#Tom drabble

[riddleswhcre]

────۶ৎ so pretty when you cum for me.

you’ve never done this before, but tom has all the patience in the world. at least, until he doesn’t.

warnings: smut, virgin!reader, first time sex, praise, tom being controlling but sweet about it.

more

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

tom’s always been patient, but this? this is something else. he’s got you spread out beneath him, skin hot to the touch, lips swollen from his kisses, and he’s barely even started.

"you’re shaking," he murmurs, voice like silk, fingers ghosting over your thighs. "is that nerves, or anticipation?"

you can't answer. not properly. not when he’s pressing the tip of his cock against you, teasing, dragging it through your slick folds but not giving you what you really need.

"please," you whisper, voice fragile, breathless.

his eyes darken, and for once, he doesn’t make you beg. doesn’t make you work for it. instead, he tilts your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his.

"breathe," he orders, and then he’s pushing in—slow, so slow, letting you feel every single inch as he stretches you open for the first time.

the burn is sharp at first, a sting that makes you tense, makes your fingers clutch at his arms. he stills immediately, chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths as he lets you adjust.

"it’s alright," he soothes, brushing his lips over your temple, your cheek, your jaw. "you can take me, love. just relax."

you nod, even though it’s hard, even though every nerve in your body is wound tight. but he’s patient—so achingly patient—rolling his hips just enough to ease himself deeper, giving you time to feel the stretch turn into something else. something good.

"you’re doing so well," he murmurs, voice almost reverent. "feels good, doesn’t it?"

you exhale a shaky breath, nails dragging down his back, and he groans at the sensation. he pulls back—just a little—before thrusting in again, this time filling you completely, bottoming out with a hiss through his teeth.

"fuck," he grits, cock throbbing inside you. "you’re so—tight—"

the fullness is overwhelming, the way he fits inside you almost too much, but the slight movement makes pleasure spark up your spine, replacing discomfort with something sweeter.

his hands find your hips, fingers digging in just enough to hold you still. he grinds against you, deep and slow, watching your face carefully for any hint of discomfort.

and then, when your legs tremble around his waist, when a soft whimper escapes your lips, his control frays completely.

he thrusts, measured but firm, pulling back just to slide in again, and the pressure makes your breath stutter, makes your fingers cling to him.

"so pretty," he mutters, almost to himself, as he rolls his hips again. "so perfect—"

his hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles. the pleasure builds faster than you expect, your body tightening around him, nails raking down his back as the coil inside you snaps.

he groans as you clench around him, as your body trembles, as you cum with his name on your lips for the first time.

but not the last. never the last.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

[st4rfckerz]

clark kent is the kind of guy to plan out his entire future with you while he’s balls deep and absolutely pussy drunk. his body is pressed against yours with his head buried in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily while making scarcely comprehensible promises in your ear. the fantasies swirl in his mind, becoming more vivid as he gets closer and closer.

“ ‘m gonna marry you, a-and we can have a farm of our own, ah- and a big house with kids, fuck…jus’ want it all with you please.” and then in true clark fashion he gets a tad embarrassed about what he said after he’s done, but you both know he really means it.

[riddlesbunny]

the albatross

summary: Originally an unlikely match, you give birth to Aegon’s first child and his entire world changes.

pairing: Aegon x Strong!Reader

word count: 767

warnings: Description of pain & childbirth, brief mention of blood, guilt.

note: “Albatross” is used metaphorically as a psychological burden dealing with shame or guilt! (and shout out to Taylor Swift)

Aegon wanted to hate you. He wanted to hate your hair and your eyes. Your thick eyelashes, the freckles that dusted your cheeks, the way your nose scrunched when you laughed. Despite wanting to hate you in your entirety, he found himself physically incapable of doing so. As a young boy he refused to admit it, even going so far as to tease you for your features — but he thought you were beautiful. If anything, you could’ve resembled his mother more than a Targaryen.

It wasn’t your features that were wrong, but who you inherited them from; you and your brother’s served as living, breathing reminders of Rhaenyra’s infidelity.

Alicent Hightower had been sure to remind him and his siblings that you and your brothers were a product of their older sister's infidelity. An embarrassment to the family. An insult to the crown, to the realm. Abominations. Bastards.

Screams of pain shook the walls of the Red Keep.

“I can’t do this anymore, Aegon! Please make it stop, it hurts!” you rasped, clawing at the blood-soaked bedsheets. It had been almost 24 hours since your labors had begun. To everyone's surprise, Aegon had yet to leave your side.

“We’re almost there, my love. You’re doing a great job,” your husband encouraged as he placed a chaste kiss to your sweat-drenched forehead, which you only returned with a death glare.

“I cannot take it anymore! Just get it out! Cut it out if you have to!”

One of your handmaids tried to dab at your forehead with a cloth, but you gripped her hand forcefully.

Aegon gave her a sympathetic look as he got her out of your grasp, locking his fingers with yours.

“You know we can’t do that, my love. I will not risk losing you.”

You winced as your midwife slid a finger around the base of your opening. All day long you had been violated against your will. Childbirth was not only painful, but humiliating. For Aegon’s sake, you silently prayed the babe was a boy. You weren’t sure if you would be willing to go through this again.

“I can feel the head, your grace. Just a few more big pushes for me and the babe will be here.”

You groaned loudly, your teeth grinding together as another contraction wracked your frame. Pain radiated down your spine and into your groin. You felt like you were being ripped apart at the seams. Being eaten by Sunfyre seemed to be a more pleasant fate than this.

“You hear that? You’re almost done. You’re doing so good.”

You squeezed onto Aegon’s hand as hard as you could, pushing with all the strength in your body. The harder you pushed, the sooner it would be over. You needed it to be over. With a final push, your vision began to blur and your mind went blank.

Before you knew it, loud cries pulled you back to Earth, and coo’s from your handmaidens filled the room. You laid back with a sigh of relief.

Finally.

The handmaids quickly handed the babe to Aegon so you could get cleaned up.

“A girl,” she stated proudly, “and she looks just like you, my queen.”

“Like me?” You shot up.

“Lay back your grace, you need to relax,” she scolded you.

Throughout your pregnancy there was a fear in the back of your mind, that if the babe inherited your features that Aegon would be disappointed. Turns out, you couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Yes,” he chuckled, tears swelling in his eyes, “like you. She is absolutely beautiful.”

He placed the baby in your arms, smiling down at the two of you.

A wave of guilt had crashed over Aegon at the sight of his newborn daughter. As well as your initial reaction to her looks. Thinking about the torment you endured for those same features in a world full of violet eyes and snow-white hair. How could he have been so cruel to you for something so fickle?

He couldn’t help but think about Ser Harwin Strong. And the fact that he probably shared the same thoughts as him the first time he laid eyes on you as a babe. This baby was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and the thought of anyone making her believe anything else made his blood boil. He would simply not allow it. Anyone who even dare whisper a word regarding your daughters features would lose their tongue for it.

Although the responsibility of sitting the Iron Throne loomed heavy over Aegon’s head it wasn’t until this very moment that he had true reason to be motivated to rule: his new family

[beaucate]

part two / master list.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞ OBLIVIOUS!READER who always watched clark from a distance, a frown visible on the rosy plush of her lips as his eyes strayed away from her own. he never watched her, and how could he when lana lang was always beside her, capturing the farmer boy’s attention with ease.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who can’t see the way clark’s drift towards the side of her face when she isn’t paying attention. his breathing rapid, and palms clenching his locker so it bent under the tips of his fingers.

OBLIVIOUS!READER not noticing the glances mr. and mrs. kent would share whenever she came over, watching as their son’s eyes widened and his words spluttered as she asked for his mother’s apple pie recipe.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who doesn’t catch the way clark’s lips part ever so slightly when she laughs on the outside benches of school. the sound seeming to unravel him entirely, zoning out when the laces of her skirt lift slightly above her thighs. she assumes he’s just zoning out, daydreaming about the green eyed brunette who sat along her — but in truth, his thoughts are consumed by her, and the way the sun light dances in her eyes.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who brushes off the way clark insists on carrying her books, his hand brushing hers as he does, leaving her cheeks burning red and heart pounding louder than she’d like. she convinces herself it’s just because he’s a gentleman, a farm boy raised by the kindest of people in town; not realising how much it takes for him to steady his superhuman heartbeat every time her lashes flutter his way.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who never questions why clark’s excuses to spend time together are, if anything, endless — offering her rides to school, and staying late to help her study for exams.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who doesn’t realise she’s the reason clark’s nights are sleepless, watching her home from afar in the comfort of his barn, his mind replaying every rise of her chest and shudder from the cold. he swears her perfume lingers in the air longer than it should.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who catches clark watching her once —just once — and dismisses it, thinking he must be distracted by something behind her. meanwhile, clark’s heart is lodged in the base of his throat, and he’s trying not to panic at the idea of her realising his gaze was drawn to her pouty mouth.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who can’t explain why mrs. kent always smiles teasingly at her when she visits the farm, or why mr. kent’s chuckle feels a little too amused every time his son fumbles his words around her. she assumes they might be picking on her — though theyre too nice; but what could possibly be the reason?

