HYUNJINBIRTHDAY COUNTDOWN (2024): Hyunjin In Every Letter... D-19| LIVES

HYUNJIN BIRTHDAY COUNTDOWN (2024): hyunjin in every letter... ↘ D-19 | LIVES

@thoughtstherapy

Title: Cold Hands Pairing: Tormund Giantsbane x fem!Reader Rating: M Summary: After the Battle of Castle Black, Jon needs someone to ensure their wildling prisoner makes it through the night. Because Tormund's the type you just want to rage fuck and I've been looking for an excuse to write for him since like 2017. tagging @mrsragnarlodbrok suffer with me

THE STEWARDS’ QUARTERS are dimly light and crowded in the wake of the night’s battle with the wounded members of the Night’s Watch. You rise from looking over little Olly’s scrapes and bruises, passing the boy a cup of watered ale to help him sleep —forget the horrors of the fighting. Castle Black was no place for a woman, and every estranged look cast in your direction from one of the men reminded you of that. Frowning, you wipe your hands on a stained apron and step outside into the frozen air. Below, men are clearing out the dead, a mix of wildlings and their own brothers, and beginning to make repairs to fortify the defenses should there be another attack. Jon Snow approaches you and lowers his head in greeting. “I have someone I need you to tend to,” he utters.

Castle Black’s dungeon is not large, only a single line of iron-barred cells in a short corridor —unoccupied save for the hulking figure at the very back in chains and pocked with broken arrows and crossbow bolts. He wears the thick, mismatched furs of the wildlings, but the fire in his hair is unmistakable. Tormund Giantsbane. Jon unlocks the cell and steps back, letting you pass. “Hurt a hair on her head,” Jon Snow starts, ice in his voice, “and you’ll be joining your kin on the pyre.”

You give Jon Snow a final nod of assurance —you’ve dealt with worse men than Tormund Giantsbane— and the bastard retreats down the corridor as you set down a flagon of icy water and a satchel of herbs and vials. “Tormund,” you greet, unwilling to shy away from his burning bright-blue stare. His notoriety spans north and south of the Wall —the man who suckled a giantess’s teat and fucked she-bears. Someone who you wouldn’t have expected to find stuck like a pincushion and locked away.

“Heard them say you’re a witch,” he grunts, hiding a scowl as you prod the arrow in his shoulder. You lift a curious brow. The crows call you a wood’s witch. In truth, you’re only a skilled herbalist with knowledge acquired from patching up members of the Night’s Watch over the years. Maybe it is a good thing they call you a witch —the men of the Watch didn’t much care for spirits and magic. “Don’t look like a witch,” Tormund notes, his voice rough. “All the witches I’ve known had warts and crooked noses” —he glares when you pull the first arrow from him without warning, knowing they were only bodkin points — “lived in trees.”

You lay a damp cloth over the bleeding wound before sliding around to his back. The arrows needed to be removed before you could strip him of the heavy furs to properly tend him. “If I had a cock,” you start with a dry laugh, “they’d call me a maester and give me a heavy chain to wear ‘round my neck.” Pressing your hand next to a second arrow, you wiggle the broken shaft, ensuring the arrowhead would come free too when you finally pull. You see the muscles in his neck tense.

“No more crows to worry over?” Tormund asks, voice gruff. Weren’t no more than a hundred men defending Castle Black on the ground and from above —a few more warriors in his warband, and they could’ve taken the castle to let Mance Rayder walk through the gates to the south.

