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chestharrington · 5 months

Text

Fixation

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: SMUT (fingering, handjob, p in v). Dubious Consent (coercion, power imbalance, failure to pull out), unhealthy/probably illegal power imbalance, stripper!reader, gator is an asshole (like extremely), degradation, misogyny, sexual assault (by a non major character), brief violence, kind of stockholm syndrome if you think about it, unhappy ending

Summary: Gator Tillman’s fixation of the week just so happens to be you, for better or worse.

A/N: If you know me personally please do not read this thank u <3

The foggy clouds of your breath were painted pink by the glow of the neon sign— The Venus Lounge— with a cute little clamshell opening and closing and everything.

You had a velour sweatsuit pulled over the skimpy costume you’d wear for your next dance, hot pink and bedazzled across the ass. It was trendy maybe fifteen years prior, so it cost just about nothing when you bought it at a bin sale.

Sweet, strawberry-scented vapor poured from your lips as you exhaled. You hated this stupid thing— you’d rather smoke a cigarette like a goddamn adult. But the owner insisted, “You ladies gotta stay smelling nice and sweet and respectable for our clientele.” Which was fucking stupid considering they came in smelling like sweat and mud and body odor.

From the alley, you could get a sneak peek of whoever was coming your way for the night— the big spenders, the handsy ones, the cheap ones… and Gator Tillman’s stupid entourage, who you avoided like the plague.

You made the mistake of getting cozy with him. Once. A few well-paid lap dances, then a private dance in one of the dimly lit back rooms. He’d been handsy, and you relished in it, in him. A handsome, powerful guy who looked at you like you were the hottest woman he’d ever seen. You sucked him off in the private room and he gave you a hundred to shut the fuck up about it. Like you were some sort of whore.

Gator. What a stupid fucking name. His dad was a grade-A cocksucker, so it made sense that he’d name his son something so goddamn stupid. The other girls were scared of Roy, with good reason. Their boyfriend get too rough? He’d brush it off— no domestic abuse charges on his watch. The man is the master of the house, and the woman is his property. One girl swore he came onto her, and she got a broken arm when she brushed him off. A lot of people thought that stepping to the Tillman’s meant winding up dead.

Fuck that.

You hadn’t wanted to wind up in this town anyway. You were married, once upon a time. You had the tattoo of his name on your hipbone, a shitty rental house in West Texas, and a wedding band he bought from a pawn shop. He found a job up north, and you followed like an obedient puppy.

It wasn’t your fault he’d racked up gambling debts— that he owed the wrong people money he didn’t have. And it wasn’t your fault that he was fucking a waitress at the local diner— thin, blonde, perky. The divorce was settled quickly— but you were left penniless, in bumfuck North Dakota, in Tillman territory.

Well, it was a good thing you still had your looks.

You saw the police cruiser pull into the lot, heard the slam of the car door and the mindless chatter between the valiant boys in blue. Those assholes did about as much for the city as a tick does for a dog. Your phone buzzed against your hip, warning you that your break was up. You took one more puff from your vape and slipped back in the door to the dressing room.

You warned everyone that Gator and his boys were out there as you slipped out of your jogging suit and adjusted your dancewear beneath— a baby blue bikini set that you’d bedazzled by hand. You slipped a sheer skirt overtop and surveyed yourself in the mirror. There was still a flush on your cheeks from being out in the cold, but it would be fine.

You slipped out onto the floor, passing by crowded tables. It was busy, even for a Saturday, which meant more money to take home. A hand grabbed your ass and squeezed it in a meaty paw. It was some drunk old guy who probably couldn’t even get it up anymore but had maintained his pervy inclinations. You bit your cheek to keep from saying anything and kept making your rounds.

“You want a dance?” You’d ask the safe guys— the ones who looked nervous to be there, whose eyes kept flitting around like they’d get caught any moment. Their button-ups were ironed, their slacks pressed. Usually, they had a nice fountain pen in their pocket. Clerks, CPAs, any of those nerdy desk jobs.

Most of the time they declined, too nervous to go that far, but occasionally you’d get a yes, do a bit of grinding, and walk away with a nice tip.

You’d done a few lap dances by the time you passed by Gator and his crew. Your money was tucked into the band at your hip, concealing your ex-husband’s name.

He called you like a dog– whistling low. You froze, and turned to face him, all smug and pleased with himself.

“You need somethin’, Deputy?” You asked, jaw clenched, raising a brow. “Because if you do, you can ask like a gentleman. I’m a lady, not a dog.”

He laughed, glancing back at his pack of asshole cops to make sure they saw the next part. “Really? ‘Cause it seems to me you’re actin’ like a bitch.” They all laughed, because of course they did. They thought he was so, so clever. Before you could respond, he held up a fifty-dollar bill between two fingers. “C’mere, girl. I want a dance.”

Your eyes flicked between him and the fifty between his fingers. You were broke, but was it worth it? He saw your hesitation and his smug grin grew. “Aw, you need it that bad, huh?” He patted his thigh twice. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Anyone in their right mind would’ve said no, and walked away with their dignity intact, but he was right— you needed it bad.

So you approached and tried to pluck the money from his hand, but he pulled it away, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Nuh-uh, Sweetheart. Gotta earn it first.”

You huffed in disbelief, taking a step back. But meeting his gaze told you how serious he was. You swallowed your pride and straddled his lap, grinding to the beat.

It felt degrading, dancing on him while his friends all leered. Your tits pressed against Gator’s shirt, his hands firm on your hips, even though he knew he wasn’t allowed to touch. If you called him out on it, he’d probably just say it was nothing he hadn’t done before.

It could’ve been one song, or maybe more. Probably more. When he finally removed his hands, he nodded for you to get off. You swallowed uncomfortably and took a few awkward steps back.

“The money,” you said weakly.

His face scrunched slightly, like he was considering it. “Eh… I don’t think you earned it, Sweetheart. I mean, I’m not even hard.”

He got a real kick out of that, and out of the kicked puppy look in your eyes. You swallowed it down like a bitter pill and met his gaze. “It’s not my fault that all the blow you do is killing your dick. Keep your fuckin’ money, Gator. I don’t want it.”

Which was a lie. You wanted it more than anything… but you knew you’d pissed him off. You could see the vein popping at his temple, the way his hand clenched around his beer bottle. Better to pretend you were better off without it and walk off with some dignity left.

It took about three steps to realize that there was a little less pressure on your hip than there used to be. Your hand felt along the band of the bikini and came up blank. He’d taken your fucking money.

You heard him giggling behind you once he knew you realized, but what was the point? Who would you call to get it back? The police?

By the end of the night, you counted your meager earnings and tucked it away in your bag. Without your dancewear and the makeup and the heels, you could pass for the average citizen of Stark County.

You bundled up in a parka before you walked to your car, a shitty, beat-up car nearly older than you were. One of the side mirrors was ripped off, and the bumper was caved in, but she ran.

Tucked into the windshield was a tiny note, in a messy, nearly illegible scrawl— Impress me next time. You crumpled it and tossed it onto the asphalt.

You saw him again on Monday. The club was closed on Sunday, due to an ordinance that Roy Tillman had put in place about businesses of ill repute operating on the holy day. You wondered what he thought about his son bankrolling the lives of half of the strippers who worked at the club.

He was alone, though, which scared and comforted you in equal measure. You watched him from afar, sitting at the bar, drinking a White Claw and puffing on that stupid fucking vape.

There was a girl in his lap, one of the newer dancers who didn’t know better. Whatever. She’d figure him out soon enough.

Mondays were slow. You did a few dances onstage, made the rounds, flirted with some of the regulars. Gator was blissfully elsewhere, which you loved.

The night had been pretty tame until just before last call, when an overserved realtor got loud and handsy.

“C’mon, why don't you take me back to one of those rooms without the cameras?” One asked as you gave him a half-hearted lap dance. His breath was like a punch bowl at a senior prom, and his fingers dug into the plush of your ass.

You winced as he pulled you harder against him, and you felt the uncomfortable prod of his dick against you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He was grinding up against you, sweaty at his temples and forehead. He was deceptively strong, holding you down against him so he could rut against you and get off. “Ya know, the private rooms for the big tippers. Better than all this over the clothes stuff.”

“You need to stop,” you said, as firmly as you could, shoving at his chest to really get your point across. He didn’t let up, and gave you a smarmy grin as he began roughly moving your hips of his own accord. “Hey, stop it, asshole.”

“Hey, you’re the one offerin’ me a dance,” he said. “I sold a nice big house today, got a real good commission. I could tip ya real good if you’re nice.”

“Let me go!” You shoved at his chest, slapping at him, but he just grinned. You were just wondering if biting his ear off would do the trick when you felt yourself pulled off him and tossed aside on the floor like a rag doll.

Then there was the soft sound of blows landing against a stomach. Then the crunch of a broken nose. The wheezy rattle of the realtor’s breath once he started spitting up blood and teeth. Each punch made you flinch until finally, it relented.

“Should’ve let her go, asshole.” Gator’s knuckles were bloodied, and you realized he was holding out a hand to help you up. You took it, nervously, and readjusted your costume where the realtor had tugged at them. “You hurt?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine but is— I mean, is he gonna be okay?”

Gator’s brows furrowed as he spared a glance toward the bloodied pile of meat on the floor. He spat in his direction and shrugged. “Who fuckin’ cares? Goddamn lowlife.”

You wondered if he could sense the irony. His face lit up in recognition, then he knelt beside the realtor, patting him down, searching for something. He stood and held up a fancy, monogrammed leather wallet.

He sifted through, retrieving bill after bill. “Here. Y’earned it.” It was more cash than you brought home in a week. More cash than anyone should carry on themselves at once.

