moonstonejj

[moonstonejj]

MoonStoneJJ's Masterlist

𓇬 House of the Dragon

⚘ Aemond Targaryen

- A Romantasy Dream - 18+, 1st person, Modern AU.

Summary: Aemond stumbles upon his best friend quietly reading a smutty romance whose main character just happens to look a lot like him.

- You shall refer to me as your king - 18+, 3rd person.

Summary: The new prince regent is determined to reclaim the desires he long denied. In the depths of a brothel, he wages war against his own restraint.

[moonstonejj]

So glad you enjoyed it!!

I love a confident, proud, and slightly arrogant Aemond.

You shall refer to me as your king

Summary: The new prince regent is determined to reclaim the desires he long denied. In the depths of a brothel, he wages war against his own restraint.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Whore!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Mature, 18+, oral (m receiving), Fingering, P in V Sex, Dom!Aemond

The thrill of the recent victories burned in his veins. Once a dragonless Targaryen prince, he now ruled Westeros astride an unstoppable dragon. Never again would they mock him, not without paying the prince in blood.

Aemond departed the Red Keep and made for the Street of Silk. He was not a man given to seeking comfort in the arms of courtesans, yet his recent encounters with Madam Silvy had opened his eyes. At last, he understood why Aegon favored such haunts. There was a kind of release only flesh could grant, and there, coin could purchase even the most depraved of desires.

The prince often concealed his silver hair beneath a hood when he walked in the streets of King's Landing. But not tonight. Tonight, his hair flew loose in the wind, a pale banner of Old Valyria, and every head bowed as he passed—in reverence and fear. And he welcomed their fear. 

When he entered Madam Silvy’s, he took pleasure in how the room fell silent. The couples stilled mid-motion, and the working girls turned their eyes upon him, eyes that shimmered with longing. A hint of a proud smirk touched his lips.

The music played on as the prince made his way to the seats before the small stage, where nude girls moved with practiced grace. A globet of fine wine was placed in his hand almost at once, though the women cast puzzled glances among themselves. It was unlike His Grace to linger—why had he not gone straight to Madam’s chamber?

But Aemond had other plans. He beckoned the nearest girl with a flick of his fingers. “Tell Silvy I have no need of her tonight.”

The girl had meant to seek Silvy, but the madam was already striding toward him. They met halfway, and, even at a distance, Aemond caught the moment the words reached her. 

The flicker of incredulity in her eyes pleased him.

The new Regent had sought out the courtesan only days prior, intent on reclaiming the part of himself she had taken when they first met—on the boy’s thirteenth nameday. After that night, he had shut his mind to all carnal longing, locking desire behind a wall of discipline.

So many moons spent in tireless pursuit—mastering the sword, honing strategy, forging the voice of a leader.

Yet all of it had been shadowed by a mind bound in restraint.

But now, he was ready. 

Ready to taste true pleasure—on his own terms.

The fierce prince surveyed the brothel’s chamber, his eye keen, searching for the one who might stir the fire within him.

One by one, the girls fell short, until he saw her.

She moved across the small stage in a sheer, flowing gown, each motion deliberate, each curve a calculated invitation. Her body spoke its own tongue, slow and sinuous, hands twisting through the air like silk caught in the wind.

She exhaled sensuality. 

A sight worthy of the King.

The hardened peaks of her breasts pressed against the useless fabric, offering him welcome before a single word was spoken.

She felt his gaze and answered it without hesitation.

He watched her like a predator studying prey—calm, intent, unblinking.

And yet, there was beauty in his menace.

That sharp jaw, the proud poise, the simmering fire behind his single eye. He was silent and ferocious, and she found herself drawn to the storm within him.

She did not fear being devoured.

She craved it.

The dancer drifted closer, never breaking the rhythm of her performance. With her back to the prince, she swayed her hips in time with the music, each movement a slow seduction.

She turned and bent low in a languid bow, her almost bare chest offered freely to his gaze.

“Your Grace.”

The prince regent had never imagined that a woman clad in such shameless attire could move with such elegance. 

As she rose, their eyes locked, and she drank in the lust burning in his gaze.

“I seem to have bewitched you, my prince,” she stated, a hint of triumph in her voice. 

Aemond’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk. He could not deny it. His mind was already aflame with wicked imaginings, each more debauched than the last.

“You did,” Aemond said as he rose from his seat, his eyes never leaving hers.

“But I am not one to indulge in pleasures before an audience.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

She took his hand with practiced ease and led him through the halls to a quiet chamber tucked away at the back of the brothel.

The velvet curtains enclosed the chamber, and the low, golden candlelights wove a cocoon of shadow and warmth, an atmosphere ripe with promise. The night was his to command, and he hungered to taste that power, to revel in the dominion it offered.

Aemond said nothing as he began to undress.

He unclasped the golden fastenings of his high-collared leather coat, and it slid from his shoulders with a whisper. Beneath it lay a fine linen shirt, clinging slightly to his skin. He pulled it over his head in one fluid motion, hurried, yet deliberate, as though shedding a second skin.

