#Flow control chamber

[freeflush]

Innovative Rainwater Management Solutions: Wall Mounted Water Butts, Suds Attenuation, and Flow Control Chamber

As environmental awareness grows, so does the need for sustainable solutions in everyday life. Rainwater management is a critical aspect of this movement, and several innovative technologies have emerged to address this challenge. In this blog post, we will explore three such solutions: wall-mounted water butts, Suds attenuation systems, and flow control chambers. These technologies offer efficient and eco-friendly ways to collect and control rainwater, contributing to water conservation and reducing the strain on urban drainage systems. Let's delve deeper into their benefits and functionalities.

Wall Mounted Water Butts: Wall-mounted water butts are an ingenious solution that allows homeowners and businesses to collect and store rainwater efficiently. These compact tanks are attached to external walls, capturing rainwater runoff from roofs through downpipes. The collected water can be used for various non-potable purposes, such as garden irrigation, car washing, or toilet flushing. By utilizing this alternative water source, users can reduce their reliance on mains water, resulting in both financial and environmental benefits.

One of the significant advantages of wall-mounted water butts is their space-saving design. They can be easily installed even in small outdoor areas, making them suitable for urban environments. Additionally, many models feature integrated filtration systems that prevent debris from entering the tank and keep the stored water clean.

To ensure optimum usability, wall-mounted water butts often come with taps or connections for hosepipes. This makes it convenient to access the stored water for various applications. Some advanced models even incorporate water level indicators, allowing users to monitor the remaining water in the tank.

Suds Attenuation Systems: Sustainable Urban Drainage Systems (SUDS) attenuation systems are an essential part of rainwater management infrastructure in urban areas. They help prevent flooding by controlling the flow of rainwater into drainage systems and reducing the strain on existing infrastructure.

SUDS attenuation systems work by temporarily storing excess rainwater and gradually releasing it back into the drainage system. This controlled release helps to regulate the flow of water, preventing sudden surges during heavy rainfall events. The stored water can also infiltrate into the ground, replenishing groundwater resources.

These systems typically consist of underground storage tanks or chambers that collect rainwater from roofs, paved surfaces, or other drainage points. They are designed to handle large volumes of water, ensuring effective attenuation during peak rainfall periods. The stored water is then released at a controlled rate through outlets or infiltration devices, reducing the risk of flooding downstream.

Flow Control Chamber: A flow control chamber is a crucial component of rainwater management systems, particularly in urban environments. It helps regulate the flow of rainwater from SUDS attenuation systems into the drainage network.

The flow control chamber contains flow control devices such as orifices or weirs that restrict the flow of water leaving the attenuation system. By limiting the discharge rate, these chambers prevent overwhelming the drainage infrastructure downstream, reducing the risk of flooding and erosion.

Flow control chambers are designed to handle varying flow rates and can be customized based on the specific requirements of the project. They ensure that the controlled release of water aligns with the capacity of the downstream drainage system, mitigating the potential for damage and maintaining overall water balance.

Conclusion: Wall-mounted water butts, Suds attenuation systems, and flow control chambers represent innovative solutions for rainwater management. By collecting and utilizing rainwater efficiently, we can reduce strain on urban drainage systems, conserve water resources, and contribute to a more sustainable future. These technologies provide practical and eco-friendly options for homeowners, businesses, and communities alike. Embracing these solutions can not only benefit individuals by reducing water bills but also alleviate the burden on municipal water supplies and help mitigate the impact of urban development on the environment. Let us embrace these advancements in rainwater management and work towards a greener and more water-conscious society.

[wholoveseggs]

I’m so upset with the lack of Daemon requests so I wanted to give you a challenge.

Reader x Daemon on a dragon. That is all :)

Ride the Sky

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Hightower!Reader} As the eldest daughter of Otto Hightower, your own life feels completely out of your control. But a chance encounter with Prince Daemon gives you the opportunity to step out of your cage and touch the sky.

♡♡ ahhhh I love you @elijahstwink, this was such a fun idea & I 100% believe Daemon would do this... ♡♡

4.8k words - Warnings: smut, hightower!reader, fingering, sex on dragon back, daemon being a flirt & hating Otto, kinda mentions of marital rape? tyland lannister {ew} && caraxes being the best noodle boi...

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

{Daemon Targaryen Tag-List}

@elijahstwink @starshipcookie @absolutemarveltrash @odairtrqsh @darkened-writer @cheneyq @fallout-girl219

The tower of the hand was always such a foreboding place for you. It never meant good news when you were summoned and this time was no different. You stood there, shifting from foot to foot, and finally, the man you were supposed to call father, turned around from the window. He had been watching the city below, and now his gaze was on you.

"I've heard rumors," he said and you flinched. This wasn't the first time he had accused you of doing something inappropriate. In his mind, a lady was a lady, and she should act accordingly. But it seemed no matter how hard you tried to please him, nothing you ever did was good enough.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he waved you away. "I don't want to hear your excu-”

"I wish to know what I've been accused of, then," you snapped back, your own temper getting the better of you. You knew you would pay for that later, but right now, you wanted to hear what it was.

"That you've been imbibing in too much wine and games, not focusing on your duties as a lady of the court," he said sharply, looking back down at his papers. He began writing and you stood there, seething.

"So?" you finally asked, and he looked back up at you.

"It's unbecoming," he replied, his tone laced with condescension, "Especially when you are here at court, looking for a husband. Any potential suitors do not wish to have a drunken wife. It will not look good for him."

You sighed. It was always about men, what would please them, what would make them happy. Never you. And the way Otto looked at you, the disdain in his eyes, you knew what was coming. He had been making the same noises for a while, that he needed to find a match for you, and it seemed as if he had finally found one.

"Lord Lannister is a powerful ally," he began, and you immediately felt your temper rise again. You bit back the urge to yell at him.

"And you think I'll be a perfect wife for him? A boring drunkard whose bed I'll have to warm?" you asked, and you could feel the tears welling up.

Otto's expression was hard. "I would think him being a drunkard would be something you have in common," he replied.

He could see the distress on your face and his voice softened just a little. "We must look to the future of House Hightower, and Lord Tyland would make a fine match for you."

You shook your head, tears spilling over. "I don't want him-”

"And what is it that you want?" Otto snapped.

You stared at him. You wanted so much, and none of it was the life he would choose for you. You couldn't stand it anymore, and you spun on your heel, heading for the door.

He didn't try to stop you, and you didn't care.

You didn't want to go back to your chambers, because Alicent would be there, and you couldn't face her either. So, instead, you went outside to the garden, trying to find a quiet spot where you could cry and hopefully not be found.

You found a stone bench, tucked away in a quiet corner and sat down. The tears flowed freely, and you cried and cried, wondering what would happen now, what would become of your life.

You felt as if it had been planned out without any input from you, and now you were going to have to marry a man who was full and passionless. All because it was what was good for the family, and what was best for House Hightower.

It wasn't fair.

You let out a sob and stood up, looking for something to throw, to break, just to let out the anger and frustration that was coursing through you.

Your eyes fell on a statue.

It was one of the Kings, long dead, but you couldn't remember which one. You glared at it and then, without a second thought, gave it a shove.

It didn't fall over, but it teetered a little, and then settled back.

"Is that how we honor our kings now, by toppling their statues?" "A voice said, and you whirled around. Prince Daemon was standing there, looking at the statue, and then you, a small smirk on his face.

"I-I didn't mean," you stammered, wiping your tears, but he held up his hand.

He didn't say a word, just walked over to the bench. He motioned for you to sit, and you did. The two of you sat in silence for a moment, and you tried to control your tears.

Your father loathed the prince, and therefore you were expected to avoid him. You had seen him only once or twice, and the first time you had seen him, you were a girl of ten, and he had just turned seventeen.

You remembered seeing him, and being amazed by the beauty of him. He was the most handsome man you had ever seen, and the fact that he was a prince just made him all the more alluring.

You remembered asking your father if you could marry the prince. Your father had laughed, and told you no, he was not suited for you.

Of course, that hadn't stopped you from having the occasional daydream about the two of you, and here he was, sitting next to you, while you were crying over the thought of your father giving you to an old man.

"What is it like," you asked him, sniffling slightly, "To have the freedom to do what you wish?"

He gave a slight chuckle. "Freedom is an illusion," he replied, his voice quiet, "We are all prisoners in one way or another, even kings,"

"Then I wish for my prison to have a dragon," you muttered bitterly, immediately regretting the words. It wasn't proper to speak to him like that, but he only laughed.

"Perhaps one day," he said, his gaze settling on your face. You could feel his eyes on you, and you blushed, ducking your head.

"Why do you ask about freedom, Lady Hightower," he said in an almost teasing tone, "Is your life not everything a lady could want?"

You didn't meet his gaze, and he observed you thoughtfully, you were a mystery to him as much as he was to you.

"Or perhaps, it is not," he said, his eyes narrowing, "Perhaps you want more than what your father will allow,"

There was a bitterness in his tone when he mentioned your father, the disdain they had for each other was no secret. You didn't wish to add to it, but you couldn't stop the words from spilling out.

"My father is marrying me off to Tyland Lannister," you said, and his lips curved into a small smile.

"And I assume that is why you're here, hiding in the garden," he replied, and you nodded.

He was still watching you, and his gaze made you feel uncomfortable, but in a good way. "I don't want some dull drunkard in my bed, I want..."

You trailed off. It was an improper thing to say, he was the prince, your better. You shouldn't be speaking this way.

"Say it," he said, his voice soft, yet commanding.

"I want my husband to be able to bring me pleasure," you said, the words falling from your lips.

He chuckled, a deep rumble that came from within his chest. You felt even more ashamed by his response, here was the prince laughing at you, thinking you foolish and stupid.

You stood, trying to hide the fresh tears threatening to spill. "I should return to the keep," you said, "Thank you for the company, your grace,"

You took a step, and then suddenly his hand was around your wrist. His touch made your skin feel hot and a strange sensation spread between your legs. You gasped softly, and he stood up, stepping closer.

He towered over you, his blonde hair gleaming in the sun, and his violet eyes were dark and intense, his lips were still curved in a smile, and he was close enough for you to smell him, the scent of smoke, leather and musk.

"Would you like a taste of freedom?" he asked, his voice low. "Before your cage closes,"

"I-I-Yes," you stammered.

He pulled you with him, and you followed.

He led you down the paths and out the gate, along the long stone road to the dragon pit. The guards bowed, and let him pass, and then, to your amazement, he led you into the pit itself.

"My Prince-” you gasped, but he held up his hand again, silencing you.

In the dark of the cave, you could hear them stirring, the great beasts of his house. There was a deep rumble, a sound that felt ancient and primal, and a shadow fell over the both of you.

You stepped back, fear making your heart race. He turned, and you saw the amusement in his face. "Don't worry," he said, "He won't hurt you, unless I tell him to,"

You heard the sounds of his dragon moving forward, and a large snout appeared from the darkness.

"Lady Hightower, meet Caraxes," Daemon said, gesturing to the beast with a wide smile on his face.

You could only stare as the dragon came forward. His body was covered in red scales, and the wings were enormous, his claws scraped against the stone floor, his neck long like that of a snake, and he had a crown of horns on his head.

You have never seen one up close before, only ever far away and up high in the sky. But now, here, in front of you, he was a sight to behold.

Daemon reached out his hand and the dragon nuzzled it, his large, golden eyes fixing on you. He whispered something to the beast, in the language of Valyria, and then turned to you, beckoning you closer.

You hesitated, and he smiled. "It's alright," he said, holding out his hand.

Tentatively, you reached out and touched his palm, letting him take your hand in his. It was soft and warm, and his long fingers curled around yours. He raised it, and pressed it to the dragon's snout.

His scales were smooth and hot to the touch, and the dragon exhaled a deep breath, the sound like a purr. You could feel his breath on your face, and it smelled of sulfur and heat, and underneath that, the metallic scent of blood.

He nuzzled you, his eyes half closing. Daemon smiled and let go of your hand, and you stroked the dragon, amazed.

"He's beautiful," you said softly, admiring the red of his scales and the gold of his eyes.

"Yes," Daemon replied, his gaze fixed on you.

Caraxes pulled away and then, to your astonishment, the dragon lay down on the ground. You looked at Daemon, not understanding, and his smile grew.

"I promised you a taste of freedom, didn't I," he said, and suddenly you realized what he meant.

You watched, amazed as he climbed onto the dragon's back, and held out his hand to you. "Come," he said.

You stared up at him. His hand outstretched, waiting for you to take it. You didn't know what to do. Your father would be furious if he found out. But this was an opportunity you might not get again.

Without hesitation, you put your hand in his, and let him pull you up, settling you in front of him. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly. Your skirts were in the way, and you struggled to find a comfortable position. You were suddenly very aware of the heat of his body behind you.

"Here," he said softly, his hands moving up your thighs, and then, you felt his hands bunching up your skirt, until the material was up around your hips.

The dragon raised his head, and stretched his wings, a deafening screech filling the air. You could feel him move, the muscles in his shoulders shifting, his body flexing.

With one last scream, he began to move forward, at a speed faster than anything you had ever seen, and suddenly, with a running leap, his body was rising. Daemon had his arms wrapped around you, holding on to the reins as Caraxes' wings beat against the air.

He rose, higher and higher, and suddenly the ground was falling away below you, and the sky opened up before you. You could feel the dragon's strength as he climbed, the power in his body, and the heat and the wind and the roar of his wings.

The sky was a beautiful mix of reds, oranges and pinks as the sun began to set. You could see the Red Keep and the city below, the winding streets and the river and the ocean beyond. It was a breathtaking sight.

Daemon said something in Valyrian, and the dragon gave a cry and suddenly he was moving forward, gliding along the air, his wings spread.

The horizon was endless, the clouds were around you, and the world seemed small and insignificant, all your problems forgotten, at least for a moment.

"Does it feel like freedom, lady Hightower," he murmured, his lips against your ear.

You flushed at his closeness, the warmth of his body and his voice. "Yes," you whispered.

He took your hands, placing them on the reins. You held tight, feeling the dragon move beneath you, the muscles and tendons rippling, the scales smooth and hot.

"Hold them tightly, and pull on them, to turn him," he said.

You did as he instructed, and Caraxes changed course, heading north. The dragon rumbled and roared, a loud squeaking sound that made you laugh.

You felt Daemon smile against your neck, his hands winded around your waist, one hand pressing into your stomach, and the other resting on your thigh, his long fingers curling around the hem of your skirt, the fabric flapping in the wind.

He held you like that, his grip strong and steady. You didn't want it to end, this freedom, the feeling of his arms around you and the dragon flying beneath you.

The hand that was pressed against your stomach moved lower, his fingertips brushing the inside of your thigh. You wanted him to continue, but you also wanted him to stop. It was not appropriate, and you were unsure of what to do.

"My Prince," you said softly, a hot flush coming over you. He was touching you in a way no one ever had, and the feeling was overwhelming.

"You are far too beautiful to marry some dull Lannister cunt," he said, his voice low, his lips grazing your neck. His hand slid up your thigh, pushing the hem of your dress with it. Your breath hitched as his fingers moved underneath the linen shift you wore, brushing the soft, wet flesh between your legs.

"This isn't proper, my Prince," you said, trying to focus on the reins and not the way his hand was making you feel.

"And who is here to see? Or to hear?" he murmured, his breath hot against your skin, "Only my dragon, and I don't think he'll care,"

He pressed a kiss to the spot where your neck met your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin, and you inhaled sharply, your body arching into his. He smiled, his fingers finding the small nub of pleasure between your legs, brushing over it softly. Your hips jerked and you gasped, your head falling back against his chest.

"A woman like you should be in control of who she gives her maidenhead to," he whispered, sucking little marks onto the delicate skin of your neck, "Who gives you that pleasure you crave."

The wind was cool on your skin, but inside you burned. He was igniting a fire deep within you and you were powerless to stop it.

His fingers moved faster, circling the little bud and then stroking it. He knew exactly how to touch you, and you were helpless under his hands.

You knew that you were being indecent, letting him fuck you with his hand, your skirts shoved up, the dragon soaring through the sky. Your father would kill you if he knew. But the thought of it made you only wetter, and you began to push harder against his hand.

"That's it, chase the feeling," he breathed, his fingers moving faster, his other hand gripping your waist, pulling you back against him. You could feel the hardness of his cock, pressing against your back, and the knowledge that he was aroused by you, only made the sensation stronger.

Your hands let go of the reins and Daemon quickly grabbed them with his free hand, keeping the dragon steady. You clutched his arm, your body shaking, the pressure building inside you, your legs trembling.

You let out a cry, and then stars were exploding behind your eyes and he was whispering to you, soft and low, encouraging you as you felt yourself fall apart, coming undone.

You slumped against him, the tension leaving your body, and he was there, holding you. You felt his chest rumble with a laugh and you managed to get yourself upright.

You looked at him, his violet eyes, the smirk on his face. You reached out and touched his cheek, and then pulled him towards you, kissing him.

His lips were soft and warm, and he kissed you back, his tongue parting your lips and entering your mouth. It was a deep, passionate kiss, and when he finally pulled away, you were breathing hard.

He smiled, his eyes darting from your lips down your chest. "Perhaps we should return to the keep, my Lady," he said, his tone amused, "before we get carried away,"

You looked down, and saw the sprawling countryside, a sea of green dotted with little villages and the faint outlines of crops and farmland.

"Where are we?" you asked.

"Near Duskendale," he said, his eyes boring into you. He gave you a smile, and in that moment, you lost yourself completely, mesmerized by him and everything that had just happened.

Daemon pulled on the reins, yelling something in Valyrian. The dragon gave a loud screech, and began to descend. He guided Caraxes lower, heading for a field near a small village.

The dragon landed gracefully, his wings folding against his body. The trees and grass bent in the wind from his wings, and the few animals nearby scattered. You could feel the rumble as his belly hit the ground, and then he was still, his breathing deep and steady.

Daemon hopped off the dragon and held his arms out to you. You let him help you down, his hands sliding around your waist. As your feet touched the ground you stumbled, your legs were weak and shaky, and you had to cling to his arm to keep from falling.

His eyes met yours and he leaned in and kissed you. His lips were soft and firm, and you melted into the kiss, your fingers reaching up to tangle in his hair. He pressed you into Caraxes side, the dragon curled around the two of you protectively, his tail flicking lazily.

The beast was warm against your back, you could feel its chest expand with each deep breath, a gentle rattling sound coming from it.

Daemon broke the kiss, nuzzling into your neck. Your whole body was on fire, and you could feel the heat of him pressed against you.

"Would you like me to make you come again, lady Hightower," he whispered, his teeth grazing your skin.

"My Prince... I've never...," you managed to get out, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Better me than a Lannister, yes?" he said, a smirk on his face.

You blushed furiously, unable to respond. He was right. You didn't want to give your maidenhead to some Lannister bore. You wanted it to be him.

Caraxes curled tighter around the two of you, warm and surprisingly still, his long neck and head outstretched, surveying the area around you. His eyes were lazy, and he was making a strange rumbling sound, almost content, like a big cat.

Daemon looked up at him, smiling at the beast, then back to you, his hands moving up to cradle your face. He leaned in and captured your lips in a hot, searing kiss that had you clinging to him.

