#feanor smut
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Wildest Dreams (Feanor x Reader x Fingolfin)
summary: you've been caught in the middle of a competition between Feanor and Fingolfin's, and you can't imagine having to choose between the two. Thankfully, they make things easier
warnings: SMUT (kinda incest/y i guess since they're half brothers but nothing happens between them I swear), oral sex (m and f recieving), dirty talk
word count: 6k
requests: I’m not sure if you write for threesomes in this fandom (and if you don’t, please feel free to discard this ask): requesting Feanor x reader x Fingolfin, smut, where both of them are in love with the reader but reader doesn’t want to offend one by choosing the other, so she chooses to keep her difference, and Feanor and Fingolfin seduce her and agree to share her? Turn pleasuring her into a competition to see who is the better lover once and for all?
professor tolkien I am so sorry for this ily
DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE
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You wandered down the paths of the gardens, letting your fingertips brush the soft petals of the flowers that swayed in the gentle breeze. The air was sweet, something which you normally would have cherished on such a fine afternoon. But not today. No, today was different. Instead of appreciating the beauty of the nature around you like you usually did, your mind was far away. It was swimming in the afterthoughts of the dream you had last night, one that sent a blush to your cheeks at the mere thought of it.
That morning, you had woken up with a thin layer of sweat on your skin and a flush on your face. But it was not the product of illness, nor the result of a nightmare. No, it was from a dream filled with lust and pleasure. In this dream, your deepest, most shameful desires had come to light. You had been at the mercy of the princes Fëanor and Fingolfin, the two eldest sons of Finwë himself, as they performed acts on you so sinful that the mere thought of them sent shivers down your spine.
You could still feel their mouths on your skin, their fingers working magic and tongues hot against your body. The sensation of the princes inside of you lingered as if it had actually happened.
It had almost felt real.
You had dreamed of them before, but last night was the first time it had turned that sexual. For weeks Fëanor and Fingolfin had been competing for your affections, each trying to outdo the other with flirtatious comments and gestures. It had begun when Fëanor interrupted your lunch with Fingolfin, stealing you away from his half-brother to show you his work in the forges. The next day, Fingolfin had appeared at your door to personally escort you to dinner, gently placing a flower in your hair, claiming it complimented your eyes. Their competition had grown less and less subtle, and was beginning to irritate you. At first, it was flattering, but now it had become more of an inconvenience. Truthfully, a small part of your heart had always harboured a crush for both princes, and up until now, you had thought it easily concealable.
And so you continued your path down the garden, head in the clouds and paying no attention to the world around you as you savoured the sensations lingering on your skin from last night’s dream. Unfortunately, you were snapped out of your daze as you collided with a tall figure, your head smacking into a very muscular chest. Startled, you stepped back and looked up at the living obstacle, only to be met with the amused gaze of Fëanor himself.
“My Lord,” You stammered, dipping your head. “My apologies. I did not see you there.”
Fëanor snorted, “Clearly.” He said, obviously finding the situation rather entertaining. You dared to look up at him, but regretted your decision immediately. His lips were smirking with their usual arrogance, his grey-blue eyes piercing your very soul. His dark hair was loosely hanging around his face, which was not covered in ash from the forges for once. The mere image of his face looking down on your much smaller frame only brought back the images in your mind from your dream, and it sent an instant blush to your face. You quickly averted your gaze, hoping Fëanor would not notice.
Unsurprisingly, he did, as his smirk only grew more arrogant. His hand grazed your chin, tilting it up so you were forced to meet his gaze. You bit your lip, desperately trying to force the sinful images from your mind.
To make matters worse, Fëanor moved his hand from your chin to your face, pressing the back of his hand to your cheek. “Are you alright, my dear?” He said, the curiosity in his voice obviously feigned. “Your face appears rather flushed.”
You gritted your teeth. “I’m fine.” You said, much harsher than intended. The arrogant asshole knew exactly what he was doing. You hated the effect he had on you, how a simple touch could make your body react in such a strong way.
And Fëanor knew that. He removed his hand from your cheek, letting his fingertips ghost your collarbone has he brought them back down to his sides. “Perhaps you did not sleep well enough…” He mused. You stiffened at the mention of your sleep, and Fëanor noticed immediately and cocked his eyebrow. “Or perhaps, you slept rather well…”
The both of you knew what he was getting at, and at this you squirmed even more, mind racing as you tried to think of a response. Usually you were much more composed than this, but not today. Much to your annoyance, last night’s dream continued to cloud your judgement. He extended his arm and you took it, and the two of you continued on your original path through the garden.
“Did you dream of me, dear Y/N?” Fëanor inquired as you walked, noting the blush that had returned to your cheeks.
“I do not remember.” You stated, hoping that would be sufficient enough to make Fëanor drop it.
Oh how wrong you were, for your vague answer merely encouraged the prince. “Or perhaps you dreamed of my brother,” He sighed dramatically, but continued to watch you from the corner of his eye, studying the every reaction you produced.
This only made you squirm even more, as if he was reading your mind, delving into your deepest desires that last night had uncovered. You felt ashamed at your current state, how Fëanor was able to read you as if you were an open book.
“Uh…” You stammered. “I… I do not think so, my Lord.”
At this, Fëanor hummed, looking straight ahead. “So your dreams were not of me, nor my brother, then who? If you hold affections for another, Lady Y/N, I would have you tell me…”
“It’s not that.” You snapped, interrupting him mid-sentence.
At this, Fëanor stopped you both, turning around so that he faced you. He leaned down, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Tell me, my dear, perhaps you dreamed of us both…”
You breathed in sharply. It was all too much for you, his lips whispering things into your ear just as he had in your dream, his presence so close and threatening to consume you. You stepped away before your body could react further. “I… I am sorry,” You stammered, bowing your head with as much dignity as you could muster. “I must go.”
Without waiting for an answer, you walked away as quickly as possible. You knew it was rude, but you did not care. You hurried away before anyone could see your flustered state, mentally cursing at both yourself and the arrogant prince.
*************
You spent the rest of the day avoiding both Fëanor and Fingolfin, knowing that if Fëanor continued to further inquire about your dreams, he would end up with a broken jaw, and the guards would almost certainly throw you into a cell. You had skipped lunch, sneaking out into the forest through the kitchens and grabbing a loaf of bread from your friend on the way out. You chose to spend the next few hours under your favourite tree where you knew the princes would not look for you, letting your mind drift off again once more. Desperately, you tried to keep your thoughts civil, planning out your next letter to your mother and debating whether or not to continue the song you had been composing. But your consciousness would simply not allow you to focus on such trivial matters.
After a few hours, you finally surrendered to your thoughts, tilting your head back and resting it on the tree as you closed your eyes. You let out a sigh almost immediately, letting last night’s dream replay in your head over and over as you let the world around you fade away.
Unbeknownst to you, Fëanor was watching you from a distance. He had known of your favourite spot in the forest for some time now, but dared not disturb you. Normally he did not particularly care for the boundaries of others. He was a prince, and may inherit his father’s crown and titles one day and could do as he pleased. Fëanor would never admit it, but a small part of him feared that if he approached you in your secret spot, you would lose respect for him and become distant, which was the opposite of what he desired.
So he instead grew content with simply observing you from a distance, something which had become a daily occurrence for him. He noted the content on your face, and the hint of a blush on your cheeks, reminding him of your earlier state in the gardens.
Fëanor relished in the memory. Normally you were much more composed, but he liked the way you squirmed beneath his gaze, unable to hide the obvious thoughts that were racing through your mind as his lips brushed your ear. At this point he was almost certain that you had dreamed of sharing your bed with him, and possibly his half-brother, and that was why your encounter in the gardens had been so unusual. But the prince was not quite prepared for what he would hear and witness next.
It was faint, barely audible even to his elven ears, but you let out a breathy whisper: “Fëanor…”
His name coming from your lips in such a manner sent an all too familiar sensation down Fëanor’s spine. He held his breath as he saw you ever so slightly press your legs together, chest rising up and down intensely. Countless times Fëanor had imagined you beneath him, his name spilling from your mouth as his hands explored your body. He had thought about the ways he would claim you, and while part of him wanted to take you from behind and fuck you until you screamed, the other part of him wanted to see you beneath him, receiving the most satisfaction and pleasure you’d ever had in your life.
He bit his lip, relishing in how blissfully unaware you were of your surroundings until you whispered another name, “Fingolfin…”
Under any other circumstances, hearing your sweet lips whisper Fingolfin’s name would have sent Fëanor into a murderous rage frightening enough to make Morgoth cower. But not this time. Instead of being filled with jealousy, a brilliant idea came to his mind and he smirked. Your whispers were all the confirmation he needed to know exactly what you had dreamed of last night. Satisfied, Fëanor turned away and headed back to the palace.
He needed to talk to Fingolfin.
**********
After a while, you finally opened your eyes and sat up straight. You did not know how much time had passed since you had drifted off into your haze. You felt a cold breeze, realizing it was about to get dark soon. Collecting your skirt, you stood up, shivering slightly at the cold as you headed back through the forest.
When you arrived inside the palace, you did not bother to see if there was any food left in the kitchen. Instead, you elected to return to your chambers, where you hoped to have a hot bath and go to sleep. You arrived at your door and pushed it open, but nearly shrieked in surprise at the sight before you.
Fëanor was lying on your bed, legs crossed as he casually fiddled with the corner of one of your pillows. He was not dressed in his usual fancy robes, but rather a simple pair of trousers with a loose white shirt. He gave you a smirk as you entered, noting the surprise on your face.
“Good evening, my dear Y/N.” Fëanor said innocently. “What took you so long? I was beginning to wonder if you got lost on your way to bed.”
After a few moments, your shock subsided. “What the fuck, Fëanor?” You snapped, not bothering with your usual polite greeting. “Why the fuck are you in my chambers? You can’t just walk in whenever-”
“Oh, but I can.” He interrupted, dismissing your outburst. “But that matters not. Perhaps now you will tell me more about your dream, little one.”
At this, you rolled your eyes, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind you. This time, Fëanor and his half-brother’s competitiveness had gone too far. “Seriously?” You said in an exasperated tone, your hands defiantly placed on your hips, all sense of embarrassment gone. “That’s what you came here to ask? Are you not capable of just dropping the subject?”
Before Fëanor could answer, a deep voice came from the darkest corner of the room. “I, too, would like to know about this dream.”
You practically jumped out of your skin. Out of the shadows emerged Fingolfin himself. But it was not the Fingolfin you had grown accustomed to seeing - the noble elf who always had a stoic expression on his chiseled face, consistently dressed in robes more elaborate than that of his brother’s. No, this Fingolfin was clad in similar attire to Fëanor, his toned chest showing behind the thin fabric. His dark brown hair was smooth, making you want to run your fingers through it. His eyes were even more silver than his brother’s, making contact with yours as he stepped closer to you.
“Okay….” You stuttered, beyond confused. “What the fuck is going on?”
Fëanor sighed dramatically, kicking his legs off the bed and standing up. The sons of Finwë walked towards you like predators stalking their prey. You felt your heart race, trying to step away only for your back to meet the wall behind you and you gulped. Simply seeing the princes like this was enough for all your sinful thoughts created by your dream to surface at the front of your mind. You pressed your legs together as they drew closer, stopping less than a foot away from you.
“The thing is, my dear,” Fëanor said, reaching out and brushing your fingers against your wrist before slowly dragging them up the length of your arm. “I have come to the conclusion that the reason your head has been in the clouds all day is because of the dream you had last night. It only took one touch from me in the gardens this morning to figure out all I needed to know about it…”
“My brother tells me that you dreamed of the two of us.” Fingolfin said, his voice feigning innocence just as his brother’s had earlier today. “And what do you presume we did to our lovely Y/N in her dream, Fëanáro?”
Fëanor chuckled, his movements on your arm not ceasing. “I think we fucked her into oblivion.” His voice dropped an octave. “Is that correct, meldenya [my love]? Did you dream of being at our mercy as we worshipped that pretty body of yours?”
By this point, you could resist them no longer. All day you had been fighting the sensations and emotions that stemmed from your dream, but between Fëanor’s teasing touches and Fingolfin’s lust-filled gaze, you finally caved.
“Yes.” You muttered meekly, face flushing with embarrassment. You felt arousal pool between your legs, and for a moment you hated yourself for reacting to the two noble elves so strongly when they had not really done much.
Fingolfin chuckled lowly, reaching up to cup your face with his left hand. “Do not be ashamed, my dear,” He soothed. “We only wish to give you what you desire.”
Fëanor leaned in, as he did earlier in the gardens, but this time his teeth gently grazed along the outside of your pointed ear. That sensation alone sent shockwaves through your body, every nerve in the sensitive area screaming that it was too much and not enough at the same time. “What is it exactly, darling, that your dream revealed your desires to be?” He murmured against your skin. “After all, we are generous elves — tell us exactly what you want, and you may have it. So, my dear, please do reveal exactly how that little dream of yours went down.”
Everything was spinning. Any sense of composure you had was gone under their touches. Fingolfin’s left hand trailed down your neck, brushing against your breast before settling on your waist and giving it a firm squeeze. You sighed, allowing Fëanor to continue his ministrations along your ear as you let your head rest against the wooden door. The air felt hot, your clothes too tight - if you could only just slip your dress off…
Your thoughts were cut off but a sharp squeeze by that large hand at your waist. “Your prince asked you a question,” Fingolfin all but growled, his voice full of dominance and leaving no room for debate. It was akin to the tone you had heard him use when giving orders, only this one was dripping with heat. “Answer it, darling, before we take matters into our own hands.”
The image was tempting — to allow the two elves to make the choices for you, doing with you as they pleased. But then the reality of the situation set in: here you were, a common-born elf with no noble family, with two of the most desirable elves in Arda ready to comply with your every wish. They held such control, such respect everywhere else, except for at this moment in your bedroom. In this space, you made the decisions.
They were yours to command, to wield like a sword.
You smirked. “Well, in my dream you both took my clothes off and carried me to the bed,” You began, hearing Fëanor hum his approval. “You took turns tasting me, as if I was your last meal on Arda. I dreamed of you both on your knees, allowing me to get lost in the pleasure of your fingers and tongues. Then Fëanor took me from behind, while Fingolfin claimed my mouth.”
The words tumbled out of you like a river bursting free from a dam. So long had you contained your desires, but no longer. Evidently, your words had an effect on the two princes. Fëanor’s breathing had become more noticeable, his attention on your ear diverted to your neck in the soft spot beneath your jaw, making you see stars. Fingolfin’s right hand had come up to knead your right breast, his left hand migrating to your ass with a firmness and assurance that made your knees go weak.
“See?” Fëanor purred. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now let us take care of you, darling. Let us give you everything and more.”
You whined as he pulled away, but it was cut short as the two elves began working in tandem to remove your dress. Fëanor pulled your arms out of your sleeves with a shocking tenderness, while Fingolfin’s thick fingers worked at the laces on your back. Within seconds, your chest was left bare. Instinctively, your arms went to cover your breasts, but strong hands clamped down on your wrists.
“Now now, let’s not be shy,” Fëanor mockingly chastised. “Let us see you, princess.” Before you could even comprehend a response, your arms were back at your sides. You almost sighed with relief as you were free from the constricting top of your dress. But what happened next nearly made you climax on the spot.
Fëanor got to his knees, pulling your dress past your waist and down to your ankles along with your panties. Fëanor, son of High King Finwë, the Prince of the Noldor, was kneeling before you as if in worship. His grey-blue eyes, which normally were clouded like the sky of an oncoming storm, were clear and looking up at you — still arrogant, but with a newfound awe as they surveyed your figure. You stepped out of your dress, moment of awe cut short as Fingolfin, determined not to let his brother have all the attention, swept you up into his strong arms.
He carried you over to your bed, placing you down on the mattress as if you were a piece of glass threatening to break under his strong arms. Almost immediately, he was on top of you, his muscular frame so close, but not close enough. Fingolfin leaned his head down as if to kiss you, but instead put his lips to your ear.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?” His deep voice was like velvet, a silky fog wrapping around all your senses. “How many nights I have pictured you under me, those starlit eyes staring into mine as I enter you? How I have nearly dropped to my knees just to beg you for one taste of you? How I’ve pumped myself dry imagining those lips around my cock? My sweet Y/N, you have no idea what you do to me.”
“To us.” Came the other male’s voice. Fingolfin’s confessions had you reeling, to the point you had almost forgotten Fëanor was there. You turned your neck to the right, allowing the elf on top of you to press warm kisses down the left side of your neck, nipping and sucking as he went. In turning your head you were faced with Fëanor, who had discarded his shirt. His muscles looked like they were sculpted by Aulë himself, each one toned and defined in ways you didn’t know possible from countless hours spent in the forges. Parts of his loose hair hung over his shoulders, framing his angular face as he stared at you.
Naturally, the eldest son of Finwë almost preened at the lust-filled look you gave him. Under normal circumstances you would have mentally smacked yourself for so easily stroking the prince’s already inflated ego, but it mattered not in this moment. All you cared about was that he touch you with those strong, practised hands. You whined as Fingolfin’s teeth grazed a sensitive spot along the column of your throat before moving down to your collarbone, sucking and biting gently as he went. One of his large hands had come up to your breast, kneading the flesh and causing you to gasp.
