#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.

[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!

[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."

[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.”

[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.”

[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. 

[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..."

[hisfavegirl]

Fallen Loyalties - Aemond Targaryen x TwinSister!Reader

Summary : Now, all that remains is the echo of the lies Aemond told and the weight of the betrayal he never saw coming. And as the consequences unfold, he realize—it’s too late for apologies, too late for redemption. The loyalty you once shared is gone, and what’s left is nothing but the ruins of what you once were. The price of betrayal is always paid in regret. And now, he am paying it with his heart.

Aemond Masterlist.

Being born as Aemond Targaryen’s twin sister meant your fate was sealed from the moment you took your first breath. From the very beginning, your life was entwined with his, bound by blood, secrets, and the unyielding honor of House Targaryen. But your bond with Aemond had always been more than mere siblinghood. There was something deeper, darker, something no one dared to name aloud.

After the birth of Maelor, Aegon’s son, your marriage to Aemond was arranged without question. It was destiny, they said—a union that would strengthen House Targaryen. You accepted it with your head held high, even as your heart swirled with fear, confusion, and curiosity about how your life would change.

Now, you are carrying your first child. Years have passed since your marriage, and while you’ve grown accustomed to Aemond’s stern and controlling nature, the unspoken tension between you remains.

In your chambers, Aemond stood near the window, gazing at the flames burning in the distance. His silver hair flowed freely down his back, catching the warm glow of the candlelight. He turned when you entered, his sharp eye immediately locking onto yours.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked softly—a rare gentleness in his voice.

“Fine,” you replied briefly, your hand instinctively resting on your growing belly.

Aemond approached, his steps deliberate and measured. Despite his calm demeanor, his intensity was palpable. He stopped in front of you, his gaze fixed on your stomach as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

“He will be our legacy,” he said quietly, his voice filled with conviction. “We will ensure the blood of the Targaryens remains pure and unbroken.”

His words stirred unease within you, but you nodded, choosing not to challenge him. You knew that beneath his gentleness lay a darkness you had no desire to provoke.

As the night deepened, you wondered if your life with Aemond was truly destined by fate or if you were merely trapped in the power games of your family. But when he gently pulled you into his arms, you couldn’t deny the feeling that, for reasons you couldn’t fully understand, you were meant to be his—forever.

Loving Aemond was not something you could ever dream of letting go. It was a bond forged not only by blood but by something far deeper—something dark, consuming, and impossible to escape. You knew the kind of man he was, knew the fire that burned beneath his icy exterior. And you knew that when he was angry, even you, the one person he held above all else, could not control him.

The tension had been building ever since word reached you about what happened at Rook’s Rest. The whispers of what Aemond had done to your brother, Aegon, sent shivers down your spine. They said Aegon barely escaped with his life, and though the details were murky, the truth was clear: Aemond had crossed a line no one dared to confront.

When he returned to you, his presence was as commanding as ever, his single eye gleaming with a cold determination that made your blood run cold. He acted as though nothing had happened, as though the events at Rook’s Rest were just another necessary step in a long and bloody war.

But you knew. You had heard the screams of guilt in your own mind, the horror at what he had done to his own kin. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say a word.

You sat together in the quiet of your chambers, the firelight casting shadows across his face. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. His calmness unsettled you.

“Is something troubling you?” he asked, his voice low, his gaze sharp as it turned toward you.

Your heart leapt in your chest, your hands tightening in your lap. For a moment, you considered speaking, considered asking him about what happened at Rook’s Rest. But the image of his fury, the cold, ruthless man you knew he could become, stopped you.

“No,” you lied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Nothing.”

Aemond watched you for a moment longer, his gaze piercing, as if he could see straight through your soul. Then he crossed the room, kneeling before you. His hand reached out, brushing against yours with a surprising gentleness.

“You would tell me if there was, wouldn’t you?” he asked, his voice softer now, but with an edge that sent a chill down your spine.

You nodded quickly, forcing a weak smile. “Of course.”

He studied you for a moment longer before standing, his fingers lingering against your hand for a second longer than necessary. “Good,” he said simply, turning away and walking toward the door.

As the door clicked shut behind him, you released the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your mind raced with the weight of the secret you were keeping, the fear of what might happen if you dared to confront him.

You loved Aemond with everything you had, but you also knew the danger that came with that love. And in the end, you were willing to bear the burden of silence, knowing that to challenge him might mean losing him entirely.

The morning sun bathed the gardens in a soft golden glow as you walked down the stone pathway, Aemond by your side. The air was cool and crisp, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the faint saltiness of the sea breeze. Your hand rested lightly on your swollen belly, and with every step, Aemond’s presence beside you felt as steady and unyielding as ever.

He had been named Prince Regent in Aegon’s stead after your brother was left bedridden, unable to rule. The weight of responsibility now rested on Aemond’s shoulders, and while others might have buckled under such pressure, he seemed to thrive in it. His sharp mind and ruthless determination were exactly what the realm needed in these uncertain times.

As you paused near a marble bench, Aemond stopped beside you. His gaze softened as it shifted from your face to your belly. Without a word, he reached out, his hand warm and firm as it gently stroked the curve of your stomach. The simple gesture, filled with an unexpected tenderness, made your heart ache.

“You should rest more,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “The child needs you strong.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing against his hand. “And you? Do you not need rest as well? The council takes so much of your time.”

He smirked, a rare flicker of amusement crossing his face. “The council is full of fools. I don’t need rest to deal with them.”

His confidence was unshakable, and while it sometimes frustrated you, it also reassured you. He would not falter, not for anything or anyone.

Aemond leaned down, pressing a fleeting kiss to your forehead, a gesture so brief it might have been missed by anyone watching. Then he straightened, his icy demeanor returning as he prepared to face the day’s challenges.

“I must go,” he said, his voice returning to its usual sharpness. “The council awaits.”

You nodded, watching as he turned and walked away, his black cloak billowing behind him. His steps were purposeful, each one echoing with the authority of a man who knew he was in control.

For a moment, you lingered in the garden, your hand resting on your belly. The child within you stirred slightly, as if responding to its father’s touch. Aemond might be a man of fire and ice, but in these fleeting moments, you saw the softer side of him—a side he reserved only for you and the life you carried.

As you made your way to Aegon’s chambers, your steps were slow, burdened by a weight you couldn’t shake. The corridor was quiet, save for the faint rustling of servants going about their duties. When you reached the heavy oak door, you hesitated for a moment before pushing it open.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to shield your brother from the harsh morning light. Aegon lay motionless on the grand bed, his face pale and drawn, a stark contrast to the once vibrant and arrogant man you had known. The faint scent of milk of the poppy lingered in the air, a reminder of the only thing keeping him from the agony of his injuries.

You stepped closer, your heart twisting with guilt as you looked at him. His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, his face peaceful in his drugged sleep. For a moment, you could almost pretend he was simply resting, that nothing was wrong. But the bandages wrapped around his body told the truth you couldn’t deny.

You sat down on the edge of his bed, your hand trembling as it hovered over his. Finally, you let your fingers brush lightly against his, a silent gesture of comfort he wouldn’t even feel.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. “I’m so sorry, Aegon.”

Your throat tightened as you fought back tears. You knew you couldn’t say these words to Aemond, couldn’t confront him about what he’d done to your brother at Rook’s Rest. But here, in the quiet of this room, you could let your guilt pour out.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” you continued, your voice shaking. “He… Aemond… He doesn’t see things the way we do. He believes what he did was necessary, but I—” You stopped, the words catching in your throat. “I should have stopped him. I should have done something.”

Aegon didn’t stir, his slumber too deep to be interrupted by your whispered confessions. But somehow, speaking the words aloud made the weight on your chest feel just a little lighter.

