I Write Song Fics

Aegon never wanted to hurt you. You're his precious little sister - so opposite to him in every single way. With how tiny, dainty, soft-spoken, and innocent you are. It awakens something primal in him - he wants to keep you safe, protect you, and take care of you forever.

Which is why it surprises him how much he's turned on by the image of you beneath him, crying in pain as he tries to force his big dick into you.

"It's.. It's so big, Aegon." You weep, and he knows you feel ashamed, disappointed in yourself for not being able to take him. But he can't possibly blame you - he knows he's a lot bigger than average, and he's been through this with other whores he's fucked. It's always a tight fit - but none of those other whores have been as innocent and lovely as you.

"It's okay, Princess. I know you can take it." Aegon encourages you softly, trying to ease his dick into your tight, wet pussy. God, you're so slick, it's almost like you're weeping down there. And he's trying so hard to focus on your comfort, but your tight warmth is so deliciously inviting, so fucking tempting. "C'mon, baby. Just relax."

"I-I'm trying. I p-promise I'm trying!" You hiccup, looking up at him with bright, wet eyes. He's got you caged between the bed and his body, pinned down. Your hands are clutching against his arms, and you're breathing hard, so obviously scared of how big he is compared to you.

"You're so beautiful, baby. So fucking perfect for me” Aegon says to you softly, hoping maybe a bit of praise and dirty talk might get you to focus on anything apart from the pain. "You're gonna take my dick like a good girl, aren't you? It's gonna feel so fucking good when I'm inside you, baby. Don't you want that?"

His dick is barely half way into you by this point, and Aegon doesn't want to admit it but he doesn't know how much longer he can take this. You're so fucking perfect in every way, it's agonising to be so gentle, so slow, so coaxing. And one look down at your tear-stained face and it only gets him harder.

You're shaking your head, the burn of being stretched out by his sheer girth making you dig your nails deep into his skin. "N-No, Aegon! B-brother, I don't think I can... OH! OH FUCK!"

Aegon doesn't completely mean to lose his patience. He doesn't mean to forget all about how big he is for you, how tiny and tight you are. He doesn't mean to snap his hips sharply, and with one hard thrust, completely impale you with his huge cock. He doesn't mean to make you scream bloody murder. He doesn't mean any of it - but it just feels so fucking good.

"P-Please, it hurts! Hurts so much! You're too big! Take it out !" You cry, feeling like your body is being ripped in half by him.

"You can take it, Princess, you can take it. Your doing so good for me" Aegon repeats, most of his focus is on how fucking good it feels to finally be inside you, how velvety soft and tight you are, practically constricting around his dick, squeezing him so tight and good like no other pussy has ever before.

"A-Aegon..." You're so dainty and small in his eyes, like a perfect, little doll. You sound faint, like you're about to pass out from the sheer size and force of his dick - and the pleasure too, considering how you squeeze around him. And a small part of Aegon is wondering why he won't stop: You're hurting her. Pull out. Slow down. Enough is enough.

But he can't.

"I can't stop, baby. You feel too fucking good," He practically growls, increasing his pace, getting into this almost frenzied state because shit, this is the best pussy he's ever had and he can't believe he's waited this long to fuck you. He almost loses it all over again when he glances down to see the shape of his dick protruding at the bottom of your tummy. Fuck. He knows you won't be able to walk for a while after this.

She was ashamed that she had barely held back, that she had refused him with difficulty, that some part of her wanted him to stay.

To fuck her.

She swallowed loudly, feeling herself shudder at the memory of the piece of paper he had slipped under her door and what was written on it.

I wish I had met you before her.

She felt a kind of discomfort at the thought of being possessed by some kind of terror and satisfaction, because she was bonded with him by a secret that no one knew about but them.

A moment later, however, she recalled how awful things he had said about Alys, how objectively he had treated her, and that he would have done exactly the same with her if she had not regained her sobriety of mind in time.

She has big tits and a big ass.

She sucks cock well.

She shook her head, feeling that it made her sick to her stomach at the thought, and got up from the table, unable and unwilling to listen to it, recognising that her sister was right.

They were made for each other.

To her despair, Alys came to their house again later that day, but paying no attention to her, directing her despair and pain towards their mother, telling her that he wasn't taking her calls, that he had blocked her number, that he had simply texted her briefly and that was it.

"How could he do this, so many years, we've been through so much together and he breaks up with me over a fucking text message? Like a fucking kid, no conversation, no explanation?" She heard her mumbling coming from the living room and their mother's voice trying to reassure her, she stood in the dark hallway of their house, eavesdropping involuntarily, thinking with some kind of amusement that it was obvious he had ended it that way.

She shuddered when she heard her name and the fact that her sister had stood up, she ran quickly upstairs, fearing that the subject of their argument and what she had accused him of would now cause her to lash out at her.

True to her intuition, Alys knocked on the door to her room after a while, her mother tried to calm her down but she interrupted her saying that she just wanted to talk, that it was possible she knew of something more.

They stepped inside, her older sister grunting as she tried to quiet herself down, wiping her smudged make-up with her fingers, her face red from tears.

"I'm sorry for his inappropriate behaviour yesterday, he kept staring at you, too sure to get me off balance. Did he bother you after I left?" She asked, putting her hands in front of her, as if this question was a formality for her.

Something in the way she said it, in her conviction that it all revolved around her, that she was asking it not because she was worried about her but because she wanted to prove something to herself made any sympathy and remorse she had felt a moment before disappear.

She told me about you. What an ugly duckling you are. That you don’t know how to dress well, don’t know how to accentuate your figure and your assets. That you hide yourself in big sweatshirts and sit with your nose in books instead of really living and that there’s nothing to talk to you about because you can’t converse about anything interesting.

She recognised that she had acted appropriately, she had cut whatever was going on in time and told him to leave, so she didn't feel the need to admit anything.

"He wanted to talk to me about Gombrowicz, presumably so that I would repeat it to you later and to arouse your jealousy. I told him to leave and that's what he did." She replied softly so that her words were not a complete lie, her sister pressed her lips together, clearly displeased by her statement, her nostrils quivering in uncertainty and rage.

"Is that all? He didn't want anything else?" She asked coolly, and she raised her eyebrows and laughed dryly, recognising that for some reason all this amused her, the thought that her little sister about whom she had said such things might have taken away something that belonged to her.

She had no such intention.

Take him, she thought.

You're both sick.

"Me? Please. I told him clearly not to involve me in your affairs and use me against you." She said indifferently, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that her sister had turned purple, she swallowed loudly as if she was afraid of what she was about to hear.

"What did he say to you?" She asked in a trembling voice forcing herself to be calm, from which she felt a thrill of satisfaction.

"A lot of things. For example, what you say about me. What a caring, good sister you are. How much you worry about me, with what tenderness you think of me." She replied while playing with the pencil lying on her desk, not even looking at her, feeling the awkward silence that had fallen around them.

"I…after all, you know that I would never say anything in bad faith. I get upset with you sometimes, like any sister, I don't understand you, it's true, but I love you, you know that. God, that fucking liar and manipulator!" She growled helplessly, fiddling with her necklace between her fingers in a nervous gesture, looking pleadingly at their mother as if hoping for her support in the matter.

"If he's a liar and a manipulator, why do you want to be with him?" She asked tiredly and impatiently, no longer feeling anything but grief and disapproval.

"That's how we are, both of us…like fire, we argue and come back, it's always been that way." She muttered, and she swallowed hard, thinking with relief that the fact that she had refused him was the wisest decision of her life.

"Do what you want, don't get me involved. Leave." She said dryly, taking a book from her shelf, Trans-Atlantyk by Witold Gombrowicz.

Alys left her room, clearly furious that the conversation hadn't gone according to her plan, that she couldn't go on playing the victim, the one innocent and perpetually abused.

She thought she wanted nothing to do with them.

A few weeks passed and she slowly began to forget about the situation even though Alys couldn't get over it, she knew she was now on some sleeping pills, immersed in utter despair.

She figured that sooner or later she would find someone else, she just prayed that he wouldn't change his mind and come back to her, because she didn't know how she would bear the sight of him in her house.

However, something happened that she had not expected at all.

One evening she received a message from an unknown number.

She opened it and frowned after she read its contents.

She felt her heart start pounding like crazy, a cold sweat on the back of her neck, she covered her mouth with her hand, terrified, wondering where he had got her number, what was she supposed to do now.

Block it and delete it? Threaten him with telling Alys and her mother everything?

She was afraid of what he was capable of, that he might start talking about the fact that she had let him stay with her after all, that something more than a kiss had happened.

She swallowed loudly as she looked at her screen and slowly typed out a reply on her phone's keypad.

She sent it, clenching her eyes, thinking with despair that her answer was too aggressive, that it would surely enrage him, that she would regret all that had happened, her stupid moment of weakness.

She shuddered when, a moment later, her display lit up again and she opened the message from him with her heart beating fast.

She looked at what he'd written without knowing for herself what she felt, her throat squeezed so tightly that she had trouble breathing. She jumped when the messages began to appear one after another.

She read everything he wrote with an expression of disbelief, completely shocked by this sudden externalisation. She felt her heart squeeze, her body trembling in horror at the fact that he was trying to play with her again, unwittingly giving her what she wanted.

She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself, angry at herself for letting him do this to her, telling her what she wanted to hear, putting himself in the role of a disappointed and disillusioned man who needed comforting.

He knew she longed to be appreciated, to be important to someone, to be the only one, to do something her sister had failed to do.

To fix him.

He was giving her himself on a plate, distraught, seeking comfort and refuge, an opportunity for her to prove herself, to show to herself that she was better, more tender, smarter than her sister.

She felt tears of helplessness and humiliation gathering at the corners of her eyes, and swallowed loudly, typing out a message on her phone.

She sent the message and breathed out loud, covering her face with her hands, wondering in pain why he was doing this to her, why he was being so cruel.

Did he want to prove something to himself, to stab her sister in the back with her help?

She shuddered when she heard her phone vibrate and unlocked it quickly, her lips dry with stress.

She didn't know why she burst into sobs after reading his message, why she felt so sad, embittered and humiliated.

I wish I had met you before her.

Why was he doing this to her?

Why was he messing with her head?

For some reason, because of everything she had read, she felt even worse, the pain that ripped through her heart seemed unbearable.

Some part of her wanted to believe him.

She had trouble sleeping, going back to what he had written again and again, once wanting to block him, then immediately deciding that there was no need, that he had clearly given her peace.

She knew she should forget about him, but she couldn't.

Therefore, she tried to concentrate on her studies, her classes filling her entire days, she even took extra lessons, wanting to be away from home in the evenings as well.

Walking through the large, neo-Gothic hall, she came across a poster hanging on the notice board, announcing open lectures taking place every week on Thursday at 7pm, on the works of Orwell, Kafka, Dostoyevsky and Gombrowicz, entitled 'The Fall of the World'.

She thought the whole thing sounded extremely tempting, and as she loved all these writers, she decided to attend at least once.

The lecture was held in a library that anyone could enter, to make things easier for outside listeners, when she went inside most of the seats at the tables were already taken.

She stopped in mid-step, wanting to back away, but it was too late; the tall, well-built figure of a blond-haired man sitting in one of the chairs turned towards her involuntarily, his gaze expressing shock.

"Miss Rivers, welcome! Please, take a seat." Professor Moore, the same one who had lectured to her year on twentieth-century world literature, spoke to her.

She nodded, horrified that it would be at least odd if she left now, so she sat down in one of the empty seats trying not to look at the sinister, inscrutable man sitting a few seats away.

She felt ashamed that some part of her was glad to see him, as if she hoped to meet him again.

"Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four is an extremely heavy read, filled with metaphors, and yet, the author foretold something in it, perfectly describing what communism led to, the fear of surveillance and propaganda, the feeling that everyone is an informer, that no one can be trusted, can be observed in a large part of contemporary Russian citizens. Cut off from non-state information sources, from certain parts of the internet, they live in the conviction that their country cares about them, that the security services are following them and spying on them for their own good. Some even firmly believe that this is for the best. Don't you think it's frightening that something Orwell predicted actually happened, on top of it earlier than he thought?" Asked her professor, she raised her hand, recognising that if she allowed herself to be drawn into the discussion, she would stop thinking about the man who sat a few chairs away.

He let her speak with a nod.

"Orwell wrote this book in 1945, already knowing what Nazism and Communism were. He did not understand how Western Europe could have agreed to recognise Stalin as one of the victors and lead, as a result, to the so-called Iron Curtain in later years. This book was his warning, his sense that we had crossed some line of dehumanisation after Auschwitz that had never happened before in the world." She said on one exhale, a second person, an older man also raised his hand.

