#smutty ask

[crazyunsexycool]

Could we get Bucky and y/n smut? If you're comfortable writing that ❤️

I’m assuming that this request is for is it a crime? Because that is what I’m going to write it for!

Warning: smut, p in v, oral (fem receiving),a touch of orgasm denial, lil bit of angry sex, unprotected sex (be safe, wrap it up)

A/N: I don’t consider myself a great smut writer but also practice makes perfect so here we go!

Minors DNI!!!!!

Bucky walked straight to your room, ignoring the other that were sitting in the living room. He was fuming. News travels fast and in less than 20 minutes he’d heard how reckless you had been. Again. So when he got to your bedroom door he didn’t knock. Instead he just opened the door and pushed it with so much force that it slammed against the wall and almost closed on him.

You turned to look at him, your hair still wet from the shower you had just gotten out of. The only thing keeping you covered was the towel around your body. Bucky’s piercing blue eyes sent a chill up your spine as he looked you up and down. But once he looked you in the eyes you could barely see the blue in his. Neither of you said a word for just a moment. You see his jaw clench and his hands make a fist a few times and you smirk.

With a quick movement the towel falls to the floor leaving you bare, just for him. Bucky walks in and closed the door behind him and locks it. He closes the distance between you and you shudder that the feeling of his left hand on your waist. Your hands travel up his chest and rest on his shoulders. And suddenly his lips are on yours, urgent and greedy.

You don’t have to move much since you were already standing by your bed. Bucky pushes you down and your back hits the mattress. You watch as Bucky removes his leather jacket and then his black t-shirt before moving to hover over you. No words need to be exchanged, he was angry and you knew it. But you wanted to apologize. It had never been your intention to almost get caught by Pierce and you knew Bucky needed to feel you. To know you were still there with him. You needed to feel him too, you needed to feel safe.

So when you feel his lips on your neck you move your head to the side to give him more access. Bucky pulls whimpers and moans from you as his tongue swirls around your pebbled peaks. He leaves a trail of open mouthed kisses along your chest as he moves to your other breast. His hands move and knead at the soft flesh of your waist before traveling down to your hips. When you look down you find him already looking at you.

You feel a fire, deep in your belly as he kisses your mound. A hand on each of your thighs as he spreads your legs to have better access to your already glistening pussy.

“Already so wet for me.”

With a groan he licks a stripe from your weeping entrance up before wrapping his lips around your little bundle of nerves and sucking, hard. You gasped as Bucky teased your entrance with two fingers before slowly pushing in. The familiar feeling of an impending orgasm starts to rise as you move your hips against Bucky’s fingers. His words are a mixture of praise and filth as he quickens his pace. His name on your lips the closer you get to the edge, and just as your about to orgasm you feel him stop his movements and pull back.

“What the fuck?” You glare at him.

“Oh, you think you deserve to come after that stunt you pulled?” He asked as he moved back up your body. You feel the heat radiating off of him, it’s a welcome warmth.

You open your mouth to reply but Bucky takes the opportunity to put his fingers in your mouth.

“Clean up your mess.”

A moan escapes you as you taste yourself when your tongue swirls around his fingers. While Bucky’s attention was on your mouth, you took the chance and pulled on his belt before undoing the button and zipper on his jeans. Bucky pulls back and kneels between your legs. He pulls down his jeans and boxers allowing his cock to spring free.

You bite your bottom lip as you sit up. There is already a bead of precum that you want to taste. As your hand reaches for him, Bucky grabs your wrist and moves over you to force you lay back down. He pins both of your hands above your head. His right hand holding both of yours while he pumps himself twice with his left. He lines himself up with your entrance and you moan as you feel the tip of his cock. In one quick motion he bottoms out.

Feeling so full so quickly you felt like Bucky punched the air out of your lungs. You flutter around him but he doesn’t move right away and it drives you crazy. When you turn to look at him he has a smirk on his face.

“Please…”

“Please what baby?” He coos as he runs his nose from your jaw to your ear.

“Move…please.”

“You sure about that?”

You whine as you try to move yourself but his weight has you pinned down.

“Yes, Please.”

He doesn’t respond, instead Bucky pulls back and in another quick motion he thrusts back in, bottoming out again. He keeps this rhythm up and every time he hits that spongy spot inside that makes you see stars and you’re close again.

“Fuck, you’re gripping me so tight baby.”

“Please… Bucky.”

“You wanna come, Hhmm?”

“Yes, yes, yes” you ramble as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“You’re so close baby, I can feel it.”

He’s made you into a moan, writhing mess underneath him and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You want to touch him, bring him closer to you as you finally get the relief you were denied before but he still has you hands pinned. Just as the coil that’s wound up so tightly in your belly is about to snap Bucky stops, again.

You let out a frustrated whine and when you open your eyes he’s smirking down at you.