“None that require my skillset.” He looks back, lifting a bloody brow in question. “Plucking arrows from men” —you snatch the third and final arrow from his back and toss it aside, all that’s left is the crossbow bolt in his leg— “sewing them back up.” Sitting back in front of him, you reach for the ties and straps of his clothes. Grimacing, he helps you divest himself of the layers until your icy fingertips brush against his broken and heated flesh. The wildling is barrel-chested with broad shoulders and strong arms —a testament to hard living beyond the Wall. Tormund lets you work in silence —defeat still leaves a sour taste on his tongue

HE SHIFTS AT the sound of footfalls on the stone, too light to belong to any of the crows. Between the torchlight and the few burning braziers, Tormund can see it is his sweet healer come to visit or torment him. The shackles on his ankles clink together against the stone floor as he moves around, scooting forward as you grow closer. “Couldn’t stay away,” he muses as you stop in front of his cell, setting down your satchel and water flagon. 

“Daily rounds to see all my wards,” you counter, pulling a wrought iron key from the inside of your sleeve. You’d convinced Jon you could handle the wildling chieftain —maybe it was foolish of you to think that.

“Best for last?” He asks, laughing.

You huff, rolling your eyes as you unlock the cell, stepping inside. “You must be feeling better,” you note, setting out all your supplies.

Tormund drops the last of his layers —a stained wool tunic— next to him as you kneel with a damp cloth and fresh salve. He seizes your hands, startling you, but does nothing more than hold them between his own —his fingertips are rough, palms warm, wholly engulfing yours. “You got cold hands,” Tormund mutters, seeing the question form in your eyes.

“Didn’t think wildlings minded the cold,” you note, holding his gaze. He doesn’t say anything, just grunts in response and keeps your hands held in his for a moment longer before letting you carry about changing his wounds’ dressings.

But curiosity gets the better of him. He’s not known the Night’s Watch to keep a woman on hand. “How does you staying here with all these crows work?” Tormund asks —the muscles in his back tense when a cool, damp cloth touches his skin.

“Didn’t stay with the crows,” you tell him, removing a day-old cataplasm from his shoulder, washing away flecks of ground herbs left behind. “Stayed in Mole’s Town.” It was a small unpleasant village, but it meant you were close to the Wall —the Lord Commander paid for your services as a healer with how few men were currently in the Night’s Watch and with Maester Aemon growing frailer by the day. “Or I did,” you pause, remembering the grey smoke rising from the south a few days ago, “before your lot put it to the torch.” He wears a curious look as though to ask how you escaped his warband. “Was already here tending to those who went out north of the Wall.”

“Fate then,” he decides —the Old Gods must have meant for your paths to cross.

OF ALL THE men currently under your care, Tormund is your favorite, though you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that —it’d make him nigh unbearable. He’s no longer kept in the dark cells below ground, despite still being a prisoner, or perhaps hostage, depending on what Stannis Baratheon and Jon Snow have planned. They’ve moved him to an empty room in one of the decaying towers of the castle. You unlock the door, finding him pacing along the perimeter of the small room. “Come to enchant me?” He asks, still finding it amusing that the crows would call a woman like you a witch.

“Thought I already had,” you laugh, watching as he starts tugging at his outer furs without instruction, “and that’s why you’ve been such a good boy.” Tormund Giantsbane wasn’t even half as stubborn as some of the Rangers who’ve come into your care over the years —like Benjen Stark when he came back from north of the Wall with an arrow in his shoulder.

“Boy?” Tormund bristles. “A boy doesn’t have a cock–” his voice fades into a hiss when you press the vinegar-soaked rag to the worst of his wounds. He glares at you, but then his hard stare softens when you smile. Tormund’s mind wanders, unable to stop himself from thinking what’d it be like to lay with a woman from south of the Wall —and if you’d still have that sharp tongue with his cock buried inside your cunt. “Can show you I’m not a boy,” he says, lips twitching upward under his ginger beard. “Doubt you’ve ever had a real man.”

Your gaze flits up to meet his, undeterred by his advances. It’s not the first time you’ve suffered through them, and you doubt it’ll be the last if you continue working with men who’ve sworn to be celibates. “That all you can think about?” You ask —more so teasing than chiding— unwrapping the strip of linen from around his leg. The poultice has kept infection at bay, though this wound is healing slower than the others.

