it’s so nice being fond of people on here :-) like yeah maybe we only know each other in a very limited way but i care abt you guys & hearing abt your lives makes me happy & i like listening to the things u have to say & i really truly wish the best for you all!!! sending my love from a couple states, countries, oceans away
pairing: Modern au Aemond Targaryen x Afab! Fem reader wc: 5k
synopsis: Aemond was your person not your boyfriend or anything but that one person who you could go to about anything. He was always there for you, big or small things. But when it came to Aemond needing to talk to you about person things he’d shy away, make excuses or not tell the full truth..after getting into a gnarly fight with his nephew he finally let you in to what he’d been harbouring. Even the feelings he’s had for you…
cw: Mdni, nsfw, modern Aemond, aemond is still missing his eye, mentions of violence, aemond was bullied as a kid, aemond is in his 20s, mentions of blood and injury, friends to more, dry humping, kissing, confessions, sad aemond, cleaning aemonds wounds, brief mentions of underage drinking.
asoiaf masterlist Taglist
He’d always been there for you. Not in a way you could neatly trace back to a beginning, not like a friendship that had a clear starting point or a moment you could hold up and say that’s when it happened.
Aemond Targaryen had just… existed in your life. Constant. Unmoving. Like something permanent you’d never had to question.
You couldn’t pinpoint when he became your person.
God, that phrase.
You cringed even thinking about it now the memory of you, half-drunk and far too honest, clinging to his arm as you told him exactly that.
You’re my person.
You remembered the way he’d laughed, low and disbelieving, like you’d said something ridiculous.
And then you’d doubled down.
Saying that you better be his too. He’d nodded. Of course he had. Aemond always gave you just enough. Even if the exchange had never really been fair.
Had it?
Because you went to him with everything. Every stupid inconvenience, every heartbreak, every small irritation that built into something bigger the longer you held it in.
You talked, and he listened not in that hollow, distracted way most people did, nodding along while waiting for their turn to speak.
No. Aemond listened like it mattered. Like you mattered. And when someone hurt you really hurt you he didn’t just sit there and let you cry it out.
He handled it. Quietly. Efficiently.
You never asked how, and he never offered.
But you knew. You always knew. And yet… when it came to him? Nothing.
It was like trying to hold water in your hands every time you thought you’d grasped something real about him, it slipped away just as quickly. He never came to you. Never sat beside you and said I need help or I’m not okay.
It simply didn’t happen.
You’d questioned it once. Maybe twice. He’d laughed it off. Made a joke. Changed the subject so smoothly you almost didn’t notice it happening. Almost.
But you had noticed things.
The shouting in that house. The slamming doors. The tension that clung to the walls like smoke. You’d sat in his room and pretended not to hear it, because he pretended it wasn’t happening. Because Aemond Targaryen always wore his composure like armour.
Even with you.
Especially with you.
He hadn’t even told you what happened to his eye. It had been gone before you met him something already healed over, already buried. He’d brushed it off as a childhood accident, vague and dismissive, like it didn’t matter.
You’d pushed once.
Just once.
“I said I don’t want to fucking talk about it.”
The memory still sat heavy in your chest. You were fifteen. Summer pressing in on all sides, thick and humid, the sky still glowing faintly even as the sun dipped low. The stolen Smirnoff Ice from Aegons stash tasted too sweet on your tongue as you sat beside him, legs stretched out, shoulders brushing.
And then…The bottle slammed down. The sharp crack of it echoed louder than his voice. You’d seen Aemond angry before. That wasn’t new. But that?
That had been something else entirely.
There’d been something raw in it. Something that flickered across his face just for a second. Regret. He hadn’t apologised. And you hadn’t brought it up again.
The night air clung to your skin as you slipped out your bedroom window, the familiar routine almost second nature now. Your parents would assume you were inside, buried in coursework, being responsible. You almost laughed at the thought as your feet hit the grass below.
The walk was easy. Ten minutes, maybe less. The streets were quiet, washed in a warm orange glow from the streetlights. Somewhere in the distance, people laughed groups gathered by the beach or outside pubs, the hum of life carrying through the still air. You ignored it. Your feet carried you somewhere else entirely. Toward him.
The Targaryen house stood at the end of the street, just as it always did slightly too large, slightly too loud even in silence. You crossed the road quickly, pulling your phone from your pocket as your eyes flicked up to his window.
Light on.
Good.
Open up dickhead.
You sent the text, staring up at the glass like he might magically appear.
Nothing.
You huffed, shifting your weight as impatience crept in. After a moment, you pressed call, lifting the phone to your ear.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring—
Click.
“What is it?”
His voice was rough. Lower than usual. And the background…wrong.
Not his room. Your stomach tightened. “I was supposed to come see you,” you said, glancing around instinctively. “Where are you?”
A pause.
“Mm. I’m running late.”
Short. Controlled. Closed off.
“Aemond—”
“Five minutes.”
The line went dead.
You stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary, disbelief settling in. Did he seriously just—You scoffed under your breath, shoving the phone back into your pocket.
This was why. Why nothing had ever happened between you. Why you’d never crossed that invisible line everyone else swore you already had.
Because Aemond didn’t let things happen.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
You were just about to send another text when you saw him. A figure at the end of the street. Hood up, hands shoved into his pockets, head slightly bowed. Something in your chest tightened immediately. He looked… off.
“You hung up on me, you bastard,” you called out, pushing off the lamppost.
Usually, that would get something from him. A smirk. A sharp remark. This time… Nothing. He looked up. And the words died in your throat.
“Holy shit—what the fu—”
“Yeah, I know,” he cut in flatly. “Just shut up about it.”
You stepped closer without thinking, your gaze scanning his face. Split lip. Bruising already blooming under his skin. Dried blood streaked across his cheek, his jaw.
And his eye bruised but watchful.
“What happened?” you asked, softer now.
“Luke,” he said shortly. “It’s handled.” Luke. His nephew. You didn’t ask. Instead, you reached for his hand, pulling it toward you despite his resistance. He hissed under his breath.
“I said it’s fine,” he muttered, tugging it back. “You coming in or what?” You hesitated. Then nodded.
The house hit you instantly. Noise. Chaos. Life spilling out in every direction.
Alicent’s voice rang through the halls, sharp and cutting. Aegon’s laughter followed, loud and careless. Somewhere upstairs, classical music played by Helaena, undoubtedly clashing with the TV blaring from the living room from his youngest brother Daeron.
“Home sweet home,” you muttered.
Aemond’s lips twitched. “Go upstairs.”
You didn’t argue.
His room was the same as always messy in a way that somehow still felt intentional. Clothes scattered, bottles abandoned, the faint smell of smoke lingering beneath something cleaner.
Familiar. You kicked off your boots and sat on his bed, letting your gaze drift over the posters on his wall. A moment later, he stepped in behind you, two beers in hand. “Comfy?” he asked as he handed you one of the beers already opened.
You stared at him. “Comfy? That’s what you’re concerned with?” you places the beer down on the floor as he took a sip of his.
He shrugged, dropping beside you. “You sound mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you,” you watched him hold his beer in his lap as he lounged against the headboard “It’s just—”
“Here we go.”
“I didn’t even say anything!”
“I know you,” he said, already dismissing it.
Frustration flared. “I was going to say that you don’t let me in,” you snapped. “Ever.”
That made him pause. Really pause. “You think I don’t trust you?” he asked, almost incredulous.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
You opened your mouth…And stopped. Because there it was again. That flicker.
Pain.
“You’re hurt,” you said instead, your tone shifting without you even meaning it to.
The frustration that had been building in your chest didn’t disappear it just… softened. Warped into something else. Something quieter. Something that sat heavier.
Aemond watched you carefully, like he was waiting for you to push again. Waiting for you to cross that line he always kept so firmly in place.
“I got into a fight,” he said, like that explained everything. Like that should be the end of it.
“I can see that,” you muttered, your eyes dragging over his face again. The bruising was already settling deeper now, darkening under his skin. “Your eye—”
“My eye?” he cut in dryly. “Don’t have one.”
“Aemond,” you said, sharper this time, your gaze snapping back to his.
Something in your expression must have hit, because his posture shifted slightly. Not much just enough that you noticed.
A beat.
