for your love triangle 1k event, can i request a oneshot of melkor x reader x mairon - polygamous - “if you both keep hogging the blankets I’m kicking you both out of bed”? love love your work btw!
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 1k event: love triangle
( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ melkor, mairon ⠀〳 reader⠀ ❜࿔
· ⊰ synopsis. angband was always typically cold thanks to melkor's presence. the least he could do was compensate for the iciness you have to deal with
· ⊰ note. thank you sm!! I honestly got really soft with this but it's fine bc soft dark lords for the win 💕
“Melkor,’’
“. . . Melkor.’’
“Melkor!”
“Mm?” A single, violet hue cracks open and spares you a glance. “What is it. . . Shouldn’t you be asleep?” He manages through a yawn as his arm extends to stretch. “I am sure it has barely even been an hour. . . go to bed,’’ the sigh barely escapes his lips as he’s caught off-guard from the swat to his shoulder.
“I cannot sleep if you insist on hogging the blanket.’’ With a frown clear on your features, your eyes narrow further when his head lolls back onto the pillow, clearly disinterested in your plight. “Melkor - hey!’’ You swat his shoulder again, this time bringing forth a deep groan from the vala who struggles to open his eyes once more.
“If you are so cold why not take Mairon’s blanket? I’m tired.’’
“Do you not think that I have tried?”
It is then that Melkor focuses his vision blurred from sleep and takes notice of the lump of fabric curled up on your alternative side. Contrary to popular belief, the Lieutenant of Angband could be quite the heavy sleeper — perhaps a result of his strenuous work day in and day out.
The dark lord exhales and with great effort brings his hand up to push at Mairon’s shoulder. “Oi. Mairon, get up and give Y/N some blanket.’’
All he receives is a quiet hum, a dismissal, before the maia curls in further. It is then that Melkor, with many complaints, rises from his side of the bed with his pillow in tow. “Mairon. Get. U-’’ It appeared that he underestimated his level of exhaustion coupled with his balance, as Melkor soon came crashing down upon you — drawing a squeak straight from your chest.
“Melkor!’’ You rasped, hands pushing at broad shoulders. “Get off! You are too heavy!” “Damnit. . . Can the two of you ever remain silent?” A pair of amber hues meet yours, albeit weary, they narrowed in the slightest. “What is the issue now?”
“He’s crushing me!”
“My lord!”
Mairon’s eyes gape at the realisation and his hands shoot out to shove his master off, receiving a groan as the vala sits up in an attempt to recollect his thoughts. You are left whining, curling inwards and you attempt to ignore the pain in your stomach, in-turn curling into Mairon and accepting his naturally warm radiance.
“How many blankets do you even need?’’ Melkor grumbles, sideways glancing at his lieutenant hooking an arm around your waist and peppering a few kisses along your neck. “We have three,’’ you sighed, melting into the gentle touch. “You stole two, how am I supposed to sleep with the threat of morphing into an ice block?”
“Well, I need the blankets. I’m cold.’’ “You are always cold,’’ Mairon rolls his eyes to the ceiling with his hands cupped at your waist. “Keep talking back and I may just kick you out.’’ Melkor sends a glare his way, followed by your own — which the two found amusing as it was in less degree when compared to the dark lord’s. “Do not speak as though you are innocent. He may have stolen the two but you took my last hope,’’ pertaining to the blanket coiled around him, you frown.
“It is as though the two of you wish for me to freeze to death.’’ You sigh with a subtle shake of head. “You know, if you both keep stealing the blankets I will have no choice but to kick you both out of bed.’’
It is now Melkor’s turn to roll his eyes as he lowers himself to rest on his arm. “I doubt someone with such tiny legs could manage to move me,’’ to emphasise his point, a cold finger runs up the aforementioned limb and leaves you squeaking once more.
“Melkor you little - !”
“Little what, hmm?” The cold fingers now wrap around your chin and force you to face him. The arch of his brow leaves you silent, however, your glare remains. “My point still stands. The least you can do is try and compensate for me.’’
Mairon hums, following your shifted form so that he can rest his chin on your shoulder. “You know. . . if the cold bothers you so much — I can think of a few ways to warm you up.’’
