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reasonsforhope · 3 months ago

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"The man who has called climate change a “hoax” also can be expected to wreak havoc on federal agencies central to understanding, and combating, climate change. But plenty of climate action would be very difficult for a second Trump administration to unravel, and the 47th president won’t be able to stop the inevitable economy-wide shift from fossil fuels to renewables.

“This is bad for the climate, full stop,” said Gernot Wagner, a climate economist at the Columbia Business School. “That said, this will be yet another wall that never gets built. Fundamental market forces are at play.”

A core irony of climate change is that markets incentivized the wide-scale burning of fossil fuels beginning in the Industrial Revolution, creating the mess humanity is mired in, and now those markets are driving a renewables revolution that will help fix it. Coal, oil, and gas are commodities whose prices fluctuate. As natural resources that humans pull from the ground, there’s really no improving on them — engineers can’t engineer new versions of coal.

By contrast, solar panels, wind turbines, and appliances like induction stoves only get better — more efficient and cheaper — with time. Energy experts believe solar power, the price of which fell 90 percent between 2010 and 2020, will continue to proliferate across the landscape. (Last year, the United States added three times as much solar capacity as natural gas.) Heat pumps now outsell gas furnaces in the U.S., due in part to government incentives. Last year, Maine announced it had reached its goal of installing 100,000 heat pumps two years ahead of schedule, in part thanks to state rebates. So if the Trump administration cut off the funding for heat pumps that the IRA provides, states could pick up the slack.

Local utilities are also finding novel ways to use heat pumps. Over in Massachusetts, for example, the utility Eversource Energy is experimenting with “networked geothermal,” in which the homes within a given neighborhood tap into water pumped from underground. Heat pumps use that water to heat or cool a space, which is vastly more efficient than burning natural gas. Eversource and two dozen other utilities, representing about half of the country’s natural gas customers, have formed a coalition to deploy more networked geothermal systems.

Beyond being more efficient, green tech is simply cheaper to adopt. Consider Texas, which long ago divorced its electrical grid from the national grid so it could skirt federal regulation. The Lone Star State is the nation’s biggest oil and gas producer, but it gets 40 percent of its total energy from carbon-free sources. “Texas has the most solar and wind of any state, not because Republicans in Texas love renewables, but because it’s the cheapest form of electricity there,” said Zeke Hausfather, a research scientist at Berkeley Earth, a climate research nonprofit. The next top three states for producing wind power — Iowa, Oklahoma, and Kansas — are red, too.

State regulators are also pressuring utilities to slash emissions, further driving the adoption of wind and solar power. As part of California’s goal of decarbonizing its power by 2045, the state increased battery storage by 757 percent between 2019 and 2023. Even electric cars and electric school buses can provide backup power for the grid. That allows utilities to load up on bountiful solar energy during the day, then drain those batteries at night — essential for weaning off fossil fuel power plants. Trump could slap tariffs on imported solar panels and thereby increase their price, but that would likely boost domestic manufacturing of those panels, helping the fledgling photovoltaic manufacturing industry in red states like Georgia and Texas.

The irony of Biden’s signature climate bill is states that overwhelmingly support Trump are some of the largest recipients of its funding. That means tampering with the IRA could land a Trump administration in political peril even with Republican control of the Senate, if not Congress. In addition to providing incentives to households (last year alone, 3.4 million American families claimed more than $8 billion in tax credits for home energy improvements), the legislation has so far resulted in $150 billion of new investment in the green economy since it was passed in 2022, boosting the manufacturing of technologies like batteries and solar panels. According to Atlas Public Policy, a research group, that could eventually create 160,000 jobs. “Something like 66 percent of all of the spending in the IRA has gone to red states,” Hausfather said. “There certainly is a contingency in the Republican party now that’s going to support keeping some of those subsidies around.”

Before Biden’s climate legislation passed, much more progress was happening at a state and local level. New York, for instance, set a goal to reduce its greenhouse gas emissions from 1990 levels by 40 percent by 2030, and 85 percent by 2050. Colorado, too, is aiming to slash emissions by at least 90 percent by 2050. The automaker Stellantis has signed an agreement with the state of California promising to meet the state’s zero-emissions vehicle mandate even if a judicial or federal action overturns it. It then sells those same cars in other states.

“State governments are going to be the clearest counterbalance to the direction that Donald Trump will take the country on environmental policy,” said Thad Kousser, co-director of the Yankelovich Center for Social Science Research at the University of California, San Diego. “California and the states that ally with it are going to try to adhere to tighter standards if the Trump administration lowers national standards.”

[Note: One of the obscure but great things about how emissions regulations/markets work in the US is that automakers generally all follow California's emissions standards, and those standards are substantially higher than federal standards. Source]

Last week, 62 percent of Washington state voters soundly rejected a ballot initiative seeking to repeal a landmark law that raised funds to fight climate change. “Donald Trump’s going to learn something that our opponents in our initiative battle learned: Once people have a benefit, you can’t take it away,” Washington Governor Jay Inslee said in a press call Friday. “He is going to lose in his efforts to repeal the Inflation Reduction Act, because governors, mayors of both parties, are going to say, ‘This belongs to me, and you’re not going to get your grubby hands on it.’”

Even without federal funding, states regularly embark on their own large-scale projects to adapt to climate change. California voters, for instance, just overwhelmingly approved a $10 billion bond to fund water, climate, and wildfire prevention projects. “That will be an example,” said Saharnaz Mirzazad, executive director of the U.S. branch of ICLEI-Local Governments for Sustainability. “You can use that on a state level or local level to have [more of] these types of bonds. You can help build some infrastructure that is more resilient.”

Urban areas, too, have been major drivers of climate action: In 2021, 130 U.S. cities signed a U.N.-backed pledge to accelerate their decarbonization. “Having an unsupportive federal government, to say the least, will be not helpful,” said David Miller, managing director at the Centre for Urban Climate Policy and Economy at C40, a global network of mayors fighting climate change. “It doesn’t mean at all that climate action will stop. It won’t, and we’ve already seen that twice in recent U.S. history, when Republican administrations pulled out of international agreements. Cities step to the fore.”

And not in isolation, because mayors talk: Cities share information about how to write legislation, such as laws that reduce carbon emissions in buildings and ensure that new developments are connected to public transportation. They transform their food systems to grow more crops locally, providing jobs and reducing emissions associated with shipping produce from afar. “If anything,” Miller said, “having to push against an administration, like that we imagine is coming, will redouble the efforts to push at the local level.”

Federal funding — like how the U.S. Forest Service has been handing out $1.5 billion for planting trees in urban areas, made possible by the IRA — might dry up for many local projects, but city governments, community groups, and philanthropies will still be there. “You picture a web, and we’re taking scissors or a machete or something, and chopping one part of that web out,” said Elizabeth Sawin, the director of the Multisolving Institute, a Washington, D.C.-based nonprofit that promotes climate solutions. “There’s this resilience of having all these layers of partners.”

All told, climate progress has been unfolding on so many fronts for so many years — often without enough support from the federal government — that it will persist regardless of who occupies the White House. “This too shall pass, and hopefully we will be in a more favorable policy environment in four years,” Hausfather said. “In the meantime, we’ll have to keep trying to make clean energy cheap and hope that it wins on its merits.”"

-via Grist, November 11, 2024. A timely reminder.

#climate change #climate action #climate anxiety #climate hope #united states #us politics #donald trump #fuck trump #inflation reduction act #clean energy #solar power #wind power #renewables #good news #hope

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bernardsbendystraws · 1 month ago

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𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒 — 𝐂.𝐒.

Synopsis: Nick has been your best friend for so long, but you can’t seem to get a long with his brother—Chris. You try to mess with Chris and it backfires….badly….

Warnings: illegal street racing, stupid driving, tension, smut with so much plot it hurts, street racer Chris, BIG MASSIVE SHLONG CHRIS, size kink, bulge kink, dick-wad Chris, p n v, raw sex, riding (wink), and more....

A/N: THIS IS OVER 5.2K WORDS. THIS IS NAWT A QUICK READ. Now, get in the car bitches, we're getting HORNYYYYYY!!!!

With love and bigs tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hey, cute jeans!” I wave, my lips curling into a grin as I squint my eyes at him—Chris. He rolls his tongue, shaking his head as he stalks off further down the street. Ha.

It’s one of those rare occurrences—I’m here—at his street race, for god knows what reason.

All I ever do is mock him. In fact, that’s why I call him cute jeans. The first time Nick and I had shown up at one of these dumb things, Chris thought I was a stranger from behind—and my jeans? Damn.

He had to be a real asshole and hit on me.

That night was fun for more than one reason. It sparked something—something I didn’t know existed.

After that, my teasing only got worse. Chris’s ego couldn’t handle staying silent, he always had something smart to say.

“Come to watch me again, huh? Gonna record it for later, I bet,” Chris winks. My mouth snaps shut as I go to say something back. He’s already gone—not giving me a second to respond before shutting the door to his car and speeding down the road.

Typical.

It’s still bright out. The sun sinks lower into the horizon as more people crowd the deserted street by the minute.

“Okay, let’s just take a couple more pics and then we’ll go. I know you hate this,” Nick huffs, adjusting the leather jacket he’s wearing—the same coat that inspired this whole photoshoot. But you couldn’t blame him, he did look hot as fuck.

Even if his looks resemble a certain idiot lurking nearby.

Part of me is burning with spite. I hate letting Chris have the last word. But my brain sparks with an idea, a brilliant idea.

How much would it cost him if I stayed around?

Those stupid bets were always placed in his favor. No one could deny he was good—really good. He drove on the street like he owned it and he never even seemed nervous.

“I kinda wanna stay—” My words are interrupted as I feel an arm rest down on my shoulders. I look over to see Beck, a girl I love seeing.

She’s vibrant—especially with her signature red lip that seemed to draw all eyes to her. I always blossom off her confidence, loving to sit next to her when she showed true female power all with one swing of that stupid flag in the air.

“How are ya, girlie? Haven’t seen you in months,” she puffs, hugging me a little bit closer before dropping her arm back to her side.

I smile over at her. “Pretty good, you still stomping on egos?” I question, the glint of mischief in her eyes reflecting back as she gives me a slow nod.

“Oh, always. Especially Chris—and it’s just for you.” She boops my nose as her words drag through the wind, the sound of tires screeching starting to muffle the chaotic hum of the crowd forming.

Nick stares down at the camera lens, scrolling through the pictures I had taken of him—the reason why we were here, pretty much. “Actually, I think we got enough. But are you sure you wanna stay? I can come back and get you later—”

Beck brushes on Nick’s shoulder. She scrunches her nose at me while licking over her teeth. “I got her, Nick. Go home and post those pics, I’ll return her to you safely after tonight, don’t worry.”

“Alright…” Nick sighs, reluctantly hugging me and wandering back towards his car to head home.

“So why’d you wanna stay? Finally like cars?” Beck interrogates.

I shake my head vigorously, laughing as she smiles at me. “Fuck no, I just—”

“You’re gonna mess with him, aren’t you?”

Her question rings through the air as a speeding car flies by—racers already warming up.

My eyes trace towards the track, seeing a sleek red sports car in the distance doing donuts. Of fucking course. Chris was always doing some dumb shit—illegal street racing or doing fucking donuts while the other racers were repeatedly drifting around the corners or fixing up their cars.

He’s so cocky.

I whisper back to her as I watch his car tires mark the pavement. “Damn right.”

___

Chris is already fed up—I can tell by the way his jaw clicks and his nostrils flare when I catch him in the corner of my eye.

And I’m looking directly at him, a stupid smile covering my face as I put my money on the bet table. It’s twenty bucks, but it was twenty bucks I was willing to spend, or rather waste. Chris hasn’t lost in a while—honestly I’m not sure if he ever has.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Chris huffs, pulling me by the arm as he drags me to the side of the road by his car.

He roughly shoves me. The feeling of his car pressed up against my backside leaves my eyes twinkling with pride—I’m really getting to him. Just like I planned.

I shrug. “Just placing my bets. Isn’t that what everyone does at these—”

“Why are you here? Why’re you–,” as his eyes stare into mine, his rough tone falls silent, his scowl curling into a smirk as he analyzes the subtle twitch of my nose. “Huh—just comin’ to watch, right?”

I nod to his question, my pride sinking to my feet as I try to stand up tall. Chris presses his body against mine, making my weight lean against the car once more. I swallow thickly as his hand drops from my arm.

What is he doing?

“You know, I meant it, right?” he tuts, his eyes tracing your figure with no shame. “These jeans… baby, they look so good on you.” His voice gets deeper, his head falling forward as his lips graze my ear. “-bet they’d look better off though, hm?”

Fuck.

I wish it didn’t make something inside the pit of my gut burn—but it did. God, it really fucking did. My heart is hammering against my chest, the pulse in my neck pounding in my ears as slight butterflies in my stomach make it harder to breathe.

Shoving my body quickly, I manage to escape his hold. “Shut up. You’re such a cocky prick,” I spit, my arms folding across my chest as I try to keep a stern expression.

Chris lets out a dry laugh, grinning like he’s already won. He takes a couple steps forward, letting his hand travel into the ends of my hair, “And yet, you love it. I can practically hear how nervous I’m makin’ you, it’s a real ego boost,” he husks.

“You don’t make me—” My lips fall open further, motionless as his hand moves to my neck, his cold fingers brushing against my pulse as my eyes go wide.

“Not nervous, huh…” His head leans towards the side as he stares all over my face. His eyes linger on my lips as I try to look away.

But it’s impossible. Chris swerves his head, not letting my eyes leave his as he just stares at me.

“Chris, stop—”

“Why? Do I make you too nervous?” he urges, licking over his teeth and letting his hands drop down to his sides.

I feel a wave of heat caress up my spine and over my shoulders. “Don’t you have some stupid race to lose?”

The taunt seems humorous to him, the last resolve of my dignity peeking through mumbled words as he wipes over his mouth.

“Alright, alright. Guess I’ll go try to lose, but—I might need your help.” He shrugs, walking off with a wink.

Uh oh.

Help?

___

I can’t tell what the fuck is going through his brain. Part of me regrets staying—but another part of me is sickly invested in whatever this twisted game is.

Nearly all bets had been placed. Stacks of money rested on the plastic table with a heavy bais—most were betting on Chris.

It had to be at least two grand.

He wouldn’t give up two grand for some petty argument with me, right? No—that would be insane. Absolutely bonkers.

…right?

I watch as Beck stands in the middle of the dark street, the only glow coming from the blue streetlights above. The sun had set quickly, the stars and moon doing nothing compared to the headlights from all the cars.

My legs hurt. I didn’t realize I had been clenching every muscle for the entirety of the countdown to the actual race. The cold bleachers sting against my skin in the night air—maybe I would’ve dressed warmer if I thought I was gonna stay. But no—I was stuck shivering in jeans, a purple lace bra peeking from under my black top, and a letterman jacket.

The front row gave the best view, but I had no one to shield the bitter breeze. But it was worth it. This way I got to sit by Beck the entire time.

“Racers ready?” she shouts, her voice prominent over the reviving engines as she holds the flag in the air.

Chris is on the side closer to me, his boyish smile apparent as I stare at the side of his face. The other guy was one of the better ones—the bets had some sort of hope in him, a large stack of bills showing that he had a decent amount of skill.

My mouth waters as I see Chris run a hand through his hair, his head turning and his eyes catching mine. Holy fuck. He looks absolutely dreamy—there’s not an ounce of anxiety, pure confidence radiating from him.

And it makes it so hard to look away.

“Wait, I got one more bet I gotta place,” Chris announces.

What?

My brows furrow, my face scrunching as I watch Beck relax the flag back down to her side. “Make it quick.”

Chris nods at her words, my stomach flutters as he stares directly back at me, leaning his head out his window while licking over his lips. “Wanna make a bet, sweetheart?” he asks.

I look around me, my shoulder sinking slightly as I take in the amount of people staring at me.

He’s holding up the race to embarass me. Fuck.

As I stare back at him with squinted eyes, he clicks his tongue on the side of his mouth. “If I win, I get to take you for a drive. Deal?”

“What?” I exclaim, throwing my hand in the air as I motion to the bet table, “Why the hell would I agree to that—”

“You bet against me, remember?” he points.

My lips smack shut, the lump in my throat gathering thicker as I try to swallow. “I’ll even give you the chance to make sure I lose a round. We gotta bet or not?” he questions, his eyes twinkling as the blue lights illuminate his sharp features.

If he had to lose one of the three rounds, that put more hope into the other racer. And if the other race won, I’d be more than content. Getting to call him a loser would definitely irk him more than anything—especially if it was true.

I hear boos chant around me. “Hurry up and race!” someone says from behind me.

My body stiffens as I hear the chorus of disapproval. “Deal!” I shout, biting on my inner cheek.

Chris looks at me with a daunting grin, his hand squeezing on the wheel as he nods. “A’right—ready. Sorry for the hold up.”

Beck rolls her eyes, holding up the flag once more.

“Racers ready?” she glares at Chris, continuing on as he revs his engine in response, “3—2—-1, GO—”

My heart drops as I watch the smoke from the tires scratching the street float around Beck. She saunters over, settling beside me as I lean forward, my pulse pounding in my ears as I watch them race side-by-side.

As the car rounds the corner and starts nearing the finish line, Chris’s car zooms just slightly in front of the other vehicle, only seconds of a difference.

I can’t wait to call him a fuckin loser.

Beck walks back out, the flag raising in the air as both cars position once again. “Alright, race two. Ready, set—”

“Hey!”

Stomping her heels on the pavement, Beck scowls at Chris as he shouts towards my direction. I look over, my face burning as I feel the crowd stare down at me.

I didn’t know much about racing, but I knew enough. This wasn’t normal—this was the prime way to piss people off.

As I go to ask what he wants, Chris curls his finger, motioning for me to come closer.

The fuck?

I hesitantly stand up, my arms wrapped tightly around my torso as I walk up to his car window. Chris stares up at me with devious eyes. He obnoxiously chews a piece of gum, his jaw bone protruding with each movement.

“What the fuck do you want?!” I whisper-yell, catching angry eyes boring onto me as I take a quick glance over my shoulder.

Oh, these people are mad—fucking furious, even.

“Kiss me.”

