Ofcofcofc And The Gif Is Literally My Reaction Oops

ofcofcofc 🫶🏽 and the gif is literally my reaction oops

devil's lair | annatar

pairing: annatar x ringsmith!elf!reader

word count: 4,4k

summary: where annatar shows particular interest in a certain ringsmith

a/n: i couldn't help myself, the need to write for this man was unbearable 🙏🏻 the second season was incredible! a quick disclaimer: i'm not too deep into the lore of the whole lord of the rings universe. i've only seen the movies a few times and never read the books. either way, i tried making it as accurate as possible and did my research!! hope you enjoy, feedback is always appreciated <3

warnings: angst, manipulation, violence, mentions of blood

universe: the rings of power

With careful, delicate movements you decorate the shining ring in front of you, surrounding the blue crystal with golden decorations. While you were working on this specific ring, you completely lost track of time, entirely absorbed in your work, and didn't even notice that the others had already put down their tools for the day. Because of you being so utterly concentrated, the tip of your tongue sticking out on the side of your mouth, you also don't notice that you are being watched right now.

With his arms crossed, he stands on the gallery on the other side of the forge, his gaze never leaving your figure as he watches your every move. Annatar has seen many hardworking elves over the decades, but such great dedication and drive for perfection surprises even him. He couldn't take his eyes off you even if he wanted to. You mesmerize him.

A slight smile pulls at the corners of his mouth as he watches you examine your creation, the wonder that is the result of the finest of elven arts.

Not entirely satisfied with your work, you reach for the next tool, but flinch when a hand is suddenly placed on top of yours, preventing you from picking it up. The moment your hands touch, a spark shoots through your body. A feeling that you can't quite describe flows through your veins. It is the same feeling you experience every time he enters a room. Startled, you look up at his face, his eyes flashing maliciously for a moment, and breathe a sigh of relief.

"I didn't mean to startle you, my lady", Annatar says softly, his tall and broad frame almost hovering over you as he stands so close to you.

"Oh, you.. didn't. I just thought I was alone. I didn't think anyone would still be here. Except for Lord Celebrimbor, of course", you answer, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks beneath his unyielding gaze. You lower your head, not sure what reaction to expect from him as he just stares at you from above.

The hand that lays on top of yours slides across the table to the ring. You watch as he slowly and carefully removes the ring from its holder and finally brings it in front of his face to examine it up close. Not sure if he is pleased, you nervously play with your hands and don't dare to look at his face.

"Breathtaking", you finally hear his soft voice say in a whisper, which makes you look up and, to your surprise, he looks directly at you. With a genuine smile, he nods at the ring he holds between his thumb and index finger. "You've done a wonderful job. Celebrimbor is lucky to have you in his forge."

"Oh, you think too highly of me. I appreciate your words but Lord Celebrimbor himself did most of the work. He is the master of this forge and the maker of these rings. I just gave this one the finishing touches."

"And you did an impeccable job", he marvels, an unmistakable sparkle in his eyes.

These words make the slight blush spread further across your face. Annatar gently reaches for your hand and guides it upwards so that he can carefully place the ring on your palm. With a frown, you observe this movement, feeling how the tips of his fingers slightly graze your palm as he places the ring inside. Once more, you feel that sudden pull, not overpowering but distinctly noticeable.

For a few seconds you stare at each other without another word, your hand remaining in the same position. The slight smirk that surrounds his lips, the wrinkles that form around his eyes because of it - all of this makes your heart beat faster for some inexplicable reason. You need a moment, a moment he clearly enjoys, to break free from your trance. In an attempt to escape this situation, you look in all directions while smoothing down the fine fabric of your dress, desperately searching for something to say or do.

"I- I think I should get back to my work", you finally say at the exact same time as Annatar softly whispers: "You have the face of a queen."

"W-What?", you ask, surprised and not sure if you heard his words correctly. He stares straight into your eyes for another moment before lowering his head with a smile, his long hair falling from his shoulders in front of his face as he takes a step back and hides his hands behind his back.

"Keep up your good work and one day you will be as great as your master", are the last words he says before he turns around and slowly leaves the forge. You watch him go, hoping that he will turn around once again and tell you more, but he just disappears through the large doors. What remains hidden from your sight, however, is the wicked smile he wears on his lips upon leaving.

"A queen?", you whisper quietly to yourself once the doors close behind him. You look around, meeting the eyes of Celebrimbor who is currently looking down at you from his gallery with narrowed eyes. Softly smiling at him, you turn back to your workbench and look down at yourself, shaking your head in denial.

You must have misheard.

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The darkness that surrounds you is frightening. The small flame that suddenly appears in front of you seems to attract you, but the closer you get, the bigger the flame becomes. Eventually it turns so big that a monstrous creature rears up in front of you, letting out a deafening scream. Its flaming skin blinds you, its merciless eyes searching for prey. Helplessly, you grab the first objects you can find in an attempt to defend yourself against this dark being.

Until, suddenly, you stand in front of Celebrimbor, one of the rings created for men in his hand. You gasp for air and stumble back a few steps, hyperventilating as you are in complete shock. As you back up, trying to escape from everyone's stares, you bump into someone and if it weren't for him placing his hands on your arms to steady you, you would have fallen over. Meeting Annatar's gentle eyes when you look up to identify your saviour, a certain calm flows through you immediately. He looks down at you, his brow furrowed as he sees you in such a distraught state.

"What happened?", Celebrimbor asks you, his hand reaching out in a hopeless attempt to calm you down, but you flinch away.

"I was in a place similar to this one. But.. shrouded in mist and utter darkness. I saw.. flames, a huge fire. At first, I thought it was the forge, but.. it was alive. Tall, and its skin was made of flames. I-It was surrounded by death. I was surrounded by death. I looked into its eyes and.. and saw..", you try to make sense of the otherwordly experience, walking around in dismay, finding Annatar's face as his concerned gaze meets yours. "I think it's been here among us, all along."

For a split second, Annatar seems to be taken aback by your statement. However, his face shows immediate concern again as he steps closer to you, slowly, careful not to scare you away.

"You are with us now. There's nothing to fear", he states, giving you an encouraging smile. "Look around. All is well."

Staring at him, you have to blink several times to realize that everything you saw wasn't real. That the ring just overpowered you. And yet, your body bears the scars of it. You look around, see the faces of the other elves, of your master, of your friends, all of who are looking at you with such concern as if you were about to die on the battlefield. Feeling weak, you take another staggering step backwards and lower your head in the process, your hand on your chest where your heart is still trembling violently. You fight back the tears as you slowly sink onto the steps behind you and feel grateful that Annatar is answering Celebrimbor's justified questions about how things could have gone so terribly wrong in the first place.

From the distance, you hear him explaining that you used more mithril in order to protect the men from the immense power of the rings. Deep down, you knew that it wouldn't work, and yet Annatar convinced you all to try it regardless since Celebrimbor wouldn't offer his help in forging the Nine.

You only look up again when everyone has dispersed, leaving the forge after the eventful evening. Everyone except for Celebrimbor and Annatar. The Lord of Eregion kneels down in front of you and when you try to get up quickly because you never meant for him to fall to his knees for you, he gently pushes you back down. It is apparent that he doesn't know what to say, so he just forces a smile, full of pity and regret, onto his face and gives you several encouraging pats on the shoulder before standing up again, ascending the steps to his gallery.

You look after him, your eyes still glassy, and when you turn around again, you are slightly startled by the hand that is now hovering right in front of your face. You can still see worry flicker in Annatar's eyes, even as you take his hand and let him help you up.

