#turgon smut

[doodle-pops]

Dusk Till Dawn

Turgon x reader

Kinktober 2023: Squirting

A/N: My first time writing a single piece for Turgon and I enjoyed every second of it :)

Warnings: fem!reader, squirting, a slight overstimulation, Turgon being a tease and letting loose, dom!Turgon, a bit of power play, marathon sex

Words: 3.3k

Synopsis: Your King learns of your unique ability and makes use of it to pleasure himself all night.

List of Requests

“What’s the matter? Tired already?” His voice sounded mocking, and the uncommon nature of the King, as he stood at the end of the bed with an unphased and energetic expression.

How had you been going at it? Minutes that turned into hours that stretched into an eternity. You’d been tossed about the bed into complex positions to suit your King’s insatiable pleasure, a desire he kept sedated and suppressed out of fear and disgust. Now, he towered like an eternal being, body fit and filled with vigour for days to satisfy his hunger. The wickedly sinful lopsided smirk he gazed upon you with as his right hand roamed his body, slipping lower to grip his erect cock, stirred your rearranged insides. You could feel the tingling sensation building; your legs reacted, shutting themselves. His eyes didn’t miss the gesture, knowing it was the result of his undeniable wicked charm.

Panting the more you gazed upon his body, ripples of muscles just waiting to crush you under its weight, flexed and shifted for you to admire. Your eyes roamed from his pensive stare to his pectorals to his abdomen, all the way past his cock to his thighs. Those were the same muscles you adored whenever he trained in the early morning, now mocking you in delight of wanting more. It felt great to be pressed into the mattress by the giant stoic King; had you known there was the possibility he contained a loose bone, matters would have been enacted earlier instead of the tumultuous situation.

“My King…forgive me, but I was merely astonished by your raw power and strength. I require a moment to breathe,” you laboured, chest rapidly embarking on a journey to recover your momentum.

Instead of feeling sympathy on behalf of your problem, Turgon breathlessly grinned and hung his head to snicker. He warned you that this could possibly end wrong given his current disposition of not being enticed in years, and you informed him of your manageable abilities. Yet here you were, begging for resuscitation. Taking a step closer, knee touching the bedframe, his hand reached out to grip your thighs and pull you down. His body easily coveted your tiny figure with the devilish gleam in his eyes; who was this person? “Your expressions humour me milady. You would never expect a reserved person like me to have a display and appetite like this.”

Closing the gap by pressing his body against yours, his hands reached for you and intertwined them above your head. Without hesitation, his lips crashed against yours for another mouthful of air, swarming butterflies in your core. Your whines and moans were devoured effortlessly by his tongue the deeper he pressed on while your arousal slowly flowed out your cunt, adding to the stains already left on his cock. The friction from his erection rubbing against your fold accompanied by the waltz of your tongues left you shivering and covered in goosebumps. Each swirl of his tongue in your cavern left you panting and grinding into him aggressively.

Your legs, despite their soreness, wrapped around his slender waist and hooked their ankles to lock him in place. What an unorthodox contradiction you were exhibiting—it showed how much you craved him despite your mind pushing against the lethargy. Your body was your greatest traitor, and it did not please your mind knowing that Turgon manipulated its desires into feeding his salacious prowess appetite. His laughter echoed through the kiss and settled in the depths of your mind, melting the very fibre of your dignity and casting an enchantment. His sorcery was unmatched the more his tongue wrapped around yours and pulled sighs and indescribable moans out of your throat.

The yearning sensation grew when his grip around your wrist tightened and pressed greatly into the mattress. Now you understood what a warrior's grip felt like and meant. The deadliness and precision of his hands as they held you secure and firmly left you enjoying the pleasures of his hands. He was eating your lips and his body moved in great seduction. Grinding and gyrating against you in a mating ritual dance to hypnotize your body, soul and mind; to give your all and allow him to have his way.

Growing breathless as your kiss escalated, he broke it to stare with hazy turquoise eyes and reddened lips. “You told me you wanted this from the very start; can you handle the rest?” he whispered sincerely as he bit his lip.

Finding it impossible to reply as his hips slowly ground his cock through your folds, you choked on air, basking in the pulsation that developed from the motion. The little heartbeat in your cunt produced an alluring rhythm, preventing his erection from slowing its pacing, urging it to continue. Turgon was conscious of his actions, he bathed in your pheromones and body’s desire to satisfy the depraved beast. It was years since he had the bliss of indulging in pleasure in the highest form, and when you offered yourself to him so sweetly like a sacrifice, how could he refuse.

Releasing his left hand from your wrist, his fingers ghosted over your sweaty skin—dancing and adding to the sensations—to grip his cock and align it with your entrance. No time was wasted after seeing your response; Turgon slipped in to relish in the temporary absence of your warmth. His body crumbled momentarily, dropping more weight and immobilising you completely. The shudders of his pleasure rippled violently throughout his body, heightening all your senses and pushing you to the edge.

The very weight of his cock resettled within your heat, surrounded by the warmth and softness of your gummy walls pulsating and massaging his cock had his hips gyrating against yours. It had only been six minutes since he had returned to your heavenly temple, and it felt like a lifetime; your walls contracted to adjust to the sheer thickness he was endowed and Turgon swore to the heavens that it felt like the first entry. “It doesn’t matter how many times I have you tonight; you’ll always squeeze me so tightly,” his voice was raspy and stuffy as he struggled to focus.

The weight of him once more filled you to the brim; you should know that a King as regal and elegant as him would no doubt carry proportions to display his sophistication. Where he lacked in grith, he fulfilled in length and weight, and that one single vein that ran alongside his length. A hollow groan escaped his throat as your warmth enveloped him like a cocoon, swaddling him in a blanket.

Look up, your vision was blurred by the dark locks of his head buried in the crook of your neck. The warmth of his breath as he panted and slowly made the first move to pull out, produced ripples of goosebumps across your body. Your free hand shot out to dig its nails into his back while your body arched into his. The delicious friction of your nipples gliding across his sweaty chest, and the grip his hands fought to hold on your thigh sent shivers down your spine. Turgon had no time to build any momentum and went straight for his target, to get you incapacitated before the night was over.

Straightening his posture and rising from your body, you had a curt moment to breathe before your body was being manhandled and dragged further down the bed to meet the edge. Tossing your legs haphazardly over his shoulder, one hand rested on your thigh while the other released your hand and rubbed at your clit effortlessly. The slick sounds of sweaty skin slapping against each other reverberated off the walls of his royal chamber alongside his grunts and groans. You watched as he majestically stretched his neck backwards to present his elongated, swan-like throat to moan. The way his dark strands fell over his shoulders and cascaded down his back was meticulously thought out; he knew what he was doing with every action of his, and it was astonishing to see him so relaxed.

Struggling to keep up and fighting to swallow the whiny moaned as his hips continued to drive his cock deeper, your hands came down to grip his wrist for stability. You could feel the pressure easily building as his thrusts grew with expertise and sin. Toes curling and eyes rolling, Turgon had you in an ensnared and eating out of the palms of his hands. The way his thumb would thoroughly rub circles on your clit, meeting the rolls of his hips that caused his tip to forever brush against your sweet spot; you were close to paradise.

“I can feel something coming love. Are you giving it to me like you promised?” he asked, lips running across your chest before latching to your left nipple.

Nodding and whining some incomprehensible response because the pressure was building at insurmountable heights, your grips around his wrists tightened synchronically with your walls. The loud hiss escaping his lips as he felt your gummy walls clamping down on his cock forced his hips to stutter before regaining their momentum. He laughed into your skin and continued to suckle your breast, switching from left to right.

“T–Turukáno… Please, My King—oh Eru!” you wailed into the air, eyes shut and body convulsing as the pressure snapped. You released; you came.

Sensing the insurmountable build-up of pressure pushing against his cock and movements, he slowed his thrusts and was met with the surprise of a lifetime. Caught in between watching you spasm and enjoying the liquid expelling from your cunt, Turgon pulled away from your breast to cast sparkled turquoise eyes at your orgasm. He didn’t stop, only slowing down to ease your sensitivity and observed the volume being expelled, a dazzling smile struck him. With a bite to his bottom lip followed by a lick, his thumb returned to your clit without hesitation and regained a languorous rhythm.

Turning his thrusts at snail’s pace at first, he arched over your body and hovered his lips above yours. “My, my, my. Is this why you didn’t want to continue in the first place darling?” his whisper was enchanting, prompting you to peek at him through slithered lids. Your chest heaved laboriously as you fought to catch your breath and maintain a focused gaze on him. The urge to roll your eyes again was beckoning from his torturous actions was dire.

Not a soul would suspect their King having qualities to classify him as villainous, but physical intimacies always brought out another side to people. As timid and skittish as he appeared, the key factor was the blood of Finwe coursing through his veins. The hunger and passion to perform like his life was dependent on it was crucial. “N–Not at all my King, never!” Your voice was faint and softer with a soreness lingering; courtesy of all the screaming he had you performing earlier.

“Really? Then you will oblige should I desire another, and another, and more…” He brushed yours before he took your bottom lips into his mouth and nibbled on it. The serenity of the lustful aura he released had a chokehold placed on your fuzzy brain; you couldn’t tell up from down, left from right. If your King said to be his mistress, wife or anything else, you’d happily oblige without insurgency.

Small trickles of your release flowed out and soaked his entire length as its pace picked up. Your legs dangled over his shoulder and your body perfectly pressed you into the mattress. All the rings of cream you left on him earlier disappeared as he was cleansed by the essences you withheld. As his pace doubled and tripled, the obscene slapping of sweaty and wet skin against each other reverberated throughout the room. Loud gasps and small chuckles as his hand slipped while gripping the back of your thigh followed. You were folded in half while your feeble attempts at gripping his thighs to slow him down were futile. A roll of his hips and your moans were stuck in your throat.

“Fighting me now, hmm? Ngh…don’t want to serve your King and give me what I desire?” he tantalisingly whispered now that his lips were ghosting the shell of your ear. “You promised to satisfy me all night; why are you running?”

Trembling in his hold as he pounded into you, the force creating creaks in the bedframe, you struggled to shake your head at him as tears pooled and cascaded down your cheeks. The shakiness in your breathing as your body moved up and down the bed from his powerful thrusts, knocked all the wind out of your lungs. He was rattling your skeleton and you could feel it jiggling inside.

As the temperature of the room rose, so did the heat in your breaths and bodies. He felt uncomfortably hot as his skin was stuck to yours; sweat dripping down his muscles and rolling over the curves as his body clung to yours. Chest to chest, his was rubbing against your nipples creating a luscious friction that synchronically fell into a rhythm with his thumb drawing circles on your clit. If your head wasn’t spinning then, it most certainly was now. “Oh Eru…hmm, fuck! So good, so good, fuck!” you screeched into the heated air, nails digging into his thick, muscular thighs as his cock drove deeper hitting your sweet spot.

You couldn’t begin to compare how artfully magnificent his thrusts were. With each sinful roll of his hips, you felt like a story was being told; one of lust and desire, another one of loneliness and a yearning for companionship and one of unfulfilled desires treated shamefully. You knew of his loneliness after the passing of his wife, all his frustration pent up without an escape. He was a like bubbling pot with a sealed lid, waiting to explode. It was safe to say, you considered yourself lucky to catch his eyes to relieve his sexual tendencies and he was living up to all your fantasies and more. The King of your city had you sprawled out on his bed with your legs dangling over his shoulder while plunging his cock into your cunt for his satisfaction. You were a gift in his eyes, and he would choose no other to be with at that moment.

