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punk-in-docs · 1 year

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“if you want to come you better beg” x prince paul cause i need this filth 😩👀

🥀Qualities of Mercy🥀

Prince Paul x Tsarevna // smut drabble - Bugger me sideways @usedtobecooler only the best for you babes crème de la crème - Prince Prick and some bratty behaviour culminating in angry!hate!fucking coming up. Also short? I don’t think I can write short drabble a about this man. I’m having a lot of feelings ok.

Some babes I know may want to see this @indouloureux @munsonswhore86 @heyndrix @lunatictardis @creme-bruhlee @callmeloverr @roanniom

It’s an odd relief to see the signs of war increase with each gained mile, burnt out patches of land and artillery tracks wedged into the mud. Foul air, fire, and rifle smoke; it means you’re closing in on your goal.

It means you’re that much closer to your husband.

Foul boggy mud, and nipping winds that cut to bone. You’re rumbling your way along treacherous roads, ever closer.

The terrain is dismal. There’s not even any sweetly soft birdsong chirping from the trees. There’s no kind nature. There’s only war and man, and guttural cries of the wounded. A landscape drizzled with slanted misty rain. Stubby felled larch trees and splintered bark.

The soldiers encamped, look like misshapen beasts. Blood crusted black, and the wounded wearing filthy yellowed bandages. Eyes missing, limbs turned to stumps. Squatting and huddling in clumps in the woods. Shivering under canvas with pithy licks of orange campfires staining the air with spicy woodsmoke.

They watch the carriage pass with rapt fascination. But too cold to react.

You weren’t expected.

That fact is writ plain as day all over the face of the dirt smeared soldier who trudged up to the carriage window. The soldier on watch. Who’d been pissing up against as tree when you rolled up.

His eyebrows buoy in surprise as you drop your fur lined hood.

“My Lady-“ He rasped in surprise.

“Tsarevna.” Your second maid, Maricel, leaned forward and snipped. Voice like a barking hound. Just as dogged.

She was eternally bolshy and hard edged. Hated you not being given the proper due politesse as deserving of your rank. She took great offence to those who didn’t understand the severity of your position.

“I’m here to see my husband. Kindly take me to him.”

“I’m not sure he’ll want- he’s occupied with many important matters.“ He fumbles for an excuse.

Maricel’s words come locked in impatience.

“Are you suggesting the Tsarevna of Russia is unimportant?” She tests.

“No- I.”

“He will carve out the time for his wife, you dumb prick.” She points out. Rubbing her shivering hands.

“Now, now.” You scold her.

She merely rolls her eyes. Not frightened by you whatsoever. Just pissy cause she’s cold.

The solider shuffles on his feet. Breaks eye contact. “I’m not sure I have the authority to-“

“Are you going to make me repeat myself.” You warn. Ire threaded into every word.

You stare him down with slicing diamond eyes. Tips sharpened and designed to cut.

A look you’ve thieved and mastered from Catherine’s own brand of venom. Don’t budge an inch.

It’s enough to get him to snap his mouth shut.

“No. Uh. Of course. This way, Tsarevna.”

You clambered out that boxy royal carriage. Door encrusted in a golden crest. Dainty sky blue heel sinking into earth. Hem sodden and dragged with it in no time. Maricel follows you dutifully. Your guard dog.

“Cunt.” Maricel bites out at the solider as she shuffled after you. Trudging into the muck.

“Put your forked tongue away.” You suggest.

She moodily deigns to do as you say.

You fold your gloved hands. Pretty pearl buttons march along your wrists now seeming contemptuous among all this. You rub at them to spark up some warmth in your numb fingers, as you looked around for the cluster of carmine coated generals.

Slipping and staining your skirts with slodgy mud as you followed the dismal soldier who’d take you to him. Your heels slip up, your feet get bogged. The stench of this place is curdling your lungs. Burnt larch trees and smoke and decay.

You press on. Determined.

The men swim their their groggy eyes to you. This place is used to viscera and gummy black blood, and mud crusted ash.

By comparison you look like a chunk of pure silken teal sky, fallen to earth. Precious and spotless. A drop of stunning sapphire wedged into all this dirt and death.

You squelch your way through tents and surgeon tents where men lay gouged and exposed. Rotting alive and shivering under the canvas as they cried out to the chowder thick sky. Rain melting on their eyelashes.

