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doodle-pops · 9 days

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Modern AU: Sugar Daddy | My Sugar Daddy Loves Me

Headcanon: Maglor, Finrod, Ecthelion, Thingol, Elrond

Request: Hi Mina I hope you doing well could you please write a part 2 of your sugar daddy au? With Ecthelion, Maglor, Finrod, Elrond and Maeglin - Anon

A/N: Not gonna lie, I had a hard time envisioning Finrod as a sugar daddy since I link those who are Daddy/DILF material as a sugar daddy. He seemed so aloof as a sugar daddy and more like Friends with Benefits lol.

Warnings: a female-focused reader, smut, breeding/creampies

➽ Part 1 | Part 2

➽ Modern AU Series

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ. Maglor

➽ He’s a world-renowned pop star who is beloved by everyone, and you are his lovely darling he met during a backstage meet and greet when he slipped his number into your back pocket and whispered, ‘Call me.’

➽ Of course you called him because that’s how you receive gifts on your doorstep after every performance he has, world tours, or when his albums go platinum. You are the mysterious lover that his fans talk about because of paparazzi.

➽ For the most of your dynamic shared with him, you are kept a secret because, to him, it makes everything more thrilling. All those posts of him on vacation or tours with snips of your hands, legs or back, or the albums being written about you, make everything invigorating.

➽ On the days when he does return from touring, you are showered in affection abundantly. Necklaces and anklets with your name or his name, dozens of roses, lingerie, the latest fashion wear, a lump sum of money floating into your account and some days between the sheets.

➽ Plus, that pretty black credit card in your back pocket feels incredibly heavy with all the financial opportunities it’s allowing you to make. It doesn’t bother him with you swipe his card to make your purchases because he has lots of trust in you (please don’t rob him).

➽ The dynamic between you both differs from the others who would reward you for excelling at your job or studies. With Maglor, he’ll reward you for being silent as he takes you in the recording booth during breaks, support him during his concerts, and when he wins awards.

➽ Apart from dropping all the materialistic gifts on you, Maglor takes him time to worship you from head to toe. You are, after all, the inspiration behind his best-selling albums, and he has inserted your moans as background vocals on some of his songs.

➽ A passion lover you got as a sugar daddy with an oral fixation (best his mouth). He has to show you how talented those lips are; singing isn’t all that he can do with his tongue. Plus, he’s also a guitarist, so let the realisation sink in with those fingers.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ. Finrod

➽ Right off the bat, his type of sugar daddy isn’t for pleasure purposes and it’s the last reason why he was willing to care for you. He just wants someone to spoil and spend lots of time with because he’s rich and lonely in his mansion.

➽ Being spoilt is something you never have to question because he’s eager to be your sugar daddy even though he doesn’t consider himself as one. He’ll just tell you that he’s a good friend helping another friend out while handing you his unlimited credit card and a bunch of gifts.

➽ The adventurous type to call you up in the middle of the night and TELL you that he already booked you all a flight a trip to a tropical island for two weeks filled with various fun activities. The idea that you have classes or work tomorrow doesn’t sink in until you’re reminding him.

➽ It’s a frequent occurrence with him visiting/calling at early hours to check out new places in the city or for you to come over because his giant house is lonely. At some point, you are living in with him and all the maids have become familiar with you.

➽ If you’re a college student, you are funded, and yes, he does have an interest in your academics. However, he’s a lot more understanding if you fail a course because he’s the reason (making you miss classes with those trips); he might suggest dropping out and letting him permanently care for you because he can also get you a decent job without a degree.

➽ As I mentioned, pleasure isn’t something Finrod is interested in during the agreement. That’s something you would have to initiate one night as you’re relaxing in bed or returning from dinner. Take the lead and make him rethink his agreement to incorporate it often and scrap the ‘friends’ talk.

➽ He isn’t someone who becomes stressed, so if anything, you’re the one who’s getting the rough sex when you’re stressed. He is happy to help because if you’re keeping him company, he has to return the favour with an open mind. And trust me when I say, he’s good at what he does but acts casual as if he didn’t strip away your ability to walk.

➽ At least your time being his sugar baby will be fun and filled with excitement, something that outshines the finances and pleasure he blesses you with. His desire for companionship helps to make the dynamic between you two worthwhile.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ. Ecthelion

➽ Responsible for marketing some of the most valuable gemstones around the world; mostly invested in the diamond stock market. The first time you met him and stepped into his house, you noticed how much he was obsessed with the gemstone. You don’t complain because it’s what he gifts you whenever you perform well for him.

➽ He covers all your tuition expenses and living commodities and gives you one of his unlimited credit cards to shop for your heart's desires. In return, you must bring home good grades (he’ll tell you what’s good) and keep up your good reputation. He doesn’t want you to ever tarnish your reputation.

➽ Ecthelion is wealthy and educated, so he doesn’t mind getting involved and invested in your field of work or degree program. Depending on what it is, he’ll extend his knowledge, but if he doesn’t know, he’ll make attempts to get you good connections to boost your career.

➽ So long as you maintain your good grades and reputation, you’re in it for life. He’s taking you vacations to tropical islands, opera shows, shopping sprees, buying you the most expensive jewellery sets and clothes. You will be rocking the best designer clothes, Ecthelion isn’t standing for you wearing simple clothes.

➽ Of course, when you perform excellently for him, he will return the favour with more than just trips and money. He established in the beginning that he was seeking companionship during your deal, and as much as he wanted to keep things professional, something about the red lipstick you adore wearing sucked him in.

➽ Perhaps allowing you to give him a blowjob under the table in his office during a quick visit and leaving lipstick smeared all over his cock made him change his mind about keeping things professional. He was pleased when you agreed to make the relationship more intimate than hugs and kisses.

➽ He wastes no time whenever he’s stressed to relieve himself through you (with your consent). You’re his little stress reliever, and in return, Ecthelion doesn’t mind letting you use him to beat your stress. Sex is rough and steamy between you both. You are getting bent over countertops, work desk, pressed against the wall, he’s hungry beneath his professional demeanour.

➽ While he is a formal and sophisticated gentleman, and he would not touch you inappropriately in public, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t purchase you vibrator panties and plugs. You’re sitting beside him during a conference meeting and he’s causally playing with the speed on his phone, making you cum.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ. Thingol

➽ This sugar daddy is drifting over to the DILF side of things and do not be fooled by his silver hair, he isn’t old, he’s simply trendy and into the latest fashion styles. Giovani, Armani, Dior, Marco Polo, Ralph Lauren and the list goes on. Thingol is an old-money type of sugar daddy, and he adores showing off his wealth to you.

➽ To be honest, Thingol really want to be your sugar daddy because he saw you and liked you. At the time, you were a broke college student or young worker struggling in the business world who used the opportunity he was providing to build your career and status.

➽ Thingol doesn’t care about all that (at first), but he does ensure all your needs and desires are met. Tuitions paid, loans cleared, no negative credit score or empty bank account. You’re the rich student on campus or your job that everyone is jealous of because he makes sure the world knows you’re spoilt by rolling up in some custom Rolls Royce or Bently.

➽ Your unlimited credit cards weigh a ton in your pocket, but who cares because you’re rich and being pampered as you deserve? Of course, nothing in life comes for free and without payment. Thingol might carry some age because he has a fully grown child, but he isn’t old.

➽ He makes it clear that he would enjoy being intimate and seeking companionship in return for the wealth spent on you. Do you decline, of course not (you can’t, or you’ll end up poor again).

➽ Thingol is the definition of old is the new young. This man has the stamina to last for a lifetime and makes sure you’re always satisfied. He can be stingy and demand that you give him more attention (he’s a receiver more than a giver). You’ll have to catch him in the right mood for him to be on the giving end.

