#nine for mortal men

[inahandful-of-dust]

THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING (2001) Dir. Peter Jackson

[helenvader]

Nine stills of goblets, cups, etc. for ROP S2 Countdown Event.

I absolutely love how the design corresponds to the individual cultures.

DWARVES

SOUTHLANDERS

NÚMENOREANS

ELVES

HARFOOTS

URUKS

[thenotoriousscuttlecliff]

At this point I'm just going to assume every mortal man in the show who isn't an established character is a potential Nazgûl.

Also going to assume that Sauron will spends some time next season as "King Halbrand" roaming Middle Earth offering rings to those desperate or foolish enough to take them.

[fantasyquests]

For the countdown game: nine things I'm looking forward to in S2 of The Rings of Power (in no particular order) 1. Berek finding Isildur 2. Gil Galad wielding Aeglos 3. Gil Galad singing 4. Disa singing 5. Tom Bombadil singing 6. Cirdan 7. Elrond 8. Anatar's gradual revelation, from angelic to demonic 9. Elendil and Miriel

[noiralei]

POV: You are a mortal man and you are offered a magic ring.

The size is weird but it's because I want to make a bookmark out of it

[fukutomichi]

"Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die..." suggested by @to-the-lost-heroes

[shortkingvince]

grim fluffus(important) withrrr ahmmm smut,,,

Hello there!! Thank you for the request! Sorry it took so long to post this, I got possessed by Grim brainrot and went a little overboard. Hope you don't mind!

Irresistible

Warnings: Smut (no penetration), handjobs, whimpering men, very brief dacryphilia? (It's just tears in his eyes from the pleasure, I dare not hurt this babygirl....yet. /j), ungodly amounts of fluff, Grim being the victim of MC/Reader being a little shit (/j /aff), spoilers for Grim's real name, takes place after ending 3

Minors DNI

Gn reader

A comfortable silence spread through the air of your apartment, which you were now sharing with your lovely little reaper. The reaper in question had ended up all but dragging you into the bathroom to do his skincare routine with him, saying that his is probably more superior to yours, which definitely wasn't just an excuse to spend more time with you. Totally not. He isn't clingy, you're clingy. Totally. It couldn't have been because he was waiting at home all day for you to come back from work.

He made you follow his skincare routine (with your own products, of course), it was honestly impressive how he was able to do this every single day without fail. Though, despite the calm atmosphere it was a bit clear he was stressed, likely having overworked himself around the house due to not being used to having the option to relax. He had a tendency to be a workaholic, even before he gave up his whole job to be with you. This struck an idea in you, now you just had to convince him.

You had already been pretty close to him during the routine, but you had carefully been moving closer to him, not that you had to move much. Once you were close enough you gently put your hand on his, not wanting to suddenly overwhelm him with touch since he wasn't used to it just yet, watching his reaction carefully.

As you had suspected, his face had a bit of shock on it along with confusion, his cheeks turning a shade of pink as he questioned you.

“Why are you holding my hand? How are you supposed to do this without both of your hands? Stupid mortal.” He said, averting his gaze as he flushed a bit at your own. His blush only worsened as both of your hands lifted up to cup his face lovingly, tilting his head to look back at you.

“Am I not allowed to take a small break to admire my pretty little reaper?” you teased him, watching his cocky smile take place on his face. “I know I'm irresistible, but I'm sure you can wait until we're done,” he responded in his usual confident way despite all the pink he had on his face from the gentle touch. He couldn't help but slightly relax into it, the warmth contrasting against his cool skin like a calming spell.

Despite his words, he made no move to pull away. He couldn't help but crave your touch, even more so whenever you were away at work. In all honesty, he didn't want you to pull away, in fact, a part of his head was practically screaming at you to just kiss him already. It was something that frustrated him about you but in the best way possible, the way he could never tell just when or if you were going to kiss him, and sometimes he felt he'd have to just grab you by your clothes and pull you into it himself.

He couldn't help but feel a bit of tension from your gaze, not knowing what you were about to do or say. He waited with a bated breath, eyes widening slightly as your lips got closer….and closer…..and…you suddenly pulled away, a smirk and mischievous glint in your eyes as you started to do the rest of the routine, leaving Casper to practically gape at the audacity.

He huffed, crossing his arms. “Dumbass mortal, what in the nine hells was that for?”

“What was what for?”

“The…you know!”

“I don't, actually.”

Casper knew you were lying due to the smirk on your face. He grumbled as he averted your gaze once again, his face deeply reddening. “You…why did you pull away? I thought you were going to kiss me.”

“Did you want me to kiss you?” you replied to him, your teasing tone getting on his nerves while also making him far more flustered than before. He hated how you had him wrapped around your finger so easily.

“Obviously.” He had an exasperated expression, clearly having expected you to actually kiss him instead of leave him hanging. You laughed, making him a little more frustrated due to the embarrassment. As he attempted to open his mouth to speak, you suddenly got close again and put one hand on his waist, the other cupping his cheek as you did earlier as you pulled him in for a proper kiss. Anything he was going to say died on his tongue as he quickly relaxed into the kiss and his frustrations melted away.

As you pulled back his body instinctively tried to chase your lips, wanting nothing more than to be enveloped in everything you could give, wanting to give into his greediness for you. He was so in love with you that it hurt, but felt so good all at the same time. His heart fluttered in his chest as if he were a mortal human with a lovesick crush.

At first, Casper thought any type of relationship was a waste of time, that a reaper didn't have time to be close to anyone. He never understood why mortals spent their time caring about others. That was before he fell for you, and when he fell, he fell hard. How a mere—no, not mere, there was nothing mere about you. A mortal like you being capable of stealing his heart with no chance of getting it back made his head reel, but in all the right ways.

He was soon snapped back to reality as your voice rang in his ears, lifting up the lovely veil of his thoughts he had gotten lost in.

“Grimmy, you good?” You had a shit-eating grin on your face as you used the embarrassing nickname. “Earth to Grim!”

He narrowed his eyes as his expression became frustrated again, sighing. “I told you that name is embarrassing to hear you say in person. You're doing this on purpose.”

“Maybe,” you said with a breathy laugh that made Casper's heart speed up, you were irresistible. So irresistible it frustrated him that you practically bullied him all the time. Maybe bullying is an exaggeration, but he doesn't think so, he thinks it perfectly describes just what a little menace you were towards him.

“You know, Cas, I have an idea. It could help you relax,” you suddenly suggested. Casper arched a brow, awaiting your proposal. “Continue.” He put his hand on his cheek as he waited for you to speak.

“So…you know how I mentioned back when we were doing video calls that I could help wash your entire body? We could take a bath together. After all, it would save water.” You winked at the end of the sentence, practically making Casper go wide-eyed at the thought.

“And here I thought you had forgotten that conversation. My mistake. I completely underestimated just how much you want to see me naked instead of just imagining it.” He smirked, his confidence seeping through once again.

“Maybe I do.”

“...Well I didn't expect you to just admit it.”

“Besides, I can tell you've been overworking yourself around the house today. It could help you relax,” you added, chuckling at the fact he got a little surprised at you practically admitting to imagining him naked.

“And just how is that supposed to make me relax? It seems like it would do the exact opposite.”

“And why would it do the exact opposite?”

“You know why.”

“No, no, please inform me, little reaper”

His face went red, he was so sick of your teasing. So sick of it, yet craved it at the same time. “Well, I….uh…”

Your gaze softened at his hesitance, cupping your hand to his cheek again as you spoke. “We don't have to if you don't want to. I'd never do anything you aren't comfortable with, it won't upset me.”

He relaxed at your words, knowing you were telling the truth. “I'm not uncomfortable with it, I'm just not very experienced with this kind of thing.”

“Wow, I never knew.”

“Really?”

“No, it was sarcasm.”

“...”

“Right, sorry. You're just so fun to tease.”

“I…might hate you.”

You laughed, knowing that he couldn't lie and therefore was having to resort to wording it with unsure language. It was just another thing you loved about him. “So, is that a yes to the bath, or?” You questioned, just to completely make sure. He nodded in response, albeit still a bit flustered at the thought of something so intimate, wanting to go through with it.

A bit of time passed as the water was finally at a temperature that you both wouldn't complain about. You looked over at Casper, a grin on your face. “Are you gonna bathe with your clothes on?” You teased him, only getting a scoff in response as he slowly started to take his clothes off. Of course, he took notice that you weren't exactly undressing at the same time as him.

“...I can't be the only one getting undressed if we're bathing together. I am absolutely not bathing with you if you try to bathe in your clothes.”

“Aww, you wanna see me naked that bad?”

“Huh?! You're the one who suggested the bath in the first place! Gods, you're going to make me lose my mind at this rate.”

“You didn't deny it.”

“Just take your clothes and get in the damn bath.” He responded quickly, getting in the bath once everything was off before you had time to tease him further.

The bath wasn't too spacious, but it was enough to fit both of you if you positioned it right. That's how you now had a red-faced Casper, his back against your chest as he rested the back of his head on your shoulder. It didn't take him long to relax despite his nerves from before, the warmth of the water and your body against him was soothing and made his head feel fuzzy along with his heart.