“You look so exquisite,” Fëanor purred as he approached the bed, looking down at your flushed form unabashedly. “Just laying there for us to ruin you. You are lucky Fingolfin is much gentler than I. He shall warm you up for me so I can make you scream loud enough for all of Arda to hear you.”
You yelped as Fingolfin harshly bit down on your nipple while boldly cupping between your legs with his free hand. “Do you think me unable to make her scream?” He growled, a dark glint in his eyes that sent chills through your body.
Fëanor smirked. “Not as well as I can.”
“Challenge accepted.” Fingolfin said boldly as he swiped a finger up your slit, collecting the ever-growing pool of wetness there. Your responsive noise was cut off as Fëanor’s large hand wrapped around your throat, his mouth swallowing your gasp and claiming your lips. He tasted like spiced wine and embers, encasing all your senses at once. The Prince groaned into your mouth, squeezing your throat harder. Your head spun between the dominance of Fëanor’s lips on yours and Fingolfin’s mouth slowly descending towards your core.
“Watch it,” The younger elf growled, lifting his lips from your stomach. “You said we’d take turns.”
Fëanor removed his lips from yours, rolling his eyes as he released your throat. “Get over it.” He said. “If you get to taste her pussy first, then I get to taste her mouth first. Fair is fair.”
Fingolfin huffed, but didn’t argue. With a new level of determination, he placed his lips back on your skin. You moaned, the sensation of his lips on your stomach making you tingle. The Prince’s hot breath fanned over your core, causing you to inhale sharply. “Ask me nicely.” He said, the closeness of his lips to your wetness making you squirm.
“What?” You mumbled, earning a chuckle from Fëanor, who had sat himself on the bed and was stroking your hair. Every so often, he tugged gently.
“I said, ask me nicely.” Fingolfin repeated, more sternly this time. The authority in his voice went straight between your legs, slick tracking down onto the soft sheets below.
Fëanor’s grip on your locks tightened as he chuckled again. “We’ve barely touched her and she’s already incoherent. Perhaps she cannot handle us and we should stop—“
“No!” You cried out, embarrassingly fast.
Fingolfin rested his cheek on the inside of your thigh, and you peered down at him. The sight of the towering, noble elf on his knees with his chiselled face mere centimetres away from your pussy made you dizzy. You had fantasized about this moment more than you cared to admit, alternating between the two princes most of the time. “Well, my love, if you want me to taste your sweet pussy, you have to beg for it.” He said lowly.
You whined, pouting a bit. You were a proud elf, and begging was not your strong suit. Sensing your hesitation, Fingolfin smirked, and began snaking his way down the bed towards your feet. He grabbed your ankle and lifted your leg up, placing feather light kisses along the inside. Slowly as ever, the prince made his way down your leg, kissing and nipping as he went. Right before he met your core, he pulled away and repeated the pattern on your other leg, causing you to whine.
“Poor thing.” Fëanor said in mock sympathy, stroking your face with his calloused fingers. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he bent down and whispered in your ear. “All you have to do is say the word, and I’ll throw him aside and show him how it’s done. You won’t need to beg, I’ll give you whatever you want, sweet thing.”
“Don’t listen to him.” Fingolfin said sternly, drawing your attention back to the elf between your legs. “Focus on me. Once you ask, I will be yours to command. All you must do is beg for it.”
“She won’t break.” Fëanor snorted impatiently, clearly waiting for his chance.
Fingolfin responded confidently. “Yes, she will.” Lazily, he lowered his head and dragged his tongue around the edges of your core, centimetres away from where you needed him most. You let out a shaky breath, toes curling as your eyes squeezed shut. It was torture — blissful, but excruciating torture. It wasn’t long before you felt your pride begin to crack, the tough facade you thought you had slowly crumbling.
“Please.” You mumbled, voice breathy and barely above a whisper.
The Prince smirked in satisfaction, kissing your mound lightly. “Please, what?”
“Please, Fingolfin,” You gasped, fighting the urge to clamp your legs around him and drag him closer. “Please use your tongue on my pussy. Please, my lord.”
Satisfied, Fingolfin finally lowered his mouth to your cunt, licking a bold stripe up your slut. You cried out, nearly in tears at the overwhelming pleasure as the prince began to skillfully devour you. Your hands quickly found themselves tangled in his hair, earning a heavenly groan from the male. He was taking his time with you, each movement confident and strong and eliciting an intense reaction. Your head spun, legs weak already with the pleasure Fingolfin was bringing you.
“Open your eyes.” Fëanor’s strong hand tangled in your hair again, tilting your head down and forcing you to look down at the sight before you. “Is this what you dreamed of, darling? Being our little plaything, begging for us to make you feel better than any other male could? How many nights have those little fingers taken up residence between your legs as you imagine this very scene, trying to find relief but never quite scratching that itch?”
You garbled something of a response, but you weren’t even sure what. Fëanor growled, tightening his grip. “I asked you a question, pet. How many times have you touched yourself imagining this?”
“Many nights…” You managed to gasp, ensuring to keep your eyes on Fingolfin, who took your clit between his lips and sucked.
“Good girl.” Fëanor purred. “But I bet your fingers aren’t nearly as satisfying as our tongues, or our cocks, are they?”
“No.” You arched your back, feeling that tightening buildup inside your body as you approached your orgasm faster than you’d care to admit.
“Naturally.” Fëanor loosened his grip on your hair. “Now look at Arakáno as you cum on his face.”
You obeyed without thinking, letting yourself get lost in the pleasure as Fingolfin’s tongue tipped you over the edge, sending shockwaves through your entire body. Fingolfin moaned with you as you tugged on his dark locks, the animalistic sound echoing throughout the chamber as you rode out your climax.
Panting, you caught your breath as he pulled away, leaving your legs trembling. He climbed up your body, his massive form towering over yours as he leaned down and kissed you. You felt in a trance, body a trembling mess. You wondered how you would endure multiple rounds if you were this weak already.
You didn’t even realize how Fëanor had slunk down to take Fingolfin’s place until firm hands snaked under your thighs and gripped your hips firmly. Without a warning, he dove into your still sensitive pussy like a man starved, loud slurping noises filling the room. You cried out, trying to squirm away, but Fëanor’s grip was like iron and you couldn’t move.
“That’s it, darling.” Fingolfin purred. “Let us hear you. Let the whole palace hear you.”
You no longer attempted to bite your lip and conceal your noises. Your moans sounded throughout the room as Fingolfin firmly grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head. You whimpered, almost completely immobile. You were overstimulated from your first orgasm, yet the older prince had no mercy on you as he continued to devour your wetness. While Fingolfin was like the water’s current, calculated and steady, his half brother was akin to a hurricane of fire. His movements were fast and unpatterned, designed to send you towards the edge as fast and as ruthlessly as possible. A single tear ran down your cheek as you pleaded — not even sure what you were pleading for.
“Ease up, Fëanor.” Fingolfin said sternly, noticing your tear.
The heir lifted his head for a moment and scoffed. “She can take it. Can’t you, pet?”
You nodded, breathless. “Yes, I can take it. Please, just don’t stop.”
“Thought so.” Fëanor smirked triumphantly before delving back between your legs, doubling his efforts. Two of his thick fingers found their way inside your tight walls, causing you to cry out even louder. Quickly, they found that spot deep inside you that made your entire body jolt.
You could practically see Fëanor’s ego inflate at your reaction, feeling the satisfied smirk of his lips on your clit as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. Your release approached at light speed within minutes, but just as you were about to fall over the edge, Fëanor pulled away.
“No!” You cried out pitifully, wanting to kick him in the face at your loss of an orgasm. Before you could protest further, those strong hands on your hips flipped you over onto stomach. Fëanor yanked your hips back so you were up on your knees, and Fingolfin released your wrists, allowing you to push yourself up onto your hands.
“Are you going to take our cocks like a good little slut?” Fëanor cooed, unlacing his breeches and pulling them off. Fingolfin had also begun removing his shirt, letting the fabric fall to the floor to reveal his toned body. Your mouth watered as he began removing his breeches, his large cock springing free. He smirked with pride as you drank in the sight of him, giving himself a firm stroke as he walked towards the edge of the bed.
You gasped as Fëanor pressed his thick cock into you, rutting back and forth and caressing your ass with skilled hands. “We’re going to stuff both ends of you, pet. I’m going to fill that tight pussy of yours with my cum, and you’re going to take every drop of it with pride Understood?”
You nodded, pressing your ass eagerly into Fëanor’s cock. He chuckled, slapping your ass one last time before pressing the head into you. You moaned at the stretch, forcing yourself to relax as the Prince slid himself into you with surprising slowness. “Gods above,” Fëanor groaned behind you. “You feel incredible. Even better than I imagined.”
Your toes curled at the thought of the Prince fantasizing about this moment just like you did. Your thoughts were interrupted as Fingolfin brought his cock to your lips, gently tracing them with the head. “Open.” He commanded, gently but sternly.
You obliged without thinking, body responding to his orders on its own. Eagerly, your jaw stretched to wrap your lips around him, sucking gently. Fingolfin sighed deeply, the noise sending pleasure down your spin. You inhaled through your nose, opening your throat as best you could to accommodate his massive size.
“Good girl,” Fingolfin praised as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. It was a sight that took your breath away — the noble prince with his head tilted back and eyes fluttered shut in bliss at how you made him feel. “Look at you, taking me in that smart mouth of yours so well. It’s like you were made for this, weren’t you?”
Fëanor grunted, beginning to move his hips and thrust in and out of you. He swore, picking up the pace. Fingolfin did the same, gently fucking your face. You were in heaven, the two elven princes filling you up as they found a rhythm that made you see stars. Your body jostled between them like a rag doll, your arms fighting to keep yourself upright as they increased the pace.
The room was filled with the sounds of sex as they mercilessly pounded into you for what felt like hours. Tears spilled down your throat as you gagged on Fingolfin’s cock, taking breaths through your nose whenever you could. Fëanor gripped your hips so tightly you knew there would be colourful bruises the next day — bruises you would be proud to stare at in the mirror.
Your body crescendoed to the release you were denied earlier, beginning to shake as you approached it fast. You began to clench around Fëanor’s cock, and he moaned. “That’s it, pet.” He growled, ploughing into your cunt. “Cum all over my cock like the slut you are. Fucking take it.”
You whimpered, screaming around Fingolfin’s cock as one of Fëanor’s hands reached down between your legs and firmly rubbed your clit. That was all it took for you to explode, shaking uncontrollably as your orgasm took over. You saw white, Fingolfin letting out a loud groan as the vibrations from your noises consumed his cock. Fëanor moaned fiercely, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you.
Fingolfin followed a few minutes later, and you eagerly swallowed every drop he spurted down your throat. Your jaw ached and every bone in your body was spent, but you were in heaven. A thin sheen of sweat covered the Princes, their long hair clinging to their muscles as they panted. You collapsed as they pulled out of you, landing on the soft bed as you caught your breath. Wordlessly, the princes began to tend to you. Fingolfin grabbed the glass of water from the nightstand and gently brought it to your lips, smoothing your hair as he did so. Fëanor brought forth a damp cloth, gently wiping you down. They murmured gentle praises, and you basked in the glow of their attention. They settled you under the sheets, each prince taking up residence beside you and caressing your body.
“So…” Fëanor hummed as you began to drift off into sleep. “Who won?”
Fingolfin’s quiet but stern scold was all you heard before you let yourself slip into unconsciousness.
#feanor#fingolfin#feanor x reader#fingolfin x reader#feanor smut#fingolfin smut#tolkien#the silmarillion#the silmarillion x reader#middle earth#jrr tolkien#lotr#lord of the rings#the hobbit#middle earth smut#elves#noldor
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Modern AU: Sugar Daddy | He Gives Me All His Money
Headcanon: Feanor, Curufin, Fingolfin, Turgon, Gil Galad, Glorfindel
A/N: A continuation of my modern AU series. Got a bit bored with doing the CEO AU for all the characters since it was repetitive. This is what happens when I get smacked all week by the NSFW stick and listened to Sugar Daddy by Herbie. These were super long, so more content to enjoy.
Warning: smut, mentions of breeding and impregnating
Feanor
↬ He’s stern like his son when it comes to the contract signed between you both and doesn’t like the idea of breaking it for anything. He understands that it’s his job to take care of you and provide all your wants and needs but he does demand things in return.
↬ Feanor isn’t going to outrightly tell you that he’s lonely and missing the comforts of his wife, but he’ll demand that you give him quality time. His best way of quality time is travelling around the world and going to events — being between the sheets and taking out his loneliness on you.
↬ Being the owner of the largest and most successful jewellery company, you are going to be decked out in the finest jewellery his company has to offer. Only the best for his baby girl/boy and he wants you in the finest wear as well.
↬ You have you own set of credits cards that always feel hot and heavy in your pockets. He does expect you to not worry about the price of things because he can afford.
↬ Not so serious about whether you’re doing well in your studies or job since in the beginning he’s focused on him. Later, as the relationship progresses, he will crack down on your achievements, wanting to know your area of expertise.
↬ Proud to show you off and does not hide the fact that he’s seeing someone new and younger. It’s his way of making it clear that despite having seven children, he can still perform and has what it takes to be an eligible bachelor again.
↬ Possessive and makes you wear necklaces and rings with his initials, furthermore, a big fan of PDA and will sneak into your changing room while the assistant is outside to fuck. Can, will and he did finger you at a family dinner while having a stare-down with his brother who knew what was taking place and was disgusted.
↬ The first time he took you to bed, he had you questioning if he was the age he carried and how could he still perform so well. Pillowtalks were always a challenge with Feanor because he’s Mr I Have Too Much Pride and ‘I Don’t Need To Talk About My Feelings, I’m Fine’.
↬ Another sugar daddy who obviously has a breeding kink and talks about there being room for more. If you have seven children, you don’t need more. Try telling that to him, it earned you being in bed for a whole day and calling in sick.
Curufin
↬ He’s very serious about the contract the both of you have signed when it comes to him being your sugar daddy. You give him good grades and passing, and he rewards you with all the splendid jewellery from his company and trips around the world.
↬ For him, the contract holds a lot of weight in the intimacy department, and he gives that when you perform well in your studies/work or when he’s in the mood.
↬ He’s not really one to look for a relationship while being your sugar daddy, it’s strictly business and intimate pleasure without the personal feelings, so don’t expect to have pillowtalks or personal conversations when he takes you out for dinner.
↬ Very private about his life, the most you got out from him is that he has six brothers and a son to his first and only wife. Made you understand why he was willing to be your sugar daddy — he was lonely and yearned for company but didn’t know how to outrightly say it.
↬ He loves to take you out on dinners though, mostly to show you off and grant you extravagant gifts before taking you back to his house and making your legs shake. You learned that despite his stoic and grumpy persona, he was well-performing in bed, and you didn’t have to question anything.
↬ Very dominant and would never allow you to take control EVER. He’s into pet play and does have a collar made for you whenever his baby acts out of turn. Can and he will drag you off in the middle of a dinner party to fuck you but doesn’t allow you to cum and then leaves you stuffed and unsatisfied for the rest of the night until you reach home.
↬ Love, love, love to spank you and loves to use you to take his frustration out on since he isn’t into pillow talk and whatnot.
↬ Loves to have you were his jewellery when he’s taking you. Most of the time, you’re completely decked out in diamonds, emeralds and rubies while he’s folding you into the bed. Curufin does love it when you give him blowjobs wearing just his jewellery.
↬ As much as he spoils you, he adores you when you return the favour and spoil him intimately. Dress in lingerie for him, let him have his way with you and give him that special comb blowjob, maybe you can call him ‘daddy’ and watch how he’ll rethink a few changes in his contact.
Fingolfin
↬ A sugar daddy who loves to spoil his baby with anything and everything. Whatever you what, Fingolfin will get it for you as long as you ace your studies or work. Show him that you are performing and meeting the grading requirements he demands, and he’ll give you a good time.
↬ Will either pick you up from work/school himself or will send his chauffeur to bring you over whenever he has something in-store. You do have your own car because it was one of the first gifts he gave you along with a new house to live in because he couldn’t stand to have live in the condition he met you.
↬ He once brought you a necklace that had his initials on it and wished for you to wear it at a dinner party so everyone can see that you were his. Yes, he is possessive but not overly.
↬ Despite having four children, Fingolfin has the stamina of a bull and doesn’t let his age be a reason why he can’t perform in bed. Every session blows your mind (and back), and one round is never enough. Those sessions escalate whenever ‘daddy’ slips from your lips while he’s folding you into the bed like some wild animal.
↬ Very fond of having you on the receiving end of the pleasure but does not reject the offers to receive pleasure from you. Fingolfin adores it when you stop by and visit him in his office to give him a ‘surprise’. No shame in taking you to the couch or desk when he has a meeting in five minutes.
↬ The type to sit back in his chair with his first two buttons undone, whiskey in hand with sleeves rolled up as he watches you dance for him in the pretty lingerie he insists on you wearing tonight.