Your cheeks burn, eyes fluttering when a deep chuckle rumbles from Melkor’s throat. “Really? I think we may have had the same thought.’’ With Mairon’s arms around your waist, Melkor’s hands soon find your sides and bring you closer. “What do you say? Since you hate the cold oh so much.’’
Pursing your lips, you duck your head, swat his chest and squirm from Mairon’s hold before snatching one of the sheets and pulling it over.
“You are both jerks.’’
“We know,’’
“. . . I still love you.’’
“We know.’’
And with that, they lay back down and bundle you within embrace.
req for the 1k event: reader is in love with thranduil but is betrothed to legolas, on the night of the wedding, thranduil shows up and begs reader not to marry legolas <3
· ⊰ synopsis. betrothed to the prince, the last thing you expected was to yearn for his father instead. on the night before the wedding, you are paid a particular visit
· ⊰ note. absolutely!! here you go <3
You looked beautiful, stunning, resembling starlight itself. As to be expected, every bride glowed on their wedding day. At least, that was the general idea.
Then why is it that the smile upon your lips felt heavy, like an immense weight threatening to droop into a frown? Why was it that your cheekbones strained with effort? That your eyes hurt as if they were forcefully squinting? And most importantly. . .
What was this aching feeling constricting your heart?
A tight, suffocating feeling that made your lungs burn as though they were set ablaze. One that left your eyes glossy — perhaps that is why you squinted them so. Perhaps the glowing of a young bride was all but a myth for all you felt at this given moment was nothing but a hollowness carved into the depths of your chest, brimming with sorrow and overflowing with despair.
Perhaps, deep down, the smile was a facade. A face put on to keep your tears from spilling upon your cheeks and smudging the makeup your handmaiden spent nearly thirty minutes on. A mask to shield your shattering heart. But not all could be concealed, much to your dismay. For despite the smile stretched across your face and the veneer of joy, it was your eyes that gave away the secret. The cracks were unmistakable with your misery shining through clear as day.
The bride of the prince — you should have been overjoyed! Many elleths would give anything to be in your shoes. Legolas was sought after by many, after all. He was kind-hearted, charming and not to mention blessed with both looks and personality — who wouldn’t want him?
Yet here you were, holding back the floodgates at the mere thought of marrying him. This wasn’t how everything was supposed to pan out. You had known since you were a mere elfling that you would be marrying him, so what changed? What brought you to the verge of a breakdown as you stood here, trying out your look for tomorrow?
The man who stood behind you.
That, is what changed.
“You should not be here, my lord.’’ Voice soft in fear of it cracking, your gaze remains fixed upon your face in the mirror, refusing to glance up and meet his eyes. “I know that,’’ “Then why do you still linger?”
There was a cold undertone, one which left him frigid for a second but nevertheless, he took a step forward. Sapphire pools peered into yours through the reflection of the mirror, a gentle hand takes your wrists. “Will you not look at me?” His voice was deeper, hair longer and paler — for the man that stood behind you was not the prince; far from it.
The one who held your hand and beckoned your form to turn. The azure irises which you gazed into, brimming with just as much misery in contrast to its typical iciness. . . They all belonged to the elvenking himself. Who towered over you as usual and brought a gentle hand to your cheek.
You flinch, almost pushing away his touch if it weren’t for the locking of gazes that froze you dead in your tracks and caused the lump in your throat to swell further. “Why do you try to hide from me?” His words are tender, teetering the lines of a whisper as if he were dealing with a fragile, frightened woodland creature. His touch is equally as gentle as his thumb finds your cheekbone in unperturbed strokes. “Thranduil. . .’’ you clear your throat with a small shake of your head.
“You need to leave.’’
“Why?”
“Because I cannot give you what you want!’’
At last, a single tear drips from your lid and cascades down your cheek as two hands press against his chest. “I can’t. . . I-I cannot. . .’’ Your quivering form is steadied in the slightest by a soft touch at the back of your head, fingers raking through your hair and easing your racing heart. You stayed as such with your forehead resting against his collarbone while you sniffle and attempt to push down the inevitable burst of emotions.
“Y/N. . .’’ He starts, after a moment of silence. “There are still options. . . You do not have to do this.’’ You pull away, locking eyes with him once more. The look upon his face was enough to elicit the pooling of tears once more. “And what options are there, Thranduil?’’ You counter, a flame spreading throughout the pit of your stomach.
