#lord celebrimbor x reader

[earthlybeam]

Could I request how Glorfindel, Celebrimbor, and Elrond would react to a reader who had magical healing powers kind of like Rapunzel on Tangled? Sorry if this one sounds too weird. Thank you!

How would Glorfindel, Celebrimbor, and Elrond react to a reader who possesses magical healing powers similar to Rapunzel in Tangled?

The you the reader’s long as (your own hair colour) but turns golden and glows when you sing a special song, releasing healing magic that can heal wounds, cure sickness, and even restore life. Their magic, known as “Healing Magic” or “Sun Magic,” is connected to the power of the sun and can even reverse aging.

☀️𝓖𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓵

The battle had raged for hours under a darkened sky, the sun hidden behind clouds thick with smoke and ash. Glorfindel had been at the forefront, leading his warriors with a brilliance that seemed to defy the shadow encroaching upon the land. His golden hair, shining even amidst the chaos, was a beacon of hope to those who fought beside him and a target for the foul creatures of darkness. The enemy had come in waves—hordes of orcs, snarling wargs, and even a towering beast that seemed to echo the malice of the ancient balrogs. Glorfindel faced them with unmatched courage, his sword flashing like a streak of sunlight cutting through the gloom. He moved with a grace and precision that belied the sheer brutality of the battle, each swing of his blade felling multiple foes.

He had drawn the attention of the monstrous beast early on—a hulking creature of shadow and flame, its body riddled with jagged spikes and its eyes burning like molten coals. The creature had been relentless, its roars shaking the battlefield as it charged toward Glorfindel. He had stood his ground, the fire in his heart matching the fire in the beast’s eyes. “Hold the line!” Glorfindel had called to his warriors, his voice carrying above the din of clashing steel and dying cries. “Do not falter! Do not fear!” His words had steeled their resolve, but the monster was a foe unlike any other. As it bore down on him, Glorfindel met it head-on, his sword cutting into its hide with precision. Yet for every wound he dealt, the beast retaliated with savage ferocity. Its claws raked the ground, sending up sprays of dirt and rock. Its tail lashed out like a whip, and Glorfindel barely managed to evade the blow, his reflexes saving him from a potentially fatal strike.

The battle between the two was a dance of light and shadow, strength against strength. Glorfindel drove his blade into the creature’s flank, and it howled in pain, but not before its massive arm swung down with devastating force. The blow sent Glorfindel hurtling backward, his armor denting as he crashed into the ground. He rose quickly, ignoring the sharp pain that radiated through his ribs, and charged again, his blade singing as it cleaved through the air. Finally, with one well-placed strike, Glorfindel severed one of the creature’s arms, its blackened blood spilling onto the scorched earth. The beast screamed in fury, thrashing wildly, but Glorfindel pressed his advantage. He leapt onto its back, driving his sword deep into the base of its neck. The creature convulsed, its death throes shaking the ground, but not before it retaliated with a final, desperate strike. Its clawed hand came down, raking across Glorfindel’s side. The jagged talons tore through his armor and flesh, leaving a gaping wound just above his ribs. The force of the blow flung him off the beast, and he landed hard against a jagged boulder.

Dazed and bleeding, Glorfindel barely registered the monstrous creature collapsing in its death throes, its fiery light flickering out. Around him, his warriors rallied, inspired by his victory over the beast, but Glorfindel himself could no longer rise. He slumped against the boulder, his strength ebbing away with each passing moment. The pain in his side was sharp and unrelenting, blood pouring from the wound in a steady stream. His vision blurred, the edges of the world fading to shadow. He had given everything to ensure his people’s victory, but now he felt the cold grip of death closing in. As his breathing grew shallow, his thoughts turned to you. He did not know why—perhaps it was the comfort of your voice, your light, or the way you had always reminded him of hope. He clung to that thought as darkness began to claim him, the sounds of the battlefield growing distant. Unbeknownst to him, you were already searching for him, your heart aching with a desperate urgency as you moved through the wreckage of the battlefield. And though Glorfindel’s strength waned, a flicker of hope remained, faint as a dying ember, but enough to hold on just a little longer.

The battlefield was a grim expanse of ruin. The ground, scorched and blackened, bore the remains of the fierce battle: shattered swords, broken shields, and the lifeless forms of orcs sprawled in grotesque piles. Smoke curled into the dusky sky, carrying with it the acrid stench of death. You staggered through the devastation, heart pounding, eyes scanning desperately for the one you sought. Glorfindel. Where was he? Your breath caught when you finally saw him—a golden light dimmed amidst the carnage. He was slumped against a jagged boulder, his once-radiant hair now matted with blood and dirt. His golden armor, dented and smeared with ash, bore the marks of a fierce battle. But it was the wound above his ribs, a jagged, gaping tear, that seized your heart in terror. Blood poured from it in rhythmic waves, pooling at his side. “Glorfindel!” you cried, your voice cracking with desperation as you rushed toward him. Your heart thundered in your chest, each step heavier than the last, the battlefield stretching before you like an unforgiving sea of carnage. You stumbled, tripping over the debris scattered across the ground, but nothing could stop you from reaching him. When your eyes found his bloodied form, crumpled against the jagged boulder, a wave of terror hit you like a physical blow. He stirred faintly at your voice, his golden hair matted with blood, and his face—once filled with a strength that could command armies—was now pale and drawn, a shadow of its usual brilliance. The vibrant blue of his gaze, so often like the clearest sky, was now clouded and dull, a reflection of the anguish he bore.

“Glorfindel…” you whispered again, your voice barely a breath, as you knelt beside him. He blinked, as though struggling to focus on you, the pain written clearly across his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, a ragged whisper, “You… shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous.” You felt your heart break at his words, the finality in his tone. But there was no hesitation in you, no thought of leaving him to the cold embrace of death. “I’m not leaving you,” you replied fiercely, your voice stronger than you felt, a stubborn defiance that surged within you like a lifeline. You dropped to your knees beside him, hands trembling as you reached for him, desperate to touch him, to feel his warmth. His breath was shallow, his chest rising and falling in irregular intervals. Every shallow intake of air seemed to cost him more than the last. Blood, dark and thick, soaked his side where the wound had torn through his armor. His once-mighty sword lay shattered at his side, a grim reminder of the battle that had almost claimed him. You saw the faint twitch of his hand, weak and uncoordinated, reaching out as though he still wished to protect himself, to rise against whatever enemy threatened him. But the motion was feeble, his strength draining away with every passing second. Your fingers trembled as you reached for his bloodied cheek, brushing away a streak of crimson, your heart breaking as you felt the coldness of his skin beneath your touch. “Hold on, Glorfindel,” you whispered urgently, a desperate plea buried in the words, though it was more of a promise. “I’ll fix this. I’ll save you.”

His lips parted, perhaps to protest, to tell you again that it was hopeless, but no words came. His chest heaved with effort, the blood pooling at his side staining the ground beneath him. His body seemed to sag further against the boulder, his strength crumbling like the very battlefield that surrounded him. A deep, suffocating fear gripped your chest. The thought of losing him here, in this moment, was unbearable. You couldn’t lose him—not like this. Not after everything he had fought for, not after all the sacrifices made. You could feel the weight of the battle pressing down on you, the cries of fallen warriors, the distant rumble of the still-unfolding war, but in that moment, there was only him—his pain, his breath, the stillness between you both. You leaned closer, your heart thundering as you pressed your forehead gently against his. His breath was shallow, but it was steady—barely. And you held onto that, onto him, with everything you had.

A fierce resolve overtook you. The battle raged on around you, the cries of the wounded and the clash of weapons filling the air, but none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was him. You glanced around the battlefield in desperation, searching for anything that might help him, but the wreckage was overwhelming. Nothing was within reach. Medical supplies were too far away, and time—time was slipping through your fingers like grains of sand, each second slipping further away, each breath of his weaker than the last. There was only one choice left. It was the only thing you could do now—the only thing you had ever heard whispered in the stories. Your gift. The light you carried within you, the power that was both a blessing and a burden. You had never dared to use it like this, not in such dire circumstances, but you could feel its stirring deep within your chest, as though it knew what was at stake.

Taking a deep breath, you reached for a strand of your own hair. Your hair, a deep shade of midnight black with glints of silver that seemed to shimmer faintly even in the dull light of the battlefield. It felt as though it remembered the light of a time long past, a time before darkness had settled across the lands. As you pulled a section free, the strands seemed to catch the light, glistening like threads of the stars themselves. Without hesitation, you pressed it to his wound. The blood soaked into your hair immediately, dark crimson staining the silvery strands, but you didn’t flinch. You didn’t care. Nothing mattered except saving him, pulling him back from the brink of death. Your fingers trembled, but you held steady, gathering your strength as you closed your eyes. The song came to you unbidden, a melody you had known since childhood, a song of old magic, of healing, of the light that flowed from you.

“Flower, gleam and glow, Let your power shine. Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt, Change the Fates’ design. Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine. What once was mine.”

The words spilled from your lips, soft at first, trembling with uncertainty, but as you sang, something inside you shifted. The more you poured your heart into it, the clearer the melody became. It rose in strength and clarity, echoing across the battlefield, cutting through the heavy silence that hung over the scene like a fog. The song was a lifeline. A cry for him, for life, for hope. The air seemed to shimmer with the power of your voice, wrapping itself around Glorfindel, pulling him back from the abyss. His head lolled weakly to the side, his breath shallow and faint. His eyes fluttered closed once more, the exhaustion and pain too much for him to bear. Yet, as your song reached him, the warmth of it washed over him, pulling him back from the edge of darkness. His breath steadied, his pulse slowing, and for a fleeting moment, there was peace in the chaotic world around him.

The light from your hair, soft at first, began to grow brighter, blooming with a life of its own. It pulsed with a rhythm, an ancient pulse, as though the light was drawing from deep within you, from the heart of the very stars themselves. The golden glow wrapped around his wound, weaving itself into the jagged tear in his side. It was as though the very fibers of his flesh were being gently coaxed back into place. Slowly, the wound began to knit itself together. The ragged edges smoothed, and the deep crimson of the blood was replaced with the warmth of the light. The death that had clung to him—dark, cold, and relentless—was slowly driven away, as if it could not stand in the face of your song. With every note that left your lips, every surge of light that pulsed through him, the wound healed, the life returning to his body, stitch by stitch. The terror that had consumed you ebbed away, replaced by the fragile hope that perhaps you could save him—perhaps you could pull him back from the brink of the grave.

Glorfindel stirred at the sound of your voice, a soft, pained groan escaping his lips. His chest heaved with each shallow breath, and for a moment, his face twisted in agony. But then, as your song continued, the warmth of the light you had summoned wrapped around him, a gentle but persistent force that seemed to slow the chaos inside his body. The erratic rise and fall of his chest steadied, his breathing less labored, as though the very air around him had begun to ease his suffering. His eyes, clouded and distant moments before, fluttered open once again. The piercing blue of his gaze, which had once been full of life and fire, was now dimmed by pain, but still they sought you out. There was something in the way he looked at you—something both desperate and filled with awe—that made your heart tighten.

Through the haze of pain and confusion, he saw you. Your hair, still glowing with the light of your magic, shimmered like liquid gold in the darkness of the battlefield. The light seemed to emanate from you, pulsing gently like the heartbeat of the world itself. It reminded him of the stars, of the Trees, of a time long past, a time when the world had been whole, when the light had been pure and undivided. “This light…” His voice, though hoarse and weakened, was filled with reverence. “It is the light of the Trees… the same as the stars. It feels… like home.” His words barely reached you at first, but the weight of them settled over you like a mantle, heavy with meaning. He was not simply speaking of what you had done, but of something much larger—something ancient and eternal, a connection between the two of you that stretched beyond this moment, beyond this battle. You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. Your tears, which had been threatening to spill from the moment you’d seen him lying there broken and bloodied, finally fell freely down your cheeks. You didn’t wipe them away. Instead, you allowed them to fall, as if they could wash away the fear and pain that had consumed you.

What you saw when you looked at him made your heart race. Color had returned to his cheeks. His breathing was steady now, the horrible wound that had once bled so freely was no longer spilling blood, its jagged edges sealed by the light that still radiated from you. The warmth of his skin had returned, and his pulse was strong under your hand. He was alive, and he was whole again, thanks to you. His trembling hand, weak but determined, lifted from the ground. It hovered for a moment, and then he reached toward you. His fingers brushed against your hair, still glowing as though the sun had found its way into the night. His touch was light, reverent, as if he feared disturbing the miracle that was unfolding between you. “You are a miracle,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, a tremor in his voice that betrayed the depth of his gratitude. “A gift to this world… and to me.” The words hung between you, and in them, you could feel the weight of his admiration, his awe. His gaze locked onto yours, unshakable in its depth. There was no fear in his eyes now, no uncertainty. Only gratitude, and something else—something far more vulnerable.

“I owe you my life.” You shook your head, a smile spreading across your tear-streaked face, but there was no joy in it. Only the release of tension, the knowing that you had saved him, and the overwhelming relief that washed over you. “You owe me nothing, Glorfindel,” you murmured softly, your voice barely more than a whisper in the stillness of the moment. “Just… stay with me. That’s all I ask.” His chest rose and fell, and his breathing, still labored but much more controlled, slowed further as his hand found yours. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the coldness that had once lingered in his skin. He covered your hand with his, the tremble in his fingers a reminder of the battle he had fought, the battle he had almost lost. But now, as he looked at you, he seemed resolute, as though this bond between you, forged in the fire of near-death, was unbreakable. “I will,” he promised, his voice soft but steady, despite the lingering exhaustion in his voice. “I will stay, for as long as I can, beside you.”

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of a vow. You felt the truth in them, deep within your soul. He would stay, not just because of what you had done for him, but because of the connection between you, the bond that had formed in this moment. And as you looked around, the battlefield—the carnage, the horror, the screams that still echoed in the distance—faded into the background. It didn’t matter anymore. It was just the two of you now, amidst the wreckage of the world, and the light that still pulsed gently from you, wrapping around you both like a shield. In that moment, time seemed to stretch. There was no past, no future—only the present. The light between you both, and the feeling that, somehow, something far greater than a battle had been won here. It was a bond that transcended the world of the living, a connection forged in the light of the stars, in the shared breath of survival. And no matter what came next, that bond would remain, as enduring as the light of the stars themselves.

💍𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓻

The forge was a living entity, its heat and rhythm pulsing in the very air, the crackling fire and the sound of ringing metal filling the stone chambers of Eregion’s smithy. Celebrimbor, ever the perfectionist, stood at his anvil, sweat beading on his brow, his brow furrowed in concentration. The mithril before him glowed a fierce white as he hammered it with steady force, shaping it into the intricate design he had envisioned for days. His movements were fluid, practiced—each strike of the hammer precise, each moment more focused than the last. The world around him seemed to fade as the forge consumed his attention entirely. His thoughts, too, were consumed by the work before him; every detail needed to be just right, every line, every curve of the metal as flawless as the vision he held in his mind. The flames swirled around the smithy, lighting the air with a fierce heat, but it did not bother him. His long years of crafting had trained him to ignore the burn of the forge. His hands, though slightly trembling from the intensity of his work, never faltered. There was no room for weakness. Yet, in his single-minded dedication, he failed to notice the dangerous proximity of the sharp edge of the mithril. It had been a fleeting moment—a miscalculation too small for anyone but the sharpest eye to catch—but it was enough.

As he brought the hammer down one more time, the edge of the glowing metal slipped beneath his forearm, cutting through the skin with a clean slice. For a heartbeat, there was no reaction. No pain, just the realization that the strike had missed its mark. He continued on, moving to adjust the metal, only when the sting began to spread did he finally look down. Blood, bright and stark against the white of the mithril, seeped from the wound, dripping onto the stone floor in slow, steady drops. The sharp pain was almost secondary to the shock that washed over him. It was not the injury that had him concerned, but the feeling of weakness that it brought with it. He grimaced as he lifted his arm, glancing at the cut. It was deep—perhaps too deep to ignore—and yet, he had no time for such things. His mind immediately returned to the work before him, that insatiable desire to finish what he had started, to craft something of worth.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered to himself, the words coming out like a practiced mantra. “Truly, nothing.” His voice, steady but tinged with a faint annoyance, seemed more to reassure himself than anyone else. He wiped the blood from his arm with a slow, deliberate motion, as though he were removing an insignificant speck from his sleeve. But the flow did not stop. The blood continued to pour from the wound, soaking his sleeve, dripping onto the floor in a pool of red. The work needed to be finished, that was all he could think. Yet, with every passing moment, his strength seemed to drain away, the world around him becoming distant and faint. His fingers began to shake slightly, his grip on the hammer faltering. There was no denying it—he was weakening. But it didn’t matter. Not now. The sound of the hammer striking the metal slowed, the clangs growing more muted in his ears. His eyes clouded for a moment, the sharp sting of dizziness creeping in at the edges of his vision. He glanced at his arm once more. Blood still seeped, darkening the stone beneath him. It was then that he heard the door open behind him. Footsteps approached rapidly, the sound of your voice breaking through the fog in his mind.