↬ When he’s in the mood, his ‘daddy kink’ flares up and causes him to fuck you like no tomorrow. He has an impregnation kink duh.
↬ He isn’t private nor open about his life, but somewhere in between. You learnt a bit about his family and his children, but that’s all he’ll ever let you know. He prefers to learn all he can about you from your childhood to your ambitions, and Fingolfin is extremely supportive of your aspirations.
↬ Dinners, trips, gifts, lingerie, fancy designer clothes and tuition paid are a part of his contract. He’s mostly a sugar daddy for the company because he gets quite lonely, so he does make moves to transition into a relationship if you are willing to go there.
↬ If you are a student, Fingolfin is highly intelligent, so he loves to help you study using very effective methods. Whenever you ace your revisions with him, rewards you with a nice long orgasmic fuck and when you get something wrong…well punishment is in store.
Turgon
He’s a cautious sugar daddy that sticks to the contract between you two. He isn’t looking for a relationship or anything, however, he does enjoy your presence and the company you give. Very academic, so expect some conversations in that area.
↬ Not overly fond of PDA but doesn’t mind holding your hand in public and having his arm around your waist when he takes you to dinner or any charity events. If he drank (not drunk, he’s sober), it loosens him up a teensy weensy little bit and the most he’ll do is give you a small kiss on your cheeks.
↬ Like everyone else, you bring in good grades and behaviour, he’ll reward you with gifts, trips, dinners and other materialistic items. It takes a long while for him to warm up to the idea of sharing himself intimately with you.
↬ It’s not like he doesn’t want to sleep with you, he does but a bit skittish with asking you to lie with him. The most he’d gravitate towards doing his sharing some steamy kisses.
↬ When he does, it’s a private matter. Behind closed doors and always executed in his home. Turgon would admit that he was afraid of being vulnerable when he grew to be intimate with you, but he learned that there was nothing to fear. The most being intimate with you did was remove any awkwardness between you both.
↬ Loves pillow talks and takes the moment to slowly let you know little tidbits about himself. Never thought that he’d enjoy sleeping with someone since his marriage ended with his wife years ago, and it revived his sex-sleeping drive.
↬ If you ever visit him while he’s working, the most he’ll let you do is give him a blowjob under the table. Despite being more open with your sex lives, he’s still private with the affections.
↬ He may not look like the type, but he's a gym buddy with a beautiful body and loves when you visit him during his workout session. He was the last person you would ever suspect hitting the gym.
↬ He’s the last one out of all the others to develop a breeding kink after seeing how pretty you look stuffed with his cum.
↬ Another person who loves to have you decked out in the finest wear and jewellery when he’s taking you. The sight of you looking so well-taken care of spurs him into overdrive. The urge to suddenly bask you in ultimate pleasure takes over and leads him into spending hours between the sheets.
↬ A big fan of bathtub sex, especially when there’s a romantic setting – flowers, candles, lighting, wine/champagne.
↬ As much as he attempts to repress his desire to sleep with you, he’s pleased when you don’t push him away and equally return the pleasure. He’s not entirely sure if he wants the relationship between you two to go any further but he knows that he’s enjoying the renewed contract between you two.
Gil Galad
↬ He’s a very fun-loving and enthusiastic sugar daddy who loves to spoil you whether you do a good job at your studies or not, but he prefers if you do. Gil Galad is more of a sugar daddy for the sake of looking for a relationship because he’s tired of being lonely.
↬ So as much as he’s spoiling you with all the jewellery and expensive trips around the world, he’s craving the personal intimacy of just spending time with you. He treats every moment with you as if you’re together officially and he hopes that one day you can see that.
↬ Gil Galad wants to hear all about your accomplishments and aspirations so he could push you to the limit and assist you with getting there. He doesn’t care how expensive the end result is, he’ll blow his bank account on you (he loves you).
↬ He really isn’t fond of using sex to get closer to you like other sugar daddies. Wait, let me explain — does he want to sleep with you, yes he does. But is it of great importance to him — not really on his list of priorities. So, he rather hear you confess your feelings to him and want to make the relationship intimate.
↬ When that happens he wouldn’t immediately jump into sleeping with you, by taking the opportunity to change the way he spoils you.
↬ A lot more affectionate, so more hand holding and kissing on the cheek or if you’re bold, he’ll pull you in for some hot kisses in public. He doesn’t mind PDA at all. A hand is always around your waist or shoulder, and he has the habit of playing with your bracelets and then giving them a kiss (slightly possessive).
↬ He is the type to rent out an entire boutique and then join you in the changing room for a quickie while you’re dressed and not caring about if the clothes you’re wearing get soiled. “I could buy this store and everything in it if you’re so worried about your clothes getting ruined, now do be a good girl/boy for me.”
↬ When Gil Galad does decide to be sexually intimate with you, hang on for a ride because he’s romantic and passionate at the same time. Call him ‘daddy’ like all the others and watch as he turns into a beast. He loves when you wear his shirt with his favourite lingerie underneath; it helps him to make you cripple.
↬ His sex drive is high since he’s repressed it for a long only wanting to sleep with you when things escalated and became meaningful. So, he’s tearing those sheets up when he finally has you. Be a good girl/boy for him and he’ll shower you with long orgasmic pleasure. Gil is a firm believer of whatever you give to him must be returned.
Glorfindel
↬ Glorfindel is your sugar daddy because he likes you and wants to impress you, and to him, it’s the only way to get closer to you. He does this by showing off his considerable wealth by buying you all the pretty things in life. Anything his baby wants his baby gets.
↬ He is keen on taking you to bed, but he wants to wait for you to give him the okay go. Aside from that, Glorfindel is fine with just taking care of you with the materialistic things in life. Buying you a pretty gown, taking you on trips to the Tropics, jewellery and funding all your tuitions or jobs. You need a new car? You got it. You need a house? Glorfindel might insist on you staying with him, but he’ll get you a house.
↬ Smooth and flirtatious daddy, who does not hesitate to flirt with you any chance he gets. Takes you to expensive dinners and rents out the entire restaurant so you two have privacy.
↬ Flowers every day are sent to you with a message attached and there are times he’d drop by to bring them and then take you to work. And then spends the entire ride sitting in his lap being fingered and him making some comment about how good girls get treated well.
↬ Glorfindel is a sweetheart but a meanie in bed and loves to make his baby girl/boy a teary, weeping mess, because if you’re not crying then he isn’t fucking you right. He wants you either in lingerie or nothing at all because either way, it’s coming off before the night is over. Has a thing for making you tell him what you want with specific detailing.
↬ Loves when you give him a little performance to show him how much you crave him and please, crawl over to him on your knees while he sits in his chair shirtless and in sweatpants. Glorfindel is a pretty boy, and he does love his praises, so give them to him while you beg him to fuck you.
↬ Leaves hickeys in obvious places for the world to see as he shows you off on his arms at an event. Then he drags you off mid-event to fuck in the luxury bathroom because he can’t stop admiring you and your fine ass. The sucker was dirty talking in your ear about all the things he wanted to do to you and turned himself on.
↬ Wants you in lace and satin lingerie and wearing his shirt while walking around his complex. He does enjoy doing little domestic things like cooking with you only to bed you over the countertop minutes later talking about how he prefers another type of meal.
↬ He is a young sugar daddy compared to the others so he is wholeheartedly jubilant and excited about everything you do and says — he worships the ground you walk on. Glorfindel also doesn’t mind settling down with you because he does like you.
Masterlist
Taglist: @spidergirla5 @eunoiaastralwings @someoneinthestars @aconstructofamind @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @noldorinpainter
#silm smut#curufin x reader#fingolfin x reader#feanor x reader#gil galad x reader#glorfindel x reader#turgon x reader#curufin smut#gil galad smut#tugon smut#fingolfin smut#feanor smut#glorfindel smut#curufin headcanon#turgon headcanon#gil galad headcanon#fingolfin headcanon#feanor headcanon#glorfindel headcanons#silmarillion x reader#silmarillion imagine#silmarillion headcanon#middle earth x reader#middle earth headcanons#middle earth imagine#x reader smut#modern day au#sugar daddy!au#silmarillion#doodlepops writings ✨
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Son of Finwë
Pairing: Fëanor x Melkor (Curelkor)
Themes: Soft | Smut | Slow burn
Warnings: Mentions of blood and injuries | Kissing | Hand job | Penetrative sex | Cream pie
Word count: 5.5k words
Summary: Fëanor swears fealty to Melkor, and in time, something more than Lord and Servant develops.
Rating: 🔥🔥| Minors DNI | 18+
Want to be tagged? Want to know the rules? Read all here.
Author’s notes: As promised, here it is. My weird yen to pair Fëanor with Melkor. There are, I’m sure, holes in the story, but I tried to clean it up as much as possible. I also wrote the Valar as somewhat darker than I would have, although it is interesting to think of the Valar using less than noble methods to have their way.
Melkor looked on, his mood darkening with each passing moment.
The son of Finwë was here, in this hall, feasting with the rest of his lieutenants. But that was not what troubled him, as Fëanor willingly swore fealty to Melkor's cause after the other Valar forced him to give up the silimarils. What incurred Melkor's wrath was the sight of Fëanor seemingly enraptured by another Maia in attendance.
It was irrational what he felt—those little arrows of jealousy that kept piercing his gut. Melkor considered himself above such petty feelings, thinking them a sign of great weakness and traits of lesser beings. He was first amongst all the Ainur after all, greater than all of them when it came to knowledge and power, and yet here he was, seated upon his high throne, his vexation growing as Fëanor listened to something Mairon said, and laughed. Melkor listened as that laugh carried over to him, his fana stirring in ways it had never done before. Then Mairon said something else, and Fëanor laughed even harder. There was that stirring again, something that would catch him unawares, and more often now. Melkor did not know when it began. All he did know it had something to do with the son of Finwë. And that it kept growing stronger.
Then Fëanor laughed once more, and Melkor found himself rising to his feet and making his way down the throne steps. A hush slowly enveloped the great hall as the Vala and high lord of Angband weaved his way around Orcs and Goblins and Shape-shifters and everything else in between. Thralls huddled in the shadows as he walked by, and the heavy thud of his boots echoed around the room. Melkor noticed none of it, so focused was he on what lay in front of him.
His two newest followers. One, a maia that once apprenticed under Aulë, and the other, one with piercing, bright blue eyes and raven hair. The first-born son of the high king of the Noldor, the one everyone called Fëanor.
"Lieutenant," he said in a waspish tone, and greeted Mairon first. "Son of Finwë. How goes your time with us?"
Fëanor leaned into his chair and smiled. "Quite well, actually. Mairon and I were exchanging stories."
Melkor arched a quizzical brow. "And those stories are?"
"My time with Aulë," Mairon said, his eyes still filled with mirth. "About all the things I learned. How I drove my mentor to distraction with my antics."
"Setting the sacred forge on fire more than once is far more than just an antic," Fëanor cut in.
"Not the entire forge!" Mairon protested in his defense. "Just a table. Or three," he mumbled into his wine.
Melkor narrowed his eyes as both chuckled, and another wave of jealousy stirred within him. He swallowed, unsure of these strange and unexplainable feelings that kept welling up within him. "And how are your duties, son of Finwë?" he asked, mostly to distract himself.
Fëanor's impish smirk did nothing to improve things. "Splendidly, my lord. I have finished working on a new blade. You should come by and see it sometime."
A chance to separate them, came the surprising thought. "I will see it now, then," he said.
The hour had grown very late, and Fëanor was in a mood to retire. He wanted to make his excuses, but that tone in Melkor’s voice—sharp and insistent… gave him pause and made him think. Melkor’s request was not a request. It was an order. And he looked like he was in no mood for refusal. Choking back a sigh, Fëanor nodded and pushed back his chair. Rest will have to wait a little longer. "Follow me, my lord," he said and rose.
As they descended deeper into the fortress, pale light found its way in through windows cut into Thangorodrim’s western walls. The light from a rejuvenated Telperion no doubt, swirling sheer rivers of the palest silver and blue, spreading far into the Ered Engrin. Fëanor looked up at it. He watched this display of light against thick black walls with his jaw clenched, then he yielded and let out a long sigh.
"Still vexed about the silmarils?" Melkor said, and he looked up as well. The blessed trees could not be touched now, not for anything. A ring of protection had been placed around both to shield them forever.
Of course, he was vexed. Fëanor did not want to give up the silmarils at all, but the Valar pushed him into a corner and forced him to choose: the jewels or the peace of his mother’s fëa. Oh, Fëanor did not know if they would truly follow through with their threat, but that Irmo was a tricky one, planting visions Fëanor did not wish to see. Not wanting to risk anything happening to his mother’s sense of peace, Fëanor yielded and relinquished possession of the jewels. The resentment that had taken root in his heart festered and grew until one fine day, Melkor came calling, offering him the chance to retaliate against those who had wronged him.
Fëanor had accepted his offer with eager hands.
"Always, my lord," he grumbled, turning his gaze to the looming doors of his forge. He opened them and let Melkor go in first, before following.
"You will get your chance to strike back soon enough," Melkor said, and looked around.
The heat within was not a shock. After all, it was a forge. On the other hand, the unusual blue light was. Melkor peered into a nearby lamp, one that he had never seen before. A clear blue flame burned within clear crystals. "Your work, I presume?"
"Aye," Fëanor held up one that was not yet finished. "I found a way to trap flame in crystal. This will never go out, not by air or water. We will not have to worry about light again."
Melkor nodded and kept looking around—at the tables filled with various sketches and at the shelves stacked with tools, all bearing Fëanor’s mark.
"You can look all you want, my lord," Fëanor said, making himself comfortable on a low bench. "But no putting your hands on anything," he added sharply when Melkor’s gaze cut to him. "Not unless you want something of yours broken."
And there it was. Fëanor’s famed sense of hospitality. Melkor quickly turned, to hide the beginnings of a grin. "I should have your hide for such insolence," he warned, though more amused than displeased. "But I will pardon it just this once."
"Of course," Fëanor murmured, his curiosity piqued. Melkor had slain many others for much less, but here he was, forgiving an elf no less. "And I see you have found the true cause for this visit."
He did indeed. Melkor was standing in front of a special rack, bearing a greatsword that gleamed red, orange, and gold, like a fire blazing from within. There was warmth too; Melkor could feel it even from where he was standing. He paid no mind to Fëanor's threat, for one such as he was above such trifles. He simply reached out and took the sword in his hand, the corners of his lips curling up when he heard a sigh.
"You sound like a much put upon mother, and not the famed firstborn son of Finwë," he snickered and swung the sword once, then twice. It moved swiftly and silently, the very air simmering as the blade moved through it. Melkor lifted it to get a feel of it in his hand. It was perfectly balanced, neither light nor heavy, as if it were made for him. This would be an excellent weapon to take to war, he thought. "This is magnificent work, son of Finwë, truly."
"Fëanor," the elf cut in, respectfully this time. "I would prefer if you called me Fëanor, my lord."
"Fëanor," Melkor said, slowly and deliberately, not slurring it like many of the others. "Well. You have outdone yourself, Fëanor. I will leave you to your tasks then."
"My lord?" Fëanor stopped him before he left. "The sword. I am not finished with it."
Melkor grumbled and cursed. Fëanor simply sat up straight and crossed his arms. Melkor glared, and hemmed and hawed, and Fëanor took a risk, preferring to not yield.
"I am a Vala," Melkor hissed when Fëanor remained unmoved.
"Yes, and that sword is not yet finished," Fëanor said, watching Melkor for any signs of temper. While there was no darkening of his mood, Fëanor still preferred to play it safe and appealed to Melkor’s ego instead. It was what his father would do whenever he wanted Fëanor to listen to him, though with poor success. "And surely the mightiest of all the Valar deserves nothing less than a perfect weapon."
His words appeased Melkor greatly. "I suppose you are right," he agreed, and returned the sword to its rack before taking his leave. "Finish it then. Farewell."
Fëanor gaped at Melkor’s retreating back. This was the first time he did not simply lay claim to something and call it his.
It was also the first time he said farewell.
Light from Laurelin made its way over the Ered Engrin, its vibrant, golden beams making the snow upon the mountains look like they were afire.
Bright, golden streams made their way into the fortress, and it was during this time that Melkor found them sparring in the training yard.
He kept to the shadows and watched as Mairon led Fëanor on a merry dance, always one step and one strike ahead. The Maia had the experience, having learned for a while under Tulkas and Oromë. He was able to anticipate the elf’s moves and block each attack with the deft use of a spear. Others had gathered to watch, with some even holding wagers to see how long it would take for Fëanor to yield. And Melkor kept watching, drawn in by Fëanor’s unwillingness to give up.
The sparring ended with Fëanor being knocked to the ground again. But instead of yielding and calling an end to the contest, he dusted himself off and rose for another round.
"You are a glutton for punishment!" Mairon cried, his chest heaving.
"And you are a dead Maia!" Fëanor smirked and wiped his hand over his bloodied lower lip.
Mairon snickered and readied himself for another attack. Only this time, Fëanor was better prepared. During their sparring, he had let himself lose, preferring to pay attention to the Maia’s footwork and searching for any tells in his movements. He found it in the way Mairon breathed just before he struck, in the way he shifted his feet before each blow.
