#Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemaleReader

[arcielee]

Just a World Away

Summary: Modern!FemaleReader has a choice to make. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Word Count: 4021 Warnings: Smutty smut, oral (male a receiving, female receiving), sexual themes,  dubcon, possessive Aemond (since you all loved it, but you can call me kettle). Author's Note:  Here it is, the final part! It’s a bit longer than the others, but we had a lot of shit to unpack. Thank you @f4ll-for-you​ for all of your help!  And thank you, my dear thirsty readers, I really appreciate all the reblogs and all the comments on this series. I just adore all my Tumblr kindred spirits. ♥ Tags (kindred spirits): @glitterandgoldfinds @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @fan-goddess @welcometothelioncage @hueanhdang @sahvlren @heavenly1927 @missusnora @lemonivall @iiamthehybrid @sirenofavalon @hb8301​ (slash through means Tumblr is still betraying me and I cannot tag you, but expect a DM)  Series:   Call It Dreaming

When morning came, it took you a moment to place where your head was resting.

At first you could feel the warm thrum of a heartbeat and your eyes fluttered open; the touch of bare skin was comforting and you felt a sense of serenity with the arms that wrapped around you with a hold that hinted that a lesser grip and you would be lost. 

Aemond Targaryen and his charred, warm and woodsy musk. 

The early morning light streaked through your window, the lighting allowed you to admire the definition of his torso and the silver streaks of scars across his hard chest. You were careful when you moved your arm, your fingers gentle as they trailed the planes; his chest expanded with a deep breath and he rolled to his side, pulling you closer still, placing his chin on top of your head and a low hum vibrated from the back of his throat. 

This new position allowed you to feel him intimately and you began to burn as his hardness pressed against your stomach.

You tilt your face up into his neck, pressing your lips on the juncture of his jawline to his neck with slow kisses. He shifted and growled your name, half asleep still. “That tickles.”

You grin into his neck, pushing him to roll on his back and straddling his abdomen, leaning forward to find his lips. His kisses are gentle, with one hand cupping the back of your neck and his tongue ran your bottom lip before he nipped it. 

You pushed backwards on his body, careful to press the heat pooling between your thighs against the underside of his cock and he groaned in response, pushing himself to sit upright and hold you in his lap. 

As his mouth latched and sucked on the curve of your neck, you struggled to control your giggles as you reached behind him, piling the pillows up. “What are you up to?” He hummed, nestling into the other side of your neck, his tongue tasting you. 

You did not say anything, instead pressing your palms on his chest and pushing him until his back was against the pillows stacked. Your lips trailed his body, stopping to kiss his scars, your tongue trailing one side of his Adonis belt, and finally you tucked yourself between his legs, peering up to see his brow was raised and the hint of a smile curled onto his lips. 

His cock was swollen, the head a flushed pink that glistened with precum. His gaze did not leave you and you slipped your hand so the back of it rested on the silver patch that trailed a thin line upwards to his bellybutton; you returned his look and leaned forward to drag your tongue flat on the underside, tasting yourself, and up to the tip. 

He groaned and his hand moved to the back of your head as your lips wrapped around and you started a slow bob, allowing your saliva to lubricate as you take him, inch by inch, in your hot mouth. 

You gag when he hits the back of your throat and you feel him arch his back with another guttural groan. “Mazemā nyke sīr sȳrī,” You take me so well, he praised you, his voice low. 

Spit began to dribble from both corners of your mouth and pooled at the base of his cock; you wrapped your fingers around his shaft, using the spit for lubrication as you synchronized the movement of your grasp and your mouth. The motion allowed him to be swallowed and you hollow your cheeks to tighten the suction; his hand grabs a fistful of your hair and you moan around him. 

“Kessa,” he growled. “Sepār raqagon bona. Sȳz riña.”

Yes, just like that. Good girl.

Your other hand holds on his hip and you shift your weight, focusing on the motion and mindful of your teeth; your tongue flattens the underside and runs the length of him and back. There is the prickle of tears in the corners of your eyes, but you can feel him pulsating and know he’s close. 

His grip on the back of your head holds you down for a moment, your nose pressed into the silver hair nested above; you pause a moment and then flit your tongue back and forth the base of his cock. Another groan drags from the back of his throat with his release, a hot stream of cum goes into the back of your throat and you become relentless with his release, your head moved to lick every drop of him. 

“Iksā va jāre ossēnagon nyke!” He groaned again. You are going to kill me.

You stop, wiping the corners of your mouth and he grabs you to crush you against his chest again; you lay against him, listening to his heart and waiting until it paces itself. “You seem so pleased with yourself,” he commented with an exhale.

“I am, my prince,” you grinned in return.

His head turned and his fingers caught beneath your chin. “My name is Aemond,” he said. “You should remember from how you have screamed it prior.”

His comment made your face burn and a smile hinted again as he pushed away from you. “Or must I remind you…?”

Aemond was both a prince and gentleman, you have decided as he nestled between your thighs. His slender fingers remembered every sensory pressure point of yours and his tongue diligent and able to find your pearl with efficiency. You came undone, tears streaming your cheeks, and he kissed the insides of your thighs, which caused you to jump. 

“You seem quite smug yourself,” your voice is breathless and you can see how his cheeks dimpled with his smile. 

Eventually, you leave the bed; you scrounge through your closet and find an old pair of grey sweatpants left behind and the largest shirt you had to best fit his long, lithe abdomen. He hummed his appreciation when you combed through his silken locks and took care to twist it into a low bun. He accepted the beanie you presented him without complaint and followed you into the kitchen. 

You helped him decide on a cereal to hold him over while you cooked breakfast. At first, he leaned on the kitchen bar, propped on his elbows to watch you pull a clean bowl from the cupboards, followed by a collection of boxes that you set on the counter. 

“What is that?” He had asked.

And you did your best to explain the concept of breakfast cereal to him. 

“It is to be eaten with milk?” His brow furrowed. 

“Yes, but we are lactose friendly,” you add, meaning you and your roommates. “So we mostly use almond milk.” 

His lips had the slightest curl to them. “Milk from almonds?” But Aemond was willing to try, pushing from the counter and coming up behind you to pick up the first box. “Honey Nut… Cheer-ee-os?” He attempted the word.

You struggled to hear him, your face flushing from him being pressed against your backside. “It’s Cheerios,” you correct him, almost choking on the word. 

Aemond was all too aware of your visceral response to him and he leaned forward to rest his chin on your shoulder, his arms caged you in as he picked up the next box. “Cinnamon Toast Crunch?” He said it like a question, his eye flitted over the cardboard. “The printed nutrition for this item shows it is mostly sugar…” 

You giggled and twisted to face him, your lips brushing his chin. “You should try Cheerios, it’s probably the only thing cereal-wise with the least amount of sugar. It can hold you over while I cook us something.” 

“You can cook?” He sounded impressed, pulling away and returning to the kitchen bar, seating himself on one of the stools. 

“It’s a quality needed in my world to survive,” you grinned as you poured the almond milk over and walked back to place the bowl in front of him. “Eat, my prince,” your voice is low and he smirks, grabbing the spoon.

There was comfort in the simple action of frying some eggs and slices of ham, listening as Aemond munched away. You steal a look and find he was just watching you, his one sapphire eye and one lavender eye locked on your every movement; the blood rushes to your cheeks with your smile-

“Oh, good morning,” the singsong voice of Emma interrupts and you both look to watch her shuffle into the kitchen, wearing an oversized shirt and some shorts. She stops to pull out a pitcher of iced coffee from the refrigerator and the creamer.

“Is this the late night guest?” Miguel was next to follow in. “Pour me a mug.”

“You know I cannot reach the mugs,” Emma made a face. 

“Oh, right, well then move,” he nudged her with his hip, reaching to grab two mugs from the top shelf and Emma turned back to the kitchen bar. 

There was a moment of silent, exchanged looks as Aemond finished his last bite, pushing back from the bar and placing the bowl in the sink. You finished plating and he reached to take one, leaning forward to press his lips against your cheek. 

Your cheeks flame when you realize your roommates were still watching, though Aemond just returned to his seat. Miguel finally just shrugged, “So, are you going to introduce us…?”

The blush envelopes you further as you follow to sit next to him, gripping your own plate. “Yeah, sorry, so rude of me,” your words feel rushed as you hand him some clean silverware. “Emma, Miguel, this is Aemond, my… friend,” you decide on the word, your face even a shade deeper. “He came in on a late flight to surprise me.”

“Well,” Miguel mixed the creamer in both mugs, dropping the spoon in the sink and handing one to Emma. “Cheers to having such a good… friend.”

You avoid Emma’s look, who was smiling like she was suppressing a smirk. “So nice to meet you, Aemond.”

Aemond hummed, nodding his head and was quick to swallow his bite. “A pleasure to meet you both,” his tone was polite.

You managed a weak smile and looked at Miguel, “Um, his luggage was lost. Is there something he could borrow…?” 

Miguel raised his brow but disappeared into his room for a moment. You then hear Emma ask, “So, Aemond, what brings you to the area?”

Your attention snaps back to them. “He is thinking about transferring to our campus,” the lie was quick to your lips, your eyes wide when he peered at you.

“Oh, yes,” he adds, his voice flat with his delivery. “It seemed like an adequate institution and she promised to give me a detailed tour of all its facilities.” 

You nod, relieved when Miguel returns with an armful of clothes. “I had to guess your aesthetic,” he placed the folded clothes on the counter and Aemond pushed to stand, cleaning up your plate and his own, bringing them to the sink. “A hipster flare is my guess? But with your complexion, I was thinking darker tones-” 

“Yes, perfect,” you are quick to grab the clothes. “Thank you. Uh, what do you guys have planned today?”

Miguel perked at your words, “Oh, are you inviting-?”

“No,” you stop him. “Just calibrating schedules. For, uh, private time.”

“Private time,” Emma called from the kitchen. “With your good friend.”

You grab Aemond’s hand to pull him into the bathroom, leaving your giggling roommates behind; you show him hot and cold, as well as where the soap, shampoo were and he hummed his understanding. Just as you tried to leave, he grabbed your elbow to offer, “Perhaps you want to join me…?” 

You decline with a pained expression, only because you knew full well your roommates still lingered in the apartment and, instead, you returned to your room, breathless and your mind whirring over what was happening. 

Aemond Targaryen is in your world right now. His perfect physique is showering in your bathroom and using your toiletries… your face flushed again and your hands held your face. How long would this even last? Or was this a result of the stressful semester finally breaking your psyche?

The constant linger in the back of your mind, did you tell him about the pregnancy test? 

Instead, you get dressed, changing into some black leggings and an oversize sweater that would be perfect with the beginning of Autumn. As you pulled your boots over your socks, Aemond walked into the room.

