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Real Penguins Make Do - BTAS Oswald Cobblepot x Reader

Summary: You decide to bring a new toy into the bedroom. Oswald is more than happy to oblige. GN reader. (The title is from a joke on the Arkham Discord)

Word Count: 2.3k (I'm so sorry)

Warnings: Ovipositors, slight breeding kink, dom/sub dynamics, dom!reader, Oswald's trust issues

It never failed to amaze you how authoritarian Oswald was in his day-to-day life juxtaposed against how, frankly, needy he was when alone with you.

Oswald's whole body shuddered beneath you, even without having been touched, and you thought to yourself, not for the first time, how lucky you were to get to see him like this. With his poise and dignity stripped away, leaving him bare and raw and open. Only you would ever know how touch-starved he truly was, how he'd preen under the smallest scraps of affection.

"Such a sweet boy..." Your voice was barely above a murmur and you gently touched his cheek, smiling at how his head subtly tilted into your palm. His eyes were already soft and glassy as he looked up at you with that lovestruck grin that always appeared when you held him like this.

"And what do you have planned for us tonight, my turtledove?" You could tell how hard he was trying to retain his usual smooth, collected tone, but the tremor in his voice was unmistakable.

"And ruin the surprise? You'll find out as we go."

And, god, that worked exactly as you had hoped. All the air escaped his lungs in a reverent 'oh' as his pupils dilated.

"W-well," he swallowed thickly, "I am yours to do with what you will."

"Mm, I already knew that." You twisted your fingers into his hair and pulled, relishing the drawn-out whine that you elicited. As much as you loved cradling him in your arms like this, you did have a plan to get to. "Alright, pretty boy, I want you on the bed, legs spread."

Oswald nearly tripped over his own feet in his rush to obey.

Once situated, he looked over at where you were standing, brow furrowed in confusion. You were holding what he could only assume was a sex toy, but the shape was unlike any he had ever seen before. The length didn't seem terribly intimidating, no more than six inches, but the thought of how girthy knot at the base and the little bumps that covered it would feel inside of him made Oswald whimper and unconsciously rub his thighs together. The strange part, though, was the hole in the tip that seemed to go all the way down the toy and the clamshell container you held in your other hand.

Still, the fact that Oswald had no idea what he was looking at only made him impossibly harder. He hadn't requested this. You were bringing this into the bedroom entirely of your own volition, because you wanted to use it on him, and that thought alone made Oswald dizzy.

At this point, he was convinced that there was almost nothing he wouldn't eagerly let you do to him. While he had gotten a lot better about it over the course of your relationship, there would always be some lingering doubts as to whether you were only with him to use him, or worse, out of pity. So, if you wanted to do something that normally wouldn't interest him, that only made it all the more appealing. He could know with certainty that you were doing it for yourself, and that, no matter how hard it was to imagine, he was desired.

Oswald was wrenched from his thoughts by your hand settling gently on his thigh, and he couldn't help but gasp softly at the touch. God, he must look so pathetic like this, and yet, he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"Ozzy?" You set the clamshell down on the bed so that you could hold the toy in both hands. "Do you know what this is?"

Oswald shook his head, eyes widening as he took in the sight properly. It was even more intimidating up close, and he had to bite his cheek to keep from moaning out loud.

"You can touch it, if you'd like. It's called an ovipositor." He tentatively reached out to touch the bumpy surface, and you smiled before opening the clamshell. Inside were yellow, translucent eggs. "These are made from gelatin. That way they'll dissolve if they get stuck."

"Get... stuck..." Oswald looked between the eggs and the toy as it slowly dawned on him what it was designed to do. A shiver ran down his spine and he squirmed in place. "Oh, lord have mercy..."

You snickered at his reaction, but he was too dazed to care. You squeezed his hand lightly to pull him out of it. "Colour, baby?"

His eyes flicked up to meet yours and he swallowed, nodding once. "Green. Very green."

