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cilil · 10 months

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Hi! For the Summer Stories event, would it be possible to ask for a soft Calamórë drabble for the fireflies prompt?

Thank you! ❤️

Author's Note: Yes, it is! Here you go~

Characters: Manwë/Námo

Synopsis: Manwë wants to spend some time alone with Námo

Warnings: /

"May I ask where we are going, my lord?"

A small smile ghosts around the corners of Námo's mouth, hidden underneath his veil. His hand rests on top of Manwë's as he's led through the gardens of Lórien, away from Irmo and the other Valar who are enjoying the evening together.

"To a place where we won't be disturbed," Manwë answers, sapphire eyes gleaming in the twilight. "Your brother recommended a lovely place he thought you might like."

"You are too kind," Námo says, lowering his head in an attempt to hide his bashful expression. It feels like a dream come true – his beloved wishing to be alone with him and spend time together. Wanting his company out of all the Ainur, many of whom are certainly more pleasant to be around.

Manwë leads him to a small pond away from the main pathways of Lórien, and they sit down on a small bench together, taking a moment to admire their surroundings. The gardens are silent, safe for a few crickets chirping in the distance and the occasional rustling of leaves whenever another warm summer breeze passes through. Specks of light float around the lake – a species of luminescent beetles, Námo recalls – like tiny lanterns, making it feel almost like home, but warmer and friendlier.

It takes him a few moments to notice that they're still holding hands.

"Do you like it?" Manwë asks softly, careful not to disturb the peaceful scenery.

"It is beautiful," Námo responds.

He wonders if his lack of eloquence is bothering the other Vala, but before he can begin to worry about it Manwë speaks up again.

"Just like you."

A simple statement, yet it manages to rob his breath for a moment. To think that someone would see him this way...

Manwë squeezes his hand and turns towards him. The wind surrounding him at all times feels like it's gently tugging on the Fëantur's veil and caressing his skin underneath. Námo finds himself mirroring the gesture, gazing into those wonderful blue eyes reminiscent of a cloudless sky on a beautiful summer day.

He doesn't know how long they look at each other like this. It is only when Manwë slowly removes his veil and leans in for a kiss that Námo closes his eyes and welcomes the tender brush of warm lips against his own.

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 1 year

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Hello M darling! Firstly, congratulations on reaching 500! You totally deserve it and I can't wait to see more from you<3

For your event, I was wondering if I could request a modern!calamórë with the prompt 23. “Say my name.” and a library setting?

College students!Manwë and Námo are boyfriends and they should be studying for their final, but Manwë decides on a fun little way of helping Námo memorise his work and it leads into him testing Námo whilst pleasuring him? He only gives him what he wants if he gets the answers correct, much to Námo's dismay because he's all needy<3 it eventually leads to them fucking and trying to keep it hush, even if they are the only two in the library at such a late time 💕

Hope this isn't too much! You can mix and match what you think works well. Congratulations again 🥰

Thank you! And thanks for your request, I hope you like this.

"Motivation"

Prompt 23. “Say my name.” and a library setting.

Pairing: Modern Námo x Manwë (both college students)

Themes: Modern AU | Smut | Soft

Word count: 2.3k words

Summary: Late night prep for English lit finals goes in a completely different direction.

Rating: 🔥🔥| Minors DNI | 18+

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Manwë held up a mock exam paper, impatience writ large on his face. "Come now, little raven, we need to focus for tomorrow’s exam."

Námo huffed and slumped into his chair. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the time. It was nearly eleven at night, and the library was empty save for the two of them. They had been studying for hours, pouring over books and filling up mock papers, reviewing each other’s answers, all in preparation for their English Literature finals. It was exhausting work, and now Námo just wanted to fall into bed. Any bed. Or a sofa. Or even a comfortable chair. Somewhere. Anywhere. And just sleep.

"No more, mon cher," he mumbled, half asleep.

"Now, that could work, little raven. If I were Gomez Addams." Manwë snickered and shook his head. Clearly, Námo was still stuck on that morning’s French paper, but it was not going to do. They had one final exam to get through, and then they would be free to do as they wished. He picked up a pencil, tapped it against the table to get Námo to pay attention. "Unfortunately, I am not. Now come. We need to focus."

Námo sat up straight and groaned. He rubbed his eyes once more and tried to focus. A large emphasis would have to be laid on "tried to," because Námo tried, and failed. "I can’t," he whined, and he tried to sleep at the table, his head on his folded arms. "I just can’t. Can we go back to our dorm now?"

"One more round, that is all," Manwë urged, and he placed a hand on Námo’s shoulder, shaking it gently to try and keep him awake. "Thirty minutes, little raven. Just thirty minutes and we can leave, I promise."

"Do you?" Námo asked hopefully, as visions of fluffy beds and soft pillows danced before his drooping eyes.

"I do, little raven." Manwë said, brushing back an ash-blonde lock of hair that covered Námo’s left eye. When that eye flew wide open and looked right back at him, as if pleading with him not to stop, Manwë had an idea. He will have to dig into his special bag of tricks to motivate Námo into studying.

"So," Manwë started by first smoothing back Námo’s soft, wavy hair. He lifted a paper with his free hand. "Do you know what the answer to question number five is? Where the passage is from?"

Námo lifted his head and squinted at the paper that had been held up for him to see. The answer to this was easy. "C. John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress."

