#fluff and smuff

[therogueflame]

Steel and Silk

Hi my sweetlings,

Here is the promised Harwin x Reader fic! After writing Through Storm and Silence, I reeaally needed something to lighten the mood. I love Harwin sm :'). (Possibility of subsequent parts based on reception!)

✨ My Masterlist ✨

🖊️My AO3 🖊️

📝 My WIP List 📝

❄️ My ASOIAF/GOT/HOTD Discord Server 🔥

WC: 5.6k

Summary: After brandishing some wounds in a heated training session, Harwin seeks out the comfort of your embrace.

Warnings: 18+, sex (p in v), oral (f!recieving), multiple orgasm, no use of y/n, smuffy goodness

Harwin Strong x Targaryen!Fem!Reader

MDNI!!!

The clash of steel tore through the training yard, breaking the stillness with a brutal rhythm that echoed against the ancient stone walls of the Red Keep. The air hung heavy, thick with the weight of unspoken tension that had drawn a small circle of knights to the dusty ring. Their gazes, cautious and uncertain, lingered on the combatants, each man unwilling to intervene yet unable to look away. The midday sun bore down with relentless heat, clinging to the air and earth as though it too braced for the storm brewing within the circle.

Harwin Strong stood at its center, his broad frame taut with restrained fury. His chest rose and fell steadily, but the tight grip of his knuckles on the hilt of his sword betrayed the simmering anger that burned just beneath the surface. Across from him, his opponent staggered to his feet, arrogance still etched into the lines of his bloodied face. A smear of red stained the corner of the knight’s mouth, but his sneer remained intact, insolent words still lingering in the air like an unwelcome shadow.

“You’ve had enough,” Harwin said, his voice low and steady, the calm before the inevitable storm. The weight of his words cut through the murmurs of the onlookers, a warning carried on the edge of his barely restrained temper. “Stand down before you make a greater fool of yourself.”

The knight wiped at his mouth with deliberate slowness, the smirk on his lips deepening with every passing moment. “Temper, temper, Strong,” he mocked, his tone dripping with false amusement. His movements were unhurried, calculated, as if testing the boundaries of Harwin’s patience. “Tell me, what inspires such fire? Most men only fight this way for someone they hold close. Family, perhaps. Someone they love.”

The insinuation struck its mark, slicing through Harwin’s restraint like a blade. His jaw clenched, the tension in his frame growing as he stood frozen, unmoving. A ripple of unease passed through the onlookers, their shifting feet betraying their discomfort, but none stepped forward to break the moment.

The knight took another step closer, emboldened by Harwin’s silence, mistaking it for hesitation. The grin on his face widened as he raised his chin. “Or perhaps,” he continued, his voice softening into a goad, “it’s something more. What drives you, Strong? What makes a man risk so much for someone who will never truly be his?”

The knight’s words landed like a spark on dry tinder, igniting Harwin’s fury in an instant. He moved without hesitation, swift and deliberate, his sword flashing in the harsh sunlight. The strike was precise, unrelenting; the knight’s blade flew from his hand, clattering uselessly to the ground. The man barely had time to register his defeat before Harwin’s fist crashed into his jaw with a sickening crack. The force of the blow sent him sprawling, dust rising in a choking cloud as he hit the ground with a thud that seemed to echo in the still air.

The knights who had been watching froze, their breaths catching as the scene unfolded. Harwin didn’t pause. He dropped to his knees, pinning the man beneath him with a force that left no room for resistance. His fists came down like hammers, each strike landing with brutal precision. The sharp, visceral sound of bone meeting flesh punctuated the knight’s groans, his earlier arrogance dissolving into pitiful whimpers. Dust and blood smeared across Harwin’s knuckles, but the fury in his eyes didn’t waver. It burned, raw and unyielding, a silent warning to anyone who dared linger too long.

“Harwin, stop!” one of the knights called, his voice edged with alarm. It took four men to seize Harwin’s arms, their combined strength barely enough to drag him away. Even as they restrained him, his chest heaved, his muscles taut with the effort of holding himself back. The tension radiating from him was palpable, a storm not yet spent.

“You’ll speak no more of her,” Harwin growled, his voice low and venomous. Each word struck the air with the weight of a promise. “Not here. Not anywhere.”

The knight groaned weakly, his head lolling to the side, his broken form a stark contrast to the bravado he had carried mere moments before. The yard fell into an uneasy silence, the onlookers shifting awkwardly as they exchanged wary glances. Harwin wrenched himself free from the hands holding him, his movements sharp and purposeful as he turned on his heel. Without sparing the knight another glance, he strode away, his shadow stretching long and dark across the sunlit dirt, leaving behind the image of a man both feared and resolute.

⚔

The whispers began before the dust in the training yard had even settled. By the time the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting its golden light across the Red Keep, the tale of Harwin Strong’s fury had reached every corner of the castle. Servants murmured in dimly lit hallways, their voices a blend of awe and speculation. Knights recounted the scene over their cups, their retellings growing more embellished with each round. Even the ladies of the court, draped in silks and jewels, leaned in close with hushed voices to trade fragments of the story like secrets too potent to be spoken aloud.

And yet, for all the exaggerations that followed, it was the truth beneath it all that lingered in your mind, the fragments that carried the weight of why it had happened.

You moved through the halls that afternoon with practiced grace, your head held high and your steps measured. The air around you felt charged, buzzing with glances and murmurs that trailed in your wake like shadows. The weight of their stares was nothing new—you had long ago learned how to steel yourself against their quiet judgments. But this felt different. Harwin’s actions had carved a story into the fabric of the day, one that would not be forgotten easily. Though the rumors stung at the edges of your composure, there was something else nestled within your chest, a warmth that refused to be ignored.

As dusk fell, the day’s oppressive heat surrendered to the cool stillness of evening. You retreated to your chambers, seeking solace in the quiet, though it brought little peace. The faint hum of the castle drifted on, the occasional clatter of footsteps and low voices a distant reminder of the world outside your door. You sat in silence, your thoughts restless, turning over the events of the day like a worry stone. The stillness of the room felt heavy, pressing against your chest.

It wasn’t until a soft knock broke the quiet that your heart stilled. The sound was hesitant, almost reverent, yet it carried a weight that settled low in your chest. For a moment, you hesitated, your hand brushing the arm of the chair as though the act of rising might anchor you more firmly in the present. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, you crossed the chamber, your bare feet ghosting across the cold stone floor.

When you opened the door, the flickering light of the torches outside cast long, uneven shadows across the threshold. Standing there, framed by the golden glow, was the figure you had expected—yet seeing him still made your breath catch.

Harwin Strong. His broad frame filled the doorway, his City Watch armor scuffed and dulled, streaked with marks of the day’s ordeal. His face was unreadable, though his dark eyes searched yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt fragile, heavy with all the words left unsaid.

“Your Highness,” he said softly, his voice low and edged with a weariness he couldn’t quite mask.

You stepped aside without a word, the flicker of your gaze enough to convey permission. He hesitated, lingering in the doorway as if weighing the impropriety of entering your chambers at such an hour. But the look you gave him—a silent command wrapped in quiet understanding—left him with no choice. He stepped inside, the sound of the door closing behind him swallowed by the stillness of the room.

“Sit,” you said gently, gesturing toward the chair by the hearth. Though your tone held no sharpness, it allowed for no argument. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” he replied, but his voice faltered as he crossed the room. Lowering himself into the chair, his movements betrayed him—stiff and deliberate, a faint wince flickering across his face as the bruises beneath his armor made themselves known.

Without hesitation, you knelt beside him, your hands moving to the straps of his armor. The cold metal was unyielding beneath your fingertips, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from him. He tensed at first, his shoulders tightening as though bracing himself, but as you worked, his breath eased, and the tension began to melt from his frame.

“You’ve been the subject of much talk today,” you murmured, your voice low and measured, your focus never leaving the clasps beneath your fingers. One by one, they loosened under your careful touch. “The Red Keep is alive with whispers about the training yard.”

His jaw tightened at your words, the shadow of something unspoken flickering in his eyes. He turned his gaze away, letting it settle on the darkened hearth, now faintly glowing with renewed embers. “I regret nothing,” he said after a pause, the resoluteness in his tone firm yet quiet, like steel forged in fire.

“I’m not here to demand your regrets, Harwin,” you replied, your voice steady though a trace of softness lingered at its edges. You slid the breastplate free, the weight of it pressing briefly against your palms before you set it aside with care. “But you must understand how this looks. A knight of the City Watch, losing control, laying a man low with his fists. It’s not a story they’ll forget.”

“I know,” he admitted, the tension in his voice softening into something quieter, more vulnerable. “And yet… if I had to do it again, I would.” His eyes flicked to yours, dark and unyielding. “He spoke of you as though your name were his to wield. As though your honor was a thing to be mocked.” His jaw tightened, and his voice dropped to a near whisper. “I could not stand it.”

His words struck you like a sudden wind, stealing the air from your lungs. The raw honesty in his tone caught you off guard, and for a fleeting moment, you faltered. But you masked it quickly, your hands resuming their work as you moved to undo the vambraces strapped to his forearms. Beneath the polished steel, his skin bore the marks of the day—a collection of fresh bruises and a shallow gash along his arm that gleamed faintly in the firelight.

The sight made your chest ache, a pang of something sharp and unnameable lodging itself beneath your ribs. “Reckless,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, the word carrying both reproach and quiet affection. Rising, you crossed to the small table near the hearth, pouring water into a basin with practiced ease. The cool splash of it was the only sound in the room as you retrieved a clean cloth and returned to his side.

Kneeling once more, you dipped the cloth into the water and pressed it gently against the wound. His sharp intake of breath was the only sign of discomfort he allowed, and as you worked, your touch firm but careful, you felt his gaze on you—steady, unwavering.

“They don’t understand,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet. There was no bitterness in his tone, only quiet conviction. “What it means to protect something worth more than your own life.”

The weight of his words settled over you, silencing any reply that might have formed. You kept your focus on the task at hand, the cloth brushing over his skin in slow, deliberate strokes, but your heart beat faster beneath his unrelenting gaze. The warmth of the firelight seemed to intensify, cocooning the two of you in a fragile moment suspended from the world outside.

The cloth in your hand hovered above his skin, forgotten in the tension that thickened the air. Slowly, you exhaled, finding your voice once more, soft but firm. “You are brave, Harwin,” you murmured, “but bravery and wisdom are not the same. What good is your protection if you destroy yourself in the process?”

His eyes searched yours, unabated, his jaw tight. “And what would you have me do, Princess?” he asked, his voice low and laced with frustration. “Stand by while they speak of you that way? Pretend I don’t hear it? Pretend it doesn’t tear me apart?”

His words hit you with the force of a wave, and you faltered, the breath you’d drawn catching in your chest. For a moment, the room was silent but for the faint crackle of the fire. At last, you shook your head, a soft sigh escaping as your hand resumed its careful work. “No, Harwin,” you said, your voice trembling just slightly. “But you must remember—your life is not so easily dismissed. Not to me.”

His shoulders eased slightly, the hardness in his expression giving way to something gentler, something unspoken. He watched you with an intensity that made your fingers feel clumsy as you worked, and the weight of his gaze sent a warmth rising to your cheeks. The air between you felt fragile now, the earlier tension softening into something tender, something that seemed to close the space between you with every passing second.

As you shifted to reach for the basin again, his hand moved. The warmth of his palm closed around your wrist, halting you. “Enough,” he murmured, though his voice carried no edge, only quiet insistence.

Before you could respond, he tugged gently, the motion steady but unyielding. You stumbled forward, your balance catching as he guided you into his lap with ease. A soft laugh escaped you, startled and unbidden, as you found yourself straddled across his lap.

“Harwin!” you exclaimed, the word more breathless than scolding. Your laughter softened as his arms wrapped around you, steady and sure, holding you close against him.

The corner of his mouth curved into a faint grin, the earlier shadows in his expression lifting. “You were fussing too much,” he said lightly, though there was a warmth in his voice that sent your heart fluttering. “I thought this might quiet you.”

“Oh, so you think this is better?” you retorted, though the mirth in your tone betrayed any attempt at reproach. Your hands rested lightly on his shoulders, and the solid warmth of him beneath your palms only deepened the blush rising to your cheeks.

“I do,” he replied simply, his grin softening into something sweeter, his gaze dipping to yours. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his hand shifted, settling at the small of your back. The gentle pressure sent a shiver up your spine, and the playful tension between you melted into something quieter, something far more intimate. The firelight flickered against the stone walls, casting the two of you in its soft glow, but all you could focus on was the steady warmth of him, the way his thumb brushed absentmindedly along your side, the weight of his gaze fixed entirely on you.

“Harwin…” you said again, his name falling from your lips softer this time, the sound of it barely audible over the crackling fire.

“Yes?” he murmured, leaning closer, his breath warm against your skin.

You allowed yourself to relax, the tension in your shoulders melting away as his hand came to rest at the small of your back. His fingers moved absentmindedly, tracing slow, soothing patterns that sent warmth curling low in your stomach. “You’re lucky I don’t scold you more,” you murmured, your voice light, though the weight of your concern lingered in your tone. “Throwing yourself into fights as if you’re made of stone.”

Harwin let out a soft chuckle, the sound deep and resonant, rumbling through his chest beneath your cheek. “And yet, here you are, tending to me every time,” he replied, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “Perhaps I’ve grown fond of your care.”

You pulled back slightly, shifting so you could look up at him, your hands braced lightly against his chest. The firelight cast golden shadows across his face, softening the sharp angles of his jaw and catching the warmth in his dark eyes. “You’re not invincible, you know,” you said, your voice quiet but firm, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Even the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms can break.”

His grin widened at that, spreading slowly across his face, the kind of smile that made your heart stutter. “So you admit I’m the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms,” he teased, though his tone carried a gentleness that softened the jest.

You rolled your eyes, though your smile lingered. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m practical,” he countered easily, leaning back slightly, though his hands didn’t loosen their steady hold on you. “If I’m to be scolded, I might as well be comfortable.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, soft and unguarded. The sound seemed to catch even him by surprise, his gaze softening further as his thumb brushed along the curve of your arm. The space between you felt impossibly close now, the air warm and heavy with something unspoken.

“You know they’re still talking,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter, almost hesitant. “About the fight. About you.”

“They can talk,” he said simply, his tone calm and unbothered, but there was an edge of steel in his words. “I’d do it again. A thousand times, if I had to.”

The unshakable truth in his words struck you, made your chest tighten with something too complex to name. Your hands shifted against his chest, your fingers toying idly with the fabric of his tunic. “You shouldn’t have to,” you murmured, your voice barely audible above the crackle of the fire.

His hand moved to yours, his palm steady and warm as his fingers curled around yours. “But I will,” he said, his voice low, filled with quiet conviction. “Because you’re worth every blow, every scar, and every rumor.”

The raw sincerity in his voice made your breath catch, and your heart rate increased as he locked eyes with you. You couldn’t tear yourself away from his gaze, feeling a change between the two of you. Without thinking, you shifted your body, aware of the warmth emanating from him through his trousers and the thin material of your nightgown. 

Harwin stilled for a moment, his hands steadying at your waist, his fingers flexing slightly against the fabric of your gown. His gaze flicked down briefly before meeting yours again, darker now, the tension between you thick and electric. “Princess,” he murmured, his voice softer, lower, his grip tightening just slightly as though to keep you there.

Your hands rested against his shoulders, your fingertips grazing the strong curve of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his tunic. “Yes?” you replied, your voice soft but laced with a teasing edge, the smallest smile tugging at your lips as you leaned closer.

His lips curved, his grin both tender and filled with a quiet challenge. “You’ll be the ruin of me,” he said, his tone low and almost reverent.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with promise and unspoken desire. Your breath caught in your throat as you gazed into Harwin's eyes, seeing the intensity there, the raw emotion barely contained. Your fingers curled against his shoulders, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath your touch.

"Perhaps," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, "but what a sweet ruin it would be."

Something shifted in Harwin's expression then, a dam breaking. In one fluid motion, his hand moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer. His lips met yours with a hunger that stole your breath away, passionate and demanding. You melted into the kiss, your body pressing against his as your arms wound around his neck.

The kiss deepened, igniting a fire that coursed through your veins. Harwin's large arms encircled you, pulling you flush against his chest as his lips moved against yours with increasing urgency. You responded in kind, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently as a soft moan escaped you.

The world beyond this moment ceased to exist. There was only the heat of Harwin's body against yours, the taste of him on your lips, the intoxicating scent of leather and sweat that clung to his skin. Your hips rocked instinctively, drawing a low groan from deep in his throat.

"We shouldn't," Harwin murmured against your lips, even as his hands roamed your back, tracing the curve of your spine.

"No," you agreed breathlessly, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. "We shouldn't.”

Your eyes locked with Harwin's, both of you breathing heavily. The firelight danced across his features, highlighting the conflict warring in his dark eyes - desire battling with duty.

"We shouldn't," you repeated softly, your fingers tracing along his jaw. "And yet..."

Your words trailed off as Harwin surged forward, capturing your lips once more in a searing kiss. Any remaining hesitation melted away as you surrendered to the passion building between you. His hands roamed your body with newfound urgency, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

You shifted in his lap, pressing closer as a soft moan escaped your throat. Harwin's grip on your waist tightened in response, his fingers digging into the fabric of your gown. With a low growl, he stood suddenly, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. He placed you softly on your bed, and you watched as he removed his lingering undergarments from a day spent under armor.

As you lay back on the bed, Harwin's eyes raked over you with undisguised hunger. His hands moved to the laces of your gown, fingers working deftly to loosen them. With each inch of skin revealed, his breath grew heavier, his touch more urgent. You arched into his caress, helping him peel away the layers of silk and linen until you lay bare before him.

Harwin paused, drinking in the sight of you. His calloused palm skimmed along your side, igniting sparks wherever he touched. "You're beautiful," he murmured, voice rough with desire.

