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goldengirlls · 2 years

Text

security tape

pairings — beefy!biker!bucky x fem!reader

warnings — dom!bucky, unprotected sex, breeding kink, lap dances, talks of sex tapes/pictures/audios, dumbification, beard burn, mentions of balls, oral fem receiving, daddy kink, exhibitionism/public sex, dirty talk, spit kink and cum play

summary —only for our eyes.

wc — 3.2 k

authors note — AHH !!! OVER 2.5 K OF YOU BABIES!!! LOVE U ALL SO MUCH !!!! SO IN HONOR OF THAT, HERES THE FIRST INSTALLMENT OF MY NEW AU VERSE !!! will be part of the for our eyes only verse

࿐ m.list 🂱 s.stan list

“Well look who finally decided to make an appearance.” Bucky’s voice rang through the beer infused air, back pressed back up against the dark color cushion and behind the wooden table that was littered with papers, a screen and a nearly finished glass of bourbon. The hum of the ice makers coming to life and the music fading from one song to another.

A sympathetic and amused look, thrown in his direction as your legs took you to stand in front of the table. Hands pressing themselves against the cool wood table and resting your body against them.

“I told you I’d be here around six.” Leaning further on to the table and at the pout forming against his lips and the space growing larger between his hairline and eyebrows.

He scoffs at the audacity, looking at his watch, “Yeah, a whole forty seven minutes after.” Firm glare or what was trying to be, but the glimmer of his midnight eyes proving otherwise that he was happy you were here, with him where you where were suppose to be.

“Yeah ‘s in the general area of six.” You protest while holding back the laugh that you so desperately wanted to let go off at how childish the six foot four leather clad biker was being about this.

His arms uncross from one another and his lip untucked itself from his pearl white teeth. Not saying a word as he slid out of the booth and over to the low lit bar where the open bottle of bourbon sat, pouring himself another glass.

It was comical when you really thought about it. The six foot something tattooed cover biker with a sour look and grumbling under his breath. To anyone and everyone else he was labeled as grumpy and scary, but to you— he was a big softy, with a weak spot for you.

Making your way over to him, you squeezed your body between him and the cool wooden bar, doe eyes already begging for forgiveness, “‘M sorry. I didn’t mean to be late. I, uh got distracted.” Tucking your lip between your teeth, your cheeks growing warm at the faint thought of what made you late.

Grabbing his attention, the midnight eyes searched your face for an answer to said distraction. The pink dusted cheeks— warm to the touch, the dazey hooded glimmer in your eyes and the slightly ruffled hair was drawing a conclusion, but couldn’t quite draw a conclusion.

Then, with one last sweep over your enhanced features, it all clicked.

Bucky biting back a smile— or a smirk, “Distracted?” His voice dropping low and hands bruising your hips as he deposits you up onto the bar. “Care to explain, Ace.” Glimmer of hope you’d spill all the details he was desperately trying play in his mind.

“Uh, I couldn’t find my keys.” That was believable.

“Really?” His hands trailing up your bare legs, only covered by a denim cladded mini skirt. “When I left an hour before you, could’a sworn the were on the gold dish on the counter.” Challenging you.

Your eyes growing ten times in size, “I, uh mean my wallet. Yeah, couldn’t find my wallet.” The goosebumps rising the closer he got to the hem of your mini skirt. Fingers playing with the distressed material as he hummed at your answer — not believing your words for a moment.

Bringing your body closer to him, his lips hovered over yours, “Sure it wasn’t something else that made you late?” Bourbon mixed with mint meeting your cotton candy like lips, “Maybe something like on your phone.”

Wicked, delicious and a dangerous game.

One of Bucky’s ring cladded, tattooed hand leaving your thigh as it met the heat of your cheek, thumb brushing against the high point, encouraging your answer, “How’d you figure it out.” Sheepishly asking with a glimmer of pride.

“Cause ‘m usually the one makin’ you look that way.”

“Bucky!” A hand meeting his concrete shoulder, doe eyed and face warmer than before and far pinker.

“Love it when ya scream my name.” Smiling before pressing his lips against yours. Bucky’s tattooed hands seemed to have a mind as they wandered around your body, meeting your legs , under your skirt and ever so lightly ghosting against your thighs which elicited a moan letting him deepen the kiss and sliding his tongue into your mouth.

A fucking dream come true. His best girl — perched on the bar, leather jacket and all, nape of the neck exposed for his lips, sloppy kisses and even messier hands.

“Which video did ya watch?” Bucky spoke against your lips, trailing down your jaw and to the column of your neck, a trail of destruction everywhere his lips connected to your skin.

“I— the one of us after Sam’s house party.” Gasping out when his teeth grazed your skin. “Y’know the one where you tore my panties right in half.”

“Didn’t seem to mind when I made you cum four different times that night.” He hums against you, eyes gleaming with pride when he met your eyes that were watching his every move.

Four years of love and two years of living together. Soulmates. Complete opposites, but alike in many ways.

A crisp autumn night, layered in a waffle white long sleeve tucked away in a leather jacket with light washed denim jeans. One too many tequilas as your sneaker cladded feet took you to the very man that you’d come home to every night and show you how much he loved you every morning. And Bucky thanked his lucky stars every day for those doe eyes and wicked tongue.

You fell hard and fast for the six foot something, leather wearing, tattoo covered biker.

Neither one of you loving someone the way you loved each other. Day in and day out proving your worth to one another.

“‘Specially when I did that thing with my tongue.” He mumbles out, his forefinger running between your wet folds followed by many curse words.

You gasped out a string of incoherent words when his cold rings could be felt when his finger dipped into your messy hole.

“Gonna let me wreck you.” Other ring adorned hand squeezing your bare thigh, voice dangerously low and the midnight eyes pleading for your acceptance. “Let me destroy this little pussy. Make her cry and squirm.” Retracting his finger to bring to his lips— tasting his favorite thing.

“Sweeter than ever.” He hummed out pressing his lips against yours so you could taste you on his lips. “And always so messy for me, for daddy.”

“Bucky.” You whine grinding against his jeans, trying to alleviate the ache between your legs. The pleading, close to pathetic look you were giving him was enough for him to flip your skirt up and blow against your puffy pussy. “Don’t tease me, touch me.” Lips pouty and prominent with the taunting promise of watching them quiver.

“Yeah? Want me to make ya sing, baby? Play with her all night? Make her weap and cry till she can’t take it anymore?”

A moan escapes from your bruises lips with a nod and eyes fluttering closed.

“Gonne let me eat your pussy, baby? Know you’re gonna be my good girl for daddy tonight.” He questions licking his lips as his eyes follow your glistening pussy, “Shit, baby. A drippin’ mess, s’all for me? Needs me that bad, huh?”

Nodding your head in response, your walls clench around his forefinger and middle finger, your head becomes even fuzzier when his lips connect with your clit as his tongue begins spelling words that word spoken between the two of you.

“Got the prettiest fuckin’ pussy ever. Can’t wait to show you what she looks like when ‘m done with her tonight.”

Your senses are in overdrive. Hypersensitive. And when his beard brushed against your folds the most pornographic sounds falls from your bruised lips and he inserts a second and a string of saliva leaving his lips runs against your folds to your hole.

It’s filthy and delicious.

The pathetic whimpers leaving your mouth mixed with the wetness from your pussy and the moans from Bucky are driving you closer to the edge.

“D— Daddy, ‘m gonna cum.” You cry out, squeezing your legs around his head, only making him shove his face further into your sensitive pussy. “Don’t stop, please.” Whining out rubbing your face against his mouth and beard. The burn of his hair increasing the pleasure and without a doubt leaving the promise of him on you tomorrow.

Bucky’s tongue laid flat against your clit, his eyes connecting to yours holding eye contact telling you to cum, to be his good girl. He’s desperate to taste you — your warm cream filling his mouth. He needs you spread on his beard and he’s begging for it with every lick and curl of his finger.

A few more swipes of his tongue — spelling his name, the promise of coming home and the curl of his cool cladded fingers brushing against your spongy spot was enough for you to cum, squirming against him as you see the stars.

Bucky continues to clean you up. Never missing a drop of the warm cream lapping up every last drop. Standing tall and proud with a smirk plastered on his lips, noticing how floaty and fucked out you already look.

Your slick glistening against his beard, swollen pillow like lips and blown pupils, “Think ya can give me another on, baby?” Bucky husks out, nudging his nose against yours — smelling you on him.

Your eyes lashes flutter close when your lips meet his, moaning into his mouth with the taste of you on the tip of his tongue, as you palm at the prominent bulge hidden beneath his jeans.

The zipper makes a loud, thick sound, as your hands find the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head— only left in your mini skirt when his angry cocks’ finally able to breathe.

“Shit— gettin’ pretty everytime I see you.” The butterflies soaring in your stomach when you feel the mushroom leaky tip drag up and down the reminiscence of the mess he created earlier before he eases the head into your sore but desperate hole.

“Just stretched her out this morning, how’s she this tight already.” Bucky continues, “Guess ‘ll have to fix that, seein she’s gonna suck me back in everytime I pull out.” Bottoming out — pelvis to pelvis, chest to chest.

“Gonna fuckin’ ruin her and you, baby. Gonna have her a weapin mess, beggin’ me for more after I fill her up.” Bucky states as he slams in and out of you at a bruising but promising speed.

Bucky fucks into you as if his life depends on it. His midnight eyes connecting where his cock meets your needy hole, moaning when he sees himself covered in your slick. Bucky’s balls slapping against your ass as words fall from his lips when he feels you suck him in and clench around him.

He pounds into you relentlessly, the girth is snug and length is delicious. His bulbous tip brushing against your g’spot, the delivering of every thrust is deliberate and tasteful. He’s demanding you feel everything that makes his cock — veins, crevice and mushroom tip.

“Daddy needs you to be a good girl. He needs ya to drench his cock. Need ya to make a slutty mess, c’mon I didn’t fuck you that stupid, yet. Cum for me. Make a mess so daddy can make a mess in you.” Bucky states, eyebrows furrowed, cock slipping in and out of you.

His balls are heavy. Begging for a release. Begging to fill your silky creamy walls. Needing it.

“Be a messy slut and cum for me.” Buckys fingers start rubbing your little clit, in small deliberate circles, as you moan loudly clenching his cock like a vice making his balls tighten and body tighten.

Your legs to shake and spazz around his thick thighs, as your pussy wheeps and creams around his cock riding out your orgasm.

“Good girl, baby, fuck, gonna cum.” Bucky moans ropes of his seed shot from his bulbous tip, spewing into your bruised and velvet like walls, flooding your pussy to the brim, riding out his and your orgasms.

A few moments of labored breaths and stolen kisses, he slowly slides himself out, careful to not let anything spill out. His fingers coming down to collect the cum that’s dripped out, collecting it and running his fingers along the rim of his glass— a promise to taste you the rest of the night.

“I have to save some of you for later Ace” Licking his lips and fingers once done.

Tucking himself away and helping you collect yourself you catch that lovestruck boyish look he’s given you a million times.

He cups your cheeks, cold rings flushed against your pink cheeks, keeping you close to his heart and the steady thumps beating at the same rate. Passionate and messy. Desperate and yearning. Actions speaking louder than words. Each kiss expressing the impact and heaviness of his love. Everything pouring into this kiss.

“Much as I love those sweet lips, gotta get ready to open the bar.” Speaking lowly and with a huff. Meeting your eyes as he leaned down for one last kiss.

“Oh and Ace,” Your eyes connect with his, your head titling to the side — indicating for him to continue, “Can’t wait to watch the security tape later.” His tongue licks the rim slowly and deliberately as he goes to get the supplies to clean the counter.

taglist: @mackenzielovee @r0und3bitch @glitterandsparklessss @onmykneesforrafe

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officialaemondtargaryen · 10 months

Text

A Fine Line [part 3]

Summary: You've been with Aegon for a little over four years and the relationship just isn't the same. His brother isn't helping the situation, either. This is a Modern Day AU!