I do a double take, my eyes blinky slowly as I watch him lick over the bottom ridges of his teeth, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

“What?” I breathe out, a dry laugh heaving from my lips.

He can’t be serious…

“However long you kiss me is however long I’ll wait to start drivin’. Didn’t you want me to lose? C’mon pretty girl, you saw the bet table—use your head, alright? It’s just a kiss,” he taunts.

This is how he was gonna give me the chance to make him lose a round—I should’ve known.

I shake my head, cringing as I hear the boo’s from the crowd get louder.

“I’m startin’,” Beck says, holding up the flag. “3—”

“Yes or no? It’s up to you,” he shrugs, his eyes drawing over my face as my lips smack open and shut.

“2—”

The noise of his engine revving makes my anxiety settle. This is my chance—my only chance at that.

“Fuck it,” I murmur, taking a long stride towards him.

“1—GO!”

I crash my lips onto his, my hands on either side of his jaw. His lips meet mine with a hard urgency, the rhythm of my movement panicked and rushed.

My breath hitches in my chest—I don’t know if it’s because I forgot to breathe or if it’s from the feeling of his hand traveling up and tangling around the back of my neck, pulling me impossibly closer as he slips his warm tongue into my mouth.

I nearly forget everything, gasping for air as I pull back quickly, moaning as I feel his mouth hungrily chase mine.

Never in my life had I been kissed like this—so passionately and rough.

“Hey! This gotta be breakin’ some rules–”

Fuck.

The person yelling from the crow makes me pull back into reality. I stand up, watching as Chris slowly flutters his eyes open at me with a grin so cocky my hand twitches with the urge to slap him.

Why did that feel so… good?

Before anyone can say a thing, the other car slowly halts back to the starting line.

Had we really been kissing that long?

My fingers mindlessly float up to my tingling lips, my head feeling lighter as the surroundings start to spin a bit. It’s like he put some drug in his mouth that immediately became addicting. I want more.

“See? I kept my word,” Chris points out, “Now—you gonna keep your word if I win? Lemme take you for a drive?” I swallow thickly, nodding slowly. “Good. Now go sit down and cheer for me real loud, alright?”

I don’t have time to respond before Beck interrupts with the same question, starting to count down. I quickly stumble back towards the bleachers, a sigh of relief pushing through my lips as my head bobbles between my shoulders while I sit down.

The loud cars barely register in my brain. All I can focus on is how light everything feels, how my lips are swollen and pulsing.

“C’MON!!!”

Chants behind me draw my attention back to the road. What the fuck? It’s not even close—Chris is speeding around the corners way smoother than the first round, almost as if he had been—

Oh fuck.

He was holding back.

I tried to mess with him and he played me with ease.

Part of me should be mad as he races near the finish line—but all I feel is excitement—anticipation.

My teeth clench into my lower lip as I watch him storm past the line, not even waiting for the other racer to finish before stepping out of his car and walking over.

Is he…?

My eyes bulge as he walks in front of me, holding his hand out as an offer. “C’mon, you promised, yeah?” he urges.

I nod slowly, sliding my hand in his. He drags me to his car, opening the passenger door and shutting it after I climb in.

“Chris! The money—”

Beck’s words fall on deaf ears as Chris slides into the driver seat, pressing his foot on the gas hard.

“You didn’t even get the money—what’re we doing?” I ask, looking behind my shoulder to see a crowd of people turned to our direction as we speed off further down the road.

“You know, it’s not nice to try and tick me off,” he huffs, quickly glancing at me with a harsh stare.

Oh.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ abou–��

Chris lets out a vocal sound of disbelief, cutting me off, “Yeah, you do. Fuckin—bettin’ against me, tryna get me to lose and shit. For what? Don’t have a boyfriend to give you any attention, huh?” he asks, his hand reaching over and grasping onto my thigh.

He knows I don’t have a boyfriend—I know he’s aware of that fact.

I stare down at his large hand squeezing my jean-clad leg. Something about his rough grip makes me shift in my seat, my thighs clutching together as I feel a wave of warmth settle into the pit of my stomach.

“You like my hand on your thigh, don’t you?” he says, smirking wider as I watch the blue streetlights cast a subtle glow on his cheekbones.

“I—”

“You like it. Admit it.”

There’s no room to argue as he trails his hand up further, his fingers tracing dangerously high as he gives me a rough squeeze. Fuck his hands feel good on me.

“Chris what’re you—”

“Do you know how it feels to constantly see you and know I can’t touch you?” he starts, the car rolling to a stop by the side of the road as he rushedly shifts gears to park, “-you’re always fuckin’ teasin’ me—bein’ a damn brat and I have to keep my hands to myself,” he grits, shaking his head as he stares down at me.

I swallow thickly as I shift in the seat. “Chris, I–”

“No. None of that bullshit. You’re always tauntin’ me. Why’d you stay, hm? Why?” he questions, his tongue clicking on the roof of his mouth as his eyes deepen with intensity and dominance.

Silence. I can’t fathom any words to say, my pulse drumming quicker as Chris pats his lap, adjusting his chair back.

“Over here. Now.”

“Chris, what are we doing?” I ask, hesitantly starting to climb over the center console.

His hands wrap around the underside of my thighs, pulling me quickly while I let out a slight yelp as he sits me down in his lap. His hands are firm on either side of my hips. “I’m done playin’ these stupid fuckin’ games. I just—”

The air is quiet. His eyes fall to my lips, his hands grasping just a little bit tighter around me. I can still feel the lingering sensation from his lips on mine earlier, the slight tingle still buzzing on the soft muscle as I let myself lean in closer.

“We should stop,” Chris breathes, his tongue sliding between his lips as his eyes flicker up towards mine.

“Why?”

The question rolls off my lips with ease, my palms flattening against his chest as I lower my mouth to his neck, breathing over his pulse.

“Because–” He lets out a hiss. I place my lips on his neck, sucking gently as I massage my hand over his shoulder. “Shit—we gotta stop, baby—this, this–” His jaw goes slack as I find his sweet spot. His hands dig into my hips, the slight bulge growing beneath me making my lips curl into a smile as I gently grind myself on top of him.

“Why do you wanna stop, Chris?” I ask, nibbling the bottom of his ear, “What’s got you so tongue-tied, hm?”

“You’re killin’ me,” he points, his gaze trained on me as he tangles his hand through my hair, pulling me back just enough to look at him, “-fuckin’ so annoying, so pretty and horrible, I just—I don’t know how much I can hold back–”

“Don’t,” I whisper, my hand gathering the material of his shirt in a fist as I watch him bite on his lower lip. His eyes trace over my face, one of his hands slowly tracing underneath my shirt, callusing beneath my bra.

“Yeah? Don’t want me to hold back, hm?” he remarks, his hips adjusting in the slightest, my mouth falling open as I feel him rut against me through the fabric of our clothes.

Fuck. I can’t take this.

I lean forward, crashing my lips against his once more. Chris hums into my mouth. He furiously helps me peel off the bulky letterman jacket, the cold air feeling like relief compared to my burning skin.

“Holy fuck, slow down, baby,” he husks, his hands falling to my hips as I shameless grind myself against his hard bulge. But I can’t get enough. “-’m not going anywhere—gonna stay and make you feel so good. Promise.”

My heart drops as I feel his hand delicately caress over the purple lace covering my breasts. His nimble fingers trace around my hardened nub, a slight moan falling through my lips as I feel him smirk against me.

“Take those cute jeans off, c’mon. Be a good girl for me—just this once, alright?” he grins.

I nod slowly, awkwardly shifting as I pull down the denim while kicking off my shoes. Chris gets impatient, yanking the clothing to his own accord before planting me back on his lap, his jacket now discarded.

“Holy fuck, look at these legs—would look so good wrapped around me,” he whispers, brushing my hair to the side as his lips graze my neck, “-while I fuck you deep and hard.”

Oh my god.

My mind is numb, every inch of my skin pulsing with a hot sensation of greed. Chris stares at me with lust, his hand moving in the corner of my eye. “Want me to touch you? Right….here,” he breathes, the pad of his finger resting directly over my bundle of nerves.

I nod slowly, looking at him with hooded eyes as he starts to slowly circle the digit with a light, feathery touch.

“More,” I moan, pulling his shirt into my fists as I watch him smile at me.

“Yeah? What do you want, hm? Want my big dick in you? Want me to stretch you out and make you cum over and ov—

“Please,” I whisper, my hips moving for me as I struggle to stay still.

Chris looks down, gesturing for me to take control. I hesitantly fumble with his jeans, pulling out his hard length as my mouth starts to water.

Fuck. He’s big. No—he’s huge.

As I go to pull my underwear to the side, Chris stops me, placing his hand around my wrist.

“Uh-uh,” he tuts, “-take ‘em all the way off—wanna see all of you when I fuck your guts.”

My thighs tense from his words, my hands quickly sliding the fabric down my thighs and discarding them without a single care. Chris pets over the top of my thighs, his eyes hungrily staring down between my legs. “Fuck—are you sure you want this? I…god, I can’t believe this is happening…”

I grab his hardness in my hand, spitting and dragging the lubricant up and down his shaft. Chris grits his teeth. His hands pinching into my sides as he lets out a deep groan. “You’re so big,” I whisper, mostly talking to myself.

My eyes bulge as I feel Chris lift me with his hands on either side of my waist, placing me so my dripping entrance is directly aligned with his tip. His eyes bore into mine with dark passion. His jaw tense as he leans forward, kissing along my neck.

“You gonna take it all f’me?” he dares, massaging my sides but keeping me from sinking down onto him.

“Chris, please–”

“Gotta promise to take it all, sweetheart. Been teasin’ me all day already, I don’t need anymore of that, alright? Just—just gotta promise to let me stuff you full,” he purrs, sucking on the sensitive part of my neck just below my ear.

“I promise, just—mmphf—” He slowly loosens his grip, letting me lower myself. I feel his tip nudge past my entrance, the stretch of his size making my body tense as my legs tighten to a halt.

“Thaatt’s it, doin’ so good, just—just relax,” he praises, brushing my hair behind my ear, “-gotta be a good girl and keep your word again, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” I stutter, slowly starting to take more of him. A broken cry falling through my lips as I feel my body stiffen again.

Chris is patient. His eyes are trained on my face as his hands massage over my body. “You got it, c’mon—just—holy fuck,” his hand lingers down to my stomach, my top so messed up that it’s bunched over my breasts. He’s not just admiring the skin, he’s worshipping the bulge—the distinct imprint of him inside of me as I hover over the last bit of his length.

“Look at that, sweetheart, I mean—fuck—”

I shriek as I feel him lift his hips upward, burying himself inside of me completely. My hands grasp onto his shoulders, my eyes teary as I watch him bite on his lower lip. “God—such a good girl, takin’ me so good,” he compliments, slowly helping me as I start to ride him.

I feel him reach deep inside of me, my eyes staring up at the ceiling of the car while my body tenses with a wave of pleasure collapsing over every beating pulse of my skin. This is even better than that damn kiss. I’ve never felt like this before. Not ever. It’s like an adrenaline rush, so overbearingly good that it feels addicting.

“How’s that, baby, hm?” he hums, smiling down at the sight of his length plunging into my guts with each thrust as my movements quicken.

“I–it’s, I—”

What the fuck was I saying?

Everything feels so light, so impossible.

“That’s it, fuckkkkk—look so good ridin’ me like this, keep—-shit!” he seethes. My walls tighten around him, my nails digging into his shoulder through his shirt as he lifts his hips to meet my movements.

His lips parted with pure ecstasy.

“Fuck, fuck, I,” My words are cut off my a moan.

Chris laughs dryly, his grip becoming tighten as he really puts in the work—using me like a ragdoll as he furiously fucks himself into me. “Mmmm, th-ere,” he rasps, smiling as I let out small shrieks and moans between each snap of his hips.

He’s so deep. I’d never felt this good in my life. There’s a buzzing in my ears, spots in my vision as I feel my body ruthlessly convulse with the overwhelming sensations.

How the fuck is he so deep?

How the hell is he hitting against the perfect spot over and over and over—

“You cumming already?”

His question pulls me back to reality. I nod dumbly, my mouth drawing open as I let out a long moan, my thighs quivering as I rock myself against his movement.

“Oh—I—”

“My name, sweetheart, wanna hear my–my name, c’mon,” he urges, the squelches getting louder as I feel my body burn with euphoria.

“Chris, Chris, I–I—my god,” I cry out, my hips slowly rolling to a stop as I feel him pause his motions.

I don’t have time to react—nor to recover. I feel Chris hold me tightly, flipping me over so my back hits the seat—his cock brutal as he drills himself inside of me.

“Take it, fuckin—fuckin’ take it,” he chants.

My hands scramble into his hair. I pull his face into my neck, letting my teeth sink into his shoulder. Every rut of his hips leaves me breathless, my body seizing as I feel his hardness drive into me over and over again while his pelvis slaps against my clit.

“I’m gonn—”

“Wait. Wait for me, I’m—’m so close, baby, so fuckin’ close—”

I clench around him, the buildup becoming too much as he continues to drown every inch of my body with pleasure. His desperate tone lingers in the air, his breaths shaking as his hips lose slight momentum.

“Wher–-where do you—”

“In-inside, please, just—just let me cum,” I plea.

Chris huffs, his thrusts becoming erratic and somehow deeper. “Cu-cum with me, I—shittttttttt, so fuckin’ good, so… so fuckin’ good,” he seethes, a warm sensation flooding inside of me as I feel my body convulse once more.

My limbs fall lifelessly. Our motions fall lazier, eventually pausing to a halt. Chris gently removes himself, pulling me into his arms tightly and positioning back into the seat with me on his lap.

His hand finds the back of my head as I lean onto his shoulder, petting through my hair as we both try to catch our breath.

“Holy shit,” he whispers. I let out a light laugh, flinching as I feel my stomach burn from soreness. “You good there?” he asks.

Nodding into the crook of his neck, I lift myself to stare at him once more. My eyes trace from his sweat ridden face, seeing a clear imprint of his hand on the fogged-up car window. My nose crinkles as I inhale deeply. “It smells like sex, I’m sorry,” I let out.

Chris stares at me incredulously. “Sorry? That was fuckin’ perfect—better than the money if you ask me. I mean… I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself anymore,” he teases, flashing me a grin as he combs my hair behind my ear.

My lips curl with excitement. “Oh really? You like takin’ me for rides?”

He nods firmly, biting on his lower lip. “Mhm. And you seemed to really like ridin’.”

I let out a light laugh, shrugging my shoulders before ruffling his hair playfully. “Only with you.”

Chris cocks an eyebrow at me, “Only me, huh?” I nod shyly, letting out a brief hum. His eyes linger on mine before falling back to my lips. “You do ride good. Maybe you should be the racer,” he taunts.

“Maybe,” I whisper, “-maybe…”

“Let’s get you back in those cute jeans though, yeah?”

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pininghermit · 3 months ago

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Wifed up on a tuesday

Request: If you are still doing the tropevenia event, can you please write a fic with secret marriage prompt for Adrian Tepes x female reader. ( =＾ω＾)

AN: get this dhampir a wife! Such a fun request

Genre: fluff + Secret Marriage

Pairing(s): Alucard x Wife Reader

Summary: "No one hurts my wife," he said, his voice steady and cold, without sparing a glance back.

"You have a wife?!" Sypha screamed, her voice echoing off the walls as Trevor stared blankly into the void, looking more lost than usual.

You winced at the shriek, gently setting her cup of coffee in front of her. "Nice to meet you," you offered with an awkward smile, unsure if she even heard you through her shock.

Next to you, Adrian cleared his throat, his golden eyes flickering away as a faint blush crept up his pale cheeks. "We have been betrothed for twenty years," he said evenly, though his voice wavered slightly. "It was... a matter of time."

That, of course, did not make things better.

Before you could fully process what happened next, a heavy pile of books toppled onto you, and the sharp sting of a whip lashed across your back.

"Not a curse then," Trevor murmured, standing over you with an expression that teetered between relief and annoyance. From the corner of your eye, you caught Adrian gawking, his face frozen in disbelief.

A bubbling shame welled up in your chest, hot and suffocating. You pushed yourself to your feet, glaring at Trevor. "Indeed, quite human," you snarled, and without hesitation, you swung your fist, landing a solid punch to the oaf’s jaw.

"I am human," you continued, your voice sharp with fury. "At least in part. Adrian and I were betrothed by our parents. And we are now wed."

You could see the dread settling on Sypha's face, her expression torn between shock and dawning understanding. Then you turned your blazing eyes back to Trevor. "You're not welcome in my home. Sleep in the barn tonight."

Adrian's friend or not, no one struck you and got away with it. And if they dared, you made damn sure they understood the cost of their actions.

The silence that followed was tense, broken only by the sound of Trevor groaning from where he had staggered back.

Snapping out of his stupor, Adrian ignored Trevor completely and rushed to your side. His golden eyes scanned you, his hands hovering just shy of your back, as though afraid to touch and cause more harm. "Are you hurt, my love?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with worry.

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, Adrian’s power rippled through the room like a sudden gust of wind. With a sharp crack, a mighty blast of air sent Trevor flying backward, slamming the doors shut with an echoing thud.

"No one hurts my wife," he said, his voice steady and cold, without sparing a glance back. The message was loud and clear to Sypha, who stood frozen, staring at her husband lying in the rubble outside. "And anyone who wishes her harm shall bear my wrath."

In the quiet stillness of your room, Adrian carefully peels the fabric of your dress away from your back, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid to hurt you further. His golden eyes scan your unmarred skin, but the frown on his face only deepens.

"I should have stopped him," he mutters, his voice low and filled with guilt. "I was too late... I'm sorry. I just... I didn’t expect it." He rambles, his words tangling together in frustration as his gaze flickers between your back and his own trembling hands.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, his voice achingly quiet, like the faintest whisper of wind.

He had failed again. To protect you. To care for you. Gods, he was lacking, and now he had allowed a Belmont, his own friend, to harm you.

His father, who burned the world for his mother, would never have allowed such a thing. Dracula had been many things, but in love, he was absolute. But Adrian knows he will never be his father, in both good and bad.

He will never be the husband you deserve.