The first blow was naturally blocked, but when Mairon moved again, Fëanor was ready. There was no impatience, no rush. Mairon brought down his spear, and Fëanor, anticipating it, blocked him. He countered, and Mairon deflected. Then Mairon abruptly moved and hit Fëanor across the chest, making him fall onto his back. Fëanor pushed himself to his feet, and this time, his temper slowly bubbled to the surface. Fëanor charged and was blocked. He charged once more, and Mairon hit him on the small of his back. On the third charge, Fëanor threw all caution to the wind with one last lunge. Mairon ducked and swung his spear at the backs of Fëanor’s knees, knocking the elf to the ground. When Fëanor tried to get up, Mairon kicked his spear out of his hand and brought his own down in a perfect arc.
"Yield," he hissed, the tip of his spear now barely a hair’s breadth over the curve of Fëanor’s neck.
"How did you know?" Fëanor brushed stray locks of hair out of his eyes and sputtered in disbelief.
"I was onto you less than halfway in," Mairon said and held out a hand, to help him up. "I am not the only one with tells, Fëanor."
Fëanor would have continued sparring had Mairon not stopped him. "You need to rein in that temper of yours first. And see to your wounds." he chided. "Rest and come back later with a clearer head, then we can start sparring again."
The elf reluctantly yielded and went away to nurse both his bruises and his wounded pride. Melkor followed him, overcome with worry. Mairon never held back when fighting, even if it was just practice sparring, and those blows of his were well-aimed and meant to hurt. He hung back when Fëanor opened the door, to give him time to settle himself, and went in only after he heard a curse.
"Sit," he insisted, pulling up a chair. Fëanor grumbled but did as he was told, making himself comfortable on the edge of his bed. Melkor looked around and found an ewer filled with fresh water. He emptied its contents into a bowl and ripped up a tunic Fëanor had left out on the bed to use the strips for cleaning.
Fëanor would have protested this last act but he was in too much pain to say anything. He kept still, trying not to take deep breaths as it hurt him even more.
"What were you thinking?" Melkor said as he dipped the piece of cloth into the bowl. "Challenging a Maia?"
Fëanor sighed. "I thought I could do it, but..."
"It was foolish, what you did," Melkor cut in, and he proceeded to clean Fëanor’s lower lip. "Mairon could have easily killed you."
"You sound just like my father," Fëanor muttered under his breath.
"Most unfortunate indeed, then, because you will not easily heed my counsel," Chuckling merrily, Melkor continued to dab and clean. "But I hope you will—too hard?"
Fëanor yelped when he pressed against the cut in his lip. "Yes," he said mournfully, and looked up.
Eyes the colour of obsidian and gold look right back at him, eyes that had witnessed the music of the Ainur and the creation of them all. Eyes that were, more often than not, cruel and pitiless. But not now. There was concern there, and something else. Something that made Fëanor’s skin warm in all sorts of ways. He coughed and looked away when Melkor quickly dipped his head and ran the damp cloth over his bruised knuckles.
"Mairon has a weakness. Just one," he said with a casual air, trying to mask his own inner turmoil. "There," Melkor gestured at Fëanor’s torso. "At the base of his left ribs. A parting gift, so to speak, after a skirmish with Oromë’s precious Tilion. Strike that point and he will be at your mercy."
The barely-there line on Mairon’s waist. Fëanor thought he had been imagining things at the time. "Why are you telling me this?" Fëanor asked slowly, trying not to dwell on the fact that Melkor’s hands, cold as they were, felt pleasant when pressed against his own.
"Just a suggestion, that is all." Melkor thought it best to leave before his tongue truly loosened and betrayed his inner thoughts. "These bruises require more than just water," he said and quickly pushed away from the bed, his chair scraping against the stone floor. "I will have a healer see to you."
"Of course," Fëanor gave Melkor a searching look after seeing confusion flash in his eyes. "My thanks, my lord."
Melkor gave him a curt nod before leaving, his hands balling into tight fists. With each step he took, his thoughts kept spiraling toward the elf, the son of Finwë. No, he corrected himself. Fëanor. It was Fëanor.
He shook his head, furious with himself. Fëanor was just an elf. An incredibly skilled elf, but still an elf, a being of little significance to a Vala. Melkor continued walking through the darkened corridors and halls, ignoring the Orcs and thralls scurrying out of the way, his mind racing. No matter what he did, his thoughts circled back to Fëanor, his arrogance and sudden flashes of temper, his undeniable skill, and finally, the scent that came off his skin.
Melkor sighed, his shoulders slumping as he neared the doors to his chambers. Fëanor’s skin smelled of smoke and leather and smoldering embers, and beneath it all, the sweet scent of the larinquë flower that grew in the pastures of Yavanna. It seemed to seep into all of his senses, like dark hooks for the fëa. Melkor’s hands suddenly trembled when he flexed them. He could still feel the impression of Fëanor’s palm against his.
In his own chambers, Fëanor lay in bed, flushed and more than a little breathless. He tried to rest, but rest kept slipping away from him. He tried to discipline his thoughts, but all they did was circle back to before, when he looked into Melkor’s eyes and found them softening at the sight of him. No one had looked at him that way, not even once, and he did not know whether he should be fearful or flattered by the attention, for this was Melkor after all. Fëanor finally sat up and rubbed his eyes, having given up on rest completely. His body ached, even after the healer’s careful ministrations. After allowing himself a few whimpers, he splashed cool water from the basin beside his bed, and got dressed.
Pain or no, a visit to his forge and long hours of toil was in order. Something to occupy himself and keep his mind firmly off of Melkor was necessary.
Elf and Vala soon found themselves entangled in a strange sort of dance. For days and weeks, there would be stolen glances, of hands brushing when one passed the other in hallways or corridors. Melkor started to seek Fëanor out for his counsel, and Fëanor found himself to be the only one who could talk Melkor out of doing something that could only end in defeat. Both started to seek the company of the other for no reason, but neither knew what to truly do with it.
The true shift came one day when Fëanor found his way into the very bowels of Angband and the pits where the dragons were bred.
Oh, he had been warned not to come here and that the dragons did not take kindly to unwelcome visitors, but he could not help himself. He held up one of his lamps as he made his way down dark, musty stairways, going lower and lower, until heat washed over his skin. It kept growing and growing, until it felt like he was standing in front of a roaring furnace. His face lit up, and his heart giddy with the sense of anticipation. He had found them. And he was not alone.
Melkor was already here, talking to an Orc, one that was paler and stronger and taller than the others. There were more like him, tending to the many fell beasts Melkor bred within these pits using magic and other darker arts. Fëanor stopped just before the last few steps and dithered, wondering if he should simply turn back and leave. Alas, the light from his lamp was already seen, and his scent was already caught by the beasts that lived within these tunnels. One of them, a great winged creature that was all black with shots of deep crimson, reared its head and opened its maw in a roar that threatened to tear the tunnel walls asunder.
"Calm, Ancalogon!" Melkor cried, calling the beast’s attention to him. The dragon, larger than anything Fëanor had ever seen, snarled and huffed before facing his master. The Orc then shouted an order, one in a tongue Fëanor found painful to the ear, and the dragon retreated deeper into tunnels, the ground trembling with each step it took. By the time it retreated into its lair, all that was visible of it were ruby-red eyes, which glared out from the darkness.
“You were most unwise, coming down here," Melkor said, though not in the least displeased by Fëanor’s intrusion. "Ancalogon could have swallowed you whole and no one would have even known."
Fëanor could not tear his eyes away from the beast that continued to stare. "How… how old is he?"
"A decade, no more than that."
"A decade? But he is already bigger than a small mountain range."
Melkor beamed at this. "And soon he will be big enough to bring all of Arda to heel."
Fëanor swallowed, his skin prickling when Melkor placed a hand on the small of his back and slowly pushed him forward, as if to guide him. "Do you just have dragons down here?"
"No," Melkor said, thrilled that he had someone besides Mairon to talk to about his creatures. "There are many and more things down here besides the dragons."
He said no more, preferring to let Fëanor see with his own eyes. And Fëanor saw much, from the Balrogs whose roars sounded like blazing infernoes, to the werewolves that were as large as war horses. He stayed for as long as he could, walking over stone bridges and peering into deep chasms, before the heat started to have its way with him and he grew dizzy. Melkor kept a hand on Fëanor as he led him out of the tunnels.
"I forget the hröar of the eldar are not like the fana we create for ourselves," he said thoughtfully. "Your body is more susceptible to corruption and pain."
"And yet Mairon has a weakness in his," Fëanor countered, disappointed when Melkor took his hand the moment they entered the main halls.
"He was wounded by another Ainu wielding a weapon dipped in the dews of Telperion, that is why," Melkor said. He had murder in his eyes when a pair of Orcs stopped and stared at the unusual sight of their lord talking companionably with an elf. Fearful of incurring his wrath, they hurried away into the shadows, hiding behind thick columns, keeping as far away from him as possible.
"I see," Fëanor said, realizing the moment had come for them to part. He had his own duties to see to, after all. "Well, I will take my leave of you then."
"Can I watch?" Melkor could not bear for him to depart so soon. "I… I will not get in your way."
The elf stopped mid-stride and turned. The request took him by surprise. Even though they spent more time in each other’s company, Melkor never stopped by the forge, not even to see the sword that was meant for him. And Fëanor, first and foremost, was unaccustomed to spectators gawking while he worked. Second, he was shocked that Melkor would even ask such a thing of him in the first place.
"You are High Lord of Angband, and a Vala, no less." He heard himself say. "You need no-one’s permission to watch."
Melkor coughed, and for once in the many ages of his long existence, he did not know what to say.
"But I suppose I can agree," Fëanor continued, his stomach tying itself up in knots. "Providing you…"
"Do not put my hands upon anything," Melkor crossed his arms and grinned—slow and deliberate — and Fëanor was left momentarily breathless as he watched the way Melkor’s lips curved, the way his eyes seemed to brighten. "Not unless I want something of mine broken. We have an accord, Fëanor."
Fëanor took a choppy breath before swallowing and composing himself. "Very good," he said, his heart racing. "Shall we go then?"
During the last meal, Fëanor found he had no appetite, despite the many tempting dishes spread out before him. He simply stared into his goblet of wine, and then realized he had no thirst either. He sat there, lost in his thoughts, while the rest ate and drank and jested and argued around him.
He had enjoyed his shared time with Melkor. The two of them completely lost track of the hours passing, each learning something new about the other. Fëanor learned how Ungoliant came to Melkor, willing to swear fealty if he helped her feed from the sacred trees and the wells of Varda. He had refused, seeing the folly of helping such a creature consume from the source of such immense power and risking her betraying him once she had what she craved for. And he was proved right in the end. Ungoliant turned on the one who did help her, some foolish Maia who thought they knew better.
And Melkor was full of questions—another surprise for Fëanor. Those questions were both curious and personal, making Fëanor reveal parts of him that he did not do so to others. He spoke of his mother and her passing, and how he visited her resting place in the Gardens of Lórien. He spoke of his anger at his father's remarriage and at Indis intruding upon their lives. Fëanor had questions of his own, about Eru, the other Ainur, and Melkor tampering with the great music and how he created his fell beasts. Melkor answered as much as he could, for there were things that even he did not have the power to say.
When Fëanor worked, he felt Melkor’s eyes following his every move. When he got him to help, he felt Melkor standing closer than he should, his touch lingering longer than it should, and, truth be told, Fëanor found himself welcoming this, once even leaning into Melkor when they were standing by the furnace, putting the finishing touches on the sword, his breath hitching when Melkor pressed himself even closer and larger hands squeezed his.
Fëanor raised his eyes, turning them to the high throne at the far end of the hall. There was Melkor, brooding as always. Then he turned, his gaze fixed on Fëanor.
Everyone and everything else were soon forgotten. Eyes the colour of jet and gold bore into vivid blue ones, darkening with each passing moment. Then, Melkor seemed to tire of the revelry. He rose and made his way down the steps of his throne, his eyes on Fëanor’s the entire time. When he walked past Fëanor’s table, his hand slowly reached over to brush against Fëanor’s hair. On impulse, Fëanor waited just long enough for Melkor to leave the hall before making his excuses and following.
Melkor was aware that Fëanor was only a few paces behind him. He walked through mostly empty corridors, making his way down one tunnel after another. On and on he walked until he reached the thick wooden doors of his private chambers. Fëanor followed him still, his pulse scrambling, his blood roaring in his ears. He did not turn back, not for anything. Something tugged at him, as if the very center of his being was shifting and pulling him to the Vala. He stepped through the open doorway without a moment’s hesitation, and found himself pulled into a passionate embrace.
Melkor’s kiss was far from tender. Fëanor staggered by the sheer heat and intensity of it, his whimpers swallowed by kisses that burned him to the core, by lips that tasted like a heady wine. He felt arms tightening around his waist, and he yielded willingly, twining his arms around Melkor’s shoulders as Melkor lifted him and carried him to a large bed. Melkor never slept in it, and he never knew why he even had one in the first place. Now he was glad he did. He set Fëanor down on the edge and pulled away with a deep, satisfied sigh.
No words were said, for words would have simply ruined everything. Melkor helped Fëanor out of his clothes and made quick work of getting out of his. He pushed Fëanor back into bed and moved over him in a heartbeat. Skilled hands streaked over him, hands that were hot and possessive, urging him to take. And take Melkor did, his lips crushing Fëanor’s repeatedly. He kissed Fëanor until he was breathless, until he was moaning and trembling beneath him. When nails raked down his back, as if to mark him, and legs came to rest over his hips, he opened his eyes.
Fëanor’s lips were already bruised, his eyes darkened with lust, his breath harsh and ragged. His hair had spread out all over the silk sheets like spilled ink. Melkor took a moment to savour the sight before him before pressing his lips to Fëanor’s once more. This time his kisses were soft and gentle, his hand tangling itself in Fëanor’s hair. Melkor never knew what true pleasure was like—to have something given to him so freely. It frightened him, made him want to pull away and end everything and then Fëanor reared up and dragged him in with a kiss.
It felt so right. Everything about Fëanor and what he roused in him felt so right. Damn it, he thought. Damn his fears. Melkor groaned when Fëanor’s hands pulled at his hair and when his kisses turned into more teeth and tongue. Melkor’s hand glided lower, over trembling flesh, trailing over little dips and curves and the hardness of Fëanor’s thigh, before wrapping around his already erect cock.
"Fuck," Fëanor rasped, his voice already hoarse. His nails scoured Melkor’s flesh as the latter soon found a rhythm he liked. Melkor’s strokes were slow and languorous, his grip tightening and releasing. He watched, utterly enraptured, as Fëanor arched into him as his eyes slowly closed. He propped himself on his free arm, his lips brushing against Fëanor’s repeatedly, the nails digging into his back going unnoticed.
Fëanor found himself being pulled deeper into a dark tunnel of desire. No amount of pleasure he had felt over anything else could compare to this, the jolts that shook him, the coiling he felt in his belly and the sweetness that enveloped him completely. His hand rose weakly, tangled itself in Melkor’s hair. His moans spilled free as his very fëa soared higher and higher.
The sounds Fëanor made were deep and drugging, and Melkor grew drunk on them. He heard his name, moans turning into pleas, a brittle voice begging him not to stop. He did not stop. His strokes were ceaseless now, his ears honing into the sound of each sweet little gasp, of each quickening breath. He felt it, the hardening in his hand, and looked up just in time to see Fëanor’s mouth open in a deep, guttural cry. They were so close by then he felt a sudden spurt of warmth against his belly. Fëanor shuddered beneath him before going still.
Melkor wondered if this was it, and then Fëanor pulled him in for another kiss, his hips lifting. "Now," he demanded, his body craving to be filled. "Now."
With a growl, Melkor grabbed onto his hips and knelt up, lifting Fëanor’s back higher off the sheets. "Are you certain of this?"
"Yes," Fëanor breathed, his fingers digging into the sheets that had twisted around them when Melkor slickened two of his fingers and penetrated him. Lust clouded his mind as he felt the movement inside his body, preparing him, and he whined when Melkor pulled out. When nails dug into his hips, he braced himself, for he knew what would come next.
Melkor’s grip on Fëanor’s hips tightened as he entered him, slowly and carefully, not wanting to cause too much pain. Fëanor had to bite down on his lower lip as jolts of pain washed over him. With the pain came slow pin pricks of pleasure as Melkor pushed in even deeper, his cock filling him completely. Hands glided over Fëanor’s thighs, his belly, as if to soothe. Fëanor looked up at him, caught the questioning look in Melkor’s eyes.
"I am ready," he said, and closed his own.
Melkor pulled his hips back before pushing back in, fucking him slowly. Fëanor’s hands nearly ripped into the sheets as Melkor went faster and faster, pushing him even deeper into the bed. He opened his eyes and found Melkor’s squeezed shut, his moans growing louder and louder, and Fëanor’s slowly matching his. A hand moved over to find his, fingers lacing around each other as bliss of the most acute kind, something Melkor could not even fathom, washed over him. His breath and movements grew erratic as his hips ground against Fëanor’s thighs, and then his entire fana shook. Muscles that had coiled and tightened snapped, and it felt like his fana had splintered as his orgasm ripped through him. He nearly collapsed over Fëanor, bracing himself against his hand just in time. Then he blinked as consciousness came over him and opened his eyes.