Harwin's lips trailed down your neck, kissing a blazing path along your collarbone. His calloused hands caressed your sides, drawing soft gasps from your lips as he explored your body with reverent touches. You pressed yourself closer to him, yearning for the heat of his body to seep into yours.

"Harwin," you breathed, fingers tangling in his dark hair as his mouth moved lower. He looked up at you, eyes dark with desire, before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. The anticipation built as his breath ghosted over your center.

As his soft lips pressed against your most sensitive area, you couldn't help but stifle a cry of pleasure. His tongue moved with fervent passion, eliciting breathy moans from your throat that echoed throughout the room. Your hips eagerly rocked against his face as the pleasure built, each wave crashing harder than the last and sending shivers down your spine.

Harwin's skilled hands and mouth worked in perfect harmony, savoring every taste and driving you to the brink of ecstasy. You clutched at his hair, pulling him closer and gasping for air as the tension within you coiled tighter and tighter. In this moment, nothing else in the world mattered except for the exquisite sensations he was drawing from your body.

You pleaded, your body writhing in pleasure on the bed as you approached the brink, "Harwin, please." He responded by intensifying his actions, one hand gripping your hip to hold you steady while the other skillfully worked to push you over the edge into pure bliss.

As release finally crashed over you, it was with Harwin's name on your lips. Your body trembled and shook as he continued his attentions, drawing out your climax until you were trembling and oversensitive. Every nerve ending was alive, every touch amplified into pure ecstasy.

As you came down from the high, Harwin moved back up your body, pressing tender kisses along your skin. His mouth trailed fire as he made his way up your thighs, hips, stomach, and chest. When he reached your lips, they tasted of him and of yourself, igniting a new wave of desire within you. Your hands roamed over the planes of his muscled back, feeling the strength coiled beneath his smooth skin.

"I need you," you whispered against his lips, your voice laced with want. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, smell the musk and sweat that only added to the intensity of your desire.

Harwin groaned softly, his hips pressing against yours in response. "Are you certain?" His dark eyes searched yours, even in this moment of passion giving you a chance to change your mind. But there was no hesitation in your heart or your body.

In response to his question, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you. "I've never been more certain of anything," you breathed against his lips, knowing that this was where you belonged - in his arms, in this moment of pure bliss.

With a low groan, Harwin slowly pushed into you, both of you gasping at the exquisite sensation. He paused, giving you time to adjust, his forehead resting against yours as he struggled for control. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the restraint it took not to move.

"Harwin," you breathed, rocking your hips slightly. "Please..."

As Harwin's strong, calloused hands gripped your hips, you gasped and wrapped your legs tightly around his waist. With practiced precision, he moved inside of you, each thrust igniting a fire within your body. Your fingers tangled in his thick hair as he kissed you hungrily, his need evident in the way he devoured your lips.

Your body responded eagerly to his movements, arching against him and urging him on. The room was filled with the sounds of your lovemaking - the wet slap of skin against skin, your breathy moans, and Harwin's gruff groans of pleasure. His muscles tensed beneath your fingertips as he buried himself deep inside of you, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through your body.

In that moment, nothing else existed but the two of you, lost in a world of pleasure and desire. And as you clung to each other, consumed by the intensity of your passion, it was clear that there was no one else who could make you feel this alive.

"Gods, you feel incredible," Harwin groaned against your neck, his voice rough with desire. His lips trailed a path of fire along your jawline, adding to the overwhelming sensations you were feeling.

Lost in the ecstasy of the moment, all you could do was whimper in response. The tension continued to build rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter until it felt almost unbearable. Sensing how close you were, Harwin's movements became more focused and intense. One of his hands slipped between your bodies, his fingers deftly finding that sensitive bundle of nerves that sent you over the edge into pure pleasure.

Your body curved instinctively, a graceful response as waves of pure bliss cascaded through you, Harwin's name escaping your lips in a breathless cry. The intensity of your release triggered his own, and with a low groan, he buried his face in the crook of your neck as he found his climax. For several long moments, you clung to each other, bodies trembling with the shared passion that pulsed between you.

As your breathing began to steady, Harwin shifted to lay beside you, the comforting warmth of his body close but no longer pressing down. Propped on one elbow, he gazed at you, his dark eyes brimming with a tenderness that sent your heart fluttering. You turned your head to meet his loving gaze, his presence grounding you in the moment.

Gently, he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His calloused fingers lingered against your cheek, their warmth seeping into your flushed skin.

"My princess," he murmured, his voice low and thick with emotion. "My heart is yours, now and always."

Your lips curved into a soft smile as a wave of deep contentment washed over you. Lying there, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of Harwin's affection, you felt a profound sense of safety and love, a certainty that you were cherished beyond measure.

A soft sigh escaped you as your fingers traced slow, idle patterns across his broad chest, savoring the solid feel of him beside you. "And mine to you," you whispered, your voice laced with tender affection. "Always."

Harwin’s lips twitched into a gentle smile, his eyes softening further as they held yours. Slowly, he leaned in, pressing a reverent kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, before finally capturing your lips in a kiss so achingly sweet it left you breathless. When he pulled back, the look in his eyes—so full of adoration—stole the air from your lungs all over again.

"I would move mountains for you," Harwin murmured, his voice low and fervent as he lay on his side, facing you. His gaze was steady, filled with an intensity that made your breath catch. "I would fight armies, slay dragons, challenge the gods themselves if it meant keeping you safe and by my side."

“Please do not slay my dragons, Harwin.”

Your soft, melodic laughter filled the quiet room, and you turned your head on the pillow to meet his playful grin. His chuckle followed, a deep, rich sound that rumbled softly between you. "Very well," he said with a teasing glint in his eyes. "I shall leave your dragons be. But the rest still stands."

Your gaze softened as you looked at him, your hand resting lightly against your stomach. "My brave knight," you murmured, your voice tender. "I need no grand gestures or heroic deeds. Just you, here with me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted."

Harwin shifted closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a delicate reverence. "And you shall have me," he promised, his voice low and earnest. "For as long as you’ll have me, I am yours."

A quiet peace settled between you, though it carried the faintest edge of sadness, as Harwin rose and began the methodical task of donning his armor once more.

The soft clink of metal filled the air as Harwin fastened the last pieces of his armor. You watched him from the bed, the sheets pulled loosely around you, a bittersweet ache settling in your chest. As he reached for his yellow cloak, you rose, wrapping yourself in a light robe before crossing the room to him.

"Let me," you said softly, taking the cloak from his hands. With careful movements, you draped it over his shoulders, smoothing the fabric across his broad back. Your fingers lingered on the clasp at his throat, reluctant to complete the final step that would transform him back into Ser Harwin Strong of the City Watch.

Harwin's hand came up to cover yours, his touch warm and comforting. "Dawn will come too soon," he murmured, his voice low and tinged with wistfulness.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. "It always does," you replied softly, your fingers tracing the edge of the honey-hued cloak. The fabric was cool beneath your touch, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth of Harwin's skin.

For a moment, you both stood in silence, the air heavy with unspoken words and shared longing. Then, with a gentle sigh, you fastened the clasp at his throat, completing his transformation. The golden cloak seemed to glow in the dim light of your chambers, a symbol of the duty that would always stand between you.

Harwin's hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch impossibly tender. "My heart remains here," he murmured, his dark eyes searching yours. "Even when duty calls me away."

You leaned into his touch, savoring these final moments. "And mine with you.”

Your eyes met his, a silent understanding passing between you. "Go," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Before the castle wakes."

Harwin nodded, his jaw tightening as he steeled himself. He leaned in, pressing a final, lingering kiss to your forehead. "Until next time, my princess," he murmured against your skin.

Then, with a swirl of his yellow cloak, he was gone. The door closed behind him with a soft, measured click, leaving your chambers quiet once more. For a moment, you stood where he’d left you, your fingers brushing the place where his lips had lingered, the memory of his touch still warm against your skin. The silence around you wasn’t empty—it thrummed with the weight of what had passed between you, a fragile, fleeting gift stolen from the demands of the world beyond these walls.

You exhaled slowly, your gaze lingering on the door he’d vanished through. Duty would always call him away, that much you both knew. Yet tonight, in those stolen hours, the weight of that truth had felt lighter, bearable even. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you turned back to the hearth, his warmth still clinging to your skin like the faint glow of embers. For now, it was enough.

[happilyhertale]

Snowbound Warmth – Tom Bennett x female!reader

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem!reader

Summary: You and your boyfriend Tom had actually planned an evening at the pub. Meeting friends and spending a nice time together. But a snowstorm threw a spanner in the works. But that's just how Tom is: he doesn't let it spoil your evening.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, blowjob

Author’s note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.7k

Other stories of mine

12 Days of Smuffmas

12 Days of Smuff

The snowstorm has descended on Manchester with a ferocity that neither Tom nor you had anticipated. By the time the first flakes started to fall, Tom had been pacing about his room, eager to take you to his favorite pub, a snug little spot tucked into a side street. It was the kind of place where the laughter of patrons mixed with the clink of glasses and the occasional strains of a piano. He’d planned to get you both a few drinks, maybe even dance if the mood struck him.

But now, the world outside his window is nothing but a swirling blur of white. The snow comes down so heavily it obliterates the view of the cobblestone streets and gas lamps he loves. It frustrates him; plans dashed by something as uncontrollable as weather.

He lets out a low sigh, exhaling smoke from the cigarette perched between his fingers. The warmth of the room contrastes starkly with the winter’s chill seeping through the cracks in the old building. His gaze shifts from the window to you, sitting cross-legged on his bed, casually flipping through a magazine. You look so at ease, lost in the glossy pages, and it brings a soft smirk to his lips.

“Y’know,” he says, his tone teasing as he flicks ash into a tray, “I was really hopin’ to show off my fancy moves at the pub tonight.” He turns fully to face you, leaning against the windowsill, the cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers. “Turns out, Mother Nature’s got other ideas.”

You don‘t look up immediately, still engrossed in an article, but you hum in acknowledgment. That only spurs him on.

“Oi,” he says, stepping closer, his cheeky grin growing. “Don’t go ignorin’ me now. It’s bad enough the weather’s givin’ me the cold shoulder.”

Finally, you glance up, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sulking, Tom?”

“I’m just sayin’—seems like a shame for two good-lookin’ people like us to waste a night doin’ nothin’.”

You close the magazine and set it aside. “Well, what do you suggest? Unless you’ve got a snowplow hidden somewhere, we’re not getting out of here anytime soon.”

Tom takes a long drag of his cigarette, his eyes narrowing playfully as he considers his options. He blows out the smoke slowly, then stubbs out the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table. “Well,” he starts, his voice dropping into that familiar, mischievous lilt, “if we’re stuck here, we might as well make it… interesting.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “Interesting how?”

“Oh, I dunno,” he says, sitting down beside you on the bed, his knee brushing yours. “Thought maybe we could find a way to keep warm. You know, since the snow’s got it freezing in here.”

You laugh softly, but his tone wasn’t entirely unserious. He leans back on his elbows, watching you with a glint in his eye, the kind that always spells trouble—or fun, depending on your perspective.

“You’re terrible,” you say, shaking your head.

“And you love it,” he shoots back, grinning. “Come on, what else are we gonna do? Sit here and stare at the walls? Nah, I reckon we make the most of it. Could even have our own little dance—no pub required.”

He pushes himself upright again, extending a hand toward you. “What d’you say? Give us a twirl, eh?”

You laugh again but take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. There isn‘t much space in his modest room, but Tom doesn‘t care. He starts humming a tune, spinning you around with a surprising amount of grace.

It doesn‘t take long for his lack of rhythm to become glaringly obvious. His steps are clumsy, a bit too eager, and he nearly trips over his own feet as he spins you around. You can’t help it—you burst into laughter, doubling over as he fumbles to regain his footing.

“Oi, what’s so funny?” he protests, though his grin is wide. He catches your hands to steady himself, his eyes twinkling with playful defiance. “I’m a bloody brilliant dancer, I’ll have you know.”

“Brilliant?” you repeat through giggles. “You’re all left feet, Tom!”

He gasps in mock outrage as if you’d just wounded his pride. “That’s rich, comin’ from someone who hasn’t danced a single proper step tonight!”

“I can’t when you’re stepping all over me,” you tease, dodging his attempt to pull you closer.

“Alright, alright,” he says, raising his hands in surrender, though the smirk on his face tells you he isn‘t done. “If dancing isn’t your thing, maybe we ought to try somethin’ else.”

You narrow your eyes, wary but amused. “Like what?”

He doesn‘t answer immediately, letting the question hang in the air as he wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you close again. His other hand rests lightly on your hip, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your skirt. The touch is casual enough to feign innocence, but the cheeky glint in his eyes betrays him.

“Oh, I dunno,” he says after a beat, his voice dropping an octave. “Reckon I’ve got a few ideas.”

“You always have ideas, Tom. Doesn’t mean they’re good ones.”

His hand on your waist tighten just slightly, pulling you even closer. “I’ll have you know, my ideas are bloody brilliant. Genius, even.”

“Right,” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Let me guess—this one involves me doing all the work while you sit back and enjoy yourself?”

“Now you’re catchin’ on,” he quips, his grin widening. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “What d’you say, love? Thought you might fancy makin’ me feel better after all this weather ruined our plans.”

You shov him playfully, laughing as he tumbles back onto the bed. “You’re ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head.

Tom props himself up on his elbows, watching you with that same cheeky smirk. “Ridiculously charming, maybe. Go on, admit it—you love me for it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrays you. Snowstorm or not, Tom knows exactly how to keep things interesting—and keep you laughing, even as his hands wandered in hopes of turning the evening decidedly in his favor.

When you finally collaps back onto the bed, Tom props himself up beside you, his face inches from yours. “See?” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “Told you we’d find a way to pass the time.”

“Still terrible,” you tease. He leans in just slightly, his nose brushing against yours. “And still irresistible,” he whispers.

You giggle slightly, “Go on, tell yourself that,” you whisper teasingly and he growls slightly while his hand moves up your thigh. He kisses the tip of your nose, almost a gentle gesture if you didn't feel him gently pressing his growing hardness against you. You giggle again, “Somehow I think I know what you have in mind for how we can pass the time,” you whisper, and he pretends to be clueless. “I dunno what you mean...“ he mumbles with his typical grin. ”Ah... okay...“ you say and straighten up to slide off the bed. Tom watches you and raises his eyebrows slightly. ”Mhm... I think I like the way you think,” Tom says, leaning back relaxed, his arms behind his head, watching you.

You kneel between his legs, your hands gliding up his thighs, and you know how his cock is throbbing with desire in his pants. You bite your lip slightly, your hands sliding higher. Tom responds with a small growl as he watches your fingers play with the button of his pants. You slowly unbutton them, his hardness obviously pressing against the fabric of his pants.

Slowly, you push down his trousers, his length springs free. You reach for it, your teeth still not releasing your lower lip. You let your thumb slide over the tip of his cock, smearing the precum. Your eyes focus on Tom's face as his cock twitches in your hand. His eyes are closed and he moans slightly. You love these moments when his cheeky nature fades into the background and you just see pure emotion flowing through him.

Slowly, you lean forward and your lips close around the tip of his cock. “Fuck,” Tom growls, his hips twitching involuntarily as you gently suck. The salty taste of his precum spreads across your tongue. He slides one hand into your hair, gripping it lightly, while you try to take in as much of his length as you possible.

Your teeth slide gently over his skin and he grunts softly. Your muffled moans fill the room as more precum fills your mouth. His hips thrust up slightly, but this time deliberately, and you gag slightly. Your throat tightens around the tip of his cock and Tom groans.

Your mouth slides up and down, trying to get all of his length into your mouth. You try to breathe relaxed through your nose, but the thrusting of his hips prevents you from doing so. The hand in your hair pushes you down slightly and you moan again, feeling the throbbing between your thighs intensify. Your head bobs, lewd, wet sounds fill the small space you both occupy, accompanied by Tom's grunts.

“Yeah, babe... take me deeper in your mouth...” he grunts and you let your lips slide up and down faster. The thrusting of his hips becomes sloppy, his cock twitches violently in your mouth, almost impatiently. You continue to suck his twitching cock, swirling your tongue around the slick head, while your one hand starts pumping his length and then you hear the moan.

Tom’s legs tensed, driving himself deep into your salviating mouth once more, hot cum spilling down your throat as you eagerly swallow his cum. He is panting and gruntin while his cum is filling your mouth. His hand clenches in your hair and you moan, trying to swallow all his cum. When his cock stops twitching and you have swallowed everything he has given you, you release his cock from your mouth with a pop and wipe your mouth clean.

You look up at him and smile. He is breathing heavily, his eyes closed, a slight smile on his lips. You slowly get up and crawl back onto the bed. Even before his eyes open, you gently kiss his lips.

He hums contentedly, his breathing still heavy.

“Have you thought of something like that?“ you whisper and you feel him smile slightly.

“This is pretty close...” he mutters and suddenly grabs you. You squeal slightly, but giggle as he pushes you onto the bed and rolls on top of you.

[noosayog]

THE NATURE OF LONGING

... is that the heart only wants for what it can't have.

fushiguro toji x fem!reader

contents: nsfw, non-curse au, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, lots of angst, fluff, eventual smut, each part will have its own cw/tw

wc: 4.3k as of part 1, no release schedule

Taglist: OPEN, send an ask!

MDNI

part 1

part 2

part 3

[notroosterbradshaw]

about: just some smut to fend off jetlag. i love sleepy Bradley, I make no excuses that I feel he does his best work in the early hours of the day. This was supposed to be a drabble… it’s not anymore. Sorry.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: nsfw 18+, language, pure fluff, smut.

masterlist.