“Call everything off the night before the wedding? Announce that I am in love with his father? Break his heart?” Any regard for your handmaiden’s hard work was flung out the window as tears now flowed freely down your face, like streams of never-ending waterfalls. “Have you any idea of the scandal I will bring upon your name? I cannot — I will not -’’ your hands on his chest attempt to push him away, to end this madness here and now, but the tender sensation now encircles your wrists and brings you closer, forcing a sob from your throat as you battle with composure.
“Y/N, please.’’
If you were in the correct mindset you might have seen the thin layer of glossiness within his eyes, you may have noticed the desperation that poured out from his very soul. But you were blinded by the ache in your heart as the shattering of the situation blurred your vision entirely.
“I beg of you,’’
Was it worth it?
“Please,’’
This agony, this immense hollowness?
“We can find a way. . .’’
Was it worth it?
“Please, I need you more I can take.’’
Tears hit your hands however, you weren’t sure whether they were yours or Thranduil’s — you couldn’t care less. Not at this given moment, not when your heart wailed out as it shattered into a thousand pieces. His voice sounded so pathetic, uncharacteristically so, his hold on your wrists trembled. He had lost all composure.
And when you finally mustered up the strength to look up at him your entire world came crashing down. Wrenching the air out of your lungs and leaving you scrambling for something - anything, to stop this feeling of utter despair.
Finally, your hands found motion and you pushed forward with as much strength as you could gather, altogether shoving him away with a sob lodged in your throat. “I-I cannot. . . I cannot. . Thranduil, you need to leave,’’ you meet his eyes once more, yet only for a second before you force your gaze elsewhere.
“I —. . . I-I need you to leave,’’
You were not sure whether the shattering around you was your heart alone, whether the world falling apart was only your own. But you sucked a breath and screwed your eyes shut. “Is that truly what you wish?” You wrap arms around your body in an attempt to comfort yourself as try to answer him. Now or never — this would determine everything. The final nail in the coffin. . . it had to be done.
“Yes. . .’’ You rasp, refusing to open your eyes. “It ends here.’’ The weight on your chest remained, growing heavier the longer you remained without an answer. The silence was deafening, almost enough to make your eyes bleed. “I’m sorry. . . Thran -’’
Upon opening your eyes you are met with the now vacant spot where he once stood. You glance around, a part of you almost hoping that he was still in the room. Alas, it was left empty,
hello! congrats on the 1k <3!!! on that topic, here’s my request for the event:
how about an angsty, one-shot love triangle with morgoth and mairon?
morgoth finds out about the reader that mairon is seeing (perhaps mairon met the reader during his time disguised as annatar—if that gives a bit more background), so mairon is pleading with morgoth to not harm the reader. but morgoth doesn’t seem dissuaded at all, rather this fuels him with ambitious darker intent towards the reader ^^;;
dialogue prompts to go w/ it [if it interests you]: “don’t you dare.” “you are my lord, so i beg of you.” “tell me, do you see yourself dying for them?”
· ⊰ synopsis. you were the lover of mairon, one of the most precious things in his life. the last thing he expected was for that love to be his only weakness ( some choking ៸៸ angst )
· ⊰ note. thank you! let me tell you I absolutely LOVED this concept, this entire oneshot was so fun to write
“Such a pretty little thing,’’
Shivers run up your spine as icy fingers trace the line of your jaw, dipping below your chin and bringing your head up to face him. You yelp as the chain connecting your wrists is yanked, hauling you flushed an equally as frigid body. The fingers now wrap around your chin and force you to face forward so that you meet a pair of constricted amber irises. “Wouldn’t you say, Mairon? Isn’t she a pretty little thing?”
“My lord. . .’’ His eyes trail off of you only for a moment in favour of meeting his master’s look, who sat upon his iron throne with pride. A large, pale figure, shrouded in miasma, pouring with darkness. He held the chain that restrained your wrists and kept you under his mercy.
Oh, foolish little thing - what have you gotten yourself into?
“Hmm? Why do you look at me like that? Do you disagree?” Another chill strikes your skin as his lips find your cheek and his grip tightens further around your jaw. “I think she’s the perfect little thing. A wonderful pet —”
“Do not touch her!”
Mairon’s hands clench, nails digging into his palms as he dares to step closer towards his master, let alone raise his voice. Once more, a yelp leaves your lips as you are tossed to the side — yet before the maia can even think of rushing to your aid, he is towered over by the dark lord himself.
