#you know where this came from?? halbrand's chest hair

[dinsbeskar]

so I'm actually in the middle of 5 different vignettes/chapters now, I need to be stopped, send help

[notreallythatlost]

AT YOUR FEET

➴ halbrand/sauron x female!elf!reader

summary: you are an elf, cast out by your people thousands of years ago. now you are sauron’s lover and he promised to give you what you want most: revenge and the satisfaction of all your desires.

warnings: 18+, mdni, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, knife play, sex on the floor, slight biting, reader is on sauron’s side, a little fluff in the end

word count: 1.8k

author‘s note: well… here i am writing about sauron again. i’m so obsessed with him and i know y’all are too. 🤭 i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoy writing about him. and thank you all for the support, it means so much to me. you are amazing, never forget that. xx

The forge was almost completely dark when you entered. Only the flickering embers in one of the furnaces provided light, which fell on the man who stood with his back to you.

“I knew I would find you here,” you said with a gentle smile, which made him turn to you.

“What are you doing here? Is Galadriel sending you to convince me to accompany you?” he asked, looking at you with an impenetrable gaze.

You couldn’t help but grin and shake your head slightly. “You should know by now that I don't let myself get ordered around. Especially not by someone like Galadriel.”

Halbrand raised his eyebrow, but smiled when he catched you in his arms as you ran towards him.

Your arms wrapped around his neck and you looked up at him. “I know you want to see Númenor fall, my love. But let's go back to Middle Earth. You've waited so long for this moment, why not take the chance?” you asked, but Halbrand silenced you by putting his index finger on your lips. Your eyes met his and it was as if your insides were bursting into flames.

“I'm going back to Middle Earth. And then what?” he asked quietly and pushed you back until your back hit the wall while he looked you deeply in the eyes.

You held his gaze and stroked slowly over his chest with one hand.

“You, my Dark Lord, will bring your enemies to their knees. Right where they belong,” you breathed as he came closer to you and you could already feel his warm breath on your lips.

“Keep talking...” he whispered and you had to smile again, pushing him back a little.

“You will let them feel your power and all of Middle Earth will be at your feet. To worship their king, the true king of-“

Your words were drowned out by a kiss as Halbrand pressed his lips greedily to yours. It was as if he was starving and your lips were the only thing capable of keeping him alive while he devoured you.

His breathing was heavy as he pulled away from you slightly. “Not quite,” his words were only a breath, a soft touch against your already swollen lips and he pushed your hair behind your shoulder with one hand.

“They will be at your feet, my love.”

With that, he kissed you again and pressed you against the wall with the weight of his body. His hands grasped your face, held you in place while his tongue pushed into your mouth. A low moan escaped you and you were ready to surrender to him right here, but he seemed to have other plans for you.

His hands slid down your body, long fingers finding the hem of your dress. As soon as he grabbed the soft cotton, he pushed it up, revealing your bare thighs to the warm air of the forge.

The heat between your legs was almost unbearable and you longed for his touch — so much that you thought you were going to lose your mind.

Halbrand seemed to enjoy the torture he did to you, because he pulled away from your lips and watched as your head fell back the closer he got to your throbbing center.

You were just about to raise your head when he slipped a finger through your folds, causing a breathless moan to escape from you. He didn't make a game of it, because not a second later two of his fingers slipped inside of you.

The intensity of this touch made your knees go weak and you sank down slightly, but Halbrand held you tight. “And I thought I should be the one kneeling in front of you,” he commented with a wicked smile and began to move his fingers.

Your hands dug into the fabric of his clothes and your head fell forward against his shoulder. It felt so good and yet it wasn't enough. You wanted, no, you needed more.

He seemed to sense it too, because he withdrew his fingers from you again. They glistened with your juices in the light of the fire and Halbrand brought them to your lips. “Be a good girl and open your mouth,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and you obeyed him.

Your lips closed around his fingers and you whimpered softly at the taste of yourself on your tongue. You sucked on his fingers, as your gazes were locked but he didn't wait long before removing his fingers from you again. His hands quickly grabbed under your thighs and lifted you up in one fluid movement.

You immediately wrapped your legs around his waist, your hands buried in his hair desperately. “You will get your revenge. And I will watch with joy as you rise from the ashes. As my queen,” his voice was so deep by now that every single one of his words let your insides clench around nothing, desperate to finally feel him inside of you.

Halbrand carries you away from the wall and to one of the tables where he sets your feet down on the floor again. His hands left your body, grabbing one of the daggers which layed on the table next to you. “And then I will be the one who lies at your feet...” With these words, he tears the thin fabric of the dress apart with the dagger, exposing your naked chest.

Your breathing was heavy as you looked up at him, but he didn’t look away from you. As if you were more beautiful than anything he had ever seen in his long life.

He placed the blade on your collarbone and ran it over your skin. He looked deep into your eyes as he moved the dagger further down. It caused goosebumps to spread across your body and you bite your lower lip to suppress the moan.

His gaze dropped to your breasts and he let the blade slide over your stiff nipple. Your breath caught and you felt like you were suffocating, you wanted him so much.

“Sauron,” you whispered his name and finally, his gaze met yours again. There was a hunger in his eyes, the same hunger that raged deep inside you. The knife slid down your torso before he put it back on the table. Softly his hands cupped your face and he kissed you again. With such passion that you moaned into his mouth.

Together you sank to your knees, kissing until he gently pushed your shoulder back so that you had to lie down on the floor.

Halbrand leaned over you slowly and stroked his hand over your cheek and neck until he finally reaches your breasts. His thumb touched your nipple and you arched yourself against him.

The touch elicited a longing moan from you and you saw a smile creeping onto Halbrand's face. “Let me feel everything of you,” you whispered with a broken voice, too desperate to keep it steady.

“Well, I could never deny you this wish, my queen,” he answered as he started to free himself. He was so big, so perfect, and the sight of him made your mouth water everytime.

Your fingers close around the hem of your dress, which you slowly pulled up and revealed yourself to him. Halbrand settled between your legs and let the tip of his cock slide over your entrance slowly, even torturing. A taste of what was about to come.

With a single movement of his hips, he thrusted his full length into you and put his hand over your mouth to muffle your scream.

“Shhh,” he breathed in your ear and began to move his hips slowly. “As much as I want to hear your beautiful little screams for me, you don't want anyone to catch us, don’t you?,” he continued, releasing his hand from you again.

But you couldn’t help but moan when he hit a sensitive spot inside you and you wrapped your legs around him to feel him even deeper.

He took it as a sign and started to speed up. His hands wandered up your body, catching your head as it fell to the side.

“Look at me,” he gasped as he moved his hips forward again. It was hard to do what he said because he filled you so perfectly, hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars. You felt like you were floating, lost in the feeling of endless desire.

