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cilil · 1 year

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Hi, is the spicy bingo still up? If you are and you accept ask would ask for frist time angbang

Thank you.

Author's Note: This took me longer than intended, but also became the longest so far.

I decided to go with bottom Melkor for this one since I only recently wrote first time Angbang with bottom Mairon (here), so I hope that's alright! Thanks for the request and I hope you enjoy♡

ೃ♡⁀➷ Spicy Bingo: First Time Together + Angbang ৎ୭

"So the Dark One is more innocent than he seems," he taunts and steps closer, positioning himself between the Vala's legs to keep him sitting on the desk. "I... wouldn't say that–'' Melkor tries to explain, yet upon seeing the look on Mairon's face, he stops and exhales slowly. "Fine, I suppose you could put it this way."

ৎ୭ Synopsis: Melkor and Mairon enjoy the delights of their fánar together and the Dark Vala learns a few important lessons

Or: Mairon gets to top a Vala and is very happy about it

ৎ୭ Featuring: bottom Melkor, inexperienced Melkor, top Mairon, sarcastic use of "my lord", first time

ৎ୭ Oneshot (~1.7k)

A bottle of ink and a few small vases serving as pen holders fall over and nearly land on the floor as Melkor's hips collide with the edge of Mairon's desk. The noise barely reaches the Vala's ears, he is too caught up in the heat of their passionate kiss, yet it seems to cause his lover to push him against the furniture with less vigour.

"Don't make too much of a mess," Mairon admonishes, breaking the kiss to nip at his neck. "I don't want to deal with Aulë asking questions about the state of my room."

"Or he could keep out and mind his own business–"

Melkor's protest is cut off by the Maia's hands on his chest, palms firmly pressing against him until he gives in and sits down on the desk behind him. He would never admit it to anyone–besides Mairon that is, though he seems to know already–but he likes it when his lover is assertive, makes him feel like he can rely on him and be taken care of. None of the other Ainur he seduced in the past has ever treated him like this; no, none of them can even compare to the one in his arms right now. Though Melkor has to admit to himself–this is also the first time he has come this far.

Mairon looks up at him, his eyes glowing like burning gold. "Are you ready, precious?"

"Of course I am," Melkor says proudly, yet something in the Maia's gaze has him pause before asking, "For what exactly?"

"I want to fuck you."

"Oh, that. Right."

He nods, pretending to know what Mairon wants from him, but the expectant, wide-eyed look and barely concealed curiosity in his eyes betray him. Naturally Melkor has heard about fucking before, mostly stories told by Irmo or the Maiar he spoke to, yet he has never done it before. A few little lies here and there were enough to maintain his image, however–a quick glance at Mairon's face tells him that he isn't convinced, has probably seen right through him already.

And after a moment of silent scrutiny, his little flame grins.

"So the Dark One is more innocent than he seems," he taunts and steps closer, positioning himself between the Vala's legs to keep him sitting on the desk.

"I... wouldn't say that–'' Melkor tries to explain, yet upon seeing the look on Mairon's face, he stops and exhales slowly. "Fine, I suppose you could put it this way."

His sheepish expression prompts Mairon's smile to broaden, and he tiptoes to plant another kiss on his lips.

"Time to change it then, hm? I can show you how it works..."

"You know what to do?" Melkor asks, surprised. He has always known that his little flame is very knowledgeable, but he didn't expect this particular matter to be within his area of expertise.

"I do." Seeing the Vala's questioning gaze, Mairon adds, "We Maiar have been... experimenting quite a lot with the materials of Arda."

The thought of other Ainur touching his lover causes jealousy to flare up within Melkor and he pouts, yet Mairon silences any complaints he may have uttered with another kiss.

"Shall we, precious?"

The fire in his eyes has grown to an all-consuming inferno, and Melkor suddenly feels warm inside.

"Yes. I want you."

"Good."

Without any further delay, Mairon grabs his chin with one hand to draw him into a rough, passionate kiss while the other makes quick work of his robes.

"Who would have thought I get to fuck Vala? And have him all to myself as well," he whispers, his voice resembling a low, possessive growl.

"Don't flatter yourself," Melkor says, yet there is no edge to his tone and they both already know he isn't serious. "If I wanted, I could–"

"–could do what exactly, my lord?" Mairon teases and trails his index finger down his now exposed torso. The feeling of his long nail grazing his skin causes a pleasant shiver to run down the Vala's spine.

"I..."

Before Melkor can think of something to say, he sees the Maia drop to his knees and lean forward to dip his head between his legs, parting his lips to shamelessly lick his hardening cock.

"Yes? What would you like to say?"

"... Nothing."

He means it. The moment that sinful tongue brushes against his sensitive flesh every thought about pride or control vanishes from his mind, and he focuses solely on the wonderful sensation between his legs. Mairon keeps licking and kissing him, yet neglects his cock in favour of working his way steadily downward. He takes hold of his thighs to guide his legs to rest on his shoulders, granting him access to the small pink hole hidden between muscular cheeks.

His tongue caresses the puckered skin, and Melkor gasps. No one has ever been allowed to touch him like this before, and he would've never imagined he could be so sensitive down there, yet now he feels his entire fána heating and tensing up in response to such shameless touches, so deliciously forbidden. If Aulë knew what his Maiar have been doing to each other–he would've laughed at the thought if he wasn't throwing his head back and moaning as the tip of Mairon's tongue starts pushing inside.

"Little flame–" he barely manages to say before he's once again cut off by his own noises of delight and grabs a fistful of copper and golden hair to hold on to, hips bucking forward.

"Impatient, are you?" Mairon scolds, though a twinkle in his eyes betrays his amusement.

Melkor is about to let out a whine of protest before he feels two fingers penetrating him, cutting off any response to his tongue being withdrawn.

"Fortunately for you, I don't intend to keep you waiting."

He nods eagerly and does his best to relax his muscles. It's a strange feeling in the beginning, his fána being penetrated by another, and he's secretly relieved that Mairon grants him some time to adjust before he starts moving his hand, alternating between thrusts and scissoring movements to slowly open him up.

"You are doing so well for me, precious."

"M-more," Melkor begs.

It is only after this one treacherous word leaves his lips that he realises how needy and pathetic he must sound at the moment, yet Mairon neither mocks him nor looks at him with any contempt or derision in his beautiful golden eyes. Instead, he inserts another finger and continues to pleasure him with his usual diligence and determination–even with the haze of lust clouding his mind, Melkor finds it rather endearing.

"Do you think you can take me?" Mairon purrs after a while and turns his head to plant a teasing kiss on the leg resting on his shoulder, muscles quivering underneath his lips.

Melkor nods. His fána still wants more, and he can feel it; it is as if an ancient, instinctive need was awakened within him, like a fire kindled by the Maia's capable hands.

