Pairing: Vampire! Tulkas x Fem. Reader (Human/Familar | Third person POV)
Themes: Dark
Warning: Vampirism | Blood drinking | Death
Word count: 500+ words
Summary: Vampire! Tulkas sates his hunger by feeding on the familiar who serves him.
Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume.
It was not how she thought it would be.
She desired Tulkas, yes, but never did she think he would command her to tend to him, his needs.
She certainly did not think that his need would be his thirst for blood.
Y/n had to keep still, so very still. Teeth as sharp as tiny spikes pierced her flesh, the pain searing her like a red-hot brand. She grew dizzy, weak, her very life force seeping out of her with each swallow of her blood. Tulkas drank and drank, drinking deep from the sweet, crimson nectar that poured down his throat.
Y/n was his first, his only, familiar. She was quiet. Diffident. He never knew what to do with her, except to give her orders.
"Fetch me more wine."
"Procure this and this and this for me."
"Lay out my garments for the night."
And he did not give her a second thought, paying her no mind while she kept to the shadows. Now she was here, in his embrace, her very blood coursing through his veins. And it was intoxicating, filling him to the brim. More, more, more. He needed more. He took more. He did not stop. He could not stop. His skin was on fire, his senses now sharper than a finely forged blade. He drank and drank and drank, taking more, taking it all. He paused, hesitated. Something pricked at him, a reminder of something he said. What was it? Was it important? Did it matter? Tulkas decided it did not. He went back to satisfying his hunger.
Y/n's body grew cold against the rose and ivory tiles of the dining hall floor. She thought of what Tulkas last said, all of what he said.
"I am hungry," he had said.
"It is too dangerous to hunt. It is too close to dawn," he had said.
"You need not fear me," he had said.
"I will restrain myself," he had said.
"I will only take just enough—just what I need," he had said. "After, I will reward you."
And how could she refuse him? He was her lord, her master. She had sworn to obey him in all things. Everything she had came from him. Her happiness rested in his hands—the very hands that cradled her to him now while he drained her of all she had.
Lies. His promises were nothing but lies. Y/n tried to fight him. She did not want to die. She squirmed. Tried to pinch him, move, do something, anything, that would bring him back to his senses. Tulkas growled and bit down harder.
It was too late, he was too far gone. Her body went limp. First her fingers and toes, then her limbs, then the rest. It was as if a blanket of ice was being draped over her, inch by inch. Y/n finally closed her eyes, ready to meet her maker. It was not fair. She had so many years left to live, and they were now taken from her. A single tear slid down her cheek. Her final breath came, a wet, rattling sound rising from the back of her throat when it did. It finally stopped. The pain, the sorrow, everything. It all stopped. The world went dark. Tulkas stopped. Drew back. He groaned in satisfaction, and licked his lips, greedy for the last drops that remained. He then looked down at the lifeless vessel in his arms.
Gone. Tulkas did not have to be told. He knew. Y/n was gone.
Warnings: This post describes possible problematic traits Tulkas could have, and includes mentions of alcoholism, gambling addiction, partner having to bear the mental/financial load, grudge holding, communication issues, sexual harasment and dub-con
The ugly side to the Vala means:
🖤 Tulkas is not just content with a once-in-a-while cup of ale. More often than not, he needs several cups, especially after supper, during a feast, or while watching athletes compete in the arena. This Vala is the one most likely to pass out at the table after having too much to drink.
🖤Unfortunately, this constant need to drink leads to situations where Tulkas utterly forgets himself. Showering someone with unwelcome attention is the tamest of his sins. Using his position of power and ordering/manipulating someone to sexually satisfy him whether they truly desire to or not, is the worst of them.
🖤 When it comes to athletes competing, Tulkas doesn’t just sit and watch with a full cup in hand. He must start and partake in wagers as well. This leads to him often placing large amounts of coin on a particular athlete or sport. The thrill and highs of winning have led him to take on more risks, with values that increase with each event. Losses may bother him at that particular moment, but he does not take the consequences of his actions seriously.