"He may have known, but he also felt under his skin that it would not end with communism and Nazism. And he was right. The place of these groupings is being taken by others, just as threatening, also talking about the rights of the nation or the equality of all. We forget that Hitler and Lenin also originally floated on fine words." Said the man, several people nodded their heads in agreement. She shuddered when she heard another voice, familiar to her, speak up without permission, impatient.

"Orwell was not an idiot. If he had wanted to deal with the problem of the rise of political sects, he would have started with that, but he places the plot in the course of events when the state is completely subordinated to the apparatus of power. We hope for a happy ending, a complete victory, but Orwell recognises that there was no such thing after the Second World War. Nuremberg held Germany to account, but not Russia or Japan. Nowadays we don't even talk about their crimes, we delight in their culture and history forgetting whose side they were on, often committing far worse crimes than Hitler."

He said coldly, she was surprised by how accurate this observation was, she looked at him involuntarily, he was sitting with his profile to her, his jaw clenched, the fingers of his hand stretched out on the tabletop moving restlessly, playing with the pen that lay before him.

He glanced at her, as if to see how she would react to his words, to his voice, and momentarily dropped his gaze, as if embarrassed, caught off guard.

"Each of these three comments is exceptionally apt. The anxiety that Orwell arouses accompanies us in our daily lives right up to the present day, and somehow he has managed to create a vision of a universal totalitarian system that suits every one that has been mentioned. Let us now turn to the specific chapters…"

They passed the rest of the lecture discussing whether there really was any resistance movement at all, or whether it was just a contrived idea used to catch would-be rebels and break their will even before they could really stand up to anyone.

Somehow the conversation about the book had put her in a depressed, gloomy state; when the professor thanked them and said they were seeing each other next week she wasn't sure she'd come a second time.

Even more so if she was to see him during them.

They were open lectures and he had a right to be there, but she was already tired.

She heard his footsteps behind her and knew it was him when she felt his large hand grab her gently by her shoulder.

"Wait. I'm sorry. I really didn't know you were coming −"

"− I know. You have nothing to apologise for." She said softly, wanting to pull away from him, but he didn't let her go, even though she wasn't looking at him she could feel his burning gaze, his heat, his raspy breath on her cheek.

"− promise you'll come next week − that you won't give up because of me −" He said in a low voice, she felt embarrassment and a squeeze in her throat at the thought that she wasn't sure if he meant that he didn't want her to give up her interests because of him, or that he was hoping to see her again.

"− I don't know yet −" She replied in a shaky, tired voice, feeling that her heart was pounding like crazy, for some reason she felt tears burning under her eyelids, at the same time she wanted him to give her peace and not to do it, something in his darkness, in his unpredictability attracted her.

She thought with despair that perhaps it was the same thing that kept Alys from forgetting him.

He grunted and let her go, clearly sensing that he had held her for too long, an awkward silence full of tension fell between them.

"I'm not going to lie. I was hoping to see you here." He murmured lowly, lowering his gaze, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers, the black turtleneck he wore perfectly framing his well-built, broad chest.

She pressed her lips together at his words, adjusting the straps of her backpack hanging over her shoulders in an involuntary, nervous gesture, unsure what she was supposed to respond to such a confession, feeling heat in her lower abdomen at the thought that for some reason he didn't want to forget her.

"Why are you doing this? What else do you want from me?" She asked embittered, looking up at him at last, he lifted his gaze to her, fear, desperation and shame in his eyes.

He swallowed loudly, as if he didn't know what he should answer, looking at her in silence.

"I missed you." He muttered quietly, embarrassed like a small child, she shook her head, her eyebrows arched in pain and disbelief.

"What?"

"I missed you. The way I felt back then."

"For God's sake, we only spoke once, what do you miss? The adrenaline that was bubbling inside you at the thought that maybe I'd be naive enough to let you fuck me? I let you into my room, into my life only for you to humiliate me. You are a cruel man."

She mumbled out while bursting into a loud, uncontrollable sob, covering her face with her hand, she heard in disbelief that his reaction to her words was identical, he embraced her and pulled her close, hugging her to his chest and although she wanted to push him away, she couldn't.

"− I didn't mean to hurt you − I swear I really just wanted to talk, I couldn't sleep, I was angry − what happened next −" He mumbled out, his voice stuck in his throat, he drew in a sudden, shaky breath of air, swallowing loudly.

"− I just − I don't know, I have no idea what came over me, I never cheated on her, I swear − I swear −" He babbled, both of them crying loudly, her hands rose higher and tightened on his back, she felt both pain and relief at the thought that he was as embarrassed and heartbroken as she was.

"− can we start again? − as if we had never met? −" He asked pleadingly and she, not knowing why, nodded, thinking she wanted to leave it all far, far behind.

Although they both calmed down after a moment, they still lingered in each other's embrace, a pleasant shiver running down her spine as she felt his large hand stroking her hair and back with a calm gesture full of care, her face snuggled into his warm chest, her nostrils filled with his masculine scent.

She shuddered and swallowed loudly as his lips placed a drawn-out, hot kiss on the top of her head, her breath caught in her throat when she felt something pulsate hard in his trousers.

They pulled away from each other, wiping their faces, both pretending nothing had happened, he breathed out loud, combing his hair in a light, careless gesture, his cheeks red with emotion.

"− see you −" He muttered, and although she knew she shouldn't, she showed up for the next lecture.

And then the next and the next.

Each time he sat down next to her, close, too close, his legs splayed comfortably making his knee pressed against hers, but she didn't move away, herself getting something out of the situation that she couldn't name.

Her sister had told her mother on the phone that she had moved on, that she wasn't going to trouble herself with this bastard, told her about their endless arguments, about how he would raise his voice and throw things, leave in the middle of a conversation slamming the door, about how he always acted like a spoilt little child when he didn't get what he wanted.

She knew that she was leaving out of these arguments what she herself had said and done in an obvious attempt to create a narrative of his one-sided aggression, however, despite being malicious and ironic, she was struck by how completely different his view of the whole thing was.

Sometimes the two of them would buy warm tea from the vending machine and spend spring evenings in the university park sitting on the grass on his leather jacket, just talking, since they had both cried and cuddled he had not tried to touch her or otherwise invade her personal space.

"My family has always been involved in the modeling industry. Big money, big banquets, fashion shows in Paris and Venice. I always despised it, but what could be done? My father expected me and my siblings to take over his inheritance, on top of which his daughter from his first marriage was fighting for a bigger share than she was originally entitled to. It was some kind of nightmare." He muttered, taking a sip of the hot liquid from a small cardboard cup, looking somewhere ahead with a blank stare, the sun was setting behind the beautiful neo-Gothic red brick buildings.

"To be honest, it never interested me. I was into art, but not this half-world. When I met your sister I liked the fact that she was going after what she wanted. Of course, she wasn't the first chick to want to go to bed with me for the obvious benefits, but her impudence was downright endearing in a way. Only later did I realise that it was impudence mixed with calculating. But we were both too proud to let go, to be the weak link."

He sighed and shrugged his shoulders, finally looking at her with the same tired, resigned eyes she had seen for weeks, she couldn't tell if what he was saying and showing her was the truth or just his game.

But who would want to pretend for so long?

He lowered his gaze, scratching his cheek with his thumb, seeing in her eyes that she remained wary of him, that she did not trust him.

She herself didn't know why she had allowed him to spend time together, only to find with sadness that some part of her wanted to understand him.

"I'm afraid you won't be able to undo what's happened inside your head without the help of a professional." She said softly, looking down at the cup she held between her hands on her thighs, she heard him swallow hard, she knew this topic was not comfortable for him.

"Will you come with me? If I make an appointment." He muttered in a low, hoarse voice, she looked at him in disbelief feeling a tightness in her throat, once again surprised by his behaviour and his words.

"If you really do it, I'll go with you." She said quietly, feeling a sense of discomfort, knowing she shouldn't do it, on the other hand realising that her mother had made sure Alys visited the psychiatrist at least a few times, and he needed it just as badly.

She did not believe that he would do so, recognising that this was part of his plan to soften her up.

Nevertheless, after a few days she received a message from him with the address of the doctor's office and the time of the appointment.

She turned up at the place indicated, lying to her mother that she had gone to the University Library, the office of the man he had mentioned was in fact in the suburbs, and next to the door to the building was a nameplate with his profession.

A few minutes before the time he pulled up in a big, shiny black SUV, dressed in a black tight T-shirt tucked into black trousers, a watch on his wrist, when he got out he looked stressed and unhappy, she knew he really didn't want to do that.

He lit a quick cigarette even though he only had a few minutes left before his visit and she thought he would cowardly tell her that he didn't feel like it after all, that he didn't have to do it, that he was already feeling better.

"Is it really necessary? Externalising myself to some fucking asshole for my money?" He asked coldly, taking a drag on his cigarette with a quiet hiss, she looked at him feeling a squeeze in her chest, tears of regret under her eyelids at the thought that she had spent so much of her time and effort on him only to realise that he was exactly as she had imagined him to be.

Seeing the look on her face he swallowed loudly and lowered his gaze to his feet, wiping his forehead with the back of the hand in which he held the cigarette in a nervous gesture, she had the impression that his body was quivering.

"− I'm sorry − thank you, little one − if it wasn't for you I wouldn't have come here at all −" He muttered low, taking a quick drag a few times, extinguishing the remnants of his cigarette on a bin standing nearby, letting the smoke out loudly through his nose.

He startled her when he stepped inside, so she moved behind him, both of them heading up the steps past the signs straight into the cabinet. She watched as he sighed heavily and knocked, a middle-aged man who could have been their father opened the door for him after a moment.

"This is my friend I mentioned. I want her to be there when we talk." He said lowly, and she froze, looking at his back in disbelief as he stepped inside, convinced that he just wanted her to wait for him outside.

She lowered her gaze, horrified at the thought that he would be telling him his problems, his most intimate secrets in front of her, but she wasn't sure she could refuse when he had already taken such a big step forward.

The doctor smiled at her and, with a gesture of his hand, encouraged her to go inside, so she did, taking a seat on the other side of the sofa, the doctor sat opposite them.

"Please tell me what brings you to me."

He began, she stared at a flower in a pot standing at the other end of the office, feeling like an intruder, as if she was eavesdropping on someone's conversation and had no idea what she should do with herself.

"I tend to be verbally aggressive. I tend to get involved in toxic relationships with other toxic people and I'm like that myself."

She heard his low voice and swallowed loudly, somehow appreciating his self-criticism, the fact that he saw the problem holistically.

"Let's start with the first sentence. What do you think 'verbal aggression' means?"

"I know what to say to hurt someone. I know it, I do it on purpose and I get satisfaction from it."

"Please say something more about this feeling of satisfaction."

He remained silent for a moment, she heard him shrug his shoulders, impatient.

"The feeling of power."

"What do you feel after that, when the satisfaction passes?"

"Emptiness."

She looked at him uncertainly, fiddling nervously with the fabric of the dress covering her thighs, feeling that her whole body was tense, a cold sweat on her back.

"A lot of people get addicted to adrenaline. Also from arguments, aggression or violent sex. The lack of affection and security is filled with temporary emotions, and their absence causes similar symptoms to alcohol rehab. When you regain control you see yourself and the world as it is."

Said the doctor, she saw him just nod at his words, swallowing hard, looking at his hands, she saw with horror that he was picking at the cuticles around his nails creating tiny wounds.

He remained silent.

"You mentioned that you consider yourself a toxic person and get into a relationship with such people."

"Yes."

"Why do you judge yourself that way?"

The man asked, and he licked his lips in a quick impatient gesture.

"Because I am cruel to other people. Harsh and vicious."

"Please elaborate on that thought."

For the next half hour he talked about examples of his behaviour, how he despised models making a career out of bed, how deep down he loathed her sister and himself, the business he was forced to be stuck in, full of injustice and discrimination.

She listened to it feeling resentful towards him for deceiving her sister for so long, on the other hand hearing for the first time how Alys addressed him, what the beginning of their relationship was like.

"When I gave her what she wanted she was the sweetest, most submissive woman I knew. But if I didn't, she would turn into a screaming, spiteful creature telling me I was a cunt and a little child, so I didn't leave her hanging. What did she expect, that she would call me that and I wouldn't answer anything? That I didn't know she had nothing more to offer me than her body? What pissed me off about her wasn't that she lacked knowledge, it was that there was no curiosity about the world in her, that she didn't want to expand it, to understand more. Just fucking, partying and posing."