But he is in love. Unforgiving love that clutches at his heart, that reminds him with every breath of all the ways he falls short.

His expression crumples, like paper crushed in a fist. Adrian, for all his power, for all his strength, is so terribly fragile when it comes to you.

“It doesn’t hurt,” you reassured him, turning to face him fully. Your hands rose to cup his face, tilting it gently so his eyes met yours. “You know it can’t hurt me. Trevor didn’t strike to harm, only to dislodge potential glamor.”

You could see the mild complaint brewing on his lips. Adrian worried too much. Fretting, after all, was his favorite pastime. His brow furrowed deeply, no doubt already replaying every moment in his mind and finding a thousand ways to blame himself.

“You did nothing wrong,” you said firmly, your thumbs stroking the sharp planes of his cheeks. “You did the right thing. Tomorrow morning, your friend will apologize, and we will forgive him because he is your friend. And then, you will no longer hold this against him.”

Adrian opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off with a stern look.

“Nope. Listen to me. Wife is right.”

His lips quirked upward, despite himself, and the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. His hands moved to rest on yours, cradling them against his face like a lifeline.

“You’re always right,” he murmured softly, leaning into your touch.

“And don’t you forget it,” you teased, smiling at him.

Adrian laughed, low and quiet, before pressing a kiss to your palm. “Never,” he promised.

Somehow, Adrian had found a wife. In the bleakest of times, when the world had turned its back on him, you had come to him. And now, you were here, standing in his castle, a presence that soothed even his most troubled thoughts.

When the next morning came, you were greeted by an unexpected sight.

A sizable tuft of brown hair lay at your feet, carefully placed by Sypha, who stood before you with her hands clasped. Outside, just beyond the castle doors, her husband knelt silently, his head bowed low in shame.

The tuft of hair. A Belmont tradition of repentance. An act of humiliation and an offering of guilt.

An act you had no use for.

Still, it would be of little use to ignore it.

"My husband is a dog," Sypha said with a weary sigh, though her tone softened with affection. "He lashes out carelessly. Please, forgive him." She bowed low, an act that clearly caused Adrian discomfort. His eyes flickered with unease as he watched his friends, who seemed more like chastised children than the bold warriors they usually were.

Gently stopping Sypha mid-bow, you reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder. "There’s no need for apologies," you said, your voice calm but light with humor. Sparing the kneeling Belmont a glance, you gestured toward the tuft of hair at your feet. "Though I reckon this," you said, pointing to it with a raised brow, "shall make for a very interesting wedding present."

Sypha’s head snapped up, her lips parting in surprise before a laugh bubbled out of her. The tension in her shoulders eased, the corners of her mouth lifting into a grin.

With that simple jest, the air shifted, the weight of guilt and harshness lifting from the room. Grudges were set aside, and forgiveness settled in their place like the morning sun breaking through heavy clouds.

"Bring your dog in for breakfast," you said, your grin widening as you met Sypha’s eyes. "Adrian’s the one cooking today."

The smile she returned was bright, her laughter lightening the room even more. "I’ll hold you to that," she said with a chuckle, turning toward the door to retrieve her sheepish husband.

Behind you, Adrian stepped closer, his expression softening as he gazed at you. "You handled that well," he murmured, his voice laced with quiet admiration.

You turned to him with a playful smile, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "It’s what wives are for, isn’t it darling?"

#alucard #castlevania #adrian tepes x reader #alucard x reader #tropevania event #fluff #wife reader #so fun

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yanderenightmare · 7 months ago

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Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: omegaverse, size difference, somewhat subjugating omega politics, old-fashioned high-class politics of sorts

♡ GN reader

Bakugou doesn't tell people about his home life, so you can imagine the Bakusquad’s utter surprise when they invite themselves over only to find out he has a little omega housewife waiting for him.

“Oh, hello,” you say when the four additional Alphas pour in through the door after your Katsuki.

They all look at you unblinking. The biggest one, a redhead, doesn’t seem all that surprised—as though he’d had some suspicion that’s now been laid to rest. But the other three, an electric blond, a guy with raven hair, plus a woman with cotton candy curls, look at you as if they’d just stumbled upon a mouse in a lion's den—all slightly horrified at the sight of you.

Your alpha, the tightly wound grump seething with annoyance, stomps over to you and plants a quick kiss on your hairline. “They just barged in,” he grumbles under his breath. “Sorry if we scared you.”

You hum calmly in turn, “That’s okay. I heard you yelling in the driveway, so I wasn’t surprised.”

The four members of the Bakusquad are all gobsmacked at the domestic sight—the boss, their boss, their hard-headed macho boss, bending over and apologizing to this little omega half his size.

“Are you hungry?” you ask, peaking over the breadth of his hunched shoulders to the others with a warm smile on your pretty face. “I just finished dinner.”

“No,” Katsuki growls grumpily and winds his arms around you—like an old, tired dog, voice gruff, “Uninvited intruders don’t get my dinner.”

You only giggle it off, brushing his stubble with a soft hand, gently handling him further down to your level so you could place a kiss on his other cheek. “Oh, stop, Katsuki. Be nice to your friends.”

Then you walk off to the kitchen.

Calling out sweetly over your shoulder, “I went a little overboard, so there’s more than enough for everyone.”

And by god, if they don't fall in love with you right then before they’ve even got a single word out.

But love at first sight isn't all so strange. None of them have ever seen an Omega outside of on film—much less been hit with the scent of one. They're all bewitched and confused at the feeling as they trail after you as if they've been compelled by some higher power.

"Please sit," you smile, gesturing to the long table where only two seats have been made. "Katsuki, hon, help me, please"

They all scoot into each their unplaced seat while your big lousy Alpha begrudgingly helps set the table for the unwanted dinner guests. They remain silent as you serve them like the perfect homemaker—all crimson-cheeked and ashamed at how they sniff after you as you pass them by.

You sit just as brightly despite the awkward tension. "Please, enjoy."

They all obey, eating in utter silence—every single one of them trying hard not to stare—and all failing miserably.

Kaminari's the first to speak, having been left shaken by curiosity he no longer could contain.

"So... did he kidnap you, or?"

It's a fair question to some extent. Omega's are a dime a dozen, all regulated strictly by protective institutions. You can't just find one to mate like in the old days. You need to apply for one and be vetted—not to mention they cost a fortune.

"Denki!" Kirishima whisper-shouts in admonishment, shaking his head from across the table.

"What? I'm I the only one who's thinking it?" he throws his hands up and defends.

Katsuki's fist strains around his fork, but you lay your mit atop his, and he calms down shortly.

“Don't worry, Mitsuki and Masaru made the arrangements and paid the dowry," you giggle, running your hand through your Alpha's ashen hair with fondness in your eyes. "I was a graduation present of sorts. They worried Katsuki wouldn't take care of himself once he started working and thought having a mate might help him with his busy day.”

If Katsuki appreciates you spilling his business like that, he doesn't say anything about it—just continues eating.

Denki sighs and sags in his chair. “I always knew Bakugou’s folks were loaded. How nice...”

Sero grins, “Your jealousy is showing.”

Denki pouts, “I’m not exactly tryna hide it.”

"Yeah..." Mina pipes up. "Can't deny I'm jealous, too."

Sero's grin falls as well with his confession, "Yeah, me neither, actually."

You keep smiling sympathetically, "Well, you're all welcome here—I don't mind the extra company."

"Really?" Denki lights up.

Mina and Sero, too—in awe and in unison, saying, "She's an angel."

"Get yer own," Katsuki grumbles. "Now shut up and finish your food. Then you're leavin'—all of you."

"Oh, come on, man," Denki whines. "Have a little pitty for your fellow Alphas."

"Let's stay respectful, guys," Krishima buds in lightheartedly. "Think about what you're asking."

Then, rethinking the conversation, the other three all realized how it had sounded, even though they hadn't meant it that way. And they all blush even darker than before.

And still, you just smile—alphas are all so cute.

Especially your hyper-protective one.

♡ prequel ♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

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pahalarupaya · 2 years ago

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#renewable #sustainable #windenergy #solar power #solar energy #home renovation #home improvement #water energy #water power #wind power #eco lifestyle #cost savings #pure energy

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iamnotoriginalphil · 5 months ago

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To Be Taught a Lesson (Professor!Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Agatha has some anger to work out. Lucky for her, you happen to be right within touching distance.

Words: 6.9k

Warnings: Student/teacher relationship, power imbalance, toxic relationship, age gap (all 18+), corruption kink if you squint, bondage, swearing, degradation, marking, vibrator, begging, jealousy, possessiveness, overstimulation, dom!Agatha, sub!R

Tags: @sasheemo @buttercandy16 @chlondykebar @toomanylesbiancouples @midnight-lestrange @babybeeelle

You were curled up on the swing on Agatha’s back porch. Large swathes of skin were on show, your legs bare despite the chill in the air. Her sweater, the cashmere one that had cost an arm and a leg, looked good on you. With your head bent over the book in your lap, hair falling forward from where it had come free from the bun you’d thrown it into that morning, sunlight hitting your body, you glowed.

She looked away from you, back to the garden. The gardener had returned, planting something for the first blush of spring. You hadn’t even seemed to notice his arrival, buried in a book you’d been pouring over for days now. She knew that book. It was achingly familiar, the leather cover and embossed letters like a dream from another lifetime.

You tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear. Her eyes followed it, lingering long after your fingers had fallen back into your lap. Your teeth were worrying at your lower lip, a move that had grown familiar over the months of watching you. Every time you read, lost in thought, working on something, those teeth would sink in and she would feel her entire body come alive. Knowing what it felt when it was her teeth had only made the entire experience worse.

She wasn’t sure you knew exactly how tempting you were. You’d wandered into that library, in that insufferable bore’s home, and she’d known she had to have you. All wide eyed innocence and desperation, you’d been delicious from the moment she’d laid eyes on you.

And then you’d proven yourself to be exceptional.

Now, knowing you, knowing your body and your soul, there was nothing she wouldn’t do to keep you. Some nights she’d watch you sleep, worn out from her ministrations, and feel her heart squeeze. It wasn’t fair, how you impacted her, the effect you had on her, and you had no idea. None. That with a single word you could bring her to her knees.

You glanced up, lips parted on a soft sigh, eyes alighting on her. Your smile was immediate, your entire being brightening, melting back into the cushions on the swing. Your foot was on the wooden slats of the porch, gentle rocking yourself, bare leg making her mouth water.

“Anything else you need, Miss Harkness?”

She snarled, turning towards the gardener lingering was at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes widened, taking a step back from her.

“No,” she replied, the eye roll obvious in her voice, “get out.”

She watched him scurry away, a sick sense of pleasure coursing through her body. She shook her hair back from her face, her finger brushing back those strands caught in the wind. When she turned back to you, it was to find sparkling eyes and a hidden smile turned in her direction. The warmth that melted through her veins left her feeling unsettled.

“Do you aim to scare everyone you cross paths with?” you asked, slowing your rocking.

“Do I scare you, pet?” she asked in return.

You shook your head, lip caught between your teeth, keeping your pretty smile from blooming over your face. You made such a nice picture, in her clothes, bruises on your skin left from her lips and her fingers, looking at her like she was the only thing you could see. She wanted to devour you, to chain you up and keep you from ever leaving, to hold you so close and so gentle that nothing ever happened to you.

She sauntered towards you, hands in pockets, staring down at you. You watched her, mouth falling open, eyes sweeping over her body. She revelled when you looked at her like that, like she was every dream you’d ever had, like you were an innocent hoping to be corrupted.

She knew you were anything but innocent.

“I could, if you liked,” she said, stopping in front of you, “would you like to be scared?”

“I’d rather get my heart rate up over something else,” you said in that way that sounded so sweet but let her now what a naughty pet you could be.

Your hand reached for her, clutching at her shirt, tugging on her until she was close enough to curl her hands around you, to seek out your bare skin, to make you shiver. She skimmed her fingertips along your leg, pausing at the hem of the sweater you were in.

“I believe this is mine,” she said, pinching it.

“You can have it back if you want,” you said, stretching your leg out in a move that had her wanting to sink her teeth into your skin, “but you’ll have to take it off me yourself.”

You had grown so much since that girl she’d first met, careful to always say the right thing, stealing glances, wanting something you thought you couldn’t have. She chuckled, running her fingertips back down your leg, luxuriating in the warm skin under her touch.

“I wouldn’t bother,” she said.

You pouted and she knew you were doing your best to tempt her.

“It looks so pretty on you. Why deny myself the pleasure of seeing you in it?” she murmured.

Your eyes brightened, your smile turning pleased. She loved when she could please you. Your gaze turned down, head dipping, hair falling into your face, hiding you from her.

“None of that, kitten,” she said, her fingers raising your chin again.

Your fingers were still clutching her shirt. When you tightened them, pulling her closer, she let you without argument, wanting it as much as you seemed to.

“Sit with me?” you asked, and she couldn’t say no to you.

Your legs shifted as she sat beside you, feet pressing into her thigh. It was like you were unable to stay away from her, to keep yourself from touching her in some way. It had been so long since someone had been so intent on her. You’d made your promises of forever, but your actions were what made her believe there was a chance they would be true. You always reached for her, the moment she was in the same room. Your eyes always turned to her. Your entire focus caught on her. It was nice to know she was the only thing you could see.

“What are you reading, kitten?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

“A manual on how to be a witch,” you replied, smile turning impish.

She could imagine you as a witch. Dancing under the moonlight with a group of women, power coursing through your veins, brewing up potions. You’d take to it like a duck to water, your natural habitat. You’d be formidable with magic running in your veins.

“The one I sent you for?” she asked, delicate as she could be.

“Rio returned it,” you said, eyes darting up to her then back down to the book in your lap.

“How kind of her.” She wasn’t trying to hide her sarcasm.

“Are you mad?” you asked.

“Not at you, kitten.”

She curled her fingers around your ankle, tugging until your foot was in her lap. With a featherlight touch, she ran her index finger along the arch of your foot. You squirmed, trying to pull out of her hold. She did it again, tightening her hold, refusing to let you go.

“Agatha,” you whined and she so loved that sound. Her name on your lips was a delight she wasn’t sure she would ever grow tired of.

“Yes, pet?” she asked, still stroking your skin.

“Tickles,” you complained.

She continued for another few moments, enjoying the way you wiggled, the noises of complaint you made, but the way you stopped trying to pull away. She wasn’t lying when she’d told you she had complete control over your body. And the best part was the way you submitted to her so easily. She loved how easily she could take control, and how easily you let it go.

She placed your foot down again, stopping the torture. Holding it in her lap, she began the rocking of the swing again. Your toes flexed against her thigh. When she looked back to you, you were watching her with such a heartbreakingly fond expression on her face. It made her want to bury herself in you.

“So have you learnt how to be a witch?” she asked rather than letting herself examine that too closely.

“Maybe,” you said, “can I try reading your palm?”

“Are you hoping to read my fortunes?” she asked, but she was already presenting her hand to you, turning her body so she was sitting crossed legged across from you. You moved your body to mirror her.

“Perhaps I just want to know if fate knows what I know,” you said, taking it in both of yours.

“And what do you know?” she asked.

You flashed her a smile.

“That our lives will be entwined forever.”

You bent your head over her palm, fingertips tracing over whatever you saw there. She let herself study you as you did, the way she had lost hours to in her office, in her bed, on her couch. Every time she found something new in your features, something new to enjoy, something new that delighted her. Your face was more familiar to her than her own, and yet she couldn’t look away.

“So there’s your life line,” you said, finger brushing her skin like she was something precious, “it’s nice and long so you’ll probably live forever.”

You glanced up at her, grinning. Her own smile was an automatic response. Your fingertips were still brushing over her palm, making her head spin.

“It says you’re vibrant and full of life. No breaks in it either so you should have good health. No need for that nurses outfit I bought then.”

Her fingers closed around yours, holding them still.

“And when did you have time to go buy a nurse outfit?” she asked.

“A few years ago for halloween,” you replied, “I got a lot of free drinks in it.”

She gritted her teeth, knowing it was irrational to be mad about any liaisons you’d had before meeting her but just the thought of anyone looking at you with lust had her blood boiling. You were hers, and if she had her way, everyone would know that. She’d have her name branded over your skin and ensure anyone who looked at you felt the fear they should. No one crossed her and no one coveted what was hers.

Not when it came to you.

“And you wanted to wear it for me?” she asked through her gritted teeth.

“I thought you might like it,” you said, looking at her through your eyelashes.

Oh, you could ruin her with just that look.

“Of course, maybe you’d prefer me in something else,” you said, “I could dress up as a witch for you if you’d like.”

“You think I’d like you to dress up for me?” she asked.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t like to see me in my sexy little outfits?”

You were playing with fire. You had to know that. And yet you kept smiling at her like you were some kind of fucking angel.

“Go back to your palm reading,” she said, rather than giving you an answer.

You lingered, eyes sparkling at her, before looking down at her palm once again. She released your wandering fingers. You began tracing her skin again.

“The head line. A nice long clear line. You’re clever, but then, everyone knows that. A brilliant mind for a brilliant woman.” Your voice was so soft, “but this curve means you’re creative.”

Your lips ticked up and she was desperate to know what you were thinking. She could have asked but the answer might shatter her.

“And there’s your fate line. It starts where your life line does, speaking to your ambition and self-confidence. It’s not very clear though, so you might not have good luck. I think.”

Your self deprecating chuckle was familiar to her in a way that made her heart skip a beat. She knew you so well.

“Your marriage line is short so you might never get married and if you do it’ll be later in life.”

She felt her breath catch.

“And then there’s your love line.” You glanced up at her again before returning back to her hand, “interesting. Very interesting.”

“What is?” she asked, surprised how much she wanted to hear your answer.

“This says you’re going to have a happy long love.” Your fingers were still stroking over her skin, “and that you’re an exceptional lover.”

“It does not,” she said but she was smiling.

“It does. Right here.”

You tilted her palm towards her, your finger running along one of the line on her palm. She looked at it, more focused on the look of your skin against hers. You stroked her palm again and tilted it back towards yourself, holding it in your lap like it was something to be treasured.

“And then hand shape matters too,” you said.

You had begun to draw patterns on her palm, and she could see the cogs working in your brain. The book was still in your lap, just underneath her hand, the image of a palm facing up towards you. She wished she had a window into your brain, that she could rifle through your thoughts the way she could through that book.

