storm that would have stripped everything around him to its bones had he allowed it. His brother was to be married to another, and the notion distressed Melkor deeply.

Look at him, he thought, while his brother kept up a lively chatter about his upcoming nuptials. Varda is unworthy of him. He is so radiant. So beautiful. So innocent and unsuspecting of the true motives and desires of others.

Dark lips curled into a twisted smile. Manwë was beautiful and radiant, as any of the Valar should be. He was also an innocent who was free of evil and pure of heart, a being who could not truly fathom the secret notions and desires hiding within the dark recesses of the minds of others. And he had not seen the desires that dwelled in his brother’s mind, for they had always been concealed from him. Melkor was besotted with him. It had been this way since the moment his younger brother came of age and Melkor found himself smitten by Manwë after he made himself known to him. This feeling grew with the passing of the ages, and Melkor did little to dampen it.

Innocent and unsuspecting, he repeated to himself. Too innocent and unsuspecting for his own good. Perhaps there is a way yet for me to achieve a sliver, at least, of what I desire, he realized, if I speak the right words. And if I am successful, I may yet have a taste of him before he places himself in the arms of another for all time.

“What you have said is all good,” Melkor began and set his plan into motion. “But it will not be enough. A marriage is more than just a pledging of vows, brother. There are times when a marriage needs more than just tender companionship to keep itself alive. Have you given any thought to the other aspects as well?”

“You mean pleasures of both the spirit and the flesh?” His brother flushed, wringing his hands. Manwë had indeed given the notion much thought, and he found himself praying that he would not fail to please his new bride in any way, for he had abstained from such acts despite the many invitations from others to do so. Oh, he saw nothing wrong with such invitations; he simply desired to wait until he found the companion of his life. “Yes. I know of this brother.”

“Do you desire it?” Melkor asked with feigned indifference. “Does your lady desire it?”

Manwë flushed again, unable to look his brother in the eye. “Yes. To both. Varda is said to be a most passionate woman, and I… I hope that I will be able to please her in every way.”

“I understand completely,” Melkor replied solemnly, pacing his brother’s chamber, his eyes darting to the wide featherbed and its silk sheets. The bed was barely slept in, for they, the Valar, did not require rest and true sleep unless their earthly vessels were weary. And Manwë was rarely weary.

Perhaps it is time that featherbed was put to some proper use. Melkor stopped by the foot of it before turning to face his brother.

“Do you wish to know how best to please your future queen and keep her content?”

“I do. More than anything.”

“Then will you allow me to teach you? I have some experience in this sphere. I could guide you.”

His brother—who had been gazing out the windows—snapped around to look at him, startled by this most unusual offer. “You mean I should listen to what you have to say?”

“Not just say,” his brother answered, laughing. “I will show you by allowing you to take liberties with my body. Come now, brother,” he added when Manwë grew pale. “Have you lost your courage?”

“I… I do not think it is wise, brother,” Manwë said, puzzled. His brother sought to show him how to please his queen instead of just counseling him about what took place in the marriage bed. He did not know what to make of it. What he did know was that such acts were forbidden, not just for the Children, the Eldar and the yet-to-be-discovered Edain, but for the Valar as well. “And it is an abomination, brother, for you and I to cleave to each other in such a way even in the flesh.”

“It is far from an abomination,” Melkor sighed as if in defeat. “But I will leave if you do not desire my guidance.”

“So soon?” His brother cried when he walked past him, comporting himself in the manner of an aggrieved soul. “Please stay, brother; I cannot bear to see you leave so soon.”

Melkor paused by the door, his hand already around its golden handle. The key has found its way into its lock, he thought, pleased with himself, and pleased with how easy it was to bring his brother around. Now all I need to do is to turn it into its proper place.

“You do not wish me to leave?” he murmured, his back to his brother the entire time. “But why must I stay, brother mine, when you call my offer to help a vile and monstrous act?”

“Please stay, brother,” his brother beseeched him. “Please. I… I did not mean to insult you.”

“You will trust me and willingly do what I ask of you?” Melkor turned around to face him, his countenance grave. Deep within, however, he was rejoicing. “All of what I ask of you?”

“I…” Manwë paused and hesitated. Melkor invited him to do something that would go against everything they were taught by their creator. However, he wanted to trust his brother. He wanted Melkor to see that he did not doubt his intentions, and he yearned to know how best to satisfy his future queen. “Yes. But just in the flesh, yes?”

“Of course, of course,” Melkor agreed. “Just in the flesh, and not in the spirit. Too much harm can come to us if our spirits are bonded. Now stay here. There is something I must procure for us first.”

That something turned out to be a clear, crystal bottle of oil that Melkor obtained after some discrete searching. It gleamed atop the little table it was placed on, and Manwë regarded it, wondering how it would be used. Then he turned to face his brother, mustering the courage that threatened to desert him at that moment.

“I… I am ready,” he declared softly. His brother smiled.

“First,” said Melkor, “we must kiss. Come here, brother mine. Place your arms around my neck and close your eyes. I will show you how it is done.”

Manwë obeyed, albeit reluctantly, gasping when he was kissed violently and his brother’s hand tangled in his hair. He willed his mind to open, more than a little frightened by the savagery of his brother’s embrace.

“It hurts,” he exclaimed when his brother tightened his other arm around his waist in a vise-like hold. “It hurts, brother.”

“Tis how it is, brother,” Melkor growled, savoring the warmth lingering in his brother’s mouth. And oh! The sweetness he found lingering within it, the cravings it gave rise to! “Varda will desire this, even act in this manner as well. Listen to me, brother, when I say this is the only way to keep a being like her content.”

“I… very well, brother.” Manwë yielded, whimpering when he felt the sting of his brother’s teeth against his lips and when the heaviness of his brother’s arousal pressed against his lower belly. Melkor wasted little time, ripping the robes off his brother’s person in his greed to feel flesh against flesh. He was not disappointed in any regard, for when he freed himself of his robes and drew his brother close, he found himself sighing wistfully.

He feels so good. His brother’s fair skin was uncommonly soft and smelled faintly of cool mountain air. And it was perfect, devoid of any flaw. Melkor had often dreamed of it—his brother’s pale skin pressing against his own and his soft, windblown hair spreading around him like silk.

And for once, I get to make my vision of us real. Melkor tumbled Manwë onto his bed and sat astride him, marking his throat and arms and torso with his tongue and his lips and his teeth. Manwë—despite the arousal that had already gathered deep within the pit of his stomach—thought this was all too much. Surely the pleasures of the flesh were supposed to be gentler than this?

“Too much, brother. Please.” He tried to resist, to push himself away. His nails inadvertently dug into his brother’s thighs during his attempts to break free. Melkor growled, inflamed, and wrapped his hand around his brother’s throat, pinning him to the featherbed. “Tis too much for me.”

“It is far from too much,” he lilted, bracing his other hand by his brother’s shoulder. Manwë hissed softly when the pressure applied against his flesh increased slightly, and when the weight of his brother came to settle against the cradle of his hips. He could have used his mastery over wind and air to free himself, but he could not bring himself to do so. He could not bear the notion of wounding his brother in any way. “And it is how your lady would desire it—all heat and flames and passion. Do you wish to stop now, brother mine, when you are so close to discovering how to truly pleasure her?

“I… I do not know.”

“Precisely. You do not know. Which is why I intend to teach you. Now stop resisting my embraces, and let me show you the rest.”

