Hello!! I wrote this small piece for bottomond week 2025! I’ve been planning on writing a sick fic where Aemond is the whumpee/sick character for a while, and it seemed a good fit to do it for this event. I know it’s late but I think it fits the Light criteria, it can also go in the Free category.
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Wife/Reader Sick!Aemond x Caregiver!Wife
Prompt: Sickfic, hurt/comfort, lots of fluff, happy marriage
Warnings: Mentions of light to moderate illness
(English is not my first language if you see any errors I'd be glad you tell me so I can correct, thank you!)
“Which one do you think would suit me better?” She asked, holding two sets of earrings close to her ears. The blue one, matching her gown, and the white ones looked like small snowflakes cascading down almost to her shoulders, a fine match with the season. “Is it too much, these white ones?” She reiterated, turning to the gilded mirror on the wall to see herself with a piece of each set in her ears.
Aemond sat in the corner of their chambers by the fire, almost fully undressed, a chess set abandoned beside him, he had lost with her, again. The prince stroked his chin, gazing at her and quite uninterested in her question. “I believe both are suitable," He turned his head towards the bed where his own clothes were lying for him to dress, feeling depleted of will and energy to finish such a task in his hands.
His wife was not satisfied with his answer. She turned slightly, facing away from the mirror, looking directly into him, demanding the attention of her dear husband that she so rightfully deserved. Without any more words from her, he added, “but the blue ones are better on you…I do prefer sapphires."
“You know how much I hate indifference as an answer, husband, glad you could be helpful, thank you.” She finished placing the jewels in her ears and walked close to Aemond, cupping his face in her hands. She looked at his chest and wrists, still red from the marks she left him with. “Oh dear, I was rough this morning, it’s still a bit red, sweetheart, you have such delicate skin, such a precious lil prince.” Her fingers traced the small marks with a playful expression.
“Hmm, indeed…But I do love it when you mark me like this. You always know my limits so well, you do take such good care of me after…”
“Sweetheart…don’t talk like that to me, you’ll make me undress again, and we are already scandalously late.” She kissed him and picked up his clothes from the bed so he could get ready as well. Dowager Queen Alicent was in the mood for having more dinners as a family, with her sons and daughter and her grandchildren, the refined dinners were more of a constant of late and it was expected of them to take part.
The small event was no different from the others. Except for one thing. The one eyed prince gazed with his single eye far away from the small crowd, as if he was not really there. He did not seem into eating or drinking, much less talking, and for once his wife thought he was even quite dizzy.
When the dinner was over and the couple came back to the chambers, the wife stood looking into her husband as he undressed to his night clothes. She stepped closer to him, placing a palm on his temple. “You don’t look like your usual self ”, his cheeks unusually pinkish. “You seem quite feverish, do you feel ill?” Her expression turned to genuine concern as she sat beside him on the bed with his face between her palms.
“Nonsense…it’s just the fire, it felt like Vahgar’s fire down there, with how hot it was burning, and it was tremendously boring too” he dismissed her concern, bringing her hands into his chest.
“And yet you did not take off your coat, my husband..”
“My wife worries too much. I am well, but if I feel…unwell, I surely will inform you, my lady,” he assured her, pressing her hands to his chest. She took the opportunity to look at his own arms and confirm the marks she left him with were now almost all gone, phantom lines of their last lustful session.
The winter night came with small flakes melting by the window, and the young couple embraced each other in bed, her head resting on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart, which seemed more anxious than usual. Rest did not came for Prince Aemond, and with that, rest did not come for the lady as well. The prince turned and turned, more furs, fewer furs, nothing seemed quite well. Then, coughing, the unease breathing settled in. She turned him over to his right side and cuddled him in a little spoon, planting soft kisses in his hair and scratching his back and chest softly with her nails under the heavy blanket. For a while, the prince did sleep, but by morning break, he could not deny he was feeling very unwell.
“My sweet angel…” she said softly to him, “you ARE sick, very sick, I must say.” Without him saying a thing she sends the maid to fetch the Maester.
“I do not possess the courage to deny that statement, wife.” Even his voice sounded weaker and strained. The prince’s skin, now clammy and feverish, looked like wet marble with the red veins in his eye shining a bit too much from the fever. And as much as he tried to conceal it, the coughing and the shortness of breath were just impossible to hide. “By the Gods..I feel disgusting, this sickness on my skin and lungs, I can’t breathe well, and I just feel…needy.” he added with an embarrassed expression.
“Worry not, I’ll make sure all your needs are met” After sending for the Maester and demanding fresh water and linen to be delivered, she also commanded the servants to bring simple foods for the prince. He tried to avoid it, hunger was not really in his mind right now, but his wife was adamant that he needed to eat and drink something nevertheless. She propped Aemond carefully in bed, placing some feather pillows for him to rest his back and ease his breathing. She did it so delicately and so tenderly as if he were made of fine glass.
“You’re not so gentle when you tie me up in this bed to ravish me,” he tried to lift the mood with the comment, giving her a slight smirk.
“I am not, dear husband, you’re also not sick like this when I do that.” She lifted the blanket from his chest and cleaned it with a cloth, doing the same with his arms and shoulders, giving him a new and clean night chemise to put on. Then she took care of his face, cleaning and refreshing every inch of it. She knew how much her husband despised feeling unclean, especially in bed, covered in his own sweat. “The maester will be here soon, I hope, I'm sure he will give us something to ease your pain, my love.”
“You must not worry this much, wife…” Aemond held her hand on his own. “Just a simple cold most likely, it’s not a cause for such commotion, there was no need to send for him"
“Even if it is, in the deep winter, you know colds can turn into difficult situations, and illness…” She immediately recalled Lady Ary, her late friend, who had died months prior from a prolonged respiratory illness. “...is a serious matter, husband. Your health is of the utmost importance to me.” So she could not have a bone, a hair in her body that was not worried about it, better safe than sorry, she thought.
The Maester arrived shortly after being called. He started the examination by observing the prince, asking some simple questions about his symptoms, and asking his wife as well. Then he took his wrist, felt his pulse, and looked into his healthy eye. “Could you please remove the chemise, my prince?” The young prince obeyed him reluctantly. When he needed to close his ear to the prince’s chest, to listen to the breathing and heart, his skin crawled in protest. He did not say a word, but his expression did, it felt odd to him to have someone who was not his wife so close to himself.
After the careful examination, Maester Orwyle gave his verdict, “It seems Prince Aemond is indeed afflicted by illness affecting proper breathing, and he does have a severe fever.”
“I think that much I could tell…” Aemond responded, waiting for the Maester to actually tell him a miracle solution to his problem.
“My prince” Orwyle, always calm, polite, and wise, took notice of his patient impatience. “You must remain in bed rest until you recover properly. It would be unwise to place stress on your lungs and heart when they are fragile. I’ll prepare an infusion and mixture to help with the cleaning of the body. Some steamed water with these herbs could also help to gently ease your breathing. Heavy coughing is expected during the next few days, your body needs to clean off what is causing the illness…But I believe you’ll feel much better after all that comes out.
The lady made sure to give the prince every potion and infusion that the Maesters and the healers delivered to their room. And the prince? Behaved like a child while drinking most of them, but felt a sense of pure happiness every time his wife was so attentive and over cautions with all his treatments and symptoms. She also made sure to have a maid present at the door all the time, should an emergency occur. As the Maester said, the coughing was constant, and nothing seemed to ease the prince’s affliction. In one particular bad fit, his wife braced him in her arms until he threw up what he had taken to break the morning fast. The prince looked absolutely defeated, embarrassed, mortified, and so small he could not say a word. With all the ease and grace his wife took care of the situation, cleaning it all and setting him in place once more, cleaning him the best she could. “My love, don’t worry about anything, drink some more water with the infusion, I’ll send the maid again to fetch the Maester to prepare some more sourleaf and willow bark”
“I’m sorry, love…and thank you for your patience and care,” his healthy eye looked into her like a poor baby animal, desperately thankful for her presence and touch. She did not sleep much during the night, vigilant to her husband’s every detail. The prince did manage to sleep for a while after the Maester induced him with a small sedative.
When the morning defrosted the windows, and the first sun ray hit the prince, his wife was already preparing a warm tub of water with herbs. He had sweated profusely during the night, but his fever did break, and the Maester thought it wise to allow a bath not just to clean off the illness but also to lift the spirits of the prince.
She started unlacing his night chemise after kissing him good morning. His pride was struggling with the situation, but it was not the first time they shared such moments after 3 years of marriage. It still felt alien to him sometimes, to have that feminine presence at all times by hi side.
The lady told her maid to bring new and soft cotton and furs too to cover him when he got out of the water. With one of them, she started cleaning his shoulders and chest, the soft scent of eucalyptus and bergamot filling the atmosphere, and the warmth and softness of the mist of the water was helping the prince to breathe more easily. However, to be like that, feeling so powerless and naked, made his pride bruised. He craved to be touched like that, yearning for it with his heart and soul, but his instincts dictated otherwise.
“I’m…I’m not a child.” He added, not unkindly, not rude, just simply stating the fact, struggling with the feeling of desperately wanting her care and feeling ridiculous in needing it. “I can clean myself…” His hand was moving her own into the water again.
“I know you do, husband, but wouldn’t it feel better to let me take care of you right now? My dear husband, I ask you, do only children deserve care? ”
“I suppose not…It does feel great in a way, but also… I don't know how to say it, but you understand what I mean, wife.”
“I can just stop if you wish me so. But intimacy comes way deeper than just sex. This is intimacy, too, isn't it? I am your wife, illness is part of life and a part where it’s expected to feel vulnerable and depleted” His hands became softer on her, inviting her to continue her ministrations on his body. “ Besides…you know I love spoiling you rotten,” she brings his wet hand to her lips, showering him in kisses and devotion.
“You have such kind words…and hands. I cannot resist your ways.”
“I don't want you to resist,” the warm water soothing the prince's aching body and his breathing, he felt comfortable even in illness, he felt his heart full with the love he received from her.
Later, at night, Aemond was laying in the feather pillows covered in brown furs, his cheeks slightly pink but less clammy, his eye less feverish. His wife was sitting beside him with a tray of food for him.
“Thank you, for taking care of me,” he said after finishing his dinner and disposing of the tray.
“No need, I’m sure you’d take care of me too with the same diligence.”
“You can be sure of that, but fortunately by God’s will I won’t need to, I do not wish you ill.”
To help him sleep, she read for him, his head leaning on her shoulder under the furs, and now with the fever broken and the breathing coming more easily, the prince quickly fell into sleep while she caressed his hair.
Aemond Targaryen x Aerea Targaryen (older sister!OC)
Tags: canon typical violence, incest, mention of executions and blood, smut
Wordcount: 8k
Aemond and Aerea have always been drawn to one another, although separated by duty and marriage. As the war of succession starts, bloodshed draws them together once more, and this time they will burn as one.
112 AC
As the sounds of cheering and clapping resonated in the courtyard of the Red Keep, from the open window of her chambers Queen Aemma could hear the merry gathering as she exhaled her last breath. The hope of a son for the Targaryen dynasty died along with her, as a few hours after her passing, the Stranger came to pick her son from his cradle.
Hope bloomed again as barely six moons after the passing of Queen Aemma, King Viserys took the Lady Alicent Hightower to wife, and she found herself with child almost immediately. The court held its breath as the Queen was in labor, and collectively sighed in both relief and disappointment as she bore a strong and healthy daughter, and lived to sing her infant to sleep.
The King took it as a sign that his wife was fruitful, but the atmosphere remained tense and heavy in the Red Keep during the Queen’s second pregnancy. Aerea was still nursing in the night when Alicent’s belly started to round, and the little princess was barely walking on her own when her brother Aegon was born.
They looked so much alike in their first years, and Aegon was such a smaller babe compared to his eldest, that they were often mistaken as twins. Yet they couldn’t have been more different —while Aegon was a fussy baby and a miserable child, clinging to his mother, Aerea never exhibited such affection toward her. The Queen would never fully bond with her first child. She was too wild, too unpredictable —she has too much dragon blood in her, King Viserys once commented, she holds the same spirit and fire as Daemon and Rhaenyra.
And so, as the years went by and more children came, Alicent watched as her first daughter grew outside of the family circle, always lingering on the edges, but never truly bonding with her siblings. She was a loner, and seemingly happy to be, with one exception.
There was only one of her siblings whose company she seeked, and to whom she seemed to bore affection. Aemond and Aerea shared the same calm aura, and the same love for Targaryen history and tradition. They also shared the unfortunate fact that their dragon eggs had never hatched, and Aemond was comforted by her presence in the Dragonpit during lessons.
Despite being five years apart, the two siblings grew closer as Aerea approached adolescence, their shared passion for dragons bringing them together. Upon a visit to Dragonstone, the princess both frightened and impressed the small court of lords and ladies that had accompanied them, as she escaped her sworn shield’s surveillance to crawl into the secret passageways into the Dragonmont, and came out on the saddle of no less than Vermithor.
The Bronze Fury suited the Princess, as she had grown to be quite the fiery young woman, and soon after her, Aemond won the mighty Vhagar to their side, and the two formidable dragons and their riders were often seen riding together over Blackwater Bay.
134 AC
As the modest celebration for the coronation of King Aegon II was resonating in the empty hallways and corridors of the Red Keep, Aemond was gazing into the void above the majestic stone staircase, elbows propped against the railing of an alcove, a goblet of wine in hand.
“There you are,” came a feminine voice behind him, and soon his sister Aerea was leaning against the stone railing, her back against it so she could have a better view of her brother’s face. Her own goblet in hand, she contemplated him as he did not respond —they both knew what was on his mind.
“When are you leaving for Storm’s End?” she asked solemnly, watching as a fleeting emotion crossed his face, his purple eye still staring straight ahead.
