Hello, My Dear!

*hears a foreign language i don’t speak*

me: *sobbing* it’s beautiful i must learn it

I know I’m being an insufferable worldbuilding nerd here, but my basic metric for evaluating media with very inhuman protagonists is “how easily can one offer a complete and coherent account of this media’s plot without ever mentioning the fact that the protagonist is, for example, a talking car?”. The harder it is, the higher it scores.

what if the rules were reversed for a second? Holding Sevika tightly against you while she tries to ride your strap??? holding her so she can't move, just sits there squirming, mumbling random words and sentences?? begging for you to let her move?? begging for you to do something?? almost borderline in tears because the pleasure from the strap is making it harder for her to be quiet. Even though you've said to not make a sound while you try to work? aware she would get more punishment for not listening to you? trying her hardest to get some friction with the toy? kissing your neck trying to control herself when all she wants is your attention? Wanting to be quiet and so good for you but also wanting to fucking cum? Yeah, what if right?

"But I've been good, so good⎯ waiting for you⎯ please"

heyyyyyyyyy lol 😭 how yall doing? Good? I'm glad. Not okay? know I love you, you're beautiful, you're amazing and everything will be okay. Hope you're drinking ya water and eating some good food. If you aren't, do it now 👿 💋

where’s that quiz where you choose lke 4 colours u like and 4 u dont and it hands your ass on a plate

It ain't perfect but who cares?

so women are supposed to grin and bear the books, the comics, the movies, the plays, the tv shows, the stories, the sci-fi, the translated ancient poems, the fucking millennia of men writing about their self inserts torturing women and it being declared as High Art by other men, we’re supposed to read it in our free time, study it in classrooms, include their styles in our own writing, accept their cultural influence as natural, watch it in the cinema, write about it, talk about it, accept it, aspire it, but men can’t tolerate three seconds of female wish fulfilment of a woman snapping the wrist of a creep without feeling personally kicked in the balls.

Pinched - (Silco/F!Reader)

@bottlerocketbear​​ thanks for the idea of peepaw Silco, look at this old man. but also that means we’re all looking like old man fuckers. the nerve

Silco/F!Reader - NSFW - Cunnilingus, P in V Sex, Silco is an old man whose lived a rough life and it shows MINORS DNI 

Keep reading

stop being mean | modern!Aemond x reader

summary ♱ overstim on aemond >:)

warnings/contains ♱ mean!dom!reader at first then soft!dom!reader, sub!aemond, overstim, dacryphilia, handjob, teasing, usage of the word(s) dumb, pretty thing, baby (directed at aemond), I think that's it but if there's more please let me know !!

important ♱ I am not responsible for what you read. please respect both mine and your boundaries !! (edit: I am a minor!! I have it in my bio and navigation)

navigation | follow @baysfics to know when I post a writing !!

"oh fuck please," aemond whined, pushing his hips further in the bed, "hmph, I already came please stop."

you pumped his cock quickly, grinning at the high pitched whimpers leaving his pretty plump lips. his hands gripped the sheets in hopes of controlling his thrashing.

the sweet burn of overstim had set in long ago, and despite his pleas and cries for you to stop he couldn't deny that he enjoyed the pleasurable torture just as much as you did.

cum pooled at his base, slowly leaking to his thighs and stomach. more of the creamy white liquid drooled out of his tip, making your movements even easier.

his hips began lifting, turning from side to side making it harder for you to keep your grip. you held his hips down firmly with your free hand, sending him a glare.

"stop moving, aemond, you'd think you'd be smart enough to know that but I guess not." you scoffed, smirking when you heard the whimper he let out.

"I'm sorry, jus' too much!", he pouted.

"shh, stop complaining, it's only going to make it worse." you snapped at him, continuing your pumping.

he whined loudly, "mmph! stop being mean." he could feel the tears gathering in his eyes, too fucked out to care whether they slipped out or not.

"oh baby, am I being mean?" your voice was dripping with sympathy but your movements showed none.

he nodded in response, not trusting his voice to express his thoughts, not that he had any at the current moment.