His brother looked at him, his eyes wide and full of confusion. And Melkor, thinking an inducement was needed, released his hold and reached down to wrap his hand around his brother’s cock instead. It produced a much-sought-after effect. Manwë arched his back and let out a transported whine, his hands fisting against the sheets, when he felt himself being stroked for the first time.

“Is that a yes, brother mine?” Melkor asked, masking his elation with innocent warmth, when his brother thrust up his hips.

“Yes, yes, brother,” Manwë—unable to stop himself—cried out, when yet another flash of pleasure tore through him.

Melkor groaned when he was addressed so. He did not dwell on it, thinking it would undo him and drive him mad if he did. He set his eyes on the task at hand instead, turning his brother onto his belly, bidding him to wait, and telling him that he had to be prepared for what came next. Manwë waited, ashamed of the want that bloomed and surged through his being, and ashamed for wanting to know more of what his brother had in store for him.

His brother had a great deal in store for him, though, at the time, he knew little of it. The first thing he felt after the weight of the featherbed shifted again was his brother’s legs forcing his own apart. He turned to look over his shoulder, but his brother commanded him to turn back with a heated thought. The next thing he felt was his brother’s hand, large and cool and slick with oil, caressing the small of his back. Manwë closed his eyes.

What will come next? He wondered.

Pain came next. Pain like he had never felt before was searing through his insides. Manwë tried to look over his shoulder again when the finger that had breached him sank deeper.

“What are you doing to me?” He demanded, his words feeble.

“Preparing you, just as I said.” Melkor thrust deeply, pressing his finger against a particular place that made his brother dig his nails into the sheets, tearing at them. His quiet moan was sweet and golden, like music to Melkor’s ears. He pressed his finger against that place again, and his name spilled off his brother’s swollen lips in a whisper. “For Varda may do it as well. There are even special implements that she could use for her pleasure as well as for yours. Would you like to know how she could do this?”

“I… that is yes, brother.” Manwë, still full of shame and self-disgust, moaned again when a second finger joined the first, opening him up even more. Melkor used a generous hand with the oil. He applied it along his length and pushed more inside his brother. Then, when he was more than ready, he gripped his brother’s hips and lifted them just high enough to breach him again without too much trouble. And without warning, he did so, pushing himself inside with one long thrust.

Manwë cried out: from shock, from pain, unable to comprehend how he could accept such an intrusion, and unable to comprehend how he could accept so much of it. Melkor was big—uncomfortably, painfully so. Manwë felt him grunt against the back of his neck and heard him whisper “Finally,” when he sank home. Then he began to move, his shallow thrusts deepening as his pleasure grew.

This is wrong, thought Manwë, even as hunger for more flared through him, white-hot and blinding. This is wrong. This should not be happening. We must stop. I must put a stop to this. I must…

“Enjoying yourself, brother mine?”

Too late did Manwë realize that his moans joined the euphony Melkor had created with his own. Humiliated, he dropped his head, muffling his cries against his arm. His brother did not mind. He took his pleasure as and how he found it, striking the place he found before, bringing both himself and his brother to the very brink by chasing his own release.

“You are close.” Melkor tightened his grip with one hand while the other moved to tangle itself once more in the pale silver of his brother’s hair. He grabbed onto it and tugged hard, delighting in the little whine he heard. “Your release is almost upon you. I can feel it in the tightening of your body. Do you want me to show you what that would feel like, brother? When your queen takes you over the edge while sharing pleasures?”

“I… that is yes, yes, brother.” Manwë was starting to think there was more to these lessons, something that Melkor kept hidden from his sight. Still, he could not dwell on any suspicion. Not at that moment. Not when golden light kept bursting to life behind his eyes. He whispered his brother’s name and chased after it, giddy and lightheaded, forgetting his shame, unable and unwilling to linger on his brother’s motives. He whispered brother’s name again, this time when he found that light. He let it wash over him and drown him in its brilliance, his body trembling and trembling while he spilled across the sheets, his brother’s name parting his lips in wild little cries. He was still shaking when he heard his brother’s deep cry, and when he felt the warmth of his brother’s spend flood his insides. Then his brother went still, and a hush settled over his chambers. It was everywhere, as all-consuming as the light that washed over him before. Manwë slowly opened his eyes.

Is it now over? He made a faint noise when his brother finally slipped out of him and collapsed onto his side. Has my brother’s lesson come to an end?

“Are your instructions over, brother?” Manwë murmured when he could finally lift his head and speak. He regarded his brother discretely, drinking in the shimmering, slate-gray skin and the hair that fell around him like a dark waterfall. Then he turned away, mortified for admiring him so. Melkor had seen him looking and did well to hide the triumphant smirk that threatened to burst forth.

So trusting. So innocent. And finally, mine. Varda will never be able to claim all of him now. My mark will forever be etched on his spirit.

“Our lessons are far from over,” Melkor began after he gathered his breath. “Rest, brother mine. I have so much more to teach you. They too will serve you well, I think, where your new queen is concerned.”

#manweweek #manwe week #dead dove do not eat #manwë #melkor #manwë smut #melkor smut #manwë x melkor #the silmarillion #the silm fanfiction #a world of whimsy writes

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suriquesse · 1 year

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early bird and night...dragon

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gelenka-daria · 28 days

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manwë: *rolls over in bed and knees melkor in the ribs*

melkor: ow! you kneed me!

manwë, sleepily: yeah i do need you

melkor: *voice cracking* …okay

#don’t mind me sometimes I’m in a mood #melkor x manwë #melkor #manwë #tolkien

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and-the-stars-collided · 1 year

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Ainur as Aesthetics:

Melkor — eye-rolls, either sleep for the week or sleep is for the weak, great music taste, extremely passionate, smarter than you'd think, abandoned cities, alcohol, doesn't care about opinions, midnight hours, black coffee, hates humanity, cold hands, barely-there eyeliner, sharp smiles, lace-up boots, doesn't like to be told what to do, anger so blinding that you forget where and who you are, staring at the mirror until your features start to disappear, bad decisions, their words can hit you like a gunshot, the chilling sensation of metal on your skin, sharp claws ready to slash anyone they encounter, shattered antique mirrors, long dark scarves, dark and tousled hair, swallowing hard, a little broken.

Manwë — pale white snow, red cheeks, dried flowers that used to be the colour of the sun, quiet half-smiles, sunlight coming through an open window in the morning, hair tucked behind ears, gives the most thoughtful gifts, always neat, sparkly jewellery, beautiful poetry, comforting hugs, light footsteps, kisses on cheeks, a laugh like wind chimes, thunderstorms that you feel in your chest, intelligent eyes, collector of small objects, windswept hair, loves their friends with almost an unhealthy amount of loyalty, the colour of the sky at dusk, a crisp autumn breeze, soft hair, gold-flecked souls, the one who is there for you even when you think you don't need them, singing under their breath, smiles as the rain falls down and laughs as their hair lifts in the breeze.

Varda — cracked spines of leather-bound classics, sharing pieces of your soul with the world, starting revolutions with simple words, rosewater, cherry blossom petals floating through the wind, making promises, midnight conversations, writing into abysmal nothingness, stargazing, knowing smiles, doesn't open up easily, soft skin, crystals, a night where the clouds hide the moon, stories swirling in your mind, cursive letters, piercing eyes, whispers filled with secrets, studying things that do not exist, bright flashes of light outside your window, silk bedsheets, mysterious, handwritten notes, stays up so late it's early, plays quiet music for ambiance, fingertips stained with ink.