“May I be of service, my prince?” she asked, her eyes lingering on the lean muscles of his abdomen, lust flickering behind her lashes.

“You are not to speak,” the prince said, his voice low, absolute, and slightly irritated. “Not unless I command it.”

Her lips parted, but no sound escaped. She lowered her gaze, in silent obedience. 

Piece by piece, the prince unmade himself, until only the man remained, fierce and bare in the candlelight.

“Look at me.”

Her gaze obeyed, drifting upward over the hard lines of his body. Each inch she traced left a silent mark on her mind—firm muscles, pale skin, the strength of a prince laid bare.

For days, the young courtesan had longed to be the one the prince sought in the dark hours. Each time he chose the Madam, envy bloomed like thorns within her. She craved him—not just his body, but his gaze, his favor, his fire, his blood. And tonight, she would give anything to be the one he returned to.

He relished the way she looked at him.

“Kneel.”

The girl obeyed without hesitation, dropping to her knees in one fluid motion. Her gaze never wavered as the prince stepped before her, towering, imperious. His shaft was so close, she opened her lips, waiting for his command.

The prince pressed his thumb past her lips, resting it upon her tongue as he tilted her chin upward. A silent moment passed between them.

“A whore such as you must know her duty,” he said, his voice smooth. He loomed above her like an almighty god. “Am I mistaken?”

He withdrew his touch, permitting her to speak.

“No, you are not mistaken, my prince.”

His hand slipped about her throat, firm enough to make her breath catch.

“You shall refer to me as your king.”

A shiver passed through her at the command, lighting a flame low in her belly. The sound of the words on her tongue was a promise her body quickened to fulfill.

“As you wish, my king.”

The title sat upon him like a crown forged for his brow—king—yes, the word rang true, as though it had always been his. No other could wear it half so well.

The girl laid her hands upon his thighs, her touch slow and deliberate as it rose until they reached the seat of his desire. Her thumbs moved in gentle circles over the sensitive flesh beneath, coaxing pleasure with each delicate stroke.

Her right hand encircled the base of his shaft, and she began a slow gliding rhythm—upward, then down—each motion in reverent care. Beneath her touch, he swelled, hardening with every breath he drew.

She brought her lips to his tip, pressing a soft kiss upon it. With slow licks, she teased his glans, each motion a silent vow of devotion.

The courtesan held his gaze, her eyes steady and unashamed, as her lips parted to receive him. Slowly, she drew him into her mouth, inch by measured inch, her tongue gliding along the underside of his shaft in a silken caress. The heat of her breath wrapped around him, wet and wanting. The king exhaled a low, shuddering sigh, the sound heavy with pleasure, his fingers tightening in her hair as though to anchor himself against the rising tide of sensation.

With unyielding intent, his left hand gripped her breast, the force of his hold both commanding and raw. She welcomed the heat blooming beneath his touch, knowing his fingers would leave their fierce mark, a silent testament to his dominion.

His length stood fully hard, and she sensed the mounting weight of his testicles, swollen with the wave of his approaching release.

Aemond clasped the nape of her neck, drawing her up from her knees.

For a moment, they stood close, breathing shallow, trying to steady the storm between them.

Her lips, wet, reddened, and swollen from her recent exertions, parted slightly as if awaiting his next command.

“Onto the bed. On all fours.”

The girl moved with quiet urgency, gliding onto the bed. With a fluid motion, she lowered her chest to the silken sheets, arching her back in perfect submission. Her hips rose, an offering shaped by desire. Aemond watched in silence, enthralled by the grace with which she surrendered.

He approached, positioning himself behind her. With deliberate care, he gathered the sheer fabric of her dress, lifting it to her waist and unveiling the full splendor of her bottom. She was flawless—sculpted for sin, every curve and exquisite invitation. 

Aemond slid his hand between her thighs and found her folds slick with want.

“I daresay my little whore took some pleasure in worshipping my cock,” he murmured, fingers gliding through the heat of her arousal. “Is that true?”

She moaned quite loudly as two of his fingers plunged into her without warning, driving into her with a swift, relentless rhythm. 

Though her moans stirred his blood, the absence of her reply hung heavy between them, a defiance he would not let pass.

Aemond took her throat in a measured choke, drawing her back against his chest with quiet strength.

“I asked you a question,” he said, his voice low and edged with warning. “I expect an answer.”

She moaned beneath his grip. “You spoke truth, my king,” she whispered, tilting her head to meet his gaze. 

“Never have I known such pleasure as I found in the act of pleasing your cock, my king.”

Their lips hovered so near that Aemond could feel the heat of her ragged breath upon his own. She longed to kiss him but knew such liberty was not hers to take.

He could wait no longer. Her words, spoken with sweetness, carried a boldness meant to provoke, and they had succeeded.

