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atxchiphxbix · 2 months ago

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Content. mdni afab + f! reader, unprotected sex, swearing, caleb finishes in reader, he does call you pipsqueak like once, caleb is called gege once, handjob, overstimulation, slight size difference, grinding and humping, making out, and slight religious imagery (mentions of heaven and sinners)

a/n: inspired by his affinity 85 secret times: lover's whisper. bro had my knees buckling and everything so I had to lock in and write this. infold is cooking w caleb

Caleb is a desperate man. With desperate thoughts and desperate needs, but when you’re in bed with him — it seems he has all the time in the world.

With naked and sweaty bodies, he presses his hips oh so gently against the soft, weepy folds of your cunt as his lavender hues admire the gooey strings of slick that connect you both together (created by his dexterous fingers when buried deep inside you). He drinks in all of you, from your tits that heave up and down with heavy breaths to the swallowed lump in your throat, bruised by his kisses.

His warm hands run up the sides of your body reverently, lavishing your skin in angelic kisses while his hips buck feverishly against the soft flesh of your warm pussy. Your own hips buck and lips part in light gasps and moans whenever the pearly mushroom tip of his hard cock kisses your sensitive bundle of nerves — so close to just dipping into your wet warmth like you want.

But Caleb is a patient man, years of yearning and devotion are nothing compared to his last few minutes of mounting and humping your body under him.

“You’re so wet.” He murmurs, lips pressing gentle kisses to your burning temple. He isn’t even condescending about it. It’s a simple observation, one he finds great joy in when he pulls away, watching bands of your wetness keep the flesh of your cunt connected to his leaky tip, you’re begging for him not to leave even if you don’t say it. Your achy hole and twitchy clit say it all — flushed with need and desire.

Caleb swears to himself that only he will ever see you in this state. If anyone else got a glimpse of you with your legs hooked over his shoulders, teary-eyed, and weeping pussy all spread out for him — he’ll tear them apart.

A wave of embarrassment washes to your cheeks at his words before you’re reaching down and wrapping your hand around the thick girth of his length, giving him experimental pumps and listening to the erotic squelch whenever your dainty hand slides down. Caleb can’t help the way his hips twitch and he bucks, a heavy blush settling over his pale cheeks. His ears somehow get redder as he involuntarily fucks himself into the palm of your hand, purple irises looking desperately down at where your soft palm domes over his sensitive tip, thumbing over the slit of his cock and collecting pearls of pre-cum to fuck it back over him.

“Fu—ha, shit, pipsqueak,” he whines, catching your wrist in his hand and pulling you away from his pulsing cock. The expression on his face is cute, flushed redder than an apple, and embarrassed that he could cum from the feel of your warm palm wrapped around his hard, throbbing dick. He aches to be flesh to flesh in the depth of your tight hole but he holds himself back, wanting to tease and torment you for just a bit longer — like he has all the time in the world.

“Caleb,” you pout, bottom lip jutting out into the sweetest expression he’s ever seen on you.

What he doesn’t expect though, are your lithe fingers, snaking down to your thighs, using your middle and ring finger (that he will definitely put a ring on), and spreading your wet, sticky folds, open for him — presenting yourself to him.

He doesn't think you know the effect you have on him. Or perhaps you are aware and he's being played like a pawn, wrapped around your little finger — Caleb decides he's happy in the palm of your hand, settled into your heart.

“Gege,” you plead, and he swears he’s just gotten harder to the sound of your pleading voice. And he knows it’s over for him when you bat your pretty lashes and look up at him with the eyes you know he just can’t ignore, “Please put it in. Look, ‘m so wet and achy for you.”

Caleb loses it. Of course, how could he not fold when he sees you look up at him with such wanton need, begging him to bury into the deepest part of you? When you’re presenting yourself, whispering coos into his ear, and pressing sinful kisses to his hot skin.

Once the words leave your lips, the pilot is immediately pressing himself into your sopping cunt, and bullying his girth into you, stretching your velvety walls to accommodate his heavy length. His hips twitch, eager to fill you up with thick ropes of his hot seed and admire you as it pools in filthy globs underneath you, seeping into his dark sheets. He wants to lay in his bed and be reminded that you were here in that moment, in all waking moments.

Your lips part and a sharp breath is sucked into your lungs when you feel his tip notch into your entrance, but then you feel his entire cock splitting you open. The stretch is more than you expect and you’re suddenly crying out and clawing at his broad shoulders, twirling the cool chain of his necklace in your fingers with pleasured whines and pleas that grow in pitch as he sinks in your velvety walls inch by inch.

“Oh, fuc-” You swear he enjoys the way that you’re squirming around his thick length, takes pride in the way you’re writhing and moaning and eating your words as he folds you into a mean mating press.

“Oh, fuck… don’t stop, please. ‘s too deep, too good.” You hear yourself whine out, head falling back onto the plush pillow. He takes the time to kiss down on the glossy sheen of your neck, pink tongue darting out to taste your salty skin and the drool that trickles from the corner of your mouth.

“It’s too deep? Okay, I’ll be more gentle.” His voice is hot and gravelly against your ear, nibbling and suckling deep marks into your skin that'll last for days to come, each a reminder of this night.

His finger latch at your hips, pinning you down as his hips pull back until his tip is just barely lodged in the warmth of your cunt, fucking you gently with just the tip like the teasing bastard he is. He can’t tear his eyes away though, enraptured at the way your cunt flutters so greedily around him, trying to suck more of him into your desperate pussy.

“It’s my fault,” he croons, licking and suckling at your pebbling nipples with his mocking voice, “I should’ve made sure every part of you accepted me.”

You love Caleb, you truly do. But when he’s like this, making you eat your own words and fucking you with his sensitive, leaky tip, you just want him to fold you until your ankles hook over his shoulder and sink his entire length into the walls of your pussy until you feel him in your chest.

So you pull him closer by the cool chain of his dog tag, whining and pleading incessantly again to sink into you, to have his cock kissing your cervix, and flooding your womb with white ropes of his hot cum. It's really the least he could do. Slurred pleas of “gimme more” are pressed to his throat, a pitiful attempt to lull him into sheathing himself into the warmth of your pulsing walls once again.

And though it seems pathetic and pitiful, Caleb is Caleb. He is a man who can never deny you, no matter how absurd, minute or simple a request is; he wants to be the only one to complete it for you. The only one you turn to, the only one you need.

“It can't be too deep or too shallow. Can't be too rough or too gentle either. You're so hard to please.” He mumbles hotly against your ear but he relents, mounting himself on top of you and sliding his thick length into the warmth of your clenching cunt once again. He falls onto his forearms, palms cupping the top of your head to prevent your head from hitting the headboard. His deep strokes are punctuated when the bed knocks against the wall with a repeated thump, thump, thump and it only serves to remind you of his need.

The air feels like it’s been knocked out of your lungs and you whine into the kiss he captures your lips in — hot and flushed with need as his cock repeatedly bullies your g-spot. Your lips part and his name falls like a mantra, the only coherent thought in your head being Caleb and how good he’s making you feel.

It’s erotic, lewdly so, the way his skin on yours reverberates in the room and yet swallowed by the obscene squelching of your soaked cunt every time the man on top of you bottoms out, chasing his high and desperately bringing yours to you. Your whines and moans of his name sound sweeter than any harmony he’s ever heard and he swears that heaven opened its gates to a sinner like him. His name falls from your lips and yours from his, a swearing of devotion in your hazy minds. Born from a desire meant only for each other.

When his hand dips lower, thumbing at your sensitive clit, you find your lower stomach coiling and growing taut quickly — too quickly that you’re pushing at his sturdy shoulders with a throaty cry, back arching, legs trembling, and toes curling when he doesn’t stop his unrelenting rhythm.

“Cal-Caleb, stop. ‘s too much, I—”

He cuts you off, devouring your lips in a sloppy, languid kiss, globs of his saliva blend with yours, tongues tangling, and salacious webs of saliva connect your lips when he pulls away with a smug smile.

“My name isn’t a safeword.”

His teasing words instantly cause the tightness in your stomach to snap and you cum with a pleasured cry. With nothing to grasp onto, your nails rake down his back, reddening lines trailing in wake of the lingering crescent marks.