“I’m not taking that,” you said weakly. “I can’t.”

He rolled his eyes, tucking the money in your bra. “Such a fuckin’ bitch, you know that? Can’t even say thank you or nothin’.”

He left you standing there over the broken body of the asshole realtor, who may or may not have been dying. Either way, you figured the Tillman’s would handle it. For better or worse.

“I didn’t fuckin’ do anything,” you argued, which was a lie. And it’s not like anyone would listen even if it wasn’t. Police are on their way, they said. They’ll deal with thieving filth like you.

Well… they didn’t have to get quite so personal. You sat outside the Manager’s office at the stupid fucking sex shop, picking at your cuticles until you heard the police cruiser roll up outside. You heard the door slam, and muffled chatter until you saw him walk in.

“Well… look who got herself into some trouble. And here of all places too.”

Fuck. Gator Fucking Tillman.

You glanced up at him for a moment before returning to your nails. The shop owner was talking the deputy’s fucking ear off until you heard the question you dreaded.

“What is it she was tryin’ to steal? I mean… there’s a lot to choose from, I’ll tell ya that.”

You watched with a thin sense of dread as the shop owner laid out your would-be haul of lingerie that had been stuffed into your purse. Gator grinned as he glanced over at you, then back at the lingerie.

“Can I have the office? I need some privacy to interrogate the perp.” The manager complied, bending to the will of the law or whatever. Gator grabbed you by the arm and tugged you inside, closing the door firmly behind him.

You watched as he strode towards the nice armchair behind the desk, then sat down, legs spread wide. He unzipped the stupid police vest and shrugged it off, so it landed in a pile on the floor. For a moment, it was quiet as you stared at him dumbly, then he snapped his fingers.

“What? You want me to tell you why did it? Three fucking guesses.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “No, I want you to try it on.”

You swallowed, and when you spoke your tongue felt dumb and heavy. “What?”

“You heard me. Try it all on, and tell me if it was worth the trouble.” He looked at you expectantly, and when you didn’t move, he sighed. “It’s this, or I take you to the station, get you booked, and all that. I doubt anyone’s gonna pay your bail, so that’s a few days before arraignment. Then it’s a court case for larceny, and let’s be honest, you’re guilty.”

You stared at him, speechless. He stood up suddenly, grabbing his things before you interrupted— “Wait! Wait. Just… sit back down.”

He grinned. “There’s a good girl. Make it good for me, yeah? You know how.”

You huffed, heart pounding as you grabbed the first set and turned around to change. You had just pulled off your shirt when he cleared his throat behind you. Your hands shook as you turned around, barely covering your tits.

“C’mon, I said to make it good, Sweetheart,” he said with a thinly veiled sense of amusement. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

The fucking asshole. But you took a breath and steadied yourself. “Okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything.

His gaze was intense, tracing each curve and dip of your body as you moved. You slipped the bra on, clipping it shut with shaking hands.

“Alright, now you can turn around,” he said, nodding towards the panties in your hand. “And do it nice and slow for me.”

Your face burned with embarrassment as you turned around, working the buttons of your skirt so you could slip it down your legs. It fell into a pile around your ankles and fanned out like a flower. You hooked your thumbs into the panties you were wearing, pink with little flowers spotting the fabric. As slowly as you could manage while terrified and pissed, you slipped them down your legs.

When you spared a glance at Gator, he was smirking right back at you. “Give those here,” he said, holding his hand out expectantly.

“What?”

“Geez, you’re fuckin’ dumb. Lemme see ‘em.” He more or less snatched the panties from your grip, smiling like the cat who got the cream as he held them up. “Might have to keep ‘em. Evidence.”

You swallowed down your annoyance and pulled the lacy panties up your legs. When you were finished, you turned, arms crossed over your chest protectively. Shockingly, he was quiet as he looked at you, eyes raking over your tits, and every bare piece of skin he could see. It felt like you stood there under his gaze for hours before he finally spoke up.

“It’s not doin’ much for ya, sweetheart. I mean, you don’t look very fuckable.”

It landed like a blow to your gut. He was an asshole, so it should’ve meant nothing… but he knew exactly where your soft spots were, and just how hard to dig his fingers in. “Fuck you, Gator.”

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he cooed, patronizing and smug. “So fuckin’ sensitive, huh? Can’t take a joke. C’mere, lemme see you.” He grabbed your wrist in the tightly packed office and tugged you forward, so you practically stumbled on top of him.

You flinched as his hand moved up the back of your thigh, warm and calloused. When he gave your ass a rough squeeze, you closed your eyes and shivered.

“Ya know, I saw your husband the other day.” His finger traced along the name on your hip— Jack. Every loop and whorl of the cursive claimed by his touch. “Looked real happy with that girl of his. Sarah, right? The waitress he was fuckin’ behind your back?”

You swallowed hard and said nothing, but he was more than happy to keep running his mouth. “Well, she’s not special. I’ve fucked Sarah too, and she just laid there like a dead fish the whole time.”

“Maybe you just weren’t that good.” You smirked as you replied, unable to resist being a bit of an asshole right back.

“You gettin’ smart right now?” He gave your ass a quick slap, making you squeak. “I was trying to give you a compliment, but you don’t fuckin’ deserve it. You’re so fuckin’ used up that you don’t even know what good is.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure you think that. It’s easy to blame it on the girl when you can’t make ‘em cum, right?”

His jaw clenched, anger painting his features. “Wouldn’t you fuckin’ like to know, huh?” He caught sight of the smirk on your face and shoved you back. “Put on the next one.”

Fucking dickhead. You rolled your eyes and quickly stripped off the lingerie, throwing it in his general direction once it was off. You weren’t as graceful in dressing in the next set. Why give him a show and let him win? Once it was on, you crossed your arms and looked at him expectantly.

“Well?”

He cocked his head to the side, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, I like it better than the first, but I don’t think your heart’s quite in it. Gimme a twirl.”

You gave a slow turn, then met his gaze again, raising a brow. He ran a hand over his mouth, looking you up and down. You caught the slightest movement as he spread his legs a little wider. It only served to highlight the bulge in the front of his stupid fucking cargos.

“You’re really enjoyin’ yourself, huh?” You snapped, eyes narrowed. He laughed, following your gaze to his lap.

“Well,” he began, lazily moving a hand to cup his growing hard-on. “I could always find a way to enjoy myself more. Bet you’d like that, huh?”

You ignored him and began trying on the last set you’d attempted to steal. A bright red set, skimpier than the others, which you were sure he fucking loved. Before he could ask, you gave a slow twirl.

“Atta girl,” he cooed. He was blatantly stroking himself over the fabric, eyes half-lidded. You swallowed hard, watching the sight before you. It was like something out of a bad porno. Or a really good one. Jury was out. He patted his thigh, nodding you over. “C’mere, I won’t bite.”

A moment of hesitation passed through you, wondering if this was really what you wanted. It was like you could hear his voice in your head, asking if you could do any better. You sighed and slowly settled onto his lap. He looked at you with a funny sort of expression— not so much that he was smug, just… a bit pleased.

“You gonna give me a dance?” His hand rested on your thigh, fingers tapping erratically. You shook your head and he rolled his eyes. “Is this ‘cause I didn’t pay the other night?” You scowled. “I mean, I think you owe me now. I paid ya back a hundred times over thanks to Mr. Realtor from the other day.”

You stayed silent and still, looking anywhere but his face. He took your chin between his fingers and turned you to face him, so close you could taste the fruit flavor from that goddamn vape on his breath.

“Remember how turned on you got just from havin’ my cock in that pretty mouth of yours?” He said, voice barely above a whisper. He ran a thumb along your bottom lip, tugging at it slightly. “I still remember the way you had to slip a hand between your legs to play with yourself.”

You made a weak sound in the back of your throat as you remembered it— that desperate, all-consuming need. Maybe it’s because he was an asshole, or maybe it was all of the authority. Maybe that’s why you shoplifted anyway. Because you knew he’d be the one to show up.

“You ever been with someone as big as me before?”

You shivered. “No.”

A wide smile spread across his lips. “Since?” You just shook your head. “Betcha been dreamin’ about it too. Stuffin’ that greedy little pussy full of your fingers whenever you think about me.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t quite deny it. It wasn’t a frequent fantasy, but it was there. “You’re a real narcissist. You know that?”

He grinned. “That’s not a no, is it?” He leaned in closer, nuzzling against your throat, his breath hot. “Bet if I slipped my hand inside those panties, they’d be fuckin’ soaked.”

And despite your better judgment, you fucking whimpered. All but confirming it.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he cooed. His hand found purchase on the small of your back, and when he applied the smallest bit of pressure, you found yourself giving in. Slowly, your hips ground against his, making a soft sigh escape your lips each time your cunt met his clothed dick.

“Want me to find some music?” He asked with a boyish grin. “I bet I have Pony somewhere on my phone.”

You shook your head before he could even try to grab it. “I’ll kill you if you even try.” He laughed, just a bit. It was rare to hear him laugh and have it not be at your, or anyone else’s expense.

You grabbed his hands, moving them to your waist, just at your ribcage. The tips of his fingers brushed against your tits, and he smiled.

“Takin’ charge now, are ya? You could’ve just put ‘em right here.” He moved his hands up, cupping your breasts in his large hands. You moaned softly as he gave a slight squeeze, arching into his touch. “ See? That’s much better, huh? Just take what you need, baby. I’ll give it right to ya.”

Take what you need? You could do that. You moved your hands along his chest, fighting the urge to just tear off his shirt and reveal the white tank top you knew he always wore beneath. Instead, you slipped your hands to his goddamn cargos and made quick work of the button and zipper.