“No fair.”

“Seems pretty fair to me. You should get punished for being so reckless.” He says as he lets your hands go. He reaches up and grabs a pillow and as he sit back on his haunches he puts the pillow under your hips.

“James, if you don’t make me cum I’ll find someone else to do it.”

If he could push your buttons you could push them right back. His smirk disappears from his face and it’s replaced with a scowl. He brings his thumb up to start to form small slow circles on your clit.

“You really think I’m gonna let someone else have my pussy?”

“If they get the-“ you stop what you’re saying when Bucky starts to move again. A quicker pace than before but still just as hard. He grips your hips with enough force you’re sure there’ll be bruises there the next day.

“Maybe I shouldn’t let you come for a week. How about that?”

You shake you’re head as your fist the sheets under you. His name slips from your lips over an over as you wrap your legs around his waist. When Bucky finally moved to hover over you again you wrap your arms around him. Your nails dig into his back. He moans your name in your ear.

Again you begin to feel that coil tighten in your belly and your legs shakes slightly. You feel Bucky move his hand back to your clit and begin to form little circles.

He bumps his nose against yours and you feel his breath against your lips. A few quick kisses are shared between you.

“You wanna come baby?”

“Yes.. please… Wanna come.”

“Come on my cock.” He moans when he feels you tighten around him.

The rush of pleasure washes over you. Your eyes shut and your arms around Bucky as he lets you ride your high. After a few more thrusts you feel him spill into you. His head is hidden in the crook of your neck and you feel his lips on you.

Slowly he pulls out and lays next to you. You both panting as you lay there. The bed dips but you’re suddenly too tired to turn and see what Bucky was doing. But you should have know since he’s always so caring afterwards. You feel the warm wet cloth between your legs and the. You feel a shift under you and then the bed dip again. His arms are around you and he pulls you up against his chest before pulling the covers over both your naked forms.

“You know I came over to argue with you.” Bucky says with a little chuckle.

“I know, Steve messaged me when you left.”

His hand, which had been moving up and down your arm stops. Bucky pulls back to look down at you and finds you smiling up at him.

“You were waiting on me naked on purpose?”

“Yup. I had a shitty day and didn’t feel like arguing with you.”

“You’re a little shit you know that.” He says with a laugh.

“But you love me.”

“I do, I love you.”

“I love you too.” You say with a content sigh as you cuddle into his side some more.

#smutty ask #val answers #you’ve got mail 💌 #is it a crime? ask #is it a crime? drabble #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut

[the-archxr]

Hii, so i just got an idea for a +18 oneshot with marc spector and i wanted to give my idea to someone that i knew would make it justice. so my idea was: you're drunk, and while trying to use your vibrator, you realize you dont have batteries, and you just present yourself at marc's door with vibrator in your hand, but he decides to help you with his own ways... this is just an idea, if u dont want to, its no problem <33

Honestly, I fuck with this concept. Like goddamn 🥵

The way I kinda see this going down would be something like where the two of you have just gotten back from the bar/club whatever. You’re both buzzed (but sober enough to know what you’re doing cause consent is sexy), and you’re saying goodnight to him, retreating into the safety of your adjacent hotel rooms.

And then you’re getting settled into bed. Except your mind is racing and you can’t stop thinking about Marc and how fucking good he looks all the time. So, you start to touch yourself. It’s slow, nothing more than drunken hands gliding up and down your body, up your tank top and beneath the waistband of your pyjama shorts. You grab your vibrator, and obviously you’re excited—thrilled to get some relief—but when you lie down and go to turn it on nothing happens. You do that a couple times before realizing that the batteries are dead. You rip through your suitcase, desperate to find spare batteries, but end up finding none. So then you fight with yourself over whether or not you’re going to just use your pillow or your fingers but then the far drunker part of your brain thinks you could just ask Marc for some batteries.

So you’re confidently marching over to Marc’s room, hardly paying no attention to how truly fucking skimpy your sleep shorts are. And of course he has to answer the door with nothing but his boxers on and a sleepy look on his face. “I need some new batteries,” you say.

“…For what?”

“Umm…things. The tv remote it’s…it’s not working.”

He frowns, but then his eyes travel to your hand. Suddenly then his expression lights up and he’s clearing his throat. “Does uh…the need for batteries have anything to do with…” he coughs, “that thing your holding?”

It’s then you realize that in your semi-drunken state, you took your vibrator with you. It’s out in the open, right at your side and neither of you really say anything. But then Marc is adjusting himself, and your eyes catch the way he grows in his black underwear. “I, uh…I don’t have any extra batteries. But…” he takes a step closer to you, towering over your figure as his face grows dark. “I have other things that could probably help you out.”

“Like what?” You purr, ever-so-slightly leaning into him.

