Dark Maiden
Halbrand/sauron/ imagine
Warnings: 18+ smut,submissive,dark (kind of)
Back story: Morwen was your name, morwen meaning ‘dark maiden’. You were the only daughter of Feanor and Nerdanel, who Morgoth and Mairon originally took great interest in, meant for a greater purpose. One day meeting a young red headed man that would forever tie you to him, his very soul and create an everlasting conflict on your own. Sauron sent to retrieve the very jewel Feanor wanted to protect. Until his untimely death. Unlike some Elves, Fëanor's spirit has not been reborn into a new body in Valinor, and he has not walked among the Elves again.
Fëanor's death didn't end his influence. His sons, bound by his oath to recover the Silmarils, continued his quest, shaping the events of the First Age, where his daughter left on her greater path for the good or the evil, to what we don’t know. Her mother came to resent her, her beauty, her very being and left for Valinor, abandoning all her children to their own demise. All their children being named, Maedhros the tall, Maglor the minstrel, celegorm and caranthir the dark, what would your destiny be?.
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Your footsteps echoed softly as you walked down the grand halls of the Elven kingdom. The golden leaves of the mallorn trees outside your window seemed still under the weight of the war that darkened their borders, far from the peace this land once knew. The Elves of Lothlórien, ever graceful and serene, were weary from their fight against Sauron’s ever-growing shadow, and you felt the weight of the conflict on your shoulders, the ever growing torment of your own destiny and what path to follow.
You dismissed your maid with a quiet nod, your body and mind yearning for rest from this torment. You closed the door to your chambers with a soft click, the sound final, isolating you from the chaos outside. A deep sigh escaped you as you unfastened the clasp of your cloak, draping it over the back of the chair near the hearth. But as you turned, the weight of your day dissolved into something sharper. Your breath caught in your throat, your hand froze mid-motion.Sitting in the deep shadow of her room was Sauron or the body of a man he’d took over, halbrand was the name he chose.
This was no longer the red-haired young Maia you once knew. His power had only deepened, but the brash ambition he once carried had matured into something more chilling—a quiet, dark calm. His aura filled the room, not with the reckless hunger of conquest, but with an unsettling authority that belied the chaos brewing outside. Sauron’s gaze met yours, and for a long, strained moment, neither of them spoke.
"You are the one thing I have never been able to conquer, and it unnerves me."
His words lingered between them, a confession he had resisted for so long. There was no weakness in them, no plea, but rather a reluctant acknowledgment of the bond that tied them still. A bond he could never truly sever, no matter how deeply he fell into his darkness. The air in the room seemed to still even further in response to his confession. Morwen's eyes, sharp and perceptive, met his gaze without wavering. She had learned not to appear surprised.
"You've spent centuries in darkness," she replied coolly, her voice not betraying the tumultuous emotions swelling within her. "You've caused untold suffering and destruction, and you've embraced every wicked path you've ever set yourself on. And now you tell me that I unnerve you?”
"You sound surprised." Sauron's voice held just a hint of amusement, a ghost of the familiar arrogance that had once defined him. He leaned back in the chair, his figure outlined in the soft glow of the hearth fire. He studied her, the sharp angles of her face, the way her dress fell in graceful folds around her form. She was as beautiful as he remembered, perhaps more so.
“You were always the one thing I couldn't quite figure out." His words were measured, calculated. He was still the master of manipulation. Your jaw tensed, a barely perceptible movement that betrayed her frustration. She wanted to snap at such arrogance, but she knew better.
“And what makes me so different?" She countered, her voice even. She knew she was walking a fine line between curiosity and giving him the satisfaction of her interest. She walked to the fireplace and stood in front of it, the flame casting dancing shadows on her face, emphasizing the sharp planes of her cheeks and the deep blue of her eyes. Sauron watched her move, his gaze following the curves and shadows of her body. The firelight danced in her eyes, a reflection of the turmoil within. He let the question hang in the air for a moment before responding, his eyes never leaving her.
