─── Sachi's Selfship Event ✦
Heya, here's my event for my 500 followers milestone. It's been fun writing my silly thoughts and sharing it on this blog. Thanks for all the support y'all have given me. But, as I've mentioned in my last post, I'll start writing on a different blog.
✦ The Event ───
Basically, you tell me about your selfship and I give you a set of headcanons based on the SFW alphabet (see content under the cut for the alphabet). For moots and followers that I recognize, I’ll do 10 letters. For everyone else, 8 letters. And for anons, 6 letters.
For fandoms, please keep it within Blue Lock, Wind Breaker, Mashle, and Kaiju no. 8!
✦ Instructions ───
Send me an ask containing the following:
your chosen character, your chosen letters, your likes & dislikes, love languages (receiving and giving), hobbies, interests, basic description of your appearance, picrews, random facts, some of your own lore about your selfship, etc. —literally everything that can help me write a more accurate set of headcanons
* Since some people might not be comfortable sharing their info, I’ll keep the asks in my inbox and tag you on your post instead. But if you’re on anon, I have no choice but to answer the ask.
✦ Rules ───
1. Do not rush me with your request. If you’ve sent me an ask, I’ve definitely read it.
2. Only one selfship per person!
3. Do not include any nsfw information in the ask that you will send me.
Note: Depending on the amount of asks I get, I might not be able to fulfill all of them. Of course, moots and followers take priority!
Check under the cut for the letters you can choose from ~
These are just general descriptions for each letter, but based on the info you'll give me, I can delve into it deeper and provide stuff beyond what is written here.
A - Affection
How do they show their affection for you? Do they get bouts of cuteness aggression?
B - Best Quality
What they think is/are your best quality/ies and why
C - Comfort
How do they comfort you when you're sad and down?
D - Dates
What kind of dates do you two like to go on? How frequent?
E - Early Relationship
How did you two get together? What was it like when you were just first starting out?
F - Fights
What do you usually fight over? Do you quarrel often? How do things get resolved? Who says sorry first?
G - Gifts
Their favorite gift that they got from you or a gift they've given to you. Do they like receiving gifts? If so, what kinds?
H - Hugs
Are they a hugger? What kinds of hugs do they prefer? What about cuddling?
I - Intimacy
What makes you feel connected at a deeper level? What kind of romance do you have?
J - Jealousy
How jealous are they? How do they deal with it?
K - Kisses
How do they kiss you? Do they like kissing?
L - Laughter
What are your inside jokes? What do you usually laugh about together? Who's funnier?
M - Memories
What is your most cherished memory together?
N - Nicknames
Do they like nicknames? If so, what do they like to be called or what do they call you?
O - Other People
What do other people think about your relationship? (Family, friends, co-workers, etc.)
P - Patience
How patient are they? Who's the more patient one between the two of you? What happens if they lose their patience?
Q - Quirks
What are some quirks you adopted from each other? Or what are the quirks that only come out when you're together?
R - Rituals
What are some things in your routines that you like to do together? Is it common or unusual? How frequent is it? Is it a daily, weekly, or annual thing?
S - Support
How do they show their support for your hobbies and interests? How involved are they?
T - Time Apart
How do you spend your time apart? Who caves first? Who handles it better?
U - Uniqueness
What sets you apart from other couples?
V - Values
What are your shared values?
W - Wildcard
Random headcanon about your relationship
X - XOXO
What are the little things that they do for you? Do you notice them or maybe they go unnoticed?
Y - Yin & Yang
How do you complement each other? How do you make them a better person? Or how do you make them happier? Are you two opposites or are you more similar to each other?
Z - Zrandom (sorry ran out of ideas, forgive me)
Pick a theme or any topic and I'll make a headcanon for it :)
Again, for moots and followers that I recognize, I’ll do 10 letters. For everyone else, 8 letters. And for anons, 6 letters.
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Between the Books
Summary: Reader is a librarian at the library Spencer frequents while he's finishing one of his degrees. They find themselves in a precarious situation when everyone's left and they're the last two people there.
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Smut
Content Warning: unprotected penetrative sex, oral (f!recieving), fingering (f!recieving), themes of exhibitionism, public sex.
Word Count: 3.9 k
Masterlist
Being observant came naturally to you, almost as if it was a reflex embedded into the core of your nervous system. You’d say “hello” to a new face and as if under command, your eyes would naturally drift to the small pieces of hair on that stranger’s coat.
Dog? Cat? Freakishly large gerbil?
Whatever it was, you couldn’t turn it off. And that’s why when Spencer Reid caught your eye, you simply couldn’t find it in yourself to look away.
And with time, it seemed like his actions mirrored yours.
You’d taken interest in a position at a university library for the summer. The job seemed to be a welcome change of pace from the likes of hectic summer jobs you’d go for typically in the past, a position that would mostly consist of monitoring graduate-level students who were, thankfully, much calmer than their undergrad counterparts.