"But you still lasted in that relationship because, from what I understand, you were so comfortable. What changed?" The doctor asked, and she flinched as he glanced at her quickly, immediately looking away, swallowing loudly, terrified of what was about to leave his mouth.

"I think that I'm in love with someone."

She drew in air loudly, feeling tears under her eyelids, her whole body breathless, she felt the heat in her lower abdomen, that embarrassing, sticky wetness.

She knew she shouldn't, but when he suggested after the visit that she go to his place, she agreed.

There was a kind of despair in the way he pressed her against the wall with a sudden motion as soon as the door closed behind them, the way his tongue forced its way between her lips with his groan of relief, the way, with quick and sure movements, his hands slid the material of her underwear off her, which she threw off her legs with an impatient flick.

She knew she shouldn't, but she felt nothing but delight as he knelt in front of her looking at her with wide eyes, he lifted the material of her dress over her thighs, throwing her hip over his shoulder, she tilted her head back with a soft moan as his lips began to brush and kiss her weeping folds.

"− we can't −" She muttered, but she knew she'd only said it to feel a little less regret that it was so pleasurable, that her fingers clenched on his short hair as he cupped her clit between his lips and began sucking on it, teasing her opening again and again with the tip of his tongue.

"− fuck − fuck −" She whimpered girlishly, moving her hips involuntarily in rhythm with his strokes, a loud murmur of delight erupting from his throat at how much she was leaking, the sound of it running in vibration through her entire body.

"− I could spend all day like this − would you like it? −" He gasped between teasing motions of his tongue pushing its way between her sticky muscles, hot with arousal, a moan bordering on a cry broke from her throat as he began to tease the spot hidden inside her from which his whole corridor seemed blurred to her.

"− stop −" She mumbled helplessly, panting loudly along with him, feeling his words deep inside her, her walls began to clench around nothing, he only grunted at her plea, stopping abruptly, rising from his knees, she settled again on both feet, feeling that her legs were trembling all over.

"− you can leave now, if you want − I won't stop you −" He breathed out, with a quick, sure movement of his fingers undoing the buckle from the belt of his trousers, she looked at him with her eyes wide open, feeling in her mind only that wonderful heat between her thighs.

"− be gentle − be gentle and don't mock me −" She muttered, and he grabbed her by her hair and pulled her close, their lips pressed together in an aggressive, sticky, loud kiss.

She squealed quietly as he lifted her easily, in an involuntary reflex she threw her arms around his neck, enclosing his waist between her legs, his mouth smelling of her wetness not pulling away for a moment as his one hand dealt with the material of his trousers and boxers.

The tips of his fingers ran over her cheek, his forehead pressed against hers as she felt the fat head of his cock push in between her folds, they both moaned low, surprised, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her thigh, forcing her to fit him deeper inside her.

"− fuck −" She whimpered, spreading her thighs wider, he looked down at her with eyes black with desire, his lips parted in a pathetic groan as her leaking walls let him all the way in.

"− god, little one − oh fuck −" He mumbled out with involuntary movements of his hips thrusting into her as deeply as possible, they both moaned into each other's mouths as his lips pressed against hers again, her hands ran over his hair and down the nape of his neck, answered by his loud murmur of pleasure.

"− I've waited so long for this − you were already wet for me then, weren't you? − you wanted it inside you −" He breathed out, speeding up, each stroke of his swollen cock teasing again and again the same spot he had squeezed with his tongue earlier, only a helpless moan of pleasure escaping from her chest, their bodies slapping against each other with a loud click of her moisture.

"− please − please, please, please −" She babbled between licks of their tongues and lips, his large hands clamped down on her ass, accelerating, the stabs of his hips opening her wide on his length again and again, her walls pulsing against him, sucking him inside.

"− oh, yes, that's it − gonna cum, baby? − gonna cum for me? −" He cooed rooting into her with his cock thick with lust, she nodded her head clenching her fingers in his hair, panting hard, and she leaned back with a sweet moan as her body shook with convulsions, her walls began to throb and clench against him in pleasure.

"− god, yes − little one − where −" He muttered, and she only managed to whimper for him to come inside her, thanking God for the existence of the pills, she heard his low groan of relief and pleasure, a few messy, greedy thrusts of his hips were enough to make him spill inside her, their bodies twitching and quivering, shocked at how intense this close-up was.

For a long moment they both merely panted and kissed lazily, his hands running over the bare, hot skin of her buttocks, her fingers stroking his hair with his quiet murmur of pleasure.

"− so good − so kind − so pretty −" He hummed between their kisses, stroking the soft skin of her cheek with his thumb, shame overwhelmed her at the thought that she felt butterflies in her stomach at his words.

She knew she shouldn't do this, but she let him take her once more on his bed, his thighs slapping against her buttocks again and again with each desperate thrust of his hips, their naked bodies entwined together in a tight embrace, sweaty and hot.

"− fuck − fuck −" He panted into her mouth between greedy, messy, loud kisses, his wonderful scent filling her entire lungs, her naked breasts pressed against his chest, her fingers digging into the bare skin of his back.

"− mghm − m close −" She mumbled out, her walls oversensitive after her earlier fulfilment, the tip of his swollen cock rubbing again and again the spot inside her from which she felt shivers and tickling, the heat in her lower abdomen unbearable.

"− come on, little one − give me one more − that's it, fuck! −" He gasped loudly and bit his lower lip, trying to stifle the low groan of pleasure that ripped from his throat as her fleshy muscles began to throb in orgasm, sucking him inside.

She tried to push him away, delicate and sore, quivering and writhing beneath him, but he accelerated, slamming into her for a moment more with sure, deep thrusts.

"− I know, baby, just a moment longer − shhh −" He mumbled out before he reached his peak inside her for the second time, a soft, loud sigh of relief and delight escaping his lips.

He collapsed on top of her, burying his face in her hair, panting heavily along with her, their skin sticky from sweat and exertion, their hands trailing blindly over their naked bodies, wanting to remember and take everything possible from this moment.

"− stay with me, little one − please, stay with me −" He whispered softly, his voice trembling with emotion, with the feeling that she was going to try again to escape him, what he wanted and what it all meant.

She swallowed quietly and combed her fingers through his hair, looking up at the ceiling with slightly parted lips, breathing loudly, her body at once relaxed from another fulfilment and tense, filled with uncertainty and fear.

He could feel her hesitation, when he heard no response from her he lifted himself slowly on his arms, wanting to look at her face.

"− what I told that doctor is true − I want to change − want to be a person worth loving − I know I screwed up then −" He whispered, stroking her cheek with his large hand, she looked away, feeling her own body tremble, his thumb ran over her soft skin.

"− do you know what the real tragedy of this situation is? − that some part of me reciprocates your feelings − but I don't know how I could ever really trust you −" She whispered in a calm, low tone, feeling a lone tear of regret flow from the corner of her eye onto the pillow under her head smelling of his perfume, the adrenaline and endorphin stopped bubbling through her body, leaving only an emptiness inside her.

She felt him looking at her, completely unsure of what to say, his soft manhood still deep inside her.

He slipped out of her gently after a moment, standing up without a word, grabbing his trousers which were lying on the floor, standing with his back to her, putting them on, not even giving her a single glance.

She stood up too, clenching her lips so tightly that she felt like they were purple, her throat twitching all over in a sob that she didn't let escape, but she couldn't hold back the tears of horror, shame and disappointment that flooded her face.

She didn't look at him when she left, when she ran down the stairs and simply left the building, moving in front of her, trying to think soberly where she was and what bus stop she should go to in order to get home.

She heard a vibration in her backpack after a while, her phone ringing and ringing, but she didn't even take it out, not knowing what else they were going to say to each other.

It was obvious that he had never respected or taken her sister seriously, and while it was obvious that she wanted him, she couldn't believe that the depth of his feelings were actually that great.

She felt that he had talked himself into this feeling, mythologised it and also her character, creating in his mind a tragic story of two lovers who had always been destined for each other, to further distance himself in his mind and mock her sister's personality.

She arrived home pale but refrained from crying in front of her parents, she explained that she felt sick and would go to bed early.

However, not half an hour passed and she heard the screech of tyres on her driveway, she got up to the window and took a few steps backwards, startled to recognise his car, her heart was pounding like mad, her throat squeezed so tight with fear that she felt like she was going to vomit.

Will he tell them everything? Will he humiliate her in front of her parents, entertain himself at her expense now? Will he take revenge?

She ran quickly downstairs hearing raised voices, his, her father's and her mother's, her mother clearly outraged at the sight of him and his insolence.

"How dare you show up here after all this? Have you no shame?"

"Did your younger daughter get home safely?"

"It is none of your business, young man, you are to leave our house immediately!"

Said her mother, enraged and heartbroken, her father threatened to call the police on him, but he lifted his gaze hearing her footsteps and spotted her on the half-floor standing on the stairs.

Something changed in his gaze, she saw that he swallowed hard, in his eyes pain, fatigue, regret and something else from which she ran out of breath.

"Thank you. I've already found out what I wanted." He said lowly, turning and simply walking away, closing the door behind him, her parents looked at her in disbelief, they heard the sound of the engine firing up.

"What did he mean? Why was he asking about you?" Asked her father, and she looked at them with her eyes wide open not knowing what to say .

Did he come just to check that she got home safely?

"He goes to therapy. He asked me to go with him. He didn't want to be there alone." She told only part of the truth with shame, having no strength to pretend any longer, her mother froze, looking quickly at her father and then back at her, her eyebrows arched in disbelief.

"After all, this man is unpredictable, look what he did to Alys. He's made her dependent on him, like a parasite he's put the idea in her mind that she won't be able to live without him."

"And she did the same thing to him."

"What?"

"Alys was doing the same thing to him. He was showing me messages from her, mum. Sent from her number. That's why I went with him." She mumbled out and burst into sobs again, covering her face with her hand, her pain and despair finding an escape at last.

Her mother seeing her condition moved towards her and hugged her, in her embrace some kind of understanding, her father looked up at her from below with his hands placed on his hips and sighed heavily, shaking his head.

"Alys can't know."

For the next few days neither he nor she made contact. Some part of her was grateful to him for not pressuring her, for letting her put it all together in her head.

She herself did not know what she felt.

On the one hand, caution prevailed in her in his presence, she had the feeling that she was still waiting for some blow from him, an unexpected hit that would break her and prove to herself that he had been playing with her all this time for his own entertainment.

But then she remembered their conversation in the university courtyard, what he had said at the psychiatrist's.

I think that I'm in love with someone.

She read their long exchanges about poets, writers, but also about their thoughts and their lives, trying to find any trace of a lie or manipulation in them, but was pained to find that, although it may have been due to a lack of distance, she did not find it.

She no longer knew what was truth and what was a lie.

The last extra classes of the semester were open lectures she was attending with him, she knew they would be discussing Trans-Atlantyk and she thought maybe that was a sign.

She reasoned that if he didn't turn up it would mean that he had given up, that he had been disappointed with her and got bored and that she could move on at last.

She had arrived earlier than usual, wanting to borrow some books from the library for the holidays, standing at one of the bookcases she spotted him from a distance sitting alone at a table, bent over a thick volume, even though it was still half an hour to class he was sitting in the same seat as always.

She felt the heat fill her body, her heart began to pound like crazy due to some incomprehensible joy at the sight of him.

She moved towards him with several tomes in her hands and sat down next to him, they did not greet each other, however, she felt his gaze on her, his warm breath on her skin.

She turned her face towards him and noticed that his healthy eye was all red, his lower lip trembling, as if he didn't believe she would come, that he would ever see her again.

Something in that sight, in the tear that ran down his cheek made her lay her head on his shoulder, snuggling her nose into his neck, she heard him draw in air greedily, his hand rose quickly and touched her cheek, his fingers twitching, stroking her soft skin with a gentle, tender motion.

She put her arm around his shoulder and stayed like that, feeling strangely calm and safe, she felt him place his cheek on the top of her head, she could hear his broken, rapid breathing, his lips placing a tender kiss on her hair once in a while.

She turned her face towards him, heard only his quiet, low sigh as their fleshy lips found each other in a sticky, hot, wet kiss, his large hand holding her face in place, not allowing her to move away.

She pulled away from him at last, stroking his well-defined jaw with her thumb, his gaze dark and hot, his lips swollen and red from their caress.

She returned to her earlier position without a word, sinking her face into the hollow of his neck, embracing his shoulder with her hands, he breathed quietly, sliding it out of her grasp, enveloping her waist with it, pulling her close so that she could hug his chest.