OBLIVIOUS!READER who doesn’t realize clark’s awkward stammers and shy smiles aren’t just his usual charm — they’re reserved for her. and when his hand accidentally brushes hers and she pulls away, muttering an apology, clark wonders if she’ll ever see just how much his mind has memorised the lines etched on her palms.

❀˚ dividers by @/ fairytopea

[daylighted]

ㅤ♡ㅤjust a little more, with [ doe!reader ] & [ clark kent ] ㅤ (18+!!)

you always beg him so pretty. tears pouring from your eyes, saliva pooled in the corners of your parted, panting lips, a glossy thin sheen of sweat coating every inch of your soft skin.

clark's thumb traces gingerly over your cheekbone, revenant touches over each part of your face that his large palms can get his fingers on. you've stilled in his lap, legs tired and going numb, pelvis sore.

"c'mon, pretty girl," he mumbles, his thumb trailing its way up to your lip, tracing across the kiss-swollen, pinkened skin. "you can take it," he leans up to nuzzle his cheek against your tearstained one, brushing your hair away from your face with his nose until his lips are against your earlobe.

your head shakes, and you sniffle softly, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder. his free hand finds its way to your thigh, tracing light, mindless shapes on the trembling muscle with his fingernail. "you can, sweet girl," clark insists, tongue tracing along the shell of your ear with his gentle words. "look at me. can you look at me when i'm talkin' to you, angel?"

his fingers trace along your jaw as he guides your head back toward him, forehead to forehead. "there she is," he whispers, just as reverent as his touch is. you're glass to him, even if you don't think it right now. he's terrified to shatter or crack you. "hi," he says with a small, breathless laugh.

"hi," you manage to choke out, your voice gone, your body spent, and clark has the audacity to look at you like he has no intention of stopping, like he'd done nothing at all so far, even though he'd brought you to a violent, trembling orgasm at least four times now. one more, he pressed earlier, when the tears prickling in the corners of your eyes had started to spill, just one more. five's lucky, isn't it?

five didn't feel lucky. five felt like overstimulation, trembling muscles, hot tears sliding down flushed cheeks.

"look how good you're doin' for me, angel," he says, his two fingers taking your chin between them and guiding your head downwards to watch as he shifted his hips, just enough to remind you that he was still buried deep in your swollen pussy. you were sore, and overwhelmed, and the feel of it is just enough to draw a whimper out of your lips. "i know it's a lot, i do, but i also know how strong my pretty girl is."

his praise is enough to relight the fire within you. a second wind, clark'd probably say; a fatal mistake, you'd probably correct.

clark's palm flattens on your thigh when you start to move again on him, slow drawn out circles of your hips, unable to lift yourself too much to properly ride him. still, even just like this, you could feel him stretching you open, even so deep within your wet heat.

his head falls back against the wood of his headboard with a hollow knock, eyes fluttering back open as he watches you through the thick black veil of his eyelashes.

"you're so good to me," he says, his words only slightly slurred through his haze of pleasure, compared to the whimpering, whining mess you were atop him, "jus' a little more, jus' like this, yeah?"

"mhm," you manage through your clenched teeth and pouted lips, letting his hand wrapped around your thigh guide you, support your weight, as your movements become more deliberate.

his lips quirk, dimples punctuating his smile in the soft skin of his cheeks. his hand on your face slips up, up, just enough to press his thumb on your bottom lip and tug it down, slipping the thick digit into your mouth. the pad of it presses ever so slightly down on your tongue, muffling every noise starting back up in the back of your throat.

clark's hips start to lift, meeting each downward grind of your pussy around him with an extra bit of gentleness that he only reserves for you. he could be rougher ─ had been rougher, earlier ─ but he never pushed more than he knew you could take. breaking you in any way was something that he'd never forgive himself for.

except... like this. when even just a couple of deep thrusts into your tight, soaked walls brought those soft sobs out of you again. "shh," he mumbles, his voice roughened with his grunts but still so, so soft for you, "just like this, baby, you're doing so good... just a little more..."

tags. @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @deansbite DO I. HAVE ANY OTHER SMALLVILLE MOOTS IDK PLSSS

[leona-hawthorne]

bfb!mattheo who hears/sees tom fucking u and makes up a whole scenario where he can one up his brother while he staring from the crack in the door?

⊹ ࣪ ˖ boyfriend’s brother!mattheo watching you and tom through the door

warnings: 18+ mdni, p in v, voyeurism, swearing

₊⊹ navigation ; bfb!mattheo ; au’s ; m.list

he shouldn’t be here. 

he knows that. knows it in the way his fingers curl into fists at his sides, in the way his chest tightens with something worse than anger, something uglier than hate. knows it in the way his breath is fucking shallow, standing there like a goddamn ghost outside tom’s bedroom door, the sliver of space between the wood and the frame just big enough to see you.

and fuck—he wishes he couldn’t. wishes he could turn around, pretend he never heard the first telltale sounds, never saw the way your body moved beneath his brother, never had to watch you like this, spread out, panting, moaning his fucking name. tom. like you meant it.

his jaw clenches as he watches, eyes narrowing, assessing, criticizing. tom's movements are too stiff, too controlled, too fucking careful, like he’s handling glass instead of a girl who needs to be ruined.

his fingers twitch at his sides. tom’s grip on your waist is all wrong. it’s tight, but not tight enough—like he doesn’t even fucking realize what he has in his hands. your hips don’t lift high enough, your legs aren’t spread the way they should be. you need to be tilted forward just a little more—just enough to hit that one spot that makes your breath hitch and your fingers claw at the sheets. tom won’t do it. tom doesn’t know. mattheo wants to fucking kill him for it.

pathetic.

he drags his tongue across his teeth, biting down on his cheek so hard he swears he tastes blood. he could do it better. he would do it better. he’d ruin you. have you trembling, crying his fucking name instead. make you feel it in your bones, make you crave him like sin.

his nails dig into his palms. tom’s voice is steady, collected, not even a goddamn growl in his throat. not desperate. mattheo hates him for it. he hates him for touching you without the kind of obsession that would drive a man mad.

he exhales sharply, his hand dragging down his face, trying to fight off the sick, burning jealousy twisting in his gut. it’s embarrassing, really, standing here, watching, but he can’t help himself. because the thought won’t leave his head—how much better he could make you feel.  

he wonders what you’d sound like if it was him instead. if you’d gasp the same way, if you’d arch the same way. if you’d look back at him with that dazed, hazy expression, lips parted, cheeks flushed, body trembling. he bets you would. he bets you’d look even prettier falling apart for him. bets he could make you shake, make you cry, make you forget every single fucking thing about his brother.

his cock throbs at the thought, and he lets out a sharp exhale, pressing his forehead against the wall, trying to will the heat away. he should leave. he should fucking leave.

but then he hears you whimper, soft and broken, and he sees the way tom barely reacts, the way he doesn’t even acknowledge what a fucking gift he’s been given, and something inside him snaps.

fucking tom. doesn’t deserve you.  

he licks his lips, dragging his teeth over the lower one, and exhales slowly. 

one day, he tells himself, he’s going to ruin you. one day, he’s going to show you exactly what you’ve been missing. and when that day comes, you’ll forget tom riddle ever fucking existed.

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

[jjmbbg]

"Hold"

cw: clark kent x fem!reader, unprotected sex p in v (no hat, no party), overstimulation, bites, aftercare.

(pics from pinterest)

Your skin was sticky, muscles deliciously sore and enjoying his hands calloused from farm work stroking your sldes, lips kissing your neck softly soothing the sting of his bites, his tongue tracing the marks of his teeth on your delicate, soft skin. You hummed at Clark's touch, your hands using his shoulders as support while your legs were propelled up and down, feeling his thick cock filling you up so well, in the most addictive way possible.