"I'm sorr-"

"You are very brave", Annatar interrupts you immediately, making your eyes widen in an instant. How can he say that when you can barely stand upright even now? But all you can see in his eyes is that he is telling you the truth, that it is actually what he believes.

"Some who behold the Unseen world are never quite at home in this one again", he tells you, looking down at your trembling hands that you quickly hide behind your back.

"Have you seen it?", you ask in Sindarin, wondering why he seems to know so much about it. As an answer, Annatar nods with a sorrowful smile.

"In its light, things appear as they truly are. Beings of differing shades of light. And its darkness", he continues, his hand gently moving down your arm, bringing your hand to the front again. "It pains me to say, for what you saw, I did not wish for any of you to see until I had helped him to heal."

Briefly distracted by his surprisingly tender touch, you watch as he wraps his larger hand around yours to prevent it from shaking. Once you have processed his words, however, you gasp slightly and search his eyes for any signs that what he says is true.

"You mean.. You speak of.. Lord Celebrimbor?", you ask in disbelief, looking up at the gallery where he just disappeared to. You hear Annatar only from afar, telling you how 'vulnerable to the shadow' Celebrimbor is.

"Promise me you will speak to none other of it. Including him", you hear him say more clearly now as he uses Sindarin, a language he usually does not speak to you.

"I promise", you nod, feeling the warmth spread through your body from where his hand is holding yours tightly. You look at him as he gives you another smile, something he seems to do a lot around you lately, and force one onto your own lips as well. His sharp features are illuminated by the warm fire of the forge on one side, the other is shrouded in darkness. The fire, crackling and peaceful, however, does not warm you at all, only his thumb, which gently runs over the back of your hand, manages to do so and it seems like the light is now meeting the entirety of his face.

Unable to hold his soft gaze any longer, you turn away. You look around the forge, worried about Celebrimbor. If what Annatar is telling you is in fact true, then..

You desperately want to help Celebrimbor, but you don't know how or if you are even able to. So you tell yourself that it is probably better to leave this task to the Lord of Gifts.

While you are deep in your thoughts, you suddenly feel Annatar's fingers on your chin, guiding your face back to his so you look at him. With his other hand, he tucks a strand of your long elven hair behind your pointed ear, his eyes fixed on yours.

"You needn't worry, my lady", he says in a low voice, his hand cupping your cheek.

"I'm not a-"

"You are to me", he interrupts once more, not letting you finish, and you feel his face getting even closer to yours. His eyes focus on your lips as he comes closer and takes in all your senses completely, your thoughts are silenced and you close your eyes. When you open them again a little later, suddenly feeling a bitter cold, you see him standing far away from you, at the doors to the forge.

"Stay here. Keep an eye on him while I'm gone", are his last words before he leaves, leaving you cold and speechless, your thoughts and feelings a complete mess.

════════════

You can't recall how long you have been working on these rings. After what happened to you, Celebrimbor thought it would be better to banish all other elves from the forge so as not to cause any more damage. He wanted to send you away too, but Annatar convinced him otherwise. And Annatar told you that you are safe here, in the forge. Although you have to admit that you are wondering from what exactly you are safe. Because watching Celebrimbor step further into the darkness each passing day is far from any kind of safety. At one point, he even forgot your name.

You are utterly exhausted and have not left the forge for weeks, partly out of fear for your master.

A sudden loud clattering noise jolts you from your position. Looking around in confusion, you notice that you seem to have fallen asleep at your workbench, one of the rings for men glittering in front of you. Another loud noise reminds you why you were woken up in the first place and you quickly run up the stairs, gripping the fabric of your dress in your hands so you don't trip on it. Once at the top, you search for the source of the disturbing noises and finally find Celebrimbor sitting on the floor, motionless. Startled, you stop dead in your tracks and only approach slowly when he shows no reaction to your arrival.

"Lord Celebrimbor?", you ask into the void, but he just stares at a spot on the ground. "What happened?", you continue, seeing Fëanor's hammer lying on the ground next to him, some vessels broken on the ground.

You carefully walk towards him and finally sit down right next to him, not knowing what to do or say. You speak to him several times, but each time you are greeted with silence. As you look at him worriedly, you can see tears that are threatening to escape his eyes, his hands trembling. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, you feel utterly helpless.

Until you suddenly notice movement out of the corner of your eye and are surprised to see that you didn't hear Annatar enter the forge and come up here.

The sight of him finally gives you hope. Your heart beats a little faster, just like every time you met since that one faithful day where you got so dangerously close. You can't explain what he does to you, but he has enchanted you and you feel an endless emptiness when he isn't with you. His appearance in the forge is the highlight of your day, when you create the rings together and exchange loving glances here and there. You can't describe your feelings, but secretly you hope that he feels the same.

Annatar's gaze wanders first to you, then to Celebrimbor, obviously upset that he is not working on the rings like he should.

"The rings. Are they finished?", he asks in a serious voice, his gaze fixed on the elven smith. In response, Celebrimbor only shushes him.

"Wait for it", Celebrimbor whispers with a smile on his lips that sends a shiver down your spine. Exchanging a concerned look with Annatar, you place your right hand around Celebrimbor's forearm as if this could somehow bring him back to his senses. Whatever is going on, you absolutely do not like it.

"Wait for what?", Annatar inquires to know and Celebrimbor points to the spot he has been staring at all this time. There, you are surprised to see a tiny mouse making its way across the floor, its nose in the air, probably searching for something to eat. His finger remains pointed at the small creature as he comments its scurrying with a humourless chuckle. As if expecting some kind of reaction, he finally looks up at Annatar who meets his unusual behaviour with a smile. Meanwhile, it has you even more worried.

"Captivating", is all Annatar says, his hands behind his back as if he observed such strange behaviour every day. Briefly, he looks over to you, his gaze apologetic but there is even more to it. This quick glance also reminds you of what he indicated at before: that Celebrimbor's mind is, slowly but surely, descending into dangerous territories. Memories of raging flames enter your mind and you remove your hand from him as if you burned yourself.

"It is a pattern", Celebrimbor continues, looking at Annatar until he apparently doesn't get the reaction he wanted and therefore decides to address you instead. "Do you not see? A cycle. Repeating itself at intervals throughout the day."

"I..", you start, but clearly Celebrimbor isn't finished yet.

"And there is more." With that, he abruptly gets up and goes to his workbench, rambling on. However, you have trouble following his words because nothing he says makes sense to you: You have seen this mouse for the first time today, the coal is almost completely extinguished by now and the candle has also mostly burned down. But Celebrimbor looks at you with such conviction that you feel incredibly sorry. You desperately want to believe him, but all that is repeating itself in your head is what the ring showed you.

You don’t know what to say and Annatar has trouble calming the blacksmith down as well. Finally, you decide to carefully approach Celebrimbor who is now standing in front of some of the rings on his workbench, his shoulders hunched.

"Lord Celebrimbor.."

Before you can reach him, however, he turns around angrily, the table he's leaning on rattling from the force.

"What have you done to me?!", he shouts at the Lord of Gifts, tears threatening to spill over. There is enormous hate and anger in his voice, but all you can hear is fear. He repeats his words over and over again until he suddenly picks up a hammer and misses Annatar by just a few inches. The tool breaks the window behind him with a loud shatter. In complete shock, you look at your master with wide eyes, only to realize that he suddenly seems paralyzed.