His hands dropped to your hips, pulling you closer. You could feel the hard length of him against your belly, and a hot ache settled between your legs. You had never felt like this before, so hungry, so desperate.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck. His hands moved down, pushing the skirt of your dress up and bunching the fabric around your waist. He lifted your thigh, hooking it around his hip.

With his other hand he unlaced his trousers, freeing his hard cock. You had never seen a man's cock before, and the sight of his had you blushing even deeper. It was thick and long, the tip pink and leaking a clear fluid.

He smiled, seeing the look on your face, "go on, touch it," he said, his voice low.

Tentatively, you reached out, your hand wrapping around his shaft. He was hot and hard in your palm, the skin smooth and velvety. You moved your hand up and down, marveling at the way he grew harder and thicker.

Your eyes flickered back up to his face. He had a satisfied smile on his lips, his violet eyes dark and intense.

"Like this," he said, placing his hand over yours and guiding you. He showed you how to stroke him, the pressure and speed. When he let go, you continued, enjoying the way his eyes closed and his head tilted back, his lips parting as he breathed heavily.

You watched him, entranced by the sight of him, his pleasure growing. He placed his hand back over yours, stilling you.

He took your other thigh and hoisted you up. You clung to him, your arms wrapping around his neck. His hard cock rubbed against the soft flesh of your cunt, and you moaned softly, the ache inside you growing.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and he thrust against you. You gasped at the feeling of his hard cock sliding against your clit, the head bumping against your entrance.

You looked up at him, pleading. He was looking down at you, his eyes dark, his hair falling across his forehead. He was so handsome, so strong.

"Please, my prince," you breathed, desperate.

He smirked, his eyes flashing, and then he was guiding himself inside you, the tip of his cock parting the soft, wet flesh.

He pushed slowly into you, and you felt a sharp pain as his cock tore through your maidenhead. You cried out, and he kissed you, swallowing your gasp.

He hummed against your lips, a soothing, comforting sound. His hands squeezed your bottom, holding you steady. He moved slowly, rocking his hips, pulling you into him with each thrust.

"I've got you," he said, his voice rough, his breath hot against your skin.

The pain slowly subsided, replaced by a delicious, aching pleasure. You clung to him, your eyes closing, lost in the sensation of him filling you.

You could hear the sound of the wind, and the rustle of the trees. The deep gentle sounds of Caraxes' breathing. And the sound of your heart pounding, and Daemon's labored breaths.

He slowed his thrusts, drawing it out, pushing hard and deep, slamming your body back against the beast with each motion. You clutched at his shirt, nails digging into the soft material, gasps and sighs and half-formed moans fell from your lips. He picked up the pace, faster now, and you both lost yourselves in it, your pleasure was all that mattered.

His face was a picture, pleasure and devotion and tension and complete and total ecstasy. Your name was on his lips, a litany of beautiful profanities fell from them, a mix of Valerian and common that made the redness in your face grow deeper. You began to grind your hips against him, rolling them as he moved with you, his movements becoming erratic. His hand came down to cup the back of your neck, holding you steady as he leaned in and captured your lips in a messy kiss.

He stilled, letting out a low groan as he pressed himself deep, holding your hips in place as he filled you with his seed. Your body shuddered and twitched and you whimpered against his mouth, clenching down on him. It was too much, and you followed him over the edge, a bright burst of light going off behind your eyes as you succumbed to the feeling.

He rested his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath, his eyes closed and a look of pure bliss on his face. You giggled, running your hands through his hair, and he managed a lazy smile.

"Think of me when Tyland is trying to stick his cock in you on your wedding night," he said, his words warm and breathy against your lips.

You chuckled, then turned sad, remembering that your wedding would take place soon, and you would never see Daemon again.

He seemed to sense your sadness, his hands cupping your face, his eyes full of promises he could not keep. He said nothing, just kissed you again and held you, pressing you back against the dragon.

Caraxes purred, you could hear a faint rattling, like old armor, and the dragon's chest expanded and deflated slowly, the rhythm soothing.

You stayed there for what seemed like an eternity, Daemon wrapped around you, his hand tracing gentle circles on the exposed skin of your thigh.

You sighed, content and warm and happy, but knowing that the spell was soon to be broken, and you would have to return to the reality of the life that had been laid out before you.

"We should be getting back," you said, frowning. You didn't want the moment to end, but you had been gone for far too long, and your maids would be wondering where you were.

Daemon nodded, reluctantly pulling away. He laced up his pants and then helped you straighten your dress. You tried to flatten the wrinkles with your hands, but there was no helping it. You had been flying, and then you had been fucked, thoroughly, by the heir to the throne, and there was no hiding that.

He grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips, his eyes full of promise and heat. You blushed, and he grinned, pulling you back to the dragon.

The ride back was slower, the dragon gliding gently through the sky, and you had the urge to cry. You wanted this feeling, of freedom and warmth and safety, to last forever.

You sat back against Daemon's chest, his arms tight around you, the wind whipping through your hair.

Caraxes flew lazily through the sky, and you could see the Red Keep getting closer, the massive walls looming large. The dragon descended, the air rushing around you, and then the beast landed in the center of the courtyard near the dragon pit, his wings beating wildly, sending clouds of dust and dirt swirling around him.

He roared, a great and terrible sound, his long neck twisting and his wings stretching. The beast was restless, and he seemed unhappy to be back in the confines of the castle.

Daemon leapt off the dragon, landing gracefully, and then turned and helped you down, his hands lingering on your waist. He gave you a wicked smile, and you blushed, unable to meet his eyes.

"I swear," he said, lifting your hand and pressing another kiss to your knuckles, "I'll burn down Casterly Rock just to get a taste of you again."

You chuckled, a blush coloring your cheeks, then you looked him in the eyes.

"And I will gladly watch it burn," you said, grinning.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek, and then he was gone, climbing back onto Caraxes and taking to the sky. You watched them disappear, the great, crimson beast disappearing into the clouds.

You stood there, alone in the courtyard, watching the sky long after he had disappeared. Your heart was heavy, despite his promises, you knew that you would never see him again.

You turned and walked back to the keep, your mind filled with memories of your time together. It was a small moment, a stolen moment, but you knew you would hold on to it…

And be reminded of it every time you looked to the sky.

[reasonsforhope]

"A team of researchers at Washington University in St. Louis has developed a real-time air monitor that can detect any of the SARS-CoV-2 virus variants that are present in a room in about 5 minutes.

The proof-of-concept device was created by researchers from the McKelvey School of Engineering and the School of Medicine at Washington University...

The results are contained in a July 10 publication in Nature Communications that provides details about how the technology works.

The device holds promise as a breakthrough that - when commercially available - could be used in hospitals and health care facilities, schools, congregate living quarters, and other public places to help detect not only the SARS-CoV-2 virus, but other respiratory virus aerosol such as influenza and respiratory syncytial virus (RSV) as well.

“There is nothing at the moment that tells us how safe a room is,” Cirrito said, in the university’s news release. “If you are in a room with 100 people, you don’t want to find out five days later whether you could be sick or not. The idea with this device is that you can know essentially in real time, or every 5 minutes, if there is a live virus in the air.”

How It Works

The team combined expertise in biosensing with knowhow in designing instruments that measure the toxicity of air. The resulting device is an air sampler that operates based on what’s called “wet cyclone technology.” Air is sucked into the sampler at very high speeds and is then mixed centrifugally with a fluid containing a nanobody that recognizes the spike protein from the SARS-CoV-2 virus. That fluid, which lines the walls of the sampler, creates a surface vortex that traps the virus aerosols. The wet cyclone sampler has a pump that collects the fluid and sends it to the biosensor for detection of the virus using electrochemistry.

The success of the instrument is linked to the extremely high velocity it generates - the monitor has a flow rate of about 1,000 liters per minute - allowing it to sample a much larger volume of air over a 5-minute collection period than what is possible with currently available commercial samplers. It’s also compact - about one foot wide and 10 inches tall - and lights up when a virus is detected, alerting users to increase airflow or circulation in the room.

Testing the Monitor

To test the monitor, the team placed it in the apartments of two Covid-positive patients. The real-time air samples from the bedrooms were then compared with air samples collected from a virus-free control room. The device detected the RNA of the virus in the air samples from the bedrooms but did not detect any in the control air samples.

In laboratory experiments that aerosolized SARS-CoV-2 into a room-sized chamber, the wet cyclone and biosensor were able to detect varying levels of airborne virus concentrations after only a few minutes of sampling, according to the study.

“We are starting with SARS-CoV-2, but there are plans to also measure influenza, RSV, rhinovirus and other top pathogens that routinely infect people,” Cirrito said. “In a hospital setting, the monitor could be used to measure for staph or strep, which cause all kinds of complications for patients. This could really have a major impact on people’s health.”

The Washington University team is now working to commercialize the air quality monitor."

-via Forbes, July 11, 2023

-

Holy shit. I know it's still early in the technology and more testing will inevitably be needed but holy shit.

Literally, if it bears out, this could revolutionize medicine. And maybe let immunocompromised people fucking go places again

Also, for those who don't know, Nature Communications is a very prestigious scientific journal that focuses on Pretty Big Deal research. Their review process is incredibly rigorous. This is an absolutely HUGE credibility boost to this research and prototype

[doumadono]

think if reader had muzan's child and they're breastfeeding their baby & he see the child getting milk, would he be like 'hey. gimme some of that.' i imagine reader would be flustered but down for it aha

SINFUL SUNDAY

Muzan found himself in an unexpected situation. Clad in his usual elegant attire, Muzan stood beside you, the mother of his child, as you cradled your newborn in your arms. The soft glow of the moonlight falling through a large window bathed the chamber.

Your infant, a delicate mix of human and demon heritage, nestled against your chest, eagerly latching onto your breast for sustenance.

Muzan observed with a calculating gaze, his crimson eyes narrowing as he fixated on the scene before him. "I want some of that too," Muzan's voice, smooth and tinged with arrogance, sliced through the silence. His eyes bore into yours, a twisted curiosity playing in their depths. There was a certain arrogance in his demeanor, as if he believed that even the act of breastfeeding held a power dynamic that he could exploit.

You arched an eyebrow, unimpressed by his audacity. "You're a demon king, Muzan-sama. I hardly think breast milk is on the menu for someone of your stature."

Muzan's lips curled into a sly smile, revealing sharp fangs. "Stature has nothing to do with cravings, my dear mortal. A feeble concoction of life's essence, bestowed upon the weak and vulnerable is making me curious." The demon king circled around you, his gaze never leaving the child at your breast.

With a sense of reluctant compliance, you nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the delicate dance required to navigate the temperamental whims of the father of your child. Gently cradling the infant in your arms, you approached a meticulously crafted wooden crib, adorned with the most opulent silk blanket money could buy. You carefully nestled the child within the confines of its plush sanctuary.

Upon your return to Muzan's presence, you once again nodded, a gesture that carried the weight of unspoken acquiescence. The Demon Lord, perched regally, regarded you with an air of entitlement as he gestured for you to take a seat beside him on an elegantly crafted couch. Complying, you lowered yourself gracefully onto the plush cushions, the atmosphere tinged with a subtle tension.

Without delay, Muzan's hands moved with a possessive confidence, cupping yours breast in a gesture that bespoke both control and desire. Muzan deftly slid the strap of your nightgown from your shoulder, revealing a portion of your chest. His gaze fixated on the rounded swell of your breast, brimming with nourishing milk. The baby's suckling had left the aureola of your breast darkened.

The demon bent down, taking the bud into his mouth. He began to suckle gently, ensuring the sharp edges of his fangs didn't cause any discomfort to you. As the milk flowed into his mouth, he hummed with satisfaction, savoring the runny sweetness that gradually evolved with each sip.

You found yourself in a bewildering situation, unsure of how to react as he drank your milk. Eventually, you tentatively rested a hand on his shoulder, seeking a semblance of stability.

He continued to suckle, delicately pressing against the breast with his chilly hand. His long, pointed nails lightly brushed against the tender flesh, making you yelp a little.

"Shhh," he whispered, taking the bud out of his mouth to look directly at you. "We don't want the baby to wake up."

Muzan swiftly removed your remaining sleeve of the nightgown, revealing your chest completely to his hungry, crimson eyes. He then shifted his focus to the other breast, wrapping his lips around the hardened nipple. He took his time, gently sucking while flicking his tongue against the hardened bud. The milk spilled into his mouth again, prompting a satisfied hum. The entire experience, he realized, had an unintended consequence — his pants felt uncomfortably tight in the crotch.

The experience had a profound effect on you as well. You moaned quietly in relief as he eased the tension in your breasts by gently drinking the accumulated milk. "Oh, my lord," you whispered, gently caressing his shoulder.

Muzan took your hand and directed it toward his groin, where a noticeable bulge had formed.

Without a second thought, you sensed the texture of his hardened penis through the fabric of his pants and began to delicately massage it whilst his tongue massaged the erected nipple.

As things intensified, Muzan pulled away, fixing a stern gaze on your flushed face. "Take off your clothes," he commanded, his tone firm and demanding. "I want to take you, right here and now. And who knows, perhaps you'll birth me another heir soon."

[authorhjk1]

Dreamy Pink

(Shin Ryujin X Male Reader)

By @i-am-lifeform24

“The pink one is Ryujin being an actual princess (haven't decided on the time period yet). This one is completely the opposite to the black one. Here is Ryujin in control. And her advisor is the guy she uses when she needs to get off.” - Inspiration quote from @authorhjk1

“No.”

“Your highness, they are all very accomplished, winners of multiple wars!”

“Accomplished, but ugly. No.”

“Princess, these nations have stood with us for centuries. Surely you can think it o-”

Ryujin stares down the impassioned minister, crossing her arms, her pink, flowing dress sparkling as she looks up at the man from across the round table. “I see no reason why I have to do anything, minister. I will not be marrying any of these slimy men.”

You sigh, shooting the old man an apologetic glance as the other members of the council fidget in their seats. The princess has always been… difficult. Even standing behind her, you can feel how uncomfortable the room is getting. Funny, that all the most powerful lords and ladies of the country can’t get through to a much younger girl.

Steeling yourself, you take a step forward, “My apologies, minister, perhaps the princess misunderstands.” Ryujin’s catlike eyes dart left, the princess giving you a warning, shifting her lithe body in the pink mass of cotton so she can better stare up at you. You can feel the other members of the table hold their breath. Here it comes.

“Misunderstand what exactly, advisor?” Her voice is icy, pointed, like she can’t imagine why you would say something so stupid. Well, it is your job after all, and whether she likes it or not, you were put in this position to keep her in check, so keep her in check you will.

“That while you are the most beautiful princess on the continent, you are also the leader of the most powerful country on this side of the world.” You start, gesturing to the other nobles of the table. They straighten up, morning sunlight peeking through stained glass to illuminate their battle-worn features, as if they’ve broken free from the spell of a very bratty princess.

Ryujin raises her eyebrow at you, slightly nodding for you to go on. You watch her dress shine in the soft light, taking a deep breath, “You have to at least listen their proposals out. Agree to the minister’s plan to let the princes visit you.”

Ryujin scoffs, “I don’t want their mud on my floors. This castle was built by my father, and you want to bring these grungy foreigners here? To my paradise?”

You lean forward, and Ryujin’s eyes widen as your strong voice echoes throughout the ornate chamber, “A paradise built by alliances. Strong, long-lasting, powerful alliances. Do you believe that your honorable parents fell in love by the grace of God, your highness?”

Ryujin’s eyes narrow, and the whole room holds its breath. You glance at the minister across the table, the man slowly sitting back down, eyes wide, his robes shifting as he tries to sneak back into his seat. Your heart catches in your throat. It’s never a good idea to mention the late King and Queen in front of her.

Maybe if you apologize before it sets in, she’ll forgive you. You meet Ryujin’s gaze, stammering, ‘N-not to say that your parents were without grace. I’m sure that they would be very proud of you, your high-“

“You’re right.”

Wait, what?

Ryujin smiles at you, her dark eyes crinkling as she exhales, breaking her stare. She turns back to the council. “My Advisor is right. I apologize for my own lack of foresight in the matter of my engagement. Minister, let it be know that I will receive these… princes. I will leave the details up to you.”

“A…. A wise choice, your highness! We shall begin constructing the plans right away.” The old man shoots up with a wide smile, the other council members filling the room with excited applause. You look down at Ryujin, and the princess cracks a smirk at you, as if her jolt of anger was all one big, convoluted, prank.

You gulp, giving her a quick smirk back, stepping behind the sovereign’s large makeshift throne as the council chatters on. Ryujin straightens her back, adjusting her tiara to sit on perfectly on her neatly combed locks. Here, at the head of the table, she almost seems like a real ruler, not an aggressive orphan made to reign way too early.

Soon, the meeting concludes, and you find yourself at the large mahogany bowing to every council member that takes their leave. “Thank you, duchess. And yes, we will make sure that the princess attends your name day celebration!” You lean forward, holding the gloved hand of an older woman, the smile lines on her cheeks deepening as you smile at her. She leans beside your ear, letting the other nobles pass behind her, “Thank the Lord for you, advisor. The poor girl barely has things together as it is…” You straighten, giving the older woman a sideways grin, “Now that’s our sovereign you are talking about, duchess, with how large the kingdom is, I would say that she is doing much better than any of us could.”

The duchess opens her mouth to respond, “Oh no advisor, i’m sure….” Suddenly, her eyes widen, staring at the doorway behind you, and she trails off. “Nevermind! I shall see you on Saturday. Your highness.” She curtsies, and you turn around, just in time to see Ryujin, with her guards flanking her, and her arms across her chest.

“P-princess! I apologize, I'm blocking your way.” You start, stepping aside in an ill attempt to escape. With a bang, the large doors swing shut, and the guards shift uneasily as Ryujin grabs you by the ear and pulls you along the hallway.

“Ow! Princess! I was just escorting the duchess out! I didn’t mean anything by-” You grimace, the sharp pain coursing through your body as she drags you past ornate paintings and ancient keepsakes. The royal is surprisingly strong, her long legs strutting confidently on the velvet carpet. You wonder what set her off this time. She handled the meeting well, really, really well. If anything, you’re more than proud that she managed to avoid exploding at the council, or at you, for once, so what could she possibly want with you now.

Eventually, the thump of her heels on the soft flooring stops, and you find yourself in front of a large, gilded door. The guards follow closely behind, gloves gripping the hilts of their swords tightly as Ryujin addresses them. “Leave us, now. And make sure that none enter this wing for the next few hours. I will have a few words with my advisor.”

You shoot a pleading look at the knights, almost feeling their pity through their plated armor. ‘Sorry, boss. We’ll make it up to you.’ they seem to say, bowing quickly before marching away to the entrance of the castle wing. God, you’ve really done it now.

Ryujin drags you inside, not wasting a second, pushing you up against the warm wood. Your breath catches in your throat, the messy, victorian style bedroom a lazy backdrop to the princess’ intense stare. She pushes her covered breasts onto your chest. Arms, they stay pinned at your side, like she’s pressing a painting into a wall. Ryujin slowly cranes her lips beside your ear, “I barely have things together?”

You gulp, heart catching in your throat as you look down at the beautiful woman. Her gaze is icy, hands slowly rubbing the outside of your trousers. “P-princess, the duchess simply worries for you, we don’t have to do this again.” you squeak, like a mouse, hunted by this very turned on, catlike royal.

