#annatar x reader

[be-xkyy]

I really have a type 👀

(Handsome men with long white/blonde hair🧝🏻‍♂️😏)

Part 2

[hoe4almondmilk]

How the LotR elves would wake you

Part II,

Part I here

Galadriel, Arwen, Elrond, Celeborn and Annatar.

Galadriel:

She doesn't touch you, if she does it is the lightest palm on your forehead. She'll call your name so softly, it's like sunlight breaking through mist.

"Awaken, little star. The day has need of you."

She'll smile when your eyes flutter open. She's smiling faintly.

"Yes, at last. She has returned."

Arwen:

She's an absolute sweetheart to wake up with. She'll kneel beside you, gently stroking your hair or tucking the blanket around you as she calls your name so softly.

"Meleth nín, it is time to wake. The morning waits for you. I have been waiting for your eyes to open."

If you're a little grumpy, she'll giggle softly. She'll find it absolutely endearing. If you mumble something, half asleep, she's 100% teasing you about it later.

Elrond:

He would have infinite patience for you. He'll lean down and his lips will brush gently across your temple. He'd rest his hand on your waist. When he finally does speak to you, his voice is quiet and warm, like velvet at dawn.

"Wake, meleth nín... you have slept long enough."

If you stir but bury your face into the pillow, he'll chuckle and press another kiss and say,

"I would far rather kiss you awake."

Celeborn:

He's practical but romantic nevertheless. The kind of lover that would never want you to wake alone. He'd slip into bed if he wasn't already there, his head tilting as he studied your face. He'd slip his arm around your waist pulling you closer to him.

"Mornings are meant to be greeted together, melda."

If you groaned, asking him to let you sleep in just a little longer, he'd absolutely cave and let you. But in a low and fond voice, he'd kiss the top of your head and say,

"Very well... but then I am not letting you leave our bed so easily."

Annatar:

He would not wake you gently, nor would he be courteous about it. He's waking you up because he wants your attention. He'd lean over you, his long golden hair brushing against your skin, his lips grazing your ear as his voice curls low and silken almost.

"Awake, little one... do you think you can hide from me in sleep?"

If you attempted to roll away or try to go back to sleep, his hands would deliberately move across your body, touching the spots he knows will stir you awake. He'd chuckle softly, mocking but still fond.

"No, no... you do not escape me so easily."

When your eyes flutter open, he's right there, smiling like fire in the dark. He'll bring his hand up to your face, his large hand cups your face possessively. His thumb would stroke your cheek so gently.

"There you are. My brightest star. Did you dream of me?"

[selmas-teashop]

Reverse Tropes ⟡ TROP Elves

Note: Last week I stumbled across this post and my wheels immediately started turning. I gave all the tropes a romantic spin because I can. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)

Pairing: TROP Elves x reader (gender neutral*)

Characters:

Arondir: too many beds

Galadriel: academic rivals except it’s two teachers who compete to have the best class

Elrond: really nice guy who hates only you

Adar: fake hating (instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you are not together)

Gil-Galad: fake amnesia

Celebrimbor: love triangle where the two love interests get together instead

Sauron: lovers to enemies

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: Mentions of injuries (Gil-Galad, Celebrimbor); stabbing, blood and gaslighting (Sauron); *use of the terms Lady and Queen (Adar, Sauron); reader is implied to be an elf

TROP Elves as reverse tropes, sorted from silly to serious

Arondir ⟡ too many beds

The old númenorian village provided plenty of space for the refugees from the Southlands, which would have been cause for celebration considering all circumstances. However, it presented you and Arondir with an unique problem: there were too many beds.

You had been dancing around your feelings for a quite some time. It was certain that you felt something for each other, but expressing it with words was a step you were not yet ready to take. So you had to find other ways to voice your affection. In temporary camps, sleeping places became scarce and the nights turned cold, giving you the perfect excuse to sleep nestled together. You had grown accustomed to the comfort of holding each other, being close in the darkness.

Now there seemed to be no reason to share a bed, as there were more than enough of them. But Arondir could no longer find peace at night without your heartbeat near him, reassuring him of your safety. Therefore, new excuses had to be sought.

Some rooms were out of question because the neighbors snored, which proved unbearable for his sensitive elven ears. In other houses, boards hung loose and the wind blew intolerably cold. One bed was supposedly home to rats that liked to bite at night, while in another, birds had built a nest that he did not wish to destroy. You joined him in the search for reasons, and suddenly two people who had previously been able to sleep in the most humble of circumstances were behaving like fickle royalty.

For every available resting place, you had found a reason the next morning why it was supposedly unusable. Until, after a few days, you had finally excluded all of them, leaving you with no choice but to share the last remaining bed. Arondir felt somewhat embarrassed by the act you two were putting on, but he did not mind. For that evening, he held you in his arms again, his head on your chest, your calm heartbeat lulling him to sleep.

Galadriel ⟡ academic rivals except it’s two teachers

There was some disagreement about how this feud had begun. Part of the blame could certainly be attributed to your stubborn, somewhat fiery temperaments. Some claimed that it had started with a careless joke made by a squire, which he now deeply regretted. Whatever it had been, as usual, you and Galadriel were caught up in a competition and everyone else suffered as a result.

With one crucial difference: this time, the subject of your rivalry was not your own strength, but that of your students. Galadriel was tired of hearing the accusation that she was a worse teacher than you, and you were tired of having your technical weaknesses exposed in comparison to her fighting technique. A good teacher against a good soldier - who would produce better warriors?

In the name of victory, any and all means were acceptable to you. Your students complained amongst themselves that no one in the history of Middle-earth had trained harder than they had to. Galadriel's regiment was tougher, yours required more endurance - relentless were you both. If they had not been so exhausted, your students might have wondered about the source of the fire with which you both burned. For the sparks between you, that set everything ablaze, were far more heated than those of plain rivalry.

The origin of your squires' suffering was by no means envy or pride, as they suspected. Yes, you both had endless ambition and loathed losing, but that was not all. Rather, the reason stemmed from an unfavorable distribution of your talents. For as outstanding as you were as fighters, you were just as miserable when it came to revealing the matters of your hearts.

A frustration flared up inside you whenever you were close, that you could not quite make sense of. This frustration broke through when your swords crossed, or in this case, those of your students. Whenever Galadriel caught that smug look of yours when one of your students disarmed hers, she was consumed by the desire to draw her sword and knock you to the ground, so she could ram her blade into the earth next to your insolent grin. Pinning you underneath her body, and - at this point, her thoughts derailed and she forced them to end by scolding the student.

Your squires feared the day of reckoning when the winner of your contest would be revealed in their soldier's examination. Because even though they did not know exactly why, they had a feeling that none of you would be satisfied with the result, regardless of the victor.

Elrond ⟡ really nice guy who hates only you

In the history of Middle-earth, many questions had deprived the elves of sleep at night. Some of them mundane and private, others of fundamental, if not world-changing importance. The question that remained an unsolved mystery at Lindons court in recent years was the following: How do you make someone as kind as summer hate you?

Lord Elrond was generally known to be an approachable, if not exceptionally gentle, character. If there happened to be two people who could not agree on any subject, they would nevertheless find common ground in the thought that one could not deny Elrond to be a pleasant presence. He forged friendships in the most unlikely places and his diplomatic skills allowed him to get along even with people who were not too fond of him. With one notable exception: you.

It was obvious that Elrond held no sympathy for you since you began your work as scribe in Lindon. Your presence seemed to dim his warm radiance. If you were forced to work together, he would excuse himself as soon as possible to avoid sharing a room with you for a second longer. The court was bursting with theories as to what unforgivable offense you must have committed to cause this behavior. A surprising factor, however, was: you clearly tried to win his friendship.

Whenever you met, you inquired about his well-being with genuine interest, as well as that of his acquaintances. During long meetings, you always noticed when he got fatigued and asked for tea and food to be served. Sometimes you gifted him scrolls you had brought back from your travels, which he was itching to study, even though he never admitted it. No hidden political motives were behind your actions, as some suspected. Unbeknownst to the court and Elrond himself, you had felt an irresistible attraction to him since you first met. So your actions were solely an expression of this affection.

You naturally assumed these feelings to be unrequited. But it was a misunderstanding. Elrond's hatred was indeed the source of strong feelings toward you, just not of the nature they suggested. In truth, they merely served as a shield to prevent him from spiralling even deeper into a hopeless love. Elrond had also fallen for you, only he was under the mistaken belief that you were already promised to another. The culprit was the silver ring you wore, a symbol of two lovers, betrothed to be married. However, it was actually the only memento of your late mother. It was her engagement ring, not yours. When he first noticed it - sliding out from under your robes on the chain you had attached it to so you could wear it close to your heart - it was already too late.

Initially, he simply wanted to put some appropriate distance between you, but his feelings only grew. So he tried to hate you. He really did. But to his misery, loving you was as inevitable as the sunrise. No matter how long the night seemed to last, the light would return and give him the warmth he had been longing for. He simply learned to hide it better. So the answer to the question that kept Lindon awake at night was surprisingly simple - not to mention frustrating.