Ulmo — bodies full of stories, a will that ebbs and flows, lazy smiles, no real devotion to anything but existence itself, wordless lullabies, glassy blue eyes, moves with grace and rhythm, late night swims, blue tie dyed sheets, flowing outfits, the rough ocean at night, tall waves and bitter winds, salty hair, long limbs, kind of sad and tired but you've never see them cry, goes with the flow, quiet voice but loud meaning, walks with purpose, always looks their best, very kind and giving, seashells, loud laughter, perfect posture, habit of overthinking, bare feet, ice-cold lemonade, laying on the ground to soak up the sun, sand in the air, intricate designs, high ceilings, dim lights, bitten nails.

Aule — confident, likes to perform, acts cool but is secretly emotional underneath, bold/dark colours, loves challenges, gets mad and forgives just as quickly, wouldn't change for anyone, laughing so loudly that strangers stare at you, running around like crazy person with your lover, compliments a stranger's crazy hair colour and feeling so good when they smile, unhealthy amounts of candy, fiery red sunsets, getting back up after being knocked down, they know that their friends are right behind them wherever they go, the burn in your lungs after chasing something you'll never be able to catch, always does their own thing.

Yavanna — warm days, soft smiles, making sure everyone is happy, walking barefoot, falling asleep in the sun, wishes everyone would be kinder, mugs of too-sweet tea, the person who screams don't kill the spider, adores animals, covered in freckles, one can never quite tell exactly what their eye colour is, pointing to the stars as they peek out from behind the clouds, large yawns early in the morning, a question left unanswered, honey, one hand catching another, tea that is swallowed for its warmth and not the taste, faded patterns on well-loved t-shirts, dew beading on flower petals, the imprints tight socks leave behind, wanderlust's yearning pull.

Orome — long hair, loves nature and animals, mist, sharp features, dirt under their fingernails, very down to earth, always willing to help, the strong friend, always has new, interesting facts to tell, tough as all hell, doesn't love easily but always loves deeply, walking barefoot everywhere, wildflowers threaded into messy braids, laying in the afternoon sun, big adventures, crisp air, deeply opinionated, climbing the tallest trees around, muddy feet, toothy smiles, accepting of everyone, follows their own path, stargazing off mountain cliffs, running through tall grass, folklore stories of fairies and dragons, a child at heart.

Nienna — honeyed and sulky dark summers, pomegranates, thunderstorms, magnolias, unkept promises, cinematic and shadowy, existing in a trance of melancholy, feels passionately though feigns detachment, slightly off-putting, their presence is announced but even if it wasn't you'd still know they were there, constantly underestimated, desperately afraid of silence, red-rimmed eyes, always appears serene, broken handwriting, short hair, foxes, dead leaves, large coats and scarves, numb fingers, old stone walls, steaming black tea, tears, gazing at a past lover down the hall, the smell before rain, old songs, nostalgia.

Námo — set features, eyes the color of dead souls, candles melting wax atop a piano, tragic smiles, an inexplicable sense of sharpness, hot tears, decaying cores, irreversible tornadoes, infectious whispers, heart is always pounding, doesn't like to be seen, nightmares, dark circles under their eyes that they can't hide, doesn't know their limits, slightly self-destructive, the silent one, bitter coffee, quiet observation, black eyeshadow, knows a bit of everything, no-nonsense, cold fingers and colder gazes, being misunderstood, sitting alone in a hard wood chair late at night, dead roses, losing a loved one too soon, moss covering broken gravestones, shattered glass, the taste of melancholy.

Irmo — glows when they talk, dewy eyes, radiates with a blessing from the sun, gentle hands, dandelions, white clouds, the shy warmth of the first days of spring, afternoon naps, soft pillows, carefree laughter, fields of reeds, basking in the moonlight, flower crowns, sunbathing in creeks, gloriously alive, hours among the leaves, kind soul, often lost in their own thoughts, nights spent watching the river, dancing in a circle, holding hands, soft clothes, sun kissed skin, always listening to music, either works too hard or not at all, warm smiles, dancing in the rain, catching fireflies, wanting to do everything and nothing all at once, innocent hope, paper stars in glass jars, bittersweet goodbyes, looking for beauty in everything, water-coloured skies.

Estë — dried orange garlands, snow on green tiled roofs, a bit in love, quills dipped in metallic ink, daydreaming, angelic singing, very fond of cuddling, homemade bread, constantly buying gifts for people, talkative, will hold your hand whenever and wherever, friends with almost everyone, convinced that sleeping at 10pm is late, strawberry ice cream, calming eyes, telling old stories, rosy cheeks, wanting the best for everyone, sunrises, loves nature, passionate about dreams, self-made flower crowns, will stay up late to comfort you, unexpected hugs from the back, not afraid to tell people they love them, humble.

Vairë — silver knitting needles, velvet skies filled with twinkling stars, red embroidery thread, hot black tea with spoonfuls of sugar, ballet shoes, hearts carved in birch bark, denim jackets, distant bells, foxgloves, rain moving over hills, cheek caresses, a bedroom left alone, walking in the mud and rain at dusk, resisting change, dead ends, unspoken feelings, finally coming home, looking up at the stars in hope of something more, simultaneously brimming with hope and lifeless, wiling the hours away, staring at the ceiling, wanting to write but not knowing the words, hiding from the world, afraid of the future, a sense of dread.

Vána — soft features, the smell of lavender, long walks in the sunshine, singing in a choir, sincere laughter, pastel colours, reading poetry aloud, baking cookies and sharing it with friends, kind gestures, painting on random objects, flower print clothes, lacy socks, handwritten love letters, forgiving people, graceful movements, writing poetry, roses, standing up for those who can't defend themselves, walks through nature, positivity, white lace, long hair, very graceful, always there for you, nostalgia of a time that you never knew, undeniably beautiful, the sweet breeze of a spring morning, slowing drifting off while laying on a green meadow, calm and collected, the best friend you could ask for.

Tulkas — loud laughter, hammocks, doesn't know when to stop, can't sleep, jacket with so many fixed holes it has been reduced to patchwork, flashing smiles, living on the edge, free spirit that will rip you to shreds if you dare to try and tame it, bloody knuckles, the moments of silence after a loud screaming match, riding into the sunset, dogs barking in the distance, the smell of fire on the air, running from person to person, unbridled chaos, aimless wandering, on the verge of greatness, call of the void, empty avenues, walking between worlds, wanting to hold the planets, melancholy nights, seeing things that aren't really there, wishing for more, overgrown unkempt gardens, bright colours against dark greens, tripping up on vines and logs, scraped knees.

Nessa — can go from laughing to serious fast if necessary, little bits of dark humour, staying up late, they do the little eyebrow thing when they get insulted, doodles, everybody else thinks they have friends but they don’t, red lipstick, lively, can be implosive, forgotten, mood swings like crazy, but very calm when they are happy, regrets decisions they made in the past, affectionately called a little brat, out until late in the afternoon of the next day, does not let anyone kill their vibe, seeing their escape in a person, the echo of your own steps on a tile floor, the sensation of being the only one left, a way that seems to have no end.

Eönwë — intimidating, has a soft side but only a few people see it, loves the forest, natural beauty, combat boots, deep thinker, false formality, a chord of music that breaks the silence, clouds rolling in, doesn't get angry but instead just fucking glares at you until you crumble, loves thunderstorms, mind like caverns, hands like stone, to hold or to hurt, heavy irises, earthquake tempers, unrequited love, soft voice, they know you whether you know them or not, lingering touches, people watching, the smell of old books and rain, faint music in the distance, won't let others break their friend's hearts, clearing their throat as a type of warning, moral righteousness, faith in humanity, towering buildings.