What happened was something he had never experienced in the entirety of his existence. Not the pleasure or the warmth or the sheer intimacy of it all, certainly not the knowledge that even in this frozen world, one could form a bond of the deepest kind with another. And it was all due to an elf with bright blue eyes and black hair. Melkor blinked, opened his eyes. He found Fëanor looking up at him.
Fëanor, for the first time in his life, felt utterly satisfied and conpelte. He looked up at Melkor, at the warmth in those dark eyes.
"I do not have to leave, do I?" He breathed, hoping this would not be the end.
Melkor smiled back before leaning in and kissing him, softly this time.
Everything made sense now. The jealousy, the stirrings he felt in his fana, his yearning for Fëanor’s company. The words he will say, but not now. There was still much for him and Fëanor to discover about each other.
"Never," he whispered, before pulling Fëanor up into his arms.
Tags| @cilil @edensrose @asianbutnotjapanese @fictionfordays @floraroselaughter
#feanor#melkor#melkor smut#morgoth smut#feanor smut#the silmarillion#the silm#the silm smut#Writeblr#a world of whimsy writes#fëanor imagine#fëanor smut#Curelkor#writeblr#💫a world of whimsy writes#💫whimsy's shenanigans
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Can I get a Curufin or Feanor forge smut? Either the reader comes down to chat and see what their up to or they are teaching the reader and she’s unconsciously turning them on with how she’s dressed and the lights from the fire complements her face, and their just like “damn” and start loving on the reader but have got to keep them quiet because their still in public even though the forges are technically private.
Playing With Fire
characters feanor x female reader
fandom tolkien- the silmarillion
a/n I hope you enjoy:) - the ending. . . you'll see ;)
warnings smut, 18+, oral (f reciving) some dom and sub themes (it's feanor king and queen stuff), dirty talk
You searched around the large corridors- for your husband.
He wasn't anywhere to be found.
You had an unbelievable headache and you wanted to curl into his arms.
But you were met with empty rooms and other faces.
You sighed - when you realized where he could be.
So instantly turning on your heel, you made your way down to the forges.
The sound of the hammering confirmed your suspicions.
“Feanaro, melda?”
You called out.
A light grumble was your response.
You rolled your eyes - then made your way down the large stone stairs.
The sound of your boots hitting the ground- distracted him momentarily and Feanor looked over his shoulder - to see his beloved wife joining him – at his side.
“What is it?”
He asked – then returned to his work.
“Nothing – I was worried about you. I couldn’t find you anywhere. . .”
Feanor felt some unknown pride swell instead him – from the sound of your voice, you were concerned for him.
There was something exciting about that – he could disappear and it would worry you and your relief when you see him again.
He loved it immensely – so many intense emotions – and he could easily make them play inside you.
“You should have looked here first, veri”
He said.
You nodded.
You felt silly for not searching for him in the most obvious place.
You leaned in closer – looking over his shoulder to see what he was doing.
There was something fascinating about watching your husband deep in his work – his focus, the way his eyebrows knitted together, his tensed muscles and breathing.
You bit your lip and watched your husband muscles flex and tense with each movement – with the heat in the forge he was removed his robes and lose shirt.
Unbeknownst to you – Feanor could see your actions from his peripheral vision.
Not only that, you looked so beautiful with the fire glowing on your skin.
It complimented your face— and very inch of skin he could see.
The light from the fire danced on your skin — Feanor swore he never seen a more mesmerizing sight.
You locked your hair behind your ear— exposing your perfect cheeks to the light of the fire.
Your lips and eyes — they were so beautiful.
It wouldn't take long for your to start sweating under the heat of the fire.
Then your husband suddenly dropped his tool — he turned to you menacingly.
"You little minx. . .”
Feanor grabbed by your waist — he settled you against him.
You gasped — it made him chuckle when you suddenly shivered in his arms when he traced the vein on your neck with his teeth.
With one hand in your hair and the other tight around your waist — Feanor quickly pulled you into a kiss.
He kissed you fast and senseless — it was hard to keep up and he manged to make you breathless within seconds.
When you felt the hot wall of the forges against your back — you immediately wrapped your arms around his strong torso— the hooking them around his shoulders.
He made your knees weak with a kiss— you needed to hold on.
Feanor was able to reduce you into a submissive little wife with one kiss — he loved that power he had over you.
Quickly— he pressed his weight on you and it ripped a moan from you.
He quickly silenced you — he pulled out of the kiss and covered your mouth.
He tsked.
“Not a sound, veri. . . — or are you really willing to have the whole kingdom hear about how good the king makes his queen feel?”
Color rushed to your cheeks — the heat in the forge didn't help either — while the forge was closed off, your husband was right, there was the possibility of someone hearing you.
Not —that thrill of realization only excited your further.
It was easy for Feanor to understand the dirty secrets in your eyes — and he loved the flames reflected on your seemingly innocent eyes.
This was a side of you only he got to see — and that was something to feel pride about.
He groaned lowly and suddenly pulled you up— he wrapped your legs around him and bunched up your dress.
“You naughty little wife. . .”
He husked, in your ear.
His thumb brushed just under your skirt — on the skin of your thighs.
Your breath hitches — so you were really going to do this.
You gulp when he slowly shifts his hand under your skirt — he stopped for a moment squeezed your thigh.
Then he lifted you off and placed you on his work table.
You suddenly had the urge to rip off your dress — it was getting too hot in here to keep any form of clothing on your body
Feanor groans, pushing a kiss again— you immediately respond.
His hands in your waist tighented again— and you confidently lifted your hands to his hai.
It was fast and heated— like neither of your could wait.
Feanor breaks the kiss and moves across your jaw — then down to your neck.
Expertly — he found your sweet spot and bit it dien to suck into a bruise.
You bit down on your lip— trying to keep in the moan tht was desperately trying to escape.
You tugged his hair — any sound he made vibrated down your skin.
You quickly spread your knees to further to give your husband more room.
He teasingly grinds — a small movement — bur it made you hide on his neck and you release a small moan.
Feanor quickly pulled you by your hair to face him.
“Not a sound. . .”
Frantically — you nodded.
“please . . . Vero. . .”
You begged.
Still holding you— Feanor dipped down to kiss you.
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer— you were already breathless and starting to sweat from the heat of the forge.
You was peel off your dress.
As if reading your mind— your husband quickly pushed down the top of your dress— practically ripping it to expose your shoulders and neck— the ripped off rest of the offending material to your waist.
Feanor left a trail of kisses on the newly exposed skin.
He leans back in to kiss your collarbone, moving further down to take your nipple in his mouth.
You throw your head back and tried not to make a sound — your nails digging into his head.
Feanor hummed and chuckled in approval— the vibrations making the stimulation all the more pleasurable.
Though — it was no lie Feanor wouldn't mind anyone hearing him.
He rather loved the idea of everyone hearing the king pleasuring his queen— until she couldn't see straight.
You buck your hips into Feanor's— it drove him insane.
He immediately without a word— lifts your dress and bunches it around your waist.
You gasp shocked— when Feanor suddey ripped off your underwear.
he toys at your entrance with his middle finger—shallowly pushing it in.
Desperate— you roll your hips into his finger.
But suddenly he pulls back completely.
“is the queen going to behave in front of her king?” He asks.
You nod— desperately and frantically.
You tried to hold in any sound.
He hums in thought- then leans back in.
Immediately he pushes two fingers in and curls them.
You want to let out a loud moan- but you held it in a little squeak escaping and gripped his shoulders with one hand and tugging his hair with the other.
You let out a guttural moan- when his long lithe fingers find your sweet spot.
He immediately clasps a hand over your mouth- then lapped his fingers in and out mercilessly.
“There it is. . . right there”
He chuckles - seeing your eyes roll back into your head.
You can feel that coil in your abdomen, Feanor knows it too.
Through you moaning louder into his hand- and the faster grinding of your hips to meet his pace.
He continues to hit that spot inside you until you’re a sobbing mess, the coil about to snap.
“That's it”
he praises.
“Cum on your king's fingers.”
It was a command.
You release at his words.
Your orgasm was so strong you thought were blacking out for a second.
He lets you go and teases your entrance again.
“Feanaro, melda, please”
He chuckles and runs his over your thighs- spreading them further.
You couldn't ignore the bulge in his trousers- or the fact your body was getting itself ready for another.
He looked very pleased with himself- his hot breath fanning your face.
You let out a breathy exhale- still coming down from your high.
“Ready?”
He asks.
Feanor was opening his trousers and bunching your ripped dress higher.
You nod- still breathless.
“Yes”
You pull into a loving embrace- melting into the warmth of his body- even though the heat here was almost unbearable right now.
Your husband smiled- then smirked as he leaned down to kiss you sweetly.
There were times Feanaro can be loving and caring- this was one of those times- and you believed he would never change.
You sighed- and moved down to his hands over his trousers- lazily helping him.
You stroke his length.
He groans lowly into your lips- then rolling his hips into your hand.
Feanor lines up with your entrance.
“Feanaro. . .”
You moan quietly
“Someone is truly eager for her king.”
“That would be his queen. . .”
You respond.
Feanor smirks and pushes in- gripping and cradling he back of your neck and the other on your hip.
You grip at his arms, overwhelmed by the pleasure.
When he sees you biting down your lip, he quickly clasps your mouth again with the hand that was on your hip.
“Fuck- how is it, no matter how many times I take you- you're always so fucking tight”
He almost shouted and rolls his hips.
You moan into his hand as he pulls out nearly completely- then immediately thrusts back in.
“Yes it would be his queen- after all she's taking him so well.”
He answers from earlier- and thrusts harder and faster.
They grow faster and deeper- then he takes away his hand covers your mouth with a kiss.
You're not sure it will be enough to cover your moans- and some part of you was envious of how well Feanor was keeping it together.
His hand slides down your body and rubs your clit- you gasp.
You tug his hair with both your hands- chasing your release together.
You moan against his sound- messily kissing as well when he swallows your endless moans.
Your eyes roll to the back of your head- when he hits that same spot again.
When your walls clasp around him - he lets out what almost sounds like a growl.
“That's it my sweet queen”
He said in between your kisses- thrusting harder, faster and deeper into you.
That coil in your abdomen returns.
“Please. Please. . .”
You beg- when your body was about to fall into high skies.
He pushes his lips harder on your lips- kissing you with the utmost passion and rutting his thrusts.
When coil snaps and your high washes over you- you pull out of the kiss and roll your head back.
You were sure if anyone was walking past the doors of the forge- they definitely heard you.
Your husband releases himself inside you- and you sigh breathlessly when you feel the warmth fill you.
Feanor slows down- but still rides your highs.
When he stops- he pulls you closer and pushing a some of his weight over you. He buries his face into the side of your face and neck.
You run a hand through his long black hair and kiss his cheek.
“I love you. . .”
You whispered
“And I, you- nothing will ever change that”
But little did you know- that what was in the make in the fire was about change that. . .
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ㅤㅤ ( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ fëanor ⠀〳 ⠀reader ❜᭡ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ 𝓼𝓶𝓾𝓽 : imagine him rutting into you until you cum ( minors dni ៸៸ smut ៸៸ explicit descriptions ៸៸ hair pulling )
You gasp into his dark hair, fingers in-turn burying themselves into his locks with your arms hooked around his neck as are your legs around his waist. Trapping him, inviting him to take more — and he gladly does.
There's a rugged breathing against your neck with a mixture of grunting effort and hushed groans, as if he were trying to keep his voice lower in favour of listening to your sweet, sweet moans.
"Fëanor — Fëanor,"
His name remains on your tongue, falling from your mouth as you hang your head back and roll your hips up into his. He's fully clothed, both of you are, as he traps you between his larger form and his smithing table with his hips rutting into yours in desperate attempts to keep the fiction you worked up constant.
"So good for me, so perfect," he groans into the skin of your neck as he feasts upon your soft flesh — kissing, biting, marking, whatever he can to claim you as his again. You feel the entirety of his weight on you, yet you could care less. You enjoyed the way he trapped and caged you — how he left you utterly helpless and his to use.
"C-Close, close - !" You attempt to warn, gasping again as his hand finds your hair and pulls back on it. His lips crash onto your own, movements never faltering in the slightest as he delves his tongue past your lips to claim yet another aspect of you.
He drinks in the cry of his name, his breath hitching once he feels the wetness against his crotch and when he parts from the kiss to glance down — he groans at the sight.
"Impatient, are we? You came just from that?"
You attempt to defend yourself yet are soon left wordless as two fingers find their way into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. All you can do is whine and then gasp as he presses back against your already sensitive heat. "Keep going, I want to see just how many times I can get you to make a mess of yourself." He shudders against your ear.
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#— ꒰🌺꒱ 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐬 ៸៸ tolkien ❜‧₊#feanor#the silmarillion#silm#lotr#lord of the rings#feanor x reader#feanor reader insert#smut#tw smut#feanor smut#imagines#writing
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rare pair bingo
AN: For my dear @nyarnamaitar🤍
⸙ Prompt: Deep-throat | Fëanor x Manwë
⸙ Synopsis: Fëanor enjoys the Elder King submitting to him.
⸙ Warnings: Smut, oral sex
⸙ Triple drabble
⸙ AO3
To have the Elder King on his knees before him was the most erotic thing Fëanáro had ever seen, sending a rush of power through his very being. He caressed his white hair, smooth and soft like wisps of cloud, and marvelled at the ethereal beauty of Ilúvatar's favourite to savour the moment.
Manwë looked up at him with an expression he couldn't quite decipher, as if he was deep in thought, yet there was desire, unmistakable and raw. It was all the invitation Fëanáro needed to proceed.
"Open your mouth," he commanded, and as soon as the Vala obeyed, pushed his cock past dutifully parted lips.
White eyelashes fluttered when Manwë closed his eyes, objecting neither to the sudden, none-too-gentle intrusion nor to Fëanáro taking hold of his hair.
He's made for this.
The crown prince of the Noldor would have laughed at such a notion once upon a time, but now he couldn't help feeling that way. He thrust in and out to his heart's content, yet Manwë never appeared to gag nor struggle with breathing.
It would take more to elicit a stronger, more desperate reaction from him, Fëanáro thought, but today was not that day. Today he was going to enjoy plush lips and a soft tongue gingerly, almost hesitantly pleasuring him while he moved, the elegant curve of Manwë's neck as he bowed his head to take him deeper, the soft humming noises he made to show his enjoyment.
Affectionately, Fëanáro stroked his head with his free hand. He had thought the tales of the Elder King's humility to be mere flattery, but it was true — and he could tell that he had done this before.
And now... he's mine.
The thought, followed by another giddy rush, was enough to push Fëanáro over the edge.
Thanks for reading! ♡
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*Looks up at Caranthir.*
Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry? Daddy, sorry?
Tongue in cheek, he cocked his head to the side listening to your chanting. “You appear to be confused, my dear,” he taunted. His eyes darkened while his knuckles turned white as they gripped the armrest, ready to snap it. “Let me help you remember correctly.”
#♡{sweet.kisses} ~ {caranthir}#caranthir x you#caranthir imagine#caranthir x y/n#caranthir#caranthir the dark#morifinwë#morifinwe#house of feanor#feanorians#silm smut#silm imagines#middle earth imagine
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“Worthy” or not, Fëanor, King of the Noldor, bids you read this update to “Reduced to Ash:”
Chapter Three Summary: Fëanor takes Artanis. And then takes her as wife, as queen…
Read on AO3
Fëanor x Artanis | Explicit | 5K Ch
CW: NSFW, infidelity (explained away…), oh and what’s the last one… oh yeah Incest.
The sound from his throat, I shall never forget it. Like a ravenous wolf, maw deep in his meal. A growl, a groan that shook in my veins as he threw his head back. Ten fingers wove into my hair, clutching near my temples as he gave his cock the smallest thrust inside my mouth. Instantly, he repeated the movement over my tongue and between my lips, and I could feel that aching wet between my legs leaking. More and more followed to drench my thighs with each thrust. Instinct took the reins of my thought, and I closed my lips tightly around him as much as I could, dragging my tongue along the slight groove, the underside of his cock sliding over it with deliberate strength.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice like gravel, harsh and sharper than a blade. My eyes instantly obeyed, meeting his half-lidded eyes, glossed over in his pleasure and blue so bright, it would have stolen my breath if I could have taken one from around his massive cock in my mouth. “So beautiful,” he rasped as he thrust, controlling my head as his cock delved deeper down my throat. I gagged, coughing as he poured out praise with each shove over my tongue. “Radiant…. Sharp… Brilliant…”
His movements grew erratic, and only once I began to taste something new and bitter on my tongue did he free me from his waist.