For the most part, you were right. Your days were filled with reading in an air-conditioned building, looking up titles of reference books for other students, and of course, the unexpected, yet welcomed, occurrence of Spencer Reid.
The longer you spent at the library, the more you came to learn more about him.
Well, as much as you could learn without actually speaking to the man.
You’d learned his name from the library card he’d brandish when it came time to check out materials. He’d frequent books about Jean-Paul Sarte, Camus, and Nietzsche, opting to stay in the same, well-lit corner by the window every time he visited. While he could come in at any part of the day, he seemed to prefer later hours, when the library would be mostly vacant. His outfits weren’t over-the-top with formality, but he clearly wasn’t in the business of dressing casually.
You found it attractive, honestly, how put-together he seemed.
His return-rate on books was freakishly fast, and at one point, you’d assumed he was checking out books to read a certain page or chapter for research, and would then put it back, until you found yourself properly watching him and realized, no, he actually was just reading that fast. He could finish texts that would take almost a year to cover by seasoned professors and scholars in mere hours.
How? You had no idea. Nevertheless, you desperately wanted to learn- to know him beyond the gazes of a library hall.
You’d decided to try your luck at speaking to the man, noticing the three books he’d chosen all seemed to have one incredibly common theme amongst their authorship.
“Existentialist?” You ask, trying to make your tone seem polite but still friendly.
He blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting to be spoken to, and takes a second, his gaze meeting yours. “Sorry, what?”
“Existentialist.” You repeat, motioning to the books you were checking out for him. “Kierkegaard, Dostoevsky, Kafka. Your books seem to share a commonality.”
He chuckles, realizing the meaning of your words and shakes his head. “No, no. Not an existentialist. I’d like to believe the world is better than what any of them make it out to be.”
You smile, and nod. “I’d hope so.” Your eyebrows furrow, head tilting slightly. “Why the interest then?” There’s genuine fascination in your tone, and he seems to absolutely thrive off that, his eyes lighting up as you continue the conversation.
“I’m completing my Masters in Philosophy.” He responds. “We’ve been doing an assignment on existentialism, hence the ridiculous amount of gloom and doom in my reading.”
There’s a pause, before he cracks a smile, and then asks you, “Romantic?”
You look at him in confusion. It’s your turn to not get the joke. “Sorry?”
“Are you a romantic?” He asks. When you retain that confused look on your face, he continues.
“You’re almost always reading some variation of a romance novel here. So far I’ve counted Austen, Bronte, and I think I saw a copy of Anna Karenina on the counter once.”
You feel a bit of heat rise to your face, realizing that in his own way, he’d been observing you as well. In a second, the tables were turned, and the lens you often used on others was abruptly focused on you instead.
“Well, Anna Karenina is hardly a romance, I’d argue.” You say, before nodding. “But, yeah. I guess I’d say I’m a fan of romance in novels.”
He smiles, shaking his head. “I’m not asking you if you’re a fan of romance in novels, I’m asking you if you’re a romantic.” He says, putting emphasis on the last word, as if that was supposed to provide some grand difference to the statement.
“Just as much as anyone else, right?” You respond, still a bit puzzled at his insistence on contrasting the syntax of his statement.
“I see.” He says, nodding, continuing to look at you, as if he was sizing you up. “I’ll have to pick up a copy of Anna Karenina sometime then. See if it’s as much of a love story as I remember.”
“I think you’ll find it’s absolutely not.” You reply, smiling. “I believe we have a copy of it here, as a matter of fact, if you’re actually interested.” There’s a hint of skepticism in your tone, wondering why he seemed to be taking so much regard to your conversation.
“Of course I’m actually interested. You seem passionate about the subject.” He counters, grinning.
“I mean- yeah, I am! It’s a pretty misinterpreted book, I think.” You say. There’s a slight moment of silence, before you find yourself saying your next few words. “I’m also surprised you’re interested. I’m not always sure if it’s up everyone’s lane. Lots of people can’t get through it.”
“I’m sure the least I can do is try.” He says, shrugging.
You check out the last of his books, placing them in his outstretched hands. “Honestly, I’m even more surprised you noticed. You seem pretty into it in your corner over there.” You say, half-jokingly, but with a hint of seriousness mixed into it.
He gives a softer smile, almost boyish, as he replies.
“You’re pretty hard not to notice.”
He keeps the smile on his face, giving you a slight nod of his head, before leaving you to deal with the sudden heat that had risen to your cheeks as a result of his words. You couldn’t find it in yourself to respond to his quick wit in the moment, your heartbeat still racing long after he’d left.
Over that summer, the two of you get continually closer. To your absolute delight, he does end up reading Anna Karenina and better yet, he agrees with you. You immediately take an even stronger liking to him than before. Thus starts your tradition of recommending books to each other, the two of you discussing them when he’d come to the library, almost like a secret, private book club that only you two were privy to.
