weclassygirl

[weclassygirl]

control

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

summary: reader tests the limits of her powers while Celebrimbor slowly loses his sanity, Lord of Gifts is more than pleased

warnings: mind manipulation, smut (under illusion), exhibitionism, p in v, oral

word count: +4,2k

author’s note: had a month off of writing due to stuff at work but i'm back! i think we have two or three more parts until the series finishes. for now enjoy! (previous part -> wonders)

In the coming days you’ve had your time to work on your power. Creeping the dreadful thoughts into Celebrimbor’s mind and soon the smiths around him. You worked in moderation, mostly to test your forgotten strength and to craft new spells, suitable for your needs.

You would sneak out at night from the comfort of your chambers, simply to mess with the guards posted at the towers and the gates. They never saw you when you passed just before their eyes, their minds clouded by your spell, leaving you a faint current of air, blending with the night. 

Sauron noticed your escapades after a few nights, while you borrowed or rather stole ingredients from the various studies of the Elves. You planned to save your powers for a more demanding situation, Celebrimbor could still be controlled within your grasps. 

“Making tea?” Annatar asks as he stands in the doorway. Your head snaps towards him, startled at first but now slightly annoyed that you’ve been caught. Even by him. 

“I believe Celebrimbor should appreciate it.” you say and close the drawer you were rummaging in, the small satchel filled with dried herbs in the palm of your hand. Annatar stays still as he watches you and notices the sleeping guards on the table. His eyebrow raised but there’s a hint of amusement in his expression. 

“Your work, I assume.” 

“You assume correctly.” you say and walk past him and to the hallway. You put the satchel away into your bag, some glass jars brush against each other make a subtle noise that echoes down the hall. For any wiser they would think it could be stolen ale or any other variety of wines. 

Annatar walks by your side, glimpsing at the contents of the bag. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on making him fear the future, rather than expanding his taste for tea?”

You stop and look up at him. “Don’t you trust me?”

He gives you a soft smile and brushes away a strand of your hair that has fallen before your eyes. „I do, however with the recent nights you seem to have been preoccupied with the matters that are not at hand.” 

You tilt your head at the subtle accusation. 

„Your plans are safe with me and my own only start to bloom.” you tell him but he does not seem convinced. „You need Celebrimbor for this to work, I shall grant his mind to your bidding.” 

He seems to consider but it your words do not ease his mind. „Good. I expect nothing less.” he leaves you standing in the hallway, the darkness engulfing his silhouette as he disappears at the end of it. You scoff under your breath. 

It’s true, the recent days have been preoccupied with your own work rather than Annatar’s and you cherished it whenever you felt the power flowing through your veins. You haven’t used it in such quantity, at such expense, your muscles forgot the feeling and your mind almost the spells you have spent years learning. 

Almost. Not anymore. 

You wanted to stand by his side when Eregion fell, when all of Middle-Earth was brought to its knees before you but you couldn’t help but feel as if this affection the two of you have towards each other would fade as soon as he came victorious. You were ashamed to have these kind of thoughts but paranoia went hand in hand with creeping insanity. 

This was your idea, power over flesh, you reminded yourself, he simply perfected it. 

Even now as the Elves and Dwarves celebrated their mutual work in the forge, you stood to the side with other smiths as he remained by the stairs with Mirdania by his side. He knew you were watching, jealousy creeping in while with each passing day she seemed to try and get into his good graces. What kind of Elf wouldn’t when they had the emissary of the Valar right in their home? 

You listened to Celebrimbor’s speech with one ear and sipped at the wine in your hand. You saw Annatar ascending the stairs and felt the slight embarrassment rising in Lord of Eregion as he left the festivities. You went to pour yourself another glass as the one in your hand laid empty when you heard their conversation. 

„It is a game you play, is it not?” Celebrimbor asks him and for a moment you think your spells may have been too harsh. 

Good. 

„Sowing seeds in others’ minds and then convincing them that the fruit is of their own thought.” he continues and you falter in your movements. Could he have noticed? Surely not. You were careful, working gradually to make his mind to your will. 

Annatar, as always, was persistent. Rings for Men, nine of them… If the High King ever heard of it, if he saw what was happening in his most trusted smith’s forge. 

He keeps your gaze as he descends the stairs, announcing that he will forge them himself. Annatar returns to the smiths, Mirdania awfully close to him but your focus shifts to Celebrimbor. You walk up the stairs and join him on the balcony. 

„My Lord, are you well?” you ask, your voice an illusion of soft and caring. 

He turns to look at you with a smile. „Can I speak plainly?” that makes your head tilt to the side. 

„Of course.” you respond and see him looking behind him as if he’s afraid of anyone listening. 

He takes a shaky breath. „Do you truly believe the Valar would have sent someone here, to Eregion of all places, to aid in crafts of a simple smith?” 

You might be loosing him. Fuck. 

„I believe that the Valar are most gracious, especially when it comes to sending an emissary.” you reply with as much honesty as you can conjure up.

„Yes, however I cannot help but wonder if there is something our Lord of Gifts is not telling us?” 

„You think that he’s been hiding something from you?” you ask, the worry truthful in your voice. Your hands behind your back move slightly, easing into the smith’s mind, changing his view of Annatar. 

Celebrimbor steps away from the balcony and whispers. „It is a foolish thought and yet…” 

You step closer and place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, the invisible spell creeping even closer to him. „My Lord, I believe you’ve grown weary from the recent days. Lord Annatar has showed us nothing but the perfection of our craft, helped us— you, see what we can achieve for the good of all Middle-Earth.” you tell him and he slowly nods at your words, his hand goes over his face in a languid motion. 

„Celebrate, this is the night for the Elves and the Dwarves.” you try to lighten the mood. „Perhaps I should make you something to drink, to ease your mind?” you ask and see him nod. You smile and go ahead to prepare the special brew. 

You leave the main floor of the forge and go to the back to the small kitchen. Soon enough Annatar joins you as you mix the ingredients. 

„You let him slip from your grasps.” he says as a welcome and you lean against the counter to face him. 

„I had it under control.” you say and he steps closer. „You wouldn’t know since you were quite busy caring for what the other smiths think of you.” 

He looks confused but his eyes tell a different story. He knew who you were talking about and yet he could not phantom why you would react this way. „Jealousy doesn’t suit you.” he states and places his hands on both sides of you, trapping you against him and the counter. „Why would a witch whose seen the terrors and wonders of this world care so much for a mere Elf that simply crossed her path?” 

„She seemed to enjoy your presence near her.” you respond. „If you asked her to kneel and suck your cock in front of the others she would do so without hesitation.” the words vile on your tongue. 

Annatar leans closer, his breath on your ears, his lips kissing the pointed tip and you try not to shudder under feeling. „Would you?” he asks you as the kettle starts to whistle. „Your illusions and tricks in front of the guards were quite impressive. You passed before them like a wind, never had them raise their weapons or sound the alarms.” 

His hand reaches up to your jaw, pressing a short kiss to your lips. You melt against him, finally giving in to the rising tension that’s been tip toeing around you two for the past few days. You’ve shared passing kisses away from prying eyes since that day by the pond but nothing more. Your craft consumed your time and his as well. 

Perhaps it was a time for a much needed change. 

His hand wanders down your arms, his touch hot against your skin as he caresses the fabric near your hip. You’re too far gone to realize his hand grabbed the whistling kettle, pouring the tea you’ve been preparing for Celebrimbor. His touch is gone as he hands you the cup. 

„You shouldn’t keep him waiting.” he says and leaves you wanting for more. You curse under your breath but gather yourself before bringing the cup to Celebrimbor. 

You watch him sip on the warm liquid with a soft smile on his face and you know his mind begins to make room for the torments you’ll be sure to give him. The Lord of Gifts steals glances at you when Mirdania comes by his side, aiding him in cleaning up the table from shards of metal and tools. The whole forge could be burning and his sight would be solely focused on you. You feel him prodding at your mind and glare at him when he shows you lewd scenes that bring a blush to your face. 

„Are you well?” Celebrimbor asks you when your mind takes you elsewhere. 

„Uhm, yes.” you look to Annatar from the gallery. „Excuse me for a moment.” you say and march towards him. You let your spell work as you create an illusion around the forge. You simply walking up to the Lord of Gifts as he talks to the Dwarves but in your reality your lips crash to his. It takes him by surprise since he did not think you would do it. The illusion created by the pond was of his making, he was glad to see yours at work. 

You doubted your strength at times but now it never faltered as Annatar kissed down your neck. You could hear the faint conversation he held through the illusion but did not dare to do all the work for you. You conversed with the Dwarves with whatever sensibility you could produce. 

It didn’t help when Annatar went down on his knees and kissed a path under your dress. He pushed whatever garments you had aside and dived in like a starved man. Your folds parting at the single swipe of his tongue. You reached to hold on to the table as the conversation continued under your spell. Narvi joked about stealing jewels and you feigned laughter if only to hide your wretched moans. 

Annatar smiled against you and you grabbed at his golden locks, pulling him away from you. His eyes darkened as you pulled him up and tasted yourself on his lips. He stepped back, leaning against the table while you pushed his robe aside, your earlier conversation recalling in your head. 

His thumb swipes against your lip as you kneel in front of him. His lips part at the featherlike kiss to his red tip. Your mouth works a rhythm that has him groaning like one of his old beasts, you rejoice in the sound that only fuels to the fire. 

The conversation under your spell goes steady, no one suspects a thing but what a thrill it was for someone to find out. For a moment you wish for all of them to see the two of you in this vulgar position, Mirdania’s face flushed and wanting at the sight, Celebrimbor’s in shock but perhaps desire. The Lord of Gifts had his effect on people and many wished to share the pleasure you were giving him. 

You lick at his shaft, veins pulsing under your tongue at his incoming release. His hands cradle your jaw and press at your throat, just to feel his member inside it. You moan around him and the vibrations send him spiraling, speaking right down your throat and pushing you against his abdomen. You choke but the pleasure of it doesn’t go unnoticed. 

He pulls you away from him and pushes his come further down your throat, his fingers pressing against your tongue. You feel yourself getting wetter by the seconds and he does too as his fingers swipe at your silk. 

„Mairon…” you moan and kiss up his neck. His head falls back as he whispers your name in return. His hand snakes around your waist and lifts you up, his lips never leaving yours as he carries you to the anvil. 

The smiths and Dwarves feel a slight breeze as the two of you move through the room. Your conversation with the smiths continues as Annatar speaks with Celebrimbor and the Dwarves. His words displaying a somewhat of an interest in the topic at hand, whereas the smiths notice your mind elsewhere.  

„Are you with us? You zoned out.” one of them asks as Annatar brings his cock closer to your weeping cunt.

You nod and glare at Annatar, as if it’s a silent challenge between the two of you. Who will sound first? He pushes into you mercilessly and draws back before plunging again. The sweet mewl comes out of your mouth when he sets a rhythm that makes you spiral and for a moment your illusion falters. The sound of your moans echoes in the forge, ever so slightly. 

The smiths look around at the faint sound and thankfully dismiss it. Annatar grins as he captures your lips, you pull at his hair, your eyes filled with fire and desire. 

„Damn you.” you say and his hips move faster. 

„Do not curse me yet, witch.” he warns. „Who would have given you so much pleasure if I were gone?” he snaps his hips and brings you closer to your release. 

His hand draws circles around your clit, heightening your senses. The delicious feel of his cock against the walls of your cunt, pulling him deeper and closing in closer. He could get drunk off of you in seconds and let everyone see his queen. 

„Fuck… Mairon.” you curse as you near your release. Annatar brings your lips to his, his tongue mixing with yours. 

„Say it again.” he pleads against your lips.

You bring up a hand to his cheek. „Mairon.” 

His name a moan on your tongue as his movements falter, your cunt fills to the brim with his spent and out of you. 

He stays still inside you, prolonging your release, relishing in the feel of you. He’ll stay in this moment until the Elves have moved to the Undying Lands if he could. 

The illusion hasn’t dropped yet and you both look around, breathing heavily with a wicked smile. 

Annatar looks down at you. „I believe you have bested yourself, witch.” the Elves chatter around you and your eyes shine with power.

You smile to yourself. „My best work yet.”

The next few days you hear the concerns about the Dwarven rings from Durin the Younger and focus your spells on the smiths. Surely his most trusted Elves would give him a valuable piece of mind. Annatar became distant towards Celebrimbor as he continued to reject his proposition to forge the Rings for Men. Even as you and Mirdania were trying to resize the new design and the two of you vanished from the eyes of the other smiths. Celebrimbor heard the commotion and immediately came up to the smiths. He saw the hammer levitating from the table, his eyes widened. 

„Do my eyes deceive me?” he questioned. Annatar stepped closer. 

„No. We were casting a new design for a Ring. Attempting to resize it when…” the hammer began to fly across the room, to them it was an invisible force but to you…

You saw the forge, completely dark, the fire bursting from it and saw Mirdania’s panicked expression as she struggled to come back to the world. 

You’ve never encountered the Unseen World but you couldn’t say that you haven’t wished to see it. 

The raw power it gave you, made you feel as if you and that energy were as one. The things you could do once you possessed it… and there was a possibility for it. 

You lifted your hand to try and hone that power and it gladly clung to you. The soft whisps curled around your hand and gather at your feet, whispering to you in Black Speech the ancient spells you wished to know. You flicked your hand slightly and the power bursted from you, making the anvil nearly fall on the heads of the smiths.