Mairon — sarcastic comments with a smile, glares that could kill, speaking in such a pretentious way that no one even understands you, obsession over studies, being a good person but getting corrupted, setting fire to the city, eyes like flames, heeled boots, soft aching hands buried in messy hair, ancient ruins, cups of tea gone cold, flawless eyeliner, impulsive decisions, false pretences, sickly sweet smiles, daunting realisations, masquerade masks, too stubborn to admit their regrets, waking up from a nightmare, hands cold to the bone, chest pains, the sharp cold of winter, rotting apples, dark circles under the eyes from not sleeping for days, hands stripped from over-washing.

So! Still trying to work out my masterlist and first few posts I have pre-written. In the meantime, please enjoy this messy aesthetic thingy.

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edensrose · 8 months

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. ˚◞♡ 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔 ◞ ₊˚﹕

now that I have finally got the blog revamp out, I think it's time I get back into writing. I've decided to open up my requests, please make sure to adhere to the slots per fandom! ( I have a lot of tolkien requests in my inbox so their slots will be significantly less )

˚◞❀˳ tolkien ( 5 / 5 )

˚◞❀˳ spiderverse ( 2 / 10 )

˚◞❀˳ kamisama kiss ( 4 / 6 )

˚◞❀˳ k project ( 7 / 7 )

˚◞❀˳ mo dao zu shi ( 5 / 5 )

don't forget to check out my guidelines before requesting as well as the characters I write for on the fandom specific masterlists

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cilil · 14 days

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Matryoshka Meet & Greet Challenge

✍ Prompt: Lost in Memory | Manwë & Melkor ✍ Synopsis: Manwë tries to remember the brother he lost. ✍ Warnings: Some sibling angst ✍ Drabble ✍ SWG archive

What had it been like to have a brother? What had it felt like to share a bond with one who had once been as he?

Manwë looked down at his hands, empty like the part of his ëala where Melkor's presence should be. His memory was supposed to be eternal; why could he not even remember what he had lost?

"You are no brother to me. You never were."

"I have no brother."

He remembered those words well. They plagued his nightmares, worsened his guilt.

They had been Melkor's response.

Still, Manwë refused to believe that he was right.

Thanks for reading! ♡

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

#catching up on the backlog x)#swg meet and greet #swg challenge #manwe #manwe sulimo #manwë #melkor #morgoth #valar #ainur #drabble #silmarillion #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #cílil writes #my writing

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yandere-ainur-confessions · 1 year

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

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

♡. 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒕 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

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

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

♡. 𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔

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

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

♡. 𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆

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

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

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archiveofthelibrarian · 5 months

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Manwion had hair of silver, which at night, reflected the starry sky yet glistened gold when Laurelin waxed. His long silver waves was adored by all, Quendi and Ainur alike, rivaled only by the gold-silver hair of Artanis which was said to have captured the very essence of the Two Trees.

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Love and Glass

Prologue

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Inspired by my conversation with @animatorweirdo as anon here.

I have conflicted feelings about this. One one hand, I love the idea and can't get it out of my head. On the other, my execution of this is questionable. So I am throwing it into the void of internet.

I tried to mimick the style in which Tolkien wrote to convey this idea's whimsical and dreamy feel in my head. Alhtough I am not sure I have succeded. Again, this is not beta read, so feel free to point out any mistakes. I

Masterpost for the fic can be found here.

DISCLAİMER: I do not own anything you recognize. This is a fanwork for entertainment purposes and should be regarded as such.

Word count: 432

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Long ago, before the rising of the Sun and the Moon, all newborn elves would be brought before the Valar so that they may receive a blessing from those who crafted Arda.

With time, there grew a great love for elflings in the hearts of the Valar. And though they all loved the elves, there was no greater love than the one Manwë and Varda bore.

Their love was so great, that they wished to love a child of their own, and though they knew it was against the vision of Eru, they set out to work.

With the help of Aulë the smith, Manwë and Varda took their love, poured it into Aulë's work, and then shaped and molded it into their desire.

Finally, a child resembling an elfling came to be from the work of the Valar. Though he looked as any elfling would, he had no free will or fire of his own.

Eru, who saw the great love Manwë and Varda bore for this creation for their's, allowed him to live and have a fire of his own.

But this wayward behavior of Manwë and Varda could not go unpunished, so he allowed the child no name of his own, save for Manwion, meaning son of Manwë, so that he may know when he is called.

Blinded by their love for the little child they would call their own, Manwë and Varda paid no mind to it.

But everyone else did.

The rest of the Valar pitied him, the Maiar shed tears him and the Quendi looked at him oddly, for the Quendi valued their names above all their possessions.

But Manwion understood none of this, for he was a being of innocence and wonder. He could not understand any darkness or malice.

But that did not matter in a world pure and untainted.

What none of the dwellers of Aman, save for Fëanáro, understood was that nothing in this world could last forever.

Soon, Melkor was released from the Halls after his three ages long imprisonment and he started his plan for revenge.

No one noticed as he sowed lies and discord among the Noldor. No one until he stole the holy light and the precious prince.

Melkor, who was renamed into Morgoth, destroyed the Two Trees with the help of the spider Ungoliant and kidnapped Manwion.

As the Valar and the Vanyar wept for their loss, the Noldor took action. With their spirits ignited by Fëanáro's passionate speech, they started their journey to the eastern lands of Beleriand.

The dead bodies of the Trees stand in Ezellohar still but no one knows what happened to their joyful, pure prince Manwion.

Not even the Dark Lord himself.

#silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #silm #silm x reader #silm fic #tolkien fanfiction #Manwë #manwë súlimo #varda #varda elentari #modern girl in middle earth #gn reader #modern person in middle earth #melkor #morgoth #the valar #love and glass #love and glass prologue

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nyarnamaitar · 2 months

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thinking about melkor becoming more and more cruel and paranoid and fragmented the further he drifts away from his twin, like a dying sun

whereas manwë has people around him to support him through the pain of losing his other half, melkor just-- doesn't. sure, he has his underlings, some of whom he even has a relatively close relationship with (mairon, perhaps even gothmog), but it's not the same-- it's hardly enough--

in utumno and angband, melkor often has to fight the urge to invade valinor like wildfire, hurl himself at its glittering palaces, drag his little brother from his halls and bring him home, right where he belongs, kneeling at melkor's feet in melkor's throne room, breathing his air, sleeping in his bed--

instead, melkor just burrows himself deeper into the earth, trying to get away from the strong winds high above his fortress-- i need him not, i am better off without him-- and tries to smother his longing, snuff it like a tiny flame

(it never works)

#manwë #manwe #melkor #manwë x melkor #valar #silmarillion #tolkien

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 5 months

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For the @ainursecretsanta side event, and inspired by these prompts created by @cilil

Pairing: Medieval! Manwë x Medieval! Melkor

Themes: Angst | Dark

Warnings: Imprisonment | Mention of torture and execution

Wordcount: 1k words

Summary: After the War of Wrath, Manwë reunites with his imprisoned brother

Minors DNI

Divider by @estrelinha-s

Melkor sat alone in his tower cell with no one but himself for company. Oh, he did not want for any comfort. Custom decreed that prisoners of high birth, even those condemned to die, be treated properly according to their station, and his father, as always, bowed his head to such a tradition.