Adar ⟡ fake hating

Once, Adar had warned Glûg that he should speak more respectfully of you, since one day you would be his Lady Naneth. Glûg had thought his words to be a joke. How could he have believed them? After all, everyone throughout the Southlands knew you and Adar hated each other passionately. What else could explain the frequency with which you crossed blades or the look of satisfaction in Adar's eyes when you knelt before him in chains, if not hatred?

Not that Adar or you would have wanted it any other way. As feigned enemies you could achieve far more than as the lovers you truly were. Of course, he wanted to present you as his own to the whole world and his children, but in the end he followed your wise advice, as he so often did. This charade of hostility was the perfect cover for you to gather information about Sauron and his possible whereabouts among the elves. Only when every last trace of this threat had been eradicated you could leave this life behind and come home to him.

One might assume that it would be difficult to display hatred when one felt connected by love. However, for you, it was merely a necessary play that you had learned to master well. He did not mind if you handled him a little roughly in the heat of combat, and you knew that he would make up for even the slightest cut later with fervent devotion in the most pleasurable way.

The fight between you was just for show and the fire of his intensity born from a completely different source. Eventually, the others would see it too, but the time was not ripe for now. So he slipped you a key after interrogating you in the privacy of his tent in order for you to escape from your cell yet again. The Uruks who came to bring you away did not notice the flush of your cheeks or the light sweat still glistening on his neck. The warmth your skin had left behind was already fading, his heart consumed with longing for you once again. He had to be patient, he told himself, trust in your plan. You would find each other again, you always did.

Gil-Galad ⟡ fake amnesia

Something was wrong. Gil-Galad sensed it as surely as he could taste rain in the air hours before it fell. When the guards rescued a gravely wounded elf from the forest, his council was thrown into turmoil. Gil-Galad had recognized you the moment his eyes fell upon your unconscious face, for your blades had already crossed during Morgoth's invasion of Middle-earth. You were once his subordinate, a former collaborator of Sauron, and, judging by your uniform, now the right hand of a new darkness looming over the world: Adar. But your condition and discovery raised questions. The Council was certain that whatever information they could obtain from you would be of the utmost interest.

Only a problem arose: there was no information to obtain. Your memory seemed to be shrouded in a heavy fog that obscured every recollection. You could not remember your past self, let alone what had happened to you. The healers suggested to Gil-Galad that, with time, you might regain your memories, if Eru so desired. Until then, you were to remain under constant surveillance at Lindon's court, where he could follow your every move.

In truth, however, Eru had no power in this matter, because your memory had never been lost. During centuries of being forced to serve the darkness, you had always been unable to completely banish the longing for light from your soul. Therefore, after countless nights of inner torment, you seized an opportunity to escape, driven by the desire to fight for peace and to free the people from a suffering you had contributed to. Of course, you did not get far before Adar sent a pack of Uruk after you, either to bring you back alive or let you die, his plans unspoken on your tongue.

You nearly lost your life in that forest, but now these injuries served you well, since the elves would surely have doubted this change of heart. So you used them to play the innocently confused. After all, it was easier to believe in the honest intentions of someone who had no memory of their cruel past than someone turning their back on everything they had known before of their own free will.

Nevertheless, you had to find a way to aid Lindon. It was a precarious dance, a carefully constructed performance. By chance, at just the right moment, a memory surfaced in your mind that provided an important clue, while at other times you visibly struggled to find answers to the High King's questions. Sometimes you used other elves as pawns, gently nudging their thoughts in the right direction so that they would come to the realization you needed them to have.

Gil-Galad remained sceptical audience to your performance. It was unsettling to see his enemy so unsuspecting and gentle. One morning, he caught you watching the rising sun, hidden beneath the branches of the Great Tree. As the first light of day touched your face, your breath caught in your throat, a tear of overwhelming joy sliding down your cheek. The sight of this intimate moment came to mind days later during a meeting, whose purpose was to decide your fate in Lindon.

While he normally trusted his instincts, for the first time Gil-Galad felt conflicted. He believed you to be the deceitful serpent he had once encountered on the battlefield. But all your actions so far had been helpful. It did not escaped his notice that you had been manipulating the members of his court, but apparently in order to lead them to a favourable outcome. To make matters more complicated, your whole nature seemed changed. Perhaps - he allowed himself to wish for a moment - you had not changed at all, and this had always been part of who you were.

These questions and contradictions plagued him. He would have to continue watching over you, keeping you close by his side, in order to solve this enigma. But of one thing he was fairly certain by now: your amnesia might be faked, but your desire to help seemed irritatingly genuine.

Celebrimbor ⟡ love triangle but the love interests get together

Celebrimbor had always strived to create objects of great beauty and perfection, and you were his chosen companion in this endeavor. Since you mastered the art of smithing under his guidance, you had risen to become his right hand. Exceeding his expectations, you had grown to be his most valued associate on projects and, more importantly, his confidante. Friendship and a shared vision to create something of true significance bound you together. But now, a fear crept up within you that instead, you were on the verge of destroying something.

All began with the return of Halbrand, who revealed himself as Annatar, messenger of the Valar, and immediately entrusted Celebrimbor with a new project. This development made you nervous. Not because you felt unworthy of the task, but because you feared the feelings that arose in you when Annatar was near. You wanted to devote all your attention to the rings, supporting Celebrimbor, and not indulge in a budding affection.

This concern proved to be justified, as the more time you spent in the heat of the forge, the deeper you fell under Annatars spell. His occasional glances, as if he wanted to devour you, the little compliments he paid you, the accidental touches that lingered a little longer than appropriate - they gave you hope that your feelings were reciprocated. But they also turned your head and heart upside down and wrapped you in a sweet haze that caused you to forget everything else at times. Ever more often, you would wake up completely absorbed in your work, unsure of what you had actually been doing.

At the same time, you noticed that the looks Annatar and Celebrimbor exchanged bore an unsettling resemblance to those between Annatar and you. With growing unease, you observed the familiar way Annatar touched him and the blush that spread across the tips of Celebrimbor's ears. Apparently, Annatar was sharing his affection a bit more freely than you would have liked. And it seemed that Celebrimbor was aware of this too. Increasingly, you found yourselves arguing about the rings, with Annatar stepping in as your judge. Work became a pretext for acting out your jealousy.

What inflamed your anger even more, however, was that you could not even resent Annatar for making you his second choice. Celebrimbor was a brilliant soul, his light capable of illuminating even the darkest night with the vigor of the warm summer sun. When you discussed your craft and exchanged ideas, you felt more elated than ever. His laughter made every part of your heart sing, sometimes so strongly that you had to suppress the urge to reach out and touch him. The longer your rivalry for Annatar's favor continued, the more uncertain you became of whom your jealousy was actually directed at.

One evening, you two got into an argument without Annatar nearby to mediate. In the course of fighting, you came close enough that you could feel the heat of the forge his skin had absorbed. When you questioned his anger towards you - given that he had admitted you were right in terms of technique - Celebrimbor 's words stuck in his throat. His gaze dropped to your lips for a moment, and you almost gave in to the impulse of leaning forward. In the end, he left you without an answer.

When Annatar proved to be something far darker than you could ever have feared, you realized how he had forced a rift between you two. The guilt of not believing Celebrimbor, abandoning someone you loved in a moment of need, nearly tore you apart. You would have never left him behind in Eregion with this demon. Celebrimbor could not compete with you determination to save him, and so you dragged him from the ruins of his city. It would take time to mend your wounds, especially those hidden from the naked eye. Some of them might never fully heal. But one thing was certain: from now on, you would do everything in your power to stop Sauron together.

Sauron ⟡ lovers to enemies

There was a time when darkness covered Middle-earth like the blood-soaked cloak of an eternal night, and in the midst of this darkness burned Sauron's fire. With the scorching heat of the sun's never-ending flame, it devoured everything within its path. Sauron himself dreaded the relentlessness of it, for he sensed that the fire that fueled him would never be satisfied until it had burned even him out to the last.

But he discovered a remedy: you. You enlightened the night with the gentle radiance of the moon, graciously roaming the world to bathe it in a soft silence. Your soul was the dark sea that knew no end, capable of quenching any fire. He wanted to lose himself in you forever. You were lovers, two souls bound together in darkness with one goal: to heal Middle-earth. Sauron's vision of an orderly world was only complete with you as queen by his side, and he would see to it. He would perfect the world to lay it at your feet.

But things turned out differently. On the day of his coronation as Morgoth's successor, which you both had so eagerly awaited, Adar rammed the crown into his back instead of placing it on his head. And you? You just stood there - next to this lowly, deformed creature - and did nothing. You looked down on him as his blood drenched the cold stone. A tear escaped your eyes, just as you turned away. How could you dare to tear your gaze away from him! The betrayal tore him apart beyond what any of the blades that savaged his body could have done.

Your betrayal left a rift so deep, he would never recover from it. All that kept him alive now was the fire of fury. His encounter with Galadriel momentarily made him consider embarking on a new path. However, even she led him back to his desire to unite Middle-earth, to rule. And her light, which had once reminded him of you and drawn him to her, eventually burned too bright, blinding him and making him long for your tender shimmer. Not everything had been a game with her, his feelings were no lie at first, but after a while, Galadriel too became a means to his end. The crown he promised her would never touch her head, since it was meant for another.