Shutting your eyes to relish at the moment properly, a yelp slipped out when he pressed more of his weight onto you, leaving you immobilised, thoroughly. Dropping your hands from his thighs, they reached for the bedsheets, not caring if you tore them apart as he battered your insides. His vigorous thrusting left your ass reddened from the weighted impact with every collision. In addition, his heavenly grunts and moans in your ear were a melody crafted by the Gods, it made your essence trickle from your cunt. “Your cunt sounds so sweet, music to my ears,” he cooed, “but I want to hear it squirting for me. Can you give me another release love? I know you can.”

Whining to look up at his face as he pulled back to hover, you could barely get a syllable out. A hand left your thigh and slithered up your torso, stopping to grope your breast and tweak your nipples before arriving at your face. He wasted no time cupping your chin and forcing you to look at his turquoise eyes. “Is my Lady going to cum for her King? Are you going to give it to me…” His eyes bore holes into yours, and his sinister smirk wasn’t helping as your walls began contracting and the pulsation grew in tempo.

You could feel your heart beating in the core of your cunt, right where his tip met your sweet spot. All the butterflies that swarmed your stomach left and travelled to your cunt to meet your heartbeat and increased the sensations. The widening of your eyes as your breathing shortened and released in small intervals had your muscles clenching around his cock tighter. The choked sob and stutter in his hips were no escape to cease performing, for he tunnelled through your gummy walls and left them battered. His goal: rearrange your insides and get you to squirt now that he knew it was possible.

“Tu–Tur–…fuck! I can feel it, it’s there…ngghh!” you wailed. Your nails had tightened their grip on the luxurious fabric and tugged with aggression as the pressure built with nowhere left to run.

“That’s it, good girl, just like that,’ he praised as the motion of his thumb steadied and he felt a force opposing the thrusting of his cock. For now, it was pleasant if he had not cum and painted your walls in his release, he was taken caught up in the bliss of knowing that he could pull such a reaction out of you. It went to show that he still had his abilities after all those lonely years without practice. Now all that meant was for him to continue his ministrations to regain his prowess.

Without a second to lose, Turgon wanted to savour the moment you squirted everything on him and drew closer to capture your lips. Eating your lips and moans, he breathed into your mouth at the insurmountable pressure that collided with his cock and sprayed all over his lower abdomen and thighs. You could feel your body shuddering as the dams broke and expelled everything you had all over him. The moans of satisfaction that vibrated in his chest through the kiss alerted you of his contentment. Shivering violently in his arms, your hands slipped in between and pushed against his stomach to cease his thrusting; he was still going without any remorse for your sensitivity. “Turukáno, ease…ease up on me, please. Sensitive,” you cried out.

Reluctantly he slowed his thrusting until they came to a stop, he eased out with an obscene squelch and stood climbed off the stand at the edge. Curling up as your legs flopped off his shoulders, your body convulsed and shook as though you’d been electrocuted.

The chuckle that followed when he gazed at your fucked out state, lips swollen and red, eyes hazy and teary, loopy smile, tear-stained cheeks, hair tangled and a sweaty body, he mentally gave himself a pat on his back. You observed the way he licked his lips as his eyes roamed your body while grinning and shutting your eyes with a dazed smile. The image of him stoking his cock as though he wasn’t tired was painted vividly in your imagination. Enough to tell you that your night wasn’t over.

“Tired?” his voice rang with concern, eyes cautious gauging your reaction and body for injury.

Squinting through your right eye, you noticed his arched brows, meditatively waiting for your reply. “Well, what you suspect Your Majesty? You’re the one who laid the damages.”

Chortling, he placed a knee beside your limped body and beamed, “You look like you could do with another round to remedy your fatigue. I’m still becharmed by your little trick for I desire to see more.”    

Flashing a look of scepticism at him, both eyes were opened staring at him with livid horror. “Your Majesty—Turukáno, you can’t be joking?!”

“I’m not. You commanded that you would be the source of my pleasure tonight, and to that I oblige,” he charmed with a magical grin as his body slid over yours like a snake. “Now be a good girl and spread your legs for me, I wish to note if my fingers can do the same.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @eunoiaastralwings @koyunsoncizeri @ranhanabi777 @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @rain-on-my-umbrella @the-phantom-of-arda @singleteapot @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @ilu-stripes @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365 @bunson-burner @batsyforyou

#mina_kinktober2023 #silm smut #turgon x reader #turgon imagine #turgon smut #turgon scenario #turgon #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion fic #silmarillion scenario #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth smut #middle earth fic #house of fingolfin #nolofinweans #turukano #turukáno #x reader smut #x reader insert #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

[searchingforserendipity25]

Sweet joy sweetly met

Elenwë/Turgon | @silmsmutweek. E-rated. Here on AO3. Prompts: established relationship, tenderness, public/unlikely places.

She comes back to life hungry, blinking against the light, amazed and impatient for her sight to clear. 

The wind was a marvel. Chasing the turn of the breeze she danced, turned around, and around, dancing a tuneless circle waltz, hands upheld to grasp at the green brightness of the rustling leaves, the impossible blue of the sky. 

And there he was, very near. Tall and steadfast like the trees she saw him to be, his feet bare and already grounded deeply into the soil. His half-blind eyes were not turned towards the world, but to her only. 

He was hesitating - she knew it even before she could see him. They stumbled towards the sound of close breathing, eager, and fell upon each other with greedy joy, dizzy with want. 

His breathing stuttered. She pressed her palm to his mouth, marvelling at the sound it produced, the soft and living warmth of his lips. Hungry, hungry all the way through, she leant up and kissed him, to see if she could make him sigh as sweetly again.

Every touch was the first, the very first their skin had known; not quite the skin of the bodies so longed for in Mandos.

Together, they learned themselves anew. She ran her hands through the darkness of his hair, startling against her wavering sight - pressed her nose to the curve of his ribs, the underside of his arms. Sighed in unison with him, at the delicious thrill of raised hairs and curling toes.

He marvelled for his part at the curve of her hips, the lush roundness of her neck, her dimpled back, her thick wrists. The song of life’s blood, clear and loud and rushing strong with desire under his ear, made his eyes sting, his shoulders quake. 

How they clambered over each other! A memory older than her flesh guided her to rub her thighs once, and then again. Her legs were wet with slick, her breasts aching when she lifted her hands to soothe them - she threw her new arms around his neck, drew him near, laughed her way back to life.

The brightness of the world was a wild startlement, the gentleness of touch and warm air a joy beyond expectation; the smell of green things and rain and dark earth half-frightening and entirely delicious to the senses. Every glancing fingertip set their nerves alight, almost too much to bear.

They strived to touch regardless, the body a fumbling, graceless reflection of the bright spirits entwined with each other as they settled back into the free realms of Arda.

She set a hand boldly upon his chest, claiming that strong heart for herself; he kissed the first sweat from her temples and her stomach and the crease between her tights.

 Their spirits, which had wandered in search of each other in the dark of Námo’s Halls, had not ceased to call to each other as they had in the dire, voiceless vigil of the dead. Now, given form once, they set to learning each other as they learned to put their seeking calls into sound with the instruments of their bodies. Bereft of language, they made of their sighs and cries a new dialect, the truest language they would come to know all the rest of their lives.

She, Elenwë, threw back her head and called out, making her throat thrum for the joy of it, twisting to meet his fingers where they pressed into her. “You! You were the one I waited for. I sought you out endlessly, amidst the snow and the uttermost dark, and through shadows darker still - I recall, I remember -” 

"You," cried Turgon, made anew by being known by her. Tears came into his eyes, the first of this life, and they were sweet to shed, swift to be kissed away. "Beloved, beloved."

Elenwë laughed, rolled her hips, pulled him in ever closer. It was not the old love that raised her hand and touched his cheek - love came into life quick and fierce and soft, and it made little difference whether it had existed between them once already.

The wind rustled over them, lifting strands of hair, making them move together for warmth, and then move again and again with the discovery of friction. There by the Doors of Death, where the fey silver gleam of the grass moved restlessly with the wind, they fell tumbling together, happy prisoners in each other's arms.

They were wed in the fields before Mandos' abode, Turgon of the Noldor and Elenwë, bound in love under the sun and under the moon for the first time; and were not parted again for the many long ages of Arda.

#elenwe #turgon #nolofinweans #elenwe/turgon #silmarillion #silm smut week #silm smut #silm fic #my fics

[lordgrimwing]

On the Complicated Nature of Making Peredhil

[For @silmkinkmeme. Smut under the cut]

There was, Tuor mused over dinner, such a thing as being too close to the king.

“How are things going?” Turgon asked, leaning across the table to look at his daughter with the kind of eager expression apparently all parents of any race wore when hoping to hear they would soon be grandparents.

Idril took her husband’s hand. “We’re still trying,” she said fervently, squeezing Tuor's hand as though he was the one who needed reassurance. “We’ll figure it out. We really want a baby.”

Tuor fought a losing battle against a blush. Really, did they have to talk about this right now? Of course, he wanted a child just as much as Idril did, but there was no telling if a Man and Elf could have one, and the passing months since their wedding were not heartening. Beyond that, he wasn’t keen on discussing his love life with his father-in-law of all people! He would have a grandchild from them or he would not, and more memories of conversations like this one wouldn’t make the desired outcome any easier.

Turgon sighed and sat back in his seat. “Do tell me if there is anything you need. Anything at all.”

No, no, he might actually shrivel up into a dry husk if he had to ask the king for assistance with this.

“If only there was,” Idril lamented. 

Tuor wasn’t sure he could make it through the rest of the meal. This was too much, far too much. He was only a Man: he had limits.

Luckily he was spared from an indecent exit when Maeglin, Idril’s dark cousin, slammed his soup spoon onto the table and stood. “Excuse me,” he said between gritted teeth and stormed from the family dining room, brown robe swirling in his wake. 

Turgon sighed and shook his head. Idril rolled her eyes. The conversation moved to safer topics. Tuor made a mental note to say something nice to Maeglin and do him a favor if the Elf wasn’t too snappish the next time they crossed paths.

As soon as dinner finished, Idril whisked him away to their private rooms.

After some delightful foreplay in the dim lantern light (Idril herself never seemed bothered by the dinner conversations, but Tuor found he needed at least half an hour to unwind), they got about the business of trying to make a baby.

The trying part of making a baby, it turned out, was very enjoyable. He’d known it would be thanks to several indiscrete stories and several discrete evenings with only himself for company, but knowing and experiencing were two very different things. Idril would adoringly tell him that it was just as good for her when they lay sweaty and breathless in each other’s arms afterward. He desperately hoped she’d still want to partake in the act after they had children (always ‘after’ never ‘if’), but he wasn’t sure it worked that way for elves and was still too shy about the whole thing to ask—but it didn’t look like he was short on time, after all. 

They were on the bed when he finally pushed into her.

A satisfied moan slipped past his lips. His fingers caressed her hips and the soft swell of her legs as he held her up against him. She sighed, head falling back against the pillow, beautiful golden hair spilling out around her like the rays of the sun. She reached the long fingers of a hand up to pet between her legs, and her fingertips brushed against him, grazing lightly with the nails as he moved inside her.

Making love to Idril was divine, the closest he’d ever get to bliss. 

But if their shared passion and love weren’t enough to inspire a baby into being, then Tuor really wasn’t sure what would.

“Let me try something,” Idril breathed after a minute when he bent forward to kiss her. 

“What?” He asked with a grunt. He wasn’t very good at carrying on a conversation while they were doing this.

“I think–” she paused to roll against him, tilting her hips for a better angle that he was very happy to assist her with. “You do not know how to Will our child into being. It is–” she moaned– “different for Men.”

“Yes.” He gasped. She should be pregnant many times over by the way of Men.