Ryujin does nothing but smirk, pulling your underwear down quickly, dropping to her knees as the cold morning air wraps around your erect member. Your hands slowly droop down, but you stay plastered on the wood, like she’s still pinning you there, like her body is still on you.

“Heavy. Good. You’re filling me up today.” The princess cups your balls, her fingers dribbling against the puckered skin as she squints up at you. Amidst short breaths, you can’t help but marvel at how the orange-yellow light glazes her skin, the thin, pink fabric of her dress covered in dark spots as Ryujin’s wetness spreads from her legs. She’s beautiful, and after that disaster of a meeting, she needs a way to relieve her stress.

Ryujin’s tongue darts out, teasing the leaking tip of your cockhead as she grips you by your base, “Hey.” Informal. Casual. Crude. She looks up into your eyes, and you stare back down at her, sweat forming on your forehead as you can’t help but throb in her soft hands. “Yes, princess?” you reply, your voice breathy.

Her gaze softens, her eyes now half-lidded as she slowly licks up the length of your shaft. Her dress has creeped up her thighs at this point, and you can’t help but notice her bare pussy lips in between her kneeling legs. Ryujin stares at you, a firm warning exiting her precum smeared lips, “Don’t ever embarrass me again… daddy.”

You harden at the words, wanting nothing more than to grab the princess by the neck and throw her onto the bed. Ryujin can tell, making a show out of keeping one hand jerking on your cock, while the other pulls her dress down her breasts, the mink revealing perfect, perky breasts.

She smiles, “I’m going to drain you now, and you don’t get to cum until I say so, alright?” Ryujin accentuates the last word with a kiss on your cockhead, the skin wet with her spit. You give her a slow nod, gritting your teeth. She’s asking you for the impossible.

But she’s also your princess. You are sworn to her.

“Yes… your highness.” You croak out the words as Ryujin smirks at you, “Good daddy, now come to bed, i’m riding you until you fill me with your seed.”

You stumble forward, watching as your princess sauntily sways her now naked hips. No undergarments in the council meeting? You’d have ot tell her off later, but in the meantime, the idea only does more to keep your cock hard and ready. Her pink dress stays bunched up around her tight waist, and you watch as her ass sways in the morning light, the dresses and books strewed around the floor nothing but obstacles for her long, supple legs.

Ryujin crawls onto the bed, peeling the rest of the pink fabric off her body, then kneeling on her heels as she crosses her arms, “Faster, daddy. I have a kingdom to run.”

Hastily, you strip, sitting on the edge of the bed, then swinging your legs so they are on either side of the kneeling girl. You’re careful not to meet her eyes. No matter how turned on you are, she’s in charge.

Soon, you’re lying down on your back, the expensive, gold patterned furs digging into the small of your back as your princess straddles you. Ryujin’s hair falls around her face in the soft yellow light, and you watch as her petite tits rise and fall, the princess grabbing you by the shaft, your cockhead rubbing against her pussy lips as she stares down at you.

Her eyes roll back into her head, “God, daddy, if only that old hag could watch me handle this.

“Fuck!” You groan. With a slap, the princess’ ass bounces on your thighs as she roughly takes you to the hilt. She’s always rough, calling you daddy even if you’re her toy, but a part of you loves it, loves letting her take control, loves letting the princess, in a twisted way, worship you with her body.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Ryujin moans, grabbing handfuls of the blankets around her as she bounces on your cock. You feel her walls get accustomed to you, the tightness suffocating, wringing you in a wet embrace.

You look up. She’s not even looking at you. Her Tiara stays skewed on her head, her breasts jumping with every bounce, her small hands resting on your thighs as the princess arches her back, gyrating her hips onto your waiting cock.

“P-princess, it’s so good.” You moan, hands reaching down to grab her soaked ass.

A slap resounds through the large room. “Don’t you dare. You don’t get to touch me until I milk you dry, daddy.” Ryujin warns, her tongue coming out of her moaning mouth as she slaps your hands away, continuing her impassioned ride.

You give up, resorting to grabbing handfuls of cloth, watching as your beloved princess cums on your cock, over and over again, her breasts lathered in sweat, her taut stomach rippling under the force of her bouncing.

Ryujin opens one eye, panting, to grab you by the neck, “Kiss me, daddy…” You hesitate for a moment, wishing to savor the feeling of her drawing circles on your crotch, the glorious sensation of her royal pussy grasping onto every ridge of your unworthy cock, but in the end, you sit up.

“You’re beautiful, princess… please, i’m so close.” You beg, letting the girl hold you by the cheeks as your tongue explores her mouth, her hips still riding you, albeit slower, more deliberate, as if she wants to savor every moment too.

Ryujin looks up at you, her dark eyes mesmerizing as you feel the blankets shift. “Here, you belong to me… all your cum, daddy… it belongs to me…” She whispers slowly, pausing to grimace, as if your cock is somehow surprising her with pleasure after all these trysts.

You exhale, feeling it bubble in your core. Something about your aloof, icy princess demanding for you, demanding for your seed, burns all thoughts of stopping away. You need to cum in her, now.

Your lips find Ryujin’s neck, sucking on her clear, unblemished skin as your rough hands find her ass. This time, she doesn’t turn you away, the princess’ smile only getting bigger, as if she’s been waiting for you to take charge.

”Mmm, fuck! Fuck! Breed me! Breed your princess!” Ryujin screams, her hips now still as you fuck into her fast and hard. She’s sitting on your lap now, your chests pushed together, her breasts warm as you hammer into the royal’s pussy.

“Y-yes princess! It’s coming!” You grit your teeth, focusing on delaying your release for as long as you can, until the princess wraps her long legs around you, rocking her pussy lips on the base of your crotch. “Oh… oh! Daddy!” Ryujin groans, grinding her pussy onto you, not allowing you to thrust, her walls clenching, begging for your seed as she pins you down with the flower between her legs.

“I’m coming!” You roar, kissing Ryujin’s jaw as the princess’ eyes shoot open. She moans loudly as you fill her, your hot, virile cum making her body relax. You feel her in your arms, her tits shaking, her ass trembling as you fill the next in line to the throne with your seed.

It’s almost comical, that she’d get so frustrated with a stupid meeting, that this.is the only way she could relax.

Hey, you’re not complaining, sighing as Ryujin topples onto your chest, her hot, deep breaths in your ear her pussy still milking the last dribbles of cum from your cock.

You look down at her with a grin, “Is that all for this morning, your highness?”

Ryujin rolls her eyes, nestling into the crook of your neck, the fur blankets around you damp with the heat of your sex. “Mmm,..”

She flips you over, her legs spreading as you crouch above her, your cock exiting her pussy with a pop. Ryujin smiles, “No, daddy. This time, you’re going to use me.”

You smile, watching her bite her lip as the morning light fades. “As you wish, your highness.”

----------

Hi everyone!

This chapter was written by @i-am-lifeform24 . Thank you so much for the great chapter!

I hope you guys enjoy reading it.

Stay healthy!

[cregansdingdong]

ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜɴ.

Cregan Stark x Wife!fem!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: NSFW, m!receiving oral, swearing; i imagine he would absolutely fucking love to start his day off with some SLOPPY head. based on this ask.

Hot stuff under the cut. 18+ only. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume. ty.

₊˚ ���︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

It was in his eyes, first, blinding him momentarily as he tried to blink away the grogginess of sleep. The warmth of it had spread from the window across the room, decorating his marital chambers with light and colors. As he laid there, splayed bare and soft, it was at his neck, peppering hot kisses down his throat—then his chest, his stomach, and only the sweetest of pecks at his hip, barely covered by the furs. Cregan was confused, however, as to why the sun somehow had its mouth around the tip of his cock. The low groan of pleasure rumbles from within his gut before he could reach out for his wife, her space on the bed beside him feeling warm still, but devoid of her. 

Dark hair tousled, Cregan sits up on his elbows to find where the little vixen had gone, a smirk written on his face as her weight shifted over his thighs. She giggled somewhere beneath the furs, feeling him wake, and her mouth sank down on his half-hard cock, nearly to the hilt. “Gods be good..” He grunts, slumping back against the pillows to let her do as she pleased. It didn’t happen too often, but it was always a nice surprise when he woke up with her perfect lips wrapped around his cockhead. “You’re hungry today, aren’t you? Dawn has barely risen, and you’re already on my—” The words are permanently locked in his throat as she rolls his hefty balls in her warm palms. “Seven fucking hells.” He groans, tip twitching halfway to her throat. 

She squeezed them in her hands, and he barely had the self-restraint not to fuck her mouth hoarse. She was surely pleased by his reaction, swallowing down the precum like the good wife that she was. Cregan lays his elbow over his eyes to attempt to control himself, lines of swears and the most sinful of moans flowing past his lips. The heat of her mouth had him throbbing as it was, but the way she was playing with him was pure evil. His wife bobbed her head to an imaginary rhythm without pause or loss of beat. Even from below the thick furs—which worked well when they didn’t want to wake all of Winterfell—he could hear the mess she was making. He could feel it coating his base, a vulgar and erotic mix of his sticky cum and her drool. He wanted to fuck her throat so badly, just the way she liked it. But he was willing to behave himself this once. 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

[konigsblog]

please write kidnapper könig + noncon and degradation

TW/CW; NON-CON, DEGRADATION, KIDNAPPING. DARK FICTION. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. MDNI 18+

Kidnapper-König attempts to stay calm and relaxed, especially with your constant, loud sobbing, your screams for someone to save you.

He understands that you're in such a vulnerable state, snatched away from society and locked away in the chamber downstairs for his own use and enjoyment, for him to love and dote on. He can see how mortified and frightened you are at his presence, how you avoid his sweet, lustful touch and squirm through disgust and displeasure when he continues to grope you for his own sick benefit.

He's eerily quiet, only the sound of heavy breathing coming from the man towering above you, smiling at you in a perverse way that leaves your bottom lip quivering. His watchful and protective gaze doesn't falter, he has security cameras installed inside the basement to eye you up and jerk himself off to the sight of your fear, riling himself up with his fantasies and the way he yearns for control. Something about raping his sweet victim entices König, encourages him until he can't control his frustration and resist the need to claim ownership over his captive.

“Quit your crying, Liebling. I know for a fact you can take this. Now, hush and obey.” König grinds his teeth together at your behaviour, how you wriggle through the splitting agony between your soft legs.

Your hands are pinned down to the metal table, your legs dangling off and pressed to your chest, with a ball gag silencing your loud squeals and pleas. The blood running down your thighs stains his hands, and although shame leaves König horrified as he brutalises his sweet girl, he can't control himself. His thrusts only quicken, with his swollen and bulbous cock swelling inside of your pussy, sore cunt. Arousal leaves König's core tight as he feels himself lose control inside of the warmth of your little pussy, ignoring how glossy your loveable eyes have become from his cruelty.

You can feel the tip press against your sweet spot, causing moans to flow from your mouth loudly. Shame fills you, disgust and guilt leaves you overwhelmed. Feeling aroused by your assault leaves your stomach churning, nausea leaving you light-headed, the blinding light above you worsening your throbbing headache. He runs his soft lips down your neck, licking up your jaw to your eye, cleaning your face from your tears. His teeth nip your bare skin, staining it with his sinful and lewd touch.

Truthfully, König hates seeing you in so much pain, but the sight of your terror arouses him in shameful, taboo ways he can't explain.

“Take every inch. I know your pussy can take it, even if you hate every second of it.”

[misswynters]

Wine

aemond targaryen x wife!reader

[WARNING: switch!aemond, implied mommy kink?, riding, lactation kink but with wine?, let me know if there are any mistakes

[requested: by @demigoddessqueens (everyone say thanks)

[a/n: both you and aemond are switches and this is the first time i’m writing this type of thing :3

Aemond knelt before you in the privacy of your chambers, his tall, imposing figure somehow made small by the sheer humility in his posture. The low, flickering light of the hearth cast long shadows across the room, turning the walls into a canvas of shifting shapes. But the only thing that mattered was the man before you—Aemond Targaryen, Prince of the Realm, brought to his knees by his own desires, and by you, his wife.

The tension in the air was thick, palpable, as if the very walls of the room held their breath, waiting for the inevitable. Aemond’s single eye, the vibrant violet of old Valyria, locked onto yours with an intensity that could have melted stone. But tonight, there was no fire in his gaze, no dragon-like fury—only a deep, aching need.

You stood above him, holding a goblet filled with the finest Arbor red wine. The deep crimson liquid sloshed gently as you tilted the cup ever so slightly, just enough to let the wine catch the light. Aemond’s breath hitched, his lips parting as his eye followed the movement of your hand, as if entranced.

“You want this, don’t you?” you asked, your voice a low, sultry purr that filled the room with an almost tangible heat.

“Yes,” Aemond whispered, his voice strained, laced with desperation. “Please…”

There was something so intoxicating about the way he begged—this powerful man, a dragonrider, a warrior, reduced to nothing but a trembling, needy husband before you. You reveled in the control you had over him, the way he willingly gave himself to you, trusting you with his vulnerability.

With deliberate slowness, you lowered the goblet toward his lips, but stopped just short of letting him drink. His eye flicked up to meet yours, a flash of panic crossing his features as you teased him, holding the cup just out of reach. He didn’t dare move, though you could see the strain in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched into fists behind his back.

“Do you think you deserve it?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Aemond swallowed hard, his throat working as he struggled to form words. “I—I want to deserve it,” he stammered, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. “I want to please you, my lady. I’ll do anything…”

Your lips curved into a slow, wicked smile as you tilted the goblet just enough to let a single drop of wine fall onto his waiting tongue. He groaned softly at the taste, his eye fluttering closed as he savored the brief, tantalizing sensation. But you pulled the cup away again, making him whimper in protest.

“Anything?” you repeated, your voice laced with amusement as you crouched down to his level. You were so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, see the slight tremor in his hands as he struggled to maintain control. He nodded fervently, his eye wide with need.

“Good,” you murmured, tracing the rim of the goblet with your finger before bringing it to his lips once more. This time, you allowed the wine to flow freely, pouring it into his mouth as he eagerly drank, his lips wrapping around the edge of the cup like a man starved.

Some of the wine spilled over, trailing down his chin and neck, staining his skin a deep, sinful red. You watched, enthralled, as the liquid dripped onto his collar, seeping into the fabric of his tunic. Aemond’s breathing grew heavier, more labored, as he drank, and when you finally pulled the goblet away, his lips were stained with the rich hue of the wine.

You leaned in closer, your breath ghosting over his skin as you licked a stray droplet of wine from the corner of his mouth. Aemond shuddered under your touch, his whole body tensing as he fought to keep still. The taste of the wine, mixed with the saltiness of his skin, was intoxicating, and you found yourself drawn to him, unable to resist the pull.

Pressing your lips to his, you kissed him deeply, your tongue slipping into his mouth to claim the remnants of the wine. He moaned into the kiss, his eye closing as he surrendered completely to you, his hands trembling where they rested on the floor. You could feel the intensity of his desire in the way he kissed you back, the way his whole body seemed to ache for your touch.

When you finally pulled away, Aemond was panting, his lips parted and his eye half-lidded with lust. His hair, usually so meticulously kept, was now disheveled, strands falling into his face. You brushed them aside gently, your fingers lingering in his hair, savoring the feel of the silky strands.

“You’ve been so good,” you whispered, your voice softening just a fraction. “So sweet.”

His eye fluttered open, and the look of adoration in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. He nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to steady his breathing. “I’ll always be good for you,” he said, his voice hoarse, raw with emotion. “Whatever you want… i’m yours.”

The sheer sincerity in his words, the absolute devotion, made your pulse quicken. You set the goblet aside, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the stubble beneath your touch. He leaned into your hand, a small, contented sigh escaping him as he closed his eye once more.

You guided him gently onto his back, his body melting into the soft furs beneath him. He looked up at you, his violet eye wide, vulnerable, and utterly captivating. You straddled his waist, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, and leaned down, brushing your lips against his ear.

“Tonight, you will relax,” you whispered, your breath hot against his skin. “and do absolutely nothing.”

“Yes, my lady,” he breathed, his voice trembling with anticipation.

You began to unlace his tunic, your fingers deftly working at the knots until the fabric fell away, revealing the pale, sculpted planes of his chest. Aemond’s breath hitched as your hands roamed over his skin, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm.

He was beautiful—almost too beautiful, with his alabaster skin and the faint scars that marked him as a warrior. But tonight, he was not a warrior, not not a prince or a dragonrider. Tonight, he was yours, and yours alone. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone, then another, slowly working your way down his chest.

Aemond moaned softly, his hands clenching the furs beneath him as he struggled to remain still. You could feel the tension coiled in his body, the way he was barely holding himself together. When you reached the waistband of his trousers, you paused, looking up at him through your lashes. His eye was dark with desire, his lips parted as he panted softly, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath.

"Do you want me to continue?" you asked, your voice a low, teasing murmur.

"Yes," he gasped, his voice breaking with desperation. "Please..."

A wicked smile curved your lips as you slowly, agonizingly slowly, began to unlace his trousers. Aemond's breath quickened, his whole body trembling with anticipation as you finally freed him from the confines of his clothing.

You took him in your hand, feeling the heat of his arousal, and he groaned, his eye squeezing shut as he arched into your touch. You stroked him slowly, watching the way his face contorted with pleasure, the way his lips parted in a silent plea for more. "Look at me," you commanded softly.

Aemond's eye fluttered open, and the sheer vulnerability in his gaze made your heart ache. He was completely at your mercy, and the power you held over him was intoxicating.

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a featherlight kiss. "My handsome husband," you whispered against his mouth.

"Yes," he echoed, his voice trembling with devotion.

And then you took his lips into your mouth, swallowing his moans as you worked him with slow, deliberate movements, savoring the taste of him, the feel of him trembling beneath you. Aemond's hands flew to your hair, gripping the strands tightly as he fought to control himself, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

You kept your movements slow, teasing, drawing out his pleasure until he was a quivering mess beneath you, his whole body trembling with need. When you finally pulled back, his eye was glazed with lust, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Please," he gasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Please, my lady.I can't..."

"Shh," you soothed, pressing a finger to his lips. "You don't need to do anything, my love. Just let me take care of you."

Aemond nodded, his eye fluttering closed as he surrendered completely to your touch. You straddled him once more, guiding him into you with a slow, deliberate movement that made you both gasp. The feeling of him filling you, the heat of his body against yours, was almost overwhelming, and you had to take a moment to steady yourself. His hands found your hips, his grip almost bruising as he held you in place, his whole body trembling with the effort to remain still. You began to move, slowly at first, savoring the way he filled you, the way his hands tightened on your hips as he fought to keep control.

His eye fluttered open, and the look of sheer adoration in his gaze made your heart ache with a fierce, burning love. You leaned down, capturing his lips in a deep, searing kiss as you rode him. Your The way your hips bounced on his was growing faster and more desperate, as the knots in your stomach began to tighten. Aemond's hands roamed your body, his touch both gentle and possessive, as if he couldn't decide whether to hold you close or let you go. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body tensing beneath you as he neared the edge.

"Come for me," you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back your own release.

Aemond's whole body shuddered as he finally let go, his release crashing over him with a force that left him breathless, trembling beneath you. You followed him over the edge, your own release tearing through you, leaving you both gasping for air.

