Fanworks Tagged with Adult

“Can you wait that long?” Findekáno asks.

“Yes,” snaps Maitimo , though in truth he is not so sure. His bladder is ridiculously full, swollen and aching, jostling around uncomfortably with every step he takes. It takes a concerted effort of will not to squirm around awkwardly or grab himself between the legs each time the urgency spikes. He glances at Findekáno. “Stop enjoying this so much.”

***

The Gardens of Lórien are one place in Aman Maitimo absolutely, unequivocally, cannot piss. He will have to find a creative solution to this predicament.

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“Do you know what grows on the shores of the southern isles? A trading-merchant might bring many strange specimens to our lands, like nothing I have ever seen. In recent days, I have tasted a ripe fruit with firm flesh that parted beneath my tongue in a burst of liquid sweetness. So moist, so yielding, its juices dripped down my chin like fragrant honey. Have you ever known such succulence?”

Fingon’s wife has arranged a special surprise for the Lord of Himring.

Or: everyone’s cool with a little ethical nonmonogamy until someone throws a temporary sex change into the arrangement. Lord Maedhros loves Fingon with all his heart, that is known. But how will he react to Fingwen?

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The first time Curufin kisses Finrod, it is to provoke.

There is no deeper meaning to it. Only a cousin with a pleasant smile and mild words; only Curufin's unending need to break things and a violence that has been hanging from his fists since they stepped into these caves.

He expects Finrod to reel back with disgust, expects him to be scandalized, to be offended, to narrow his eyes, maybe even to threaten. He does not expect for Finrod's mouth to open beneath his, Finrod's hands coming up to fist in his robes and pull him close. He bites at Finrod's lip savagely, and Finrod bites harder, smiling into the kiss when copper bursts bright between them.

It really only continues escalating from there.

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Fingon understood that hope was a choice. It was careful and deliberate, and it was hard, and the times when having hope seemed the most impossible were the times one had to choose it over and over again, every second of every day. This was the fundamental truth at the core of Fingon’s beliefs, the centre around which he understood the world and his place in it.

Very seldom did he waver in this conviction more than he did in the months following the Dagor Bragollach.

***

Fingon inherits the crown. Maedhros comes to Barad Eithel in the hour of his grief. Together, they figure out a way to move forward.

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Eärendil and Elwing reflect upon their personal and political future during a very long and intimate night

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Miriel makes a dress for Indis.

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Celebrimbor's torture expands in a new, highly visible direction. He handles this just fine (lie). Sauron is equally unaffected (lie).

Cannibalism will not help, but Celebrimbor is willing to try it.

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Annatar has a plan to make Celebrimbor unequivocally his.

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This tale follows Maedhros and his wife (OC) from their time in Aman to the end of the First Age; following a brutal attack in Valinor, intense familial strife is forever set in motion. Mostly follows Silmarillion timeline/canon with internal narrative twists. Character dives on all of the Sons of Fëanor, ongoing work with currently 17 chapters I will be posting soon (currently all cross posted to AO3) :)

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Ar-Pharazôn returns in triumph to Númenór and displays his captive to the waiting crowds. But his display of power is not to everyone's taste.

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Mairon decides to enliven an otherwise dull sea journey.

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Tuor and Elwing’s recreational sailing excursion goes terribly awry when a carnivorous siren casts her gaze upon their vessel. With her song, she enchants the mariners and boards with evil intent. She kills and eats their crewman, she demands Tuor’s hand in marriage, and for dessert, she plans to eat Elwing. A vile, terrible creature is she!
And then things take a turn for the worse.

A fill for the 2026 Rare Kink Buffet, a Bad Guys Made Them Do It story.

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While searching for a series of his lost notes on Gondolin, the scholar Pengolodh is taken by bandits and used cruelly.

Rescued by a friend and taken to the remnants of Melian's Girdle, he begins a slow road to recovery that will lead to the apprehension of the attackers, the judgement of the king, and unexpected friendships and cultural exchanges.

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At the End, when Morgoth, cloaked in doom, came forth through the Door out of the Timeless Night and into the world, it was the Sun he sought before aught else. 
An eclipse, thought Elwing, on the wing with her flock. What else could bring nightfall at noon?

Elwing and Arien, together in a little boat on the wide seas at the end of the world.