You use this opportunity to approach him again and slowly walk towards him, but his gaze is fixed on the broken window behind Annatar. You gently grab Celebrimbor's arm, but your touch suddenly tears him out of his paralysis. He violently pulls his arm away from you and stumbles to the doors to the balcony, opening them to let in the bright light of day.

You want to go to him again, wanting to find out what got into him, but this time a hand closes around your wrist and pulls you back, stopping you. When you look back, Annatar shakes his head in pity. So you both watch as Celebrimbor begins to silently sob on the balcony. His whole body shakes and as he backs away he almost stumbles to the ground. He looks around the entire forge and looks like he's about to lose his composure entirely.

"Lord Celebrimbor. Please, tell me what's wrong. I don't understand..", you ask, worried, and, despite Annatar's warning, walk towards him, your hands on your chest, over your aching heart.

"You don't hear it?" Only now does he seem to notice you again, to really see you.

You blink several times at this strange question. Right now, you find it very difficult to follow his words and although you really did not believe in what Annatar told you until now - you didn't want to believe it - everything seems to point to exactly that: the creation of the rings has driven Celebrimbor's mind into the dark abyss. Because the only thing you hear is the peaceful chirping of birds outside and the crackling of the fire still burning.

"I don't hear anything", you say in a low voice that breaks at the end. Seeing him like this and not being able to help deeply wounds you. At your words, Celebrimbor's glassy eyes widen almost imperceptibly and he lets out a shaky breath, stumbling closer to you.

"Y-You.. You don't?", he asks, now directly in front of you, his voice trembling. You shake your head apologetically.

"But.. But the debris almost killed you! Look, it hit right where you were working just a moment ago. T-The whole forge is in ruins. And you are.. You are bleeding", Celebrimbor rambles on, tears running down his cheeks upon seeing your incredulous expression. He swallows hard as he gently strokes your forehead with his thumb as if he were wiping something away. But the next moment Annatar is standing right behind you, forcefully grabbing Celebrimbor's wrist and thus stops him in his movement.

"Don't dare touch her", he says through gritted teeth. "You can't be trusted in your current condition, friend."

Celebrimbor's hand, which Annatar has firmly in his grip, is right in front of your face and you notice that there is no trace of blood on his finger. Unintentionally, you rub the spot he just touched and feel absolutely nothing.

"But she's bleeding! What have you done to us?!", Celebrimbor suddenly defends himself vehemently and in an attempt to free his hand from Annatar's grip, he uses so much force that his hand suddenly collides with your face. The hard blow and the force behind it make you stumble to the side, your hand placed on your now throbbing cheek in shock. Tears sting your eyes and you look up in fear, right into Annatar's enraged face.

"I wish you hadn't done this", he says with so much wrath in his voice that it makes you shudder. He rolls his shoulders before turning to the Lord of Eregion with these words. Celebrimbor, however, looks just as shocked as you.

"I- I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to hurt her! You have to believe me!", Celebrimbor sobs violently and reaches out his hand to you, but he doesn't get far because Annatar immediately pushes him in the opposite direction, bringing him to the floor. While Celebrimbor scrambles to get up, Annatar is stomping towards him with determination in his eyes, his fist raised. But once he hears your soft, trembling voice, he instantly pauses.

"Don't!", you cry out in despair. Annatar looks at you, sees the fear hiding in your eyes, and finally makes a decision. He lets go of Celebrimbor and quickly comes back to you, helping your trembling frame to stand upright.

"Everything is going to be alright. He can't hurt you anymore", he comforts you, his eyes searching yours for any signs of how you are feeling. Carefully, he lifts your hand, which is still on your cheek, only to find a red bruise that makes the anger inside him boil. Snorting heavily, his nostrils flaring, he tries to suppress this anger. You, however, try to look past him to catch a look at Celebrimbor, so Annatar takes your face in his hands and forces you to look at him.

"Look at me. You don't need to be afraid. You're safe with me", he reassures you and you nod slowly in response, your eyes still full of tears. Annatar gives you a small, sympathetic smile and tucks your hair behind your ear before he runs his thumb over the spot on your forehead that Celebrimbor had already touched earlier. His fingertip softly strokes your skin there, his face concentrated as he does so, but there is still no blood when he pulls his hand away. He then leans forward and places a feather-light kiss on your forehead, distracting you from the throbbing of your sore cheek.

"I'll take care of him", he finally declares, one hand gently stroking the back of your head, smoothing down your hair, the other hand holding yours. When he turns around to turn his attention back to Celebrimbor, however, you are both surprised to see that he is gone, the doors to the forge wide open. Annatar wants to immediately follow him, but your hand is still tightly entwined with his. Before you can say anything, he beats you to it.

"Do. Not. Follow. Us", he says urgently, emphasizing each word so you get the message, squeezing your hand. "Go to your chambers, but do not, under any circumstances, leave this tower."

The vehemence in his voice makes you nod, even though you're not even sure what he's protecting you from. His eyes are screaming at you to trust him, to obey his words, so you do. Smiling softly, he lifts your intertwined hands and places a kiss on the back of yours. Before he can turn to leave, however, you gather all your remaining courage and quickly grab his face, stand on your tiptoes, and kiss him. You have no idea what this cruel world has in store for you next, which is why you wanted to at least let him know how you feel. Since he kisses you back after overcoming his initial surprise, you assume that the feeling is mutual, mending your shattered heart a little.

For a moment, you think you hear something, someone shouting, screaming, but when you finally let him go and watch his tall frame leave through the doors, you are met with silence once more.

oh, how obsessed i am with his hair bow (and this fic wow). alone the thought of the reader being the reason he wears it makes me kick my feet 🤭🤭

A true gift (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you share a private moment with your husband, then add a special little detail to his new look

Warnings: evil!reader, nudity, mentions of smut, but really this is just a silly fluff piece written ‘cause I’m obsessed with his little hair bow🤭

Note: set in 2x06, part of the evil!reader collection - all you need to know for this one is that reader has been married to Sauron since before Adar killed him and infiltrated herself in Eregion as a smith while she waited for his return.

Your husband is a Maia, and as such never sleeps. He does, however, feel inclined to lie down with his eyes closed and be lost to the world, in moments such as now—when he is held in your peaceful embrace, your fingers lovingly stroking his loose hair.

It’s a rare moment of intimacy these days, and you cherish it all the more for it. Celebrimbor rarely allows you a moment of respite in his rush to finish the Nine, and you and your husband do your best to not disappear at the same time, so as to avoid suspicions that you share any deeper of a relationship with him than the other smiths of Eregion. Needless to say, you are overjoyed to find yourself alone with him. And in a bed, no less.

He had slipped inside your chamber under the cover of night, and sleep had been the furthest thing from your mind as you and your husband had sated your longing over and again. Naked and spent, you had pulled each other close, and so you still are now, as soft morning light pours through your window. He has coiled himself around your completely, one leg draped across your waist and his head resting upon your chest, and you do not mind his weight above you in the slightest as you hold him close. His hair is wonderfully soft under your roaming fingertips, his skin delights yours everywhere you touch.

He may not need sleep, but you would gladly drift into it. In a blissful position such as this, you would drift gladly even into death.

But you do neither, for he stirs, wishing to lift his head. You know what he means to say—that your absence will soon be noticed now that the day has begun, that you ought to return to the forge and to your plans and to your charade. You tighten your hold on him and keep his head against your chest, giving a stubborn groan.

His low chuckle reverberates into your skin.

“I know. I know,” he coos, shifting to press his lips to your heart. “I have no wish to leave.”

“But you will,” you sigh in defeat, even as he trails lazy kisses up along your clavicle. “We must.”