She wrapped her legs around him to pull him closer. “If you might let me into your mind, maybe I can find that Will for you.”

She probably could have asked anything of him just then and he would have done it, even walking into Angband like a fool to challenge the Dark Lord. He had to stop moving to find the wherewithal to pull down the defenses the Elves taught him to build around his mind. She whined pitifully at the loss. He kissed her ear.

“I’m ready,” he said.

“Please,” she said, breathless and flushed, “continue. If you do it the Mannish way and I the Elvish, perhaps we will find what was missing.”

With a groan as she squeezed him, Tuor rocked his hips against her, looking for the rhythm from earlier. He knew he found it by the way Idril’s pleased sounds grew sharp and the quickened rise and fall of her bosom. He had no idea what she was planning to do in his mind, but if she wanted to do it while they were doing things the Mannish way, she’d need to hurry up.

Something slipped inside of him. Not inside his body, of course, he knew what that felt like—getting wounded in battle wasn’t a sensation he’d ever forget. This still felt a bit odd, even though he knew the strange not-pressure in his head was Idril and that he’d invited her inside. Not bad, but certainly very foreign. He flagged a little, fighting to keep going while she did whatever it was she was doing. 

He tried to carry on. It wasn’t easy.

Oh, he still ached for her. Every fiber of his being yearned for her as her body writhed against his and her mind swelled against his. He thought, surely, he would melt from much more of this, of being so connected, of being both within and surrounded by her. Yet, the more he pressed forward and the more he tried, the further away his release slipped. 

As the pressure grew behind his head, he was suddenly very sure that this was not something any mortal man was meant to experience. 

“Idril!” He cried out, sudden and sharp.

Fear flickered through him like a blue flame. She was doing something inside of him and he didn’t know what—didn’t understand what it was or what would happen to him when she succeeded. 

She pulled back from him, body and mind.

The pressure vanished from his head. He sagged forward, barely getting his hands out in time to catch his weight on the mattress instead of collapsing fully onto Idril. He gasped for breath, drenched in sweat that was quickly becoming cold.

She watched him with concerned eyes. “Tuor?” His name fell slowly and cautiously from her lips as she reached a hand up to brush his chest.

He thought he would flinch away from her but he didn’t. The fright that overcame him moments ago was quickly fading. He felt almost hollow in its wake. 

“Idril,” he repeated, weak and wet this time as he collapsed onto his side next to her. “Idril.”

Her hands were on his face now, thumbs wiping away his tears. Oh, he realized belatedly, he was crying. He hadn’t meant to cry. Little tears continued to trail down his face.

“Tuor, my love,” she whispered. “What is wrong? Are you hurt? Did I—Did I hurt you?”

He shook his head. 

“No.” The word came out raspy and ragged like he’d spent the last half-hour yelling but his throat felt fine. He took two calming breaths, chest rising and falling, stilling the tears, and tried again. “No, I’m alright.”

She was limp with relief. “You don’t look it.”

“I think I will be, shortly?” He tried, though it came out more as a question than reassurance. 

“What was it?”

“I—you—” he struggled. 

She didn’t rush him. 

He swallowed a mouthful of saliva. “There was too much. Too much of you in me. I couldn’t—I couldn’t.” He clasped her hands fervently. “Perhaps we could try again? I just need to get used to it.”

“Oh.” She pulled her hands out of his but only so she could wrap her arms around his shoulders. “I’m not sure I could take feeling you panic like that again.” She rested her forehead against his. “Touching minds shouldn’t be like that. I—” and now she was the one hesitating. “I shouldn’t have suggested it like this. You are a Man and Men do not touch minds as Elves do, but I thought—I thought since Ulmo… Oh, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Sweetest,” he said when tears ran from her face to his. His arms joined the embrace, wrapping around her back. “I ache for you. I ache to have children with you, to raise them with you, to hear the soft sound of their little feet in the halls. I would endure so much to give that vision to you. Let me try again. Let me endure this for you, for us.”

She cried all the harder for his words. It was some minutes before she could respond. “Tuor,” she whispered, “Tuor, my loyal, brave, true husband. I don’t doubt your will, but I cannot do that to you again. Love, every part of me rebels against knowingly hurting you.”

They clung to each other for some time more, quiet in their separate thoughts.

At length, Tuor spoke again. “Perhaps,” he said, slow but sure, “we should learn to walk before we run.”

Tears dried, she leaned back so she could look at him better. “How so?”

“Well,” he said with a smile. “I have not seen many Elf babies in my life, but I imagine they cannot grow too differently from the children of Men. A babe will never run a mile if you set him on his feet straight from the womb.”

Idril snorted. “That’s not where my confusion sprung from. How would you propose learning to ‘walk’ before we ‘run’?”

“We overstretched our skill tonight, trying to run with everything at once. So it’s no surprise we fell short and scraped our knees along the way. Tomorrow, I propose we try again, but–” he raised a finger to stall her quick objection– “only to touch minds and only to learn the feel of each other.”

“Just to feel?” She repeated, considering. 

“Nothing more: not to search for anything in me, just to know each other more.”

“That,” she decided, “is a wise plan. Though now you make me look a fool for rushing into this.”

“Never,” he promised. “I would never have thought of it without you.”

She leaned in and kissed his cheek and then his mouth, chaste and adoring. “My father should be proud to have such a wise son.” 

Valar, Tuor thought to himself, could her father please stay out of this?

#help tuor just wants to have sex with his wife without everyone discussing it #maeglin also wants no one to discuss idril's sex life #turgon just wants a grandkid #idril would like to make a baby without breaking her husband #tuor #idril #turgon #maeglin #idril x tuor #gondolin #nsft #silm smut #grimwing writes

[lovefairymina]

Turgon, I don’t think you’re going to fit *blushes*

Panting and feeling himself slowly disintegrating with very passing second his remained nestled in you, his body shook. Beads of sweat rolled down his face and body and dripped on your frame underneath him. Leaning his in and dropping his lips to the shell of your ear, he snickered, “I thought the same thing, but here we are, perfect fit.”

#♡{sweet.kisses} ~ {turgon} #silm smut #silm imagines #turgon imagine #turgon x you #turgon x reader #turgon #turukano #turukáno #nolofinweans #house of fingolfin #middle earth imagine

[eunoiaastralwings]

Turgon x Female Reader smut please? They are at a ball in Gondolin and he can hardly keep his hands off her and just ends up excusing the both of them and drags her to their room for a little rough but intimate love making? Thank you so much for taking the time to read this request. P. S. Absolutely fantastic writing, my dear.

Can't Keep my Hands to Myself

featuring turgon x fem!reader

fandom tolkien — the silmarillion

a/n awe thanks hun! - I hope you like— sorry about the wait!

warnings smut, 18+, some dom and sub themes, little turgon style dirty talk

Turgon knew he would of the task of the impossible – from when he saw dressed and ready for him to escort you to the ball.

You were dressed so elegantly in a shimmering dress – you were putting Varda’s stars to shame – in fact Turgon was so sure they were envious of the beauty that was overflowing from you.

Something animalistic inside Turgon turned – when he learned to understand again – that this beauty and kindness of heart was his wife. No one else vision and grace like you as their wives – no Turgon was blessed. . .

You peaked up at from your long eyelashes – Turgon swore the tightness in his trousers was starting to suffocate him.

From the beginning of the ball – Turgon found it hard to pry his hands of you – they were either wrapped possessively around your waist or shoulders.

It should took everything in him – not to let them wander anywhere else – especially at a public setting.

The ball was taking too long in his opinion – taking with his ministers and lords wasn’t helping the situation either. It was getting harder and harder for him to keep his voice under control – he wouldn’t have it laced in sexual tension – or desire.

Turgon almost cried out in relief when you pulled him over to the dance floor – but then thought twice.

Now the both of you were close – his hands settled just above your backside – your faces mere inches away from each other.

You were looking at him lovingly – Turgon wanted to have those eyes roll back in pleasure, while you cried out his name.

You noticed the swift in him – it confused you.

Whatever it was that was pricking at him – was obviously bothering him.

“What seems to be the matter, vero?” (husband).

You asked him.

Your voice was quiet – sweet and laced in honey.

Oh Turgon wished to hear your moans right there and then – his hand on your waist tightened.

“Meldanya, Eru knows am a blessed ner to have a maiden as fair as you. . . - But am also cursed - do you know why?”

You looked at him puzzled.

“Why?”

“For I long for your sweet lips to pleasurably sigh out my name. But it is rather wrong of a king to leave a setting well established for his own needs.”

Now you understood – and you couldn’t help up but smirk.

You leaned up – on your tippy toes – and whispered rather needily.

“What if it wasn’t just for his own needs? – But his desired too?”

That’s when Turgon snapped– he quickly exited from the ballroom.

With a few to no words to his lords – Turgon quickly led you back your chambers.

His hands were itching to touch you, kiss you – and pour tenderness over you as he pushed himself deep inside of you.

You gasped – when Turgon swiftly pushed you into the chambers – with care however – and shut the door behind him.

You stood here – breathing heavily in the middle of his room. You were almost out of breath from trying to keep out with his long and fast strides.

You were a breath-taking sight.

Turgon slowly moved towards – tenderly caressing your jawline with his knuckles.

You closed your eyes and nuzzled into his touch – and Turgon easily open his hand and rested his palm softly on your cheek.

“My darling – I am deeply weak for you – I swear stars shine in your eyes. . .”

He whispered.

Turgon quickly dipped down and kissed your lips.

It began soft – tender, but then Turgon’s desires caught up with him again and his lips started moving harder and faster against your lips.

Turgon pulled you flush against them – groaning annoyed at the layers of clothing that separated the both of you.

One of Turgon’s hands was his your hair – cradling your head and leading you into his kisses.

The other was around your waist – wandering dangerously low.

Turgon gave your backside a tight squeeze and you gasped – only prompting him to push his tongue into your mouth.

With his hand he pulled you closer – you gasped at the feel of his hard member pressing against your dress.

Your husband quickly pulled away from the kiss – then looking into your eyes and settling both his hands on your arms, he carefully walked to the bed behind you.

His eyes never left your eyes – there was an unspoken promise there – a promise to deliver you a very satisfying night.

You felt the edge of the bed hit the back of your knees.

Turgon carefully pushed you down on the mattress – he pressed a kiss on your forehead, then kissed your eagerly awaited lips again.

You kissed him back.

Then – Turgon slowly lifted your back off the bed – just enough so he could slid his hands under and work the ties of your dress.

Once he untied then all three on your back – Turgon slowly pushing the material off your shoulders.

Leaving your lips – he trailed kissed down to your neck and shoulder – before the pushing it further down.

Every inch of newly exposed skin he kissed – over your collarbones, down over your stomach, then finally trailed his lips over your right leg.

When the dress left your body – Turgon quickly discarded it and pressed a lovingly kiss on both your ankles.

Kicking off both your boots in the process.

He trailed lips up again – through your left leg this time.

Turgon looked into your eyes when he reached your face again.

He smiled at you lovingly – like you had.

Your husband quickly began to work on your undergarments casting them away – as he found them to be completely unnecessary.

Turgon was quickly to attack your chest with kisses – and bites too.

He left little love bites at his wake – Turgon took pride in the way you writhed under him.

You moved your hips against his hip – Turgon’s hand shot down and pressed it down on the bed again.

You whined.

When you found the situation to be too unfair – you swiftly began to undress him from his robes.

Carefully settling aside his circlet and made him bare as you were underneath him.

Turgon didn’t stop you – inside he rested his body softly against your body – biting and marking any other bit of skin he could when you got rid of his robes.

It took you longer than expected Turgon’s miniature torture making you forget for moment – as pain and pleasure travelled over you.