Pairing: Aegon x Reader / Aemond x Reader

Word Count: 4.0k

Author’s Note: Sorry it was late! I don't know if my M,W,F schedule is going to work. I just want to say thank you all! I really hope you like this one and please, I would love to hear your thoughts & predictions! I basically screech like a pterodactyl whenever you guys leave comments! Tag list is open!

Warnings for the entire series: severe angst, cheating, unprotected sex, jealousy, lying, possessiveness, stalking, manipulation, and language, alcohol use, recreational drug use.

Read Part Two | Read Part Four

Playlist here

The light from the early, Saturday morning sun filtered into your bedroom through half-opened blinds, illuminating tiny specks of dust in the air. It was warm with Aegon pressed against your back; his soft breaths fanning over your shoulder. You stirred softly, turning so that you were facing him, doing your absolute best to not disturb him so that he could continue to sleep in.

It broke your heart to look at him now, knowing that your relationship was hanging by a thread. Wondering how you got here, how you arrived at the platform of whatever these feelings were that you felt for him. Caught between the memories of what you had once before, and feeling as if you were in this bed alone, despite the fact that he was laying right next to you.

You moved, swinging your feet over the side of the bed as you stood up with a sigh. Aegon groaned, his arms reaching for you before turning back over on his stomach and going right back to sleep. His wavy, golden hair splayed out on the pillows as he shifted deeper into them. The duvet pulled down, exposing his freckled shoulders. It took everything in you not to reach out and touch him.

Even your fingers balled into a fist, nails digging into your palm to keep yourself from it. Why? You'd wind up disappointed, feeling unwanted, and he'd be annoyed that you woke him.

The thought made you want to cry.

It was around noon when he finally emerged from the bedroom. You had lost track of how long you'd been sitting at the kitchen table; a bagel untouched on the plate in front of you. You jumped slightly at the feeling of his hand on the back of your neck, just briefly touching you as he made his way to the coffee maker. It was a fleeting moment, his fingertips leaving you just as quickly as they came.

He was in a white t-shirt and a pair of boxers. Despite his disheveled appearance, he looked close to angelic- even with the dark circles under his clouded, blue eyes. You could hear him inhale and exhale heavily with his first sip of coffee; shoulders rising and falling with his breath.

When did it become this way? This silence?

You used to look forward to Saturday mornings; knowing that you had two full days with him to yourself. You'd spend every weekend tangled on the couch or in the bed, not getting up unless you absolutely needed to. Weekends in the summer were always fun, too. He'd always find something for the two of you to do; getting high at the beach, spending your days at Coney eating corndogs and funnel cake until you wanted to throw up or throw yourselves right off the end of the pier. You missed his ice cream cone kisses and the way he would lay his head in your lap as you would read whatever novel you had brought with you that day.

"Colleen Hoover," you whispered to yourself as you absentmindedly stirred your lukewarm coffee; the last book you remember reading on a beach towel under the hot, July sun.

"What was that?" Aegon asked, turning to face you.

You were broken out of your trance and looked up at him. "What?"

"I think you went somewhere," a goofy smile replaced his signature pout. When you didn't say anything, his smile faltered. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Mm," you hummed and took a sip of your coffee before making a face. It was definitely lukewarm- cold, even. "So, awards ceremony tonight, huh?"

Aegon rolled his eyes, "If I could just not, I would not."

You stood up and dumped your cold coffee down the drain and sat your cup in the sink. "But babe," you sighed softly and reached for him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "Look at everything you've accomplished, what you've become! You've worked so hard!"

His eyes were glued to the floor. "You're right," his lips turned up into a smile as he looked up at you through fair lashes. His hands caressed the skin on the back of your arms. "I've worked really hard, and soon it will all pay off and we'll buy a house and get a dog." His forehead pressed against yours as he sighed. His eyes fluttered shut. "A golden retriever, we'll name him Sunny."

"Sunny sounds like he's a really good boy," you whispered and moved to place a kiss on his lips.

"The best," his body became less tense.

You smiled as you stood like that for a moment, just swaying back and forth as he held you so close that you could feel his heartbeat. He was so warm in your arms that you felt like you were holding onto a piece of the sun. You turned your head to place a kiss on the side of his neck, lips brushing the soft skin under his ear, wanting nothing but to tell him that you loved him, that you missed him, that you wanted things to go back to the way they were. But your eyes fluttered open as you heard his phone vibrate on the counter, the moment instantly shattering to bring you back to the reality of your mediocre life. Aegon tensed, his head falling to your shoulder as he groaned in annoyance.

"And so it begins," he mumbled. He let the phone ring, knowing that Otto would call back immediately after it went to voicemail.

Before he could leave the kitchen, you stopped him.

"Hey, would you mind if I invited Aemond to go bowling with us tonight?" You asked, gnawing on the inside of your cheek.

"Not at all," he shrugged. "It'd probably be good for him to get out. Let me see what this fucker wants and then I'll text you his number."

Aegon left shortly after, having been summoned to some "pre-ceremony conference" just to finalize the details of the evening. He had sent over Aemond's contact information before he left, promising that he would see you later tonight. Suddenly you found yourself alone, the silence sitting with you like a friend that you'd run out of things to talk about with.

You stared at your phone for what felt like hours, thumbs hovering over the keyboard; not sure why 'hey, did you really want to go bowling' was such a hard thing to say, but you typed it and deleted it about one hundred times. The final time you typed the words, you quickly pressed the tiny, blue arrow, sending the message into the void before setting your phone face down on the table and standing up.

Before you had even turned to walk out of the kitchen and towards your bedroom, you heard a ding! The butterflies in your stomach, which shouldn't have been there, fluttered mercilessly almost making you nauseous. You inhaled at the sight of the words on the screen, your eyes scanning them over and over again: "Of course, I'll see you there." What was most likely an unambiguous winking emoji at the end of that sentence- because in your experience, men didn't know what emojis even were- was staring back at you with a strange tension that caused a knot to form in your throat.

It was wrong.

It was all so, so wrong.

You placed your phone back down on the kitchen table and shook your head; fighting an internal battle with the guilt and the excitement that you felt. Neither one was winning, but both were slowly tearing you in half.

The thought of cancelling crossed your mind as you showered, but only because you found yourself fantasizing about every possible scenario that would lead to this night ending with you on your back in Aemond's bed. You pictured a navy blue duvet and cold, cotton sheets; a wooden headboard tapping against dark colored walls. Your legs clenched together at the thought of his weight pressing down on you.

As you continued to get ready, the images were becoming ingrained on the back of your eyelids. Every time you closed your eyes small details would change; positions, locations, where his mouth was on your body, the lighting of the room, the scent of his cologne, if his hair was up or down. You had tried to reason with yourself, that this was a completely normal feeling, that you just hadn't been laid in a while.

It didn't make a difference.

You half-hoped that he wouldn't follow through with his plans to meet you at the bowling alley. However, when you turned the corner on to 9th Avenue, you noticed his lithe figure leaning against the outside of the building. You stopped for a few seconds, watching him as he stood there; his warm breath swirling in the frigid, January air as he checked his phone.

Seconds later you felt a vibration in your pocket: "I'm here."

"I have to ask, what is your haircare routine because I've yet to see you have a bad hair day." You texted back.

He looked up and around until his gaze caught you, a small smile tugged at his lips as he pushed himself off of the side of the building. You joined him at his side, your neck craned to see his face.

"It is surprisingly simple, but if I told you then I'd have to kill you," he said so smoothly he could have rehearsed it. "And I like you," he added as he opened the door into the bowling alley and gestured for you to go inside. "So, I'd rather not say."

You smirked at his words, eyes rolling slightly. "If you ever change your mind, here's my business card-" of course you had one with you. "My readers would love to know."

He chuckled at that, "I absolutely will," and tucked the card in his coat pocket. "So who's birthday is it?"

"My coworker, Jace," you replied as you scoured the lanes for Baela and Jace. "He's probably a few years younger than you, writes really thoughtful obituaries." You spotted Baela and waved. "Baela is here, too. You met her last night."

You weren't sure why you felt nervous. Aemond certainly didn't seem to be. He was so calm and collected, and cool, as if it was effortless to him; as if he didn't command every eye to look at him the moment he entered a room. The look on Baela's face couldn't have been further from calm, collected, and cool. Her white curls fell over furrowed brows and her lips were pushed to the side.

Jace just looked happy to be there.

"Hey guys," you greeted as you stepped down to the table they were sitting at. "Happy birthday, Jace!" You moved to give him a quick hug. "Jace this is Aegon's brother, Aemond. Aemond, this is Jace. Aegon couldn't make it, some work thing."

"Lucky me," Aemond smirked as he shook Jace's hand. "It's nice to meet you." He then turned his attention to Baela. "Lovely to see you again, Baela."

Despite her rigid expression earlier, you did see her cheeks turn just a shade darker as he kissed her knuckles. You smiled to yourself.

"You guys should go get shoes," Jace mentioned. "Unless you're afraid to lose."

Aemond's eye squinted as he looked at Jace and laughed, "In a hurry to get shown up on your birthday?"

"Go get the shoes!" You groaned at him, pushing him towards the rental counter. "I'm a size __." Your eyes followed Aemond as he disappeared through the crowd before you turned your attention back to Baela. "What?"

Her arms were crossed over her chest. "I'm just concerned," she says softly. "You've been here all of five minutes and I haven't seen you this happy in two years? I just don't want you to do something that you'll regret."

Your shoulders slump and you rolled your eyes dramatically. "Baela, I'm just-" you stopped when you saw Aemond making his way back over to the table. "Being nice! Two people can be just friends."

She gave you a look but dropped the subject as Aemond dropped your bowling shoes in front of your feet. Someone ordered a round of shots, and then a second round, and a third. It was starting to get warm, the music was loud, and you felt good. Aemond was surprisingly extroverted, despite the enigmatic aura he typically projected. He seemed so nonchalant, like he belonged there, like he was good at it.

The game was obviously competitive, with Jace and Aemond doing their best to one-up each other with every strike. They carried most of the score, while you and Baela joked around, not really caring. You stepped up to the line, getting ready to throw the swirly purple and teal ball down the lane.

"Wait, wait, wait!" You heard behind you. A flurry of pale blonde hair bounced towards your side. "I've watched you throw three straight gutter balls, please, allow me?"

"What?" You gasped. "I know we're behind, but I'm not going to cheat and let you take my shot for me!"

Aemond held a hand to his chest, "The fact that you would even insinuate that I'd allow you to cheat!" He scoffed. "Please, just-"

He turned you back to face the pins, the contact of his hands on your shoulders made you disoriented. You tried to breathe, but it was so warm in there. There was a slight rosy hue to his otherwise pale cheeks as he towered over you. His hands lingered still on your shoulders. You tried not to pay attention to the way his fingers pressed into your skin as your blouse shifted beneath his grip.

"Put your feet here," he instructed and pointed to where you should stand with his toe. One hand dropped to the small of your back, you swallowed thick. "Now," his lips were dangerously close to your ear. "Line your ball up with that pin and when you step up to throw, bring this leg back."

You felt the inside of your body clenching as his hands dropped to your waist. Your cheeks flushed as the hair on the back of your neck stood straight.

Following his instruction, you took a few steps up to the pine and released your ball. Within seconds it curved to the left, falling straight into the gutter once more. You turned to look at him with a disappointed frown. His lips couldn't help but begin to turn upwards at your failure.

“I thought you said you were good at this?” You say to Aemond, giving him a playful shove. "We're going to lose!"

"And you'd blame me?" He asked with a smile.

"You instructed me right into a gutter ball!" You threw your hands up.

"My instruction was flawless, as always," you could hear the double entendre in his voice. "Not my fault you couldn't focus."