Mairon gently removes his legs from his shoulders and stands up, then wraps his arms around the Vala's waist and picks him up with relative ease, despite his smaller size. Melkor's eyes widen in surprise and he finds himself clinging to his lover as he's carried over to the bed. Of course it hasn't escaped his notice that the Maiar of Aulë have well-built fánar, but this is the first time he gets to feel how strong Mairon really is, and it causes his cock to twitch excitedly.

Melkor finds himself placed on the Maia's bed, legs still wrapped around his waist, and looks up at him with a mixture of adoration and excitement, his hair sprawled across the sheets like a dark, inky halo.

"You are beautiful," Mairon purrs. Flames light up his eyes and dance at his fingertips as he caresses the Vala's features, and his clothes nearly burn to ashes when he tears them off his fána, unusually impatient; his mind is consumed by the desire to claim his precious, his prize, none other than the mightiest of the Ainur himself.

Melkor cries out in bliss when Mairon pushes inside and their fánar finally become one. Every thrust, first slow and careful, then hard and fast, has his fëa singing in delight, reaching new heights of pleasure. Never did he think that being with another, opening up and giving himself to his lover like this could feel so good. Every kiss, every touch, every caress of his heated skin, he takes it all and still keeps taking, begging for more and more until his little flame gives it to him.

Mairon pounds him into the sheets with merciless glee, trapping the Vala underneath him, yet Melkor feels neither fear nor any need to fight or free himself. The hands that hold him promise love, desire and warmth, and he gladly melts into the touch; there is a strange kind of comfort in relinquishing control and letting himself be showered with adoration.

They chase their high together, a crescendo of moans, gasps and other noises of delight. Their fánar intertwine and move with increasing speed and urgency until sparks fly from Mairon's hair and the bed threatens to give out underneath their combined weight. Melkor is the first to reach his peak and drags his lover over the edge with him, his muscles clenching around that wonderful cock. Instead of shame, a sense of pride fills him when he feels the Maia's seed inside of him - his essence, belonging to him and him alone. He wishes to keep it forever, or better yet, to receive more of it.

Mairon gently manoeuvres him to lie on his side facing him and strokes his hair.

"Are you alright, precious?"

The question catches Melkor off-guard, and he blinks in confusion. He is the mightiest of the Valar, why would he not be? Yet before his usual arrogance can compel him to dismiss his lover's concern, their eyes meet and he sees genuine warmth and care within their fiery depths, suddenly feeling at ease; there is nothing he needs to prove right now. He has given himself to his little flame, and Mairon has accepted him wholly and unconditionally. Any shame he may have felt about allowing himself to be so vulnerable in front of another evaporates like water dripping onto hot iron.

"I am now."

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @singleteapot

spicy bingo master post | my masterlist | tag list form

#mairon #melkor #sauron #morgoth #angbang #melkor x mairon #melkor/mairon #top mairon #bottom melkor #first time #ainur #silm smut #silmarillion #silmarillion fanfiction #minors dni #cílil's spicy bingo #cílil writes #my writing

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domestic-iliad · 1 year

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TSS 22 - The Sweet Song of a Proposal

It's here- my fic for @officialtolkiensecretsanta. This was me as a gift to @melkors-big-tits and I hope you enjoy it!

It's a bit different than my usual Angbang content- but honestly, it was fun to shake up my usual routine.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Gothmog/Melkor/Mairon

Word Count: 5353

Melkor is tasting the string of defeat on his tongue and withdrawing from everyone, causing rumours and worries to spread through their halls. Mairon, of course, can't stand by and let those feelings spread. Luckily- and of course- he has a plan. What better way to stir the darkness of the Vala than to show him how much his men desire him? And who would be better to show Melkor that desire than a certain Balrog that he's expressed a desire for?

You can read the fic here.

#tss2022 #tolkien secret santa #angbang #gothmog #melkor #mairon #silm fic #silm fandom #bottom melkor #domestic iliad

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thelien-art · 2 years

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Day 7 of @angbangweek

Free space

This is following my headcanon where Melkor, when he's in the void, can reach out to Mairon through mirrors because he put so much of himself into the world. He can't speak tho, just show himself. Mairon gets a bit angry at times as it makes it hard to put on eyeliner.

#silmarillion #tolkien #melkor #morgoth #mairon #sauron #angbang #angbangweek2022 #angbang week 2022 #angbangweek #silm art #digital art #my art #albino melkor #melkor be thinking bout those maia uperbody forms #and of course the bottom

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mydeaddad · 2 years

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i feel like Tolkien was Catholic specifically to annoy me

#silence bottom #finished the silmarillion and obvi loved it #its amazing and if u like lotr u should definitely read it!!!#but man a lot of the attitudes of the valar and elves piss me tf off #theyre so haughty and lack self-awareness and frankly kinda selfish #theyre like of the race of men have darkness in their hearts and theyre soneasily swayed #when the elves are just as susceptible to melkors lies & corruption #they just have the advantage of the Valar helping them #men didnt have that and continued to not have that #even the numinorians (forget how to spell them but whatevz) didnt have HALF the help the elves got #like why are the valar getting mad at men for.......the valar's failure 🤨#like YOU are the reason for everything bad in the world bc you fucking LET MORGOTH GO U MORONS!!!!!!!!!!#everything wrong with the world is ur fault so stop blaming mortals #love tolkien tho im obsessed

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urwendii · 6 months

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So we know the Maiar are made to serve right? So let me offer this approach:

It is the Valar's duty to gently curb, redirect, and make sure this compulsive trait does not go off track.

A Maia would ignore their own needs until his task is done (the gravity of this depends on your own headcanons about if incarnated Maiar are bound to their fana's biological needs).

Aside innate workaholic tendencies — after all their Lord Vala's orders are paramount to execute, they do not do well if left alone and taskless. A Maia without direct affiliation to a Vala is actually considered as a higher form of punishment and ostracism.

The best case we have is Sauron post-Morgoth, who once left alone is actually far more dangerous and unhinged than he was in his Lieutenant's days. We can go further by pointing out how Leader Sauron doesn't appear to be really good at his job if it isn't for the sheer might of his Ainurin nature against his enemy.

Maiar are not meant to be left by themselves, i like to think them as highly social creatures — not necessarily extending to extrovert qualities, if anything some very own virtues are very much introverted — but to be part of a Vala House is a requirement for their happiness. As fulfilment to their very own nature.

And that's a delicate balance to approach, isn't it? because as much as servitude can become the blade at the neck, it demands of the Vala to be actually caring about their Maiar. And that opens for so much potential happening in Ainurin society.

And perhaps in this new lense we can look at Aulë who lost the most Maiar to Melkor and wonder... Aulë is a prideful individual whose traits are, in fact,much similar with Melkor. But unlike the dark Lord, Aulë is endowed with the ability to perceive his place in the grand picture and therefore, ultimately humbling his most impulsive actions.