Halbrand found grasp in your hair and buried his fingers in the soft strands. He pulled your head back, gaining access to your neck. He kissed, bit and sucked on the thin skin there until you writhed beneath him.

“Please,” you moaned and trembled as the orgasm slowly builds up inside you. You couldn’t think of anything else except the desire to finally find release and Halbrand could feel it.

“Easy, love,” he breathed against your skin. His fingers dug into your hips, so tightly that you knew it would leave marks.

And you knew that later he would tenderly caress these marks, because they were the sign of your lovemaking — that you belonged to him, even though nobody else could see it.

He pushed himself into you again, this time even harder. He had no mercy in fucking you into the floor and enjoyed the sounds of pure pleasure that came from your lips.

And when he touched your sensitive bud, you couldn’t hold back any longer. Everything inside you tensend until you finally feel like you're falling. You screamed his name breathlessly while your body trembles under the waves of the orgasm.

He fucked you through it until he found his own release. His upper body fell forward and he supported himself with his hands next to you. Breathing heavy and with closed eyes, he emptied himself into you. Finally, he sank onto your smaller body and you let your hands glide softly through his dark locks.

“I take that as a yes” you broke the silence that had fallen over you and got his attention.

“What do you mean by that?” Halbrand asked curiously and looked up at you.

“Are you coming back with me to Middle Earth?" you asked and watched him sit up. A soft whimper escaped you as he slipped out of you by that.

After he had put his pants back on he crouched down in front of you again. Halbrand offered you his hand and pulled you back into a sitting position, taking your face gently in his hands.

“I would follow you everywhere, my love. And if you wish to go back to Middle Earth, I'll come with you,” he whispered against your lips before giving you a gentle kiss. After that he let go of you and stood up, ready to leave the room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you asked and watched as he turned to you again and let his gaze glide over you, full of renewed desire.

“I'll get you something to wear. I'm definitely not letting you go like this.”

2024 notreallythatlost

[sansaorgana]

— DAUGHTER OF THE MOON (I)

PART TWO || PART THREE

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader (Celebrimbor's Daughter)

SUMMARY — When Halbrand arrives to Eregion, he finds out that Lord Celebrimbor's wife was the last one of the Moon Elves of Middle-earth, therefore her daughter might be the most useful in his schemes.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Reader's appearance is not described and her mother comes from a group of Elves that I came up with myself for the sake of this fic and its plot – the Moon Elves. In my fic, they were the ones who invented moon letters (I'm sorry, Dwarves 😅) but I will not describe everything about them here because in the first part of the fic you have all of it explained. 🥰 This story will have 3 parts (it was supposed be a one-shot but I got carried away). The Reader is not a smith here but she creates beautiful jewellery.

WARNINGS — Reader's mother is dead ("madness" + suicide) + suicide mentioned in Sauron's flashback (about Reader's great aunt – it will be explained in the next chapters), mentions of blood magic, manipulation, gaslighting

WORD COUNT — 5,030

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DAUGHTER OF THE MOON (I)

Halbrand walked alongside Lady Galadriel and kept staring in awe at everything inside the halls of Eregion. He made sure to limp slightly after his recent injury and to make his gasps believable but not too exaggerated. Sometimes, he asked a question or two, pretending to know nothing of the Elven customs. And his new companion was glad to explain everything to him, feeling pride in her kin’s achievements.

As they took a turn, they entered yet another hallway but this time Halbrand froze for a moment at the sight of a huge and extremely beautiful portrait of a couple. The man he recognised immediately – Lord Celebrimbor, the greatest of the Elven smiths who had built this city and whom Halbrand had recently met. But the woman next to him remained unknown to him.

What intrigued him the most was the appearance of that woman – her hair was painted in a way to make it look as if it sparkled with silver undertones. Pupils of her eyes reflected a full moon and her dress was silver with the moon-shaped jewellery; her earrings, her belt, her headpiece. She looked regal and mysterious and Halbrand had his suspicions about the woman’s heritage.

“Who is the lady?” He asked Galadriel and she looked up at the portrait in awe as she smiled delicately out of sadness.

“Lady Dúlinnel,” Galadriel answered in a soft whisper. “Lord Celebrimbor’s wife.”

Halbrand laid his eyes on her now as he faked a typical, human curiosity.

“Why does she look like that?”

“What do you mean?” Galadriel turned her head around to meet his gaze.

“She looks different,” Halbrand pointed out, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

“Lady Dúlinnel was a Moon Elf,” Galadriel explained quietly and Halbrand opened his mouth slightly as he nodded. He looked up at the portrait again and his heart pounded in his chest out of excitement.

“Who are the Moon Elves?” He inquired, making an attempt to sound a little dumb but also as harmless as he could. He knew the answer, of course. He had known the Moon Elves himself. But a man like Halbrand would not know them, while he would still remain curious.

“Who were The Moon Elves, you should have asked,” Galadriel sighed. “The Moon Elves were a secluded kin of the Elven people,” she started her story and Halbrand kept staring at the eyes of Lady Dúlinnel on the portrait. “They were building their grand cities high in the mountains; to be closer to the skies. They were the most active at night, under the moonlight. Hence, the name,” Galadriel nodded. “They thrived under the moon and gathered their strength from it. Their hair would turn into a silver shade under its light and they were the ones to invent the moon-letters,” Galadriel seemed to finish her story but Halbrand was not satisfied as he knew she was hiding something. 

“Why haven’t I heard of them before? Where are they now?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Out of all the Elves, they were the most familiar with dark magic as they did not truly believe in the concept of good and evil. Many of them joined Morgoth’s side and served as officers in his army…” Galadriel’s voice broke a little at the mention. “That caused centuries of mistrust towards them and their further solitude because the peoples of Middle-earth seemed to forget that despite the fact that many of them joined the darkness, many of them also lost their life; fighting Morgoth and his minions. Their warriors were one of the best skilled ones and it was an honour to fight by their side. Lady Dúlinnel’s father was one of the best commanders I have known and he sacrificed his life to fight the Dark Lord,” Galadriel looked up at the portrait again with melancholy filling her eyes.

“So, what happened?” Halbrand kept asking, like a child would when being told a fairytale.

“The Moon Elves could never truly fit in with the rest of us and they made the decision to leave Middle-earth a few centuries ago,” Galadriel’s answer was patient and calm. “There were not many of them left anyway but those who still lived here, packed themselves and marched East. Nobody knows where they truly went but they were last seen around The Sea of Rhûn, disappearing in the forests and exploring the lands where no one had gone before. Their beautiful mountain cities remain abandoned and turning into ruins,” she sighed. “It is nearly impossible for humans to reach them, so they create myths and legends about them.”

“How did Lord Celebrimbor end up being married to a woman of their kin? Where is she now?” Halbrand furrowed his brows.

