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dinsbeskar · 22 days ago

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Evil Will Find Her (Sauron/F!Reader)

He has waited so long to have you again, he cannot wait until you reunite in the flesh; or:

Sauron gets off on thinking of you thinking of him, despite the distance in time and space between you

Sequel to In the Dark of the Night // AO3 Link

Songs to listen to: Through Glass by Stone Sour, Closer by Nine Inch Nails

I'm looking at you through the glass Don't know how much time has passed Oh God, it feels like forever But no one ever tells you that forever feels like home Sitting all alone inside your head

Warnings: smut! goo!Sauron, male masturbation, mentions of oral sex (female receiving), finger/P in V sex, biting, kinda rough sex, praise kink and degradation (only a little, he calls you a slut, sorry, he is Sauron though, man idk), Sauron POV, he is super down bad and also recovering from being literal goo

A/N: I tried so hard not to use the word 'goo' lmfao, considering that's what Sauron is for half the fic! So this is the sequel to In the Dark of the Night, the scenes will mirror each other but not quite... you'll see.

Word Count: 2.8k!

After centuries in the caverns beneath Forodwaith, he had finally escaped. Not that he was any closer to reclaiming you, not in his current state, a seething mass of something dark and primordial, but he could at last seek you out. The only thing he knew was hunger, consuming everything in his path; the only discernable notion in his mind, clouded and murky, was to find you. He had only an inkling that some time had passed since you'd been in his arms, and even less of an idea of where you would be, but he was patient. He could wait, as he had waited many times before for you.

Creature after pathetic creature he gathered and consumed, slowly regaining shreds of his former self, piece by tiny piece, until he was able to drag himself, formless and near-liquid, across the frozen wastelands of the North. The only guiding light in his current unfeeling state was the vague grasping notion of you, waiting for him, yearning and enduring for him, and it pushed him on, gave him strength to endure when all hope was lost.

His mind reaches out for you, across plains and rivers, over mountains and into the halls you now call home. The first time he does this, he has not the strength to make himself known to you, and can only regard you from afar. It takes all of his efforts to merely behold you for a second before you vanish in his mind's eye. If he was capable of sound, all of Middle Earth would have heard his guttural scream of frustration. However, in his current form, he emitted barely a weak gasp masquerading as an exasperated sigh, before falling still and unmoving for at least a week, unable to drag himself any further after weakening himself for just a glance at you. It was worth it. When he awakens, he tries again, and again, the effort lessening every time, but it still feels like forever until he finally regains enough power to reach out and touch you, a tingle across your lips, a tendril of his will wrapping around you.

You're seemingly unaware of his presence, though you react to the stimuli he provides. Your thoughts turn more and more to him, even as you try to push them away, heart shattered after so much time apart, the heartache he caused you in simply being himself. The more you push them away, the more they come unbidden, in your dreams and waking thoughts, until you can no longer ignore them.

This makes it easier for him, you leaving the door ajar, to slither into your mind and wrap himself around your heart once more. You thought you had moved on from his betrayal, the knowledge of his true self having shattered your desire to have him close. Your need for him however was not so easily undone; no matter how much you told yourself you were better off free of him and his inevitable path of destruction, your souls were inextricably bound together, and no earthly power could sunder you. In his primordial oozing state, the terrible ache deep in your souls, yearning for the touch of the other, was all he could feel, and he neither knew nor cared from whom it originated. It was all he could do, limbless and liquid, to revel unthinking in this torment, to bask and rot in the empty void between you; for to suffer in your absence was sweeter than never having known you at all.

The only salve for your unceasing ache was his touch on your skin, his words in your ear, his fëa wrapped around yours as your fervent light battles with his blazing darkness. And you would have it. He swore to you eons ago that you would never be without him; you cursed him for that promise a thousand times, and yet the thought of his desertion was a knife between the ribs.

He awakes in a freezing wooden wagon, lying on his back surrounded by bloody detritus as the pale morning light greets his rebirth. For a moment, he has no idea where he is, who he is, or how he came to be here. It is only by looking around, as he takes in the visceral scene before him, that it all comes flooding back.

White hot pain in his shoulders, between his ribs, daggers twisting in his gut.

Darkness, pitch black nothingness.

Hunger.

Centuries of freezing cold, leagues of endless empty wasteland.

You.

He can't catch his breath as he remembers the last time he saw you, guilt flooding through him in nauseous waves, the cruel twisted things he had said to you and the malice you had thrown back in return. He can't even conjure his wrath, grateful that you had abandoned Forodwaith in your fit of temper when you had, lest you'd been caught up in the events of his coronation.

Coronation. He inhales harshly, revelling in the cold air in his sinuses; the tiny sensations for which he must be thankful, he thought bitterly.

Weak with the effort of reconstituting himself, he slowly pushes himself to sit, idly rifling through the possessions of the unfortunate peasant who had so graciously provided him with the sustenance he needed. He begins to root through the sacks and chests, looking for anything to protect himself from the persistent chill outside. He gathers some clothes from a sack in the corner, pulling on a cloak haphazardly; in doing so, he knocks a stack of letters that cascade across the floor. One catches his attention.

