#reblogging appreciated as always!

[haxxydraws]

🏳️‍🌈🧙✨

Happy Pride! Have some wizards!

I'm really happy with how these came out, so I hope you guys like them too :)

If you want, you can also get them on stuff at my redbubble!

[faunandfloraas]

Honestly I think a lot of people who have never made a gif for tumblr don't get that it does actually take time and effort, its not just rip it from a video and post it- you have to download the video, in my case I have a video player installed that grabs continuous caps, figure out what parts you need, you have to open those in photoshop or gimp, depending on where you got photoshop you might be paying for it every month and then on top of that is actually sizing, cropping, colouring, sharpening, adding text, etc. etc. like it is something that takes time and effort for which the only real reward is creating something that makes you happy and hopefully people reblog it with a nice or funny tag, so maybe keep that in mind the next time you think gif makers are being mean or unfair for being upset about reposts. It is its own little artform that is fairly unique to this website, and that's a big aspect of why I have always loved tumblr, if all the gifmakers stopped posting things would be a lot more boring around here.

[sincerelybubbles]

hotch x shy!bau!reader <3 fem content: slight age gap implied. reader is new to the team and more on the introverted side! not proof read, as is my hubris.

Tired, nerves buzzing from a night spent up and chasing sleep that was not welcoming, you throw your bag down on your desk and go off in hunt of coffee. You usually try to curb your caffeine intake, especially with the travel associated with your new job, but this morning is a happy exception to your new rule.

"Here," Emily says, watching you scan the cabinets of the kitchen. You hadn't heard her walk in, but she's offering you a mug with a sympathetic smile. "Long night?"

"Yes," you say, tone thankful, and spin to figure out the coffee machine.

"Three weeks and i haven't seen you use that once," she comments, sipping from her own warm mug and watching you settle the filter in place.

"I've stayed away. it's harder to sleep when I get back because of the jet lag, anyway, don't need to add coffee at all odd hours to the list, too."

It's the most you've said in casual conversation like this. To say you've been shy with your new team would be an understatement. You're good at your job, you were pulled from the academy early to do this for a reason. You fit well into the team, generally. You like listening to Spencer ramble, especially on the longer flights. Rossi's dry humor reminds you of one of your old professors you grew up admiring. JJ is a constant breath of fresh air, Morgan's consistent strength has built up your own moral. Garcia took no getting used to, lifting you up and settling into your life easily. Hotch is intimidating but kind under the colder-tones, long glances sometimes distracting but oterhwise comforting. Emily is easily one of your favorites on the team, friendly and whip-smart. But, at the core of it, you're shy. Painfully so, even.

The team caught onto this quick, settling into the truth that your observational nature that makes you so adept at noticing the smaller details is bound to weep into your social life as well. So, despite your comfort levels rising with the team, you find these situations hard. Do you explain your nightmares to Emily? Share that you're a diagnosed insomniac who spent the night watching FRIENDS reruns after chasing sleep that pranced beyond reach?

"You're better than me, then," Emily says, smiling over her mug. Her eyes tell you she's pleased at the little crack into your life that you've let her see. They're all like that: insufferably kind and polite with your introverted nature but greedily sipping up everything they can learn about you.

"It's a new development," you admit, clicking start on the machine and settling back against the counter facing her. Something about your sleepiness makes it easier to talk, your tongue looser, your ache to let loose around the team more profound. "I'm sure most of us are insomniacs, though."

"Not me," Emily says, chuckling. "I get home and feel like I don't wake up until I get back here."

"Ah, well, I'm sure it can feel like a curse no matter what way you fall," you say with a shrug. Emily lifts her coffee in cheers to that.

"Morning," Morgan says, turning into the kitchen and giving you a surprised smile. "Hello, sunshine, you're looking bright eyed today."

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "I know, I know."

Emily points with her chin at you, "She's making the coffee this morning."

"Ah-ah, remaking it because you and pretty boy always get here first and finish the first pot." Morgan teases her with a slight shake of his head, grinning and opening the fridge to pull out the creamer.

"Well, you snooze you loose. Or," she sends you a smile, complete with a little nose wrinkle and a tilt of her head, "you don't snooze and still loose."

"Clever," you say, voice dry with humor, hiding your laugh by turning around as the pot finished brewing. "I'll remember this later."

"Careful, she's got teeth," Morgan warns Emily, reaching around you to grab the coffee before you can and filling his cup.

"Hey!" You call in protest, voice raising louder than usual and a pout hitting your lips. Morgan laughs, white teeth on display, eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Here, here," he says, placating, tipping the pitcher to fill your cup as well. "Any sugar or cream to placate the beast?"

Before you can answer, a laugh on the tip o your tongue, Hotch walks in and settles his watchful eyes on you, interest sparking them. You shrink, not in fear but in self-awareness, and send him a closed lip smile. Stepping away from Morgan, you turn quickly to fix your own coffee.

"Good morning," Hotch says, nodding at Emily and Morgan, answering Emily's question about Jack's recent sickness (he's recovering well, thank you) and trying to catch your eye.

You duck away, cowardly and regressing back into your shell, deciding it's time to get to work and stop indulging. You catch Morgan tease Hotch as you leave, though, "Aw, you've scared her off."

You try not to think about it as you duck away, pushing all thoughts of your boss away.

You're unsuccessful.

The problem isn't that you're afraid of him because you think he's mean or unkind in any way. He's done his best to welcome you to the team, allowing you to take investigations in your own direction and listening to your insights since day one. There was a brief moment in your first week where you felt tested, like his questions weren't to gain your insight but to see if you were up to the task, but you slipped past that easily. you have the credentials to back yourself up. you're quiet, yeah, but you're always right on track to where you need to be. pulled early from academy to jump into investigating was hard but it made this easy. a few years of experience under your belt and the job feels natural and, even with the shift in teams to join the big guns in Quantico, you feel like you're exactly where you're meant to be.

No, embarrassingly, this has nothing to do with you not liking your boss or being afraid of him. Rather, he makes you too comfortable. He ducks his head to hear you speak as you walk and talk, settling deep eyes on your face. He's sturdy, dependable, and exactly everything you're all too interested in.

You hate it, harboring a school crush on your boss like you're a teen pining over your teacher. You know it's normal, you know it's perfectly reasonable and there's absolutely nothing wrong with being attracted to him, but you still slink away from him more than the others because of that attraction.

Because it's more than physical.

He listens when you talk. Granted, so do the rest of the team - they're profilers, of course they catalogue everything everyone is saying for future reference. But, beyond that, you catch him paying attention. He complimented your new blouse earlier in the week and it caused air to catch in your throat, suffocating you. It looked new, bright white and without wrinkles, but you knew he must have been looking, noticing, to remember you not wearing it before. He's kind, remembering details about you and the team and using them to aid in everyone's comfort. He knows Spencer can't handle dairy and you've heard him reminding an intern to stock the dairy-free alternatives for creamer in the jet. He brought you a neck pillow on your second flight because you didn't have one.

That gift you accepted with stuttering thank-you's and a flushed face. It hadn't flared this crush, but it definitely aided in your ability to accept it when you finally got around to no longer avoiding how he made you feel with every kind smile and gentle good morning.

You settle down at your desk, putting your steaming mug on a pile of paperwork you really need to sort through, and try to physically push the thoughts out of your head by ranking your hands through your hair, lifting it from your forehead and squeezing your eyes shut. Today isn't the day. You're too tired, sure that the team will be flying out today, and really need to be on your A-Game.

"Everything okay?" A calm voice asks from your elbow. When you look up, you decide the universe hates you. Hotch is leaning on the desk adjacent to yours, holding his own travel cup full of fresh coffee, chin tilted down to check on you. His gaze is kind, light on your face, and his eyebrows are lifted slightly. You get the feeling that he's doing everything in his power to present himself as less imposing.

"Yes, of course," you answer automatically, heart thudding in your throat.

"You know, you shouldn't lie to profilers," he says, tone teasing, voice still low. "If you're tired, it's okay to admit it to me, too."

You're about to brush him off when something in your brain freezes before clicking into place.

He's looking at you, pleading, expression open. He's usually guarded, professional. Caring, but with a guard up. Rare are these moments of genuine asking, especially rarer so are the moment of pleading hidden behind a mask of gentle humor. You think, briefly, about how it must seem to him. He heard you, Emily, and Morgan joking in the kitchen. You haven't been here long, you're shy, but slowly thawing to everyone but him. He doesn't know your reasons, he couldn't, you've made a genuine effort to hide them, and you force yourself to see it from his perspective.

"Sorry," you say, softly, slowly. "I didn't sleep well. First nightmares and then insomnia. Hence," you gesture toward your mug. You shrug, heart beating out of your chest, eyes searching his. Nice, be nice, be open and kind and yourself. "At least I have FRIENDS reruns to keep me company."

You see something relax in him at your gentle offering of the information. He sends you a not-quite-smile, nodding once and pushing himself off of the desk he was lightly leaning against.

"Take a few minutes, I'm sure JJ will call us in soon." He scans your face for a moment before looking down at your desk. He reaches forward, slowly but with purpose, and lifts a file that has been nagging you for days. The new computer system is hard to get used to and the paperwork load is heavier than you've experienced before. "I can help you with this to ease some of your load, too."

He's walking away before you can protest, tucking the file under his arm and ducking into his office. He moves swiftly, leaving no room for argument, and you're left at your desk, mouth agape and heart in your mouth.

"Wow," Spencer says, jolting you in your chair to spin around and face him. His desk is near yours, across a walkway, and you hadn't registered him sitting there. You think he was nose-deep in a book when you walked in but you hadn't been paying attention. "I don't think I've seen him warm up to someone that fast," Spencer admits, leaning back in his seat and giving you a confused look, eyebrows lowered. "Actually, he's never offered to help me do my paperwork. Ever."

"That's because you read far too fast for it to actually help you," you offer, mind racing, words hollow as your thoughts are elsewhere.

Eyes trained on the windows of Hotch's office, you take his advice and relax for the few minutes before JJ comes to gather you all in the conference room. Coffee on your lips, you let yourself smile behind the rim of your mug. You can't imagine how you could think of anything other than that, really.