The morning after the night before when Bradley met your family for the first time, you'd flown across the world to surprise your dad for his birthday and really, it luckily coincided with Bradley's time off. When you mentioned heading home for your old man's special day that usually kicked off your family's holiday season, you almost fell out of your seat when he said maybe it was time he met the fam face-to-face, not just making small talk over FaceTime. It almost didn’t seem fair that he was subjected to meeting everyone this way, but alas… here you were the next morning, jet lag kicking in while wrapped protectively in Bradley’s strong, golden arms and washed in the relief your family fucking loved him. You weren't overly surprised. 

Bradley's quiet, unassuming charm was just who your mum wanted you to end up with, he was into golf and surfing, so your dad and brothers thought he was the bee's knees. Your sister on the other hand... 

You had to fend her off more than you would have liked. You were confident in your relationship with Bradley, knowing he'd never allow anything to happen. "You're coming across a little desperate," you hissed after one or two drinks, which mortified her, and she apologised, admitting she was just happy to finally get to meet the guy who'd swept you off your feet. "Yes, my feet," you reminded her. When she pointed out how possessive you sounded, you didn't deny it. But she got it and gave you space for the rest of the evening. 

Ahh, sisters. 

Bradley felt your body writhe in the gentlest of movements against his and he sighed. Sleep hadn’t come easy for either of you and compounded with the food and booze you’d indulged in the day before, neither of you slept much. “You okay, sweetheart?” he whispered at God-knows-what-o’clock. 

“What time is it?” You asked softly.

“I dunno, baby. Sun is barely rising,” he admitted. “Can’t hear a peep in the house.”

Which was nice because yesterday was intense. Everyone was so excited to meet your new American boyfriend (fairly, it’d been about eight months, give or take with a few deployments), the incredibly handsome navy pilot whom you’d met one evening at a naval bar while travelling. You’d caught his eyes behind his sunglasses while he played the piano, the crowd around him as swept away with him as you were. The first half-smile in your direction, as he sang, had done you over in a way not one single person on the planet had before. 

He'd charmed you instantly. He still charmed you constantly. 

“Did you get any sleep?” you asked, biting back a yawn.

“Not really,” he peppered tender kisses into your shoulder blade and smiled into your skin as you pressed back into him, the oh-so-quiet moan made for his ears only waking him from his dreaded fog as well. “I’ll try and get a kip somewhere today. That fuckin’ flight murdered me.” 

“You were happy to fly economy,” you muttered. “I know you’re used to tight quarters, but fuck Bradley. It was 15 hours." 

“I know, I know I fucked up. I was looking at upgrades overnight. I’ll use my discount and stuff; we can do it flying home.”

“You sure?”

“Sue me for wanting to save a buck,” he sighed, with a tired, deep chuckle. “Flight was so full; people may as well have been sitting on the wings.”

“It’s Christmas. People travel.”

“You don't say,” he affectionately gripped your waist, rolling you to him and kissed you. “Good morning, I think," he nuzzled your nose against his and asked if you wanted some water or anything.

You shook your head, rolling back and snuggling into him as he adjusted his arms around you again, his nose buried in your hair. "I think Dad is gonna expect you for at least nine holes today." 

"I think so, yeah. Grill me and make sure I'm good enough for his little girl.” He murmured and if he was honest, he was the teeniest bit nervous. He’d never really been in relationships long enough to meet families… and who would he introduce anyone to, except for Mav?

"I think you'll be fine."

"He probably wouldn't be if he knew what a deviant I've turned his smart, beautiful baby girl into.”

You giggled quietly as you could feel the soft ends of his moustache curve into a smirk against the nape of your neck. "He'd send you back on the first flight to LA."

"I would believe that," he said softly. 

"I think yesterday went really well, Bradley," you confided quietly to him.

"You think? I was on my very best behaviour," he teased you.

"Yes, you were," you admitted. Not that he ever wasn't. Bradley was instilled with a remarkable set of manners. He was chivalrous and courteous to a fault, incredibly sweet and at times, pensive, even shy. Almost make believe that you were lucky enough to share his time. You wriggled back against him, and you could feel the hard-on straining through his boxer briefs. "Down, boy." 

"Can't help it," he sighed. "You know what you do to me with that ass. I know what you want. You're not that transparent."

You bit back your pleased smile as his wandering hands travelled down your side, fingertips toying with the hem of his old Navy tee that was now your bed shirt. At home, you were nude sleepers. At your parents' home during the holidays? You showed decorum and respect and you both hated it, preferring skin-on-skin of the other but alas, anyone could walk in at any time. 

“Have a thought about how we might be able to fuck this jetlag off…” 

“Oh, yeah?” at this point, you’d do anything and with Bradley’s travel for work, you hoped maybe he might have some insight. You had planned to just power through and try not to be the world’s most exhausted asshole. 

"You just move your thigh a little this way..." he murmured, his palm cupping your hamstring and you pressed back into him, grinning softly. “And I just slide up in here – ”

“Confident of you, don’t you think?”

“You’re always wet for me,” he whispered against your skin. “Unless you deny it.”

“Never…” you told him, reaching back to wrap an arm around his strong neck. “I just can't keep it down with you. Why didn’t you convince me to get the AirBnb?”

He loved how vocal you were during sex. Your moans, the hisses, the way you'd bite your lip when you were so close. That groan as you came, or the little squeal when you were too sensitive was burned into his brain as his favourite sounds in the world. 

"Just lemme hold you then, it's okay, sweetheart," he grumbled. “I’ll live if you can.” 

“Asshole,” you muttered as he chuckled. 

“Do you want a blowjob?” You nervously offered, turning back to him and he looped your thigh over his hip and perched you above him with such little effort on his behalf - you loved how strong he was but you knew what was waiting for you, Bradley made no secret he was turned on and you loved that you were able to have him on a knife-edge at all times. 

The one per cent, he’s told you once before. 

You’re so sweet to him as you slowly dragged your hand into the waistband of his boxer briefs, revealing more and more skin, cock springing free, slapping against his toned, tanned Adonis belt. Long, thick and dripping with precum already and he almost blushed at how eager he was.

“I’ll never say no,” he replied, “And I know you might be uncomfortable here. Your dad is right across the hall, baby."

“But my daddy is right here…” you immediately corrected him, and he smiled darkly to himself. You didn't use that term lightly, you couldn’t nfi fed to him he had the ability to bring out your innermost feral when you least expected it and he would do his utmost to encourage it (if you were comfortable). 

“Jesus,” his head was swirling, trying to keep calm and not blow his load the second you bared your tongue to him but there was absolutely nothing sweet about it. He was a preening mess when you went down on him. The night you'd told him you weren't overly experienced in blow jobs was the greatest night of his life, coaching you through what he liked and watching you perfect your generous technique time and time again. 

These days, you loved giving Bradley head. He gave you confidence, he made you feel sexy and not like it was only about him on the receiving end. He’s whispered and encouraged, and when it all got too much, he told you he was close. He was neither here nor there on the whole spit or swallow thing… until you and your preference but he was never left empty-handed.

"Shh," you hissed. "Not a sound." 

That one thing you did for him that absolutely made him come undone. And he'd bury his face in your pussy all day if you allowed him to show you how fucking grateful, he was for all the pleasure you presented him. Your sweet, tight wetness that he would eagerly drown himself in if you’d let him. 

Your honeyed tongue delicately tasted the flawless head of his cock, lapping up the precum as Bradley's eyes rolled back into his head and his big hands reached to knot into your hair as you went to work, swirling your tongue and looking up with your big, scheming eyes, knowing you had him at his most precarious. 

He was a weapon in his training, his mind and body were always primed to do what was asked of him, but you were the exception and it scared and excited him.

He could feel himself getting so close to painting the back of that beautiful mouth, and while it pained him to say it, the way your eyes softened told him he’d made the right choice. “Come on, baby, I want you.” 

You gently pulled away and asked, “You don’t want me to finish?”

“No, I wanna fuck, baby. Watch you lose control.” 

“Okay,” you said, your soft hand trading with your warm mouth to tenderly pump and tease him. 

“Gimme a sec. I don't have condoms close,” he whispered. “They're in my luggage.”

"Just pull out, sweetheart," you enticed him, wanting to feel all of him. It was so infrequent you fucked without protection, and of course, you both preferred it that way but after a pregnancy scare (or not, neither of you was really sure) a few months back, you'd both decided to stop tempting fate and ensuring there was a stash of condoms at his place, your place... the goddamn Bronco – Bradley understood that it was your body and you didn’t want to be on the pill. A condom was the least he could do, and he knew it. 

Bradley helped you move up his body and rest you above him. "Are you sure?" he kissed you, your gleaming teeth lightly stinging into his bottom lip with an affectionate nip. 

“I trust you,” you told him. "Cum where you need...”

Truth be told, he wanted to cum deep, but he licked back a wet smile and he moved to his knees to pull his navy tee over your head, bearing your beautiful breasts to him, full, round, nipples begging for attention. “On your back, baby,” he urged, guiding you under him, anticipating how wet you were for him, legs splaying open unashamed. He rested the head of his cock on your weeping cunt, his fingers spreading your bare lips and sweeping your slick across your clit, fascinated by that little peep of desperation from you. Your head fell back against the pillows, bliss sweeping through you as he sweetly pressed one finger into you. “Drippin’,” he reported, pressing in another finger and his thumb rubbing tenderly against your throbbing clit. “Gonna gush for me?” 

You probably would, Bradley’s ability to drag absolutely everything out of you blew your mind each time. “Need your cock. Fill me up, Bradley.” 

Pushing in, one delicious inch by delicious inch, licking his full lips as your back curved to take him as deeply as possible. He buried his face in your breasts, holding one in his calloused palm, eyes fluttering closed as he traced, left wet, open-mouthed kissed and tenderly bit the other, and the groan you let you made him clamp his palm over your mouth. “You’re so wet, baby,” he stared deeply into your eyes as he evened his breath with the first few rolls of his slender hips. "But you're gonna wake your parents if you don’t control yourself."

"Let them fuckin' hear," you muttered behind your hand (you’d die if they heard you though) as he chuckled and began his ruthless assault on your senses, one thrust at a time. 

"You're too good to me," Bradley reminded you in disbelief.  

"All for you," you confided, as you watched the beads of sweat break across his brow as you dug your nails into his well-worked traps, willingly knowing it would leave a mark courtesy of your fresh manicure. You raised your hips to meet his deep, plunging thrusts, fucking into you strong and deep. He felt incredible, you don't think anyone had loved on you as Bradley Bradshaw could. So thorough, and never one to leave you hanging. 

Too long, too sore? He'd pause and tenderly withdraw to hold you, reassuring you that it was fine, and your comfort was paramount. Too sensitive after coming too hard, he'd give you time to recover, finding other ways to bring you pleasure.

It was nice to be considered in your relationship, in your sex life especially. In the past, you'd been made to feel like a machine, if you didn't cum, partners still could, and you'd just deal with it. For a long time, that stuck with you and having someone consider you like Bradley would almost seem too good to be true at the start. 

But that consideration never lapsed. He was make-believe and you fucking hoped if this man and everything he brought to you was a dream that you’d never, ever wake up. 

Desperate to keep himself controlled, Bradley reached for the headboard of your old bed, gripping it for dear life as he tried so damn hard to avoid coming. He loved fucking you raw, and since birth control was completely your choice, you two had to stop playing this dangerous game. Because one day? It would beat you both.

"I need to cum, Bradley," you whined to him as he nodded, chewing his lower lip, and putting your delicate fingers in your mouth, not losing his rhythm. He knew. He knew how close you were. 

"Lemme see you touch yourself, baby. Get those fingers - " he gasped as you clenched around him. "Get 'em nice and wet and play with that sweet, tight pussy. Lemme see you fall apart.”

Before, language like that would embarrass you, but with Bradley, it only spurred you on. It was incredible the ways he’d helped you grow and mature as a friend, partner and lover. As instructed, and in the low early morning light, Bradley’s breath hitched, watching you touch yourself and you couldn’t help it, the beat of his cock against your g-spot, your fingers pressing rough circles into your clit and you started to come. 

“Yes, baby. Yes,” he urged, moving his mouth to your ear, whispering his sweet encouragement. “You feel so good, just a little mo – ” he forced his mouth against yours, kissing your pleasure to him, to keep the noise down. He wrapped his hand under your hip, lifting your waist to push harder into you as you trembled below him, your pussy clutching his cock, spasming as he shuddered against your lips. “Yes, baby.”

“Jesus, Bradley, fuck me,” you begged as his hips speed up like a piston, thrusting hard into your swollen, sensitive pussy, his hand clutching yours away from your strained clit and pressing intensely in your place, hoping to drag your orgasm out and as you fell, lifeless, back against the squishy pillows, pussy pulsating, Bradley grunted low he was coming and after his final few thrusts, he quickly withdrew and unloaded, stroking himself until he was spent, pearly ribbons of cum decorating your belly and breasts. 

He collapsed beside you, taking your cheeks in his face and kissing you wildly. “I love you. I love you, baby,” he kissed you again, and though you were spent, you returned his affections, because truly… you loved Bradley Bradshaw with your entire being. It was going to take a lot to change that. “Are you okay?” he asked, chest still heaving as he breathed, his pointer finger tracing through the mess he made on you.

“I’m good, sweetheart,” you assured him as he gave you one last, final kiss.

“Think that helped with your jetlag?” he teased.

“Makes me want another round,” you admitted as he chuckled and raised an eyebrow. 

“Of course you do,” he pressed a kiss into your pulse and lifted his lips back to yours, holding you close and just like horny teenagers, enjoying making out for a few moments in the afterglow. “Where’s that shirt gone?” he asked, peering over the side of the bed, and cleaning you up. “Jackson Pollack painting here.”

“Be less proud,” you told him as he snorted.

“Yes, ma’am,” he pressed another kiss to your lips. “Sure you’re okay?”

“Perfect, but let me go pee,” you whispered as Bradley kissed you long and deep, he nodded into the kiss but was not quite ready to leave you leave him. 

“Go, clean up, baby,” he helped you up from the bed, your legs precarious and meandering like Bambi. “Careful,” he sighed, wistfully. But he knew it already, you were thoroughly fucked, just how he liked it. 

A few hours later and thankfully, a few more hours of sleep, your alarm woke you, the sun much higher in the sky and the heat of the day starting to rise. You’d showered and told him to come down when he was ready, you’d help your Mum with some brekky.

“You want eggs?”

“Anything,” Bradley admitted. “Famished.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” you cupped his face in your palms and kissed him lightly. “Don’t rush.”

“Okay,” he gave a small grin but didn’t much feel like lingering. After a quick shower, he dressed, annoyed he didn't pack any golf gear, at minimum the shoes that you gave him grief for every time he wore them, but maybe he'd treat himself and buy some at the course today. He rifled through his bag, clutching the velvet box in his palm tightly, convinced more than ever that this was real, this was happening and soon, he'd hope to have you wearing his mother's engagement ring too. 

Slapping on his CVN-71 cap, he knew you went a bit feral when he perched it backward. May as well leave you with good thoughts while he was out and about, asking your old man for your hand on the golf course. And if it went badly, it was also something to identify him when the authorities found him if your dad said no. 

[emmalandry]

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟽: 𝙼𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚡

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

Gf!Ethan sneaking into your bedroom, costume clad body stalking around in the dark waiting to pounce on you.

It’s a little past 11 pm and he creeps down the hall to your room and peaks through the crack. He sees your fingers stuffed beneath your panties as you whimper and whine. “E-ethan.” You moan out his name so sweetly.

How’s he meant to hold back when you’re spread out so deliciously, and all for him? Wow. He must be one lucky man.

The door flies open and your eyes go wide as the large masked figure stalks its way towards you and you rip your fingers from your cunt.

“W-what do you want?” You voice is shaking with fear. “Please Mr.Ghostface, don’t kill me. i’ll do anything.” Your lips are pouty as you beg for you life and ethan tilts his head to the side before pointing the knife at your panty-clad cunt.

You look back up at him, eyes wide and glossy as tears threaten to spill over. “Okay.” Is all you say and he practically jumps at you. Grabbing your legs and pulling you to the end of the plush mattress.

Allowing his hands to roam your soft skin before slicing your panties right off your body and letting a glove covered hand trace your slit.

A chill runs down your body at the coldness but all you can do is lay back and take it. A little ‘ah~’ leaves your body and he tilts his head down at you. “S-sorry. ‘s just cold.” and he nods before sheathing his slender fingers inside your dripping cunt.

You moan at the fullness, eyes rolling back as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you. You’re pawing at his cloak and giving him pleading, puppy dog eyes. “Please fuck me, sir. I’ll be ‘s good for you. Please.” And he nods.

Flipping you onto your stomach and hiking your ass up. You can see yourself in the mirror right across from your mattress. The hulking man is behind you, cloak pulled up just enough for him to spring his cock free and you barely have a moment to see it before he’s slipping it inside you.

You whimper at the feeling, his cock is so long and thick but he’s gentle. Allowing you to get used to his size before slowly thrusting forward and pulling back. “Fuck. ‘s good.” you moan out the words, theyre barely coherent but you can’t even think straight with the way he’s pounding your poor body.

You could fall limp at any moment from the cockdrunk feeling thats overtaking you. You make sure to stare right into the mirror at the man whos taking you from behind. Your pussy is clenching around nothing as he wraps his big, strong arm around you and grabs you by the throat, pulling you upwards toward him.

His other hand leaves your hip quickly to rip off the mask before putting his hand in its original spot. “See what you do t’ me, you sweet dumb thing. Can’t believe you’re letting me take you just like this. What if i was a just some stranger who would slit your pretty little throat right now. Huh?”

Your eyes are crossed at the feeling of his cock kissing your cervix and all you can mutter out is a small “ ‘s good eth. ‘m close.” He can tell you’re telling the truth. He can tell by the way your little cunt is clenching around his length. Trying to milk him for everything he has.

His hand reaches down to play with your swollen clit. Earning a scream that rips straight from your throat and he can see the creamy ring forming around his cock and he fills you up just at the sight.