He held your hips tightly, guiding your needy movements along his cock, his breath hot and ragged against your shoulder, neck and ear, eyes shut tight as he drank into the perfect way you took him, the way his cock disappeared into your pussy. His hands squeezed the soft flesh of your hips and ass, kneading it roughly, with no fucking mercy and leaving his fingers marked on your skin.

You pressed your breasts against his collarbones, arms wrapped around his shoulders as you rode him like crazy. "Eyes on me" he commanded as he pounded into you, the bed creaking beneath you two. "Wanna see your face when you come on me, alright?" his voice was restrained with pleasure and need to see you come undone once more.

"'s too much..." you whimpered breathlessly, moving up and down on his cock, hearing the squelch of your arousal at every self-thrust. Your body was overstimulated, considering this was your fourth orgasm and that you were being stuffed with his cum like a damn turkey. "Babe- it's too much!"

"No, no, you got this" he whispered hands gripping you tighter, refusing to let you got or to let you stop unless it was really necessary. "C'mon, baby. You can go a little while longer. I know you can"

His words of praise were a little booster to your certainly uncoordinated movements, which Clark had to help you with with his huge hands. Your orgasm was just around the corner, about to whip you and drive you crazy like always. He was fascinated by the way you moaned, even if he had heard you do it several times already, he was in love with the way your channel received him. He was captivated by just your mere existence.

You moaned one last time his name, sounding like the chant of the angels themselves when you ascend to heaven, because to him you were perfect like one. Your orgasm left you with a cloudy mind and your body almost numb, a delicious soreness in your muscles, addictive. Whining softly, you felt Clark coming undone inside of you, the liquid filling your pussy and keeping your insides all warm.

"You did it, see?" he chuckled, voice ragged. "I knew you could do it. You always do" slow and carefully, Clark pulled out of your pussy, his eyes fixed on the pearly liquid that still united you two. He hummed in approval, hands caressing your sides soothingly, brushing then your hair off your sweaty forehead. "You okay?"

Despite his rough grip, his hoarse voice and look full of fire and passion, his voice changed into something a little softer, lips kissing your temple gently, waiting for any sign of discomfort or anything that could tell him exactly how you felt.

"Better than okay" you replied after catching your breath. You turned your head a little and kissed him softly, your lips touching his with love. "But I'm really sore now, y'know?"

Clark chuckled again, scooping you in his arms and carried you bridal style towards the bathroom —thank God you were home alone with him, so you could be naked without really risking yourselves—. "A shower might help, right?" he teased, kicking the door open and shutting it, leaving you sitting on the closed toilet lid.

As he let the tub fill up, he crouched in front of you, your eyes seeing him in all his glory, without any shame you've seen him naked so many times that you already knew every inch of his body. He cupped your cheek with one hand and snogged, his lips a gentle touch ―completely contradictory to the way he fucked you earlier, the way he marked you with teeth and lips.

You hummed in the kiss, hands gripping onto his shoulders, enjoying the serenity and love with which he kissed you. Clark broke the kiss, helping you to stand up and get in the bathtub, hlm getting behind you.

"'s okay" he whispered in your ear, hands cupping water and letting it wet your skin and hair. "Let me take care of you"

He soaped every part of your body carefully, his hands moving carefully as his hands reached your private parts, knowing that you were still sensitive from the previous activity. He cleaned gently your legs and groin, fingers tracing gently around your folds to clean up the remains of his cum and your own fluids.

"There, all clean" Clark said softly, kissing your bitten shoulder. You nodded slowly, turning around in your spot, the water spilling over a little in the tub with your movements. "What are you even doing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Cleaning you" you replied with obviousness, wetting his chest, arms and back to clean him up. "Or what? You think you're the only one who can do this?" you wiggled your eyebrows, peckinh his nose.

Oh, man, his smile... you really had him in love and your mercy, totally wrapped around your little finger.

[viperify]

AU | ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𖤝 bite marks.

Vampire!Tom, who messily drinks from your thighs until you’re on the verge of passing out—just to reward you with the most mind-blowing, toe-curling orgasm you’ve ever had.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

warnings: 18+, blood kink, biting, marking, oral f!receiving, fingering, slight dub con ig, vampire tommy who can’t get enough of ur soft thighs ;)

Tom is very serious about taking his time with his favourite meal—you.

Fangs lazily dragging over your already hypersensitive skin, drawing weak whimpers and whines from your bruised lips.

Bite marks here, bite marks there—you are certain both of your thighs are fucking covered in them. Small drops of blood trickle onto your once white bed sheets, staining them a crimson color—your beautiful, expensive satin bedsheets you spent a fortune on—and yet, the dizzying effect of his bite keeps you from complaining.

“Tom— no more, please, can’t— can’t take it,” you breathe shakily, palm half-heartedly trying to push him away.

But you aren’t there yet, and he knows it. He knows you can give him more, you can take more.

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” He purrs, voice still thick with the same hunger as when you just started—and it’s then that you know you are in for a long night.

And so, he finds a spot that he hasn’t tried, hasn’t bitten.

Although they are getting rare.

A single tear falls down your cheek as his sharp teeth sink into your flesh once more, groaning as he tastes the coppery flavour of your sweet, sweet blood—his favourite.

Fingertips digging into your thigh, pinning it to the soft mattress beneath you as though you were his last meal—greedy gulps filling the air, tongue lapping over the fresh wound.

And you can do nothing but take it.

When he finally withdraws—blood staining his lips and chin crimson—his eyes meet yours.

Scarlet eyes, burning through the darkness of the room. You look back with half-lidded eyes, ears ringing, fingertips tingling, dizzy because of how much blood he’s taken from you. Your eyes blink slowly, vision blurry, almost too blurry to notice the satisfied smirk plastered on his face.

“Did so well for me,” he drawls, moving to lean over you—without ever breaking eye contact.

His lips brush against yours in a tender kiss, the metallic taste of your own blood flooding your senses as soon as his skin touches yours. And what he does to you—whether it’s a side effect of his many, many bites, or the sweet sting caused by them—you cannot deny the aching feeling building in your lower stomach.

Legilimens, vampire— you should know better than to think he isn’t aware. Almost ready to drift off to sleep, you don’t immediately notice him between your legs again. Tom offers a raspy hum against your thigh when he feels the wet patch on your panties, gently swiping over it with his thumb—and suddenly, reality crashes down onto you.

A soft mewl leaves your lips, instinctively pressing your thighs together—only for Tom to spread them further apart.

“Look at you, all needy for me.” He purrs, pushing your lace panties to the side, revealing your glistening cunt to his hungry eyes, flickering briefly. “You have done so well. Now let me give you something back, hm?”

A soft nod from your side is all it takes before his tongue delves between your folds, groaning as he tastes your arousal—a deep, low sound you usually only get to hear whenever he’s greedily gulping down your blood.

His hands are firmly wrapped around your thighs, keeping you all spread open for him while he takes his time with you.

No haste.

As if you haven’t already lain sprawled out in front of him for what must be hours.

When his lips finally wrap around your puffy clit, two of his fingers slipping inside of you, stretching you perfectly, curling just right—you feel like you might actually not fucking survive this.

Your hips involuntarily buck against his face, telling him even without words you need more, need to come.

“Greedy girl. Come on, do it. Break for me.”

Tom knows what you like, what you need. Pointy teeth gently brushing over your clit, fingers pressing against your most sensitive spot with each deep, rough thrust.

And then you do break.

Orgasm crashing over you in waves, walls clenching down tight around his digits. All the pent-up pressure releases at once, and for a moment you swear you see stars.

Even with your thighs shaking, broken moans spilling from your lips, he doesn’t stop—drawing out your high for as long as he can. It’s as though he enjoys this as much as you do.

Fuck, he probably does. At his complete mercy.

“That’s it— good girl.”

Only when you whimper in overstimulation does he slow down and finally sit back.

Looking at the mess he’s made of you.

Covered in his bite marks, blood mixing with the leaked arousal on your thighs, chest heaving as you lay boneless on the soft mattress—entirely spent.

“You are art like this, darling. My very own canvas—all for me, forever.”

He takes care of your wounds, cleans the dried blood on your thighs and the sheets, wiping a strand of hair from your face before he places a kiss on your forehead, finally laying down beside you.