➽ But still, you can’t complain because you’re getting good dic—. Anyway speaking of spoiling you, he adores whenever you’re completely decked out in lingerie for him, i.e. just all the jewellery he bought for you and nothing else.

➽ He does have a slight breeding kink, but it isn’t intending to want children, so you have nothing to worry about. Thingol just enjoys the sight of prettying his sugar baby.

➽ Know that he’ll gift you some necklace or ring that informs everyone that you’re his and no one else’s. If you ask him if it means he’s proposing, he’ll reply with something along the lines of, “You’re already mine princess, wedding ring or not.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ. Elrond

➽ DILF number three and it makes perfect sense since he’s a descendant of many DILFs (Fingolfin, Turgon, Thingol). But Elrond doesn’t mind being someone’s sugar daddy, though his intentions are more for genuine purposes. If you want more, you’re gonna have to do all the work to show him that it’s more than paying your tuition and giving you money.

➽ Nevertheless, he covers all your expenses and demands that you perform excellently in your field of study or job. Elrond would even go out of his way to personally teach you (and no, I don’t mean bending you over the desk type of teaching) to ensure success is at your fingertips.

➽ This man is the most passionate and dedicated sugar daddy who cares about your well-being to a great extent. He’s well-rounded, so he’s fulfilling all your needs and wants, health, education, finances, basic commodities and living expenses. Please don’t disappoint him by failing your classes, he’s pulling all his money into the best tutors.

➽ In return for your devotion and passion for excellence, you are getting spoiled but not like the others. Elrond doesn’t mind giving you money or taking you on shopping sprees or trips around the world, he simply doesn’t want you dependent dependent on him to always provide since he’s building you up to become your own boss and financially secure.

➽ He’ll spoil, but not to that extent. Such a philosophical man, teaching all about life and how to be independent and headstrong.

➽ Now, as I’ve previously mentioned, if you want him to take you to bed, impressions are everything. Elrond’s the type to get impressed by your sense of elegance, sophistication and linguistics. Show him how skilled your tongue is, and he’ll be wanting more. No doubt he’s rewriting the contract in his mind.

➽ He has kids and knows how to ramp in between the sheets. In his state, he probably isn’t interested in more given his desire for companionship, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to be giving out creampies. The sight of it is his catalyst for wanting to give you more and keep you up all night.

➽ He’s a gentleman in the streets and will incapacitate you in the sheets. Tricks up his sleeves despite having an old fashion appeal about him. Give him a dance dressed in some pretty lingerie—nothing overly fancy, he likes elegance and simplicity—while he sips on whisky or brandy in a button-down shirt and his tie lazily discarded around his neck.

➽ Treat him well because running multiple companies is tiring, so relieve his stress while he relieves yours and you’ll be the happiest sugar baby ever.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @ladyenchanted @mcwentfandomtraveling @involuntaryspasms @aconstructofamind @addaigio

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autumnshighlady · 4 months

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Tolkien Masterlist

Feanor

Wildest Dreams (ft. Fingolfin)

A Lesson in Language

Maedhros

coming soon

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

SERIES

The Professor series [WIP]

completed: Nesta, Gavriel, Feanor

coming soon: Rowan, Eris, Dorian, Maedhros, Helion

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 5 months

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Day 19 | Prompt: Golden fruit

Pairing: Salmar x Maglor

Themes: NSFW | Smut-ish | Public fondling

Warnings: Heavy petting | Handjob as a reward.

Word count: 400+ words

Summary: Lessons take an interesting turn when Salmar gives Maglor instructions on playing the harp.

Also available on AO3

Rating:🔥 | Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume

"No, no, Káno. That is not how you strum the harp." Salmar retrieved the gilded instrument and laughed despite his growing frustration. "This is how you do it."

He made himself more comfortable on the grass and played a haunting air about a deep and abiding love that was found, and then carelessly lost. It was a theme of such indescribable beauty that it soon reduced Maglor to tears. When he stopped, nothing could be heard save for water bubbling in amber fountains and golden fruit swaying gently in a cooling wind.

"That was most wondrous, my lord." Maglor came closer, and held out his hand. Salmar returned the harp, but only after forming a most wicked idea. His student and companion had struggled to play for many a day now. Perhaps an incentive to do better was needed. "May I try again?"

Salmar agreed. Then he bided his time till the right moment presented itself. Maglor plucked at silver strings, unaware at first of the hand gliding up his thigh. Then warmth radiated through the silks of his robes. He opened his eyes, and shivered.

"My lord?"

"Do you want me to stop?"

Maglor licked his lips, his passions slowly rising when Salmar gave his thigh a gentle squeeze. Certain he was flushing, he said, "No. Never."

"Good." Salmar was pleased. His hand now slipped beneath the hem of Maglor's tunic, gentle but determined. "And so long as you play well, I will keep rewarding you. Carry on."

The elf continued even when a practiced hand moved between his thighs. Salmar gave another playful squeeze and smiled when the music eventually faltered, and he was rewarded with a moan that was as bewitching as his student’s singing.

"Start again," he commanded, and he drew back his hand.

Maglor gazed at his mentor, his startling azure eyes now dark with wild need. Salmar saw it, and thought no sight in all of Arda was more alluring.

"I will touch you," Salmar urged. "But as an enticement, nothing less than that. So if you want me to keep pleasuring you while you play...."

“I will play. I will play.” Maglor took to his instrument and sang again, greedy for more. Salmar waited and listened, then continued to indulge in his own way. His hand found its way back to that place between Maglor's thighs, and he groaned under his breath when he found the elf already stiff to his touch.

"You have been blessed in more ways than one," he admitted without shame. "And nothing pleases me more than knowing you are mine."

Maglor eagerly lapped up the praise. He did not waver either, no matter what his body demanded. Salmar took note of his composure and set himself to the task of loosening drawstrings and clasps. Maglor's breath did not hitch until Salmar took him into his hand.

"Continue playing," he insisted.

tags: @asianbutnotjapanese @cilil

#bookoflasttalesmonth #salmar #salmar imagine #salmar smut #maglor #maglor imagine #maglor smut #salmar x maglor #the book of lost tales #the valar #the ainur

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imakemywings · 7 months

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Maglor was not unaccustomed to such exits at such early hours of the morn. He may not have done so well on the open forest floor, but in the solid wood and stone of the halls of Menegroth, he was able to noiselessly pick his way out of the bedroom, collecting bits of clothing and jewelry as he went, until he could let himself into the hall. With a soft, smug exhale of relief, he hurried barefoot towards the entrance of the royal apartments, content with his easy escape.

That was, until he saw another hurrying towards that main entrance from the other side of the hall.

That figure froze at the same time Maglor did, and for an uncomfortable length of time, they gaped in silence. For a moment, Maglor tensed to run, for Maedhros’ expression was of a man contemplating a quick murder to silence a witness.

“Nelyo?” Maglor gasped.

“Shh!”

“What are you doing here?” Maglor whispered, slipping back into Quenya in his shock. Maedhros hesitated far too long for his usual responses.

“I was seeing the king’s loremaster about something,” he said, which made Maglor’s jaw drop even further.

“No you weren’t!” he exclaimed, stunned to have caught his adroit brother in a lie.

“And how would you know?” Maedhros demanded.

“Because I’ve just come from Daeron’s chambers!”

“I told you not to sleep with him! We are here for diplomatic—” Maglor was already shrugging.

“Forgive me, brother, but Daeron’s argument was far more convincing.” He flashed a toothy smile. “But what were you doing here? The princess is off visiting friends still.” Maedhros did not answer. Maglor’s eyes were growing wider still. He added: “You wore that same robe at dinner last night.” His hair was down, too.

