Annatar X Reader - Tumblr Posts

build a dynasty

annatar/sauron x fem!elf!reader

summary: you have to watch eregion fall and with it your world, because the man you start to have feelings for, is not who he seems to be.

warnings: angst, blood, reader gets caught in an illusion, mentions of war and death, mind control, sauron being manipulative, maybe some sort of fluff?

word count: 1.3k

author’s note: i‘m glad you found your way here! <3 this is my first fanfiction on tumblr, so likes, reblogs and feedback are really appreciated. but since english is not my first language, please be nice to me. xx

The sound of the siege sirens could be heard throughout Eregion, sending goosebumps all over your body.

You stand on the balcony of the tower where Lord Celebrimbor's forge is located and you could feel the wind blowing through your hair. But there was no cold at all. Only the rising fear, because what you see in front of you, is the sight of pure horror.

From the edge of the forest across the river, cannons were fired, destroying the stone walls of the city you love so dear, as if they were made of sand.

The screams of the desperate elves reach your ears and you wish for nothing more, than to finally wake up from this nightmare.

But when you turn around to Celebrimbor, you see him working on the Nine without a care in the world. The Nine. The one thing that was the reason for Eregions downfall.

And there was only one person to blame.

“My Lord, we must leave immediately,” you call out as you hurry back inside, but Celebrimbor still doesn't move an inch. “My Lord!” you repeat, this time with more force.

Finally, the elf turns his head in your direction, but he doesn't seem disturbed at all. There is a slight smile on his face as he slowly stands up from his chair and walks over to you.

“Don't you hear? We are being attacked,” you try to explain to him, but he just takes your hands.

“My dear, you must be exhausted. Maybe you should take a break and get some rest?” he says quietly, raising his eyebrows.

You can't help but stare at him in disbelief, then take a small step back. “Maybe you’re right, I should take a break,” you say, turning away from him and starting to rush down the stairs, out of the tower.

As you step outside, the world around you seems to be coming to an end.

There was fire everywhere, rubble lay scattered on the floor and in the middle of it were the lifeless bodies of many elves.

Tears well up in your eyes, but you don’t have time for that now because you run straight into the chaos of the attack.

It doesn't take long to discover him. The reason for the downfall of Eregion and the boiling anger inside you.

“Lord Annatar!” you call over the loud noise around you and watch as he turns his face in your direction. His blue eyes immediately meet yours as he comes towards you.

“What is it? Is something wrong with the rings?” he asks and furrows his brows.

Without giving him an answer, you grab his wrist and pull him with you to the side. “Please tell me, what’s going on. Celebrimbor seems to have lost his mind, he just doesn't realize what's happening out here,” you begin, but Annatar puts his hands on your shoulders to calm you.

“You are right to worry about him. Let me look after him. You will stay here and defend the city until I return,” he orders you in a calm voice and strokes your cheek with his knuckles, leaving you no choice but to swallow the anger inside you.

You no longer know why you felt it and all you can do is to look at Annatar, who takes your hands in his and gently squeezes your fingers.

He breaks away from you moments later, but at that very second the siege sirens fall silent, making him stop.

“What’s happening?” you ask quietly as goosebumps spread across your body again.

A few other elves approach next to the both of you, looking worriedly towards the walls.

“They are drying up the river,” Mirdanias’ voice sounds and you feel the elf take your hand, catching your attention.

So you don’t notice, how Annatar slowly walks back to the tower.

“Have you spoken to Lord Celebrimbor?” Mirdania asks, looking at you with her eyes full of worry.

You nod slowly and turn to her. “He is not in a right state of mind. It seems as if he has completely lost it,” you repeat the words you said to Annatar before. “He will not give us any orders,” you add quietly.

The sound of drums is the sign that the orcs prepare to run across the exposed ground, that had previously been the river and you run towards the archers positioned on top of the walls. “Prepare for the ground attack! Don’t let them get into the city!” you shout as loudly as you can, then look up at the tower.

“Please make sure that the walls don’t fall,” you say to Mirdania as you already turn away.

“What are you going to do?” she calls after you.

“Getting my answers,” you say, more to yourself, while you walk straight towards the tower you had to leave earlier.

A heartbreaking sob was heard as you run up the stairs, just in time to see Celebrimbor pushing angrily against the table in front of him.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, walking past Annatar towards Celebrimbor who raises his shaking hand, his fingers completely smeared with black ink.

Or with something which seems like that.

Now your eyes fall on the vessel that the Mithríl was in. The true core of the Nine. But it wasn't what you thought it was.

“Tell me this isn't true,” you whisper and turn to Annatar. He slowly raises his hand and reveals a cut in his palm, a wound from which pitch black blood is dropping.

“True creation… requires sacrifice,” he says slowly and a gasp is heard from Celebrimbor.

He seems to realize, what slowly sinks into your mind, and a single tear falls from your eye. “So… it was all an illusion? All of this?”

Your voice just a whisper, laced with pain.

“You are him, aren’t you? You are… Sauron,” you say, which is what Celebrimbor seems to be afraid of.

“I have many names,” he replies and you are about to attack him with nothing more than your bare hands.

But you don’t get the chance, because suddenly you find yourself in the forge. You can't see any of the chaos around you, only the embers burning in the huge forge, illuminating the room.

“Did you really think you could ever stop any of this?” you suddenly hear his voice behind you and you close your eyes.

You realize that this must be another illusion.

Taken back to the moment when you knew exactly what you were feeling.

“I might not have been able to stop it, but I believed in the good. I believed that you wanted the best for us. But all you had in mind was our downfall,” you hiss through clenched teeth and flinch when you feel his touch on your arm.

“You're wrong,” he begins, now appearing in front of you. “I only want the best for you,” he continues, raising his hand. He touches your hair with his fingers and one corner of his mouth twitches slightly upwards.

“Don't you remember how much you trusted me? When you revealed your deepest desires to me?” he asks in a whisper and you close your eyes again.

“I can give you all of that. Everything you crave.” His voice rings in your head like a beautiful melody.

But you couldn’t let him in. You could not give yourself to him.

“None of this matters anymore,” you whisper, and another tear falls from your eye. “You lied to us, deceived us all. Celebrimbor most. And now you think I'll just give myself to you like that?” you ask, finally managing to look him in the eyes.

“You will. You’ll have no other choice.”

With these words, the illusion vanishes and you are standing in the destroyed forge again.

Celebrimbor is gone and only Sauron stands in front of you. His gaze is on you as he holds out his hand.

“Come with me. There is nothing, that keeps you here anymore. Come with me and I promise, I will protect you. Come with me and we build a real dynasty together.”

His lips did not move, but the words inside your head still sound like a promise.

And no matter how hard you try to resist, you make a step towards him, taking his hand, leaving everything behind what you truly believed in.

2024 | notreallythatlost

well… that was literally everything 😫🫠

The Two (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which Galadriel fights to withhold Nenya and the Nine, but in the end she fails to stop your husband placing yet another ring upon your finger

Warnings: evil!reader, killing (sorry Adar), allusions to smut, injuries suffered by reader (bad ones but not very graphically described), blood drinking for healing purposes

Note: another one in the evil!reader collection. Shout out to this lovely anon for the inspiration behind a certain bit of dialogue.

This is not exactly where you had imagined you would be on this day—shackles around your wrists and blood marring your brow, being escorted through the woods in a filthy and tattered dress by a band of Orcs. You admit it isn’t the best look on you, but circumstances change, and so you must adapt.

So far, you’d say you’re managing quite well.

Adar is not alone as you reach him in the clearing. Facing him is a blonde-haired Elf with whom you have been itching to meet again, now that she has found out the truth of your identity. Galadriel turns towards the approaching Orcs, her eyes widening slightly when she sees you. She may not have known you all that well, but neither could she have imagined that one of Celebrimbor’s unassuming aids was the one being held dearest of all by the very darkness Galadriel had sworn to destroy.

Adar, on the other hand, had never known you as anything else.

“What an unexpected honor,” he says when he sees you. “To what is it owed?”

You stare him down—the Uruk who had been your husband’s near destruction, leaving you to await his return for what had felt like an agonizing eternity. If looks could kill, he would be in bloody pieces.

It’s Glug, one of the Orcs at your side, that answers him. “We found Sauron. He tried to make us betray you, but we resisted. We lost many,” he shoves you into stumbling forward, “but we got our hands on this one. His Queen, he said,” Glug mocks, and the group of Orcs breaks into a cacophony of snorted laughter. Your face remains impassive as Adar approaches you.

“Indeed, Sauron’s bride herself.” Adar stands before you, meeting your gaze head on. “After all this time, you are still at his side.”

“I am at his side once again,” you correct him coldly, “after you took him from me. For centuries.”

“So long ago, yet your hatred of me has not waned,” Adar muses. “I always wondered how deeply this great love he claimed to feel for you truly ran. Whether you were another of his victims, or some unnatural exception. I can only hope he values you as much as you do him.” He turns to Galadriel. “With any luck, she will be enough to draw him out—”

His words are cut off abruptly, and Galadriel gasps—for the tip of a sword had emerged from Adar’s stomach, then withdrew as swiftly as it had cut through him. He falls to the ground, clutching at his wound, looking up only to see you as you truly are.

Without the illusion, there is not a speck of dirt on you, never mind blood or shackles. You stand clad in elegant battle armour, your bloodied sword held in your hand with the ease and practice of centuries.

Realization dawns on Adar’s face, as you had seen it on those of so many others before, a little too late. “My children!” he calls out, visibly astonished that he even has to. Yet not one of the Orcs move.

“For years, I’ve wondered,” you mock his musing tone from before, crouching to his level and slowly putting your blade to his neck, “would it please me more to kill you myself, or to watch my husband do it? But then, I realized—and he agreed—what end could be more terrible to you than to be killed by that which you love most?”

You stand back up to your full height. To Adar’s credit, he struggles to his feet as well. Even if what happens next is plain to see, before you even speak the words.

“Uruks,” you command, a sinister smile tugging at your lips. “Finish him.”

Your new servants surge from behind you, surrounding Adar and plunging their swords into their former master. It’s poetic, really—an inverted mirror of what your beloved suffered all those years ago, whilst your husband himself walks into the clearing, no longer hiding in the shadows, and recovers the crown that should have been his in the first place from the boulder on which it had been placed. Galadriel doesn’t see him, her eyes fixed on you in anger. It’s a delight to watch it be replaced with dread when she hears your husband’s voice call her name.

By now, Adar has fallen to the ground once more, yet the Orcs are slow to cease their blows. Galadriel is frozen in place as your husband joins you at your side, both of you looking down at the Uruk who has tasted your vengeance.

“My... children...” he croaks out, pitifully.

“They have found new parents,” your husband says, pitiless.

You exchange a look with Glug, and if there was any trace of hesitancy left in him, it vanishes under your demanding gaze. With a roar, he plunges his sword into Adar’s heart, putting an end to him and the killing frenzy of his brethren.

“What orders,” he asks then, his irritatingly pitched voice downright fanatical, “Lord Sauron? My Queen?”

“Raze Eregion,” your husband says evenly. “Leave no Elf alive. But bring me their leaders.”

“Be sure to destroy every single record of Celebrimbor’s works,” you add. “We would not want the secrets of the Rings’ craft revealed.”

The Orcs bow their heads, so wonderfully obedient as they begin to chant, “Hail Sauron, the Dark Lord! Hail our Dark Queen!” They repeat it as if in a craze, still muterring the words in their speech as they scurry away to carry out your orders. Glug, however, lingers by your side.

“Forgive me, my Queen!” He drops to his knees, all but touching his head to your boots. “For the offence I brought you. I only meant to convince Adar of our lie.”

You tilt your head, such an indulgent expression on your face, one might think it was genuine if they knew no better. You put a finger beneath Glug’s chin and lift his head, his bulbous eyes widening in awe as he meets your gaze.

“Earn my forgiveness,” you say sweetly, “by carrying out the task you have been given.”

“Yes, my Queen!” he exclaims, shooting to his feet the moment you release him. “My Lord!” he bows to your husband as well, then rushes after his companions as you watch, deeply satisfied. So this is what it feels like to be worshipped as a goddess. For now, by Orcs—later, by every being in Middle-Earth. The mere thought of it feels like a sip of the most exquisite and intoxicating wine, the elation second only to that sharing in this glory with your husband. You would love nothing more than to bask in the moment, mark it with a kiss, but there is still a pressing matter to attend to beforehand.

And, at once, she demands your attention.

“All this,” Galadriel says, voice thin with held-back terror, “was your design from the beginning!”

“Not all of it,” your husband tells her with eerie humility. “When my beloved came to find me,” he glances to you, letting his knuckles graze a gentle line down your shoulder, “having sensed my presence as I strived to regain my form, we believed we would never be parted again. It was hardly by our design that we were separated in that shipwreck. Once the sea brought you to me, however—”

“—an opportunity arose,” you continue seamlessly, smiling up at your husband, “too tantalizing to pass up.” You turn to Galadriel with a self-assured gaze. “You see, my love and I may be apart in body, but never in mind. And though not even we knew where our paths would lead, we trusted that we would be reunited at the end, and be all the better for it. So, I made my way back to Eregion, where my false life still awaited me—”

“—and I let you take Halbrand there yourself,” your husband finishes. “With a Númenórean army to fight against my enemy, and your trust to help me earn Celebrimbor’s. So, in the end...” A devious smirk tugs at his lips. “One could say it was your design.”

Galadriel purses her lips, keeping them firmly shut. She knows better than to take that bait of self-blame, you can tell. Instead, her eyes dart to her sword, discarded on the ground—betraying her intentions.

In an instant, you both bolt for her sword—and it’s only by a fraction of a second that you stomp your foot on the blade before she can lift it, leaving her to pull helplessly at the handle whilst you put your own sword to her throat. She glares up at you, her words spit out like venom, “You are a traitor to your people!”

A short, sweet laugh escapes you. “I am a traitor to all peoples.” You knit your brow, feigning bashfulness. “How kind of you to notice.”

Galadriel blinks at you, a trace of pity mingling with the disgust in her eyes. “Your mind has left you.”

You open your mouth, prepared to let her know you completely agree, and are rather pleased with yourself—when your attention lands on her hand, drawn there by a glimmer of light reflected off the gem on her finger. Nenya, the Ring of Water, shines before your eyes in all its devastating perfection.

You almost forget to keep your blade at Galadriel’s throat as you crouch down and grab her hand. She flinches, but your grip is relentless as you hold her hand still, admiring the Ring.

“Oh, this is simply...” you murmur, almost tearfully, “exquisite.”

In your long life, the only sight to grace your gaze which held similar beauty was your husband, in any form of his. And perhaps, only perhaps, from a purely aesthetic point of view, the Ring might just surpass him.

The thought, even just in passing, leaves you disoriented. And Galadriel takes full advantage of it.

She moves swiftly. Whilst you are distracted, she yanks her sword from underneath you and you lose your balance, finding yourself face up on the ground, barely parring the immediate blow she aims at your throat. Unsurprisingly, she is strong, making it a real challenge for you to keep her sword at bay with your own, but your mind is now fully present once more and you hold your own as fiercely as ever.

You don’t have to do it for long, however. Your husband’s sword intercedes between yours and Galadriel’s, breaking them apart and forcing her to fall backwards. She scrambles back to her feet, but now she is being attacked by a doubly armed foe, and it is her on the defence, struggling to match your husband’s skillful blows. You’ve stood back up, ready to fight again, but you can’t help taking a moment to behold the glorious sight of your husband fighting. It’s a rather short dance between them, brought to a halt as their blades clash and your husband swings Morgoth’s crown at the place where they meet, trapping both within its iron spikes.

Both of Galadriel’s hands hold the hilt of her sword in a white-knuckled grip, giving your husband a full view of the Ring as well. It tempts his gaze as quickly as it did yours.

“Even more beautiful than Celebrimbor led us to believe,” he says, bemused. “It would compliment your wedding band beautifully.” He glances at you. “Don’t you think, my love?”

As you meet his gaze, you are left breathless with how ardently you want to say yes. To have him place that wondrous Ring upon your finger, just as he did your wedding band all those years ago, and to admire the jewel on your hand as it touches every single inch of your husband’s skin whilst you make love for days and nights on end. You would begin right there, in the clearing, if not for the unwanted company.

Galadriel grunts, breaking away from your husband. Their withering stares remain locked as he circles her widely, coming to stand at your side. Can she not grasp that she is at a disadvantage?

“This is hardly fair. Two against one” you say, trying to sound reasonable. “It would be much wiser to simply give me that Ring, and him the Nine.”

“We do not wish to harm you,” your husband says, in that falsely reassuring tone that has worked wonders on so many others. Galadriel is having none of it.

“Do you wish to heal me?” she asks, defiantly. You would admire her determination, if it wasn’t so inconvenient to you personally.

Your husband proves more patient than you feel in his answer. “We would heal... all Middle-Earth.”

“As you have Eregion?” she growls, face twisting in rage as she readies her sword.

“Well, then,” you sigh shortly and do the same with yours, glancing at your husband, “ladies first, I suppose.”

And so you are the first to meet Galadriel in her attack. For a little while, you are evenly matched, but once your husband joins you shortly after, well—that is a different story.

You have to admit, Galadriel lives up to her reputation as Commander of the Northern Armies and then some. And yet, the fight would have been much shorter if it weren’t for a silent agreement between you and your husband, for the sadistic streak you share that makes you want to draw this out, let her believe she might prevail before you prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that she never stood a chance.

You had almost forgotten the utter pleasure that it was to fight at your husband’s side. It’s no less harmonious or fierce than when you are making love, how fluidly you complement each other’s movements, acting as though you are simply an extension of the other. In that way, you suppose, the fight is fair—Galadriel’s opponent is as one alone, in all but flesh.

The Ring, however, and the Nine whose presence your husband must feel as keenly as you do, prove a distraction. Your blades draw Galadriel’s blood, but the wounds are relatively minor, and she manages to nick your skin as well in moments where your eyes stray to the Ring on her finger, your mind clouded with thoughts of it becoming yours.

You can’t explain how else she manages to gain the upper hand as she eventually does, catching your husband sufficiently off-guard to kick him down from a small height. Your battle had taken you to the ruins of an old stone structure at the edge of a cliff, your husband landing gracelessly in the midst of it. You’re more concerned for his pride rather than his body, however. Panting from exertion, you and Galadriel lock gazes.

“You say you let him use me,” she challenges, taking her chances at riling you up now that you are alone. “Do you know what he offered me?”

“What he pretended to offer you was mine already,” you say, unwavering. “Had been for a long, long time.”

“He seemed rather convincing,” Galadriel taunts, “when he called me his Queen.”

You huff out a chuckle. “How could you not be convinced,” you retort, “when you so badly wanted to believe him?”

You charge at her again. Perhaps she has managed to make your blood boil after all, but it only works against her, because your attacks are all the more vicious as you force her backwards, down a set of stone steps leading to where your husband had fallen.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” you taunt her between strikes, “for desiring him.”

“I did not desire—!”

“Liar,” you hiss, narrowly parrying a particularly rageful swing of her sword. “I quite liked that form myself. Had a certain roguish... charm to it.” The word becomes a grunt as you kick her back into the stone wall, your swords and gazes locked together in a battle of unrelenting wills. “That stubble of his... felt especially pleasant on my skin.” You smile wickedly, voice laden with sinful implications. “Did you never imagine it on yours?”

She must have—otherwise, her eyes would not betray the sliver of shame that they do as she cries out and pushes you off her with renewed strength. You stumble to the bottom of the stairs with a deranged chuckle, putting your fingers to the stinging spot on your cheek and finding it wet with blood. She had managed to cut you.

And she seemed intent on trying to do worse to you, if not for your husband distracting her with something yet more disorienting than your words.

She freezes in place when she sees him standing before her—not as Annatar, but as Halbrand.

“Fighting at your side,” he says, as if from a distant dream, “I felt if I could just hold on to that feeling...”

Words that had once tugged at her heart, no doubt. They are not enough to deter her from attacking him now, but the internal conflict painted on her face is a delight to watch as they cross blades. Your husband changes the guise of Halbrand into that of Galadriel herself, then that of Celebrimbor. Each of them taunting her with the words he knows would cut the deepest, driving her into one attack after the other.

Until the old structure on which they are fighting crumbles, and they fall along with the boulders back to the ground. Your husband is the first to rise, back to the form he had taken as Annatar, and as you meet his gaze, alight with wrath, you both know—it’s time to put an end to this.

Galadriel gathers her sword from where it has fallen, staggers back to her feet, stubborn and determined as ever as the fighting resumes. But there are two of you, and she is more tired. Before long, you have her backed into a corner—or rather, with the very edge of the cliff at her back, with nowhere to go but into a deadly fall to the ground below. She fights valiantly, but in the end the inevitable happens. Half-distracted by you, she is not quick enough to stop your husband from plunging one of the crown’s iron spikes deep into her shoulder. He backs her into a pillar of the stone arch at the cliff’s edge, and in that position it’s too easy for you to knock the sword from her hand, once and for all.

