This is an idea I haven't seen anyone play with: female fairy x male human romantic smut. I occasionally see porn of it but never romantic smut and I think it'd be an interesting twist!
I love your work and good luck with the writing either way. I wish for you endless inspiration and muse!
Thief of Warmth (fem fairy reader x male human)
You are starving, frozen, your fae magic depleting. You risk everything to sneak into a lonely human's cottage. You only mean to steal his body heat for a few hours, but you go again and again, and on the third night, he catches you curled against his chest...
Kate: Hey friend! Finally got to work on your request! Enjoy!!
TW: NSFW, consensual, fairy needs warmth or dies, fingering, P in V, creampie, breeding kink, pregnancy, oral sex (fem receiving), size difference (fairy smaller than human), somno (first two encounters occur while human is asleep/unaware).
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The cold had teeth.
You'd known that since your wings had unfurled, weak and pale. Your mother had always warned you to be careful; winter was a fairy's graveyard. But knowing and feeling were different beasts entirely. This winter had buried your kin. Buried your magic. Buried everything except the screaming need to survive.
Your wings hung from your shoulders like dead leaves. Translucent membranes gone gray with frostbite at the edges. You hadn't fed in eleven days. No summer sun to drink, no flowers to draw sweetness from, no lovers' sighs to siphon.
You were starving.
And the man in the cottage at the forest's edge radiated a warmth unlike anything you'd felt.
First night, you told yourself it was desperation; pure desperation that made you sneak inside. The cottage smelled of pine resin, woodsmoke, and a deep musky scent. A male scent.
Said male lay on his back under wool blankets, one arm flung over his head, light brown hair tousled against the pillow. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of deep sleep. No fire in the hearth—he'd banked it for the night, but the space around his body shimmered delightfully.
You shouldn't.
You really shouldn't.
But your numb fingers couldn’t remember the reason anymore as you climbed onto the bed and curled into his side. You were only five feet tall on a good day... and he was huge. At nearly six feet tall, he took up half the bed, his long legs stretching past the mattress while you curled easily beneath his arm.
Just for an hour, you promised yourself. Just until my fingers stop aching.
You pressed your frozen cheek to his chest.
And the warmth flooded into you like honey.
**
Morning came too fast. You fled before his eyelids even fluttered, leaving behind nothing but a scattering of frost-melted flowers from your hair and a dent in his blankets where your body had curled.
Second night, you told yourself it was only because the wind had picked up. Only because your magic had barely recharged enough to keep your heart beating. Only because—
He'd washed the sheets. You noticed it the moment you slipped inside.
Fresh linen. And something else; a cup of warm milk and honey cookies set by the bedside table. An offering? No. Humans didn't know about fae anymore. They'd forgotten centuries ago. But the milk was there. The honey cookies called to you.
You drank. You ate. And then you climbed into his bed again, shame burning your frostbitten cheeks, and curled yourself along his spine this time. His back was broad, muscled and warm. So warm you nearly sobbed into his shirt.
As you walked away, little purple flowers kept falling behind you. Tiny bell-shaped ones tangled in your hair. You tried to pick them all out, but somehow a few always slipped free.
Third night.
You should have known better. Should have realized he wasn't as oblivious as he seemed. Should have noticed the way his breathing changed when you tip-toed his floor, the way his fingers twitched toward the lump in the blankets where you always nestled.
But you were too cold to think. Too frantic.
You climbed the bed. Crawled over his legs. Sank into the familiar hollow of his chest—
And his arm closed around you.
"There you are."
His voice was sleep-rough, vibrating through his ribs and directly into your frozen bones. You gasped. Tried to scramble away. But his hand was already cupping your entire back, palm spanning from your shoulder blades to your waist.
"Let go of me," you hissed.
"Mmm." He didn't sound afraid. He sounded... interested. His thumb stroked down your spine. "You're the one who's been sneaking into my bed. Leaving flowers in my sheets."
"I—that's not—"
"I thought I was dreaming the first time." His other hand came up, fingers gentle as they tilted your chin toward the moonlight leaking through the window. "You're not a dream, are you?"
"I’m a dream," you spat. "Go back to sleep."
He chuckled. "No, you definitely aren’t. You feel way too real in my arms."
His eyes moved over you. Appreciating.
The light caught on your wings; pale lavender membranes, still lacking their usual shine from hunger but very clearly not human. Then your ears, slightly pointed, your large eyes and your shimmering skin.
You stared at him too.
His eyes were beautiful. Deep violet, like the foxglove flowers tangled in your hair.
You greedily sucked up a little more warmth before he screamed. Flailed and kicked you off the bed. You deserved it.
Instead, he said, "You're freezing."
And pulled you tighter against his chest.
The sob that escaped you was ugly. You pressed your face into the hollow of his throat and felt his pulse jump against your lips. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't have anywhere else—the cold, I can't—fairies need warmth and touch and I haven't fed in days and everyone's dead or gone and I just—"
"Hey. Hey." His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. "Breathe, sweetheart. I'm not throwing you out."
"Y-you should. I'm a parasite. I've been stealing your heat."