The king pressed her chest back down to the bed, took his shaft in hand, and stroked it quickly. Then he brought the tip to the edge of her entrance, poised at the threshold of possession.

She was wet, open, desperate. Her hips rolled instinctively, seeking him, craving to be filled. The wait was agony; the denial, divine torment.

Aemond seized her hips with one hand, holding her steady, while the other guided his length in slow, maddening strokes along the slick seam of her core.

“Tell me what it is you crave,” he said in a hoarse tone.

“I crave to be fucked numb by you, my king,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need. “Please.”

He drove into her in a single, claiming thrust. Her wall tightened around him, as though made to hold him, the pleasure sharp and blinding for them both.

The king drew back until only his tip remained, then drove into her once more with ruthless force, claiming her again and again. Each thrust sent a jolt through her spine, her hands clutching the bedclothes as her body yielded and tensed beneath his rhythm. Her flesh slapped against his with wet, echoing sounds, and the deeper he plunged, the more her breath came in broken gasps. Her walls tightened around him with every stroke, greedily milking his length, as if her body had no desire but to keep him locked within. Aemond’s grip on her hips grew bruising, his pace relentless, the drag and drive of his cock turning her thoughts to ash.

Pleasure surged through her in waves, building with every relentless thrust until it broke all at once. Her body trembled violently. A cry tore from her lips, raw and involuntary, as her walls fluttered around his length, the force of her release pulling her apart from the inside out.

The king felt his own pleasure reaching its peak. With a final, shuddering thrust, Aemond buried himself deep, his grip tightening at her hips as the heat of his release poured into her. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat as his pleasure overtook him. He held her there, impaled and still, as if to brand her with the very act, every pulse of his spend anchoring him further inside her.

Aemond’s chest rose with quiet triumph. The weight of command settled deep within him—not only the crown he now bore but the certainty that no longer would he be bound by past shadows. Tonight, he reclaimed not only his body but the reins of his life.

He drew back, and the courtesan met his gaze with wide, beseeching eyes. Aemond could not deny it: she was flawless, every breath, every curve, every shiver. A fierce longing stirred within him, and he found himself eager to claim her once more, yet the weight of duty pressed heavily upon his mind. 

“Wait for me in this very chamber on the morrow’s night,” he said, already drawing his garments back over his skin.

The girl watched him, her heart thundering beneath her ribs. For nights, she had dreamed of this very moment. A slow smile spread across her lips as she sat on the edge of the bed.

“Gladly, my king.”

Aemond left the brothel with newfound vigor. He would win the war and seize the Iron Throne. Nothing and no one would stand in his way.

[moonstonejj]

You shall refer to me as your king

Summary: The new prince regent is determined to reclaim the desires he long denied. In the depths of a brothel, he wages war against his own restraint.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Whore!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Mature, 18+, oral (m receiving), Fingering, P in V Sex, Dom!Aemond

The thrill of the recent victories burned in his veins. Once a dragonless Targaryen prince, he now ruled Westeros astride an unstoppable dragon. Never again would they mock him, not without paying the prince in blood.

Aemond departed the Red Keep and made for the Street of Silk. He was not a man given to seeking comfort in the arms of courtesans, yet his recent encounters with Madam Silvy had opened his eyes. At last, he understood why Aegon favored such haunts. There was a kind of release only flesh could grant, and there, coin could purchase even the most depraved of desires.

The prince often concealed his silver hair beneath a hood when he walked in the streets of King's Landing. But not tonight. Tonight, his hair flew loose in the wind, a pale banner of Old Valyria, and every head bowed as he passed—in reverence and fear. And he welcomed their fear. 

When he entered Madam Silvy’s, he took pleasure in how the room fell silent. The couples stilled mid-motion, and the working girls turned their eyes upon him, eyes that shimmered with longing. A hint of a proud smirk touched his lips.

The music played on as the prince made his way to the seats before the small stage, where nude girls moved with practiced grace. A globet of fine wine was placed in his hand almost at once, though the women cast puzzled glances among themselves. It was unlike His Grace to linger—why had he not gone straight to Madam’s chamber?

But Aemond had other plans. He beckoned the nearest girl with a flick of his fingers. “Tell Silvy I have no need of her tonight.”

The girl had meant to seek Silvy, but the madam was already striding toward him. They met halfway, and, even at a distance, Aemond caught the moment the words reached her. 

The flicker of incredulity in her eyes pleased him.

The new Regent had sought out the courtesan only days prior, intent on reclaiming the part of himself she had taken when they first met—on the boy’s thirteenth nameday. After that night, he had shut his mind to all carnal longing, locking desire behind a wall of discipline.

So many moons spent in tireless pursuit—mastering the sword, honing strategy, forging the voice of a leader.

Yet all of it had been shadowed by a mind bound in restraint.

But now, he was ready. 

Ready to taste true pleasure—on his own terms.

The fierce prince surveyed the brothel’s chamber, his eye keen, searching for the one who might stir the fire within him.

One by one, the girls fell short, until he saw her.