He sat back and watched as you spit into your palm, his eyes hazy with arousal. You slipped your hand inside his pants and slipped beneath the band of his plaid boxers. A low groan escaped his lips when you wrapped your hand around him and squeezed.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Just like that.” His head fell back, leaving the plane of his neck for the taking. Your lips pressed against the skin there, leaving a mixture of soft kisses and bites as you worked him in your hand.

Gator’s stamina was absolute dogshit. You could tell when he was close from the way he’d pulse in your hand and whimper like a fuckin’ girl. You’d just have to squeeze him at his base to stave it off, give him a few seconds to cool off before you kept going.

“You want me?” You asked, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

“So fuckin’ bad.” He was bucking up into your fist, chasing the sweet pleasure of your soft hand around him.

A smile spread across your lips. “Then earn it.” You pulled back, meeting his gaze as you removed your hand from him.

He sat there, panting and staring dumbly as you sat atop the desk and spread your legs invitingly. “C’mon, Gator. You’re a smart boy, you’ll figure it out.”

He huffed with annoyance as he stood, towering over you as he pulled off his shirt to reveal that fucking tank top. He leaned down just slightly, so his arms were caging you in. “I’ll fuckin’ earn it, alright. I’m gonna own this pussy by the time I’m through.”

He knelt between your legs, kissing his way up your thighs. You cried out as his teeth dug into the plush skin, leaving an indentation that would probably turn purple the next day.

“You’re such a fuckin’ asshole.” He just grinned, clearly pleased with himself. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your panties and tugged them down.

He was quick to drag his fingers through your slit, coating them in your arousal. The wet sounds of him playing with you, spreading you open for him, made your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“I’m an asshole, but you clearly fuckin’ like it, huh?” He said, holding up his fingers, glistening with your juices, as proof. His smirk made annoyance and arousal bubble up within you, tangling in an utterly infuriating way. “Relax for me, yeah? Gonna stretch you out, make you feel real good.”

You moaned softly as his fingers pressed against your entrance, teasing you with the idea of being full. A gentleman would start off slow, work you up to two fingers gradually. Gator Tillman wasn’t a fucking gentleman, but you didn’t care.

“Shhh… open up for me,” He said, speaking not to you, but to your cunt. “That’s it, atta girl.” A low whimper escaped you as his fingers pressed inside, thick and stretching you just right. Your walls fluttered around the intrusion, needing him deeper, more, more.

“Jesus Christ, Gator,” His fingers flexed at just the right spot, making you cry out desperately. He grinned, then pressed a kiss to your thigh as he began fucking you with his fingers, acutely aware that the slightest twitch of his fingers could make you fucking sing for him.

It’s a funny thing he does with his fingers— not quite jackhammering them in and out like most of the other guys you’d been with but not exactly too far away. And you were fucking whining for it, your hips canting against his fingers until he finally had to throw his arm across your pelvis to just, in his words, keep you fuckin’ still.

It felt good, but you were also very aware that he was purposefully, or, worse, unknowingly avoiding your clit. The more you considered it, the more convinced you were that it was the latter. He was homeschooled, apparently, by his religious nut father, which meant his sex ed was probably just porn, and not even the decent kind.

You squirmed slightly. “Gator—”

“’M busy.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed. I mean, sure, he was good with his hands, but you would also appreciate that skill applied elsewhere. Whatever, you weren’t helpless.

His eyes narrowed as you moved a hand between your legs, circling your clit in time with his fingers. Your head fell back as a string of moans escaped your lips. That’s what you needed.

“God, you’re desperate,” he muttered, but he didn’t bother to redirect your hands. “I coulda done that.”

You would’ve laughed if you weren’t already so close, the pressure and attention to your clit exactly what you needed to fall over the edge.

“I feel you squeezin’ my fingers,” he said, voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “Wanna cum that bad, huh? Can’t even take what I give ya? Are you that fuckin’ needy?” When you didn’t think to answer, he leaned over and bit your thigh again. Harder.

“Fuck!” You shouted, annoyed that you’d have a second set of bruises to cover. But your annoyance melted right back into the siren call of pleasure.

Moans tumbled from your lips before you could bring yourself to answer. “Yes, I’m that needy,” You gasped as his fingers moved deeper, harder with every thrust in. Your fingers moved faster on your clit, making your legs twitch on either side of Gator’s shoulders.

He let you teeter there on the precipice for a little longer, until you were sure you were going to tumble straight into sweet ecstasy. So close you could taste it, sweet and heady on the back of your tongue.

And like that, Gator pulled away, slipping his fingers from your cunt and leaving you wanting. You sat there, panting and frustrated as he wiped his fingers off on your thigh. “Too fuckin’ bad. Bend over.”

He slapped the side of your thigh as he stood and looked down at you expectantly. Your legs wobbled as you stood in what little room he provided you, tits brushing against his chest for just a moment as you turned and bent over the desk.

“Isn’t this a pretty sight?” He grabbed your ass, kneading the plush skin roughly before landing a rough smack. You winced at the sting as you spared a glance over your shoulder. He landed another slap on the opposite cheek, then spread you apart with his thumbs. “You’re fuckin’ killin’ me, you know that?”

He was quick to free his cock from the confines of his cargos and boxers. Over your shoulder, you could see the heap of clothes he’d made on the floor. In the back of your mind, you noted the very careless way he treated the gun in his thigh holster, but said nothing. It was hard to focus on improper gun handling when he had his length in his hand, stroking it slowly as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re gonna pull out, right?” You asked, chewing your lip as you looked at him.

He rolled his eyes, the tip of his cock notched right at your entrance, making you arch against him. “You’re such a fuckin’ bitch. I’m not stupid, I’ll pull out.”

The prettiest groan escaped him as he rocked against your cunt, coating himself in your dripping arousal before the head of his cock nudged at your entrance.

“You want me?” He asked, his breath coming in pants. Your body felt like a fucking live wire, hyperaware of the feeling of him, just barely outside of where you craved him.

You nodded. “Uh-huh. I want you. So bad, Gator.”

He sank into you, nice and slow, so he could relish in the warm, soft feeling of your walls around him. A sappier man would’ve said it felt like heaven. Gator wasn’t sappy.

“Goddamn, you’ve got the tightest fuckin’ pussy,” He managed once he’d bottomed out, every inch of him fully sheathed inside. “Forget what I said about you bein’ used up.”

What a gentleman. You whined softly, pushing back against him to silently beg for more. He put a hand on the small of your back and pushed down so your back arched even more. Then he fucked you in earnest.

The noises you made should’ve been illegal— some form of indecency or something. Loud and whiny, desperate for more. Your nails scratched at the laminate of the desk, seeking something, anything to hold onto for purchase as he fucked you within an inch of your life.

He was so big you could’ve sworn you felt him deep in your stomach, even though you knew physically that was impossible. Each thrust punched out a keening moan from your lips, a swear, a breathy whine, or just his stupid fucking name over and over again.

He reached a hand beneath you, so his rough fingers could play with your clit. “This is what you wanted so bad, yeah?” He asked, voice breathy as he quickly rubbed your clit. “Say thank you.”

“Thank you, Gator.” You were practically babbling. Thank you thank you thank you.

Over your shoulder, you watched him using your body, chasing his high. Every slap of your ass was for his own gratification, just to see it jiggle. He was only rubbing your clit so he could feel you squeeze him even tighter.

You didn’t care. You fucking loved it. Even as he manhandled you, lifting your thigh and placing it on the desk so he could fuck you deeper, you just laid there and took it like a fucking champ.

“Woulda fucked you sooner if I knew it’d be this good.” His voice wavered slightly with the effort it took to maintain the relentless pace he had set. He slapped your ass hard, making you yelp and clench around him.

What you’d said earlier was right— you were needy. You rocked back against him, meeting him with each thrust. The sounds of his hips hitting your ass with each thrust were nearly as pornographic as both of your moans.

Gator didn’t shut up most of the time, but when he was buried inside of you he could mostly only manage pretty moans.

“F-fuck, sweetheart. You’re… you’re really workin’ for it, huh?” His words were interrupted by low moans and grunts. “C’mon. Give it to me.”

He let you do most of the work, rocking back against him, making you fuck yourself on his cock. And he looked fucking smug about it too.

The switch snapped suddenly when he grabbed your hips and fucked you without abandon, skin slapping against skin as he roughly bullied himself inside of you again and again.

“That’s it. Just lay there and take it, sweetheart.” His voice was breathy and strained. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “Fuck! That’s it. Just like that.”

He came suddenly, thrusting deep and hard as he spilled within you. It annoyed you that he looked pretty when he came— his mouth ajar, eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling just slightly.

And then you were annoyed because he fucking lied. He pulled out after he had ridden the aftershocks with a few shallow thrusts and quickly redressed.

“You didn’t pull out,” you said, your voice was strained with annoyance and anger as you looked back at him. He was getting dressed, making sure he looked alright. He didn’t even care to get you off. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shrugged, trying to appear unbothered by it all. But you saw the annoyed tick in his jaw, the anger beneath it. Like a rattlesnake all coiled up, ready to strike if you made the wrong move. You were never on equal terms. You were no better than prey. And you should have known better, right?

Annoying, hot tears welled on your lashline, and you prayed to any higher power that he wouldn’t notice as you wiped at your eyes. You stood, doing your best to redress in silence, doing your best to remain small. He slapped a fifty on the desk and you flinched. “Buy some Plan B if you’re that fuckin’ worried about it. Jesus Christ.” He paused as he reached the door. “I’ll tell the manager we got it all sorted out. Isn’t that good enough for ya?”

You stood there, unsatisfied and used, with his cum leaking out of you, and stayed silent. It wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t anything at all.