We see it with the Dwarves. After giving in to his most secretive desire to create something for himself, something that was not part of the Music — a trait i extend to all craftsmen of his House — he is humbled by Eru and submits to His Judgment. Of course for Aulë it all ends well (aside the new strain on his marriage, but that's for another debate).

So I can imagine the Maiar of his house chaffing under imposed limitations and therefore finding Melkor's appeal all the sweetest. But even in their switch of allegiance the compulsion to serve and do their new Master's biding remains.

This is not a rush for power. It is simply the opportunity to do more for a Vala, perhaps more than what they felt they could do under the patronage of another.

The bottom line of this is this: please take care of your Maia. Valar — as the beings on top of the hierarchy scale, just below Eru Himself — have the duty to provide protection and security for their lesser kin.

#the silmarillion #the silm meta #ainur #valar #maiar #i had a point with this but i forgot abt it in the middle of writing this #anyway pls love your Maia 🥹🥺#if not the Maiar Club union is there for you #me making pseudo management meta Ainur style 😭#cassy.tolkien

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junk-whunk-punk · 11 months

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It supposed to be «People make me be rowdy part 3» but I made myself be rowdy this time((

Addition to this post

Top Mairon and bottom Melkor are funny during brain fucking🤭 So amuse your perverted ego purr purries💋

Censored full⬇️

I'll laugh so hard if tumbr doesn't hide it

#what's da background?#what's da physical laws?#silmarillion #jrrt #silm #the silmarillion #sauron #mairon #modern au #annatar #punk au #maia #melkor #morgoth #angbang

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polutrope · 5 months

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@ettelene requested Feanor + boycotting a holiday for the modern AU holiday prompts! Here you are, ~775 words of condo developer Feanor, his family, and his many rivals. No warnings besides a little cursing (one f-bomb), as usual.

Amid zoning feud with City Hall, Ambar Metta withdraws funding for Yule Parade

Future of beloved celebration threatened by powerful Beleria development group. Has Finvesen’s grudge gone too far?

Fëanor slammed his laptop shut. “Ridiculous accusations,” he muttered into his coffee before taking a sip and grimacing. Too hot.

His phone pinged.

Nelyafinwë 🧡 Did you read it? 8:05am

Fëanáro Slander. Let them lob their accusations at us, you know it’s nothing to do with grudges. If that Singh-Goel had given us the permit for Himring Towers we would not be in this situation. 8:05am

We don’t have the budget! 8:06am

Elu has no one to blame but himself!! 8:07am

Three dots ticked along the bottom of his messaging app. Fëanor slammed the table and slurped his coffee. His eldest could be so infuriating sometimes! What was taking him so long to reply?

Nelyafinwë 🧡 Right. I know. But if Sindar Herald is painting it that way don’t you think we should consider the possible consequences for the business? 8:09am

Thumbs flying in outrage, Fëanor typed a reply. Then deleted it. Then retyped it.

Fëanáro Did your boyfriend put you up to this? 8:11am

Nelyafinwë 🧡 Omg no dad! Fingon hasn’t even seen the article. Curufinwë sent it to me. 8:11am

Fëanáro Curvo sent you this? Why didn’t he tell me himself? 8:11am

Nelyafinwë 🧡 I don’t know. Can I call you? 8:12am

Fëanor closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Fëanáro Not right now. 8:12am

Have a good day Nelyo 🙂 8:13am

Fëanor swiped his phone app open and clicked the first name in his call history.

“Hello? Dad?” answered Curufin. His voice was hoarse.

“Curufinwë, why didn’t you tell me about that article?”

“What article?”

Fëanor huffed. “The libel about the Yule Parade sponsorship!”

“Oh, yeah — fucking bullshit.”

“Do you know what your brother said to me? That we should ‘consider the business consequences.’”

“Ugh, really? Sorry dad, I was going to call you, I swear. But I didn’t want to just dump it on you — ugh, Nelyo! — but Tyelpë has a cold and he’s staying home from school, I didn’t have a chance to—”

“What! Tyelperinquar isn’t well?” Fëanor’s indignation over the article was immediately swept aside by a surge of panic for his favourite (only) grandchild. “Why didn’t you ask us to take him! Bring him over at once. I have told you a thousand times, your mother and I can take him anytime you need—”

“No, we can’t.” Nerdanel strolled into the dining room, dressed smartly in a long pencil skirt and blazer with her hair pulled back in a tight bun.

Distracted once more, Fëanor lowered the phone from his mouth and gawked at his wife. “What’s the occasion, Raspberry? You look fabulous!”

“I have that meeting about the wire sculptures at the Aelin-Uial Park light display.” She sighed and slipped into a pair of glossy red flats. “They’re saying we can’t afford the blue and green LEDs — well, they were the ones who wanted the tunnel to have an oceanic vibe.”

“I guarantee Singh-Goel’s behind that!” Fëanor shouted, forgetting he had his son on the phone.

Nerdanel rolled her eyes. Scooping up the paper from the foyer table, she dropped it in front of Fëanor. “Here. I think you should read this. Goodbye, dear.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and was out the door.

Fëanor looked at the front page headline.

The holiday spirit is saved! Hithlum Properties picks up the tab for Yule Parade

By Melkor Cifarelli

Underneath this was the grinning face of Fëanor’s greatest rival (damn his brilliant blue eyes and perfect jawline!), he who had won the bid for the redevelopment at Mithrim Lake: Fingolfin Noldoran Finvesen. The biological son of his late beloved father and that gold-digging witch from Valma.

“That bastard!”

“… Dad?” Curufin said on the other end of the line.

“Sorry Curvo dear, I have to go. Oh, Fingolfin, you—! You’ll regret this.”

“Wait, what did he—”

Fëanor ended the call before his son had a chance to finish and furiously scrolled through his contacts for the personal number of Mayor Elu Singh-Goel.

“Yes, hello, Elu! Happy Diwali! Oh - right, of course. What? Of course I knew it happened already. Anyway, I have reconsidered the sponsorship of the Parade. In fact, I’d like to increase Ambar Metta’s funding this year.”

#feanor #maedhros #curufin #nerdanel #thingol #modern au #holiday prompts #my fic #beleria au

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nyarnamaitar · 1 month

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For the final day of Manwë Week (sobs I’ll miss this so much), some NSFW HCs about my boy:

Generally a submissive bottom. Pillow princess all the way. Likes to give over control and being thrown around the bedroom. :)

Loves being marked.

Ridiculously good at giving head. Like, non-existent gag reflex levels of good. >:)

Into breath play.

Size kink.

Bit of a humiliation kink too.

Loves heaping praise on his lovers. (He once called Melkor a “good boy” and watched giddily as Melkor almost came on the spot.)

Dirty mouth, but in a poetic way. (If there’s anyone who can make sex talk sound Shakespearean, it’s Manwë. It drives people insane.)

Although he’s generally a submissive lover, he sometimes does like to take the lead (either by topping or bottoming, depending on his partner’s preference; he’s versatile like that).