"You're not scared of me," he stated simply, almost casually. "You have every reason to be, you of all people. But you're not, you never have been."
He leaned forward in the chair, his hands clasped in his lap, his sharp gaze unwavering. You stiffened at his words, the truth in them hitting a nerve she was careful to keep hidden. Her fingers curled around the mantle of the fireplace, her knuckles white. She turned slowly to face him, her gaze hardening. She'd learned the art of masking her emotions behind a stern expression.
“Fear is a tool used by the weak," she said with a cold edge to her voice, masking the inner conflict Sauron was so perceptive of. A smirk played on the corner of Sauron's mouth. He reveled in her composure, though beneath it, he knew there was a tumult of emotions. He pushed further, wanting nothing more than to see her lose that veneer of cold control she had erected.
"It's more than that," he countered, tilting his head slightly. He stood, walking towards her with a slow, deliberate pace. He stopped a few steps away, his presence looming over her.
“No, you were never scared of me, not because you're strong. It's because you understand me." Your breath hitched despite your best efforts to keep calm. His presence was like a thunderous storm, threatening to tear down the carefully constructed walls she had built. His words echoed in her mind, ringing with a truth that scared her. Yes, she did understand him. Perhaps better than anyone should. She forced herself to hold his gaze, refusing to back away. "understand what exactly”
His smirk widened, a dark glint in his eyes as he took another step closer, their faces now mere inches apart. He could feel her quickened breaths, her pulse fluttering in her throat like a trapped butterfly.
"You understand my desires," he said, his voice low and heavy with a deeper meaning, "my ambition, my lust for power. You see the darkness within me, the void that craves to be filled, because."
He raised his hand slowly, stopping just a hair's breadth before touching her face.
“because my dearest, it lingers in your very own soul” he whispered. Your heart thudded in your chest, his words striking at the very core of your being. It was too close to the truth. It was the thought you had pushed furthest into the darkest recesses of your mind, the one she dared not confront, the turmoil that had darkened you for years. But the way he spoke, with such a certainty, it was as if he'd peered into your very essence, seeing the reflection of his own darkness in you. The very reason he was sent to me those many moons ago. You couldn't deny his words.
“You're wrong," you managed, her voice barely above a whisper. He let out a soft chuckle, the sound sending a chill down your spine. His eyes never left your face, studying you with a fierce intensity.
“Am I?" he said, tilting his head to the side, his hand finally closing the gap and gently resting on your cheek. His touch was like fire against your skin, burning through your carefully constructed mask of composure. He leaned in, his mouth hovering near your ear, his breath warm on your neck.
“I can feel it, you know. The darkness within you, begging to be unleashed."
Your body stiffened at his touch, the heat of his breath on your skin awakening a part of you you'd tried to keep hidden. The darkness he spoke of was a storm, a tempest that threatened to consume you. You wanted to deny it, to shove him away, but his presence was intoxicating, his words like a spell that seemed to strip away your resistance. His thumb traced a slow, feather-light path across your cheek, down your jawline, stopping at the base of your neck. His gaze roamed your face, taking in every minute change in your expression. He could see the war raging within you, the denial battling against the undeniable truth he was so keenly aware of. His touch grew firmer, his hand moving from your neck to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his eyes.