Even after the pain of your deceit, he still desired you. Finally meeting you again reaffirmed this certainty. You, the storm that swept him away, pulling him into the deep sea, as it had so many times before. With one difference: you were no longer on his side. After your ploy with Adar, you had fled and aligned yourself with the elves of Lindon. Sauron could not refrain from admiring your ability to gain the trust of your enemy so easily. Not that it surprised him. After all, who would have the fortitude to refuse you?

But it was infuriating how quickly you had abandoned your dream. You claimed your vision had been a mistake, that he would destroy Middle-earth just as Morgoth once had. You wanted to repent, stop him to absolve your guilt. The lies told by the Elves had already clouded your mind. How could you have succumbed to their misconceptions while knowing the truth, knowing him? But you did not have to worry, he would not forsake you.

How could he? You no longer averted your gaze from him. Instead of your tender lips, your blade kissed his skin, but the feeling of cold steel sinking into his hot blood aroused him all the same. You may believe that you found a new home in Lindon, but they would never truly honor your magnificence. Not that it mattered. In the end, they would kneel at the feet of their queen, he would make sure of it. Even if it meant binding you to your throne through violence.

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。

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➳ Other posts from this series:

Fake Dating TROP Elves

Forced Proximity

[missjadesfics]

Believe Me, I'm Lying

Sauron | Annatar x Celebrimbors Daughter!Reader request: no gif credits: @flymarlo (gifs aren't mine, please don't mistake them with the original owner) divider credits: @arcielee Summary: Sauron, disguised as Annatar, seduces Celebrimbor's daughter during his stay in Eregion. Regrettably, she remains so entranced by his charm that she fails to recognise the extent of his deception. Warnings: 18+, MDNI, light!choking, praising, deception, manipulation, table sex, innocent!reader, feelings?, telepathy, inappropriate use of tools, brief dom!sauron, mentions of gagging, mentions of oral sex Word Count: 4.3k Disclaimer: I don't own Rings of Power or its characters, nor do I claim them as my own Comments, likes and reblogs are always adored and appreciated xx this fic is inspired by Taylor Swift - The Archer

Annatar. That was the name he revealed as his own when he formally presented himself to the noble Lord Celebrimbor and his enchanting daughter, Y/n. At first, he was known to them as Halbrand, a lowman of humble origins, the first disguise he presented, before revealing his true self. He was now Annatar, an elf in the fairest of forms. His ethereal beauty intertwined with a celestial allure left Y/n utterly breathless the moment their gazes intertwined, as though a fierce bolt of lightning had descended, shaking the very world around them. How tragic it was that she remained unaware—the man before her was but a cunning illusion, crafted to deceive, to bring ruin and unravel her world.

“Ah, Lord Annatar, you are quite the storyteller. My father always put his heart into crafting majestic stories, though they occasionally wavered, yet I cherished them. I have always known that his heart's first muse, both then and now, lies within the forge and the artistry of his craft. My mother, too, allowed him to create freely, with no demands but the simple wish to share his presence and cherish the warmth of his heart. In return, he granted her the liberty to roam freely and wander Eregion with her beloved books in hand, and explore the enchanting depths of the woods. Whispers lingered of her being a sorceress, so deeply in tune with nature. In the trees, to the flowers that were planted amongst the grass. To all the animals that inhabit Middle-Earth. She believed every life was valuable, no matter how large or small. But such tales were crafted by men and dwarves who bore no love for Elves. My father does not speak of her much anymore.” Y/n whispered softly, her fingers clutching the fabric of her dress as she navigated her steps over a fallen tree log. With the gentle assistance of Annatar’s hand, steady and warm, her breath stilled in her chest. Their gazes locked, and a captivating smirk played upon Annatar’s lips. “Or perhaps... she was. A sorceress, as you say.” He murmured. “How bittersweet it is that she is no longer among us; I very much would have liked to have met her. Yet, in truth, it feels as if the time I've shared here I have through you, my Lady Y/n. She comes through most prominently.” Annatar's velvety voice sent her heart into a gentle dance. At the same time, the delicate brush of his palm against hers ignited a rush of nerves through her veins, leaving her feeling as vulnerable and bewitched as if she were a child once again. “You honor me with your words, Lord Annatar.” Y/n expressed averting her eyes, her gaze falling to the ground as a gentle laugh escaped Annatar’s lips, his hand lingering against hers. “Simply Annatar.” He murmured with a gentle furrow of his brows, his voice layered with a quiet charm. “Surely, we’ve shared enough moments together to cast aside such formalities and speak to one another by our given names, do you not think so?” Y/n halted in her steps, her eyes drifting back to Annatar, whose towering figure stood like a barrier, softening part of the glistening sun that sought to pierce her gaze. “If so, then mayhaps you should cease addressing me as Lady Y/n. Y/n will suffice, Annatar.” She curtsied gracefully with a light flutter of her lashes. Annatar's lips curved into a charming grin, his jade-shaded eyes shimmering with delight at her words, as he gently brushed a tender kiss upon her delicate knuckles. "Alright then, my dearest Y/n."

.·。.·゜✦·.· ✧·゜·。. .·。.·゜✦·.· ✧·゜·。. .·。.·゜✦·.· ✧·゜·。.

The memory of that final conversation with Annatar lingered in Y/n's mind, marking the moment before everything began to shift. She observed changes—subtle but undeniable nonetheless. Annatar, driven by an intense devotion, poured his soul into crafting the rings, professing that their purpose was to 'heal Middle-earth' or so he claimed. Completely captivated by his aura, Y/n found the fleeting notion of him transforming before her eyes dissolve as swiftly as it had appeared. Glimpses exchanged across the forge, fleeting and intense, both by day and under night's embrace, and the soft, passing brush of fingers gliding against one another. The murmur of alluring stories teases with the promise of passionate delights. Sauron, concealed in his cunning facade, wove his web of manipulation and deceit across all of Eregion. Yet Celebrimbor remained blissfully unaware of the sinister allure Sauron had woven around his pure-hearted daughter, who clung to every bewitching word the deceiver uttered, parading as the devoted emissary of the Valar. Y/n’s eyes would glimmer like starlight each time Annatar entered the room, her lips softly parting in breathless wonder as she gazed upon him, immersed in his craft. Though Y/n's gaze would frequently linger upon Annatar's hands, captivated by the seamless elegance with which he moved—each motion exuding a delicate grace, yet cloaked in a commanding intensity that held an unyielding power. Y/n had never realised how her body would weaken and lean slightly forward, as though drawn by an invisible force, each time her gaze lingered upon him. Annatar, ever the keen observer, could always sense the lingering gaze of her eyes resting upon him. Each time he would lift his gaze, his eyes would lock with hers, the familiar smirk dancing on his lips, as the radiant glow of molten gold and shimmering metals cast a warm light over the contours of his face. As he worked with the forging tools, his hands danced with practised ease, fingers gliding smoothly along the surface, yet his gaze remained unwavering, fixed solely upon Y/n. With a nervous swallow and a shuddering breath, Y/n felt warmth spread through her body—yet it was not the fiery heat of the forge that ignited it. Yet, through those unspoken gestures, Y/n, pure in heart and untouched in spirit, could discern the veiled intentions woven into Annatar’s actions. If she felt overwhelmed, Y/n would simply immerse herself in the pages of her book, seeking refuge from the captivating man who lingered in her every thought. Nestled close to her cherished nook by the open balcony, Y/n lost herself in the compelling pages of her book, untouched and unaware of the lively world bustling around her. “𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞?” Annatar's silken voice murmured softly in her mind, her eyes drifting closed as if she were succumbing to an enchantment. Y/n’s lips parted as her gaze drifted to Annatar, who remained intently focused on his work as if he were not even speaking to her. “𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬. 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨.” Y/n listened to his words, her eyes finding her father happily writing on his parchment paper. Frowning, Y/n traced the paper of her book, her fingers running over the words. Mouthing the words to herself in silence. “And the princess took in a deep breath, feeling the air enter her body. She was free. Truly free. As she gazed upon the Knight who had saved her from her father, the mad king, she too found love. For what stronger love is there but one of a Knight and his Princess?” Y/n closed her book, tossing it on the floor as she left the forge, not sparing a glance at Annatar as both he and Celebrimbor watched her leave abruptly. 