Mirdania looked your way but you could not say what she saw, her face frightened. Annatar stood behind you and you felt his presence stronger than ever. Pure and dark, the perfect balance between his past and present self. 

Lord of Eregion came up to the woman, grabbing the hammer that divided them and managed to take the ring off of her as you remained in the shadows. The feeing started to become too overwhelming, the power stirring inside you and soon enough the forge began to burn brighter once more, the lanterns shaking as your magic wished to free itself from its bounds. 

„What happened?” you heard the muffled voice of Celebrimbor as Mirdania looked around. As she started to describe the Unseen World, she mentioned two figures, shrouded in darkness and you felt Annatar tense ever so slightly. “It came toward me, breathing, reeking of death, and I saw—” she takes a shaky breath. “I saw its eyes, pitiless and eternal.” 

Mirdania studies her surrounding, panic settles in. „Where is she?” she asks when she notices you haven’t come back. Everyone looks around and Annatar grabs a hold of your arm as it brushes against yours, taking the ring off of your finger. 

You come back to the forge, your eyes closing at the bright light of it and Annatar helps you up as you struggle to keep your footing. He looks down at you and knows what the Unseen World has shown you, he knows that look in your eye. As if that world, its essence was your personal drug. 

Celebrimbor calls out your name and sees you visibly shaken by the accident. His eyes dart towards your hands, a subtle hint of black showing on your fingertips. Annatar seems to notice the concern as Lord of Eregion approaches you like a startled animal. 

You look down to your hands and try to shake off the lingering feeling but it becomes too overwhelming. The smiths stare at you as you try to gather yourself. 

You curse under your breath. Not again. 

Years ago Celebrimbor informed the High King whenever you showed a sign of turning to the dark arts. This was while in chains, fulfilling your punishment in Eregion. You were free now and the order given that day was clear. 

Killed by the archers the moment you show a sign of turning back. 

You look to the guards posted at the door, their hands lowering down to their bows but Celebrimbor gestures for them to stand down. He calls out your name one more time. 

„What did you see?” 

You look up at him and try to form a coherent sentence. „It— such darkness, the sheer existence of it… I have never encountered something… like that.” you say and look to Annatar that offers up his arm for you to lean on. 

You see Mirdania looking at the two of you so close to each other. If it weren’t for your fatigued state you would have rejoiced in her reaction. Something she could never have. 

Before Celebrimbor responds, the Lord of Gifts interrupts him. „The two of you should take a respite.” he says as he looks between you and Mirdania. Celebrimbor’s mind spins with questions. 

“What did you do differently this time?” he asks you. 

You pull away from Annatar’s grasps. “We sought to fortify the alloy by adding more mithril.” the backlash from Celebrimbor comes quickly and you step aside, hands hidden in your sleeves but still able to have the Lord of Eregion loose his thoughts.

“No, no. If you’d wanted to do that you should’ve…” your spell is quick, making Celebrimbor doubt his words, look as if years of his work and knowledge become forgotten with time. It’s all so easy.

Annatar looks to his friend, worried and proud. “It would save us immeasurable hours of toil if you would offer this one, single word of counsel.” 

He doesn’t speak, his mind in silent battle within. You let go of your spell, rejoining the other smiths and put the ring away. “You should—” Celebrimbor speaks but the guard interrupts him. During the Younger arrived from Khazad-dûm, voicing his worry about the Rings. 

“I will see what he wants.” Annatar is quick to step in but Celebrimbor stops him. 

“No.” he gives him a short smile. “No. I will go.” he gives him the ring.

Once Celebrimbor leaves you step closer to Annatar. „And I’m the one who’s losing him?” you whisper.

He grins, subtly but enough for you to notice. „Do not fret. Everything goes accordingly.” 

„In your mind perhaps.” the other smiths go back to their stations, you see Mirdania from the corner of your eye, watching your interaction. She may not hear what transpires between the two of you but she notices the lingering touch of Annatar’s hand on your arm. 

The others return to their work while you observe from the balcony, you notice that Durin will not be easily swayed as he gets a first hand glimpse of what the Rings can do to one’s mind. You’ve noticed how the smiths started to avoid you once again as the Unseen World remains in you. Pulling you further into your craft, you wish you could simply let it flow out of your fingertips, curl around the world and be yours and yours alone. There are more guards in the forge now, carefully watching you. 

You hear Annatar speak with Mirdania, charming her with his words. 

„It pains me to say, for what you saw, I did not wish for any of you to see until I had helped him to heal.” he admits and Mirdania narrows her eyes.

 „You... You speak of... Lord Celebrimbor?” she couldn’t believe it but she did suspect. 

Annatar looks towards the door as if he could see Celebrimbor through them. „Yes. The toll that creation has exacted from him in crafting the Three and the Seven has left him diminished. Vulnerable to the shadow.” he focuses on you for a moment. 

Mirdania chooses to speak her mind, the thought that has been bothering her. „Do you think that…” she looks at you, facing away from her on the balcony. „That she could have strayed once again?” 

„We cannot outrule the possibility. However, she’s strong, she learned how to… push aside that craving.” he begins and takes her hand. „I do need you to promise me that you will not speak to anyone about this.” 

She gives him a nod. „Of course, my Lord.”

The Elven smith leaves his side, the night settling into the forge. Celebrimbor has finally seen how demanding the creation of the Rings is. He could not imagine the disdain to his name under the deception of the letter he has sent to the High King. Forging the rings he had not consented to. It is a pity to see him slowly descend into madness but your power thrives off of it. 

Annatar visits you in your chambers as you try to recreate the power you felt in the Unseen World. He observes as the tears well in your eyes. 

You know he’s watching but you’re way past caring. „It was so beautiful. So raw, not— not veiled by the fog.” you say softly. Annatar sits beside you and grabs your hand. He has never seen you like this, yes he saw how you could get when you were hellbent on getting what you want but this time it was different. The past few days wash away with a single squeeze of his hand, there’s no demand to continue with his plan, not when you need him the most. 

„Then why the tears?”

You sniffle. „I couldn’t have it. I would never be able to reach that state.” 

„You could.” he puts his fingers under your chin and wipes away at your tears. You shake your head. 

„I want this to be my own power, not derived from yours.” you admit and he knows how much you wished for it. Years in Forodwaith, in your cottage in Greenwood spent to perfect it. 

He taught you as much as he could and still it wasn’t enough. 

Perfection takes time.

Sacrifice. 

You’ve had plenty. 

[weclassygirl]

Update on Sauron x reader

I’m slowly working on the next parts of my Sauron x fem!reader (witch) series, so the next one should be up either by the end of this week or the next

[weclassygirl]

Florentine Playing Cards. Francesco di Domenico, 1547.

[weclassygirl]

The Herald & The Souls of Zaun 💀 (based on Hiremy-Hirschl’s Souls On The Banks of the Acheron)

[weclassygirl]

Here is the hard truth, which no one else has the heart to tell you.

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 1.02 "The Rogue Prince"

[weclassygirl]

Oh there’s a plan for her (if I don’t change my mind first as I write it out) 👀 I’m taking it slow with her using her powers, can’t have her do all the work while Sauron plays a jewelry maker 😏

I’m so glad you liked it! 💕

wonders

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

summary: creation of the Rings is quite demanding, Lord of Gifts is here to ensure their completion

warnings: dream manipulation (fake deaths), not much besides that

word count: 3k

author’s note: i hope everything loads because my wifi sucks as of recent days. i've been trying to upload for over an hour now. finally we get a glimpse of reader's power so... enjoy! (previous part -> bewitched)

You wished you could drop the illusion even for a split second when you heard that he left Eregion. Galadriel found out who he was and went on to create the Rings nonetheless. In three there’s balance, she said, you wanted to disturb that balance. 

You felt them when she brought them to Lindon, felt the very life within you blossom as they worked their magic. The Elves would not leave the shores of Middle-Earth, but Eregion still didn’t know that. 

As Celebrimbor and the other smiths worked on the completion of the forge, you could do nothing but aimlessly wander the grounds, trying to connect to him. He let you, hesitantly and you found out why. Chained, dirty and wounded he laid inside the tent, waiting for the Lord-father to bargain with him again. 

You tried to break the chains, used whatever power was bestowed upon you to free him. They twitched lightly but nothing moved, not a nail that held them together, never bending under your fingers. 

You kneel next to him and place your hands on your lap. “It was worth a try.” you admit and he smiles despite being in pain. You could feel it, faintly, not as strong as it could be once you bind yourself to him.

“You should go back, you’re wasting your power on me.”

You place your hand on his cheek even if it’s a quickly forgotten feeling. “I wish to stay.” you reassure him. “The hour is late in Eregion, no one will look for me.” your chambers have been moved multiple times over the years, at first near the center, then moving further away until you could choose on your own. The edge of Ost-in-Edhil was a place of your choosing, quiet, no one to disturb you and your craft. You could be yourself within the walls.

Sauron closes his eyes to your touch but opens them as Adar walks inside the tent. You never met the Lord-father directly, only through the whispers of the Orcs but remembered the day he betrayed Sauron. 

A tear falls down Sauron’s face as Adar retells the story of how he met him. You understand him in a way, the servant of Morgoth had that effect even before he took on a new form. 

You’ve met him when he was injured, his cheek adorned by a gash that bled black, his shoulder shattered and his thigh cut through the bone. It took you some time before you healed him completely, Morgoth’s wounds always came first. When the orcs brought you to his bedside he was wide awake, waiting and holding onto his cheek. He could heal himself but why would he bother and use his power when you were at hand? 

Adar informs him that his people were set free and demands an answer to his question. What did he know of Sauron?

You saw his mind at work, he probably found the situation amusing. He smirks as he shifts on the ground to get a better look at the Lord-father.

“Sauron has returned in a new form.” the chains around his neck rattle. “I am not yet certain what shape he has taken.”

“Then of what use are you to me?” Adar asks. You lean against the stone as much as your illusion allows you to.

“I have something you don’t. The trust of the Elves… and a witch.” that piques Adar’s interest. 

“I wonder… what kind of witch would put her trust in you?” he has a faint idea that it might be you but to Adar you could be good as dead. He knew what kind of person you were, how Sauron quickly took liking to you in Forodwaith. You were no good company but if persuaded, you could prove a valuable ally. 

“Release me and I’ll go to them and seek him out, so you can marshal your legions and destroy him.”  he offers and Adar seems to consider. 

Waldreg comes closer. “Do you vow allegiance to Adar, Lord-father of the Uruks?”

Halbrand looks up at him and speaks quietly.

“Yes.”

“Then kneel.” His sight is focused on you as he does so, the disdain evident on his face as he bows before Adar. For a second it reminds you of the day he was betrayed by him. “Now swear it.” 

His head hangs low as he begins. “I vow—”

“With your head at my feet.” Adar commands and you see how he relishes in it. Soon enough both of you will once Sauron sets out to claim his army.

He takes his time putting his head to the ground, Adar watches carefully as do his children. The King of the Southlands at his mercy, thinking that he can use him as his pawn. You’ve seen the trick in his eyes, the lie and grin as he took the vow. He looks straight at you as he speaks the words and you feel a sense of power flowing through you. He means more than the words slipping from his lips. 

“I vow to serve the Lord of Mordor. To the end of my days… and his.”

His chains are let loose and slowly he rides out of the camp. Adar knows better not to trust him entirely, you observe him and he turns his head to you, you freeze. Could he…? You step closer and lift your hand up in front of his face, if you were at your full power you could snap his neck with the single movement of your hand. You have to hold yourself back.

As Halbrand leaves the camp you already wait for him at the hill and in the distance both of you hear screams - Waldreg. He grins like a child.

“Satisfied?” you ask as he halts the horse by you. 

„Very.” he responds. „I take it you will grant me entry once I arrive?” 

You shake your head. „Galadriel informed Celebrimbor to not treat with you. He doesn’t know who you are and I doubt he will allow me to make the decision.” you confess. You look back to the camp, the orcs moving around in the distance. „Use your charm, mention the Rings and he will be wrapped around your finger. Make him believe they worked wonders.” 

He nods and you disappear from his view. Back in your room you hear a knock at your door, your eyes flutter open as you notice dawn at the horizon. You go up to the door and see Mirdania at the other side, ready to walk with you to the forge as she always had in the mornings. 

The following days you wait until he comes by the gate. The new forge has been completed, everything set in place as you watch from the upper level. The anvil descended from the ceiling like the last piece of the puzzle, Celebrimbor beamed next to you as he saw his dream come true before his very eyes. 

„Fëanor would be proud.” you say to him and mean it. Creation of this forge was no mere task as well as crafting the Rings. You’d be a fool to admit otherwise.

Mirdania joins you and mentions a messenger from the Southlands, your heart skips a beat and you follow to see who it is from the balcony. He looks up at you before you fully take in his presence, disheveled, wounded and as ever prideful. 

Celebrimbor gives you one order. “Stay away from him.” but have you ever listened?

You come up to him during the day, Halbrand gets away from his horse and smiles at your arrival. 

„I tried.” you announce low enough for him to hear. He looks up to Celebrimbor standing on the balcony with a tug at his lips. 

