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reidmym1nd · 1 month

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retired bau agent/mom!reader x dad!spencer reid-

reader bringing in her and spencer's daughter to say hi and everyone not knowing about their kid (and realizing that's why reader retired) and when they ask spencer why he never told them he was a dad, he just shrugs and says "you never asked."

(this made sense in my head but in case you're confused: each paragraph toggles between the perspective of r and spencer)

spencer reid's well of secrets could extend further than the miles travelled by the bau's private jet, and although the team attempts to make quick work at the chipping surface of reid's exterior, there's little to be revealed without specific inquiries. it's easy to willingly tuck away secrets into neat manila folders when the atrocities faced on a daily basis are enough to burrow into the softest and most delicate parts of the mind, and spencer is willing to make the separation.

but penny will not stop crying. her throat must be coarse from the wails that seem to echo off the walls, tears tacky against her warm cheeks and chest heaving with the effort of her woes. "sweetheart," you attempt to quell, lowering yourself down to her level on aching knees. "daddy will be back. he always comes back, doesn't he? just a quick day in the office, my darling."

and spencer feels like crying, with the impending questions that seem to originate in a never-ending cesspool of regularity and that blares up at him from the files on his desk. he blinks hazily down at them, picking mindlessly at the frayed hem of his sleeve, trying to make sense of the words that are already permanently printed on the back of his skull.

20 miles away is far too long of a distance of your daughter from his father, and so you're shoving her arms through her jacket sleeves, heaving a woeful sigh when she insists on doing it herself. "no more crying, alright, we're going to see daddy soon," you swipe your thumbs over her warbling cheeks, rolling a tongue over your teeth to prevent a frustrated scream that threatens to burst through the cracks.

spencer looks up at the clock, tuning out the idle chatter that prattles on behind him, derek with a mug of coffee in hand, and emily, who's pulling apart a granola bar that's gone stale. "what's going on in that head of yours, pretty boy?" he steps closer, leaning over the lanky male's shoulder to peer at the sheets in front of him. "you've done that before, haven't you?"

spencer shrugs, flipping through another page when the subway rolls to a stop at your destination, and you're bustling your daughter out of the way of the sliding doors before they can clamp closed on an article of clothing. the streets are slick with yesterday's rain as you cling tightly to the toddler's chubby hand, hoping to navigate to the office before another meltdown drops her to the dirty ground.

spencer tries to ignore the bubbly questions from his colleagues, too unfocused and apathetic about another dredging day about sadistic and cruel individuals who have little care for human life. but the doors swing open, and his ears catch onto a whine he's all too accustomed with.

his age-old chair squeaks when he whirls around, and he finds your weary face, a once-forelorn toddler all giggles and smiles now. "she wouldn't stop crying," you breathe, jaw tightening with an exhaustion he's familiar with. "she missed you."

"hi peanut," he coos when his daughter comes barreling into his shin, fingers tightening around the slacks around his leg. "what's the matter with you, huh?"

"daddy," she purls in her weepy tone when he pulls her off the ground, forehead thudding into his collarbone. "daddy, missed you."

he curls his arms around tight, offering a gentle smile when you collapse into his desk chair, cushion still warm from his presence. "you can't be crying like that, pumpkin. it's not very nice, is it?"

derek is blinking back shock a few feet off, emily too stunned to allow her usual flow of snarky remarks to roll off her tongue. "y/n?" derek finally speaks, tongue dry. "i.. haven't seen you in forever. the hell you doing here?"

you push a smile onto your face despite the exhaustion that weighs it down. "penelope wouldn't stop crying. missed her dad."

"a baby?!" a voice screeches from the corner, before boisterous heels clack against linoleum floors, the jangle of exuberant jewelry following the sound. "oh my god, as i live in breath!" the original owner of the name gushes over the toddler, clasping a hand over her mouth. "oh my god she has gotten so big, since i saw her last!"

"woah, woah, sugar, you've seen her?" derek holds a hand out, forced to place his coffee down. "you knew about this?"

garcia waves him off, pulling her goddaughter away from her father with gentle coos towards the sensitive child. "oh of course i did, have you met me? couldn't keep reid's baby away from me if you tried."

aaron announces his arrival with the thud of his expensive leather shoes thudding against the stairs as he descends into the bullpen, adjusting the cufflinks around his wrists. "a surprise visit? what's the occasion?"

"you?" emily scoffs, suddenly disinterested in her snack. "you knew about this too??"

derek rubs his hands over his jaw. "you didn't say anything! why didn't you tell me you were a dad?" he thunks spencer in the shoulder, who is suddenly in a much more jovious mood now that his daughter and wife are present.

the man shrugs, leaning against his desk and taking your sore shoulder in hand, giving it a mighty squeeze. "you never asked."