The smoke cleared past you, drifting. And then your overly elegant shape comes moulded out the congealing blood and smog of his hell. Pearl buttons, satin, and floral petal perfume. A wrenching juxtaposition coinciding.

You see your husband. Through the cloth mouth of one of the larger tents. No mistaking those puddle eyes for anyone else. The white scratchy wig. The cut of his powder blue coat and red royal medals slashing blood.

He’s gathered with men around a map table staked out with battle plans. This fare is all simplicity. Battle for blood and the vicinity of conquering men.

This is a land shuttered to the gaze of your sex. Your kind do not come roaming here. Not noble women anyway. The generals of mild importance probably had their favourite whores fetched in, however.

You stand and his eyes travel at last to yours. You smile lightly.

His expression altered into bitterness. Eyes lost their walnut warmth. Jaw clenched. Mood spiked sour.

He told you distinctly not to fucking come.

Yet here you stand.

You meet his burnt umber gaze and the sparky fire flecked there, scalds you.

“Tsarevich.” You greet him. Breath whipped to silver. You’re standing in the misty rain.

Waiting to see what comes spat back.

The generals clustering him, all bow in confusion and politely bob their unkempt wigged heads.

Not Paul.

His jaw clenched. Expression stiff. Posture as rigid as a Siberian Larch.

You’re fucking in for it now.

You batted at the sopping stretch of canvas. Hurling it out the way. Rain crashes down into your sprouting feathered hat and onto your shoulders.

Every squelch of your step into the oozing mud came sharp. Striking as a gut punch.

He’s following, hot on your heels, and you want to turn around and swing a punch into the angelic cherubim face you’d missed all these lonely long eight months.

His anger set off your own. Silky black gunpowder meeting roaring flame.

He’s livid.

You stand in his quarters. His tent is this huge beast of a thing. Clean and comfortable. A room with a table and maps and trunks takes up one. Green and gold tapestries make the walls slightly more habitable. More sophisticated. A cut above the desolate forest and the miseries of the wounded.

An emerald velvet curtain shields off the area where his ornate downy bed must be. He was still a Prince after all. He’ll be among his men. But he’s not sleeping in a frozen bedroll in the muck like an animal.

He storms into this space behind you and slaps the canvas closed. Words snapping out his mouth, that flimsy tent walls and steadily dripping rain will not conceal.

“This is not a place for you. You’re not supposed to be here.”

You don’t twist back to him as you angrily shed your gloves. Ripping them off like it was your own skin.

“Heaven forfend. I travel for two days in an uncomfortable carriage in the fucking driving rain to come see my husband and this is the thanks I get?”

“I told you not to come!” His words stamp out his mouth. He stabs a finger in the air. Aiming it as you.

“A lovely welcome.” You stab back.

He’s toe to toe with you. Muddy boots. Those chocolate eyes are all bitter. Not skated in love. Cold as all this terrible mud you’re bogged into.

“I don’t need you here. I have enough to deal with on my plate as it is fighting these Turks. I don’t need my wife by my side whilst I’m engaged in matters of battle.”

You steel your wilful jaw and bathe in the burnt brown shadow of his scowl.

“I am your wife. I have been left rotting at court. In misery now you’re gone. I decided to come and see you. To be here, by your side. In sickness and in health and even in battle. I don’t consider that as an action that deserves censure.”

“Yes it fucking is. I don’t need you here.” He shouts.

The burn of tears stings at your chest. Rips at your eyes. The man you’ve missed and ached after for months now and this is his choice of words levelled at you. It’s cutting.

“Lovely.” You bite out. “Well then. I won’t waste my time loitering around for you to yell at me.” You grip your gloves and turn back to him.

“Fuck you, Paul. Good day. Go back to your warring, and muddy filth.” You finish acidly. Your throat is full of clotting fire. Your rage. In situ with your wounded pride.

You shove at his coated chest, dull gold buttons. Go to move past him. Wipe your boots on his fine rug floors on the way out.

Your ruined shoes stick on the spot. He’s banded a hand around your wrist. It tugs. Burns skin.

“Let go.” You seethe. Pull your arm. You don’t look at him. Jaw grit.

He does not.

You wrench again. It brings you closer to him. You snarl. He stills your arm.

You do meet his gaze. The glint of fire - raked embers - returns to his eyes.