He had been sure that they were all gone now. And he even planned to look for them one day, to send his minions East and bring him a few Moon Elves to use in his schemes. Their blood was something Halbrand seeked – its power. Lady Galadriel had spared him such details but Morgoth’s Moon Elves had helped him to craft the most powerful dark magic spells. 

If, by any chance, one Moon Elf was still alive in Middle-earth and living in the same city he was in at the moment… That had to be a sign for him that he was on the right path. And he would not rest until she would be under his influence.

“For many humans, the Moon Elves were the evil Elves but that is far from the truth,” Galadriel shook her head and laid her eyes on Halbrand again. “Lord Celebrimbor’s wife was one of the purest ladies I have known and the last one of her kin in Middle-earth as she decided to stay here with her family instead of leaving. She was one of the most beautiful Elven women in this realm and inspired many of his greatest works. Her death was a loss to many…” Galadriel’s voice became sadder as she looked down.

“So… She died?” Halbrand asked, trying to hide his annoyance and disappointment.

“Yes.”

“How?” He asked and perhaps his question was too sudden and too harsh because Galadriel raised her head and furrowed her brows at him. “I’m sorry. I am being too curious,” he chuckled nervously and looked away, avoiding her gaze.

He gritted his teeth and looked up at Lady Dúlinnel on the portrait once more. He was so close… but too late.

When Halbrand left the forge, it was already late and dark outside. He did not complain since he actually didn’t need any rest and the longer he worked with Celebrimbor to help him with the design of the rings and to earn his trust, the better. As he walked with a smile and kept staring at the starry skies above him, he froze at the sight of a young woman on the balcony of one of the towers.

He could not see her properly but her hair glistened in the moonlight, making an illusion of being of a silver colour. Her dress was flowy as she leaned on the balustrade and kept staring at the moon above her in a melancholic way, as if she was a painting herself.

Halbrand kept staring with his mouth slightly opened as the beauty of this lady and the moonlight overthrew him at that moment.

“Lady (Y/N),” one of the Elven guards approached him with a playful smile and then he looked up with a sigh as well. “Lord Celebrimbor’s daughter,” he explained.

“L-lord Celebrimbor has a daughter?” Halbrand laid his eyes upon the guard. “With Lady Dúlinnel?”

“Who else?” The Elven guard snorted at that. “We treat love and marriage with the greatest respect. Unlike you, humans,” he remarked but Halbrand couldn't care less at that moment, too excited about the realisation that there was still one Moon Elf in Middle-earth after all, even if only half of her belonged to that kin.

“Does Lord Celebrimbor keep her locked up there? I have never seen her before,” Halbrand pointed out.

“No, he does not. Lady (Y/N) prefers solitude ever since her mother’s death. And Lord Celebrimbor is overprotective, therefore he likes it that way,” the guard answered. “You might have not seen her but I am sure she has seen you. She is observant but keeps her distance,” the guard patted Halbrand’s arm and walked away, just like that.

Halbrand looked up again but the lady was gone from her balcony. He smirked to himself and walked away to go to his chambers.

“You haven’t told me Lord Celebrimbor has a daughter,” Halbrand approached Lady Galadriel in the courtyard when he was taking a break from all the work in the forge. She was sitting under the tree and he spotted that she had been treating him slightly differently for the past few days… More distant. He thought it was a good reason to start a friendly conversation with her again.

He sat next to her on the bench and Galadriel flinched a little.

“How do you know about Lady (Y/N)?” She asked.

“I saw a young lady last night on the balcony, bathing in the moonlight,” Halbrand answered. “A guard approached me and told me who she was.”

“Yes, it is true, Lord Celebrimbor has a daughter,” Galadriel nodded. “And you know her craft.”

“How so?” Halbrand furrowed his brow.

“She creates the most beautiful jewellery, not only for the Elves but for the noble ones of all the races. You have seen me wearing jewellery crafted by her many times. I have even seen some of it in Númenor,” Galadriel explained and squeezed the pendant of her necklace. “It was crafted by her as well,” she added and watched Halbrand carefully as he squinted his eyes at the item in her hand.

“It is quite tragic, in a way,” he pointed out and Galadriel looked at him with a puzzled expression. “She creates all these beautiful things for the ladies and princesses to wear. Yet, she is never seen showing off her craft herself. I have been told she spends most of her days in solitude.”

“Her mother’s death changed everything,” Galadriel looked away. The memory of Lady Dúlinnel was still painful, even to her.

“What happened to her?” Halbrand asked, gently.

Galadriel did not answer but she looked up at one of the towers of Eregion. Halbrand was staring at her, waiting for an answer, but then he followed her gaze and looked up as well.

“One night she jumped off of it,” Galadriel’s words were nearly inaudible. “That is not a common death for an Elf,” she answered. “For some time before her death she was not feeling well. Some said she had gone mad. But no one would expect that she would…” Galadriel’s voice broke and she could no longer continue to speak.

Halbrand faked the sadness on his face but he was not surprised to hear the story at all.

“Lady Yestariel, do not be a fool,” Sauron tried to find the thread of friendship between them as he reached his hand out towards the Elven woman standing by the edge of the cliff. 

Well, she was Elven no more. Even though her hair danced in the air, shining silver in the moonlight.

“I have endured and suffered… Ages… Of pain… For his love and what has he done to me in return?” Tears streamed her scarred cheeks. “What has he done to me? To all of us?”

Sauron took a deep breath in. He was frustrated with her already, therefore he could not blame his master for treating her cruelly. The most devoted servants were always the most annoying ones as well. Poor Lady Yestariel… It was her fault for being stupid enough to fall in love with a God. Why would Morgoth himself ever see her as anything more than a bit of dust?

“He has created a new race. You have been chosen, Yestariel,” Sauron tried to convince her, reaching his hand out further for her to take it.

“No, this is a mockery,” she shook her head. “I am nothing but an abomination,” she sniffed her tears back. “My brother lost his life trying to fight the evil I have joined. I have sacrificed everything and this… This is what I have been given in return.”

“Yestariel, our Master loves you,” Sauron lied, trying to lure her in with the words she wanted to hear so desperately. But perhaps it was too late for her to hear them because she only snorted at that. “When he loves someone, when he sees the potential… He pushes them to the limits, he breaks them to rebuild. Just look at me.”

“You seem fine to me,” Yestariel clenched her jaw. “Farewell, old friend. I hope you both get defeated from your own weapons turning against you,” she cursed him and his master before throwing herself off of the cliff.

Sauron reached out to grab her but he was not quick enough. And he could only watch Lady Yestariel falling down onto the hard, rocky ground.

Morgoth did not even care about it. When Sauron returned to his side, it was Adar who asked about his friend. And when Sauron informed him about her end, Morgoth changed the subject, leaving the rest of the new Uruks in mourning.