“Agatha,” you said, voice quiet and she knew you weren’t about to tell her about her hand shape.

“Yes, pet?” she asked, bracing for whatever was about to come out of your mouth.

“Who’s Wanda?”

She hadn’t braced well enough.

It was like being kicked in the gut, her breath rushing out of her. Her ribs ached and heart was squeezing hard. It was as if her vision was tunnelling, focused on that one point of contact between you, her hand and yours and that damned book. She should have never sent you to go get it.

“Where did you get that name?” she asked, her voice not sounding her own.

You flinched back, hands dropping hers and you looked up at her. Your wide eyed innocence wasn’t what she wanted to see.

“Rio. She said… she said I should know what happened,” you said.

“She had no right,” she snarled.

Her anger propelled her out of the swing, leaving you behind as she tried to get a handle on the emotions coursing through her body. You stayed behind, giving her space, not drawing closer the way you often did.

“Is she why you hate Rio?” you asked.

“No,” she said, “that’s a different issue entirely.”

The swing creaked. She couldn’t look at you, not when there was still so much anger in her. If she did she might break you, irreversibly, and just the thought of destroying you had her seizing with panic. So it was better she continued looking out over her garden rather than face you.

“Why can’t you tell me?”

Her eyes squeezed shut, not liking how lost you sounded. There was so much you didn’t understand, so much she hadn’t told you. It wasn’t lying. It wasn’t. She’d been waiting.

She’d had to be sure you wouldn’t be like Wanda.

“Is it really that bad?” you asked.

“Does it matter?”

She turned to you. You’d pulled your knees up, curling your arms around your legs, chin resting on top. Watching her with those big sad eyes that she was certain could get her to do anything, you were so solemn. Her fingers clenched at her side, fighting against the impulse to reach out.

“She was your student, right?” you asked, “I know there were others, that I’m not the first.”

“Rio shouldn’t have told you that,” she said.

“I’m glad she did. I want to know,” you said.

She turned her face away from you, leaning back against the railing.

“And it doesn’t matter. Because I know I’ll be the last one.”

Her head snapped towards you. You were still watching her, so serious, and so perfect. She had no idea how something so lovely had landed in her lap.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“Just that I plan on never letting you go. No one will come after me. This is it. And if you’re not okay with that I don’t really give a fuck. I’ll convince you if you’re not but there will never be anyone else for me but you,” you said, so fierce. Fire ran through your veins and it left her breathless.

She should have never doubted you.

“Wanda was my student ten years ago. The last student I mentored. I fell in love and she didn’t. When she graduated, and she graduated top of her class under my guidance, she took something from me. The book I’d been working on. She took it and when I confronted her about it she threatened to go to the administration about our relationship,” she said, the secrets finally spilling forth, “last I heard she was married with twin boys. Rio made sure to keep me abreast of her situation.”

“Agatha,” you sighed.

She hated the pity in your voice. Shaking her head, she turned back to the garden.

“She took everything from me. She’s the reason my career has stagnated for so long. I can’t move forward with my research without her destroying me and it feels unfinished so I can’t move on to something new,” she said.

The swing creaked again. She couldn’t bear to look at you, to see the pity she knew would be swimming in your eyes. There was a reason she hadn’t told you. Any weakness couldn’t be shown. She was strong and capable and there were no chinks in her armour. No chance of hurting her.

Arms curled around her body, tugging her towards a warm body. Your chin hooked over her shoulder, tightening your arms around her.

“You didn’t deserve that,” you said, voice soft, but there was steel there.

“No, I didn’t,” she replied.

“I’ll curse her for you,” you offered, “make it so she can’t even say your name.”

“Don’t tempt me, kitten.”

You nuzzled against her neck, lips brushing over her skin. She lent back, letting you hold her up. Pressing a kiss to her skin, you hummed. She let out a long breath, fingers twining through yours.

“Whatever you want, I’ll do it,” you murmured into her neck.

You’d been nothing but good to her. So sweet and so pliable and so accommodating. You were a literal dream for her.

So why was her stomach still roiling?

“Rio had no right to bring this up with you,” she said after a moment of silence.

“She’s had no right to do any of it,” you said.

She spun in your arms, slow as she thought over what she wanted. Mostly, she needed an outlet for her anger and there were no little students around to bear the brunt of it. No, all she had was you.

“You should have walked away when she tried to talk to you,” she said.

“Agatha, she had me pinned to a tree,” you said, fingers gently brushing her hair away from her face.

That was a bit of information you’d failed to mention when reporting back to her.

“She did?” Her fingers caught your chin, forcing you to look at her, “was she flirting with you?”

“Maybe.”

Her hold on you tightened. You shifted your weight from foot to foot but you didn’t try to pull away from her. Your lips parted and you were a picture of temptation.

“You don’t know? Or you don’t want to tell me the truth?” she asked, voice lowering.

You were close enough she could feel you shiver.

“I don’t think she was serious about it,” you said.

“You don’t know her like I do,” she said, “such a pretty little thing like you? She could never resist.”

“I’m not that irresistible,” you laughed.

You had no idea.

“Oh my sweet kitten.” Her nails dug in to your skin, “such a good girl. So innocent. You’re a siren call to her. You are everything that tempts her.”

“I’m not that innocent,” you pouted.

“You’re right. She doesn’t know what a naughty pet you can be.”

She spun the two of you, pressing your back into the railing. You gasped and your eyes widened. That was the innocent look she was talking about. It was the one that would drive Rio wild if she saw it. But if anyone was going to corrupt you, it was going to be her.

“Agatha,” you said, voice small and desperate and so delicious she wanted to drown in it.

“But she can’t have you, can she, pet?” she asked, tipping your chin up.

“No,” you said.

“Because you belong to me, don’t you, pet?” she asked.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Then go be a good girl and wait for me on the bed.”

She let you go and stepped back. You lingered a moment, staring into her face, before you scrabbled away, rushing to follow her orders. She watched you, something dark curling through her veins. You paused, looking back at her over your shoulder, her sweater clinging to your curves. With a sly smile, you ran up the stairs, bare legs flashing.

You were in so much trouble.

She flicked the cover of the book closed, wrinkling her nose at the entire thing. Throwing it onto the kitchen counter, she was not being careful with it. If Rio was going to plant a reminder of her presence in her home, she wasn’t going to treat it with any kind of reverence. No, that would be kept all for you.

You were kneeling in the middle of her bed, the sweater pooling around the top of your thighs, hair loose. Teeth were worrying at your lower lip and your eyes were bright. You’d tugged the sleeves over your hands, looking the picture of innocence. You’d understood exactly what she wanted.

She was never letting you go.

“Look at you, following instructions for me,” she murmured, stepping into the room proper.

“Anything for you,” you said.

Her fingertips ghosted over the apple of your cheeks, looking down on you. Your eyes watched her from under lowered lashes, blinking as she let herself touch you. You were so plaint beneath her fingers.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked, eyes sweeping over your body.

“Whatever you want,” you replied, sounding so breathless she’d be worried if she didn’t know it was all an act to excite her.

“That’s right, pet. I’ll do whatever I want to you and that pretty pussy between your thighs,” she said.

You made such a wonderful little noise. Leaning down, she let her breath ghost over your lips, grinning when you tipped your face up, straining towards her. She shoved you back, your back hitting the mattress. Crawling over your body, she felt you squirm.

“Are you wet, pet?” she asked.

“Uh huh,” you said.

“Are you making a mess on my cashmere sweater?” she asked.

You made another small noise. Her fingers dipped down, feeling how wet you were, seeking out evidence of you dripping onto her very expensive sweater. She already had a plan of how to punish you for it.

She grinned.

“Would you look at that,” she murmured, “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping for me.”

“Want you, Agatha,” you whined.

“You’re always such a desperate little thing. I bet you’d let anyone fuck you if they could get you off,” she said.

“No, no, only you,” you said.

“Don’t lie to me, pet. When Rio had you pinned to that tree I bet you were gagging to have her knuckles deep inside of you. If she offered you’d jump at the chance. You’re such a desperate little slut you don’t care who it is as long as it feels good,” she said, fingers featherlight as they ran through your folds.

“Only you,” you whimpered again, hips bucking into her hand as you tried to urge her on.

“I bet you got yourself off to the feeling of her pinning you to that tree. Was that why you came home so desperate for me? You got down on your knees right there in the kitchen for me because she left you all riled up. Should I send her a thank you note for sending you home in such a state?” she asked, watching you while her fingers brushed over your clit.

“Agatha,” you moaned, fingers clenching in her sheets.

“Or maybe I should offer her a go with you? A nice thank you for all the pleasure I’ve gotten from you. I’m sure you’d enjoy that,” she said, knowing she was being mean but not caring.

“No,” you moaned.

“No you wouldn’t enjoy that? Because I think you would. I think you’re such a slut it doesn’t matter who you’re in bed with. You don’t discriminate as long as they can fuck you good and proper,” she said, “you’re nothing but a dirty whore.”

“Agatha,” you whimpered.

She removed her hand from between your legs, forcing her fingers between your lips. You lapped at her skin, licking away the mess you’d made, sucking on them until your cheeks hollowed. You were watching her, such heat in your eyes it made her feel on fire.

She drew them from between your lips, wiping them dry on the sweater still encasing your body. With swift hands, she tugged it off your body, throwing it aside. Completely bare before her, all she could think of was the way you’d been sauntering around the house all morning like that. Nothing but a thin sweater between her and your body. You were such a little tease, knowing exactly what it would do to her.

“Parading yourself around in front of the gardener like that, I bet you would have let him take you right there on the lawn,” she said, “I bet you would have liked it if I’d watched.”

“There’s no one but you,” you whispered.

She scoffed but her hands were busy on your skin, feeling how soft it was beneath her touch. You arched into her, presenting yourself so beautifully for her. Fingers pinched at your nipples, watching the way your eyes slid closed, lips parting in a soft sigh. You knew how to drive her wild, to tempt her into losing control.

She would not be losing control.

With a strong grip, she manoeuvred you further up the bed. Catching both of your wrists, she lent over the top of you, securing them above your head. You tugged on them, your bonds, finding them unforgiving. Agatha grinned down at you.

“No chance of you slipping away to one of those other beds you warm now. Maybe I’ll leave you tired up here for days, use you to my heart’s content until you’re all fucked out,” she mused, finger tips brushing down your body.

She paused on your nipples, flicking them. You hissed, arching up into her touch, looking at her from under hooded eyelids. That was the look of her pet who thought she was going to get exactly what she wanted. The kind who thought she could get what she wanted by pouting her pretty lips and doing what she was told. The kind that thought she was a good girl.

How wrong you were.

It wasn’t until you were squirming on the mattress, your nipples pinched between her fingers, that she considered what she should do to you first. Spread out for her, bare to her gaze, you were the most beautiful view. She licked a long strip between your breasts.

“You’re so easy, pet. You’d let anyone tie you up like this,” she murmured into your skin.

You shook your head, whimpering when she harshly twisted one of your nipples. You were always so responsive to her, just a sweet little thing for her, just as she knew you would be that first time she laid eyes on you. Every part of you yearned to please her and you’d never made a secret of that fact. It alway sent a thrill through her.

“Should I keep you right here? Never let you escape?” she asked.

“Please,” you begged, “keep me forever.”

Her nose brushed along the soft curve of your breast, lips pressing to your skin. Your spine arched, offering yourself up to her. Such a good pet. Her teeth sunk in, your gasp gratifying. She wanted to see her teeth marks for days to come, your body marked as hers. She’d collar you, her name burned into your skin, make it clear to anyone who so much as glanced at you who you belonged to.

“You are rather beautiful,” she murmured, “I can’t blame them all for wanting you.”

Your fingers clenched around nothing, hips shifting on the mattress. Straddling you, she could see the way your eyes were beginning to glaze over, lips parted as you watched her, breathing growing faster under her hands.

“Who wouldn’t want you?” she asked, still gazing down on you.

She ran her hands down your body, leaving your breasts behind. Your skin was so warm against her palms. She could spend forever touching you and it would never be enough.

“You’re entirely too temping, pet. You have no idea what you do to me,” she said.

“Agatha,” you whimpered, “please.”

“Let me taste you.”

She slipped down your body, strong hands pulling your thighs apart. You were glistening in the afternoon light, so beautiful for her, and all for her. She lingered, drinking in the moment, wanting to feel the power she held.

Burying herself between your legs, she let herself taste you. She would never grow tired of that taste, the way you always exhaled softly, the cant of your hips towards her mouth. You never made it a secret how much you wanted her, how good she made you feel, how much you desired her. Even when she wasn’t between your legs, you desired her. Every single part of her. Even the bits she wasn’t always sure about.

Her fingers dug in as she held your legs open, wider than she knew was comfortable for you, but she didn’t care. She was made to fit between them and she would do what she wanted to get closer. You let out a shuddery breath, hips bucking into her mouth.

Her tongue teased you, grin hidden when you moaned her name. If only all those other stuffy professors could see her good girl, tied up and desperate for her touch. They would be shocked how dirty you could be. That wide eyed innocence was nothing but an act and just knowing she brought out this side of you with so little work was such a turn on.

You were begging her, a constant stream of words. You were writhing against the mattress, hips pressing closer to her. Her lips wrapped around your clit, that wonderful bundle of nerves that had you turning into a babbling mess. She dragged her eyes up your body, finding you watching her already. She flushed, loving being watched by you. Your eyes were the only ones she wanted on her, and just a glance from you could turn her breathless. A lovestruck fool. That’s what you’d turned her into.

It was pathetic.

She stopped going easy on you, turning rough again. This was all your fault. You encouraged everyone to become enamoured with you. She watched the way people looked at you when you walked across campus with her. They feared her but they were drawn to you. And the worst of it was you clearly didn’t realise it.

She wanted to snarl at the crowds of people who looked at you like you were something to covet. Like they wanted you. Like they could have you.

She had to teach you to stop encouraging them.

You cried out her name and she realised without even planning it, she’d made you cum. She’d been distracted, missing it. Too bad for you. You’d just have to go again. And she wouldn’t be stopping until she’d drunk her fill.

You whimpered, straining against your bonds, but you didn’t try and get away from her. She’d trained you so well. You took everything she gave, no questions asked.

She watched the way pleasure played over your face. It was a heady feeling, knowing she was the cause of that. She gave you no time to catch your breath, wanting to watch you. She was greedy, she knew it, but why bother denying herself when she knew you weren’t going to complain. Your legs were trembling, and your breathing was unsteady.

She loved the way you moaned her name.

Your body tensed, hips rising to meet her mouth. She lapped at you, refusing to miss a drop. You whimpered, a soft mewling noise, trying to move your hips away from her. Her hands only held you tighter, bruising your pretty skin, wanting more. She always wanted more of you.

“Agatha,” you pleaded, “it’s too much.”

“It’s too much when I say it’s too much,” she said.

But, looking at your face, the way you were wriggling, the squirming, she sat back on her haunches. And even so, you made a pained noise when she stopped touching you.

You watched her as she got off the bed. Her eyes swept over your body, lingering as she thought about all the things she wanted from you. She ran her fingertips along the arch of your foot, enjoying the way you squirmed.

“I’ll be right back,” she promised.

She considered her collection of toys. She had her favourites but now it was about you. Plucking one up, she turned to you. You were watching her from under hooded eyes, hair sticking to your temple, legs pressed together again. A smirk stretched over her face.

“Come on, pet. Show me how pretty your pussy is,” she said.

You parted your legs again, welcoming her back to her rightful place. The buzz of the vibrator in her hand had your breath hitching.

“Agatha,” you said.

“I know you can do better than that. You’re usually so insatiable. Don’t tell me you don’t want this,” she tutted.

When she pressed the vibrator between your legs, a strangled groan came from your lips. Your hips were already rising to meet it, squirming as you rolled against it. She held it there, watching you rut against her like the animal you were. All those crowds of people had no idea you were such a desperate little slut. That you would do anything to get your orgasm.

That you would do anything to get her to give you an orgasm.

She lent forward, capturing one nipple between her lips. She was harsh with you, refusing to be gentle, to go easy on you. This was what you deserved, welcoming Rio into your life to flirt and stir up trouble. That woman would never do this to you. She’d make sure of it.

You were arching up into her mouth, giving her everything. There was no chance anyone else was ever going to have you like this. No one else deserved to see you like this. This was only for her.

The noise you made was music to her ears. It only made her press the toy against you harder. You were whimpering above her, shuddering, tugging on your bonds. She let her teeth sink in to your skin, tasting you, ignoring the way you whined.

Your legs were pushing together, her hand caught between them. Tutting, she sat up again. Leaving the vibrator between your legs, she shuffled down the mattress. Catching one ankle, she tugged it towards the corner of the bed, securing it in place. You were looking at her with big pleading eyes but she ignored you, doing the same with the other ankle. You were spread out for her, swollen and dripping, making a mess of the sheets.

“No point complaining now, pet. You’re the desperate little slut willing to do anything for an orgasm. I’m just giving you exactly what you want. You don’t get to decide how many you get. Just be thankful I’m so willing to indulge you,” she said.

You made such a small noise, soft and sweet and so pathetic it made her grin. She swept her fingers through your folds, gathering your wetness. Her tongue dragged up her finger before sliding it between her lips. Her other hand found the vibrator again, pressing it to your clit, harsh, unrelenting, forcing you to feel more.

Even as you made those noises your hips kept rolling against the vibrator, grinding against it. It was like you couldn’t help it. Even when it was too much you wanted more.

She wouldn’t survive losing you.

Your back arched up off the mattress, almost bowing in half. Her name was barely intelligible on your lips but she knew. You only saw her. She was the only one to you. And she was going to make sure it stayed that way.

She slipped between your legs again, needing to taste you again. You whimpered but you didn’t argue this time. You were so well trained.

She lavished attention on you, tasting deeper, her tongue teasing at your entrance. Your eyes were squeezed closed but she could see the tear slipping down into your hair.

“Come on, pet. You can give me one more, can’t you?” she asked.

You nodded your head. She sucked a bruise into the skin over your hip, knowing she’d want to see it later. Returning to your throbbing core, she let her tongue penetrate you, licking deeper. She wanted to feel it this time.