You walked out with fifty dollars, streaked mascara, three sets of lingerie you’d throw in the trash, and a newfound desire to get the fuck out of Stark County. And, maybe, some misplaced hope that next time might be different.

#it's here it's finally here #gator tillman #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman smut #anyways if you read this pls like and leave a comment idgaf if you reblog truly just wanna know if u enjoyed <3

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thewulf · 5 months

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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.

Taglist Sign Up: @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kenn-spencerswifey @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

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exhaslo · 6 months

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Corruption Ch12

(Villain!Miguel x F!Hero!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9, Ch10, Ch11

Warning: Minors DNI, mentions of sex, violence, blood, murder, twisted thoughts, experimentation, language, wannabe fluff, established friendship/relationship?

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One Months, Twenty-Four Days until D-Day

An ominous wind blew against the city of Nueva York. It was a forearming for change. A change that many might not agree too. A change that you were slowly submitting too.

You sat at the edge of the Chrysler Building, staring down at the city below. Lately, you felt like your life was in a spiral of ups and downs. You were englufed in your love life with Miguel, but at the cost of your super hero duties. The people of Nueva York had started to hate you.

To abandon you.

It hurt, since you started this hero buisness to want to help them...You just wanted to help. It wasn't your fault that they kept asking and needing saving. It was as Miguel said, they just wanted more. You didn't have to risk your life for every little inconvience. You were doing your best.

But it still wasn't enough.

Miguel still had not had sex with you yet. You were being such a good girl for him, but it still wasn't enough. You were at wits end. What did you need to do to earn more of Miguel's love? What were you willing to do for him?

"KYAAAAAA!"

Slowly snapping out of your dazed state, you focused on where the scream came from. Swinging down towards the city, you scanned the area for anyone in distress. Upon hearing another scream, you stopped on top of a building.

Below you was your Green Goblin causing havoc. His laughter echoing as he threw some bombs.

"As far as I know, the next holiday for fireworks is in a month!" You called out, webbing one of his bombs to his glidar.

"You!? Go away! No one asked for you to intervene!"

"I'm sure the average citizen will disagree!"

You swing towards Goblin, giving him a swift kick in the gut. Green Goblin cussed and threw more of his bombs towards the crowd. You gasped and webbed each bomb, tossing them towards the sky. As you were distracted, Goblin fired more bombs towards you.

"You should have stayed in hiding!"

--------

Miguel sat in his living room, reviewing his notes from your blood. Now that he had everything he needed, Miguel just needed to start his testing. Taking a sip of his whiskey, Miguel hummed to the taste as he reviewed your file.

"Hm, soon....Soon, we'll be able to create the perfect offspring, (Y/N)." Miguel chuckled lowly.

"Miguel, there seems to be an altercation in Little Italy with (Y/N) and the Green Goblin."

"Que?! (What?!) Is she okay?!" Miguel spat, slamming his glass down.

"(Y/N) has taken some damage, but Goblin keeps trying to shake her off in fear of you." Lyla explained.

"He will have more to fear once I become more powerful." Miguel hissed, grabbing his jacket. "Lyla, I want Goblin to go flying. There should be a supermarket near where they are. Blow it up."

"Yes, sir."

Miguel's glare was prominent as he made his way outside. Of course he had to watch you even on your days off. Miguel needed to keep you on a tighter lease. And you were doing such a good job as his little pet.

"You better not have a single scratch on you, (Y/N)."

-------

You groaned lowly as you forced yourself up from a pile of rubble. Goblin was trying to run away. He seemed more frighten by something else rather than you. Not that you should be scary to anyone, but it made you concerned.

"Shit," You groaned, wavering in place.

It had been a while since you got into a good fight. Your body was aching all over the place. What you would give to go home and lay down. Hearing cries for help, you groaned as you went to aid them. You had to ignore your pain and be a hero.

-------

Miguel was disgruntled as he spotted you in the distance. He had parked his car in the middle of the destroyed street and made his way towards you. Why couldn't you listen to him? Why did your good natured heart have to play the hero?

"I might have to chain her up at this rate," He muttered to himself.

Miguel was not amused as he watched you whimper and struggle to help able people out of the rubble. Hearing a soft cry from under him, Miguel slammed his foot on the rock, silencing the voice. This was beneath you. This was not worth your time.

"W...Wait...I'm c-coming," You stuttered, missing a step and falling on your knees.

"Spider-Woman." Miguel called out, his arms crossed, "It seems as if you had forgotten about what we spoke about."

"Miguel?" You muttered, wavering in place, "I didn't...Goblin-"

"Look at yourself," Miguel sighed as he bend down to your level, "You are hurt. Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"

"Four?"

Miguel sighed heavily, holding two fingers up. This was disappointing. Despite your advance genes, you were still too weak to fight on your own. You weren't a fighter. This was just a cute little hobby you wanted to pick up.

"I'm taking you home, (Y/N)."

"N....o....the people...I'm not-" You fumbled your words as Miguel caught you, "Mig...uel."

"Shh, behave."

Miguel huffed as he carried you in his arms, returning to his car. He ignored the cries for help. They could save themselves if they truly wished it. They did not need you. You had done enough for them already.

Placing you in his backseat, Miguel glanced at your pained expression. He was going to have to teach you again. Put you back in your place.

"Remember, (Y/N), you agreed to do whatever I say."

--------

Everything hurt. Everything felt fuzzy. Slowly coming back to your senses, you let out a low rumbling groan. Your body was crying out in pain as you tried to move even an inch. That fight sure did a number on you.

Recalling what happened before you blacked out, you sighed. This super hero life was hard. It was definitely not for someone who wasn't trained like you. Remembering Miguel, you opened your eyes slowly, hoping that he was just a figment of your imagination.

"Mhmm, Miguel?" You whispered, staring at the ceiling above you.

"I'm right here,"

Turning your head, you spotted Miguel sitting by his desk. He was working on his laptop while you laid down. You wanted to believe that everything was a dream, but then you wouldn't be hurting as much. So Miguel did come to your rescue...but that would mean-

"You...knew?"

"For a short while," Miguel hummed, scooting his chair towards you, "It wasn't hard to figure out."

"Sorry...for not...listening," You whimpered, tears threatening to spill.

Miguel knew your secret identity. He knew and didn't say anything nor did he experiment on you. This had to be a sign. He was changing for the better. Miguel cared about you enough to leave you be. He just wanted to protect you.

"Shh, don't cry." Miguel wiped your tears away, "You're still very injured from your last fight. I need you to conserve your energy."

"Mig-"

"What did I just say?"

"Mhm,"

You kept quiet, listening to Miguel's firm words. He meant well. Watching him return to his desk, you closed your eyes to get some more rest.

After sleeping for another few hours, you came too again. Your body still felt like a train wreck, but you could at least sit up. This time, you took a good look around where you were. To your surprise, you were not at your home, nor any of the Alchemax labs. Instead, this looked a lot like Miguel's place.

"Surprised?" Miguel questioned as he returned with a small meal, "I won't experiment on what's mine." He hummed, pecking your lips.

"Ah! Well...um, sorry." You muttered, trying to find an excuse. Miguel scoffed softly,

"Although, I should punish you for disobeying me, (Y/N). You were supposed to do as I say and not get hurt. Yet here we are."

"I couldn't leave those people to suffer, Miguel."

"Yet they left you too." He stated, feeding you, "They care not for you as you for them. Remember (Y/N), I'm the only one here for you."

"Mhm," You nodded, swallowing your food.

"I'm the only one who came to help you. You need to just rely on me and no one else."

"Yes, Miguel," You muttered.

"I won't punish you since you're already hurt. But, you will have to follow some new rules for me." Miguel demanded, giving you another spoonful, "First, you are to stay by my side at all times unless I say otherwise. Second, you are no longer allowed to enjoy this hobby of yours unless running by me first-"

"Mhmh!"

"Shhh," Miguel grabbed your cheeks, "Look at the state you're in. You really think you should be arguing? If you won't listen, I'll give you a reason to stay home."

Your eyes widen as your cheeks turned bright red. Miguel returned to feeding you as he gave a few more small rules. None of them were really any different than before, you just had to go through Miguel before doing anything.

Miguel was just looking out for you.

Miguel was just trying to protect you.

Everything Miguel was doing was for you.

It was romantic.

"Do you understand, (Y/N)?" Miguel asked, setting the empty plate aside. You nodded, swallowing your water,

"Yes, Miguel. I'm sorry."

Miguel glanced at you and smiled. You felt your heart skip a beat as he leaned down to kiss you.

"Stop apologizing. Just remember that you are mine."

You leaned towards his touch as Miguel stroked your cheek. He told you to rest before leaving the room. Groaning softly as you laid down, you felt a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over you. Laying down, you couldn't stay awake much longer before knocking out.

--------

Miguel waited a few minutes before entering the room again. He fixed the hair out of your face before setting up an IV. He grabbed a bag and tied your arm up before taking some more blood from you. This was all for you.

For the sake of humanity's future.

"Lyla, where are Goblin's whereabouts?" Miguel asked quietly.

"He is in hiding. I shall track him down."

"Since he wants to play games, I shall bring one to him." Miguel chuckled, watching your blood drop into the bag. "It's never too early to start decorating for Halloween."