Celebrimbor cast a fleeting glance at Sauron, who responded with a subtle nod of understanding, silently agreeing to follow Y/n and ensure her well-being. Sauron stumbled upon Y/n in the garden, her delicate hands tearing flowers from their stems, casting them aside into the gentle stream before her, where the flowing waters carried the fragile petals far from her view. “Have I troubled you?” Y/n sighed, barely glancing over her shoulder. As his soft sigh reached her ears, she became aware of his presence behind her. His hand gently sought hers just as she prepared to release another flower into the flowing waters. “How can flowers ever flourish if you keep uprooting them from the soil that cradles their very existence?” Slowly taking the flower from her hold, his fingers gently caressed the stem, the delicate motion captivating Y/n’s gaze. His thumb and forefinger lingered, gliding tenderly from the flower's bloom to the base of its stem. He gently shut his eyes, only to slowly open them once more. Y/n gently leaned forward, her gaze softening as she noticed he had tenderly nestled the flower back into the embrace of the earth. “You have not answered my question. Have I?” He stated, lifting his gaze to meet hers. While his expression remained composed and unreadable, his eyes betrayed a flicker of confusion, perhaps even a trace of hurt. Her thoughts wandered gently to her father, Celebrimbor, who was also displaying a shift in demeanour. Y/n started to wonder if the burden of crafting the rings was the force behind her father’s swift shifts in temperament. Y/n happened to catch fragments of Annatar's conversations with the other elven craftsmen concerning their master's abrupt transformation. Yet, true to her nature, Y/n brushed it aside, deeming it a subject that held no place in her world. “I've observed differences—within my father, and within you. Day and night, tirelessly overburdened by the relentless task of crafting the rings—its weight is slowly breaking my father. I can sense the tension within the forge; you both hold your anger back, but it slips through. Never before has my father behaved this way, not until…your arrival…” She murmured, her voice trembling as her gaze met Annatar's, fear and apprehension flickering like shadows in her eyes. With Annatar's arrival, so much shifted; while a few changes brought light, others cast lingering shadows. 

Sauron’s fingers tilted her chin to look at him, who responded with the faintest shake of his head. “I have endeavoured to aid him, to lighten the heavy weight he carries in crafting the rings, yet he remains steadfast in his belief that he must complete them alone. I have urged him to reach out to you, his daughter, for solace and respite, but he finds no purpose in doing so. In his heart, he feels incapable of devoting himself to both you and the rings. He was faced with a choice, but I fear his decision lacked any proper compassion.” Y/n shook her head, her heart aching as she struggled to accept that her father would reject her. “My father… chose the Rings over me?” Sauron held her face in his hands, his thumbs gliding gently over the curve of her cheeks as a soft smile played upon his lips. “Y/n, if your father has forsaken his own blood for the rings of power. Then know this—I am here, wholly and completely. And with every fibre of my being, I will devote myself to your happiness.” Sauron swallowed heavily, his nose caressing her own. “To prove my heart soley beats for you.” His honeyed words made Y/n’s heart skip, leaning into his touch, and tears brimmed her lower lashes. Their lips only grazing against one another’s. “𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐫…” His name slipped from her lips, a whispered prayer—a desperate plea. A tender smile graced Sauron's lips as they met hers in a gentle kiss, a loving act that sent Y/n's heart racing with fervent rhythm. Sauron could sense it, a faint smirk gracing his lips as his own claimed her breath with every fleeting second, leaving her captivated. Intertwining his fingers gently through her silken hair, he let his knuckles softly caress her cheek in a playful tease before gliding to the elegant curve of her throat, where he could sense the rhythmic beat of her pulse beneath his tender touch. A soft moan escaped Y/n's lips, intertwining with the kiss, only to linger in the air as Sauron gently drew away. Gazing upon Y/n’s enchanting features, he tenderly pressed a kiss to her cheek, his arm gliding gently around her waist as he drew her closer into his embrace. “Do not fret, my love. Everything will soon fall into place, you'll see.” He whispered in her ear,  his breath warm as the faintest touch of his tongue grazed the curve of her ear. Y/n whimpered softly, offering a silent nod as Sauron leaned back. Y/n’s gaze locked with his, noticing a shadowy flicker of black momentarily veiling the emerald depths of his eyes.

Her instincts shouted a warning—something was wrong, yet how can one notice the truth when you're utterly captivated by the deceptive illusion unfolding before your own eyes?

.·。.·゜✦·.· ✧·゜·。. .·。.·゜✦·.· ✧·゜·。. .·。.·゜✦·.· ✧·゜·。.

The Nine were almost complete, and Sauron had woven an enchanting illusion of Eregion, so vivid it mirrored the charm of an ordinary, tranquil day. And what of Celebrimbor? The tower's solitary captive, his daughter Y/n, found herself captivated by the allure of Annatar, believing in his beguiling words that Eregion was untouched by turmoil, blissfully unaware of the fierce war unfolding beyond the tower’s walls. With unwavering courage, the elves valiantly battled Adar’s orcs to shield their cherished city, as Sauron seized the mantle of Eregion's new lord, dismissing Celebrimbor as incompetent and unfit. The elves entangled in the web of the dark sorcerer's deceit yielded to his commands with unwavering trust. Sauron's vision had finally come to fruition; chaos reigned, blood was spilled, and the throne of ultimate dominion lay tantalizingly within his grasp. With the forging of the nine rings for men, his grand design to dominate Middle-Earth would finally be revealed. As night descended, Sauron roamed the winding stairs, discovering the forge cloaked in silence and solitude. From the intimate sanctuary of Celebrimbor's bedchambers, Y/n gracefully emerged. Sauron’s brows knit together in a pretense of concern. “Is all well, my lady?” He inquired with gentle concern as Y/n gave a slow nod and gracefully descended the steps. “I persuaded my father to rest; his body and spirit are exhausted. I’m certain that slumber will rejuvenate him, rekindling his inspiration by dawn” Her voice, soft and tinged with unease, drifted through the room as Sauron observed her tenderly tidying her father’s workspace, arranging his tools and gathering the scattered papers. Sauron drew himself close, his presence warm against her back as his lips brushed softly along her neck. His hands intertwined with hers, his arms encircling her with tender strength, pulling her into an intimate embrace. “You are a daughter of unwavering devotion and boundless love. How could your father fail to see that, among all the treasured gems that Middle-Earth holds, he has been blessed with the rarest and most exquisite of them all?” He whispered, his lips brushing a tender kiss upon the crown of her head. As he turned her gently in his embrace, Y/n placed her trembling hands against Sauron’s chest, her lips quivering while her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “That man I once called father feels like a stranger to me now. I scarcely recognise him, and I fear his heart no longer knows mine. When I urged him to rest, his gaze barely lingered on me. But when he did, there was no love there—only a hollow emptiness. Annatar, he’s slipping away from me… to the power of the Rings. I cannot endure this pain. My heart cannot endure this sorrow he is causing me…” Her voice faltered into soft sobs as Sauron enfolded her in his arms, holding her close in a moment of silent comfort. Sauron permitted his eyes to well with tears, a rare glimpse of vulnerability within his darkened soul. For the first time, his heart shattered, torn apart by the anguished cries of the innocent elf, Y/n, as she helplessly witnessed her father succumb to the very manipulation born of his own doing—an insatiable desire for power and dominion.

Sauron's eyes fell shut as his hands clung to her dress, gently pulling at the fabric before tracing a deliberate path along the curves of her form. “Annatar, distract me.” She pleaded, her arms gliding tenderly around his neck. “Please.” Her pleading voice, laced with desperation, sent a shiver through him, his movements taut with tension as he gently placed her upon her father's worn worktable. With a tender yet deliberate motion, his hand traced beneath the fabric of her dress, sliding it higher along her leg, his fingers gliding gracefully to the delicate curve of her inner thigh. He rested his head gently against hers, their breaths intertwining like a silent conversation, while she gave a quiet nod, encouraging him to proceed as his movements momentarily ceased. “I understand that you have never shared such intimacy with a man before, but do not let your feelings obscure your—” Sauron started, his words silenced as Y/n pressed her lips to his in a fervent kiss, her trembling hand pulling him closer between her thighs, guiding him with unspoken desire. She was lost in a sea of uncertainty, unaware of the delicate intricacies that wove the connection between a man and a woman. Yet, the yearning she harboured for Annatar, a longing born the moment he entered her world, was a flame she desperately wished to extinguish. Formalities meant nothing to her; all she longed for was him. Her heart yearned for him, every fibre of her being drawn irresistibly to his presence. A deep, resonant groan escaped from Sauron's chest as his form leaned into Y/n’s, his fingers discovering the soft warmth of her uncovered skin. He broke the kiss, his lips curling into a playful, teasing grin. “An untainted elf like you, daring to wear nothing beneath your dress? Such a dangerously tempting decision.” 

As he withdrew his hand from between her thighs, Y/n let out a yearning whimper, her desperation urging her to grasp for Sauron's hand once more, only to be halted by the sharp sound of his disapproving tongue click. With delicate precision, grasping her father’s crafting hammer, Faenor’s hammer. The metal glimmered radiantly in the fire's warm embrace as he gently turned it within the cradle of his hand. A thought stirred in his mind as he gently placed the cool tool against Y/n's bare thigh. Her head tilted back, a soft moan escaping her lips from the unfamiliar sensation. With deliberate intent, he slid the hammer between her legs, teasing her with the smooth, rounded end as it grazed her damp entrance. A soft, startled gasp escaped her lips as Sauron gently encircled her throat with his hand. “Hush, my love. I would hate to muffle those sweet sounds of yours. But we mustn’t let another soul hear.” He purred his eyes glinting with desire as Y/n silently complied, anticipating Sauron’s next move. Gently, he moved with precision through her longing, enveloping the instrument in her desire. Y/n’s hands lifted her dress at the hips, revealing to Sauron her glistening, soaking cunt. His eyes grew wide with wonder, a soft, breathless sigh slipping from his lips as he gently guided the tool into her entrance. Y/n clung to his arm, her lips parted as a trembling moan escaped, igniting a fire within Sauron that made Sauron’s cock harden. “Annatar…please.” She begged. With a soft hum, Sauron relented to her earnest plea, guiding the tool within her Y/n’s body, which shook at the intrusion. The mere notion of her feeling pleasure from her father’s crafted instrument sent a tremor through her, as the man before her skillfully twisted and thrust the tool in a rhythm that captivated her entirely. 