“I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive him,” you murmured, tears sliding down your cheeks now. “Or me. But I swear to you, Aegon, I will make sure he doesn’t harm you again. I won’t let this happen again.”

You sat there for a while longer, your hand still resting lightly on his. The guilt still lingered, but so did the resolve. You would find a way to make amends, even if it meant standing against the man you loved most in the world.

You spent hours in Aegon’s room, sitting quietly by his side. The book you held was one you thought he might enjoy—something light, perhaps even amusing, to ease his troubled mind. You knew, deep down, that Aegon had never been one for books. He had always preferred action to words, the thrill of battle to the quiet comfort of a story. But today, you read anyway. It was more for yourself than for him, a small act of solace amidst the heavy silence that filled the room.

As your voice softened and you turned the pages, you could almost pretend everything was as it should be. But the weight of the situation lingered, and you couldn’t escape the gnawing guilt that still tugged at you, the guilt of what had transpired at Rook’s Rest.

Just as you read the final lines of a chapter, the door to Aegon’s room creaked open. You looked up, surprised, as your mother stood in the doorway, her posture regal and unyielding, yet there was something soft in her expression as she observed you. Behind her stood Aemond, his figure just as imposing as always, his presence a shadow in the doorway.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. You quickly closed the book, your eyes flicking between your mother and your brother, knowing exactly what this visit would mean.

“Mother,” you greeted her, rising from your seat. “Husband.”

Your mother gave a small nod, her eyes softening briefly as she looked at you. “How is Aegon?” she asked, her voice full of concern as she walked over to the side of the bed, her gaze landing on her eldest son.

“He is still asleep,” you replied softly, your voice betraying the exhaustion you hadn’t realized you were carrying. “The milk of the poppy keeps him in a deep sleep.”

Aemond’s gaze never left you, his single eye narrowed slightly, as though scrutinizing every movement, every word. There was something unreadable in his expression, something far colder than the warmth your mother radiated.

“How long do you intend to stay here?” Aemond’s voice cut through the silence, his tone sharp, though there was a hint of something else beneath the edge—something like concern, but harder to place.

You met his gaze, your stomach tightening. “As long as it takes,” you replied, your voice firm but weary. “He’s my brother, Aemond. He needs me.”

Aemond’s lips tightened into a thin line, but he said nothing. His silence spoke volumes—he disapproved, no doubt. But then, a flicker of understanding passed between you, a silent acknowledgment that you were doing what you believed was right.

Your mother placed a gentle hand on Aegon’s forehead, her fingers brushing his hair back as she gazed down at him with love and worry in her eyes. “He’ll recover,” she said quietly, though there was doubt in her voice. “He’s strong, like his father.”

But you knew, in your heart, that Aegon’s strength alone might not be enough to recover from the wounds he had suffered—not just the physical ones, but the emotional scars that lingered from the events that had torn your family apart.

Aemond stepped forward then, his presence filling the room, and for a moment, you wondered what his intentions were. Would he seek to further distance you from Aegon? Or perhaps, you thought, he might simply leave, as he often did when the situation was less than ideal.

“You should rest,” Aemond said to you, his voice softer now, though his eyes remained distant. “You’ve been here long enough.”

You wanted to argue, to remain by Aegon’s side until he awoke, but you knew your body was exhausted. Aemond was right in his own way, and you couldn’t deny the exhaustion that weighed on you.

Your mother looked between you and Aemond, her gaze shifting uncomfortably. “I will stay with Aegon,” she said softly, offering you a small, reassuring smile. “Go rest, dear.”

You hesitated, but nodded in the end. “Thank you, Mother.”

Before you left, you cast one final look at Aegon, your heart heavy with worry and regret. As the door closed behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was changing—and that nothing would ever be the same again.

You stood by the window, the soft light of the fading afternoon casting shadows across the room. The quiet was almost suffocating, the weight of the day pressing down on you. Your thoughts were scattered, tangled in the webs of what had happened, and what might yet come. Aemond’s presence had become both a comfort and a source of tension, and tonight, you felt the pull of it more keenly than ever.

The sound of the door opening barely registered at first, but when it did, you knew who it was without needing to turn. Aemond. You had grown so accustomed to the sound of his footsteps, the way the air seemed to change when he entered a room.

He didn’t say anything as he stepped inside, the silence between you stretching out in a way that felt both intimate and fragile. The tension that hung in the air was almost palpable, but still, you didn’t turn to face him. There were no words between you—no greeting, no acknowledgment of what was unsaid. Just the soft rustling of his movements, the quiet anticipation that only seemed to grow as the seconds passed.

Then, as if driven by some invisible force, Aemond stepped closer, his presence suddenly surrounding you. You felt the brush of his hand before you even knew what he was doing—his fingers grazing the curve of your belly from behind. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, but it carried the weight of something unspoken. Something too deep to name.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not yet. Not when the room felt too small and your heart too heavy with the knowledge of what had been, and what still was. His touch was a reminder of everything—your connection, your shared history, and the future you were both bound to, whether you wanted it or not.

Aemond’s fingers lingered on your skin, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away. It was just the two of you, standing in this space where love, anger, and regret coiled together. You felt the warmth of his hand, the subtle pressure of his touch, and despite everything, you couldn’t deny that it still affected you. It always had.

His voice, when it came, was soft but laced with a certain edge. “I feel him,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Our child. He grows stronger every day.”

Aemond’s words were not a question, but a statement of fact. You could hear the tenderness in his tone, the quiet pride he felt as he spoke of the life you both created. It was a side of him you rarely saw, and yet, it was the side that seemed to matter most now.

Still, you remained silent, your gaze fixed on the view outside. You couldn’t bring yourself to turn, to face him and acknowledge what lay between you. You couldn’t decide if you were afraid of the man he had become, or the man he was still capable of being.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Aemond’s hand withdrew, but the room remained heavy with the unspoken words, the shared history that neither of you could ignore. You still hadn’t turned to look at him. Still, you knew he was there, watching, waiting.

The silence in the room grew thicker as you finally turned to face him. Aemond stood there, his features cold, his posture rigid as if he were carved from stone. You could feel the tension in the air, a simmering undercurrent that seemed to pulse between you like a living thing. The distance between you both felt vast, though you were only a few feet apart.

Your heart beat faster as you swallowed the lump in your throat, the question you had been holding in for so long finally spilling out.

“Is all of this truly worth it, Aemond?” Your voice trembled, a mixture of anger, fear, and sorrow. “Is it worth the cost of what we’ve done to our family? To Aegon?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened at the mention of your brother’s name. The silence that followed was thick with an intensity that made your chest ache. His gaze didn’t waver from yours, but the darkness in his eye began to surface. His fury, barely contained, was a palpable thing, swirling in the air around you.

You didn’t look away, even as you felt the shift in the room, as if the very temperature dropped with his growing anger. “Do you think this… this revenge, this destruction of our own flesh and blood, will make you whole?” The words spilled out before you could stop them, a dam breaking under the pressure of years of pain. “Does it satisfy you to see him broken, to know you’ve taken so much from him?”

There was no immediate answer. Aemond didn’t speak, but you could feel the weight of his anger pressing down on you. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eye narrowing dangerously. For a moment, you thought he might lash out, his fury spilling over into violence as it had so many times before. But he stayed still, like a predator at the edge of a hunt, waiting.

“You speak as if you don’t understand,” Aemond’s voice was low, almost a growl. “As if you don’t know why this had to happen.” His tone was dangerously calm, but it was clear that something inside him was breaking, something you had no control over. “You ask if it’s worth it—do you think I want this? Do you think I wanted him to lie in that bed, broken and helpless?” His words were sharp, his anger barely contained. “No. I did what had to be done. And you should know that.”

You felt the heat of his words burn through you, the cold fury in his gaze like a slap to the face. But you didn’t flinch. You refused to be cowed, even as your heart ached with the reality of the situation.