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Next Chapter

@tojishugetiddies @miguelsfavwife @foulsharkheart @club-danger-zone @ivkygirly @jollystrawberrycycle @amber-content @weirdothatwritess @smartyren @mangoslushcrush @nyxzoldyck6 @migueloharastruelove @chaoticlovingdreamer @sukioyakio @killjoy-nightshadow @heyohalie @the-pan-liquid @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @kpopscoups17130000 @pochapo @killerwendigo @barbiecrocs @miss-galaxy-turtle @oscarissac2099 @lazy-idate @lauraolar14 @safixiovi

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara smut #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel x reader

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stolasdearest · 7 months

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Good afternoon, may I ask for hcs for lucifer, husker, and angel with a fem! Goetia reader? Maybe some general stuff and something [not including Lucifer considering there’s not much he can’t defend himself from] where the reader is defending him in her demon form, for simplicities sake let’s imagine her demon form is the same as stolas.

Reader x Husk & Angel & Lucifer (Separate)˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

ׂׂૢ Pairing : Lucifer x Fem!Reader, Husk x Fem!Reader, Angel x gn!Reader

ׂׂૢ cw : Not Proofread

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

A few days a week you make special time for your Boyfriend, Angel; Being a Goetia doesn't exactly give you a lot of time to exist outside of your royal duties so this time with him was your time. Spending it in Pentagram city window shopping, talking and about anything you two get your hands on to do together, this time was precious to you. Now you're riled up at a "super fan" as he called himself trying to get to Angel who was standing behind you visibly uncomfortable yet Angel still tried calming you down but with no success; the situation quickly escalating as the dumb sinner tried rushing past you to Angel; with a swift hand movement you grabbed a hold of the sinners neck opting to just throw the freak against a building wall across the street, however quickly snapped out of your rage you looked back and saw Angel hunched against a club wall holding his stomach as he hysterically laughed. You looked for the sinner with no signs of him and looked to Angel to ask what was so funny.

"Babycakes! Ya didn't see the fatass truck drag the weirdo with him?!"

"..no?"

"you should've holy shit! It was hilarious his fucking face!"

You often didn't need to worry about Husker getting into fights or trouble, mostly because he stayed out of it at all costs not wanting to be bothered with the annoying fucks. So when you and Husk sat at a bar Laughing and drinking you were taken aback by some sinner who claimed to know Husk in his "glory" days and said Husk still owed him some money; Husk told the guy to simply fuck off and went back his whiskey, your instincts reacting almost on their own when you noticed a bottle fly past you and right into the dudes face; only after realizing he tried to attack Husker. Husk looked at you bewildered as you nervously smiled and used a little sprinkle of your power and throwing the now passed out sinner from the bar, apologizing to the bartender for breaking their booze and turning back to Husker.

"you're full of surprises aren't you?"

"I guess you could say that"

There wasn't much Lucifer needed protecting from, especially not anything in hell so you both had pretty calm lives together, everyone respecting you or being straight up afraid of you. You both laid in bed, cuddling and talking about your days and just general stupid things; Lucifer was in one of his Duck tangents when you heard a loud crash outside the bedroom and you instantly went on alert mode, your demeanor changed instantly and you went to check whatever it was with the scariest most threatening form you could put on, Lucifer simply following only a few steps behind you so when you found it was just some wind coming in from a open and forgotten window you immediately deflated, Hesitating to turn around as you started to hear Lucifer snicker behind you before he quickly rushed to hug you from behind, a smug giggle in his voice

"thank you for defending our home..~"

"go fuck yourself"

Authors note : Tumblr deleted my draft TWO TIMESSSSS omg...Anyway I decided to make Angels reader Gn because he is infact, Gay..If this was meant platonically I do apologize for making it romantic alas the ask didn't specify and I default to romantic :P <3

Taglist: @k1y0yo @ihavetoomanyfictionalcrushes @anni1600 @d0nutsaur - send an ask to be added -

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #lucifer x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #angel x reader #angel dust hazbin hotel #husk x reader #husk hazbin hotel

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beemovieerotica · 5 days

Text

learned about a new scam yesterday in northeast US....so "mpower energy" is one of several companies ("green choice energy" is another i've heard) that goes door to door on the east coast here promising exclusively clean/sustainable energy for your home.

and they make it sound like they're affiliated with your local gas/electric utility and say things like "oh, BGE [baltimore energy] was supposed to let y'all know that we were coming out" (these people are private startups. BGE, ConEd, etc absolutely will not announce when they will be knocking on your door).

they make you show them your electric / gas bill, they copy down your ID number, and rope you into a contract where you're basically voting with your wallet at extremely high rates (through them) to push your utility provider to purchase more of its electrical supply from clean sources

^ this isn't communicated at all, it's deceptively pitched, and for people who don't totally understand how the power grid works, it is not possible for your provider to selectively send "only clean energy" to your address, and not your neighbors, or the rest of the city...but this is what they say 💀

nudging your provider toward purchasing more clean energy sounds nice in theory, but:

1) good fucking god these companies will rip you off and keep the profits for their CEO. there are posts on reddit of people saying that once the grace period of lower rates ends, they see 3 times their typical electric bill costs.

2) we already get a good chunk of our power from nuclear energy and afaik these companies are exclusively all about solar/wind which are still insanely expensive and not yet optimized to provide for entire cities out here.

3) call me a government shill but i trust my utility provider to negotiate optimal rates and contracts with their energy sources more than i trust a fast-talking 21-year old who has been allotted approximately 60 seconds to sell me on a concept of green energy that does not actually exist(???)

like can anyone verify if mpower energy or green choice energy actually themselves own land & renewables that are currently generating electricity, or are they COMPLETELY middlemen, who have been tasked with doing financial fuckery on people's power bills and reaping a cut for infinitesimally making your utility use more clean energy? (@powermonger do you know anything about this?)

#scam alert #baltimore #mpower energy

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my-corneroftheworld · 2 years

Text

Child without love

Summary: Namor finds a marine biologist with the powers to control water and deep knowledge of the sea and is intrigued.

Word count: 1,1k

Tags: Smut in later chapters (no minors allowed), "water-bender" reader x Namor after the events from Wakanda forever, possessive Namor, mutant reader, talk of climate change, asphyxiation, the deep sea being a bit scary, war, violence, harsh language, Wakanda forever spoilers, the usage of y/n, afab reader

Ps. if you read the preview before you can start reading after the divider. I barely made any changes other than grammar-related and wording. If you want more chapters I would greatly appreciate some constructive criticism in the comments

Masterlist

Chapter 1

I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eyes. "You can't just go behind my back like that! There are set rules and hierarchies that keep our organization running smoothly!" Adeoye yelled while he was walking frantically back and forth. He never could handle stress well. " You're little outburst may have cost us our one shot to get the right people's attention!"

I want to say I'm sorry and that it was rude and petty of me. But I couldn't because I did what I thought was right. They have ignored our every attempt to better their policies and today's presentation only opened my eyes to how blissfully ignorant they allowed themselves to be. He stopped his pacing and rubbed his eyes under his big ill-fitting glasses.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" he asked abrasively. I knew that he wasn't really angry at me. He was frustrated with everything. The board director's nonchalant attitude, the over-looming doom of the deadline we've got in 2 months and my little outburst were certainly not making things better.

"No" I answered.

"Well if that's the case then you give me no choice other than to suspend you for 2 weeks" he sighed. I wasn't surprised. Cussing out the board due to their lack of ethical consideration whilst ignoring every warning I and others have worked tirelessly on proving wasn't really considered to be professional. " I understand," I say solemnly and start picking up my notes. 5 years of studying and 3 years of diligent work have come to this, being pushed aside so that rich people can profit off of dangerous means at the cost of the health of our seas. And having no power to change anything

I drove home in silence, with nothing but the wind from the window creek as my companion. I think I'll have to practice today to let off some steam. After arriving and leaving my notes by the kitchen counter, I changed into my swimsuit and went down to the beach. Moving here was mainly so I could get to work within 15 minutes but having the sea outside my back door has definitely changed my life. I never liked using my powers in front of others. Mutants aren't really welcome unless they're wearing suits and have fancy names. So there aren't many moments where I can use them to their fullest extent. When I do I feel at home. I feel free of everything. My worries and concerns are washed away.

Once I reach the water I breathe in and allow myself to feel its pull. Imitating the waves with my hands till it starts to imitate me, following my every command. I slowly start walking in allowing myself to be surrounded then I dive keeping the water from reaching my face and requiring no movements though I still haven’t passed 5 minutes at a time. Maybe I’ll make it at 6 today. I decide to explore a little further than usual, seeing what I can find on the sea floor and cleaning up small things that shouldn’t be there.

It was then I noticed it. The entity that has been watching me from afar. It barely moved and I couldn’t really make out its shape. But I knew it was looking at me and it stayed completely still. I was scared. My bubble was slowly shrinking so I began to slowly make my way back to shore. As soon as I did the shadow got closer and closer which made me anxious to reach land. I finally burst into the sea, gasping for air. I lay down on the beach, trying to catch my breath then a voice called out.

“Who are you?”

______________________________________________________________

I quickly turned around and faced what seemed to be a man. Out of panic, I summoned water at my side and launched it at him with full force. He then began to levitate and dodge my advance with.. wings attached to his feet? Shocked I ceased fire and looked at him again. He was otherworldly. His dark eyes stared at me with a hint of confusion and irritation. His hair was a dark brown and wet from the swim, framing his face ever so slightly. The sunset made his warm terra-cotta skin glow along with his pearls and gold accessories. He was beautifully serene, like straight out of a dream. If I didn't know any better I would’ve thought that he was a god. As I scanned his body so did he with mine before stopping at my eyes demanding an answer to his question.

“Who are you?” He asked again urgently, stepping closer to my frame. I tried to move back as a response.

“I- I’m y/n l/n.”

“That is not what I meant. I mean where are you from? Are there more of you?”

“I’m from here. I’m not sure what you mean by more of me” I answered hesitantly. Why is he asking all these questions? I mean from the looks of he’s most definitely some kind of mutant. He’s a bit too good of a swimmer to think otherwise. Not to mention the literal full-functioning wings at his feet.