🖤 Which in turn leads to another less-than-pleasant trait. Tulkas does not take a great many things seriously, for he cares little about either the past or the future. He does not stop to reflect and learn from the mistakes he has made. He does not stop to think about the effect his actions could have on the future. He is also impulsive and is not likely to speak to anyone, not even his partner, when making decisions that could have drastic, long-term effects.
🖤 Not taking things seriously also means not making an effort at day-to-day domestic tasks. This means the burden of reining in the spending and bearing the lion’s share of the mental and financial loads will inevitably fall on his partner’s shoulders. His partner may even be left to plan out romantic activities by themselves with little to no help from him.
🖤 These outings are always going to be few and far between because Tulkas is, more often than not, at the arena, too busy training or watching others fight to bother with anything else.
🖤 Talking doesn’t do much either. Since Tulkas doesn’t take the time to reflect on his mistakes and the error of his ways, he is not going to take his partner’s worries seriously. Or if he does, it will only be for a little while before he inevitably goes back to his old ways.
🖤 And Tulkas is notorious for holding grudges, for while he is slow to anger, he is even slower to forgive. This means that if roused, Tulkas can be incredibly petty and hold grudges for days and weeks and even years, even if the cause for giving him offense is justified. He could go as far as using painful events or other loved ones as weapons when he is in this state.
Warnings: Non-con | First time | Kissing | PIV Sex | Marking | Spanking
Wordcount: 2.2K words
Summary: Tulkas, unsatisfied even after having indulged in the music and delicacies offered to him at a feast, seeks fulfilment through other means, and with an unwilling companion.
Minors DNI | 18+ | This is available on AO3
The feast neared its end. Tulkas pushed himself off his bench, thinking it a pity, and got to his feet, his appetite woefully unfulfilled. He had spent hour after hour gorging himself on roasted meats, luscious fruits, and dainty delicacies, and had he been anything but one of the Ainur, he would have drunk himself into a blind stupor on the wine and mead and spirits presented to him in between platters and bowls and little plates filled with rich offerings.
But it had not been enough. Nothing of what he savoured had been enough.
Tulkas let his gaze drift around the great hall of Ilmarin, hoping to find the key to contenting himself before he took himself to the nearest bed. And for a while, he did not. What he did find, however, was Manwë seated upon his throne, listening to his radiant queen as she toyed with the locks of his silver hair and cooed into his ear. Her crown of stars sparkled brightly just above her obsidian tresses as she uttered something bawdy, no doubt, and made her king flush. Telimektar sat upon the edge of the dais that had been erected at the foot of the throne, strumming a harp and singing one rousing air after another as revellers laughed and danced and drifted toward the shadows in twos and threes to indulge in their own diversions. Elves flittered from table to table, clearing away old dishes and bringing new ones. Some shied away from the attention they received, clearly frightened, and others relished—and went to great lengths to encourage—the attention and affection lavished on them by one exalted being or another. Suddenly, one of these elves caught Tulkas’s eye. She was small for her kind, but no less beautiful. Her golden hair and uncommonly dark eyes stood out against her alabaster skin, and her hands were quick and lithe. Her raiment was like those favoured by the Vanyar, all white with hints of silver and gold, and its embellishments made it plain she was a daughter of the House of Turmon. Tulkas studied her intently, his eyes following her every step. This was what he needed, he realised: her tending to him and his urges within the confines of a bedchamber.
“My lady,” he called softly, striding across the white-marbled hall to where she stood. “If you would be so kind as to show me a place where I could lay my head.”
Nahtanis stood straight out of respect when the Vala approached her. “Of course, my lord,” she said, giving the tray she carried to another to take. “Please, come with me.”
Tulkas nodded and followed her out. He caught Manwë’s eye as he did so. The Elder King was now nursing a cup of fine wine. He raised it and winked in approval before turning his attention to the elf attending him and his queen. Tulkas grinned. Manwë had opened his eyes to a great many things, including the joy of taking what he desired whenever he desired, instead of hindering himself with the chore of seeking the approval of those not of his own. Tulkas was glad he finally decided to heed his lord and his counsel. They were Ainur, after all. They were given the freedom to do whatever they desired in the new world they were allowed to call home. And it was high time he did the same as well.