“He is our brother, Aemond,” you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of your emotions. “And he has always been loyal to you, even when you didn’t deserve it. Was this truly the only way? To break him, to break us all?”

The tension in the room became unbearable as Aemond stepped closer, his presence looming over you. His gaze softened, but there was a hard edge to it now, a warning you couldn’t ignore. He reached out, his hand grazing your cheek with unexpected tenderness, though it felt like an unspoken threat behind the touch.

“Don’t question me, my wife,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “You are mine. And I will not tolerate you doubting what I have done. Not now. Not ever.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you stood your ground. His anger, the fire that burned within him, was something you had known all your life. But now, it felt different. More intense, more consuming. And still, despite the fear gnawing at you, you held his gaze, refusing to back down.

“I’m not questioning you, Aemond,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “I’m questioning whether this… this destruction is truly the only path we can walk. If we have any other choice, any chance of finding peace.”

Aemond didn’t answer immediately. His fingers brushed against your skin one last time, and then he stepped back, his posture rigid once again, though there was something unreadable in his eyes now.

“You will understand in time,” he said quietly, the coldness returning to his voice. “When you see the truth for what it is, you will know that I did what needed to be done.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there in the silence, a thousand questions swirling in your mind, but no answers to grasp.

Before Aemond turned to leave the room, his words hung heavy in the air, each syllable a promise of more distance between you and him. He paused by the door, his back to you, but his voice—so cold and matter-of-fact—was unmistakable.

“I am going to Harrenhal,” he said, his tone steady but devoid of any emotion. “I will take control of it. It is time to solidify our position.”

A shiver ran through you, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. You were silent, waiting for him to say more, but he didn’t. The way he spoke, with such finality, made it clear that his departure wasn’t just for a short time—it would be a while before he returned, if ever.

“You need not wait for me,” Aemond added, his voice soft but laced with a cool detachment. “It will be a long time before I return. Stay here, if you wish. But do not expect my presence.”

His words stung, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt a pang of frustration, anger, and—despite it all—a strange sense of longing. The emptiness his absence would bring was something you weren’t sure you could bear, but you knew better than to ask him to stay. You knew better than to push him, not when his mind was so set on his course.

You stood frozen, watching him, but you couldn’t find the words to stop him. What could you say to make him stay? What could you say to break through the walls he had built around himself?

Without a final glance back, Aemond left, the door clicking softly behind him, leaving you alone in the room with nothing but the hollow echo of his absence.

You wanted to scream, to ask him why he had to go, why everything seemed to be spiraling out of control. But the silence that followed was more deafening than any argument. You could only stare at the door, your heart heavy with the knowledge that, for the time being, he would be gone—lost to his plans, his ambitions, and his unyielding determination.

And you? You were left standing in the ruins of what had once felt like home, wondering if you would ever truly find a way to reach him again.

It had been more than a week since Aemond left for Harrenhal, and the ache of his absence grew heavier with each passing day. The weight of your pregnancy was becoming unbearable, both physically and emotionally. Your child could arrive any moment now, yet Aemond had not returned. The silence he left behind was deafening, a constant reminder of the distance—both physical and emotional—that now lay between you.

You sat by the window of your chambers, the same place where you had stood the night he told you he was leaving. Your hands rested protectively over your swollen belly, your mind swirling with thoughts you couldn’t escape. Every kick, every movement of the life within you only deepened your longing for him, for his presence, for the reassurance only he could give.

And yet, he did not come.

Your heart ached with regret, the memory of that fateful night replaying in your mind over and over again. If only you hadn’t questioned him about Aegon. If only you had stayed silent, accepted his actions without challenge. Maybe then he wouldn’t have left so abruptly. Maybe then, he would be here now, by your side, where you needed him most.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them away. You couldn’t cry. Not now. You had to be strong—for your child, if not for yourself. But the pain in your chest refused to fade, a constant reminder of how fragile everything felt without him.

The maesters and midwives had warned you to rest, to save your strength for the labor that could begin at any moment. But how could you rest when your heart was so heavy? How could you find peace when the man you loved, the father of your child, was so far away?

The thought of giving birth without him filled you with dread. You had imagined him there, his hand in yours, his voice steadying you through the pain. You had imagined his first glimpse of your child, the way his cold exterior would melt at the sight of new life. But now, those hopes seemed like distant dreams, fading with each passing day.

You turned your gaze to the horizon, where the faint glow of the setting sun painted the sky in shades of gold and crimson. Somewhere out there, Aemond was waging his battles, securing his victories, unaware—or perhaps uncaring—of how much you needed him. You whispered his name softly, a plea carried on the wind, though you knew it would never reach him.

“Aemond,” you murmured, your voice trembling with sorrow. “Please… come back to me.”

The room grew quiet again, the stillness wrapping around you like a suffocating shroud. And as the first stars began to appear in the darkening sky, you could only hope that he would return before it was too late—before your child arrived, before the distance between you became something that even love couldn’t mend.

The next morning, the news reached you, carried on hushed whispers and hesitant glances from the servants who dared not meet your eyes. Aemond had sought the warmth of another, a bastard girl named Alys Rivers, in Harrenhal. The words struck you like a blade to the chest, the pain so sharp and immediate that you couldn't breathe.

Your mind refused to process it at first. No, it couldn't be true. Not Aemond. Not your Aemond. He had promised himself to you, bound not just by duty but by the bond you thought you shared. The very idea of him seeking comfort elsewhere while you carried his child felt like a cruel, twisted joke.

The room began to spin, your vision blurring as the weight of the betrayal crashed down on you. Your breaths came shallow and fast, panic overtaking you as the world around you grew faint.

Without realizing it, your hands had gripped the edge of the table in front of you, your knuckles white from the strain. A sharp pain in your abdomen made you gasp, and you looked down to see the crimson trail beginning to stain the hem of your gown. Blood. It was pooling beneath you, dripping onto the floor in a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart.

The world tilted, and you swayed on your feet, your body betraying you as the weight of everything became too much to bear.

"Princess!" a servant cried out, rushing to your side as you began to collapse. Their hands caught you, but the panic in their voice only made everything worse.

"Fetch the maester!" another voice called.

"Quickly!"

You clutched your swollen belly instinctively, your heart racing as fear and despair collided within you. The child. Your child. Was something happening? Was your grief for Aemond harming the one thing that mattered most?

You tried to speak, to ask for help, but no words came. Tears streamed down your face as you were lowered onto a chaise, the cold sweat on your skin making you shiver despite the warmth of the room.

"Stay with us, princess," the servant urged, their voice trembling. "The maester will be here soon."

Your mind raced as the pain intensified, each stab in your abdomen a cruel reminder of everything you were enduring. Aemond. The betrayal. The child. The blood. It was all too much, too overwhelming. You closed your eyes, focusing on the life within you, clinging to the hope that it wasn't too late-that you hadn't lost the one thing you were holding onto.

As the maester arrived and the chaos around you grew louder, one thought consumed you: Aemond had to return. If not for you, then for the child. If not now, then before everything truly fell apart.

You lay on your bed, your body trembling as wave after wave of pain surged through you. Sweat coated your brow, and your breaths came in shallow gasps, each one a battle to keep going. Your heart clung to the fragile hope that the approaching footsteps outside your chamber belonged to Aemond. Surely, he had heard of your condition. Surely, he had returned.

The door creaked open, and your gaze snapped toward it, desperation shining in your eyes. But instead of Aemond, it was your mother, Alicent, who entered.

Her face was pale, her expression a mixture of panic and deep concern as she hurried to your side. “Oh, my sweet girl,” she whispered, kneeling beside you and taking your hand in hers. Her touch was warm, grounding, but it couldn’t erase the ache in your chest or the agony in your body.