“More who can manipulate water.” he clearifies.

“No.. I mean none that I know of” I say and start rising slowly from the ground. “Who are you?.. Are you perhaps like me?” I have never met another mutant before. Let alone someone connected to water. Hope starts swelling up. Maybe..just maybe I am not alone.

“No I am not like you. As for who I am it is not for you to know.” He says bluntly. And just like that my sliver of hope is gone. “Then what do you want?” I ask while noticing he’s pointed ears adorned with what seemed to be jade earrings.

“That is yet to be decided.” He begins circling me around slowly. “There are threats that are making it hard for me to perform my duties and your power, though meager, may develop into what I need to avoid any more...complications.”

Duties? Complications? What the hell is he talking about? He studied my face, assessing it possibly looking for a way to find out what I was thinking. Does he work for the government? Is that it? I’ve heard of mutant agents who were forced to do sketchy shit that higher-ups didn't want to be associated with.

“Sorry, I’m not interested. Though I am grateful for the consideration to recruit me, I have my own “duties” to attend to.” After voicing my intentions I decided it was best to leave. As soon as I turned around I heard him say. “I’m afraid I cannot take no as an answer” and before I could react, everything went dark and my last thought was how warm he felt in his arms as he took me back to the sea.

#kukulcan #ku'kulkhan mcu x reader #namor x reader #mcu namor

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small-sinclair · 1 year

Text

Wolves knocking at the Door

poly!Sinclairs x y/n

Tw: reader is not a wolf (only the brothers), Bo being himself (soft at the end), mentions of past killings, blood, reader gets smacked

This is a free style a/b/o prompt because no one is going to stop me and I have free will over myself. It came to me while I was eating chips and scrolling through @sketchy-rosewitch's blog the other day.

Days before a full moon are the worse in the Sinclair house, and you've taken good note of it. Bo gets angrier like throwing things across Ambrose, Vincent's kills become more violent and bloodied, and Lester just has a hard time keeping his thoughts lined and together, making it harder for him to focus or do his job.

When they were at home with you, they did their damnest to keep their emotions in check. They just wanted to make sure you didn't see the worse in them, that's all; and you knew that they were working so hard on making sure you never see that side of them.

But it's different tonight as the full moon was coming tonight, and you knew that they'll be... different. You knew they'll be out, hunting, fighting, terrorizing, killing--you knew it all but you weren't afraid. Besides, you knew that they'll never hurt you, and they make sure you have Papa's silver bullets and the blessed pistols with you just in case they even tried.

The morning started with Bo's cursing and a coffee mung breaking; that's what woke you. As you came down stairs, you were met with a broken mug on the floor and Lester in a headlock, Vincent pulling Bo away from his brother, and feverish blue eyes filled with fire and brimstone. The power he has in that pose is enough to make you want to run away, but you know better than that.

"Bo!" You snapped as you hurried into the kitchen, but you kept your distance when Vincent shot you a look. "Bo, let him go!"

With a tug, Bo was ripped off Lester's neck, Lester falling to the ground on his hands and knees, coughing and gasping for air as he held his neck. As Vincent backed away with bis brother locked in his grasp, you came to Lester's side and tried to help his steady his breathing.

You haven't seen Bo like this since the night you first saw him kill, when he first dug large canine teeth into your friend's neck, ripping it out to leave her to bleed out on the church floor.

You rubbed his back as he coughs, leaning into your touch. "...betta get outta here, darlin'," he breathed as he heard Vincent losing his grip and Bo stomping over to him. "Git--"

Before you had time to react to his warning, a large hand came down, and the world went quite. The birds stopped singing and the marsh stopped its song. The clouds covered the morning sun and the wind hit the house with full force. A bomb might as well gone off in the house as you faced the other way, holding your face, as the sting filled over your skin. Tears burned like acid as you cried silently. Before anyone could say or do anything, you stand and race out of the house, running down the street towards the church.

Where you still in your pajamas? Yes.

Did you care? No.

When you make it into the church, you find yourself running past their dead mother and hiding in the confessional, locking it. Going to the back of the booth, you tried to make yourself small before hiding your face in your legs, crying. He promised he would never do that, he promised to be a good man and his brothers agreed...

But how much does a promise cost, y/n? What's the payment at the end? They're beast, monsters. They are born to kill and worship the hunt on a full moon. Monsters don't keep promises.

But the Sinclairs do. They're better than this, and they'll prove it.

In a few moments, you hear the door to the church bursting open and heavy footsteps. "Y/n?" Bo called breathlessly, eyes scanning wildly over the pews and walls. "Darlin'! Come out--"

"No!" You yelled back, hugging yourself tightly. Your voice echoed from the locked confessional, and you heard Bo's boots coming to the door. He knocks, but you just yell, "Leave me alone, Bo!"

"Y/n, please com' out!" Bo shouted back, his right hand still burning from the sting. "Come out. I'll do anythin' ya want! Anythin'!" He kneels in front off the door and took in your scent, and he wanted to throw-up. He did this to you. He did this. He loves the smell of fear from his victums, but not from you. His hands rested on the door and he leaned against it. "Honey, please? Open up?"

At first, you don't move from your spot. You looked at the locked door then back at the handle. If you do open up, what'll happen? You're nervous he might yell, might feel different--

Then you hear something you thought you'd never hear: Bo whines at the door, his head thumping against the wood. It's heart aching and it tears you apart to hear him whine like a hurt puppy. You hear it again before the whine turns into him crying at the door, head still pressed against the wood. "Please, darlin," he whispers. "How do I make it better?"

You hear boots shuffling across the church floor, and Lester voice rings over, "Y/n? Ya okay? Where are ya, sweet pea?" His voice falls when he sees his brother at the confessional door, and he frowns. "Y/n?" You're not sure if you should answer him until you hear him joining his brother's side. you see their shadows through the crack on the door. "Yer okay, sweetness," he said against the door. "He didn't mean it." Lester rested his head against the door as well, closing his eyes. He didn't like how you smelled when you left the house in a panic, and he didn't like it now. "Honeydew?"

Then Vincent joins. You know his boots anywhere as he enters. You can hear him sniff the air then whimpering lowly as he joins his brothers. You could see his shadow behind his brothers as he placed a heavy hand on the door, resting his head against the cold wood.

"Sweetheart, please?" Bo's voice cracks. "Open the door? I gotta make sure yer okay."

"I'm not okay, Bo," you answer, your head raising from you hugged knees. "You hit me."

"He didn't mean it!" Lester replied. "Honest!" He's just as scared as his brothers. If you don't open up, he'll make sure Bo pays for everything. He hates hearing you so hurt and sad. That hit was supposed to hit him, not you.

"I wanna hear it from him," you said, wiping your eyes. "I want to hear it from Bo."

Bo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Ya know I didn't mean it."

Not good enough.

"Then I'm not coming out," you huffed. You're standing your ground on this one.

Vincent looks down at his twin then nodded at the door. He'll do anything to make you stop crying, to take away your pain and have it as his own. Vincent hated seeing you crying, and he hated that he wasn't strong enough to keep the other Alpha at bay. He just wanted to hold you in his arms, bury your head into his chest, and never let you go until you died. He promised himself that he would kill anyone that hurts you, and here he was, glaring at his brother.

Bo begs this time, and he sounds a bit pathetic, "Y/n. I'll do anythin'--"

"Then tell me you didn't mean it, Bo," you said again, looking at the door with hopeful eyes. "Tell me you won't do it again." You sniffled and said, "If you ever want to hold me or kiss me or fuck me, then you'll say it. If not," you looked around the room then back at the door, "I'll stay in here until you say it."

Bo grits his teeth then looks at the closed door as if he was kneeling in front of God himself. He looks down as he felt Lester's hand on his shoulder, nodding at the door.

"'M sorry, Y/n," it doesn't sound forced as he looked at the door. "'M sorry, darlin'. I swear to ya I'll that I'll never lay a hand on ya again. I promise, y/n... I swear it to you." He leans against the door and listens. "Darlin', please? Open up? Le' us see ya."

Silence filled the church before they heard you unlock the door. Bo sits up in attention, his bright blue eyes glowing and scared. Lester's plays with his hands nervously, his brown eyes were mixing to a hazel. Vincent... to say he was nervous was an understatement; he was terrified of your next words and actions. You were the best thing to happen to this little pack.

When Bo looked up to see your face, he was horrified. His hand print marked your perfect skin, and he hated himself more when he saw your puffy and red eyes trying so hard to smile down at him.

He looked as if he was a child reaching up to he picked up by his parent when his hands reached for yours, and you took them. You stepped closer and hold his head against your stomach.

''M sorry, darlin," he murmurs against your pajama shirt. "'M so sorry."

You comb through his hair, closing your eyes, and felt Vincent's arms wrap around your shoulders, taking in your scent, and Lester's hands rubbing your arms gently. Feeling your boys around you always made you feel safe and special.

You four stay like that for a while until you break the silence. "Can I cuddle you before you three have to go out tonight? Please?"

And they're all for it. They walk with you back to the house, Lester taking off his shoes to give you so you don't have to walk over the stones. Vincent holding your hand while Bo follows behind, listening to you talk about your plans for tonight while they go on their hunt.

By the time all of you are back at the house, they head to your room, the room that you share with Bo, and get ready, letting you go under the covers first to get comfortable.

First, Lester crawls in, snuggling up to your left side. Second, Vincent holds you and Lester. Third and last, Bo joins on your right side, getting a side all to himself.

For a while, you stay silent, letting the birds sing and the marsh start its song again.