The tips of his fingers traveled down her back as he took the book that lay in front of him from the table top and placed it on his thighs, clearly wanting to simultaneously read on and cover up whatever was going on in his trousers.

They stayed like this until the class began when they finally pulled away from each other, his hand quickly finding hers under the table, stroking the top of it with his thumb.

Though doubts still filled her heart, for the first time in years she felt hope.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

You love your brother, but sometimes? The man drives you absolutely fucking insane. Felix has always been rather overprotective of you, his little twin sister, chasing away any boys who came sniffing around, claiming that they weren’t good enough for you. You’ve never so much as had a boyfriend, barely even managing to hook up with a boy before you started at uni. You wish your application had been submitted to Cambridge rather than to Oxford, that you could’ve had a chance to learn who you are without your twin. The two of you have been so deeply ingrained in each other’s lives since your birth, that sometimes it feels hard to tell which of your thoughts are your own and which are ones you’ve merely taken from Felix.

But, as luck would have it - and to Felix’s delight, the pair of you are accepted at Oxford, along with Farleigh. You know that between the two of them standing at your side like a pair of feral guard dogs, you’re never going to be able to have the university romance you dreamed of when you watched all those silly American “chick flicks”. Some boy finding you, sweeping you off your feet, stealing kisses in the library, sneaking into your room. You rue the loss of this romance before it could even begin.

At first, you’re drawn to Felix’s new friend, Ollie. He’s cute, you think, and he seems rather interested in you. But there’s something that unsettles you in the way he looks at you. You don’t know what it is, and when you try to bring it up to Felix, he surprisingly brushes it off as you just being shy. But that’s the thing. You’ve never been shy. You just have a gut feeling. Farleigh seems to share it, though he doesn’t say anything to you. So, instead of engaging with Ollie, you pull away from the group a little bit.

That’s when you meet him.

Michael Gavey.

He’s a former friend of Oliver’s, you learn when the two of you are partnered for a presentation in your statistics class. At first, he comes off as rather snide, and as Farleigh would so eloquently put it, “cunty”. When he hears your last name called, you can hear the little scoff under his breath, see the roll of his eyes. You walk over to him, dressed in your pink plaid skirt, your white sweater, with a friendly smile on your face. He eyes you up and down, scrutinizing, arching a brow when his gaze lands on the pink Converse you’re wearing. Someone doesn’t seem to be a fan of color. It’s not your fault you love pink.

Michael is cold to you at first, but ever so slowly, he opens up to you when he realizes that, despite not matching his intelligence, you’re willing to put in just as much work into the project that he is. You may be ditzy and slow to catch onto things, your head in the clouds, but you’re sweet. You’re kind and you don’t seem to think of yourself as better than him simply because you’re a Catton. That goes to your credit, and eventually? He stops being such a cunt. He comes to fancy you first, truth be told, but it develops into something deeper than that. Slowly, he starts considering you as something he’s never truly had.

A friend.

For your part, you adore Michael. You find his view on things to be interesting and refreshing. He opens your eyes to the fact that there’s an entire world beyond the one you grew up in. And you’d be remiss to say that you don’t find him attractive. Because, God, you do. You’ve never had a crush this bad. The way you twirl your hair and giggle at everything he says, feeling like a total idiot, the way you feel the heat rise to your cheeks when he looks at you as the two of you study together. You love the awkward little way he laughs, the way he blushes every time your hand brushes against his when you walk. And it makes you think that maybe, just maybe, he wants you too.

So, with little hesitancy, you invite your new friend to spend the summer with your family at your country house. You giggle shyly, covering your face as you bounce up and down on the balls of your feet when Michael teases you for being rich enough to even have a family estate, but he quickly agrees to accompany you, saying he’d love to spend the summer with a new friend. His face sours when he sees that your brother has invited Oliver, but he does his best to ignore the bootlicking cunt and spend time with you, as he intended.

Michael is surprisingly polite when he meets your parents. You half expected him to make some quip about their lavish lifestyle, but he manages to remain prim and proper. Your mother couldn’t give less of a shit about Michael, dismissing him early on in favor of fawning over Ollie. It irritates you but you’re quite happy when your father seems to take a liking to your guest. You know Michael is far from being charming, but somehow, he manages to get your father to like him.

The main person he doesn’t win over, however, is Felix. Your brother pulls you aside one night after dinner for a chat. You, him, and Venetia. You sit on the bed as your older brother and sister begin lecturing you on how Michael isn’t a good fit for you, how he seems so condescending, how you two have nothing in common. Felix mentions that he wishes you’d go out with someone like Ollie, and you see the way Venetia stiffens at the suggestion. You brush that off and glare up at the both of them, crossing your arms and sticking out your chin defiantly.

“I’m not a little girl. If I like Michael, I like Michael. Sure, he’s condescending and a bit of an arse, but guess what? He’s the most real, genuine person I’ve ever met in my entire life. So the two of you and Mum can spend your time getting caught in Oliver fucking Quick’s nasty little web. I’m not having any of it-”

“Don’t talk about Ollie like that-”

“Oh, shut up, Felix!” You snap, storming out of his room with tears of anger rolling down your face, seeing both of the males in question standing outside, listening in on your rather loud argument. You look between the two of them, nostrils flaring with annoyance, before grabbing Michael by the hand and dragging him to your bedroom, “All of you can kiss my arse.”

You ignore the sounds of your brother and sister calling after you, Farleigh popping his head out and asking what the fuck is going on. Michael opens his mouth to ask the same, but all you do is grab him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him down towards you, pressing your lips against his in a desperate, sloppy kiss. His eyes go wide as he stares down at you, fully frozen in shock for a long moment, pin drop silence in the hallway of Saltburn. But then, you feel his hand move to the back of your head, pulling you in closer, his body pressed up against yours as he begins to kiss you back. And it’s everything both of you have been dreaming of for the last several months.

When you finally pull apart for air, you just gaze into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Michael’s normally sharp gaze is hazy and uncharacteristically soft as he stares at you, allowing you to pull him into your childhood room, locking the door behind you. Michael moves closer to you, wiping the tears that still pour down your face. He rests his forehead against yours, cupping your cheeks in his hand.

“Let me make you cry for a better reason.”

You gaze up at him through your lashes and nod silently, your lips meeting his once again in a passionate kiss. You run your hands through his hair, moaning against him, feeling his cock grinding against the thin cotton fabric of your panties. The fact that he’s this hard already makes you feel so fucking powerful, that you were able to do this to him. He grinds himself against you, his breath coming out in soft pants between your kisses, hands moving to grope at your tits. You whine, bucking your hips up against him, pleading for him to get these fucking clothes off of you.

Michael acquiesces, the two of you ripping at each other’s clothes, your little pink gingham sundress falling in a crumpled heap to the ground along with his shirt and trousers, leaving the two of you in only your underwear. Michael’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull at the sight of you not wearing a bra, his mouth going dry. You give him a coy little smile, taking his hands and bringing them to your tits, whimpering softly as he kneads them in his palms. You let out a loud whine of his name as he pinches one of your nipples, his lips twisting into a cocky smile at the way it pebbles against him.

“Need to be quieter than that, love,” he coos mockingly, “Don’t want to wake your Mum up, do you? Do I need to cover that cute little mouth while I fuck you into the mattress?”

His words have you rubbing your thighs together in anticipation as he moves to sit back on his haunches between them. Your fingers twist in the sheets as he mouths at your wet cunt over the fabric of your panties, nuzzling his nose against your clit. You grind your hips against his face, desperate for him to just fucking do something, but he just runs his tongue along your pussy over the fabric of your panties, tugging at them to stimulate you. You can feel the sweat beading at your temples as he finally pushes them aside, burying his tongue inside you. It feels fucking incredible, the way he drags the muscle along your walls, his thumb rubbing against your clit as he does, bringing you closer and closer to your peak. Your toes curl, your stomach growing tight as you teeter on the precipice of your climax, but then? He pulls away. You stare up at him, annoyed.

“What the fuck, Michael?!”

“Want you to cum on my cock, love.”

The words are so simple and he says them so plainly, but you don’t think you’ve ever been more turned on in your life. You watch as he rids himself of his boxers, palming at his cock before tugging your panties down your thighs. You watch as he joins your bodies, pushing inside of you, his jaw slack, glasses fogging with how heavy he’s breathing. His gaze is hazy and unfocused as he bottoms out inside of you, feeling you so warm and tight around him. It takes everything in him not to cum then and there. He balances himself on his elbows, leaning over you, letting you adjust to him for a moment, pressing a kiss to your temple. Your eyes water, unused to the sensation, feeling his lips move to kiss your tears away.

Michael can’t think of anything more beautiful than you, his sweet little friend, crying at the feeling of being split open on his cock. You’re so precious, so innocent. He’s going to take so much pleasure in watching you come undone. He begins to fuck you in earnest, his hips snapping against yours as he gazes down at you, feeling your body tense around him with every thrust, your eyes rolling back as you continue crying out his name. He smirks and moves a hand to cover your mouth, whispering in your ear.

“We’ve got to keep quiet, love. Can you do that? Can you be a good girl for me?”

You nod, eyes wide like a deer in headlights as Michael continues fucking you, the head of his cock brushing against your sweet spot with every movement of his hips. You whimper and mewl his name against his hand, your body writhing against his own. You look so fucking pretty like this, your chest heaving with exertion, face covered with a thin sheen of sweat as he pounds into you, hips canting against yours faster and faster, feeling you squeezing like a vice around him, your eyes still shiny with tears and spurring him on. Your breaths come faster and faster as do his own, his voice a low rasp in your ear.

“Are you close?”

You nod, his hand still covering your mouth, scrunching your eyes shut as your climax overtakes you, pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave, so intense that all you can do is lay there as Michael reaches his own peak with a loud groan of your name. He collapses against you, the two of you laying there in your childhood bed, arms wrapped around each other, bodies trembling as you come down from your respective highs.

You hear a commotion at the door, like someone running, but you ignore it, eyes drooping with sleep as you slowly fade from the waking world.

Meanwhile, Oliver races back to his room, wondering just how in the world he’s going to have his turn with you, his hands covered with the evidence of what he’s done, the way he stroked his cock to the sound of your sweet little moans.

Your body shakes as you wander the empty halls of the Targaryen castle desperately. Tears stream down your cheeks, your face on fire, as you make your way to your brother Aemond’s chambers.

Thankfully, the guards to his room have been dismissed and so have the servant girls. Your fists rap against the door, once, twice.

When Aemond opens the door, you fall into him.

Your arms wrap around him, your teary eyes burying into his chest. He tenses against your hold, confused, but after a moment his hands rest on your waist and he pulls you into his room. Closing the door behind him, he guides you over to the thick armchair sitting in front of his desk. Your ripped skirts trail across the stoned floor, your eyes red and puffy. Aemond gently pushes you down onto the cushions.

He’s silent, but his eyes are concerned and you hold your face in your hands. He reaches across to his desk and pulls out a handkerchief. His fingers gently grab your chin, and he wipes away your tears. You avoid his gaze as he lets out a heavy sigh.

“What has our brother done now, sweet sister?”

Your bottom lip wobbles as you try to keep from sobbing again.

“He humiliated me,” you say quietly, recalling the events from earlier. “He ripped my c-clothes in front of all of his friends. He called me a—“

You let out a choked sound, tears filling your eyes again at your husband’s cruelty.

“A what?”

“…A whore.”

Your voice cracks. Aemond’s jaw clenches, and his fingers tighten on each side of the armchair.

“Leave him to me.”

He moves to his feet, but your tiny fingers wrap around his much larger ones as you jump up to meet his towering height.

“Please, do not cause conflict with him at this hour. I beg of you.”

He looks at you through narrowed eyes. However close Aemond and his brother are, it doesn’t compare to your shared bond with him. Any ounce of disrespect aimed towards you may as well be directed at Aemond himself.

“Aegon needs to be held accountable,” he says sternly. His hands rest on your waist, and they’re soft. Not angry or violent like his raging thoughts at the given moment. He will always be gentle with you. “I’m sick of his antics. You are not some— some prize. You are the princess. You are to be respected.“

“Aemond,” you cry, your fingers gripping his forearms. “Please. Another night. Not now.”

He wants to ram a sword into his brother’s head delectably slow. But he mustn’t utter those words to you. Instead, he tries his best to stay calm and focus on your current state instead. Your dress— a purple thing with lace at the sleeves— is torn to shreds. Aemond takes note that this is your favorite dress. He will go to the seamstress tomorrow to have it remade from completely new fabrics, and then he will wring his brother’s neck with the old ones.