“Shit, shit, fu—”

The dull pain is barely registered when he feels your walls fluttering as you cum, surging his own orgasm through him. His eyes screw shut, bursts of white flashing behind his lids, and a raspy groan of your name rips from his vocal cords, hips erratically bucking until he’s overstimulating the both of you and painting your walls white with fat loads of his seed.

He collapses on top of you, burying his face into the sweaty crook of your neck, and laying kisses to your collarbone and neck, laving his tongue over the lovebites left over. He hums in contentment when your hands card through the damp strands of his dark hair, tracing the red lines on his shoulders and back — proof that you’ve laid claim on him.

His fingers rub soothing shapes into your hips and thighs, allowing a few shared beats of your hearts to pass before he's looking up at you with a spark in his eye. Still buried inside you, he flips your positions so that you’re on top of him, hands secured around your waist, and peppering kisses to the lavender bruises that’ve bloomed on your chest.

“Think we could go for a round two?

Caleb’s words send a light laugh through you and you’re wrapping your fingers around the silver chain of his dog tags, pulling him impossibly closer, and nosing the skin of his cheek with a teasingly glint in your eyes.

“Think you can handle me for another round? You seem kind of wiped, Caleb.” You tease, scattering light kisses along his jaw and your lips curl into a smug smile when his hands tighten imperceptibly on your waist.

In a second, he’s flipping you onto your back again with a raised brow and a light smirk. His violet hues look down hungrily at you.

He won't be satiated for a while.

“I guess we won’t know until we find out, will we?” He leans closer, his breath hot on your lips and silver chain cooling on your burning skin. “This time, you can’t tell me to stop.”

to the person at infold who is in charge of Caleb’s secret times… 🫡

#lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #caleb love and deepspace #crescent.creates #caleb smut #caleb x mc #caleb x y/n #xia yizhou #xia yizhou x reader #divider by cafekitsune #lads smut #lnds smut #c.caleb

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navybrat817 · 1 year ago

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Why isn't Bucky waking me up to have his way with me?

I wish I had the answer, nonnie!

Slip Inside

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky can't resist having you when he comes home.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, somnophilia (at first), established relationship, pet names, possessive behavior, slight feels (it's me, okay?), lovesick and needy Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I can't send Bucky, but here you lovelies go! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky wasn't meant to be home until tomorrow. He almost called to let you know he’d be back a day early, but it was late and he didn't want to disturb your slumber. Imagining the happy look in your eyes when you woke up beside him brought a smile to his face. Being loved by you was something he still couldn't believe was real some days, but he knew in the depths of his soul that you would always be his girl.

“Welcome home,” he whispered to himself when he saw you in bed, a sight for sore eyes.

He kept his gaze on you as he undressed, careful not to make any noise. You had an arm draped over the pillow next to you, the one he usually rested his head on. His heart raced as he took a step closer and gently pulled the blanket away, your body barely covered by the shirt he recently bought for you. Shivering slightly, you tried to curl in on yourself, but stilled quickly.

Like you knew he was watching you.

“I love you,” he breathed into the room.

You replied with a moan and rubbed your hand against the pillow.

You were beautiful when you slept. If you asked him, you were gorgeous all the time. A breathless kind of vision that he grew to appreciate more and more each day. But you weren't like a piece of art for him to just admire. You were the type of beauty meant to be appreciated.

And he gladly did so with his hands, mouth, and cock.

Oh, he loved you. Fuck, he needed you, too. It was an ache. A hunger. Awake, asleep, it didn't matter as long as he had you. And you were understanding enough to let him take what he needed.

“Mine,” he whispered.

Bucky quickly took the opportunity to slip into the bed and spoon you from behind. Your steady breathing grounded him in a sense while awakening the beast he kept at bay. The one that wanted to come out and play. One that needed to bury himself deep and keep you full.

If you were awake, he would've turned your head to kiss you nice and slow, unrushed even with the mounting desperation. Instead he rubbed his nose and scruffy chin at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, breathing in the distinctly sweet scent of you while wanting to leave his claim. That no one else could touch or have you. That you were his.

“You're mine,” he growled lowly.

Rubbing the inside of your thigh once he pushed your shirt up enough, he heard your breathing hitch. He wasn't ready for you to wake up just yet, but it didn't keep him moving his hand higher and grasping the elastic of your underwear. He debated tearing the offending fabric off, but he couldn't fault you for wearing them.

You didn't know he'd come home tonight.

He also thought about touching you through your panties to feel you squirm under his touch. Your whines and whimpers always made his cock twitch, especially when you soaked the fabric. Sometimes he liked to shove them in your mouth so you could taste yourself and know he was the one who did that to you.

Only him.

He brushed his lips along your skin as he pulled it down, almost wishing he was in front of you so he could look down and see your exposed pussy. “Mine,” he whispered again as his fingers parted your folds and skimmed over your clit.

You moved back against him with a sigh, enticing him without even trying. Alternating between teasing the bundle of nerves and your slit, he felt his own breathing get heavier and harsh with each passing second. By the time he brought his fingers to his mouth to lick your juices away, his cock was hard and heavy with the need to sink into your dripping cunt. He grunted as your flavor exploded on his tongue. He was done with foreplay.

And with how you panted and writhed, you were ready for him.

He hooked your leg over his thick thigh to open you up, hoping it wouldn't hurt when you stretched around him. “I love you,” he said once more as he brushed the tip of his cock against your hole, sighing as he slowly filled you up.

He had to close his eyes and hide his face in your neck to keep from losing it. He could go for hours when he wanted to, but the feel of your warm wetness gripping him like a vice was almost too much. Finishing quickly or not didn't matter. You’d take it as a compliment if your sweet cunt made him empty himself inside you so fast.

But he had to make it last and make you come first.

With a deep breath, he got himself under control. You let out the sweetest whine when he almost pulled out completely and shoved himself back in. Curled around you, all you could do was take his deep thrusts. He could've breathed through his nose and tried to stay quiet. He could’ve gone slow and steady. But he moaned and nipped at your skin, not wanting to hide his desire for you.

He couldn't see your face, but he felt you roll your hips back as you began to stir and heard another whine escape. You weren't completely awake, but your body craved what he was doing to you. It was enough for him to roll you on your stomach and quicken his pace.

“Bucky?” You mumbled.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I couldn't resist. Your pussy’s too good,” he groaned, putting a hand to the back of your neck to hold you still. “I need you. Need to feel you come on my cock.”

You fluttered around him as he stretched over your back, forcing you to take every inch of him. Your body went pliant as you let out a tired and needy moan. If you wanted him to stop, you would’ve told him to do so. “Please,” you whined as he practically rutted into you.

“I got you,” he grunted, driving harder into you as your fingers twisted in the sheets. “Missed you. Missed you so fucking much. Might need to keep my cock in you all night.”

You trembled, both of you knowing you’d lay there and let him fuck you all night if he asked. You were so good for him. And greedy. It would be wrong of him not to give you what you longed for.

“And you'll let me fill you up, won't you? Of course, you will,” he panted against your ear. You tried to arch your back, but his massive frame overpowered you. “It’s okay. Just take it. Let me have you.”

Fucking you raw was a gift he’d selfishly continue to ask for and take. But how could he not? You always let out the prettiest sounds when he flooded your holes.

He couldn't stop himself from shoving his hand between the mattress and your body, seeking out your clit to tip you over the edge. Moans poured from you as he lightly pinched it, giving you the push you needed. “That’s it. Come on my cock. My cock. My good girl,” he encouraged as you clamped around him hard enough for him to lose his breath.

You nearly cried as he took you apart. “Bu… Bucky…”

“Trembling around my cock. Greedy girl,” he moaned, his hips snapping faster as he brought his mouth back to your ear. “My turn.”

He let out a deep groan as he stilled, filling you. His release hit him so hard his head spun, muttering his love for and possession of you as his eyes fluttered. You let out a broken moan as you clenched around him again and he had to keep from collapsing against you, both of you fighting for air.

“Love you,” he mumbled, wanting you to hear it now that you were awake.

