Prompt: Feast | Gothmog & Nári (OFC)
Synopsis: Just a casual and completely normal conversation between Balrogs.
Warnings: Nári is still threatening to eat Eönwë
"We shall have a feast," Gothmog tells her.
Nári licks her fangs. "I sure hope there will be fresh meat to roast over the fire," she says. "Maybe the bird boy you're so fond of?"
"He's not for eating."
"I for one think he'd taste better than he's for company."
"I said he's not for eating," Gothmog growls.
"No sharing with your sister? Not even a single bite? Rude." Nári shakes her horned head.
"I won't eat him either."
"What?!"
"We'll... chat."
"You're having conversations with our prey now? Next thing you'll start adopting Noldorin kings as pets," Nári grumbles.
Manwë x Fëanor is underrated and I'm going mildly insane with feelings.
Let me explain.
So a while ago I wrote a long post about the narrative parallels between Melkor and Fëanor (here) which I'll be referencing a little bit here, but for those who don't want to read the entire thread here's a tldr: Melkor and Fëanor share lots of similarities, including their fall from grace arcs and certain character traits and interests.
Now, my headcanon is that Manwë loved and still loves Melkor very much and he admired him too, seeing him as this powerful and intelligent older Vala that he was proud to call his brother. He tried his best to get closer to him, but found himself rejected (rather rudely and cruelly too) due to Melkor's anger issues and rampant jealousy.
So this leaves us with a Vala who, being made not to comprehend evil as the Silmarillion tells us, was created for harmony and to be loving, yet has been continuously denied love and affection from his beloved brother despite his best efforts... and then he meets Fëanor.
Fëanor who is so much like Melkor, but does something other than destruction with his potential. Fëanor who resembles Melkor in personality and, depending on your specific headcanons, also in appearance. Fëanor who is intelligent and curious and definitely wouldn't hesitate to ask Manwë about things he knows he could learn from him, such as poetry, Valarin or details from pre-Elves awakening history. Fëanor who is confident and insanely charismatic. Fëanor who can make music with his words too, just like Manwë loves. Fëanor who is all the things Melkor should have been.
You may already think that this doesn't sound like the healthiest dynamic and you'd be correct - but that's the point. This is the fun part. Isn't it beautifully fucked up? The King of the Valar developing feelings of love and obsession for an Elven prince and inventor because there's a void in his heart and soul that he desperately wants to fill? Said Elf taking on this situation without hesitation because he's confident, capable, ambitious and, let's be real, if anyone can and will adopt and wrangle their very own pet Vala it's Fëanor? And this entire thing being further complicated by both parties having brother and daddy/mommy issues? Delicious.
As a bonus, you even have a tragic ending if you go further down the canon timeline. Look how sad Manwë already was as is and then imagine how utterly devastated he'd be in a verse where he's both fallen in love with Fëanor and successfully projected every single Melkor-related issue onto him in the process. Imagine Fëanor feeling betrayed once Manwë (alongside the other Valar) decides to step in following the Fingolfin situation. Imagine the Noldor rebellion being even more dramatic. Imagine Manwë watching Fëanor die soon after and how this may have played into him sending the eagles when he did and why. Or maybe a canon-divergence where he sends the eagles at different times for different outcomes...
Ugh. I'm just... them. You see the vision. You feel the feelings. You get it.
Let's have some insecure bird and surprisingly skilled lizard!
Prompt: Massage
Pairing: Eönwë x Gothmog
Words: 525
Warnings: /
Eönwë was hit by the sudden shift in temperature as if by a physical blow—casting his sword aside, he turned resolutely towards the source of the waves of searing, incongruous heat buffeting his bare torso.
“This is reckless,” he whispered as he slipped under the cover of the dense bushes surrounding his favourite training ground.
Maybe, he now considered with a lopsided grin, it had become his preferred spot because it was so remote; nobody but him ever came here for fear that their practice would inadvertently turn into a very real, potentially lethal fight with the forces of Darkness.
The herald was woefully aware of that risk—he was counting on it.