When your internal muscles clenched and you made a broken noise above her, she knew. Turning off the vibrator in her hand, she tossed it aside, pressing a chaste kiss to your swollen clit. You shifted your hips away, but it was sluggish.

She was gentle as she moved down your legs, untying you. Her hands were soft as they stroked over your skin. Pressing soft kisses to your skin, she climbed up your body. She tugged the bonds off your wrists, lowering your arms. Your wrists were rubbed raw, bruises already forming on your skin. You shuffled closer to her, boneless and graceless, letting her rub the circulation back to your hands.

“You did so well for me,” she murmured.

You mumbled something, too quiet for her to hear. She pressed kisses to the top of your head, keeping you resting against her body. Her fingers ran through your hair, untangling the knots she knew she’d caused.

“I’ll be back in a second,” she said after a while.

“‘Kay,” you said, sounding so tired.

She lingered in the doorway for a moment, gazing down at you. You were so soft and malleable, worn out from everything she’d put you through. She would happily spend the rest of her life seeing you like this.

You were everything she’d ever wanted. She ached with it, how much she wanted you. Not even just sexually. It was everything about you that she wanted at all times of the day. Even the few times you weren’t with her, she missed you. It was ruining her.

You were ruining her.

With a warm flannel she cleaned you up, careful with your body. You let her, so pliable in this state. She pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your knee, nose nuzzling at your skin. You giggled, quiet, a little slurred. She tossed the flannel aside and crawled back up to you.

Her arms curled around you, letting you sprawl over her chest. You pressed your face into the crook of her neck, your breath ghosting over her skin. She trailed her fingertips up and down your spine, feeling you melt against her.

“No one even comes close to comparing to you,” she whispered, not sure if you could hear her.

Your lips brushed against her skin and you let out a soft sigh. She tightened her arms around you, refusing to let go. You burrowed closer, needy for her. She kept pressing kisses to your hairline, listening to your breathing, stroking your skin.

“Do you really think I’m irresistible?” you asked after some time had passed.

“You have no idea,” she replied.

You made a pleased little sound, wiggling closer.

“You know it doesn’t matter because no one will ever replace you, right?” you asked.

“I know,” she said, and it was so easy to believe it.

Your head tilted up and she felt you kiss the underside of her jaw. She threaded her fingers through yours, holding your hand.

“You know, you never finished reading my palm,” she said, looking down at your joined hands.

“What?” You sounded so sweetly confused.

“You said hand shape matters. So what hand shape do I have, kitten?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter.” You tilted your chin up to look her in the face, “as long as we’re together you’re going to have a wonderful life.”

Maybe you could read the future because that sounded accurate to her. With you by her side, the future looked so much brighter than she ever could have expected. She couldn’t wait to experience it with you.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness #agatha all along

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hope-for-the-planet · 25 days ago

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From the article:

From Europe to North America, an energy revolution is breathing new life into empty, long-forgotten coal mine shafts — by repurposing them into places to store renewable energy. Using “gravity batteries,” these underground facilities aim to tackle one of renewable energy’s greatest challenges: storage. The method is simple: Excess renewable energy is used to power winches that lift heavy weights — such as containers filled with sand or rock — up the mine shaft. When additional energy is needed, these weights are released, generating power as they descend. This approach not only gives these disused mines a second life but also offers economic and environmental benefits to communities once reliant on coal. Hundreds of thousands of abandoned mines — about 550,000 in the U.S. alone — pose economic, environmental and safety risks. In some areas, these old shafts have caused collapses or polluted groundwater, while in others, the loss of mining jobs has hit local economies hard. Meanwhile, as renewable energy scales up, storage limitations become a pressing issue, especially with solar and wind, which are naturally intermittent. This year, solar is expected to surpass coal as a leading global power source, according to the International Energy Agency, highlighting the need for reliable storage to balance supply and demand. During the U.K.’s 2020 lockdown, for example, National Grid warned of potential blackouts when energy demand dropped by 20 percent, leading to excess renewable power that went unused.

Gravity batteries offer a straightforward but powerful — and cost-effective — way to address both of these problems at once. Their potential is already being realized. In Rudong, near Shanghai, the first commercial grid-scale gravity battery was connected to the grid in December 2023. Capable of storing up to 100 megawatt hours of energy, it can power nine homes for an entire year using only stored electricity. Across China, nine additional projects are in development, while in Switzerland, a commercial demonstration unit has been connected to the national grid for testing since 2019, showcasing the technology’s promise on a global scale. And now, other countries, from Finland to Australia, are getting on board.

#hope #good news #solarpunk #renewable energy #hopepunk #solar energy #green energy #clean energy #wind energy #hydroelectric energy #global warming #climate change #environment #ecology #energy #electricity

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idkyetxoxo · 3 months ago

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Cregan Stark - Northern Frost Southern Sun

Summary - In the unforgiving North, a Southern princess struggles with her political marriage to Cregan, feeling like an outsider. As she voices her insecurities, their bond deepens, transforming their alliance into a passionate connection that bridges the divide between their worlds.

Pairing - Cregan Stark x Martell reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2124

Masterlist for Cregan • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Born into nobility, my life had always felt scripted—a path inked not by my own desires but by the hands of the men around me.

My father, my uncle, my brother, even the echoes of my grandfather shaped the walls around me.

As a daughter of House Martell, the rulers of sun-drenched Dorne, my existence was predetermined, my fate a strategy in the game of thrones woven by my father, Prince Qoren Martell himself.

A Martell daughter, after all, was a prize to be bartered, and he had chosen a formidable match.

He pledged me to Cregan Stark, Lord of House Stark, in the distant, unforgiving North.

A union as calculated as it was unfeeling, our marriage was intended to bind the desert heat of Dorne with the ice and shadows of Winterfell.

It was a pact, a quiet promise to fortify our realms and maintain a precarious balance in the ever-shifting powers of Westeros. My father assured me it was for our people, for peace.

But I knew what the alliance would cost me: the endless winds that sliced through bone, the chill that would burrow into my soul, the lonely shadows that clung to Winterfell's walls like phantoms.

The North was all I had dreaded—an imposing land where silence lingered thickly in the air, and winter settled in more than just the stones.

Every breath was laced with frost, every glance held a guarded judgment, as if they wondered if this southern-born woman could ever survive in a world so different, so grim.

And always, there were whispers—"the Dornish wife"—spoken softly yet deliberately, trailing me like spectres through the dim corridors.

Yet amid the cold and the solitude, Cregan Stark surprised me.

He was not the man I had envisioned: distant and unyielding, a creature as cold as the land he ruled.

Instead, Cregan had a quiet strength, a kindness that seemed out of place in such a harsh land. He understood, perhaps better than I, the challenges I faced here.

With subtle gestures and quiet assurances, he tried to ease my discomfort, his attentions more thoughtful than I'd dared hope. He never pressed, but he was there—a grounding presence, a warmth that, little by little, began to soften the edges of my isolation.

A moon had passed since our union. I was neither entirely happy nor entirely sorrowful; I was simply... here.

Somewhere between contentment and restlessness, caught in a place that wasn't mine yet somehow, piece by piece, was becoming so.

Winterfell was no closer to being home, but Cregan's attentions made the frigid halls more bearable, his patience an anchor as I drifted, my heart searching for familiarity in a sea of foreignness.

One evening, as twilight painted the snow in hues of indigo and grey, I stood on the balcony, gazing out across Winterfell.

The frosty landscape stretched endlessly, an ocean of cold where dawn seemed forever on the edge of arriving but never quite here.

As I watched the endless expanse of snow, I remembered the hot, golden sands of Sunspear.

In Dorne, the sun-kissed our skin, the scent of ripe figs and sea salt filled the air. Here, every corner held a chill, every shadow seemed to whisper secrets.

In that stillness, I heard a voice—a voice I had come to know well, warm yet edged with the subtle command of a lord.

"What's on your mind?" Cregan's words reached me, low and tender.

Startled, I turned to see him leaning on the railing beside me, his gaze thoughtful. His presence was a welcome warmth, and yet I found myself instinctively closing in, the winter wind cutting through my gown.

"Nothing," I replied, a feeble defence as my voice carried softly into the chill.

He studied me quietly, his eyes catching the slight shiver that ran through me as the wind nipped at my shoulders.

"Doesn't look like 'nothing,'" he said, his voice low. "You're cold. Come inside."

Without waiting for my reply, he draped his cloak over my shoulders, guiding me toward the warmth of our chambers, stopping by the hearth as the flames crackled to life.

"I don't belong," I murmured, staring into the fire. My fingers traced the thick Northern fabric of my gown—a cloth I'd hoped would make me feel less like an outsider.

The weight of the words hung between us as if spoken aloud for the first time, stirring the silence in the dim room.

"What do you mean, my love?" Cregan's voice broke the quiet, a softness I hadn't expected.

He turned to face me, his eyes searching mine with a rare vulnerability as if my answer mattered more than the words themselves.

I took a long, steadying breath, watching the flames dance and trying to gather the right words.

"They still see me as different," I whispered. "A stranger, from a land they neither know nor trust. I try to blend in, to be... what I think they want. But sometimes, I wonder if they'll ever truly see me as one of their own."

My voice trembled as the truth spilt out, deeper than I'd intended. "They whisper, Cregan when they think I can't hear. They don't trust me. And some days, I'm not sure they ever will."

Cregan listened in silence, his gaze steady and unwavering.

Without a word, he reached for my hand, his calloused fingers rough yet gentle as they enveloped mine, grounding me in the midst of my insecurities.

"Give them time," he said softly, his voice like a balm. "The North can be as harsh as winter itself, slow to warm, but it's not unyielding."

His hand lifted my chin, guiding my gaze up to meet his. In his eyes, I saw not just kindness, but an unwavering strength, as if he could will my doubts away by the force of his conviction alone.

"You belong here, with me," he said, his voice a quiet promise. "No whispers or frost will ever change that."

I felt his words settle over me like a cloak, their warmth reaching parts of my heart I hadn't realized were cold. But still, uncertainty lingered, stubborn and unrelenting.

Perhaps sensing my hesitation, Cregan shifted closer, his presence wrapping around me like an unbreakable fortress.

He cupped my cheek with a tenderness that both surprised and soothed me.

"You are the heat I've always been missing," he murmured, his voice low and thick with meaning.

Slowly, his hand drifted down, sliding under the folds of my gown with a touch that sent a shiver through me—a sensation born not of the cold, but of something deeper.

"What are you doing?" I asked, a laugh escaping as I fought back my nervousness.

"Showing you." His voice was gentle, a playful glint in his eyes. "Showing you that you belong."

With a tender confidence, his hands moved, sending ripples through me that melted the tension from my body.

His touch was warm and steady, his fingers tracing up my sides, and for the first time since coming to the North, I felt my fears begin to ease as if his presence alone could erase them.

The doubts, the whispers—they all faded as his hands explored, each caress a quiet reassurance.

His gaze held mine, unwavering, and in that moment, there was an intimacy that transcended touch, a promise woven in the quiet between us.

He leaned in, his lips finding mine, capturing them with a gentleness that made me feel like I was being seen for the first time. His kiss was both soft and fervent, his lips warm as they moved against mine, igniting a fire that outmatched any northern hearth.

As his hands roamed over my body, rough and calloused from years of wielding steel, they were uncharacteristically gentle, tracing the lines of my skin as if memorizing each curve.

His fingers held a kind of reverence, as if I were something precious, not just the wife bound to him by a political alliance but a person who was cherished.

In that moment, he lifted me, guiding me slowly towards the bed, never once breaking the kiss.

I felt myself sink into the softness of the furs as he laid me down, the flickering fire casting its amber glow across the room, cocooning us in its warmth.

There was a tenderness in his touch as he caressed me, his movements slow and purposeful, each gesture a quiet declaration.

The world outside the chamber ceased to exist; there was no cold, no looming suspicion, no whispers echoing down the corridors.

Only Cregan and the fire between us, burning bright and fierce.

His lips trailed down my neck, each kiss a spark that sent warmth radiating through me. He paused, his gaze seeking mine as his hand found the ties of my gown, his touch both reverent and questioning.

I met his eyes, giving him the permission he silently sought, and with careful, deliberate movements, he began to untie it, each pull of the fabric a slow unveiling.

As the gown slipped away, leaving me bare before him, I felt no vulnerability, only an overwhelming sense of being cherished.

Cregan's eyes held nothing but admiration, and in that look, he banished every doubt, every whisper that had haunted me since I'd arrived in the North.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice raw and thick with emotion. "So beautiful."

His words soaked into me, warming those fragile places hidden within, and I felt myself drawn to him, my fingers threading into his hair, pulling him close.

His warmth was a balm, a grounding presence I needed as his lips found mine, slow and deliberate, speaking promises only we could hear.

With a practised, fluid ease, he shed the last of his clothes, his gaze never breaking from mine.

His bare skin met mine in a press that was both electric and soothing, each inch of contact igniting a surge of feeling, of completeness that made me gasp.

His hands traced down my sides, exploring the curves and lines of my body, as if they held secrets he'd yearned to know.

Every touch, every brush of his fingers sent shivers across my skin.

He lowered himself, aligning our bodies with a reverence that made my heart ache.

When he settled between my thighs, his touch shifted, moving from a delicate exploration to a quiet, steady possession.

His grip on me tightened, anchoring me beneath him, and his eyes held a ferocity that was matched by the tenderness in his touch. He was wholly mine, and I, his.

"You're mine," he whispered his voice a low growl that sent a thrill through me. "Mine."

"Yes," I breathed, my fingers pressing into his shoulders as I clung to him, letting myself believe it. "Yours."

He moved with a deliberate rhythm, each thrust a declaration, an unspoken vow that silenced the doubts within me.

Every part of me, every fragment I thought too broken to matter, felt seen, treasured.

The warmth grew between us, winding up in intensity as he continued, his movements steady, yet laced with a simmering need that built with each passing moment.

His hands roamed over me, possessive yet reverent, fingers tracing gentle lines along my skin. His lips left trails of warmth, soft whispers mingling with our breaths.

The connection between us thrummed with a strength that felt sacred, binding us beyond words, deeper than the physical.

Our rhythm intensified, his hands gripping my waist, his lips capturing my moans as we chased the rising wave together.

The air was thick with the sounds of our bodies, the soft crackle of the fire, the murmurs of our whispered names.

In that moment, there was no North or South, no whispers of "the Dornish wife." There was only Cregan and me, bound together by a love that had taken root in the most unlikely of places.

When the climax came, it hit with a force that left us breathless, a bliss that surged through us like fire and water, fierce yet softening.

He held me through it, our breaths mingling as we trembled in the aftermath, our hearts beating as one.

Cregan collapsed beside me, his arms wrapping around me as he pulled me close. We lay there in the afterglow, our bodies entwined, the fire casting a soft glow over us.

"You belong here," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to my soul. "With me."

"I do," I replied, my heart swelling with a newfound certainty. "I belong with you."

As I drifted off to sleep in his arms, I knew that no matter the challenges we might face, we would face them together.

The North might be cold and unforgiving, but with Cregan by my side, I felt a warmth that could withstand any storm.

And in his embrace, I found not just a home, but a love that would endure.

A/n - I am such a sucker for any Dornish reader works 😝

Cregan tag list - @veesuguru

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd one shot #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd s2 #team black #cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan fanfiction #lord cregan stark #hotd cregan #house stark #cregan x you

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imreidswifey · 1 month ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

A Spencer Reid x Reader Fanfiction

Prequel

Summary: Spencer Reid is haunted by your sudden disappearance—seeing your face in empty rooms, hearing your voice in the wind. When a cryptic message arrives, suggesting you might still be alive, he embarks on a desperate search. But the truth is darker than he ever imagined. The people who took you aren’t just criminals—they’re powerful, and they’re still watching. As Spencer unravels the conspiracy, he realizes saving you might cost him everything.

Warnings:

• Kidnapping & captivity

• Violence & gun violence

• Injury & recovery

• Psychological trauma/PTSD

• Corrupt law enforcement

• Mentions of starvation & sleep deprivation

• Angst with comfort

• Happy ending

Word Count: ~15,000+ words

A/n: Soft candlelight flickering against dark walls. Old case files scattered across a desk. A worn-out motel key in Spencer’s trembling hands. The sound of rain against a safe house window. Desperate whispers in the night. Love found in the wreckage. This is a story about losing everything and fighting to get it back.

———•———•———•———•———•———•———•——–

Spencer sees you everywhere.

At the BAU, you’re leaning against his desk, arms crossed, teasing him about his mismatched socks. He looks up, expecting to see the fond exasperation in your eyes—but there’s nothing. Just his empty desk and the quiet hum of the bullpen.

At home, the scent of your shampoo lingers in the air, faint but unmistakable. He swears he hears you laughing from the kitchen, your voice mixing with the whistle of the kettle. But when he rounds the corner, there’s no one there.

In the field, in the backseat of the SUV, he hears you murmur, “What’s the profile telling you, Spence?” He turns, desperate to see you sitting beside him, but the seat is empty.

You’re gone.

It’s been seventy-four days since you vanished without a trace.

And Spencer is losing his mind.

The world doesn’t stop when someone disappears. Cases keep coming. Criminals keep killing. The BAU keeps moving forward, but Spencer is frozen in time, stuck in the moment he realized you were missing.

At first, they told him to go home, to get some rest. They said, We’ll find them, Reid. We’ll bring them back. He believed them—because he had to.

But as days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, hope became something cruel.

Garcia combed through every digital footprint you’d ever left. Emily pulled every string she could. JJ reassured him that they wouldn’t stop looking. Morgan called in old favors. Hotch kept the case open, even when the leads dried up.

But nothing. No ransom note. No body. No sign of life.

Until today.

A small, unmarked envelope arrives at his desk. No return address. No postmark. Just his name scrawled in a handwriting he would recognize anywhere—yours.

His breath catches in his throat. His hands shake as he tears it open.

Inside is a single sheet of paper. Three words, written in black ink:

Find me, Spencer.

Spencer’s heart is a war drum in his chest.

The words blur as he rereads them over and over, his fingers tightening around the paper as if it might disappear if he lets go.

Find me, Spencer.

His breath stutters. His mind races. His stomach churns.