He only pulled out so he could move you to your back and desperately kiss your lips the way he needed to, pushing himself back inside your leaking hole with a hum. Your eyes were half-lidded when he broke the kiss. Your gaze made him want to ruin you all over again.

“Love you, too,” you croaked, your back bowing when he groped your breast through the shirt. “Welcome home.”

Bucky’s heart pounded as he leaned down to kiss you again. It was a dance of tongue and teeth, dizzying and passionate. Some days you were the fire and others you were the fuel. You accepted the entirety of him and he welcomed everything you selflessly gave him in return.

“Good to be home, baby,” he smirked, brushing his thumb along your covered nipple. “Now stay awake. I need to fill you up at least two more times before the sun comes up.”

Even after that, he wasn't close to being done with you. But he was whole because he was home with you. And that would always be enough.

We deserve this, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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smuttysabina · 1 month ago

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Motherly Impregnations with Yiren

(Male Reader x Yiren/Jihyo(short), 4.3k words) Tags: More mommy time, You don't need massive tits to be a mommy, Slight incest, Stern mothering, Oral and vaginal sex, Erotic dancing, Disappointing sex, Premature ejaculation, Impregnation, Setup chapter for the tropical incest bonanza

Previous Chapter

You had always had Mommy issues, though to be fair, you had recently acquired more than a few "Mommies", who were more than willing to scratch that particular itch. As it turned out, your dear cousin Jihyo had a plethora of fellow idols who were only too happy to help satisfy your lack of motherly attention; in a manner that usually left you emotionally fulfilled, while testicularly drained. Even Jihyo herself had joined in on the fun, though she had coyly forbidden you from penetrative sex, her hands, thighs, and breasts had milked you multiple times over the months; and it had left you even further enthralled by her than you had been before Gahyun had popped your cherry. Now your cousin dragged you along to all sorts of events, and sometimes you didn't end up getting pampered by some amorous idol and drained of your seed simply for being Jihyo's relative. So that was how you found yourself backstage at a recital, while a beautiful vixen salaciously danced in front of you, her every movement an advertisement in lust; you quite honestly had not expected you would be getting fucked tonight, but Yiren seemed intent on making it happen.

Like most evenings these days, Jihyo had arrived after the sun had set, and cheerfully told you what you both would be doing this evening. Ordinarily you would have chafed at such tight control over your social life, but so you had grown so obsessed in your quest to fuck your cousin that you readily agreed to her every whim if it got you one step closer to that goal. Of course, Jihyo knew what you wanted, but was more that willing to use your arousal to mold you into the kind of man she wanted you to be; and it wasn't as if she was ignoring your sexual needs. Why, just last night... You moan pitifully as Jihyo's soft lips slowly move down your shaft, kissing every inch of your length until your tip is drooling precum. Your cousin smiles knowingly while she continues to stroke your cock, evidently you would not be lasting long enough for her to need to use her breasts, let alone her thighs, to bring you to orgasm. She still opens her mouth in pretend shock though when your load erupts all over her face, "Oh! Good boy..." she coos as she licks up the mess she made on your manhood... Next thing you knew you had been bundled into a car with the heavily pregnant Jihyo and driven to a nearby theatre, where an idol from a group you were not very familiar with was putting on a performance of sorts.

Jihyo had never been very close with the idols of Everglow, even if she had been extremely keen on assisting them with matters regarding... breeding. So you had been somewhat perplexed when she announced during the ride to the venue that Yiren had been practicing for a show of sorts, and had wanted to test her abilities in front of a live audience of discerning skill; which obviously meant Jihyo. Still, your cousin was usually far too busy with normal idol tasks for such a trivial request, and not from one of her favorites no less, so something about Yiren's offer must have caught her attention. You had never even met the girl before, and most of what you knew about her had come from watching a video of her and the other members of Everglow getting bred by some guy with a truly monstrous cock. Yiren had been quite dignified, and had indeed mounted it first, arrogant even while her belly was bulging obscenely and she looked on the verge of passing out. As for the rest of the girls, well, watching a girl so short you could rest you arm on her head taking a dick as long as her torso to the hilt had been... an experience to say the least. Even Jihyo had seemed somewhat queasy at the frantic glee those perverts had shown when stretching their bodies far past the breaking point.

So it was a touch awkward when you finally meet Yiren in person, after she effusively greets Jihyo, she turns her attention towards you; and it felt embarrassing to give her a polite hug after having watched her getting violated in such a visceral fashion. But she seemed none the worse for wear as she guides you through the modest venue and into the familiar surroundings of a practice room. Her attendants pull up comfortable chairs for you to sit in while you wait, as Yiren bows in gratitude before hurriedly leaving to get changed for you two; it seems like you and Jihyo would be getting a private performance of sorts before the main event began. The pair of you settle in, chatting idly like normal cousins would, though Jihyo's hand seemed oddly intent on stroking your thigh from time to time. The minutes swing by, until the idol's phone starts buzzing energetically, she idly answers it, her eyebrows narrowing as she glances intently to the side, before sighing and simply saying, "On my way," she pats your leg apologetically, "Sorry dear, Yeji broke into the intern pens again, so I'll have to go handle that, be a good boy and stay for me, okay? I'll be back once I get things settled down back at the office" Jihyo, kisses you on the forehead before marching out of the room, annoyance clearly written on her features as she waddles out; graceful even with a massive belly. Leaving you to enjoy the coming performance alone.

Yiren looks miffed when she waltzes back into the room and finds her feted spectator missing, looking accusingly at you as if you were the one who caused her to leave. Her fury only makes her look all the more attractive though, displeasure looks good on her, and her elegantly applied makeup only heightens the effect. Yiren was dressed like a courtesan of old, her taut stomach on display while her breasts were demurely pushed up, and her limber legs obscured by a tasseled dress. It made you feel as if you were in one of those period dramas, a nobleman indulgently allowing some peasant to dance for him only for her to catch his interest, as well as his seed later that night. In those shows though, the dancer tended to be humble and kindly compared to her competition while Yiren was... "Oh that fucking slut is at it again? Typical, she never could control herself," Yiren sniffs pointedly, as if she had never enjoyed sexual relations with several fans at once. And to be fair to her, you had also been shocked that the bumbling and cheerful Yeji harbored nigh sociopathic levels of nymphomania; her fear of Jihyo's displeasure was likely the only thing that stopped you from being ravaged long before those two Mommies ushered you into manhood.

With a resigned sigh, Yiren puts her hands on her hips and appraises you more closely, though judging by her raised eyebrow she was none too impressed by what she was seeing, "You are... Jihyo's cousin, aren't you?" she muses upon this, before nodding with slight satisfaction, her complex hairdo bobbing slightly atop her head, "Very well, I had wanted her feedback on my dance, but you will have to do. The show officially starts in an hour, so we have more than enough time," Yiren claps her hands to catch her attendant's attention, and they scurry to ignite scented braziers and lower the overhead lights to set the proper ambiance. A low, warbling undertone starts up from speakers bolted to the ceiling, tickling your eardrums in a not entirely unpleasant fashion, as Yiren leans down over you. She smiles as you awkwardly shift in your seat, "Don't worry, I won't bite, just... relax," she affectionately pats your cheek before whirling about and sauntering back to the center of the room. Yiren smoothly twists and bows towards you, her long, red armbands dangling as she demurely supplicates herself; giving you the barest peak of her modest cleavage before she sweeps back into an upright stance. The performance, had begun.

Yiren moves in long, languid movements, unhurriedly showing off her lithe body, wordlessly introducing herself to you as she glides around the floor. A slow, pounding drumbeat accentuates her every step, her hips swaying from side to side in time with it, her skirt rustling tantalizingly, emphasizing her slightest motion. The beat suddenly increases, and Yiren's dress swirls about her as she spins, her leg lifting up to briefly reveal a hint of pinkish skin amidst the roiling folds of her outfit before it is hidden once more as her leg lowers. You lean forward, your interest piqued by that flash of glistening flesh... Yiren, a light smile gracing her elegant features, returns to her sensually lazy movements; but now that you were fully acquainted with her body, she shows what she is going to do with it. The drums pound once more as the idol prances lasciviously about the floor, her limber legs swinging wildly as she draws ever closer to where you are sitting. You are dumbstruck as her skirts ride gradually higher on her hips, pushed upwards by her violent movements, giving you ever more glimpses of that unmistakable slash between her thighs. Your heart slams in your chest in primal sympathy with the beat, and you are utterly enthralled by Yiren, addicted to every seductive flourish of her legs. Your brain is fogged by desire that you do not notice how close she is until her foot sails over your head, granting you an unobstructed view for the first time, as well as the heady scent of a woman in heat. Yiren turns the motion into a spin, smoothly flicking her skirt about herself to reveal her bare bottom before ending in an arched pose; her arms above her head, with one leg raised just enough to, finally, show you what you hungered for.

