Ultraintrovertedgryffindor - Raven

𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞

Summary: Captured by Danes as a young child, you never thought you'd escape...until you were saved by a certain baby monk.

Warnings: triggering content (past sexual assault), PTSD, flashbacks, angst, Osferth being a sweetie (aka fluff), crisis of faith, and religious talks

word count | 5.3k🤙🏻

part 1 | part 2

You didn’t remember much before you were captured by the Danes.

You were just a little thing, barely even old enough to take care of yourself. So when your family was killed in front of you, you had no choice but to be subjected to the wills of your captors. You couldn’t run, you couldn’t fight, you couldn’t scream. It was a hellish existence, demons always right behind you, breathing down your neck.

You were forced to grow up with these savages, watching them pillage and murder like they didn’t know how to do anything else. They tried to make you like them, but even as a child, your family instilled such a strong faith in you that to become like a Dane was unthinkable. And they tried to break you, so many times, almost allowing the demons following your every move get closer and closer. But as you made your way into womanhood with still no cracks in your convictions, they decided you were no good for anything but work and…other things.

Getting used almost every day by your captors was the only thing that threatened to break your spirit. They were callous, uncaring about your pain, further proof that Danes were the source of all evil and that you’d eventually die by their hands.

You were always numb; unmoving. To anyone else, you may have looked lifeless if not for the man above you using your body like you were his own personal toy.

Sometimes, you wish to be killed, even thinking about disobeying or fighting back just to have your wishes fulfilled. Most of all, you wished death upon your master. You wished to be the one to kill him. But you were only a woman, inferior, weak. But your spirit was strong, it must’ve been to survive every single torturous exchange by the hands of your master. And that was something no one would ever be able to take away from you, or so you hoped.

One day, you snapped. You actually tried to fight back, but that only got you punished so severely, you didn’t wake for days. After that, you started to wonder, if God did exist, why did He let all this happen to you? Why did He let one of his children be violated each and every day, let you be beaten and forced to do the Danes’ bidding? It didn’t make any sense. You hated Him…you fucking hated Him. You couldn't devote your life to some being that seemed indifferent to suffering. But ironically, it made your existence as a Dane’s slave much worse, now that you had nothing to hope for. No warrior of God would come to save you, no reward at the end of your life, no “well done, my good and faithful servant,” once you got to Heaven.

You completely gave in to your fate, not even bothering to fight back or argue with your masters anymore, thus, allowing your demons to take over.

As the days went on after your loss of faith, the idea of staying in the company of the Danes got more and more unbearable. As your master was using you for his own pleasure for the umpteenth time, you decided that you wouldn’t take it anymore. Taking your own life was thought to be a sin in your religion, but then you remembered, you didn’t follow it anymore. So really, you had nothing to lose.

But then, your master was suddenly pulled away and turned around, blocking the view of the culprit. Perhaps it was another man who was tired of waiting his turn.

Then you felt a splash of something wet. It was red, it stained your dress and skin. Blood. Your master’s blood, you were covered in it. A sword had been pushed through his stomach, all the way until it stuck out his back. Only when he fell to the ground could you see who killed him.

It was a young man, no older than you were. He was wide eyed in panic, his blue irises piercing even in the dim lighting of the room. His eyebrows were furrowed in a way that expressed concern that was directed towards your frozen form. He looked as though he did not know whether to help you or run away, or to cry really. “Are you alright, miss?” He asked as soft as his voice, but you didn’t know how to respond. No, you weren’t but yes, you were, now that your evil master was dead. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise. You’re safe now.” 

Safe? What did safe even mean? You’ve never known what it was like to be safe, why would following this man be any different?

“My lord will keep you safe, he is an honorable man.” You looked down from the young man’s face to his chest, seeing a wooden cross hanging loosely from his neck. You could have laughed, the irony was not lost on you, of course. “You don’t have to, of course. But…you’re bleeding. Please, let me help clean your wounds, at least.” He was…giving you a choice? You’ve never been allowed a choice before. He cautiously held out his larger hand towards you, his innocent pleading eyes almost mirroring yours from a long time ago, whereas now yours were blank and cold from years of torture. But seeing his seemingly caring expression, you figured it couldn’t get much worse. Everything horrible that life had to offer had already been done to you.

You were surprised how warm his hand was as you shakingly reached out to it, every other hand that has touched you always so rough and cold, but his weren’t. “It’s okay…” He spoke so softly, you almost had to strain to hear him. You were like a baby deer, him being so afraid to spook you, but he just didn’t know you still had a death wish.

When the Coccham squad came across your little village, it was chaos. Danes, killing and assaulting each other, they had only heard horror stories about places like these villages. Danes weren’t normally like this, Uhtred could attest to that. Danes took care of each other, they never would kill one of their own without reason. At least, that’s how Uhtred saw it. This village you were in, there was no saving them. They had encountered a few Danes from your village on the road, and friendly they were not. They had killed one of Uhtred’s men, and he wouldn’t let that slide.

There were many slaves in the village, you being one of them. Uhtred and his team snuck in and killed every Dane they could find, freeing every slave in the process. Osferth had grown more confident in his fighting skills, didn’t cry every time he killed someone, and the thought he’d be helping people in the process made it easier. Uhtred didn’t feel he needed to be babysat anymore, he trusted that he could take care of himself. So everyone split up throughout the village to cover more ground, and it must’ve been some sort of luck or divine intervention that Osferth found you.

Osferth wasn’t completely naïve anymore, having more experiences with Uhtred’s team in the couple years spent with him than his whole life of being a monk. But when he came upon you being violated by your master, the first thought that went through his head was how could someone do that to someone else? Anger coursed through his veins, an anger that he’d never felt before, a dangerous anger that scared him. For the first time, he felt pleasure in taking someone’s life. The filth that was rutting against you deserved the most painful death anyone could possibly imagine, but Osferth just wanted to save you as quickly as he could, thrusting his sword into the creature’s chest. He didn’t even have time to savor the moment, wanting to make sure you were okay.

You were bleeding, wounds and bruises all over your body. But what was most concerning for Osferth, was the fact that you didn’t seem bothered at all. There was no light behind your eyes, like you were alive but not really living. Which makes sense considering all you must’ve gone through over the years. He didn’t want to scare you, speaking as softly as he could without being inaudible. But you didn’t flinch, not even when he reached out to you. You took his hand without question, and Osferth didn’t know if he should’ve been relieved or even more worried.

Osferth brought you to a secluded part of the village, where no dead bodies could be seen. You’ve probably seen worse, but he didn’t want to subject you to any horrors, even if those dead bodies brought you just as much harm as the man he killed himself. He sat you down gently, near a water well, using the cool water to wash away your master’s blood that mixed with yours.

You didn’t speak as he helped soothe some of your wounds, and he started to wonder if you were mute or simply too traumatized. “I am Osferth. What’s your name, miss?” He asked, breaking the tense silence. But you didn’t answer, staring ahead despondently. Osferth smiled weakly, slightly shaking his head. “That’s alright. You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. Whenever you’re ready.” If you were ever ready, that was.

Osferth led you to where they set up camp just outside your village, sitting you down outside his tent next to a fire to warm you. You looked slightly worried at the man that was cleaning blood off his weapons, but seeing a similar cross around his neck, you didn’t feel you needed to run or fight. “This is Finan, he also helped free your village.”

“Why’d you bring her here?” Finan asked.

Osferth blushed. “I thought…she could travel with us, if she has nowhere else to go. Or if she wants to.”

Finan scoffed a laugh. “Did she tell you she wanted to?” But Osferth stayed quiet. “Uhtred will not be happy about another mouth to feed.”

“Uhtred will understand.” Osferth insisted, not leaving any room for argument, forcing Finan into a begrudging silence.

Suddenly, Osferth heard you let out a panicked gasp, whimpering and pulling out of his delicate grasp. He looked behind himself where you were staring, seeing his lord Uhtred. “A Dane…” You trembled fearfully.

“No, no, no, that’s my lord, Uhtred. He’s not gonna hurt you. He’s a good man.” Osferth tried to reassure you, but your fearful expression didn’t change.

“Osferth?” Uhtred spoke, looking back at you in curiosity.

Osferth placed you inside of his tent and went to Uhtred to push him away to speak with him. “I’m sorry, my lord. But I feel it is best if you don’t let her see you. She’s terrified of Danes.”

“You know I’d never hurt a woman.” Uhtred hissed, offended.

“She…her master was assaulting her when I saved her.” He whispered, Uhtred’s expression darkening. “Please just, let me take care of her.”

“Osferth, I’m sorry, but she’s not our concern. We have to travel back to Coccham and-”

“In all respect, my lord, I don’t care. I wanna help her…okay?”

Uhtred sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, Osferth, fine. But she’s your responsibility.”

“...thank you, lord.”

Osferth grimaced when he saw you flinch when he entered his tent, carrying a bowl of hot soup. “My lady,” He kneeled down beside you, holding out the bowl, “you must be hungry? It’s not much, but it’ll push the hunger pains away for a little while.”

You took the bowl wordlessly, closing your eyes in contentment at the taste. “Thank you…” You whispered, trying your best to give him a weak smile. “For saving me.”

Osferth couldn’t help but blush under your grateful gaze, a bashful smile gracing his own face. “I was only doing the right thing, miss.”

You didn’t speak much throughout the journey back to Coccham, only thanking Osferth whenever he brought you food and drink. Nobody pushed you to talk, knowing only what Osferth told them was enough to try to give you your space. But in the rare times you did speak, you never spoke to anyone except Osferth. He figured it was because he was possibly the first friendly face you had encountered. He saved your life, perhaps it formed some sort of attachment.

Osferth could tell him getting you to join them was a bit of an annoyance to the rest of the group, and the fact you only ever responded to him didn’t make matters any better. But he wanted to make sure you were okay, he wouldn’t be a good man if he just left you back at the village. Though, he felt ashamed, but he kind of liked that he was the only one you spoke to. He decided you just needed some time to get adjusted to a new free life, and maybe a few weeks in Coccham would give you some comfort.

You never expected you’d get to share a little home, having been used to just sleeping on a dirt ridden blanket on the floor, or even having been forced to sleep in a barn with the animals. So that fact that you had your own bed, it brought tears to your eyes, reminding you of a time when you were with people who actually cared about you. Perhaps Osferth was trying to be that for you again, though you didn’t know how you felt about sharing a house with him, even if for a time until your own house was made should you choose to stay.

Even though you didn’t have much, you found yourself unpacking what little you had and placed the various things around your new room just to distract yourself. You never had a room to decorate before, you immediately thought of plants, flowers that could survive in the winter. Pansies, which you remembered being your mother’s favorite. 

You looked down at your hand, clutching the only thing you had left of your family; a small amber gemstone. You had done everything you could to keep this with you over the years, hiding it from your masters where they would never find it. But now that you’re free of them, you have no use to hide it anymore. You thought it would look nice on your own small mantel in your room. Turning around towards your mantel, you froze when you saw Osferth standing in your doorframe, leaning against the wall. “Settling in okay?”

You nodded meekly. “Yes.” You whispered, ignoring the nerves in your gut and walking to place the amber on the mantel, unwanted tears coming to your eyes at the sight, wiping them away before they even had a chance to fall.

“May I ask what happened to you, miss?” Osferth asked softly, but immediately regretted it when your face fell. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have asked. Please, forgive me.”