But for now, with you, he will be soft, gentle— he knows you like him best this way.

His thumb brushes against your neck, and he mumbles softly.

“You left your night dress in your chambers, sweetling.”

Heat flares in your cheeks at your brother’s nickname for you, one that he has called you since you were both teenagers. You chew on the inside of your cheek.

“I know.”

“I can have someone fetch them for you, if you’d like.”

“That’s alright,” you assure, rubbing soft circles into his wrist. “I would.. would it be okay, if I —“

“Borrowed something of mine?”

You nod, embarrassed, although you’ve slept in Aemond’s clothes many times. Being wrapped up in things of his makes you feel comforted, protected. Safe.

I would let all of these men fuck you if they decided it.

It was something Aegon had uttered drunkenly into your ear as he presented you to his friends, blatantly humiliating you. You swallow down the bile rising in your throat at the thought. How could one be so cruel? How could one treat their sister, their wife, as if she was some object? Some whore?

You shake the thoughts out of your head when Aemond takes hold of your hand and pulls you towards his bed. You don’t take a seat just yet, watching as Aemond disappears for a moment only to reappear with a cream colored sleep shirt in his hands.

“Let’s get you out of this, shall we?”

You nod to him, blushing, and his fingers nimbly slide against your back as he turns you around. He begins to unlace the corset back of your dress, sliding the fabric off of your shoulders and down to the floor. Next comes your underthings— cushion-ey soft fingers trail down your spine as all of it drops off of you, and you’re on fire.

You’ve been naked around Aemond before— this is no different from other times. He’s your your best friend— your big brother, after all, and sleepovers are not new. But regardless, you still quiver with nerves and something else you can’t quite place.

After this, Aemond grasps the sleep shirt and slides it over your head. It drops down to your knees, and his large hands pull your hair out from underneath the neckline.

“There,” he murmurs. “All better.”

You turn around to face him, and for the first time tonight your face twitches into a small, happy smile. Aemond presses a kiss to your head.

“Sleep, little one.”

You slide underneath the covers, piling underneath Aemond’s large comforter. He begins to unbutton his shirt, pulling it off of his shoulders and unbuttoning his pants. Next comes his eye patch— his uttermost insecurity that he feels no shame for when he’s with you and you only. He slips it off and places it on the nightstand. He slides in next to you, clad in his undergarments. He presses into your side and wraps a strong arm around your stomach. You sigh, relaxing and basking in the man’s warmth. Tiredness takes over you, and Aemond presses a kiss to your neck. It’s so utterly soft, his lips pillowy and plump. Your lashes flutter.

“Aemond,” you breathe. “Avy jorrāaelan, lēkia.”

(I love you, brother.)

He pauses, breathing heavily against you. He doesn’t say it back, but he doesn’t have to. You already know that he loves you, too.

Your drowsy body moves of its own accord, and you turn over to face him.

You admire him in the low candlelight. His perfectly tousled hair, the curve of his cheekbones, the turquoise jewel in replacement of his eye. You wonder how different it would’ve been if he had been your betrothed.

Your lips press against his, soft and passionate. It’s the first kiss you’ve ever shared with each other, and Aemond sighs against your lips, finally giving in to your sweetness. His hand finds purchase on your hip, and yours move to his hair. He doesn’t let anyone touch his hair but you.

Shy touches soon give way to the exploration of the each other’s bodies. Your hand trails across his chest, down past his navel. You don’t touch him there— not yet, though the bulge in his underwear makes it incredibly tempting. His fingers travel across your collarbone and skim over your breasts. When you pull away from him, your face is incredibly hot.

“I need you.” you say to him, doe eyes staring up at him. Aemond holds back with a heaving chest and a form of self taught control. He almost gasps for breath as he grips your waist.

“Tell me again.”

It comes out a lot more demanding than expected. He growls it, needy and desperate. You whine, your cunt aching.

“I need you,” you say. “Take me. I am yours.”

He can’t deny you this request. He lifts your leg, places it over his own so your back is pressed against his and you’re still spread out for him. He lifts your his night shirt, exposing your cunt that he had left unclothed. His fingers slide against your swollen clit, making you mewl and clench desperately for him. He rubs slow, deliberate circles, getting you perfectly slick and pliant for his cock. When he’s pleased with how wet you are, he pulls out his thick length. He presses his cockhead against your folds, groaning at the wet heat of you.

“Seven…” He sighs, and can’t help but press into your hole, his cock dribbling precum as he makes his way inside your gummy walls. “Such iā ȳrda, needy riñītsos”

(Such a tight, needy little girl.)

Your mouth drops open, emmiting angelic whimpers and moans as he fills you. He starts slow, deep, moving his hips at a steady pace, savoring the feeling of your hole sucking him in. His balls hit your ass, heavy and filled to the brim with cum that he’s oh so desperate to fuck into you. Your tiny fingers curl against his hip, forcing him to stay inside, to keep you safe and sane. He grunts into your ear, feeds you delicious affections and promises.

“You have such a perfect cunny, sweet sister,” he praises hotly. “You mustn’t worry anymore. I’m going to take care of you,” and then, with a gasp emitting out of him, “You are my light, my darling girl.”

You can’t say anything, only arch against his gentle thrusts and grind against him with affection in your heart. He holds you like you’re made of glass, and he fucks you just the same.

It isn’t long before his fingers find your pearl again, drawing a sob out of you as your orgasm unfurls. It’s strong, nothing like the weak, untouched ones you get from Aegon. No, this is powerful— white hot heat curls up in your tummy, spreads down to your toes, and your ears ring with the force. The sound of you coming undone is what has Aemond reaching his peak thereafter. His hips stutter, his balls draw up tight, and he spills inside you with a loud moan. He rides out his high with your name tumbling from his lips like an adulterated prayer.

When he stills, he makes no move to pull out of you. He lays, breathes against your skin, his platinum blonde locks spilling over your shoulder. Your hand finds his, post orgasm haze taking over your psyche. After a moment, Aemond begins to speak.

“Our brother is a fool, sweet sister.” He mumbles. “He will burn eternally for what he has done to you.”

Your fucked out mind agrees. You smile, basking in the after glow of sex, of Aemond. You press yourself against him and dream of sweet nothings, of a different, familiar husband and children’s feet pattering softly against tile stone.

All the while, Aemond’s seed sits heavily inside your womb and the baby inside you begins to grow.

I.

The years following Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon’s marriage bared fruit after fruit. It wasn't long long after Jacaerys’ birth that Rhaenyra began to show signs of another pregnancy. A woman’s body goes through tremendous changes during, for, and after childbirth, and sometimes her moon cycle can take half a year to return to normal. The princess’ first moon’s blood after his birth hadn’t the chance to appear before the maester’s deemed her pregnant for a second time. 

Another boy, Laenor hoped, to help strengthen the Velaryon line. A healthy babe, Rhaenyra hoped, to love and grow.

Their second child was pinker and paler than Jace upon entering the world. Unlike your brother who had a fine covering of dark hair over his head, yours was so pale it looked akin to winter’s first snow upon your head. A tiny, sweet, healthy baby girl who would grow into the very image of your mother.

And, again, after you came into the world, Rhaenyra showed signs of pregnancy soon after. Laenor got what he hoped for with their third child: another boy, Lucerys, with a splattering of dark hair over his head, too.

Another three years would pass before your little brother, Joffrey, was born. Dark of hair and dark of eyes just like his two older brothers.

As you all grew, none of your brothers showed any signs of Targaryen or Velaryon features. They all had rich brown eyes, dark curly hair, and were quicker to tan than you. Whereas you were a copy of your mother. A true Targaryen beauty: silver hair, pale skin, and eyes the color of amethyst. If Rhaenrya was the Realm’s Delight, then you were the Charm of the Realm. The only thing you lacked as a Targaryen was a dragon. Disappointingly, the egg that was placed in your crib never hatched. The older you grew, and the more you learned of the world, the more you hoped to have a dragon of your very own one day. Rides on Syrax with your mother–thrilling as they were–left you sad. You wanted to be in charge of the reins. You wanted to speak and command a dragon. You wanted the power of your Targaryen ancestors; a conqueror like Queen Visenya or Queen Rhaenys.

You and your brothers grew alongside your uncles, Aegon and Aemond, and your aunt, Helaena, in King’s Landing. As young children you all, for the most part, got along well. You and your uncle Aemond shared one profound thing together: neither of you had a dragon. It was a topic of extreme sensitivity for him. And because of this, sadness, anger, and even embarrassment hung around him from a young age. You wouldn’t lie and say you didn’t carry those emotions in your heart, too, because you did, but Aemond’s was heavier. Suffocating. 

Shameful. 

When everyone else trained in the dragonpit you and Aemond were known to stay in the library together. You bonded quickly through tales of your shared ancestry, love of philosophy, and the histories. Much to Aemond's annoyance, your penmanship surpassed his own. When you told your mother you wanted to be a scribe when you grew older she laughed. “Princesses aren't scribes. You will do much more wondrous things than live your life by the quill.”

You nodded, ever sweet to your mother, and still practiced your writing. Your septa and parents praised you–and Aemond scowled in your retellings. It made you giggle. It was harmless and the extra attention (however negative it seemed to be) from your uncle who was barely older than you made your heart soar; emotions you couldn’t quite name soared too.

He surpassed you in everything physical. If it happened in the training yard, he had you beat by a league.

You surpassed him in subtlety. At first, you were the one who snuck up on him. You were the one who showed him secret passageways in the Red Keep, as well as hidden nooks and crannies that had surely been forgotten.

It didn’t take Aemond long to exceed your skill, however.

Time went on and life continued. With each passing year the innocence of childhood melted like candlewax. You all stopped playing as often until play happened no longer. When once there were shared sweets, games of tag, and exaggerated stories of ‘grand adventures’ to the stables, now there was gossip. Whispered words, sniggers behind hands, and an air of aloofness that had never been there before took over.

“Why do you and your family treat me and my brothers like this now, uncle?” You asked Aemond with flushed cheeks and eyes filled with unshed tears. Whether it were anger or hurt he could not tell. Your heart couldn't, either.

“They look nothing of their father. Or my sister,” he answered plainly with an edge of something you couldn't quite decipher. 

“And what of our cousin Rhaenys? Hm? The Baratheon blood runs strong in her for she is black of hair. No different than my brothers!”

“‘Tis different,” Aemond answered curtly, still refraining from speaking bluntly to you about what his mother gossiped about.

“It's not!” You proclaimed.

Not long after that confrontation did Laena Velaryon suffer an unfortunate death. Her funeral was memorialized in King's Landing with the closest of her kin. And, as the God's would have it, it was that fateful night Aemond gained a dragon–Vhagar, the largest and oldest in the world–in exchange for his eye.

A small price to pay for the way the young prince would bloom beneath her wings.

Rhaenyra’s family, as well as Alicent’s family, were all summoned by King Viserys to make sense of what happened to Aemond and why it happened. Tension swelled and crackled through the collected room like living storm clouds. You stood quietly behind your mother, purple eyes wide and scared as you surveyed the chaos. Even as all the kids yelled over one another trying to make their side of the story heard, you didn’t utter a peep. How desperately you wanted to ask Aemond himself what happened. How terribly you wanted to hold his hand through the pain of his slashed face being stitched up. How awfully you wanted to kiss him if only to let him know he could still feel something–to see if he could still feel something. 

The King seemed to hold no love for his son as he asked him–ordered him–to tell the truth. You felt your heart breaking as you witnessed father and son hold a stare off that could alight the entire room aflame. Two dragons, one old and one young, challenging each other, daring each other, their teeth seconds away from rending into the other.

The following moments were a blur and you didn’t realize what was happening until Alicent ran to your mother with her husband’s dagger clenched in her hand. You screamed and were pulled away in time to not get pushed or stumbled over. Blood spilled and the tension broke in a devastating clash of emotions. Emotions you, as a child, couldn’t understand, not fully. 

Kings Landing was no longer safe for your family. 

During the following days, before departing for Dragonstone, you were able to sneak to Aemond a handful of times. He didn’t talk much. You never pressured him to. Often, it was only silence and your uncle’s soft sobs that filled the otherwise quietness of his bedchamber. It was at the peak of those times, those heart wrenchingly raw moments, that you would sing to him. Admittedly you were no singer–flat most of the time and awkwardly sharp at others–but neither of you cared. You weren’t even sure if the song you sang was proper in its pacing and pronunciations. It was a song you both deemed secret: learned from the pages of an Old Valyria history book, paced to your own tune, the ancient words were sung with all the wonder of adolescence. 