You are almost drooling as you drink in the sight of Yiren's perfectly formed pussy. Her delicate clit heralding the smoothest set of lips you had ever seen, her modest folds demanding to be pampered and worshipped before you could even consider entering them. Yiren stares down at you, her chest heaving as she lowers her arms, "I take it... you enjoyed... my performance?" she glances pointedly down at the conspicuous bulge in your pants, a weary smile upon her face. Your manhood is all the response she needs, but you are still unable to stop yourself from moaning an affirmative. Yiren cocks her head as she slips into your lap, her arms draping themselves around the back of your chair, "Mommy?" she inquires, "Your mother is far from here, but I would be... happy to take her place," she slides a hand across your shoulders and down your chest, "Now then, Mommy needs something from you, do try and not disappoint, hm?" The strain in your pants grows even greater in response, and she steps back, hands on hips, "Well? Pants off. Now." You shakily shove your pants down your legs, your cock springing energetically as it tastes the humid air of the room. You both look awkwardly at one another for several breaths, before Yiren sighs once more, "I see, I had hoped the father of my first child would have a little more... gumption to him. I suppose I will be on top then."

You attempt to get up out of your seat in protest, but Yiren's hand firmly stops you before you can rise, "Oh, stop. You forfeited your chance to breed me in a dignified fashion the moment you did not fall to your knees and prepare me like a proper man would. So sit back, shut up, and let Mommy do all the work, since apparently you can't." You stammer out a question as she sits upon your lap once more, and Yiren frowns, "What do you mean, 'Already pregnant'? Why would- Oh. There was a video, wasn't there?" You nod shyly, causing the idol to roll her eyes, "Please, as if I would let a fucking peasant like that impregnate me? I had E:U clean me out afterwards, my womb deserves the seed of... worthy men," Yiren pats your cheek, "But you'll do," She smirks haughtily, clearly reveling in her superiority over you, but it wasn't as if you could do anything about; after all, your cock cared little about your wounded pride. Her hand grasps your now thoroughly erect member, orienting it towards her slick entrance, "Feel free to finish whenever you'd like," Yiren informs you, "But do try and impress me..."

Muggy warmth engulfs your cock as Yiren sits on it, her pampered pussy devouring your length, causing you to groan plaintively as you struggle to hold on. She politely pauses when she reaches your hilt, allowing you to collect yourself before she starts moving again, a slow grind that morphs into a languid bounce. Yiren skirt rasps against your legs as she arrogantly rides your dick, displaying not even an ounce of pleasure as she methodically fucks you. Her face remains serene as her folds clench tightly around your shaft, and only when you start to moan for her does a half-smile graces her lips, "Is Mommy too tight for you? I can feel your balls pulsating, are you going to let go? Go on," Yiren purrs, "Disappoint me..." You shudder as you feel yourself giving in, you were so used to being showered with praise during sex, but being sternly scolded was surprisingly arousing; and your traitorous testicles seemed more than eager to fill this fertile princess... Yiren plants herself firmly against you when you creampie her, callously ruining your orgasm to produce the largest load possible, your semen flooding her pussy as you twitch beneath her., "My," Yiren smirks as she strokes your face, "I had low expectations, but you truly managed to reach even those. Surely this wasn't your first time? Whatever," Yiren places her finger on your lips to forestall any protests, "Now hush, Mommy needs to open her cervix."

Yiren breathes deeply, concentrating upon her body's little used muscles, and flexing her exposed core muscles rhythmically until she lets out the softest of moans, "I can feel it..." she kisses your sweaty forehead, "Congratulations, you're going to be a parent, I imagine Jihyo will be pleased," With that she gracefully unmounts you, allowing your excess cum to drip down her slender thighs, and glances at the clock on the wall, and lets out an unlady-like snort, "It seems we are blessed with a surfeit of time, at this rate we will be able to fit several rounds in with ease," she glances at you, "Well? Get it up again. You might have impregnated me, but I will be damned if I let the father of my child be such an embarrassment in bed," You blush brightly from her scornful words, it was hardly your fault that Mommy's pussy had been so breedable... But Yiren's tongue lashing made not only your cheeks flush with blood, as your manhood rises once more to the challenge, still slick with her juices and slathered with your own. The idol nods in satisfaction, "Well, at least you still have your youthful vigor," she stalks over to the abandoned chair and bends over it, sweeping her skirt up over the side of her hip to give you an unobscured view of her perky rear, "Pleasure your Mommy. I am curious to see how you perform with a bit more stamina in you."

Filled with fresh determination, you approach Yiren eager to prove her wrong with a more forceful showing. Her pussy was on clear display between her petite cheeks, its delicate lips already glistening from your earlier sex, primly shut once more as it awaits your member. With one hand on her hip, you press your cock against Yiren's slit, attempting to find her entrance, until a resigned sigh halts your efforts. Yiren looks back at you, "Oh. It's worse than I thought, Jihyo truly has been indulging you hasn't she?" Your face crumples in confusion, causing Yiren to roll her eyes, "Let me guess, whenever you're with a 'Mommy' you grope them for a time, they touch you a little, then they guide you between their thighs, and after a few pumps you fill them, and they tell you what a 'good boy' you are for not just fucking exploding on them before entering?" Your embarrassed silence is all the answer Yiren needs, "Has Jihyo not trained you at all?" she asks in exasperation, "You would think she would want her cousin to at least be serviceable between the sheets..." you mumble a pitiful response, "Oh, she hasn't let you fuck her yet? I'm honestly surprised," Yiren shrugs and waves her hand dismissively, "Whatever, it's time for you to learn how to pleasure a woman, dear."

"My pussy," Yiren lectures, "Is more than just some rude hole for you to shove your sweaty meat into. Rub it, spank it, poke at it with your cock, if you do not make me feel good, then I will simply ruin your next orgasm onto the floor," With that stern warning in mind, you do as she says, brushing your cockhead against her slit, relishing in the way it gushes juices around it as you stroke your tip up and down her lower lips. Yiren lets out a speculative noise, "Hmm, decent enough I suppose, now penetrate me, slowly this time. You are not pounding away at some cheap fleshlight, you are having sex with a lady, do try to treat me like one." Blushing, you try and do as she instructed, and having spent the last several minutes exploring her folds with your dick, you have a much better idea where you are supposed to insert it. The angle is still poor though, and Yiren eventually has to help guide you inside of her, the heat of her pussy welcoming your tip back into it. It is all you can do to stop yourself from immediately shoving yourself balls-deep inside of your Mommy, and you manage to push into her gradually. Yiren lets out a pleased sigh, "Very good, now begin thrusting, also if you finish inside of me before I let you, Mommy will be very displeased, understand? Good, now fuck me."

With your hands wrapped around Yiren's tiny waist, you do your best to please her. Her tiny ass barely even squishes against your crotch as you thrust into her, and the easy view of your cock filling her modestly sized pussy drives you wild; it looks as if you were impaling her with every pump. Your Mommy seems unperturbed by your efforts however, and her folds grip tightly around your shaft, the pink flesh of her sex dragging along it whenever you pull back. Much like a courtesan of old, Yiren's pussy is supremely skilled at pleasuring cocks, and soon you are once more on the edge, and are forced to slow down. Yiren giggles demurely, "Well, at least you learned to control yourself somewhat. Now then, angle your penis downwards, and hit my sensitive spot when you thrust," She obligingly lowers her butt to make things easier for you, but it still takes a few minutes of ineffectual thrusting before you are finally able to get it right. But of course, a few minutes fucking an idol's sublime pussy was enough to once more have you leaking precum inside of Yiren. Who clucks in annoyance when you slow down once more, "Again? Pity, it was actually starting to feel a touch pleasant," Yiren's surprising approval is enough to cause another welter of watery fluid to gush into her, and she sighs indulgently, "Oh very well, I suppose it is too much to hope you would actually become competent in bed so quickly," she slaps your hand, "Pull out, now. I have a reward for you..."