But there was a strange buzzing in his ears now, a sudden discomfort creeping in. The sight of the blood, the steady trickle pooling on the ground beneath him, sent an odd shiver down his spine. Still, he did nothing. His focus remained on the mithril, on the task that needed finishing. The fire raged on, the hammer fell, and the world outside his forge seemed to fade away. It wasn’t until he heard the familiar sound of your voice—sharp, commanding—that the haze of his concentration was broken. Celebrimbor barely registered your voice as it cut through the haze surrounding him, but the urgency in it jolted him out of his single-minded reverie. His focus had been so consumed by the forge, by the hammer in his hand, that everything else had seemed insignificant. But now, as you rushed to his side, the reality of his injury set in, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. His arm, still dripping with blood, had become the center of his awareness. It was a burning, sharp pain now, and he could feel the weakness creeping through his body like a creeping tide. The forge no longer seemed as important as it had moments ago. His grip on the hammer faltered once again.

You stood in the doorway for just a heartbeat, taking in the scene—the pools of blood collecting on the stone floor, the pale color of his face, the shaking hand he was trying to steady. Your heart clenched in your chest. It was only then that you noticed the dimming of his usual light, the way his posture slumped just slightly, his strength ebbing away. “Celebrimbor! Sit down—now!” you commanded, rushing forward without a second thought. His stubbornness would not win this time. His amber eyes flickered toward you, but he made no move to comply, instead waving you off with a half-hearted gesture, his voice weak and dismissive. “It’s nothing, truly. There is still much to be done—”

“No,” you snapped, firm in your resolve. You moved swiftly to his side, your hands finding his uninjured arm, guiding him to a nearby bench. His muscles resisted the pull for a moment, his pride making him hesitate, but you were too quick. You helped him sit, your voice gentle yet commanding. “You are not doing anything more until I’ve seen to this.” His eyes met yours with that familiar mix of pride and reluctance, yet the deep furrow in his brow betrayed the discomfort he could no longer ignore. As you knelt before him, your heart pounded in your chest, but there was no hesitation in your hands. With a quiet, steady motion, you placed Celebrimbor’s bloodied arm carefully in your lap, your fingers lightly brushing against his skin. The sensation was immediate: his skin, pale from blood loss, felt heavy in your grasp, the warmth of his body seeping into you. The blood that stained his forearm was a stark contrast to the paleness, and your breath caught as you took in the severity of the injury. The gash was deep—too deep to be ignored, and the blood kept flowing despite the distraction of the forge’s heat and the constant hum of the fire.

His expression, always so controlled, now wavered between pride and silent discomfort, but he remained steadfast, refusing to acknowledge the toll the injury had taken on him. He had borne it so stoically, even as his strength drained. But now, with his arm cradled in your lap, he could no longer avoid the truth: the wound was too serious to ignore any longer. You could feel the weakness seeping from him, and it made your resolve harden. Swallowing the rising tide of concern that threatened to overwhelm you, you pushed the fear aside, focusing on the task ahead. This had gone on long enough. His life was more important than his pride, more important than the work that still lay unfinished at his anvil. You would not allow him to lose any more of his strength, not when you could help. With gentle hands, you began to lift your hair, your fingers instinctively twining it around his wound. Your hair, which had always been of a deep, earthy shade, began to shift in hue, responding to the energy that pulsed within you. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it began to glow with a soft golden light, the strands shimmering with warmth. The golden glow seemed to pulse with each breath you took, each note of the healing song you began to hum. The moment the light appeared, it spread outward like sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees. The glow intensified, slowly creeping up his arm as your hair flowed around the gash. The sensation was like a soft breeze, gentle but insistent, and the heat of the forge seemed to retreat before it. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, gathering the energy within you, feeling the pull of the magic rise and coil in your chest. You began to sing, your voice soft, but every word of the melody carrying a power that resonated deep in the chamber.

“Flower, gleam and glow. Let your power shine. Make the clock reverse. Bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt. Change the Fates’ design. Save what has been lost. Bring back what once was mine. What once was mine…”

Your voice was steady, carrying each note like a delicate thread of power, winding through the air, threading through the forge’s heat and noise. The golden light of your hair flared brighter with each line of the song, as if your very soul was calling upon the magic that coursed through you, unraveling the injury. The air around you seemed to hum, and as you sang, you felt the light seep into the gash. Celebrimbor’s breath caught at the sensation—the warmth of it, the gentle pull as the wound began to knit itself back together. His muscles relaxed, his posture straightening slightly as the pain, the weakness, the overwhelming dizziness that had been consuming him faded in the face of the power you wielded. It was a soothing energy, as though the very fabric of time and fate were unraveling, returning things to their proper place. The blood, which had been spilling out in slow, steady drips, began to retreat, as though the wound itself had forgotten its purpose. The skin, raw and torn, began to smooth out, the edges drawing together with delicate precision, the fibers weaving themselves back into place. The deep cut closed slowly, as if under the pull of an invisible thread, each layer of tissue, each torn vein gently weaving itself back to its original form. With every note you sang, the wound became smaller, the gap between flesh closing with a soft sigh, as if the body itself was yielding to your magic. The golden light seemed to cascade around his arm, weaving into the skin and leaving no trace of the injury behind. The warmth of your power radiated outward, filling the room, and in the air around you, the faint smell of blooming flowers seemed to mix with the crisp scent of the forge. As the last notes of the song fell from your lips, the wound was gone entirely. No trace of it remained. His skin was smooth and unblemished, as though it had never been marred by the sharp edge of mithril. You let out a quiet breath, the golden light beginning to fade from your hair as the magic settled, a soft and satisfied hum of energy still humming through your fingertips.

Celebrimbor’s breath hitched as the warmth of your healing magic settled over him. At first, it was faint—a gentle pull, like a distant breeze against his skin. Then the sensation grew stronger, spreading through him with a comfort he hadn’t realized he needed. He felt it more than saw it, the shift in his body, the deep gash on his forearm starting to pull together as though time itself had taken pity on him. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the wound, watching in stunned silence as the blood ceased to flow, as the skin he had torn in his own ignorance began to close. It was slow at first—an almost imperceptible change—but then, with a subtle yet undeniable force, the wound began to heal in front of his very eyes. He felt it, too—the tension in his arm releasing, the strength returning as the flesh knitted itself back together. The sensation was surreal, unlike any healing he had ever known. It was as if the very fabric of reality bent to your will, undoing the injury with such ease it seemed like a dream.

But it wasn’t just the healing that struck him. It was the power behind it, the power that you wielded with such grace. There was no violence in it, no struggle. It was delicate and precise, a mastery that far surpassed even the most intricate designs he had crafted in his own smithy. It was the kind of power that was as quiet as it was awe-inspiring, like a force of nature woven into being with every note you sang. As the last tendrils of light faded from your hair, Celebrimbor tested his arm, flexing it slowly, almost cautiously at first. His fingers twitched, his hand extending fully as if he were reacquainting himself with the sensation of strength. He expected some lingering ache, some remnant of the injury to persist—but there was nothing. The wound had vanished completely, leaving no scar, no trace of what had once been there. It was as though the injury had never existed at all. He inhaled sharply, a quiet gasp of awe escaping him as he flexed his arm again, feeling the full range of motion return to him. There was nothing—no mark, no weakness. It was as if his body had forgotten the pain entirely, as if it had never been hurt.

“This…” His voice was soft, reverent, as he spoke to you for the first time in this way—without the usual stoic calm or the sharp edge of arrogance. “This is no ordinary healing.” He looked down at his arm once more, running his fingers over the smooth, unblemished skin, still unable to fully believe it. His voice dropped a little lower, tinged with awe. “It’s as though you’ve turned back time itself, undoing what should have left its mark.” His amber eyes shifted to meet yours, and the intensity of his gaze made something inside you flutter. There was something more than gratitude there—something deeper, more profound. He was humbled by what you had done, and for the first time, it wasn’t just the perfection of the work that stood before him, but something more vulnerable. “Your power… It’s a gift unlike anything I have ever seen,” he murmured. “A creation far beyond anything I could forge.”

Celebrimbor’s voice faltered slightly, the usual confidence of the lord of Eregion giving way to a rare humility. He swallowed, his throat tight, but the words came out with sincere weight. “Thank you,” he said, quieter than before, the words heavy with a reverence that went beyond the mere healing of his body. “I… I didn’t know such power existed.” There was a pause, a stillness between the two of you, as his gaze softened, almost as if he were seeing you for the first time. The walls of pride and stoicism that had always separated him from others seemed to crumble in the face of your care and the magic you had shared. You felt it—the silent gratitude that filled the space between you. Your heart stirred with something that went beyond duty, something deeper and more connected than just the role you had played in this moment. You reached out then, your fingers brushing gently over his uninjured arm, a quiet, reassuring touch that said more than words ever could. It was a gesture of comfort, of solidarity, and as you did, you felt his own quiet relief settle into the air around you. “Rest, Celebrimbor,” you said, your voice a calm counterpoint to the storm of emotions swirling between the two of you. “The forge will still be there when you’re well. You can finish your work later.”

Celebrimbor nodded slowly, but his gaze didn’t leave yours. The stubborn, determined smith who had so often placed his craft above all else seemed to pause in this moment, allowing himself to yield to something softer, more human. His usual defiance had softened into something more gentle, more understanding. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he was not the master smith, nor the lord of Eregion. He was simply Celebrimbor—grateful, humbled, and moved by the quiet strength you had offered him when he had nothing left to give. He met your gaze once more, the intensity of his amber eyes now laced with something new—a silent acknowledgment of your bond, forged not in metal but in something more enduring, more ethereal. “Thank you,” he repeated, this time with more finality, as though the words themselves were a weight he had carried too long, and finally, he could lay them down. His voice softened further. “I will not forget this.” And in that moment, with the forge still burning bright behind him, you knew the connection between the two of you had shifted. It was no longer just the craftsman and the healer. It was something deeper, something beyond the realms of creation and restoration, something that would remain long after the last sparks of the forge had faded.

�� 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

The sun was beginning its descent over the hills, casting long golden beams across the forest floor. Elrond moved quietly among the trees, his senses alert to the subtle rustling of the leaves and the faint calls of birds in the distance. He had come to the border of Rivendell in search of rare herbs—specifically a plant known for its healing properties, something that would be vital to his work as both a healer and protector of his people. The forest was peaceful, as it usually was, with the scent of pine and earth mingling in the air. The soft crunch of his boots on the path was the only sound to break the stillness. His mind was focused on the task, hands deftly pulling herbs from the soil and tucking them carefully into his satchel. His robes, though elegant, were suited for the task—woven with the practicality that came from years of experience. Despite the peaceful surroundings, Elrond’s instincts remained sharp. He knew that even in the quietest of places, danger could lurk. It was in the midst of his careful work, kneeling beside a patch of delicate, silver-leafed plants, that he first sensed it. A sudden shift in the air, the faintest disturbance that tugged at his heightened senses. His gaze darted upwards, narrowing as his keen ears caught the faintest sound—a rustle, too heavy to be wind.

A crackling sound broke the quiet—branches snapping under heavy boots—and before he could turn, the ambush came. A dozen orcs emerged from the underbrush, weapons drawn and eyes gleaming with malice. Elrond’s instincts kicked in immediately, his body moving before his mind could even fully process the danger. He drew his sword, the hilt cool in his hand as he met the charge with the precision and speed that came from centuries of battle experience. The first orc that lunged at him was met with a swift slash of his blade, cutting through armor and flesh with ease. He spun, parrying another blow and then ducked to avoid a crude axe swinging toward his head. His mind was a whirlwind of strategy and quick decisions, but despite his skill, the odds were against him. Another orc came at him with a heavy club raised high, but Elrond was faster. He sidestepped the attack, sweeping his blade through the air with precision, and the orc crumpled to the ground, its life extinguished in an instant. Another rushed at him from the side, a jagged axe raised above its head, but Elrond parried the strike with ease, spinning to deliver a quick thrust to the orc’s throat. The force of the blow sent the creature sprawling to the ground. His movements were fluid, controlled—his sword a blur as he fought back the onslaught of attackers. The orcs were relentless. Elrond could feel the weight of their numbers pressing in, could hear the angry yells and the crashing of their weapons against his own. He was skilled, faster than they were, and for every orc he felled, two more seemed to appear. His thoughts were sharp, calculating—he knew he had to make this quick before they overwhelmed him. But he hadn’t anticipated how fiercely they would fight. Their numbers were overwhelming, and soon he found himself surrounded.

Orcs swarmed from every angle, and for every one he felled, two more took their place. His sharp elven senses could detect the shift in the air, the smell of their rancid breath, but they were closing in fast. It wasn’t long before a sharp pain struck him—an orc had managed to slip through his defenses and had driven a jagged blade into his side. The world tilted for a moment, and Elrond staggered back, his breath catching. The wound was deep, a gash that tore through his ribs, and blood flowed freely from the injury, soaking his robes. He gritted his teeth against the pain, his mind whirling even as his body screamed at him to stop. But stopping was not an option. He was Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell, and no matter the wound, he would not fall to these creatures. With a forceful grunt, he shifted his weight, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. The orc who had struck him fell with a quick, decisive strike to its neck. He barely had time to process it before another orc lunged, and this time he was ready. Elrond spun, his blade slashing across the creature’s chest, and then he turned, cutting down another. His movements were swift, lethal, but the pain in his side grew worse with each swing. The blood loss was beginning to cloud his thoughts, and his vision swam in and out of focus.

His body was already starting to betray him. The wound was far worse than he had initially realized, and with each passing moment, he grew weaker. Despite the pain, he fought on, cutting down orc after orc, his sword flashing in the dim light of the forest, his movements a testament to the centuries of training and experience he had amassed. But there were too many of them. An orc with a spiked mace swung at him from behind, and though Elrond tried to dodge, the weapon caught him across the back, sending a shockwave of pain through his spine. He let out a sharp cry of pain, staggering forward, and that was all it took for one of the creatures to take advantage of the moment. A sword pierced through the side of his abdomen, the blade sinking deep, its hilt pressing against his ribs. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, Elrond couldn’t move. His body froze, pain wracking through him in waves, and the world around him seemed to blur. He heard the orcs laughing, their victory just within reach, but he couldn’t allow that to happen.

With a primal growl, he forced himself to move again, his sword sweeping through the air in a deadly arc. He struck down the orc that had wounded him, but his legs were growing weaker, the blood loss too much to ignore. The forest was full of bodies now—his and theirs. He had slain many, but not enough. Elrond staggered back, his vision blurring even more. His breaths came shallow and ragged, and he could feel the life draining from him. He fought to stay conscious, but the pain in his side was overwhelming, and the sight before him became a haze of shadowed figures. He felt his knees buckle, the weight of his injuries too much for him to bear. Desperation clawed at his mind as he fought to stay upright, but the ground beneath him seemed to shift and sway as most orcs fleed after the bloodshed of their kins. Finally, he could no longer stand. The sheer exhaustion of the fight, the blood loss, and the overwhelming pain brought him to his knees. He leaned against a boulder for support, gasping for air, the weight of the world pressing down on him. His hand still clutched the hilt of his sword, but his fingers were growing numb, slipping from the handle as the darkness crept in.