“I just wanted to see you,” Gothmog replied sheepishly, peeking out of the unkempt shrubbery.
Eönwë couldn’t help thinking that this was how devastating forest wildfires started, so he extended his hand and promptly tugged the Balrog out of his impromptu nest.
“I was also hoping that you’d be around,” he then admitted, wiping a damp strand of hair from his brow. Even though he’d meant what he’d just said, he was deeply embarrassed by his deplorable state of disarray.
After a few humiliating social failures, he’d lost himself in the familiar movements and the gratifying ache of sword fighting, and now he was far too damp and dirty to entice his forbidden lover.
He flinched—Manwë would have been aghast if he’d witnessed his herald’s despicable fit of vanity—almost buckling under the weight of his compounded shame.
“You went hard on that tree,” Gothmog commented, pride oozing from every syllable. “You must be sore.”
Cocking his head, Eönwë stepped closer as if to test the ludicrous thought that had just crossed his befuddled mind: what if the Lord of Balrogs liked his current sweat-sheened, mud-splattered condition?
“I once spied on a massage workshop, if I could interest you in something like that?” Gothmog purred seductively, making Eönwë snort with laughter against his will and in spite of the determinedly erotic turn their little meeting had taken.
Balrogs were so known for being huge and lumbering that most people easily forgot that they were skilled lurkers and spies, hiding in dark shadows and deep caverns.
“But I am… Maybe I should bathe...” Eönwë squeaked, visibly flustered by the way his paramour’s nostrils flared to breathe in the musky scent of his skin as he crowded the weary hero against a massive oak.
“You know me,” Gothmog whispered into his ear as he took Eönwë’s hand and twirled him around gracefully to settle his massive, clawed paws on those broad, freckled shoulders. “I revel in your perceived imperfections, rare and endearing as they may be. Hold still!”
How could Eönwë, though strong and virtuous, have resisted being accepted and loved so unconditionally? How could he have twisted away from the gently kneading hands that slid along sticky skin to revive knotted muscles and heavy bones?
It would have been easy to denounce and repudiate Gothmog’s taste for senseless violence, but he was helpless in the face of that terrible tenderness that was the most monstrous weapon in the demon’s vast arsenal.
-> Masterlist
@tolkienpinupcalendar Here's another one from me <3
Gothmog knew not what exactly he’d expected when he’d been summoned—quite urgently, one had to consider—by Mairon.
As far as the last reports were to be believed, there had been no new insurrections or other self-destructive initiatives from the Children, so he could hardly imagine what devastating occurrence made it necessary for him to appear in the ruling couple’s rooms, long after the daily business had been laid at rest along with most of their servants.
“Milord?” he asked cautiously, banging his massive fist against the closed door as quietly as possible.
“Enter,” Mairon called. As soon as Gothmog did as he was bidden; he discovered that the magnificent Maia was sitting on a comfortable chair in a corner, a purely decorative book open in his lap.
More than his colleague’s relaxed lounging, though, Melkor’s presence drew his attention.
Gothmog frowned; Mairon was only wearing a light dressing gown, but their Master had inexplicably donned an intricately layered outfit that would not have shocked the Lords and Ladies in the Circle of Doom.
“Why is he…” Gothmog waved a clawed paw towards their formidably dressed Vala. “Are you celebrating something?”
“I’m not,” Mairon replied in a bored tone, twisting his wrist lazily—from somewhere, soft music resounded, and Melkor instantly started swaying his hips in slow, undulating motions in time with the languid beat. “In acknowledgement of your fearless, devoted service, our Lord has prepared a little surprise for you.”
Staring at Melkor, toying provocatively with the buttons of his richly adorned tunic, the Lord of Balrogs felt his maw go dry and his blood heat up; it had been quite some time since he’d last been allowed to feast his eyes and senses on the voluptuous curves and lush flesh of his Master, and he could hardly believe his luck.
Still, the sensual music kept oozing through the walls, and soon, the first layers of invaluable cloth were discarded with careless bonhomie—Gothmog swallowed thickly.
“Go ahead,” Mairon encouraged. “If you don’t grab a handful soon, he’ll think that he’s doing a bad job…and you know how sore a loser he is!”