He skims the contents and realises it is an old love letter, the page discoloured and brittle with age. The scrawled, pretty words are trifles in comparison to everything you have shared, but the way it is signed lingers in his memory.

Forever devoted, your Halbrand.

He does need a name after all.

With a smirk, he tosses the letter aside and makes his way towards the sunlit back of the wagon. The moment his bare feet touch the ground, he can't help but grin with relief.

In fact, to say he is relieved is an understatement. He is a Maia, one of the greatest of all beings in creation, reduced to crawling in the dirt for centuries. To regain any kind of fair form is a blessing, and it is with appreciation now that he regards his limbs, feels the cold hard ground beneath his bare feet, and finds clarity in the brisk northerly wind on his face. His first thought, as ever, is of you. Where are you, are you well, are you thinking of him? He senses that you are leagues away, but senses you he does. Satisfaction takes him over and he laughs, uplifted now that he finally knows for sure that he is on your mind.

Day becomes night, and he eventually stops to rest, unused to needing to do so; he muses over his small fire how you'll greet him when he returns. How he longs for your sweet kisses, however they'll feel in this strange form. He clings to the memory of your breath on his face, your laugh in his ear, the scent of your sweat-slicked skin beneath his. His longing turns to rage before long; the time you both had lost would never be regained. Your long lives would give you every chance to do so, but he cherished whatever time he spent with you, and this wasted time would not be forgotten.

He would have his revenge on the Uruk who dared defy him, who must have assumed merely destroying his physical form would kill him. More's the pity, for Sauron's wrath was great and his will greater. It might take a hundred years or a thousand, but his revenge would be as sweet as the memories he had of you, of the time together that had been stolen from you.

Usually he has no need for sleep, but in dreams, he can join you, so he lays down on the frozen ground next to the dying embers of his fire and waits for you. It's not long before he finds himself in your chambers, breathing in your scent. He has been here before, tried to make contact with you, but in his weakened state he could do nothing but watch you, every night feeling like forever without your touch. Now he can make himself known, and he does just that.

You're lying on your bed, and he thinks to lie down next to you, as he has so many times before, and stroke your hair and tell you he'll be with you soon, that he is counting the seconds until you're in his arms again.

However you surprise him, as you often do, even after all this time. It's what he loves most about you.

You're clearly focused on something, brow furrowed, and before he can slip into your mind further, you cast off the sheets, and trail a hand down to between your thighs. He can't help but grin as he realises what he is witness to. You used to become so flustered when he asked you to do this for him, to touch yourself and think of him, and even now your cheeks are red. His previous attempts to touch you have been in vain, like catching smoke in the wind, the veil between you thwarting his every effort. He brushes a finger over your face adoringly and you sigh contentedly. Did you feel that? He wonders, because as happy as he is to watch you chase your pleasure, he would much rather join in.

Watching you sweat and pant his name always does something delicious to him, satisfying that dark ever-present urge to defile and corrupt you. Savouring every filthy noise he elicits from you, the whines in your throat, the wet sounds of his cock inside you, dragging over every sensitive inch of flesh until there is no thought in your head but of him and your lovemaking.

Your tiny whimpers become moans as he delves between your thighs, delighting in how wet you are. It used to fascinate him, when he first bedded you, just how needy and slick you would get, and he can't deny that fascination never faded. He can't get enough of the taste of you, would happily subsist on you for the rest of his days, and you would probably let him, given the unearthly sounds currently escaping your lips.

His attention wanders to his own pleasure as he realises he is so fucking hard, and he is leagues away from being able to fuck you until you can't stand the next day. He hasn't explored this new form yet, and briefly wonders if you would approve. The peasant who revived him was mortal, and so he seems to have taken the form of a mortal man; would that repulse or thrill you? If you knew it was him, you wouldn't care, he knows this, but he still wonders.

He pulls out his cock and regards it, not having paid it much attention until now. It looks like any other, perhaps thicker than his last, a little longer maybe, but he doesn’t have much with which to compare. You would be the ultimate judge in that regard, and the only one that matters. Most importantly, it feels just as good in his fist as he dreams of you, fingers inside your needy cunt as you moan his name. How long it has been since he heard it, his breath hitches and he strokes faster, keeping in time with the thrusts he makes into you, using all his regained powers to satisfy you like only he knows.

"Are you my good girl, love?" He moans out loud as he has so many times before, not expecting a response but-

"Yes, for you, only you..." You whimper, arching your back, reaching for his touch, and he melts, forehead pressed against yours as he moans your name into the dark. How fucking perfect you are, how eager you are to be his, so ready and willing to fuck the shadows for him.

How times had changed since you saw each other last. It thrilled him to know you still wanted him, needed him, had put any thought of abandoning him from your mind, had embraced him as your husband, your lover, your protector, of course you had, and he arched into his fist as you keened under his attentions, leagues away in your bed.

How could you think for a second that you were not his, wholly and completely? That he could not simply find and have his way with you whenever he cared to? You must know that he would rather be your undoing than let you leave him.