It’s almost sad, seeing such a mighty warrior reduced to cries of pain, sagging helplessly against the stone. When your husband pulls the crown from her, she falls limp to the ground, the satchel containing the Nine slipping from an inner pocket at her chest. Leaning down, your husband finally reclaims his creations, then slips the Ring of Water off Galadriel’s trembling finger. She is too weak to do anything but groan, her eyes fluttering shut in defeat.

“The Rings are ours,” he says proudly. With his opponent utterly defeated, he lays down his sword and the crown on a nearby boulder, then tucks the satchel away within his own robes. The Elven Ring, however, he keeps in the palm of his hand as he leaves Galadriel lying there and turns to you. His steps are slow and measured as he comes to stand before you, close enough to take your hand in his if he so wishes to. But he withholds, his eyes boring into yours.

“My love,” he says, and it feels like a vow. “My Queen.” He holds out his hand, reverently. “Allow me.”

Your chest swells as you place your hand in his. You hold each other’s gaze a moment longer before you both look down and watch as he, with utmost delicacy, slips Nenya onto your finger, right next to the one that wears your wedding band. Your sword clatters to the ground, unwittingly loosed from your grip, but you don’t even hear it. The sight before you is almost too beautiful to behold, making you weep with joy.

“With this, I vow my life to be yours,” your husband says then, voice strained with emotion. “In life and in death—”

“—and for all eternity,” you finish breathlessly, raising your tearful gaze to meet his. The vows you had spoken to each other on the night you had bound your souls together, repeated with equal devotion after all this time.

His brow furrows in awe, and he beholds your face as though he cannot believe you are real. Your Ring-bearing hand trembles in his as he raises his other one to your cheek, thumb gently brushing the skin beneath the cut left there by Galadriel. He leans in and kisses the wound, his warm tongue soothing the pain and relishing the taste of you. You feel it too, sweetly coppery, as he then seals his mouth to yours with soul-wrenching tenderness. And you already know, but it still sweeps the floor from underneath your feet each time you are reminded of the full might of your adoration for him. You would crumble to the ground with the force of it, if not for your husband holding you close.

“Wed again,” you murmur as your lips part, lightheaded with bliss. His smile is soft, his knuckles grazing your temple reverently.

“I never imagined you could be even more beautiful than you already were,” he all but whispers, glancing down at the Ring of Power upon your finger. “Yet as my Queen, your radiance is nearly too great to look upon, even for my eyes. All of Middle-Earth shall bow to worship at my beloved’s feet. All shall love you and despair.”

And you shall love to be adored, yet his adoration would forever be the one you cherish most. You are leaning in to taste his lips once more, when the voice of your all-but-forgotten-about foe rudely interrupts.

“The free peoples of Middle-Earth,” Galadriel declares, “will always resist you.”

With a small sigh, you turn to her. She has managed enough strength to sit up sideways, her glare as defiant as ever even as the poisoned wound left by Morgoth’s—by your husband’s crown slowly consumes her. She’s resilient, fearsome and beautiful. Like you.

Now that she is no longer a real threat, you allow yourself a spark of admiration. Sensing your wish, your husband leaves to break away from him and go to her, lowering yourself to one knee so you meet her at her level.

“I could yet help you heal,” you offer mercifully, knuckles grazing her jawline as she flinches away. “You could yet pledge your allegiance to your King and Queen.”

“Not while I still breathe,” she spits the words obstinately. Predictably.

It seems you’ll still have need of your sword after all.

“This is a waste, truly,” you say, and mean it. “You would have made a great ally.”

Galadriel frowns, as if contemplating your words. “Perhaps,” she admits. “You, on the other hand...” She leans close to you, and hisses in your face, “...would have made a dreadful Queen.”

‘Would have’? You’re about to tell her you already are Queen, and always will be. A taunting smirk is already tugging at your lips—

—quickly snuffed out by a sharp pain, deep in your chest. Jaw slack, eyes wide, you look down to find Galadriel’s hand there, gripping the hilt of the dagger she has plunged into your heart. Nothing but a small blade, most likely conjured from some hidden pocket in her garments whilst you and your husband had been absorbed in each other, and which she had concealed within her sleeve since—it hardly matters. It all happens too quickly for your husband to reach you, and it’s distraction enough that all you can do is gasp as Galadriel grabs you by the shoulders and, with her last of her strength, pulls you over the edge of the cliff along with herself.

Your name, roared out by your beloved, is the last thing you hear as you fall.

*****

You’re alive.

Barely.

You exist somewhere between wakefulness and oblivion, the sounds around you distant and pain threatening to greet you once you have returned to your full senses—if you ever will. But a touch of your husband’s godly nature has resided within you ever since you bound yourself to one another in marriage, and so your form endures, your mind alert enough to serve you even as you lie broken on the ground.

“She should be healed,” a voice says, and you recognize it—king Gil-galad, no doubt come to recover Galadriel from where she must be lying close to you. “And made to face judgement for her treachery.”

There is another presence, yet closer to you. As a hand touches your neck, fingers pressing to your pulse point, you grasp at every last sliver of your power to conjure one small, but vital illusion.

The hand leaves you.

“I agree,” you hear Elrond say. “But she is dead already.”

Relieved and utterly spent, before long you are lost to the world once more.

*****

Your name, whispered softly by your beloved, is the first thing you hear as you wake up.

The next is your own weak moan, pain spreading through your body as feeling returns to you. The room to which you open your eyes is, thankfully, low-lit—you doubt they could handle anything else. But all that truly matters is that you are met with your husband’s gaze, relieved and endlessly caring as he sits at your side, leaning over you.

“Shh,” he cooes, caressing the crown of your head as a tear slides down your temple. “This too shall pass, for I will look after you as you did me in my time of need. I’m here, my love,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’m here.”

The pain mercifully dulls once again, most likely your husband’s doing. This time, you are at peace as you drift away.

*****

It isn’t pain, but warmth and comfort that greets you when you next wake. Your limbs are still weak, your body made heavy with a dull ache all over, but the familiar feeling of being cradled in your husband’s arms overshadows the lingering discomfort. Your head is resting on his chest, and, in natural reflex, you nuzzle into him, lips searching for his skin and pressing to his neck.

“My love,” he greets softly, his pulse a pleasant thrum beneath your mouth. “You are awake at last.”

You lift your head, wincing at the stiffness in your neck, and look into your husband’s eyes. “Did I keep you waiting terribly long?” you ask, finding the strength to work a trace of playfulness into your tired voice. Something in his gaze breaks in the face of it.

“Unbearably so,” he replies in earnest.

There’s no response you find within you other than to press a light kiss to his lips, reassuring yourself that this is real. After, you allow him to carefully maneuver you so that you are both sitting up against the headboard, with you still tucked into his side.

“You are nearly recovered, my love,” he says as you grimace and shift, looking for a comfortable position for your aching joints, “but your strength will return with time. Until then...”

He offers you his hand, his black blood already spilled from a cut in the palm of it. It’s fresh, different from the one he had used to provide the false mithril for the Nine. This sacrifice he has made for you alone, to mend his beloved piece by piece. You don’t need him to explain all of this—you simply offer him a grateful smile as you cradle his hand in yours and bring it to your lips, kissing it almost as you would his mouth as you gather his blood with your tongue.

“There,” he says hoarsely, eyes fluttering shut with the great pleasure of feeling you consume him, any part of him. “Take my strength,” he urges, cradling your head as you drink from him. “Make it yours, my love.”

The effect may be temporary, but the relief is instant. You pull away, sighing pleasantly as you wipe your thumb over any lingering droplets of blood on your lips, and lick those off your finger as well. You feel almost as new, as if you had never even taken a blade to the heart and a shattering fall.

The memory sends a jolt through your chest. Instinctively, you bring your hand to it, looking down at the place where Galadriel had managed to stab you. The wound has been healed, but the spark of rage is kindled within you once more. And it grows into a wildfire when you notice your horribly bare finger.

“Where’s Nenya?” You scramble from your husband’s arms and off the bed, gripped by a sudden, blind panic. “Where’s my Ring?” you demand, nearly a growl. His gaze becomes grim.

“The Elves took it back,” he says darkly, standing to face you. You huff out a furious breath. So, Galadriel succeeded, then. She recovered the Ring, even if it meant taking all of you along with it. Even if she was risking her own death.

You sincerely hope she survived the fall and the wound inflicted by your husband’s crown. Otherwise, you would have no revenge to look forward to.

“And Eregion?” you ask, scrambling for some victory to which to cling in your rage. “Our army? What of it?”

“We are in Eregion,” your husband tells you, adding proudly, “what is left of it. As for our armies... nearly all Middle-Earth is ours for the taking.”

“Nearly?” you frown.

“The Elves have used the Three to create a sanctuary beyond my reach.” His voice drips bitterness. But as he steps to you, taking your hand in his, he seems more disturbed than vengeful. “Had I found that they had taken you there... where I could not follow...”

You soften, then, your anger tamed by the torment in his gaze as he trails off. You wonder if, within this sanctuary of the Elves protected by the light of the Three, you could still feel your husband’s dark soul caressing yours even from afar. The thought that you might not, that you had been at risk of suffering such an appalling emptiness, is sickening.

“It is well, then,” you say, chasing away the dread of what might have been, “that I led Elrond to believe I was dead. That is why they took only Galadriel.”

“My love.” Your husband smiles, pride swelling in his eyes as he cups your cheek. “Clever and fierce, even as you lay broken.”

“I knew you would find me,” you say simply, as if nothing more had been needed. But then you sigh, and take hold of his wrist, lowering his hand from your face. “But our victory is not yet complete,” you say sullenly. “The Three are free of your influence and beyond our reach.”

“Do not despair, my love,” he is quick to reassure. “The Seven have known my touch. We have the Nine. And very soon...” Something sparks in his eyes, cunning and mysterious. “...we shall have more.”

You raise a brow, intrigued. “More?”

He nods, brow knitting slightly as he begins to explain. “You told me it did not sit well with you that I had used only my blood in the making of the Nine. You were right, my love,” he admits. His gaze drops to your hands, his thumb brushing over the empty spot where Nenya had been. “And so,” he says, locking his gaze with yours, “it shall be with your blood and mine combined that we will forge the Two.”

The words linger in the air, ominous and captivating even before you fully grasp their meaning.

“Two Rings,” your husband continues, wrapping your hands in his and bringing them to his chest, where you feel his heart beat as furiously as yours as he speaks. “Born of our flesh and love, inextricably intertwined with one another. Whose power shall be as fierce and eternal as the devotion between you and I, greater than that of all the other Rings. Great enough to bind them in the darkness we share, and to rule them all. One for their King...”

“One for their Queen,” you whisper, the words falling from your lips as if they had always been there. Always locked behind your tongue, written in your fate, meant to be spoken in this very moment. This feeling, the things of which he speaks—it is all so intoxicating, a design too perfect in its terrible splendour to imagine it being brought into existence.

“Is that possible?” you ask, cautiously.

“If it is not... then we shall make it.”

And when he says it like that, gazing so deeply and so fiercely into your eyes, you believe him.

“Will you join me in this act of creation, my love?” your husband beseeches, so desperately hopeful. “Will you stand at my side?”

There is only one answer that could ever leave your lips. But first, you lean in and capture his in a deep, ravenous kiss, the taste of him both remedy and fuel to the delirium surging within you.

Creation. Not meant for Elves, or Dwarves, or Men. Not crafted through the deception of Celebrimbor, or even so much as with another’s aid. The very embodiment of your entwined souls, brought into being and meant to be worn by you and your beloved only.

The fruit of your union.

You break apart, opening your eyes to find the same all-consuming desire reflected in your husband’s. And once again, you speak the vow that shall very soon become inscribed upon the gold of the Two.

“For all eternity.”

i think my heart just broke 😭

Imagine your final request to Annatar (Sauron) going horribly wrong…

“If you are to bring my death then I would plead with you to allow me one last moment of happiness.”

He wished that his spell over you had not broken, that you had not seen the true horrors of his conquest. But most of all, he wished that he was being given another choice. Unable to speak, he merely gazed upon your face in the small hope that your mind would change.

“Kiss me for the last time.”

He had endured torment at the hands of Morgoth and yet this felt worse.

“What?”

“Let my last breath be upon your lips. Let me feel your embrace for another heartbeat. Perhaps it will ease the heartache of what could have been.” You said. “Please, I do not ask for much else.”

His dream to achieve order was near. He had manipulated and spilled blood at each turn but he also felt love. He did not think he could and yet, he allowed you into settle in his heart and create a home.

Could he forsake you? Would it be worth it?

Needing clarity, he granted you this one pardon. Taking you into his arms as he had done many times before, Annatar closed the space and gently pressed his lips upon yours. When you moved against him with equal pressure, his conflicted mind was calmed. His senses were overwhelmed with your scent, your sweet taste - that is when he realised that he could not follow through.

He would allow you to live and hate him for eternity but he would not be the cause of your death. Not here and, certainly, not now.

Suddenly, you took in a sharp breath and bit his lower lip. He felt blood being drawn but he also felt something else, something sharp.

Your body grew heavy, alarming Annatar. His eyes opened and he saw it, a surviving guard had summoned enough strength to stand and plunge a sword into his immortal chest… through your body.

Rage swelled and with one single stare, the guard’s neck snapped leaving him to crumple in a heap. He snapped his fingers and the sword vanished leaving only a trail of blood.

When he called your name, you did not stir. He demanded that you open your eyes. He promised a swift destruction to the lands if you did not speak. He fell to his knees and wept when you did not heed his commands.

It was too late. You had passed, taking the remains of his heart and capacity to love with you. And you would never know that he loved you enough.

~ More imagines here ~

A/n: Well, I’m sad now.

i was WAITING for someone to write a fic about sauron with this song because it fits so perfect 😫 and this one was better than i could ever imagine

Skin and bones

Pairing: Halbrand/Annatar/We know who x fem!elf! reader Summary: Ever since Galadriel revealed Halbrand's true identity, you've been having some very strange dreams… dreams that aren't the innocent figments of your imagination you thought they were. Warning: I HAVEN'T WATCHED THE RINGS OF POWER. All my knowledge is based on fanfics, short scenes posted on yt and uncle google. I just couldn't get this guy out of my mind... And I don't regret anything. Inspired by: David Kushner - "Skin and bones" Halbrand's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

"Y/N…" A cold shiver runs down your spine as you feel HIS hot, quiet, velvety whisper in your ear. You keep your eyes tightly closed, not wanting to see what image your mind, tired from today's meetings, has put before you this time.

For days now, your imagination had been tormenting you with strange dreams. Dreams in which you were haunted by him.

Halbrand.

You avoided speaking his true name. Somehow, the face of the one you should have hated with all your heart did not match the face of the one who had spent so many weeks by your and Galadriel's side.

And it scared you immensely. So much so that you weren't sure you could pretend to the light elf that you were haunted by the shadows of your past.

Galardiel once told you that to know true light, one must touch the darkness. But what do you do when that darkness becomes more attractive than light? What do you do to resist that magnetism? How do you enjoy the glow of pure light on your skin again when you still have spots of darkness on you in the shape of HIS fingerprints?

"Y/N." Another whisper, another brush of warm air against your cool skin, this time on your neck. Goosebumps rise up your spine, your hand shakes uncontrollably, trying to desperatly grasp something you can't see. "Let go. Just let go. I'm waiting here for you. With open arms, mime írima kal (my lovely light)."

The feathery touch of HIS lips against your earlobe sends a shiver through your body. Even though you are in complete darkness, you are perfectly aware that he is near, that his presence is right next to you.

Physically you could be miles away from each other but spiritually... spiritually he has made sure that he will haunt you every night.

"You miss me. You miss the feeling of power I gave you. The darkness you could hide in, when you were too tired of playing the hero no one appreciates as they should. Just as I miss your light. Your laugh. Your mind. Your lips. Your body..." His lips move with each sentence down your cheek and to your neck, leaving a gentle kiss as if he was appreciating your skin and paid tribute to it.

He was right. You missed this. Him. He was addictive. And like any addiction, you should cut yourself off before it goes too far... but hasn't it gone too far already?

"Do you think you can hide from me? That any elven friend of yours could disrupt my vision of you? That I would stop watching you at night in the darkness of your chambers, waiting for the moment when you finally realize that the cold you feel is caused by my lack of physical presence with you? Tell me, my beautiful, stubborn elf, when will you realize that the warmth you long for is found in my darkness and not in the light of your golden sunlight?"

You gasp as HE suddenly grabs you by the neck and uses his fingertips to force you to turn your head towards him. His mouth attacks yours with a huge force of possessiveness, anger, frustration, lust, as if he were going to conquer you by using only his soft lips and a silver-tongue trained over the centuries he spend on seducing others to his will.

And you promised yourself that you wouldn't be the next victim of his games and manipulation.

That's why you let him kiss you. Not because you enjoy it and miss the feeling of his lips on yours. You tangle your hands in his hair, shivering as you feel the cold metal of his spiked crown against the pads of your fingers.

You managed to let his guard down, letting his tongue tangle with yours in a familiar, passionate dance you used to indulge in when you knew him not as a Dark Lord but as a mere blacksmith. An electric jolt runs through you, stealing all the air from your lungs and making your mind cloud with lust—but not strong enough to make you completely forget about your plan.

Before he can realise it, you bite his lower lip and push him away from you. You summon all your power that he hasn't timed in your sleep and push him out of your unconscious mind. You can hear his loud growl of rage and the clang of his metal armour against the rocks as you fall into nothingness.

A loud thud echoes through the room you and Galadriel have rented as you fall from the small bed onto the wooden floor. You groan, propping yourself up on your elbows and cursing under your breath as you wake up from yet another dream HE has taken over.

"Another one? Which one is it this week? Third?" You sigh at the question from the elf sitting on the bed across the small tavern room. You nod reluctantly and stand up, dusting off the dust and dirt from the floor.

"I'm not counting. I lost count about a two months ago anyway." You mumble, ignoring the fact that these dreams started much earlier. You turn your back to her, hiding the blush that blooms on your cheeks as you remember how… naughty your dreams were.

Before you realized that your… night visions weren't just yours, you and he… were doing all sorts of things. Most of them weren't really things you could speak about out loud. And as much as you're ashamed of them, you have to admit they were the best nights of sleep you've had since… you found out the truth about him.

"I keep wondering how he creates this connection with you? It's a bridge that shouldn't be created without… the willingness of both sides."

“It’s Sauron.” You reply, making sure to pronounce his name with just the right amount of disgust in your voice. "He has powers that allow him to break the rules. You know that."

"Still… they shouldn't be that strong."

"Are you suggesting something, Galadriel? Do you think I would really seek him out willingly? He has deceived us. He has deceived you and me. He wants to destroy Middle-earth, do you think I would willingly seek contact with him for any other purpose than to finally kill him?"

Your accusatory tone comes out a little stronger than you intended. You wrap your arms around yourself and take a few calming breaths, trying to calm the anger boiling inside you.

"I trust you. If I trust anyone, it's you, Y/N. I'm not your enemy here." She responds calmly and walks over to you. She cups your cheeks in her hands and rests her forehead against yours.

"I am highly aware." You respond and place your hands on the sides of her neck. "I'm just... tired. That's all." You sigh and rest your chin on her shoulder, snuggling into her.

You hold each other like that until she gently pulls away from you. She grabs your hands and looks you in the eyes.

"We all are. War is coming. Darkness is descending upon more of our lands. But together we will prevail. Sun and moon. We must work together if we are about to defeat him and Morgoth." Galadriel spoke, tightening her grip on your hands.

"I know." You mumble and shake your head. You remove your hands from her grip and turn to face the window, watching the sun slowly rise. “Which doesn’t mean he won’t see it coming. Because he will. We have to move faster, think five step ahead than he does if we want the light to break through his army of darkness.” You say not turning to face her since you're too afraid of what she'll find in your eyes. Galadriel sighs but doesn't try to catch your attention anymore.

"I guess we won't get any more sleep tonight. Get ready. I'll go find Erlond." She looks at you a little longer, her gaze burning on your back, but you stubbornly stare out at the valleys lit by the glow of the sun breaking through the morning mist, not yet feeling ready to face what is outside.

You breathe a sigh of relief as the door closes behind her. You turn one of the rings forged by HIM, which you have placed on your necklace, in your hands, quietly wondering if you should really do what you were about to do. But since he's decided to play dirty against you for weeks... you might as well start returning his little blows, too.

You close your eyes and place the ring on your finger. You hold your breath as the familiar surge of power makes your blood pump a little harder and your eyes sharpen to your surroundings. The outlines of the valleys in the distance become much clearer, and you can almost smell the forest that lies miles away.

You know he can sense where you are if you let him. So you take a little risk and remove the protective shield that keeps you away from him. And Sauron bursts through your slightly ajar door as if into a rabbit hole.

"If you're out there somewhere… if you can hear me… know that you've given me enough darkness to rip your black heart from your chest without blinking, mime melin cotumo."

Maybe calling him your dear enemy wasn't the best thing to end your threat, but the only thing that could leave your lips when you addressed him were such nicknames. Never the names you knew him by. Especially the name under which he hid when you so naively gave him part of your heart.

"Are you, Y/N?"