The wet sounds of her cunt squelching earned a growl from Sauron, his eyes fixated on watching her greedy, virginal cunt take her father’s hammer. Sauron pressed his face into the curve of her neck, his tongue tracing the rhythm of her pulse, while Y/n encircled his body with her legs, her soft murmurs of his name and pleading fueling his urgency. Each thrust grew more fervent, the unfamiliar sensation making her tighten around it as her hips moved instinctively, perfectly in sync with the deliberate rhythm of Sauron’s hand. “You’re such a sweet, obedient girl, taking your father’s hammer so perfectly. Just look at you—anyone would believe you’ve known the pleasures of being fucked before.” He growled, his lips curling into a wicked smirk, his eyes burning with an intense, unearthly hunger as his hand rested lightly around her throat. Y/n let out a soft whimper, overwhelmed by the sinful, sweet yet pure filthiness of his praise. “Yes, Annatar.” Sauron grinned before capturing her lips in a fierce, passionate kiss. His tongue teasingly brushed against her lower lip, seeking entry, and when Y/n yielded, he claimed her with unrestrained desire. His lips claimed hers, his tongue exploring every corner with a fervent, unyielding passion. Her body trembled more intensely as the waves of her approaching climax stirred within her; their kiss was consumed by her muffled moans, while Sauron let out a throaty grunt, momentarily withdrawing the hammer to marvel at how her essence gleamed upon the crafting tool. With his eyes squeezed shut, he darted out to taste her wetness, a strained moan rising from deep within him before spilling onto the cold stone floor. He loosened his robes with deliberate intent, drawing her closer, filling her with his hard cock in one swift motion.

A soft cry escaped Y/n’s lips as Sauron's brushed against them, their breaths intertwining like a whisper. As he set an unrelenting pace, the table beneath them groaned against the cold stone floor. Wrapping her arms around his neck as one of Sauron’s hands claimed her thigh, while the other steadied himself against the wooden desk. “I’ve been yearning for the warmth of you close to me, to witness the ecstasy in your eyes as you surrender to me. To hear the melody of the sweetest sighs escape those irresistible lips as I make you mine.” He murmured, his breath delicately brushing against Y/n's face. Y/n, rendered speechless and consumed by sheer ecstasy, could do nothing but gaze at the man, who claimed her body with a wild, untamed fervor. The exquisite sensation of him moving within her, skillfully and passionately striking her most sensitive depths with perfect precision and intensity. Neither could believe how perfectly their bodies fit together as one. Sauron’s deep, primal growls of satisfaction spurred Y/n’s body to tighten instinctively around him. The overwhelming sensation left Sauron breathless, his jaw slackened as he brushed the items off the desk, and Sauron laid Y/n back. Her hands reached out, clutching the table's edges, her back curving in surrender as her head tilted back, releasing a resonant, passionate moan. Sauron slapped her thigh lightly, his gaze softening yet intent, narrowing with a flicker of another warning. Frustration consumed Y/n as her voice failed her, leaving only desperate whines and longing whimpers. 

Towering over her with an intense dominance, Sauron claimed her with unyielding fervour, his lips curling into a wicked smile as he savoured every moment. “Next time, I’ll unveil the breathtaking delights I can bestow upon you with my mouth between your legs. But don’t worry, my love—there, we will be far away, where your passionate cries can roam free, unrestrained. Even as I claim you again and again, filling you completely, without end. 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫.” He panted heavily, delivering a few shallow thrusts. With his hand gliding tenderly up her body, tracing the path between her heaving breasts and sensing the wild rhythm of her heartbeat, Sauron bent close, his lips trailing passionate kisses along her chest and up the curve of her neck. “Annatar I—” Y/n began her voice filled with vulnerability, as her body quivered and surrendered to the ecstasy coursing through her, her walls tightening around his length as she reached her peak. A fiery heat surged through her lower abdomen, stars dancing before her eyes as she trembled under Sauron's presence. Her gaze locked with his, a single tear slipping gently from the corner of her eye. Her gentle beauty weaves a vision of serenity; pouted lips, glossy eyes and innocence faded. Sauron staggered as he surged closer, his hand clutching the edge of the table near her head with a desperate intensity. With a guttural growl, he reached his peak, spilling his seed, each pulse a declaration of possession. A satisfied hum escaped Y/n's lips as Sauron claimed her fully, his unsteady thrusts mingling with his laboured breaths, a testament to their shared abandon.

With a delicate touch, his fingers glided over her face, his forefinger lingering as it brushed across her lips “You’ve done so well, my love. Now, you belong to me—completely. Forever bound to me. It almost pains me to corrupt you in such a way, but soon enough...you’ll come to understand why I have done what I have. All for you, for us.” He whispered. Y/n blinked her lashes fluttering in a haze of afterpleasure. “What do you mean, Annatar?” She murmured her voice barely audible, as Sauron's lips curved into a cryptic twitch and his palm unfolded, bearing the ominous truth of his mark. Y/n blinked, her vision slowly focusing, only to be met with the piercing gaze of Sauron’s shadowy eyes fixed intently upon her, the veins under his eyes becoming apparent. “𝐈 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞—𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞-𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡. 𝐘𝐞𝐭, 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐈 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧—𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞, 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.” A sly smirk played on his lips.

dt to my sauron girls : @dinsbeskar @notreallythatlost @sansaorgana @anna-tariel @morethea @ladyoflindon @catswonderland @stardustcasey @dreamlandcreations @halbrannatar

extra dt: @swordgrace @little-diable @joyfulyouthlover @small-carbon-lifeform @casien

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Sauron (Annatar) being unable to resist your allure as you work on the rings…

Distance. He repeated to himself. Although he did not understand why it was necessary when he chose to ignore the warning and step closer to you.

He had donned a new face with a new name - Annatar - but it did little to fade the pull he felt to you as ‘Halbrand’. As fate would have it, your journey drew you to Eregion to aid Celebrimbor with his crafts.

Or perhaps you were simply drawn to where Sauron would be?

A part of him longed to tell you the truth but he had a larger plan that relied on secrecy. He could not risk you speaking with Galadriel nor did he wish to cause you harm. And so, he chose to keep the knowledge to himself.

He watched as you picked up a glittering gold band forged for one of the dwarf lords. One of seven. Crafted by Celebrimbor, they were perfect. Touched by his hands, there would be malice and a darkness so deep-rooted.

But jewelled by your fingers? They would have enough light to remind him that not all he touches is true evil.

“Have you chosen a stone for this one?” He asked.

You inspected the fine craftsmanship. “Perhaps a sapphire.” You said rather distracted. He gave you a small musing hum and you turned to meet his eyes. “You disagree?”

“I merely think a ruby would complement this particular piece.”

“Do enlightenment me, Lord of Gifts.” You challenged.

He almost laughed at the offence you took. But he merely stepped behind and touched an elbow with one hand, raising it a little higher. His free hand caught your chin, fingers gently lifting your head to tilt upwards to see the gold band twinkle under a ray of sun.

It was intimate and he wrestled with his impulsive urges. To kiss you in this moment would be too easy. But again, he could not. All he could do was savour this moment with you.

“The sunlight catches the band casting it in a glow of power. A ruby would emphasize such a notion beneath the mountain.” He said, lips drawing impossibly close to your ear. He noticed the prickling of your skin and the way your breath hitched.

“Power kissed by sunlight.” You whispered, realising his vision. Head turning to his once more, he saw the way your eyes flickered to his lips for a fleeting second.

It appeared that the pull he felt was mutual, drawing you to him in equal strength. You were drifting closer and closer and-

“Wonderful news! We have just received word from the realm of Men.” Celebrimbor announced as he walked into the forge.

With a sharp breath, Sauron pulled away just as you had done the same. He took note of how you quickly busied yourself in the work once more.

Composing himself, he stood up and smiled at the ring maker who had not noticed the spark rushing for cover.

He should have been more careful.

“This is truly good to hear.” He told Celebrimbor and led the elf away from your workspace. “How soon can we extend an invitation for their visit?”

~ More imagines here ~

A/n: Written at 12am because I have no regard for waking early tomorrow for work. When the writing bug bites, you write.

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Inspiration (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you struggle coming up with new designs for the Nine, and the Lord of Gifts helps you overcome your creative block

Warnings: smut (p in v, cockwarming, tease and denial, dom!Annatar vibes), reader hesitates at first because she’s surprised by Annatar’s advances but she’s on board with it, manipulation cause she doesn’t know Annatar is Sauron, small discrepancies with the canon timeline for the sake of the fic’s (very little) plot, unrealistic(?) method of solving artistic blocks (the irony is that I wrote this fic to get out of writer’s block with another one and it worked😆)

Mature content below the cut - minors DNI!!!