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

I Gave You My Heart

14/12: Hand Holding & Dry Humping - Billy Washington Word Count: 2.1k~ | Warnings: grinding, p in v sex, horniness as a result of drinking alcohol

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

Christmas was always a difficult time of year for Billy.

To most, it was a happy, cheerful time, when families would gather, stuff themselves with as much meat as they could manage, drink as much wine as they wanted without stumbling into the garden shed (as his dad did the year before, to which his mum still hasn’t let him forget) and pass out on the sofa before the King’s speech could even come on tele.

To Billy, as with most years he gathered at his parent’s house, it was just another opportunity for his parents, sister and extended family to badger him with the usual abundance of questions.

How’s the job hunt going? Not well? Aw, well there’ll be something out there for you. Just have to keep at it.

No girlfriend yet?

You’re still looking for a job?

Lana not here yet? She’s doing well isn’t she?

He felt that if he had to go through yet another year of it, he’d go ballistic.

Aunties. Uncles. Cousins. He hugged them all on arrival, but felt very little.

But this year was different.

There was an element of protection she provided. A buffer, so to speak. And Billy being Billy, didn’t want to lean on her for that buffer, but was relieved all the same when she didn’t mind.

How did she do it?

How did she smile through it? Remain polite, despite the fact that it was socially sapping and emotionally draining to be around this many new people at once, all bombarding her with questions.

She was the shiny new item to a mischief of magpies, and all his aunties were babbling like turkeys at her, taking all the attention away from him. To his relief.

He watched her with a warmth to his face, a can of cheap beer in one hand, leaning against the radiator in the hallway to warm his backside.

She entertained them with brief, vague answers, but still somehow managed to keep that smile to her face he loved so much. Perhaps he was just wavy from the alcohol, he couldn’t tell. But he did realise he was flushing with embarrassment when her eyes clapped on him from across the room, and he realised he’d been caught staring.

His heart rate skyrocketed as she excused herself and crossed the room like she was floating, the Christmas cracker tissue paper crown was still somehow perched on the top of her head, whether she realised it or not.

“What you doing here by yourself, Wash?” she smiled.

He’d almost forgotten to move his lips to reply, his face was so hot.

“Making use of the central heating to warm your arse?” she prodded with a cheeky smile, turning to stand beside him, pressing her own back to the radiator and sighing as the warmth spread through her body from the middle outwards.

“Have my aunties bored you to death?” he asked, smirking beneath the rim of his can as he sipped.

She laughed through her nose, “That obvious?” she smiles, “Nah, it’s alright. Much better company than my house on Christmas Day, anyway. At this point, my dad’d be a snoring mess on the sofa and mum’d be fretting about Boxing Day lunch”.

In his alcohol-addled state, the raising of Billy’s eyebrows was a bit unmatched, alongside the lazy smile on his face, “I can picture that”.

She raised her own eyebrow at the way he seemed to subtly sway, despite being stood.

“What number’s this?” she asked with a knowing smirk.

And she watched with amusement as the cogs inside Billy’s head visibly turned, trying to form a memory of how many cans he’d swiped from his dad’s fridge before now.

“Um…4? I think?”

“You think?”

He pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh out of embarrassment.

The heat once again rose to his chiselled features, something she would never not find endearing about him. Sometimes it was worth saying something risque or embarrassing just to see this beanpole of a man blush.

His baby blue’s glimmered with drunkenness as he looked over at her, for a moment searching her face as if he was ticking off all boxes that were labelled with her features. Her eyes. Her lips. The gentle slant of her cheeks. The shape of her nose. How her dimples sank in when she smiled lovingly at him.

He was sure nobody in his life had ever looked at him the way she did.

It made him feel good and also like he wanted to hide at the same time.

“You wanna get home soon?”

He nodded without even thinking. God, he fucking loved her for that. The way she was able to know when he was socially complete without him having to say it.

Leaving in any British household, especially on Christmas Day, is an event in itself.

It takes twenty minutes minimum, to pack up all the things you have, piling the presents you’ve received into various bags for life, and giving a ceremonial hug and a peck on the cheek to all who are still awake and present. Often people who you’d circle back to once you finally made it to the door, graced with yet another hug goodbye.

It was solemnly enchanting, the clear roads on Christmas Day, the ice that clung to the side of the roads, and the grit that coated the middle. Christmas music blared through her radio, muffled by static, and about the sixtieth time that BBC Radio 1 had played ‘All I Want For Christmas is You’. And they’d both laughed, delirious from over-socialising, when she’d realised only halfway through the drive back home, that she was still wearing the shoddy tissue paper crown.

“Was Santa good to you this year?” she’d asked jokingly, briefly turning her head from the red light.

He huffed a laugh, “He’s about to be when we get home”.

She rolled her eyes, shifting the car into first, but unable to help the smile that rose to her face.

Billy’s flat was donned with the basics of Christmas decorations.

Fairy lights along the headboard of the bed, a tiny plastic tree on the side table, several tea lights along the TV stand and finally, the pièce de résistance, the scented faux pine candle sat in the middle of the coffee table. Lit and extinguished this morning, but still managed to fill the room with a pleasant woody fragrance.

Billy talked big when he was a bit drunk. But she knew him better than that.

And though Billy might have wanted to tear all her clothes off, pull her to the nearest flat surface and let her know all he’d wanted for Christmas, all he was able to do was snuggle in behind her on the sofa, throw one arm around her waist and kiss the top of her head as his brain swam.

It was just noise mostly, something to fill the comfortable silence as the late afternoon became late evening, the tea lights illuminating the front room with a pleasant atmosphere. She was sure he’d fallen asleep, the hand that was over her middle now firmly in hers, his long digits intertwined with her small ones. Not that she minded. She simply held his hand, using her other to scroll through her phone with the volume turned down so he wouldn’t wake up.

She clicked her phone off when she felt his arm tighten around her middle, tugging her back closer to him and turned her head up to smile at him, “Billy”.

His eyes were closed as if half asleep, his dark blonde eyelashes moving to betray the fact that he was indeed awake, but he only hummed, his hips chasing hers to grind against her backside. The alcohol had fuelled his desire, but had hindered his actual ability to act on said desires, and he made a noise of frustration when his body hadn’t reacted the way he wanted.

“...‘m sorry…”, he mumbled quietly, speech slurred endearingly.

“For what?”

“...’ts my little soldier…can’t…”

She had to press her lips together to stifle a laugh, not used to or remembering Billy being this loose-lipped under the influence of alcohol. All the while he was still pressing his soft and clothed length against your backside, willing his ‘little soldier’ to life, to no avail.

It was both endearing and amusing, that even in the state Billy was in he was trying, and god he really was trying, to initiate intimacy, fully knowing that the likelihood was that he wasn’t going to be able to. Much much too drunk to even think straight.

“It’s alright, Billy, just go to sleep, ok?”

He huffed much like a child would when you refused him something.

“...but it’s Christmas…”

“Sex on Christmas Day is no better than sex on any other day. Just get some sleep, okay?”

He sighed, slumping his head onto the cushion in something akin to defeat, fingers still threaded through hers on her stomach. But not a moment later, she heard his steady breaths and threw the blanket over him as well as her and laid her head down as well.

Waves of consciousness kept pulling her to the surface, a pleased sound falling from her lips as she parted them, feeling all warm both against her flesh and tugging in her gut as well.

She could feel Billy’s hot puffs of air against her neck and ear, the hair there reacting to his quickened breaths as they stood on end, her brain failing to realise quickly enough what was going on, and why her boyfriend lay behind her, was breathing so quickly.

That was until she heard him whimper, a stuttered moan following it.

“Mm…Billy?..”

Her eyelashes fluttered open, and instead of the warm ropes of sleep tugging her down it was something else, something hardpressing against her and chasing friction. His grip on her hands was so tight, his knuckles were almost white from the effort of holding back.

By now the candles had all burned out, save one, and the sky outside was pitch black, with the smallest flurry of snow decorating the darkness.

Hours had gone by.

She jumped when she felt his hands, colder than she expected, dip beneath her jumper and shirt, pressing his large palm against the flesh of her stomach, his little finger teasingly sliding beneath the waistband of her underwear.

“Sorry - babe, I need you…”

She could feel how impossibly hard he was through his jeans, chasing friction with every cant of his hips, using one hand to unzip them with difficulty as his other held onto her like she might disappear.

Freeing his length from his boxers, Billy almost moaned aloud when he saw that she was pulling her own jeans down as well, having woken more than aroused at the idea he was grinding against her searching for pleasure. So he made use of his hand and turned her face towards him, enveloping her soft, puffy lips with his own in a warm, wet kiss, not pausing for a moment to think about anything else other than having her right now, as he’d dreamt of doing since Christmas morning.

She nearly gasped when he slid his thick manhood into her, sheathing himself inside her in one, smooth confident movement, as if nothing, nothing, was going to stop him from basking in the warmth she offered.

In this position, with her thighs squeezed together, and his hand on her hips, pulling her back to him with each desperate thrust, it felt like so much more. And every blow to the sweet spot that lay deep inside her felt so utterly maddening, that her brain, still rising from sleep, felt like it was being shaken around.

She came with a choked cry, her grip on his wrist where his nimble fingers were applying frustratingly little pressure to her bud as he continued to piston into her. And when she was so close to begging him to stop from overstimulation, Billy leaned back a little, his teeth grazing against her neck and one hand palming her backside to push himself deeper as he too came with a long, broken whine.

His chest moved against her back with his heavy breathing, sucking in air into his lungs after the craze he’d just fallen over.

Billy pressed kisses to her neck and jaw in a sort of admiration, moving slightly with his length still buried inside her, eliciting a whimper from her as well as the friction.

She felt his eyelashes move against her cheek when he opened his eyes, “Did we really just shag with Die Hard on in the background?” he chuckled breathily.

This time, she couldn’t hold back her tired laugh, swatting his arm playfully, “you’re such a dickhead.”

He smiled wearily, turning her face once more to capture her swollen lips in a kiss, more tender this time without the urgency of desire.

“What was that about Christmas Day sex?” he prodded.

She furrowed her brows and double-tapped her phone.

23:49.

Cheeky fucker.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

[bondwithme-murderstyle]

i have spent my whole shift at work fleshing out smut and i’m still not happy with it ugh

also might take some requests or prompts this weekend and fire out some shorts

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "Melting for You"

It's been a bit since I've done a Self Promo Sunday post, but with the weather heating and well into summer this one shot came to mind, and it seemed like the right one for this week to get them going again. I wish we had a few more steamy CS pics to work with to make a cover art, but I still gave it a go. If this is new to you, I hope you'll enjoy, and if it's a repeat maybe you'll find it fun to revisit.

Summary: When Emma decides to tease an overheated pirate, soon she's the one burning up... A Post Season 6 canon divergent ff, with CS enjoying their happy beginning

Can also be found on AO3 if that's your preference...

by: @snowbellewells

Even indoors the air was heavy and oppressive - especially for June - and Emma Swan gave herself a mental pat on the back for even being out of her recliner nearest the air conditioning vent in the old, high-ceiling house that could be expensive to sufficiently cool. She tended to covet a day like this - off from the station, Henry out with friends, no one needing anything from her, and a backlog of her favorite crime procedurals ready in her streaming queue - chuckling to herself about deserving some sort of Savior Above and Beyond medal for being in the kitchen tackling a sink of dirty dishes.

Normally, she’d just put them in the dishwasher, but the last clean load had never been taken back out and put away - one of Henry’s designated jobs - and her husband, loving and fond of her son as he was, was still a captain through and through, determined for each member of his crew to pull their weight. Emma, on the other hand, while not as worried about the degree of neatness Killian would prefer, was just stubborn enough not to do her kid’s chores for him. Henry had been busy lately; finals, college applications and other genuine responsibilities taking up the bulk of his time, but she trusted him to get to it when he could. Though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, the real reason she didn’t put the clean dishes away was because she didn’t understand Killian’s precise method for storing all the various pots, pans, containers, and baking sheets; inevitably, when she tried to unload the dishwasher alone, she ended up with numerous things she couldn’t find a place for strewn across the kitchen’s center island and more of a mess than she’d started with.

It just wasn’t worth the hassle.

So, here she stood, sweating over a sink full of hot, soapy water, feeling loose tendrils of hair begin to curl around her face in the humidity, just trying to make sure they had enough clean spoons and to-go mugs for their coffee the next morning and cursing the 90 degree heat and the ceiling fan not doing an adequate job of getting the cooler air to her as her shirt began to feel stuck to her skin between her shoulder blades.

At least she had a good view. 

Emma smirked to herself, eyes lighting up once again as she refocused from the charred bits of pizza crust she’d slightly burnt onto a pan and back out the window over the sink. She wasn’t sure how her husband could stand it outside, and he’d been at it for at least a couple hours at this point, but as she took in the scene before her, Emma couldn’t help thinking that at this moment, his discomfort was a cross she was willing to bear.

Standing up straighter, running her forearm across her face, she dazedly allowed her hands to drip across the counter as she studied him more closely, almost forgetting where she was. Killian was wearing dark, stained denim jeans he often used when out of doors and not on his ship, along with a thin, gray T-shirt, stretched and faded with holes in places, but more than serviceable for working around the house and yard. She could see the muscles in his back and shoulders straining and bunching through the nearly threadbare material easily, and hardly realized she’d unconsciously licked her lips at the decadent sight.

As she continued to shamelessly spy on her fine pirate, Killian stretched his arms up overhead, clearly working out some of the kinks from his exertions, then to her eternal delight, raised the hem of his T-shirt to mop sweat from his brow. She could see a band of tanned, flushed skin on his lower back, unknowingly tantalizing her as she stared, unable to blink or look away. Then, as if that hadn’t been enough, he slowly peeled the taut fabric up his torso and off over his head before tossing it to the side.

She knew her breath went a bit shallow at the sight of his whole back bared to her while Killian stood for several long moments catching his breath. At this point, her sudsy hands were clutching the edge of the sink while her knees went watery at the show he was putting on inadvertently. The expanse of his skin was marred in places by lines almost white from the time gone by since they had been inflicted, and high on his left shoulder a compass sat, bearing the name ‘Liam’ along its edge, while the dark tentacles of a kraken curled surreptitiously along his rib cage on his right side. The dark and light took not one iota from his swarthy perfection though, not to her eyes. In fact, if she had been overwarm before, she was burning up now; the sight of his whole torso practically glistening in the bright afternoon sun making her weak. She was seized with the almost uncontrollable desire to go out there and started licking the salty moisture from his skin with her tongue.

If she didn’t know better, she would think he was purposely trying to tempt her. 

Wait… did she know better? Emma paused, tilted her head to one side in thought. She’d told him when he’d gone outside that she was kicking back to watch some tv. But Killian could be scarily prescient of everyone around him, alert without even trying. Did he know she was watching; and, if so, was he teasing her?

Eyes narrowing, she thought for a second, feeling more than a bit devious as she considered her rapscallion husband and just what mischief he might have on his mind. She could almost picture him scoffing about getting her riled up; his brow arched just so, tongue poking against the inside of his lower lip, practically leering at her, knowing she couldn’t resist him at the best of times, and absolutely using it to his advantage. What she needed, Emma decided, a twinkle coming into her eye as the perfect plan of attack took shape in her mind, was to get him back, while appearing completely innocent. Get him flustered and as hot and bothered as he was making her. Turning off the tap and quickly drying her hands on a towel nearby, she grabbed a large glass from the cabinet to her left, then opened the freezer for ice - and her chosen secret weapon.

Strolling outside, Emma tried her best to school her expression, knowing a twitch of mischievous humor or devilish twinkle would give her away. Her pirate still read her like a book - knew her every feature more minutely than anyone else had ever bothered to try - even more so after years together. He’d catch any slip and be on the alert.

Killian turned to look at her, just as she drew up beside him. Reaching out to trail the hand holding an ice cold glass of water down his damp, overheated bicep, she fought to hold in the smirk as her husband let his head fall backwards, nearly growling in pleasure. The unrelenting heat had the glass already covered in condensation, and the warmth radiating from Killian as well after working so long in the sun, meant the cool moisture had to feel heavenly.

Eyeing her with both adoration and curiosity, her captain made Emma’s own inner thermostat raise a tick as well when he licked the perspiration from his upper lip. “May I assume that’s for me, Love?”

“Yep,” she replied, letting the ‘p’ pop distinctly, just as he often did when alluring her with his speech. “I thought it was time to bring you some water. Can’t have my True Love getting dehydrated, after all.”

He raised a brow, as if wondering why she seemed so enthusiastic, but he took the glass from her eagerly, seemingly deciding just to accept the gesture with thanks. Of course, as his Adam's apple bobbed with his greedy swallows of the cool, refreshing liquid, it was Emma who found her throat working desperately to gain more air.

For a second, she almost forgot her plan in the wake of the tantalizing distraction he made, before she regained focus and hurried to unwrap what she held in her other hand.

While Killian’s eyes were still closed savoring the last of his drink, Emma quickly stuffed the wrapper of an ice cream bar in her cutoff jean pockets and began to lick the chocolate coating, enjoying the sweet taste, but also waiting for the moment she would feel the sizzle of his eyes on her once more.

“Here you go, Love,” Killian’s voice spoke up as she felt him turn toward her, just as she enveloped the whole tip of the ice cream bar between her lips. “That truly hit the sp - “

His words died on his tongue as he got an eyeful of what she was doing, though Emma avoided looking back just yet, knowing the glee she was feeling would give her away. ‘Gotcha, Pirate!’ she couldn’t help gloating in her mind.

Humming slightly as if she was only focused on how delicious her frozen treat tasted, Emma was inwardly high fiving herself after shooting a quick sidelong glance at her husband to see him looking as though he had swallowed his own tongue. The empty glass he’d moved to hand back to her fell to the ground from his suddenly lax fingers, and when she heard him speak again, his words were a hoarse whisper. “Gods above, Swan, are you trying to kill me?”

