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langdxn · 1 year

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i’m baaaack!

defile me | aemond targaryen x fem!reader

You reluctantly sell yourself into the pleasure house on the same night Aemond reluctantly pays the brothel a visit.

WARNINGS: pleasure house activity, slight SA, fingering, oral (fem receiving), p in v, deflowering, slight mention of v bleeding, praise, degrading, soft sub!Aemond turns dom!Aemond quickly, breeding, cum play.

WORDS: 4.3k — I am SO sorry.

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

My requests are open! 🖤

GIF by veinereastath

The pleasure house is no place for a virgin.

Your family’s farm struggled through a harsh winter and income was scarce, which led your father to somehow persuading you to place yourself in the brothel. “A few coins tossed by the noblemen of the land may go some way to help us get by,” he said, “and the chance of bearing an illegitimate child of a prince and potential heir to the Iron Throne would be priceless.”

The degradation. The humiliation. It would be unbearable. But the mere suggestion passing your father’s lips led you to believe that this was your purpose in life, that you could do no more to assist your family’s plight than to whore yourself to the gentry of the land. Your worth surmounted to becoming a bedslave to perverted men whose wives, bearers of their children, could no longer satisfy them.

You blindly cooperated with the plan to resolve your family’s financial crisis, refusing to acknowledge the depth of the depravity to which you would soon become accustomed, right up until the moment you found a quiet corner in the pleasure house to call your home, a peaceful nook where a pile of pillows laid while the other surfaces in the house were occupied. You placed yourself amongst the cushions, uncomfortably facing the wall while tugging at the hem of your significantly scanty attire, a drape of sheer linen designed to eccentuate your every curve not-so-well-hidden beneath, held together only by one ornate brooch positioned at your hip. Not last week, you would not have been seen dead in such scandalous dress, but financial needs must.

The low hum of seductive conversation and rising moans around the house began to drown out your thoughts within minutes of finding your space. Counting your blessings that no commotion had arrived into your safe haven, you clenched your eyes closed every chance you could find, willing every lecherous occupant to find a girl far more visually receptive to their advances than yourself.

“How about it then?” A deep, warbled voice boomed by your ear, accompanied by the sinking of the pillows you were perched upon as a man took his seat beside you. Prizing your eyes open, your gaze fell upon the outline of a greasy man leaning into you, engorged hands hovering over your thigh as if waiting to strike. Without a thought, you swung your leg from his reach and adjusted the scanty fabric over your knees in some warped grasp at decency.

“N-no, thank you,” you politely declined with a shaky voice, gesturing toward the buzz of activity across the room from you. “I am sure my fellow ladies will be gracious enough to assist you. Good morrow, ser.”

“Hah!” The man chortled heartily, clamping his hand down onto your thigh regardless. “Your job is to serve me, whore, you would do well to remember it.”

You placed your hand upon his in hopes to prize his fingers from digging into the soft flesh of your thigh, but his grip was too strong.

“Please, good ser, bid me leave,” you protested weakly, wriggling your leg in futile defence. “I… I’m not ready.”

“Not ready?!” He boomed his repetition, mocking your complaint so loud that a number of faces in the crowded room turned to face you. “You’re a whore, my girl, you have to be ready.”

Pitiful giggles spread around the room, hushed mutters of ‘frigid’ and ‘virgin’ reaching your ears just above the rising volume of your thundering heartbeat.

“Please, ser—.”

“That’s more like it,” he leered, grasping your leg tighter and sinking his nails into your skin while his free hand wandered to grapple with his breeches. “Say that again when you’re choking down on my cock.”

“No, please…”

“There’s no such word as ‘no’ in the whore house, little bitch,” he hissed, globules of spit firing from his lips as he salivated over his next move, palming at himself beneath his pants.

“The lady said no,” came another male voice behind you, softer and yet more assertive. “You would do well to listen, old man.”

“Who the fuck do you think you—,” the lewd man spat before craning to see the figure behind him. As soon as he registered the source of his interruption, he immediately released his vice-like grip on your thigh and grappled to his feet. “Y… yes, Prince Aemond.”

Gasps shook through the pleasure house as the pairs of eyes trained on your once-comfortable nook scrambled to find a distraction, scattering back to their own business and refusing to look back.