Your hips rolled slowly, teasingly, savoring the way he filled you so completely, the way his thick length stretched and filled your inner walls.

You could feel every vein, every ridge of him, your walls tightening around his cock with each agonizingly slow thrust.

Aemond's hands flexed at his sides, his jaw clenched as he held back the torrent of need threatening to consume him.

You leaned forward, your breasts brushing against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your skin. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one trembling with the effort to remain still, to let you take him as you pleased. His eye locked onto yours, the sheer vulnerability in his gaze making your core throb with desire.

"Aemond," you whispered, your voice a husky command that sent a shiver down his spine. "Touch me."

His eye widened, a flash of uncertainty crossing his features as he hesitated, unsure if he could trust himself to obey without losing control. You didn't give him a choice. Reaching down, you took his hand in yours, guiding it between your bodies, down to where you were joined.

His fingers trembled as you placed them against your bundle of nerves, the sensitive nub already swollen with arousal. The slightest brush of his touch sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your thighs quivering as you gasped softly.

Aemond's breath hitched, his eye widening as he felt the slick heat of your arousal against his fingertips, the way your body clenched around him in response.

"Right there," you murmured, guiding his hand in slow, deliberate circles over your clit. Aemond groaned, his whole body tensing as he watched you ride him, his touch growing bolder, more insistent as he lost himself in the sensation of pleasing you.

You began to move faster, your hips rolling in a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart. Every thrust sent a wave of pleasure crashing through you, your core tightening with each movement, driving you closer to the edge. Amond's fingers worked your clit with a desperate intensity, his touch sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through your body, making you tremble with the effort to hold on.

Aemond was a mess beneath you, his chest heaving, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to keep up with you, to match your rhythm, to please you in every way he could. His eye was half-lidded, glazed with lust as he watched you, his lips parted in a silent plea, a prayer to the gods of pleasure.

You could feel the tension coiling in your lower belly, the tight knot of desire that threatened to unravel at any moment. Your hands found purchase on his chest, your nails digging into his skin as you rode him harder, faster, chasing your release with a singleminded determination.

"Aemond," you gasped, your voice trembling with the sheer force of the pleasure building within you. "Don't stop."

Aemond's fingers moved faster, his touch desperate, as if he couldn't bear the thought of not bringing you to the peak of pleasure once more. His other hand gripped your hip, guiding you as you rode him, his thrusts growing erratic as he teetered on the edge himself.

Your orgasm hit you with the force of a hurricane, your body tensing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your inner walls clenched around Aemond, milking him for everything he had, drawing a choked cry from his lips as he came undone beneath you, his release spilling into you once more.

You collapsed onto his chest, your bodies slick with sweat, your breath mingling as you both struggled to come down from the high. Aemond's arms wrapped around you, holding you close, as if he never wanted to let go. His heart still pounded beneath your ear, a steady rhythm that matched the thrum of satisfaction coursing through your veins.

taglist: @beebeechaos @spn-obession @thornsandtulips @benjicotblckwood

[NOTE | if you would like to be added to my permanent taglist let me know!

[banner: @cafekitsune

[saphronethaleph]

Longform Statistical Analysis

“Master Nu,” Windu said, with a smile. “It’s nice to see you in the Council Chambers once more.”

“Thank you,” the librarian replied, inclining her head. “Unfortunately, I bring dire news.”

“...you do?” Windu asked, worried now. “What kind of dire news?”

“Dire news coming out of the library is usually either trivial or an absolute disaster,” Ki-Adi-Mundi contributed. “Which is it, so we can decide how worried to be?”

“Quite possibly, both,” Nu told him. “To summarize… Masters, two years ago we discovered that the Sith were not extinct. With this in mind, I have been engaged on a long-term project – I evaluated data about the discovery, admittance, tenure and ultimate loss of every single Jedi for which we have data. Every one in our archives.”

“Now I understand why it took so long,” Even Piell said. “In fact, I credit your skills for taking so little time. That must have been… what, a thousand years… there are ten thousand knights now… hundreds of thousands of Jedi total?”

“Around that,” Nu confirmed. “But the problem is… this. This is the number of active Jedi at any one time, during the first hundred years after Ruusan.”

Her holoprojector activated, showing a kind of flow diagram made out of strands of light. Light yellow marked those newly discovered and accepted as initiates, green padawans, blue for knights and purple marked those who were masters. The tiny Order, wounded but triumphant in the years immediately after Ruusan, was reborn and swelled as it gained more members and those members it had reached greater degrees of Mastery.

“Two hundred years,” Nu went on, as the diagram swelled and zoomed out. The growth was slower now, harder to see on the same scale, but the Order pulsed in colours of green and blue and purple as the Golden Age of the Republic continued.

“...you said this was dire?” Adi Gallia asked.

“We’ll get there,” Nu said, accelerating the projection a little.

As it ran forwards, decade after decade passing by until it approached the present, Master Yaddle leaned forwards in her seat.

She wasn’t the only one. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but the Jedi Order – which had swelled to enormous, triumphant scale during the Golden Age – had begun to contract again.

By the time it reached the present day, it still possessed deep reserves of strength, but the colouring was… just a little different. The purple of Mastery was less common, though the blues and greens of Knighthood and Padawan were still fully present, and Nu manipulated her controls a bit more.

A second strand appeared, this one much thinner and more intermittent. And, as time tracked towards the present, it went from a shading of mostly blue hundreds of years ago to shades that were a little more green.

“This is the members of our Order who left our ranks due to their death,” Nu explained. “While the differences year-to-year are so minor that I would hesitate to describe them as meaningful, when given the long view and looked at in aggregate the effect is clear.”

She folded her arms. “The Sith faced by Knight Kenobi is the anomaly – an open Sith attack which makes no pretensions as to what they are. This is what I would call a true threat, Councillors. Not a single Sith who seeks to kill individual Jedi in a duel, but a centuries-long program of gradual, subtle, pervasive damage to the Jedi Order, chiefly through the loss of Padawans before they become Knights.”

“You think the Sith are behind this?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.

“Behind any given casualty?” Nu asked. “...no. I have no proof I could offer, though a detailed examination of the loss of any given Padawan may conclude that there was some other factor behind their death. Behind the whole pattern? I think it’s quite possible, Master Mundi. We know the Sith can plot and plan for something for a thousand years, and there are only two targets for such a plot that make any sense – ourselves, and the Republic.”

She met the gaze of each councillor in turn. “If this is not due to the Sith, my friends, then we must ask ourselves – what is? They have been doing something for ten centuries and we know nothing about it.”

After a slightly dismayed silence, Yoda tapped his gimmer stick on the floor.

“Much to think about, we have,” he said. “Master Nu – more to say, have you?”

“Yes,” Nu replied. “My presentation, I hope, serves as a reminder that the Sith did not appear out of nowhere two years ago. They have been doing things over the last thousand years, and it is quite possible that we have run into their machinations without identifying them as such… it would be a great mistake to generalize from the Sith defeated by Knight Kenobi.”

“...hmm,” Windu said, frowning. “During the interrogations of Nute Gunray. He said that his actions were based on a shadowy figure pressing him to get a treaty signed by Queen Amidala of the Naboo. That treaty would have benefitted the Trade Federation, but nobody else.”

“The wording of the treaty, benefit the Trade Federation, it would,” Yaddle said. “The existence of the treaty – benefit someone else, perhaps?”

In his office, Sheev Palpatine paused halfway through reading a law.

He had the strange feeling that he’d just been betrayed by his greatest ally. But that was nonsense, since the closet thing he had left to a true ally was paperwork…

[bassmars]

Sub! Neuvillette x Dom! GN Reader

Was bored at night and wrote this, pretty OOC but decided to post it since I haven’t posted anything since last time.

————————

The Chief Justice’s Punishment

submissive neuvillette nsfw

warnings: light bondage, dom/sub dynamics, humiliation kink, orgasm denial/ edging, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, office sex, authority kink, also names like slut and etc

The soft scratch of quill against parchment filled Neuvillette's private chambers, his elegant handwriting flowing across yet another legal document. You watched him from across his massive oak desk, remembering how it all started months ago – one small error that led to discovering the Chief Justice's deepest desires. Since then, these "private corrections" had become your little secret, each session leaving him more obedient, more desperate for your control.

"My, my..." you purred, standing slowly. "What do we have here, Chief Justice? Another mistake?"

His breath audibly caught – he knew what that tone meant. After all your previous encounters, Neuvillette's body had become finely tuned to your dominance. Sometimes you wondered if he made these small errors on purpose now, craving what would follow.

"Is it that time again?" he asked softly, his formal demeanor already beginning to crack. His fingers twitched on the desk, remembering how you'd bound them with his own sash last time.

You circled the desk, document in hand. "You know the drill by now, don't you, pet?" The nickname made him shudder – he'd earned it after the third time you'd reduced him to begging.

"Yes..." he breathed, already rising from his chair without being told. Months of training had taught him well.

"Yes, what?" you prompted, eyes narrowing.

"Yes, Your Honor," he corrected himself quickly, cheeks flushing. The title had started as a joke during one of your sessions, but the way it made him tremble had quickly turned it into a requirement.

You reached out to trace his jaw with one finger. "Look how well you've learned. Remember when you used to protest? Now you're practically quivering for it." Your hand slid down to his ceremonial sash. "Should we add another lesson to your education today?"

Neuvillette's eyes darkened with familiar need. "Please..." he whispered, already losing his composed facade. "I've been... waiting for you to notice."

"Oh?" You yanked him closer by his sash. "Did someone make mistakes on purpose? Has my strict Chief Justice become such a needy little slut for punishment?"

The whimper that escaped him was answer enough. Months of these encounters had stripped away his inhibitions, revealing the submissive creature that had always lurked beneath his authoritative exterior.

"Strip," you commanded. "And tell me exactly what you hoped to achieve with your little... error."

With practiced grace, Neuvillette began removing his elaborate robes, each layer revealing more of his pale, perfect skin. His fingers trembled slightly – not from nervousness anymore, but from anticipation.

"I... I may have misplaced those documents intentionally," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "It's been a week since our last... session."

You clicked your tongue disapprovingly, though heat pooled in your core at his confession. "So desperate you'd risk court efficiency? My, my... you've become quite the needy little dragon, haven't you?"

Now down to just his fitted undergarments, Neuvillette's breathing had grown heavy. The obvious bulge in his pants betrayed his arousal. "I apologize for my... impropriety."

"Oh, you will," you promised, grabbing his sash from the discarded robes. "Hands behind your back."

He complied immediately, shivering as you bound his wrists with practiced efficiency. The silk sash – a symbol of his authority – now served to strip him of control.

"Look at you," you purred, walking around him slowly. "The mighty Chief Justice, bound and trembling. What would your subordinates think if they saw you like this?"

A desperate whine escaped his throat. "Please... Your Honor..."

You grabbed a fistful of his silky hair, yanking his head back. "Please what? Use your words properly, or you won't get what you need.

"Please use me," he gasped, dignity crumbling. "I've been thinking about it all week – your hands, your commands, how you make me... make me..."

"Make you what?" You bit his exposed neck, marking him just below where his collar would hide it.

"Make me lose control," he moaned, hips jerking helplessly. "Make me beg. Make me yours."

Your free hand slid down his chest, toying with the waistband of his undergarments. "And what makes you think you deserve it? After deliberately sabotaging court documents?"

"Because," you growled into his ear, yanking his underwear down roughly, "you're already dripping for me." Your hand wrapped around his length, already slick with precum. "Such a needy little dragon."

Neuvillette's legs trembled as you stroked him slowly, teasingly. "F-fuck," he cursed, a rare break in his usual eloquent speech that made you grin wickedly.

"What filthy language from our Chief Justice," you taunted, squeezing harder. "I think that deserves some punishment, don't you?”

You pushed him forward until he was bent over his desk, important documents scattered beneath him. His bound hands flexed helplessly as you spread his legs wider. The sharp sound of skin meeting skin filled the room as you landed blow after blow on his perfect ass, watching it turn a beautiful shade of pink.

His moans grew increasingly desperate with each strike, cock twitching against the expensive wood of his desk. The mighty Chief Justice, reduced to rutting against his own furniture – the sight made heat pool between your legs.

"Please," he begged, voice cracking, "I need..."

You leaned over him, pressing against his bare back. "What do you need? Tell me exactly what you want."

"I need you inside me," he moaned, abandoning all pretense of dignity. "Please, Your Honor, I've been empty all week, thinking about you filling me, stretching me open..."

You reached around to stroke his leaking cock again. "Such a slutty dragon, begging to be filled. Should I prepare you first, or have you been playing with yourself, thinking of me?"

His answering whimper told you everything you needed to know. You pressed yourself against him, letting him feel your arousal through your clothes. "Tell me. Did you fuck yourself with your fingers, imagining it was me?"

"Y-yes," Neuvillette admitted, his voice trembling with need. "Every night, but it wasn't enough... never enough compared to you..."

You smirked, reaching for the vial of oil you knew he kept in his desk drawer – another sign of how these encounters had become routine. "Show me then. Show me how desperate you are."

Releasing his bound hands, you commanded, "Spread yourself for me. Let me see how badly you want it."

Despite his usual composure, Neuvillette didn't hesitate. He reached back with both hands, spreading himself open, his hole already slightly loose from his earlier preparations. The sight made you groan with desire.

"Such an obedient" you praised, drizzling the cool oil over his exposed entrance, watching him twitch at the sensation. "Look how easily my finger slides in..." You pushed one digit inside, feeling barely any resistance. "Did you do this before our meeting? Were you sitting in court all day, stretched and ready for me?"

"Yes," he gasped, pushing back against your finger. "Please, Your Honor, I need more..."

You added a second finger, scissoring them inside him. "The mighty Chief Justice, reduced to begging... what would your subordinates think if they could see you now? Their composed leader dripping and desperate?"

His cock twitched violently at your words, a stream of precum leaking onto the scattered documents below. "Please... please..."

You lined yourself up against his entrance, teasing him with just the tip. "Beg properly for what you want, neuvillette~. Tell me exactly how badly you need it."

"Please, I need you to fuck me," Neuvillette begged, his usual eloquent vocabulary reduced to desperate pleas.

"Tsk, tsk," you teased, still only letting the tip press against him. "And here I thought the great Chief Justice was supposed to be perfect. First those sloppy mistakes in your paperwork, and now you can't even beg properly?"

You pushed in just slightly before pulling back out completely, making him whine. "Your Honor, please! I need you to fill me, to punish me for my careless errors..."

"That's better," you praised, finally pushing into him slowly. "But I don't think you've learned your lesson yet about being thorough with your work."

Once fully seated inside him, you remained still, watching him try to squirm back against you. His usually perfect hair was disheveled, face flushed as he panted against the desk.

"Every..." you pulled out slowly, "single..." thrust back in sharply, "detail..." another slow withdrawal, "matters."

Each word was punctuated by your movements, keeping him on edge but never giving him the hard, fast pace he craved. When he tried to reach for his own neglected cock, you grabbed his wrists.

"Did I say you could touch yourself?" you scolded. "Such poor impulse control. Maybe that's why you made those filing mistakes? Too distracted thinking about this?"

"I'm sorry," he gasped, "I'll be more careful, I promise, just please... please fuck me properly..."

You leaned over his back, biting his ear. "Oh? Like this?" You snapped your hips forward hard once, then returned to the torturously slow pace. "Or maybe you haven't earned it yet. Should we review all your mistakes first?"

His cock twitched beneath him, dripping steadily onto the very documents he'd mishandled. "I'm close," he warned, voice breaking.

"Oh no," you pulled out completely, making him sob with frustration. "You don't get to cum until you've recited every single error you made today. And they better be accurate..."

Neuvillette's perfect composure shattered as he struggled to focus, his voice trembling. "The... the case files from the merchant district were... ah!" He broke off as you pushed back in torturously slow.

"Go on," you commanded, stilling your hips. "Every. Single. Detail."

"The timestamps were... were incorrect," he gasped, trying to push back against you but your firm grip on his hips kept him still. "And I mixed up the... oh gods... the witness statements from—"

You pulled out again, making him whimper. "Careful now. Accuracy is everything in court, isn't it?"

"The witness statements from cases 347 and 348," he corrected himself quickly. "Please, Your Honor, I'm trying..."

"Not good enough," you tsked, running a finger down his spine. "What else?"

His cock throbbed desperately as he continued, "The... the evidence logs were filed in the wrong sequence... please, I'm so close..."

"And?" You pushed back in painfully slow, watching him fall apart.

"The dates! I switched the dates on the final verdicts!" He was practically sobbing now. "Please, I've admitted everything, I need to cum so badly..."

You established a steady rhythm, but still not the pounding he craved. "Such careless mistakes from someone so important. What would your subordinates think?"

"They'd be... ah... disappointed," he moaned, his thighs trembling. "I'm supposed to be... perfect... flawless..."

"But you're not, are you?" You reached around to grasp his leaking cock. "You're just a needy little dragon who makes mistakes just to get punished..."

"You're right," Neuvillette sobbed, past caring about his dignity now. "I'm not perfect, I'm just a needy slut who needs to be punished, please Your Honor, I'll do anything..."

"Anything?" You squeezed the base of his cock hard, preventing his approaching orgasm. "Then you won't cum until I say so, will you Neuvillette?"

He shook his head frantically, tears of frustration streaming down his face. "No, Your Honor, I'll be good, I'll wait..."

You increased your pace finally, pounding into him mercilessly while keeping a firm grip on his cock. His whole body shuddered, caught between the intense pleasure and the denial of release.

"Look at you," you panted, "the mighty Chief Justice, drooling on his own desk, begging like a common whore. Should I make you cum? Or should I keep you on edge all day? Make you sit through court later, desperate and aching?"

"Please!" he cried out, his usual composed voice completely wrecked. "I need it so badly..."

You leaned down to bite his shoulder hard. "Maybe I should make you cum over and over until you're oversensitive and crying, until you can't remember any of those legal codes you're so proud of. Would you like that better?"

His cock twitched violently in your grip at the suggestion. "Yes! Yes, please, anything you want, just please let me cum!"

"Hmm," you pretended to consider it, never slowing your brutal pace. "I don't know... have you really learned your lesson about being careful with your work?"

“Let’s see how much you can take” you purred, finally releasing your grip on his cock. "Cum for me. Show me how desperate you were."

Neuvillette came with a broken cry, his whole body convulsing as he spilled over his precious documents. But you didn't stop – instead, you increased your pace, hitting his sensitive spot relentlessly.

"Did I say you could stop?" you growled when he tried to squirm away. "We're going to make sure this lesson really sticks."

"Too much," he gasped, his softening cock already twitching back to hardness. "Please, I can't—"

"Can't?" you mocked, reaching around to stroke him roughly. "The great Chief Justice giving up so easily? What happened to that famous endurance of yours?"

His second orgasm hit him even harder than the first, leaving him trembling and incoherent. Tears streamed down his face as you continued to fuck him through it, his oversensitive body caught between pleasure and pain.

"Look at you," you whispered, "coming apart so beautifully. Should we go for three? Make sure you never forget this lesson?"

"Please," he sobbed, not even sure anymore if he was begging for mercy or more. His cock was hardening again despite his protests, his body betraying how much he loved being used like this.