"I beg to differ," you quipped under your breath, knowing that he was close enough to hear you.

On his next turn, Jace bowled a strike to win the game. The scores weren't even close, but it didn't matter. You'd had more fun tonight than you'd had in- well, since you could remember. For a moment, you'd wished Aegon had been here, but you shut the door on that thought as you checked your phone to see that he hadn't texted you- not even to check in- since he left the apartment earlier.

Your eyes connected with Aemond as you slipped your phone back into your pocket and you smiled softly. You hardly knew him, but you could tell he knew; Aegon was his brother, after all.

"Another game?" Jace asked.

"I don't think I have another game in me," you chuckled. "My shoulder is killing me after the three games we just played."

"The three games you lost, you mean?" Jace countered.

"Hey, I know it's your birthday, but I will still kick your ass!" You laughed as you slipped out of your bowling shoes.

"We'll have a rematch, soon." Aemond interjected, holding his hand out to Jace. "Good match."

"Girls versus guys next time, maybe?" Jace laughed and shook Aemond's hand.

"That wouldn't be fair," Aemond mentioned with a cocky smirk.

"I wouldn't underestimate us," Baela added as she slung her arm over your shoulder and began walking with you towards the counter to drop off your shoes.

The midnight air was numbing as you stepped out of the comforting warmth of the bowling alley. You were almost instantly sobered, feeling tiny flecks of snow fall to your face. The sidewalks were still buzzing and the traffic on 9th Avenue was still busy as car horns sounded in the distance; a reminder that you lived in a 24 hour city.

"Anyone want to go grab a slice of pizza?" You asked. One, because you needed something to soak up the alcohol in your stomach. And two, because you knew that once Jace and Baela left, you'd be alone with Aemond.

Baela hugged you tightly before holding you at arms length, she mentioned something about going to church with her parents tomorrow morning and promised to see you bright-and-early Monday morning. Jace was already flushed from having a few, too many drinks, and Baela urged that he needed to get home.

You weren't necessarily disappointed, just anxious.

"Thanks for coming," Jace smiled warmly as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder in a side hug. He extended his fist out to Aemond, "it was good to meet you, man."

"Likewise, have a good night." His voice was soft through a tight-lipped smile.

You watched as Baela and Jace turned the corner, before turning your attention to Aemond. The headlights of passing by taxi cars shined in his crystalline eye, making him look as if he were unreal; a marble statue dressed in all back with his hands shoved into his pockets. You weren't sure what to say to him, if you should stay or go.

"Can I walk you to the train?" He asked and you exhaled with a smile.

"I'd like that," you replied.

The closest subway platform was two blocks down on 42nd. You did your best to keep up with his long strides, but it proved to be difficult. He had to stop a few times, turning to you with a smile while he waited for you to catch up. You mostly talked about work to keep the conversation going. The one thing you had noticed about Aemond was that he was a good listener, whether he actually cared about anything you were saying or not, he at least seemed to be interested.

He talked about himself, too, which you enjoyed. He talked about all of the places he had travelled to last year and how happy he was to be back home. He gushed about being able to see his family again, specifically his mother and his sister.

You'd never once heard Aegon speak about his family in such a way.

"Can I ask you something?" You said after the conversation had faded out. Your train was running late, but Aemond had been willing to wait with you so that you weren't alone.

"I can't guarantee I'll have an answer, but go for it."

"Why didn't you tell Aegon that we had met in the grocery store?"

He looked at you, his eye narrowed. "Honestly, it's just easier not to say anything sometimes." He spoke, a pensive expression across his pointed features. "Why didn't you?"

You dropped you gaze to the concrete floor. "Because it's just easier not to say anything, sometimes." You repeated his own words, knowing exactly what he meant.

"Hm," he hummed as he leaned up against a brick column. "You know," he said after a few moments of silence. You looked back up at him. "This can't happen." He motioned to the space between the two of you.

"What? Never!" You replied quickly. "I'm appalled that you're even assuming."

"I'm just making sure we're on the same page," he held his hands up defensively.

"We are," you agreed.

"We are?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yes, we're friends," you replied sternly. "That's all it can be."

"Good," he stuck his hand out for you to shake on it.

You shook his hand with a firm grip, but he turned your hand over in his, placing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. It made your heart flutter every time. The announcement that your train was arriving played on the overhead speakers.

"Thank you, Y/N. For tonight." His blue eye was piercing through you. "That was the most fun I've had in a while."

They way he said your name and the feeling of your hand in his made you wish he'd just take you home with him; to that navy blue duvet you were picturing earlier. But that was just a fantasy that lived in your mind only, and would never- could never come to fruition. He was right, Baela was right, this couldn't happen.

"You're welcome, I'm glad that you had a good time." You said softly, doing your best to hide your disappointment that the night was ending. "Thank you for coming with me."

As the train pulled up to the platform, you wished that he would pull you into him. The crisp air was thick with tension, and even though you had just agreed to the terms of this- you weren't even sure if you could call it a relationship- friendship, a look lingered in Aemond's eye that told you he didn't mean any of it.

"Friends," you repeated, reminding yourself and him of the deal that you had just made.

He nodded, "Friends."

"I hope you have a good night, Aemond." You pulled your hand from his slowly until it dropped to your side. The doors to the train opened and you found yourself a spot next to the window, forcing yourself not to look back.

Aegon isn't home when you step into your apartment. It's almost too dark and cold, and quiet, and you feel like you shouldn't even be there. You don't even care to hang up your bag and coat, you simply toss them over the arm of the couch. You've got a slight headache and you're starving, and all that you can think about is something you shouldn't be thinking about.

Your phone vibrated as you headed into the kitchen.

Aemond.

"Thanks again, I hope you made it home safe."

You found your thumbs typing a reply before you could even think if it was a good idea or not, "Anytime! I just walked through the door. We should have definitely gotten pizza, but I guess leftover lasagna will work."

Not even bothering to heat up your leftovers, you make your way back into the living room with a Tupperware of lasagna from last night and a fork. You click on the television, catching up on the news before flipping it over to one of your favorite shows.

"You've beaten me, I've got cereal."

You laughed and typed, "That kind of suits you."

Over the next two hours you had squeezed in three new episodes of your show and discussed everything from food, to movies, to philosophy with Aemond. He'd leave you the occasional voice note when he didn't feel like typing a reply, and you'd try not to think about how good his voice sounded at this ungodly hour. You'd try not to think of him sitting back, half-lidded on the couch, in a very comfortable sweater and a pair of joggers with a smile on his face because he was texting you.

It was almost 3:00 AM when you finally got a text from Aegon.

"Don't feel like you need to wait up for me. I love you."

Tagged: @tssf-imagines @gothicwidowsworld @itsabby15 @possiblyafangirl @namelesslosers@toodlesxcuddles @hiraethrhapsody @heavenly1927 @chainsawsangel @hanula18

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 months

Text

possessed, m | jjk, myg

pairing(s): jungkook x reader x (minor) yoongi

summary: Burning hot. Freezing cold. An all-consuming addiction to subspace that dominates every centimeter of Jeon Jungkook's mind. There is nothing to stop him when his favorite psycho demon bitch is just as crazy as he is. He'll do anything to get his fix.

collared au chained, yg | tainted, jk | twisted, jk+yg | wicked, jk+yg | burned, jk+yg

warnings: rated M (18+) for language - [!!!!] dangerous temperature play, do not attempt! I warned you, this is fiction, I am not responsible for your dumbassery; JK is dangerously deep in subspace and, if you feel like him, you need to take a step back and reevaluate; intense D/s smut (fem reader, fire play, pain kink, hair-pulling kink, marking from burns / bites, mentions of m-masturbation, spit kink, ice play, nipple play, handjob, m and f-receiving oral, cock-and-ball torture, forced orgasms, overstimulation, face-sitting, cum-eating, humiliation kink, voyeurism); non-idol!AU - sub!Jungkook x goth, dom!reader + surprise sub!Yoongi at the end; JK's POV ad he's an extra subby pain slut; can be read alone

“You like fire?”

Fuck, Jeon Jungkook liked anything if his favorite crazy bitch was doing it to him.

“You bring the match and I’ll be the kerosene,” he breathed into her intoxicating kiss.

She laughed and he swallowed it.

His friends had been telling him he had become quite cool these days. He had changed his fashion a bit, going for the heavy black jackets and ripped jeans and old band t-shirts. He used to think he needed to uphold a façade in public, but now he realized that he didn’t care that much. He cared a lot more about how she viewed him. On sore says, Jungkook wore baggy athleisure and made sure his hood was up to hide the marks from his collar.

He was wearing his sweat sets a lot these days.

He pulled away, wanting to look at her again.

They stood facing each other. She grinned. Mischievous, sexy, and an extra psychotic glint in that fashioned heterochromia stare. Left iris covered with a flat white contact. Right iris as real as it got. He bit the side of his lip, feeling his second lip piercing press against his teeth. He had stripped his hoodie off like she asked, leaving him in only his mesh shirt in her cold studio office. The door was locked, leaving him at her mercy.

His nipples hardened as she held up the box of matches.

Who was she?

His lover. His maker. His lifeline. His only reason to exist was to be her sexual punching bag. Fuck doll. Cum dumpster. Whatever she wanted him to be on that day. He could be anything. Better if it was with malice and to his detriment. This wasn’t a game to him anymore. This was everything.

She.

Was.

Everything.

She struck the match against the sandpaper, grinning wider as the flame burst into life.

He could feel the heat against his chin.

The excitement.

The anticipation.

The arousal seizing his blood, searing downward to his cock, making it swell and pulse.

Jungkook used to feel guilty about his fantasies. After all, they were born from despair and a need to be someone he wasn’t. But his past haunted him. His dreams of love had been burned against his will, turned into scorched earth by someone he used to have faith in. He had loved someone will all his heart and she stomped on it, took a shit on it, and threw him away. Cheated on him with multiple partners and laughed in his face. When he left, he vowed to become a different man, but that turned out to be a lot more difficult than he thought. It seemed impossible to escape the constant daily misery. He questioned everything he did, his actions for others marred by her taunts, reminding him he had been so easy to take advantage of, reminding him constantly that he believed in all the wrong things.

Love.

Truth.

Heaven.

But, then, a goth bitch from hell changed everything.

He had to thank Min Yoongi for that.

She brough the flame closer, exhaling so he could feel her hot breath and smell the cinders.

He craved his penance for having faith. He craved to forget. He craved to make the constant loop of self-deprecation stop. It was all a mistake thinking that love couldn’t be foul poison. All snakes concealed themselves in good intentions. He craved to feel something besides the sadness, vowed to replace it with something stronger. Something rawer. Something innate, even more so than that poison called love. He learned it was okay to make mistakes. He learned to be was okay to be fractured, because there was something that could make him whole.

Pain.

Pain made him perfectly, completely, blissfully whole. He adored excruciating pain most of all. The more unavoidable and unbearable, the better.

She struck the flame across his collarbone and he gasped.

The match snuffed out with the speed.

A thin tendril of smoke slithered in the air, indicating the end of the fire, but he could still feel the sting on his skin. The heat had melted the threads of the thin mesh. The glint in her eyes, maniacal. Devouring. Eating up his reaction like it was feast. She flung the used match away and, before it had the chance to hit the floor and snap, he was groaning in agony as her fingers tore at the still-hot burn, the hurt slicing through his body in an erotic shudder.

His shirt ripped.

Jungkook looked down, seeing a red-hot mark on his chest.

If pain was beauty, then she was about to turn him into a pretty, pretty bitch.

His head snapped back up.

The corners of his lips rising, matching her insanity.

Her eyes glowed as she lit another match.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot when you want pain,” she snickered and struck the flame over his chest again.

He moaned, lustful and grateful.

Why should I struggle to find someone to walk through hell with me when I can just find hell and burn in it of my own free will?