He wants only to ravage you, to pin you down and leave your skin painted with bruises, marking you as his, trails of purple and blue leading to your aching cunt. To possess you, body and soul, chained to him for all eternity.

He would build a temple to your flesh, no, of your flesh, and desecrate it with his seed, worship you as his equal, pray to you with tender kisses and the blood of your enemies, if only to feel your skin on his, your light on his face once more.

He wraps a hand around your throat and groans, running his thumb across your skin and collecting your sweat.

"So good for me, so needy, so fucking perfect, waiting for me to fill you over and over," he moans as he leans down, phantom tongue swiping your throat, the salt of your sweat inflaming his senses all the more.

He wants nothing more than to bury himself within you, to climb inside you and never leave, if that is what it would take to never be parted from you again. He wonders how much of him you could take before your screams of pleasure turn to pain.

You're both so lost in your lust, he has no idea if you're here with him or he's there with you, but he'll take it greedily and without question.

He bites the shell of your ear, nipping just hard enough that you react, hand flying to your face. He grabs it and kisses your palm, rutting into you like an animal.

"Always so good for me," he whispers in your ear, willing you to hear him more than ever, "look how you take my cock so well, the way you stretch around me, always such a good little slut for me."

You asked him once how he could worship and degrade you in a single breath; he'd told you they were the same thing.

Whether the timing of his words is a coincidence, he is unsure; you come hard, orgasm wracking your body while you moan and keen under his spectral touch.

Your walls tighten around him, you both hiss with pleasure, and he can't hold back any longer, pleasure building to an unbearable crescendo. He lets loose a string of curses, spilling himself on his thighs, christening his new mortal form and gasping your name.

His tenuous link to your pleasure is broken, and he curses once more, wanting nothing more than to wrap himself around you, to fuck you through your orgasm until you're whining and overstimulated, too sensitive under his flaming touch.

There is no such thing as a chance meeting, every passing encounter preordained to fulfil a purpose, and he thanks the Valar every day that despite all he had suffered that they had put you in his path. Fate was no small thing and it had bound you all this time, unwavering in the face of defeat and suffering and war and Morgoth, all of which wanted to sunder you from him. It is with that thought that he presses on.

He meets a group of Men who are bound for a ship to take them across the sea for a new life. At first he wants nothing to do with it; he knows where he is going, finally going home, wherever you are. But the old man is insistent, that perhaps his path lays in the West.

There are no chance meetings. If the old man advises Numenor, then perhaps it is his destiny to seek the descendants of men who had destroyed his aspirations centuries ago; the long road of revenge will lead him back to you, of that he was certain.

#sauron x reader #halbrand x reader #annatar x reader #the rings of power #not me naming the two parts after an anastasia song lmfao #i was surprised when it came out more vulgar than part 1 but tbh it is from his pov and frankly he's not a nice person lmfao #it is what it is #but yeah he is fantasising about you and lets loose a little too much #you know that gentle lover he was in the last one #yeah nah #my fic

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last-starry-sky · 6 months ago

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too sweet pt 4 - innocent!reader x graves

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

✨Thank you again to the lovely @shotmrmiller for letting me work off of her original idea!🌟

NSFW(finally, lmao) - MIND THE WARNINGS - MDNI: [lots of pet names, oral, again i’m REALLY leaning into how much of a virgin reader is, religion mention, pov switches, loss of virginity, unprotected piv (cumming inside), more of graves being just the absolute worst in both ❤️ and 💀 flavors (it’s all in his head. No harm comes to our dear reader), Phil talks you through it, this is 13 pages (5.9k words) of me absolutely lost in the sauce, so buckle up friends. a/n at the end!]

You fell the short distance out of Phil’s arms to the bed with a soft oof! You bounced up once before his pillowy comforter surrounded you, sweetly swaddling you like baby. You closed your eyes, catching your breath as you surrendered your body into the cool, linen-freshness swallowing your body. You hoped closing your eyes and a few deep breaths would stop the ceiling from spinning. You told yourself that your stomach was turning from nerves, nothing else.

You really didn’t want puke to be a part of your first time.

You opened your eyes as Phil ran his hands up your legs, making room to stand between them. Your dress was still rucked up to your waist, the shamefully wet gusset of your panties on display. The way he looked at you had your hands curing into the sheets above your head. It was so dark. It was like nothing you’d seen cross your sweet boyfriend’s face before. Like a wolf ready to pounce, tear apart, consume.

It worried you, but you were still hitching your knees around his hips, pulling him closer. His hands squeezed at your hips. His dark visage took on a little of his old self as his eyes dipped, a playful smile creeping across his mouth.

Why were you such a liar to yourself? He could never scare you. He excited you. Every single time.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hands smoothed up to, then over, your underwear. You expected him to rip them off. Instead, he circled your waist, urging you to sit up as he pulled your dress off your body.

“There y’go, baby. Hands up,” he said, an edge of his usual humor in his dark voice, as he finally pulled the tight pink thing off you.