Your breath caught in your throat: he was wearing black joggers and a grey shirt that fit across his chest and shoulders, with the jean jacket slung over his arm. You bite the inside of your bottom lip and guide him to sit on your chair, taking care to towel dry his hair and twist into a low bun; you hand him a corduroy cap. “For discretion,” and you gesture wearing it low to bring less attention to his sapphire eye. 

I don’t want to wake up. I don’t want this to end.

He hums and pulls it on, his gaze falling to your wall where your artwork was pinned. He peers back at you with the curl of his lips, noticing the subject drawn. 

Himself.

Your face flames again but his voice is soft with his compliment. “This is how you perceive me?” He asked, reaching and touching one. You nod mutely. “These are very good.” 

“Thank you,” your throat is so dry, it is almost a squeak. 

“Are you an artist?” His tone does not mock you, but is a generous inquiry. 

You scoff and quickly add, “I wish it was, but I am on a pathway to some state job and a lot of debt.”

His brow quirks at your words and you reach for his hand. “Nevermind. Let me give you a tour,” you offer and he follows. “And you can explain how you are here.” 

The day is spent exploring the campus; you show him the buildings that arch upwards, the campus community where you stop to grab a drink, smiling when he tentatively sips at the tea the barista prepared for him. You bring him to the art museum where students have their end of semester projects on display and his free hand interlocks his fingers with your own as you both take your time to look over the artistry. 

“Which one is yours?” He whispered in your ear.

You blushed again as his question fans his breath on your cheek. “Oh, no, Aemond, I only draw for personal pleasure.”

He hummed, looking around. “Your work is much better, though.”

“Isn’t that a biased opinion?” You grinned.

He just shrugs and you both continue to walk, eventually finding the library. He admired the arched, glassed ceilings that showed the beginning of the setting sun, allowing the rows of shelves brimming with literature glow with the warm reds, yellows, and amber colors. 

“I would never wish to leave this,” he whispered to you, his gaze taking in the lines of book spines. “I wished to lay my head in your lap and read my days away.” 

You were at a loss for words. A few months ago, you were fantasizing about a fictional prince from some fantasy world and now you were touring the fucking university with him. “Aemond,” your voice is low. “You still have not told me how you came here…” 

Aemond looks down at you and hums before taking your hand and pulling you towards the exit. You round the corner and stop to lean against the outside wall, listening as he delves into his explanation which includes a witch and a potion she concocted, which would allow you the opportunity to leave this modern world you were ensnared in and return with him to Westeros. 

It all sounded too good to be true. 

You watch him wet his lips, waiting for your reply. 

But you still had no words and so you pressed to your tiptoes to kiss him. He responded by wrapping his arms around your waist, his mouth opened to deepen the kiss and his tongue was tantalizing against your own. His hands moved to rub the curves of your hips and pull you closer against him for a moment before releasing his hold. 

You fall back a step, your cheeks and tip of your nose red from the kiss. “Let's go back,” you whisper and he is quick to follow you. 

The modern drab is easier to peel away and you both fall into your bed a tangle of bare limbs. His touch is tender and attentive as this morning, with a familiarity as he navigates over your body; Aemond is dutiful to your reaction, pacing himself with the soft gasps that spilled from your lips, until the inevitable rush of blood that bloomed between your thighs with your climax. 

He falls forward, burying his face into your neck with the hum of his own release and his lips kiss the curve of your neck. You both lay there until you feel your heart beats return to its normal, precoital pace. 

You have your answer for him.

“Aemond,” your voice is soft and he shifts to his side, his palm resting beneath your breasts. “I will return with you to Westeros, but…” his face is stoic, just waiting for you to finish your thought. “There is something I have to tell you first.” 

He moves again to bring your head to his chest and you nestle beneath his chin, unable to see his face. “Go on with your confession,” his tone is tight. 

With a deep breath, you tell him you may be pregnant. 

His reaction was not what you expected; you feel him still and look to see him peering down at you, a small furrow on his brow. “Are you certain?” 

You explain the concept of a pregnancy test but that you had yet seen someone to confirm. His palm moves, calloused but warm, and rests on your stomach. “Ñuha zaldrītsos,” his tone is so low and your cheeks heat with his words.

My little dragon. 

“We will marry once we return to Westeros,” he continued and, of course, it was not a question but stated as a fact. When he notices how you stare, only then does he say, “You must know that I cannot father a bastard and I certainly did not travel to your world to only be,” his lips curled with the words, “your good friend.”

Your face flames. “I mean, yes, but, uh, I also thought it would be… you know, a bit more romantic?”

Aemond only hums his reply, pulling you closer and you eventually relax against him, your head resting on his chest and listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. After a few moments, you finally ask, “When would we leave?”

“Tomorrow night,” and with his words, begins the countdown of your time left within the 21st century. 

The next day begins with the warm hum of Aemond nestled between your legs, with kitten licks to your cunt until your eyes flutter open. You feel the coil in your lower abdomen and his fingers curl into you to coax your release. “Swear you will always wake me up like this,” you are breathless and he grins as he licks his fingers clean. 

Eventually, you pull yourselves from the bed and find all your roommates dressed and waiting in the living room. They treat you to a late lunch at your favorite restaurant and give an annoying toast to you and your good friend. Aemond smirks into his drink, his hand underneath the table and palming your thigh; your fingers rest gentle on his firm grasp, enjoying the heat of his hold. 

Back in the quiet of your room, you settle in a nest of pillows to write a farewell letter to your roommates. Aemond spends a moment in front of your shelf and comes to lay on the other side of your bed with a book in his hand. “The Hobbit?” You ask with a smile. “It is a classic and one of my favorites.” 

“I have always read to understand and to learn, which I enjoy,” he explains, looking over the cover. “I am curious to read for the sake of a story. This is a first for me.” 

Finishing your note, you clear off your lap and allow Aemond to lay his head down as he reads; your fingers comb through his hair and he gives the occasional hum when your nails scratch his scalp. 

There is a tightness in your chest. You dated a bit, but nothing that allowed an intimate moment like this. You had never been with someone who so boldly craved your touch, your attention. There was a comfort under his constant eye, how his gaze would search for you and watch your every move.  

You sigh at the thought, knowing this was why you decided to leave, because what truly kept you here? You had devoted yourself so thoroughly to a tedious school schedule and were now in your mid-twenties and all that remained was a tedious career and debt. 

You lost the little things in this life that you had so dearly loved. 

You are going, your mind was bold with the words and only then did you notice Aemond shifted to stand up, holding his hand towards you. 

Your room was dark, save the golden glow from your lamp. Your fingers were cool to the touch and he pulled you to your feet and only then did you notice an iridescent circular glow in front of your closet. “It’s time,” he said.

And you freeze, your eyes looking over your room that you stayed in for the last 7 years. There was comfort with what was familiar and risk with the step, but what was the fucking quote? You cannot live your life in fear, or you will forsake the best parts of it?

Only then you realized how Aemond was watching you; he dropped your hand and turned away from you. 

You stupid bitch, why did you hesitate, you think and reach to touch his arm. “Aemond, I’m sorry, I’m just scared-” 

He turns back to bring you against his chest, pressing his lips against yours; you welcome him, your lips parting to deepen the kiss and your mouth fills with a liquid with a sickly sweetness like cough syrup. You try to pull back, but his hold tightens and his hand clamps over your mouth and he does not release until he feels you swallow. “Aemond,” you gasp for air. “What the actual fuck.” 

Aemond leans forward for a second kiss that is more chaste, his lips soft. “I understand your hesitation,” his voice is low and his gaze is intense. “But I cannot risk it. Life presents different pathways and we have only a moment to surrender to it, allowing yourself something that is destined for you.” He kisses you again and you moan in his mouth, your head spinning. “You are mine and you will return with me to Westeros where I will spend all of my days to cherish, to worship, to ravish your body until my last breath, I swear this to you.”

Your eyes are wide with his words and only then do you notice an iridescent glow to your skin tone. “What is happening to me…” 

He pulls you closer still and whispers, “Come with me.”

And you go, half expecting a rush of wind, some sort of indication you left behind everything you ever knew, but instead you were standing in an empty throne room where tapers were lit and littered around, emitting a warm glow. 

Alys Rivers looks up from where she is sitting and you see a smile to her painted lips. “You returned with her, my prince,” she turns her focus to you. “Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Westeros.”

#just a world away #call it dreaming #series finale #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemaleReader #Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader #aemond smut #thank you for reading #♥

[arcielee]

Taste of It

Summary: Modern!FemaleReader has a delightful sex dream. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Word Count: 2406 Warnings: Smutty smut, fingering, choking, language, p in v. Author's Note: Hey, this is my first Reader fanfic I have ever written. I am open to all criticism, because it will help me be a better writer and is definitely not a degradation kink. This was inspired by the story you can pretend it's not meant to be (but you can't stay away from me) by @themotherofhorses​. I just loved the idea of a lucid dream with Aemond Targaryen. ♥ Thank you @f4ll-for-you​ for being so kind to read this over! Series:  Call It Dreaming 

“What are you doing here?”

His voice is low, lethal, and somehow familiar to you, despite the unfamiliar setting you find yourself in. Your hands wash over your body, feeling your favorite oversized shirt, an old David Bowie print that was comfortable with age and just long enough to cover your ass, with the hem touching the peaks of your bare thighs. There is a coldness to your surroundings, which was all the more apparent on your bare feet and the skimpy, cotton underwear you wore beneath your nightshirt. 

You remembered being cozy on your couch after a long, hot shower that peeled away the stress accumulated from both work and schoolwork, partnered with a mask to exfoliate your pores. You remembered the scent of your new lotion, a mixture of vanilla and brown sugar, while you admired the reflection of the black underwear and matching bralette on your figure before you decided to put on the oversized vintage top before you crawled beneath your blanket to rewatch House of the Dragon. 

“I asked you a question,” his voice repeated, his tone sharp. You could hear the sound of a book snapping shut that caused you to jump and turn on your heel. Your eyes flit over your new surroundings; you were in a room with tapers lit that added to the warm, amber glow emitting from the hearth and its embers, highlighting the meticulous placement of furniture and its grim vibe.

You nearly choke on your heart when your eyes finally find who the voice, the one that was both low and lethal, belongs to. 

Aemond Targaryen was seated in a leather chair by the fireplace, one hand holding a closed book by its spine and his brows knitted above his gaze, one lavender eye and one sapphire eye, focused on you with a look of sheer annoyance. 

You could scarcely react when he pushed himself from his seat, his long legs allowing long strides to cover the distance of the room, and you could feel the heat from his body as he pinned your back against the door. His large palm was on your neck and he slowly squeezed the sides.  

You can still breathe, but your vision begins to fog and he pushes closer, his nose pressed against the side of your head with the hot whisper repeating his question, “Who are you?” 

This is a dream, your mind rationalizes. A sexy dream you guess from the heat that pools in your lower abdomen and melds with the heat that exudes from the prince. His scent is intoxicating; he smelled clean, mixed with a woodsy musk and the hint of smoke. It was a dream, you decide, and gods be damned if you would not utilize this subconscious interaction. 