You shook your head. “It’s alright…it’s natural to be curious, I suppose.” You paused, clearly contemplating the right action before a pained expression came over your visage. “I’d prefer not to speak of it…” You sighed heavily.

“Of course…I’ll leave you to it then.”

You didn’t know why you had a pang of disappointment when Osferth left, his presence somehow more comforting than when you were alone. You chose to ignore it. Though, it seems like Osferth himself had trouble staying away from you. Whether it was just checking up on you or simply wanting to be in your company, he was practically attached to you from the hip. You still had issues talking to anyone else, Osferth would help you get your point across whenever you needed. Despite his lack of personal space, you were thankful for him. He never let anyone push you to speak, or even try to talk to you without your permission for that matter. He was a bit overprotective, but you’d never experienced it before, or at least haven’t in a long, long time. It was nice to feel cared for, even if you still had difficulty trusting said kindness.

For Osferth, he fell for you pretty quickly. Despite having matured much in Uhtred’s company, his heart was still prone to a sort of childlike wonder and optimism, certain traits like those often getting him picked on by his friends. Though, Osferth never wanted his heart to harden like the company he kept. He never wanted to be a brooding pessimist like his lord, nor use sarcasm as a defense mechanism like he’s seen Finan or Sihtric do so often. He was always taught to be kind to others, not to judge as that’s the Lord’s business to judge. Those traits instilled in him from birth, it was no wonder he always fell fast and hard. 

Osferth thought he had been in love several times, from women he had one night stands with to women who politely smiled in his direction…another thing he got picked on about. You were no exception. As soon as he laid his eyes on you, even with the circumstances, he thought you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. And that opinion never seemed to lessen in its sincerity, in fact, it seemed to deepen the more he spent time with you.

The more time you stayed in Coccham, the more your true personality started to show. Now that you weren’t fearing for your life constantly, Osferth noticed you had a decent sense of humor. You would understand his jokes and chuckle at them, still too shy to allow yourself a full belly laugh, but he was more than content with what you managed to give him. Every giggle you made always caused blood to rush to his cheeks…and a little other places, though he felt guilty every time it happened. He never wanted to make you uncomfortable in any way.

Osferth attempted to hide his shock when one day you approached him, asking him to teach you how to defend yourself, but his eyes widened despite his attempts, causing you to shy away but he didn’t let you. He was elated that you wanted to learn, and in all honesty, Osferth would feel a lot more at ease if he knew you could defend yourself.

Osferth still wasn’t the most skilled at combat, everything he learned from Finan, so he figured the Irishman would be the most qualified for the job. But soon into the session, he realized it was the worst idea he had ever had. Finan was serious about combat, never taking it easy when teaching Osferth, he didn’t know why he thought he would be gentle with you. He seemed to overwhelm you pretty quickly, knocking your training sword out of your hands with ease, just to tease you, which you obviously didn’t appreciate. Finan was prone to being a bit aggressively playful, which is tolerated and even enjoyed by some, but it was not what you needed at that moment. Every parry by Finan, who had a constant smirk on his face, seemed to upset you more and more…until something seemed to snap in you.

The dull sword shook in your hands, a feeling of overwhelming panic washing over you. You couldn’t tell why, you were in a safe environment where you knew no one would intentionally hurt you, but as you watched Finan attempt to strike at you with his own sword, you only saw your former master.

You blocked Finan’s blow out of pure instinct and fear, but he only saw it as that you were learning, earning praise from him. “Good.” But it wasn’t his voice, there was no accent that resembled Finan’s at all, nor pitch. It was him. Could you never escape?

Fearfully, like a cornered animal, you swung at the man wildly. No technique or thought behind the blows, all you wanted was your sight to be rid of him. You sobbed and screamed, desperate to escape, desperate to kill. But the man kept evading your blows with ease, mocking laughter filling your ears, spurring you on further in a rage. You felt your blade hit something, and an almost feeling of relief washed over you, but it wasn’t enough. You barely could sense your surroundings, up until you felt a pair of arms wrap around you.

Osferth was frozen as he watched the interactions, unsure of the best decision and terrified of making the wrong one. It was clear you weren’t there anymore, not really, your mind forced back into the state you were before you were rescued, but no one else clued in on it. Not even Finan, who he figured was just playfully excited that you were being more aggressive, making the training session all the more worthwhile. But Osferth saw the frightened look on your face, immediately telling him that something was wrong. He finally made a move when you had almost connected your blade to his neck, if it had been a non-training sword, would have the capacity to cut Finan’s head clean off. 

Finally, Finan seemed to sense something was wrong too. His laughter stopped and his expression fell, realizing that you were actually trying to hurt him. He hesitated for the briefest moment, but that was enough for your sword to actually connect to his body. The dull blade hit his shoulder, your fear seemingly amplifying your strength, making Finan fall on the cold ground. “Hey, hey, hey-!” Finan started to shout in a panic as you surged forward, your sword raised above your head, prepared to strike. But Osferth came to Finan’s rescue, and yours too.

Osferth wrapped his arms around you, ripping the sword from your hands quickly to prevent further injuries. You flailed about, screaming to the top of your lungs, demanding he let you go. But he knew he couldn’t, not when you were like this, a danger to others but most of all, yourself. All he thought to do in the moment was whisk you away, back to your shared home. “I thought this was only supposed to be training, lass, not an actual fight!” Finan called out angrily.

“Don’t.” Osferth called out sternly, shocking the Irishman and the rest of his friends.

Osferth tried his very best to use soothing words to calm you down as he walked you back to your home, guiding you to your bed and repeating that you were safe. Whatever you think you saw wasn’t real. Once you realized you were indeed safe, you clinged onto Osferth, your arms tightening around his shoulders, not allowing him to leave your side, not that he ever wanted to. He’d stay by your side forever if he could. But you settled, slowly releasing him from your grip, your expression bashful and ashamed; Osferth could already tell where your mind was at.

“I don’t know what happened…” You whispered, your voice cracking. “I-I was fine one moment and then…” You whimpered, huffing angrily, willing yourself not to burst into tears again. You relaxed again slightly when Osferth ran a soothing hand up and down your back, his presence more than comforting. He started to feel…like a safe space. “I kept seeing him…in my mind’s eye. The image wouldn’t go away and I felt like I was back in that village, back in his house and forced to-” You quickly cut yourself off, not sure if you were even ready to say the words out loud.

Osferth shook his head, grabbing a hold of your hand and squeezing gently. “You don’t have to say any more.” he reassured. “You’re safe here. No one's ever gonna hurt you again, not while I’m still breathing. One day, all those memories will become so distant they’ll be like a dream. It won’t hurt as much anymore. Time heals all. You’ll see.” Your gaze was so transfixed onto him, Osferth thought the skin of his cheeks would burst from all the blood that rushed to them. His own gaze fleeted from your eyes to your lips, over and over again on a loop, his own lips tingling with the thought of how easy it would be to just…lean forward and make that connection.

But no, Osferth respected you too much. He’d never push your boundaries, nor with anyone, but especially not with you. He tried to ignore your confused expression as he quietly excused himself, stating that you should find rest, leaving your bedroom in a hurry, retreating to his own room to steady his rapidly beating heart. Maybe it was a mistake to have you living with him…

Even after your first lesson not going the way you planned, you still wanted to learn to fight. Finan, unsurprisingly, was more than hesitant to teach you again, so it was up to Osferth, not that he minded. He let you take a couple days to gather yourself, recover, for it was best to train with a clear head. Unlike Finan, Osferth went more easy on you, giving you a fair challenge but not babying you. You seemed to have more fun with Osferth’s training style, a determined smile on your face never falling during that first lesson. He figured you appreciated his style, but you just loved being around him regardless of the situation, not that you’d ever admit this. Not yet, at least. And slowly but surely, over the course of a couple weeks, you felt you’d be able to handle yourself with a sword. The feeling was empowering, knowing you’d be able to fight and hold your own. All thanks to Osferth.

You still had much to learn, but you just had to thank Osferth for all he had done for you. After a training session, he looked so…pretty. Sweat beaded his brow, his chest expanding with each deep breath he took, a proud smile on his face at your progress. You didn’t think before you kissed his cheek, a shocked expression coming over your face as well as his. You almost regretted it until he grinned widely, his eyes sparkling with pure joy, making your heart warm. “Thank you, sweet Osferth, for everything.”

You had finally started to find some semblance of peace with your life in Coccham, mostly because of Osferth. Most of the time, you were content, spending time training with the baby monk being the highlights of the day. You just wished it was always day. You wished the sun never set and the world was never covered in darkness, you started to despise it. You realized that nights were the worst.

Every shadow you might’ve seen, or any twig that snapped under the pressure of various wildlife that were roaming their woods, it always startled you, pushing you to the verge of a panic attack. You felt so vulnerable in the darkness. Constantly. It didn’t help that the company you kept didn’t even try to keep themselves out of trouble, if anything they went out of their way to find trouble. While that might not have been exactly true, your traumatized mind found the extreme in everything.

You could scarcely find sleep with tossing and turning in fear and paranoia that your master would rise from the grave to steal you away again. You’d always finally find sleep once the sun had already started to rise. It was frustrating, you were angry that your mind still tormented you so. You were free now, so why couldn’t your mind comprehend it?

You knew you were fitful in your sleep, whenever you managed to find it. But no one had ever mentioned you making much noise when traveling back to Coccham, until one night. 

Even after staying in this new town for over a month now, you still had such bad nightmares in the form of embellished memories, your subconscious making them seem even worse. One particular nightmare had you gasping awake, a scream escaping your mouth as you sat straight up in your bed in a cold sweat, your heart beating so fast you thought it would stop.

Osferth had heard you from across the little house, immediately brandishing his sword to frighten away or kill whatever or whoever dared to hurt you. But unfortunately, Osferth’s sword couldn’t scare away your own mind. “My lady?” He asked, panicking at your state.

You were hysterical, unable to even say more than stuttering apologies. Osferth went straight to you, ignoring the boundaries he set for himself just for you, bringing your shaking frame into his arms to try to soothe you, cooing comforting words in your ears. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s okay now, sweet girl. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

“Osferth…” You spoke in broken sobs, leaning into his touch while your body heaved with the pain of your memories.

“I’m here, love. I’m here.” Osferth’s heart broke for you, just imagining what you might’ve gone through to have nightmares that elicited such reactions from you. It also brought back that similar dangerous anger that rooted itself deep in his heart, making him hold you tighter, his expression hardening and willed anyone who was curious to keep away lest they wanted to be up close and personal with his fists.

After a few minutes of crying onto Osferth’s chest, your body finally started to stop shaking. “I’m sorry…bad dreams.” You stuttered, even though they weren’t just dreams.

“You have nothing to apologize for, my lady. I can’t imagine…” Osferth sighed, choosing not to finish that sentence. “I hate that you are troubled so. Is there anything I can do to make it better?” He moved to pull away, to fetch you water or whatever you so wished, but he was surprised to find you didn’t want to let him go.

“Can you…stay with me?” You asked timidly. “I’ve learned I don’t like sleeping by myself.”

Osferth’s expression softened, settling himself back beside you, placing an arm over your shoulders to pull you to him gently. “Of course, my lady. I’ll always stay with you, if that’s what you desire. Now, try to get more sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake. I’ll have no harm come to you ever again. I swear on the cross.”

You looked up at him, your eyes heavy with exhaustion, but no sleep could come to you when you had so many questions. “Why are you so kind to me? You don’t have to be, but you are.”