You washed his body gently, taking in the content sigh he let out from your touch. He unconsciously leaned backwards into your chest, wanting to be even closer to you, as if that were even possible.

Casper wasn't used to being touched, this was just a known fact, but… despite the unfamiliarity of it, he felt…safe. Safe with you, safe in your arms. It was addicting to him, he had never felt like this with anyone before, but then you ended up turning that all upside down. Or maybe…you turned it upright, allowing him to finally be able to see from a more comfortable perspective. Whichever one it was, he loved it. He needed more of it, more of you.

Of course, with how Casper was, he had to open his mouth to say something despite all the fuzziness. “We're taking a shower after this by the way, baths aren't exactly for actually getting clean.”

“Ooh, we? How bold, Grimmy.”

“We are literally pressed up against each other naked right now. A shower is far less ‘bold’. Besides, you're in the bath with me right now and unless you wish to sleep on the floor I suggest you wash the bath residue off of yourself afterwards.” He looked at you once he finished saying that, a satisfied glint in his eye.

Of course, that glint in his eye turned to surprise as you grabbed him by his chin and made him look at you, just as you did earlier, but this time there was a bit more of a gentle sternness to it that made his heart leap in his chest. “Oh? Is that so?” You questioned, amused by the way his breath sped up when you grabbed him. He couldn't get himself to tear his eyes away from your gaze, the way you were looking down at him made him squirm a bit.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” You teased, relishing in just how easy it was to make him speechless. “Just shut up and kiss me again already, you fool,” he said suddenly, frustration clear in his voice once again as he suppressed a whine from escaping his throat. There was no way he was about to whine and beg for you to kiss him.

It felt like his breath was stolen from him when you finally kissed him, his mind blanking again as all he could think about were your lips against his, your hands still roaming over his body as you washed him. It felt like his skin was on fire from how hot everything felt, the water, your skin, his own blood, it felt like too much and not enough all at the same time.

Just when he thought that would be it, he suddenly felt your tongue prodding at the entrance of his mouth, silently asking him for permission. He opened his mouth to give you access, breathy gasps leaving him as he felt your tongue dance against his. His mind raced, unable to think about anything other than your tongue until he felt your hands wander up to his chest.

Casper couldn't help the muffled noise he made as he felt your hands, his chest feeling like sparks were being set off as you ran your soaped hands against the entirety of his chest. He felt embarrassed by that noise alone, but the noise that escaped his mouth once you squeezed his chest made him rethink all of his life choices. He had whined, right into your mouth, and not even quietly.

He felt his heart drop when you pulled away, desperately wanting to chase your lips. A part of him was afraid you didn't like it, until he saw the breathless look on your face. Oh, right. Mortals need air. Plus, your expression told him all he needed to know, it practically proved to him that you weren't suddenly disgusted with him, as if that were even possible. He knows any noise that escapes his mouth is like a gift from the heavens, he just got a bit worried for a moment.

Despite the pleased expression on your face from the desperate whine he made before, there was still a gentle and caring side to it. “Is this okay?” You checked in with him, wanting to make sure he gave verbal consent to all of this, along with making sure he was comfortable. He nodded fervently, his gaze going half-lidded. “Yes, it is. Just do that again, fuck.”

You continued to tease and squeeze at his chest, leaving a trail of kisses around his jaw. His breathing only got faster and more desperate, the poor man sensitive to every little touch you did. You almost felt bad for him. Almost. Maybe you could explore this sensitivity of his later when you weren't in such a small space.

Eventually, you started to trail your hand down, watching Casper’s face carefully for any signs of discomfort. You ran your hand slowly, all the way down to his thigh. His breath hitched as he felt your hand squeeze his thigh, suddenly extremely aware of just how close your hand was to his dick. He hadn't even paid enough attention before to realize just how hard he was, the realization heavily embarrassed him, but he wanted you to keep going.

His thighs trembled, causing you to glance at him again in case he was uncomfortable. The desperation on his face told you all you needed to know. Gods, he was gorgeous, he was irresistible. You let your hand wander to his inner thigh, your hand dangerously close to where he wanted you most. Yet, despite the desperation being clear, you still wanted to make sure one last time that this is what he wanted.

“Is it okay if I–” “Nine Hells, Sunshine, just touch me already before I leave the damn ba–holy shit…” Your touch interrupted what he was about to say, the feeling of your hand finally on his cock making him completely forget what he was about to say. He arched his back into your chest in surprise, the cutest gasp leaving his mouth at the sudden stimulation. He had just expected you to continue teasing him, he didn't think you'd automatically start stroking him the moment he told you to touch him.

“Relax,” you held him gently with your other hand, still gently squeezing his chest as you pulled him even closer to you, if that was even possible. “I've got you, just relax.” At that, Casper all but fell into you, his hand making a pathetic attempt to cover his sounds. The hand that was on Casper’s chest went up to his wrist, gently pulling it away from his mouth. “I want to hear you, love, please don't hide such pretty sounds from me,” you told him, a shiver going up his spine at your words.

You teased the tip of his cock, the action rewarding you with a choked moan from the white haired reaper. He felt like he was gonna go insane from your touch, his hands trying to find something to hold onto. Noticing this, you gently held his hand instead of going back to teasing his chest, his hand giving yours an appreciative squeeze. “Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, Sunshine, please, please…” he begged, not even knowing what he was begging for, he just didn't want your hands to leave him.

“I've barely even touched you and you're already this desperate?” At your words, he whines, shooting you a slight glare before quickly getting caught off guard by your hand tightening momentarily against his cock. “It's not a bad thing, quite the opposite, in fact. Just relax, my little reaper,” you whispered in his ear, a shiver going down his spine.

All of his senses were going crazy, unable to think about anything but you. He struggled to not buck his hips so he wouldn't get the floor wet, it was becoming increasingly difficult the more you touched him. “A-ah, just…just like that…Sunshine…” his soft moans were like music to your ears, his voice was always so beautiful.

You sped up your hand a bit, letting out a small laugh as he yelped from the sudden change, his back arching into your chest again. “Don't…haah, don't laugh…while your hand is on my–ah…uhnn…l-let me get my words out, dammit…Nine Hells, your hand…a thousand curses upon you…I– ah…” He was just barely getting the words out, struggling to keep his mind on track enough to form a full sentence. His cock twitched in your hand, a whimper leaving his mouth as your thumb circled the tip before going back to stroking and squeezing his shaft.

He held onto your hand tighter, eyes closing tightly as he failed to suppress all the moans flying out of his mouth. His eyes began to form tears from how sensitive he was, but when you slowed down to check on him his eyes shot right back open. “Don't you dare stop, don't you–ahn…don't you dare…please…please, just go faster already!” His hips finally bucked into your hand before you could even pick up the speed, his mind so lost in how close he was that he couldn't care less about the water hitting the floor…that would be a problem to clean up later. For now, you focused on Casper.

His breath was rapid as you stroked him faster, his eyes fluttering closed once again as he leaned into you, both from the pleasure and for the comfort of feeling you so close to him. “Ah, fuck…fuck, Sunshine, I'm so close, I'm so–Nine Hells, I can’t–fuck–I can't much longer–” His voice was strained from how close he was, his legs threatening to close from the overwhelming amount of pleasure. He practically yelped when you momentarily stopped holding his hand to hike one of his legs over the side of the tub, increasing the speed and pressure of your strokes as your free hand held his hand once more.

By this point his moans had increased further in volume, you wouldn't be surprised if you got a noise complaint later. You didn't mind though, not when you were busy paying attention to the way your reaper shuddered at your very touch, the way he reacted to each stroke. You deeply kissed him, feeling him immediately return it wildly, as if he had craved it the entire time.

He whimpered into your mouth, the way he was so close made him shake. When you pulled away a whine escaped his throat, his face full of desperation. The way you looked at him made his heart flutter, your gaze was full of both love and lust, he could see how you enjoyed watching him lose himself to the pleasure, and he couldn't get enough of it.

“S-so close…I don't think– I don't think I can hold on much longer, Sunshine, I–” his sentence was cut off by a moan escaping his lips as you gently bit his neck. “You don't have to, my little reaper. You can cum anytime you like, so go ahead,” you said, whispering in his ear. At that, his entire body gave a shudder as he moaned once more, eyes rolling back as he got permission. His orgasm hit him hard, practically gripping onto what he could of you for dear life. You continued to stroke him through his orgasm until it was over, holding him close.

He laid there against you for a moment, catching his breath. He was exhausted, his eyes fighting to stay open. “I'm guessing we need to save the shower for later?” you asked, only slightly joking since you felt he couldn't really stand properly right now due to his tiredness.

“...I suppose it can wait.”

“You up for snuggling in the bed together?”

“Obviously.”

“Alright, I'll help get you to the bed.”

“Wait.”

“Huh?” Your head tilted in confusion as Casper opens his eyes. “I haven't returned the favor…” he said with a bit of concern, not wanting to leave you unsatisfied despite how tired he was. He was shocked when you suddenly started to lightly laugh, confusion evident across his features. “Casper, there's no need for that. You're tired, you need to rest. Besides, pleasuring you was more than enough to satisfy me, you don't have to worry. Let's get to bed, okay?”