“I have been sent for your pleasure,” you finally manage to say, your mind spinning from the lack of blood.  

Your words release his grasp, but his hand remains rested on your collarbones. “Another one of my brother’s whores?” He asks with the curl of his lips. Perhaps he tried to sound annoyed, but you hoped instead for him to be intrigued since your modern garb was hardly the fashion of the Streets of Silk. “You may show me what you have to offer and I will make my decision.” 

This is promising, you smile at him. Aemond takes a step back but you note he remains within arm’s reach, thinking you may try to flee but he is completely unaware you have no intention to leave this room. With slow breaths as your vision clears, your fingers reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it overhead, dropping it at your feet to show him your black cotton bralette and matching cheeky underwear. 

You watch his eye roll over you, pupil dilated, from your head to your polished toes and back again. You hold your breath and only relax when you hear his hum of satisfaction. 

Aemond moved to grab you, perhaps he meant to drag you, but you are quick and willing to follow his direction towards the bed, gleeful when you feel his large hands rest on your hips and bring you around to push you back against the mattress. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of him bending at his slender waist, his arms caging you and the curtain of silver hair spilling on both sides. His head tilts slightly to peer at you and you stare back with blatant admiration of the sharp angles of his jawline, the gleam of his sapphire eye that you did not notice the dagger he held until the glint of the blade caught your attention. 

Your breath holds as he presses the dagger flat beneath the front of your bralette and it hitches in your throat with his fluid motion to twist the blade and bring it upwards, tearing the fabric. 

“Hey!” You gasp, pressing up to your elbows to face him as he falls back a step, holding the torn fabric in one hand and sheathing his blade, all while admiring the natural slope of your breasts. You feel a slight burn and look down to see a red line and beads of blood forming from the sliver. 

“I only wished to see if you were real,” his words were not an apology, but more an explanation. 

You push to sit upright, your hand grabbing his own to bring his palm to your breast. “I assure, I am very real,” your eyes are glassy with your bold words and actions, but it works and he moves to press on top of you. You fall back and mold against the mattress, his tongue burns as it trails the cut and there is the smear of blood as his mouth moves to find your nipple. 

Your back arches in response from the touch of his tongue that flits over the peak of your nipple and rolling circles around your areola. His hot mouth closes, suckling and his teeth nipping the soft flesh of your breast before he moves to give equal attention towards the other. 

A soft moan spills from your lips and he moves to capture your mouth with his own. His tongue presses to explore your mouth and you welcome the softness of his lips and the copper taste of your own blood. Your hands move to comb your fingers through his silk locks, your nails scratching his scalp and you feel the vibration of his hum of approval. 

Aemond presses closer and you can feel his hardness, his hips rolling to rub against your cloth cunt. He grabs onto your hip with one hand, large and warm to the touch, and his other moves flat against your chest; his tongue slows with languid movements, relishing your taste before he breaks away. 

“You taste like a sweet wine, but with chocolate and mint?” His brow quirks with his question. 

Ben and Jerry’s, you think to yourself but he does not need an answer, instead bringing his lips to bruise against your own and his fingers trailing lower to cup your cunt. He seems pleased with how you are drenched with your anticipation, pressing his lips against your throat with the growl of, “Sīr lōz syt aōha dārilaros.” 

So wet for your prince.

You burn with how his tongue rolls the words. Gods be praised, you think when you recognize the words that made your core ache, your annoyance for the Duolingo notifications vanish and you respond with a breathless, “Kirimvose, ñuha dārilaros.”

His brow raises in response and his look makes your heat roll over your body. “You also know High Valyrian,” he says and, again,  it was more a statement than a question. 

“Mērī mirrī,” Only a little, you admit to him, the heat flushing your face from his brazen stare. You chew your bottom lip as you bring your feet to the edge of the bed and lift your hips, peeling off your underwear. 

You note the curl of his lips and he moves to mold against you again, his teeth grazing the pulse of your pounding heart. His touch is gentle, his fingers just grazing your hip bone and moving towards your center, his slender finger trailing your soaked slit before it curled inside of you. 

You cannot help but mewl his name as he adds another, moving to massage your walls, his palm cupping you and allowing his thumb to stimulate your clit. The warmth in your lower core begins to boil with his ministrations and your breathing grows erratic, which quickens his motion.

“Jurnegon nyke,” he commands, Look at me, and you bring your eyes forward to see him leaning over and bracing himself above you with his free arm. “I want to hear you,” he breathes.

His breath, his words partnered with the sinful curl of his fingers within you allows your orgasm to crash into you, drawing the air from your lungs with your pitiful cries of release. Your skin is aflame and you had not noticed he pulled away until you heard him cleaning his fingers with his mouth, standing over you, the bulge of his breeches unmistakable.  

The sight of him cleaning his slender fingers emboldens you to grab his waistband and bring him against you, desperate to taste yourself on his soft lips. The grace of your tongue is not matched with your hands that fumble with the latches of his tunic, but you feel his smile as his hands guide your own. You peel his layers off to reveal his hard chest with faded scars of silver that decorated the rivets of his toned abdomen, the moonlight mixed with the low flames giving the prince an ethereal glow to his lithe body. 

Aemond gives a hum to claim your attention, his lips curling as he is adamantly aware of the hunger in your eyes, and his hands reach to grasp the peaks of your thighs and pull you closer to the bed edge. You push yourself to your elbows and watch rapt as he unlaces to remove his trousers, curious to see if the Tumblr assertion of his genitalia was accurate, but his hand pushes you back against the bed and trails to your neck. 

“Open,” he commands and your mouth relaxes, your tongue pink and drowning in saliva from seeing him almost bare. 

He presses two fingers into your mouth and you close to suckle, tasting the remnants of your release and his own saliva from his clean up. You coat them and there is a string of spittle that follows when he pulls away, eventually breaking and wetting your chin. 

His hands move to lube his cock and you feel the press against your cunt, the undeniable stretch as he pushes into you. Your hands grasp at the bedding on each side and your back arches as he pushes to split you in half. “You take me so well,” he soothes, but does not allow you time to adjust and presses further still. 

Tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Oh, fuck me,” you gasp at the mixture of pleasure and pain. 

Aemond pauses for a moment, reaching to clasp your jaw and bring your eyes to look at him, “I intend to.” 

You shudder when he bottoms out in you and his hands move to clasp onto your hips, pulling you to meet his each thrust, his hip bones digging into the underside softness of your thighs and his cock reaching into you further still. Your hands move to grab above you, twisting into the sheets, and you arch your back into each powerful thrust.

His pace pauses for a moment, his hands wrapping around your ankles and bringing your feet to rest onto his shoulders, canting your hips to angle you as he slips back into your warmth. Your heart flutters when his hands return to your hip bones, admiring his side profile and the scrunch of his brow. “Your toes… is that glitter?”

“Kostilus, ñuha dārilaros,” Please, my prince, you cannot help but whine. You are on the cusp of your second release and the fear of waking up looms over you. “I must have you.” 

The High Valyrian renews his attention, as you hope it would, and he pushes to fold you in half, the new angle allowing him to slip into your cunt deeper than before. His arms hold himself on each side, caging you in, and his soft, silver tresses spill onto your bare chest with a tickle. You moan in abandon from the stretch of him reentering you as his hips rut against you. 

It rolls in waves, gooseflesh rippling over every inch of your body and your nipples taut from the pleasure, clenching at his cock. The tears spill from the corners of your eyes as you repeat his name, “Aemond, Aemond-”

His thrusts become sloppy and you can feel his cock twitching inside of you; you open your legs to allow him to fall forward against you, a damp brow to your own. You steady your breath, savoring the mixture of his scent combined with the scent of sex, wanting to savor your unconscious a moment longer. Your sex dreams never ended so satisfactory before and you knew it would not be much longer. You bring your hand to his defined jawline to tilt his head up, bringing your lips to his with a slow, lingering kiss. 

But you do not wake up, instead Aemond drags you beneath the covers and pulls you flush against his chest, which is hard and warm and molds perfectly with the softness of your backside in the most delicious way. 

“You may leave me in the morning,” he murmurs in your ear as he nuzzles into the back of your neck and hair. 

When you wake up, you are back on your couch and nestled beneath your blanket, the menu music of House of the Dragon playing on repeat from your television. Warmth envelopes you as you remember the vivid dream you had and you push to sit upright. 

I will always fall asleep with you on, but your thoughts are cut short from the cold that touches your bare chest. Your hands wash over your body, naked, and you wince when your finger touches the gash in between your breasts. 

Your eyes widen in disbelief.

Where the fuck was your Bowie shirt. 

#taste of it #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x modern!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond smut #hotd fanfic #hotd aemond #thanks for reading #♥

[arcielee]

Where Is My Mind?

Summary: Modern!FemaleReader’s subconscious has ruined her pussy. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Word Count: 2579 Warnings: Smutty smut, masturbation, little bit of spanking, oral (fem receiving), p in v, language, drinking.  Author's Note: I did not think I would do a part 2, but I really appreciated the feedback from my first reader insert attempt and loved all the kindred spirits I apparently have on this godforsaken social media platform. ♥ Also, thank you so much @f4ll-for-you​ for your time to read this over! Tags (kindred spirits): @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ This is dedicated to @fan-goddess​ because you made a call out to something and I already had 1k with that in mind.  Series:  Call It Dreaming

It had been three agonizing weeks since that night-that dream?-in Westeros and peace no longer seemed to be an option for your pussy.

At first, after you woke up, hot, bothered, and naked on the couch, you were grateful your roommates utilized a Friday night in a way that your school and work schedule did not allow. You were quick to wrap yourself in the blanket and flee into your room.

You took a moment in your full-length mirror to survey yourself: the thin gash between your breasts was not bleeding, but still had a delicious sting to it, and you had no idea where your clothes were. It must have been some sort of fucked up sleep walking? You cringe at the thought, promising to never watch House of the Dragon outside the safety of your bedroom again. 

It was a very sexy dream, you tell yourself, returning to your bed and collapsing back onto it. Your mind wanders back, remembering the warmth of his hands on your body, the ache between your thighs when he entered you, the sensations of his hard chest pressed against your body…

Your hand trails to your cunt, your fingers desperate to touch and tantalize yourself the way Aemond Targaryen had. Your brow furrows with your concentration, your breath quickens with your motion, and your orgasm comes but it is like the tepid stream of tap water and the faucet was twisted shut.

You almost cry. My subconscious has fucking ruined me.

The thought does not linger and you return to your busy schedule of classes from morning until the afternoon and then your internship that went well into the evening. It was self-inflicted, a last minute decision to throw yourself into a master’s program for historic preservation. Though the internship’s pay was pitiful, it was manageable, and you had peace with your work, taking pride in visiting sites, your documentation process and photography for your filework later. 