Osferth blushed, smiling bashfully. “It’s the Godly thing to do, miss. Treat others that way you’d want to be treated.”

You frowned. “I’ve never been treated with much kindness throughout my life.”

“It shouldn’t have been that way. You deserved kindness and respect, much like anyone else. But the fact that you yourself are still kind and respectful, despite all you’ve been through, is a testament to how strong you truly are, my lady.” Now it was your turn to blush, hiding your face from his view by cuddling into his chest.

“I don’t feel very strong most days, not with my mind so…shattered.” You sighed, fiddling with the cross necklace he wore. “How do you keep your faith, Osferth, when you’ve seen so much death and cruelty in the world?”

Osferth frowned. “I will not say it isn’t difficult, my lady. But all of this has to have some meaning, doesn’t it? If there is no reward after death for our good deeds, why do we bother at all? My faith remains strong because of all the good I’ve seen, in spite of the bad. The ability to be kind towards others, to show empathy, to protect the ones you love…those are all Godly things, innit?” 

Osferth shifted, moving to sit up, you moving with him with a curious expression decorating your features as he removed his cross. “Here,” He placed the cross around your neck, the feeling of rough callousness of his fingers along the sensitive skin making gooseflesh rise along your body, “I want you to have this, my lady. Perhaps, let it be a reminder that there is good in this world, even if some days it doesn’t feel like it.”

You didn’t realize it until right then, but you were in love with Osferth.

Don't worry, there's gonna be a part 2. I wouldn't do that to y'all🥰 next part is gonna be even more angst and some smutty smut, so if anyone wants to be tagged for that, just let me know💕

PLEASE🥵🥵🥵

Heave Away

On Sapphire Seas Part 2 of 12

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Pirate AU)

The day was fine when we set sail, the wind was blowin’ free / But soon afresh it blew a gale and we were far at sea. - traditional arr. Emma Beecham, "Heave Away"

Summary: You learn more about your captain, and at Driftmark, Aemond does not find who he is looking for.

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Word Count: 3.8k

Rating: Explicit/18+/Minors DNI (warnings below the cut)

Warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of death, language, sex work, oral (m receiving), kind of exhibitionism/voyeurism?

A/N: girl here's part two. now that we've got the set up, we can start getting silly. you know the vibes.

As always, reblogs and comments are HIGHLY appreciated 🫶🏻

dividers by @firefly-graphics

In the weeks that follow, you work tirelessly to make yourself indispensable–always at the captain's beck and call at any odd hours, always with wine in hand to fill his glass should he so desire it. 

Captain Aemond One-Eye was quiet, you learned, with a shockingly refined way about him and the air of someone of high birth. The longer you spend by his side, the more puzzling you find him. 

He is not unkind to you, as you'd expected him to be, and despite his ruthless demeanor in battle, he is soft-spoken and internally preoccupied in private. 

Although you still find yourself frightened by him to a degree, that fear has slowly begun to fade, replaced by an odd sort of curiosity. You have to force yourself not to stare at him, keeping your eyes fixed on your parchment and quill as you write what he dictates to you so as not to be distracted.

The captain seems pleased with your work, or at least has not made any complaint to the contrary, and when he is able, he has taken to teaching you how to wield both dagger and sword. 

As precarious as your position is, you find yourself growing accustomed to living amongst pirates, and with each day that passes, you rue your decision to join the crew of the Dragon less and less.

Somehow, you have kept your identity a secret from the captain and his men. You only changed clothing when you knew everyone was out of your way or asleep and took care not to be caught bathing. If the captain was suspicious of you, he was good at hiding it–he told you little about himself, but through the work you'd done as a scribe, you'd learned fragments of information. 

You have learned from Aemond's correspondence that his brother, Aegon, is being held prisoner on the prison island of Dragonstone and sentenced to death by hanging for his crimes of piracy against the crown. To lay siege to the island, the Dragon would need better guns and more weapons. Aemond hid it well from the rest of the crew, but he was on edge, his shoulders drawn taut, his face seemingly unreadable, with emotions teeming directly beneath the surface.

You'd grown to anticipate his poor moods quite well–he never took them out on you, never even raised his voice, but he was quick to anger and paranoia, which you tempered and assuaged.

When he is restless, his hands twitch by his sides. His long, slim fingers never ceased in their movements, but it was worse when he was under pressure. They flit from the pommel of his sword to his knife, the collar of his shirt, and the edge of his vest, never staying in one place for long.

It is a month since you came aboard the Dragon when you finally arrive at Driftmark. Even from on the deck of the ship, you can see a thick haze of pipe and gun smoke, softening the edges of the structures, elevated on stilts above the ground to prevent them from getting washed away in tropical storm season. 

You marvel at the town as you trail behind Aemond up the pier and deep into the village, heading for a tavern with a large wooden sign hanging outside of it, identifying it as the High Tide.

Aemond had not told you much about why you were here besides that you were to meet another pirate here, a formidable sailor called the Sea Snake, Corlys Velaryon. Vague as he was, Aemond did tell you that the Sea Snake held great power on the seas and was in possession of a whole fleet of ships and controlled several shipping lanes between Essos and Westeros. A few of the Sea Snake’s men and a good set of cannons added to the Dragon would be an invaluable asset in the rescue of Aemond’s brother.

The inside of High Tide is dimly lit, with several lanterns sputtering, and pale beams of sunlight spilling through the windows, though the corners of the room remain dark and shadowy. Aemond's gaze sweeps the tavern once, twice, his brow furrowed in confusion, his fingers drumming against the front of his thigh. 

“Are you looking for the Sea Snake?” a woman's voice calls from the darkened corner of the room, drawing both you and Aemond’s attention.

She rises from her seat, a faint swagger in her step as she moves toward you, and under the faint light, you are struck by how lovely she is. Her brown skin seems to glow under the lamplight, and her dark hair is knotted back against her neck, and you have to force yourself to look at the ground, embarrassed by your staring. 

“Yes,” Aemond answers steadily, clasping his hands behind his back. “Will you bring me to him?”

“He's not here,” the woman shrugs, offering no more explanation, taking a seat at the bar, tapping on it to get the bartender's attention. 

“What do you mean he's not here?” Aemond asks, his voice tight with irritation, fingers twitching behind him. “Where is he then?”

“He is in the Stepstones,” the woman receives her mug from the bartender. “Reinforcing his control of the shipping lane there. He's a busy man, my grandfather,” she comments, raising her eyebrows over the rim of her glass. 

Aemond barks an incredulous laugh, “Your grandfather?”

“Indeed,” She grins. “And, as a matter of fact, he has left me here, acting in his stead, so any business with him now goes through me. Baela Velaryon, at your service.”

“Marvelous,” Aemond comments dryly, looking thoroughly unamused. “Then I bring my petition to you, the lovely Lady Baela,” an edge of flattery, perhaps even to the point of flirtation, decorates his tone, though she seems thoroughly unimpressed by his efforts.

“I appreciate you giving it a go, Aemond, really, I do, but you would do well not to waste your time on flattering me–I prefer a body with a lot more chest and arse than you've got,” Baela snickers, taking a deep drink from her glass. “So let us remain focused on business. Unless you suddenly grow tits, you ought not to waste your time trying to get on with me.”

Aemond looks genuinely amused at that, his shoulders relaxing noticeably, “Noted.”

“So,” Baela begins, her gaze flicking briefly to you where you stood a few feet behind Aemond, keeping a respectful distance. Her eyebrows scrunch together for the tiniest of moments, regarding you curiously before she hides the expression behind a stoic expression, turning her full attention back to Aemond. “What do you want, then?” 

“Assistance in the way of gunnery and arms for every man aboard my ship. They will need more for raiding,” Aemond lists his requests out with an air of simplicity, so confident of himself that the request doesn't sound half as ridiculous as it is.

“And why would we give you that?” Baela’s eyebrows raise skeptically. 

“My brother is to be hanged before the year is done,” Aemond replies stiffly. “It brings me no pleasure to request your assistance, but we cannot lay siege to Dragonstone without more arms than are currently in our possession.”

“I see. And what will Driftmark gain from this, One-Eye? Why is this worth my while?”

“I understand that you have a history with the Lord Larys Strong?”  Aemond answers her question with a question, and her mouth turns down, her eyes darkening at the mere mention of the name. 

“That is a way of putting it,” she mutters after a moment, taking another deep swig of her drink. “Although I prefer to think of him less as a Lord and more so as a corpse that is not yet dead.”

Aemond grins faintly, “A sentiment shared by many,” he chuckles. “He is the one responsible for my brother Aegon’s death sentence, tasked with personally overseeing the hanging,” he continues. “He was to blame for taking much from the Sea Snake as well–from you.”

Baela presses her lips together, considering what he has told her.

“So I am to receive revenge in exchange for men and arms?” she summarizes. “I cannot help but think the trade is a bit unbalanced.”

“What would you propose to make it more equitable?” Aemond asks, not missing a beat. 

“I would also ask for all that your men plunder from Dragonstone when we attack,” she replies smoothly, a grin twitching in the corner of her mouth. 

“Not a chance,” he snorts in response. “I will not make my men work for no pay. I can promise you a quarter of what we…remove from the island.”

“A quarter that I shall handpick?” she proposes, biting back an obvious grin when Aemond's eye narrows at the added stipulation.

“Very well.” he decides after a pregnant pause. “You will provide us with what we need, and we will provide you the opportunity for access to Lord Larys, upon which you can dispatch him however you wish, as well as a quarter of the spoils from the island to be chosen by you.”

Baela stares at him intently, pondering what he said to her, the stiff line of her lips relaxing ever so slightly. She nods, then looks over his shoulder, directly at you.

“I wish to speak to your cabin boy,” Baela demands abruptly, flicking her gaze between you and Aemond. “Alone. I have a few questions for him before I make my decision.”

Aemond glances between you and Baela, his expression blank, “For the cabin boy?” he nearly scoffs. “He is a scribe and a cupbearer to me--there is nothing more to it. He knows little of my affairs.”

“That's alright,” Baela looks only at you now, and the back of your neck prickles, though not unpleasantly. “If the rest of you would step outside, I would like to talk to him. If I have to repeat myself again, the deal is off.”

Aemond clenches his jaw but does as he's bidden, stalking out of the establishment, the rest of the small group he'd brought with you close behind. The other patrons stand shortly afterward and make their exit as well, leaving the pub empty, save for the bartender, who nods at the two of you before disappearing into the back room behind the bar. 

Your breath catches in your chest, surprised by how quickly it happens. You hadn't even witnessed the order being given, but as the other patrons file by, you notice little seahorse pins in various places on their clothing, matching the one Baela had fastened at her neck. 

They were all her men.

Since the crew walked in here, you'd been surrounded and hadn't even noticed. A sting of fear shoots up your spine at the realization, and you breathe in deeply to steady yourself.

You stare at her, the silence of the now empty bar ringing as she rakes her gaze over you, eyes narrowed. 

When at last only you remain behind, she doesn't speak for a moment but beckons you closer, and you obey, knees trembling. 

“Sit,” she bids you, gesturing to the stool beside her, “you needn't be afraid. I will not hurt you.”

Only when you are seated does she speak again, speaking plainly and without artifice:

“Does the captain know you are a woman, or is he truly so thick-headed that he cannot tell?” she asks, leaning her elbow on the counter. She watches in amusement as your eyes widen, shocked to have your bluff called so directly.