„Give him time.” he only says and you trust his words. As simple as they are you know them to be true, Celebrimbor is but a note waiting to be plucked to the melody of his choosing. A conductor in waiting before entering the stage.

However when you return to the forge, Celebrimbor looks at you displeased as you defied his single order.

“He is not to be negotiated with.” he reminds you.

You pick up your apron from the chair and smooth it out as you think of an answer. “Forgive me, but I simply needed to make sure—” you start and sigh. “he appears to be injured.”

He is aware of how close the two of you have gotten over these few short days that he spent in Eregion. He puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Galadriel made herself clear. I know how much you seem to care for him but he is a mortal. His life will pass you in the blink of an eye whether you like it or not.” he tells you and you wish you could break the hand he held on your shoulder. Never to create again. The time draws near and you cannot wait until you’ll finally let go of this tiring illusion.

It takes a whole day before Celebrimbor lets him in, his eyes sparkled at the mention of the Rings. Halbrand covered in rain and wounds made the Lord of Eregion pity him. He welcomed him back, fed him and reveled when hearing about the success of the Rings. You stood in the shadows of the forge, listening to their conversation, waiting when Halbrand began his act, his own illusion. 

As Celebrimbor calls out for him, the forge began to burn brighter, you cover your eyes from the light when you see him. Grey-white robes draping from him, long blond hair graced with a golden head piece. He sauntered down to face Celebrimbor, an emissary from the Valar himself.

You stayed hidden until you found it fit to reveal yourself, as ever the innocent, accidentally knocking over a hammer that was on the table. You shuffle to pick it up, unable to look them in the eye. “Forgive me, my Lord. I—”

Celebrimbor has a gentle look on his face. “No… please. Uhm…” he looks to Annatar, unable to explain. The Lord of Gifts comes closer and takes the hammer from the ground and places it in your hands. 

“I believe I should be the one asking for forgiveness.” he admits, never taking his eyes off of you. “You may have known me as Halbrand, but I had to make sure that the three of us were of the same ambition.”

“The three of us?” Celebrimbor asks confused. His expression mimicked on your face as well. 

Annatar nods. “Yes. The Valar has observed you and your smith.” he turns to you and brings up his hand to your face. So delicate as if handling porcelain. “Once swayed to darkness, now working amongst the greatest smiths in all Middle-Earth.” he explains and gestures to Celebrimbor. “And the very descendant of Fëanor, who may have bested his kin.” 

The Lord of Eregion seems to be already wrapped around his finger as a subtle blush roses on his cheeks.

“Our work can begin… with a letter.” he announces.

“A letter?” you ask. You had not expected that, you would have imagined him to ask for more Rings straight away.

He walks up the stairs and up to the open office, he picks up a quill from the desk and holds it out to Celebrimbor. “The Three Rings healed the Elves, I believe it can also heal Dwarven halls of stone.” 

Celebrimbor looks hesitant but takes the quill from his hands. You look to Annatar and he gives you a knowing smile. 

You whisper to him as the scribbling on parchment fills the room. “Rings for Dwarves?” 

“And Men, but let’s worry ourselves with the Dwarves first.” he says. “I’ll need you now, more than ever.” you couldn’t wait for his plan for Eregion. 

Durin already suspected Annatar was not to be trusted, but you made sure his loving wife would persuade him from these frivolous thoughts. As they spoke to Celebrimbor you sat by your workbench, drawing new designs for the Rings, perfecting them in any way. While your hand drew them, the other floated slightly above the paper, as if pushing away invisible speckles of dust. No one saw except for Annatar, how your power slowly made its way into Disa’s mind, planting the conviction of the success of the Rings for their people. 

As they left the forge you could still hear Disa convincing her husband to grant mithril for the Lord of Eregion. You would have to focus your magic on Prince Durin the next time they arrived, but you believed it would have been in vain as the Rings will be already granted to them and they would rejoice because they have to. The Lord of Gifts wouldn’t let it slide if they didn’t, all that work for no appreciation. 

Annatar slowly played his part, making Celebrimbor think that his ideas were his own when he began to write the letter to the High King. You returned to the forge to hear their voices, Annatar felt your presence and looked to you with pleading eyes, knowing that Celebrimbor is watching.

“What are you doing, my lord?” you ask as the Lord of Eregion picks up a quill. 

“I am congratulating the High King on the efficacy of The Three and telling him that I am closing up the forge.” he informs you as you walk up the stairs. You start to shake your head at the news, not knowing what has transpired earlier. “With a promise to join him in Lindon as soon as possible.”

Annatar notices your expression but reassures you. You feel a slight pull in your mind, the bond might be weak but started to grow ever slightly with the recent events and his proximity. 

“You would lie to your High King?” he questions Celebrimbor. The Lord of Eregion looks to you, his trusted smith that would know how important this is, that you would understand.

“I would grant us the space to complete our work.” he says. You act startled when his fists bangs on the table as he tells that he reached the height of his craft. “This… this is my moment. Now, he will not take it away.”

You give him a soft smile as Annatar circles around him. He looks to you and you leave the forge, knowing that Celebrimbor will be dead set on his work. After a few hours most of the smiths have already retired for the night, Celebrimbor left after you practically dragged him away from his table, reminding him that even the brightest minds have to rest. He let you lead him to the door as the forge became empty, the anvil covered for the night and Annatar leaning against it. 

He spoke when he knew there was no one around to eavesdrop.

“It’s been centuries since I’ve seen it properly.” he says.

The last time you used your power was to influence Morgoth to release you from his hold. The success didn’t last long as he felt you in his mind and chained you for the rest of your days in Forodwaith. 

You lift your hand up and let the magic flow around it, you could feel it tingling above your skin, whirling like a small storm as you walked up to him. It was captivating in every way, if you wanted you could make them appear like the light of the Silmarils, make the onlooker stare into its depth like Morgoth once did. 

He knew your true power lay dormant, waiting for a more suiting occasion. For now, the simple illusions and mind control would have to do to grant you some form of satisfaction. 

“Morgoth hasn’t taken everything.” you reply and let your darkened fingertips show from underneath the illusion. He takes your hand in his and places a soft kiss in the palm of it. “You truly believe he would create the Rings for Men? You’ve heard his objection before.” you voice your thoughts and he lets go of your hand. 

“That is where I need you.” you raise your eyebrow at his statement. “Let him see how demanding their creation is. Let him feel the ruin it would inflict on Middle-Earth if he never created them.”

Your mind spins with ideas but perhaps the simplest one is the best option. Annatar sees to it that it’s done when you sit down in your chambers and reach out to Celebrimbor’s mind, plaguing him with visions of Middle-Earth’s doom, with Men standing at the front lines, getting slaughtered while the races with the Rings survive. 

You make sure to leave no trail of your presence, having him face you in his dreams as arrows hit you repeatedly as you try to protect him. An Elven witch turned a respected smith, now dead while sacrificing herself to save his life for his mind filled with creations. He sees the emissary of the Valar down at his feet, covered in wounds that no mortal or immortal being would survive and the Lord of Eregion’s hand covered in blood, responsible for the fall of the Men.

He wakes up startled and you flee as quickly as possible. 

“Finished?” Annatar asks you as he sits on the edge of your bed. 

“For the night, yes.” you reply. 

“One time will not be enough.”

“I am aware, Mairon…” how he loved to hear his name slip out of your mouth. You see the look in his eyes but stop yourself, you’ve exhausted yourself for the day. “Do not fret. His days will be filled with glimpses of what could have beens.” 

And you did, even when the Rings for Dwarves have been completed, you had brought fear to his mind, when Annatar spoke to him of Rings for Men, he refused. Perhaps your visions were too frightening for him, but with the coming days, your work has only bore more fruits and Sauron knew that he had chosen an elf worthy of his vision for Middle-Earth.

[weclassygirl]

wonders

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

summary: creation of the Rings is quite demanding, Lord of Gifts is here to ensure their completion

warnings: dream manipulation (fake deaths), not much besides that

word count: 3k

author’s note: i hope everything loads because my wifi sucks as of recent days. i've been trying to upload for over an hour now. finally we get a glimpse of reader's power so... enjoy! (previous part -> bewitched)

You wished you could drop the illusion even for a split second when you heard that he left Eregion. Galadriel found out who he was and went on to create the Rings nonetheless. In three there’s balance, she said, you wanted to disturb that balance. 

You felt them when she brought them to Lindon, felt the very life within you blossom as they worked their magic. The Elves would not leave the shores of Middle-Earth, but Eregion still didn’t know that. 

As Celebrimbor and the other smiths worked on the completion of the forge, you could do nothing but aimlessly wander the grounds, trying to connect to him. He let you, hesitantly and you found out why. Chained, dirty and wounded he laid inside the tent, waiting for the Lord-father to bargain with him again. 

You tried to break the chains, used whatever power was bestowed upon you to free him. They twitched lightly but nothing moved, not a nail that held them together, never bending under your fingers. 

You kneel next to him and place your hands on your lap. “It was worth a try.” you admit and he smiles despite being in pain. You could feel it, faintly, not as strong as it could be once you bind yourself to him.

“You should go back, you’re wasting your power on me.”

You place your hand on his cheek even if it’s a quickly forgotten feeling. “I wish to stay.” you reassure him. “The hour is late in Eregion, no one will look for me.” your chambers have been moved multiple times over the years, at first near the center, then moving further away until you could choose on your own. The edge of Ost-in-Edhil was a place of your choosing, quiet, no one to disturb you and your craft. You could be yourself within the walls.

Sauron closes his eyes to your touch but opens them as Adar walks inside the tent. You never met the Lord-father directly, only through the whispers of the Orcs but remembered the day he betrayed Sauron. 

A tear falls down Sauron’s face as Adar retells the story of how he met him. You understand him in a way, the servant of Morgoth had that effect even before he took on a new form. 

You’ve met him when he was injured, his cheek adorned by a gash that bled black, his shoulder shattered and his thigh cut through the bone. It took you some time before you healed him completely, Morgoth’s wounds always came first. When the orcs brought you to his bedside he was wide awake, waiting and holding onto his cheek. He could heal himself but why would he bother and use his power when you were at hand? 

Adar informs him that his people were set free and demands an answer to his question. What did he know of Sauron?

You saw his mind at work, he probably found the situation amusing. He smirks as he shifts on the ground to get a better look at the Lord-father.

“Sauron has returned in a new form.” the chains around his neck rattle. “I am not yet certain what shape he has taken.”

“Then of what use are you to me?” Adar asks. You lean against the stone as much as your illusion allows you to.

“I have something you don’t. The trust of the Elves… and a witch.” that piques Adar’s interest. 

“I wonder… what kind of witch would put her trust in you?” he has a faint idea that it might be you but to Adar you could be good as dead. He knew what kind of person you were, how Sauron quickly took liking to you in Forodwaith. You were no good company but if persuaded, you could prove a valuable ally. 

“Release me and I’ll go to them and seek him out, so you can marshal your legions and destroy him.”  he offers and Adar seems to consider. 

Waldreg comes closer. “Do you vow allegiance to Adar, Lord-father of the Uruks?”

Halbrand looks up at him and speaks quietly.

“Yes.”

“Then kneel.” His sight is focused on you as he does so, the disdain evident on his face as he bows before Adar. For a second it reminds you of the day he was betrayed by him. “Now swear it.” 

His head hangs low as he begins. “I vow—”

“With your head at my feet.” Adar commands and you see how he relishes in it. Soon enough both of you will once Sauron sets out to claim his army.

He takes his time putting his head to the ground, Adar watches carefully as do his children. The King of the Southlands at his mercy, thinking that he can use him as his pawn. You’ve seen the trick in his eyes, the lie and grin as he took the vow. He looks straight at you as he speaks the words and you feel a sense of power flowing through you. He means more than the words slipping from his lips. 

“I vow to serve the Lord of Mordor. To the end of my days… and his.”

His chains are let loose and slowly he rides out of the camp. Adar knows better not to trust him entirely, you observe him and he turns his head to you, you freeze. Could he…? You step closer and lift your hand up in front of his face, if you were at your full power you could snap his neck with the single movement of your hand. You have to hold yourself back.

As Halbrand leaves the camp you already wait for him at the hill and in the distance both of you hear screams - Waldreg. He grins like a child.

“Satisfied?” you ask as he halts the horse by you. 

„Very.” he responds. „I take it you will grant me entry once I arrive?” 

You shake your head. „Galadriel informed Celebrimbor to not treat with you. He doesn’t know who you are and I doubt he will allow me to make the decision.” you confess. You look back to the camp, the orcs moving around in the distance. „Use your charm, mention the Rings and he will be wrapped around your finger. Make him believe they worked wonders.” 

He nods and you disappear from his view. Back in your room you hear a knock at your door, your eyes flutter open as you notice dawn at the horizon. You go up to the door and see Mirdania at the other side, ready to walk with you to the forge as she always had in the mornings. 

The following days you wait until he comes by the gate. The new forge has been completed, everything set in place as you watch from the upper level. The anvil descended from the ceiling like the last piece of the puzzle, Celebrimbor beamed next to you as he saw his dream come true before his very eyes. 

„Fëanor would be proud.” you say to him and mean it. Creation of this forge was no mere task as well as crafting the Rings. You’d be a fool to admit otherwise.

Mirdania joins you and mentions a messenger from the Southlands, your heart skips a beat and you follow to see who it is from the balcony. He looks up at you before you fully take in his presence, disheveled, wounded and as ever prideful. 