"Bullshit." He said it so flatly you almost laughed. "You're beautiful and you left flower petals in my bed. True, you could have let me know but you're definitely not a parasite. You're the best thing that's happened to me."
You blinked up at him. Was he daft?
"Why?" you whispered.
"Because I'm warm," he said, "and I can give it to you. All of it. If you let me."
Your heart stuttered. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I've been alone a long time." His voice dropped lower. His hand slid from your hair down to your waist, fingers spanning your ribs. "And I've done some reading. Old books. Faefolk need more than just lying next to someone, don't they? They need heat. Real heat. The kind that comes from—"
"Don't," you breathed. "Don't say it if you don't mean it."
"The kind that comes from making love." His palm flattened on your belly. "The kind that comes from coming inside you."
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
Your thighs pressed together, wetness flooding between them. He knew. He'd read, actually read, about your kind. About how human seed carried warmth like no other source. About how a fairy could go from starving to thriving on a single, well-aimed orgasm.
"You'd do that? For a stranger?"
"I'd do it," he murmured, shifting you until you felt the thick line of his cock hardening against his thigh, "because I want to. Because you're beautiful. Because I woke up with flowers stuck to my chest and a sweet smell in my nose and I've been hard for three days thinking about you."
You moaned softly.
"There she is," he said, smiling handsomely. "There's the fairy who's been torturing me."
"I haven't—"
"You have." He rolled all of a sudden, pinning you to the mattress with his larger body, his hips settling between your spread legs. The weight of him pressed you into the featherbed. The heat of him seeped through your dress like sun through glass. "Every night you curled against me. Every time your sweet body shivered into mine. You think I didn't feel you?"
Your dress had ridden up. His cock, thick and hot even through his breeches, nudged against your bare thigh. You could feel the pulse of it. The delightful warmth. You keened.
"Please," you whispered.
He kissed you. His warm mouth crashed into yours, suffusing you with heat. You moaned into his mouth and felt him groan in response, his hips grinding down against yours.
"Tell me what you need," he panted against your lips. "Tell me exactly."
"Your skin." Your hands fumbled at his shirt, pushing the worn linen up his chest. Hair curled there and you scraped your nails through it just to hear him hiss. "I need your skin on mine. Need you inside. Need—ah—"
His mouth found your throat. Sucked. Bit. Left a mark that would bloom purple by morning.
"Neck's sensitive," you gasped.
"Yeah?" He did it again, and your whole body arched into his. "What about these?"
He shoved your dress up, past your breasts and tossed it away. You shivered, your beasts small, nipples tight from more than just cold. He groaned as his mouth closed over one before you could hide shyly, tongue circling the pebbled peak while his fingers worked the other.
"Oh—" Your back bowed. Your wings fluttered against the sheets. "Yes. Yes."
He suckled like he was starving, wet sounds echoing in the quiet cottage. His stubble rasped against the sensitive skin of your breast. His free hand slid down your belly, fingers dipping into your panties, finding the soaked curls between your legs.
"So fucking wet already," he growled against your nipple. "Is that for me, sweetheart? Did my little fairy get herself all ready?"
"I c-can't help it." Your hips rolled into his touch. "You're so warm. I can feel it pulling at me—your heat—I need—"
"You need my fingers first." He lifted his head, eyes dilated. "Gotta make sure you're ready for me. Don't want to hurt you."
Too late for that. Everything hurt; the cold still gnawing at your bones, the desperate ache between your legs, the terrible beautiful fullness in your chest that you couldn't decipher what it meant.
But when his finger pushed inside you, all thoughts vanished.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You're tight."
You were. Even one finger stretched you, his hands were broad, calloused, and the knuckle pressing against your entrance made you gasp. But the heat. Gods, the heat. It radiated from his finger into your core, chasing the frost from your blood.
"More," you begged. "Please, more."
Smearing your wetness, he gave you two fingers. Stretched you wider. Curled them. Pumped them slow while kissing you, breathing warm air into your lungs. You rocked against him, gasping when he found a spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.
"Nnngh—there—there—"
"Yeah?" He pumped his fingers, watching your face. "That's the spot, isn't it? That's where my little fairy needs it."
Eyes shutting, you climaxed, your walls contacting around his digits. Your slick coated his palm, his wrist, dripped down onto the sheets. You'd never been this wet in your life. Never felt this needy.
"Please," you sobbed. "Please, more —I need your cock—need it—"
He withdrew his fingers. You whimpered at the loss.
Clothes followed soon after, tossed somewhere on the floor until both of you were bare.
And God.
He was magnificent
Strong shoulders, thick thighs, a body built solid and heavy in all the right ways. Dark hair dusted his lower stomach and trailed downward to a thick and beautiful cock, jutting up from a dark thatch of hair at the base. The head leaked, heavy balls drawn up tight with need.
"Look at you," he said, wrapping his fist around the shaft and stroking once. Twice. "Look what you do to me."
You reached for him. Your fingers barely closed around the girth. The head alone was wider than four of your fingers pressed together.