He moaned at the pain, shuddering against the wall as she tore his shirt again, exposing the blistered skin. Match. Melt. Nearly burned. Torn away. He could feel the intensity radiating off her gaze, eagerly consuming the marring of his body. Building the hunger. His breathing shallowed as she traced an unlit match against his tense abs, leaning forward. Her lashes lowering, savoring the way his chest rose and fell shakily as he felt that rough pinprick drag across his skin.

Why fade when I can burn?

She raised the matchstick, holding it in his view.

Broke it in half right by her cheek.

He whimpered, longing for the torture. She dropped it, breathing out hotly over his trembling lips. The burns were significant enough to hurt for a couple days, but shallow enough to not leave a permanent mark. Somehow, she knew just the right pressure. His blood boiled. A rehearsed action? Practiced? On who? Then despair bled in. Not him.

He wanted it to be him.

He whimpered, tangling his fingers into the holes of his shirt and tearing at the irritated skin more, pain ricocheting over his nerves, his body screaming at him to stop, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about the consequences. He didn’t care what anyone thought. He didn’t care if his body could take it or not. He didn’t care if he bled. He wanted this.

He needed this.

Jungkook used to feel guilty about his fantasies, but the desire to be abused was so much stronger.

She lit another match with a raise of her eyebrow.

Flicked it over his fingertips.

His hand recoiled reflexively and he cursed his body for rejecting the flame. He wanted to cover it with his palm, feel his skin blister as he snuffed out the fire, but she danced the light away from him, shooting it across his left forearm. Instantly, the piercing discomfort made him cry out, and then again the threads were torn, nearly ripping the sleeve clean off. He could almost, almost feel the individual tugs each melted thread, and his eyes rolled back at the thought.

She slapped his arm, right across the singed skin.

His knees buckled in fiery ecstasy.

His hips thrust up and into her crotch. The bulge in his jeans caused the hem of her short skirt to flip upward. He was so hard that it was embarrassing. Deliciously shameful. His cock ached for more. He wore jeans on purpose so he could feel the frustration of the metal zipper struggling to cage him down. He heard the sound of her stepping forward, a weighty clink of chains and heavy sole, and her body practically pinned him to the wall, one of her legs jammed between his. Tilting, making him wince as her thigh collided with his erection, but she didn’t seem to notice or care, cocking her head and leaning back to light another match.

His breathing was so shallow that he was nearly hyperventilating.

Staring at her, wide-eyed and unsatiated.

“The fuck you looking at?” she spat, her lip curling.

Then she grabbed his face with her left hand, forcefully turning it to his right, the matchbox in her palm cutting into his cheek. He gasped at the force, and then froze as he felt blazing heat against his exposed neck, right above his racing pulse.

She leaned forward.

She was crazy.

He loved it.

“You’re so fucked up, Jungkook.”

Yes, he was. He was. Burn me. Burn me, he wanted to scream, but her hand was clamped over his mouth and his entire body was vibrating uncontrollably. The flame right above his neck. The moment must have lasted less than a second but fear and anticipation turned it into another lifetime, suspended in terror before known pain, and then.

A swift, cool puff of air.

The acrid stench of cinders.

Tendrils of smoke swirling around his face.

It took him a moment to realize she had blown out the match but before he could comprehend the despair, she sank her teeth into his neck. He choked behind her hand, mostly from shock, his hands flying up and gripping her waist. The flimsy distressed sweater barely covered her bra, let alone block his hands, and he was able to grip skin-on-skin, digging his nails into her flesh as he moaned behind her hand, flourishing in the anguish, delicious pain radiating from her ravenous mouth biting and breaking blood vessels under his skin, bruising him.

Marking him.

Turning him into her possession once again.

He heard the audible crack of the used match next to his ear. Three of her fingers hooked into his open lips and pressed against his tongue, her almond-shaped nails digging into the wet muscle. He groaned, tasting burned air and iron at the back of his throat. And the pain, the pain. Her mouth moving all over his neck. A necklace of bruises, followed by her drenched tongue creating a thread of saliva to connect them, her spit mixing with his sweat and running down his chest.

Oh, how he wished he could watch himself being abused right now.

Sometimes, that was all Jungkook could think about.

Like an addict chasing for next high, and the next, and the next, never enough. When they couldn’t meet, Jungkook would look at himself in the mirror, naked, and trace the marks she left. On his neck. Over his chest. Decorating his thigh. Along his hip. Purple and red and pink, including those with the nasty green-yellow twinge on the way to recovery. Wanting more. He had scars on his heart, so why not on his body too? That was why he got the tattoos and the piercings. He loved to see her eyes light up when he got a new one, pulling him closer to inspect him, closer to feel her breath on his skin, turned on by his pain.

He even liked knowing he wasn’t her only one.

He would touch himself, running his fingers over the marks, over his hard nipples, imagining any second that she would walk up behind him. Hoped she could witness how greedy he was for the pain. Aching to feel her long fingernails clawing over his chest. Red lines of sin. His own fingers curling inward, attempting to mirror her force, gripping his cock and rubbing the head until it was red and raw, reliving the memories, drowning in them, his black hair falling over his glazed-over eyes, breathless shudders escaping his open mouth, watching his reflection fall apart and wishing she could see it too, waiting for that heterochromatic stare to rise behind his shoulder, one dark eye and one stark white.

Her rough, harsh whisper heating his shoulder.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she growled down at him.

She had grabbed him and thrown him onto her desk, sending pens flying, his back colliding with hard wood and his legs hanging off the side. His torn shirt tore even more. His hands had flown down, gripping the zipper of his jeans and pressing down.

He froze at her command, raising his head slowly, eyes wide.

She forced his knees apart.

He gasped, his swollen cock bulging even against the thick fabric, too hard to be confined. She stepped even closer, her short black pleated skirt bunching up, and she reached down with one hand to blanket it over his crotch, making the tent all the more obvious and contained.

In her other hand, she held a glass full of ice.

So that was what was sitting on the minifridge when he walked in.

She smirked.

A little psychotic, a little mischievous, a lot sexy.

“You're runnin' hot. Let me help you with that.”

And, even though Jungkook knew it was coming, even though he could see her pick up an ice cube with her fingers, even though his body was aching from bruises and burns, he still nearly screamed when the ice cube was shoved into his hard nipple, shock shooting throughout his nerves at the cold, moaning as she rubbed it back and forth, rapidly melting water mixing with sweat and spit.

He fell back against the desk with a dull thunk, writhing, trying to move away and trying not to move at the same time, his back arching towards it. Sinful pleasure rising to new, uncharted territory. Her low laughter rang throughout the room, swiping the ice cube over one of his fresh burns, and Jungkook bit back a howl, his hands flying up and grasping his hair, pulling at it, adding pain on shock.

Her name dragged out of his throat, desperate and raw.

The melted cube slid off and hit the floor.

Neither of them cared.

“What’s the matter?” Her rough voice was deeper than usual, slipping into her satoori. “Can’t take it?”

She ran another all over his neck and his head hit the desk, ice to bruised skin, freezing his sudden goosebumps, his depraved moan directed to the ceiling. Cold liquid seeped down onto the nape of his neck, into his hair, onto the desk under him, into the remnants of his mesh shirt, and then the ice travelled back down, abusing his other nipple. Hard nub to cold stinging, morphing into wicked pleasure, turning him on so much that it was intolerable.

His hands flew back down to his jeans.

This time she didn’t stop him, grinning, dragging the frozen cube down, down.

Over his tightened core, the melting ice making his cut abs glossy and glistening.

She swept it around his lower belly as he fought his pants, gasping and squirming, his cheeks burning as he realized his boxer briefs were soaked with pre-cum, nearly sobbing as his erection was freed. The heavy, pungent scent of semen hit the air, accompanying the burning smell. His jeans were heavy with his belongings and instantly clunked to the ground. His boxer briefs tangled by his calves, sliding down from her opening his legs wider.

He looked down.

Thick, dark red, his stiff cock sticking upwards.

Begging for it.

He gripped his tense thighs, knowing what was coming and not wanting to stop her.

Her wrist flicked.

The ice cube plopped into her palm and then she gripped his cock, pressing the small hard object into his even harder cock, stroking up and down without hesitation. His head snapped back and he nearly saw stars, his fingernails digging into his thighs, the cold point overcome by her hot hand, shock and pain and pleasure and immoral desires all rolled into one.

She hovered over him, grinning madly from ear-to-ear, delighted by his reaction.

A demon of lust overcome by her power.

The small remainder slipped out of her palm and hit his balls, sliding off with a prickling line of ice-cold water, but Jungkook was trapped by her wild eyes, absorbed by their shared insanity, panting hard, her punishing grip deliberate and intense, his hips bucking to every pump of his cock, his tongue sliding out, tasting the air. Pre-cum, cinders, her bittersweet perfume. Losing himself to the uncontrollable shivers all over his body and the prickling latticework of his nerves attempting to keep up with the piling sensations. Nearly crying when she stopped jacking him off, pulling away so he could see how swollen he had become.

Squatting down.

Her piercing stare above the throbbing, purple-red tip.

The glint in her eye.

Sadistic.

She was so beautiful, just like this.

He heard a clink of the glass touching the floor. Another ice cube appeared in her left hand. Wordlessly, she brought it to his length and pressed it to his hot shaft. Jungkook winced, clawing at the insides of his thighs to stop himself from flinching away from the cold, and then watched in fascination as the veins become more prominent, his length reddening, violently turned on by it, his cock twitching and pulsing, his body too confused on whether to back down or continue being aroused.

The ice cube slipped down, to his balls, and he bit back a yelp, immediately feeling them pull closer to his body, but she gripped his cock again, pumping him hard and fast, smearing freezing circles over his balls at the same time, causing cold water to drip down his legs and onto the floor, the fat droplets creating audible plop, plop, plops.

He couldn’t think.

Couldn’t breathe.

So good that he could only moan helplessly and thrust up into her hand. She gripped him, tighter, spitting onto her fingers, slicker, wetter, hot and cold and the unbearable ache between his legs, his shoulder blades pressing into her desk, his spine arched to the brink, begging, pleading, d-don’t s-s-stop, the pitch of her name becoming feverish as the ice slipped and skidded over the floor, but it didn’t matter, didn’t matter because she grabbed his balls instead, wrapping her fingers around them and squeezing.

“H… H-Harder…!”

His hair was stuck to his face, his eyes rolling back, his tongue hanging out of his open mouth, forcibly pushed to orgasm with the punishing clamping of his balls, and it all came down with a crash, the air crushed out of his lungs with a carnal cry, his cock violently jerking, shooting out a stream of thick cum that was quickly covered by her mouth, sucking it off with a lewd slurp. His hips snapped back from the whiplash of overstimulation but there was nowhere to go and he found himself wetly begging, almost sobbing, k-keep going, make me cum a-again, please…!

On the brink of agony and dependent on it.

“Please, don’t s-sto– oh, fuuuuuuuck…!”

Her mouth completely covered him, now two hands on his balls, tugging them in different directions, her knuckles closing in, locking. Pulsating around the delicate skin and sending him into blinding pleasure, on the edge from her wrapped tongue and steady abuse, and somehow she knew the exact amount of cruel pleasure to inflict that was almost, almost too much. Up and down, her punishing tongue pressing him to the roof of her mouth. Down her throat. Tight. Wet. Suffocating. Sucking. Spit leaking out and dripping down to his balls. Sticky, milky from his cum. The head of his cock was so sensitive that he could feel every ridge on the roof of her mouth and the pinch of her slippery throat muscles choking him.

He came so hard that his vision went black.

Hoarsely screaming her name.

She stopped moving her head but sucked him dry, swirling her tongue around and around and around.

His skin burned, his chest tight, his crotch ice cold.