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reidmym1nd · 1 month

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omg that trailer, there's so many things to discuss about. Like the fact that nyra says "alicent's son" AND DOESNT EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE AEGON AS HER HALF BROTHER😭 and for someone who doesnt want to wear the crown and inherit the throne, THE WAY HE SAT DOWN ON THE IRON THRONE

#hotd #house of the dragon #house targaryen #house hightower #aegon targaryen #aemond targaryen #heleana targaryen #alicent hightower #rhaneyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #otto hightower #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf

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reidmym1nd · 1 month

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Just have an urge to point out:

Since the moment of the trailers' release, I've already met people who are arguing and humiliating others who don't like the characters they do, or who aren't at the side of the team they like. I understand that you may tend to be more at the side of team black or green, but let's not forget that this is a show, and the characters are fictional. Any person can have fav characters, whoever they like and that's incredible, that's what the show is created for. So, please, you may cheer and support anyone, but don't forget to be respectful and mind others' business. Eventually, I don't think we should be divided, we are all the fans of the same show, we are all united here by one story. So, let's enjoy this adventure together.

Thank you for your attention

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reidmym1nd · 1 month

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reidmym1nd · 1 month

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YALLL THE TRAILER FOR HOTD S2 WHWHWH

#house of the dragon #green vs black #house hightower #house targaryen #rhaneyra targaryen #alicent hightower #daemon targaryen #otto hightower #aemond targaryen #aegon targaryen #game of thrones #got #hotd

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reidmym1nd · 1 month

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family: “why are you just sitting in ur room smiling at ur phone?”

me who’s been reading smut about fictional characters for the past 6 hours:

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reidmym1nd · 1 month

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Just Friends

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: A night of drinking makes Bucky bold and a harmless text makes him bolder.

Word Count: 3.6k+

Warnings: Explicit content (18+ only). Alcohol consumption. Thigh fucking. Orgasm denial. Cum play (microscopically). Oral sex (implied).

The tip of one finger prods gently at your lower lip, eyebrows scrunching with a wince when a burst of pain emanates from the slightly swollen flesh. A narrow, reddened cut dissects the once smooth surface and you lean closer to your streaked mirror to get a better look. Carefully, you press your lips together as if you’d just applied a layer of lipstick and the sting worsens.

You swear you can feel your pulse throbbing beneath the superficial wound and you sigh. It has ached all day, even more so when you split the small wound open while eating dinner earlier. Yanking open a drawer, you dig around in search of your scarcely-used tub of Vaseline, hoping the sticky goop will prevent your scabbed lip from cracking open again. With a soft touch, you apply a thin layer to your tender lip as well as its uninjured mate, having to stop yourself from habitually rubbing them together.

This is all Bucky’s fault.

Last night had been a normal outing, no different from any other you’ve shared among your small group of friends. Music pumped from speakers, alcohol flowed from an array of bottles and cocktails, fun and laughter filled the evening. Normal, that is, until Bucky backed you into a dark corner of the bar and kissed you harder and more fiercely than any man or woman ever has.

It wasn’t the kiss that surprised you so much as the kisser. Admittedly, Bucky is a good-looking guy and sure you’ve had less-than-appropriate thoughts about him a time or two, but it’s not as if you’ve ever had a truly serious interest in him beyond what some might consider a crush. Not that it matters much. Although you consider him a friend, Bucky is rather reserved and — prior to last night — you’d have bet any amount of money that he’s certainly never had a second thought about you.

And yet, the ghost of his warm lips devouring yours still haunts your mouth. The way he’d cradled your head and caressed your tongue with his own has you feeling light-headed even after all these hours. Bucky licked and sucked hungrily at you, at one point seeming to grow so overwhelmed with an untamed need that he’d nipped rather harshly at your mouth and left you with a memento of your shared moment of passion.

You shake your head and flip off the bathroom lights before heading back to your bedroom. Stripping down, you throw on a comfortable outfit to sleep in and climb under the covers. With your head burrowed comfortably deep in your pillows, you shut your eyes and beg your brain to stop replaying the memory of last night on a loop. You have to stop thinking about Bucky. And about Bucky’s lips. And about kissing Bucky.

But you can’t.

Your eyes flick open, hardly able to see anything in the darkness of your room and you sigh. You huff and flop onto your side, hoping the change of position will usher you off to sleep faster. The niggling thoughts pervade. You still can’t believe he kissed you like that. Ignoring the pinch of pain you feel, your tongue sweeps repeatedly over your bruised lip and you swear you can still taste Bucky there.