"Very good," Manwë hummed sweetly, his eyes on the mock quiz. He pushed Námo’s hair from his neck and drew lazy circles with a finger, something he knew would grab Námo’s attention and make him more alert. It worked; he heard it in the sharp intake of breath. "Now, the next question. Which of the following is true of the passage?"

Námo found it hard to focus when a large, warm hand started to rub the back of his neck, but he answered all the same. "C. It’s C."

"You’re doing perfectly, little raven. And the question after that? What does the last sentence suggest?"

"That Father Roger failed to nurture the boy’s talents?"

"Excellent. Now. What about," Manwë settled on a harder question. "Ahh. Yes. This one. Question number thirteen. What does the passage describe, little raven?"

Námo groaned in defeat when he looked at the paper. Of course, Manwë had to go find a question on Beowulf. "I fucking hate you, you know that?"

Manwë simply smiled to himself and raked his fingers through Námo’s hair. "I know, little raven. However, the question remains unanswered." He shook the paper, demanding an answer.

Námo had plenty to say. All unrepeatable things, of course, but the sensations that came with Manwë running his hand through his hair killed the heated words already at the tip of his tongue. Námo grabbed onto his chair and inched it closer to Manwë’s, so he could get a better look at the question. The sounds of his chair being dragged were muffled by the thick carpet, not that anyone could have heard anyway. He read and read, debating which answer to choose. Manwë kept combing his hand through Námo’s hair, his lips curling when he caught the barely audible whimper.

After some struggle, Námo settled on, "B," he said triumphantly. "Loss of life in battle."

And Manwë was quick to pull his hand away. The answer was wrong after all.

"Wait… why did you do that, babe?" Námo protested.

"Do what, little raven?" Manwë said lightly, his gaze fixed firmly on the paper before him, his eyes glinting wickedly.

"Take your hand away. Why did you do it?"

Manwë turned his attention to Námo, taking in the narrowed eyes and the heavy pout. Not only was he hooked on what Manwë was doing, he was sulking. Námo was actually sulking, like a child that had been denied candy.

Manwë struggled to bury a triumphant smirk. He had Námo exactly where he wanted him. "Needy, are we?"

"No," Námo lied, and poorly too. Oh, he was needy, so very needy, and it was already starting to show.

"No?" Manwë leaned in closer, his lips a hair’s breadth over the shell of Námo’s ear. "Then why are you sulking, sweet raven?"

Námo grumbled something ineligible before looking away, his arms crossing over his chest. Manwë smirked and leaned in even closer, his lips grazing Námo’s earlobe. To give him more incentive, he decided. "Do you want me to keep touching you?"

He flushed; yes, he did want Manwë to keep touching him. "What if I do?" Námo said, his breath hitching when teeth nipped and pulled.

"Keep answering correctly, and I will. In all manner of ways," Manwë sat up straight and took the mock paper to hand. "So, little raven. What is the answer to question thirteen?"

That large hand of his brushed over the nape of Námo’s neck, to encourage him. This time Námo focused and tried to recall what he learned at class. He took another stab at the answer.

"E," he said, hoping and praying that this was the correct one, as he did not want Manwë to pull away again.

It was, and Manwë gave the paper to Námo to hold, freeing up both his hands for the things he wanted to do next.

"You’re doing so well, little raven," he murmured, his hand sliding down the length of Námo’s arm. The goosebumps he felt brush against his palm made him smile. "So well. What about the question sixteen?"

Námo answered correctly again, his eyes closing when Manwë snuck a hand under his t-shirt and let the other delve into his hair. He slumped back into his chair, although this time, it was not due to weariness or a need to sleep. Flushed and breathless, he tried to focus as Manwë’s hand glided all over his chest, stoking a familiar fire in his blood.

"Any… oh fuck," he breathed when skilled fingers pinched at a nipple, lightly at first, then insistently, making it throb and ache.

"Yes, little raven?" Manwë kept at his ministrations, focusing on one nipple before turning his attention to the other.

His heart fluttering in his chest, Námo shook his head and forced himself to focus. Hard to do so when that deft hand of Manwë’s kept sending jolts of pain and pleasure all over his body. And he wanted it. Oh, how he wanted it—to feel those jolts wash over his body. "Any… any more questions, babe?"

"Eager to go on, eh?" Manwë said, his voice now thick and rough. "I’m proud of you, little raven. Very well, question twenty."

Námo looked down at the question, his eyes already going hazy as lust overtook him. He struggled to answer, to form proper words. Manwë’s touch proved it nearly impossible to do so, but the heat of his touch and the words of his praise were all too good to pass up. Sleep was forgotten at last. He made himself concentrate and answered, his words faltering near the end when Manwë’s hand glided down, going lower and lower, not stopping until it rested over the band of his shorts. Námo waited, wanting to see what Manwë would do next. Would he abruptly stop now that their study session was nearing its end, or would he go on? Oh, how Námo craved for him to go on.

"Hard already," Manwë let his hand glide even lower, trailing over the bulge of Námo’s erection. A breathless laugh fell over his lips when Námo’s mouth parted in a silent moan, his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut. Late-night studying just got very interesting.

"Don’t stop," Námo whispered, his hand moving over Manwë’s. "Please. Please babe, don’t stop."

"You are needy," Manwë muttered, his own needs coursing through his veins like an out-of-control fire at the sight of Námo writhing like anything. "I will not stop. But you must say my name first. No more, babe."