It had been perfectly soothing until fucking recently and now every quiet moment led to intrusive thoughts of a specific, fictional, one-eyed prince.

You refused to be broken by your mind, after all you were a modern, independent woman with items purposefully purchased for whenever a situation called for a DIY orgasm. Your free time was on the weekends and you politely decline your roommates’ invitation to go out with the lie that your lady time has arrived. Only after they left could you truly cater to yourself and what you needed. 

Candles are lit, fresh sheets, every toy out on the covers and you sprawl back on your bed, your hands careful to trace where his hands had been, the bruising grip of his large palms, allowing your mind to flutter back to the Red Keep…

…and much to your disappointment, you find that you are still unable to bring yourself the release you had felt that night. 

This is fine, your subconscious has not ruined you, you think as you scroll through your phone to find blood and flesh, assuming that is what your body was craving.

You had an ex that was a suitable candidate; you dated briefly when you both finished your B.A. but found the next steps of both your academic careers required too much time. It was an amicable end and you still sent the occasional text.  

These texts were unlike the polite ones sent before and he was quick to reply. A week later, you were wearing a fitted black dress with a ribbed texture and an apricot cardigan over it, and ankle boots. You walk to the small bar that is only a few blocks away from your apartment, leaving a bit early to request a spiced rum drink for some liquid courage. 

Your ex finally arrives and he is still just as traditionally handsome in a House Stark sense-oh my goddess, leave that G.R.R.M. thought alone-with a big smile beneath his beard and exuding the same golden retriever kindness as before. The conversation is pleasant, catching up on each other’s life updates until the rum floods your brain and the insatiable ache between your thighs demands action. 

You grab him and the two of you fall away into a corner of the bar, but the moment you taste his lips to your own, you knew no modern man would be able to soothe the consistent ache in your lower abdomen, to satiate the void that gnawed within you. 

He notes your change in your demeanor and breaks away. “Hey, it’s cool if we just remain friends,” he offers with his token, genuine kindness, completely unaware of your internal warfare with your mind. 

There is a moment you think to protest, but decide against it. “Yeah, thanks, sorry,” you reply with a defeatist sigh. “I have, just, really been off lately. I think it’s because of my lady time,” you renew your lie. 

“Oh? I could just walk you home, if you want?” You shake your head, “It’s okay. I am a few blocks away. Thanks anyway.”

Your steps are determined and you make sure to stop at the mart on the way home, grabbing a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream and a cheap bottle of red dessert wine. In the solitude of your apartment, you grab two coffee mugs, one for ice cream and one for wine, making it easy to walk back to your room.

You throw off your cardigan and shoes, plopping onto your mattress, and fumble with the remote to turn on House of the Dragon, starting at episode eight. 

My subconscious has ruined me, was your last thought, bringing a spoonful to your mouth. 

And here you were, once again, standing in his same room and he, Aemond Targaryen, is seated in the same leather chair and facing the fireplace. The fire crackles loudly and gives a golden hue to the side profile of the prince. His posture is perfect, with one leg crossed on top of the other, his arm poised on the armrest and his thumb running the length of his fingertips and back again. 

“You lied to me.”

Your eyes widen as he pushes from his seat and squares off to you; he is wearing leather trousers and a loose, white tunic with the sleeves rolled up to show his toned forearms decorated with silver hair. His tunic is not laced up and his hard chest peaks beneath, moving with his steady breaths. 

Your heart pounds against your chest at the sight of him, your mind reviewing your last lucid dream of this perfect man who spoke so few words and you knew that you would not dare to lie to him, dream or not. You chew your bottom lip and allow your tongue to wet it, taking slow steps towards him, counting in-between each step to resist throwing yourself at his feet. 

“What do you mean, my prince?” Your tone is controlled, but you can feel the heat in your cheeks. 

He hummed and you swear you saw the hint of a smile touch his lips. “You said you were a whore that my brother had sent,” he continued, taking deliberate steps to close the space between you two. 

Oh, that, you remember the exchange and were quick to say, “My prince,” lowering your lidded eyes. “I had only said that I had been sent for your pleasure,” your tone is coy and your arms cross below your chest to showcase the bit of cleavage allowed with the scoop neckline, noting the dilation of his lavender eye that roams your figure. “You made the assumption that I was just another one of your brother’s whores.” 

You now can see the curl of his lips and you sigh your relief. He steps closer and reaches his hand to touch your jaw; his touch elicits a physical response and goosebumps ripple over your body, your nipples peeking beneath your dress. His lavender eye drinks in your figure. “You never did tell me,” he murmured, his voice dark and velvet.

“I have been sent for your plea-” you tried to begin, but he was quick to cut you off.

“Where are you from?”

Your mind floods with a response: How do I explain I am from the 21st century and he is the figment of my sexy imagination? Your eyes remain locked on the prince and you struggle to control your voice, “I cannot say.” 

His expression is unreadable and his only reply is his low hum, then his hand grasps onto your hips, turning you and bringing your body flush against his chest. He nuzzles into your neck, pushing your hair aside so his mouth can suck and nip at the nape. His large hands grip onto your stomach and follow your curves, moving to the hem of your dress and pulling it to your hips.

You moan from his warm touch as his fingers trace the lace of your cotton thong and move towards your center, titillating your slit. You feel your clit pulsing from his touch and he hums again, hugging you close with one arm wrapping around your waist and his other hand cupping your cloth cunt; his hips roll against you and you can feel his bulge grind against your ass. 

“So fucking wet,” he groans against your neck and more goosebumps ripple in response. 

“Yes, my prince,” you say with your exhale, twisting to face him and find his lips. 

He opens his mouth to deepen the kiss and your tongue responds with long, languid movements to drink in the taste of his mouth. Your arms wrap around his neck, bruising your lips against his own, and his hands trail the curve of your hips and to your backside, feeling the bare flesh of your ass. His palm rises and slaps soundly against your skin; you squeal in response. “My prince!” You pull back, your cheeks and nose flushed from kissing.

“You act as if no other man has handled you this way,” he smirks. “Wherever you come from, do the men there make you feel a certain way?” 

Fuck me, I have never felt like this, but you feel shy with his question and instead say, “My prince, I have been searching for the pleasure you gave me and I have yet find anything that compares…”

Your answer is petting his ego, yes, but gods he was pretty. You did not expect him to speak further and your body pines to feel his touch, his lips once more. “And when you search to recreate,” his lips curl with his words, “the pleasure I gave you, did you use your hands?”

His tone is low, husky with his question and your cheeks burn when you nod yes. 

“Show me. I want you to touch yourself.”

Before you can comprehend what he said, his hands grab the small of your waist and bring you back towards the bed. He pushes you back, your dress still bunched around your hips, and climbs on top to find your lips for a slow, lingering kiss before moving lower to grab the lace strings to remove your thong.

The cool air nips at the wetness between your thighs and he brings your fingers to his mouth, suckling to lube them. Your back arches from the tickle of his tongue to your fingertips and you pull back your hand, letting it fall between to caress your swollen slit, your eyes never leaving him.

He takes a step back and moves his hands to unlace the top of his trousers, his hand reaching to caress his cock and his steady gaze never leaving you. It feels sinful and you feel the first crest of pleasure wash over, a soft sigh slipping from your lips. 

“Daor,” his voice pulls you from the edge, his gaze darkened on you. “Nyke mērī vestās renigon.”

No. I only said to touch. 

He pulls the loose tunic over his head, his silver hair spilling onto his shoulders and his leather trousers low on his hips, his Adonis belt prominent on his toned abdomen. He moves to press his hands onto the peaks of your thighs, pushing the dress further up and you are quick to peel off the rest in time to see him dip between your thighs. 

His mouth finds your center and you smother yourself in the bunched fabric of your dress as his tongue runs your slit. Aemond pauses and peers at you for a moment. “I need to hear you,” he says, his breath warm on your cunt and you are quick to throw the dress aside. 

He returns his attention, his tongue lavishing you; your hands are eager to comb his silken hair and he hums his pleasure into your cunt. Your moans grow wanton and the pleasure builds towards your crescendo when he stops suddenly.

You prop yourself onto your elbows to look at him and the curl of his lips seem wicked. “I have been waiting for you to return to me,” he said simply. “You will not have your release until I decide.”

Before you can protest, he moves quickly, his hands sink into your flesh with his hold and flipping you onto your stomach, drawing you closer towards the bed edge until your legs drop and your feet touch the cobblestone. You feel his chest press against your backside and the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance before he sinks into you. You moan with his delicious stretch and he gives a low groan as he bottoms out in you, falling forward and pressing his lips to your spine. 

“Just as I remember,” he growls, before his hands grab onto your hips and he ruts into you with a brutal pace. Your arms stretch in front to grab hold of anything as you feel him crash against you, his hip bones digging into the softness of your ass and reaching a depth that has your nipples taut with pleasure. 

“My prince,” your cries are pitiful and you can feel his breath on your spine.

“Ñuha brōzi,” his tone husky. “Vestragon ūja.”

My name. Say it.

“Aemond, please,” you obey, the crescendo building again and you see stars flitting across your vision. “Aemond, Aemond…” 

He can feel the flutter of your cunt but his pace does not cease until he feels you clenching, crying out as your orgasm rolls over your entire body; his thrusts slow with his release and he falls forward, wrapping his arms around you to hold you flush against him for a moment. 

You are torn between the fortune of another successful sexy dream and your realization that your subconscious has absolutely ruined your pussy, but you push the thoughts aside when he pulls you back beneath the covers. You curl up against the prince, your head resting against his chest while his fingertips travel the length of your spine and back. 

“You said I kept you waiting,” you say shyly.

He hums at first and then he says, “I imagine you will leave me again.”

“I will need to,” you feel an ache with your words. “But I will stay as long as I am able to.” 

Aemond hums again and turns to pull you against his chest. You feel the press of his lips to your hairline and feel the flush of goosebumps with the murmur of his words, “Sȳz riña.”

Good girl. 

#where is my mind #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x modern!reader #hotd fanfic #part 2 #thanks for reading #♥ #Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader #aemond fanfic

[arcielee]

Call It Dreaming

Author’s Note: Here is the masterlist of my Call It Dreaming series ♥ Just a convenient one stop for you all, my tumblr kindred spirits.  Update: Added the Aegon lucid dream! It may become a short series, we’ll see. Dividers are by @firefly-graphics​

Aemond Targaryen

Taste of It - part 1 Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Summary: You have a delightful sex dream. Warnings: Smutty smut, fingering, choking, language, p in v.

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Where is My Mind? - part 2 Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader   Summary: Modern!FemaleReader’s subconscious has ruined her pussy. Warnings: Smutty smut, masturbation, little bit of spanking, oral (fem receiving), p in v, language, drinking.  

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Each Coming Night - part 3 Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Summary: Is this the real life or is this just fantasy? Warnings: Smutty smut, smidgen of knife play, fingering, oral (female receiving), some spanking, p in v.