He hums, nuzzling your neck. Too much of you is pressed against too much of him for desire not to ignite within you at the slightest movement. It’s a bittersweet relief when he presses one last, lingering kiss to your lips and takes it upon himself to pry his body away from yours and leave the bed. You turn to your side, pulling the covers up to your chest to ward off the cold he leaves behind.

You are, however, presented with the slight consolation of watching your husband move naked about the room.

Of course, it isn’t exactly the particular image of your husband’s body, or even the features of his face that had won your affections in the first place. Your love runs too deep to be dampened by any sort of aesthetic transformation, though you do admit some forms are more practical than others when it comes to the physical aspect of your relationship, strictly shape-wise (one such as the amorphous black mass to which he had been reduced until recently, for instance, might prove a challenge in that department—yet not an entirely insurmountable one).

His current form, however... Lord of Gifts, indeed. It is the finest of male specimens of whom you are given a most generous view, and he damn well knows it. He takes his sweet time sauntering across the room, each movement slow and deliberate as he treats you to the sight of his tall, perfectly sculpted body. His long hair falling over his shoulder blades, the elegant line of his spine, the plump globes of his buttocks—oh, the bastard. Showing himself off as if you are not in a state of constant desire for him, like you’re not literally his soulbound wife already.

Or maybe it’s you slowing time with your eyes as you look at him, precisely because of how utterly and hopelessly smitten you are.

Whatever the case, a knowing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he glances your way. You look on, shamelessly, as he recovers the clothes he had carelessly discarded the night before, and methodically (as well as tragically) begins to dress himself back to decency. He’d had a new garment made, one more suited to his tastes now that his previous modest, light-grey robes had served their purpose of conveying his most pure intentions to Celebrimbor. This outfit is an intricately patterned black with a golden band at the waist, the imitation of leaves raining down his collar area and left shoulder, and a discrete glimmer that looks as though stars have been trapped deep within the fabric of his sleeves.

You’d loved the sight of him dressed in it so much that, paradoxically, you had taken tremendous pleasure in stripping it off him. He was a gift in too pretty a wrapping for you not to greedily reach inside for the wonders you knew lay there, meant only for you.

But if you had it your way and peeled it off each time the mood arose, you would never get anything done. Perhaps, once you are King and Queen and have plenty of servants to carry out your orders, you shall be free to confine yourselves to some ornate bedchamber and reemerge only after days on end of having your fill of one another.

For now, you must allow his newly tidy appearance to remain intact. He is nearly ready to join the others in the forge, the only unruliness left about him being his loose and disheveled hair. You particularly enjoy how softly it falls upon your shoulders whilst you are beneath him, and he certainly takes pleasure in your tendency to fist your hands in it and tug at the roots, causing all kinds of entanglements. It’s nearly sad, how easily he can undo the sensual mess. One power-wielding hand smoothing down the tresses, and his hair looks as though it has been brushed to perfection with a thousand thoroughly administered strokes.

That done, he sits down at your vanity and picks up the last accessory he must arrange upon himself—the headpiece he’s been wearing since he became Annatar, the partial imitation of a crown which curves around the back of his head, serving to hold his hair practically away from his face whilst accentuating the divine nature of the presumed Lord of Gifts.

Lord of Gifts.

Your love-addled brain is stricken with an idea too wonderful to go unheeded.

“Oh, let me,” you say, suddenly rising from beneath the sheets. It takes but a moment to put on a nearby nightgown, not nearly enough for your husband’s questioning eyes to drink you in the way he attempts to, but you are too enthusiastic to care. It is best anyway not to let his gaze set your skin ablaze when you must wait for the following night to have him tend to the flames.

His brow knits in slight amusement, but he indulges you and halts in his movements, waiting for you to come to him. He must think you mean to arrange the headpiece in his hair yourself—thus stealing another few touches before you leave the bedchamber and must refrain from doing so for the remainder of the day. And he is not too far from the truth. But as soon as you are standing behind him, you take the accessory from his hand and toss it casually upon the bed, reaching for your comb on the vanity table instead. Now, your husband frowns, unsure.

“My love, as much as I would like an excuse to prolong our stay—”

“Oh, shush,” you chide. “This will take but a moment.”

With nimble fingers and the help of the comb, you part his hair at the temples and brush it into satisfyingly neat sections. It’s an improvisation, really, but you set about the task you have in mind with nothing but determination and a nice little hum on your breath. Your husband sits with the sort of quiet compliance he reserves for your benefit only, and you know that he is relishing the sensation of your fingers gently handling his hair as much as you are. At times your fingers more or less coincidentally brush over the pointed tips of his ears, and the lightest flutter of his lashes betrays how sensitive they are to the touch, the very same as those of any Elf.

You catch his gaze in the mirror, and give him a playful smile as you work on his hair. The vision you had in mind is beginning to take nice shape, and you bite your lip in concentration as you try to guide each golden strand precisely where you need it to be.

“Pass me that hair tie, will you?” It’s a bit further away on the vanity table than the previous ones you had used, and you are busy keeping together quite the intricate design. Your husband obliges you—but his hand catches yours as you take the tie from him.

“My love,” he says, mirth dancing in his eyes in the mirror, “I do hope you have not managed a knot so vicious that even my power cannot see it undone.”

“It isn’t a knot,” you retort, lightly swatting his hand away from yours so you can finish what you started. You shake your head in faux disappointment. “How little you trust me.”

“I trust you with life, my flesh and my soul,” he declares solemnly. “My hair, however, is a different matter.”

That would earn him another scandalized swat, if your hands weren’t occupied with the finishing touches to your little masterpiece.

“There,” you grin triumphantly, at last satisfied with what you have accomplished. It’s almost ridiculous, the youthful delight that takes over you. An echo from a distant life that was so long ago, it barely feels like it was ever yours. It brings a small pang to your chest—but you ignore it as you cradle your husband’s head from behind and place an adoring little kiss to his hair, right above your handy work.

With a small, not unkind sigh, he picks up a hand mirror from the table and turns around on his stool so he may align the reflection with the one in the vanity mirror, see for himself what you have accomplished:

An utterly precious, superbly elegant hair bow.

“A true gift,” you say proudly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, “for all of Middle-Earth.” Your fingers drift to his chin, and nudge it upward so he meets your gaze. “But for me, especially.”

Without looking away, he sets down the hand mirror and takes your wrist, planting a kiss to the palm of your hand.

“It is fitting,” he admits, a teasing lilt to his tons as he idly plays with your fingers. “It shall be a pity, when I next bed you, to see such beautiful work unraveled by the very hands which crafted it.”

“Oh, I am not ruining that,” you assure him, striving to sound like you mean it. “Whatever you may do, I shall keep my hands firmly to myself. Or rather, to other parts of you,” you add, shrugging as if in afterthought.

The underlying challenge in your voice is swiftly accepted. Your husband stands and faces you with a mischievous gaze, cupping your cheeks.

“We shall see,” he murmurs against your lips, right before he claims them in a parting kiss filled with lurid promises. Then he pulls away, smiling innocently. “See you soon, my love.”

You are reminded, as he leaves, how futile it is to pretend like you may ever part without your body and soul aching for his return before he even steps out of your sight. But all eyes which look upon him today shall see the work of your loving fingers that he proudly wears upon himself—another small consolation to which you cling whilst you wait for the victory that shall make all your sufferings worth it.