Námo blinked and looked around, hoping that the librarian would not actually walk in on them.

"Mrs. Murtaugh is off in that office of hers, little raven," Manwë dipped and nipped his earlobe again as he loosened the top button. There was a brief hissing sound as the zip came down. "It’s just you and me. Now, will you do it? Say my name?"

Námo tried. Oh, how he tried, but his tongue felt like it was tied up in knots. Manwë let his lips drift over Námo’s shoulder, his hand palming Námo’s cock over the thin fabric of his briefs.

"Say my name, little raven," he groaned, his touch growing more intense by the moment. "Say it."

Manwë cupped him and applied more pressure, just enough to crumble what defenses Námo had. His name soon fell from Námo’s lips in what was a half-moan, half-whimper. Finals and studying and everything else had been forgotten. Manwë kept stroking him, his senses blind to all but his boyfriend. Námo encouraged him, his worry at them being caught all but forgotten.

"Not enough, Manwë," he whispered, his breath harsh and ragged. "Please, Manwë. Please."

Vivid, arctic blue eyes lit up immediately. Manwë lapped it up and wanted to hear more of Námo’s begging. He always loved it when Námo begged. "Such a needy slut you are, little raven. But you’re going to have to try harder."

Námo whined and complained, but Manwë, despite his caresses, remained unmoved and refused to go further. Unable to bear it anymore, Námo yielded quite shamelessly.

"Please give me more, Manwë," he mewled, "Please. Please."

"More you say," Manwë purred, his voice sweet as honey just then. "More of what, little raven?"

One final squeeze, and Námo was like putty in Manwë’s skilled hands. "Go down on me. Please."

Manwë fully planned on doing it, but he needed to hear another round of pleading before he did. "You will have to be more specific, little raven."

Thoroughly done in by now, Námo very nearly sobbed, "Please suck my cock. Please."

With a satisfied growl, Manwë pulled away and snuck under the table. "You’re not to make a sound, do you hear me?" He peeled back Námo’s briefs, freeing his erection for his touch. "Not one sound."

"What?" Námo breathed, his eyes locked onto what Manwë was doing. "Why?"

"I know how loud you can get, little raven," Manwë grinned wolfishly and pushed Námo's thighs apart. The carpet felt coarse against his knees, but he took no notice. "And we cannot afford to have Mrs. Murtaugh hearing those sweet noises you make, do we?"

Námo nodded and put his hand to his mouth. It was just as well that he did, as the first moan spilled out barely a moment later. Manwë pressed soft kisses against the tip, moaning quietly to himself when Námo moved a hand through his hair. The library was quiet, so very quiet, and all either could hear was the sound of the other’s rough breathing. Such a pity, thought Manwë, that he couldn’t get to properly enjoy all the sounds Námo made, but he made himself content with the sight of Námo’s silvery eyes, now dark and clouded with lust.

Námo nearly forgot himself and cried out in ecstasy when Manwë ran his tongue along his shaft before slipping all of him into his wet, hot mouth. He wanted to moan out loud, but the knowledge that they were in the library was all that stopped him from doing so. The sounds he made were hoarse and muffled, but the sensations — the feeling of Manwë gripping at his waist, his fingers digging into soft flesh, his free hand moving in tandem with his mouth, his grip squeezing and releasing with each stroke — it was all too much, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long.

The gleam in Námo’s eyes betrayed his need and how close he was. Manwë didn’t slow down; he didn’t stop. He wanted to feel the taste of Námo’s seed against his tongue. He also wanted to get it over with so he could take Námo home and have his way with the rest of Námo’s body. He went faster, took Námo even deeper, his strokes relentless as he felt Námo stiffen even more. Námo didn’t last much longer, his hand fisting in Manwë’s thick, white hair. His body shook, and a deep, muffled moan was followed by a spurt of warmth filling Manwë mouth.

"Couldn’t hold out, could you?" Manwë swallowed and grinned.

Námo managed a weak smile, his chest still heaving. "Like you said, I’m a needy little thing. Did you expect me to last long?"

Manwë laughed this time, his eyes glinting. "I suppose you’re right. Let’s get you cleaned up and back home. I need to hear those pretty sounds of yours while I fuck you."

tags: @cilil | @asianbutnotjapanese |@fictionfordays

#calamórë #calamore #manwë #manwë súlimo #namo mandos #námo mandos #manwë x námo #the silm #the silm smut #the silmarilion #the silm imagine #🔥 Spicy spring fling 🔥#The valar #The ainur #writeblr #💫a world of whimsy writes

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lospeakerscorner · 1 year

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Calamore c’est chic

View On WordPress

#Calamore

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opportunistic-chicanery · 2 years

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@le-boid from X

“Of course we don’t,” he declared with considerable joie de vivre. Instead of cooking utensils, he spread a map out across the kitchen table. “The only place snake milk can be found in Cyberspace are the reptile pits deep in the jungles of Jimaya. And the only place with a waterfall cold enough is Topsy-Turvy Isle. Of course we’ll have to leave it there overnight. But I like to think a little patience will make it taste all the sweeter.”

This sudden urge to go out and do something reckless and stupid was inspired by none other than the latest work of one Isoceles Jones, an adventurer and novelist who’d just put out his latest best seller, the Search for the Lost Frozen Eye of Calamore. Located in the back of each of the intrepid Poddle’s works were the recipes for a full course meal using only the ingredients one would have encountered retracing the steps of the novel’s hero.

