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daisies-daydreams · 1 year ago

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Intoxicating (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader Category: Smut (18+) Warnings: Breeding Kink, Feral!Miguel O'Hara, Pheromones, Use of Petnames, Rough Sex, P in V Sex, Unprotected Sex (You Know the Drill), Creampie, Mating Press, Baby Talk, SPOILER FOR ATSV Word Count: 1.5k+

A/N: Based on a prompt by @imslightlycreative. Literally cannot get enough of this man, istg. 😩🥴 I apologize, my Spanish is pretty rough. If I got anything wrong feel free to correct me. Translations are at the end of the fic. I hope you enjoy!

Original Prompt: "Reader is ovulating. Miguel finds out that his heightened senses can also pick up on pheromones".

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Miguel crept through the bedroom door. His hard heart softened when he saw you tucked beneath the comforter. You sighed and shifted slightly, your breathing steady as you slept soundly. He hovered next to you, his hand brushing some messy hair out of your face. Just as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, a bolt shot down his spine. His nostrils flared as he picked up on a scent: it was potent and sweet like rose water, yet intoxicating like wine. His talons suddenly drew out on their own as his pupils began to dilate.

"¿Qué carajo?" he muttered as his skin crawled, heat stirring inside his chest. The hair on his arms stood on end as he suddenly released a quiet grunt. Your eyes fluttered open as he clamped his hands over his mouth.

“¿Miguel?,” you blinked. Miguel’s hands shook as his carnal desires began to devour every inch of his body. He parted his lips as he felt a familiar throb in between his legs.

“Sí, bebé. I’m home,” he murmured, his voice husky and low. He swallowed thickly as you shifted yourself up, revealing your naked breasts from beneath the covers. His head spun as you slid your hand into his, your touch sending ripples down his spine and straight to his cock.

“Are you feeling okay, hermoso? You’re breathing pretty heavily,” you frowned as you stretched your arms out to cup his face. Miguel released a shaky sigh as you laid a hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up,” you said. Miguel nodded and licked his dry lips, his words swirling around in his clouded mind like a torrent.

“J-Just some leftover adrenaline from the the mission,” he explained shakily, his eyes raking down your luscious body. You tilted your head.

“Are you-” You gasped when Miguel’s large shadow suddenly cast over yours. He caged you in between his muscular thighs as he bared his teeth over your pulse. A deep hunger rose from the pit of his belly and spilled into every corner of his mind. His nostrils flared as he battled with the part of him that desperately wanted to rut into you.

“M-Miguel,” you sighed as you swallowed. Your mouth opened as he stuck his nose where your shoulder and neck met, inhaling your scent.

“What perfume are you wearing, cariño?” he purred. You whined as he scraped his teeth over your soft flesh. You arched your back and gasped when his hips bucked forward into your bare pussy.

“I-I’m not wearing perfume,” you said with a shaky breath. Miguel’s eyes snapped open as his lips danced over your collar bone.

You weren’t wearing perfume? Then, that scent…

Miguel’s gaze went back to your breasts. Curiously, he cupped them in his palms before giving them a light squeeze. You moaned, your mouth falling open into a wide “O”.

“Ah-Mig,” you cried out. Miguel's lips fell into a straight line. Your whole face turned a deep shade of crimson as his lips trailed down your torso. The smell became stronger as he came closer to your dripping cunt. Miguel’s chest heaved as his hands slid down from your tender breasts and spread your thighs apart.

His hot breath fanned over your pussy before he gently lashed his tongue across your folds. His body felt like it was on fire as he lapped your sweet arousal into his mouth. The last shred of his willpower snapped with the taste of you on his tongue. Miguel released an animalistic snarl as he lunged forward and completely pinned you to the bed. Your eyes widened with shock as he grinded his hips against yours, his cock rock-hard and ready to burst.

"Cariño, te necesito," he practically whined as he drove his clothed cock against your naked pussy. You keened as wrapped your legs around his waist.

"Arruíname,” you keened with drunk, half-lidded eyes. His crimson eyes rolled into the back of his head as he cut a slit in his pants with his talons. His dick sprang out and bounced on your stomach. Your eyes glistened at the sight of his swollen, flushed cock leaking with precum.

“Mi hermosa,” Miguel snarled. He brought his hands beneath your thighs before sheathing his cock inside your wet heat in one eager thrust. He couldn’t get enough of the small moans and cries that tumbled from your lips as he eagerly pounded into you. Your tight cunt greedily sucked him in as his dick slid along your plush walls. “Tan apretada,” Miguel gasped as your pussy fluttered around him. The room was filled with the lewd sounds of wet squelching and skin slapping against skin. He bared his fangs as his heavy balls smacked against your puffy, wet folds.

“M-Miguel,” you drooled when the tip of his cock reached into your cervix. It felt softer and more open as he relentlessly stroked against it. "Feel so good, Papi-please go faster!" you begged. You released a silent scream as Miguel pressed your legs up to your shoulders. Your slick splashed against him each time he buried himself to the hilt inside you. He leaned down to your ear.

“¿Quieres a mi bebe?” he rasped. You mewled at his words, your hands scraping down his taut forearms.

“Fuck, Miguel,” you whined. The creases of your knees were held in his palms as his cock somehow struck even deeper within you. His lips crashed into yours as he nearly folded you in half, your slick dribbling down across the bulge that poked out of your lower stomach.

“Want me to put a baby in you, hm? Want me to fill you up again and again until you can’t walk?” he husked. You released a moan loud enough to shake the bedroom walls.

“Yes-yes I want your baby! Please fill up my pussy, Papi!” you begged. Miguel smirked as he slid his tongue along your jawline and pistoned into you at a brutal pace.

“Buena chica,” he purred. His balls began to feel tight as your walls restricted around his boiling shaft. Miguel had to admit that he loved seeing you like this: folded and ready to take his seed. “Vamos, puedes hacerlo,” the man groaned as he saw your eyes squeeze shut and brows pinch together. Your breasts rose and fell as your breathing became ragged.

“MIG!” you screamed as your hands raked down his back. He grunted as your cunt clamped down and spasmed around his thick cock.

“Tan buena, tan buena para mi,” Miguel strained as he tried to push through the way your pussy squeezed his cock. The way your face twisted in ecstasy brought him closer to the edge. The back of your thighs jiggled against the front of his thighs. His thrusts became sloppy as you whined below him.

“Fill me, fill me,” you begged incessantly, your lips parted as drool slid down your face. Miguel could feel the red-hot eruption boiling in his cock as he heard your pussy squelch around his length.

“Mierda,” he grunted. You gazed into his darkened eyes, hot tears rolling down your glowing cheeks.

“Papi,” you cooed. The simple word finally pushed Miguel over the edge. He yelled and slammed his hips down. His mind was drowning in waves of pleasure as his body stiffened. Miguel’s cock throbbed as he squirted rope after rope of his thick cum into your stretched hole.

He panted as he felt the tension in his body begin to unravel-feeling at how his cum bubbled and spilled out where your sexes were joined. His dick twitched as it released the last stream of his spend, stuffing you completely full of his seed. Miguel’s eyelids drooped as he caught his breath. You gazed up at him, tear stains still trailing down your face.

He cooed as he leaned down, hushing you with a gentle kiss. Miguel wrapped his arms around you as he lay on top of you, his cock still plugged in your weeping cunt. He felt your hot breath fan over his shoulder as you played with his raven hair.

“Did you know I was ovulating?” you asked. His eyes snapped open.

“It was just a hunch,” he mumbled, his mind still somewhat drunk from your cunt squeezing him so tightly. You giggled and kissed his temple. His body began to relax as he listened to your heartbeat steady.

“So, how many are we going to have?” you whispered. Miguel’s throat tightened as he looked at you with a soft gaze.

“You mean-you really want to have…” his voice trailed off as images of his variant daughter flashed through his mind. You beamed and cupped his cheek, kissing the tip of his nose while nodding. Joy spread from the cracks in his heart all the way to the tips of his fingers. A wide smile stretched across his face as he kissed you over and over again, his hand trailing down your side.

“Gracias, mi vida,” he whispered, his eyes misty as he swallowed a lump in his throat. You sighed, then gasped when he rolled both of you over.

“Miggy!” you giggled as he nipped at your ear. You mewled as he pressed his chest against your back and shallowly pumped his cock into you. His cum sloshed around inside you as he whispered into your ear.

“We might as well get a head start, since my cock is already stuffed inside your tight cunt”.

___

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Translations:

¿Qué carajo? - What the fuck?

Papi - Daddy

Sí, bebé - Yes, baby

Hermoso/Hermosa - Handsome/Gorgeous

Te necesito, cariño - I need you, honey

Arruíname- Ruin me

Tan apretada - So tight

¿Quieres a mi bebe? - Do you want my baby?

Buena chica - Good girl

Vamos, puedes hacerlo - Come on, you can do it

Tan buena, tan buena para mi - So good, so good for me

Mierda - Shit

Gracias, mi vida - Thank you, my life

#miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #spider man 2099 x you #spider man 2099 #spider man 2099 x reader #spider man across the spider verse #spider man 2099 x y/n #spider man smut #marvel smut #fem reader #female reader

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ddarker-dreams · 2 months ago

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missing scarlet ribbons so bad… brain food for SR: confined space stand that lowkey locks SR reader in a really small alternate dimension space with the bucci gang. like… chest to chest on top like “aughh sorry!! its so cramped in here :((“ and the guys r j internally screaming over it

RETURNING WITH SOME SCARLET RIBBONS !!!!!!!!!!!! i love them your honor <33333333

[Scarlet Ribbons index]

Although Giorno recognizes this predicament's unique benefits, he still prioritizes your well-being. He will check you over, ensuring no harm has been inflicted. Once that’s settled, admittedly, a few mischievous thoughts flit through his mind… none that he’ll act on, however. He accommodates you to the best of his ability. Ever the opportunist, he’ll gratefully accept any physical contact your shuffling around results in. Should you find yourself bored while waiting out the Stand’s effects, he’ll humor (most) requests you make of Gold Experience. And no, he won’t agree to create an elephant, no matter how passionately you plead your case. You’ll have to settle for a duckling or something similarly small. Capybaras aren’t off the table.

Your level-headed leader, Bruno, finds himself unusually flustered. He recoils a bit too fast from any contact and dedicates a lengthy chunk of time to clearing his throat. He steels his nerves by asking if you’re alright, feeling any adverse side effects, etc. Sticky Fingers is summoned to check for a way out of this pocket dimension, an idea that’s proven implausible. You’ll both have to wait it out. Bruno gives you as much space as he can, to the point his contortions are stressing you out from how uncomfortable they must be. He almost chokes when you offhandedly suggest sitting on his lap to ‘free up space.’ Poor man.

Fugo’s irritated over the fight’s outcome. He feels useless, since your presence prevents him from utilizing Purple Haze, lest you fall victim to the Stand’s abilities. He critiques your strategies and lists what you should’ve done differently. Don’t take it personally — internally, he’s berating himself for being unable to do more. The self-loathing steadily fades away as he recognizes how close these accommodations have you. Fugo cuts himself off mid rant, sputtering incoherent gibberish. His heart starts beating so hard, he wonders if he might be going into cardiac arrest. Your knees are brushing against each other. Why aren’t you panicking? Why is he panicking? … And why does he feel some gratitude toward the Stand User responsibles for this?

Narancia considers this a golden opportunity to prove how reliable (and cool!) he is. Will most likely quote an action hero for maximum effect. He reassures you that he’s ‘totally got this’ and suggests shooting the walls with Aerosmith to bust out. You have to talk him out of this brilliant plan, reminding him that ricochet is a thing. Sitting still and waiting for the Stand’s ability to run its course hits him the hardest. He wants to be proactive, primed to pummel the asshole that got you both in this situation. However, your presence greatly decreases the likelihood he’ll do anything rash. At a certain point, he finds the whole thing kinda cool, like a secret base only you two know about.

Mista used to pray for days like these. He’s thanking all the saints (that he can remember) for this gracious opportunity. Still, he’s mindful of your boundaries, doing his best not to intrude on your space. He will be inhaling your perfume, though. In copious amounts. While escape should be a high priority, seeing as neither of you are dying, he’s rather chill about the entire ordeal. You’re his favorite person to goof around with. He jokes about offering himself up if you’re stuck here long enough for starvation to kick in. You don’t get why his mind always ends up in a Hannibal-Lecter-esque place, but it’s a nice (?) sentiment. The Stand’s ability ends far too fast for his liking.

Abbacchio is secretly grateful it’s you he’s stuck with and not some other schmuck. He might give you a hard time, but your presence is tolerable, even if you have a proclivity for yapping. The fact that you’re nice on the eyes is an added bonus. Considering his height, it’s impossible for you to have absolutely zero contact. Abbacchio’s always been tough on himself — he wouldn’t blame you if you were repulsed by him. So for you not to shrink away when your hands touch… it warms his heart in a way he hadn’t thought possible. He’ll humor your musings, adding his own dry wit on the occasion until you’re both freed.

