#nsfvalar

[valar-critical]

(submit your muse’s weird sex dream about fëanárë)

The first thing of which Ranyasúre was obliquely aware of, in the dream, was heat.

The body against hers was furnace-like, lithe and long and strong in ways her own had never been, and the woman— woman, came to her with no evidence physically in the dark— was greedy, as if wrath with Rani even in the midst of desire. Rani dug nails into the woman’s jaw, turning to meet her gaze there, and saw, then, as if it was only natural, the crown heir. Dark hair had been tousled, and bright eyes impassioned, as if Fëanárë had been challenged, and Ranyasúre laughed against lips and teeth, vicious and humored all in one turn.

Rani pressed a hand to peaked breasts, a thumb brushing roughly over, before Fëanárë persistently inched Rani’s shoulders downward, leaving the other nís face to face with her spread thighs. As if by instinct, teeth grazing from her muscled abdomen down, Ranyasúre set to work, eyes closed as she took Fëanárë’s heat in her mouth, tongue lathing as she closed her eyes.

And Rani woke, there in the late years of Valinor, quite astounded by the dream, completely flattened on her bed.

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[valar-critical]

The dream began fairly innocent. The young prince found himself on the sparring grounds with the princess Fëanárë. She taunted him as usual and her words cut as deeply as her forged swords would. They grappled, fought and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Until he landed a fortunate strike that caused Fëanárë to fall on her back. He rolled with her, moved on top of her and - much to his own surprise - locked their lips in a kiss.

Thranduil expected her to react with anger. To throw him off her and stab him for his insolence. Instead she returned the kiss eagerly and even flipped them over, so that she sat on top of him. While they kissed passionately, Thranduil's arms curled around her body and his fingers dove through her dark hair.

Just when he had begun to unlace her garments and spotted the first hint of bare skin, he awoke. It took him a few seconds to untangle himself from the passion of his dream and to understand that none of it had been real.

Very real however was the hardness between his legs. With an embarrassed groan, Thranduil buried his head in his hands. He could not believe he had actually dreamed such a thing, and about Fëanárë, of all women.

submit your muse’s weird sex dream about fëanárë || accepting