“Forever, Tom.”

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | AUs.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[julietsbody]

innocence — modern ! coriolanus snow + reader : your friends ask you to get some drugs from the local dealer, but you never expect he would take a liking to you.

tags : 18+!!! MDNI!!! drug dealing ! coryo, drugs, praise kink, overprotective behavior, possessive behavior, porn with feelings, p in v sex, fingering, special treatment

coriolanus snow hated parties, they were loud, and the people were insufferable— but he needed the money from the things he sold. cocaine, weed, even some ecstasy. whatever the people wanted, whatever helped support his grandmother and cousin. they weren’t living in the most luxury like all the other people who held parties in these neighborhoods, so that’s why coriolanus attended them, they always paid the most.

he typically got douchebags or stuck - up pretty girls, they both always paid him in crumpled up ones that he took forever to straighten out and count— what a bunch of assholes.

what he never expected, though, was you, coming up to the man dressed in a korn shirt and baggy jeans with a bow in your hair as well as wearing a pretty dress. your doe eyes peered up at him when you tapped his shoulder, he turned, eyes slotting down to meet yours, “hey.”

“hi,” you hesitate, cute, “i.. do you sell drugs?”

he clears his throat, “sorry?”

“do you—“

“probably shouldn’t repeat yourself, doll,” he tips his head up, “i do, are you buying?“

“just for my friends, yeah,” you smile shyly at him, and he returns it.

you’re so innocent, had you ever done any drugs before? definitely not the ones he sells, maybe the weed, but cocaine or ecstasy? no, no way. if it were for you, he wouldn’t be selling you it anyway. coriolanus had a certain soft spot, if you will, for the innocent girls that wander up to him at parties with their batting eyelashes and naturally pouted lips.

“alright, let’s go upstairs,” he tips his head to the stairs, chuckling when you move to give a thumbs up to your friends before following after him, “why do they make you ask for them?”

he suddenly moves back to grab your wrist when the halls find themselves crowded, not wanting to lose you in the sea of people, nor you lose him. you were a client, a customer, and he always treats his customer this way.

loud incorrect buzzer.

he doesn’t!

coriolanus never dares to allow himself to sweeten up around his customers, or anyone, but something about your shy, deer like attitude— it had a wolf wanting to protect.

“they say they’re too nervous to do it themselves,” you finally answer when he leads you into the nearest empty room, closing the door behind you.

he finally lets go of your wrist, “that so? what are they askin’ for?”

“cocaine,” you swallow.

“then they’re not nervous,” he chuckles, having to deal with his fair share of cocaine users, none of them are nervous to approach him, “why do you let them push you around?”

he moves to sit on the bed, chopping up the cocaine from his pocket on the nightstand next to him. he typically doesn’t like when his customers stand over him, because he never knows what they will do, and he likes to be in control at all times— but you’re harmless, aren’t you? just a little deer.

you exhale a nervous laugh, “they’re not pushing me around, they’re just asking me for favors.”

he hums, eyes peering up at you as his hands absentmindedly work on the pearl powder, it was muscle memory for him at this point. “you promise you’re not doing this shit, too?”

“i promise,” your lips tip up to a curt smile, “it’s really.. scary, honestly.”

he exhales, eyes trailing over the curves of your face before they meet the nightstand again, swiping the powdered sugar like substance into a little baggie. you watch him, almost admiring, “yeah. it is really scary, dangerous, too— don’t want you doin’ this shit too.”

a warm feeling courses through your veins, you hardly realize he’s holding the baggies out for you until he clears his throat, you blink a few times, quickly trying to grasp the money you had— it wasn’t given to you by your friends to spend for them, it was just your own money. how cruel.

“it’s on the house,” he quickly says, almost unaware of what he was saying himself until it finally passes his lips.

you bat your lashes at him, “what—“

“free, doll, just take it,” he allows himself a faint smile.

you hesitantly reach to take the baggies, “are you sure…?”

he nods, “‘m positive.”

“thank you, snow,” his eyebrows furrow at how sweet his name sounds on your tongue, like nectar delivered by the kindest dove from the gods.

you turn to leave, but he quickly stands, “hey—“ he pauses, eyes sweeping over your figure as he tries to figure out what to say, you probably go to millions of parties with your asshole friends, possibly with other dealers.. “some other dealers are gonna try to rip you off, make you pay a lot for a little bit— so just, come to me and i’ll treat you good as long as you’re staying out of trouble, princess.”

“okay, i will,” you nod quickly.

“good girl.”

⊹˚. ౨ৎ

you don’t see coriolanus for a while after that night, it has been no more than a few days, less than a week but the idea of you is rotting in his brain and eating him whole from the inside out. at every party he went to, every girl with a bow in their hair (he despises that it’s the latest trend) or wearing a baby pink dress reminds him of you. with their fluttering lashes and soft smiles, god, he hates that he sees you in every one of them. he hates that you have completely plagued his entire conscience, but yet he never complains about it, not once.

sometimes, sejanus, one of the other known dealers, though he more so considers himself a look - out when coriolanus is selling, or a promoter for coriolanus’ business— he notices how coriolanus’ eyes linger more than usual on the women at parties, it almost makes him laugh, or tease coriolanus.

isn’t he supposed to be intimidating? not a man easily falling for women.

a lover boy, that’s what he seemed like now.

sejanus swishes around his drink in his cup, eyes falling to coriolanus, “what’s up with you?”

coriolanus blinks once, twice, “what are you talking about?”

“you haven’t blinked in like an hour,” sejanus liked to overexaggerate, “are you okay?”

“of course i am,” he scoffs, “‘m gonna find arachne.”

arachne, sejanus’ best friend, albeit she talks so much shit about him behind his back. sejanus is sweet, passive, and arachne is the complete opposite. some would call arachne a maneater, coriolanus thinks of her as a conceited bitch who needs to be put on a leash. she had a tendency to run off whenever she went to parties with coriolanus and sejanus, so coriolanus always had to run after her to try and find her.

sejanus nods, offering a small i’ll look too.

coriolanus allows sejanus to walk the opposite way as he turns the corner, eyes scanning each room for a brunette with a bold red lip. he doesn’t find her anywhere, god, she better not be having sex in one of the rooms upstairs like how she was last time. coriolanus likes to think opening that door to that sight was something out of a horror movie.

he does find a different brunette, though, with more golden tones and curlier hair.

festus creed, of fucking course creed is here. he was another one of the other well known dealers in the area. he wasn’t that well with his sells, mostly because he acts like he’s above everyone else in the worst way possible, and even allows people to pay with sex.

coriolanus heard his sex is never good.

funny, isn’t it? how someone with a small dick and hardly any skills on pleasing women would offer sex as payment.

coriolanus, at least, thinks it’s hilarious.

what he doesn’t think is hilarious, though, is that festus is talking to someone coriolanus is far too familiar with. glittery eye makeup, a lacy bow in their hair, baby pink dress.. it’s you.

coriolanus’ mouth runs dry when you spot him in the corner of your eye, your lips twisting into a sugar - coated grin as soon as your eyes widen, “snow!”

you immediately move to give him a hug, festus’ searing gaze following your every movement in the creepiest way possible— god, coriolanus hates him. his fingers lace around your waist, tugging you close, “hey, princess.”

“princess?” festus snickers.

coriolanus tries to ignore him, but he finds it near impossible with the words that leave your lips next, “this is festus, my friend, do you know him?”

coriolanus scoffs, does he know him, what a joke, “i know of him.”

festus finds himself chuckling bitterly, “is that right, pretty boy?”

coriolanus takes a step, and you feel a certain mold of metal against your waist when he does, a gun, his cold lips part, “sure is.”

your eyes roam over his features, the curves of his skin when his brows collide, the way his eyes darken with malice, the grit of his sharp teeth, the flush of his jaw against his flesh as he moves it. his muscles flex underneath his baggy band t - shirt, veins pulsing. he was angry.

festus’ lips part, but you speak before him, “snow?”

his head nods in your direction, but he doesn’t say anything.

“answer your girl, snow,” festus taunts.

“go upstairs,” he mumbles, it’s to you.

so you do.

⊹˚. ౨ৎ

coriolanus sighs when he closes the door behind him, coming in mere minutes later. you had been sitting on the bed in the vacant room, fingers playing together, eyes glossed over in fear and pricking with tears. coriolanus wasn’t the only one who carried, but you didn’t hear any shots, fortunately.