You come to learn more about him. His doctorates, his job. The secret of his inhumanely fast reading was revealed to you later down the road, when he explained the abilities of an unconscious mind.. or something. While you wanted to give your undivided attention to him, there was an unspoken part of you that couldn’t help but find it ridiculously attractive when he explained things to you. He never seemed to notice that enduring part of your psyche, and you were grateful for that.
Overall though, he made quite the friend. He shared your love of literature, and could be a wonderful listener at times. Your previous days of solitude in the library were long forgotten, and you found yourself looking forward to his daily visits, ready to share your thoughts on some book he’d last asked you to read.
You find that his visits become less and less about the actual establishment, and more and more about you, especially when he opts to visit you at the front desk first, as opposed to over at his usual spot by the window. Somedays, he makes it obvious, not even bothering to peruse the selection of books he was previously accustomed to, and merely opts to talk to you the entire time, right up to the point where you’re locking the doors of the library and heading to your own place for the night.
There’s a part of you that wonders why he hasn’t asked you out. You wonder why you hadn’t asked him out. It only seems natural, given how much time the two of you were spending- a date seemed like an obvious byproduct of the lingering gazes you’d catch him throw at you, the absolute joy that would bubble in your chest everytime the two of you shared an afternoon.
You shrug it off. All in good time, right?
It’s another night at the library, and you found yourself a bit frustrated. You’d asked your manager if there was any way she could take on the later shift of the day, increasingly tired with the hours of the job and simply needing a break from it all. She refused, and tonight, that refusal seemed to be on the forefront of your mind.
“I just- I don’t get it, Spencer. I know she can take on this shift.” You say, wheeling around a cart of books to be reshelved, talking openly since the library was empty at this point in the day, all patrons packed up and soundly at home– while you were stuck here.
He stayed, of course, following you around diligently as you completed the task, listening to every word.
“I get that this is the worst shift to have, but come on. I’m a good employee, you know? I feel like I deserve a break here and there.” You come to a stop, picking up a stack of books with a huffy sigh. “But no. I’m the one who has to go home late. I’m the one who’s on closing every single night. I’m sick of it.”
He nods sympathetically, and you continue to grovel, deeply appreciative that he was allowing you to vent to him like this. You stand on the provided step-stool on the ground, allowing you to have the height necessary to shelve some books that belonged further up than normal.
“Like, is it really that hard?” You grumble, your face turned away from Spencer as you find each book’s proper place. “God forbid she sleeps at a later time than normal- or I don’t know, hires someone else.” The last book is reshelved, and you turn around, about to dismount the stool. “And another thing-”
In the midst of your rant, you find yourself distracted, missing the step on the stool that would’ve allowed a safe dismount, and you quickly realize you’re falling off, letting out a small yelp before a stronger force keeps you upright- a force that happened to be Spencer’s arms catching you.
“You alright?” He asks with heavy concern, trying to look into your eyes or your legs, attempting to discern for signs where you might’ve hurt yourself on your descent.
It takes a second for you to process that you are insanely close to Spencer. His features are almost enhanced by the low-lighting of the dark library, his eyes entirely dilated as he stares at you, his lips soft and perfect– and those cheekbones, god. You could practically cut yourself on them.
You quickly return to your senses, trying to go back to a more suitable position that wouldn’t leave you so absolutely tongue tied. “No, no. I’m fine, honestly.” You step back, wiggling your leg a little. “See? Entirely fine.”
He smiles a little sheepishly. “Sorry, I just get worried. I’m a doctor, you know.” He says, a teasing quality in his tone as he steps closer.
“Not an actual doctor.” You say, rolling your eyes fondly.
“Come on.” He says, letting his hand drift over back to your arm, which had taken most of the shock of falling onto him. “Humor me.”
There’s that grin again, and you can’t help but relent.
And so you humor him like he asked, letting his fingertips trail over the skin to properly check for any injuries, the action much more sensual than it should’ve been for a friend checking up on another friend.
“You know.” He murmurs, his voice a bit lower than before. “I don’t actually think this is the worst shift to take on.”
Your throat is dry, a physical reaction being drawn out of you as he touches you, and there’s a conscious reminder you actually have to respond to his words.
“Oh? Why is that?” You force out.
“It’s so quiet.” He mumbles out, immediately, his fingertips now tracing down to your waist, as the two of you made eye contact. “Nobody’s even in here at this point.”
You swallow, trying to calm the rapid beat of your heart. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
“I like the quiet.” He says, continuing on. The previously feather-like touch on your waist becomes more grasping than anything else. “There’s just so much more you can get done when it’s quiet.”
You nod and half heartedly mumble. “Mhm.” You’re far more focused on your growing proximity than his actual words, the act rendering you entirely breathless until he’s standing face to face with you, your breaths mingling due to the closeness.
“I can feel your heart beating.” He mumbles. “So fast. Do I make you nervous?”