“No.” He decided.

Oh, now he’s in for it.

Anger spumes out of you like raining cursed hellfire. He should be terrified. You are mighty. Goddess of war backed with wrath. Angrier than Ares. These men should cower under your golden gaze. Desolation writ into you so heavily they should run for the hills.

“Thought you didn’t need me? Why would the mighty Tsarevich need his dumb bitch of a wife at his side? Run out of good whores have you?”

It was too late for niceties.

“Just be quiet.” He snaps.

Stepping very close. Close enough to touch only he doesn’t. His eyes move to your mouth. His hand seeks for your waist. Reels you in.

You don’t want too. But you clam up. You want to rear back and swing your fist to strike him. Preferably with a knife.

“I have never known a woman as disobedient. Nor as wilfully stubborn as you are. It’s infuriating.” He snipes.

His breath warms your mouth. He smells like his woody spice soap and bitter brush of smoke, and sweat. Still Paul. Underneath all things.

“Good.” You snarl with a nod. “I’m glad to have been such an inconvenience.”

“Constant dagger in my side.”

“Fuck you.” You announce passionately.

“I have had enough of your inability to listen to my orders.” He comments.

“Tough shit.” You snark.

“Elegant verbiage.” He insults.

His gaze is swimming into something steel black and lethal. You hate how much you like looking at him like this. It almost makes him look intimidating and handsome.

At this point, you’re half desire, half pure lightning hot rage.

“Get back to me when I don’t want to stick a knife in your thigh. Maybe my vocabulary will improve.” You hiss.

You’re so locked and entwined with this man. Tug his strings and it’s sure enough to jerk some distant part of you, merely by extension.

“Are you wet right now?” He asks. Head tilting His lashes shutter his eyes as he scans you. From the dirt crusted hem, sweeping upwards.

Your mouth is dry as tumbling scorched sands. Clench your teeth to dust. Heart ramming your tonsils.

He spies that twitch in your face. “Am I to take that as a yes, Tsarevna?”

If looks could kill.

“I’m going to fuck you. I know how plaint and weak it makes you when I work that delicious cunt open with my cock.” He steps you back. Hands tugged in your dress. Leading.

“I will fuck every disobedient word and thought out that head. Wife.” He sneers.

He pushes you to one of the wooden columns. Shunts a breath out of you. Hands digging through your skirts. Searching for your pussy.

You rake your nails into the nape of his neck. Hope it stings. Pray it brings blood.

“Be careful what you wish for.” You warn.

He smiles.

He’s fucking you not two minutes later.

Naturally, it didn’t take him long. You succumbed way too easy. Melted like butter, really.

He’s slithered to the gaps in your armour and snuck beneath with all the cunning adroitness of a serpent. You detest it.

He doesn’t give you what you need. Of course not. He doesn’t make this easy. His actions are all dipped in mocking taunt and brat.

He splayed you open, and rubs the fat leaking head of his cock against your trembling pussy. Eight months of nothing your your own fingers and he’s making you sit and beg like a trained lapdog.

Slapping it to your clit and smiling when you lurch. Unwilling to feed the head into you just yet.

It’s fucking agony.

You’re ready to slit his throat by the time he rewards you with sinking to the hilt in one ramming surge of his hips. The anger dissipates - a little.

You soothe the rest of it by leaning up and gnashing your teeth into his neck. Clamp down hard- force him to fuck you harder.

He cursed when sliding into you. Mumbled wisely about how conflict always made you so juicy wet for him. He pulled back and taunted you with your own greediness for his cock. The shine of your arousal coating him all glossy. A pretty sight, that.

“Hear how wet you are my love?” He lurches and slams you. A sharp stroke that wracked every vertebrae of your spine.

The sounds that come keening from you make your eyes flick back into your head. Enough to make him more smug.

“Utterly filthy. Soaking.” He huffs in gasps. “Making wet patches on my bed like a damn harlot.”

“Can’t believe you. Hmm- fucking brat. Yelling at me for coming here.” You manage to gasp. Cheeks blistering hot with this anger spurned arousal. Nails clawed into the carved headboard.

A hiccup snags the back of your throat as he knees closer.

Pushes your legs almost crushed up to your tits. Your stays almost strangling you. You cry loud because of this new angle. Makes him punch a spot inside that almost aches.