“On the morrow,” he replied in an equally flat tone.
“I’m sure one of them will strike your fancy,” Aerea commented, almost off-handedly, but Aemond knew her remark was a charged one.
Although he felt a prick of annoyance, he could hardly blame her, as he had felt the same discontent when she had been married to Elric Arryn, a cousin of the Lady of the Eyrie, in an attempt to keep her tamed and contained and to soothe the relationship between the Vale and the Crown. The young lord had assured the King he would be able to keep her on a short leash, and so far he had succeeded, but only by her own volition. As long as her lord husband served at court and she remained close to Aemond, she was content pretending her marriage was not a prison. Yet, in almost five years of matrimony, she had not borne him any child, and therefore no one was surprised how he doted on the numerous sons his mistresses gave him.
“Where is your husband?” Aemond asked in return for her comment, his tone icy cold.
“Drinking with the King,” Aerea replied with disdain, and no small amount of disgust. Her dislike of Aegon was well-known, and she had often told Aemond how he should have been born the first son instead of Aegon.
These were the open conversations they could have with one another, away from the polite lies of court, was instead based on the purest of honesty, and had always been the foundation of their bond. They were closer than siblings, people often murmured when their backs were turned, but in truth they had never touched beyond what was appropriate for a brother and sister —Aerea sometimes alluded to it, but Aemond was too proper to indulge in such fantasies.
Or at least he pretended he was, but below the surface, a fire more potent and scaling than that of Vhagar brewed.
He had been a young boy when he had realized his admiration for his older sister extended beyond brotherly love, and instead fell in the dangerous waters of lust and passion. His devotion to Aerea was absolute, and he knew her own devotion to him equaled his, at the least.
“You should be by his side,” Aemond pressed, and Aerea’s eyes turned cold and dark.
“Are you sending me away?” she asked petulantly, and the rumbling humming sound she got from him was answer enough. Snorting into her cup, she ignored his demand.
“My brother is to secure a marriage with the Baratheons, can I not spend one last evening with him before he leaves?” she asked, and when he did not respond, she pressed the issue, as was her habit. “Like I said, I’m sure one of them will strike your fancy. The Four Storms, they are called, I wonder if that nickname extends to the bedchamber—”
“Enough,” Aemond snapped, pushing himself up from the railing and putting his goblet aside, ready to bolt and walk back to his chamber sullenly, as was his habit when he was in a foul mood. Aerea followed him further into the narrow hallway she had originally come from, setting her goblet alongside his as she walked past it.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of storms, now?” Aerea asked, taunting him, and her brother suddenly turned on his heels, his long hair swinging behind him as he came to face her.
“What are you playing at, sister?” he hissed, annoyance and anger etched over his sharp features.
“Riling you up, and it seems it’s working,” she exclaimed with a wicked smile. “Why are you so tense anyway?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Aemond replied in a quieter tone, all anger seemingly fading from him.
“Don’t be pathetic, it doesn’t suit you!” Aerea chastised before stepping closer and reaching up to cup his face. She stroked her thumbs along the sharp edges of his jaw, and he tone mellowed as he leaned into her touch. “Now, what is Prince Aemond, rider of the mighty Vhagar, so wary of?”
Aemond didn’t respond, instead simply leaned into his sister’s warmth, curling his hands along her upper arms, holding her in place. The teasing expression vanished from her face and she turned kind and gentle again, in a way she only ever was with him.
“What is it, brother mine?” she asked softly, and Aemond found he couldn’t resist her.
“Do you remember the morning after your wedding?” he questioned, looking into her eyes as he eyebrows rose in confusion.
“Barely, those days were miserable,” she recounted.
“As we all broke our fast together, Aegon asked how your wedding night had been. Do you remember what you said?”
“Unsatisfactory,” Aerea replied, spitting out each syllable like they were broken glass. Then, understanding spread over her smooth features and her tone turned gentle again as she spoke to him. “I’m sure you’ll be a very satisfactory husband, brother.”
“How can you be?” he countered, and she made a questioning sound, quite similar to the humming ones he was prone to.
Aemond turned his face into her gentle hold, nuzzling into her right hand and pressing his lips to her palm, firm and lingering. His question tickled as he breathed it, and his previously hooded eye snapped open, trained on her. “How can you be certain that I will be satisfactory?”
“Aemond,” Aerea warned, her hands sliding away from his face as she understood what his endgame was, but his grip on her arms tightened and she couldn’t step back. Instead she found herself stuck, her hands hovering close to his face as he looked at her with intent, his eye dark and penetrating.
Within the span of a breath he was pulling her closer to him and dipping his head, and Aerea could barely avoid his kiss. Aemond groaned in displeasure when she refused him and his lips pressed to the corner of her mouth, his senses invaded by her scent —she smelled of ashes and roses, a deadly and delightful combination that never ceased to incense him.
With a last breath exhaled against her cheek, he pulled away without a last look and stalked down the corridor, his long hair swaying at his back.
It was an entirely different attitude that met her in the hallway outside of the Hand’s Chambers two nights later as Aemond returned from Storm’s End. She had not been allowed inside, and instead had to endure the raised voices and cries muffled by the heavy doors. Pacing the hallway in her nightclothes, a robe hastily thrown over a silky nightgown, she focused on the cold stones under her feet grounding her.
Finally Aemond came out, or was dismissed, and his face fell even further when he took notice of who was waiting for him outside. He was soaked with rain and his skin was paler than usual —Aerea could only imagine something terrible had happened, and she quickly looked for any injury on her brother, but found none.
“Did the Baratheons refuse?” she asked, fearful and hopeful at the same time.
“They accepted,” Aemond replied in a voice that wasn’t his own.
“Then what—”
“Lucerys Velaryon was there, too,” her younger brother whispered, and realization dawned on Aerea.
She knew her brother well enough that he did not need to elaborate for her to understand, and her heart clenched at the utter tragedy and its implications.
“Come,” she pulled Aemond along. “Let’s get you out of these rain-soaked clothes.”
Aemond let himself be guided down the stairs and along the long corridor that led to Aerea’s chambers. She was strangely calm and so was he, but she knew it to be a mask; she could feel him tremble under the hand that gripped his arm, and his breaths were too deep, too slow.
“Get the prince some dry clothes. Leave them at the door,” Aerea instructed her maid as she walked down the two steps that lead to her chambers. The maid curtsied then scurried out, closing the heavy door behind herself.
Without a second of hesitation, Aerea’s hands came up to Aemond’s doublet, but before she could undo the first buckle, her brother’s cold hands fell on hers, stopping her.
“What happened?” she asked, her dark eyes rising to meet his. Aemond swallowed under her gaze, and he felt as though his skin had been peeled and all his sins and thoughts were exposed to her.
“I lost control,” he confessed, shame making his spine burn and his stomach clench. “Vhagar wouldn’t listen—” he spat out, disgusted at himself and ashamed at his lack of control over his beast. It was a betrayal to his blood, to his heritage, and he felt as undeserving as he had as a child.
“Dragons can sense our inner turmoil,” Aerea simply stated, but her coldness toward the death of her nephew was not a surprise to Aemond.
“They’ll call me a kinslayer,” he rasped out, and she tugged her hands from his hold, only to reach his face, her palm fitting over his cheekbones.
“Lucerys was not our kin,” she said slowly, measuring every word for that they were; a truth that had cost many their downfall or their death, and yet she spoke it as though she knew no other truth. “The only people that matter are us,” she continued, her palms burning her words into Aemond’s skin, her breath hot between them, her eyes blown wide as she looked up at him with nothing but acceptance and pride.
“I will kill all of Rhaenyra’s remaining bastards if it would ease your anguish,” she hissed, and Aemond’s nostrils flared at the sight of her white teeth and of her prominent canines behind her dark pink lips.
The thrill of the chase on Vhagar had left him wanting and unsatisfied as shock and shame had interrupted his ascent toward a rightfully owed retribution. Now he was left with the taste of ash in his mouth, and his blood rushing under his skin, burning him from the inside.
Still, he replied, “I would not have you damn your soul in this way.”
Aerea laughed at that, a joyless laugh that was tainted with wonder and bloodlust, and her eyes searched his face as she pulled the eye patch from his face. His sapphire, the one she had gifted him when his wound had healed, gleamed in the low light of her chambers, and she imagined what it would feel like to run her lips along the ragged edges of his scar.
“How can you be so sweet, and yet so deadly, little brother?” she crooned, and she sighed as Aemond slid his hands under her robe, finding her waist through the silky fabric of her nightgown.
A great shudder went through him as he wondered whether she was bare under her night clothes, and he found he could no longer resist the connection Aerea and him shared, this unbreakable bond that ran thicker than blood, deeper than bones, and stronger than Valyrian steel.
“Only you know the truth of me, the truth of my soul and my sins,” Aemond rasped, then his mouth descended on hers, rough and gentle at the same time. His lips explored hers with unbridled passion and his tongue was scorching hot —he kissed her like a man starved, like a man consumed by desire and years of repression.
“Trading one sin for another, little brother?” she asked as he backed her into a table, pushing into her until she had no choice but to part her knees and allow him in the cradle of her hips. She threw her head back as he assaulted her neck with his lips, teeth, and tongue while she fumbled between them to finally unbuckle his thick leather doublet.
She was his greatest love and his greatest enemy, as she was temptation and fire made flesh, and he found he would gladly let himself be consumed by it, if it meant only a moment in the cradle of her body.
Aemond did not even need to ask, for she knew his deepest desires and the tells of his body. Aerea pushed the heavy doublet from his shoulders and he shrugged it off —she did not bother tugging on his thin linen shirt, instead unlaced the front of his trousers, and within a minute she had a hand around his cock. Aemond groaned as she wasted no time with gentle caresses, instead started a quick rhythm, long pulls that shook him to his core. He snarled in her neck as though his pleasure was almost painful, one of his hands grabbing the edge of the table as he rocked into her, his other hand coming up to bury in her hair.
“That’s it, little one,” she crooned in his ear as he panted hotly into her neck. His hips were rocking desperately into her grasp, his cock leaking over her hand as she brought him to a quick, intense release.
With a twist of her wrist and a swipe of her thumb over the slit of his cock, she pulled him over the edge almost despite himself —he came in hot pulses over her hand, grunting behind clenched teeth as she milked him to the last drop. She only let go of him as he started whimpering into her shoulder, his back shaking as he rode the razor-sharp edge between pain and pleasure.
The loss of her touch snapped Aemond out of the haze he had been in, and what had just occurred dawned on him. A cold shiver of dread went through him and his pleasure soured, turning into shame and guilt as he pulled away from his sister abruptly.
Panting, Aemond took in the sight she made —propped up against the table, her robe pulled down her arms, her neck red and bruised, she looked properly defiled. There was no shame on her face, but no satisfaction either. She was looking at him straight on, her knees still splayed, and the proof of what he had allowed her to do to him was dripping from her left hand.
“It cannot happen again,” Aemond grunted as he tugged on the leather laces of his trousers, eager to put distance between them. His resolve had broken and he had defiled another man’s wife, his sister no less, taking his frustration out on her.
Aerea let him go without a word, but he could see a fire burning behind her eyes. As the door closed behind Aemond and his shame, and Aerea was left alone with her desire, there was only one thought at the forefront of her mind.
War was about to start, and she knew exactly what to do.
Harrenhal was less impressive than Aerea had expected. She had heard the tales of Harren the Black and the curse that supposedly haunted these walls —but as Vermithor landed on the edge of a collapsed wall, stones rattling beneath its claws, she did not feel as though she was entering cursed ground.
As she walked into the main courtyard, crossing the gates of the ill-omened castle, she heard Vermithor call and soon Vhagar’s deep below answered him. The men bowed to her as she walked past them, and she kept her head high as she made her way toward her brother. In the middle of the courtyard, dressed in armor bearing the three-headed dragon sigil of their house, Aemond was presiding over what looked to be executions.
“The Princess Aerea has arrived,” Criston Cole called, his voice resonating in the yard. He bowed respectfully as she walked past him and she smiled back —she liked Cole, under his austere exterior there was a wit she occasionally enjoyed.
“I am aware,” Aemond replied without looking up —his gaze was trained on a man kneeling on the floor, sobbing into his bound hands. To the side, a pile of bodies was waiting for him to join them.
Before Aerea could greet her brother, he raised his sword and lowered it at impressive speed. The sharp sound of the blade cutting through the man’s neck sliced the air and blood dripped on the floor. Only then did Aemond step aside and walk toward her.
“Sister, welcome to Harrenhal,” he said formally while cleaning his sword with a corner of his cape. Aerea snorted as she took in the way his shoulders swayed as he walked —the armor made him look broader than he really was, and she had to admit it was an enticing sight.
“Is there any man left alive in this castle that isn’t ours?” she asked, looking at the headless corpse on the ground. Blood was seeping into the earth, tainting the dirt and rocks.
“I didn’t think you would be so squirmish at the sight of blood, sister,” Aemond replied, almost mocking, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in his voice.
“I didn’t think you would be so hungry for blood,” she snorted again. “If I recall, the last time you murdered someone—”
Aerea was interrupted as Aemond grabbed her arm forcefully, pulling their faces close.
“I forbid you to speak of it,” he snarled, and Aerea looked up at him indignantly and pulled her arm away without a word. The apparent coldness in Aemond’s eye wasn’t fooling her, and she felt a righteous rage build in her stomach.
Aemond swallowed as Aerea stepped away from him, and he was both comforted and made vulnerable by her presence. Harrenhal was his first siege, and although he had Cole’s support and battlefield experience, he was glad she had come. She had always been a driving force in his life, an immeasurable support, and yet now he couldn’t look at her without seeing his own faults, his own weaknesses. He drew his courage from her love, even though it ate at him, all the while it seemed she drew only enjoyment from toying with him.