At the risk of straying into ABO territory, Manwë nests. :)

In the same vein, cuddling afterwards is an absolute must!

#manwëweek #manweweek #manwë #manwe #tolkien

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melkors-big-tits · 1 year

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In this episode of "The Dork lords " some magical hocus pocus happened and now the two are in a omega/ABOverse au and of course Melkor is the sweet Omega in heat and Mairon is his protective but above all loving Alpha, marking him with bites and filling him with so much cum that Melkor will be leaking for weeks<3

My first attempt at the notorious Ahegao face came out somewhat dull but then again first try and all that jazz

Small warning for Melkors golden blood and the bite-marks that Mairon littered on his body <3 As always the smut is under the cut Enjoy~

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cilil · 1 year

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Author's Note: My first fic for FOTFics spicy bingo, starting off with a bang (pun intended).

Huge thanks to @melkors-big-tits for the request as well as providing me with some lovely ideas, which is why this turned out longer than intended. Hope you enjoy!♡

ೃ♡⁀➷ Spicy Bingo: Webcam + Angbang ৎ୭

"Look how pretty you are today," he says. "All dolled up, just for me."

ৎ୭ Synopsis: Melkor and Mairon record a fun little performance for their cam show

ৎ୭ Featuring: top Mairon, bottom Melkor, lingerie, solo performance, masturbation, dirty talk, Ainur in the modern world

ৎ୭ Oneshot (~1.3k)

"You look so beautiful like this, my precious," Mairon praises as he readjusts the lighting, making sure the set-up is perfect; only the best is good enough for his beloved, after all.

Melkor looks absolutely gorgeous, reclining on the bed with a heap of black and red fluffy pillows behind him, legs spread and presenting the outfit Mairon picked out for him. He's wearing a tight leather crop top with an oval-shaped cutout to show off his chest, its edges adorned with little teeth to give the impression of a monster's jaws, and skimpy leather panties decorated with fangs at his hips and a little devil's tail. Tight leather stockings enhance the alluring, muscular shape of his legs, two horns stick out from his wild mane of hair and a collar is around his neck, proudly displaying a red jewel in the shape of an eye–letting everyone know who he belongs to.

Once he's content with the set-up, Mairon returns to the laptop placed on a small table in front of the bed and removes the cover from the webcam's lens. They're planning to record another one of their cam shows, though this will be Melkor's first solo performance. Whether they end up sharing it with their loyal followers or not remains to be seen, but he looks forward to watching his husband pleasure himself for him nonetheless.

"Do you know where the oil and the toys are, dear?" Mairon asks, making sure to keep his tone calm and even.

Melkor seems a little nervous, but visibly lights up upon hearing his voice and pats one of the pillows at his side.

"All here."

"And how do you feel? Ready or do you need anything?"

After a moment of consideration, he shakes his head. Mairon rewards him with a radiant smile, showing how proud he is of his beloved.

"Wonderful. Would you like to begin then, precious?"

Melkor nods and bites his bottom lip, looking slightly flustered when a tiny red light signals the beginning of the recording. His eyes find Mairon's, seeking reassurance, and the Maia is all too happy to take control of the situation.

"Look how pretty you are today," he says. "All dolled up, just for me."

"Yes... only for you," Melkor confirms eagerly, and his toes curl when he shifts on the bed. The attention he receives, both from the camera being on him and his husband's appreciative gaze, appears to excite him, causing his cock to harden and strain against the tight panties.

Fortunately for him, Mairon is feeling merciful. "Spread those lovely legs for me and touch yourself."

Yet when Melkor attempts to slip a hand underneath the fabric, he shakes his head and lets out a small laugh. His beloved may be utterly gorgeous, but that doesn't mean he's going to let him off all too easily. "Oh no, precious, not like this, not yet. Keep your hand where I can see it."

"Not fair," the Vala whines, but does as he's been told.

Mesmerised, Mairon watches every movement of his hand, first shyly caressing his hardening cock through the fabric, then growing bolder and more insistent. Melkor's eyes are half-lidded and his cheeks blush as his arousal increases with every second; such teasing touches are not enough, and they both know it, yet his needy little whimpers and eyes silently pleading for more is such a wonderful image.

"How does it feel, love?" Mairon questions after a while, nearly purring with delight. His fingers twitch impatiently on the keyboard, but he forces himself to remain calm.

"T-tight," Melkor answers, his voice quivering as his panties strain to accommodate his growing erection.

"Would you like to undress a little for me?"

"Yes-!"

He nearly tears the fabric to shreds in his eagerness to free himself, and Mairon makes sure the webcam gets a good view of his husband's beautiful cock, so hard and ready just for him. The thought excites him, making it increasingly difficult to stay focused on his task, though he tries his best.

"Spread your legs more, let me see that cute little hole of yours," he coos, and oh, does he want to see it, wants to watch it twitch and clench around his husband's fingers, a toy or–ideally–his own cock; but that will have to wait for later.

Obediently, Melkor spreads his legs more and readjusts his position to expose his hole, his blush darkening when he sees the Maia's hungry gaze on him.

"That's it," Mairon says, desire seeping into his voice. "So pretty and pink and longing to be filled, isn't that right, my precious?"

"Yes... my love... want you..." Melkor breathes and starts sucking on his fingers, eager and impatient to continue, looking up at him through his eyelashes to gauge his reaction.

"Prepare yourself for me," Mairon orders.

He has to suppress a moan as he watches his husband working himself open, first with two fingers, then three, then four. Diligently, Melkor retrieves the bottle of oil from its hiding place under the pillow and adds a generous amount to his fingers, losing himself in his task of preparing himself. His eyes roll back, and he sinks back into the pillows, moving his hips to increase friction. Oh, he is beyond gorgeous like this, but Mairon has more planned for this show.

"So good for me, my love," he praises, shifting on his seat when his own pants begin feeling tight. "Now be a dear and use one of your toys. Show me how you take care of yourself, hm?"

Melkor merely nods in response and produces a certain object from the heap of pillows, a golden, phallic-shaped toy that Mairon recognizes all too well–it's a replica of his own cock, a special gift he made for his husband to keep him company when he isn't there. What an excellent choice.

The Vala's hands shake slightly as he coats the toy in oil until it glistens with wetness, and muscles twitch when he pushes it inside, starting thrust almost frantically. A loud, helpless moan falls from his lips.

"Go on, precious, tell me how it feels," Mairon purrs, one hand slipping underneath the table to relieve some of the pressure between his legs with a couple of idle strokes.

"What does it do to you?"

"I-it feels... just like your c-cock... fucking me s-so good... h-hitting all my g-good spots..."

Melkor's cheeks appear to be glowing as he faces his husband, shy and turned on at the same time. While he tends to be rather vocal when they fuck, this is the first time he's been asked to describe the sensations he's experiencing, but Mairon can tell that he likes it.