[girlboyburger]

it's here! the cow base!! it's done!!! EASILY the biggest base i've made so far, and i'm really really proud of it!! now............................... go forth and bring more beautiful cow furries to this beautiful earth

[tinyfantasminha]

I don't want to keep clogging my blog with vent posts but uh... I guess this is a more general concern/observation

But it's getting real hard to stay motivated in fandom spaces when there's little compensation, and annoying occurrences are more frequent than good ones.

Mainly there's been less engagement/people showing interest in creators and their art (such as sending asks, making comments and reblogging with tags) and MORE parasocial interactions. This goes for both artists and writers.

Over this year I've noticed a vast disinterest within my public in general. Asks about ocs, my art, or just nice simple comments of ''I love your art'' has been getting more and more scarce. My follower number is bigger than 2-3 years ago sure and I get more likes on my posts but they are feeling more like just numbers and statistics than actual people who supposedly like my stuff.

And while people being parasocial with creators has always been a thing, I feel like it's gotten way worse... in general? People sending personal pictures out of the blue in hopes of being validated, unwanted psychological advice or assumptions about the creator without any established connection first ( <- these happened to me in the same week.) ventdump, just insensitive/lacking of common sense comments in general, unreasonable demands (mostly with writers)... I wondered at first if it was just me, but a handful of mutuals/acquaintances who are artists and writers seems to be going through it as well.

It's annoying. It's tough. It's getting exhausting. Creators pour so much of themselves into their work—countless hours, effort, and passion, all to share something meaningful or entertaining with others (and for FREE) The LEAST anyone can do is show respect, even if opinions differ. When a writer posts a fanfic, don't just say ''omg post next chapter!'', when an artist posts a drawing of their favorite character, don't just say ''omg draw (character) next!'' as if they're faceless content machines that are expected to churn out more '''content''' for you without acknowledgment, encouragement, or appreciation.

''I want to support creators but I don't know what to say and I feel intimidated by their talent so I just lurk silently :((('' I swear to you, no creator (at least not the majority) is making up an intimidating persona to discourage you from interacting with them. They WANT your comments. A single ''I love your art/writing/videos'' or even something as silly as ''I want to eat your art'' is enough to keep a creator sighing dreamily for WEEKS. It doesn't have to be deep! It's heartfelt and that's what it matters!! (Just remember to keep it relevant and thoughtful... It takes just a bit of common sense NOT to comment things like ''this looks like (another character)'' or ''this but with (another unrelated ship/character/show)''. No one wants to hear comparisons or unrelated ideas when they’ve poured their soul into something.)

In fact, the ''I like your art but I think you're intimidating'' feels more hurtful than flattering. It makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong, acting wrong. 💀

If you love that fanfic that changed your brain psyche forever and want to gush about it, go tell the writer. If you loved so much a piece of art that you saved it a million times in your phone and can't stop thinking about it, go tell the artist. Push away the ''they probably won't care about my comment/it won't make a difference'' thoughts. DO IT NOW. You won't know when they might go inactive forever or deactivate. You can't know if that is the last piece they will ever post. Make sure you show appreciation to creators NOW, while they are still here. While they're still not being replaced by AI.

[alwaysrunningoutoftime]

a jossam kiss in 2024 thx to our lord & saviour reddit u/girlbvy3e

[frilled-cheese-sandwich]

yogirt got them some stickers

i think they're neat

we need a ship name for them

hmmm

i propose... lava parfait

[theheroandthehoodlum]

Happy Halloween, Greasers 🧡👻

[skialdi]

🪄💖✨

The cutest commission done for @forevertableflip 💖

[temeyes]

hey!! we're so back for september!! teehee~ listing's over [here!]

[vampirehunterdzine]

🫀𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔒𝔭𝔢𝔫❤️‍🔥

Oct. 12 - Nov 23

The time has come. With the talents of hunters around the globe, we bring to you the world of Vampire Hunter D in the form of a fan-made grimoire. Thank you for your unending support 🖤

https://vampiresvestige.bigcartel.com/ (International)

https://vampiresvestige.etsy.com (UK)

[muffinsin]

Hiya, really been enjoying your work lately, so thank you for your time and effort :)

Basically this ask is a very loose idea so u can take it however u want. But the basic idea is Dom G!P-Reader x Dimi Sisters (Separately) where the Dimi sisters have been bratty as hell lately and so Reader in the dead of night, brings them down to the center of the village and Rails them for all to hear as punishment. And nobody Sane is gonna look outside, cause there are monsters about, but Reader definitely intends to be heard.

Anyway that’s basically the idea, once again thank you for your time and effort with these asks and hope u have a nice day/evening/night

Oh, now that's a delicous ask, hon! ;P

Let's get into this :)

Masterlists

Bela

She's blushing a little as you bring her along, your grip on her petite wrist tight, but not forceful. She allows after you obediently, this once, having given you nothing but trouble this week.

Now, she knows, you've got enough of it. Of her snarky comments and responses, her eye rolls, her little huffs or sarcastic little remarks. She knows she's been a brat, yes. Bela fully knows she's frustrated you to no end, too, her pretty mouth spilling nonesense, one bothersome, snarky comment after another.

Only is she a little unsure about what you're doing here.

She finds herself brought to the village in the middle of the night, dressed in little but her white robe that she wears to bed, the straps tight against her shoulders. The air is warm, still. The cold is never an issue in winter, she finds. And so, she doesn't mind how little protective clothing she has on, dressed only in her heels and in the nightdress and her panties below it.

As she looks down and spots her rock hard nipples poke against the fabric of her thin dress, even sees the light outline of them due to the white nature of the clothing, she can't help but blush.

Perhaps she should have taken the time to change, even as you insisted she follows now.

She stops only when you get all the way to the statue in the centre and you pause. You cross your arms, facing her at last, your expression a rather hard one.

You know, your girlfriend is not one to let you devour her in front of others directly. However, Bela grows more and more aroused knowing someone is near, perhaps near enough to hear, even. She always becomes a tad bit wetter when someone is around, just out of sight, just out of earshot. Usually, that is a maid.

Never would the polite, headstrong, perfect daughter of Alcina Dimitrescu allow someone to actually catch her, of course! Or even hear her, she would insist.

Sadly, your pretty girlfriend is a screamer. Your ilttle songbird is quite vocal, especially when she just feels so, so good.

As such, you usually move your hand across her mouth, sparing her the embarassment of her sisters hearing it and teasing her relentlessly for days, as well as your own skin, for you're sure her mother would not hesitate to attempt to sever your head from her body should she hear, insisting you're defiling her daughter or what not.

Perhaps, she's not wrong.

You do so love doing such filthy things to your brat, after all.

Especially when she's got a mouth on her, as she has recently.

This time, though, it's a little different. This time, she will be heard.

Humiliation. A proper punishment for your sweet songbird, the kind that has her get wet and feel sweet shame, the kind that shocks her back into behaving, even as the brat in her craves for more of this treatment. Living in the perfect world and having to portray the perfect, headstrong Dimitrescu heiress, Bela does so love it when you take charge for her, when you break her down. Always forceful, but never too rough.

Humiliation, it is.

She moans lowly, a rare sound at this volume, as you bring her closer and push your lips to hers. And while she originally attempts to fight you playfully, trying to win out against your tongue with her own, she submits fairly fast, her mind reeling with what else she could throw at you to truly make you snap.

Ah, to make a top snap. A brat's dream.

Or your brat's dream, certainly.

She hums against your lips, smirking briefly until she feels your hands wander to the straps of her dress. Her golden eyes widen a little and a gasp falls from her lips when you tug it forcefully, exposing the upper part of her cleavage, the top of her breasts visible, now.

"Here?", she gasps, her eyes wide, any snarky remark she was about to make pulled from her mind, now. Still, there's a smile playing on her lips. She trusts you, and foolishly believes that despite her brattiness, you will still help her keep quiet.

Alas, she ought to know;

Only good girls receive such guidance. And unfortunately for your pretty girlfriend, she is entirely incapable of being quiet when her sensitive body is fondled and your cock drills into her.

"Off", you simply command, shaking your head a little when you see a playful smirk play on her lips.

"Mhmm...no", she hums playfully, giggling when she notices you grip the strap of her night dress a little tigher. She presses herself closer to you, batting her long eyelashes at you, her thick lips curled to a playful smile.

"You do it", she adds, giggling to herself when you shake your head at her. Still, your cock pulses between your legs already, growing harder each moment you're with her and each moment you fantasize about what you're about to do.

As such, you quickly grow impatient, grabbing at her clothing and tugging it from her, up above her head, and lick your lips as you see her breasts bounce, then settle again.

Her nipples are hard, her porcelain skin momentarily covered in goosebumps as the night's air traces her flesh.

She's shoked at your impatience, gasping when your hand falls and a finger hooks into the front of her white panties.

Only now does she become awfully aware of where you are, of how exposed she would be if a villager was to step outside their home. They'd see her smooth skin, her perky breasts and nipples, her long legs, and- she's sure- soon also her shaven pussy, utterly sensitive when you pet it.

"What was that, Bela?", you hum, your boxers and pants almost unbearably tight on you as you tug her closer yet again. While your fingertips are hooked firmly into her panties, you feel her soft, sensitive pussy beneath it. You can't help but wonder whether she's wet already, and the thought only makes you breathe out lowly in return. She does always get so wet so very fast for you...

"I-", she starts, though finds herself at a loss of words yet again when you tug her underwear down. A bright pink blush heats up her cheeks as you guide her to step out of them. She feels so utterly exposed, far more so than ever before, and almost feels like a deer in the headlights, her bratty attitude gone and replaced by an almost shy one.

You tug her closer yet again, chuckling when her hands immediately go to your belt, her sharp nails digging into the leathery fabric, her fingertips trying to get it open already. You tsk at her.

You grasp her chin tightly, smirking as you feel her face heat up even more.

"You can be such a good girl, Bela", you coo, and the words alone have her gasp and push her legs together, as though your voice hit her right where she needs it most, now. You only tsk again.