He doesn’t watch where he throws it. Somewhere in the room behind him, you think. You don’t know either. You can’t make yourself meet his stare, focusing your wobbling vision instead on your hands clenched in your lap, of the warmth of his body pouring into the space between you. You know he’s staring at your exposed breasts. That’s all that matters to him. A soft whistle falls from his lips as he wraps his hands around your thighs.

You hide your blush by ducking your head into your chest, reaching up behind your neck to unclasp your necklace. He stopped you with a hand on your chin, making you face him.

“Leave it on, doll,” he says before hauling you in for another kiss.

You don’t know why, but this kiss felt so more intimate than the others. You’re flushed and panting against him as he holds your jaw against his, slowly stroking your tongue with his. Maybe it’s because you’re almost completely naked, his warm hands brushing down your chilled back. Oh, you could just about beg him to keep touching you. It could be how he’s got you pressed flush against him, your nipples hardening against the cool cotton of his button down shirt and legs hitched on his hips. His hard dick is nudging at your pussy through his pants, making you whine when he ruts just right against your clothed nub. It feels weird, like nothing you’ve felt before. Weird, but damn if some basal part of you doesn’t crave it.

He broke the kiss, peeling himself away to pick you up again, just enough to throw you to the middle of the bed. He gets right back into position between your legs as you settle back into the fluff of his blankets. You don’t know what to do now as he takes a second to shimmy out of his button down. What does he expect of you? Should you lay back? Before you can overthink, you fall back onto your forearms. He tossed his shirt off the bed, his hair all ruffled, white undershirt pulled up to expose the muscles of his stomach, as he turns back to you.

“Fuck are y’ gorgeous like this, darlin’,” he says staring down at you while unbuckling his belt.

You wonder if he can feel your legs shake. You feel a fresh blush flush down your body. You chew on your bottom lip, trying not to stare as he lets his trousers fall down to his knees before kicking out of them. There’s a muffled metal jangle as the whole lot falls off the end of the bed to the floor.

“Now where were we . . .” he mused with a quiet laugh as he crawled over you, pushing your back flat to the mattress before cradling your head to his for another kiss.

You thought it wouldn’t be so different, having him on top of you. You had been grinding against each other for going on hours at this point. You were slowly getting used to what he felt like, how your bodies slotted together best, how he touched you, and where it made sense for you to touch him. The addition of his weight, though? Amazing. You loved it. The feel of all of his muscle and bone, being free to feel each other’s skin free of clothing, it had you trembling underneath him. To have a whole person, let alone this powerful, muscled man, resting between your thighs, your chest squished to his as he sucked open mouth kisses under your jaw, had you clawing at his hair and moaning sweetly into the dark.

“Thas’ it, baby. Tell me how y’like it,” he sighed as he continued kissing down your neck, his hands running down your sides, forcing a bow in the small of your back.

You moaned a high pitched ah! when he placed a delicate kiss to your nipple.

“Oh. Y’like that, do ya? My sensitive little thing,” he asked sucking the little nub into his mouth.

You answered with a high-pitched keen, your hands pressed into the pillow above you. It did feel good. So good. Your body felt so hot and damp, sheets and hair sticking to your skin. He continued to suck at your nipple, every once and a while catching it with his teeth while playing with your other. He rubbed smooth little circles around it until it was hard, then pinched it, forcing a whiny, pained moan from you.

Why was he doing this? He would make you feel so so good you felt like you were floating, just to turn on a dime to bite or pinch you were you were the most sensitive, pulling you out of the moment. You didn’t understand him.

You looked down. He had that wide, wry, hungry smile. Eyes hooded and dark. Dangerous. You gasped when he suddenly looked up, catching your stare like a predator.

“Sorry baby,” he said syrupy sweet, giving your nipple a quick kiss. “‘m playin’ with you. I know. Don’t mean to. Gonna make you feel good.”

You didn’t understand what he meant until he slid farther down your body, pulling your underwear with him as he rocked up onto his knees. Your eyes quickly snapped up to the ceiling. You couldn’t help but tremble, knees knocking together until he pulled your panties past them. He took your feet in hand as he shucked them off you completely. There was a light sound as they hit the hardwood floor somewhere in the abyss behind him.

He threw one of your legs to the side with a hand on your knee, stopping you from closing it back by slotting himself deftly back into place. You heard him breathe out a shuddering breath as he finally got a good, full look at you. His hand swept down your leg from your knee, falling closer and closer to your aching core.

“Phil,” you whined, so muffled by your arms covering your face that even you barely heard it.

A hand pushed your arms above your head, exposing your tear-filled eyes. He stared down at you, pushing your arms into the pillow with one hand, his other coming to rest on your stomach, just above your pussy.

“Listen to me now, baby, okay?” he said lightly tapping your mons with his thumb, refusing to let you break eye contact. “‘m gonna make you feel good. You know that, right?” When you didn’t answer, he leaned down over you. “I’d never, ever, hurt you,” he whispered, nose nudging yours as he spoke. “Love you too much. Want you . . . want you to enjoy this as much as I will.”

You were shocked silent for a moment. Tears dried in the corners of your eyes before you were able to squeak out, “Love me?”