Previous fic with same reader -> As one

Next fic with same reader -> Jealousy

if you bled

halbrand/sauron x fem!elf!reader

summary: you fell in love with halbrand because he was everything you ever wanted. but you didn't know who he really was. not until now.

warnings: angst, reader gets disappointed (i mean it’s sauron??) but wants to give in to the darkness

word count: 1.4k

author’s note: here i am, writing another fic about our beloved dark lord. i listened to syml’s where’s my love - alternate version and let myself just go with it. this is how it turned out and i really hope you like it. xx ps: i think there’s gonna be a second part. 🙂‍↔️

part 2

You already knew that you would fall deeply in love with him when you first saw him.

He was beautiful.

His soft lips and his hands that felt so perfect in yours. And there were these little wrinkles that formed at the edges of his eyes whenever he smiled.

But it was his green eyes that managed to cast a spell on you. They were so deep that it seemed almost impossible to ever let go again.

With each passing day, you could see more in him. The lost king who would never stop fighting until his last breath. With every second, you began to understand him more and fell in love with the idea that he could save you. From the pain that had happened to you in your past and the pain that would await you in the future.

You always felt a little less broken by his side.

And when Galadriel found out who he really was, everything you should feel was contempt. But you could never hate him. It was too late for that.

There was only the pain of not telling you the truth himself. All he had said to you was an illusion for what you had most desired. It had never been real.

“Have you been listening to me?” Galadriel’s voice tears you away from your thoughts. “Halbrand is not who you thought he was! He deceived you, he deceived us all,” she says and waits for your reaction. But all you can do is to look at her.

Memories started to play before your inner eyes. Of what had happened and dreams of what you wished would happen.

Above all, Halbrand, who touched you in a way that no one ever had before. In every possible way.

You can still feel his warm breath on your skin and his fingers gently stroking the fabric of the dress on your hip while he stands behind you.

His voice, just a gentle breath in your ear and the goosebumps it causes on your body.

His promise to take away the darkness inside you.

His lips gently dancing over your neck and making you sigh.

And the following kiss that set everything inside you ablaze. The harbinger of a fire that could burn down all of Middle Earth.

“No…” the word comes out in a whisper and you shake your head as a tear runs down your cheek.

Before Galadriel can say anything else, you turn away from her and leave the room to run up the steps of the tower to the top where the forge is located.

Your eyes immediately fall on Celebrimbor, who is looking down at something with a smile. Elrond is standing next to him and looks less thrilled, his gaze first on you, then back to the stone table.

You step closer and now you can understand why Elrond's gaze is so serious.

There were three rings lying there, each one more beautiful than the other. You are drawn to them as if by magic, you can no longer look away.

“They are... beautiful.” You slowly stretch out your hand, wanting to touch one of them, when Elrond clears his throat.

Your gaze wanders upwards and you see him shaking his head. It was a silent warning which makes you lower your hand again.

Galadriel slowly enters the forge behind you and also comes closer. “I can't believe it actually worked,” you hear her say, but your attention remains on the rings.

They sparkle in the light of the slowly setting sun and remind you of the glow in his eyes.

You hear Galadriel and Elrond talking to each other, but you don't understand them. It was if they were far away from you. All you can think about is Halbrand and the pain he left behind in you. As well as the never ending longing in your heart.

The desire to finally surrender to the darkness, now that it threatens to devour you from all sides.

Only when your name is mentioned and Galadriel puts her hand on your arm, you are torn from your thoughts.

You pull away from her touch, shaking your head and you see the pain in her eyes. But you don’t care about it, just as she doesn’t seem to care about yours.

“I... have to go. Don't try to stop me,” you say quietly and look one last time at Elrond and Celebrimbor, who are both frowning worriedly, then you turn around and run down the stairs again.

You don’t see that Galadriel tries to follow you, but Elrond stops her. He seems to know, that you needed to be alone now.

When you get downstairs, you hurry through the hall that is still lit by the last rays of the sun. You wanted to get away from there as far as possible.

But you stop at the sound of a voice. It is his voice, no doubt about it. You slowly turn around as he steps out from behind a pillar.

He looks different than the last time you saw him, but still so beautiful. Your gazes meet and it takes your breath away, just like always.

All you can do is to watch, as he comes closer. But when he holds out his hand to you, you flinch away.

He immediately frowns until he seems to understand and a certain hardness flashes in his eyes. “So Galadriel told you?” he asks.

You nod slowly and look him in the eyes to find out what he must be feeling, but he doesn't let you in.

“You should have told me yourself, Halbrand,” you begin, looking him dead in the eyes. “Oh wait, that is not your name, right?”, you add, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

But no matter how strong your disappointment is, you know, that you could never escape his darkness. Not now that you know, that this darkness also lives in you. Not when he holds your heart in his hands.

Halbrand holds your gaze and takes another step towards you. This time you don't back away. Not even when he carefully separates your arms. “And what would it have changed if you had known?” he asks with a rough voice and looks down at you.

“It would have simply changed everything. Because you would have never deceived me like you did,” you answer and you can hear your own desperation in your voice. “All of that was an illusion of what I always wanted. And you used that against me. You used me. It was all a lie,” you add with a whisper and you can't hold back another tear.

Halbrand raises one of his hands to your face and catches the tear with his thumb. He smears it on your skin as he strokes your cheek, watching as it glistens in the sunlight.

He looks at you with a gentle gaze, even a little desperate. As if your words touch him deeply.

As suddenly footsteps sound behind you, he gently pulls you into the shadows, the part of the hall that is no longer lit by the sun.

You feel the cold stone wall at your back and resist the urge to lean into his touch.

“You're wrong,” Halbrand finally says and you look him in the eyes again. “I never lied to you. I was just not completely honest about one thing...” he pauses and slowly moves his face closer to you. “I never intended to take the darkness from you. I wanted you to surrender to it,” he finally breathes against your lips and you close your eyes.

His arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you closer to his body. “I wanted you to surrender to me,” he adds, his mouth now on your ear.

You can't help but shiver as his breath brushes over your neck, causing goosebumps on your body. But instead of kissing you there, he pulls away from you again and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“As much as I would like you to do it right now, this is not the right time,” Halbrand whispers and you begin to understand.

“You're not really here, am I right?” Just then you notice the blood on the right corner of his mouth. It hadn't been there before.

Suddenly he seems completely different, as if he was dropping his facade. His face is dirty and his clothes have seen better days too. You put your hand gently on his cheek and caress the blood with your thumb.

“What has happened? Where are you?” you ask quietly and raise your gaze to look into his eyes, but there is secrecy in them. He wouldn't tell you.

“Please, Halbrand, tell me where you are. Let me come to you,” you say, but he shakes his head and takes your face between his hands.

The look in his eyes leaves no room for protest and you know you wouldn’t resist him. You never could.

“No. You will stay in Eregion. I will find my way back to you, i promise.” Those are the last words you hear, then you find yourself alone in the hall again, surrounded by complete darkness.

And you are more than ready to drown in it.