“What do you say my bosom buddy? Are you in?”

#did someone say IT help? ✰ hieronymus hacker ✰#cyberspace will be MINE ✰ main verse ✰#le boid

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praesaepe · 6 years

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guess im the one man band for this but kra calamor from the faerie fire book is wonderful and i love him

#rk.txt #the only faerie fire posts i can find are 'i got my book'#which is fair because the kickstarter stuff is still shipping ut.#but i need to talk about my favorite falcon man #faerie fire #kra calamor

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podasokus · 5 years

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My Latin students created a new deponent verb today: calamor, calamari, calamatus sum "to squid" 🦑

#teaching #lingua latina #🦑

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jade-island-lives · 3 years

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The Light Force: The Beginning: 4-7-21

Not that things had been difficult lately. If Flora could but a word described the way things had been, it would be peaceful. Things were peaceful for once. There hadn’t been any problems in New Light lately, even with the sweltering heat. And work with the Force had been minimal as there weren’t any border scuffles or the like so to speak, and other than weekly battle training, there wasn’t anything to worry about.

Ada’s back hadn’t been aching as often as it had been, Matthew hadn’t had a seizure in over two months, Logan had finally decided to start dating again. And in the summer, The Ivy Vine was booming, flourishing.

Maybe with all of this peace, Flora could finally take Ada to the shores of Calamor, in Barbos for a nice vacation by the shore. It would be nice to lay in the sun, a cold pineapple mango drink in hand, watching the crystal-clear waves lap against the fine brown sand.

Just the two of them on the beach together for the first time in what felt like decades. Now that would be utter bliss.

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edensrose · 1 year

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─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day eight : flight

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ manwë ⠀〳 námo⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. whilst flying through the airs in need of a break, námo is pleasantly surprised by the eagle that joins him

· ⊰ notes. this event should have been called a manwë event with how much I'm writing for him — not that I mind of course <3

‘Flying all by your lonesome, little raven?’

Upon hearing the familiar voice ring through his ears, Námo rears his presently ebony-feathered head and beholds the mighty wingspan above him. So, that is where the rays of light went. . . they were blocked out by none other than His Majesty.

White, elegant feathers flap through the skies. Twinkling yet slitted sapphire eyes peer at his fellow Vala who also takes the form of a winds' creature. The two of them soar through the skies — one noticeably smaller than the other, yet majestic in every right. A contrast of colours that flutter through the air.

'Have you been stalking me, Your Majesty?'

Námo hears a chime in Manwë's fëa, as though the king had laughed at his little tease. The great white eagle lowers himself so that he is flying side-by-side with his lover.

'Is it so wrong of me to crave my dear doomsman? I heard your song in my skies. How could I turn down the opportunity to soar with you?'

If Námo could, he might have smiled. Instead, to show his appreciation he turns directory and flies a few circles around the larger bird. Brushing their feathers together and nuzzling their soft heads.

'How about we retire to your halls? I would much rather see your true form.' Námo offers, only to receive another chuckle through his head which causes his heart to flutter in the slightest.

'Is someone calling me pretty?'

Námo nearly forgets how to fly. His wings stiffen and he falls a few inches before quickly flapping his wings in panic and regaining his composure. He shoots his head in Manwë's direction, cursing his beady raven eyes that can hardly produce his typical icy glare.

'How about we land? You shall receive a pinch for that one.'

Another laugh as Manwë nuzzles his head against his lover's before agreeing. 'As you wish, my darling.' While Námo might not see it in this form, he can feel Manwë's smile in the air.

And so the two love birds soar through the skies. Dancing through the winds and fluttering amongst each other as they return to Ilmarin's Halls.

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cilil · 1 year

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𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Doom

Characters: Námo/Manwë Synopsis: Námo wishes he could be more than just another servant to his king. Warnings: Angst Follow-up to ⊱ Fate

So it is doomed.

Every time Námo is ordered by his king to pronounce his judgement, every time he utters these words, it feels like he himself is damned, alongside those unfortunate souls who have chosen an ill-fated path; yet unlike the Children of Ilúvatar, he was never really given a choice to be someone different than he is.

He stands in the Ring of Doom, tall, proud and elegant, his fána concealed by long robes and veils, his hands folded neatly underneath wide sleeves, his expression betraying no emotion. Manwë gazes upon him from his throne, contemplates his words and finally accepts with a gracious nod.

"So be it."

And in an instant, Námo is deprived of the warmth of blue fire within his eyes again, a silent dismissal. He bows his head and sits down, feeling oddly small. Of course the Elder King's gaze wouldn't linger on him; he is but a servant of His Majesty, and his appearance certainly doesn't draw attention due to his modest attire. He must always maintain the dignity and appearance befitting of the tasks he was made for, and Eru does not permit him to stray from his path.

Námo knows he will have to admire his beloved king from a distance and show his adoration and devotion through his service; for that is all that will ever be, so is his doom.

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 1 year

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Hi darling!! I'm here to request some calamórë smut for your lovely writing💕

So for some reason, my mind is only going to throne sex with a lot of authority kink and power play sprinkled in. Perhaps something along the lines of Námo being a bit of a brat that led to Manwë wanting to rectify his behaviour by showing his lover who his king is<3 you can let your mind go wild honestly — even if it's something like Námo riding Manwë on his throne hehe

No rush or pressure!! I hope this request is okay, if not that's totally alright you don't have to do it — have an amazing day sweetie!! ♥️

Nothing like some throne room fun! I hope you don't mind, but I used a couple of things of yours for inspo, one where Manwë calls Námo my little raven, the other where Manwë uses his control over air as a form of breath play. I hope you like this.