“Of course not,” she chirped happily, winking at him with what she hoped was breezy nonchalance. “Just enjoying some refreshment myself.” She then popped the treat back into her mouth, pointedly hollowing her cheeks a bit, then pulling it back out while letting her tongue trail along the rapidly melting chocolate coating.

‘And now the final touch,’ she thought, turning her head back toward the porch and deliberately putting more swing in her hips than normal. “Bring that glass with you when you come back in, okay Babe?” she tossed over her shoulder, with one brief backward glance that she hoped managed to be sultry.

Congratulating herself, even as just the short amount of time she’d been outside was beginning to make her sweat too and the vanilla insides of her ice cream began to drip down her hand, Emma had nearly reached the outdoor water spigot and attached hose by the porch steps, which seemed a good place to finish her dessert and wash off the stickiness, when she heard heavy steps coming up behind her rapidly. ‘Right on cue, ’ her mind practically crowed.

In the next moment, Killian’s strong, muscled arm snaked around her stomach and jerked her back firmly against the front of his body. Holding her tightly, his teeth nipped her earlobe before he purred a seductive warning against her neck. “It’s cruel to tease a man like that, Minx - not if you don’t intend to share a taste.”

Impishly, Emma held up the rapidly shrinking bit of ice cream left on the stick, as if in offering. However, when he dove in to swipe his tongue up the side of her hand and engulf both the melting treat and the tips of her fingers in the warm, wet cavern of his mouth, she willingly let go. His eyes were pure blue flames that wouldn’t allow her to blink, turning her bones and sinew to liquid more than the heat outside could have ever managed.

Emma was leaning into him breathlessly, mind going blank at the way he pulled his lips back off her fingers, laving her skin playfully as he leaned away, the self-satisfied gleam in his eyes along with the heat telling her all too well that he knew what he was doing. Winking devilishly, he stepped away slightly, making her nearly stumble as her body strained to follow, a soft whine leaving her throat completely against her will. 

“Hmm…” he purred, baiting her now, sensing victory no doubt. “Just as I thought - delicious.”

Emma’s misfiring synapses crackled back to life as he stood there, just out of reach, clearly waiting for his wife’s next move, and almost certainly counting on her being unable to resist.

Her chest heaved, trying to get a full breath and bring herself under control. She’d had the upper hand! She was so sure she’d have him begging - just this once. But she was flushed and sweating every bit as much as Killian now. That sinful way he was tracing her bare legs with his gaze, and the feel of his mouth on her, however briefly, had been all it had taken to send her temperature soaring beyond all reason.

“You don’t play fair, Captain,” she chided, her voice low and her own teasing smile finally returning to her as it just tilted the corner of her lips.

Killian’s dark brow arched devastatingly in challenge, not about to be outdone. “Oh, and I suppose you think waltzing out here in those shorts that barely cover your knickers and shamelessly teasing me was fair play?”

There was no good comeback, and Emma knew it. She’d been messing with him from the start, and neither of them had any doubts on that score. However, it was just then she remembered the hose and spigot right behind her. Using an innocent shrug of her shoulders and a toss of her blond hair she knew could often distract him - pirate indeed, her golden hair had always drawn his touch, he’d been brushing it over her shoulder since they had first climbed the beanstalk together - she managed to move back enough to reach behind her and turn on the water without him catching onto her actions. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” she sniffed, feigning insult. “I only brought you a cold drink. You looked like you needed…” she fumbled to grasp the hose quickly and pull it up into her hands “...to cool off!”

Without further warning, she pointed the nozzle at him, squeezed the handle and let fly, startling him with a blast of water right to the chest. Luckily, she’d managed to crank up the power enough to have a steady stream leaving the hose at full blast, and they kept it coiled in the shade of the porch, so she knew the spray rapidly soaking her husband was as ice cold as the sun beating down on them from above was burning hot.

Spluttering and yelping at the sudden, frigid onslaught, Killian’s pleased smirk dissolved as he threw up both arms in a helpless attempt to block the spray. She couldn’t help throwing her head back with a triumphant laugh and an emphatic “Gotcha!” escaping her lips. No part of her husband was getting out of this unscathed, she decided, aiming to soak him from head to toe while she had the upper hand. 

Unfortunately for her, the victory was short-lived. Adaptable and quick-thinking as ever, Killian had steeled himself against the cold blast and was inching closer amidst laughter of his own and short exclamations at the bursts of chilled water hitting him.

Emma was about to relent in truth, the sight of Killian’s streams of eater running down his arms and sides and droplets clinging to his trim, well-defined chest and the enticing covering of matted dark hair across his taut chest muscles, was more than enough prize for her efforts. The handle actually faltered in her grip for a moment as her mouth fell open with her gawking.

 It was all the opening her pirate needed. 

Killian bounded forward, closing the slight distance left between them and deftly plucking the hose from her grip. The squelch of his feet on the wet grass and the slap of soaked denim against his legs were Emma’s only other warnings before the sharp, freezing spray was turned on her full blast in retaliation.

“Ahhh! Killian!” she screeched helplessly, the shock of the cold making her gasp, despite knowing she wasn’t going to get any more mercy than she herself had been willing to grant moments ago. Instead, she floundered forward, grabbing for the hand aiming the spray at her. They scuffled briefly, both only getting wetter and more winded, until - ridiculously tangled up with each other and the hose - they tumbled to the sodden grass in a heap of wriggling limbs.

At this point, both of them were laughing, hands rapidly smoothing over wet skin in delicious slides. The hose fell from Killian’s grip, easily forgotten, and the water splashed them both in a wild arc until it fell to the ground and stopped. The damage was long done anyway as they rolled together on the marshy ground, legs entwined and bodies beginning to move against each other deliciously, almost without thought in a deliciously familiar next move.

Unable to resist any longer, and far past teasing or trying to win their game, Emma’s hands stole to trace up his panting side, thrilling at the feel of his stomach muscles trembling where her fingertips swept over them. 

Killian was not idle as she worked feverishly, a low groan of pleasure escaping him as she stroked along the planes of his torso.  In the next moment, he dove in, pulling down the vee of her own shirt further and baring her breast before closing his mouth over the tight, alert bud warming and tormenting in equal measure with swipes of his wicked tongue.

She bucked up into him, keening and whimpering and wordlessly desperate to urge him on. After that, there was no time for words, merely pants of exertion, the occasional clacking of teeth, the slapping of damp skin on skin, and the smack of the rest of their soaking clothing frantically shed on the swampy ground around them. Soon they were moving in unison, Killian pushing forward, and her opening to pull him in, then clinging to him tightly for all she was worth.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Later, as the evening shadows fell, a light breeze moved in, cooling the heavy air of the day. Emma’s eyes trailed languidly over the nude lines of her husband’s hip and side as he returned to her with water and slid back under the light blanket they had draped over their bodies as they snuggled skin to skin on the back porch. It hadn’t seemed worth bothering to get dressed again when they’d only adjourned as far as the porch before their kisses and touches and mischievous smiles led to them going again at an achingly slower, more luxurious pace on the porch glider while the sun had slowly dipped closer to the horizon. As Killian curled back around her and brought her hand up to kiss each one of her knuckles reverently, humming as he somehow found a sweet bit of leftover ice cream, Emma could only think it was lucky their porch faced nothing but the rocky coastline and the harbor beyond it. Not that she was ashamed of how quickly she had melted at his whim, but she didn’t need anyone else to get an eyeful.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64

@apiratewhopines @iamstartraveller776 @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @teamhook

@revanmeetra87 @anmylica @xarandomdreamx @bluewildcatfanatic @xsajx @motherkatereloyshipper

@stahlop @mie779 @jonesfandomfanatic @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @winterbaby89

@darkcolinodonorgasm @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @zaharadessert @booksteaandtoomuchtv @caught-in-the-filter

[happilyhertale]

A Christmas Tease – Tom Bennett x female!reader

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem!reader

Summary: You and your boyfriend Tom are decorating the Christmas tree. Tom's enthusiasm is limited – but he knows how to make it interesting.

Warnings: Fluff; some dirty talk

Author’s note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.3k

Other stories of mine

12 Days of Smuffmas

12 Days of Smuff

The cozy little flat is aglow with the warm flicker of candles and the soft hum of the radio. Tom has been looking forward to a quiet evening, just him and you, basking in each other’s company without interruptions. But his sister Lois had other plans.

Lois had swept into the house earlier that day like a whirlwind, carrying a box of Christmas decorations and a cheery resolve that neither you nor Tom could easily argue with. “You can’t just ignore the holiday spirit!” she had declared, dropping the box onto the coffee table with a thud. “I’m working tonight, but you two can do something useful with your time. Decorate the tree!”

Tom had groaned loudly, slumping back on the sofa. “Decorate a tree? Why bother? It’s just going to stand there shedding needles.”

But Lois had turned to you with a persuasive smile. “You’ll help, won’t you? I’d do it myself if I wasn’t stuck at work.”

You hesitated, glancing at Tom. He gave you a pleading look, silently begging you to refuse. But there was something about Lois’s determined grin that made you relent. “Alright,” you agreed.

Tom’s groan grew even louder, but you simply patted his shoulder. “It’ll be fun,” you said.

Now, standing in the living room, Tom eyes the half-assembled Christmas tree with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. You, on the other hand, are happily untangling strings of fairy lights, humming to yourself. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with an expression that is part amusement, part exasperation.

“You know,” he drawles, his voice low and teasing, “we could be doing something a lot more interesting right now.”

You glance up, arching a brow. “Interesting like what? Watching you complain about decorating the tree?”

He smirks, pushing off the wall to step closer. “That’s not what I had in mind.”

Before you can respond, his hands are on your waist, his fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of your dress. You froze for a moment, a shiver running down your spine. “Tom..” you gasp, a blush was already creeping up your cheeks, “…hands off. We have a job to do.”

“Oh, I’m helping,” he say innocently, his lips quirking into a mischievous grin. His hands slide lower, and you swat him away, the blush on your cheeks deepening.

“Stop it” you scold, trying to keep your composure. But he just chuckles, leaning in close to whisper in your ear.

“Why? You don’t seem to mind.” His breath is warm against your skin, and you can feel your resolve wavering.

“Tom Bennett,” you say, doing your best to sound stern. “If you don’t start hanging these ornaments, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” he interrupts, his voice full of mock innocence.

“I’ll make you sleep on the sofa,” you shoot back, holding up a bauble like it is a weapon.

He laughs, a rich, deep sound that makes your heart skip a beat. “Alright, alright,” he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll behave. For now.”

But of course, he doesn’t.

Every few minutes, he finds some excuse to touch you—a hand brushing against yours as you reach for the same ornament, his arm slipping around your waist as he adjusts the lights, his fingers trailing down your back when he thinks you aren’t paying attention.

And then there are the whispers.

Tom has an uncanny ability to find just the right words to make your cheeks burn and your resolve crumble. As you crouch by the box of decorations, untangling a particularly stubborn knot of tinsel, he leans over you, his breath warm against the shell of your ear.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvet-smooth, “if I were that tinsel, I’d wrap myself around you too.”

Your hands still, the comment catching you off guard. You glance up at him, a flush creeping up your neck. “Tom,” you say, though the warning in your tone lacked its bite.

“What?” he asks, grinning. “It’s true. That dress you’re wearing is a bit unfair, isn’t it? How’s a man supposed to think about baubles and lights when you look like that?”

You roll your eyes, attempting to ignore him as you focuse on unraveling the glittering mess in your hands. But then his hand brush lightly against the small of your back.

“I could think of a few better ways to use that tinsel,” he muses, his voice dropping into a husky undertone. “You’d look good all tied up in it… Remember that one time? When you were lying on your belly, unable to move? And I just grabbed your hips and…“

“Tom!” you gasp, spinning to face him, your face now fully aflame.

He laughs, utterly unrepentant, and snatches a length of the tinsel from the box. “Just saying,” he teases, wrapping it loosely around his hands. “It’s versatile stuff. Don’t blame me for having ideas.”

“Stop being ridiculous and hang it on the tree,” you order, your voice cracking slightly as you try to maintain your composure.

“Hang it on the tree?” he repeats, tilting his head as though considering the suggestion. Then, with a wicked grin, he drapes the tinsel across your shoulders instead, letting the silvery strands shimmer against your skin.

“There,” he says, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Perfect. Tree’s done.”

“Tom Bennett,” you say, grabbing the tinsel and throwing it back at him, though you can’t help the laugh that bubbled up.

He catches your wrist before you can pull away, tugging you closer. “You’re blushing,” he notes, his tone both smug and tender.

“No, I’m not..” you retort, though your voice waveres under his intense gaze.

“Liar,” he whispers, his fingers trailing up your arm as he lets the tinsel slip through his other hand, the glittering strands brushing against your skin like a feather.

You shiver, swallowing hard as you struggle to hold his gaze. “The tree,” you manage to stammer, motioning weakly toward the half-decorated branches.

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten about the tree,” he murmurs, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “But I think it can wait a few minutes. Don’t you?”

Your breath catches as he tugs the tinsel taut between his hands, his smirk deepening. “Besides,” he continues, his voice dripping with mock innocence, “Lois said we should make it festive, didn’t she? I’d say this qualifies.”

“Tom!“

Your protests fell on deaf ears as he loops the tinsel over your head like a garland, letting it cascade down your shoulders. You swat at him, trying to hide your laughter, but he only grins, the glint in his eye unmistakable.

You sigh after he reaches into the box again to take a bauble and ‘accidentally’ runs his hand a little too far up your thigh.

“Focus”, you say, but you can’t suppress a smile.

“I am focusing,” he says, smirking as he took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Just not on the tree.”

You roll your eyes, still trying to fight back that smile. “If Lois knew how useless you’re being right now, she’d kill you.”

“Good thing she’s not here, then,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to that low, suggestive tone that makes your knees weak.

“Tom,” you warn, though your resolve is faltering.

“Yes, love?”

“Hang. The. Ornaments.”

“Fine,” he says with an exaggerated sigh, grabbing a bauble and hanging it on the nearest branch. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” you reply, though the flush on your cheeks betrays you.

Despite his constant teasing, the tree eventually starts to come together. By the time the star is perchs on top, you have to admit it looks pretty good—though you’d never let Tom take the credit.

As you stand back to admire your handiwork, Tom slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “See?” he says, his voice soft now. “Told you we could make it fun.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help smiling. “Merry Christmas, Tom.”

He leans down, brushing his lips against yours. “Merry Christmas, love.”

[emmalandry]

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟿: 𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚙𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

Having your big older step-brother, Anakin, sneak into your bedroom every single night. Making sure to use your delicate body as he pleases while you sleep peacefully in your soft pink sheets.

He hates how perfect you are. He hates how much he loves you and how obedient you are for him when he tells you he’s upset and the only thing that will cheer him up is roughly fucking your tiny little cunt.

Having you on all fours, ploughing into you from behind as he forces your head down onto the plush pillows as drool pours from the corner of your squished face and onto the pillow case. You’re whining and babbling, muttering out little “Ani’s” and “Harder please..” as he takes his little stepsister anyway he wants.

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

[kissreo]

SMUFF (smut + fluff) WITH SAE ITOSHI !!!!!!!!!!!!

god i need this man so bad,, hope u like it oomf

Sae Itoshi who didn't believe in things like 'love at first sight' or any sort of other cliche romance trope which are shown in movies before he met you. The first time he noticed you in the café he usually goes to during morning runs, he was hooked.

Sae Itoshi who tries to find more information about you but wouldn't approach you since he's too scared of being rejected by a beauty like you.

Sae Itoshi who gets hopeful when he sees you at one of his games but his hopes are immediately crushed when he notices you on the 'wrong' side – cheering for the team he was playing against.

Sae Itoshi who after months of pining after you, finally goes up to you and asks you on a date as if it was the most casual thing ever – not expecting you to accept his offer.

Sae Itoshi who is way too nervous to pick you up compared to his public image, he even goes so far to call his manager to ask if he looks good and the flowers are good.

Sae Itoshi who asks you to be his partner after three dates after the two of you were drinking, hoping you were drunk enough to forget about it the next morning but you didn't.

Sae Itoshi who makes sure to make you feel like the luckiest person ever when dating him, through gifts, actually communicating and taking you on trips when he had games outside of Spain.

Sae Itoshi who after a game, no matter if it went good or bad, fucks you so roughly right after getting back to you.

Sae Itoshi who loves taking you from the back or reverse cowgirl when he's out of energy just so that he can see your ass right in front of him.

Sae Itoshi who stuffs you full of his cum and pushes it further into you after pulling out in hopes of getting you pregnant.

Sae Itoshi who doesn't care how risky it is to fuck you in middle of his games as long as he can feel you since it gets him even more motivated for games.

[rebelfell]

for your viewing pleasure┃vol. 2

pornstar!eddie x director!reader

welcome to my torture chamber, where I make you all suffer the feels I inflict upon myself. and when in doubt, add wayne.

18+, MDNI┃1.6k 4.1k

cw: lots of sensual fluff (smuff? smutty fluff? is that a thing?) smoking, nudity, allusions to sex, masturbation, light food play

+ mild, mild angst with a very fluffy resolution, anxiety, vague reference to events in FOI, implied family strife

*warnings subject to expand as more parts get added

The two-week gap in your shooting schedule was already planned—had been in the books for ages.

Your crew had been working non-stop, and you’d completed more than enough projects recently to warrant a little bit of a break. And the fact that the start of this break just happened to coincide with the same weekend as the awards ceremony…

Well, that was just a happy accident.

You and Eddie didn’t leave your apartment for five days straight. Okay, maybe not literally. But he never went back to his place, and he spent every night with you in your bed.

You dug up some clothes for him to wear—cast offs from old boyfriends you never got around to getting rid of. They weren’t the best fit, but it wasn’t like he kept them on for very long.