Many of them followed her steps not a long time later – too terrified of what they were seeing in the mirror.

Halbrand – and now Annatar – was not trying to lure Lady (Y/N) out by force. He knew with a deep sense of calmness within him that she would come out to him on her own. And she finally did, entering her father’s forge quite confidently one night but startling at the sight of a stranger by his side.

Annatar looked at her softly, making an attempt to present himself as innocent and noble as he could. His grey and humble robes were suggesting nothing but his pure intentions.

“Wh-who is that, father?” Lady (Y/N) asked with her brows furrowed. “Is that the stranger Eregion is whispering about?”

“My dear,” Celebrimbor laughed nervously as he approached her and put his arms around his daughter. “This is Annatar, Lord of Gifts. He is an emissary of the Valars,” he explained, “helping me with my craft.”

“How generous,” she bowed her head in front of Annatar and he bowed back humbly but his eyes followed her closely. “Why does your face present itself so familiar to me, my Lord?” She asked.

“I came here first in a different form,” he answered. “A form of a human king you might have seen wandering about, my Lady.”

“Yes, I remember,” she hummed to herself and looked at her father right after. “Either way, I have come here for the rubies,” she informed him and walked away to gather the red gemstones. “I found myself the most distracted and now I must redo Princess Disa’s new necklace,” she sighed.

“You must not overwork yourself, my Lady,” Annatar interrupted them with nothing but sweet worry in his voice.

Lady (Y/N) turned her head around and met his gaze as she looked down, flustered. Her reaction was a sign to him that despite her talents and position, she was not used to men treating her this way. Perhaps her father had never allowed any man to get so close to her. Perhaps she had not allowed it herself. But of course she would make an exception for an emissary of the Valars.

“I am not overworking myself, Lord Annatar. But thank you for your concern,” she nodded her head at him, squeezing the rubies in her hands. “Speaking of, I hope my father does not overwork you,” she smiled softly.

“Oh, quite the opposite, my Lady,” Annatar smiled back. “I might be overworking him, I’m afraid.”

“Nonsense!” Celebrimbor laughed, shaking his head.

“Indeed, it is,” his daughter hummed to herself before walking out of the forge. “My father loves to work, and so do I. We are busy little bees here, my Lord.”

“Supposing your High King were to discover…” Annatar started watching Celebrimbor walk away from him but they were interrupted by Lady (Y/N) joining them inside the forge, unaware of the tension.

“Princess Disa liked the necklace,” she announced. 

“That makes me happy, my darling,” Celebrimbor smiled but he kept looking at Annatar with concern as his daughter stood next to the Lord of Gifts. “What about the High King?” He asked and (Y/N) furrowed her brows as she looked up at Annatar herself.

Annatar moved uncomfortably, looking down at her face, as if he was hesitating.

“Speak freely, my friend, I have told my daughter everything about the rings,” Celebrimbor informed him and (Y/N) nodded her head to confirm it.

“No, I should not either way,” Annatar smiled and looked down, teasing Celebrimbor’s curiosity even further.

“No. Say what? Speak plain,” Celebrimbor approached Annatar and his daughter.”

“Your High King believes the Dwarves to be unworthy of this power,” Annatar explained and both Celebrimbor and (Y/N) looked at him with worried expressions. It was nearly funny to Annatar how they looked alike at that moment and how they believed his every word. “In fact,” he added and looked away slightly, “he has forbidden the forging of any more Rings at all,” he confessed, provoking their reactions.

Lady (Y/N) did not react to that but she looked concerned. Her father was more confused in a way, visibly shocked to hear such news about the High King and his rather controversial views.

“And the truth is he does not even know I am here,” Annatar revealed and watched Celebrimbor’s reaction. The Lord of Eregion hesitated before straightening his back as his sense of pride overtook him.

“Well,” he started, “what business is it of his how I conduct myself in my own realm?” He asked and walked away.

“Father!” (Y/N) gasped at his words, trying to make him rethink his words.

“No!” He shouted, rather rapidly, causing her to shiver and take a step back.

Annatar made sure to protectively stand in front of her as he extended his hand, trying to cover her. It only enhanced Celebrimbor’s sudden reaction and made it seem rather aggressive.

“Countless lives are at risk,” Celebrimbor’s voice softened but (Y/N) remained hidden behind Annatar. “We have not the time to bandy words about, convincing him who is worthy of aid,” he added and walked upstairs to where his desk was.

“Nevertheless, sooner or later, Gil-galad will discover the truth,” Annatar followed him, putting on a show as Lady (Y/N) did not move at all, watching in terror.

“Supposing he doesn’t?” Celebrimbor looked down at his friend and kept on walking.

Annatar turned around to look at the scared and gentle Lady (Y/N). She shook her head, defeated, as she shrugged her arms softly. She was hurt by her father’s behaviour and Annatar gave her a sympathetic look before following her father upstairs. After a while of hesitation, she gathered her skirts and hurried up there behind him.

“What are you doing?” (Y/N) asked as her father was picking up empty pages to write on. She stood next to Annatar but slightly behind him, which did not escape his eye. She was still feeling uneasy and treated him as a shield, which he did not mind being at that time.

“I am congratulating the High King on the efficacy of The Three and telling him that I am closing up the forge,” Celebrimbor informed them as he sat down and began writing.

Annatar and (Y/N) exchanged a very meaningful look.

“With a promise to join him in Lindon as soon as possible,” Celebrimbor added and Annatar walked up to the table.

“You would lie to your High King?” He asked and his new friend looked up with a wide smile.

“I would grant us the space to complete our work,” the Lord of Eregion answered. “I have spent an age preparing for this,” he pointed at the piece of paper laid out in front of him. “I have apprenticed, I have studied, I have reached the very height of my craft!” His fist banged the table and Annatar’s face remained the same but he could sense Lady (Y/N) flinching behind him.

“Father…” She whispered, daring to approach them but keeping her distance as she stood behind the gentle and kind emissary of the Valars. “What about remaining humble? Was it not the first lesson you have ever taught me?” She reminded him softly.

“(Y/N), please, you do not understand…” Her father sighed. “This… This is my moment,” he explained and kept staring at her and Annatar as if he was waiting for their permission to keep writing but they only kept standing there, so he went back to explaining himself. “Now, he will not take it away,” he forced a smile at them and went back to putting the words on paper with the ink.

“What if the High King is right?” (Y/N) asked. “What if the Dwarves are not–”

“How can you say such a thing?!” Celebrimbor looked up again, a little angered, but his expression softened immediately. His daughter flinched again at yet another one of his outbursts. “Your mother… Has she not been teaching you about how precious each life is? And if our task was wrong, would the Valars send Lord Annatar to us?”