Jungkook blinked hard, trying to come down, mind foggy and hazy from the back-to-back orgasms that had expended his consciousness. Blurred vision, shaking hands, his knees buckling. Coldness. He could hear clunking, sense movement, but his vision was blurred by his own tears, distracted and disoriented by his high.

Then his vision went black again and her bare pussy collided with his open mouth.

He gasped under the unexpected weight, her knees by his head and her hands clutching his hair, pushing the crown of his head back, pressing her wet pussy into his face. Sweet slick smeared onto his lips and slipped down into his mouth, and he was obsessed, possessed, latching on and thrusting his tongue inside, her skirt blanketed over his head. He couldn’t see anything. He didn’t care. She sat on his face, her thighs pressed to his cheeks, and he clawed up his own body, sinking his hands into her soft ass to put more of her weight on him, moaning into her wet folds, covering himself with her juices.

It stuck to his lips, his cheeks, his jaw.

He curled his tongue around her clit and coaxed it with licks, hearing her growl in satisfaction, her grip tightening in his hair. Grinding on his face, smothering him, but he didn’t care, wanted it, needed it, licking, sucking, drinking down her slick, straining his neck to close his lips around that elusive bundle of nerves and making it his.

Hard, primal exhales up above, riding his face and chasing the high.

“You’re such a pain slut.”

A man’s voice.

Raspy and smokey.

Amused.

Jungkook became highly aware that he was mostly naked, legs trembling from tension, spent cock bouncing in the air. On his back and pinned to a desk with pussy molded to his mouth, half-crushed by being sat on, his face covered by a short skirt and his hands molded to the juicy curve of her ass.

And he liked it.

No.

He loved it.

He ached for it.

He made an effort to be more noisy, more obvious, licking and sucking, his wanton moans muffled in his chest, rolling his body up into hers, earning another tug at his hair and a dark laugh some ways away, the Daegu satoori slipping out due to arousal.

“Yeah? You like me watching?”

She snickered, wicked and husky from approaching orgasm.

“Of course. He’s a fuckin’ freak just like you, Yoongi.”

He could hear the heavy tap, tap of boots. He felt her arch, a soft moan emitting from her lips, and he whined under her as her pussy spasmed and spilled onto his chin, her taste becoming sweeter, less viscous, stark. He sucked it all up, noisily, his forehead damp with sweat, but not stopping, running his tongue up and down her slit, shoving his tongue into her pulsing hole.

“Listen to him. He’s so desperate to make you cum in front of me,” the low, deep voice of Min Yoongi hummed. “You really gonna show me that face while he’s doing dirty things to you?”

Her teasing voice was daring, cold.

“Yeah, I am.”

Jungkook couldn’t see and could barely breathe, but he could hear just fine.

“Come here, then. Take out your dick. Prove to me that you aren’t hard.”

She curved her hips and Jungkook released the strain on his neck, gulping down a sticky, much-needed breath, and then he had to blink hard as light suddenly flooded his vision. Something brushed up against his upper arm. Rustling fabric. He heard a wispy sigh, and looked up to see the dark, cat-like eyes of Min Yoongi narrowed down at him, framed by long strands of black hair.

Jungkook stared right back and pressed his lips to her clit, making her moan with his tongue, her cum seeping down his neck.

Another stare joined Yoongi’s. One dark iris, real. One fake iris, vivid white. She grinned, sending another flare of wicked want through him, acutely aware of the indecent position he was in. A little psychotic, a little mischievous, a lot sexy. Her left hand gripped her skirt, bunching it at her waist, and the other was on the desk, allowing her to hunch over him.

She licked her teeth.

Carnivorous.

“Guess what, Jungkook?”

His eyes widened as he felt fabric slide down past his arm.

“Yoongi’s hard watching you eat me out.”

There was the audible slap next to his head, right onto her thigh. She rolled her hips into his mouth, and he opened up, sucking on her clit as he heard a soft hiss, seeing the shoulder of Yoongi’s black long sleeve move. Hearing the back-and-forth slaps. Smelling the scent of pre-cum once again, but someone else’s, smearing right onto her quivering thigh next to his head.

Yoongi’s gaze sharpened, biting his lower lip, fixated on her clean-shaven mound rocking onto Jungkook’s needy and willing mouth.

“Makes you fuckin’ hard watching him between my legs, doesn’t it?”

Jungkook whined at her icy, heated tone.

The older male’s breathing was growing thin, the repeated noise of hand on flesh getting faster, louder.

“S… Shut up…”

Her hand hooked around Yoongi’s head and she dragged him to her face by his hair. There was a flash of shared gaze and Jungkook saw it – desire clouded by sin, an insatiable hunger for pain – and he witnessed Yoongi moaning into her face, succumbing to her brutal kiss, her hips picking up the pace as they made contact, prompting him to suck harder and lick faster.

Close.

Jungkook could now barely see the angry red head of Yoongi’s cock slipping in and out of focus, a peripheral blur from that strong pale hand wrapped around it.

Close.

His legs shook, threatening to give up on him.

There.

His eyes shut tightly as her hips flinched and she snarled, vicious and guttural in her chest. Heady and sweet cum flooding his mouth, over his chin, stifled moan bubbling in his throat as he tipped his head down and hungrily lapped it all up, covering his nose with her orgasm. Thrusting his tongue into her throbbing, shivering hole. Swallowing as much as he could, and then he felt the sudden hot, dripping stream of thick semen painting his forehead, a streak of Yoongi’s scent painted onto him, and then another, dripping down her thigh and into Jungkook’s sweat-soaked hair.

It was so wrong.

It was heaven.

The ache in his core pulsated, devastatingly turned on by the defilement.

She got off him and now Jungkook could finally breathe, but his surroundings were a blur. The sudden oxygen flooding his brain left him out of touch with reality, still drunk on lust, pain, and near erotic asphyxiation. Wet. Warm. He melted in her hands as she licked off his face, hot tongue slurping off his hyung’s cum and leaving sloppy kisses along his temples. He trembled, teeming with past sensations. His body sore and sticky with various fluids, his and hers and his, and this was it, this was everything he wanted, fashioning his new self from his guilty, masochistic fantasies.

Feeling truly, blissfully, painfully alive.

Yoongi was breathing hard, holding something out to him.

A black leather collar with a silver chain wrapped around his hand.

“You want yours?”

Yes.

Yes, he did.

Jungkook reached out and grasped his collar tightly. Brain muddled. Body electrified from willfully inflicted agony and the voracious want for more. More. Those dark cat-like eyes narrowed. Deep voice dropping to a wary rasp.

“Careful, or the headspace will possess you and take over your life,” Yoongi warned.

Too late.

Too fucking late.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #yoonkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #yoonkook x reader #yoonkook x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #yoongi smut

128 notes · View notes

mayajadewrites · 4 months

Text

suguru geto x fem reader: lucky

roommates to lovers–friends to lovers–slow burn

story synopsis: Suguru Geto is your best friend and roommate. After a year of living together, there have been more than one opportunity to throw away your friendship. The question is, would you get lucky as fall in love for the rest of your days?

ao3

CHAPTER FIVE

slight smut ahead hehe

🎧🌙🧺📖🕯️🧸🤍

"Pssssst." Shoko poked you with her pen as she made her way to the coffee machine. "How was your date?"

It's Thursday – you've been working all week and haven't had much time to chat with Shoko about your date with Choso.

"It was great. We're going out tomorrow, actually." You smile to yourself as you stir your creamer into your coffee.

You, Nanami, Haibara, Shoko, Satoru, and Choso work in the same office building, but not within the same office. You work in the same office as Nanami and Haibara, which is quiet compared to what Shoko has to deal with with Satoru.

"Yay!! Every time I asked Choso he blushed so I assumed it went well. Aren't you glad I decided to become a match maker?" Shoko pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket.

"I thought you were going to quit." You looked at Shoko with pleading eyes.

"I said I would think about it." Shoko waved goodbye as she made her way outside for her smoke break.

Surprisingly, you haven't seen Choso while you work. To be honest, you didn't want to. You would prefer to be excited when you see him for dates, not assuming you'll see him at work.

Bzzzzzz.

Suguru: I left work early, I have a fever so I'm laying low for the rest of the week. Just incase you're wondering why I'm not hanging out outside my bed.

You frown at the text, your instincts kicking in to take care of Suguru. You wanted to make him soup, make sure his bed is comfortable, give him his medicine – all of it.

You hold yourself back from leaving your own job early. You only have a few hours left before it's time to clock out, you can survive.

You: Okay, I'll make sure to bother you.

Suguru: I was hoping you would play nurse.

A ball of anxiety forms in your stomach as you re-read Suguru's text. The flirty undertones are starting to be a little too much for you since Suguru will not outright say what he's feeling for you.

But you love being flirty.

You: Let me make sure my uniform still fits.

Suguru: I'm not sure your ass fits in that skirt anymore, but I prefer it that way.

You push your phone in your pocket and bring your 2nd coffee of the day to your desk. You cheeks were now a shade of red as you thought about Suguru's texts. Was he acting like this because he's sick? Obviously he's not himself.

You finish up your work for the day and head to the supermarket to pick up ingredients for chicken noodle soup. You also grab Suguru's favorite ice cream, ginger ale, and crackers.

When you arrive home, you knew Suguru would be in his room. His door was open though, which is odd for him. You set the reusable bags down on the counter and make your way to Suguru's room.

He's laying in his bed with his eyes closed, his hair up in a bun with a piece of hair framing his face. He's shirtless, presumably because he's burning up. You watch his throat as his Adam's apple bobs.

You put the back of your hand on his forehead, only for his hand to meet yours. "What a sight to wake up to." He said quietly.

"Your head is warm enough to burn my hand." You bring your hand back to your body, his hand going back on his forehead.

"Really? I didn't know. I just feel like my entire body is the temperature which I assume is of hell." Sarcasm left his lips.

"I'm making you chicken noodle soup. I also got you some snacks and ginger ale."

"Did you remember the nurse outfit?" Suguru smirked before coughing.

"My thighs pop out of the tights, so it's a no go." You laugh, standing up to leave his room.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Suguru laughs quietly, bringing the covers over his body.

"I'll let you know when the soup is done." You leave Suguru's room to go into yours to change into comfy clothes. You slip on a pair of leggings and an oversized crewneck from your university.

The smells of the spices flood your nostrils as you stir the broth for the soup. Suguru likes his soup a bit more salty, and he loves broth, so you made sure it was up to his standards.

You thought about how helpless he looked when he was in bed. He wasn't the strong Suguru that is your best friend and roommate, he's needy.

You bring a tray to Suguru's room, setting it up with a spoon and a cup for water. Suguru sat up slowly as you set this up for him, his eyes barely opening.

You brought his soup to him, a smiling forming on his face. "I can barely smell, but I know this is my favorite soup." Suguru grabbed his spoon, dipping it in the broth. You watched as his lips formed an 'o', blowing lightly on the spoon. "Sit with me."

You listen, sitting next to him on his bed. Suguru's bed is more than comfy. Your body sinks into it in the best way. Suguru turns on his TV, finding a streaming service and putting on a romcom.

"Since when did you watch romcoms?" You look at Suguru, surprised.

"I don't. But you do, and you're taking care of me." Suguru sipped his soup, leaning back on his pillows.

As you watch the movie with Suguru, your mind daydreams of a life with Suguru. A romantic one.

You would wake up next to him, attaching your lips to his to wake him up. He would hold your face in his large hands, deepening the kiss with his tongue.

Stop it.

You snap out of your daydream to look at Suguru, who's eyes were glued on the TV. You watched as his brown eyes followed the characters, his mouth curving into a smile when the main character said something funny.

"Thank you for the soup. It was perfect."

"Let me clean this up and I'll be out of your hair." You grab the tray, heading for the door.

"Please stay."

Did you hear that right?

"What?" You whip your head around a little too fast.