His whispered question echoes through the empty room. You immediately throw him out and slam the door on his ghostly presence, blocking his vision of you again. You want to celebrate this small victory over him, showing him that you are still in control, but you both know it's just an illusion. An illusion you're desperately trying to fall for. Unfortunately, you guess you're not as good at them as he is.

"I don't like him." You say to Galadriel, eyeing Annatar carefully.

You held little Celebrían in your arms and watched as Celeborn, Celebrimbor, and Annatar chatted in the distance, enjoying the party Celebrimbor had thrown for your arrival.

"He is… quiet around us. But that doesn't mean we have to be hostile towards him right away. We can't be overly suspicious." Galadriel says and takes her daughter from you, who begins to cry quietly. You sigh, looking at the child in her arms.

"In these times we can be as suspicious as we want, Galadriel. Middle-earth is even more divided; we elves do not have such a solid, strong united front. If Sauron decides to attack with his orcs, they will crush us one by one. We must act, not be stuck in pointless parties."

"Parties are also part of diplomacy. I'm off to melt the hearts of the ladies of other lands with this sweet little bundle. Try not to spit venom at others. We need allies, as you well noticed." And with that, she leaves you to drown your bitter thoughts in a glass of wine completely alone.

You snort, not paying attention to what's going on around you. The ring that hangs around your neck under your clothes burns your skin mercilessly as you try with all your might to push away the memories of the nap you took after arriving.

Warm, black furs clung to you as you slept soundly in your soft bed. In the background, you could hear the crackling of the fire burning in the fireplace. You were tucked into warm pillows and blankets, the tip of your nose exposed to the cool air outside, being the only thing that was bothering you from resting in your bed.

After a while it turned out that it wasn't just one thing that was supposed to bother you.

You gasp as a strong arm suddenly wraps around your waist. The blankets are lifted, and the cool air assaults your skin, sending goosebumps up your spine. A moment later, you feel yourself pressed against someone's bare, muscular chest.

"Is my queen comfortable enough?" He whispers teasingly in your ear and nuzzles your temple, tightening his grip on you as you try to squirm out of his arms. But he doesn't give you that chance.

He grabs both of your wrists and presses them to your chest as he straddles you. Black fur clings to his back, the only covering he's wearing.

"Do you intend to defile me in your dreams when in reality you cannot lay even the smallest fingertip upon me? You grow more pathetic with the passing centuries." You growl at him angrily, kicking beneath him and trying to break free from his grip.

"You will beg for my touch. I will make your cries heard throughout all the Middle-Earth." He murmurs a promise against your lips and leans down, capturing your lips in an aggressive, passionate kiss that sets every fiber of your being on fire.

The surroundings around you change rapidly. Suddenly, you are completely alone in a black and gold throne room. The only source of light is the rays reflected off a golden throne engraved with a sun.

You glance around frantically, searching for him and a weapon you could use against him. You take a few steps back, heading unconsciously toward the two thrones on the dais. You gasp as your foot touches the tiled mechanism beneath you.

The throne room begins to change, darkness giving way to light, the black marble turning white. But the entire chamber, instead of being divided in half by two colours, blends into grey. The golden throne turns white, and the black as night one becomes a lighter shade of black, almost greige. You turn your face to the landscape outside the window and gasp at what you see.

All of Middle-earth. Divided, but still... a coherent whole. Each of the lands was arranged so as to separate races that got in each other's way, where conflict could arise. The lands of the Orcs were in a barren wasteland, where life could not have arisen anyway, but they made their kingdom on it. All separated from each other by walls of mountains so high that even from the height where the palace was located, it was difficult to see the top of their mountains and the paths of the passes.

You shiver as the heavy, cool metal of the crown settles against your temples. He quickly grabs your shoulders and digs his fingers into you. He holds you against him, forcing you to stare at the land before you, a land you barely recognise anymore.

"We could have that. All of that. I would place a crown on your head, make them all bow to you. Make them bow to us. I would heal Middle-earth of strife and war, make them all live in harmony in their own worlds."

"Would you confine them within the boundaries of their lands? What if they run out of space? Would you move mountains? Would you remake the world? You won't fix them this way; you can't avoid wars and bloodshed. Who do you think you are to decide how the world is suspposed to look like?" You ask him angrily, turning in his arms.

You bravely hold Halbrand’s watchful gaze as he analyses your words carefully, probably thinking of ways to make you join his side, ways to make you see his case in a completely different light.

And you hope you'll have the self-control to reject every single one of them - every little tempting suggestion of the future he wants to show you.

"Amil! (Mommy!)" The joyful cry of a child and the dull thud of tiny feet hitting the floor later are the only warning you get before something small pounces on your legs.

You stubbornly don't look down, but into the eyes of the man in front of you, because you know that once your eyes land on the little projection of a child he wants to show you, you'll be haunted for the rest of your life by the image of what you could have had with him.

“You won't even look at our son, Y/N?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you, daring you to show him how much you don’t care or care about the future he has to offer you.

So you gather all the strength you have inside you and lean down to take the little boy into your arms. He mumbles something, playing with the necklace around your neck.

The boy has his dark hair. And your eyes. And he's too damn cute for you to ever forget the vision he shows you, that he created to torture you forever.

"How long would it take you to instill your dark, poisonous thoughts in him?" You ask with a trembling voice, giving him a look full of pain and dismay.

"I've told you many times, mime melin hon. With you by my side I would have no darkness within me." He mumbles and reaches up to stroke your cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I will make you mine. Even if it was the last thing I would do. With or without your consent, I will bind you to me and make you who you were always meant to be: My queen."

You shiver as he places a tender kiss on your forehead. You hold back a broken sob as the weight of the baby on your hip begins to fade and his touch becomes just a hazy memory as you wake from this beautiful and terrifying dream.

“Can you do me the great honour of dancing with you, my lady?” You shiver when you suddenly hear someone's voice next to you. You turn around and barely keep a grimace from forming on your face when the platinum hair of the hated elf catches your eye.

"Lord Annatar. I thought you weren't dancing tonight?" You say in a forced, pleasant tone of voice and nod towards the elf whose invitation to dance he declined. He becomes embarrassed at this and clears his throat awkwardly.

"I simply have been saving my first dance in the hope that my lady of the sun would consent to grace me with it." You present him with your practiced smile, internally cursing him for being so thoughtful with his choice of words. Refusing him would be like spitting in his face - something Galadriel would clearly disapprove of.

"How could I be so cruel in this situation and refuse you, Lord of Gifts?" You tease him flirtatiously, seeing an opportunity in his obvious little affection, and offer him your hand.

You tremble as an electric shiver suddenly runs through you. The strange reaction to his closeness makes your brain buzz with thoughts. Especially when the ring hidden under the material of your dress begins to heat up.

"I may be… but right now I feel like I've received the greatest gift from you, my lady." He says, placing a soft kiss on the top of your hand. He confidently leads you onto the dance floor and pulls you close, wrapping his arm around your waist and being a little too close than was required for this particular dance.

His closeness overwhelms you. Not in a positive way. He seems suspiciously too familiar. Your body doesn't react to him as to a stranger; on the contrary, you immerse yourself in his touch as if it were familiar, comforting. You sense that something is wrong, but you can't say what yet.

"Do you like the rings we've been forging lately? Galadriel probably won't be too keen on his... idea."

"Because he follows in Sauron's footsteps. Perhaps we can dissuade him from this path. Together." You see his jaw tense slightly at your words. His grip on you tightens a little and he seems... flustered.

You narrow your eyes at him slightly, trying to understand his reaction, as well as why with every little touch he makes the ring on your chest burns like it's on fire.

"I truly believe we would be a great unit, úrin-o i world." You tremble when he calls you the sun of the world just as you tremble when he places his hands on your hips and lifts you.

He's in no hurry to put you down. It's as if he was deliberately prolonging this moment, and you let yourself be caught in the hypnotized state that his eyes bring you to.

For a moment, nothing exists except the two of you. It's just you and him. The dancing couples swirling around you momentarily become a blur.

You gasp when, for a moment, instead of Annatar's face, you see Halbrand. His mesmerising blue eyes pierce through you, making it all you can do to lean closer to him.

Your vision ends the moment one of the couples crashes into you. You land awkwardly on Annatar's chest, only his arms keeping you from falling. The couple apologizes and he just nods, pulling the two of you to the sidelines to a more secluded place.

You sigh, staring at him, your breathing heavy, not from the exertion of the dance, but from what you saw when you danced with him. Or rather, who.

"What are you?" You ask suspiciously, but he raises a surprised eyebrow at you, as if your sudden hostility was unfounded.

"You know who I am. Don't you, my Lady of the Sun?" You swallow hard at his question, but before you can answer him, Galadriel steps between you and him. A very angry and irritated Galadriel.

"He is of an unsound mind. How can he ignore what is so obvious? No one who follows the path that Sauron trod can call himself anything but his ally. I am leaving first thing in the morning. We cannot waste time while he is somewhere nearby, preparing an army against us."

"Perhaps you are giving him too much thought, my lady?" Annatar makes a sarcastic remark, but Galadriel ignores him and walks furiously away from the two of you, not even waiting for her husband, who has just reached the three of you.

"Galadriel..." You call out to her but she ignores you. "Galadriel!" Celeborn nods apologetically and follows the elf with the child in his arms. You stand in shock in the middle of the room and stare at the leaving elves.

"I don't blame them. You know what they're talking about... and about who they're talking." Annatar says, nodding at Celebrimbor. He stands alone in the corner, looking around nervously. "It would be best if you followed your lady." He advises you like a nasty snake that coils around your leg and whispers unwanted things in your ear.

You flinch and turn so you can fully look at him. He liked to play games. So he'll get one from you. You won't leave this palace without a promise from Celebrimbor to join you in case... if HE tries to attack.

Galadriel wanted to resort to desperate measures—she wanted to warn Adar that Sauron lived and wanted to use orcs in his plan to change Middle-earth. If you were to choose allies, you would rather heal the mind of an elf in whom you saw even a shred of light.

"I am my own lady. I do not have to follow anyone. Besides, I think you could use some help here, dear Annatar." You reply with a sweet smile. You see his jaw tense a little at your words. He clearly didn't want you around - that's why you had to stay here and see what the Lord of Gifts - the supposed envoy of the Valar was really doing in Eregion.

"Hm... that would be an honour to have you as our guest, my lady."

He says, smiling mysteriously at you. A shiver runs down your spine, and you already know that this won't be as much fun for you as it will be for him.

As if on cue, you drift off into blissful, dark unconsciousness.

"Fighting by your side… I felt like I could hold onto that feeling. Bind it in my very being."

"I felt it to." You mumble, staring at Halbrand's slightly bruised and scratched face.

You often had dreams like that. Flashbacks of past events. Sometimes they were real, and sometimes he was just playing with you in dreamland again, reenacting past events and laughing in your face, mocking you as you relived the same thing.

So I guess nothing has changed… if, knowing who I am, you still kiss me with such burning passion, my sunshine.

Cheap line. You managed to punch him for it many times. But that only seems to make him more cocky. So you stopped and instead looked for some way to get out of these dreams.

But now, as he leaned down and kissed you as sweetly as he had before... you could do nothing but moan and grab his hair in your fist as you pressed yourself against him, hating every bit of armour that covered your bodies and was separating you from him.

"The Valar must have spent aeons crafting those raspberry-sweet lips." He mumbles against your lips and cups your cheek in his hand. He pushes you back gently, your back pressing against the tree trunk you were sitting on.

You pretend you didn't notice that that little comment never came out of his mouth back then, and you take advantage of his moment of distraction. You take out your dagger and press it to his neck, pushing him away from you.

He needs a moment to process what happened. He chuckles raggedly and shakes his head slightly—just enough so that your blade doesn't even scratch his skin.

"What gave me away?"

"Sweet lips?" You mock him, pinning him against the rough tree trunk.

"I tried to be romantic with you, my beloved nemesis. Almost the same as that Lord of Gifts of yours, wasn't it?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at you. The cocky smirk doesn't leave his face even as you straddle him with the blade at his neck. You want to pierce all of his arteries, but his comment about Annatara catches your attention more than the murderous urge he's inspired in you.

"Jealous?"

"Intrigued. Do you like him?" He corrects you and asks a question that makes you want to laugh. As if there was anyone else besides him who could hold your attention for longer…

"Are you afraid that it will take your place as the worst, most venomous snake I have ever encountered?"

"Oh please… we both know that's not the only thing I'm best at. I remember one night perfectly, when…" You press the metal of the blade to his neck and draw blood from him. A black stream runs down his skin, soaking into the tree trunk, which instantly rots. "I understand. You want to be the one to dominate today?"

You snort in frustration at him and push yourself away from him. You take a few steps away from him and watch him closely as he slowly stands up and catches up with you.

"Only if you let me plunge my blade into your black, cold heart."

"Only if you acknowledge the fact that it beats only for you." He whispers and gently cups your cheek with his hand. You tremble, unable to move away from him or make any movement except to stare at him. Anger and something else—a feeling you're terrified to admit to—boil inside you like crazy. And that's all because of him.

"As if you could love anyone but yourself." You answer shakily as he leans toward you. He kisses you again, more gently, more tenderly.

He lifts your chin with two fingers, demanding full access to your mouth, as if the way he kisses you is to prove to you that he is capable of love—that he is capable of giving himself over to a mad passion that he cannot control, as if you were truly his lady.

And it is out of fear that he will manage to squeeze out of you that little challenge that he so desires that you reach for the dagger you had abandoned earlier and brutally plunge it into your heart, bypassing the plates of your armor.

You gasp, tearing yourself out of the dream he has entangled you in, but only to find yourself in a real nightmare.

You look around in panic as you see only orcs above you. The dead body of a dark elf is being torn apart by them, as if they were performing some kind of ritual over the dead. They are talking to each other in the black language, clearly too distracted to pay much attention to you.

You reach out for their abandoned weapon beside you, but you can't move much. You groan as a foot steps on your wrist, hard enough to pin your hand in place but gentle enough not to break or crush your bone.

You lift your head and bite your lip, drawing blood when you see who is standing over you.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, my sweet nemesis." Annatar says and nods to the two orcs closest to you. They walk over and hold you by the arms, lifting you to your feet.

"Sauron." You snap at him furiously, putting as much venom and hatred as you can into saying his real name.

"Hello, darling. Many years, centuries even, but it still seems like one day, right?" He mockingly responds to your seething fury. You watch him closely and freeze when you see that he holds not only his crown in his hand but Galadriel's ring as well.

He had two of the three forged for the elves. The last one... hung around your neck. And he could have taken it anytime he wanted. But he would have to pry it off your dead body if he really wanted it.

"You were more handsome as a brunette." You spit insults at him, trying to stay as calm as you can as he begins to walk forward. The orcs lead you right next to him.

"I can transform back into Halbrand just for you. Would you prefer that, my lady?" You press your lips together in a thin line, about to answer him, but he's already using his powers, and before you can do anything, Halbrand appears before your eyes.

You turn your gaze away from him and try to focus on the burning desire to draw some blood that the orcs' touch on you inspires as they lead you toward what looks like a camp.

"I'd rather have you rotted in Mordor."

"Ahh… such ugly words on such a joyous day? After all, you don't get married every day, do you?" He asks casually, too excited for your liking; if the orcs weren't forcing you towards the large tent, you would have stopped dead in your tracks and stared at the back of his head in complete shock.

"Married?" You repeat his words stupidly. The orcs hand you to him after you enter the large tent and quickly flee at their lord's beck and call. Halbrand... Sauron sets his crown down at the foot of the makeshift bed and turns to regard you, a huge, cocky grin on his face that you once found sexy. In the current situation, it only irritated you more.

"I promised you I would make you a queen. My queen. I have a crown, an army, and land. The only thing that is missing is you by my side—exactly as the Valar planned." He’s been explaining this to you for the umpteenth time, as if you were a carefree child to whom he had to explain something in a simple, banal way. You clench your fists and take one deep, calming breath.

"I'd rather die."

"No, you don't. Don't blaspheme like that. We both know that's what you want. I'm only doing you a favour by taking away your free will, giving you the illusion that I'm forcing you to do this against your will, so you don't have to feel guilty about acting on your heart's desires." He answers confidently, stubbornly, in a tone you knew—a tone he had used a thousand times when negotiating with kings, queens, and nobles.

Back then, when you thought he was just a man, you were charmed by his chearism, his self-confidence, and his unwavering actions. Now you saw how dangerous that was.

"You don't know my heart's desires." You whisper as he stops in front of you. But he doesn't move to touch you, does nothing but stand there and watch you.

You want to curse him for turning back into Halbrand and for showing you this illusion. It was much easier for you to reject Annatar than him... ironic, since it was Halbrand that betrayed you more than any other being.

"Another lie. I think you've gotten a lot better at it than I have in my absence, my dear sunshine."

You snort when he calls you that. The moment you open your mouth to answer, he leans in and steals your kiss and your breath. He pulls you to him by the material of your dress and perfectly ignores any thumps in your chest you give him. You jerk against his grip, bite his lip, and do everything to pull away from him. But he doesn't let go. Not until you're gasping for air and your lips are swollen, your clothes and hair a mess just like all of you.

"You know... I am not surprised you lied to me all this time. I mean... living for so long can trick your mind. You probably don't know your true self anymore, do you? When was the last time someone called you by your true name? Not with insult or fear, but with affection, maybe even sympathy?"

"Why? Want to change that, I úrin -o mime coiv- (the sun of my life)?" He asks, slowly pulling away from you. You ignore your instincts to follow his touch and stand frozen in place as he walks over to his abandoned crown.

"Are you just going to rule them? In the hopes that they won't kill you again? That I won't convince them to do so?"

"Fear is a powerful ally. And something tells me you'd rather have me alive than dead." He answers calmly and places his crown on your head. You frown as the cool metal settles on your temple.

You let him play with you for a moment and treat you like a doll he can do anything to. You waited for the perfect moment to attack, to throw him off balance. You wouldn't give in to him without a fight. Not when you still had at least a shred of strength to resist the darkness calling out to you.

"Not as powerful ally as love." Your response makes him more thoughtful. He stares at you, contemplating the sight of you in his crown, as if trying to forever engrave the image in his mind… to bind it to his very being.

"Indeed. But you either have one of them." He nods and runs his fingertips over your exposed shoulder. You shiver as he grazes the metal of your necklace.

"And what did you want? From me?" You see him soften noticeably at your question. Something like affection… maybe even tenderness or love appears in his eyes as he moves his hand to your neck, cupping it gently.

"You know my heart's desire, Y/N. Just as I know yours." He mumbles your name barely audible and leans in closer to you. You shiver as his bearded cheek brushes against yours, his soft lips caressing your earlobe as he whispers: "I don't have to say it out loud for you to know it."

"No… you don't have to." You respond and cup his cheek in your hand. He freezes at the sudden display of affection from you and involuntarily buries his face in your palm, closing his eyes. You lean down and press a small kiss to his cheek. He sighs tiredly, as if he had travelled a truly polynomial distance, and allows himself to melt in your touch. "Because I'd rather cut your tongue out than listen to another lie from you."

Before he can react, you're already reaching for his dagger. You press it to his neck, but he shakes off your little seduction and pushes you away from him roughly. You fall with the yak onto the mattress behind you, the crown falling off your head with a clatter to the floor as you stare at him intently, both of you aiming your blades at each other.

"In some races dagger is considered as one of the love's language." She mocks you, wiping the black blood off his neck with her free hand. He licks it off—a demonstration at which you hold your breath for a moment. Bloody bastard.

"I always preferred to consider it death's language." You respond and lunge at him again. He blocks your blade with his own and grabs your arm. You hiss at the hard, painful swipe of his fingers against your skin as he leans toward you, giving you one of his long, enigmatic, dark stares.

"You know what the difference is between me and them, Y/N? They fear you, what you can do, the power you wield with such grace, like it's nothing. But I'm willing to burn in the light of your sun if it means having you by my side."

"Rather, if it means gaining that power for yourself." You growl and kick him. He falls on his back in surprise at your strength, which you take advantage of and run forward—straight to the exit of the tent.

You run through the camp and quickly take the ring from your neck. You put it on your finger and, using the power it gives you, cast illusions on yourself, becoming invisible to the orcs. You hear Halb... Sauron's shouts behind you, ordering the orcs to find you and bring you alive to him. He himself gives chase through the forest. And you have to admit that he is not so far from you.

You run as long as your legs give you strength. You stop in some clearing with a small stream. You try to find a safe hiding place, hide, and wait out the mad pursuit. And just when you think you've made it, he emerges from behind the trees.

"Y/N! I know you are here! I can feel you! I will always..." He pauses, his voice shaking, and you realise this is the second time you've seen him so... vulnerable and open. It's a dangerous reaction from him. Either it's real... or he's using it as a card in his game to win yet another game he's playing with you. "I would make you a queen. In a heartbeat. You don't have to do anything. Just come with me."

And you really wish it were that simple. But you don't know if you could look at yourself in the mirror if you just so blatantly betrayed them and everything you know for… him and his lies. As beautiful and tempting as they were.

"Queen of slaves like you!" You scream, comming out from your hidding place and attack him.

"Yes! I am a slave! I am a slave to you, Y/N. At least I have the courage to admit it to myself and to you. And you, my queen?" He says each sentence every time your blades strike each other with a metallic clang.