"Obedient, patient, intelligent, submissive...", you trail off, inspecting her face slowly, as though making a show of your patience, even as it's coming to an end already. "But you've not been a good girl, have you, Bela?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but you tug her closer by her chin, shaking your head subtly.

"None of that now, brat. I only want to hear your screams tonight, until you're ready to have an apology fucked from your bratty little mouth"

Your words sting in the best way, have her moan and whimper lowly, her clit pulsing, her pussy leaking already. She's completely bare still, while you find yourself fully dressed. If anyone was to look, your power balance and status as the dominant one in this situation would be painfully obvious. And Bela, the intelligent thing she is, is fully aware of it.

Only does it add to her humiliation and arousal.

And just briefly, she considers being good. But she's a good girl so often! What's the harm in playing the brat just a little longer?

Then, her fingers tug at your belt again and she giggles, allowing herself a brief moment longer of playfulness as she smirks at you. In the next moment already she's grabbed, though. She gasps as you tug her to the well, shrieking in surprise as you push her to her knees. The ground is dirty, some of it rubbing uncomfortably against her knees. Yet again, if she had only been a good girl, this would not be an issue. After all, a good girl wouldn't have been brought out to the village to be railed and toyed with for all to hear. A good girl would not be getting the humiliating, rather rough treatment you have in store for her.

Bela's about to speak when she's cut off by her own gasp and shrieks the moment you grab at her hair- the base, as to hurt her less. You know your girlfriend isn't the biggest on pain being inflicted on her beyond the occaisonal spanking- and tug her head back.

"I told you, no speaking now, you little brat. I've had about enough of your comments", youo scowl, giving her hair another tug when she parts her lips yet again, as though testing you.

You do this a few more times, chuckling when another two times or so she repeats this, before rolling her eyes and sealing her lips at last.

A little more...

She watches with wide, hungry eyes as you unbuckle the belt yourself, groaning in relief when you can finally tug down your trousers and underwear. Her playful brattiness is quickly replaced by a shriek when, due to how close you're standing, your cock slaps against her face instead. You laugh as she flinches in surprise, gasping and scowling, trying to move her head a little despite the tight grasp you have on her.

"Open"

She gasps again at your vulgar command, and the implication behind it. Here?! Where...where anyone foolish enough to step outside could easily spot the proud, strong, dominant Dimitrescu on her knees, sucking you off like a common village slut? Her cheeks flush and heat up, but her gasp is enough for you to force your dick between her parted lips.

Again, she shrieks in surprise, her hands shooting up to your hips to steady herself, but she's not nearly prepared for the fast pace you choose this time.

You allow her no time to get used to having you in her mouth, allow her no say in how quick you're going.

Instead, you snap your hips back and forth fast, angling yourself to have her choke and gag around you deliciously. Her golden eyes water and she moans adorable, each moan and groan coming with vibrations around you that have you shiver and thrust just a little harder.

"You..."

A harsh thrust.

"are going to..."

Another harsher one, one that has her gag and shriek adorably, all her sounds coming out muffled and slurred.

"fucking behave", you grunt.

You move your hands down, tugging her in a new position that demands she tilts her head back completely. Sliding your hands to her throat carefully, you groan as you thrust again, feeling your cock slide up against your hands from the other side of her throat.

You feel it bulge from your entire lenght, the tip beautifully traced by her tight throat, the choker necklace tight around her. She's moaning and shrieking, once again unable to stay quiet.

Alas, even as her nipples are rock hard and breasts bounce, even as she presses her thighs together and whimpers adorabley, even as her eyes water and tears run down her cheeks, even as they slip shut when your balls slap against her face in this angle, you allow her no ounce of dignity left.

She jumps when your leg pushes up against her thighs, but quickly spreads them for you, her earlier brattiness roughly throat-fucked from her, her body trembling and moans coming from her.

Really, she ought to be thankful you're stuffing her mouth, knowing she can't be quiet and will, if not careful, become the newest talk among the villagers, likely as they decide whether it was someone having fun at late of night or suffering a horrible fate.

Pushing your leg between hers, you feel her grind against your boot eagerly, uncaring of the slight dirt sticking to it, now. She needs you, and needs your touch.

And being the good girl she knows fully well she ought to be, she knows to obey, to let you think, to stop with her attitude, lest you will simply fuck it from her mouth again.

Cassandra

Cassandra is, for the lack of a better word, an utter brat. She's spoiled, defensive, needy, impatient, and takes the definition of "brat" to a whole new level. Of course, there's times you can succesfully take care of the brat in her and get rid of it- temporarily, of course. She will never fully stop pestering you, will never stop bratting her way through the day.

And still, there's times where your little brat takes this to a whole new level.

Recently especially, she's been nothing but a little pest. You've been unable to get any work done at all, having always been interrupted by her by any means. Often, she does this by simply grabbing and tugging you away, using the strenght granted to her by the cadou inplant a mortal stands little chance against.

At other times, she "convinces" you to stop your work, swarming on top of your lap or a surface in front of you. When you're alone, she's often bold enough to be entirely naked, her fingers already sliding down her body.

And even with people around, she'll smirk suggestively, moaning this and that in your ear, her hands trailing down your body, subtly stroking over the hard bulge in your pants. That's another thing; the brat cannot keep her hands to herself. Normally, you don't mind, but you do believe she ought to be taught some manners eventually, no matter how beautiful she looks all nice and tied up for you.

At other times, she goes the extra mile, really, dropping some bloodied thing- guts, animals, women, in front of you and forcing you to clean up the mess. Of course, Cassandra can't be bothered to clean.

You grit your teeth at the mere thought; often you counter her dislike towards cleaning by tying her up on the bed and making her suck at your cock for hours, until both of you are sore, cleaning up her own mess, especially often after you've been in her.

Today, though, you have something different planned.

She growls quietly under her breath as she's tugged along, her arm gripped tightly by you. Occaisonally, she'll act as though she doesn't like the force you're applying, act as though she wants to get away, but one thing is and will always be a clear hint: the amount of strenght she posseses. For she could easily get away from you, swarming, or by ripping herself from you, but she chooses not to, and you know it.

She offers only pathetic attempts at tugging her arm free, growing wetter each time you tug her back even harder and tighten your grip on her in return, sure enough able to bruise her. Oh; you know, the thought gets your little masochist soaked.

Lured here by the false idea of hunting together at night, she follows eagerly still, unaware that you're taking taming to a new level, now.

You know, after all, if there's one thing that both, gets your sweet Cassie wetter than anything else, and tames the brat in her more than anything else, is Humiliation.

Sheer, proper, humiliation.

Whether that means tying her up and slutting her out, filling all her holes and making her bounce on your cock until her face burns bright red and warm, putting her in tight, humiliating outfits, she loves it all, and it works wonders in putting her back in her place.

Alas, this is a whole new level. To take your beautiful brat and take her in the village, surrounded by those so dearly afraid of her. You know, none will dare step outside, but the threat that they have the opportunity to will be enough to humiliate the woman back into being a good pet for you, you know.

When you finally arrive by the village, surrounded now by quiet houses, the graveyard and the statue in the centre of the town, you turn to her at last.

"Strip", you command, your tone technically leaving no room for arguments, even as you know your brat will do so, anyway.

She laughs, as though this is a joke, not once considering you might be serious. She only shakes her hips at you, giggling as her fingertip trails across your chest. "You first, little mouse", she coos, yet once again her laughter implies that she does not yet suspect a thing.

This, however, changes drastically when you grab her dress with your free hand and yank it up. She shrieks in surprise, her hands immediately trying to tug it back down, her cheeks flushing as she looks around, as though paranoid someone might've seen. You almost coo.

Strong, bold little Cassandra, shy about the possibility of some pervert getting off to her body.

You laugh at her, this time, tightening your hold on her upper arm and tugging her to you. She gasps, her teeth gritting when your hand lets go of her dress to grab at her face instead.

Her cheeks are slightly warm already- good. But not nearly good enough just yet.

She snarls when you lean in, your lips brushing across hers for a moment before she turns her head. You laugh, tightening her grasp and forcing her head back to you. The force of strenght and dominance has her gasp and moan, her eyes fluttering shut for but a moment before she tries to turn her head, attempting to challenge you once again.

Again, though, you don't give her the chance too.

You force her head back, gripping her cheeks tight enough that the tips of your nails dig into her skin sharply. You push your lips against hers, and while she originally tries to defy you, growling brattily as though she stands a chance at dominating you this time, she's proven wrong quickly. She's left moaning when you force your tongue inside her mouth, her head and arm held tight, her thighs pushing together as you dominate her so effortlessly.

With Cassandra, it's often like this when she's bratty.

She'll make things difficult, as though testing you, as though checking whether you can control her, still.

You never fail to do so.

She's gasping when your hand grabs at her dress and tugs open the corset, then feels you slide the zipper down her back. When her dress falls, about to pool by her feet, she attempts to catch it. But once again you're faster, catching her wrists tightly in your hands and forcing them to stay in place.

She's shivering, though not from the cold. When you tug down her bra, too, she gasps and squirms again, as though reminded of what's happening and- more importantly- where it's happening.

But even as she begins to snarl and try to bite at you playfully- again, you know she's fully capable of doing so if she actually tried- she finds herself pushed and yanked by you, a squeal ripped from her when you shove her down on one of the flat grave covers on the ground, the cool marble biting into her strong, bare back.

"Hey!", she snarls, but is quickly reduced to a flustered mess when you move down on top of her, your knee grinding her soaked panties against her sopping wet pussy.

"Can you hear it, my little huntress?", you coo, stroking her cheeks tauntingly sweet. Your free hand slides down, tracing little circles at her hip, just where the panties sit still, covering her, while your body on top of hers does a well enough job covering her strong stomach, strong arms, and round breasts and dusty pink nipples. Ah, but from her body, there is one asset that stands out as the best, easily: her thick ass, round and firm, juicy and tight.

You'll be exposing it, along with her dusty pink, sensitive pussy, in no time.