Aerea was a free spirit and a wild soul, he had always known that much. She was untameable, and wouldn’t settle down for anyone —not even for him. He could never possess her the way she possessed him, and yet he couldn’t help the fantasies his mind conjured, and the way his body responded to them. As he barked at Cole to bring the rest of the prisoners, he saw a smirk pull at his sister’s lips, and she knew she was taking it as a challenge.
Aemond knew she would have no trouble rising up to the bait —she was dressed in leather and steel armor, bearing the sigil of their faction, her hair braided in traditional Valyrian style. Long gone was the lady of the court, if she had ever existed, now she looked more of a warrior than any man in the fortress.
As Cole made the prisoners stand in line, most of them shaking and pleading for his mercy, his sister stepped forward.
“There is no mercy for traitors,” Aerea exclaimed, her voice effortlessly loud and strong. As the first man was brought to her feet, kneeling on the already bloodied ground, she did not hesitate before unsheathing her sword and bringing it down, dispensing justice in one clean strike.
Night had fallen over Harrenhal when the door to Aemond’s temporary quarters opened, and Aerea strolled in without being invited, mindless of who was present or what was occuring. A bath had been poured, steam filling the cold room and a fire was blazing in the hearth. Near the bronze tub, Aemond was standing, his weapons discarded on a nearby table, and a dark-haired woman dressed in black was unbuckling the straps of his armor.
“Out,” Aerea said without looking at her, and the older woman blinked in surprise. Her hands currently occupied with the breastplate of his armor, his cape draped over one of her shoulders, she hesitated.
“Are you—” she started, but Aerea’s sharp and cold tone cut through the air and interrupted her.
“Yes,” she commanded, finally raising her eyes to the dark-haired woman. “Now that I’m here, your services are no longer required.”
The woman raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest. She bid Aemond good night, setting the cloak aside and slipping out of the room, closing the door behind her.
“Who is she?” Aerea asked as she started where the other woman had left off, tugging at the straps that held Aemond’s breastplate in place, revealing the thick gambeson he wore underneath —it bore the traditional dark red color of House Targaryen.
“Her name is—”Aemond started, and it hadn’t escaped Aerea’s notice that he had made no attempt to contradict her, to have the other woman stay.
“I don’t give a shit about her name. Who is she?”
“A witch,” Aemond sighed, looking down as his sister pulled at the laces of his protective clothes, revealing the linen shirt he wore underneath. He helped her pull them off his shoulders and down his arms, and the way she moved along with him, practiced and familiar, made a heat coil in the pit of his stomach.
“A woodswitch? Interesting,” Aerea replied, but her tone suggested otherwise.
“Although you really have stooped low,” she continued as she put the gambeson away, turning around to set it on a nearby dresser. “May I remind you that you are engaged to one of the Baratheon ladies. And here you are, fucking that bastard girl.”
Aemond did not take kindly to the comment and he huffed his displeasure before replying, his tone icy cold. “Does your husband know that you’re here?”
“I suppose that wherever he is now, he probably knows,” Aerea answered cryptically, looking at him over her shoulder. Her hair was a mess of braids and twists, with long silver waves falling over her back, grazing her waist.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Aemond frowned, and the way his sister smirked made a shiver run down his spine. “Where is he?”
“It’s unfortunate, really,” Aerea lamented in a flat tone, “that my dear husband turned out to be a supporter of Rhaenyra.”
“Last time I saw him he was drinking with the king,” Aemond replied as she turned to face him fully, propping herself against the dresser. She was still dressed in her riding clothes, although she had removed her cloak. The shoulder pads of her doublet looked like dragon scales, and they shone in the candlelight whenever she moved; low on her waist, the buckle of her belt was in the shape of a steel dragon curled on itself.
“I found letters. He was writing to Rhaenyra, plotting against our king,” Aerea trailed, looking up to Aemond with a proud face, her gaze intensely fixed on him.
“You had him accused of treason and arrested,” Aemond concluded, and Aerea smirked again.
“Yes and no,” she answered, and when Aemond titled his head, she continued. “Aegon was very sympathetic… He understood a betrayed wife must sometimes take justice into her own hands.”
“He did not write those letters, did he?” Aemond asked as his eye dropped to his sister’s hands —her nails were trimmed short, her slender hands calloused by years of training with a sword. He felt the back of his neck prickle when the last time he had enjoyed their touch came to his mind.
“Mayhaps he did, mayhaps he didn’t… What does it matter?”
“It doesn’t,” Aemond concluded in a quiet tone, the atmosphere between them shifting. Aerea had turned soft again, he could see it in the way her hips loosened as she walked back toward him, and he longed for her kindness despite the cold way he had welcomed her earlier.
Aemond let her disrobe him fully, shivering as she unlaced his trousers and he stepped out of them, standing completely bare in front of her for the first time since they were children. Aerea’s breathing picked up as her eyes roamed his frame. The fire made his skin glow and she looked her fill without guilt, from his slim waist to his slender thighs. Her core heated and clenched as she took in the nest of white curls in the cradle of his hips, and the impressive length that hung between his legs.
She didn’t hide her wandering eyes, and he felt her gaze like the caress of a lover, his cock filling slightly as she guided him into the round bathtub. The steamy water made him groan as they soothed his aching muscles, and Aerea chuckled behind him —he forced himself not to turn as he heard the sounds of her disrobing as well.
As she pulled a stool closer he peeked over his shoulders to find her in only her tunic, almost translucent in the warm glow of the fire, reaching her mid-thigh. She was bare underneath, that much was obvious, and Aemond felt his mouth water as he caught the shadow of her cunt before she sat down at his back, sliding her hands into his hair.
It was matted with sweat and a few splatters of blood, as was hers, and neither said a word as she pulled at the strands and unweaved his braid. She dropped the leather cord to the ground with a sigh, then dug her fingertips into his scalp, making him groan in relief.
“That whore,” she suddenly said, her fingers tangling in his hair and pulling his head back. “Unless she can prove her usefulness, I want her gone.”
Aemond didn’t say a word, too stunned by the order she had just given him, and aroused at the implied threat. She tucked her face in the curve of his neck, her other hand coming around his throat. She felt him swallow as she whispered in his ear.
“If you don’t send her away I might… dispose of her, the same way I disposed of Elric,” she suggested, and she didn’t wait for an answer before she guided Aemond to sit up, taking a nearby cup and dipping it into the hot water before pouring it over his head.
The water felt cool on his face and skin, as heated as he already was —her threat incensed him, and he wondered to what extent he could push her, what horrors she would do for him, to prove her love and her loyalty.
Aemond swallowed again as she worked soap into his hair with care, closing his eye and enjoying the feel of her hands. Neither spoke for a long while, but a question was hovering over them, in the steam that rose from the tub.
“What happened to Elric?” he finally asked as she guided his head back again, rinsing the soap from his silver strands. He felt one of her hands creep from the back of his head to his throat again, wrapping around it loosely.
Her breath at his ear made him shudder again, and he felt his cock fill and harden. “I slit his throat open, slowly, and I watched as he choked on his own blood,” she murmured in a soft tone, almost humming.
Aemond shuddered and she kissed him below his ear, lingering. “I will do the same to your whore if you lay a hand on her again.”
“She is nothing. Nothing but a distraction,” Aemond rasped, one of his arms reaching back to touch her. He slid his hand clumsily along the side of her face, her neck, and then curled at her shoulder, gripping the cotton of her tunic.
“I’m sure slitting her throat open would be a good distraction too,” Aerea commented in a merry tone, her grip on Aemond’s hair tightening painfully.
“I might have a go at her before, to see if she was worth your time and your seed,” she added, and this time her tone was one of cold fury —Aemond’s cock twitched under the water, and he had to curl his other hand around the rim of the tub to resist the temptation to touch himself.
“Did you really think you could take your pleasure from me, and then walk away?” Aerea continued, ruthless in her jealousy, and Aemond could only suffer it, rooted to the spot.
“It was a mistake,” he hummed.
“There is no mistake between us,” she hissed back, not dissimilar to the sound Vermithor made when he was displeased.
Then suddenly, Aerea let go of his hair and stood up, pushing away the hand that was still clutched at her shoulder. Aemond’s gaze followed her eagerly, terrified that she would walk away, leaving him aching and wanting, executing her cruel vengeance.
"You wouldn't believe the things I've done to try and forget you,” he surrendered. “No matter what I do, I still somehow find myself crawling back to you."
“If only you gave yourself to me, fully, you wouldn’t have to leave only to crawl back, as you say,” she replied, bending over the edge of the tub, propping herself up over him. The collar of her tunic exposed her breasts, and Aemond looked unashamedly. They were round and heavy, her nipples peaked, flushed a dark pink.
“I’m your sister, your blood, what are you so afraid of?” she asked gently, the blush of her cheek extending to her throat and chest as his gaze trailed on her body, all the way to the curve of her behind, visible where her tunic had rode up.
Aerea sighed as Aemond reached up to grab her arms and tried to pull her closer. “We are both dragons,” he said as she swung a leg over the edge of the tub, and she let him pull her fully into the water with him.
“We are fire made flesh,” she echoed him as she straddled him, her knees on each side of his hips. “We belong together.”
“We are the blood of the dragon… We might consume one another, until all is left is ashes,” he whispered fervently as she hooked her arms around his shoulders, cradling his head. Her face was soft as she gazed at him, from his mouth to the sapphire that shone in his left eye socket.
Aemond hummed, his hands curling at her waist, his mouth tingling as she licked her lips slowly.
“I’ve always known, always noticed…” she trailed as one of her hands came up to his face again, the pads of her fingers tracing the curve of his brow and the shape of his scar. “I knew the day you became a man, just from the way you looked at me.”
“I wanted to consume you,” he recalled. “I still want to.”
“Anything you want, you can have,” she said, and Aemond swallowed the breath of her last word as his mouth caught hers in a deep kiss. He groaned as she pressed back against him, her tongue curling along his. He was starved for her lips, for her kisses and her warmth —and from the way she melted against him, her hips grinding against his stomach, he knew she was as hungry for it as he was.
He prodded the points of her teeth as she started pulling at the last laces of her tunic, and he made a sound close to a whimper when she pulled away from their kiss to remove the garment, throwing aside.
As soon as she was bare against him, he followed the column of her throat with his mouth, tasting her skin and biting it without restraint. He groaned as Aerea curled her fingers around him firmly, enjoying the hot and smooth skin, silk stretched over a hard rod. The feeling of him twitching against her palm was exhilarating, and it made her ache deep inside.
“Aerea,” he groaned against her neck, one of his hands following the line of her throat to her chest, curling a hand over her breast, her whole chest prickling with desire.
He pulled at her by the waist again, and she pushed herself up against him willingly. They moaned in each other’s mouth when his hard length pressed against her stomach, her hand trapped between them. She wrapped her other arm around his neck, using it as leverage to push herself up higher, seeking friction.
“Aemond,” she gasped as Aemond suddenly pushed her up on her knees and lowered himself further into the water, the back of his neck resting against the edge of the tub.
He kissed her core like a man starved, and she rolled her hips forward on instinct, unable to resist the heat of his mouth. She grabbed the edge of the bathtub with one hand as his open mouth devoured her. Her other hand tangled in his hair, pulling at the roots when pleasure took over her, and Aemond groaned as his scalp stung under her assault. He shuddered and groaned as she cursed and rocked her core against his face, searching for her pleasure, his hands sliding to her bottom, enjoying the play of firm muscle under the soft skin.
Aemond took his time savoring her, parting his lips to lick at her sensitive nub, teasing it with firm but quick presses of his tongue. However Aerea was impatient, and he had no choice but to submit to the rhythm she imposed on him, rolling her hips against his mouth as she wished.
It wasn’t long before she grew even rougher, her slender frame wrecked by great shudders; the insides of her thighs were coated in her wetness, and so were Aemond’s mouth and chin. She cried out as he thrusted his tongue inside of her, her hand grabbing his shoulder as leverage; water sloshed out of the bathtub as she rocked against him forcefully.
Throwing her head back, she did not try to muffle her cries. It was the most torturous pleasure she had ever felt —the entrance into her body was sensitive, and his clever tongue was enough to make a great wave of heat lick up her core, but she could feel herself clench around nothing, wanting for more.
Thrusting his tongue farther into her, his mouth closing fully on her cunt, her nub being sucked at almost painfully on each upward stroke, Aerea thought she would burst into flames from the intensity of it, and she sobbed as she felt her peak approaching.
She cried out as Aemond thrusted two of his fingers into her roughly; she clenched around him, crying out again as he curled them and rubbed against her most sensitive spot. He groaned against her like he was the one being pleasured, and heat coiled almost painfully in her core. She felt as though she was about to snap as he quickened his movements, devouring her with precision and obvious enjoyment.
“Aemond,” she cried out, pulling at his hair again, her hips rocking against him frantically. He groaned in time with the thrusts of her hips and the thrusts of his tongue, the both of them growing more frantic with each passing second.
Finally, Aemond pulled her nub into his mouth hard enough to toy the line between pleasure and pain, applying a stronger pressure and suction, and the overload made her tumble over the edge. The tension inside of her snapped and she cried out as she was caught in a whirlwind of flames. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed through her as she ground her cunt against his face, encouraged by his own grunts of enjoyment.
It seemed to go on for an endless minute, and as the pressure lessened and a deep sense of relief washed over her, she fell back into the water, letting go of his hair. The sight he made made her head spin again — he looked wild, his hair in disarray, his lips red and wet, his purple eye blown into the darkest of pools.
He was panting furiously, his hard cock twitching against the back of her thigh. She felt her core clench and something primal pulled at her from behind her belly button; she chased the taste of herself in his mouth, and he chuckled darkly as he pushed himself up. She followed him eagerly as he stepped out of the tub, and kissing her fervently, he picked her up with ease.