“When I’m looking at a pretty woman,” Tormund replies in all sincerity, leaning forward.

You can feel warmth rushing to your cheeks, but you won’t let yourself look away elsewise he’ll know you’re not immune to his charms. “Well” —you smile, thinking of the conversation you’d overhead between Jon and Stannis— “you’re soon to be looking at a pretty crow named Lord Commander Snow.”

TORMUND GIANTSBANE IS no longer a prisoner under Jon Snow. The Lord Commander means to take him and a score of men to Hardhome and let the wildlings settle in the Gift to escape the encroaching Long Night. Jon knows he’s the only person the others will listen to in the wake of Mance Rayder’s death. The air in the common hall is thick with something you cannot describe —the members of the Night’s Watch have not taken kindly to Stannis’s men or the red-haired wilding sitting below the high table.

Olly sits next to you and Edd with a white-knuckle grip on his spoon, the taste of betrayal sitting bitterly on his tongue. Your gaze flits between the boy, Jon, and finally to Tormund. The wildling’s cold stare is already on you. Edd raises a brow when he sees how quickly you look away, cheeks tinged with warmth.

After some time, you take leave of the common hall, turning to the tower with a small room where Ser Alliser Throne said you could reside, as there was nowhere left for you to go. Tormund trails after you —and before you can shut the door to your chamber for the night, he stops you from doing so. “Didn’t come tend my wounds last night,” he laments, pouting almost.

“You’re going to live,” you assure him, letting him come in anyways. Last you checked, none of his wounds were close to festering, and all were healing cleanly and quickly. Untying your apron and belt, you set them aside and turn back to Tormund, half-smiling. “It’d be a waste of herbs and linen.” Those herbs and flowers would be precious commodities with winter fast approaching. He watches as you empty your satchel on the table and replenish the supplies in quiet awe —his sweet healer with cold hands. “You gonna tell me why you’re really here?” But you’re almost certain you already know, and you’ve no objections, either. 

Tormund doesn’t answer at first. Instead, he steps behind you and cranes his head down to the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as his arm slides across your middle, pulling you back nigh flush against him. “You know,” he rasps at your ear. The tickle of his beard against your neck is all the warning you have before his lips brush over your skin. Sighing, you tilt your head to the side, melding into his warmth and wandering hands. He tugs impatiently at the laces on the front of your woolen dress, but you swat away his hands and make quick work of the ties and break from his hold to shimmy out of the heavy garment. It leaves you in a thin shift, scarcely protection from the frigid air of the North —though the fire in Tormund’s darkened stare does set your blood aflame.

You step to him, curling your fingers into the soft leather and fur on his chest, and he pounces like a wildman. His kiss is soft at first, a gentle caress of the lips, but it grows deeper when his tongue coaxes you into what becomes a series of leisurely kisses, though each one feels more urgent than the last. Tormund’s hands wander to the small of your back, then along the curve of your bum, bunching up the fabric of your shift until he can grip onto the bare meat of your thighs. He must think you weigh nothing by the way he lifts you, opening your legs until they’re wrapped around his waist, your arms around his shoulders, lips never straying far from his.

He places you on the edge of the bed, then begins with the ties of his clothes and boots —throwing the leathers and furs aside in great haste— until he’s left in only a pair of sealskin shorts with the outline of his hard cock clearly visible. Tormund slips to his knees in front of you, wedging himself between your knees. Surging forward, you kiss him again, intoxicated by the moment. He’s happy to give and reluctant to part. “Thought the Free Folk didn’t kneel,” you challenge, combing your fingers through his beard.

“Only to those we choose,” Tormund tells you, dragging his rough hands along the outsides of your thighs, over your hips, pushing your shift up until you pull the thin fabric overhead, dropping it to the stone floor. You whine when his rough fingers brush over your clavicles, up the column of your neck —there’s a gentleness to the wildling chieftain you would have never thought existed. Tormund’s hand grips your jaw, forcing you to keep his gaze —affirmation he’d chosen to kneel before you.