“do you have anything for it?” you asked, you’d never once seen him even touch the scarred socket or the skin surrounding.
“Nah.” he said looking back at you finally. “Stop fussing over me.” he said not angrily but not soft either.
“I once fell over drunk and scraped my knee, you carried me home then cleaned it and bandaged it, why can i never do that shit back at you?”
You lost your patience, your words coming out sounding more like a whiny child who didn’t get their way more than someone trying to get answers, you shifted against now standing up from the bed which just added to the ‘temper tantrum’ look which he was definitely thinking.
“Because… you're you, and I'm me.” He said putting down his bottle after taking another sip of it.
Aemond was always difficult when it came to this and not just talking about her problems or watching some cheesy movie or getting really high and drunk just to giggle together.
“Because I'm a girl?”
You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, an eyebrow raised and your tone accusing as you looked at him lounged back on his bed.
“God…it’s not because you're a girl.” he let out a breathy laugh under his breath.
“then what?” you knew how it sounded, practically whining because he wouldn’t let you take care of him, or open up to you but it was frustrating. It did make you feel like an inadequate friend.
“Because i don’t like people fussing over me, not used to it” Aemond admitted and it sounded like the only sincere thing he’d truly ever said, he looked away from you as he said it like he didn’t even want to admit it.
Maybe your whining worked. “It’s not fussing i just want to care for you like you care for me i don’t get-“
“you don’t get it yeah. And you don’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Aemond looked at you and sighed, running his hands through his messy silver locks that were stained red at some parts.
“You grew up with people who cared, I didn't, not used to it. got that?” he said with a slight edge to his voice.
You were silent for a moment, digesting his words.
You had grown up in a better environment that Aemond did, not a mass of siblings with new rivalries each week, no screaming no drunken older brother to tear up the house at all hours of the day.
But it hurt to think about.
Aemond hadn’t really had anyone to care for him so now he just doesn’t want it? doesn’t know how to accept that?
“I’ll care for you if they don’t.”
The words slipped out faster than your brain even processed the thought of the sentence. You watched as his eye snapped to yours unreadable, like always.
“i-i just mean i’m here for you.” you backtracked slightly blinking far too fast as you tried to find the words to explain awkwardly standing in the middle of his room.
“Like I mean you can trust me- nothing weird.” you sighed, needing to stop talking as soon as possible.
Aemond was unreadable as he looked at you from where he stayed lounged against the headboard.
“I know you care” he said eventually, you were kind of relieved that he knew you cared and you hadn’t been that terrible of a friend..
He watched you something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “Bottom drawer,” he said after a moment. “Black bag.”
You paused. Just for a second. Because that right there that was new. That was him letting you. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Okay.”
The drawer stuck slightly when you pulled it open, like it always did. You had to tug a little harder, the wood scraping faintly before it gave way.
Mess. Papers. Random shit he never bothered organising.
And then—
The bag. You picked it up, turning it over in your hands for a second before glancing back at him.
“This?”
He nodded once.
“Yeah.”
You moved back toward him, settling onto the bed again, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight.
The air between you felt… different now. Thicker. Like something had shifted and neither of you quite knew what to do with it yet.
You unzipped the bag slowly, peering inside. Cotton pads. Antiseptic. A small tube of cream. Rubbing alcohol because of course there was.
“You’re a mess,” you muttered under your breath, pulling things out and setting them beside you.
“Charming,” he replied flatly, though there was a faint hint of something lighter underneath it.
You glanced up at him again. The dried blood stood out more up close. Against his pale skin. In his hair. Something in your chest twisted.
“Just go for it, cuts need to be cleaned, I can handle a little stinging..” He said, resting his head against the headboard and looking at you while you cleaned the dried blood from his cheek.
You just gave a small nod as you focused.
You worked in silence for a moment.
“Come here.”
He said, putting his legs flat and gesturing to his lap. You looked at his lap then back at his face “You feeling okay? what do you mean ‘come here’.” you mimicked him and he gave a short huff of what was maybe a laugh.
“yeah you’ll be closer to my gross cuts you sooo badly want to clean so… hop on.” he didn’t touch you or force you onto his lap. But it’s something you’d never done with him.
One time you woke up and you two were cuddling after you’d accidentally both fallen asleep watching a movie, that was weird enough but this? yeah this was weirder.
“i can reach them just fine.” You said putting down the now red cotton pad.
“trust me this side of my face is worse.” his left side was worse he was right when he said Luke had aimed for his scarred flesh.
You sighed and ‘gave in’ there was hardly any fight in you anyway.
You moved and straddled his lap, his hands stayed on the bed not touching you. You made note of that, it seemed like he was forcing himself to keep his hands to himself.
You picked up another cotton pad, wet it in the solution ans cleaned the left side of his face.
He winced slightly as it hit the scarred flesh “m’sorry..” you said quietly but he gave a short gruff hum “don’t apologise.” he said.
You worked in silence again though the position was odd, it wasn’t as weird and uncomfortable as you thought it would be, you avoided the cuts for now as you worked away.
“Little brat can keep his mouth shut.” Aemond muttered quietly as you stroked the white now turning red cotton pad scores his temple.
“who?” you asked and he huffed “Luke. It’s always been him, just can’t leave me alone.” he said in a annoyed laugh.
“What did he do?” you asked softly, realising Aemond was opening up.. finally.
Aemond scoffed angrily but not at you “Little bastard has done everything… and he’s always protected like he’s some saint.” he said his hand moving to your thigh.
Your eyes flicked down to his hand but you just continued “Everything?” you asked and Aemond had his eye shut now and nodded slightly.
“Took my eye, makes fun of me, they all did you know? hm..even my own brother got involved.” he sounded like someone trying to not be sad. But he was.
She paused for a moment as his words hit her chest, you didn’t know whether to stop or keep going, you risked him closing his walls again. So you kept going getting a clean cotton pad now dabbing a cut at his eyebrow. He hissed.
“fuck.” he murmured but when he felt you pull away his eyes opened “i said it’s fine just keep going.” your eyes met his and you nodded moving your hand back to dab at it, His eye shut again.
“He took your eye? you never told me that..” you said quietly. You had no idea..god you felt stupid but at the same time Aemond made sure you never knew.
You weren’t a mind reader.
“Yeah, I was nine… Got into a fight and he had a blade of some sorts.. nothing happened to him, no repercussions..” aemond said quietly as he let you work away. The memories filling his head of that night visiting extended family out of town.
“They used to tease me… because I wasn't like them.” he said, sounding properly hurt now. It hurt to listen too, you were glad his eye was closed or he’d know how much his words were killing you.
“you didn’t deserve that..” you said softly pressing the cotton pad to the cut at his lip which made his hand that was on your thigh tighten.
“Mh…no…i didn’t.” he said simply.
“I'm sorry that happened, Aemond..” you said softly, the weight of your words hung heavy, you always knew something was happening or had happened way back then, but to this extent? you didn’t.
You had no idea.
“It’s not your fault..” he said, his hand easing on your thigh but still there. “i didn’t want to tell anyone…admitting to being bullied-“ he cut himself off and you moved hair from his face his eyes still closed.
“If you thought i’d think any less of you…i could never..” you said softly which made him open his eye to look at you.
His eye seemed almost glazed, like there were tears coming. You gave him a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes as you tried your best to comfort him. You’d never seen him like this.
“Thank you.” Aemond said his other hand going to your other thigh not holding you down just like he had to touch you to make sure he was imagining someone being so..accepting.
And it’s not that he ever thought you would laugh at him, but he was used to being laughed at so he never opened up after that.
“You don’t need to thank me…” You said putting the bloodied cotton pad down on the side table where they piled up now. His gaze followed to the pile then back to your face as you looked back at him.
“Is that all done then?” he asked clearly trying to avoid the sappy nonsense he always avoided.
“Yeah cuts and blood on your face..just need to do your hands.” You said surprised at the sudden shift in topic but just going with it.
“my hands are fine..not even sore.” he said not taking his hands off your thighs.
“Yeah but they are covered in blood.” You countered and he huffed.
“not mine. Doesn’t matter.” he replied nonchalantly.
You looked down at his hands on your thighs and the knowledge the dried blood touching your skin wasn’t even his was..unpleasant.