“‘course,” he said pecking a kiss to your bottom lip.

You wanted so badly to grab him, to hold him close, to force him to kiss you again because, well . . . did you really need a reason? He just told you he loves you! You’d hoped for months that what you felt - you were over the moon for him from the moment you met - wasn’t really just a crush, a passing summer fling. You wanted to know that he was just as serious about your relationship as you were. You’d worried that the summer would end, you would go back to school, he would go off to some exotic and exciting place halfway around the world and your relationship would slowly peter out.

Eventually, you knew, he would forget about you. After all, you had been denying his advances to make your relationship physical for a while. No matter how gentle they were or how nicely he took your refusals, you knew he would get tired of asking eventually. Guys were like that. Or so you’d been told.

But now, he’d said he loved you. With those words, all of your anxiety washed away in one clean wipe, like a wave washing up the shore. All was good in the world. It put your mind at peace. Your apprehensions dissolved into his feather-light kisses and gentle touches. The only thing you wanted was to hear him say it over and over again but your couldn’t. All you could do was uselessly clench your hands in his strong grip.

His fingers stroked ever so slowly down the seam of your pussy. He was treating you like a feral cat or an unbroken horse; with a light touch, soft words, and persistence.

“Breathe,” he instructed, nuzzling into your neck again to kiss at the spot under your ear that made you moan.

You did, pulling in a deep, shuddering breath that cleansed your need to cry. He placed another kiss on your neck as he let your hands go. Finally. You laced your free arms around his shoulders immediately, feeling him smile as he continued to mouth kisses over your pulse.

“That’s good, darlin’. Relax. Just like that,” he whispered as he ran his hand down your side, still soothing you.

A moan punched out of your lungs when he pushed past your outer labia with a single finger, stroking just once, top to bottom, through your slick folds. You were sloppy, dripping wet. His head collapsed into the crook of your neck, a muffled, “fuck” following. He didn’t move, you trembled as his finger swirled up to circle around your clit.

“Ah! Phil,” you whined.

“I know. I know,” he huffed breathlessly, lifting himself off you.

He looked down your body to watch himself rub tight circles around your nub for a moment. He groaned before pulling his hand away. You cried out when he stopped, but he left no time for argument. He was grabbing the backs of both your knees, repositioning you open and shuffling backwards out of your grasp, laying kisses down your chest and stomach as he went.

“Lemme, fuck . . . just lemme make y’ feel good, sweets.” His mouth working farther south until you could feel his breath tickle your pussy. “Make you cum, promise,” he whispered, his next kiss tonguing at the base of your clit.

Your back arched, a needy “oh!” punched from your lungs. He didn’t wait for you to respond to dive in, thankfully. You were beyond words, already shaking from nerves and pleasure.

“Want to taste you so bad,” he mumbled as he kissed slowly down the hood of your clit before swiping at the exposed head with his tongue, a spike of pleasure following.

The feeling was amazing, unlike any pleasure you’d been able to bring yourself. You’d experimented before, by yourself, of course. Always in the dead of night, when you were certain your parents were asleep. You would wake up hot, a dream you couldn’t remember troubling you, making you ungodly slick in your pajamas. You would guiltily snake a hand down your body, trying not to move or make a sound as your finger slipped through the sopping mess you’d made. Those stolen moments were always something you would think of again in church with burning cheeks: how you’d sinned and now you must beg forgiveness. Not that you thought God would care, but you never could bring yourself to completion. You couldn’t find that beautiful, spine-chilling, white-hot peak that so many romance novels described.

It made you worry, as Phil gently swirled his tongue around your clit making you shiver, because he was clearly putting in a lot of effort. You really didn’t want to disappoint him. Didn’t want his first intimate memory of you to be one where he couldn’t make you cum.

“Hey,” he whispered, pulling himself out of your pussy just enough to look at you down your body. You squirmed as he held eye contact while licking another swipe up your clit. “Clos’ y’ eyes. Breathe. Relax.”

After you did all three, exactly as he asked, he gave your hip a squeeze before nuzzling himself back between your thighs.

“That’s my girl,” you heard him say before the lewd, wet clicking of his mouth against you filled the room.

He continued to gently lick at you, drawing loose circles with his tongue before sucking your nub into his mouth. He continued that pattern: slow, patient movements with an ungodly endurance, until your thighs started to shake against his head. You had been here before. A lovely hot coil budding in your gut, wrapping tighter and tighter. But this time, it wasn’t stopping.

Maybe this is what you had needed all along: someone to take control and do all the work for you. Someone who wouldn’t stop to look nervously toward the door, or worry if someone down the hall could hear, or even think about if this was morally wrong. All he cared about was you. Your pleasure, the soft plush of your thighs around his head, your voice cracking as you moaned his name and rocked your hips against his face.