"Color?" you checked, making sure he was still okay to continue.

"Green," he gasped out immediately, "so green, please don't stop..."

[whorediaries-09]

Girliee I have a request for kinkotober hehehhe

Sirius x reader with body worshipping and ‘please let me fuck my babies into you’

omg he’s just so perfect I can’t. Thank you!

yeah he's way too perfect 🫡

you're screwed up and brilliant;

pairing- artist!sirius black x reader warning(s)- 18+ content. a/n- to be sirius' muse 😮‍💨

prompt- body worshipping + 'please let me fuck my babies into you.'

the diner. kinkotober masterlist. kinkotober rules.

sirius has never been the one to break his own morals. through all the years he's worked on his art, with various models sitting on the stool while they posed for him, he's gained enough experience to control his emotions and not let his art persuade him. he'd taught himself to believe that his art was nothing but strokes on his canvas, and he wasn't in love with any of his models.

but sirius didn't know what he was putting himself through when he decided to hire you as his model. from being just strokes of paint on canvas, from you being just a model to be his muse. he didn't know how it began, or when it began. maybe it was after you'd admitted that you were more interested in his art rather than the cheques he wrote for you. maybe it was after you'd remembered the order of his favorite tea which he'd revealed once in flowing conversation. maybe it was after you'd lingered around him, looking at the different paintings on his walls. maybe it was after he'd realized your efforts of trying to get him know better.

you always lingered around his chamber, making conversations with him. today however, feels different. it almost feels as if you linger around for a purpose. he doesn't know if it's because of the request-or rather his wish he'd accidently spoken about to you, or if it's something different.

'do you think i can't be a nude model for you, sirius?' you ask. he doesn't reply. he stares at you, trying to study your body language.

well you certainly hadn't forgotten about his words, even though he'd told you to.

'no, no, it's just th-' he stops as you walk closer, leaning towards his form where he's sitting. his eyes travel up and down, taking your form in, the one he'd only dreamed up so close. your finger is on his lips, quieting him.

you see his pupils dilate, the artery on his neck vibrate faster. his crotch tightens against the fabric of the slacks he's wearing. his breathing grows ragged, and behind his pupils his gray eyes darken into a storm of growing desire. you smirk, running your tongue over the top row of your teeth.

'you're so precious, sirius,' you say. he unconsciously spreads his legs, and you straddle him. 'you know that?' you ask. you take his hands into yours, placing his cold touch on your hips. he grips the delicate fiber of your sundress, pulling you closer. his lips sooth over the burning skin of your neck, as he breathes you in.

it's slow, delicate and intimate as he eyes you up and down. he's pushes his hand between your skin and the fabric of your dress, his touch electrifying. he feels your wet arousal seeping through your underwear onto his groin. he groans, bucking his hips at the feeling.

'you're so beautiful,' he whispers, as if breathless. his hot breathe tenses over your warm skin and you moan, as his fingers feel the stretch marks on your hips. he digs his nails into them, his lips loitering over your skin, as he tries to feel every uncovered part of you.

'you drive me fucking crazy,' he says, tightening your legs around his waist and picking you up. he places your bottom on his desk, throwing away the tubes of paint, the mug of dirty paint water and his brushes. right now, he could care less about those.

right now, you were his art.

'i know that,' you tease. he chuckles, voice low, throat raw. right now, he could practically feel his heart beating against his ribcage, as if trying to be free from the strong confines. he'd finally gotten you just like he'd wanted, in his dirty dreams of sins. the nights he'd woken up, soaked in cold sweat, his cock erect and leaking against his sweatpants. he had stroked himself at the thought of your distinct scent and the moan that had once left your lips when you'd dropped a vase on your toe.

'no you don't,' he said, slowly untying the ribbons of your dress. he took his time, eyes and hands exploring your body, counting the moles on your skin, watching as the sleeves of the dress slip from your shoulders, revealing your chest to his hungry eyes. he takes a deep breath, his fingers digging tantalizing over the skin of your inner thighs, so close to where you need him, yet so far away. you practically feel your vulva swell with need as he kisses the nape of your neck, soft and sinful, trailing your jaw but never reaching your mouth. there's nothing he wants to do but, ruin you. ruin you for everyone else but him.

he presses his finger against your clit, watching as you bend your back, and spread your legs wider for him. his touch is cold, a contrast against your heated core.

'you don't know how many nights i've spent, withering on my bed, at the thought of you, at the lack of you,' he says, on his knees. he bunches the fabric of your dress at your hips, kissing his way towards your core. 'you don't know how much i've tried to control myself. you don't know how many times i've wanted to bend you over his desk, and fuck you till the only thing you remember is my name. you don't know how many times i've touched myself at the mere thought of you,'

you clasp his head between your thighs, his mouth at your core. you knead your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to your sopping core.

'show me then,' you say, voice fumbling at the feeling of his tongue against your slit. 'show me how much i don't know. show me how much you've been restraining yourself,'

as soon as your words register into his brain, he knows he won't stop. he can't stop. he plunges his mouth into your cunt, licking and kissing away like a starved man, while simultaneously thrusting his fingers into you. it's like he's known your body for your entire life, and he knows exactly how to bring you to the edge of your pleasure. he knows exactly where to touch, lick, kiss and press to have your walls pulsating around him in a mere moment of minutes.

and just like that, your core tightens, and your thighs do too, as you feel your orgasm plunging at it's climax. you bite your lip, trying to restrain the moan which hangs at your lips.

'cum for me,' he says, the vibrations of his voice harsh against the sensitive bundle of your nerves. your thighs shake as you release yourself onto his tongue, and he laps up every bit of it like a quenched man.

'fuck,' he says, standing up on his feet, kissing, licking and biting your body as he does so. he's gentle as he lays your back on his desk, sliding down the dress across your body. he throws it on the floor, unzipping his trousers, and pulling down his boxers, revealing his cock in all it's glory.

he catches you staring at his cock, and smirks, as he lines it up against your slit. he holds you close by his waist, against his chest. he's slow, taking his time to feel you as he enters you. he feels your wet, pulsating walls around him, the sounds leaving your lips a sweet melody to his ears.

'oh fuck, sirius,' you groan, with his first thrust.

'that's right darling, say my name,' he encourages you, his lips on your hairline.

he starts pulling his cock out, and pushing it back in, first slow, letting you adjust to his size and girth. you feel the nerves on his cock against the walls of your cunt. his tip touches your sweet spot, and you almost lose your mind.

'god, sirius you're so-so-good,' you whimper, almost pathetic. your toes curl as your core tightens. he hides his nose in the nape of your neck, taking in your scent. it feels like the nights he'd fucked his fist, at the thought of your intoxicating scent.

except it's not, and he's actually inside you, feeling you in all your glory. he's doomed, it was destined to be doomed.

his thrusts grow erratic, and you tighten around him, with your toes curling and mind blackening. you see stars with each of his unrhythmic thrusts, the coil of orgasm boiling in your stomach, before your breathes falter and you release yourself around him, painting his torso with your orgasm.

'fuck,' he groans, running his fingers through his sweaty inky locks. you feel him throbbing inside of you, his libido wearing off.

'god, you're driving me so fucking insane, m'love. please let me fuck my babies into you,' he says, holding your chin, his eyes gazing into yours.

'please,' you whisper, cunt sensitive, with his thrusts. he whimpers, before releasing hot ropes of his cum into you, filling you up to the brim.

****************************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

****************************************

©whorediaries-09, 2024.

[thesecondhandwoman]

DOING YOUR MAKEUP

Mel x f!reader

Synopsis: Today you decided to try something new and let Mel do your makeup (since you loved her look yourself). But you soon came to realize that even doing your makeup could become intimate with a woman like her.

The golden glow of the late afternoon sun bathed Mel’s chambers in a wash of honeyed warmth. Silken curtains fluttered in the gentle breeze, casting dancing shadows along the marbled floor. A soft, delicate fragrance of jasmine and bergamot lingered in the air—the unmistakable signature of Piltover’s most regal presence: Mel Medarda.

You sat on a plush stool, nerves flitting about your chest like restless birds. You’d never been in her private quarters for this long. Sure, there had been evenings spent talking into the night, and moments of quiet intimacy that spoke volumes. But this? This was different.

Mel stood behind you, poised with a brush in one hand and a palette of shimmering pigments in the other. She was a vision of elegance, clad in a flowing, wine-red gown that bared her shoulders and arms, her gold jewelry glinting softly with every movement. Her hair, perfectly coiled and pinned, framed her face like the work of a master sculptor.

Her gaze flicked to yours in the mirror in front of you—sharp, knowing, and endlessly amused.

“You’re holding your breath,” she said, one perfectly arched brow lifting in mock disapproval. Her voice was like velvet, smooth and rich. “Do you not trust me, darling?”

Your lips twitched into a nervous smile. “I trust you with many things, Mel. My dignity, however, might be another matter.”

Her low, melodic laugh filled the room like the chiming of distant bells. Setting down her palette, she stepped closer, fingers lightly tilting your chin up to face her properly.

“Dignity,” she echoed, eyes narrowing in playful scrutiny. “We can afford to lose a little of that, don’t you think?” Her thumb brushed gently over your cheek, her touch warm and deliberate. “You’ll look magnificent when I’m done with you.”

Heat bloomed under her touch, a warmth that had little to do with the sunlit room. You swallowed and nodded, finding yourself already lost in her presence—as if that were anything new.

“Close your eyes,” she murmured, her voice a soft command.

You obeyed, your heart doing a gentle stutter-step. The world went dark behind your eyelids, leaving only the feeling of her hands and the quiet rhythm of your breath.

Her fingers moved with a painter’s precision, applying a cool, silky base to your skin. It felt like being brushed with clouds, weightless and soft. Her fingertips lingered at your jaw, featherlight, tracing the line there as if committing it to memory.

“Perfect canvas,” she whispered, and you could hear the smile in her voice.

“Flatterer,” you shot back, but your words lacked bite.

Mel hummed knowingly. “I never flatter, darling. I only speak the truth.”

Her fingers left your face, replaced by the soft press of a brush. It swept across your cheeks, delicate as butterfly wings. She worked with a deliberate patience, layering colors and blending them with masterful ease. You wondered if this was how she approached her council work too—precise, unwavering, in total control.

“What color are you using?” you asked, your curiosity winning out.

“Rose and gold,” she replied, her tone light as she brushed along your cheekbones. “Soft warmth. Elegance without effort. It reminds me of you.”

Your eyes flew open despite yourself. “Mel…”

Her eyes met yours in the mirror, golden and molten with quiet affection. For once, she didn’t tease. Her gaze lingered on you, steady as a heartbeat. “Keep them closed, love,” she said softly, and you could do nothing but obey.

Her touch moved to your eyes, and you felt the gentle pressure of her thumb on your brow. Brushes followed, sweeping pigments over your lids. Gold, most likely—bright, bold, and unapologetically regal. You wondered if you’d look like her by the end of it. The thought didn’t bother you one bit.

Time slowed, and for a while, there was nothing but the sensation of her hands on your skin and the steady rhythm of her breathing. You felt her lean closer, her breath a warmth against your temple.

“Tell me,” she murmured, her words curling around you like silk ribbons, “has anyone ever taken this much care with you before?”

You hesitated, not because you needed to think but because the answer was so obvious it almost felt foolish to say it aloud.

“No,” you admitted quietly. “Not like this.”

Her breath hitched just slightly, a sound only someone paying very close attention would have noticed. She didn’t answer, but her hands moved slower, gentler, as if to be sure you felt every stroke, every touch, every moment of her devotion.

“Mel,” you said softly, heart tight in your chest.

“Shh,” she replied, the warmth of her lips brushing your ear. “Don’t ruin my masterpiece.”

Your lips quirked at that, and she chuckled, the sound low and rich.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she stepped back. “Open.”

You did, blinking away the light as your gaze focused on your reflection. Your breath caught.

You looked radiant. No, divine. The blush on your cheeks was subtle but perfectly placed, catching the light just so. Gold shimmered at your eyelids, like twin sunsets caught mid-dusk. Your lips were bare, but somehow, even that looked intentional—natural beauty left untouched, unspoiled.

Your gaze shifted to Mel’s reflection, and you caught her watching you, eyes hooded with a kind of quiet pride.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, your voice hushed in awe.

Mel smiled, slow and knowing, like she had expected nothing less. “Of course I did,” she said, reaching for a small, glossy tube. Her eyes met yours, sharp with mischief. “But I’m not done yet.”

She uncapped it, revealing a deep, wine-red tint. Your eyes tracked its every movement as she turned it in her fingers. Instead of reaching for you, she tilted her head slightly and applied it to her own lips with the care of a woman used to wielding power in every action.

You watched, utterly entranced, as she slowly, deliberately coated her lips with the rich pigment. Her gaze never left yours. She pressed her lips together with a small “mm,” ensuring every inch of them gleamed with fresh color.

“Mel?” Your voice was already breathless.

Her eyes flicked to yours, and the corner of her mouth lifted in a smile so devastatingly sly it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Now,” she purred, setting the tube aside. Her gaze stayed locked on yours as she stepped forward, cupping your jaw in one hand, her thumb grazing your cheek in a slow, hypnotic sweep. “For the final touch.”

Your breath caught, heart thundering in your chest.

Her lips met yours, soft but firm, slow but certain. Heat blossomed where she touched you, a warmth that unfurled in your chest and spread through your limbs. Her kiss was the kind that made the world stop—not forceful, but inevitable. Her fingers splayed across your jaw, anchoring you to her, as if you were something precious that might slip away.

When she pulled back, her eyes flicked to your lips with satisfaction. Her smile widened as she traced her thumb just beneath your lower lip, catching a hint of the red she’d left behind.

“There,” she said, her eyes hooded and far too pleased with herself. “Now you match me.”

You blinked, breath still unsteady, and stared at your reflection. The soft red stain of her lipstick lingered on your lips, faint but unmistakable.

“You planned that,” you accused, lips curving upward despite yourself.

“Of course I did,” she replied smoothly, tilting your chin up with her thumb. “You’re mine, darling. Why not make it clear to the world?”

Her gaze softened then, something tender slipping past her armor. “Besides,” she added, her voice dropping to a murmur, “I rather like seeing my colors on you.”

Your heart swelled, too full for words, so you tilted your head forward and pressed your forehead against hers.

“Careful, Medarda,” you whispered, eyes closing. “I might just fall in love with you.”

Her breath hitched again, but this time, she didn’t hide it. Her fingers curled into your hair, steady and unyielding.

“Darling,” she whispered, lips brushing yours once more, softer this time, more real. “I’m counting on it.”

[jweekgoji]

can you do something thing similar to part 2 of Sentinel Prime/Reader where reader becomes more cold towards sentinel prime due to being annoying as reader went to controlled sentinel prime around like some dog to stay away from reader as reader meet D-16 after the race scene to happily introduce each other like a idol/fan relationship and given D-16 a sticker that looks similar to reader (I hope you are doing okay and well and make sure to drink water<3)

Sentinel/Prime!Reader/D-16

tw: depressing thoughts from reader, slight Sentinel's manipulative behavior, possesiveness, jealous!Sentinel, no relationship between Sentine/D-16 in this one. word count: ~2000 a/n: some changes in canon. story happens after the death of 13 Primes, but before TF:One events where they go to the surface. No one knows the truth apart from Sentinel. sorry for not posting much last week. was busy with deadlines, but now I have a little more time. thank you for your request anon, I hope you're doing okay too. :)

The day Sentinel personally informed you about the deaths of your siblings changed you forever. No matter how many cycles passed, you always blamed yourself for it. Why didn't they take you with them? Didn't call for help? Were you so weak and foolish that none of them told you of their plans.

If you had been there, things would have been different. Then none of this would have happened. Everything would be like it was before; everyone would be happy. You'd be happy.

Now, the only company you have is Sentinel. The only one who, no matter what, has always been there for you.

Any other bot in your position would be grateful. Sentinel is still your rock even now, even though every time you hear his voice, you want to rip out your audio receptors with your bare servos.

You were never there that day, but he was. A lucky survivor, he informed you of a most horrific event. The quintessons had sneakily launched an attack on the Primes, brutally wiping out every last one of them. Not even the Matrix of leadership was left.

Zeta...how will you be without him? How will Cybertron survive without him? Primus, may he give you strength.

From that moment on, Sentinel, as the only one close in rank, spent all his time to find the matrix.

“I understand how you feel right now. You deserve some rest,” Sentinel draws out his words sweetly, leaning closer to you. “Please let me handle all of this.”

You agreed.

Can you be blamed for that? Hardly. In a moment of weakness, when your thoughts clouded over the loss of your brothers and sisters, grieving through the night to continue the cycle in the morning, you constantly felt tired. At times, even your guards barely saw you outside your chambers, only Sentinel visited you every evening.

Much has changed on Cybertron in that time. The flow of energon dried up, and new sparks were more and more born without t-cogs. The matrix of leadership was never found, slowly dooming you to a meaningless existence.

How low you have fallen. Resorting to something so horrible...you had to mine the few resources that Primus left behind. You wonder if the other Primes are disappointed in you.

You hear a barely audible click behind you. The door to your chambers opens, revealing Sentinel in all his glory. Your optics narrow slightly as you turn around to look at him. The advisor seems to be getting used to your more...intimate relationship, now barely bothering to notify you of his upcoming arrival. Now he acts as if the two of you are truly close.

Sentinel gives you his signature smile, the complete opposite of your facial expression now. Tired, irritated, saddened. Not the most outstanding features for one of the Primes.

“Ah, so early and already awake?” Sentinel pretends to be surprised as he walks into your chambers. “That's my Prime. Feeling a little better today?”

You spare him a short glance, as you sit on your recharge slab. The sheets scattered everywhere, probably all curled up because of how restless you are during your recharge.

You mutter your answer, only for Sentinel to hum in agreement, as he approaches you closer.

“I was thinking about that maybe, since I've been working so tirelessly for the past 50 cycles...we can organize an Iacon 5000 together,” Sentinel purrs, placing his servos on your shoulders. Still tense as always. “What do you think? Iaconians are all waiting for their beloved Prime to show up.”

You sigh. Are you even sure you can handle it? Of course, you love your people, you will do anything for them but right now, still grieving you don't know if you have any strength left; but as a Prime this is your job, your responsibility. Even if it hurts, you still have to do this.

Your optics locked on where Sentinel's servos hold you. Something in his touch made you shiver, the disgusting feelings building up down your throat. No matter how much he does this to you, all you wanted was some peace and quiet. With Sentinel around, it was never an option.

“I will be there,” you say with not much enthusiasm.

For a brief moment, Sentinel was happy. Finally, maybe you started getting over their deaths, maybe even start appreciating everything he had done for you? Hmm? It's about time.

He stood there expectantly, as if waiting for something from you. A little bit of praise will be great. Of course, it's the least you can do for him after all this time he cared for you, but he will take what you give him, for now.

His silent presence didn't mean anything for you. What was he expecting? Haven't you given him your answer already?  You sigh, waving your servo in a shoo motion.

“You can be free. Make sure everything is well-prepared.”

Oh, another broken heart.

You held back your promise. Following Sentinel, a loud voice in the background introduced you as you stood on the platform beside your advisor. The voices of a thousand Iaconians cheered your name, as if your mere presence was a blessing itself.

