im gonna be abandoning this account cause i dont see the point in posting anymore and honestly all my creative juices have been directed at my original works and nonfandom in general. im keeping this up as an archive for the people who still want to read my fics^^
SYNOPSIS an unexpected joy comes to you and your husband one christmas morning: a joy that takes form of a child.
CONTENTS established relationship (married), reader is implied to be once apart of noble society, might not be as time accurate, awful dialogue as per usual, infertility (in reader) hinted, mentions of parenthood, fluffy with a side of angst
NOTES part of my 'home is where the heart is' series where I'll be posting christmas specials of my favorite characters 🫶🫶🫶 some things might be changed there but I'll uhhh figure smth out :3
likes, reblogs and replies are appreciated!
The snow is harsh this evening, like it's always been every christmas. But the house you and Adam have built have gone through much worse blizzards than this and the fire soothes any nerves that you might have.
It was a simple christmas. A small tree stands erect in the corner of the living room, it lacks any sort of decoration except for the small star you've crafted out of tin. The dinner consists of roasted venison, cooked fish, soup and a salad of your harvests from earlier seasons.
It wasn't like the meaty turkey and mouth-watering desserts that you had in your youth, but you've made do with your current situation. Plus, having Adam by your side makes this dinner all the more special and better than dining on your lonesome.
While your husband busies himself with preparing the table, you buzz around the kitchen, opening drawers in your frenzied search. "Where is it??" You mutter under your breath, exasperated. "I could've sworn it was—"
Adam peeks his head from the doorway. "Is everything alright?"
"Found it!" You exclaim upon grasping the neck of a long bottle. You pull it out from the dark corners of a creaky cabinet and wipe the dust off it with your sleeve.
You hear heavy footsteps befall behind you. "Adam, love, look what I've got." You say in a sing-song voice, waving the bottle in your hands.
His brows furrow, curious by your find. He carefully grasps it in his hand and takes a closer look at the label. "Wine..??" His eyes widen as he leans back, shoulders dropping in shock. "H-How— How did you purchase this? And how did I not know?"
"Oh, I didn't purchase it. It's been fermenting in the back of the cabinet ever since I got here. One of my many mementos from old times." You explain to him. As he hands you the bottle back, you guide him to your small dining space and set the wine down on the table.
"I see..." He looks at it, a bit hesitant yet still curious. "Are you sure you'd want to drink it?"
"Adam, alcohol doesn't expire."
"No, no. I didn't mean it like that," He shakes his head, growing embarrassed as you tease him. "You stated it was a memento so I couldn't help but ask. It must mean a lot to you."
Your eyes land on the bottle, watching the wine sway inside as you tap your fingers on the wood. Sighing through your nose, the sight fills you with bittersweet nostalgia. "It does mean a lot to me. But I'll just be wasting good wine if I don't consume it." As you speak, you grab it and pop the cork out.
It clatters on the table, rolling off onto the floor, and you pour yourself one without hesitation. "And I believe today's the perfect occasion to finally get it out." You raise the bottle to him in an offering. "It'll taste better if I drink with you."
Finally, Adam smiles and slides his glass over, which you were more than happy to fill up. The wine sloshes clumsily, nearly spilling over the rim.
You put away the bottle only to lift your glass up. He lifts a brow, mildly amused. "What is this now for?"
"A toast to you and I, for many more Christmases to come." You urge him by tipping up your glass more and he gives in, clinking his against your own. "Merry christmas, my love."
He leans over and leaves a ghost of a kiss on your forehead, "Merry christmas to you too, dear."
Then, in the midst of the sweet, almost mystical moment, a knock on the door interrupts you.
It's faint at first, you could barely hear it over the crackling fire and the howling snow outside. Then, something— or someone —knocks again, progressively getting louder.
Without fail, Adam's shoulders tense up at the uninvited guest, and you follow his lead. Your small home is a few walks away from any other houses and establishments, tucked away behind a good trail of trees.
"I'll get it—"
"No, stay here." Adam's low command cuts you off, putting his hand in front of you to keep you in place as he carefully approaches the door. He's hesitant, wary. The wind blows harder outside.
You both wait with bated breaths, letting the seconds pass by as you hear out for any more knocking. None, it's dead silent, like the noise could've been in your head.
Unable to wait, you walk past Adam and open it. A gust of cold air spills into your home, penetrating through your thick and warm clothes.
There's no one in the distance, nothing you and Adam can see. No glint, no shadow, not even a footprint but the snow could've just hid it. Then, a laugh. A child's laughter.
As you look down towards the source of the noise, a small basket sits at the foot of your porch. Something squirms from beneath the scratchy, maroon plaid blanket, tucking whatever's under safely.
"Is that..." You reach out for the basket and peel the cover back, only to reveal a fresh-faced baby, chubby cheeks and a rosy button nose. A gasp slips out of you.
Without hesitation, you pick the baby up from the basket and cradle it gently in your arms. "Such a sweet-looking bab... Just what were you doing there?" You coo, tickling their nose. The baby giggles and babbles, saliva spitting out.
"Adam, come look at it." You turn to your husband who has suddenly backed a few feet away from you and the baby. "Adam?"
"I'm sorry, my dear, I'm afraid it might get scared of me." He shamefully hides away, covering his face as if one look would permanently scar the child.
You frown, "Oh honey, it's alright. I promise you, they won't be scared. Just... give it a try, alright?"
He looks at you, still unwillingly, but when he sees that soft and gentle look in your eyes, how you hold the small infant out for him, he gives in and walks back to your side.
As he peers down, the baby looks at him curiously. He waits, stares, and so does the baby. Then, they tug at his hair, earning a small yelp, which made them laugh louder. A sweet, musical sound that makes him clutch his heart.
"What a mischievous child..." He smiles softly, just a ghost of it. "They look like you. Almost."
"Maybe it's a sign." You murmur, your smile turning bittersweet. "Maybe, God's finally given me a chance at parenthood. My only chance." Something in your stomach aches, a mild, numb pain that soon disappears the moment Adam pulls you closer to him.
He retrieves the basket from the porch before closing the door again. The cold leaves, and the warmth embrace you again. Outside, the storm continues to kick up but you've never felt so calm until now.
'But it's scary to be a parent. I don't want to disappoint the child', a thought you wanted to say but couldn't find the voice to. It manifests in a tremble, a tear slipping through the waterlines in your eye. It stings.
You feel a hand touch yours, rubbing your knuckles, and you look up to meet Adam's loving gaze.
"We'll be great parents, I'm sure." He says, as if reading your mind. He wipes your tears and kisses the side of your head tenderly. "We may not be perfect, but we can try."
A smile graces your lips and you lean into his touch. "We will try. For you."