Bo litters your bruised face with soft, gentle kisses while you run your fingers through Lester's hair, him humming to the touches. Vincent is looking at you as if he's seeing you for the first time. Before long, he takes off his mask and kisses your jaw.

Before you know it, you're asleep between them once more. You're safe and loved from them, and that's all you need.

When you wake up, the only one there is Bo, and your resting your head against his chest. Warm arms wrap around you protectively as he looks up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

When you look up, you can see his first stages of transformation: large brown and soft wolf ears sticking out of his hair, his nails longer and sharper, his blue eyes turning to a deeper blue mixed with purple, small patches of fur littering over his body. He'll have to leave soon before the afternoon sun sets to join his brothers.

Mainly to make sure Lester is okay while during his transformation. It always hurts him the most, so he'll need some support from his two Alphas.

When he feels your eyes on him, he looks down with sadness mixing his eyes. "'M so sorry, darling," he whispers, scared to startle you. "Forgive me?"

"I'll forgive you if you promise to start reading those anger management books I gave you." Then you thought. "Or listen to some ASMR audios."

"I'll take the books, y/n." His voice was rougher and deeper as the day grew.

You snuggle into his shirt, feeling the warmth and his heartbeat against your skin. "Works for me." You look up at him. "I love you."

He brings your face up to his as he places a kiss on your lips. "I love you more, y/n."

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reasonsforhope · 9 months

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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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themotherofblood · 9 months

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chapter 6 | river of fire | d.t x reader x r.t | there is much to say

series masterlist | masterlist | previous chapter

a/n: so finally we pick up from where we left off, with some major changes, while I will always love the first original chapter of the brothel scene, i needed to do my girlie some justice

warnings: daemon being kinda gross.

synopsis: daemon returns to the red keep, to find a much grown version of his young cousin and his niece.

The court had finally come to weigh upon Viserys’s shoulders, three parchments, all borne by white ravens. One from the Stepstones, one from Storm’s End and the other from the Old Palace. The missed warmth and wrath were all returning at once.

One rebel posed as his brother, one nuisance his daughter and the other, his wounded pride— his ward.

“Preparations have been made your grace, at the cost to the crown, a feast seems appropriate given the occasion. The Targaryen seat brimming full again.” Lord Beesbury coughed out his accounting.

“In lieu, your grace. I don’t find a feast appropriate upon the way all three of them have disobeyed your wishes.” Otto Hightower interjected, “perhaps the costs could be levied elsewhere.”

“Nonsense! My family is together after many moons, we should celebrate, find a reason to indulge in cups,” Viserys chuckled, looking at Lord Strong for his support.

It was the truth, Daemon begun a war without the direct command of his King, aiding Lord Corlys in his excertions upon the Stepstones. Whereas Rhaenyra, dismissed an entire court of suitors, ending a very heftily paid for tour to an end; three moons and early— then there was you. Fleeing the Capital without the King’s consent, boarding a ship to return to your brother, the cause? Knew no one but one, Alicent and she too shielded the truth of the matter.

And thus the word spread, the dragons had come to roam the streets of King’s Landing again.

Rhaenyra was the first to return, anxiously awaiting the brunt of her father’s disappointment.

You must marry, it is your duty. You must bear heirs, it is your duty.

She had grown tired of what her possible duties would be when she herself couldn’t implement one condition at the Small Council table, a poser amongst the one’s with true power. She felt left out, unseen— and her father believed that marriage would fix her unmoving temper, like a man in her vicinity would make her womanly thinking turn to putty.

Not one, not one of those morons would come near to be a possible husband for her, but more so than that, she wished that her lover would understand so. That for her, you would forever be the true bearer of her unencumbered devotions, her unconditional love. Yet the weight of responsibility had weakened your shoulders too, for you heard the same but one less.

You must marry, you must bear children.

And thus the fight, a terrible arguement between two hearts that always beat as one.

“I would never be your wife! Ever.”

There had been copious tears and then a conspicuous letter, then followed silence and Rhaenyra’s tour.

Her heart wasn’t in this, she cared not if she ever loved her husband, she didn’t want one in the first place. Even beyond Viserys’s advise, a man? A man couldn’t be worth her happiness.

She is a dragon rider, the Heir to the Iron Throne. A measly being possessing a cock wouldn’t cut it.

Her ship’s sails had caught the wind, she stood on the deck, twiddling her thumbs as she laments of returning to a cold half of her apartments. Her ladies in waiting and plenty other friends to keep her company and yet she couldn’t muster an apology to make you return home. More than a year apart, without a word— the agony should have dwindled but it lingered, prickling around her heart every night as she slept alone.

Nyra held hope that she would catch a glimpse of your face once more, run her hands through your wild hair, feel the burning chill of your fingertips and the softness of your full lips. If the world around her was just quiet enough, she could feel it, a ghostly touch pressed to her lips— only to break her heart once more as she opened her eyes.

“Princess?” Criston Cole tore her attention from her wide eyed face staring down at the Blackwater.

“We should make landfall within the hour.”

She hums following with a nod, her lips part with hesitance.

“How do you think he will take it?” She seeks perspective, perhaps to find a lighter response of possibilities than the terrible ones that stirred in her head.

“Do you speak of how curtly you’ve rejected every suitor put before you or how you have abruptly ended the tour with three months remaining.”

Rhaenyra defensively blinks away, understanding the point Cole made but partly from the anxiety of it all, willing Syrax to fly to her and flitter her away to the Summer Isles or far up the mountains in the Vale.

She returned to the storm in her head, hearing the waves and the wind jostle by her ears, the smell of salt and fish in the air and chirping, wild chirping.

Her head bolted to the skies, a noise she hadn’t heard for years.

“Take cover!” Cristin Cole screamed, taking his princess down with him.

However Rhaenyra’s eyes were fixated upon the red creature that flew dangerously close to her boat.

Caraxes… Uncle Daemon.

The smell of this bustled city once again graced Daemon’s nostrils, the cheap mead of the people and the golden painted whores of his cherished brothels all celebrated the return of their beloved Prince.

Armour clad and crowned with his haughtiness adorned in his hip, he swaggered in the Throne Room, the familiar scent of pompous perfumed cunts made him sick and yet, the smirk of victory did not leave his face as he eyed down his brother.

Gods he looks sickly, gloved hands and his body weight leaning upon Blackfyre, a sword once meant to wield the firey might of House Targaryen was now diminished to be an old man’s cane. What had happened to him. They are but four years apart in age, and while one brother stood tall in posture and tore down enemies by the hundreds. The other a King, dressed in fineries to shield the dismantling resolution of his health— he reeked of illness.

He stops in front of his brother’s Kingsgaurd, arm outstretched with Craghis Drahar’s axe at the hilt of his palm, pointing it straight at Viserys’s face. A fine present that he drops by the King’s feet.

“Add it to the chair,” he blankly says before retreating, clutching onto the pommel of Dark Sister.

He could feel it, the plenty of gazes fixated upon the crown of bones and rubies placed on his head, there could only be one king.

While Daemon adored the amusing chaos he brought to court, the unpredictability— they all saw him a monster, he knew so. Defiant, vulgar and a rake through and through. He wouldn’t disrespect his brother, not in open court and not without reason.

Daemon knelt, head bowed as he presented his earned crown to his brother.

“There is only one true King, your grace.”

Viserys looked to Otto Hightower, the cunt, eyeing away at Viserys to reject Daemon’s honour— once more denying Daemon’s adoration for his brother to be a malformation of his envy or ambitions.

Viserys descended the steps, still eyeing his younger brother with contempt, or mayhaps doubt.

“Rise.” He ordered, patting Daemon’s shoulder.

Both of them stiff yet brothers once again untied, Daemon bowed his head, resting on Viserys shoulder as they embraced one another.

Daemon relished the embrace as the court around him erupted in an applause, he heard a distinct voice— whose eyes he had witnessed preening at him as he walked into the Throne Room.

rūs— Rhaenyra.

Daemon turns to her, leading himself out with Viserys as the court begins to disband. Viserys however shoots scorned look towards his daughter, a look Daemon frowned over, in Viserys’s eyes Rhaenyra could do no wrong. His curiosity caught a waft of tension and he wondered. What could his brother’s heir have concocted this time to truly face the wrath of Viserys’s rare occurrence of anger.

It seemed that his worries about him not being welcomed home had been for nothing, Viserys had already a feast awaiting for his brother in the Godswood. Wines and musicians, foods of his liking and women of his taste already lined the halls.

“No no, I will not hear it. You were always mother’s favourite!” Viserys chuckled as he reminisced stories of their shared youth with his young wife in presence.

A gauche scene really, and yet Daemon eyes seemed to have caught another serene sight entirely.

The head of silky silver locks, developing curves accentuated by the low hemmed cream gown and eyes that much looked like his, Rhaenyra, much had truly changed, and perhaps a salacious opportunity.

He wandered over to her, avoiding one droll conversation after the other.

“What have you done?” Daemon nudged her shoulder.

“Rejected every suitor in all of Westeros.” She hummed back, licking the sweetness of the lemon cakes off her fingertips.

“Well done!” He chuckled.

She looked to him, rolling her eyes, “well you have return, the prize of my father’s eyes.”

Daemon chuckled once more, shaking his head. His eyes finding a much familiar necklace adorning her neck, and just so— much had changed but nothing at all.

“You’ve changed.”

“As have you Princess.” Daemon looked around as the crowd in the Godswood dwindled.

“You seem calmer, more content perhaps.”

“You seem besides it.” Daemon countered.

“Well it seems my station provided me with ample— discrepancies.” She scoffs.