This, the intrepid warrior did not need to be told twice. Stepping forward boldly, he slid his broad, scaly fingers into Melkor’s swirling, dark hair and tugged.
With a small moan of unmistakable triumph, the Vala tore his chemise and laid bare his impressive chest provocatively.
“But…” Gothmog looked back at Mairon suspiciously.
“Oh, you’ll find him stretched and plugged for your immediate pleasure. Nobody shall say that I’m not caring towards my peers,” the other sneered and ostentatiously picked up his reading material once more.
The irresistible madness of greed was roaring in Gothmog’s veins now as he lost his patience, bending his Master over the frame of his own bed and shredding the silken pantaloons off his strong thighs impatiently.
As promised, a jewel-studded plug twinkled up at him from between delectably plump cheeks, and he gave it a playful nudge that made Melkor groan with avid excitement.
It was unusual, Gothmog thought as he felt Mairon’s burning gaze on his bare back, but he loved their dynamic.
-> Masterlist
@tolkienpinupcalendar Here's another one from me <3
@fellowshipofthefics Here's another one for y'all too :)
❝ Tulkas' forehead creased as if deep in thought. "Though maybe you need a... different kind of reminder where you belong." ❞
⊱ Prompt: Piss kink
⊱ Pairing: Tulkas x Melkor
⊱ Synopsis: [Posted as chapter 2 of Handmaiden's Tale] After his captivity in Mandos ends, Melkor is sentenced to serve as Tulkas' handmaiden to atone for his crimes. Unfortunately for him, Tulkas has more in mind than just making him clean his mansion.
⊱ Featuring: Melkor in a maid outfit
⊱ Warnings: The prompt, sexual slavery, non-con (in chapter 1 and referenced), non-consensual kink, humiliation & degradation, punishment
𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Yet another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December; we're almost done. Please heed tags and warnings: This one, as well as the fic in its entirety, is nasty.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Sometimes I play around with the idea of Melkor and Mairon raising something sentient and humanoid for a change - be it their own kid or someone else's they stole as part of some new scheme - and I think they would be hilarious at parent teacher conferences, kindergarten parties and all that.
When someone details their struggles as a single parent, Mairon immediately starts talking about that time he had to single parent the forces of evil for several centuries because hubby dearest was absent. Everyone gives Melkor the stink-eye for this, especially since he has previously lost sympathy points by encouraging his kid to hit others with their toy hammer and mumbling something about an Elven king, and he defends himself by explaining that he wasn't a dead beat king of evil and was actually "kidnapped" by his brother's "toxic friend group" who were "falsely accusing" him of "a parking violation or something"
Currently obsessing over the thought that, when Melkor and Mairon meet again sometime post-canon, it will be the first time in thousands of years that Mairon uses his hands for something other than violence. Caress instead of hurt. Maintain instead of destroy. Love instead of hate. He's almost forgotten the motions, but he sees Melkor and he remembers
tolkien is full of three dimensional villains who understand the mistakes that they've made and regret them, or who have very understandable motivations that we literally watch spiral downward. melkor, meanwhile, came into existence as the strongest prettiest best cosmic entity, immediately started trying to fight god for the aux cord, and made it everyone else's problem for the next All Of Existence
His skin tasted like ash. To a Balrog, it was delicious. Gothmog could spend hours just licking and cleaning him with his tongue.
Maybe he would.
⊱ Pairing(s): Gothmog x Melkor
⊱ Synopsis: When Gothmog guards a sleeping Melkor, he decides to remind his lord of how gorgeous he is.
⊱ Featuring: Body worship, rimming
⊱ Warnings: Smut, dub-con, bit of somnophilia
⊱ Oneshot (~1.9k)
𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Based on an anon request that I lost for a while and managed to dig up again. My apologies. I hope you enjoy this one regardless ♡
He was confined in a body of blood, flesh and bone, but was no less glorious and beautiful than he had been once upon a time.