"hmm, how about this, you only need to cum one more time. you can do that can't you pretty thing?" you spoke softly, seeing how vulnerable he was.

"ah ah, y-yeah I can." he tightly gripped your free hand that was holding him down, interlocking your fingers. the tears had now slipped down his cheeks, face a pretty shade of pink.

you quickened your hand, focusing on his tip then moving down to his base. his pants picked up, moans leaving his mouth and tears running down his cheeks. a complete mess underneath you.

he was shaking uncontrollably and clenching his stomach, cock twitching in your hand.

"are you close baby?" you asked smiling at the adorable face he had at the moment. mouth open, eyes squeezed shut and nose scrunched.

"yeah, yeah, please," he cut himself off with a loud moan, "so so close." he whimpered.

"go ahead, be a good boy and cum." you grinned, giving his hand a comforting squeeze.

he went stiff, legs lightly kicking as warm thick ropes of cum shot out of his tip, landing on his stomach and hips. he twitched in your hand and you pumped him until he had nothing left.

you slowed your hand to a stop, looking up at him with nothing but adoration and love. rubbing your wet hand up and down his thigh and drawing small circles onto his hand, you laughed softly.

"you okay baby?" you said gently

he responded with sweet giggles, head feeling empty. he had a wide smile on his pretty face, eyes still shut.

"yeah," he sighed, "I just-" he let out a giggle, "I just can't think."

"aw aem, did you go all dumb on me?" you laughed, moving up to stroke his warm cheek, wiping off the half dried tears that rested there. he hummed, leaning into your touch.

"how about I start a bath, hmm?" you whispered.

"yes please." he smiled, finally opening his eyes that still had a dazed out look in them.

"Once Upon A Dream" - Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader

a/n: a request from @l1-l4 for a persephone/hades auish with aemond and a tyrell reader! hope you enjoy it, bb ❤️

Summary: You may not know Aemond, but he certainly knows you.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, p in v sex, fingering, oral sex f receiving, loss of virginity, pregnancy

Word Count: 3,015 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Ever since Aemond was a young boy, he dreamed of you. He never told anyone, for fear of being mocked as Helaena was for her dreams, but every night, since he can remember, he’s dreamed of you. He’s dreamed of your eyes that sparkle as you gaze at him, of your hair swaying as you walk, always just out of his reach. He follows you, every night, into a garden, you turning back and smiling at him ever so sweetly. When he finally reaches you, he takes you in his arms, and then? He wakes up.

All his life, he’s yearned for the touch of someone he’s never met, craved the kiss of someone only seen in his dreams. But he can’t help but feel he knows you somehow. He knows your laugh, your smile, he knows your eyes.

When he wakes every morning, so cruelly ripped away from you, he closes his eye, begging the Mother to show her mercy and grant him a moment longer with you. Begging the Maiden to lead him to you once again. Every spare moment, he thinks of you, your beautiful eyes that haunt him, every morning and every night. Aemond long since resolved himself to the fact that he’d likely never meet you, that you probably weren’t even real, and so, he merely prayed to the Seven to let him keep seeing you in his dreams. Since you’d never be his in life, dreams were all he had.

And so, when Aemond came to Harrenhal to dispatch the last of the Strongs, you were the last thing he expected to find. He flies high above the ill-omened castle, making sure no Strongs are trying to escape, nor any of their retainers. His sharp blue eye scans the area, seeing no one outside of the castle or in the immediate surrounding areas.

No one, that is, save for a young lady, asleep in the godswood. Aemond’s curiosity is piqued and he lands Vhagar just outside the castle walls, making straight for the godswood. His singular intent is to find the young woman he saw, who so captured his attention. It’s as though he can think of nothing else, striding through the castle, ignoring his men questioning what they are to do next. Aemond finds his way to the heart tree and sees you, laying on a bench, breathing softly, not a care in the world, a book in your hand that dangles off the side of the bench.