Aemond caught it immediately
“What? if it was mine you’d be all okay with it? but because it’s not you’re disgusted? you got some weird fetish i’m unaware of?” he joked and you looked back up to his face and gave him an unimpressed look
“ha ha, just let me clean your hands..” you said already getting a new cotton pad ready
He reluctantly took his hands off your thighs and held one up for you to clean.
“You're not even going to comment about my hands being on you?” he said as you pressed the wet cotton pad to his knuckles “You gonna tell me why they were there?” you asked and he huffed a small laugh
“no.”
“thought so.”
Aemond grinned, his hand not being cleaned, and went back to your thigh caressing slightly.
“You’re in my lap i don’t know what else to do with my hands..” he said clearly in a mock response, he was teasing.
“Keep them to yourself maybe.” You replied as you cleaned the wounds, the split cuts in his knuckles and the blood was probably a mix of his own and Luke's.
“you want me to stop?” He raised an eyebrow at you, your eyes flicked up from where they focused on his knuckle to meet his eyes.
“i didn’t say that.”
Aemond grinned “mh… so are you telling me you like my hands on you.” he said in a way you’d never heard him speak before, your eyebrow raised as you looked at him.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you mean what am i doing?”
“What's with the voice?”
“What voice? That's how I always talk?”
“No…No you were definitely putting on a voice, were you trying to sound…sexy?” your tone was amused thinking Aemond was trying to be something for you and not just himself..
“sexy? trying? princess i don’t need to try to sound sexy but, cheers..” Aemond huffed swapping hands putting the freshly cleaned on your thigh and taking his bloodied one of your thigh and into yours to clean.
You huffed a small laugh, your gaze on his hand as you cleaned his left one now. “You totally were trying to talk all dirty..”
Aemond blushed slightly, thankful for your focus on his knuckles “I was joking.”
He wasn’t. But he was definitely not embarrassed. Which wasn’t exactly what you wanted to happen.
Your eyes flicked up to his then back down again.
“I do like it..yeah.”
You answered honestly, because lying would only make him feel more embarrassed. And after what he’d admitted to that was the last thing she wanted, she was used to their banter but their banter wasn’t exactly welcomed right now.
Aemond smirked slightly “yeah?” his hand grew a bit more present on your thigh.
“What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” you asked and he huffed a small laugh.
“Maybe i’m just realising that i’m an idiot..” he muttered.
You looked at him but before you could ask he continued “I let what happened to me all those years ago..impact me, Us.” he said quietly but his eye was something you’d not seen before, the heaviness in it.
“They looked at me like a freak even before i lost my eye..then i was a real freak when it was scarred over, but you? you never batted an eye…you’ve never seen me as that..”
His hand on your thigh caressed the skin more, you just listened to him letting him get whatever he was really wanting to say off his chest.
“I’ve never let anyone close to me…just you, even before today and physically telling you..but all of it ive never had that..” he said not looking at you anymore as he looked at his hand on your thigh now.
“I need to tell you the truth..” he said eventually and you tensed slightly because what was the truth?
what could he possibly say..
“Aemond?”
“Shit- i’ve wanted to tell you for years you know but i was terrified… never wanted to lose you.” He swallowed his jaw tight.
“Seeing those guys hurt you…get to be with you, took so much in me to not just tell you how in love with you I am..”
He finally looked back to you as he said that, seeing your reaction.
You were looking at him wide eyed, He loved you? loved? not just ‘I think i have a crush on you’ No. Loved. Your heart hammered against your chest as you looked at him.
“you have feelings for me?”
Aemond let out a shaky breath, almost a laugh. “yeah…a lot of them.” His hand slid up to your waist experimentally but sure.
“Can i kiss you? just once- if not it’s fine we can forget-”
you didn’t let him finish.
Your lips pressed to his whatever was in your hand was disregarded and your hands pressed to his chest.
He made a quiet sound of surprise, relief and then he kissed you back melting into it, both his hands now on your waist.
He kissed you slow at first, like he was afraid you’d pull away if he went to much to soon.
But when you didn’t, the kiss deepened, one of his hands moving up to cup the back of your neck the other moving to your hip to as he tilted his lead and his tongue licked against yours.
Heat flared in your chest at the taste of his tongue. You shifted in his lap, pressing closer, and he groaned softly against your lips.
He was hard he was surprised you hadn’t mentioned it earlier since he’d been hard nearly the whole time you’d been on him.
His hands guided you, encouraging the slow roll of your hips. The friction of his hard cock in his jeans against your clothed core made you both gasp.
“fuck..” he muttered, breaking the kiss just enough o rest his forehead against yours. His breathing was ragged. “That- that feels good..”
You answered by kissing him again, hungrier this time rolling your hips in a steady rhythm. His hands slid under your shirt to grip bare skin, not pushing further, just holding you to him as you rocked against him.
Every grind drew quiet, broken sounds from both of you, his low and rough compared to yours softer and needy.
He kissed you like he’d been starving for it. Like he was scared this moment would vanish if he didn’t commit every second to memory. His mouth moved to your jaw, then your neck, sucking lightly, careful not to mark you. His hips bucked up to meet yours.
You clutched his shoulders, breath hitching every time the pressure hit just right. The heat build fast between you both.
Desperate and intimate. Until it left you both trembling.
“fuck-“ He sounded wrecked his lips against your neck. He growled. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eye dark and his lips kiss swollen.
“Stay with me tonight…” he whispered roughly your movements slowed as you looked at him.
He continued “We don’t have to do anything else. Just… don’t leave, i don’t want to go back to pretending i don’t need you..” he sounded wrecked in such a beautiful way, you never expected to hear from him.
You nodded “I’m not going anywhere..” you said softly easing up on the movements all together now, You leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time sweetly and lingering as you controlled yourself to stay still.
And did the first time in years Aemond Targaryen wasn’t hiding, And neither were you.
A/n: this is not proofread at all and it’s super late before i need to go to work lol so i hope this makes sense !! but im just happy to be back writing. Mwah
pairing: Modern au Aemond Targaryen x Afab! Fem reader wc: 5k
synopsis: Aemond was your person not your boyfriend or anything but that one person who you could go to about anything. He was always there for you, big or small things. But when it came to Aemond needing to talk to you about person things he’d shy away, make excuses or not tell the full truth..after getting into a gnarly fight with his nephew he finally let you in to what he’d been harbouring. Even the feelings he’s had for you…
cw: Mdni, nsfw, modern Aemond, aemond is still missing his eye, mentions of violence, aemond was bullied as a kid, aemond is in his 20s, mentions of blood and injury, friends to more, dry humping, kissing, confessions, sad aemond, cleaning aemonds wounds, brief mentions of underage drinking.
asoiaf masterlist Taglist
He’d always been there for you. Not in a way you could neatly trace back to a beginning, not like a friendship that had a clear starting point or a moment you could hold up and say that’s when it happened.
Aemond Targaryen had just… existed in your life. Constant. Unmoving. Like something permanent you’d never had to question.
You couldn’t pinpoint when he became your person.
God, that phrase.
You cringed even thinking about it now the memory of you, half-drunk and far too honest, clinging to his arm as you told him exactly that.
You’re my person.
You remembered the way he’d laughed, low and disbelieving, like you’d said something ridiculous.
And then you’d doubled down.
Saying that you better be his too. He’d nodded. Of course he had. Aemond always gave you just enough. Even if the exchange had never really been fair.
Had it?
Because you went to him with everything. Every stupid inconvenience, every heartbreak, every small irritation that built into something bigger the longer you held it in.
You talked, and he listened not in that hollow, distracted way most people did, nodding along while waiting for their turn to speak.
No. Aemond listened like it mattered. Like you mattered. And when someone hurt you really hurt you he didn’t just sit there and let you cry it out.
He handled it. Quietly. Efficiently.
You never asked how, and he never offered.
But you knew. You always knew. And yet… when it came to him? Nothing.
It was like trying to hold water in your hands every time you thought you’d grasped something real about him, it slipped away just as quickly. He never came to you. Never sat beside you and said I need help or I’m not okay.
It simply didn’t happen.
You’d questioned it once. Maybe twice. He’d laughed it off. Made a joke. Changed the subject so smoothly you almost didn’t notice it happening. Almost.