Without another word, he leans down and presses small kisses around your breast, looking up at you the whole time. The small pecks soon turn into sloppy, open-mouthed kisses as his eyes close in focus. You reach down, carding your hands through his fiery hair —encouragement. He continues to inch closer and closer until he latches onto your nipple and sucks hard, using his hand to play with your other one. He pulls back just for a moment to nip at it. “Tormund,” you breathe, burying your hands into his fiery locks.

Tormund moves his hands to the soft insides of your thighs, squeezes them, then leans down, placing a kiss below your navel. You jump at the tickle of his beard, and his low chuckle rattles through you both, sending a wave of warmth washing over you, pooling low in your belly as he moves farther down. He groans at the sight of your cunt —slick already and begging to be feasted upon, and feast he will. He laps at you, firm but gentle, the corners of his lips turning up in a smile when he reads the pleasure making your gaze go soft and unfocused.

Then you lose conscious thought the second he wraps his lips around your clit, hands holding you firmly in place as he laps and licks through your folds, methodical and slow with a long and low groan. Tormund’s fingers brush through your folds, gathering the slick there, and he eases one finger into your cunt, curling, and stroking, then adds a second. He’s doing something devastating —the gentle pressure with each flick of his tongue— your breath comes in short gasps, chest heaving until it all erupts with white sparks. “All southrons sweet as you?” He asks, scraping his beard along the inside of your thigh, fingers still working you down from the sudden high.

“I am from the North, Tormund,” you remind him, amused.

“South of the Wall, though,” he refutes, giving one final nip to the inside of your thigh before withdrawing his sopping fingers and sucking them clean —eyes never leaving yours. It sends a shiver down your spine. He rises from his knees, and you stand too, hands going to the ties of his underpants. Kicking aside the last of his clothing, he lets you push him back to the bed and climb atop him like you’ve won some great victory.

He’s splayed out beneath you, looking up at you with those clear-blue eyes, clouded with lust, like a challenge. He let you win. You know that — he knows that. But here you are, straddling him with your fingers intertwined in his, pinning his hands above his head. He can easily turn the tables —flip you over and hold you down, and make you beg for him until you can't take it anymore. He can do all of that, but he doesn’t. No, Tormund Giantsbane likes the feeling of your weight above him, pressing him into the mattress, and he wants to see where this will go.

You lean over him and press a kiss to his collarbone, then to the base of his neck and underside of his jaw —his beard brushes against your lips as they move further up until they’re ghosting over the corner of his mouth. He turns his head slightly, stretching up to capture your lips in a hungry kiss. You moan softly into his mouth as his tongue drags over your bottom lip, seeking entrance. He loves the taste of you everywhere —the sweetness of your tongue, the salt of your sweat, the tang of your cunt— Tormund loves it all. Perhaps you had enchanted him. 

His hips press up off the bed when your fingers wrap around his cock, stroking him from base to tip, thumb following along one of the throbbing veins on the underside. You shuffle back, guiding the weeping head of his cock between your slick folds until it catches on the entrance of your aching cunt, and you press back further sinking onto him with a lurid moan —echoed by his own strangled groan and a string of curses.

You start to rock and twist your hips, building a pleasant rhythm, working yourself on top of him. Tormund’s lips are parted, breathing heavily as he watches how your cunt takes him in over and over again, a sight that drives him to oblivion, and paired with how you whimper and moan and the feel of your breasts under his hands, he thinks he could finish then and there.

Tormund digs his heels into the bed, aiding you as you bounce and twist atop him. “Tormund,” you whimper, knowing you need more than this —you need his touch. He’s quick to answer the soft pleading, hands squeezing against your hips, arms flexing to lift and drag you across his cock himself as his hips roll upwards, pressing deeper it feels than ever before. Leaning down, you press your lips to his —panting against his mouth as your chests move against one another, hips rolling and filling the room with the sound of flesh against flesh and a chorus of low moans and breathy praises.