Vhargar and Aemond’s bond had already been forged by grit, determination, and a kind of stupidity that only young boys held, and it grew by the day. You weren’t sure if Vhagar’s roars were louder while Aemond quietly sobbed into your comforting embrace, or while he was utterly silent. You wondered what brewed beneath the surface during those times. Part of you was afraid of what that silence might gestate. There were many tales of beasts being soothed by music, and so you sang and hoped your ancient song might keep his beast at bay.

“We’re leaving for Dragonstone at first light, uncle,” you said to him a little sadly. You hadn’t ever been away from Aemond. Would the libraries at Dragonstone offer the same respite as the ones here at King's Landing? Would you see hopeful glimpses of him from the corner of your eye only to realize it a play of your imagination?

While he acknowledged your words he didn’t say anything in reply. 

“When do you think we’ll see each other again?” You asked softly, tentatively.

“Likely when we are grown and free to make our own decisions,” he answered, words flat. 

It stung. It hurt. “Then I shall tame one of the wild dragons and fly to visit you.” Aemond’s single eye, that lovely hue so similar and so different to your own, glittered at you for the briefest second. So he can still feel things, you thought to yourself. The corner of his mouth twitched in tandem, and before you could stop yourself you learned forward and pressed the gentlest kiss to the outside of his mouth. You didn’t stay to catch his reaction for you turned on your heel and walked down the secret passage from whence you came; naught more than a whisper of silken skirts.

Such affection would be improper by Gods and men alike if you were born of a different bloodline. The Targaryens were closer to Gods than men, however, and so you did not have to play life by man’s traditions. The blood of the dragon runs thick, and your heart pulled to Aemond. A surge of energy rushed through you and you wanted nothing more than to kiss him properly. But when you turned to look over your shoulder, you only saw darkness. He was already gone.

II.

Dragonstone’s libraries were much different than the big library in the Red Keep. Over the following years, you finally, slowly, began to feel peace akin to what you and Aemond shared. Similar, but not quite.

Rhaenyra married her uncle Daemon and they had given you two more little brothers: Aegon and Viserys. Part of you missed life in King’s Landing with its bright sunshine, lavish gardens, and wide populace. Despite the grimness of Dragonstone, however, this place truly felt like home. An ancient seat of Targaryen glory, the the Targaryen's of old spared nothing while crafting this castle with arcane arts, dragonfire, and sorcery. The fabled magic of it sent your veins thrumming. If it weren’t for Aemond you might not ever want to go back to King’s Landing. Aegon’s garden was your favorite place in all of Dragonstone with its tall dark trees, wild roses, and thorny hedges. You wrote diary entries as well as letters there. You and Aemond wrote back and forth a few times over the years, but just like in childhood when games of chase were played no more, your letters, too, stopped. Still, the garden with its piney scent and tart cranberries remained your place of solace.

A letter from King Viserys arrived some time after you’d turned fifteen. Rhaenyra pulled you aside that same day, away from your brothers, and said, “father’s health is beginning to fail. I'm going to see him. Daemon said he will stay here while I visit on dragonback. Would you like to come with me? I’d love for you to. And I know Syrax would too,” she smiled hopefully, giving your forearm a gentle squeeze in annunciation.

You blinked, slightly taken back, before beaming a bright smile. “Of course, mother! I miss my grandfather and would love to see him.”

“I’ll send a raven. Perhaps he will have a belated nameday gift for you,” your mother answered with one of her playful expressions. 

A return letter was indeed sent and over the next few days Rhaenyra and Daemon made plans for the upcoming week. It wouldn’t be a long stay but that didn’t stop excitement from crawling up your spine and settling in your belly. How would uncle Aemond be? It’d been so long since you two had seen each other! It'd even been a long time since you wrote to one another. Would he remember you as you remembered him? Would he even care to see you?

You donned your warmest wool and most comfortable leathers for the flight to King’s Landing. Gray clouds broke to open blue sky and the brisk salty air had you feeling like you were in charge of the flight. Syrax knew the way well and flew right where she knew to–the dragonpit.

There wasn’t a grand welcome for your arrival and yet somehow it felt more comfortable than being paraded around for hours on end and being forced to entertain a grandiose feast. Viserys–he did look ailing, much more than you last remembered–and Alicent welcomed Rhaenyra and yourself. Ser Criston Cole and Aemond stood with them.

He did want to see you!

“Father! I’m sorry we haven’t been back sooner. Daemon and I–”

Excited hugs were exchanged between the three of you, and the conversation droned out as pressure built behind your ears; dull ringing taking over as anxiety, excitement, and something else unnamed thrilled along your spine. Aemond, only a short time older than you, was no longer the boy you remembered. He’d grown tall and sharp. Any softness of childhood melted away during the last few years. Placed over his damaged left eye was a simple black leather eyepatch. It stood out starkly against his pale complexion–though, it matched the rest of his black leather attire. His slash healed well, you thought privately, but a gnarly scar remained. It looked painful.

Aemond peered at you looking at him; keen. Something simmered beneath his eye and you were reminded of singing to him all those years ago–how you’d hoped to soothe any beast that might be growing in the shadows. The corners of his bowed mouth quirked.

“Darling?” Your mother asked, her voice finally making sense in your head as she turned to regard you closer. “Are you feeling okay?”

With a quick flutter of blinks you looked up to her. “Sorry. Yes, I’m feeling alright. A bit tired from the flight is all. May I have a snack before supper?”

“Of course,” she replied with a reassuring squeeze of your hand.

Alicent smiled. You always thought her pretty. A part of you wondered how none of her children shared her brown eyes or auburn hair. “Check with the kitchen. I’m sure there’s breads and cheeses available at the very least. Wine, too, I imagine.” She looked between you and Aemond before adding, “let Aemond take you. He’s been quite excited to see you since Rhaenyra’s letter.”

“Uncle,” you breathed, surprised by your lack of breath upon saying his name. “I daresay I barely recognize you.”

“I could say the same, niece. It's been many years,” he said with an inclination of his head. “You are looking a little faint. Let’s find you some food, hm?” He asked. 

At first, conversation proved to be sparse. Before, things had always been so easy with Aemond and silence had always been comfortable. Now, it didn’t feel easy nor did the silence feel comfortable. Anytime you looked up at him, or over to him, he was already looking at you. His attention barely seemed to wander elsewhere. You ate until you felt better while Aemond pretended to eat. Slowly, with effort on your part, conversation picked up. Before too long the air of awkwardness lifted and your shoulders relaxed.

Aemond seemed to notice, too.

Three days followed and each proved to be more eventful than the last. You’d met up with your aunt and uncle, Helaena and Aegon, and happily–even if Aegon's jests were more perverse than you ever remembered–caught up with them. They were married now. Though, you saw no sort of physical or emotional connection between them. You liked Helaena; you wondered, privately, if life was treating her well, and if she found any enjoyment within it. The faraway look in her eyes suggested not, but you remembered her always being a peculiar child. She didn’t always have both feet in this world, you realized, and you didn’t feel any sort of jealousy for her otherworldly gift. Did dreamers fall into a silent abyss while slumbering? Or did they even dream when they slept, resulting in a never ending barrage of sight and madness?

On the fourth day Aemond introduced you to Vhagar. Sympathy–or perhaps pity–shone in his eye when you told him you still hadn’t bonded with a dragon. “And here I remember you saying you would tame a wild dragon so you might fly across the sea to visit me?” He proclaimed with an arch of brow, snark and jest in equal measurements.

“It’s not quite so easy. I enjoy my skin and my hair. I have heard many tales of brave men trying to bond with those dragons only to end up as a pile of ash. Or forever scarred. Or–” you lowered your voice and tipped closer to him, adding with a whisper, “–lacking of limbs.” You tilted your chin, purple eyes glittering with playfulness; teasing, testing.

“Hm,” he stifled a laugh with a press of his lips. “Both of those are a marvel. It would very much be a shame to scathe the beauty of Old Valyria.”

Your heart jumped and you blushed. Surely he was only being kind, right?

He flew you on Vhargar until the spilled watercolors of sunset mottled into gray. Upon returning to the Red Keep, tucked away in one of your secret childhood places, Aemond dared to kiss your lips. Stunned and exhilarated alike, you returned the affection with fervor. He wasn’t your first kiss, but the things that sparked and webbed through your body were much more intense than any before. “Aemond…,” you whispered against his mouth. “We shouldn’t be doing this, uncle.”

“You can stop any time,” he rasped in reply, eye dark.

In a shuddered breath you admitted, “I don’t want to.”

“Me either.”

You kissed until voices and footsteps filled the nearby corridor. Hiding your giggles behind a hand, you slunk away in direction to your chamber leaving Aemond behind. You turned to see where he might be going. Already he’d turned on his heel and strode in the opposite way. He didn’t follow. That night–with a thundering pulse– you dreamt of wild roses, flying, and your hands on your uncle’s chest while he kissed your neck.

The following day was yours and your mother’s last day in the capitol. She intended to leave after lunch, and until then she let you do as you please. Requesting, of course, to be back in time to leave on time. With how much you missed the rest of your family you could only imagine how much she missed them!

“Come to Dragonstone with us. I don’t want to leave you so soon. I can show you all my favorite places at home. At the ancient seat of our family,” you added the last bit with bright eyes in hopes of seducing him away with you.

“My place is not there,” replied Aemond. “I am to stay here with my mother and siblings. ‘Tis my duty as second son.”

You knew, as second son, that Aemond would have to carve his own path with fire, blood, and teeth–heavy emphasis on the latter, most likely.

“Daemon can train you. Our castle yard has an impressive training pit. It’s different from the one here. Everything is different there. There’s some nights when the magic in the walls makes my blood sing. There is no magic like that left here,” you tried to coax him further, stepping close so you had to look up at him with soft eyes. Eager eyes.

Instead of accepting or denying your request he leaned down and kissed you like he did yesterday. And just like yesterday you warmly accepted the affection. The blood of the dragon runs thick, and dragonblood runs hot. Despite your relation, and despite yourself, you found yourself wanting. Needing. He was too. You could tell by the tightness of his pants. Two young dragons hidden away amongst sparse candlelight in a secret passage perhaps only Maegor the Cruel knew of. “I’ve always wanted to try something. Will… will you let me?”

He pulled back to peer at you curiously. “What is it?”

Slowly, running on an instinct that any wanton young woman harbored, you sank down onto your knees before him. “You can tell me to stop at any time. Okay?”

Aemond wasn’t an idiot. He nearly spent in his pants at the very sight of you lowering like that. Aegon had taken him to a brothel on the Street of Silk for his thirteenth nameday, and he lost the last innocence of boyhood within those perfumed walls; a secret not many knew. And, perhaps less knew how much he despised it–how it disgusted him. The thought still made his stomach turn.

But you? His beautiful, perfect niece, with your epitome of Targaryen beauty?

He never asked you to stop as you sated your curiosity. The rush of sensation that blazed through his body was more intense than anything he’d yet experienced. At the peak of his pleasure he swore he blacked out.

He returned the gift as best as he could with his fingers. 

You barely made it back in time to your mother to fly back home. You sincerely hoped she didn’t ask any questions about where you were or why you were running late.

III.

As the Gods would have it, it would be another few years before Rhaenyra and her family were summoned to King’s Landing for, perhaps, an even more dire situation than the first: the legitimacy of Lucerys’ claim to Driftmark and its throne. It was a matter already settled many years ago by none other than King Viserys. Yet, still, conflict stirred with Vaemond Velaryon and his proclamation.

A never ending political headache for the King who’s health was in such despair it was a miracle he lived to see each new morning.

Similar to when you and your mother arrived three years prior, there wasn’t a grand welcome awaiting your family. In fact there was… nothing. Tension sparked to new heights and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into yourself and disappear. While not entirely disappearing, you and your brothers made way to the private guest bedchambers; Rhaenyra made sure to have rooms arranged for all of you prior to arriving. Before leaving, she told all of you that she would summon you later once things were settled. Or supper. Whichever came first.

Truthfully you had no plans to eat with everyone. Uncaring of any potential consequence it might bring you loosened your hair, stripped down to your shift, and plopped in bed so heavily that a plume of dust rose from the sheets. If you were less exhausted–mentally and physically–you’d be repulsed by the dust. Right now? You cared little.

Slumber washed over you like the waves you were so used to at home.