Celebrimbor gives you one order. “Stay away from him.” but have you ever listened?

You come up to him during the day, Halbrand gets away from his horse and smiles at your arrival. 

„I tried.” you announce low enough for him to hear. He looks up to Celebrimbor standing on the balcony with a tug at his lips. 

„Give him time.” he only says and you trust his words. As simple as they are you know them to be true, Celebrimbor is but a note waiting to be plucked to the melody of his choosing. A conductor in waiting before entering the stage.

However when you return to the forge, Celebrimbor looks at you displeased as you defied his single order.

“He is not to be negotiated with.” he reminds you.

You pick up your apron from the chair and smooth it out as you think of an answer. “Forgive me, but I simply needed to make sure—” you start and sigh. “he appears to be injured.”

He is aware of how close the two of you have gotten over these few short days that he spent in Eregion. He puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Galadriel made herself clear. I know how much you seem to care for him but he is a mortal. His life will pass you in the blink of an eye whether you like it or not.” he tells you and you wish you could break the hand he held on your shoulder. Never to create again. The time draws near and you cannot wait until you’ll finally let go of this tiring illusion.

It takes a whole day before Celebrimbor lets him in, his eyes sparkled at the mention of the Rings. Halbrand covered in rain and wounds made the Lord of Eregion pity him. He welcomed him back, fed him and reveled when hearing about the success of the Rings. You stood in the shadows of the forge, listening to their conversation, waiting when Halbrand began his act, his own illusion. 

As Celebrimbor calls out for him, the forge began to burn brighter, you cover your eyes from the light when you see him. Grey-white robes draping from him, long blond hair graced with a golden head piece. He sauntered down to face Celebrimbor, an emissary from the Valar himself.

You stayed hidden until you found it fit to reveal yourself, as ever the innocent, accidentally knocking over a hammer that was on the table. You shuffle to pick it up, unable to look them in the eye. “Forgive me, my Lord. I—”

Celebrimbor has a gentle look on his face. “No… please. Uhm…” he looks to Annatar, unable to explain. The Lord of Gifts comes closer and takes the hammer from the ground and places it in your hands. 

“I believe I should be the one asking for forgiveness.” he admits, never taking his eyes off of you. “You may have known me as Halbrand, but I had to make sure that the three of us were of the same ambition.”

“The three of us?” Celebrimbor asks confused. His expression mimicked on your face as well. 

Annatar nods. “Yes. The Valar has observed you and your smith.” he turns to you and brings up his hand to your face. So delicate as if handling porcelain. “Once swayed to darkness, now working amongst the greatest smiths in all Middle-Earth.” he explains and gestures to Celebrimbor. “And the very descendant of Fëanor, who may have bested his kin.” 

The Lord of Eregion seems to be already wrapped around his finger as a subtle blush roses on his cheeks.

“Our work can begin… with a letter.” he announces.

“A letter?” you ask. You had not expected that, you would have imagined him to ask for more Rings straight away.

He walks up the stairs and up to the open office, he picks up a quill from the desk and holds it out to Celebrimbor. “The Three Rings healed the Elves, I believe it can also heal Dwarven halls of stone.” 

Celebrimbor looks hesitant but takes the quill from his hands. You look to Annatar and he gives you a knowing smile. 

You whisper to him as the scribbling on parchment fills the room. “Rings for Dwarves?” 

“And Men, but let’s worry ourselves with the Dwarves first.” he says. “I’ll need you now, more than ever.” you couldn’t wait for his plan for Eregion. 

Durin already suspected Annatar was not to be trusted, but you made sure his loving wife would persuade him from these frivolous thoughts. As they spoke to Celebrimbor you sat by your workbench, drawing new designs for the Rings, perfecting them in any way. While your hand drew them, the other floated slightly above the paper, as if pushing away invisible speckles of dust. No one saw except for Annatar, how your power slowly made its way into Disa’s mind, planting the conviction of the success of the Rings for their people. 

As they left the forge you could still hear Disa convincing her husband to grant mithril for the Lord of Eregion. You would have to focus your magic on Prince Durin the next time they arrived, but you believed it would have been in vain as the Rings will be already granted to them and they would rejoice because they have to. The Lord of Gifts wouldn’t let it slide if they didn’t, all that work for no appreciation. 

Annatar slowly played his part, making Celebrimbor think that his ideas were his own when he began to write the letter to the High King. You returned to the forge to hear their voices, Annatar felt your presence and looked to you with pleading eyes, knowing that Celebrimbor is watching.

“What are you doing, my lord?” you ask as the Lord of Eregion picks up a quill. 

“I am congratulating the High King on the efficacy of The Three and telling him that I am closing up the forge.” he informs you as you walk up the stairs. You start to shake your head at the news, not knowing what has transpired earlier. “With a promise to join him in Lindon as soon as possible.”

Annatar notices your expression but reassures you. You feel a slight pull in your mind, the bond might be weak but started to grow ever slightly with the recent events and his proximity. 

“You would lie to your High King?” he questions Celebrimbor. The Lord of Eregion looks to you, his trusted smith that would know how important this is, that you would understand.

“I would grant us the space to complete our work.” he says. You act startled when his fists bangs on the table as he tells that he reached the height of his craft. “This… this is my moment. Now, he will not take it away.”

You give him a soft smile as Annatar circles around him. He looks to you and you leave the forge, knowing that Celebrimbor will be dead set on his work. After a few hours most of the smiths have already retired for the night, Celebrimbor left after you practically dragged him away from his table, reminding him that even the brightest minds have to rest. He let you lead him to the door as the forge became empty, the anvil covered for the night and Annatar leaning against it. 

He spoke when he knew there was no one around to eavesdrop.

“It’s been centuries since I’ve seen it properly.” he says.

The last time you used your power was to influence Morgoth to release you from his hold. The success didn’t last long as he felt you in his mind and chained you for the rest of your days in Forodwaith. 

You lift your hand up and let the magic flow around it, you could feel it tingling above your skin, whirling like a small storm as you walked up to him. It was captivating in every way, if you wanted you could make them appear like the light of the Silmarils, make the onlooker stare into its depth like Morgoth once did. 

He knew your true power lay dormant, waiting for a more suiting occasion. For now, the simple illusions and mind control would have to do to grant you some form of satisfaction. 

“Morgoth hasn’t taken everything.” you reply and let your darkened fingertips show from underneath the illusion. He takes your hand in his and places a soft kiss in the palm of it. “You truly believe he would create the Rings for Men? You’ve heard his objection before.” you voice your thoughts and he lets go of your hand. 

“That is where I need you.” you raise your eyebrow at his statement. “Let him see how demanding their creation is. Let him feel the ruin it would inflict on Middle-Earth if he never created them.”

Your mind spins with ideas but perhaps the simplest one is the best option. Annatar sees to it that it’s done when you sit down in your chambers and reach out to Celebrimbor’s mind, plaguing him with visions of Middle-Earth’s doom, with Men standing at the front lines, getting slaughtered while the races with the Rings survive. 

You make sure to leave no trail of your presence, having him face you in his dreams as arrows hit you repeatedly as you try to protect him. An Elven witch turned a respected smith, now dead while sacrificing herself to save his life for his mind filled with creations. He sees the emissary of the Valar down at his feet, covered in wounds that no mortal or immortal being would survive and the Lord of Eregion’s hand covered in blood, responsible for the fall of the Men.

He wakes up startled and you flee as quickly as possible. 

“Finished?” Annatar asks you as he sits on the edge of your bed. 

“For the night, yes.” you reply. 

“One time will not be enough.”

“I am aware, Mairon…” how he loved to hear his name slip out of your mouth. You see the look in his eyes but stop yourself, you’ve exhausted yourself for the day. “Do not fret. His days will be filled with glimpses of what could have beens.” 

And you did, even when the Rings for Dwarves have been completed, you had brought fear to his mind, when Annatar spoke to him of Rings for Men, he refused. Perhaps your visions were too frightening for him, but with the coming days, your work has only bore more fruits and Sauron knew that he had chosen an elf worthy of his vision for Middle-Earth.

next part -> control

[weclassygirl]

my toxic trait is that i genuinely believe that the side effects of immortality won't affect me. i have so much stuff i want to learn i won't even notice the centuries go by. also i'm nosey as hell so the decades-deep gossip would keep myself from isolating from human society because i want to know what's going on. i would make such a good vampire i stand by this

[weclassygirl]

[weclassygirl]

At this point we’ll keep killing each other with Sauron smut 😅

Glad you liked it, means the world to me! 🥰

bewitched

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

summary: years of hidden yearning and need and a night to remember

warnings: smut (fingering, semi public) light choking, slight voyeurism kink, exhibitionism

word count: 2,2k

author’s note: had to add it in before a real work begins (my first smut so...). they needed it for sure or they would have done it in front of Celebrimbor once they couldn't take the tension anymore. enjoy! (previous part -> scheme)

It was rare to see him like that, in his element, focused only on his work. You found yourself captivated how he moves around the workshop, how Celebrimbor valued his work. The forge worked day and night, trying to work with mithril, each smith has made their suggestion, offered every metal known to the peoples of Middle-Earth and yet none of them wished to connect with the stone.

They work for weeks, an attempt is made at stretching out mithril but with no desired result. A crown for the High King became a task kindred to that of creation of the Silmarils. You’ve worked nearly without rest, aiding in empowering the precious metal, Celebrimbor notices your vigor and the way Halbrand moved with ease around you, like two flames lit up to reach the same purpose. He would propose any idea his mind came up with to Celebrimbor and then to you, always to you. 

The Lord of Eregion found it unusual how quickly the two of you made connection, after all these years you’ve opened up to someone and he wasn’t even an Elf. He did not interfere in this, you seemed to work better because of Halbrand, even if it was possible. 

He came to you each night, overseeing your progress in your craft closely, being in a physical form made the contact easier. You couldn’t be by his side all the time, people would have noticed, he found moments he could talk with you, not about his plans or your craft. A simple conversation shared by two people with the same ambitions.

You’ve known him for years and yet he came up with ways to surprise you. You were glad he was in Eregion, not the shadow in your mind, you felt yourself drawn to him and he to you. Like, call to like.

His enthusiasm for work showed, a bit too much for your liking sometimes. You’ve seen Galadriel sneaking around Eregion, conversing with the librarians, which made you uneasy. 

Something was wrong.

You saw him by the pond, a long day of work visible in his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. Only a dim light illuminated him but you could still see his brow adorned by dust and shards of metal and you wondered how long he would look like this. A mortal man, handsome in his own right, who wouldn’t fall for his charm? 

The feeling in your gut lingered, his identity was bound to be discovered. He knew you worried and assured you that he had a plan.

“And what if it fails?” you ask as you come down the steps. Many would have stopped being his collaborator, but not you, not when you’ve been by his side for so many years, whether at first you hated the very thought.

“Do you truly think so little of me?” he counters.

You huff, this man… “I think that it is a risk, staying here longer than you need to. This…” you gesture toward his appearance “will not fool everyone. They will notice.”

He steps closer and places his fingers under your chin, he likes to see you try and tear your sight away from his. He knows that you’re not the one to walk away from a challenge.

“With time, they will see and believe whatever I want them to.” he pulls away but the feeling of his fingers lingers.

“How long do you plan to retain this form?” you ask. He tilts his head and looks down at his clothes and hands.

“Is it not to your liking?” 

“I didn’t say that.” you tease. You look over the trees to the towers. “Eregion is the realm of the Elven smiths not men. You're a King, they’d expect you to be with your people.” he takes your hand, the illusion from it lifted in the comfort of his presence. He traces the scar absentmindedly.

“And would my queen join me?”

Queen… He never called you that before. “We’re not bound.” you remind him.

“And yet the idea entices you, after all these years.” he lets go of your hand and places his on your shoulder. “Shame to let it go to waste.” 

“Why not have it all for yourself?” you ask genuinely. He could have it all, Middle-Earth, all of the races under his rule. His hand snakes up to your cheek, making you look up at him again.

“I’ll burden myself with the crown and let you cherish in the light of it. No one to command or put you through suffering again.” 

“On my deathbed.” you whisper as he leans closer, his breath on your neck making you shiver. 

“I’d prefer little death slipping from your mouth.” 

Despite your defiance, you lean into his touch as his lips place kisses on your neck and for a moment you believe it to be an illusion, another vision conjured up by him, far away from your reach. He reminds you of the realness of this moment when his hand cups your jaw and closes the distance between you. 

You’d make a fool of yourself if you pushed him away, especially when he’s been on your mind for so many years. He would have reveled if he knew the many sleepless nights you’ve spent trying to get rid of the revenant feeling of his touch. How with every disappearance from your chambers you longed for nothing more than to ask him, beg him to stay. Perhaps he knew with how he looked at you right now, eyes dark with desire, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss. 

You push him back onto the stone bench, his hands wander to pick up as much fabric as they can when you straddle him. He grabs the back of your neck to crash your lips onto his, you bite at his lips, wanting more and accidentally draw blood. He pulls away and swipes his thumb over the cut, black blood spreading over his lip. He looks up at you and brings the thumb to your lips, he brushes against them once until you open your mouth and lick away the blood from his finger. The sight would have sent him to the Undying Lands that very moment, but he couldn’t part just yet until he had his fill of you. 