"Can you hear the pitter patter of their hearts?", you coo, once again drawing attention to her greatest source of humiliation; not the cool marble below her bare skin, not the air and light breeze caressing her flesh. The villagers, those that fear her so, surely close enough to hear should this go on any longer.

And while you can't hear, you know she does. You know it, for her cheeks adapt a pink shade amd warmth, for she gasps and breathes a little heavier, even.

She can't help but moan and whimper when you bite down her jaw, slowly, giving her enough time to prepare herself- or try to- for the sensation of your teeth grazing her sensitive neck. She's biting her lip, trying so hard to be quiet it's almost adorable. You'll have none of it.

Instead, you move up, kneeling, your legs at her sides as you unbuckle your belt. She gives you a knowing smirk, but in her eyes, among the gold and ever growing arousal, you see the humiliation creep up on her. If only one was to look outside...she could never live it down.

And still, she finds herself too greedy to stop you, even helping you tug off your pants and underwear. When she moves in to stroke your cock, you tsk, grabbing her wrist mid-air. Your brat does always have a certain difficult understanding that there are times she has no say whatsoever...

Ah, but she loves it.

She loves how rough you are, how you squeeze her wrist until it aches, how you push her back down and roughly grab at her panties, how you give her an almost primal, feral look as you yank them off, as though offended by them. Often, when in a bratty mood like this, she insists you do all the work, if only to have some kind of counter-argument when you eventually tease her about being a slut. Now, you're not going to grant her the opportunity.

She snarls at you when you grip her hair and hip, forcing her to stay in place as you hover over her yet again. She knows perfectly well what's expected of her, of course. Alas, the brat only does the complete opposite and tries to cross her legs, laughing, certain your frustration is growing.

Now, normally, you would not expose her fully. That doesn't mean you won't do so at a special opportunity such as this one.

Cassandra gasps when you part her thighs yourself, your grip forceful, and just right, before- to her surprise, you lift her by her thighs.

She shrieks as her ass is lifted off the cool marble, her heels digging into your back as you lift her just slightly, just enough to allow you to trust into her perfectly. Just enough to take every ounce of control from her and make her feel far, far more exposed.

She's shivering and gasping, her mouth agape, her hands desperately trying to grasp onto anything. Alas, with her like this, she can't even reach your arms, can't roll her hips, can't move her legs, can't do anything but take what's given to her.

Oh, she hates it. But she loves it so, too.

"Let me down!", she snarls, but there's little heat behind her words, as you know. Instead, you continue to toy with the little brat.

She knows fully well, being a pest will not get her anywhere, now.

She knows, all it takes is to be a good girl.

She hates it. And she loves it.

"A-AH! He-a-ah-hhey!", she shrieks, her eyes suddenly wide as you thrust into her fully. You give her no time to prepare, don't start out slow, or ease yourself into her. Instead, you ram yourself inside, laughing and groaning as you feel her stretch so wonderfully around her.

You know, the pain of the stretch only adds to your bunny's humiliation and arousal, ever one for pain- receiving, and giving- after all.

She's completely lost in the pleasure, whimpering, moaning, groaning and slurring out little phrases you don't bother paying attention to. You grip at her hips, using her body as though it was nothing but your favorite toy, and she's fully aware of it.

She knows, any second a villager could step outside and see the monstrous, mighty, sadistic Cassandra Dimitrescu railed like a ragdoll, completely helpless, her eyes tearing up and pussy pulsing around the large cock filling her. Her breasts bounce with every sharp thrust into her and every yank of her hips back to yours.

You hiss, feeling her heels dig sharper into your back and shoulders, but shake your head fondly, too. With Cassandra, there is always pain. With Cassandra, you've realized certain pain is not so bad.

Her eyes slip shut for but a moment, and it's enough for you to immediately pull out of her again, your wet cock slapping against her lower stomach instead as wet slick drools from her already.

"Wha-a...", she slurs, her eyes opening once again, her pussy suddenly far, far too empty. You know, with brute railing, you won't be convincing her to behave, even as you will absolutely be doing so later on, when she has earned it, as a good girl ought to. This, however...a warning, a threat of a denied orgasm and touch...this is your impatient, needy brat's weakness, instead.

And true to this, she snarls angrily, thrusting her hips, squirming helplessly below you. From this position, she's entirely unable to control the situation, though.

She whines as your fingertip trails across her entrance, now visibly stretched and drooling slick like honey. She knows what to do, and while she does try to fight her desire off for just a few more minutes of endlessly seductive and teasing touches between her legs- never quite what she needs, nor how deep and full she needs it- she does obey.

"Please..."

A weak attempt. But you have much more time to play with her and teach her to do better.

Daniela

Daniela, Daniela, Daniela...what are you going to do with her?

A good girl on some days, certainly.

Ah, but what a damned brat the woman can be.

Rolling her eyes, touching you and herself without any thought or permission at all and, of course, without even a glimmer or shame. In the past week alone, you’ve often had to grab her wrist during dinner, if only to prevent her from sliding her greedy hand to your thigh, then the bulge in your pants.

At other times, she is set on distracting you, whining about and licking at your ear when you refuse to give her the full attention she seems to especially crave whenever you’re busy.

And, of course, her most favorite way of bratting and teasing you; using the maidens to her advantage.

Now, you sure would like to claim it doesn’t bother you in the slightest when she pushes herself up against them, fluttering her pretty, long eyelashes and giggling flirtatiously around them, all while her eyes would always flicker back to you, as though the brat wanted to make sure you’re still watching her.

And really, you’re not awful at concealing your annoyance regarding that.

No, the problem is not your so very bratty girlfriend trying to rile you up. You’ve come to expect as much when she’s in such moods. No, the problem are the maidens she uses to do this. The maidens, and how their eyes are glued to your brat the moment she steps to them. How they ogle her, suddenly bold when she seems to give them attention, unaware it’s really only to rile you up.

Their hands, setting on your girkfrind’s hips. Her grin, her eyes set on you, when she notices this. She never brushes them off, not until she’s satisfied and sure this has earned her just what she wants.

And normally, you put up with it. You put her back in her place again after, and temporarily the brat in her is tamed.

Only is she becoming more and more bratty more often.

You’ve decided: you have enough.

And now your brat will be taught a lesson she won’t forget so easily.

She follows behind you, rubbing at her eyes and looking about curiously as you guide her along. She’s fully dressed still, having caught her just before she got ready to prepare for bed, but as often her dress is tighter than usual, as though the tight corset was made for nothing than to draw attention to her large, soft chest, wide hips and slim body.

You shiver as you take in her form, feeling the familiar ache between your legs already. She knows what she does to you, but tonight, she’s about to feel it, too.

Daniela giggles when you lead her to the centre of the village, a curious scowl on her face as she takes in the statue. Wouldn’t it look so much cuter at the castle?, she can’t help but think. Perhaps she can get her mother to put it in the courtyard!

Alas, her mild curiosity turns to surprise when she suddenly feels you push up against her, one of your hands snaking up her front and grabbing her dress by its cleavage cut, the other running up her back and finding the zipper easily.

She giggles still, always one to play around. She hasn’t yet paid mind to the fact that any villager could step outside at any moment, and therefore feels almost thrilled at the thought of doing such a thing outside. She’s capable of staying quiet, anyway, she’s sure.

And still, she moans softly when you begin kneading at her chest, your hard bulge pressing into her, your fingers clasping the zipper of her dress and dragging it down teasingly.

She blushes and giggles as you undo the corset and tug down the dress, though shrieks in surprise when you push against her back next, forcing her to bend over, now grasping the statue tight.

From this angle, she spots the small houses and cabins, lights going off as though someone was alerted by her shriek and decided to try and hide away.

Wait-!

She gasps when you hook your fingers in her red panties, your hips grinding against her soft, round ass in almost animalistic fashion. She turns to you, eyes wide, but as they take you in, an eager smirk takes over instead. She's grinding back against you eagerly, already distracted again, already back to drowning in the pleasure and want she feels for you.

Then, her panties are off yet when you let them dangle by her face by your index finger and she goes to take them, you pull back. She scowls, confused, reaching out to yank them again, but once more you only move them away from her and out of her reach. You tsk at her, pushing her back into her bent over position.

Moving your body along hers, you whisper by her ear, your bulge pushing up against her bare body now.

"What do you think, Dani, should we leave these here?", you coo, biting your lip as you pull open your pants with one hand and knead at her soft thigh with the other. She frowns in confusion, whimpering softly for you.

"I'm sure they'd have a nice time with them....", you hum, laughing lowly when she squeaks, as if reminded of the villagers again. Her face is bright pink and she gasps as your hand moves from her thigh up to her ass cheek, between them, then to her pussy.

Wet- soaked, even- and all for you.

She's whimpering and moaning adorably, her lips parted as she attempts to tell you off half heartedly, insisting you can't do this with the inhabitants of the village this close, close enough she's sure they could hear her through their shut doors if she isn't careful.

Ah, but she can't help the low, breathy moans that tumble over her soft lips when you caress her between her legs, stroking her drooling pussy gently, patting and sliding your fingertip between her lips there until it rests against the hood of her sensitive clit.

When you rub it in tight circles, the cute thing squeaks again, grasping the statue automatically when her knees buckle and she arches her back for you. She whimpers as, from the corner of her eye, she sees you drop the panties on the ground, chuckling to yourself.

"Think they'll fight over them, princess? I can imagine it", you coo, leaning back over her when you manage to unzip your pants at last and tug your cock free, the thick head drooling precum against her ass cheek.

She's blushing hard, shaking her head as if trying to deny this, as if both of you don't know how needy the mere thought has her feel, how her pussy drools more and more and pulses around nothingness at the thought.

And still, her head fills with thoughts of just that, of villagers yanking at her little panties, grabbing and rubbing them between their fingers, disappearing into their houses with them tucked to their chest. She shivers, imaginging some perverted villagers holding her underwear close, their hand between their legs...

The feralness of the thought has her head spin and moan when you stroke at her sensitive clit a little more. Then, however, a loud squeak is pulled from her when your free hand comes down on her thick ass.

She squeaks again, covering her mouth with her hand as another series of spanks comes. She tries to squirm and turn, whimpering adorably for you as you turn her soft flesh into mush.