Most of the time you walked around in the nude, or nothing but your underwear. At a certain point, you seemingly decided clothing only slowed you down. But even between never-ending bouts of fucking, there were moments of stillness.

Little pockets of peace and quiet.

One morning, you woke around dawn and found Eddie in the living room. He had his long limbs draped haphazardly over your shitty futon, his length laying soft against his thigh. The cigarette pursed in between his lips glowed orange as he inhaled, and the muscles in his neck flexed as he tipped his head back to blow smoke out the open window. His pale skin glowed softly in the faint light leaking in through the blinds, his tattoos standing out starkly black on his nude form.

He stares up at the ceiling, letting his lit Camel smolder and cherry, thin ribbons of smoke curling in the air and catching the light. So lost in thought he didn’t notice you reaching for your camera.

The chh sound of the shutter as you depress the release doesn’t startle him anymore. If anything, it makes the corner of his mouth twitch from trying not to smile knowing you’re there.

“Did’ya get it?” he asks, still holding his pose as you sneak in closer.

“Take another drag,” you instruct quietly, “and tip your head back like that again.”

His chest shakes with a laugh, but he obeys.

The shutter clicks and snaps again, capturing shadows under his hollowed cheeks; the arch of his spine and the slow stretch of his neck; the way his waves fall across thrift shop throw pillows.

Serene. Arresting. Beautiful.

Floorboards creak and groan as you creep in closer, getting down for a new angle as he stubs out his smoke. He smiles as he blows out the last of it and it wafts in the air, hanging there.

“Lay back,” you tell him, “and prop your head up on your arm, like—yeah, like that…”

There’s more clicking shutter sounds, more quiet direction, more instants captured forever. 

His dick starts to chub and you tell him to hold it, stepping up on the futon with him to shoot from above. He wraps his fingers around his base and starts to tug, slow and gentle. He grips the top of the frame with his other hand, the veins in both his arms standing out the tighter he squeezes.

By the time he comes, the sun has risen above the horizon and its golden rays are sparkling off the milky ropes splattered on stomach. His chest heaves with every labored breath, panting with exertion until he comes back down to earth.

A stupidly happy smile spreads across his face and he cocks his brow at you, huffing out the single word, “Waffles?” with a hearty laugh.

You live off take-out and whatever else thrown together from the random assortment of stuff in your cabinets and fridge; trade stories about the ‘meals’ you had to make for yourselves when you were little and came home to empty houses—it’s cinnamon toast for you, cheese slices melted on tortilla chips in the microwave for him.

He tears up when you make him a PB&J.

You take walks in your neighborhood, down to the little park at the end of your street. You sit on the bench under your favorite tree and he keeps you tucked securely under his arm at all times. 

Besides that, any attempt to leave never works out. You half-heartedly keep saying you should ‘go out’ and quote-unquote, ‘do something,’ but never manage to put the words into action.

It always ends with falling back into your sheets, stripping off all the clothes you just put on.

You lay in your bed until daylight fades into the neon orange of sunset that fades into the muted blue of early evening. Your head on his chest, his on yours, you curled into his side, him with his front pressed to your back, him laying between your legs with his head pillowed on your thighs.

It feels like a dream, or a montage in a movie you wanted to shoot again and again.

Time seems to pull and stretch like it’s taffy, drooping in the middle and folding back on itself, turning over in a mesmerizing cycle. You have to remind yourself it’s not always gonna be this way, that the air will eventually cool and harden it, even though it feels like it could stay malleable forever.

At some point, he gets up to fetch ice cream from the freezer. You hold the pint in between you, taking turns taking tiny spoonfuls. He holds his spoon over your navel, letting the melted bits drip on your stomach before he laps it up with his tongue. It makes you hum in pleasure, makes your belly quiver as his lips hover over it. He lets more dribble on your sternum, in between your breasts, chasing the little rivers of it with his lips and sucking it off your skin’s surface.

He keeps doing it until he gets you squirming, snatching the spoon out of his hand and putting it on the bedside table with the ice cream. And then it’s sticky sweet kissing, tongues probing to taste the remnants of cream and sugar clinging to the insides of your mouths as you devour him.

“Wait…what day is it?” you ask, hours later through the fog of post-orgasmic bliss. Laying beside him in the bed, end to end so your feet are propped up on your pillow next to his face.

“Hmm?” Eddie drawls, halfway half-asleep as he turns his head to kiss your ankle bone.

“What day is it?” you ask again, still hazy and dazed. “Is…is today Friday?”

“I, uh…I don’t know,” he chuckles. “I lost track.”

Every day is you-day to him now.

You try to sound perturbed when you sit up, but it’s difficult when that dopey, sleepy grin of his stretches across his face. The words just come out all soupy and diluted with fondness.

“Well, I can’t imagine this is what you planned for your time off,” you giggle, nudging at his temple with your big toe. Eddie just shrugs and lightly runs his fingertips up and down your calf.

“Don’t be so sure about that,” he murmurs, now kissing the arch of your foot.

You pull your legs back and curl them under you as you sit up further, going to smack him lightly on the chest only to end up rubbing your palm across his pecs in a circle over his heart.

“C’mon, Ed, seriously,” you pleaded. “You really didn’t have anything planned?”

And he doesn’t say what he wants to, which is that he’d been dreading this break since you told him about it. That he knew he’d just be counting the days until he got to see you again; that he likely would have spent every day of it coming up with lame excuses to call you or come by.

“Honestly, nothing,” he tells you, letting his head roll side to side, still settled deep in the pillow.

You nod back, staring down at your hand on his chest, seemingly satisfied until you inhale softly.

“So I’m not, like, keeping you from anything?”

Even in the dark, he can see the worry that ghosts across your face. The brief flash of doubt that creeps in slowly like the moonlight bleeding through the crack under your door. It’s a thought you haven’t been able to voice yet, but has been lurking in the depths, gathering strength.

One you’ve been ignoring in the name of letting yourself be selfish in the way you never get to. 

Automatically, Eddie sits up and scoots as close to you as he can get. He puts his hands on your cheeks and kisses your forehead for a long, long moment. You can smell your body wash on him, your conditioner in his curls. Familiar, yet different when it’s layered on top of his natural musk. 

It’s like part of you is living in his skin and hair. Like he’s been infused with you. 

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” he assures you, solid and unyielding. “Really, the only thing I thought I might do was…”

He trails off and your eyes flit up to meet his gaze. He chews on the words thoughtfully, the gears in his head turning so hard that you swear you can hear them out loud. Your heart swells as you reach out to stroke his necklace, rubbing the guitar pick that hangs over his own.

“Yeah?” you coax him gently.

Eddie exhales in a quiet chuckle. He takes your hand in his and lets his lips brush along the back of your knuckles before entwining your fingers.

“I thought I might go visit Wayne.”

Flying never really bothered you. 

You hadn’t done it all that much, to be fair. But the times you had, it often went without a hitch. 

The airport itself could be more anxiety-inducing than the flight itself, but today it had gone rather smoothly. Security was a breeze, and they didn’t make any changes to your departure gate that forced you to sprint through the terminal in a panic only to find your flight was long gone.

And yet as you sit in your seat next to Eddie, the plane idling on the tarmac waiting for the jetway to be attached, you find yourself wanting to yank down that mask stored overhead and suck down some sweet, sweet oxygen until your brain stops feeling like it’s being sandblasted.

Your leg bounces incessantly until a ringed hand reaches out and rests on your knee, holding on to it even after it’s stopped jiggling, the flat of his palm rubbing up and down your thigh.

He’s already looking back at you when you turn to thank him, and to apologize. Again. 

Warm brown eyes glowing amber with the light coming through the window hitting them. Smiling sweetly when he says there’s nothing to apologize for. Giving you another reassuring squeeze as the people in the rows ahead of you finally stand.

Eddie stands as well, the hem of his t-shirt riding up as he brings down your bags, the brief flash of his happy trail giving you a momentary reprieve from your storm of anxious thoughts.

Up until today, you had genuinely been fine. The thought of tagging along with Eddie to visit his uncle somehow didn’t seem so intimidating in the moment when he asked if you wanted to join. And then there was the rush of packing, Eddie booking the flights while you got the hotel.

But somewhere in between clicking your lap belt into place and reaching cruising altitude, you had started to unravel. And by the time you were over Kansas, you’d worked up to a full panic.

In the last few months, Eddie had become one of the most—if not the most—important people in your life. And now you were on your way to meet the most important person in his life for the very first time, right after spending a full week with your legs wrapped around his head.

Among other places.

It could be worse, though. Wayne at least knew some version of how you and Eddie met, so that should minimize any awkward explanations or outright lies. Still, you didn’t know exactly how much he knew. And he certainly hadn’t heard about any of the more recent developments.

How would Eddie introduce you? As a coworker? A friend? His current slam piece? Was there even a word for what you were to each other now?

You didn’t dare allow yourself to wonder how familiar Wayne might be with you already. Too many times, you had been walked through the consumer reports on some of your tapes and had been reminded just how popular you were with older men. Men in Wayne’s exact age bracket…

The solid weight of Eddie’s hand laying on your shoulder mercifully brings you outside your own head as you look up at him. His brow pinches and he mouths a silent, you okay?

Forcing the best smile you can, you nod as you stand and slide in front of him into the aisle.

The rental car Eddie picked out was a bit gauche, but you didn’t tease him for it too much.

His return home was something of a victory tour, you supposed. He might as well look the douchey part—and he really did. Sitting in the front seat of that convertible, shit-eating grin splitting his face, long curls ruffling in the wind as he lowered the Ray Bans covering his eyes to wink at you.

It was funny how much it suited him.

Like he was born for it.

Hawkins was a few hours drive from Indianapolis, and you spent the majority of it turning over the same scenarios you’d been running in your head on the plane. After the fourth or fifth time you’d flipped down the visor on the passenger side to check that the scant amount of make-up you wore for the flight didn’t smudge, you heard Eddie chuckle quietly beside you.

“Something funny?” you scoff, closing the mirror and slapping the visor back into place.

Eddie shook his head, “Just not used to seeing you so nervous. There’s no need to be, y’know?”

He slid his hand off the gearshift to wrap around your knee, grounding himself as much as you.

“I know,” you answer, small and muted, “I’m just worried he’ll think I’m some sex-crazed nympho who dragged his precious, baby angel nephew into a life of debauchery and sin.”

A raucous belly laugh burst out of Eddie, and you whipped your head sideways to glare at him.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, still laughing, “I don’t think anyone in this town has ever been worried about me getting corrupted. If you ask them, I was the number one source of corruption around here.”

Your eyes roll, but he took it as a win seeing the tiniest hint of a smile trying to break through. He lets go of your knee and reaches for your hand instead, his fingers and yours threading.

“Don’t worry,” Eddie tells you with another grin, “Wayne’s gonna love you.”

Because I do, he wishes he could add.

“Well, at least you picked something covert for our arrival,” you snicker under your breath.

Eddie laughed, the sound of it drowned out by him revving the engine as he made the turn into Forest Hills, drawing the ire of more than a few of his former neighbors. They all seethed at the car, as if they could slash the tires just by staring.

He pulls up in front of a trailer midway down the main dirt road—white and aqua siding that looks freshly power washed, a little garden plot peeking out from around the back, a shiny (lightly used) pick-up parked out front, some less rickety furniture sitting on the covered porch.

All the things Wayne was adamant he didn’t need that Eddie insisted on getting him anyway.

You get out of the car still fussing with your hands, wishing you had a pie or a plate of cookies or a joint—some kind of offering to say, ‘sorry your nephew’s doing porn because of me.’

But before you even reach the steps, the door swings open and Wayne comes out to greet you. He and Eddie embrace in an energetic hug, the both of them clapping the other hard on the back. Wayne’s hand rests on the back of Eddie’s neck after they pull apart, holding him there to get a good, long look at him. His eyes start to mist and you look at your feet, feeling like an intruder.

Eddie steps to the side, putting his hand on your lower back, giving Wayne your name. And for an instant, it all feels so terribly wrong. Like this is maybe the last place on earth you should be.

Who ever heard of bringing a pornstar home to meet the family? It sounds more like a set-up for a crappy parody, Guess Who’s Cumming to Dinner.

But then Wayne takes your hand. He sandwiches it between his palms, his grasp solid and firm as he gives you a reassuring squeeze. He smiles so wide, the number of folds on the older man’s weathered face seemingly double.

“Nice to meet you, finally,” he says, his voice as gravelly as the road you just drove down.

“Really nice to meet you too,” you say, returning his squeeze. All your doubts somehow banished instantly by his warm, sage presence.

He gives you another smile and motions for you all to move inside. As you and Eddie walk past, his eyes land on the rental car parked next to his truck and he shakes his head. 

“No one’s ever accused you of being subtle, boy,” he sighs.

The inside is shockingly tidy for a bachelor pad, the walls adorned with rows and rows of mugs and hats just as Eddie described. There’s a few pieces of furniture in here that look new, too. 

Namely, a bigger TV and a couch with some real cushioning that’s not just a sciatica factory.

It’s nice. Homey, even. It feels lived in and comfortable, well-worn like the clothes on their backs. It makes you wonder how your life might have turned out different if you had someone like Wayne to take you in the way he did for Eddie. Someone to give you a soft place to land.

Your gaze falls on an old photo book sitting out on the kitchen counter, and Wayne’s eyes twinkle with a kind of familial mischief as he tries to act like it’s there purely by coincidence.

Almost instantly, you and Eddie are squished next to each other on the couch while Wayne looks on from his recliner as you pour over the album. You flip carefully through shot after shot of Eddie’s little face from diapers to kindergarten. The only other figure featured is Wayne, and you realize the book must have been a gift made for him. All the pictures taken by someone else.

For how thick the book is, it’s not actually all that full. The photos stop about halfway through, and you guess that the person who gave it to him must have intended to add more later.

“These are beautiful,” you murmur, noting the lighting and composition. There’s an artfulness to them that’s undeniable, even if it’s not deliberate.

Clearly taken by someone with a natural talent.

Eddie hums quietly in agreement, trying not to think about all the other equally beautiful photos, the ones of him and the hundreds of others taken before he was even born, that are lost forever.

“Wait, is that—are you in a tutu?!”

Eddie flings his whole body forward, trying to slap his hand over a picture of him at maybe five or six in a baby pink leotard trimmed with silver sequins and an equally sparkly tulle skirt so stiff and fluffy it stood up on its own. In the picture, he’s running away from the camera, grinning deviously over his shoulder at whoever’s chasing him, the lower half of his face smeared with vanilla frosting.

“They were havin’ a recital over at the community center,” Wayne chortles, “set up this table to sell baked goods. Boy stole a costume and walked right out with a dozen damn cupcakes.”

Together, you and the older man fall into a fit of laughter while Eddie scoffs indignantly.

“That old crone of a dance teacher wouldn’t sell me one—I had money and everything!”

His argument falls on deaf ears, you and Wayne too busy cackling to pay him any attention, but he keeps trying to defend himself, his own laughter breaking through as he breaks down and Wayne swipes away the beginnings of a tear that leaks out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh…”

You turn the page and all three of you fall silent at the sight of the next photo, seemingly the only one Wayne might have taken himself. It’s from the same day, snapped shortly after the previous. Eddie is still in the tutu, but his face has been cleaned with a wet wipe. The woman holding one is crouched down in front of him, his sweet face scrunched up like he’s in the middle of a giggle.

She looks just like him. Same pale, lightly freckled skin. Same dark, unruly curls cut short into a bob. Same rounded tip of her nose, identical to the miniature one she’s booping with her index. 

Eddie lays a hand on the page, his thumb stroking the image through the protective sleeve.

It’s the last photo in the book.

“I’m, um…m’ gonna go have a cigarette,” he says, his voice tight. He clears his throat and goes to stand, placing a warm kiss to your temple.

You watch him go, and Wayne watches you watch him until the door that leads to the little porch on the side of the trailer has closed with a loud creak of its hinges. After one last look at the last photo, you carefully flip the album closed and finally meet Eddie’s uncle’s gaze.

“Thank you for showing me these,” you say softly.

He nods and holds out his hand to take the book back. Calloused palms and cracked, leathery skin. Rough, hard-working hands that handle the album as though it’s made of glass.

It goes back in the closet he dug it out of earlier, and he comes back to take his seat in his recliner. He sits forward, elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him. His flannel clad shoulders lift and fall as he takes a deep and bracing breath. A serious breath.

“So, uh,” he starts, clearing his throat gruffly, “I’d like t’ thank you. For looking out for ‘im.”

He casts a quick glance at the door Eddie is on the other side of before turning back to you.

“Can’t say I was exactly thrilled to hear what he’s been up to out there,” he said, still sounding a bit dubious, “but it made me feel better knowin’ he had someone like you to…to…”

Wayne scrubs a hand over his mouth, the graying stubble on his jaw so coarse you can hear it.

Your back, already painfully straight, stiffens even further as you swallow, trying to bring some relief to your dry mouth as you open it to speak.

“You know,” you start slowly, “he actually helped me a lot more than I helped him.”

Wayne’s forehead wrinkles quadruple as his brow arches and he snorts.

“No, really,” you insist with a smile. “He just…he’s kind and considerate. He works so hard, and he gives every job everything he’s got, no matter what. He makes everyone want to be better.”

Wayne’s gaze softens as he listens to you, quiet and focused. Hearing everything you’re saying.

“There’s a lot of big dicks in our industry—er, no pun intended,” you chuckled, earning a soft huff of laughter out of Wayne as well, “but Eddie’s different. He’s better. He’s very special.”

To me, you wish you could add.

But the point stands either way.

A small smile creeps across Wayne’s face and he reaches out to lay his hand on your shoulder. 

It only rests there a moment, but his palm is warm through your t-shirt and the weight of it is bracing and reassuring, as is the kind twinkling in his eyes. The fine lines that appear around them match the ones you’ve seen on Eddie’s face whenever he grins, wide and animated.