#giorno x reader #bruno x reader #fugo x reader #narancia x reader #mista x reader #abbacchio x reader #jjba x reader #vento aureo x reader #scarlet ribbons #answered #Anonymous

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kylosjuul · 1 year ago

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Kylo Ren NSFW Alphabet (reupload)

a/n: i posted this last year and here it is again! if ur expecting kylo to be a dom don’t read this. Also, this is AFAB!reader.

——

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Kylo has never had anybody to cherish like this, to hold. So you best believe after sex, he’s planting soft kisses across your face and lips trying to show how lucky he feels to have you; that you gave this gift of intimacy to him. It’s all soft touches and cuddles (fight me on this). He looks at you with a sense of longing, to have this feeling forever. He’ll hold your hand over his heart while you fall asleep on his chest, for it only beats for you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Everything about your body has Kylo red in the face, but he finds his eyes trailing to your thighs and your ass often. Your uniform clings to them tightly, and he feels guilty about how quick his blood pools to his thighs, constantly readjusting his leather pants when you bend down or “accidentally” brush against him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Okay, listen. Kylo has never had any sexual experience so you BEST believe he cums a lot. And hard. Borderline hyperspermia. He’s just so sensitive and you just feel too good wrapped around him. Expect rope after rope of thick cum coating your walls, spilling out of you and down your thighs :D

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

You make him hard. A lot. He feels so perverted, especially in the beginnings of your relationship. The soft floral notes of your perfume made his pants constrict, the sweet smell making him dizzy. Every kiss, every brush of your fingers=boner. He was embarrassed. The worst part is the wet dreams. Oh. The dreams. Kylo’s mind would drift to images of you kissing him, sitting on top of him, the warmth between your legs remedying the pressure building in his hips; but he would wake up every time, hard as a rock, spilling into his sleep pants panting your name. Yeah.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Absolute virg. Never even kissed a girl before. The first time you climbed on top of him and started trailing kisses down his neck, he was 100% whipped, almost finishing in his uniform as you rocked against his length. He knew he couldn’t give this up, couldn’t give YOU up.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

A bit simple, but this man lovesss missionary. He gets off when your face twists up in pleasure, knowing he’s the one providing it to you. Plus, he can hear each moan, each sharp intake of breath; Between your face drenched in lust, your sweet sounds, and your tits bouncing with each thrust, this position makes him cum the hardest. (Besides you on top. He’ll dig his fingers into your hips watching himself disappear inside you over and over. yum).

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I’d say Kylo is serious during the deed. He just loves you so much and wants to worship you with every bit of intimacy he has in him. Large calloused palms smoothing back your hair, plush lips sucking on your collarbone, all of it.

“You’re so beautiful. My sweet girl…”

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He isn’t the hairiest man in the galaxy, but he does have a bit of hair down south. Nothing too extreme though. Kylo is very hygienic and well groomed, nothing to worry about here!

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

THE MOST INTIMATE. You can see in his eyes how he feels he doesn’t deserve you, doesn’t deserve your soft body beneath him. He treats you as if you’ll break, as if you’re the most precious being in the universe. Constantly asking if you’re okay, or, “Does this feel good?” He loves to serve you. To pleasure you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

As aforementioned, Kylo can’t help how hard he is around you 24/7. If he knows he’s going to see you, he’ll tuck himself away into his refresher and think of your figure, your eyes looking up at him, (that REALLY makes him cum fast) and stroke his cock with a punishing pace, imagining you slamming down on his hips. He feels a tinge of shame as he grits his teeth and releases his load onto the refresher door.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise. He feels his thighs go weak when you drag your fingers through his hair and call him a “good boy.” He’ll look up at you through heavy lids, a silent plea for more soft touches and appraisals. Also, eye contact. If you ever want anything from him, just look up at his through your eyelashes and he’ll blush like a madman, giving you whatever it is you crave.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He’s a very private person and extremely jealous, so he prefers to fuck you in your shared quarters. Nowhere else. Okay, maybe in his TIE, but that’s only when you beg him so sweetly; and who is he not to give his girl whatever she wants?

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Yes. Just yes. A kiss that lingers a second too long, his name on your lips (in any context), your soft hand following the curve of his jaw. He’s a goner. If you want to torture the man, wear a low cut top around him, he’ll be desperately grabbing at your hips in no time.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything involving someone else. He’s a jealous, jealous man. All these fics about him sharing you with the KOR….girl. A big no no is anything related to degradation. Attention all Kylo writers! He would never even DREAM of calling you names or hurting you in any way. You’re his precious girl and he just loves you so so much:(

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Virgin, remember? The first time you sucked his cock, he’s was a panting mess, brows furrowed, low moans punched from his chest, finishing in your mouth in under a minute. After a few times together, you guided him on how to eat pussy, and he definitely prefers watching your hips rock up into his face, coming undone from his warm tongue. (Kylo will never admit this, but while he was eating you out he rocked against the mattress like a rabid dog, cumming all over his stomach, a pool of his spend spreading over the sheets. Yeah, he prefers giving).

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on how much time you’ve spent apart. If he hasn’t seen you for a week, (missions, supreme leader shit) he’ll fuck into you with a strong and punishing pace, still careful not to hurt you, though. If it’s a normal day, he’ll slowly rock into you, dragging his cock along your walls in a sensual way, but you usually beg him to speed up, pushing you further and further up the mattress.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Kylo is a simp. He will take whatever you so kindly gift him with. You get to fuck your man whenever you so please. He gives it to you no matter the time. Day or night. He’s just so excited there’s a GIRL who wants him, his cock, this badly.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Nah. Not really. He’d rather savor the sex, instead of constantly looking over his shoulder. But if you drag him into a storage closet aboard and start massaging him through his leather, who is he to say no?

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Hate to burst any bubbles here, but he’s completely inexperienced, so don’t expect him to last very long, at least not at first. He physically has to tense his muscles, eyes squeezed shut in concentration, trying so hard NOT to blow his load the second your tight wet heat engulfs his cock. His skin is flaming hot, but he’s shivering above you, groans emanating from his slacked jaw, trying to fight the way his balls draw up, the way his stomach muscles tighten already.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Are sex toys canon in Star Wars? Someone please lmk. But my answer is going to be no for now!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Kylo doesn’t have to tease you, like, at all. You just want him so bad all the time and he still doesn’t understand why. However. You’re quite the tease, and this poor virgin can’t take it. Seriously, if you want to see the mighty Kylo Ren crumble, all you need to do is press a chaste kiss to his lips, put a hand on his thigh, look at him, or just breathe basically, and he’ll be hard and wanting in seconds. I love our space boyfriend.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Ben Swolo can make some NOISE lemme tell ya. It’s all low groans and grunts, so caught up in the heat of your body and how fucking tight you are around him. No matter how hard he tries to contain the noises that slip from his throat, he can’t help it. He’ll confidently moan and moan in your ear, minted breath hitting your cheek, letting you know his pleasure is solely from you, and you alone.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Kylo is what we call a service top. He would do anything to put your pleasure first, his own pleasure depends on that. He had never cum harder than that first time you clamped around his cock, finally feeling your orgasm around him. Lights flickered and whirred; it was…intense.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Hung like a moose omg who said that? Anyways. My guess is 7-8 inches. Good luck girl.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Siri play ‘Everyday’ by Ariana Grande please. Seriously. He feels fucking insane with how bad he wants to be buried in you at all times. Whether he’s tired, beaten or bruised, you could catch a dick anytime.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Kylo will eventually fall asleep cuddled up next to you, but not until he allots himself a few minutes to admire your beauty, running his thick fingers through your hair, kissing your temple until he sees you eyes flutter shut. Awe. Whatta softie.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 6 months ago

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1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 8.7k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

“My uncle, he is a doctor in Zabrze,” Ludwika says, red Yardley lips, Camel cigarette. No one cares if she smokes; she’s not campaigning to be the next first lady. Fosco is puffing on a cigar. Mimi sips drowsily at her Gimlet; you could use a few shots, but you’re making do with a Pink Squirrel, something sweet and feminine and without any bite. “So I go to him and he gives me a bottle of chlordiazepoxide.”

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

Ludwika waves her hand dismissively; cigarette smoke wafts through the air. “Whatever. The next day I have my audition. A tiny man who thinks he’s God. And I give it a real shot, I try my best, I’m nice, I’m charming, but he doesn’t like me. He says my teeth are too big, like a mouse’s. This is very rude. I did not comment on his fidgety little rat hands. But okay, no problem, I have a plan. No one will stop me from getting out of Poland.”

“You drugged him?” you ask, incredulous, grinning.

“You are a criminal,” Fosco tells Ludwika. “I will call J. Edgar Hoover, you should not be so close to positions of power.”

“Listen, listen,” Ludwika insists. “Here is what I do. I thank him very much for his consideration, and then as I leave I drop my purse and things go everywhere. I filled it before I left my apartment, of course. Anything I could find, empty lipstick tubes and perfume bottles, old makeup compacts with broken mirrors, coins, hair pins, tissues, pens, gum, Krówki candies, it is an avalanche. And when he bends down to help me pick up the mess—I have to encourage him, ‘oh sir won’t you grab that, I am just a stupid girl in a very short dress,’ you understand—I put the pills in his tea.”

“How many pills?” you ask.

“I don’t know. You think I had time to count? Maybe seven.”

“Seven?!” Mimi exclaims, and you take this to mean it was a generous dose.

“What? He did not die,” Ludwika says. “I wait two days and then I go back to his office. And it is so strange, can you believe it, he does not remember my audition! So I remind him that he thought I would be perfect for the ad he is shooting in Paris. He keeps squinting at me and saying ‘are you sure, are you sure?!’ Of course I’m sure! A week later, I am standing under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of Coca-Cola. And then I book a job in London, and then another in New York City, and one of my new model friends sets me up on a blind date with Otto. Lunch in Astoria at a horrible Greek restaurant. Who wants to eat pie made out of spinach?! Now I am here with you people, and the journalists love when I smile for them with my big mouse teeth.”

All four of you laugh at your table, an elite club, the ones who married in. It’s Alicent’s 60th birthday, and the ballroom of the Texas State Hotel in downtown Houston is raucous with clinking glasses and chatter and music and the shutter clicks of photographers. The DJ is playing Fun, Fun, Fun by the Beach Boys. Alicent is dancing with Helaena and the children, and it’s the happiest you can ever remember seeing her. Otto, Aemond, and Sargent Shriver are deep in conversation by the bar, furrowed brows and Old Fashioneds, today’s newspapers and tomorrow’s itinerary. Criston is standing with the men but watching Alicent, face wistful, silver streaks in his jet black hair, and it occurs to you that they must have grown up together: Alicent a 19-year-old bride and Criston her husband’s fledgling bodyguard, the person closest to her age in the household, near and trusted and forbidden, orbiting adolescent twins like Artemis and Apollo. You keep looking around for Aegon. No one else seems aware that he’s gone.

“Otto thought he died and went to heaven when he found you,” you tell Ludwika. “His Eastern Bloc defector princess.”

“He is going to bring my mother to the States. I would be anything he wanted me to be. I would be a model, or a housewife, or a nurse. I would be Bigfoot! But this…” Ludwika gestures broadly: to the ballroom, the city, the latest stop on the campaign trail. “It is not so bad. I never expected to serve the Polish people so far from home. You know how you stop communism? You show the world that capitalism can do more for them. There must be a path to a better life, wars must be ended, injustices must be dealt with. Aemond will do that.” She grins at you, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “You will help him.”

You reply a bit wryly: “It’s an honor.”

“We are like four legs of a table,” Fosco observes. He points at Ludwika with his smoldering cigar. “You are a Slav fleeing the Russians. My family has ancient titles in Italy and yet no castles, no land, we are essentially homeless. Mimi’s father is a third-generation oil tycoon from Pennsylvania. And she was supposed to fix Aegon.”

“I don’t think I succeeded,” Mimi confesses.

“And then when it was time for Aemond to get married…” Fosco turns to Mimi. “Do you remember? What an ordeal. The discussions went on and on and on. She must be smart, she must be sinless, she should be from a self-made family, a real rags-to-riches story of the American Dream.”

“Right.” Mimi nods groggily, reminiscing. “And from the South.”

“Yes! But not the Deep South. No, no. Someplace Aemond could actually win. Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina. Or Florida, of course.” Now Fosco notices how you’re looking at him, because you’ve never heard this before. He quickly pivots. “But the weekend Aemond met you, it was settled. Nobody could compare.”

His tone is odd; it suggests backstories, history, mythology. Ludwika appears to be just as intrigued as you are, taking a drag off her Camel, her eyes narrowing until they are thin and catlike. You ask: “Who else was being considered?”

“No one,” Fosco answers—too quickly—and he and Mimi exchange an uneasy glance.

What did Aemond and I talk about the night we met? you think dizzily. In those first hours, minutes, thirty seconds? Where I’m from. What I was studying.