Read on AO3
#silm smut#melkor made me do it#feanor loves shiny things#silm het smut#uncle daddy#Feanor#curufinwe#artanis#feanor x artanis#the silmarilion#silm elves#the silm fandom#silmarillion#silm au
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A Lesson in Language
Fëanor x female!reader
part of The Professor Series
summary: challenging your linguistics professor is your favourite past time, until he decides it's time for you to face consequences for it
warnings: smut, power dynamic, daddy kink (only a little bit at the end), rough oral sex (m receiving), hate sex, roughness, Fëanor is a raging asshole
word count: 4.4k
request: Professor Feanor x reader? With fiery smut and snarky student reader ;) I was thinking something like he’s a linguistics prof (since he did come up with a new system of writing) and he teaches this one course that reader needs to graduate but she’s annoyed that he teaches it’s either his way or nothing at all so she argues with him all the time in office hours for her marks and etc?
So since we seem to be imagining everybody as a professor: Feanor. He'd be mean, and condescending, and the gods may help you if you're not good in his class (wth is he even teaching, he's good at everything💀) But if you're his best student, and a bright mind beyond class assignments? You'll want the gods to help you for wholly different reasons.
a/n: Fëanor is a massive douche in this fic ladies pls never let a man treat u like this lmao
series playlist on Spotify here
DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE
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You rolled your eyes as you doodled in the margins of your notebook, trying to ignore Professor Fëanor’s arrogant voice echoing in the classroom. He was droning on about pragmatics, a topic you had mastered last year already. You hated this class – it was tedious at best, and like watching paint dry at its worst. The only reason you were begrudgingly taking it was because it was your last requirement for graduation, as the class involved drawing up your own research study instead of a final exam. Everyone who was in this class took it for one of two reasons – either they were the same as you and just needed it for graduation, or they were lovestruck morons enamoured with the professor.
Admittedly, he was an attractive male. His long, raven-black hair suited his sharp face, with grey blue eyes that surveyed the class like a hawk, picking on daydreaming students to answer difficult questions. He was always impeccably dressed, and spoke with more confidence than anyone you had ever met. Yet he was arrogant and stubborn, insisting his way was the only way to learn linguistics. He spoke to his students as if they were dumb, incapable of being anywhere near his level of knowledge. And it irritated you beyond belief.
You were well known amongst your peers for getting into arguments with the professor. Dr. Fëanor had a nasty temper that frightened most, but amused you. You were the only student who didn’t hesitate to challenge him and stick up for yourself when he decided he wanted to bully his students. You were confident in your linguistic skill set, marching to his office to argue your grades whenever he gave you a shitty mark. You could tell it infuriated him, how his best student didn’t kiss his ass like he had clearly expected you to.
“Am I interrupting your artistic time, (Y/N)?” Dr. Fëanor’s bored voice sounded a few feet away from you, snapping you back to reality. You looked up, and he was standing in front of your table, glaring down at you. The students beside you shrank back, afraid to be caught up in the professor’s wrath. But you didn’t back down, only sighing and looking up to meet his gaze.
“What was that, sir?” You asked, widening your eyes and faking innocence knowing damn well it would piss him off further.
“You haven’t been paying attention to a single thing I’ve said all week.” He snorted. “How you are my top student is beyond me, with such a short attention span.”
“I’ve been paying attention, sir.” You lied, bringing your elbows to rest on the table.
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Then you won’t mind a little pop quiz, just for you?”
You shrugged. “Fire away.”
“What are the three airstream mechanisms in phonetics?” His shoulders were tense, a sign of his visible annoyance towards you.
Your answer rolled off your tongue. “Pulmonic, glottalic, velaric.”
“Define a morpheme.”
“The smallest meaningful unit of language. It must have a meaning of its own, either lexical or a grammatical function, and it must be minimal, not containing any smaller units that have meanings of their own.”
“And what are the four maxims of conversation?”
“Quality, quantity, relation and manner.” You smiled, watching your professor’s face get redder as you answered his questions easily.
“Name the distinctive linguistic properties of Quenya that make it differ from Sindarin.” Dr. Fëanor smirked, cocking his head arrogantly. You knew he would ask this question, it was too predictable. He was the master of Quenya, having played a huge role in the development of the language and construction of the Tengwar alphabet.
But as usual, he underestimated you. You took a breath, pretending to think for a moment before lifting your chin and meeting his gaze once again. “Where do I begin?” You said confidently. “Quenya is a more complex agglutinative language that strings morphemes together into long words using an inflectional system with a flexible syntax, while Sindarin has a much easier to follow language structure. Quenya uses 5 tenses to conjugate, Sindarin has 6 and words often begin with vowels whereas in Quenya, they typically end in vowels. They both use the structures SVO and OVS structures, but Sindarin uses VS and VO, although it lacks the OSV structure that Quenya has. Additionally, Quenya adopted case endings for nouns in nominative and genitive cases, using the dual plural to represent plural form since it lacks a definite article to mark the regular plural. Would you like me to go on, sir?”
The entire class was utterly silent. No one dared breathe in the moments following your monologue as you waited for your professor to reply. You expected him to yell at you, maybe throw a manuscript at your head. But he didn’t move. It began to make you uneasy, and you noticed a strange look cross his face for a half second before he finally spoke.
“I’ve heard more than enough from you for one class.” Fëanor’s voice was leathally calm, sending goosebumps up your arm. “Keep your mouth shut for the remainder of the lecture, and pay attention.”
You rolled your eyes, picking up your pen and sitting back in your chair as the professor continued his lecture. You crossed your legs, making your skirt hike up on your thighs, but you were too annoyed to fix it. Your professor was an arrogant bastard who couldn’t comprehend that not everyone around him was as dumb as rocks. But your skin flushed as you drifted off into one of your many daydream scenarios of Fëanor bending you over his desk and taking his anger out on you. You just knew he was rough and dominant in bed, having fantasised about being on the receiving end of that fire within him.
Your daydreaming was cut short as the professor began distributing last week’s quizzes back to the students. He didn’t acknowledge your presence as he ungracefully dropped yours in front of you. You noticed quickly a note was attached to it, that read:
Be in my office at 5pm tonight. We need to have a talk about your attitude.
You sucked in a breath. This was new. Not once had he invited you to his office – you were there of your own volition often enough to challenge him about your marks. You wouldn’t be surprised if he put up a sign on his door barring you specifically from entering. You knew he hated your visits to his office, so why invite you now? Talks with your professor about your attitude were done in public, specifically to try and humiliate you.
You folded up the note and slid it into your pocket, nervousness beginning to churn in your gut. Was he going to fail you out of spite? You’d be unable to complete your degree if he did that. While Fëanor was an arrogant asshole, you didn’t think he was cruel. Or at least you hoped so.
Tears began to well in your eyes as the possibility of failing dawned on you. Perhaps there were consequences to mouthing off to your professor after all.
*******************
A few hours later, you knocked at the elaborate wooden door to Fëanor’s office, then wiped your face one last time. You had spent an hour in the bathroom attempting to fix your makeup and conceal the evidence of your tears and failing, miserably. Your mascara was wet, giving you more of a smokey eye look than you had intended. Your smudged face was a stark contrast with your perfectly put together outfit – a short brown pencil skirt and tall boots, paired with a tight fitting, slightly cropped t-shirt. You felt ridiculous now, going to your professor’s office like this, but you had no other choice.
“Come in. And close the door behind you.” His deep voice echoed from inside the office, and you pushed the heavy door open. His office was its usual organised mess, manuscripts and books everywhere, laid out across every sitting space available save for the single chair in front of his desk. The room glowed orange from the roaring fireplace off to the side, making it look more like an ancient cave than an office.
You carefully walked over to the chair in front of the desk, clasping your hands in front of you.
“Sit.” Fëanor ordered, finally glancing up at you when you hesitated. “Unless you prefer to kneel on the floor?”
Your face burned bright red as you scrambled into the chair, ignoring the way his insinuation made your thighs tingle with need. He ignored you for a few minutes, continuing whatever he was translating on his desk. You shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to do. None of your interactions had ever been like this – quiet, suspenseful, behind closed doors. No, it was always bickering arguments that turned heads in the hallways. Something was different about him.
“Do you know why I really called you in here today?” He asked, still not looking up. His long hair was tied back, except for a few loose strands that hung around his face as he wrote.
“To fail me.” You said quietly.
He barked a heartless laugh. “Gods, no. Failing you would mean I’d have to endure a whole extra semester of your arrogant attitude. I refuse to put myself through that.”
You felt all nervousness fade away, quickly replaced by that hot anger only he seemed to be able to get out of you. “I’m arrogant?��� You snapped. “Take a look in the mirror.”
Fëanor’s writing ceased, and his grey blue eyes met yours and narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard what I said.” You fired back, unable to stop the words from coming out of your mouth. “You’re the arrogant one here, sir. You try to belittle me every time I prove myself to be smart because you can’t imagine that everyone around you isn’t a complete imbecile.”
You expected the male to snap back, to call you an idiot and ask how dare you say these things to him. Truthfully, you couldn’t believe you were saying these things either. All your arguments had been about the material so far, veiled insults hidden beneath your words. Never were you this open, this bold, about how you felt.
“Anything else?” He said in a bored manner.
“Yeah, you’re a real prick.” You continued your angry rambling, sick of being looked down on by this male. “You know as well as I do that I’m your best student, yet you treat me like the problem kid at the back of the class. It’s ridiculous, and the only reason you do it is to feel better about yourself. Am I wrong, sir?”
A long pause followed, and you swallowed a lump in your throat. If you weren’t going to fail before, you definitely were now. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. You simply sat there, eyes locked with your ill-tempered linguistics professor. After a few minutes, you couldn’t take it anymore, averting your gaze to inspect a loose thread on your skirt.
“Do you know why I’m such an arrogant… prick, did you say?” He stood up, walking around to the front of his desk and leaning against it, crossing his large arms. “Because I’ve earned it. I invented the Tengwar script and am the most knowledgeable person on the Quenya language there is. I have created and invented things that nobody else has, and nobody will ever come close to achieving what I have achieved. I have earned my arrogance, you have not. You’re just a little girl who’s in way over her head.”
You saw red, angrily pushing back the chair as you stood up to challenge him . Fëanor was a good foot taller than you, making you strain your neck to meet his gaze. “Call me a little girl one more time, I fucking dare you.” You hissed.
“Or what?” He smirked. “You’ll cry? Just like you did before you came in here?”
Your jaw went slack, “Wha–”
Fëanor scoffed, pleased with himself. “Oh, please, don’t even try. It was written all over your pretty face. I like it covered in tears, by the way. It’s a good look on you.”
WIthout thinking, your hand reached up and connected with his face, a dull slap echoing throughout the office. “Fuck you.” You spat, turning to storm out before you could face the consequences of hitting your professor.
But Fëanor was faster, his large hand firmly clasping around the hand you just slapped him with and yanking you back around to face him. His other hand grabbed your other wrist, and no matter how much you squirmed against it he didn’t budge. His eyes were dark as he pulled your hands up and across each other, pushing them into your chest as he stepped even closer to you.
“You wish.” He purred mockingly. “Isn’t that right? Is that not one of the reasons why your attention drifts off in class? Because you’re fantasising about being bent over my desk and fucked until you can’t remember your own name?”
“You think way too highly of yourself–” You tried to defend yourself, but he cut you off as if you hadn’t even said anything.
“You think I’m blind? That I don’t notice how you always wear those revealing outfits on the days you have my class. Don’t play dumb, it’s not a good look on you.”
You thrashed in his grip, ignoring the effect his words had on you. “Let me go right now you self righteous, narcissistic–”
“Kneel.”
That made you freeze. “Excuse me?”
“You really need to learn how to shut up.” Feanor growled. “And that’s what I’m going to do. I’ve had enough of that mouth of yours, it’s time to make it useful for once. Now kneel.”
You were utterly dumbstruck, unable to do anything as your professor gave you a shove, making you fall to your knees on the ground in front of him. The wooden floor made your joints ache, but you knew better than to protest.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Fëanor began, the sound of his belt unbuckling distinct in the background. “Do you think you can follow simple instructions for once?”
“Yes.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, throat dry with anticipation for what was about to happen.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He paused his movements, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at his towering form. “I’m going to stuff that smart mouth of yours with my cock, and you’re going to take it like the desperate little slut I know you are. If you please me enough, I will bend you over this desk and fuck you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow. And you’ll have learned your lesson to keep your mouth shut when I tell you to, understood? Is that simple enough for you to understand?”
“Yes, sir.” You repeated, trying to keep the shake out of your voice. Your core throbbed at his words, exactly as dominant as you imagined him to be.
Fëanor finally unzipped his trousers, letting them fall to his feet along with his boxers, revealing the thickest cock you had ever seen. Your jaw dropped, but you didn’t even care that you had just boosted his ego. All you could think about was how it would possibly fit.
“What’s the matter?” He mocked. “Too big for you? Scared you won’t be able to take it? You’ll be able to take it because I’ve told you so. Now open.”
You parted your lips, letting your professor slide his cock between them. You sucked on the tip, earning a groan of pleasure from the male above. Forcing your jaw to relax, you took him deeper, aching with the stretch.
Without warning, Fëanor impatiently grabbed the back of your head and pushed you down further. Tears blotted your face as you gagged around him, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked him. Clearly, he wasn’t concerned with having you come up for air, forcing you to breathe through your nose.
He set a rough pace, guiding your head up and down his cock as far as it would go without making you gag too much. Your mascara began to run down your face, and you made sure to keep eye contact with him despite the strain on your throat.
“There’s a good little slut,” Fëanor growled, tightening his grip on your hair as he thrusted faster. “I told you you looked better with tears running down your face.”
You couldn’t protest with his cock around your mouth, so you only whimpered, focusing on taking him deeper. You sucked hard with each stroke, letting your tongue run along the vein underneath his shaft as you bobbed your head. Your professor moaned shamelessly above you, a sound that set your nerves alight.
Mindlessly, your hand wandered between your legs, attempting to relieve some of the pressure building there. Your fingers hadn’t even grazed your panties when Fëanor halted his movements, holding your head down at the base of his cock.
“Don’t even think of touching yourself.” He hissed angrily. “I didn’t give you permission to do so. Try it again, and I won’t let you cum. Got it?”
You nodded around the base of his cock, whimpering. Your jaw was in agony, stretched to the max to accommodate his length. When he finally moved your head once again, you doubled your efforts, determined to make your arrogant professor fall apart. You sat on your hands for good measure, trying to avoid the temptation to ignore his orders altogether.
Fëanor began thrusting his hips to meet your mouth a few minutes later, his pretty eyes screwing shut as he tilted his head back. “Fucking swallow every last drop.” He grunted between thrusts, his grip on your scalp tightening right before his cock twitched in your mouth. He came with a loud groan, shooting spurts of warm liquid down your throat. You kept bobbing your head, sucking up every last drop and letting it slide down your throat. He panted, hips sputtering as you sucked him dry before finally pulling your lips off him. Your jaw ached like never before, but you were strangely proud of yourself. The image of your high strung professor climaxing into your mouth would be forever burned into your mind.
“Looks like you’ve earned your reward after all.” Fëanor grabbed you by your shoulders and hoisted you up onto his desk with impressive strength. You didn’t have time to ask if you should move the papers on his desk before his mouth crashed into yours. His lips were hot and dominating, overwhelming your senses. You barely had time to kiss him back before he was pulling away, attaching his lips to your neck and biting down, making you cry out. He sucked and bit every inch of your throat in a manner you knew would leave dark bruises the next day, undoubtedly an intentional choice on his part.
You felt your shirt being yanked up, Fëanor quickly pulling it over your head along and ripping your bra off then tossing both items somewhere behind him. His calloused hands eagerly grabbed your breasts, squeezing hard. You squirmed under his touch, wanting to get away from the harshness of it but also needing more somehow. Fëanor’s mouth assaulted your breasts, biting the soft flesh firmly before taking your nipple in his teeth and flicking the bud with his tongue.
“Oh, fuck.” You couldn’t help but moan, tilting your head back.
“You like this?” Fëanor teased, lifting his mouth from your breast momentarily before hovering over the other one. “You like it when I’m rough, treating you like a dirty little whore? Leaving marks all over your body so you know that you’re my property, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, sir!” You cried out as he sucked at your other breast. It was overwhelming, his hands were everywhere except where you needed them most.
As if he read your mind, Fëanor pulled away, ripping his shirt over his head to reveal the most sculpted abs you’d ever seen. The bastard stood there for a moment, proudly watching you admire his form. Gods above, you’d never be able to focus in class again after seeing his muscles.
He reached down and roughly tugged your skirt and panties down, exposing your glistening cunt. Fëanor plunged a finger into you without warning, pressing a thumb to your clit and making you see stars. His mouth found your neck again as you squirmed under his touch, a hand reaching around your back and pressing you into his frame.
“You’re a fucking mess,” He growled into your neck, adding in a second finger and stretching your hole. “All for me, isn’t that right? I’m going to break you, my dear. Break you into a thousand pieces and put you back together so I can do it all over again and make you mine.”
You whined, feeling your muscles clench around him as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. You were approaching your orgasm faster than you ever had in your life. “I’m close…” You mumbled through shallow breaths, legs beginning to twitch.
