Hi so can i request a fic with smut prompts 64 and 102 if youre up to it
Summary: You and Prince Hal make love, and there's something he wants you to do.
Pairing: Prince Hal x fem!Reader
Warnings: Hal’s grieving, smut, multiple orgasms
A/N: Another Hal fic! This is for Kinktober Day 24! I am only doing one prompt here, because I have already written/gotten one of these prompts. This is a drabble.
“He has passed?”
Hal looks up from the throne through teary eyes, and his eyes seem to soften even more when he sees you coming into the hall with barely there steps.
Your voices echo in the cold, dark, open stone hall.
“Yes,” Hal says. His voice seems broken, small.
You look down, muttering a prayer of respect and reverence. Then you look back up at Hal.
Stepping forward, you can see him fully now. His father's crown rests on his own golden head of hair, and he wears a dark blue shirt. It suits him.
The shirt, not the crown.
His eyes are red and bloodshot, and wet with tears. He looks deathly pale, absolutely shaken.
“My heart should be joyful,” he sniffs. “He’s gone to his ancestors. He’s gone to God.”
“Yes,” you say, coming closer to the throne, “he has.”
“I cannot be joyful,” he says, “for England is now mine. And all her wars and her troubles and her triumphs. I am King now. A King without a Queen, and without...” His voice becomes shaky. “Without a father to teach me.”
“Oh, Hal...” you sigh, coming up to him all the way. He remains seated on the throne, and you stroke his hair while he breaks.
He cries, freely, into his hand, into your chest, his sobs echoing. You can tell he’s trying to restrain his sobs to no avail. You soothe him, shushing him gently and stroking his head. “It’s alright,” you whisper, “my love, you’re alright.”
Somehow, you end up in his bedchamber.
His lips are soft against yours, but they quiver. His hands are rough and calloused, but they touch you with a delicacy. As you undress yourselves, he sighs out, a little moan of his. He eyes you with a gentleness, an awed expression...
“You...” he says, “I need you tonight... please.”
You nod. “Of course, Hal...” Your eyes widen with an idea. “Use me,” you say, not thinking. “Give me all of it. All of your anger, your despair, your longing. I accept.”
"You want me to... what?"
"Take everything out on me. Let me feel what your words cannot say."
He takes you there, with you on the bed and him hovering over you. He thrusts into with determination, with all the emotion he can muster. You’re on your stomach, and he holds the back of your throat with a hand that is now solid, now hard, unforgiving.
You moan, brokenly, as he slams his hips into you.
“I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that,” he murmurs. “Come on, love. Moan for me. Let me hear you.”
You do. You moan, shamelessly, and grip the sheets.
“Good girl,” he says. “Good girl...”
And then he says something else:
"You're mine," he growls, "just as England is mine... but that does not mean I won't treat her with the care and respect that she deserves. I say the same to you."
Through his pants and moans, he thanks you. He thanks you as you come, and as he does. And while you’re laying side by side, breathing in the warm air, he thanks you.
"God above, how I love you," he pants. "I adore you."
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