“M’glad you two finally figured it out,” he says with a knowing smirk. “Thought that boy would have an aneurysm one of these days tryin’ to hold back that crush he had on you.”

You start to laugh, but a screech of door hinges and the soft clomp of boots on the carpet stops you as Eddie strides back into the living room.

“Talkin’ about me?” he asks with a cheesing grin.

Practically in sync, yours and Wayne’s eyes roll and you answer with a hefty dose of snark.

“No, never,” you deadpan at the same time Wayne scoffs, “Why would we?”

Thank you for reading the new update, hopefully it's not too difficult to keep up with like this. Love you, mean it! 🎬

[happilyhertale]

Sweet dreams – Tom Bennett x female!reader

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem!reader

Summary: Like every night, Tom sneaks into your room so you can have some togetherness. But after you've fallen asleep, he suddenly has other things on his mind than letting you sleep.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, fingering, dirty talk

Author’s note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1k

Other stories of mine

12 days of smuff

Tom lies in the warm bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, a silent observer of the dance of shadows. Sleep eludes him, and the cigarette dangling casually between his lips releases a delicate stream of smoke with each puff, enveloping him. Outside, a relentless snowfall rages, enveloping the world in a serene white embrace.

However, the pristine beauty of the snow presented a challenge, making it difficult to climb up the façade to your window. But just seeing you standing at the top spurred him on, and every near slip was just a fleeting obstacle on the way to you.

His gaze wanders thoughtfully to the window. The glow of a distant street lamp falls into the room and casts a soft light on his outline. You lie next to him, your form turned away, and your rhythmic breaths create a soothing rhythm. The calm lulled you into a peaceful slumber after he made you cum on his cock, a subtle smile gracing your lips as you sank into the depths of dreams.

But as he listens to the soft murmur that escapes your lips, followed by a gentle sigh, his attention turns back to you. He watches your form, from your shoulders to your waist, until his gaze remains fixed on your ass – until you mumble something again.

Was that a "Tommy"?

He leans towards the bedside table for a moment, puts out his cigarette and then turns to you. His face finds its usual place in the crook of your neck, he inhales your sweet scent, which almost drives him crazy.

His hand slides under the blanket, covering your body with caresses until he gently caresses your bum. You haven't put your panties back on yet, his hand has free rein. You stir slightly, but your eyes are still closed, lost in your sweet dream. He savours your soft skin and how he can snuggle up to your body almost perfectly. Gentle kisses adorn your neck as his fingers continue to caress you. Until you suddenly moan softly in your sleep. Very softly, almost inaudibly.

He starts to knead the soft flesh of your bum, gripping it lightly. His face is still pressed into the crook of your neck as you whimper lightly in your sleep. A slight grin now forms on his lips. The soft, sweet sounds leaving your lips make the desire inside him rise.

His hand glides around your body. It reaches purposefully between your legs and he lets it slide gently through your already wet folds. Your whimpers get louder.

"Hmm... already so wet for me," he murmurs into your neck. A sigh leaves your lips as his fingers find your sensitive bundle of nerves. Gentle but firm movements are left by his fingers and you begin to move your hips slightly.

He nibbles lightly on your neck as the movements of his fingers quicken. Your eyes flutter open as his fingers begin to lightly tease your entrance.

"Tommy," you gasp.

But Tom only grunts slightly, letting his fingers enter you slightly.

"I couldn't resist, love... You were already so wet..." he whispers.

You whimper again as his fingers penetrate you deeper. Your hips start to move towards his fingers, hoping they would thrust deeper.

You bite your lip to stifle a moan so your parents in the other room don't get suspicious

"Tell me what you were dreaming about, Love," Tommy whispers suddenly. For a moment, a slight irritation crosses your face as your breathing becomes heavier. A low moan fills your room as his fingers thrusts deeper.

"You made such sweet whimpers in your sleep..." he continues to whisper.

He slips another finger in, rubbing just the right places. You gasp slightly, your eyes closed. You've been dreaming about Tommy visiting you at night and you spending wonderful hours together – like he really does every night.

"I-I've been dreaming about you, Tommy," you gasp.

He growls slightly as he hears your words, "About me? What were you dreaming about, Love?" he grunts lightly. You feel his hard cock pressing harder and harder against your bum and you whimper again.

"Of your tongue Tommy... How you make me come.. with your tongue..." you whimper.

Tom chuckles softly. His thumb begins to tease your sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers rub over the rough patch deep inside you again and again.

You moan softly, biting into the pillow beneath you, your thighs begin to tremble slightly.

"Mmm, you'll have to make do with my fingers now... Is that okay, love?" he whispers.

But you can't answer – you feel your climax approaching and Tom‘s fingers thrusting into you faster. You're breathing heavily.

"Love? Is that okay... if I make you come with my fingers? When I thrust them deep inside you? Rub your sweet clit until your pussy clenches around my fingers... because she doesn't want to let go of my fingers?" Tom murmurs in your ear, nibbling gently on your earlobe. But again you don't answer, fearing that only a moan will leave your lips.

"But the way you're soaking my fingers, I'll take that as a yes..." he continues to murmur.

And that's enough. You literally cry out into the pillow as Tom pushes his fingers further into your spasming pussy.

He gently kisses your neck, "That's it, love... Enjoy it..." he whispers. The movements of his fingers slowly subside. You breathe heavily as the warm feeling floods your body and slowly subsides.

He slowly pulls his fingers out of you and you whimper slightly in response. As you look over your shoulder, you see him licking his fingers clean. You blush slightly.

"Tommy..." you whisper and slowly turn towards him. But he just grins and pulls you closer to him.

"Don't be so shy, love. You know you taste delicious... After all, you always kiss me when I've made you come with my tongue," he whispers.

"Tom!" you gasp, but he just chuckles slightly and pulls you closer to him.

@hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemonds-eyeball @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @valeskafics @bellaisasleep @snh96 @echos-muses @bl4ckph0enix @autumnhymns @fan-goddess @msmorningstaarr

[redvexillum]

@alastorthirsty thank you for making the request! This ain't silly and over-the-top at all. I mean...did'ya look at some of my other requests *cough* I love this ask because I can go full on drama-mode and not sure if you know this about me, but my favourite animal is a drama-llama. Haha! Anyway, I realllllly indulged in this one, so bless you for giving me the opportunity 💖👉👈

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, possessive!alastor, p in v, established relationship, love making, gentle s♡x, c♡nnilingus, cuddling, soft!alastor, demisexual!alastor, light b♡ndage with shadow tentacles, smuff (smut + fluff)

Alastor’s fingers dug into your wrist like talons, yanking you through the narrow hotel hallway, up the creaking stairs, and into a suffocating, shadow-cloaked corridor. The acrid stench of fire and ash clung to your skin, a reminder of the chaos that had unfolded – the devastation of Vee’s tower, the flames still dancing in your memory.  

Everything felt so surreal, the shock still pulsing through your veins, leaving you breathless, your mind scrambling to catch up with the frantic pace he set.  

Your legs struggled to keep up, each hurried step barely matching his long, relentless strides. He hadn’t looked at you. Not once. There was no concern in his eyes, no reassurance in his touch – just cold purpose.  

His grip was iron, biting into your flesh with a fierceness that made you wince. You could feel the sharp edge of his claws digging into your skin, a silent punishment for your recklessness.  

“A-Alastor...it hurts,” you whimpered, your voice fragile, cracking under the weight of pain and fear. Your words seemed to snap something in him – his shoulders stiffened, his jaw clenched, and without a word, he loosened his grip just enough for you to breathe. But his pace, his determination, never wavered. He was a storm, sweeping you up in his fury, and you were powerless to stop him.  

The moment you crossed the threshold into his room, the door slammed shut with a finality that echoed through the dark space. Your heart pounded, the rhythm erratic and wild, each beat thundering in your ears. The familiar atmosphere of his room – rich with his scent, a dark blend of metal and the bayou – washed over you, yet it offered no comfort.  

Instead, it only magnified the tension crackling between you, the unspoken anger simmering beneath his silence.  

Your mind flashed back to Vox, the twisted grin on his face as he flaunted his control over you. The Overlord had known exactly who you were and, more importantly, who you belonged to.  

For nearly a year, you had been nothing more than a pawn in his cruel game, locked away in his opulent prison, displayed like a trophy to mock Alastor. You had heard his taunts in the darkness, seen his cold, mirthless eyes as he laughed – Vox had relished every moment of your captivity.  

You had been so foolish, thinking you could appeal to him, thinking you could change anything. Guilt ate away at you, bitter and unrelenting, as memories of your naivety surged back. You had thought that maybe you could free Angel Dust from Valentino’s grasp by being Vox’s friend, by playing along with his twisted games.  

How utterly wrong you had been. Your idealism had shattered, and now all you were left with was the shame of your failures.  

And yet, even as guilt weighed heavy on your chest, there was relief – a deep, painful relief. Alastor had come for you, breaking through Vox’s fortress to drag you out of Vox’s grasp.  

But at what cost? 

A burning flush crept up your cheeks, the sting of shame and self-loathing settling deep in your chest. The adrenaline that had fuelled you, kept you moving, now drained away, leaving only raw, vulnerable emotions in its wake. You had wanted to help, to do something right. But instead, you had been nothing but a burden, another problem for Alastor to fix. Your heart ached with the weight of your failure, the knowledge that, once again, you had only caused trouble.  

“I just wanted to help,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath in the thick silence. But the words felt hollow, empty. Because all you had done was create another mess, another disaster – one that nearly cost you, and him, everything.   

Before an apology could form on your lips, Alastor’s hand was suddenly cradling your face, fingers warm against your tear-streaked cheeks. Through your blurry vision, you saw that ever-present grin, his piercing red eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart thump faster, harder, against your chest. Your lips trembled, unsure of what was coming next. Would he yell at you? Scold you for your recklessness? Or worse, would he finally grow tired of you – of all your mistakes? 

You waited, bracing yourself for the inevitable sting of rejection or anger, but it never came. Instead, Alastor leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, featherlight kiss. It felt so delicate, almost accidental, as if the brief touch wasn’t meant to happen. But then, before you could process it, he moved closer, crowding your body against the door, trapping you between the cool wood and the heat radiating from him.  

The next kiss was different – urgent, ferocious, and brimming with unspoken need. His hands, trembling ever so slightly, traced the contours of your face before sliding down your neck, lingering as though savouring every inch of your skin. Then, in a swift, possessive motion, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, every inch of his body pressing into yours.  

Kisses came, over and over again, each one deeper, more demanding, as if he were trying to reclaim every moment you had been apart, every second lost to Vox’s cruel game. When your lips parted, gasping for air, he didn’t hesitate – his tongue slipped past the seam of your lips, exploring, tasting, claiming every part of you with fevered desperation. He devoured you, marking you in a way that felt primal, raw, each movement of his mouth more insistent than the last.  

You felt him – all of him – pressed hard against your navel, the heat between you growing with every passing second. His lips left yours, trailing a path of fire down your jawline, grazing the sensitive skin of your neck with gasping, hungry breaths. But just as quickly as the tension built, something in him shifted. His muscles tensed, his body stiffening against yours, and then he stopped.  

Your hands, still clutching the lapels of his jacket, trembled as you tried to catch your breath. You looked down at him, confused, his face buried in the crook of your neck, unmoving, like a statue. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, and you could feel the barely contained tremor running through him. His ears twitched, laying flat against his head before perking up once more, as if caught between conflicting instincts.  

Suddenly, he pulled back, the air around him crackling with static, a low buzz of white noise filling the space. His eyes flashed – flickering between red radio dials and his usual, sharp, black slits. That ever-present grin twisted, tightening into something more akin to a scowl, a dangerous edge creeping into it. Unexpectedly, he grabbed you, dragging you toward the bayou side of his room.  

“Al-Alastor?” you called out, your voice small and hesitant. He let you go abruptly, and with a sharp snap of his fingers, an ornate porcelain bathtub appeared in front of you, its gold clawed feet gleaming under the dim light. Hot, steaming water cascaded from the silver shower head, the water draining to who-knows-where.  

Before you could react, dark tendrils – his tendrils – wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground and unceremoniously dumping you into the bath, clothes and all. The warmth of the water soaked through your clothes, sending a rush of heat through your body. You gasped, coughing as water splashed into your mouth.  

“Alastor!” you sputtered, blinking up at him, confused, your face drenched as you wiped the water from your eyes.  

He stood over you, straight-backed, shoulders rigid, his hands neatly clasped behind him as if he were merely surveying a piece of art. His crimson eyes glinted down at you with cool detachment, that maddening grin still plastered on his face. 

“You don’t smell like me,” he said simply, his tone matter-of-face, but with an underlying possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine.  

You blinked, still dazed, unsure of what he meant, your heart pounding in your chest. “W-what?” 

His grin widened then, dark amusement dancing in his eyes as he leaned in, his shadow casting over you. “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll make sure you do.” 

With a sharp snap of his fingers, a bar of soap materialized in Alastor’s hand – the kind with a woodsy, metallic scent, popular in Cannibal Town. You had never been fond of its pungent odour, but you knew Alastor adored it, and at this moment, that was all that mattered.  

His focus was singular, almost obsessive, as he leaned forward, the water streaming down his face, drenching his usually pristine hair. His movements were slow but deliberate, his hands shaking ever so slightly as he undressed you, peeling the wet fabric from your skin.  

You caught the slight twitch in his left eye, the tremor in his fingers – he was lost deep in his thoughts, buried somewhere you couldn’t reach. His silence was suffocating, filled with the weight of everything he wasn't saying. As your clothes fell away, baring your vulnerable form before him, your shoulders curled in, and your hands moved to shield your chest.  

But Alastor wasn’t having it. His long fingers captured your wrists, pulling your hand away, gently but firmly. Then, with deliberate care, he began to massage the soap into your skin, the rough texture gliding across your wet body.  

“Where did he touch you, darling?” His voice was deceptively light, playful even, but the malice underneath was unmistakable. His question dripped with venom, barely concealed beneath the surface. “You didn’t let him...” His hand, still holding the soap, drifted up your arm as the hot water poured over both of you, saturating your senses. Alastor, now fully in the tub with you, crouched low, his eyes boring into yours, searching for any hint of truth, any flicker of something unsaid.  

Your wet hair clung to your face and neck as you shook your head, droplets falling in rivulets down your cheeks. “He didn’t touch me like that, Alastor,” you whispered, your voice soft yet steady. For the first time since he rescued you, you found the courage to reach out. Your fingers trembled as they brushed a few strands of his soaked hair back from his face, your touch tender, hesitant.  

Alastor inched backward until his back hit the edge of the tub, his legs unfolding slightly as he stretched out beneath you. You straddled his hips, your thighs brushing against the rough fabric of his wet clothes, the friction sending a shiver through your core. Your chest pressed against his soaked shirt as you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his.  

“I promise,” you murmured, your lips ghosting over his as if your words could seep into his very soul. His eyes fluttered shut at the intimacy, his grip tightening on your hips, pulling you closer, closer until there was no space between your bodies.  

“I hate the scent of that noisy picture box,” Alastor muttered against your lips, stealing another kiss, his voice low and rough with barely contained frustration. “Sharp, unpleasant,” he continued, his hips grinding into you, the friction sending jolts of heat through your body. The pressure of him, firm and insistent against your core, drew a soft stifled moan from your lips. “Masking everything,” he growled, the words vibrating against your mouth.  

Your hands moved of their own accord, fingers tracing down the lapels of his jacket, your lips trailing soft, lingering kisses along his jaw, down the curve of his neck. One button, then another, came undone beneath your touch, revealing the sharp jut of his collarbone, his skin slick with water. He groaned low in his throat, his hands finding their way between your bodies, undoing the button and zipper of his pants with swift, practised ease.  

The moment his hot shaft pressed against your slick folds, a gasp escaped your lips, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through you. His hips moved slowly, tortuously so, grinding up and down, creating an unbearable heat that built with each stroke. “Did you miss this, darling?” Alastor murmured, his voice like velvet, thick with desire, as his hips continued their slow rhythm against you.  

Your head fell forward, a wave of pleasure crashing over you, and you bit down on your lower lip, trying to stifle the moans that threatened to spill from your throat. But Alastor wouldn’t allow it. His clawed fingers slipped beneath your chin, tilting your face until your eyes met his. “Don’t hide,” he whispered, his voice laced with command and something darker, more animalistic. “Not when I finally found you.” 

The sound of the shower created a steady backdrop, like heavy rain pouring down, but all that mattered, all you could feel, was him. His body pressed against yours, his hands gripping your hips, his gaze locking you in place as if daring you to look away. And at that moment, there was nothing else – no past, no fear, just the two of you, lost in each other.  

Slowly, you dragged your sensitive clit along the edge of his cock, teasing him with every slight movement. His low, throaty sigh filled the space between you as you positioned yourself above him, your core hovering just over his tip. His eyes, usually so sharp and focused, softened with raw desire, a hunger that mirrored your own.  

With purposeful slowness, you sank down onto him, feeling the pleasant stretch as he filled you, inch by inch, the heat between your bodies sparking into something untamable.  

Alastor hissed through clenched teeth as your tight warmth enveloped him, his grip on your hips tightening, claws digging into your skin as though afraid you’d slip away. The moment you let out a soft, breathless moan, he responded. His hips bucked upward, thrusting deeper into you, your walls clinging to him, making every movement feel electric.  

The slick sound of wet skim meeting wet fabric filled your ears, mingling with the steady beat of the water raining down from the shower. It was as if the outside world had disappeared, leaving only the two of you and the pleasure that built between your bodies.  

“A-Al,” you gasped, your voice trembling as your fingers clawed at his shoulders, gripping the wet, rough fabric of his soaked suit jacket. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide as he watched you, every reaction you made, every shiver of pleasure fuelling his own.  

Without warning, Alastor’s shadowy tendrils wrapped around you, lifting you effortlessly off his lap, suspending your body in midair. The tentacles curled around your calves, your thighs, spreading you open for him, baring your slick, pulsing core to his ravenous gaze.  