“I do not have time for this conversation with you,” Maedhros said then, sweeping past him towards the door.

Maglor was a fool, but he was no idiot: he recognized a tactical retreat.

“Nelyo! Where were you!” he cried, spinning then at the sound of footsteps behind him and preparing to be chided for making a childish ruckus before the sun was fully above the horizon when he saw King Thingol coming down the hall towards him.

“Hm.” Thingol paused in time to observe the door swinging shut on Maedhros’ heel. Then, pressing something into the pile of clothes and jewels in Maglor’s stupefied arms, he said: “He left his cloak clasp.”

On AO3

#maglor #maedhros #daemags #thingol #maedhros x thingol #doriath summer fun #rocky writes #dorking around while waiting to be able to post my smut week pieces #the silmarillion #tolkien tag

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furious-haste-of-malice · 3 months

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❝ "Come, Mulkhêrînim, and do not be shy. The Elf-prince is yours to use tonight, for this is how the Lord rewards his loyal subjects." ❞

⊱ Prompt: Pillory/stocks, free use ⊱ Pairing: Númenórean cultists x Maglor, Mairon ⊱ Synopsis: Mairon captures Maglor and brings him to the Temple of Melkor as a gift to his loyal followers. ⊱ Featuring: The Cult of Melkor is also a deranged sex cult now because Mairon said so, references to past Angbang ⊱ Warnings: Non-con, ritualistic gang rape, sadism & voyeurism (on Mairon's part in particular), the prompts by themselves

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December; we're nearing the end (one more regular chapter that I have already written plus a bonus fic I'm currently working on).

Mulkhêrînim - (Adûnaic) - Children of Melkor. Thought it would be a lovely way for Mairon to address them like that as an ultimate affront against Eru. Translation by me with the help of this dictionary (because in the Tolkien fandom even the nasty porn needs linguistics!)

"I have a special gift for you today, oh faithful Mulkhêrînim."

His loyal cultists mumbled among themselves when Mairon presented them with the exquisite treat he had captured.

At first glance, it appeared to be yet another captive, like the innumerable amount he had caught in the service of his lord – a dark-haired man, albeit handsome by incarnate standards, was kneeling on the dais in front of the altar, his head and hands secured by a hastily erected pillory, naked save for a flimsy loin cloth.

The more perceptive among Mairon's followers, however, had already noticed what made this one special: The pair of pointed ears sticking out from the mess that was his hair, almost defiantly announcing his identity as one of Ilúvatar's immortal children.

"Is that an Elf?" one of the cultists gasped, pointing at the helpless prisoner.

"Indeed it is, very good," Mairon purred and stood next to the Elf in question to almost tenderly pull his hair out of the way to show them off. "But not any Elf; I have captured one of royal blood."

The whispering among his followers intensified, and he savoured the tension before the anxiously awaited revelation.

"Meet Prince Makalaurë, also known as Maglor, the last living son of Fëanor!"

Laughing and jeering erupted from the crowd, their faces changing from curious to ravenous within seconds. Maglor, however, remained quiet, merely pressing his lips together and hardening his gaze.

I suppose his dear brother told him what happens to those who talk back, Mairon thought with a pleased smirk.

"Our minstrel's lonely wanderings have finally come to an end, so that he may grace us with his presence instead," he declared with a grand gesture, smugness bleeding into his tone like black ink dripping into water.

"Will he be a sacrifice to the Lord?" a younger cultist asked.

Mairon laughed. Oh, Melkor would be delighted to witness this scene; he could practically hear his gleeful laughter echoing through the temple from beyond the circles of the world, could see his eyes gleaming with dark amusement, could feel his joy – but he swiftly tore himself away from his memories and imagination, lest he be distracted for too long.

"Perhaps he will be in time," he drawled, "though for now he shall serve you."

His mortal followers, while loyal and so very eager to attain the immortality he had promised, didn't seem to grasp the meaning of his words, looking up at him expectantly. None had the courage to ask. Mairon suppressed a sigh of exasperation and the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and stepped aside so they could properly admire Maglor's scantily clad form.

"Have you never dreamed of getting a taste of what we will conquer? Of enjoying the pleasures of immortal flesh?" He chuckled. "Such rare blood is too precious to spill with haste, would you not agree? After all..."

In one swift movement, Mairon raked his claw-like golden nails down Maglor's back, drawing blood and eliciting a piercing scream.

"He has such a beautiful voice, for which he is renowned to this day. What a waste it would be to not enjoy his illustrious company..."

Murmurs of agreement rose within the crowd, and a few cultists came closer, looking up at their high priest as they waited for permission. Mairon stepped back to make space for his followers and beckoned them with an elegant wave of his hands, causing the golden bangles on his arm to clink and tinkle.

"Come, Mulkhêrînim, and do not be shy. The Elf-prince is yours to use tonight, for this is how the Lord rewards his loyal subjects."

A heady mix of lust and greed filled the room, and he inhaled it eagerly, a warm shudder going through him. He was going to enjoy this spectacle greatly.

Had he caught any other Elf, he would have to be worried that their fëa would all too soon flee to Mandos, unable to endure such violation, but the Fëanorion's ill-fated oath would keep him chained to his hröa.

Robes billowing behind him as if moved by an unseen tempest of malice, Mairon strutted around the altar and leapt onto the lap of Melkor's statue with feline grace, taking a seat like a king would sit on a throne.

"Do you see that, precious? Almost like home," he whispered to the statue and pressed a reverent kiss onto the cold marble hand, exactly where his ring would have been.

Maglor didn't scream when his loin cloth was torn off him, nor when greedy hands explored his body and fondled him like a common whore. He didn't grace his captors with any pleas or protests. Only when one cultist knelt behind him and forced his cock inside, he finally cried out.

Mairon smiled. Awaken their lust, and they are reduced to mere animals, as you taught me yourself.

The scene unfolding in front of him was chaotic, erratic and filthy, just like Melkor would have loved it. The Man's coupling with their Elven captive was frenzied and hasty, gripping his hips with his knuckles white, chasing his pleasure. Maglor himself was soon silenced – in spite of his wonderful voice and the lovely sound of his screams – by another cultist forcing his mouth open to shove his cock down his throat.

"Let's see what else he can do with that talented tongue of his," another commented on the act, followed by raucous laughter.

Mairon considered chastising them for not appreciating the beauty of a voice trembling with pain and despair, but instead kept a serene expression as if it had been an amusing statement. He couldn't quite fault them for it; after all, mortals were ever so impatient, and their new toy had many of them to satisfy.

Whenever one finished inside of him, another would take their place. A young initiate was sent to retrieve some oil for additional lubrication and returned with a pitcher containing the very same sacred oil that was used in their ritual sacrifices – another thing too entertaining to be irked by, and thus Mairon remained silent, smiling and nodding along whenever one of his followers looked up at him for encouragement.

"Let us see if they can break him, precious," he whispered to the statue.

Maglor's head hung low whenever no one held it in place, though he had little room to move. The pillory kept him upright even as knees gave in, and seed had begun leaking out of him and down his thighs. Mairon was delighted to see droplets of red marring creamy white and caught the distinct scent of blood. Still, it didn't stop his followers from using their new toy like wild beasts mounting one another during mating season. Some also opted to help themselves before or after their turn, spilling onto whichever part of Maglor they could reach.

Mairon hadn't paid attention to the passage of time, but he estimated a few hours had passed when they were finally done with the Noldorin prince, readjusting their robes and withdrawing from him while glancing up at their master. Abandoning his comfortable seat on the statue – though most unwillingly – he stepped closer to survey the results.