Nahtanis led him down one brightly lit corridor after another until they reached the tower set aside for the Elder King’s guests. She felt no fear in being in Tulkas’s presence. Until that particular moment, he had given the elves no cause to fear him, unlike several of the others who took what they wanted from those they deemed beneath them without a second thought. He would do nothing to harm her.
If only she knew how wrong she would be on that score.
“This way, my lord,” she said, as she showed the way up the winding steps that corkscrewed in the centre. “The room meant for you is up here.”
Tulkas brimmed with an impatience he had never had before. It heightened with each floor and door they passed, and filled him with a longing to push his unsuspecting companion up against the wall, and have his way with her right then and there. Nevertheless, he forced himself to stay his hand. The stairway was too narrow; it would be too uncomfortable, and the room set aside for his use could not be that far off. He would amuse himself with Nahtanis then.
Nahtanis finally stopped by an entryway open to an unoccupied room, much to Tulkas’s relief. “Here you are, my lord,” she said, stepping to the side so he could enter without her standing in his way. “Will this please you?”
Tulkas peered inside. The chamber, he discovered, was spacious and airy. Gilded lamps burned a dull gold, creating just enough light to drive away the shadows that crept along the floor and the walls. Then there was the bed. It was large enough for him, and soft, and an arched window on the eastern wall was open to the twilit sky. It was peaceful and still, and a thousand-thousand stars glittered in their appointed places in the heavens. Their light spilt into the room and mingled with the light of the lamps, creating an ethereal scene that would have better suited a lord with more tender thoughts toward his companion. Alas, Tulkas had none, but he was pleased all the same.
“This will do,” Tulkas said, “This will do nicely indeed.”
He grabbed Nahtanis by the arm, dragged her inside, and kicked the door shut. “What are you doing, my lord?” She cried, terrified. Tulkas had never conducted himself this way with anyone before. It alarmed her.
“Amusing myself with you,” Tulkas returned. He tightened his grip when she tried to break free of his hold. “You can try to defy me all you like,” he husked, his voice low and dangerous. It made Nahtanis’s blood run cold. “But you will never free yourself of me. Make peace with what is about to happen, my lady,” he continued, pulling her to him and throwing his arms around her waist, caging her to him. “For I will not release you until I am content in every way.”
“But the others… they will hear when I scream. And I will tell my father what you did to me. He will not keep silent when he hears how you forced yourself onto me.”
Tulkas threw his head back and roared. “Do you truly believe Lord Turmon could stand against me in any way? Oh, my sweet little elf, if only you knew the folly of such a thing. But go on,” he urged, amused rather than wroth. “Scream. Shout down the roof of this tower if you must. See who would come and save you. My kin will not, and yours… yours will be commanded to remain where they are and do nothing.”
Nahtanis tried to swallow in a throat that had gone dry. Tulkas had spoken truth of it, though it still distressed her to hear it uttered aloud. The Ainur were the masters and mistresses of the elves, and the elves were to serve them in whatever way they desired; such was the order created by the One himself. And Tulkas could indeed do whatever he wished to her, just as he said. His kin would not trouble themselves over her in any way, and her own would not be allowed to come anywhere near her. Still, she thrashed and pushed against him in a vain attempt to escape. And it was to no avail. Tulkas merely chuckled at her feeble attempts to flee. He sank to his knees, taking her down with him, and forgot all notions of the bed.
“Unhand me, my lord,” Nahtanis pleaded, hoping to appeal to whatever sense of decency he had within him. “Unhand me, please.”
“No.”