It’s sudden when he twists around, putting you beneath him —his weight hovering over you, cock still buried deep in your cunt. “Fucking greedy,” he groans, continuing his slow pace. Something changes in his eyes, but you cannot decipher it. Instead, you draw his face down and kiss him again. You relax inch by inch, sliding your hands over his muscled back, the ridges of his shoulder blades, and down his arms, taking the time to fully appreciate the small nicks and scars you’ve seen a dozen times over now. Then he moves again and again. Each stroke quicker and deeper than the last.

His cheeks and chest are flushed in the low light, and his hair clings to his neck and forehead as his pace picks up. Long, calloused fingers bury into your hair, angling you to look at him. His other hand slides down to where your bodies are joined, rubbing your clit, knowing by the way your walls flutter, that you're close, as is he. The budding pressure grows, setting you on another precipice ready to fall. Your body begins shuddering against his, limbs limp but jerking, neck tilted back into the furs —shining with sweat. Seeing you like this is enough to push him over too. Tormund’s body tenses, his hip stuttering, cock twitching deep inside you with a spreading warmth. His groan is strangled when he thrusts into you again, lazily —just to feel his seed begin to seep from your ruined cunt.

You feel an old sort of contentment as he lowers his weight to rest on bent forearms at either side of your head —his hazy blue eyes staring down at you, the dark red of his hair and beard wilder than you’d ever seen. Tormund dips his head down, nuzzling against the crook in your neck.

On instinct, your arms wrap around him, fingertips following one of the curving scars on his back, relishing the feeling of warmth and safety. “You’re going to come back to me,” you tell him, mussing the strands of hair at the back of his neck. Jon Snow means to set off to Hardhome at first light, he’d said as such during the evening meal, and in the following days, Stannis and his men will depart to head south, first to Winterfell and then onward to King’s Landing. But you’ve no doubt Tormund Giantsbane will return.

“Aye,” Tormund agrees, rolling to the side. He’s quick to pull you along with him and tuck you into his side. “Then we’ll see if the crows can hear us all the way from atop the Wall,” he says, squeezing a handful of your bum. You laugh, pressing your face into his chest, and he laughs too, the sound coming from deep in his belly. Though it soon turns to a wistful sigh, should the Others take him, he’s certain his last thought will be of you —his sweet healer.

[taglist: @mrsragnarlodbrok @erzsebetrosztoczy ] if you want to be added to a Game of Thrones taglist or any of my other taglists, check out this form here.

Sebastian and Min Epilogue ^^

Warning: Fluff.

Sebastian and Min just came out of the movie theater after watching Fast and Furious 9 when Min notice Sebastian watching a cute little family in the arcade playing air hockey sighing. 

“What's wrong love? Didn’t like the movie?” Min asked. 

“No the movie was great.” 

“Then what's wrong?” 

“Nothing wrong baby, I just love you so much.” Sebastian said wrapping his arm around her shoulder looking at her cutely. 

“Pft, you sap. We are married already, you don’t have to pull anymore moves on me.” 

“They aren’t moves, I was stating the facts.” 

“I know, I was just joking. I love you too you baby.” Min joked missing the look on his face. 

That night they were just finish with their almost daily night time ‘routine’ when Min notice how Sebastian stays inside her not wanting to pull out claiming it feels too good. The next few days Min had had enough watching Sebastian practically moping while looking at his phone on the couch after she came home from her impromptu doctor visit.

“Ok now I know something wrong. Are you going to tell me or not?” Min sat down next to him pulling his phone out of his hands setting it down on his coffee table. 

“I told you there is nothing wrong.” 

“Bullshit Sebastian, I've known you for a decade. I know when something is bothering you.” Min said turning his face to look at her. “I am your wife. You know you can tell me an….” 