You brought his hand up to your lips and kissed his fused knuckles gently, smiling at how his already red face turned nearly purple in embarrassment. "Alright. Don't hesitate to tell me if it's too much, okay?"

Oswald nodded, breath quickening as you nudged his legs apart once again. He heard the squelch of lube being squeezed onto your fingers, but even with that warning, he still jolted when he felt your fingers press against his hole.

"Please..." he whispered, though what he was begging for, he wasn't sure.

You smiled down at him, and Oswald had to close his eyes to keep from swooning. As always, he opened up beautifully for you, eagerly accepting your fingers as his hole readily stretched to take more, as though he had been made for this. You'd mentioned that last bit more than once before, and even as he hit your shoulder indignantly in response, his cock invariably betrayed him.

Now, though, you decided to spare him the teasing, and he was silently grateful for it. He was already showing you far more vulnerability than he'd be comfortable with were it anyone else. Still, that didn't stop him from arching his back with a soft wheeze when he felt your fingers brush against his prostate.

His eyes opened a fraction, still heavily lidded, and he looked up at you with an embarrassing squeak. His eyes flicked down to the toy in your hands and he licked his lips in anticipation.

"You ready, honey?" Your voice pierced through his haze like an arrow and he sucked in a breath. He waited for a moment before answering, wanting to drink in every moment, every soft gaze and kind word, until they drowned the ghosts of his past in their sacchirine flood.

He was not, however, a patient man, so it was only a few seconds before he was nodding frantically, biting his lip until a metallic tang burst on his tongue. He knew how pathetic he must look, how ashamed he ought to be, and yet, with you, he couldn't bring himself to care. Need washed over him like an oppressive cloak and his mind could only repeat you, you, you in a broken prayer.

Slowly, (far more slowly than Oswald would have liked, and yet, the strange tenderness of it could make him cry), you began to inch the toy into him. It started off easy. Most of the toy was smooth and gently tapered, so it slid into him with little resistance, and for a moment, he allowed himself to relax.

Then he reached the knot. The toy doubled in girth at the base, and Oswald threw his head back against the pillow with a soft thump, choking on his own spit. The bumps were tantalizingly prominent, and he swore he could count every single one of them as they dragged along his inner walls. His hands scrambled for purchase on the sheets and he keened helplessly, his hips twitching and writhing of their own accord, only to cause the toy to shift inside of him and repeat the cycle all over again.

Once he had taken it in to hilt, you stopped, allowing him to get used to the new sensations. By this point, he was babbling incoherently and his chest was red and splotchy from arousal. You smiled down at him and cupped his cheek in your hand, and he leaned into it without even seeming to realize it.

"Colour, Ozzy?"

His forehead crinkled in dismay at having to try to get something coherent to leave his mouth, but he managed a weak, "G-green..."

You smiled your approval, and Oswald felt like he was flying. Then the toy began to move.

The sounds leaving Oswald's lips as you fucked him with the ovipositor were absolutely broken, and it took him a moment to even realize they were coming from himself. It was all too much, far too much, and yet if you stopped, he thought he might die. The toy plunged deep inside if him, but the knot was what really broke him. It slid in and out, stretching his hole to the limit and then suddenly releasing it in rapid succession. It was so fast, so brutal, and yet the dramatic texture ensured that he felt everything. Squeals that he would surely be embarrassed by later fell freely from his throat and he alternated between begging for you to slow down and fuck him harder. You did neither. You took him at the pace you wanted, and when your free hand held his hips in a bruising grasp to stop them from moving, he could only moan.

"You're such a good boy. Taking it so well for me," you cooed, your gentle tone juxtaposed painfully against what you were doing, "Do you want me to pump you full of eggs, baby? Want me to breed you?"

And fuck, he never stood a chance, did he?

Oswald was too lost in his own pleasure to respond verbally, but he nodded desperately, and you noted the way he squirmed with every word. You smirked as you realized you may have awoken something in him.

"Yeah? You want to carry my eggs for me? Incubate them just like a real penguin?"