Turgon’s hands came to assist you – you almost cried out in relief.

However, he never stopped his lips and hands were all over you – desperate to mark all over your skin.

It took Turgon everything in him – not to mark you in places everyone could see.

When his body weight was over your body – you felt at bliss, but impatient too.

“Turgon – Please. . .”

You whispered – having your husband on top of you wasn’t enough.

You needed move to move inside you walls – make love to you and claim you whole again.

Turgon’s hand came to cradle the back your neck – in a gentle but hard hold, pushing your lips against his.

“Elen lissënya. . .I shall have you” (My sweet star).

He couldn’t stop kissing you – having you close, your naked flesh against him, it was maddening and relief.

Turgon like he had all the time in the world – he could take his time using his hands and lips to pull pleasurable sighs and moans from you.

But the moment he felt another jolt of your hips – he knew he couldn’t.

He let out groan – against your lips.

Your husband held you cautiously – caressing and stroking your hips, before holding them in a punishing grip.

You gasped – immersed under everything your husband was giving you.

Turgon pulled away – he hovered on top looking into your eyes.

You gulped under his strong gaze – feeling shy and exposed.

But there wasn’t any time to think into that – when your husband pushed into walls slowly.

You gasped – and readily wrapped your arms around him.

You moaned – feeling how he entered you inch by inch until he filled you completely and rejoiced your souls.

Your wetness was coating him – he swore he saw stars right there.

“Oh my. . . – Turgon, my love. . .”

You cupped his face – trying to urge him to move.

Your husband turned his head to kiss the palm of your hand – before laid on top.

His hand tangled in your hair – and with one more look of approval from you Turgon brought himself out and thrust himself in again.

You gasped – arching your back at the ways he moved delightfully inside you.

It was slow – Turgon paced up – meeting your hips with a punishing speed.

It made you throw your head back and scream.

“How is it you’re still so tight – even after the number of times I fucked you, elen lissënya!”

He asked – when he was pounding into you.

“Faster. . .”

You breathlessly moaned – it was muffled by the way you hid your face in his neck.

Turgon gritted his teeth – with is free hand he rubbed your clit.

You felt your walls relax around his throbbing cock – taking your husband so well.

“So good. . .- You’re doing so good, veri” (wife).

Turgon praised – later his eyebrows furrowing when he felt himself hit that spot.

“Oh- Turgon!”

You stuttered out with a whine – when you felt Turgon hit your spot repeatedly. You were was about to lose you mind – you knew he was definitely doing it on purpose to make you reach your high quicker.

With every thrust, your husband made sure to brush against your sweet spot – causing lewd moans to leave your mouth repeatedly.

“Turgon, my love! I'm close! – Please!”

You moaned at the feel of your walls tightening up around him.

“I know, elen lissënya. Let it out. . .”

Turgon said – picking up his pace. He also tapped your inner thigh.

Your eyes rolled back as you came all over him – arching your back.

But, Turgon didn't stop – no, he kept going – ramming himself into her, again and again.

“Turgon. . .- I can’t take anymore. . . please”

Turgon pressed kiss on your lips with small breathy laugh.

“You can, my love – you always could – You're not done yet, you can take more.”

You whimpered and looked down at where your husband’s hips kept slamming into you repeatedly.

“Turgon, please . . .”

You begged – your walls tightening around him again.

“Already wanting me, my love?”

He hummed into the kiss – his free hand wandering and squeezing your breasts.

Turgon noticed the way your eyes were beginning to roll back into your head

He smiled and grabbed your jaw.

“I need you to look at me, y/n”

You moaned in response – but did as he said – looking up at him as you made direct eye contact.

“You’re taking me so well – you know what right? So perfectly, verinya!” (My wife).

He groaned out – while his hips continued to slam into you.

“Elen lissënya . . ."

He muttered –  threw his head back as he felt himself nearing.

Turgon kept his thrusts consistent until he eventually finished inside you.

You both moaned in unison – feeling your souls caresses each other.

“I love you. . . – I love you so much.”

You kept repeating and showering him with kisses – breathlessly.

“As I love you, verinya. . .”

Turgon pressed a kiss to your forehead – and held your close to him.

He moved your hair away from your face and placed his forehead against your forehead.

“Am truly a blessed ner to have you, my dearest!”

“Cursed too!”

You winked with a laugh – and Turgon joined you!

silm taglist: @doodle-pops

tara's taglist: @spidergirla5 @mslizziesblog @wandererindreams

form for taglist

#turgon #turgon x reader #the silmarillion #the silm x reader #the silmarillion x reader #gondolin #noldor #turukano #turgon the wise #answered #tarawrites #silmarillion #tolkien elves #the silm smut #turgon x reader smut

[meadowlarkx]

Some March fic recs!

For Tolkien Fanfic Reading Month! Limiting myself to stories I read in March (but posted anytime). (header by Anna Zakharova on Unsplash)

picnic by @swanmaids - A bored and reckless Aredhel goes to Vána's orchards seeking adventure and has an experience. This lush and sexy fic feels like a warm summer afternoon. I love how seductive and eerie Vána is here!

Kiss and Marry by @thecoolblackwaves - Have you ever looked at Celegorm and Curufin and thought, "They should be the stars of a romcom"? No? This fic is here to reveal that wonder to you.

弄假成真 by Divano_Messiah - Maglor has been telling people at school that he has a boyfriend. Maedhros is jealous until he learns who it is. (I admit I read this via google translate, you can too...)

Envy by @polutrope - In Tirion, Maglor and Elemmírë struggle to handle each other's reputations with equanimity. The people around them try to respond. This fic is so funny and sweet--I love this take on Elemmírë and Fëanor's guest appearance is hilariously him.

Youthful Regrets by kitkatkaylie - Turgon and Maglor fall in love in Valinor before Turgon's engagement to Elenwë. I really like the personality contrasts of this ship, with Turgon opening up to Maglor, and how this story sketches out their relationship through the whole arc of Silm to its bitter separation.

I risk my life to make my name by @maironsbigboobs - The brave knight Galadriel goes on a journey to meet the Green Woman Melian and her fate, ft. adventures along the way. I love how Tolkien is blended with Arthurian conventions here--it works so well and brings out the myth vibes of Silm that I love so much!

Strange Currencies chapter 12 by @jouissants - This is such a beautifully-crafted tale in every regard, but I want to especially mention this flashback chapter I read in March, covering Maedhros' and Maglor's voyage on the swan ships up to just before Fëanor's death. The horror of the Fëanorian Noldor arriving in the dark with their distrust, inflated ego, and total lack of knowledge of Middle-earth comes through here so, so vividly--this part can be read by itself, go check it out!!

Oubliette by Stramonium - Horrifying and so vividly written scene of Maedhros in Angband, isolation, and monstrosity. Poetic and awful, I can't do it justice in summarizing it.

arrangement for flute and harp by @jouissants - Maedhros is determined to work late, so Maglor and Fingon decide to entertain each other. The Himring atmosphere and incredible character dynamics make this also really sexy smut such a wonderful story.

whatever you would crave by @eight-pointed-star - Sooo sexy ficlet in which Fingon and Maedhros attend to Maglor's Needs. Short but immensely powerful.

scherzo for ink and parchment by @dovewifes - Charming and comedic missives exchanged between Maedhros and Maglor during the Long Peace, ft. romantic endearments and the invention of emojis. Maedhros' so-apparent love for Maglor is something I especially cherish about this fun fic.

Star-kissed by @aipilosse - Celeborn of Doriath rescues recently-of-Gondolin (and silver-haired!) Celebrimbor from a predicament in Nan Dungortheb. Incredibly clever, funny, and hot!

Purification by @zealouswerewolfcollector - Thingol is curious about Maedhros: throne sex ensues. A favorite ship of mine in a flavor I'd never considered. Incredibly intense and super well-written.

Comfort from a Heavy Hand by @undercat-overdog - After the Bragollach, Mablung tends to an injured Beleg, and they seek comfort together. The wreckage and destruction of the battle feels so vivid in this one, and the dynamic of Beleg/Mablung as past teacher and student (and current battle companions) is wonderful.

Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow by @welcomingdisaster - A brilliant installment in an ongoing Children of Húrin AU series that has the most beautiful, unsettling, and dreamlike atmosphere. In this fic Maedhros teaches "Cáno" about pleasure in preparation for their marriage bed. Catnip to me personally!!

Proxy by @aipilosse - Celebrimbor comes to reproach Celegorm in Nargothrond after Finrod's departure. They fuck. Gender, tension, messy and complicated emotional dynamics all around. The dirty talk is so so good.

Star of the Nevrast Shore by joanofarcstan - Silmarillion filk of one of my favorite folk songs! What more is there to say!! A sweet tale of Gondolin told from Voronwë's point of view, recounting the love between him, Tuor (the star of the Nevrast shore), Idril, and Maeglin.

A Light Burns in the Forest by fictional_hr_department - Thranduil and Oropher escape Menegroth with child Elwing. The title and art by @lycheesodas give me chills and the atmosphere of the fic as they make their disorienting journey to Sirion really brings to life the terrible aftermath of the second kinslaying.

By Your Side by HiyoriTomioka - fem!Eärendil and Elwing support each other in this ficlet... such a good vision of this ship, and the way Eärendil thinks about Tuor and Idril here with longing uncertainty makes me think of a trans!Eärendil even though that is not explicit.

Something Sleepless in Mirkwood by @imakemywings - Thranduil sickens as the Greenwood does. Elrond tries to heal him, but can't understand at first what's happening. Brilliant and canon-compliant (To Me) wry, proud, and eerie woodland king Thranduil--go give this a read!

A boat, my boat, out upon the River by Tethys_resort - Sméagol is trying to craft his own boat to take fishing. His family keeps getting in the way. This sweet fic paints such an idyllic picture of proto-Hobbit life and made me really feel the tragedy of Gollum.

The Fortress by TheLegendCreator - Brief and haunting fic in which a Dwarf visits the ruins of Himring and they have a conversation. I love the view this offers of Maedhros and the fierce loyalty Himring and its folk had for him.

one whole with my other by @i-am-a-lonely-visitor - Indis' marriage to Finwë is transferred to bind her instead to reembodied Míriel. This turns out to be a good thing. An incredibly touching, beautifully wrought and worldbuilt story. I just love it so much.

The Number One Exercise for Relieving Work-Related Stress (Click to Find Out!) by @imakemywings - Date night in Mirkwood. Maglor (Noldorin princess, ex-kinslayer) adorns herself for the benefit of Thranduil (the Elvenqueen)--or that's her plan, anyway. This story is so sexy, so funny, and honestly so touching. I just adore this ship as a happy ending for Maglor and their relationship is gorgeously fleshed out here.

Cousin, Sister, Lover, Queen by broken_pencils - Lesbian Éowyn discovers desire... through Éomer's betrothed Lothíriel. Lothíriel is a stealth fav for me from the Éomer fics I used to read as a kid and I really enjoyed her here, and the lush atmosphere of this story.

His Return by @danmeiljie - Beautiful, tender scene of Maedhros and Maglor reuniting as per @tari-cua's art. Such lovely descriptions in this one and so cozy.

#did i try to put these in like silm plot chronological order? Just a little bit #tolkien fanfic reading month #silmarillion fic #my posts #I read chaotically and then sort of fell off the map as life became crazy. but i wanted to highlight these fics i enjoyed!!

[imakemywings]

HI 🥺 I just found out that you like Fingolfin and I want to ask if you have any recs about him (and Finwe?). Like we already have the popular Finwe-Feanor father-son relationship, but what about my blue middle-child baby.