You didn’t wake until hours later when a servant rapped over and over upon your door. “My lady? Hello?” 

Coughing and turning to face the doorway, you asked, “what is it?”

A young girl stepped inside and bowed. “Your mother has summoned you for dinner.”

“Bring me a plate, please. I have no wish to eat with a crowd tonight.”

She twisted her hands a few times as if in disapproval but said nothing. Instead, she simply nodded, bowed again, and left with a click of the door.

That night you ate alone and silently hoped Aemond would come find you. Surely he knew ways around the Keep that would lead him to you... But, he never did. After eating your fill you slept like the dead.

Sunrise gently woke you and gradually you began to prepare for the day. Once ready to get dressed, you were confused to see your dress on the floor instead of on the back of the chair you hung it over last night. Strange… you thought to yourself, scanning around the room for what might have caused it. A section of curtain fluttered with morning breeze and when you walked to inspect it you realized the window had been partially cracked. You laughed a short sound and rolled your eyes–how silly to be paranoid about the breeze. You couldn’t remember any strong gusts last night, but you did sleep very hard.

Fully around, now, you made your way to find breakfast. Eventually you did and broke fast with your brothers. For a few moments it felt like you were all children again. Talking, laughing, stealing bits of food off each other’s plates, it felt… good. Homey. Lighthearted in a way only they could make you feel. Once finished, they departed for the training yard and you went to explore the gardens. There might not be any wild roses here and the hedges might be considerably less thorny than those at Dragonstone, but that didn’t stop you from missing it. 

Flowers, shrubs, and trees were in full beautiful display and their fragrances sent you right back to childhood. You lost track of how long you wandered. At least a full hour, surely. Likely more. It wasn’t until you heard your name spoken behind you that you snapped back to reality. Turning to look over your shoulder, you stuttered, excited and surprised, “Aemond!”

He stood taller and sharper than he did three years ago. He was a man grown, now, just like you were a woman grown. Gone were any traces of awkward lankiness. He was slim, yes, but judging by the width of his shoulders he had a strong back and arms. “Niece,” he replied. “Your brothers graced my training session earlier. As did Vaemond Velaryon and his entourage,” he paused to inspect a bit of dirt on his sleeve before folding his arms behind his back. “I thought perhaps your strong brothers might grow into their Velaryon features as they aged. But, alas, they haven’t.”

Prick.

Was he really going right for your throat? Immediately?

“Do you have so little faith in your sister’s lineage” You asked, hands folding behind your back, mirroring him, as you slowly closed the distance between yourselves with deliberate steps. “Myself and all my brothers were grown in the belly of a dragon. Birthed into this world by a dragon. Tell me, uncle, how is that any different than being seeded by a dragon?”

“It is not my sister’s lineage I lack faith in, dear niece, it’s the roots she climbs.”

Fury heated your face and for a moment you considered punching him in his stupid, sharp, beautiful nose. Or perhaps kneeing him in the root he no doubt made reference to. In the span of three heartbeats you settled for neither and instead gave him a disappointing quirk of mouth. “And here I was upset that you didn’t come to say hi to me last night.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I saw you plenty last night.” he said, tone making it seem like everyone watched you sup together even though you ate alone.

You squinted at him suspiciously. “Did you come find me to be rude, or was there another reason you graced my company?”

“We recently received a collection of books from Myr. Would you like to look at them with me?” Hopefulness briefly lit his features. Idly, you wondered what his deal was. He was an outright asshole only a moment ago, and now he offered to read with you like you did so often as children? The library always had been a place of solace for both of you. Mayhaps he was simply nervous today, on edge, and let the ugliness of anxiety guide his tongue. It would be quiet in the library–the perfect place to, perhaps, connect once again as adults.

You continued to look up at him, attempting to read his features, before replying, “sure. Only if we can have tea and scones too.”

It was his turn to squint at you suspiciously.

That made you laugh; tension began to ease around both of you. “I won’t get crumbs on the pages. Promise!”

And so, walking shoulder to shoulder, you both made way to the library. Tea and scones arrived shortly afterward. As soon as you began reading from different tomes conversation began to flow more freely. Nerves might be flying wild everywhere else in the Red Keep, but here? Safely within these walls? You relaxed. Aemond relaxed. There were no more subtle jabs at bastardry, nor Driftmark, nor anything else. Every now and then you’d laugh and Aemond would smile. Other times it was perfectly silent. When you thought him engrossed by something he read, you eyed him carefully through your peripheral vision–and sometimes with your full vision–trying to keep rising sensations at bay. Despite his sharp tongue and rude quips, he was horribly handsome. You thought he was the last time you were here, too, and now those same feelings intensified to new heights. You caught him doing the same to you. Though, he didn’t coyly turn away when caught. Tension of a different sort heated the air around both of you. 

Hot-blooded. 

Dragonblood.

You ate supper with your mother that night. She and Daemon discussed things from earlier in the day but you paid it little mind–yours was still on Aemond. 

After supper you had a quiet night in your bedchamber. You requested a bath, and it didn’t take the servants long to prepare it for you. Soaking in the hot water was exactly what you needed–complete with your favorite oils generously added to the water until sweet florals and subtly spicy scents lingered around you. By the time you were done your fingers and toes were wrinkly and the water was tepid at best. Sitting in front of the vanity, you dried and braided your silver hair for bed. The day’s events–Aemond–proved to be mentally exhausting. Conflicting emotions warred in your mind as you laid in bed and started up at the neat lace underlay of the four poster bed’s silken drapes.

A noise at your door startled you from whatever daydream danced in your head. How was it opening? You triple checked the lock! Who was coming inside? Frozen and wide eyed, you couldn’t move from your spot upon the bed as someone silently intruded. As the figure stepped out of the shadowy frame you took note of their height, body shape, and silver hair… “Aemond!?” You asked shrilly. “Seven Hells what on earth are you doing?”

“Coming to pay a proper visit to my little niece, of course,” he answered with quiet amusement. Standing at the side of your bed, now, he tilted his head and continued, “I requested a specific guard for this duty tonight so I could slip past him.”

You looked up at him as he looked down at you, regarding you closely. Something shone behind his eye and you couldn’t quite put a finger on it. A rush of emotion rose and settled in the pit of your belly as Aemond gently dragged his thumb across your lower lip. Down the curve of your chin. You swallowed thickly. “You could have just as easily knocked like any regular person would, uncle,” you said.

“What's the fun in that?”

Silence followed as you both took each other in, that unknown expression behind his eye becoming more clear. Lust. 

Did your own gaze mirror it too? The sound of your blood filled your ears.

“Do you remember the last time you were here? When we were in that passageway all alone?” He asked, tracing the backs of his fingers along your pretty face. 

Of course you did. You smiled–coy–and tipped your head into his touch. “Quite well.”

A soft satisfied hum accented the curve of his mouth. “Good.” His fingers pressed against the underside of your chin as he tilted your face up to him, embers sparking through the eye contact. “I've searched for that type of release again and again and have yet to find it,” he said; desperation and intensity so evident you knew he meant it.

Shivers took over your entire body and your spine arched forward, curving as if to seek the sensation of his body against yours. “You have?” You asked between parted lips. 

“I have.”

A hot rush of excitement overcame you and before you knew it both of your hands pulled on the buckles of his tunic, pulling him down to you. You kissed him fiercely and he returned it with ferocity. There wasn't anything tentative about it; lips, tongue, teeth, all meshing until you whimpered into his mouth.

Aemond pushed you back on the bed and fell atop you, one arm holding him up for support, as his silken hair draped along his face. He was so warm, and felt so good over you, that you moaned into his kiss again; he swallowed it whole.

You whined, voice raspy and sweet alike, as you tugged on the front of his belt, “again. I want to do it again,”

“Look at you, so needy for my cock,” he rumbled against your neck, kissing and nipping along the sensitive flesh. He grinned warmly into the crook there and you giggled.

Pushing yourself up on your elbows you turned your body so you could push him onto his back. The startle of his angular lovely face was more than enough reward. With the new position you could feel how hard he was inside his pants, and you wondered if he could feel your heat through the thin material of your smallclothes. You slid down the front of his body until you knelt delicately on the floor. Looking up at him as innocently as you could, your hands ran up the lean length of his thighs while you nestled between them. “You left my window open last night,” you whispered at him as your fingers began to unlace the front of his bottoms.

A low, restrained sound came from Aemond at the combination of your touch and words. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he replied with cool indifference, supporting himself partially up with his elbows so he could watch you.

A knowing smile spread on your pretty lips as you answered, “you're a bad liar, uncle.” Kissing the flat plane of his abdomen, you tugged the front of his pants down until he was fully freed; hard, solid, and already blazing with heat. You moved those same kisses lower–placing them all around the base of his need until your nose tickled with his scent. His length twitched, the velvety smoothness of him bumping your face.

Above you, he hissed an inward breath, head tilting to the side. “Go on then, this cock isn't going to suck itself now is it?” He crooned, doing his best to appear in control even though his heart thumped wildly with anticipation and the clawing ache to be inside of you–any part of you–had him going mad.

If the slick between your thighs wasn't already unbearable you'd have retorted his taunt. But, you wanted this nearly as much as him. Lifting one of your hands you gripped around his length, pumping slowly, as you rolled your tongue beneath his tip; tasting him, teasing him, coating that part of him with saliva so you could more easily take him into your mouth.

Aemond could have lost it there–would have lost it if he hadn't already fucked his hand to release prior to visiting you. “Did I tell you you could use your hands?” His eye glittered like dragonglass.

Without having to be told again you released your grip and instead held onto the tops of his thighs with both hands, the wholeness of your expression feline. You licked up each side of his cock, circling your tongue around his head, again and again, coating him to your satisfaction. And then, just when you saw Aemond's hips twitch and flex beneath you, you took him into the fullness of your mouth and consumed him.

He groaned, head tipping back. Countless times had he tried to recreate the pleasure you gave him first; no woman ever made him feel the same way and he hated them for it. 

You bobbed, and sucked, and savored the hot solid length of him in your mouth. You dragged and worked your tongue against him, too, lost in the heady sensations of him. The quiet sounds he made coaxed you further and soon you became uncaring of the slobbery mess you were leaving on him. Relaxing your throat, you swallowed as much of his cock as you could. When you gagged at the intrusion you pulled your head up, only to do it again. And again. You moaned around him; wanton.

It was too much for Aemond. Somehow he grew even hotter, even harder, and soon one of his hands pushed your head down while his hips bucked up into your mouth. He panted. Peak was so close. Looking down at you, then, he saw how dazed and desperate you were as he fucked your mouth. The knot of pleasure at the base of his spine exploded and he groaned, guttural, as his balls tightened and cock released down your throat.

You about peaked with him. Breathing through your nose you did your best to take all of him, the hot pulses of his length making you clench around nothing. 

“Swallow. All of it,” Aemond said down at you, slowly easing the pressure of his hand on your head.

Panting, you did. You showed him your empty mouth with pride. “Dragonseed is never to be wasted, uncle.”

If Aemond had anything intelligible to say it didn’t leave his mouth properly. Both his hands gripped around your upper arms and he yanked you up, maneuvering you atop the bed once more. Reaching to the open belt around his waist he unsheathed his dagger with a whisper of leather and steel. It glinted orange in the chamber’s lowlight. “My sweet, lecherous niece…,” he said darkly, sweetly, pinning you down to the bed as he loomed above you. “I know how to make you a true Targaryen, bastard,” he hissed the last word into the shell of your ear and reveled in the way he saw your throat tighten in defiance.

You tensed beneath him and he laughed.

“My favorite bastard,” he crooned, trailing his dagger up the front of your body. “I will make you my wife.”

Goosebumps pebbled your skin as he teased you, taunted you, thrilled you with the edge of his blade. He never drew blood. It only grazed your shift. “I already am a Targaryen,” you proclaimed, voice strong despite its softness.

“I’m going to ruin you tonight and you will let me. Mother will have us wed by the turn of the new moon.” He tilted his dagger just slight, just enough, and the delicate material of your shift stood no chance against it. He sliced it open to reveal the fullness of your lovely body; your shape, your form, your clean floral scent… all of it made his mind feral. “Marry me, niece.”

A hundred–no, a thousand–things ran through your mind all at once. You saw and felt him already fully hard once again, and the hot press of his cock against your flushed skin had you losing sanity. “I will,” you breathed, nodding. “I will marry you.” 

Aemond tossed his dagger away to instead pull your smallclothes down your legs. “My darling betrothed,” he growled, shouldering off his tunic and undershirt as you lay completely bare beneath him. He didn’t even bother kicking his pants off the rest of the way before he moved between your spread thighs. “Let us promise our union now before any Gods that are watching.”

