#hfic

Hi thank you for the ask!! And sorry for the delay <3

Prompt 31 : After a small rejection

Pairing : Feanor / Melkor

Fëanor can sense the Vala’s presence the moment he enters the forges. 

The air, previously heated by the forge’s flames, abruptly turns icy. The sudden chill makes the sweat on Fëanor’s skin feel clammy. He doesn’t need to turn to see the intruder. Familiar with Melkor's constant lurking, he knows when he is there, watching him silently.

He finds himself instinctively searching for him in every corner, in every dark room.

Gripping his hammer tighter, he wills himself to remain composed. 

“Whatever brings you here,” Fëanor says, his tone devoid of any warmth or welcome, “I have neither the need nor the time for it.”

A moment of silence fills the space between his words and the darkness behind him. As if the presence he felt was nothing more than just a trick of his imagination. 

But still, he waits. 

And there it is, a faint hum that morphs into a deep chuckle, reverberating through the forge room. 

“I doubt you truly mean that, Fëanáro,” comes the response, teasing and casual as if Fëanor is his friend.

It is a cruel melody, a rumble that could shake down the foundations of Fëanor’s resolve. He hates the way it makes him feel. Weak and defenseless against that voice dripping with saccharine deceit and lies.

Turning sharply, hammer still in hand, Fëanor faces the part of the forge where the fires' light doesn’t reach. In the darkness, two fiery eyes meet his gaze.

Melkor finally steps into the light, yet Fëanor can only spot his pale face, cloaked in darkness as he is. Fëanor straightens his back and folds his arms in front of him, waiting for Melkor to speak his lies once again. 

“I have a proposition for you,” Melkor breaks the tense silence while looking around the forge with an innocuous curiocity. Fëanor knows what he is looking for, and he also knows well that it is not here. 

He remains silent. 

“We could achieve great things together,” Melkor says, approaching the bench where Fëanor’s new project sits untouched. “Your brilliance and my insight could create something unparalleled.” 

Fëanor's expression hardens as he turns to face the Vala. "I have no interest in your schemes, Melkor,” he rebukes. “I work alone, as you well know. Nothing can change that.”

Melkor falls silent, his gaze lingering on Fëanor’s workbench, as if it is the most interesting thing in Arda. For a moment, Fëanor wonders if his words have gone unheard. 

“You are making a mistake, son of Finwë,” Melkor speaks again and his voice holds a dangerous edge to it. Gone is the friendly lilt and the false sweetness of it. “You would do well to reconsider my offer.”

Fëanor scoffs, his anger fully resurfacing. “Save your threats. I know what you are and I will not let your tainted hands or your insight near my creations,” he says with a sneer, the fire in his eyes blazing. 

Melkor turns to face him, and beyond the bitter disappointment and frustration, Fëanor can see destruction and death in his steely gaze. 

"You are a fool, Fëanor," Melkor murmurs, stepping away from the workbench and closer to Fëanor until he is mere inches away. "But a brilliant fool."

Before Fëanor can react, Melkor leans in, his lips brushing against Fëanor's cheek in a quick, provocative kiss. The unexpected contact sends a shockwave through Fëanor, and he jerks back, his face flushed with a mix of fury and bewilderment.

Melkor steps back, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “Do not keep me waiting, Fëanor,” he says. 

Fëanor holds his ground, refusing to look away. It's a battle of wills, and he's determined not to yield. He waits until Melkor chooses to leave, his cloak melding into the darkness as he departs.

Just as quickly as he arrived, Melkor is gone, the heavy iron door of the forge clicking shut behind him.

Fëanor's fingers linger on the spot where Melkor kissed him. He can still feel the warmth of his lips.

A fire ignites in him, a fire fueled by rage and a new unspoken, unacknowledged spark.

I was tagged by @queerofthedagger thank you sooo much !! 🫶🏻

I am actually so excited for this one since it's my first feanormelkor fic. Basically this one is all about Melkor being obsessed with Feanor and how badly he wants him. Cue Melkor being Melkor ❤

I don't have an actual title just yet but im calling this one "3 times Melkor wanted to taste Feanor and one time he actually did". I think it's self explanatory, isn't it?