I LOVE Fingolfin, he was actually my first Silm fav <3 I had to stop reading the book for several days after he died to recover /_ \

I looked through my fanfic lists and I don't actually seem to have any that focus on Finwe and Fingolfin's relationship ono I picked out some other ones that focus generally on Fingolfin's relationship with his family, I hope that helps.

Do You Remember Me? by @sweetteaanddragons - Relationship with Feanor after Feanor is de-aged.

From the Heights, Such Light and Air by @sallysavestheday - Relationship with Turgon.

I Loved You Once in a Dream (mine) - Reunion smut with Anaire.

If Bitter it Must Be by @ettelene - Relationship with Feanor immediately after Alqualonde.

I'll Hold the Pieces Together with My Hands by Dialux and zuo_zuo - Relationship with Maedhros.

A King Uncrowned, A King Enthroned by @zealouswerewolfcollector - Relationship with Maedhros, particularly regarding Maedhros' abdication.

A Kiss Interrupted by @arofili - Relationship with Anaire.

Lament Before the Vast Sea by Tyeplerintal - Fingon's relationship with his father and others.

Over the Unclear Eyes of Memory by @maglors-anion-gap - Relationship with his wife and children after rebirth.

Spring in the Land, Light in the Day by Loriand_Lost - General focus on the relationships in the house of Finwe.

United We Stand (mine) - Relationship with the house of Feanor.

Untitled by @tanoraqui - Children of Finwe post-rebirth.

Untitled by @outofangband - Relationship with Maedhros after Maedhros' escape from Thangorodrim.

Water on a Stone by LadyBrooke - Relationship with Maeglin.

Wet Boots by @amethysttribble - Relationship with Maedhros when Maedhros was a child.

#asks #anonymous

[sallysavestheday]

Writing Year Wrapped (2023)

Thank you for the tag, @eilinelsghost!

3 Favorite Fics You've Written This Year

Beloved, Forsaken, Redeemed, my short Celegorm cycle. I am very pleased with each of the little bites that make up the whole, for imagery, characterization, and narrative arc. You love him, you hate him, you pity him, and you root for him in the end, even having seen him at his worst.

The paired fics In This, No Consolation and What Will Console You, in which Maedhros and Maglor find parenting challenging, first at Formenos in Nerdanel's absence, and then in caring for Elrond and Elros. These hurt, but they also comfort.

Examined Lives, in which Erestor and Pengolodh fall in love after Sailing and have to negotiate their respective understandings of history and truth. It's a very odd ship, but it works. I am quite fond of my Loremasters in Love.

And yes, it's cheating to slide in a fourth, but I have to mention my 2023 Tolkien Drabbles series, in which I fell in love with fixed-length stories and the challenge of fitting a whole world into 100 words. So much fun!!

3 Fics That Stretched You the Most

Tender Morsels. This is the first thing I've shared with a rating above T, but if you're going to do it, you may as well do it in style, right? Written for Silm Smut Week, it features Fingon/Maedhros figuring themselves out via cannibalism and sexy mutilation and carries the tag Is it really monsterfucking if it's Maedhros? It's oddly romantic, for all that. Thanks to @polutrope for convincing me to share it.

When All Other Lights Go Out. 5,336 words!! Let me repeat: 5,336 words! I usually hover between 400 and 1,000, so this was a big stretch. Written for TRSB, to accompany @grundyscribbling's gorgeous Feanorian nightlight, it's an epic (for me) look at love through the generations, in all its varieties and with all its consequences.

By Love Annealed. I don't write very many OCs, and this piece was both largely OC-focused AND about some tricky stuff. But I ended up loving my new friend Sorokendë and her relationship with Celebrimbor, in this remix of ultramarine by @welcomingdisaster.

3 Favorite Lines You've Written (loosely interpreting "lines")

For heartbreak, Maedhros and Maglor in Feanorians in Seventeen Kisses.

Maedhros rests his chin on Maglor’s head, watching the ocean, shivering and burning all at once. He murmurs something incomprehensible – it might be I’m sorry – and sighs. The sea surges, hungrily. Maglor doesn’t turn when the heat at his back changes. If he holds very still, he can almost keep feeling the last brush of his brother’s lips on his hair.

For angst, Fingolfin and Maglor in True North.

The banners ripple in the chill breeze off the lake as they stand toe to toe, second son and second son, frowning. They are anchorless, both of them, flung into the spinning skies with no fixed points to reach for, no greater stars to burn behind.

And for romance, the Glorthelion wedding from In Answering, An Answer Find.

Glorfindel cries out the praise he could not muster in the welter of the healing tent. He hears the fierce, bright music of Ecthelion’s reply. The bond sparks as their palms touch. Then they are burning, singing with it, leaping forward together, diving into the light.

3 Characters You Enjoyed Writing (that surprised you)

Turgon. This was my Year of Being Kinder to Turgon, after last year's portrayal of him as a history-whitewashing, Pengolodh-abusing kinslayer (ouch!). But this year I wrote him lovingly with Fingolfin in From the Heights, Such Light and Air, tenderly with Aredhel in None Shall Mark Thy Going, loving and furious with Fingon in A Bond That Shines and Burns, and being consoled by Elenwe in Mandos in Reckoning. Turgon! Multidimensional! Who knew?

Curufin. He was also an unexpected delight to explore, whether having a hard time letting go of Feanor in Borne Away Like Smoke, or having a hard time coming back to life in A Sea Change. I became very fond of the possibilities of him, actually.

Legolas' Mother. She is my first substantive OC, and I have had SUCH fun building her out. I first wrote her in A Mighty Shot in the Darkness, which is partly her love story with Thranduil and partly the story of Legolas drawing on her teaching to kill the Fell Beast. And she popped up again in These Soft Threads That Bind Us, newly home from Dagorlad and adjusting to life with only one arm and a curious child. She has a guest appearance in one of my seasonal exchange fics, too, which will be up at the end of this month (and which explains why I haven't named her).

3 Unexpected Inspirations

The Canadian government's vivid, lyrical description of the varieties of sea ice, which I used as a framing device for Ice Glossary (12 views of the crossing of the Helcaraxe, each linked to a type of ice).

Lawrence Oates' quietly suicidal farewell to his colleagues on the Scott Antarctic expedition, which I used along with the prompt "desperate valor" to drive I May Be Some Time, in which Maedhros departs to parley with Morgoth.

The poignant last line of Vincent Van Gogh's final, unfinished letter to his brother Theo, which along with @z-h-i-e's gorgeous painting Feanor's Art Therapy inspired Half-Foundered, in which Feanor is therapy-resistant, and expressing his inner struggles through art does not help.

3 WIPs You're Excited About in the Upcoming Year

Untitled Anaire/Fingolfin, full of rage and regret and maybe eventually reconciliation. It's almost done; I'll drop it on some dark day as winter lingers for maximum hurt.

The Sifted Light: Evranin smuggles Elwing and the Silmaril out of Doriath. Tolkien women, yay!

The Blue Line Between Sky and Water: a three-chapter Voronwe piece which is giving me fits but will be out there eventually. Spoiler: he drowns, three times.

3 People Tagged to Share Theirs

Tagging with zero pressure: @melestasflight @cuarthol @tathrin

#fic recs #my fics

[doodle-pops]

Can I ask for the elves' reaction to an S/O who has a size/creampie kink?

a/n: I went with the creampie/breeding kink 😗

Breeding – filling your pussy never felt so good. Watching how stuffed you were with their cum spewing from your cunt urged them to go for more rounds. They wanted you filled to the brim till you couldn’t take anymore. Driving in and out of you, watching the ring of cream formulation at the base of their cock creates a feral urge to fuck you till you’re round and swollen with their seed.

They didn’t care if you couldn’t take any more cum, they’d stop when they felt like it. “Ah — fuck, baby. Look at you, all stuffed with my cum. Don’t you look pretty?” You were just lying there taking their wild pounding. Incoherent babbling spilling from your lips, drunk off their cock. “Don’t worry, when I’m done, you’ll never have felt more filled.” They’d fuck you till your pussy started squelching as the obscene noise echoed around the room, as cum dripped from your hole while they fucked you.

FEANOR, MAEDHROS, CELEGORM, Caranthir, CURUFIN, CELEBRIMBOR, FINGOLFIN, TURGON, FINARFIN, Finrod, ANGROD, Aegnor, GLORFINDEL, GALDOR, ECTHELION, EGALMOTH BELEG, ROG, THINGOL, ELROND, Elrohir, ELLADAN, GIL GALAD

#reactions #silm smut #feanor x reader #maedhros x reader #celegorm x reader #caranthir x reader #curufin x reader #celebrimbor x reader #fingolfin x reader #turgon x reader #finarfin x reader #finrod x reader #angrod x reader #aegnor x reader #glorfindel x reader #galdor x reader #ecthelion x reader #egalmoth x reader #beleg x reader #rog x reader #thingol x reader #elrond x reader #elrohir x reader #elladan x reader #gil galad x reader #doodlepops responds

[gardensofthemoon]

curious about golden son!

Ohhhhh my favourite one! Thank you for the ask! *rubs hands in anticipation*

So, this one is my longest-standing wip, begun back in December, and from a throwaway idea it has shaped itself into a medium/longfic set in the Noontide of Valinor about falling in love, coming of age, friends to lovers, and family drama, where the central relationship is Curufin/Finrod. It started out because of me wanting to write smut, but when I got to it I had to create a backstory and it just... grew out of my hands. It is bittersweet with a rather sad ending, it tackles some topics like insecurities and the relationships between fathers and sons, growing up as yourself vs having to perform/to obey your parents' expectations of you, friendship vs love vs family. The other main romantic relationship is between Turgon and Elenwe, serving as a foil for Curufin and Finrod, as Finrod evaluates his own feelings and juggles between what he wants and what's expected of him. As for vibes, think of long summers, flowers in bloom, cold lakes, laughing and arguing, kisses stolen in gardens, the nervousness and giddiness of first love.

And now, a longer snipper - the beginning of it.

Curufinwë, Findaráto knows, looks too much like his father. It has been laid out from the beginning in his name: Curufinwë Atarinkë. Little father. Little Fëanáro. All of his half-cousins are named after the whims of their sire, who used them as a means for subtle insults in place of open dissent, and the fifth one, the youngest, bears the greatest expectation: that he needs to measure up to his namesake. Findaráto is not really close to that side of the family; they do not live in Tirion, but travel across Valinórë with their extended household; every now and then, his father receives a trinket from the last place they visited: a gold bracelet decked with opals and mother of pearl, a particularly smooth stone picked up from the heights of the Pelóri.  He grew up with the loud Ñolofinwëans, whose brashness is, if irritating, at least not duplicitous. Findaráto prefers serious Turukáno to his wild siblings; in fact, he spends almost all his free time strumming his lyre while Turukáno is perched on a cushioned armchair close to the west-facing windows, with a historical scroll of some kind.  As of late, the documents have undergone an intriguing transition to poetry books; and that would not have been such a bizarre choice — after all, it is the custom for elder myths to be told in verse — if not for the content: where Findaráto expected to read, whenever he peeked over his cousin’s shoulder, legends of ancient deeds of valour sung in trochaic metre, he discovered with a certain wonder that Turukáno secretly enjoyed the romantic art of Elemmírë with all its verbose lyricism. “Snooping is a poor look on you, Ingo,” Turukáno admonishes him when he takes notice of his meddling with the pile of to-read saccharine pamphlets he stored under the said armchair. “Anyway, you cannot understand the longing for a most beloved soul.”  He punctuates his statement with a sigh, then shakes his head and buries himself in the newest collection of love ballads, all the while Findaráto watches unhappily. 