“You and I, we're not so different," he murmured, his voice a gruff whisper. His thumb traced the edge of your bottom lip, his thumb running over it slowly, slowly pulling you closer. Your resolve began to crumble under the weight of his touch, the pull of his darkness beckoning you in. Your own desires, long buried deep within you, began to stir, awakening like a slumbering beast. His gaze was intense, his eyes like pools of molten fire, drawing you in deeper. You found yourself leaning into his touch, your lips parting slightly, their soft fullness just barely brushing against his thumb. The moment your lips touched his skin, a jolt of electricity shot through him. For a brief moment, his stoic facade wavered, his hand tightening around your chin, his eyes darkened. He'd always denied his own needs, his own desires, focusing only on his ambition, his hunger for power. But in that instant, with your mouth just grazing his skin, he felt a stirring inside him, a primal need for connection that he'd long rejected. His fingers tangled in your hair, drawing you closer, his body pressing against yours. Your breath hitched at the sudden change in atmosphere, the air between you crackling with a dangerous tension. His proximity was overwhelming, his body a hard wall against yours, his fingers gripping tightly in your hair. You could feel his heartbeat, erratic and fast, matching your own. The heat of his body seared through your clothes, awakening a fire deep within you. His mouth hovered just above yours, his lips a mere inch away, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips, as if caught in a trance. His restraint was cracking by the second, the need to taste you, to possess you, becoming an unbearable ache within him. But there was a small, stubborn part of him that held back, that whispered of the consequences, of the risks. The internal battle was visible in the way his gaze darkened, the way his brow furrowed with conflict. His body was rigid against yours, his breath hot.
“I should stop," he muttered hoarsely, more to himself than to you. But even as he said the words, he wasn't moving away. In fact, he seemed to be drawing you even closer, the hand in your hair tightening just a fraction. The war within him, the battle between his baser desires and his carefully constructed image, was playing out right before you. His eyes flicked down to your lips again, his throat bobbing with a sharp swallow, the heat radiating off him like a furnace.
“you should stop” you repeated, almost a whisper. But your heart was telling you to hold onto him.
The words he spoke were a feeble attempt at self-denial. His body was pressed flush against yours, the length of him hard and unyielding against your soft curves. At the sound of your whisper, he let out a low groan, his control slipping a little more. His breath was ragged, and he was trembling with the effort of holding back. His gaze flicked to yours, and the raw need in his eyes took your breath away. He was hanging by a thread.
“I can't."
And with that, the last remnants of his restraint shattered. He leaned forward, claiming your lips in a fierce, possessive kiss.
His hand tangled tighter in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss. There was a desperate edge to it, a barely contained hunger that bordered on savage. His tongue swept into your mouth, taking, claiming. He backed you up against the wall, pinning you there with the solid weight of his body. Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, the impact pushing a gasp from your lips. His body against yours, pressing you into the cool stone, was a delicious torment. His kiss was demanding, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, tasting, taking, claiming you as his own. Your fingers curled into his sleeves, holding on for dear life as he explored your mouth with a fervor that left you breathless. You could feel the hardness of his arousal against you, the evidence of his desire making your own need spike fiercely. His lips left yours, only to blaze a trail down your neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive skin. With a swift movement, he lifted you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. He carried you away from the wall, his mouth still working at your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses and possessive marks. He laid you down on the bed, his body settling over yours, his hands roaming everywhere. His mouth moved lower, his lips trailing down the column of your throat, the dip of your collarbone. His hands were everywhere, skimming along your sides, tracing the curve of your hips, slipping under the hem of your dress.
He pushed the fabric up, baring the smoothness of your skin to his gaze, the heat in his eyes burning almost ferociously. His mouth followed, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your body arching into his touch, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Your skin was on fire, every nerve ending alive with sensation. The feel of his lips, the heat of his mouth, the possessive grip of his hands was like a drug, intoxicatingly addictive. You had never felt anything like this, never wanted something so fiercely. His mouth found your hip, his teeth sank into the soft flesh, and you gasped, your fingers digging into his muscles. His grip on your hips was almost painful, but the ache of it only fueled the fire burning within you. He moved further down, his lips hovering above the apex of your thighs, his breath hot against your skin.
His fingers traced the edge of your underwear, teasing, tantalizing. He looked up at you, his gaze smoldering, drinking in the sight of you spread beneath him, flushed and wanting.
“Say you're mine," he growled, his voice thick with need.
"I'm yours," you gasped out, the words falling mindlessly from your lips. You were completely at his mercy, your body a maelstrom of sensations, his every touch stoking the fire that threatened to consume you.