Despite no longer being gagged, Maglor was eerily silent. His entire form was stained with viscous white, his face in particular, his lips were swollen, his legs trembling, his hole loose and leaking.

Mairon graced his followers with a bright, pleased smile as if they had done him a great kindness and placed his fingertips together.

"Well done, Mulkhêrînim. Our Lord shall look down upon you with benevolence and grant his favour to those who stand against his enemies."

Maglor let out a small snort, yet the spark of rebellion was short-lived when Mairon backhanded him across the face with graceful elegance that belied the force of his blow.

"Now take our guest to the King's dungeons and make accommodations worthy of a prince."

The sweet smile on his face then twisted, showing sharp teeth, and his voice darkened as he added, "And make sure he cannot escape, lest you wish to invoke our Lord's wrath."

Thanks for reading! ♡

#⊰✦⊱ non-con #mairon #sauron #maglor #makalaure #numenoreans #cult of melkor #silm smut #minors dni #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing #tw noncon #cw noncon #dead dove do not eat #TPCdeaddovedecember

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polutrope · 2 months

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Made For Her

f!Maedhros/f!Maglor pwp for @maedhrosmaglorweek, Day 1: Treelight 1.5k, Rated E

Maitimë’s body is the model of womanly beauty: she is all long curving lines, each joint blending seamlessly into the next; and where the lines break continuity — as at her fine collarbones, her proud cheekbones, the sharp line of her nose — these are as artfully placed cuts upon a gemstone.

Elsewhere her body swells — her breasts, her calves, her ass — and it is upon these features most eyes, following the cascade of her shining copper hair, linger.

Few venture to meet Maitimë’s bright grey eyes. She is told (and knows) she has the eyes of her father, twin white flames, and laughs when rumour comes to her that even the princes of Valmar who dwell at Varda’s feet are too afeard to look upon them long.

Maitimë does not mind. It tickles her, such admiration and awe, for no prince or lord will ever have her. “To none will the lofty heir of Curufinwë grant her love,” they murmur, and she plays the part they have given her.

There is only one, too close to be suspected, to whom she grants the enjoyment of her body.

Read the rest on AO3.

#maedhrosmaglorweek #day 1: treelight #maemags #maemag #nsft #f!maedhros/f!maglor #sapphictolkien #no plot none not even an ounce #shameless smut

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searchingforserendipity25 · 7 months

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Experimental Exchanges of Oral Traditions Among the Eldar | On Ao3.

Maglor/Daeron. Explicit fic. For Silm Smut Week @silmsmutweek, prompts from Day 3 and 4 (self & craft/lore, magical and supernatural elements, dom/sub, toys & props, shades of teacher/student).

Their first conversation- discussion, truly - happened very swiftly after meeting, when Daeron asked with his best sly courtesies if there were any texts written on the feats of the Noldor in Beleriand already, and Maglor had barely looked up from filling his brother's wine goblet with an absent-minded, "O, I am sure we will get to it in time; but I am not sure there is much use holding with written memory anymore."

Daeron had set down his own goblet a little more harshly than was polite. Matters had devolved considerably afterwards.

After their Flight - their Siege, their Exile - the Noldor had taken to reconsidering their relationship with material crafts and immaterial memory-keeping. This, Daeron gathered afterwards, varied greatly between those that had crossed the Helcaraxë and those that had taken to the sea on stolen ships.

Whether it was a deep commitment to vanguardist theory, the wary wisdom of a cavalry chieftain, or pure idleness, Maglor rarely cared to jot down anything of his works to paper. In his father’s Tengwar or Daeron’s Cirth, or the notation systems of his invention he found much to admire unstintingly; but he did not keep diligently to the rituals and methods of writing down his work, either.

He was all for living memory instead, a passionate teacher far more than a careful scribe. Teeth and tongue, memory and enchantment, these Maglor valued far above ink and parchment in his own art.

The smiling, arrogant warrior that had argued with Daeron on the merits of communal chants over carved walls had been ruined altogether. All the same, he was proven correct in one thing only. Maglor's bone-deep and infuriating certainty that he would live on to remember and keep remembered all the songs and lore of his people proved true at the last, and past the end of all tales he could claim a right to tell.

It was because of his dues owed to minstrelsy that he had not dashed himself against the shore, all the long years of Beleriand’s catastrophic sinking. He had clambered over many a sinking cliff instead - sang the salt-spray away from his path, raised himself up through the torment of the Starkindler's judgment whenever he started to sink into drowning.

Deliberate, he went up and onward, survived the end of his own lament, and in so doing made certain it would be kept alive always.

Daeron, however, had spent that time rather busier preserving the ancient waters and forests of the Eldar with enchantments of hiding and protection, and setting down the history and poetry and lore of the Sindar instead. Songs ought to be recorded, deeds fell and great, the voice of the sea put to carved bark before it faded. It was enough that the record existed, he felt; though at times he liked to bring them out and read them to the birds that came to sit as an attentive audience to the recitation, and sang the melodies entangled in the verses backs at him in their own chirping trills.

Daeron was not much impressed with tales kept ever-changing by painful fits of divine madness and punishment , nor the regret that kept Maglor from setting down the last edited version of his laments. Any aimless wandering could be a pilgrimage, if the walking-song was worth singing; but this windswept, sea-bound dedication to mourning rituals was wildly irregular, too.

Daeron, too, was fearful, of the finality of the finished epilogue, the lingering silence and written word. There was great terror to be faced once the ink with all its dear lost names was dried, and not a letter more could be changed nor altered.

That had been no reason not to invent the letters, and was now no reason not to write in it. To sing at all was a fearful vocation; that was why it had to be sang, that was what they were for.

And that was all the more cause for Maglor to follow his exalted example. Him alone was rightly named Daeron's match in the craft; and the evil of his deeds did not unmake his obligation or absolve him from his duties. To write did not make ancient lore less or more foolish, nor the past kinder; but he wrote so it might be hoarded. If that was greed, then Daeron was covetous indeed, but wise about it.

That was Daeron's covetous demand, when their paths crossed, and their conversation turned once more to familiar lines turned bitter with the alteration of the years.

He could speak with him of the futility of alphabets and records in isolation, the grief that absented itself from any audience and yet demanded to be retold. He could concede to sharing wine and gathered berries with Maglor, to walking in shared purpose for a time. If not, he would not have call him from the through the wrecked shores to the deep forests, and bedded him in the grass.

But he would not, Daeron told him very clearly, keep company to those terms of service to song as Maglor employed. He could not have him truly, and would not, until there was a thing finished and complete in itself to be had.

He had no patience left for anything less than a dedication to perfect records. Differences in stylistic approach and cultural memory be damned - he, too, was a high master of the craft, as high and higher, and remained so as much due to his song being sung and by the fact of his wisdom replicated and captured on wax and parchment, etched his own Cirth upon hollow trees and painting on the walls of dry caves. The alphabet he had designed was a matter of pride, still, and never more necessary, kept alive into perpetuity.

It was all very well for Maglor to argue, high-minded and eerie-eyed, that every living thing was a vessel to the memory of its wounds and loves, and the singer in exile the living vault of the dead - but he could not be permitted to think to live like this was to do true service to either the dead or the craft.

There were standards, even in exile. Lore and art were their own craft, with their own principles - what were minstrels for, if not to outlast the past and keep it alive in proper and decent fashion? Changing the length of mourning cantos and solemn ballads with every day's new and renewed grief was not tolerable minstrelsy.

That there was nothing decent at all in Maglor was not Daeron's concern, as long as he could still sing.