"Don't forget about Mogoth, my king." You mock him and hit him more and more aggressively, each of your blows a precise attack on him.

"You're going to bind to me. Willingly or not, and I will relish every moment of it." He growls and finally knocks the blade out of your hand, and he grabs your wrists, twisting your arms behind you and pressing your back against his chest, the blade at your neck gently teasing your skin, as do his lips against your temple. "Let go. Just let go. I know you are tired. Let me help you. Let me carry for you all your worries and the hatred of the Middle-earth. Let me make you my queen. Heal this world with me."

"Only if you will made ma a crown from your skin and bones." You gasp, fighting his grip, trying to twist from the iron grip his arms have on you, but it's not as easy as it might seem. He pins you to the ground, straddling you, and stares at you, breathing heavily.

"I will wrap you in them, if that's what I need to keep you at my side!"

His cry echoes through the empty clearing. For a moment, you stare at each other, not making a move. The sound of the stream around you is the only other song playing in accompaniment to your heavy heartbeat, which you can hear in the deafening emptiness that surrounds you. The world stops. Again, when you're close to him.

"I did not desire power as much as I desire you. You hurt me more than Morgoth ever did; you poison me more than the darkness. I think of you every morning, afternoon, and night. You are like a poison that I cannot draw from myself. You are the light that blinds me, that destroys me, but I cling to it like a child in the dark. Even though the darkness has been a much longer and more loyal companion to me than you." He mumbles, pressing wild kisses to your face.

You moan as his lips and rough beard abuse your neck worse than the blade he had brought to you moments ago, which he had driven into the ground beside you. You had nothing. No weapon to attack him with, to protect yourself from his sweet lips and the burning touch that stirred desires so shameful and so familiar in you.

"A pathological liar." You gasp as he hastily undoes your dress. But you do nothing to stop him. You can't anymore.

You feel exhausted, both mentally and physically, all the running away from him, all the fighting with him. Maybe you really were a lost cause; maybe you were always meant to blend with his darkness and try to balance it with your light. You don't know that. What you do know is that he feels too good against you for you to fight him any longer.

"Both of us. But I'm the only one here who doesn't deceive myself."

"I'd rather deceive myself than allow myself to think that I could desire someone like you." And it's awful that as you say that, you reach for him and help to undress him.

You were only proving that you really were a terrible liar and hypocrite. But how long could you hold back from touching the darkness that called out to you so sweetly?

"We both know this is much more than simple lust." He whispers, stroking your hair tenderly and pressing his lips to your forehead. His hands roam your exposed body, caressing every little part of you. And if you concentrate hard enough, you can forget for a moment who he really is—you can only see Halbrand and not HIM. "Tell me… what's it like to want to simultaneously pierce me with a sword, burn me at the stake, and cherish me in the privacy of your chambers, my dear sun?"

"Maddening." You whisper shakily, admitting what you feel.

A single tear rolls down your cheek—a tear that he quickly licks from you. He groans at the sweet-salty feeling of your tears and holds you tightly with his one arm as the other slowly begins to toy with your most sensitive place, preparing you for complete failure and defeat.

All you can feel is blissful pleasure as the darkness is touching you.

And just when he is about to bring you great pleasure, when he is about to unite the two of you as one after so long, he stops completely. You fidget, toss, and turn, seeking renewed contact with him that he does not grant you.

"I'll come for you. In one form or another. I'll make you my queen, whether you want me to or not. I may be a fraud, Y/N, but I don't have the strength to deceive myself. You'll understand when you will be my age. And I'll wait for that. I will wait for you to realise that I am the only one who sees you, accepts you, and adores you as you truly are. All you have to do is call for me." You almost cry in frustration as he pulls away from you, leaving only a ghostly touch on your skin as he continues to hold your wrists. "The sun is also having an eclipse, Y/N. I am your eclipse. And you will beg me to give you my darkness."

He places one last kiss on your forehead and then disappears. You sigh, looking around you, and realise with a shiver that he was never really there.

He tricked you. He connected with you through the ring you still wore on your finger and entered your mind as another illusion. You cry, your hand shakily pressed to your mouth as you try to keep from making any sound for fear that he and the orcs might still be nearby and sense you.

You bite your fingers as a pitiful cry wants to escape your lips; it starts as your mouth forms a cry of his name, but at the last moment you stop yourself. You grit your teeth and stand up from the ground. You dust off your dress and look around you.

The rising sun illuminates your face, but you no longer feel the familiar warmth spreading throughout your body as you greet the morning light. You feel emptyness. A festering, burning emptiness. And the visible touch of HIS lips on your neck...

Sauron may have defeated you in your dreams and mind, but when it came to duels, when you faced each other in your own skin and bones, he lost. In the crucial moments, when he was about to make you his, you managed to slip away from him. You only fear how long you will be able to do so.

Especially since he has robbed you of all joy in the light and awakened a lust for the darkness you have touched with him...

And as you stared at the rising sun, you already knew that there would be no salvation for you, nothing that would make you forget about the electric thrill you felt every time you embraced the darkness with him.

Halbrand, Sauron, Annatar, whatever form he took, you were drawn to him. And you could either die, try to fight it, or accept it and try to save the little bit of light that was left in both of you. You didn't believe that after all the darkness he'd poured into you, he wouldn't get an ounce of your light from you in exchange. And if that tormented him as much as his darkness tormented you... then you felt at least a little less pathetic for falling in love with the Dark Lord of the Rings.

you know you have a problem when you could never deceive him to be his queen because you really want to be his queen 🫠 oh lord save me

Imagine making Sauron believe that he convinced you to be his queen...

Imagine making Sauron believe that he convinced you to be his queen...

As soon as it became clear that Galadriel's ring can heal and you could use it just as easily as her, you knew what to do. It was also too easy to make her believe that you were ready to follow her ridiculous "plan" of yet again going in head first and having no idea what she will do when she faces the being far more powerful then her, even with the ring aiding her.

So went along until you finally faced him again. He looked different, and not just for his elven features. He seemed detached, colder, darker. At lest until he looked at you with a softness that made you melt from the inside. You let it take over you.

You let in all that he made you feel, the anger, the hurt, the love that was more painful than any wound he could cause. How could he let the darkness consume him so quickly when he was the one to pull you out of your own? The plan was to cloud your mind with those feelings and your doubts so he wouldn't suspect your true intentions.

There was no faking in the way he had to lure you in, you still had your doubts but you saw no other way. Nenya showed it to you when you tried it on at the urging of Galadriel, to prove to you that the rings are not evil and Sauron cannot control them. You wasn't so sure about either of that but your mind was finally made up as you fought Galadriel for the ring and took it before taking your side by the Dark Lord.

No, not dark. You will be his light whether he truly meant that statement or not, you just have to be careful and patient, you supposed it would take longer than you anticipated and completely giving yourself to him will doom you either way but there was still hope in you.

You hoped that once you are fully bound to him your love shines bright enough to hide a steady link of healing power from the ring. You hoped that you could deceive The Deceiver with giving him what he wants and you don't have to use it against him by giving yourself up to your people, presenting the weakness he created by forming a soul-deep attachment to your very being with his own...

Perfect illusion (Sauron x Celebrimbor’s daughter!reader)

-> in which you have to sit by your father’s side as Sauron coerces him into finishing the Nine, realizing just how blind you have been all along

Warnings: No romance, just angst. You marry Annatar (+ implied smut) when you don’t know he’s Sauron, so there’s all the emotional torment and consent issues that come with that. Uncomfortable touching (not smut) after you find out he’s Sauron. Manipulation, mind control and victim blaming as per canon

You sit in your chair, watching your father work. A familiar thing, which you have done a million times before. Before, however, there had never been a shackle around his wrist, or blood marring his brow. There had never been rubble scattered about the workplace, or the sound of battle coming through the window. Before, there had never been The Dark Lord standing behind you, his hands weighing you down as though the ceiling had collapsed upon you.

That is not to say that they are forceful. No, his touch is soft, as it has always been, his fingers brushing your hair gently, almost absent-mindedly. At times they reach your neck or your cheek, grazing your skin and sending shivers down your spine. You dig your nails painfully into your own hands to keep from trembling. It’s the least, even if the most inconsequential thing, that you can still do—to deny him this small satisfaction.

“Stop that,” Sauron says, his voice deceivingly gentle as he gives your shoulder a warning squeeze. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”

Of course, that only makes you want to clench your fists harder. But you force yourself to open them, mindful of what might happen if you disobey.

“You once took comfort in my touch,” he says. If you knew no better, you’d believe the sorrow in his voice is genuine. “It is only comfort I wish to give you now as well.”

His knuckles brush your cheek, painfully tender and excruciatingly familiar. Though you’ve been trying to keep as still as possible, you cannot help but turn your face away, if only just an inch.

His hand stills mid-air, then returns to your shoulder. He takes a breath, quiet but long and deep.

“I have caused you suffering. That is true,” he admits, patiently. “But I assure you that this too shall pass. Once Middle-Earth is healed, and the people will see what we did here... your feelings will change.”

You can’t help how your breath quickens, chest trembling with anger. It only becomes worse when Sauron puts his fingers to your chin, coaxing you to twist your neck and look up into his piercing eyes. “You must know it pains me,” he says, “treating you like—”

“Like you have treated countless others?” your father intercedes in haste.

Sauron’s attention turns to Celebrimbor then, as your father had no doubt hoped it would. The whole time he’d been working, his eyes kept straying to you, as if to make sure you are still alive and whole. To your relief, Sauron removes his hand from your face. To your dread, he is now moving towards Celebrimbor, displeased with his remark.

“Like Morgoth treated me,” he corrects, hovering over your father.

You are not bound. You could, in theory, try to run. But you are not foolish enough to believe you could escape. Any such attempt would only earn you a shackle of your own, similar to your father’s. Though, you’re starting to believe that the cold bite of metal might just be more bearable than the silent imprisonment of your husband’s touch.

Your husband. The word twists in your stomach, carves holes into your heart. It all came so naturally to you when you spoke the vows and sealed the bond. Now, you can’t imagine how you got here. All you know are the facts of what happened, and even those no longer seem to make sense in your weakened mind.

You know who you used to be, when the world still made sense: daughter of Celebrimbor, the greatest of Elven smiths. You think his talents mixed with your mother’s magic may have resulted in your gift to manipulate materials in particular ways which do not necessarily come naturally. You know the mithril had refused to be coaxed into joining with the other metals without your intervention. You know Halbrand had been the one to suggest that you try it.

You know how easily he had endeared himself to you from the moment you met, and how confusing and sharp the pain had been when he disappeared without a trace. You know how quick you had been to let him into Eregion when he returned, despite Galadriel’s inexplicable request that you refrain from doing so.

You know the transition from Halbrand to Annatar had been unexpected, if not jarring, but in the end the pull you felt towards him was unchanged. You know there were touches, desire... trust.

You no longer know why. Because there never was a reason—not a true one, anyway. Only his deception, his mind games. But at the time, you didn’t know. At the time, it had made perfect sense when, one night, you had found yourself at the dining table, anxious about giving your father the news of what had happened a mere few hours prior.

Annatar was to your side, sitting at the head of the long table, while your father was across from you. He may be the Lord of Eregion, but he had insisted that an emissary of the Valar should take the most important seat. Yet despite your father’s deep admiration for Annatar, you were not sure how he would react.

“As you know,” you began tentatively, “Lord Annatar has been a close and trusted friend to me, these past few weeks. As he has been to you.”

“Indeed,” your father nodded. His unsure smile and knitted brow told you he was at a loss for what you were leading up to. You opened your mouth, but found yourself quite tongue-tied. You glanced at Annatar, who graciously took over.

“However,” he continued, lips forming a gentle, almost bashful smile, “after a time, we found that there were... deeper feelings between us.”

Though he was speaking to Celebrimbor, his gaze sought yours. You met it, heart fluttering as he wrapped your hand in his, resting them on the table in such a way that the new ring on your finger was in your father’s line of sight.

“Annatar has proposed marriage, father,” you finally say, turning to him. “And I have accepted.”

Your father blinked, eyebrows lifting in an expression of wordless surprise. When words failed to leave his mouth, Annatar took it upon himself to break the silence once more.

“My friend, I...” He trailed off, uncharacteristically hesitant in his choice of words. “I am well aware I should have asked for your blessing beforehand. Especially since things have progressed with such unusual haste, but—”

“Oh, nonsense!” your father burst out, as if finally regaining his senses. “Nonsense, my friend, this...” A short laugh bubbled out of him as he turned to you with a face-splitting grin. “Such wonderful news! Oh, my dear,” he took your hand in his, gazing in wonder upon your betrothal ring before he pressed a kiss filled with fatherly love to your knuckles. “You could not have found a better match,” he praised.

“The same is true for myself,” Annatar said, giving you that kind smile of his that never failed to have you return it.

Relief washed over you. All was well.

You’d be lying to say there isn’t a part of you that resents your father for giving you away so eagerly. He could not stop you no matter who you chose to wed, but with anyone else, he’d have at the very least warned you that the engagement had happened much too quickly. He’d have been more cautious of your betrothed, tried to determine whether or not their intentions towards you were true. But Annatar, in your father’s eyes, was of divine nature, and the thought of becoming kin with one of his kind had filled your father with such pride, it overshadowed all else.

You wonder if he is as ashamed of that moment now as you are. And of everything that came after.

You’re not sure if speaking the wedding vows had somehow allowed Sauron better dominion over your mind, or if you were simply too far gone by then. Little by little, more and more over time, you came to depend on your husband. When your father began acting strange and ill-tempered, Annatar alone knew of his ailment, and he alone could help him heal. He alone could provide the comfort you needed as you watched your father lose himself by the day, unaware that the same was happening to you.

He always knew when and what to say to bring you peace. He never seemed to leave your side, whether in the presence of others or alone. And you craved being alone with him more than anything else. He was an expert lover, so attuned to the needs of your flesh, it was as though he could slither beneath your skin and discern for himself which of his touches felt the most exquisite. Being near him was a delight in itself, but intimacy with him was simply addictive.

Warm morning light flooded through your window, and you wondered how you were supposed to ever leave this bed. Lying on your husband’s chest, skin to skin in the afterglow of your love-making, everything else in the world seemed so inconsequential in comparison.

“Do you ever sleep?” you asked, wondering suddenly how it had never crossed your mind before. He was always by your side as you drifted to sleep—most often spent from yet another passionate exchange—and he was there to greet you each time you awoke. Yet he was not of your kind, and an emissary of the Valar seemed to you above such things as sleep.

“It is not in my nature to sleep,” he admitted, fingers tracing gentle lines up and down your spine. “But I rather enjoy laying by your side as you do.”

Your heart soared at the quiet adoration in his voice. And before long, you found yourself aching for him once more. You brushed his neck with your lips, lightly at first, and then with more insistence, making your desire known.

“Again?” he asked, faintly amused.

You lifted your head, the smallest furrow in your brow. “Does it bother you?”

“Not in the least,” he replied. If that wasn’t reassurance enough, his lips caught yours, and he moved so that your body was safely beneath his, and even the thousandth time would not have been enough.

You can still taste his kisses—and they feel like ash. You remember how each time you became one, it felt better, but only now can you see how it made things so much worse. A corner of your mind, growing larger by the day, was always occupied by him. Each time you aided in the making of one of your father’s Ring designs, you did so with thoughts of Annatar. You know now why he wanted it that way—your craving for his touch, your utter devotion to him, seeping into the Rings the Power, one by one. You think you might have known even then. But he was always careful not to push you too far, to bring you back from the brink of suspicion before it ever started to take shape in your mind.

Even when the reality of things was undeniable before your eyes.

Your last night before finding out had been spent in a dreadful haze. Sleep felt more like a waking prison as you dreamt of terrible, yet distant things, hearing screams without seeing where they came from, seeing blood and ashes on streets you felt you should but could not recognize. You were grateful to wake up and see the sunlit sky beyond your window. Its light adorned your husband’s hair beautifully, the familiar sight of him sitting on the edge of your bed bringing you further relief.

“There you are,” he greeted softly, brow creased with a trace of concern. “You gave us quite the scare.”

“What—?” Your attempt to speak ended in a cough, as if you’d been breathing dust instead of air. Annatar left your side in haste, returning but a moment later with a glass of water.

“Here,” he said, putting the glass to your lips. You took it gladly, relishing the water soothing your throat. Once Annatar had helped you sit up and settle against the pillows, you asked, as you had meant to, “What happened?”

There was pity in his gaze. “Don’t you remember, my love?”

You shut your eyes, trying to grasp at figments of blurry images. “I was outside, I think. Mirdania was there. And you. And...”

Annatar shook his head, speaking as softly as if to a frightened child. “Earlier in the day, perhaps. When you collapsed, you were in the forge, with me and Lord Celebrimbor. When you sought to aid your father in merging the metals for his latest attempt at the Nine, your efforts over these past weeks took their toll on you.” He gave you a sympathetic smile, fingers brushing your cheek. “You fell right into my arms.”

“I did?”

His words did evoke images. The memory was there, somewhere. But the more you tried to reach for it, the more your insides churned.

“Be at ease,” Annatar soothed. “You merely slept through the night. I have watched over you all the while, and I shall do so until you are better.”

Better. Yes, you would get better.

But you knew, deep in your bones, that you were not well. The sense of dread within you refused to recede, lingering in the furthest corner of your mind even in the moments where you felt the safest. Something deeply rooted in you wanted it all to be over—the work, the forging, the ailments, your father’s as well as yours. You wished so desperately for things to return to the way they used to be before the Rings, it felt as though a great fist had clenched around your heart and refused to release it. But then again, before the Rings, there hadn’t been Annatar. And your need for him hurt just as terribly.

In the end, everything hurt. Everything.

“Are you in pain?” your husband murmured. You hadn’t realized tears were already sliding down your cheeks.

You broke into sobs.

He slipped beneath the covers and wrapped you in his arms. It became even harder to breathe, and you clung to him all the harder for it, desperate to find that peace that he had offered you time and again.

“Hush, my love,” he cooed, holding you close to his chest as you wept for reasons unknown. “All will be well soon.”

You had fallen into his arms, just like he’d said. Only, you hadn’t been inside the forge, but outside, just as your mind had fruitlessly struggled to remind you. You were there when the siege alarms began to blare and chaos erupted in the streets. When you saw your husband walk amongst it, you had run to him at once. Asking where your father was, wanting to stand united with your kin amidst the unfolding madness.

Darkness had engulfed your vision instead, shrouding your memory as well. He must have carried you back to your chambers himself, crafting an illusion within your mind to match the one in which Celebrimbor was already trapped.

It makes sense now. How desperately you had clung to the very source of your misery. One cannot satisfy thirst by drinking sea water, but you, in your foolishness, had drunk enough to drain the sea.

“You chose it,” he now tells your father, speaking of the suffering he had inflicted, “not I.”

And there’s a part of you that believes him, even as another screams inside you that his words are poison. You cling desperately to the scrap of reason within you which recognizes that his claims are atrocious—that it is Celebrimbor who forced Sauron to torment him, that he is the true author of his own torment. You watch in disbelief, feeling as though you’re falling through the floor, waiting for your father to refute Sauron’s lies as if hearing the truth spoken out loud will save you from shattering to pieces at the bottom of the abyss.

And you can tell he wants to. There is defiance in Celebrimbor’s eyes as he glances to you, the fire of his will still burning beneath the burden of his torment. But, slowly and surely, he tames it. Averts his gaze in shame.

“Very well,” your father says. “Give me the blame. Punish me as you see fit. You have already taken my city. But I beg you,” his voice trembles, tears gathering in his eyes, “let my daughter leave.”

A smirk tugs at Sauron’s lips. “Your daughter...” He returns to your side, gathering your stiff hand in his and thumbing your wedding ring. “...is my wife, Celebrimbor. It is only natural that she should remain at my side.”

You and Celebrimbor exchange a despairing glance. Your father, determined to plea for your freedom—you, fearing the consequences he might bring upon himself.

“Please—”

“Father, don’t—”

“No!” he cries out. “I all but pushed you into his arms.” Tears slip from his regret-filled eyes. “That is my fault.”

Sauron takes a seat next to you, his brow furrowed as if he couldn’t possibly grasp the reason for such grievances.

“She has given herself to me freely,” he says, your hand still trapped in his as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Have you not?”

You glare daggers at him.

“How could I have chosen you freely, when I never knew who you were?” you hiss. It does nothing to deter him.

“Why do you lie to yourself? You knew.” You shake your head. He nods his, insisting, “Yes. Deep within your heart, you knew.”

“Don’t say such things to her,” Celebrimbor pleads, “I beg you—”

“Such things as the truth, Celebrimbor?” Sauron asks roughly, irritated by the interruption. “Tell him, my dear wife,” he challenges, “that you never once suspected I was more than what I claimed to be. That you never felt the caress of darkness within my touch.”

You cannot look at him, or at your father. You cannot speak those words, however desperately you wish you could.

“Tell him,” Sauron insists cruelly, squeezing your hand to the point of near pain.

“I did,” you murmur miserably. Sauron loosens his threatening grip on your hand, pleased.