Aemond groaned in satisfaction when she followed the movement, wrapping her legs around his slender hips. It brought her folds against his hard length, trapping it between them and the feeling of them pressed against one another was heady. As the heels of her feet dug into his ass, he walked to the bed and deposited her on it, crawling after her and pressing himself fully against her.
“Let me see you again,” she said, and he pulled away, rising on his knees.
Aemond looked at her intensely as she spread her knees, one of her feet rising to meet his chest. He curled his hand around her ankle, then smoothed his palm along her calve as his mouth kissed its way from the delicate bone of her ankle to the sensitive crook of her knee. His teeth grazed her skin and she sighed, lifting her other leg to hook it around his shoulder.
His brows furrowed, he bit his lip at the sight she made. Her breasts were round and soft, large enough to fill his entire hand and more, and he wanted to thrust his cock between them, spilling his seed on them as she watched him.
His mind was spinning with the most depraved acts, and her dark eyes told him she was just as wanting as he was. What a glorious sight they made, long and lithe bodies that shared the same blood, the same fire, their hair the same shade of silver. Dragons trapped in prisons of flesh.
"I need you, Aerea," he murmured like a confession."I need to taste the fire between us."
"I belong to you," she answered, pushing herself up on her elbows. “Come claim what is yours.”
Aemond snarled at that, biting the inside of her knee as his cock throbbed. "Show me. Show me how fiercely you burn," she spurred him on.
Aemond pushed her down by the shoulders, rougher than he ever had been with her, and she welcomed his desperation and his hunger; she welcomed his fire as an echo to her own. Her breath was taken away as her back hit the firm mattress and she laughed when it left her lungs. She stayed still as Aemond guided his cock between her folds; there wasn't time for tenderness or patience, and neither of them wanted it. Now was the time for a quick and fierce release, for a moment of madness and a taste of fire.
Aerea groaned when Aemond took her, slow and almost reverent, but after a few thrusts he grew impatient and she could only lie there and take the brunt of his passion. She wrapped her legs around his waist and let herself be swept up by the storm, welcoming every wave that hit the cradle of her hips sharply.
Aemond hissed and grunted when she raked her nails down his back, no doubt hard enough to draw blood. He wrenched one of her arms over her head, holding her hand down by threading his fingers with hers. He sucked a bruise on the swell of her breast, then licked a hot trail from her nipple to her neck, where she felt the sharpness of his teeth.
Incensed by his biting kiss, letting her own wild instincts take over, Aerea untangled her limbs from Aemond and shoved him back by the shoulders. He went along with an amused huff, rising to his knees again, hissing as she angled her hips away and he slipped out of her. He barely had a second to look upon her before she turned around gracefully, and he was blessed with an unobstructed view of her toned back and her curvy behind.
Aemond ran a hand down her spine, following its curve to her tailbone, before curling his hand along the curve of her ass. He pulled Aerea closer by the hips and entered her again in one sharp thrust and the fit was perfect.
He cursed under his breath as he felt himself hit the back of her cunt and she mewled. It felt different, deeper somehow, and tighter, and the primal connotation of the position wasn’t lost on either of them.
He threw his head back, biting his lip as he snapped his hips into her. He moaned as she rocked back against him, chasing his hips, and everytime she brought her ass back to meet his pelvis, the lewd sound made his head spin.
“Am I hurting you?” he grunted, and his hands tightened around Aerea’s hips as shook her head.
Aerea relished in the stretch, intense in a way she could not quantify or qualify — she felt almost speared to the spot, the only urge left in her body being to rock back against him, to chase her pleasure. The feeling of his hips snapping into her backside was heady, as were his large hands handling her hips.
She felt at his mercy, and yet loved and desired in a way she could not name; the intimate language of their bodies came to them as naturally as Old Valyrian. His hands roaming her curves made her feel like a goddess being worshiped, like an ancient muse of Old Valyria.
Aemond shuddered when she cursed in a breathless moan as he stroked his thumb in the valley from her tailbone to where they were joined as one. Dropping her head between her shoulders, she started panting louder and he could feel her flutter around him. She laughed breathlessly as he slid a hand around her stomach, pressing his hand flat on her mound so he could better thrust into her.
Before she could ask, he pressed a finger against her core and she cried out as her pleasure crested, sharper and reaching deeper into her core. Curling a hand into her hair at the nape of her neck, his other gripping her waist hard, he pulled her up against his chest and she pushed on her knees, dropping her weight back against him.
Aemond buried his face in her neck, kissing her skin absently as the rhythm of their hips grew more hurried and uncoordinated. He spilled into her with unrestrained groans while she wailed her pleasure into the air, clenching around him as her peak took her flying above her body.
They fell onto the sheets as one, Aemond draped over her back, their long hair tangling together until their strands couldn’t be made apart —the same shade of silver, just as their skin was the same shade of creamy white.
The darkest hours of the night found them curled together, a pair of dragons nested in linens and furs, Aerea’s head resting against Aemond’s chest to feel the fire thrum beneath his skin, his fingers trailing the curve of her spine and back again. She tilted her head back to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, licking a trail along the vein that pulsed under the skin and tasting it with the points of her teeth. Aemond hummed in response, a deep rumbling that echoed beneath his ribs, and she pushed herself further up against him, one of her legs sliding between his, her core hot against his hip bone.
He knew she was right, they were fated, whether to consume Westeros or one another, until all that was left was ashes.
From those ashes a third dragon might rise, their blood in its veins and their fire in its soul. After all, Harrenhal was a cursed place, and the perfect cradle for a child of doom and destruction — the three of them would rise victorious, as the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.
This conquest would be theirs, and so would be the spoils of war.
Author's note:
This pairing was voted for by you, my dear readers, as this blog's celebratory one-shot, for its 6 months of existence.
I left the ending open, in case I wish to come back to Aemond and Aerea in the future. I loved writing them, their dynamic was interesting and quite entertaining to explore.
I need to give credit where it is due, the very end of the story (the last three paragraphs) are not mine but @arcielee's, who helped me wrap up this story as best as possible and also beta read it.
Please reblog to show love, or at least comment. You have no idea how important it is to me. I pour my heart out into my works and work for days on end to produce the best stories I can ♥ It would mean the world to me to know what you thought of it.
Dividers by @saradika
Loosely based on this prompt by @unboundprompts
"You wouldn't believe the things I've done to try and forget you. No matter what I do, I still somehow find myself crawling back to you."
(The image depicts several plants and flowers, a detail from the Unicorn tapestries, La Chasse à la licorne, a series of seven medieval tapestries that can be seen in the MET)
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen X Original Female Character
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI | Sex Pollen | Kissing | Oral Sex | PIV Sex | Female Soft Dom with Male Sub | Breath Play
Word count: Around 2500
Summary: Aemond's desire blooms under the influence of a sensual trap, he submits to a night of confortable dominance, vulnerability, and unexpected liberation in the arms of a woman whose strength and softness walk hand in hand.
Author's note: Hello! This is my very first smut fic experimentation, I had a lot of fun building it up. It's also my first fic here on tumblr, I hope you enjoy this. Written for the Big Fucking Stupid Sex Pollen Writing Challenge by @ewanmitchellcrumbs
English is not my first language. If you see something wrong please tell me. Thank you!
In her control
Whispers, murmurs and the clatter of hurried feet blended into a thread of noise in the servants’ alley of the Red Keep. A festivity, followed by a huge banquet, was to be held inside the castle. Cultures might differ, but coin is a common language spoken fluently everywhere. And with that, Dorne was invited to a dance as well. For the nobles, it was diplomacy and leisure, for the servants, backbreaking labor, made easy only by the possibility of leftover wine and gossip.
Among the foreign committee of Dorne there were two women, not kin by blood, but who always described themselves as something like sisters “in a celestial sense,” they would say. Their looks commanded a certain kind of attention. Myria and Valyna were not entertainers or courtesans, in fact, they seemed like liminal figures alive only in the floating world, one could not know for sure what they were.
After the grand banquet, more loose festivities took place, inviting the freedom of looks, touch and movement. Myria sat by Aegon’s side, perhaps entertaining him with some of her stories about the sea, although the prince seemed way more entertained with her lips. Valyna sat to Prince Aemond’s left. A striking pair. This one was even more peculiar than Myria. She was quite tall for a maiden, her striking broad shoulders sculpted beneath her dress. When she turned around to fetch Aemond a glass, her dress showed an open back, a carved figure, like a butterfly of muscle and shadow. Her arms were toned and firm like stone, as a warrior. Aemond found his gaze drawn to her, unsure why and even ashamed of doing so—was it curiosity, was it desire, envy, perhaps judgment? Despite the appearance, there was a softness to Valyna, especially in her voice and manners. When she lifted her glass, the muscles of her bicep and triceps were evident, but when she talked it was soft as cotton. Aemond was unsure of what he was feeling, but one thing was certain: he couldn’t stop looking, and he was not the only one. However, the woman only looked at him, and that seemed to please his ego.
She spoke with gentleness, almost shyly, which contradicted her strong figure. She was not a woman of many words in public, even if kind and the prince was not much of a talker himself. When the dances began, neither of them took part. In time, Valyna was the one to question the prince: “Prince Aemond, do you wish to dance?” she smiled at him, as if she was content with any answer he would give.
Aemond gazed at her, unsure not of his answer but of how to say it. “Not particularly, I’m afraid. I am not much of a dancer.”
“I could tell, but it was worth the try.” As she finished, another man reached his hand to her, inviting her to dance, she politely refused. The prince smirked, satisfied that the woman was not interested in another and kept taking a sip at the glass she offered.
These guests were to remain in King’s Landing for another dozen of moons at least, and the prince was quite entertained with Valyna, in fact, something seemed to bloom between the two, but neither of them made a move. Some of the maids spread gossip that the pair was doing more than reading in the library of the Keep, but nothing more than the history of dragons was discussed inside those walls. The flesh, always covered, was a boundary they did not cross. The pair exchanged words, looks, perhaps a small touch, and moments in the training yard. In one of those instances, Aemond was practicing with Cole while Valyna was doing so with her entourages that came with her from Dorne. While doing so, one of the older knights decided to tease the prince, perhaps to embarrass him in front of the foreigners. He tried to strike, catching him unaware, on his blind side, while he was still dueling other young boys, but right before he was able to do it, he was the one embarrassing himself. Valyna pointed her sword at his neck.
"It seems like you lost my lord," she said, smirking, while Aemond turned back and understood what happened. He wanted to say a word, perhaps to thank her, but before he was able to do it she went back to her people.
Myria watched the scenes develop, and all the tension and waiting was making her tense, she wanted her sister to be as pleased as she was. When Valyna was finished, she called her to her side. “Sister, the younger prince has such an intense aura, but he is scared to act, don’t you think?” she whispered beneath her red fan into her ear.
“Don’t say such things… The prince is a prince” Valyna said, trying to ignore what she was implying.
"I see how you look at him, and how he looks at you with his one good eye that has the intensity of a dozen. The prince is a prince, but before that, he is just a man, and he is just your type.” Myria laughed, amused by the conversation, eager to help.
Valyna laughed with her too, but then she looked away, watching Aemond's hair flowing while still training in the yard with Cole and her expression turned apathetic “ Maybe I am not his.”
“Maybe you are. How could you not be…" she touched her face tenderly "Let me take care of that, you know I have my own ways of making it work, I can help you, and you can help him, and your happiness will be mine too.” She grabbed Valyna’s face by the jawline now giving her a small kiss.
“ Myria… don’t. It’s not proper, I don’t wish for that “ Valyna looked away and stepped back from her.
“Oh…a kiss from me is not proper?” she acted offended.
“No, not that...I mean the rest, about helping me make it work with the Targaryen.”
“Shhh… say no word, my love. If it eases your mind, it won't work if he doesn't already want you, Valyna, it’s just a little help.” And with that, Myria departed, summoned by Prince Aegon, who was very much entertained by the Dornish woman.
That evening, Myria sent a vase of exotic purple flowers to Prince Aemond’s chambers, they were alive and growing. She brought it with dozens of other things from Dorne. Some to offer, some to trade, some to use. The plant had vivid petals, heavy in scent. When he saw them, he leaned in, breathing deeply, but not yet feeling the effects of their nature. He left the room to return to his duties, but after a while his mind and body were slipping through his control. Unaware of the nature of what he was feeling, he started his way back to his chambers, mortified of crossing his path with someone else when Valyna showed up across his way.
His thoughts became fragmented, turbulent, his chest tightened, and his breathing grew ragged. He clutched his hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat erratically, and there she was, looking into him as if she could see his insides, as if he was an empty space ready to be filled up. She paused mid-step, her eyes, already a bit preoccupied, studied his figure.
“My prince, are you unwell?” her hand found his cheek, genuinely concerned, his skin flushed and warm to the touch.
“I… I don’t know,” Aemond rasped. His body betrayed him by the second, the thing is, he was hardening under her touch. “Something is not right as it should be…”
“Perhaps you should return to your chambers.” Valyna grabbed him by the arm and guided him back inside. Upon entering, she saw the flowers and immediately knew. “I see… this was Myria’s doing. I apologize on her behalf" she gave him a small bow and then proceeded "There are two ways to fix it for you. I can give you this” she showed him a small bag with a yellow powder inside “ It will make this feeling disappear from your body, it won’t take long. But perhaps I can also… take care of it in a more pleasurable way.” Valyna smiled and touched his arm.
After understanding the nature of what he was feeling, he pondered, walking around a small circle in his chamber, “I must… I… I can’t even talk. What is this... what is this feeling I can’t contain?”
"Desire, I would say... the flowers just make it harder to suppress what is already there.”