To sing alone was not enough. Maglor had forgotten it, set aside that vocation in preference of foul, foul works, but that did not mean that it had forgotten him in turn.

To be the best of singers one had to give one's over to be heard, written, read back to him, the principles applied to him still. The thankless sea did not count; and a song had to be heard, even if only by the birds, for it to be made true and final all the way through. Daeron meant to uphold these principles and see them upheld, even if discipline must be called for.

It was not justice, but justice was not his craft. Punishment, absolution, the fate of the many - these things he had only trusted to his ling and the stars. The stars had pronounced their sentence, and Maglor kept himself alive to suffer it; Daeron did not think to contest the matter.

Maglor thought him strange and wonderful for this hierarchy of concerns; but Daeron had never been prince nor warrior chieftain. He, at least, was under no false impression that his worth to the Music rested anywhere else than in preserving it.

Maglor raised up his scorched hands in wry defense and self-accusation: Daeron was not moved. Heavenly punishment was not an excuse to be considered, and if anything only a greater encouragement to perfect his dedication to the art.

"If you cannot decide upon it, nor write it yourself, I can do both with my own hands, " he said dismissively. The offer alone blanched Maglor's cheeks of all colour with shame; but Daeron had not much patience for that, either. "Though you will have to decide upon the final form of your works, and dictate them."

"Dictation alone will not suffice, for such a task," Maglor said, the deep, soft-edged timber of his voice turning softer and rougher. Sea-voiced, he could not hide the tide swell of his desire when he looked upon Daeron's righteous visage, the deep-rooted steadiness of his devotion to lore-craft. "Your demand is just and sensible. I am certain I can find a means to apply myself to the challenge of it at last - under the guidance of Daeron, among all singers the most masterful."

Daeron did agree. It was a sound notion: the means, he felt strongly, were justified altogether by the righteousness of the ends. His lady Lúthien, of whom he sang still with terrible fondness and terrible grief, would be well-pleased. She had always encouraged him to advance beyond the set order of things, to be ever inventive with his minstrel's art.

This work would be burned, afterwards. They had found an uneasy middle ground in that - a final version of Maglor's laments, set down in Daeron's script by Daeron's brush. And then it would be burned: for it had been the way among the the cavalry warriors of the Gap to burn their dead.

But first, the ink had to be crafted, and then ground down. The fur of the brushes hunted, treated, oiled and carefully sewn. The paper was thick, made to last, spread out in a scroll. Daeron had for an archive many dry and enchanted places; this would be but another bound manuscript, kept through the Ages undamaged.

At times he rested, and with the hand that did not hold the brush laid a grounding touch upon Maglor's head. He ran it through his loose curls, touched his cheeks to feel him working to keep Daeron's cock warm and full and well-tended.

Maglor looked at him desperately, flushed and stuffed. His fingers, clasped tame and terrible behind his back back, clenched convulsively at times; otherwise he was very careful to be still as Daeron worked, and eager to please him as he rested.

Silenced for once, he swallowed hungrily, drank deep of his taste, was eager to have his stifled sounds fucked quiet when Daeron found a moment to ease his eyes and indulge himself in grasping the hair at the back of his neck and forcing himself in deeper into the tight throat that held him.

"Enough," Daeron said gently, drawing away and stroking his taunt neck until the shuddering passed. He was not without pity; the lantern flickered wearily, and the joints of his fingers ached with a steady scrivener's pain. "Not long now to finish for tonight once this lay in complete."

Daeron brought the tip of the brush to Maglor's mouth, stroked his mouth idly as he wetted the tip in him. Ink-stained, he panted against Daeron's knee, chased after the touch when the brush passed, tender and slick as a kiss, over his lips.

"Daeron," he rasped, entreating. "It is not well done. I have forgotten, I am certain I did it better once. The meter is all wrong: and the version is not that which is ought to be-"

"It is as I set it down to be," Daeron said, and made it a final thing.

Maglor's protesting mouth swallowed in a gasp when Daeron pressed his fingers into its wet heat, smearing the ink on his tongue, easy and possessing where his cockhead had been.

He held himself uncaring of words spoken while at work, uninterested in red-rimmed glances and shaking whimpers; Maglor knew it well by now.

It inflamed him all the more, fed the rushing dizziness of his mind's work and his body's submission. A fine balance must be kept, to keep him grounded and attentive - the vast scope of his thoughts pliant to Daeron's grasping mind, all the disharmony and force of the voice of the sea studied at length, learned slowly, with science and care.

It inflamed Daeron no less, in truth. He grasped firmly at his hair, pressed back inside his yielding mind, rocked into his mouth, and Maglor sank into his thrust, took him with a moan, rocking on his knees to take him deeper before Daeron grounded him down with a stern hand.

Daeron waited a moment longer before looking into his eyes and heart. His blue-black mouth stretched obscenely around Daeron; but more obscene by far was the bright glint of his eyes, and the gratitude of his savage, aching spirit at being made bare and made tame.

Kneeling before him and under Daeron's high desk, Maglor gave himself over to translation in surrender. Laid out clear and plain as the paper and the ink, the wide expanse of his mind was singularly open and singularly focused on the words, the tempo, the transcribing of his compositions through hands not his own.

He waited until the slow, easy rhythm of thoughts and mouth had been found again. When Daeron picked up the brush again, Maglor applied himself likewise, tongue and memory and throat, all joined in purpose. They went at a good pace, all things considered; but Daeron made certain to be thorough with every letter, careful with the lines of his Cirth, for the due honor and dignity of the thing.

#daeron #maglor #silmsmutweek #silm smut #silm fic #maglor x daeron #my fics

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lovefairymina · 7 months

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So… Makalaurë, I’ve heard many rumours flying around saying that Fëanorians have insane levels of stamina in bed, but I’m not so sure… I might need to test it out for myself *smirks and trails a finger down his chest*

Snatching you by your waist and pinning you against the wall, his lips trailed down the shell of your ear until it met your lobe. He took the moment to press his body against yours, sandwiching you between him and the wall. “You should be careful of what you wish for, my songbird. One session is equivalent to rolling around for days in the sheets. I do hope you can match my stamina.”

#♡{sweet.kisses} ~ {maglor}#silm smut #silm imagines #maglor x you #maglor imagine #maglor x y/n #maglor #macalaure #makalaure #feanorians #middle earth imagine

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doodle-pops · 2 months

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Maglor NSFW Alphabet

Request: I'd like to request a SFW or NSFW alphabet for Maglor, please! - anon

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

If you desire a malewife, Maglor is the perfect person to have at your beck and call after you have both finished a tedious activity. Once you have both finished and no other round is being initiated, Maglor will first draw you closer to lie atop him or halfway. One hand rubs your back while the other is massaging the knots and cramps out of your thigh. His voice has returned to its normal octave capacity, becoming mellow and tender. He’ll ask if you demand any specific requirements to be met apart from his normal routine. Should you desire a meal, more massages or a bath? He isn’t going to sing any songs given his also tired state, if anything, pillow talks will transpire before either one of you falls asleep.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Maglor is great love for your neck, breasts and legs. As someone who adores the songs you make, his lips are always attached to your beautiful, biting and kissing. It’s as though he wants to devour the songs you make and feel them as they resonate. As for your legs, as one who has an oral fixation and enjoys spending hours between your legs, he has no issue with you wrapping them around his head. In fact, go right ahead and suffocate him, he finds the rush of pleasure exhilarating. The growing tightness of your thighs around his head signals to him that you are close, and the pleasure is phenomenal.