“Would you like to repeat that?” You didn’t like how calm his voice was, how steady it remained despite the obvious flame lit within his eyes as he stared down his lieutenant. Mairon hesitates, summoning every ounce of patience he could possibly muster before clearing his throat. “My lord. . . do not hurt her — please.’’
It wasn’t certain whether his words appeased Melkor or simply drove him deeper into his ocean of rage. For while a smirk stretched across his greyish lips, the fire within his eyes was yet to be snuffed out. “Oh, isn’t this a treat?” The vala chuckles as hands clasp behind his back. “And here I thought she meant nothing to you, Mairon. Is that not what you told me when I asked of her?’’
He meets your gaze once more. Yes, that was exactly what he had told Melkor. In fear of his lord possibly hunting you down to teach him a lesson for ‘growing soft’ - Mairon had blatantly rebuked your name in this very throne room. He should have known the second Melkor asked about you. . . he should have warned you, told you to flee. Yet here you were now, bound by the hands and alongside Melkor’s throne — unable to do a thing other than watch the scene at hand.
“I honestly expected more of you, yet you were foolish enough to think that you could lie to me. . . Such a shame, the poor girl will have to pay with her life.’’
“Don’t!” Mairon lifts his head to stare at his master, a pleading look clear as day within his eyes that reflected molten core. “Please, she does not deserve this - it was my own doing. Please leave her be.’’ His mannerisms left you stiff — this may have well been the very first time you have seen your lover in such a state, heard him plead. You knew Mairon like the back of your hand, you knew how proud he was.
Yet here he stood now: pleading on your account.
“Oh,’’ a deep chuckle arises from the dark lord as he halts in stride. “This must have been the first time I have heard you beg, Mairon.’’ Fingers play with a few strands of auburn hair, twirling the fiery tresses between them as a grin etched across his face. “Do it again. Beg for me to spare her.’’ And when the maia refused to move, he scoffed. “I don’t think you heard me. . . I said —’’
In an instant, his tall figure was beside yours once more with a hand tight around your throat and yanking you upwards. The air’s knocked out of your lungs, you kick and squirm with hands shooting to his wrist in a desperate attempt to free yourself. “Melkor!” “Beg!”
His voice thunders throughout the room, bouncing off of the walls and leaving you yelping once more as your body automatically flinches away. Slowly but surely, the world became a blur with your focus entirely on Mairon who now stood there with widened eyes and an expression you had never witnessed before.
“I won’t repeat myself again, Mairon.’’ The dark lord narrows his gaze and altogether restricts your airways. “Lest you’d want me to snap this dainty little neck of hers.’’
There’s silence in the room, not a breath, not a peep — all you saw was Mairon. Panic spread across his features and a shimmer of fear evident in his eyes. He clears his throat, taking a hesitant step forward. “My lord, please. Spare her.’’ “Oh come on, you can do better than that.’’ His eyes widen at the black pigment seeping into the skin of your neck and he quickly fell to his knees.
“My lord please!’’ Mairon’s hands find the stone ground. “It was I that lied to you, me who defied you! She has nothing to do with this, please. Punish me instead — hurt me in her stead! I will take whatever your hand may deal tenfold!’’ You try to choke out his name, to shake your head and tell him to stop; but his gaze locks with yours. Sorrow, remorse. You swore he mouthed an apology, yet your eyes were losing vision too rapidly to be sure.
“Please,’’ his voice breaks, shattering your heart in the process. “She is the woman I love. . . If I have found any favour in you, spare her.’’
Silence bled into the room once more, deafening, hollow, it almost left your ears bleeding as you struggled for the sweet relief of air — which was soon granted to you as a dark, booming laugh echoed through the walls of Angband. Melkor threw his head back, letting up his grip only slightly while Mairon dropped his vision to the floor. Unable to bear looking up as ire filled him to the brim.
“I must say, I’m surprised. You? Love?” His laugh melts into a deep, sinister chuckle. “You truly have grown weak. . . To think. A lieutenant of Angband, on his knees and begging for the sake of love. It’s almost profound.’’ Although his grip had loosened the dark patterns continued to fester around your skin, albeit blind to your eye — but certainly not Mairon’s who felt his heart fall deeper into the pit of his stomach.