“I did not mean The Dwarves were not worthy, father,” (Y/N) explained herself nervously but she looked at Annatar instead, scared of angering him. “I only meant… What if they are not suited to carry such powerful items? Their minds can get corrupted more easily.”

“The rings of power are pure, my Lady. You should not concern yourself with the possibility of their corruption,” Annatar explained to her, gently. And something about his voice and his kind smile convinced her as he watched her sigh of relief.

They were basically eating out of his hand already. It was nearly too easy but it was only the beginning.

“Lord Annatar!” Lady (Y/N) opened the doors of her chambers at the very top of her tower, surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?” She asked. “So late in the evening.”

“You seemed to be worried earlier, my Lady. I wanted to check on you, nothing more,” he assured her with a smile and she nodded, taking a step back to let him inside.

And so he walked into her chambers as he looked around. The room was huge and there were balcony doors leading outside to the place where he had first seen her. But the room itself was not her bedroom – it was her workshop with the hammers, gemstones and cauldrons all over the place. She was more messy than her father, surely.

“Do not mind the mess, please,” she gave him a shy smile.

“Each master or mistress works their own way,” Annatar pointed out.

“Please, I am not a mistress of any sort,” she laughed nervously.

“I beg to differ, my Lady. You are the most exquisite. Your jewellery is admired all over Middle-earth… And even beyond the sea. I have seen with my own eyes,” Annatar kept smiling at her gently, watching her getting more and more flustered. “And I do wonder… How does it feel to craft such beauties and watch others wear them?”

“I craft for myself as well,” Lady (Y/N) pointed at her earrings.

“But nobody sees,” Annatar remarked softly and she smiled sadly as she looked away. “I am here to ask about earlier today, though. You looked upset.”

“My father has never been acting this way. I am worried, that is it,” (Y/N) explained and glanced upon the wall. Annatar’s eyes followed and spotted yet another portrait of Lady Dúlinnel.

“The loss of your mother was grieved by the Valars as well, my Lady,” he said and making up such a blasphemous lie made him feel the thrill of excitement go down his spine. She, however, turned around to meet his gaze with fresh tears pricking her eyes. What a poor and innocent creature…

Yet, her bloodline was cursed.

“Oh, my Lord… If you had known… I am afraid… So afraid…” She gasped as she confessed and Annatar furrowed his brows as he tilted his head.

That was… new.

“What is it, my Lady?” He walked up to her as fast as possible but made sure to do it smoothly. He did not want to startle her but he wanted to be near and to give her comfort. He extended his hand and touched her arm briefly.

It was the very first time he actually dared to touch her and it caused them both to freeze. Lady (Y/N) looked up at him with widened eyes and trembling lips. Some of the moonlight creeped inside through the windows of her chambers and it made her hair sparkle with silver undertones. Annatar couldn’t help himself and brushed a hair strand out of her face.

“Sometimes I think…” (Y/N) hesitated before deciding to confess the truth but she desperately needed someone to share her burden with and who would be better than Lord Annatar, the noble emissary of the Valars? He was made of pure light, it seemed. “Sometimes I think my mother was not mad, Lord Annatar. The things she spoke of, the visions she was having… I am worried sometimes that the darkness she was warning me of, that it is coming and I do not want to sound like I have gone mad myself but how else can I warn the rest?” She tried to look even deeper into his eyes but that was not possible.

If she looked any deeper, she would find nothing but a black abyss of his soul.

“Lady (Y/N), please, calm down,” he tried to shush her, calmly.

“Just tell me, my Lord, I beg of you, tell me you do not think of me as mad,” she shook her head and sobbed.

“I do not,” he squeezed her arm and she nodded, trying to compose herself. 

“My father’s behaviour worries me because it reminds me of the beginnings of my mother’s madness. What if they both go mad, what does it make of me? People already say I might be cursed because of her and her bloodline,” (Y/N) revealed, too shy to keep looking into his eyes as she spoke those words. “People make stories about her death. They talk about madness, they talk about her sadness after all her kin has left. But I was spending most of my time with her and I know that her madness was not caused by any curse or depression. She was being haunted by visions she could not make them stop. She was trying to warn me about the darkness in Eregion,” Lady (Y/N) sniffled her tears back, finally daring to look up into Annatar’s eyes, which were filled with compassion and worry.

“Perhaps your mother was seeing Middle-earth as it would become if the Three Rings had not been crafted,” Annatar explained, softly.

“Perhaps,” Lady (Y/N) cracked a nervous smile but she was not fully convinced. “But today, I was scared that… That the darkness she spoke of… That it was coming from my father,” she lowered her voice. “From his pride, I mean. His blame in it would be accidental, of course,” she assured him.

“And… Perhaps…” Annatar took his hand away from her arm as he leaned in closer to her and she held her breath at the sudden intimacy. “Perhaps the darkness is coming from you, Lady (Y/N).”

She blinked a few times out of shock and then she shook her head, walking away from him and opening the doors leading to the balcony. She stepped outside and stared at the moon. Annatar sighed and followed her, standing close behind.

“It was a night like this with the moon shining just as bright when she jumped off,” (Y/N) whispered and then she turned around to look at him again. “You could not possibly mean that I am the darkness, could you? Lord Annatar, if it is true, if one of the reasons why you came to Eregion was to save it from me, then please, show me the path of the light once again,” she pleaded as he stood there, surprised at how easy she was giving herself to him.

She was even the one giving him ideas on how to lead her mind to believe that he was her saviour.

“I have no idea what I have done to anger the gods but–”

“My Lady, please,” Annatar held her shaking hands in his and squeezed them, adoringly. “You have misunderstood me,” he assured her. “It is true that your kin can bring death and danger but I am the last one to forget about all the heroes of your bloodline,” he whispered, oh-so-grateful for Galadriel’s stories now. “Your grandfather,” he reminded Lady (Y/N), “one of the best commanders we have witnessed, died fighting Morgoth.”

“So… I am not the danger?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Far from it, my gentle Lady. What I meant was that you should not fill your head with such dark thoughts,” Annatar gave her a warm smile.

She was a little confused and he knew that. He was toying with her mind, seeing how far he could go and how much she would believe him. And he had to admit that she remained a little suspicious often about the things he was saying but in the end she would always lose and give in to his charms.

“Perhaps you are right, Lord Annatar,” she nodded. “Especially now, when you are here. We are safe with you by our side,” she squeezed his hands back and Annatar leaned in to place a kiss upon her forehead before looking intensely at her confused face and walking away, leaving her alone in her chambers.

Whether she would interpret his gesture as a blessing of the Valars or a sign of his personal adoration, he left it up to her.

MASTERLIST

[dinsbeskar]

Subjugate the Devil (Sauron/F!Reader)

Sauron has a nightmare. You are only too happy to oblige in making him forget; or:

Sub!Sauron makes a lengthy appearance. Plot, what plot?