“kid’s such a fuckin’ asshole,” he mumbles, cracking his bruising knuckles, “he’s not sellin’ you shit, is he?”

“sometimes—“

“don’t buy from him anymore,” coriolanus pauses, swallowing, “he laces his shit sometimes.”

it was true, festus was messy with his work, he didn’t lace the products himself but the people that distributed them to him would, he was just too lazy to even notice.

“i’m sorry,” it comes out hushed, a mere whisper, but coriolanus’ ears pick up on it easily.

his tone is softer now, “why?”

“i didn’t know—“

“then don’t apologize,” his head tips to the side, sniffling the bubbling blood in his nose, he inhales, pupils wide as they roam your features. a glass tear raced down your pliant cheek, and he immediately moved to carefully wipe it away, “don’t cry, doll.”

you don’t say anything, merely melt into his touch. coriolanus isn’t good with affection, he’s hardly had any girlfriend before and if he has, they don’t last long due to his struggles with showing kindness. so it’s obvious the next word that leaves his mouth isn’t one born from honeysuckle, “cocaine?”

your lips move nervously, bottom lip tugging under your teeth as your mascara covered lashes move to his frost - bitten eyes, “do you have.. ecstasy?”

his lips drop to a frown, “why?”

your lips tremble when they part, cheeks heating under his touch, “my friends want to try it.”

“no,” he swallows, jaw ticking, “i’m not selling you that shit.”

“what? why not?”

“that shit is too dangerous,” he chuckles, albeit it’s bitterness, “i don’t want you around that, it’s trouble.”

“i’ve been good,” you reassure, hips swaying when you scoot closer to the edge of the bed, closer to him.

“have you, now?” his thumb is gently rubbing against your skin.

“i have, i promise,” you offer, feeling his fingers move so his thumb is now moving against your bottom lip, dipping into your mouth ever so slightly.

you smile around it and his pupils dilate even more, are his eyes blue anymore or merely just sole pupil? “naughty girl.”

then he stops, as if he had realized something, and pulled away. your lips curve downward to a frown, desperate to have his touch again, “snow?”

“don’t,” his molars collide, “i’ll hurt you.”

“that’s okay—“

“—i’m bad news—“

“—i don’t think that—“

“—i’m dangerous, doll.”

you hesitate, inhaling sharply, “but you won’t hurt me.”

he doesn’t say anything for a minute, “so, you want cocaine?”

you give him a careful nod, and he smiles. again, he’s being sweet.

“you know how to chop up cocaine?”

you allow yourself a giggle, “you know i don’t.”

“i’ll show you.”

and he does, his hand is gentle as it guides yours, fingers curling against the curve of your own as he crushes up the cocaine, guiding you to chop it up with the card he gave you. you’re warm underneath his cold touch, his movements experienced whilst yours are new. “how many times have you done this?”

he shrugs, breath fresh against the shell of your ear, “a couple hundred, for sure.”

“i could help you, you know, with the business,” you offer, despite not even really wanting to.

“no,” his fingers are tighter against your skin, but not enough to hurt, “i don’t want you in this business, you being around me is dangerous enough.”

“you’re not dangerous, snow,” you hush out.

he moves closer, and you feel his gun brush against your ass, lips curving into a smile, “you think so?”

you shiver from the touch, it’s loaded, the safety is probably off, “i know so.”

your thighs push together, he feels it, making him chuckle, “you’re so needy, princess.”

“snow,” you breathe out, “this isn’t fair.”

“how so?” he presses a soft kiss behind your ear, “just because you aren’t getting what you want?”

“do you want it?” you pause your movements.

“of course i do, i want it as much as you,” he moves your fingers so you drop the card, guiding them to his bulge, “‘m just not spoiled.”

you frown at his works, fingers curving around his bulge, god, how big was he? “‘m not spoiled either.”

“whatever you say, princess,” he grits out.

you palm him so well, it nearly has him rutting against your hand, breathing getting heavier against your ear. his fingers move to trail down down your back, dipping underneath the hem of your skirt and tracing along the thin material of your lace panties. his jaw shifts, “such a dirty girl, wearing these panties.”

you whimper when his fingers graze along the soaked part of your panties, thick fingers brushing against your clothed clit, “please— snow.”

“please what, princess?” you mumble something in response, but it’s nearly incoherent, more of a whimper, “use your words.”

he moves to pull your panties to the side, now touching your bare clit, making your thighs tremble, “i need— fuck, i need you— inside.”

he nods, pressing kisses along the side of your neck, finding himself already pussy - drunk. it almost felt sacrificial, a sinful man dipping his fingers inside of a goddess, the way you moaned at the feeling of his finger stretching you out— it was as if he could be confessing of his sins at any minute.

to see your hips bucking against his finger, his name hushed on the tip of your delicate tongue. didn’t you know that many people wanted him dead? how many people hated him? how the police could arrest him at any second? yet you didn’t care, a lamb to the slaughter, a deer in between the jaws of a wolf.

yet you were rutting against his hand, begging for more, desiring him to push another finger in— and he did exactly that, prepping your tight cunt for his cock, “you’re so fuckin’ tight, doll, i don’t know if it’ll fit.”

“it will— it will, i know it will—,” you’re just babbling nonsense at this point, and coriolanus wanted to be gentle, he really did, but your sweet moans, your sugary whimpers, the way he so easily pushed his fingers inside of you, the way that when you curl, your moans up a few octaves. you were so sensitive, god, were you a virgin?

the thought had coriolanus pulling his fingers out, twirling you around so he can push his fingers into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself as his other hand undoes the belt holding his baggy jeans up. his eyes are crystalizing the memory of your tongue swirling against his fingers, sucking up every taste of your own cunt— have you thought of this as many times as he has?

he moves his hand to take his gun before it falls, placing it on the counter behind you, his fingers move from your mouth to help him push his jeans down, your lips part, “why do you have a gun?”

he smiles sweetly at your words, nearly chuckling, “why do you think?”

“‘m not sure, that’s why i asked,” you had a certain tinge in your voice that makes him quirk a brow.

“it’s to protect myself, princess,” he pushes his boxers down, finally freeing his cock, “now be a good girl, turn around, and bend over.”

of course you do exactly what he asks, bending over the counter so he can push your skirt up. the feeling of your innocence being stripped away right in front of you was far too good, like a cross ripped from the chain around your neck, or your holy water being unpurified. you were a cupcake with frosting on top, and coriolanus was sinking his teeth into you, rotting his sweet tooth.

his dick slaps against your heat when your legs part with desire, making you whine against nothing, “snow— please..”

“just say it, princess,” he moves to rub his red tip against your clit, making you shudder, knees buckling already.

“fuck me— f..fuck me,” you repeatedly beg.

he moves closer to press a sweet kiss on the back of your neck, bones colliding when his cock finally pushes into your cunt. you were so tight around him, squeezing him around your velvet walls. your jaw falls slack when you gasp at the feeling of him stretching you out, his lips pull tight together in a grunt, “so tight for me, princess— jesus christ..”

his breathing is labored when he pulls his hips back and thrusts in, he goes slow at first, treating you like you were a fragile statue made from porcelain, but then you’re begging him to go faster, to go harder. your fingers graze along the gun placed on the counter, right next to the cocaine. his tongue swipes along the roof of his mouth before he speaks, “are you sure, doll? i don’t— fuck— want to hurt you.”

“h-hurt me, it’s okay,” you mumble out, and he truly does hesitate for a second, then his thrusts are suddenly faster, bumping you into the counter with the sheer snap of his hips. your cries sound like noises formed from a blessed harp, passed down by the gods for him to listen to, each moan getting louder and louder until his ears are ringing, until the music sounds hushed compared to your screams.

it’s so obscene, all of the things that he finds himself spitting out as he harshly bucks into you. so cute, jus’ wanna ruin you, takin’ my cock so well, that feel good princess? he can’t help the way his hands snake up to your hair, tugging at the pretty bow wrapped around it, earning a frosted moan from your glossed lips.

it’s not long until you’re cuming on his cock, with him pulling out to twirl you around and push you to your knees, allowing you to jerk him off until thick white stripes are decorating your face. the white glitter, the sweet scent of your lip - gloss, now accompanied by his cum.

how cute.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbles as he tucks his dick back in his boxers, pulling his jeans back up when your painted nails move to wipe away the cum on your face, lapping it up with your pretty tongue.

you giggle sweetly, “do you do this with all your customers?”

he shakes his head, “no, doll, you’re special, you know that.”

and it’s true, you really were special.

you were a dangerous man’s doll.