"That's right. You would love to have my cock inside you, wouldn't you? Let me hear all those pretty noises, and I might give it to you later."

"Y-ye–ngh–yes! Please!"

His movements become quicker and more erratic, eyes glossing over with lust as he continues to take care of himself. Watching Melkor using a toy modelled after himself, wearing a collar with his symbol and moaning so beautifully for him has Mairon becoming feral, pressing his lips together to stifle his own noises and touching himself under the table. His husband is doing such a wonderful job for him and he decides he deserves a reward for his efforts.

"Are you going to cum for me, precious?" he asks. His voice sounds strained, but he can't be bothered to care right now.

"Yes, I-I'm... so close–"

"And what do we say when we want to cum?"

"P-plea–ah! Please!"

Their eyes meet and Mairon smirks, glowing with pride and satisfaction.

"You may."

And Melkor does, as if he's been waiting to finally receive permission, back arching and eyes closing while spilling copious amounts of cum all over himself and the sheets around him. Such a lovely performance, and everything is captured on his lucky laptop. Mairon smiles, pleased and content. Whether the footage ends up becoming one of their shows remains to be seen, but he knows he'll be keeping it for himself either way.

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @edensrose @asianbutnotjapanese @singleteapot

spicy bingo master post | my masterlist | tag list form

#mairon #melkor #sauron #morgoth #angbang #melkor x mairon #melkor/mairon #top mairon #bottom melkor #ainur #silm smut #silmarillion #silmarillion fanfiction #fotfics #cílil's spicy bingo #cílil writes #my writing

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mistergandalf · 1 year

Text

THE ULTIMATE TOLKIEN BLORBO BRACKET IS COMPLETE!

Your winner is:

Samwise Gamgee

Congratulations to our dear Sam! And congratulations to our runner up with 49% of the vote: Frodo Baggins! While there was a desperate effort by many (myself included) to get an even 50/50 vote, the Sam love was too strong. He is, officially, the Ultimate Tolkien Blorbo.

In the final round, 2,090 of you voted for Sam, and 2,008 of you voted for Frodo. That’s pretty dang close, to be honest!

Here’s how the brackets went down in the end:

Congratulations to all contestants. All of these characters are the Ultimate Tolkien Blorbo to some of us, so they’re all winners in the end.

If you’re interested in analytics from the ENTIRE bracket, click that readmore below! I love spreadsheets, so I kept stats the entire time. Lots of top (or bottom) ten lists :)

Who got the most votes overall?

The top ten characters who received the most votes TOTAL (not weighted for how many polls they were in) are:

Samwise Gamgee (11,318)

Peregrin Took (9,760)

Frodo Baggins (9,502)

Éowyn (7,795)

Meriadoc Brandybuck (4,870)

Faramir (4,752)

Aragorn (4,406)

Boromir (4,269)

Legolas (3,814)

Gimli (3,302)

Who received the highest average votes?

THIS is the interesting one to me—the average per poll! My favorite bit in here is that Éowyn and Merry DID tie here…

Samwise Gamgee (1,886)

Frodo Baggins (1,357)

Peregrin Took (1,220)

Éowyn AND Meriadoc Brandybuck (974)

Faramir (950)

Gimli (826)

Bilbo Baggins (821)

Elrond Peredhel (782)

Legolas Greenleaf (763)

Aragorn (734)

Who got the least votes overall?

Our bottom ten contenders, eliminated too soon, are the following. Since this list and the average list are exactly the same, but in a slightly different order, I’ve arranged them by average votes and given you both numbers:

Dwalin (87 average AND total; eliminated and never placed on the secondary bracket)

Elladan & Elrohir (138 average, 276 total)

Celegorm (197 average, 394 total)

Morgoth/Melkor (199 average, 398 total)

Bard the Bowman (211 average, 421 total)

Kíli (314 average, 627 total)

Sauron (349 average, 1,047 total)

Galadriel (356 average, 711 total)

Glorfindel (366 average, 1,097 total)

Fingon (389 average, 778 total)

Bracket stats

Here are some numbers I personally find interesting. Maybe you will, too.

Most votes in one round: Round One, with 21,554 votes cast. Makes sense, since everyone was on the bracket still.

Highest participation per poll in one round: Round Five, with 4,278 votes cast for the primary Frodo vs. Sam vote.

Least votes in one round: Round Eight (Second Chance Bracket), which was Pippin vs. Éowyn, only got 714 votes total. It was also the least participation per poll per round.

Average total number of votes per character (entire bracket): 2,783

Average number of votes per character (average per round): 594

Anyway, that was fun! Here’s the entire bracket stats document for your viewing pleasure, if you’re a spreadsheet nerd like me.

Thank you everyone for your participation in this bracket!! It was super fun to host, and tbh I would do it again. If you’d like to see another bracket like this, let me know! Until then, enjoy my regularly scheduled blog nonsense :)

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i-did-not-mean-to · 8 days

Text

Snow Day

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to @maglor-my-beloved for having submitted that beautiful drawing (please share it!!!) for me to get out of my writer's block.

It's my joy and honour to share the result of my toiling with you! <3

Characters: Elrond, Erestor, and Glorfindel

Words: 1550

Warnings: It's pretty cold, there's a sword, a bit of sadness, use of the M-slur for Melkor 😂

“Morgoth be cursed,” Erestor muttered, looking out of the window with boundless annoyance that made his face look drawn and pale. “It’s snowing.”

“It’s actually not,” Glorfindel contradicted, strolling into the study with a sunny grin. “It has just stopped. We could steal a few shields and slide down a hillside? Make the best out of it?”

At that uncautious suggestion, no matter how enthusiastically it was presented, Elrond lifted his head sharply from the letter he’d been perusing, hitherto having desperately tried to shut out the ongoing discussion between his friends.

He now realised that this had been a grievous mistake!

Neither one took well to being cooped up inside—the reasons for their mounting cabin fever might have been opposed, but the nerve-wracking effect of their continuous arguing was unfortunately much the same.

“I have too much work as it is,” Elrond finally interrupted the ensuing squabbling patiently. “I’d much rather you don’t add to it by wilfully engaging in dangerously reckless behaviour.”

Erestor nodded smugly, but his eyes returned to the icy desert outside longingly again and again as if he was earnestly considering Glorfindel’s proposal.

Shrugging, Glorfindel meanwhile leaned against the wall, crossing his long legs and smirking deviously at the much put-upon Lord of Imladris. “If you’re so opposed to a bit of innocent fun,” he drawled seductively, “I guess you’ll have to set aside your boring paperwork and come with us. Just to make sure that we won’t do anything you deem too foolhardy.”

“Can’t you just build snowpeople?” Elrond asked tersely, exasperation colouring his fatigue-laden voice. “That should keep you out of trouble.”

As he returned his attention to his correspondence, he missed the exchange of meaningful glances between the other two who’d instantly recognised the minute crack in Elrond’s usually so impervious mask of calm efficiency.