Of course he would lower his head to tradition. Melkor snorted bitterly as he turned his attention to his cheerless meal. Bread and cheese and roast fowl, all torn and cut into smaller pieces. There was no knife or even a spoon for him to use, and there was no goblet either. Just a clay cup holding a measure of wine.

At least the wine is good, Melkor thought to himself after the first sip. The wine was quite light and fine. If he had been free, he would have enjoyed it immensely.

His shackles clinked softly when he rose and walked over to the solitary window of his chamber. Melkor peered into the world outside, stunned by how little it had changed.

The inner bailey was the same as before, as were the glass house and the observatory. Melkor looked closer. Even from afar, he could see a warrior escorting their companion to glass doors half again as tall as the tallest man. There was no one in the observatory at this hour, save for a scholar or two. That warrior and their companion will not be seen till dawn if fate was kind to them this night.

“Who calls at this ungodly hour?” He cried when someone knocked insistently on the door.

“Your brother,” Manwë answered from the other side. “May I come in?”

Melkor had little choice but to acquiesce to the request. Manwë was going to walk into his chamber, guards and all, whether he wished for it or not. “You may,” he sighed in defeat.

None other than Lord Commander Eönwë himself entered first. He led Melkor to a chair crafted specifically for prisoners like him, and he secured the shackles around his wrists and ankles to chains and loops affixed to the stone floor.

“Thank you, Lord Commander. You may leave us now.” Manwë stood to the side and waited until the door closed behind his father’s most trusted general.

Melkor studied his kin. Manwë was no longer the soft-spoken little brother who hung onto his every word. War and sharing the burdens his father carried had altered him, made him harder, and made his eyes colder.

“You have changed a great deal,” he observed. Before, his brother always sought velvet and silks and the feel of his books. Now it was plate and mail and a long sword at his waist. “Pray why are you here?”

“To talk to you,” Manwë began. “You are my brother, after all.”

Melkor scoffed and looked away.

“You do understand you will soon be executed, yes?”

“So everyone keeps telling me. And with great relish at that.”

“Can you blame them, brother?" Manwë replied, not unkindly. “Given all that you have done?”

When Melkor refused to answer, Manwë walked over to the window and looked outside. He smiled when he caught starlight glinting against glass roofs. “Do you remember the gardens, brother? How you used to carry me on your shoulders because I could not reach the high branches?”

“Yes. You would gorge yourself on apples and cherries until you were sick.” Melkor smiled despite himself. “And then father would send for the physician, all while gracing us with tedious little sermons on the importance of restraint and then demanding that we conduct ourselves as proper princes.” He turned to face Manwë. “How is he with you?”

“No different than he was with you,” Manwë stepped away from the window and shivered. “Is there no hearth here?”

“None. No one is leaving me unattended with a fire.” Melkor would have shivered as well, had he not fought it back. His brother would never see such weakness in him. Then he remembered those who served him, and craved to know the fate of his most loyal followers, especially the one that came to hold a precious place in his heart. “What will become of the others?”

“Hung, drawn, and quartered at the base of the mountain, so that others could also bear witness to their punishment.” Manwë stopped, hesitated. Here was the true cause of his visit: to pass on his father’s verdict. “Father decreed the same fate for Mairon…”

Melkor’s eyes widened with fear. Hung, drawn, and quartered—a punishment reserved only for the worst of the worst. For traitors.

“…and he wanted you to watch it all. But I convinced him to call for a swordsman instead,” Manwë continued. He studied his brother keenly. Melkor was gaunt and scarred, and his eyes were full of anger. His once-thick hair was now lusterless and grimy. He remembered what Melkor was like before he renounced his claim: a strikingly handsome older brother who read stories to him and brought him sweets and taught him how to charm anyone who caught his eye. Manwë grieved for him, for all that he once was, and for all that he could have been. “He is quite skilled, I am told. And quick. I have also arranged for you to see Mairon one last time. One hour was all I could get you.”

“My thanks,” Melkor said, falling back into his seat, unable to comprehend his fate. He built a kingdom with his own hands and amassed a great army of his own. He knew true love, kingship and glory, and now, with the single clean swing of a sword, all of it would be taken from him, including his own life.

“I do it for the memories of who you were, brother, and what you once meant to me.” Manwë called for the guard. His eyes began to sting, and he had no desire for his brother to see his tears. Melkor would surely mock him if he did. “ I will bring Mairon to you at the appointed hour. Until then, good night, brother. And farewell."

tags: @asianbutnotjapanese @3dragonstar

#whimsy's winter fics #twelve days of ficsmas #melkor #manwë #manwë x melkor #medieval! melkor #medieval! manwë #the valar #the ainur #the silm

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dirty-ainur-confessions · 1 year

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

♡. melkor

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

♡. manwë

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

♡. oromë

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

#·⊰ ꒰🌹꒱ 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐭 ៸៸ melkor ─ ♡.#·⊰ ꒰🌹꒱ 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐭 ៸៸ manwë ─ ♡.#·⊰ ꒰🌹꒱ 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐭 ៸៸ oromë ─ ♡.#manwë x reader #manwe x reader #manwë súlimo #melkor x reader #morgoth #oromë x reader #orome #the silmarillion #silm #tolkien #smut #minors dni #ainur #valar #confessoons

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gelenka-daria · 1 month

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The reincarnation prompt look so cool omg imagine a reincarnated melkor & manwë

i have a draft which i thought was half done but then i keep adding new things to the plot and it keeps getting longer, here's a snippet in case i never finish this thing🧍‍♀️

Friday morning is terrible. Manwë oversleeps his first alarm, then panics when he hears the blaring horn of his backup alarm, literally falling out of bed in his half-frenzied state. He doesn’t shower, doesn’t have time to make himself a cup of coffee, can’t find matching socks, and spends seven goddamn minutes searching for his car keys. His luck doesn’t change. Once he gets behind the wheel, his car won't start. Manwë screams into the sleeves of his hood. Thankfully, the subway is a mere five-minute walk from where he lives, one or two if he storms it. He pulls his hood up - no one is catching him looking this haggard, he has a reputation to uphold - as he races through the morning crowd under drizzling rain, his only hope now is that he hasn't missed his transport. Which, as his stupendous luck would have it, he has. Of course. Manwë’s body composition is roughly forty percent pure, blinding rage by the time he's bracing his hands against his knees as he catches his breath, trying not to bemoan his misfortunes, few that they are, as he watches the train glide away, the doors closing just a second before he could squeeze his body through. It's alright, he reconciles with himself, so you're a little bit late to your lecture, so what? When’s the next train, five minutes? No big deal. He’s been waiting even less than that when he hears the distinct clamor of the oncoming train as light appears down the distant rails, and the metal wagons are slowing down in wisps of steam right in front of Manwë in no time. The doors part, people rush in and he finds himself a decent seat before the train moves again. He’s already settled when something flashes in the corner of his right eye and he whips his head to look without thought. The guy stands out a mile in the crowd, his steps languid, barely escaping the door clamping shut on long, dark hair. Manwë’s eyes catch combat boots, dark pants, and a dark red jacket over a black tank top and he can’t help but think the guy looks refreshing, a splash of color in their otherwise dull surroundings. He sweeps a look across the people scattered across the trailer, his gaze laser-sharp and focused and for some reason, Manwë is relieved his choice of dress is shielding him from that stare. Whatever the gu's looking for, he doesn't seem to find it, because his demeanor quickly grows lax and he turns bored eyes to his phone as he takes a seat one elderly couple away from him, and if Manwë tips his head up the slightest, he can get a real good look at him. But when his eyes zero in on the deep golden eyes and the sharp cut of bone under coppery skin the stranger's profile has to offer, an echo of 'don't I know you' chimes in his brain out of nowhere and he has to physically stop himself from getting closer to get a better, clearer look, confused as to why he suddenly, desperately, wants to. He doesn’t quite know how to put his finger on it, but this guy has something about him that makes his gut twist, like he's a face he’s seen in a dream and is now manifesting right before him. It makes his skin crawl but also itch for more. Manwë scoots away in his own seat, looking away and willing his eyes to follow suit, to not stray, but they flit sideways anyway a minute later, catching a hint of the impassive profile. He suddenly wants to speak, talk to this stranger, say something, anything. Why? What does it matter? You don’t know this guy. Manwë quells his interest with a frown, pretending as if the small kernel of disappointment in his gut isn’t attempting to flower. He gets off at the next stop in a hurry, exiting through the door furthest from the stranger. He suffers the couple of classes he has and sits through dinner with his friends, goes home, showers, studies into the early morning hours for his Human Physiology final until he falls asleep, drooling over scattering textbooks. He forgets the brief, trivial encounter of this morning had ever happened.