But you had noticed things.
The shouting in that house. The slamming doors. The tension that clung to the walls like smoke. You’d sat in his room and pretended not to hear it, because he pretended it wasn’t happening. Because Aemond Targaryen always wore his composure like armour.
Even with you.
Especially with you.
He hadn’t even told you what happened to his eye. It had been gone before you met him something already healed over, already buried. He’d brushed it off as a childhood accident, vague and dismissive, like it didn’t matter.
You’d pushed once.
Just once.
“I said I don’t want to fucking talk about it.”
The memory still sat heavy in your chest. You were fifteen. Summer pressing in on all sides, thick and humid, the sky still glowing faintly even as the sun dipped low. The stolen Smirnoff Ice from Aegons stash tasted too sweet on your tongue as you sat beside him, legs stretched out, shoulders brushing.
And then…The bottle slammed down. The sharp crack of it echoed louder than his voice. You’d seen Aemond angry before. That wasn’t new. But that?
That had been something else entirely.
There’d been something raw in it. Something that flickered across his face just for a second. Regret. He hadn’t apologised. And you hadn’t brought it up again.
The night air clung to your skin as you slipped out your bedroom window, the familiar routine almost second nature now. Your parents would assume you were inside, buried in coursework, being responsible. You almost laughed at the thought as your feet hit the grass below.
The walk was easy. Ten minutes, maybe less. The streets were quiet, washed in a warm orange glow from the streetlights. Somewhere in the distance, people laughed groups gathered by the beach or outside pubs, the hum of life carrying through the still air. You ignored it. Your feet carried you somewhere else entirely. Toward him.
The Targaryen house stood at the end of the street, just as it always did slightly too large, slightly too loud even in silence. You crossed the road quickly, pulling your phone from your pocket as your eyes flicked up to his window.
Light on.
Good.
Open up dickhead.
You sent the text, staring up at the glass like he might magically appear.
Nothing.
You huffed, shifting your weight as impatience crept in. After a moment, you pressed call, lifting the phone to your ear.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring—
Click.
“What is it?”
His voice was rough. Lower than usual. And the background…wrong.
Not his room. Your stomach tightened. “I was supposed to come see you,” you said, glancing around instinctively. “Where are you?”
A pause.
“Mm. I’m running late.”
Short. Controlled. Closed off.
“Aemond—”
“Five minutes.”
The line went dead.
You stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary, disbelief settling in. Did he seriously just—You scoffed under your breath, shoving the phone back into your pocket.
This was why. Why nothing had ever happened between you. Why you’d never crossed that invisible line everyone else swore you already had.
Because Aemond didn’t let things happen.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
You were just about to send another text when you saw him. A figure at the end of the street. Hood up, hands shoved into his pockets, head slightly bowed. Something in your chest tightened immediately. He looked… off.
“You hung up on me, you bastard,” you called out, pushing off the lamppost.
Usually, that would get something from him. A smirk. A sharp remark. This time… Nothing. He looked up. And the words died in your throat.
“Holy shit—what the fu—”
“Yeah, I know,” he cut in flatly. “Just shut up about it.”
You stepped closer without thinking, your gaze scanning his face. Split lip. Bruising already blooming under his skin. Dried blood streaked across his cheek, his jaw.
And his eye bruised but watchful.
“What happened?” you asked, softer now.
“Luke,” he said shortly. “It’s handled.” Luke. His nephew. You didn’t ask. Instead, you reached for his hand, pulling it toward you despite his resistance. He hissed under his breath.
“I said it’s fine,” he muttered, tugging it back. “You coming in or what?” You hesitated. Then nodded.
The house hit you instantly. Noise. Chaos. Life spilling out in every direction.
Alicent’s voice rang through the halls, sharp and cutting. Aegon’s laughter followed, loud and careless. Somewhere upstairs, classical music played by Helaena, undoubtedly clashing with the TV blaring from the living room from his youngest brother Daeron.
“Home sweet home,” you muttered.
Aemond’s lips twitched. “Go upstairs.”
You didn’t argue.
His room was the same as always messy in a way that somehow still felt intentional. Clothes scattered, bottles abandoned, the faint smell of smoke lingering beneath something cleaner.
Familiar. You kicked off your boots and sat on his bed, letting your gaze drift over the posters on his wall. A moment later, he stepped in behind you, two beers in hand. “Comfy?” he asked as he handed you one of the beers already opened.
You stared at him. “Comfy? That’s what you’re concerned with?” you places the beer down on the floor as he took a sip of his.
He shrugged, dropping beside you. “You sound mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you,” you watched him hold his beer in his lap as he lounged against the headboard “It’s just—”
“Here we go.”
“I didn’t even say anything!”
“I know you,” he said, already dismissing it.
Frustration flared. “I was going to say that you don’t let me in,” you snapped. “Ever.”
That made him pause. Really pause. “You think I don’t trust you?” he asked, almost incredulous.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
You opened your mouth…And stopped. Because there it was again. That flicker.
Pain.
“You’re hurt,” you said instead, your tone shifting without you even meaning it to.
The frustration that had been building in your chest didn’t disappear it just… softened. Warped into something else. Something quieter. Something that sat heavier.
Aemond watched you carefully, like he was waiting for you to push again. Waiting for you to cross that line he always kept so firmly in place.
“I got into a fight,” he said, like that explained everything. Like that should be the end of it.
“I can see that,” you muttered, your eyes dragging over his face again. The bruising was already settling deeper now, darkening under his skin. “Your eye—”
“My eye?” he cut in dryly. “Don’t have one.”
“Aemond,” you said, sharper this time, your gaze snapping back to his.
Something in your expression must have hit, because his posture shifted slightly. Not much just enough that you noticed.
A beat.
“do you have anything for it?” you asked, you’d never once seen him even touch the scarred socket or the skin surrounding.
“Nah.” he said looking back at you finally. “Stop fussing over me.” he said not angrily but not soft either.
“I once fell over drunk and scraped my knee, you carried me home then cleaned it and bandaged it, why can i never do that shit back at you?”
You lost your patience, your words coming out sounding more like a whiny child who didn’t get their way more than someone trying to get answers, you shifted against now standing up from the bed which just added to the ‘temper tantrum’ look which he was definitely thinking.
“Because… you're you, and I'm me.” He said putting down his bottle after taking another sip of it.
Aemond was always difficult when it came to this and not just talking about her problems or watching some cheesy movie or getting really high and drunk just to giggle together.
“Because I'm a girl?”
You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, an eyebrow raised and your tone accusing as you looked at him lounged back on his bed.
“God…it’s not because you're a girl.” he let out a breathy laugh under his breath.
“then what?” you knew how it sounded, practically whining because he wouldn’t let you take care of him, or open up to you but it was frustrating. It did make you feel like an inadequate friend.
“Because i don’t like people fussing over me, not used to it” Aemond admitted and it sounded like the only sincere thing he’d truly ever said, he looked away from you as he said it like he didn’t even want to admit it.
Maybe your whining worked. “It’s not fussing i just want to care for you like you care for me i don’t get-“
“you don’t get it yeah. And you don’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Aemond looked at you and sighed, running his hands through his messy silver locks that were stained red at some parts.
“You grew up with people who cared, I didn't, not used to it. got that?” he said with a slight edge to his voice.
You were silent for a moment, digesting his words.
You had grown up in a better environment that Aemond did, not a mass of siblings with new rivalries each week, no screaming no drunken older brother to tear up the house at all hours of the day.
But it hurt to think about.
Aemond hadn’t really had anyone to care for him so now he just doesn’t want it? doesn’t know how to accept that?
“I’ll care for you if they don’t.”
The words slipped out faster than your brain even processed the thought of the sentence. You watched as his eye snapped to yours unreadable, like always.
“i-i just mean i’m here for you.” you backtracked slightly blinking far too fast as you tried to find the words to explain awkwardly standing in the middle of his room.
“Like I mean you can trust me- nothing weird.” you sighed, needing to stop talking as soon as possible.
Aemond was unreadable as he looked at you from where he stayed lounged against the headboard.
“I know you care” he said eventually, you were kind of relieved that he knew you cared and you hadn’t been that terrible of a friend..
He watched you something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “Bottom drawer,” he said after a moment. “Black bag.”