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The Past and the Pending - part 4 Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Summary: Aemond will find you and bring you the fuck back to Westeros. Warnings: Smutty smut, possessive Aemond (you know you love it, I do too, no judgement) dubcon, oral (female receiving), fingering, p in v, all the goodies.

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Just a World Away - part 5 Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Summary: Modern!FemaleReader has a choice to make. Warnings: Smutty smut, oral (male a receiving, female receiving), dubcon, possessive Aemond (since you all loved it, but you can call me kettle).

Aegon Targaryen

Pay No Mind - part 1 Summary: You have a delightful sex dream. AegonTargaryen x Modern!FemReader Warnings: Hints of voyeurism (thank you honey for this), oral (male receiving), p in v.

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Date With the Night - part 2 Summary: Aegon is obsessed with you and will do anything to keep you for himself. AegonTargaryen x Modern!FemReader Warnings: Masturbation, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, little bit of spit, and p in v.

arcie’s masterlist

#call it dreaming #aemond targaryen x reader #Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader #taste of it #where is my mind #each coming night #the past and the pending #are all songs from my playlist called indie sleeze #except for the finale #just a world away #thanks for reading #♥ #updated 5/5

[arcielee]

Date With the Night

Summary: Aegon is obsessed with you and will do anything to keep you for himself. Paring: AegonTargaryen x Modern!FemReader Word Count: 2763 Warnings: Masturbation, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, little bit of spit, and p in v.  Author's Note: Okay. So, this is going to be a short series set within the same timeline as Aemond and his Modern!FemaleReader. Thank you so much @f4ll-for-you​ and @squirmhoney​ for being my beta readers, my muses ♥  I hope you all enjoy! Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @sirenofavalon @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess​​ @babygirlyofthevale​ @randomdragonfires​ @httpsdoll​  Series: Call It Dreaming 

You were unsure how to explain to your friends that the heartbreak that your suffering seemingly evaporated overnight. The only one with any insight as to why was your roommate; she had burst into your room with smiles, wanting to verify that you finished the water she left you and her eyes rolled over you with the compliment on the collection of love bites that Aegon somehow left on your skin.

It did not make sense, you could not comprehend how your subconscious literally fucked away the name of whatever asshole you had dated. You slipped into the bathroom attached to your room and looked over the marks that decorated your neck and your chest.

You decided the day would be for recovery, nursing the slight hangover you had with lots of water, and that night you curled up to fall asleep, only to wake up in the dimly lit room that clearly belonged to a king. 

Aegon Targaryen and he was a man obsessed.

The morning after, he mourned his empty bed, rolling towards the side you had slept on and drinking in your fragrance, his mind recalling the softness of your skin and the hint mixture of something floral with vanilla. He felt drunk on the memory of you and fucked his first to completion, with your name spilling from his lips like a fervent prayer. 

That evening, he called a Cargyll knight to accompany him to scrounge every inch of Flea Bottom; Ser Erryk made a face, but could only agree with a reluctant, “Yes, your grace.” 

They slipped through every alley, visiting every brothel and stopping every whore in search of you, only to return to the Red Keep empty handed. Aegon felt defeated, refusing Lord Larys’ offer of any cunt within the kingdom. Instead, he wished for quiet and for wine, demanding the pitcher to be left for him. The handmaiden was quick to fill his goblet and leave the king; he sensed her trepidation but he had no appetite for flesh or food, so instead he drank. 

This is how you found him. 

You were confused at first, but brightened at the sight of Aegon. He had been sulking in a chair and straightened when he heard you say his name, the sweetest sound to his ears. His pupils swallowed the lilac of his eyes as they washed over your figure, hidden beneath an oversized shirt that was barely long enough to touch the peaks of your thighs, your face flushed with your smile. 

He bound from the chair like a man starved, pressing against you and his lips crashing against your own. “You came back to me,” he moaned and your tongue curled into his mouth, tasting the same bittersweet wine as before. His large palms roamed your curves, falling to your hips and grabbing into them, crushing you closer to his chest. 

Your sigh was as sweet as your voice and Aegon adored how your body reacted to his touch, to his kiss, how you arched against him until you were flushed against his chest. His face nuzzled into the curve of your shoulder to your neck, the feeling of his lips, of how his teeth bit into the flesh sent the shiver of goosebumps that rippled over you. 

“I must taste you,” he hummed into your neck, between his sloppy kisses. He took a staggered step backwards, dragging you towards the bed. “I must have you,” he nearly whined. 

His palms were warm and clammy when they grabbed onto your hips again, twirling you to face him, a quick kiss to your lips before he pushed you back against the mattress. You were gleeful, a giggle spilling from your lips that stopped when you noticed his stare. 

You pushed up to your elbows and looked at him. “What is it?” 

Aegon looked at you for a moment and his tongue wet his lips. “Tell me, what are these called?” he groaned the question, his fingers reaching to touch the thick lace of your thong you wore underneath your nightshirt. 

You giggled again, remembering how he lusted over your modern underwear the last time. “It is a thong,” you told him, reaching to grab the hem of his shirt and pulling him until your lips nearly touched. “It is a kind of… undergarments, from my world.” 

His brow quirked like an internal debate to question the latter half of the sentence. However, lust won over in that moment once he felt the lace beneath the pads of his fingers and he surged against you, his hot mouth finding your own. 

You moaned into the kiss as he deepened it, an urgency to taste you and his tongue clever. His hand grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, your nipples pebbling in the cool night air. You lay back onto the bed and his lips set to worship your body, his large palm cupping your breast to latch onto the soft flesh leaving a flush of pinks and reds as his mouth continued over your curves. 

His fingers curled into the lace and he carefully pulled away your thong, dipping forward to trail kisses towards your center. You feel the shiver of pleasure run the length of your spine, blossoming at the base and its sinuous spill into your lower abdomen from the tentative licks of his tongue. He moaned into your cunt, drunk off your taste that was as intoxicating as your scent.

You whined with the stretch of his finger, then another added, curling within your warmth wet and pressing deep within. You mewled in response, trying to shift your weight, but his other palm clasped onto your hip to hold you in place, his eyes dark and watchful with his probing, searching until he found that sweet spot that caused your eyes to roll into the back of your head, your back arching into his fevered touch. 

Aegon hummed and finger fucked you to the precipice of your release; you nearly cried when he pulled away, the flutter of your velvet walls as you watched him lick his fingers clean. “I wish to feel your pleasure,” he murmured darkly, unlacing the ties of his trousers, “but only around my cock.” 

“Aegon,” you breathed and he leaned forward, his lips silencing you and you felt his length pressing against the softness of the inside of your thigh; you moaned at the touch.

He hovered over you and his smugness displayed on his wine stained lips, then tilted his head forward to allow a line of his saliva to break from his mouth and onto your cunt. You whimpered when his fingers pressed to mix his spit with your arousal, his hand then grabbing his shaft and his head running the slickness of your folds, relishing with how you squirmed beneath him. 

“You are beautiful,” his voice was low, lust laden, “with how desperate you are for my cock.” 

You moaned as he sunk into you, the stretch, his girth that filled you so completely. “You take me so well,” he murmured. 

You felt his hold on your hips and his pace was brutal; his hips snapped against you, his eyes watchful as you unraveled beneath him, wanton with your cries and clenching with your peak. Aegon pulled back with a guttural groan, the pearly ropes of his own release across your stomach. 

There is almost a tenderness with the after care, how he peeled off his shirt and wiped you clean. His hands would not leave you, out of his desire for you but also out of fear that you will leave again, which you assumed that you would. 

But you returned the following night and the one after, unsure as to what brought you to Westeros but eager to fall into his arms again, enjoying how they wrapped around your abdomen, crushing you against his body, his pleading whispers into the soft divot beneath your jawline, “Why must you leave me? Why can’t you stay with me?” 

His lovely lilac eyes are red rimmed from the lack of sleep with your late night rendezvous as well as the wine you knew he over indulged as he waited for your return. There was the fraying desperation that boiled beneath his skin as he struggled, and failed, to keep his hold on you in King’s Landing. 

“Aegon,” your voice is soft, gentle to remind him, “I do not belong in your world.” 

“Neither do I,” and he meets your lips with a crushing kiss that draws the very breath from your lungs, as if you are the lifeline to his own sanity. 

Each night would end the same, the insatiable fucking that left a delightful ache between your thighs and him so cuntstruck but still in want for more. He would pull your bare body against his own beneath the covers and sprinkled kisses over your features, you giggling with how it tickled partnered with his end of day stubble. 

For him, every sound you made was musical. “Stay with me,” he begged again. 

Your fingers rested on his jaw, your thumb pressing gently onto the mole on his chin. It was an exhausting topic between you both, one where you could not even give any insight as to how you ended up here to begin with, or if it was even fucking real. Every night was spent entangled in his embrace and the next morning you would wake back in your bed, naked and missing yet another pair of your underwear. 

Instead you kissed him and he responded hungrily; his large palms pulled you closer still and you felt how he hardened once again, how it pressed into the softness of your stomach and the trill of pleasure that curled in your core. You shifted when his arm snaked around your abdomen, pulling your backside to be flushed against his bare chest and his cock pressing against your ass.  

Aegon nuzzled into your neck with sweet kisses, the warmth of his tongue that ran from the curve of your neck to your earlobe, a soft nip as his hand dipped between your thighs. “So wet for me already,” his exhale was warm and tickled your skin. 

The pads of his fingertips moved with familiar precision, knowing your intimate touches and he relished with your visceral response, your breathy sighs. You moved your hips back to press against and he bit into your shoulder, his groan a low vibration and it made your skin rise. His hand moved to slip his length between the warm flesh of your thighs, a rhythmic rubbing against your slick slit. 

It was slow, allowing him to caress every inch of your body, pulling you so close you felt his heart beating against your backside. He pushed against your entrance and you gave a shuddered sigh; his palm had its hold on your hip and the steady thrust of his hips until he sheathed inside you, his breath bated between your shoulder blades and your mewled cries in response to how he hit that sweet spot within you. 

That next morning, Aegon woke up and saw that his bed was empty and his frustration spilled from his seams, throwing the bedsheets aside, storming around his chambers as the servants scampered underfoot, trying to help him begin his day. His skin felt agitated, aflame with the touch of their hands and he barked at them all to leave the room, then a bellowed demand that he must speak with his brother.

Aemond will know what to do.

Instead the Lord Commander came into his room and informed him that Prince Aemond had left yesterday for Harrenhal and had yet to return. 

His witch, Aegon remembered. 

Sunfyre soared above the Red Keep and westward until he heard the roar of his brother’s dragon. Vhagar was waiting on the shores of the God’s Eye, the large, reptilian eyes watchful as he abandoned his dragon and moved inside the castle, following the thick smell of sage that led towards the throne room. He found the witch perched on the throne, with a mortar cupped in one hand and a pestle in her other; there was a white chalked design that stretched in front of where she sat.