It was wrong. You knew it. And yet… Your heartbeat pounded in your ears and between your thighs. Madness. Surely this was madness. “We can’t,” you protested weakly.

He laughed another dark sound. “Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. We don’t follow the same rules as everyone else.” One of his hands moved over your breasts, sliding and squeezing over them with reverent affection. His other lowered between your legs and the tips of his fingers brushed over your budded pearl. He nearly snarled at the wetness he met there. He circled that bud. Slid over it. He worked your bundle of nerves, watching you all the while.

“A-Aemond!” You gasped, stuttering. Your nipples pebbled firmer as tension built in your belly, tightening in a way that only you were able to make happen. You needn’t any more convincing to give him your maidenhead. So wrong. But, with Aemond? So, so right. Your thighs spilled open wider for him; inviting him.

The rasp of his thighs pressed against the smooth undersides of your own and slowly, carefully, he lined himself up with your dripping entrance and began to press forward. 

Your body yielded and the fullness of him was a sensation unlike anything you’d experienced before. His heat seared into you as he sunk, cautiously, through your opening and past your body’s unmarred barrier. It pinched and you winced, blushed face staring up at him with doe eyes. 

Full. 

You were so full. 

You whimpered a little sound as Aemond’s jaw clenched and a groan rumbled deep in his chest. “You’re doing so well,” he mumbled, the intensity of his eye making you dizzy.

Finally, he was seated all the way inside you. With a heaving chest he held the position for a long moment, knowing you needed the time to adjust just as much as he did. He pulled back and eased back in, testing you. Testing himself. Fuck. He wasn’t going to last long. You were absolutely fucking perfect around him. You breathed his name again, gripping onto any part of his body that you could. 

Aemond’s movements became a little more sure with each moment. It didn’t take much longer until he was taking you fully. The softness of your breasts rocked with the motion of his thrusts, your face loosening as pleasure began to take over any pain there might have been. His greedy eye raked down the front of your body so he could watch where you were joined. Each time he pulled out his cock glistened with your slick, and each plunge sent you gasping at the pressure. Never had he seen anything that made his cock, and gut, and chest ache with such need. “You look so pretty with my cock inside you,” he said lowly, barely able to make words.

“Feels good, Aem,” you simpered in reply.

His mouth crashed to yours in a heavy kiss, licking into your mouth so your tongues slid against one another. The soft sound of skin slapping on skin began to grow louder as both of you worked into and against each other’s thrusts. “I’m going to mark that pretty little neck so that everyone knows your mine,” he rasped against your skin as he kissed over your chin, your jaw, until he reached your neck. He nipped there, biting harshly, kissing over each bite mark to soothe any lingering sting. He did it over and over, sucking the sensitive flesh into his mouth until he knew he’d leave a mark behind.

You trembled beneath him, squirming with pleasure, as he fucked into you at an angle and pace that had you soaring. The balance of pain and pleasure was more than anything you’d felt before and you were wholly at its mercy. You scratched his skin as you squeezed your fingers against his lean muscle, marking him as he marked you. “‘S too much,” you whined, breathless.

He only continued. Panting, he said, “I want to hear you scream my name when you come. Understood?”

You nodded, desperate. “Yes, yes yes yes..!” 

His pace grew sloppy, frenzied, as his own high threatened to push him over the edge any second. “Give it to me,” he moaned, pleaded. “Come with me.” One of his hands squeezed over your breast again, pinching and tugging the nipple, while the fingers of the other worked your clit. 

“Aemond!” You gasped thinly, covering your mouth just in time to muffle the scream that no doubt released with the intensity of your peak. Aemond’s mouth replaced your hand as climax took him, too, cock twitching as spurt after spurt of his seed filled the deepest parts of your body. You both rode it out together, senses buzzing and fuzzy, while the wonderful post-climax bliss sensations intoxicated you more than any wine. 

He carefully slid out from your body and nearly grew fucking hard again as he saw the evidence of your maidenhood upon your clean bedsheets. 

“You will be the loveliest bride,” he said, relishing the sight of you glowing from pleasure.

Pulling the top quilts back, you beckoned him in, asking, “stay awhile longer?”

He did.

You laid together, limp and blissful, and for the first time in over three years Aemond found himself fully sated.

-

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

To be added or removed from the taglist, hit me up!

Masterlist

Main Taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @aemondtarqaryens @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @schniiipsel

Three days from now, she would marry her older brother, her beloved Aemond, in the Grand Sept. The High Septon himself would bind their hands with ribbon and declare them one before the Gods. It was the fulfillment of a lifelong dream and the culmination of a love she had felt her whole life.

She did not remember when she began loving Aemond. She just did—all her life.

She loved staging mock battles between the felt dragons they played with in their nursery. She loved following behind him as he explored the castle and holding onto his hand when they found a particularly dark or ominous place (including their grandsire’s study one stormy night). She loved watching him train with Ser Cole, growing from an awkward boy to a strong and graceful man. She loved the adoration she always saw in his eyes – or eye, after that horrible night on Driftmark – when he looked at her. She loved the Valyrian nicknames he bestowed upon her all her life.

Haedus. Zaldrīzītsos. Maegītsos. And now, raqiarzītsos.

Aemond did not give anyone else nicknames, only her. He’s always made her feel special, loved, and safe.

Just as he did now.

As squires began hauling away the body of one of the knights, his blood leaving a trail in the sand, Aemond set his hand on top of hers and squeezed. “You do not have to look, raqiarzītsos, if it upsets you so.”

She turned towards him, allowing the sight of his gentle, handsome face to blot out the memory of the violence she’d just witnessed. He smiled at her and inclined his head slightly. “Sȳres. Ñuha nēdenka riña bony issa.”

Aemond sighed in satisfaction as he watched a blush color her cheeks. He leaned in closer, until she could feel his breath on her face. “Only a few more bouts, I promise. Then, we can return home.”

Unable to meet his adoring gaze for fear that the intensity of her affection for him would cause her to do or say something foolish, she looked down at her lap. “Yes, but we will return only to attend another feast. As the guests of honor, we will be expected to stay until it ends. I look forward to that as much as I did to this.”

The squires had begun raking the sand to hide the stain of blood.

“I know,” Aemond said quietly, entwining his fingers with hers and bringing her hand to his mouth, though he did not dare kiss that lovely hand in so public a place. “But I will be there the whole time, I promise. I will not leave your side.”

-

Aemond was true to his word, never leaving her on her own for a moment. He held her hand through the rest of the tourney, squeezing whenever he sensed she needed his reassurance and distracting her with his sweet words when blood was spilled. He held her hand the entire journey back to the Red Keep, gently brushing his thumb against the back of her hand. He held her hand at the feast whenever he could, only letting go so he could eat or when a particular dance required it.

And he held her hand as he walked her back to her chambers late that night, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her temple when she leaned her head on his shoulder, exhausted from their day.

“Can I stay in bed and sleep through tomorrow?” she asked with a yawn. “I have no desire to watch a second day of violence. Besides, it would mean one less day of waiting before I become your wife.”

They reached the door to her chambers, and Aemond laughed as he opened it and led her inside. “I’m afraid Mother would be upset if you did. Though if it were possible, I would happily join you.”

Halfway to her vanity, she turned to run back to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him a sleepy, mischievous smile. “You would join me in sleeping, or you would join me in bed?”

“Oh, raqiarzītsos,” Aemond groaned, pressing his brow to hers. He fought his instincts but at last relented and kissed her more passionately than was strictly allowed for an unmarried pair. “You know how much I desire you, desperately so. But we must refrain until we are wed.”

She whined pitifully in protest, burying her pouting face in his chest and inhaling his familiar scent of wind and brimstone. “But I don’t want to, lēkia.”

Aemond sighed and embraced her, nuzzling into her hair. “Neither do I, hāedus. But we must. I will not dishonor you.” She huffed and leaned further into him. “You must only sleep by yourself thrice more, and then I will be there to hold you every night for the rest of our lives.”

“You promise?” She lifted her chin and looked up at him. “I shall be very upset if you don’t.”

Aemond gave a breathy laugh before shaking his head in bemusement. “I cannot promise that I will never be away from you. The King and the Small Council may send me away on some mission, or…”

He frowned, brow creasing. That shadow followed them all their lives. The possibility that their half-sister Rhaenyra wouldn’t cede the crown to their elder brother Aegon and that she would attempt to dispose of them, so as not to have any threats to her ascension.

They never spoke of it aloud. But the threat still hung over each of them.

Aemond cupped her face in his hands, and she felt better – safer. Home.

“There may indeed be times when we have no choice but to be apart,” Aemond explained as gently as he could. “But every night I am able, I will be there to hold you. And I will do whatever I must to return to you as swiftly as possible.”

Overwhelmed by his promises and devotion, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a searing kiss. He held her back as tightly as he could, and as their hips met, she felt it.

“Aemond…” she separated from him though he chased her lips with his own. But she simply stared down at the hardness she’d felt pressing against her and the bulge it formed against his trousers.

He laughed. “I told you I was desperate.”

All the tidbits she’d learned of what went on between a man and his wife began to swirl in her head. She did not know much, but she’d heard many of Aegon’s crude comments over the years and some less crude from Helaena. Even Aemond, when they would sneak away together to kiss, had mentioned several things he wanted to do with her.

She hated not knowing. And she did not want to feel like a fool on their wedding night.

“Show me,” she asked breathlessly. Aemond balked, and she scrambled to find a reassuring response. “You don’t have to take my maidenhead, but just show me what I must do. I do not want to… to disappoint you on our wedding night.”

Aemond was silent for a long moment, his eyes searching her face as he absentmindedly petted her hair. She feared he would be disgusted with her for wanting him as much as he wanted her. That he would scold her, call off the wedding, or even hate her.

He didn’t.

He kissed her.

He kissed her, pulled her even closer, and began to roll his hips against hers.

“On our wedding night,” he instructed between sticky kisses, “you must kiss me. Just like this.” He held the back of her head in his hands and tilted her back, allowing himself to lean over her and press his lips upon hers with more force.

When she groaned, clutching at the lapels of his jacket as her knees weakened, he brought a hand to the small of her back to support her. “Then, I will take you to our bed, like this.”

Then he hoisted her up, linking her legs behind his back. Something about the movement allowed him to better press into some spot between her legs that sent sparkling pleasure through her veins. As he carried her towards her bed, she buried her face in his neck and began grinding against him, chasing that feeling.

“Next,” he said just before he laid her down in the center of the bed. “I will carefully remove every scrap of silk and lace they wrap you in and every bit of gold and jewels they drape over you until there is nothing left to hide you from me.

She moaned as he climbed onto the bed and hovered over her once more. She did not know what was more exciting, Aemond above her or his delightful words. “What about you?” she managed to ask. “Will you remain in your clothes?”

“Absolutely not,” he laughed, kissing every inch of her face he could. “For me to do what I want with you, I will have to be bare, as well.”

“Can I undress you, as you did for me?”

“You can do anything you’d like, raqiarzītsos,” he answered with a groan. “But I hope you do it quickly, so I can do this.”

Aemond seized her knees, pulling them up and apart so he could slot himself between her thighs. It was a perfect fit, as if they were made for each other. He only savored it for a moment before he began moving again, sliding his hips against hers.

“Oh!” she squeaked as he again rubbed against that same magic place over and over and over again. With each movement, her noises of pleasure became louder and louder until Aemond had to clamp a hand over her mouth to contain them.

He smiled down at her, his face as flushed as his as he moved faster and faster. “You must be quiet, riñītsos. You don’t want someone to hear us, do you?” She shook her head. “Do you think you can be quiet?”

Her eyes were wide as she considered for a moment. Then she sighed against his hand and shook her head ‘no.’

“Then what shall I do with you?”

She mumbled something Aemond couldn’t understand with her mouth covered, so he removed it with a smug smile. “What was that?”

“Can you use your lips instead of your hand?”

Aemond’s hips stuttered, but he smiled widely. “Oh, you wonderful little girl.”

Their mouths did not part until her body began to tremble all over, and she felt so hot that she thought for a moment she’d developed a fever. She tossed her head back, trying to scream, but only a long whine emerged. A burning pleasure spread throughout her, and she knew she would only ever feel like this again when she was with Aemond. He, too, seemed to experience something similar, a silent scream tearing from his throat as he pressed her hard into the mattress.

After their breathing steadied, Aemond grabbed her face to kiss her one final time.