"Glorfindel is right," Erestor declared slowly.

Elrond’s head snapped up again in wordless shock—clearly, the bad weather had driven them stark raving mad if Erestor had taken to agreeing with Glorfindel.

“You should rest a little. Why don’t you come with us? Not everyone has had the chance of being parented by a hundred different people,” Erestor continued with that corrupting mix of petulant aggression and wide-eyed vulnerability that made him so wickedly convincing. “You could show us how it’s done.”

Before Glorfindel could snigger that there was but little mystery to the matter, Erestor had firmly kicked him in the shin to keep him from destroying their joint efforts by innocent bluster and ill-advised encouragement.

“There were hardly a hundred,” Elrond muttered, his resolve and interest in the dry reports about taxes and weather changes already waning inexorably. “And I would think that the two of you can figure it out on your own.”

Two mouths, pouty and rosy, opened to protest, and he lifted his hands to placate the storm of remonstrances and well-meant sermons before it could arise.

“As you wish. Please make sure that you’re wearing appropriate apparel—the wind can be quite chilling—and meet me by the Eastern gate. I’ve got to drop these off and retrieve my winter cloak and mittens before I even think of venturing outside.”

Watching them scamper away hastily before he could change his mind, Elrond wrenched his thoughts away from the duties he’d have to postpone until his return and, with an indulgent shake of his head, swiftly made his way to his own chambers.

When he finally arrived at the appointed meeting point, swaddled in several layers of insulating fabric, Glorfindel and Erestor were already waiting for him—they were also already viciously fighting about something the late-comer could not yet discern.

Elrond sighed and joined the fray fearlessly.

“I can’t believe you’d double-cross me like that!” Glorfindel muttered, visibly vexed, while eyeing the short sword in the other’s hand. “When I propose we take a detour to the armoury, I am an imprudent fool, but when you simply sneak in and out, you’re a genius!”

“Your words, not mine,” Erestor laughed and danced away when his colleague lunged forward to pluck the weapon from his grasp in a petulant attempt at checking the other’s glaring aura of petty triumph.

“Let’s go!” Elrond, growing uncomfortably hot as he helplessly watched them chase one another through the deserted hallway, exclaimed.

He sincerely hoped that the bracing cold and the creative endeavour would distract them sufficiently from their spat so their little outing would not end in the kind of grievous injury he had so adamantly wanted to prevent from the beginning.

In sullen, determined silence, they trudged up the snow-packed path leading away from the sheltered, cloistered paradise of Imladris until they reached a small hill, covered in fluffy, white powder and cruelly exposed to the presently dormant violence of the weather.

“So,” Elrond said quietly. “As Erestor has previously remarked upon so brazenly, this snowstorm might well be one of Morgoth’s curses which linger still within the darkness plaguing our world. When I was…young, we’d craft effigies to dismay and mock him so we’d be less afraid...”

Struck by the incandescent intensity of his friends’ regard, he fell silent for a moment, kneading the strap of his bag nervously for fear of having already said too much.

“I like this,” Glorfindel finally cheered after having given the idea some thought. “Let’s create cool guardians for Imladris. How about that?”

Thus, it was decided. Snow was progressively heaped, rolled, and pressed into the approximate shape of three lumpy Elven bodies under much grunting and giggling until they were satisfied with the raw building blocks they had assembled.

“Oh, come on, that’s not fair!” Glorfindel thundered as he watched Elrond reach into his trusty satchel and extricate a handful of sturdy chiselling tools from an old leather cover. “Erestor! Come look at that—our Lord Elrond, who claims to be blessedly free of the curse of ambition, has dragged scalpels and tiny hammers along.”

“Didn’t expect anything less,” Erestor mumbled, entirely enthralled by his own project—he envisioned a fierce warrior, armed and armoured, who’d stand stolidly atop the knoll and keep a cold, watchful eye on the landscape, ever-vigilant to the enemy’s scouts growing bolder and roaming closer to Imladris with every passing day.

Miffed by the others’ clear attempt at cheating, Glorfindel rushed down the hill and into a nearby grove of tall trees to countervail his evident disadvantage by gathering supplies and aids that were readily available by nature’s grace.

As he emerged once more and clawed his way back to his snowy canvas, though, both Elrond and Erestor had nearly finished their snow elves.

Uttering a snorting noise of dismay, Glorfindel stuck the two perfectly beautiful branches he’d found into the slender, shapely body of his creation and took a step back to let his appreciative gaze drink in the unexpected success of his opus.

Indeed, he was inordinately pleased with the ferocious, aggressive look of his crookedly grinning gelid sentinel, and so he beamed with pride as he turned back to his friends.

Of course, Elrond’s snow statue had expertly chiselled features and wore a thick, blue scarf that blew like a banner of a House long-fallen in the icy wind, and Erestor’s piece was bestowed with a sharp blade, glittering in the sallow sun, but it simply wasn’t in Glorfindel’s nature to become truly enraged with envy.

“Foresight, caution, and good health shall keep Imladris safe,” Elrond said ponderously, patting the sharp, high cheek of his snow sage, who was unnecessarily well-dressed to withstand the freezing temperatures. He truly had been made in the image of his creator, one had to admit, as Elrond now cleaned his thick gloves of the last remnants of sticky, melting snow before dutifully preparing and packing his tools.

Diligent to a fault, he certainly yearned to return to his study and letters before the weather could turn on them and make them regret ever having considered so foolish a plan as to leave the safety of Imladris in these meteorological conditions.

Scoffing, Erestor nodded at his own fearsome, sword-wielding oeuvre with grim satisfaction. “Sharp blades and unwavering vigilance shall serve us better, methinks,” he hummed gently as he further imbued it with stern tenacity.

Both turned to Glorfindel who grinned sheepishly. “I’m with Erestor on this,” he admitted. “Thus, I…made him. Erestor will keep us safe.”

For a seemingly endless moment, Elrond—who’d undeniably gone somewhat overboard in the execution of his planned distraction—merely blinked as the wind was picking up again and now buffeted them with glacial needles.

“I can agree with that,” he finally said, mellowing. “Let’s leave our brave companions to guard the Realm—each in their own way and as best they see fit—and return to our lit fireplaces and comfortable chairs.”

It looked as if the other two would demur, so he quickly swore that there would be no more work of any kind upon their return.

“Let’s merely sit together, have a cup of warm tea, and talk about our childhood traditions as if they were not lost forevermore yet!”

With a last solemn, laughably superstitious salute to the resplendent results of carefree fun and amicable competition, they threw themselves against the near-solid wall of snow-laden squalls and fought their way back to Imladris.

There are no Masterlists nor tags this time.

It's just a random art/fic exchange as we're gearing up for TRSB!

Lots of love!