You paused. Just for a second. Because that right there that was new. That was him letting you. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Okay.”
The drawer stuck slightly when you pulled it open, like it always did. You had to tug a little harder, the wood scraping faintly before it gave way.
Mess. Papers. Random shit he never bothered organising.
And then—
The bag. You picked it up, turning it over in your hands for a second before glancing back at him.
“This?”
He nodded once.
“Yeah.”
You moved back toward him, settling onto the bed again, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight.
The air between you felt… different now. Thicker. Like something had shifted and neither of you quite knew what to do with it yet.
You unzipped the bag slowly, peering inside. Cotton pads. Antiseptic. A small tube of cream. Rubbing alcohol because of course there was.
“You’re a mess,” you muttered under your breath, pulling things out and setting them beside you.
“Charming,” he replied flatly, though there was a faint hint of something lighter underneath it.
You glanced up at him again. The dried blood stood out more up close. Against his pale skin. In his hair. Something in your chest twisted.
“Just go for it, cuts need to be cleaned, I can handle a little stinging..” He said, resting his head against the headboard and looking at you while you cleaned the dried blood from his cheek.
You just gave a small nod as you focused.
You worked in silence for a moment.
“Come here.”
He said, putting his legs flat and gesturing to his lap. You looked at his lap then back at his face “You feeling okay? what do you mean ‘come here’.” you mimicked him and he gave a short huff of what was maybe a laugh.
“yeah you’ll be closer to my gross cuts you sooo badly want to clean so… hop on.” he didn’t touch you or force you onto his lap. But it’s something you’d never done with him.
One time you woke up and you two were cuddling after you’d accidentally both fallen asleep watching a movie, that was weird enough but this? yeah this was weirder.
“i can reach them just fine.” You said putting down the now red cotton pad.
“trust me this side of my face is worse.” his left side was worse he was right when he said Luke had aimed for his scarred flesh.
You sighed and ‘gave in’ there was hardly any fight in you anyway.
You moved and straddled his lap, his hands stayed on the bed not touching you. You made note of that, it seemed like he was forcing himself to keep his hands to himself.
You picked up another cotton pad, wet it in the solution ans cleaned the left side of his face.
He winced slightly as it hit the scarred flesh “m’sorry..” you said quietly but he gave a short gruff hum “don’t apologise.” he said.
You worked in silence again though the position was odd, it wasn’t as weird and uncomfortable as you thought it would be, you avoided the cuts for now as you worked away.
“Little brat can keep his mouth shut.” Aemond muttered quietly as you stroked the white now turning red cotton pad scores his temple.
“who?” you asked and he huffed “Luke. It’s always been him, just can’t leave me alone.” he said in a annoyed laugh.
“What did he do?” you asked softly, realising Aemond was opening up.. finally.
Aemond scoffed angrily but not at you “Little bastard has done everything… and he’s always protected like he’s some saint.” he said his hand moving to your thigh.
Your eyes flicked down to his hand but you just continued “Everything?” you asked and Aemond had his eye shut now and nodded slightly.
“Took my eye, makes fun of me, they all did you know? hm..even my own brother got involved.” he sounded like someone trying to not be sad. But he was.
She paused for a moment as his words hit her chest, you didn’t know whether to stop or keep going, you risked him closing his walls again. So you kept going getting a clean cotton pad now dabbing a cut at his eyebrow. He hissed.
“fuck.” he murmured but when he felt you pull away his eyes opened “i said it’s fine just keep going.” your eyes met his and you nodded moving your hand back to dab at it, His eye shut again.
“He took your eye? you never told me that..” you said quietly. You had no idea..god you felt stupid but at the same time Aemond made sure you never knew.
You weren’t a mind reader.
“Yeah, I was nine… Got into a fight and he had a blade of some sorts.. nothing happened to him, no repercussions..” aemond said quietly as he let you work away. The memories filling his head of that night visiting extended family out of town.
“They used to tease me… because I wasn't like them.” he said, sounding properly hurt now. It hurt to listen too, you were glad his eye was closed or he’d know how much his words were killing you.
“you didn’t deserve that..” you said softly pressing the cotton pad to the cut at his lip which made his hand that was on your thigh tighten.
“Mh…no…i didn’t.” he said simply.
“I'm sorry that happened, Aemond..” you said softly, the weight of your words hung heavy, you always knew something was happening or had happened way back then, but to this extent? you didn’t.
You had no idea.
“It’s not your fault..” he said, his hand easing on your thigh but still there. “i didn’t want to tell anyone…admitting to being bullied-“ he cut himself off and you moved hair from his face his eyes still closed.
“If you thought i’d think any less of you…i could never..” you said softly which made him open his eye to look at you.
His eye seemed almost glazed, like there were tears coming. You gave him a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes as you tried your best to comfort him. You’d never seen him like this.
“Thank you.” Aemond said his other hand going to your other thigh not holding you down just like he had to touch you to make sure he was imagining someone being so..accepting.
And it’s not that he ever thought you would laugh at him, but he was used to being laughed at so he never opened up after that.
“You don’t need to thank me…” You said putting the bloodied cotton pad down on the side table where they piled up now. His gaze followed to the pile then back to your face as you looked back at him.
“Is that all done then?” he asked clearly trying to avoid the sappy nonsense he always avoided.
“Yeah cuts and blood on your face..just need to do your hands.” You said surprised at the sudden shift in topic but just going with it.
“my hands are fine..not even sore.” he said not taking his hands off your thighs.
“Yeah but they are covered in blood.” You countered and he huffed.
“not mine. Doesn’t matter.” he replied nonchalantly.
You looked down at his hands on your thighs and the knowledge the dried blood touching your skin wasn’t even his was..unpleasant.
Aemond caught it immediately
“What? if it was mine you’d be all okay with it? but because it’s not you’re disgusted? you got some weird fetish i’m unaware of?” he joked and you looked back up to his face and gave him an unimpressed look
“ha ha, just let me clean your hands..” you said already getting a new cotton pad ready
He reluctantly took his hands off your thighs and held one up for you to clean.
“You're not even going to comment about my hands being on you?” he said as you pressed the wet cotton pad to his knuckles “You gonna tell me why they were there?” you asked and he huffed a small laugh
“no.”
“thought so.”
Aemond grinned, his hand not being cleaned, and went back to your thigh caressing slightly.
“You’re in my lap i don’t know what else to do with my hands..” he said clearly in a mock response, he was teasing.
“Keep them to yourself maybe.” You replied as you cleaned the wounds, the split cuts in his knuckles and the blood was probably a mix of his own and Luke's.
“you want me to stop?” He raised an eyebrow at you, your eyes flicked up from where they focused on his knuckle to meet his eyes.
“i didn’t say that.”
Aemond grinned “mh… so are you telling me you like my hands on you.” he said in a way you’d never heard him speak before, your eyebrow raised as you looked at him.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you mean what am i doing?”
“What's with the voice?”
“What voice? That's how I always talk?”
“No…No you were definitely putting on a voice, were you trying to sound…sexy?” your tone was amused thinking Aemond was trying to be something for you and not just himself..
“sexy? trying? princess i don’t need to try to sound sexy but, cheers..” Aemond huffed swapping hands putting the freshly cleaned on your thigh and taking his bloodied one of your thigh and into yours to clean.
You huffed a small laugh, your gaze on his hand as you cleaned his left one now. “You totally were trying to talk all dirty..”
Aemond blushed slightly, thankful for your focus on his knuckles “I was joking.”
He wasn’t. But he was definitely not embarrassed. Which wasn’t exactly what you wanted to happen.
Your eyes flicked up to his then back down again.
“I do like it..yeah.”
You answered honestly, because lying would only make him feel more embarrassed. And after what he’d admitted to that was the last thing she wanted, she was used to their banter but their banter wasn’t exactly welcomed right now.
Aemond smirked slightly “yeah?” his hand grew a bit more present on your thigh.
“What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” you asked and he huffed a small laugh.
“Maybe i’m just realising that i’m an idiot..” he muttered.
You looked at him but before you could ask he continued “I let what happened to me all those years ago..impact me, Us.” he said quietly but his eye was something you’d not seen before, the heaviness in it.