"W-Why...?", she whines, even as she knows fully well why she's treated like this, why she was bound to be punished eventually. Ah, but even as her ass stings and her golden eyes turn teary, her nipples are rock hard and her pussy drools, a line of it dripping down onto the ground between her legs already.

You chuckle, but don't bother answering the little brat.

Instead, you merely continue, your cock rock hard as you press yourself into her form. Like this, bent over and arching her back for you, hugging the structure tight, she's almost small beneath you.

You love it.

She's squealing and gasping with every slap, her eyes slipping shut and fingers lightly gripping at her face as she covers her mouth, well aware her uncontrolled yelps are surely heard by at least some of the villagers.

She shivers as you lean forwards, your tip sliding up against her soaked pussy, your wet fingers grabbing and yanking her bra away. She's completely exposed now, for you, and for anyone foolish enough to step outside. Daniela Dimitrescu, fearsome, manic, a terror in the eyes of many villagers. Now, nothing but your toy, a little brat about to be taught the ways of being a good girl.

She shrieks again when you grab at her hair, curling it around your hand and twisting it into a fist as you tug, the auburn strands now almost used like a leash to make her arch her back even more for you.

When you line yourself up with her, she's posively drooling from her pussy already, so utterly soaked you need not even think of lube. Instead, you simply thrust your cock between her soaked, pretty little folds, groaning as you feel her wetness and warmth even like this. She's trembling already, moaning muffled phrases into her hand as you rub and squeeze her round ass cheek.

It's warm beneath your touch, now, and sporting a cute, pink shade that came from the spanking. Nothing too much, nor too little, just enough for her to get properly wet and feel it for a little while longer.

She moans and whimpers adorably for you, her body rocking and arms tightening around the statue each time another slap comes down on her.

Each time you thrust forth and the tip of your dick hits her clit, she moans breathily, doing a poor job of staying quiet as she hoped to.

When you finally push yourself in, without any warning, she screams, loud, breathily, a slurred moan falling from her parted lips. You thrust immediately, tightening your grip on her hair as your other hand slides to her hip and grabs it. You yank her back with every thrust in her, deep, hard, fast, far more than your little brat is used to.

She can only moan and cry adorably for you, her legs shaking already, her pussy gripping you tight.

While she’s quite used to you by now, often bugging you to play with her almost daily, she’s still rather unused to such a fast pace and roughness.

When she attempts to stand or turn, you only grip her hip tighter, chuckling lowly behind her.

“Ah-Ah-Ah. You wanted my full attention, didn’t you, Daniela?”, you coo, your voice strained as you snap your hips against her a little harder. She’s squealing and moaning helplessly, her pussy hardly able to take all of you inside like this, stretching with every moment, each time you force more of yourself inside of her.

Her breasts bounce as her body is manhandled and her arms wrap around the statue in front of her fully, as though her shaking legs are bound to give out any moment now.

You groan behind her, your whole body feeling as though on fire.

She’s so cute like this, moaning, squealing, gasping your name so sweetly. Her ass jiggles when your front snaps against her, her soft, dark painted lips parting to let out those sensual sounds.

She’s whimpering and moaning, stuck between the pleasure she’s given and the shock of just how rough you are with her this time. She knows, this is the punishments her bratty actions have brought forth, knows she isn’t granted the sweet, passionate sex and touches she often receives from you, rather feeling you grab and pound her like a toy, her body trembling, her insides wrapped around your wet cock like a vine.

Her head lifts and back arches fully when you give her hair another tug, your legs forcing hers farther apart even as she’s shaking already.

One, two, three orgasms are ripped from the overly sensitive beat, each making her more and more sensitive in turn.

She’s shaking and shivering, moaning loudly and slurring little phrases that you’re both sure the villagers are picking up inside their homes, even as they cannot quite tell what she says.

By the end, she’s pleading and moaning adorably, stuck between asking for more still like the greedy brat she is, and begging you to slow down and take pity on her poor, sensitive pussy.

You know, your little brat will remember this.

[late-draft]

Nothing is happening. He's nowhere. And yet there's so much traffic, people and vessels moving. Distant shouting and discussions, communicating about logistics, but there's no need for him there. So he just stares out in silence and feels the cold wind. The air is choked with the stench of diesel every day and yet sea birds fly through that filth still.

[ohheyitsjustbear]

Boy tummy featuring my ridiculously snuggly warm blanket

Treats ♡ Bear's Travel Fund

Reblogs appreciated, keep comments in the tags unless we're mutuals 🩷 (he/they)

[fellshish]

A brief history of the Arrangement told by a very normal angel? Read it here

[dinsbeskar]

And In The Darkness Bind Them (Sauron/F!Reader)

A series of vignettes (smutty and angsty) chronicling S2 Rings of Power

Sequel to Homecoming // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: Beautiful Things by Benson Boone, Replay by Lady Gaga, Hands of Gold by Peter Hollens (kudos to @missjadesfics for this one)

Warnings: 18+ only!! Little bit of fluff, mostly smut and angst! Sometimes together!! P in V sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, possessiveness/toxic relationship, overstimulation, public sex/exhibitionism, dom!Sauron (I know smh, what am I doing??), carry-fucking (y'all I am cooking here, like he is basically a god so no matter how light or heavy you are, he can definitely pick you up and fuck you stupid okay), cumplay (idk how to describe it any other way), praise/condescending/degradation (it's a wild ride lmao), so much angst, very (!!) dubious consent towards the end (sorry, Sauron really leaning into his villain era now)

A/N: Reader is mad in love with our boy in this one but uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh well good luck guys idk

rather than a bunch of actual chapters, I've written a few vignettes for S2 Rings of Power (maybe I'll go back and expand on them later), starting near the start where Sauron is more Annatar, finishing at the end where he is ... very much himself. Some of the smut gets very dark, please take note of the tags!!

Word Count: 7.8k!! Wildly out of hand

The morning after Annatar climbs into your bed, you are momentarily confused to see long golden hair on the pillow next to you. Then you remember that Halbrand is no more.

“Good morning, love.” He props himself up on one arm, disentangling himself from your embrace.

You cannot help but stare at him a moment; this ethereal creature in front of you cannot be yours.

“Is it really you?” You ask him, eyes sparkling and fingers trailing over his high cheekbones, his broad firm chest, his sculpted lips.

“Always, darling.” He pulls you close, kissing your forehead.

He always smells the same, like salt and iron, smoke and musk. If your souls were to no longer recognise each other, you swear you could follow your nose to find him.

“You left so suddenly, I didn’t get to say goodbye.” You murmur into his chest, fingers entwined in his golden hair.

“I’m sorry, love, circumstances arose, I had matters to take care of, but I’m here now.”

He had set his plans in motion in Mordor, and waited for Galadriel to leave Eregion. He had a feeling that she would have told no-one there who he really was, her ego bruised and pride bleeding. He only had to wait for you to let him in. And with a little pleading, you had managed to convince Celebrimbor to open his gates.

“We should talk, properly, about what happened, the last time we saw each other. At Forodwaith.” You stutter and trip over your words, nervous to bring up the subject, but it has weighed heavily on your mind.

He sighs, running his fingers up and down your arm, unhurried and unphased.

Of course you had been angry with him when you’d found out about his plans to become Morgoth’s successor, and you stood by that anger. But knowing you had left him to die, to mourn the loss of your husband for centuries, your mind screamed at you to make it right, whatever you had to say.

“Some of the things I said were…unkind-”

“Cruel.” He interjects with a smirk; you purse your lips playfully and continue.

“But so were your deeds, and I have forgiven you. Mostly. So perhaps you should do me the same courtesy,” you twirl a strand of his hair around your finger as you prop yourself up to search his gaze, “since we are… what are we again? Oh yes…”

You lean in and whisper in his ear, “Bound in flesh and soul.”

His smile this time is dangerous, threatening, promising.

“And to think, if I were not so ravenous in my lust for you-” he grasps your wrists, pins them to the headboard with one hand and wraps his other arm around you, nose in your hair as he breathes in deeply.

“-I might have spared myself this torment.” He grins into your neck as you try to catch his lips with yours. “Not that I would have it any other way.”

He bends his neck and kisses you softly, releasing you just enough to throw your arms around his neck, through his silky golden hair, pulling him closer.

The dread that had dogged you for centuries is gone. There is no such thing as chance, and he is sure that you were supposed to leave him, whatever the reason, to save you from the same evil fate he suffered. After a millennium as primordial ooze, he can’t bring himself to care, only grateful to have you in his arms again.

~

Celebrimbor had been rather taken aback when Annatar had walked into his forge with you on his arm. You had been a close friend for many years, having visited his city many times, even reinforced the defences with the ancient magic you’d learned from your lost kin. He knew you were married but had never met your lord husband; no one could have guessed he was an emissary of the Valar.

Indeed you were surprised by his cover story too, but dismissed it as your husband wanting to make the best impression as you introduced him to the world.

“Do they really need to know?” He had asked you one night, holding you close as the rest of the world slept.

“What do you mean, love? Oh, that you’re mine? Yes, absolutely, they must. If I don’t stake my claim now, all of Eregion’s eligible maidens will be vying for your hand, and I cannot possibly entertain a rival for your affections.” Your tone is light, your words spoken in jest, but he sees in you the same dark possessive streak that runs so deeply within him, and his heart can’t help but reach out for yours, dark tendrils of his power wrapping around you.

“How could I look at another soul the way I look at you? You are the other half of me, the reason my heart still beats. No one compares to my wife, and I would reduce anyone who argued otherwise to dust.”

You laugh a little, burying your face in his side, but he needs you to know just how serious he is, cupping and lifting your chin to hold your gaze.

“My love, if the sun were too bright or the moon offensive to your eyes or the stars were to outshine your radiance, I would tear it all down for you. Everything I do is for the love of you.” He means it, in his own way, and you know it, a thrill shooting through you, ending in butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

It amazes you that even after the eons you’ve loved each other, you still feel the same flutters of excitement you did when you first set eyes on him in that golden glade, millenia ago.