#og post #Fanfiction #writing #IDNMT writes #jrrt #Tolkien fanfiction #Snow day #Art not yet posted #Elrond #Erestor #Glorfindel #Snow elves #blades #sadness #traditions #maglor-my-beloved

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lotr-sesa · 4 months

Text

TWO WEEKS until the 2023 Lord of the Rings Secret Santa claiming and posting deadline!

There are now TWO WEEKS left to get those fills in! Claiming will run all the way until the posting deadline on December 31st.

Currently, just over half the prompts have been claimed. Our goal is to make sure every prompter gets at least one of their prompts filled. Have a look and see if you can help us out, or reblog this post as a signal boost. We'd love to see all the prompts filled in honour of the 20th anniversary! ❤️

Here are prompts still waiting for some love:

There's gen prompts for:

Poppy & Nori from Rings of Power

Dain Ironfoot -focused fic

time-travelling Gandalf

Broader ensemble prompts for both Lord of the Rings (The Fellowship, Third Age Dunedain) and The Silmarillion (almost any character).

Romance/pairing (varying ratings) prompts:

Bronwyn/Arondir from Rings of Power (this one an AU prompt)

Legolas/Imrahil (either m/m or gen)

Fingolfin/Maglor (modern AUs possible)

Galadriel/Sauron

Caranthir/Caranthir's Wife/Haleth

Boromir/Faramir

There are also some kinky prompts if that's your cup of tea:

Dom Arwen

two different prompts with bottom Melkor (AU and First Age)

You can find all the prompts HERE, as the prompt meme format doesn't allow for linking to individual prompts. :(

If you are new to the format, AO3 has a helpful FAQ here.

This year's timeline (2023):

Prompt Posting: November 1st to 30th.

Claiming: December 1st to 31st.

Collection Open for Posting: December 1st to 31st.

All Fills Due: December 31st 2023.

The Rules (2023):

You will be able to post up to 2 prompts between November 1st and 30th, and we will do our best to make sure at least one of your prompts is filled.

Your fill is due December 31st 11:59 pm Pacific Time (if you want a countdown timer to fret over, there's one here). Please post it to AO3 (and nowhere else, until January 3rd).

As a matter of fairness, please make your story more than 750 words (1000 is better).

Once claiming has opened, please only claim a prompt if you plan on actually fulfilling your end of the bargain, and please only claim one prompt at a time. After you have completed your fill, you may claim a new one.

Claiming a prompt: use the "Claim" button next to the prompt you want to claim. (You can find open prompts under "Prompts" in the sidebar.) Several people can claim the same prompt. You can also claim a prompt without having submitted any of your own.

It's a good idea to follow us here on Tumblr or join the Dreamwidth community so you can keep track of any admin posts. Have fun -- and spread the word!

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gelenka-daria · 1 month

Note

girl save me w a drabble im begging for scraps

so this has been sitting in my drafts for a long while, it's a sequel to this late halloween drabble and i might as well post it

Mairon’s head snaps to the window at the sound of thunder, the frames shiver with every heavy rumble. It’s very nearly morning and the storm is yet to abate. His master is yet to return. He has no qualms about leaving Mairon behind for days, weeks, even months on end, on some rare occasions, when really, they should have gone hunting together.

Mairon misses him, wondering where Melkor’s hunger will lead him tonight.

He goes back to cleaning an urn, a small thing made of stygian marble and intricately inlined with gold that he’d noticed had been gathering dust, one of the many collectibles his master has gathered over the centuries. He wipes it down to perfection, until he can see his reflection in the black alabaster. He puts it back where it belongs and makes way to a wall overspread with weapons of all shapes and sizes, the last thing he’ll be attending to before the sun rises and he retires for the remainder of the day. He’ll dust, tomorrow. He’s got nothing better to do in this still, quiet manor, so might as well.

He’s in the process of polishing a saber when a familiar presence invades his senses. The air grows potent, heavy with the force of his lord’s power, shifting the atmosphere, weighing it down. No matter how long Mairon had served him, he could never quite get used to the magnitude of his master’s strength.

So soon?

Its is soon, but Mairon isn’t complaining. He lays the sword down and heads for the door to welcome him.

He finds him in the hallway, damp with rain and hair sticking to his back as he ascends the steps leading to the second floor, his long coat gone and he’s– Mairon has to do a double take, just in case he’s seeing things. His master is carrying someone, said missing coat wrapped around the person of which he can only glimpse long, fair legs hanging off his master’s right arm. Mairon stands there at the bottom of the staircase, tongue-tied, his mind spiraling with a multitude of questions that he knows better than to give voice to.

He had been in his lord’s service for the better part of a millennia now, and not once had he come back from his outings bearing anything beside relics and recherché treasures, and for all his charm and self-assured demeanor, he had never been overly fond of or ever sought any other’s company, even those of his own kind.

So, who–

“Mairon.”

Mairon’s body snaps back to attention like someone’s pinched his nerves. “My lord.”

“Prepare a bath." Comes the order, absent-minded, almost, gaze fastened upon whoever he's carrying.

“At once, my lord.” His master sounds at ease, for the most part, but something in his tone hints at urgency, that Mairon be quick about it and so, like a bat out of hell, he does just that. The bath is drawn apace, and he lays out everything one might need next to the large tub in orderly fashion, fresh wash cloths and smooth stones, soaps and scented oils. Mairon is in the process of reaching out when his master steps into the steaming washroom fully clothed, expecting to be handed the individual tucked close to his master’s chest, hidden away under the dark garment, but the lord ignores him entirely and makes way to the bathtub.

Mairon stares at his master’s retreating back in wide-eyed confusion.

The coat falls at his master’s feet, carelessly discarded to the ground as though it doesn’t cost a fortune, sleeping gown follows, pale and thin and equally wet. His master kneels, carefully sinking the person in his arms in the hot liquid, the water splashing gently, some of it spraying his boots as he reaches for a cloth, his other hand cupping a head of long, white hair, fingers working to unravel the tangles there.

All Mairon can do is stare, at a loss for words. Is… is Melkor going to bathe this person–himself?

Who–

“Leave us.” His master commands abruptly. All Mairon can do is bow as he retreats, shutting the door behind him, his eyes drift to the large window at the end of the hallway, and sees the first light barely cresting the mountains behind the thick burgundy curtains. Water still sloshes behind the door.

Mairon stands outside until the door swings open and Melkor steps out, the person in his arms cocooned in soft towels, hidden away from Mairon’s wondering eyes. His master doesn’t acknowledge him as he walks past, treading through the hallway to his bedchamber.

Who?

Why?

Mairon cleans what little mess had been left behind, wipes the wooden floor dry and picks up the clothes piled together for washing, later. He’s ready to turn in by then, and he seeks out his own room.

Yet how he ends up at his lord’s door is a mystery to even himself.

It’s open, and Mairon observes his master placing a young man, already clad in a lovely shade of blue, into his own bed, moving him with care, his touch attentive as he sits by his side and smoothes an ivory comb through his snowy hair.