This isn’t possible. It can’t be.

You’ve been gone for seventy-four days. No ransom demand, no digital footprint, no leads—nothing. The world had already started treating you like a ghost.

And yet, here it is. Proof.

You’re alive.

But where?

And why hadn’t you sent more?

Spencer forces himself to sit down before his legs give out. His entire body is buzzing with adrenaline, his mind spinning with possibilities, theories, patterns—he needs to analyze, needs to think.

His first instinct is to take the letter straight to the team, to Garcia, to Hotch. But a deep, unsettling feeling coils in his gut.

What if this is a trap?

What if someone wants him to make a mistake?

What if you’re in danger, and this is the only chance you’ve had to reach him?

Spencer swallows hard, his fingers gripping the paper so tightly it threatens to tear.

He needs to be careful.

He needs to be smart.

Step One: The Envelope

He forces himself to slow down. He pulls a fresh pair of latex gloves from his desk drawer and carefully picks up the envelope again, analyzing every detail.

No postmark. No stamp.

That means it was hand-delivered.

Someone walked into the FBI headquarters—one of the most secure buildings in the country—and placed this on his desk without anyone noticing.

That shouldn’t be possible.

Unless—

Unless it was someone who already belonged there.

Spencer’s pulse quickens.

Someone within the BAU?

No.

He doesn’t want to believe it, but the logic is unavoidable. If the envelope never went through the mail, then the only explanation is that someone physically placed it in the bullpen.

And not just anywhere.

On his desk.

Which means whoever delivered it knows exactly who he is.

And more importantly, they know about you.

Spencer doesn’t sleep.

He stays in his apartment, pacing, the letter sitting on his coffee table like a bomb waiting to detonate. He’s read it so many times he can see the words behind his eyelids.

Find me, Spencer.

He can still hear your voice saying it, though you never actually did. His mind fills in the gaps, desperate to make sense of something senseless.

He doesn’t know how to do this without you.

You were the one who kept him grounded, the one who reminded him to eat when he got lost in his thoughts, who pulled him back from the edge when the job nearly swallowed him whole.

And now?

Now, he’s unraveling.

The team sees it. They don’t say it out loud, but he can feel their pity like a weight on his chest.

JJ keeps checking in on him.

Emily watches him like she’s waiting for him to break.

Morgan, even from across the country, calls more than usual.

Garcia keeps sending him articles about “healthy coping mechanisms.”

But there’s nothing healthy about losing the most important person in your life.

There’s nothing healthy about seeing your face in reflections that vanish when he blinks.

Nothing healthy about hearing your laugh in empty hallways.

Nothing healthy about rereading a note a thousand times, wondering if it’s real.

Is it real?

His rational mind tells him it is. The handwriting is yours. The ink is fresh. He could analyze the paper, run tests, find out where it was bought—Garcia could track the supply chain, he could trace the fibers, find out who sent this and why—

Spencer stops.

His breathing is uneven. His hands are shaking.

He sits down, exhales.

Closes his eyes.

And then—

A whisper.

Soft. Familiar.

“Spence…”

His eyes snap open.

He swears he sees a shadow in the doorway.

A figure.

You.

But when he stands, you’re gone.

Only the letter remains.

Find me, Spencer.

By morning, Spencer has a plan.

The letter is the only lead he has, so he analyzes it like he would any piece of evidence.

The handwriting is yours—but something is off.

Your usual script is fluid, slightly slanted, with looping letters. This is similar, but the pressure is different, the strokes more deliberate. Almost like you were forced to write it.

Or like you were trying to tell him something beyond the words themselves.

Spencer leans in closer.

Think, think, think.

Then, he sees it.

A faint indentation on the lower half of the page.

Like someone wrote something beneath the letter, pressed hard enough for the ink to leave an impression.

Spencer grabs a pencil, his hands steadying as he shades lightly over the page.

Slowly—

A second message begins to appear.

His breath catches.

Three more words.

“Not much time.”

His heart pounds.

This isn’t just a note. It’s a warning.

And he’s running out of time.

The second message is carved into Spencer’s mind long after the pencil shavings settle on the coffee table.

Not much time.

He stares at the faint words until they blur together, the pressure behind his eyes building.

You’re alive.

But if you’re warning him—if someone is forcing you to write this—then every second he wastes is another second you’re in danger.

He forces himself to think.

Messages—both the obvious and the hidden—mean you’re trying to communicate without being caught. But why him? Why not the team? Why not Garcia, with all her connections and digital magic?

Because you know Spencer would be the one to look harder.

You knew he would find the second message.

You knew he would never stop looking.

He doesn’t go to the team.

Not yet.

Instead, he locks himself in his apartment and spreads everything he has across the floor—every old case file, every police report, every scrap of your life together.

Photographs.

Flight receipts.

Credit card statements.

He memorizes every pattern, searching for something—anything—that connects your disappearance to the message.

Hours bleed into the next day. He barely eats, barely moves. He traces every timeline, every possible route you could’ve taken.

But there’s nothing.

The official story is that you were last seen leaving your apartment late one night. Surveillance cameras caught you turning the corner—then you simply vanished. No signs of struggle. No digital trace. Just… gone.

But Spencer doesn’t believe in ghosts.

He believes in patterns.

He believes in you.

By nightfall, his head aches, his vision blurs, and the walls feel like they’re closing in.

He slumps against the couch, exhausted. The letter lies on the coffee table, mocking him.

He’s missed something.

He knows it.

“You always overthink,” your voice echoes in his mind—warm, teasing. “Sometimes the answer is right in front of you.”

Spencer’s eyes flick to the envelope.

Right in front of him.

His heart pounds.

He grabs it again, turning it over, feeling along the edges. Nothing.

But then—

Inside the flap—barely visible—a faint smudge of ink.

It’s not a mistake. It’s deliberate.

Spencer grabs a magnifying glass, his breath catching as he deciphers the tiny, jagged scrawl hidden in the crease.

Paris Diner. 3 AM.

The Paris Diner is the kind of place no one notices.

A hole-in-the-wall buried on the outskirts of the city. Flickering neon sign. Greasy countertops. The kind of place where memories stick to the walls and no one asks too many questions.

It’s also where you took him on your third date.

Where he told you about his mother for the first time.

Where you made him try pie at two in the morning because “you can’t trust anyone who doesn’t like pie, Spencer.”

It’s not just a clue.

It’s you.

Spencer arrives at 2:47 AM, the bell above the door jangling in the empty diner.

The place is exactly the same—dim lights, cracked leather booths, the faint smell of burnt coffee hanging in the air.

He slides into the farthest booth, his back to the wall, eyes scanning every shadow.

He waits.

Fifteen minutes.

Then thirty.

No one comes.

By 3:27 AM, doubt starts to creep in. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe the message was planted by whoever took you—luring him into a trap.

Or maybe he’s chasing a ghost.

His fingers curl around the edge of the table, frustration clawing at his chest. He’s unraveling again, coming apart at the seams.

Then—

A whisper.

Soft. Barely audible.

“Spence…”

His head snaps up.

You’re there.

For a split second, he sees you—standing in the doorway, wrapped in that worn leather jacket you always stole from him. Your hair is tangled, your eyes wide—

But when he blinks, you’re gone.

Just another hallucination.

His heart sinks.

He’s losing his mind.

The waitress comes by with a coffee pot, refilling his cup without asking.

“You waiting on someone, honey?”

Spencer swallows hard, trying to steady his voice.

“Did anyone leave something here for me?"

Her brow furrows, but she reaches into the pocket of her apron, pulling out a folded napkin.

“Said to give this to the man who ordered plain black coffee and sat in the last booth.”

Spencer’s pulse pounds as he takes it.

Another message.

Clock’s ticking, Spencer. Don’t trust anyone.

By morning, Spencer is unraveling at the seams.

The napkin is tucked inside his wallet, folded so tightly the edges have started to crumple.

He doesn’t trust anyone.

Not the waitress.

Not the team.

Not even himself.

His mind is spinning—fractured between logic and desperation.

Why are you doing this? Why aren’t you telling him more? Why are you making him chase you?

Unless—

Unless someone’s watching you.

Unless you’re trying to lead him without giving too much away.

Unless you’re trying to protect him.

He goes off-grid.

No calls. No texts.

He works alone—just like you knew he would.

The days bleed together—shadows under his eyes, tremors in his hands. He tracks every scrap of evidence. He follows dead-end trails and cryptic breadcrumbs.

But every time he thinks he’s close—

Another message arrives.

Always handwritten. Always in your voice.

Almost there.

Not yet.

I miss you.

Ninety-one days.

One hundred and seven days.

His nightmares get worse. He wakes up gasping, convinced he hears your voice in the dark.

The team starts to worry—JJ, Emily, Hotch. They whisper behind closed doors, watching him like they’re waiting for him to break.

They don’t understand.

You’re still out there.

He knows it.

Day one hundred and thirty-four.

The last message arrives at dawn—slipped under his apartment door.

No envelope. No warning.

Just three words scrawled on a torn scrap of paper.

Come find me.

There’s an address underneath.

Spencer’s hands tremble as he memorizes the letters, his heart hammering in his chest.

You’re still alive.

You’ve been waiting for him to find you all along.

Spencer doesn’t hesitate.

The moment he reads the address, he’s moving—grabbing his gun, his badge, his car keys. He doesn’t stop to think. He doesn’t call the team.

This is between you and him.

The address is unfamiliar—a rundown motel on the outskirts of the city, tucked away from prying eyes. It’s the kind of place people go when they don’t want to be found.

Or when they can’t risk being found.

He grips the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white. The road stretches ahead, but his mind is already there—picturing you behind a locked door, waiting. Picturing the worst-case scenarios.

Are you hurt? Are you alone? Are you even safe?

The thought nearly makes him swerve off the road.

He presses harder on the gas.

The motel is nearly abandoned.

A neon “Vacancy” sign flickers, buzzing in the dim morning light. The parking lot is cracked and empty, save for a single car covered in dust.

Spencer pulls in, scanning the area.

Room 16.

The number is burned into his mind.

He moves quickly, quietly, stepping out of the car with his gun drawn. Every instinct screams at him to be cautious.

The world is too still.

The air is too heavy.

Something is wrong.

But you’re inside.

And nothing—nothing—is going to keep him from you.

Spencer reaches Room 16.

The door is closed. No sound from inside.

He presses his hand against the wood, his breath shaky.

“(Y/N)?”

Silence.

He knocks, once. Twice.

Then—

A creak.

The sound of movement.

His pulse spikes.

You’re there.

“Spencer?”

It’s barely a whisper. Hoarse. Fragile.

His heart nearly shatters.

“It’s me,” he says, voice breaking. “Open the door.”

A pause.

Then the sound of locks clicking open.

The door swings inward.

And there you are.

Spencer can’t breathe.

You’re standing in front of him, alive—alive—but you’re not the same.

Your eyes are hollow, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. Your lips are cracked. Your clothes are wrinkled, loose, like you haven’t eaten in days.

There’s a cut on your forehead. Bruises along your arms.

He clenches his fists so hard his nails dig into his palms.

Who did this to you?

Who took you?

Who hurt you?

His mind spins, rage boiling under his skin, but then—

You move.

A small, broken step toward him.

And just like that, the rage dissolves.

Because you’re here.

Because you’re real.

Because after one hundred and thirty-four days of hell, he can finally touch you.

Spencer doesn’t think—he just moves

He pulls you into his arms, holding you so tightly he’s afraid he might break you.

But you don’t break.

You cling to him just as desperately, burying your face in his shoulder, trembling.

And for the first time in months—

Spencer breathes.

You don’t speak right away.

You just exist—in his arms, in his space, breathing the same air.

Spencer doesn’t rush you.

He lets you lean against him, lets his fingers trace soothing patterns along your back, grounding you.

Then, finally—

“They took me.”

Your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, but it’s enough to send ice through his veins.

Spencer pulls back just enough to look at you.

Your eyes shine with unshed tears. Your hands shake.

“Who?” His voice is sharp, controlled. “Who took you?”

You swallow hard. “I don’t know their names. I don’t—I don’t know why.”

His jaw clenches.

You shake your head, eyes darting around the room like the walls are closing in.

“They knew about you, Spence. They knew everything.”

The air leaves his lungs.

Everything?

“How?” he asks, his voice low.

You hesitate. “I think—I think they were watching us for months. Maybe longer.”

His blood runs cold.

Someone had been watching.

Someone had been planning this.

And he hadn’t noticed.

His stomach churns with guilt, with rage.

“Why did they let you go?” he asks.

Your breath hitches. “I don’t think they did.”

Spencer stiffens.

“I ran,” you say. “I got out, but—I don’t think I was supposed to.”

His grip tightens.

They’re still looking for you.

You’re not safe.

And if they find you—

A knock at the door makes both of you freeze.

Spencer reaches for his gun.

And outside, a voice speaks.

“Dr. Reid. We need to talk.”

Spencer recognizes the voice immediately.

FBI.

But something is wrong.

They shouldn’t know he’s here.

They shouldn’t have found you this fast.

He pulls you behind him instinctively, his mind working at lightning speed.

If they were real agents, why didn’t they call him first? Why show up like this?

Unless—

They aren’t here to help.

Unless—

They were part of it all along.

The knock comes again.

“We know you’re in there, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer’s heart pounds.

They’re here for you.

And he’s not going to let them take you.

Not again.

The knock at the door comes again, sharper this time.

“We know you’re in there, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer grips his gun tighter.

You’re still trembling behind him, your fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, your breath uneven against his back.

Spencer tilts his head toward you, voice barely above a whisper. “We’re not opening that door.”

Your grip tightens. You nod.

Another knock.

“Dr. Reid, if you don’t open up, we’ll be forced to enter.”

Spencer swallows hard, calculating.

The only way out is through.

“Bathroom,” he murmurs to you. “Now.”

You hesitate, but when you see the look in his eyes—pure, unshakable determination—you obey.

Spencer waits until you’re tucked away before moving toward the door.

He presses his ear against it, listening.

Three distinct sets of footsteps outside.

Too heavy for standard-issue FBI boots.

No radio chatter.

No verbal confirmation codes.

This isn’t his team.

Whoever they are, they’re pretending.

And they think they’re smart enough to outplay him.

They have no idea who they’re dealing with.

The lock clicks.

They’re breaking in.

Spencer moves fast.

He positions himself in the narrow hallway, gun raised, breath steady.

The door swings open.

Three men. Suits. No badges.

Spencer doesn’t hesitate.

He fires.

The first shot hits the man in front—straight to the shoulder.

He drops with a shout.

The other two pull their weapons.

Spencer doesn’t give them a chance.

He ducks, moves fast, fires again.

The second man stumbles back, his gun skidding across the floor.

The third lunges.

Spencer blocks the hit, twisting the attacker’s arm until he hears a sharp pop. The man howls in pain, but Spencer doesn’t stop.

He slams the butt of his gun against the side of his head, knocking him out cold.

Then—

“Spence!”

Your voice

Spencer spins around just as the first man—the one he shot in the shoulder—lifts his gun again.

You act before Spencer can.

You grab the nearest object—a motel lamp—and smash it over the attacker’s head.

He crumples.

Spencer is already moving.

“We need to go.”

You don’t hesitate.

Together, you run.

Spencer doesn’t take you back to his apartment.

He doesn’t go to the BAU.

You’re not safe there.

Not yet.

Instead, he takes you to a safe house—a small, nondescript cabin in the middle of nowhere, secured through old FBI contacts he knows he can trust.

It’s quiet. Hidden. Safe.

For now.

The moment you step inside, the weight of everything finally crashes down on you.

Your knees buckle.

Spencer is there before you fall.

He catches you, his arms around you, his breath warm against your hair.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “You’re okay.”

You’re not okay.

Neither of you are.

But right now, you don’t need words.

You just need each other.

And so, for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to break.

Spencer holds you through it all.

The next morning, Spencer finally calls the team.

Hotch answers on the first ring.

“Reid.”

Spencer exhales. “We have a problem.”

It takes an hour for the team to arrive.

JJ is the first one through the door.

The moment she sees you, she gasps, her eyes welling with tears.

“Oh my God,” she breathes. “You’re alive.”

Emily and Morgan aren’t far behind, their faces tight with worry.

Even Garcia—who never visits the field—bursts into the room, covering her mouth in shock.

Spencer stands protectively close to you, his fingers brushing yours, grounding you.

Hotch steps forward.

“Tell us everything.”

It takes hours to go through it all.

Everything you remember.

Everything Spencer uncovered.

Everything you don’t know.

The truth is worse than anyone expected.

The people who took you?

They weren’t just criminals.

They were insiders.

Corrupt law enforcement.

A deep-rooted network of powerful figures who had been watching, waiting, orchestrating your disappearance like a game of chess.

And Spencer had just exposed them.

Which meant they wouldn’t stop coming.

Not until every loose end was tied.

Not until you and Spencer were dead.

There’s only one way this ends.

The team launches a full investigation.

Garcia digs deep—dangerously deep—into places no one should be able to reach.

Emily and Morgan track down leads.

Hotch mobilizes trusted agents.

And Spencer—

Spencer stays by your side.

Because no matter what happens next, he’s not losing you again.

Not now.

Not ever.

The corrupt officials make one last desperate move—an ambush.

They come for you.

For Spencer.

But this time, the BAU is waiting.

Gunfire. Chaos. A final standoff in an abandoned warehouse.

And then—

It’s over.

The last man standing is handcuffed, forced to face the destruction he caused.

Justice is served.

You’re finally free.

It’s over.

You’re safe.

Spencer should feel relief.

But instead, he feels like he might collapse.

You sense it before he even says a word.

You take his hand, squeezing gently.

“I’m here,” you whisper.

He exhales shakily.

“I thought I lost you.”

You lift a hand to his cheek, brushing away the exhaustion in his eyes.

“I thought I lost you,” you admit.

Spencer swallows hard.

And then—

He kisses you.

Soft, desperate, full of every unsaid word, every sleepless night, every shattered piece of his heart that only you can put back together.

You kiss him back, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.

And maybe he is.

Because no matter what happened—no matter what almost tore you apart—

You found your way back to each other.

And that’s all that matters.

The nightmares don’t go away overnight.

Neither do the scars.