“How fares your progress?”

Lord Annatar’s voice nearly startles you when you see him approach. You thought you were alone in the forge room, with nothing but your thoughts and the unfinished Ring designs currently staring in defiance up at you from a piece of paper.

“Well enough,” you say, reflexively. Then sigh, letting your pencil fall on the table. “Well, in fact... it is slow,” you confess, glancing at Annatar as he walks towards you. You wince internally when he looks over your shoulder at your sketches. “My skills are no match for Lord Celebrimbor’s, and even he has had difficulty finding the right designs.”

“And yet he chose you alone to carry on with the efforts in his absence,” he argues, even when faced with what you deem to be your far-less-than-satisfactory attempts. Looking up, you find him offering you a sympathetic smile. “You sell yourself short, my friend. It is a real pity.”

You avert your gaze, attempting yet surely failing to conceal your fluster. His compliments, however small, always have a sincerity about them that touches you deeply.

Lord Celebrimbor had, quite literally, worked himself into oblivion after one too many failed attempts at crafting the Nine, and more hours without rest than even an Elf could endure. He had refused to retire to his chamber for some much needed sleep until he had fainted upon his own worktable, and even then, he had refused for anyone but you to even attempt to create new designs for future tries in his absence. He had been odd, of late, mistrusting and, dare you say, even irresponsible at times. But you were his oldest and most trusted apprentice, and that seemed to earn you some of the good will he still had left.

Not that you feel he has made you much of a favour, leaving you to labour alone on such an intricate task. You are not exactly freshly rested yourself, and you have seen so many Ring designs in the past few weeks, you seem to have been drained of the ability to come up with any fresh ones.

There was only one idea you had that might help you, and you had risen from your seat and sat back down two or three times already, changing your mind about whether you should seek out Lord Annatar or not. Whether it would be appropriate. Now that he has come to you, however...

“I was wondering...” Your eyes wonder about the room, hesitating to meet his. “If it isn’t too bold to ask...”

“Be at ease,” Annatar intercedes with that same gentle smile, and it isn’t so difficult to look at him anymore. “My very purpose here is to aid you in your endeavours. You need not hesitate to ask for my help.”

All of a sudden, you feel quite silly for ever doubting you could speak with him openly. He has been most willing to share his knowledge as he worked closely with you these past few weeks. It’s just that now, he has taken on Celebrimbor’s duties as Lord of Eregion as well, and you hate to feel as though you are keeping him from more important matters simply because you cannot seem to handle your own given task.

“It’s just that I feel so... utterly uninspired,” you confess, casting a dismayed look to the sketch-filled papers in front of you. “The proportions, the aesthetics... I cannot seem to get all the elements right at the same time and the more I try, the farther I stray from the desired result.” You raise your gaze to Annatar’s. “Might you spare a moment to assist me, if only with one design? I’m sure it’ll be inspiration enough for me to finish the others whilst you tend to the affairs of the city.”

“Of course,” he says, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. With the other, he picks up the piece of paper, and you are now grateful that his attention is solely on the drawings, for the sudden contact has made you rather flustered. “You see,” Annatar says, contemplating the sketches, “sometimes the artist’s mind, though creative as ever, tends to... restrict itself, in the most frustrating way. So great is the desire for perfection in the end result, that it stifles the natural flow of the precious ideas without which no result may be reached at all.”

You resonate with the wise words, but you are not sure you understand the advice they carry.

“Are you suggesting I... draw whatever design I like first and worry about the practical aspects of it later?”

“I am suggesting,” he says, putting the paper down, “that you do not worry at all.” You frown. With that, you do not resonate at all. But your main focus now is that Annatar steps behind you, this time placing his hands on both your shoulders. Your heartbeat quickens as he speaks, at leisure, “That you do not even... think about the task at hand—not entirely—and that you simply... give in to your most natural instincts.”

“I am... not sure I understand,” you say quietly.

After a moment’s silence, Annatar asks, “May I show you?”

You knit your brow, unsure. You had expected him to help you by simply completing one of the sketches, or even just discussing some new ideas. These cryptic words, along with the physical contact, is all quite peculiar.

But you do trust him. You more than trust him, if you’re being honest. That is why the sudden closeness feels rather nice, though you do not wish to make a fool of yourself by showing it.

In the end, you give a small nod.

“Very well,” he says, and you hear the pleased smile in his voice. “For that, you need only resume your work, and trust me.”

Failing at producing quality designs right before his eyes doesn’t sound exactly ideal, but you put your faith in his methods, whatever they are. You pick up the pencil once more, bring a fresh sheet of paper before you, and begin your fumbling attempts anew.

You note—how could you not?—that Annatar has yet to remove his hands from your shoulders. Because of that, you sit more upright than you usually do, but you doubt changing your posture is his sole purpose. Slowly, he begins to move, thumbs brushing your skin, then softly pressing down onto it in a languid rhythm.

You are grateful that he cannot see the wide-eyed surprise on your face as it dawns on you that the Lord of Gifts himself is giving you, a common Elf, a massage. His thumbs come to knead the flesh at the base of your neck on either side of your spine, and the slight pressure feels divine, especially when you have spent so many hours hunched over the table. You bite down an audible sigh, willing your hand not to waver while you work. You still do not feel particularly inspired, but if he meant to bring you relief from the constant stress of the past few weeks, his efforts are most certainly appreciated.

You mean to offer him a polite and rather bashful thank you, when one of his hands begins to stray. His fingers leave a tingling trail across your skin as he draws them up your neck, softly cupping your jaw from behind. You are quite stunned by the gesture, and find yourself retracing the same pencil line a few unnecessary times before you move on. His fingertips graze their slow way up your jaw, straying briefly through your hair before they reach your earlobe. It’s almost as though he is drawing his own intricate pattern along your skin, and your hand slows in its movements as your heart races in your chest.

Surely, he would not— oh, but if only he did—

And he does. His fingers take their sweet time tracing the shell of your ear, and finally, they reach the tip, where they catch the pointed bit of flesh between them, tugging ever so gently.

Your breath catches in your throat, shivers rain down your spine, and your hand freezes on the page. Because your kind do not touch one another’s ears in such a manner unless they are, or wish to be, courting. The simple reason is that, as you are now vividly reminded, those pointed tips are quite sensitive to touch, erogenous in nature for most Elves—including yourself.

You do not question Annatar’s wisdom or the grace with which he has assimilated into your ways of life, but perhaps he is somehow not aware of this particular intimacy-related aspect? Should you let him know, as courteously as possible? But then how would you explain that you had felt his intent, and despite having been given all the time in the world before his fingers had reached that most tender spot, you had done nothing at all to prevent such a caress?

Before you can decide, his hand returns to your shoulder, any movement halted.

“Is something the matter?” he questions, concerned.

You cannot tell him. You simply cannot. In truth, you miss the touch already.

“No—” you clear your throat, willing the waver out of your voice. “No, my lord.”

“Then, why have you stopped?”

He sounds genuinely curious, as though he could not fathom what had affected you so. You give no answer, other than to put pencil to paper once more. The moment you resume your work, his hands resume theirs—massaging, caressing. He does not touch your ears again, though his fingers do come dangerously close to doing so as he runs them through your hair, and you berate yourself for hoping each time that they would find those sensitive peaks again, catch them in their delicious hold.

So distracted you are by the prospect of it and the images you strive to continue creating, you do not even sense Annatar leaning down. Not until you catch a glimpse of long, blonde hair at the periphery of your vision, and then there is the soft graze of his lips over your neck. You draw in a sharp breath as your skin is set alight, and the pencil slips from your fingers.

“My lord!” you gasp, chest heaving as you whip around to fix him with a most alarmed look. There is no misinterpreting the intent behind that particular gesture, and he knows it very well.

But he doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest as he stands to his full height, seeming to you more majestic in appearance than ever as you look up at him.

“Keep drawing,” he instructs calmly. “Unless you wish for me to stop.”

Your brow furrows even further, your confusion growing, and then—

It all clicks in your mind.

The rules he has demonstrated thus far are simple enough: you stop, he stops. It’s both a condition and a reassurance. You do not have to outright refuse him. You need only refuse to continue drawing, and he shall leave you be, and all will return to the way it was before. But if you do pick up the pencil, it would be tantamount to confessing to the desire you have held secret within your heart for weeks, and that would change everything. Not to mention it would be unprofessional. Most inappropriate.

Your skin still sings where he has touched it.

Be it courage or folly, you turn away from him, pick up the pencil, and draw.

You think you can feel a smile on his lips as they return to your neck. This time, you close your eyes, finally able to savour the sensation—only for a moment, though, for the blissful touch depends on your ability to keep forming shapes on the paper, so you open your eyes and do your best to conjure some semblance of a coherent design as Annatar peppers your skin with unrushed, tender kisses. His lips are even softer than you had imagined, and you tilt your head lightly to offer every inch of skin within his reach. Now that the door has been opened, there is no more use pretending like you do not crave his affections.