"Begging"

🦅Pairing: Manwë x Namo (Calamórë)

🦅Themes: Smut

🦅Word count: 1.7k words

Summary: Sometimes, when it comes to the High King, nothing short of begging would do.

Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+

Want to be tagged? Want to know the rules? Read all here.

The throne room had grown dark, save for the light of a handful of candles. And it was cool, with the wind that blew in through the large windows that were opened to the sky. It was a most breathtaking sight: the swirling clouds, the full moon, and the countless glittering stars.

Námo wanted to see it—that breathtaking view one could only see from the halls of Taniquetil. He longed to go to those wide open windows and look out into the night and think and dream. Unfortunately, he couldn't. Not tonight. Námo was forbidden from doing so as punishment for vexing the High King.

And how Manwë relished this, watching him try not to squirm and not prolong this torment the High King inflicted upon him. "How do you fare so far, my little raven?"

Námo took a deep, steadying breath and tried to make himself more comfortable when Manwë spread his legs just a little wider and pushed himself in a little deeper. "Well, my king," he breathed as he adjusted to the feel of his lover deep inside of him. His robes had been pulled open, exposing his skin to the cold air that danced all over it, raising little goosebumps in their wake. "But how much longer must I have to-"

The sharp smack that reddened his thigh again ripped a gasp out of him. "You will warm me as long as I deem it necessary, little raven," Manwë uttered regally as triumphant lust shone brightly in his lapis eyes. "And not a moment before that."

Námo trembled—oh, how he trembled. Not just from the jolt of pleasure that washed over him when Manwë's palm marked his thigh, but from how Manwë took command of him, never relinquishing control even for a second. It made him want to yield, to submit and obey, and he did, his tongue silent, his palms folded neatly over his lap.

The sight of him all meek and submissive made Manwë groan softly in delight. "See how obedient you are, little raven. So meek and pliant." He sighed and relaxed into his throne, making himself more comfortable amongst the silken cushions, his skin tingling whenever Námo whimpered due to his movements. Oh, and how glorious it was to see Námo exposed to him like this, to feel the heat of him around his length. "Perhaps I should reward you a little for your compliance," Manwë said, bringing his hands to Námo hips, his palms kneading gently at the flesh beneath silken robes that had been thrown open. "Touch me."

"My king," Námo shivered at the command and did as he was bid, pushing away Manwë's disheveled robes out of the way to run cool palms over the pale fana beneath them. He swallowed as his eyes rested on his lord's, his ears tingling with the gentle rustling of Manwë's folded wings. And Manwë's eyes, how they never left his, the deep, vivid blue of them growing darker and darker as lust and wanton desire hammered at him.

"Very good, little raven," Manwë closed his eyes, humming softly as Námo's touch left him lightheaded and weak. And weak he would not be. Not tonight. "Now keep still again."

Námo's whine was rewarded with another sharp smack that drew a moan out of him. "Behave, little raven," Manwë hissed, drunk on the deep, drugging sound he heard. "For this is what you deserve."

And Námo knew it. He had teased the High King today, not letting him concentrate on his duties, filling his ears with wild and dark things, and acting bratty when Manwë didn't yield easily. And now he was paying for it by having to warm the king and wait. It was agonizing, oh so agonizing, to be made to wait like this. But it was all so good too. How Manwë felt inside him, stretching his walls, how his hands left stinging bruises all over Námo's thighs. And how he looked, seated upon his throne, very much the image of a king. It was enough to make Námo forget himself and plead, "Please my king. I c-can't take anymore."

"Begging so soon, little raven?" Manwë crooned, his eyes never leaving Námo's, those beautiful orbs of glassy black and silver. "My my, what a weak little slut you are."

"My king," Námo shivered when large, warm hands left his hips and glided all over his torso and his thighs, toying with him and playing with him, leaving his entire fana aflame. "P-please."

Manwë grunted in satisfaction. There was something about Námo's pleading that aroused him and made him want to hear more. "I like you begging. Keep doing it."

Námo swallowed and pressed on, eager to please. "My king, I just want you to take me in any which way you desire. It would be a great honor if you did."

Manwë tilted his head to one side, bringing his hands to Námo's hips again. What he heard was enough to drive him insane, but he kept control of himself for now. There would be plenty of time to let go later. "Really? Do you really want me to use you however I please?"

Námo took it as his cue to continue. The darkened look in Manwë's eyes and his curt, regal nod were proof enough of it. "Please my king, I beg of you to do so."

Manwë growled again, this time tightening his grip on Námo's bare hips, his fingers leaving little crescent-shaped bruises in their wake. "Hmm. Perhaps it is possible," he hummed, his own body tensing with growing need. But Manwë would not say yes, not yet. He wanted Námo to beg a little more. "But convince me some more."

"Please, please, my king, I would do anything to feel you moving inside of me," Námo breathed, his breath hitching when fingers dug into his flesh. He closed his eyes, hoping and praying that Manwë would say yes, for he was already turning into a trembling mess. "Please, my king," he pleaded again.