'home's where the heart is' (hwthi) is a collection of short n' sweet oneshots to celebrate the upcoming merry holiday! some might be more steamy than others, but we'll see hohohoho (theres a double meaning in my laughter)
this christmas special is separated into two categories: the nice list and the naughty list. the nice list are all fluffy, sfw scenarios with your favorite character and the naughty list is sweet delicious smut for my freaksters out there 😛
adam frankenstein | christmas miracle
an unexpected joy comes to you and your husband one christmas morning: a joy that takes form of a child.
artful & devesto | milk n' cookies
to celebrate, you decide to bake cookies with your lovers. the only problem is both of them are fire hazards.
ronin beaufort | secret santa
buying gifts for your lover shouldn't be a challenge, however trying to christmas shop in secret proves to be difficult.
mizi & sua | carolling
christmas carolling is usually a kid's activity, but that doesn't stop you and your girlfriends from spreading christmas joy.
robert robertson | red ribbons
during christmas, red ribbons are all the craze. and you decide to take advantage of the trend to the fullest.
dire crowley & divus crewel | gift giving
to celebrate the holdiays, your two co-workers decide to give you a special gift, eiffel tower edition.
laois touden | stuffing the turkey
dinner preparation gets wild when laois decides to stuff you, a bird beastman, for christmas instead of the turkey.
dividers by @/chateaubarnes on tumblr
do you wanna get tagged for specific fics? send an ask or comment!
no matter what fandoms you move into even if im not part of them i will keep gassing you up 🔥🔥🔥🔥 we stick together!!!
- @obsidianchesspiece
LILYYYY HII and tysm for the support 🫶 I'll be a while til i post again cause im still exploring fandoms but I'll try to push out some old drafts time and time again
synopsis. a strange man appears to you one day, damp and ruined by the rain. he asks for shelter and you give it to him willingly. however, what was supposed to be one night of rest turns into a fortnight, and your unexpected companionship becomes... more than friendly and less appropriate.
contents. horror elements, fluff, possibly ooc, written with no exact timeline in mind, PURELY SELF INDULGENT, reader is described to have a medium-big chest (im sorry guys), monsterfucking, porn with minimal plot that is also rushed for the woohoo scenes, penetrative sex, praise kink, size kink, slight hair pulling, fingering, awful dialogue dont think much abt it, touch starved adam, he's a lil desperate and i love him for it. not proofread, we die like dead people
notes. MINORS DNI watching frankenstein (2025) is basically watching porn for me. every single time hes on screen?? ouhh im cumming in an instant. my pussy wet and strap hard af 😛😛😛
It was a dark, stormy night.
The skies roared, light striking the clouds viciously like the crack of whips. Rain stomped on the roof to the beat of marching men. It reminded you of a time where gunpowder permeated the air so intensely that it had you coughing your lungs out; the sound of a gun ringing in your ear; a bullet buried deep in a wound, blood gushing out at every bursted vessel.
You breathed again, returning to the world at the sound of knocking. It resounded through the tiny space, like the beat of a drum echoing deep, deep in your chest.
Suddenly, your throat felt parched and your eyes wet. You wiped them without a second thought and rushed to the door. It opened with a creak, so heavy that it scratched on the floorboards, and the force of the wind pushed inside.
You look up, up, up. A large mass of scarred flesh and bone stood before you— A man of hulking size, he's much taller than your doorframe and swaddled in a coat too small for him. His hair is frizzled, damp, all over his face like vines clinging to stone.
Almost, so very close, you stepped back. But the man, this wall, moved closer. Your hand found itself attached to a pillar, holding onto it before you get swept by the storm he brought in.
"Who are you." You asked, no, demanded of him. You ordered an explanation and he gave it.
"One night." He raised a finger to you. "Just spare me one night to stay, please." He begged you, desperate. He shook with heaviness, his eyes big and pleading for mercy, for warmth.
And you gave him just that.
...
That night, you patched his wounds. But in the morning, you've found that it has all healed up better than most wounds you've taken care of in the war. No obvious scarring other than the ones that have already been made long before.
In the afternoon, he began to pack up what little things he had. His clothes, his spirit once broken now a little mended. But the wind had picked up and something in your gut tells you a storm would come tonight.
When he approached the door, you tugged his sleeve. He flinched and you almost dared to let him go. You did little to pull him back, but instead he turned to you in shock.
"Stay." You tell him, "Just for another night. The wind has picked up and a storm might come down on you if you travel."
He grasps your hand, his palm rough against your own bruised knuckles. "Stay?" He repeats.
"Stay."
He doesn't have a name, he doesn't speak of it or he doesn't know it. You simply refer to him as sir and he refers to you as madam.
This sir is a distinguished man. Not eloquent, but intelligent. What he lacks in speech, he makes up for action. He helps around in clearing snow out of the pathways, helps you chop wood for the fire. He keeps you safe through the nights, making the wolves steer clear of your home.
He was big, you weren't sure where to put him at first. But he settled for a stack of hay in your shed.
"Are you sure you'll be alright, sir? I can't assure you that it'll be comfortable." You warn him, standing by the doorway. Watching him spread around the hay all over the floor, fluffing it up like it were a mattress.
"Your welcome has already made me comfortable."
You remember how he looked at you with those pathetic, drooping eyes, and guilt soured in your stomach like you just kicked a puppy.
As he helped you with your chores, you helped him settle in.
When he brought back fresh meat, you cooked and served it to him crisp and juicy. When he cleared the snow off the tracks, you brought him more fleeces and pillow than a man could ever need.
The sir is a quiet guest, never asking for much but never leaving you to your own devices. He has made a habit of watching you do rounds around the property, watched you crush herbs in your mortar and cut vegetables to turn them into stew. In a way, he has become your eager discipline and you, his teacher.
Then came the actual learning.
"Would you fetch that book on the far left? Yes, that's it."
He hands you the leatherbound book and, with twinkling eyes, waits for you to open it. Instead, however, you run your finger underneath the letters imprinted on the cover.
"Hamlet." You voice out each vowel, even repeating it a couple times. "Can you say it?"
He gapes like a fish out of water, staring at you then at the book like you just asked him to do the impossible.
Slowly, you guide his hand on your throat, letting his fingers press against your larynx. "Hamlet." You say it again, and again.
He makes an action, to wet his lips, but he pauses. "H...Ha..."
"Yes, yes. Hamlet. Ham-let."
"Ham... Hamlet."
You let him grasp your throat fully as you hold his face gently, softly. You caress his cheek, a smile breaking out on your face. "Yes, say it with me now. Ham-let."
"H... Hamlet."
"Ham-let."
"Hamlet."
You never felt prouder in your life.
...
A day turns to two, and two turns to four.