Okay, maybe that last part was a little silly, and you snorted internally, but Oswald didn't seem to notice. His eyes were glazed over and hazy and could only whimper in response, reaching up to cling to your shoulders with trembling hands.

You lined one of the gelatin eggs up with the ovipositor and pushed it down the tube. Oswald cried out and kicked his legs frenetically. He could feel the egg as a lump inside the toy slowly working its way to the tip, as though it were pulsating. When the egg popped out the tip, he felt it slide in deep as his hole swallowed it down greedily. Vaguely, your comment about the potential for the eggs getting stuck echoed in his mind, and he moaned at the thought.

One by one, you pushed the eggs through the ovipositor slowly, watching him writhe and gasp with every one. By the time you were lining up the last egg, tears were blurring his vision. He felt so full, in ways that he had never experienced before, and he was holding his orgasm back by his fingernails.

"P-please... please... I-I need..."

You smiled at his incohesive prattling and bent down to kiss his forehead, noting how he whined just as sharply at the affection as if you had grabbed his dick.

"Just one more, Ozzy. Just take one more egg and you can cum. Think you can do that for me?" you said gently, running your free hand through his hair. You were getting it greasy with lube, but with how much he was sweating at this point, it didn't seem to matter much.

His breath was quivering and he looked on the verge of weeping, but he nodded meekly in response.

"Good boy."

The praise sent a shudder down his spine, and it took all of his concentration to hold back as he felt the slow movement of the egg inside of the toy working its way into him. He looked absolutely wreaked, and as soon as he felt the soft pop of the egg being pushed out of the toy, he screeched in white-hot pleasure and finally allowed his climax to overtake him. His whole body convulsed as he rode it out, almost looking as though he was being electrocuted, and you couldn't help but take hold of the toy to fuck him through it.

For Oswald, the next several minutes were an exhausted blur, and the next thing he knew, he had been cleaned off with a wet towel and was curled up against your chest. He clung to you with slow, shuddering breaths and slowly looked up to meet your gaze.

"Good?"

He nodded his assent and hid his face in your shoulder once again. "Mm. Very good." His voice was hoarse, and he found himself being gently pulled away from you to have a water bottle held to his lips. He begrudgingly took a few sips, then returned to his prior position with a soft sigh.

"You did so well for me, my sweet boy," you said with a smile as you put the bottle back on the end table, then began to gently play with his hair, "I wasn't easy on you, but you took it so beautifully for me. I love seeing you come undone."

Oswald grumbled, vaguely embarrassed, but you could feel his smile against your skin.

"Hey, you know I love you, right?" You cupped his face in his hands and gently nudged his chin upwards so that your eyes met. His cheeks were red, but he looked content.

"I do," he agreed quietly, and that alone made your heart soar before he could even say it back. It had taken you ages to reach this point, to gently repair the trust that had been shattered by so many others before you. Still, your chest did warm as you heard his meek: "And I love you."

You ran your fingers along his cheekbones to his temples as you leaned forward to gently kiss the tip of his nose, torn between finding the broken gasp it elicited adorable or heartbreaking. Even with how far you've come, it would take far more for him to truly believe that he was worthy of love. You knew that. But until that day came, you'd just have to love him enough for the both of you.

we don't love on the small nerdy types enough in my opinion- yk the skinny guys that look pretty unassuming?

imagine sitting on his face tho,,,he's lost in the pussy, eating to his heart's content,,,hands gripping at your waist and ass trying to contain all the thickness and hold you still but he just can't :((((

his huge glasses are all fogged up n halfway off his face, eyes rolling to the back of his head like he's been fucked out????? you can't even remember the last time he came up for air, he's been so busy eating you for all you're worth

his cock's standing at attention behind you too??? he hasn't even been touched yet n he's cum so much on his thin belly!!!

such a cute, sweet boy eating you out like his life depends on it <3

such a cute, sweet boy drinking in all your juices n begging you to keep running your fingers through his hair and tugging him further in <3

totally don't wanna sit on Gorou, Tighnari, Cyno, n Kazuha from Genshin Impact's faces what ☁️

Hopping on the Vine compilation bandwagon, part 1/?