"You need to try better than that," Manwë ordered, thoroughly enjoying this hold he had over Námo.

And Námo begged again, his very blood heating at the thought of submitting himself like this. "Please my king. I'm aching to feel you moving inside of me," he licked his lips when an idea struck him. "Perhaps... Perhaps I could move instead. It would honour me to do so."

And that did it. Manwë smiled a wide, wicked smile that would always leave Námo weak in the knees. "Very well," he sat up straight, hooking his arms around Námo's waist. "Go on. This cock isn't going to fuck itself."

His order was like the crack of a whip, and Námo groaned, taking Manwë's face into his hands, and dragging him in for a kiss. He started to move, rocking his hips in slow, rhythmic motions, his breath hitching when Manwë's arms tightened like vises around his waist. He felt so tight and hot that Manwë sighed into his kiss, holding Námo tighter, one hand sneaking up his back and around Námo's throat.

"Touch yourself," Manwë ordered, his hand applying gentle pressure over Námo's throat. "Touch yourself while I fuck you."

Námo, already losing himself to Manwë's ministrations, couldn't help but comply. He reached down with one hand, wrapping it along his length and stroking it in a rhythm he liked. He forced his eyes open and found Manwë looking at him, his eyes burning brightly as they bore into his. "I should deny you," Manwë kept up that delightful grip around Námo's throat, his heart pounding at every mewl and whimper his touch incited. "For teasing me and distracting me."

Námo whimpered when Manwë moved in sync with him, matching his rhythm for rhythm. "I'm s-so s-sorry m-my k-king."

"You should be sorry, my little slut," Manwë retorted as a dark and sinful thought swirled in his mind. He used his power, controlling the very air that went into Námo's lungs and giving him just enough to take shallow breaths. "And I should have continued admonishing you instead of rewarding you like this."

Manwë applying pressure around his throat and controlling the very breath he took sent shockwave after shockwave washing over his fana and Námo's movements grew erratic, his strokes frantic. "N-no m-more my k-king. I beg of you."

The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin echoed across the vast and empty throne room. "No more, you say," Manwë felt like he was being pulled into a darkened tunnel of desire. "Then kiss me again, and make it count."

It was as if a dam had burst, and Námo's mouth crashed against his, the sweetness of his kiss pouring into Manwë's mouth. He sighed into that kiss, his tongue forcing its way past Námo's lips and dipping into the warmth of his mouth. On and on they kissed, hot, demanding, hungry kisses, their fanas cleaving into each other even as they neared the edge of the cliff. And Manwë kept applying that gentle pressure around Námo's throat, keeping his breath to a bare minimum. It was all so sinful and erotic, what he was doing, and Námo felt like he wasn't going to last much longer. He rode his king right there on the throne, wild and wanton, moaning into Manwë's mouth, his movements growing even more frantic now.

And Manwë felt it, in the tensing in Námo's body and in his own. "Let go, little raven," he growled and slammed his hips against the inside of Námo's thighs. "Let go for me now."

Námo's strokes grew fast and desperate, as unceasing as the movements of his hips. His breath grew even more shallow as his coiled muscles snapped and his orgasm ripped through him, heated and so so intense. And it was just at that moment Manwë let him take in a deep lungful of air, and he sobbed, Manwë's name leaving his lips repeatedly like a prayer. He couldn't think, could barely breathe, his body trembling and trembling while he spilled his seed, while Manwë continued to fuck him through his orgasm. Námo was so lost in that blissed-out state that he barely felt Manwë thrust one last time, his moan deep and guttural as his own orgasm washed over him. It was good. So good. And Manwë held on while his body spasmed, pulling Námo with him as he fell back into his throne, exhausted but so very satisfied.

The throne room went quiet, so very quiet. The wind outside suddenly stilled, and nothing could be heard save for the laboured sounds of their ragged breathing. Manwë held Námo to him, whispering in his ear and bringing him down from his high. "Are you well, my little raven?" he asked, brushing back Námo's tangled silvery hair. Manwë then unfurled his wings and wrapped them around Námo, enveloping him in soft, white feathers. He heard a sigh, a soft, dreamy sigh, his own fana softening when Námo curled into him even more.

"Yes, my king," Námo breathed, nuzzling Manwë's neck. "I am well."

"Good," Manwë looked out the nearest window, at the full moon. Such a beautiful sight, he thought, but nowhere as beautiful as the Vala in his arms. "Rest my little raven. Afterward, we can indulge in a little stargazing."

#calamórë #calamore #manwë/námo #manwë x námo #the silm smut #the silm #the silmarilion #manwe smut #Mandos smut #manwë súlimo #manwë #námo #námo mandos #Writeblr #💫a world of whimsy writes

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wanderlustdepression · 7 years