Her eyes were bright beneath the smeared, dark kohl and her painted smile was almost knowing, as if she expected him to show. “My king,” she almost purred. “How may I be of service?” 

Aegon balked for the words, unsure of where to begin. “I am looking for someone,” he finally said.

“And she is not of this world?” She finished with the curl of her lips, pushing from the cracked throne and moving past him, towards a large oak table to set down her herbs. 

His brows raised in response but he remembered something Aemond had mentioned about her, she sees much and more. “I am unsure where she is or how I can find her…” 

Her Riverland accent was thick and cut him off, “I would need something of hers, to find your woman.” 

Aegon pulled out a pair of your laced underwear, unabashed, and Alys just watched him, her eyes blinking slowly before she took it from him and dropped it onto a marble slate. “My king,” she searched through the collection of glass vials, plucking one filled with a lavender powder that she sprinkled on top of the fabric; there was a small burst of flame and she continued, “I know she is not of this world. There is a portal, something bridged between our world and hers. I cannot allow it to stay open, as my path is meant for this change of events, so you will not have long to return–” 

“I will not be returning.”

She stopped and looked up to see his eyes that now burned with a renewed passion, his want for you. “I am unsure where Aemond is,” he continued, “but I need you to give this to him.” And he removed the conqueror’s crown and placed it on the table, amongst the vials of her makeshift alchemy. “He was meant for this role and I trust he will be a fair king until Jaehaerys is of age.” 

Alys said nothing, but only hummed as she returned her attention to the table and picked up a piece of chalk. She kneeled to the cobblestone and moved her arm to retrace the lines; when she finished, she faced him as she wiped her hands together. “Once you step through this portal, you will be unable to return to Westeros, my king.” 

“Yes, you mentioned that already,” his tone was irritable with how she repeated her words, presenting it as if he was making a poor choice or her form of judgment.  

In truth, it could be viewed as such, but it was a choice that was his to make. The weighted responsibility was heavy on his shoulders, always unwelcomed, always unwanted with how it affected every aspect of his life. Growing up, he often shirked the burden to his brother, with the hopeless dream to sail away to Pentos, Issos, somewhere, anywhere across the sea to be rid of the politicking of King’s Landing, his damn Targaryen bloodline. 

Instead, he had been dragged to the Iron Throne and the ancestral crown placed on top of his head curled his spine with the weight of the duty, the expectancy that gleamed in the rubies that decorated it. Even after the war was won, with Rhaenyra and Daemon tried and executed, he found what he said remained true: he had no wish to rule, no taste for duty. 

He was not suited for this life.

Aegon knew this was the better option for all involved. He would leave and allow his sister Helaena the peace she wished for, as she did not desire him or their false marriage, and he hated the forced action that was required for the sake of an heir to the Iron Throne. His mother would grieve, perhaps, but soon she would gloat when the crown was rightfully placed upon Aemond’s head; he was meant to wear the crown, he had shouldered the lessons and the responsibilities, and Aegon knew this. 

And Daeron, well, he could not really remember much of him anyway. 

“Please tell my brother that this is for the best,” Aegon watched the witch. 

Alys nodded, the shimmer of her glossy, dark hair with the deft motion. “Of course, my king.” 

He stepped forward and left Westeros behind. 

#aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x modern!femalereader #aegon targaryen x modern!femreader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii fanfic #hotd au #call it dreaming #date with the night

[arcielee]

Alone, Together

Pairing: modern Aegon Targaryen x FemaleReader   Summary: You did not mean to get tipsy, but Aegon takes care of you.   Warnings: Alcohol consumption, mentions of rehab, but this is purely fluff.   Word Count:  1619 Author’s Note: This was inspired by my muse @f4ll-for-you​, thank you for being my beta reader and helping me find structure to this. ♥ This was kind of foreshadowed with an exchanged look between Jace and Cregan in Wait So Long.  Just another continuation to my not-really-a-series series about modern Aegon. I write him as more of a golden retriever bf after he has successfully completely the rehabilitation and therapy that poor bb desperately needed. Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond​ @sirenofavalon​ @annikin-im-panicin​ @watercolorskyy​ @schniiipsel​ @sylas-the-grim​ @aemondx​ @fan-goddess​ @babygirlyofthevale​ @httpsdoll​ @theromanticegoist​

“How drunk do you think they will be?”

Aegon assumed very, especially after Baela took charge for the bachelorette celebration. Though you never really drank often, if ever, as you found the taste of alcohol to be too much unless craftily mixed to hide the liquor entirely, Baela would be well aware and nothing would stop her from celebrating her dear friend getting engaged. You felt hesitant, but Aegon smiled and gave you a kiss with the simple instruction, “Go, have fun.” 

You left with your friends and Cregan, Jace, the Cargylls and his brothers all came over to the apartment, an informal hang out while Baela sent updates throughout the night: the drag show you went to, the meal at your favorite restaurant, the farewell toast of fruity beverages to your single life. 

The proposal had been unexpected for only you. Aegon had purchased the ring when he left the center, knowing full well that life was done for him and that you, with absolute certainty, were his future. He hoped to create a romantic moment, but instead it came when he had opened the door one evening and saw you in the kitchen. You were wearing one of his shirts and mismatched socks, your hair mostly pulled back with your bangs framing your rosy complexion as you focused on the task at hand. 

“It’s pasta,” you called over your shoulder, before turning and allowing him to see the apron you wore over his shirt, how it cinched your slender waist and the access fabric that spilled over. “The sauce is simmering, but do you mind tasting it and seeing if it needs more–”

“Marry me.”

You met with his eyes and he closed the space between you, his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you against his chest for a kiss that drew the breath from your lungs. When he broke away, you were stunned and still had your hand wrapped around the spoon you used to stir the sauce. “Aegon, what…?” 

“We should get married,” his smile stretched across his jawline, his eyes bright with his words. “If you will have me, I want you to be my wife.”

You stammered your response. “A-are you sure about this?” It was a subject you left alone, mostly because of the torment he carried from the dysfunctional relationship between his mother and father when his father was still alive, but you did not mind. You loved him, you always had, and you knew he was yours.

Aegon burned for you. “I am sure,” and he pulled out a velvet box to reveal a ring, taking your hand into his own and slipping it onto your finger. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Your friend group was thrilled that Aegon had asked, that it finally was happening, and Baela threw herself into preparations, while Aegon and the boys had a more relaxed approach to their evening. He enjoyed having everyone at the apartment, with the retro console Jace brought that refueled a rivalry since their childhood. 

Even Aemond came that night, bringing his usual quiet reserve; as they watched Daeron and Jace needle at one another, with Cregan trying his best to referee, Aemond pulled Aegon aside. “You seem really happy,” his voice low with the congratulations.

His smile beamed in response and he showed Aemond the latest photo sent of you laughing, gleeful. “I am,” and he wrapped his arm around his brother.

“She brings out the best in you,” Aemond added, his brow raised. 

“I like to think so,” Aegon wet his lips. “Be my best man?”

His lips curled slightly, the hint of a smile that Aegon always searched for and cherished. “Of course.” 

The night waned away and Aegon noticed his phone screen lit up with a text message, we have arrived. He announced it to his friends and they filed out of the apartment, in search of the drunken return of the girls, bounding down the flight of stairs. 

Out front he saw Baela and Rhaena trying to coax you from the car.

“Sweetie, we are home,” Rhaena kneeled in front of the open door, her tone honeyed. Aegon peered over to see how you were sitting crossed legged, holding your shoes and purse against your chest, your eyes wide and glassy. “Don’t you want to go upstairs?”

“I can’t,” your voice was small, tear laced, and Aegon watched you carefully, perched behind Rhaena’s shoulder. “I am so drunk, I cannot walk. I cannot…Aeg cannot see me like this.”

Aegon smiled to himself, touching Rhaena’s elbow, who graciously stepped aside. “Hey, pretty girl,” his low timbre was a balm to your boozed soul, your cheeks warming from his voice. “Come out of the car and let me take you back to our bed.”

You were embarrassed, shy almost, but reached for his hand and he turned around. “Be my backpack, hm?” he called over his shoulder and you wrapped your limbs around him like he was your lifeline. Baela gave a quick kiss to Jace, grabbing your purse and shoes to follow, with her promise to be right back. 

Aegon was careful with you, as always, and you nestled your face between his shoulder blades, enjoying the smell of fresh laundry and that cologne you had gotten for him. Baela grabbed each door and deposited your belongings on the kitchen counter, petting your golden retriever on top of his head, and calling goodbye over her shoulder when she left.

He placed you onto the couch and you giggled as Sunfyre tried to lick your toes; Aegon returned from the kitchen, shooing Sunfyre from your side and handing you a glass of water. “Hydrate,” he said, sinking next to you and watching as you took the glass, gripping it with both hands.

“Are you mad at me?”

His brow quirked with your question. “No, why would I be? Actually,” he gently touched beneath the glass and lifted it towards your lips, “please drink this and then answer me.” 

You took a comically large gulp and he could not help but smile again, but it faded quickly when he noticed your glassy eyes. “What’s wrong, pretty girl?” he asked as he took the half full glass from your hands and set it on the coffee table. 

“I did not want to be so drunk, Aeg, but they had strawberry,” your words babbled like a brook with your confessions, spilling from your red stained lips. “I only wanted to hang out with my friends and celebrate, but the strawberries were so tasty…”

Strawberry jello shots, Baela had warned him in the texts along with the following, my bad. 

The strawberry jello stained your lips, your tongue exceptionally pink as you continued, “I did not want to be drunk and come home…you have been amazing, Aeg, truly, and I feel like I am throwing it in your face!”

“Hey,” his voice was low, soothing, as he cupped your cheeks to bring your focus to him. “I’m fine, I promise you,” he smiled with his words, his thumbs wiping the large tears that spilled from the corners of your eyes. “I am 3 years sober and I have you to thank for that. You have seen me at my absolute worst and helped me through it. Now I have a moment where I can take care of you and your strawberry, giggling, crying mess–this is the least I could do.” 

You hiccupped again. “I’m a mess?”

You sounded childlike and Aegon could not help but laugh, bringing your face in and kissing you softly. “Yes, but you are my beautiful mess,” he paused for a moment, a playful grin curling on his lips. “Mrs. Mess, actually.”

You groaned but smiled, “Gods, Aeg, you are so cheesy.” 

“Ah, fair, but you remember that you said yes,” he reminded you, “so, you cannot take it back now.”

Your expression is almost somber when you look at him, your eyes wet and wide to take him in. “I never would.” 

The genuineness in your tone made him blush and his throat bobbed with a swallow as he pulled away to stand, reaching his hand back to take your own. “Come on, pretty girl,” and he pulled you to stand up, his other hand on your hip as you found your balance. 