Set in my In The Dark series, but works as a standalone (alludes to trauma mentioned in other chapters, but it is literally just smut) // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: Disease by Lady Gaga, Don't Let Me Go by Raign, Like a Prayer by Madonna, Oh You Are Not Well by Chloe Foy

Playlist!

Warnings: 18+! Dom/sub - gentle dom, needy sub; just pure smut; literally Plot What Plot (though there is a bit if you squint); P in V sex; oral sex (male and female receiving); copious amounts of bodily fluids (sorry, like for real); cockwarming; dry humping; handjob; begging/denial/teasing; praise kink; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; unresolved trauma; tiny bit of violence but it is just an illusion; very soft!Sauron, so tender. We make him cry and that's all I wanted to do.

A/N: I've been working on this for a few days, it is ummm filthier than anything I've ever written, like I really don't know where it came from. The warnings are just what's on the menu at this point idk.

I pictured Annatar for this one, but you guys can imagine whomever you like (@troublesomesnitch he's got that chest hair though!!) Sub!Halbrand would be a treat ngl.

Excuse the gif guys, I just want to see him cry :)

Word Count: 4.2k (!!)

Sauron does not sleep. Ordinarily.

However, you make it look so peaceful, he has to try it occasionally. Of course he usually finds you in your dreams, takes all the attention you can spare and more, leaving you wanting until waking when he can ravage you again.

Sometimes however his dreams come unbidden. Instead of slipping into your mind, he falls deeper into his own, unearthing old memories he'd rather stay buried, burned beyond recognition.

You always know when this happens; your usually calm and collected lover wakes in a cold sweat, clutching at your skin, his face in your neck, desperate to forget what his mind has shown him. He has never told you the details, but you can only assume it has something to do with his master, with his cruel and unusual forms of punishment.

Tonight is one of those nights, worse perhaps as he moans and writhes in his sleep, rousing you immediately. You can't seem to wake him from his torment, every gentle touch, every kiss to his temple only seems to fan the flames. You end up atop him, each of your thighs either side of his abdomen, trying to shake him awake.

Visions of Morgoth in his wrath; illusions of you partaking in his torture at his master's hand; pain and terror in his heart, as the nightmare refuses to cease, even as you try to soothe him.

What makes you think a servant as worthless as you deserves a love like hers?

Morgoth's words hold him in a vice grip; he can't break free, the unshed tears behind his closed eyelids threaten to leak onto his cheeks, stricken with fear and pain.

"I've got you, you're okay, you're here with me." You stroke his face, your hair brushing his chest, unsure of what to do except hold him.

When his eyes finally fly open, he grasps your arms, and with a leg hooked behind you, flips you onto your back, a dagger at your throat.

You're fairly sure his weapon isn't real, but he is a master of illusion, and pain is merely a construct of the mind; he could hurt you if he wanted to.

In this state, you're reminded of just how dangerous your husband is, even between dreaming and waking. His eyes are black, unseeing, with a terrifying expression you're sure would have annihilated any enemy he could have been dreaming of.

Your hands shaking, you reach up slowly and try to take the knife; surely enough, when you clutch at it, it disappears like smoke between your fingers, so you take his hand instead, still clenched unfeeling around his shattered illusion.

You pull his hand to your chest, letting him feel your racing heart flutter against his fingers.

Slowly but surely, you bring him back to you, his daze broken but his psyche bruised and bleeding.

Your shallow breathing evens out as the light returns to his eyes, and for a moment he looks at you confused as if his position above you is of your own making.

His eyes dart from his hand on your chest, to your fiercely fixed expression, attempting to soothe his nerves but unable to hide how shaken you are.

"Is this real?" He's still breathing hard, for someone who doesn't really need to breathe. "Are you really here? Is it you?"

He's so tender, tracing your cheekbones, your cupid's bow, gently raking your hair with his fingertips.

"Of course, beloved, I'm right here, I'm always right here." You try to hide your confusion, assuming he's still walking the line between dreaming and waking.

He slowly pulls himself away to nestle at your side, reluctant to break eye contact with you as he does so, still clutching at you to ground himself.

"What did I do? Tell me I didn't hurt you, love." He's so quiet, it's unnerving, but you take him in your arms anyway, crading his head to your chest.

"All is well, my love, it wasn't real, you're here with me, no one can touch you here." Some nights, holding him close and murmuring sweet reassurances in his ear is enough to soothe him; tonight he needs a little more from you.

All you want to do is tell him you love him, that he deserves you, that you're his, that he deserves everything you want to give him, that you ache for him when he's not by your side.

But he's hard against your hip, a fact you're trying to ignore; taking advantage of him is the last thing on your mind, not that he would protest, even when he returns to his right mind.

He listens to your heartbeat for a while, focusing on the strong rhythm to forget his waking nightmare, marvelling at how your heart beats in tandem to his, running his trembling fingers across your exposed skin, up your arm, across your collarbone to your throat, watching the artery jump in time with your heart. He knows you so well, so intimately, that when you notice his erection, your heart skips a beat, and he can guess exactly what you're thinking, not needing to peer into your mind for himself.

You feel him grind against you and you release a breath you didn't even realise you'd been holding.

"Love..." You murmur into his hair, absentmindedly running your fingers over the sensitive pointed tips of his ears. "Come now, you need to rest, darling."

He can't show you what he saw, what he went through, the horror and the agony of his master's worst torments. The image of you performing the worst of it is tattooed on his eyelids, a reminder of Morgoth's favourite form of punishment. He can't show you, can't tell you, but he can ask you to make him forget.

"I need you," he whispers in your ear, strangled groans peppering his sentiments, making you gasp, "need you to feel good, need you to know how much I adore you-"

Your eyes widen as blood rushes to your cheeks, the heat of his words enflaming your core.

"I want you too, love, but right now? Are you sure?" You ask him through ragged breath as he turns his attentions to your neck, licking and sucking and blowing cool air over your wet skin, before warming it with his tongue once more.

You're so close to giving in, wanting to give him all he craves and more, and he knows it.

"Use me," his breathy moan breaks on your skin like a wave on the shore, tingles washing down your spine, filling your core with empty warmth as he bucks his hips into yours, which respond in kind as you turn your head to meet his hungry kiss.

"I'm yours. Make me yours."

His words thrill you, but his tone makes you feel incredible; needy, wanton, desperate to please you.

You glide your hands over his torso, relishing in his hot velvet skin and the soft hair that covers him; taking your time as he tries to kiss you senseless, his heated skin glowing with sweat that you can't resist tasting for yourself, salt and smoke on your tongue.

"Use me... take me... love me..." he begs you, with less and less breath left in his lungs with each command, as you gently lay him on his back, straddling his thighs, grinding your core into the hard muscle.