The forest was eerily quiet, the air thick with the scent of blood and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Elrond had fought fiercely, but the ambush had been more than he expected. The sharp pain in his abdomen was a constant reminder of how outnumbered he had been. His robe, once pristine, was now soaked in his own blood, the crimson staining his once-elegant attire. Despite the agony gnawing at him, his grip on his sword remained firm, his resolve unshaken. He had slain many of the orcs, their bodies now lying in the scattered chaos of the battlefield, but the damage to his own body was far worse than he had anticipated. He had managed to drag himself to the cover of a boulder, leaning against it for support. The ground beneath him was stained with blood, both his own and that of his fallen enemies. His mind swirled with the haze of pain, but his sharp Elven senses remained alert—just enough to hear the faint crunch of footsteps approaching. His heart gave a slight flutter when he recognized the familiar presence before he even saw them. “Elrond!” Your voice broke through the fog of his pain, the sound of it pulling him back to the present. He turned his head toward you, struggling to focus on your face through the mist of exhaustion. His chest heaved with every breath, and though his vision was blurred, there was no mistaking the concern in your eyes.

Recognition flared in his greyish blue gaze, but he was too weak to hold his usual noble composure. He offered you the faintest of smiles, though it was laced with pain. His mouth was dry, his voice barely a rasp. “They ambushed me,” he said, each word drawing a strained breath from his chest. “I managed to drive them off… most of them, anyway. A few fled…” He winced, his hands pressing harder against the gaping wound on his side. The blood soaked his fingers, slipping through them like water, yet he didn’t release his hold. He had always been stubborn, never willing to show weakness, even now. But you could see through it all. His breathing was shallow, his face pale, his strength waning with each passing second. The sight of him in such a state ignited a fierce need to protect him, even though you knew he would fight against it. You rushed to his side without hesitation, fear pooling in your stomach. You knew he would try to resist, and sure enough, as you knelt beside him, his eyes flickered with the sharpness that usually accompanied his wisdom and strength. “You shouldn’t speak,” you said, your voice shaking but firm. “You’ve lost too much blood.” Elrond grimaced at your words, but there was no way to hide the growing pain from his features. His body, though still so strong, was betraying him. “I’ll be fine,” he protested, his voice barely more than a whisper. His stubbornness flared even in the face of imminent danger. “I’ve had far worse,” he insisted, though the strain in his tone told a different story. “You shouldn’t—”

“Stop arguing,” you cut him off, your voice trembling but resolute. “Let me help you.” He hissed in pain as you gently moved his hands away from the wound. Despite his weakened state, Elrond’s natural instinct was to resist. He attempted to sit up straighter, his muscles tense and his face contorting with the effort. “No,” he managed, but the protest was weak, forced. His resistance made your heart ache, but you weren’t deterred. You placed your hands over his injury, feeling the warmth of his blood against your palms as you carefully applied pressure to stem the flow. The force of the blood was appalling—his injury was severe, and the pressure was more than you could have imagined. Elrond’s breath caught in his throat as he flinched at the touch, his body shuddering with pain. “Mellon nín,” he whispered, the word slipping from his lips without thought, laced with a faint trace of vulnerability he so rarely allowed himself. Despite his obvious suffering, you refused to relent. His stubbornness might have caused him to resist your help, but your resolve was far stronger. You could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to overpower the pain that was steadily draining him. You continued your work, applying more pressure, your hands steady and soothing as best as you could manage.

“Please, Elrond,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper now, your heart aching at the sight of him in such a vulnerable state. “You’re going to be alright.” For a moment, his fierce will faltered. His eyes softened, his breath a little less ragged as he allowed you to help him, though the weight of his pride still lingered in the air. He no longer argued, but the quiet, lingering pain was evident in every sharp breath he took. You could feel his body slowly sinking against you, the last of his strength draining away as you worked to heal him. As you held him, you could feel the weight of his trust—fragile and fleeting in this moment of weakness. Though Elrond was many things, the most powerful and indomitable being in all of Middle-earth, there was no escaping the vulnerability that now clung to him. You would not allow him to face this alone, no matter how much he tried to push you away. You had no idea how long you sat there together, the minutes stretching into what felt like eternity, but you wouldn’t leave him. Not now. Not when he needed you most.

You could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you, but there was no hesitation. Elrond’s life hung in the balance, and you were determined not to lose him. Carefully, you wrapped strands of your hair—normally (your hair colour), silky, and unassuming—around the jagged wound on his side. The blood seeped through the strands, staining them red, but it was the only way to stop the bleeding long enough for what needed to come next. It was a sacrifice, but the pain was nothing compared to what he had endured. Elrond winced, a sharp breath escaping him as you secured your hair against his injury, but he didn’t resist. His Greyish blue eyes watched you with a mix of admiration and quiet acceptance, his body sagging against the boulder. The pain had taken its toll on him, yet he still carried that glimmer of pride in the way he met your gaze—stubborn, unyielding, even in his moment of weakness. His breath came in shallow gasps, but there was a quiet strength in the way he endured it, even as his life force threatened to ebb away. He had fought so fiercely to protect Rivendell, to protect all of you, and now it was your turn to save him.

Once the hair was securely wrapped, you took a moment to center yourself. You inhaled deeply, steadying your breath, willing your heart to calm. The air around you seemed to pulse with anticipation as the power within you began to stir, the magic that ran through your veins, ancient and full of purpose. You couldn’t help but feel the weight of it—the responsibility of wielding such power, the knowledge that it could be the difference between life and death. But you were ready. You began to sing, the first notes soft and barely audible, yet they carried the weight of centuries of knowledge and power. “Flower, gleam and glow…” Your voice was low, but clear, and as the words left your lips, something changed. A soft golden light began to pulse in your hair, at first faint, then growing brighter with every word. The strands of your hair, once dark, shimmered and gleamed, becoming a brilliant gold that seemed to draw the very essence of light into the forest. Elrond’s eyes widened as he watched the glow, his breath catching for a moment. The warmth in the air was palpable now, radiating outward from you like the very sun itself. It wrapped around both of you, filling the air with an almost tangible sense of peace. The dark, shadowed forest was bathed in golden light, the magic swirling around you, washing over Elrond’s injury, soothing it, and slowing the blood that had soaked your hair.

“Let your power shine,” you continued, the melody lilted with power. Each word became a prayer, a plea, not just for him, but for all that you held dear. The golden glow spread across Elrond’s wound, the warmth wrapping around him like a blanket, easing the tension in his body. He inhaled deeply, the sharp pain in his side receding, the frantic pulse of his heart slowing to a steadier rhythm. The gash, so raw and ragged just moments before, seemed to soften under your touch, the flesh beginning to pull itself together, knitting and mending as if the magic were pulling time itself backward, erasing the damage done. His hand, which had been pressed tightly against his injury in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding, relaxed slightly. His fingers twitched with the faintest of tremors, but there was a glimmer of relief in his eyes as the glow bathed him. The pain that had been overwhelming him moments before began to fade, replaced by a soothing warmth that spread from the wound out through his entire body. His breath deepened, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting away.

“Make the clock reverse. Bring back what once was mine…” Your voice was stronger now, your heart pouring into each note, the golden light that surrounded you pulsing in time with the rhythm of your song. Elrond’s breath became steadier, the color returning to his face as the injury slowly but surely began to close. You could feel the magic working, could see the visible relief in his posture as the torn flesh mended itself under the influence of your power. His eyes, which had been clouded with pain, were now focused, sharp, and full of something else—something like wonder. His lips parted, as if he were about to speak, but no words came. The glow from your hair brightened, filling the air with warmth, and the last of the blood began to congeal, sealing the wound completely. What had once been torn and open was now smooth, the skin unbroken. The gold in your hair dimmed slightly, the intensity of the glow tapering as the magic settled, its work done. “Save what has been lost… Bring back what once was mine…” The final note lingered in the air, a soft sigh of energy that hummed through the stillness of the forest. Your body felt lighter now, the strain of the magic beginning to subside, but the relief that filled you was overwhelming. You had done it. You had saved him. The golden light slowly faded, leaving you both in the quiet aftermath, the only evidence of the healing a slight shimmer around you.

When the golden light finally faded, leaving only a soft, lingering warmth in the air, you opened your eyes. Elrond was still there, sitting before you, his expression unreadable for a moment as his gaze fell to his now-healed abdomen. His fingers hovered hesitantly over the smooth, unbroken skin, as though he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. The jagged wound that had threatened his life only moments before was completely gone, leaving no trace of the violence it had endured. His hand moved over the area with slow reverence, as if testing the reality of it. You watched him in silence, your heart still racing from the exertion of the healing. The soft glow that still clung to your hair, though faint now, seemed to intensify under his gaze. Your cheeks flushed beneath the weight of his scrutiny. It was a feeling you weren’t entirely used to—being the subject of such intense attention, especially from someone like him. Someone whose presence alone was always powerful, commanding. You had saved him, but now it felt as though he were seeing you in a way he hadn’t before. His voice broke the stillness, low and filled with awe.

Elrond’s eyes met yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the faintest smile touched his lips. It was weak, but it held gratitude, something far rarer for him than you ever expected. Slowly, he sat up straighter, the last remnants of pain melting away with each breath he took. His skin still glistened with the healing warmth, the tension in his body ebbing as his strength returned bit by bit. The once fierce exhaustion that had weighed on him now seemed to lift, leaving behind only a quiet, steady relief. “You… you saved me.” His words were soft, almost a whisper, as though speaking them aloud might somehow shatter the moment. His fingers brushed over his abdomen once more, the disbelief in his touch evident. He looked at you, really looked at you now, as if seeing you for the first time, his grey eyes wide with quiet wonder.

There was a weight in the air, thick with the magic that had passed between you, but it wasn’t the kind of weight that pressed down. Instead, it seemed to pull the world into sharper focus—the rustling leaves, the cool breeze, the distant sound of the stream, all of it faded into the background as Elrond’s gaze locked onto you. It was as though, in that moment, nothing else existed but the two of you. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you tried to look away, uncomfortable with the intimacy of his attention, but you couldn’t. You found yourself rooted in place, caught under the gentle force of his unwavering focus. He looked down again at your hair, glowing faintly in the dim light of the forest, its soft golden hue almost ethereal against the dark backdrop of the woods. The way he looked at you, so intently, made you feel exposed, vulnerable. It was as if the very essence of who you were was laid bare under his gaze.

Before you could say anything, Elrond reached out. His movements were slow, measured, as though he wanted to ensure that nothing he did would break the fragile moment between you. His fingers brushed lightly against a stray strand of your glowing hair, pushing it gently behind your ear. The touch was so soft, so delicate, that it made your breath hitch in your throat. It was the first time you had ever felt his touch, and it lingered in the air long after his fingers had left your skin. The weight of it was profound, a silent acknowledgment of something deeper than the healing you had just performed. “Your light…” His voice was reverent, like a prayer whispered in the presence of something sacred. His eyes never left yours, and his hand, after a moment, dropped back to his side, but there was something different about him now. The tension that had once pulled his features tight in pain was gone, replaced by a softness you hadn’t seen before.

“It is unlike anything I have ever seen.” His words seemed to carry a weight, a recognition that whatever you had done for him transcended the simple act of healing. You had done more than save him from death; you had given him something beyond that. “You bring life where there is death, hope where there is despair.” The quiet sincerity in his tone wrapped itself around you, and you couldn’t help but feel the full impact of what he said. It wasn’t just praise—it was an understanding. He had witnessed the miracle of what you had done, not just with his body, but with the way you wielded your power. He understood the cost of it. He understood what you had given. You swallowed, finding your voice at last, but his words hung in the air like a fragile thread connecting you to him. As much as you wanted to respond, to deflect or downplay his praise, you couldn’t. There was too much truth in what he said, and you felt an overwhelming rush of emotion at his words.

His expression softened even further as he straightened, meeting your eyes with a quiet intensity. His gaze was no longer one of the distant, authoritative figure you had known so well. Now, there was something else there—something personal, intimate, and full of gratitude. “Thank you,” he said, and this time, the words were more than just a polite acknowledgment. There was something in the way he said them that made your heart skip, made everything else fade away. “Not just for my life, but for bringing light to a dark moment. I will not forget this kindness.” The weight of his gratitude was enough to leave you breathless. It wasn’t just his thanks, it was the promise in his words—an understanding that this moment, this act, would not be forgotten. The forest around you seemed to hold its breath in that moment, as though the world itself was pausing to bear witness to the exchange between you. You could feel the sincerity in his words settle deeply in your heart, the bond that had been forged in this shared moment of healing and vulnerability. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, both caught in the stillness, in the connection that had formed between you—stronger than any magic, more powerful than any words.

[floatyflowers]

You are the daughter of Sauron and everyone is obsessed with you as they are obsessed with the rings.(Part 1)

"Everyone was aware that falling in love with you was madness, given your father's identity. Still, no one minded as long as they could have you by their side."

Morgoth/Melkor

He is obsessed with you as much as he is obsessed with the Silmarils.

Doesn't care if you are the daughter of his servant, he wants you.

Despite your refusal of Morgoth's advences, Sauron encourages you, and wanting to please your father, you decided to try and please Melkor.

"Your soul and body are mine like those silmarils"

He crafted a necklace made out of one of the Silmarils, gifting it to you as a token of your unity.

Thankfully, the Valar captured him after the battle of Wrath, however you already left him before the battle.

Maedhros

You met him while he was in Thangorodrim, getting tormented by your father.

At that time Morgoth was imprisoned in Angband, so you were free from his obsessed jealousy.

However, after seeing the handsome red-haired elf for the first time, you decided to take care of him and try to free him, feeling sympathy and gulit.

After freeing him with the help of his cousin Fingon who had to cut off his hand to free him, Maedhros tried to convince you to escape with him, as you handed him the Silmaril Morgoth gave you.

"Come with me, you will find peace away from your father's clutches"

And you did leave with him when you realize how awful Sauron is.

But your decision is like falling into another trap.

As Maedhros appeared to be the same as Morgoth in causing violence.

Celebrimbor

After discovering what Maedhros and his brothers have done to their kin, you fled without a second thought.

And as years passed, you kept yourself hidden wandering alone, until you met Celebrimbor whom you find his knowledge remarkable.

You thought of leaving when you discovered that he is the nephew of Maedhros, but his generosity tempted you to stay, and you did.

Honestly, you thought you found peace with him in the safety of his home, but that was never the case, Celebrimbor was possessive and refused to let you leave.

He crafted special rings to keep you safe from danger, and also to keep you in love with him.

"Your pain, your pleasure, your every thought belongs to me. You're mine to command and possess."

Celebrimbor thought he owned you, until Annatar 'Sauron' came into the picture and corrupted Celebrimbor into making the rings.

Sauron/Annatar 'platonic'

Sauron didn't realize how much you meant to him until you ran away.

He almost went insane and never stopped searching for you.

So, when he encountered Celebrimbor, he didn't expect to see you, and deep down it steered horrible jealousy at the sight of you, his only child, happy with Celebrimbor.

Adding to this, he noticed Celebrimbor's obessesive behavior towards you and how he tried to keep you away from his sight.

What is more amusing to Annatar is that you didn't discover his disguise.

So, he decided to reveal it to you.

"How sad that you don't remember your father, my sweet child"

You warn Celebrimbor about your father before handing him the rings he made for you and leaving.

Elrond

You knew Elrond since Maglor, brother of Maedhros, was the one fostered him and his twin brother, Elros.

So, seeing him after so many years surprised you and what made you feel shy is the fact that he invited you to stay with him at his realm.

You decided to take on his offer because you didn't want to keep on wandering in the middle earth after you did for many years.

Actually, you came to his realm after his wife decided to leave to the Undying Lands.

And Elrond is the only one who felt like he wanted to marry you but he decided not to act on it to not frighten you.

Especially after everything you told him about others 'locking you up' and 'refusing to let you leave'

Actually he witnessed how his foster Uncle treated you, so he understood where you are coming from.

"Do not worry, Nin meld, you are safe here with me, I promise to protect you from any danger."

[halbravd]

rings of power boys ft “i’m breaking up with you” a modern!au text prank

elrond:

sauron:

isildur:

arondir:

elendil:

celebrimbor:

adar:

valandil:

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Masterlist

All of my fics are available on AO3 under the same username Criticallyinneedofadar! AO3 Link

Rings of Power

Elrond (interconnected one shots)

A Flower Among Stone

The Price of Compassion

Among Friends and Enemies

A Jewel in the Garden

To Wonder At the Stars

Adar

Starlight Jewels - One Shot

Beyond Hope - One shot

A Life Lost in Time- One shot, can be read with Beyond Hope.