In all honesty, you want to simply blame it on the alcohol or the heated tension you’d created on the dancefloor together just so you won’t have to admit that your broody, handsome friend might actually be attracted to you. Hell, you’d blame it on something as trivial as the full moon if it means you can avoid having to think about what last night’s kiss might mean for your meager friendship. Is it too much to hope that Bucky had been overly inebriated and forgotten about it altogether?

As if able to hear you thinking about him, the once silent phone sitting on your dresser lights up and vibrates. Propped up on one elbow, you can just barely make out Bucky’s name popping up with a succinct ping. You stare at the screen for a long moment, hoping that if you don’t look at his text, it will somehow go away. It doesn’t. In fact, an accompanying message joins the first and your curiosity finally forces you to reach for the device.

Bucky: Tried to order a shot at the bar and they’re all out of tequila. I think we did serious damage last night

You smirk and release a quick snort of laughter at Bucky’s text, all the while wondering how in the world he’s managing to go out drinking after last night. It’s been an entire day and you’re still feeling the effects of your overindulgence, your head evidently doing its best impression of a balloon full of concrete. Before you can respond, the screen indicates that Bucky is typing something else.

Bucky: Sorry about kissing you by the way. We have to be as awkward as possible around each other now FYI

So much for forgetting. Sensing Bucky’s attempt to make light of the strange situation while also trying to suss out how you’re feeling about it, you decide to take it easy on him. You have no hard feelings about the kiss and you’d hate for him to feel badly over something so trivial.

Sitting all the way up, you switch on the bedside lamp and open the camera app while you bring your phone close to your face. You open your mouth slightly so the aftermath of Bucky’s kiss is more visible, take a photo, then send it his way with a sarcastic text about how he should be sorry for how he’s maimed and massacred you.

It doesn’t even occur to you how the thoughtlessly snapped picture might be misinterpreted. There had been no purposeful intention in the sensual way your lips were parted, nor had you meant to capture your cleavage in the image. You’d simply sent the picture as a joke and locked your phone, but seconds later — even before you’ve managed to set the device back down — Bucky’s number and the goofy group picture you have saved as his contact photo are lighting up your screen. The phone vibrates steadily in your hand as you stare in surprise.

If you’d been sitting in the downtown bar with him, you would have watched as the content smile that accompanied the sight of your incoming message had been promptly swept away as Bucky’s eyes scanned what you’d actually sent. You would have seen the way he snatched his jacket off the barstool and how his hand nearly shattered the glass of his phone’s screen when he jabbed your contact with unnecessary force. You would have witnessed him lifting the phone to his ear, grinding his teeth as the dial tone droned while he strode through the thinning crowd and out the bar’s exit to the crowded street.

“Hello?” you drawl hesitantly upon answering the call.

You receive no greeting in return, only a terse demand.

“Send me your address.”

“What? Why?” you wonder, sitting up straighter in your bed at the serious sound of Bucky’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is you sending me that picture,” he retorts as if it is obvious.

“Bucky, what are you talking about?” you laugh nervously. “It was just a joke.”

“I’m not joking,” Bucky assures you seriously. “Send me the damn address.”

You repeat his name again with another uneasy scoff as you try to process his unexpected adamance. Heat blooms all across your body and you begin to chew nervously on your fingernail as you struggle to come up with a reason for him not to come over. There’s no way this man is going to show up on your doorstep.

“Listen, I’m…I’m already in bed in my pajamas,” you offer lamely. “I’m not exactly in any state to receive company and…and…I haven’t cleaned in days! I was just kidding, Buck…you don’t need to—.”

“Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t you dare.”

The argument sounds rather lacking even to your own ears. In actuality, you don’t care how you look or how your place looks if Bucky does come over. What you care about is what will happen if he does; specifically, what’s going to happen to you. But there’s no way this man is going to show up on your doorstep.

“I’m going to hang up the phone and get a cab,” Bucky informs you impatiently. “By the time I do, I better have your address.”

Before you even have a chance to plead your case, the line goes dead. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you stare indecisively at the chat which remains open on the screen. The easiest solution would be to put the damn thing down, roll over, and go to sleep. But the cursor that flashes in the textbox taunts you, calling to you like a beacon. You’re suddenly feeling uncharacteristically weak.

Your fingers move of their own volition, punching in the appropriate information before you toss your phone to the end of the bed and flop backwards with a closed-mouth scream. This man is going to show up on your doorstep.

There’s something paradoxical to the notion that you aren’t close enough friends for Bucky to know where you live, yet he’s about to show up here to…well, you aren’t quite sure what he’s showing up for. His demand to know your address was alarming — if not somewhat enticing — and you allow your imagination to take over for a moment.