“Yet even as you cried yourself to sleep in fear of it,” he goes on, “it was within my arms that you took comfort. Because, in truth, you were not afraid of who I was—you were afraid of how little it mattered to you.” A last spark of defiance drives you to make the mistake of meeting his gaze, and his sickly sympathetic smile makes you shudder within his hold. “He needed to create,” he reasons. “You needed to be desired. And I needed you both.”

His arm is no longer around you, but the relief is meager and short-lived as he then cups your cheek, thumb catching the tears that have begun to fall from your eyes. He insists to hold his hand there as you flinch, screwing your eyes shut. A small sigh leaves him.

“Have I not treated you well?” he asks. “Was I not kind to you when you most needed it? A caring husband, a most... generous lover?”

“Hold your wicked tongue!” you all but growl, your head jerking with enough force that he retracts his hand. Your eyes fly to Celebrimbor, and see that he has shut his in great pain. Shame crawls under your skin. Sauron smiles in a mockery of bashfulness.

“Forgive me for speaking of such matters before your father, but it is only the truth. You must admit that. And it need not change.”

His hand returns to your cheek then, pressed more firmly to it, and you only now realize it’s the one he cut. You feel a warm wetness on your skin, and know that once he removes it, his blood, black as the pitch, would be smeared there, marking you even further as his.

“The Rings are nearly finished,” you say through gritted teeth. “You never truly desired me. What more use could you have of me?”

“Who says I never desired you?” he whispers, almost as if wounded. “I would not have made you my wife, if it hadn’t been my wish to make you my Queen as well.”

His voice is so alluring, so saccharine and familiar to your ears, it takes everything in you to remind yourself that every word is a lie. And if you grasp at reason, you can tell why he speaks them. Because of your involvement in making the Rings, you would always have some measure of influence over them, so it serves him well to have you under his control. But not only that. He would relish knowing he has subdued you to his will. That he not only ensnared the mind of the greatest of Elven smiths, but also claimed his daughter as his prize.

A storm brews in Sauron’s eyes as he senses your persisting reluctance. His fingers grip your chin, pulling you close so that his breath falls on your cheek as he speaks.

“You will say yes to me once more.”

You hate how determined he is to make it so. You hate how helpless you are to do anything other than glare back at him.

But what you hate the most is that you are not certain he is wrong.

i can’t believe how good this is oml 😫 and your writing?? it’s perfect. just everything wow

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.

════════════

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.

bound

⋆˙⟡ sauron x fem!elf!reader (witch) ⟡˙⋆

summary: reader is captured from the comfort of her home to serve the Dark Lord, Morgoth. his loyal servant lures her further into darkness

warnings: some fighting, but nothing really

word count: 2,3k

author’s note: i had an idea in my mind for weeks now and really wanted to write a witch!reader but i’m not sure how it will turn out if i start writing more for it. consider it a one shot for now

The chains dug mercilessly into your neck and wrists, every movement reminded you that you would not be so easily free. You cursed yourself for being so reckless, for becoming too careless, too comfortable in your own home. He needed a healer or so they said when they stormed in the middle of the night and dragged you away from Greenwood. Your body covered in wounds, dried blood clinging to your clothes as they threw you into a cell and laughed as they left.

You were aware of who Morgoth was, how could you not? Forodwaith was a fortress that not many dared to cross into and not many managed to leave unharmed. Every fight, every battle you tended to him, much to your dislike. He nearly killed you the first time you refused and left you unconscious for days from one single blow. The next time you didn’t fight back, you told yourself it would be easier to stay compliant until the opportunity arose and after centuries of waiting it did.

Morgoth was defeated, you should rejoice, then why didn’t you? Years of torment left you numb and still chained in your cell with no light of hope for freedom.

You awaited your end and as the last bit of light shone into your cell you heard it, an orc staggering through the halls, his steps uneven as if he drank too much ale, and perhaps he did. You move to the shadows and wait, your hand lingers by the bars as the orc passes through, one precise cut is all it takes for him to stumble onto the ground.

Your hand holds a bone, carved to a sharp point and for a split second, you think back to that faithful day when it landed in your cell. Months it took you to carve it, your nails broken, your hand cut by the many stones you used to chip away piece by piece at it.

The orc crawls to you but you drive the weapon into his neck, his scream dies as it pierces his throat, you grab the set of keys at his side and retreat your weapon. You unlock the cell and your chains, a breath of relief goes through you as the weight is lifted but your moment of joy has to wait, you’re not free yet.

You toss the orc into your cell and hide him in the shadows, his legs peeking in the light, a small diversion should anyone look for you. You grab his weapons and lock the cell, you step quietly on the stone and hear an orc at the end of the path, you hide in the shadows but they do nothing to shield you from his view.

The orc attacks you and another joins, you stumble back as he kicks you in the stomach and you duck to avoid his blade. Your eyes flash with anger as you cut at his calves and stab him from behind, the other orc receives a dagger thrown at his head, both of them land with a thud. A moment passes as you compose yourself when you hear the orcs coming to inspect the noise.

You do your best to hide and cover yourself with a piece of fabric that was tossed on the floor, a foolish hideout but your mind did not cooperate how you wanted it to.

Morgoth took whatever rational thinking you had left and shattered it to pieces, he prided himself that a Silvan Elf could be so easily broken.

The orcs leave and you walk away as quietly as you can. The halls continue to stretch as you walk down and you hear a voice and chatter of orcs, you realize it’s the throne room but where Morgoth usually stood, another took his place, his most loyal servant. You hear him before you see him as you take a glance from the column that shields you on the gallery.

“For I seek a new kind of power.” his voice commands in the place but you see his hands fidgeting slightly. “Not of the flesh, but over flesh. A power of the unseen world.” you scoff under your breath.

Those were your words.

As you laid in your cage he visited you, a strange occurrence it was as no one has talked with you in centuries. Not a real conversation at least.

“I see why he has kept you around.” he says as he strides towards your cell. The cut that previously adorned his face now completely healed. “No healer of his has ever survived that long.”

You do not answer, your mouth too dry to fire back any response. He had no orders to come to you, his curiosity got the best of him for he knew you were not simply a Silvan Elf, something else resided in you, something that he could use.

“It is not very often that an Elf would separate from their people… I wonder what caused your decision for such an act?” he says and you look up at him, his red hair neatly combed, not a mess you saw after the orc brought him to you.

“Why did you let Morgoth corrupt you?” you ask suddenly and he arches an eyebrow in amusement.

“She speaks.” he responds. “What makes you think he corrupted me?”

“You used to serve Aulë, the very smith of the Valar. How can one turn to darkness so swiftly?”

He waits before he speaks. “Shouldn’t you know?” a breath catches in your throat, for that single question makes you rethink some of your choices. It’s no secret to why you left, you have all but became a whisper on their tongues, a passing shadow.

No respected Elf should dabble in the dark arts.

“You may have reached for it but you do not know how freeing it can be once you let it in completely.” he responds and you walk closer to the bars that separate you. Your hands rest on the cold iron as he steps closer. He takes a longer look at you but you don’t avert his gaze. “You could be free of this.” he taps the chains around your wrists. “You could be more than just a Silvan Elf, cast out by their own.”

Your lips part to speak but he leaves as quickly as he arrived, leaving you to ponder over his words.

Oropher knew you’d grown too accustomed to studying it, your hands reflected it as they grew darker at your fingertips. He saw how quick to anger you’ve become over the simplest things and had no choice but to cast you out. People started to talk.

The balance in his kingdom could not be disrupted so quickly.

Solitude has become your friend in the long years, the trees surrounding you a solace and the spiders crawling over your head an omen for the Elves. They knew you practiced magic, but even the smallest dip into the dark had set the pond to ripple through. The spiders ran down from the north and near the Elvenking’s Halls, leaving webs and plundering the forest ever so slightly.

It’s a few months later when he appears before your cell again. He’s been known to seek you out every now and then.

Morgoth never knew that his loyal servant would spend his time in front of your cage.

You don’t hide in the shadows this time and walk closer. He studies you again, his gaze unyielding as much as yours. Morgoth took his time tormenting you and yet you stand without a trace of any pain, you’ve learned to hide it well.

“Have you come to gloat?” you ask him. He was there as his master placed wounds on your body, carved marks into it to condemn you, should you ever return to the Elves. He shakes his head.

“Believe me, I did not take pride in witnessing it.”

You’re surprised. “Does your wretched soul have a heart?” you ask with a hint of sarcasm. You’d be a fool to believe a word out of his mouth and yet you feel a hidden intention beneath it. “What do you want?”

He places his hands on the bars. “You come rather quick to anger.” he exclaims.

“So you’ve come to lecture me.”

“No, no. I would not dare.” he raises his arms as if in surrender. He lets his hand fall and he grabs your chains, he traces the iron before his fingertips go over the blackened fingertips, you feel a quick sting under your finger and notice he drew your blood. You look at him with a question. After a moment he asks the one thing that has been on his mind. “Have you considered my offer?”

You look down at your hand and the blood as you heal yourself. “Is that what you call it?”

“You and I are not so different.” he begins. “Both lured by the darkness, bound to it whether in this life or the next.” his eyes watch you as you use your magic and he smiles softly. It’s a strange sight coming from him but you suppose it goes hand in hand with his twisted nature.

“I did not chose it. I did not want it.” you lie and make yourself believe in the truth of your words.

“Then how did it come to being in your life, hm? Surely you must have sought it out, any scroll, any passage in a book that could help you understand it.”

“Hold your tongue.” you warn him.

“I think you did want it. You craved it, in fact.” he says and whispers. “You could have the world at your fingertips, within your reach. No Elvenking to ever exile you again.” his voice grows softer as he says it and a part of you wants to believe him.

“You’d make me a tyrant.”

He shakes his head. “No, not a tyrant.” his words are left hanging in the air.

You step closer until you reach the bars, he doesn’t step back. “And if I agree, what then? I’ll have the power of the unseen world but what of the lives of others?”

“It will be in your path to decide what you should do with them. A power over a world you would see fit.”

You laugh and turn away from him. It dies down as you mutter to yourself, the bit of your mind that Morgoth has twisted makes itself known. “A power over flesh.”

He tilts his head as he listens, he knows you could be a valuable ally to his scheme, you simply need a little persuasion. “You’ll be at peace once you let it in.” he leaves you once again with his words echoing in your mind. No use of the dark magic takes toll on your body, even if it’s a quick spell your mind yearns for the familiar warmth of it.

His words don’t leave you for days.

Peace.

Something you haven’t felt in a long time. Could it be the answer?

“Doubt me at your peril.” he says and after a moment an orc attacks him. He stabs him in the eye once, for a split second he observes before plunging it into him again and again until the orc lays dead on the ground. You look down at Sauron as Adar comes with Morgoth’s crown, he looks up at it and his eyes wander to the place where you stand. You hide behind the column and hear the roar of orcs, you look down to see them attacking Sauron, the black blood pools around him and you use the commotion to run to the exit, no orc sees you, no one follows as you run through the land with your feet bare.

You run as fast as your legs are able to take you and a blast from the fortress knocks you down. When you come to it you see the snow and ice surrounding the area.

It came from the fortress. You feel a pang in your chest and hear a passing whisper in the back of your mind. You think nothing of it but a part of you wants to return and see for yourself.

You shake your head from the thought and begin to march forward.

As you walk through Forodwaith you reach a road, despite being miles away from your prison the snow covers all land and now it makes you wonder if it could be Sauron’s doing. You don’t get to think over it as a searing pain goes through your head, stronger than before.

Your knees buckle underneath you as you cradle your head, trying to make the pain go away. You don’t feel the ground when you fall unconscious.

Softness is the first thing you notice as you come back to it. The light shines through the balcony and the curtains flow in the wind, a familiar face sits by the bed. Her voice is muffled in your ears when she calls your name.

“We have all thought you were gone.”

You sit up on the bed as you take a look at Galadriel. You cough and rub at your eyes. “I would not be so easily killed, Commander.” you look around the room and notice the guards at the door. You look to Galadriel and her gaze is sorrowful.

You knew this day would come, Oropher made sure of it that every Elf was made aware of you.

A witch.

An Elf who was seduced by the dark magic. You hide your hands within the long sleeves of your dress. It is then that you notice the torn clothes you wore for years are gone.

You sigh and get out of the bed. “Lead away.” you say and you follow her through Lindon. You see the looks the Elves give you, the whispers where the word “Morgoth” lands on their tongue with such ease.

Lindon is ever beautiful as you remembered. Trees soaring around you, birds flying above you. And yet you feel the sickness that lies upon the land.

You look up as you reach the Great Tree and notice the black veins curling around some leafs. You give a short nod to the High King but his expression is ever so serious.

You dread his judgment.

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

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.

════════════

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 my good lord—

Theatrics (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which Celebrimbor tries to expose you and your husband to the people of Eregion, but you play the role of the innocent maiden to perfection

Warnings: evil!reader, murder, manipulation, mentions of wounds, smut, light choking, blood licking, fingering, p in v, slight roleplay, slight voyeurism kink

Note: part of the evil!reader collection of fics. okay I finally said fuck it and wrote smut *throws it into the wild and runs away*

Mature content below the cut—minors DNI!!!

Chaos roars around you as you step out into what were once the beautiful streets of Eregion. Walls are crumbling, arrows are flying, Elves are scurrying about every which way.

You suppress a smile. All is going according to plan. But what pleases you even more is that at long, long last, the moment which you had been most eager to savour has finally come to pass.

Celebrimbor has learned the truth.

No more tiptoeing around him, playing the unassuming Elven smith. No more taking orders from him, no more assisting him, no more pretending like you are anywhere close to kind and innocent and sweet.

Well, with him, at least. But he is the one you had most strived to fool, ever since you came to Eregion all those years ago, not knowing how long you would have to endure the life you would craft for yourself there until your husband regained his form. When the moment came that you were finally able to stand at your husband’s side in the crumbled forge as Celebrimbor realized who ‘Annatar’ was and what you were to him, when you took in the horror in his eyes as he pointed accusingly to your beloved’s pitch black blood only to watch you lick it hungrily off his hand instead of running in terror...

It nearly made up for all the times the words ‘my lord’ had tasted foul on your lips, spoken to the smith in false submission. You serve no one but your husband—and even that can hardly be called service, when he serves you in return with equal devotion.

You wonder how much of a fool Celebrimbor will have already made of himself even before you find him, wherever he has run off to in the wake of his terrible realization. You and your husband had ensured that by the time Celebrimbor manages to speak against you, all ears would be shut to his words. The Elves once loyal to him now believe him fatigued to incoherency at best, dangerous in his madness at worst. When you had last emerged from the forge, it had been crying and holding a bloody hand, claiming that Celebrimbor had brought Fëanor’s hammer down upon it in a moment of cruel impatience with your work. An illusion, of course, conjured by the part of your husband’s power which lives within you. You have bandaged that hand now, mindful to keep up the charade.

You make sure to fill your eyes with as much dread as any other Elf’s as you run through the chaos, searching for Celebrimbor. Your husband is out here as well, but not with you—it would serve you better to arrive separately for this little special occasion.

By the time you find Celebrimbor on the rampart, he is already quite the pitiful sight—he and Mirdania stand near a section of the parapet which had been wrecked by an Orc boulder, leaving it horribly easy to fall over the edge through the resulting gap. He is screaming at Mirdania that she has to believe him, over and over. She eyes him warily, drawing ever so slightly away, no doubt unsettled to find herself in the proximity of such a disturbed individual and a dangerous fall, all at once. Of all the Elves he could have run to, it had to be the one most taken with your husband’s charms. Oh, this is too perfect.

“My Lord, there you are!” you exclaim. His eyes widen in horror at the sight of you. Yours are awash with concern as you reach for his arm. “It really is not safe for you to be out here—”

Celebrimbor recoils, so violently he nearly knocks Mirdania off her feet as he stumbles into her. She yelps, rushing to your side instead.

“Don’t you dare come near me, you witch!” Celebrimbor spits out, jaw trembling as he yells at the guards, “Seize her!”

You don’t need to see your own face to know you have made it into the perfect picture of confusion and hurt. You exchange a glance with the guard closest to you, Captain Malendol. You’ve shared some laughs over the years, the occasional friendly conversation, even a dance or two at celebrations and the ever-so-subtle flirtation under the supposed influence of a wine glass or two. He likes you quite well, if you do say so yourself. Which makes the bafflement on his face, unlike yours, genuine.

Celebrimbor swallows painfully as realization dawns on him—his own guards no longer obey him. “She is no friend of yours,” he insists, “she never has been! She—”

The words die in his throat when he catches a glimpse of your husband. He has finally joined you, silently making his appearance on the steps behind Celebrimbor, and now the smith is effectively caught between the two of you, even if the trap is utterly invisible to those around you.

“Seize him,” Celebrimbor scrambles to order, “seize them both.”

Malendol stays put. All eyes around Celebrimbor regard him with nothing but sympathy.

“He is Sauron,” he claims desperately, as truthful an attempt as it is fruitless. “Seize them! They have been lying to you all along.”

“No,” Mirdania shakes her head at your side. “Lord Annatar has been protecting us.”

“While you’ve been in your tower, giving orders that might have been the end of us all,” Malendol adds reproachfully.

You allow yourself the slightest raise of a gloating eyebrow, visible only from the angle of Celebrimbor and your husband. As intended, it fuels the rageful despair in the smith’s eyes.

“No,” he all but pleads to be believed. “No, that was him. He is Sauron! And she...” he points a finger which trembles with anger at you, “His foul lover! His depraved mistress! I saw it! Before my eyes, she tasted his blood as if in some... deranged coupling ritual!”

“By the Valar,” you breathe out, swaying on your feet. Such vulgar words would weaken the knees of a faint-hearted maiden. So, accordingly, you begin to fall in Mirdania’s direction, leaving her to scramble into a hasty attempt at holding you upright. Malendol is at your other side in an instant, helping her to support you with a firm arm around your waist.

“My Lord, please,” Malendol says, appalled. “She has been a loyal friend to us for a long time, one who cares for you greatly. How can you say such degrading words about her?”

“Was it not enough,” you burst out tearfully, holding up your bandaged hand, “that you crushed my fingers with Fëanor’s hammer? I believed it to be an accident, but... To have you question my virtue as well...?”

You dissolve into sobs. Your supposedly wounded hand flies to cover your face. The other one, Malendol takes in his, endlessly sympathetic.

The briefest brush of your husband’s mind through the bond you share tells you that the captain is unlikely to survive the siege.

A chuckle bursts from Celebrimbor’s throat, the sound of one driven to insanity. It is funny. All of it. The trouble for him is that you, your husband and Celebrimbor are the only ones who get the joke. And the poor smith is the butt of it.

“Let not yourselves be fooled by her false tears,” he strives, in vain, to convince them. “She has no shame, no care for any of us! Her heart is black—black as his blood.” He turns to your husband as if in sudden realization. “His blood... Cut him open!” he orders. “Look at his hand, see for yourselves!”

He’s nearly gleeful as he says it, genuinely believing he has found the answer to ending his torment. Some of the pity in your eyes is genuine as you look at him with the same dismayed expression as the others’. Your husband knits his brow, as innocent as ever—and lifts his hand to reveal a cut smeared with what appears to the others as utterly natural, perfectly ordinary red blood.

Any trace of hope is drained from Celebrimbor’s eyes. He stares, wordless, jaw quivering as your husband speaks in that calm and composed tone of his.

“You may speak of me as you wish, Celebrimbor. But I will not have you besmirch a kind Elf maiden’s honor, even out of frailty of mind,” says with great sadness Annatar, the divine messenger who has most certainly never laid one pristine finger upon your most demure self. “Please,” he addresses the guards, “escort him back to the forge.”

But the guards exchange glances, hesitating. It was one thing taking orders from your husband when it came to defending the city, but it appears they do not yet dare lay hands on their supposed true lord. They are very close, though, merely in need of the slightest nudge over the edge. Such as a word from their captain, but Malendol wavers, just as torn. Ensuring that you are indeed steady on your feet, he releases you and lays a hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip as if to ready himself, but hesitates to give the order. You exchange a nervous glance with Mirdania, who is still at your side, hands on your arm.

A nudge... over... the edge.

You wouldn’t even need the bond between your minds to know that you and your husband are thinking the exact same brilliantly awful thing.

You release a shuddering breath, leaning on Mirdania only the slightest bit more. At once, her hold on you tightens reassuringly.

“Come,” she says, beginning to tug you away, “let us get you some water.”

You nod, visibly grateful to follow her. You halt after a couple of steps, however, just as you are passing Celebrimbor, and turn to him as if with sudden determination. At your back stand Mirdania, a gap in the wall and the field of raging Orcs below, and before you is the smith glaring daggers filled with more disdain than you even imagined he possessed. You meet that scornful gaze with nothing but a pained smile.

“I forgive you, you know,” you murmur, only just loud enough for the guards to catch your words as well. “Get better soon, my dear friend.”

Whether it’s your words, imbued with such sickly saccharine affection, or the hand you lay upon his shoulder with utmost gentleness, Celebrimbor loses his last shred of restraint.

“Get your hands off me!” he roars.