Alliance of Shadows- Series (Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3) (Chapter 4) (Chapter 5) (Chapter 6) (Chapter 7) (Chapter 8) (Chapter 9) (Chapter 10) (Chapter 11) (Chapter 12) (Epilogue)

Across Time- (Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3)(Chapter 4) (Chapter 5) (Chapter 6) (Chapter 7) (Chapter 8) (Chapter 9) (Chapter 10) (Chapter 11) (Chapter 12) (Chapter 13) (Chapter 14) (Chapter 15)(Chapter 16)

Berries- One Shot

Yuletide Joy- One Shot

Elendil

Together in Grief - One Shot

A Grave Homecoming- One shot

The Valar's Blessing - One Shot

Summer Rain- Ask

Cargo Barrels - One Shot

Errands- Ask

The Banks of Edhellond- Ask

Gil Galad

The Weight of the Weary - One Shot

Lovely Thorn (Part 1 ) (Part 2 )

An Unexpected Joy- One Shot

Royal Duties- One Shot

Beside You - One Shot

Celebrimbor

An Artist's Gaze- One shot

Lemon Cakes and a Melody- One Shot

Male Reader- Ask

The Princess of Lindon- One Shot

Steel and Song- Ask

Lord of the Rings

Faramir

Ask

The Hobbit

Thorin Oakenshield

A Song of Home- One Shot

Public Relations(hips)- One Shot

House of the Dragon

Cregan Stark

The North

Game of Thrones

Benjen Stark

The Ranger and the Wildling

[morganas-pendragons]

ease | celebrimbor

honest to god, I got this concept in the shower and it would not leave me alone. the prompt was found in the depths of the celebrimbor x reader tag (disclaimer: I am not a Tolkien reader, but I did grow up watching the movies and have done some research into the Silmarillion as I've been watching ROP) and this was born.

I've just found out some of the fates of these characters and I kid you not... I have a full fledged idea for a Celebrimbor/OC fic if my brain keeps this up

set during s2 of ROP, light spoilers ahead

prompt is here / this reader is a half-elven female who is gifted with magic. like I said, I am new to writing for this verse, so please be gentle.

***

You don't remember much about how you ended up in Middle Earth. There are glimpses, sweet fragments of memories that surface every now and again, but that is simply all they are. Glimpses of a time that has long come and gone.

Glimpses of who you were gone with it, like the receding tides of the ocean drifting further and further away.

The one thing you do remember with astounding clarity is your arrival to Eregion. You remember the front gates and how tired you were, and more importantly, you remember Celebrimbor. His complete and utter astonishment at your arrival was puzzling.

You didn't figure out why until later.

"Forgive me, but my healer tells me you have difficulties with remembering where you came from," He's standing in front of you where you sit in the healer's chambers of Eregion. You're surprised that they even let you in. Maybe he took pity on you. "Your injuries are minimal given how long he believes you were out in such conditions. Given your physical attributes, I would say you are at least Elvish. That would explain some of this. Do you remember your name?"

You didn't. The only things you had to remind you of who you were was the cloak around your shoulders and the circlet in your hair. A fine thing, crafted from what Celebrimbor later told you was pure silver.

"No...." You shake your head and wrap your arms tightly around yourself. He can't help but soften. You seem very lost. Celebrimbor is not one to take in lost souls, but there is something about you that draws in rapt fascination, and he is not willing to turn you away.

"You are no threat upon us. Now come. Let me introduce you to the great kingdom of the Elven smiths."

He extended his arm to you hesitantly. You found yourself taking it, staring up at him through a curious gaze as he dove into the histories of Eregion.

Weeks passed. You noticed the longer you were present in Eregion and in the forges that Celebrimbor was very particular about who was allowed to remain in his presence for long. There were his smiths, and his servants, but there were very few who were truly allowed to know him on a more intimate and vulnerable level.

You found yourself wondering why.

On a quieter day in Eregion's forges, you venture out of your room in search of Celebrimbor. Most of the staff is familiar with your presence by now. You've heard the whispers. They wonder how a forsaken Elf has managed to find her way into their King's good graces after such a short amount of time.

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd arrive. Come. I have something to show you." Celebrimbor greeted. You followed him around the edge of the forge to a table in the center of the room where a familiar silver circlet sat. Your eyes widened. You had been wondering where it went. "I was given enough moonstone from a recent discovery to restore your circlet and add a singular gem to the center. What do you think?"

Again the eyes and ears are drawn to the pair of you. You can feel their questions burning through the air: Why her? Why is she in his good graces? What does a forsaken elf have to give to the Lord of Eregion and the Master Smith?

"Might we have a moment in private?" You ask. There is no hesitation in his response. Celebrimbor dismisses his smiths, and in mere minutes, the two of you are alone. He seems perfectly content to be with you where no other eyes can see. "I don't understand. We've only just met, and I don't even know who I am, but here you are reforging and creating something so beautiful for a stranger," You pick up the circlet with delicate fingers, turning it over to gaze at the gem in the center. It's a very delicate design that incorporates much of the Elvish culture within it. "Why?"

There's a beat of silence that you interpret as apprehension. Answering this question requires a certain sense of vulnerability that he so often shies away from.

What he does instead surprises you.

''Because," Celebrimbor's voice drops to a whisper as he settles the delicate circlet in your hair, and you can't help but smile at how gentle it is. "You are.. different."

That's all he leaves you with. You're left to wonder what about you is different. What about you puts him so at ease.

***

Celebrimbor had not told anyone outside of Galadriel, Elrond and The High King what was known of your origins. What little the two of you could come up with about them. All the five of you are aware of is that you hold a great power with magic that brings the skill of healing and persuasion of any life form, and that you fell to Middle Earth within its vast oceans and found yourself destitute mere miles away from Eregion.

"It's almost like your coming was a sign."

Your visions turn out to be correct, much to your horror.

After Gil-Galad and Elrond’s departure, you find yourself lingering in your chambers with your circlet poised in your hands as you internally fight through all the evidence you have lingering in your head. Celebrimbor doesn't know what to make of it, and neither do you.

That turns out not to be your concern once you see him trudging past your bedroom, muttering to himself in Sindarin as he attempts to massage his shoulder with his hand.

"Celebrimbor?" You call, mindful to call quietly so that his smiths and the staff do not hear you. He always hears you. Always has, always will. "Are you alright?"

His aspect says one thing, but his eyes say another. "There is always tension that builds within the muscles and tendons of the body after working vigorously in the forge. I am just stiff. It is not a concern you need to bother yourself with-"

You raise a brow at his veiled attempt to console you. It doesn't work. Glancing over your shoulder, you quickly follow on his heels to his chambers where you slip inside just before he can shut the door.

He freezes. The two of you are alone. Properly alone.

"This is quite.." You falter in search of the right word. "If anyone knew I was in here, it would arouse suspicion. I can tell you're in pain. We both know that you cannot alleviate that on your own." You pause to interject, "Only if you truly want the help. I would be happy to serve."

Realization dawns in his eyes. Neither of you are properly aware of how close you really are to each other, much less the fact that your hand is pressed against his heart. It flutters under your touch.

He's nervous.

Your creased brow softens when Celebrimbor winces again at the turn of his head, and your eyes focus on his neck. "I am in a great amount of pain," He confesses quietly. It's quite a feat for him to be so willing to be vulnerable with you. Especially when you have yet to see him ask for help from anyone else, including Galadriel or Gil-Galad. "And I would be much appreciative of the help."

Celebrimbor would never admit it out loud, but something swelled within him at the sight of your smile as you rushed back to your chambers to gather the oils you had stored there. He had come to care for you a great deal. That was dangerous. There was too much at stake with his House and his past... A past that he would rather never speak aloud for fear of having to truly relive it.

"You'd be more at least if you lie down," You remark softly, laughing as his eyes snap open in alarm. "The oils only work with skin contact. Are you okay with that?"

It takes him a moment to realize what you're doing: You're both asking for his consent, and you're giving him the opportunity to say no. It's just another thing that draws him to you.

You turn away to grant Celebrimbor a modicum of privacy while you prepare yourself and the oils you brought. By the time you turn around, you nearly drop the vials. You should have assumed he'd have scars. That there would be old burns and far more muscle that he could hide under those robes.

The only piece of clothing he was wearing covered very little.

"Celebrimbor," You whisper. He cannot help the shiver that runs down his body when your fingers come into contact with his spine. It has been centuries since he had last allowed himself to be touched, and to be touched in such an intimate and positive way was foreign. "Are you in pain?"

You already know the answer to this question. He lays down on the bed and tucks his hands under his forehead. There's several moments of silence that pass before you hear him murmur, "I have been in pain for quite a long time, nin tinu. There has only been one thing that alleviates it."

The Sindarin that rolls off his tongue rings clear in your head. My star.

"What eases your pain, My Lord?"

Your oiled fingertips, doused in lavender oil, have just made contact with his shoulders when he answers: "You. It has been you from the moment you entered my gates, and it will be you for however long you remain here, if you wish to remain here in Eregion with me. You are not obligated to do so. I know you want to regain your memories.”

You mull over his words as your fingers travel his skin. You mark your touch with firm yet gentle presses against the valleys of his back, dragging your fingers across raised scars that arouse much curiosity within you. Celebrimbor melts into the bed beneath you as he allows himself to absorb a touch he had not realized he craved so deeply for an entire lifetime.

"You have introduced me to such a peace since I have been here. A peace that comes from being in the presence of people who truly care about you, of people who truly want the best for you. That's why you have not told anyone of my heritage. That is why you keep me so close to your side. To protect me.” Your ministrations have had their desired effect, because the moment you dig your fingers into where he'd been trying to massage earlier, it elicits a low groan from his chest. "Never has this destitute elf felt such peace as I have learning and living with and from you. I would be honored and privileged to remain in Eregion."

He's thankful in that moment that his face is hidden. Celebrimbor grimaces as tears prick the back of his eyes, blurring the sight of the blankets beneath him. He'd never experienced something as trivial as being loved in such a gentle, genuine manner.

"Dorth... nev na nin."

Again it rang clear as day. You were realizing the longer that Celebrimbor spoke in the Sindarin tongue that you were most definitely familiar with it.

He's asking you to stay with him. Permanently.

"Roll onto your back," You whisper. He complies with ease, showing you a stunning shade of hazel in the eyes that look back at you. "I-"

It's right there on the tip of your tongue as fingers stained with lavender oil linger right at the hair on his temples. You know you have been drawn to him since you arrived. It's not the hesitation in confession, it's in his response.

His lips part of their own accord as you bend your head to press your forehead against his own. You both want to kiss the other, and badly, but this act alone is intimate enough. It is too soon.

Celebrimbor’s breath fans over your face as he shudders, eyes flickering upward to meet yours through the hair that veils your face. "Just let me..."

Celebrimbor parts your hair to tuck it behind your ear and lifts his head just enough to graze his lips against your cheek. It's barely a kiss, more the ghost of a kiss then anything, but the way it puts your body at such ease speaks more then a real kiss could've.

His heart is pounding when he meets your eyes.

You're laughing when you part. He doesn't know why. What Celebrimbor does know is that the stiffness in his muscles is gone, replaced by an inexplicable warmth he's never quite felt before.

The shade of your eyes has been illuminated by a silver the same color of the jewel in your circlet, which is now glowing from where it sits upon your head.

He'll have to question that later.

"Why are you laughing? It's quite inappropriate to laugh in such a circumstance-"

You press your fingers to his lips. Celebrimbor is blushing so hard you're sure that his cheeks will stay that color for the rest of the night.

"If you wanted to get unclothed in front of me to have me touch you, all you had to do was ask."

[celebrimbormylove]

In This Lifetime

I WROTE THIS FOR YOU @morganas-pendragons <3 Hope you like it!!!

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Golden leaves fell slowly off of the giant tree that overlooked the great elven realm of Lindon. They were a sure sign of the end that was creeping closer every day. By the time they would have all fallen, the elves would become nothing more but lingering fragments, a sign of a great race, trapped in time. 

Standing there, in front of the Great Tree, did not help ease your mind as you had originally hoped it would. When your mind was in chaos, the mere sight of the tree could usually bring back your peace. This time, however, it brought upon nothing but sorrow. Knowing the fate of your people, and knowing you could do nothing about it, left you in despair.

“These rings, they could save our people. They could save the entirety of Middle Earth.” The words of your closest friend echoed through your head at that moment. He spoke highly of three rings that he claimed to have the power to prevent the disastrous fate that you were stuck dwelling on. Though you knew not of any such power. You feared what would happen if such rings were to be made. It would be no different from going against the Valar themselves.

“Do you still believe that the rings are a bad idea?”

His voice startles you as he comes to stand with you, under the tree. He gazes up at it, contemplating something that you believed to be far beyond your comprehension. He was always thinking of something, but that is what made him into the genius he is.

“They will forever be a bad idea, until you can create them in a way that does not disrupt the natural order of things.”

Your response caught him off guard. When he had proposed the idea to you, he did not imagine that you would linger on it for so long, nor that you would think so deeply about it. Though he did admire that about you. Your mind worked in wondrous ways.

“What if I could convince you that the rings are working parallel to the natural order? They would not stir up any trouble.”  He held your hand gently as he spoke, and while you wanted to believe him, you found it hard to do so. 

“How would you convince me?”

“Come back with me to my forge. Let me show you how I wish to make the rings.”

A part of you wanted to fight back, but his sweet words, his gentle voice, it all swayed you to follow him back to Eregion.

His forge was nothing short of breathtaking. Gems and other beautiful trinkets were placed carefully around the room. The light from the setting sun showered the room in a beautiful, soft glow. You couldn’t help but to be reminded of the early days in your friendship with Celebrimbor. He would often have you stay with him while he worked on his latest project, claiming that you were like a good-luck charm for him.

”Come, have a seat. I’m gonna make some tea and then we’ll get into the rings.”  He led you to a rather soft looking chair and then hurried off to make tea. He was always so hospitable to you, even after the countless times when you would tell him that he didn’t need to be.  

A sudden crashing noise, from the direction he was in, had you on your feet and racing towards him in a matter of seconds. It seemed as though he wasn’t quite paying attention and had dropped one of his teacups. Hardly something to cry over.

”What happened? Are you hurt?”  You slowly walked towards him, so as not to startle him.

”I was making tea and the cup was in my hand, it was so secure. I have no idea how it fell.”  He was staring down at the cup as though it was a wounded animal. This would have been quite amusing, had you not been so concerned from the start.

”It is just a cup, my dear friend. There is no need to be so upset over it. Here, let me help you clean it up.”  You grabbed a nearby towerl and  knelt down beside the broken cup. Before you could even start picking up the pieces, you noticed little spots of blood, which you deduced to be his.

”Celebrimbor?”

”Hm?”

“Let me see your hand.”

You stood up again and extended your hand, waiting for him to offer his. But he hesitated.

”I am fine you know, there’s no need for this. In fact, I can clean the cup up myself. You should go have a seat, my dear.”  He tried to usher you away but you stood your ground.

”Hand. Now.”

He hesitated for a second longer before finally giving in and placing his hand in yours. Despite being a master smith, he had quite soft hands. It dawned on you then that you had never really held his hand before. You carefully examined it and found a small yet deep cut on his ring finger.

”Your hands are your best tools, Celebrimbor, you cannot hurt them.”

He sighed at your words. You brought him back to the main room and found a clean cloth and some ribbon. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only option at that moment. You brought him over to the chair you were previously sitting at and sat him down, squishing yourself in, between him and the arm rest.

”You know, you could just heal it.”  He looked down at you with a playful smile on his face.

You frowned at him. 

“No. You and I both know that my healing abilities are hardly something to rely on.”

”It is a small cut, my dear. I believe in you.”

”Celebrimbor-“

”I trust you with my entire being.”

His words made you freeze. You had been friends with him for many, many years. It was only natural for you to develop feelings for him, even though you had convinced yourself that he wouldn’t feel the same way. So to hear those words from him now…it made your heart flutter and suddenly, the room seemed way too warm.

You said nothing in response as you carefully cleaned the cut and prepared to heal it. Your healing abilities were not at a level where you could save someone from the brink of death, but it should be good enough for this.