With damp palms dragging down your suddenly overheated face, your mind races and you begin to question your sanity. It would have been so easy to ignore Bucky’s demand and just go to sleep. You’d probably be saving yourself a lot of trouble. But deep down, you have to admit that this is something you’ve been secretly wanting since the very first day you met Bucky. However, that particular thought exists miles down a road you’re not quite ready to travel along.

By the time the resounding knock comes, you’ve paced about a mile and a half back and forth through your bedroom. Your heart is pounding and you’re practically shaking right out of the clothes you wear. A thick hoodie and a pair of loose cotton shorts hang off your vibrating frame, only because you decided wearing your sexy pajama set would seem a bit too presumptuous…perhaps even desperate. And it had definitely felt that way when you put them on earlier.

Maybe you should change back. Maybe you shouldn’t care so much. The echoing knock is firmer this time and doesn’t give you time to think about it any longer. Because this man actually showed up on your doorstep.

You’ve hardly cracked the door open an inch and Bucky is already inside and shedding his leather jacket from his broad shoulders. He closes in on you until you’re forced to take several unsteady steps backwards into the dark, narrow hall. His hungry eyes look you up and down, sizing you up like a lion would its kill.

“What exactly are you doing here?”

Although you try to infuse some sort of playful, casual laughter into the question, the uncertain quiver of your voice gives you away. As does the way your eyes dart around, refusing to meet Bucky’s. He notes the anxious rubbing of your palms against your thighs and takes a slow step closer to you.

Standing frozen before him, you gasp when he takes hold of your elbow and promptly marches you towards your bedroom. By the time you’ve turned around to face him, Bucky has already pulled his shirt up and over his head, the defined muscles of his torso rippling and on full display as he does so. Your mouth is dry and your brain is fuzzy.

“You changed,” he notes nonchalantly before gesturing at your outfit. “You’re gonna wanna take that off.”

Bucky utters the order so confidently and with no preamble that it nearly knocks you off balance. You know what’s happening, your brain just doesn’t seem to believe it. And so you stand stock-still, incapable of much more than staring. It isn’t until Bucky growls in frustration — clearly believing that you’re being coy or perhaps just stubborn — that you find your voice.

“You still haven’t said why you’re here.”

“Because…” he begins impatiently as he toes off his boots and kicks them aside. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night. And now…seeing how good I look on you is driving me crazy and making me wanna mark you all over.”

The admission is jarring. Almost as much as the cracking sound that shatters the silence in the room when Bucky unbuckles his belt and whips it free of his pants with one smooth movement. You choose to ignore his unashamed desire and opt to address the less detrimental part of his confession.

“Buck, c’mon,” you choke, somehow feeling even warmer. “It was just a kiss.”

“So?”

Your eyes meet his then, not sure how to respond to his unexpected challenge. The heat you find there nearly scorches you. You’re suddenly at a loss for an excuse that seems adequate enough to turn down the prowling man. Especially when you know you want this as much as he does, if not more. Still, you try.

“We were drunk,” you offer weakly.

It sounds like a question even to you and when Bucky quirks a dark brow, you know your reason has fallen flat. He regards you for a long moment, unbuttoning his jeans and revealing a trail of hair which dips below the illegibly branded waistband of his underwear.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” he assures, hair mussed and nostrils flaring. “Now, like I said…take that off.”

“Take…what off?” you mumble distantly.

You’re too distracted by the plethora of smooth, tanned skin to pay attention; too beguiled by the sight of his half-naked body and all that it promises to continue thinking. Bucky points a long finger in your direction, swirling it mid-air to specify that he’s referring to your baggy hoodie and rumpled shorts.

“All of it,” he barks. “Off.”

Ultimately, you obey Bucky’s request and though your limbs move as if filled with sand, they manage to shed your hoodie and shorts just the same. You’re left standing bare-chested in nothing but a pair of underwear that do very little to shield you from the lascivious perusal of Bucky’s hungry eyes. He mirrors your state, now standing before you statuesque and gorgeous in nothing but a pair of tight-fitting boxer briefs when he finally answers your earlier question.

“I’m here to finish what I started.”

He breathes the words, his lips so close to your own that you can almost taste him. With barely an inch between you, Bucky’s eyes flicks to yours, silently asking permission. He shows no intention of closing the space between you, instead waiting for you to make that decision. You do so without hesitation and crash your lips into his with a sigh of relief at the familiar feeling of his mouth on yours.

In a flash, Bucky tears away and has you hauled into his arms to toss you easily into the middle of your soft mattress. You’ve barely stopped bouncing when Bucky’s strong body is braced above you. His hips settle perfectly in the space between your thighs; you can feel the heat of him there and the sensation is dizzying. Holding his weight on one hand, Bucky slips the other in the miniscule space between your torsos and hooks a finger along the elastic band of your panties. He tugs playfully at the material before letting it snap sharply against your hip.