You lick your lips and nod out of instinct, before squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head. “No, no. It’s just the closeness. I’m not used to it.” You whisper, eyes opening– and his gaze is as intense as ever.
One of his hands goes to cup your face. “Unless you tell me otherwise, I’m going to kiss you now.”
You don’t move a single muscle.
And then all of a sudden, he’s everywhere. He’s pulling you closer, absolutely devouring you like he’s been starved for your touch all along. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you respond in approval, humming with a deep content against his lips, your hands going to wrap around his neck, pulling your bodies flush together. You don’t want space– not now, or ever again.
“Fuck. Wanted this for so long.” He mumbles, as soon as he breaks off the kiss, finding the pulse point on your neck, and going at it with his lips, causing you to quietly moan out in pleasure. You’d never heard him curse before, and the act only served to add to the steadily growing throb in between your legs.
He pushes you even more insistently up against the counter attached to the bookshelves, your weight slightly more supported by the wood, as opposed to his body like before.
“You’re so pretty.” He breathes out in between his assault on your neck, his mouth finding every inch of your nape, and marking it as his own. It’s almost like he’s hellbent on mapping out every plane of skin there, committing every spot that makes you whine or let out his name to memory.
You’re breathing so heavily, and you think it can’t possibly get any better than this, but he proves you wrong when he abruptly gets to his knees, your eyes widening.
“Need to taste you. Please.”
He’s begging, like, on-his-knees, doe-eyes, broken voice- begging to eat you out.
And how could you ever say no, what, with those pretty eyes of his, and that expression on his face that made you practically weak with need?
“Yes.” You whisper out, and in record time, he’s undoing your jeans and underwear in one clean swoop, not even bothering to fully remove the material before his tongue is all over your cunt, lapping up the wetness that had accumulated in the past few minutes. You’re half surprised he didn’t just rip your clothing off, given the enthusiasm he was showing at this moment.
You’re suddenly incredibly aware of where you are- your place of work, a fucking library, and Spencer Reid was buried in your thighs like a man parched, lapping up wherever he possibly can. You can hear the obscene noises of your passion, his tongue lavishing over you, before he pays special attention to your clit, wrapping his lips around the nub and sucking softly. You cover your mouth with your free hand- grateful that the wood behind you was supporting you, because without it, you truly think you’d topple over from the sheer pleasure of it all.
“Fuck.” You whisper, voice high-pitched as you try to hold back your noises. “Fuck. Gonna come.” You warn, legs shaking as you barreled towards your release.
Without warning, his fingers enter your cunt, and you’re fighting back a scream.
How long had you stared at his fingers before this? How many times had you watched them run up and down the spines of the books he read, or gestured with them constantly whilst speaking? How long had such a simple part of his body captivated you?
How many times had you secretly wondered to yourself how they’d feel inside you?
It didn’t matter anymore. You had your answer now. Fucking amazing.
“Spencer!” You whine out, his fingers naturally reaching that soft spot inside that you often struggled to even brush against. His lips find your clit again, sucking softly and you know you’re an absolute goner.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck-”
Before you can even voice in coherent terms how good this feels, you’re coming, the walls of your cunt spasming around his fingers as he relishes in the reaction, using the tip of his tongue to circle your clit, and slowing his fingers down as you ride out the remnants of your orgasm. He slips the digits out of you as he rises to his knees, and sucks on his fingers, one by one, practically moaning as he tastes your release.
The sight is downright sinful.
“You taste so good.” He whispers, crashing his lips against yours again, and you’re already needy again when you can taste yourself on his tongue.
His hands drift down to his own slacks, undoing them and pulling his cock out, already dripping with precum.
“You ready, pretty girl?” He murmurs, guiding his tip to your waiting cunt. You’ve situated yourself on the wood of the desk entirely now, needing the support for what happens next.
You nod, and without even realizing he was already mostly there, he pushes into you entirely, and your jaw drops. Your head rests against his shoulder, trying to accustom to feeling of him stretching you out so fucking perfectly.
How could you ever fuck anyone else again, when he just felt so perfect for you?
It seemed that he agreed with the sentiment, moaning softly as his free hand steadied himself by gripping onto the shelf. “You feel so fucking good.” He murmurs. “Can I move? Are you okay?” He asks, softly.
His other hand rubs soothing circles into your hip bone, and you’re nodding, touched by his concern for you, even during such a salacious act.
His thrusts are slow at first, still allowing you to get used to the feeling of him inside of you, before he’s truly going at it, his thick cock rubbing against your wet walls in a way that makes you feel light and full all at once. It's delectable, and you never want it to end.
You whine, holding onto his neck, your head thrown back as you take it, feeling the books rattle around you with every hump he deals into you. You can’t even find it in yourself to care– all that matters right now is you, and him, and how fucking amazing it feels when he’s fucking you like this.
You can feel yourself building towards another pleasurable release, before you hear the telltale click of the library door opening, effectively removing you from the moment. Fuck. The janitor.