You wobbled, barely able to keep your balance as you were held aloft, your hands clutching his shoulders for stability. But before you could stabilize, Alastor surged forward, thrusting himself into you with a brutal intensity, his hips pounding against yours.  

His pants had slipped down to circle his ankles, but that didn’t slow him. His sharp teeth gritted in pleasure as he watched the way your bodies connected, his cock disappearing inside you over and over again, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy crashing through you. 

His pace was erratic, frantic, as if he couldn't get enough of you, and your moans only spurred him on. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, your face flushed with heat, and just as you were about to come undone, he pulled out, leaving you empty and aching.  

A needy whimper escaped your lips, the absence of him unbearable, but before you could protest, Alastor was on his knees before you, his eyes flickered up meeting your own.  

The tendrils adjusted your height, keeping your legs spread wide as he dove forward, his mouth latching onto your dripping pussy. The water from the shower ran in rivulets down your body, tracing the curves of your breasts and rolling over your heated skin, but all you could focus on was the feel of his tongue.  

He plunged it inside you, swirling and licking, tasting you with desperate fervour. His hands gripped your backside, kneading the soft flesh as he feasted on you, his moans vibrating against your sensitive folds.  

A sharp cry tore from your throat as he sucked and nibbled at your clit, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You could feel your pussy clenching, grasping at nothing as his tongue worked you over, your head spinning with the intensity of it all.  

Your body tilted backward, but more tendrils sprouted to hold you in place, keeping you suspended as Alastor continued his ministrations, devouring you as though he couldn’t get enough. He was a man stranded in the desert, finally taking the first gulp of water.  

The tension inside you built, higher and higher, your muscles clenching tighter with every flick of his tongue. His moans were muffled against your flesh, but they only heightened your arousal, the vibrations making you gasp. Your climax hovered just unreachable, so close, and as his tongue flicked over your clit in rapid succession, your entire body tensed.  

“Al-Al-Al!” you cried, your voice breaking as the crest of your orgasm finally surged through you. Your muscles clenched, your back arched, and waves of pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in the sensation. Alastor didn’t let up, his tongue relentless as he rode out your climax, dragging every last ounce of pleasure from your trembling body until you were left breathless and spent, your heart thundering in your chest.  

But before you could fully come down from the high, Alastor stood, his cock hard and dripping. He slammed his hips into yours, his cock burying itself deep inside you, filling you in one swift motion. His balls slapped against your soaked skin from the sheer force of his thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Each time his thick, blunt tip pushed against your sensitive spots, all you could do was cry out, your voice lost behind the steady beat of the shower.  

“Darling...darling,” he moaned, his voice ragged, full of need. His claws dug into your hips, pulling you closer as he relentlessly drove into you, his hips snapping forward with wild, desperate force. His movement became erratic, his breaths coming in short gasps, and you felt the trembling in his muscles as he pushed himself deeper, chasing the same release that had just consumed you.  

When his body finally gave in, he groaned softly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. His cock pulsed as he spilled hot, thick cum inside you. He slowed, his thrusts becoming shallow, tender, as if savouring the moment, each gentle motion prolonging the feeling of you milking every last drop from him.  

With a final deep thrust, he buried himself inside you completely, pressing against your trembling walls until you were pressed right into his hilt. The tendrils of shadow that had suspended you vanished, and your body felt heavy and spent.  

Alastor pulled you into him, his arms wrapping around you tightly, his claws gently pricking the soft flesh of your back. His chest heaved with each breath, his face pressing into your hair as he held you close, his heart thundering against yours. You could hear it, or perhaps it was your own heartbeat, pounding in your ears as he held you, locking in each other’s embrace, under the rain of the shower.  

The heat of the water cascaded down your bodies, but all you could feel was his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he held you as if he would never let go. His silence spoke volumes, the words he couldn’t say hanging in the air between you. He didn’t need to say them – his touch, the way he clung to you, said it all.  

He had missed you, more than words could express. There hadn’t been a moment where you weren’t on his mind, and now that he had your back, he seemed frozen in time, desperate to savour this moment for eternity.  

You rested your head against his chest, the sound of the water blending with the rhythmic thumping of your hearts. Neither of you moved, content to simply exist in the quiet, shared warmth of one another, as the rest of Hell faded away.  

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[msmorningstaarr]

let me fill you up | Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader

ao3 | masterlist

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader

Summary: You, a Targaryen princess were married into the Lannister fold to ensure the alliance between the two houses, ensuring your eldest brother’s claim to the Iron Throne. Now, Lord Jaime makes your days filled with happiness and makes you eager to present him babies.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: rhaegar wins AU, no targcest, smuff, fluff, breeding kink, praising kink, a lot of pet names (sweet girl, princess, love), reader has no physical description besides the silvery white targaryen hair, creampie, oral (f receiving), a very devoted husband commited to your pleasure, smut, sex;

a/n: Happy new year! I had posted I wanted to write something like that and it's been a while since I want to write something other than holy and heathen because I must admit I'm not very satisfied with what I've been writing lately. Some validation kudos, comments and reblogs would be very important to me, seriously :') I’ve been thinking in turning this into a small series but I’m not so sure. Could you give me your thoughts on this too? please, enjoy your reading!

Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody

You are sitting surrounded by your maids and children on a breezy night, covered with a fur coat and a crimson silk dress under it. Attentively, you go stitch by stitch and slowly form a lion, sigil of your husband’s house. Ever since Robert’s Rebellion ended and your brother, King Rhaegar Targaryen won, you became promised to the former knight of the Kingsguard, now Lord Jaime Lannister. Life in the lion’s den was not difficult, once Lord Tywin treated her with the most kindness and Jaime was still coming out of his shell. At first, he was your sworn sword in King’s Landing and spent plenty of time together in an unbalanced relationship. Now, you two are sharing a bed after a tumultuous year of war and destruction, as equals. In the beginning, you were sceptical about marrying into the Lannister household, but as the months went by, you found yourself drowned at him. Jaime is careful, gentle and kind. He brings you a small dandelion every morning once he knows it reminds you of home.

His only quirk was the strange attachment to his sister, Lady Cersei. But after being sent to Dorne to marry Prince Oberyn of House Martell and getting distant from each other, your relationship with your husband seemed to finally thrive.

“It appears to be beautiful, my lady.” Said one of her maids, taking care of your youngest son, a small silvery blonde figure of two years of age.

“A bright lion handkerchief for Jaime to carry with him.” You reply, admiring your piece of work. “Do you believe your father will like it, sweetling?” You then ask your eldest daughter, an adorable child of four. Your daughter eagerly nods her head and wraps her hands around one of your fingers to pull the fabric closer to her eyes.

“Dada will love it, mama!” The little one exclaimed, spinning around with the kerchief on her tiny hands.

“What will I love, if I’m allowed to ask?” A tall, blonde figure shows up in your private bedchambers, wearing a classic Westerland attire with a crimson fabric and intricate strings of gold shaped into the sleeves and collar. You smile sweetly to Jaime as he approaches you and grabs your middle child to hold in his arms.

“Papa!” The blonde little girl runs towards her father to embrace his legs and your maids stand up to bow to their lord.

“Have you missed me, dear?” Jaime asked and the fussy children eagerly nodded at him, embracing their father even more. Sometimes, seeing Jaime being so loving and kind towards your children simply melted your heart. You felt the urgency to kiss him and dig your fingers onto his bright hair, begging him for another child. Your cunt ached in pleasure to the thought of Jaime pumping his seed inside of you. You were still young and could bear many more children.

“Mm-rrhm…” You scoffed. “I have missed you too, husband.”

The three children giggled and the child on his arms hid his face on the crook of Jaime’s neck. The eldest covered her laugh with her tiny hands and the youngest beamed along their siblings. Jaime came closer to you and caressed your cheeks with his free hand. Then, a single and gentle kiss he places over your forehead, making your heart flutters with love and passion.

“I have missed you too, my love.” Jaime said, passing his fingertips on your chin and smiling at you.

Your maids quickly stood up and bowed at their overlord as a sign of respect. “Excuse me, my lord, my lady,” Said the servant girl. “Let us take the children so you can rest.”

“But I want to stay with papa!” Said the elder daughter, pouting and crossing her arms. The other two children whined and complained along, but you lowered into their level whilst Jaime talked to the youngest on his arm.

“Sweetlings,” She said, caressing their cheeks. “Your father is rather tired after riding for so long. Go with her, I promise you, your siblings, me and your father will have plenty of time together on the morrow. Is that understood, my loves?”

“I can take you to ride a horse tomorrow and even let you eat lemon cakes before super. What do you think?” Jaime asked, delivering the fussy child from his arms to the other maid. In unison, the three infants agreed and left disappointed. Once you and your husband were alone in your bedchambers, Jaime smiled at you gallantly. You embrace him intimately and are finally able to feel the warmth of his muscular body and feel the softness of his golden hair. His lips reach yours and in a whirlwind of sensations, your cunt is already dripping in anticipation just by a simple touch coming from him. Once he breaks the kiss, he keeps holding you by your waist and gazing at you with admiration.

“You have been gone for too long, love.” You say, passing your fingertips on his lips. He smiles and gives you a peck on the lips before speaking.

“I had duties with your brother, Our Grace King Rhaegar, sweet girl.” Jaime replies, pulling her out gently and grabbing the fabric she embroidered for him.

“I hope you like it, I made it just for you.” You point out, joining your hands to follow him. He keeps smiling as he observes attentively the intricate work you did.

“I shall cherish it and take it wherever I go, dragon princess.” He replied, folding and putting the kerchief in one of his pockets. You giggle as you hear him calling you ‘dragon princess’, a custom he chose to never abandon as a form to remember the late days of their relationship “I wish I had more time to be around and play with the children, I have been missing them and you.”

“They made drawings every day and left it on your desk at your office.” You reply, walking to the window and being followed by him.

“I will make sure to have them guarded in our chambers. Safe as our gold.” He says, hugging you from behind and kissing your neck lightly. You beam in ecstasy feeling his body smother you into a comforting embrace and full missing him.

“Sometimes I still cannot believe we are wedded to each other. You were my sworn shield in King’s Landing!” You exclaim as his hand caresses your empty belly and it tingles by his touch. He grins at your words and says.

“Most people are not so lucky to know your spouse before the wedding day. I consider myself the most lucky man in the world because I could be in your acquaintance from so long ago.” He replies, falling his head on the crook of your neck.

You turn around to be face to face with Jaime, feeling the cold breeze of the rock hitting your back and giving you small shocks as Jaime caresses your back, making you experience a thermal shock and shudder to his touch.

“I feel very lucky to be your wife, Jaime. Most women are not so fortunate to have such a kind, loving and handsome husband.” You mutter as he strokes your hair, in awe with your beauty.

“I guess we are fortunate to be together after so many troubles in war. We even brought new lives into this world to paint a new, brightful history.” He replies, caressing your womb. You stare at his fingers passing up and down your belly and glances at him with a sweet smile.

“And we could have more, love. I must admit I feel empty for so long and I want to give you more children… I know I can give you an entire army of your own. Half lion, half dragon. Unstoppable creatures.”

“You feel empty, love?” He asks, smirking and you eagerly agree with him. “Then allow me to fill you up…” Jaime finished, slowly undoing the intricate laces of your dress to reveal your bare skin under the crimson fabric. In response, you open his attire slowly and little by little his white tunic appears to her eyes.

By this point, your cunt is already sore in anticipation for the moment about to happen and clenches around nothing once he pushes the last section of string holding your garment, releasing you from the pressure tightening your upper body. Jaime pushes down your dress and your underwear is now on display for him, which makes him bite his lip and eagerly take down your white camisole to show him your bare body. You moan as he squeezes your breast and pinches your nipples whilst kissing you. You quickly take off his own undershirt to show off his chest.

“So eager is my dragon princess.” He playfully says, leading you to bed and carefully laying you down. With devotion, he starts to kiss your feet, legs and knees, his hands roaming through your thighs and hips. “Spread your legs for me, little dragon.”

You part your legs, obeying his soft command. “So wet… I can see you truly missed me, my love.” He says, kissing your inner thighs as your body squirms in pleasure before he reaches your intimacy.

“Oh… I have missed you so much, my lion.” You moan your words as he kisses your groyne and passes his fingers lightly over your clit, making your womb tremble and convulse to his touch.

“I can see that, just as I missed you, my dragon princess. Do I have permission to give you a lord’s kiss?” He asks and you only nod in response, making Jaime wet his lips with his own saliva before diving into your dripping core and you to scream involuntarily as his tongue and lips eat you up with full desire. Jaime circles his tongue around your clit and roam around your entire intimacy, making your hips bounce onto his direction. It was his costume to make you come every time before he would be inside of you, now could not be different.

You feel your body explode as if someone threw you into dragon fire as Jaime relentlessly pleases you, making magic with his tongue. Skillfully, he explores your intimate area inch by inch with eagerness, making you dig your fingers on his golden curls, pulling him closer to your cunt and you contorses your body urging for more. Tears of pleasure fall off as you feel goosebumps once you realise you are close to your climax.

As the intensity builds, Jaime's movements become more deliberate, pushing you closer to the edge of bliss. Your breath hitches, and your fingers entwine in his golden locks, urging him on. The world narrows down to the pleasure he provides, the connection between you deepening with every passing moment.

When the climax finally crashes over you, Jaime doesn't relent. He continues to caress your sensitive core with his tongue, prolonging the sweet release. Your body shudders with pleasure, and you feel the bond between you and Jaime reaching new heights.

“Husband…” You try to stop him and give yourself some time to take a breath, but Jaime does not back off and part your legs once more, holding it as he keeps licking, kissing and sucking your pussy.

“No no, wife… let me please you and bring you to climax once more…” He cuts your words and gently goes back, but now he plays with his fingers on your clit, with far less pressure and slowly draws circles around it, taking soft moans from you. Jaime rises to hover over you, a wicked glint in his eyes. His fingers trace patterns on your flushed skin as he leans in for a heated kiss, allowing you to taste the remnants of your own pleasure on his lips. “Taste yourself, love.”

And not so long after, you scream his name as you feel waves of pleasure hitting your body as a lightning bolt hits the ground in a storm. Your body is trembling and your legs seem to be two wooden sticks, barely able to stand.

“Please… inside of me, Jaime… I need you…” You plead with him, pulling his body to be on top of yours.

“Your wish is my command, princess.” He replies, kissing you passionately once more and positioning between your legs. Jaime's eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. The anticipation was hanging heavy in the air, your bodies aligned perfectly, and as he slowly entered you, a shared moan escaped both of your lips.

The sensation is electrifying, the culmination of the pleasure he bestowed upon you and the intimate connection between your bodies. Jaime moves with a rhythmic precision, each thrust deepening the bond that exists only between you two.

“My perfect princess takes me so well…” He grows as thrusts into you going back and forth nonstop. You lock him by involving your legs around his waist and feeling his hard cock entering your cunt in full force, reaching your cervix and making you beg for more in his ear.

The room echoes with the sounds of your shared ecstasy, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the stone walls. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance across your entwined bodies, creating a tapestry of love and passion.

“Put another babe on my belly Ser, please…” You beg him as moans leave your mouth and the sound of crashing bodies fill the room quickly.

“With pleasure, love…” He says once more. Jaime moves with a rhythmic precision, each thrust deeper inside of your pussy in farfetched positions. He missed you too much after months away from you and it shows by the way he kisses you as he moves desperately to have more of mounting his dragon. The room echoes with the sounds of your shared passion, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the stone walls. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance across your entwined bodies. As Jaime's movements become faster, the pleasure intensifies, and you find yourself on the verge of another climax. The pleasure is overwhelming, and your bodies move in perfect harmony.

With a final, fervent thrust, Jaime succumbs to the ecstasy and releases his seed deep inside of your womb, growling and grunting with relief and utter bliss. You hit your own orgasm as you feel the warm jets of his seed invading your walls and your body squirm and you scream his name, crying out.

Your bodies tremble in the aftermath, and he collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. The room is filled with a comforting silence as you both catch your breath. Jaime's fingers gently trace patterns on your skin as you bask in the warmth of the afterglow. “Do you think we created one more life for our household, love?” You ask him, laying your head on his chest. The world outside your chambers seems distant, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, lost in the serenity of each other's embrace.

“Depending on your fertile womb, my love, I have no doubts you are.” He replies, caressing your silvery white hair. “But we must endure in our pursuit on a daily routine. Just to make sure our fourth babe is on the way.” He playfully replies, smirking at you, who mischievously smiles back at him and kisses his lips, wiping some strings of sweat from his face.

Jaime presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his voice a soothing murmur, "I love you, my dragon princess."

And you, wrapped in the arms of the man you love, whisper back, "And I love you, my lion shield."

[emmalandry]

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟺: 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

Joel coming home from a long day at work, his back aches somethin’ terrible and his feet feel raw. All he wanted to do was come home and make love to his darlin’ wife.

But when he trudged into your shared bedroom, he noticed something, you on the giant bed in just his tshirt. Your tummy and pussy exposed.

He felt his cock harden beneath the denim of this jeans. You did tell him that you’d be okay with him using you in your sleep… So wheres the harm in it?

He quietly snuck over and dipped into the bed running his calloused fingers along your wet slit. His head titled back as he let out a quiet groan.

His jeans and boxers were gone in an instant as he rubbed the head of his cock against your folds. Your clit was pulsing, he could tell.

He slipped inside causing a shutter to slip through his body. His thrusts began and you slowly started to stir and whimper in your sleep.

He started pounding your little body into the mattress as you were mewling beneath him. “J-joel? what’re you *ngh* doing?” You asked him, out of breath and extremely wet.

“Just takin’ care of ya’ honey. Don’t worry your pretty lil’ head.” and thats what you did. You wet him take care of you. You let him use your perfect little body.

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