A soft, light blue glow shone from your hands as you hovered over his cut. You closed your eyes, focusing your energy on healing him. He watched you carefully, admiring the focused look on your face while also taking in how beautiful you were. Especially this close.

”There, it should have worked.”  You slowly opened your eyes and examined his finger. The cut was gone, not even a scar left behind.

”It would seem as though you are not giving yourself enough credit, my dear.”

He smiled gently at you as he flipped his hand around in yours and intertwined his fingers with your own. “I should keep you here with me, to be my personal healer.” He laughed as he said this but he was only half joking.

”That would only work so long as you do not injure yourself gravely.” You slowly pulled your hand out of his and brought your other one up to cup his face. ”I cannot lose you, and I would not be able to save you.”

It was more than a profession of love. You were telling him how you had felt for many years now. You couldn’t live without him. He had left such a lasting impression on your life that it would feel like a void if he were to leave.

”Lucky for you, I do not intend to go anywhere. I will stay right here with you, for as long as you will have me.”  He closed his eyes and leaned into your hands, relaxing against your touch.

You sighed deeply, letting go of all of the worries you held earlier. Your hands seemed to move on their own, as they traveled upwards and gently traced the outer shell of his ears. He let out a soft sigh and tilted his head back, letting his head fall deeper into your hands.

Oh how he had been waiting for this moment. He longed for your touch, for you to hold him, to know that you felt the same as he did. The feeling of your delicate fingers running along his ears, it made him feel as though he was touched by the Valar themselves. He felt invincible. You made him feel invincible.

”My dear?”

”Should I stop?” You slowly started to pull your hands away but he quickly grabbed them and held them in place.

”Do not stop. Please.”

His voice was so soft, full of love and desperation. He needed you more than he needed air. You were his lifeline.

”Marry me?”

You dropped your hands in shock at his words. He was staring at you now, his eyes full of intent. He truly wanted you, there was no doubt about that.

”Celebrimbor? Do you truly mean it?” 

“With every breath in my body, with the very blood that runs through my veins, I mean it. You are more precious to me than anything I have ever created, more beautiful than any jewel in the universe. You are my everything. Please, Y/N, marry me.”

He was holding your hands in his now, his face mere inches away from you. You leaned in to him, your lips were hovering over his now. 

“I will marry you. In this lifetime and in every one in the future.”  

He could not longer find any words to say. He instead decided to pull you onto his lap and hold your head in his hands. Reciprocating your earlier movements, he traced the tips of your ears before pulling you into him and kissing you. Your little noise of surprise was drowned out by his deep sigh as he deepened the kiss, leaving you both absolutely breathless.

He finally felt as though he had everything wanted in his life. You always were the missing part of his life. He silently vowed to never let the world harm you, for as long as you both lived. As you had said, in this life, and every one in the future.

[myworldrightnow]

Let's face it:

The Rings of Power S01 it's for Halbrand/Sauron.

But S02? My dear, it's definitely for this one right here, my man right here.😍

[thatlittlered]

the craft | celebrimbor

warning(s): afab!reader (use of the word lady), very discreet spoilers for rings of power

GIF by @leotanaka

author's note: i think i deserve a little kiss for my use of the title craft because of its dual meaning, don't you? going to write another part, unless I don't because I can't be trusted :)

read the rest of "the craft" here

-.-.-

 A beautiful sunset melts from golden to orange and fiery red hues, almost as crimson as the seeds of pomegranate in your fingers. Fruit of the only such tree in the whole of Eregion and yet another undoubtedly hospitable gift from the Elf-lord Celebrimbor, whose kindness and generosity have proven to be as boundless as his artistry.

 A guest within his palace for far longer than initially intended, you cannot help but feel horribly indebted to him; a sentiment he has always refused to allow you to express and instead showered you with even more gifts, so many that you could not possibly take them with you if and when you are ever to return home, or whatever might be left of it once these dark times are hopefully over. Such is the cup you are currently enjoying warm tea from, the kind that he personally recommended and had sent to you. Laced with intricate carvings of beautiful flowers you do not think you’ve ever even seen in your long lifetime, this gift surpasses the simple nature of others, for it was crafted especially for you and whilst you may not know this part, bears the likeness of his favourite flora that grows near the bank of the river Bruinen, where he had hoped to take you soon. Alas, his tender plans were soon cast aside when the mysterious stranger Halbrand unbeknownst to you, began to seduce him into isolation and an obsessive mulling over the Rings.

 You have not met with Celebrimbor in weeks and his forge, which had previously been open to you in yet another attempt to make you feel welcome and perhaps even timidly show off his craft, now remains completely shut off from the rest of the world. Your gentle requests to meet with the Elven-smith go unanswered, as do your letters to the dear and endlessly respected friends who had sent you here in the first place. Of course, neither attempt at communication ever reaches its intended receiver. The stranger has made sure of that, and while you suspect something is amiss, all this silence has become its own form of isolation.

 You were sent here as a trusted friend, meant to provide guidance and council while the High King leads the way toward the necessary path of war and your other companions follow, yet the situation has rendered you incapable of aiding either cause. It seems there is nothing to do but wait and carry on enjoying the commodities the Elf-lord sends your way despite his absence.

 As if brought to life by the intensity of your thoughts, there is gentle knocking on your door, the kind you recognize from the often times he has been so eager to be in your company before.

 'Come in.'

 You try to wipe your fingers clean from the evidence of the sweet seeds, but his rushed entry in your chamber surprises you. Your still-stained thumb leaves the smallest of bloodlike marks on your tunic, but you do not notice when your eyes meet Celebrimbor’s. A smile blooms on his tired face instantly as he once again rushes to approach you.

  'My dear friend, glassen na chen cenin.' It is my joy to see you.

 You move to take hold of his hands in reverence, but he once again surprises you by grasping your face in his palms instead. The stranger’s persuasion has given him a newfound confidence along with a sense of purpose, when he had been as shy as a youngling in your presence before.

 'My Lady.'

 The title he has given you is not one of true nobility, for you bear no such titles, but one that simply rolls off his tongue in his endless admiration of you. Anything else seems too intimate when he tries to speak it, even your name in itself. His thoughts are muddled and overwhelming in your presence.

 His palms are warm and surprisingly soft when they hold you. It is impossible not to smile.

 'I did not expect your visit, but I am glad to be proven wrong.'

 He frowns gently and you cannot help but admire the creases of his lovely face as they are illuminated by the last rays of sun for the day.

 'I am deeply sorry for my absence. I can only hope you do not think I have abandoned you, for in my heart and thoughts, I am always with you.'

 Your own hand caresses just above his brow in an attempt to soothe him. He always worries so, but you would gladly take over each and every of his burdens if it meant he would finally be at peace. He has never spoken words like these to you before, always hiding behind the cloak of hospitality in an effort to be close to you. Celebrimbor, the Ñoldorin prince and last of the line of the Fëanor, has inherited none of his ancestors’ pride, but instead carries the shame of their actions deep within his soul, where it most wounds him. It is that shame that has for so long allowed him to succumb to loneliness and refrain from fantasies of greatness.

 Annatar’s revelation comes as a gift, a holy permission, to bring forth life’s work that could dare to compete with that of those who came before him. It allows him to venture and now, clad in this new air of hope and ambition, come before you as he truly is and as he truly hopes to be beside you.

 'I couldn’t possibly think myself abandoned when you shower me with gifts, even in your absence. I am aware of the weight that has been placed upon your shoulders and you have rightfully given your time to more important matters, or persons.'

 'None as important as you. Please, do not mistake it for hospitality, for I act based on my own selfish affections.'

 'How can any such affection be selfish? I would say it is anything but.'

 'Oh, but I fear it is. Even my coming here is to satisfy my own longing after having spent so many morns and nights without seeing you.'

 Neither of you possess the poetic prowess to capture the tenderness of this moment, the ceaseless warmth of still being held in his hands without a regard to impropriety. Even if you did, words would undoubtedly fall short.

 'Well, I am glad to have your company, for as long as you can spare it.'

 'I never wish to withhold it again.'

 Celebrimbor melts into this half-embrace until his forehead gently leans on yours.

 'I only wish I could be of assistance and help you bear this great burden.'

 'Your mere presence renders my soul lighter, guren vell,' my sweet heart, 'but I know now that what has been bestowed upon me is not a burden, but a gift unlike no other. Just as you are. I have been sworn to silence, but know that we have been blessed and when my work is finished, our woes will be over.'

 Something has changed within him and it is there for everyone with eyes to see. It worries you.

 'Sworn to secrecy? Even from I, despite my knowing the truth of your assignment?'

 He lays a gentle kiss on your forehead, holding you even closer.

 'What started as a desperate attempt to clutch at whatever power can be wielded in our favour during these trying times, has now become much larger, much more important than I could have ever imagined. Bigger than you or I, for it was brought forth by a glorious agent of Valinor and now I can finally be of use to this greater cause.'

 He senses the uncertainty in you before you can speak it.

 'You must think I’ve gone mad.'

 'Of course not. I would trust you with my life, my faith knows no bounds. My hesitance is rooted in concern.'

 'Concern for the safety of the rings?'

 'Concern for you, melethron nîn.' My beloved.

 There is such emotion in the way he is looking at you.

 'I cannot gainsay that which has been asked of me, but afterward…'

 'Afterward?'

 'After I have proven myself worthy, perhaps you would consider staying here, with me. Perhaps then I will be someone you could imagine a life with.'

 'Oh, Celebrimbor, you already are. What words must I speak for you to know the depth of my feelings?'

 Words are miniscule when faced with the self-doubt that’s so deeply rooted within him. The stranger has seen this and taken full advantage. The promise of glory has overshadowed the love you so willingly offer, even though the allure of recognition was that he might come to deserve it in the first place. His adoring smile distracts from how flat your reassurance has fallen. His mind is set.

 'When all of this is over, I promise to devote myself wholly to you and only you. Gerog i chûn nîn. Until then...' You hold my heart. His hands leave your skin for a moment in order to produce what must be a gift, neatly wrapped in rich velvet fabric. 'It is nothing of great significance, but I wanted you to have these.'

 You carefully unwrap it, only to find inside the most beautiful jewels, cast in gold and carved with astounding detail, so much so that you can clearly make out every petal, every stem of the flowers he has chosen that remind him of you.

 'I noticed you like to adorn your hair. I thought these might be to your liking, though my hands could never make something akin your beauty. Only the Valar can master such a craft and you are the living proof.'

 Such sweetness comes from his mouth. Such thoughtfulness to even now, amidst the chaos he was forced in, dedicate all this time and effort to something just for you.

'Nothing of great significance? This is the most significant gift I have ever received. The gift of all gifts; a token of your love.'

 Proper elven courtship is forgotten when your eyes lock again. A kiss is required for the sake of both of your sanities and you happily initiate. You would have thought him shy and reserved, but he quickly responds in equal fervour. Your lips are soft against his thin ones and his heart sings. If only he could find within him the words to convey that. Nevertheless, you do not require it of him and he loves you even more for it.

 You are content to stay where you are; mouths and bodies tenderly interlocked. When you part, there are only childish grins to be shared, ones not to be expected from eternal beings, but perhaps maturity comes hand in hand with love and the two of you have only now found it.

 'Might I?'

 With an approving nod, you turn your back on him, once again placing your trust in the man you’ve come to love. He laces his fingers in your hair so gently, as if set to work on fragile sheets of gold, but to him, any part of you is far more precious. You feel him carefully pick strands and clasp in them in the lovely jewels, up until the last one. Curiosity wins and you try to turn your head enough to see, only to witness him touch your hair against his lips before adding the last one.

 Celebrimbor blushes upon being caught, but does not look away. You take this opportunity to simply look at each other. He wishes to gather you in his arms, but does not dare. You, again, are happy to take the initiative, but he stops you before you can embrace him fully.

 'Are you hurt?'

 There is ample confusion until you feel his hand gather in the skirt of your tunic where the blood-like stain still resides. The panic on his face is touching, yet unnecessary.

 'Do not worry, my love, it is only pomegranate.'

 When in your arms again, he seemingly relaxes, yet his mind is still racing. A familiar sense of dread pools somewhere within him.

 This is a bad omen.

[doodle-pops]

T’was The Night of Autumn

Celebrimbor x modern!reader

A/N: I realised that I don’t post many Celebrimbor content and that needs to change. So, here’s something to enjoy your cozy autumn.

Warnings: none, all fluff

Words: 1.9k

Synopsis: As autumn finally rolled in, you decided to teach Tyelpë a tradition from your modern world, one that involves pumpkins and crafting.

The autumn season had arrived in Eregion, and with it came a crispness in the air that whispered of change. The leaves on the trees had turned rich shades of gold and orange, carpeting the streets with their vibrant hues. The scent of the season, a mix of damp earth and woodsmoke, hung in the air, reminding you of home. It was the kind of day that made you miss the simple pleasures of your world—hot drinks, the sound of crunching leaves underfoot, and, of course, pumpkin carving. Despite being in Middle-earth, so far removed from the modern world you had come from, there was something about autumn that felt familiar—comforting, even.

Today, Celebrimbor had a rare moment of respite from his duties, and you had been thinking about how to make the most of it, wanting to share something from your world with him. After all, autumn wasn’t just about the changing of the leaves. It was about warmth, cosiness, and most of all, traditions. And there was one tradition in particular you were eager to introduce him to.

“Tyelpë,” you called softly, using his Quenya name. He glanced up from his book, his sharp, grey eyes softening when they met yours.

“Yes?” he responded, removing his focus from the book he was invested in.

“I think you’ve spent enough time reading and cooped up in the library for today,” you said, stepping into the room and crossing over to him. “It’s autumn, after all. There’s something I want to show you.”

His brow arched in curiosity. “What is it?”

Smiling, you took his hand and led him out of the library, into the courtyard. “Just trust me,” you said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s a tradition from my world. Something we do every year during this season.”

Curiosity piqued—Celebrimbor followed you out to the courtyard where two large, round pumpkins sat waiting. You had found it in the market earlier that day, marvelling at how similar it was to the ones from home. And now, as the golden light of the late afternoon bathed the scene in warmth, you felt a wave of nostalgia wash over you.

“What is that?” Celebrimbor asked, eyeing the pumpkin with a mix of amusement and confusion.

“It’s a pumpkin,” you replied, grinning up at him.

Sighing with a bit of sass, he rolled his eyes nonchalantly. “I know that it’s a pumpkin. But what I meant was the purpose of it.”

“Pumpkin carving!” you cheered.

“Pumpkin carving?” Celebrimbor’s voice was rich with curiosity and a hint of amusement, as he approached to two, medium-sized orange fruit sitting on the table.

“Yes!” you replied, turning to face him with your excitement growing by the second. “It’s something we do back in my world during this season. It’s part of a tradition called Halloween. We carve faces into pumpkins, light them up with candles, and make all sorts of fun autumn-themed treats. I thought it might be fun to try it together.”

Leaning closer to inspect the pumpkins while you spoke, he smiled from the sheer enthusiasm you expressed for the love of this festive seasonal tradition. “I’ve heard you mention this Halloween before,” he said thoughtfully. “A festival for warding off spirits and celebrating the harvest, correct?”

You nodded, grinning. “Exactly. But it’s also about having fun. You get to be creative, and it’s a great way to embrace the season.”

“It sounds…whimsical. Very different from the customs of our people,” he murmured under low. “But if it involves creativity, I imagine it’s not too different from sculpting or forging. But I must warn you, if this pumpkin carving involves skill, you might be at a disadvantage.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him, laughing. “Oh, come on, I’m not that bad. Besides, you’re the one who's never carved a pumpkin before. I might surprise you.”

Throwing an almost invisible competitive smirk at you, he chuckled. “We’ll see about that. But first, would you might showing me how it is performed?”

You handed him one of the knives, explaining how to cut the top off the pumpkin and scoop out the insides while he watched you closely as you demonstrated, his eyes intent on the task at hand. Once you were finished, he took his knife, his movements precise and steady as he made the first cut into his much larger and clearly better suited pumpkin, for carving.

“I have to admit,” he said, as he carefully removed the top of the pumpkin, “I’ve never worked with a medium like this before.”

You grinned as you passed him a spoon to scoop out the guts and seeds. “It’s a bit different from metal and stone, isn’t it?”

He nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Quite different. Though I can’t say this is how I imagined spending my day—it’s strangely satisfying.” He took the spoon from you, his lips quirking with amusement as he began to dig into the pumpkin. His movements were careful and precise—of course, they were, he was Celebrimbor, grandson of Fëanor. His entire life had been spent mastering delicate and intricate work. And yet, the sight of him here, elbow-deep in pumpkin guts, was oddly endearing.

As he worked, you scooped out the seeds and pulp from inside your pumpkin, explaining how in your world, people often roasted the seeds as a snack. And Celebrimbor seemed fascinated by the simplicity of it all, so different from the more elaborate customs of Middle-earth.

“And now, here is where the true fun begins.” You were bouncing on your toes as you passed him a smaller carving knife. “Time for us to start carving the faces. You can make it as simple or as detailed as you like.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes gleamed with interest. “A face, you say? I think I can manage that.”

You handed him a smaller knife and explained how to cut out a simple face—triangular eyes, a jagged smile. You decided to keep it straightforward for now, not wanting to overwhelm him. But as you suspected, Celebrimbor was a natural. You watched in awe as his skilled hands moved swiftly, the knife gliding through the pumpkin with ease. Despite his initial unfamiliarity with the task, his natural talent shone through. Within minutes, he had carved an intricate, detailed face into the pumpkin, far more elaborate than anything you had ever managed.

“Well,” you said, standing back to admire his work, “I think it’s safe to say that you’ve won this round, which is unfair.”

He looked up at you, a teasing smile playing on his lips, one that was rarely seen at all—symbolising his comfort and enjoyment. “Won? Was this a competition?”

Nudging him playfully, you laughed. “Everything’s a competition with you, Tyelpë. But yes, I admit defeat. Your pumpkin is perfect.”

He tilted his head, studying the pumpkin with a critical eye. “I wouldn’t say perfect. There’s always room for improvement.”

“Perfectionist,” you muttered under your breath, earning another soft chuckle from him.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said, handing you the knife with a flourish. “Let’s see what you can do.”

As you took the knife, not missing an opportunity to roll your eyes good-naturedly, you warned him. “Alright, but don’t laugh. I’m not a master craftsman like you.” As you began carving, Celebrimbor watched you with quiet amusement. Every so often, he would offer a word of advice or point out a better way to approach the task, but for the most part, he let you work in peace. When you finished, your pumpkin was far simpler than his—a goofy, crooked smile and triangle eyes that reminded you of the ones you used to carve as a child.

“Well?” you asked, stepping back to examine your handiwork. “What do you think?”

“Um…” his voice trailed off as he angled his head differently to capture the image of the face you carved, not wanting to leave you under the impression that it could do with a few touch ups…and more—typical artesian behaviour. “Do you…I can help in some areas…”

Your brown immediately shut up to defeat your artistic work. “Oh, what now? Is it not as artistic as yours even though you offered advice?”

“Oh, no, no, no. It’s um…artistic indeed, but just need a bit of…enhancement,” he sheepishly said with his hands up in defence.

“Ha, ha,” you dryly laughed and morphed your face to match the one on your pumpkin. “You can fix it, but just this once.”

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon carving, laughing, and teasing each other about your respective pumpkins. Celebrimbor’s, of course, ended up looking like a work of art, while yours was more endearing in its imperfection. Still, you didn’t mind. The real joy came from sharing the experience with him—watching his face light up with each new detail, hearing the soft chuckles that escaped him when he struggled with a particularly tricky cut. It felt nice to see him stress-free since your arrival at Eregion. All your memories of him hunched over the anvil or some blueprint faded into mist upon his carefree laughter and smile.

You know such a simple act could appear that beautiful, nor did you understand why people labelled him as tempestuous and dangerous. He was quite the opposite.

As the sun began to set and the courtyard grew darker, you lit candles and placed them inside the pumpkins. The warm glow filled the small area, casting flickering shadows across the table, displaying your handiwork.

“I have to say,” Celebrimbor mused, “this Halloween tradition is rather pleasant. I can see why you enjoy it.”

You smiled, leaning into him as he bumped his arm into your shoulder. “It’s one of my favourites. And now you’ve got a pretty good handle on it, too.”

Turning to him with your heart swelling with emotion. “It means a lot to me, too,” you said softly. “Being here in Middle-earth, so far from everything I knew…it’s hard sometimes. But sharing things like this, it makes me feel like I’ve brought a little piece of home with me.”

Celebrimbor’s expression softened, his silver-grey eyes full of understanding. “I will always strive to make you feel at home here, no matter the distance between this world and yours.”

“Thank you, Tyelpë,” you whispered.

As the two of you stood there for a long moment, the flickering candlelight casting a soft glow over the room, you relaxed with the slight chill of the autumn breeze. You knew he wasn’t a person of many words, even though you had wiggled your way unexpectedly into his life, bringing minor changes, you understood through the silence that he reciprocated your thanks.

“Now,” Celebrimbor said, breaking the silence with a teasing smile, “you mentioned something about autumn-themed foods. I believe you owe me a taste of these seasonal treats from your world, and I hope they also involve drinks.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got just a few things in mind. But you might have to help me make it.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “If it’s anything like the pumpkin carving, I think you’ll find I’m quite capable.”

“Confident, are we?” you teased, heading toward the kitchen. “Let’s see if that holds up when we start baking and brewing.”

Masterlist

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[iwmflbb]

I'm sorry but he's sooooooo Hobbit coded... Maybe, just maybe that's why I love him so much👀🩷

[dreamlandcreations]

I made something again

instead of writing, yes

Sooooooo I made 2 communities for these two

....like, yesterday, so it's still new

They are not set up as a public community, so if you want to be invited let me know 😇

[earthlybeam]

Requested by @grand-admiral-ano ❤️‍🔥🫶✨

Celebrimbor x Reader (You Like to Bite and Leave Marks) Nom nom on their skin 🤣

💍𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓻

(Your Celebrimbor Friend version)

His First Response to Your Affectionate Bites

𖢻 When you bite him—whether it’s a playful nip at his neck or a quick bite to his wrist—Celebrimbor’s first reaction is one of mild surprise. His usually composed expression falters for a moment, and he stares at you in something akin to confusion. “Is this your preferred way of greeting friends, then?” he asks, a raised eyebrow betraying his curiosity. Despite the initial shock, there’s no anger in his voice, just a faint, amused smile pulling at his lips as he takes a small step back, eyes studying you with a mix of interest and playful hesitation. He’ll tilt his head to the side, his tone now teasing. “You certainly have a rather… unique way of showing affection, my friend.” His smile grows slightly, a sign that he’s intrigued, though he’s still not entirely sure how to process this odd new form of affection.

𖢻 A Growing Intrigue After the surprise wears off, Celebrimbor’s fascination with your behavior deepens. He watches you carefully, the regal elf in him still maintaining a sense of control, but there’s a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he regards your affectionate nips and bites. “You truly do bite as a gesture of affection, don’t you?” he remarks, his voice light but with a playful edge. There’s something in his gaze now—an invitation for you to continue, if you so wish. While still unsure about this particular custom, Celebrimbor can’t deny the curiosity that grows within him. “I must admit, this is… unexpected,” he adds with a soft chuckle, allowing himself to relax just a little as he observes you, more willing to enjoy the moment than before.

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Your Playful Behavior vs. His Dignity

𖢻 As a friend, Celebrimbor’s dignified nature is central to his identity. He takes pride in his measured composure and level-headedness. But when you bite him, he has to navigate the fine line between maintaining his elven dignity and indulging in your playful affection. His initial reaction is to hold back, resisting the urge to respond too impulsively. Still, there’s a noticeable flicker of amusement in his eyes, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You’re quite bold, aren’t you?” he might say, though he doesn’t seem uncomfortable. His natural curiosity about your behavior is stronger than his concern about maintaining his formal image. If anything, your lightheartedness encourages him to lower his guard, allowing a more relaxed side of him to emerge.

𖢻 An Underlying Affection Amidst Dignity Despite Celebrimbor’s composed exterior, there’s a warmth beneath the surface that he rarely lets others see. Your biting affection pulls this out of him, and while he tries to maintain his usual air of control, there’s a softness to his responses that betrays how much he enjoys your attention. If you bite him again, he might even lean into it, still with a teasing smile. “I must admit,” he says, raising an eyebrow, “your touch is quite… effective. I suppose I’ll allow it this once.” He’s not one to give in easily, but your affectionate gestures bring a side of him to the surface that’s both tender and protective.

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When You Bite Him: Reactions, Sounds, and Movements

𖢻 Surprise and Subdued Amusement The first time you bite him, Celebrimbor is visibly surprised. His body stiffens slightly, as though he’s not entirely sure how to respond to your playful affection. There’s a brief intake of breath as you sink your teeth into his skin, followed by a soft exhale as his breath steadies again. His eyes widen for a moment, and a small, amused chuckle escapes his lips, his face still a little confused but not uncomfortable. The mark you leave on him doesn’t bother him—he seems more curious about your behavior than anything. He’ll watch you with a raised brow, a slight smile creeping onto his lips as he tilts his head, contemplating your boldness. “That’s how you greet your friends, then?” he says in a teasing tone, but there’s no irritation in his voice, only intrigue. His body remains poised, though he can’t help but inch closer to you, a small part of him feeling oddly pleased by the warmth of your touch. His fingers may unconsciously trace over the area where you’ve bitten him, not to erase it, but to almost savor the feeling of your affection.

𖢻 Subtle Movement and Body Language Though he maintains a level of composure, there’s a slight softening of his posture after you bite him, as if he’s allowing himself to enjoy the moment more. His shoulders relax, and there’s a warmth in his expression as he watches you carefully, no longer uncertain. He’s not one to shy away from you, so he may step closer, meeting your playful energy with a quiet, subtle appreciation.

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Does He Hide or Not to Hide: How He Reacts to Visible Bite Marks in Public

𖢻 A Subtle Show of Discomfort As a friend, Celebrimbor’s pride in his composure and dignity is very important to him, even if he finds your playful affection endearing. If you leave visible bite marks on him, particularly in public, he’s more likely to hide them than wear them proudly. He may subtly adjust his clothing, tugging his sleeves down or pulling his collar up to cover any marks you’ve left behind. His reaction will be discreet, avoiding overt gestures to conceal them, but you’ll likely notice him fidgeting just a little more than usual, adjusting himself as if to make sure his appearance stays pristine.

𖢻 A Raised Brow and Soft Chiding If you tease him about the marks or draw attention to them in front of others, he’ll likely respond with a raised brow and a soft, almost embarrassed laugh. “Really, this is how you show your affection?” he’ll tease lightly, though there’s a warmth in his voice that betrays his affection. Despite his apparent discomfort, he won’t admonish you too harshly. However, you can tell he’s a little more self-conscious about being publicly marked.

𖢻 Trying to Maintain Composure In the rare case that a bite mark can’t be hidden, Celebrimbor will attempt to maintain his poise, though there’s a slight shift in his posture—a subtle tightening of his jaw or a soft sigh—as if he’s bracing himself for any potential commentary. He’ll stand tall, but you can sense that he’s doing his best not to let the mark change how others see him. He may try to steer conversations away from his appearance or deflect attention elsewhere.

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Marking His Neck, Collarbone, Shoulder, Wrist, Elven Ear, and Other Areas

𖢻 Neck: Initial Surprise and Unease When you bite his neck as a friend, there’s an immediate reaction of surprise, even unease. The neck is a more vulnerable part of the body, and Celebrimbor, though composed, might tense at first. He could take a sharp intake of breath, his hand instinctively coming up to touch the area. He’ll raise an eyebrow, clearly unsure of how to process this, his usual regal air faltering slightly. He might chuckle nervously, trying to play it off with some light-hearted teasing. “Do you often mark your friends in such a way?” he asks, still somewhat taken aback but not upset.

𖢻 Collarbone: Subtle Discomfort and Embarrassment The collarbone, just above the chest, is a sensitive spot, and when you bite him there, he’s likely to be more self-conscious. He’ll glance down at you with a raised brow, trying to maintain composure, but the sudden sensation makes him stiffen slightly. “You’re quite bold,” he may murmur, his face flushed with a rare hint of embarrassment. Despite this, he doesn’t pull away, allowing you the space to express yourself, though the act of marking this particular spot makes him feel exposed in a way he doesn’t entirely enjoy in public.

𖢻 Shoulder: Quiet Tension and Stiffness Celebrimbor’s shoulder is a bit less personal, but he’ll still stiffen at the bite. His face doesn’t change much, but his body language becomes a little more rigid as you mark him. He might clear his throat, forcing himself to return to his usual poise, but there’s a subtle flicker of discomfort that he can’t quite suppress. He’s not upset, but he’s certainly not used to such physical displays of affection. “You’re quite persistent with these… marks, aren’t you?” he says with a soft laugh, his voice tinged with mild disbelief.

𖢻 Wrist: Surprise and Fascination When you bite his wrist, Celebrimbor might be a little surprised by how intimate the action feels. He’s used to wearing gloves or keeping his hands composed, so this mark feels very personal. His lips part in a small exhale as your teeth meet his skin, and he’ll immediately look down at the spot, his gaze lingering there longer than usual. “Is this how you demonstrate affection?” he asks, his tone still playful but with an underlying fascination as he traces the spot with his fingers afterward.

𖢻 Elven Ear: Heightened Sensitivity, Sudden Stillness Celebrimbor’s Elven ear is a highly sensitive and intimate part of his body. The moment your teeth graze the delicate skin, he’ll freeze—his breath catching in his throat. The contact sends a sharp shiver through him, causing his usual poise to waver. His face might flush, and he may quickly look away, attempting to regain control over his emotions. “You… bite my ear?” His voice drops lower, tinged with an unusual softness. His hand might instinctively move to touch the place where your teeth were, though he’ll try to mask his flustered state. He can’t help but shiver again at the sensation, which leaves him feeling vulnerable but somehow intimate with you in this moment.

𖢻 Other Areas: Upper Arm The upper arm is a less sensitive spot, but Celebrimbor still reacts to the unexpected bite. It’s an area that doesn’t typically warrant much attention, so your mark there surprises him. He might laugh it off but also feel a slight unease as his fingers touch the area later, as though he’s trying to get used to the idea of you marking him physically. “Are you sure this is necessary?” he might ask, though he won’t pull away.

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When He Notices a Mark Later How He Reacts to Finding Unseen Marks

𖢻 A Pause in His Routine Celebrimbor is meticulous and precise in his daily life, so when he catches sight of one of your bite marks in the mirror or while dressing, he freezes momentarily. His brow furrows slightly in confusion as he tilts his head to inspect the mark. “What on Arda…” he mutters softly, running his fingers over the faint imprint of your teeth. The initial surprise quickly gives way to a soft, knowing smile as he realizes who is responsible.

𖢻 Teasing Self-Reflection Once he processes that the mark is your doing, his amusement grows. Celebrimbor might chuckle under his breath, shaking his head at your audacious ways. “Is this your new hobby now?” he muses to himself, an affectionate warmth in his voice. Though he doesn’t entirely understand why you bite him, the memory of your playful nature lingers fondly in his mind.

𖢻 Subtle Mentions in Conversation The next time he sees you, he may bring up the mark with a casual yet teasing tone. “You know,” he starts, adjusting his sleeves or collar, “I found a rather suspicious mark this morning. Do you bite all your friends, or am I special in this regard?” His voice is lighthearted, but his eyes gleam with curiosity, silently questioning if this is your usual way of showing affection.

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Gentle Bite: How He Reacts to Your Soft Teeth Against His Skin

𖢻 Surprise at the Gentle Contact When you first deliver a soft, playful bite to his arm or shoulder, Celebrimbor freezes for a moment, startled but not offended. “Was that… a bite?” he asks, his tone layered with a mix of confusion and restrained amusement. He looks at you with raised eyebrows, clearly unsure how to process such an unexpected display of affection. Despite the surprise, his tone remains calm and curious rather than annoyed.

𖢻 Amused Reflection on Your Playfulness Once the moment settles, he lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “You have peculiar ways of showing affection,” he remarks, though there’s no malice in his voice—just genuine amusement. The gentleness of your bite seems to reassure him that it’s meant in good humor, and he starts to associate this behavior with your unique personality.