“I should resist. I ought to... but I can’t.” he gazed at her, his chest rising and falling with intensity.
“Why resist something you want so much? Something I want so much as well. Don’t. Let yourself be open by me.” She took his hand in hers and kissed it with small kisses.
“Gods, please… have me. Have me now! I feel as if I might die if you don’t.” Even as the words left his mouth, he was stunned by them. But Valyna only smiled. He wanted to consume her, or better yet, be consumed by her. He tried to grab her, only for her to hold his arm with a strength that fit her appearance.
“I will have you, but I will have you my way, for that way is the one you still don’t know you desire.” After kissing him passionately against the wall, she wrapped her arms around him—one behind his back, the other under his knees—and lifted him in her arms like a bride. His legs trembled, and he was in no position to protest, his eye wide in shock just like his mouth. He could not believe the woman was carrying him with such ease and that he was just letting it happen.
Valyna sat Aemond on his bed, legs parting as she moved between them, her hands tracing his jawline before tightening around his neck. Her grip restricted his breath, and he gasped under her kisses, not yet giving himself completely to the experience.
“I see you, you know... how you are so anxious inside when they speak over you, when they listen to you, but just don’t care, you just want to be seen right, you want to be truly seen.” She undressed herself alone with him witnessing her long black hair hanging around to her hips now bare to his eye.
“Yes, yes...” That was all he was able to say, by now he was as hard as he could be.
“Let go, my prince” she whispered against his lips. “ Let go of all control. I’ll take care of everything, you don’t need to think about anything, I am in charge now.” She undid his coat, then his chemise, layer by layer, until his sculpted pale chest was bare in the candlelight. “ Your chest, what a view…looks like marble carved by the masters themselves” She pressed kisses right there, to his nipples too, his pectorals, until he whimpered. His voice sounded way softer than what she was used to. She sucked on his nipples then she bit on him. When he tried to reciprocate, she pinned his hands gently but firmly to the bed.
“My prince, you don’t get to lead, tonight you receive what I have to offer” Aemond was unsure, but at the same time, this was all he had ever craved. All his life he tried to control everything, and yet control escaped him in so many crucial moments, making his insecurities bigger, barriers higher and thicker with each indignity. Even in intimacy, he felt he had something to prove, provide and control. He was mortified of shame, and yet, to be now at her mercy, in her hands, in her care, was liberating. He abandoned who he was, the expectations, and let her consume him and please him as she saw fit. He was blushing and moaning under her touch, unable to resist her power, her biceps and shoulders bigger than his own held him with the perfect balance of dominance and care. “Have me, have all of me, Valyna, see through me…”
“You are such a delicate, beautiful thing, blushing like a princess.” She kissed him again, deep and slow. After fully undressing the prince, she laid him, spreading his silver hairs across the bed, then she straddled his face, strangling him in her massive quads, his lips and nose reaching for her sex, and she reached for his manhood with her hand from behind her back.
He froze, shocked by the movement. The weight, the heat, it was undoing him. His breath grew even more shallow and desperate. And like that, she had him, licking and sucking on her with frantic need. When he was at his limit, almost suffocating, Valyna quickly released him, letting him breathe and sucked on him vigorously. Then she turned him over with ease, like a doll, pressing his chest to the bed. He moaned louder. She spread his legs in a V figure, trailing kisses down from his scalp to his spine and tailbone until she was licking him from behind.
“What are you doing to me…” he breathed heavily, shivering from pleasure but afraid of what would follow. He felt small, unable to fight anything that Valyna decided to do with him.
“I am showing you another kind of pleasure, would you like me to…” she teased him from behind, playing with her finger there. She felt his body hardening at that moment, he didn’t want to experiment with that, not yet, and she respected that. “Hush, my sweetheart… I won’t do anything you don’t want, you can trust me". She turned him over again and saw the relief in his eye.
She caressed his face and kissed him, but then sat on his chest, pressing her weight into his ribs and sternum, her sex wet against his skin. “I can feel it, ” she said, rubbing against him. “Your heart… I feel it beating inside me. It’s time I feel something else inside me too.”
With that, she rode his cock slowly, savoring every twitch, every gasp and pulsating veins. He reached for her, to touch her, and this time the Dornish smiled, guiding his hands into her breast and hips. She kept kissing his neck and face and licking his nipples. Then, she reached for his clothes and strangled his neck with his own belt, riding him harder and harder while pushing the belt more with each movement without releasing the pressure until he came. He was moaning, vibrating under her with his back arching, helpless, his eye red and tearful, almost passing out. She released him from the belt immediately after, checking for bruises and kissing all over his skin, letting him finally breathe without restriction.
By the end, Aemond lay in her lap, still panting and trembling. She covered him with a blanket and caressed him until he relaxed his body over hers, feeling his breathing and heart find it's pace again. He felt that something inside himself had finally been undone, like a knot that is untied from the inside. He had fucked women many times, but it seemed like that was the first time he felt he was the one being fucked. His eye closed as Valyna ran her fingers through his hair, stroking his skin with reverence and care, her touch as dominant as tender, that was something he could never resist.
“Such a beautiful boy you are" she murmured in his ear. “You are perfect.”
The Delicate Art of Pleasure - Aemond x Aunt!OC - Part 2/2
Tags: incest, age difference, sexual tension, slight mommy kink, dom/sub vibes, dom OC, sub Aemond
Wordcount: 6,155
When Millicent Hightower, Alicent's older sister, comes to court after years of not visiting, and she cannot help but notice how her nephew Aemond has grown into quite the handsome and accomplished young man. As she notices his attraction to her, she takes it upon herself to dedicate a night to his education; to teach him the delicate and precise art of pleasing a woman.
gif credit @myfandomprompts - thank you ♡
The Delicate Art of Pleasure ✾ Part 1 - Part 2
"Whatever you wish me to do," Aemond vowed, his hooded eye meeting her gaze, making her sly smile curl enticingly. "I will follow your lead."
And with those words, he sealed what promised to be the longest, most pleasurable night of his life.
“Good,” Millicent murmured, and with that she turned around, pulling on the last laces that held her dress. Looking at Aemond over her shoulder as she dropped the heavy fabric to the floor, and removing her shoes one by one, she smiled at his obvious inexperience.
“The dress was fairly simple, but I will need help with the corset, dear.”
It seemed to snap him out of his trance, and without a word he stepped closer again, and with surprisingly strong and steady hands, pulled at the laces of her corset, releasing her breasts and waist from its confines. She could feel his breath, measured and deep, on the back of her neck as she had pulled her hair to one side, and she shivered as his knuckles grazed her back through her shift as he progressed down the corset. Finally, when it was loose enough, she pulled it from her body and dropped it on the floor. She turned again, stepping out of the pile of fabric, now in a simple translucent shift.
Aemond was looking at her intensely, clearly waiting on her instructions. “Now, show me what all these hours of training have done for you,” she said with a pointed look. She watched with unconcealed pleasure as he removed his doublet with the same care he had taken care of her corset —he seemed patient and conscientious, qualities she liked in a man whose goal was to please a woman.
As the leather doublet was draped on the back of a chair, soon joined by trousers and a linen shirt, and as the heavy riding boots were abandoned at the foot of the chair, Millicent’s interest grew. She had observed him attentively on the training field, and she had guessed from his agility that he must have been leanly muscled, and she was delighted to find out she had been correct. His shoulders were broad, and his upper body as a whole was well-defined, his hairless chest leading to a trim waist and slim hips that called for a woman to wrap her legs around.
As the young man hesitated, his long fingers toying with the laces of his breeches, Millicent smiled and pulled her shift from her shoulders, letting the thin cotton fall to the floor in a stream of fabric, exposing her naked body to his heavy gaze. He inhaled visibly, a tension of some kind spreading over his face, and as she dropped her gaze to his hips, she noticed the prominent bulge that distorted the cotton of his breeches.
“Tell me, my dear, how often does a healthy young man like you find release by his own hand?” she asked boldly, only for the pleasure to watch him shift his stance and tighten his hand on the laces. A part of her longed to see him bare, while another was excited by this delicious torture, having to imagine was laid beneath the cotton while watching him struggle with his own urges.
“There isn’t any shame to have in pleasure, Aemond,” she stated, emphasizing his name with tenderness, and he visibly shivered.
Never before had he found himself bare in front of a woman. His experience at the brothel had not been a pleasant one, and the young boy he had been had refused to remove more garments than absolutely necessary to perform the act. But this night was different.
On this night the woman in front of him wasn’t a young girl paid for her charms, she was a woman of confidence and experience, generous with her praises and honest in them. She was a good woman, a lady of status and one of the few people he trusted in this world. On this night, she would be his teacher, and he believed he would learn plenty from her, enough to ensure he would not suffer a dull marriage bed.
“Yes, Millicent”, he answered, and she seemed pleased at that. As she sat on the edge of the bed, leaning slightly back on her arms and keeping her knees together, he imagined what pleasures lay beneath her skin, what fantasies and adventures lurked behind her eyes.
Millicent was as beautiful a woman as could be —she seemed to be beauty made flesh, carved by the Gods with pleasure in mind. Her skin looked thin and soft, and the same lines of character that showed on her face littered her body. From her generous chest that dropped into two large orbs he longed to run his tongue across, to her stomach and hips that bore the marks of children, a testament to her fertile years, all the way down long legs that hid a patch of dark red hair between them; wherever he looked, there was beauty.
“You are beautiful,” he rasped, his right hand coming to rest on his cock. Even through the fabric, his own touch was a relief, and he groaned as he twitched under his own palm. Millicent’s eyebrows rose and her lips curled as she watched him.
“Thank you, my dear,” she answered, visibly flattered even though she displayed the utmost confidence about her appearance. “You are indeed a handsome young man, even more so without your leathers on. But as handsome as you are, there is still a part of you I long to see.”
Aemond made quick work of the laces of his breeches, and under her intense gaze, dropped them to the floor and revealed himself to her. “My, my,” she breathed. “What a shame to hide this behind such thick fabrics.”
Aemond shivered at her words, preening under her gaze. His cock was hard and throbbing already, the sight of her incensing him, and he felt his mouth go dry with excitement. He licked his lips, but before he could speak his aunt reached for her earrings, and spoke some words he had been dreading.
“Now, there must be no artifices between us,” she announced as she removed all the jewelry she wore. “I would see you as you are. All of you.”
“It is not a pleasant sight—”
“I know exactly what it looks like, dearest,” she reminded him, not unkindly. “Scars on a man are a testament of strength. I would have all of you, or none at all.”
Aemond swallowed his apprehension and pulled at the eyepatch, revealing a bright, gleaming sapphire that adorned his empty eye socket, along with the marred skin that still surrounded it. He dropped the eyepatch with the rest of his garments and stepped forward until he was standing as close as he could get without touching Millicent. Watching her face intently, he inhaled as she met his eye with nothing but confidence and pride.
“There you are,” she smiled, and he felt himself melt into the touch of her tender tone. “Now, what do you think the first thing a man should know about a woman’s pleasure is?”
Aemond felt the tension in his shoulders abate slightly at her question. He might not have been experienced, but he was educated, and her question was one he was confident he could answer correctly.
“Where to touch her,” he replied, his stomach clenching as Millicent smiled, visibly pleased with his answer.
“Excellent. Where to touch her, and how,” she confirmed, slowly pushing herself farther up the bed, inviting him to follow her with a slow raise of her eyebrow. Aemond grinned, amused and excited by her demeanor, and climbed after her, feeling very much like a predator prowling toward his prey.
Millicent shivered as Aemond followed her up the bed; he was long-limbed and lean, and a delight to look upon. It had been years since she had enjoyed the company of such a young man, and to be the one to teach him about the art of pleasure incensed her more than any fantasy ever had. With the tips of her fingers, she guided him to kneel on the bed while she laid back on the pillows, and she sighed as she draped her thighs over his, as the feeling of their skin gliding together was heavenly.
Aemond’s eye darkened and his breathing deepened as she was exposed to his gaze; the intensity in his purple eye made her shiver. “Go on,” she encouraged, and she was pleasantly surprised when he looked down, choosing to run his hands over her splayed thighs instead of anywhere else.
“Good,” she breathed, and Aemond bit his lip at the praise. Her skin was soft under his hands, and he enjoyed the simple pleasure of such a caress. For a minute she allowed him to explore the length of her legs, chuckling when his long hair teased her skin as he bent over her slightly.
As he ran his hands up her thighs for at least the fifth time, he did not stop at her hips, but instead continued his course up her stomach until the back of his knuckles grazed her heavy breasts. He liked the way they dropped and spread as she leaned back, and the dark nipples that adorned them called for his mouth to devour them. Slowly, she guided one of his hands until it was cupping one of her breasts, and his thumb started drawing circles around the darker skin at its center. With her other hand, she reached up and pulled him by the neck gently, making him bend over her further.
“Now, show me what that mouth can do,” she asked, tracing the curve of his lower lip with her thumb. “Take your time. With your lips, with your tongue.”
Aemond complied to her demand, hovering his lips over hers, grazing them almost tenderly as they shared a breath, before dipping his head and pressing his mouth gently over hers. The shape of his lips was exquisite as he explored hers carefully, tilting his head slightly to find another angle, pressing harder at times and gentler on the next kiss. She sighed as he took the initiative of parting his lips and she followed the movement, enjoying the way he took his time in prodding her tongue with his, tasting her, almost too slow, but as he finally slotted his mouth over hers and kissed her deeply, she decided it had been worth the wait.
As he pulled away, slightly more breathless than he had been before their kiss, she smiled at him, her thumb returning to his lower lip. He leaned into her touch, tilting his head to kiss her palm and she allowed him the comfort of his face in her hand before speaking. “Now, this was promising. Where would you take that mouth of yours? Don’t think too hard, just go where your instincts tell you.”