The following four days have been spent teaching him words, skills, things he was never able to know on his own. You gave him books, pictures, handmade flashcards that were just pieces of bark smoothened down and written with ink.
Dog. Cat. House. Warm. Rain. Snow. And eventually... your name.
He pronounces it with such attentiveness, like your name held the weight of the world in little letters. When you taught him how to write it, he glided his hand over the ink, smudging it under his calloused fingertips.
He flinched less and less, and leaned more and more with each touch you left on him. He even starts to smell oak-like, like ash and cinder, like he was procured in the warmth of a fire. Just like you.
But still, he stood taller than you could ever be, stronger and better than any man you've ever met. And he held you, intertwined his thick fingers with your smaller ones so gently it washes away the worry from your body. He could've crushed you just as easily as he can throw you over his shoulder, but he instead returned your kindness.
Four turned to six, then six became seven. It's been a week since he found himself at your door, grovelling like a pathetic man. And now, while he is still a tiny bit pathetic, he's found better ground to stand on next to you.
Half of the snow melted during the night and even more had turned to water when the sun rose. You stepped out onto the muddy lawn, taking in the fresh, clean smell. The kind that detoxifies your lungs after hours spending, tending to a smoky fire.
Sir comes out with you, trailing behind. He bumps into the doorframe with a grunt and you spin around, giggling when you find him trying his damn hardest to squeeze through. A sight that you've gotten used to in the past few days.
"Come here, dear." You hold your hand for him and he accepts it gratefully. Like two parts molding together, you drag him out of the house, muttering to not bump his head on the way out.
You pull him into the light, allowing the two of you to bask in the gentle rays. Laughter fills the air as the two of you fall into a clumsy waltz. You were barely a dancer and Sir wasn't much either, but you guide his hand onto your hip and rest yours on his shoulder.
Humming a sweet, simple tune, you let the music guide your steps along the cracked, wet dirt. You spin in his arms, he drags you back. You lean closer to him, he instinctively does the same.
"One, two, three, four. One, two, three—" The wind carries your whispers, filling the emptiness with your calm mirth. He follows your lead, his count just a number delayed.
Then, your heel slips into a crack and you fall over.
A yelp pulls away from your lips but he catches you in time. He holds you tightly, firmly. Your hands grasp onto his shoulder for support as he pulls you back onto your feet.
When you get your footing, you pat his arm for release. "Thank you, sir. I'm alright now, you can let go now." You smile up at him and you feel his muscles relax under your touch.
You turn to the sunrise, a soft blue painting the bleak landscape much brighter. As if casting an angelic glow on the trees, on the house, on you.
"You've been pleasant." You start. "More than pleasant actually. I don't know how I could ever repay you for your help."
"No, no... You shouldn't say that." He cuts you from further continuing. "I should be the one thanking you, you have helped me. Saved me." He looks into your eyes, lips parting in awe. He had just seen the entire universe with his own eyes. "Could you teach me one more thing?"
You cup his cheek affectionately, "Anything."
"Could you teach me how to love?"
...
Your lessons were always found in books, in hands-on training. You taught him how to read, how to write, how to catch fish and to cook it for himself. But never once have you taught him how to love.
Maybe it was the way the light lets itself in the window, the comfort of your bed that creaks under the additional weight.
His lips find yours, then his hands find your waist. He sits, leaning over your half-lying form with your arms propping you up from the mattress. It's soft, innocent, like two teenagers kissing under the secrecy of a shade.
"Go slowly. Don't rush in." You advise, pulling away momentarily to kiss up his jaw and down his throat, nipping at his colder-than-winter skin. He grunts at the motion, his hold on your waist tightens. "Now you do it."
He leans in without a second thought, ravishing your neck the same way you did his. He peppers kisses all over your shoulder in the same gentle manner, teeth barely grazing your flesh before retreating back into the mouth.
You run your hands down his chest, tugging at the buttons of the shirt you've made custom to his size. Once the last button slips out of the hole, you shed it off him and marvel at the intricate scars all over his body.
It's like patchwork. Skin sewn together to create a protective barrier, tough like leather and white as milk. Copper bleeds in-between the pieces, a beautiful red where the orange stands out like threads.
He tugs at your clothes, urging you to do the same. You didn't waste time unlacing your corset. The piece clatters to the floor and the moment it does, he's pushing off your outer clothing and tugging down your chemise til you were sitting bare and naked in front of him.
Even without looking at him, you know he's drinking up the sight of you. Pure and uncovered, free from the binds of modesty. He specifically focuses on your upper area, the pumpness of your chest.
"These are my breasts. You can touch them if you like." You grasp a boob in one hand, as if to entice him. The simple act has the blood rushing to your cheeks.
He replaces your hand with his and seems surprised at how soft the fat is. He squeezes it as lightly as he can, drawing out a soft gasp from your lips. He nearly panics until you grasp his wrist, keeping his hand firm in your breast.
"No, no. That's a good noise. Keep going." You urge him further, reassuring him bit by bit until he's comfortable enough to play with your chest. "Good, good... Now come here."
Both of your lips connect once more, falling in the simple rhythm of your breathing. He continues to massage you through kisses, tongue sliding out to drink up your sweetness from your lip.
Your fingers found paradise in his hair, tugging it lightly to pull him deeper in the kiss. He does not stop you, rather he indulges you further in your wanton.
After moments that felt like hours of just your lips smacking together, you pulled away from him.
He groans, displeased from being apart from you, but you shush him quickly. "Let me show you how it is to be loved, dear." With one last tender kiss on his jaw, you trail your hands down to the buckle of his belt and slowly loosen it. He watches with bated breath, crumpling the sheets under his crushing palm.
As you litter soft pecks on his stomach, he groans and leans back, tensing and relaxing his shoulders. The moment you slip down his pants, his cock slaps you in the face, shocking you with the heaviness of its head.
He's big. Bigger than you expected. It's hard, girthy, feels firm when you wrap your hand around the length. You rub it up and down, pressing your thumb muscles against the shaft.
He makes a noise, something borderline sensual, and tries to shove your head off when you attempt to kiss the head. "It's alright, don't worry. Trust me, I'll make you feel good." You assure him, rubbing circles on his knuckles to soothe his worries.
"But it's not clean..." He argues.
"Then, I'll make it clean."
You take a tentative lick up the side, tasting the sweat and musk off him as he shifts and moans beneath you. He buckles his hips instinctively, but you catch him before he could shove the entire length in your mouth.
"Patience, my dear. Patience." This might be the toughest lesson you'll have to teach him.
He winces, but obeys. Sitting prettily on the bedding, waiting for your next move.
You continue your ministries, working him up til you see him ready. Then, slowly, you take in the tip, sucking up the precum as the salty flavor bursts on your tongue. It's a little watery, not too thick but not thin either.