Fosco, a true Italian, then attempts to deflect by flirting. He makes emphatic, passionate motions with his hands. “You were just so captivating, so clever…”

“And young enough that Aemond could easily beat Aegon’s record of five children,” Mimi adds. Fosco clears his throat and glares at her. Mimi realizes what she’s said and gazes forlornly down into her Gimlet, mortified, groaning softly. You’ve had one c-section already, and no living son to show for it. At most, you might be able to give Aemond two or three more children; and you don’t even want them. You want Ari back. You want to touch him, to hold him, even if only for a moment, even if only once.

“It’s fine,” you try to reassure Mimi, but everyone can tell it’s not.

Ludwika breaks the tension. “You do not want twenty kids anyway. Your uterus will fall out onto the floor.” And you’re so caught off-guard that all you can do is smile at her from across the table, knowing, appreciative. It’s a strange thing to be grateful for.

“She’s right,” Mimi says mournfully. “They had to sew mine back in.”

Fosco pleads: “Stop, stop, I will need a lobotomy.”

Mimi slurps on her Gimlet. “It’s sad. I used to love sex.”

“Mimi, please,” Fosco says, wincing, holding up his palms. “You are like my sister. I prefer to think you are the Virgin Mary.”

Ludwika sighs dramatically and looks to where Otto stands on the other side of the ballroom. “I used to love sex too.”

Now you’re all howling again, rocking back in your chairs. The DJ is playing Go Where You Wanna Go by the Mamas and the Papas. Cass Elliot is the real talent in that group and everybody knows it, but of course any mention of her must be dutifully accompanied by: If only she was more beautiful. If only she could lose weight and find a husband.

“I think you like it, yes?” Ludwika says to you like a dare, puffing on a fresh Camel, red lipstick staining the white paper, blood on sheets. She combs her manicured fingernails though her voluminous blonde hair. “I could tell when I met you. You dress like Jackie Kennedy, but you are not such a statue. She belongs in a museum. I can imagine you at the Summer of Love.”

Fosco and Mimi shift uncomfortably. It’s not the sort of thing they would ever ask you. It’s too personal, too easily a segue into criticizing Aemond. It’s a usurpation of the natural order. Mimi guzzles her Gimlet and flags down a waiter to get another. Fosco takes off his glasses and cleans them with his skinny black necktie.

Sex. You think back to before you began to dread it. This is difficult, like trying to remember Greek words or British manners, which fork to use with each course. Memories from another lifetime come back in flashes: tangled up with your first boyfriend in his tiny dorm room bed, Aemond peeling off your still-dripping swimsuit on the floor of your hotel room during your honeymoon in Hawaii. You shrug and give Ludwika a nod, a brisk, ungenerous answer in the affirmative. “I always feel like I could keep going.”

Paradoxically, this does not end the conversation. Ludwika, Fosco, and Mimi study you with the same bewildered, gear-spinning curiosity. After a moment Ludwika says: “Not after you’ve finished, surely. I am half dead by the end if it’s good.”

“Finished?” you ask, puzzled. All three of them gawk at you, then at each other.

Aegon breezes into the ballroom wearing the Gibson guitar he bought in Manhattan, blue like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean or the crystalline waves off the coast of Hawaii, dotted with fish and sea turtles. Your eyes go to him immediately and stay there; you can feel the swirling warmth of blood in your cheeks. As Aegon passes the table, he squeezes your shoulder—brief, familiar, welcome—and Fosco raises his thick eyebrows. Mimi is too busy gulping down her Gimlet to notice. Ludwika chuckles, low and wicked, then slides a makeup compact out of her Prada purse to check her lipstick. Aegon goes to the DJ and yells something over the music. He’s fucked up already, you can tell, pills or booze or both.

Fosco stops a passing waiter. “Signore, did you hear who won the United Nations Handicap?”

The waiter stares blankly back at him. “What?”

“The turf race at Monmouth Park. I have $200 on Dr. Fager.”

The DJ abruptly cuts off the music. Aegon gives his guitar a few practice strums to make sure it’s in tune. He stumbles when he walks, he lurches and sways. His blonde hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He is woefully underdressed. His white shirt is half-unbuttoned, his denim shorts tattered; on his feet he wears black moccasins. There is a small gold hoop in each of his ears. Otto keeps telling Aegon to take them out, and every time Aegon ignores him.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” you hear him say to Alicent, and she presses a palm to her heart, her dark eyes wide and shining. “When I first heard this, it made me think of you.”

Otto and Sargent Shriver—the aspiring vice president—are glowering at Aegon. Aemond smirks as he nips at an Old Fashioned, amused; but he makes sharp, intentional eye contact with each of the three journalists. You will tell the right version of this story, he means. You will not print anything we wouldn’t want written, or my family will be your enemies for life.

As soon as Aegon plucks the first few chords, you recognize the song. “Oh, that’s really funny.”

“What?” Fosco asks.

“It’s Mama Tried.” You stand and begin clapping, then motion for the rest of the table to do the same. They obey without protest, though Mimi can’t seem to keep track of the beat. Aegon is beaming as he sings.

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

And a youngin’s dream of growin’ up to ride

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

And no one could change my mind but Mama tried.”

Cosmo sprints over from where he had been dancing with Alicent. He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the center of the floor. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts impatiently.

“Call the FBI, I’m being kidnapped,” you say to Fosco and Ludwika as you let Cosmo drag you away.

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

At the heart of the ballroom, Criston has swooped in to dance with Alicent, slow chaste circling. Helaena has floated off to the bar to chat with Otto, who keeps all his smiles for her. The children—Targaryens and Shrivers alike—are stomping and cheering and alternating between various moves: the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, the Loco-Motion, the Watusi, the Pony in pairs. Aemond whistles to a photographer and then nods to where you are holding onto one of Cosmo’s tiny hands as he spins around at lawless, breakneck speed. Of course this would make for a good image: you being maternal, you promising the American people that they will one day have not only a first lady but a first family.

“And I turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole

No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.”

Cameras flash and the crowd keeps clapping. Cosmo giggles wildly each time he almost falls and you pull him back to his feet. There is a hand skimming around your waist, a listless powder blue dress your husband chose for you. Aemond replaces Cosmo as your dance partner. Aegon’s 10-year-old daughter Violeta spirits Cosmo away; Aemond reels you in close, one palm pressed into the small of your back, his left hand gripping your right. When you steal a glimpse of Aegon—still strumming, still singing—he doesn’t look so triumphant anymore. His grin is frozen and artificial. His drunk muddy eyes go steely.

“I need you to do something for me,” Aemond begins.

Of course, you once would have said. Anything. “What is it?”

“I want you to cut your hair like Jackie.”

You’re so stunned your feet stop moving. Aemond coaxes you back into the steps. “No.”

“Think about how much more versatile it would be. Jackie is an icon, she’s sophisticated, she’s mature.”

“If you wanted a wife in her thirties, you could have easily found one.”

“Honey—”

“I do everything you ask,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “Everything. I wear what you want me to. I go where you want me to. I spend ten hours a week getting my hair fixed. I keep it up, I keep it presentable. But I’m not chopping it off.”

“You’re never going to be able to wear it down anyway,” Aemond counters, so calm, so rational, like your skull is nothing but incendiary feminine mania. “If I win, you’ll be surrounded by staff and journalists for years. You can’t be photographed with it down, you look about eighteen. And like you live on a park bench in Haight-Ashbury.”

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

Aemond leans in and says, cold and severe: “You’re my wife, and everything that’s yours belongs to me.” Then he kisses your cheek as cameras click and strobe. “Think about it. Now smile.”

You force yourself to. The crowd applauds as Aegon finishes singing and flees the dancefloor. The DJ puts on Light My Fire by The Doors. You and Aemond leave in opposite directions: he goes to talk to Eunice Kennedy, who is hugging her 3-year-old son Anthony to her chest; you return to your table to drain the last of your Pink Squirrel. You need something stronger. You need to be alone so you can collect yourself.

Now Aegon has shed his guitar and is standing with his back to the wall, smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to some campaign staffer—she looks like a girl, but she’s probably your age—who is gazing up at him worshipfully. She says something that makes him laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling, and you feel like you’re waking up from your c-section all over again, your belly split open and rearranged, aching, stabbing, nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Ludwika asks, scrutinizing you.

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry out of the ballroom, the music fading behind you. You slip into one of the elevators in the lobby and hit the button for the top floor, where Aemond’s entourage has booked every suite. As the door is closing—as only a foot of space remains��Aegon shoves his way into the elevator, startling you. The door shuts behind him and you begin the ascent. Aegon slams the red emergency stop button, and the elevator jolts to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What pissed you off, huh?” Aegon taunts, stepping closer. You back away from him until you run out of room; not because you want the distance, but because you’re afraid of what you’ll do if it’s gone.

“Nothing. I’m so great, I’ve never been better, can’t you tell?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat rising off his flushed skin, you can see the miles-deep murky blue of his irises, open water, shipwrecks and drowning. “You want all this to be over? You want the women with their big, adoring eyes and their short skirts to disappear? Grow up. Stop acting like a kid. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

If you touch him now, you won’t be able to stop. There’s nowhere for us to go. There’s no way out of this family, this year, this world. “I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aegon barks out a sardonic, cutting laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely 23.”

“I thought you loved girls young enough to be your daughters. Isn’t that what gets you hard?”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

“You want it so bad,” Aegon whispers as he presses himself against you, his ribs and thighs and hips, and you clutch for the walls of the elevator so you don’t reach for him instead. His left hand is tearing your hair out of its clips and pins so it falls free like you used to wear it; the right is all over your face, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks, touching you ceaselessly, ravenously, a blind man reading chronicles of braille. You’re trying to turn away from him, but he keeps pulling you back in. You’re breathing his rum and nicotine, you’re gasping in low, starved moans. It might be more intimate than kissing, than sex. He’s already felt your body. What he asks for now is your soul. His words are warm and aching as he murmurs through loosed strands of your hair: “Tell me you want it, please, just tell me, just tell me, tell me and it’s yours.”

Your palms land on his bare, damp chest, and Aegon starts unfastening the last buttons of his shirt. Instead, you push him away. Aegon lets you. He surrenders. “I can’t,” you choke out. You hit the red button, and the elevator resumes its rise to the top floor of the hotel.

“I’m really fucked up right now,” he says with sudden realization, swaying, staring down at his feet like he fears he’ll lose track of them.

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry. I think…I think I wanted that to happen differently.”

“I can’t trust you when you’re like this,” you say. I feel like I can’t trust anyone. Aegon looks up at you, his glassy eyes large and wounded. When the elevator door opens, you step out and he stays in, riding it back to the lobby.

In the suite you share with Aemond, you turn on the radio and spin the dial until you find a Loretta Lynn song. You go to the minibar cabinet and down two tiny glass bottles of vodka, something that won’t make you smell like too much of a drunk. You’ll have to fix your hair before you go back to the ballroom; you’ll have to change your dress. You’re painted with Aegon’s sweat and smoke. You can’t risk your husband noticing. You slide open the top drawer of the nightstand on your side of the bed and take out the card you keep there, the one that travels with you to each stop on the campaign trail. Loretta Lynn croons from the radio, wronged and wrathful.

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

‘Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of your head

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

I'm not a-sayin’ my baby is a saint, ‘cause he ain’t

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

I’m here to tell you, gal, to lay off of my man

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

You lie on the floor and peer up at the card in your hands: jubilant cartoon cow, festive party hat. You know exactly what’s written on the inside; it’s etched into your memory like myths passed down through millennia. Nevertheless, you read it again. The original message is still crossed out, and there’s an addendum below it in hasty black ink: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf!

You graze your thumbprint across Aegon’s scrawled signature. It’s smudged now. You do this a lot. One day his name might disappear altogether from the stark white parchment, from memory.

You close the card and hug it to your chest like a mother holds a living child.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and Aegon?”

Alarmed, you meet Aemond’s gaze, two reflections in the vanity mirror. It’s the next morning, and you’re finishing up your makeup. Your dress and jacket are striped with black and white, your jewelry is silver, chains on your wrists and small tasteful hoops in your ears. “Nothing.” There is a lull you have to fill before it becomes suspicious. “He’s been helpful, he’s been…you know. Ever since Mount Sinai.”

Aemond adjusts his cerulean blue tie, studying himself in the mirror. He’s still wearing his leather eyepatch. Putting in his glass eye is the last thing he does before leaving the suite each day. “He was a comfort to you.”

“Well, he was there.”

“Because I told him to be,” Aemond says, resting his hands on the back of your chair. “Someone had to stay at Asteria to keep tabs on things, to let me know what you were up to. Aegon was the most expendable. Mimi and the kids make for good photos, but Aegon…he’s not especially endearing to the public. Those few years as the mayor of Trenton just about ruined him. I’d love to make him the attorney general if I win, but I don’t think the people would stomach it. Maybe if he behaves himself he can have the job for my second term.”