[riddleswhcre]

.ᐟ just thinking about tom whispering sweet things

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

“you don’t even know what you do to me, do you?” his voice is quiet, just above a whisper, but there’s a rasp to it, the kind that makes it impossible not to listen.

you’re curled against him, your face half-buried in the pillow, your back pressed against his chest, one of his arms wrapped firmly around your waist. his other hand brushes against your back, slow and deliberate, like he’s tracing patterns only he understands.

he shifts a little closer, his nose brushing against the side of your neck, warm and soft. “you’re always so oblivious,” he murmurs, his lips grazing your skin just barely as he speaks. “do you even realise what it does to me? the way you look at me like i could give you the world… like i’m anything close to deserving of you.”

his hand moves lower, resting against the curve of your hip, holding you in place like he’s worried you might disappear. for someone so composed, so untouchable, there’s a quiet desperation in the way he holds you now—like this is the only time he lets himself unravel, where no one else can see.

“you make me soft,” he admits, his tone dropping lower. “and i hate it.” there’s no malice in the words, though. if anything, there’s something almost bitter in how he says it, like he can’t decide if loving you is his greatest weakness or his greatest strength.

you fight the urge to move, to respond, to let him know you’re awake, but something tells you he wouldn’t say any of this if he thought you could hear.

his lips press lightly against your shoulder, lingering like he’s waiting for the world to collapse beneath him. “but i’d take it, you know. all of it. every soft, pathetic part of me… as long as it means i get to keep you.”

for a moment, he doesn’t move, his head resting against you, his breath warm on your neck. then, just as you think he’s done, he whispers, softer now, “mine,” and presses a kiss to the back of your neck. it’s fleeting, barely there, but it sends something down your spine all the same.

he shifts again, pulling you even closer, and for the first time tonight, he seems at ease. you stay still, heart racing, and wonder what he’d do if he knew.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

more

soft tom has me in a chokehold rn. thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

[st4rfckerz]

“We can’t go all the way, Clark.” Your tone was tense, torn between caution and need.

“Just the tip, I swear. I won't...I won't go all the way.” He took a shuddering breath, trying to rein in his urgency. “I just need to feel you.” His hands gripped your hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin as he fought to maintain control.

He moved slowly but steadily, inch by inch, so you could get used to his size. A soft gasp escaped his lips as he felt your walls flutter around the tip of his dick. He paused for a second, knowing that if he moved anymore he’d bust right then and there.

After remaining still for a moment, he finally started to move. He rocked his hips in a gentle rhythm, swollen tip sliding in and out of your warm, sticky cunt with deliberate, controlled strokes. But as he continued to move inside of you, feeling how wet you were just for him, he could feel his resolve weakening. His fingers dug into your flushed skin as he held you close, pulling your body against his so he could bury himself deeper inside you.

“I’m sorry, you feel so good,” He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as he lost himself. It was too much, too good, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer at this rate.

You shouldn't have been surprised, really. Deep down, you had a feeling that Clark's restraint would only last so long. Maybe it was what you really wanted. Who knows.

[animasola86]

SMUT DRABBLES*: Belly Bulge

A/N: So. You may or may not know this about me, but I have a size kink. One of my favorite tropes to write and read is tiny woman/big man. And with that information in mind, I give you something called Belly Bulge. Pretty self-explanatory, right? // As with my other Smut Drabbles (*we're still under 1k, baby, this is a drabble!), you can imagine any character here, or just keep it neutral/anonymous, whatever you like! Warnings for this one are: (obviously) size difference, unprotected sex, choking and I guess breeding kink if you squint.

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! // WORDS: 825 // AO3

She stares at the little bulge with childlike fascination.

Moving her hands over her flat stomach, fingers shaking slightly, she presses down gently. A gasp escapes her when he moves behind her, his big hands on her small breasts, cupping them completely, squeezing, kneading, calloused palms rubbing over her hard nipples. His wide body beneath her, her cushioned rear squished to his lower stomach, shoulders pressing into his chest, his cock so deep inside her she can feel it prodding against her soft skin, literally stretching her limits.

The couch creaks beneath them as he starts thrusting upwards, his strong thighs moving against her feet that are tucked under his legs, her own spread almost painfully wide to give him better access. She watches him slide in and out, her hands rubbing down her mound, fingertips brushing against her clit, sending jolts of pleasure through her body, her folds parting wide with every deep plunge.

She moans, throwing her head back against his shoulder, when his thick cockhead scrapes over that sweet spot, almost rams into it in that position, before slipping deeper, denting her belly from within. She feels it against her palms, the constant nudging that drives her crazy. And the stretch. How he carves his way into her small body, presses between her tight muscles, molding her to his size.

When he had put his length onto her stomach to show her how far he would reach inside her, she had thought it was impossible to fit all of him into her tiny pussy, but he had made it work, inch by hard inch, with shallow snaps of his hips, as he went deeper and deeper, and while she thought the pain would split her in two as he pushed hard against her resisting muscles, she had adjusted, surprisingly quick. Mostly because of his whispered words, his hot breath on her ear, as he encouraged her.

“Shh, it'll be alright, baby. It'll fit. I'll make it fit. You were made for this. You were made for me! Look how well you can take me, all of me... every... single... inch...”

His voice has lulled her, and now his rapid breaths and quiet groans fill her head, his clenched jaw rubbing against her temple as he keeps groping her chest whilst ramming up into her, finding space within her, stretching her, filling her, taking root inside her. He grunts when she presses down on her stomach, meeting his tip as it dents her from within, and it encourages him to move faster, his thigh muscles tensing while he pushes harder, maybe even deeper, slam after slam, nudge after nudge.

She howls and whines, mewls and moans, the sensation almost too much for her to handle. His hands leave her breasts, letting them bounce with every upward thrust; his long fingers move to her throat, curling around her slender neck, applying just enough pressure that she gasps while her eyes roll back; his other hand moves down to join hers, one large palm pressing down hard, forcing her to feel more of him through her soft flesh.

Hammering into her with fervor, his breaths grow ragged while her own quiet down, silenced by how he squeezes her throat. She's seeing stars now, her mouth wide open, saliva gathering in the corners, some dripping down her chin, as he holds her, pushing her towards the edge and far beyond, and she feels her body convulsing, thighs twitching, that tension in her stomach, hot and tight, pushed aside by his large cock hitting all the right spots.

She's already floating, but then his hand leaves her stomach and teases her clit, rough fingertips rubbing hard and fast circles as he keeps pounding into her from beneath, skin slapping against skin, every rapid plunge causing her wetness to squelch out, obscenely loud, a cacophony of sounds that make her head spin even more.

And then she comes, muscles contracting, clamping down on him hard, the wet heat that has built up within her forcing out of her. She cries out soundlessly, eyelids fluttering open, body contorting into an arc that lifts her slightly off him, causing him to sink deeper, making the bulge even bigger, and he stills, an animalistic growl leaving his parted lips as he follows her over the edge, cock twitching, balls tight and pumping, and he grabs her hand and presses it onto her stomach, feeling how he fills her up with spurt after spurt of hot cum.

His other hand eases its grip on her throat, and she gasps, falling against him, panting, head completely empty, while her belly feels so full. His warm lips brush against her sweaty forehead, a tender kiss to calm her down even more. She smiles tiredly before she closes her eyes, her palm over her womb as he pumps it full of him, marking her, breeding her, finding a place for himself deep within her.

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

MORE SMUT DRABBLES:

A steamy shower

Toy

Car Inspection

Tension Relief

Sleepy

On the edge

[lqveharrington]

So American | D.M.

summary: You and Draco have a lazy day. However, you and Draco take your teas differently.

pairing: draco malfoy x american!reader

includes: MAJOR FLUFF, kissing, teasing, playful bantering

a/n: i was listening to olivia rodrigo.

When you first moved to the United Kingdom to further your studies on witchcraft and wizardry, you didn’t expect to fall head over heels. Especially when that person wasn’t know for their behavior back at Hogwarts; At least that’s what you heard from your co-workers. You didn’t believe that he — the sweetest nurse at St. Mungo’s — could be so cruel to the Harry Potter.