His mouth moved down, his teeth grazing your inner thigh gently, his fingers slipping under the material of your undergarments, the very edge of them.
He looked up at you again, his eyes dark, his voice low and gruff. "Say it again."
"I'm yours," you repeated, the words a moan, a declaration. You could feel him smirking against your skin, the knowledge that he had you completely at his mercy adding an edge of possessive satisfaction to his movements. His fingers moved lower, his touch becoming more insistent. His mouth moved to the other thigh, his breath hot against your skin, his teeth grazing gently.
“mine," he grumbled, his voice a low command. It wasn't a question, it was a claim.
You could feel every touch, every kiss, every graze of his teeth as if it was imprinted on your soul. Your fingers clutched at the sheets, your body arching into his touch, seeking more, always more. His fingers moved further, slipping under the cotton of your underwear, teasing against your skin.
He looked up at you, his eyes burning, that possessive fire blazing in their depths. "Mine," he repeated, his voice rougher this time, his lips hovering over the place where you desperately wanted, needed, his touch. his dark eyes looking at you, the dark veins that now covered his eyes.
"All mine."
With that final, possessive word, he claimed you, his mouth finding you. His touch was rough, demanding, his body pinning you to the bed. He nipped and sucked, his fingers moving, exploring, his control slipping further. Your body burned, the fire within you consuming you, the sensations too intense. You were his in that moment, completely, utterly claimed. His name fell from your lips, a plea, a plea for more, for release. His tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, his fingers moving frantically, as if desperate to make up for the years that had been wasted, as if needing to show you just what he'd denied himself.
His body was hot, his muscles taut, the veins now dark under his skin, the fire within him almost feral, almost wild. Your body shook, the pleasure almost overwhelming. Your hands clutched desperately at his hair, your legs wrapping around him, drawing him closer, as if you could merge completely. his eyes looked at you, the dark veins that now covered his eyes. you couldn't look away, those eyes that often mirrored your own.
The taste of you was intoxicating, driving him further and further over the edge, the animal within him taking over. He needed to claim you, to mark you so that anyone who even dared to look would know you were his. His dark maiden.
He didn't hesitate, his tongue moving faster, his fingers moving with precision, as if he knew exactly the right places to touch, the right rhythm to send you to the edge. His eyes burned into yours, every flick of his tongue, every movement of his hand a silent declaration - you were his, you had always been,now and forever. Your body was on fire, the pleasure building higher and higher, threatening to consume you, the feeling so intense you feared you might break. You were at the precipice, balancing on the edge, every muscle tight, ready to snap. His eyes never left yours, the feral, possessive fire in them burning even brighter, the black veins now a stark contrast against the paleness of his skin. his lips were at your stomach now, the heat almost unbearable. his teeth sunk into the skin just above your hip, his grip on your thighs bruising. You were close, so close, that all it would take was just a little more, just one more touch, one more taste, to send you over the edge.
He must have sensed it too, for his fingers moved faster, his mouth more urgent, his body pressed against yours, as if he could drown in the very feel of you. You could feel the tension, the pressure building, threatening to explode, and just when you thought you couldn't take anymore...he withdrew, leaving you gasping, needy, and wanting more. leaving small dark hickeys on your skin. Your body was a mess, every muscle tight, every nerve alive with unsatisfied desire. You groaned at the loss of contact, your hips arching up towards him in silent pleading.
He smirked at the sight of you, flushed, desperate, and completely undone. Your breathing was ragged, your chest rising and falling heavily, your body aching with need. He looked down at you, that possessive fire still burning in his eyes, the desire in you mirrored in his gaze. He leaned back, looking you up and down, almost appraisingly. You could feel his gaze, hot and intense, roving over your body, taking in every inch. You were laid out before him, bare and open, the evidence of your desire for him on full display. He let out a low groan, his eyes dark, almost feral. The sight of you, so desperate for him, sent a fresh wave of heat through him. The fire within him raged, the need to claim you, to mark you as his, almost overpowering. But he held back, taking a slow, deliberate breath.