“Where is he?” you asked, your voice weak and trembling as tears welled in your eyes. “Where is Aemond?”

Alicent hesitated, the question clearly cutting into her as deeply as it did you. She didn’t answer, but the look in her eyes was enough. He wasn’t coming. Not yet.

“You must focus now,” Alicent said gently but firmly, brushing the damp hair from your forehead. “The maester is on his way. You must save your strength for the baby. For your child.”

Her words barely reached you through the haze of pain and despair. You wanted to scream, to cry out that it wasn’t fair, that you couldn’t do this without him. But the next contraction tore through you, stealing your breath and forcing you to clutch your belly.

Alicent squeezed your hand tightly, her own fear barely concealed behind the mask of composure she wore for your sake. “I’m here, my love,” she said softly, her voice steady. “I won’t leave you. You’re not alone.”

But you felt alone. Aemond’s absence was like a gaping wound, and the betrayal that lingered in your mind made the pain all the worse. The thought of him with another while you endured this moment alone was unbearable.

Your grip on Alicent’s hand tightened as another contraction wracked your body, and you let out a strained cry. Alicent’s voice was soothing, her touch unwavering as she leaned closer, whispering words of comfort.

“The gods have given you the strength to do this,” she said, her tone resolute. “You are stronger than you know, my daughter. And you will bring this child into the world, no matter who stands beside you.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you nodded weakly, her words offering a fragile thread of resolve to cling to. You had to do this. For your child. For the one part of Aemond you still held onto, even as your heart broke in his absence.

You gripped your mother’s hand tightly, your nails digging into her skin as another wave of pain coursed through you. Alicent didn’t flinch, her other hand brushing your damp hair from your face as she murmured soft reassurances.

The maester stood at the foot of your bed, his voice calm but firm as he gave you instructions. “Now, my lady, you must push with all your strength. The child is almost here.”

Your breathing was ragged, your entire body trembling with exhaustion, but you nodded. Summoning every ounce of strength left within you, you bore down, crying out as you pushed. The pain was unlike anything you’d ever known, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” Alicent encouraged, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. “Just a little more. For the child. For yourself.”

Her words lit a fire in you, and you pushed again, tears streaming down your face as you gave it everything you had. Every thought in your mind focused on one thing: bringing your child into the world.

You thought of Aemond. Of his face, his voice, the way his hand had rested on your belly before he left. This child was his, a piece of him, and they deserved to meet their father. Even if he wasn’t here now, you clung to the hope that he would return.

With one final, agonizing push, the pressure released, and you heard it—a sharp, clear cry that pierced the room and filled your heart with overwhelming relief and joy.

“It’s a boy,” the maester announced, his voice carrying a rare note of warmth. He quickly wrapped the baby in a soft cloth and handed him to Alicent, who brought him to you.

Your hands trembled as you took him, his tiny body fitting perfectly against your chest. His cries quieted as you held him close, and for a moment, the pain and fear faded, replaced by pure, unadulterated love.

“He’s perfect,” Alicent whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she stroked your hair. “You’ve done so well, my sweet girl.”

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks as you gazed at your son, his silver hair glinting in the dim light. You kissed his forehead gently, your heart swelling with pride and protectiveness.

“Aemond,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “He’ll want to meet you. He’ll need you.”

But Aemond wasn’t there, and the ache of his absence returned, even as your son’s warmth filled your arms. You swore to yourself, in that moment, that no matter what, you would protect this child. You would give him all the love and strength you could, even if his father remained distant.

Still, as you cradled your newborn, a faint, desperate hope flickered within you. Aemond would return. He had to. For your son. For the family you had created together.

The relief of holding your newborn son in your arms was short-lived as another sharp pain gripped your body, more intense than before. You winced, gasping as the sensation spread through you, making you clutch the bedding with trembling hands.

“What’s happening?” you whispered, your voice weak and laced with fear.

The maester, who had been tending to you, looked up sharply. His expression grew grim as he examined you again. “Princess,” he began carefully, “it appears you are carrying twins. The second child has yet to be delivered.”

The words hit you like a thunderclap. Twins? Another baby? You glanced at your mother, Alicent, whose face had gone pale with worry.

“But there’s… something else,” the maester continued hesitantly. “The second child is positioned breech.”

A fresh wave of panic swept through you, stealing your breath. You turned to Alicent, your eyes wide and filled with terror. “Mother…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Alicent leaned closer, her hands gently cupping your face as she tried to calm you. “I’m here, my love,” she said softly, though her voice shook with worry. “We’ll get through this. You’ll get through this. Do you hear me?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded weakly, though fear still clawed at the edges of your mind. You knew the risks of a breech birth. You had heard the stories whispered in the Red Keep, of women who had suffered greatly in such labors.

The maester spoke again, his tone steady but firm. “Princess, this will be difficult. You must gather your strength and push when I tell you. We will do everything in our power to ensure both you and the child survive this.”

You swallowed hard, clutching Alicent’s hand tightly as the pain began to mount once more. The child you carried deserved a chance at life, just as much as the one already in your arms. No matter the fear coursing through you, you had to see this through.

“Mother,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “I’m scared.”

Alicent’s gaze softened, tears glistening in her eyes as she pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You are the strongest woman I know,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “You brought your first child into this world. You can do it again. I’m here with you, and I won’t leave your side.”

Her words gave you a flicker of strength, and you nodded, bracing yourself for what was to come. The maester gave the command to push, and with Alicent’s hand in yours, you bore down once more, fighting through the pain and fear for the sake of the life still waiting to meet the world.

The maester’s voice rang in your ears, firm and steady despite the chaos in your body. “Now, princess. Push! With everything you have!”

Tears streamed down your face, your body trembling with exhaustion as you gripped the bedding tightly. Alicent held your hand, her other hand brushing the damp hair from your forehead as she whispered soothing words. “You’re so close, my love. Just a little more. You can do this.”

Summoning every ounce of strength left within you, you bore down, crying out as you gave it your all. The pain was searing, the effort monumental, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Time seemed to stretch, every second dragging like an eternity until, finally, the pressure eased, and the room was filled with the sound of a newborn’s first, piercing cry.

“It’s a girl,” the maester announced, his voice softer now, almost reverent.

Alicent’s face lit up with relief and pride, tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked at you. “You did it,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You’ve done it, my darling.”

The maester carefully wrapped your daughter in a soft cloth before handing her to Alicent, who brought her to you. Your hands trembled as you reached out, cradling your daughter against your chest. She was so small, so perfect, her silver hair already glinting in the dim light.

You stared at her in awe, your heart swelling with love and gratitude. “She’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice breaking as tears of joy spilled down your cheeks.

The little girl’s cries softened as she settled in your arms, her tiny hand curling around your finger. You leaned down and kissed her forehead, your tears falling onto her soft skin.

Alicent stroked your hair gently, her own tears still flowing as she watched the tender moment. “Two perfect children,” she said softly, her voice full of pride. “You’ve given the realm a miracle, my love.”

Despite the exhaustion weighing heavily on you, you smiled through your tears, holding your daughter close as your son rested nearby. In that moment, the pain and fear faded, replaced by a profound sense of peace.

You had brought your children into the world, and no matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew you would protect them with everything you had.

Your body felt heavy, every breath shallow and labored as you lay back against the pillows. The world around you blurred, the edges of your vision darkening, and the voices of those in the room sounded distant, muffled.

Alicent’s voice broke through the haze, frantic and trembling. “Stay with me, my love. Please. Stay with me!” She gripped your hand tightly, her tears falling onto your skin, but her words felt far away.

Your lips trembled as you struggled to speak, your voice barely a whisper. “Mother…” you murmured, your gaze flickering toward her. “I’m… sorry.”