#elio replies #silm fic #elio writes

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

@sallysavestheday and @grey-gazania, thank you so much for tagging me! This seems like fun.

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 55 non-anon works under the username HewerOfCaves. (122, counting anon fics and my previous usernames).

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 168.204, but if I count my previous lives on Ao3, probably around 400.000

3. What fandoms do you write for? Silmarillion. I'm an one fandom kind of writer.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Idea Dump - 20-chapter collection of random ficlets and drabbles

For the World's End - My very first fic in the fandom! Post-canon Maedhros angst

We Live a Lie - A slightly disturbing ficlet about Fëanor in Arda Unmarred

A King Uncrowned (A King Enthroned) - Maedhros and Fingolfin on the day of Fingolfin's coronation

Ages of Secrets - Russingon and the people who knew their secret through the ages. Tbh, I'm still baffled that this is among my more popular fics.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I can't rest easy until I've responded to all my comments.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Heh, I thrive on angst, so this is a very hard question. I can't choose just one. It's a tie between Monomachy (Maedhros and Fingon cross paths during the Third Kinslaying), Happy Ending (Maedhros daydreaming, it's just... bleak) and Alone in the Unknown (Maglor reaches his breaking point, Maedhros reached his a long time ago; this entire series is angsty, but this part is the angstiest of all).

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I went looking and was surprised to discover that I've written fewer happy endings than I thought :D But I still have some!

Peculiar Spiritual Connection - QP Russingon and their happy, carefree post-canon ending with just a smidgen of angst.

Greetings Without Farewells - Teenage Maedhros and Maglor, kid Celegorm and Fingon are happy in the bliss of Valinor.

What's in a Name - Debatable because the protagonist, Turgon, is decidedly not happy, but everyone else is, so...

8. Do you get hate on fics? Hasn't happened yet, thankfully. I hope it never will.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I actually started writing smut and am actively trying not to be embarrassed about it. As to what kind... What kinds are there? :D So far, I've written two kinds - wouldn't this be fucked up and wouldn't this be hot. Here's what I have:

Proxy - Maedhros/Fingon, unrequited Maedhros/Maglor. Wouldn't this be fucked up kind of fic. All characters are definitely fucked up.

The Hunters - Maedhros/Aredhel and they are both women. Wouldn't this be hot kind of fic. It would.

Kaleidoscope - Fingon/Sons of Feanor, M-rated but still fucked up.

Purification - Maedhros/Thingol. Actually, I think this is both wouldn't it be fucked up and wouldn't it be hot.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? My only attempt at writing a crossover crashed and burned. It was supposed to be SPN/Silm :/

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? I hope not! I'm not aware of it at least.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! Very nice people have translated some of my fics into Chinese and Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Once, in a different fandom. It was a reincarnation AU, and me and the other author took turns writing each life of the characters. It was very fun.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? It's Russingon. No contest. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Every WIP is a WIP I want to finish but doubt I ever will. If seriously, it's probably my Maedhros on the Thangorodrim fic. I started it about five years ago and haven't finished it yet. And it's not a long fic! If I finish it, it'll be 5k at most, I think. I don't know, I'm just over Maedhros suffering. I want him to be happy. That's a lie, but I just can't deal with the whole Thangorodim torture.

16. What are your writing strengths? Dialogue. Twist endings. Breaking people's hearts.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Descriptions. Beautiful comparisons and metaphors. Also, I have a very narrow focus, meaning that there is only one fandom, one ship and very few characters I write for. I rarely diversify.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic. Not a fan. A few words are fine, but entire lines are too much for me.

19. First fandom you wrote for? I shan't say.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? It changes all the time. Right now, I'm fond of To Evil End. Fingon lives, but will it change everything for the better? The answer may surprise you but probably won't.

Tagging @eccentricmya, @runawaymun, @echo-bleu, @searchingforserendipity25, @undercat-overdog

#tag game #writing #zwc fic

[cilil]

Alrighty, poll time! This is a follow-up to my post asking about Ainu/Elf pairings you would like to see and there were so many great ideas (that will remain on my list either way, no worries ;)) that I can't decide so I need help now.

(Note: This is for Silm smut week day 3 so I selected the pairings that I think would fit the "Liege/Vassal, Master/Servant, Teacher/Pupil, Patron/Artist, etc." prompt that I want to write)

#polls #my polls #cílil's quick queries #elves #ainur #silmarillion #silm rare pairs

[caliawen]

Haunted

Pairing = Glorfindel x Reader

Genre = Teen and up

General ratings = a twinge of angst, fluff, smut implied (?)

Content warnings = smut implied

Word count = 1,4k

Notes = ……hi 🫣 I haven’t posted in a month 🙃 Life has been really busy and I haven’t really had the time (nor the motivation, truthfully) to write. I had a more regular schedule before, but I think for now it will stay… ‘irregular’. I have no idea when or what I will post next. Hope you can understand!

Glorfindel was being haunted. Not by ghosts- no. By the memories of his past life. Of his mistakes. Of his friends. Of their deaths. Of his death. The searing pain of his scalp as he was tugged down and down and down by the Balrog. Of the heat he felt as he fought for his life, for the lives of Idril and Tuor and Eärendil and everyone. His mind replayed those moments over and over, never leaving him a second of peace.

The slight smile of Ecthelion, Rog’s boisterous laugh, Turgon’s exasperation with them, Elgalmoth’s mischievous eyes as he gossiped, Penlod’s hums as he pretended he was listening, Galdor’s excited chatter about the trees and plants he saw, Duilin’s whistles as he walked, Tuor’s love-struck expression as his eyes followed Idril and Maeglin’s shy smile when someone asked him about his work…

Oh, Maeglin… Glorfindel had hated him, for a time. Hated him for giving Gondolin away to Morgoth, giving away their lives.. But that time had passed. In the halls of Námo, Glorfindel had had plenty of time to think before he was reborn. And think he did : about how Maeglin had lost his mother and father. About how his only parental figure was Turgon, who was too busy to really spend time with his nephew. About how he mistook his love for Idril as romantic and not platonic, and how that strained his friendship with her and Tuor. About how rumors spread that Maeglin was a vile being. About how none of them did anything to defend him. About how lonely Maeglin must have been.. About what impossible horrors he felt at the hands of Morgoth and Sauron. About how they never saw how broken Maeglin had returned. About how he didn’t care if he died anymore.

Yes, Glorfindel had thought, Maeglin had done something wrong. And he forgave Maeglin for what he had done, because Maeglin had been a child. A child who needed to be guided and shown love, but no one had stepped up to take up the role.

He thought about you. About your smile, your eyes, your nose. About the way you moved, how you talked and your passions. And he ached. Because he didn’t know what happened to you. He didn’t know if you had died, if you had suffered or if you were still alive. If you had moved on from him.. And that haunted him. His every waking thought, his every dream and nightmare.

Sometimes, Glorfindel dreamed of you. He dreamed that you were laying in his bed, in Gondolin, smiling at him. That you carded your fingers through his hair and told him that you loved him. And when he woke up, his heart ached and he did not know whether to thank or curse Irmo.

Glorfindel had a mission. He was going back to Arda Marred. And he found himself dreading going back. Dreading seeing how everything had changed and how the language had evolved. Dreading how no one he knew would be there. How he would be alone. At least in Valinor, he saw his mother and father. He found himself crying when he realized he did not remember what being embraced by his parents felt like. They took care of him and he couldn’t be more grateful to have them.

When Glorfindel departed, he stood looking at Valinor until it had been long since out of view. He stood still, wondering if he was dreaming. He thought, how ironic, for he was going back. Not anyone else. Him. Laurëfindelë Glorfindel, an emissary of the Valar, granted powers nearly as strong as that of the Maiar. And he didn’t want to go back. Nienna wept for him, for his sacrifice, for his fear and for his love. He found himself appreciating her understanding. She visited him, before he departed. He listened to her words, without understanding : “Dear Child, your heart is being haunted. Your mind is playing tricks on you, and your heart is rendered blind by your pain. But your gut, your gut is still there and strong. Follow it, follow what it tells you. But do not silence your heart and mind for it, listen to them. Listen, but do not follow.”

~~~

When Glorfindel arrived in Middle Earth, he did not know where to begin. He was tired, but could not sleep. He thought about you. About your lips on his, about your laugh, about your hands in his, about the ring he had passed on your finger. He thought and thought and thought. And his heart ached. He walked on paths and in forests, stopping to wash himself in rivers. And he despaired.

It was later that he found Lindon. Days later. Or weeks, he did not know. He met Elrond, someone who would confuse and amuse him for the rest of their lives. Part man, part elf, part maia. He wore the insignias of Fingolfin and Fëanor with pride, daring anyone to confront him about it. He was a gentle soul with a heart of gold and the patience of the wise. He was as kind as summer and Glorfindel found himself basking in his presence, like a flower who had grown up in shadow feeling the sun on itself for the first time.

Círdan was surprisingly mischievous. Subtle jokes, sarcasm and deadpan looks were all things he threw at others, uncaring if they understood or not. He was calm, but could easily terrorize anyone with his anger, like the sea. Board games were his favorite and Glorfindel spent time playing with him, thinking of strategies to beat the older elf.

Gil-Galad was as confusing as he was funny. His father was unknown and he liked to joke around about it. Glorfindel spent time with him when they could, talking about everything and nothing. When Gil-Galad felt Glorfindel starting to lose himself in memories, he would randomly tell a stupid joke. They made Glorfindel laugh each time.

Celebrimbor had been a bit weary at first. Glorfindel almost laughed at the memory of a small Curufinwë Tyelpërinquar staring at him with the exact same look. It wasn’t long until they became great friends. Celebrimbor understood : he, too, was haunted by his past actions and words. Maybe for different reasons than Glorfindel, but the important thing was that he related to how Glorfindel felt. Having his feelings validated was something that alleviated the pain in Glorfindel’s heart.

~~~

Glorfindel walked around Lindon aimlessly and leisurely, taking his time to look around. You haunted him. Everything he saw reminded him of you. From pretty rocks you would have collected, passing by a stand selling your favorite fruit, to someone wearing clothes the exact color of your eyes. His mind played tricks on him, making him imagine hearing your laugh or seeing your beautiful hair swaying in the wind.

He stopped walking at a bookstore, a feeling bubbling up inside him. He looked at the door, curious. His gut screamed at him to enter that store, for some reason. His mind dismissed the feeling, but his heart held hope. They warred against each other. And then, Glorfindel was reminded of Nienna’s words to him. And he went inside the store.

Inside the store, which was cozy and homey, he felt pulled towards a particular bookshelf. His breath hitched as his mind reeled to a stop, his heart pumping wildly. There you stood, browsing the shelf while smiling. Feeling observed, you turned your head, your eyes widening as you saw Glorfindel, your husband, your soulmate, standing there. Glorfindel was frozen, his mind scrambling and heart singing with joy. You were the one to make the first move, throwing yourself in his arms, ecstatic. Glorfindel hugged you back, a sense of wholeness overtaking his mind and body as he kissed you long and passionately.

The two of you spent hours upon hours talking, laughing, crying and hugging. This long-awaited reunion was a balm on Glorfindel’s bruised and battered heart. That night, under the stars, in a magnificent glade full of flowers, you rekindled your fëas. Glorfindel made love to you slowly and passionately, kissing every piece of skin revealed as he undressed you, worshiping your body with his hands and mouth. That night, in your arms, Glorfindel had no nightmares. He woke up to your sweet voice and felt free. Free of the thing that haunted him. And he smiled.