He smashed his lips against hers, and she let out a gasp. There was no gentleness to be found in his kiss, just the violence of his passion. He kissed her until her lips were bruised, kissed her until she whimpered, and she was finally forced to open her mouth for his tongue. Tulkas groaned triumphantly when she shuddered, and the saltiness of the tears that coursed down her cheeks invaded the very breaths he took. His hand went to the front of her robes and yanked, tearing at lace and velvet and the thin shift that lay beneath them until all of it ripped and her breasts spilt free.
“You are beautiful,” he uttered, though not ungently. “I am glad I chose you for my bedmate.”
Then he pushed her onto her back. Nahtanis cried out—from shock and from pain both—as her body collided against the cold, hard floor. She kicked and pounded Tulkas with her fists, terror coursing thick through her veins, as he moved over her and renewed his kisses. Tulkas eventually stopped, drew back, and straddled her waist, pinning her down with his weight. He had grown weary of her defying him.
“You persist in making this more difficult for yourself,” he remarked, his deft fingers making quick work of the clasps of his tunic and the sash along his waist. His sash he swiftly took to hand. His tunic he shrugged off, and tossed aside. “Very well. If that is how you wish it…”
He shifted off her and rolled her onto her belly. Nahtanis closed her eyes when he bound her wrists behind her with the strip of silk he held, not caring if it cut into her skin. Her sense of dread grew when the heaviness of him vanished, and she heard the sounds of him removing his boots and what remained to him of his clothes. Then it worsened even more, rendering her almost immobile, when he parted her thighs, tore at the ruins of her attire and her small clothes, and raised her hips until she was on her face and her knees, the tattered remnants of what she wore hanging by her sides.
“Please,” she choked out, turning her head to the side to breathe easier. “Please, do not do this.”
“You pleaded for your freedom once,” Tulkas growled, kneeling and positioning himself at her entrance, “and I will tell you now what I told you then. No. My answer is no. You will take what I give you whether you will it or not.”
Nahtanis screamed when he pushed in, claiming both her and her maidenhead with a single thrust. Tulkas was as big as one would expect of an Ainu, if not more so. She could feel every painful inch of him each time he pulled back his hips and pushed in, and she wept loudly, unable to comprehend how her first time with another could take place against her will. Then she yelped. Tulkas landed a firm blow against her thigh with the flat of his hand. He did it again, and again, until her flesh stung and turned red. Then he brought his hand down on her other thigh once, twice, then thrice, until it too turned red. Tulkas enjoyed himself immensely. The knowledge that he wielded such power over a weaker being aroused him in a way he could never describe. He grabbed onto the elf’s bound hands, keeping her steady, as he took himself closer and closer to the peak.
“You are mine,” he panted. “You belong to me now. Do you understand this?”
“Yes, my lord,” Nahtanis mewled between sobs, willing to agree to anything to hasten an end to what the Vala was doing to her. “I belong to you.”
“Good.” Tulkas slammed his hips one last time, burying his cock within the wet heat of her body just as he came. He moaned, long, throaty, and deep, as his entire body vibrated, and he emptied himself of his spend. But it was still not enough. He was not yet satisfied.
Nahtanis sighed weakly in relief when he finally went still and slipped out of her. That relief soon proved to be short-lived. Tulkas turned her once again onto her back, eager for more. He dipped his head and kissed the inside of her thighs, her belly, and her throat, grunting like a wild thing each time his teeth left a mark of their own in their wake. When even that was not enough, he put a hand to her breast and latched onto her nipple, tugging hard enough to cause pain, just as his other hand drifted down her stomach and went to work between her thighs. Nahtanis squirmed as his fingers slid back and forth over her folds. She tried to silence herself as little shockwaves of pleasure pulsed through her, wanting to deny her attacker the joy of seeing her unravel. But her tongue loosened in the end, and she cried out—this time out of ecstasy instead of horror—as her orgasm overcame her. When she finally stopped shaking, Tulkas, his cravings now fully sated, withdrew and tasted the essence of her on his fingertips.
“You taste so sweet,” he said, before throwing her over his shoulder and rising. “And now it is time for bed. I trust you are prepared to stay here, my lady. I will have much need of you after I have revived myself.”