“I–” your words seem to stick in your throat, your mind racing, trying desperately to think of a story, an excuse to get yourself out of this.

“Do not lie to me,” Baela warns, the corner of her mouth twitching. “As I said, I prefer the company of the gentler sex. The truth of your identity angers me not, but further falsehoods will.”

You press your lips together tightly and answer her, your voice wavering, “He does not know,” you reply, “or if he does, he has not deemed it a necessary subject to broach.”

Baela looks thoroughly entertained by the whole affair, tilting her head slightly, considering you with curious eyes. 

“Why do you sail with these men?” she asks next, sipping from her glass, not once removing her gaze from your face. “Surely it is not because of the riveting company they provide you?”

“It was join them, die, or be sent back to port,” you reply softly, dropping your gaze. 

“Returning to port was just as bad a choice as death, then?” she asks, eyebrows pinching together curiously. 

“Yes,” you say, keeping your voice steady, even as the memory of what awaits you if you return seeps into your mind like poison, turning your blood cold in your veins. Baela studies you without a word, remaining quiet for a long moment before speaking again. 

“I am sorry that is the case,” she says simply, rising to her feet, downing the rest of her glass in one go. She sets the cup back on the counter with a soft thump that echoes with a sense of finality. 

“I would be careful if I were you,” she tells you. “These types of men are not as foolish as they seem.” You nod, and she considers you for another brief moment until her face hardens with resolve, and she takes a deep breath.

“Come,” she sighs, turning to the door, “let us tell your captain the happy news of my persuasion to your cause.”

Captain One-Eye looks nothing short of perplexed when you trail out of the tavern behind Baela, standing awkwardly by her side as she promises herself and ten of her men to his cause, along with enough weaponry to arm all of his men to the teeth, and two new cannons. 

Still, he accepts without question, and the two of them spit on their palms, shaking hands to seal their promises to one another. His gaze darts to you repeatedly, colored with a new level of interest than you'd seen him wear before, curious and watchful. You cannot read his mood on his face, but you are all too aware of him watching you more closely now than he had before.

Baela tells him nothing about your conversation, for which you are grateful, and strides away, clicking her fingers at two well-muscled bearded blond men who seem to be twins based on how similar they are in appearance. The men follow behind her closely, faces stoic as she mutters orders at them, leaving you with the envoy from the Dragon behind. 

Aemond gives a noncommittal grunt before turning back to the rest of you, his eye lingering on you a bit longer than the others. You drop your gaze to the ground, staring at the worn toes of your boots instead.

“All of you, rest, drink, eat,” Aemond orders after a beat. “The evening is yours. We leave tomorrow at first light. You,” he beckons to you, “will stay with me for now.”

You nod obediently, trailing behind him down the road to a larger, rowdier tavern. Women lean on the railings, their breasts all but spilling from their bodices, grinning at you and Aemond eagerly. Other men, all in varying states of grime and inebriation, occupy the tables or drape themselves over any woman that would let them touch them. 

At the bar, Aemond speaks quietly to the innkeeper before the two of you are led to a quiet back room with a desk and a velveteen couch, secluded from the rest of the bar. 

“So,” Aemond says lowly, seating himself on the sofa, as stiff and polite as ever, “What did you say to Baela to sway her to our cause, Martyn?”

You'd known such a question was inevitable, but your stomach flips in panic nonetheless. Clearing your throat awkwardly, you force yourself to speak. 

“Nothing of consequence, sir,” you reply. “She only asked me who I was, and I answered her.”

“Did you?” he hums. “And what did you tell her?”

“The truth, sir.”

You're walking on a razor-thin edge with your half-truths and omitted details. Any deeper probing on his end and you could easily be found out. You brace yourself for him to ask a question too specific for you to wriggle out of, but instead, he nods, leaning back against the cushions behind him with a sigh, although he looks unsatisfied with your answer.

“The truth…” he muses dryly, eyeing you with clear disbelief. “How novel.”

Standing in thick silence, you stare at the floor, praying to be dismissed, that he won't question you further. He lets the quiet hang heavily over both of you, weighing on your shoulders until he decides to speak again. 

“Very well then,” he decides, flicking a hand at you, “Go, fetch me a bottle of wine and be off with you for the night.”

“Yes, sir.”

You leave immediately, scarcely daring to breathe until the door is shut tightly behind you, your heart thundering wildly in your chest. For a moment, you stand there, leaning back against the door, but you cannot afford much time to recover–your captain has made an order, and it is your duty to obey it.

Down the hall, the bar is even more crowded than before, patrons elbow to elbow, sweating and guffawing, making it nearly impossible for you to reach the barmaid. When you, at last, reach her and request the wine you were sent for, you're not sure how much time has passed, only that too much of it has certainly gone by for Aemond's preferences. 

It is with this in mind that you scurry back to the back room as quickly as you can and throw open the door. 

You do not knock.

You always knock. 

Realizing your mistake a beat too late, you freeze, your eyes wide at what you see.

Aemond, sprawled out across the sofa, his coat discarded on the floor. His vest is undone, and his shirt is unbuttoned halfway, his pale, heaving chest exposed. One large hand grips the back of the couch, his fingers denting the fabric, while the other sits curled atop a dark-haired woman's head. 

You stare for a long moment, not quite making sense of what you are seeing, your lips parted in shock. 

The woman is on her knees, her head buried between his thighs, bobbing her head against his long, thick cock. You watch, transfixed, as his length disappears between her lips, the red stain she wore on her mouth leaving a ring at the base. 

She moans every time she takes him in her mouth fully, pausing for a second to catch her breath, trailing her tongue up and down his shaft before taking him all the way down her throat again, a sharp curse tumbling from his lips.

You wonder how that thick, pretty cock would feel inside your mouth instead of hers.

Inside your cunt. 

He is very well endowed, and thoughts of it stretching you out, filling you, makes you inhale sharply, a pang of desire curling through you and creating an ache between your legs.

“That's it–take it–” he snarls, his lip curling as he bucks his hips up, fucking her face, his breathing ragged. 

Then he looks up, staring dead at you, his pale blue eye boring into your head, dark with lust. 

He doesn't yell, or throw anything, or even try to cover himself. Instead, his eye locks with yours, his fingers curling tightly in the woman's hair as he thrusts into her mouth with a growl.

“I want you,” he rasps, his gaze on you, heated and hungry, “to swallow every fucking drop of my seed. Be a good girl and do that, hm?”

Between your legs, there is another rush of heat at his words and the rough tone he employs when he says them. Your little pearl atop your sex throbs, and you feel arousal, warm and wet, pooling at the apex of your thighs, which should embarrass you, but it doesn't. 

You want him.

Want him to touch you the way he's touching her. To swallow his spend the way he commands her to.

You can't pull your attention away from his body and the rolling of his slim hips, even though you know you should, and you unconsciously bite your lip, watching him greedily, rooted to the spot beneath his gaze. 

The woman between his knees whines in the affirmative, redoubling her efforts to make him reach his peak. He does not remove his eye from you, even as his jaw slacks and his eyebrows draw together, his hips jolting against the woman's face, making her gag slightly.

His breathing quickens, and then with one low grunt, he thrusts up into her mouth one more time, his head lolling back a fraction, though he takes care to keep his eye on your face as he spills himself down the woman's throat. 

When his body finally relaxes, he grins at you lazily, that smile somehow jerking you out of your stupor at last.

You turn and close the door behind you as quickly and quietly as you can, abandoning the bottle of wine outside.

There is no hesitation from you now as you vacate the premises as fast as your feet will take you, not daring even to look over your shoulder as you make for the ship once more.

That night, he returns to the ship, and you lie there in your spot on the floor in his cabin, immobile, the apex of your thighs dampened, your pearl aching at the memory of the sounds he’d made as the woman swallowed his length greedily. How his cock glistened with her spit and a few pearly drops of his spend. The half-crazed look in his eye when he spilled himself into her mouth. 

For a moment, you think he might say something or try to wake you to ask why you stood there and watched a woman get him off. 

He does not bother you, undressing himself in silence. Under the guise of being asleep, you shift, rolling to your side to peer at him through nearly closed eyes. His shirt is gone, the lithe planes of his body visible to you in the shards of moonlight that spills through the window, rippling slightly when he moves. 

You are still until his breathing evens out, signaling that he has fallen asleep. The deep rhythm of his breath had become a comfort to you as of late, steady and capable of lulling you to sleep most nights, but now you can only think of the way his chest heaved as he watched his cock disappearing down the woman's throat. 

Your cunt aches, throbbing for him. It would be so easy to stand up, to walk to him and wake him, and sink down onto his length, inch by glorious inch. 

Biting your lip to distract yourself, you roll over again, turning your back. 

It is quite simple, insultingly so: you desire him.

It is depraved and disgusting, but even as you fall asleep, you cannot shake the echoes of his pleasured grunts nor the image of his satisfied grin from your head. 

The smile he'd given you.

It had been almost knowing.

As though he was privy to a secret that you were not. 

Like he knew the truth. 

Baela's warning rings in your head insistently: 

“I would be careful if I were you. These types of men are not as foolish as they seem.”

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FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. I JUST WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY GODDAMMIT

"Through One Thousand Worlds and Ten Thousand Lifetimes" Chapter Three: "A Soldier's Kiss" - Aemond Targaryen + Tom Bennett x Reader

a/n: catch up on this fic HERE. if you wish to be added to the taglist. Billy Washington is next! ❤️

Summary: Tom Bennett is on a mission the moment he sees you - to make you remember him.

TW: profanity, innuendo, s*xual refernces, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, character death, angst

Word Count: 2,820 words

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

Tom Bennett has dreamt of the same thing every night for as long as he can remember. A girl, who seems to age along with him, the most beautiful girl he’s seen in his entire life, with bright eyes and the sweetest smile. Your voice has carried him through the most difficult parts of his life. When he feels lonely, he has always thought he need only go to sleep so that he may see you again. And when he gets in trouble? He loves the way you scold him for being a troublemaker, that crinkle in your brow being absolutely adorable.

Through his dreams, Tom learns that you and him have been lovers in each past life the two of you have had. He recalls you being a princess in both your past lives, a prince in one of his and a monk in the other. The idea of being a monk makes him let out a snort of laughter, but he digresses.

Tom wonders for the longest time when he’s finally going to get to meet you in this life. He asks the vision of you he sees in his dreams, but you just give him a secretive smile and tell him what is meant to be will be. It frustrates him, because he wants nothing more than to take you into his arms and hold you close. To tell you how he loves you. How he has always loved you. How you are the light in his darkness.

Two days before he is set to ship out, he finds himself wandering the Manchester streets, a bit aimless, a bit hopeless, wondering if he will find you before he goes off to fight in the war. Or if he’ll die in combat before getting to see you again. The thought of not seeing you in this lifetime pains him more than the idea of dying ever could.

Something tells him to go to his usual pub. He has never heard your voice when he is awake, but it rings so clearly in his head. Beckoning him inside. It feels a bit like fate, in all honesty. So, hands in his pockets, he walks down the street as it begins to drizzle. At least it’ll be dry in the pub, he muses. He walks in, shaking out his hair, a bit like a golden retriever would, before walking over to the bar.

And then? The whole world falls away when you turn his way, smiling that dazzling smile at him.

“What can I get you?”

God, your voice is as perfect as it has always sounded in his dreams. Tom realizes he probably looks like a total idiot, just gawking at you, and shakes himself out of it.