Gothmog had been standing guard at the entrance of his lord's chambers for hours now, silent and motionless, only smouldering embers giving away his presence in the shadows. His fiery gaze idly scanned his surroundings for anything unusual or dangerous, but mostly rested on the one who kept drawing his attention despite his best efforts.
Melkor was asleep. It was a habit he had developed once his fána had become a hröa and permanently bound his spirit, one most Ainur had no need for, yet the Balrogs were no strangers to. In times of peace they would often retreat into the deepest pits of Angband and rest. A vulnerable but undeniably comfortable state to be in; though certainly strange to see from a being as driven as the Dark Vala was, or used to be.
There was movement in the bed. Melkor was turning around again, this time ending up on his stomach. His cheek was pressed against his pillow, and he was facing the entrance where his favourite Balrog stood. Gothmog, forgetting about his duties for a moment, studied his face. With his eyes closed and his lips parted to breathe, the Vala looked strangely earthly, his divinity obscured by ashen skin and living flesh.
But beautiful nevertheless, Gothmog said to himself once again. No matter what he did, his thoughts always cycled back to this. He had always found Melkor to be quite alluring, yet only his current state made it fully palpable. Beauty, dark and terrible as it might be in the eyes of others, that could be perceived, felt, touched, if only he came closer and stretched out his hand...
He blinked. It wasn't the first time such fantasies had entered his mind, but in the past they had never felt so concrete. Real. Achievable for one willing to try. Gothmog knew of course how powerful Melkor was, but also how much his creations and wars had weakened him. He knew how much smaller this hröa was compared to his previous forms, smaller than a Balrog.
And most importantly he knew that he had his lord's favour. He was strong, he was loyal, he was needed.
Would Melkor deny him a little indulgence after ages of service? Could he deny him?
Gothmog blinked. The image of the beautiful and beautifully vulnerable Vala remained, as did his thoughts and ancient desire to be closer to him.
He gazed down the hallway. Everything was safe, nobody was there, except for the Orc guards standing outside. But his lord's incarnate servants were wise enough not to enter — those who hadn't been were no longer alive — and thus would neither see him leave his post nor enter the chambers.
Gothmog made up his mind. He had no intention of hurting the Vala, and Melkor knew this. Should know at least. But he believed he could manage either way.
Moving as quietly as he could, he entered his lord's chambers and closed the door behind him. It wouldn't even appear suspicious if anybody happened to come along, as it wasn't uncommon for him to be summoned for a private audience. His peers would know not to disturb.
Melkor slept, unaware that his captain and chief enforcer now approached him. Gothmog regarded him silently for a while, then reached out to touch his hair. It felt soft and made no move to curl around his hand or any other offensive or defensive action. Pliable like an incarnate's. But the sensation was pleasant and felt intimate; he couldn't recall the last time he had touched the Vala's hair, if ever. What a pity it would have been to never experience it.
The rest of Melkor's hröa was covered by a blanket and furs on top. It had to be warm underneath, Gothmog thought appreciatively. For a moment he was tempted to crawl under the blankets himself, but knew all too well that fabric and fur would most likely not appreciate his fiery form. Not that his lord wasn't a spirit of fire — alongside many other elements and talents — as well, though he tended to be on fire a lot less these days.
Careful not to disturb him, Gothmog pulled down the blanket and found Melkor naked underneath. When he was relaxing in his chambers, he usually covered his hröa with a silken robe or a fur cloak or other simple, comfortable clothing, but he had removed those before bed. Neither the cool air nor the Balrog's warm hands against his skin seemed to bother him, however; he barely moved.
Gothmog was stunned. He was close, so close to whatever he desired... but what was that? The amount of possibilities stunned him for a moment, then excitement won out. He was going to explore, simple as that. Gently of course, after all this was his lord and not a random prisoner. It was done out of love and respect.
He leaned down to plant small kisses on Melkor's shoulders, then upper spine, then neck, following muscle and bone. No reaction from the Vala, only soft breathing. Maybe the touch was even welcome, at least enough not to be perceived as hostile or bothersome. If he perceived it at all; Gothmog could sense that his hröa remained unconscious and his ëala in the Unseen Realm, most likely dreaming.