It's a struggle to fit him in your mouth, you knew this before you started, but you pushed yourself even if the chances of you choking on it are high. In a way, that's not a bad way to go out in your honest opinion.
He grips your hair when you begin to bob up and down on his cock, hollowing your cheeks with each pull before plunging back down in a single slurp. The head knocks on the back of your throat as you try your best to cram as much as you can without losing your breath. You try to alternate between sucking and licking, but his hand keeps your head grounded.
As his groans grew louder the more you push with his buttons. You grasp his balls delicately, moving down to leave imprints of your lips while you pump his cock to finish. More and more precum drips, endlessly so, like a faucet that you can't turn off.
Your name slips from his lips, low and needy, it sends a shiver down your spine. It has you squeezing your thighs together.
Then, without warning, he buckles his hips forward and nearly sends you stumbling back. He paints your face with white, groaning and heaving as ribbons of his cum lace over your eyes. You drink it up, swiping at your cheek to suckle on the rare delicacy you've never been able to indulge before.
The taste is something you couldn't describe, something salty yet so bitter. It's thicker this time, still holds a consistent, watery quality. Like bitter milk, almost.
He tugs at your hair as if trying to see your messy face more better. Light illuminates you, highlighting the strands of your hair, damp with sweat and sticking to your skin. You are ethereal.
Carefully, he brings you back up from your crouching position, letting your back rest on the pillow as he leans over for a kiss. He licks you, tasting himself on your lips and smacks his own.
"It's bitter." He says.
"It is, that's what you taste like." You chuckle softly at his blunt comment, then wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close.
The bed dips under your weight, limbs tangled and hair sprawled like a web on the pillow. Your lips connect once more, soft moans and little grunts fill the cozy, tight space. His hands feel so cold while you feel like a burning furnace on him.
He parts from you, sucking in a breath. "I want to taste you too, to make you feel as good as you did to me." He confesses, voice shaking. "But I don't know how to. I feel unequipped."
You hold him by his cheek and pull him close til your foreheads are touching. "Shh, don't fret. I've shown you how it is to be loved, now I'll teach you how to love."
You kiss him again, washing his concerns away into the heat of the kiss. His hands find your breasts again, pawing at your chest like a desperate little pup. His cock throbs against your inner thigh, rubbing cum all over your skin.
When you pull away, he nearly groans but sits patiently for your next move. You push yourself up till your back hits the headboard, parting your legs and allowing him to get an eyeful of your dripping heat.
It's a mess, but you know that the lubrication wouldn't be enough to ease a man like him inside of you. So by dipping your hand between your thighs, you begin to play with yourself, changing from spreading your folds to massaging your clit.
"Preparation is important. It's important when it comes to love making or else— or else it won't feel as good." You explain to him, stumbling over your words and nearly biting your tongue off. "See this?" You refer to your juices coating your fingers. "You need this before you proceed on."
He listens intently, nodding along to each word and syllable as if hypnotized, but you know he's soaking up every information you give him.
"Now," You guide his hand to your heat, letting poke at the entrance with a thick finger. "You put it in. Gently, slowly. You just need to make the hole loose enough."
He hesitates, "Will it feel good for you?"
"It will. Just let me help you."
He watches your face closely as he pushes his finger in, drinking up every twitch of your muscle when he nearly fills you up with just one digit. Your breath hitches, feeling your arousal pool beneath you.
"N-now..." You grasp his wrist and guide to move in a thrusting motion, "You do it like this several times, you can curl your finger inside. There's a special spot inside that makes it feel good, I'll tell you when you find it."
He nods, even though he doesn't understand it immediately. He follows your instructions as best as he can, feeling your velvety walls for your g-spot while still watching your every move.
Every curl of his finger has you squirming, it's impossible to stop yourself from humping his hand. Not when he's working inside you, reaching spots you couldn't reach before.
"A-Add another finger in." You instruct him. An impulsive decision, but he trusts you and does exactly as you say.
He stretches you in ways you haven't with your own fingers. With two digits cupping and thumping your insides, your legs shake with unbearable pleasure, tears nearly blurring your vision as your toes curl in on themselves.
Your hand instinctively dives between your thighs, rubbing your clit to bring you closer and closer to your high. You barely notice the moans slipping out of you, he fills you up so deliciously you've become lost in your own arousal.
You see it. The room becomes brighter, like the sun is setting alight with its godly rays. You murmur 'faster' and he listens. You praise him and it only incites him further to quicken his pace.
In a blinding flood, you come undone in his hand, gripping onto the sheets as you throw your head back, jaw dropping to a silent scream. Temples slick with sweat, body heaving and shaking at the intensity. You can hear your heart pounding loudly in your eardrums while you bathe in your post-orgasm haze.
You push his hand away, letting his finger slip out of you. "That's good, you did... You did wonderful." You manage to say between pants. You imagine him preening like a bird at your words.
It's time for the real deal.
"Now, you put this," You gesture to his cock, still throbbing hard and strong like he didn't just come a few minutes ago. "Inside of me. The same way you did with your fingers."
"You're small, tiny. What if I hurt you?" He asks yet his hand is already on your knee, pushing them apart to keep a perfect view of you. He's mere inches away from penetrating and still he hesitates. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You could never hurt me." You reassure him, cupping his cheek.
"And if I do?"
"You won't."
He pushes in, as slow as his will allows it, groaning as your hole gasps and tightens around the head of his cock. You try to relax yet the pain burns, it's more than you have estimated but you still try.
You breathe in, then out. You let go of the tension and let him take you, rough, stitched hands gripping your hips to help you slowly ease onto him. It wasn't even halfway when you're gasping for air like he had just pierced your lung and in your throat.
He stops at the slightest noise you make, asking if you're okay. "No, no. I'm fine, please continue— Don't stop, please—" The more you plead and beg, the more the pain fades and a familiar tingle blossoms in your core.
His head nudges at your cervix when he bottoms out, knocking the air out of you as you cling onto his shoulders. Both of you lay there, biding time, letting each other get used to the feeling of one another.
"Now, move." You instruct.
His thrusts are slow, shallow. Dragging against your tight walls and plunging back in, it rubs up all your sensitive spots. You feel his breath in you, hot and heavy, as he continues rocking back and forth until sweet music spills out of you.
You're full, so terribly full, it's like your entire body is crammed to the brim of him, him, him. It has you shivering, writhing, scratching at his back to feel him more like you'll fall apart if he dares pull away.
"More, more, more—" You chant a desperate mantra. He could only grunt in response and picks up his pace.
Even just increasing his speed by a fraction, the effect has you arching your back and moaning like an animal in heat. You bury your face into his chest, feeling for a heart that does not beat. But if you press hard enough, you could trick yourself into thinking it's beating for you.