“I did say all of it, didn’t I?” he taunts with a wry smirk.

“I didn’t have time,” you argue with a giggle that stops short when he allows his hips to drop so that you feel his hardness directly against your center. “I’m sorry.”

He hums against your skin as his lips trail from your jaw to your ear where he licks the sensitive lobe and nips gently at your skin.

“Shh…don’t worry,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. We can leave them on because if you take ‘em off right now, I am going to fuck the shit out of you.”

You’re uncertain whether the words are a promise or a threat, even more unsure which you’d prefer. With a pathetic whimper that curls warmly into Bucky’s ear, you feel his heavy cock twitch against your crotch. His lips latch hastily to the side of your neck and he suckles.

“Please, Bucky,” you mewl, wanting him to deliver on his threat.

Threat…promise…you don’t care what it was, just so long as he follows through. To your dismay, Bucky puts a swift end to your hopefulness.

“No no no, baby…don’t beg,” Bucky coos almost cruelly. “You’re not getting fucked tonight.”

He punctuates the lowly-spoken words with a pointed thrust of his hips, grinding firmly against your core and beginning to feel the dampness of your sodden panties through his own underwear. You gasp then, sharp and sudden — the sound only partially prompted by the pleasurable sensation he imparts upon you. It is the widening of your eyes that belies the other cause for the breathy noise: Bucky’s unexpected denial. The complete turnaround has you reeling. If he notices your disapproving reaction, he gives no indication and instead continues his inauspicious words.

“I’m gonna make you ache the way I’ve ached for you. Gonna make you go crazy wanting me,” he breathes, interspersing thrusts every so often between the syllables. “Make you so desperate that you’ll do anything just for a little taste.”

Bucky hisses the last word and you flinch just as the rigid head of his length brushes your swollen clit through the thin layers of material separating you. Even without touching you beyond this, he has you near tears and yearning. He watches the pathetic tilt of your hips and the pitiful way your face crumbles, in awe over the way your muscles quiver and your body moves restlessly beneath him. You haven’t even seen a fraction of what he has planned for you and already you’re falling apart; the very notion has him clenching his jaw as his cock hardens painfully.

“Buck. Please.”

You whine — breathless and high — though Bucky continues as if you haven’t said a word.

“I’m gonna take you right to the edge,” he cups your ass, lifting and grinding your hips into his with a dramatic pause, “and then…stop.”

Before you have a chance to lament Bucky’s refusal to give you what he’s made you want, his strong hands grip your bent knees to gather your legs and arrange them over one shoulder so that the backs of your thighs settle along the hard ridges of his abdomen. With your legs pressed firmly together, Bucky reaches down to take himself in hand. He inhales through his teeth, allowing a few indulgent strokes of his throbbing cock before he aligns the glistening tip between the soft flesh of your thighs.

A groan forms deep in his belly, bubbling up until it fights its way out when his lips part instinctively. You watch, trancelike, as Bucky glides his dick rhythmically between your legs. In and out, over and over. Sweat gathers where your skin meets and Bucky’s grip on you tightens as fucks your thighs, taking a smug sort of pleasure in his endeavor to continue denying you.

As his thrusts increase in speed and the veins in his thick neck begin to protrude, you hope Bucky is suitably distracted and dare to lift your hips in search of some much needed friction. Bucky’s reaction is swift, immediate, and infuriating. He presses his weight forward, shoving you back into the mattress and effectively pinning you in place just as a strangled sound pours from him.

Without warning, his hips jolt forward and his body tenses before becoming still. A wet warmth splashes against your belly and Bucky lets out a rush of breath while his body convulses and another rope of cum rains down on you.

Bucky finally allows your legs to fall to the side, each one bracketing his corded legs where he still kneels above you as he allows his orgasm to wash over him. The fog lifts for you before it does for him and with the dawning realization, your desperation ratchets up a notch. Feral for some sort of release, you thrash with need and whimper with embarrassing anguish. Your body vibrates with the tension that blazes through your veins and you reach for Bucky, fingernails grabbing and clawing at his hairy thighs while you beg and plead for him to take you, touch you, anything.

Bucky had come here tonight with every intention of teasing and torturing you — a sort of retaliation for the yearning he’s felt for you — but seeing you like this is pushing him dangerously close to giving in. To fucking you the way you both want him to. However, he vowed not to fuck you tonight and he’s a man of his word. Still, he’s willing to show a little mercy.