“...Okay. If you say so. I'll make it up to you after I rest, though, even if you say that.”

Casper was a stubborn reaper. You knew you wouldn't be able to convince him that he doesn't have to ‘return any favors’, so as long as he rests before trying anything it'll be fine. You dried both you and him off as you both got into comfortable clothes, helping him get to the bed.

Once the two of you were on the bed, you wrapped your arms around Casper, threading your fingers through his hair. He was more relaxed than usual, practically melting into your touch as he snuggled into your chest. It wasn't long before he fell asleep, comfortable and safe in your arms, and there was no place he'd rather be.

[bg-brainrot]

The Thousandth Time (Astarion x GN!Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Summary: Astarion and Rogue!Tav make love for the thousandth time. In a bathtub.

Tags: Smut, Slice of life, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Spawn Astarion, Post-Canon, bathtub sex, sloppy sex, seriously just sickeningly sweet smut, Spawn Astarion, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Domesticity is romantic, Hand Jobs, Blood Drinking

A/N: Some context-- I wanted to write soft, gender neutral smut. And by the gods is this soft. I tried to look at what it's like to love someone for so long. In my experience, when you've been with someone for so many years, you still find a lot of love in the little things. which I hope I hit? Anyway, enjoy!!

Word count: ~5.3k

The thousandth time you make love to Astarion, you don't know it's the thousandth time.

It's a day like any other, really.

After a long day at the guild, you've arrived home, a sigh on your lips, a furrow to your brow.

"Whatever is the matter, my dear?"

You compose your expression and turn toward your lover. "Astarion," you start, a reflexive wistfulness to your tone. Gods are you glad to see him after a day like today. "Nothing is the matter. Nothing important anyway. Simply glad to be home."

Astarion gives you a look that says he doesn't quite believe you, but knows better than to pry too deeply into issues you'd rather not bring home. "Very well, darling. But you know I'm all pointy ears. Especially if Nine-Fingers has been difficult again."

"Ugh," you say, wincing in annoyance. "Do not say her name right now."

The vampire gives you a bright, toothy laugh. "That bad, eh?" You nod. He walks toward you, arms outstretched. "Mmm in that case, shall we call it an early night tonight?"

You dive into the comfort of his arms, holding him to you, inhaling his fresh, familiar scent. It feels like the day's troubles melt in his cold embrace, and the tension in your body finally relaxes. "That might be nice."

"Dinner first?" he asks, pulling away from you slightly.

You look into his warm crimson eyes, feel that same warmth reflected in your face. Of course, he’d check to see if your mortal needs have been met. "No need, I've eaten. How about you?"

Astarion brings a hand up to inspect your face, this way, then that. It’s as if he’s examining you for injury, not assessing if he can partake in a bit of your blood. "Mmm, you seem a tad tired, love."

"You know I'll manage. Besides, get my blood while it's still boiling with rage," you say, craning your neck for him in response.

"As delectable as that sounds,” he begins, letting go of your face, tracing his fingers along your neck. “I think a bath and bed ought to come first."

You want to argue the point, make sure he's fed to the best of your ability, but the yawn that escapes you is irrefutable. With nary another word, his hand is on the small of your back, guiding you toward the bath.

"Would you like to join me?" you ask him as you open the door. Your expression is calm, the question harboring no hidden intentions. Any other day, you may have raised an eyebrow at him suggestively, begun taking off your armor in a tease– but you're tired, simply not wanting to relinquish the feel of his arms around you.

"Certainly, if it keeps you from falling asleep in the tub…" he trails off, looking at you warily. He appears torn, somewhere between keeping you from drowning and keeping you from resting.

You give him a wry smile. “Imagine that. After felling all manner of beasts and men, finally succumbing to the tub.”

Astarion offers you a reluctant smile in return. “My love, I swear to every god above and below, if you die in any manner even remotely that ludicrous, I shall have to pretend not to know you at your funeral.”

“That’s fair,” you say, holding a hand out to him. “Best to make sure that doesn’t happen then, don’t you think?”

The man can’t argue with that, nor does he seem to want to. After an entire day away from each other, this closeness is exactly what the two of you crave. So he takes your offered hand, and follows you into the bathroom.

It has been years since you had added a tub big enough for the two of you in your house. While the two of you had accrued wealth enough for an entire bathhouse, you’d settled for a more modest setup. At least, modest in Astarion’s eyes.

The floor is made of the finest marble tiles, the walls of intricately laid and patterned brick. And in the center of the room, is the room’s main attraction: the enormous, magical tub. It’s long enough that you could comfortably lay down across the entire bottom, wide enough that you have to extend your arms to reach both sides. The outer edges are infused with enchantments to improve your bathing experience, and the tub itself is made of the highest quality crystal that gold can buy.

Once you enter the room, you activate the heat and water sigils along the basin’s edges and turn back to Astarion. “Would you mind grabbing some soaps from the shelf?”

He gives you a lopsided grin, eyes crinkling with amusement, but still moves to do as you ask. “Would you also like me to bathe you while I’m at it?”

“Oh, would you?” you ask half-joking. You begin to strip your armor off, piece by piece.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, picking out a few of his preferred scents from a shelf on the wall. He’s accumulated quite the collection now, enjoying mixing and matching as his nose guides him. “That could be arranged.”

You’re almost halfway through your armor when he returns, bottles of lemon, bergamot, and sage soaps in hand. “Ah, you know how much I love bergamot,” you say, smiling at it fondly, pausing halfway through undoing your leather straps.

“I know,” he says, placing them next to the tub before turning his attention fully to you. “I also know that you need help with that armor or we may be here all night.”

Holding your arms out wordlessly, Astarion starts to unbuckle each and every strap from the front of your padded armor. As he releases you from its confines, you take a deep, relieved breath and say, “Thank you, love.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he murmurs, leaving a long lingering touch along your now exposed collarbone. “While you strike quite the image in your armor, I think I much prefer you without.”

You laugh, feeling quite light in the now steaming room. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say your mind is straying quite far from rest, Astarion.”

The vampire shrugs, beginning to tug at your undershirt and small clothes with each of his hands. “Merely stating fact, my darling.”

With a few smooth movements, he’s taken off the last of your clothing, exposing every inch of you to the warmth of the room and the heat of his gaze. He seems just about ready to bury his head in your neck, begin covering every piece of you in kisses, when you speak, “Excuse me, are you planning to enter the bath in your house clothes?”

Astarion looks down at his own garb, the comfortable satins and silks of a man who spent the day lounging at home. When faced with your words and, ugh, logic, he says with a sigh, “Would you do the honors?”

You need no more invitation before your hands are on his soft, flowing shirt, running along it appreciatively. “Is this new?”

“It is,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice. “Do you like it?”

“It feels magnificent,” you respond, beginning to undo its buttons. “I may just have to steal it for myself one of these days.”

His lips purse at you. “You know, you could simply ask, darling.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you taunt, pulling up on the shirt's edges, tugging it up and off of him. Now, faced with the plane of his ivory chest, your fingers act on instinct. They trail down his shoulders, trace the line of his pectorals, drop down the center of his stomach to the waist of his pants.

Astarion gives you a low, approving noise before asking you wryly, “Now whose mind is straying?”

“Not mine,” you respond, pulling his pants and underwear down in one smooth motion. “My hands are just so tired, I’m sure you understand.”

“Surely,” he responds, as he pulls each foot out of his pant legs. “How is the water?”

The bath is steaming by now, visibly fogging up the room, but still, you bend down to skim your hands along its surface. “Ah, it’s warm,” you say, gripping the edge with one hand. “Maybe too warm?”

“No such thing,” he responds, and one of his hands lands next to yours as he bends down to feel the water for himself. The man gives a happy hum before asking, “Shall we then?” Then his now-wet hand is smacking your butt, his head gesturing toward the waiting water. 

“Excuse you,” you say, indignantly, as you turn toward him. “I'm tired.” But you don't feel tired. Not after running your hands over his cold skin. Not after feeling the quick contact of his hand on your backside.

“Not to worry, darling. I’ll take care of you.”

As in, bathing or–? Luckily you don't have much more time to think about it before he’s lowering himself into the tub. Even with his quick movement, even with the water’s slight obscurity, you easily note that Astarion’s cock has stirred in interest.

Ah. While you hadn’t meant to illicit anything by inviting him… it’s certainly not unwelcome. It’s a good thing that your exhaustion is all but melting away under his loving touches.

Acutely aware of his sharp gaze on the length of your back, you turn to face away from him, grab the edge of the tub, and slowly enter its warmth. As was customary in your baths, he would start with your back, so you take a spot in front of him, leaving just enough room for him to settle behind you as he pleases.

Too much room clearly, as Astarion immediately scoots forward, extending his legs to each side of you. You feel his hardening length graze your backside as he does so and can’t help the smile that curves your lips.

"Astarion, dear,” you start, placing your hands on each of his knees under the water. “Are you certain you want to bathe me?"

“And why wouldn't I be?” He leans closer, planting a soft kiss along your spine.

You debate backing up into his groin to prove a point but instead shake your head. "No reason, I suppose."