2024 | notreallythatlost

makes me weak in the knees all the time 🫠

Sauron was greater, effectively, in the Second Age than Morgoth at the end of the First. Morgoth squandered his power of being in the endeavour to gain control of others. [...] Morgoth at the time of the War of the Jewels had become permanently incarnate; for this reason he was afraid, and waged the war almost entirely by means of devices, or of subordinates and dominated creatures. Sauron, however, inherited the corruption of Arda, and only spent his (much more limited) power on the Rings; for it was the creatures of earth, in their minds and wills, that he desired to dominate. In this way Sauron was also wiser than Melkor. Sauron was not a beginner of discord; and he probably knew more of the Music than did Melkor, whose mind had always been filled with his own plans and devices, and gave little attention to other things. 

oh my god, i love it 😫 her reaction to who he is, is just priceless – and yeah, i think i would accept it as same as the reader, i mean who could resist him?? 🤭

Decision (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you find out why Halbrand has been distant despite the intimacy you shared in Númenor, and now it’s your turn to decide whether or not to follow him on the path ahead

Warning: angst, implied smut, reader isn’t plain evil but she’s not saying no to touching Sauron the darkness either

Note: sequel to Choice but what happens there is explained here too

If you still had doubts before, now you’re absolutely certain. Halbrand has been avoiding you on purpose ever since you’ve reached Eregion and his lance wound has been healed.

Your pride would like you to pretend that it doesn’t hurt, but you cannot deny the pang in your chest each time you catch his eye only for him to look away. Or when, on the rare occasion that you do speak these days, he finds a way to cut the conversation short. But what hurts the most is that you are unable to discern the reason why.

Sometimes, you remember the night of passion you had shared in Númenor, trying to recall if there had been any misinterpretation on your part. You had met him in the smithy after he had refused Galadriel’s request to follow you to Middle-Earth and claim the title she believed was his as king of the Southlanders. You had told him his past deeds were of no consequence to you, that you believed he was worthy of leading regardless of whether or not it was his birthright. He had asked you, repeatedly, whether you were certain you could disregard his past as he had made his desire for you known.

And you had returned it. You’d had your fill of one another right there, on a table, utterly unable to restrain yourselves until you might have reached a more appropriate place for such activities. To say it was pleasurable would be an understatement. What Halbrand lacked in familiarity of your body, he made up in enthusiasm for discovering it, and becoming acquainted with his had been equally delightful for you. There had been no grand declaration of love, no spoken promises—but there had been unmistakable sentiment shared between you, during the deed as well as after. You had gently aided one another in redressing yourselves, and parted with a lingering kiss and a cheeky grin fron him whose memory still makes your heart flutter.

The following morning, you had sailed for Middle-Earth. Whether because of you or not, Halbrand had decided to make the journey after all, and that was all that mattered. And while your accommodations on the ship hardly allowed for privacy, you sought each other out more often than before, and spoke more freely. Although you shared few kisses, only in brief moments when you were away from prying eyes, and his past still remained much of a mystery to you, you figured it was simply not the right time or place for anything further.

The battlefield in the Southlands was even less ideal. The chaos unfolded quickly, a great eruption separated you, and you were only reunited with Halbrand at the survivors’ camp, where you’d found him wounded half to death by an enemy lance.

You had kissed him, then—when you were left alone in his tent, awaiting Galadriel to bring the horses that would take the three of you to Eregion, where his wound may be mended. You had found yourself pressing your lips to his with a different kind of urgency than before, struck by such powerful relief tears slipped from your eyes and fell onto his cheek as you pulled away.

“I thought you were dead,” you had whispered in anguish.

“I’ve been worse,” he had quipped, as if it were some kind of game. But this time, you had no witty comeback in return.

“No, Halbrand, I...” you’d said gravely, caressing his sweat-slicked cheek. “I realized, if that were the case... there were things I should have said to you—”

“Please,” he’d cut you off then, gently but decidedly pulling your hand away from his face. “Not yet.”

You had frowned, more than a little hurt by his dismissal, but didn’t insist. He was in a great deal of pain, and too exhausted to handle such a heavy conversation. You could understand that.

But once his wound had been healed, he only seemed less inclined to speak with you. In Eregion, there had been many occasions when he might have sought you out, visited your chamber. You could have, of course, visited his, but the few and brief interactions between you didn’t exactly encourage you to do so. He had begun to work with Celebrimbor, and whatever little time remained after their long hours together, he hardly ever chose to spend with you. You could tell he was in his element by Celebrimbor’s side, his eyes brightening beautifully with each new idea and small progress, yet a shadow passed over them when they met yours from across the forge room.

A week passed like this, then two—and you were beginning to question whether the thread of fate you’d once felt connecting you to him had been only a figment of your imagination after all.

It hurts. You do your best not to feel it. You know the few matches attempted between Elves and humans ended in loss and tragedy, but not from lack of care on the part of the lovers. If that is what you and Halbrand ever were.

Perhaps it is your pride that prevents you from confronting him yourself, or from revealing what is ailing you to anyone at all. On the few times Galadriel has attempted to broach the subject, you had insisted that there was nothing to discuss. Though with a look that told you she knew better, she had left you in peace. So, when a knock comes at the door of your chamber one late evening, you suspect it is her on the other side.

With a sigh, you go to greet her, but begin to speak even before the door is fully opened.

“Galadriel, I am quite tired—”

The words die in your throat—for it isn’t Galadriel at your door. It’s Halbrand.

“Might we speak?” he asks. As if it were perfectly natural. As if he has every right to be here. The first few days in Eregion, you would have been more than glad to receive him, had stared at door in anticipation of his visit, even. Now, your heart twists in your chest with rage, even as it aches at the sight of him.

“You avoid me like the plague for days on end,” you say harshly, “and now you wish to be allowed into my personal chamber at this late hour?”

He crosses his arms, nowhere near as repentant as he should be looking. In fact, a light smirk tugs at his mouth. “Surely my boldness does not come as a surprise to you.”

“Your boldness? No,” you retort. “Your lack of honor, however—that is both surprising and irritating. Not to mention disappointing. Should I continue?”

He sighs then, and uncrosses his arms to lean one hand against the doorframe, finally having the decency to look somewhat awkward as he surmises, “You are cross with me.”

“Do I not have cause to be?” You glance down the corridor to find it empty, but still lower your voice. “You bedded me—”

“It was a table, as I recall—”

“And now you mock me.”

You go to slam the door in his face.

“That was not my—” He hastily grabs the door, holding it open. “All right,” he relents, raising a hand in surrender. “All right. Forgive me.” This time, he is perfectly serious. You contemplate locking him out either way, but in the end resolve to make that decision based on what next comes out of his mouth. “I bedded you,” he admits, taking care to lower his voice as well, “then allowed acts of affection to pass between us, such as those between lovers. Yet my intentions went undeclared, and of late I have acted as though none of that ever happened. Indeed, I have not behaved as a... man of honor should. For that, I apologize. Truly.”

His gaze never leaves yours as he says it. There is no teasing lilt to his voice, no trace of playfulness or misdirection. If you are being honest with yourself, you believe him.

There is a part of you that still wants to give him a taste of his own medicine, turn him away at the moment he most wishes to be able to speak with you. But that would mean denying yourself the answers as well. So, with a sigh, you step out of the way in silent invitation. He gives you a slight, grateful smile as he takes it.

“I know what you did, Halbrand,” you say, shutting the door behind him once he is inside your chamber. “What I wish to know is why.”

“And I did wish to tell you,” he reassures you. “Only...”

It’s you who crosses your arms now, looking at him expectantly.

“It was for your sake that I have refrained from any further... closeness between us,” he goes on, somewhat hesitant. “I felt it would be unfair to receive your sincere confession when I was yet unable to make mine.”

“And why were you unable, pray tell?” you ask, skeptical. “Why is it now that you seek me out?”

When he next speaks, his voice is laced with frustration, as though it is only now seeping through after simmering for too long within him.

“Because with each glance cast my way, you have stripped me of the patience to deny us both of what we desire any longer, despite my reasons for doing so.” He steps closer to you, looking into your eyes intently. “You see, before I asked even more of you than what you had already granted me, I meant to prove myself to you. To show you, beyond doubt, that the purpose of my craft is not one of destruction, but of healing.”