On himself, it’s self-explanatory that it’s his skilful fingers. As artfully he plucks his harp strings, he enjoys using them to pull all the songs he possibly can from you. His favourite hobby is spending time fingering you in a serene location, near a lake or in his music room.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He isn’t messy but he enjoys releasing on your body, preferably your breast or lower stomach whenever he doesn’t release inside. As he gets closer, he’ll breathlessly ask you where he should release and once you direct him, he’ll take his time and pull out before cumming on your skin, thighs or your breasts if you decided to treat him well. Káno understands that he’s under an oath and bringing children, your very own, into the world during such times is a trial. He wouldn’t take that risk to release his cum inside you all the time knowing that pregnancy can occur.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Anytime he has to masturbate, he steals your underwear and uses it to glide up and down his cock to aid him in getting off. He knows that if you ever caught him, he’d be embarrassed to be known as someone who steals your underwear. So, he waits until you’ve left the house to freely use them without any suspicion or being caught.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

As a performer and singer who writes his own songs and music, Maglor knows about writing erotica in many different forms, from vulgar to flowery languages. With that said, he is mentally aware of what must be done, where his hands and lips should go and so forth. However, he is also aware that every person is different, so the basic knowledge might not work on you; sensitivity would be different. This grants him the opportunity to explore and develop his confidence and experience with your body. He is semi-aware of the basics upon your first time and then graduates into a professional after learning your body.

F = Favourite positions (this goes without saying)

Missionary is his go-to and has the highest preference for all the different types of sessions he wishes to conduct. Whether it be rough, sentimental, your first time or last, he sticks to missionary as his number one position. Being able to get close and witness every micro-expression on your face to know whether he’s being too rough or he’s just enough, is a joy to experience. The sensation of having your bodies that close and being in your personal space will make love fill him with delight.

Cowgirl for when he’s in a cheeky or relaxing mood. Mostly on days when you two are basking in the calm ambience of nature or the tranquillity of the moment, he’ll suggest that you ride him. Of course, there are moments when you request to be in control, he’ll sit back and watch you do your thing. Regardless, he fancies the position since it surrounds a more peaceful ambience with him being cheeky and playful. He’ll pull you down for kisses, run his fingers across your skin, squeeze your thighs and so forth.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He is capable of expressing humour during the activity and seriousness when the moment calls for them. Humour would always be displayed on his cheeky and light-hearted days when both your spirits are high. Laughter during either of your slip-ups, maybe he was a bit clumsy, and you accidentally bumped heads; share a moment of laughter and enjoy the moment as it brings you closer and fills the intimacy with more pleasure and joy.

Maglor rarely displays his seriousness during an intimate moment, and it majorly occurs when you’ve been acting up and being all bratty or he’s stressed out and requires a route to blow his steam. In this case, laughter is off the book otherwise he’ll view that you aren’t taking his authority or stress seriously. During these moments, he is rougher, firmer and sharper with his thrusts. They are either calculated or random to dismiss all the tension he’s facing.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

As normally mentioned, elves don’t have bodily hair, so Káno is completely clean. This means the carpet doesn’t exist to match the drapes.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

The musician and performer of the family is the most romantic person of them all. Maglor will lay the rose petals out for you, the scented candles, wine and the music, all to set and keep the mood. But his most treasured form of romanticism is his words and voice during the build-up and moment. Soft kisses and caresses upon your kiss are accompanied by his flowery words and ocean voice. Fleeting touches that weigh a ton against your skin and words that shower you with an avalanche of unconditional devotion and appreciation.

His skin and lips will be attached to yours the entire time for missionary would be his preference on this occasion. He wants the eye contact to know that your stomach is performing somersaults and you’re weak in your knees. Show him how much he’s giving you through your eyes and he’ll reward you with praises and more.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I would consider him a bit low on the urge to masturbate before and after you entered his life. He isn’t sexually depraved and needy for your touch to constantly require your attention and care, nor is his appetite sky-high. However, when the urge kicks in, consider it a rare moment when you’ve been away from each other for a lengthy period and a thought of you ran across his mind. Maglor considers it wrong to pleasure himself without you being around due to his idea of intimacy being conducted between two individuals, but once he does get into the idea of pleasuring himself, it would be during your relationship. In his room, preferably in his own house and not surrounded by his nosy siblings, he’ll sit in a bath and relax his mind to images of you or your voice and work his way to his release.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Voice kink should not come as a surprise considering his beautiful voice. He loves nothing more than to put it to use when making you cum or riling your senses up. Light whispers against the shell of your ear while nibbling your lobe, whispering all the things he wishes to do to you and how he wants you to react for him. With the addition of his voice kink, he uses it for body worship to sing praises upon your magnificence and watch as you crumble under his gaze.

Bondage because he enjoys the moment when the rush of power gets to his head and you’re squirming around helplessly dependent on him. Just seeing you blindfolded with the beautiful ropes around your wrists and ankles, pinned to bed as he ghosts his lips across your body or as he drives his hips into you. All you’re able to do is squeal and cry out his name, begging for him to let you touch him.

Voyeurism is one kink he adores greatly, especially when he’s in a worshipping mood. He wants to look upon you as you learn to appreciate and love your body; grinning from ear to ear as your own touch brings you to great heights. His words will be in the mix telling you where to touch and how much pressure to add while he leisurely strums his harp as background music to set the mood. That, or he walked in on you touching yourself and decided to peep the show.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

In Valinor, he prefers the comfort and safety of his house. To him, his house is where all the intimacy and private affairs between couples occur, thus, he would like to keep it that way. You are very lucky IF you can convince him to have sex outside the house, perhaps on a picnic far away from civilisation and closer to the forest where it’s easier to conceal yourselves.

In Beleriand, it is always behind closed doors and only within the privacy of his premises. You aren’t getting him to sneak around outdoors or in the woods when orcs are lurking about and he’s literally the closest to Angband’s front door. For any romantic activity, he’ll ask you to politely conduct it behind closed doors since his entire life is on display for the world. At least allow his privacy to remain private.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Hearing you sing, moan or groan (even if it’s non-sexual). When you crane your neck and it elongates, he has the desire to sink his teeth and lips into your skin. Seeing hickeys from your previous session or inability to walk (he’ll joke about knowing how to treat your incapacitation). Wearing dresses with a sweetheart neckline accompanied by a necklace resting between your cleavage (for the females), fitted trousers that elongate your legs or his shirts (for both).

If in Valinor, he would become turned on whenever you played with children and cared for them.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No extreme BDSM, branding or causing you to bleed. Nothing extreme to cause pain and actual tears.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Maglor has an oral fixation. Let that settle in so you’ll know exactly the good damage he can do when he goes down on you. Once he starts, he chooses when he’s ready to stop, and it isn’t anytime soon. He has no issue with spending hours down below, whether you’re sitting on his face or he’s on his knees, Maglor is enjoying his favourite part of his day. It is a mixture of the moans you’re able to produce when he’s eating you out that gets him into a headspace, refusing him to give up and allow your reprieve.