[EDIT:] Sources below the cut!

*hears a foreign language i don’t speak*

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

"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.

who allowed languages to be so beautiful

Say more about Sevika's praise kink rn.

of course :)

• probably started realizing she might have a praise kink after the first few times you said “you fuck me so good, ‘vika”

• definitely did not say anything about it because what? the big scary lady of zaun liking to be told that she’s doing good? no way in hell was she going to admit that. 

• you started to catch on after noticing her getting more erratic with, well, everything after telling her how well she’s fucking you and that she feels good. 

• tell her how good she feels inside of you and you’re basically gonna have that woman on her knees. 

• she likes to know that she’s making you feel good, that you’re okay. while your moans definitely tell her that, verbal confirmation is what she really likes.

• tell her she’s doing good and you’re gonna get whatever you want. harder? on it. faster? she’s already speeding up. 

• “tell me again. tell me how good i fuck you.”

• can’t decide whether she likes to be praised more for fucking you or you fucking her. 

• but definitely realized how much she liked being praised while bottoming. 

• she’s not going to admit that being called any pet name makes her head spin.

• will not be looking you in the eyes after completely blushing when you called her a good girl for the first time. 

• “you’re being such a good girl for me, taking me so well.”

• mostly because she immediately came afterwards. 

• you’re 100% gonna pick at her for it. 

• you really want to mess with her and get her going?

• make her tell you that she’s being good. that she’s being such a good girl for you. 

• “say it, sev. unless you want me to stop.”

• “no- please, please don’t stop.”

• “then say it.”

• “i-i’m your good girl.”

• “good girl.”

If I’m being honest, I don’t like yanderes who only care about themselves. I don’t like the ones who could hardly give a damn about their darlings other than the fact that they’re theirs. They’d lock them up in dog cages or a make-shift prison cell, perhaps, even chained to a bathroom with no care about them. They treat them like prisoners, only giving them basic care.

No. Not my thing. 

That isn’t yandere.

Yandere is about being so hopelessly in love and devoted to your object of affection, your darling. It’s about being so deeply in love with someone that those feelings distort into obsession. And it’s not always about murder-fuelled thoughts or raging jealousy, it’s the idea that without your darling, you are hopeless. You can’t function without them, they are the oxygen that fills your lungs, the sun that guides you home. Without them, you feel empty and hollow, like you were born a second too early to appreciate this world. Your heart feels too heavy, your mind doesn’t feel right, and the people around you don’t matter anymore, because you just can’t function, can’t exist.

A yandere needs their darling’s validation and attention. They need YOU to tell them how great they are, that they’ve been doing a good job– because they can’t get it from anyone else. You become their sole motivation in life.

They don’t necessarily have to be devoted to you, spend their days attached to your hip and stalking you from behind. I mean, yes, those yanderes are great and I could go on and on about them, but I think I’ve touched on this before. Yanderes are allowed to exist outside of their darling. They’re allowed to have hobbies and work and things they treasure that aren’t just centred around their darling…

But they need YOU to help them, to motivate them and get them ready and going to fight whatever obstacles they face in life. They dream, fantasise about having you as their spouse, their partner, their best friend. Just knowing that they can call you up, maybe even get a text message before a big life event (like a sports game or a once in a lifetime job interview), they need that.  They want to know that they have an ally in life, someone who will always be there for them. Someone who cares enough to see that they’re well-fed and clothed. Who will make sure they’re healthy and happy and comfortable and loved. Who will be able to give them confidence whenever they’re lacking.

And the only probable person they can see that coming from, is you. And if they have to do some under-handed things to get you by their side, be it stalking to figure out all the things you like, so that the next time you guys meet they’ll know exactly what to say to get into your good books, then so be it. And if they happen to be a little deluded, a little demented, and they decide the best course of action is to kidnap you and chain you by your ankle to their apartment/room, then that’s what they have to do.

In the end, as long as they have you, does the journey really matter?