Eight years, you think, unable to fathom it. Eight years in a fishbowl. Eight years lying under Aemond as he tries to get me pregnant with children neither of us can love.

Aemond leans down to touch his lips to the side of your throat. “I’m glad you’re finally friends,” he says. “Aegon’s not all bad. But don’t let him get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t.” What did you and Aemond talk about before Ari died? What was this marriage built on? The senate, the presidency, civil rights, poverty, the Space Race, Vietnam, Greek mythology. Everything but each other. Dreams and ideals that would dwarf any mortal, would render them invisible.

“And watch out for any reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They’d kill for Nixon. If they can twist your words, they will.” He gets something from inside his own nightstand: the bloodstained komboskini from when he was shot in Palm Beach. He places it in your right hand, all 100 knots. “Give this to someone today. You know how to do it, you’ve always understood this part. Pick the right person, the right moment. Make sure there are plenty of cameras around.”

“Where am I going? Lunch with the mayor’s wife, that’s this afternoon, isn’t it?”

Aemond nods. “And a few other stops. Then we’re going to the Alamo in San Antonio tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He recoils, reaches for the left half of his face, kneads the scar tissue there as nerve pain radiates through his flesh all the way down to the bone. Once you felt such agonizing pity for him; now all you can think about is the matching scar you wear on your belly, hidden and shameful and a badge of your inadequacies: your body too weak to protect Ari, your mind too pliable to resist being ensnared by the crushing gravity of this man, this family, this life.

“How can I help?” you ask Aemond, because it’s the right thing to do. And randomly, you find yourself remembering the statue of Apollo in Helaena’s garden back at Asteria, the god of music, healing, truth, prophesy.

“You can’t.” Aemond goes to the bathroom to force his glass eye into its socket. You depart for the hotel lobby where Ludwika and Mimi, your companions for the day, are already waiting. Ludwika is wearing a rose pink Chanel skirt suit. Mimi—relatively functional, as she hasn’t been awake long enough to ruin herself yet—is dressed in delicate dove grey.

Alicent, Helaena, and the children are scheduled to tour a local high school and library; Criston, unsurprisingly, is going with them. Aemond, accompanied by Otto, has a series of meetings with local business leaders and politicians. Aegon and Fosco are headed to the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center to promise maimed soldiers that Aemond will end the war that carved out bits of them and filled the voids with screaming nightmares. The limousine you share with Ludwika and Mimi ferries you first to the NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center. Mimi is entranced by the reflective surface of the helmets, coated with gold to divert blinding sunbeams; in turn, the astronauts are entranced by Ludwika, who leaves lipstick smudges on their cheeks when she kisses them. Next is a tea party hosted by Iola Faye Cure Welch, the mayoress of Houston since 1964 and the mother of five children. And as you nibble daintily at triangle-shaped sandwiches and trudge through small talk about flowers and furniture, you can’t stop smiling. You can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous Aegon would think this is if he was here.

The driver mentions one last stop, then coasts through midafternoon traffic towards the city center. You spend the ride touching up your hair and makeup. Ludwika offers to let you borrow her seduction-red lipstick; you politely decline. You step out of the limo and shield your eyes from the glare of the Texas sun. It takes your vision a moment to adjust, and then you realize where you are. The sign above the main entranceway reads: Houston Methodist Hospital. The air snags in your throat, your lungs are empty. Your hands tremble violently. The earth rocks beneath your white high heels. Mount Sinai is the last hospital you walked into, and you left with your son in a casket so small it could have been mistaken for a shoebox.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ludwika says, linking an arm through yours. Mimi, badly in need of a drink, is looking deflated and edgy. “We are almost done. And I have been promised a medium-rare steak for dinner! Mushrooms and onions too! The Statue of Liberty did not lie. This country is a golden door.”

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

“What is she talking about?” Ludwika asks Mimi, who shakes her head, mystified.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

They’ve never seen you like this. They don’t know what to do. They listen to you, that is the hierarchy; but it’s too late to change course now. Journalists are approaching in a swarm. Nurses and doctors are gathering by the front door to welcome you.

He knew, you think, suddenly furious. Aemond knew, and he didn’t tell me.

“It will be okay,” Ludwika says, patting your back awkwardly. “We are here with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Oh,” Mimi breathes, understanding. She looks at you with sympathy that shimmers on the surface of the opaque, polluted lake of her mind. Then she catches Ludwika’s eye and skims a hand down her own slim midsection. Ari, she mouths, and Ludwika’s face falls.

The doctors and nurses are whistling and applauding; the journalists are snapping photos and scrounging for quotes. You feel your conditioning over the past two years taking over: straight posture, gentle smile, hands clasped demurely together. But you are locked away somewhere underneath.

“Do not worry,” Ludwika tells you softly. “We will talk, we will make it easier for you.” Then she and Mimi begin boisterously shaking hands and thanking people for coming as you make your way through the crowd of journalists and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

People are saying things to you, but you don’t really hear them. You reply with words you won’t remember afterwards. You nod frequently and go wherever you are led. Doctors are explaining new research into placenta previa and c-sections. Nurses are showing you a state-of-the-art NICU for premature infants. Someone is placing a baby in your arms, and you can’t do anything but accept it numbly. You can’t look down at it, you can’t allow yourself to feel the weight of some other woman’s child. You wear your smile like armor and let the photographers capture their snapshots, painting a frame around you, deciding where you live.

Then you are introduced to the parents, women in hospital beds and men perched in chairs beside them, just like the one where Aegon slept at Mount Sinai. They take your hands when you offer them and tell you about their small children, sick children, dying children. One patient just delivered twins. The first did not survive beyond a few hours, but the second is in an incubator and gaining strength. You recall the komboskini stained with Aemond’s blood and take it out of your purse, give it to the suffering mother, watch faith rise in her face like dawn over the Atlantic. But you won’t remember her. You cannot allow yourself to.

Outside as you, Ludwika, and Mimi are headed back to the limousine, the journalists make one last attempt to poach a headline-worthy quote. “Mrs. Targaryen! Mrs. Targaryen!” a young man shouts, clambering to the front of the horde and jabbing a microphone in your face. “I’m from the Houston Chronicle. Can you tell me how the senator feels about the failure of the most recent phase of the Tet Offensive?”

You are in a fog; you don’t feel real, this moment and this city don’t feel real, and so you cannot remember what Aemond would want you to say. “The Vietnam War has claimed too many lives already. We should have never sent our men there to die. But since that is done, the best thing we can do now is end the draft immediately and then withdrawal from the region as soon as the South Vietnamese are able to defend their own territory, which is their responsibility.” The journalist already considers this effort fruitful and begins to retreat, but you have one last point to make. Ludwika and Mimi watch you anxiously. “I lost someone in Vietnam. I met him when I was in college. He had a good heart, and he joined because he thought it was wrong for poor men to have to fight while rich kids got exemptions, and he was killed in action in October of 1965.”

“This was a friend?” the journalist asks, eyes glowing hungrily. Then he adds as an afterthought: “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“A boyfriend. Corporal Cameron Marino from Schenectady, New York. People called him Cam.”

A solemn murmur ripples through the crowd. Hats are removed, hands held to chests. “Rest in peace, Cam,” someone says. Maybe they have somebody they care about in Vietnam, a friend or a lover or a brother. You wave goodbye and climb into the limousine. The outpouring swells as you vanish: We love you, Mrs. Targaryen! God bless you, Mrs. Targaryen!

In the lobby of the Texas State Hotel, you tell Ludwika and Mimi not to follow you. They have to listen. After some hesitation, Mimi heads for the bar in the ballroom; Ludwika asks the staff at the front desk if she’ll be able to make a call to Poland with the phone in her room. You take the elevator to the top floor. Fosco is in the hallway, on his way back from one of the vending machines with a Fresca. When he sees your face, his jaw drops.

“Dio mio, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, tears biting in your eyes. You pass him, digging your key out of your purse.

“Are you sure—?”

“Fosco, please. I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully. Then he seems to get an idea and strides away with great purpose. You take shelter in your suite, silent and dim; Aemond isn’t back yet. You brace yourself against the locked door and sob into empty, trembling hands, at last hidden away where no one can see you, where no one can be disturbed or disappointed. You know now that none of it was healed—not the loss, not the revelations—but only buried, and now it’s all been unearthed again and the pain shrieks like exposed nerves.

It’s not fair. Ari deserved better, I deserved better.

There’s nothing you can do. Your hands ache to hold someone that no longer exists. You can’t unlearn the truth of what your marriage is.

There are two knocks, quick and rough. “Hey, it’s me.” And there’s such pure intimacy in those words. You know my voice. You know why I’m here. “Open the door.”

“I’m okay, just, just, just leave me alone—”

“Open the door,” Aegon says again. “Or I’ll get security up here to do it for you.”

Swiping the tears from your face, you let him in. He’s dressed in baggy black shorts, nothing on his feet, an unbuttoned stolen green army jacket. You once thought he wore those to play the part of a revolutionary from the comfort of his East Coast seaside mansion. Now you understand it’s because he misses Daeron, because he believes he should have gone to Vietnam instead. There are several dog tags strung around his neck; some of the veterans at the medical center he visited must have gifted them to him.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon’s eyes sweep over you, seeking, horrified. “What did he do?”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe. You back away from him as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, let me help you. Please don’t be upset. Did he say something, did he hurt you?” Aegon reaches out, and as soon as he touches you your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, trying not to wail, trying not to scream, and Aegon is pulling you against his chest—bare skin, borrowed metal—and his hands are on your face and in your hair, and his lips are against your forehead as he murmurs: “Shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I had to go to a hospital and hold babies and I, I, I never even got to touch him, not once, not ever, and I can’t now because he’s gone. He’s locked in some fucking vault, he’s just bones, but he was supposed to be a person, and those other babies are going to get to grow up but he isn’t, and it’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” Aegon agrees softly, still holding you.

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

“No,” Aegon swears. “I was supposed to spy on you. He never told me to do any of the rest of it. I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You did,” you say, very quietly, weakly, conceding.

“And I’m still here now.”

Your lungs aren’t burning quite so much. Your tears are slowing. You unravel yourself from Aegon, averting your eyes. Now you’re ashamed; you aren’t in the habit of revealing to people how much you’re splintering like cracked glass, fresh fractures every time you think to check the damage. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry.”

“Look, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but this is definitely not the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen you do.”

You laugh, only for a few seconds, and Aegon smiles as he mops the tears from your face with the sleeve of his army jacket. Then he turns serious again.

“Can I ask you something? It’s very personal. It’s offensive, honestly. But I have to know.”

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

More children. Because Ari was real. “Not now. Not with Aemond.”

Aegon nods, suspicions confirmed. “Can you do that sponge thing you told me about?”

“No. I think he’d be able to feel it, he’s…” You gesture vaguely. It’s difficult to say. “He’s big.”

Aegon didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to think about it. He flinches, just enough that you notice. But as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t change the subject. “What about the pill?”

“No doctor is going to write me a prescription without my husband’s permission. Especially considering who my husband is.”

“I hate this fucking country,” Aegon hisses. “Puritanical goddamn hellscape. Old Testament bullshit.” He drags his fingers through his hair a few times, then pats your cheek like he did before: twice, gently, playfully. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”

“I can’t do it on the balcony. Someone might get a picture.”

“Okay. No big deal. We’ll go to the roof.”

You stare at him. “The roof?”

“You really think I haven’t already been up there?” He stands and offers you his hand. “You’ll love it. The view is fantastic.”

The view is good, but the grass is better. You know that it makes some people useless, others paranoid, but for you it’s always painted the world a color that is softer, kinder, lighter, more bearable. You and Aegon lie next to each other, smoking and watching twilight fall over Houston like a spell. You’ll have to shower and gulp some Listerine before Aemond gets anywhere near you. It’s interesting; each day you seem to acquire new secrets to keep from him.

Aegon asks: “Where would you be right now if you weren’t Mrs. Targaryen?”

“Probably married to someone worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s say you weren’t. Let’s say you can do whatever you want.” He points up at the lavender sky and acts like he’s moving the emerging glimmers of stars around with his fingertip. “There, I’ve changed your fate. Who would you be?”

You ponder this. “I want to teach math to kids and then spend every summer break getting baked on some beach.”

Aegon cackles. “Hell, sign me up.” He lights a third joint for himself with his tiny chrome Zippo. “Those are the people doing the real work. Teachers, nurses, farmers electricians, plumbers, welders, firemen, therapists, janitors, public defenders. The normal, unglamorous types.”

“You don’t think presidents and senators make a difference?”

“Sure they do. But only like 5% of the job is actually helping people. The rest of it is schmoozing and tea parties and making speeches, because looking and sounding good is better than doing good. They’re addicted to vapid pretenses that make them feel important. You live like that and you forget how to be a human. I mean, look at Nixon. The man was raised as a Quaker, one of the most peaceful religions on earth, and now he’s planning to throw ten or twenty thousand more boys into the great Vietnamese meatgrinder and probably napalm the hell out of Cambodia and Laos while he’s at it to get the communists’ supply lines. The man’s got no idea who he is anymore. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so terrified he’s gonna start World War III.”