His hands slither under your dress, his touch like fire lingering on your skin. Carved by Morgoth and worshipped at Sauron’s hands. He takes your hand in his and kisses each darkened finger, his lips linger on the scarred one. 

“I take it it’s to your liking then.” he teases and you grab his jaw, his stubble softly digging into your skin.

“Your shadowed form was quite pleasing as well.” you retort and kiss him once more. You’d let him swallow you whole, let him corrupt you even further just to have him near you. 

He hand slips between you two and dips into you, the intrusion welcomed as you draw a breath between your lips. The bundle of nerves that ached for him, falls apart at the simplest touch. Your head tilts back as he withdraws his fingers only to push them back in, his rhythm increasing slowly, he would not have you out of his grip yet. 

Your cunt clenches around him when he adds another finger and Sauron grabs at your throat, putting the smallest pressure that could bring you to the edge. He chuckles as he watches you, his lips kiss up your throat.

“So willing.” he taunts and you return from your bliss state at his words. Your hand sneaks under his robe to return the favor, he groans as you grab his cock, your hand moving in time with his fingers deep in your cunt. 

There’s a wicked smile tugging at your lips and he wishes nothing more to let you have your way with him. He knows he’s done for as he takes your appearance, breathless and wanton. 

A witch that bewitched his body and soul. 

You gasp when he pushes away the fabric covering your breasts, his mouth dives to devour. Black Speech slips from your mouth when he pulls at your nipple and oh, how cherishes the sound. He taught you it, even if you picked it up from the Orcs guarding your cell in Forodwaith. 

“Fuck.” you breathe out as his hand picks up its pace and another tugs at your nipples. You moan against his neck when your hand on his cock begins to falter, to blissed out to form a coherent sentence. You kiss up his neck and move to brush your lips against his. 

The night settles over Eregion and he wishes to stay in this moment, create an illusion of the two of you to roam and work in Eregion while he fucks you endlessly in your chambers. Your mind drifts again but is snapped to reality when the two of you hear people approaching. You pull away but his fingers stay inside you, his pace dying down but not fully.

“Mairon.” you warn him and a corner of his lips lifts up. 

You never called him Sauron, the Abhorred, and he was grateful.

The chatter grows and you feel a soft wind around you, Sauron’s hand continues its ministrations. You realize he’s cast an illusion over the two of you. To anyone looking it would appear as if the two of you were having a simple conversation on the bench. Any wiser would see a scandalous scene and you wish you could see their reaction. 

You recognize them, the smiths you worked closely over the years, they call out your name. “Still awake?”

You nearly curse Sauron when he adds another finger. You try your best to respond under the illusion. “Yes.” 

“Discussing new ideas.” he adds and flicks over your bud with his thumb. You nearly smack him but the pleasure is too great for you to care. 

You’re too far gone to continue the meaningless conversation, Sauron takes over your voice until the smiths leave. Your hand squeezes him ever slightly, moving faster with each stroke and he grabs your hair. 

“Careful, witch.” his threat is interrupted by the moan that follows. You smile mischievously, oh how you could just stop the time to feel him bring you to your pleasure over and over again. 

“Would you let them see?” you question against his lips. You on display as he laps at your folds and sets a relentless pace with his cock buried deep inside you. Doing whatever he pleases with you, whatever you wish to do with him.

His pace quickens and you spiral close to your release. His breathing becomes labored with each pump of your hand. 

“I would make them wish they were you.” his words set you ablaze as you spill around his fingers. You moan into his mouth, body shuddering with release and he does not let go until your body completely gives out. Your head falls into the crook of his neck when his fingers leave you and immediately miss the feeling. 

He brings up his fingers to your mouth and lets you taste yourself from them. You lick them clean like a starved woman and the sight arouses him even more, his cock straining against his robes again. He licks up your hand, swallowing every last drop, truly worthy of each other.

He lifts you up from him and kneels before you, you arch your eyebrow when he lifts your dress once more. His tongue darts out to clean every drop that has not coated his fingers, the heat pools inside you as he slowly laps at your folds. You arch your back, in too fucked state to form a coherent sentence. His hands travel back to your breasts and you whimper in pleasure.

You feel your second orgasm coming in waves and he lets you ride it out on his face, gladly cleaning you up again. His moans reverberate against you, Black Speech on his tongue as he praises you. You look down at him as he comes up, your need for him still growing but you hold yourself back, you’ll have him completely another day. 

There’s no turning back now.

He kisses your neck, jaw, cheek and finally lips. Your tongue makes its way into his mouth, his passion burning brighter with each touch. Years you’ve longed for this and won’t feel satisfied until you have him all.

“Bind yourself to me.” he whispers against your lips and you consider this time. He brushes away strands of your hair and you melt into his touch when it lands on your cheek. 

“Not yet.” you respond, the words he so often spoke to you when the matter was brought up. You knew that if you did and he was no longer within your reach you would have gone mad. He would have loved to see the havoc you would wreak in his name.

You lean closer to him as he kneels before you. Your hand cups his jaw before pulling it to you. Your words a threat and a promise.

“Make sure your path to glory doesn’t lead to a grave and I will.”

He smiles. 

You were perfect.

[weclassygirl]

She almost did, almost. She walks on the line whether she should or not, his power connected with hers is a tempting thought.

Glad you liked it and the series 🤍 🥰

bewitched

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

summary: years of hidden yearning and need and a night to remember

warnings: smut (fingering, semi public) light choking, slight voyeurism kink, exhibitionism

word count: 2,2k

author’s note: had to add it in before a real work begins (my first smut so...). they needed it for sure or they would have done it in front of Celebrimbor once they couldn't take the tension anymore. enjoy! (previous part -> scheme)

It was rare to see him like that, in his element, focused only on his work. You found yourself captivated how he moves around the workshop, how Celebrimbor valued his work. The forge worked day and night, trying to work with mithril, each smith has made their suggestion, offered every metal known to the peoples of Middle-Earth and yet none of them wished to connect with the stone.

They work for weeks, an attempt is made at stretching out mithril but with no desired result. A crown for the High King became a task kindred to that of creation of the Silmarils. You’ve worked nearly without rest, aiding in empowering the precious metal, Celebrimbor notices your vigor and the way Halbrand moved with ease around you, like two flames lit up to reach the same purpose. He would propose any idea his mind came up with to Celebrimbor and then to you, always to you. 

The Lord of Eregion found it unusual how quickly the two of you made connection, after all these years you’ve opened up to someone and he wasn’t even an Elf. He did not interfere in this, you seemed to work better because of Halbrand, even if it was possible. 

He came to you each night, overseeing your progress in your craft closely, being in a physical form made the contact easier. You couldn’t be by his side all the time, people would have noticed, he found moments he could talk with you, not about his plans or your craft. A simple conversation shared by two people with the same ambitions.

You’ve known him for years and yet he came up with ways to surprise you. You were glad he was in Eregion, not the shadow in your mind, you felt yourself drawn to him and he to you. Like, call to like.

His enthusiasm for work showed, a bit too much for your liking sometimes. You’ve seen Galadriel sneaking around Eregion, conversing with the librarians, which made you uneasy. 

Something was wrong.

You saw him by the pond, a long day of work visible in his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. Only a dim light illuminated him but you could still see his brow adorned by dust and shards of metal and you wondered how long he would look like this. A mortal man, handsome in his own right, who wouldn’t fall for his charm? 

The feeling in your gut lingered, his identity was bound to be discovered. He knew you worried and assured you that he had a plan.

“And what if it fails?” you ask as you come down the steps. Many would have stopped being his collaborator, but not you, not when you’ve been by his side for so many years, whether at first you hated the very thought.

“Do you truly think so little of me?” he counters.

You huff, this man… “I think that it is a risk, staying here longer than you need to. This…” you gesture toward his appearance “will not fool everyone. They will notice.”

He steps closer and places his fingers under your chin, he likes to see you try and tear your sight away from his. He knows that you’re not the one to walk away from a challenge.

“With time, they will see and believe whatever I want them to.” he pulls away but the feeling of his fingers lingers.

“How long do you plan to retain this form?” you ask. He tilts his head and looks down at his clothes and hands.

“Is it not to your liking?” 

“I didn’t say that.” you tease. You look over the trees to the towers. “Eregion is the realm of the Elven smiths not men. You're a King, they’d expect you to be with your people.” he takes your hand, the illusion from it lifted in the comfort of his presence. He traces the scar absentmindedly.

“And would my queen join me?”

Queen… He never called you that before. “We’re not bound.” you remind him.

“And yet the idea entices you, after all these years.” he lets go of your hand and places his on your shoulder. “Shame to let it go to waste.” 

“Why not have it all for yourself?” you ask genuinely. He could have it all, Middle-Earth, all of the races under his rule. His hand snakes up to your cheek, making you look up at him again.

“I’ll burden myself with the crown and let you cherish in the light of it. No one to command or put you through suffering again.” 

“On my deathbed.” you whisper as he leans closer, his breath on your neck making you shiver. 

“I’d prefer little death slipping from your mouth.” 

Despite your defiance, you lean into his touch as his lips place kisses on your neck and for a moment you believe it to be an illusion, another vision conjured up by him, far away from your reach. He reminds you of the realness of this moment when his hand cups your jaw and closes the distance between you. 

You’d make a fool of yourself if you pushed him away, especially when he’s been on your mind for so many years. He would have reveled if he knew the many sleepless nights you’ve spent trying to get rid of the revenant feeling of his touch. How with every disappearance from your chambers you longed for nothing more than to ask him, beg him to stay. Perhaps he knew with how he looked at you right now, eyes dark with desire, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss. 

You push him back onto the stone bench, his hands wander to pick up as much fabric as they can when you straddle him. He grabs the back of your neck to crash your lips onto his, you bite at his lips, wanting more and accidentally draw blood. He pulls away and swipes his thumb over the cut, black blood spreading over his lip. He looks up at you and brings the thumb to your lips, he brushes against them once until you open your mouth and lick away the blood from his finger. The sight would have sent him to the Undying Lands that very moment, but he couldn’t part just yet until he had his fill of you. 

His hands slither under your dress, his touch like fire lingering on your skin. Carved by Morgoth and worshipped at Sauron’s hands. He takes your hand in his and kisses each darkened finger, his lips linger on the scarred one. 

“I take it it’s to your liking then.” he teases and you grab his jaw, his stubble softly digging into your skin.

“Your shadowed form was quite pleasing as well.” you retort and kiss him once more. You’d let him swallow you whole, let him corrupt you even further just to have him near you. 

He hand slips between you two and dips into you, the intrusion welcomed as you draw a breath between your lips. The bundle of nerves that ached for him, falls apart at the simplest touch. Your head tilts back as he withdraws his fingers only to push them back in, his rhythm increasing slowly, he would not have you out of his grip yet. 

Your cunt clenches around him when he adds another finger and Sauron grabs at your throat, putting the smallest pressure that could bring you to the edge. He chuckles as he watches you, his lips kiss up your throat.

“So willing.” he taunts and you return from your bliss state at his words. Your hand sneaks under his robe to return the favor, he groans as you grab his cock, your hand moving in time with his fingers deep in your cunt. 

There’s a wicked smile tugging at your lips and he wishes nothing more to let you have your way with him. He knows he’s done for as he takes your appearance, breathless and wanton. 

A witch that bewitched his body and soul. 

You gasp when he pushes away the fabric covering your breasts, his mouth dives to devour. Black Speech slips from your mouth when he pulls at your nipple and oh, how cherishes the sound. He taught you it, even if you picked it up from the Orcs guarding your cell in Forodwaith. 

“Fuck.” you breathe out as his hand picks up its pace and another tugs at your nipples. You moan against his neck when your hand on his cock begins to falter, to blissed out to form a coherent sentence. You kiss up his neck and move to brush your lips against his. 

The night settles over Eregion and he wishes to stay in this moment, create an illusion of the two of you to roam and work in Eregion while he fucks you endlessly in your chambers. Your mind drifts again but is snapped to reality when the two of you hear people approaching. You pull away but his fingers stay inside you, his pace dying down but not fully.

“Mairon.” you warn him and a corner of his lips lifts up. 

You never called him Sauron, the Abhorred, and he was grateful.

The chatter grows and you feel a soft wind around you, Sauron’s hand continues its ministrations. You realize he’s cast an illusion over the two of you. To anyone looking it would appear as if the two of you were having a simple conversation on the bench. Any wiser would see a scandalous scene and you wish you could see their reaction. 

You recognize them, the smiths you worked closely over the years, they call out your name. “Still awake?”

You nearly curse Sauron when he adds another finger. You try your best to respond under the illusion. “Yes.” 

“Discussing new ideas.” he adds and flicks over your bud with his thumb. You nearly smack him but the pleasure is too great for you to care. 

You’re too far gone to continue the meaningless conversation, Sauron takes over your voice until the smiths leave. Your hand squeezes him ever slightly, moving faster with each stroke and he grabs your hair. 

“Careful, witch.” his threat is interrupted by the moan that follows. You smile mischievously, oh how you could just stop the time to feel him bring you to your pleasure over and over again. 

“Would you let them see?” you question against his lips. You on display as he laps at your folds and sets a relentless pace with his cock buried deep inside you. Doing whatever he pleases with you, whatever you wish to do with him.