Your name falls out of his lips as he curls into you, pulling you by your hips and pushing in deep at a mind-numbing angle. You catch his mouth in another kiss and graciously takes it, tongues lapping at one another, drool dripping in this messy union.
The more he bangs his head at your cervix, the more you begin to lose sense of what parts start with you and ends with him. Limbs tangled like hair, hands grasping at any flesh there is available to hold, to caress. He finds your chest, your hand finds the hairs on his scalp.
That's when you feel it. That tight knotting in your stomach, the one that makes you feel so light-headed and high when it snaps. "F-Faster! Please..!" You cling to his shoulders tightly, barely swallowing him in your embrace due to his humongous size.
He practically drills into your cunt upon your command, effectively tightening the coil within you. A roar rips out of his throat as he holds your legs with such a bruising grip you're sure to see the skin stained purple.
Like a white flood, he ejaculates inside you. His seed is copious in amount, absolutely filling you up that your stomach bulges from the volume. In return, you wrap your legs around him as best as you could, coming all over his cock with a shrill whine.
He nearly collapses on you but holds himself up just in time. He looks at you and touches your sweat-damp face, holding the same peaceful and dazed look as you.
No words were spoken, nothing but the ethereal sunlight making your entire home feel like a heaven. In a way, it is. Being in each other's arms, skin-to-skin, paradise has never existed until now.
Adam is a sad man. A sad, disfigured man that hides his armor and immense strength. A man who'd do anything for you, even if it's at the extent of his own life, but would never ask anything in return.
He should've been cruel, should've been disdainful from all the abuse he took yet whenever he kneels down with as much grace a man of his size could do and kisses the back of your hand so softly like he was afraid of breaking you in a single touch.
Adam's a sweet, tender lover underneath all that metal plating. He may be just a guard, but behind closed doors, he lets you see the barest parts of him. Once afraid you'll turn him away, but now he preens at your slightest praise and beholds all of his insecurities for you to kiss away.
But he always prefers servicing you over you servicing him. There's something so hypnotizing, so enticing about the sweet honey that drips from between your legs. He'll happily suck and slurp your cum for hours if it means having your thighs squeezing his head for dear life, legs shaking violently as your eyes roll back in pleasure.
After all, a man with a smooth tongue also knows how to properly use it in bed.
Then, when the sun rises again, you both go back to your stations and play your designated roles. You, a child of the king, and him, just another knight.
Only in the privacy offered by darkness could you shed off the social bonds and drown ever lovingly in a lovers' embrace.
i kinda wanna do like, a frankenstein x reader series except it's been like... years into the future. like 100 years-ish?? basically modern reader but i feel like that would take away a lot of reason why frankenstein is so good
idk modern retakes always leave a bad taste in peoples mouth (including mine) so not too sure :/ what do yall think tho lmk <3
synopsis. you teach artful how to cook! or at least try to...
contents. established relationship, crack with a side of fluff
From the get-go, you knew Artful was no chef. To be frank, his cooking skills are absolute garbage. It's hard to believe he has survived this long, relying on processed, ready-to-go foods that you're sure don't have an FDA-approved seal.
But fortunately for him, you're one hell of a cook. Not exactly Michelin star worthy, but you can at least give him the nutrients he needs and are severely lacking.
However, as good as it may be to have him boosting your ego with his many praises for your cooking, you also want him to be able to stand on his own so you proposed teaching him how to cook.
As you begin to tie your apron around your waist, you feel a tap on your shoulder and you spin around to see your lover with a worried expression.
"Dear, are you sure you want me to cook in your kitchen? I mean, so many things could go wrong and-"
"Artful, Artful." You cut himself off and grab him by his shoulders. "It's okay. You don't have to be so nervous, I'm here to help. Trust me, I know my way around the kitchen better than most and I'm sure that you'll be able to pick things up in no time!"
"Just..." You caress his cheeks lovingly, watching him crumble near immediately to your touch. "Trust me, okay? We can do it. Together."
He looks at you, still searching for reassurance. "Do you swear?"
"I swear." And you seal the promise with a kiss on his forehead. "Plus, what's the worst that could happen?"
Everything happened.
It was supposed to be a simple spaghetti dish. Your mother taught you how to cook it when you are just a bab and despite being a complete beginner back then, you managed to whip up a decent meal. Sure there were things to improve, but you remember how youe mom ruffled your hair and smiled, "Now that's what I call spaghetti."
But with Artful? You don't know if you could even recognize it as spaghetti. Let alone call it one.
A few minutes into the session, Artful managed to burnt the water. Then, the noodles get caught on fire. He overcooks the sauce, and seconds later, knocks the pot over the counter. When you looked away for a moment, you smelled fire and immediately noticed the blaze spreading to your kitchen cabinets.
The scream you let out has the entire house shaking to its core, you're sure your neighbors would report you to HOA for 'disturbing the peace'.
After a couple more minutes of frantically trying to put out the fire and succeeding, the two of you ended up with a dish that's charred, brittle yet as hard as metal when you tried to bite into it. There's no way you're walking away without getting stomach problems the minute you decide to eat it. If it was even edible.
Artful was as deflated as a balloon at the result, scratching the back of his neck and looking away guiltily. It breaks your heart to see the shame on his face, like a puppy desperately trying to plead his case.
"Name, I am so sorry, you tried your best to help me and I ended up ruining it." He bows his head down, too ashamed to even show his face to you. How could he? He almost burned your house down.
However, instead of the scolding he expected to receive, you gently lift his chin up to make him face you. That simple act with your sweet smile makes the blood come rushing to his cheeks. The most color you've ever seen on this achromatic man.
"Oh, Artful..." Your voice has him melting into a puddle right into your hands. "It's okay, you don't have to be sorry. We all make mistakes and this is just one of many trials we'll face."
"B-But—!"
Your thumb swipes over the fat of his cheek, wiping off the remains of charcoal, as you lean forward and peck him on where it was. "I'll cook dinner tonight, you clean up while I prep. Alright?"
He doesn't speak, doesn't even move until you pull away from him fully. Artful nods in a daze, dreamily staring at you like you just built his entire world in one day.
When he turns his back to fetch the broom, he hears you speak up again.