She moved across the small stage in a sheer, flowing gown, each motion deliberate, each curve a calculated invitation. Her body spoke its own tongue, slow and sinuous, hands twisting through the air like silk caught in the wind.

She exhaled sensuality. 

A sight worthy of the King.

The hardened peaks of her breasts pressed against the useless fabric, offering him welcome before a single word was spoken.

She felt his gaze and answered it without hesitation.

He watched her like a predator studying prey—calm, intent, unblinking.

And yet, there was beauty in his menace.

That sharp jaw, the proud poise, the simmering fire behind his single eye. He was silent and ferocious, and she found herself drawn to the storm within him.

She did not fear being devoured.

She craved it.

The dancer drifted closer, never breaking the rhythm of her performance. With her back to the prince, she swayed her hips in time with the music, each movement a slow seduction.

She turned and bent low in a languid bow, her almost bare chest offered freely to his gaze.

“Your Grace.”

The prince regent had never imagined that a woman clad in such shameless attire could move with such elegance. 

As she rose, their eyes locked, and she drank in the lust burning in his gaze.

“I seem to have bewitched you, my prince,” she stated, a hint of triumph in her voice. 

Aemond’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk. He could not deny it. His mind was already aflame with wicked imaginings, each more debauched than the last.

“You did,” Aemond said as he rose from his seat, his eyes never leaving hers.

“But I am not one to indulge in pleasures before an audience.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

She took his hand with practiced ease and led him through the halls to a quiet chamber tucked away at the back of the brothel.

The velvet curtains enclosed the chamber, and the low, golden candlelights wove a cocoon of shadow and warmth, an atmosphere ripe with promise. The night was his to command, and he hungered to taste that power, to revel in the dominion it offered.

Aemond said nothing as he began to undress.

He unclasped the golden fastenings of his high-collared leather coat, and it slid from his shoulders with a whisper. Beneath it lay a fine linen shirt, clinging slightly to his skin. He pulled it over his head in one fluid motion, hurried, yet deliberate, as though shedding a second skin.

“May I be of service, my prince?” she asked, her eyes lingering on the lean muscles of his abdomen, lust flickering behind her lashes.

“You are not to speak,” the prince said, his voice low, absolute, and slightly irritated. “Not unless I command it.”

Her lips parted, but no sound escaped. She lowered her gaze, in silent obedience. 

Piece by piece, the prince unmade himself, until only the man remained, fierce and bare in the candlelight.

“Look at me.”

Her gaze obeyed, drifting upward over the hard lines of his body. Each inch she traced left a silent mark on her mind—firm muscles, pale skin, the strength of a prince laid bare.

For days, the young courtesan had longed to be the one the prince sought in the dark hours. Each time he chose the Madam, envy bloomed like thorns within her. She craved him—not just his body, but his gaze, his favor, his fire, his blood. And tonight, she would give anything to be the one he returned to.

He relished the way she looked at him.

“Kneel.”

The girl obeyed without hesitation, dropping to her knees in one fluid motion. Her gaze never wavered as the prince stepped before her, towering, imperious. His shaft was so close, she opened her lips, waiting for his command.

The prince pressed his thumb past her lips, resting it upon her tongue as he tilted her chin upward. A silent moment passed between them.

“A whore such as you must know her duty,” he said, his voice smooth. He loomed above her like an almighty god. “Am I mistaken?”

He withdrew his touch, permitting her to speak.

“No, you are not mistaken, my prince.”

His hand slipped about her throat, firm enough to make her breath catch.

“You shall refer to me as your king.”

A shiver passed through her at the command, lighting a flame low in her belly. The sound of the words on her tongue was a promise her body quickened to fulfill.

“As you wish, my king.”

The title sat upon him like a crown forged for his brow—king—yes, the word rang true, as though it had always been his. No other could wear it half so well.

The girl laid her hands upon his thighs, her touch slow and deliberate as it rose until they reached the seat of his desire. Her thumbs moved in gentle circles over the sensitive flesh beneath, coaxing pleasure with each delicate stroke.

Her right hand encircled the base of his shaft, and she began a slow gliding rhythm—upward, then down—each motion in reverent care. Beneath her touch, he swelled, hardening with every breath he drew.

She brought her lips to his tip, pressing a soft kiss upon it. With slow licks, she teased his glans, each motion a silent vow of devotion.

The courtesan held his gaze, her eyes steady and unashamed, as her lips parted to receive him. Slowly, she drew him into her mouth, inch by measured inch, her tongue gliding along the underside of his shaft in a silken caress. The heat of her breath wrapped around him, wet and wanting. The king exhaled a low, shuddering sigh, the sound heavy with pleasure, his fingers tightening in her hair as though to anchor himself against the rising tide of sensation.

With unyielding intent, his left hand gripped her breast, the force of his hold both commanding and raw. She welcomed the heat blooming beneath his touch, knowing his fingers would leave their fierce mark, a silent testament to his dominion.