“No, no apologies,” Alicent cried, her voice breaking as she leaned closer. “You have nothing to apologize for. Please, just hold on!”

A single tear slid down your cheek as your thoughts drifted to Aemond. “Tell him… I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice faint and weak. “Tell him… I loved him.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, the weight of exhaustion too much to bear. Alicent’s panicked cries grew louder, but you could no longer focus on her words. Your breaths grew slower, more labored, until they faded entirely.

Alicent’s scream filled the room, raw and desperate. “No! She can’t be gone! Do something!”

The maester stepped back, his face pale and grim as he shook his head. “The blood loss… it was too great. Her body was too weak after the second birth.”

Alicent collapsed to her knees beside your bed, her sobs shaking her entire frame as she clung to your lifeless hand. The room was heavy with silence, save for the soft cries of your newborn daughter and the muffled cries of your mother’s heartbreak.

Your children were alive—two perfect children with silver hair and the Targaryen legacy flowing through their veins. But you, their mother, had given everything to bring them into the world, leaving behind only memories and the deep ache of loss for those who loved you.

When news reached Aemond, it would be a blow that no sword or fire could rival.

Alicent sat silently in the Sept, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as her tear-filled gaze remained fixed on you. Draped in white, you looked peaceful yet unnaturally still, your once-bright eyes forever closed. The candles surrounding you cast flickering light across your face, a stark contrast to the grief that consumed the room.

Her tears had not stopped flowing since your passing. You had been her strength, her light amidst the darkness of court politics and family betrayals. Now, all that remained was an unbearable emptiness.

The heavy creak of the Sept doors broke the stillness, drawing Alicent’s attention. Her breath caught as Aemond stepped through, his expression unreadable. His strides were slow but purposeful, his eye fixed on you as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

He stopped before your lifeless body, his tall frame trembling. His face was pale, his jaw clenched tightly as his hands curled into fists at his sides. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, as if time itself had stopped.

Then, slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against your cold cheek. “Wake up,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, almost pleading.

There was no response, only the deafening silence that had haunted him since he first heard the news.

Aemond’s breaths grew heavier, his eye glistening with unshed tears as he gently shook your shoulder. “Don’t do this to me,” he said, his voice breaking. “Yell at me. Tell me I was wrong. Curse me, fight me—but don’t leave me like this.”

Still, you didn’t move.

He sank to his knees beside you, his head bowing as his hand gripped yours tightly. “I thought I had time,” he murmured, his voice filled with anguish. “I thought I could make it right.”

Alicent watched her son in silence, her heart breaking anew at the sight of his pain. She had seen Aemond’s coldness, his strength, his unyielding resolve. But this—this raw, unfiltered grief—was something she had never seen before.

“You were everything,” Aemond whispered, his tears finally falling as he rested his forehead against your still hand. “You were my other half, my twin, my wife. How am I meant to go on without you?”

The Sept was silent save for his quiet sobs, the sound of a man who had lost not just his wife, but a piece of his soul.

Alicent stood by the alter, her grief-stricken face hardening with sorrowful anger as she looked at Aemond. His presence, his raw pain, was almost too much to bear. She knew how deeply he had loved you — as your mother, she had seen it from the moment you and Aemond had been betrothed. And yet now, there he was, crumbling in the face of the consequences of his own choices.

“You heard, didn’t you?” Alicent said softly, her voice laced with both sadness and reproach. “You heard the whispers. The truth of what happened. That you, my son, betrayed the woman who gave everything to bring your children into this world.”

Aemond’s head shot up, his face twisting with anguish, as though her words had struck him with the force of a dagger. His lips trembled, but no words came. The guilt gnawed at him, sharp and unforgiving.

“You did this,” Alicent continued, her voice low but piercing. “You sought comfort in another woman—Alys River—and now, here we are. Your wife is dead. My daughter is dead. You killed her, Aemond. Not with your hands, but with your heart. And it tore her apart.”

His body shook, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might collapse under the weight of the realization. His eye, usually so fierce and cold, now appeared hollow with the depth of his self-loathing.

“I never meant for it to be like this,” Aemond whispered, his voice cracked with pain. He wiped his face with his sleeve, but it did little to stop the tears. “I didn’t want to lose her. I… I thought I could fix everything. I was wrong. I killed her… I killed her with my betrayal.”

Alicent’s expression softened ever so slightly, her eyes flickering with maternal compassion despite the anger still in her voice. “You were too late, Aemond. Too late to save her. And now you’ll have to live with the consequences of your choices.”

He fell to his knees, his hands clutching his head as if trying to tear the thoughts from his mind, but they remained. His voice, a broken whisper, echoed through the silence of the room.

“Curse me,” he murmured, his hands trembling. “I deserve this. I deserve every bit of this pain. I will never forgive myself for what I’ve done to her… to us.”

Alicent turned her gaze away for a moment, the depth of her sorrow for both of you—her daughter, gone too soon, and her son, destroyed by his own remorse—overwhelming.

“Forgiveness is a long road, Aemond,” she said quietly. “But you must find it for yourself. Because it’s your future, your children, and the legacy of House Targaryen that remains. You can’t change what’s been done. But you can choose to live for them. For her.”

Aemond’s body heaved with silent sobs, and the weight of his actions, of his guilt, became the heaviest thing he had ever carried. The room was still, save for the soft cries of your children, unaware of the tragedy that had unfolded, of the terrible loss that would forever shape their lives.

And Aemond, broken and drowning in the sorrow of his mistakes, could only wish for a world where time could be rewound, and the love he had so carelessly broken could be mended. But in the end, he knew that would never happen.

Tag list : @danytar @zaldritzosrose @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[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.

[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?

[novaursa]

Legacy (strings of time)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: dark wings

- Next part: long live the king

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

The air on Dragonstone was heavy with the scent of salt and sulfur, the volcanic island shrouded in an eerie mist that clung to its ancient stone walls. Melisandre stood alone in the shadowed chamber of the Painted Table, her crimson robes flowing like molten fire as she chanted in the guttural tones of her native Asshai. The flickering flames of the surrounding braziers cast dancing shadows against the walls, the light refracting through the ruby at her throat, which pulsed like a heartbeat.

Before her, a small brazier burned with an unnatural intensity, fed by oils and powders she had sprinkled into its depths. The fire danced and leaped, responding to her incantations, its flames twisting into shapes that seemed to defy the natural world. Faces appeared briefly—shadowy, indistinct forms that flickered in and out of existence like ghosts.

She was searching, reaching across the vastness of Westeros for her target. The former Targaryen princess, now Lady Lannister, was an anomaly to her visions, an enigma that refused to be revealed fully. Melisandre’s lips moved faster, her voice rising in urgency as she pushed harder against the veil of the unseen.

But then, something shifted.

The flames, which had been obedient and malleable, suddenly roared higher, blazing with a white-hot intensity that forced Melisandre to step back. A wave of heat rolled over her, searing and oppressive, and she raised her hands to shield her face. The ruby at her throat flared violently, its light so bright it painted the chamber in crimson.

“No!” she hissed, her voice breaking. “Show me! Reveal her to me!”

But instead of clarity, the fire erupted in a burst of chaotic energy. A deafening roar filled the chamber, echoing like the cry of a great beast, and a sudden force slammed into Melisandre, sending her sprawling to the floor. Her head struck the cold stone with a sickening crack, and the room spun as she struggled to regain her bearings.

The flames in the brazier had turned black, writhing and twisting as if alive, and from within the inferno, a shape began to emerge. It was dark and indistinct, but there was a sense of immense power emanating from it—something ancient and wild, something that defied her control.

The ruby at her throat burned like a brand, and she cried out, clutching at it as a searing pain shot through her body. Her connection to the flames, to her magic, was being turned against her, and she felt the power she had called forth recoil like a snake, striking at its master.