“I think this cunt is more pleased to see me than you are.” He smirks. Hands with dirty nails digging into your thighs. Ten half moons socketed into your quivering flesh.

“Fucking hell.” Spews out your mouth. Unguarded. He’s severing every strong steel thread of your resolve.

“I’ll take that as yes.” He says. Hair falls choppy in front of his wild eyes. Tiger eyes. Frightful fierce. Hands clamped to your thighs. He spreads you and sits up to stuff himself deeper. Harder. Faster.

The noises he’s getting out of you are just growing and growing. Rising in pitch and volume. So much so you’re swirling your hips to him to get feedback off that friction. That burgeoning pleasure begins to slice mean into your belly.

“How you moan for me when I give you my cock. Never gets old.” He grins.

“Never too late to punish my disobedient-“ he huffs and fucks hard inbetween his words. “Petulant. Stubborn. Wife.” He insists with a playful leer.

He can tell by the wails how close you are. Enough to taste it now. That eye rolling pressure ready to snap.

His cock stretched you just right. Stabbed into the gaping cup of your womb. You’re so treacherously close to that blissful peak you go rigid trying to chase it down and let the sensation ruin you.

It was mind meltingly good. Close and looming closer. Heat wrapping your limbs and warping your mind to bend to him. Every atom of you trained for this pleasure to come-

He yanks his cock out of you so fast, you want to shriek.

That coal hot glow of orgasm withers and curls to ash. He’s back to slipping his fat head around your cit again. Smearing your cunt in a sticky taste he’ll find and devour later.

“You fucking-“ you glare up at him all blissed and edged. Cunt clenching on nothing but air. He smooths both his thumbs over your pretty and dripping pussy lips. Making you throb.

“If you want to cum, you better beg.” He insists.

“I could kill you.” You seethe. Words dressed in a growl.

He tilts his head. Teasing. “Yes?”

You yelp when his cock slams into you once more. Puff for breath. God fucking dammit.

“How about now?” He checks as he folds you in half, yet again. Cock rooted deep.

The start of a long night, to be sure.

Hours later, darkness wraps you up. Comforting tenebrous blanket. Candles are lit. Dozy gold and matte dark pours into the tent.

He has you food brought in as an apology.

Someone ducks in the tent with a tray of it. He pulls on his boots to go fetch it. Leaves you boneless on his goose feather plumped bed.

There’s a bottle of wine with dinner too. Not the best but you’re not complaining. Dry hard biscuits and a salty wedge of goats cheese was your lot in the carriage ride here.

There’s a thick milky porridge with creamy oats and nutmeg and warming spices. A slab of pink roasted meat glistening with fat and golden globs of plain boiled potatoes barely salted. Sided with some hunk of brown hardy bread smeared in greasy butter.

This food is hot and warm and fills your belly well. He feeds it to you.

It’s how he soothes. But it’s not the only way he wants to offer you comfort.

He gets naked and climbs under the covers. Always bathed you in limitless comforts and luxuries after a rough fuck. The calm sweetness after a raging storm of passion and stinging claws and slamming hate. When the blood has dried to rust, along with the nasty words.

He slips between your legs under the sheets to tongue at your cunt like it’s a juicy honeycomb treat that drips honey.

It’s dripping him.

He eats it out of you. You sigh all dreamy and elongate your neck back to pillows that smell like his shaving soap, to moan his name.

Slipping your nails over the short brown thorns of hair. Rake over his scalp.

You gasp his name and you know the soldiers will have heard the sound sneak out the tent flaps. You don’t care.

His tongue slithers and laps through your puffy sex. Fully nursing your clit with the curl of his tongue. Brushes through the tactile scratch of your curls there. He loves burying his nose in them.

When he’s done he slinks up from under his furs and sheets. Wiping his mouth in the back of his hand. Still a little bit of both of you combined is smeared wetly across one cheek.

It catches in the flickering murky light. Candles are spinning red gold in the dim. Rain is a steady pat on the tent roof.

You look down at him. His gaze is all warmth and tenderness again. A knowing smile slopes the corner of his mouth.

“Did you really travel all this way just so I could fuck you?” He asks all smug.

You smirk. “Got what I wanted, now didn’t I.” You dismiss archly.

But you both know it seats a little deeper than that. There’s definite skin both of you have sunk into this game. It might even be the gummy beating walls of your hearts involved.