Phil wound his arm around your leg, pressing your hips to the bed with a firm hand on your lower stomach. He used his leverage to splay you open before diving back in at that relentlessly slow pace. You threw your head back, a string of breathy pants falling from your mouth until Phil reached up to place your hands on his head. Your fingers carded through his soft hair. He tipped his slick-coated face to the side to sneak a peek at your blissed out face as his tongue pressed up the side of your clit. Your fingers tightened, grabbing a fistful of hair, as a delicious tingle danced at the edge of your clit, right were his tongue flicked.

“So sweet. Taste so good, baby,” he said in a breathy whine.

You couldn’t answer, only able to buck abortively against the strong arm holding you down, hoping it would make him pick up the pace. He laughed before lowering back down. His actions became harder and faster: nipping at your hood at every rotation as his tongue flicked aggressively against your poor, exposed pearl.

It was frustrating. He was no longer pulling you higher and higher as effortlessly. Everything he did, no matter how good it felt, was just maintaining your buzz. You could feel your clit vibrating you were so close, but he wasn’t pulling you over. It’s like he was teasing you with that tingle in your belly, giving you just enough to keep you moaning, begging, as you fell into the hot wet swipes of his tongue, before pulling back to make you work for it all over again. It made you cry in frustration.

It wasn’t enough. You needed more.

Your eyes were screwed shut when he pulled away and asked, “What, baby? What-”

“More!” you squeaked. “Please, more!”

He nodded as he readjusted your body to sling a leg over his shoulder. You cried out as his finger pressed to your spit-slicked clit with a pressure that you’d never felt. Your hands just couldn’t compare to his. It wasn’t fair. Electricity shot up your spine as you shivered in his arms at the white-hot pleasure that flared out.

“That’s my girl. There you go,” he whispered as he kissed down your clit to where his finger worked in hard, tight circles. You bucked into each roll, your hole clenching uselessly against nothing. “There you go,” he repeated as you shuddered, tip-toeing closer and closer to that edge.

Want became your mantra. You could feel it. You wanted it. You want. You want. You want.

“Please, Phil. Please,” your voice a thready whine. “Want to cum, so bad.”

“You can do it, baby,” he cooed sweetly against your mons. “I can feel ya. So tight. Y’so close.” He laid a kiss on your clit before looking up to catch your teary eyes. “Cum for me,” he commanded, with a voice fucked out, rough, stern.

And, oh, did you follow him.

It was just enough. Like a breath blowing the head off a dandelion, it sent you scattering into a million pieces. You snapped beneath him, a scream tearing from your throat as your leg clamped down on Phil’s shoulder. Your fingers tore at his hair, the only thing grounding you, as you lost control of your body. You writhed against the sheets, struggling to draw in air as electrical pleasure fried your brain. It was beautiful at the top. A pure and white peaceful glow: no sound but your own breathy moans, no feeling but your boyfriend’s fingers swirling again and again over your twitching clit, extending your flight.

You never wanted to forget this moment.

You rolled your head to the side as over-stimulation hit, whining at the feeling of the cool pillow beneath you. A sudden jolt back into the real world. Phil stopped touching you without you having to tell him, which was nice. Your whole body went slack, dazed, pliant. You didn’t think you could form words at the moment even if you wanted.

Phil groaned as he rose up from between your legs. The sudden loss of his warmth made you whine again. You were struck with this intense, emotional need to keep him next to you. He’s yours, an animal part of your brain told you. Do not let him go.

It made you roll your head to the side and open you eyes. You were just in time to see him pull his undershirt off his head, wiping his mouth with it before rolling it down his arms. Your eyes widened at the dark design across his left pectoral, right above his heart. You looked up at him nervously, wondering why he never told you he had a tattoo.

“Yeah,” he said looking down at the eagle topped globe, an anchor roughly rendered behind it, swiping at it with his thumb like he wanted to wipe it away. “Got it when I was young. Stupid. Too much money,” he said with a small smile as he finally tossed his shirt to the side. He rubbed your hip as he looked down at you with a smoldering gaze. “Hope that doesn’t ruin anything.”

“No,” you whispered, head rolling back and forth as you suddenly found the courage to let your eyes trail down his body.

Good God, what a body he had. You knew he was fit from the tight fitting t shirts and shorts that fell just above his knees that he wore all summer. He had been on the edge of bulky when you first met him but had tapered down into a more lean physique through the long, lazy summer. His chest and arms were his pride, you’d gathered, from how he refused to let them go soft with the rest of his muscles. After all, he needed a place for you to rest your head, didn’t he? And how could he let himself not be strong enough to pick you up and carry you around? To have everything revealed to you, to see how his chest tapered into his waist, how his hips (now supporting your legs) poked above the band of his briefs . . . that he was rolling down his thigh with his free hand.

Phil didn’t break his gaze, drinking in the nervous, almost fatally curious, expression on your face as he took his time shuffling off his underwear. He went a little bit down on one side, just to the bend of his hip, then slid his hand across the elastic, ignoring his cock, to push the other side farther down. It was unnecessarily slow, but he loved teasing you. Loved watching you react even more. One of your hands was already clenched around nothing as it rest against your stomach. The other was plastered across your mouth. Your hand couldn’t cover how wide your eyes were, or how your eyebrows went from bunched in concern to halfway up your forehead in surprise.