Following your Mommy's instructions, you stand awkwardly against the chair while she gracefully settles herself in front of you. Yiren stares up at you with that familiar half-smile of hers, no doubt amused by your obvious hesitation, her delicate makeup still immaculate even after her exhausting performance, as well as her less intensive sex with you. With seductive laziness, she pulls down her top, revealing her perky breasts, her smirk widening as you hump the air; they might be of modest size, but the sight of any Mommy's breasts was enough to excite you. Yiren languidly places her hand onto your cock, causing you to shiver, her nimble fingers wrapping themselves around your slick skin. Without warning she jerks you off, skillfully stroking your dick while maintaining stern eye contact with you. You gasp, pant, whine, shuddering from the intense stimulation of your Mommy's hand squeezing your cock mercilessly as she works your load out; it was all too much, you were going to get ruined on the floor for being a bad boy! But Yiren had other plans for your load, as she brings her face close to your oozing tip, "Cum for me. Now," she demands, and you blissfully comply.

Yiren's refined makeup, an entire hour of the beautician's hard work, is obliterated as vast ropes of steaming semen spew all over the idol's face. She purrs with pleasure as her face is inundated with jizz, her eyes drowning in it, her patrician nose covered in it, her elegant hairdo soaked in it, and all the while she continues to work your shaft until the final trickles of sludge burble out of your reddened tip and into her mouth. Yiren lets out a pleased noise as she cleans your cockhead with her tongue, "Impressive, your stamina might be lacking, but at least your loads are pleasantly sized," You beam at her praise, but her grip remains tight upon your manhood when you try and move back, "Did I say I was finished, that was not your reward, this is," and Yiren promptly puts it in her mouth. Your cock was still sensitive from its recent climax, so the stimulation from the idol's blowjob was enough to have you gibbering with pleasure. You write against the chair as Yiren expertly sucks you off, your seed drying upon her face even as she salaciously works yet more out of you. Her tongue swirls around your shaft while her head bobs up and down your length, her lips locked tightly around it even as her hands massage your balls and press against your taint. Not even a minute after your last orgasm, your next load is already spraying directly into Yiren's stomach; and being a dignified lady, she swallows every last drop without even a cough.

When Yiren finally releases you from her clutches, you collapse back into the chair, utterly exhausted even though you had really not put all that much work in. Your balls ached horribly, and your manhood was stained red with her lipstick, "You have been marked," your Mommy explains, "So when Jihyo spots it she will know it was me..." Yiren snorts at your confusion, "I'm teasing, she'll smell my pussy on you, and know exactly just who you've been inside." She lithely gets back onto her feet, clapping her hands for her attendants once more; honestly, you had not even noticed they had left. You scramble to cover yourself as the girls rush inside, adjusting the idol's outfit, but abstaining from cleaning off the jizz coating the various parts of her body. Noting your curiosity, Yiren explains, "It is an old custom for courtesans to receive their lover's last load upon their faces, both as evidence of their sexual prowess, as well as their lover's virility. I shall wear yours in celebration of my impregnation. Stand proud dear, I wouldn't let any common dross breed me." And with that, Yiren sweeps out of the room, trailing her attendants like a comet's tail behind her as she hurries to the stage. If her performance was anything like your private one, then the reception would be a rather sticky one.

Left to your own devices, your pull your clothes back on, but before you can leave, your cousin bustles through the door, no doubt out of breath from hurrying back from the company building. She pouts as she notices that you are alone, "Aw, did I miss it? Why did they leave you here..." Jihyo sniffs the air, her eyes narrowing, before looking pointedly at you, "I see, so you enjoyed yourself then?" You nod shyly, unsure as to what her reaction would be, but she nods in satisfaction, "Good, I was worried she wouldn't get knocked up from a few weeks ago, she always has been a prissy little bitch." Jihyo pats your head endearingly, "Well done, I'm proud of you, good boy!" You blush with pleasure as your cousin leads you back out to the car, passing by various finely dressed people as they hurry to reach their seats in time. Most of them stop to stare at the obviously pregnant and deliciously voluptuous idol as she saunters by, causing the slightest stirrings of jealousy in you. Jihyo allows your hands to roam where they should not during the car ride back, but she gently pries them off of her when they attempt to slip down her pants, "Patience, dear," she reassures you, "I'm due in a few weeks, and then after that we have our trip with Lisa and some other girls. Don't look so glum! Momo will be staying over to help with things while I'm busy pushing the baby out, and you know how much she enjoys pampering you..."

It was to your surprise, later that night when showering off, that you were unable to remove Yiren's lipstick from around your shaft; it seems like she had not been teasing after all about marking you...

#smut #kpop smut #everglow smut #yiren smut #jihyo smut #twice smut #kpop fanfic

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honeyncherry · 1 month ago

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we never tell - joe burrow

summary some mistakes only happen once — others walk through the front door and say "hi" to your mom

content 18+, suggestive, angst

"Did you take the pie out?!"

Your mother’s voice slices through the kitchen, sharp enough to rattle the glassware. You jump, nearly dropping the bowl of mashed potatoes you’ve been absently stirring for the last five minutes.

“What pie?” you ask, half-turning, but she’s already storming past you, yanking the oven door open with the kind of urgency that suggests an actual crisis is unfolding.

“The pecan pie!” she exclaims, fanning at the billowing heat. “The only thing your Grandma asked for, and I swore I told someone to take it out fifteen minutes ago.”

From outside, your dad’s voice drifts in, relaxed and completely unconcerned. “Everything alright in there?”

“No, it is not alright,” your mother yells, slamming the oven shut with enough force to rattle the stovetop. “It’s burnt.”

Your brother, who has been supervising (read: drinking beer while Dad does all the work), slides the back door open and peers inside. He takes one look at the situation: the scorched pie, your mom’s mounting frustration, the way you’re gripping the counter like bracing for impact.

“Doesn’t look that bad,” he mutters.

Your mother whirls around on him so fast that he takes an instinctive step back. He quickly retreats outside without another word — back to whatever life-threatening experiment he and your father are attempting with the turkey.

The kitchen reeks of cinnamon, nutmeg, and impending disaster. The house is thick with the kind of tension that comes from too many relatives packed into one space for a holiday. The sound of football blares from the living room, clashing with your aunts' chatter at the dining table.

And yet, beneath all of it — beneath the burnt pie, the inevitable migraine, the impending cycle of small talk you’d rather gouge your eyes out than endure; there’s something else.

Something off.

It’s been crawling up your spine all morning. Clinging to you like static. No matter how many times you roll your shoulders, shake out your hands, try to shove it down, it sticks.

Because you’re carrying a secret.

A big one.

The doorbell rings. A welcome interruption.

“Can someone get that?!” your mom huffs while elbow-deep in pie dough, already moving on from disaster to damage control.

Your feet move on autopilot.

You pull open the door.

Robin Burrow beams at you, bundled against the November chill, her blond hair peeking out from under a knitted beanie. “Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart!” she says, pulling you into a warm hug before you can even register the cold seeping into the house.

Robin Burrow, who has been in your life for as long as you can remember.

Robin Burrow, who’s practically a second mom.

Robin Burrow — who is very much not the problem.

She and your mother met in elementary school and never really drifted apart. Not through high school, not through college, not even after careers and marriages and kids forced miles between them. They always found their way back to each other, the kind of lifelong friendship that made family out of people who weren’t technically blood.

The Burrows were always there.

When you were little, Robin was the mom who never let you feel left out. The one who snuck you extra cookies when no one was looking. Who let you curl up next to her on their couch during sleepovers when the boys had long since passed out. Who kept bandaids in her purse for scraped knees, and kissed the tops of your heads before sending you back outside to play.