"You sure?" he asked huskily.
"I'll die if you don't." Not an exaggeration. You could feel the cold creeping back, stealing the warmth his fingers had given you. "Please. I need you. Need you inside."
"Okay, sweetheart. Okay."
He positioned himself between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging your slick entrance. You reached for him, your legs trying to snaked around his hips, your hands pressed flat against his broad chest.
He could crush you without trying.
Instead, he impaled you tenderly.
Low moans tore from both of you as his crown stretched your opening. You felt every ridge, every vein. Felt the impossible heat of him seeping into your walls.
"So tight—" he gritted out, licking your pointy ear. "Fuck, sweetheart, you're gonna make me come too fast."
"Don't care. Give me more. Please...."
He laughed softly, kissed your lips and worked himself deeper. Half his length was inside you now. Your body trembled around him, clenching and releasing, trying to accommodate his size. The stretch burned but the warmth... the warmth was divine.
"Oh," you moaned. "Oh, yes."
"You feel that?" He pulled back an inch, pushed forward two. "That's my heat going into you, my sweet. Can feel you drinking it."
He was right. Your walls pulsed around him, your pussy hungry and greedy, sucking at his cock like it could draw his warmth straight through his skin. And maybe it could. Fairy biology wasn't exactly normal.
"More," you gasped. "Harder. I need—ah—"
His hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt. Your body screamed in pain-bliss. He filled you completely. Stretched you perfectly.
More heat flooded your core. You could feel your starving cells opening up, drinking him in, your frostbitten wings tingling as blood rushed back into the membranes. Your vision cleared. Your heart beat stronger.
"Yes," you mewled. "Yes yes yes—"
"Yeah?" He pulled out then slammed back in. "Yeah?"
The sound of his hips slapping against your thighs echoed off the cottage walls. Clap. Clap. Clap. Your slick made everything slippery. His balls slapped against your ass with each thrust, and his mouth peppered kisses anywhere he could reach.
"Gonna fill you up," he groaned, pace increasing. "Gonna pump my come so deep inside you, sweetheart. Gonna warm you from the inside."
Your nails raked down his back. "Please."
"Please what? Use your words."
"Please come inside me. I need it. Need your seed—"
"Mmm, yeah, you do." He shifted angle, drove deeper, and suddenly his cock was hitting a spot that made your vision go white. "There. There it is."
"That's—nngh—that's my—"
"Your what, sweetheart?" He grinned down at you. "Your little fairy womb? You want me to come in there? Fill you up? Make you warm?"
"Yes yes oh fuck yes—"
His rhythm stuttered. His jaw clenched. "I'm close. I'm so fucking close..."
His hand flew between your bodies, bulky but expert fingers finding your clit. He circled it frantically, matching his thrusts.
"Come on," he growled. "Come for me, little fairy. Come on—"
The wave crashed.
You screamed as your orgasm ripped through you, pussy clenching down on his cock like a fist. Your body arched off the bed. Your wings blazed, lavender light spilling across the room.
And that was all it took for him.
"Fuck—" His hips slammed forward one final time, buried to the hilt, and his cock jerked inside you. Once. Twice. Then—
Hot.
So hot you came again. And again. And again.
His seed flooded your insides, each spurt of cum dripping with warmth that spread through your belly like honey. You could feel it working, your body absorbing the heat, the life of it. Your wings flickered brighter. Your skin flushed with joy.
He collapsed on top of you, still buried deep, still pulsing occasionally as the last of his release pumped into you. His face pressed into your neck. His breath came in ragged gasps.
"Holy shit," he whispered.
You couldn't speak. Your entire body was singing.
*****************
You stayed.
Not just that night, but the next. And the next. And the next.
Years later the cottage had changed. An extra room for the herbs you dried from the garden. A bigger bed, one that could fit your wings spread wide and your belly which was swollen round with child. His child.
"You're staring," you said, not looking up from the tiny knit socks in your lap.
"Can't help it." He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smiling softly. "You're gorgeous like this, sweetheart."
Your cheeks burned. They always did when he complimented you. "M'not."
"Are so." He crossed the room, dropped to his knees in front of your chair, and kissed the taut curve of your belly. "Both of you. Gorgeous."
The baby kicked. You laughed.
"Baby thinks so too," he murmured against your skin.
Your hand found his light brown hair. Carded through it. Remembered the first night you'd crept into his bed, frozen and dying. Remembered the way he'd held you like you were precious, remembered how he'd taken care of you, loving you, accepting you.
"I love you," you said.
He looked up at you with those violet eyes, still warm after all these years. Still burning with love and desire.
"I know," he said. And then, because he was a bastard, "You kinda need me for survival, remember?"
You hit his shoulder. He caught your hand. Kissed your palm.
"Love you too," he said quietly. "Now come to bed. The fire's low and you're looking a little pale."
You weren't pale. You were flushed, happy and so warm you thought you might burst.
But you let him help you up anyway. Let him guide you to the bed he'd built for your family. Let him wrap himself around you and fill you deep like he had that first night—only now you didn't have to sneak.
Now you were home.