“No!” she gasped, her voice a mix of pain and desperation. “This cannot be!”

The shadowy form in the flames surged forward, and for a moment, Melisandre thought she saw the outline of a dragon—massive wings and a serpentine neck, its eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. The roar came again, shaking the very foundations of the chamber, and the flames exploded outward in a wave of force that extinguished the braziers and plunged the room into darkness.

Melisandre lay motionless on the floor, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The ruby at her throat had dimmed, its light flickering weakly, and the room was deathly silent except for the faint crackling of the dying fire. Her hands trembled as she pushed herself up, her vision swimming.

“What… what was that?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

A faint whisper echoed in the darkness, a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was deep and resonant, carrying a weight that made her blood run cold.

"You meddle in powers beyond your understanding, priestess."

Her breath hitched, and she looked around wildly, but the chamber was empty. The fire in the brazier had gone out completely, leaving only smoldering ashes. The ruby at her throat gave one final, weak pulse of light before dimming entirely.

Shaken, Melisandre staggered to her feet, clutching the edge of the Painted Table for support. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what had happened. She had sought to pierce the veil, to uncover the truth about the Targaryen woman who had eluded her visions, but instead, she had been struck by a force far greater than anything she had encountered before.

“She is protected,” Melisandre whispered, her voice trembling. “By what, I do not know, but she is not alone in this world.”

Her gaze turned to the darkened brazier, the lingering scent of burnt oils still heavy in the air. She felt a pang of unease, a rare crack in her unwavering confidence. Whatever power surrounded the Targaryen woman, it was beyond her control, and that realization sent a chill down her spine.

With unsteady steps, Melisandre left the chamber, her mind reeling. She would have to tread carefully now, for the game had become far more dangerous than she had anticipated.

The warm glow of the mid-morning sun streamed through the arched windows of the Red Keep as you walked with Ser Barristan at your side and two of Tywin’s personal guards trailing close behind. It had been one moon since the shadow had invaded your bedchamber, and the increased protection around you had become your constant reality. Every step you took was measured, every moment scrutinized, and yet, the weight of unseen threats lingered.

As you rounded a corner leading to the gardens, soft, muffled sobs reached your ears. Your steps faltered, and you exchanged a glance with Ser Barristan, who instinctively moved closer, his eyes scanning the area for potential threats. But it wasn’t danger that awaited you—just heartbreak.

There, beneath the shade of a tall ash tree, you saw Sansa Stark crumpled on a stone bench, her face buried in her hands. Her delicate shoulders shook as she wept, and beside her sat Margaery Tyrell, her arm wrapped around Sansa’s trembling form, whispering words of comfort.

Concerned, you quickened your pace, your gown trailing behind you as you approached. “Sansa?” you called softly, your voice filled with worry. “What’s happened?”

Both women looked up, Sansa’s tear-streaked face breaking your heart. Her blue eyes were swollen and red, her expression one of utter despair. Margaery, ever poised, gave you a faint smile of greeting, though her own eyes carried a shadow of frustration.

“My lady,” Margaery began, her voice smooth but tinged with sadness, “it seems the council has made a… decision this morning. One that has upset Sansa greatly.”

Your stomach tightened, dread pooling in your chest as you looked between them. “What decision?” you asked, your tone sharpening as your gaze fixed on Margaery.

Margaery sighed, brushing a strand of Sansa’s auburn hair away from her tear-streaked face. “They have decided that Sansa is to marry Lord Tyrion. The arrangement was finalized this morning.”

For a moment, the words didn’t register. When they did, your breath caught, a rush of disbelief and anger flooding through you. “Tyrion?” you repeated, your voice low but incredulous. “This was not the plan. The Tyrells promised she would marry Willas, did you not?”

Margaery’s smile faltered, replaced by a look of resigned frustration. “We did, my lady, but Lord Tywin is not a man to be countered easily. It seems he was… persuasive.”

Sansa let out a quiet sob, shaking her head as she clung to Margaery’s arm. “They’re using me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I have no choice. They’re… they’re taking everything from me.”

You knelt before her, gently taking her hands in yours. “Sansa,” you said softly, your tone firm yet filled with compassion, “look at me.”

Reluctantly, she raised her tear-filled eyes to meet yours.

“This is not fair, and it is not right,” you continued, your voice steady. “But you are stronger than you know. Tyrion is not like the others—he is not cruel. If this is to happen, you will not be alone in it.”

Sansa’s lips trembled, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t love him. I barely even know him.”

Your heart ached for her, and you squeezed her hands gently. “Love is rarely a luxury afforded to those of us born into noble houses,” you said softly. “But you have survived worse, Sansa. You will survive this too.”

Margaery glanced at you, her expression thoughtful. “You speak with such certainty, my lady. Do you truly believe this will be a kinder fate for her?”

You met her gaze, your own eyes shadowed by the weight of your experiences. “I know Tyrion,” you replied quietly. “He is flawed, yes, but he is not heartless. He will not harm her.”

Margaery seemed to consider this, her lips pressing into a thin line before she nodded. “Then perhaps there is some hope,” she murmured, though her tone lacked conviction.

Sansa sniffled, her tears slowing slightly as she clung to your words. “What if… what if they change their minds again?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What if they decide something even worse?”

You shook your head firmly. “Then I will stand by you,” you said, your voice unwavering. “No matter what happens, you will not face it alone.”

Ser Barristan, who had remained a respectful distance away, stepped closer, his presence a quiet reminder of your own precarious position in the court. You rose to your feet, glancing back at him briefly before returning your focus to Sansa and Margaery.

“Stay with her,” you said to Margaery, your tone soft but commanding. “She needs someone who can keep her steady right now.”

Margaery nodded, her expression solemn. “Of course.”

You reached out, brushing a strand of Sansa’s hair away from her face. “Take the time you need to grieve this, Sansa,” you said gently. “But do not let it consume you. You are a wolf, and wolves endure.”

She nodded faintly, her tears slowing as a flicker of determination began to creep into her expression. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

As you turned to leave, Barristan fell into step beside you, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. “You spoke well, my lady,” he said quietly. “But this court is filled with vipers. You cannot save everyone.”

You glanced at him, your expression hardening. “Perhaps not, Ser Barristan,” you replied, your voice low. “But I can try. And I will not let her be devoured by them.”

The weight of your words hung between you as you walked away, your mind racing with thoughts of how to protect Sansa in a world determined to break her.

The chamber where Tywin and Olenna Tyrell sat was austere. The Painted Table between them was littered with scrolls, maps, and the remnants of a freshly poured pot of tea. Tywin, ever composed, sat upright in his chair, his steely gaze fixed on Olenna, whose sharp wit and relaxed demeanor made the tension in the room almost seen.

"You do understand, Lady Olenna," Tywin said in his measured tone, "this arrangement is not up for negotiation. Sansa Stark will marry my son, Tyrion. It is the best way to secure both her claim to Winterfell and the loyalty of the North, should Roose Bolton’s efforts falter."

Olenna tilted her head, a sardonic smile playing on her lips as she sipped her tea. "Yes, yes, Lord Tywin, but you can’t possibly expect the girl to be overjoyed at this prospect. A Lannister wedding is hardly a maiden’s dream these days. You’ve quite the reputation, you know."

Before Tywin could reply, the door opened abruptly, and you stepped in, your gown trailing behind you as Ser Barristan lingered in the doorway. The room grew heavier as both Tywin and Olenna turned their gazes toward you, the latter looking more intrigued than perturbed by the interruption.

“Forgive me,” you said, though your tone carried little contrition. “But I need to speak with you, Lord Tywin.”

Tywin arched a brow, his hands folding neatly in front of him. “We are in the middle of a discussion, Lady Y/N,” he said, his tone cold but measured. “Surely it can wait.”