And there was Jimmy whose deep voice and easy laughter always filled a room. If Robin was a second mom, then Jimmy was a second dad. Miraculously, one of your father’s closest friends. Always at every backyard barbecue and every football game. All milestones your families celebrated together.

Then, of course, there were the boys.

You were always a little on the outside when it came to them. Not in a bad way, just in a natural way.

The Burrow brothers were thick as thieves, and your brother fit seamlessly into their chaos. You were the wildcard, the youngest, always just a step behind.

At first, it was all of them: Jamie, Dan, Joe, and your brother. A whirlwind of shoving and shouting and sprinting barefoot across the backyard. But as the years passed, the older Burrow boys got driver’s licenses, girlfriends, and jobs. They didn’t have time for reckless backyard football or pointless dares anymore.

Eventually, it was just Joe and your brother.

Their bond only tightened as the others moved on.

And you?

You were still on the outskirts.

Your brother and Joe let you join in on football games when they needed an extra person, but even then, you weren’t really one of them.

Joe was polite. Quiet. A familiar presence, never more, never less.

A fixture at every family event, a familiar face in a sea of familiar faces. You exchanged small talk: How’s school? How’s football? when your moms forced you into conversation, but it never went deeper than that.

Joe was your brother’s friend.

A name you knew.

A person you’d never really known.

And yet, your breath catches — because now, that Joe is stepping inside.

Except he’s not the same to you.

His broad frame fills the doorway, cold air curling around him like it doesn’t want to let go. He drops a duffel bag (no doubt packed for the annual flag football game) to the floor with a quiet thud.

His shoulders rise with an exhale, the muscles in his neck flexing before his hands shove into the pockets of his LSU sweatshirt. The sweatshirt hangs loose over his frame, but you know what’s underneath.

You remember it.

His hair is still damp, fresh from a shower. The sight of it sends a jolt straight through you because you can recall what it looked like last night — messy from your hands, sticking to his forehead, his jaw slack, breath ragged.

He was wrecked.

Because of you.

You remember the way he tipped his head back with a groan, the way his fingers dug into your skin, the way his voice cracked when he said your name.

And now?

Now, he’s the picture of control. Completely casual and unbothered.

He scans the room like he doesn’t feel the weight of your stare. Like this is just another Thanksgiving. Like he didn’t have you pinned beneath him, dragging desperate noises from your swollen lips.

He pretends his hands hadn’t been everywhere — gripping, teasing, taking.

Like his mouth hadn’t been on your skin, branding you, unraveling you, ruining you.

Your stomach twists violently.

Because he had.

You slept with Joe Burrow, and now he’s standing in your parents�� entryway — smiling, hugging your mother and shaking your dad’s hand like he wasn’t inside you less than twelve hours ago.

The warmth of the house turns suffocating.

Your mother gushes over Joe, her voice painfully oblivious. Oh, you’ve grown so much! You look amazing! It’s so good to have you home!

His eyes flicker to you. Quick. Too quick.

But you feel it.

Because the last time he looked at you like that, he was above you.

One drink turned into another.

A conversation turned into a touch.

A touch turned into his lips dragging over your jaw.

"Tell me you want this."

Your answer wasn’t a simple yes. It was a plea. A confession. A surrender.

Yet now, his jaw tightens. He blinks once and looks away.

Like nothing happened.

Like you don’t still feel him everywhere.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

a/n: i have lotsss of ideas for this au but send in any specific requests of what you'd like to see !

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #joe burrow angst #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow x you

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thekinslayed · 5 months ago

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Where Beggars Walk and The Lovers Swim

summary | A grieving widow strikes a deal to bring her husband back to life.

pairing | aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | inspired by orpheus and eurydice, angst, grief, death, book alys leaning, psychosis, incest, some spoilers for f&b, happy ending bc i was feeling sappy 🥹

wordcount | 3.3k

note | consider this my halloween fic :) not a v spooky person but i love me some mythology! orpheus is my fav especially and i loved this idea w aemond! lmk what u guys think!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

Grief had made a phantom out of you. The days since your lover’s fall into dissolution morphed into one sluggish, forlorn disarray. You didn’t know how long it had been— weeks, months perhaps. A transition of incredulity marked your days, then anger, until the numb stretch of woeful nothingness saw war’s end and they whispered of the madness of the green women.

Helaena had gone before you did. Fallen just as Aemond was, and you deemed how much better in tune they were, even in death. You were always a beat too late from him, a step too far to reach. And now Mother wouldn’t stop frantically whispering in your ear, clutching her only living lifeline by the sleeve with rapid whispers of despair. It was making you sicker.

The last living dragon took to the skies at dusk, and for a moment, it was beautiful. Vibrant orange sparked a sliver of life in your otherwise lethargic being, but even that had its end. A punishing downpour of rain slowed your mount as you crossed the Riverlands, but never deferred. The haunting sight of Harrenhal was imposing through bleary eyes, greeting you with its ominous embrace.

Not a soul in sight, the shades of the dead welcomed you in its broken halls and dilapidated walls, and you wondered whether your love was one of them, lingering in some dark corner. Finding her was no challenge, an easier feat than the chase in the night you prepared yourself for.

Alys Rivers sat in what might be one of the last remaining chambers left intact. Her verdant orbs looked at you with expectance, a knowing lift in her thin lips at your trespassing. Your eyes hardened from where you stood at a careful distance, the sharp throbbing in your temple in tune with the cold rain pelting the castle from within. You stared at the face that had stolen from you, had taken the one thing you held dear, and led him to his death.

You had walked in with determination, an angry weight to your every step. Yet, you faltered. The wiggling bundle suckling on her chest fed with satisfaction, a head of silver shimmering against the dark of the night. You stared at the tuft of starlight on its head, and you felt your withered heart scream with the shrapnel of its last broken howl. A piece of him, yet never to be yours.

“Princess. My, what a surprise.”

There was a slippery smoothness in her voice that made the hairs on your nape raise in warning, the grip on your dagger tightening. Your spine remained rigid despite the rising caution in your veins. The sight of your mount circling the open hall was a comfort, an impregnable shield from the unknown.

“You killed my husband,” you glowered, the crackle of your voice unfamiliar as it echoed in the vast threshold. Alys raised her eyebrows, though her eyes remained the same glittering green that left you uneasy.

“I am afraid you confuse me for someone else. Your brother-husband had been slain by your uncle Daemon, princess, not I,” she responded, tone sticky with something sweet. Her raven mane was one with the night, a sharp contrast to her pale flesh. The woman appeared young enough, but common whispers would tell you she was older than the castle itself.

“You fed him with lies, delusions disguised as heretic promises of victory,” you seethed, taking a dangerous step closer. “You took what was mine, and I have come to take it back.”

The babe pulled from his mother’s teat. It stared at you, into the empty depth of what had been a soul. Your void of amethyst hues stared right back. For a moment, it felt like looking at the lonely purple of your dragon’s good eye, the same magnetic ocean that once left you dazed and light as a feather. Until Alys shifted her son, cradling him into her neck, a protective hand on his nape as though you were some pathetic cradle snatcher. You came here for no babe, but an apparition.

“Larys Strong once told me of a story of a sorceress in his father’s house. He said she would tell of his future through the fires in the hearth, cradled him to sleep with dizzying visions he’d fail to make sense of. I figured he told me that to scare me, but I only thought him a fool,” you said, tilting your head as you stood before her. “I imagine you can do much more than lowly tricks on unassuming men. The gods give you power, do they not?”

“Speak plainly, princess, and perhaps we might find agreement,” she warned, stopping your pacing with the sudden drop of her tone. You stared at her, fiery willfulness blazing in your Valyrian orbs.

“I want you to bring my husband back to life.”

Alys’ laugh was shrill, piercing through the continuous pitter-patter of the interior storm. It made you want to cower like a child, foolish for such a demand. Yet her eyes scarcely told you what was beyond her power, merely of her amusement and deceptive wit. “You come into my castle and order me to raise the dead? Quite a bold demand for a woman with naught to offer,” she jabbered, triggering a tick of contempt in your chest. Dragon’s blood began to grow bubbling beneath your flesh, heated despite the chilling cold of the night.