He begins by lathering his hands in a mixture of soaps, carefully measured out by eye and feel. All the while, you sit before him, hands on each of his calves, thumbs repeatedly rubbing the ridge of his muscles. While he’d had a nice, calm day today, his calves are always so tight from sneaking about– and it’s the least you can do for the man that’s bathing you.

Then his hands get to work.

At first he drags both hands along your back, once, twice. Once he’s made sure that soap covers every inch of you, he starts massaging you, working the soap into your skin, kneading into your sore muscles.

Astarion knows your body so intimately and, after so many years of tending to each other, he rubs all of your tightest spots. His knuckles press deep into your neck. His fingers work around your upper back. His thumbs dig underneath the edges of your shoulder blades, working out the knots he knows lay beneath. And, by the gods, if you thought you’d been melting under his caresses before, now you’re practically a puddle.

You can’t help the noises that come out at the sensation of his nimble fingers at work. Your shoulders ache from a long day of sneaking, stabbing, and general tension of dealing with people– the relief is palpable in the way you relax into his touch, grip his legs, and release several breathy moans.

And with each moan, you can feel his cock growing firmer against you. After the first few, you can feel him shift closer with every noise he draws from you. Knowing your affect on him has always done something to stir the fire in you, and this time it has you shifting uncomfortably as heat blooms between your legs. The both of you spur the other’s building lust, all the while the fresh scent that Astarion’s concocted permeates the air.

Then, when it’s clear he’s done with your back, thoroughly satisfied with each gasping breath of pleasure, his hands drop from your shoulders. They tail down your back, playing along your spine. And, in an almost leisurely motion, they wrap around your torso, where they finally settle on your chest.

I don’t think this is a relaxing bath anymore, you think distantly. Yet you’re unable to resist leaning into his palms, arching into his touch.

Sensing your shuffles, Astarion curls further into your back, almost entirely flush to you now. His fingers feel their way to each of your nipples, first gently brushing against them, then thumbing over them each in turn. They respond eagerly, perking up under his delicate sweep.

“Astarion,” you begin, turning your head back to him slightly and raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” Your tone isn’t exactly admonishing– your voice comes out too quiet, desire muffling all other emotions.

His hands trail down your chest, past the surface of the bath water, settling on each of your thighs before he responds, voice low, lips inches away from your ear. “Making sure that every single centimeter of my beautiful darling is clean, of course.”

“Astarion, I thought you would be, ahh… taking care of me," you say, barely holding on to your trail of thought as his hands dip between your legs, brushing your sensitive core.

“I am taking care of you,” he whispers, finally closing the remaining distance between your back, his front. At the feel of his stiff cock pressing against your back, you give an involuntary gasp. He seems to enjoy your reaction, taking a moment to slowly grind the entire length of his hardened arousal along your backside once, before he settles between your cheeks. “Unless you’d rather leave all of this stress pent up, my dear?”

You’d been tired– been ready to bathe and head off to bed. But something about this man never fails to ignite the fire in your heart– or your loins. “I suppose not,” you murmur, releasing Astarion’s calf, running up his leg with your fingers, landing on his arm, gripping it closer to you.

“I knew you would see reason,” he says, taking your grip as guidance. His hand moves down to begin stroking your heat, building up steadily to the fast-paced rhythm he knows you like. In the water’s buoyant embrace, his actions feel a touch more fluid, his fingers more silken.

It has taken time experimenting together to reach this place– one of utmost security and intimate knowledge of each others’ bodies. But now that you’re here, you’ve found that Astarion’s agile fingers are obscenely precise in their movements. Like he knows exactly which pins to tumble to unlock your utmost excitement.

So you can't help the way you buck into his touch, nor the way the water sloshes around you both in response.

"Careful, love," he says, hand stilling. "We don't want to make a mess this time, do we?"

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember the last time this had happened, how the floor had been practically flooded. You should agree with him, make sure that such an incident doesn't occur again. But the front of your mind is wholly occupied, thinking only of how he's stopped moving his hand, how being careful may mean that he takes it too gently. "Mmm, we managed to clean it up well enough," you respond, jerking your hips back, pressing against him with need.

Astarion's laughter rings upon the bathroom's stone walls, before it turns into a groan as you roll your hips once more. His voice is a bit huskier when he responds, "You know we’re going to regret it later.”

You smile back at him, satisfied with the noise you’ve elicited. “Sounds like a problem for later, doesn’t it?” Then your hand squeezes his arm, motioning it back down to your now throbbing arousal. “For now, what was that about releasing my stress?”

“Oh very well… in that case, let’s find where you ache most, shall we?” Astarion murmurs, dipping his head, placing a kiss on the base of your neck. “Here?” Your shoulder. “Or perhaps here?” Then his hand settles back between your legs, fingers touching you in a rather delicate caress. “Or maybe here?”

You hum a noise of approval as his . “Oh, there.”

His fingers close on your swollen sex, rubbing languidly as he whispers in your ear, “Mmm, darling. So much tension…” A bit more pressure. “I must simply…” A bit faster pace. “Massage it all away…”

If anything, his touches cause you to grasp at his legs harder, all of the muscles in your body responding in kind to his ministrations. Your back arches instinctively, earning an exquisite groan from Astarion. So when his next stroke causes you to clench, you lean into it, grinding your ass back into the full length of his erection, sliding easily in the water’s low friction.

His other hand finds its way to your hip, helping you match his pace as you continue to rock into him.

The two of you fall into a beautiful, raucous rhythm, each open and generous with your vocal pleasure, the water’s regular splashes punctuating each movement.

“Yes, yes, gods, Astarion.”

“My sweet, you’re the only divine thing here.”

Then your words begin to lose sense, your rhythm begins to falter, and it’s clear that you won’t last much longer under his caring fingers.

You also know that Astarion hasn’t been tended to nearly as well as you have.

So you move to turn toward him. With how his full length twitches against you in urgency, your own nimble fingers ought to return the favor.

Astarion stops you, placing his unoccupied hand back on your chest to hold you in place. "Ah ah ah. Love, I'm here to help you."

"You are helping,” you start, pushing back against his hand. “But I don’t want to leave you like this.” ‘This’ is obvious as the man clearly exercises every ounce of self control he has judging from the visible veins on his arm, the way his legs squeeze reflexively around you each time he strokes you.

He gives you a reluctant groan, one that does nothing to hide his desire. “Must you always be so selfless?” His hand doesn’t release your chest though, and he begins tracing delicate, wet circles around one of your nipples, as he murmurs, “Fine, just let me continue.”

Staying in place for him, you reach back with one hand to feel for his cock. It’s almost unreal how naturally you slot around him, the way your fingers circle around its girth. The entire length, inch-by-inch, the pattern of his veins, the sensitive lip of his head– they’re all intimately familiar to you now. As is finding just the right grip, the right pace.

When you start to pump him in earnest, Astarion can't help but shudder, his movements losing their steady, pulsing beat. In losing his pace, he takes on a new one– erratic, a bit fumbling, but utterly intoxicating.

You're both stoking each other’s fires in tandem, wildly offset in your desperation to touch each other more and more and more. 

The water feels almost cool compared to your heated core, to the sweet friction you're building together.

Astarion's face tilts into your back, grunting as he strains to right his tempo– his forehead presses against you, his cool exhale grazes your searing skin. His chilled touch is a reprieve in the sweltering fog of steam and heady lust. Hearing your sigh of relief, he seems all too willing to make more contact.

His lips crash onto your back roughly, and his fangs nick your skin. An involuntary shiver runs through your body as you imagine the pleasure his drinking evokes from you. As you imagine the man behind you lapping at your neck, moaning in satisfaction, flushed pink with your very blood–

"Take some blood,” you offer, breathless. Imagining would never be enough, you find yourself craving the real deal. So when you say your next word, it comes out more pleading than you intend, “Please."

“Whatever my dearest desires,” Astarion replies, voice low and rumbling. He removes the hand from your chest and places it on your shoulder, holding you in place as he places his lips at the crook of your neck. His nose rubs gently against your fleshly washed skin. “Mmm, you smell so good.”

Then his fangs pierce you.

When you first began your relationship, you hadn’t intended to enjoy his bites as much as you do, but after years and years of them, the pain hardly registers now. All you feel is close– So very close to the man you would gladly give your lifeblood to.

He draws a gulp, and you feel the blood course through you, into him.

Another drink, and heat builds in you as you feel his cock grow harder in your hand, his veins more prominent.

A third long pull of your blood, and you feel his fingers quicken at your aching arousal.

You jerk into his hand in reaction, trying to seek an outlet for your pleasure. Your mouth emits a whimper– you hadn’t been comfortable whimpering with Astarion at first, but after he drew one out of you, he couldn’t get enough.

He still can’t, and you feel his lips curl into a smile at your neck, his fingers move with more urgency.

All the while you continue stroking his length, fingers sloppy in your own hazy state. It doesn’t seem like you need your usual dexterity though, because Astarion is practically writhing with newfound reactivity. Drinking blood always leaves him especially sensitive.

One last shaky swallow and he removes his fangs from your neck. But not his mouth. His tongue begins lavishing your puncture wound furiously as he struggles to hold back his approaching peak.