With a huff and a quick sweep of his hand through his hair, Bucky is shushing you. He shifts his weight and slides down until his striking face hovers just above your pelvis. From here, he can smell you and the faint aroma has his mouth watering in a way he thinks he ought to be ashamed of. He drags his fingers through the pearlescent splatters that dot your stomach while his other hand eases your panties to the side before he brings the slickened digits to your folds. Warm breath puffs against you when he whispers.

“I said I wouldn’t fuck you, I never said I wouldn’t make you cum,” he concedes with a dastardly grin.

Sebastian Stan Masterlist ✦ Writing Masterpost

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reidmym1nd · 1 month

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Sexting with Aemond Drabble

A/N: Inspired by this beautiful art of ✨hockeymond✨

Warnings: 18+, smut, AFAB reader, naughty pictures, degradation, teasing, masturbation

“Where's my reward?”

An amusement snort leaves your nose. The game only ended a few moments ago, yet he's greedily demanding that you send him what you'd promised.

“Only winners get rewarded”

“I won.”

You smile to yourself as you type, fingers quickly moving over the screen.

"We won*"

"Whatever. Send it."

"Winning by sudden death doesn't count. You should've scored before it went into overtime"

You see him typing, but knowing Aemond, the reply won't be a long one. The delayed answer is due to him not knowing what to say.

God, you love tormenting him.

In all fairness, you were just quoting what he'd told you before. Winning a match that goes into overtime means that the other team scores a point, even if they lose. "If you can't beat them in 60 minutes, you didn't win", he'd said.

"I'll do better next time. Please, send it."

Usually, it'd take more to make him beg. He must be desperate.

You're still smiling as you close your eyes momentarily, imagining him sneaking off to one of the bathrooms by the locker room, still breathing hard from the strenuous match and with sweat covering his face, droplets sliding down his neck and disappearing inside his away jersey.

If you were there, you'd help him out of the white shirt and shoulder pads, planting tender kisses to his wet neck, secretly craving the taste of his salty skin. He always smelled his best straight after a game.

Maybe you'd get a bit carried away and let your tongue glide over the smooth skin over his adam's apple, prompting him to huff in proud amusement as he teased you for being such a needy slut.

Unfortunately, he’s not playing home in Old Town tonight and you're not there to greet him as he exits the ice.

Instead, you've agreed on a different arrangement. Whenever his team wins a match, you send him a little reward.

Today, it’s a picture of your ass, clad in a black thong you know he likes. It had taken you a good 30 minutes to get the position, lightning and angle of your camera just right, and you weren't about to spoil that on someone who can't beat the Winterfell Dires before overtime.

"Only winners get rewarded. Do better."

Still smiling, you bite your lip to calm yourself. You can picture it so clearly; Aemond frustratingly exhaling through his nose at your unwillingness to give him what he craves.

He's not much better himself. He's teased you to the brink of madness before; edged you until you couldn't think of anything but him.

You feel a dizzying yet pleasant rush of power wash over you as your screen lights up again.

"Please, baby. I need you"

Mischief makes the smile on your face grow wider.

"I don't entertain losers"

Oh he must be fuming. Running his hand over his face in annoyance, clicking his tongue, thinking of all the ways he wishes to make you submit to his will.

Surely only making his balls ache more with need.

"Please, I've thought about this all night. I'm so fucking hard."

Warmth spreads in your chest. You know he only wants you; that he's just as insatiable for you as you are for him.

Yet, opportunities to tease him like this do not come often.

"There's plenty of porn online. Enjoy!"

If you were with him right now, this is where he would've had enough. Picking you up and throwing you on the bed, climbing on top of you and caging you in. Pressing his heavy bulge against your core, lowly murmuring "If you don't shut up, I'll make you" into your ear.

But the distance between the two of you has robbed Aemond of his cockiness.

"Please."

"Show me"

Your mouth waters as you open the image he sends you. The large hand he has around his shaft holds on to it firmly, veins on the back of his hand and down his forearm popping out from the intense blood flow. The tip of his cock looks vexed; bright red and glistening with arousal. You press your thighs together, no longer able to ignore the pounding growing fiercer.

You type even faster than before.

"What are you thinking about right now?"

"You. About how badly I wish you were here. About how I'd fuck you in this filthy bathroom as the lads are getting ready outside"

Defeated by your own desires, you send him the picture of your ass before putting away your phone, closing your eyes and allowing your hand to travel down between your thighs.

You can see him clear as day. He's grabbing the side of the white sink with one hand, the other furiously stroking his length, eyes glued to the screen of his phone as it rests on the ceramic surface.

He's panting; biting his lip and huffing loudly through his nose. Sweat slides down from his forehead to his flustered cheeks, pooling above his parted lips, dripping down.

Staring at his reward, he thinks back to all the ways he's had you. In his flat, in his car, in the bathroom of that high-end restaurant.