The trials you have endured only sweeten the moments of contentment, making you all the more grateful to hold each other.

~

He has a job to do, a forge to supervise, and rings to create. But with you in his arms and a gentle breeze cooling you both in the burgeoning warmth of spring, he could be persuaded to stay abed a little longer.

“Stay with me today.” You murmur into his chest, unwilling to let him go.

It’s as if you could hear his thoughts as he could hear yours.

He chuckles fondly, stroking your hair, considering the vaguest possibility of letting Celebrimbor work unattended for today. Surely one day couldn’t hurt?

“I have to oversee the rings, my love, their progress is precious in every sense of the word,” he says as he traces your arm, rubbing slow circles into your skin with his thumb.

You grumble with indignation, nestling closer to his side as if to keep him there with the sheer magnetism of your presence. He squeezes your arm softly before resting his chin on the top of your head.

“One day with my husband. Is that too much to ask?” Your tone is still a little petulant, but he can’t help but smile fondly at your yearning for him; after all, it is returned a hundredfold.

“Your husband is an emissary of the Valar, he has… important duties, what are you doing?”

You give him a mischievous smile, running your foot up and down his leg, hand reaching between his thighs.

“I am simply showing my husband what he is missing when he attends to these important duties, more important than keeping his wife satisfied, apparently.” Your smile grows wider as his eyes grow dark, pupils blowing wide as your hand finds its prize, his cock already half hard simply from lying next to you all morning, breathing you in.

“Are you implying I do not keep you satisfied, my lady? Oh, that simply will not do…” he growls, rolling you over and caging you beneath his iron frame.

You look up at him through your lashes, your breath hitching as arousal pools in your core and drips down your thighs.

The dark glint in his eye only intensifies as he catches the scent of you, needy for his touch, as he dips his fingers between your thighs, delicately tracing your entrance as you shiver beneath him.

His hard length juts against your hip as he greedily swallows your moans, not sated until he has wrung every note of pleasure from you. His tongue doesn’t need to fight for dominance in your mouth; he already has it, and you let him take whatever he needs from you.

His thrusts are lazy, languid, now that his plans for the day no longer involve leaving your bed, meaning to take his sweet time with you.

His index and middle fingers circle your entrance, dipping in and out, thrusting deeper each time until he is knuckle-deep inside you. He hooks his fingers in a come hither motion, watching your face soften through hooded eyes as he strokes the sweetest spot inside you. Your body shakes under his ministrations as you clench around his fingers, seemingly unwilling to let him part from you in any way, shape, or form.

He kisses the tip of your nose before drawing back to take you in, spread out underneath him, hair across the pillow, lips parted and panting, eyes glassy with pleasure. He’d never tire of this sight.

When he first saw you, Sauron never thought he would end up here, with you so willingly his. His to hold close and torment with his loving words, torture with his lingering touch, to soothe with the lies that drip so easily from his tongue.

He covets you even when he has you pressed to him skin to skin, craves you even when he can’t breathe for his tongue inside you, wants to wrap himself around you when he can feel your soul entwined with his.

You are his, and today of all days, it is overwhelming him completely.

“So good for me, opening under my touch, I know what you need, darling, I have you, just let go.” He murmurs in your ear, aching for your release as much as his own; after all, they are the same thing.

He lowers himself to press his body against yours, needing to feel every inch of you against him, cunt clenching around his fingers as you give him your pleasure. You whine and pant against his neck as he refuses to give you a moment’s respite, stroking your inner walls, grinding his palm against your clit.

You shake through your orgasm, riding out your high on his fingers which relentlessly wring out every drop of pleasure from your body, until you’re breathless, pleasantly warm and tingly all over, and totally exhausted.

“So beautiful, my darling wife, wrung out and ruined for me. Is there a single thought in that pretty mind?” He can’t help but gaze at you fondly, slicked with sweat and writhing under his fingers.

Until this moment, he has had no thought of his own pleasure. Now he feels his cock ache to be inside you, and he rolls his hips against yours, sliding his cock between your thighs and rutting against your soft skin, his precum and your wetness soaking your thighs, easing his way. With every roll of his hips his cock grinds against your clit, rubbing against your lips, making you want him inside you where he belongs.

He throws his head back with a gasp, his golden hair falling over his shoulder, as the morning sun illuminates him from behind. You wonder, how could this ethereal being be yours? Giving into his carnal desires and binding himself to a mortal form for the love of you. It is too much to ponder, and you pull him down to your lips, desperate to taste him once more.

As you pull him down, he adjusts himself, teasing you with the promise of filling you up. He chuckles in your ear when you moan at the feeling of him thrusting deep inside you, his bare skin sliding against yours, as he makes himself at home between your thighs.

He slides his hand between you, his index and middle fingers parted to frame your clit as he rubs your cunt, occasionally tracing the swollen nub that begs for his attention. The whimpers that escape your lips only urge him to tease you further, forcing you to arch into his touch, chasing any semblance of release.

Your hips ache as you thrust to meet his hand, fighting the rolling of his hips as he takes what he wants from you. His cock driving into your wet heat, his hand between you teasing and caressing your clit, his forehead against yours as he holds himself over you with his free hand.

Before long, he feels his orgasm approach, too soon, but perhaps not for you, as you beg him to let you come, and how could he deny you when you plead so sweetly?

Not that he could ever deny any request made from your lips.

He pulls you close, torso to torso, and kisses you hard, a hungry clash of lips and tongues and teeth that leaves you both breathless, greedily swallowing your moans as if they were all he needed to survive.

It feels like a revelation every time, and this occasion is no different. When you both finally come down from the pleasurable peak he'd dragged you to, you still feel like you're floating, clinging to him just to stay grounded.

As you both lie there in your cozy bed, panting and nestling close, his large frame fitting around you so completely, he smoothes back flyaway tendrils of your hair from your face and regards you with a strange look, something akin to fondness but more hungry, more desperate, more obsessive.

As your breathing slows and you return to the mortal plain, you look up at him and smile.

“So. About today. I could show you the city? You haven’t seen beyond the forge, my love, and while it is no Gondolin, it has its charms, we’ve built something beautiful here. I want you to see it.” Your eyes sparkle at the idea of showing Sauron around your city, and he cannot help but give in, even as he wants to stay here with you as long as possible.

“Then I must let our friend know he shall have to do the work of the Valar himself today.” He chuckles, brushing his nose against yours.

~

Hand in hand with your husband, you cannot help but feel at peace as you stroll through the streets of Eregion.

Musicians fill the air with song, lively market stalls line the streets, and children run and play amongst the revellers.

Your fellow Elves are still a little in awe of him, the crowds parting as you make your way through the city.

“Do you never tire of this?” You ask, a blush creeping up your neck, gesturing at the people nodding and bowing and staring as he walks past with you.

His derisive snort should tell you everything you need to know as he smirks, casting a glance at you, squeezing your hand to soothe your discomfort. You were so used to serving the people of Eregion, that this sudden change in treatment was unsettling. You appreciated thanks for your work, but anything beyond that was too much; this nigh-worship was almost unbearable.

Sauron, however, was flourishing.

“It is what we deserve, my love, to be revered. We are more than them, after all.” He has always enjoyed your attentions, your worship, but he cannot deny that this satisfies his need to rule in a way that your love alone cannot touch.

“You might be, love, but I am merely one of them. So it feels strange…” You trail off as you regard him closely, noticing just how at ease he seems to be.

“Let’s go back.” You fight the growing dread in the pit of your stomach, wishing that you had just stayed in bed with him instead.

“Are you quite alright, love?” He turns to you, searching your gaze, only now noticing your concern.

“Yes, fine, darling, I just,” you search for an excuse, any excuse, “I’m just tired. Perhaps a lie down will do the trick, if you would join me?”

A flicker of irritation crosses his face; he might as well have gone to the forge today, if you were going to cut short your trip into the city.

“I might see how Lord Celebrimbor is coming along with the rings, and let you rest.” He gives you a smile but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and your stomach flips.

“Of course, love, I’ll see you later then.”

He presses a kiss to your knuckles before disappearing into the crowd, a strange sense of trepidation filling you as he leaves.

You know him well enough, unfortunately, that you can immediately sense when he is up to something; an itching in the back of your mind and a dull ache in your heart. Nefarious or not, you have to know what it is.

~

You peer through the door, ajar enough to see your husband in his leather apron sitting at Celebrimbor’s work bench, the forge otherwise empty. He is hard at work, his back to the door, and you can't tell what is consuming all of his attention. Most of his attention.

"Love, why do you linger at the door?" He asks, raising his head and smirking, before turning and leaning with an arm over the back of the chair, beckoning you to him.

You smile hesitantly, fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of your dress as you open the door and cross the room.

He pats his thigh, taking your hand and guiding you to sit in his lap as you wrap your arms around his neck. Leaning forward to nuzzle his nose in your neck, he soaks you up, breathing in your scent and relishing the feeling of you so close. Your anxiety melts, the knots in your stomach untying themselves.

"Are you feeling better, love?" He murmurs, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Yes, much." It is not a lie; simply being with him in his natural habitat soothes your nerves.

He hums in acknowledgement, nose still at your throat, the deep vibration rippling through you.

"I hate to worry about you, darling," he remarks as he brushes his fingers through your hair.

"You'll never have to." You reply softly, drawing back to meet his gaze, so intense, so focused on taking you in.

He smiles wide, his eyes creasing just how you love, a genuine expression that has become more and more rare as his stay in Eregion has gone on. It warms your heart and makes you reach for him once more, planting your lips on his, Sauron making an undignified "hmph" in surprised response.

He could stay there forever in your arms, kissing you softly and languidly, letting himself melt into you. But the reason for his visit to the forge today sits on the bench behind you both, and he cannot forget it.

"I have a gift for you." He pulls away to reach for something on the bench behind you.

“A gift, my love? You are gift enough, I need nothing from you.” You laugh, heat flushing your cheeks as your husband takes your hand.

“How can I call myself the Lord of Gifts if I cannot even gift my wife a small trinket for her devotion?” He teases you fondly, his broad smile reaching his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners in the way that makes you want to kiss every crease and wrinkle from his face just to make them multiply a hundredfold.