It made him smile as he finally pulled himself from his briefs, revealing himself to you. Your eyes darted suddenly away, but you couldn’t smother the soft, “oh” that fell from you lips or the fresh blush spreading down your chest. It was delicious.

He took his time pushing his underwear down his muscled thighs, stepping toward you on his knees to get them shuffled down his lower legs. The time it took was no bother. Why rush when he had the most beautiful creature in the world right in front of him?

He held your legs open, petting your skin with slow, soft circles, as he looked at the glossy mess he’d created between your legs. It was amazing. You were wet from your bikini line to your thighs, and it was sweetly pooled in every crevice. He couldn’t help but reach out, running the tips of his fingers through the slick pooled around your clit.

“Phil-” you cried, covering your face with both hands.

You tried to jerk your legs closed too, but he was too quick. He caught them, forcing your knees back around his hips. This was as good a sign as any that it was time to move things along.

“Shhh, baby. It’s okay,” he whispered, leaning down on his elbows to hold you in his arms.

He had to peel your hands away from your face to get a look at you. There was no way he was going to miss out on how you looked through all of this. He knew this position wouldn’t be the most comfortable for you, but he couldn’t help but be a little bit more selfish. You would understand one day that your pain was worth the look he caught as his cockhead nudged accidentally against your clit, sliding effortlessly up through the combination of slick and saliva.

You just looked so helpless, so lost. It should have hurt him, how could you not trust him after everything he’s done so far? Nevermind the amazing orgasm he just gave you. But he was an adult: a man with a deep, dark, corrupted soul, so he understood. You needed him to continue leading you. Lucky you, leadership came naturally to him.

He wiped a line of tears from your lashes as he held your face in his hands.

“What’s wrong, darlin’? Doin’ okay?” he asked.

You shook your head yes, squeezing out fresh tears from your eyes as you gripped his hands.

“Just . . .” you warbled out, trying to catch your breath, “just scared.”

“Why you scared, baby?”

“It’s . . . is it . . .” you said trying to turn your head to look down your body to where he was pressed to you, cock barely humping through that sinful slick. “Is it gonna hurt?”

He let out the breath he was holding. “No, sweetie,” he said shaking his head. “Not if you listen and do what I tell you. You can do that, right?”

He added a little smile at the end and you smiled back with a nod, tears drying. He felt his cock pulse as he leaned down to kiss you. Of course you would be so good, do as you’re told, let him take care of you.

A path straight to hell, and you’re paving it with easy choices and good intentions.

He pushed further down to deepen the kiss, tongue laving over your lips until you tipped your head back with a sigh, opening your mouth, letting him in. It would be a good distraction for what he had to do next. He propped himself up with his free arm, reaching down to notch his cockhead at your entrance. It’s rough and sloppy, not being able to see where he’s going. The mess between your legs didn’t help either. He slid his cock around through your slick, coating his hand as he barely missing your vagina several times before an aggressive nudge of his hips popped it in.

It knocked the breath out of you. He felt you clench at the head of his cock, breaking away from the kiss with a breathless whine. He stopped you before you could protest.

He nuzzled into your neck and groaned, “Fuuuck, baby. I’m in. That’s it. I’m in.”

You still squirmed and whined. He should have known you would need more direct instruction.

“Listen to me, darlin’,” he said breathless, picking himself back up to look at you, nudging his cock around experimentally, trying to work himself further into that tight, heavenly chanel. “Look at me,” he commanded.

You stopped, opening your eyes. They’re rimmed with fresh tears.

“Gotta relax okay, baby? Or else it’s gonna hurt. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

He watched you let out a few shallow breaths, chest heaving with each one, before inhaling one deep one. You held the breath for a second before pursing your lips in a pretty circle, blowing it out.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said with a nod.

“‘kay. Now, listen to me,” he said leaning over you enough to let his hair brush over your face, mattress squawking as he pressed your legs to your chest. A low ohhh wringing out of your throat. Your heels caught on his hips. “Gonna push in a lil’ bit, but you gotta stay relaxed. Can’t clench, okay?”

Not that he couldn’t wait to feel you clenching around him. Fuck, he couldn’t even imagine how tight, how wet, how fuckin’ good, you would feel around him. He was pulsing just imagining it. You were his little virgin, after all. He was going to be your first and only and he was going to feel it, all of it.

“Let me know if it hurts and I’ll stop,” he said with a groan, forcing himself deeper inside.

You didn’t say anything, just wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, forcing his face down into the crook of your shoulder. He placed a kiss there, right on the chain of your necklace. He waited a few seconds as he held your hips, then finally began to pull his cock in and out just a bit. Good Lord, he was fucking you. Finally fucking you. A low whine, like a wolf or coyote howling far off in the distance, rattled in the back of your throat, almost too quiet to hear.

He pulled against your arms, breaking your weak hold easily, to look at you again. You looked tired. Fucked out and exhausted, with half-lidded eyes barely able to stay open. That sheen of glitter-like sweat was back, sparkling down the column of your neck and across your temples. You had let your arms fall over your head, and there they still lay, heavy against the pillow. His poor girl was tuckered.