“They looked at me like a freak even before i lost my eye..then i was a real freak when it was scarred over, but you? you never batted an eye…you’ve never seen me as that..”
His hand on your thigh caressed the skin more, you just listened to him letting him get whatever he was really wanting to say off his chest.
“I’ve never let anyone close to me…just you, even before today and physically telling you..but all of it ive never had that..” he said not looking at you anymore as he looked at his hand on your thigh now.
“I need to tell you the truth..” he said eventually and you tensed slightly because what was the truth?
what could he possibly say..
“Aemond?”
“Shit- i’ve wanted to tell you for years you know but i was terrified… never wanted to lose you.” He swallowed his jaw tight.
“Seeing those guys hurt you…get to be with you, took so much in me to not just tell you how in love with you I am..”
He finally looked back to you as he said that, seeing your reaction.
You were looking at him wide eyed, He loved you? loved? not just ‘I think i have a crush on you’ No. Loved. Your heart hammered against your chest as you looked at him.
“you have feelings for me?”
Aemond let out a shaky breath, almost a laugh. “yeah…a lot of them.” His hand slid up to your waist experimentally but sure.
“Can i kiss you? just once- if not it’s fine we can forget-”
you didn’t let him finish.
Your lips pressed to his whatever was in your hand was disregarded and your hands pressed to his chest.
He made a quiet sound of surprise, relief and then he kissed you back melting into it, both his hands now on your waist.
He kissed you slow at first, like he was afraid you’d pull away if he went to much to soon.
But when you didn’t, the kiss deepened, one of his hands moving up to cup the back of your neck the other moving to your hip to as he tilted his lead and his tongue licked against yours.
Heat flared in your chest at the taste of his tongue. You shifted in his lap, pressing closer, and he groaned softly against your lips.
He was hard he was surprised you hadn’t mentioned it earlier since he’d been hard nearly the whole time you’d been on him.
His hands guided you, encouraging the slow roll of your hips. The friction of his hard cock in his jeans against your clothed core made you both gasp.
“fuck..” he muttered, breaking the kiss just enough o rest his forehead against yours. His breathing was ragged. “That- that feels good..”
You answered by kissing him again, hungrier this time rolling your hips in a steady rhythm. His hands slid under your shirt to grip bare skin, not pushing further, just holding you to him as you rocked against him.
Every grind drew quiet, broken sounds from both of you, his low and rough compared to yours softer and needy.
He kissed you like he’d been starving for it. Like he was scared this moment would vanish if he didn’t commit every second to memory. His mouth moved to your jaw, then your neck, sucking lightly, careful not to mark you. His hips bucked up to meet yours.
You clutched his shoulders, breath hitching every time the pressure hit just right. The heat build fast between you both.
Desperate and intimate. Until it left you both trembling.
“fuck-“ He sounded wrecked his lips against your neck. He growled. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eye dark and his lips kiss swollen.
“Stay with me tonight…” he whispered roughly your movements slowed as you looked at him.
He continued “We don’t have to do anything else. Just… don’t leave, i don’t want to go back to pretending i don’t need you..” he sounded wrecked in such a beautiful way, you never expected to hear from him.
You nodded “I’m not going anywhere..” you said softly easing up on the movements all together now, You leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time sweetly and lingering as you controlled yourself to stay still.
And did the first time in years Aemond Targaryen wasn’t hiding, And neither were you.
A/n: this is not proofread at all and it’s super late before i need to go to work lol so i hope this makes sense !! but im just happy to be back writing. Mwah
I am once again begging people to realize that AI checker doesn’t work. it’s never worked. it’s notoriously known to have flagged human-made works as AI and AI-generated works as human-made. and by feeding it people’s works, you are feeding more works to AI, because apparently the machine itself is AI.
the only thing AI checker does is harm genuine artists and people in general too.
btw i want to say that the entire tumblr community banding together is what got these changes reversed so i hope u all realise the power of a reblog and start reblogging posts instead of just liking them this is the reblog website so hit that button right now
Hi im sorry but i love love love your writing style and wanted to request!! (Ik youre working on Kinktober so im fully okay with a “no” or waiting lol) ik this is majorly cringy but lately ive been LOVING vampirespencer x humanreader for some reason but cannot find a bunch 😭 it doesnt need to be specific by any means (id love to see your ideas) but i rlly wanna see a blurg about reader intentionally getting hurt, not like life-threateningly bad, so they can drive spencer crazy
Again, its completely fine if you dont like the idea or dont want to at all!! I totally understand and hope you keep writing the awesome stuff ive been reading!! Lots of loveeee
-🕷️
MDNI NSFW 18+ ❗️ Blurb 1.6k Masterlist req rules
pairing: Vampire PP spencer reid x Human AFAB! Reader
cw: different au, mentions of blood, reader intentionally gets herself injured, Blood licking, established relationship, Human reader, ‘angry’ spencer, p in v, creampie, dom! spencer, rough, degredation, praise, i went kinda feral with this icl..
an: hey..so this is really late i apologies. I hope you enjoy! 🥲 i’m very sleep deprived rn.
The humid night air of New Orleans pressed against the old sash windows of your small apartment in the French Quarter, carrying the faint scent of magnolias and distant jazz from the street below.
The place was tiny. Barely enough room for the sagging velvet couch, the overflowing bookshelves that lined every wall, and the narrow kitchen where you stood now but it was yours.
Yours and Spencer’s.
In this city, vampires walked openly among the unaware humans, their existence a secret kept by ancient pacts and careful glamour. Spencer had chosen it for the freedom, for the way the shadows here felt like old friends.
You’d chosen it for him.
For weeks now, he’d been lost in his newest obsession. Stacks of leather-bound tomes and yellowed grimoires covered the dining table, spines cracked open to arcane diagrams and forgotten languages.
He’d mastered Sumerian cuneiform in three days, then moved on to Renaissance alchemy, then Victorian cryptography, each new skill a quiet flex of the immortal mind that already knew everything and still craved more.
And when he did look up from the pages, his dark eyes were distant, unfocused on anything that wasn’t ink and parchment.
You missed him. Missed the way his long fingers used to trace idle patterns on your thigh while he read aloud. Missed the low timbre of his voice when he explained something just to watch your reaction.
So tonight, while he sat hunched over yet another book, you decided to remind him you existed.
You stood at the counter in nothing but one of his old button-down shirts sleeves rolled to your elbows, hem brushing the tops of your thighs and began chopping vegetables for a simple stir-fry.
The knife was sharp. You made sure of it. A deliberate, shallow slice across the pad of your index finger, just deep enough for a bright bead of blood to well up immediately.
The pain was real, but the gasp you let out was theatrical.
Spencer’s head snapped up before the first drop even fell.
In the space of a heartbeat he was there vampiric speed turning the air into a blur towering behind you at the narrow counter.
His cool hands hovered inches from your shoulders, not quite touching, as if he didn’t trust himself to close the distance.
You could feel the tension radiating off him like static before a storm. His nostrils flared once, twice. Those clever hazel eyes—now ringed with a thin band of crimson fixed on the crimson line sliding down your finger.
“Careful,” he murmured, voice already rougher than usual, the single word vibrating with restraint. “You’re bleeding.”
You lifted your hand slightly, letting the blood catch the warm kitchen light. “I know. It stings.” You bit your lip, feigning innocence, eyes wide. “Spencer… it really hurts.”
He took one involuntary step closer. His chest brushed your back. You heard the sharp inhale he couldn’t quite suppress, the way his throat worked around a swallow he didn’t need.
The scent of you…warm, coppery, alive filled the small space between you like smoke. “You’re shaking,” he observed, low and careful, but his gaze never left the wound. “Let me see.”
You turned just enough to face him, holding your finger up between you like an offering. His composure cracked visibly jaw tight, pupils blown wide, the tips of his fangs just barely visible when his lips parted.
He reached out, long fingers trembling as they closed around your wrist, but he stopped short of bringing your hand to his mouth. The internal war played out across his beautiful face: centuries of control versus the primal hunger you’d deliberately ignited.
“You did this on purpose,”
He said suddenly, voice dropping into that dangerous velvet register that always made your stomach flip. His eyes flicked up to yours, sharp and knowing. “Didn’t you?”
Your pulse jumped. You tried to keep your expression neutral, but the flush already creeping up your neck betrayed you. “I… maybe.”