With the way he haphazardly tilts his hips into you, it’s all too evident to you that he’s reaching his limit. He’s not afraid to tell you so either.

"My sweet," he all but moans into your ear. "I–I can't last much longer. May I?"

You know what he means, and you honestly can’t last much longer either– you’re positively light-headed from a mixture of bliss and blood loss. So you stop your movements, nod your addled head at him.

He removes his hands from your core and neck, reaching out to your legs. Pulling them out and apart, he shuffles behind you, moving impatiently.

Realizing he can’t do this alone, he gestures, motioning for you to put your legs up.

Still a bit dizzy, you carefully place each leg on either side of the tub’s edges, hooking yourself in place by the ankles. It feels a precarious balance, but you can hardly care when you’re this eager to have Astarion inside you.

Astarion seems just as eager, rubbing his length against your ass hungrily as you get into position.

Perched and ready for him, the man is quick to help once more– his hands grip your asscheeks and lift in a swift movement. You’re particularly buoyant in the water, and you rise higher than either of you had expected. Your hand instinctively reaches out, gripping the edge of the tub to brace yourself, and you hear Astarion give a deep chuckle from behind you.

Holding back your own almost giddy excitement, you try to compose yourself for him. Angling your hips up, you’re almost floating on the water for a moment as Astarion lines the tip of his cock with your entrance.

However, you’re instinctively clenching a second later when a pair of your lover’s fingers tease at your opening. You barely avoid clamping your legs back together at the sensation. 

Recovering from the tickling probe, you look back to see a lust-drunk fanged smile, lips smeared with red. "Astarion, please,” you mutter. “I can't balance like this all day."

"Come darling, I know you’re quite talented," he taunts, easily gliding his fingers back in, curling until you truly do begin to lose balance.

"Astarion," you breathe out, clutching the side of the tub even harder to stay afloat.

Then his fingers slip back out, replaced a moment later by the head of his cock. “No need to worry, I have a seat for you right here.”

His palms cup your backside, his fingers squeeze, as you lower your hips back down, taking in his entire, slick length effortlessly in the water.

“Now isn’t that better?” he asks, grabbing your hips with one hand, the other finding yours on the side of the tub for support.

“Mmm,” is all that you manage, as you adjust to the sudden fullness. You haven’t lain with anyone else in so long, it’s hard to remember a cock other than his. Still, you can’t help but feel like he settles in you just right. Especially when you both slot together neatly, you taking him to the hilt.

Astarion drops another kiss on your back. “Comfortable?”

“Mhm,” you mumble. Now that you’re securely held in place by Astarion’s hips flush to yours, your legs hanging off the tub’s edges, you place your second hand back at your aching arousal. You begin to stroke yourself back into the same fervor Astarion had you in moments ago.

After a small, deliberate thrust of his hips, testing how you rise and fall in the water, Astarion starts moving against you. It’s slow at first, the water rippling out from you both in small waves. Then his hips rock back, only to drive back into you with sloshing force. 

“A–ahh!” Sweet hells, he knows exactly how to hit your most sensitive spot. You had already been so heated, but now, with your lover’s full, hardened length pressing into you? You feel dizzy with pleasure.

Years of lovemaking, and you’re still in awe of how well he knows your body. It’s more than his previous experiences culminating in some kind of skillful paramour. No, this was built through time, trial, error, effort.

So as this gorgeous man you call love bounces you up and down in his lap, you feel yourself coming undone. Your breaths come ragged as you ride his cock, water spilling out of the tub with each and every buck. Your fingers clench the tub, barely holding on as you feel your pleasure coil tighter and tighter.

Astarion places kiss after kiss down your back, and you hear him murmuring, "Gods you're perfect." A harder kiss. "You feel so good." Another thrust. "Each." A nip at your skin. "And every." A thrust. "Time." Another kiss. "I–I love you."

For your part, you’re finding entire sentences difficult. With the feel of him throbbing inside you, the way his lips feel along your back, each roll of his hips, you're truly only capable of a few phrases. "Astarion." A splashing bounce. "I love you–" A loll back of your head. "Oh hells–" A dip of your hips. "I love you too."

When your peak finally runs through you like a shockwave, when you clench around him in ecstasy, those very same words are still on your lips. "I l–love you."

He moans at the sudden tightness, the muscles that now hold him deep within you. "Darling," he breathes. "Oh love. I can't–"

Astarion means to say that he can't hold on much longer. He'd already been so close, holding back only to keep your pleasure going. So you reach down to his fingers on your hip, as best as you can while still hanging on for dear life, and squeeze his hand. A wordless affirmation, a plea to join you, as he always has.

And it’s that silent communication that has his fingers lacing through yours, his neck craning back, his hips stuttering.

When he comes, there's no pretense or performance. There hasn't been for many years. So when you look back at his face in a hazy fuzz of emotion, the expression you see is utterly unbridled.

It's a look of sheer pleasure– his perfectly pale skin flushed a light rosy color, his usually impeccable hair stuck to his face in a mixture of sweat and water. His eyes are shut, his mouth agape as he spills into you.

So enraptured are you by the mundane beauty of his climax, that you’ve strained too far from your precariously balanced position. Your foot unhooks from the tub’s slippery edge and you fall onto Astarion’s lap with a large splash as he finishes. You’re both left panting and wet in the wake of both your and the tub’s peaks.

Water drips down your face, all of the soap bottles have been knocked from the edge of the tub. The high you’d felt just moments ago feels doused in the stark reality of making love in a bathtub. 

However, when you feel Astarion’s breathy laughter on your back, feel his softening cock twitch with his last few thrusts, you know he’s still in fine spirits.

You stay together for a few moments as you both collect yourselves. Water is wiped from eyes, your second leg comes back into the tub, and several deep breaths are had. Once you’re relatively sorted, Astarion pulls himself out of you with a long, happy sigh.

The man falls back from you, sitting against the end of the tub in a tired flop. Then he’s patting the water in front of him, motioning you to join him in some post-coital cuddles.

You don’t need much more of an invitation.

Floating through the now much lower water, you stop just in front of him. Movements relaxed, you wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, and scoot into his waiting embrace.

"So," you start, looking at the wasteland of water and strewn soap bottles around the tub. "Looks like we made a mess."

"I told you we would," he says, closing his arms around you, pulling you against his chest.

"I know," you say, leaning into him comfortably. Your body is truly exhausted now, but your mind is a buzz of joy. "It was worth it though."

He laughs into your shoulder, squeezes you tighter. "Feeling better, I take it?"

"Gods yes," you say, tilting your head into his silver hair. "Thank you."

"Oh my sweet, it was my utmost pleasure," he replies, and you can feel his smile on your skin.

You both lean back, grinning at each other like fools. The smiles stay, even when your lips meet in a soft, wet kiss.

You will need to clean the room, the tub, likely your bodies once again– but all you can truly feel right now is content. Enjoying Astarion’s gentle fingers as they trace a pattern onto your skin, the warm water all around you, you very nearly forget that today was merely a day like any other.

The thousandth time you made love to Astarion, it was messy and wet and silly– somehow, it was sweet, caring, and loving all the same.

The thousandth time you made love to Astarion, you didn't know it was the thousandth time.

Just as you hadn't known your tenth thousand kiss, nor your hundred thousandth 'I love you.' Were anyone to ask you about them, you might not even remember the days or events surrounding any of them.

What you do know is that each individual moment holds no less importance, that the affection shared between you doesn’t diminish with each recurrence.

You’re unable to quantify your love, nor would you want to. All you really want is Astarion– his soft lips, tender hands, and whispered words of love– until your dying breath.

[the-southlands]

user

RINGS OF POWER SEASON TWO COUNTDOWN

Nine ➤ Mortal Men

[inthiskingdomwewillendure]

Three Rings for the elvenkings under the sky.

Seven for the dwarf lords in their halls of stone.

Nine for mortal men doomed to die.

[ary369]

Three rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for mortal men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne; In the Land of Mordor where the shadows lie.

[helenvader]

Nine stills of writing for ROP S2 Countdown Event.

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part six

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: explicit descriptions of violence, blood, and death

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 3.3k

You had to get out of there.

Tremors shook the ground as another shell made impact somewhere far to your right but it was close enough that the explosion left your ears ringing. You flattened your back further against the fallen wall behind you when you heard the unmistakeable sound of gunfire, the rubble that cut into your skin barely registered in your mind from the adrenaline that rushed through you. But the cacophony of noise amalgamated into something continuous, something malevolent and cruel; something that promised death in its wake. 

Bullets embedded themselves in a column, a wall, a body–everywhere–and fine pieces of debris flew and pelted against the exposed skin of your cheeks and against your helmet. Your eyes watered from the fine powder of pulverised cement and the oppressive heat, while your lungs were smothered by smoke and a choking stench–something like freshly-laid asphalt mixed with the distinct, rancid smell of burnt human flesh, sulphuric and sharp. 

Through lidded eyes you witnessed the depravity; the extent of humanity’s appetite for senseless destruction and anarchy. It was total chaos–no, it was worse than that: it was butchery and brutality at its finest; a type of hell on earth.