You are beautiful, Aemond thinks to himself, the most beautiful woman he’s seen in his entire life. He approaches you slowly, careful not to wake you from your peaceful slumber. You look like an angel, your lips parted as your chest rises and falls with each breath, your eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly as you sleep, blissfully unaware of his presence. He kneels down beside you, completely enchanted by your visage. His hand brushes a lock of hair off your face, making sure not to wake you. In truth? He feels almost unworthy of gazing upon you.

He is a prince of the blood, the rider of the world’s largest dragon, but you? You are an angel, a goddess made flesh. Aemond rests a hand on your cheek, barely holding back a gasp as he feels your soft skin, warmed by the sun, against his hand. You let out a soft sigh and lean into his touch, your lips brushing against his palm, leaning into him like a flower leans toward the sun. Surely that must mean something? That even in your slumber you long for him? Aemond’s lips part in surprise as your eyes open, those impossibly long lashes of yours fluttering.

And when your eyes lock on his, he knows.

It’s you. He’d know those eyes anywhere. The girl from his dreams.

His destiny.

You pull back from him, startled, “Who are you?”

Gods, even your voice is beautiful, Aemond thinks, watching as you glance around at your surroundings, your book now laying on the garden floor, completely forgotten as you stare at the imposing prince. It sounds exactly as it did in his dreams. You are the one he’s been dreaming of, of that he’s certain now.

“I am Prince Aemond Targaryen,” he states, taking your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “And I intend to marry you, my sweet flower.”

Your eyes go wide with surprise as you take your hand back from him, almost as though you’ve been burned, “Marry me? My prince, I don’t even know you-”

“But I know you,” he states simply, “I’ve known you since before I can remember, my lady. I’ve dreamed of you. In my dreams I’ve walked with you, talked with you thousands of times. Every night, you haunt me, my lady.”

You stand up and gather your skirts, walking away from him quickly. And he watches you go, just as he watches you slip away every night in his dreams. But this time, he won’t let you go. He stands to his feet and chases after you as you weave your way through the godswood, attempting to get away from him. But Aemond is faster than you, pulling you into his arms just as you’re about to leave the confines of Harrenhal.

“Why do you run from me, sweet flower?” Aemond asks softly, turning you toward him, his hands so large that when he cups your face in his hands, you can’t help but notice their size.

You avert your gaze, looking anywhere but into his eye, “You ought not to be so familiar with a maiden unchaperoned, my prince.”

“Unchaperoned?” Aemond arches a brow, smiling at you teasingly, “My lady, what is your name? Will you tell your humble servant this much?”

You pause, looking at him for a long moment before telling him your name, then, when he asks, your house, “House Tyrell, my prince. My father came here to discuss matters of the war with Lord Strong,” you look up at him before adding, “We are not sworn to the Blacks nor to your cause, your grace. House Tyrell remains neutral-”

“I know of House Tyrell’s stance,” Aemond says calmly, his gaze never moving from your face, “I care not about it. What I do care about is getting you to go back to King’s Landing with me.”

You knit your brows together in confusion, something that Aemond finds absolutely adorable, as you question, “Back to King’s Landing? I’m from the Reach, your grace, I do not understand-”

His thumb runs over your plush lips, causing you to refrain from speaking for a moment as Aemond states, his voice a low murmur, “If you come with me, my lady, your family will be allowed to remain neutral in this conflict. If not, then I’ll have to tell my brother the king that Lord Tyrell was seen conspiring with the Strongs.”

You look at him, surprised, before nodding, “Alright, my prince. I will go with you.”

Aemond demands you ride alongside him on Vhagar, his hands holding your waist firmly in place as you take to the skies. In truth, it’s an entirely thrilling experience, but you’re also terrified. You’re leaving behind everything you know and you’re in the hands of this man who you’ve never met, who claims that you’ve haunted him for as long as he can remember.