I wonder who Aemond was a few decades ago. “What makes you feel important?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “I’m not under any delusions that I matter.”

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

“A little bit. About this much.” You hold your hand up to show him the infinitesimal space between your thumb and index finger, and Aegon chuckles, his eyes glazed and bloodshot.

“Let’s do it,” he says with sudden, forceful conviction. “If Nixon wins in November, we’ll get out of here. I’ll go back to Yuma to teach on the reservation and you can come with me. You get a math class, I take English, or Music, or both, whatever. We’ll buy a bungalow out in the desert and make s’mores every night and look up at the stars. I’ll show you how to play guitar if you give me algebra lessons.”

You peek over at him, intrigued. “Is that all we’re going to do?”

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” You giggle; it’s ridiculous, it’s paradisical, it’s insane how good it sounds. But surely that’s only because you’re high. “I don’t know how Mimi would feel about that.”

“She won’t care. She doesn’t want me anymore, hasn’t in years. Sometimes she just forgets that when she’s wasted. Mimi can go to Arizona too. We’ll load up the kids in a van and strap her to the roof.”

Now your voice is somber. “She was supposed to fix you.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says: slow, meditative, guilty. “I think Mimi and I have a few too many of the same demons.”

You roll over, push yourself up on your palms, and crawl to the edge of the rooftop. You prop your elbows on the ledge and gaze out into the city lights, the sky turning from violet to indigo to primordial darkness. Aegon joins you, staring down at the distant aquamarine rectangle of the hotel pool.

He asks: “You think I could make that?”

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

“A few months ago, you would have pushed me off this roof.”

You shrug. “You’ve proved yourself useful.”

“That’s why you like me now? Because I’m useful?”

“Who said I like you?” you tease, smiling.

“You like me,” Aegon says, grinning and smug, radiant in the silver moonlight and urban incandescence. “You like me so much it scares you. But there’s no need to panic. It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You want to touch him, you want him to touch you, you want to study every arc and angle of him like he’s a marble statue in a garden: too beautiful to be mortal, too fragile to be divine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later in Nebraska, there is a knock on the door of your hotel suite. The nannies have herded the children off to bed; the adults are unwinding downstairs in the courtyard of the Sheraton Omaha, designed to resemble an Italian garden. There’s a brand new Jacuzzi that you’re looking forward to taking a dip in. You finish pulling on your swimsuit, white and patterned with sunflowers, a one-piece with a flared skirt.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Richard Nixon,” Aegon says through the door. “Naked. Horny. Please love me.”

You laugh and let him in. He’s leaning against the doorframe in Hawaiian swim trunks and nothing else, pink sunburn glowing on his soft chest. He holds up a brown paper bag and shakes it.

“For you.”

“What is it, heroin?” Instead, you open the bag to find small, circular packs of pills. “No way. You did not.”

“That’s enough for six months,” Aegon says, smirking, proud of himself. “I’ll be back again in February. Guess that makes me your dealer, babe. I don’t accept cash, checks, or cards, only sexual favors. You want to get down on your knees, or should I?”

“How did you get these?”

“I told a doctor they’re for one of my whores.”

“Maybe they are.”

You’ve surprised him, you’ve got him thinking about it now. His face flushes a splotchy, charming pink. “So, uh, you coming down to the courtyard?”

“Yeah. Right now. Just let me hide these first. Are there instructions in here…?”

“Mm hmm,” Aegon says, still distracted, studying the entirely unremarkable carpet. You stow the paper bag of birth control pills in the bottom of your bras and panties drawer, then walk with Aegon to take the elevator down to the ground floor. You both notice the bright red emergency stop button and share a glance, smirking, taunting.

In the courtyard, Alicent is struggling to pay attention as Helaena identifies each and every species of plant and explains where in the world it is native to. Fosco is simultaneously teaching Criston how to yo-yo and berating him for not believing the Cubs will end up in the World Series. Fosco has apparently bet $500 on them. Ludwika is stretched out on a lounge chair like a cat and reading a copy of Cosmopolitan. Aemond, wearing his eyepatch and a blue pair of swim trunks, appears to be arguing with Otto over the contents of a newspaper article. Mimi is alone in the Jacuzzi, bubbles rumbling all around her as she slumps against the rim, a frosty Gimlet clutched in one hand.

“Mimi, get out of the Jacuzzi,” you order.

“I’m fine!” she slurs, and you groan, knowing you’re going to have to drag her out.

Aemond is approaching; no, not approaching, raging. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck is this?” He hurls the newspaper at you, the Houston Chronicle. The headline reads: To Mrs. Targaryen, ending the Vietnam War is personal. “Why would you tell somebody that? Other papers are going to start reporting this. You gave them his full name. They’ve found his school, his friends, his gravesite in motherfucking Arlington National Cemetery—”

“You set me up,” you say. “You didn’t tell me about the hospital.”

Aegon takes the newspaper from you and frantically skims the article. “Hey, man,” he tells Aemond as he pieces it together, attempting to deescalate. It’s not a skill you knew he possessed. “She was rattled, she wasn’t thinking clearly. And there’s nothing bad in this article. It makes her sound invested and sympathetic, not…um…whatever you’re thinking.”

“You don’t get it,” Aemond seethes. “Journalists are going to start hounding his friends, his classmates, people who lived in his dorm building. Nixon’s newspapers will publish any gossip they can dig up about what she did when she was in school. Things people saw, things people overheard—”

“What, the fact that she had one boyfriend before she met you? That’s worthy of a nuclear meltdown?! Better prepare for Armageddon, a woman got laid, launch the goddamn warheads!”

“She doesn’t get to have a past! She should understand that, she signed up for this, she knew exactly what was expected of her!”

“And what about your past?” Aegon says, low and searing, and Aemond goes quiet. Their eyes are locked on each other: Aegon defiant, Aemond unnerved. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen that expression on his face before. You don’t think you have. Not even when he was shot and half-blinded. Not even when Ari died.

“What does that mean?” you ask your husband. Still staring at Aegon—tangled in a thorny, silent battle of wills—he doesn’t reply.

There are swift, thudding footsteps. Otto grabs Aegon by his hair, hooks a finger through the small gold hoop in his right ear, and tears it straight through the earlobe. Aegon screams as blood streams down his face, feeling the ravaged fringes of his flesh.

“I told you to take those out,” Otto says. “Now remove the other one before I rip it free, and go get yourself stitched up.”

You do something you’ve never done before, never even thought of. You strike out with both hands and shove Otto so hard he goes staggering backwards, his arms wheeling. The others are yelling and rushing over. Aemond is trying to yank you to him, but he can’t get a grip on your swimsuit. “I will kill you!” you roar at Otto. “I will push you down a staircase, I will slit your fucking throat, don’t you ever touch him!”

Alicent is weeping, appalled, trying to get a look at Aegon’s damaged ear. Criston is helping her, moving Aegon’s bloodied hair out of the way. Fosco links his arms around your waist and drags you out of Aemond’s reach just as he’s getting his fingers beneath a strap of your swimsuit. Helaena is covering her face with her hands and wailing. Ludwika is shrieking at Otto: “What did you do? Don’t give me that, what did you do?!”

You are engulfed with rage, red and irresistible. You’re trying to bolt out of Fosco’s grasp. You want to claw Otto’s eyes out; you want to put a bullet in him. As you struggle, you catch a glimpse of the Jacuzzi. You don’t see Mimi anymore.

“Wait,” you plead, but nobody hears you over the noise. You look desperately at Fosco. “Where’s Mimi?!”

Once he figures out what you’re trying to say, he whirls towards the Jacuzzi. “No!” he bellows, releasing you, and careens across the courtyard. You dash after him. Now the others understand, and they come running too. You see it just before Fosco dives in: there is a shadow at the bottom of the Jacuzzi. When he bursts up though the roiling water, he is carrying Mimi, limp and unconscious and blue.

Everyone is shouting at once. Fosco lays Mimi down on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Criston sends Ludwika to call an ambulance, kneels beside Mimi, checks for a pulse. Then he begins CPR. When he breathes air into her flooded lungs, there is no response, no resurrection.

“No, no, no, she has to be alright!” Aemond says, and everyone knows why. If she’s not, this will consume the headlines for days: no victorious campaigning, no speeches or photos, just a drowned alcoholic with a damning autopsy report.

“Oh my god,” Otto moans, pacing. “This can’t be happening, not this year, not now…”

Alicent seizes your hand and squeezes it until you think it will break. She is reciting prayers in Greek. Helaena is curled up under a butterfly bush, sobbing hysterically. When he realizes this, Otto hurries to comfort her.

“Don’t watch, Helaena. Let’s go inside, I’ll walk with you, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Mimi?!” Aegon commands, slapping her hard across the face. “Mimi, come on, wake up! Mimi? Mimi!” She’s still motionless, she’s still blue. Aegon turns to you, blood smeared all over the right side of his face. He’s petrified, he’s in shock. “I think she’s…she’s…”

“She’s gone,” Criston says; and he lifts his palms from her hollow body. The silent sky above is a labyrinth of bad stars.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii x you

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slut4daviii · 1 year ago

Text

character(s): g.tomioka

pt(s): 01/02

cw: cheating, cum-eating, masturbation

summary: idk but giyuus husband is cheating and giyuu is fantasying about his neighbor. one thing will lead to another and you’ll find that forgetting an anniversary will never end will for the forgetting party

a/n: hi. | minors and non-male aligning DNI

title: anniversary sex

wc: 1250+

────────────────────────

scandalous.

he knew his thoughts were everything but pure.

scandalous.

he knew his thoughts should only pertain to his own husband and the life they’d built together.

scandalous

but… he couldn’t. he couldn’t keep his eyes from the widow. couldn’t keep his thoughts from wandering; forming indecent images and scenarios.

his thighs pressed inwards at the situations created by his imagination. each one a different position, different pose; exploring each other’s bodies, igniting new passion into one another.

“haa— hah! [n—name]…!” he’d moan into your chest, dragging his fingers down your back in such a crude, indecent manner.

you’d groan into his neck, inhaling the fresh scent of his shower, the fruity scent still lingering from the perfume he spent seventy dollars on. just for you.

you’d press yourself deeper into him, embedding your tip into his womb. “ahh!” a high-pitched yelp. he would put his hand on your v-line, trying to stop your movements.

you’d only go harder, dismissing his mindless mumbles of “ngh!! t—too… too de—ep! s—sl—slow d..d—down!!”

he would know.

you would know.

his husband would know.

everyone would know.

that he wanted it. just how you gave it to him; slow, deep, mind-breaking stokes that left him breathless at every thrust.

“you wanted this, right? watched me from your widow. rubbing yourself to my form, hoping I’d come and sweep you away from your husband.”

he’d choke on his words, clawing at you for any sort of support. his eyes would roll backwards, an orgasm rippling between the two of you, staining your chests in a sticky white substance.

“Gi—“

you’d move your fingers to his chest, lifting his legs to his shoulders in the process. your fingers would slid along his abs, soaking up his spewed semen and bringing it to his—

“Giyuu”

—mouth, forcing him to taste his own—

“Giyuu!”

—seed. he’d moan around your fingers, the salty taste of himself pushing him over—

“GIYUU!!”

Giyuu pulled back from the sink, dropping the cup he held in his hand, shattering it.

his husband stood across the short kitchen distance with a briefcase in hand. he adjusted his tie, tugging on the fabric to adhere to his neck.

“Giyuu, where was your mind? I’ve been calling your name for five minutes.” the man chuckled

Giyuu smiled, glancing back to the window before snapping his vision back to his husband. “J…just thinking of our anniversary.”

his husband hummed, closing the buttons of his suit. “anniversary?” he chuckled, burning a hole into Giyuu’s chest. “our anniversary was two months ago.”

Giyuu glanced at the calendar on his refrigerator, looking at the heart over today’s date.

His husband followed the look, panic rushing through his body. “Uh—uhm I mean, I, I was thinking of your birthday..!”

‘my birthday was two days ago.’ he thought

Giyuu looked back to the window, no longer seeing the picture of his fantasies. ‘where’d [name] go?’

his husband came behind him, palming his ass and resting his chin on Giyuu’s shoulder, disregarding his obvious discomfort. “are you mad at me?” his husband moaned into his ear, harshly rubbing his front against Giyuu’s back.

Giyuu remained silent, earning a harsh thrust “oh, I’m sorry Giyuu, I’ve just been so busy. but, I promise, when I get back, we’ll celebrate all you want.”

“Get back? where are you going?” Giyuu asked softly, not surprised by his husband’s actions.

“I have a business meeting with Rengoku. It’ll last a week. I’m sorry!”

Giyuu nodded, moving away from the man to pick up a banana from the table. “Well, you better go now, I forgive you.”

his husband smiled, placing a quick peck on his forehead. “I swear, I’ll make it up to you when I get back.”