He smirked. “I know.” Was all he said before roughly pulling his fingers away, right before you could make the final stretch towards the edge.
“What the hell!” You exclaimed, angry. Before you could cuss him out, his hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed.
“What did I tell you about keeping that pretty mouth shut?” Fëanor growled. “I would threaten to stuff it with my cock again, but you’d probably enjoy that too much. Guess I’m just going to have to fuck you so hard you scream and lose your voice.”
He roughly turned you around, pushing you by your neck so you were stomach first down on the desk with your feet still on the floor. You breathed heavily, grasping the edge with your fingertips as Fëanor lined his cock up to your entrance. You forced your body to relax, knowing it was going to hurt at first.
His hands found your hips and he slammed into you, almost knocking the wind right out of your lungs. You barely had time to catch your breath and acknowledge the stinging stretch between your legs before he pulled out and did it again, setting a brutal pace. You began to scream, fully screaming in pleasure and pain as Fëanor pounded into you relentlessly. You couldn’t even think straight, all logical thoughts about there possibly being people in the hallway that could hear you as you cried out over and over again.
Fëanor’s grip on your hips was almost bone shattering, his thick cock slamming into your g-spot faster than anyone had ever fucked you. He was right, your entire body would be sore tomorrow. In fact, you’d be lucky if you were able to walk to class. Fëanor’s thrusts were so powerful, you were sure he was going to split you in half.
And you fucking loved it.
You loved being bent over your professor’s desk, unable to think about anything else aside from how hard he was fucking you. The male you had had verbal sparring matches with for weeks was taking his frustration out on you, and you loved it. You enjoyed being at his mercy, feeling things nobody else had been able to make you feel.
Fëanor grunted, reaching one hand down and rubbing your clit. “You cum when I say you cum, got it?”
You nodded, whimpering as you felt your body try and pick up where it left off. You begged it to keep your orgasm at bay, knowing Fëanor would be less than happy if you came without his permission. So you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to think about anything else.
He thrusted into you for what seemed like hours, to the point where your legs had gone almost numb. You were a sobbing mess, fighting to stop yourself from climaxing all over his cock. The papers on his desk were stained with your tears, and your determination to not beg him for anything snapped.
“Please let me cum.” You sobbed pathetically.
Fëanor only increased his pace on your clit, smirking as he pounded you. “Aw, are you crying again? Poor little thing is so desperate to cum for daddy, isn’t she?”
Daddy. Your brain went haywire. Normally, you were not into the whole daddy kink, but the way Fëanor said it changed something in you. You whined, nodding. At this point, you’d say whatever to get him to let you cum. “Please, daddy, I need to cum,” You cried, body shaking. “I’ll do anything you want, please just let me finish.”
Fëanor groaned behind you, his cock twitching inside of you, evidence of his pleasure with your response. “That was pathetic,” He grunted. “But I’ll let it slide. Cum for me, slut. Cum now.”
Your body let go before he finished his sentence, the dam that had been holding your orgasm back bursting, letting the climax wash over your body. You cried out, voice breaking with hoarseness as your legs twitched violently, your grip on the desk and Fëanor’s hand on your hip being the only thing keeping you from sliding onto the floor.
The world spun around you, and at one point you were pretty sure you lost consciousness. As you came down from your high, Fëanor moaned loudly, pulling out and stroking his cock while jutting his hips forward. Thick spurts of cum landed on your back mixing with the sheen of sweat already there. His loud groan echoed throughout the office as you panted, your entire body feeling both completely wrecked and on cloud nine at the same time.
You tried to speak, but no words came out. Your vocal cords were shot, jaw aching with every movement. You didn’t even hear Fëanor retreat, but he returned with a towel, gently wiping the seed off your skin. You wanted to thank him, but couldn’t. In fact, you weren’t sure if you could even move.
Fëanor chuckled, bundling up your clothes and setting them beside you. He placed a glass of water to your lips, tilting it back and letting you eagerly drink it up. “You’re excused from Thursday’s lesson,” He said smugly. “Only because I know you won’t be able to get out of bed to get to class. Let this be your lesson learned not to question me, or call me an arrogant prick. Got it?”
You nodded weakly, defenceless, and knowing your linguistics class with Dr. Fëanor would never be the same.
#amara's professor series#feanor#feanor x reader#feanor smut#feanorians#the silmarillion#the silmarillion x reader#tolkien#jrr tolkien#middle earth#lotr#smut
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Let Me Dance For You
Feanor x reader
Kinktober 2023: Thigh–Riding
A/N: I have successfully attempted to write a dom reader and for all characters, Feanor. I fought with my brain to keep on the dom track as best as I could, I may have slipped off a few times, but I'm trying my best.
Warnings: fem!reader, thigh-riding, dom! reader, sub! Feanor, bondage, use of a cock ring
Words: 2.5k
Synopsis: You decide to give Feanor a special dance performance which involves him being in restraints and you in control.
List of Requests
Sitting on your haunches, you gazed at the magnificent work of art displayed before you, resembling a gift wrapped in an oversized red bow. You clapped meticulously, the sparkles in your eager eyes reflecting your pride and the dedication you had poured into achieving your goal through hard work, albeit unconventional.
The image of your husband, bound to the headboard with red scarves, completely nude, his erect member leaking with precum, beads of sweat tracing their path down his muscular body, and a gag in place, had you squealing with delight. It was a minor miracle that you had managed to convince him to let you take control this one time, and you couldn’t help but wonder when you might have such an opportunity again. Given his pride, it must have been eating away at him to be rendered a submissive plaything, incapable of movement or speech.
Certainly, there would be some form of payback for this treasured moment, but you were determined to make it a memorable experience for both of you. While some might feel sorry for being punished in return after reducing him to a sweaty, trembling mess of pleasure, you relished the thought.
Crawling between his legs and matching his attire, your fingers glided up his muscular thighs, and you marvelled at the involuntary reactions they elicited. His physique was taut, glistening with sweat. You licked your lips and grinned at his responses, knowing that he couldn’t do anything to resist or threaten you in his current restrained state. Continuing your domination, you dragged your nails up his legs, relishing in the choked moans that escaped his gagged mouth. The cloth ball inside was soaked with his saliva from all the grunts and groans he had vowed not to make, presenting a sight to behold as you turned him into a confused, overwhelmed mess. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted you to end his torment by untying him or riding his throbbing member.
His abdominal muscles clenched as your fingers reached his pelvis, tapping the V–line cut that led to his swollen arousal. The subtle twitches and jerks it made as more precum flowed from the tip and cascaded down the reddened head made you savour the moment. It was empowering to have control, reducing the egotistical man to pleas, begs, and moans.
Biting your lower lip and locking eyes with his mismatched blue–green gaze, which now held tears and frustration, you couldn’t help but giggle. You gripped his erection firmly from the base, causing a muffled groan to reverberate through the room, sending shivers down your spine and moistening your entrance in anticipation. However, the main event would have to wait as you fastened a silver metal ring securely around the base of his member. The room echoed with a combination of choked groans, frantic foot movements from the added restraint, and the rhythmic knocking of the headboard.
With a sly grin, you cooed at him, all the while stroking his engorged cock, “You’re desperate to cum, aren’t you?” You couldn’t help but chuckle, finding the situation oddly amusing considering the power you held in your hands.
Yearning to hear his voice as he begged for release, you reached up with your other hand and removed the cloth from his mouth. His first words were far from pleading. “Keep this up, and you’ll regret ever asking for control. Don’t think I’ll forget everything you’ve done so far.”
“Oh, come on now! You act as if you don’t tease me mercilessly when you’re in charge—this is just payback!” you retorted with an apathetic tone, refusing to release your firm grip on his erection. Each squeeze you administered was met with a hiss and a sharp thud against the headboard as he struggled to maintain his composure, unwilling to reveal how much you were affecting him. Little did he know that the swollen tip of his member and its crimson hue betrayed his true reactions.
He continued to breathe heavily through flaring nostrils, sweat droplets trickling down his body and accumulating in the recesses of his inky hair and clavicles. The glistening sheen on his skin accentuated his sculpted physique, even his hair cascading over his shoulders adding to the allure. It became a battle between fixing your gaze upon him and persisting in your torturous ministrations. Ultimately, your own arousal and desire demanded your attention, pulling you out of the trance–like state and compelling you to attend to your own needs.
Removing your hand from his erection and rising to your knees, you shifted further up the bed until you were poised over his muscular thighs. Your legs deftly found their place on either side of his chiselled, iron–like muscles, and your exposed core hovered tantalizingly close to his throbbing member. The intricate contours and interwoven muscles on his legs seemed to stretch on endlessly. Your nails once again ventured to trace along the crevices and curves, marking an ‘X’ over the spot where you intended to ride to ecstasy.
“What are you doing?” His question shattered your focus, pulling you away from your admiration of his sculpted physique. You turned your head toward him with an irritated expression, grumbling and uttering incoherent words that sounded like a muttered incantation to silence him permanently for the entire session.
“What else does it look like I’m doing? Pursuing my pleasure and disregarding yours,” you nonchalantly replied, tossing your hair over your shoulder. The roll of your eyes emphasized that tonight was all about you and not him; the world didn’t revolve around Mr. Know–It–All. “Since you seem to enjoy making threats so much, here’s my threat to you: keep talking as if I’m not in control, and you won’t be allowed to cum.”
Returning your gaze to his thigh, you slowly spread your legs, lowering yourself bit by bit until a blissful moan escaped your lips as your core made contact with his muscles. A low hiss lingered in the background, blending with your soft whimpers. The stark contrast between the warmth of your desire and the coolness of his skin sent shivers down your spine. You eagerly anticipated rocking your hips and leaving your mark of arousal across his perfectly crafted leg, watching as you succumbed to insatiable pleasure, one more alluring part of him.
With anticipation coursing through your veins, you gripped his shoulder tightly, your nails leaving their mark on his flesh as if branding him as your own. As you started to move your hips, the trembling breath escaping your throat didn’t escape his attention. He observed, captivated, as you surrendered to the intoxicating throes of pleasure. Your head arched backwards, and your luscious locks cascaded down your spine, a sheen of sweat glistening on your radiant skin. Your parted lips released a chorus of breathy whimpers that reverberated within the room, each note a testament to your flourishing ecstasy. With each rhythmic roll of your hips, his arms quivered, and he revelled in the electrifying sensation of your swollen clit grinding sensuously against his taut thighs.
Every movement, every undulation of your body, painted an erotic masterpiece before his eyes. He was entranced by the exquisite dance of your pleasure, your vulnerability, and the power you exuded at that moment. The room seemed to pulse with the palpable energy of your shared desire, a symphony of passion building to a crescendo. The convergence of your desire and his restraint added a tantalizing edge to the sensual tableau playing out before him. It was as if time itself had stopped, leaving only the two of you ensnared in this intoxicating exchange of pleasure and submission. From his vantage point, he could see streaks of wetness, imagining it smeared all over his restrained member.
With each roll of your hips, your nails dug deeper into his shoulder, causing his muscles to tense beneath your touch. A gasp and a shiver escaped him simultaneously as your ministrations continued. All he could do was watch and growl under his breath at the injustice of the situation, reduced to being your submissive plaything. The thought gnawed at him, but he couldn’t use his hands to free himself from the torment you had ensnared him in. If only he could untie himself and seize you, offering himself for your pleasure in any way you desired. Yet, he knew you had a penchant for orchestrating things your way, taking absolute control, and savouring the devious tricks you had in store.
Lost in the euphoria of your pleasure, waves coursed through your body with each rhythmic movement of your hips, and you squealed in delight. The combination of power and pleasure surged through your mind, leaving you feeling weightless.
“Nggh, fuck! I should have done this a long time ago, huh?” you cried out, your back arching as pleasure built to insurmountable heights, choking you. Your body collapsed onto his, but your hips continued to rock feverishly, chasing after your peak.
Fortunate that his hands were restrained, given your position, he had half a mind to tear the headboard off and take you with a passion that would fold you into the mattress. However, he remained respectful despite the cock ring you had placed around the base of his erection, denying him release and compelling him to abide by your desires. He stared at your trembling figure from the corner of his eyes, a dark chuckle escaping his lips as he shifted and flexed his leg to brush against your clit. Your nails dug deeper into his shoulder blades, but he was relentless, resuming the action, bouncing and shaking his leg beneath your gyrating hips. The collision of these opposing motions sent your senses into overdrive.
“Does it feel good, darling?” Feanor taunted, his self–praise evident in the smugness of his voice as you surrendered to his body and struggled to match the pace he had set. “Don’t give up on me just yet; show me what you’re capable of. Ride me like you ride those stallions, love. Show me your control.” He licked and bit his lips, groaning as a surge of pleasure shot to his cock, only to be thwarted by his restraints.
Responding with a sigh to his unexpected words of encouragement, rather than a provocative retort, you lifted your upper body away from him and shifted your hands to grip the headboard for added stability. Your head tilted back as you gathered your strength and rode his thigh with the determination of a skilled equestrian, readily embracing every challenge he presented with the tremors and bounces of his leg. Your clit pressed fervently against the contours of his muscular form, spreading your arousal across his leg.
The smooth, frictionless surface allowed for an effortless ride as you bounced and gyrated in circular motions, ensuring that the coil of pleasure in your lower abdomen steadily intensified. In this moment, you were grateful for his supportive presence, finding it preferable to his usual bratty and talkative demeanour. Part of you even considered the prospect of gagging him once more, just to savour his reactions to your actions.
Casting a glance at his focused expression as he gazed at the juncture where your core met his thigh, leaving your essence behind, you chuckled. He seemed deeply engrossed in watching you pleasure yourself rather than begging for you to take his cock, or perhaps he had grasped the dynamics of the situation. If he proved to be a good submissive, you were inclined to reward him generously instead of administering punishment.
“You’re doing so well for me, Náro...” your voice faltered and quivered as a new wave of pleasure coursed through your body. Glancing down, you noticed his lips attached to your breast, fervently suckling on your nipples to derive pleasure for both of you. You were grateful for his unwavering support.
“Hmm...” You hummed and muttered something incoherent as his lips sensually worked your breast, the vibrations rippling through your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your hands couldn’t help but cradle his head, pressing him further into your chest to continue providing his supportive efforts while your hips moved vigorously against his thigh. The intense friction between your bodies created a symphony of squeaks from the bedframe, accompanying the passionate rhythm of your lovemaking.
Every touch ignited your body like an unquenchable flame, fuelled by the fire that resided deep within him. It burned brightly, surging through your veins and becoming the source of your pleasure. You couldn’t discern whether it coursed through your bond, adding intensity to your soul, or if his own natural body heat generated a warmth that pushed the boundaries of your ecstasy. Somewhere amidst the sensations, you felt your body engulfed in flames. His touch was the catalyst, propelling you past the point of no return, transforming you into a wild maiden riding her stallion for dear life.
The exact moment of this transformation eluded you; all you knew was that your body was no longer under your control. Something or someone had taken over as you rode with abandon. Your hips moved in every direction—rocking, bouncing, grinding—everything to chase your orgasm. The relentless slickness that coated his thigh, your muscles weary yet relentless against the unyielding texture, all led to this moment. The climax had finally arrived.
A loud gasp escaped your lips as you arched into him, the sound resonating through the dimly lit room. The scent of your release filled the air, enveloping your senses as you crumpled into a ball in his lap. Small tremors coursed through you as waves of ecstasy travelled through every vein, ensuring total bliss was attained. Above you, Feanor remained fastened to the headboard, his lips slightly glossy from all the attention he had lavished on your breasts, sporting a satisfied grin. Your blissed–out state was his ultimate reward, a testament to his prowess even when you played the dominant role.
Heaving and gazing at him with hazy eyes, you offered a soft, appreciative smile. Your hand reached out to caress his chest, silently conveying a “Well done.”
His eyes travelled from his chest to your face, his tone carrying an authoritative edge. “Aren’t you going to untie me now?” His chin jutted outwards, gesturing to the knots and the cock ring. Somewhere caught in your ecstasy, his cock had grown anxious and frustrated without attention and care; should a removal not be made, he’d combust then and there.
“Mmmh, I don’t want to. You look so enticing all tied up, being so compliant and helpful,” you protested, closing your eyes and feeling the temptation to take a nap right there with him in your current state of bliss. However, to your unexpected delight, the sound of something cracking abruptly snapped you out of your drowsy reverie, causing you to cast a cautious glare at Feanor.
The calm expression he wore was rather disconcerting as he effortlessly freed his hands from the restraints and leaned down to meet your surprised gaze. “I warned you not to overindulge in your control, mírë. Now, it’s my turn to take charge.”
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#mina_kinktober2023#silm smut#feanor smut#feanor x reader#feanor imagine#feanor scenario#feanor#silmarillion x reader#silmarillion imagine#silmarillion fic#silmarillion scenario#middle earth x reader#middle earth imagine#middle earth smut#middle earth fic#house of feanor#fëanor#fëanáro#feanorians#curufinwe#curufinwë#house of finwe#x reader smut#x reader insert#dom!reader#silmarillion#doodlepops writings ✨
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rare pair bingo
⸙ Prompt: Glory hole | Fëanor x Finarfin
⸙ Synopsis: Fëanor learns something new about Finarfin's hobbies - and himself.