And yet, despite the circumstances of your first meeting, Prince Aemond treats you like a princess. He has the finest gowns sent to you, assigns no less than four handmaidens to tend to your needs at all times, ensures that you’re given free access to all the galleries and gardens of the Red Keep. Sometimes, the two of you even read together in the library, seated in comfortable silence, no noise but that of your breathing and the pages of your tomes turning.

Aemond seems grateful to simply bask in your presence, but is entirely delighted the first time you request him to take a walk with you in the godswood. It takes him by surprise, considering you’ve only graced him with polite indifference thus far, but now? You seem to seek him out as he seeks you out. You seem to long for his company as he longs for yours.

And then, one night, after dinner, as he escorts you to your chambers, you turn to him and kiss him. Your lips are soft against his, and it takes him by surprise, but he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you, deepening the kiss, because this moment is everything he’s ever dreamed of. Your body pressed against his, your arms around his neck, his hands on your waist and yours in his hair.

“My prince,” you murmur as he continues kissing you, his hands roaming your body, touching you as if it’s what he was always meant to do, “We shouldn’t…”

“Then ask me to stop,” Aemond says quietly, gazing at you, “And I will.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you breathe against his lips, moaning when they capture yours again in a searing kiss.

You glance around before pulling Aemond into your guest chambers, his lips finding yours again immediately as you rid him of his coat, his tunic, his breeches, everything. He stands before you, entirely bare, save for his eyepatch. You move to take it off, but his hand catches you by the wrist.

“Don’t,” he says quietly, “You won’t look at me the same.”

Your voice is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard in his life as you speak, “With it or without it, I would be looking at the man I’ve come to love. The most beautiful man I’ve ever met.”

Aemond feels as though his heart has stopped in his chest at your words, the way you gaze up at him. He can hardly believe someone as beautiful as you, as pure and kind and good as you would love someone like him. He’d hoped for it, of course, but this is beyond anything he ever could have imagined. And so, he allows you to remove his eyepatch, placing it on your nightstand carefully. And when you turn back to face him, your love-filled gaze doesn’t change. You admire his sapphire, his scar.

“Beautiful,” you say softly, cut off by his lips once again crashing down on yours.

Aemond makes quick work of your dress, unlacing it and tossing it aside, taking your bare form in, his breath catching in his throat.

“A goddess made flesh indeed,” he murmurs to himself before gently pushing you back to lay back on the bed, crawling over you, “I love you. Allow me to show you how much.”

His face hovers over yours, his platinum hair forming a curtain around the two of you, making it appear as if you’re the only two people left on earth, as you whisper, “I’d love nothing more, my sweet prince.”

Aemond’s hands roam the expanse of your body, moving over your soft skin, feeling every inch of you until he reaches your lower stomach. He hesitates but moves his hand between your legs, his fingers brushing over your already wet center. You let out a gasp as he does, your hand moving to cover your mouth.

Aemond looks up at you pleadingly, “Don’t hide your voice from me, my flower. There’s no sound I love more on this earth.”

His words strike a chord within you as he eases one finger inside of you. It is a strange feeling, you think, but not at all unpleasant, in fact, quite pleasurable. Especially when he begins moving his finger in and out of you, making you buck your hips up against his hand. Aemond grins to himself, pleased that you’re enjoying his ministrations and begins moving even faster, adding a second finger to the mix. He watches as your face twists in pleasure as he moves against you, feeling you squeeze around him so tight that it’s almost difficult for him to continue moving his fingers.

“I need to get you ready for me, my sweet flower,” he coos, “Relax for me, my love.”

You nod, allowing your pleasure to overtake you, crying out Aemond’s name as you reach your peak against his fingers. He almost immediately replaces his fingers with his tongue, recalling what Aegon had told him so long ago about using one’s mouth on a woman. At first, he’s slowly, unsure, but with every moan he pulls from you, every whimper, he gains confidence, his tongue moving in and out of you deftly, bringing you closer and closer to another peak.