His length stood fully hard, and she sensed the mounting weight of his testicles, swollen with the wave of his approaching release.

Aemond clasped the nape of her neck, drawing her up from her knees.

For a moment, they stood close, breathing shallow, trying to steady the storm between them.

Her lips, wet, reddened, and swollen from her recent exertions, parted slightly as if awaiting his next command.

“Onto the bed. On all fours.”

The girl moved with quiet urgency, gliding onto the bed. With a fluid motion, she lowered her chest to the silken sheets, arching her back in perfect submission. Her hips rose, an offering shaped by desire. Aemond watched in silence, enthralled by the grace with which she surrendered.

He approached, positioning himself behind her. With deliberate care, he gathered the sheer fabric of her dress, lifting it to her waist and unveiling the full splendor of her bottom. She was flawless—sculpted for sin, every curve and exquisite invitation. 

Aemond slid his hand between her thighs and found her folds slick with want.

“I daresay my little whore took some pleasure in worshipping my cock,” he murmured, fingers gliding through the heat of her arousal. “Is that true?”

She moaned quite loudly as two of his fingers plunged into her without warning, driving into her with a swift, relentless rhythm. 

Though her moans stirred his blood, the absence of her reply hung heavy between them, a defiance he would not let pass.

Aemond took her throat in a measured choke, drawing her back against his chest with quiet strength.

“I asked you a question,” he said, his voice low and edged with warning. “I expect an answer.”

She moaned beneath his grip. “You spoke truth, my king,” she whispered, tilting her head to meet his gaze. 

“Never have I known such pleasure as I found in the act of pleasing your cock, my king.”

Their lips hovered so near that Aemond could feel the heat of her ragged breath upon his own. She longed to kiss him but knew such liberty was not hers to take.

He could wait no longer. Her words, spoken with sweetness, carried a boldness meant to provoke, and they had succeeded.

The king pressed her chest back down to the bed, took his shaft in hand, and stroked it quickly. Then he brought the tip to the edge of her entrance, poised at the threshold of possession.

She was wet, open, desperate. Her hips rolled instinctively, seeking him, craving to be filled. The wait was agony; the denial, divine torment.

Aemond seized her hips with one hand, holding her steady, while the other guided his length in slow, maddening strokes along the slick seam of her core.

“Tell me what it is you crave,” he said in a hoarse tone.

“I crave to be fucked numb by you, my king,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need. “Please.”

He drove into her in a single, claiming thrust. Her wall tightened around him, as though made to hold him, the pleasure sharp and blinding for them both.

The king drew back until only his tip remained, then drove into her once more with ruthless force, claiming her again and again. Each thrust sent a jolt through her spine, her hands clutching the bedclothes as her body yielded and tensed beneath his rhythm. Her flesh slapped against his with wet, echoing sounds, and the deeper he plunged, the more her breath came in broken gasps. Her walls tightened around him with every stroke, greedily milking his length, as if her body had no desire but to keep him locked within. Aemond’s grip on her hips grew bruising, his pace relentless, the drag and drive of his cock turning her thoughts to ash.

Pleasure surged through her in waves, building with every relentless thrust until it broke all at once. Her body trembled violently. A cry tore from her lips, raw and involuntary, as her walls fluttered around his length, the force of her release pulling her apart from the inside out.

The king felt his own pleasure reaching its peak. With a final, shuddering thrust, Aemond buried himself deep, his grip tightening at her hips as the heat of his release poured into her. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat as his pleasure overtook him. He held her there, impaled and still, as if to brand her with the very act, every pulse of his spend anchoring him further inside her.

Aemond’s chest rose with quiet triumph. The weight of command settled deep within him—not only the crown he now bore but the certainty that no longer would he be bound by past shadows. Tonight, he reclaimed not only his body but the reins of his life.

He drew back, and the courtesan met his gaze with wide, beseeching eyes. Aemond could not deny it: she was flawless, every breath, every curve, every shiver. A fierce longing stirred within him, and he found himself eager to claim her once more, yet the weight of duty pressed heavily upon his mind. 

“Wait for me in this very chamber on the morrow’s night,” he said, already drawing his garments back over his skin.

The girl watched him, her heart thundering beneath her ribs. For nights, she had dreamed of this very moment. A slow smile spread across her lips as she sat on the edge of the bed.

“Gladly, my king.”

Aemond left the brothel with newfound vigor. He would win the war and seize the Iron Throne. Nothing and no one would stand in his way.

[moonstonejj]

A Romantasy Dream

Summary: Aemond stumbles upon his best friend quietly reading in a corner of the library and, being his usual teasing self, snatches the book from her. He starts reading it out loud—only to realize it’s a smutty romance, and the main character just happens to look a lot like him.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Modern!AU, First person narration, Mature content, semi-public sex

Aemond’s fingers tightened around her waist, sparking a slow-burning fire that spread through her entire body. The hilltop belonged to them alone — except for his dragon, watching from afar— and now, they could finally surrender to the desires they had kept restrained for far too long.