“A large whiskey please, darling,” he winks before leaning over the bar, “In fact,” he grins devilishly, “Make it two.”

You raise an unimpressed brow, clearly used to having patrons flirting with you, “Two large whiskeys coming up, soldier boy.”

Tom snickers at the moniker and corrects you, “That’s sailor boy, thank you very much,” he takes the drinks, swigging one down quickly before turning back to you, a twinkle in those gorgeous blue eyes, “And what is your name, sweetheart?”

You don’t even bother meeting his gaze as you drawl, “That’s on a need to know basis.”

“Well,” he chuckles, “You’re as sharp as you are pretty, I see. Perhaps I shall christen you as,” he pauses before saying your name as he knows it, “At least until the time comes that you decide to tell me for yourself, love.”

You freeze in place, “How did you…”

Tom smirks, “How did I what?”

“That’s my name,”  you look at him curiously, “How did you know?”

Tom smiles at you mischievously, that twinkle in his eyes, “Call it a hunch,” and he says your name again.

You frown slightly, gazing into his eyes, “Have we met before?”

“Well,” he grins, “I may or may not know everything about you,” he winks, looking you up and down, biting his lower lip, “Do you remember me now?”

“Not really,” you sigh as a barrage of customers pour in, making your night that much more hectic, “Excuse me.”

“Name’s Tom, by the way, love,” he calls after you, raising his glaze, “And take your time. I’ll be here.”

You give him a fleeting smile before walking off to serve the others. Tom watches you go, propping his head up, watching you as you bustle about. His eyes trace the shape of your hips as you move, smiling to himself. He waits for you to return with more patience than he’s waited for anything in his life. When you finally return, he’s smiling at you, waiting for you to speak as you pour his next drink.

“It’s weird,” you muse, “Something about you is so familiar to me. I don’t understand it. And I’m so sure I haven’t met you. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

Tom nods, as if affirming what you’re saying, “You’re crazy. For questioning it at all. You and I,” he leans forward, murmuring secretively, “We’re old friends. Even old-er lovers. You’re just a bit,” he pauses, “Forgetful right now.”

You frown slightly, “No, if we were friends, let alone lovers, I’d remember.”

“One would think,” Tom smiles, “But here I am, looking into those gorgeous eyes of yours, and I know the connection between us is deeper than anything I’ve ever known. But as I said,” he chuckles, “You’re a little forgetful right now.”

You give him a curious look before continuing to go about your work. Tom sips at his fresh whiskey after you top him off, gazing at you over the top of his glass. You don’t think you’ve ever been looked at the way this handsome stranger who claims not to be one is looking at you. As though you’re the most important thing in the world to him, as though you hung the very stars in the sky.

“If I tell you something, promise you won’t think I’m crazy?” Tom questions, prompting you to nod; he hesitates for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking, “You and I… We’ve loved each other through a thousand worlds, through ten thousand lifetimes. We’re soulmates.”

You look at him incredulously, “Sailor, I think you ought to slow down with the whiskey.”

Tom laughs, “Oh, love, you haven’t changed a bit. The whiskey may have my head spinning a bit, but every word of what I said was true. You and I are meant for each other.”

One of the other girls who works at the pub with you walks by, letting you know your shift is over. You give her a grateful nod and turn back to Tom.

“Enjoy the rest of your night, sailor.”

Tom rushes after you as you exit the pub, ignoring the protest from your fellow barmaid that he hasn’t settled his tab, “Look, please just trust me,” he pleads desperately, getting in front of you and walking backwards so that he can keep his eyes on you, “We were lovers in our previous lives, don’t you remember?”

“Look, mate, if you don’t stop, I’m going to have to call the coppers.”

You turn the corner toward your flat, trudging up the steps, Tom hot on your heels as he begs, “Please, I’m telling you the truth! Look at me. Look at my face. Don’t you recognize me at all?”

You finally manage to get up the stairs to your flat and unlock your door, slamming it shut in your new acquaintance’s face. Tom lets out a groan of frustration, resting his head against your door, dejected, but not deterred.

The next morning, you leave to do a bit of grocery shopping for you and your flatmates. You should be surprised, but you really aren’t, to see Tom the sailor from the night before, leaning against the wall outside, that stupidly charming smirk painted on his stupidly handsome face.

“Are you kidding me?”

Tom grins at you mischievously, “Good morning, beautiful. Where are you running off to?”

You shake your head, walking past him, “You don’t give up, do you?”

He grins and shrugs, walking in step alongside you, “Well, I’m the persistent type, love. I won’t settle for less than the truth, and the truth is that we’re soulmates. No matter what. You can’t deny it.”

You wrap your scarf around your neck as you walk, “You’re annoying, you know that?”

Tom laughs, putting his hand over his heart as if hurt by your words, “What a thing to say to a potential lover! Aren’t you afraid to hurt my feelings, love?”

He gives you a cheeky little wink, smirking at you in that way you’ve come to associate with him after only one night. You smile in spite of yourself, shaking your head and continuing to walk. You rummage through your purse and realize-

“Forgot the grocery money,” you groan, turning back.

“Forgetful thing,” Tom smiles, “Always have been,” you give him a weird look and continue walking, garnering a sigh from him, “Why are you being so distant from me, love? Don’t you feel it too?”

He grabs your hand and you freeze. His touch sparks some form of recognition in you. You aren’t the type of person to remember their dreams. You forget them the moment you wake up. But now, the pieces fall into place. The boy with the sapphire eye in your dreams, promising that he would search for you. The dreams of you dying in your beloved monk’s arms after taking the blade that was meant for him…

“I,” you swallow thickly, meeting Tom’s eyes, “These past lives you keep talking about… I’ve had dreams since I was a girl of a boy with a sapphire for an eye…”

A smile spreads across Tom’s face, “You do remember me! You can’t deny that we were meant to be now,” he holds both of your hands, kissing them, “I was in love with you in all of those lives and dreams, and in this life and every life to come.”

“Your name was Aemond,” you say after a moment, the memories slowly coming back to you, “And then it was Osferth…”

He nods eagerly, holding you in his arms tightly, as though he thinks you’ll disappear if he lets go. And he presses his lips to yours in a desperate kiss. You kiss him back with just as much passion, your lips moving against his with almost feverish need as the memories of your lives together come back to you in a flood of emotion. By the time the two of you pull apart, you remember everything.

“How long have you known in this life?” you ask softly as he holds your face in his hands.

“From the moment I saw you,” Tom murmurs, resting his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry it took me a minute to catch up,” you say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, smiling up at him.

“Don’t apologize, love,” he says, gazing into your eyes with all the love in his heart, “We’ve found each other again. That’s all that matters.”

You sigh, looking at his navy uniform, “Only to be torn from each other once again,” you embrace him tightly, resting your head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, allowing it to soothe you, “When do you ship out?”

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and smiles at you, “Tomorrow,” he chuckles ruefully, “The Royal Navy sure knows the best way to tear a couple apart. But our love can handle it. I know it.”

“Can I convince you not to go?” you ask softly, resting a hand on his cheek.

“Oh, love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your palm and shaking his head, “I have to do my duty, love,” he swallows the lump in his throat as you begin to cry, holding him tightly, “Don’t cry, sweetheart, please don’t cry,” he kisses your forehead, lifting your chin to look you in the eyes, “I’ll come back to you. I promise. I won’t be gone forever. I’ll come back to you. I’ll always come back to you. I will never stop loving you,” Tom says, stroking your hair and kissing you again, repeating his vow, “Through a thousand worlds and ten thousand lifetimes, I will search for you.”

You wipe your eyes when the two of you pull apart, “I will wait for you in all of them,” you sigh, “We have tonight, at least.”

Tom nods, smiling at you sweetly, “Yes. We have tonight, my love.”

You two spend the day together, going for a walk in the park, lunch at a cafe, and finally, you manage to convince your flatmates to visit their respective beaus so you can have a night with him alone in your flat. Tom watches you cook dinner for the two of you, and it’s nothing fancy, but he adores every moment. He holds you from behind, swaying to the beat of the song you have playing, a jazz record. The two of you dance in the kitchen, wrapped in each other’s arms, when suddenly, Tom drops to one knee, holding up a beautiful ring. A sapphire ring. You cover your mouth, eyes brimming with tears.

“Is that a yes?” he teases, winking at you.

You toss your arms around your beloved, kissing him passionately, yelping slightly as he lifts you into his arms, carrying you off to bed. He lays you down gently, the two of you ridding yourself of your clothes, and you giggle as he slides the engagement ring on your finger, making it the only thing you wear. He moves his mouth between your thighs, grinning up at you like a devil as he brings you to the edge of ecstasy over and over before finally joining your bodies together as one. And it feels so very right. As he moves against you, your arms wrapped around him, it feels like fate.

The next day, before he leaves, he introduces you to his father and sister in this life, Douglas and Lois, who seem all too happy to meet you, the girl who has tamed the rowdy troublemaker. As Tom boards his train, you run to stand beside his window, giggling when two of his fellow crewmates dangle him from the window so he can kiss you one last time before he leaves. You wave at him, teary-eyed as you watch the train pull away with the love of your life.

After making his way through Spain, back to Manchester, Tom is thrilled at the aspect of seeing you again, even for a short time, before he leaves again. He vows that before he returns to the fight, he’ll marry you. A small ceremony. Just you, your parents, his dad, and Lois.

When he finds his sister, she tells him about his father’s death. And Tom is understandably devastated. He lashes out. He blames her for it, and he knows it’s wrong to do so.

Then, she tells him something that shatters him entirely.

You were in the house with Douglas. She hands him the two things she managed to salvage of yours. Your ring and a letter you’d been writing to him. Tom covers his mouth, tears pouring down his face as he reads the letter.

Dear Tom,

I miss you every second of every day. I can’t wait for you to come back to me. I love you with every beat of my heart and I will wait for you in every lifetime.

Always Yours.

PS.

You were right about me being forgetful. This letter has been burning a hole in my purse for two days now!

He laughs mirthlessly at the postscript in your letter, holding the ring in his hand, sobbing almost hysterically. Lois takes him to your grave. He sits there, his knees to his chest, crying until he feels he can no longer breathe. He buries the ring in the dirt beside you, vowing he will never love another. Not until he finds you again.

And as Tom lays on the ground, bleeding out in the rain, he sees you, dressed all in white, approaching him. You kneel beside him, resting a hand on his cheek.

“My love?” he whispers weakly, “Is it really you?”

“You’ve fought so hard, Tom,” you say softly, “You can let go now, my love.”

Tom smiles at you, at peace, taking your hand and allowing you to lead him to the next life you two will share.

A young Billy Washington wakes in his bed with a start, sobbing hysterically from the dream he’s had. His sister runs into the room to comfort him, asking what happened.

And the only word he manages to utter?

Your name.

When strangers on the internet look out for you even when they don't have to🥰🥰🥰😍😍😍💕💕💕

reading this while listening to Wasp by MIW...fuck, peak horniness🥵

"Ravenous" - Aemond x Hightower Cousin!Reader

a/n: request from @ewanmitchellcrumbs 😈 reader is described as having hightower features (dark curly hair + dark eyes)

Summary: When Aemond said that once the two of you are wed he won't let you leave your marital bed for a week, he meant it.