A Growing Fondness for Your Quirks

𖢻 A Subtle Shift in His Reactions If you continue this behavior, he grows more comfortable with your gentle bites. Instead of pulling away, he might even begin leaning into them slightly, his lips twitching into a subtle smile as he adapts to your ways. “You’re lucky I’m fond of you, mellon-nîn,” he teases lightly, his voice tinged with warmth.

𖢻 Playful Return of Affection On rare occasions, he may even play along by lightly tapping your shoulder or arm in response. Though he’s a composed and dignified Elf, there’s a small, playful side of him that emerges when he’s in your company. Your gentle bites become something he quietly enjoys, even if he doesn’t openly admit it.

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Biting Him in the Heat of the Moment

𖢻 In the Middle of a Heated Argument Startled and Frustrated If you bite Celebrimbor during an argument—perhaps out of sheer exasperation or to distract him—he freezes mid-sentence, eyes widening in disbelief. “You bit me?” he says, voice sharp with surprise but laced with that unshakable composure. He instinctively steps back, rubbing the spot with a mixture of incredulity and irritation.

𖢻 Calm but Stern Retort After the initial shock, his reaction softens slightly as he realizes it’s just your way of expressing frustration. “Was that necessary?” he asks, voice calm but with an edge of exasperation. Still, there’s a flicker of humor in his gaze as though he’s trying to decide whether to laugh or scold you. “You couldn’t simply argue your point like a reasonable person?” Despite his words, he lets the bite diffuse some of the tension, as if your impulsive action has reminded him of the absurdity of the situation.

𖢻 Moments of Affectionate Energy Caught Off Guard but Amused If you bite him during a playful or affectionate moment, like while laughing or teasing him, Celebrimbor’s initial reaction is surprise—but it quickly gives way to amusement. “You are incorrigible,” he says with a wry smile, rubbing the spot where your teeth landed. Though he tries to appear stern, you can see the corners of his lips twitch as though suppressing a grin.

𖢻 Turning the Tables Despite his dignified nature, Celebrimbor has a quiet mischievous streak, and your bite might just bring it out. “If this is how you show your affection, perhaps I should repay the favor,” he teases, leaning ever so slightly closer. While he may not actually bite back, his teasing words and playful smirk make it clear that he’s growing fond of your unpredictable behavior.

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When He Sees You Admiring Your Marks on His Skin

𖢻 Confused but Mildly Amused If Celebrimbor notices you staring at the marks you’ve left on him, he initially doesn’t understand why you seem so fascinated. His brow furrows slightly, and he glances between you and the faint impressions on his skin. “Are you admiring your handiwork?” he asks, his tone dry but carrying a faint edge of amusement. There’s no anger or embarrassment, only a bemused curiosity about what exactly you find so interesting.

𖢻 Teasing Questioning After a moment, he folds his arms, giving you a sly look. “Do you often marvel at the evidence of your own mischief?” he teases, though there’s a lightness to his tone that suggests he’s more amused than annoyed. If you blush or try to explain, his lips twitch upward into a small smile, clearly entertained by your reaction.

𖢻 Playing Along Though he finds your fascination odd, he doesn’t make a big deal of it. “I suppose it is… a unique form of artistry,” he says, inspecting the mark as if considering its aesthetic value. “Though I’m not sure how I feel about being your canvas, mellon-nîn.” Despite his words, there’s a faint warmth in his voice that betrays his growing fondness for your strange displays of affection.

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Biting Him During Moments of Stress

𖢻 Caught Off Guard but Amused If you bite Celebrimbor during a moment of stress—perhaps when he’s been working tirelessly at his forge or is deep in thought over a particularly difficult design—his immediate reaction is one of surprise. “What are you doing, mellon-nîn?” he asks, turning to you with a slightly raised brow. Despite the stress in his features, there’s a faint flicker of amusement in his eyes, as though your antics have managed to distract him from his troubles for a moment.

𖢻 Momentary Confusion He doesn’t quite understand how biting him could be comforting—either for you or for him—but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he studies you with a mix of curiosity and mild exasperation, as though trying to puzzle out your intentions. “Do you truly believe this will help?” he asks, though there’s no real annoyance in his tone.

𖢻 A Welcome Distraction As the surprise fades, Celebrimbor begins to see the comfort in your gesture. The suddenness of your bite pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts, grounding him in the present moment. His lips quirk into a small, reluctant smile, and he shakes his head. “You’re an odd one, mellon-nîn, but… perhaps I needed that,” he admits softly, his voice tinged with gratitude.

𖢻 Softening Toward You If you’re persistent in using your bites to comfort him, Celebrimbor might even grow to anticipate them during moments of stress. Though he’ll never admit it outright, he finds your affectionate nips oddly reassuring, a reminder that he doesn’t have to face his burdens alone.

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His ‘Punishments’ for Over-enthusiastic Biting

𖢻 A Sharp Glance with a Playful Edge When you bite him too hard, Celebrimbor immediately freezes, his work or conversation interrupted by the sudden sting. His gray eyes narrow as he turns to face you, though there’s a flicker of amusement behind his exasperated expression. “Do you realize you nearly took a piece of me, mellon-nîn?” he asks dryly, his tone laced with playful sarcasm.

𖢻 The Verbal Warning Rather than retaliating, he’ll lean into his wit to lightly chastise you. “If you’re going to behave like a feral creature, perhaps I ought to make you a chew toy instead,” he quips, a sly smile tugging at his lips. He might even step slightly out of reach for a moment, as though giving you time to reconsider your enthusiasm.

𖢻 Playful Tasks as Payback If your overly enthusiastic bite leaves an actual mark or causes noticeable discomfort, he might ‘punish’ you by giving you a tedious task in the forge. “Since you’ve taken to gnawing on me, perhaps you’d like to polish these tools,” he teases, handing you a pile of equipment. His tone remains lighthearted, but the task is just enough to make you think twice about biting too hard in the future.

𖢻 The Gentle Boundary Reminder Celebrimbor will always take a moment to set boundaries if your bites truly hurt. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, mellon-nîn, but perhaps you could spare me the pain next time,” he says softly, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and sincerity.

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(Your Celebrimbor Lover version)

His First Response to Your Affectionate Bites

𖢻 Surprise and Unexpected Desire The first time you bite him, perhaps at the curve of his neck or the sensitive skin on his jaw, Celebrimbor’s response is a mix of surprise and something far more intense. His breath catches at the unexpected sensation, and though he doesn’t pull away, a soft, almost imperceptible shiver runs through him. The air between you thickens, and his gaze softens with something deeper than surprise. “What are you doing, meleth-nîn?” he asks, his voice low and thick with a mixture of confusion and a quickly rising desire. His hand instinctively comes to the spot you’ve marked, fingers lightly tracing over the place where your teeth had been, as if he’s memorizing the feeling of your touch. Despite his regal nature, there’s something vulnerable in his expression—an unexpected crack in his usual composure. He looks at you as though he’s both intrigued and deeply affected by the intimacy of your gesture.

𖢻 Lingering Desire with a Hint of Playfulness After your first bite, Celebrimbor’s response shifts. The confusion clears, and in its place, there’s a subtle but intense desire, paired with an amused curiosity about your boldness. He leans closer, his lips curling into a playful smile as he studies the mark you left on his skin. “You certainly seem determined to make your mark on me,” he says, his voice now rich with both amusement and affection. “Should I be honored by this attention, or concerned by it?” His eyes glimmer with mischief as he traces the mark with his fingers, the warmth of his touch suggesting he’s no longer questioning your intentions, but rather becoming more attuned to them. There’s a subtle possessiveness in his gaze, as though this unique form of affection is something he could begin to crave—this way of being marked, of belonging to you. His usual self-control slips, replaced by a deeper, more playful vulnerability that he rarely lets anyone see.

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Your Playful Behavior vs. His Dignity

𖢻 As a lover, Celebrimbor is much more in tune with his feelings. Your playful biting behavior tests his restraint but also unlocks a side of him that’s not as concerned with maintaining his usual composure. His instinct is to indulge you—your mark on him is both a claim and a gift, one he finds himself quietly yearning for. “You know what you do to me, don’t you?” he murmurs as you leave another bite mark on his skin, his voice thick with desire. His dignity may still be important to him, but there’s something about your touch—your audacious little nips—that breaks through his controlled exterior. He no longer hides his pleasure, leaning into your affectionate bites with a certain vulnerability. “This… feels far better than I expected,” he admits, a trace of laughter in his voice, but it’s a laughter filled with warmth, not mockery.

𖢻 A Playful Balance of Affection and Desire As you continue to bite him, Celebrimbor finds himself letting go of more and more of his regal restraint. His dignity begins to waver, and he embraces the playful tension between you both. He’s never been one to show his vulnerability easily, but with you, it feels natural to let down his walls. “You truly enjoy marking me, don’t you?” he teases, though it’s clear from the way his hand gently rests on your wrist that he’s not bothered—in fact, he’s quite enjoying it. “I suppose I should find this disconcerting, but I’ll admit, I find it… invigorating.” There’s a playful glint in his eyes now, and his affection for you is clear in the way he responds to your gentle, biting gestures, the dignified elf falling more and more for the warmth and affection in your every touch.

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When You Bite Him: Reactions, Sounds, and Movements

𖢻 Surprise, Pleasure, and a Low Sound of Desire The first time you bite him as a lover, Celebrimbor’s response is more intense, and his body betrays his initial shock. When your teeth sink into his skin, his breath catches in his throat with a soft, audible intake. He doesn’t pull away but instead leans into your bite, his eyes darkening slightly as a low, almost inaudible growl rumbles in his chest—a mix of surprise and deep pleasure. His fingers may curl into the fabric of his tunic or brush over the spot where you’ve marked him, as if he’s trying to hold onto the feeling of your touch. His body stiffens for a moment, then relaxes, the tension melting away as his desire deepens. His lips part slightly, as if he’s trying to hold back a reaction he doesn’t want to make too obvious. “Meleth-nîn…” he murmurs, his voice thick with both confusion and an unexpected thrill. “What are you doing to me?” His words are low, almost a whisper, carrying a blend of wonder and quiet longing. It’s clear that the bite has evoked something much stronger than he anticipated.

𖢻 Shifts in Movement and Body Response After the initial shock wears off, Celebrimbor’s body begins to respond more openly. His posture shifts—he leans toward you rather than away. His hand instinctively seeks out the spot where you bit him, his fingertips brushing the mark with a possessive tenderness. The smooth curve of his jaw tightens as his desire builds, and his lips curve into a faint smile. “You seem determined to mark me,” he teases, though there’s a rawness to his tone, as though he enjoys the feeling of your affection far more than he’s willing to admit at first. If you bite him again, he might let out a soft sigh, his body arching slightly in reaction. His usual dignified exterior slips, replaced by the silent invitation for you to continue, as if your bites have unlocked something deeply personal within him. His eyes darken as he leans closer, meeting your playful affection with a hunger that betrays his normally controlled self. His breaths come a little quicker, and his body leans into you, soft but purposeful

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Does He Hide or Not to Hide: How He Reacts to Visible Bite Marks in Public

𖢻 Pride in the Marks As a lover, Celebrimbor’s response to visible bite marks shifts dramatically. While his dignified nature remains important to him, there’s a certain intimacy and pride he finds in the marks you leave behind. He’s far less concerned with hiding them and might even wear them proudly in public, especially if they’re fresh. His chest puffs out slightly, a quiet confidence in the way he carries himself. You can sense that he enjoys the idea of others recognizing that he’s marked by you, even if they don’t fully understand what the marks signify.

𖢻 Subtle Smiles and a Quiet Confidence If someone comments on the marks, he may give a subtle smile, his lips curling ever so slightly. “Is there a problem?” he might ask with a hint of amusement in his voice, though there’s no real embarrassment in his tone. He may lean slightly closer to you, as if to subtly show off the mark, enjoying the way it makes him feel connected to you. The marks become a symbol of his bond with you, and in private or public, he’s no longer shy about wearing them.

𖢻 A Quiet Tease for You If you seem embarrassed about your marks on him in public, Celebrimbor will likely tease you gently. “Are you ashamed of what we share?” he’ll ask, his voice smooth and low, a playful edge to his words. “Because, if anything, it seems to make me proud.” He’ll say it in such a way that you know he’s not truly upset, but rather finding delight in how your affection has left its mark on him.

𖢻 A Loving and Protective Nature While he might wear the marks proudly, Celebrimbor will also be protective of you. If others react poorly or make a comment, he’ll stand by you firmly, offering a protective presence without ever being overly forceful. His protective nature doesn’t mean he’s embarrassed; rather, it’s a quiet declaration that the marks are his to bear, and he’s proud of them.

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Marking His Neck, Collarbone, Shoulder, Wrist, Elven Ear, and Other Areas

𖢻 Neck: Gasp and Heightened Desire When you bite his neck, Celebrimbor’s response is significantly different. He’ll let out a sharp gasp, his body immediately reacting to the pressure. The neck is a highly intimate area, and he’ll instinctively tilt his head slightly, allowing you greater access. His eyes close for a moment, lost in the sensations. “Meleth-nîn…” he murmurs, his voice low, filled with desire and a hint of vulnerability. The mark you leave there makes him feel even more connected to you, as if he’s yours, body and soul.

𖢻 Collarbone: Soft Moan and Surrender Celebrimbor is no stranger to passion, but when you bite his collarbone, the sensation catches him by surprise. His usual composed demeanor falters for a moment, and a soft moan escapes his lips. He lowers his head slightly in surrender, his fingers grazing the area you just marked as he breathes out, “You enjoy marking me, don’t you?” His voice is soft, warm with affection. He loves this attention, and though he’s usually in control, he can’t help but let you see this more vulnerable side of him.

𖢻 Shoulder: Soft Shudder and Intensified Affection Your bite to his shoulder makes Celebrimbor shudder, the intimate connection between you two growing stronger with each mark. He might press closer to you, needing the closeness, his breath warm against your skin. “Your teeth are… exquisite,” he’ll say, his voice tinged with both admiration and something deeper. He embraces the tenderness and the passion in your actions, finding himself melting into the moment.

𖢻 Wrist: Murmured Praise and Gentle Caress The wrist is one of Celebrimbor’s more sensitive spots, and when you bite it, he’ll let out a soft murmur of approval, as though the mark satisfies something deep within him. He’ll gently caress your cheek afterward, looking at you with affection in his eyes. “You are clever,” he says, his tone thick with a mixture of fondness and desire. He’s very touched by the intimacy of this mark, and it makes him feel even more attuned to you.

𖢻 Elven ear: Immediate Shiver and Deep Connection Your bite to his Elven ear leaves him breathless, a deep shiver running through his spine. His hand will shoot up instinctively to touch his ear, as though trying to hold on to the connection you’ve made. His voice comes out in a low whisper, filled with wonder. “You have no idea how this affects me…” he admits, his tone both admiring and vulnerable. His usual stoicism is gone in an instant, and he’ll lean into you more, silently asking for more of this intimacy.

𖢻 other ares: Inner Thigh The inner thigh is an incredibly intimate area, and when you mark him there, his reaction is intense. He’ll gasp and close his eyes, his body physically reacting to the sensation of your teeth on such a sensitive part of him. His composure will slip entirely, and he’ll trace the spot where you marked him with trembling fingers, his voice hoarse as he whispers, “I didn’t think you could make me feel this way…” His desire for you is palpable now, his pride giving way to his love for you.

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When He Notices a Mark Later How He Reacts to Finding Unseen Marks

𖢻 A Private Moment of Pleasure When Celebrimbor notices a bite mark you left, it fills him with quiet joy. Standing in front of the mirror or dressing in his private quarters, his gaze lands on the mark, and his lips curve into a soft, secret smile. He pauses, tracing the imprint of your teeth with his fingers, his expression filled with warmth and affection. “You’re incorrigible, meleth-nîn,” he murmurs to himself, but there’s no trace of annoyance—only an overwhelming sense of love for you and your bold displays of affection.

𖢻 Pride in Being Marked by You Rather than feeling embarrassed, he feels a sense of pride at the thought that you’ve claimed him in such a way. He regards the mark as a physical reminder of the connection you share and doesn’t feel the need to hide it—especially if it’s in a place that won’t be easily visible to others. He’ll take his time dressing, reliving the moment you marked him, and might even adjust his clothing to ensure the mark stays uncovered, just for his own enjoyment.