His fingers traced down her back, swiftly untying the laces of her dress while pressing soft yet urgent kisses along the curve of the neck he so deeply craved. The prince regent could no longer summon the strength or the will to resist the formidable sensations his lover stirred within him.

Stripping away the lady’s garment became an urgent, all-consuming task, rewarded instantly by the sight of her bare skin. The mere glimpse of her exposed breast was sufficient to intensify the prince's arousal to its peak.

Cassella cast her eyes downward, a flush rising in her cheeks as she hesitantly tried to shield her upper body with her arms. Aemond, sensing her vulnerability, gently took hold of her wrists and pressed soft kisses to the backs of her hands–his touch both reassuring and ardent.

“You are the most beautiful sight I have ever beheld,” he murmured, his voice husky with reverence.

With quiet authority, the new regent drew her wrists behind her back, holding them in place with one hand while his other slid to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as he tilted her head up to meet his gaze.

“I forbid you to hide yourself from me.”

Aemond captured Cassella’s lips in a kiss, unleashing his long-suppressed fury. 

The book is suddenly snatched from my hands just as I’m turning the page, and fury flares in my chest. I shoot to my feet, heart pounding, already halfway through the scolding I’m about to unleash on whoever dared to ruin my one moment of quietude in this godsforsaken library.

I freeze for a second when I see Aemond staring at the cover, that infuriating half-smile playing on his face.

 Not the Aemond, obviously,  just my irritating best friend who lives to get under my skin and happens to share a name with the prince.

“Give it back, Aemond,” I say, stretching out my hand, waiting for the return.

“What do we have here?” Aemond says, flipping the book open to the exact page I was on.

He lifts it closer to his face, eyes narrowing with interest, and panic surges through me as I realize he is about to start reading.

I launch myself at him in a desperate attempt to snatch the book back, but he easily sidesteps me, holding it up just out of my reach.

Of course he does. Tall bastard.

“His lips claimed her with unwavering authority, leaving no room for resistance. His tongue swept into her mouth, commanding, possessive, dismantling every last trace of hesitation. With fluid, deliberate grace, the prince guided her down onto the grass as he trailed kisses along her neck.”  

Aemond recites the paragraph like he’s performing Shakespeare, complete with exaggerated flourish and mock drama — except for the playful smirk curling his lips and the obnoxious tone he knows will piss me off.

“His hand slid from her wrists to cup her right breast, drawing a needy moan from the lady’s lips. She responded instinctively, fingers tangling in the muscles of his arm and threading through his long hair.”

My cheeks burn with every phrase he recites. This is so fucking embarassing, and he makes sure to make it worse with that infuriating smirk. 

“Fucking stop, Aemond” 

He completely ignores me and launches into the next paragraph. I’m certain he’s having the time of his life watching me squirm.

“Not even Cassella’s eagerness could have prepared her for the overwhelming rush of sensation that surged through her as the prince’s tongue traced slow, deliberate circles around her nipple. It was a touch both reverent and intoxicating — each flick igniting sparks beneath her skin and sending shivers coursing down her spine. 

“Oh, Aemond… this feels so good.” “

“AEMOND?” he exclaims, baffled, lowering the book to his face. I seize the moment, snatching it back while he is distracted by the revelation.

I quickly pick up my backpack and shove the book inside, zipping it shut in one swift motion, relieved to finally put an end to this nonsense.

“THE PRINCE’S NAME IS AEMOND? He says with a laugh, his voice still obnoxiously loud.

“Stop fucking screaming. This is still a library, you dumbass.” I mutter slowly, still too mortified to meet his eyes. 

“You’ve been reading porn about me?” He lowers his voice and asks between laughs.

“First of all, it’s not about you,” I snap.  “ Did you know two people are allowed to have the same name? Wild concept, I know.” Sarcasm usually floods every conversation we have. 

“Second, It’s not porn.”

“Oh, come on, sweetie, ” He drawls, that infuriating smirk never leaving his face.

 You’re really going to pretend ‘Aemond’ is a super common name? Let’s be real — it’d be way more honest to admit you think about me when you’re reading your…porn.”

Now he smiles — fully, and I hate it. I hate it even more because he is kind of right.

In my defense, no, I don’t intentionally picture him when I imagine Prince Aemond. Sure, when I first started the book, the name overlap made it impossible not to — but I quickly realized that Prince Aemond is a charming, cunning gentleman who would be deeply offended to be compared to my insufferable best friend.

Don’t get me wrong — I love my Aemond. We’ve been best friends since elementary school. We grew up in the same neighborhood, always played together, and throughout the years, our bond evolved into something like a sibling relationship, with all the affection and all the annoyance that comes with it.