You glowed with your smile towards him and he felt it permeate through his rib cage, curling with its warmth in his chest. He placed a hand on each hip bone and helped guide you towards the bed; there was a struggle to remove the dress that poured over your curves, but only after Aegon agreed to give you the shirt he was currently wearing. “It smells like you,” you explained as he peeled it off. 

You tried to kiss him, a deep kiss that would taste like strawberries, and as much as he wished to melt into you, he remained chaste with your advances, the inkling in the back of his mind that he would rather you be sober. Instead, he retrieved the glass of water, which you finished and then immediately announced that you had to use the restroom, and he waited outside the door to bring you back to the bed. 

He crawled beneath the covers and you curled against his chest, Sunfyre bouncing up and laying on your legs. Aegon drew small circles on your back until your breathing was steady, and he continued still; his eyes fell to your sleeping form, your features highlighted by the city lights that spilled through the blinds, and he could not stop the smile that curled on his lips with the thought, Mrs. Mess.

modern Aegon masterlist // Arcie’s masterlist

#modern aegon #aegon #aegon targaryen #hotd modern au #modern aegon targaryen x female!reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x you #this is just fluff #alone together

[arcielee]

To Build a Home

Summary: You are a broken soul and he can recognize it.  Paring: modern Aegon Targaryen x FemaleReader Word Count: 3083 Warnings: Mentions of household abuse, night terrors and coping with anxiety, but then there will be fluff, oh yes indeed.   Author’s Note: Huge shout out to @sirenofavalon​ for this request, it is absolutely brilliant and I just adored it. Thank you!  A huge thank you to @aspen-carter​ and @f4ll-for-you​ for being my beta readers, to Dais especially. You are my muse and I appreciate the ideas you poured into this story, to help me with the outline to create this piece. I cannot thank you enough for you being you. 💜💛 Anyway, I hope you all enjoy.  Taglist (my Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond​ @annikin-im-panicin​​ @watercolorskyy​ @schniiipsel​ @aspen-carter​ @aemondx​ @fan-goddess​

Helaena had the tendency to collect things; some were intolerable, like her entomology infatuation, and others were more manageable. At school, she was a beacon of warmth and acceptance, accumulating friends from every social group and often bringing them home. Some would stay for a while and move on, still friendly with hallway run-ins, but others needed a savior, an escape. 

Those were the ones who stayed, knitted at her side.

You were quiet as a result of growing up in a violent household, where the tempers were an unbridled heat that searched for any release. As a result, your steps were soft, your movements always slow; it was a skilled trepidation as you were unwilling, unwanting of any attention to be brought to you. 

Helaena had always been sweet enough to sit with you during lunch. You remembered when she sat at your side and asked about the book you were reading. Usually, it was a shield, a way to hide in plain sight, but her lilac eyes were kind and you bookmarked your place to talk with her. It continued through the week, she was always entertained with your summary or reviews of whatever book you had, the different genres of fiction that captured your attention, and you thought her bugs were both peculiar and fascinating. 

She invited you to spend the night and you were able to get permission, both a rarity and relief; that Friday, you waited with Helaena and her two older brothers for their mother, who she kindly asked for you to call her Alicent, to come pick you up. 

The ride was wonderful, as anything that took you away from your home was; you bonded with Aemond over a shared love of literature and learned that you and Aegon were in the same grade, though your schedules were off-kiltered as a result of him failing some classes. 

The Targaryen home was large and welcoming. You saw only one family photo and learned their father had died, but he was not grieved like a love lost, but it almost seemed to be an unspoken relief that washed over the household. 

The evening was spent sprawled in the living room, playing video games until dinner was ready; the meal time was spent in a raucous debate over what film would be watched before bed. Though it was good natured, you felt yourself begin to wither under the raised voices when suddenly Aegon announced it would be The Never Ending Story.

“It is a classic,” he said with a finality to end the discussion.

Later that night, Alicent was on the couch with Daeron, another and even younger brother, while the rest were in a nest of blankets and pillows on the living room floor. It was your first real taste of a family setting and you fell asleep with a smile and the subtle ache knowing you inevitably would have to return home. 

–

Aegon was always a light sleeper; there was an inability to shut his brain off. His mind seemed to flit over anything and everything, which he did his best to explain to his father when he was alive, again to his grandfather, and was met with their adamant words that he was just not applying himself. 

He felt at ease, an unfamiliar but welcomed emotion, nestled amongst his siblings and you, the newest addition, each tucked away in a bundle of blankets on the floor. Aegon began to teeter the edge of unconsciousness when he heard it. 

A soft whimper, a quiet cry. 

He shifted to move, careful not to disturb Aemond or Helaena with her cocoon of pillows; he crept to where you were sleeping, or trying too. He saw your brows were knitted and your lips parted with another muted cry, tears catching on your lashes. Aegon was careful with his touch, just his hand to your shoulder and even this caused your eyes to open wide with fear, grabbing his wrist. 

“Hey, it’s just me,” Aegon whispered. “It’s Aegon and you’re staying at our house, remember?” 

You trembled with a visceral fear and it was something he unfortunately recognized; his mind flitted to earlier with the friendly discourse of what movie to watch, then to when his father was alive or whenever their grandfather would visit. Aegon moved to lay next to you and you shifted to curl against his chest; he made soft, soothing sounds that led into a melody, a few bars sung with his low timbre. He started another without you asking and did not stop until you drifted back into a more peaceful sleep. 

He hummed a bit longer, allowing his eyes to take you in with the dim lighting of the room. He watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest, enjoyed the warmth of you pressed against his chest. He also saw the muted purple and green of your jawline, a healing bruise. 

Aegon was careful to pull away and retreated back to his pillows and blankets, still humming the song. 

–

The next day, you woke up to breakfast being prepared, the clatter of pots and pans, the low baritone of Aemond giving commands and Daeron’s higher pitch quipping back, and the musical laughter of Alicent over it all. You shied away to clean up in the guest bathroom, the careful application of makeup to hide what waited at home, before coming back to the hallway and bumping into Helaena. 

Your new friend has the warmest smile, something that glowed from the kindness that seemed to resonate from her. “Hey, I already asked my mother and, if it is okay with your’s, you are welcome to stay with us for the weekend. We can take you to school on Monday.”  

What you did not know was Aegon grabbing his sister, a hushed whisper of his concern when he relayed the nightmare you had, the injury he swore he saw. She listened, nodding her head and telling him, “I assume it was something. I’ll ask mom if she can stay with us for the rest of the weekend.” 

You learned that your family does not miss you, they only mind you when you are home; it was easy enough for you to stay away and it was expressed that you were welcomed to return, weekend after weekend. During the school week, you had lunches with Helaena and sometimes her brothers would stop by, though you would see Aegon checking in more often than Aemond. On Fridays, your bag was already packed and you would wait with Helaena and her brothers for Alicent to come and take you home. 

It was an unspoken gesture that the guest room became yours; Alicent showed you the cleared out drawers and closet space, her sweet smile encouraging you to leave behind a change of clothes or even your school uniform, whatever you would need to feel more at home. You struggled with the words to thank her and she gave you a hug, a way to say no words were needed.

The space intimately becomes your own and you are pleased to realize your wall is shared with Aegon and his room. The years continued, with secondary school nearing its end and with graduation looming, you and Aegon would spend more time together; he would slip into your room for a late night talk, your shared whispers of what was next to come.

You knew you slept better at the Targaryen’s than your own home, but your nightmares would still come with its sickening hold that sunk into your chest, with a fear that paralyzed you and choked your tongue. It was always the same, how you would run and run, without an end in sight, but aware that if you stopped, it would finally be able to sink its hold into you…

You woke up, in the spare bed placed in the spare bedroom that was unspokenly yours. You felt his warm touch, your mind clearing and allowing you to recognize the comfort noises from Aegon and you blushed once you understood you were in his arms, yet again. You trembled still, but it was a mixture of the lingering fear and newfound relief that the nightmare ended; you let out a shaky exhale.

His fingers curled under your chin and you tilted your head back to meet with his eyes. “Hey,” he smiled at you and you felt your blush deepen. 

“H-hey,” you stammered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I was awake already.” 

It was something you had noticed, how restless he seemed to be in his own room. You wanted to ask what kept him awake, but instead you say. “Aegon, would you please sing my song?”

He shifted his weight, allowing you to reposition; Aegon laid on his back, his head propped on the pillow and you curled against his chest, like always. 

Helaena was your dear friend, perhaps your best friend, but Aegon was something special. With your frequent stay-overs, you learned that he would always be there when you woke up, wearing his warm smile with a song perched on his tongue; his soothing voice helped ease you back into reality, a sung promise that in this moment you were safe within the walls that held you. 

His songs were uniquely his own, his voice amazing, like a balm for your broken soul. It was what was needed to lull you back to sleep, without the terror when you closed your eyes, but this time, you forced yourself to remain awake. “Does your family know you sing like this?” You whispered into his chest. 

You can feel him shake his head and you peered up to see the tussle of his silver locks. “This is something only for you,” and he smiled, pulling you closer to his chest. 

Aegon smelled rich, but you knew it was a cologne that Alicent picked out and it mixed well with the scent of clean laundry and his own comforting scent. You wrapped your arm around his stomach, nestling into the warmth he always seemed to exude; he tensed at first, then exhaled. “I never recognize what you sing to me,” you continued and it is something of a question. 

“It’s the music that plays in my head,” is his vague answer. He always shied away when you complimented his natural talent, always groaning or blushing whenever you praised his singing. 

“Is the music what keeps you up?” 

He hummed a noncommittal reply, so instead you shyly request him to sing you another song and, as always, he obliges you. You can feel the vibration where your head was laying on his chest, his voice able to bring you back to sleep. 

You always slept soundly at his side. 

–

Graduation comes and you both have enrolled into the same university, but by your own means; Aegon has his trust fund and you, proudly, have your scholarships earned. You shared your concern about finding a place to stay and he was quick to suggest that you roomed with him, since his grandfather was paying for his housing as a means for redemption. 

The Targaryens were always gracious to you and seemed aware of your home life, though you never dared breath a word about it; you should have known he would offer. 

You hesitated; to be his roommate would be effortless, your friendship had grown over the years and his presence allowed you to feel comfortable, made you feel safe. The two of you shared a bond, something his family was aware of but only Helaena would dare tease you; in truth, you cherished the friendship, but you found yourself wanting something more and were too afraid to ask for it. 

Aegon was undeniably handsome, with his bright eyes and his smile that filled the width of his jaw, his mussed silver locks that framed his face. Though he never seemed interested in anyone, the thought lingered with you, he will inevitably get a girlfriend, and then what would you do? 

You swallowed that thought and agreed to it; to celebrate, you purchased him a small, leather bound journal and left it with a note on his bed, in his new room: 

A place where you can store your music and maybe find some sleep.