But healing isn’t about forgetting.

It’s about moving forward.

One step at a time.

Spencer stays by your side through it all.

Through the restless nights.

Through the bad dreams.

Through the slow process of relearning what it means to live instead of just survive.

And one night—months later—when he slips a small, velvet box into your hands, his fingers trembling, his voice a whisper—

You don’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Because after everything—

After losing each other.

After finding your way back.

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batboyblog · 8 months ago

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Things the Biden-Harris Administration Did This Week #31

August 23-30 2024

The Department of Transportation announced $521 million to help increase the number of electric vehicle charging ports. They money will go to projects in 29 different states, DC, and 8 tribal governments. It'll help build over 9,200 EV charging ports. Since Biden took office publicly available EV chargers has doubled, there are now over 192,000 public EV chargers in the nation with about 1,000 new ones being added every week.

The Department of The Interior announced the first ever lease for off-shore wind power in Oregon. When fully developed the two sites in Southern Oregon will generate 3.1 gigawatts of clean, renewable energy, enough to power a million homes. Under the Biden-Harris administration first of their kind off-shore wind power projects have been approved and started in the Pacific and Gulf of Mexico coasts. In total 13 gigawatts of clean energy from offshore wind projects, enough to power nearly 5 million homes, has been approved.

Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland finalized the protection of 28 million acres of public lands across Alaska. In the last days of the Trump Administration protections for these lands were lifted. The Trump Interior Department did not consult with the Alaska natives who depend on these protected lands before lifting the protections. Deb Haaland the first Native American to serve as Secretary of the Interior declared "Tribal consultation must be treated as a requirement – not an option"

The Department of Health and Human Services announced $558 Million for improving maternal health. This is part of the Biden-Harris Administration's effort to address the maternal health crisis, which has been lead by Vice-President Harris. $440 million of the money will help expand a program of home visiting services for maternal, infant, and early childhood. $118 million, through the CDC, will go to 46 states, and six territories, over 5 years to help build the public health infrastructure to better identify and prevent pregnancy-related deaths.

It was announced that Maine will join the IRS' Direct File program for tax year 2025. Maine joins Oregon, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, New Mexico, Connecticut, North Carolina, and Wisconsin along with the original 12 states. The Direct File program, made possible by President Biden's Inflation Reduction Act, allows tax payers to file, for free, simple returns with the IRS. The 140,000 tax payers who used the pilot program in 2024 saved a collective $5.6 million in filing costs. Maine's Revenue Services plans to work with the ISR to allow tax payers to file their state taxes by just transferring the info from the ISR direct file.

#Thanks Biden #joe biden #kamala harris #climate change #climate crisis #maternal health #maternal mortality #alaska #tribal rights #taxes #IRS

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moonlight-joy · 4 months ago

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Bound by Fire

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: Bound by duty but strengthened by growing trust, your arranged marriage to Jacaerys Velaryon transforms into a partnership built on mutual respect and shared hopes, setting the foundation for a powerful union that promises to shape the future of the realm.

Pairing: Reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

The war had been long and bloody, stretching across the realm and leaving scars that would take generations to heal. Your family, one of the most powerful houses in Westeros, had played a pivotal role in ensuring victory. The cost of that alliance, however, had been a personal one: your hand in marriage to Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to the Iron Throne. Though you had agreed to the arrangement, it had always felt like a distant reality, overshadowed by the immediacy of the battlefield and the weight of your family’s duty. But now, with the war won and Rhaenyra Targaryen crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the time had come to honor that promise. You were summoned to Dragonstone, where your future awaited.

The sea air was cold as your ship approached Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen. The volcanic island loomed on the horizon, its jagged cliffs and smoking peaks a stark contrast to the lush lands of your home. Dragons circled overhead, their cries echoing across the water, a reminder of the power you were about to marry into. Your heart raced as the ship docked, and you stepped onto the stone pier. The sight of the Targaryen banners fluttering in the wind filled you with a mixture of awe and trepidation. This was no mere union—it was the joining of fire and blood, of two legacies that would shape the realm’s future.

Waiting for you at the foot of the castle steps was Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. You had seen his likeness in portraits, but they did little justice to the man standing before you. His dark hair, streaked faintly with silver, framed a face both handsome and serious. His brown eyes, warm yet guarded, met yours with an intensity that made you catch your breath. “My lady,” he greeted, his voice steady but soft. He stepped forward, offering his hand. “Welcome to Dragonstone.”

You hesitated for only a moment before placing your hand in his. “My prince,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “It is an honor to finally meet you.” His lips quirked into a faint smile, and you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t expected: curiosity. There was kindness in his eyes, tempered by the weight of his responsibilities, and you wondered if he felt the same mixture of hope and uncertainty that you did.

Jacaerys escorted you into the castle, the halls lit by flickering torches and warmed by the ever-present heat of the volcanic rock beneath your feet. The air was heavy with the scent of smoke and salt, a reminder of the dragons that called this place home. “I hope the journey was not too harsh,” he said, breaking the silence as you walked. “It was long,” you admitted, glancing at him, “but it gave me time to reflect on what lies ahead.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “And what do you see when you reflect?” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “A future that is both daunting and full of possibility. Our union will shape the realm, for better or worse.” His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to fade. “I believe it will be for the better,” he said quietly. “I know the circumstances of our marriage are not ideal, but I promise to honor and respect the alliance we forge together.” The sincerity in his voice surprised you, and you found yourself softening. “I believe we can build something strong, my prince. Perhaps even something good.” He smiled then, a genuine expression that lit up his face. “Jace,” he corrected. “If we are to share a life, you should call me Jace.” “Jace,” you echoed, the name unfamiliar on your tongue but not unpleasant. “And you may call me whatever you wish.” “Then I shall call you my lady,” he teased gently, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “For now.”

Over the next few days, you and Jace spent more time together, learning about each other in quiet moments stolen from the grandeur of court. He showed you the dragons in the cavernous pit beneath Dragonstone, introducing you to Vermax, his bondmate. The sight of the mighty creature left you awestruck, but Jace’s gentle encouragement gave you the courage to approach. “He can sense your fear,” Jace said, standing close enough that you could feel his warmth. “But he can also sense your strength. Show him that you are unafraid.”

You took a deep breath and stepped closer to the dragon, your heart pounding in your chest. Vermax huffed, a plume of smoke curling from his nostrils, but he did not move away. Slowly, you reached out, your hand brushing against the warm scales of his snout. The bond was brief but electric, a reminder of the power you were marrying into. Jace watched with a proud smile. “You’ve impressed him. That is no small feat.” “Perhaps he sensed my strength,” you replied, meeting Jace’s gaze with a faint smile of your own. “Or perhaps he sensed your stubbornness,” Jace teased, earning a laugh from you. It was in moments like these that you began to see the man beneath the prince—the man who carried the weight of the realm on his shoulders but still found joy in the small, fleeting moments.

On the eve of your wedding, Jace found you standing on the balcony overlooking the sea. The moonlight bathed the water in silver, and the sound of the waves was a soothing balm to your restless thoughts. “Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice soft as he joined you. You shook your head. “Too much on my mind.” He stood beside you, his presence steady and comforting. “I wanted to thank you,” he said after a moment. “For trusting in this union. For trusting in me.”

“I suppose I had little choice,” you replied lightly, though there was no malice in your tone. He turned to you, his expression earnest. “You had every choice. You could have refused, and no one would have blamed you. But you didn’t. That means something to me.” His words, so genuine and heartfelt, stirred something deep within you. “I trusted in the vision my family had for the future,” you admitted. “But now, I find that I trust in you.” Jace smiled, and for the first time, you saw not just a prince or a warrior, but a partner. “Then let us trust in each other,” he said. “Together, we can build something lasting. Something worth fighting for.” You nodded, your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “Together,” you agreed.

As the waves crashed below and the dragons roared in the distance, you felt the beginnings of a bond that would shape not just your lives but the fate of the realm. Bound by fire and blood, you and Jace were poised to forge a legacy that would endure for generations to come.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #asoiaf #house of the dragon #a song of ice and fire #hotd #asoiaf fanfic #hotd fanfic

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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

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"Cody Two Bears, a member of the Sioux tribe in North Dakota, founded Indigenized Energy, a native-led energy company with a unique mission — installing solar farms for tribal nations in the United States.

This initiative arises from the historical reliance of Native Americans on the U.S. government for power, a paradigm that is gradually shifting.

The spark for Two Bears' vision ignited during the Standing Rock protests in 2016, where he witnessed the arrest of a fellow protester during efforts to prevent the construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline on sacred tribal land.

Disturbed by the status quo, Two Bears decided to channel his activism into action and create tangible change.

His company, Indigenized Energy, addresses a critical issue faced by many reservations: poverty and lack of access to basic power.

Reservations are among the poorest communities in the country, and in some, like the Navajo Nation, many homes lack electricity.

Even in regions where the land has been exploited for coal and uranium, residents face obstacles to accessing power.

Renewable energy, specifically solar power, is a beacon of hope for tribes seeking to overcome these challenges.

Not only does it present an environmentally sustainable option, but it has become the most cost-effective form of energy globally, thanks in part to incentives like the Inflation Reduction Act of 2022.

Tribal nations can receive tax subsidies of up to 30% for solar and wind farms, along with grants for electrification, climate resiliency, and energy generation.

And Indigenized Energy is not focused solely on installing solar farms — it also emphasizes community empowerment through education and skill development.

In collaboration with organizations like Red Cloud Renewable, efforts are underway to train Indigenous tribal members for jobs in the renewable energy sector.

The program provides free training to individuals, with a focus on solar installation skills.

Graduates, ranging from late teens to late 50s, receive pre-apprenticeship certification, and the organization is planning to launch additional programs to support graduates with career services such as resume building and interview coaching...

The adoption of solar power by Native communities signifies progress toward sustainable development, cultural preservation, and economic self-determination, contributing to a more equitable and environmentally conscious future.

These initiatives are part of a broader movement toward "energy sovereignty," wherein tribes strive to have control over their own power sources.

This movement represents not only an economic opportunity and a source of jobs for these communities but also a means of reclaiming control over their land and resources, signifying a departure from historical exploitation and an embrace of sustainable practices deeply rooted in Indigenous cultures."

-via Good Good Good, December 10, 2023

#indigenous #native americans #first nations #indigenous rights #tribal sovereignty #solar energy #solar power #solar panels #renewable energy #green energy #sioux #sioux nation #sustainability #climate hope #electrification #united states #hope #good news

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thewulf · 1 year ago

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I Choose You || Legolas

Summary: Request - Hii hope you're having a good day, is it okay if I request a Legolas x reader where reader is Gandalf's granddaughter and joined the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring? They both slowly fell in love with each other along the way and when the incident in Moria happened where Gandalf dies, Legolas comforts her.

A/N: Thank you for the amazing request! Had a blast writing this as usual :) It's a lil long, so enjoy!

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.5k +

TW: Talks of war/death, war, death, orcs, general LOTR triggers

You stand silently amidst the gathered council fading into the background as best you could. The murmur of many voices echoing softly through the vaulted halls of Rivendell. The air is crisp, filled with the mingling scents of ancient scrolls and the distant freshness of autumnal leaves. Elves, men, dwarves, and even a few hobbits have come to discuss the fate of Middle-earth, their faces marked by concern and resolve.

Your grandfather, Gandalf the Grey, stands at the center of it all. His presence both commanding and comforting. You’ve always admired his wisdom and strength and today, more than ever, you feel the weight of your lineage. You are his granddaughter, gifted with a touch of his magical prowess and a deep love for the mysteries of this world.

As the debate swirls around you, Elrond, the lord of Rivendell calls for silence. His gaze settles on the small golden ring laid upon the pedestal. It’s simple form belying its terrible power. The task is clear though the path is fraught with peril: the ring must be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom. "We must form a fellowship," Elrond declares. His voice resonant and clear. "Those who will take this burden upon themselves and walk into the shadow to see this evil undone."

A hush falls over the council. Eyes turn, some in fear, others in anticipation, seeking those who might step forward. This is the moment you’ve prepared for, not just since you arrived in Rivendell but throughout your life under Gandalf’s tutelage. With a breath that steadies your resolve you step forward. The rustle of your cloak is like a whisper against the stone floor and several members of the council turn in surprise as you move into the circle of light cast by the morning sun through the high windows.

"I will go," you say, your voice firm and clear. "For the love of my grandfather and for the safety of middle earth. I will see this quest through to its end."

Murmurs of approval ripple through the room and Gandalf meets your eyes across the circle. There’s pride in his gaze and a touch of sorrow, knowing well the dangers that lie ahead. But in this moment you see also the unspoken bond between the two of you. An acknowledgment of the shared commitment to what is right, no matter the cost.

Legolas, a prince of the Woodland Realm, nods to you with respect clear in his bright eyes. Beside him, a stout figure grumbles under his breath, yet Gimli the Dwarf gives a curt nod of assent, recognizing your courage. Beside them a young hobbit named Frodo, who is to be the Ringbearer, looks on with wide, earnest eyes. It is for him, and for all who call this land home, that you pledge your strength. As the council disperses to prepare for the journey you stand beside Gandalf feeling the ancient power of Rivendell around you and the even older strength that lies within your own heart. This is just the beginning you know but you are ready. For the Fellowship, for middle earth, for Gandalf.

You will face whatever comes, together.

As the Fellowship journeys south from Rivendell the path grows increasingly treacherous, winding through craggy mountain passes and shadowed forests. The air is crisp and the first frost of winter sparkles on the leaves. Your companions walk close together. Each step a testament to the weight of the task ahead.

Aragorn leads with a steady hand, his ranger skills essential as the terrain becomes more challenging. Beside him, Boromir of Gondor often lends his strength. His booming voice echoing off the stone trying to keep spirits high among the group, especially the hobbits—Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin—who find amusement in the smallest wonders along the way. Like the frost patterns on the leaves or a particularly stubborn squirrel.

Legolas glides effortlessly beside you. His elven grace a stark contrast to Gimli who stumps along with a determined scowl, his axe ever at the ready. Despite the solemnity of your mission the elf and the dwarf have already begun what seems to be an endless competition, each trying to outdo the other in tracking skills, strength, and the telling of tall tales.

One balmy afternoon as the path narrows along the edges of a steep ravine the rivalry comes to a head between the two of them. Gimli insists he can clear a particularly large fallen tree with a single vault much to Legolas’s skepticism.

“Watch and learn, Master Elf,” Gimli grunts as he began to back up for a running start. Legolas watches with an arched eyebrow, clearly very amused by the red headed dwarf travelling beside him.

Just as Gimli begins to charge forward you step in placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps, Gimli, it would be wiser to assist each other over the obstacle rather than compete with others. After all, the road ahead promises ample challenge for both of your strengths.” You smile warmly down at the ambitious dwarf set out to prove himself.

Gimli stops mid-stride puffing out his chest a bit as he turns to you, then to Legolas. “Hmm, perhaps you are right, lass. What say you, Legolas? Shall we make this journey a test of our cooperation rather than our competition?”

Legolas’s lips curve into a smile. His eyes sparkling with a newfound respect. “I believe our companion speaks wisely. Let us proceed together.” He offers his hand to Gimli who looks at it for a moment before shaking it heartily.

As the journey continues you find yourself often mediating and bringing lightness to tense moments. One evening as the Fellowship gathered around the campfire you recount a humorous anecdote from your days studying under your grandfather. Making sure to mimic Gandalf’s stern voice and dramatic gestures. The group erupts into laughter, the sound carrying through the trees and lifting the spirits of all including the hobbits who clap delightedly and ask for more stories.

Aragorn, sitting across from you nods appreciatively. His eyes meeting yours with a silent thank-you for the lightness you bring. Boromir chuckles, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes clearly more at ease. “You have the gift of your grandfather. Not only in magic but in spirit.” Aragorn comments, his voice warm in the chill air.

Legolas who was sitting beside you leans closer and speaks softly, “Your wisdom brings much-needed peace. And your humor is a light in dark times. It is a rare gift.”

You meet his gaze. The firelight cast dancing shadows across his features. All elves were beautiful but there was something about the Price of Mirkwood that drew you in. “We all carry our gifts, Legolas. Yours is your unerring optimism and sharp eye. Gimli’s his steadfastness and heart. Boromir’s his valor. Aragorn’s his leadership. And the hobbits’ their enduring cheer. Together we are stronger than each individual.”

As the nights grow longer and the path more daunting the bonds within the Fellowship deepen, fortified by shared challenges and your quiet efforts to understand, and support each other. In the quiet moments Legolas teaches you Elvish songs of old. And Gimli shares tales of the great Dwarven halls, their voices blending into the night creating a tapestry of friendship and hope.

As the Fellowship delves into the ancient depths of Moria the air grows thick with the mustiness of ages and the weight of stone. The walls echo with the memory of Dwarven voices, now silent. The path is lit only by the faint glow of Gandalf’s staff. Gimli moves with a mix of reverence and sorrow. His eyes reflecting a deep familial connection to the lost realm of his kin. The narrow passages twist and turn leading you deeper into the mountain’s heart. The quiet is oppressive, only broken by the occasional drip of water or the scuffle of a boot on stone. Tension mounts with each step and even the normally unflappable Legolas seems taut, his eyes scanning the shadows.

All too suddenly, the dark stillness erupts into chaos. A low growl escalates into a deafening roar as the Balrog, a creature of fire and shadow, reveals itself. The ground trembles beneath its weight and the air sears with heat. Gandalf steps forward his face set with grim determination. “Lead them on, Aragorn,” he commands. “The bridge is near. Do as I say! Swords are no more use here!” Your grandfather cries as he gives you a sharp look. Obey. You must listen to him now.

The Fellowship rushes forward driven by fear and the urgent need to escape, but you hesitate, your heart torn as Gandalf faces the monster alone. As the others cross the bridge of Khazad-dûm you watch, helpless, as Gandalf confronts the Balrog. His staff was raised, a brilliant light flaring to meet the darkness.

“You cannot pass,” Gandalf declares. His voice echoing powerfully. It sends a shutter down even your spine.