“Your breasts,” he replied, his teeth grazing the inside of her palm, and she chuckled. His hand was still caressing her chest, his thumb toying with her nipple as his other arm was propping him up over her.
“Good boy,” Millicent praised, and his grip tightened slightly. “But start at the neck,” she suggested, and she was grateful she did as he dipped his head below her ear, slotting his mouth to her skin much as he had done to her mouth. Burying her fingers into his long silver mane, she breathed in the smell of musk and clean sweat that enveloped him.
Aemond groaned lowly as he kissed his way down her soft neck, then let his tongue trace the valley between her breasts, the very one that had enticed him so earlier in the evening, revealing his desire.
Millicent moaned as he took one of her nipples into his mouth, eager and almost starved for it. She sighed under his assault, forgetting her lessons of patience and enjoying the eagerness of his youth. Pulling at his hair harder, she reveled in the way his thighs trembled underneath hers and his mouth sucked at her breast harder.
“Good boy,” she moaned, and his subsequent whimper vibrated against her sensitive skin. “Now, let’s see what those nimble fingers of yours can do.”
Aemond pulled his mouth away from her breast, and as he hovered over her, his long hair falling around his shoulders in waves of silver, she was reminded of the grandiosity attached to the Targaryen name. In his hair, face, and the glowing of his sapphire, she could see the prince deep down, and she felt a hunger for it like she never had before.
As she shifted her legs, Aemond’s attention was brought back to the cradle of her thighs, and the rosy folds that peeked from her patch of red hair. “Here, gently,” she instructed as she guided his hand away from her breast, down to where she really wanted to feel him.
Aemond did not answer, instead he let his fingers explore the tender folds of skin, as gentle as he could, conflicted between watching her face for her reactions or looking down at what he was doing. In the end, he decided to watch as her folds parted under his prodding fingers, and guided by her sighs and soft noises of encouragement, found the entrance into her body. She was warm and wet, and he immediately felt a thrill when his forefinger caught on the dip leading into her body —she gasped as he inhaled deeply, the scent of her pleasure heavy in the air, sweet and intoxicating.
Millicent guided him gently again, further up where her folds met, and she encouraged him to press there. Beneath the skin there was a hard nub like a rose bud that made her gasp and moan louder than she had so far, and the sound alone made his cock throb between his legs.
“Right there, is the key to a woman’s pleasure,” she murmured, her voice rendered a bit hoarse. Fascinated and aroused like never before, Aemond followed her lead until he was drawing tight circles on her nub with his thumb, his fore and middle finger prodding between her folds again. The longer he pressed on her sensitive spot, the wetter she grew against his finger tips, and soon she was rolling her hips into his hand.
“That’s it,” she gasped when he grew impatient and eager for more, and dipped his head again to catch her breast in his mouth. He sucked at her harder than he had before, enjoying the feeling of the hard nub against his tongue and the softness of the dark skin around it against his lips. He moaned in both delight and frustration as she melted into the pillows and started to rock against him in a sinful rhythm.
“There it is, that’s a good lad,” she moaned when he prodded further and his middle finger sunk into her. He groaned as her walls clenched around his finger, and he felt his head spin at the euphoria of giving her pleasure —once again, he followed the rocking of her hips, which was as consistent as the tides.
“Inside, there is a rough spot…” she breathed. “Curl your fingers… There, that’s it.”
He felt her grow tenser under him, her back arching and hips rising from the bed, rocking more insistently into his hand. Both his fore and middle fingers were inside her now, his thumb still circling her nub as she moaned, her hand pulling the hair at the back of his head, holding him at her breast.
Her voice broke as she tried to speak, and she sounded so utterly undone that Aemond felt a drop of arousal pearl at the tip of his throbbing cock. It had grown painful at this point, but he was so enthralled by the mounting tension in her that he paid it no mind.
“Aemond,” she whimpered. “Keep that pace—”
Then, even though he had been doing the exact same thing for long minutes, her cunt clamped down on his fingers as she suddenly grew quiet, great gasping breaths coming out of her mouth as she shook against him. Aemond pulled away from her breast to look at her, enthralled by the sight of her in the throes of pleasure, and this time he could not stop himself; he shifted his weight, bringing the hand that had been propping him up to his hard cock, giving it a few quick pulls that alleviated the worst of the tension. He stroked himself with a suppressed groan as his hand was coated in more of her wetness, and obvious relief spread across her body. Her back fell down on the bed and she stretched languidly, her eyes that had fallen shut opening again —they were dark, the pupils blown wide.
Millicent chuckled as Aemond pulled his hand from her, but it was what his other one was doing that amused her —the enthusiasm and impatience of youth truly was delightful and delicious. She awarded him a few more desperate strokes until she stopped him.
“Remove your hand from yourself, Aemond,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady. “There is more for you to learn before you can be awarded release.”
Aemond groaned and cursed under his breath, but after one last, slow pull, removed his hand from his aching cock. It had been a pleasure to watch his long fingers wrapped around his shaft, as both parts of him were truly magnificent, but Millicent did not want to spoil the pleasure of this peculiar lesson by letting him enjoy himself too soon.
“How does it feel?” she asked, her hooded eyes observing his every reaction, from the twitches in his face to the clenching of his stomach, down to his throbbing cock. “To bring pleasure to a woman, while denying your own?” she added, wanting to know every sensation flowing through him.
“Inebriating,” he admitted in a rough voice, and she admired how he did not mention his own frustration, but the dark red head of his cock told betrayed how desperately aroused he was.
“In this case, I’m afraid what comes next will make you lose your mind, my dear,” Millicent replied with a sly smile, a slight musical tone to her voice.
She caressed his scar again and he leaned into her touch, kissing the palm of her hand with renewed devotion and deference. He parted his lips as she trailed her fingers across them, and she was struck by the heavenly sight he made —his purple eye wide, his high cheekbones flushed a dark red and his silver hair spilled across his shoulders made him look like an ethereal being, like an angel of sin sent to this earth for her pleasure.
Millicent shivered as he licked the tip of her fingers tentatively, his eye trained on her, gauging her reaction. “You have a talented tongue,” she praised. “Let’s put it to good use.”
Without further explanation, she guided him by the shoulder to rest in the cradle of her thighs, and he did so eagerly. He had heard about this particular kiss a husband could give his wife, and it sent a thrill down his spine when he realized this was where she was leading him. Women’s bodies were fascinating to him, able to withstand the pain of childbirth, and also able to experience the highest form of pleasure, as he learned the nub at their core only served one purpose: to bring them to ecstasy.
Millicent shivered as his breath fanned over her core, and his nose grazed her patch of auburn hair. She guided him gently, with a hand to the back of his head, and he went down willingly, pressing his lips to her nub. She sighed, and so he did it again, a bit firmer. Her legs came up around his head, bent at the knee, and her toes curled in the sheets. She gasped as he parted his lips and licked a tentative trail up her folds with the tip of his tongue.
“That’s it, just the tip of your tongue,” Millicent sighed, and Aemond shuddered as she brought a leg over his shoulder, her foot caressing the broad expanse of his back. “Pleasing a woman this way is a precise art… One I’m sure you’ll master in no time.”
“I pride myself on being an attentive and dedicated student,” he replied before dipping his head again, flicking his tongue against her nub, alternating with firmer, more precise strokes, and broader licks that spread her wetness on his tongue.
As her pleasure bloomed under his tongue, her hand tightening his grip on his hair and the heel of her foot digging into her back, his own arousal throbbed between his thighs. Aemond shifted his weight, propping himself on an elbow, his hand curled around her hip, and brought his second hand between his legs. He gave himself a few pulls, groaning against her cunt.
“Naughty boy,” Millicent laughed when she noticed what he was doing. Her voice was rough with pleasure, Aemond felt his face burn at being scolded like a misbehaving child. “Impatient, aren’t we?”
Flushed with embarrassment and arousal alike, Aemond curled his tongue against the rough spot she had indicated earlier, hoping to distract her. She arched her back and lifted her hips from the bed, rocking against his tongue as he sucked on her cunt greedily, still keeping a steady hand on himself. The loop of pleasure they were caught in was making his head spin, and his cock was leaking over his fingers. He groaned in abandon, closing his eye as he rocked his hips into his hands, unable to resist it anymore. As tension mounted in her again, her body growing tight and her nub swelling under his tongue, so did pressure grow behind his cock, his stones growing heavier and tighter.
“Aemond,” Millicent moaned, and he felt himself slip closer to the edge, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He was desperate for release, for relief, as his cock was steel hard in his hand, his core more tense than ever —but soon came the devastating demand he had agreed to comply with.
“Remove your hand from yourself, Aemond. Like I said, there is more for you to learn before I will allow you release.”
Aemond made a sound between a growl and a whimper, and for a desperate second he thought he would not be able to follow her demand —his cock was throbbing, aching, and the edge of his release was so close that he could taste it at the back of his throat, an aftertaste of iron from biting the inside of his mouth as he tried to hold off his release.
Summoning all the self-discipline he possessed, he finally wrenched his hand from his cock, and hid his agonized whimpers in the warmth of her cunt, and it seemed his compliance and desperate cries pushed Millicent over the edge. Her hips shook under his mouth as she cried out, her hand pulling at his hair from the root. Aemond felt his head spin as he was caught between her hand and her cunt; his ears were ringing and his cock desperately throbbing, his mind empty of all thoughts except the intense satisfaction of bringing her to release once more. As she melted into the sheets again, Aemond pulled away, his sense saturated with her smell and taste.
“Millicent, please,” he groaned against the inside of her thigh, and she got a taste of his frustration when he bit her tender skin slightly. She laughed as she soothed the sting of his scalp, running her hand along his long strands which spread across his shoulders.
“You must learn patience, my dear,” she replied. “As a younger, less experienced woman than me, your future wife will not find her pleasure so easily. How do you plan on satisfying her if you can’t master your own urges?”
All she got in answer was another sharp bite, which incensed her. As she pulled him back to her, allowing his thighs to slide back under her own, she smiled at him tenderly. Kneeling on the bed between her legs, his cock flushed an angry red, his stomach clenching with his frustrated breath, he looked half-mad with desire.
“Did you teach your husband to please you, as you are teaching me?” he asked quietly as she caressed his face. She admired his composure, as his face remained almost impassible, save for the subtle trembling of his lower-lip and the feverish look in his eye.
“We taught one another,” she replied as her other hand drew mindless patterns on his heaving chest and stomach. “But it has been a while since we have shared a bed.”
Before Aemond could ask the reason why, she had wrapped her hand around his cock firmly. “How I missed the ardor of youth…” she lamented, but Aemond wasn’t listening to her anymore.
His mind was blissfully blank as she started stroking him, slowly but expertly. He panted as the grip around his shaft tightened every time she reached his tip, and moaned when she swiped her thumb at the head of his cock, spreading its leaking wetness. It was intense, pleasurable beyond belief, ever more so than his own hand could ever be. He was so relieved by the touch that he allowed himself to let go of his composure —he bent forward, dipping his head to rest against her chest.
But Millicent didn’t allow him relief for long. Instead, she removed her hand as abruptly as she had given it to him, making him hiss in frustration again. The ache was stronger this time, deeper into his core.
“Millicent,” he groaned, lifting his head to look at her. She soothed his pain with a gentle kiss, drinking in his desperate breaths. “What more is there for me to learn?”
“Endurance, my dear,” she replied against his lips. “You did not answer my question earlier. How often do you find release by your own hand?”
“Every day,” he breathed without shame, eager to answer all her questions, if only she would finally grant him his pleasure after she had had all her answers. To his relief, she pushed him gently until he was sitting upright, on his knees in front of her, and uttered the two words he had been hoping for.
“Show me.”
Shamelessly, Aemond wrapped a hand around himself, hissing at the sensation. He started a slow rhythm at first, afraid that if he went too fast, she would order him to stop. He had to admit this game she was playing was delightful, the most delicious torture he had ever experienced —and no matter his frustration, he found himself eager to please her above all things.
Her gaze on him was intense, burning with desire even after she had reached ecstasy twice, and he understood why she was adamant he learned endurance. If women could withstand prolonged and repeated pleasure in such a way, it was only right that he learned the endurance necessary to satisfy his future wife’s needs before his own.
For a few, blissful moments, Aemond was lost to the mounting pressure inside of himself, and under her watchful eyes, he allowed himself to unravel. He allowed his hips to rock back into his hand and breathy moans to escape his lips. He could feel sweat pooling at the base of his spine, a prickling sensation crawling the back of his neck —his release was so close he gasped aloud when the pleasure went up a notch and the pressure at the base of his cock became almost unbearable.
Trembling and flushed, he closed his eye and let himself fall toward the edge, the movement of his hand gaining speed and his grip tightening.
“Remove your hand from yourself, Aemond,” came the calm demand, as though Millicent already knew he would comply.
“Millicent, please,” he gasped, but she ignored him, instead grasping his wrist and yanking his hand away. He fell forward into her as his cock throbbed from the sudden lack of friction and agony burst into his abdomen. For a frightful, suspended second he thought he would go over the edge despite the lack of touch, but after a few desperate, breathless groans, the pressure abated and he felt himself step back from the dangerous edge.
When the worst of the agony had passed, Aemond realized his head was resting on his aunt’s shoulder, and she was soothing his whimpers with the tips of her fingers along his back, her other hand caressing his wrist where his heart was pulsing.
“Breathe, Aemond,” she crooned, and when his uncontrollable tremors had stopped, she let go of his wrist and trailed her hand down his stomach. “Let me see you.”
Aemon complied wordlessly, still blinded by the near-ecstasy that had rattled his bones, and pushed himself back up on his knees, sitting up as tall and proud as he could. His alabaster skin was covered in a thin sheet of sweat, and every single one of his features was accentuated; from his cheekbones to his chiseled chest and abdomen, his entire frame was tense, making his muscles stand out.