His skin tasted like ash. To a Balrog, it was delicious. Gothmog could spend hours just licking and cleaning him with his tongue.
Maybe he would.
He continued his trail of kisses, this time down Melkor's spine. It was only when he reached his tailbone that he elicited the first reaction, a sigh and some restless shifting. Reflexively, Gothmog placed his clawed hand on his lower back to keep him from turning around again. The current position was preferable, allowing him to access the parts of his lord's hröa that he was most curious about.
Pulling down the blanket further, he exposed strong thighs and a shapely backside. A shame he sits on a throne most of the time. A waste even, Gothmog thought to himself, licking his lips. He wondered again if he was going too far, but remembered all too well how often Melkor had indulged in the pleasures of the flesh with various partners of various shapes and sexes. What objection would he have to being pleasured? Only that he had uttered no command, but being worshipped by one of his most loyal servants hardly needed to be asked for.
Now determined to get a taste of what he had dreamed about for so long, Gothmog's large, clawed hands parted his lord's thighs and his tongue found the most sensitive part of his hröa. Had anyone ever touched him there, the Lord of Balrogs wondered, or was he the first? Either way he could find no traces of another, neither taste nor scent, and it pleased him immensely.
The sensation of his rough tongue brushing repeatedly against the puckered rim of the Vala's entrance was what elicited more of a reaction, causing Melkor to moan softly as he slowly awoke. To Gothmog's surprise, it was him who spread his legs more and tilted his hips as if to demand more, and he was happy to oblige. To work even the tip of his tongue inside that tight little hole would take a while, but his lord being relaxed and perhaps even willing would make it easier.
He wanted to know what it felt like to be inside him.
Melkor mumbled something, maybe a name, maybe an endearment. Part of Gothmog wanted to know, part of him didn't. He was uncertain whether he had been recognized and preferred to at least pretend his lord hadn't spoken to another lover. Determined, he tightened his grip on the Vala's surprisingly pliable flesh to grant himself better access and pushed his tongue against his rim until the tip made its way inside, twitching and tasting eagerly.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of bright blue. Melkor was awake now and looking over his shoulder.
"Gothmog...?"
It pleased him to finally hear his name, even spoken in confusion rather than passion, though his lord's breathless voice betrayed his own lust.
"Forgive me, my king," he said through ósanwë, "I just wish to serve and worship you as others have been allowed to and remind you of your beauty."
The answer was another throaty moan. Melkor seemed pleased, at least enough not to protest.
Gothmog pushed his tongue deeper inside. He had no hopes of being allowed to penetrate his lord in other ways and not foolish enough to attempt to mount him, but he would gladly pleasure him instead and take care of himself later. Perhaps it was an opportunity. Perhaps he could at least get away with it. Either way, he was going to make it count.
He lifted Melkor's hips just so he could slide one hand underneath, reached for his cock and found it already hard. He likes it. Gothmog had certainly hoped he would, but one could never be sure, especially when it came to putting such a proud Vala in a submissive position.
But there was no protest, no fighting. Melkor let him push his tongue deeper and stroke his cock, only letting out the occasional moan to spur him on. It resonated deep within Gothmog's ëala, reminding him of his most ancient purpose: Not just to fight and conquer, but to serve. And serve he would gladly.
Hot flesh clenching around his tongue, smooth cool skin against his palm, a song of pleasure in his ears. His own being was in such a state of bliss that he was nearly overcome by his own lust, but climax was the one thing he would deny himself. Not before his lord.
And fortunately, Melkor didn't deny this boon either. It didn't take long for his hröa to tremble in Gothmog's hands and seed to stain the black satin sheets he was resting on, like a reward for such a spontaneous act of service.
What followed was silence.
Dutifully and despite his burning desire, Gothmog withdrew. He didn't know what to say or do next. The Vala's eyes found his, and he could tell that his lord didn't know either.
After a few tense seconds, Melkor finally spoke.
"You may return to your post."