End notes : Hope you enjoyed! Reblogs, comments & likes are extremely appreciated 🫶

@theladyvanya

#the silmarillion #glorfindel #laurëfindelë #laurefindele #glorfindel x reader #laurëfindelë x reader #laurefindele x reader #fluff #love #angst #mourning/grieving (?) #elrond #celebrimbor #tyelperinquar #tyelpërinquar #círdan #cirdan #nienna #Haunted

[swanhild]

Laurëndil

Last minute entry for @silmsmutweek To go with the prompts threesomes and moresomes, humor/crack, rare pairs, canon ships, established relationships, voyeurism and tender sex. (Also an early entry for @nolofinweanweek because this one is all about Turgon, really. And I might be stranded without access to the Internet for a for a couple of days in November, so.)

Summary: Turgon spends a bit of quality time with two of his favourite people and tries something new. (A story about Turgon's life in Valinor post-reembodiment. That ends in a threesome.)

Characters: Turgon, Finrod, Elenwë Relationships: Finrod/Turgon, Turgon/Elenwë, Finrod/Turgon/Elenwë Words: 7k Rating: Explicit Genre: Smut, Humor, Angst (only at the beginning)

Read on AO3

Excerpt:

Turgon groaned in embarrassment and covered his face with one arm. “Having both of you involved in this was a mistake,” he grumbled and Finrod could see that the was blushing even harder than before. Finrod patted his hip. “Don't lie, Turno. You love having both of us in your bed at the same time.” "It's your bed, not mine," Turgon muttered, but didn't argue the point otherwise.

#silmsmutweek #silmarillion fic #turgon #finrod #turgoldo #finrod x turgon #elenwe #turgon x elenwe #finrod x turgon x elenwe #fotfics #silmarillion #the silmarillion #tolkien fic #finrod/turgon #turgon/finrod #my writing

[imakemywings]

Summary: Anaire forgives Fingolfin in pieces.

Length: 4.7k

AN: Anaire/Fingolfin reunion smut for @silmsmutweek (throwing in a tag for @nolofinweanweek too!)

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

Photo credit to Dainis Graveris on Unsplash.

It was years gone now that Anairë’s husband had returned, almost hesitantly, from the Halls of Mandos. Years gone since she had first been truly confronted with the notion of what to do with him standing in front of her again; since all those conversations she’d played and replayed in her mind over the centuries were suddenly not just an exercise in fantasy; since there had been another laying down their head in the home she’d grown to think of as hers.

Indis and Finarfin had been kind enough to let her keep the old apartments in the royal palace—she was, they said, still a princess of the Noldor.

When Indis had followed her eldest back to Valmar, and Eärwen had departed for Alqualondë to grieve and offer aid, and Nerdanel had quitted the palace for a home of her own (she didn’t say where, when she left, though Anairë had since figured it out), Anairë had learned just how quiet those apartments could be. When it was just her and Finarfin at dinners that had once held dozens, conversation now sparse and shallow, she understood at last the meaning of the word empty.

Was Fingolfin her responsibility? Only as much as she would be his, in a similar scenario, she reasoned. And where was he to go, otherwise? She doubted he would be welcomed in Valmar, even if Indis and Findis wished to offer him a place. So perhaps it was inevitable that he landed back in the same home he had resided in when he left.

Anairë made him sleep on the sofa.

They had slid a bed into his old study since those early days, for never since his return had Anairë allowed him into the bedchambers which now belonged to her, and he would not overnight in the children’s rooms (although she had caught him lying on Aredhel’s bed one afternoon, fingers clutched around some youthful wood-working project of Turgon's still lingering in his sister's room).

Forgiveness was a fickle thing sometimes, she thought. Eärwen had still not forgiven her children for their leaving and the manner of it, as if all her forgiveness had gone into Finarfin and left none for the children. Finarfin had been nearly delirious with joy at the return of any of his babies and if he had harbored any resentment until then, it had vanished the moment Finrod stepped light-dazzled and wary out of the Halls. What discussions—and there had been many—Indis had had with Fingolfin Anairë couldn’t say, for Fingolfin had not shared much and she had not pried. She knew Finrod had been often in conversation with Olwë since his return, continuing the efforts at healing which Eärwen and Finarfin had been driving at between their peoples since the Kinslaying. Findis had not yet called on Fingolfin, though they had spoken once when she traveled with Indis to and from Tirion.

Anairë knew why Fingolfin had done what he had done. She had resented his departure, particularly after Alqualondë, but at the same time, she could not wholly condemn it, even if she thought it had been the wrong choice (Only once had she pointed out that Finarfin had been willing to return and take his due punishment, and that had been one of their more raw conversations). Still, she took several years to decide that she was going to forgive him. The next question was whether that forgiveness included allowing him to be a part of her life again, and to what extent. That was another several years.

All told, when she invited Fingolfin up to the bedroom that had once been theirs, few could blame him for seizing the chance.

His fingers must have remembered the trick of the lock on the door; he flicked it closed with one hand even as he pressed Anairë back against the wall beside it (the lesson learned in a family as large as Finwë’s was better safe than sorry even if you were quite sure the house was empty). His hands were like a dream as they slid up beneath her pale blue robes, so achingly familiar and yet so distant she had to reach for the memory.

Anairë sighed and leaned back against the wall, her hair pillowed in a black halo around her head; if she shut her eyes with his mouth against her throat, it could almost be one of those things she pictured in her mind late at night, with one hand pressed between her thighs, furious with him him and wanting him, and most of all, missing him.

Fingolfin had been the last of his brothers to wed, though he and she had been courting before Eärwen and Finarfin began. Anairë did nothing in a rush. But all her careful planning and weighing of options and possibilities had left her in no better position than Nerdanel’s hasty nuptials with the shockingly young crown price; in the end, her house had been just as vacant.

Fingolfin’s hand began to travel upwards, but there was a hesitancy there she had never felt in him before, and when she opened her eyes, the realness of the moment shocked her, sending a shudder through her body, a not-unpleasant ache low in her belly.

His topaz eyes were fixed on her face, a slight knit in his brow, a question on his lips as his fingers brushed against her thigh but dared not yet reach for more. Anairë stared back and said nothing, wondering what he would do if she went on saying nothing. But there was something in his eyes that made her remember what the others had told her about how he had died.

How brave was he! the returned Noldor cried to her, nearly clutching at the hems of her robes, How selfless! How noble! What an image of the Noldor! But all that Anairë had heard, when they spoke to her of how Fingolfin had ridden alone to the fortress of Morgoth and bid the dark lord come forth for combat, was the howling song of Fingolfin’s pain and despair. How can they not see! she had vented at one of her few visits to Nerdanel. How can they not see he had no hope? She needed not have been there to know that.

She cupped her hands against his cheeks, her skin dark even against the brown of Fingolfin’s. He had taken very much after Fëanor and Finwë’s looks, to Fëanor’s chagrin: there was no denying their relation (and if Nerdanel hinted that Fëanor was the better-looking of the two, Anairë would only shrug and give her beloved another kiss when she saw him next). She stroked her thumbs along his sharp cheekbones and followed the urging in her chest to lean in and kiss him, long and slow. Something like a whimper came from Fingolfin’s throat and he pressed nearer to her, pushing her against the wall as if to burrow in between her ribs and take shelter there, beside her heart.

Anairë parted her lips and slid her arms around his shoulders, the solid feel of him sweeping back the notion it was all just a fantasy of hers. She let go of him and began to pull at his belt and sash, stripping his robes away from his shoulders and baring him down to the waist. Fingolfin let them fall to the floor and did not move, waiting for Anairë’s lead. Her body ached for his touch.

“Did you not miss me?” she said, holding his gaze. Without troubling to pause for words, Fingolfin grabbed her in another kiss, molding his body against hers, hands holding her waist, and Anairë could not restrain a breathless moan as she felt his arousal against her inner thigh. She arched off the wall and his hands moved down, sliding under her ass to cup and squeeze and she moved her leg to press up against the growing bulge in his trousers.

It had been a learning process for each of them to loosen up in bed, enough that in the beginning, they had been sure they were doing something wrong, for surely this came naturallyto everyone! Now, Anairë felt the ghost of those old barriers half reconstructed in Fingolfin’s absence, and a part of her wished to retreat behind them, to simply exist and let him touch her without taking any part of it herself. Such couplings asked nothing of her, but they were also far less rewarding, and the greater part of her felt she had earned a reward from Fingolfin—if it required her to make herself more vulnerable.

She put one hand over his, and together they guided it between her legs, drawing another low noise of approval from her. Fingolfin felt around in the folds of her clothes until he could slide his hand down the front of her shorts and press his fingers into the thatch of coarse hair there, his breath stuttering when he felt how wet she was.

“Anairë,” he breathed, dragging his fingers maddeningly up and down her slit without pressing deeper.

“Mm…” she responded, one hand on the back of his head, digging into his hair as he nibbled at her neck. “Yes?”

For a moment, his only response was heavy breathing and his fingers finally pushing a bit harder to circle her clit, teasing over the swollen head.

“I need you,” he whispered at last.

“I know,” she answered. “And here I am.”

Fingolfin dropped down to his knees, pulling her shorts down and pushing her robes out of the way to bare her sex. For a moment he only looked, as if he were gazing on some wonder he had expected never to see again, and then he leaned in, mouth open, and dragged his tongue over her lips. Pausing only to pick one short, curly hair off his tongue, he parted her and pressed his eager mouth against the bud of her arousal. Anairë’s head tipped back against the wall and the rush of need that swept over her as Fingolfin buried his face between her legs, lapping, sucking, scraping with his teeth, as if this were where he might truly earn her forgiveness—as if she had put him on his knees for this—was nearly enough to finish her right there, which was far too soon for her mood.

            Still, she could not bring herself to stop him. Another moan tore from her throat and she rocked her hips against his mouth, vaguely aware he was moving just before he shrugged one of her legs over his shoulder so that he could be nearer to her still. Electricity crackled through her body as if she stood on a hilltop in a thunderstorm; she clamped a hand over her mouth, and knew that if she did not stop him soon, her turn on this ride would be over very quickly.

            She raked her fingers back through his thick black hair and pushed his head back, away from her, giving her a view of how his mouth and chin glistened with her slick.

            “Not like this,” she said. “Together.” There was a brief confusion on his face, and she knew he had meant to bring her off here, and likely to ask nothing of her in return. “Bed,” she said, pushing him in that direction. “If I would have you, I would have all of you, Nolofinwë.”

            “Yes,” he agreed senselessly at once, rising to his feet and shuffling towards the bed, dreamlike. “As you wish.” He paused there again, in front of the bed he had not touched since his return, and Anairë reached around from behind him to loosen the ties of his pants.

“If you wish to prove something to me,” she murmured, “prove it.”

            Fingolfin turned more boldly to her and, despite the considerable tent in his trousers, took his time undoing the clasps and ties of her robes to let them fall in a fluttering heap at her feet, eyes widening once again as he swept them over the expanse of smooth, dark skin and soft curves. His fingers brushed lightly at her hips, following the line of her body up over her ribs to her breasts, along the line of her throat to her face, where he cupped her cheeks and drew her into a kiss that made her nearly melt into him.

            I missed you, she thought, but if she lingered too long on that, she might cry. Instead, she broke away from him and dropped her earrings on the bedside table before she laid down, settling herself comfortably back against the pillows to regard her…husband? Former husband? Estranged husband? Lover? Friend?

            Fingolfin stayed where he was, looking at her as if he were one of the university art students being asked to memorize a scene within five minutes to recreate it after. Despite her body’s attempted urging, Anairë did not rush him past this.

            “Anairë…” he began again.

            “Yes?” she asked, more softly.

            “Do you want this?”

            She blinked at him.

            “Have I given another impression?” she asked.