“I have been ripped off my all! I have given you my husband, let him seed you a son with no qualms and now he is dead!” Your rage echoed with an air of despair, no doubt reaching the ears of the listening dead. It only grew as Alys tutted at you as though you were but a petulant child, stomping her pretty feet with her stubborn demands. The glint in her eye called you for what you were— desperate.

“Oh dear darling, your prince’s bed was too cold without a wife in it. He wanted you here, did he not? And yet you weren’t,” she cooed. Her blow landed with a crack on your spirit, hitting you right in the middle of where it hurt. You were needed home, you had told Aemond. War made him grow frazzled, the emergence of bastard dragonriders left him grasping to regain the upper hand. You were no fighter, but Aegon was gone, and Helaena broken with sorrow. You had asked him for forgiveness, and a promise of reunion, until you were too late and all that remained of him was a skeleton tethered to his mount in deep water.

“My little dragon–” Alys smiled, caressing her babe’s head, “–merely came as a token of gratitude for my company.”

The semblance of perfidy in the wide-eyed child reminded you of the failure of your fruitless marriage, broken in vow yet once blazing like wildfire. It should have been yours. You should have been blessed with a babe as beautiful as your husband was, not this conniving woman hungry for your blood. The numbness in your occiput jolted to life with the heat of rage— no, this anger was cold. Your veins icy and sharp like the deepest northern winter, your suffering harsh and unforgiving. Alys’ refusal would have to come with the repercussion of forcing your hand to break even.

“You take me for a fool,” you said, punctuated by the billowing howl of the wind’s turn as your dragon perched on a fragmented column. Your mount may not be the greatest to descend on the burnt stronghold, but she may as well be the last to burn it all to the ground, powered by a widow’s grief. Alys sat straighter in caution, her hand tightening over her son’s skull. You took another step closer, emboldened by the scales’ tipping, while your dragon stood mighty in command. “I know what you are. I have heard of what you see and what you have sought, one of which came from my husband. Your hand forges much more than what you made known, do not hide it.” Your pulse thrummed erratically on the cusp of something great, something tangible. You started to see Alys’ resolve quiver while yours grew denser and fortified. “Bring him back, lest I harden Harren’s curse with my dragon,” you commanded.

“You command me with threats, child?” she spat, standing abruptly. Your dragon growled in warning, rumbling with the thunderous storm that remained relentless.

Your lips itched to smirk at the shaken witch, your chest beaming with hope. “My mount is starved, and she is intemperate. She merely awaits a single command,” you pushed.

“What you seek is to transgress the gods’ will,” Alys tried to reason, but her excuses never carried the idea of her inability. Your eyes fell on the child, the maddening effects of your agony clouding your better thinking. Green eyes followed where yours went, widening.

“If so, I come to collect my debt in one way or another.” With your words, your dragon swooped down, sending a harsh gust of wind on her descent that shook you where you stand. She roared, its echo so loud that even rain and thunder bowed to the dragon’s might.

With a heavy sigh, Alys closed her eyes, muttering something under her breath. You waited with impatience, fingertips quivering to reach for what was once out of your reach, now a hair’s breadth away. “So be it,” she said. The raven-haired woman sent you off to the Weirwood, free to take what you would find. Your boots squelched with every swift step as you blazed through the halls, bursting past doors to reach the courtyard where the tree stood tall, its trunk white as snow against the night.

Before its face, you found him.

“I pray my eyes do not deceive me now,” you whispered to yourself. Your reaction was nothing short of visceral— your hands shook tremendously, as did your knees, and you felt bile start to creep upward at the incredulity of it all. Yet you remained unmoving in your step, eyes wide in disbelief.

Aemond looked mythic under the pouring rain. Soaked to the bone, yet the storm had only added to his state. The dark green speckles of moss on his boots proved where he had been all this time. Freshly plucked from the depths of his demise, your husband stood tall in his armor, rippled Valyrian steel glinting in the winks of moonlight. “Is it really you?” you asked, voice cracking with the plea that this was no jest. Aemond nodded, his good eye as wide as yours, his sapphire eye beautifully haunting under the moonlight.

Your lower lip quivered with the threat of bursting into tears, but the astonishment left you frozen still. You took small steps toward him, careful that he might disappear lest you moved wrong. His hands were pruned and pale in his re-emergence, quivering in the harsh chill. “My dearest love, you are cold,” you said, taking off your fur-lined cloak in haste. However, your dragon took a step back before you could shield it over him, his hand raised to keep his distance away from you. “Aemond?” you asked in confusion, yet he remained unspeaking.

“Must not be too keen with greed, princess, he is not yours yet,” a familiar voice rippled behind you. Alys materialized in the middle of the courtyard, her babe nowhere to be seen. The glint in her eye returned, sending a cold shiver down your spine. You figured it wouldn’t have been this easy, yet the fear gleamed in your heart as you stood protectively in front of Aemond.

“The prince Aemond is free to depart with you, but on one condition— he shall remain trailing your shadow as you walk on ahead. You will not speak, nor will you pause, or turn until you pass Harrenhal’s gates.”

Your brows furrowed, temper heating with these games. “You still conspire to deceive me, witch?” you fumed, calling on your bond to sense where your dragon was circling above your heads.

“Tis merely the gods’ provision,” Alys shrugged. Uncertainty clouded the joy that was only beginning to bloom in your heart, mind weary of such games. You looked back at Aemond— your Aemond, real with flesh and shared blood— and you find in his eye the hope you thought had been long stolen. His subtle nod urged you on and you both took to descend the winding steps down to the towering castle’s gates.

The challenge proved to be a difficult feat. It was hard to see through the rain, harder with the darkness of the hour of the wolf. Your only comfort was the constant clink, clink, clink of Aemond’s armor that made known he was still there. Though your dread only grew with every step, silently praying in desperation that this was no sick trick by the gods.

It seemed the closer you inched towards the gates, the more relentless the storm grew. Perhaps it wanted to knock you off your path, make your husband slip and preying on your helpless need to turn around. With every sonorous thunder, you started to lose the sound of Aemond’s steps behind you. Even your dragon, previously following your trail above in the skies, seemed to be lost in the depth of darkness, and you were all alone. The unease in your spirit made the torment unbearable, urging you to hasten down the steps.

The tall iron gates marked the end. The moment you passed its threshold, your relief was insurmountable. You breathed deeply, before turning around to face your lover risen from the dead, but you were only greeted by the cold wave of dread when you failed to find him behind you.

You had gone too fast, too eager. The drenched armor must have slowed Aemond, or it must have been the struggle of navigating the darkness with his lone eye. Perhaps rising from the depths of the God’s Eye left his sculpted form of prowess dampened with exhaustion, his bones aching with every step he had to take.

You had gotten too far ahead, and Aemond was still on the steps.

“No,” you whispered, rushing back to reach him. He knew well before you, merely standing on one of the last few steps. Your anguished eyes met his, and you found only warmth when you thought to find anger, until the blinding strike of lightning made you shield yourself.

He was gone when you opened them.

The wail that tore through the night was enough to reach the souls in the highest tower. By morning, the people found their missing princess curled up on muddied earth, sick to the core with a burning fever and a broken soul.

Whispers of madness only amplified at the state you fell in, deathly pale and fatigued as you wept day and night. The gods seemed to snicker and delight at your lament, teasing you with fleeting winks of your lost love following you wherever you went. The court’s growing worries led to confinement in your chambers, left to rot in misery. Your world remained unmoving, yet time passed on. When pity came and you were let out for air, you took to your dragon with one last destination in mind.

The Gods Eye was cold as steel in the late winter. The overcast sun was tepid on your wearied body, and the grass had lost its vibrancy in your eyes, the forests painted a dampened shade. It was unclear how long you sat there, merely staring at the gaunt reflection of a girl you once knew. Shedding until left in your shift, you dipped into the icy water, swimming into its depth and plunging your head under repeatedly. You willed yourself to hold your breath, diving deeper and deeper, filled with a last determination to find him. Your lungs started to strain with exertion, your muscles prickled with an unforgiving cold, but something in your heart kept you under. The lake’s odd currents swept you far from where you came from, leading you to a depth of rubble and bones. It was then you found her monstrous shell, Vhagar, mighty to its core with remnants of rotting flesh clinging stubbornly in areas. Atop sat her rider, but where she was bones and water-swollen meat, he was whole. His silver hair billowed around like a curtain, and his fingers reached up for you.