All around you were bodies upon bodies, men and women alike–children. Their faces, frozen and pallid, permanently bore imprints of terror and agony; their crooked fingers and still eyes fixated to the sky imploring in violent judgment–resentful and anguished in their silence–the unspoken question: 

Why?

Why? 

Why?

Everything overwhelmed you all at once: the sight and the smell made your stomach churn to no end. Even when you heaved the remnants of your stomach to the ground, the nausea remained, pulsing and gnawing.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you brought your camera to your eye and you willed the shaking in your bones to still. 

You took a shot. 

Another round of bullets splattered to a nearby wall and this time, you threw yourself front-first to the ground and you felt the rhythm of your heart reverberating against the mud. And a sinking feeling hit you. You’d bore witness to many conflicts, faced mortal peril, and was familiar to death like it was an old friend. Each time you were in such a situation, hopelessness never got the better of you–it was like you’d always known you were going to make it out each time. 

This time it was different, you could feel it in your bones. You were going to die here and it wasn’t a matter of if, just when and how. 

But you had a job. If you were going to die, you would die being the mouthpiece for the ones who’d already been silenced–from their premature deaths or from the hand of the power meant to protect them or both–to show the world what they’d suffered, what they’d sacrificed.

With that in mind, you steeled yourself. You loaded your camera with another ring of film, fingers stiff from the cold and marred by blood and mud, and you captured the scene.

Repeat.

There were people screaming, running, clamouring for survival. As you moved with them, you kept an eye out for other survivors who needed help to get out of there. You scanned the faces for the familiar ones of Jones and Gilda but they were nowhere to be seen. You’d lost track of them after the initial explosion and the chaos that followed so the only thing you could do now was to look for them as you went and hope for their safety. 

Meter by meter, inch by inch, you moved slowly away from the direction of gunfire. You were farther ahead now but the gunners were still dangerously close, still close enough to be able to catch up to where you were if they continued their pursuit, so you remained crouched and cautious for any sound that could indicate danger. 

When you came across the rubble of a fallen building–freshly destroyed by artillery from the smoke that came from it–you heard a whimper. It startled you; the softness of the sound barely pierced through the ringing in your ear but when you peered under a slab of concrete braced by a rugged beam, you caught sight of a scene that shattered what was left of your heart.

In the shadows, big eyes that you could not mistaken belonged to a child shone with terror, a little girl that looked no more than ten years of age, her mouth partly open in fear. You could discern another person next to the child but they weren’t moving at all and from the blood smeared on the girl’s cheek, you had a sinking feeling that the other person was dead. 

Gunfire echoed somewhere behind you and you flinched at its closeness. How did they get so close so fast? You needed to get the both of you out of there. If you could save this child’s life then maybe, just maybe, your life was worth something after all. 

You raised both of your hands up and spoke gently, hoping the little girl would be able to understand that you were there to help as you stooped to fit through the gap. The child hesitated and receded further back into the rubble so you tried again as you inched closer to where the other person laid unresponsive, patient despite the ever-closing sound of shots being fired. 

You reached the other person–a woman–and when you placed two fingers against her pulsepoint and found no rhythm, you bit your quivering lip and looked at the child, chest heavy. And as if the little girl finally understood that you meant no harm, she inched towards you and placed her small hand in your open one. With a firm yet gentle grip on the girl, you guided the both of you out of the rubble.

Once outside, you carried the little girl behind a wall, heart breaking when you felt her shiver and at the fact that it took little effort carry to her for she weighed so little. And now with light and cover, you inspected the little girl.

To your relief, other than the trail of flaking blood that originated from the crown of her head and on her cheeks, the little girl looked like she didn’t sustain any other physical injuries. Satisfied for the time being you began to tend to her, gave her water and what little food you had on you, and then wiped away the blood.

After she finished, you detached the velcro of your bulletproof vest and unbuckled your helmet before you put them on the little girl. Then you hoisted the girl up on your back, leaving your camera dangling heavily on your chest.

You managed to sneak across the district without being noticed but you knew the danger was never far away. A little farther on, you began to recognise key landmarks that let you know you were close to the base you came from. So even when the muscles in your legs protested for you to rest, you pushed on.  

Not a moment later though did loud shots fill the air and immediately, you fell to the ground, feeling fine rubble and shrapnels cut into the side you landed on as you manoeuvred your body so that the child wouldn’t get hurt. The little girl cried out and adrenaline coursed through your veins, instinct driving you to keep the child safe so you pushed the two of you against a nearby wall, your back to the open space while you shielded the child with your body, her head safely caged between your arms and chest.

You craned your head over your shoulders to figure out where the shots were fired but then a feeling of lightness passed through you followed by a growing thickness at the back of your throat. You coughed, the force of it made you keel forward, and as you looked down you saw fresh blood splattered on the face of the girl, her eyes wide with horror as she looked up at you.

Then you felt it, a burning sensation that enveloped the entirety of your right side which left you cold. When you looked to your side your shirt clung to your skin, soaked with blood.

No. 

You sputtered again and you tried to breathe but the pain only intensified and instead of feeling relief, the act smothered you–it felt like you were drowning. Then everything began to blend together: the shapes lost their edges and some images doubled, but the light seemed to intensify on its own, swallowing all in its wake. Then you sagged forward and the ringing in you ears, too, blared unceasingly.

No.

You must… 

The child… 

Wait. 

Alexia–

“–are you okay?”

You started as Derek’s voice brought you from your reverie, your mind someplace else that you’d already forgotten but the feeling that you were missing something important lingered behind in the back of your mind.

“Huh?” 

“Honey, your brother’s been trying to get your attention for the past minute. Are you alright?” The familiar voice of your mom brought your focus to her. She sat at the head of the long table while Derek opposite you, and you found twin pairs of blue eyes looking at you with concern. Your mom stood, chair scraping against the tiled floor as she did and she made her way towards you. She put a palm over your forehead once she was close enough before she asked, “do you have a fever?”

“Mom, I’m fine. I’m just–” You began but suddenly, a wave of exhaustion came over you which left you cold. It was as if a sheet of ice was put over you and you felt the coldness cling to your bones, weighing you down as your body slowly began to freeze over. “I’m–I’m just tired. I think I’ll rest up now.” 

When you moved to stand, staggering slightly due to the weakness in your knees, Derek snatched your hands and clung to them, and you looked at him in alarm, eyes wide.

“Please, don’t. Don’t.” He said through gritted teeth, the corners of his mouth drooped low in a pained grimace, blue eyes glazed over and brows furrowed in a silent plea. 

His obsecration confused you and you were about to ask him why you shouldn’t rest if you felt tired when your mother placed a hand on your shoulder, her grip gentle yet firm. You turned to her and when you found her gaze, she wore the same expression as your brother. 

“You’re brother’s right, honey. Just–please, just stay with us for a bit more.” 

What was going on? Why weren’t they letting you go?

Another wave of fatigue doused over you but this time, pain erupted from your chest. So intense was it that it nearly made you keel over the table, nails digging into its hard surface as you tried to catch your breath but with each inhale the more it felt like you were running out of air.

“I’ll–I’ll join you in a bit. I just… I just need a nap.” You staggered to your feet, pulling your hands away from Derek’s grip with the remaining strength you had and brushed off your mom’s protest.

As you passed the full-body mirror just beside your bedroom door, you saw your reflection, haggard and pale, and with her were the familiar silhouettes of the people that haunted you… your mother and father. They stood there behind you–your mother to your right and your father to the left–but you only found an empty space where they stood when you whipped your head back to look for them.

So there you stood, rooted in front of the mirror as you soaked their images in but for some reason, your couldn’t quite discern their faces. They were blurred; it was as if someone had swiped their thumb over the freshly laid ink of their image and made their features indecipherable. 

Longing prompted you to reach out a hand to try and trace the lost edges of their faces but instead of meeting the mirror’s smooth surface like you expected, your fingers sank into the mirror like it was made of water. Quickly, in fear that it would hurt you, you retracted your hand and you watched in awe as the mirror image went still again, back to the reflection of yourself and your parents.

Then out of curiosity you plunged your hand again into the mirror and instead of feeling pain, you felt… nothing. The sensations in your hand in the mirror stopped as if it had ceased to exist completely. 

Would it soothe then the pain in your body if you stepped into it?

The thought tempted you and you stepped forward, ready to sink into this silver miracle, but something stopped you–a weight on your shoulder pulled you back from the mirror. You staggered backwards, caught off guard from the force of it, but when you looked back you found nobody however this time, when you returned your attention to the mirror, the reflection of your parents was gone. 

Emotions bubbled in your throat, bitter grief and burning confusion a familiar taste on your tongue. Where did they go? Why did they leave you? And as these questions filtered through your mind, another wave of exhaustion doused over you, its weight was unbearable. You needed relief, and soon.

You were ready to step into the mirror–into oblivion–but it wasn’t there anymore. In fact, everywhere you looked there was nothing, just negative space as if the light had dissolved all existence but you. You looked down and you saw your reflection on the still water you were apparently standing on. 

It was so still, so peaceful, and you feel so heavy. It would be easy to just sink into this blissful nothingness–this silence–after… that’s right, after having witnessed the revolting boil of humanity’s thirst for blood. Yes, that was it, the reason you were here: you were here to forget. 