“Tell me,’’ he drops you to your feet yet keeps a firm hold around your throat. With your back to his front, he ensures that your crying face is in full view of the maia who you now had to witness tremble further. “Do you see yourself dying for them?’’ The dark pigment grows, coating the entirety of your neck and tickling your jaw. It’s harder to breathe, it burns. And when you cry out — the little dignity that Mairon had left melted away in an instant.
“I would!’’ He couldn’t care less of the sting in his eyes nor the way his expression twisted into one of utter terror. “I would do whatever it is to ensure her safety! My lord, name your price for her security and I will gladly give it to you. Whether it is my head — if I am able to give it, I shall.’’
Your tears fall faster as your knees tremble at the scorching feeling consuming your throat. “M-Mairon,’’ you barely manage to choke while your attempt at shaking your head falls flat. “Mairon n -’’ “Anything, you say?” Once more, the silence brings an immense wave of dread to crash upon your heart. Your brows furrow at the tightening of his grip yet again and for a moment a part of you thinks he’ll simply snap your neck and put an end to all of this.
Oh, but how wrong you were. For when you felt a pair of cold lips grace your lips again, you knew that whatever was to proceed was certain disaster. “Well. . . How about her?’’ Mairon stiffens at this proposal, praying to valar that he heard wrong.
“What?”
“I want her, Mairon.’’
The maia’s shoulders tremble and a burning feeling engulfs his lungs. “M-My lord. . .” “You said anything to guarantee her safety, correct? Give her to me and I’ll ensure she’s in good health. I always treat my pets oh so well.’’ You flinch away at the feel of his tongue swiping up your cheek and licking away a dripping tear. “What do you say? You wish for her wellbeing, do you not?”
Your eyes meet Mairon’s for the last time, clearly seeing every single, raw, shattered emotion shining within them. He’s conflicted, frightened. Should he leave you to the dark lord? Lose you? Or should he refuse and lose you in a much greater sense?
But as the darkness threatened to consume the rest of your face and your features twisted with agony — he had his answer.
With his heart in his hands Mairon sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, head lowering and auburn tresses dangling like a curtain to shield his shame. With one, final apology below his breath — he speaks with great strain.
For the event, can I request a scenario based on this prompt - reader likes both (character a) and (character b) but they now demand a decision from reader. With Feanor and Fingolfin (if you write for him) - reader chooses Feanor.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 1k event: love triangle
ʚ pairing : fëanor / reader / fingolfin
ʚ cw : light angst
ʚ note : I don't write for fingolfin BUT I will make an exception because I really liked this concept ~ hope you like it!
A hand slams itself on the wall beside your head and forces a yelp from your lips. Your eyes quickly dart up to meet an azure shade, now misty and brewing with irritation, so much so that it prompts you to flinch and curl your body inwards as if wishing for the wall to swallow you whole.
“I grow tired of these games.’’ “M-My lord -”
“Fëanor.’’
Grunting, the elf in question sends a glare that practically rivals Mandos’ stern gaze as he stares the other down. “Do not interfere, lest you wish for me to strike you right where you stand,’’ you just so manage to glance over Fëanor’s arm that cages you between his staggering figure and the block of stone, it is then that you catch sight of an unfazed countenance.
“Fëanor, that is enough. Must you be so brazen? You are frightening the poor thing.’’ Similar in comparison to his brother’s yet softer, a pair of crystal-like irises find your own in an apologetic manner. You nearly sigh in relief yet it catches in your throat the second Fëanor’s harsh look alternates to you instead. “Are you afraid?” Dripping with annoyance yet with an almost-concerned undertone, he questions.
He hesitantly withdraws at the subtle nod of your head and exhales in an attempt to vent his frustration. “You will never receive an answer should you behave so brash.’’ “No one asked you. She was about to speak until you decided to interrupt.’’ “Be gentle with her.’’ Fingolfin’s voice wavers only slightly at the stubbornness displayed but eases his shoulders once more when he disregards his brother in favour of looking upon you; a gentle expression returns. For a moment you presume you are safe and begin your subtle inching away from the wall and hopefully the two elves. Another day dodging the fateful question, another day left for you to deci -
“Y/N. I would appreciate it if you remained present.’’
For Valar’s sake!