⸙ Warnings: Smut, glory hole (yes, really ;)), oral sex, incest (half-brothers)
⸙ Triple drabble
It was improper for him to be dissatisfied when he already had a wonderful wife and many children.
And yet Fëanáro found that one ancient desire remained unfulfilled: The desire to be taken himself, to be used until he had been filled with another's seed time and time again, until he couldn't take it anymore.
It was improper for him to harbour such desires as the crown prince of the Noldor.
And yet Fëanáro continued to dream and to want.
For those like him who wished to indulge beneath the veil of anonymity, Irmo had built houses of pleasure of Lórien. Fëanáro had taken a liking to the one that had many small rooms, each with its own entrance and separated in the middle by a plain wall with a hole in it. His task was simple: To service the guests on the other side.
He loved it.
Today he was presented with a particularly lovely cock, big, well-shaped and proudly erect. Fëanáro took it in his mouth with utmost eagerness, thinking nothing of the golden curls at its base.
But then he heard a moan from the other side of the wall, a familiar voice. One he would recognise anywhere.
It was Arafinwë.
Fëanáro knew he should stop immediately. He knew he should be disgusted. Yet he couldn't stop sucking that wonderful, delicious cock, his lips and tongue silently begging for seed.
Another moan. Arafinwë sounded lovely like this. Fëanáro reached for his balls, heavy and tightening already, and began to massage them.
He was sucking off his half-brother and it was wrong, but it felt so good. Nay, the fact that it was forbidden turned him on even more. In that moment, he wanted this cock above all others.
When Arafinwë came in his mouth, Fëanáro smiled triumphantly.
Thanks for reading! ♡
#⊰❦⊱ incest#tpcrarepairbingo#feanor#feanaro#finarfin#arafinwe#feanor x finarfin#drabble#short#smut#silm smut#silmarillion#silm fanfic#silmarillion fanfiction#cílil writes#my writing#tw incest#cw incest
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I’m so excited requests are open! Can I get a Feanor x reader smut where she is his second wife in middle earth and Feanor is trying to knock her up. Like the elf has 7 sons he’s gotta have a HUGE breeding kink. Thanks!
Fill You Up
characters feanor x female reader
fandom tolkien- the silmarillion
a/n I hope you enjoy:)
warnings smut, 18+, some dom and sub themes, breeding kink, dirty talk
It was no lie Feanor wanted children from you — he always spoke about finishing inside you until he was sure you were pregnant — and give him an 8th child.
You didn't know how this other sons felt about — but he constantly reminded this your decision. His ons were fully grown— they didn’t need to step into these matters.
It was almost 4 months after your marrige — Feanor wouldn't hold himself back anymore.
He would see filled with his cum — heavy with his child — the sooner the better as you were only a mere human.
So that’s how Feanor's lips came to press against your neck— the minute you entered your shared chambers, your husband was on and against you.
You to exhale with a shaky breath
You squealed— and Feanor only chuckled with a predatory gaze.
Less than a second afterwards, he kept sending gentle shocks of pleasure— again and again —down your spine.
Your hands suddenly in his hair — when he planted wet kisses from your throat up towards your little ear and took in between his teeth.
The gentle shivers turned into vast sensitive need —and you pressed your body harder against him.
“oh little wife. . . — you and I are not leaving this room— not until my seed is fastened deep inside”
His hot breath fanned against your ear— Feanor ran his hand over your stomach— he was already imagining it round and healthy — carrying his child.
“Yes. . . Please.”
You were barely able to finish your words because Feanor lips quickly kissed you— hard and passionate.
Your elven wasted no time in removing all the —ridiculous amounts— of clothing you were wearing.
Feanor didn't wait to loosen the knot— he literally ripped the offending material of your body— until you in nothing but your silky underdress — that barely clung to your body.
He out a low predatory growl— taking you in and smirked when you're deciding if or not you should hide yourself.
But Feanor's hand quickly sneaked under it and bunched it up around your hips— before he decided to go higher and bunch it a little above you waist.
He ran this hands over your thighs— mewled under him.
He cupped you breast through the scarily thin material— Feanor tweaked your nipples in between his thumb and forefinger.
you moaned softly and your back arched to the touch.— you bit your lips.
He drove you insane.
Your legs quickly spread— so your husband could easily and comfortably fit in between them.
Feanor grabs your thighs — and quickly wrapz them around his waist. You whined at the lose — from the pleasurable touch to your hardened needy nipples.
“feanor, please.”
You mewled your husband’s name— begged when you felt his hardness against your mound.
Feanor led you to the bed — and he quickly pushed you down to it. He grabbed your jaw and kissed you senseless.
He took off your underdress in response— and pressed your chests together— he pushed a little bitnof his weight on you.
Your husband he kissed you again — your tongues danced and he grinded his hips against you.
The heavy weight of him spreading your awaiting folds apart and the tip bumping teasingly against your clit.
Only a slow rocking movement— oh he was teasing you.
He smirked as the desperate sound from you— then when you clung on his shoulder, to try and pull him closer, Feanor felt pride.
“I’ll fill you up— completely and fully— and nothing will escape this—. . . This is mine ”
He growled — while he cupped your pussy.
Your husband hovered over you— determined.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Yes— all yours!”
he leaned on one hand and the other stroked your cheek— admiringly.
“That's my little human. . .”
he proclaimed.
Feanor attacked your neck and shoulders — littering hickeys and marks ar his wake.l.
Then— he angled it your entrance— with a peak on your lips.
Then— without warning Feanor immediately pushes himself in– he groaned at the sound of you and how good you felt wrapped around him.
Feanor loved at the first taste of your warmth and tightness— you were so good for him — taking him so well.
at the stretch of your walls you gasped — then dug your nails into ellon’s back.
Feanor hand's tangled in your hair.
Feanor quickly rolls his hips— he already started at a fast pace made your eyes roll back into your head..
“that's it little wife — keep going. . .— you take me so well” he said.
Feanor watched your mouth fall open— a moan and and loud cry— when he circles your clit with his fingers.
Your hips roll with his — you try to keep up with the speed he was pushing in and out you— your shortened breaths mingle together.
You hold his shoulders for your dear life— when he starts pounding into you with a mad desire.
you were mesmerized — with by every inch of your beloved’s maddened feral lustful face.
Even more because you were the cause of it.
“Feanor!”
There was the high pitched warning — Feanor was waiting for— when your chest was rising and falling fast with every breath.
“Fill me, please.”
Every word that rolled from your tongue— and his tongue showed how truly how much you were utterly desperate to carry for him.
You were close to the edge of your release.
Feanor pulled you by your hair —and kissed your brutally and passionately.
The wave of pleasure drinking you both.
You tried to ride it out for as long as possible with his help.
you threw your head back and arched your back with a contented sigh
You let out a range of cries — Feanor railed into you faster— when with one final heavy thrust.
Your eyelids fluttered shut — he empties himself fully into your still pulsing hole– shooting his seed inside you with a low growl.
When hides his face in the crook of your neck— he bites the skin possessively and stays inside you for a while longer. .
The last thing you remember before blanking out the intense orgasm was Feanor— whispering of how he can’t wait see you carry a child in your womb— make you completely his.
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tara's taglist: @mslizziesblog @wandererindreams @spidergirla5
silm taglist: @doodle-pops
#feanor#the silmarillion#answered#tarawrites#silmarillion#tolkien elves#the silm#the silmarillion x reader#the silm smut#silmarillion x reader#the silm x reader#feanor smut#feanor x reader smut#silmarillion smut#feanor x reader
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( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ tolkien characters ⠀〳 ⠀reader ❜᭡ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
·⊰ 𝓼𝓶𝓾𝓽 : their preferences in bed ( minors dni ៸៸ sexual content ៸៸ italics = applies to them )
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤTHRANDUIL
fingering ៸៸ cunnilingus ៸៸ edging ៸៸ overstimulation ៸៸ biting/marking ៸៸ orgasm control ៸៸ degradation ៸៸ praise ៸៸ creampie ៸៸ erotic humiliation ៸៸ breath play ៸៸ choking ៸៸ impact play ៸៸ somnophilia ៸៸ bondage ៸៸ temperature play ៸៸ dacryphilia ៸៸ mirror play ៸៸ guided masturbation ៸៸ cockwarming ៸៸ toys ៸៸ agoraphilia ៸៸ thigh riding ៸៸ face sitting ៸៸ dry rutting ៸៸ teasing ៸៸ sensory deprivation ៸៸ muffling ៸៸ power play ៸៸ hair pulling
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤLEGOLAS
fingering ៸៸ cunnilingus ៸៸ edging ៸៸ overstimulation ៸៸ biting/marking ៸៸ orgasm control ៸៸ degradation ៸៸ praise ៸៸ creampie ៸៸ erotic humiliation ៸៸ breath play ៸៸ choking ៸៸ impact play ៸៸ somnophilia ៸៸ bondage ៸៸ temperature play ៸៸ dacryphilia ៸៸ mirror play ៸៸ guided masturbation ៸៸ cockwarming ៸៸ toys ៸៸ agoraphilia ៸៸៸៸ thigh riding ៸៸ face sitting ៸៸ dry rutting ៸៸ teasing ៸៸ sensory deprivation ៸៸ muffling ៸៸ power play ៸៸ hair pulling
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ MAIRON
fingering ៸៸ cunnilingus ៸៸ edging ៸៸ overstimulation ៸៸ biting/marking ៸៸ orgasm control ៸៸ degradation ៸៸ praise ៸៸ creampie ៸៸ erotic humiliation ៸៸ breath play ៸៸ choking ៸៸ impact play ៸៸ somnophilia ៸៸ bondage ៸៸ temperature play ៸៸ dacryphilia ៸៸ mirror play ៸៸ guided masturbation ៸៸ cockwarming ៸៸ toys ៸៸ agoraphilia ៸៸ thigh riding ៸៸ face sitting ៸៸ dry rutting ៸៸ teasing ៸៸ sensory deprivation ៸៸ muffling ៸៸ power play ៸៸ hair pulling
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ MELKOR
fingering ៸៸ cunnilingus ៸៸ edging ៸៸ overstimulation ៸៸ biting/marking ៸៸ orgasm control ៸៸ degradation ៸៸ praise ៸៸ creampie ៸៸ erotic humiliation ៸៸ breath play ៸៸ choking ៸៸ impact play ៸៸ somnophilia ៸៸ bondage ៸៸ temperature play ៸៸ dacryphilia ៸៸ mirror play ៸៸ guided masturbation ៸៸ cockwarming ៸៸ toys ៸៸ agoraphilia ៸៸ thigh riding ៸៸ face sitting ៸៸ dry rutting ៸៸ teasing ៸៸ sensory deprivation ៸៸ muffling ៸៸ power play ៸៸ hair pulling
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤMANWË
fingering ៸៸ cunnilingus ៸៸ edging ៸៸ overstimulation ៸៸ biting/marking ៸៸ orgasm control ៸៸ degradation ៸៸ praise ៸៸ creampie ៸៸ erotic humiliation ៸៸ breath play ៸៸ choking ៸៸ impact play ៸៸ somnophilia ៸៸ bondage ៸៸ temperature play ៸៸ dacryphilia ៸៸ mirror play ៸៸ guided masturbation ៸៸ cockwarming ៸៸ toys ៸៸ agoraphilia ៸៸ thigh riding ៸៸ face sitting ៸៸ dry rutting ៸៸ teasing ៸៸ sensory deprivation ៸៸ muffling ៸៸ power play ៸៸ hair pulling
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤIRMO
fingering ៸៸ cunnilingus ៸៸ edging ៸៸ overstimulation ៸៸ biting/marking ៸៸ orgasm control ៸៸ degradation ៸៸ praise ៸៸ creampie ៸៸ erotic humiliation ៸៸ breath play ៸៸ choking ៸៸ impact play ៸៸ somnophilia ៸៸ bondage ៸៸ temperature play ៸៸ dacryphilia ៸៸ mirror play ៸៸ guided masturbation ៸៸ cockwarming ៸៸ toys ៸៸ agoraphilia ៸៸ thigh riding ៸៸ face sitting ៸៸ dry rutting ៸៸ teasing ៸៸ sensory deprivation ៸៸ muffling ៸៸ power play ៸៸ hair pulling
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ NÁMO
fingering ៸៸ cunnilingus ៸៸ edging ៸៸ overstimulation ៸៸ biting/marking ៸៸ orgasm control ៸៸ degradation ៸៸ praise ៸៸ creampie ៸៸ erotic humiliation ៸៸ breath play ៸៸ choking ៸៸ impact play ៸៸ somnophilia ៸៸ bondage ៸៸ temperature play ៸៸ dacryphilia ៸៸ mirror play ៸៸ guided masturbation ៸៸ cockwarming ៸៸ toys ៸៸ agoraphilia ៸៸ thigh riding ៸៸ face sitting ៸៸ dry rutting ៸៸ teasing ៸៸ sensory deprivation ៸៸ muffling ៸៸ power play ៸៸ hair pulling
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ FËANOR
fingering ៸៸ cunnilingus ៸៸ edging ៸៸ overstimulation ៸៸ biting/marking ៸៸ orgasm control ៸៸ degradation ៸៸ praise ៸៸ creampie ៸៸ erotic humiliation ៸៸ breath play ៸៸ choking ៸៸ impact play ៸៸ somnophilia ៸៸ bondage ៸៸ temperature play ៸៸ dacryphilia ៸៸ mirror play ៸៸ guided masturbation ៸៸ cockwarming ៸៸ toys ៸៸ agoraphilia ៸៸ thigh riding ៸៸ face sitting ៸៸ dry rutting ៸៸ teasing ៸៸ sensory deprivation ៸៸ muffling ៸៸ power play ៸៸ hair pulling
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#— ꒰🌺꒱ 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐬 ៸៸ tolkien ❜‧₊#thranduil x reader#legolas x reader#mairon x reader#melkor x reader#manwe x reader#irmo x reader#namo x reader#feanor x reader#smut#smut tw#minors dni#the silmarillion#lotr#lord of the rings#tolkien#imagines#writing
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What’s the weirdest thing you have researched for the sake of a smut fic? Can be within the scope of Tolkien canon or on a topic completely outside it.
Thanks for the ask!
There might be some weirder stuff in older fics that I don't remember, but recently I spent an inordinate amount of time perusing texts on the Tengwar and linguistics before throwing up my hands and asking the more knowledgeable people in the Silmarillion Writers' Guild server for a linguistics question that Finrod could use to distract Feanor from catching two of his relatives in the act in Snakes and Ladders.
This is the passage:
“Then I just blurted: ‘Uncle!’ — he grimaced at that — ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you about a point in your recent lecture on the tehtar.’ ‘Yes?’ he said. ‘Er yes,’ I said, frantically trying to remember something from the talk. ‘Ah! Yes, well, as you know, I am fluent in Telerin,’ — he huffed and rolled his eyes at that — ‘and I was interested in your point about the roots of Quenya méla as it relates to Telerin māla.’ He raised his brows impatiently, but his eyes lit up. I think my youthful enthusiasm must have saved me from humiliation. ‘Well, my Telerin prince,’ he said, ‘it doesn’t,’ then he took me by the arm and indulged me with an hour lecture on the coalescing of vowels, which might have gone on until Laurelin’s flowering had not your mother tracked us down and dragged him away. But it was a small price to pay to keep him from coming upon my sister and her lover. Can you imagine!”
Only in Tolkien fic...
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"Now Fëanor’s heart was still bitter at his humiliation before Mandos"
... ok but what if he's into it
#just some thoughts#potential idea#feanor#fëanor#namo#námo#mandos#crack or smut?#we shall see#doomsdaddy namo my beloved
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Once upon a time (in the first age under the Sun, before the Battle of the Sudden flame, somewhere in the forests around Himlad), there was a hunter...and you, full of life, running through the forest, competing with each other.
You were breathless when you both stopped near nice, crystal-clear small lake, giggling and teasing your hubby, ruffling his silvery mane.
"Oy! Stop it, Y/n, or face the same fate!" he grinns devilishly at you.
"Aw, your hair needed to be rearanged...I had barely begun!" you mirrored his grin. Huan barked and whined, hopping around you, seeming to be eager to join that little playful fight between you two.
It didn't take long, before you ended up pinned to the ground, covered with velvety moss, panting, giggling. As you looked at your beloved, you saw hunger in his eyes that never failed to ignite your body and turn you on.
"Tyelko? Need...I need....baby. From you. Now..." you gulped, overwhealmed by the searing waves of lust, mixed with love and longing for him.
“Oh!” he purred, eyes already darkened and lips drawing closer to meet your neck, ready to nibble and leave hickeys everywhere. His grip tightened tenfold, pinning you to the ground while displacing his weight evenly to keep you in place. “I hope you know that you’re not leaving until we’re sure you’ve conceived.”
#♡{sweet.kisses} ~ {celegorm}#silm smut#celegorm x you#celegorm x y/n#celegorm imagine#celegorm#turcafinwe#tyelkormo#house of feanor#silm imagines#middle earth imagine
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