“You do know you’re a walking fucking nightmare.” He tells you.

Slotting himself between your hips. Seeking to hold your hands as he rolls into you. Makes your cunt clench.

Your hand slips from stroking his hair, downwards. Vicing your cruel hand around his soft throat. His eyes blaze again.

“Don’t you dare fucking forget it.” You sneer.

He sends you home sore - five days after your arrival.

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wardlowsbabydoll · 2 years

Text

Needy- Matt Jackson

For the lovely @mrsmatt @nething4perfection @omg-im-such-a-masochist @feralgremlin-nickjackson

Fem Dom! Reader x Sub! Matt Jackson

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI, Fem Dom!, mentions of pegging, spanking, thigh riding, overstimulation, use of a chastity cage, dom/sub dynamic, dacryphilia, use of the honorific Ma'am

Welcome to another episode of Sam's intrusive thoughts... Enjoy!

Word Count: 1,697 (holy shit I got carried away)

Needy. That was the best word to describe your boyfriend Matt. He craved your attention every second of every day. Usually, you wouldn’t mind it but you needed to get some work done and he was not happy about it.

“Come on, baby. Pay attention to me.” Matt whined at your side as you continued to type away on your computer. You turned to give him a quick kiss before turning back to your work, “I need like five more minutes baby, then I promise I’m all yours.” Matt didn’t particularly like that answer because he needed your attention 24/7 no matter if you needed to get work done. Besides, he was also trying to work his way out of the sexual penalty box. In every aspect of his life he was in control, sometimes he was too tight with the reigns and he felt comfortable enough with you to give up control in the bedroom within which you were more than happy to take charge.

He was currently in trouble for touching himself without your permission (one of your agreed upon rules) so as a punishment you had locked him inside a chastity cage. He desperately wanted to get back in your good graces so you’d have mercy and take it off. He leaned his head on you shoulder for a few moments and watched as words rapidly flashed across your screen as you typed away.

“Can you take it off now?” Matt asked as he squished himself closer to you. You let out a huff of a laugh and shook your head “And how long have you had it on?” “Two hours.” Was the quiet reply that came from your boyfriend. “So no, I won’t take it off yet. You have to learn not to touch what doesn’t belong to you.” That made him let out a frustrated whimper that made your eyebrows furrow “Not now Matthew. I’m almost done, then MAYBE I’ll take it off if you can behave.”

Once again that was not the particular answer that Matt was looking for, he didn’t want to wait, he wanted it off now. It was uncomfortable and he hated that you would lock him in it. Weighing out his options he decided that irritating you would be the quickest way to get your attention but so far it wasn’t working. He knew that annoying you while doing your work would probably earn him a blistered ass, he didn’t care at this point as long as the cage came off.

Matt smacked your hand that was closest and you quickly rebutted by smacking his clothed thigh, “Matt. Don’t start.” The smack sounded louder than anything else; it was a warning shot. It was you telling your boyfriend to knock off this bratty behavior. He ignored your warning and smacked your hand again, this time your hand came down a bit harder on his thigh, making him jolt slightly “Matt. Patience is a virtue, I need five minutes and then I’ll be done.” “You said that almost ten minutes ago.” Matt whined but you ignored him, too engrossed in your work.

He knew that your patience was wearing thin with him, and if he pushed the correct buttons he would gain the attention he was seeking. Without even hesitating he closed the screen on your hands “Will you pay attention to me now?” You took in a deep breath trying to control your frustration “You have five seconds to get your butt into the bedroom or I will not hesitate to make it blistered on the couch.” Knowing you meant business, Matt scampered off to the bedroom.

Pulling yourself off the couch you let out a groan when the joints in your legs started to snap, crackle and pop like Rice Krispies. Grabbing your cell phone off the table you sauntered into the bedroom to see your boyfriend had already shed his clothes, making an amused smirk creep up your face. He didn’t think he was going to get away with his behavior this easily did he?

You walked by him to place your phone on bedside table and enjoyed the gasp he let out when you other hand went straight to his hair. Yanking, his head back you could see the desire in his eyes. “Did you really think being bratty was going to get me to fuck you?” You asked him, and let out a breath through your nose when he didn’t answer you. “Matt. You’re already in deep shit as it is; keep adding to your count I dare you.” Your tone was leaving no room for argument so Matt decided to grace you with an answer “No.”