A low, dark chuckle escaped him half amusement, half warning. “You little... You know what your blood does to me. You know how hard I fight it every single day just to keep from tasting you.”
His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist, feeling the frantic beat there. “If this is how you want to play, sweetheart… then we’ll play.”
Before you could respond, he brought your finger to his lips. The first touch of his mouth was electric, cool and soft, then the gentle suction as he drew the injured digit between his lips.
A soft, involuntary noise of pure contentment rumbled from his chest, vibrating against your skin. His tongue swirled slowly, deliberately, lapping away the blood with reverent strokes. The sting vanished under the cool relief of his saliva, replaced by a dizzying heat that pooled low in your belly. Your cheeks burned scarlet.
When he finally released your finger with a wet pop, his lips were stained a faint, glistening red. He looked almost drunk on you.
Then he kissed you.
It wasn’t gentle. His mouth crashed into yours, dominant and hungry, the metallic tang of your own blood mingling with the familiar taste of him; old books and night air and something darker.
You gasped into the kiss and he swallowed the sound, backing you up until the edge of the counter dug into your lower back.
His hands were everywhere: sliding under the hem of his shirt to grip your bare hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh hard enough to leave faint bruises you’d treasure tomorrow.
One hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head exactly where he wanted it. The other slipped between your thighs, finding you already slick and aching.
“You drive me absolutely fucking crazy,” he growled against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip with blunt teeth before soothing it with his tongue.
“Every day I sit there pretending to read while all I can think about is how warm you are. How sweet. How fragile.” He kissed a wet trail down your jaw to your throat, fangs grazing the pulse point without breaking skin teasing, promising.
“I’m a dangerous man. And you keep testing your luck.”
Your hands flew to his hair, fingers twisting in the messy curls as you arched into him. “Spencer—please—”
“Please what?” He spun you around suddenly, pressing your front against the cool countertop. The shirt rode up, baring you completely to him.
You heard the metallic clink of his belt, the rasp of his zipper. “Use your words. Tell me exactly what you wanted when you cut yourself open for me.”
You tried to answer, but his fingers were already between your legs again, circling your clit with maddening precision. A broken moan slipped out instead.
He leaned over you, chest to your back, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “That’s what I thought.” His free hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he notched the head of his cock against your entrance hard, cool, and already leaking for you.
“You wanted my attention. You wanted me to lose control.” He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching you open with a delicious burn that made your toes curl against the tiled floor.
“Well… you’ve got it.”
The first full thrust punched the air from your lungs. He didn’t give you time to adjust he didn’t need to. You were soaked, clenching around him greedily.
He set a punishing rhythm immediately, hips snapping forward so the sound of skin meeting skin echoed off the kitchen walls.
Each thrust drove you harder against the counter; one of your hands scrambled for purchase on the edge, the other reaching back to clutch at his thigh.
“Fuck—Spencer—oh my God—”
“God’s not here,” he panted, voice rough with lust and centuries of restraint finally shattered. His hand snaked around to rub tight circles over your clit while the other pinned your wrist to the counter.
“Just me. Just this cock buried so deep in your tight little cunt you’ll feel me for days.” He angled his hips, hitting that perfect spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. “You’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m—yours—fuck—yours!” The words dissolved into a moan as he drove into you harder, the wet slap of it obscene and perfect.
He leaned down, lips brushing the nape of your neck. “That’s my girl. Look at you…bent over the counter like a good little slut, taking everything I give you.”
His thrusts grew erratic, deeper, the cool length of him dragging against every sensitive nerve. “You’re going to come for me. Right now. Let me feel you fall apart while I’m still inside you.”
The orgasm crashed over you without warning white-hot and devastating. Your walls clenched rhythmically around him, a broken cry tearing from your throat as your legs shook.
Spencer groaned, low and wrecked, fucking you through it with short, grinding thrusts until your climax dragged him over the edge too.
He buried himself to the hilt, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you, cool pulses that somehow still felt like fire.
For a long moment the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the distant saxophone from the street below.
Then Spencer dropped his forehead to the back of your neck, arms sliding around your waist to hold you close. A soft, breathless chuckle vibrated against your skin.
“You absolute menace,” he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder in a tender kiss. “I can’t believe you weaponized a paper cut.”
You laughed too shaky, giddy, still trembling from the aftershocks turning your head just enough to catch his eye. “It worked, didn’t it?”
He hummed, nuzzling into your neck with a fang-grazed smile. “Oh, it worked. But next time…”
He nipped your earlobe gently. “Next time I won’t stop at your finger.” You shivered at the promise, still pinned beneath him, his softening cock still nestled inside you, and smiled.
Reid wants to be choked but is too shy to ask! Boy oh boy oh boy what I literally would not do. If you’re asking me personally what I *would* do, well I simply would force him to ask and painstakingly describe how it feels and why he likes it. But that’s just me
MDNI, NSFW Smut 18+ ❗️ blurb
Early season Spencer Reid x AFAB! Fem reader
cw: smut, established relationship, submissive spencer, consensual choking, lots of nerdy talk, dom reader, use of good boy etc.
a/n: Thank you for the request i’m so so sorry it’s been sitting for ages! i’m trying to get back into posting :p
Masterlist Request Rules Taglist
The apartment felt emptier than usual without him. Three days since the jet took off for Seattle, and the silence pressed in like a weight.
You’d grown used to the soft shuffle of Spencer’s socks on the hardwood, the way he’d mutter facts under his breath while making coffee, the occasional shy brush of his fingers against your waist when he thought you weren’t paying attention.
Spencer all gangly limbs and nervous energy, glasses perpetually sliding down his nose, hair a chaotic halo of curls had somehow become your person.
Established.
Safe.
But still so painfully shy about the things he wanted.
You weren’t snooping. Not really. You’d only sat at his desk to check the weather on his laptop because yours was charging across the room.
The screen woke up to a half-dozen tabs he’d clearly forgotten to close in his rush to pack. Your stomach did a little flip when the first one loaded.
Erotic Asphyxiation – Wikipedia.
You clicked. Then the next: Carotid Sinus Massage and Induced Hypoxia: Neurological Effects. Then a medical PDF titled “Safe Breath Play: Pressure Points, Endorphin Release, and Risk Mitigation.”
No case files.
No unsub profiles.
No photos of ligature marks or crime-scene notes. Just… research. Personal, private, late-night research.
Your cheeks burned as you skimmed. The science was pure Spencer:
“Light, bilateral compression of the carotid arteries reduces cerebral blood flow by approximately 30-40%, triggering a rapid drop in oxygen saturation. This induces a hypoxic state that floods the brain with dopamine, endorphins, and norepinephrine creating an intense euphoric rush comparable to a runner’s high, but localized and amplified by sexual stimulation.”
Another line:
“Subjects report heightened tactile sensitivity, prolonged orgasmic contractions, and a profound sense of floating submission.”
You closed the laptop gently, heart hammering.
Not for a case.
For him.
Your brilliant, stammering boyfriend who could quote Dostoevsky in the original Russian but turned tomato-red if you so much as kissed him in the kitchen where the neighbors might see.
You left it exactly as you found it and waited.
The key turned in the lock just after nine. Spencer stepped inside looking rumpled and exhausted—tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, go-bag slung over one shoulder.
The second he saw you, though, his whole face softened. Those big hazel eyes lit up behind his glasses.
“Hey,” he breathed, voice already cracking with relief.
He dropped the bag and crossed the room in three long strides, arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you’d vanish. “God, I missed you. The case was… it was bad. Really bad. But I’m home. I’m home now.”
You hugged him back just as tightly, breathing in the faint scent of airplane coffee and his cheap drugstore shampoo. He clung, face buried in your neck, fingers twisting in the back of your shirt.
Clingy Spencer was your favorite—rare, but so honest after the worst cases.
“Dinner first,” you murmured against his hair. “You look like you haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t from a vending machine in days.”
He laughed softly, the sound muffled against your shoulder. “Technically I had a protein bar on the jet, but it was expired by three months. Statistically speaking, the odds of gastrointestinal distress were—”
“Takeout’s on the counter, genius.”
He ate like he was starving, legs tangled with yours on the couch, rambling about everything except the case details he wasn’t allowed to share.