TW: canon typical incest, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, loss of v*rginity, mild religion k*nk, purity culture, overstim, oral f receiving, f*ngering, p in v sex, breeding k*nk, size k*nk if you squint, corruption k*nk

Word Count: 5,000 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.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

When Prince Aemond Targaryen is betrothed to the young Lady Hightower, the daughter of his uncle, Ser Gwayne, he is less than enthused. He has heard of you, a meek, shy little thing who clings to your mother’s skirts and can always be found praying in some sept or the other. The idea of being married to you sounds, to him, like an utter and absolute bore. He hopes, as your carriage arrives at the entrance of the Red Keep, that you at least are not as unattractive as he has pictured you in his mind’s eye. He watches as your father disembarks from the carriage first, greeting Queen Alicent and Lord Otto first, and then the rest of the rest of the family. Your mother, Lady Hightower, exits next, her head held high. She is a stern-looking woman, Aemond muses, and thinks that this does not bode well for him as far as you are concerned.

And then, he sees you.

You move out of the carriage, a cloak draped around your shoulders, hiding from his view until you remove the hood, revealing your gorgeous dark curly hair, your gorgeous doe eyes, your full lips that look so very kissable. Gods, he can’t stop looking at those lips, unable to utter so much as a greeting, just imagining how wonderful they’d look wrapped around his-

“Good day, cousin,” you speak in a soft, sweet voice, barely above a whisper as your lady’s maid takes your cloak, revealing your form to him.

Aemond’s throat goes dry and he does not reply for a long moment, eyeing you with a lustful gaze, admiring the way your gown is cut, allowing him to admire the swell of your breasts as you breathe, the curve of your hips as you approach him and bend into a curtsy, giving him an even better view. Your Seven Pointed Star necklace is nestled in your cleavage and he watches as you take it between your delicate fingers, fiddling with it, something he assumes is a nervous habit.

“Are you well, Your Grace?” you ask in that same dulcet voice, your tone now displaying some concern due to his lack of response.

He keeps looking at you, biting his lip as he imagines all the things he wishes to do with you right in this moment, before finally answering, his voice low and smooth, “I am well, my lady. And you? I trust your journey was pleasant.”

“I am well, cousin, and the journey went smoothly by the Seven’s grace, though I am quite tired,” you pause before speaking, “Since it is well past suppertime, I was just going to visit the royal sept to say my evening prayers before retiring for the evening.”

Aemond doesn’t bother to tear his lascivious gaze from your chest, watching it rise and fall with your every breath, straining against the confines of your bodice, “I am happy to hear that, my lady. Might I accompany you for your prayers?”

You meet his eye for a moment before averting your gaze, bowing your head, “As you wish, my prince.”

Aemond offers you his arm, watching as you turn to your parents as if seeking their approval. Your mother frowns slightly but your father nods, smiling at you and urging you on. You take Aemond’s arm and he begins leading you to the sept.

You startle slightly when he turns to you, his face startlingly close to yours as he asks, “Are you a devout servant of the Seven, my lady?”

You nod, answering him quietly, “Yes, my prince. I had considered becoming a septa before our betrothal was announced.”

Aemond gives you a wry smile, the thought of you as a septa being somewhat erotic to him in some strange way, “If such a beautiful woman became a septa, it would be a true loss for the realm. The men would weep, or at least I would.”

His words flatter you and you resist the urge to giggle, instead smiling shyly, “Thank you, my prince.”

Aemond gazes at your lips from the corner of his eye. Soft and full and the color just screaming “kiss me”. As if they were made for a man’s kiss, and he is the man to do it. He keeps his eye on you as the two of you walk through the Red Keep, nearing the sept, flickering between your lips and your cleavage. Aemond smirks to himself as he grows hard in his breeches, brushing the evidence of his arousal against you as the two of you enter the sept, reveling in the quiet gasp you let out.

He stares at you intently as the two of you approach the altar and you light a candle, bowing your head in prayer, repeating the names of the Seven. He doesn’t close his eye. He simply stares at you as your lips form the words and thinks of nothing but you and the things he wishes to do to you. You place a gold dragon in the collection box and stand up, waiting for Aemond to escort you to your chambers. He watches the way your hips move as you walk. He takes your arm again and the two of you walk to your chambers in silence.

You turn to him, gazing up at him with those sweet, innocent eyes as you murmur, “Thank you for the escort, my prince. Goodnight.”

Aemond watches as you close the door, standing in front of it for a long moment. He wonders what to do. Should he knock and ask if he can enter? No, he’d be a fool for doing that. He has to play it safe, even if every fiber of his being is crying for him to open the door and make you his. He turns on his heel and leaves, resolved to return to his chambers and relieve himself while imagining it is your soft, petite hand doing the task for him.

The next morning, he sees you at breakfast, seated between his mother and sister, looking the picture of innocence, a sweet maiden ready to be claimed by a hungry dragon. He stares at you, his gaze lingering on your mouth, your bosom-

“Good morrow, my prince,” comes your sweet greeting as you stand, curtsying to greet him.

He doesn’t reply for a moment, wondering if it would be too improper to just bend you over the table and claim you in full view of everyone present, but restrains himself and answers, his voice a low rasp, “Good morrow to you too, my lady.”

After saying a prayer, everyone present begins  to eat. Aemond’s gaze is drawn to you, the way you pick a strawberry up from your plate and begin eating it, the way it disappears between your plump lips, the juices from it dribbling down your fingers. It’s kind of adorable, he thinks. And then? He sees you glance around, to make sure no one’s watching, before you lick your fingers clean. He lets out a low groan, one that luckily goes unheard by the others at the table, and barely manages to make it through breakfast. When the meal is over, he walks to you, offering you his hand.

“My lady,” he murmurs.

You startle slightly, looking like a frightened fawn as he gazes at you with that intense blue eye, “Yes my prince?”

“Would you like to accompany me for a walk in the gardens? I wish to speak with you privately,” he says, taking your hand in his, helping you to your feet.

The two of you walk to the gardens, and he leads you deeper and deeper inside until you’re far from anyone’s wandering eyes. You seem a bit skittish, he thinks, as you glance around.

“Is it appropriate for us to be here without a chaperone?” you ask a bit timidly.

“Do not worry, my lady,” he whispers in your ear as the two of you come to a stop, “I simply wanted to discuss something with you.”

“Oh,” you nod in acknowledgement, gazing up at him with those devastating doe eyes, “As you wish, my prince.”

“Do you recall,” Aemond asks quietly, not letting go of your hand as he stares at your lips, “When we prayed to the Seven in the sept just last night?”

You nod, your free hand moving up to fiddle with your necklace once again, “Yes, my prince, I do.”

Aemond takes a step closer to you, leaving only the slightest bit of room between your bodies, his eye moving to your breasts, “Do you know, sweet girl, what the Seven Pointed Star says about what a man and woman do in their marriage bed?”

He watches as you bite your lip, looking away from him as you respond, “Yes, my prince. The union between a husband and wife is a holy thing. A celebration of the gods’ love for us.”

Aemond’s hands move to your waist, pulling you flush up against him. He revels in the tiny gasp you let out as your chest makes contact with his, the way your breath comes out in soft little pants. You’re simply adorable when you’re nervous, he muses.

“I want us to celebrate that act of love, here and now.”

You freeze, looking up at him, your eyes wide with shock, “Surely, my prince, you do not mean-”

Aemond’s hands move lower, caressing your hips as he barely holds back the moan that threatens to escape his lips, “My lady, I must insist. You are the perfect woman and I believe the gods blessed me the day they betrothed you to me.”

You attempt to reason with him, though his touch has made it quite difficult for you to think straight, “My prince, we are indeed betrothed, but we are not yet wed. To lie together before being married would be a direct affront to the Seven.”

He leans in, inhaling the sweet scent of your hair, like jasmine and roses, before whispering, “I know, my lady, but I cannot control myself. The mere sight of you drives me mad. Can you blame me for succumbing to my desire for you?”

You attempt to step back and keep some distance between yourself and the handsome prince, “Your Grace, please, our wedding ceremony is in only a fortnight, I implore you-”

He presses you up against the pillar behind you, grinding himself against your soft body, so pliant in his hands, “Yes, our wedding is in a fortnight from now,” he whispers in your ear, “But the wedding is not about you and me. Only for the eyes of the king and the court. But what of the feelings I have for you?” Aemond looks at you imploringly, “I cannot control them. Surely, as a good pious woman, you believe that love is a virtue and not meant to be controlled.”

“Yes, but it is our duty to resist our lustful urges-”

Aemond rolls his hips against yours, causing you to cut yourself off with a gasp as he speaks, his lips ghosting along your neck, his breath tickling your skin, “You are a cruel, cruel woman, my lady. Denying me your body. I want, nay, I need to claim you now.”

You shake your head vehemently, ignoring the how good it feels to have him this close to you, how intoxicating his presence is, “You will bring your honor upon both yourself and upon me, my prince,” you gaze up at him softly, “‘Tis only a fortnight more.”

Aemond heaves a deep sigh and nods, resting his forehead against yours, “Very well, my lady. But,” he moves his hand to your chin, gripping it between his thumb and forefinger, your lips nearly touching, your breath intermingling, “The moment you become my bride, I will ravage you like a dragon in a frenzy.”

You feel your face warm at his words, whispering softly, “That is a very vivid description, my prince.”

Aemond nose brushes along your cheek as he moves to whisper in your ear, “I can tell you all about how I’m going to ravage you in vivid detail if you’d like, my lady,” he smirks as your lips part in anticipation of what he is about to say, “I can tell you about how I am going to hold you in my arms and kiss those beautiful pouting lips. I can tell you how I will kiss you for hours, until your lips are swollen. I can describe the way your breasts will heave as I push you against the wall and claim you,” you whimper slightly as he nips at your earlobe before continuing, running his thumb over your plump lower lip, “I shall start by carrying you to our chambers and close the door. I will pin you against the wall and kiss you passionately, moving to your neck, then your chest, then back to your lips. I will move slowly, caressing your thighs and your hips. I shall lift your dress and then I shall taste you,” he smirks at the audible gasp you let out at his words, “I will kiss you where no one has kissed you before. Your body is meant to be mine and mine alone.”

You gaze up at him, leaning into his touch as he cups your face in his hands, “My prince… I…”

Aemond stares at you, his gaze ablaze with passion, “You are as beautiful as the morning spring and you should be treated as such. When you wed me, sweet girl, you will no longer be an innocent lady but my woman. And as your man I intend to taste the sweetness of your body,” he chuckles, turning your face back to him when you attempt to turn away, “Do you want that, sweet girl? Do you want to feel my lips on your body, my tongue buried in your sweet little cunny?” Aemond’s lewd words nearly offend you, but they fascinate you far more, “Do you want to feel yourself in a man’s arms for the first time in your life? The way your heart will pound and your legs will shake, your breath growing heavy in the moment I make you reach your peak? Your first kiss, your first time, all with me.”

You admit, in a soft, breathy voice that drives him mad with want, “Yes…”

“Good,” he all but growls into your ear, “I will be the first to touch your beautiful, soft skin. The one who takes your innocence. I will touch everywhere there is to touch and I will bring you the greatest pleasure you have ever felt, leaving you just as ravenous for my touch as I am for yours. Won’t you grant me,” he leans in, “Just one kiss from those sweet lips of yours?”