#melkor x manwë #tolkien #anonymous

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furious-haste-of-malice · 2 months

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We’ve already discussed this in the DMs but here’s an official prompt/request: Manwe forcibly feminizing Melkor and messing with his fana to give him a “purer form”

Go wild.

𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑫𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒆𝒅

"So you even admit that you would deceive me!" Manwë exclaimed, yanking the comb out of his brother's matted hair. "Not only have you denied me your love for ages out of cruelty and misplaced revenge, but you also insist on attempting to poison our memories! Why, brother? Have I not loved you enough?"

"Not enough, yet at the same time too much," Melkor sighed. At least if he meant all the things he said to me and wasn't just pretending to please Father.

⊱ Characters: Melkor, Manwë ⊱ Pairing(s): Melkor x Manwë ⊱ Synopsis: Even after ages of Melkor rejecting their bond, Manwë is determined to love him and create the relationship he always dreamed of - by force, if necessary. ⊱ Featuring: Hair brushing, "bonding", sibling "love", ⊱ Warnings: Smut, non-con, sibling incest, forcibly feminized fána/non-consensual body modification, obsession Oneshot (~4.1k) Also available on AO3

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Apologies for taking so long, but I went all out to make up for it. Let's go.

"Do you see how beautiful you are?" Manwë's voice vibrated with excitement and his hands rested on his brother's shoulders as if to embrace him from behind.

Melkor stared at his reflection in the mirror, frozen in disbelief. What he saw resembled the form he had assumed so long ago, but it was not quite how he remembered it. His skin, formerly icy and ashen like the lands he used to dwell in, was smoother now, with a warmer, creamy complexion; his hair had grown throughout his captivity, its tips now reaching down to his heels; his shoulders were smaller and his limbs daintier, a good amount of muscle mass seemingly lost to time; yet what caused him the most discomfort was the soft roundness of his chest and thighs, reshaping his silhouette into one distinctly feminine.

It was, admittedly, not the first time Melkor had seen himself thus. In his youth he had changed fánar as easy as breathing, experimenting with great delight and curiosity until any given form had reflected his current mood and need, yet this one he didn't recall choosing for himself, neither in the past nor through any recent efforts.

The only thing he remembered was sleeping in his brother's bed while Manwë sang to him and stroked his hair, healing him as he had claimed. Neither did he have any memory of putting on the frilly blue nightgown he was currently wearing, its thin, sheer fabric leaving little to the imagination.

Melkor frowned. "Did you change me?"

"Changed you?" Manwë, seemingly oblivious to his brother's discomfort, was smiling. "I fixed and improved you, so you may be beautiful again like you were in the beginning, when we were one."

"This is not the form I chose for myself," Melkor insisted. "What have you done to me?!"

"Now that is no way to thank me," Manwë chastised gently. "You are now whole in body and soon you will be whole in spirit as well."

It was only when Melkor pressed his lips together that he noticed how soft and plump they had become.

"What. Have. You. Done. To. Me?" he repeated, hissing through gritted teeth. "Why wasn't it enough to heal me? Why do you need me to be "beautiful"? I am your brother, not your wife!"

Manwë's talons gripped his shoulders harder, leaving red marks on his skin.

"You were my beautiful, wonderful, flawless, perfect brother," he whispered with such fervent insistence that Melkor flinched away from the sound of his voice. "Do you not know how much I missed you? How much my heart was aching for you? I need you to be like that again. I need my brother."

"I don't know what you remember, but I was never like this," Melkor said coldly.

"You lie to me just as you lied to yourself, twisting your own memories to convince yourself that you hate Father and I – but no more."

Manwë finally let go of his shoulders, one hand trailing down his arm almost tenderly to take his hand.

"Come. Let me take care of you."

"What if I don't want you to take care of me? I don't remember asking."

"Of course you want to." All stubbornness and urgency had vanished from Manwë's expression and he smiled at his brother with his usual serene, wide-eyed innocence. "I know you were lonely out there and missed having someone to care for you."

"I had others."

Melkor's instincts were screaming at him that arguing about this might once again bring out whatever strange behaviour he sibling had exhibited earlier, yet he couldn't help himself; his pride and curiosity alike had always been too strong for his own good.

And indeed, his statement caused Manwë's soft, cloud-like brows to furrow like a storm forming on the horizon and blue fire lit up within his gaze. "You didn't have me."

With that, he pulled his brother over to the bed and made him sit down, positioning himself behind him again so he could see the mirror. A lazy wave of his hand summoned a small gust of wind to fling a hairbrush and a comb directly into his grasp, and Melkor groaned in annoyance as he realised what Manwë intended to do.

"Leave my hair alone."

"No, brother. I need to take care of it."

Thrice defied, perhaps even more. Melkor couldn't remember any other instance of his brother being this stubborn; in the past he had usually folded rather quickly, acquiesced just to appease and placate him, or had required the intervention of other Valar to argue on his behalf. Yet whatever this charade was, Manwë was determined to see it through, and the thought was more unsettling than he wanted to admit.

Had he underestimated him after all?

Melkor watched in the mirror as Manwë began to untangle the knots in his hair with the comb, starting at the tips and slowly but steadily working his way to the roots. His hair was, and had always been difficult, like it had a will of its own. Not even Mairon had managed to constrain it enough for even a simple braid, and many brushes, combs and hair ties had been destroyed over the ages.

Now, however, Melkor's hair had lost its life and lustre, limply hanging in Manwë's grasp and enduring the vigorous combing in silent defeat. Whether it would recover or not he couldn't tell, and he wondered if he should attempt to cut it once he had the chance; though the chances of him getting his hands on any sort of blade or other sharp object appeared rather slim.

Maybe if I break the mirror –

"You always had such beautiful hair," Manwë's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Pitch black as if to trap all light, but when it shone upon its strands, it shimmered in many colours. I loved looking at it and playing with it."

Melkor squinted at their mirror image, contemplating his words for a moment. Despite his earlier insistence on the accuracy of his recollection, he now searched his memories for anything close to what Manwë was describing.

"You never played with my hair," he said finally. "I never played with you at all after Father made you. You wanted to, but I didn't."

Manwë shook his head vigorously. "You always act like we were never close or had any relationship at all, but it is not true. We were brothers in Father's mind, and he made us as such."

"Father can think so all he wants, yet it doesn't change that I didn't want any of it and remember full well what I did and didn't allow you to do," Melkor countered.