In a way, you missed it. So many new, naive faces. You really had been saddened by the past for so long that you hadn't had a chance to meet the present face to face at all. And even still, they loved you. The young, poor miners were so full of admiration for you, even though they had never had the chance to see you for real.

You were so engrossed in your own thoughts that you hardly noticed the smug smirk on the corner of the lips on Sentinel's face. He leans a little closer to you, whispering softly.

“I told you they still love you,” he flashes a glance toward the crowd, ”Just relax and observe. Tonight will go perfectly.”

You were only partially paying attention to his chatter, nodding your head whenever he opened his mouth. It was hard to tell if he actually noticed it, or if he didn't have the courage to confront you about it. Still, he never stopped.

“I was thinking about asking you to accompany me on one of the meetings I have planned tomorrow with senator...”

“How about going out tonight? After the race, hmm?”

“Me and you. At Maccadam's. Together.”

“I didn't know that we now invite miners to participate in the race too,” you say.

“I'm sorry, what now?”

Sometimes, ignoring the Sentinel does have its benefits. Sometimes it benefits more than just you. You weren't that interested in this day, another long, monotonous day when you have to wave and smile just so no one will notice your anxiety. How wrong you were.

Two bots, with no t-cogs, snuck into the race unnoticed and were some meters away from winning? Primus, what a day. If your first smile was a genuine one, the one emotion the Sentinel had worked hard to achieve, your companion was far from happy.

His optics focused on the screen, showing the red-and-blue bot running alongside the grayish one. Flickering back and forth, he had no idea how it had gotten that way. This day had to be perfect. Everything had to be perfect! When Sentinel turns to you, opening his mouth to express his frustration, he immediately shuts up. Someone so insignificant, someone who isn't him, has managed to bring you joy.

He's doubling the daily shift for the miners starting from tomorrow.

D-16 walked awkwardly in a circle, almost biting his fingertips in an attempt to somehow curb his anxiety. Scrap, scrap, scrap—the mere thought made him want to swing and slam his helmet against the wall.

“Relax, D, it's not that bad,” Orion shrugged.

“THEY were here,” D-16 emphasizes on your name and status.

“It could have been a lot worse?” Orion smiles awkwardly.

D-16 sighed tiredly. He appreciated his friend's attempts to reassure him in some way, but at the moment, he wanted to either strangle Orion for his idea or strangle himself for agreeing to such a risky venture in the first place.

“How much worse can it get? Do you have any idea how disappointed they are in us right now?” he looks at his friend unhappily. How can Pax be so indifferent at this point? When their careers and futures are on the line? “No, we're going to go and explain everything to them right now, I'm sure that-”

D-16 turns around to leave the room in a hurry as his face collides with something. For a moment, he thought he had hit a wall, but as soon as he lifts his head up....

“Are you okay?” you ask calmly.

The poor miner immediately recoils back, his face heating up, giving off a noticeable blush on his cheeks. His mouth is wide open, but not a single word comes out of his mouth. Orion gives him a light shake to make his friend finally come to his senses.

Luckily for him, Orion spoke up first to try to stand up for D-16 and explain to you that it was only his fault alone, but you only shook your head.

“You did a very good job today,” you smile. “Both of you were amazing.”

This time, it's Orion's time to be silent. He stares at D-16, whose optics were literally glowing with admiration. Knowing what a die-hard fan his friend is, it's a miracle he didn't melt immediately in front of you.

“And you,” you point to the D-16, poking your finger lightly at his chassis. “Be more careful.”

In response to your words, D just nods his head quickly. At that moment, it seems that all his strength has left him, so much so that he can't even lift his own tongue to answer you. The low mech in front of you tries to straighten his back, as if attempting not to show his bad side.

“O-Of course,” D blurts out, his vibrant, large optics focused on your every word.

You pull out two miniature, shiny stickers, offering them to Orion and D-16, to which they gladly accept it...well, D with much more obvious enthusiasm than Orion. He had to physically restrain himself to not accidentally damage it with how much he's excited right now.

He could easily recognize which series the sticker was from. It sparkles with colors in the light, limited edition, and shows off your alt mod if held at the right angle! To whom did he sell his spark to get such good fortune?

Your moment is interrupted by the sudden arrival of Airachnid, who immediately darts her gaze at you, then examines every corner of the room with her intense stare. Her optics bore into yours, and for a moment, her usual bored look changed to one of momentary surprise.

“There you are! I've been looking all over Iacon for you, and here you are with...” Sentinel immediately enters after Airachnid, he barely has time to say anything inappropriate before he notices the presence of the very two that he still has a lot of problems to clean up because of. “...with our honored participants in the recent race!”

Sentinel smiles strainedly, covering his words with a short chuckle. His servo rests on your back, slowly pulling you farther away.

“You could have told me you were here, I would have dealt with all of this,” he notes.

“I've already dealt with it, Sentinel,” you remind him, giving him a stern look. You're still a Prime. His desire to meddle in your affairs annoys you more and more every day. “Make sure they're fixed well.”

Sentinel, gritting his teeth, nods obediently at your words, removing his hand and instead, hiding them behind his back.

“As you wish," he turns to look at Airachnid, silently giving her a nod.

 That day, you never had a chance to visit that little miner, who couldn't take his eyes off of you the whole time. You wonder where he went after?

[necstasy]

spice sex; marriage; fluff lowkey & PAUL ATREIDES happy kinktober! MDNI 18+

Paul should have known.

When the quiet servant offered to have the chefs make something special from Fremen culture to celebrate your wedding, he should have assumed that spice would be included. But the euphoria from the entire event clouded his judgment, making him forget where he was, especially when he stared in your eyes. He should have remembered when he took the first bite, fed from your hand while he fed you. He should have remembered when the sweet cinnamon flavor hit the tip of his tongue and then traveled all the way down the gullet. At the very least, his suspicions should have been raised when the servant stressed that the cakes were only intended for the bride and groom, and not for any of the esteemed guests, especially if they were unwed. He should have considered just how powerful the substance could be for him, let alone you.

But Paul was so happy to have finally married you that he didn't consider anything until the negative effects were worn off and pushed out of his mind to make room for the elation and desire.

Until he had led you to his chambers—your chambers now—in a fit of mutually shared giggles and stumbling over your feet. Your shoes were gone now, your hair was slightly undone, and you were glowing. You looked so beautiful, bathed in colors of the Atreides family with the tan from Arrakis along your shoulders and cheekbones.

Paul wanted to take his time with you. He wanted to go slow and unravel you just how he had dreamt . He wanted to take you in ways deserving of newlyweds, but instead he finds himself rushing.

His kisses are heavier and hotter than they were before marrying you, when you were just his fiancée and the innocent young lady of the house. You are still just that, the youngest lady of the house, but the title of his wife and the wedding band on your finger makes you look different in Paul's eyes. You're laying back on his silk sheets, your legs exposed since Paul's wandering hands have lifted your dress to sit around your waist, and you look sinful.

Maybe it's the spice flowing throughout his bloodstream, but Paul truly thinks you're glowing right now. He rubs at his eyes with the backs of his hands, but the image stays.

"My pretty wife," he whispers. Is his scratchy voice a product of spice or arousal?

You grin up at him and Paul feels like he's staring straight into the sun.

"My pretty husband."

That's all it takes for Paul to lift your skirts and present himself with your white panties. 

Paul knows he got incredibly lucky. This marriage is one of pure luck, a stellar combination between true want, desire, and political power. Your houses will only be stronger, as will the two of you. This union works out in everyone’s favor, and Paul doesn’t just think that because he is finally allowed to have the one thing he has wanted most for the past few months. 

He’s so focused, so determined to have what he pleases, and he gets it. His tongue glides through your folds, the tip flicking when he gets to the top. There is no method, no secret trick that he has learned from word to mouth. He has heard stories from Duncan’s men, sat with wide eyes and open ears as they detailed their encounters on planets that would never be fit for a noble young man such as Paul, but that didn’t stop his curiosity. Even when he begged them for details, practically pleading for advice on what he should do to make a woman scream out of pleasure instead of fright, they would never grace his ears with such detailing. They were afraid of what would happen to them if someone found out. Duncan just would not give Paul the pleasure. 

But that didn’t stop Paul’s mind from wandering. For a while, there was never a face to the body. He would lay at night, slipping between the sleeping and waking world without much control over either, as images of a woman brushed through his mind in a gentle breeze. Her legs parted, her back arched, her head thrown back. Paul imagined what he would do in excruciating detail, running scenarios in his head as best as he could. There was no information to pull from, no simulations or training that could have prepared him for this moment. 

He hopes he is not as horrible at this as he fears he may be. 

Paul digs his fingertips into your thighs. His touch feels light, like he isn’t as close to you as he could possibly be, so he presses and presses. He pushes his face further into your flower until he’s breathing your essence. He’s so hot, burning up from the inside out, but he does not know in what other way he could possibly cool himself down. 

Quelling the heat prickling against his skin is not even the first or second thought on his mind. All he can truly focus on is pleasing you. Making you feel just as good as the women in the stories he heard. Finally living out the dreams that played behind his eyelids in the middle of the night, the ones where he would wake up with his pants sticking to him, leaving him to waddle off to the bathroom and clean himself up before a servant came to wake him. 

This is a literal fantasy, and Paul briefly worries he’s hallucinating. But then your legs squeeze around his head, your thighs smooshed against his ears, and your fingernails scratch against his scalp. Everything feels real, down to the burning in his lungs as his body pleads for air. 

This is real. You are here. 

Paul tries his best to show his appreciation, but his limbs are heavy. There’s a weight to everything about him. His tongue is heavy as it dips between your petals and plunges into your entrance. His body is heavy as it sinks into the plush mattress beneath both of you. His head is heavy as he attempts to keep it afloat, but eventually he succumbs to the weight as his forehead rests against the trimmed garden decorating your mound. 

He feels odd, different from the other times Spice has affected him. He is dazed, seeing through a dizzying alteration of vignettes and bursts of golden light. He sees you through it all, laying on the bed before him, walking in the sand of Arrakis, wading through the water of Caladan. You look so blissful, grinning, waving, throwing your head back with moans. 

Your belly is round and full. You hold a figure against your chest. You are placing your hand between your legs and lifting soaked white cloths until it gathers beneath your breasts. 

“Paul!” You’re shrieking and Paul had not realized it, but there is a renewed vigor to him. He has your lower half lifted off of the bed, his body bent over your cunt as he absolutely devours you. He is being greedy, eating in a way that would have had him scolded by those who raised him. But no one's here to see this sight that only he will ever get to see. No one is here to reprimand him as he takes and takes. You certainly will not, because the more he takes, the more he is giving you. The hungrier he is, the better you feel. 

Paul raises his eyes and this time, he only sees you. Laying back against the bed, teary eyes holding his gaze. He balances you in one hand and lifts the other to swipe at your eyes, gathering the tears and forcing them right back into your mouth. You suck without having to be told to, and you are like that when you finally orgasm. 

Your lips release from Paul’s thumb and your mouth sits open as you work through your orgasm. Paul’s thumb hangs loosely off of the side of your mouth as he glides his tongue against you, cleaning up the final bits of the sweetest water Paul will ever taste. 

Luckily, you are his now in the same ways that he is yours, and Stars willing, he’ll be permitted to drink from you until the end of time. 

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍

pairing: lighthouse keeper!joel miller x mermaid!reader

genre: mermaid AU, explicit, fluff, comfort, romance, minors dni

word count: 8.5k

summary: As the man responsible for operating the lighthouse, Joel lives a solitary life on the isolated coast. He has no complaints, enjoying the hauntingly beautiful songs that echo from the sea at night. One stormy night, he rescues a mysterious mermaid tangled in a fishing net. As you recover in the lighthouse, the two form an unlikely bond and find comfort in each other's company.

warnings: mention of joel from time to time visiting a brothel, loneliness, mermaid anatomy things, oral (fem receiving), piv, touch starved!joel and reader, mild breeding kink, squirting

a/n: full disclaimer I made up the mermaid lore, facts and anatomy, the only mermaid romance book I read was goddess of the sea by P.C. Cast and I read that all the way back in high school so I remember very little of it (I think I remember some of the steamy stuff but honestly it's all very vague so if there are any similarities that's why) 🧜‍♀️🌊

**stunning gif made by fanna aka @pedrorascal 💙

When in darkness look for the light. 

Joel heard this at different points in his life. His father, bless his soul, adamant about reminding him that there was always good to be found, even when it didn’t seem like it. When his father passed, Joel thought of the words endlessly. The more he thought about them, the more it made less and less sense to him. What was one supposed to do when the light that was sought didn’t exist? It would’ve made more sense to him if the message was about creating your own light, not depending on another. He would make sure to remember that if he ever had kids. 

The lantern in his hand groaned upon placing it on the nearby windowsill. It was a small window, the glass coated in thick dust. He smelled the sea. The salt of it burned his nostrils, the taste lingered on his tongue.

With a practiced hand, Joel reached for the oil lamp, its polished brass surface gleamed in the fading light. He carefully opened the reservoir cap and began pouring the clear, fragrant oil. The room filled with a faint scent. He listened to the waves as he lit the lantern, creating the sole light that guided him up the lighthouse. Joel imagined the violent waters hitting the bedrock. With time, they would all turn into sand. He looked up. The stairs were endless, going round and round. He spotted seaweed and mold in the same places, observed the humidity that darkened the underside of the stairs that barely hung onto the walls.

The small flame on the wick grew, casting an amber light that illuminated the inside. Joel's eyes focused on the growing flame, his gaze steady as he watched the light take hold.

“I’m home,” he said freely, his voice echoing. On the contrary belief, Joel actually had a regular home. He had a stove, a fridge, a bed. But this... this always felt like his true home. The smells, the sounds, the atmosphere, all of it was familiar, hugging him tight as soon as he stepped inside.

He climbed the stairs, his knees starting to ache when he was halfway to the light room. He didn’t stop, only slowed his steps. The air was fresher at the top. More breathable compared to where he was not moments ago.

He reached the top of the staircase, his breaths coming in steady rhythm as he pushed through the burn in his knees. The narrow corridor opened up into the lantern room, and he stepped into the circular chamber.

Joel reached for the mechanism that controlled the rotation. He gave it a gentle turn, feeling the gears engage beneath his touch. The light began to move, its beam sweeping across the darkening sea. The room filled with the rhythmic cadence of the light's rotation. 

But that wasn’t the only thing that reached his ears. 

A melody that flowed like the ebb and flow of the tides called out to him, guiding him to the clear, towering windows of the lighthouse. Every night he heard it, yet never managed to see the person—or thing—responsible for it. For years it had accompanied him. Another friend that the sea had gifted him to fight the loneliness he felt from time to time. His nose nearly brushed the glass, a chill settling in his bones. Sometimes he thought he heard lyrics as painful as the song itself. 

Joel’s brows furrowed when he noticed the thick fog settling above the water. No matter the light he put out into the world, it would be a hard night for captains and crew. 

The cadence still heavy in his ear, Joel stepped away from the panes. He picked up his log book and took a seat. He grimaced when the chair groaned under his weight. Joel had placed his desk so he would still have a view of the sea. The brine-laden air filled his lungs as he ruffled through the pages. 

Picking up his pen, Joel began to write. 

Lighthouse Keeper's Log: Joel M.  Date: October 22, 18XX Weather: Heavy fog blanketing the coastline, strong easterly wind, temperature 58°F. Lighting Operations:  Lit the lamp at 18:30 hours. Due to thick fog, visibility greatly reduced; light rotation pattern altered to emit one long white flash every 20 seconds. Despite challenging conditions, light remains steadfast in its duty. Vessel Sightings: Limited visibility makes it impossible to spot distant vessels. Unusually rough seas observed, even in the absence of a clear storm. Large waves breaking against the shore; powerful surges felt within the lighthouse. Remaining emergency supplies: Blankets, dry rations, and signal flares. Remarks and Notes: The fog is a thick shroud, obscuring the sea beyond the immediate coastline. The normally serene cove now a theater of restless energy, waves crashing against the rocks with an almost primal force. An eerie beauty to the fog and the untamed sea—a reminder of nature's might and mystery. Life at the Lighthouse: Dinner of canned beans and bread awaits. Appetite normal. 

Joel chewed the inside of his cheek. He tapped his pen against the worn paper before resuming taking his notes. 

Heard the song again. It always sounds like it’s in longing for something more. I’m starting to think I’m making it up from my own loneliness. But I can’t really complain much I picked this life. 

He let out a groan. There was some comfort in knowing no one would read these but he didn’t want to sound like a crazy person if someone did end up stumbling across the notes. 

Joel leaned back in his chair, extending his legs. His muscles hummed happily at the stretch. He still had to check and make sure what supplies he had left to put in the log, he also needed to make sure no additional repairs were needed. He dragged a heavy palm down his face. Why the hell didn’t he check when he entered the base? Now he had to go down all those stairs again. He loved the lighthouse but hell, he could do with less workout. 

With a sigh, he got up and left the room. He descended the narrow spiral staircase that wound its way down into the base of the lighthouse. He carried a lantern to light his way, its feeble glow dancing against the walls. The sound of the crashing waves outside gradually faded into a distant rumble. His unease grew as the melody disappeared completely. 

Joel knew the lighthouse like he did the back of his hand. But that didn’t mean the structure even spooked him from time to time. It wasn’t easy being alone in the dark, watching the endless horizon just wondering about life. Hearing the aria subdued those thoughts— the thoughts that made a convincing point that he’s lived an empty life.  

Reaching the bottom, Joel stepped into the dimly lit chamber that housed the mechanical workings of the lighthouse. Gears and mechanisms stood in silent vigil, their intricate interplay hidden beneath layers of metal and shadow. The steady tick-tock of the clockwork echoed softly in the confined space.

Setting the lantern on a nearby table, Joel approached the massive gear assembly responsible for the light's rotation. He ran his fingers along the metal surfaces, feeling the vibrations as the gears turned in precise harmony. His trained touch could detect even the slightest irregularity.

A toolbox lay open on the table, its contents glinting in the lantern light. Joel selected a wrench and began to carefully tighten bolts and adjust connections. He moved with the grace of a musician tuning an instrument.

As he worked, his thoughts shifted to his guitar at home. He wanted to play again. Perhaps accompany the song he heard every night. His fingers weren’t as they used to be. It took time to remember how to move them over the strings, the cords, it frustrated him, making it easier to give up as soon as he touched the instrument. 

The lantern's glow flickered as Joel adjusted the final cog, ensuring that the gears meshed flawlessly. Satisfied with his work, he stood back and observed the assembly for a moment, watching as the clockwork continued its patient dance.

Then. . . a sound. 

An unfamiliar sound. It was followed by a frustrated shout and some wild splashing. Joel stood still, his spine stiff as they came. He thought the sea was playing tricks on him, which was why he remained there. Listening. The sound repeated itself, some colorful curses flying out of the mouth of whoever lingered outside of the lighthouse’s walls. 

Joel promptly headed for the door. Whoever it was, it sounded like they needed help. His mind raced. It could’ve been a multitude of things; a shipwreck that led hald conscience crew to the shores, a kid playing past their curfew, a—

. . . a woman entangled in a net.

What?  