The Balrog advances and with a defiant cry Gandalf strikes the bridge with his staff. It crumbles sending the creature plummeting into the abyss. But the Balrog’s fiery whip lashes out, catching Gandalf’s leg, pulling him towards the edge. With a calm but utterly sad glance back at you, he murmurs, “Fly, you fools,” before falling into the darkness below.

Shock paralyzes you momentarily, tears blurring your vision. The others tug at you, pulling you away from the crumbling edge. As you flee Moria the loss of your beloved grandfather hits you. A deep ache that seems to echo through the empty halls. Outside, under the grey, mourning sky, the Fellowship collapses in a clearing. Each member grappling with grief. Your knees give out and you sink to the ground, overwhelmed by sorrow. Legolas is at your side in an instant, his presence a silent solace. He does not speak, but his hand finds yours, squeezing gently. A clear reminder that you are not alone.

Gimli joins you. His own eyes rimmed red. “He was the greatest of us all,” he says gruffly with his voice thick with emotion. “I am honored to have walked beside him and I vow to you, we will see this quest through. For him and for all our sakes.”

The words are a balm to your spirit even as you could not reply. Words were too hard for you now. You lean into Legolas, his strength supporting you. You mourn the loss of the only thing you knew. Legolas and Gimli by your side reminding you that even in the depths of loss, the bonds of friendship and love hold firm.

You manage to whisper a weak "Thank you," before the sorrow overwhelms you once more. Tears flood your cheeks, each one a memory, a moment shared with Gandalf that you'll never experience again. Overcome, you turn into Legolas's side, seeking the comfort that only close, physical presence can provide. Though he was not typically fond of physical touch he does not hesitate to comfort you. He wraps his arms around you, his embrace firm and unwavering. In this moment your need transcends his usual reservations, and he holds you close. A silent sentinel in your hour of vulnerability.

His hands are steady on your back, one arm around your shoulders, the other at your waist, grounding you as your grief spills forth unchecked. Legolas's heart aches for your loss and though he may not express his emotions openly his actions speak a clear language of care and adoration. As you cry into his side, Legolas rests his chin atop your head. His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon where the last light of day gives way to twilight. He feels the weight of your sorrow as if it were his own, yet he knows he must stand strong for you.

Legolas knows that the road ahead will be fraught with further trials but for now, he offers you all that he can—protection, comfort, and an unspoken promise that no matter what lies ahead, you will not face it alone. In the stillness that wraps around you and Legolas there's a respectful pause from the rest of the Fellowship. They were giving you a moment to collect yourself under the cloak of Legolas's support. Aragorn, ever attentive to the needs of his comrades, notices the depth of your grief and the comfort Legolas provides. He understands the significance of this moment, the necessity of mourning and the importance of support in such times.

Standing a short distance away Aragorn speaks quietly with the hobbits making sure everyone is ready to continue but delaying their departure ever so slightly for your sake. His leadership is subtle. His decisions shaped by a deep understanding of his people's emotional and physical stamina.

After a brief moment, Aragorn looks over, his eyes meeting Legolas’s over your bowed head. There’s a silent communication between them. A leader’s acknowledgement and a friend’s gratitude for the support given to one of their own. Aragorn’s face softens, his respect for whatever was forming between you two clear in his gentle nod.

With a deep breath, signaling both readiness and respect, Aragorn approaches. His voice is soft yet carries a necessary urgency as he speaks. His words meant to soothe but also to remind of the path ahead. “We must move on for night will not wait for us and neither will our enemies,” he spoke with his tone conveying both compassion and resolve. “Take the time you need but remember we must not linger long.”

Legolas gently helps you stand straighter his arms still offering support. As you wipe away the last of your tears, strengthened by the comfort you’ve received, you nod in understanding. Legolas gives you a reassuring look. His eyes promising continued support and then he gently releases you. He was ready to stand by your side as you all prepare to resume the journey. With a final glance at Gandalf’s last stand you and the Fellowship gather your gear and set off once more into the fading light. The memory of Gandalf a guiding light that pushes you forward through the darkness.

Emerging into the sunlight of the world again does little to lift the sorrow of the Fellowship which soon deepens with Boromir’s tragic fall at Amon Hen. His valiant defense of Merry and Pippin against the Uruk-hai, though ultimately costing him his life, marked him forever a hero in the annals of your journey. The loss of such a stalwart companion leaves a void in your heart and within the group, casting a pall over your spirits.

Driven by a fierce determination to honor Boromir’s sacrifice, you, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli give chase across the plains of Rohan to rescue Merry and Pippin from their captors. The pursuit is grueling. Pushing each of you to your very limits. The landscape of Rohan is vast and relentless, but the tracks are clear, guiding you unerringly toward the thick fringes of Fangorn Forest. The hope of rescuing the hobbits fuels your weary bodies onward even as your hearts ache with the memory of Gandalf's fall and Boromir’s courageous end.

As you follow the trail into the shadowy depths of Fangorn a sense of ancient watchfulness grows. The forest feels alive, old beyond reckoning, and filled with secrets. It is here among the whispering trees that the unexpected happens. A figure steps out from the shadows garbed in white, his presence bright against the dark underbrush. The shock of seeing what you believe might be Saruman stops you in your tracks. But as the figure approaches the energy changes—the air around him shimmers with a familiar warmth and power. Not the cold malice of Saruman.

"Gandalf?" Legolas breathes. A note of awe mingling with disbelief.

You squint, hardly daring to believe it to be true. As he draws closer, clarity dawns, and recognition floods your senses. Overcome with emotion you shout, "Grandfather!" and sprint toward him. Your heart swelling with joy and relief.

Gandalf opens his arms wide, and you crash into his embrace. The impact strong yet comforting. "My dear child," he murmurs. His voice warm and welcoming as he wraps his arms around you. His cloak envelops you with a familiar scent of pipe-weed and the road clinging to the fabric grounding you in the reality of his return.

"Yes, it is I," Gandalf responds gently, now looking down at you with sparkling eyes, "but as Gandalf the White. I come back to you at the turn of the tide. Stronger and renewed. Just as our hope must now be."

The grief at Boromir’s death and the shock of Gandalf's return blend into a complex tapestry of emotions. The initial shock gives way to a festive air as relief and joy wash over Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. They join in, their earlier despair replaced by laughter and words of amazement, forming a tight circle around you and Gandalf.

As Gandalf explains his battle with the Balrog and his subsequent rebirth his words filling the gaps in your understanding and rekindling hope in your hearts. His return not only signifies a miraculous second chance but also invigorates the Fellowship with renewed purpose and determination. With Gandalf's guidance now as Gandalf the White you all feel a renewed sense of purpose. The path forward is still fraught with danger but with Gandalf returned, and in memory of Boromir’s bravery, you are reminded that even in the darkest times there can be resurrection and hope. Together you prepare to resume the quest, stronger and more determined than ever.

"Your guidance has been sorely missed, Gandalf," Aragorn says. His voice steady but thick with emotion as he joins you. He captures the mood of the moment, channeling the Fellowship’s relief into focus. "What should we do? Frodo and Sam are gone to Mordor. Merry and Pippin are captives of the enemy." Gandalf releases you from the embrace but keeps one hand on your shoulder, grounding, and comforting. He surveys the small group with a decisive gaze and the air around you seems to thrum with renewed energy and urgency.

"We will split our efforts," he declares. "Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and you," he nods at you, "will pursue the orcs who took Merry and Pippin. Every second counts and your skills will be crucial in navigating this perilous chase."

You try and protest, but he shakes his head continuing along. "Meanwhile, I shall seek aid from the Ents of Fangorn," Gandalf continues, turning to look at the dense woods behind him. "Their strength will be necessary in the wars to come. We must rally all allies for the shadow from the East grows ever bolder."

As plans are made Legolas stands close by your side, his presence a silent vow of protection and partnership. You feel his hand briefly squeeze yours. A gesture of support that sends a surge of warmth through your heart that he had done so many times before.

"You have grown much, under shadow and trial," Gandalf remarks. Looking at you with a blend of pride and affection With the reunion drawing to a close and the path forward set you all prepare to leave. Gandalf’s return has not only brought back a beloved mentor and friend but has reignited the flame of hope within your heart. Together you feel ready to face the challenges that await knowing that the bonds of friendship and duty will guide you through the darkest of times.

As you traverse the expansive lands towards Rohan the camaraderie within the group deepens, each member adjusting to the rhythms of travel and the complexities of intertwined destinies. Amidst these dynamics your relationship with Legolas finds new ground. The elven prince, always serene and composed, begins to show a more attentive and tender side in his interactions with you. His glances linger longer and his conversations, once filled with tales of ancient elven lore, now often drift towards thoughts and dreams of the future, your future.

It’s during one of the long nights while camped under the vast, starlit sky near the borders of Fangorn Forest, that Gimli noticed the growing tension between you and Legolas. He decided to give you both some space. With a knowing wink and a gruff voice Gimli volunteers for the first watch, his tone unusually gentle. "I reckon the night is best shared with stars and heartfelt words, not an old dwarf's snoring."

Grateful, you share a smile with Legolas as Gimli settles a little distance away, his back to you, affording you a semblance of privacy. Legolas turns to you with his blue eyes reflecting the starlight, and for a moment he simply looks at you as if contemplating a thought long held in silence. "I have seen many wonders in my long life," he starts, his voice soft and mesmerizing under the night sky. "But none compared to the courage and kindness I've seen in you. In these trying times you have become a light guiding me."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you feel a warmth spread through you. "And you, Legolas, have been my solace. In you I find peace amidst turmoil. A joy that even the darkest shadows cannot diminish." He smiles. His gaze intensifying with affection and something more, something unspoken yet palpable between you. Then, in a move that surprises you both for its boldness and its intimacy, Legolas shifts closer and gently pulls you into his side. It's a daring gesture for an elf, particularly one as reserved as Legolas. But it feels right as if many paths had converged to bring this moment into being.

The warmth of his body against yours, the protective embrace of his arm—these are things you never expected to find so far from home. "It seems we have found comfort in one another's presence," he says softly. "Would that we might find a way to keep this light alive… no matter what lies ahead?"

"I would like that very much," you whisper as you leaned into the strength of his embrace.

The two of you sit under the blanket of night talking softly of dreams for a peaceful future and the immediate plans for the days to come. The reality of the quest remains but for now, under the stars, you both allow yourselves the luxury of imagining a life beyond the war. Both of you bound by a newfound affection that promises to grow with each passing day.

At Helm's Deep the air is thick with the tension of impending battle. The great fortress, built into the deep folds of the mountain, stands as the last bastion of hope against the relentless march of Saruman's forces. As the sky darkens and the torches flicker against the night you stand on the ramparts beside Legolas watching the sea of enemies gathering in the distance.

Legolas turns to you, his expression clouded with concern. “You should not be here,” he says softly. His voice barely above the howl of the wind. “This battle... it is not like the ones before. I fear—”

“I know,” you interrupt, understanding his fear but meeting his gaze with a resolve that mirrors the steel of the swords of your comrades below. “I know what this battle could mean for all of us. But I must stand with you, with all of you. There is no other place for me now, Legolas.”

Seeing the determination in your eyes, Legolas's expression softens and he pulls you gently against his side. It was a bold move for him, especially in such a public setting. “Then we will face it together,” he says squeezing your hand tightly as a silent promise passes between you.

The night deepens and the enemy’s drums beat a terrifying rhythm that seems to match the racing of your heart. Legolas pulls you closer. His eyes searching yours in the dim light. “No matter what happens tonight, know this,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the chaos swelling around you. “I love you. I have loved you amidst the shadows of our journey, and I will love you beyond the reaches of time.”

Your breath catches at his words. The simplicity and depth of his confession anchoring you amidst your fears. “And I love you,” you repl. Your voice strong even though you felt so weak. “Whatever may come, whatever we face… we face it together.”

As the battle commences the air fills with the clash of steel and the cries of warriors. You fight back-to-back, Legolas’s arrows finding their marks with deadly precision while you fend off attackers with sword and spell.

Gimli joins two of you, his axe a blur as he protects your flank. “Ha! I’d like to see them try to break this line!” he bellows. His voice a rumble of thunder over the din of battle.

The hours stretch. Each moment a lifetime but you fight with a clarity borne of love and the will to protect not just middle earth but the futures you hope to share. Legolas’s presence is a constant reassurance. His quick glances amidst the fray a reminder of everything worth fighting for.

As dawn breaks the tide of battle shifts. With Gandalf’s timely arrival and the charge of the Rohirrim, a new hope is rekindled. The enemy falters and breaks. Exhausted but alive, you, Legolas, and Gimli regroup, your bodies weary but spirits lifted by the victory, however costly it may have been.

Standing amidst the ruins of the battle you all share a look of relief and unspoken understanding. The war is far from over, but the strength of your bonds, the depth of your love, and the courage of your friends give you the fortitude to press on, to fight another day. With Legolas watch the sunrise, the light washing over Helm’s Deep painting the world in hues of gold and red. A daily rebirth, a reminder that after darkness there always comes a new dawn.

After the long shadow of war finally lifts with the destruction of the One Ring the world begins to breathe again. Minas Tirith stands gleaming under the bright sun, its banners waving in a joyous breeze. The streets are filled with music and laughter as people from all corners of middle earth gather to celebrate the victory. The air is sweet with the scent of blossoming flowers brought forth by a spring that signifies not just the changing of seasons but the dawn of a new era.

You, Legolas, and Gimli stand on a balcony overlooking the jubilant city with a cup of fine wine in hand. The Fellowship has been honored by kings and lords, sung by minstrels, and cheered by crowds. But in this moment, the three of you share a quiet moment that speaks of deeper bonds forged in the fires of your shared trials.

Legolas looks out over the city, his eyes reflecting the green of the fields below. “The world is changed,” he says thoughtfully. “I feel it in the earth, I smell it in the air. The darkness that once threatened to swallow us whole is now but a shadow of the past.”

Gimli nods. His eyes twinkling under his bushy brows. “Aye, and it’s time for more pleasant journeys,” he chuckles. “I promised you both a tour of the Glittering Caves, did I not? And I intend to keep that promise. You’ll find no finer sight beneath the mountains, mark my words!”

“And I,” Legolas adds turning to you with a gentle smile, “would have you both come to Mirkwood. The forests have suffered in the darkness. But they recover, much like us. There are places of such beauty and tranquility that they deserve to be witnessed with friends.”

You sip your wine, letting the rich flavors linger on your tongue as you consider the future. “And what of you?” Gimli asks, looking at you with an expectant raise of his eyebrow.

“I think,” you say slowly, smiling at the possibilities that stretch before you, “that I would like to see more of this world that we have fought so hard to save. From the forests of Mirkwood to the caves of the mountains and perhaps even beyond. There’s so much to explore, so much to learn.”

“And so much to rebuild,” Legolas adds. “Wherever we go we carry with us the legacy of those who fought beside us. Those who fell, and those who lived to see this day. Gandalf’s wisdom, Aragorn’s courage, and even Frodo’s quiet determination—they remain with us, guiding us forward.”

Gimli raises his cup, and you and Legolas do the same. “To the future,” Gimli declares heartily.

“To peace,” Legolas adds, his voice warm.

“To friendship,” you conclude. The three of you clink your cups together, the sound crisp and clear.

As the celebration continues below you lean against the stone railing admiring the city sprawling at your feet. Around you the laughter and music rise to the starlit sky, and you feel a profound sense of contentment. The road ahead is uncharted, but you face it not as a lone wanderer but as part of a fellowship that has endured the darkest of times to see the brightest of days.

With Legolas and Gimli by your side you know that whatever adventures lie ahead, they will be filled with joy, discovery, and the unbreakable bonds of friendship. This is not the end of your story but the beginning of a new chapter, one that you will write together.

As the celebrations in Minas Tirith begin to quiet down into a gentle hum of merriment and the evening deepens, Gimli, with a knowing grin and a subtle nod towards Legolas excuses himself to “inspect the integrity of the ale supply,” leaving you two alone on the quieter side of the terrace that overlooks the city’s sprawling, illuminated gardens.

Legolas watches Gimli depart and then turns to you with a serene expression. His eyes reflecting the myriad lights of the city. He reaches into the folds of his tunic and pulls out a small, exquisitely carved wooden box. “I have something for you,” he says. His voice low and filled with a tender emotion that sends a thrill through your heart.

You watch, curious and expectant, as he opens the box to reveal a pendant. It’s a delicate piece, shaped like a leaf but crafted with such intricacy that each vein in the leaf is visible. It shimmered with a light that seems to emanate from within the silver itself.

“This is a leaf from the Mallorn trees of Lothlórien,” Legolas explains as he carefully lifts the pendant from the box. “Galadriel herself gave this to me before we departed and though I cherish it... I believe it was always meant for you.”

He steps closer. His presence so familiar and yet so heart-stirringly profound at this intimate moment. “In the elven tradition,” he continues, his eyes locked onto yours, “to give such a gift is to choose a companion. To offer a token of one’s heart and soul. I give this to you not out of obligation but from a free and willing heart. I choose you and it’s you I wish to be with through all the ages of this world.”

He pauses while holding the pendant up between you. His eyes searching yours for an answer, a confirmation of your feelings. You nod gently, overwhelmed by the emotion in his gaze and the significance of his gift.

Legolas smiles, a soft, joyous curve of his lips, and delicately clasps the pendant around your neck. His fingers brush lightly against your skin as he secures the clasp sending shivers down your spine. The metal feels warm as if charged with his affection and presence.

“I cannot promise that the road ahead will be free from hardship,” Legolas says softly while drawing you close so that your foreheads touch lightly, “but I can promise that you will never walk it alone. Where you go I will follow. And where I go I hope you will be by my side.”

“Legolas,” you whisper. Your voice thick with emotion. “There is no one else I would rather have by my side. No one else I would want to share my path with. I choose you, too, today, and always.”

Without hesitation Legolas leans in to capture your lips in a kiss. It’s gentle at first. A tender meeting that speaks of mutual respect and deep affection. But as you respond the kiss deepens, becoming a profound expression of your shared love and commitment.

The world around you—the city of Minas Tirith, the sounds of celebration—fades into a blissful quiet. In this moment wrapped in Legolas’s embrace, you realize that while the war might have brought you together it is love that will lead you into your future. Beneath the stars and above the glowing city you share a promise of a thousand sunrises to come. Each one a new day to explore and cherish the world together.

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