Taking a deep breath, you strained around to see your saviour only to find a pair of black leather boots nestled amongst the pillows. Tracing up the black-clad figure, the man who came to your rescue appeared to be tall, lithe and battle-weary, one of his eyes concealed by a mysterious leather patch which disappeared into his poker-straight blonde hair. The saviour stood defiant and unresponsive, his hands clasped studiously behind his back and a faint smirk cinching the corner of his lips as you looked up at him.

“Th… thank you, kind prince…” you stuttered, brows knitting at the thought of the words that were about to roll from your tongue.

“Aemond,” he interjected, folding his knees to bend to your level. “Call me Aemond.”

“To what do I owe such kindness, Aemond, ser?” You scrambled to cover yourself once more with the flimsy textile drape, grabbing a cushion to place in your lap for some semblance of presentability in the presence of royalty.

“You seem as reluctant to be here as I am,” he chuckled softly, resting both hands on his bended knee. “Were you forced to serve here, gevie?” Beautiful.

“By circumstance, ser,” you bowed your head. Admitting poverty in the face of royalty would surely abolish your remaining shred of dignity, as if your presence in the pleasure house had not already dispelled that notion.

“Me too,” Aemond sighed, nodding in agreement. “Although I imagine under quite different circumstances.”

You would not dare to question what he meant by that comment, but he seemed eager to appease your wordless curiosity.

“My brother Aegon is over there,” he pointed across the room to another platinum blonde-haired youthful figure, his tumbling curls framing his face as he seduced another bedslave. “He brought me here to ensure I bed as many women as possible to acquire experience enough to satisfy a future wife.”

Your vision wandered to meet his eye once more, that same kind glow exuding from his gaze back at you, blinking softly and recognising your fragility in the same manner as his own. He looked upon you as an equal, another human worthy of the same respect and honour afforded to himself by all that engage with him. His instant inviting nature only succeeded in intimidating you more, coming from a man so sublimely ethereal that you should never wish to reject him for anything even if he were not the prince of the realm. Your eyes lingered upon his lips, pursed in thought as he looked upon you.

“Thank you, ser,” you smiled warmly in return, willing yourself to find the courage to reach out and touch his hand in sympathy. “For your kind reassurance and your company when you have other business to attend to this night. Please do not allow me to keep you from your purpose here, kind ser.”

“Dear earthbound angel, I am quite certain you are my purpose here this night,” Aemond half-purred, drinking in your appearance as a man dying of thirst yet determined to remain composed in front of the bustling company in the pleasure house. His eye darted around the room to ensure all gazes had averted from you before unfolding his legs and perching on the cushions beside you. “Tell me, why waste your virtues on the rich yet ill-mannered of Westeros in here? You could well serve in the royal court and escape this hellhole.”

“I believe this place matches my worth, ser.” Your gaze dropped into your lap in shame but Aemond’s pale hand reached toward you, planting a tip of a finger beneath your chin and gently raising your countenance to meet his.

“Do not be ashamed, little dove,” Aemond soothed with a reassuringly authoritative tone, his eye wandering to your lips as he spoke. “Let me show you your worth.”

Aemond leaned into you slowly, giving you every chance to withdraw from his advances, but instead you met him halfway and pressed your lips against his. The contact was brief before he pulled back to gaze into your eyes once more, taking another opportunity to ensure you were comfortable with his motions. This time, you reached a hand to curl around the back of his neck and drew him in again, kissing him deeply. Aemond grunted softly into your kiss, wandering both arms to envelope your waist as you traced each other’s mouths.

The mysterious one-eyed prince pressed even closer to your lips as if starving for your touch, craving contact with you with every part of his body. Parting his lips ever so slightly, the tip of his tongue ventured out to beg for entry to your mouth, moaning into you as you granted it. His hold on your waist tightened, pulling you flush to his chest so close you may as well be seated in his lap.

Aemond embraced you as if you were the only two people in the room, completely oblivious to the stony silence in the room which was once filled with echoes of gratuitous moans, the lewd slapping of skin and raucous laughter, now only occupied by the sounds of your tongues lashing together.

Breaking contact to draw breath, you opened your eyes to find Aemond’s one eye completely blown with lust, glazed and hazy, looking upon you as if the rest of the world around you had shattered like a mirror and all that remained was you, Aemond and the plumped cushions beneath you. Your vision darted around the room to find every pair of eyes glaring at your display, fascinated by the sight of the one-eyed prince claiming his first conquest in the pleasure house. Aegon propped himself against a table with one hand on his hip, a smug grin tapering his lips as he watched his brother executing his plan perfectly.