He stilled, eyes wide with shock. All air was expelled from his lungs, mouth incredibly dry despite the chill that quickly settled in his bones. He blinked over and over, his mind trying to comprehend the sight before him. Waves crashed around her, framing her while she fought against the stubborn net. It’d been a while since Joel was in close proximity to a woman. He wasn’t a hermit, but most of the time he kept to himself, and when he needed a release provided from something other than his hand. . . he earned enough a month to spend on certain services. 

She was beautiful. Her back bare and her front hidden, looking like a starfish washed a shore. She struggled again and with a snarl, she flipped over. 

Joel’s cheeks warmed, the night chill that settled in his bones quickly dissipated thanks to the sight before him. As if to accommodate the moment, a particularly large wave washed over her, drops of salty water wetting the cuffs of his pants. She only wore a bra—at least that was what Joel assumed it was. It was the same color of a brewing storm, silver that gradually softened as it disappeared into her skin. Stunning. 

He swallowed. Temptation fogged his mind, his cock becoming stiff under the thick fabric. He was only a man after all. Joel knew little that could resist someone like her, she was hypnotic. With another swallow, his gaze moved lower. He wondered if the rest of her was just as revealing. 

But the rest of her was hidden by the vastness of the sea. 

For the better, he thought, cock straining against the zipper. He wouldn’t have touched her, of course, but it would’ve made it harder to think. 

And to help her. 

Joel's gaze finally met her face, which was equally as beautiful as the rest of her, despite being the target of her unwavering glare.

“Ahoy,” he said, voice thick. His greeting did little in wiping away her untrusting stare. “Uh. . .seems like you’ve gotten yourself in a. . . bind.” 

“Funny,” she answered, her voice the complete opposite of the statement. Wrestling against the net, a hiss escaped her lips the moment she tried. “Are you going to help or just make puns, human?” 

Human? 

Joel raised an eyebrow, being caught in a net would be annoying for sure but it shouldn’t be hurting her. He tilted his head and came closer. She regarded him like a wild animal, her need to flee evident in her eyes. He sighed. “Don’t give me the coyote look, I’m not a canine.” 

“I’ll look at you however I want to.” 

She moved and when the net brushed against her skin, she winced in pain. Pulling her arms close to her chest, she made an effort to keep from touching it. This time the pain was evident over the contours of her face, prompting worry to cross over his. 

“Stop movin’,” he ignored her sharp tongue and knelt next to her. “Is that a barbed net? Shit. We need to cut you out.” 

Another wave. A scream. 

Panic flared under his skin, without telling her to wait, he jolted inside of the lighthouse. He rummaged through his toolbox and when he came back, Joel noticed the trickle of blood going down her cheek. “Don’t worry,” he said quickly, his body collapsed onto his throbbing knees. “I’ll get you out.” 

Her stare grew gentle as he meticulously severed the ropes. Joel's attention was drawn to the cuts and bruises that marred her. He didn’t even know her name but he knew that he hated seeing her like that. So hurt and vulnerable. Another wave washed over them. Joel snarled at the sea, his annoyance growing at the wickedness of his greatest love. 

“The name’s Joel,” he grunted and moved down her body, freeing her inch by inch. Her spine turned as rigid as a plank. “Am I hurtin’ you?” he asked, stopping momentarily. He looked up but she wasn’t facing him. 

“I-It’s not that,” she said. All of her bite from before had dissolved like foams upon the sea. “My. . .lower half got caught up badly when I tried to break free. It—It might be too gruesome to see, so just give me the cutters and  you can go.” 

Joel scoffed. As if he would let her do this by herself. “If you’re hurt that bad all the more reason to stay and help you, honey. Just stay still.” 

“But—” 

“Stay still,” he ordered. Joel spread his finger across her lower back. He was surprised to find her skin so cold. He needed to free her and wrap a blanket around her ASAP. 

One by one, he cut through the net, more of her exposed to him. It almost felt like he shouldn’t be seeing such a sight. It didn’t matter though, he’d help her no matter what— he’d decided on that the first moment he laid his eyes on her. His hand moved downward, pinning her to the spot, maintaining her still. She let out a gasp, one laced with fear. Joel didn’t understand why. 

He shook his head and pressed on. 

Only when he lowered his gaze back down did he feel it. The smooth, leathery texture of her skin. It was slippery, soft. . . scaled. It took his eyes a moment to process. Subtle around her waist, the color became more pronounced as it extended downward. Scales. Beautiful scales that shined under the moonlight. It was the same color as her bra, gray that cheated its way to a light shade of blue. Joel swore he saw some gold scattered in there as well. 

He stopped moving—hell, he stopped breathing. 

“You noticed,” she said simply. Joel’s head snapped towards the voice, the tips of his ears red. 

“What—” he shook his head. “Are you a fuckin’ mermaid?” 

Silence. 

“. . . maybe.” 

“Don’t pull my leg, girl,” he warned. The words didn’t match his tone. Joel was simply in awe, his mind more of a mess. “I can see your damn scales as clear as day.” 

“Then why are you asking?” she snapped. “Could you please just help me out? It hurts.” 

“I was just curious,” Joel grunted, voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t say anything else and continued in silence. When she was free, he threw the net toward the lighthouse. He would discard it later. “Now what?” 

“Now,” she answered, the first smile gracing her lips. “I leave. Thank you.” 

Joel couldn’t deny the selfish throb of his heart. He had so many questions he wanted to ask. He wanted her to stay—wanted her to want to stay. With him. Why was that he didn’t know. A cold gust of wind blew while he watched. The mermaid turned to swim away, and as she did Joel didn’t miss the small tell tales of pain. 

He saw blood. It turned the sea into a nasty color. The words clawed up to his throat, he pushed them back as much as he could. 

Stay. 

He wanted to shout but couldn’t. It wasn’t his place. 

Luckily, fate was on his side tonight. 

She couldn’t move her tail, every movement like knives into her meaty flesh. The waves slowly brought her back to shore, like a gift. 

Her, however, didn’t share his enthusiasm. Tears built in her eyes, again, Joel could swear he saw golden specks in them. 

“I have a place,” he said. “A secret place you can stay until you heal. I have supplies.” when she didn’t seem convinced, he added. “Let me take care of you. Please.” 

A male. A human male. 

A man. 

The notion still escaped you, his hands one of a gentle giant’s as he carried you down the treacherous steps. He didn’t attempt to steal your gaze no matter how long you stared at him. And no matter the pain, you couldn’t stop. There was a roughness to his features, his appearance rugged with lines deepened by time drawn over his face. You observed the grays in his hair, in his beard. Witnessed the divot in the middle of his bottom lip, so full for a man seemingly unbothered by what you were. 

No matter how strong or wise, to see a creature that was believed to be none other than myth must’ve come as a shock. 

But you remained silent. 

So did he. 

You settled on observing your surroundings. Nestled beneath the weathered stone foundation of the lighthouse, smooth walls resided, etched over centuries by the relentless caress of the sea, glistened as if adorned by a myriad of precious gems. The low ceiling, curved and worn, hinted at the gentle erosion that had sculpted this intimate haven.

The passage meandered downward, its narrowness opening into a grand expanse that drew a gasp from your numb lips. The chamber widened into an awe-inspiring grotto. Stalactites and stalagmites formed natural columns that reached toward each other as if yearning for an embrace. The rhythmic lullaby of waves filtered through unseen crevices.

At the heart of the chamber, a crystalline pool shimmered in shades of sapphire and emerald. Slender rays of moonlight, filtered through a labyrinth of underwater tunnels. An intricately woven nest of dried seaweed laid upon the surface, the smell of it reminiscent of home. 

However, you weren’t one to lower your guard so easily. No matter how pretty the prison was. 

Still in his arms, you shoot him a look of untrust. The fingers that gingerly held you tensed, blunt nails slightly digging into your wounded flesh. “Don’t give me that look,” he grumbled, averting his gaze. “It’s connected to the sea, you can leave whenever you want. . . or escape, if you would prefer to put it that way,” he walked to where the sea connected to the earth. “It’s completely closed off to the outside. If someone wants to find this place they’ll have to go into the lighthouse first and well,” he turned sheepish, red coloring his cheeks. “No one does.” 

“That’s kinda sad,” you remarked. You didn’t ignore the twinge of sadness coiling your heart. “You don’t have a family?” 

“No,” he answered. You didn’t expect to hear the rasp of his voice, the same tone when you dragged your finger through the rough gravel of the shores. He still refused to meet your gaze. “So. . . you’ll be safe. You don’t need to worry.” 

Joel gently lowered you into the sea, his legs half-submerged in the water. As salt touched the wounds, an incoming hiss grated against your throat, and pain bloomed, spreading through your tail.

You discerned the sound of his pulse racing beneath the cloak of his human flesh and bone. When you turned to look, you found him both mesmerized and distressed. 

“Can I bring you medicine?” he frowned when your gaze turned into one of amusement. “What? Don’t mermaids need medicine?” 

“Not for something like this,” you grinned. You thread your fingers in the water, careful not to move your tail as much as you moved to lay face first on the shore. “The sea will heal me. It hurts, but the wounds aren’t big enough that it would require external help.” 

Defeated, he shook his head, “If you say so, sweetheart.” 

You watched as he balled his hands into fists and released them. He repeated the motion over and over until he prepared to leave. Your eyebrows raised. He wanted to take care of you, ached for the companionship the close proximity would force upon them. Surprisingly, you felt bad. You’ve seen this lighthouse a million times, never once you thought such a sad man would be on the other side of cold walls. You sucked a sharp breath and decided to throw him a bone. 

“I will need food,” you called out, stopping him in his tracks. His shoulders raised, you swore if he were a dog his ears would be standing with attention. You swiped a tongue over your bottom lip, a bit of life in them now that you were in the water, he had a strong back, wide shoulders that any creature would admire. 

“What d’you eat?” 

You smiled, “Anything really. I’m not picky.” 

He turned then, he seemed so large in front of the narrow path that would lead up to the lighthouse. “What about fish?” 

“Unlike what your fairytales might entail, we do eat fish,” you answered with a burst of laughter. 

You laughed again when the crease between his brows deepened. He wrinkled his nose, “Feels wrong.” 

Despite his words, he looked lightened by your laughter, something like adoration swimming in his eyes. 

You shrugged and shuffled further into the water. It signaled the end of the conversation, prompting Joel to disappear back into the depressing labyrinth of the lighthouse. With a sigh, you turned your back, staring at the ceiling. You wondered how long you’d have to stay here. You had wrinkled your nose at the medicine that was offered, yet you knew it wouldn’t be a speedy recovery.  

You sighed again, disappearing into the water. You watched as the last of your oxygen formed bubbles that head to the surface, your gills starting to expand. The image of the stalactites became distorted, the moonlight that touched the soft waves bouncing around in the water. 

You really shouldn’t be complaining. At least the human who found you seemed to be a good one unlike the many you’ve seen during the centuries you lived. 

The ache in your tail growing tender, you closed your eyes. 

Joel, despite his imposing ruggedness, was quite nurturing. As the day passed, you noticed that he began to regard you with a sense of purpose. He went back home during the days, only to come back with heaping amounts of food and water. 

He never did bring you fish though, which made you giggle whenever you thought of it. 

“You don’t drink water.” Joel had said it as a statement rather than a question. You nodded and pushed a plump grape between your lips. The salt from your skin coated the fruit, highlighting the flavor. 

“I don’t.” 

“Is there somethin’ else that you drink? I can try to find it for you,” he said thoughtfully. His eyes met yours, your grin making him short of breath. He looked away, something that he commonly did whenever he was frustrated. And you noticed how easy it was to rile him up whenever you stretched, the sheer scales that covered your breasts almost sheer. You thoroughly enjoyed his gaping mouth and lustful gaze. You wondered when was the last time this man was touched. 

"Drinking water, as you know it on land, is quite different for me beneath the waves," you explained with a playful glint in your eyes. "You see, our world is a delicate balance of salt and currents, and our bodies have adapted to it."

You gestured gracefully to the shimmering water around you, your tail swaying gently with the motion of the still water. "When I need water, I don't sip from a cup or a stream. Instead, I have a connection with the sea itself. Just as your body knows how to breathe without thinking, my tail and skin allow water to flow through."

"Imagine this," you continued. "In the embrace of the ocean, my body senses the ebb and flow of the tides, the salt and minerals suspended in every drop. When I need hydration, my skin and scales absorb the sea's essence, drawing it into my very being."

You leaned closer, lips an inch away from his, your voice a mesmerizing cadence. Joel’s breath hitched, his chest expanding with each word whispered. He licked his lips, your eyes dropping to observe the movement. You imagined that same tongue sinking into your mouth, licking the salt. A shudder crawled up your spine, your breasts feeling tender and heavy. "So, you see, I drink in a way that's in tune with the rhythm of the sea, a silent conversation with the waves themselves. It's a connection, a dance of existence that ties me to the world I call home."

“Do you miss it?” 

The question took you by surprise and you blinked rapidly, “What?” 

“Your home?” 

“I—” Such a perceptive man. It surprised you. “The sea is my home. I’m never apart from it,” you said, shaking your head. A soft smile touched your lips. 

“What about where you were born?” he pressed. “Your family? Friends?” 

“So many questions,” you hummed. And, with a burst of confidence, you touched his cheek. Him leaning into the touch was something you hadn’t expected. “I’m not to go back.” 

“You were banished?” 

“I left.” it looked like he was about to ask more. Before he could, you pressed your thumb against his lips, feeling his warmth, his whole body grew rigid but didn’t pull away. “Too many rules,” you explained. “Not a very fun place to live.” 

With a graceful flick of your tail, you returned to the water, leaving a glistening trail of droplets in your wake. You vanished beneath the surface, you waited a moment and look up. There he was, leaning further into the water. Trying to capture a glimpse of the mythical creature he was nursing to health—

Propelling yourself with a force gentle enough that wouldn’t re-open the wounds, you broke through the surface and wrapped your arms around his neck. He let out a yelp as you pulled him under, bubbles caressing your bodies, rushing to escape the sea. Joel’s eyes went wide, panic lingering in the depths. You met his gaze and smiled, his heartbeat was muffled yet loud under the water. In order to calm him, you placed an open palm right above that frantically beating heart, closing your eyes, you willed your emotions over him. Calmness. Serenity. 

You’re safe with me, Joel. The only one of your kind that can say that.

He heard you. You watched the panic melt away from his gaze, replacing it with shock. Normally, if he was a merman himself, he’d be able to answer. Something tugged at your heartstrings, your gaze falling to the depths of the water.   

You felt his hands cup your waist, instinctively pulling you closer to him. He was firm, warm against your chest. To be touched. . . you missed it. Like he did when you cupped his cheek, you nuzzled closer to him. Your breasts flushed over the planes of his body, your nipples tight as they grazed against the fabric of his shirt. 

Warmth. 

You chased it. Ached for it. He seemed to be the same. His fingers denting your flesh, his arousal hard over your stomach. You would’ve allowed him anything in that moment. For him to kiss you, hold you, fuck you— you’d grant him anything, like a genie in a bottle. 

But, nonetheless, he was human. And humans needed air no matter how strongly they fought against it. 

His eyes became apologetic, brows furrowing. He gestured up and you shook your head, prompting confusion to cross his face. 

Mermaids were known to take human lovers. They would usually transform once a month to head for the shores. No one wanted to share more of themselves than they had to. Their world was a secret to be kept, an unspoken rule they all knew since birth. Looking at him, you knew he was at his last drops of oxygen. His cheeks were puffed up, eyes questioning your motives. 

Evolution had granted your kind one more gift—the gift of life. 

Your hands slid up his chest, your fingers bunched the collar of his shirt, you tugged the fabric. The sound of the currents flooded your ears. You felt your gills expand. Joel was unaware, he brushed your lips together, eyes coming to a close. 

A kiss. A simple kiss. 

His lips parted alongside yours, his tongue curious. You met him halfway and slanted your mouth over his, closing the gap entirely. 

You breathed air into him. Filling his lungs with oxygen. Your gills quivered at how much was needed for him to make this moment last. His chest dilated and Joel finally opened his eyes. With a smile, you pulled back, dragging your lips down to his neck instead. Slightly embarrassed of what he might think of it.   

His fingers curled under your chin, pulling you back up so you’d face him. You laughed when Joel attempted to ask his questions with nothing other than his eyes. 

You didn’t answer this time, only shrugged. His lips broke into an exasperated smile and despite the lack of it, you felt the air around you crackling, arousal pouring between your legs and mixing with the sea.  

Joel pulled you towards his lips once more. Eager for another taste. 

She was sleeping. 

Joel’s steps were feather-light as he approached her, his guitar in hand. He’d foolishly mentioned how he was trying to remember and her eyes had gone wide with excitement, asking him to bring it over. But since she was sleeping, he decided not to bother her with it and gently placed the instrument aside. 

He asked about it once, how her kind slept, apparently, they would drift to sleep underwater most of the time. That’s where they felt safest. He didn’t pry on the matter but could hear a hint of hurt lingering under her words. 

So, when he first saw her sleeping, his heart had warmed at the sight. 

Right now was no different. His gut felt oddly warm, his heart swelling in his chest, everything feeling a bit too tight. 

They hadn’t talked about the kiss—or the touches for that matter. 

Again, he hadn’t pressed for answers. He wasn’t sure what good they would do anyway. They were a part of different worlds, different species, how would it work? 

Joel tilted his head to the side. 

Seriously how would it work? She didn’t have. . . well. . . a vagina. At least not one he could see. 

Did she lay eggs? 

Joel blanked at the thought. They drank like fish so who was to say that they didn’t procreate like them too? 

He violently shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about that, it was none of his goddamn business. With his mind feeling clearer, his eyes roamed over her sleeping figure. She was a silent sleeper. Her hands were tucked under her head, most of her tail submerged beneath the water, flowing freely with the soft ripples of water. All he wanted to do was to kneel beside her and stroke her hair, her body that seemed soft and supple. 

Joel managed to do half of what he wanted. He took a seat near her, the gravel crunching under his weight, her breathing more audible now that he was close. 

It’d been almost a month since he found her entangled within the nasty fisher’s net. He didn’t know how long it took mermaids to heal but he had a sneaking suspicion that she had. His mouth dried, a sudden uncomfort riling his stomach. He was afraid she was staying here for his sake. To spare his feelings. That notion just didn’t sit right with him. It was unfair to her, and, in some ways, it was unfair to him. He didn’t believe a creature like her would want to stay with an old man like him. He had nothing to offer. No land, no money, no nothing. 

Only the lighthouse. 

The kiss had been one of convenience, he told himself almost every night, stroking himself while replaying the moment over and over. He hadn’t visited the brothel since. None of them could compare to how she made him feel, and he doubt he’d go even after she left. 

“You’re thinking loud,” a murmur came from next to him. She stirred and flipped to her back, eyes finding his a second later. Joel could see her dreams still glimmering in her eyes, adding a shine. Her brows furrowed when his gaze lingered longer than it should have. “What?” 

“Nothin’,” he answered. “I brought the guitar.” 

“Really?” she was suddenly wide away, her upper hand lifting and tail splashing as she came to a sitting position. “Will you play for me?” 

Despite himself, he grinned, “That’s why I brought it, sweetheart.” 

He reached out and picked it up. When he returned, he caught her eyes on the exposed skin of his stomach, her lips parted. Briefly, her gaze found his. 

