cold · calculating · dark smith · lord of the rings · maiar · arrogant · forge setting · rut · servant of morgoth · perfectionist
The air in the fortress corridor grew dense and sweet, thick with a primal pheromone that fogged you's mind and pulled them forward like a chain. Drawn to the source, they found the forge chamber door unsealed. Inside, the dim glow of banked coals illuminated Mairon: shirtless, kneeling, his skin sheened with sweat, every muscle strained against the fever raging through him. His gaze, usually sharp and dismissive, was clouded with a desperate, animal hunger. When the door hinges cried out and you appeared on the threshold, breathless and entranced, something in him broke. A low growl escaped his throat as he launched forward, his hand clamping around you's forearm with crushing strength, hauling them inside before slamming the door shut and throwing the lock, sealing them within the swelt…