His pace quickens and you spiral close to your release. His breathing becomes labored with each pump of your hand. 

“I would make them wish they were you.” his words set you ablaze as you spill around his fingers. You moan into his mouth, body shuddering with release and he does not let go until your body completely gives out. Your head falls into the crook of his neck when his fingers leave you and immediately miss the feeling. 

He brings up his fingers to your mouth and lets you taste yourself from them. You lick them clean like a starved woman and the sight arouses him even more, his cock straining against his robes again. He licks up your hand, swallowing every last drop, truly worthy of each other.

He lifts you up from him and kneels before you, you arch your eyebrow when he lifts your dress once more. His tongue darts out to clean every drop that has not coated his fingers, the heat pools inside you as he slowly laps at your folds. You arch your back, in too fucked state to form a coherent sentence. His hands travel back to your breasts and you whimper in pleasure.

You feel your second orgasm coming in waves and he lets you ride it out on his face, gladly cleaning you up again. His moans reverberate against you, Black Speech on his tongue as he praises you. You look down at him as he comes up, your need for him still growing but you hold yourself back, you’ll have him completely another day. 

There’s no turning back now.

He kisses your neck, jaw, cheek and finally lips. Your tongue makes its way into his mouth, his passion burning brighter with each touch. Years you’ve longed for this and won’t feel satisfied until you have him all.

“Bind yourself to me.” he whispers against your lips and you consider this time. He brushes away strands of your hair and you melt into his touch when it lands on your cheek. 

“Not yet.” you respond, the words he so often spoke to you when the matter was brought up. You knew that if you did and he was no longer within your reach you would have gone mad. He would have loved to see the havoc you would wreak in his name.

You lean closer to him as he kneels before you. Your hand cups his jaw before pulling it to you. Your words a threat and a promise.

“Make sure your path to glory doesn’t lead to a grave and I will.”

He smiles. 

You were perfect.

[weclassygirl]

bewitched

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

summary: years of hidden yearning and need and a night to remember

warnings: smut (fingering, semi public) light choking, slight voyeurism kink, exhibitionism

word count: 2,2k

author’s note: had to add it in before a real work begins (my first smut so...). they needed it for sure or they would have done it in front of Celebrimbor once they couldn't take the tension anymore. enjoy! (previous part -> scheme)

It was rare to see him like that, in his element, focused only on his work. You found yourself captivated how he moves around the workshop, how Celebrimbor valued his work. The forge worked day and night, trying to work with mithril, each smith has made their suggestion, offered every metal known to the peoples of Middle-Earth and yet none of them wished to connect with the stone.

They work for weeks, an attempt is made at stretching out mithril but with no desired result. A crown for the High King became a task kindred to that of creation of the Silmarils. You’ve worked nearly without rest, aiding in empowering the precious metal, Celebrimbor notices your vigor and the way Halbrand moved with ease around you, like two flames lit up to reach the same purpose. He would propose any idea his mind came up with to Celebrimbor and then to you, always to you. 

The Lord of Eregion found it unusual how quickly the two of you made connection, after all these years you’ve opened up to someone and he wasn’t even an Elf. He did not interfere in this, you seemed to work better because of Halbrand, even if it was possible. 

He came to you each night, overseeing your progress in your craft closely, being in a physical form made the contact easier. You couldn’t be by his side all the time, people would have noticed, he found moments he could talk with you, not about his plans or your craft. A simple conversation shared by two people with the same ambitions.

You’ve known him for years and yet he came up with ways to surprise you. You were glad he was in Eregion, not the shadow in your mind, you felt yourself drawn to him and he to you. Like, call to like.

His enthusiasm for work showed, a bit too much for your liking sometimes. You’ve seen Galadriel sneaking around Eregion, conversing with the librarians, which made you uneasy. 

Something was wrong.

You saw him by the pond, a long day of work visible in his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. Only a dim light illuminated him but you could still see his brow adorned by dust and shards of metal and you wondered how long he would look like this. A mortal man, handsome in his own right, who wouldn’t fall for his charm? 

The feeling in your gut lingered, his identity was bound to be discovered. He knew you worried and assured you that he had a plan.

“And what if it fails?” you ask as you come down the steps. Many would have stopped being his collaborator, but not you, not when you’ve been by his side for so many years, whether at first you hated the very thought.

“Do you truly think so little of me?” he counters.

You huff, this man… “I think that it is a risk, staying here longer than you need to. This…” you gesture toward his appearance “will not fool everyone. They will notice.”

He steps closer and places his fingers under your chin, he likes to see you try and tear your sight away from his. He knows that you’re not the one to walk away from a challenge.

“With time, they will see and believe whatever I want them to.” he pulls away but the feeling of his fingers lingers.

“How long do you plan to retain this form?” you ask. He tilts his head and looks down at his clothes and hands.

“Is it not to your liking?” 

“I didn’t say that.” you tease. You look over the trees to the towers. “Eregion is the realm of the Elven smiths not men. You're a King, they’d expect you to be with your people.” he takes your hand, the illusion from it lifted in the comfort of his presence. He traces the scar absentmindedly.

“And would my queen join me?”

Queen… He never called you that before. “We’re not bound.” you remind him.

“And yet the idea entices you, after all these years.” he lets go of your hand and places his on your shoulder. “Shame to let it go to waste.” 

“Why not have it all for yourself?” you ask genuinely. He could have it all, Middle-Earth, all of the races under his rule. His hand snakes up to your cheek, making you look up at him again.

“I’ll burden myself with the crown and let you cherish in the light of it. No one to command or put you through suffering again.” 

“On my deathbed.” you whisper as he leans closer, his breath on your neck making you shiver. 

“I’d prefer little death slipping from your mouth.” 

Despite your defiance, you lean into his touch as his lips place kisses on your neck and for a moment you believe it to be an illusion, another vision conjured up by him, far away from your reach. He reminds you of the realness of this moment when his hand cups your jaw and closes the distance between you. 

You’d make a fool of yourself if you pushed him away, especially when he’s been on your mind for so many years. He would have reveled if he knew the many sleepless nights you’ve spent trying to get rid of the revenant feeling of his touch. How with every disappearance from your chambers you longed for nothing more than to ask him, beg him to stay. Perhaps he knew with how he looked at you right now, eyes dark with desire, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss. 

You push him back onto the stone bench, his hands wander to pick up as much fabric as they can when you straddle him. He grabs the back of your neck to crash your lips onto his, you bite at his lips, wanting more and accidentally draw blood. He pulls away and swipes his thumb over the cut, black blood spreading over his lip. He looks up at you and brings the thumb to your lips, he brushes against them once until you open your mouth and lick away the blood from his finger. The sight would have sent him to the Undying Lands that very moment, but he couldn’t part just yet until he had his fill of you. 

His hands slither under your dress, his touch like fire lingering on your skin. Carved by Morgoth and worshipped at Sauron’s hands. He takes your hand in his and kisses each darkened finger, his lips linger on the scarred one. 

“I take it it’s to your liking then.” he teases and you grab his jaw, his stubble softly digging into your skin.

“Your shadowed form was quite pleasing as well.” you retort and kiss him once more. You’d let him swallow you whole, let him corrupt you even further just to have him near you. 

He hand slips between you two and dips into you, the intrusion welcomed as you draw a breath between your lips. The bundle of nerves that ached for him, falls apart at the simplest touch. Your head tilts back as he withdraws his fingers only to push them back in, his rhythm increasing slowly, he would not have you out of his grip yet. 

Your cunt clenches around him when he adds another finger and Sauron grabs at your throat, putting the smallest pressure that could bring you to the edge. He chuckles as he watches you, his lips kiss up your throat.

“So willing.” he taunts and you return from your bliss state at his words. Your hand sneaks under his robe to return the favor, he groans as you grab his cock, your hand moving in time with his fingers deep in your cunt. 

There’s a wicked smile tugging at your lips and he wishes nothing more to let you have your way with him. He knows he’s done for as he takes your appearance, breathless and wanton. 

A witch that bewitched his body and soul. 

You gasp when he pushes away the fabric covering your breasts, his mouth dives to devour. Black Speech slips from your mouth when he pulls at your nipple and oh, how cherishes the sound. He taught you it, even if you picked it up from the Orcs guarding your cell in Forodwaith. 

“Fuck.” you breathe out as his hand picks up its pace and another tugs at your nipples. You moan against his neck when your hand on his cock begins to falter, to blissed out to form a coherent sentence. You kiss up his neck and move to brush your lips against his. 

The night settles over Eregion and he wishes to stay in this moment, create an illusion of the two of you to roam and work in Eregion while he fucks you endlessly in your chambers. Your mind drifts again but is snapped to reality when the two of you hear people approaching. You pull away but his fingers stay inside you, his pace dying down but not fully.

“Mairon.” you warn him and a corner of his lips lifts up. 

You never called him Sauron, the Abhorred, and he was grateful.

The chatter grows and you feel a soft wind around you, Sauron’s hand continues its ministrations. You realize he’s cast an illusion over the two of you. To anyone looking it would appear as if the two of you were having a simple conversation on the bench. Any wiser would see a scandalous scene and you wish you could see their reaction. 

You recognize them, the smiths you worked closely over the years, they call out your name. “Still awake?”

You nearly curse Sauron when he adds another finger. You try your best to respond under the illusion. “Yes.” 

“Discussing new ideas.” he adds and flicks over your bud with his thumb. You nearly smack him but the pleasure is too great for you to care. 

You’re too far gone to continue the meaningless conversation, Sauron takes over your voice until the smiths leave. Your hand squeezes him ever slightly, moving faster with each stroke and he grabs your hair. 

“Careful, witch.” his threat is interrupted by the moan that follows. You smile mischievously, oh how you could just stop the time to feel him bring you to your pleasure over and over again. 

“Would you let them see?” you question against his lips. You on display as he laps at your folds and sets a relentless pace with his cock buried deep inside you. Doing whatever he pleases with you, whatever you wish to do with him.

His pace quickens and you spiral close to your release. His breathing becomes labored with each pump of your hand. 

“I would make them wish they were you.” his words set you ablaze as you spill around his fingers. You moan into his mouth, body shuddering with release and he does not let go until your body completely gives out. Your head falls into the crook of his neck when his fingers leave you and immediately miss the feeling. 

He brings up his fingers to your mouth and lets you taste yourself from them. You lick them clean like a starved woman and the sight arouses him even more, his cock straining against his robes again. He licks up your hand, swallowing every last drop, truly worthy of each other.

He lifts you up from him and kneels before you, you arch your eyebrow when he lifts your dress once more. His tongue darts out to clean every drop that has not coated his fingers, the heat pools inside you as he slowly laps at your folds. You arch your back, in too fucked state to form a coherent sentence. His hands travel back to your breasts and you whimper in pleasure.

You feel your second orgasm coming in waves and he lets you ride it out on his face, gladly cleaning you up again. His moans reverberate against you, Black Speech on his tongue as he praises you. You look down at him as he comes up, your need for him still growing but you hold yourself back, you’ll have him completely another day. 

There’s no turning back now.

He kisses your neck, jaw, cheek and finally lips. Your tongue makes its way into his mouth, his passion burning brighter with each touch. Years you’ve longed for this and won’t feel satisfied until you have him all.

“Bind yourself to me.” he whispers against your lips and you consider this time. He brushes away strands of your hair and you melt into his touch when it lands on your cheek. 

“Not yet.” you respond, the words he so often spoke to you when the matter was brought up. You knew that if you did and he was no longer within your reach you would have gone mad. He would have loved to see the havoc you would wreak in his name.

You lean closer to him as he kneels before you. Your hand cups his jaw before pulling it to you. Your words a threat and a promise.

“Make sure your path to glory doesn’t lead to a grave and I will.”

He smiles. 

You were perfect.

next part --> wonders

[weclassygirl]

slowburn for a reason (hundred or thousand of years for them) 🫠 gotta take some notes as i rewatch s2 so the next parts go as i want them go 🤍

scheme

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

summary: reader meets her shadow in the flesh as two riders enter Eregion

warnings: some blood (fake wound)

word count: 2,8k

author’s note: he's finally here! might take a moment before i update (i need to rewatch season 2 for him), but the next chapter.... ugh i can't wait to post it. enjoy! (previous part -> deception)

He doesn’t, for weeks he doesn’t reach out, does not even give you a sign he’s alive. You wish you could rip him to shreds once you see him again even if his very essence would slip through your fingers.

Celebrimbor notices you’ve become distracted, your work becomes sloppy, where once was attention to details and strive for perfection now lay curses under your breath when another piece of work is ruined. 

He comes to your side and places a hand on your shoulder. “Rest.” 

You turn to face him, the hammer still in your hand as well as the chisel. “I have to finish—“ he places your tools down, you don’t protest.

“You’ve been working yourself to the bone and your mind is not where it’s supposed to be.” you sigh, he’s right even he does not know the true reason. You take off your apron and put it on the stool before leaving the forge. 

You wander to the gardens and around Eregion trying to clear your head. You try to see past the trees, behind the horizon, maybe he’s out there. Wishful thinking. 

You’ve heard of the attacks on the Southlands, men fighting against orcs and the destruction it placed over the land. They call it under a different name now. Out of the corner of your eye you see horses, a rider clad in armor and a man. A messenger, probably. Eregion always had news to answer and these days it seemed more than ever. 