A third chance, perhaps the gods may not be so cruel after all.

Yet the more you swam, Aemond stayed too far away, but you persevered. You swam deeper and deeper, despite the burning in your chest and the lightness in your head begging for reprieve. Fueled by the last shreds of life, you urged on further, kicking and treading through the darkness of the depths, until light began to shimmer through the water. All of a sudden, you were swimming upwards and not down, until you broke through the surface to find yourself right where you started.

Where everything was once bleak and cold, was now warm and bright. The grass a luscious green, and elegant swans swam around the lake. It was warm like late spring, the air fragrant with flowers, and it made you happy. You swam back to the lake’s edge to where you had left your garments, but instead of finding the pile of fabrics, a tall figure awaited you.

Aemond.

“Beloved,” he spoke, and he smiled. Gods, how he smiled.

You gasped in disbelief, warily keeping your distance in thinking that this was yet another vision. “I pray my eyes do not deceive me once more,” you whispered. Your husband took a step closer, his smile unwavering as he cupped your cheek in his hand. How warm. He was always so warm. “Tis truly you,” you breathed.

You took his hand in yours, planting a reverent kiss on his knuckles. Emboldened, you took a step closer. Your hand, pruned and pale in your re-emergence, caressed his firm chest, now rid of the weight of his armor. You ran your touch upward to trace his jaw, his lips, to the faint scar of his cheek where his jewel winked at you in the sunlight. His hands found their home on your waist, caging you close in his arms despite the water dripping to your feet. “Have I kept you waiting?” you asked, tears prickling the corner of your eyes as your lips quivered. For the first time in an inconceivable amount of time, your anguish was ended.

“I have stood where you have, walked behind your shadow. I have seen what you have seen. Where you have gone so have I,” Aemond said, the melody of his voice a beauty you had started to forget.

“You were always with me?”

“Enduringly so,” your love nodded, tucking a damp piece of hair behind your ear.

“What a terribly journey it must have been— walking behind someone so blind. Forgive me,” you sobbed, clutching the cotton of his shirt tight, lest they took him away from you again. His lips were warm as he kissed away every tear that fell, before claiming yours in a spellbinding kiss that voiced the promise of eternity.

“Such torment is all left behind now, my love. It is only you and I,” Aemond vowed.

Joyous laughter filled the air as the lovers swam side by side, overflown with love in the sweetness of a cosmic reunion. Your chest felt light and your body much more filled with life as it ever was as you found your home in his embrace, free at last.

History would recall the Kinslayer perished in battle, chained to his dragon, and his wife aptly so in the pursuit of him, though local folklore would tell otherwise. In the years following the dragons’ dance, the Gods Eye met no shortage of curious passersby diving to find whatever soul lurked in its depths. Some eager to find the prized Dark Sister and the bones of the queen of all dragons, but all anyone ever found in its depths were a pair of remains, of two lovers embraced they say, intertwined for eternity.

#bella writes ✍️#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #hotd x reader

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woso-dreamzzz · 5 months ago

Text

Pup's Halloween

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle x Child!Reader

Summary: The fourteenth of my Halloween-centric fics

Lucy loves her family.

Her parents. Her brother and sister. Her aunts and uncles and grandparents. All her cousins and everything in-between.

But she loves, most of all, this little family in Spain she has.

With Ona tucked under her arm in bed and the baby in their new bedroom just down the hall and the even more excitable child that she shares with Keira and Laura.

She loves Keira too, to an extent. Not that romantic love that surrounded them when you got adopted but still a deep love that comes with being co-parents to an excitable little girl that's up way too early to be healthy.

"Pup," Lucy groans, voice still thick with sleep and unbelievably groggy as she hears the familiar pitter-patter of feet on the carpeted floor," It's too early."

"No," You say," Mummy says when the clock says nine and five-zero. She says that's wakeup time."

"I'm not Mummy, Pup," Lucy reminds you," This isn't Mummy and Mama's house. It's Mum and Mami's house."

"With Baby Sibling, yes, I know. Still, wake up time. Pumpkin day."

Lucy's eyes crack open, lifting her head off the pillow and astounded by the way Ona's still fast asleep throughout this whole exchange.

"Why don't you just get into bed with us?" Lucy asks, weary and still heavy with sleep.

You point to the tv mounted on the wall. "Paw Patrol?"

"Mami's still asleep."

"I wake her."

Lucy fights back a groan. "No, Pup. We can watch Paw Patrol but it has to be low, alright? Mami deserves to sleep."

"Okay."

Lucy helps you into the middle of the bed, letting you drink from her water and turning on your favourite episode of Paw Patrol before you speak again.

"Baby Sibling awake too," You tell Lucy.

She screams into her pillow - her lay in well and truly forgotten.

By the time she gets back to the bedroom with the baby, you've successfully woken Ona who looks a little dazed and confused but happy nonetheless.

"And Mama take me climbing at rock wall with funny thing around my legs," You're telling Ona when Lucy comes back in.

"I told her not to wake you."

Ona laughs, bundling you closer as she raises her arms for the baby. "I have no problem being woken by Pup kisses."

You grin at her, showing off all your pearly whites before clambering over to Lucy to give her kisses too.

"Pumpkins now?"

"Later," Lucy corrects," Let's get through breakfast first."

The idea of pumpkin carving had originally been Keira's idea but it had only been in passing but you'd really taken to the idea, insisting that you actually get to do it with at least one of the couples.

At seeing the slight look of disgust on Laura's face at the idea of rummaging around in pumpkin guts, Ona offered up her and Lucy as the sacrifices.

Which is really the reason why Lucy's sat at her own kitchen table trying to dig a knife through the stubborn pumpkin sat in front of her.

The baby babbles happily in their highchair as Ona stands at the kitchen sink, supervising your hand washing.

"Do you need any help, Luce?" She asks.

"No!" Lucy insists," I've got this!"

She very much doesn't have this but Lucy isn't about to let a stupid pumpkin beat her.

Finally, after several desperate moments, she manages to cut through and breathes a sigh of relief as you come over, dressed in your puppy costume.

"Alright, Pup," Lucy says, hefting you up onto her lap," We're going to take this pen and draw what we want to cut out."

You take the pen, nodding seriously. "I draw puppy."

"No, Pup," Lucy says gently," It's Halloween. Remember those designs I showed you? Something like that."

Ona chuckles from her seat across the table with her own pumpkin.

"No," You say," I want puppy."

"I-"

"If she wants to draw a puppy then let her draw a puppy," Ona laughs," It'll make her happy."

"But I'm the one that has to cut it out."

"Then you'll make her happy," Ona says.

Lucy sighs again and you look up at her.

"Mum?"

"Alright, Pup," Lucy says," Let's find some pictures of a dogs on a pumpkin to get ideas, alright? Let's see if we can copy one down."

Ona, like Lucy predicted, finishes her pumpkin much quicker than you and her and you leave Lucy to cut out the picture in favour of watching Ona place a candle into her pumpkin, showing you the way it lights up the scary face she's cut out of it.

"Do you need any help?" Ona asks.

"No! I've got this!" Lucy insists as she gets through a particularly tricky curved area of your puppy drawing," I'm nearly done."

But it seems Lucy's version of nearly done is different to Ona's definition of nearly done because times passes and your baby sibling gets put to bed and you have your bath time.

"Mum," You call, toddling towards her in a different puppy onesie," Night-night."

"Night, Pup," Lucy says on autopilot, leaning down to drop a soft kiss to your crown," Sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams!" You says back, slobbering all over Lucy's cheek in your own version of a night time kiss before hurrying back to Ona for your bedtime story and a glass of warm milk.

"Done!" Lucy announces, putting down her tools to triumphantly look around," I did it!"

"That's nice." Ona's head pops around the door frame. "But can you be a bit quieter? The kids are asleep."

#woso x reader #lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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