In his ire, he flashed his brother's mirror image a cruel smirk and added, "Maybe you confuse me with Varda, Ulmo and the others that Father made just so someone would keep you company. Maybe you wanted to play with my hair, but I didn't let you and you got upset. If you're trying your hand at deception, Manwë, maybe don't try your luck with one who mastered it long before you."

"Not enough, yet at the same time too much," Melkor sighed. At least if he meant all the things he said to me and wasn't just pretending to please Father.

He had always assumed that it was all a lie and performance. Perhaps it made things easier for him to push his brother away and sever the bond before it could be fully formed; most certainly it made them simpler. Disown the impostor, despise the false king. Yet now it occurred to Melkor that there was one factor he had miscalculated, one aspect he had underestimated: Manwë's determination to reform their bond and receive the love from him that he had always wanted.

No. Saved from the Void or not, Melkor still felt betrayed. He was not going to give it to him, he was going to deny him until the bitter end.

Warm breath tickled his neck, and he felt Manwë's forehead resting against the back of his head. The comb lay discarded on the floor.

"I will make it up to you. I will love you enough," his voice whispered in his ear.

Melkor remained silent, waiting for the moment to pass.

The very air inside the room seemed to stand still until Manwë sighed and picked up the brush to continue his work. Even as his hair was thoroughly groomed, it didn't regain its usual shine, instead remaining a dull, charcoal black as if it had been burned. Again, Melkor contemplated telling his brother not to bother and let him cut it, yet he knew he wasn't going to listen; not today, not anymore.

"Would you like something in your hair? I heard you like diamonds," Manwë asked with a sweet smile, putting down the brush to admire his work.

He did indeed, though it seemed too good to be true. Wordlessly, Melkor shook his head.

"Do you want me to braid it then?"

"I never wear braids. Leave it."

"Very well." Manwë nodded, his mien betraying nothing even as Melkor eyed him closely in the mirror. Yet another thing his so-called brother didn't know about him.

You will never know me like Mairon does, he wanted to say, to hurl the cruellest insult he could think of at the Vala whose affection he had refused and despised his entire life.

But he was no fool. If Melkor hadn't managed to break their sibling bond after ages of trying, what could he do or say now that he hadn't done or said already?

The sickeningly sweet scent of roses assaulted his nostrils when Manwë pulled a flask out of his robes, poured a small amount of watery liquid on his hand and began to rub it into every inch of bare skin he could reach, most notably his neck and chest area.

Melkor let out a warning snarl. "Stop that!"

"Don't you want to smell nice?"

"I smell like myself, and that will have to be enough."

"No." Manwë began to draw tender circles on his cheeks. "You smell like... evil. Like all the dark things you have seen out there. I cannot bear it."

"My hröa is not yours to mess with! I have to live in it, not you!"

Once again Melkor's protest was ignored.

"You used to smell like home," Manwë sighed, resting his head on his brother's shoulder and inhaling the offending flowery scent.

"I... cannot fathom where you even got this idea."

Melkor was upset. Bit by bit his chosen shape and attributes were altered and stripped from him against his will, just to fit some twisted vision born from Manwë's desire to be close to him. The way his brother described it was also strangely intimate, as if he had created an elaborate fantasy of their relationship and interactions in his mind.

Worry crept up on him. Perhaps the damage done to his sanity was greater than he had ever known.

Manwë wrapped his arms around him from behind and smiled at him in the mirror. "Do you like it? Are you happy that you are beautiful again?"

"You know we always had a different understanding of beauty," Melkor said coldly. "You made me ugly."

"You simply need to get used to it, then you will see. Though, maybe you need me to show you just how pretty you are?"

The grip around his waist tightened, and Melkor's eyes widened in disbelief when he saw Manwë's reflection turning his head to kiss his cheek. His hröa began to feel numb from shock, so much so that he barely registered the sensation of lips upon skin.

"Never kiss me again," he warned.

"But why? You are my brother, and I love you."

"Do not. I mean it."

"No... you don't."

Before Melkor could squirm out of his brother's grasp, his head was suddenly tilted backwards, and Manwë kissed him on the lips. It was, to his horror, neither a symbolic gesture nor a cheeky little peck, it was a long, passionate and deep kiss, brimming with enthusiasm and, worse yet, desire. He pressed his lips together to deny entry to his mouth and attempted to push the younger Vala away, but his current form lacked the strength to do so.

With surprising dexterity, Manwë manoeuvred him into a lying position and climbed on top of him, shamelessly pressing their bodies together.

"What in Eru's name are you doing?" Melkor hissed between kisses.

"Loving you."

"Manwë, I am your brother! Go find your wife –"

He was silenced with another kiss.

Good for nothing as usual, both of them, Melkor raged inwardly, the only thing he could do to process his shock and disgust.

When Manwë withdrew from him, a small string of saliva hung in the air between them, binding them like a thread of fate.

"Don't even try to pretend that you weren't thinking of me when you brought Túrin and Niënor together," he breathed, his eyes glowing with a fey light.

"You do realise that didn't exactly end well for them?" Melkor countered.

"Yes, but we are not mortal. The love between Ainur has always been free from such burdens."

"You are sick."

But Manwë wasn't listening. He appeared to be mesmerised by Melkor's angrily heaving chest and began rubbing his swollen pectorals, causing his nipples to harden.

"Stop that!"

"Are you afraid of enjoying this?" Manwë's expression was entirely too calm, too serene, too loving. "Do you want to keep lying to yourself?"

"I don't –" Melkor was interrupted by a sharp gasp as his nipples were cruelly pinched by merciless talons, nearly puncturing the thin fabric of his nightgown – reminding him how easily it could be torn to shreds and leave him defenceless. He shivered.

"Ssshhht. Let me love you."

Manwë was almost pleading upon seeing the Dark Vala struggle against him; unfortunately it was but a farce, another attempt at acting like the sweet and lovable little brother he had always wanted to be. He continued toying with the newly discovered delights of Melkor's altered shape, rubbing, tugging, pinching and rolling his swollen nipples between his thumb and index finger.

"You know, I did always wonder how it would feel to touch you," he breathed, utterly engrossed in the illicit touches he was bestowing upon his squirming and struggling sibling.

"So at least you admit I never let you do this," Melkor snapped, trying to slap his hands away.

Manwë managed to seize both of his wrists in one hand, courtesy of his long, curved talons, and held him down while his other hand began to pull up the skirt of his nightgown.

"I wondered if you would like it," he continued, ignoring Melkor's attempts to argue. "Whenever I imagined myself touching you, it was just like this... you would try to brush me off, ridicule me, lie to me, curse me, fight me... yet in the end you would enjoy it because you yearn to be loved."

Determined, Manwë pulled the nightgown over his head, leaving his brother naked in front of him. Melkor glanced down at his body, dread filling him as he beheld those softly rounded curves, reddened, hardened nipples and his cock stirring between his legs.

"You want this," Manwë whispered, eyes darkening with desire, "you want me too."

"No. No. Give me my clothes back." Melkor tried to press his legs together, turn to the side to hide as much of himself as he could, free his hands to grab the blanket. Anything to escape the hungry gaze of blue eyes so much like his own.

"Don't make me bind you with Angainor again," Manwë pleaded. "Let us enjoy this together!"

"Never!"