“Aemond,” you whimper, your hands moving toward his hair, running your fingers through his silken locks, “It feels so good…”

He smiles against you, working his tongue faster against your core, reveling in your taste, your essence, reveling in finally being with you this way. When his nose brushes against your pearl, he hears the stunted gasp you let out. He raises an eyebrow and repeats the motion, earning a mewl of his name, a more beautiful sound than he’s ever heard in his life. He soon realizes that paying attention to your pearl drives you absolutely mad, so he nuzzles against it as he continues moving his tongue against your folds, bringing you to your peak once more, your arousal coating his lips. When he pulls away from your cunny, you turn your face away, embarrassed by the evidence of your climax. But Aemond has none of that, gently turning your face back to him.

“My goddess,” he murmurs, “You taste divine. See for yourself.”

He kisses you gently, your tongues dancing against each other’s as Aemond’s hardened length brushes against your core. You gasp against him slightly, your hand moving down between your bodies, stroking him. Aemond grits his teeth, shaking his head, gently taking your hand in his.

“I want to spend myself inside you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrists, “If that is alright with you.”

“It is,” you whisper.

When Aemond pushes inside you, it isn’t so painful as the septas said it would be, rather you only suffer minor discomfort and a slight sting for a moment. Aemond waits for you to get used to the feeling, simply laying there above you, peppering kisses all over your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, and finally your lips. He shifts slightly, making you let out a low moan of pleasure. Aemond smiles at you, leaning down to lock his lips with yours, beginning to thrust against you.

“Aemond,” you mewl, wrapping your arms around him, “Oh my gods…”

“My flower,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin as he continues moving against you, filling you up perfectly with every snap of his hips.

Then, with one particularly deep thrust, you cry out as he brushes against the spongy spot deep inside of you that makes you see stars, “Yes, there, Aemond, please…”

He nods, moving against you just like that, over and over and over until you’re squeezing around him impossibly tight, crying out his name as you reach your peak once more, him following soon after, spilling himself deep inside of you. He stays like that for a moment before laying beside you, resting his head on your chest, your soft, warm body bringing him a type of comfort he’s never felt before.

“I love you,” he murmurs, kissing your chest, moving to take one of your pebbled peaks in his mouth, his tongue swirling around them, surprising you at how good it feels.

He makes love to you over and over that night, as though it’s your last night on earth.

A fortnight later, the two of you are wed in the sight of gods and men, and soon after that, you are with child. Aemond’s child. Ever the doting husband, the now Prince Regent stays by your side, a hand on the swell of your belly, always making sure you are protected and tended to. He hesitates when you mention visiting Highgarden to see your family, but ultimately relents, unable to ever say no to you.

Needless to say, your lady mother is horrified when she sees you, married to who she believes to be your captor, pregnant with his child. You assuage her concerns, stopping her from berating your dear husband anymore than she already has.

“He may seem scary at first,” you tell her, a hand resting on your stomach as you smile down at the babe growing in your belly, kicking and every bit the dragon its father is, “But he adores me, Mother. He treats me like a princess. A queen. And I love him.”

Your mother relents and kisses your forehead, though she does give Aemond a rather menacing glare when your back is turned.

When you are eight moons pregnant, not far from your due date, you find yourself back at Harrenhal. Where everything started for you and your beloved.

“If something should happen to me- if I should die this day,” Aemond rests a hand on your face, readying to face his uncle, “My sweet flower, I have my guards standing by to escort you straight to Highgarden. No harm shall come to you or to our child.”

You look at him and shake your head, tears pooling in your eyes, “Don’t do this, Aemond.”

Aemond presses a kiss to your forehead before kneeling down and pressing one to your swollen belly, “Goodbye, little dragon.”

Before Aemond leaves you tug his hand, pulling him into another kiss, passionate, desperate, your lips moving against each other’s with a fervor they haven’t before.

“If you don’t come back to me,” you say softly, “To us… I’ll find a way to bring you back to life and kill you myself, husband.”

Aemond lets out a low chuckle, letting go of you as he saddles Vhagar, taking to the skies. You watch him fly higher and higher until he disappears from view, praying for his safe return.

For your sweet prince.