While not dangerously cold, his tone was firm. Gothmog lowered his head and acquiesced with no further comment or protest, exiting his lord's chambers. There was a small pang of disappointment when he resumed his previously abandoned guard duty, but he told himself he should be glad. At least Melkor hadn't called a blizzard upon him to snuff out the flames of his passion and his life alike.
If nothing else, he had gotten away with it and could still taste frost and ash on his tongue.
👆Me while reading this sexy Melty fic❤️🔥❤️🔥
This was so GOOD!!❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥
Gotty you naughty Balrog, sneaking a taste while your master sleeps😈😈
Melkors reaction was so cute💖💖
Poor thing didn't know what to do after he gained post nut clarity😂
This was an absolute Delight💖💖
For the kiss prompts asks: Eönwë and Gothmog, no. 6 on a falling tear
AN: My pleasure! ❤
Prompt: Kiss on a falling tear (prompt list here)
Pairing: Gothmog x Eönwë
Warnings: Some angst
Eönwë's wings twitch agitatedly and his talons scrape against Gothmog's scaly skin when he's carried into the Iron Mountains, out of sight of Angband and, hopefully, to safety.
"I don't understand," he laments, the first thing he's said in a while.
"I'm setting you free," Gothmog says quietly.
It's a decision he hasn't made lightly and one he may pay for, but he's made up his mind and doesn't want to argue.
His resolve, however, melts when Eönwë looks up at him with teary blue eyes.
"Why? Am I no good even as your prisoner?"
Gothmog stops abruptly when he hears a sob. He's freeing the winged Maia from captivity and he's crying because he thinks he did something wrong? What goes through Eönwë's head is truly a mystery to him at times.
Gingerly, Gothmog pats his pale golden locks and sits down, placing him on his lap.
"You know that's not true," he says.
Yet his clumsy attempt at comfort does little to dry Eönwë's tears. Not knowing what else to do, Gothmog bends down to kiss and lick his cheeks until every single tear is gone. The liquid nearly makes him flinch as it touches his lips, but it evaporates quickly and leaves a pleasant salty taste on his tongue. Delicious.
"I'd give you the world," he mumbles. "And this is why I can't stand the thought of you getting hurt or killed in there, even if I want you by my side. Can't you see that?"
Eönwë is no longer crying, but his eyes remain clouded with some sort of pain Gothmog isn't sure he understands. "Then why do you continue to be evil? You could–"
The Lord of Balrogs shakes his head. "You know I've never been welcome over there in pretty paradise, evil or not. They don't like monsters."
"Maybe neither am I, in that case," Eönwë draws his wings around himself to stop himself from shaking. "At least not the true me."
Gothmog snorts. "I know, bird, I know. But they'll take you back. Even if they know what you're capable of on the battlefield, they won't care. You're too pretty and obedient for a monster."
He senses that his words cause more distress than encourage Eönwë, so he tries nudging him gently.
"Come on. Fly home, bird."
"I..." Whatever protest Eönwë wants to utter ends in a sniffle.
"No, listen. Get across the sea as fast as you can. Tell your lord you ran away because someone didn't pay attention. I'll say the same."
"D-do you..." Again, emotions overwhelm Eönwë before he can finish his sentence.
Gothmog holds his head in his hands. "I care enough about you to want you safe rather than hurt or dead, if that answers your question. Go now... please."
Thanks for reading! ♡
taglist (sorry I have to format it like this until Tumblr stops breaking my tags):
Alright, I'm looking to get this series out of hiatus. Here's what we'll do: There will be 12 oneshots total (maybe finished by the end of the year if I can and otherwise it takes as long as it takes), I'll pick the prompts that spark my interest (sucks to write otherwise - some months have several that I like, others none) and there will still be polls so y'all can get your opinions in.
Which prompt would you like to see next?
Sick fic*
Pet acquisition*
Road trip
Fake dating
Voting ended onJun 18, 2024
*I'm looking to potentially return to the cottagecore verse with these two so if you liked that one, these two might be your pick ;)
If you have a prompt you think would fit this series or even a particular month, feel free to let me know. Can't guarantee anything, but never hesitate to share your ideas! :)