“Spencer, Spencer!” You whisper-shout, biting your lip. His cock doesn’t once slow inside you, and you find it hard to think when it feels that good.
“We’re gonna be caught!” You whine out, dizzied by how you were simultaneously turned on and utterly panicked.
“No, we won’t.” He whispers, gruffly. With your hands now around his neck, he lets his hand drop from the shelf and covers your mouth. He leans in even closer, if that’s possible, eyes dark.
The sight makes a shiver go up your spine.
“Stay quiet.” He murmurs, as he begins to deal slower, more deliberate thrusts into your cunt.
“Feel that? Feel how I’m filling you up, nice and slow?” He whispers, the words barely audible, but with how close he’s standing to you, they overtake every one of your senses, and you nod desperately, eyes glistening as you feel yourself dancing on the precipice of release.
“Shh. I know.” He murmurs. “Come for me, yeah? I know you want to. Show me how much you like my cock inside of you.”
It's a combination of his tone, of the risk you two were facing, and the sensation of him that has you responding exactly the way he wants, and in an instant, you’re coming with a shuddering breath, holding back a loud whine, just like he asked you to.
The feeling of your walls spasming has him releasing as well, a warmth flooding in your deepest point. His head drops into your shoulder as he attempts to muffle his moans the best he can, and you both bask in the afterglow for a second, trying to pant as quietly as you could.
Spencer immediately springs into action, redressing you with precision and care, guiding your underwear and jeans back up, buttoning them up for you. You’re still in a slight haze from the two orgasms he’d just given you, and when you properly come to, his slacks are back on, and he leans in for a much more chaste kiss. It leaves you with butterflies, despite everything, and you find yourself smiling softly at him. The fondness reflected in his expression is undeniable.
“Let’s get out of here.” He murmurs, grabbing your hand and guiding you in between the shadows of the shelves, effectively keeping you both from being caught. The janitor remains clueless, as you two sneak out, giggling like teenagers as you find yourselves outside, the summer night warm and cool all at once.
“That was..” You mumble, laughing a bit, surprised that had even happened.
“I know. I- uh. Might’ve gotten carried away?” He says. “I usually like to do that after a date. I just-” He steps closer, cupping your cheek. “I couldn’t wait. I hope that’s okay.” He whispers.
“More than okay.” You whisper back.
His thumb slowly strokes over the expanse of your cheek, and he bites his lip. “Could we? Date? Try this out?” He murmurs. “I know I didn’t get much of a chance to say it back there, but I really like you.”
You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. This man had just been inside you, and now he was blushing and stuttering whilst he attempted to ask you out.
“Yes.” You nod. “Let’s try this.”
He’s got the most genuine smile on his face, and a sigh of relief can be heard as he leans in again to kiss you, and you can’t help the smile on your face as your lips meet his, the elation in both of your bodies absolutely radiating inside and out.
You recount your first conversation and know now, there was a difference between liking romance, and being a romantic.
You reckon Spencer Reid could make quite a romantic out of you.
this is uploading an hour later than i wanted it to :( but whatever. i hope you guys like this one <3 i'm trying something new! not first person pov, but "you" ? pleaseee let me know how this works for you guys! i love experimenting out with new fic methods but if it's clear this isn't working TELL MEEE so i can go back to what did work. anyway, any likes, reblogs, comments are so so so genuinely appreciated. thank you thank you thank you for reading either way <3
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DIRTY IMPULSES - Spencer Reid x Reader
About: Spencer prided himself in being someone that didn’t rely on their hormones when dealing with others. But when he met you, he just couldn’t help himself.
Warnings: NSFW Content, MDNI, Perverted! Spencer x Clueless Reader, dirty thoughts, masturbation (m), brief mentions of a case with usual criminal minds violence, etc.
Word Count: 1,000 words
Throughout his whole life, Spencer hadn’t been someone that was really interested in others. He prioritized education above anything else. He hadn’t really felt attraction to others until puberty. And even then, he didn’t deviate from his education. In his career, he was the same way. He put his work above personal relationships, his colleagues becoming his best of friends. He never understood the need for romantic partners or sexual relationships.
Until he met you.
The day you had walked into the bureau, dressed in this form fitting pant suit, there was a fire that ignited in Spencer. And he didn’t even know what it truly was. He had taken it as a sign to get close to you, to become your friend. And so he did. The two of you got along greatly, having much more in common than he would have assumed. You both enjoyed classic literature, you listened to him when he yapped about god knows what, you both had extensive knowledge on the cases you work on. It wasn’t hard for you guys to become close so quickly.
It was like you were made to be in Spencer’s life. To say he grew a crush on you quickly was an understatement. Your presence never failed to brighten his day. Your smile always enlivened the room. And the way you nodded your head as Spencer spewed random information, asking questions when you wanted clarification, adding on your own thoughts occasionally, well it made Spencer feel heard for once.