“Close your eyes, love,” he tells you, still holding your hand with his other hand behind his back.

You do so with a dramatic sigh, grinning and rolling your eyes.

You feel him slip something cool and smooth onto your finger, and you feel a rush of his power through you that you have not felt in such a long time. You can feel it course through your veins, the towering inferno that is your husband’s will, his might and determination in one tiny object.

“Open.” He commands you, his excitement unmistakable.

A slim golden band graces your finger, radiating your husband’s power. There is something about it, something that makes you never want to take it off.

“Do you like it? Say something,” he laughs nervously, eager to hear your thoughts.

“It is… quite something, my love. Beautiful.” You can’t stop staring at it, the plain golden ring catching the light and throwing off an inner radiance that captivates you.

His face lights up, a wide smile brightening his handsome features as he takes your hand in his once more.

“I wanted to forge us something worthy of our bond. Something to strengthen us, to fortify what we have. To bind us together.” He looks into your eyes hopefully, yearning for the eternal life together that you’ve been denied thus far.

“It is… precious, my love. And if it works, you shall never be rid of me.” You clasp his hand in yours, resting your forehead on his, breathing him in.

“I shall forge one of my own, but yours was more pressing. They shall be a pair when I am done.”

You cannot help but smile fondly at him; thinking of you before himself.

“Thank you, love, I shall never take it off.”

You raise your hand to admire his handiwork, always in such awe of his talents, and notice him eyeing you hungrily.

"Are you quite alright, darling?" You tease him, as he leans over you, a large hand tracing your neck, pushing your hair back over your shoulder.

“I need you,” he murmurs, kissing your neck as he presses you against Celebrimbor’s workbench.

“Not here, love, let’s go home,” you try to push him off, laughing but the thought of being discovered like this in the forge, where anyone could find you, sends a shiver down your spine and your stomach unexpectedly flutters.

“No. Right here.” He runs his hands over your curves, ravenous for what only you can provide him. “Right now. I have to have you.”

He rucks up your skirts, lifting you by your hips onto the bench behind you, baring you to his lustful gaze, and to anyone else who could walk in.

“Is the door locked at least?” You ask him, your stomach still tying itself in knots.

“Of course, love, do you think I want anyone bearing witness to the mere sight of you like this? You are mine, and mine alone.” He growls, deep in his chest, as he grips your thighs, digging into the soft flesh with his fingernails, leaving red crescent marks to mark you as his.

He can’t resist the sight of your wet cunt, has to taste you, flexing his tongue to delve into your entrance as he plays with your swollen clit. He pulls you closer, throwing your legs over his shoulders, gripping your ass to keep your cunt against his face.

You can’t help but roll your hips, begging him for more, riding his face, taking full advantage of the fact that with his regained strength, Sauron doesn’t actually need to breathe.

His iron grip keeps you pinned against him as you arch your back and moan breathily for anyone who might be passing to hear.

He senses your orgasm approaching, and thrusts two long deft fingers inside your cunt, stroking your walls as he laps at your clit. Your body quakes as you give yourself to him, your peak crashing over you with no respite, Sauron drawing every ounce of pleasure he can from your aching cunt with a delicious gleam in his eye.

Finally he gives you some kind of reprieve, drawing back to admire his handiwork.

He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, smirking as he pulls himself up to meet your lips. You can taste yourself on him as he kisses you hard, teeth dragging on your bottom lip, hands kneading greedily at your thighs.

"Are you ready for me, love? Always ready for me, aren't you, always so good..." he gasps in your ear as he slams his cock inside you in one solid thrust, rolling his hips and relishing in the feeling of you, tight and hot around him.

He thinks he hears footsteps on the stairs. He slows his pace just a fraction to listen, not that you seem to notice.

The door swings open a little, but whoever it is does not immediately enter, startled by the noises coming from inside the forge.

Thankfully your back is to the door, and one glare from Sauron sends the smith at the door running back down the stairs, leaving the door ajar. He rolls his eyes and smirks against your lips, crashing his lips into yours with renewed vigour, bucking his hips and slamming his cock deep inside you.

The thought of the world having borne witness to the love you share, it sends him wild and obliterates any sane thought from his mind, the only notion in his head to ravage you senseless.

"So good for me, such a good girl," he murmurs as he takes you in your exhausted glory, your limbs shaking and your cunt quivering.

He leans down to take your nipple in his mouth, mouthing at your tender flesh before nipping with his sharp teeth, a loud moan escaping your throat.

Working his way up to your neck, he lavishes your bare skin with his tongue, sucking hard on the sensitive skin of your throat, making sure to leave a bruise no one will miss.

You whimper as he slips his cock from inside you, marvelling at the state of you, dripping with his cum.

"Always so appreciative, aren't you darling? Always so giving, so grateful to receive whatever I give you. And you've given me everything-"

He picks you up, your arms clinging to his neck as you instinctively wrap your legs around his hips.

"-but you can give me so much more."

He slams his cock inside you again, letting gravity do its work as you're stretched to your limit, moaning as he angles his hips just right so you see stars on every thrust.

"Oh, darling, is that too much?" He mocks you fondly before swallowing your whines, stealing the breath from your lungs in his need, no, greed for you.

With you balanced in his large hands, his muscles flexing with every thrust, he bounces you on his cock like you weigh nothing, as if you were merely a plaything for him to use and spoil and defile. His, and his alone.

He can't get enough of you, of the sight of you ruined and writhing at his touch, desperate for more even as he wrings another orgasm from your overstimulated cunt.

His own peak crashes into him like a wave on the shore, pulsing inside you as your walls clench around him.

"I love you, I love you, love you, love you..." he gasps over and over into your neck, shuddering against you as he leans you back against Celebrimbor’s work bench.

You can do nothing but kiss him, words beyond you, your tongue capable of nothing but kissing your husband.

"So good for me, beautiful girl, so good..." he murmurs softly into your neck as his cock twitches inside you, his seed dripping down your inner thighs.

When your legs stop shaking, he lets you stand, still leaning on him. He combs through your hair with his fingers, tucking it behind your ears. Then he glances down at the mess he's left between your legs and smirks.

"Leave it."

You raise an eyebrow at him, already reaching to clean yourself up before you leave the forge.

"I'll be home soon. I'll do it myself."

You finally realise what he's saying and squirm at the idea of trying to walk home in the state you're in. Defiled in all the ways that count. But the glint in his eye warns you not to argue.

True to his word, he arrives home not long after you, so you don't wait too long for his tongue to clean up the mess he made.

~

There are warning signs. You missed most, if not all of them. Or wilfully ignored them.

But when the siege horns blare, in your heart of hearts, you know it is Sauron’s doing.

The first place you think to find him is the forge, but instead you find Celebrimbor hunched over his bench, painstakingly at work.

"My lord? Do you not hear the horns? We need to leave!" You try to take his arm to hoist him to his feet, but he shudders and throws you off.

He catches you off balance and you stumble, throwing an arm out to steady yourself.

To your surprise, a large warm hand takes yours and keeps you upright.

"I told you not to come here, love." Sauron remarks, his tone eerily neutral, as if you haven't just stumbled into a nightmare.

"I was... I was looking for you." You mutter, still watching Celebrimbor, concerned for his state of mind as he rambles about mice and candles.

"I told you to stay at home where you'd be safe. Was that simple instruction so beyond you?"

Your head snaps toward him as the sharp knife of his words pierces you between the ribs.

A flurry of questions and indignant remarks fills your head but you merely stare at him, mouth agape, as he disregards you, stepping to the bench to inspect his precious rings.

"How much longer?" His impatience has always been dangerous, but it is in this moment you realise just how so.

"Soon... just the final touches, they are nearly complete." Celebrimbor flinches as Sauron places the ring back on the bench and takes his shoulder in hand.

"Do you hear that? I kept the storm at bay but you chose to peel back the curtain. Your city is falling, but the sooner you deliver the rings, the more of your city you save. Do not fail them."

He takes your hand and leads you out of sight, pushing you up against a wall. His large hand wraps around your neck with such ease, it startles you, and you can do nothing but whimper against him.

"I told you not to come here." He whispers in your ear, hot breath tickling your neck.

"I'm sorry-" you gasp as his thumb constricts a little around your throat, "Needed to know you were safe."

He loosens his grip and smiles fondly at you, though not quite letting it reach his eyes, as your hearts pound in unison.

"Oh darling. Aren't you just perfect?" Then he kisses you hard, before turning you around, pressing your face against the cold hard stone.

Your stomach drops as you realise what he's planning. Surely not, not as the city crumbles around you and the Lord of Eregion sits mere feet away?

"Love, no, not now-"

He enters you with a practised touch, knowing exactly how he has to please you to ease his way in. Your body betrays you as he fucks you without mercy, taking his pleasure from your needy moans and wanton gasps as you succumb to the feeling of him drilling into you from behind.

This is new, as usually he delights in studying your face for every microexpression, taking you in as he ravages you. Now it is solely about what he can take from you, the only thought in his head to come as quickly as inhumanly possible.

It leaves you breathless and panting, and when he peaks, you find yourself grinding into him to try and find some kind of release too.

He chuckles in your ear, thrusting his hand between your thighs.

"What's that, love? Weren't you saying no? Do you want me to let you come? Oh you do? You're lucky that your pleasure is mine, or I might not be so giving..."

His words fade to nothing as your ears ring with siege horns and explosions and the mind-bending sensation of orgasming around Sauron’s cock, even as you know what his plans have wrought.

~

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” you murmur over and over, holding the Lord of Eregion in your lap, trying to heal his wounds well enough that he can finish his work.

The wounds inflicted by the man you call husband in a moment of cruel impatience.

“Amarië, I need him to work, the rings-”

“-will be finished when he can stand. A moment’s peace, for pity’s sake.” You interrupt your husband, turning to look at him to find no pity in his eyes, only jealous rage.

“Let me work, so he can work. This is your doing after all, you should know it will take time.”