“Aemond,” you called to attract his attention away from you. It took a few more moments before he finally tore himself away to look around the room, noticing his brother’s gaze and quickly clearing his throat. Hurrying to his feet, he extended a hand toward you to help you up from the cushions. His graceful, beautiful hand had clearly seen conflict judging by its scrapes and scars, but nonetheless gifted in its regal pale pallor. Quickly accepting his invitation, you lifted yourself up and looked to the one-eyed prince for guidance.

“Let’s get out of here, my Lady,” he muttered, stepping down from the cushion pile while clutching your hand to ensure your safe disembarkment.

“Aemond, I am not a la—.”

“If you will excuse us,” Aemond announced to the room, causing a tidal wave of searing heat to wash over your cheeks as he walked you through the crowds. With one hand still holding onto yours, another raised dismissively into mid-air to ensure the pleasure house returned to its usual function with haste. “Please, continue your festivities.”

———

The door to Aemond’s chambers slammed shut behind you so loudly, the sharp crack of wood snapped you back into the room. You froze upon the sight of his large bed before you, smooth silk sheets draped so beautifully, cascading over the edge of the mattress and draping to the floor. Such an elegant sight that would soon be destroyed.

“Aemond, you called me your lady,” you muttered under your breath, not daring to turn to face the man as he approached you from behind. “I am not worthy of such an address.”

Without warning, pale hands softly snaked around your waist and a chin rested gently upon your shoulder, planting butterfly kisses into your neck.

“You are a woman, are you not?” Aemond affirmed against your ear. “You have treated me with the honour, respect and grace of my position and I have returned the favour. You have not questioned me, you have not defied me, and you have certainly not wronged me. Therefore, I see you as nothing less than my Lady.”

Convinced Aemond would feel you blushing, you dipped your head into his touch as his careful breaths warmed your skin. Planting feather-light kisses atop your hair, the prince breathed in deeply, inhaling your presence in the safety of his chambers far away from the debauched prying eyes of the pleasure house.

“Do you trust me?” Aemond whispered into the shell of your ear. Suddenly, your gaze flicked back to the sight of his bed, swallowing thickly at the realisation of the inevitable next step of your evening with the One-Eyed Prince. Shaking your head to dispel your concerns, you placed your hands atop his as they rested on your stomach.

“Completely,” you sighed happily, melting into his touch as he peppered another kiss onto your hair.

“You have never laid with a man before?” His tone was soothing, devoid of judgement. You shook your head, encouraging Aemond to grip your hips and spin you around to face him where his reassuring smile greeted you once more. Cupping your face in both hands and gazing down at your lips, Aemond sighed contentedly.

“Then this will be a first for us both.”

Capturing you in a haunting kiss, you barely noticed Aemond carefully stepping you backwards until your calves met with the hard wood of his bed, tumbling into the depths of his sheets as he stood before you. Aemond drank in the sight amongst his once crisp bedlinen, squaring up to the only obstacle between him and your innocence — the flimsy translucent garment concealing your body from him.

“Gevie,” Aemond whispered in a tongue unfamiliar to your uneducated ear. Beautiful.

He reached to unclasp his belt and breeches without tearing his eyes away from you, swathes of leather and black linen pooling at his feet and buckles clanking against the flagstones as he stepped out of every layer that restricted him. You froze to the spot watching him, swallowing thickly in anticipation and want as he revealed more and more pale flesh.

“You like what you see, sweet girl?” He chuckled, a curt grin eking across the corner of his lips.

“I do, Prince Aemond,” you concurred, leaning up on your elbows to observe him closer. “Do you think me wicked?”

“I think you are the most beautiful sight a man’s earthbound eyes will ever see,” he cooed, planting his knees on the edge of the bed and crawling slowly over to you, leaning down to hover over you, his lips an inch from yours. He ventured a hand to your face, brushing your hair behind your ear. “However, there is one obstacle that stands in my way.”

His hand traced gently down your neck to your collarbone, guiding down through the valley of your breasts on its mission toward your hip, tantalising over the elegant brooch that so rudely prohibited him from your figure.

“Cursed thing,” he muttered lowly, fiddling with its clasp and casting the bronze accessory across the room, a distant clank assuring him he would not be further inhibited by its presence. With a low, hungry growl, Aemond swept aside the linen concealing you and exposed your curves beneath. The room’s cool air graced your skin and left goosebumps in its wake, leading you to inhale softly at the sensation. Aemond was now rooted to the spot, gazing at your frame nestled amongst his sheets for what felt like an eternity as you waited for his next move. The anticipation was unbearable, clasping your thighs together beneath him and squirming uncomfortably.