His grip on the sink tightens, thinking about how he'd grabbed the flesh of your ass so harshly it left marks as he pounded into you, causing your unabated moans to echo through the room.

He bites his lip to stop the words from spilling;

"My little slut", "My dirty girl", "My good whore”

Mine.

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reidmym1nd · 1 month

Text

EVENING DELIGHTS.

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x female!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; p in v, kitchen sex, choking, teasing, slight praise kink, slight breeding kink, modern au

WORDS: 1.7 K

NOTES: based on this request. Thank you so much, @chattylurker!

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

The melody you hum is barely audible to anyone but you as you cut through the red bell pepper, preparing thin slices. It’s a bit of a daunting task with how much wine you’ve drunk prior, and you’d love to swap places with Aemond instead. He’s lounging on the sofa, a sleepy Vhagar nestled up against him with her head in his lap, watching a show about cars being tuned and raced against each other.

It appears he’s just as tipsy as you are, a slight stagger in his steps as he rises from his seat coaxed by your soft melody, and makes his way over to you. A lazy smile is draped over his chiseled lips, staring you down like a hunter does its prey.

You act unfazed at that because he could have come to help you sooner, but you still bite your bottom lip as he leans the weight of his body against your back. His scent immediately fills your nostrils, just as intoxicating as the warmth emanating from him.

“What’s cooking?” he drawls, bringing his hands to your waist.

You chuckle at his approach, and cut another piece of the bell pepper. “Just making some oven roasted vegetables.”

Aemond hums, and proceeds to rub his hands over your sides. His nose drags against the side of your face, inhaling your scent and making it impossible for you to focus on the task at hand.

Bringing a slice of bell pepper up to his lips for him to eat, you hope to distract him just a bit so you can finish the slicing. “Did you know your brother proposed to Floris today?” you ask, chuckling as you hear the content chewing right next to your ear. “Hel called today while you were at work and told me.”

Swallowing, he quickly grabs another piece before you can swat his hand away, and stuffs it into his mouth. “He did?” he mumbles around the vegetables he’s been chewing, licking his lips and grinning. One of his hands leaves your waist and trails down to wrap around your thigh.

“My big brother finally got down on one knee, huh?” he says amusedly, squeezing your thigh. “And what did she say?”

You slightly push your hips back against him, and shoot him a warning glance as his hand travels lower. “Of course she said yes,” you reply. “I called her immediately. And apparently, they plan to get married in Highgarden.”

The glare makes him chuckle, and his hand moves back up to wrap around your waist instead, using both to pull your lower body against him, your hips pressed together now. “Highgarden? That’s cute.”

Both his arms band around your body now, and you fully abandon the cutting board the moment one hand comes up to cup your breast. Your breathing turns heavier at his actions, although you try to act unfazed again to continue cutting the rest of the vegetables. There’s a bit of a silence between you, and, while Aemond gently squeezes your breast, he seems to be deep in thought.

“So… Do you actually like me?” he asks, pressing his lips to the sensitive spot right behind your ear.

His question makes you roll your eyes, and prompts you to look at him from over your shoulder. “We have been together for seven years, Aemond. We’re getting married next year. What the hell do you think?”

The grip on your waist and breast tightens but is far from being uncomfortable, just enough to keep you standing where you are, tightly pressed against him. As he feels your hips push back against him again, he smirks and presses a kiss to the crook of your neck.

His voice is much more breathy and husky when he speaks again, “good point.” A quick, sloppy kiss finds the spot beneath your ear, allowing him to nibble on your earlobe in the following.

You giggle softly at that, and try to stop your body from reacting to his proximity. You feel his hot breath against your neck and his warm body completely enveloping yours. It makes your stomach churn, in a good way. You’re still tipsy, feeling yourself relax into him more and more. “You’re distracting me, Aem.”

He lets his hand slide down your body, one finding your ass to grope it and the other coming to rest just shy above your mound of venus. Kissing your neck again, his breath comes out even warmer than before. “You are so distracted by a little kiss?”

Snorting, you’re not able to deny it, especially because you’re so distracted by his touches. You want to shove him away to finish the cooking, but also want to hug him to keep him even closer. With your breathing growing labored, your body reacts to yours being pressed against each other like that.

Warmth spreads in the pit of your belly, and you can’t help but moan as his fingers trail a little bit lower. “Shut up…” you try to keep your composure, wanting your voice to remain tough, but to no avail. There’s a tremble audible in it.

Aemond clearly knows how much he turns you on, and can’t resist the urge to tease you. He chuckles, and proceeds to cup your clothed pussy. A little smirk spreads across his lips, his grip not wavering once. “Make me,” he whispers.