It happens quickly, much too quick for anyone to notice exactly what occurred (as was, of course, your intention). Celebrimbor shoves you away with all his strength, causing you to crash into Mirdania, and—perhaps she might have been able to catch herself, if not for the flick of your husband’s wrist which makes her trip over her feet and tumble over the edge of the rampart, screaming all the way down into the Orc-riddled mud field below.

You certainly possess the power to keep your own balance, but you still yelp and stagger through the couple of backward steps that have you nearly slipping off the edge as well. Malendol, however, manages to catch you in the nick of time, as you had seen he was already desperately rushing to do. He yanks you toward him, and you collide with his chest only for your legs to play the part of finally giving out. The heroic captain keeps his hold on you as you crumble to the ground, hyperventilating.

Celebrimbor’s “No!” rings out as he stares down at the fallen Mirdania, but she is just as lost as any sympathy the guards still held for him. You scramble on your hands and knees to look over the edge just in time to see an Orc bring a hatchet down upon her, and shriek her name as you burst yet again into sobs. You keep them coming, loud and miserable, as Malendol helps you to your feet and you fall into his arms with enough force to push him a few steps back, burying your face in his neck.

Discreetly glancing over your shoulder, you see your husband speaking with Celebrimbor. But so loud are your cries, and so intent is Malendol on offering you words of comfort over them, that the others cannot hear their trusted Lord Annatar strip Celebrimbor of the last of his fight with a final threat. Finish the Nine, and I will spare your city.

This time, when your husband turns to the guards and repeats, “Escort him to the forge, please!” they comply without question.

It’s only once Celebrimbor is out of sight that you begin to quiet your sobs, pulling away from Malendol.

“It’s all right,” he comforts you, releasing you from his embrace but still resting his hands on your arms. “He shall trouble you no longer.”

“He meant to throw me over that wall,” you whisper, voice laced with terrible guilt. “Poor Mirdania died because of me!”

Your husband is standing a few feet away, gazing sorrowfully down to where Mirdania lies dead. He had, after all, made his preference of her quite apparent to the others. It would seem odd if he did not spare a moment to mourn.

“No, not because of you,” Malendol insists. “It was but the doing of Lord Celebrimbor’s troubled mind. You must not hold yourself responsible for anything he has done or said.”

“What he said... Oh, what he said!” you whisper, mortified, and lean closer to Malendol as if to conceal your words from your husband, “How am I to face Lord Annatar now?”

“Please,” your husband speaks, and you turn as if startled to find him coming to you with a most sympathetic gaze. “You have not the slightest reason to be ashamed. I only regret that you had to endure such vile accusations, and witness such tragedy. You must not blame yourself for it.”

“Such is her nature, my Lord,” Malendol says, his hand now at the small of your back in a gesture of kind support. “Of all the Elves in Eregion, she is least deserving of such scorn, and suffers the most for it.”

Oh. Between embracing you as you cried on his shoulder and the sheer affection in his voice as he sings you praises, he might as well have gone for a little tea with the Orcs, too. Forget the whole siege—now you doubt your husband will let him survive the hour.

Lord Annatar, however, offers the captain a most gracious smile.

“Thank you, captain,” he says, “for being a most loyal friend when your friendship was most needed. I shall see to it that your honourable deeds are well rewarded.”

Malendol bows his head respectfully, blissfully unaware that his ‘reward’ will very much resemble Mirdania’s.

“Performing one’s moral duty is a reward in itself, my lord. Come,” he turns to you, “let us bring you to safety.”

“No,” your husband says—a fraction of a second too quickly. The slip is much too brief to be caught and the recovery utterly seamless. “You are needed in battle, Captain Malendol. I shall see to it that she makes it safely back inside.”

Malendol exchanges a glance with you, and upon your slight nod, he says, “Of course.” As if on a sudden impulse, he turns to face you, taking your hand in his.

“Fear not, my friend. We shall prevail,” he vows. And leaves a gallant kiss on your knuckles before he takes his leave.

It’s all you can do to school your expression as you are left alone with your husband—well, ‘alone’ in the sense that no one’s focus is trained on you at the moment, but you can hardly risk one of the soldiers catching a glimpse of your triumphant smile when you had gone through so much trouble to earn their sympathy. As such, you meet your husband’s composed gaze with a somewhat shy one, quickly lowering your eyes as though you do not dare hold it for long.

He does not speak a word as he walks you back into the tower, never once attempts to place even so much as a guiding hand at the small of your back. There is the sound of destruction around you, the screams of Elves, but loudest in your mind is the tumultuous blend of emotions within your bond. So proud, so satisfied, so hungry for each other the high of victory in your wicked plans has made you, the very air thrums with the vibrancy of it.

And as if that was not potent enough, there is also that sweet possessive ire you love to rouse within each other, even when you are well aware that no being in existence could ever truly come between you. For them, to merely glance in longing at one of you is a death sentence from you both. Mirdania had sought out your husband’s touch, Malendol had dared embrace in comfort one who belongs solely in her husband’s arms. It matters not that they were allowed, even led into it. When you and your husband play such games, collateral damage is a given.

The moment you are inside the tower, you expect some kind of climax to the tension—you are most eager to be ravaged by its force, whether he should devour your lips to celebrate your flawless performance or crowd you against the wall to thoroughly replace the captain’s innocent touches with his ruinous ones.

But he does neither. He remains as impassive as though you are still being watched. Provoking you into lighting the fuse of the impending explosion yourself. Very well, then. You shall do so gladly.

“Pity about Mirdania, though,” you remark nonchalantly as you ascend the steps to the forge. “I would have liked to see her face when she realized the object of her little infatuation was the Dark Lord himself.”

“Fear not, my love,” your husband says, eerily calm and without looking back as he walks ahead of you. “We shall soon have the pleasure of a similar realization on Captain Malendol’s face, right before I run him through with his own sword.”

Unseen by him, you smirk.

“Well, he was rather eager to save my life,” you goad. “Perhaps he has earned the privilege to die in blissful ignorance after all.”

Only your footsteps fill the following silence until you reach the top of the stairs. You’ve barely climbed the last step when he turns around and—you yelp as your husband quite literally sweeps you off your feet, whisking you bridal style towards your bedchamber, instead of the forge. A giggle escapes you as you cling to him, quite pleased with the reaction you have elicited.

“Tell me, my love,” he says, kicking the door shut behind you, “what need have you of a common Elf captain to save you from falling,” you are unceremoniously released onto the bed, with your husband climbing over you not a moment later, “when you are bound to one of the Maiar who would sooner destroy the foundations of the earth than let you slip from his grasp?”

His hand is sliding up your thigh, lifting your dress on its way. He is a Maia possessed, caught between the high of triumph and the thrill of the chase at which you two so like to play, and you can hardly think of a witty answer when his fingers are only a breath away from where your flesh aches for his touch the most.

But a wicked thought prevails, and you shove him away with all your might. Still, it’s the shock of it rather than your force which knocks him to the side, allowing you to scramble off the bed. It’s almost comical, the half-confused, half-enraged look he gives you.

“Lord Annatar!” you gasp, ostentatiously doe-eyed and quite scandalized as you smooth down your dress in haste. “Surely you do not mean to lure me into some... ‘deranged coupling ritual’?” A little smile flashes through your little act while you savour Celebrimbor’s earlier words on your tongue. “And in the midst of a siege as well!”

You back away from him with slow, tantalizing steps, watching in delight as his gaze darkens in a deliciously sensual threat.

“You loved it, didn’t you?” he says, standing from the bed to walk towards you with all the patient grace of a wolf stalking prey. “Acting the innocent little maiden. Prone to fainting at the merest... suggestion of impropriety.”

His strides are larger than yours, and before long he is close enough to surge forward, swiftly closing the distance between you and grabbing hold of your neck with his blood-coated hand. You gasp as your back suddenly hits the wall, closer than you had realized it was, leaving you pinned between the cool stone and your husband’s body. Your hands fly to his wrist and his lips hover close to yours, teasing you with the promise of a kiss. You chase it just to be cruelly deceived as he evades your mouth, a wicked smile upon his as he lightly but decidedly pushes your head back against the wall.

“Be grateful, my innocent little smith, that there is a siege,” he says in a lurid whisper, releasing your throat to bunch up the skirt of your dress with both hands, “for your fellow Elves are far too distracted to hear you fall apart beneath my touch.” Your undergarments are pushed to the side, and you are so wound up that even the maddeningly light press of his fingers between your legs draws a loud whimper from you. Your husband leans into your ear as you shut your eyes, hips helplessly chasing the slow little circles he makes around your aching bud. “I should hate for anyone to ‘question your virtue’.”

His tongue makes a mockery of your own words from earlier, just before you feel its warmth at the hollow of your throat. You arch your neck as he licks upwards, long and slow, towards your jaw, gathering the blackness his wounded hand had smeared onto your skin. That same hand is now splayed over your rampant heart, holding you down as you fist your hands in the fabric of his garments and writhe with the pleasure he languidly stokes between your thighs. He kisses you, and when his tongue plunges past your lips, your mouth fills with the sweetly metallic taste of his blood, more intoxicating than the strongest liquor. You moan, long and wanton, whining for the firmer, faster, deeper touch he is withholding.

Your husband chuckles. It infuriates you.

“Oh, but you loved it too, didn’t you? When he—ah!” You suck in a sharp breath as he slips two long fingers inside you. Your wetness makes it easy, your body welcoming the familiar intrusion with nigh unbearable delight. It takes great willpower not to shut your eyes, to hold his gaze as he curls his fingers expertly, right where he knows it feels the most divine. “Did you not like it when he called me yours?” you insist, breathlessly. “Did you not want to show them yourself?”

If possible, his eyes darken even further, and his fingers pump inside you with more vigour. “Had it not been utterly counterproductive to our purpose,” he says, voice low and gruff, “I would have taken you right there upon the rampart and proved him right.”

The image is so sudden and vivid before your eyes, it pulls a pitiful mewl from your throat.

“I would have let you,” you gasp, and crush your lips to his with desperate abandon. “I want them to know.”

A guttural sound escapes his throat, and all of a sudden he withdraws his fingers, leaving you achingly empty. You think your legs might give out if it weren’t for his firm hold on you as he pulls you to the nearby window, twisting you around so that your back is against him and you plant your hands on the waist-level windowsill for support.

“Look,” he rasps out in your ear. “Do you see our soon-to-be army, my love? The very first of our devoted subjects?”

In the distance, Orcs holler crude names at each other, ready battle devices, send an endless rain of arrows over the walls of Eregion. It isn’t a pretty sight, but the terror it strikes in the hearts of their enemies and their power of destruction shall be wielded by you and your husband in the near future—and that is no small thing.

You nod, letting the thought sink in and add to the onslaught of elation already driving you wild. Your husband coils one arm around your stomach as the other wraps around your throat once more and he pulls you into him. Your bare folds meet his clothed erection, and you push back against him with a wanton moan, desperate for the friction.

“They shall be followed by Men,” he continues, rutting against you with animalistic greed, “and Dwarves, and Elves, until every single soul in Middle-Earth has been brought to their knees to worship at the feet of their King and Queen. Then, we shall at long last stand together before them all.”

“A love greater than ever was or ever will be,” you say, high-pitched and breathless, as if you are repeating words you have told yourself a thousand times. “All shall aspire to be us, yet none shall succeed.”

You are released abruptly. You hear the shuffle of fabrics, and sure enough, the swollen tip of him is soon nudging at your entrance.

“And how beautiful you shall be, my love,” your husband whispers, the sheer reverence in his voice a stark contrast to his lurid words, “with a crown upon your head, and my cock buried deep within you.”

He slides in to the hilt, quick and powerful, and you cry out. You could take him a million times, in a million different ways, and yet the perfect fit would never cease to steal your breath. He withdraws only to thrust back in, then again, setting a punishing rhythm which is nearly enough to obliterate any semblance of coherent thought from your mind. It would be so easy to let him plough into you just like this until you come undone, yet you crave something else. More.

“Wait,” you plead, planting a hand onto his hip to push him away. “Let me... let me...”

He does, letting himself slip from you with a rueful grunt. You turn to face him on unsteady legs, to look upon his face as you had so longed to—the only reason which had given you the will to interrupt your pleasure as you did. Your eyes never leave his as you seat yourself upon the windowsill, lifting your skirts once more. “I want all that,” you confess as he nestles his hips between your spread legs. “But I want you more.” He groans as you stroke his length, then guide the weeping tip back to your entrance. “I want it with you, or not at all.”

Your voice is so thin, it nearly chokes out at the end, your chest constricted with emotion—with the fear of being forced to let go as you have been before, always present in the deepest corner of your hearts. Something flickers in your husband’s gaze, the same anguish which wrenches at your soul.

“My love,” he breathes out the words as though they are the last thread by which his very existence hangs. “My love,” he vows and prays and fiercely claims as he nestles himself in your tight heat once more. You don’t know which sinks deeper into you—his swollen cock or the look in his eyes, which remain devastatingly locked with yours as he joins your flesh. Perhaps there is some innocence left in you to be ruined after all, for so raw and disarmed you are left by this union, tears spring in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. Your husband gathers them with his lips and tongue as he rocks into you anew, far from gentle but less brutal than before, with deep, long thrusts that leave you too weak to sit up if it weren’t for his arms holding you to him.

Outside, the battle rages on. Inside, you fight to prolong this, to wring every last drop of the sweet torment that is your ascent to the peak of your pleasure. You lay a hand over your husband’s heart, feeling it hammer on in tandem with yours as he drives into you with increasing urgency. You are reduced to a string of incoherent mewls as you bury your face in your husband’s neck, mindlessly licking and biting at his skin.

His sounds of pleasure are less loud, but much deeper as they reverberate beneath your lips. You want more—so you fist your hand in his hair, with no mercy for the carefully-crafted bow at the back of his head. Crafted by you, on a playful whim the very morning before the siege began—he’d teased and claimed you were sure to ruin your own work the next time he would bed you. You don’t even think of that now, consumed by pleasure as you tug and pull with abandon, feeling the fair tresses come apart beneath your fingers. It drives your husband even wilder with lust than he already was, and he grabs your face to devour your lips as he spirals closer to his release.

Your own takes over you in an abrupt instant, right as your husband reaches between you to rub your swollen bud above where you are joined. You sob into his mouth, trembling as your hips thrash in a confused attempt to both escape and chase the unbearable height of pleasure thrust upon you.

Your husband fucks you through it, pulling you close and cooing in your ear, calling you his and ‘love’ and all sorts of adoring things in Black Speech through his own heavy breaths. Your name falls from his lips in a ragged moan as he finds his pleasure, and you feel it echo through your bond with nearly as much power as your own. His seed will not take unless he wills it so, and neither of you wish for that, but you still clench around him longingly, greedy to draw every last drop of him as deep within yourself as possible, because it is him. You’d spend each second of your life with him inside of you, if not for the impracticality of it.

Once spent, your husband remains as he is, simply holding you to him. He cradles your head in his hands, pressing sweet kisses to your hair, and you are too weak to do anything but sag against him whilst you regain your breath.

“Why, Lord Annatar,” you whisper, smiling tiredly, “I’m starting to suspect you might have impure intentions towards me after all.”

He gives a soft chuckle, pulling away to look at you. “Whatever gave you that idea, my lady?”

The innocuous words are followed by your husband gently withdrawing himself from you, leaving a great, leaking mess between your legs. The only response you can give is a soft groan as his fingers gather some of his spend from your sensitive folds, and gently press it back inside of you where it belongs. With a small, satisfied hum, he steps away to tuck himself back into his garments. You press your legs together, sighing contently at the delightful ache left in the aftermath of your lovemaking.

“However will you keep up this innocent act of yours,” your husband muses, “now that I shall be dripping down your beautiful thighs with every step you take?”

“Please,” you say coyly, standing up and fixing your dress as though your undergarments are not soaked beyond hope beneath it, and your legs don’t still feel a bit unsteady. “I’ve managed before.”

He smiles knowingly. “Indeed, you have.” He pulls you close by the waist, as if you haven’t just parted from one another. “Always so eager to wear me,” he praises, and there is nothing insincere about your flustered little smile now. It’s true that you delight in wearing what he gives you, whether it be his spend nestled between your legs or a less secretive gift. Which reminds you of the gift you had given him to wear. You lay a hand on his cheek and coax him to turn his head silghtly, pouting when you glimpse the mess of tangled tresses you have made in his hair.

“You were right,” you admit, somewhat regretful, “I did ruin the bow.”

“Like the merciless creature that you are,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. When you pull back, his appearance has already been restored. It isn’t quite as meaningful, now that his power did the work instead of your hands, but you suppose you’ve been gone long enough already. Now that your hunger for each other has been sated, your husband shares that sentiment.

“Come, now,” he says, taking your hand and making for the door. “I believe Celebrimbor is in need of encouragement with his work.”

“What are we, if not encouraging?” you quip, and gladly follow his lead.

Previous fic with same reader -> Reveal

Next fic with same reader -> Old wounds

i bleed the same

annatar/sauron x fem!elf!reader

summary: after halbrand returns to eregion, he takes on a new form. and you feel drawn to it as much as to the darkness inside of him.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, angst, unprotected sex, biting, fluff means sauron is in love (can that even be possible??)

word count: 2k

author’s note: this is part 2 of ‘if you bled’. please read it first, before you continue. maybe this one is little bit of a mess but god, love me a soft sauron. 😫 the song inspired for this part is better by syml. i hope you enjoy it and don’t forget how i much i appreciate your likes and reblogs — it means so much to me. xx

part 1

After Halbrand disappeared, he did not return but you often wished, he would.

Sometimes you even believed, that you could see him come around a corner out of a sudden, until you realized it is just one of the other elves.

A few days later, Galadriel and Elrond left to return back to Lindon with the rings. They tried to convince you to come with them, but you knew you didn't belong there anymore. So you stayed in Eregion while you waited for Halbrand to return, just like he promised you.

The weeks went by and with each passing day you lost more hope of seeing him again. And with your hope, his promises also began to vanish.

Until, one day, Mirdania rushes into the great forge and joins Celebrimbor's side. Even though their voices are lowered, you try to understand some of what she is saying to the Lord of Eregion. Then, when she mentions a messenger from the Southlands, the hammer you hold falls from your hands in shock as you take a sharp breath.

This can’t be possible.

All eyes are suddenly on you, but you don’t care, just like you don’t care about the hammer that is still lying on the ground. You grab the skirt of your dress and run, ignoring Celebrimbor's call. Your path leads you out of the forge, into the yard and to the gate.

And there you see him standing. The man you had been waiting for all this time. The man who had finally kept his promise and returned to you.

He has his back to you and you let your gaze slide over it. There is a wound on his right shoulder and your heart instantly clenches in your chest. Wherever he had been, he had been in pain, you can feel it.

As if he can hear your thoughts, Halbrand turns around and your eyes meet. For a moment, time stands still and you see the hint of a smile on his face.

You return it as best you can, but you sense that something is wrong. Not a second later, Mirdania walks past you towards Halbrand. “My lord, I must ask you to leave,” she says and glances over her shoulder at you shortly.

Halbrand turns his gaze to the elf and puts on a charming smile. “Why do you want me to leave? I've only just arrived”, he answers and smiles at Mirdania, making the butterflies in your stomach swirl around and you lower your gaze.

“I'm not asking you to leave, the Lord of Eregion is. He has no interest in negotiating with you,” the elf replies before turning away and walking towards you. Her gaze is on you, then she grabs your wrist and pulls you with her.

“Wait, I-” you begin, but Mirdania interrupts you. “Lord Celebrimbor says we can't trust him. None of us should get involved with him. Not even you.” Although her voice is tense, you can't help but let out a laugh. “You can't be serious. I know who I can get involved with and with whom not,” you try to defend yourself, but she just pulls you further away from him.

“Lady Galadriel says otherwise,” she replies and you freeze. “What does Galadriel have to do with this?” you ask with a slightly raised voice. For a moment Mirdania just looks at you, then she leads you back into the forge and out of Halbrand's reach.

You have no way of returning to Halbrand for the rest of the day. But you know that he is waiting. Even if not just for you. When it starts to rain in the evening and Halbrand is still standing in the yard, waiting, Lord Celebrimbor finally decides to go to him himself.

Some time pass and as he returns with Halbrand close behind him, the forge is completely empty — except you. Both of them are soaked and you are about to ask if you can bring them anything, but Celebrimbor silences you with a wave of his hand. “You have done enough. You can go,” he says, leaving you no chance to protest.

Your gaze falls on Halbrand, who is looking at you with a gentle expression in his eyes. He gives you a slight, barely noticeable nod and you turn away to go to your chamber.

You lie on your bed for a while and stare at the ceiling, your thoughts swirling wildly. There is so much you wanted to know, so many questions and only one person who knows the answers. And you hope that you would get it soon.

At some point you must have fallen asleep, because a gentle touch on your face wakes you. It takes a moment until you can think clearly again and you recognize a person sitting on the edge of your bed. You immediately sit up and slide away from the figure.

“Don't be afraid,” his words sound through the darkness and you start to relax. “Halbrand?” you whisper and he nods slowly. “But now, call me Annatar“, his voice is low as he answers making you swallow hard.