“Well done, my gorgeous boy,” she praised, and Aemond whimpered when she lowered her hand to his leaking cock, swiping her thumb under the tip of it, pressing slightly. He was awfully sensitive by now, and the lines between pleasure and pain had started to blur. She circled the swollen head several times, savoring the way it made him tremble and whine.
“Millicent,” he pleaded in a breath, and she silenced him with a chaste kiss to his lips. He tried to chase her mouth, to pull her in into a deeper kiss, but she refused him. Instead, she let go of his cock —to his great displeasure, which he voiced by a particularly delicious groan— and guided him to lie back on the pillows. His frustrated groan turned to an eager one when she straddled him, her plush thighs on either side of his slender waist, her wet cunt hovering over his cock.
“This will be my final lesson,” she said as she brought a hand down to guide him to her entrance. “Pay attention and you shall be rewarded.”
“Yes, my lady aunt,” he replied instantly, his eye blown wide, trained on where they were almost touching. He bit his lip but stayed still and silent as she lowered herself slightly, pressing the head of his cock to the dip leading to her entrance.
“Every woman likes to be taken in a different way. Learn your wife’s ways and you shall earn her frequent presence in your bed, along with her enthusiasm. A pleased woman makes for a singularly happy marriage, you’ll find,” Millicent explained. “The best way to start is to let her be on top, and go slow and steady.”
Then she lowered herself again until the tip of his cock was breaching her, not enough to please either of them, but enough to remind Aemond of the agony of his refused releases. “Show me you can do that, and I will allow you to spill your seed in me.”
Aemond nearly sobbed at her statement, but forced himself to follow her instruction. As she settled more comfortably over him, he cradled her hips in his hands and pushed up, sheathing himself fully in her. She clenched around him and he groaned, and every instinct in his body was howling at him to take her like he wished, but he held on to his discipline and rocked his hips up slowly.
Hands spread on his chest, her head thrown back, she followed his movements as he thrusted into her, and the grip and drag of her walls around his cock were making his head spin. If his hand on himself had felt good, this felt heavenly; pleasure of an intense quality was spreading from his cock to his entire body, and he felt it crest higher than he had ever experienced. Every single of his senses was amplified, and he had to close his eye to bear it all —from the tightness of her cunt, to the sounds of her sighs and the smell of her sweat and wetness. He felt as though he was inebriated on the richest, most potent of wines, and now he understood why men often said there was no pleasure on this earth than fucking a woman.
With every thrust he felt himself nearing the edge, and he forced himself to keep the slowest rhythm his body would allow; deep, long strokes that rocked her body gently and made her clench on the upstroke.
“That’s it, that’s a good boy,” she sighed when he picked up the pace slightly, unable to help himself. He felt he was on the edge of madness, every nerve under his skin begging him to bring them over the edge and allow them release from the tension that had built in his entire frame.
“Millicent,” he groaned. “Am I pleasing you?”
“Yes, sweet boy,” she replied as she brought her face back down, curling over him until she could kiss him. Her long hair fell like a curtain over her shoulders, spilling over his and sheltering them from the candlelight. “You have pleased me greatly.”
Aemond brought one of his hands to the nape of her neck, and incensed by her answer, allowed himself to rock into her with more force, reveling in the feeling of being fully sheathed in her with every thrust, their skin coming together with a sharp sound. Millicent let herself be pulled into a deep, biting kiss, and she shuddered as she felt Aemond unravel beneath her, at the mercy of his own pleasure, and she decided it was time to grant him his prize.
She pulled away far enough to whisper between them. “Now, show me what a dragon can do, and take me however you please.”
A laugh was pulled out of her as Aemond sprung up, using his momentum as leverage and his firm grasp on her hip to tip her to the side and spread her on the bed, caging her in under his body. Propped up on one elbow, his other arm curled under her knee to keep her thigh up on his hips, he thrusted into her with abandon, groaning his pleasure into her neck.
Millicent clutched at his back as he took his pleasure from her, and in that instant she felt young again, like a maiden being ravaged by her eager husband on their wedding night, and she closed her eyes in delight. Aemond was fucking her with a vigor she had never known, and a passion she was sure she had never experienced —he was perfect in every aspect, eager to learn and eager to please, but beneath his skin lurked a scaled beast he longed to unleash.
Aemond let go of her leg as the rope of tension deep inside his core snapped and the wave took him under —he groaned and sobbed in Millicent’s shoulder as he spilled into her, his cock pulsing harder than ever, milking every single drop of pleasure from him. The release made his head spin and his whole frame shake in the cradle of Millicent’s hips, and for a long minute nothing existed outside of the delicious clench of her cunt around him, and the intense relief that spread into his very bones. On the last pulse he actually sobbed, a tear prickling the corner of his eye, and he gratefully lowered himself fully onto her as Millicent pulled at his back.
Panting into the soft skin of her neck, he realized as the buzzing in his ear faded that the soft whimpers he had been distantly hearing were coming from his own throat and he closed his eye, burying his face in her throat as she ran her hands through his long mane.
“You have done exceptionally well, my dear,” she praised, making him shiver. His sweat was cooling rapidly on his skin, and he must have been heavy on her, but he indulged in the simple pleasure of her embrace for as long as she allowed.
“You will be a wonderful husband, I am certain of that,” she murmured with pride.
“Did I please you, my lady aunt?”
Millicent laughed quietly at his sweet question. “Yes, my dear, you have pleased me immensely. You are an exceptionally fast learner, and it has been my honor and utmost pleasure to have you in my bed.”
“I’m sure I still have much more to learn,” Aemond replied with a touch of slyness, and she pressed a kiss into his hair with a hum, neither denying nor confirming that indeed, she had more to teach him.
HotD Masterlist
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Beta read by @arcielee & @annikin-im-panicin ♡
Please reblog if you liked - reblogging is how we keep stories alive on this platform ♡
The Delicate Art of Pleasure - Aemond x Aunt!OC - Part 1/2
Tags: incest, age difference, sexual tension, slight mommy kink, dom/sub vibes, dom OC, sub Aemond
Wordcount: 4.1k
When Millicent Hightower, Alicent's older sister, comes to court after years of not visiting, and she cannot help but notice how her nephew Aemond has grown into quite the handsome and accomplished young man. As she notices his attraction to her, she takes it upon herself to dedicate a night to his education; to teach him the delicate and precise art of pleasing a woman.
gif credit @myfandomprompts - thank you ♡
The Delicate Art of Pleasure ✾ Part 1
In the year 101, the Old King Jaehaerys, whose health was failing, appointed a new Hand to guide him and shoulder the burden as he entered the final years of his reign. He found a trusted advisor in none other than Otto Hightower, son of the Voice of Oldtown, and so the new Hand arrived at court when summoned, along with his wife and youngest child, a daughter named Alicent.
His lady wife was pained to leave her other children behind, especially her oldest daughter Millicent, a girl of barely four and ten, but she left her with the assurance that she would soon marry into a good and fortunate family, and therefore her mind was slightly eased.
As time passed slowly in the Red Keep, and the Stranger came for Lady Hightower; her daughters grew up miles apart from one another, but never far from each other’s thoughts. Despite the decade that separated them, the two sisters grew closer after the passing of their mother, clinging to their memories and sharing them in long letters. When her condition permitted it, when she wasn’t round with another of her husband’s large babes, Millicent would visit her sister in the Red Keep. She found the place dilapidated and dreadful, smelling of dragon ash and sour wine, but she visited nonetheless, and Alicent always found comfort in her company.
Millicent was present when her younger sister became Queen, and was proud to bow to her and call her by her new title —she was even prouder when a couple of years later, her once shy sibling crossed the Great Hall in the middle of the King’s speech, in a bright green dress that left no doubt on her true allegiances. Sadly, as her own children grew and her husband’s health failed, she had less time and opportunity to visit. She learned from her nephews’ and niece’s accomplishments by letters, growing fond of them like any aunt would —she was delighted when Daeron came into her care, as she was able to leave her husband’s affairs in the hands of her oldest son and join the boy in their ancestral family seat.
As Daeron grew from a boy to an adolescent, and Millicent reached past her fortieth name day, she thought it was time to resume her frequent visits. And so she used any pretext she could to make the arrangements and travel with the boy when her uncle, the Lord of the Hightower, permitted it.
Therefore it was no surprise to anyone when a week before petitions from Vaemond Velaryon were to be heard, Daeron and his aunt, Millicent Hightower, returned to court.
Despite being nearly five and forty years old, she still was a beautiful woman. She had aged with grace, the women said with envy and the men with lust —her skin was thinner than it used to be, but it was still a flawless porcelain color, and the lines around her eyes and mouth only added to her character. Her once fiery red hair had turned darker, like falling leaves when summer faded in favor of winter, and the auburn color made her rich brown eyes stand out. They were the soft and mellow color of hazelnuts, with long lashes that fanned on her cheeks when she laughed.
Her plump mouth was always stretched in a grateful, joyful smile, and it seemed that every aspect of life delighted her. She took pride in taking on hardships and overcoming them, and bore burdens that would have made frailer women cry —she was a force to be reckoned with, and many at court admired her for those qualities.
It was with that same cheerful smile on her face that she stepped out of the carriage and onto the ground of the inner courtyard, looking around at the familiar walls of the Red Keep. After a quick look-around, she turned to the party awaiting her and rushed to her sister’s side, enveloping her into an embrace the queen gladly fell into.
“Sister,” Millicent greeted with affection, pressing a kiss to Alicent’s hairline before stepping away to curtsy. “My Queen,” she offered with mirth, as though she was mocking the title, but both women knew it was merely a jest recalling games from their childhood.
“Millicent, it is so good to have you here again,” Queen Alicent replied, a tired smile stretching her mouth.
“I reckon it is. You look tired, my poor dear,” Millicent murmured as she rose again, her hand coming to cup her sister’s face, her thumb swiping an invisible tear from her cheekbone. Then, with the assurance that her arrival was welcome, she stepped aside and let Daeron throw himself in his mother’s arms. As mother and son reunited, Millicent stepped toward her nephews and niece, starting with Helaena.
The young woman greeted her with delight, and she had the same gesture toward her she had had for her mother; a kind caress to the face, along with a gentle word. She was more exuberant in her affection when she greeted her oldest nephew, curling her hands along each side of his face and kissing his forehead like a mother would, making the young man preen and laugh at some jest she must have whispered as she did so.
Then, finally, she turned to the young man whose eyes hadn’t left her since she had stepped out, watching her like a hawk as she greeted his mother and siblings.
“Aemond, how you’ve grown,” Millicent said with warmth and a touch of admiration, which made his heart skip a beat. She extended her arms toward him and waited for him to take the first step. As his siblings turned to greet Daeron, Aemond dipped his head in silent acceptance, and his aunt was quick to shower him with her affection.
As her warm hands cupped his face and her thumb traced the portion of the scar that extended past his eyepatch tenderly, Aemond could hardly bring himself to meet her eyes, but he forced himself to do so. As his purple orb met her warm hazelnut eyes, she smiled brightly and brought his face down for a kiss. She pressed her lips to his cheek, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with the scent of lilac and gooseberries.
It had been a few years since Aemond had last seen his aunt, but it seemed to him she hadn’t aged a day. The only thing that troubled him was how her warmth and affection made his stomach clench as she kissed his cheek, murmuring a few kind, private words to him. “What a handsome young man you’ve become, Aemond,” she said as she pulled away, pride etched on her face.
Aemond couldn’t tell if it was wishful thinking on his part, or a deliberate act on hers, but it seemed to him that she lingered with him more than she had with Aegon, as though she wished to gaze up at him longer. He felt the loss of her warmth like an ache as she pulled away, but not before her thumb had traced his scar once again, and her forefinger had stroked the back of his ear, making him shiver.
Millicent’s particular tenderness stayed with Aemond all throughout the afternoon, and well into the evening as they gathered for dinner. The King was absent from the reunion, but Aemond could tell his mother was glad to be alone with her sister and children. It seemed her sister’s presence had lifted everyone’s spirits, the Queen included; she looked more radiant, less worried than she had in the morning.
The food was rich and delicious, and the wine that accompanied it was deep and tart, and the way it spread on Aemond’s tongue was pleasant —his mouth felt peculiarly dry. Between the cranberry and plum sauce that accompanied the roasted goose, and the dark root vegetables such as beetroot that all stained the lips, he had a hard time taking his eye off his aunt, whose laughter was a beacon of delight in and of itself.
“How is marriage treating you, my dears?” she asked Aegon and Helaena after a second cup of wine. “I haven’t seen you since the day you were wed.”
Helaena made a soft humming sound, almost as though she hadn’t heard the question, but Aegon snorted into his cup. “You have met the children,” Heleana finally said when it was obvious her brother and husband was not going to answer.
“That is all the answer I need, I suppose,” Millicent answered with a kind smile for her niece, but they all knew her words were meant to be slightly biting and destined for Aegon. The young man was stuck between astonishment and a self-deprecating sort of laughter, but his mood cheered again when his aunt threw him a fondly exasperated look over her cup.
“How is our aunt treating you, brother?” Aemond asked Daeron, who was glad to answer and go into details about his education. The boy was spirited but disciplined, and he seemed to enjoy studying the same topics as his older brother, but as he started detailing his latest read, Aemond found he did not have the patience to listen to him.
Instead, his eye was caught by his aunt Millicent, who was still silently conniving with Aegon. The banter between the two was legendary, and all knew she enjoyed teasing him as much as he enjoyed being on the receiving end of her wit. She had never hid her discontentment with the way he treated some matters, such as his wife, but she never blamed him or belittled him. Instead, she seemed intent on helping him and supporting him, providing him with counsel he was actually amenable to hear and capable of following.