“It cannot,” you countered, stepping further into the room. Your gaze flickered briefly to Olenna, who watched with unabashed interest. “This is about Sansa Stark.”

Olenna’s brows rose slightly, and she leaned back in her chair, clearly pleased to witness the exchange.

“What about her?” Tywin asked, his voice edged with impatience.

You clasped your hands in front of you, your posture straight and unyielding. “I’ve just spoken with her. She’s devastated by this decision to marry her to Tyrion. She was promised to Willas Tyrell. You’ve taken her hope and replaced it with something she cannot understand. She is a child, Tywin.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed, his composure hardening further. “She is a Stark, and she is a key to securing the North. Her feelings are irrelevant.”

You stepped closer, your voice rising slightly. “Irrelevant? You would sacrifice her peace of mind, her future, for your ambition?”

Tywin stood, his towering form casting a long shadow across the table. “Peace of mind?” he repeated, his tone cold. “You speak of peace as though it were a luxury afforded to those in power. It is not. Sansa Stark has a duty to her family and to the realm. Just as you do.”

Olenna smirked, sipping her tea as she watched the exchange unfold like a play meant for her amusement.

“Duty,” you snapped, your voice sharp now. “Always duty with you, Tywin. Did you ever once consider the weight of what you demand from others? Or is everything and everyone simply another puppet to be moved around when it suits you?”

The room fell silent, the air crackling between you. Olenna’s eyes darted between the two of you, her smirk growing wider.

“I fail to see why this concerns you so deeply,” Tywin said finally, his tone softer but no less commanding. “You’ve made your point, Lady Y/N. Now leave the matter to those who understand it.”

You crossed your arms, tilting your head slightly as you replied, “If you understood it so well, Tywin, you wouldn’t have to deal with me right now.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Tywin might argue further, but then a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head slightly, his expression shifting into something almost amused, though his voice remained firm. “Very well. I’ll speak with Sansa myself and ensure she understands her duty. You may go.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden concession, but you refused to let it show. Nodding curtly, you turned on your heel and left the room, Ser Barristan falling into step beside you as the door closed behind you.

Olenna chuckled softly, setting her teacup down with a satisfied clink. “Well, that was entertaining,” she said, her sharp eyes glinting with mischief. “I must say, Tywin, I didn’t think you had it in you to yield so gracefully.”

Tywin exhaled slowly, lowering himself back into his chair. “It wasn’t yielding,” he replied, his tone clipped. “It was strategy.”

Olenna leaned forward slightly, her grin widening. “Oh, is that what you’re calling it now? Strategy? I’ve never seen you so…” She waved a hand, searching for the word. “Accommodating.”

Tywin shot her a warning look, but Olenna merely laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “I like her,” she said, nodding toward the door. “She has spirit. A dangerous thing to allow in your wife, but entertaining nonetheless.”

Tywin didn’t respond, instead turning his attention back to the maps before him, though the faintest flicker of amusement lingered in his eyes.

The echoes of your footsteps on the stone floor were accompanied by Ser Barristan’s steady presence behind you. The corridor felt colder as you moved toward your chambers, the weight of your conversation with Tywin still fresh in your mind. As you rounded a corner, a familiar figure appeared before you—Cersei, her golden locks framing her smug expression. Her arms were crossed, and the glint in her emerald eyes told you she had been waiting for this encounter.

“Well, if it isn’t the Lady Lannister herself,” Cersei drawled, her tone laced with condescension. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

You stopped, your expression calm but guarded. “Cersei,” you greeted, your voice civil. “What brings you here?”

She took a step closer, her eyes flickering briefly to your midsection before returning to your face. “I was merely curious,” she said with a practiced smile. “How is the pregnancy progressing? My father must be… overjoyed.”

Your hand instinctively rested on your growing belly, though your face betrayed none of the irritation her words stirred. “It progresses well,” you replied evenly. “Better than Grand Maester Pycelle expected, though I doubt his predictions are ever worth much.”

Cersei let out a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Yes, Pycelle has a way of overstating his usefulness. But how fascinating that you’re handling it so well. I wonder, is it because of your Valyrian blood? Or do you simply thrive on being the center of attention?”

You met her gaze steadily, refusing to rise to the bait. “It’s neither, Cersei. Perhaps I’m simply stronger than you give me credit for.”

Her smirk faltered briefly before she recovered, stepping even closer. “Strength is important,” she said, her tone softening, though her eyes remained calculating. “Especially when surrounded by people pretending to be something else. You should remember that.”

“I do,” you replied, your voice calm but firm. “And I’ve learned that strength comes not from tearing others down but from knowing when to rise above them.”

Cersei’s lips tightened, but she masked it quickly with another smile. “How noble of you,” she said archly. “I imagine you must be feeling quite sad about all of this.”

You tilted your head slightly, curious. “Sad? About what, exactly?”

Her smile widened, her tone turning syrupy. “About poor little Sansa, of course. Such a sweet girl, isn’t she? So naive. It must pain you to see her traded like a pawn in a game she doesn’t understand.”

You allowed a pause, studying her carefully before replying. “It does pain me,” you said softly. “But not for the reasons you think.”

Cersei arched an eyebrow, her amusement flickering with confusion. “Oh? Do enlighten me, then.”

You stepped closer, your gaze steady and unflinching as you lowered your voice. “It pains me, Cersei, because I see so much of you in her. A young girl, trapped in a world she cannot control, used and discarded by those around her. But where Sansa may still find hope, you…” You let the sentence hang, your tone laced with veiled courtesy. “You’ve lost yours.”

Her face hardened, the smugness draining away as she stared at you. “What nonsense is this?” she demanded, her voice low but sharp. “I’ve lost nothing.”

You offered a faint, almost pitying smile. “Haven’t you? You wear your crown of bitterness like armor, Cersei. But all it does is isolate you, even from those who should stand beside you.”

Her jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing. “Careful, Lady Lannister,” she said coldly. “You may be my father’s wife, but that does not grant you the right to lecture me.”

“I have no intention of lecturing,” you replied smoothly. “Only to remind you that strength comes in many forms. You may believe yourself untouchable, but even the tallest towers can crumble when their foundations are weak.”

Cersei’s gaze burned into yours, her hands clenched at her sides. For a moment, it seemed as though she might lash out, but instead, she forced a tight smile. “You think yourself so wise, don’t you?” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “But wisdom won’t save you from this game. You’ll see that soon enough.”

You inclined your head slightly, the gesture both respectful and dismissive. “Perhaps. But for now, I must prepare for the rest of the day. If you’ll excuse me, Cersei.”

You moved past her, your steps measured and composed, leaving her standing alone in the corridor. As you walked away, you felt her gaze burning into your back, but you did not look back. Ser Barristan fell into step beside you, his expression stoic but his presence reassuring.

“You were bold,” he murmured quietly. “She will not forget that.”

“She doesn’t need to forget,” you replied softly, your voice steady. “She only needs to think.”

Tywin sat at the head of the table, his posture as straight and imposing as ever, his hands steepled before him as he continued listening to Olenna Tyrell with a mixture of patience and calculation.

Olenna, for her part, seemed perfectly at ease, perched in her chair with an air of casual authority. Her sharp eyes danced with amusement as she studied Tywin, her teacup cradled delicately in her hands.

“Lord Tywin,” she began, her tone laced with a sly edge, “you and I have had many discussions about alliances, strategies, and, of course, the peculiarities of your family. But today, I thought we might delve into something a little more… personal.”

Tywin raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained stoic. “Personal, Lady Olenna? I was under the impression that our discussions were strictly political.”

“Oh, politics and personal matters are often one and the same,” Olenna replied breezily, taking a delicate sip of her tea. “Especially when it comes to you, Lord Tywin. You’ve built your house on both, haven’t you?”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened slightly, though his tone remained cool. “If you have a point, Lady Olenna, I suggest you make it.”