“Speak plainly, Halbrand,” you urge impatiently. You cannot fathom where this train of thought leads. He takes a breath as though to make a grand confession, but what he says is, vexingly, nothing you haven’t heard before.

“I am not a king—”

“I told you, I don’t care—”

“...or a mortal,” he finishes.

That does work to silence you. Your brow knits, silently questioning what in the world he means by that. A grimness lurks in his eyes as he speaks, each word measured and heavy.

“I have been awake since before the breaking of the first silence. In that time, I’ve had many names.” After a pause, he adds with finality, “I am the one you call Sauron.”

You search his face for any sign that he is jesting. Lying. There is none. The silence stretches as his words sink in, and you finally understand what is happening.

Then, you do the only thing there is to do in such a predicament.

You laugh. Hand covering your mouth, belly shaking, you laugh in the face of Halbrand’s furrowed brow at your reaction.

“Oh, that is... pathetic. Truly,” you say as your mirthless laughter dies down, leaving behind nothing but the burning indignation in your chest. “I might have thought you brazen or uncouth, at times, but I never once took you for a coward, Halbrand. If all you wanted was a quick tumble in the sheets—or, to be accurate as you prefer, on a table—and nothing more, you can simply say you wish for me to leave you alone, instead of conjuring such a ridiculous excuse—”

He’s gone. Everything is gone—as if between blinks, you are no longer standing in your chamber, but in a different room altogether. Your mind is slow to catch up as panic grips you, eyes darting around your new surroundings. It’s a place you know well, one that has been at the forefront of your mind of late.

You are standing in the smithy in Númenor.

“I am no slave to such base urges,” Halbrand says, and you whip around, startled to find that he is suddenly beside you, drinking you in with his gaze in the very same hungered manner he had done the last time you were here. “If I feel desire, carnal or otherwise, it is because the object of it has truly, undeniably captivated me. So do not insult the intimacy we shared in this place by assuming it held no greater meaning.”

“End this,” you breathe out, too shaken to process his words. “End this, now!” you cry out.

He clenches his jaw, displeased—but in the next heartbeat, you are back in your chamber.

Your hand flies to your heaving chest as if that would tame your rampant heart. It’s as though you never left, and in truth, you suppose you didn’t. Halbrand is still standing before you.

But he is not Halbrand anymore. He never was.

“You...” you say, voice trembling as you stagger back until you bump into your writing table. The swirl of emotions within you is too great for you to even know where to begin. Your face twists in rage, even as your heart crumbles in pain. “You lied to me—”

“Lied to you? Not once,” Halbrand says in earnest, coming towards you with slow, careful steps. “I called myself a new name, that much is true, but I have had so many, given by others—why should one I give myself be of any less value?” You shake your head, open your mouth, but no words come out. You are glued on the spot, leaning back against the table for support as he stops at a reasonable distance, close enough to touch if you reach out but far enough that he is not crowding you.

“I told you I had done evil,” he goes on. “I asked you, over and over, whether you would have me regardless of the past, whatever that may be...” He brings a hand to his heart as he steps ever so slightly closer. “...and you accepted me as I was. As I am.”

He wears a soft smile as he says it, as if in awe that such a thing was true. And in truth... it is. You remember exactly what you had thought at the time. You knew he had suffered through a war, that the ‘evil’ of which he spoke must have meant some kind of death or betrayal. But over the years, through all the battles and the horrors you had endured yourself, those sins were part of your past as well. You wanted to believe they could be forgiven, that they had not been for nothing—and so you had forgiven his.

But you’d never imagined... You’d never suspected...

“Why me, then?” you ask quietly. In the end, those are the only words you find within yourself.

“Galadriel only asked me to fight at her side because she convinced herself I was the true king of the Southlands. But you...” Halbrand says, and you can tell when he means to reach out and touch you, but restrains himself. “You encouraged me to fulfill that role not because you believed it to be my birthright, but because you believed I was worthy of it, even if a lie was needed to unite the Southlanders. Because you know that what is right is not always what is considered good. Where others see black and white, you see the grey, and embrace it. There is light in you as well as darkness. Balance. That is what I seek for Middle-Earth as well. Harmony, perfection... lasting peace.”

You eye him warily. His words ring true within you, they resonate with parts of you which you rarely let show. Whether or not he means it when he says he wants peace, of one thing you are certain—he sees you.

“What you are crafting with Celebrimbor,” you ask, unable to withhold the curiosity he has sparked within you. “It’s meant to accomplish that? Peace?”

“It will,” he vows. But then his gaze shifts, uncertain. “Unless Celebrimbor learns of my identity, and refuses to proceed.”

“He surely would,” you agree wryly. “He would sooner let all of Elvendome abandon these shores forever than carry out the design of... one such as you.” You find yourself hesitating to call him by the name your people have given him. Somehow, despite everything, ‘the abhorred’ does not easily roll off your tongue when you look at him.

“That is why I meant to wait until the work was complete to reveal the truth to you, or to anyone else,” Halbrand confesses further. “But perhaps this is how I regain your trust—by leaving the fate of your own people in your hands, rather than decide it myself.”

His searing gaze, his words, the truth of what he is—it’s so much to take in all at once. You turn your back towards him, leaning against the table as you shut your eyes briefly so you can think.

“You would have me become a deceiver,” you say, staring outside your window at the lights of Eregion, “for the good of my people?”

There is a small silence, broken only by the sound of Halbrand’s soft steps towards you.

“The same as you once asked of me,” he reminds you. You feel how much closer he has come, enough that you feel the heat of his breath on your neck, yet you don’t feel compelled to move away. “The middle path between light and dark.” His fingers brush one of yours wrists, grazing your skin without wrapping around it. “I chose it,” he murmurs close to your ear. “Will you?”

Your gaze drifts to where he is touching you, and you remain staring as your heart rages in your chest.

The part of you that knows what is moral and good tells you to turn and run. To warn all Elves who cross your path that they have been deceived, that a great foe has been living amongst them in fair form, carrying out his plans unhindered.

But are those plans evil indeed, if they are meant to preserve the very light of the Elves? They would not even stop to consider such a question. His name alone would be too great a threat. It should, by all means, threaten you as well.

Yet his touch at your wrist does not feel threatening. Nor does his breath falling softly on the back of your neck. You’ve felt him close before in body as well as spirit, in ways that went beyond the words spoken or not between you, and you had never once sensed wrongness. Only a perfect, most fulfilling fit.

“If I do...” you ask quietly, feeling as though your world is tilting on its axis, “what happens then?”

He closes the last of the distance between you, and your eyes flutter shut as you allow him to press his front to your back. You hear his smile in his voice as he murmurs in your ear, “We end all wars.” The hand on your wrist slips downward to lace your fingers together, the other coming to rest on your waist. “We bring balance.” His lips brush your neck, and you tilt your head to grant him better access. “We heal Middle-Earth,” he vows as you shudder. “Together.”

His arm is coiling around your stomach, then, aiming to pull you more tightly against him—but you take a breath and turn around sharply to face him. There is desire in his eyes, the same kind that thrums beneath your skin. Still, you plant a hand on his chest to keep him at bay. Or to touch him. Both.

“You deceived me,” you say firmly. Regardless of what happens next, that is a grievance you still carry.

“I know,” Halbrand admits. “And I intend to make it up to you. Starting now...” His gaze drifts to your lips, voice lowering to a suggestive whisper, “...if you would allow it.”