Giyuu nodded, undoing his apron to take a shower.

“oh! I called [name] over to fix the sink, he should be over later.”

Giyuu stopped his movements, feeling heat rush to his face. “ok, love you.”

as fast as his husband had entered the kitchen, he was gone, leaving with only a distracted “mhm.”

Giyuu continued to his room, removing the rest of his clothing to begin his showering process. he pulled a basket from under his sink labeled ‘[name]’ and continued on his way, reliving his fantasy from earlier.

he felt a smile etch its way onto his face, burning into his features

“I’ll see [name] soon…

#dom male reader #gay #seme male reader #top male reader #gay smut #demon slayer x male reader #demon slayer x top male reader #demon slayer #giyuu tomioka #giyuu x male reader

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squadmuse · 7 months ago

Text

NSFW ALPHABET

THE DEREK SHEPHERD EDITION

A - Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Derek Shepherd is such a cuddler and so affectionate like seriously such a teddy bear. He makes sure that you’re okay, wanting to be certain that you’re good. He loves bubble baths with you so he’ll run a bath and it’s hard for him to stop necking you in it.

B - Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and their partner’s body)

Derek likes his hands, he knows how skilled they are, whether it’s sex or surgery. On you, Derek is partial to your neck and ass, he loves giving you neck kisses and smacking your ass.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum basically…)

Derek loves cumming inside your pussy, but he also enjoys releasing inside your mouth or on your face and seeing it.

D - Dirty Secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Derek loves it when you give him your panties, which he puts in his pocket. He’s an adrenaline junkie and that riskiness really gets him going.

E - Experience (how experienced are they, do they know what they are doing?)

Oh Derek is experienced and knows what he’s doing. He’s been married in the past to Addison, who knows who he’s had before that and then with Meredith & Rose… that man has the experience and the ability to absolutely wreck you in bed.

F - Favourite Position (again, pretty self explanatory…)

Hmm… Derek enjoys a lot of different positions and he’s definitely read the Kama Sutra, but his favourite position is doggystyle. He loves getting to have access to your ass, boobs, neck and pussy.

G - Goofy (are they more serious in the moment or are they more humorous?)

When your relationship with Derek develops, he becomes a lot more goofy and silly with you in bed and such a sweetheart. Not that he wasn’t already, but before he was more serious about it all and getting to know you and your body.

H - Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

Derek is well groomed. He’s not bare or anything like that but he keeps it trimmed.

I - Intimacy (how are they during the moment? Are they romantic?)

Derek is such a romantic! So sweet, so loving and tender. He is so affectionate to you and loves getting to worship you & your body.

J - Jack Off (masturbation…)

Derek doesn’t do it that much. That’s not to say he doesn’t, sometimes your shifts at hospital don’t match up with his and he’d never think about cheating on you.

K - Kink (what are their kink/s?)

Derek is quite kinky… exhibitionism, breeding kink, you in lingerie, dirty talk etc.

L - Location (where are their favourite places to do the do?)

Derek loves to do it anywhere. In a hospital on-call room, bathroom or his office, in his trailer or the home has made for you both, outdoors on his acres of land… the man is raring to go wherever and whenever!.

M - Motivation (what turns them on, what gets them going?)

Derek doesn’t need much motivation when it comes to you, he’s just so attracted and in love with you. Whether you’re in scrubs and tired from a long surgery, or in some lacy lingerie and your perfume fanning his senses.

N - No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs?)

Derek will never ever hurt you in sex. He hates abuse or violence and will never do anything to hurt you, and while he might be kinky, Derek isn’t a fan of pain play or stuff like that. He will never do a threesome though, he won’t share you and won’t do anything with anyone other than you.

O - Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill etc)

Derek is so good at oral sex. His talented tongue with precise licks to your pussy is just so mind blowing as he expertly brings you to orgasm. He isn’t against a blowjob from you, he loves it when you pull him into a supply cupboard at work for one.

P - Pace (are they fast and rough, soft and sensual?)

Derek is both. It just depends on the mood he’s in and how you are. He is so good in bed that either way doesn’t matter, Derek is sure to give you a pace that has you orgasming so much. The faster sex happens more at work or on his private land though.

Q - Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often etc.)

Quickies happen a lot with Derek. It can be that you’re both at work in the hospital and want each other, so you fuck in an on-call room or that one of you needs to blow off steam from stress or a surgery so you fuck in a supply cupboard. Or you’re on the private land around his trailer or the home he has built for the two of you, and the adrenaline gets you both going quick and fast.

R - Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)

Derek is such a risk taker, he is a bona fide adrenaline junkie who lives for a thrill and risk - just look at how risky he can be taking on difficult cases at work? That applies to you and sex too… car sex, roleplay, phone sex etc.

S - Stamina (how many rounds can they go? How long do they last?)

Derek can go a few rounds. He’s a healthy guy, so perhaps three rounds. He can last quite long, and is quick to get raring to go again.

T - Toys (do they own toys, do they use toys? on a partner or themselves?)

Derek is open to using toys on you, but I don’t see him particularly interested in them being used on him. He loves tying you up, he’s an outdoorsman who knows how to tie good knots. Derek will never do pegging and he’s quite vanilla so likes it when you tie him up or use your fluffy handcuffs on him. Blindfolds are used, so are vibrators and cock rings.

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Derek is a tease of the highest order, he just loves teasing you so much.

V - Volume (how loud are they, what sounds do they make etc?)

Oh the mouth on this man… Derek curses and moans, grunts and talks such dirty things that he has you so wet.

W - Wild Card (random headcanon)

Derek would love to have sex on a ferry boat.

X - X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Hmm… Derek is a nice size, he’s not giant or too big but he is able to fit just perfectly and reach all the right spots. He’s cut, and slightly veiny. His cock is kind of more wide than long.

Y - Yearning (how high is their sex drive)

Derek has such a high sex drive and you are not complaining. Sex can happen every day between you two or even a few times a day.

Z - Zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards)

Derek can fall asleep quickly after sleep if it’s not at work. He’s a light sleeper and will wake if he feels you moving or squirming so to make sure you’re not in pain.

#derek shepherd #derek shepherd x reader #greys anatomy #greys #greys abc #grey’s anatomy #mcdreamy #patrick dempsey

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jelly-fishie · 3 months ago

Text

Toji N$FW Alphabet 🖤

A-Z

WARNING: MDNI PLEASE

A - After care

Honestly he's not that big on after care, it's not the first thing that comes to mind when hes finished with you But if you ask he'll probably use your money to go get some food or something maybe even cuddle for a bit if your lucky.

(he secretly loves looking after you and actually will clean make the bed thing like that etc, while you clean up)

B - Body part (fav part of you and him)

Toji very obviously has a favourite bit of you because its always the part covered in hickeys, which just happens to be your ass and tits, your best assets of course.

Toji's very confident about his looks, he knows he's attractive. More importantly he knows just how much you love his arms, and if you love them then he loves them too. (i mean he did anyway but maybe just a little bit more with you liking it too.)

C - C0m3 (anything to do with it)

Toji is dirtyyyy But he hates cleaning it up so he'll make sure he only gets it on you. Its like sand at the beach youll still find little bits of it hours later. He especially loves getting it on your chest and face, and maybe even a little bit all over your ass.

D - dirty secret

This man has a scent kink… yeah. He loves the way you smell… yeah sure the perfume or cologne is nice and the body lotion smells good but… he loves the smell of your natural musk. If you’re working out together and he gets horny because you’re teasing him by doing squats? He’ll nearly pounce on you because he knows you're sweaty. He is addicted to it, shamelessly dipping his head between your thighs and running his nose along your inner thighs, inhaling so deeply it makes you squirm because you know what he’s doing but you can’t get the words out. I’m telling you, he’s a filthy, freaky mother fucker… the dirtier the better… but not too dirty, ya know?

E - experience (how experienced are they?)

This man is probably nearly a hundred digits in his body count, over the past 20 years or so. He slept around a lot before mamaguro and Then became the most loyal loving mf before she unalived. After she did i reckon he didn't actually get it on with anyone for at least a year or 2.

Anyway you get the point he's very experienced.

F - favourite position

Oh he loves doggy style or you in his lap, He's strong so he could up you up for hours. He just loves watching you squirm and moan beneath him as his cumfills you up. Jesus even the thought of that image makes him hard.

His real favourites are 69 or reverse cowgirl. Anything where he has a hold of your ass really.

G - Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

Honestly i think toji is more teasing then goofy, it all really depends on what you like. (he will tease you regardless but maybe a bit less if you say you dont like it.)

H - Hair (are they well groomed?)

He doesn't really care about it really, he'll wash and maybe trim if it gets annoying or if you ask him. If he's in a serious relationship with you he'll have a little more maintenance, he likes pruning.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He's pretty serious during the moment, maybe an unintentional joke or two and some teasing but other then that 100% serious. He does tend to get a little awkward during the romantic aspect, he wont mutter any "I love yous.." or anything like that. He'll make up for it in praise or dirty talk.

J - Jacking off

Anywhere, anytime, any place. If he needs to get off and you arent there hes grabbing your lotion and looking at your home movies. You've walked in on him a few times but that doesn't stop him and he just ask you to join him, saying the videos 'aren't enough for him'.

K - Kink (one or more)

This man has so many kinks i dont even know where to start, personally hes been associated with breeding and daddy kink (Not so found of the daddy kink) soo often and honestly i kinda agree, he loves seeing a little bulge in your stomach, whether its his dick causing it or something else he loves it.

He also seems like the kind of guy to do anal, but he wouldn't really do it unless you said something, but the minute you do the pants are off. He also loves bdsm, pain and spanking all that, in fact he'd get his nips pierced if he didnt think he'd pop a boner when he got it down.

L- Location and length (where he prefers it, how long it lasts. 2 in 1)

Toji is more then willing to do it anywhere, he's the kind of guy to do it in the mens bathroom if you guys really wanted too but the older he gets and the longer he's with you the more privacy he wants, dont get me wrong he's still down for anything but he appreciates the privacy more.

He likes to take his time with you as well, making sure your always satisfied at the end of it.

M - Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He loves seeing you get dressed up, walking around in a bodycon dress showing off your figure or walking around dolled up in a new lingerie set (it could literally be plain black he'd still be all over you.) with a nice perfume and your right but in bed.

If you dont feel like dressing up just cuddle in his lap and give him a little nibble or two on his neck, that really gets him going.

N - No's (thing they would absolutely never do)

While he likes pain he would never draw blood using things like a knife or pins or anything that could seriously harm you, he might accidentally bite you too hard but event that he slightly dislikes.

Since he's a father of sorts he really hates things like age play or Being called daddy. He's not totally against calling you ma or mama to tease you but that's it.

O - Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Oh this man loves eating you out, sometimes he'll spend more time eating you out then actually fucking you, he loves feeling you squirt all over him and licking the rest off of you. He certainly also doesnt mind when you go down on him, but personally he prefers your pussy.

P - Pace (are they fast, slow, sensual?)

Honestly it totally depends on the mood and how you like it. He usually adjusts it to the fit the both of you, but this man is naturally rough and fast, but hes just as capable of taking it easy.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He'll never pass up an opportunity with you, whether its make up sex or a two minute blow. Quickies arent his favourite but he's always up for it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Toji's old enough and experienced to know what he likes and what he doesn't, but if you manage to bring him something new he'll always consider it..

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Oh toji can go for HOURS. You'll rarely have less then 3 rounds with him. He could probably go for a day or two if he really really wanted to.

T - Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Yes, but mainly on you, toji doesn't really use them for himself, maybe a cock ring or something. On you, however as long as your buying it he'll help or watch you use anything

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh he’s evil. Toji will damn near torture you just for his own satisfaction. He’s so mean to you in bed but he’ll make sure you cum. So I guess you can’t necessarily say he’s “unfair” in that aspect

V - Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Its all moans and groans from this man, he'll whisper a few curses under his breath but that's it. Unless you've been going for a while, then you start hearing low sort of sound, whines almost.

W - Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You both make home videos, and with your permission of course he posts a few of them. He always blurs out faces and important details to keep anonymity. In fact you guys make a pretty penny on it every time the check comes in, you also love reading all the weird dirty comments together and laugh at them.

X - X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

This man is hung and no one can convince me otherwise, in fact its hard for him to get it all in seeing as he grows to 8 inches max, and the human vagina can only take seven. Speaking of pussy he stretches you out good. He's not only long but wide too.

Y - Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Honestly I'd say it's kind of low, he kinda just lets it build up over the week until you get in the mood or he needs to get off and lets it all out.

Z - Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Toji can knock out in 10 seconds or 10 minutes. It depends on how rough he was with you because he’s trying to get better with aftercare. He wants to at least clean you up and make sure you’re okay before knocking out and snoring like a bear for the next eight hours.

He also always wants to have cuddled up and spooned up for a little while after, he likes the feeling of being loved/domesticated.

#jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji zenin #fushiguro toji #toji x you #toji fushigro x reader #my writing #alphabet #smut #fluff #female reader #x reader

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duckchu · 1 year ago

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Finally, Settreigh (or however you spell his full name lmao)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Mostly just cuddling after sex, no thoughts, just head between titties (no matter which one of you is the one with the head)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For him, definitely arms, he worked hard for them and loves the fact that he can pick you up with such ease no matter your size. On you, he loves your legs, he thinks they look really attractive

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Inside only

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves you so much that he can't live a day without your presence, so he sometimes buys the perfumes you use and sprays his room with them before masturbating

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

The only thing he has close to experience is his mom giving him the whole flowers and bees talk

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Mating press

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Out of Heartsteel, he's the one who you have the highest chance of being goofy during sex with, but he does sometimes want to get serious

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's hairy down there and it's in the same shade of red as his hair

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He's pretty romantic during the act, pulling you as close to himself as he can and making sure you know how much he loves you

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Not frequently, doesn't really need to when he has you, but even if he doesn't, he masturbates rarely

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding 100%

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bed or against the wall of his bedroom

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Just seeing you in shorter clothes makes him go crazy

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Slapping or spanking you. Even though he can control his strength, he knows how much stronger he is compared to you and doesn't want to risk you getting hurt

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Definitely prefers receiving, sitting at his desk and seeing you under him taking his cock so well

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He's fast and goes hard, he's not here to play

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not really a fan, only if you have no other option

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Prefers to stay in the bedroom rather than have you two be interrupted

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

It's rather a question of how long can you last, man has stamina for days

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Not really, prefers pleasing you himself

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Not really, he likes seeing you enjoy yourself rather than beg him for release with teary eyes

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Can keep it down, but he's pretty loud

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

When I say he has a breeding kink, HE DOES straight up going for so long that he's shooting blanks

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Long and thick, 15 cms

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

About 3-4 times per month

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Pretty quickly, after all taking care of such a beauty can be tiring~

#heartsteel x reader #sett lol #sett #sett x reader #heartsteel #heartsteel sett #sett smut #breeding k1nk #x reader smut #lol smut #lol x reader #lol #league of legends #league of legends x reader #league of legends smut

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sherewrytes · 6 months ago

Text

ℙ𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣 𝕋𝕣𝕚𝕡, 𝕆𝕟𝕪𝕒𝕟𝕜𝕠𝕡𝕠𝕟

(I'll always want you part Final)

Link for part three here

dividers by @Cafekitsune

Song inspo: Power Trip - J Cole

C.W: angst, drug use, smut. MORE ANGST.

Ony hadn't seen you since the party. Well, he saw you on campus, at mutual friends' parties, but y'all kept your distance from each other. It's been 18 months since you two broke up and almost a year since Armin's party. Ony had been back in the studio more than ever, working on his upcoming album. Between uni, social media, and studio time, he thought he'd be able to keep his mind off you. But he couldn't. His thoughts always wandered back to you. He'd stalk your socials every now and then and saw that you finally launched your brand, Xerar.

Ony was in the studio, working on a song called "Power Trip" with his producer/rapper best friend Eren for the final track on his album. He was smoking a blunt with Eren, Connie, Armin, and Jean when they started talking about your upcoming fashion show.

Eren: Aye Jean, you going to Xerar's launch man. Jean: Who's throwing that again. I don't keep up much with fashion Armin: You idiot, it's y/n's launch and her fashion show Connie: *Passes blunt to Eren* Man I aint missing that, she's been working on that shit forever. Plus, I gots be there since imma model and shit

Eren passes the blunt to Ony then watches his expression. Ony's eyes widened listening to his friend's conversation. He slowly realized everyone was invited but him. Everyone noticed his silence and quickly switched the topic.

Ony's mind momentarily had a flashback He remembered the nights working with you on your sketches, you bouncing ideas off him. Him helping you pick fabric swatches and the works. Ony felt sick to his stomach.

He moved away from his friends, put on his headphones, and started writing trying to clear his mind and probably work on another single.

Connie watched Ony over in the corner chilling with his headphones in smoking and writing. His aura a bit broken.

Connie playfully shoved Eren and said, "Man, you know he still holds a torch for her. Why you gotta mention it?"

Eren scoffed and said, "It's time he let go, man."

Ony left the studio when no one was looking and headed home. He found himself smoking a cigarette in bed, staring at the ceiling, mind running on times that no longer existed. He sighed, rubbing his hands against his face, he contemplated calling over someone to fuck the thoughts away, but he knew it usually left him feeling worse. He stubbed out his cigarette in the bedside ashtray stared into space hoping the pain would eat him alive.

Ony was smoking on the balcony of his apartment, looking out at the night sky when his phone rang. He answered without checking it. He heard your voice, "Hey Ony, what's up?"

Ony was shocked that you called but played it cool. "Hey, I'm good. Just on my balcony hittin' a blunt. What made you call me?" You heard Ony inhale through the phone. "Just curious to see how you're doing, Soro."

You calling Ony by his artist's name made him laugh a bit. You asked Ony to come over. You heard him hesitate, then he said OKAY and that the passcode for his apartment door was the same. You laughed and hung up.

Ony confused and in a fit of paranoia called Eren. "Hey man..fuck y/n called me now she's coming over. Idk what to do man."

Eren laughed then told Ony "Bro, calm down, probably take another hit of that blunt you're smokin right now and relax. Some of us sleep in the night man." Ony laughed and ended the call with Eren.

Thirty minutes later, Ony felt your presence before he saw you. You looked the same but different. You were wearing his old navy blue College Dropout hoodie from Kanye West that you stole from him and grey sweat shorts.

Ony watched you sit next to him, sparking up a blunt of your own. You both sat in silence until Ony said, "I'm glad to see you, Y/N." Ony smelled the faint scent of your usual perfume mixed with your favorite bedtime body mist and it had him tweaking a bit.

This was the moment he had been waiting for. The moment when he could really patch things up once and for all. He needed to be as honest as he could to make up for his mistakes. Ony was thinking to himself,

Why do I feel so nervous? I don't care. I have to speak my heart out.

His voice came out a little broken but heavy. "Y/N, I..." Ony's words failed him. It was so hard for him to speak when all he could see was your beautiful face.

"Hi Ony," you said. Hearing your voice in person sent him crazy. He tried to calm his mental. Ony wasn't sure what to say, so he just stared at you while you were smoking your blunt.

You felt him staring you up and down. He watched the moonlight hit your face, and it made him want you. Ony tried to speak again, but nothing came out. He thought to himself again,

Why is it so hard to say 'I love you' to her right now? This is frustrating. I need to say it. I've prepared myself for this. This is my second chance to fix everything. This is my one and only chance to make her happy again. It's time to stop hesitating and open my heart.

Ony watched you stub out your blunt and turn to face him. "Ony, what do you have to say to me?" Ony sighed and poured his heart out.

"Y/N, I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. I cheated, and I can't take that back. But I've been thinkin' 'bout you every damn day. I still love you, and I can't shake that. It's been almost two years, and I should've moved on, but I can't. Every waking moment, every dream is about you. I'm sorry for everything, for causing you so much pain. I just want a chance to make things right."

You sat there in silence, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Ony murmured, "Do you hate me, Y/N? Like, for real, do you?"

Ony was met with silence again. Ony sighed and started up again,

"I still love you, Y/N. I know it's been almost two years. I should move on, be more focused, but every waking moment, every dream is about you. I hate that I cheated and fucked up, Ma."

Ony watched you fix your hair and saw the Versace bracelet he got you still on your wrist. He thought to himself, "Why didn't she return that with all the other stuff?"

He wanted to ask about it but ignored it. He watched you rise from your seat, walk over to the balcony, and stare at the night sky.

Ony opted to change the music playing in the background. He switched it from "Dr. Suess" by Ski Mask to "Power Trip" by J. Cole ft. Miguel.

Ony sat there staring at you and continued smoking until he heard you say, "What do you really want, Ony?"

Ony thought his ears were playing tricks on him, then he responded,

"Are you askin' me what I want right now, Ma?" "Yeah, right now."

He took another hit, then said, "Honestly, I wanna hug you right now. I wanna hold you tight and feel your warmth as I tell you that I love you."

Silence again. Ony watched you fish a blunt out of your lil purse you came with while coming to sit next to him and said, "How about you smoke this with me?"

Ony pulled out his lighter and lit the blunt hanging from your lips in silence, his eyes locked with yours, he was the first to look away. He was lost in thought.

"She so damn beautiful takin' a drag. Missed this. Her lips, damn, so beautiful. First time in forever, I'm seein' it. Thinkin' 'bout kissin' her, scared 'cause we been apart so long. Don't wanna mess this moment."

Ony took the blunt from you and took a drag still deep in thought. *thinking to himself*

"View's beautiful now. Moonlight, city quiet. Us two, world feelin' small. Beautiful moment. Don't want it to end. Enjoyin' it, appreciatin' her bein' here, missed it so much."

With a smile on his face, Ony said, "You the most beautiful woman in this world. I swear you're perfect."

You turn to Ony and said, "Ony, it’s not just about the apology or just buttering me up with sweet words. It’s about trust. You broke it, and I don’t know if we can ever get it back."

He nodded, taking in your words. "I get it. Can't stop thinkin' 'bout us, what we had. What could've been. Tryna move on, stuck in the past."

You took a deep breath, the weight of his words sinking in. "Ony, I’ve tried to move on too. I’ve been focusing on my brand, on myself. But seeing you, hearing you say all this, it brings everything back. I don’t know if I can go through that pain again."

He leaned closer, his eyes pleading. "Y/N, I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I’m asking for one. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. I still love you, and I don’t want to spend my life wondering what could have been."

You looked away, the night sky providing a momentary distraction from the intensity of the conversation. "Ony, it’s not that simple. We can’t just go back to how things were. We’ve both changed."

He reached out, gently turning your face back to him. "I know we can’t go back. But maybe we can start over. Build something new, something stronger. Please, Y/N, give us a chance."

You sighed, feeling the weight of his words and the sincerity in his eyes. "Ony, I don’t know if I can. But I’m willing to try. One step at a time."

A small smile formed on Ony's lips as he nodded, hope flickering in his eyes. "That’s all I’m asking for. One step at a time."

You both sat there, the silence now filled with a sense of cautious hope. Ony leaned over to kiss you but you exhale smoke directly in to his face. Ony smirked then let out a chuckle. Ony whispered while taking a hit from the blunt in your hands "You know how that gets me ma."

Ony leans in again and kisses you this time exhaling the smoke directly into your mouth as you inhale and kiss him back. Ony watched as your eyes got low and red just like his while they were you were smiling at him made it obvious to him you were blushing heavily.

"I miss that look in your eyes a lot." blunt now forgotten, you and ony were making out heavily. Ony pulled you onto his lap. his hands roamed your body causing you to grind against his clothed body. Ony felt like he was losing his mind having you back with him like this felt like magic. Like a fever dream

As the night wore on, you and Ony talkin', reminiscin', fuckin,ownin' up to mistakes. No fix-all, but a start. Tiny step towards healin', maybe somethin' more down the line.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The shrill sound of Ony's phone alarm shattered the moment, dragging him out of his dreamy haze.

Ony shot up on the bed wiping his face, feelin' hot and sweaty. Thinking out loud he said "It was so real. Like I was really with her... but that ain't possible. It was just a dream."

He gotta admit he miss her so bad. He loves everything about her. Her deep brown eyes, her dark hair, her beautiful face, her gentle and soft smile. He misses the little things about her, even her annoying habits and the small gestures she does without thinkin'.

He wishes it wasn't just a dream. He wishes it was real...

Ony felt like he wanted to scream. He turned off his phone alarm and saw texts from Eren

Ony felt a scream building in his chest. He turned off his phone alarm and glanced at Eren's texts, irritation bubbling up. Connie had exposed his vulnerability without truly grasping it. Plugging his phone to charge, Ony considered rolling another blunt. He had class today but couldn't bear the thought of facing anyone. Deep down, he knew his self-destructive behavior was spiraling out of control, but he felt powerless to change it.

He roamed around his apartment, trying to clear his mind, then suddenly

BANG BANG BANG

He heard a banging on his apartment door. He kissed his teeth and went to open it and saw. Connie, Armin, Connie, Mikasa and Sasha at his door. He almost slammed the door back in the faces, but Eren pushed the door open letting everyone in. Eren walked straight for where Ony usually kept his stash and dumped out his weed and Eren saw the pills and his eyes teared up almost immediately.

Eren grabbed Ony by the shoulders, attempting to shake some sense into Ony but nothing registered for Ony.

HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON BRO, ONY, ARE YOU HEARING, ARE YOU HIGH ON SUM ONYANKOPON! BRO!

Eren raised his voice trying to talk to Ony but he just stayed silent. Mikasa looked through the pills. There was molly, percs and even some Xanax.

Connie chimed in asking Ony "Floch sold you these pills man like for real. He is the only dude on campus that got this shit."