Your tone wounds him, the acid in your words corroding his black heart, but he cannot let himself pause in the pursuit of his goal, not when the rings for Men are within such tantalisingly close reach.

The melody you sing over Celebrimbor to knit his flesh eventually soothes his pain and stems the bleeding enough that soon he is sat at his workbench, still wincing, but for your sake, presses on with finishing the rings.

“Watch him, I’ll be back shortly.” Never has Sauron spoken so abruptly with you, and after everything you’ve witnessed today, you’re loath to let him leave with no rebuke.

“After everything He did to you, you would inflict the same torture on someone who has only shown you kindness?”

He glares down at you, only the tiniest furrow of his brow giving anything away about his current train of thought.

"It is… necessary. If he had done what I’d asked, I wouldn’t have been forced to-"

"Absolutely not. Do not do this. Do not blame him for what you have done. That is exactly what Morgoth did to you, what I nursed you through, so don’t try that with me." You’ve never been stern with him before so you’re not sure how he will take it, and frankly neither is he.

“This is not you!”

“But it is me.” He leans in to whisper in your ear. “You just haven’t been paying attention.”

Your stomach drops as he smirks, stalking down the stairs. He looks back up at you a moment.

“Do not let him leave.” His tone cuts you like a knife, and when the door swings closed, you crumble to the floor, head in your arms.

~

"How long have you known?" Galadriel can barely look at you as your tears blind you.

It takes you a long time to answer.

"Too long. I thought he had changed! At first I thought him dead, then he came back so different, I wanted-"

"You wanted your husband." She looks you in the eye, and once again, you feel a wave of nausea overwhelm you.

“It is a twisted, evil fate, that I would take back in a heartbeat, but there is no earthly force that can break us apart. Believe me, I’ve tried.” Your voice breaks and Galadriel cannot help but embrace you; she knows how heavy the bond between couples is, and knows that to try to undo it is a fool’s errand.

“I just want to come home.” You sob into her shoulder, heart breaking for her that she must be the one to comfort you, after all your husband has done to hurt her and her family, and what he has done to your city.

"Are you with me?" She asks, hands on your shoulders as you pull away.

You don't even have to think. Your broken heart speaks for you.

"Whatever it takes."

~

You find him on a cliff's edge, surrounded by orcs that bow and simper as you pass.

"I knew you'd come." He greets you, though he doesn't turn from looking down over the cliff, as if his eye is trained on something no mortal being could see.

"Predictable as always." You quip, but your anger bleeds through and the edge in your voice finally makes him face you.

"You're upset-"

"Oh, really?" You interrupt him with a snort.

"I tried to save Eregion, but Adar-"

"Oh no, don't do that, we both know that was your plan all along. You have always played the long game, don't doubt your abilities now, dear husband."

He smirks, stepping closer, taking your hands in his.

“Tell me the truth, please, just for once.” Your anger and your grief battle for dominance, and even now he feels a tiny pang of guilt.

“You have always known my purpose, my love-”

You interrupt him with your fists, so angry with him now that words fail you. He holds your wrists calmly, impassively, speaking over your outburst as if it had not happened, as if you were merely taking tea on your balcony.

“You have always known that Middle Earth is sick, that it needs healing, and who better than I to do so? I alone have the power and the will to remake this land, and you, my Queen, you will help me fix this broken world.” He is so sincere, smiling down at you as if it is already decided.

You try to pull away, shaking your head and fighting his every movement to keep you in his arms.

“I will not. I cannot, Mairon, I won’t.” You catch yourself and gasp. “Even now, even now I call you by the name you do not deserve.”

The tic in his jaw is back, and he inclines his head slightly, daring you to continue, warning you not to.

“Do you want to hear me say it? The name my kin gave you eons ago? The name you swore was dead and buried, along with your designs to rule the world?”

“You make it sound so inelegant, ‘rule the world’, is it my fault that the peoples of Middle Earth need uniting under a strong leader, one who will bring them the order and balance they so desire?” He is still using that calm, condescending tone that drives you mad, that once soothed you but now feels like fingernails under your skin.

“Is it balance if it is by force? You cannot trick them into acceptance, Mairon.” You know that to reason with him is folly, but you have to try, against all odds, to make him see reason in his madness.

“You want to be worshipped as a god.” You whisper, unable to believe this is the man you married, that you loved. Love. Love, still, as you rail against the feeling, hopeless to break it.

“And you, my goddess. It is as it should be, the right way of things, the people need order, and we can give it to them. You and I.” He traces your face softly, making you shiver. “Only us.”

You fight to break free of his embrace, hands on his chest, but you’re damned if he will let you go, his grip like the iron crown he wishes to place on your head.

"There is no 'us’. Not anymore. There can be no "us", for as long as you are unrepentant, I cannot bear to look upon you." The words taste acrid in your mouth, betraying every feeling still plaguing you deep in your soul.

His face twists, biting back every poisonous word he wishes to fling at you.

"You want to heal Middle Earth? How can one so broken know anything of healing?"

Despite your venom, and the wrenching in your souls, he tenderly holds your chin, upturning your face to him; even now you know exactly who he is, his radiance blinds you. Every heartbeat, every slow exhale, it all seems to stop, as you study his face for what you hope is the last time.

“What makes it worse, what really hurts,” your voice is unsteady, betraying the maelstrom in your heart, “is that in another life, another time, we could have been really happy.” The dam breaks and you cannot help but let a hot tear fall, willing the rest to remain unshed until you are alone.

“Weren’t we?” He seems genuinely confused, crushed even, voice thick with all the things he wants to say, all the things he knows would break you.

The hard expression you’ve worked so hard to maintain cracks; yes, you were, you were so blissfully happy, in those golden days where it was just the two of you, no war, no suffering, just two lovers meeting.

“Do not make me say it,” you choke out, tears now falling freely; gods, you had been so happy, and you wish with all your might to be taken back to those days in your lover’s arms, all tender kisses and warm embraces.

Even in your absolute sorrow, he cannot help but claim you one last time, pressing his lips to yours like you are his last meal on this mortal plain. Unwilling in spirit, but your body melts into him, desperate to forget for just a second before you turn your back on him forever. You can feel the ebb and flow of your souls crackling and churning around you, becoming palpable in the very air you breathe.

You break away first, hesitant to allow this moment to end. But it must.

“Do not go where I cannot follow.” He murmurs into the hollow of your throat, as he grips your hair and pulls your head back. With a heavy sigh you press your lips to his forehead, and back away, his fingers trailing yours as you part.

“You can follow, any time you wish.” Your voice breaks, as does your heart, clean in two, as you turn your back and leave him on that accursed precipice.

The golden ring on your finger seems almost to pulsate with heat; indeed you had quite forgotten it was there. You raise your hand to inspect it, tiny engraved letters filling the band that you had never seen before.

You could feel Sauron’s power in the ring, its binding magic pulling your heart back to the comfort of his embrace.

“Read it.” His voice behind you is hard but pleading, wrenching your heart.

The script on the ring burns red like coals on the fire as you hold it up, trying to make out what he engraved there.

Two Rings to bind what Evil tried to rend,

Two Rings for a King and Queen, their bond none can transcend,

Two Rings to rule them all, a power with no end

A tiny part of you is touched that he poured so much of himself into a ring meant to soften Morgoth’s curse upon the pair of you. The rest of you is incensed that he would use your love to satisfy his craving for power.

“You simply cannot resist, can you?” Your voice shakes with anger as you turn back to face him, his face falling as he realises that perhaps you would not be so easily won.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he shakes his head as if he hasn’t an inkling what might have upset you.

“You know very well. A ring to bind me to you? Very well, you told me what it was when you gave it to me. But a ring to bring you the power you crave? To bind all the other rings of power to you, to dominate the free peoples of Middle Earth with a trinket? I cannot be a part of it!”

You stop for a moment, pausing in the realisation that your husband has not yet, to your knowledge, forged his own ring. Perhaps there is hope.

“I cannot be a part of it. But I will take it with me.” You say, holding up your hand. “For safekeeping.”

He does not argue. Instead he smirks and tells you, “I’d have it no other way.”

Perhaps you should be concerned, but surely it would do more harm in his hands than yours.

“You don’t want this.” For the first time in millennia, his voice shakes as he calls after you.

You turn on your heel and search his face for any sign at all that he might still come with you.

“You don’t know my heart.” It tastes a lie as it leaves your lips, but it’s the only retort you have.

With a soft smile, knowing and terrible, he replies, “Darling, I am your heart.”

The space where your heart used to be twists and shatters, leaving you breathless.

“Then you know how much this hurts. Please, don’t make it worse.” With that, you take your leave, refusing to turn around without him at your back, abandoning him to his chosen fate.

“Amarië,” you hear him softly behind you, as you refuse to look back.

“Amarië, do not foresake me!” It is an interesting choice of words, considering Morgoth’s curse that dooms you both to the other’s absence, and the irony is not lost on you.

“Do not let Him take you from me again!”

You stop in your tracks, turning on your heel.

“This is not His doing, my love.” You hold fast as he stalks towards you, trembling slightly as you take in your husband in all his fury.

He towers above you, taking your face in his hands.

“It is yours.” You whisper, your strength waning as he lowers himself to claim you in a crushing kiss, hands wrapping tightly around your neck and waist.

You can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but kiss him back with abandon, feel his hands digging into your sides, the pain in your heart-

“Give up this madness. Come with me. Please, you said once you’d do anything for the love of me. So come with me.” You plead with him, grasping his hands tightly as if it were possible to change his mind simply by imbuing his flesh with your will.

After what feels like the longest pause of your life, Sauron gazing into your eyes with an inscrutable expression, he rests his forehead to yours.

“I must heal Middle Earth. And I will do it with or without you.” His voice breaks, like your heart.

You pull away and nod, refusing to look at him.

“Then know this is not your master’s doing, it is entirely your own.”

You turn and start walking, in desperate hope your people will forgive you, will take you in now you have nowhere else to turn.

He screams your name until he is hoarse, but he does not follow. He can always find you; time and space are no obstacles to the likes of your bond.

But that does not fill the hole in his arms where the world used to be, the space meant for you.