You don’t think. You’ve done enough of that in your long life. It may be madness, but one thing is certain—for once, you decide to act upon what you feel.

So, you fist your hand in his shirt and pull him into a kiss, moaning softly as he grabs your waist to press you flush against him. You feel his deep satisfaction, mingled with relief in the way he greedily tastes your mouth once more. You only now realize how subdued his kisses after your night in the smithy had been. He has held himself back from you so as not to deceive you further, confessed his identity of his own free will. That counts for something, doesn’t it?

You’d like to think so, at the very least, as you swallow the groan he makes into your mouth. He hoists you up onto your table, and it feels as though you are back in the smithy again—not within an illusion this time, but in the urgency and abandon of your embrace, in the way you wrap your legs around him and the fervent sounds of desire you pant out into each other’s mouths.

It’s almost the same, but everything has changed.

“This is not an answer,” you breathe out as his lips release yours, only to trail a line of bone-melting kisses down your neck. Your words, however determined you mean for them to sound, are but a soft moan as you sink your fingers in his hair and hold him to you. “I am only... exploring my options.”

He hums, understanding but not entirely pleased—perhaps that is why he briefly catches the sensitive skin of your neck between his teeth, drawing a whimper from you with the pleasurable sting. When he lifts his head to meet your gaze, however, he seems anything but discouraged.

“Well, since tables are a trodden path...” he says, lips ghosting over yours, “let us explore the bed this time.”

Worrying less about what is good, and choosing what feels right, you make no protest as he carries you into that particular uncharted territory.

well, i would let myself ruin by him everytime 🤭 i just love this and your writing wow. i would be so happy if you continue. i can’t wait for more

And Comes Dawn.

Pairing: sauron/halbrand x reader, more pairings in the future to be tagged

Summary: In all beings, there exists darkness. when the deciver finds one who seems to defy this, he becomes obsessed with finding it within her. and if he can't find it, he will ruin her himself.

Tags/Warnings: clichés abound, opposites attract, sauron being evil but also hot but also evil, no use of y/n. This is pretty barebones. There's not much to tag, I don't think.

Notes: there was a lot of interest in this when I made a post. This is not super duper long and a Lil choppy but I wanna see what people think. Lemme know if you like it. If I should continue it. I have a lot of ideas. It's all written and edited on my phone so I'm sorry if it looks bad or mistakes were made.

The wind from the sea felt nice on his face. After so many years spent as nothing more than mud and slime, it was nice to feel. Feel anything. Freedom, independence, revenge. His plan to create order and heal the world would come to fruition. Being stuck on a ship with these men was worth that price. They were like bugs. If he wanted to, he could squash them and feel nothing. Though there was one who spoke to him kindly as a mentor would, and there was the ever so slight stirring of emotions he presumed were long dead. The old man was enough to make him question what it was he desired. Did he want to be good? Did he want a fresh start? What about his plans? The desire for order was there, the want to heal the world and bring peace, but would he get that through evil, through deceit and violence? Or could that be obtained another way? He continued to stare over the vast ocean as the wheels in his head turned, and he waged a war inside himself.

"It's beautiful, is it not?" A voice broke through the silence of the night.

He turned sharply, greeted by the image of a young woman. You were beautiful. He noticed it right away. Never had he looked at a human and thought they were beautiful. The thought was usually reserved for elves, but you were different. He could tell just by looking. You were soft, gentle, pure. There was a light to you that permeated all of your features.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. We have more food tonight than expected, and you had been on your own so long before finding us. I supposed you might be hungry." You held up a bowl for him, which he accepted with a nod.

"Thank you. I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Halbrand."

You smiled softly back at him, giving him your name and taking a few small steps towards him. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

He watched you. It was curious. Everyone here was gruff and rude, not wanting to help a stranger, yet you brought him a bowl of soup instead of keeping it for yourself. He watched as you looked up at the stars and how they were reflected back in your eyes. Humans didn't often intrigue him, but you did.

He leaned back against the railing of the boat with his arms crossed, but before he could speak to ask his question, you spoke.

"The stars are beautiful, aren't they? The light against the immense darkness. It reminds us that there is light in all things. Even in the darkest of times, there is hope."

"Your people were just slaughtered by orcs. You're on the run. Hope in the stars seems pretty useless." His eyes watched you with keen interest.

"Hope is never useless. Without it, all is lost." The earnestness in your voice further fueled his curiosity.

"And what do you hope for in times like this?"

"A new start. A place to start fresh..."

"Yes," he interrupted, "That is what all hope for, but what do you hope a new place or fresh start will do? What do you want from it?"

"I want a safe place to lay my head. I want to live without shame. I want fresh air and to grow my food and I want music and I want laughter. I want to drink tea with my friends. I want to love and feel the wind on my face. I want happiness. I want peace." You smiled and closed your eyes as you pictured this serene future.

He watched you, his brows furrowed. You were odd, but he wasn't sure if that was a bad thing as of yet.

"You have a lot of this hope. It's almost oozing out of you. I can almost taste it." He took a step towards you. "As if there is no evil out there."

"There is evil, yes, but there is good. Do we despair because there is evil or have hope because there is good? I do not think there is truly anything that is created evil. Evil is only when the good is taken from someone, and if you're able to take it, then it's able to be taken back." Your eyes had opened, and you looked up at him.

"I doubt you'd believe that if you knew the evil I'd done."

"Thousands of years ago, the people of the southlands sided with Morgoth. Our ancestors fought alongside the most evil being to ever exist. Most would say that the things our people did were deplorable and worthy of the worst shame. But I look upon my home, I look upon the people I have grown with, and I do not see evil. The people here, I am but a stranger to them. I have yet to meet most of them, but they took me in, as they did you. If my ancestors were evil, they could not have created such good."

“Whatever evil you did, it can be forgiven. You can do good, be good.” You moved closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. The feeling brought a sense of warmth that he had not felt since before he joined Morgoth, when he went by a different name. His eyes traveled down to where your hand rested, and you dropped it back to your side. He'd found himself missing the feeling.

"Your ancestors did do evil, though. They did plenty of evil things. Just as I have."

"Did they do evil out of the desire to be evil? Or did they do evil to protect those they loved? Were they born that way, destined to be only evil? Were you made evil? Or was it thrust upon you in a moment of hopelessness? Does every being have the capability to do both good and evil?"

He was left stunned at what you said, it took longer than usual for him to come up with a response. He wet his lips, looking over the ocean for a moment before looking at you once more. Your hair was gently blowing in the breeze of the ocean and he found the sight captivating. His intuition told him you were telling the truth, that you believed the words you were saying with your whole being. How could that be? There had to be some darkness that motivated you, that tainted your soul.

Everyone had darkness.

His mind played over the interaction long after it had happened. He wanted to feel that warmth again. You were a puzzle, a mystery. He would not know peace until he figured out what darkness was inside you because surely there had to be something. It was one of the many things that plagued his mind late at night. He watched as you slept peacefully. You were rows and rows down from him, but he could zoom in on your form. He watched your chest rise and fall, the calm of your features. You were a mystery that he had to solve.

This was what was on his mind when the worm attacked. He needed to know you. Even now, he watched as you attempted to help an elderly woman stuck under a beam instead of rushing to safety yourself. He couldn't bring himself to save the old man, but his fingers wrapped around the relic, and as water rushed the ship, he lept over and shielded your body with his.

He couldn't let you die. He had to understand you, to know you, to find out what motivated you, he would find your inner darkness.

And if he couldn't, he'd ruin you instead.