"Don't think I'm forgetting about our cooking lessons. We'll be doing it again tomorrow."
synopsis. a strange man appears to you one day, damp and ruined by the rain. he asks for shelter and you give it to him willingly. however, what was supposed to be one night of rest turns into a fortnight, and your unexpected companionship becomes... more than friendly and less appropriate.
contents. horror elements, fluff, possibly ooc, written with no exact timeline in mind, PURELY SELF INDULGENT, reader is described to have a medium-big chest (im sorry guys), monsterfucking, porn with minimal plot that is also rushed for the woohoo scenes, penetrative sex, praise kink, size kink, slight hair pulling, fingering, awful dialogue dont think much abt it, touch starved adam, he's a lil desperate and i love him for it. not proofread, we die like dead people
notes. MINORS DNI watching frankenstein (2025) is basically watching porn for me. every single time hes on screen?? ouhh im cumming in an instant. my pussy wet and strap hard af 😛😛😛
It was a dark, stormy night.
The skies roared, light striking the clouds viciously like the crack of whips. Rain stomped on the roof to the beat of marching men. It reminded you of a time where gunpowder permeated the air so intensely that it had you coughing your lungs out; the sound of a gun ringing in your ear; a bullet buried deep in a wound, blood gushing out at every bursted vessel.
You breathed again, returning to the world at the sound of knocking. It resounded through the tiny space, like the beat of a drum echoing deep, deep in your chest.
Suddenly, your throat felt parched and your eyes wet. You wiped them without a second thought and rushed to the door. It opened with a creak, so heavy that it scratched on the floorboards, and the force of the wind pushed inside.
You look up, up, up. A large mass of scarred flesh and bone stood before you— A man of hulking size, he's much taller than your doorframe and swaddled in a coat too small for him. His hair is frizzled, damp, all over his face like vines clinging to stone.
Almost, so very close, you stepped back. But the man, this wall, moved closer. Your hand found itself attached to a pillar, holding onto it before you get swept by the storm he brought in.
"Who are you." You asked, no, demanded of him. You ordered an explanation and he gave it.
"One night." He raised a finger to you. "Just spare me one night to stay, please." He begged you, desperate. He shook with heaviness, his eyes big and pleading for mercy, for warmth.
And you gave him just that.
...
That night, you patched his wounds. But in the morning, you've found that it has all healed up better than most wounds you've taken care of in the war. No obvious scarring other than the ones that have already been made long before.
In the afternoon, he began to pack up what little things he had. His clothes, his spirit once broken now a little mended. But the wind had picked up and something in your gut tells you a storm would come tonight.
When he approached the door, you tugged his sleeve. He flinched and you almost dared to let him go. You did little to pull him back, but instead he turned to you in shock.
"Stay." You tell him, "Just for another night. The wind has picked up and a storm might come down on you if you travel."
He grasps your hand, his palm rough against your own bruised knuckles. "Stay?" He repeats.
"Stay."
He doesn't have a name, he doesn't speak of it or he doesn't know it. You simply refer to him as sir and he refers to you as madam.
This sir is a distinguished man. Not eloquent, but intelligent. What he lacks in speech, he makes up for action. He helps around in clearing snow out of the pathways, helps you chop wood for the fire. He keeps you safe through the nights, making the wolves steer clear of your home.
He was big, you weren't sure where to put him at first. But he settled for a stack of hay in your shed.
"Are you sure you'll be alright, sir? I can't assure you that it'll be comfortable." You warn him, standing by the doorway. Watching him spread around the hay all over the floor, fluffing it up like it were a mattress.
"Your welcome has already made me comfortable."
You remember how he looked at you with those pathetic, drooping eyes, and guilt soured in your stomach like you just kicked a puppy.
As he helped you with your chores, you helped him settle in.
When he brought back fresh meat, you cooked and served it to him crisp and juicy. When he cleared the snow off the tracks, you brought him more fleeces and pillow than a man could ever need.
The sir is a quiet guest, never asking for much but never leaving you to your own devices. He has made a habit of watching you do rounds around the property, watched you crush herbs in your mortar and cut vegetables to turn them into stew. In a way, he has become your eager discipline and you, his teacher.
Then came the actual learning.
"Would you fetch that book on the far left? Yes, that's it."
He hands you the leatherbound book and, with twinkling eyes, waits for you to open it. Instead, however, you run your finger underneath the letters imprinted on the cover.
"Hamlet." You voice out each vowel, even repeating it a couple times. "Can you say it?"
He gapes like a fish out of water, staring at you then at the book like you just asked him to do the impossible.
Slowly, you guide his hand on your throat, letting his fingers press against your larynx. "Hamlet." You say it again, and again.
He makes an action, to wet his lips, but he pauses. "H...Ha..."
"Yes, yes. Hamlet. Ham-let."
"Ham... Hamlet."
You let him grasp your throat fully as you hold his face gently, softly. You caress his cheek, a smile breaking out on your face. "Yes, say it with me now. Ham-let."
"H... Hamlet."
"Ham-let."
"Hamlet."
You never felt prouder in your life.
...
A day turns to two, and two turns to four.
The following four days have been spent teaching him words, skills, things he was never able to know on his own. You gave him books, pictures, handmade flashcards that were just pieces of bark smoothened down and written with ink.
Dog. Cat. House. Warm. Rain. Snow. And eventually... your name.
He pronounces it with such attentiveness, like your name held the weight of the world in little letters. When you taught him how to write it, he glided his hand over the ink, smudging it under his calloused fingertips.
He flinched less and less, and leaned more and more with each touch you left on him. He even starts to smell oak-like, like ash and cinder, like he was procured in the warmth of a fire. Just like you.
But still, he stood taller than you could ever be, stronger and better than any man you've ever met. And he held you, intertwined his thick fingers with your smaller ones so gently it washes away the worry from your body. He could've crushed you just as easily as he can throw you over his shoulder, but he instead returned your kindness.
Four turned to six, then six became seven. It's been a week since he found himself at your door, grovelling like a pathetic man. And now, while he is still a tiny bit pathetic, he's found better ground to stand on next to you.
Half of the snow melted during the night and even more had turned to water when the sun rose. You stepped out onto the muddy lawn, taking in the fresh, clean smell. The kind that detoxifies your lungs after hours spending, tending to a smoky fire.
Sir comes out with you, trailing behind. He bumps into the doorframe with a grunt and you spin around, giggling when you find him trying his damn hardest to squeeze through. A sight that you've gotten used to in the past few days.
"Come here, dear." You hold your hand for him and he accepts it gratefully. Like two parts molding together, you drag him out of the house, muttering to not bump his head on the way out.
You pull him into the light, allowing the two of you to bask in the gentle rays. Laughter fills the air as the two of you fall into a clumsy waltz. You were barely a dancer and Sir wasn't much either, but you guide his hand onto your hip and rest yours on his shoulder.
Humming a sweet, simple tune, you let the music guide your steps along the cracked, wet dirt. You spin in his arms, he drags you back. You lean closer to him, he instinctively does the same.
"One, two, three, four. One, two, three—" The wind carries your whispers, filling the emptiness with your calm mirth. He follows your lead, his count just a number delayed.