“Aemond,” you snapped him out of his lust-ridden stupor, beckoning his gaze back to meet yours. Dropping back against the sheets, you reached both hands through his blonde locks to cup his neck, drawing him in closer. “Please, fuck me already.”

“Well well,” a chuckle erupted in Aemond’s throat, smirking gleefully from ear to ear. “This is quite a transformation. What happened to my shy little virgin?”

“She has waited long enough,” you sighed, your fingertips impatiently traversing his back and tracing idle patterns across his bare skin and raising a gentle shiver in response.

“Then my Lady shall not be kept waiting,” he sighed, guiding his own fingertips across the traverse of your hipbone in retaliation, rejoicing in the soft buck of your hips in response. “I trust she will at least allow her prince to prepare her beforehand?”

Unclenching your legs to part beneath him, you spread yourself open wide and elicited an explicit groan from the depths of the one-eyed Prince’s throat.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, trailing his forefinger to meet your mound, shivering under his touch. The very tip of his finger journeyed to trace the outline of your folds, ghosting ever so slightly over your moistened entrance yet still collecting the beads of anticipation on its way. “Tell me, who owns this pretty little cunt?”

Between strangled breaths, you mumbled his name. Displeased with your muted response, Aemond slipped two fingers through your folds, delving knuckle-deep within you.

“Speak up, little dove, let the whole castle hear you.”

“Y… yours, Aemond,” you spluttered, chest heaving and hips convulsing at his every movement. He curled his long fingers inside you, pressing against the ripples of your walls in gentle stroking motions.

“And what would you have me do with it?” He pressed, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth as he watched you unravel beneath him.

“Pl… please,” you mewled helplessly as he added another finger into your depths, pumping fervently in staccato time with your racing heartbeat, now reaching his free hand to press down into the valley of your hips so he can feel his fingers inside you. The unusual sensation sent your head sinking into the pillow, hands fisting into the sheets and pleading for your climax to release you from the tension within. “Please fuck me, Aemond.”

His fingers pummelled at a breakneck pace inside you, driving you careering toward the precipice before a telltale strangled gasp signalled your oncoming orgasm to your one-eyed tormentor, who withdrew his dripping fingers and left you clenching around nothing. Bucking your hips like a wild animal and fighting against his grip to squeeze your thighs together, you cried out in despair at Aemond’s sudden betrayal.

He watched you struggle for a few moments, glee spread across his thin lips until they suddenly plunged down to meet your clit, his tongue racing in fervent circles around your bundle of nerves and journeying south to delve into your folds. Lapping at your soaking cunt like a man possessed, Aemond’s low moans vibrated through your core as he curled his tongue inside you just the same as his fingers, which now found themselves digging crescent dips into the flesh of your thighs to spread them wide before him.

“Aemond, please… m—more,” you wailed weakly, throwing your head back into the pillow and jerking your hips into his face, craving more friction to help you tumble over the cliff-face this time.

“Needy girl,” he muttered against your folds sending tremors throughout you, splaying his tongue out over your entrance to venture a clean stripe with each breath. “My virgin knows exactly what she wants before she’s even tried it.”

Cooperating gladly, he unlatched from your sodden core and swooped up to capture you in a deep kiss, one hand venturing to line his leaking tip with your entrance.

“Are you ready to take me, my Lady?” Aemond enquired, a considerate tone in his voice suggesting he knew a woman’s first coupling is laced with a degree of pain. The breaking of your maidenhead would cause discomfort, that much was certain, but the sheer ecstasy of laying with such a caring man, least of all a prince of the realm, dispelled a vast amount of your trepidation in the process.

“Defile me, Aemond,” you nodded, pleading, begging for contact.

“Your wish is my command, your Grace,” he smiled, dragging his tip over your folds and dipping in slowly. Your harsh intake of breath met the sound of his teeth-baring hiss as he gently sheathed himself fully within you in one thrust, resting balls deep inside you before searching your face for a response.

You mewled softly, which was response enough for your prince.

“You’re doing so well for me, my good girl,” he praised effortlessly, his one eye roving into his skull as the sensation of your walls enveloping his cock finally satisfied his craving. “You’re taking my cock so well. Does it hurt so, or are you ready for me to move?”