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I finally got over my depressional mood swings- It takes a lot To go through such a calamorous, Judgmental world. When we’re persecuted for being ourselves And why the way we are, Or why we do things the way we do. And I can’t fully control it all, Like how I feel so thankful For every day, Every breath, This soul that gives life to my walking corpse, And I confess it with my mouth And shout praises unto others To keep their heads high Because every storm comes to an end And sunshine will calm their seas of chaos. Yet when I go home, Close the doors, Log off behind my screens, I sometimes am quick to bite my own tongue Amidst the monsters and demons I face. Alone. Struggling within all while trying to keep my own composure together. How can I be someone who makes other people become better, When I can’t even figure out what’s wrong with me? The sadness sinks in. The darkness overwhelms. The loneliness, Brokenness, Doubts and worries prick at my skin. Here I lie, Lost. And then they grab my hand before I sink into self pity any further. The man above, And my one true love. They remind me of my purpose, That I am loved REGARDLESS of my past mistakes, My trips and falls, The things I am missing in a “regular” life. And then I realized this: The key to life, That when doing things for other people, Everything becomes clearer. Don’t look for yourself in things and society praise for intros materialistic world. Give with a heart full of gold, And surely You will find yourself And see yourself in other people. NOT to say to put others before your own well being And doing things for others blindly While not taking care of yourself. But reaping good things, Or karma, Whatever you call it, Will always cycle back to you. There’s something about generosity, And love, And putting others first, Saving people from their own self destruction, That you, and their struggle, End up saving you as well. Showing others for the amazing self they are, You begin to see yourself for the beautiful individual you really are ❤️ And that’s why doing it for others, When you put a big purpose, Making you push for a desired outcome, You will fight to the end To make sure They will find Their reason in life And appreciate everything In life. Be thankful 🍯🐝 💜

#gif #bethankful #lovelife #depression #appreciate #karma #passiton

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cilil · 1 year

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𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Fate

Characters: Námo/Manwë Synopsis: Sometimes Námo wishes his fate was different. Warnings: /

Námo has always admired Manwë, for he is kind, just and so very fair. His fëa is bright and magnificent, filled with the song of wind and air, and he moves and speaks with the grace of a true king.

There is no such beauty to be found within his own being, dark, gloomy and silent as he was made to be, Námo knows, and that Manwë was never meant to be his.

Even still, he allows himself to hope.

Until one day when Manwë approaches him and tells him, "I asked Varda to marry me."

And Námo's heart breaks.

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cilil · 1 year

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T - Tragedy

Characters: Manwë/Námo

Synopsis: Námo's gift of foresight is a heavy burden. Manwë comforts him.

Warnings: /

Drabble

It's rare for Námo to show emotion. He strives to always remain impassive, a veil concealing his face, yet now that he's in Manwë's arms and hidden from prying eyes, it has been discarded, and sobs cause his body to tremble as he cries into his king's chest.

Manwë coos softly and strokes his dark hair in an attempt to comfort the distraught Vala. He knows Námo can't reveal the future freely, and dread begins to rise within his own fëa as well, so he doesn't ask.

Instead, he whispers, "It will be alright, my little raven. I am here."

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edensrose · 1 year

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ꒰❀꒱ 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 ❜࿔

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ manwë ⠀〳 námo⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. námo's signature silent treatment seems like one of his many tactics to get the attention of his lover. who aims to leave námo the furthest thing from quiet ( minors dni ៸៸ sexual content ៸៸ explicit language ៸៸ penetrative sex ៸៸ creampie )

· ⊰ note. I am very aware that I've written only one thing so far for these two but you know what, I can't help it. I love them so much, I need this self indulgent piece. hope you enjoy! this is so random but listen. . . them

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"Do you like that, darling?"

"Mmm — Just. . . Shut up and start moving,"

Námo's groan sparks into a short-lived yelp. Pink rises onto the pale skin of his thigh and he shudders as Manwë rubs a soothing thumb over the flesh he just smacked.

"Now that's not very — ngh. . ." lowering himself further onto his beloved, he traps the Vala between the sheets and himself. Flushing Námo's stomach flat against the mattress as their hips meet in slow ministrations. " — nice of you, is it dear?"

Dark nails claw into the pillow's casing as the Fëantur limps his head into its softness. He would never get over the feeling of Manwë on top of him, touching him, inside of him. His cock rubs against the fabric of the bed, reminding him just how sensitive he is to everything the king does.

Taking a moment to relish in the feel of Námo's tightness around him, the other leans down to press kisses along his ear. Trailing down his neck and to his shoulders. Strands of white hair tickle and graze as large hands roam every inch of him. Worshipping the master of fate below him.

"All good?" Manwë breathes, fingers trembling. He's barely holding onto a thread with how his beloved clenches and spasms around him.

"Manwë," the other returns with a rasp. His brows twitch, fingers trembling. "Just. . . mmm, just fuck me already — ngh!"

Viridian hues loop back into his skull and his back arches in response to the new pace dealt upon him. Námo can all but claw, cling and crumble as the king gives to him what he so desperately desires. A fevered, tempered slapping sound fills the marble bed chamber, followed by their symphonies of intertwined melodies. Manwë's nails dig and leave crescent marks upon pale thighs as his lips adorn and his teeth attack. Marking up the Vala as his. His beloved. His mate.

"Like that, my darling slut?"

"There," gasping, Námo's voice soon falls into a brief whine. "Th-There, Manwë. . . right there."

His body curves so prettily. Yet in the Elder King's eyes, the true beauty was the sounds of his lover's pleasure. How his voice that typically remained near nonexistent now flowed freely. Moans, gasps, whimpers — Manwë made sure to fuck all those delightful sounds out of him. Eager to elicit more of Námo's sweet voice, he happily obliges and angles his hips. Stimulating that one, shattering bundle of nerves that has Námo clinging onto the pillow for dear life and biting back his cries.

"Y-Yes — yes,"

"Yes — ngh, what, darling? Does it feel good? Am I fucking you good enough?"

"Yes, my lord!"