The longer you stared into the water, the more your will to remain standing frayed. 

Not a moment later, you let yourself be plunged downwards into the cold water. Into nothingness. 

You woke with a start, breathing sharply as you did, the sensation of falling still with you and the memory of the dream you just had lingered. It was about… what was it?

When you opened your eyes, you found golden light and you squinted at the stream of the early sun that found its way through the gap between the heavy curtains. Your cheek was warm against Alexia’s bare back and you relished the way her muscles shifted beneath her skin as she breathed, still deep asleep. 

With her so close like this a sense of peace and calm washed over you, the kind that only Alexia’s presence could provide. You turned your head slightly and shifted closer to her, pressing a soft kiss on one of her shoulder blades before you nuzzled the nape of her neck where her scent was most prominent.

You sighed as you breathed her in.

“What are you up to back there?” Alexia’s voice, rough and heavy from slumber, met your ears and the question elicited a small laugh from you.

“Nothing. Just getting comfortable.”

Alexia hummed then she murmured, “come here.”

You moved as she began to turn and disappointment filled you from the separation but when she pulled you into her embrace after she settled on her back, the disappointment quickly faded away. And when she kissed you, soft and languid, everything melted away except for the tender warmth of Alexia’s lips.

You were content.

Suddenly, a gnawing feeling seeped into the edges of your mind and, little by little by little, apprehension filled you. There was something you’d forgotten, somewhere you needed to be.

You pulled away from Alexia’s lips. “What time is it?”

“Don’t go.”

Her answer jarred you. You lifted yourself up on your elbow and considered Alexia, confused as to why she would say such a thing. She knew you had to go. How could you not go? Where else could you possibly be? So you asked her as much.

“No, you don’t have to. Please.” Alexia placed a hand on your cheek, her eyes glassy. You sighed, turned your cheek away from her touch, and extricated yourself from her warm embrace. You stood at the foot of the bed and regarded Alexia again who was now sitting up, the sheets pooled around her waist, her chest bare, shoulders hunched forward as she looked at you. You only shook your head before you went into the en suite bathroom to get ready.

Once you got in the shower you, unsurprisingly, thought of Alexia and your confusion returned twofold. Why was she making this difficult? She knew you had to go. You already told her… 

At that thought, you frowned as you tried to remember. When did you tell her? Why did you need to leave? The questions were beginning to make your head hurt so you left the shower, wrapped yourself in a towel and headed to the closet. In there, you found your stack of simple white clothes. You picked a white shirt and a matching pair of jeans and you made your way to the bedroom door. 

As you passed by the bed, you saw Alexia just as you left her and from where you stood, you saw how small she looked. And those eyes… they shone with something you could only name as plea, the tears in them now in danger of falling. 

Your chest ached and so did your head. 

You shook your head and made your way to Alexia, pressed an apologetic kiss against her temples, then you moved to the door.

You opened it and an abyss greeted you, a world of no outlines, shape nor colour, just a brilliant white that called to you. Its pull was magnetic, like a tide that wanted to sweep you away, but there was something keeping you in place, an invisible tether and it was anchored to the woman sitting in your bed.

“Please, don’t go.”

You had one foot out of the door when Alexia spoke with such gentleness you couldn’t do anything but look over your shoulder. The sight of her crying made the pounding in your temples unbearable and the pain in your chest blazed anew, excruciating and cruel. The world blurred and warmth slipped down your cheeks. 

Why were you crying? Why was this difficult? You had to leave, you were about to miss something important.

“Alexia, why?” You sobbed, clutching your chest. It hurt.

She was out of the bed now, right beside you, and she reached out and cupped your face with one hand, the other went to your hand on the door handle. Her touch that used to soothe you, that used to bring you peace and clam, sent pain to every nerve in your body. You gasped, your chest was in danger of bursting and your knees lost their strength. And then you remembered why you needed to leave: you needed this pain to disappear; you had to get better.

Finally, your knees buckled under your weight but Alexia was there to catch you, her body strong and firm, and oh, so warm.

“Alexia, please let me go,” you sobbed into her arms. 

Everything hurt. But she held you, unyielding.

“Stay. Please, stay with me,” she whispered in your ear and the words were followed by another wave of pain. This time, you screamed in agony and clawed at Alexia’s shoulders to get yourself away but still, she didn’t budge.

“I got you. I got you. I got you,” she repeated as every nerve in your body screamed at you. Everything coalesced into a singular, never-ending noise but Alexia’s voice pierced through the veil like a silver lining, a life line that you held onto as you were washed away into an ocean of light.

[partycatty]

was requested to write interviewer!reader by this lovely post so here we are. @super-ssimp

johnny cage > interview

you, a reporter, have some questions for the hollywood heartbreaker. he just can't seem to focus on your questions.

notes: heheheheeggeheegehehegeh he's so fine in the gif i'm gonna shit everywhere

[ masterlist ]

• a box-office smash hit dropped after a long quiet period from hit star johnny cage, back stronger than ever with a movie that blew audiences away with its storytelling and casting. you had to squeeze in an interview with the director, cage himself. you were a part of a big company, front lining with interviews and now face to face with probably one of the most attractive men you'd ever worked with.

• johnny sat in his chair across from you, adjusting his hips ever so slightly in his seat as he holds intense eye contact with you. you return the stare, as hard as it is while a makeup specialist tidied up the powder on your brow.

• "you look great, doll," he's quick to charm, pointing a finger with a grin. "don't sweat this. you'll be fine."

• "i know i'll be," you return his affirmations with your own confidence, a beaming grin on your features that makes his breath hitch. "i've been in this job for nine years, mr. cage. we just haven't met."

• "what.. a.. shame," his voice is teasing, somehow his flirtations come off as honey smooth rather than sleazy. you scoff playfully, earning a laugh from the both of you. two assistants clip microphones to your tops, testing them quickly and hearing a full go-ahead to begin the interview.

• "i'm here with johnny cage, director of the new smash hit 'mortal kombat,'" your voice is smooth, experienced. "i suppose my first question is; what inspired such a story? it's unlike anything we've seen in films."

• the question seemingly didn't register at first, his faraway gaze blocking his thoughts. realizing his flaw, johnny snaps into celebrity mode, "oh, hrm — the ideas that came to me were because of a massive arc in my life. uh — without getting too into it, i was at a low point in the last year, running myself into the dirt. something changed and i wanted to be the new, young, and pretty one behind the camera for once rather than in front of it. i spent the entire summer writing and consulting some friends of mine and we were able to pull this film together based on our relationships and experiences. you won't see anything else like it because there isn't anything else like it. i was inspired by my life, and there is no other johnny cage in this timeline than the one you're talkin' to."

• you nod and agree, face hot at the way his expression lights up with passion as he walks you through his process. "right, and this was after a long hiatus, was it not? there were, rumors, so to speak—"

• "my divorce?" he cuts you off with a glint in his eye as he toys with his ring. "no need to dance around it, i suppose. yeah, different life paths, but i'm a changed man. single and ready to mingle as soon as me and my team crank out some projects we've had in the works."

• "so you confirm yourself to be single? confirming the rumors?" you clarify, leaning forward in interest — whether it was for your own or for the public's, you wouldn't disclose.

• "why?" his question catches you off guard. johnny rests a hand on his chin, tilting his head as he squints. a large grin creeps up onto his lips. "you interested?"

• you tense up, nervously giggling as your eyes dart around the small production team who is trying equally as hard to not laugh at your position. you were trained and professional and yet this man turned you into a blushing mess for all cameras to see. "that's not my question, mr. cage—"

• "—johnny," he interrupts you, pose unmoving. "the pretty ones get to call me johnny."

• what was he getting at? your notecards feel unreadable and your brain's fuzzing from the sudden attention. he was a pretty man, that much was sure, but was he really flirting with you or pushing his behavior for attention? it was hard to tell, his affections were dizzying enough.

• he chuckles at your blank, sweaty stare, your lips opening and closing like the dumbest fish in the tank. you'd been hit on before by interviewees but johnny took the cake without a doubt, from his veiny arms to his touchable hair, all the way to his tight, round—

• "earth to interviewer," johnny's teasing fingers wiggled in your face, grounding you back to the rickety wooden chair and blinding lights. "too much, or not enough?"

• "neither," you lazily protest as you come to. "just didn't... expect all of that." the interview proceeds as normal, with johnny's clicks and compliments littered to keep you flustered right when you regained your composure. it must've been a game to him, how long you're heated over a simple compliment. but it wasn't the compliment necessarily, it was the person giving them.

• it wraps up just as quickly as it started, and the production was being wrapped up the moment you delivered your outro. johnny's suspiciously large, dreamy grin was plastered onto his face for a strangely long amount of time.

• "it was nice working with you," you try to be cordial, it's hard when that smug look is looking back at you, like he's planning something. before you could stick around to figure it out, you spin on your heel with a beet-red blush on your cheeks.

• johnny visibly startles at your sudden turn, reaching forward to grab your wrist before you could fully face away. he flinches at himself and his abruptness, too eager to give away his desperation for just a little more time. he pulls away, scratching his neck.