Together, you both create the apartment into a space that is all your own. Your schedules are listed and you both make sure to recap your days, relishing in each other’s victories. When Aegon came home with a guitar in hand, you glowed with your excitement, the idea of what he would create next. 

His laughter was a sound that filled your chest. “I don’t even know how to play it yet!”

“Yes, but you are talented and brilliant,” you argued, your cheeks rosy from your smile. “So I trust you will be amazing.” 

His talent seemed natural enough and the acoustic sounds complemented his voice in a way that you now craved. Your nightmares were not as frequent, but it seemed to be replaced with an anxiety that had you in a chokehold; it came with the stress of your courses and you pushed yourself to maintain the grades needed that allowed your scholarships. 

Aegon always seemed aware when it began to grab ahold of you and he would be in your door frame, with his guitar in hand. You smiled and moved to your bed, allowing him your seat, and he would show you what he had been learning, his voice able to loosen anxiety’s grip. 

“Aegon,” you sighed one day. “You really should play the next time they do an open mic at the coffee shop. You are so talented.” 

“That is your opinion,” he grinned in return, setting the guitar to lean against your desk. “Maybe if I had a cult following, all who shared your opinion, I could make something with it.” 

“A cult following would be easy enough,” and you meant your tone to be teasing. “Honestly, you can easily get any girl you want, if you actually tried.”

The silence was heavy, almost palpable between the two of you; it was something you had never experienced with him before. It was supposed to be a joke amongst friends, but you wished you could scoop up the words and swallow them. 

He watched you, carefully, his beautiful eyes seemed to trace over your features, but you assumed he did not wish to meet with your stare. You were holding your breath, unsure if you needed to break the silence building or allow him to do it, and it went too long.

Aegon stood up, one hand combed through his silver waves and the other pulled the leather bound journal you gifted him, setting it on the desk. He did not say anything, but instead grabbed the guitar and retreated to his room, leaving your door open. 

You looked at the journal and your eyes trailed to the now empty door frame; you waited for him to come back. He doesn’t and you push from the bed, reaching to pick it up and standing still, debating on what you should do next. 

His handwriting fits him, a cursive hybrid scrawl of letters, as if he struggled to keep with the thoughts that spilled from his mind to the paper. You find every page was nearly filled, front and back, with a poetry pose that flowed; the subject, his words had a theme and the realization had you crimson. 

It was you. 

You fell back to sit on the edge of your bed, thinking and replaying every intimate moment shared, how it transcribed to his written words and how you had been blind to understand the meaning behind his words sung. You classified what you two shared as friendship, frightened to try for something else, especially when it had seemed unattainable before, but now…

The one consistent thing was that Aegon was your peace, he was your comfort personified with his beautiful, bright eyes and the smile that would pluck the strings of your heart with every song he had ready on his lips. You appreciated him and you were scared to ever ask for something more, to push him for something and he would pull away and be lost to you. 

You now held his journal, in his own words you finally understood from his perspective, he was the one carrying feelings that were unreciprocated but he had contentment to be a friend for you and nothing more, if it allowed him to forever be a part of your life. 

Your grip ached your fingers, a renewed passion that burned away the anxiety that hid in the shadows, and you stood up again, your each step determined, but still soft. His door was closed, but you see his light is on and pooled below; your nails gently tapped and you heard his muffled acknowledgement. 

Aegon was laying face down on his bed, his face buried in his pillow but he twisted to face you. His eyes met with yours and he was quick to sit upright, a look of recognition to his features.

He always seemed to be so aware of you.

“Aegon,” you breathed, a smile on your lips and the realization you had no word prepared with your semi-grand entrance. Your eyes looked around his room, an organized mess to his belongings and his scent touching everything. You realized you always allowed him into your space, but never asked to venture into his own. 

He pushed himself from the bed and moved towards you, watchful of your response as he drew closer. 

He was always astutely aware, respectful of your boundaries that you set with your subtle mannerisms. He saw your stance, how your hands were white with the hold on his journal, how your tongue wet your lips as you struggled for the words. “I… need to get you a new journal. This one is nearly full.”

His smile is warm and kind, as always. “I always have inspiration, so I am full of ideas.” 

You hummed. “Could I… I always sleep better with you at my side. Do you mind if I sleep in your bed tonight?”

Aegon looked at you and your heart melted within your chest, unable to collect itself when he closed the distance between you. His hands were careful to cup your jaw, rough from the calluses of guitar strings but still gentle, and he pressed his lips to your own.

#aegon targaryen #modern aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x female reader #modern hotd au #sweet aegon fluff #to build a home

[arcielee]

Freedom Song

modern Aegon Targaryen x FemaleReader   Summary: Your boyfriend impresses his family when you all go out for karaoke.  Warnings: Mentions of rehab, but this is purely fluff.   Word Count:  1284 Author’s Note: This story is dedicated to my muse @f4ll-for-you​ ♥ A huge thank you to her and @aspen-carter​ for beta reading this story. This idea was inspired by the lovely @foxee-writes​​ who was gracious to let me write this drabble. I just wanted to continue to add to my not-really-a-series series about modern Aegon. I write him as more of a golden retriever bf after he has successfully completely the rehabilitation and therapy that poor bb desperately needed.

For you, Aegon was an open book; he was animated when he talked, but with his silence, his mannerisms were flags to indicate what brewed behind his beautiful lavender eyes. 

You watched his hands and their blatant tics of agitation, from drumming his fingers against the inside of your thighs and how it evolved into the rapid bounce of his leg; he scratched the underside of his jaw, a seemingly ceaseless itch that came with the beard he was allowing to come in. 

He hated to be halted, so you did not rest your hand on his knee but moved to take his palm into your own, your touch gentle and it allowed his attention to return to the little lobby the two of you waited in. Aegon turned his head and you watched as his lilac eyes refocused onto you. 

“Hey,” you said with a smile.

His relief was visceral and he reached his other hand, interlacing his fingers with your own. 

We fit so perfectly together, he had said to you when he first held your hand, the memory of his words brought a rose color to your cheeks.

His own smile spread across and with his exhale, you watched some of the tension lift from his shoulders. “Hey,” he said back to you, the low crack of his voice. 

“We do not have to do this,” you offered him an escape. “We can always go home…” 

He pursed his lips into a line and shook his head so that his silver waves moved with. “I have already missed too many birthdays and I need to make amends. Besides,” his eyes flit over the karaoke lounge, sparsely filled and drawing in the colors of the RGB lights overhead. “This is something Daeron really wants to do, so I will do this,” and he squeezed your hand, his other hand reaching into his pocket. “Besides, I want to show them this.”

It was his sobriety chip to celebrate his eleventh month mark and you could not have been more proud. 

It was little larger than a half dollar and was the reminder of the dark times that were, but also how it too shall pass. He held onto it, something he could fidget with when his anxiety flared up, but it also was a medal of honor, a token of proof to show that he had persevered and would continue just that. 

The peace continued when he saw it was only his mother and siblings who showed up; his father was not in the best of health and had little energy to much of anything these days, and his grandfather was too wrapped up in maintaining what his father could not do.

You felt relieved. His mother, Alicent as she asked you to call her, obviously loved her son, but her father would get into her head about how it was best to raise them, and his siblings were aware of his shortcomings, but loved Aegon still in their very unique way. 

Daeron bubbled with excitement, in part because he loved to sing but you also imagined he took pleasure in the discomfort of his older brothers, Aemond and Aegon. Aemond was a silent force, with a severe expression and dark clothes, his eye looking over their surroundings as they were led into the rented booth. And Helaena was rosy, her excitement glittered in her eyes with the prospect to sing her heart out, also aware of the discomfort for her brothers and wilfully ignoring it. 

They took their seats and Daeron bounded to the stage, choosing some pop song and singing along. Aemond, long and lean, sank into a corner part of the couch, legs stanced wide and his gaze solemn, as always. Alicent and Helaena were seated together and you leaned back into the couch, watching Aegon pour over the log of songs available on the tablet; his brow furrowed and his lips moved wordless as he read through the titles, the light from the screen highlighting his handsome features.  

He was aglow when he handed you the tablet. “This one?” You confirmed, your finger resting on the song. 

Aegon nodded, wiping his palms against his jeans before clapping along with his mother and sister when Daeron finished. “You next?” He asked and Aegon nodded, wetting his lips with his tongue and moving to take the microphone.

Part of his rehabilitation was relearning himself, but sober. With this, he had a newfound passion for music that he had never touched before. You remembered the first time you heard him singing in the shower; you were flushed by his voice, your mouth agape when he exited the bathroom. You always encouraged him to sing, well aware of the brief reprieve it allowed him with every song he disappeared into. 

And now, you leaned back to watch the reactions of his family as Aegon cleared his throat. 

Daeron’s skittish giggled stopped the moment the timbre of his voice poured into the speakers, though the sound quality was what would be considered for a karaoke bar, it did not take away from the fact that Aegon could fucking sing.

His younger brother’s eyes were wide and he sank back into the sofa to watch him. Alicent’s eyes were just as wide and glassy as she took in her son, as if she was truly seeing him for the first time; Helaena just closed her eyes and swayed her head in rhythm to the music.

You dared to glance at Aemond and even his stoic nature cracked slightly, as his brow arched while he listened. 

Aegon was beautiful when he sang, of course; his eyes were closed and there was color to his cheeks from the natural smile that accompanied the lyrics. He moved along with the music, his passion for this habit did not allow him to hold still. 

When he finished, he slowly opened his eyes and looked at you, smiling still. 

His mother and Helaena bound to their feet, clapping and singing praises, while Daeron was flabbergasted. “Holy shit, you can sing,” he managed. 

Alicent flipped on her mom-mode, her dark eyes locked onto him. “Daeron. Language.” 

He grinned sheepishly and even Aemond hummed a compliment, “Well sung, brother.” He had the hint of a smile to his lips.

Daeron clasped his hand on his shoulder, bright eyed with a newfound respect for his brother. “What else are you keeping from us?”

Aegon shifted his weight and glanced at you; you nod reassuringly, subtle with your smile. He reached into his pocket and presented the token.

You saw that Aemond recognized it, as he had also been present with the prior attempts of his sobriety, but his expression softened when he saw the color, a forest green, a color he had not seen in his brother’s palm before. 

For Aegon, it is a wordless gesture and it is met with the support he deserved. Daeron and Helaena both threw their arms around him, smiles and congratulations on their lips, while Aemond only reached to touch his shoulder, the curl of his mouth enough to let him know he was proud of Aegon. 

You enjoyed this moment, content to be a spectator, until you felt the gentle touch of Alicent as she wrapped her arm around your waist and pulled you into her side. “Thank you,” she whispered in your ear. 

But it was not necessary. You, like Aemond, had always been around and presented him with the opportunity, time and time again. You also knew that Aegon had to want it, or it would never work. 

Most importantly, you would always be grateful for the day he had taken the help offered.

Arcie’s Masterlist

#modern aegon #modern hotd au #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fanfiction