“I want to start a family with you.” He blurted out stunning Min. “See this is why I didn’t want to tell you. You have plans and events coming up the next few years. And having kids will….” He kept rambling on about until Min cuts him off straddling him shutting him off with a steamy kiss. 

“If you wanted to start a family, you should have told me.” She winked at him. 

“You want to start a family?” 

“More than anything.” Min said cuffing his face in her hands giving him a chaste kiss. 

“Then you will go get the implant out?” 

“Remember my doctor appointment I had this morning?” 

“Yeah you said you were going for a physical.” 

“Yeah I was, but it was mainly to remove the implant and for me to start taking birth control pills instead.” She blushed. “I am sorry, I didn’t talk to you about it first.” “So what you're saying is you no longer have the implant.” He questioned seeing her nod. “And what you are also saying is if we have sex right now you can possibly have our baby.” 

“Mmhmm.” She hummed watching Sebastian face brighten up with a huge smile. 

“Well then I think we have some baby making to do, don’t you think?” He said standing up immediately with her wrapped up on his torso bringing her to their bedroom. 

“It might take a few months.” She teased him. 

“Then it will be a great few months.” He announces closing the door behind him. 

 The next few months the couple was at it multiple times a day, there were days where they would rarely leave the house but no luck until Sebastian was off filming his new movie. Min woke up with the worse case of nausea rushing to the bathroom to throw up her last night's dinner. After confused on why she was throwing up, she hoped up to the bathroom drawer pulling out a pregnancy test, a couple minutes of waiting she cries happy tears holding 4 different test up with the famous 2 lines. Within seconds she jumped up immediately thinking of a plan on how she plans on telling Sebastian about the news when a bright idea popped into her brain. When she got everything finished she wrapped it up just in time when Sebastian comes home from filming all day. 

“God I miss you today, filming really drained all my energy.” He said plopping on the couch next to Min who proceeds to rub his sore shoulders. “So what you do today? Did you get to finish the new song you been working on lately.” 

“No, I got a little side tracked today doing some arts and crafts, wanna see it.” Min said excitedly. 

“Of course I wanna see it.” He said watching her run into her office area excitedly returning with a gift bag.

“A gift bag?” 

“Yeah I got inspired and did something for you.” She said giving him the bag only receiving a curious look in return. “Come on just open it, it's not bad I promise.” 

“Okay, if you say so.” Sebastian said pulling out the tissue paper revealing a neatly wrapped 8” by 11” frame. The moment he unwrapped the frame his heart almost stopped seeing the positive pregnancy test dangling next to the words; “Only the best husbands get promoted to daddy.”

“We’re pregnant?” He asked looking at her with teary eyes. 

“Yep, we’re gonna be parents.” She whispers tearing up as well, Sebastian with all the energy in the world now jumps over to Min giving her a sweet kiss as their tears flows together. “We’re going to be parents. Oh my god.” He said getting down on the floor in between Min legs lifting her shirt up kissing her stomach. “Hey baby, its your daddy. Oh my god. I can’t wait to meet you. I promise to be the best daddy and give you the world. Oh my god, I am going to be a daddy.” Sebastian said jumping up giving Min another kiss causing her to giggle. 

“Technically you always been a daddy.” She joked making him chuckle. 

“Yeah yeah you know what I mean. Fuckk, I love you so fucken much.” Sebastian said looking at her lovingly causing her heart to melt for him all over again. 

“I love you too Sebastian.” 

--------------------------------------------------

4 years later. 

Min finished doing the dishes when she heads upstairs to check up on Sebastian when she hears someone giggling followed by hushed whisperings. 

“Yeah, your mommy was a little fireball like you too. Stubborn as can be always refusing help.” Sebastian said to their beautiful 3 year old daughter Madeleine Eli Stan. 

“Then you came riding in with your horse and announce your love for mommy right?” Their daughter asked hugging her fox plushie. 