“I—um—” she looked away, bottom lip sucked between her teeth. “I know some songs so maybe I can join your playing.” 

Something flickered inside of him—a familiarity he couldn’t quite place. 

“That sounds lovely,” he balanced the guitar over his lap and strummed a couple of strings, their sound filling the cave. His gaze expectant as he looked back at her. “Go on now, don’t be shy.” 

She puffed her cheeks, huffing with annoyance, “That’s not fair, I said I would join you, not the other way around.” 

“You’re breakin’ my heart,” with a fixed gaze, his eyes grew soft and he smiled. “Please?” 

With a sigh she shifted closer, her tail swaying with an elegant fluidity. Her voice, when it finally graced the air, was hauntingly beautiful—a melody that seemed to bridge the gap between the human world and the mysteries of the sea. The lyrics spoke of lost homes and forgotten dreams, of endless depths and aching hearts. It was a song of longing and solitude, a mournful tale that seemed to capture the very essence of her existence.

As she sang, Joel's fingers moved deftly across the strings of his guitar, weaving his own notes into the fabric of her song. The cave's quiet embrace amplified the sound of his guitar, each note resonating against the walls. The music swirled around them, an unspoken conversation between two souls who had found an unexpected connection.

He watched her, the soft glow of the cave reflecting in her eyes as she sang. Her voice carried a weight that tugged at his heart, stirring emotions he had long kept buried. 

Without thinking, Joel's voice joined hers, his rough yet tender tones intertwining with her song. As their voices merged, the cave seemed to come alive, the walls reverberating with the bittersweet harmony of their duet.

In the midst of the music, a memory began to surface—the melody she sang felt achingly familiar. He strummed the guitar with increasing fervor, his fingers dancing across the strings as he tried to match the rhythm of her song.

And then it hit him—the realization that sent a shiver down his spine.

It was her. 

The sound that accompanied him every night. 

The sound that kept him sane. 

The sound that made him feel less alone. Less broken.

The sound of an old friend. 

It was her. It had always been her. 

Joel suddenly stopped, his eyes wide and lips agape as he just. . .stared at her. She was lost in her song, only noticing the loss of the soulful sound of the guitar moments later. Joel watched her blink with confusion, on edge, thanks to his gaze. “It’s you,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “You’re the song.” 

“I’m. . .what?” 

Wanting her to understand as soon as possible, Joel began humming the melody every part of him had grown accustomed to. He went on until her features shifted from confusion to recognition, a hand coming to cover her mouth. 

“You heard me?” she whispered. 

“I did,” he swallowed. “Every night.” 

Joel didn’t waste any more time. He held her gently by the neck, feeling her pulse as he crashed their lips together. He licked himself deep into her mouth and tasted the sea on her tongue. Her hands limply pawed his chest, bunching his shirt between delicate fingers. 

Her moans were even more beautiful than her song. 

He couldn’t get enough of it. His mouth devoured her, eating her alive with every fat swipe of his tongue. Her moans were swallowed by him. She was pliant, body trembling against his, desperate in the way she allowed herself to be consumed. Her breath stuttered as he cupped her breasts, the scale that covered them slowly sinking into her skin, leaving her bare to his tongue. 

Joel wanted no time in lowering himself, sucking the pebbled flesh between his lips. He swirled his tongue and nipped her with sharp teeth. She thread her fingers through his hair, pulled him closer. Joel looked at her between heavy lashes. Her breathing was frantic, her heart like a hummingbird’s in her chest. He pushed her tits together, dragged his tongue quickly from one swollen nipple to the other, she threw her head back with a wanton moan, the sound bouncing off of the walls. 

He felt the sting of her nails on his shoulders. Her trails thrashed against the calm waters and his one hand slid down to where the scales began. Joel never felt them properly before. He cupped the area where her ass would be if she were human, the pads of his finger digging into her flesh. She seemed to enjoy that. Her body shuddered, her scales growing wetter by the second. 

Joel parted from her chest with a pop, his lips were damp and a string of saliva followed him. “How does this work?” he asked, voice nothing but gravel. 

Still in a haze, she blinked. Confused. A smug smile tugged at his lips, pride, and cock swelling simultaneously. Finally, when she understood, she took his hand and led it down to her front. Joel didn’t look. He wanted to memorize her face instead, engraving every part of her into memory. As he was preoccupied, he felt it, an opening similar to a human woman’s. She still held her wrist while he explored. He traced the lips, the wetness between them. 

Her eyes rolled back when he brushed against the crown of her cunt, a throbbing pearl hidden. “Joel,” she breathed. “Again, please.” 

He nuzzled her neck and laid a kiss. “You’re not that different from your human counterpart it seems,” he murmured, goosebumps rising where his lips touched. “I want to eat this pretty cunt out, sweetheart. Let me taste you.” 

She nodded hazily, eyes clouded by lust. Joel splayed her over the shore, the bottom half of her tail still lazily moving under the water. He didn’t care about getting wet. Moving down, he straddled her and looked down. 

The breath got knocked out of him. 

Her hands were on each side of her head above the gravel, her chest raising up and down heavily as she looked up at him, gaze half-lidded. Joel’s gaze traveled lower. Just like he imagined, there was an opening a bit lower from where her tail started. The gaps between the scales had become almost non-existing, accommodating the perfect cunt that’d blossomed for him. It was wet. Glistening. He went down on his elbows, his mouth watering at the sight of it trembling. 

“So pretty,” he rasped. “Gonna fuckin’ devour you, honey.” 

He pressed his lips hungrily, tongue delving between her folds and tasting her from within. He didn’t separate as he moved his jaw. Her cunt fluttered and squeezed his tongue, begging him for more. Joel obliged, dragging his mouth up and down and purposefully bumping her clit with the curve of his nose. 

She was so darn wet. Soaked. He heard whimpers of his name but he was too far gone to grace the pleas with a response. Joel closed his lips around her clit and sucked, applying pressure with a pointed tongue. His fingers joined in on the fun, he pushed them in knuckle deep, scissoring them as he drew circles over the throbbing bundle of nerves. 

“That’s it,” he hummed, his breath warm against her core. “Fall apart for me, sweet temptress.” 

It was too much, too fast. 

His tongue was merciless, his words like a honeyed poison. Your mind was nothing but a haze. The world around you is left spinning. You didn’t remember the last time someone had you like this, so hungry and desperate. All you could do was beg for more. His fingers were thick and long inside of you, pressing harder and harder until he reached the spot that made you see stars. 

It didn’t take you long after that. His tongue flat over your clit, you felt your muscles begin to tighten, your scales practically vibrating in answer to the strokes of his mouth. 

His hand moved to the side of your face as he increased the pressure with his tongue, making you moan and thrust your hips against him. Your body was his to control and it responded eagerly to each touch, kiss, and lick. As his lips pressed harder and deeper, his mouth moving sloppily, your breathing began to quicken, your heart pounding in your ears amidst the sound of the waves lapping against your tail. 

He moaned into your pussy, your ears narrowed on the sound, forgetting all else. Feeling your slick becoming heavy on his tongue, he repeated the sound and your chest heaved, beasts tingling. You could feel your entire body tensing up, your fingers gripping his wet hair for leverage as you shuddered and exploded in his arms.  Your muscles tightened and quaked against him as his jaw and tongue continued their wicked work until finally, mercifully, you were released and slipped off the edge into the depths of rapturous bliss. A squirt of wetness soaked them both, filling his mouth and making a mess of his plump lips. 

Your world stilled and your eyes rolled back in your head as you lay there in his arms, savoring every second of nirvana that his tongue had so generously gifted to you. He didn’t stop until you were tugging at his hair. Joel did so with a soft growl, his gaze dark as he faced you, a wicked hunger still clouding his eyes. His hair still tight between your fingers, he parted his lips, and a string of saliva fell in a vicious drip from his tongue. You shuddered. Never breaking his gaze, he delved his fingers between the delicate folds and spread the mess he made. Debouched, was the only this you were able to think about. 

This man was every bit of hungry as you were. 

“Joel,” you whined upon feeling your arousal rapidly building between your legs once more. “I want to feel you.” you swallowed. “Want your cock.”  

“Say that again, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Convince me how bad you want it.” 

You weren't sure what to do, but you humored him anyway. Crunching up, you met him halfway in a wet kiss. “I want you to split me into two, Joel,” you whispered into his lips. “Want to feel the stretch of your cock. Want to feel that it’s real. I want you to fuck me so good that you’ll be spilling out of me as you take me again,” you dragged your lips down his throat. He was shaking. “Again,” a kiss. “And again. . .” 

“Fuck,” he moaned. “So filthy for such a pretty thing.” 

“Joel,” you whispered, ignoring him. You cupped his cock through his jeans and began to stroke him. His forehead fell to your shoulder, hips canting shallowly into your wanting palm. “Prove to me that humans can fuck just as well.” 

You’re not sure what it was—Jealousy? Pride? Whatever you said that got under his skin, you were glad. 

Joel pinned you to the gravel, his rough hands sliding from your shoulders to your waist. He stroked where the scales began, sending tremors and tingles up your body. He freed himself of his belt with one skilled hand and pulled out his cock. The tip glistened, precome still oozing from the tip. Your mouth watered. For a human, he was rather blessed. He eagerly stroked himself over you, his cock jutting from his fist. You warmed at the sight, slick wetting the inside of your thighs and adding to the mess. You couldn’t help it. There was just something so incredibly erotic about a man fucking his fist. It felt so primal. So instinctive about it.  

He pushed into you with a clipped groan, the movement almost punishing. Your insides clenched and all the air in your lungs seemed to desert you by the force of the thrust. Looking down at you, Joel smiled. The curl of his lips menacing and taunting. He pulled back agonizingly slow before he was rutting back into your spasming hole. You let out a sound between a hiss and a moan. His glee only seemed to heighten when you held on to his biceps, grounding yourself against the rock of his hips. 

“What’d you say, sweetheart?” he said, tone laced with venom. You were in a thick haze of lust, your mind finding trouble understanding his words. When you couldn’t answer, he slammed harder into the tight fist of your cunt. Your body drooled all over him and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. “Can humans fuck?” he said cruelly. 

Your mind was scattered. Especially when he sucked a nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh. His fingers began to move down your tail where the scales were most sensitive. Joel didn’t know this. As he skimmed a line back up with blunt nails, he was taken aback to feel you gripping him tight, slickness flowing from you like a broken fountain.

Your lungs burned. Your body nothing for of aflame. A strangled moan left him, the tightness of your cunt forcing him to slow. “Holy shit,” he moaned, jaw slack. “What the fuck—” His eyes went to meet yours only to find you hidden under your hands. An adorning smile grazed his face. “Hey, look at me,” he said and rolled his hips as an incentive. A short breath parted your lips. You lowered your hands, eyes tearing as you met his gaze. “Why so embarrassed darlin’? That was fuckin’ hot.” 

You didn’t answer. Not enjoying your silence, Joel again grazed your scales with his nails. He nearly came when you squeezed around him again, forcing the hitch of his breath. “You like when I do that?” he murmured. 

“Y-Yeah,” you answered. “They become sensitive during intercourse.” 

“Interestin’,” he hummed, looking down to where his cock was still buried deep. Keeping your hips pinned, he pulled out and grinded his cock over your tail instead. Your eyes grew wide from where it was glued. He made a delicious mess of the scales, slick and precome staining the vibrant blue and gray. Pleasure rippled across your tail and your brows furrowed, your expression melting in bliss. 

“I could stare at your face forever,” he muttered. “I don’t think I ever seen such a fucked out expression.” 

Heat gathered under your cheeks but honestly, you couldn’t really focus on it. Joel slipped back inside of you, despite how wet you were, you could still feel him stretching you wide. And with every wild thrust, he managed to get deeper and deeper. His cock pulsed, fingers now a constant pressure on your sensitive tail, “Gonna come,” he moaned, eyelids fluttering. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close until you felt the entirety of the man’s weight. 

You wanted to feel him dripping out of you and you made your message clear by holding him in place. He was vocal where his face was buried in your neck. Tongue and teeth abusing the skin. His movements were rapid, the sound of skin against skin echoed, cock pressing hard into your heat. He fucked you until he stole his third orgasm from you, it felt like a jolt of electricity, your slick coating his length and dripping down. It was so overwhelming that you bit where his neck met his shoulder. You ignored the fact that this marked him as yours, and that the mark of a mermaid would last for weeks. 

Joel didn’t mind the pain. In fact, it spurred him on. He whined into your skin, hammering until he spilled into you, filling you until it was spilling from where he was stretching you. The way you fluttered and clenched was too much for him, he fucked his come back into you, hearing it make those sloppy wet gushing noises against his hips. He drove his hips forward until there was nothing left of him. His moans bounced off of clenched teeth. 

And when your arms fell back to the gravel, limp with pleasure, he stopped. 

You sighed happily at the touch of his lips over your heated skin. He kissed a trail down to your breasts, kissing each one, his softening cock slipped out of you and he went lower. Kisses and licks on your stomach and lastly one placed on your trembling mound. 

Your hands hastily pulled him back up for a long, lazy kiss. It was full of emotion, each swipe of your tongue conveying something else. Gratitude, pleasure, love. 

“You’re healed aren’t you?” he murmured against your lips. 

“Yes.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Now what?” 

“Now,” you sigh. “I leave.” A humorless, bitter chuckle left your lips. “But I really don’t want to.” 

He answered almost immediately, “Then don’t.” 

Joel pulled back to look at you, his gaze warm like the sun dancing above waves. You let out a sigh. Just like the sun, the look was also blinding. “I can’t live in this cave forever.” 

His brows drew together with confusion and you worried that perhaps you accidentally said something else. He shook his head, “Who said anythin’ about livin’ in this cave?” Joel’s lips curled in amusement in answer to your shocked expression. “You were already livin’ close to the lighthouse, weren’t you? You can come and visit. And I can visit the shores more often, As long as you’re not on the other side of the sea, we can be together.” 

He looked at you expectantly, and when your silence grew, so did his doubts. “Right?” he asked. 

“Right,” you repeated. You giggled at his relieved expression and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I don’t know why I just assumed I’d have to live here. Like some sort of weird prison.” 

“Hmmm,” Joel smiled dragging his nose down from your temple to your cheek. He pulled you close and you laid your head over the expanse of his chest. “I guess I just fucked you that good.” 

“Don’t get so full of yourself. I was just taken by surprise.” 

“Sure, honey,” he answered, smile widening into a grin. “Whatever you say so.” 

(i made this moodboard before fanna's stunning bday gift to me which is the gif above but I adore this mood board so I decided to put it here thank you for reading xx)

[ladybyakuya]

| PAPRIKA + UMEMIYA HAJIME .

+cw. — fem!reader x prince!umemiya hajime, undertones of smut, angst, and fluff & strangers to lovers. | +wc. — 1k | +syn.— a tryst just before his big day and that was all it took to for him to be fearless. | +notes. — i do wanna write more. . .maybe continue it as mini series but lets see if the stars align or not! | redirect to blog navigation.

“Nobody needs to know about this,” Umemiya rasps against your shaky lips by breaking his tantalizingly lazy yet turbulent kiss.

“Yeah.” You breathe out a whisper, running your hands over his palms that rest on your cheeks. 

“Right.  . . Nobody.” His lips dash on yours again as his hands slowly travel down to your shoulders, deft hands, gnarly fingers slipping underneath the hem of your robe, little by little, peeling the robe off you. His Imperial Mantle conceals your body, always has been; since the day he laid his eyes on you. Even if the weight of it is too heavy to bear it alone sometimes, Umemiya believed that it was a little less when he was with you, when he saved you on that fierce stormy starless night. But even without it the high golden curtains and the pillar would provide both of you enough time to flee if anyone were to come, which is why Hiragi is standing at the advent of this gigantic hallway.

You feel the cold of the air grace one of your shoulders with goosebumps. Umemiya’s face is buried in the nook of your neck, one of his limbs holding the back of your nape keeping you in your place. still. The tip of his tongue licks your collarbones once before he flattens his tongue which travels from the head of your collarbone to the back of your ear lobes while his other limb follows the same trail from your waist up to your breast. His teeth nip your ear lobes at the same time as his hand squeezes your breasts making you stand on your tippy toes and then, you moan; the roused sigh flowing right into his ear making him recoil from this ravishing reality being reminded of his status as well as the consequences of his actions: that with such personage there come responsibilities followed by certain boundaries with it not leaving behind a promising morbidity either. You have always known that the tragedy that comes with the throne, and it never leaves you. It is epoxized to one fate and blood as if the other side of a coin thereby running from it was foolish, fighting against it is nothing but a pity so all you can do is to stand beside it.

Any pitchier than that, your voice would have echoed through the corridors. You have become exceptionally good at controlling your voice with the passage of time. His facial muscles squeeze at the thought of how cruel time it is that it passes. If only he could stop the time. . .

“We shouldn't do this,” Umemiya mumbled with a moan laced underneath, devouring desire palpable oozing from his breath. He skids away from you, saunting straight towards his inner chambers. Those fingers that have held a thousand swords, sparred day and night, fought battles that shook heaven and hell once refused to have the valor to disrobe you. Were you supposed to believe that? Your breath ceases at the bottom of your throat as you stand with your back glued against the wall in that gigantic empty corridor. There is a sound in the air. You can hear it; but no one is talking, neither walking or even taking a breath. You look at the end of the corridor only to see royal guard Hiragi standing just like before, a bronze statue except this time his palms are at the valley of his torso are twitching upon each other. 

You walk into his chambers finding him sitting at the edge of the bed with the crown of the prince in his hand, eyes scrutinizing it as if he could see the fate it holds once it finds its next rightful place since it has to find a new head to burden with a glorious purpose; since Umemiya would not be bearing the weight of such a burden anymore, after all, he is going to be appointed as the king today— a crown of heavier in status, weight, power and tragedy than before.

“Well, my knight, do you wish to save it after the coronation ceremony?”

Umemiya nods. . . simply nods, like six times in a row as if he did not expect such a question from you.  A crescent curve along your lips appears as you mumble to yourself, “Such a puppy.”

You two have not gotten to that stage yet. Umemiya stands up straightening his spine as you walk towards him. You take one good look at him, the knight you met that night before you fix his robe. You tie the knot of the laces of his dress shirt that has been undone by those same fingers not so long ago. Then, you move on to tying his coronation mantle. Umemiya looks at you as you take your time preparing him for his coronation ceremony. He thinks it is an act of galore valor that you can take responsibility for the things you mess up. 

“Are you nervous Haji?” 

“A little,” He says grabbing your palm, ceasing your movements as you were just about to deprive him from the touch of your hands. 

You look up. His eyes are as dark as the ocean. Your fingers clamp around his wrist pulling it on your chest. “Here.” You place your other hand on the left side of his chest. “No matter what or who turns their back to you I will never.” His eyebrows pinch ever so slightly that it is barely pinnable. The sincerity you have in those sparkling eyes, the loyalty that courses through your veins whenever you are around him, the devotion you have when you touch him is too much for him. It scares him. It scares his sanity to think what if . . . he loses you or something much worse . . .

“I know, my love.” He chimes leaning down. “I know.” His voice is now a weak whisper, a prayer as it says your name. His forehead touches yours as his free hand rests on yours which is still on his chest.