"Turn over," he commanded, his voice a low, hoarse rasp.
You obeyed without question, the need in you overriding any thoughts of defiance. You rolled onto your stomach, the fabric of the sheets cool against your heated skin. His gaze darkened as he took in the sight of you, your body laid out before him, your back arched, your head turned to the side, your eyes meeting his. His hands roved over the expanse of your back, his touch almost reverent as he traced the curves, the dips, every bit of bare skin he could reach. His lips skimmed over your spine, his teeth grazing softly at the base of your neck, before he spoke.
"Lift your hips."
The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you obeyed, lifting your hips off the bed, your body now at his complete mercy.
His hands moved to your hips, his grip firm, possessive. He pulled you up onto your hands and knees, positioning you how he wanted.
"Arch your back."
You complied, shifting your weight onto your arms, arching your back, your body now completely exposed. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension in the air. His hands roved over your skin, moving down in a slow, deliberate path, over your hips, your backside, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the sensitive skin of your thighs.
"Open your legs," he commanded.
The words sent another shiver through you, your body responding to his command before your mind could catch up. You spread your thighs wider, your head spinning with desire. He moved closer, his body pressed against your from behind, his breath hot against your ear. He chuckled, a low, rough sound, and spoke, his voice ragged.
“Such a good girl for me, now love, you only get all of me when you yield yourself to me” he whispers. The words sent a thrill through you, the thought of completely giving yourself to him, submitting to him fully, making your heart pound.
His body was hot against yours, his hands roaming over your skin, his lips tracing a burning path down your spine. He leaned down, his voice a low growl in your ear. "Say it," he commanded again. "Say you'll give yourself to me. Completely." To fully give into the dark, be his entirely and wholly, to rule beside him. A gasp escaped you at his words, the weight of his demand settling over you. It was a monumental step, a complete surrender, and everything you'd been fighting against.
But in that moment, with his body against yours, his hands on your skin, you couldn't resist.
You spoke, your voice low, your words a breathless whisper. "I will give myself to you. Completely." He groaned against your skin, his body shuddering in response, the fire within him flaring brighter. His hands tightened on your hips, a low, possessive growl ripping from his throat. He'd been patient, he'd held back, but your surrender had shattered the last remnants of control.
“Mine," he repeated, his voice rough. "Every part of you, every inch, your body, your soul, all mine."
You felt a thrill run through you at the possessive tone, the way he claimed you as his own, leaving no room for doubt or objection.
His teeth grazed your shoulder, his mouth finding the sensitive place where your neck met your shoulder, where he'd marked you earlier. He nipped gently, his teeth sinking into your flesh, his tongue licking the spot after, as if to confirm his ownership. The mark he'd left earlier had already turned a deep bruise, a visible sign of his claim. But he wanted more, wanted to mark you so deeply, so completely, you'd wear his marks for days.
His mouth moved down your back, his lips leaving a wet, hot trail over your skin, his teeth nipping, his hands roving, until he reached the curve of your backside. A soft, shaky breath fell from your lips at the rough feel of his touch, the heat of his kisses, the way he worshipped every inch of you with mouth and hands.
You could feel the change in him, his movements rougher, more demanding, less restrained. His hands moved lower, his touch possessive, as he pulled you back, closer to the edge of the bed.
Your body moved with his touch, following his silent command as he positioned you how he wanted.
He pulled away for a moment, his gaze raking over you, your body laid out, desperate and needy, before him. He looked down, his eyes roaming over your skin, taking in the marks he'd left, the evidence of his claim. His hands moved to your thighs, his fingers gripping possessively. He pushed you further apart, his voice low, rough. "Stay."