Annatar raises his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is so familiar that you can't resist any longer and lean into it while you close your eyes slightly.

Suddenly the fire in the fireplace lights up and fills the room with a warm light.

After a few seconds, your gaze finds his and you can't help but examine his new form. He examines you just as intensely, as if he's waiting for a reaction.

But everything you could do is raising your hand and taking one of the blonde strands of his new hair between your fingers. You must have been silent for a little too long, because he puts his fingers around your wrist and looks you intently in the eyes. “You don't seem particularly impressed,” he says with a raised eyebrow, but you shake your head.

“No, it's not that. It's just... it’s new,” you admit, making him smile. “And I thought you were asking me to take on Halbrand's face again,” he rests his other hand on your thigh and you lean a little closer to him.

“Well, even though I think a beard suits you so much better, this face is just as fine,” you say with a smile and look him in his now deep blue eyes. But then you remember that he had been in hurt and in pain not so long ago and let your gaze fall down.

Annatar, who seems to have sensed the sudden change in your expression, frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Tell me, what happened to you? Why did it take you so long to come back?” you ask, but Annatar just smiles. “Is this your way of telling me that you’ve missed me?” he asks with a hint of amusement and you snort quietly, but can’t help but smile.

Your fingertips glide gently over his cheek, and instead of the stubble you can feel his soft skin there. Even though he looks completely different now, you can feel that it is him.

“You are Sauron,” you suddenly say out loud for the first time before looking him in the eyes again. He returns your gaze, then nods. “But that doesn't seem to bother you,” he says carefully.

“No... even though it should. I should hate you for everything you've done. But I can't. I could never,” you whisper and feel him caressing your thigh with his thumb.

“She tried to convince you not to trust me,” Annatar says suddenly, thoughtful, and now you frown. “Galadriel...,” he adds, sensing your confusion.

You nod and let out a strained laugh. “Of course she did… what do you think? You deceived her. Like all of us. But she still doesn't have the right to decide who I give my heart to,” you say quietly and gasp softly as Annatar's fingers press tightly into the skin of your thigh.

“You should be careful who you give it to. Hearts are incredibly precious,” he whispers, leaning closer to you. You feel his breath brush over your lips and open them slightly, then his mouth is on yours.

Hot and demanding, as if he had been waiting for centuries to kiss you.

You can't help but moan, a mixture of desperation and longing as you bury your hands in his hair. Oh, how you already love these long strands.

His hands find their way to your hips, where he grabs you and pulls you closer to his body. A growl escapes from his lips, causing goosebumps to spread across your skin.

Breathing heavily, he pulls away from you again and presses his forehead against yours. “If we don't stop right now, I don't know how much longer I can hold back,” he says in a rough voice and you tremble. Your hands are still in his hair and you press yourself a little closer against him. “What if I don't want you to hold back?” you breathe against his lips.

And with that you unleash a storm.

Suddenly he is on top of you and presses your back into the mattress. His hands are all over your body, touching, pulling and caressing while you gasp for air.

Seconds later he starts to undress you, his hands touching every little part of your body before you get him out of his garments. They land on the floor just like your dress and he pulls you closer again.

All you can feel is Annatar's skin against yours, his fingertips wandering over your shoulders and his hard cock between your bodies as you straddle his lap.

He touches you as if you could crumble to dust before his eyes at any moment, and no matter how deeply you would like to feel him inside you right now, you can’t help but enjoy the feeling of his closeness and the desire that takes your breath away.

Finally, his hands move under your thighs and you look into his eyes as you position yourself above him. Your gazes are locked as you sink down onto him, but you had to close your eyes. It takes your breath away and you need a moment to get used to his size. Then you start to move and you moan with pleasure. Nothing has ever felt so good.

You press your forehead against his, as you pant heavily with one of your hands buried in his hair, the other in the bedsheets clawing onto them.

“Let me make you my queen,” he blurts out as you continue to move. You both have to groan before you realize what he just said. “What?” you gasp and pause. He takes advantage of this moment, puts his arm around your waist and turns you so that you are lying under him again.

He's still deep inside you and he moves his hips briefly to make it clear to you. “Become my queen,” he repeats and lowers his head to your breasts. He gently sucks on your nipple, moving slowly as if he's savoring every second of it.

“But I-” you stop and pant as he bites the skin beneath your breasts and look down at him. “Become my wife and I will lay all of Middle Earth at your feet. I will destroy anyone who does not submit to you — to us,” he continues and if you weren't so high on your feelings right now, you would have thought that this must be a joke.

You're just about to say something again when he suddenly speeds up his pace again. He thrusts deep into you, making your eyes roll back in your head. Your breathing gets heavier and your moans get louder until you hear his voice in your ear.

“Let go for me, my queen” Annatar ducks his fingers in your skin as your climax roll over you. You cry into his mouth, burying your fingers in his hair as if he was the only thing you could hold on to.

His breath is still on your ear as he moans softly, finding his own release and you could feel his cock twitching inside of you. Panting heavily, he places a soft kiss on your neck and breathes in your scent. Then he falls onto the sheets next to you and pulls you in his arms.

Lost in your thoughts, you draw small circles on his bare chest until he takes your hand in his, catching your attention. “I meant it. Become my wife and we will heal Middle Earth together,” he whispers and raises his other hand closed in front of your face before opening it.

In his palm lies one of the three elven rings.

For a moment you are too stunned to speak, until you find your voice again.

“Where… did you get it? Galadriel took them all with her,” you whisper and take the ring carefully in between your thumb and index finger.

“Does it matter?” he asks, stroking the back of your free hand with his thumb. “Is that a yes?” he asks, looking down at you expectantly.

You don't know what to say. But you know what your heart is telling you. And even though it was a betrayal of those you love and your entire kind, you know it's the right thing to do.

Because the darkness had called for you for your whole life.

“Yes...” you breathe and raise your gaze to meet his eyes again. There's a smile on Sauron's face as he takes the ring from your hand and gently slides it onto your finger.

“Then take this ring as my promise. I will give you the world and bring every being to its knees so that they will worship my queen.” With that, he leans forward and kisses the silver ring on your finger. And while you watch him, you know that one thing is certain.

This is all you've ever wanted.

And he is all you ever desired.

2024 | notreallythatlost

i think we’re even now 🥹🤭

i bleed the same

annatar/sauron x fem!elf!reader

summary: after halbrand returns to eregion, he takes on a new form. and you feel drawn to it as much as to the darkness inside of him.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, angst, unprotected sex, biting, fluff means sauron is in love (can that even be possible??)

word count: 2k

author’s note: this is part 2 of ‘if you bled’. please read it first, before you continue. maybe this one is little bit of a mess but god, love me a soft sauron. 😫 the song inspired for this part is better by syml. i hope you enjoy it and don’t forget how i much i appreciate your likes and reblogs — it means so much to me. xx

part 1

After Halbrand disappeared, he did not return but you often wished, he would.

Sometimes you even believed, that you could see him come around a corner out of a sudden, until you realized it is just one of the other elves.

A few days later, Galadriel and Elrond left to return back to Lindon with the rings. They tried to convince you to come with them, but you knew you didn't belong there anymore. So you stayed in Eregion while you waited for Halbrand to return, just like he promised you.

The weeks went by and with each passing day you lost more hope of seeing him again. And with your hope, his promises also began to vanish.

Until, one day, Mirdania rushes into the great forge and joins Celebrimbor's side. Even though their voices are lowered, you try to understand some of what she is saying to the Lord of Eregion. Then, when she mentions a messenger from the Southlands, the hammer you hold falls from your hands in shock as you take a sharp breath.

This can’t be possible.

All eyes are suddenly on you, but you don’t care, just like you don’t care about the hammer that is still lying on the ground. You grab the skirt of your dress and run, ignoring Celebrimbor's call. Your path leads you out of the forge, into the yard and to the gate.

And there you see him standing. The man you had been waiting for all this time. The man who had finally kept his promise and returned to you.

He has his back to you and you let your gaze slide over it. There is a wound on his right shoulder and your heart instantly clenches in your chest. Wherever he had been, he had been in pain, you can feel it.

As if he can hear your thoughts, Halbrand turns around and your eyes meet. For a moment, time stands still and you see the hint of a smile on his face.

You return it as best you can, but you sense that something is wrong. Not a second later, Mirdania walks past you towards Halbrand. “My lord, I must ask you to leave,” she says and glances over her shoulder at you shortly.

Halbrand turns his gaze to the elf and puts on a charming smile. “Why do you want me to leave? I've only just arrived”, he answers and smiles at Mirdania, making the butterflies in your stomach swirl around and you lower your gaze.

“I'm not asking you to leave, the Lord of Eregion is. He has no interest in negotiating with you,” the elf replies before turning away and walking towards you. Her gaze is on you, then she grabs your wrist and pulls you with her.

“Wait, I-” you begin, but Mirdania interrupts you. “Lord Celebrimbor says we can't trust him. None of us should get involved with him. Not even you.” Although her voice is tense, you can't help but let out a laugh. “You can't be serious. I know who I can get involved with and with whom not,” you try to defend yourself, but she just pulls you further away from him.

“Lady Galadriel says otherwise,” she replies and you freeze. “What does Galadriel have to do with this?” you ask with a slightly raised voice. For a moment Mirdania just looks at you, then she leads you back into the forge and out of Halbrand's reach.

You have no way of returning to Halbrand for the rest of the day. But you know that he is waiting. Even if not just for you. When it starts to rain in the evening and Halbrand is still standing in the yard, waiting, Lord Celebrimbor finally decides to go to him himself.

Some time pass and as he returns with Halbrand close behind him, the forge is completely empty — except you. Both of them are soaked and you are about to ask if you can bring them anything, but Celebrimbor silences you with a wave of his hand. “You have done enough. You can go,” he says, leaving you no chance to protest.

Your gaze falls on Halbrand, who is looking at you with a gentle expression in his eyes. He gives you a slight, barely noticeable nod and you turn away to go to your chamber.

You lie on your bed for a while and stare at the ceiling, your thoughts swirling wildly. There is so much you wanted to know, so many questions and only one person who knows the answers. And you hope that you would get it soon.

At some point you must have fallen asleep, because a gentle touch on your face wakes you. It takes a moment until you can think clearly again and you recognize a person sitting on the edge of your bed. You immediately sit up and slide away from the figure.

“Don't be afraid,” his words sound through the darkness and you start to relax. “Halbrand?” you whisper and he nods slowly. “But now, call me Annatar“, his voice is low as he answers making you swallow hard.

Annatar raises his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is so familiar that you can't resist any longer and lean into it while you close your eyes slightly.

Suddenly the fire in the fireplace lights up and fills the room with a warm light.

After a few seconds, your gaze finds his and you can't help but examine his new form. He examines you just as intensely, as if he's waiting for a reaction.

But everything you could do is raising your hand and taking one of the blonde strands of his new hair between your fingers. You must have been silent for a little too long, because he puts his fingers around your wrist and looks you intently in the eyes. “You don't seem particularly impressed,” he says with a raised eyebrow, but you shake your head.

“No, it's not that. It's just... it’s new,” you admit, making him smile. “And I thought you were asking me to take on Halbrand's face again,” he rests his other hand on your thigh and you lean a little closer to him.

“Well, even though I think a beard suits you so much better, this face is just as fine,” you say with a smile and look him in his now deep blue eyes. But then you remember that he had been in hurt and in pain not so long ago and let your gaze fall down.

Annatar, who seems to have sensed the sudden change in your expression, frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Tell me, what happened to you? Why did it take you so long to come back?” you ask, but Annatar just smiles. “Is this your way of telling me that you’ve missed me?” he asks with a hint of amusement and you snort quietly, but can’t help but smile.

Your fingertips glide gently over his cheek, and instead of the stubble you can feel his soft skin there. Even though he looks completely different now, you can feel that it is him.

“You are Sauron,” you suddenly say out loud for the first time before looking him in the eyes again. He returns your gaze, then nods. “But that doesn't seem to bother you,” he says carefully.

“No... even though it should. I should hate you for everything you've done. But I can't. I could never,” you whisper and feel him caressing your thigh with his thumb.

“She tried to convince you not to trust me,” Annatar says suddenly, thoughtful, and now you frown. “Galadriel...,” he adds, sensing your confusion.

You nod and let out a strained laugh. “Of course she did… what do you think? You deceived her. Like all of us. But she still doesn't have the right to decide who I give my heart to,” you say quietly and gasp softly as Annatar's fingers press tightly into the skin of your thigh.

“You should be careful who you give it to. Hearts are incredibly precious,” he whispers, leaning closer to you. You feel his breath brush over your lips and open them slightly, then his mouth is on yours.

Hot and demanding, as if he had been waiting for centuries to kiss you.

You can't help but moan, a mixture of desperation and longing as you bury your hands in his hair. Oh, how you already love these long strands.

His hands find their way to your hips, where he grabs you and pulls you closer to his body. A growl escapes from his lips, causing goosebumps to spread across your skin.

Breathing heavily, he pulls away from you again and presses his forehead against yours. “If we don't stop right now, I don't know how much longer I can hold back,” he says in a rough voice and you tremble. Your hands are still in his hair and you press yourself a little closer against him. “What if I don't want you to hold back?” you breathe against his lips.

And with that you unleash a storm.

Suddenly he is on top of you and presses your back into the mattress. His hands are all over your body, touching, pulling and caressing while you gasp for air.

Seconds later he starts to undress you, his hands touching every little part of your body before you get him out of his garments. They land on the floor just like your dress and he pulls you closer again.

All you can feel is Annatar's skin against yours, his fingertips wandering over your shoulders and his hard cock between your bodies as you straddle his lap.

He touches you as if you could crumble to dust before his eyes at any moment, and no matter how deeply you would like to feel him inside you right now, you can’t help but enjoy the feeling of his closeness and the desire that takes your breath away.

Finally, his hands move under your thighs and you look into his eyes as you position yourself above him. Your gazes are locked as you sink down onto him, but you had to close your eyes. It takes your breath away and you need a moment to get used to his size. Then you start to move and you moan with pleasure. Nothing has ever felt so good.

You press your forehead against his, as you pant heavily with one of your hands buried in his hair, the other in the bedsheets clawing onto them.

“Let me make you my queen,” he blurts out as you continue to move. You both have to groan before you realize what he just said. “What?” you gasp and pause. He takes advantage of this moment, puts his arm around your waist and turns you so that you are lying under him again.

He's still deep inside you and he moves his hips briefly to make it clear to you. “Become my queen,” he repeats and lowers his head to your breasts. He gently sucks on your nipple, moving slowly as if he's savoring every second of it.

“But I-” you stop and pant as he bites the skin beneath your breasts and look down at him. “Become my wife and I will lay all of Middle Earth at your feet. I will destroy anyone who does not submit to you — to us,” he continues and if you weren't so high on your feelings right now, you would have thought that this must be a joke.

You're just about to say something again when he suddenly speeds up his pace again. He thrusts deep into you, making your eyes roll back in your head. Your breathing gets heavier and your moans get louder until you hear his voice in your ear.

“Let go for me, my queen” Annatar ducks his fingers in your skin as your climax roll over you. You cry into his mouth, burying your fingers in his hair as if he was the only thing you could hold on to.

His breath is still on your ear as he moans softly, finding his own release and you could feel his cock twitching inside of you. Panting heavily, he places a soft kiss on your neck and breathes in your scent. Then he falls onto the sheets next to you and pulls you in his arms.

Lost in your thoughts, you draw small circles on his bare chest until he takes your hand in his, catching your attention. “I meant it. Become my wife and we will heal Middle Earth together,” he whispers and raises his other hand closed in front of your face before opening it.

In his palm lies one of the three elven rings.

For a moment you are too stunned to speak, until you find your voice again.

“Where… did you get it? Galadriel took them all with her,” you whisper and take the ring carefully in between your thumb and index finger.

“Does it matter?” he asks, stroking the back of your free hand with his thumb. “Is that a yes?” he asks, looking down at you expectantly.

You don't know what to say. But you know what your heart is telling you. And even though it was a betrayal of those you love and your entire kind, you know it's the right thing to do.

Because the darkness had called for you for your whole life.

“Yes...” you breathe and raise your gaze to meet his eyes again. There's a smile on Sauron's face as he takes the ring from your hand and gently slides it onto your finger.

“Then take this ring as my promise. I will give you the world and bring every being to its knees so that they will worship my queen.” With that, he leans forward and kisses the silver ring on your finger. And while you watch him, you know that one thing is certain.

This is all you've ever wanted.

And he is all you ever desired.

2024 | notreallythatlost

i bleed the same

annatar/sauron x fem!elf!reader

summary: after halbrand returns to eregion, he takes on a new form. and you feel drawn to it as much as to the darkness inside of him.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, angst, unprotected sex, biting, fluff means sauron is in love (can that even be possible??)

word count: 2k

author’s note: this is part 2 of ‘if you bled’. please read it first, before you continue. maybe this one is little bit of a mess but god, love me a soft sauron. 😫 the song inspired for this part is better by syml. i hope you enjoy it and don’t forget how i much i appreciate your likes and reblogs — it means so much to me. xx

part 1

After Halbrand disappeared, he did not return but you often wished, he would.

Sometimes you even believed, that you could see him come around a corner out of a sudden, until you realized it is just one of the other elves.

A few days later, Galadriel and Elrond left to return back to Lindon with the rings. They tried to convince you to come with them, but you knew you didn't belong there anymore. So you stayed in Eregion while you waited for Halbrand to return, just like he promised you.

The weeks went by and with each passing day you lost more hope of seeing him again. And with your hope, his promises also began to vanish.

Until, one day, Mirdania rushes into the great forge and joins Celebrimbor's side. Even though their voices are lowered, you try to understand some of what she is saying to the Lord of Eregion. Then, when she mentions a messenger from the Southlands, the hammer you hold falls from your hands in shock as you take a sharp breath.

This can’t be possible.

All eyes are suddenly on you, but you don’t care, just like you don’t care about the hammer that is still lying on the ground. You grab the skirt of your dress and run, ignoring Celebrimbor's call. Your path leads you out of the forge, into the yard and to the gate.

And there you see him standing. The man you had been waiting for all this time. The man who had finally kept his promise and returned to you.

He has his back to you and you let your gaze slide over it. There is a wound on his right shoulder and your heart instantly clenches in your chest. Wherever he had been, he had been in pain, you can feel it.

As if he can hear your thoughts, Halbrand turns around and your eyes meet. For a moment, time stands still and you see the hint of a smile on his face.

You return it as best you can, but you sense that something is wrong. Not a second later, Mirdania walks past you towards Halbrand. “My lord, I must ask you to leave,” she says and glances over her shoulder at you shortly.

Halbrand turns his gaze to the elf and puts on a charming smile. “Why do you want me to leave? I've only just arrived”, he answers and smiles at Mirdania, making the butterflies in your stomach swirl around and you lower your gaze.

“I'm not asking you to leave, the Lord of Eregion is. He has no interest in negotiating with you,” the elf replies before turning away and walking towards you. Her gaze is on you, then she grabs your wrist and pulls you with her.

“Wait, I-” you begin, but Mirdania interrupts you. “Lord Celebrimbor says we can't trust him. None of us should get involved with him. Not even you.” Although her voice is tense, you can't help but let out a laugh. “You can't be serious. I know who I can get involved with and with whom not,” you try to defend yourself, but she just pulls you further away from him.

“Lady Galadriel says otherwise,” she replies and you freeze. “What does Galadriel have to do with this?” you ask with a slightly raised voice. For a moment Mirdania just looks at you, then she leads you back into the forge and out of Halbrand's reach.

You have no way of returning to Halbrand for the rest of the day. But you know that he is waiting. Even if not just for you. When it starts to rain in the evening and Halbrand is still standing in the yard, waiting, Lord Celebrimbor finally decides to go to him himself.

Some time pass and as he returns with Halbrand close behind him, the forge is completely empty — except you. Both of them are soaked and you are about to ask if you can bring them anything, but Celebrimbor silences you with a wave of his hand. “You have done enough. You can go,” he says, leaving you no chance to protest.

Your gaze falls on Halbrand, who is looking at you with a gentle expression in his eyes. He gives you a slight, barely noticeable nod and you turn away to go to your chamber.

You lie on your bed for a while and stare at the ceiling, your thoughts swirling wildly. There is so much you wanted to know, so many questions and only one person who knows the answers. And you hope that you would get it soon.

At some point you must have fallen asleep, because a gentle touch on your face wakes you. It takes a moment until you can think clearly again and you recognize a person sitting on the edge of your bed. You immediately sit up and slide away from the figure.

“Don't be afraid,” his words sound through the darkness and you start to relax. “Halbrand?” you whisper and he nods slowly. “But now, call me Annatar“, his voice is low as he answers making you swallow hard.

Annatar raises his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is so familiar that you can't resist any longer and lean into it while you close your eyes slightly.

Suddenly the fire in the fireplace lights up and fills the room with a warm light.

After a few seconds, your gaze finds his and you can't help but examine his new form. He examines you just as intensely, as if he's waiting for a reaction.

But everything you could do is raising your hand and taking one of the blonde strands of his new hair between your fingers. You must have been silent for a little too long, because he puts his fingers around your wrist and looks you intently in the eyes. “You don't seem particularly impressed,” he says with a raised eyebrow, but you shake your head.