“Feanor holds some truth. We require an answer.’’ He steps closer and finds position beside his brother who grunts and ensures there is a decent gap between them, which Fingolfin blatantly ignores. “At least he agrees,’’ the eldest mutters and before long there are two pairs of oh so similar yet ever-as contrasting eyes meeting your gaze, expectant, firm - there was no getting out of it this time.
“B-But. . .’’
“No more of that.’’ “This has been going on for decades.’’
You pull your lip between your teeth and threaten to tear into the soft flesh. Fëanor was right, this had been dragging on for long enough, This game of cat and mouse, will-they won’t-they and indecisiveness. It was nearing half a century since you first laid eyes on them and this rivalry to win your heart ensued. Much to your surprise their efforts had elicited a flurry of inconceivable emotions and now, somehow, your heart beats for both of them. One would consider it taboo, to fall in love with two ellons, let alone two brothers! And yet here you were, trapped by those two very men who eagerly awaited your answer. For you to choose.
How could you?
If it had been such strife from the beginning how could you possibly make a decision now? When you were cornered and nearly crushed by the immense pressure weighing over your head and shoulders.
On one hand, there was Fingolfin: wise, strong and kind-hearted. With irises that shimmered like the lake of Lorellin and a smile that set off a plethora of butterflies within your stomach. Then was Fëanor: diligent, blessed in every aspect of body and mind, his passion and vigour left you breathless.
How could you possibly choose one? When it was obvious that your very soul yearned for both.
Sighting your anxiety and uncertainty, Fingolfin takes a step towards you despite the other’s dismay and gently takes your hand into his warm, tender hold. “Whatever your decision may be — I will respect it, my lady.’’ Gentle lips find your temple and in an instant the tension releases around your heart. “Right, Fëanor?” He doesn’t bother glancing back as Fëanor, with furrowed eyebrows, eventually draws a sigh and nods his head. “As much as I would be disappointed beyond compare should you choose the Noldor half-breed -” he halts, taking your troubled features into consideration. “I will respect your decision.’’
You were grateful, even if the serenity was for but a moment before your chest tightened once more. With that assurance in mind you knew that the decision would not weigh too heavily on your mind; even if it would sting to have to let one of them go.
Alas, it would have to be done. There was no universe in which you could lead both of them on and hope to remain as such — it was far from fair on either of them.
It was now or never. The drumming of your heart was felt within your eardrums and you were certainly heard by the two of them. Bated breath, trembling hands. Was it time? Was it finally time? You could lead them on no longer. This had to be done. It was for the best. Perhaps then this guilty nibble at your insides would finally cease.
So, with a deep breath, you shut your eyes and repeated their names through your head like a broken record, a fateful prayer. Fëanor. . . Fingolfin. Fëanor, Fingolfin, Fëanor, Fingolfin, Fingolfin,
Fëanor, Fingolfin,
Fëanor, Fëanor
Fingolfin —
“Fëanor,’’ you murmur. “I choose Fëanor.’’
There’s a squeeze around your hands, gentle, lingering, as if hesitant to let you go. Before the warmth altogether leaves your skin and the shadow cast over you feels smaller. It takes all your courage to crack open your eyes and when you do you wish you had kept them shut — for azure pools that stared back at you brimmed with an unwavering solemn and a heartbroken countenance.
Fingolfin notices the constriction of your pupils and pushes a bittersweet smile to his lips, bringing his hand to caress your face one last time before finally. Painfully. Letting you go and taking a step to the side.
It is then that you finally catch a glimpse of Fëanor’s face. Dripping with pride and an evident smirk plastered upon him. In two simple strides he now replaces the position of his brother and warmth encases your hand once more; far different to Fingolfin’s yet equally as welcomed. “Well, I suppose that settles it.’’ He brings your knuckles to his lips, free arm looped around your waist as he locks eyes.
for the 1k event: “y/n is mine now.” “as if they would ever belong to you!” melkor x reader x manwe oneshot please?
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 1k event: love triangle
( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ manwë, melkor ⠀〳 reader⠀ ❜࿔
· ⊰ synopsis. you were the maia of manwë, the woman he fell in love with, until the day you disappeared. it must have been forever since manwë had seen you — the last thing he expected was for you to rock up with a particular dark lord. and deliver some shattering news
· ⊰ note. and we are back with me making myself cry over requests. how am I supposed to WrITE when I CANT see PAST my TEARS ! anyway, hope you enjoy 💕
“Aww, what is with that look, Manwë? Is something the matter?”