Then, your heel slips into a crack and you fall over.
A yelp pulls away from your lips but he catches you in time. He holds you tightly, firmly. Your hands grasp onto his shoulder for support as he pulls you back onto your feet.
When you get your footing, you pat his arm for release. "Thank you, sir. I'm alright now, you can let go now." You smile up at him and you feel his muscles relax under your touch.
You turn to the sunrise, a soft blue painting the bleak landscape much brighter. As if casting an angelic glow on the trees, on the house, on you.
"You've been pleasant." You start. "More than pleasant actually. I don't know how I could ever repay you for your help."
"No, no... You shouldn't say that." He cuts you from further continuing. "I should be the one thanking you, you have helped me. Saved me." He looks into your eyes, lips parting in awe. He had just seen the entire universe with his own eyes. "Could you teach me one more thing?"
You cup his cheek affectionately, "Anything."
"Could you teach me how to love?"
...
Your lessons were always found in books, in hands-on training. You taught him how to read, how to write, how to catch fish and to cook it for himself. But never once have you taught him how to love.
Maybe it was the way the light lets itself in the window, the comfort of your bed that creaks under the additional weight.
His lips find yours, then his hands find your waist. He sits, leaning over your half-lying form with your arms propping you up from the mattress. It's soft, innocent, like two teenagers kissing under the secrecy of a shade.
"Go slowly. Don't rush in." You advise, pulling away momentarily to kiss up his jaw and down his throat, nipping at his colder-than-winter skin. He grunts at the motion, his hold on your waist tightens. "Now you do it."
He leans in without a second thought, ravishing your neck the same way you did his. He peppers kisses all over your shoulder in the same gentle manner, teeth barely grazing your flesh before retreating back into the mouth.
You run your hands down his chest, tugging at the buttons of the shirt you've made custom to his size. Once the last button slips out of the hole, you shed it off him and marvel at the intricate scars all over his body.
It's like patchwork. Skin sewn together to create a protective barrier, tough like leather and white as milk. Copper bleeds in-between the pieces, a beautiful red where the orange stands out like threads.
He tugs at your clothes, urging you to do the same. You didn't waste time unlacing your corset. The piece clatters to the floor and the moment it does, he's pushing off your outer clothing and tugging down your chemise til you were sitting bare and naked in front of him.
Even without looking at him, you know he's drinking up the sight of you. Pure and uncovered, free from the binds of modesty. He specifically focuses on your upper area, the pumpness of your chest.
"These are my breasts. You can touch them if you like." You grasp a boob in one hand, as if to entice him. The simple act has the blood rushing to your cheeks.
He replaces your hand with his and seems surprised at how soft the fat is. He squeezes it as lightly as he can, drawing out a soft gasp from your lips. He nearly panics until you grasp his wrist, keeping his hand firm in your breast.
"No, no. That's a good noise. Keep going." You urge him further, reassuring him bit by bit until he's comfortable enough to play with your chest. "Good, good... Now come here."
Both of your lips connect once more, falling in the simple rhythm of your breathing. He continues to massage you through kisses, tongue sliding out to drink up your sweetness from your lip.
Your fingers found paradise in his hair, tugging it lightly to pull him deeper in the kiss. He does not stop you, rather he indulges you further in your wanton.
After moments that felt like hours of just your lips smacking together, you pulled away from him.
He groans, displeased from being apart from you, but you shush him quickly. "Let me show you how it is to be loved, dear." With one last tender kiss on his jaw, you trail your hands down to the buckle of his belt and slowly loosen it. He watches with bated breath, crumpling the sheets under his crushing palm.
As you litter soft pecks on his stomach, he groans and leans back, tensing and relaxing his shoulders. The moment you slip down his pants, his cock slaps you in the face, shocking you with the heaviness of its head.
He's big. Bigger than you expected. It's hard, girthy, feels firm when you wrap your hand around the length. You rub it up and down, pressing your thumb muscles against the shaft.
He makes a noise, something borderline sensual, and tries to shove your head off when you attempt to kiss the head. "It's alright, don't worry. Trust me, I'll make you feel good." You assure him, rubbing circles on his knuckles to soothe his worries.
"But it's not clean..." He argues.
"Then, I'll make it clean."
You take a tentative lick up the side, tasting the sweat and musk off him as he shifts and moans beneath you. He buckles his hips instinctively, but you catch him before he could shove the entire length in your mouth.
"Patience, my dear. Patience." This might be the toughest lesson you'll have to teach him.
He winces, but obeys. Sitting prettily on the bedding, waiting for your next move.
You continue your ministries, working him up til you see him ready. Then, slowly, you take in the tip, sucking up the precum as the salty flavor bursts on your tongue. It's a little watery, not too thick but not thin either.
It's a struggle to fit him in your mouth, you knew this before you started, but you pushed yourself even if the chances of you choking on it are high. In a way, that's not a bad way to go out in your honest opinion.
He grips your hair when you begin to bob up and down on his cock, hollowing your cheeks with each pull before plunging back down in a single slurp. The head knocks on the back of your throat as you try your best to cram as much as you can without losing your breath. You try to alternate between sucking and licking, but his hand keeps your head grounded.
As his groans grew louder the more you push with his buttons. You grasp his balls delicately, moving down to leave imprints of your lips while you pump his cock to finish. More and more precum drips, endlessly so, like a faucet that you can't turn off.
Your name slips from his lips, low and needy, it sends a shiver down your spine. It has you squeezing your thighs together.
Then, without warning, he buckles his hips forward and nearly sends you stumbling back. He paints your face with white, groaning and heaving as ribbons of his cum lace over your eyes. You drink it up, swiping at your cheek to suckle on the rare delicacy you've never been able to indulge before.
The taste is something you couldn't describe, something salty yet so bitter. It's thicker this time, still holds a consistent, watery quality. Like bitter milk, almost.
He tugs at your hair as if trying to see your messy face more better. Light illuminates you, highlighting the strands of your hair, damp with sweat and sticking to your skin. You are ethereal.
Carefully, he brings you back up from your crouching position, letting your back rest on the pillow as he leans over for a kiss. He licks you, tasting himself on your lips and smacks his own.
"It's bitter." He says.
"It is, that's what you taste like." You chuckle softly at his blunt comment, then wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close.
The bed dips under your weight, limbs tangled and hair sprawled like a web on the pillow. Your lips connect once more, soft moans and little grunts fill the cozy, tight space. His hands feel so cold while you feel like a burning furnace on him.
He parts from you, sucking in a breath. "I want to taste you too, to make you feel as good as you did to me." He confesses, voice shaking. "But I don't know how to. I feel unequipped."
You hold him by his cheek and pull him close til your foreheads are touching. "Shh, don't fret. I've shown you how it is to be loved, now I'll teach you how to love."