You nodded in approval, riding out the uncomfortable stretch within you by rutting up into him, easing his next thrust before he even reared his hips back.

“Aemond, more… please,” you stuttered between laboured breaths, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to draw him in closer. “Faster, please. Oh gods, fuck!”

“This cannot be the same innocent virgin I saved earlier.” Aemond chuckled under his breath, obeying your command and gazing down to watch his length accumulating a small splatter of virginal blood before plunging deeper, drawing out further and slamming back into your depths so deep you swore you could feel him in your guts. “I thank the Seven for granting me the good fortune to be your first…”

One particularly devastating thrust summoned stars in your peripheral vision, glazing over your view of the blonde gyrating above you.

“And your only.”

Another earth-shattering piston of his hips made you yell out in ecstasy, scratching your nails down his back before peppering chaste kisses into his breastbone in an attempt to silence your screams.

Aemond noticed.

“Never,” he punctuated with another gut-wrenching thrust. “Ever, let me catch you holding back again. Use your voice, little dove, scream the castle down if needs must. I will not rest until Castle Black hears me fucking you unconscious.”

Your fucked-out gaze up at the graceful blonde pummelling his cock into your womb set Aemond’s every vein alight, a searing heat coursing through his body that he was sure he would not allow to escape his clutches after this night. He needed to ensure you would return to his chambers every night in the same manner, receiving the same mind-altering fucking each night for the rest of your life.

Aemond needed more than to claim you for the moment. He needed a guarantee.

“Bear my child,” Aemond spoke in an inquisitive tone, asking rather than stating. Laying a flat palm into the valley of your hips and revelling in the sensation of his cockhead brushing against his palm as he thrusted deep inside you, the way he returned your gaze with his own wanton, desperately lust-blown expression suggested this was a plea.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you repeated between gasps and staccato breaths as his relentless pace denied you the oxygen to form full sentences. Hooking your feet behind his hips and clasping around him as tightly as possible, you hummed lowly into his ear: “Breed me, Prince Aemond.”

The mere passing of such filthy words from your lips sent you slipping over the precipice of your orgasm at last, flooding around his cock and gushing out from your folds, soaking his once crisp sheets beneath you.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he purred under his breath, head bowed into your neck as his rhythmic thrusts faltered in turn. “Suck my cock dry just like that, take everything I give to you.”

A gratuitous moan betrayed his own climax as he spilled his seed within you, deftly painting your walls and retaining his thrusts to ensure his cum would not escape your quaking cunt. Both refusing to relent your pace as if wishing you could rut together forever, you slowed your bucking hips and stilled beneath him while he pulled out from your folds and quickly ventured two fingers to push his seed back inside you.

Aemond leaned back to kneel between your legs for what felt like an eternity, gazing at your body slick with beads of glistening sweat and shaking gently in his wake.

“Gevie riña,” he hummed to himself as he drank in the sight before him. “Gevie fucking riña.”

As much as the sight of the one-eyed prince worshipping every inch of your figure made your heart soar, something suddenly dawned on you.

“Aemond,” you enquired, a note of nervous anticipation in your voice. “All evening, you have called me your Lady. In the throes of passion, you called me your Grace.”

“Rest assured, little dove, I meant every word,” he confirmed without tearing his gaze from your swollen core, red raw and pulsing from the manner in which he so monumentally deflowered you, moulding you to his design, ensuring no other could take his place inside your body forevermore.

“But I am not worthy of such addresses,” you affirmed, grappling to cover yourself with the sheer linen he tore from your frame, eyes darting around the room for any glint of the fundamental brooch you required to dress yourself to leave. “I must return to the pleasure house at once.”

“No!” He snapped, throwing himself forward on his knees to stop you. “You shall never return to that brothel, nor any other for that matter.”

“But… why?”

“Because, little dove, you will soon be addressed by the whole of Westeros in the same manner as I,” he sighed contentedly. “As soon as I make you my princess, people across the length and breadth of our country will dub you their Grace.”

You quirked an eyebrow at his sudden revelation, which seemed altogether not so sudden as if he had thought his grand plan through as thoroughly as he had just fucked you senseless.

“I see, and when will you be making a princess out of me, Prince Aemond?”

The blonde one-eyed prince leaned forward on his knees, crawling to hover his lips over yours once more.

“Tomorrow. At sunrise.”

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