You gaze up at him, lips parted as your eyes meet his, entranced, “I…”

Aemond presses his lips against yours, silencing any protests you may have, his mouth hungry for yours. He crushes you to his chest, nipping at your lower lip, snaking his tongue into your mouth when you gasp in surprise, moving it against yours with an almost feverish intensity, moaning against your lips.

The two of you finally part for air, gazing at each other, breathless. You hear your mother calling for you in the distance and immediately pull away from Aemond, knowing the lecture you will receive even for something as seemingly innocent as a kiss.

“We will continue this later,” Aemond promises, running the back of his hand along the bare skin of your arm, “You must go with your mother and I will find mine.”

You part from Aemond, your mind in a daze about all of the words he spoke to you, the promises he made about what he will do to you. You manage to avoid being alone with him for the most part in the days leading up to the wedding, though you can always feel his gaze on you, hungry and wanting, lingering.

When the day of the wedding arrives and you make your way down the aisle, dressed in a fine gown made of white silk that clings to your form, Aemond’s gaze is locked on you. He watches as you walk toward him, the way your gown covers yet accentuates the curves of your body, the sweet look on your face making him want nothing more than to whisk you away to your marriage bed. He can barely contain himself as the septon says his words, the two of you following suit. The two of you keep sneaking glances at each other, locking gazes, a small smile playing on your lips.

“You are all mine, my lady,” he whispers in your ear as he wraps his cloak around you bringing you under his protection.

“Indeed I am, husband,” you smile up at him softly, your fingers intertwining.

As the two of you walk toward the feasting hall, Aemond gazes at your lips, “Shall we retire to our chambers?”

“There is an entire feast we must attend in honor of our wedding, my husband,” you remind him gently.

Aemond nods absently, but he is not thinking about your wedding feast at all. All he can think about is you.

“I cannot wait to claim you in our marriage bed, my pretty wife. When we reach it, I shan’t let you leave it for a week.”

You feel the back of your neck heat up at your husband’s words, “And so you shall, husband, just be a patient a while longer.”

He chuckles darkly as the two of you enter the hall and are applauded, making your way to your seats of honor, “That’s the problem, my lady. I am not a patient man.”

The wedding feast goes on, the tension between you and Aemond growing by the minute. He rests his hand over yours, moving his thumb against the back of your palm, moving to your pulse point every so often, feeling it. At some point, his nephew, Prince Jacaerys, comes to your table and asks you for a dance, considering you have been seated for the entirety of the evening’s festivities. You turn to Aemond, silently asking if he minds. He nods, gesturing for you to dance with Jace. However, the longer the dance goes on, the more he feels like his blood is boiling beneath his skin, Jace’s hands on your waist as the two of you move, the stupid bastard. What right does he have to touch you?

Aemond decides to walk over to the two of you, a curious silence falling over the hall as he takes your hand, “My lady, may I cut in? I wish to have our first dance as husband and wife.”

You nod happily as Aemond takes you into his arms and leads you in a dance, all eyes in the room on the beautiful couple, who look completely enchanted by each other as they spin across the room. 

He scarcely lets you out of his sight the rest of the feast, and soon enough? It is time for the two of you to retire to your chambers. You take a tremulous breath as Aemond lifts you into his arms, just as he promised, and carries you all the way to the room you will now share as man and wife. His arms feel so very strong around you as he holds you, the walk feeling both impossibly long and not long enough with the anxiety and excitement rising inside you.

A lady’s maid waits in the room to disrobe you, but Aemond dismisses her, setting you down so that you may stand, “I shall do it myself. We have no need of you.”

You give the girl a sheepish, apologetic smile as she leaves, seeming scandalized by the whole ordeal. Aemond closes the door, turning to face you once more. He walks toward you with all the grace of an apex predator, stalking its prey. He moves to undo your wedding gown, turning you so that your back is to him. He undoes the laces, one by one, admiring as the skin of your back is revealed to him little by little. He runs the back of his fingers along your spine, reveling in the way you shiver at his touch. The dress falls to the ground in a crumpled heap, leaving you in only your thin slip. Aemond presses a kiss to the nape of your neck, moving your curls aside, then moves his lips along your shoulders, down the length of your arm. He turns you to face him and removes his tunic, revealing his well-muscled chest and torso.

You decide to move your hands to undo his breeches and Aemond admires the way your hands look as they deftly undo the laces. His pants fall to the ground, leaving him fully bare before you. It is your first time ever seeing a man like this, and the size of his length is intimidating. You absently wonder how that is meant to fit inside you, with how long and thick he is. Aemond moves toward you, moving his hands to the thin straps that hold your slip up, unfastening them and watching as your bare form is finally revealed to him. Your breasts, so full and round, meant to be caressed by his hands, your stomach, your shoulders, your thighs… He does not know what he did to deserve such a beautiful wife, but he will not question it.

“Lie back on the bed,” he instructs you, removing his eyepatch and setting it on the nightstand.

You admire the way his sapphire glows in the candlelight and Aemond delights in the fact that you do not shrink away from him in disgust after he bares himself to you. It makes him feel like a man worthy of you.

You heed his directions and lay back on the bed, watching as he crawls over you, his hands moving up your calves, squeezing the supple flesh of your thighs as he parts your legs, revealing you to him fully. He takes your foot in his hand, pressing a kiss to your ankle, leaving a trail of kisses along the inside of your leg, up your thigh, before he tastes you, just as he promised. You nearly cry out with surprise as you feel his tongue licking a stripe along your entrance. It feels almost unbearably pleasurable and you find yourself moving away from him, unsure what to do with yourself. But, again, your husband surprises you by moving your thighs so that they rest on his shoulders as he moves his mouth against you. You feel his tongue delve inside you as he lets out a low moan at your taste, the vibration from it driving you even more mad with want. With one hand you grasp at the sheets, desperately trying to find purchase, while your other hand tangles itself in his hair.

You feel the pleasure building in your stomach, like a dam getting ready to burst, and when it does, you all but scream Aemond’s name as your body writhes in the throes of ecstasy. Aemond, however, is not done tasting you, it would seem, and he moves to take your swollen pearl between his lips, suckling at it. Aemond smirks at the sound of your mewls as you try to squirm away from him, but to no avail. He makes you peak not once, but twice more by playing with your pearl alone.

When his lips finally part from your cunny, he kisses you, a searing hot kiss full of passion as his hand wraps in your hair, pulling you close to him, kissing you as though he wishes to consume your very being. Your chest is pressed flush against his and he moves his lips to your neck, biting down, his tongue laving attention over the abused skin, soothing it. Aemond’s lips move to your breasts, squeezing them in his hands, caressing your nipples with the pads of his thumbs, smirking as they pebble under his touch. He moves his lips to take one in his mouth, causing you to let out a soft moan at the sensation, your eyes meeting his as he gazes up at you, a smirk clearly playing at the corner of his lips as he suckles at your breast. He switches to your neglected breast, before tracing his fingers along the inside of your thighs, up to your core. 

You whimper slightly as he pushes one finger inside you. The sensation is so very foreign but incredible as you feel him teasing your cunt. Then, he adds a second finger, preparing you to take his cock no doubt, moving them in and out of you in a crooked motion, rubbing against a spot deep inside of you that you, in your inexperience, have never quite been able to reach. The pleasure he’s giving you is intense, especially as he adds a third finger, and you feel something inside you is about to burst.

His thumb moves to press down on your still sensitized pearl and with a cry of his name, you soak his fingers with your arousal, watching as it spills on his fingers. At first you panic, thinking that something else has happened, but Aemond moves his fingers to his lips, moaning at the taste as he licks at them before pushing them between your own lips. You taste yourself on him, your tongue moving along his fingers, curious and almost kitten-like.

Aemond chuckles, “Your lips will look so beautiful wrapped around my cock, sweet girl. But tonight is about you, my wife.”

He pushes you back to lay down on the bed, positioning himself between your legs. You know the moment has come for him to take your maidenhead, at least figuratively. The septa confirmed that you shall not bleed since you broke it riding, like many noble ladies do. You watch as Aemond gives his cock a quick stroke before slowly pressing the head against your core. You close your eyes as he fills you, moving slowly, inch by glorious inch of his cock entering you, the pain minimal due to the lengths he went to prepare you. You feel his every vein, every ridge, as he pushes into you, bottoming out inside of you, propping himself up on one elbow, his free hand resting on your cheek.

“Are you hurting?” he asks you seriously, his silver hair falling like a curtain around the two of you, shading you from the world in this little room you call your own, your own little world of sorts, “Tell me if I can move, sweet girl.”

After a moment, you nod, “Yes, husband. Please.”

He grins at you devilishly before snapping his hips against yours, watching as you throw your head back against your pillow and cry out his name, pleading for more. Gods, you make the prettiest sounds, he muses, and your cunt is so wet and tight and perfect around him.

“Feels like you were made just for me,” he growls as he slams his hips into you, over and over, his stones growing tight and heavy as they slap against your ass with each thrust, “Gods, I could stay buried inside this perfect little cunt forever. Would you like that, my love?”

“Yes,” you say, nearly sobbing with pleasure as your legs wrap around his hips, allowing him to pound into you deeper, hitting that spot inside of you that makes you feel as though you’ve ascended to the Seven Heavens themselves.

“My perfect little wife,” Aemond hisses, feeling you squeezing around him, “I’m going to fill you with my seed, over and over, breed you the way a good husband should. Watch you grow fat with my child, watch your tits swell with milk for our babe. You want that, don’t you? For me to breed you? For my spend to leak out from your tight little cunt?”

His words are downright filthy, but you cannot bring yourself to care as he continues fucking you, “Yes, husband, please fill me with your seed, Gods, Aemond, please-”

Aemond feels you tighten around him, knowing you will soon reach your peak and picks up his pace, enjoying the way your breasts bounce with each snap of his hips, the way your eyes are glazed over with desire as they gaze up at him, and your sweet lips parted as you moan out his name. You reach your peak, your walls hugging his cock tightly, prompting him to spill his seed deep inside you, filling you up just as he promised. He stays like that for a moment, sheathed inside you until he begins to soften and pulls out. He hears the way you pant for breath and pulls you into his embrace, holding you tightly.

“That was incredible,” you say softly as he tucks you under his chin.

“It was indeed, my sweet girl,” Aemond purrs, “And there will be more of it,” he pauses before looking at you, his gaze earnest, “I love you, my beautiful wife. I may not be the most gentle of men, but I will care for you and protect you as a dragon does.”

“I would ask for nothing less, my husband,” you say softly, pressing a kiss to his chest, “I love you too.”

When you wake the next morning, Aemond is still asleep. Choosing not to wake your husband, you crawl out of bed and call for a maidservant to run you a bath. While you stand and wait, you’re shocked when you’re pushed up against the wall, your bare breasts pressed against the wood of the door.

“I promised you that you wouldn’t be leaving our bed for a week, my love,” Aemond purrs seductively, “And I assure you I meant it.”

You let out a contented sigh as he keeps his promise.

🎵Theeeere it isss aaaaagain, that funny feeling🎵🥵

"Lights, Camera, Action!" (Part 2 of 4) - Aemond Targaryen x Reader, Aegon Targaryen x Reader - Modern AU

a/n: part 1 HERE. based on a request from @aaaaaamond (and yep it's a mini series rip), comment if you wish to be tagged! egg will be featured in the next part hehe

Summary: Aegon hires you to work on another film with Aemond.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, s*x work/adult film industry, role play, brat taming, spanking, overstim/edging, f*ngering, oral f receiving, p in v s*x, aemond being un unprofessional bitch, tiddy succin, creampie

Word Count: 2,454 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.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

When you get the call from Aegon about filming a principal and schoolgirl detention scene with Aemond, it’s hard to ignore the butterflies in your stomach at the thought of working with the two handsome brothers again. You tell Aegon that you’d love to work with them again and you’re all in, much to his delight. 