The feeling of metal encasing his wrists was familiar at this point, and Melkor contented himself with vicious warning snarls and fruitless kicking and struggling while he was restrained and his hands bound to the headboard. Manwë made sure his head was comfortably resting on a pillow, skillfully evading his attempts to bite him, and made gentle cooing noises to calm him.

"Are you going to scream?" he asked, calm as if it was a normal and trivial question.

"If you keep touching me? Yes. And I hope your wife hears me," Melkor said venomously.

Manwë sighed. "I truly wish you didn't make me do this, but at least you are being honest about your intentions. I shall take it as a sign of improvement."

Melkor's eyes widened when he felt all air leave his lungs. He tried in vain to inhale, gasping soundlessly as breath continued to elude him, and Manwë leaned down to kiss his quivering lips.

"Worry not. Your current form does not depend on my element, it is but a reflex. I will let you breathe again as soon as you stop using your words to hurt me."

With cruelty once thought impossible for him to conceive, he left Melkor silenced, breathless and helplessly twitching in his bonds and forcibly spread his legs to devote his attention to the most intimate part of his anatomy, intrigued by the mystery he had uncovered after ages of innocent curiosity turned depraved desire. He took his brother's cock in hand like he would take up his sapphire sceptre, examining and admiring it before beginning to stroke. His fingers were more than long enough to wrap around it completely, yet his hand – white like clouds and too dainty for war, having held quills rather than swords – seemed out of place, ill-fit for such an act of dominance and lust.

Melkor tried not to feel, to ignore the sensation of being touched and pleasured by his brother. Yet no matter how desperately his mind sought to force his body into unfeeling, uncaring submission, his flesh at last betrayed him. Delight and fascination lit up Manwë's usually serene mien upon seeing his arousal, and he closed his eyes, unable to witness the continuous violation of the form he was trapped in. Perhaps his spirit at least could escape to a better place, pretending that it was but a bad dream or imagining someone else in his brother's place.

A finger began prodding his hole with unabashed curiosity, and Melkor tensed. Talons retreated back into flesh to avoid drawing blood, but it made the touch no less unwelcome.

"I assume your virtue has long since been lost," Manwë lamented, "and I must say that it pains me to imagine you giving yourself to another so readily while refusing me even the smallest gestures of affection."

He was right, but Melkor wouldn't have told him so even if he'd been able to speak. Countless nights had he spent in the arms of others, most often his beloved little flame, and to Mairon alone he had granted the privilege of taking him when he was in the mood to receive the love of another. These moments had been profoundly intimate and intense, requiring ages of trust, patience and many soothing words from his partner; for he was a being of power and control, and to relinquish it was no easy feat.

Melkor was afraid of what would be done to him, and his worst fear came true when Manwë pushed his finger inside of him – and his body wasn't resisting like it should. Neither spit nor oil had been used to ease the way, yet it entered him smoothly and with little to no pain.

He noticed then how strangely wet his insides were, responding to the unwelcome intrusion by leaking all over his brother's hand.

"W-what have you done to me?" he asked through ósanwë, almost pulling away instantly when he was met with exuberant joy.

"I made you more receptive to my love," Manwë informed him. "After all, I wouldn't want you to be in pain."

Melkor bit his bottom lip. As much as he feared and hated being in pain, it might be preferable over yet another act of humiliating acquiescence perpetrated by his own body.

He didn't see Manwë leaning down to lavish his hard, leaking cock with even more attention, only realising what was about to happen when warm breath tickled his skin and wet lips closed around his flesh.

I'm not taking pleasure from my brother... I'm not taking pleasure from my brother... I'm not...

Yet no matter how often and desperately Melkor repeated the mantra in his head, the truth was that he was experiencing pleasure. Manwë appeared to not possess any gag reflex whatsoever, taking in his whole length like a seagull devouring its food and sucking him off with great enthusiasm; and his finger, now joined by another, had discovered a hidden pleasure spot inside of him, stimulating it with unending delight.

"I wish I could hear you moan for me, brother."

It was too much. It was wrong and forced and sickening, but it felt too good. Melkor attempted to suppress and delay his climax as long as he could, but was soon forced over the edge with a soundless sob. Manwë moaned around his cock while drinking his essence, not letting a single droplet escape.

"You taste so lovely, just like I thought you would."

The sound of rustling robes caused Melkor to open his eyes in alarm, panicking when he saw Manwë hastily undressing himself.

"I need you," he breathed. "Eru, I cannot bear to be parted from you any longer..."

"Father wouldn't approve of this," Melkor tried to protest, desperate to avoid what was about to happen, but he was ignored.

"Don't be silly, brother," Manwë admonished, throwing his discarded robes on the floor. "Father made us to love each other and bonded us himself."

He grasped Melkor's thighs and pushed his legs towards his chest to admire his helplessly twitching hole, then forced his cock inside. It was hard without needing to be touched, unrelenting in its pursuit of unifying their bodies, and despite the earlier preparation, it hurt.

Had he been able to use his voice, Melkor would have screamed. This couldn't be happening. It was simply not possible. He had truly fallen so low that another Vala could force his will upon him, and worse yet, his own brother - smiling, innocent Manwë, always gentle, always agreeable, always forgiving him. Out of all his enemies, he had thoroughly deceived him, making him underestimate what he was capable of.

And now, he was being mercilessly speared by his cock, used to fulfil a fanatic fantasy of brotherly love.

In his despair, Melkor tore down the mental walls he had so carefully raised to protect his spirit and flooded their bond with his anguish, but Manwë didn't relent. He lay down on top of him and embraced him, whispering endearments in the ancient language of their kind to soothe his pain even as he continued his assault.

The only grace Melkor was granted, whether by his indifferent father or not, was that it didn't take long. Manwë came inside him as soon as he forced him into another kiss, this time successfully pushing his tongue down his throat. Feverish praise and words of affection drowned out every other thought they might have shared in that moment.

Exhaustion took hold of Melkor then, and he only realised that he was breathing again when he heard the sound of his own cries and sobs.

"I know," Manwë cooed, kissing him again. "It was a lot. You are not used to being loved anymore.

"N-no... you..."

But he was out of words. What could he even say? That he had been physically altered, assaulted and raped by his brother under the guise of love? That he, despite the lack of connection and affection, still felt betrayed? That he was hurt and wounded in hröa and ëala in ways Ainur were never meant to endure?

Manwë remained on top of him, tucking his head underneath his chin as if they were merely cuddling – as if nothing had happened.

"I love you, brother."

Melkor was silent.

"I missed you so much. I am glad we are together again now."

The walls around his spirit rose like thorny vines, shielding him from the twisted love Manwë was projecting through their bond. Evil or not, Melkor had known love throughout his existence, and this was something else entirely.

Had pity and tears alike not escaped him, he would have wept for what his brother had become.

#⊰❦⊱ incest #⊰✦⊱ non con #melkor #morgoth #manwe #manwë #manwe sulimo #melkor x manwe #silm smut #silmarillion #silmarillion fanfiction #cw incest #tw incest #cw noncon #tw noncon #cílil writes #my writing #minors dni

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edensrose · 1 year

Text

ㅤㅤㅤ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 ❜࿔

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ ainur⠀〳 reader⠀ ❜࿔

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

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

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

𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆 , 𝒊𝒓𝒎𝒐 , eönwë, 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆.

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

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

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

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒊𝒓𝒎𝒐.

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

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

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

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒘𝒆.

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

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

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

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏.

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

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

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

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

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

𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐, 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓, oromë, 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐.

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

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

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

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓.

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

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

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

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒆.

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

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

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

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ��ㅤㅤㅤ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏.

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

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

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

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