The real problem started when the spicy parts of the book kicked in. Like the Prince, Aemond also had long, smooth hair — and thanks to Cassella’s obsession with royal muscles, I couldn’t help but start thinking about his too. He’s not overtly muscular or anything, but he’s lean and well-defined… annoyingly similar to the Prince. He is tall, with dreamy light blue eyes and an elongated, pointy nose that looks just perfect to — And that was when I realized I’d been thinking too much about how attractive a find my best friend.

I know — falling in love with your best friend is a total cliché, and I’ve prohibited myself from falling into this trap. What Aemond and I have is too important to mess up just because I’m horny.

We’re both introverts who’ve never really pushed ourselves to build new, deep connections. New friends came and went, but we always had each other — and that’s the one constant that’s always mattered. I just can’t ruin this.

I just need to act playful and casual, just like I always have. I should have been doing that from the moment this idiot grabbed my book.

 Okay. Deep breath.  I’ll simply slightly steer the conversation in a different direction.

“At least I’m not the one whose phone has tabs open on page 26 of a cornhub search.” 

YES. His grin falters. The playful glint in his eyes dims, replaced by something quieter, thoughtful. For a split second, he just stares at me, contemplative.

“That is oddly specific.” 

I smirk. “Got you there, didn’t I?” 

“How the fuck do you know that? Are you spying on my phone now? 

There’s a flicker of real concern in his eyes, and the satisfaction I get from it nearly wipes away all my earlier humiliation.

“Calm down, man. I only know because you’re a nasty little freak who hands off your phone for internet browsing without cleaning up your filthy tabs.” 

Derision is all over my tone. I finally get to return all the teasing he’s been throwing at me, and I’m not about to waste the chance.

Here’s what happened: we went to a college party in some district we didn’t even know. The night was great — until around 1 a.m., when Aemond got so drunk he started feeling nauseous. So, being the good friend that I am, I offered to go find a 24-hour pharmacy and buy him some medicine. But I’d left my phone at the apartment, so I needed his to look it up. That’s when I saw it.

“I knew you were peverted, but damn. Page twenty-six? What the hell were you even searching for to get you that deep? I say, grinning widely.

“That's none of your business.” His jaw tenses. Now he is the one getting annoyed. Good Job, me.

“Well, it becomes my business when you start mocking me for simply reading a fantasy book that happens to feature some sensual scenes.”

I said it coolly, a sly smile tugging my lips. I loved pushing his buttons.

“Right,” he snaps, his voice sharpening like a blade, “ because your porn is much better than mine.” His jaw clenches, and his light blue eyes flash with a mix of irritation, defiance, and something else, clearly struggling to keep his tone even.

“First of all, it’s not porn,” I say,  crossing my arms in front of my chest, standing firm in my conviction. “ Second, you’re the one making this a contest.” I raise my eyebrows, letting the words hang just long enough to sting. 

“I’m simply curious about what required such…intense browsing.” I lean in slightly, my body tilting just enough to catch his gaze head-on, a teasing glint in mine.

His hands close around my waist so suddenly that it steals my breath, and then I’m pinned against the wall. His right hand rises to my jaw, pressing it firmly, grounding me in place.

“You fucking know what you’re doing, don’t you?” Aemond’s voice is low, edged with something I can’t quite name as his gaze trails over my face.

 I blink, startled. Wait — what? What the hell is going on?

Then I catch the way his eyes drop to my cleavage, still burning with that same intense focus — and I can’t believe he's actually doing this.

“Dude, what the fuck?” My voice comes out more confused than angry. I twist in his grip, trying to get free, but he only tightens it.

His eyes snap back to mine — and that’s when I see it. The heat. The want. My confusion curdles into fear.

No. No, no, no. This cannot be happening.

“I have to dig that deep because,” he breathes, eyes burning into mine, “I can’t come unless the girl looks like you.”

My stomach drops.

A strange, hollow ringing fills my ears, and I just stand there, like my brain short-circuited and forgot how to command the rest of me.

My hands, once braced against his chest to push him away, fall limply to my sides. My knees feel weirdly soft, like they’re not entirely sure they can hold me up.

I stare.

Not because I want to — because I can’t look away. Like I’m waiting to fall from my bed and wake up from this nightmare…or dream. I’m not entirely sure. 

What I do know is that I can’t ruin this.

 We can’t ruin what we have. 

“Aemond…”

 But it’s hard to think straight with that look in his eyes–dreamy, dazed, intense, like I’m the only thing he sees. And his lips…they’re parted, just barely, like they’re waiting for mine.

“Tell me you feel the same.” He pleads in a low and soft voice. His left hand begins a slow ascent from my waist, trailing up the side of my body.

I shiver.

Gods. His touch feels so good.

Even with the layer of fabric between us, I can still feel the intensity in his hand — gentle, deliberate, he seems to know how to arouse me. 

And just like that, I’m thinking about all the little things I like about him again. His voice — smooth as silk, low and commanding, like it could wrap around me and hold me still. 

And his hair—long and silky, brushing against my arm, weightless. I’ve always loved how it frames him, how it moves with elegance, like it has a personality of its own.

It’s maddening. 