Each and everyday, Spencer looked forward to just being around you. At first his thoughts and motives were innocent. That was until one night, when Hotch had called everyone into the office on the night everyone was supposed to be off, and you came in wearing a provocative cocktail dress with your hair done immaculately and a face full of makeup. That was the day Spencer’s cock hardened at work for the first time. And from there on out, his thoughts took a wild turn.
It’s not like he meant them to. The average person has about anywhere from 12,000 thoughts to 60,000 thoughts per day. And he swore that at least half of those thoughts were completely normal. However, the other half? Well, they certainly shocked Spencer quite a bit. Especially as he had never been so…driven by his hormones before.
Anytime he saw you, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you on your knees, looking up at him with those pretty eyes glistening with tears as his cock was forcibly thrusting in and out of your mouth. Messy hair, glossy eyes, the feeling of you gagging on his cock, the thought never failed to make Spencer cum in his pants. The first time he thought about that was the night you had shown up in that dress. He had to make an emergency stop to the bathroom before boarding the jet that night.
And now? Well, Spencer was at home, thinking about the case you guys had just finished. It took place in a rural part of Texas. A man had been murdering business women that had an “alpha” female personality. You and Spencer had to share a hotel room and the room turned out to only have one bed. It was like a dream come true for Spencer’s cock.
Night after night, sleeping next to you, talking to you about random things, accidentally cuddling one another. It had taken everything in Spencer’s power to not just bury his face in between your legs and make you cry out his name.
Spencer felt his cock hardening in his pants as he thought about your time together over the past week. There was this one instance where you had gone to take a shower but had forgotten your clothes. So he had to hand you your pajamas himself and he accidentally saw your tits. Now that lives rent free in his head. Letting out a soft groan, Spencer undid his pants, pulling them down enough so his cock was out.
He was already so hard and leaking precum just thinking about you. He whimpered as he thumbed the tip before wrapping his hand around his cock and pumping slowly. Spencer just seemed as though he couldn’t help himself when he was around you. Which is how he landed a pair of your used panties that sat on his desk. Part of him felt gross, ashamed. But his arousal outweighed the guilt he felt.
With his other hand, Spencer grabbed the fabric, bringing it to his nose as he inhaled deeply. He jerked himself off faster, smelling the faint scent of your cunt on your panties. Oh how he yearned to bury his cock inside of you. To see you whining underneath him as he fucked you. He would make sure you came at least twice before allowing himself the pleasure.
“Fuck,” he moaned, throwing his head back in pleasure as his thoughts were consumed by you. Your moans would be absolutely beautiful, heavenly even. Spencer could feel the heat building inside of him, signaling he was getting closer. He pumped himself faster, imagining how wet your pussy must be naturally as he sniffed the panties. And with a choked moan, Spencer began to cum, painting his hand and his chest.
He let out a deep sigh, finally relieved. And after a few moments, the shame and guilt overcame him. Spencer sat there for a moment, feeling bad about what he had just done. But that didn’t stop him when later that night, he fucked the pair of panties. And the next day, when you asked Spencer if he had accidentally taken the pair or if you had left it in the hotel, he had simply shrugged and shook his head no.
And two days later, you found your lost pair of panties in your go-bag, cleaned, having smelt much like the laundry detergent that Spencer used.
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Rȳbās (Aemond x Wife!Reader)
Using the mural in a fic was something I'd planned for a while and when the beautiful @targaryen-dynasty asked for writers for her milestone celebration I snapped it up! The whole thing came together so perfectly and I hope you enjoy! Check out her full milestone celebration here!
And the masterlist will be here!
Summary: Your disinterest in your shared Valyrian heritage had been a sore point for your brother turned husband. Aemond could not fathom a reason you would not hold the same interest he did. So he devised himself a little plan to help you learn.
TW: MINORS DNI, she/her pronouns, afab reader, canon typical incest, targcest, oral (fem receiving), Aemond being a nerd, profanity, sexual innuendo, Aemond being a tease if you squint, use of High Valyrian.
Words: 2311
ābrazyrys - wife
valzȳrys - husband
rȳbās - focus/listen/obey
Since you were small, you and Aemond had been inseparable. There was never a moment you were not at your brother’s side. You would watch him train with the sword and he would watch as you learned to control your dragon.
It was no surprise to anyone when your father declared you betrothed, citing Valyrian traditions. Your mother had not been the most accepting, but it was hard to deny the bond the two of you shared despite her reservations.
But there was one stark difference. A difference the Aemond would torment you with time and time again.
You had never taken your lessons as seriously as Aemond. Your brother turned husband had always held a fascination with your shared Valyrian heritage and history. Pouring over every tome the royal library offered, soon demanding more texts from the maesters. Even now, a man grown and married, he was ever searching for more.
At first, he had ignored your disinterest. Understanding that you maybe simply did not hold the same curious mind he did. But he would catch you reading other texts. Your interests centring more on fiction than philosophy and history.