But when you found yourself getting closer to the Brit, you couldn’t help but ask him his reasoning. It wasn’t like you asked with malicious intent, and luckily he didn’t view it as such. He simply stated that he was young and stupid, making you stifle a laugh. From there, your friendship with the blonde deepened and blossomed into a steady relationship.

There were often days where you both worked on such a tight schedule at St Mungo’s, but on some occasions, you were both scheduled to have the same day off. These special days were entitled: Lazy Days. Quite original.

Lazy days were a familiar routine. The both of you would stay in bed as long as you could until you were starving and then lay on the couch reading a book until it was tea time. Something you had gotten accustomed to.

However, tea to you was different to people from England.

“Dray?” You yawn softly as he ran his fingers up and down your back. You finished reading a chapter a while ago and just wanted to be in the present until 4:30, which was when Draco would get up and prepare tea for the both of you.

Draco hummed in response to you calling out for him, gaze lifting from his book to your tired eyes. “My love?”

“I’m cold.” You pull on your blanket tighter and give him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, you can continue reading.”

“You’re cute, you know that?” He set his book down and pulled you into his arms so you were comfortably straddling him. He pulled the blanket around the both of you as you easily tucked your head in his neck.

“You feel warm.” You hum into his neck, hands finding his shirt and slipping underneath. “Super warm.”

He chuckled softly, pulling his head back to take a look at your tired face. His eyes did a full sweep of you. From the stray strands of hair sticking to your forehead to the curves of your face.

“D’you wanna come with me to make tea?”

You shiver when his hands slip under your top and around your waist, a contrast to his other body parts. You move your head back into his neck, nodding softly at the question.

“Of course.”

Draco kissed your cheek and removed the blanket covering the both of you with ease. He secured his hands underneath your thighs and made his way over to the kitchen, setting you on top of one of the counters.

“Counter’s cold.” You grumble as you tuck your hands into your arms in attempts to warm your body from the freezing granite.

“M’sorry.” Draco gave you sorry smile and brought his hands down to your thighs and gentle rubbed to warm you. “Better?”

You smile warmly at him and let him go back to his tasks as the kettle whistles at you. This was always one of your favorite sights. Just the domesticated life you and Draco led outside of witchcraft and wizardry, well, as much as you could.

“Can you add creamer to mine?” You murmur and wince when you hear him drop the tea spoon into the cup itself, causing a loud clunk to ring out. You knew this was going to happen, it happened every time.

He looked up and glanced at you from the corner of his eye before blinking. “No.”

“Dray.” You huff, watching him stir in the sugar for the both of you. “Please.”

“Creamer is for coffee. You can have honey with your tea.” He opened the refrigerator for the honey. “Here.”

In horrible attempts, you tried to grab the creamer from the fridge but get pulled away by Draco himself. Rolling your eyes, you squirm and try escaping but no avail.

“Draco, you can have it with honey or whatever you put in your tea. I want creamer in mine.” You cross your arms, tilting your head up the slightest bit to face him. You watched him look at you with absolutely no emotion, hands still keeping you in place.

You pouted jokingly, making yourself seem cuter than normal. Draco raised a brow at you and shook his head, making you pout even more.

“Please.” You rest your forehead on his chest and feel his arms encase your body. “Just this once.”

After a beat, you hear Draco sigh and you know you’ve won him over, even if it hurts his poor Brit heart.

“You’re so American, my love.” Draco kissed the top of your head and opened the fridge for the creamer, handing it to you. “I’ll get you to convert eventually. You are living here now.”

“I’ll make you move to the states with me.” You cheekily reply, kissing his cheek. “I love you, Dray.”

He rolled his eyes and squeezed your hip as you poured creamer into your tea, watching the transparent liquid change. “I love you too, you American.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[draczrys]

Would you write something about Cregan Stark getting married to a reader of a house of your choice and thus sealing alliances and being fluffy?

WINTER ROSE. ❨ cregan stark x tyrell!reader ❩

since your birth, the third child and only daughter of highgarden’s lord, your fate had always been a marriage for political means. your elder brother would inherit the title, the other set for life as a knight of the seven kingdoms. you were a girl and your purpose was to marry well and secure a strong alliance for your family.

it didn’t take long to come to terms with what your life would look like. you would come of age and be sent away to the lord that would benefit you most. for your family, you would do it. but, every night, you would kneel by your pillow and pray that your husband would at least be kind —- it needn’t be true love, like the stories you often read. as long as he wasn’t cruel.

“cregan stark has been named the new lord of winterfell and is in need of a wife,” your father announced one morning, amidst the feasting hall. “i have sent a raven to offer your hand and he has accepted.”

your mother beamed, grasping your shoulders proudly. “my daughter, lady of winterfell.”

“we are in need of his banners and he needs our grain and cloths for the winter,” lord tyrell explains, shrugging as though it were simply a swap of goods and not the life of his daughter. “it is a fair exchange.”

by the next moon, you were departing the green and gold covered fields of highgarden and journeying north on the roseroad. the colder it became, the more you missed the sweet sun and elegant surroundings of your home. northerners were rough and unforgiving to outsiders, each one you met along the way adding to the dreaded image of your husband.

the first time you laid eyes on cregan stark was when you were taken along the path to the godswood. he was handsome, you couldn’t deny that. but his tall build, stoic features and steady gaze made you shiver —- even under the furs you’d been given. he had the look of a northerner, but did he have the heart of one too?

“by the old gods and the new, i name you man and wife,” the septon concluded the ceremony, unbinding the cloth wrapped around your hands. expectant eyes looked on, forcing a blush upon your face as you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to cregan’s cheek.

if you were to confess under the eyes of the godswood, you were afraid of cregan stark. his eyes were unwavering, lips fixed in a permanent frown. other than his vows of marriage, he hadn't said a word. neither of you were elated to be trapped into a marriage of convenience, but you knew you hadn't any choice in the matter. at the least, he could look like he was enduring it.

sat now at the top table in winterfell's great feast hall, your new husband at your side, the celebrations were growing louder the longer the wine was being poured. you sat quietly, barely sipping at your cup. only when the loud, booming voice of cregan's men rang out did you come back to the present.

"a toast, to the new lady of winterfell! may she be as beautiful under our lord as she is beside him."

the laughs that emulated from it made you grimace, so used to being treated as the perfect lady, protected from all things becoming to a man. you knew of sex, the people of the reach having always been open about their bodies and pleasures, but the northern aggression that came with it was foreign to you.

"to the bedding ceremony!"

the ladies at highgarden had warned you of the tradition that came at weddings, the entire party parading around the newlyweds as they stripped and consummated the bond. it was daunting enough to take your new husband to bed, but to be watched by tens of strangers? it had your heart suddenly hammering out of your chest, every muscle tensing in a cold shock.

"enough!" the commanding voice of the man by your side cut through the cheers, silencing the hall in an instant. it was the first time he had spoken since the ceremony, current volume making up for the silence. "there will be no bedding ceremony. anyone who protests will meet the sword at once."

whilst everyone else cowered under the threat, you felt yourself relax with a warm relief. cregan turns to meet your surprise, both his eyes and tongue turning soft as he speaks just to you now.

"you may retire, if you wish."

nodding gratefully, you follow the gentle hand of your lady-in-waiting out of the busy feast and along the strange halls of the cold castle. even your chambers are cold, the climate seeming to cling to the stone around the bed. the silk nightdresses you had brought with you do nothing to shield you from it, so once your lady departs you begin to forage through the chests for something to keep you warm. eventually finding a smaller set of furs amongst the others, you drape it around your shoulders and relish in the heat that comes with it.

"is everything to your liking?"

jumping in shock, you turn on your heels to find cregan stood at the doorway, just about filling the whole space. his eyes flicker down to the furs -- his furs, covering you and a small smirk pulls at the corner of his lips.

"i'm sorry," you stumble quickly. "it was cold and it was all i could find."

cregan's head shakes, dismissing your apologies. "it's alright. everything here is as much yours as it is mine, now."

you smile, head falling bashfully to glance at the floor. "i hadn't expected everything to be so... different here. it will take some time to adjust, i think."

nodding in understanding, cregan crosses the room to stand in front of you. you feel yourself shiver under his gaze, watching him study you amongst his territory. hesitantly, his hand slips from under his own furs to reach for your own. you let him, both of you treading new water as your learn each other's touch; the smoothness of your palms, the rough pads of his thumbs, the heat that encompassed your chilled knuckles. the sensation is wonderful, like two puzzle pieces slotting together.