Ony looked around the room at his friends and all he could think of was you. You'd hate to see him right now. This wasn't the Ony you fell in love with. The one who held your hand, stayed up when you cried about your finals. He was a far cry from that person.

Ony's world was shaken when he saw his older brother and sister walk in his apartment door. He knew what this was. An Intervention. All he prayed that his parents weren't here to see this.

His sister looked at him with sad eyes while his brother was furious.

All his sister said is "Mom and Dad knows, they were gonna disown you but Kwesi (Ony's older brother) explained everything to them. You gotta get help man. You're killing yourself. Are you sure this is all about y/n"

Ony stayed silent for a long moment then said "After finals. I'll get help. Let me just finish finals. That's all. This aint on y/n it's on me. I dont wanna hear anyone blaming her for shit."

Ony walked off, absentmindedly reaching for the cigarettes on the console table when it was pulled out his hand by Sasha.

Ony scoffed leaving everyone in the living room area, to sit out on the balcony alone. He needed a moment to just think.

He grabbed his iPad sitting on the table and mindlessly scrolled through IG when he saw a picture of you cuddled up with Lead Singer of the band ErrxR Reiner Braun. He dropped his iPad, watching the screen crack on the ground.

The little hope he had in his heart, that you and he could be once again is long gone. You moved on leaving him truly alone in the chaos of his own doing.

The End

#aot x you #aot x black reader #black tumblr #onyankopon x reader #aot onyankopon #connie springer #aot x reader #black reader #ony x black reader #onyankopon smut #aot smut #aot x y/n

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moremaybank · 2 years ago

Text

DANGEROUS GAMES — j.m

pairing jj maybank x fem!routledge!reader

summary jj refuses to take the bait when you give him a tempting offer. you both agree on a compromise, but you're left pleasantly surprised with how things turn out.

warnings 18+, mutual masturbation, fingering, unprotected sex, oral/face-fucking (m. receiving), cum-swallowing, smidge of a daddy kink, jj and reader's filthy ass mouths, i think that's it but let me know

author's note making my comeback ??? also testing if i wanna go back to regular-sized text.

jj masterlist

“J,” you sulk, rolling your eyes as you follow him inside the chateau. “You’re being ridiculous. It’s not that deep.”

JJ scoffs. “It’s not right.”

It’s your turn to scoff. “Why not? Because of John B? JJ, you’re a grown-ass man.”

JJ pauses, turning back around to face you with a large sigh. “I’m not the guy who fucks his best friend’s little sister behind his back. John B is my brother. I’m not gonna do that to him.”

“Really? He’s your brother?” You ask. You approach him slowly, almost chest to chest, as you look up into his captivating blue eyes. You test the waters by bracing your hands on his firm shoulders, refusing to tear your gaze from his. “So that means you think of me as your sister?”

JJ gulps, and he knows you can see through the façade he’s putting up. You’re the furthest thing from a sister to him. He’s always thought of you as forbidden fruit. Something he’s wanted for so long but knows he can never have a taste of. The thought is burned into his brain, and it taunts him daily.

Your constant teasing doesn’t seem to help matters much, either. Sauntering around in your towel after a shower with water droplets littered across your damp skin, the outline of your curves still managing to show through the thick cotton fabric. Or when you’re in the hot tub together, your head thrown back with your eyes shut as you let the water relax your muscles. The thought of your tiny little swimsuit being the only thing stopping him from seeing you bare isn’t lost on him. It never is. But JJ takes advantage of the opportunity to ogle at you in these moments, having vowed long ago that he would take whatever he could get where you were concerned.

You’re a menace, through and through, and he damn well knows it.

“Give in, J.” Your hands slide downward, and your palms brush against his clothed chest. Your lips near his, threatening to brush against them as you spoke. “Give in to me.”

JJ feels weak. He feels like he’s about to snap, if he’s honest. Your lips are so close that all he has to do is lean in, and he’ll feel them glide against his like silk. Your scent overtakes him, a mixture of your perfume and the salt from the ocean. Heat ignites inside his chest from your touch, and his heart rate picks up. You’re close. Really close.

Too close.

“We can’t, Y/N. I can’t,” he whispers, gently removing your hands from him and putting some space between the two of you. “I can’t touch you. If I did…” he trails off, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t think I’d ever be able to stop.”

You inhale deeply, chewing on his words. A light bulb goes off in your head, and a devious look graces your features. You step closer to him, levelling his gaze from a safe distance. “Fine. If you won’t fuck me, then I want something else.”

JJ cocks a brow. “And what exactly do you want?”

“I wanna watch you cum,” you shrug, as if to say that your request is entirely reasonable and not one-hundred percent unorthodox (at least, between the two of you).

“I’m sorry, what?”

“If getting to watch you cum is the closest I’ll ever get to having you for real, then I’ll take it. I wanna know exactly what it looks like when you fall apart. I wanna hear the desperation in your voice as you work for it, and I wanna know how you sound when you finally let yourself have it. Let me watch you, J. I’ll let you watch me too.”

On the one hand, your point is strong, and it gets him thinking; this might be JJ’s only chance to feast his eyes on your body, bare for his viewing pleasure as you come undone without him having to lay a single finger on you. At least a fraction of his long-standing questions and fantasies would be put to rest if he said yes. But on the other hand, what if it was too much? What if you were more magnificent than he’d ever fathomed and was left yearning for more? What if he fucked up and gave in? He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to look John B in the eye.

“I don’t know. This is a dangerous game that we’re playing,” JJ speaks.

“Live a little,” you whisper.

JJ clenches his jaw, stepping closer to you. His hand creeps its way around your neck, asserting his dominance and holding you in place as he stares down at you. “If I agree to this, it’s just a one-time exception. No one finds out. You forget about me, and I forget about you. Got it?”

You nod in response, his demanding tone sending a thrill up your spine.

JJ’s hand squeezes your throat slightly, “I need to hear you say it.”

“I got it, J.”

“Good,” he speaks, releasing you from his grip. “Strip and get on your ass on the couch.”

You obey his command, already beginning to pull your shirt off as you approach the couch in the living area. You unbutton your shorts, shoving them down your legs and leaving them on the floor. You sit on the couch, your back leaning against the armrest while your legs fall open. Your eyes catch JJ’s blue ones, and you notice them trail over every square inch of you. Goosebumps form on your skin under his intense stare as he walks over to you.

“Shit,” he breathes, mirroring you as he sits across from you on the couch. “Look at how fucking perfect you are.” JJ’s gaze follows the expanse of your neck and clavicle, moving downward to drink in the sight of your tits sitting pretty in front of him. Your nipples are perked up, begging for attention that JJ is dying to give them. He can almost feel your buds between his lips and on the tip of his tongue, and he wonders what your reaction would be if he nibbled at them.

He salivates as he moves on to your torso, and not long after that, he lets gaze eyes feast on your swollen clit and slick core. Your legs subconsciously widen, and the stretch opens you up to him, giving him a better view of your arousal. He leans forward and spits onto your cunt, unable to hold himself back from doing so. Your stomach flips at the action, and your heart rate picks up as you watch his saliva dribble down your folds.

“Goddamn. Play with that pretty pussy for me, baby,” JJ says, moving to undo his shorts and remove his briefs. He finally lets his cock spring free, and your teeth sink into your bottom lip. It’s so pretty, standing tall and hard as a rock with a bead of pre-cum seeping out. You can practically taste him, and knowing that you never will stings.

You nod in response to his command, and your middle and ring fingers spread his saliva over your entire core. Your fingertips glide over your clit, and you hum softly before slowly slipping your fingers inside. They knead against your walls every time you sink them in, and you let your head fall back in delight as you finally get a taste of the pleasure you’ve been dying for. “Shit.”

JJ joins you immediately, spitting onto his palm and gripping his cock. He’s sure to stroke himself in time with the pace you’re fucking yourself, imagining himself in your place. Things between you two have just begun, yet he’s already about to fold and pound you deep into your mattress. But he can’t give in to you so quickly, not when he knows you’ll hold it over him until the end of time. So he tries the best he can to gather his self-restraint.

Unfortunately for JJ, you don’t make it very easy. “Do you like this, J? Watching me fuck my fingers and getting off on it?”

JJ grits his teeth, “Fuck. Yeah, baby. I love it. Fuck yourself harder for me.”

“Like this?” You ask, thrusting your fingers roughly. You let out a pleasant gasp when the heel of your palm smacks against your sensitive clit. It sends electricity reeling through you, and you let out a loud cry.

“Oh, fuck. That feels— Fuck.”

JJ fucks his hand harder, his free hand gripping the couch cushion tightly as he bucks his hips to meet his fist. Your mewls and whimpers push him further toward snapping, and stuffing you full of his cock over and over is all he can think about. “That’s it. Show me what makes you cum, princess. Show daddy what makes you scream.”

You do as you’re told, putting all your weight on the armrest behind you and spreading your legs wider for him. The fingers of your free hand find your clit, massaging it roughly enough to make your toes curl instantly.

“Fuck, I wish your cock was inside me. Wanna make a mess all over you,” you whine, getting close.

It feels like a game, the both of you taunting each other and seeing how far you can go before the other caves because they’re so unbearably desperate. The tension in the room is thicker beyond imagination.

“J,” you breathe, “I’m all spread out for you. Paint my pussy with your cum, baby. Wanna put my panties on and walk around covered in you all day long.”

JJ nearly chokes when he hears your goading words. He knows what you’re trying to do, and god help him, but it’s damn well working. He knows you can sense his resolve withering away the more you beg for him.

His heated gaze locks on the way you’re hooking your fingers to hit your sweet spot, and the quivers of your body send lightning bolts straight to his cock. You're panting his name and so whiny as you chase your high that JJ can’t take it anymore. He decides he needs to be responsible for your sweet cries of pleasure. He needs to be the one to make your legs shake and your cunt sore from his thick cock stretching you out. To fuck you into a babbling, sobbing mess.

“I’m so fucking close, shit. Wish you could fucking ruin me,” you plead with a cry.

“Fucking hell,” JJ grunts. He shoots up from his seat, swiftly towering over you and yanking your hand away from your pussy.

“What the hell are you—” you begin, but you’re interrupted when JJ tears your hand away from your pussy and flips you onto your hands and knees. “JJ!”

A harsh smack lands on your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna take this cock the way you were begging to.” His fingers circle the back of your neck, pressing you against the mattress and arching your back for him. His cock slams into you without notice, and you let out a strangled yelp. His pelvis smacks against your ass harshly as he pounds into you, and the constant collision of your flesh stings slightly, but it puts you further under JJ’s spell. His actions are deliciously rough as he punishes you for every single time you’ve ever dangled yourself in front of him like a treat.

“You’re so fucking big, J. Too big,” you sob, tears leaking down your face. You could feel him bruising your cervix and molding you to his cock — though he doesn’t need to work too hard to reach his goal because you already take him so perfectly. “S-so deep.” Your hand reaches backward, but JJ is quick to smack it away.

“No. You wanted me to ruin you, and that’s exactly what I’ll do to you. I’m gonna wreck you to the point where you won’t be able to get off without thinking of me. And then the minute you finally cum, you’ll realize you can never have me again. And that, pretty girl, will be your downfall.” JJ’s hands move to your hips, forming a solid grip as he pulls you back to meet his thrusts.

“J, please. I can’t— Oh my god.” JJ’s balls smack against your clit with each sharp jut of his hips, and the contact against your tender bundle of nerves weakens your knees.

“C’mon, baby. This is what you wanted, right? Wanted me to split you open with my cock and destroy your pussy from the inside out? Don’t run from me. Fucking take it like a good girl.”

“Gonna c-cum, J. Fuck,” you hiccup, feeling the coil in you approaching the breaking point. Your body tenses, and you let out a strangled cry as your orgasm crashes through your body. You go limp, and JJ continues fucking you into oblivion as you give up the last ounce of energy you have. He smacks your ass again, letting out a string of curse words as he tries to reach his own high. You feel his cock twitch, and you know he’s close, but he pulls out of you abruptly.

“Wanna cum down your throat,” he rasps, flipping you onto your back again. He stuffs his cock into your mouth, both of his hands cradling your face and keeping you still so he can fuck your mouth. Your tongue slathers against the vein on the underside of his cock, and you feel his hips stutter. He holds your face flesh against his pelvis as he shoves his cock to the back of your throat. “Shit. Fuckfuckfuck.”

The hot ropes of cum shoot out from JJ’s cock, and the mouthwatering saltiness of him coats your tongue and throat. He feels you swallow around him, and his hands release your face. He lets out the tiniest whimper, sending a swarm of butterflies to your sore cunt. You lap at his dick, cleaning him up before sucking to the tip and releasing him with a pop. Your tongue darts out, licking your lips clean.

“I always knew you’d taste good, daddy.”

His eyes darken with lust once more. “Don’t go there, princess.”

A devilish smirk spreads across your face. “Why not? I got you to fold once, didn’t I?”

And it was at that exact moment that JJ knew…he was fucked.

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