It became a common occurrence, even after your marriage. Joining Aemond in the library after he poured over some history text or philosophical scroll. Watching him in confusion as he read and reread the texts over and over, seemingly engrossed in it despite having read every book and reem of parchment in the royal library.
When he would question you on it, you would simply say it did not interest you. He kept his true feelings quiet on that, though he could not help taking a little offence at your total dismissal of your family history. The history that made you both who you were.
He tried numerous times, even offering to teach you himself. And again, you would dismiss him. You knew enough Valyrian to command your dragon, why must you learn more, would become your new answer.
But today, it seemed he took particular offence at your disinterest.
“Would you not even take an interest if I read them to you? Explained them?” Aemond asked, hooking his finger in his book to keep his place as his good eye bored into the side of your face.
You sighed, looking up from your own book – a small one filled with poems and short stories. You could tell by the look on his face that today was going to be one of his more stubborn and insistent days.
“This again, really? Have I not already given you enough reasons…” your voice was tired, meeting his gaze one before returning to your book.
You loved the way his mind worked; it was one of the many things you had always loved. Even more so now you were married. But you wished he would understand that not everyone saw the world as he did. And it was not that you did not care for your Valyrian heritage. It was just that you saw no joy in reading about the past when you had enough to deal with in the present.
You had not argued with Aemond when, after agreeing to make his chambers your marital ones, he begged to keep his mural. A large painting of The Burning of Harrenhal during the Conquest of Aegon I, painted quite accurately it seemed above your shared bed. You did your best to spend little time looking at it, not understanding why he needed an event so dark and violent above his head. But you loved him too much to fight him on that.
You would not, however, give in to his constant insistence of joining his fevered interest in those legends and tales.
“I simply do not understand how you can dismiss our heritage so easily?”
But when you chose to ignore him, he surprisingly remained quiet. But one look at him would have told you so much. As stubborn as he was, Aemond began to devise a plan. To mix education with pleasure, you could say. Something he had yet to do to you, or should he say for you.
Something that would make sure you remembered every lesson he taught you.
You had not seen Aemond for a few hours. It was not unusual. There would be times he would forget the hour and remain in the library until he could barely keep his eye open to read. Sometimes he would decide to take an impromptu ride on Vhagar.
There were a number of things that would keep your husband from your side in the evening. So, when you returned to your chambers, you did not expect to find Aemond sit by the fire. His eye trained solely on you as you entered. Feeling as though it bored into your very soul with the intensity of his gaze.
“Have I missed something?” you asked, slipping off your shoes and making quick work of loosening your braids.
If there was one routine you had, it was to find comfort from the moment you entered your chambers. But something about Aemond was putting the atmosphere in the room on a knife’s edge.
“I have decided I will find a way to make you appreciate our heritage as I do. One way or another.”
Aemond’s voice was soft. A tone you knew immediately meant trouble. It was when he was calm and quiet that the most chaos seemed to follow. He stood quickly, making quick work of the distance between you, pulling your back towards his.
“I am sure, sweet sister, that you will enjoy my lessons much more than any others.”
Your body melted back into his as his lips found your neck. Kisses gentle yet demanding all at the same time. His hands splayed over your stomach as your head fell back to rest on his shoulder.
“You are yet to convince me, despite months of trying. What makes you think that will change tonight?” your voice was barely louder than a whisper, your resolve slowly faltering as he nipped at your pulse point. His smirk evident.
Aemond could feel your pulse under his lips, knowing just his words and touch were enough to already have you like putty in his hands.
“Have some faith, my love, you do not know what I am capable of…” Aemond whispered, nipping at your skin as he walked you towards the bed.
As your knees hit the footboard, Aemond gave you a gentle push forwards. You scrambled to catch yourself, hands planted on the bed as you slightly turned back towards Aemond with a questioning brow raise.
He only hummed, shedding his leather doublet and tilting his head as if planning his next move.
“Hands and knees, ābrazyrys.” Aemond ordered, his gaze not wavering from yours.
There was part of you that wanted to disobey, to bite back. But that look told you it would be a mistake. That tonight was not a night to toy with him. Aemond watched with a serious expression as you got into the desired position, your forearms flat to the bed as you rested your head atop them. But that was not quite how he wanted you.
“Head up, look at the mural.”
You frowned but did as he bid, all the while wondering what he could possibly be aiming for. His hands were warm as the caressed a path on both sides of your waist, mapping out each curve of your body. When he reached the hem of your dress, he pushed it high, silently demanding its removal. With quick movements, you pulled the dress over your body, throwing it aside and returning to your previous position. Bare and presenting yourself like an animal for your husband.
Aemond could only hum in approval, impressed by your choice to obey him without argument. He wondered, then, if that would bode well for the rest of the evening. You could hear the sounds of Aemond’s clothes being removed. One by one hitting the floor until he was as bare as you were, you assumed. You dared not look back at him.