Here's the first part of the 4th time, just be warned about a bit of blood mention and Melkor being Weird :

Gothmog, Lord of the Balrogs, is standing in front of him, all fire and flame. He brings with him a stench of blood and ash and despair.  So huge is he that even he, Morgoth, the foe of the World, the darkest and most formidable of the Ainur, has to lift his head to meet his gaze. Truly, one of his greatest creations.  “He is gone,” Gothmog announces, his deep voice thundering through the vast chamber. The echo of it is the only thing that can be heard. Every creature is silent, watching and waiting for their Lord to speak.  But that is exactly what he did not want to hear.  Something new comes to the surface. Another feeling, strange and foreign, one that makes itself known in the back of his throat.  Regret. Disappointment. It almost tastes like defeat. It tastes like the night Feanor denied him. “What of the body?” asks Morgoth, his focus abruptly shifting to the blood dripping from Gothmog's whip. The droplets collect into a small puddle around him, and then slowly dissipate from the heat radiating from the Balrog’s body. His jaw clenches with such a force that for just a moment he thinks it’s going to break from the strain. His loose grip tightens on the armrests of the throne, as he struggles to restrain himself. His fingers dig deeper into the material and the dull pain of his burns surges back stronger than ever.  He doesn’t care. All he craves is to taste him.

MONA!!! HI! sorry this took me so long i was having a mental breakdown over it <3 But here it is!!! <3

Also everyone read the tags they hold important info, thank you <3

Prompt 28: As a lie.

Pairing: Fëanor/Melkor

They meet under the starlit sky and the mingling light of the Trees.

It is easy for them to slip unnoticed into one of the secluded gardens of Tirion, known only to a select few. Fëanor, draped in his black cloak, conceals the colors of his Father's House. Melkor, clad in darkness, blends seamlessly with the night.

It has become a habit. A pastime of sorts that both of them seem to enjoy. They sit together in the dark of the night, exchanging ideas and thoughtful words. Despite Melkor's past transgressions, Fëanor feels a sense of ease around the Vala. Each time, he allows himself to get closer to him, to get entangled in Melkor’s words.

Melkor is nothing like he had first thought. He is everything a Vala should be, majestic, just, and regal. He speaks and Fëanor listens, each word is like a gentle breeze against his face in the endless heat of the summer. Melkor moves gracefully across the garden, as if he can’t contain his restless energy, not after three ages of imprisonment. 

Fëanor leans against one of the walls of the garden and observes him as Melkor's fingers hover near the flowers, hesitant yet lingering. His hands possess the power to create and to destroy—a duality Fëanor has come to understand well. 

"Isn't this exquisite, Fëanor?" Melkor inquires softly, his fingertips brushing the petals of a flower. Fëanor watches, unsurprised, as the petals wilt and fall, the flower decaying slowly before his eyes. "How fragile they are."

“I've never had much interest in flowers,” Fëanor answers truthfully. His hands bear the marks of his work in the forges, his palms and fingers rough and calloused from the hours spent holding a hammer. 

“I know,” Melkor says, cutting the dead flower by its stem. “But surely, you can appreciate the beauty of decay.” 

He turns to face Fëanor, his eyes glinting in the faint glow of the Light. He reaches his hand out to give the flower to him, yet Fëanor pushes away from the wall and walks towards him. He stands in front of Melkor, craning his head back to meet his gaze. He is tall but the Vala towers over him. Fëanor reaches out, their fingers brushing as he takes the flower from Melkor's hand.

“Indeed,” he answers, and his voice comes across as a whisper. They are so close that Fëanor can finally look upon his face closely, his eyes wandering over the lines between his eyebrows and the curve of his nose. Melkor’s eyes, he realizes, have speckles of dark gray  beneath the red. 