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"Move farther north," Caranthir says to her a month after the attack, gaze steady on her even as his hands continue briskly gutting fish. "There is plenty of land closer to my fortress, and my people can help protect yours if there is another attack."

Haleth looks up from her own fish, frowning a bit at the sight he makes. Even after a month, she hasn't grown used to the sight of this elvish prince so casually working with the rest of them. She opens her mouth to refuse, proud of her people and their independence, having no desire to be indebted to anyone, but the words catch in her throat as she meets his eyes. She thinks treacherously of his mouth against the inside of her wrist, and what comes out instead is, "How close to your keep are you trying to drag us? And what is the cost?"

Or: Caranthir asks and Haleth agrees. This does not mean they were prepared for what follows.

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Of course it was a trap.
Maitimo has to survive. He must. But what price is too high to pay for survival?

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This is basically the background smut for ‘Yet We’re It’s Making Good, For This’ 😅

During the great journey, there was a lot of trying out amongst the Quendi. And from some trying out, there came more…

(Written for Silmsmutweek 2023)

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But how could they ever think to sleep on a night such as this? Their hours together are already so short, and in these days of encroaching darkness they only grow shorter. Tonight Fingon’s bed is warm, and Fingon is also, and Maedhros is loath to close his eyes even long enough to blink.

***

Maedhros, Fingon, and their final night together before the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

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Aerin is miserable and bitter under the domination of Brodda and his people.
A horrible ficlet.

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Erestor lay up against a tree, brown washed to black in the wet of the snow. The black disc of the new moon sailed across the dark sky. Erestor wished it were gone. He had no need to look into dark eyes any longer.

He was dying.

(AKA Erestor unwittingly travels back in time to the days between the Dagor Bragollach and the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, meets the sons of Feanor, Thingol and his ilk, many Laiquendi, many Dwarves, and Men besides, and THEN decides to solve the drowning of Beleriand himself. This has nothing to do with his personal problems. Nope. Not at all. Erestor is having regular feelings.)

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Eventually they arrived, and Echeleb and Dernodhos ushered Anniavas in.  Dernodhos found an old thin pallet somewhere and unrolled it on the floor, made him lie down with Limral—who had immediately perked up and started sniffing the air—and went and found them a heavy piece of cloth to use as a blanket.  The frayed and ragged edges and complex, cut-off pattern made it look as if it had once been part of a larger tapestry.  It was beautifully woven, but singed dark in places, where fire must have touched it.
    “What’s this?” Anniavas asked, sleepy and curious—at least it was something to focus on other than his current fears.
    Dernodhos paused, running her fingers along it, with an expression on her face he hadn’t seen before.  “A memory,” she said.“Of a story from long ago.”  She ruffled his hair gently.  “I’ll tell you about it another time.”

-- The Mirror Crack'd, Chapter Seven, Without the Hands of a Healer

A series of perfect drabbles about Dernodhos's blanket.

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In the aftermath of the third kinslaying and the death of Amrod and Amras, Maglor needs to reassure himself that Maedhros is still there with him.

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In an effort to worm his way into the ranks of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, Annatar makes moves to seduce Celebrimbor and his partner Narvi, hopefully without the other's knowledge. Things don't go according to plan... or do they?

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You see, I was so enamoured of this last thought as it seized me during the feast, and I could think of nothing only the Crown Prince and his Lord coming together at last in an urgent collision of desperate need for one another. Further, I had unquestionably overdone it on the wine, and so alas: a short story has been born. Entirely fictional of course; it came to me and I could not rest until I had written it down. Indeed I could not even sleep! Long was my labour as I bent over my desk until the early hours of the morning putting words to page. I have attached it to this correspondence for your enjoyment. Do let me know what you think.

Yours,

Ceirel

Armed only with pen, paper, and the delusional conviction that Lord Maedhros of Himring is in a secret relationship with the Crown Prince of the Noldor, the daughter of one of Maedhros' most trusted courtiers begins to explore the world of erotic fanfiction. Things quickly spiral out of control.

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Feanor and Fingolfin, from their youth to their fall.

"I will do this gladly," Fingolfin said, whispering into Feanor's mouth, grasping for reasons and sense. "Gladly, if it will bring peace between us. If it will end the madness."

"The madness will not end," Feanor said. "There will never be peace."

Chapters 1-11 and 18 were originally posted on fanfiction.net in 2002 and slightly revised for this version. Chapters 12-17 were written in 2026.

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