"I said, please stay." Suguru coughed.

You sigh, bringing the bowl and tray to the kitchen. You pause before turning around to go to Suguru's room. What about Choso.

It's not like he's your boyfriend.

Suguru isn't your boyfriend either.

You bring yourself back to his room, his arm open, making a spot for you.

"I'm sure I'll just make you feel more uncomfortable than you already do. You're heating up."

"Can you stop making excuses. If you think it'll be too hot, then change into less clothes." Suguru groaned, a cough escaping his throat.

You slip into your room to change into a lowcut tank top and sweatshorts, your breath hitching when you look at Suguru again.

Your body mends with his as you join him in bed. His muscular arm wraps around your waist while his face makes a home in between your neck and shoulder.

You tense a bit, goosebumps forming along your skin. Suguru's arm trails down to your thighs, squeezing them gently. You bring your eyes to his, and you're both silent. Suguru's eyes are exploring your expression, trying to read what you're feeling.

He was testing your limits. Would you let him touch your thigh? Would you let him grab your tits? Would you let him kiss you?

The answer to all of those questions is yes. But it shouldn't happen.

You feel Suguru's lips attach to your neck, going from sucking to biting every few seconds. You let out a moan, arching your back slightly.

Suguru's large hands find your chest as he's sucking on your neck, squeezing your breast over your bra. He sneaks his hand under your bra, pinching your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger.

You shouldn't be doing this.

Especially when he's sick.

"Suguru, I –"

"Tell me you don't want this." Suguru looked at you as his lips left your neck. "Tell me you don't feel the same."

#geto suguru #suguru geto #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru geto smut #roommates to lovers #friends to lovers #slowburn #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen geto

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felinetteagain · 10 days

Text

Andre's magic ice cream. What is so special about it, what is it trying to tell Andre and should we trust its predictions?

Andre has some kind of connection to his ice cream. According to Andre, ice cream tells him how to combine flavors for lovers and friends. His ice cream unites hearts.

(415) Andre:

- I've lost my connection with my ice cream.

I don't understand what its trying to tell me anymore!

(509)

It just doesn't make sense. My ice cream is never wrong.

(325)

Andre:

- And for you two BLACKBERRY and PEPPERMINT, an explosive mix that's a fact but often times it's the opposites that attract.

(518)

Andre:

- At last! SPEARMINT for his eyes, for his skin, vanilla, BLUEBERRY for her hair, rose for her perfume, and voilà!

How did ice cream maker Andre feel when creating his masterpiece? Let me remind you that the first ice cream for Adrinette was created by him in the episode “Emotion”. (518)🍦❤

Felix (Argos) was also there at that time. 👀

And again Andre makes ice cream, and Marinette meets Argos again that day. (523-524)

(325)

André:

- Which flavors for these two? Orange and peppermint, a perfect pairing that's always a success; nothing can turn it into a mess.

(518)

Andre:

- And a three-flavor ice-cream for the BEST FRIENDS in Paris!

(325)

Marinette:

- Can't you find a blend for the three of us?

André:

- I can, but too many flavors mixed together may throw off the delicate balance.

If this is ice cream for friends, then where is the ice cream ball for Kagami? And where did the purple ice cream ball go if it belonged to Marinette? And why is the balance that Andre was talking about not broken? Or maybe it's ice cream for two friends, Adrian and Marinette.

Yes, they wanted us to think it was Felix! They provoke us and test our reaction.

#ladybug and chat noir #miraculous ladybug #tales of ladybug and cat noir #felix fathom #felix graham de vanily #felinette #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #kagami tsurugi #adrigami #icecream Andre #emotion ladybug

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moronic-validity · 7 months

Text

The Suitor

And, as promised, the last fic posted out of order!

As always, big shout out to @stickyarbiterwombat and @yaoibrainworms for proof reading and editing the fic with me last night, ilysm

18+ bc the rest of the series is!

The day started off normal enough.

Winter woke up first and made his way to the throne room to find Simon asleep on the table they usually worked at. He was bundled in the two blankets Winter had offered him the night prior when he refused a space in his bed.

In fact, he had denied even a guest bedroom, apparently preferring to sleep at, or rather, on the table they spent most of their days at.

Winter walked past him, to the hot chocolate bar he kept in the room for anyone who had requested his audience. There was a primitive 21st century coffee maker behind the ornate drink dispensers.

He found himself humming as the coffee brewed. It was a boring process, but he was more than happy to have to make a full pot for once, instead of just one for himself.

Winter turned back to wake his sleeping friend, only to find him groggily rubbing his eyes, sitting on the edge of the table.

“Ah, good morning sleepy head!” Winter’s lilting voice rang through the room.

“When’s the coffee ready?” Simon stretched, trying to get his aching back to pop.

Ah, so not a morning person. Winter made a mental note of this.

“Should only be another minute or so, what would you like for breakfast?”

Winter’s question was met with a shrug.

Simon wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to attempt to traverse the icy floor this early in the morning. Even with his shoes on, he knew he’d fall, and in his opinion, it was too early for that.

He found himself kicking his legs back and forth while he waited.

Winter brought over two mugs, both a rich blue, and shockingly not made of ice.

Simon recognized them immediately.

“The mugs Betty picked out? You still have them?”

“Oh of course I do, they’re fantastic mugs,” Winter gave a small chuckle, “She always had good taste.”

Winter sat on the table next to Simon, both casually drinking their hot coffee.

“So, what’re we doing today?”

Winter was always caught off guard by how eager Simon was to get back to work, though he shouldn’t be; he was the same way.

“Well, I believe I’m going to have you review some requests that were made by citizens of the kingdom, most are probably run of the mill things,” he attempted to not let on that he found the task incredibly boring, “and I have to review some documents that will be sent to most of Ooo. I would let you do it, but I’m afraid it has to do with kingdom security.”

Simon nodded, accepting the answer without question.

Winter fought to keep the smile off his face.

It had nothing to do with kingdom security and everything to do with the ball he was throwing that night. It was originally going to be a quite small affair, but then his Simon came home and it spiraled in his usual giddy opulence from there.

He was known for extravagant balls, ones where connections could be made, for business or pleasure. Before the war he was never one for parties, but now it was an excuse to dress to the nines, drink, and dance with friends he had made through his years as ruler.

“What are you smiling about now?” Simon studied his other’s face and the dopey smile that had formed.

Winter’s brain went blank.

He thought he’d maintained his cool exterior so well..

“I find it hard to not smile when I’m around you my dear Simon,” Winter internally breathed a sigh of relief. It was a good save, but it was also true.

Simon let out a single, exaggerated “ha” as a response.

Once they were done with their coffee, they cleared off the table and got to work on their respective tasks, neither in the mood for breakfast yet.

They worked in silence for several hours, but then a thought occurred to Winter.

“Simon?” his voice broke through the other’s focus.

“Yes Winter?”

“I would like for you to be my consort.”

The words hung in the air as Simon worked through exactly what Winter was asking of him.

“You want me to marry you?”

“Exactly, you’d be ruling by my side, and who better to be my other half, than another me!” Winter’s excitement around the idea was evident.

“Winter, I can’t marry you.”

The bubble popped.

“What do you mean you can’t marry me?”

“Well,” Simon set his papers down and looked at the man sitting in front of him, “I haven’t known you very long and besides, there are so many Simons across the multiverse," he mused, "really you'd just be my... other, I guess. Not that it matters."

Winter's brilliant smile contorted into a pained expression. He struggled to maintain his composure as his heart wrenched.

“You’ve known me your entire life!” Winter interjected, pointing out a seemingly obvious fact, trying to ignore the jab.

“Winter, you and I know very well that we’re not exactly the same,” Simon sighed, “I don’t know if I’m even ready to look at getting engaged again.”

“Then we’ll skip the engagement! We can get married right now! I do have that authority, all I have to do is say we’re married and then draw up the paperwork.” Winter was beaming, feeling as though he solved every issue with the arrangement in a matter of seconds.

Simon reached out and took Winter’s hand.

“I care about you Winter, enough to travel across reality to get back here, but I’m not ready for that. I know you remember Betty and even holding the mugs she gave you, I felt like I had a ton of bricks on my chest,” Simon squeezed his king’s hands, “I’m not ready to move on like that. Not right now.”

Winter didn’t have an answer for that.

He was glad that the invitations he had penned had called the ball a homecoming rather than a wedding.

“I fully understand Simon, I am sorry I sprung that on you.” He pulled his hand away slowly and got back to work on the invitations.

Once every envelope had been filled and sent off with an ice dove, Winter stood from the table and clapped his hands.

“Alright Simon, I’m going to leave you to finish this, while I attend to some other important matters!” Winter walked around the table and kissed the top of Simon’s head before skating smoothly out of the room.

Simon rolled his eyes and went back to his papers.

Most of the requests were simple enough, more benches, re-icing the road to the school, small household repairs that should’ve really been handled by different authorities. Others were a bit more complicated, like a pair of neighbors fighting over a tree, each one wanting royal approval of ownership. Those were the ones he set aside for Winter to handle.

It took him another two hours to work through the full stack, only taking a brief break to refill his coffee.

Once finished, he stretched before making his way out of the throne room.

At the door, he found a note in Winter’s scrawling handwriting.

Dearest Simon,

Once you are finished for the day, please go to my chambers immediately and change, then come to the ballroom.

Yours, Winter

Simon shook his head, but headed to Winter’s bedroom nonetheless.

He knocked once before entering.

It never failed to impress Simon, how warm Winter managed to make a room made almost entirely of ice. There were blankets and pillows covering the bed, more than anyone could possibly use, a rug so plush you could feel the stress melt away when you touched it, and an incredible number of candles for someone who lives in a castle of ice.

What drew Simon’s attention the most was the black suit bag hanging from a door connected to the bedroom.

He figured it was for him, so he pulled it down and carefully laid it on the bed before opening it.

“You have got to be kidding me…” Simon muttered to himself as he stared at the suit.

It was royal blue with crystalline snowflakes detailing the jacket and pants, the shirt white with ruffles around the neck and breast.

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose, debating showing up to the ballroom in his usual tweed, before changing clothes.

At the bottom of the bag sat a shimmering addition to the outfit, a snowflake brooch.

He smiled to himself and clipped the final piece of his outfit to his lapel.

He didn’t have a mirror to check his reflection, so he had to assume he looked put together enough.

Simon could hear the music before he entered the ballroom; in fact, by the time he entered the hallway he could feel the bass of whatever was playing deep in his bones.

He didn’t want to go in.

Simon hated parties.

More specifically, he hated the overwhelming noise that made it impossible to hear anyone below a scream. He hated how they always devolved into a drunken disarray, or worse, awkward silences. In the past his only respite was a quiet corner and the company of the host's dog or cat.

There were no dogs or cats in there.

Simon braced himself before opening the doors.

It was nothing like what he expected.

The music wasn’t actually loud, nor was it thumping. It was orchestral.

There were plenty of people he did recognize in attendance, Wild Berry Princess, Muscle Princess, Slime and Hotdog Princess, they were all in the crowd formed around Winter, who was twirling a princess who seemed to be made of ice cream.

There were even more people he didn’t recognize, it seemed as if the room was packed, but far from claustrophobic.

He took one step into the room and the music stopped.

Winter looked up and caught Simon’s eye before breaking into a huge grin.

He swept his hands through the air and a large ice glass and spoon formed in the air, connected with a resonating ting, then exploded into a sprinkling of snow.

Everyone gasped with delight at the display, before quieting down and looking towards the king.

“I want to thank everyone for attending,” his voice carried clearly through the large room, without the assistance of a microphone, “Tonight is a celebration of the highest order!”

He motioned for Simon to come forward.

Simon simply wished he could melt into the floor.

Nevertheless, he sheepishly walked forward, doing his best not to slide on the ever slick floor, until he was standing at Winter’s side.