You come back to the forge after a while despite Celebrimbor’s refusal. You needed to occupy your mind, the blade you’ve been working on was nearly finished. You’ve been mixing metals to try and combine them into a nearly ethereal glow, mithril was far out of your reach. You’ve helped with the construction of the tower, not like the might of the Dwarves but your work has been appreciated. 

Elrond came before spring to help Celebrimbor and he secured it when Prince Durin sent his for forces to Eregion. The secrecy has been languid, you knew what Celebrimbor was hiding, he knew of mithril, knew that the very light of the Elves was fading, yours included. You felt it, more than the others, you considered Sauron’s offer to bound yourself to him completely but called yourself a fool for such thought. This is not the time you spoke of, you know it, see it as behind a mist, the future of Eregion and all Middle-Earth. Glimpses that always end with fire and blood.

A guard comes into the forge and calls out your name. Your head whips around as you look at him. 

“Your assistance is needed in the healer's quarters.” he informs you. 

“What of the Warden?” you ask, surely the master of healers would accommodate to the unexpected guests who arrived through the gate, should one of them be injured.

“Busy with other matters.”

You sigh but put away your tools once again. “Very well.” you say and follow the guard. 

You didn’t mind healing others but sometimes the injured or ill irritated you to the point your started to regret you were acknowledged as a healer in the first place. People came to you with the smallest cut or barely a cold, a proper herb and warm water would do most of the work.

When you arrive in the healer’s quarters your feet feel stuck to the ground at the sight of the person in front of you. 

“Galadriel?” you couldn’t believe it. “I thought you left for Valinor.” 

She’s clad in armor, her face dirty and sweaty from the journey. If she stayed in Middle-Earth you hoped she only heard the good things you’ve done while in Eregion, you do not wish to have her as an enemy.

“Fate decided I stay here.” she responds. She looks you up and down, the scars visible from your days under Morgoth, however no black fingertips. The darkness hasn’t consumed you or so she thinks. “I’ve heard of your progress here.” 

You feign flattery. “Yes, I owe it to Lord Celebrimbor.” 

“It’s impressive how much you swayed from darkness, not many can.” 

You chuckle slightly, oh if she only knew. 

“Yes, well, my punishment here proved to bear fruits.” you respond and you remind yourself why you’re here. You look her over. “Are you injured? I’ve been summoned as a healer rather than a smith.” 

“My friend is, if you could tend to him.” she starts walking down the hall and when you enter the room you see him, his face so familiar to his but you don’t want to make false assumptions. 

She tells him who he is and you turn to her with a question on your face. “King of the Southlands? How is it your path crossed with his?” you come closer to the man on the table and lift up the bloodied piece of clothing, he grunts as the dried blood tears away with the fabric. When you look to Galadriel her eyes tell you everything you need to know. Her task in Middle-Earth was not yet complete. 

You inspect the wound and Halbrand watches you carefully, you dare not to speak. Is it him? After all this time? Should you voice your thoughts? The questions plague your mind. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” she says as Elrond comes closer, you’ve conversed with him while he remained in Eregion and helped Celebrimbor in securing the work force to assemble the Great Forge. He’s been travelling constantly between Eregion and Khazad-dûm, the High King deceived him of his purpose here at first but the alliance between Dwarves and Elves grew. 

When they are out of your sight you look to Halbrand. An interesting name he has chosen, so many meanings, every single one fitting his image. Admirable, shadowed, exalted. You nearly laugh under your breath.

“Is my state that amusing to you?” he asks and the corner of your lips rises. 

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” you’re still unsure if you can speak freely in front of him, he may just be a face that he saw once, that felt suitable for him to wear when appearing in your visions. You tear the fabric that laid on his wound, you discard it and grab a cloth with warm water. “What has happened?”

“Enemy lance, six days ago.” he responds and grunts as the cloth makes contact with the wound. You wonder if he truly sustained the hit or it was another illusion. You were certain the red blood was.

“Is it truly like they say? Turned to dust and ashes?” you ask, curious as ever.

“The Southlands?” you nod. He watches as you tend to him, grabbing a bit of Elvish herbs, athelas and mixing them in a mortar. The paste thickens with each turn and you put it aside to grab other herbs needed. After a while, he gives you the answer. “Yes.”

You grab an herb and bring it up to his mouth. “Chew on it.” you tell him.

“What is it?” he eyes it warily before taking it. 

“It will replace the taste of iron from the blood in your mouth.” you don’t answer his question directly but he listens. As you smear the paste you mixed up he smiles under his nose, the sight doesn’t go unnoticed by you. 

“Most people would be in pain and yet you react as if it’s a common cold.”

You’ve seen people wither in anguish from a single touch of Elvish medicine before it took its desired effect, it’s strange for a common man to not react to it. Perhaps he wants to show that he’s stronger than many. You go to the table to gather a clean dressing when you hear his response, so silent but makes you freeze in your steps. “Now I’m the first to give myself to you at my deathbed.” 

Was it him or your persistent shadow speaking? Could you distinguish the two now? The voice so familiar but not muffled like many times you’ve heard it, this was real, raw.

You turn to him but his sight is already set upon you. Any evidence of pain gone from his face as you step closer to the bed with a bandage in your hands. You search his face for any sign of falsehood and he awaits your reaction. You smack the piece of cloth you were holding onto him when he grabs your wrist and pulls you closer. You lock eyes but yours slip down to his lips, he notices and smirks. It feels as if he’s drawing down to him, if he did you could just…

“Violence goes against what you should stand for.” he taunts and lets you go. You glare at him, you told yourself you would rip him to shreds the next time you see him. 

“I should let you bleed out.” you retort, he looks down and gathers some of the red blood from the wound.

“So it’s a convincing illusion, I take it?” he smears it on his fingers and it turns pitch black. You huff in annoyance. 

“You’re insufferable.” you clean your hands in the basin, leftover herbs floating in the water as you dry your hands. You hear him shift on the bed.

“Are you not glad?” he begins to get up and stalk closer to you. 

When you turn he’s met with your brows raised and laugh on your lips. “Glad? I believed you to be dead.” you deadpan.

“Did you mourn?” he asks.

“Would you care?” you bite back.

It takes a moment before he responds, his voice soft. “Yes.” he stands right in front of you and takes your hand. The illusion you cast is perfect, leaving not a speck of dark that would have peeked from it. He inspects it, so much power that could come from them. “Don’t hide it.”

Your anger starts to disappear as he holds your hand. You never thought that you would see the day where he’s in the same room as you, in the flesh and not a black mass. “Defeats the point if I don’t.” you look up at him with question. “Why Eregion?”

“You’ve gained his trust, I intend to use it.”

“For what?”

He smiles. “Everlasting peace over all Middle Earth.”

You pull away from his touch. 

“Under your rule.”

His answer comes quickly with no hesitation as if his mind is already set upon it.

“And yours.” you’re confused. He bound you to him, not completely but alas, you did not expect that answer. He looks to the entrance, listening if anyone comes by before looking down at you. ”Our paths are already intertwined, tangled whether you wish to cut them. I do not intend to let your talents go to waste after I’m done.”

His words compel you, a malicious intent behind them and yet you fall for them like the stars from the sky. 

“A power over flesh?”

He nods. “I owe it to you, this idea, this scheme.” 

You don’t have the time to respond when you hear someone walking down the halls, as the master of the healers enters, you step away from Halbrand or rather Sauron to you. 

“Your Majesty, you should be resting.” he says as he sees him standing next to you, the blood on his fingers red.

“I needed to test my strength.” he lies swiftly and goes back to the bed. The Warden nods at you and tells you that he will take over. You bid Halbrand goodbye and glance at him one last time before leaving. 

Not a day passes when you hear him talking with Celebrimbor. The workshop was quiet in the morning and you needed to gather your notes. The High King ordered every Elf to be moved to Lindon, one last gathering before your time passes.

You did not expect for Sauron to take actions so quickly but it does not surprise you. 

“Might there not be some alloy to amplify the qualities of your ore?” he asks Celebrimbor as he hands him the piece of mithril.

“Well, that is… an intriguing suggestion.” you remark as you enter. You nod in greeting towards both of them and walk closer. Halbrand takes his eyes off of you. 

“Call it… a gift.” Celebrimbor inspect the mithril in his hand before you stride to your work bench. Notes scattered, splashes of ink spilled on the table. 

“You should be packing for Lindon.” he tells you and you gather whatever you can, some of the ink making it’s way onto your hand. 

“I needed to grab my notes, shame to let them go to waste.”

Would any Men take them after you have passed to the Undying Lands? Would they appreciate them?

“You’re leaving?” Halbrand asks you, surprise in his voice. 

You look between the two men. “High King’s orders, as much as I would like to stay. I have no choice but to obey.”

It pains you to say it, a witch following orders of a King, but the ruse must hold. Celebrimbor’s mind seems to be at work, Halbrand’s words resonating with him. It is then he remembers that you may not know who he is. 

“This is Lord Halbrand, King of—”

“The Southlands, yes we’ve met.” you interrupt. “Galadriel sent for a healer at hand and I was the only one available at the time.” you look to Halbrand. “You should be resting.”

“No use if I’m bedridden when your people need aid.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You wish to help?”

“If you allow me.” he directs these words to Celebrimbor and he smiles as he looks between you two.

“I believe we can work something out.” 

The three of you part your ways when he caughts up with you. The halls are empty, occasional guard posted but nothing more, the vines flow down the vast architecture surrounding you.

“I never realized you’ve made quite a name for yourself here.” he expressed as he started walking next to you. You nod occasionally at the guards as you pass through, some other smiths you work with. 

When out of their sight you speak. “It was demanded.” you stop in your tracks, both of you now standing on the parapet connecting two buildings. “Would you let an Elven Witch roam around your kingdom so freely? Her darkness poisoning the very air you’re breathing?” your voice low should anyone listen to your conversation. He studies you closely, eyes softening in his low-man form.

“You, yes. Another I might consider throwing over the walls.” he remembers why he joined you. He has an occasion to properly talk to you, no visions to hold him back now. He goes back to his first statement. “People talk.”

You look down at the few Elves roaming in the courtyard, Fëanor’s statue illuminated by the soft light of the morning. “And what have they said of me?”

He leans against the balustrade. “An Elf once cast out by her people, called Morgoth’s servant despite doing it to survive and when fled chained once again by her own kind. Fulfilled her punishment here in Eregion and started to move away from darkness within her, became a trusted Elven smith and a healer where her work only blossomed.” he looks down to the ring on your finger, worn out by time however you never corrected it, the broken stone still held. He says it like reading a passage from a book, you don’t turn to look at him. Your voice barely above a whisper.

“They trust you so easily.” you’re almost jealous and he knows. 

“They have not come to know me like they did you.” he reassures you. Once they do they will cower in fear.

You turn to face him, you sense the scheme within him. “You plan to use mithril. For what kind of weapon?”

“Not a weapon, it shouldn’t be too obvious. Something far more precious.” he looks down at you and smiles. “You’ll see, I believe it will be to your liking.”

“You think that Celebrimbor will let you into his workshop, a low-man?”

“Why wouldn’t he? I suppose I left a good impression.”

“Ah, of course.” you shake your head and smile under your nose.

The silence weighs between the two of you, some guards pass you by and the morning sky shines mercilessly. You start walking away from the parapet and into the streets, the small crowds surround you as you go by the merchant stalls, tall towers and small courts. 

“It’s refreshing. Seeing you here, feeling your presence, it’s… stronger.”

“Few hundred years had made their mark.” you respond and stop by a fountain, the water hums in your ears. 

“So did I.”

You look up at him and try not to roll your eyes. You admit he gave you tremendous help but the years you’ve spent in Eregion fell upon your shoulders. You knew you had to endure your stay a little longer, for his sake and yours. 

“Thank you.” you find yourself whispering. He knows you well enough to give you a small nod in exchange.

“Do not think that I will release you of the practice over your craft.”

You smile, this is what you needed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[weclassygirl]

scheme

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

summary: reader meets her shadow in the flesh as two riders enter Eregion

warnings: some blood (fake wound)

word count: 2,8k

author’s note: he's finally here! might take a moment before i update (i need to rewatch season 2 for him), but the next chapter.... ugh i can't wait to post it. enjoy! (previous part -> deception)

He doesn’t, for weeks he doesn’t reach out, does not even give you a sign he’s alive. You wish you could rip him to shreds once you see him again even if his very essence would slip through your fingers.

Celebrimbor notices you’ve become distracted, your work becomes sloppy, where once was attention to details and strive for perfection now lay curses under your breath when another piece of work is ruined. 

He comes to your side and places a hand on your shoulder. “Rest.” 

You turn to face him, the hammer still in your hand as well as the chisel. “I have to finish—“ he places your tools down, you don’t protest.

“You’ve been working yourself to the bone and your mind is not where it’s supposed to be.” you sigh, he’s right even he does not know the true reason. You take off your apron and put it on the stool before leaving the forge. 

You wander to the gardens and around Eregion trying to clear your head. You try to see past the trees, behind the horizon, maybe he’s out there. Wishful thinking. 

You’ve heard of the attacks on the Southlands, men fighting against orcs and the destruction it placed over the land. They call it under a different name now. Out of the corner of your eye you see horses, a rider clad in armor and a man. A messenger, probably. Eregion always had news to answer and these days it seemed more than ever. 