“No, it's not that. It's just... it’s new,” you admit, making him smile. “And I thought you were asking me to take on Halbrand's face again,” he rests his other hand on your thigh and you lean a little closer to him.

“Well, even though I think a beard suits you so much better, this face is just as fine,” you say with a smile and look him in his now deep blue eyes. But then you remember that he had been in hurt and in pain not so long ago and let your gaze fall down.

Annatar, who seems to have sensed the sudden change in your expression, frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Tell me, what happened to you? Why did it take you so long to come back?” you ask, but Annatar just smiles. “Is this your way of telling me that you’ve missed me?” he asks with a hint of amusement and you snort quietly, but can’t help but smile.

Your fingertips glide gently over his cheek, and instead of the stubble you can feel his soft skin there. Even though he looks completely different now, you can feel that it is him.

“You are Sauron,” you suddenly say out loud for the first time before looking him in the eyes again. He returns your gaze, then nods. “But that doesn't seem to bother you,” he says carefully.

“No... even though it should. I should hate you for everything you've done. But I can't. I could never,” you whisper and feel him caressing your thigh with his thumb.

“She tried to convince you not to trust me,” Annatar says suddenly, thoughtful, and now you frown. “Galadriel...,” he adds, sensing your confusion.

You nod and let out a strained laugh. “Of course she did… what do you think? You deceived her. Like all of us. But she still doesn't have the right to decide who I give my heart to,” you say quietly and gasp softly as Annatar's fingers press tightly into the skin of your thigh.

“You should be careful who you give it to. Hearts are incredibly precious,” he whispers, leaning closer to you. You feel his breath brush over your lips and open them slightly, then his mouth is on yours.

Hot and demanding, as if he had been waiting for centuries to kiss you.

You can't help but moan, a mixture of desperation and longing as you bury your hands in his hair. Oh, how you already love these long strands.

His hands find their way to your hips, where he grabs you and pulls you closer to his body. A growl escapes from his lips, causing goosebumps to spread across your skin.

Breathing heavily, he pulls away from you again and presses his forehead against yours. “If we don't stop right now, I don't know how much longer I can hold back,” he says in a rough voice and you tremble. Your hands are still in his hair and you press yourself a little closer against him. “What if I don't want you to hold back?” you breathe against his lips.

And with that you unleash a storm.

Suddenly he is on top of you and presses your back into the mattress. His hands are all over your body, touching, pulling and caressing while you gasp for air.

Seconds later he starts to undress you, his hands touching every little part of your body before you get him out of his garments. They land on the floor just like your dress and he pulls you closer again.

All you can feel is Annatar's skin against yours, his fingertips wandering over your shoulders and his hard cock between your bodies as you straddle his lap.

He touches you as if you could crumble to dust before his eyes at any moment, and no matter how deeply you would like to feel him inside you right now, you can’t help but enjoy the feeling of his closeness and the desire that takes your breath away.

Finally, his hands move under your thighs and you look into his eyes as you position yourself above him. Your gazes are locked as you sink down onto him, but you had to close your eyes. It takes your breath away and you need a moment to get used to his size. Then you start to move and you moan with pleasure. Nothing has ever felt so good.

You press your forehead against his, as you pant heavily with one of your hands buried in his hair, the other in the bedsheets clawing onto them.

“Let me make you my queen,” he blurts out as you continue to move. You both have to groan before you realize what he just said. “What?” you gasp and pause. He takes advantage of this moment, puts his arm around your waist and turns you so that you are lying under him again.

He's still deep inside you and he moves his hips briefly to make it clear to you. “Become my queen,” he repeats and lowers his head to your breasts. He gently sucks on your nipple, moving slowly as if he's savoring every second of it.

“But I-” you stop and pant as he bites the skin beneath your breasts and look down at him. “Become my wife and I will lay all of Middle Earth at your feet. I will destroy anyone who does not submit to you — to us,” he continues and if you weren't so high on your feelings right now, you would have thought that this must be a joke.

You're just about to say something again when he suddenly speeds up his pace again. He thrusts deep into you, making your eyes roll back in your head. Your breathing gets heavier and your moans get louder until you hear his voice in your ear.

“Let go for me, my queen” Annatar ducks his fingers in your skin as your climax roll over you. You cry into his mouth, burying your fingers in his hair as if he was the only thing you could hold on to.

His breath is still on your ear as he moans softly, finding his own release and you could feel his cock twitching inside of you. Panting heavily, he places a soft kiss on your neck and breathes in your scent. Then he falls onto the sheets next to you and pulls you in his arms.

Lost in your thoughts, you draw small circles on his bare chest until he takes your hand in his, catching your attention. “I meant it. Become my wife and we will heal Middle Earth together,” he whispers and raises his other hand closed in front of your face before opening it.

In his palm lies one of the three elven rings.

For a moment you are too stunned to speak, until you find your voice again.

“Where… did you get it? Galadriel took them all with her,” you whisper and take the ring carefully in between your thumb and index finger.

“Does it matter?” he asks, stroking the back of your free hand with his thumb. “Is that a yes?” he asks, looking down at you expectantly.

You don't know what to say. But you know what your heart is telling you. And even though it was a betrayal of those you love and your entire kind, you know it's the right thing to do.

Because the darkness had called for you for your whole life.

“Yes...” you breathe and raise your gaze to meet his eyes again. There's a smile on Sauron's face as he takes the ring from your hand and gently slides it onto your finger.

“Then take this ring as my promise. I will give you the world and bring every being to its knees so that they will worship my queen.” With that, he leans forward and kisses the silver ring on your finger. And while you watch him, you know that one thing is certain.

This is all you've ever wanted.

And he is all you ever desired.

2024 | notreallythatlost

— KINGDOM OF DISTURB

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — Despite being locked inside his fortress, you cannot complain about being Sauron's Queen. You are surrounded by luxury and your every wish is fulfilled. After long centuries of such life, however, you grow a little bored. Mentioning it to your husband has terrible consequences.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — The title is from the song that inspired me (Kingdom of Disturb by Nostalghia) and of course you don't have to know the song to read the fic but I strongly recommend it because it fits so well with the whole theme – In fever dreams he holds me // Fever dreams destroy me // Inside his kingdom of disturb // I am the queen of his design 😌 Basically, in this fic, you are kind of living like Celebrimbor and it gets dark as well – although not that dark lmao I imagine Sauron as Annatar here but you can imagine him as whatever to be honest and the Reader had to be an Elf so she could live for a very long time, but other than that she is not described in any way!

WARNINGS — mentions of sexual activities (no actual smut), mentions of Reader wanting to have a child (spoiler alert: Sauron does not), toxic & abusive relationship with some physical violence (he pulls and drags her by her hair), manipulation, gaslighting, victim blaming

WORD COUNT — 3,450

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

KINGDOM OF DISTURB

When Sauron married you and made you his Queen, he took you to a huge and beautiful fortress in the Southlands. You had imagined being his spouse a little differently – more… actively. You had been imagining yourself healing Middle-earth alongside your husband but he kept you hidden inside your chambers instead.

He was assuring you the reason was your safety since his task was not yet done. And you believed him because you wanted to. Even the fact that the heavy doors of your chambers remained locked all the time was something done out of his love and his protectiveness. You understood. In fact, it felt good to be protected by him. To be taken care of. To be aware of the depths of his devotion to you.

And most of the days, you spent alone; awaiting his return from his journeys and battles. However, he made sure that you were never bored.

Your chambers were enormous and the most beautifully decorated in all sorts of silver, gold, gemstones and ornaments. Velvet, silk and cotton surrounded you and everything smelled of fresh flowers that were being changed everyday by your servants.

You had every book you wanted there and your ladies-in-waiting, as you liked to call them, were skilled in nearly every craft, so they could entertain you with their musical skills, new dresses made for you, drama plays performed for you to watch and clap your hands at… Anything you asked for was there – within the reach of your little finger.

And when you wanted to spend the time outside, perhaps you could not do that fully but you had a huge balcony all for you from where you could watch the vast and green land of the Southlands. The sunrays were keeping you warm and the blue skies were calming your senses as the sounds of birds, wind and playing children from afar were reaching your ears.

It was a paradise where you lived and you did not mind being trapped. Sauron was making sure of that. Your every whim was being fulfilled and whenever he was back to spend some time with you, he was the most skilled and attentive lover. After a few days or weeks spent in his embrace, you were too hazy to complain or to think of anything else except for the amount of your love towards him.

You were not sure for how many years you had been there – centuries, perhaps. Time was a blurry concept for you these days. And the most uncertain. However, throughout all those years, you had been very satisfied and content with your life as Sauron’s Queen. You had been waiting very patiently for him to finally heal Middle-earth and to prepare his realm for you to join his side fully.

Only recently, something had changed. And when Sauron had come back to you after being separated for a bit longer than usual, at first he hadn’t noticed any of that.

You had spent a whole night in each other’s embrace, your bodies tangled together as they reached a peak after peak between the gasps, moans, arched backs, curled toes and fingernails being dug into flesh. He was a Maia and he could go on for days without a break but you were not graced with such powers, therefore you required a rest. So, he granted it to you in the early morning as you both laid underneath the silky sheets.

After taking a short and regenerating nap, you yawned softly and giggled when Sauron’s hands caressed your sides. You looked deep into his eyes and placed a kiss upon his lips, caressing his cheeks. But when you opened your mouth to start the conversation you had been dying to have for a long while now, you were interrupted by one of his servants with a knock upon your doors.

“What is it?” Your husband asked, irritated, as he rolled his eyes at you playfully.

“My Lord Sauron, there is an important matter to discuss,” the raspy voice of his servant reached your ears.

You had never seen any of his servants but you could imagine they looked quite different from your gentle and beautiful ladies-in-waiting. You were not sure of their race since they had been the same since the beginning but you did not ask any questions about it since you were pleased with them either way.

“I shall return to you soon, my love,” Sauron kissed your forehead and left your bed.

He got dressed up quickly and turned around to smile at you adoringly before walking out of your chambers. A short while later, you could hear the doors being locked.

You stretched your sore limbs and stood up to dress up yourself, too. Sometimes, you liked to do it yourself instead of asking for your ladies-in-waiting. As much as you adored them, you had also quite grown used to solitude. And sometimes you preferred it this way.

After putting on a gown, you stood in front of the large mirror and caressed your curves underneath the fabric. You wondered how your body would look if it were changed by pregnancy. And when you turned to your side to put your hand on your abdomen, pretending to be carrying your husband’s child already, he walked inside this very moment, startling you.

You quickly moved your hand away but you were sure he had spotted what you were doing as he tilted his head and approached you slowly. Without a word, he stood behind you and wrapped his arms around you – the red colour of his robes looked so regal contrasting with the golden colour of yours.

“What are you doing, my love?” He whispered into your neck, placing a gentle kiss there and making you shiver.

You looked down at first and wanted to tell him that nothing, you were doing nothing. On the other hand, that was the conversation you had wanted to have with him for a long time now but each time you either were running out of courage or you were being interrupted.

So, you looked up to meet his gaze in the reflection of the mirror and you took a deep breath in.

“What if we had a child together, my love?” You asked and watched how Sauron’s facial expression changed from playful to serious… Angry, even. His jaw clenched and his eyes – usually so kind and loving towards you – filled with rage that he was trying to keep at bay but you knew him too well not to notice. “What is it?” You turned around in his arms uncomfortably as you met his gaze in reality now and not only in the reflection of the mirror.

“Are you not happy with me?” Sauron asked with all seriousness and concern.

“I am very happy, my love. That is why I want to–” you started, a little surprised by his tone.

“Why do you want to ruin what we share then?” He interrupted you, harshly and it made you shut your mouth immediately.

“I had no idea that you perceived the possibility of fatherhood this way,” you finally said in a weak whisper.

“There is no such possibility,” your husband took a step back as if he was disgusted with you at that moment and it hurt you deeply.

“Physically, it is. There have been cases of Maia and Elves having offspring together. Rare, but still…” You swallowed thickly as Sauron’s eyes filled with even more anger and the corners of his lips twitched.

“You… You have been researching that?” He asked with contempt.

“My love, I do not want to push you into anything or force anything upon you!” You quickly reached out to grab his wrists to calm him down. He allowed you to touch him but he did not touch you back in any way and his eyes did not turn softer at all. “If a child – an heir – is not what you wish, let it be then. I only want to know the reason why not,” you explained, looking for compassion. “If it is jealousy… For I am aware of the amount of your devotion towards me… Well, I can assure you that my love can be shared and perhaps I would love you even more if–”

“I am not jealous,” Sauron snorted at that and you closed your mouth, blinking your fresh tears away. “Do you have any idea how powerful I am?”

“Of course, my love,” you nodded, surprised at the question.

“And do you think I wish to share this power? This greatness?” He freed his wrists from your grasp and walked away to pace around with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Do you not wish to share it with me one day? Once Middle-earth is healed?” You asked, confused.

“It is different. Our child could be even more powerful than I am. I do not wish for heirs,” he explained, nervously, “for they could be a threat.”

“A threat?” You asked, taken aback by his words. “Your own children? A threat for you?”

“You are not happy… You are not happy here,” he kept repeating as if he was angry and worried at the same time, ignoring your questions and walking in circles like some sort of a maniac.

“My love…” You tried to catch his attention again, staring at him with your eyebrows furrowed. You had never seen him so upset and you felt guilty for causing this. He had enough worries outside this fortress and when he was with you, you wanted him to feel calm and relaxed.

“You are not happy… You are not…” He was no longer paying attention to his surroundings, spiralling down as if his world had just crumbled down.

“My love…?” You tried once again.

“Not happy, not happy, not happy, not–”

“Sauron!” You addressed him and this time your voice grew harsher out of impatience. He froze and turned around to face you, with his hands still clasped behind his back. He was visibly taken aback by the tone of your voice but you were frustrated now by the way he behaved.

And, perhaps, he should have finally heard some truths.

“I am not unhappy, my love,” your voice grew softer but it was still quite distant. “The life I have here is the most luxurious and I am being spoiled by you every day, even when you are away. I am the most grateful,” you assured him and he sighed with relief. “However,” you added and he furrowed his brows again, “I grow tired of being locked away. I wish to walk outside, I wish to meet more people than my ladies-in-waiting. I know you are not yet done healing Middle-earth but I know you do have whole realms under your rule already. Are your subjects not curious about their Queen? I would love to go outside and meet them. Even though I have here everything I could ask for, I still grow bored sometimes as I seek for some purpose or adventure. Perhaps a child is something I started to crave because of boredom,” you finished and took a deep breath in, feeling the burden you had been carrying for so long within your soul being released.

Sauron’s face was unreadable at that moment but he remained still like a statue as he kept staring at you coldly, without even blinking. You swallowed thickly and after a moment, you simply had to look down, too intimidated by his stare.

“You are… bored?” He laughed contemptuously, breaking the silence. “I have to spend long weeks away from you to heal this realm and prepare it for you, so you can rule it alongside me when everything is all ready for you and handed out to you on a silver plate – like everything else – and you complain about… boredom? I fight battles and risk my life, while remembering to spoil you every day no matter what, only for you to show such brattiness?” His voice was filled with so much disappointment that you wished to die at this very moment.

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps you were being ungrateful.

“F-forgive me,” you whimpered, still not brave enough to look up.

“Oh, it is too late, my love,” he emphasised the last two words with anger as he approached you and grabbed you by the roots of your hair, making you yelp. He had never done anything of this sort to you before and you had never expected him to. He had to be even more angered than he showed. “Do you wish to know the truth?” He whispered into your ear venomously. “You have no idea how much power and focus I have to sacrifice for you to live a life so beautiful and yet you dare to complain?” He asked and you could not understand the meaning of his words. You only kept sobbing and not even because of the physical pain he was causing you at the moment but mostly because of the way he was behaving towards you. “True, your naiveness and foolishness makes it a little easier. You do not notice my little slip-ups and oversights… But still… I’d be much more powerful if I did not have to sacrifice so much of my abilities on creating this illusion for you,” he drawled out.

“What illusion?” You asked through the tears and Sauron looked deep into your eyes, pulling your hair even harder as you whimpered. He kept staring at your face with anger and contempt, visibly overthinking something.

“Let me show you the truth, my little brat,” he smirked and the corners of his eyes twitched nervously. In that moment, you suddenly realised that the light coming through the curtains from the outside was gone.

The chambers still looked the same – full of luxurious goods and items – but they were all so… dark. And somehow dusty as if there was ash covering some of the furniture. You squinted your eyes at that, not fully understanding the meaning of any of it.

“Here,” Sauron dragged you by your hair towards the balcony doors. And when he opened them and forced you to look ahead, you gasped in terror.

The Southlands were no more. The green land full of the bird songs, blue skies and the children’s laughter was nothing but a dark land of gloom and ashes with the huge volcano breathing out smoke in the distance. The skies were orange from the clouds and fire and there were ashes dancing in the air. It was hell and you realised that this was the reality – not the beautiful and gentle things you had been seeing for the past centuries whenever you had walked out to breathe in fresh air and feel the sunshine on your skin.

“You are not healing Middle-earth,” you whispered, nearly inaudibly, feeling defeated. “You are annihilating it.”

Sauron let go of your hair finally and pushed you away while doing so.

“I am healing it. Middle-earth is too spoiled and rotten for the process to go smooth and easy. I must purge it and rebuild it and then, only then, we shall rule it together,” his voice went softer again but it was still filled with a scary hint of darkness.

When you looked up at him, he was smiling at you lovingly again as if he hadn’t just caused you any pain. And you realised that from now on, you would always hear that scary hint of darkness in his voice no matter what. Because it had most likely always been there.

You remained speechless, staring at him with your wet eyes and silent tears streaming down your cheeks. He reached his fingers out to wipe them out of your face.

“Now you see it… I was trying to protect you from the whole process… From the truth of it… For I knew you would not understand my vision. And you shall stay here until my task is complete, my Queen,” he assured you sweetly.

“I do not want to…” You confessed.

For the first time in your life, you truly did not. Even though it was impossible to stop loving someone in a brief moment – no matter how much pain they had caused you and how evil they had turned out to be. You had been loving him for too many centuries to stop now. But it did not change the fact you simply did not want to be by his side anymore. 

You expected Sauron to get angry again but he did not. He cupped both of your cheeks now and leaned in as he kept staring at you with a mix of affection and pity. He knew very well that what you wanted mattered no more.

“But you must, my love, for I shall never let you go,” he whispered, pecking your lips delicately and tasting your salty tears. “However, now that you know the truth, I do not see the point of my further illusions. Your curiosity and brattiness have robbed you of this privilege,” he pointed out and caressed your hair. “Come back inside, my darling,” he dropped his hands to your arms and led you back into your chambers.

He let go of you to close the balcony doors behind you two and you froze at the sight of a few shadow-like creatures floating above the dusty floor of your bedroom. Their shapes were humanoid enough to be unsettling but there was nothing pure about them and their eyes were red as they burned with fire.

“Wh-what are those?” You asked.

“Those are your ladies-in-waiting,” Sauron answered, trying to make his voice sound sweet although you were aware that calling them by the name you had given them was nothing but mockery.

“I do not think I want their service anymore,” you swallowed thickly. If his illusions were to be truly gone, you would rather live alone there instead of having such creatures following you around.

Even though they had already been doing that for centuries now…

Sauron chuckled to himself and nodded at the shadows. They disappeared immediately after and you sighed with relief.

“Do you still wish for a child, my love?” Sauron asked you and put his arm around you before leaning in to kiss your temple. “Because I think that, after all, I could give you one to make you less lonely,” he teased, cruelly.

“I would never curse my child to share their eternity with me in this prison,” you looked up as you answered, feeling the lump forming in the back of your throat.

“Whatever you wish, my Queen,” Sauron smirked and gently pressed your face to his chest as he caressed the back of your head. “I am sorry for causing you pain. I truly am,” his voice broke a little and you wanted to believe him because what else could you do?

Believing him would make this whole thing a little bit easier.

“I know,” you whispered, feeling utterly defeated.

“Do not anger me like this again,” he whispered and even though his voice was full of guilt, there was a threat in it, too. “I do not want to cause you pain. You mean the world to me,” he explained and you realised that perhaps he was believing his own self while saying these things, too.

After a while like this; being forced to hug him but with your eyes kept open, he took a step back from you and lifted your chin up gently.

“I must leave now again, forgive me. I have received worrying news this morning from my servant,” he explained. “I shall be back soon. Keep your bed ready for me, my Queen,” he teased playfully as he usually would but this time it did nothing to you except for making your stomach twist.

He leaned in to place a kiss upon your forehead and turned around to leave. You watched him walk away and heard the lock turn. You were left alone in the darkness of this room, which was covered in the ashes getting inside through the windows. You were lonely and broken – with the sound of the volcano and burning fire accompanying you from afar.

You sat down on the floor and brought your knees all the way up to rest your chin upon them as you wrapped your arms around your legs. Curled up this way, you began rocking yourself slowly to calm down and to seek for comfort in your own embrace.

This was how your life would look like from now on. But it was better than living inside a lie.

Was it?

MASTERLIST