“Tonight, we welcome home Dr. Simon Petrikov, the best advisor the Winter kingdom will ever know!”

Everyone clapped and cheered.

It felt like something out of a dream, or in his case, a nightmare.

Winter put an arm around Simon and pulled him into a tight side hug.

“Enjoy yourself Simon, get to know everyone,” he spoke softly, before speaking to the crowd again, “Now, eat, drink, and dance to your heart’s content!”

Winter let go of Simon as the music started again.

Simon made a beeline to the punch bowl before he could get sucked into the madness that surrounded Winter.

He seemed to relax when he was further from the crowd, milling about the drinks with the other guests, but didn’t necessarily enjoy the scene.

He found himself zoning out, watching Winter begin to dance with Muscle Princess.

Simon was snapped out of his thoughts when his back hit another person, he didn’t even realize he was backing up.

“Princess, I am so sorry,” Simon began before turning to face whoever he had bumped into.

She laughed.

“It’s alright, accidents happen,” she dabbed at the small wet stain on her white jacket, “Not a princess though.”

“Doctor Princess?” Simon couldn’t believe his luck, running into someone he actually knew; well, knew back in his world.

“Have we met?” She tilted her head to the side to accent her confusion.

“Uh…no, I don’t believe we have…I’m Dr. Petrikov, but you can always call me Simon.”

The doctor laughed at his bashfulness.

“Alright, Simon, how’re you enjoying your party?”

He rolled his eyes, briefly turning his attention back to Winter, now dancing with Hotdog princess, who was laughing gleefully.

“I’m not really one for parties, but Winter seems to be having the time of his life,” Simon sighed before pouring himself some of the punch.

“Winter…oh, the king! Yeah, he throws these at least once a month,” She handed her cup to Simon, who dutifully refilled it, “At least this time there’s a reason to celebrate.” She took her cup from him and took a long sip.

“A reason to celebrate?” He laughed and shook his head, “I’m sure he wouldn’t do this if it had been anyone else.

“He threw a three day gala when he created the ice scouts.”

“You’re kidding?” Simon laughed again. He knew Winter had a propensity for dramatics, but that was a lot for even him.

They stood like that, laughing for a few minutes.

“You know, I’m not even a princess,” Doctor Princess wiped a tear from her eye, still laughing, “It’s just my name, but he always invites me to these. I keep coming because I don’t want to be rude.”

Simon snorted and punch shot out his nose.

They were silent, both frozen in shock.

Then they started laughing even harder than before, gasping for air as they cackled at the absurdity of the whole situation.

A not princess and a not party-person, standing in a party full of royalty, now both covered in punch.

Simon turned back to the table to grab them napkins when he saw it.

Winter was slow dancing with a tall man, letting him lead them across the floor.

Simon’s heart dropped as the man dipped Winter, his white hair brushing the ground.

If he had his eyes open, he would’ve seen the devastation on Simon’s face.

He turned away from the dance floor and handed Doctor Princess the napkins before exiting the ballroom.

He didn’t walk far, he just needed out of the room.

How could he, no, how dare he? Simon’s thoughts were racing, He asks you to marry him this morning, and now he’s whoring himself out to half of Ooo. Maybe it was a good thing to say no, because if this is what Winter thinks loyalty is, he’s fucking insane.

Winter finished dancing with the man, still unsure who he was.

He scanned the room and found Simon’s place by the punch bowl empty.

Fearing the worst, he excused himself and made his way to the drinks and found Doctor Princess still dabbing punch off her jacket.

“Princess, would you happen to know where my advisor went?” He kept his voice calm, but he was seconds away from making a scene.

“Oh, Simon? I think he stepped into the hallway to get some air. He seemed pretty upset when he left,” She didn’t look up from her jacket.

“Thank you for your help Princess,” He was already walking away, calling over his shoulder to her, “I’ll be back to the party shortly, please enjoy yourself!”

“I’m still not a princess, but thanks.” She shook her head.

He opened the doors and missed hitting Simon by inches.

“Simon, what on earth are you doing out here sulking, this whole party is for you,” Winter put a hand on his hip, studying the scene before him.

Simon was staring him down, fruit punch staining the ruffles of his shirt.

“Are you serious Winter?” Simon huffed, venom dripping from his words, “You’re going to question me about sulking when you’re off gallivanting with half the royals in Ooo?”

Winter held up his hands defensively.

“First of all, I don’t understand what you think I was doing, I was just dancing with my friends,” He took a breath, trying to keep his voice calm, “Second of all, why are you so worried about me dancing with others?”

Simon felt all the blood rush to his face.

“Oh you know damn well why I’m upset,” he all but hissed.

Winter had to stifle a smile, enjoying seeing Simon this riled up.

“Do I?”

“Oh, I think you do,” Simon backed Winter against the wall nearest him, “I think you know exactly why I’m upset.” His voice had gone cold.

“You’re not allowed to be jealous Simon,” Winter said dismissively, ignoring the cold on his back, “You’re the one who rejected my proposal.”

Simon thought he was going to pop a blood vessel.

“Winter, of course I said no, I’ve been here for what, a month?”

“Three and a half weeks, but who’s counting.”

“It doesn’t matter how long I’ve been here, or what we are,” Simon’s voice had dropped and was suddenly softer, “I thought we were still…”

Winter frowned.

“Simon, we are. No matter what we call each other.” Winter’s smirk fell, the snide tone gone.

Both men took a breath and Simon looked across Winter’s face.

“That means you belong to me, and you’ve still been out there dancing with every person who tickles your fancy?” His voice held a different quality. Still low and threatening, but without the anger.

“I can’t leave my guests unentertained.” Winter mused.

Simon smiled.

“Then let’s entertain them, shall we?” Simon took Winter’s hand and pulled him back into the ballroom.

The music picked up in tempo, adjusting from a waltz to a tango, Winter’s personal favorite.

Simon let the king lead as they pulled the attention of the crowd, but the ballroom could have been empty and neither would have been the wiser.

“Is this entertaining enough your majesty?” Simon whispered as Winter pulled him close.

“No, but this will be,” Winter laughed as he turned his face, kissing Simon hard.

#teddy talks #theo's thoughts #winterkov #simon x winter king #the winter king #winter king x simon #winterking #simon petrikov #simoncest #simonpetrikov #dwu

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houseofthescrolls · 1 year

Text

Midnight Rain

Daemon Targaryen x Reyna Targaryen (OC)

You were my midnight rain

- Angst - Slowburn - Fluff

Pt 1 / Pt 2

The ball was in full swing and I could hear music blaring loudly as I walked down the castle halls alone. It was an exhausting discussion, but I forced my father not to assign me a guard. I was weary of who to trust in this dragon’s den and I can protect myself.

My thoughts drifted to my son, wondering if he was having a good time. Viserys requested to go to this event with his cousins Jacerys and Lucerys tonight and I welcomed the bonding even if I felt highly uncomfortable around my sister.

I stopped by the open archway, peering up at the night sky. My growing nerves preventing me from entering the lively ballroom. Last time I was at a ball like this, Daemon had just returned from another victory in battle.

“I have watched you sulk your night away. Why are you not dancing?” Daemon asked as he leant back against the very wall I currently rested upon.

“My father thinks I am old enough find a suitor.” I answered glumly.

“And you are not happy of this news?” His tone was mocking as he took a drink of his wine already knowing the answer to his own question.

“You know very well why I am not, uncle.” I half heartedly glared in his direction.

Daemon nodded, “I was like you once.”

“Once?” I teased turning my body fully towards him now, “Do you forget that you are still are not married?”

“Hush,” He smiled matching my movements, “This is your suitors ball not mine.”

My smile faded at the teasing reminder, “I want to be more than just a wife and child maker.” I sighed.

“Then let me lighten your sorrows with a dance.” He set his glass down and held his hand out towards me patiently.

I smiled softly, the butterflies in my stomach always managing to appear when he is around. I placed my hand in his.

That was the first time he showed any interest in me. An interest that wasn’t the fleeting glances and cordial hello’s as he passed me by to greet his blood. Though no one would dare question my adoption out loud, the feeling of being an outcasted sheep was felt sourly.

But I remember… I remember his warm hands pressed against my waist. I remember our smiles that mirrored one another. I remember that night as if it were yesterday. He stayed with me, refusing to leave my side as he shooed off any suitors with his hard gaze. His hair was shorter then too. I mused.

“Alright.” I spoke to myself as I pushed aside my thoughts, “The past can’t help now and neither can he. I can do this on my own.”

I can entire the dragon’s den as force of my own for I am not a dragon… I am a wolf.

I entered the ballroom with stride, my dress made of ice blue silk and diamonds this time as it glittered from the lights.

“My king! The Queen Of Nox has arrived!” The page announced.

Those nearest to the door greeted me with a bow and a good evening. I smiled in kind before walking towards my father and greeting him with a bow.

“Thank you for joining us my daughter.” The king welcomed me and the party commenced.

“Thank you for inviting me and my son.” I smiled, “Speaking of, I must seek him out.”

“Last I saw he was by the food.” Alicent said and I smiled to her gratefully and went on my way.

I was thankful for the parting crowd as I walked throughout the ballroom and soon found Viserys by a table filled with a variety of food brought out by the butlers and maids. It warmed my heart to see him talking with his cousins, a wide smile on each of their faces.

“Mother!” Viserys waved me over as soon as his gaze landed on me, “Jacerys was just telling me about his time learning our mother tongue.”

“Oh that is quite lovely! I’m happy to know that the language is still taught within these walls.” I smiled towards my nephew, “And how are you finding the language?”

“Difficult.” He chuckled, “I’m not sure the difference between what is attack and what is a potato.”

“Tricky indeed.” I mused with a nod.

“I offered to help him learn while we are here.” Viserys said.

I nodded at the proclamation, “That is a wonderful idea! I am happy to hear the three of you getting along.”

“As am I.” I heard my sister say behind me.

I turned and the smile on my face settled to a plangency as I greeted her and our uncle, “Good evening sister… Uncle.” I greeted them both in kind.

“How are you my sister?” She asked.

I glanced towards her attire, fitted in black and gold, “I am alright, thank you. How are you?”

“Sore.” She humored, “I’ve been on my feet all day.”

I nodded in understanding, “That is understandable.”

“Are you sure you are alright?” She continued, “I haven’t seen you since the night you arrived.”

“Quite.” I stated pressing my lips together in a thin line, “I’ve just been busy. I have been with father, discussing some business between our kingdoms.”

“What kind of business?” Daemon spoke without so much as a hello.

I rolled my eyes refusing to look at him and instead directed my attention to a certain pastry I would like to have later, “Wouldn’t you like to know, prince.” I said pronouncing that word with mockery.

If I were looking at him I would have laughed at the glare he sent me, “I have every right to know, I am your uncle, niece.”

“I am a Queen to you, address me as such or get out of my presence.” I waved my hand towards him and moved to leave.

I could hear my son and nephews chuckling. They were in awe at the guts I had towards the rogue prince, but I don’t fear him. I never had.

“I was hoping we could talk.” Rhaenyra pressed as Daemon scoffed. She wanted to diffuse the tension to keep me longer, “I haven’t seen you in years, let alone heard any word from you.”

“A reason you surely know.” I tried to take a step back to turn once again, but she quickly stepped in my way.

“Please.” She pleaded.

“Viserys.” I looked at him silently telling him to leave.

“Why don’t you tell me how to say sky in old Valeryan.” Viserys guided his cousin away.

I turned to look at my sister sharply, “What is it that you truly want from me sister?”

“A truce.” She said lowly.

“A truce?” I raised an eyebrow at her praying to the gods that I wouldn’t punch the man with the stupid smirk now standing in my peripheral.

He was wearing black attire tonight with silver trims. If he wasn’t such a deceitful, lying, pompous prick I would find it quite handsome on him… if only. If only he wasn’t such an ass.