You come back to the forge after a while despite Celebrimbor’s refusal. You needed to occupy your mind, the blade you’ve been working on was nearly finished. You’ve been mixing metals to try and combine them into a nearly ethereal glow, mithril was far out of your reach. You’ve helped with the construction of the tower, not like the might of the Dwarves but your work has been appreciated. 

Elrond came before spring to help Celebrimbor and he secured it when Prince Durin sent his for forces to Eregion. The secrecy has been languid, you knew what Celebrimbor was hiding, he knew of mithril, knew that the very light of the Elves was fading, yours included. You felt it, more than the others, you considered Sauron’s offer to bound yourself to him completely but called yourself a fool for such thought. This is not the time you spoke of, you know it, see it as behind a mist, the future of Eregion and all Middle-Earth. Glimpses that always end with fire and blood.

A guard comes into the forge and calls out your name. Your head whips around as you look at him. 

“Your assistance is needed in the healer's quarters.” he informs you. 

“What of the Warden?” you ask, surely the master of healers would accommodate to the unexpected guests who arrived through the gate, should one of them be injured.

“Busy with other matters.”

You sigh but put away your tools once again. “Very well.” you say and follow the guard. 

You didn’t mind healing others but sometimes the injured or ill irritated you to the point your started to regret you were acknowledged as a healer in the first place. People came to you with the smallest cut or barely a cold, a proper herb and warm water would do most of the work.

When you arrive in the healer’s quarters your feet feel stuck to the ground at the sight of the person in front of you. 

“Galadriel?” you couldn’t believe it. “I thought you left for Valinor.” 

She’s clad in armor, her face dirty and sweaty from the journey. If she stayed in Middle-Earth you hoped she only heard the good things you’ve done while in Eregion, you do not wish to have her as an enemy.

“Fate decided I stay here.” she responds. She looks you up and down, the scars visible from your days under Morgoth, however no black fingertips. The darkness hasn’t consumed you or so she thinks. “I’ve heard of your progress here.” 

You feign flattery. “Yes, I owe it to Lord Celebrimbor.” 

“It’s impressive how much you swayed from darkness, not many can.” 

You chuckle slightly, oh if she only knew. 

“Yes, well, my punishment here proved to bear fruits.” you respond and you remind yourself why you’re here. You look her over. “Are you injured? I’ve been summoned as a healer rather than a smith.” 

“My friend is, if you could tend to him.” she starts walking down the hall and when you enter the room you see him, his face so familiar to his but you don’t want to make false assumptions. 

She tells him who he is and you turn to her with a question on your face. “King of the Southlands? How is it your path crossed with his?” you come closer to the man on the table and lift up the bloodied piece of clothing, he grunts as the dried blood tears away with the fabric. When you look to Galadriel her eyes tell you everything you need to know. Her task in Middle-Earth was not yet complete. 

You inspect the wound and Halbrand watches you carefully, you dare not to speak. Is it him? After all this time? Should you voice your thoughts? The questions plague your mind. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” she says as Elrond comes closer, you’ve conversed with him while he remained in Eregion and helped Celebrimbor in securing the work force to assemble the Great Forge. He’s been travelling constantly between Eregion and Khazad-dûm, the High King deceived him of his purpose here at first but the alliance between Dwarves and Elves grew. 

When they are out of your sight you look to Halbrand. An interesting name he has chosen, so many meanings, every single one fitting his image. Admirable, shadowed, exalted. You nearly laugh under your breath.

“Is my state that amusing to you?” he asks and the corner of your lips rises. 

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” you’re still unsure if you can speak freely in front of him, he may just be a face that he saw once, that felt suitable for him to wear when appearing in your visions. You tear the fabric that laid on his wound, you discard it and grab a cloth with warm water. “What has happened?”

“Enemy lance, six days ago.” he responds and grunts as the cloth makes contact with the wound. You wonder if he truly sustained the hit or it was another illusion. You were certain the red blood was.

“Is it truly like they say? Turned to dust and ashes?” you ask, curious as ever.

“The Southlands?” you nod. He watches as you tend to him, grabbing a bit of Elvish herbs, athelas and mixing them in a mortar. The paste thickens with each turn and you put it aside to grab other herbs needed. After a while, he gives you the answer. “Yes.”

You grab an herb and bring it up to his mouth. “Chew on it.” you tell him.

“What is it?” he eyes it warily before taking it. 

“It will replace the taste of iron from the blood in your mouth.” you don’t answer his question directly but he listens. As you smear the paste you mixed up he smiles under his nose, the sight doesn’t go unnoticed by you. 

“Most people would be in pain and yet you react as if it’s a common cold.”

You’ve seen people wither in anguish from a single touch of Elvish medicine before it took its desired effect, it’s strange for a common man to not react to it. Perhaps he wants to show that he’s stronger than many. You go to the table to gather a clean dressing when you hear his response, so silent but makes you freeze in your steps. “Now I’m the first to give myself to you at my deathbed.” 

Was it him or your persistent shadow speaking? Could you distinguish the two now? The voice so familiar but not muffled like many times you’ve heard it, this was real, raw.

You turn to him but his sight is already set upon you. Any evidence of pain gone from his face as you step closer to the bed with a bandage in your hands. You search his face for any sign of falsehood and he awaits your reaction. You smack the piece of cloth you were holding onto him when he grabs your wrist and pulls you closer. You lock eyes but yours slip down to his lips, he notices and smirks. It feels as if he’s drawing down to him, if he did you could just…

“Violence goes against what you should stand for.” he taunts and lets you go. You glare at him, you told yourself you would rip him to shreds the next time you see him. 

“I should let you bleed out.” you retort, he looks down and gathers some of the red blood from the wound.

“So it’s a convincing illusion, I take it?” he smears it on his fingers and it turns pitch black. You huff in annoyance. 

“You’re insufferable.” you clean your hands in the basin, leftover herbs floating in the water as you dry your hands. You hear him shift on the bed.

“Are you not glad?” he begins to get up and stalk closer to you. 

When you turn he’s met with your brows raised and laugh on your lips. “Glad? I believed you to be dead.” you deadpan.

“Did you mourn?” he asks.

“Would you care?” you bite back.

It takes a moment before he responds, his voice soft. “Yes.” he stands right in front of you and takes your hand. The illusion you cast is perfect, leaving not a speck of dark that would have peeked from it. He inspects it, so much power that could come from them. “Don’t hide it.”

Your anger starts to disappear as he holds your hand. You never thought that you would see the day where he’s in the same room as you, in the flesh and not a black mass. “Defeats the point if I don’t.” you look up at him with question. “Why Eregion?”

“You’ve gained his trust, I intend to use it.”

“For what?”

He smiles. “Everlasting peace over all Middle Earth.”

You pull away from his touch. 

“Under your rule.”

His answer comes quickly with no hesitation as if his mind is already set upon it.

“And yours.” you’re confused. He bound you to him, not completely but alas, you did not expect that answer. He looks to the entrance, listening if anyone comes by before looking down at you. ”Our paths are already intertwined, tangled whether you wish to cut them. I do not intend to let your talents go to waste after I’m done.”

His words compel you, a malicious intent behind them and yet you fall for them like the stars from the sky. 

“A power over flesh?”

He nods. “I owe it to you, this idea, this scheme.” 

You don’t have the time to respond when you hear someone walking down the halls, as the master of the healers enters, you step away from Halbrand or rather Sauron to you. 

“Your Majesty, you should be resting.” he says as he sees him standing next to you, the blood on his fingers red.

“I needed to test my strength.” he lies swiftly and goes back to the bed. The Warden nods at you and tells you that he will take over. You bid Halbrand goodbye and glance at him one last time before leaving. 

Not a day passes when you hear him talking with Celebrimbor. The workshop was quiet in the morning and you needed to gather your notes. The High King ordered every Elf to be moved to Lindon, one last gathering before your time passes.

You did not expect for Sauron to take actions so quickly but it does not surprise you. 

“Might there not be some alloy to amplify the qualities of your ore?” he asks Celebrimbor as he hands him the piece of mithril.

“Well, that is… an intriguing suggestion.” you remark as you enter. You nod in greeting towards both of them and walk closer. Halbrand takes his eyes off of you. 

“Call it… a gift.” Celebrimbor inspect the mithril in his hand before you stride to your work bench. Notes scattered, splashes of ink spilled on the table. 

“You should be packing for Lindon.” he tells you and you gather whatever you can, some of the ink making it’s way onto your hand. 

“I needed to grab my notes, shame to let them go to waste.”

Would any Men take them after you have passed to the Undying Lands? Would they appreciate them?

“You’re leaving?” Halbrand asks you, surprise in his voice. 

You look between the two men. “High King’s orders, as much as I would like to stay. I have no choice but to obey.”

It pains you to say it, a witch following orders of a King, but the ruse must hold. Celebrimbor’s mind seems to be at work, Halbrand’s words resonating with him. It is then he remembers that you may not know who he is. 

“This is Lord Halbrand, King of—”

“The Southlands, yes we’ve met.” you interrupt. “Galadriel sent for a healer at hand and I was the only one available at the time.” you look to Halbrand. “You should be resting.”

“No use if I’m bedridden when your people need aid.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You wish to help?”

“If you allow me.” he directs these words to Celebrimbor and he smiles as he looks between you two.

“I believe we can work something out.” 

The three of you part your ways when he caughts up with you. The halls are empty, occasional guard posted but nothing more, the vines flow down the vast architecture surrounding you.

“I never realized you’ve made quite a name for yourself here.” he expressed as he started walking next to you. You nod occasionally at the guards as you pass through, some other smiths you work with. 

When out of their sight you speak. “It was demanded.” you stop in your tracks, both of you now standing on the parapet connecting two buildings. “Would you let an Elven Witch roam around your kingdom so freely? Her darkness poisoning the very air you’re breathing?” your voice low should anyone listen to your conversation. He studies you closely, eyes softening in his low-man form.

“You, yes. Another I might consider throwing over the walls.” he remembers why he joined you. He has an occasion to properly talk to you, no visions to hold him back now. He goes back to his first statement. “People talk.”

You look down at the few Elves roaming in the courtyard, Fëanor’s statue illuminated by the soft light of the morning. “And what have they said of me?”

He leans against the balustrade. “An Elf once cast out by her people, called Morgoth’s servant despite doing it to survive and when fled chained once again by her own kind. Fulfilled her punishment here in Eregion and started to move away from darkness within her, became a trusted Elven smith and a healer where her work only blossomed.” he looks down to the ring on your finger, worn out by time however you never corrected it, the broken stone still held. He says it like reading a passage from a book, you don’t turn to look at him. Your voice barely above a whisper.

“They trust you so easily.” you’re almost jealous and he knows. 

“They have not come to know me like they did you.” he reassures you. Once they do they will cower in fear.

You turn to face him, you sense the scheme within him. “You plan to use mithril. For what kind of weapon?”

“Not a weapon, it shouldn’t be too obvious. Something far more precious.” he looks down at you and smiles. “You’ll see, I believe it will be to your liking.”

“You think that Celebrimbor will let you into his workshop, a low-man?”

“Why wouldn’t he? I suppose I left a good impression.”

“Ah, of course.” you shake your head and smile under your nose.

The silence weighs between the two of you, some guards pass you by and the morning sky shines mercilessly. You start walking away from the parapet and into the streets, the small crowds surround you as you go by the merchant stalls, tall towers and small courts. 

“It’s refreshing. Seeing you here, feeling your presence, it’s… stronger.”

“Few hundred years had made their mark.” you respond and stop by a fountain, the water hums in your ears. 

“So did I.”

You look up at him and try not to roll your eyes. You admit he gave you tremendous help but the years you’ve spent in Eregion fell upon your shoulders. You knew you had to endure your stay a little longer, for his sake and yours. 

“Thank you.” you find yourself whispering. He knows you well enough to give you a small nod in exchange.

“Do not think that I will release you of the practice over your craft.”

You smile, this is what you needed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

next part -> bewitched

[weclassygirl]

Sauron burning through Middle Earth in the Second Age, inspired by medieval millefleur tapestries and Tolkien's watercolor painting of Sauron

[weclassygirl]

*Every fic is written with fem!reader*

✨ - smut

Sauron x fem!elf!reader (witch) - ongoing series

bound - Reader is captured from the comfort of her home to serve the Dark Lord, Morgoth. his loyal servant lures her further into darkness.

visions - The high king makes his judgement, a new path opens.

deception - Years pass in Eregion and reader learns how much connected she is with Sauron.

scheme - Reader meets her shadow in the flesh as two riders enter Eregion

✨ bewitched - Years of tension and yearning come crashing down

wonders - Creation of the Rings is quite demanding, Lord of Gifts is here to ensure their completion

✨ control - Reader tests the limits of her powers while Celebrimbor slowly loses his sanity, Lord of Gifts is more than pleased

Adar x reader { to be added }

[weclassygirl]

*Every fic is written with fem!reader*

you’ll be fine {neil x reader} - Reader gets shot by andrei and neil tries to go in reverse to keep you alive.

midnight conversations {neil x reader}

feel it  01 / 02 / 03 / 04  {neil x reader, miniseries, FINISHED} - Reader gets recruted by Neil

Moodboards: The Protagonist / Neil / Ives / Red and Blue