“Good girl,” he mumbled, his hand following the same path as before, but now you could feel the roughness of his palms against your skin.
You wondered what his next move would be curiosity eating at you. You sighed out softly as his hands needed at your rear, soon turning to a moan as he gave one then the other a gentle smack.
“Now, we shall make a deal. You will recite the story told in that mural, and in return I will bring you naught but pleasure,” Aemond voice sounded serious, but you could hear the small strain of desire within him at the sight of you bent over like this.
His hands continued their path down your body, parting your thighs. What you did not expect to feel was the warm puff of his breath against your folds. Already slick with want from the anticipation.
“I do not understa…oh!” Your words fell to a gasp the second you felt the hot swipe of his tongue against you.
Aemond had never pleasured you like this, not because he did not want to. He had offered before, but you had felt a small twinge of embarrassment at the idea and always denied him. But now, you realised what a mistake that had been.
Your pleasure, however, was short-lived when Aemond tapped at your thigh and removed his mouth from your core.
“Recite the tale, wife.” His voice was lower, hoarse almost. It was clear he was as filled with desire as you, but fighting hard to keep up the control he had in this moment.
You groaned softly, but when you realised that he was serious you began as best as you could remember.
“In 2 BC, Harren the Black completed the building of his castle, Harrenhal,” The moment you began speaking, Aemond resumed his ministrations. Soft licks to your core to ease you into your pleasure.
Your voice was soft, every word punctuated with a moan as you continued. Detailing how Aegon the Conqueror had arrived not long after, how two battles had been fought. How Harren had been forced to close the gates of Harrenhal for his own protection.
Aemond smirked against you. He had been going easy, luring you into a false sense of security. He was not done with you yet. He gave you a moment’s reprieve and praised your efforts.
“Keep going, my love, I am impressed…”
If you had been more aware, you would have heard the vaguely mocking tone in his voice. You would have taken that as a warning for what was to come. But unfortunately, you were not.
You began again, mere seconds passed before Aemond began to lap at you again. But this time, he had you gripping the sheets beneath, eyes barely staying open as you were taken over by pleasure.
But a slap to your thigh told you to continue the story.
“Gods…uh…” You tried to speak, feeling him chuckle into your wet heat.
Aemond gripped your thigh in yet another warning, one more sign of hesitation and he would stop.
"Rȳbās..." he growled deep into your cunt as he squeezed your thigh again.
“Harrenhal was too strong to be sieged, so Aegon offered to confirm Harren as the Lord of the Iron Islands if he yielded to him…” your voice broke into a low, keening moan of Aemond’s name as he pressed himself deeper into you, burying his tongue as far as it would go.
You could feel your release readily approaching, but you were still coherent enough to know you would not be allowed to peak until you were done retelling the history.
“Fuck…Aem…” You tried to remember the rest, your hips instinctively rolling back against his face.
Your eyes rolled as you felt him grunt into you, as lost to his pleasure as you were. His cock hard and ready between his thighs, pulsing with need at the mere taste of you. His hand crept around your body, his thumb pressing against your swollen bud. The pleasure was almost too much but you were now determined to prove you could finish the tale despite your husband’s tongue lapping eagerly at your cunt.
“Harren…Harren refused and Aegon took to Balerion and burned the castle. Cracking the walls, burning everything within and ending House Hoare…Fuck!”
Aemond no longer cared for the rest of the tale, his thumb rubbing at your pearl furiously as his mouth devoured you. His cock leaking onto the stone below as his own pleasure stirred in his stomach.
“Come for me, wife…” Aemond commanded, his free hand grasping at the flesh of your rear to ground himself.
Within moments, your juices flowed onto his tongue, joined by your almost screamed moans of pleasure and chants of his name. Your knuckles almost white at you gripped at the black sheets below.
Aemond did not relent, drinking down everything you gave him until you began to pull away. Your body limp as you dropped to the bed. He was quick to crawl up beside you, stroking a hand down your damp back.
“Well done, sweet wife…I had half a mind to believe you would fail…”
You barely huffed out a laugh, turning on to your side to look at him.
“So little faith you have in me, valzȳrys?” you breathed out, tugging him down for a kiss, groaning at the taste of yourself on his lips.
Aemond pressed himself against you, making you readily aware of the heavy weight of his cock still thick and waiting between his thighs. Your hand travelled down, gripping him and relishing the moan that left him. A wicked idea soon entered your mind. It was only fair to see if your so-called historian of a husband was as capable as you had just been.
“Maybe, it is my turn to test you?”
Tags (feel free to let me know if you want adding)
@blissfulphilospher @elaratyrell @khaleesihel @multyfangirl
@legitalicat @thenameswinter99 @aemondsbabe @anjelicawrites
@sylasthegrim @arcielee @starogeorgina @connorsui
@bucknastysbabe @thought--bubble @aemonds-holy-milk
@kaelatargaryen
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