“Yes. I was hoping we could clear up this pathetic fight about the marriage between Daemon and I.” She stated appearing as regal as ever where as I was on the verge of drowning.

Pathetic? She thinks this is pathetic? Does my heart mean nothing to them?

“Then it is cleared.” I said without a care, “Now if you would excuse me.” I nodded and tried my escape again, but Rhaenyra had different plans.

“Just let me explain, please. I want you to understand that I never wanted to hurt you. You see, we have been on and off for a while.” She began and I couldn’t help but stare blankly at the array of roses just past her head.

The sooner she finishes the better. I don’t want to hear about how I was deceived, hurt, and betrayed. I have already found peace, I can—

“And while it may seem new to most, this attraction started when you began your courting season and so—“

My eyes snapped to her amethyst ones in disbelief, “What?” I could barely get the choked words out, “When did this start?”

“Never mind that—“ Daemon spoke up, but with the fire in my eyes directed toward him, he quickly shut up.

“Your courting season.” She stated again before her rant continued.

I couldn’t understand what she was saying as my world caved in once again. My confused gaze fell onto Daemon wanting him to explain himself, to just say something, anything, but he didn’t far speak a word.

That year was one of the only happy memory of us. I held onto it with my life, every time I tried to imagine what our future could have been. Even if he fell out of love with me when my sister came of age, at least during that season he saw me instead of her… That he chose me… Not her.

My confused look turned to sorrow as I watched his gaze fall from mine. In intimidation or guilt, I do not know, but I looked at him trying to understand his reason behind all of it.

I still remember when he confessed to me. The love he held for me could revel the strongest of seas or so I thought. For the first time since I came to the palace and met Daemon, he seemed so happy. I was so sure that it was going to be him, that he was going to be my forever. I refused any other suitors because of the way he looked at me.

“You are the first woman I have felt this way towards.” He said taking strides towards where I stood.

“Felt what way?” I asked turning to face him.

My room began to feel warm as he pressed his forehead against mine.

“Love, my little flame.” He answered.

His honey words had me reeling. My heart growing ten times bigger as he brought his lips to mine.

I was his first love. That is what he said, but I wasn’t was I?

“You…” Was the only word I could say in the moment, my throat constricting to get anymore words out. He looked back to me, waiting for me to continue, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to say the truth that was clearly in front of me.

My gaze fell defeated in a twisted understanding that he never loved me, he only used me.

“But, what we have is love.” Rhaenyra stated bringing me back to this moment.

I nodded desperately wanting to get away from here, “You can keep your love. I do not want it nor do I wish to ruin it. Now please excuse-”

She grabbed my arm, “I don’t want to have you as my enemy. This jealousy and resentment will get us nowhere. You know that we are stronger together so please for all of our sakes, can you put this behind you?”

It was that flicker, that spark that ignited the anger inside me as I ripped my arm from her grasp. My shoulders squared back as I used my height to tower over her, even if it was just a few centimeters, my crown made up for the rest.

“Do not.” I started, my voice stronger than before as it took on the role I was meant to be, a queen, “Ever assume that I would stoop so low as to resent either of you for a simple marriage, let alone be jealous of it.” The bile rising in my throat proves my emotions towards this, but I refused to be the sad and pitied Princess who was cast aside all those years ago, “I have a kingdom of my own to rule, a son whom I love deeply, and a life that keeps me content. In no way have I ever been jealous of you, little sister.” No one is going to know how I feel and I refuse to be the newest gossip of the kingdom.

“I did not mean any harm by my words.” She pleaded.

“Oh I know exactly what you mean. Do not worry, I will put this so called petty fight behind me as I fly back to my kingdom in a few days.” I glared at the both of them and turned away, this time I did not try to excuse myself as I left saying, “I’d like to enjoy the rest of my evening with the only friend I have in this godforsaken castle.”

I found Alicent, the only other person who knew of my failed engagement with Daemon though she didn’t not know of Viserys’s birthright. My rage burned hotter than dragon’s fire though I hid it, Alicent seemed to see right through my facade as she looked at me worried from her throne.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“I don’t understand why these white haired, purple eyed jerks think they are so righteous with whatever they do.” I stated angrily and was happy that my father was not around in this moment.

Her eyes widened at the proclamation, but in she nodded in understanding.

“She implied that I was jealous.” I continued sitting beside her, “Of her marriage to that tantrum throwing teenager. That this feud between us, no. That my feelings towards that humiliating rejection he gave me is petty.”

“I’m sorry.” Alicent reached over to place her hand on mine.

I looked down, “They didn’t even apologize.”

“They are Targaryen. They never apologize.” Alicent stated.

She was able to draw my attention away from the horrid topic for a while with gossip of her own but my gaze always seemed to find them in the crowd. It was getting late when I decided to part from the celebrations.

“Are you sure you want to stay up?” I asked Viserys.

He nodded almost immediately, “Yeah, Aemond has some cool things he wants to show me.”

“Alright.” I nodded before looking at Aemond, “Please keep my son safe brother.” I said the word lightly in case he would be offended.

He seemed caught of guard, but nodded, “Of course.”

“Have a fun night you two and stay safe.” I wished them both farewell before taking my leave.

I took my time getting back to my room, trying to stir off all the unpleasant feelings before I fall asleep. I almost made it… Almost. I could feel his presence behind me like a looming shadow.

“You can stop following me. Ive had enough excitement for today.” I spoke.

“Reyna.” His voice was gentle and my body straightened up a bit. It’s been a while since I heard that tone of his, but in the end I knew deep down I couldn’t fall for anymore of his tricks.

I rolled my eyes wishing that I could be away from his dramatics, “What is it uncle?”

“Do you refuse to say my name?” He asked tensely.

“Why should I? Do you not like uncle? Shall I call you rogue prince instead?” I challenged as I turned around, he was further than I expected, treating me as if I were some wild animal.

It was quiet for some time and I couldn’t help but turn around to see if he disappeared, but no. There he stood with a look on his face that reminded me of a small boy who knew he was in the wrong.

“I…” His voice trailed off and my ears perked up.

Was there a chance he was going to apologize? Say those simple words that held so much meaning? I waited now a bit more relaxed and as patiently as I could.

He cleared his throat and stood up straighter, “How are you doing?”

I sighed knowing that it was too good to be true, “How am I doing?” I stared into the sparkle his eyes possessed, “Our entire love was all just a cruel joke.” I watched his gaze fall as he looked at the wall beside me, “It is clear to me now that you never actually loved me, didn’t really care for me at all really.” I couldn’t help but scoff, catching his attention, “All an act to get closer to the one you truly cared about… Rhaenyra. Well you two can live happily forever without me.”

With that I left the rogue prince to stand there alone as I went back to my room.

I need some sleep.

Stay tuned!

Taglist

@shipheart @this-is-a-bad-idea @dragon-in-a-kettle @hadthemapplebottomjeans

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #daemon prince #daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon x rhaenyra #hotd fanfic #daemon angst #daemon targaryen angst

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illustriousaestheticc · 5 months

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You have seen it in TikTok and insta! Yk you want it! Buy it now

#TikTok #amazon #amazon finds #christmas gift #gift for him #gift for husband #gift for mom #gift guide #giftshop #gift for wife #giftober2023 #instagram

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b-frank · 1 year

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so long post warning but ive spent hours going through every single goncharov post and here’s a plot summary for anyone who can’t find the movie online. just focusing on the main characters and not going into the heavy dialogue moments (most of the film). feel free to add on or correct me

goncharov and his wife katya move to naples, italy after goncharovs father dies and goncharov assumes his place as head of the family. his father dies because of a bad play he made (he’s a high ranking russian mob boss) causing a different mob boss to send his hit man, ice pick joe, after him. after killing goncharovs father ice pick joe is to kill goncharov and his whole family to eliminate the gonacharovs from the russian mafia entirely.

gonacharov and his wife flee to naples to a safe house his father had prepared. ice pick joe follows them. it’s worth noting that ice pick joe kills with an ice pick because he was given a lobotomy against his will and it’s a way of taking his power back. he’s the only character in the film who seems happy, and it’s heavily implied that this is because he’s accepted that he can’t have a happy ending.

goncharov starts methodically working his way through the ranks of the italian mafia and the process is bloody. he develops a very close friendship with a man named andrea, whom goncharov nicknames andrey. andrey wears an eyepatch. that’s not actually notable but it’s for visualization purposes. we get a lot of ‘moving up the mafia ranks’ fill stuff with andrey and gonchrov. it’s obvious that they’re very close. andreys backstory is revealed that he has been working odd jobs for mob bosses because he is in debt with one of them and his fathers life is being threatened unless he pays it off. goncharov has promised to repay andreys debt but as the movie wears on it’s obvious that andrey is starting to doubt him. they have a lot of dialogue heavy scenes where they talk about the meaning of life and love and other things. they both envy the other

meanwhile katya develops a close relationship with sofia, a rich widow. katya is also getting her hands dirty, like her husband, because she is just as invested in the family. it’s arguable that she is more invested than her husband. she’s shown to be the plan-maker and go-getter in the relationship. sofia thinks she can save katya from her life of crime (total white knight complex, but it’s well done) there’s a scene at a pool party that’s incredibly sapphic and hints that sofia is in love with katya. katya is planning the murder of [guy who is obstructing goncharovs success] but when she attempts to kill him (with an ice pick no less! to frame it on ice pick joe!) sofia follows her.

[guy who is obstructing gonchrovs success] gets the upper hand and is going to kill katya and out the gonchrov to the russian mafia when sofia steps in and kills him by stabbing him in the neck. sofia and katya then clean up the murder and dispose of their bloody clothes. in the next scene they’re on the balcony of sofias manor when sofia announces she’s leaving italy in the morning and that katya should come with her. katya denies because she’s too committed to goncharov and doesn’t know who she is separate from the family. at this point we get back story that katya was taken in my the goncharovs when she was ~12 and her parents were brutally murdered. she’s says “maybe in another life, my love” and sofia kisses her cheek and leaves.

simultaneously with that plot, ice pick joe has contacted andrey and offered a ridiculous amount of money if he reveals goncharovs identity at this ball they’re all going to be at. katya is planning to murder [guy obstructing the goncharovs success] while the ball is going on. andrey betrays gonchrov with none other than the classic judas-jesus kiss on the cheek situation. he’s shown to regret this immediately and panics and tells goncharov they have to leave.

away from the ball, in the courtyard of the manor, where andrey takes goncharov “get away for a few minutes” ice pick joe appears and thanks andrey for his help. there’s a fantastic scene showing goncharovs emotions at the betrayal before ice pick joe starts attacking goncharov. (for context this scene is happening at the same time as katinyas struggle with [guy obstructing success]) while gonchrov struggles with ice pick joe andrey stands there, very conflicted, until ice pick joe gets the upper hand. at this point andrey tackles him and through the struggle gonchrov pulls out his gun and shoots. the screen cuts to black. a second shot sounds

in the next scene goncharov and katya reunite, both blood splattered and worn. katya cries into his shoulder whilst he stares detachedly at the grandfather clock in his house. previous lines of dialogue play over the scene of looking at the clock. its very movie. it’s worth mentioning that the entire movie up to this point has been cut with scenes of the clock ticking. gonchrov and katya have the Mandatory Sex Scene and throughout it it shows that they’re both thinking about sofia and andrey, respectively

through these thoughts it’s revealed that goncharov shot andrey after shooting ice pick joe and he did so out of love because he knew a worse fate would follow a man who double crossed his best friend and then double crossed the person who payed him to double cross him

the movie ends with katya and goncharov taking over the italian mafia, deeply unhappy.

**in an alternate version of the story, andrey becomes so enraged in his resentment that he attempts to murder goncharov and goncharov kills him to put him out of his misery.

**there’s also something about a boat

#goncharov #unreality #b’s bs

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