The heat inside of you builds up faster the longer you stay in that position. You thought you could hold it back, but at this point it’s just impossible. You’re tipsy, the alcohol just makes it worse. He has you right where he wants you, and you know that. Your cheeks are hot, and your body trembles under his hands.

You push the cutting board and vegetables aside to clear the countertop in front of you, and Aemond takes that as his cue to flat on the counter. “Didn’t think you’d be such a tease today,” you gulped, the words accompanied by a gasp as he yanks down your leggings and thong.

Scrambling for hold, you plant your palms flatly on the surface, supporting yourself as you feel the tip of his cock prod against your entrance. You’ve been wet enough to make it easy for him to push inside in one, swift thrust, filling you right to the brim.

There’s no need for him to give you time to adjust to his size, having had him in the morning already. The pace he sets up isn’t as reckless as his usual pounding, given the position and his legs being slightly bent at the knees.

His cock drives deeper and deeper, coaxing moans and whines to tumble over your lips, and where the cutting of bell peppers could’ve been heard before, it’s now replaced by the sounds of skin slapping against skin, his strained grunts and your moans.

“So sensitive,” he grunts, pounding into your needy cunt. The tip of his cock repeatedly brushes your sweet spot, pushing high enough to knock the air out of your lungs and make you lose yourself.

His hand comes up to clasp around your throat. He applies just a bit of pressure, merely meaning to hold you upright and steady to make it easier for him to use you to his liking. His lips press to the side of your face again, and, apart from his heavy breathing fanning over your hot skin, you also hear him mumbling praises.

Heat builds in your belly as his balls slap against your sensitive bud, sending shivers up your spine and you straight into a frenzy.

“Who needs dinner when I can have this perfect pussy?” he rambles, speaking more to himself than you.

Aemond digs his fingers into your hip and pulls you back against him with each thrust, meeting his cock halfway.

“Gods, I… I–”

“You’re gonna cum for me already, baby?” he rasps into your ear.

With his hand now applying a good bit of pressure to your throat and his heavy balls slapping against your clit, you feel yourself getting lightheaded as your release washes over you suddenly.

Your walls flutter and spasm around him, arousal leaking from around his thick girth and soaking his gray sweatpants. Grinding back against him, you ride out your high in rhythm with his thrusts as he fucks you through it.

Each rut of his hips makes your eyes journey to the ceiling. There are hiccuped breaths spilling from your mouth, and you can’t do more than to hold onto the countertop, bracing yourself for his relentless pounding.

“That’s, fuck, that’s it, mhh,” he hums, the relief in his voice audible.

With a stutter of his hips and a raspy groan escaping his throat, his cock eventually spills deep inside of you, coating your walls. He pounds it into you with deliberately slow thrusts, the last spurts of his warm release filling you to the brim.

Only as both your aftershocks slowly subside does he move, pressing a trail of kisses from your ear down to your shoulder. His hand slides from your hip underneath your shirt, pulling it up slightly to cup your breast.

With a low whisper, he sighs. “Can’t wait to marry you.” He kisses your shoulder once more before moving his lips up to your ear, and he can’t help but grind his hips against yours, his cock growing flaccid again. You mewl at that, pushing back against him. “And I can’t wait to put a baby in you.”

At his words, your body feels hot all over. The thought of him getting you pregnant makes your knees buckle, and you feel like you’ll explode at any given moment.

Your head tips back against his shoulder, and you breathe in quickly before replying, your voice trembling and husky. “Neither can I.”

Hands letting go of the counter, you push him back enough to get him to pull out of you, allowing you to turn around to face him. Your hands move to the seam of his black t-shirt, pulling it over his head. Marveling at his alabaster skin, and the slight imprint of his muscles, following them with your index finger, you look up at him through batted eyelashes. “I’m gonna stop taking the pill soon.”

That seems to stir something in him, and before you can say something else, he grabs your body to throw you over his shoulder. The fit of giggles that erupts dies as soon as you hear his words and note the direction in which he’s walking, immediately replaced by anticipation and excitement.

“I wonder how soon I can get you pregnant.”

General Taglist: @belladonnasorcerer @valeskafics @connorsui @arcielee @watercolorskyy @black-dread @darylandbethfanforever9 @croatianprincess @snowystark @moonlightfoxx @melsunshine @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fan-goddess @at-a-rax-ia @tsujifreya @nothingqueens @ashovertheriver @bbgmonsay @doublesparrows @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @thought--bubble @multyfangirl @dixie-elocin @zaldritzosrose @userhotd @delulumhaggy @wolfdressedinlace

Aemond taglist: @persephonerinyes @dr-aegon @schniiipsel

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