The word was a command, and you obeyed, your body going still, your limbs feeling heavy with want. He stepped closer, one hand still on your thigh, the other moving to your back, pressing you down onto the bed, your face buried in the sheets. He leaned down, his body covering you from above, his breath hot against the nape of your neck. His voice was a low, gravelly whisper in your ear. "I'm going to ruin you, my love. In the best possible way."
Your body quivered beneath him, heat pooling low in your stomach at his words. You were completely at his mercy, your body his to claim, his to take, his to destroy.
You could feel him behind you, his hardness pressed against you, the heat of his body, the strength in his arms as he held you tight. He chuckled, a low, rough sound, as he whispered in your ear. "Just relax. Let me give you what you need."
Your body relaxed at his words, your mind going blank, your breath growing ragged as you gave yourself over to him, to the feelings he was bringing to life within you.
He ran his hand up your thigh, his touch rough, possessive, as he positioned himself between your legs. You could feel his body hovering over you, his body so much larger and harder than yours. His grip tightened on you, a low growl escaping him at the sound of your begging. He could feel your need, your desperation for him, and it thrilled him, feeding the fire within him.
“Good girl." he murmured, his voice low, his tone almost gentle, as he pressed himself in you. "Such a good girl for me."
You couldn't help the gasp that escaped you at his words, the feel of him filling you, his body pressed against yours from behind.
You'd never felt so full, so vulnerable, so completely under his control.
He moved against you, his pace slow, his movements almost torturously slow, driving you closer to the edge. "I've wanted you," he whispered in your ear, his voice a rough rasp. "so, so long." the pleasure you could feel was more than that which a human could have, more than any human could comprehend, he was a Maia and his skills could not be taught, you whimpered again, "please.." he let one of his hands leave you hip and found your chin turning it, making you look at him, "I want to hear you say it, I want to hear you Beg”
his eyes bore into yours, his grip on your chin tightening slightly. He was completely in control, his movements slow and measured.
"Beg, my love."
It was a command, a demand, and your body responded, your voice falling from your lips, pleading. "Please," you whispered, your voice raw, desperate. "Please."
His lips curled into a satisfied smirk, the fire in his eyes burning brighter at the sound of your pleading. He loved hearing you beg for him, loved knowing that he had you completely at his mercy.
"Again." He ordered, his voice a low growl, his eyes dark, possessive. "Louder."
His tone was commanding, the words almost like a spell, their effect immediate, as you felt your voice rise, louder, pleading, desperate for more.
“Please," you repeated, your body arching beneath him, your voice shaking. "Please, I need you."
He groaned at the sound of your pleading, your words driving him closer to the edge. He could feel himself losing control, his movements growing more erratic as he gave in to the primal need coursing through him. His hand on your hips tightened, pulling you back against him, his body moving faster, harder, his breaths growing ragged. you would be his undoing. He was close, you could feel it in every movement, the way his body trembled against you, the way his breath came in ragged gasps.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck, his voice a low, guttural growl. "Are you mine?" The question was a demand, a claim, he needed, no craved to hear you say it.
You responded, your voice shaky, ragged. "Yes, yes I'm yours."
The words, soft and desperate, the exact words he needed, sent him over the edge, a low, guttural sound escaping him as he let himself go. He was lost, completely consumed by the heat, the need, the pleasure that only you could bring him.
He held you close, his body shaking with release. He held you tightly, his arms anchoring you against him, his heart pounding in his chest, your body pressed tightly against his.
He buried his face against your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he spoke, his voice rough, hoarse. "You're mine," he whispered, his words a dark promise, "mine to keep safe, mine to cherish, and mine to love. Always mine".
You could feel the possessive edge to his words, a protective, claiming edge that sent a thrill through you. You were his, completely and utterly, and he was going to make sure the world knew it.
He pulled away slightly, his eyes tracing over your face, taking in the aftermath of what he'd done. He was still breathing heavily, his body glistening with sweat, the fire within him now a low, simmering flame.
He cupped your face gently in his hands, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek.
“My queen”