Olenna set her teacup down with a soft clink, leaning forward slightly as her expression grew more pointed. “Very well. I’ve recently had the pleasure of reconnecting with an old acquaintance—someone who, let’s say, remembers the court of King Aerys rather vividly.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

“This acquaintance of mine,” Olenna went on, her voice smooth and unhurried, “mentioned something quite interesting about you. Specifically, about your… ambitions during those years. A certain proposal you made to the Mad King regarding his youngest daughter.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change, but there was a faint glint of something in his eyes—irritation, perhaps, or caution. “And what, pray, does this acquaintance claim to know?”

Olenna’s smile widened, the corners of her lips curling with satisfaction. “Oh, nothing too scandalous. Just that you were rather… eager to secure a match between yourself and the young princess. A match, it seems, that the Mad King outright rejected.”

Tywin’s gaze darkened, his voice low but measured. “That is old history, Lady Olenna. If your intent is to dredge up ancient slights, I suggest you focus on matters more relevant to the present.”

“Oh, but it is relevant,” Olenna countered, her tone sharp as a blade. “After all, here we are, decades later, and you’ve finally achieved what you wanted, haven’t you? A Targaryen bride, the union of fire and gold.”

Tywin’s jaw clenched slightly, though he refused to rise to her bait. “What happened in the past is of no consequence to the decisions I make now.”

“Isn’t it?” Olenna pressed, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I find it fascinating, really. You’ve always prided yourself on being a man of logic and control, yet here you are, married to the very woman whose family’s rejection you’ve surely never forgotten. One might wonder if this is about more than just strategy.”

Tywin leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a cold, measured tone. “You would do well to remember, Lady Olenna, that I do not allow sentiment to cloud my judgment. My marriage to Lady Y/N is a calculated move—one that ensures the stability and legacy of House Lannister.”

Olenna chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Oh, Tywin, you’re as predictable as ever. Always so quick to dismiss anything that might suggest you’re… human. But you forget, I’ve known men like you all my life. You can claim strategy all you like, but I see it for what it is. You wanted her. You’ve always wanted her.”

Tywin’s gaze bore into hers, his silence heavy and deliberate. For a moment, something unspoken was in the room, the air thick with unspoken truths.

Finally, Olenna broke the silence, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. “Well, whatever your reasons, I must admit, it’s all rather fascinating. The Mad King’s refusal, your patience—or perhaps obsession—and now this union. I do hope it works out for you, Tywin. It would be such a shame if history repeated itself.”

Tywin’s voice was as cold as steel when he finally spoke. “I appreciate your insights, Lady Olenna. But you would do well to remember that my choices are mine alone. If you wish to continue speculating on my motives, I suggest you do so elsewhere.”

Olenna smirked, rising from her seat with a regal grace. “Oh, don’t worry, Lord Tywin. I have no intention of causing trouble. But as I said, I find it all very… enlightening. Good day.”

With that, she turned and swept out of the room, leaving Tywin alone with his thoughts. For a moment, he sat in silence, his hands steepled before him once more. His face betrayed nothing, but his mind churned with the memories Olenna had dredged up—memories he had long since buried.

The memories unfolded in Tywin’s mind like pages from an old, worn book. The vivid colors and echoes of King’s Landing during the height of Aerys Targaryen’s reign came rushing back—though the stench of paranoia and decay that lingered in the Red Keep overshadowed its grandeur. It was the day Tywin had laid out his plans to the Mad King, the day he believed he would solidify the ultimate alliance between House Lannister and House Targaryen.

The throne room was alive with dread, its gilded splendor marred by the unsettling presence of Aerys on the Iron Throne. The Mad King, even then, exuded a sense of menace, his long, unkempt hair cascading over his gaunt face, his violet eyes burning with deranged delight as he listened to Tywin.

"You think," Aerys had said, his voice high-pitched and mocking, "that I would tie my daughter—the blood of Old Valyria, the dragon's line—to you, Tywin? To a lion? A beast of the field?"

Tywin had stood at the base of the Iron Throne, as unflinching as he had been when he first took up the position of Hand. He had chosen his words carefully, keeping his tone steady and devoid of the sharpness that often accompanied his temper. “Your Grace,” he began, “a union between House Lannister and House Targaryen would strengthen the realm immeasurably. My daughter, Cersei, is young and beautiful, a match fit for Prince Rhaegar. And I—”

“You,” Aerys interrupted with a cackle, leaning forward on the throne, his fingers twitching against the jagged edges of the swords that surrounded him. “You would take my daughter as your wife? A dragoness for a lion?”

Varys had been there, lingering in the shadows, his expression inscrutable as his keen eyes darted between Tywin and the Mad King. Several courtiers stood nearby, including Lord Chelsted and Lord Merryweather, their faces betraying thinly veiled discomfort at the volatile mood in the room.

“I would,” Tywin continued, ignoring the ripple of murmurs that spread through the chamber. “Lady Y/N is a princess of royal blood, but she is also young and unwed. A match between us would unify the crown and the wealthiest house in the realm. Such a bond—”

“Enough!” Aerys’s voice boomed, and he rose from the throne, his movements erratic. He descended the steps slowly, his robes trailing behind him like blackened fire. “You think to bind me with your gold, Tywin? To cage the dragons with your lions’ claws? No. Never.”

Tywin remained composed, though the heat of anger burned beneath his skin. “Your Grace, I seek only to serve the realm and secure the future of your house. A union with House Lannister—”

“Would be an insult!” Aerys snarled, his voice echoing off the walls. “The blood of the dragon is pure, untainted by the likes of you. Lions have no place among dragons. They belong in the dirt, clawing for scraps.”

Laughter erupted from Aerys, high and shrill, as he turned his back on Tywin and ascended the steps once more. “Perhaps your daughter can find herself a kennel,” Aerys continued, his voice dripping with malice. “And as for you, Tywin, you forget your place. You serve me. Do not presume to dictate terms to your king.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the courtiers, though it was hesitant, wary. Varys stepped forward then, his movements as fluid as a shadow. “Your Grace,” the spymaster said, his voice silken and unassuming, “perhaps Lord Tywin’s offer was made out of his deep respect for your house. A rare moment of… misjudgment, surely.”

Aerys turned to Varys, his expression shifting from contempt to suspicion. “Misjudgment?” he repeated, narrowing his eyes. “Or treason?”

“Never treason, Your Grace,” Varys replied smoothly. “Lord Tywin’s loyalty is beyond question. But he is ambitious, and ambition often blinds even the most loyal servants.”

Tywin’s gaze flicked to Varys briefly, his jaw tightening. He knew the eunuch’s words were calculated, a subtle way of defusing the situation while also keeping Aerys’s ire focused elsewhere.

The Mad King waved his hand dismissively, his attention already waning. “Begone, Tywin,” he muttered, sinking back onto the Iron Throne. “And take your golden dreams with you. My bloodline will not be sullied by yours.”

Tywin bowed stiffly, his mind churning with barely restrained fury as he turned and left the chamber. The laughter of Aerys echoed behind him, a sound that would linger in his memory for years to come.

Back in the present, Tywin’s jaw tightened as he recalled that day, the humiliation of being so openly dismissed. Aerys’s madness had only grown after that, and the rift between them widened beyond repair. It was a lesson he never forgot: power was not given—it was taken, seized with unrelenting force.

And now, decades later, he had what Aerys had denied him. The Targaryen princess was his, bound by marriage and bearing his child. Tywin’s lips thinned into a faint smirk. Aerys had laughed at him, but the Mad King was long dead, his dragons reduced to ashes, while Tywin Lannister remained unbroken, building his legacy one calculated step at a time.