You slide your hands between the layers of fabric separating your skin, stripping him slowly and laying him bare for your viewing pleasure alone.

He arches his back for you, baring his neck and thrusting his hips into the ghost of your touch, chanting your name and praying for you to take his aching cock in hand.

You trace the contours of his thighs, his firm abdominal muscles, the stiff peaks of his nipples, earning you a shudder and a moan that shoots straight to your core, hot wet arousal dripping onto his thigh.

His fingers move to gather your nectar instinctively, wanting to savour every taste of his wife, but you grip his wrist and raise it above his head, and he gasps. You've never denied him before, not in the eons you've adored him, but it turns him on beyond belief.

Sauron watches you hazily, through heavily lidded eyes, in disbelief that the goddess above him is his and his alone to enjoy and to ruin. You are a sight to behold, as your hair cascades down your back, lips parted and breath ragged; your breasts bounce as you ride his thigh, hypnotising him, drawing him deeper into your thrall.

He tries to lean up to kiss you, lave every inch of your skin with his desperate tongue, but you push him back to the bed.

"Not yet, soon but not yet." You want his mouth on you, the aching between your thighs only amplified by the distinct lack of your husband’s throbbing length inside you, but tonight is for him; he needs to surrender to you first.

"I don't think you've let go quite enough yet." Your warm breath breaks on his sensitive neck, washes down his spine, straight to his cock, throbbing in his need for you.

You haven't touched him yet, hands firmly in place on his chest; his eyes plead with you to be lenient, and as his loving wife, you're only too happy to oblige him as he continues to beg for all the care and attention you can give.

"Please, love, please, need you to-" he gasps as you run your fingers over the head of his cock, gathering the copious amounts of precum pooling on his stomach to ease the glide over his flesh.

"Is that better, love?" You can't help but smirk at his pained gasps, as you languidly stroke his shaft, circling the sensitive head with your thumb, your eyes locked on his.

His cock twitches in your hand as he moans your name, begs for release, begs for your cunt, begs to be remade.

"That's it, love, let yourself go. All you need to do is feel good for me, my love," you lean down, whispering in his ear, "please me, show me how much you deserve your release."

His breath hitches and you hear him swallow hard; his expression is a masterpiece, eyes wide, jaw slack, as he begs you to show him mercy, groaning and whimpering as you pump his length.

"Please..." It's only one syllable, but it feels like a lifetime as he chokes out his plea, tries to touch you to no avail as you hold his hands above his head, placing them in a death grip on the headboard.

"Please, what? You might need to be more specific, my darling." You edge down the bed, holding him in place as he tries to follow you, until your head rests on his thighs.

"Need you to... fuck!" He growls and curses and grips the headboard as his hips jerk and writhe to meet you.

"Need me to...? What, my sweet, tell me?" You are enjoying teasing him, perhaps a little too much, and you will pay for it later, but right now he's so deeply needy for your love and attention that he'll take whatever you bestow upon him.

"Touch me..." he groans, as his cock visibly throbs with need, "your fingers, your mouth, I don't care, I need you, you're the only one, only one who can make me feel like this..."

His pleas and whimpers cut off with a sharp gasp, as you take his cock in your mouth as deeply as you can manage. He feels the opening of your throat on his tip and loses his mind, his oversensitive flesh shooting stars up and down his spine, heat pooling in his abdomen that almost immediately spreads like wildfire throughout his body, as your fingers and tongue and lips work together like an orchestra, drawing an irresistible melody from the depths of his pitch black soul, and all the seed his cock can muster.

You pull away and let him spill himself over your thighs, your abdomen, your hands; he looks mortified but he can't stop now he's started, pearly white splattering your skin, making you his.

"I belong to you," he keens and stutters but you hear him through his orgasm, his whimpers becoming moans that reverberate through you.

You can only watch him adoringly as he finishes quaking and moaning beneath you, unable to quite believe that he is yours, even after all this time.

You sit up, licking him from your fingers, and your smile is so radiant, he forgets where he is, who he is, all the evil he has ever done. For one shining moment, it is just you and him, all he'd ever need.

"Proud of you, love, so good for me." You murmur as you lean down to kiss him softly, giving him that tiny confirmation of your affections he needs right now.

"...thank you, needed you. Ahh- Need you." He is grateful, oh so grateful, but his still-hard cock betrays him, and you can't help but grin.

"Oh love, did I not do a good enough job? Have I left you wanting?" Your faux sincerity pains him and he immediately starts apologising.

"No, no, not that, never that, always so good to me, my beautiful wife, love you so much, my sweet..." His cunt-drunk ramblings are adorable but you put a finger to his lips.

"It's okay, I know, I've got you," you smile at him; he returns it so radiantly, you have to kiss him, to be the one to destroy it.

His pretty moans flutter to your cunt, arousal dripping from you like honey from the hive, and he looks up at you, gloriously wide eyed, begging to be allowed to taste your nectar, to sate his thirst for you.

You can't help but feel absurdly powerful, a Maia fallen apart at your fingertips, never mind this Maia, this beautiful demon who vowed to never relinquish his control again. It's an honour and a privilege to see him submit to you like this, submit to himself like this, let himself just feel without exercising his need to dominate, to just let go with the one person in the world he knows he is truly free with.

"Please, my love... remake me, make me yours," His breathless plea is like no music the Valar have ever sung, his moans a spell all their own, enrapturing you even as you hold the key to his release, as you take command of the Maia who values his control of others above all else.

"I do believe, dearest, that you made quite the mess, actually, perhaps you'd be so kind?" You gesture to the cum that still drips down your thighs, sticky and uncomfortable and definitely ready to be washed from your skin.

He is only too happy to oblige.

You lie back and beckon him to you; he works his way up your body, methodically but no less desperately, licking up every drop to please you, content to savour every inch of you. When he tries to make a detour to your mound, you gently yank his hair, reminding him of his task, revelling in the absolute control he's given you.

"Oh love, you did make a mess," you moan as you stroke his hair, "so good for me, cleaning me up, such a good husband, always so good to me."

Receiving such praise is almost cruel and unusual for Sauron, who is frankly more used to giving it to you, and receiving wrath from all others. A tiny voice in his mind tells him he should be embarrassed; but what is worship if not praise? Your devotion, your care, your undivided attention; all for him, giving him that for which he yearns above all else.

He can't resist stealing a kiss, crashing his lips to yours as he cradles your face. You taste his seed on his lips, something that feels strangely forbidden, thrilling in its taboo. The aching in your core has only intensified with his efforts, and you feel it is about time he served you with his silver tongue in the way you both crave. You push his head to your cunt, with which he gladly complies, settling between your thighs, gripping your legs firmly apart to allow him to feast on you.

Before his tongue can delve into your folds, he holds back, locking his gaze on yours.

"Please? Let me taste you, let me show you how much I love you."