As for receiving, he isn’t denying your request to return the pleasure and will sit back and let you do your thing. At most, his hands will gently cradle your head, fingers weaving through your hair while you’re between his legs. He doesn’t guide you or anything, instead, you are left to go at your own pace. Mind you, approaching his high, he gets twitchy, hence his grip on your hair becomes tighter.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Káno can be everything all at once in the same session and it will always blow your mind because in the end, you are usually breathless. The power he contains as son of Feanor is outstanding, though he may not display it in the manner of his other siblings. However, for most of Maglor’s sessions, he is slow and sensual. His desire to express the devotion and appreciation he holds for you every day is dire. Maglor wants to show you in every way he can, that he loves you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He is not subject to the topic at hand and welcomes the gesture when it arises, however, he does not engage in it often. Given the situation with the oath and war, his attention is at the forefront so thinking about sex and intimacy comes from your end. You are the one to approach and request for a quick moment before you depart and return to your dutiful duties. Quickies always happen in his studies and the majority of the time; this is where he hands over control and offers you the reigns. Maglor will sit back in his chair while you ride him till thy kingdom come.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

The biggest risk I see him willing to take is indulging in threesomes and exhibitionism. For threesomes, he’ll partner with certain individuals he’s close with and whom he can get along with easily, preferably his older brother, Maedhros or a close cousin, Fingon or Finrod. As for exhibitionism, it’s usually done out of claiming you as his. His hidden possessive nature may spring out all of a sudden and his desire to ensure that a family member witnesses the dominating aura of him as he makes you scream and wright in pleasure would ensure.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He doesn’t believe in the need to make love all night long to show you his devotion and passion. A simple three rounds, if you provoke him, he’ll give four for the entire night. This is as time passes and your relationship develops. In the earliest as newlyweds, you couldn’t keep your hands off each other and would spend nights into mornings making love like two horny birds. His stamina was otherworldly since you were discovering each other’s body and let’s also say that you were back in Valinor when the world was at peace, and he could spend forever in your arms.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Not a big fan when his voice, fingers, and mouth are considered your playthings. They do the job far better than any contraption created since nothing could replicate the texture and sensation of his touch on your skin. But let us say there were a few toys around. Maglor would relish in a vibrator for when he has you strapped to the bed.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This is the Kanafinwё Makalaurë, the most skilled and beautiful fair voice of all, who is mighty and the son of Mr Feener. He isn’t doing anything half-assed and if teasing ensures that his performance is sold and enjoyed, he’s teasing too until the very end. With his phenomenal strength, you WILL be pinned under his body as he drives into you with everything that he has, but always keeping you on the edge and begging for more. Edging is a kink of his I didn’t mention, so he’s going to constantly keep you on your toes, yearning. His favourite time to tease is whenever you’re being a brat. You give him all the excuses in the world to lay down his weapon.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Maglor is vocal, however he prefers to keep his notes on the low so yours can outshine his. Even when he is approaching his orgasm, he softly moans into your neck or ear. He is aware of how loud his voice can be, hence his name, so he does his best to keep it at bay, not wanting anyone to overhear (trust me, if he truly moaned, it would outshine yours and everyone would hear).

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Maglor once allowed you to be dominant which led him to being tied to the headboard and earning the same treatment he normally gives to you when he’s in a teasing mood. For the first time, he had never been so aroused at your confidence and power as you took control in a new light over his body. It’s not something that occurs very often because you have a tendency of bragging about it to him which leads to you being shut up…very quickly.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

As a son of Feanor, he has a nice-sized package going on in his pants. Not too big and not too small. It’s just the right amount of thickness, length and weight that it rests within your walls, it moulds your insides just right. However, I must say that he has a slight curve closer to the head which makes excellent use when aiming for your sweet spot right off the bat and he’s also a grower. Nevertheless, he knows how to put his dick to good use and make you experience the best time of your life.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

During his years in Valinor, it was midway. Two to three times a week and as newlyweds, it upscaled. However, as the years rolled on by and a couple of duties came in, it decreased to twice a month as Maglor always ensured in other ways that you never felt unloved.

In Beleriand, it plummeted drastically once war entered the picture. Sometimes for months into years you two don’t sleep together, but when you do after such period, you can bet that it’s going to be a long night of reuniting with one another.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Maglor is what I’d like to consider, a daydreamer and thinker in one, thus his mind is brimming with thoughts after he’s finished a session. Firstly, he’ll ensure that you’ve been taken care of, speak with you until you’ve fallen asleep and then lie awake thinking. It takes him a long time before he dozes off to wonderland even if you’re snuggled up beside him. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep, and you’ll meet him in the same position wide awake. The times when he does drift off, he becomes cuddly and chooses to become the little spoon.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @ladyenchanted @involuntaryspasms @aconstructofamind @addaigio

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last-capy-hupping · 2 years

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Chapter 28: One last hurrah before the theft of the ships…

#silmarillion #russingon #fingon #maedhros #fanfic #house of finwe #silm typical angst #sons of fëanor #maglor #irime lalwen #aredhel/celegorm #aredhel #smut #celegorm

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furious-haste-of-malice · 3 months

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Screw Yule

⃤ Prompt: Dark Gifts | Melkor x Maglor ⃤ Synopsis: After ages of wandering alone, Maglor is caught by the Enemy. ⃤ Warnings: Non-con, rough sex, Melkor's creepy obsession with Fëanor and his family ⃤ Oneshot (~1.3k) ⃤ AO3

AN: First one for Screw Yule, and I'm starting off with dead dove. Oh well. Hope you enjoy!

Melkor will be referred to as Morgoth because this is Maglor's POV.

Never had Maglor thought he would see him again, at least not until the very end.

For ages now had he wandered the shores of Middle-earth, singing of a world that was no more and of guilt that would never fade, not a single familiar soul in sight – they had long since left as well, he had heard it whispered in the waters.

Only he remained. And that dreadful truth had struck him with renewed vigour when the shadows had come upon him, reminiscent of those who had attacked Tilion many years ago: He was alone. There was no one he could call for help.

Maedhros' name died on his lips. Maglor's hand clutched a small harp, not a silver bow. His voice, mighty as it was, availed him not against this foe, greatest enemy of his kin.

He was thrown down into the sand, and something dark and heavy settled atop him, shadows coalescing into a humanoid shape now that he had been caught. This helplessness, this primal terror despite all bravery – this had to be what the Elves of Cuiviénen had felt.

Two eyes found his, shards of ice amidst creeping darkness, like eerie lights misleading travellers at night. A face became visible, one he believed to recognize from ages past, though it looked different from the mask of benevolence the Enemy had worn in Valinor. To Maglor it appeared handsome and repulsive at the same time, like the visage of one who had once possessed great beauty which had now become faded and foul.

"Hail Kanafinwë," the Vala greeted him in a mocking tone.

"Morgoth," Maglor spat, attempting – in vain – to push him off. "One would think you have better things to do than to pursue a lonely minstrel."

"Perhaps your voice is simply too sweet." Clawed hands grasped his jaw. "Though I shall not lie to you... your blood sings even more sweetly to me."

"Kill me then." Maglor thought of Maedhros again. Was this how it had felt, this sickening mixture of fear and certainty that this being, fallen yet still far mightier than even their father, was going to hurt him, to subject him to whatever cruel design his twisted mind had conjured.

"Kill you?" Morgoth appeared to contemplate the suggestion, then smiled. "Do you not think it would be a little rash to spill the last of Fëanáro's blood that remains in this world so soon after we meet again? Do you not think you should properly greet the mightiest of the Valar, perhaps sing a bit for me?"

"You have no need for minstrels."

"Maybe. But if you please me I shall bestow a gift upon you."

Laughing to himself, Morgoth tore Maglor's clothes from his body with a single swipe of his hand.

"You are not your father, but you do resemble him," he noted, running his fingers up and down his flanks as if he was examining some sort of strange specimen. "I shall content myself with you for now."

Maglor shivered. After witnessing the horrors of war and what had happened to Maedhros, he was not so naive as to be ignorant to Morgoth's twisted desires; yet he also knew the outcome was inevitable. He wasn't strong enough to fight a Vala and knew all would be in vain in the end, like Námo had warned them many years ago.

"Poor thing. It must have been ages since someone last touched you," Morgoth purred.

"Likewise," Maglor spat and was swiftly punished for his insolence with a slap across his face. Even as his head hit the sand below and darkness blanketed his vision for several seconds, he knew that this was far from the Vala's full strength – almost playful even.