I lower my gaze to his chest. It’s easier to face the worn graphic of his heavy metal shirt. I reach for every scrap of strength inside me, steadying myself for what I need to say. 

“You’re my best friend, Aemond. We can’t do this.” 

I focus on his heavy breathing. 

We stay locked in place for a few seconds. I silently pray to the gods that he’ll listen to reason, that he’ll let me go before this spins even further out of control.

Then Aemond lifts my chin, his thumb brushing the edge of my bottom lip.

“Look me in the eye,” he murmurs. “Tell me you don’t want me and I’ll let you go.” 

He pauses, just for a second. Swallows.

“ We’ll forget what I said.”

I’m locked in his gaze. I try to speak, but the words won’t come — caught somewhere between my mind and my mouth, like my body is waging war against my own reason.

“Say it.” 

He pulls me even closer, his body pressed to mine, his lips just a breath away. And right then, I know there’s no escape. This is a battle I’ve lost.

So I press my lips to his, and Aemond moves like he’s been holding himself back for years.

His mouth crashes into mine, urgent and searching, like he’s starving for something only I can give. The kiss is all heat and desperation, and my thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm. There’s no space left between us, no air, no room for doubt — only us.

His lips move over mine with a rhythm that leaves me breathless. Every brush, every tug on my nape, every tilt of his head ignites something deeper. My fingers tangle in the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him like he is the only solid thing in the world.

I slide my hand to the muscles of his arm and press my palm against it, letting out a soft, involuntary moan. Aemond pulls back just enough to meet my eyes — and smiles. Slow. Knowing. His gaze glows with something electric.

Then he kisses me again, he is bolder this time, hungrier. His hands slide down my back and settle on my ass, squeezing firmly through the denim. The sudden pressure draws a gasp from me, swallowed instantly by his mouth.

My body arches into him, reacting on instinct, lost in the heat of his touch and the way his lips claim mine. Every moment is fire. 

Aemond sets a trail of wet kisses along my neck, each one sending a spark skittering down my spine. One of his hands slips beneath my blouse, brushing the skin on my waist directly. The touch is intimate and maddeningly gentle, like he’s memorizing the feel of me.

I squeeze his shoulders. I’m so lost in the moment — his breath on my skin, his hands exploring with a hunger that sets my nerves ablaze — that thinking becomes impossible. There’s no room for doubt. I’ve never been with anyone this eager, this instinctively in tune with me. It’s almost overwhelming, the way he touches me as if I might vanish if he lets go.

His hand finds my breast, cupping it over the thin fabric of my bra. The material does little to hide my arousal. Aemond lets out a low, needy moan when his fingertips graze the hardened peak of my nipple, as if the sensation hits him just as intensely as it does me.

That might have been the moment he lost control. Before I can process it, Aemond’s fingers are on my shirt, unbuttoning the top few with a feverish urgency. He pulls down my bra, exposing my breast fully to the cool air and him.

A rush of heat floods my cheeks. The slight shame crashes into me like cold water, jolting my senses back to life. Gods — we’re still in the library. Tucked behind a bookshelf, yes, but it’s still a public place. I can’t let this continue.

I don’t have time to act on my thoughts — Aemond’s already there, his mouth closing around my left nipple, his tongue swirling in slow, deliberate circles. The sensation rips a gasp from my throat, and a deep, involuntary shiver coils down to my very core.

His other hand slides up to cup my right breast, fingers splaying possessively. Fuck. Every nerve in me is lit — he’s unraveling me one stroke, one lick, one squeeze at a time.

I fist my hand in his hair, clinging to it in a desperate attempt to stifle the moan rising in my throat as he continues to lick, dragging, pausing to flick, then flattening in broad, heated passes. 

This is all so wrong. Gods, help me.

A loud thud breaks through the library, followed by the clatter of several books hitting the floor a few aisles away.

I freeze.

So does Aemond.

The spell shatters.

I pull away, breathless, and fumble to recompose myself, clothes, thoughts, everything. 

I turn back to him, eyes lowered. I can't help but notice the bulge straining against his pants while I lift my gaze. My body reacts, traitorous and wanting, but I take a step back, pulling away from the gravity of him.

I’m in control again.

He’s still catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in uneven waves. His lips are swollen, kissed raw and glistening, and his eyes — gods, his eyes — look brighter than I’ve ever seen them.

“This was a mistake. A complete mistake.” My voice is steady, but it costs me. “ For the love we have, for what we are to each other, we need to forget this ever happened.”

His face shifts. His eyes dim in confusion. Something in him breaks. 

It nearly undoes me, but I know it’s better this way.

I don’t wait for his reply. I can’t risk looking at his lips for too long. Shouldering my backpack, I turn and head for the library’s main doors.

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Author’s Note:

This is the first fanfiction I’ve written in years. I know I have so much to learn, but I decided to publish this as a way of telling myself — and anyone reading — that I want to try :).

P.S. I might write a sequel to this.