Fëanor's gaze lingers on Melkor's mouth, contemplating the curiosity that has stirred within him for so long. He hesitates. He shouldn’t be doing this. Yet he leans in, so close to Melkor’s mouth that he can feel his breath on his lips. 

Melkor’s lips twitch in a smile and his hand comes up to cradle Fëanor’s cheek, the scent of the flower lingering on his fingers. It's an intoxicating scent that loosens Fëanor's inhibitions, drawing him nearer as Melkor closes the distance between them.

But just before their lips meet, Melkor pauses, a mere whisper separating them from what they both have been waiting for.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs, and his voice reaches Fëanor slowly, as if it is miles away.

“I don’t,” Fëanor lies.

Before he can regret it, he closes the distance between them, pressing his lips against Melkor’s in a tentative kiss. Melkor meets his kiss with shared passion, pushing him back against the wall he was leaning on moments ago. 

The flower is long forgotten.

hey ashleigh!!! thank you for the ask, it does feel right indeed <3

Prompt 7 : to shut them up

Pairing : Melkor / Mairon

Melkor is… talking.  Mairon is too tired and annoyed to actually bother with listening to what he has to say. Utumno has been a cacophony of noises and screams and shouts from its inhabitants that now it’s quite impossible to focus for even one more second on what his Lord is saying. The Maia’s gaze falls on Melkor’s lips, moving and forming words that he can’t quite bother to actually listen to or even try to decipher. He really hopes his Master is not sharing one of his grand ideas. That would mean he has to actually pay attention, plan it through and put it in action. In any other case, he would do it in the blink of an eye, so willing and ready as he is to please his Lord.  Now, all he wants is for Melkor to stop talking.  He should not be able to get a headache. It is impossible. But here he is, sprawled on their shared bed, with black dots dancing behind his shut eyelids.  “What say you, Mairon?” he hears Melkor ask, and for a moment after, all is quiet.  Mairon smiles in relief, a big wide smile that is quite not him. He is moderate and reserved with his reactions, anyone acquainted with the Maia would know this. It is an unsettling sight.  And Melkor notices this as well. His brows furrowed in confusion, he observes his Mairon from where he is standing a few feet away from their bed.  He thinks he is beautiful. The very epitome of perfection and grace on his bed, with his golden locks all over the pillows and his body languidly stretched over the sheets.  Mairon rests his hands against his stomach, the fabric of his loose tunic soft beneath his fingers. He feels the empty spot next to him dip and shift under the weight of Melkor settling on the bed.  “You know,” Melkor begins, and Mairon inwardly curses everything that has ever existed. He can feel Melkor’s gaze on him, soft yet calculating.  “I believe it would be wise to follow that course of action,” Melkor continues, and Mairon has not the slightest inkling of what he is talking about. “Whatever you say, my precious,” Mairon responds, and he can practically sense the subtle tilt of Melkor's head. “What do you mean? Do you no longer believe we ought to–”  Melkor’s words are cut off abruptly when Mairon lifts his head from the pillows and reaches for him, fists clutching his robes and pulling him into a rough, messy kiss. Their teeth clash, but Mairon pays it no mind.  Despite his initial shock, Melkor eagerly returns the kiss, his hands resting on Mairon’s hips, pushing him back down on the bed. Mairon complies willingly, trapped between the pillows and Melkor’s body.  Yet he pulls away too soon, his head tilting back and away from Melkor’s attempts to follow him and taste him again.  Mairon gently presses two fingers against Melkor’s parted lips.  “Later, precious,” he promises and Melkor grunts in protest. “Hush now.” For once, his Master relents and actually listens to him.  The blessed silence that follows is the greatest of gifts bestowed upon Mairon.

Thank you for the tags @sauron-kraut and @cilil <3

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Remain calm, forget that you know me (or : alarm bells in your eyes)

Desire only fuels the fire

angbang smut but it's about feanormelkor

fili/sigrid knife kink

manwe/varda/melkor

I must warn everyone that half of these are still fresh ideas and not fully fleshed out on paper. so depending on which one of these you will choose, I'll only be able to give out actual info instead of snippets <3