You walk into “detention”, a lollipop in your mouth to complete the look as you turn to Aemond, giving him your best innocent smile, “Hello, Principal Aemond.”

Aemond nods at you, biting back a smirk, “Hello, sweetheart. Do you know why you’re here today?” when you shake your head, Aemond continues, “You were called in because I heard you’ve been breaking the rules.”

His eye is drawn to your cleavage as you speak, with that girlish lilt, “I have no idea why I’m here, sir.”

Well, that goes straight to his cock.

He chuckles, crossing his legs, “Don’t play innocent, little girl. I won’t be fooled. Now, this is about your English class. Can you tell me why I’m asking you about that?” Aemond questions in a condescending tone that manages to send a thrill up your spine.

“Was it because I let the teacher eat my pussy?” you ask, feigning innocence.

Aemond raises a brow, enjoying the direction you’ve taken this, placing his hands together on the desk as he stares at you, “What would your parents say if I told him about what I just heard you say?”

You shift your weight from foot to foot in a mock display of humility and shyness, fiddling with the hem of your skirt, “Well, you can be my daddy, sir.”

Fuck, there you go again. His eye travels along your legs, up to your thighs which looking fucking irresistible in that skirt.

“He said he wanted to taste me so I said okay. Was I not supposed to?” you question, pouting at him adorably.

“My, my, my, you really are quite a naughty girl,” Aemond hums, palming himself over the fabric of his trousers, watching as you continue sucking on that fucking lollipop, thinking to himself that he’s going to replace that with his cock.

You look at him, lashes fluttering, “What do I need to do for detention, sir? Where do I sit?”

“You’re going to sit right on my lap, sweetheart.”

You saunter over to him, happily moving to take a seat on his lap, your back to him as you straddle one of his thighs. You shift your skirt slightly, making it glaringly obvious to Aemond that you’ve foregone wearing any underwear. He licks his lips at the sight of your bare ass against his trousers, smirking as you squirm against him. He moves his hands to your ass, squeezing your plump, supple flesh, letting out a low groan as he moves to caress your inner thighs.

You lean back against him and pout, spreading your legs slightly, “It feels funny between my legs, sir,” you say with fake innocence.

Aemond lets out a low groan, moving your legs so that they’re draped on either side of his, exposing your bare pussy to the camera. He licks his lips and speaks after another moment of brushing his fingers along your thighs.

“Show me where that funny feeling is, little one.”

You nod innocently, taking Aemond’s hand and bringing it to the apex between your thighs, making him smirk, growing even harder as your round little ass moves against him. He teases your core with his fingers, stroking you with featherlight touches, asking if that helps the “funny feeling”. You give him a sweet little nod, throwing your head back against his chest when he pushes two fingers inside you. You feel so warm and wet around his fingers, he can hardly keep from imagining how your tight little pussy will feel stretched out on his cock again as he begins moving his fingers in a hooked motion, pushing them in and out of you, rubbing against that spongy spot deep inside you that has you mewling like a little kitten, grasping at his hair, your thighs trembling.

“Does that feel good, princess?” he purrs, pressing a kiss to your neck, biting down on your neck, making you whine slightly.

“Feels good, sir,” you coo, bucking your hips up against his hand in time with the movements of his fingers, chasing your high as the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter until you’re finally spilling yourself all over his fingers.

It’s such an intense climax that you think you might have blacked out for a moment. You’re surprised when Aemond has to tell you in a soft, soothing voice that Aegon called cut, asking if you’re okay.

“She fucking squirted, that was the money shot,” Aegon says almost giddily as he grins at you, “Fuck, that was hot-”

“Did I really?” you ask curiously, moving to stand up and get off Aemond’s lap.

He almost whines at the loss of contact as you walk toward the craft services table and grab yourself a drink of water with shaky hands. Aegon suggests you head to your trailer and take five since you seem a bit out of it. You nod, walking on unsteady legs back to your trailer, thinking to yourself the whole time how fucking good Aemond made you feel. Granted, you haven’t had a ton of sexual partners despite being in the adult film industry, but there’s something about him that unlocks the most feral, basest desires you have.

You return and start filming the next scene, noting that Aemond is quite excited for whatever comes next, judging by the tent in his pants as he commands, “Naughty little girl, why don’t you turn around and we can keep fixing that funny feeling of yours, hm, princess?”

You nod and move to sit on the desk, giving the camera a coy little smile as you spread your legs. Aegon barely manages to hold himself back and continues his directorial work, but that doesn’t preclude him from enjoying the view. Aemond stares at you with what can only be described as ravenous hunger as you “accidentally” pop open one button after the other on the flimsy little article of clothing you call a shirt.

“Oops,” you give him a cute little smile.

Aemond all but lunges forward, his hands cupping your tits as he pushes you down onto the desk, squeezing your breasts in his large hands. You let out a little whine as he pinches at your nipples, admiring the quirk of his lips as he feels them pebble under his touch. His mouth descends on your tits, suckling at one nipple, moving his tongue over your skin. Aemond leaves a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach before he moves to nip at the flesh of your inner thigh, causing you to cry out.

“You should have come to me before you let your teacher touch you, princess,” he scolds.

“Did you want to taste me, sir?” you grin playfully, biting your lower lip.

“I did and I still want to,” he chuckles, pushing your thighs apart, admiring the sight of you spread out for him, “I bet you taste so sweet.”

And with that, he buries his face between your legs. Aemond lets out a low groan at the feeling of finally being able to taste your sweet little cunt, his tongue lapping at your folds like a man starved. You can hardly keep from squirming away from him, from trying to close your legs, but his iron grip on your thighs, holding them down and apart keeps you in place as he rubs his nose against your clit, his tongue moving in and out of you. And gods, the sounds he’s making, every little moan he lets out as he tastes you drives you crazy.

“Daddy,” you whine, bucking your hips, “Feels so good…”

Aegon has the camera zoom in on the way your chest heaves at Aemond’s ministrations before focusing again on the way his tongue works against you. Aemond decides to play it up for the camera, moaning even louder, making the most obscene slurping noises as he moves his tongue against you, grinning when you reach your peak against him.

But he’s nowhere near finished. Aemond moves to focus on your clit, alternating between flattening his tongue against it and suckling at it, making you plead for him to stop.

“Daddy, it’s too much,” you cry, your hands moving to your tits, squeezing them, desperate to find some form of purchase.

Aemond pulls back slightly, smirking at you, “You want more. I know you do.”

After he’s made you come not one, but two more times, Aegon calls cut again. You sit up, breathless, your hair a bit disheveled, while Aemond sits there in a daze, both of you feeling a bit caught up in the intensity of the scene.

“You’re a natural, baby,” Aegon says, handing you a robe, admiring you, “That was perfect, just one more scene left.”

You smile, heading back to the trailer again, thinking to yourself that Aemond is ridiculously good at what he does. Aemond watches you leave, the effortless sway of your hips, your tousled hair, and can’t wait to make you come undone on his cock again. He buries his head in his hands, trying to calm down, the sounds of your moans echoing in both his and Aegon’s minds.

“How was it?” the elder Targaryen asks, taking a seat beside his brother, nudging his shoulder.

Aemond looks at his brother and smiles slightly, “It was amazing. She’s amazing.”

Aegon snorts, “Yeah, I bet. You ate that pussy like it was your last meal.”

Aemond shakes his head but laughs at his brother’s words, “Might as well admit. She’s addictive.”

“Oh, I almost forgot to ask,” Aegon gestures to his chest, “Are the jubblies fake or real?”

Aemond gives his brother an unimpressed look, “Please don’t call them that, you sound like Austin Powers. But to answer your question,” he leans in and mutters, “Natural.”

Aegon groans, covering his mouth, grinning, “Fuck. I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

You return a short while later, asking what the next scene is. Aegon gives you a quick grin and steps away from the rest of the crew, finishing fixing the lighting. He runs down the next scene with you and Aemond, telling you that the “principal” is going to bend the “schoolgirl” over his desk and finish the punishment. The idea is way more appealing to you than it has any right to be, and you move to get into position. You raise your skirt slightly, bending over the desk, waiting for Aemond to come stand behind you, which he eagerly does.

Aemond can’t stop thinking about fucking you like this, you being so pliant and soft beneath him. When Aegon calls “action”, he lands a hard slap against your ass, something that seems to have become a favorite pastime of his when it comes to you, admiring how your flesh shakes at the impact, how soft it is against his hand.

You rub your thighs together, desperate for friction, and pout, “Daddy, please, punish me with your cock-”

He lands another spank, cutting you off, smirking to himself, “Keep begging, princess. Daddy loves it when you beg.”

He tortures you like this a while longer, making you plead for him to just fuck you already. You whimper as you hear the sound of him undoing his belt, undoing his trousers. You turn your face so that your cheek lays against the cool wood of the desk, moaning as Aemond runs the tip of his cock along your pussy, smearing his precum against you before sheathing himself inside of you.

You let out the most wanton mewl you’ve ever given in your life as he grabs your hips and begins pounding into you. Aemond is obsessed with the way your pussy clenches around him, how perfectly you squeeze him like a fucking vice, the noises you make, the way you beg him to go harder, faster. You’re so fucking perfect, and you’re so responsive to his touch.

“Gonna beat this little pussy up, sweetheart,” he snarls in your ear, slamming into you over and over, his cock bullying against your sweet spot with every thrust, driving you wild with desire.

It doesn’t take long for you to reach your climax, you cunt squeezing him so tight that he feels as though he can hardly move. He turns you onto your back, one hand reaching for your throat while the other rubs at your clit as he continues fucking you, staring into your eyes as he does. Aemond watches the way your lips part, the way you nearly gasp for breath as he squeezes your throat.

“Daddy,” you cry out, “I’m so close…”

“Come for me,” he growls, “Soak my cock, princess, come on.”

And what choice do you have but to do as he asks? Aemond remembers in your contract that he went over with Aegon that you wrote you’re clean and have an IUD, so you don’t mind him cumming inside you, so he does that quite happily, admiring the way you look with his cum leaking out of you. One last closeup on that, and Aegon calls a wrap.

Everyone claps for the two of you, making you smile at Aemond, feeling pretty pleased with yourself.

“You guys work well together,” Aegon says, tossing an arm around both of you, “We should just put you on our payroll, baby, that was fantastic.”

“Thanks,” you grin before glancing at Aemond, “Doesn’t hurt to have a good costar.”

Aemond watches as you head off to your trailer to change and go home. He waits outside of it for you to come out and you’re mildly surprised by his presence

“Hey,” you smile, “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to, um, see if you wanted to hang out?”

“Remember what I said last time?” you laugh softly, “I don’t date coworkers, Aemond.”

“Come on,” Aemond nearly whines as he follows after you like a lost puppy to the exit of the studio, “We’re clearly attracted to each other. Let’s not waste time with silly rules here-”

“Not silly rules,” you correct, “My rules. See you later.”

Aemond watches you get into your Uber, sighing to himself as your car fades from view.

“At least I can dream of you later, you little tease,” he chuckles to himself as he re-enters the studio to watch Aegon edit.