Shadows engulfed his body, holding his arms in place, and his legs were pushed up against his chest. When his sight returned to him, Maglor was greeted with the frightening sight of a long, forked tongue licking his flaccid cock before making its way further down.

"N-no... don't-!" He had to force himself not to beg, remembering how brave Maedhros had been. No, he couldn't bring shame unto his brother's memory, even if –

Like a snake, the inhuman tongue violating his dignity slithered inside of him, and Maglor trembled in disgust, both at the act and the way his treacherous body took pleasure in it. Unfortunately, there was a certain truth to Morgoth's words: He indeed hadn't enjoyed the warmth and touch of a lover in many years. But he couldn't accept such contact from the being that had driven his entire family to madness and despair, was responsible for the deaths of so many of his people, had done terrible things to whoever he could get his hands on.

He also knew that the Vala wanted to hurt him; he hadn't even attempted to lie about it or deceive him.

And Morgoth was more than ready to do just that.

His tongue vanishing was the only warning Maglor received before something large and hard was unceremoniously forced inside him, splitting him open as if a massive spear penetrated his flesh. He heard a piercing scream, barely realising that it was his own voice, and weakly struggled against the hold of a creature much stronger and mightier than he.

"What a beautiful voice you have... for an Incarnate at least," Morgoth purred, and every syllable seemed to drip with mockery and pleasure alike. "Do continue with your lovely performance, mighty singer... I shall listen and enjoy myself."

His hips snapped forward, thrusting as deeply as he could, and he set a brutal, merciless rhythm that was devoid of either love or true passion, driven only by greed, malice and a desire to despoil and destroy.

Maglor could do nothing except accept his fate and let himself be violated by his kin's greatest enemy. Had he been an Elf like any other his fëa would have long since fled to Mandos, but the oath still lingered within his mind, keeping him bound to the world. And even as his stomach roiled with nausea and he gasped for breath, through some foul spell or trickery his body still felt pleasure, creeping and unwelcome, but undeniably there.

He sobbed, cursed, cried and screamed until his voice failed him, anything to keep himself from begging for mercy or saying anything that would later be twisted and used against him. Pain surged up his spine with every movement, and his passage had been stretched beyond its limit, muscles going limp as exhaustion settled within his bones.

The sensation of hot, sticky fluid flooding him like the waves Maglor had watched crashing on the shore for ages felt relieving, even though disgust gripped his very being, making him want to throw himself into the sea like he had done to the Silmaril. His own arousal was left unattended, and he didn't know whether it was punishment or perverse kindness – his pride and honour had thoroughly been destroyed, though he would cling to this one small thing like a drowning sailor holding on to a plank of his sunken ship.

Satisfied, Morgoth let go of him. For a moment, Maglor hoped – in vain though it was – that he would be left like this or that his body would perish after all, but one as doomed as he was had no such luck. His very fëa shuddered within its corporeal confines when the Vala's song rang out, and soon he felt his flesh repairing itself, like a needle stitching fabric back together.

"There," Morgoth said finally, pleased with himself. "Let it not be said that I don't have mercy."

But Maglor knew it was a lie. There was no remorse nor pity that could compel the Enemy to perform such an action – only the need to own him, to keep using him and toying with him, to satisfy his depraved desires for the Elf who had escaped him.

And neither his brothers nor his father could help him anymore.

Thanks for reading!

#⊰✦⊱ non-con #maglor #kanafinwe #makalaure #melkor #morgoth #melkor x maglor #cw noncon #tw noncon #dead dove do not eat #silm smut #minors dni #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing

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polutrope · 7 months

Note

9, 19, 20 for the smut asks!

Thank you for the ask!

9. How did you learn to write smut? Were there specific fics or authors that inspired you? Or novels/movies/other texts?

Three ways I can think of!

Reading, reading, reading! I have legit copy-pasted smutfics I really liked into a Google doc to pick apart why. I have done this with one of yours ajfkhdjk.

Getting betas and concrit from a range of people on the all-important question: Is This Hot?

Reading articles with tips on smut writing, articles on sexual health websites, sexual health forums (esp for firsthand testimonials on the gay sex), and sometimes even dry-ass (lol) articles on anatomy.

19. Share a favorite passage from one of your smut fics.

Below the cut time!

I find the juxtaposition of humour and smut to be an absolute sensory delight. The whole Elwing/Maglor fucking scene from Everlasting Darkness is so hot AND funny to me. Uhh this was hard to cut down, I am sorry it's long.

"Aah, Elwing!” he cried, watching her swollen breasts bounce with the motion of her body. “Aahh, you are stunning.” “Get up,” she demanded, and snapped her neck down to snarl at him. “Get up and take me on your lap.” Maglor sprang up to a seated position, holding her firmly against him. He crossed his legs and she wrapped hers around him. “Mmmph,” she moaned, grabbing his face between her hands and kissing him hard. She rolled her hips and seated him deep inside her, even as her tongue, thick and eager, sought out his. Her back arched, pushing her breasts closer so that the hard peaks of her nipples chafed against him. “Fuck me,” she breathed against his lips and took the lower one between her teeth. “Show me how good you can be, Maglor. Show me how much you regret everything you’ve ever done.” He growled with delight and grabbed her hips in both hands, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her buttocks, and lifted her over his lap. Up and down, up and down, urged on by the expression of pure bliss that overtook her. His arms burned with the effort, but she began to shout in short, sharp bursts, so he uncrossed his feet and dug his heels into the bed, lifting her harder and faster. Oh that he could release his own pent need! He was so swollen, so hard, but he was determined to give her the best she’d ever had. She hooked an arm around his shoulders, bringing her face close and panting hotly on his lips. Her pale irises were nearly swallowed by the blackness of her pupils. “Make me come,” she said. “Yes,” said Maglor, “yes, Elwing, starlight, glittering, I will make you come again and again and again, for every time I ever wronged you or your–” “Shut up and fuck me,” said Elwing. She robbed him of any possibility of defying her first command by smothering him in a deep and searching kiss, biting and sucking at his lips. Her nails clung to his back like talons. He bucked beneath her once, twice, thrice, and moved a hand from her hips to grope and pinch at one nipple and then the other. A pulse of wetness spilt around his shaft, and she shuddered and clenched down around him. She tore her mouth from his and screamed, and bucked, and screamed again. With skilled hands skittering over her body, he coaxed higher and wilder notes from her until, at last, she collapsed against his shoulder.

20. Share a summary of, or excerpt from, an unpublished smut fic.

This is Amarie and Maglor's Spouse making fun of their fiances fucking, while fucking. (Oloste is a trans woman).

“I will play music upon your cock, Ingo.” Oloste tickled the front of Amarie’s braies. “Oh Cáno, please,” she switched into the voice of Findaráto, “play me, play me, play me! Make a symphony of my pleasure.” “He would not say that,” Amarie protested meekly, rolling into Oloste’s hand. “Mm, perhaps not.” Oloste nuzzled Amarie’s neck, raising bumps over her skin with the scrape of her teeth. “But he would think it.” Amarie’s mouth was split open, half-gasping, half-laughing, as Oloste hoisted her hips up onto the dresser. The Noldo was tall — taller than Macalaurë, and practically towering over Amarie’s petite frame. But with Amarie positioned on the furniture like this, they could see eye-to-eye, and meet hip-to-hip. Oloste ground her pelvis between Amarie’s thighs. Amarie gasped. She could feel the pulse of the other woman’s arousal, growing harder against her.

#asks #smut asks #elwing x maglor #amarie x maglor's wife #jouissants

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