Dull violet brims with amusement as the focus on the face of his brother, the widening if his eyes, the scrunching of his brows — it may have been the first time to witness such a sight from the King of Arda. And all because of one person,
You.
A colourless hand snakes around your neck from behind, nimble fingers taking a hold of your chin and ensuring you face the vala ahead of you who could barely process a coherent sentence. It was as if the sight alone left him at a loss for words — with the only murmur being that of your name.
Confused, surprised. . . pain?
“Y/N?” Manwë breaths. It must have been forever and a day since the last time he saw your face or had the luxury of staring into those eyes he always found himself lost in. A part of him even considered the possibility that this may have been a mirage — a cruel trick played on him by his brother who wished to play around and toy with him.
He wished it was — just some sick game. But when you muttered out his name with trembling countenance he knew that it was far from the realm of chance.
“What are you doing here?” His questions began, just as you expected. Hasty, panicked, immediately assuming the worst as he took a step towards you and Melkor. “Are you well? Hurt? Has he brought you any harm?” It must have been the first time that you witnessed a glare in his irises that reflected the very sky, much less towards Melkor who all but grinned with pride in return. “Oh? Now you are concerned about her?”
“I will not ask again. What have you done with Y/N? My dear, you needn’t fear him. Please, come to m -’’
“Manwë. . . no,’’ he halts in step, faltering. His brows furrow further as bewilderment plasters itself over his face. “No?” He repeats, almost considering that he may have misheard you. “Yes, Manwë. . . He has done nothing. This —’’ you stop to clear your throat. “This is my doing.’’
A chuckle vibrates against your back as Melkor loops his free arm around your waist and hoists you flush against him. “What’s the surprise, brother? You heard it from her, have you not? Or would you rather I put it bluntly. . .’’ With a shake of his head he dips down and pale lips brush against your cheek, prompting you to shiver and almost push his face away. What was he doing? He promised he wouldn’t do this. Not to him. Not to Manwë.
“Y/N is mine now.’’
Every fibre in his body froze, a tidal wave of shock crashing upon his spine as the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood straight. Surely. . . this must have been a mistake. A dream — Irmo, if you are listening, wake me up. Is probably what he pleaded. But when he took notice of your refusal to move, your compliance with Melkor’s touch, his heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach.
What is this feeling? This searing ache spreading throughout his chest and engulfing his insides, flaring at his lungs - his throat — until he takes another step forward with a gust of wind following suit.
“As if she would ever belong to you!”
You flinch, unable to stop the visibility of your shock as you took in Manwë’s expression. Twisted yet oh so clear, reflecting the swell of emotions consuming him from the inside out. Anger, rage. You weren’t certain you had ever seen it. And when you locked eyes with him and gave a soft, “please, I never meant to hurt you,’’ in an attempt to defuse the situation, the flames melted into something far more familiar.
Hurt. Heartbreak.
Manwë’s vision blurred and his hands that had only just balled into fists slowly unclenched. He wasn’t sure, were these tears? Or was it the sheer magnitude of reality? The realisation that you had left him for Melkor.
That you had betrayed him for his brother.
“Y/N. . .’’
“I am so sorry,’’ you murmur. Unable to look at him any longer you pry your gaze away in favour of the floor, a shaky breath parting your lips. “Why apologise to him? He had his chance.’’ Melkor’s voice made you tug your lower lip between your teeth and almost squirm away as his fingers tightened around your jaw and turned your head to face him.
“Take note, my dearest brother,’’ Melkor chuckled, lips at the corner of your mouth. “For whatever you hold dear, I will take as my own. Isn’t it beautiful? This innocence that you loved so much — now tainted.’’ You clear your throat and shut your eyes as his lips meet yours.
“Now ruined, now mine.’’
You made the mistake of cracking a lid open, a foolish action. For the second your gaze found the vala once more your heart split in two, hollowing and brimming with grief.
For the last thing you saw before Melkor disappeared with you entirely was the shattered look all over Manwë’s face. Betrayal, devastation and agony shone through the cracks in his irises that mirrored the breaks in his heart.
And when your name fell from his lips in a lamenting whisper — you swore that tears trickled down his fair cheeks.