Such was the art of being a woman in a world of men, Aemond supposed, and Millicent surely excelled at it. She knew how to be convincing and insistent without being rude or overstepping her bounds, and she knew how to inspire respect and admiration with her posture and a few, well-placed compliments.
“I am glad you are thriving in Oldtown,” Alicent said in a louder tone than the one she usually spoke in, and Aemond realized his younger brother had been looking at him expectantly throughout his speech.
“So am I,” Aemond added gladly, then added after a sip of wine. “I shall take you to the library on the morrow, if you wish.”
Daeron looked satisfied with his answer, and Aemond returned his attention to his plate, although his appetite wasn’t great. He was about to tuck a piece of meat in his mouth when his aunt’s voice was heard once again. “What about you, Aemond, how are your studies going along?”
“Quite well, thank you,” he answered primly, not wanting to step into his brother’s light.
“He is quite brilliant, actually,” sweet Helaena added, and Millicent hummed with interest.
“Oh, please tell us about it, then,” she continued, and even Daeron nodded eagerly.
Under the impatient gaze of his younger brother and the intense one of his aunt, Aemond forced himself to recount the last battle he had read about, and the fascinating insight Maesters had on the outcome, keeping it short and to the point. It was obvious his brother wanted to hear more, but he had no wish to keep speaking as everyone listened in silence, and based on the look Aegon was throwing him from across the table, the sentiment was very much visible on his face.
Still, when he made it obvious he wouldn’t add more, instead finally tucking the now cold piece of meat into his mouth, Millicent raised her cup to him with a sly smile. “My congratulations, Alicent, it seems you have raised an intelligent and studious young man,” she said to her sister without taking her eyes off of Aemond. Clenching his left hand on his knee, hidden under the table, he felt his stomach clench again, his chest swelling with a strange blend of pride and embarrassment.
“Thank you, sister,” the Queen answered, oblivious to the effect Millicent’s words were having on her son. “I am grateful you have succeeded all the same with Daeron.”
The following days went on much the same, except aunt Millicent seemed to avoid the subject of Aemond’s studies. She was generous with her compliments and affection, but he suspected it was because she had taken to shadowing him and Daeron as they went about their day. It was logical, as the boy was her charge, but Aemond was grateful for her presence.
When she was not keeping her sister company, she was watching them train in the courtyard and was always the first to applaud at the end of their joust, and she followed them to the library to listen to their discussions every chance she got. She truly seemed to admire Daeron’s spirit and intelligence, and he was glad his younger brother had such a bright and encouraging presence in his life.
From time to time her eyes would linger on Aemond’s face and upper body, and he remembered her first words to him as she had exited the carriage upon her arrival. How you’ve grown. He supposed it must have been bittersweet and perhaps even difficult, as it seemed she had remembered as a boy on the cusp of manhood, and he had now become a man grown. He had grown taller than her, and wider in the shoulders than he had ever hoped to be —he had worked hard to improve himself, training tirelessly under Criston Cole’s supervision.
He took pride in his appearance and personal grooming, making sure he always wore a clean shirt under his doublet, and washing his hair after each ride with Vhagar. Nothing could erase the scar that marred his face, but he would do everything in his power to make it less visible. Instead he worked hard to be noticed first by his shape and posture rather than his eyepatch.
In the early evening of her third day in the capital, after a light supper of mince pies and roasted parsnips, Millicent found her two youngest nephews in the library, bent over a large map of Old Valyria, lost in an animated discussion in their ancient family language, Valyrian.
Daeron lifted his head first when Millicent entered the room silently, as the door had been left ajar, and knocked on the wood with the back of her knuckles.
“My aunt,” he called excitedly, rushing to her to link her arm with hers and pulling her along to the desk where the map lay among scattered books of histories. “Aemond is teaching me about our ancient seat. It is most fascinating.”
“I am sure it is, young man, but the hour grows late, and you promised to join your mother in the Sept for an early mass on the morrow,” Millicent reminded him; still she propped herself on the table with the flat of her hands, bending slightly to see where Daeron was pointing.
The map was soon forgotten to Aemond as the collar of his aunt’s dress dipped and the valley running between her corset-bound breasts was exposed. She was wearing an intricate gown that was far too fastidious for the court fashion at this time of year, but she did not seem to care. The bodice of her dress was tied at the front rather than the back, the laces done tightly over what Aemond suspected to be a generous bosom. “It is quite a beautiful map,” Milicent agreed distractedly as her gaze rose to Aemond’s face, unmistakable noticing where his attention had been.
“Still, it is time for you to retire to bed,” she said firmly to Daeron, and the boy sighed but nodded. She smiled at him and rose from her propped-up position on the desk, reaching up to cup his face in her hands. Like a mother, she pressed a kiss to his forehead, wishing him a night of good rest and inspiring dreams, and the adolescent’s answer was to press himself to her front like a child —she laughed and pressed another kiss to his wild mop of silver curls.
Aemond averted his eyes, feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment, the back of his neck growing hot with envy.
As Daeron scampered away, Millicent turned toward him again. “A delightful boy, isn’t he?”
“Indeed he is,” Aemond answered curtly.
“Almost a man grown,” she trailed, then added. “But not quite.”
Aemond stayed silent as he felt his aunt’s gaze on him, and his mood grew sour. He disliked how she made him feel like a boy caught with his hand in a jar of treats, but before he could either show or voice his displeasure, she spoke again.
“You, on the other hand, have grown quite into a formidable young man,” she praised, and he hated how lovely those words sounded on her tongue.
“So you have said, aunt. On several occasions,” he answered curtly.
“Aemond, don’t be so sour,” she laughed as though he was behaving like a petulant child. “You used to be such a sweet boy.”
“But I no longer am a boy, aunt. I thought that was the whole point you wished to make,” he retorted, pushing past her to exit the library.
“Your mother did warn me you have also grown quite a fiery temperament when provoked,” she called behind his back. “I simply wished to compliment you. Can you blame an old woman for doting on her nephews?”
Aemond turned toward her again, and he felt slightly guilty for his bout of temper. “You are hardly old, my lady aunt.”
“Millicent, please,” she said as she stepped up to him. “As we are both adults, you should call me by my proper name.”
Aemond nodded, as he could not find it in himself to refuse her, and to pass up an opportunity to feel the texture and taste of her name on his tongue. His attraction to her was troubling, but it had such a sweet edge he could only allow himself to indulge. “Now, you should walk with me to the gardens, and tell me everything there is to know about the young man that is now Prince Aemond. Apart from his studies,” she decided with a smile.
Obediently, he offered her his arm so she could take it, and soon the lonely alleyways of the gardens were bearing witness to their conversation. “Tell me about this betrothed of yours. Which of the Baratheon girls is it?”
“Lady Maris,” Aemond replied as he looked at the horizon where the sun was setting on the other side of the bay. The sky was growing dark and gray, dulling the colors of the gardens around them.
“The Four Storms, they are called, but I’m sure you’re aware,” she recounted. “What do you make of her?”
“She is pleasant to look upon, and intelligent. She will be a fine wife,” Aemond answered politely, making Millicent laugh. She stroked the curve of his forearm with her thumb, her fingers splayed on the leather cuff at his wrist. She was holding his arm much more loosely than was usual custom for a lady, but he did not mind her familiarity.
“I am sure she will. But now that you have spoken in your Grandsire’s voice, I would rather hear yours,” she said with a sly smile, looking up at him from between her long lashes.
“She is beautiful, I will not deny it,” he replied.
“Where does your hesitation lie, then?”
“Not with her, rather with myself,” Aemond admitted after a long moment of silence. He had often confided in his aunt as a boy, especially after he had earned his scar, and she had always known what to say to build his confidence back up. “I am afraid of being… inadequate.”
“In what way, dear boy?” she pushed, as though she could not sense his shame and discomfort. Stomach clenched with nerves and chest flushed with embarrassment, Aemond continued.
“I doubt my adequateness when it comes to my husbandly duties,” he voiced as eloquently and elegantly as he could, and he almost stopped in his tracks when his aunt answered him in the most brazen manner.
“Are you afraid you won’t please her in bed, is that it?” she whispered with a touch of humor in her voice, even though the gardens were empty save for them.
“Quite,” he said primly, and she laughed again, a softer sound this time.
“My dear boy, hasn’t your brother educated you in this matter?” Millicent asked, stopping and turning to face him, her hand still on his arm. “I suggested he did, when you started to grow into manhood.”
“He has, although not in a way that bore fruit,” Aemond answered, averting his gaze.
“Well, this shan’t do,” Millicent answered with a touch of affront. “I know well enough what it is to be in a loveless, passionless marriage. I shall not let this Baratheon storm die down because of a lack of proper education.”
“What do you suggest, my aunt?” Aemond asked mockingly, shame rising hot in his throat. “Are you planning on taking me to the Street of Silk yourself?”
Millicent finally removed her hand from his forearm, but she did not step away. In fact, she did the opposite, stepping closer until she merely had to breathe her words for him to hear her in the quiet of the gardens. “I am not blind to the lust of young men, my dear nephew. Your wandering eye has been noticed,” she declared with grace. “This is merely an invitation, which you are free to refuse. But if you wish to learn the delicate and precise art of pleasing a woman, you should join me in my chambers tonight.”
Aemond’s breath was heavy in his chest as the door closed behind him, and he was enveloped in the unique scent of his aunt —lilac, gooseberries and a hint of clove. The blend made his head spin for a second, or perhaps it was the fact that as soon as they were alone in privacy, her hands immediately reached for the laces of her bodice.
Her gaze was warm and assured as she looked upon Aemond while she pulled the ribbons from the eyelets of her gown. In a matter of a few seconds, the heavy fabric parted, revealing a tight corset and the waist of a cotton shift.
“My lady aunt—” Aemond started.
“Millicent, please,” she murmured, a touch of tenderness in her voice. He shuddered, as he instantly knew it was the tone she kept for her lovers, if she had any.
“Millicent,” he corrected himself, making her hum in delight.
“Don’t you worry,” she continued in the same tender voice. “I no longer bleed. Whatever happens tonight will stay in the confines of these chambers forever, and won’t bear any unwanted consequences.”
Aemond stayed silent, watching raptly as she abandoned the half-unlaced ribbons to reach up into her hair, tugging at the pins that kept it in place. Her thin, auburn waves fell like curtains over her shoulders, framing her delicate face. “You can be yourself with me, as you have always been,” she assured him, pointedly looking at his face and at the eyepatch that covered a portion of it. “Free of any judgment. Free of any constraint.”
Aemond had been so enraptured by her words that he hadn’t noticed his own body deciding to step forward, entering her personal space, until his hand was buried in her soft mane, stroking his fingers through it to undo the tresses. “Millicent,” he murmured, and she tasted her name on his lips. Her kiss was barely a shadow, a gentle graze that left him wanting for more; he chased her lips but she refused him, angling her face away.
“Tonight, I will give you all you ever dreamed of and more, only if you award me the same favor,” she whispered almost solemnly. “I will show you what a woman’s body can do, and how much pleasure it can bring to a man. On one condition.”
“Yes,” he hissed, and she reached up to trace the curve of his lips with the tip of her fingers, grazing the pointed end of his upper canine.
“That you follow my lead, and defer to me,” she said, and her words along with her sly expression set his stomach ablaze. He felt himself grow hard and hot in his trousers, aching for her touch and guidance.
He hummed darkly in response. "Whatever you wish me to do," he vowed, his hooded eye meeting her gaze, making her sly smile curl enticingly. "I will follow your lead."
And with those words, he sealed what promised to be the longest, most pleasurable night of his life.
Part 2
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Beta read by @arcielee & @annikin-im-panicin ♡
Please reblog if you liked - reblogging is how we keep stories alive on this platform ♡
*I’m dressed up as an 80’s newscaster and my friend behind my is holding a comically large boom mic for absolutely no reason. I hired a few people to pretend to be paparazzi and they are flashing cameras at you like it is early 2000’s TMZ. We are all frantically running up to you as you try to carry in 4 grocery bags at once and I’m putting a microphone into your face*
🎤 “Please just a minute of your time! What are your thoughts and headcanond on pegging Aemond? Is he a sub or a switch? Would he like his s/o gently tying his hands to the headboard with silk strings? What about her spanking him sometimes and then giving him very soft aftercare? Does he have a light mommy kink? Does he love being the little spoon? Is he bisexual? The people want to know!”
*crackles knuckles* *deep breath* *shouts into the microphone*
In my mind, Aemond is a submissive, no question. In the right circumstances, he could be a little bit more assertive, but at his very core he has the need to submit to someone, to be able to rest in someone's arms in total trust and surrender.
I think he would love to be tied up, to be taken to his limits and then brought back gently but firmly. He would thrive in the sharp contrast between a bit of a vicious hand in play, and then a gentle, caring hand in aftercare.
Pegging would totally take him out of his head, allow him to surrender to his partner and for them to take over, focusing on his pleasure. I think he really needs someone who can quiet his mind a bit, and this would be the perfect opportunity to shower him in praise, which he painfully needs.
I'm sorry to say but yes, I think he might have a slight mommy kink? In the sense that he needs to be taken care of and might benefit from a motherly figure. I wrote a oneshot about this that I'm linking here and that's all I will say if that's okay ♡
As for his sexual orientation... I'm an Aegond shipper, so Aemond being bisexual is definitely in the realm of possibility for me, but it would be incredibly repressed and a bit twisted. In my mind the figures he's attracted to are Aegon and Daemon, so there is also a huge part of his own insecurities at play. I have no idea if that makes sense and if it doesn't, I'm sorry!
I hope my answers make sense and if they don't anyone is free to come and ask more. I never pass up the opportunity to talk about Aemond. Thank you for the ask, Taylor dearest ♡