"Fuck, yes, love, yes," you chant his name as he finally puts his tongue to excellent use, seeking out your swollen clit, lapping at your entrance, sucking at the velvety skin of your inner thighs.

He keeps his hands in view; you haven't told him he can touch himself, and he won't break this spell now.

Like a starving man at a banquet, he indulges in you, exquisitely. Every tiny moan that escapes him vibrates over your folds, making you whimper in return; he flicks his tongue over your entrance before sliding two fingers deep inside you, hooking them and stroking that delicious sweet spot inside you that makes your toes curl. He watches you the whole time, basking in the chorus of your pleasure.

You feel the heat coil in your abdomen, and you pull him away sharply; his disappointment is evident but you want him inside you when you finally claim your orgasm.

"Lay back, love, hands on the headboard." It is intoxicating, having your husband obey your every command, and as he settles into the mattress, looking up at you expectantly, you vow this won't be the last time the two of you play this game.

Sitting astride him, you feel as if he's never been so deep inside your cunt before now. You hiss a little at the intrusion but he's so familiar, every time he enters you, it feels like coming home. You grind your hips into him, capturing with your lips every whimper that forces its way past his clenched teeth. Tracing his firm chest, running your fingers through the smattering of soft hair, feeling every curve and contour slowly, languidly, while he writhes beneath your thighs, caging him inside your wet heat.

His strangled moans and gasps echo throughout your chamber; every time he reaches for you, you press a kiss to his palm and hold it above his head, until he learns to behave.

"No one could love me like you, care for me like you, knows how to take their pleasure from me like you, beautiful wife, only yours." He feels like he's losing his mind, slipping further into some deep quiet space where it's just the two of you, where nothing matters but you on his cock.

"Only you can put me back together, can sing the song my soul yearns for-" you interrupt his pretty words with your fingers in his mouth.

"Hush, my love, focus on me, only me, you don't have to speak, you don't have to beg for me unless you want to, just let it happen." You trace the shell of his ear with your tongue, savouring the tiny sighs that escape him, before nipping the pointed tip and relishing his sharp moan.

"Bound together, you and I, for all eternity... and I wouldn't have it any other way, sweet husband." You groan out between thrusts, every movement within you the sweetest form of torture.

No other thrill in the world will ever compare to this; your divine husband laid out beneath you, looking up at you with blissful wonder, eyes black with lust, golden hair mussed and tangled by your fingers, your name tumbling from his swollen lips like a prayer and a curse. Right now, you'd take either.

"Darling, please," his broken gasp spans an octave, jumping to a breathy moan as you descend on his cock once more.

"I know what you need, love," you moan as you ride him, the drag of his cock inside you fucking delicious, but the look on his face is a feast in comparison.

His eyes widen as he clutches the bedsheets, refusing to look away but requiring every iota of self-restraint to stay present with you, not to lose himself to the unearthly sensations you've introduced him to tonight.

"I've got you, just let it go, give yourself to me, beloved, let your mind empty-" you kiss him deeply and swallow the groan building in his chest.

"So proud of you, so good for me, doing so well," you let out a throaty moan as you clench your walls around him, feeling his cock throb within you.

"I know what you need..." You murmur as you lean over him, slowing the rhythm of your hips, "nothing in that head, cock wet and wanting, heart full and happy."

His ragged breath hitches as the last shred of self-control slips through his fingers. He thrusts up deep inside you, throbbing, aching to fill you, as you grab his hands and pull them to touch you finally, a precious relief to you both.

As he runs his hands up your bare skin, he kneads your soft flesh, worshipping every inch as if he's never beheld anything so perfect in his long life. His large hands encircle your abdomen, grasp your hips, pull your ass impossibly closer until you can't tell where you end and he begins; not that the distinction is important anymore.

He rests his hands on your back, fingers splayed as if to encompass you within his flesh, as if being wrapped around you, caged inside you, isn't enough contact, like the two of you enjoined in body and soul isn't enough, will never be enough to sate his hunger for you.

Finally, you let him lean up to join you, his torso flush with yours, gliding against you, slick with the sweat you've provoked in your teasing. He kisses you hard, tongue tangling with yours, teeth hungry, lips swollen, your breath mingling just as your souls are entwined, a maelstrom of pleasure in which you'd be happy to be imprisoned forever.

You brush back his soft hair, grip the roots, and pull his head back, bearing his throat to your greedy lips. You grind on his cock as you press harsh kisses, soft bites, to his tender flesh, laving his skin and savouring his moans under your tongue. He fucking whimpers under you, and you pull away to take him in, in all his ruined glory.

There are tears in his eyes, his lips wet and parted for your kiss; his expression is nothing like you've ever seen, so completely has he given himself to you and your pleasure.

You softly trace his throat before grasping him firmly, feeling every breath, every sob, every whimper, reverberating through you, inflaming every nerve in your body.

His Adam's apple bobs under your fingers, firm in your grip but tender in your passion. Tears spring unbidden to his eyes, falling down his glorious face and filling your heart with such love, such adoration, such utter and complete devotion, that it scares you for a moment, pushing you over the edge at last.

You clench around him, milking his sensitive cock for every last drop of seed, as you ride this new high, this indescribable feeling of power that his submission has wrought in you. You think if you could just hold onto that feeling-

"I feel it too-" his strangled moan is cut short, all the stars in the sky paling in comparison to the pleasure he feels beneath you right now.

You feel him paint your insides, his cock throbbing and twitching inside you until he is spent. Your foreheads pressed together, your limbs entangled, every breath shared in tandem; you would stay here forever. And he would gladly grant his goddess that wish, and any more that your heart desires.

You roll onto your side, limbs shaking with exertion, pulling him to join you, refusing to allow him exit from your wet heat. He huffs a small, relieved sigh, not wishing to be parted from you either.

His iron embrace never fails to comfort you, and it is especially firm tonight. Your heart swells at the thought that even after surrendering to you so entirely, so perfectly, he still needs to hold and shelter you, can't give up his role as your protector even at his most vulnerable.

"We should do that again, love." You murmur, feeling his smirk against your neck.

"Whatever you desire, my Queen," he peppers your neck with tender kisses, sensing you are close to sleep. "I am yours, you are mine-"

"And always will be." You interrupt with a sleepy smile, provoking a chuckle.

Sauron can only watch you enthralled, as you drift off, content, your limbs entwined with his, reluctant to follow you into sleep after tonight's events. Perhaps, yielding control is something he should master, he muses; after all, you did seem to be utterly delighted with the turn of events, and he is nothing if not a loving Lord, a devoted husband enthralled by his wife to distraction.

You slip into dreaming, holding onto him as if for dear life, relishing in the feeling of being so loved, so obeyed.

Your brain is empty, but your cunt is full, and your heart is happy.