“Are you guys talking about me? Last time I check its way past someone's bedtime.” Min said crossing her arms looking at the duo who looks like they got caught red handed. 

“I am asleep.” Madeleine said pulling the blanket up hiding her face. 

“If you were asleep, then why are you laughing.” Min said jumping over to the girl tickling her causing her to giggle loudly. 

“Daddy save me.” Madeleine laugh squirming around trying to get away from her mommy fingers. 

“Okay, I think mommy is right, its past your bedtime.” Sebastian chuckles pulling his wife off his daughter tucking their daughter back into bed. 

“You always side with her now.” Min pouts making Madeleine to giggle at her mommys face. 

“I am not, now stop pouting. Good night Madeleine.” Sebastian said giving his daughter a kiss on her forehead. 

“Goodnight daddy. Goodnight mommy.” She said. 

“Good night sweetheart.” Min said giving her a kiss as well before the couple walks out the room to their own room. 

“By the way, you cute when your pouting.” Sebastian teased pulling his wife into a hug. 

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere Mr. Stan.” Min said wrapping her arms around his shoulder. 

“Last time I checked it kind of did, hence why you have this little bun in the oven right now.” He looks down rubbing her swollen stomach with a proud smile on his face. “Hows you feeling today?” 

“Tired, I think he is ready to come out anytime now. He’s been kicking the crap out of my ribs.” Min said. 

“Hey Xavier baby, mommy, daddy, and Madeleine are excited to meet you too but quit kicking mommy ribs.” Sebastian said crouching down to talk to the stomach earning a kick where Sebastian face was making Min giggle. 

“He’s sassy already. Oh my god.” Min said 

“I love it, another fireball running around.” Sebastian said standing up kissing his wife's lips before saying “Do you think it's too early to start making another one?”  

A/N: Holy shit!!! its the end guys. Thank you for putting up for me. This story is literally my baby for literally since June 2019. Currently writing a Mob!Sebastian if anyone is interested. It will be up whenever I am finish ^^ already have like 8 chapter written. And it definitely won’t have as many chapter as this story.

Harry Potter/Avengers AU

The Avengers are a team of Witches and Wizards fighting against the Dark Lord Thanos. 

Tony is the mad Wizarding inventor who is a genius with a wand. Bruce is a part-time healer, full-time shape-shifting werewolf. Clint and Natasha are Unspeakables. Thor is a Quidditch beater. And Auror Steve has one hell of a shield charm. 

(Oh, and Loki is a Death Eater, which no one is surprised about)

.· ☁︎ .one more. l.felix

summary- your boyfriend is addicted to eating you out. like addicted. he could sit for hours eating you. and that’s exactly what he does.

warnings- oral fem receiving, fingering,overstimulation,cum eating, squirting, dirty talk, sweet felix<3, praise??, idk what else lmk what i missed

a little drabble for y’all bc i can’t stop thinking about this felix like im actually gonna go insane.

let me know if i should write another part

your boyfriend has been between your thighs for 2 hours. begging you to cum another time for him. “baby i know you can do it. you have been doing so well.” he says coming up from your cunt before smiling and going back to licking your slit and sucking on your cunt. “lix p-please i can’t cum again.” he shakes his head not stopping his movements slowly rubbing your clit. “yes you can my love. i know you can.” he says sliding two fingers inside of you attaching his mouth back on your cunt.

“hmm taste so good baby.” he says humming against your slit smiling at you innocently. “lix-im gonna cum again..” he doesn’t stop his movements watching your face as it contorts in pleasure.

“cum on my tongue my love. it’s so good.” he says going back to suck on your clit.

“fuck! lix im coming im sorry i can’t hold it.” he smiles at you watching as you squirt all over his fingers, tongue- it is all over. “i-i’m sorry lix.” he shushes you quickly. “baby nothing to be sorry for. that was so hot i came in my pants.” he laughs before moving from between your legs to give you a soft kiss. “you look so beautiful.” he says kissing you again.