You listened, nodding, letting him unwind until the plates were empty and he was leaning heavily against you, one arm draped across your lap, thumb tracing lazy circles on your thigh.
You waited until his breathing had evened out, until the tension in his shoulders had mostly melted.
“So,” you said casually, running your fingers through his curls, “I used your laptop earlier. To check the forecast.”
His thumb stilled.
“I saw the tabs, Spencer.”
Silence. Then a tiny, mortified squeak escaped him. His face flooded crimson—ears, neck, the tips of his cheekbones all burning red.
He sat up so fast his glasses slipped down his nose.
“I—um—those weren’t— I mean, I was just—”
You caught his hand before he could bolt. “Hey. Breathe. I thought it was case-related at first. Then I realized it wasn’t. And I read a little.” You kept your voice gentle, thumb stroking his knuckles.
“Talk me through it. Why would you like that? What does it feel like for you?”
He looked like he wanted the couch to swallow him whole. But you waited, patient, the same way you always did when he got stuck on a sentence.
Finally he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, and launched into full Reid-ramble mode, words tumbling out in that rapid-fire cadence you loved.
“Well—statistically…when bilateral pressure is applied specifically to the carotid arteries, not the trachea—because tracheal compression is extremely dangerous and can cause laryngeal damage-i-i—it restricts oxygenated blood to the brain by roughly thirty percent within seconds. That induces transient cerebral hypoxia. The brain responds by releasing massive amounts of dopamine, endorphins, and adrenaline essentially a neurochemical cocktail that heightens every sensory input while simultaneously lowering inhibitions. The result is… it feels like floating. Like every nerve ending is on fire in the best possible way. Orgasms under hypoxia are reported to be thirty to fifty percent more intense due to the prolonged muscle contractions and the rush of oxygen when pressure is released. For me, it would be—”
His voice cracked. He stared at your joined hands. “It would be the ultimate surrender. Knowing you’re in control. Knowing I’m safe. Knowing the smartest thing I’ve ever wanted is something only you can give me.”
You blinked, processing the avalanche of science. “Okay… but simpler? For the non-genius in the room?”
He gave a shy, lopsided smile, cheeks still flaming. “It feels like the best head-rush of your life mixed with the safest free-fall imaginable. Like every touch is electric. Like I’m high on you. And… I wouldn’t have to think. I could just feel.”
You let that settle between you, then leaned in and kissed the corner of his burning cheek. “I want to give you that. But only if you ask me outright. No hints. No hiding behind Wikipedia. You have to say the words, Spencer. Exactly what you want.”
His eyes widened, panic flashing behind the glasses. Submissive Spencer your sweet, brilliant, secretly needy boyfriend looked like he might actually combust. “I… I can’t just—”
“You can,” you said softly, cupping his face.
“Or you won’t get it.”
He stared at you for a long, trembling moment. Then his shoulders slumped in surrender.
Those big hazel eyes went liquid and pleading—full-on puppy-dog stare that always destroyed you. His voice dropped to a whisper, shaky and small.
“Please… choke me.” The words came out on a broken exhale. “While you ride me. I want your hand on my throat—just the sides, like the articles said. Please. I need it.”
The air left your lungs in a rush. You kissed him slow and deep, tasting the nervous tremble in his lips. “Good boy,” you whispered against his mouth. “That’s my good boy.”
What followed wasn’t rushed. You took your time peeling him out of his work clothes—tie first, then shirt buttons one by one, kissing every inch of pale skin you uncovered.
He whimpered the second your mouth found the spot just below his ear, hips twitching involuntarily. His hands fluttered at your waist like he didn’t know where to put them.
“Can I… can I touch you?” he asked, voice already hoarse.
“Always,” you answered, guiding his long fingers under your shirt. He sighed like he’d been waiting years, palms sliding up your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts with reverent care.
You undressed each other between kisses that grew hungrier, wetter. When you finally pushed him back against the couch cushions, he was already hard, flushed all the way down his chest, cock curving up against his stomach and leaking at the tip. You wrapped your hand around him and stroked once, slow. Spencer’s head fell back, a broken little moan escaping.
“Oh—god—”
You worked him open with your mouth next long, lazy licks, taking him deep until his thighs shook and his fingers tangled in your hair. He didn’t thrust; he never did unless you told him to. Just whimpered and panted, “Feels so good—please—don’t stop—”
But you did which led to a whine from his lips. His forehead creasing for a moment but he didn’t protest.
You finally straddled him, guiding him to your entrance and sinking down inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt, you both groaned. He filled you perfectly—hot, thick, pulsing.
You rolled your hips once, testing, and his hands flew to your thighs, gripping hard enough to leave faint marks.
You started slow.
Deep grinds. Letting him feel every slide. His head tipped back against the cushions, mouth open, glasses fogged at the edges.
Little breathy whimpers spilled out with every roll of your hips.
Then you reached up.
Your fingers settled on either side of his neck—thumbs resting gently over the carotid arteries, just like he’d researched. No pressure yet. Just the promise.
Spencer’s eyes flew open, pupils blown wide.
“Is this okay?” you asked, voice low.
He nodded frantically, hips jerking up into you. “Yes—please—now—”
You squeezed. Light. Controlled. Just enough to feel the faint flutter of his pulse against your thumbs.
The effect was instantaneous.
Spencer’s entire body arched, a raw, whimpering moan tearing from his throat. His cock twitched hard inside you. “Oh—fuck—yes—”
You kept the pressure steady, rolling your hips faster now, riding him deep and deliberate.
His hands scrabbled at your waist, not pushing you away—clinging.
His glasses had slid completely crooked; you didn’t fix them. You just watched his face his eyes half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed darker than you’d ever seen.
“Feel that?” you murmured, leaning down so your breath ghosted his ear. “That rush? That’s what you wanted, baby. My hand cutting off just enough blood to make everything burn. You’re so pretty like this. So good for me.”
He whined—actually whined, high and desperate.
“Harder—please— just a little— I can take it—”
You tightened your grip a fraction more. His eyes rolled back. A string of broken sounds poured out
“Ah—ah—god—yes—don’t stop—please—feels so—fuck—”
You rode him harder, thighs burning, the wet slap of skin echoing in the quiet apartment. Every time you sank down he let out a new whimper, hips stuttering up to meet you.
His pulse hammered under your thumbs—fast, frantic, alive. You could feel the exact moment the hypoxia hit him fully; his whole body went lax for a second, then snapped taut, cock swelling even thicker inside you.
“I’m close—” he gasped, voice wrecked. “Please—don’t let go—gonna—gonna—”
You leaned down and kissed him messily, tongue sliding against his while your hand stayed exactly where he needed it. “Come for me, Spencer. Let go. I’ve got you.”
He came with a shattered cry, back bowing off the couch, hips jerking up so hard you saw stars.
You felt every pulse, every hot spurt deep inside you as the orgasm ripped through him longer, harder than usual, his whole body trembling with it.
The sight, the feel, the sound of your name breaking on his lips sent you over the edge right after him. You clenched around him, thighs shaking, a moan tearing from your own throat as pleasure crashed through you in waves.
You released his neck the second his orgasm peaked—exactly like the articles said. Oxygen rushed back in.
Spencer gasped, eyes fluttering, chest heaving. You kept riding him through the aftershocks, gentler now, until he was whimpering from overstimulation and tugging weakly at your hips.
When you finally stilled, you collapsed against his chest, both of you slick with sweat and panting. His arms came around you instantly, shaky but fierce, face buried in your neck.
“Thank you,” he whispered, voice raw and small.
“Thank you, thank you— I love you. God, I love you.”
You kissed his temple, fingers carding through his damp curls.
“I love you too, Spence. Always.”
He stayed clingy for a long time after curled around you on the couch, legs tangled, glasses finally abandoned on the coffee table.
Every few minutes he’d press a shy kiss to your shoulder and murmur some soft, half-formed fact about how endorphins linger or how safe he felt or how he’d never expected anyone to understand.
You just held him tighter.
Later, when he was half-asleep against you, you smiled into his hair and whispered,
“Next time you leave tabs open… maybe leave a bookmark.”
He laughed soft, embarrassed, perfect and hid his face in your neck.
