Fanworks Tagged with Sexual Content (Graphic)

“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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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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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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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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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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Celegorm does not like the idea of fleeing to Nargothrond. He likes it even less for the nagging fear that Curufin will prefer the Arafinweans to him, will abandon their Oath to keep them happy.

He'll do anything to stop that. Curufin will accept it eventually.

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Finrod and Bëor stop for a while on the road to Nargothrond to rest. The bodies of the Secondborn often grow weary, and Finrod laments, massaging Bëor's back and renewing his beloved's vigor with the work of his hands. But Finrod has other burdens of his own, Bëor soon discovers, returning Finrod's favor in the best way he knows how.

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“They can’t just assume we’ll let them leave us behind.”
“But they are, and they will. Our fathers are the Heads of their Houses. Fëanáro is king. Defiance would be treason, beloved.”
“I am his firstborn.”
“You are his only daughter.”
“I have done everything to be the son he wished me to be.”
“And yet, you are not.”

Findekánë and Maitindë do not go to Beleriand with their fathers. This changes very little, and yet so much.
For Scribbles and Drabbles 2025 SFW Slide 213 Two Queens

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Aredhel enjoys watching her Feanorians play.

For S&D 2025, NSFW Slide 24 - Finding Relaxation by Fiamma Galathon

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I could get drunk off of her alone, nevermind the wine.

Amárië catches the attention of the Princess of the Noldor during an annual ball.

For Scribbles and Drabbles 2025, NSFW Slide 25 by Zhie

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Rescued from a brutal Angband hunt, an ex-thrall with a strange and powerful artifact embedded in his spine is brought to Himring, for it is one of the only places in Beleriand which welcomes such folk. Though he has no memories of his life before, Anniavas slowly becomes accustomed to his new life and finds he has a queer connection with Maedhros, Himring's lord. As their intimacy grows, however, so do the dangers surrounding them, both without and within. What secrets are hidden inside the depths of Anniavas's lost memories--and how will those with whom he is forging and deepening bonds react, when those secrets are at last revealed?

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 Last night, the King’s Men put to death a large group of dangerous radicals in the Artists’ Quarter of Armenelos.  Caught only a few hours before their planned assassination attempt on Tar-Míriel, they forced our heroic enforcers to battle for their very lives.  Unfortunately, the splinter group of Faithful fanatics were unwilling to surrender peacefully.  A large number of weapons, including incendiary devices, were recovered from the basement of the house in which they had been planning their cowardly and devious attack. Although all of the royal guard survived, one of their number was carried to the local hospital with severe injuries; he is expected to recover.  
    Citizens are asked to report any unusual activity to the King’s Men. Now, more than ever, Númenor must stand together against those who would destroy her.
    —Short Bulletin in the Armenelos Times, Year 11 of the reign of Ar-Pharazôn

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“When we get out of this bedamned frozen wasteland,” he murmurs, pleasure pooling in his stomach and leaving everything glowing golden, “I am going to strip you bare and fuck you until you stop having ambitions higher than you should.”

“And if I do not stop,” Ñolofinwë returns, voice rough and cracking across the words, “if I keep trying to take the crown you do not even enjoy having, what will you do then, brother?”

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Celegorm issues an invitation. Finrod takes him up on it--and proves himself the king that neither of them knew he could be.

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Scenes (often domestic, sometimes intimate) from life in Mordor from the fall of Númenor to the Last Alliance.

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“You know as well as I do that the aphrodisiac is never meant to be consumed in such a high quantity,” Ñolofinwë says evenly. “It is well known to be lethal in such a high dosage if there is no one around to lay with.”

Fëanáro shoots him a scathing glare, as if Ñolofinwë has said something incomparably stupid. “I am well aware of the properties of the plant,” Fëanáro says flatly, shrugging his jacket off and glaring at the pollen on it. “But I am not alone, am I?”

It takes a moment for Fëanáro's meaning to hit him, and he does not quite stop himself from gaping when it does. "We cannot lay together!" he exclaims, voice going humiliating high with horror. "You are my brother!"

The words earn him nothing but a disparaging snort; Fëanáro only half paying him any attention at all as he glances around the clearing. "You are not my brother," he says, and the words are not even cruel, only a simple fact. "I am not going to die because of your useless morals."

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Various instances there are, of the two of them crashing into each other as if it were a contest. In truth, it is unclear who is winning, what they are playing for. Whether there is a prize to be had in the end, or merely mild to severe destruction—of sanity, reputation, hearts; no matter.

It would be wise to stop while he is ahead, Findaráto knows—alas for the ambition and hubris of Finwë’s line.

---

Curufin and Finrod, a summer lake, and the folly of youth before the world taught them better.

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He wants—oh, Fingon wants so many things. To flee the bathhouse, first and foremost. To meet Maedhros halfway, forget about the ruin they have made of each other—slowly, meticulously, over centuries—and kiss him until their lips are bruised and their lungs empty of breath. Wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, and perhaps wrap his hands around Maedhros’ throat, ask if he still prefer that Fingon kill him, bloody his own hands once more in ways that can never come off, if only it will bring Maedhros his much-sought salvation.

Fingon wants; ever has it been his greatest vice, that hunger that gnaws through him, makes him reckless, selfish, rapacious.

---

Fingon merely needed a bath. Maedhros, as ever, complicates things.

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