“Why do you insist on being so bratty? I was going to be nice and let you out of the cage when I finished, I was going to probably fuck you too for being so patient. Now? You don’t deserve my cock in your ass.” He let out a whimper that made you smirk triumphantly. Sitting on the bed and using your vice-like grip on his hair you managed to maneuver Matt onto his stomach and over your lap. You sent a warning shot onto his ass making him yelp.

“How many do you think, hmm? So needy, and when I tell you to be patient, you decide its better to be bratty. I think maybe 20 will do. You will count after each one. Don’t even think for moment your punishment is over and all is forgiven after.” You spoke as you ran your unoccupied hand lightly down his spine, enjoying the fact that it made him shiver. “Yes ma’am,” he said not loudly, but loud enough so that you could hear him. The first smack was louder than anything else but it still made him jolt. “One.” He said clearly.

You alternated your shots, waiting for him to almost settle into a sense of security before you’d rain down a few more. Surprisingly he managed to count through all of them, although you could feel his cock hardening slightly in the cage. You felt slightly bad because you knew that getting an erection in chastity was painful… at least according to your research. You soothed your hand over his now bright red ass and enjoyed the jolt Matt gave in response.

You unceremoniously pulled him off your lap and moved your back against the headboard, your boyfriend trying to sit between your legs but you immediately moved him to straddle your thigh, ignoring the yelp from Matt because of his stinging ass. You reached inside your bra and pulled out the key to the chastity cage and didn’t miss the relieved look that graced his face temporarily. Unlocking the chastity cage you placed it on the nightstand, and Matt looked at you expectantly. “Oh don’t even look at me like that. You were a brat, you deserved what you got. You think that you’re forgiven just because I took the cage off? Not even close. You want to get off? Do it yourself, hump my thigh until you cum. That’s the only way you’re getting off.” You said. A smirk formed when you saw the red dusting on his cheeks, he loved being degraded by you.

At first he was almost bashfully moving back and forth on your thigh, eventually able to set a pace; ignoring the searing pain from his ass making contact with your old joggers. Once he had set his pace you grabbed your phone off the nightstand and ignored him. After a few minutes you heard him let out a keening whine and felt something hit your shirt.

You briefly looked up at him as his hips rolled to a stop, after riding out his orgasm. He went to get off your thigh but you immediately put your hands on his hips and began to move him back and forth on your thigh, ignoring his oversensitive whimpers. “Did I tell you stop?” You asked him. “No ma’am.” Was his quiet reply. “Keep going until I tell you to stop. I don’t care how many times you cum, you will keep going until I am satisfied. Now back to it.” You spoke with finality, releasing his hips and going back to your phone.

To Matt, it felt like hours before you acknowledged him again, if you had asked, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell you how many times he had came, he felt so fuzzy that he had lost track a while ago. He could feel his skin get sticky with a mix of his semen and sweat, he could also feel the tears running freely down his face from overstimulation. When you finally looked back up at him you smiled inwardly, you had wrecked him.

“Are you ready to say sorry now?” your boyfriend nodded his head rapidly.

“I’m- I’m sorry ma’am.”

“For?”

“For being a brat.”

“Why were you being a brat?”

“Because you were working, and I wanted you to p-pay attention to me.” He stopped his hips again but you quickly got him moving again. “Thank you for saying sorry. I accept your apology. You can stop now.”

He immediately slumped into your hold, utterly spent. You tried to maneuver him onto his back and lay him on the mattress but he whined when his ass hit the cold sheets. You shushed him and immediately shed your now soiled clothes, leaving you in your bra and underwear. Grabbing your shirt, you wiped off the remnants of cum on Matt’s stomach before tossing your shirt onto the floor. “You did so well, baby. Took your punishment like a good boy.” You praised, knowing that after a punishment like that he’d need some reassurance. “’was a good boy?” you could hear the telltale signs of sleepiness in his voice. You giggled and kissed his cheek before spooning him “You were, you were such a good boy after being so bratty. Now sleep.” You said before kissing the back of his head. You didn’t receive a reply other than the soft snores of your very needy boyfriend which made you giggle again before you drifted off to sleep too.

#matt jackson #matt jackson smut #mattypants #sub! matt jackson #such a brat #matt jackson fanfiction #matt jackson x reader

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