It’s either Melkor does not notice Mairon, or he simply does not care, he would have dismissed him already if he didn’t want him there and so, emboldened by the lack of admonishment, Mairon takes a few steps inside and lays eyes upon the stranger.

He doesn’t think he has ever perceived something so captivating.

Mairon’s gaze rakes over a shapely face, coral, plump lips and sharp cheekbones, long lashes fanning his cheeks. He watches his master pull the man’s hair to one side once he is done combing through it before he proceeds to braid it, deft fingers weaving through the tresses, threading the long, blue ribbon between the strands.

He lays the long plait down one shoulder once he is done, thumb running over seemingly soft ridges, his other hand tucking a stray lock behind the man’s ear and that’s when Mairon detects the puncture wounds on the man’s pale jugular. He’s unable to keep the shock off his face, this time, his wide eyes taking in the shape of his master’s teeth in this stranger’s neck. A turning bite.

He has converted this person.

Mairon struggles his way out of this particular bout of disbelief, and he’s had one too many in the past two hours.

“My lord, wh-”

“Bewitching, isn’t he?” Melkor says, his clawed finger tracing the man’s pale cheek, gaze intense, the embers in his eyes burning tender and Mairon can’t think of a time when his master ever wore such an expression. Not even for Mairon himself, who had served and loved him unfailingly. What a riveting, hurtful thing to bear witness to. “I have so longed for a worthy companion.”

A companion.

It’s happened.

The haze of confusion disperses and everything makes so much sense, suddenly, that Mairon wonders how he had not picked up on it sooner.

Melkor has found himself a bride.

Of course.

“I have so longed for a worthy companion.”

Did he? Was I not enough?

Mairon stares at him, this cold, lovely thing that is to be everything Mairon wishes he could have been. Immortal as he is, still he never thought he’d live to see this night, because theirs might be a long, lonely existence but Melkor never really cared, never voiced his need for someone special and as much as Mairon strived to be that someone, he never seemed to amount.

The tightness in his chest prevents him from erupting into joyless laughter.

You’ve no right to feel betrayed, he never promised you anything. Wasn’t it you who clung to him? Weren’t you the one that begged?

Mairon fights the bitter feeling down, insides warring between wanting to tear that beautiful man to shreds and stealing him away to have him all to himself.

He can’t do either.

“What pleases my master pleases me.” He declares instead, inclining his head to hide away the hurt, the jealousy.

Melkor hums. “Yes, I am very pleased.” His lips stretch into a gratified, serpentine smile, his gleaming fangs poking from under the curve of his mouth. “I see great potential in him.”

He must have, Marion thinks, to have gone to such lengths. His master doesn't do things by halves, not a matter as critical as this, at least. Turning someone, altering their entire being and putting such power at their disposal is as pivotal a subject as one could possibly be. His eyes do a final sweep over the sleeping form.

“He is most comely.” He offers, because he should say something, aiming to please as he’d always done, but gets a cautionary glare for his efforts, Melkor’s eyes gleaming a mean red that Mairon doesn’t usually find himself on the receiving end of. He takes a step back and dips his head in atonement for whatever wrong he’d committed, but by then the flicker of hostility had long since passed and his master’s attentions turn back to the figure laid in his bed.

“Indeed.” He concurs, his voice gone breathless, eyes hazy, enamored with the gem he caught. Melkor does fancy the finer things in life. But this is no passing fancy, and this new addition to their lives has to be strong enough to endure the change. Not everyone makes it through, at the end, he needs to be looked after.

So it’s no surprise that, after getting up to change out of his wet garment, and sending Mairon away in the process, Melkor stays by his bride’s side. He doesn’t leave his bedroom for a thing, keeps watch over the young man as he goes through his corpse stage, his body going cold and ashen, his mortality creeping out of him in increments as the human in him dies. Then the fever came, making the man’s body softer and more pliable, warmth returning to him, slowly at first, then faster and faster, a sickness that he would never overcome– that holds all of them hostage.

Mairon brings his master bowel after bowel of ice cold water and clean washcloths, watches as the man sweats and heaves and trembles in his unconsciousness. It looks as unpleasant as it must have felt, and he’s glad he doesn’t remember when he’d gone through these phases.

Worryingly, the fever persists, and this never bodes well.

Mairon stands in the shadows and watches his master pace like a caged animal in front of his bed, fists tight at his sides and eyes gone frenzied because this isn’t supposed to happen, his master had been so painstakingly mindful and now his chosen’s body is too still, too weak, too hot to the touch.

“Stop,” Melkor takes the motionless body in his arms and holds it close, holds it tightly, his hands shaking, the first time Mairon’s ever seen him so desperately frightened. “Stop fighting it, Manwë.”

… Manwë.

By that time the fever finally breaks, his master had been confining himself in his chamber for a fortnight, keeping vigil at Manwë’s bedside. Mairon pretends not to hear his master’s sigh of relief, the tension trickling out of him in red, seismic waves. The worst of it has passed.

Melkor dips Manwë in another bath of cool water to chase away fever residue, then adorns him in new, soft fabrics, lowers him unto crisp clean sheets and lays himself beside him, keen eyes wide open.

It’s almost over.

Manwë should be waking up any day now.

–

It’s two nights later, and Mairon is in the process of adjusting a tilted portrait when a long, cracked shriek swells throughout the manor, the frame shivering underneath his frozen hands.

At last, Manwë is awake.

Newborns tend to be violent when they first come to, hysterical with hunger and oblivious to their own strength, so more often than not, they would be restrained, for their own safety and that of those around them. But Melkor is one of the strongest out there, he could handle this just fine, he certainly doesn’t need Mairon sprinting his way up staircases and through corridors with Manwë’s howls still in his ears, but Mairon can’t help it, he needs to see this.

The screaming stops just before he reaches the threshold. He expects utter chaos when he walks into the room, and instead finds his master reclined against the headboard, Manwë’s slighter form pulled across his front, his slit wrist offered up for Manwë to sink into, latching on like it's all he knows to do, like his life depends on it. Because it does, Melkor had to be the one to do it, he is his maker, after all.

Melkor’s other hand smoothes down, coming to a rest at the small of Manwë’s back, his temple pressed to the top of Manwë’s head. “Drink, sweetheart,” he says, watching with indulgent, golden eyes as Manwë feeds off him, “‘Til you’ve had your fill.”

Mairon has to turn his head from the sight, backing away, much as he wants to be a part of it, he's trespassing on something intimate. Vampire couples feeding from each other is cherished, private, personal. And that’s what Melkor and Manwë are to be. This is not something for him, or anyone, to see.

Despite everything, it feels like a labor of love, in the end.

#i don't know why i didn't post it sooner #general lack of faith in my writing and the plot and whatnot #i hope this tides you over in the meantime #melkor x manwë #drabble #anonymous #melkor #manwë #tolkien

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