            “You would never, unless you meant to,” he said. “But I…things have been…” Fingolfin was not often at a loss for words, and she could see even then a flash of annoyance in his face at this difficulty. “I would not wish you to feel this was any…obligation of yours,” he said at last, still displeased with this phrasing. “You are not…responsible for me.”

            “Nolofinwë Arakáno,” she said, “if I wished to keep you from my house, I would have done it.” Her face softened. “Think you that the pain of our separation was on your side only?” she asked quietly. “That I have not thought of you since you left? You know that isn’t so.” She had told him. Sitting up, she reached a hand out to him. “I want this,” she said. After a pause, she added, feeling more exposed than she had when he had dropped her robes to the floor: “I want you.”

            Fingolfin hastily stepped out of the remains of his clothes, cast aside his own golden earrings (one of which hit the bedside table and skittered onto the floor), and parted her legs carefully to kneel there. Once more he paused, eyes glazed with thought, and Anairë wondered what he was thinking, being back in their room again after so long. She could not think now of the pleasant times they had passed there before, or she would cry.

            Instead, she wound her arms around his shoulders and drew him into a kiss, sighing in pleasure as his sex rubbed against her own.

            “I want you,” she murmured against his lips. “As before.” What a fantasy, the notion he could love her now as if nothing had happened, as if beyond this door, beyond those windows, the world was all as it had been before the Darkening!

            Fingolfin shivered and pushed her back against the pillows, trailing his kisses over her jaw, down her neck, to her chest, where he nuzzled between her breasts. The ache within her had sharpened now and she squirmed impatiently, something that made him lift his head with a look she knew was his effort not to smile.

            Anairë stared him down.

            “Have you something to say, Nolofinwë?” she asked gravely.

            “Not a thing,” he answered promptly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

            Anairë, as has been noted, was not an impatient person. Therefore, it should not come as an enormous surprise that Fingolfin took an inordinate amount of pride in being able to make her impatient. This time, she could not stop the wave of memories from rolling over her, flooding her mind with past instances of his teasing—the firmness of his thigh between her legs—the thrust of his fingers—the smirk. Rather than allow it to make her maudlin, Anairë savored how these recollections made her throb with need.

            “Did you come here today not to please me?” she asked. His eyes snapped to hers at once, as if he might lose his chance. Before he could grapple for a response, she let a faint smile curve her lips. “Then please me, and let us be pleased together.” Fingolfin relaxed and shifted up to kiss her full lips again. One of his hands brushed over the outside of her thigh, shifting her leg slightly to position himself, and goosebumps broke out across her skin; her stomach twisted and flipped as it hadn’t since quite early in their marriage.

            “Only give me a moment,” he murmured, reaching down to use one hand to ensure the smoothness of their coupling. A whimper rose in Anairë’s chest as, for the first time in thousands of years, she felt Fingolfin press into her core. His breathing had gone all atremble and he could not restrain the wordless noises of throbbing arousal that passed his lips as he, with obvious effort, entered her slowly. When he had sheathed himself to the hilt, he stopped, and looked at her, with a look not unlike the helpless, lost look he had given her when first he had emerged into the daylight of Aman once more. For a moment they were still, absorbed in the sensation of being so connected again.

            Tendered to his vulnerability, Anairë guided his head down to kiss him gently, then with sharper desire, teeth against his lips, her hips twitching up against his.

            “Is this what you want?” he murmured.

            “Yes,” she breathed. “And you?” He nodded hastily.

            “I have thought of—since I left you—I have wished—have dreamed—” Anairë silenced him with another kiss.

            “It is not a dream,” she whispered. She pressed a hand against his chest, feeling the faint beat of his heart. “It is real.” There was a furrow between his brows for just a moment, and Anairë wondered if he was playing an obstacle course with thoughts that would bring tears to his eyes as well, but he smoothed it out and leaned down to kiss her cheek as he drew back and thrust into her at last, chasing away all other thoughts from her mind.

            He began slowly and she guessed he wished to savor their first union since before the sun rose; the problem with that state of affairs was the neither of them was inclined to patience. Anairë had come near to finishing once already, and Fingolfin did not seem likely to outlast her, and as much as they each wished to draw the moment out, they were perhaps more eager still for their final pleasure. It was therefore not long before Fingolfin was fucking her with something near desperation while Anairë arched off the bed, rutting vigorously against him.

            “Anairë,” he gasped, shifting to balance his weight on one forearm so that he could reach his other hand between her legs to thumb her clit, “I can’t—”

            “It’s okay,” she panted, frissons of pleasure washing over her, pulling her closer and closer to her finish, emptying her head of all thought. “It’s okay. I’m nearly there.” But she held on, wanting to feel him go first.

            It didn’t happen.

            Not for lack of effort, but it was not as if they had never engaged in these unions before, where effort was not necessarily enough to bring about a finish. The more difficult thing was that Anairë wanted to, but the growing sensation that something was not right made it feel inappropriate.

            “Nolofinwë,” she said, trying not to gasp out his name as if she was holding herself back from climax, which was precisely what she was doing, although the vigor of his movement from moments earlier had cooled.

            He made some indistinct humming noise and did not stop moving, which was not conducive to their having a coherent conversation, because all Anairë’s body wanted her to focus on was the stretch and thrust of him.

            “Nolofinwë.” Then he paused, and she said: “Is everything o—oh. Oh no.” She had not meant for things to go in this order, and there was a certain indignity in having to wait for her orgasm to finish before she could go on asking him if something was wrong.

            She had grown so accustomed to those she gave herself she had nearly forgotten what it was like to finish with a partner: the waves of pleasure that washed out over her from head to toe, making her cry out and dig her nails into Fingolfin’s back; the intensity of her need to be close to him in that moment, feeling his weight pressed flush against her; the way her muscles relaxed entirely afterwards, leaving her limp on the bed.

            When she came to again, Fingolfin was stroking her cheek delicately, unabashedly watching her, his lips slightly parted in awe.

            “I meant to say,” she tried again, still half out of breath, “is everything okay?”

            “Okay?” Fingolfin echoed. “Okay?” For a puzzling moment, she wasn’t sure if he had somehow failed to understand the question. It was also difficult not to be keenly aware that he was still inside her. “How could I be ‘okay’ when—” She recognized his effort at controlling his feelings, trying to keep his voice steady. “I did not think…I could not…” Once again, words failed him, and he bowed his head over her, the trembling of his shoulders coming shortly after. “I thought I might never see you again,” he said, his voice cracking. “I thought you might never wish to see me again. And yet—to see you now—like this again—and you ask if I am okay—”

            He raised his head and there were tears on his cheeks; he touched her face again, reverently, as if it were she who had called him forth from the Halls, and whispered: “I missed you so much. I missed you so much.”

            Anairë’s throat was tight, and if she thought too much on the tone of his voice, she would cry too. She drew him near and pressed her forehead against his, smoothing her thumb over his cheek.

            “I missed you too,” she answered quietly.

            She did not say I wish I had gone with you; neither did Fingolfin say I wish I had stayed. Perhaps they could live with that, she thought. Each thinking they had made the right choice, even if they had both been pained by it. Perhaps larger differences in thought could be accommodated than either of them had believed when all they had known was the bliss and petty squabbles of the noontide of Valinor.

            It might have been nice to sink into that moment and let it stretch out for hours, but they had gotten themselves into a more pressing situation—resolved now for Anairë, but not for him.

            “Let me—” she began at the same moment he began to pull out of her saying: “I should—”

            For quicker results, Anairë just pressed the heel of her foot against his ass to keep him from moving away.

            “‘Together,’ I said,” she said. “I did mean that. Think you I brought you into this room for the first time since before the sun rose to let you leave unsatisfied?”

            “I am not—” he began very emphatically, but Anairë just shook her head and reached down to grip him in her hand. A few jerks of her wrist silenced him quite effectively—at least as far as words were concerned.

            “Shh,” she murmured against his lips as she kissed him. “Carry on; finish. I want that too.”

            So Fingolfin pushed into her again and she tugged at his hair and nipped as his neck as he moved within her until with delight she felt the tension in him heralding his climax and then the warmth of his seed as he moaned through his finish. When it was done, he slumped on top of her and Anairë ran her hands through his hair, eyes half-shut, and for once, her anxieties about the rest of the world—even about Fingolfin—could not speak loud enough to grab even a fraction of her attention.

            Fingolfin moved off of her and she felt his absence, along with his fluid seeping out against her legs, another dimly, yet deeply, familiar sensation. As they lay beside each other on the expanse of Anairë’s midnight blue sheets, she allowed herself to skim the surface of memories she had been trying to keep at bay.

            On the night of the day that Fingon was born, they had gone to bed in that room—her, exhausted; him, keyed up with excitement—with their precious bundle between them. Despite her weariness, Anairë had not slept until Laurelin’s light was warming the sky; she had lain up all through the night, marveling at Fingon: the perfect swoop of his tiny nose; the outline of his flawlessly-formed little ears tucked beneath his cap; the roundness of his tender brown cheeks. At some point in the night, she had lifted her gaze from the baby to see the light of Fingolfin’s eyes on the other side of the bed—still awake, doing the same thing as her. At that moment, Fingon was the greatest thing either of them had made—and they had made him together.

            “Do you remember—”

            They both stopped.

            “Were you thinking of Findekáno?” she asked.

            “Arakáno,” he replied.

            How could she forget the first night with Argon! The night they had both wanted to sleep, but somehow the baby did not, and had pulled their hair all night until they were snarling at each other—and then realized it was the baby responsible (always a squirming thing—swaddling him effectively had been a nightmare).

            A smile twitched on Fingolfin’s lips, and Anairë couldn’t help returning one in kind. She shifted, pulling the sheets up over herself—it was chillier to be naked in the room when they were no longer moving. She caught Fingolfin’s intention to move just before he did it, and blurted out:

            “You may stay, if you wish.”

            It wasn’t quite the hour for sleep, but it was not uncommon for Elves to nap after such things, given how much energy it took from them.

            He still looked hesitant, so she flicked the sheets out over him as well.

            “Stay,” she said, softer, holding his gaze.

            “Somehow,” said Fingolfin, “I had imagined this moment…differently.” Anairë felt her cheeks warm slightly; married life presented a host of scenarios less than the totally thrilling experiences one might expect after reading a few novels and having a few breathless conversations with other similarly inexperienced individuals—like falling asleep during the act, which had happened to both of them (children took a lot of energy!)—but she could have had her first time back with Fingolfin without such atrocious timing on her part.

            “We are rather out of practice,” she sighed. Fingolfin said nothing. Anairë reached out and wiped some of the tear-tracks away from his cheek. He merely held still and let her touch where she wished. Only when she drew back did he reach out to touch her in turn, skimming his fingers lightly over her shoulder and then no more.

            It was not the first time that Anairë had felt that being with Fingolfin now was like learning to walk all over again.

            “Let us have rest,” she said quietly. She turned over, for if she kept her eyes on him she would not sleep, and pulled the sheet up over her chest as she closed her eyes. For a moment the room was still, and then she felt Fingolfin shift nearer to her back. Still he did not touch her, so she reached back blindly for his hand and pulled his arm over her. Promptly after, he snuggled up against her, fitting the curve of his body to hers as they had once done with such familiarity, so that she liked to imagine she could feel the beat of his heart against her back. She felt him nuzzle briefly into the cloud of her hair, before settling on the pillow. She threaded her fingers through his and held his hand against her chest.

            I missed you, she thought, and this time, she did not feel like crying.

            Neither of them slept, but laid like that until there were other duties that called them up, and when she rose from the bed, Anairë squeezed Fingolfin’s hand, and smiled.

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