There it is. The title he's heard throughout his many years of existence. Yet when it fell from Námo's swollen, parted lips, it left Manwë's head spinning. Drawing out a side to him that has his hands clamping down onto the Fëantur's hips and quickening his pace until he was practically pounding his poor, spluttering lover into the mattress.

"M-Manwë — Manwë, ahn —" heat pours into his lungs and his pitiful moans turn into a needy rasp when he feels a new pressure around his cock. He needn't look down to know that Manwë's hand now stroked and played with his sensitive flesh. Pressing his thumb down onto Námo's tip and rubbing quick, cruel circles. Egged on by the slick feel of precum coating the pad of his finger.

"You're so good for me," his voice brushes and tickles Námo's ear. "Is this what you wanted? Is this why you gave me that foolish —" he accentuates with a particularly sharp thrust against that spot, relishing in Námo's crumbling. " — silent treatment?"

Yet he receives no answer. How can he when the fate master finds himself in cloud nine? Climbing up to his well-awaited high as he calls for his king's name on repeat. Like a broken, slurred record.

"What's that? Where's that silence now, my darling slut?" Manwë's chuckle is hoarse, low, as he pulls Námo's hips up so that those quaking knees are forced to support themselves. "Not so silent when you get what you want hmm? Mmm. . . Not so silent when I'm fucking the brat out of you, huh?"

He'll admit it.

The Lord of Mandos will admit it.

He is a brat. A stubborn one at that. And when he doesn't get the attention he's craved for ages, he knows exactly which strings to pull. Which buttons to press. The perfect combination of stubbornness and wit to get exactly what he wants — to be desired. Touched. Pounded into the sheets until all he could do was whimper his beloved's name.

Námo all but nods, or at least, what looked like a nod — as his body rakes with tremors. He knows he won't hold out for much longer. Not with the way Manwë's hands roam him, alternating between toying with his length and circling his pierced nipples. It's almost embarrassing how easily Manwë can pull him apart, unravel him. As though Námo were nothing more but putty in his hands. Yet he would choose to be reduced to such a state if it meant he belonged to the Elder King. And if the Elder King belonged to him.

"S-S'close, Manwë. . ." Glistening eyes flutter and Námo's hand tries to trail back but is sighted and caught by the other's. Who pins his wrist down and intertwines their fingers as his thrusts shallow. Prompting Námo's back to slope further and his head to toss back. "Cumming. . . I-I'm cumming, please," he whimpers.

"Please what?" His lover murmurs to his red-tinted ear.

"Please, m-my lord. Oh please, fuck — p-please Manwë. Manwë!"

With such delightful begging, how could he refuse?

Manwë's hand returns to his lover's cock, pumping in time with his thrusts and stimulating Námo's tremulous fána to the heavens. Eliciting a string of wanton praises and pitiful pleas. All of which the king drinks up and bites down on a pale shoulder to muffle his own shuddering gasps and moans. His pace quickens, fingers tightening, muscles tensing and with a final cry from his beloved — his force knocks the fronts of Námo's thighs back against the sheets. A wetness squirts against Manwë's hand, and he feels that same fluid escape Námo's clenching hole as the king himself spills. Filling up the Fëantur as promised and groaning out into the air as his teeth finally release Námo's shoulder.

Their melodies merge once more, shuddered gasps, hushed moans and desperate rasps for air leaving both of their lips before they finally collapse. Námo first, who groans as Manwë follows in suit, squishing him against the now wet sheets and a warm fána. Not that Námo particularly minds, not in this moment, at least.

It takes a minute or two for each to process their recent highs. Yet the king still manages to press delicate kisses onto his beloved as delicate fingers worm out Námo's last rivulets of cum. Coaxing out a few more whimpers from the dark haired Vala as he eases both of them out of orgasmic bliss.

As Manwë pulls out, he witnesses his essence spill down those pale thighs littered in red marks. He cannot help but raise a hand, brushing a delicate fingers over a quivering hole and chuckling as Námo squirms and fusses at him.

"You know," he breathes a starts as he collapses beside the other and pulls him into his warm embrace. "If you wanted this you could have just asked." Azure eyes turn to meet Námo's shut lids, who manoeuvres to nestle his head against Manwë's chest. He says nothing, and for a moment the Vala who holds him questions whether the silent treatment has started once again.

"Or is it that this is simply the more fun way, my little raven?"

Awaiting a response, Manwë considers the possibility of the other having fallen asleep. If not for the slight curl of Námo's lips that leaves him chuckling and pressing a gentle peck to him. "I'll take that as a yes."

"It is easier sometimes, you are far too busy these days." Námo flutters his eyes open, still hazed from pleasure as he finds comfort in the white wing that drapes upon him with its feathers gracing his heated skin. He knows not of the pang that stings Manwë's heart, but catches the assumption at the gentle squeeze he soon receives.

"Apologies, my love," Manwë's murmurs, pressing feathered kisses upon Námo's lips before nuzzling into his dark hair. "Mm, I accept penance in —" "Getting your back ruined?"

Clicking his tongue, Námo swats the chuckling king's chest, who does nothing but take the hand and press a kiss over the quartz band on his finger. "Relax, my darling raven." Manwë whispers, pressing another peck to his brow as his thumb runs over the promise ring. The vow that one day, he will call Námo his husband.

"Just. . . Refrain from giving me the silent treatment again."

"I will think about it."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

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