Before long, his fingers ghost along the neckline of your dress, then his hand ventures below, to the swell of your breast. You do not make the slightest move to stop him. In fact, you pray to the Valar for the ability to keep your hand drawing at least somewhat relevant lines on the page. For you keep reminding yourself that if you stopped, so would he, and you cannot fathom the loss of his delicate grasp of your soft flesh. He easily finds a stiff nipple, peaking through the fabric of your dress, and tugs it between his thumb and forefinger. You shudder, holding back a whimper—but to your embarrassment, the beginning of one does escape you when his hands and lips suddenly leave you.

“Do you need a respite?” he says with a tinge of admonishment. You’ve abandoned your efforts on the paper without even realizing. You shake your head, not trusting your voice, wishing for nothing more than to feel his touch again, and resume scribbling lines on paper.

“Very well,” he says, and his hands return to you.

It’s increasingly challenging to keep drawing through each graze of lips, each brush of your ears, each tease of your nipples through your dress. It’s already so much, so fast, and yet it only makes you long for so much more. You’ve given up biting back the soft moans in your throat, lacking the power of concentration to spare for that purpose as well. And you certainly cannot help how your thighs press together in a futile attempt to ease the ache growing between your legs.

The sketch of one Ring is already finished, but you don’t even stop to consider whether it’s satisfactory before you begin another. His method shall be most efficient in increasing the quantity of your work, if not the quality. Would he do this with any other smith, you wonder, simply as a means of encouragement? Is this what he has been doing to Lord Celebrimbor on the late nights when the other smiths have gone to sleep, and they alone remain to carry on working in the forge? The thought stings, but the only question on which you can truly focus at the moment is how much further will he go with you, right here and now? As if in answer, his hand begins a most tantalizing descent, over your stomach, down to your navel, and you desperately repeat to yourself to do not stop drawing, no matter what, as you part your legs to receive him without shame.

When he cups you intimately through the fabric of your dress, you truly do not know by what force you are able to keep the pencil on the page, let alone keep wielding it. But thanks to the muscle memory acquired over many years of training, you do, even as you whimper and rock your hips into Annatar’s hand, even as he massages the throbbing bud which had longed for his touch on the shamefully many nights you had stroked it yourself while thinking of him. You wonder if he can feel how wet you have grown for him even through the fabric of your dress, wantonly hope that he does—

He stops. Even though you haven’t—you are so sure of it, you’ve been so careful. You only cease drawing when he lifts himself from you and you turn to him with a questioning, pleading look.

“Stand,” he instructs simply.

You nearly protest. But you remember yourself, that you are meant to be putting your trust in him, and do as you are told. You are hyperaware of the wetness between your legs as you stand, leaning against the table for support. The haze of desire has left you pleasantly weak.

Annatar steps towards you, facing you fully for the first time since he has begun to touch you intimately, and it is both relieving and electrifying to see that desire darkens his gaze as well as he takes in your breathless state. Taking gentle hold of your chin, he lifts it so your eyes meet his, and not a moment later his lips are upon yours, soft and tender. It’s barely more than a short peck, just enough for you to melt into the kiss only for him to pull away before you can fully savour it. This teasing of his is so maddening, like a game to which the only rule you know is that you either submit to his rules, or forfeit altogether, and you can only hope he will not leave you wanting in the end.

Stepping back, be pushes his robes to the side, and proceeds to unfasten his trousers with relaxed, steady movements under your longing gaze.

He pauses whilst he is still decent, and patiently asks, “Will you welcome my flesh?”

Welcome it? You could think of little else for weeks.

“Yes, my lord,” you murmur.

Only then does he bear himself to your gaze. He is a masterpiece, hard and swollen and glistening at the tip. The state of his cock denotes much more impatience than he demonstrates as he gracefully seats himself in your chair. Your cunt clenches around a gnawing emptiness at the mere sight.

“Return to your seat, then,” he invites with a cheeky little smile.

You find it strange that he has not pulled the chair away from the table, sitting in it as though he means to work there himself, rather than receive you in his lap. But you obey either way, a daze of elation coming over you. It’s such a foreign, illicit feeling, pulling up the skirts of your dress with trembling fingers as you step between the chair and table to face Annatar, ready to straddle him.

Before you can lift one knee onto the chair, he stops it with a gentle but decisive hand.

“I do not believe you have finished the designs,” he says. “Have you?”

Frowning, you give a slow shake of your head. His tone nearly makes you feel like a chastised student. Disoriented, you are nothing but pliant as his hands guide you into turning around so that you are now facing the table. Surely, he cannot mean for you to keep drawing once he is inside you? You could barely manage to control your pencil strokes whilst you sat relatively unmoving with his hands upon you, you could not even manage to find the paper if you begin to ride him.

You are about to ride him. Lord Annatar. The thought banishes any such concerns from your mind, leaving nothing but blinding lust in its wake. He adjusts you so that your legs are bracketing his thighs, pulls your garments out of the way to expose your soaked folds, and guides you down so that the tip of his cock is only just breaching your entrance.

That initial stretch alone pulls a small whimper from you, and you plant your hands on the arms of the chair for support, trying not to make any rash downward movement that might hurt you both. But his hands are strong and so safe on your hips, and you surrender to their guidance as he eases your joining. He slowly teases the tip of his cock in and out of your cunt, each time reaching a little deeper than before, until you cannot take it any longer and and sink onto his length completely.

The stretch pulls a mewl from your throat as you finally settle in his lap. You strive to catch your breath, looking down as if to reassure yourself that this is, indeed, real. Your dress covers the place where he has disappeared inside you, but you are so heavenly filled by the length and girth of him, you fear the sight alone might cost you your sanity. You whine, your eyes falling shut as Annatar pulls you to his chest, one hand pressing down on your belly whilst the other gently wraps around your neck, and he whispers in your ear, “How does this feel?”

Your voice is no more than a trembling whisper, “Wonderful.”

You cannot bear to wait a moment more. You try to circle your hips in his lap, moaning as his cock begins to prod at all the most delightful spots within you—

He plants his hands on your hips, trapping them in a firm hold.

“Be still,” he demands. It’s no easy feat, but you settle down, awaiting his direction. “Good,” he purrs in your ear. “Good. Now...” he pauses, letting you quiver with anticipation, “you shall remain still until you have finished the designs.”

Your eyes shoot open, wide and confused as you twist your head to look at him. There is no trace of jest in his eyes. Even the pleasure he feels in the warm embrace of your cunt is a faint glimmer beneath the surface of his determination, subdued with utter discipline. You realize he truly means his words, and you despair.

“But...” You cannot even make a coherent plea. So dreadful is the thought of enduring the pleasure of having him inside you without pursuing it, you are reduced to little more than a pitiful whine, “My lord—”

“Shh,” he coos, tenderly kissing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek, aiming to soothe you as if he is not the very source of your torment. “I know,” he murmurs. “I feel it too. This all-consuming ache to reach fulfillment, this longing for release... the wonders of your mind crave the very same. Open the door to set them free, as you have opened yourself to allow me in. You managed well enough before .”

“Yes, but you were not...” You grimace, clenching around him without meaning to in your anguish. “It’s so deep—”

“And you are so warm. So tight,” he breathes out, hoarse with want. “Yet I shall wait, patiently, for as long as I must. For your sake.”

His tone leaves no room for argument, which only worsens the ache between your legs. But you know by now—either play by his rules, or stop the game altogether.

You sigh, defeated, and nod. “All right.”

Annatar presses a light kiss to your temple, a gesture so sweet and chaste, it makes your head spin as much as his praise. “Good girl,” he rasps out. “Go on, then.”

He offers some support as you will your limbs into cooperating and begin to lean forward, towards the table. The movement jostles his cock within you ever so slightly, and you groan as you withhold from moving your hips in search of any further friction. The position is somewhat awkward, with you leaning over the page from a slightly too high angle, but you plant your elbows on the table and get on with it, determined to see this through.

If someone had told you this was how you would finish the designs—seated in Lord Annatar’s lap, his cock buried snugly inside you, so perfectly stretching you out that it drives you to the brink of insanity—you would have called them a most impolite adjective, and slapped them for good measure. But even less probable, even more scandalous, is that it’s almost easier this way. After a few moments of adjustment, you no longer scratch out attempts before they’ve even begun to take shape, or overthink each stroke of the pencil to the point where you forget what your overall intention had been in the first place. The wonderfully torturous stretch of Annatar’s cock within you takes over that part of your mind, and what is left of it is high on the thrill of it all, the anticipation, the graze of Annatar’s fingers as they trace the occasional languid line along your spine, so tender and encouraging.

The practical knowledge is there, deeply rooted in your mind from years of practice, and the creativity is a gift that’s never truly left you. But it is only now that you finally understand how to let them intertwine without trying to control it, to give in to the flow of inspiration the same way you are giving in to him.

And he keeps his word, sitting silently until the last stroke of your pencil, his hips never once giving the lightest stir. Only when you sit back to show him the finished sketches does he lean forward slightly, taking the paper from your hand as you take deep breaths to cope with the new stimulation.

You plant your hands on his knees for support, nerves filling you now that the creative haze is over. You are left only with great unfulfilled lust, and the creeping doubt that, perhaps, your work is no more adequate than it was before. You’d found a way to push through so far, but you are not sure you could manage such a feat a second time if he asked it of you.