"whatever you need to help you enjoy your new life here, no matter the extent, it will be my honour to find it for you," cregan tells you, the kindness in his voice a pleasant welcome. "you are my wife now, it is my duty to make you comfortable."

feeling your cheeks warm, rounding with the first genuine smile in days. your heart swells and the feeling that this marriage might just be okay fills you, so much so that you find yourself reaching up to kiss cregan's cheek once more. unlike the bonding of the vows, this one is genuine and of your own volition, expressing the gratitude you could not find words for.

"i can sleep elsewhere for the night, if you would wish..." cregan continues, clearing his throat to distract from the small blush that creeps past his skin.

"no, stay," you tell him, squeezing his hand. "perhaps we could talk, learn more about each other."

the suggestion eases you both. cregan agrees, using your hand to guide you towards the bed, only leaving for a moment to fetch you more furs for the night. he potters around, changing for sleep, and the domestic scene lets you relax into the pillows.

it wasn't a marriage for love - yet. but perhaps it could be, with time.

[daylighted]

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤlazy mornings . . . charlie baker.

────────────────────────────────────────────

"shh," charlie whispers in your ear, each of the shallow thrusts between your pressed together legs enough to make the rickety bed shake against the wall. "gotta be quiet for me, alright?"

quiet was a word you weren't sure that anyone in the baker family knew the meaning of. outside of his closed and locked door, you could hear his siblings chasing each other down the halls, doors slamming and creaking open, voices coming and going.

charlie was used to it, you knew. impossible not to be. but that didn't make it any less nerve wracking to have the pressure of silence on your shoulders, lest one of his siblings catch wind that he was awake, and try to barge in.

his arm tightens around your chest, tugging you back into him, each shift of his hips grinding further into you. he was still tired, his movements lazy, but he always knew how to make you squirm.

your lips part in a shuddering breath, and his other hand atop your mouth loosens a little, his cheek nuzzling into the side of your neck. "sorry," he says, pressing little kisses on your skin, his morning voice rough against the smooth column of your throat.

you try to whisper back to him, but your words are caught there, right beneath his lips, and instead, all you can do is press your head backwards again, further into the warmth of his chest.

charlie shifts a little, moving you along with him, and the bed creaks a little too loudly, his cock stilling inside of you. listening, and waiting, for any sign that his family heard him starting to stir. your breath joins your words in your mouth, lodged behind every sound that wants to come out.

"i think it's okay," you whisper into his fingers, pressing a kiss to one of his fingertips in the process. one of your hands drops down to his thigh to urge him on, nails scraping lightly on the warm skin. "i think─"

"charlie?" mr. baker's voice is as loud as a gong in your ears, your words stuttering off into nothing at the sound of it. "you finally awake?"

charlie buries his face into your neck, letting out a sigh just for you. and to your horror, a smile, too, just for you, as he starts to push inside of you again. "go away, dad," he calls over your shoulder.

your heart is in your throat already, but it pounds at the rattle of the doorknob. thank god charlie locked it last night. thank god some things could stay secret in a house of fourteen.

"why is your door locked?" mr. baker asks, and he's still rattling the knob as if it'll loosen the bolts inside and magically open, and charlie is still slowly rocking his hips in your wet heat, and you think you might just die, really.

charlie's arm tightens around your stomach, pulling you against him all over again, this time in rhythm with each deeper push into you. his other hand clasps around your mouth again, like he can sense it, the way your lips start to shudder and the dam in your throat starts to break. "because i wanted t'actually try and sleep in, for once," he says finally, and maybe you're paranoid, but his voice sounds more gravelly than before, strained at the edges.

mr. baker can't meet you for the first time like this. with charlie buried inside of you, and you naked in his son's bed.

your nails dig into charlie's leg in warning. his palm curls around your waist in silent answer. still, he doesn't stop.

"you should know by now that sleeping in is not something that happens in this family," mr. baker laughs through the door, rapping his knuckles against it. "c'mon. up n' attem. breakfast's gonna get cold."

charlie groans again in your ear. another sound just for you. no words were being spoken but it was almost like a conversation, anyways. "m'coming, alright?"

"alright, kid," mr. baker says, and for a second, it's quiet again. there's just the sound of your muffled breaths into charlie's palm, and his soft noises pressed behind your ear. but things were never so easy in the baker house. "hey, isn't your girlfriend coming by this afternoon?"

charlie doesn't answer. heat coils in your lower stomach, snapping and biting in warning, your breaths coming out more frantic. again, you can feel charlie's smile quirk against your skin.

his thrusts slow, each one more deliberate as he stretches out your fluttering walls to fit him. "yeah," charlie finally answers, his arm firmly around your waist, holding you tight as you fall apart, the hand around your mouth loosening, "yeah, she's comin'."

you have enough sensibility to not make a sound as your body shakes with the force of your pleasure. you also have enough sensibility to elbow charlie in the ribs for what he says.

"good, good," mr. baker hums.

charlie pushes one more time inside of you, harder than the last, as his cock twitches, coating your walls with the thick white beads of his cum. he presses one more kiss into the crook of your shoulder before he goes lax behind you, tugging you back into his arms.

mr. baker's voice starts to fade, becoming more distant, but not far away enough for you not to hear his final utterance of, "henry says she's lovely."

────────────────────────────────────────────

this is very niche. so i am dedicating it to the two pookies i KNOWWWW will get it. @deansbeer & @titsout4jackles this one's 4 u.

[beaucate]

๑°⋆｡ ୨୧ nsfw . . . blurb for the mean time bcz im busy </3 — it’s meant to be awkward but i also haven’t written anything suggestive in a while so be patient pleek!!

you were sprawled half-asleep on the couch within the kent’s barn, painkillers smudging your vision into a blur of purple and black hues, when suddenly; clark’s heavy boots thudded up the loft stairs.

his red flannel was rolled to his elbows — forearms streaked with light dirt, and all you could do was stare dumbly as he crouched beside you, all broad shouldered and nervously sweating.

“ma said you’re still… y’know.” he gestured vaguely at his jaw, cheeks pink as your drool coated the plush of your swollen lips.

“still dying,” you slurred, tilting your head back with a light thud. the motion made the room spin. “s’your fault. your mom’s apple pie is a calling for cavities”

he huffed a half-hearted laugh, and sat on the edge of the couch near you.

in your dazed state; you hadn’t realised how close he was until his knee bumped yours, denim rough against your bare leg, as your skirt scrunched upwards. his hands flexed, like he’d wanted to touch but held himself back.

“let me,” he muttered, but his gruff tone didn’t match the way his fingers trembled when he cupped your chin.

you let him pry your mouth open, too hazy to care about your dignity — and gasped softly when the rough pad of his thumb pressed into the swelling ache. your tongue involuntarily (or so you tell yourself) brushed his calloused skin, and he made a noise; a low, almost pained grunt— before he shifted closer.

the old couch creaked dangerously as he leaned in, his hip accidentally slotting against yours.

you both froze.

for a pregnant pause, all you felt was the heat of him, the hard line of his muscular thigh pressing into the sensitive skin of your legs. the way his breath stuttered when your knee slipped between his.

“clark-“ you breathed out, his thumb still pressing against your gums, and sliding slowly so that it brushed against the inside of your cheeks and on your tongue.

he was already moving, a hand slipping from your face to lean against the worn out pillow behind you. that small shift of his body had made him slide forward, his larger body pinning yours deeper into the couch.

your hips rocked up, ‘accidentally’, and his free hand gripped down on your waist, holding you still.

“don’t,” he stuttered out, eyes wild.

though his own words fell to deaf ears, because you weren’t sure who moved first.

maybe it was the arch of your back. but suddenly he was everywhere all at once, the thick muscle of his chest crushing against your hardened nipples, and his knee nudged your legs wider. it was all so clumsy, and reeked of desperation; his hips jerking forward once, before he had to wrench himself back like he’d been shocked.

“i-i have to-, tractor,” he stammered, jumping hurriedly himself off the couch, your saliva connecting a line from his thumb to your lips. he tripped over his own boots, catching himself on the doorframe, and fled.

you laid there, heart jackhammering, and underwear chafing against your swollen bud. your tooth still throbbed, but the pain dulled in comparison to the way he’d looked at you, like he wanted to eat you alive, and like it terrified him.