“Okay?” he asked, trying to keep the movement of his hips smooth and shallow.

He’ll do whatever he has to now to have you enjoy this, however slow and gentle he had to be. It’s bait. He needs to plant himself in the back of your mind. That will get you to come back for more, to want to stay, stay here with him. That’s when he’ll work his magic. Ambushing you right when you feel safe. Catch his pretty little prey in his snare and never let you go. Unfortunately for him, that meant not blowing his load the second he felt your slick run down his shaft.

“Yeah,” you croaked. Keeping your eyes open and following his voice taking all of your sapping strength.

“Hurt?” he asked, picking up his pace, but not trying to force anymore of his cock in you.

Just have to get in a little more, he tells himself. Work her open a little more and then you can.

“No . . .” you said with a whine, letting your head roll to the side, eyes closing, as you fell into his comfortable rhythm. Phil watched as your breasts swirled in time to his thrusts. Such a pretty dance they did. He had to bite his lip from leaning down to nip at them. “Just a little sore.”

“Like you pulled a muscle?” he said with a smile, brushing the sweat-slicked hair from your forehead. “That’s normal, babe. You’re doin’ so good.”

You nodded back at him, cheeks flushing as he trailed his fingers down your face. You were so cute like this. He let his hand brush innocuously over the little silver cross in the hollow of your neck as he pulled it back.

What a good girl you were.

“‘s lot for your poor little kitty to take all at once, honey,” he said sweetly, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. He was ramping up his pace as his own pleasure curled within him, his hips snapping into yours with a wet smack as they met. He felt himself push deeper and deeper into you, your greedy pussy swallowing everything he gave you. Before he knew it, fuck, he was right where he wanted to be. “Don’t you worry, you’ll feel all better by the mornin’.”

You turned to meet his mouth with a whine. He caught you, sealing his lips over yours as he pounded full thrusts into your wet hole. His need was clouding his mind, narrowing his vision to a pinpoint centered on the thought of his cock bruising your sweet little cervix. You opened your mouth, to scream or moan he’ll never know, but he was right there, prepared, diving in to silence you with his tongue. You clenched down on him as he smothered your voice and it had him seeing stars.

Not that he had to make this last any longer, but it just felt so good. He would have fucked you all night if you let him, pulling back as he came close to that peak, denying himself climax until the very end, until you begged him to finally cum in your sore pussy.

Later. One day, he told himself.

Tonight was the end of phase one. Tomorrow began phase two. It was the next step of the plan he had so carefully executed over the last couple months. If this went well, he was in the clear, golden. He sighed with contentment as you tipped back your head and moaned. He would have you, completely and finally. All he had to do was follow his plan.

He couldn’t ignore how badly he wanted to cum anymore. His cock was so engorged it was getting increasingly harder to pull out of you, especially now that you were clamping down on him every time he managed to nail you right in the cervix.

He pulled himself out of his head and let his body control the last of his actions. He pulled you into his arms, buried his face in your neck and whined out, “Fuuuuck baby. Fuck. Feel so good. I’m gonna-”

When he felt your legs wrap up around his back with a whine, he sent out one last message from the rational part of his brain: Don’t pull out. He could only hope the other side of him would obey.

He didn’t remember much once the endorphin rush of his orgasm hit. He felt you wrap your arms around his neck, and your heels bury into the small of his back. You might have even whined out his name. All he could follow was the play-by-play of those last few seconds after: ramming himself in as deep as he could, the feeling of his cock expanding within you, pushing back against those taut muscles, then he was lost in the rush of his seed pumping deep deep within.

He remembered a groan as he reluctantly pulled himself off, then out, of you. How small you looked, sweating and trembling against the sheets as he searched the bed for a blanket. He was still in a haze as he pulled your back to his chest, pawing at the blanket with no motor control in an attempt to share it between the two of you.

It felt amazing to finally have you here: falling asleep, skin to skin, in his bed. He let out a long breath, stretching his legs down the bed, as his mind cleared. He could still feel your heart pounding where he held you in his arms. How quickly you had surrendered to sleep. He buried his face in your hair and inhaled the last remnants of your fruity shampoo - or was it your body spray? he didn’t remember - through the sweat and sex in the air. Only then did he finally let himself doze off.

He needed all the sleep he could get. Tomorrow was a big day.

a/n: hello. it’s me. The girlie who ACTUALLY popped her cherry in her late twenties :) Also, sorry this took so long!!! I have no good explanation besides the fact that I was working on other things for lovely anons. I took a lot of time trying to get everything feeling just right and I still feel like it’s not great :( (i feel i will never write a good orgasm i s2g) but here it is! It’s also very loooong because i wanted all of the sex DONE and in one goddamn chapter. Anywho, hope you all like it!

#mw2 #graves/reader #graves x reader #cod fanfic #starry writes #call of duty #cod mw2 #maybe . . . one more chapter after this? idk we'll see. i do have plans tho :-)#maybe one day i will write sex positions besides missionary but today is not that day #last edit to make all the parts match wooo

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