𖢻 A Light-Hearted Comment The next time he’s with you, Celebrimbor can’t help but tease you about the mark. With a raised eyebrow and a faint smirk, he leans in slightly, his tone low and affectionate. “You’ve left your mark on me again, meleth-nîn. Do you intend to decorate me entirely with your bites, or was this a one-time occurrence?” He speaks with a mixture of amusement and desire, making it clear he isn’t complaining.

𖢻 Inviting More Attention If he’s feeling especially playful, he might expose the mark to you deliberately, rolling up his sleeve or tilting his head just enough for you to see. “I believe this belongs to you,” he says, his voice teasing yet filled with affection. The way he glances at you speaks volumes about how much he enjoys your unique form of affection, and he’s silently inviting you to leave more marks if you so desire.

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Gentle Bite: How He Reacts to Your Soft Teeth Against His Skin

𖢻 A Gentle Spark of Affection The first time you press your teeth gently into his skin, Celebrimbor’s reaction is far more tender. He doesn’t startle but rather pauses, as though savoring the moment. His breath hitches softly, and his gaze drops to where your teeth meet his skin. “Meleth-nîn…” he murmurs, his voice warm and low, tinged with both affection and quiet longing. The light pressure of your teeth doesn’t feel invasive—it feels intimate, as if you’re marking him in the gentlest way possible.

𖢻 A Protective Instinct Awakens The tenderness of your action stirs something deeply protective within him. He views the gentle bite as a sign of trust and affection, and his hand instinctively moves to cradle your face or touch your arm. “You’re full of surprises,” he says softly, his tone filled with quiet wonder. The vulnerability in such a small act of intimacy touches his heart, and he begins to see your bites as a unique form of claiming him—a gesture he cherishes deeply.

𖢻 Playfully Prodding You After the initial moment of tenderness, Celebrimbor’s lips quirk into a faint smirk. “You bite so softly, meleth-nîn, I can barely feel it,” he teases lightly, his voice carrying a playful undertone. But his fingers linger against the spot, brushing against it with care, as though reluctant to let the moment end.

𖢻 Encouraging You to Continue He doesn’t pull away but instead allows himself to relax under your touch, tilting his head or offering his wrist as if inviting you to leave another gentle mark. “Is this your way of claiming me?” he asks softly, his voice low and affectionate. Though his words are teasing, there’s no mistaking the sincerity in his gaze—he loves these small, quiet moments of intimacy with you.

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Biting Him in the Heat of the Moment

𖢻 In the Midst of an Argument Startling Him into Silence During a heated disagreement, when tensions are high and emotions are running wild, your sudden bite catches him completely off guard. His words falter, and he stares at you with wide eyes, momentarily forgetting whatever point he was trying to make. “Did you just—” he begins, only to stop himself as his hand moves to the spot you bit.

𖢻 Dissolving the Tension Instead of escalating the argument, your impulsive bite diffuses some of the tension. His sharp gaze softens slightly, and a bemused smirk tugs at his lips. “You always find the strangest ways to disarm me,” he says, his voice tinged with both exasperation and fondness. While he might sigh and shake his head, his body language relaxes, the bite serving as a reminder of the passion underlying your relationship—even in moments of conflict.

𖢻 A Spark of Desire When you bite him in the heat of a passionate embrace, Celebrimbor’s reaction is immediate and visceral. His breath catches, and his grip on you tightens, as though your teeth against his skin have ignited something deep within him. “Meleth-nîn…” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. His head tilts slightly, silently inviting more as his lips find yours in a fervent kiss.

𖢻 Soft Growls and Intense Gazes The sensation of your teeth grazing his neck or shoulder sends a shiver down his spine. He lets out a soft growl, not of pain but of pleasure, his composure slipping just enough to reveal the fire you’ve kindled in him. “You enjoy marking me, don’t you?” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. Though his words are teasing, there’s no denying the hunger in his voice.

𖢻 Encouraging You Unlike in arguments, when the bite might surprise him, in moments of passion, Celebrimbor doesn’t hesitate to welcome your teeth against his skin. He sees it as an extension of your affection and intensity, and his body reacts accordingly. His hands cradle your face or pull you closer, his movements deliberate and full of purpose. “If you insist on marking me, meleth-nîn,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of teasing and adoration, “do it where I can feel it most.”

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When He Sees You Admiring Your Marks on His Skin

𖢻 Endearment and Admiration When Celebrimbor notices you staring at the marks you’ve left on his skin, he doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he watches you with soft, curious eyes, letting the moment linger. His lips curve into a faint smile, one that speaks volumes about how much he adores you and your quirks. “You look quite pleased with yourself, meleth-nîn,” he finally says, his voice warm and teasing.

𖢻 Tracing the Mark If the mark is visible, such as on his arm or neck, he might brush his fingers over it, his gaze flicking to yours. “Did you intend to leave me a reminder of you?” he asks, his voice low and intimate. There’s no annoyance in his tone—only a deep affection, as though he’s starting to treasure these little pieces of you left behind on his skin.

𖢻 Leaning into Your Admiration If you’re openly admiring your marks, Celebrimbor won’t be able to resist teasing you a little. “Should I be concerned about your fascination, or is this merely your way of gloating?” he asks, though his tone is light and full of humor. He leans closer, tilting his head slightly so you can get a better look. “There. Admire them to your heart’s content.”

𖢻 Subtle Vulnerability Beneath the teasing, however, there’s a hint of vulnerability in how he responds. Though he might joke about your admiration, there’s something deeply touching about the idea that you find such joy in leaving your mark on him. It’s a quiet, unspoken affirmation of your connection, and it makes his heart ache in the best way.

𖢻 Turning the Tables If your admiration lingers a little too long, Celebrimbor’s playful side might come out. “If you’re going to stare at me like that, meleth-nîn,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, “you might as well leave a few more.” The gleam in his eyes makes it clear that he’s more than willing to oblige your desire to leave your marks—if only to see that look of satisfaction on your face again.

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Biting Him During Moments of Stress

𖢻 Startled but Understanding When you bite Celebrimbor during a stressful moment, his body stiffens at first, and his sharp intake of breath betrays his initial surprise. “Meleth-nîn, what—?” he starts to ask, but his voice softens almost immediately as he realizes what you’re doing. There’s no anger or frustration in his tone—only a quiet understanding of your unique way of offering comfort.

𖢻 A Gentle, Affectionate Response Instead of pulling away, he relaxes into your touch, his tense shoulders lowering as the stress begins to melt away. “You always know how to get my attention,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with both amusement and affection. His hand instinctively moves to rest over yours, grounding himself in your presence.

𖢻 Grounding Him Through Touch Your bite serves as a reminder that he’s not alone, and the grounding sensation helps him refocus. If you bite his shoulder, neck, or wrist, he might let out a quiet hum of approval, the tension in his body slowly easing under your touch. “You have a peculiar way of comforting me, meleth-nîn,” he says softly, his lips curving into a faint smile. “But it seems to work.”

𖢻 Reassured by Your Care Even in moments of deep stress, Celebrimbor finds solace in your bites because they’re a physical manifestation of your affection and concern for him. They remind him that you’re there for him, ready to shoulder his burdens if he’ll let you. “You’re far too good to me,” he whispers, his voice low and filled with emotion.

𖢻 Subtle and Composed If you bite him discreetly in public, such as on his wrist or arm, he’ll do his best to maintain his composure. A soft gasp might escape him, but he quickly clears his throat, casting you a subtle glance. “I see you’ve decided to keep me grounded, even here,” he mutters under his breath, though there’s a faint warmth in his tone.

𖢻 Playful Scolding Later, when you’re alone, he’ll tease you gently about your public display. “You do realize people might start asking questions, don’t you?” he says, though his expression betrays his fondness for your boldness.

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His ‘Punishments’ for Over-enthusiastic Biting

𖢻 A Sharp Intake of Breath When your bite crosses the line from playful to painful, Celebrimbor’s body tenses, and his breath hitches audibly. He lets out a low, startled chuckle, his hand instinctively moving to the spot you’ve bitten. “Meleth-nîn, are you attempting to maim me?” he asks, his tone half-serious but tinged with amusement.

𖢻 The Teasing Retort Instead of pulling away entirely, Celebrimbor leans close to you, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “You do realize I’m not made of mithril, don’t you? Perhaps a little restraint next time?” His voice carries both humor and a hint of a warning, though his affectionate gaze betrays how much he still adores you.

𖢻 Gentle Retaliation Celebrimbor might retaliate by turning the tables, pressing a soft but firm kiss to your neck or shoulder where you’re most sensitive, his lips lingering just long enough to make you squirm. “How does it feel to be on the receiving end, meleth-nîn?” he murmurs, his voice laced with mischief.

𖢻 Restraining Your Mischief If you continue to be overly enthusiastic, he might gently take hold of your wrists, holding you just far enough away to prevent further ‘damage.’ “I see I’ll have to keep you under control,” he teases, his lips quirking into a smirk. His restraint is always gentle, never forceful, and more about playfulness than true correction.

𖢻 Marked by Him Instead To remind you of his boundaries, he might decide to mark you in return—though his marks are softer, more teasing. A light nip to your ear or a lingering kiss to your collarbone serves as a subtle reminder of who’s truly in charge. “If you insist on leaving your mark, meleth-nîn, it’s only fair I return the favor,” he says with a smirk.

𖢻 A Quiet Conversation If your biting truly hurt him, Celebrimbor will take a moment to speak with you privately, his tone gentle but firm. “I don’t mind your bites, meleth-nîn, but you must remember that I’m still flesh and blood,” he says, his hand brushing against your cheek. “Be gentle with me, as I would be with you.”

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[floatyflowers]

Melkor

You must have the courage to tell Melkor that, especially when you know that he is interested in you.

He would probably find out from one of his spies that you wish to give up your immortality for a human man.

So, he sends Mairon to get that man and have him tortured.

It all happened in front of your eyes, while you were being held down.

"You must always remember that your choice has consequences"

Annatar/Sauron

You didn't know that Annatar is Sauron, he befriended you to the point where you told him all your secrets.

As if he doesn't already know all your secrets.

However, you made the mistake of telling him about your human lover.

Annatar has become obsessed with you, already deciding that you will rule beside him for eternity, therefore, he can't allow you to give up your immortality.

"It saddens me to see your tears, I'm sure your lover is in a much better place now"

Maedhros

He has known you since childhood, so it displeased him greatly when you informed him that you have a human lover.

He tried to appear supportive of your relationship but deep down he was feeling pure rage.

He finally snapped when you informed him that you wished to become mortal.

Maedhros killed his own kin, what makes you believe he won't do the same to your human lover.

"You belong to me, I will take you as my wife so you don't have to give away your mortality."

Thranduil

"You would willingly choose the fleeting years of a mortal? Forsake the eternal beauty of our kind?"

The king of Mirkwood considered it treachery to choose a human lover over him.

Yes, you are not in love with him, but he is your king, and he believes that he deserves to have you whether you want it or not.

Thranduil would probably order the death of your lover in secret then blame it on Orcs.

And use the opportunity to blame you and make you feel guilty for falling in love with a human man.

Celebrimbor

He taught you everything about crafting, expecting in return your complete love and devotion to him.

But instead you only thought of him as an older brother...even a father if you dare admit.

This infuriated Celebrimbor especially when he discovers that you are in love with a human man.

You chose a human over the grandson of Fëanor who created the Silmarils?!

"Believe me, locking you up is the best option to prevent you from committing such foolishness, my dear."

Adar

His children 'The Orcs' captured you and your lover while you two were journeying together.

Adar took a great interest in you and was amused by your relationship with a human man.

And when your lover reveals that you will become a human for him, Adar only smirks in amusement before ordering his execution.

He has finally found a 'mother' for his children.

"Weeping will do you no good, my dear"

[erebusbabylon]

I am going to start posting my RoP fanfics that are on Ao3 to Tumblr. Once they are all posted here I’ll make a master list & open requests ☺️

If you want to read my fics in the meantime you can find them on Ao3 under the same username (ErebusBabylon)

I’ve got 2 Celebrimbor x F! reader fics posted (one is a NSFW alphabet for Brimby)

And I have a multi chapter fic in the works that is a Gil-galad x F! Reader / Celebrimbor x F! Reader. I have 11 chapters posted and another few chapters will post tomorrow 🤍

[wordbunch]

Elves comforting you

a/n: wifey @queenmeriadoc requested “how elves comfort you when you’re missing your family” and I tried my best to deliver! you know the drill - lemme know how you liked it, reblogs and comments are extremely appreciated and the ask box is open 😊💖 i’m excited/nervous bc it was my first time writing for most of these characters! 👀

INCLUDES: Galadriel, Arondir, Elrond, Celebrimbor, Gil-galad

(Elrond and Galadriel can count both as LOTR and TROP versions, ig?)

GALADRIEL:

absolutely understands you because she was parted from many of her family members and close people

asks you whether you want to talk about something, you want advice or you just want her to distract you somehow

she will offer a shoulder to cry on if you need that

she will run her fingers through your hair

also she will pamper you the whole evening to try and chase the sadness away because she loves to take action as much as she can, especially when it comes to someone she loves deeply

she will bring you your favorite food or some magically calming herbal tea, run you a bath full of flowers and scented salts and all those fancy things

ARONDIR:

he is a great listener and you know you can open up to him about your sadness and nostalgia

you can see in his eyes that he is deeply empathetic

he will gently cradle your face in his hands and wipe away any tears that might appear

in order to cheer you up, he suggests a walk, because sunshine and fresh air always seem to work for him

the walk ends up being a hunt for the most beautiful flowers that he wants to pick for you

so gradually your tears turn to smiles and you end up walking back home together with a bunch of flowers in your arms and his strong arms around your shoulders

ELROND:

oh he completely understands how you feel and he literally tears up a bit when he sees that you’re sad

he will talk you through your feelings and try his best to advise you, but he knows that it can only help so much

his touch is feather light as he takes you to your quarters and he knows you well enough to know the best medicine for your sadness - a cuddle session

he will fiddle with your hair as you two talk, he will be the big spoon if you want him to, eventually he will pepper kisses onto any available area of your skin

if you drift away to sleep, he will still be there and hold you until you wake up, feeling a bit less sad

CELEBRIMBOR:

he doesn’t need to ask “is something wrong”, he can immediately ask “WHAT is wrong” because he can read you that well

he will definitely hold your hands and squeeze them in support while you’re spilling the contents of your heart out

if your family doesn’t live too far away, he will ask whether you want him to accompany you on a trip to them

if that isn’t an option for whatever reason, he is definitely taking you on a “trip” to the forge - he knows you like to watch him work so it will be a nice distraction to you

also maybe he will make you a little something special, suited just to your taste,  like a hair accessory, to cheer you up even more

either way he won’t give up until he makes you smile

GIL-GALAD:

while you’re alone and pondering your feelings, he sneaks up behind you and envelops you in a warm hug

he will inquire about your thoughts and emotions in a comforting low voice - he knows exactly how to get you talking

he will immediately suggests going to visit your family if possible

but until then, he will make sure to have your favorite food made for you

and he will dance with you to nonexistent music, maybe hum a tune

and spin you around the biggest hall until your laughter starts echoing around it

also soft kisses are a must

-

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[morganas-pendragons]

Rings of Power Masterlist

Rings of Power Fic Rec List -> here

oneshots

[ Elendil ]

grief is like suffocating

[ Celebrimbor: can be read in order or on their own ]

from the depths ->ease -> haven -> holly -> stargazing -> nightmare -> the prophecy -> wash away the blood ->

[ Elrond ]

sweet and soft -> and yet, flowers grow -> disbelief ->

[ GIl-Galad]

to be held

[ Annatar/Sauron ]

burn

drabbles/ short oneshots

[ Celebrimbor ]

First Kiss

First Dance

Forging Accident

Harassment

Hands

Grey

Tease

Sick Day

[Elrond]

Twilight

Sick Day

Kiss Away The Fear

Grief

[ Gil-Galad]

Dancing Lessons

Broken Bones

Hands

Multi-Part Fics

Celebrimbor: Where Are You? (2x06 to 2x08) -> I, II, III