He sat there, in an odd sense of familiarity. Once again loved, not in the thrall-ish way he often seems to force it out of the common folk, but truly wanted. In the presence of his family, his only pride and at times joy.

Though one figure he registered had been missing all this while, a little dragon in viper’s clothing. The wild mess of dark curls and hesitant eyes— he’d have thought he’d see you first, and yet you were no where to be seen.

The air pulled against the loose wisps of your done up hair, you leaned against the barricaded balcony of your cabin, feeling the waves sway beneath as your ship sailed into the Blackwster Bay. The muddled dark colour of the ocean taking over the serene blue of The Sunset Sea, the murky waters leading it ugly way to once a place you dearly wanted to return to but were afraid too.

On the horizon you could see Rhaenys Hill, the gates of the city and the Bell Tower. Calling to you as you thought of all the possible earfuls of lectures Viserys was about to grace you with.

“How could you take off with my leave?”

Much had changed since you had left, both in reality and within yourself, you looked more a woman than a child, you had flowered. While showing to court in the robes you had on now would be just a little inappropriate. The Martell that you once pushed away, now towered with you with a spear in hand. Such was the Gods choosing you wondered, while your brother Qoren was the perfect portrait of Martell seed, leaving but just his olive skin a testament to your father. His brownish curls and striking purple eyes called to his Targaryen heritage even as he sat on the Martell seat to rule its lands.

You on the other hand, had paler skin than most of the Dornish kin, wide and expressive hazel eyes and ever since you flowered. Thicker streaks of silver that shone bright within the ample strands of your wild brown hair. A small token of your Valyrian heritage, of your mother Daenerys and her eyes. If one looked closely, a ring of lilac crowned the brown of your pupils.

Just this time as you returned, perhaps born anew to your role in the Targaryen dynasty. You were no longer timid, your tongue as sharp as the shot you could take with your bow and arrow and a mind far wise to irk the pompous men at court. Returning home did you good, as your people would call it. All though you were sure Septa Marlow would do naught but sneer at how mismanaged a young princess could become.

Fuck that.

Even as your ship anchored to a halt, with boats circling to receive you and your party. You couldn’t take your eyes off of the Red Keep. Would it have changed in the past year and half, would Viserys be healthier. You wanted to know this instant and yet no answers were brought to you.

Your old jeweled palaquin sat waiting for you, with four Targaryen guards at each pole hilt, you hiked your soft pink skirts to prevent any dirt staining the delicate fabric as you crouched to enter the vessel.

The city still smelled the same, perhaps worse— but it was home, your childhood. The swaying of the palaquin pulled you further into your thoughts, a sick anxiety twisted at your insides as you readjusted your dupatta.

There was barely a procession levied to your name as you stepped out to the courtyard, you heard Oberya scoff behind you; her arched brows scrunched to portray her dismay to the empty courtyard. You were a Princess after all, a name deserved the gathering of at least the Small Council if not the King himself.

“yahain vapis nahi ana chahiye tha rajkumari.” Oberya shook her head. We shouldn’t have returned Princess.

You sighed, hiking your skirts once more to walk behind the guards escorting you— no doubt to the Throne Room where you were certain you would hear an earful from the King himself or perhaps a monotone warning from Otto Hightower. A chill ran down your spine, imagining the steel purple eyes glaring down at you with the weight of his disappointments.

You stood by the door, reminding yourself to breathe, nice large huffs of breaths to fill your lungs and ease the sinking pit in your belly. You nod your head, letting your party and Oberya disperse to their own duties.

Your sweaty palm pushes against the massive heavy metal doors, the sound of creaking so loud against silent hallways it made your ears ring just a bit. The sight within was something you didn’t expect at all.

Empty, not a soul.

The gallery, the Throne and bleachers. Not a person here to watch you catch an earful from the King.

No one at all but one maid crouched by the statue of Jaehereys, scrubbing away with a sudded cloth.

“Where is everyone?”

She looked up, confused for a moment and then meekly replied.

“The Godswood, milady.”

You hummed, turning to the Throne once more before heading to the west doors.

You thought of all the reason’s as to why the entire court would have gathered in the Goswood, you wondered if Alicent was with child again. It couldn’t be though, when you left she had just announced the quickening of Haelena, it was too soon for her to be with child again.

Perhaps a marriage? Rhaenyra?

You prayed not, you had just returned. You didn’t think yourself capable to feel the burn of jealousy but you did, you imagined whatever lord hoped to wed her and then you imagined something untoward happening to him.

You stopped by the wooden doors, you could hear the bustle of the people in the gardens, the smell of meats and perfumes tickled at your nose.

The guards stood by the door appeared confused by the sight of you, your dressing extravagant enough for you to be a noble but they couldn’t quite place which one. You looked between the both of them as the hunched closer, whispering amongst themselves to place your identity.

“Princess Rhaenys?” One whispered.

“Does she look old to you?”

“It is the Princess of Dorne, now if you may.”

You flinched at the abrupt voice behind you, you turned to find Lord Strong looking down at you.

“Princess.” He greeted “We were not expecting you until tomorrow.”

“The winds were in our favour, I’m afraid.” You explained, smiling at the gentle favour of his hand.

The wooden doors opened as you were greeted to the blossoms of the gardens, many of which now thrived and grew from your efforts over the years.

Then it dawns the reason as to why the court had gathered, two heads of very prominent silver hair stood in the crowd.

You were frozen looking at them and everyone else was frozen looking at you.

In the surprise of it all, Alicent approached you first.

You in all regality, bowed on her approach. “My Queen.”

“Y/N!” She gushed, patting your shoulder as a formality when you’d rather embrace her. The warmth of her palm easing your nerves just a bit. You were home for now.

Daemon froze solid to the ground for a moment, a gentle tilt to his head as he registered who stood a couple feet from him. There were many stale bets he would have placed in his lifetime but he saw this coming from so far away.

Even as a little boy learning to spar over the summer and watching his cousin Rhaenys grow wisps of Targaryen silver with the black of her Baratheon head.

When he looked down at his niece, she shared the confusion he had— her head too finding answers to whatever this creature stood in front of them was.

The truth was in the blood, the magic that people sing about stood in person.

By the gods

The blue gowns changed for a soft summery pink, and the cut of that neckline— torture. So much to see but nothing at all.

You turned their way, eyes fixated on Rhaenyra for a moment and then around her before you turned to greet the rest of the Small Council members.

There was commandment, a tantalizing graze to how the shimmery fabric moved as you did.

It wouldn’t be appropriate, Rhaenyra knew it but her impatience grew as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

A year and a half— too long, too fucking long.

She was waiting to hear every footstep coming her way, from the jangles of your payal. The sway of your skirts coming to a stop a foot away from her and Daemon.

“My Princess,” you acknowledged “My Prince.”

There stood a moment of awkward silence between you and Rhaenyra until you turned to Daemon.

“I must congratulate you for your valiant victory in the Stepstone, cousin. One can only hope the poets sing about it till the end of time.” You smile at him.

That’s when he sees them, twinkling against the soft glow of the sun, the purple hiding behind the brown of your eyes. He never could place it, even as he fucked false silver haired whores in brothels, the image of Targaryen seed trampling the viper blood in your veins gave him so much joy.

Rhaenyra still remains silent, pulling the strings in her head to conjure up words.

In the Common Tongue, in Valyrian— just speak please!

Viserys however interjects, Alicent following behind him “What joy, my family; whole again!” He smiles with his teeth barred.

The smile persists cheek to cheek as he looks at Alicent, then to his brother and then you. Though as her turns to Rhaenyra, his eyes fall to disappointment. Reminding Rhaenyra yet again of how much trouble she was in.

Alicent with much grace however, shifted the conversation.

“Perhaps Prince Daemon would like a tour to the tapestries gifted to you by Novos and Qohor?” an innocent suggestion.

Viserys’s face scrunches for a moment as he slaps his hand around Daemon’s shoulder.

“Tell me, would you like to see the tapestries?” He breaks in to an ugly cackle.

Daemon, though oftentimes expected to be the one devoid any manner contains himself for the sake of his young sister by law. He hated her father, not her.

“Well I, would love to see them.” Rhaenyra sheepishly chimes in.

“Well then you should not deprive yourself, daughter.”

The curt sting could be felt from a mile away as she hangs her head in defeat.

“I would love to see them, care to escort me cousin?” You turn to Rhaenyra, smiling at her with an arm extended.

The two of departed from the court, rigidly walking hand in hand to the galleries. She couldn’t say anything out fear that you were still angry at her and her uneasiness amused you.

When the doors to the Grand Gallery finally closed she turned on her heel hastily.

“Forgive me, everything I said. I take it back.”

You looked up at her, this time tilting your head to the side, eyes purposefully stern. You held her hand and began pulling her to the closest wall and pushing her against it.

“I’m sorry.” She repeats.

“Shush.”

You pressed your lips against hers, taking her aback as you grab at the cotton fabric around her waist as you pulled her closer.

She hums, relishing the taste of your lips before finding her footing and turning you around— pressed up against the very lovely tapestry sent by Essosi envoys.

Only painted eyes in witness as you took your liberties with your lover.

“A dozen chambers,” a sing song voice tore the two of you out of your trance.

A deep pit of fear flutters in your belly as you pull yourself away from Rhaenyra.

“Haven’t I taught you better?”

Daemon stood at the door with his palm questioningly pointed at the two of you. His mind found a new source of amusement and by the gods he was going to enjoy toying this time.

THE NEXT CHAPTER IS SMUTTTTTTT. Lemme know if you wanna be on the taglist.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!!

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader x rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen x rhaenyra targaryen #desiblr #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #houseofthedragon #house targaryen #daemon targaryen x rhaenyra #rhaenyr #river of fire series #river of fire us

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