But you would try. You would try anything, if it allowed only the sliver of hope that your Lord Annatar would finally take you, unrestrained and to sweet completion, at the end of it.

To your great relief, when you turn your head, you find him studying the paper with a most appreciative smile.

“See what you can accomplish when you give yourself permission to do so?” he says, caressing your thigh as if in reward. “These are splendid.”

“Thank you, my lord,” you murmur. Before, you would not have dreamed to ask for more than such words of praise. Now, you bite your lip and entreat, “May I... May I, please...?”

“Seek your pleasure?” His voice is knowing, teasing, as if he is not furiously hard within you this very moment. Even after all this, a bout of shyness makes you avert your gaze briefly as you nod. “No,” he says seriously, and your eyes snap to him in alarm. “Not in this manner,” he goes on. “I wish to look upon your face.”

You have no doubt he meant to have your heart lurch in your chest. There is a wicked side to this messenger of the Valar, a shadow hidden within the light with which he surrounds himself. It only arouses you further.

Annatar helps you stand, and the emptiness left behind as he slips from within you would render you an inconsolable mess, if it weren’t for the promise of soon-to-be-found relief. You can’t help but eye his cock, drenched in your arousal and bobbing enticingly as he rises to his feet as well. He sets the precious sketches on the table with care, then turns to you with, at last, unveiled hunger, and reaching to the back of your thighs, hoists you in his arms in one swift move.

You wrap your legs around his waist, cling to his shoulders, and gasp as he carries you to the nearest wall, pressing your back against it. He holds you up effortlessly, even as one hand slips between you to touch your clit directly for the first time. The bundle of nerves has been helplessly throbbing for so long, it only takes a few firm strokes of Annatar’s fingers to have you fall apart with a brisk whimper, burying your face in his neck.

“How sensitive,” he muses, quite content as you pant through the sudden burst of pleasure. “You have craved my touch for a long time, have you not? I admit it has been quite distracting.”

There is the slightest hint of accusation in his voice, and you know he doesn’t just mean since he first touched you today. You must have failed, in all those weeks you worked together, to withhold the lustful thoughts he invoked in your mind from showing in your eyes. And so you had distracted a messenger of the Valar from his work on the crucial task to save all of Middle-Earth.

“Forgive me, my lord,” you whisper into his hair.

“Whatever for?” he asks as though you’ve said the silliest thing. Cupping your face, he tilts your head up so your gaze meets his. “Have you forgotten my name?” he speaks softly. “I am here to give.”

And give, he does. He slides inside you to the hilt, gladly welcomed back by your still-aching cunt, and this time, finally, finally, he withdraws and sinks back in once, then again, thrust after thrust until he builds to a quick rhythm that has you drowning in the pleasure after which you had thirsted for so terribly long. A string of ‘pleases’ leaves your throat, unbidden, even though you can hardly ask for more than the stretch of him inside of you, the relentless press and drag against places so sweet and deep within, the ceiling is filled with all the stars in the night sky as you throw your head back against the wall with abandon. Annatar leans in to kiss your neck, his tongue setting your skin even more ablaze. Your sole remaining ability is to moan and cling to him, receiving the pleasure you are being given.

Sauron is deeply satisfied as he takes his own. He has been aching as well, though the Maia is far more skilled at mastering the urges of his flesh. You had been quick to obey, eager to follow his commands, even without his influence nudging at your mind to suit his purpose, which in itself was as pleasurable as having your tight cunt wrapped around him as you worked. And now you are so pliant in his embrace, moaning in sweet submission as you reap the reward he most graciously offers—the very picture of the peaceful surrender he seeks to accomplish through the Rings. If only every being in Middle-Earth would accept the blessing of his authority as easily as you have, they would spare themselves so much wasteful bloodshed.

Perhaps he will keep you safe from it. Perhaps he will keep you to himself.

But you don’t know what is to come, nor would you care as your pleasure crests towards its peak, and you cry out with the force of your release, clenching around Annatar’s cock.

“Thank you,” you mindlessly gasp in between whimpers as he generously fucks you through it, “thank you, thank you, thank you—”

With one last, brutal thrust that pins your hips to the wall, Annatar groans, long and deep as he throbs and spills inside of you. It occurs to you that he has barely made a sound besides his laboured breathing throughout your coupling. Before he even slips out of you, spent, you wonder if you might have the privilege of hearing more in the future.

He is gracious enough, as your high subsides and you catch your breath, to carry you back to your chair. You doubt your legs would support you this very moment. He sets you down, fixes his robes, then stands before you as poised as ever. If it weren’t for the spark of mischief in his eyes, one would think you had done nothing but discuss Ring designs over a cup of tea.

“Thank you, my dear,” he says, retrieving the sketches from the table, “for your most valuable work.” He admires them for a moment, then gives you a knowing smile. “Do not hesitate to ask for my aid, should you need it again.”

With a polite nod, he leaves you sitting in your chair by the table, much as you were when he had found you. Only, at that time, his spend had not been pooling between your legs, and it was hard to imagine it ever would be.

You smile to yourself. What an unconventional emissary, and how lucky you are that the Valar have sent him to guide you in your endeavours. For indeed, you are sure you shall require his assistance again quite soon.

Sequel -> Further inspiration

[bamsywrites]

The Dawn Burns Master List

Plot: "You think so little of me that I would want this world of blood and ash?" "Nonsense, I think so highly of you that I will baptize this world in fire and blood to make it worthy of you."

Pairings: sauron/halbrand x reader , sauron/halbrand x galadriel, Isildur x reader

Tags: Specifics are mentioned before each part. Angst, fluff, pining, opposites attract, ?????? to lovers, love triangles, sauron being sauron. Sequal to And Comes Dawn.

Part 1 - “I will never force you to be with me, though I could. Before this is over, you will choose me.”

[poetryvampire]

✨️trop men and if they could get you off based mostly on vibes ✨️

💕Now to level the playing field let's give a simple y/n on if they could get the job done during your first time together and the overall mood of the evening. Mildly nsfw (I'm not gonna get too detailed...unless 👀)

Adar💀 Yes. Woof, not to get too crass right off the bat but daddy is the name he earned so yes absolutely. Also brace yourself it will be kinkier than you think and it will awaken something in you. And it would start off painfully slow just easing you into it lightly. Seems like a great opportunity to try things you've been curious about but beware you're getting into like five kinks that haven't even crossed you mind before. One minute you're having a romantic candle lit dinner then Bam youre wearing a chain collar with his name on it.

Elrond 😇 Oh, god bless. No. Baby I'm sorry but no. That being said it would still be a great time with really positive vibes. But Elrond would get too in his own head thinking about options and the best 'plan of attack' to actually deliver. Plus he would play it super safe not wanting to off put you in anyway and thus would kill the passion a bit. Still would be the biggest sweetheart and over all give you a fun time. (Give him time to build his confidence though lotr Elrond Fucks for sure)

Halbrand 🐶 LISTEN Listen listen...No. Hear me out. I just-I feel it in my blood that this guy will rizz you so hard and talk such a big game and than when he time comes it's just ok at best. Like he's made at least one person come before and thinks he has cracked the code. Still his heart's (seemingly) in the right place and its pretty romantic over all. Lots and lots of cuddling.

Annatar 🐱 Yes. And it's amazing but the vibes are terrible. He gets way too intense too fast. He's the kind of guy to say some really weird shit during. Like not even anything dirty just waxing poetic about how you're part of each now and the bond of your bodies is inescapable even in death. And he waaay into talking about how you belong to him now and you're just like?? Is he just talking crazy in the heat of the moment or ?? Also no aftercare and he's 100% gone when you wake up.

Arondir 🏹 Yes. And it's Good but not as romantic as you were hoping. He's into you but Arondir def doesn't realize what a catch he is and is surprised that you're so here for him. Also buddy's got a lot going on so he's still gonna be pretty guarded emotionally. Still he's extremely respectful and such a good kisser like he's got your head spinning and you've barely started.

Elendil 🗡 No. But he tries hard and it's a great time. He's kinda got that big puppy Halbrand thing going on but like genuine. Def more into you than you are him. Elendil will rizz you with care. Pays very close attention to what you like/want. Even if it doesnt happen he's fine with talking about it, even makes a few light jokes at his expense. He's terribly good at putting you at ease. By the end of the night you're more smitten than you first thought.

Celebrimbor 💍 Yes. Are you kidding me?We're talking mastery, we're talking attentiveness, we're talking about a very smitten old man that's going to court you with his whole heart. The vibes are impeccable and he's going to make it known that taking care of you is his top priority. Additionally I can't explain why but you know this man's head game is god tier.

Gil Galad 🏵 Yes. Don't even get me started on how this man is gonna rock your world. The high king is a big guy so it's go big or go home when it comes to love and affection. He doesn't allow himself to pursue romance often but when he does he goes hard. In terms of the act itself and the amount of extravagance and detail he'd put into wooing you. Plus cmon you know he's stressed and pent up as hell. Brace yourself for being be absolutely worshipped All night. You're in for a wicked case of jelly legs and you're not going anywhere.