• "sorry, doll," he gestures toward your wrist, a confused frown on your lips burying his ego for a moment. "just... hey, listen."

• "i'm listening," you cock a brow, stomach flipping at the out-of-script interaction.

• "me and you," he starts with a groaning sigh, struggling to find the words you stole from his throat from one look. "just us two. no cameras, no questions, no divorce — wait —" his slip-up makes you giggle. "no, no, really. lets go out sometime. gimme a shot, whatdya say?"

• "out?" your tone is teasing, a smirk of your own forming on your lips. "you flatter a lowly reporter."

• "you're not lowly," his voice drops down, more serious with a heartfelt smile. "you... make it hard to focus." he's silent for a moment before jumping into his playful attitude. "pick a different career, you're distracting me! but seriously, dinner? movie? not one of mine, i swear!"

• "only if you swear," you grin up at him, feeling far more human with johnny than you had in the interview.

[blingblong55]

My Love, Mine all mine -Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Based on a request:

"Broken men know who to love, but not how to love. Broken women know how to love, but not who to love." This is so Simon related 🥺🥺

---- F!Reader, fluff ----

A/N: Because he isn't always some tough masked solider, he is a man with wounds and a life beyond the battle field

It wasn't a shared feeling, he knew that well. You and he had stayed up and talked about a future like you had a clue. He knew your issues, love isn't what you want at times, you miss it, want it, but sometimes just at times, you can't give in to it, in fear of something greater that you don't know about. The smoke of his cigarette gave his not-so-secret hiding spot away. "Better not ask for my jumper again, doll," he knew you were there, knew those steps all too well. You chuckle, "You have to be some superhero," you sit beside him. He shrugs, "Just a mere mortal," he smiles. Silence between you two, speaking the words lips fail to say.

Simon knew you he was meant to love you, but not ever meant to show it. And just as he was about to speak, you rested your head on his shoulder. Classic way to ask for his jumper because you once again forgot your own. "No, not this time, I'm sick today," he excuses. "What if I get sick?" you ask and he chuckles. "You can never get sick darling, remember New Year's Day last year?" 

It was cold, wind and snow surrounded you and he walked to you. The night died down rather quickly, lovers kissing inside as you walked in the snow. Thirteen years of knowing the other, he knew you too well, you want to avoid the romance, avoid the cliche and have something different, but not all can be unique. You know well, he knows too, you turn around, "Go back inside, Si, you'll get sick." He shakes his head. "What, you're telling me you won't take care of me, love?" He gets closer to you, a little pout as he gives you his puppy eyes. "Don't do that, Simon." He smirks. "Doing what, all I'm saying is, why not let me be here with you and just shit-talk all those people who might invite us to their baby showers?" You laugh. "I'm wearing blue," you comment he rolls his eyes. "No way you'll make me wear pink," he shakes his head. You ignore it, knowing a baby shower would come within nine to ten months from your friends. 

He knows you. He just doesn't know if he can ever love you. In this world, a man like him isn't guaranteed a happy ending. Maybe a cut to the throat, death in a dark place, bullets blazing as his body takes its last breaths, that is a guaranteed end. Nothing in this world belongs to him, not even the knife he carries. "I almost got sick," you recall. "Keyword is almost," he looks at the skyline. "So, what is new?" he looks over to you. "Same old story." It was mad, to know he can be the man who loves you unconditionally. You could stab him in the back a million times and a million times he would thank you for doing it. Love works in different ways, his love is dark and deep but real. You could break his heart, expose him to the world, turn him into his enemy, kill him over and over, and each time, he would say he loves you.

It's a dark and twisted fairy tale to love him, but it's love that no one can take from him. He can tell you he loves you over and over, but you would still ask him if it was true. You can kiss him, care for him, hug him in days or nights when he is the most vulnerable, burn the world and watch it fall apart for him, only to have him think it's all foolery. One hug, one kiss, and he would still question what love is. The meaning displayed in your eyes, the feeling displayed in his gaze but neither are too brilliant to take a step and claim what the poets oh so need to see. You are conflicted, getting your heart broken over and over by many lovers, asking and crying to the starry nights what is so wrong with you.

Do you love too much, do you care too much? What if it's you and not them? What then? Simon, the cold stare to the passers and the soft gaze to you. R/N, the confused lover with issues and questions that one man's lips hold the answers to. One New Year's Day, one whisper of a truthful 'I love you,' two hearts, one bed, tears and promises. What makes love is not what others perceive it as. Not for a soldier, not for a civilian who questions all her love. At dinner with friends, questions were asked of when either would settle down like the others did, not knowing the answer was right at that table. Simon and R/N, are two complicated hearts that beat for one reason. To live. But those two words can be more than just a basic meaning.

One stormy night, knock on the door and he opens, shirtless and with hope. "Hi," your hoarse voice is too soft. He opens his arms and you run to them. Antidote, what a soldier like him found in that night when he promised he would be more than just a soldier but a man who loves a woman. A woman who cries in his arms as she gets heartbroken again. Boyfriends, thinking they are better than a true woman who all she wants to do is love and care. Something a soldier like him looks for in the dark. "They don't know what they lost, dear," he kisses the top of your head as he holds you close to him. He is done trying to find reasons to not love you.

You are tired of not finding enough excuses to call him home. Your home. His home. An embrace of a man who all he wants to do is protect the last thing on this earth to love him. It was a shared feeling, you both know that well. It is believed that since the creation of our universe, our galaxy, the dust that made us, always tries to find a way back to its other half. And, as he holds you close, two hearts, under one roof, he finds home, and you find home too. It's not about what piece is broken but what is still there. It's not about love or who or how to love.

Sometimes, love is not just a kiss, sex and a caress. Love is sometimes about waking up late morning, hair all messy, bodies tangled with the sheets and a burst of lazy laughter as you realise your lipstick is all over his face. Love is respect, honesty, trust, happiness, fun, and him, holding you near as he watches you cry over something small. Love is about being imperfect, flawed, broken and having the one you care for sit down, love you a little extra that day and watch as you fix yourself with his hand holding yours. 

Tags:

@ghostslillady @queen-ilmaree @jnsmeyv @madamemelancholysstuff @kit-kats06 @ghostslittlegf @trulyunknownone @rogerfxckingtaylor @cripitique @sinners-sins

[prentissluvr]

the impala, 4:00 p.m. — sam winchester

cw : gn!winchester!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, sam & reader are twins, dean's implied to be dead/gone (you choose which time lol), unedited, 608 words. requested ! for my 800 followers event [ closed ] .

summary : sam lifts your mood with a book on a sort of somber day in the impala.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

for months now, it’s just been you two. sort of like how it was when sam was at stanford. you moved near campus to be close to him at nineteen. the year apart beforehand had been hellish sometimes.

but these days have this odd liminality to them. there are no crappy college kid apartments or girlfriends or parties. just the impala, the road, monsters, and each other. you miss dean. some days you almost don’t.

lots of days you miss what you and sam could’ve had, but it feels too late now. it’s sort of nice, though, because you don’t hunt all the time. you and sam take breaks. you help where you can, then you visit southern california for a taste of hot weather and salty air. last week, you stopped for a few days in a midwestern national park. it was stunning, and perfectly suited to yours and sam’s tastes.

today is an in between day, no plans and no hunts on the horizon yet. you’re behind the wheel, your mixtape playing through the speakers. as for the way you feel, everything there is an in between too.

you’re tired, but painfully aware. mourning, and oddly at peace. it doesn’t quite feel bad, but you don’t feel good.

oftentimes, your mood aligns with sam’s. you guess it could be that cliche twine telepathy, but to you it feels more like a deep understanding of each other paired with so many sort of insane and mundane shared experiences.

but today, sam is good. he’s not great, because it’s sort of hard to be more often than not these days, but the two of you are slowly figuring it out. sam very easily senses the way you feel. today and every day. he thinks you’re teetering on the edge enough that he can steer you in the more pleasant direction.

he’s going to offer to switch to the drivers seat in a bit, but he’ll do a few other things first. before interrupting your quiet time with the music and scenery, he’s going to find a good place to eat. not an american diner, but somwhere with better food. he hopes he can find a thai place with good reviews.

then he pulls out a book. you don’t look over at the movement at first. you can see the book in his lap through your peripheral vision, and don’t blink because he’s always reading when he get’s bored in his passenger’s seat. but then he turns down the music and shows you the cover with an unspoken question.

the fellowship of the rings.

you had forgotten that sam carries the lord of the rings books around with him. it catches you by complete surprise, the sight of the worn copy you two shared as kids and the question in his eyes. you grin. he’s asking if you want him to read it aloud to you, to fill up a bit of the gaping hole in this car.

“i forgot you had that,” you say, eyes turning back to the road, but your smile sticking around. sam grins back at you.

“what, you think i go anywhere without a copy of this?” he says lightheartedly, half teasing himself by saying something so nerdy.

“as you should,” you shrug, shutting the music all the way off. “go on, then.” you hear the creak of the spine, and the rustle of pages. then sam’s voice, a sound that melds in perfect familiarity with the rumble of the impala.

“three rings for the elven-kings under the sky, seven for the dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, nine for mortal men doomed to die…”