You kiss him again, washing his concerns away into the heat of the kiss. His hands find your breasts again, pawing at your chest like a desperate little pup. His cock throbs against your inner thigh, rubbing cum all over your skin.
When you pull away, he nearly groans but sits patiently for your next move. You push yourself up till your back hits the headboard, parting your legs and allowing him to get an eyeful of your dripping heat.
It's a mess, but you know that the lubrication wouldn't be enough to ease a man like him inside of you. So by dipping your hand between your thighs, you begin to play with yourself, changing from spreading your folds to massaging your clit.
"Preparation is important. It's important when it comes to love making or else— or else it won't feel as good." You explain to him, stumbling over your words and nearly biting your tongue off. "See this?" You refer to your juices coating your fingers. "You need this before you proceed on."
He listens intently, nodding along to each word and syllable as if hypnotized, but you know he's soaking up every information you give him.
"Now," You guide his hand to your heat, letting poke at the entrance with a thick finger. "You put it in. Gently, slowly. You just need to make the hole loose enough."
He hesitates, "Will it feel good for you?"
"It will. Just let me help you."
He watches your face closely as he pushes his finger in, drinking up every twitch of your muscle when he nearly fills you up with just one digit. Your breath hitches, feeling your arousal pool beneath you.
"N-now..." You grasp his wrist and guide to move in a thrusting motion, "You do it like this several times, you can curl your finger inside. There's a special spot inside that makes it feel good, I'll tell you when you find it."
He nods, even though he doesn't understand it immediately. He follows your instructions as best as he can, feeling your velvety walls for your g-spot while still watching your every move.
Every curl of his finger has you squirming, it's impossible to stop yourself from humping his hand. Not when he's working inside you, reaching spots you couldn't reach before.
"A-Add another finger in." You instruct him. An impulsive decision, but he trusts you and does exactly as you say.
He stretches you in ways you haven't with your own fingers. With two digits cupping and thumping your insides, your legs shake with unbearable pleasure, tears nearly blurring your vision as your toes curl in on themselves.
Your hand instinctively dives between your thighs, rubbing your clit to bring you closer and closer to your high. You barely notice the moans slipping out of you, he fills you up so deliciously you've become lost in your own arousal.
You see it. The room becomes brighter, like the sun is setting alight with its godly rays. You murmur 'faster' and he listens. You praise him and it only incites him further to quicken his pace.
In a blinding flood, you come undone in his hand, gripping onto the sheets as you throw your head back, jaw dropping to a silent scream. Temples slick with sweat, body heaving and shaking at the intensity. You can hear your heart pounding loudly in your eardrums while you bathe in your post-orgasm haze.
You push his hand away, letting his finger slip out of you. "That's good, you did... You did wonderful." You manage to say between pants. You imagine him preening like a bird at your words.
It's time for the real deal.
"Now, you put this," You gesture to his cock, still throbbing hard and strong like he didn't just come a few minutes ago. "Inside of me. The same way you did with your fingers."
"You're small, tiny. What if I hurt you?" He asks yet his hand is already on your knee, pushing them apart to keep a perfect view of you. He's mere inches away from penetrating and still he hesitates. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You could never hurt me." You reassure him, cupping his cheek.
"And if I do?"
"You won't."
He pushes in, as slow as his will allows it, groaning as your hole gasps and tightens around the head of his cock. You try to relax yet the pain burns, it's more than you have estimated but you still try.
You breathe in, then out. You let go of the tension and let him take you, rough, stitched hands gripping your hips to help you slowly ease onto him. It wasn't even halfway when you're gasping for air like he had just pierced your lung and in your throat.
He stops at the slightest noise you make, asking if you're okay. "No, no. I'm fine, please continue— Don't stop, please—" The more you plead and beg, the more the pain fades and a familiar tingle blossoms in your core.
His head nudges at your cervix when he bottoms out, knocking the air out of you as you cling onto his shoulders. Both of you lay there, biding time, letting each other get used to the feeling of one another.
"Now, move." You instruct.
His thrusts are slow, shallow. Dragging against your tight walls and plunging back in, it rubs up all your sensitive spots. You feel his breath in you, hot and heavy, as he continues rocking back and forth until sweet music spills out of you.
You're full, so terribly full, it's like your entire body is crammed to the brim of him, him, him. It has you shivering, writhing, scratching at his back to feel him more like you'll fall apart if he dares pull away.
"More, more, more—" You chant a desperate mantra. He could only grunt in response and picks up his pace.
Even just increasing his speed by a fraction, the effect has you arching your back and moaning like an animal in heat. You bury your face into his chest, feeling for a heart that does not beat. But if you press hard enough, you could trick yourself into thinking it's beating for you.
Your name falls out of his lips as he curls into you, pulling you by your hips and pushing in deep at a mind-numbing angle. You catch his mouth in another kiss and graciously takes it, tongues lapping at one another, drool dripping in this messy union.
The more he bangs his head at your cervix, the more you begin to lose sense of what parts start with you and ends with him. Limbs tangled like hair, hands grasping at any flesh there is available to hold, to caress. He finds your chest, your hand finds the hairs on his scalp.
That's when you feel it. That tight knotting in your stomach, the one that makes you feel so light-headed and high when it snaps. "F-Faster! Please..!" You cling to his shoulders tightly, barely swallowing him in your embrace due to his humongous size.
He practically drills into your cunt upon your command, effectively tightening the coil within you. A roar rips out of his throat as he holds your legs with such a bruising grip you're sure to see the skin stained purple.
Like a white flood, he ejaculates inside you. His seed is copious in amount, absolutely filling you up that your stomach bulges from the volume. In return, you wrap your legs around him as best as you could, coming all over his cock with a shrill whine.
He nearly collapses on you but holds himself up just in time. He looks at you and touches your sweat-damp face, holding the same peaceful and dazed look as you.
No words were spoken, nothing but the ethereal sunlight making your entire home feel like a heaven. In a way, it is. Being in each other's arms, skin-to-skin, paradise has never existed until now.
hey fellas... i might close this blog to being 18+ pretty soon cause a lotta minors are following me and since i plan on posting smut pretty soon uhhhh thats a little. questionable
so heads up, unfollow me immediately if you do not want to see nsfw content. like u can still like my sfw posts but i advise not following me or interacting with my nsfw stuff. ty :3
could I possibly request black and grey themed dividers? something dark, kind of misty maybe? Just kinda of late night cemetery vibe if that's alright!
hi! here are some dividers with those vibes. I've also made them to be light & dark mode friendly!
◦˚~ DARK CEMETERY DIVIDERS ~˚◦
Info: these were all drawn & made by me. please reblog/like if use!