He’s then shooting you a devilish smirk before pulling you into his hotel room. And let’s just say that he does in fact help you out with your little problem.

So I’ve decided to open up my asks to little ficlets, drabbles, headcanons and ideas (smutty as shit, or fluffier than anything doesn’t matter) for any characters that I write for currently.

Let’s interact, send in your thots!

#the-archxr thots #the-archxr asks #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector x reader #moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #smutty ask #the-archxr moonknight thots

[dabisqueen]

For you: ❤️‍🔥❤️🧡💛💚💙💜💗

Eve!!! I'm blushing 😊

And I just checked inside my pants and confirm each and every one 🤣

#queen plays #smutty ask

[gubler-me-up]

why does y/n never cum

In my fics? There are a decent amount of fics where y/n does orgasm once or a few times. I usually do a few fics where the reader doesn’t orgasm (usually during penetrative sex) just because some people don’t orgasm from that or the sexual experience was enough for the reader to be satisfied without reaching an orgasm

#ask #smutty ask

[laurenairay]

Now I am thinking about your first time with Kappy 🥵🥵🥵

Okay so, I’ve had a few cocktails and I need to answer this 😅

Kappy would take his time making you feel good. Hands trailing, teeth nipping, and those lips? Like goddamn you’d be fired up and shaking by the time he slid home. Like whew that man gets off on getting you off 🥵

#asks answered #smutty ask

[ohwowimlonley]

james potter likes leaving your panties soiled with his cum. he loves cumplay so much. he wants you keeping his warm while you talk to his friends. sirius and remus probably find it hot seeing the discomfort in your face while you try to walk properly 😵‍💫

Anon ur so real for this. I have things to say.

-

He’ll do it multiple times a day, pulling you from lessons with his prefect privellages and whisking you away to a forgotten broom closet and asking you oh so nicely to wank him off into the lace of your panties.

Every time he fucks you, he does it raw, and he has so much fun playing with your puffy little pussy afterwards. He’ll lay down between your legs on his bed, digging his fingers into your tight channel, scooping out his cum and smearing it across your sensitive lips, watching in fascination as you jerk from oversensitivity.

His favourite thing to do, though, is fuck you in front of his friends. He just loves showing you off, having you face his friends as he fucks up into you and inviting them to cum all over you cunt. God, it makes him so fucking horny when he feels his friends’ cum drip down your pussy lips and onto his cock.

#•megs ask box• #•megs smutty daydreams• #james potter x y/n #james potter fluff #james potter x reader #james potter smut #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders x y/n #marauders x you #marauders x reader #marauders smut #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you

[doumadono]

(Since you wanted me here so much! HERE I AM BESTIE!)

🍑For Sinful Sunday🍆

I am thinking about Hawks and well... he is a bird yeah?

So how about Hawks going into his spring season??? Him being all nice and sweet, giving his s/o little gifts, him LITERALLY building a nest... ONLY TO FUCK IN THERE FOR DAYS! Until his pretty mate is tired and full of seed to the point it's leaking out. Of cours it's not like he is done just yet 😏😏😏

(Hoenstly... idk what I am doing here! Love you gurl!)

SINFUL SUNDAY

Spring was the mating season for birds, and you could likely guess how it affected Keigo. During this time, he constantly felt a fiery heat, and his sexual desire became noticeably heightened.

"It's spring," he moaned. His hips surged forward, making you gasp around his thick shaft, his reddened tip hit the back of your throat again as you were giving him the head.

Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes as he began slamming his cock down your throat, his pace rough and rapid, almost primal.

Did he mean it was mating season? You had indeed observed other avian-like traits in him lately — those little trinkets he proudly displayed on his desk at work, the absent-minded whistling as he strolled through the office. Yet, you never thought mating season could be among them!

His words tumbled out hastily, almost strained, as if forming complete sentences was far beyond him. His rut had utterly consumed him. “Fuck, gonna cum soon.” His pace quickened as his entire length was being forced down your tight throat. His wings trembled and unfolded as he cum into your mouth.

The instant his taste met your tongue, an involuntary moan escaped you.

"Fuck, dove. I need you, right now," he growled, his lips brushing against yours as he helped you up to your feet. His hand ventured between you, shifting your underwear aside as two fingers delved into your dripping warmth. Another guttural growl escaped his lips. "Oh, fuck, I gotta fuck you. So incredibly wet," he murmured, pushing you down on the bed that looked rather like a huge nest with all those pillows and blankets, his hand wrapping around his aching cock, pumping it several times, gliding it between your slick folds to immerse it in your intoxicating wetness shortly after. Hawks aligned himself with your entrance, impelling himself entirely inside you with one fluid motion. Your gasp of pleasure was truly a music to his ears. He began pounding into you relentlessly, filling the air with an unmistakably lewd and wet squelching sounds. "Oh, oh, fuck!" He clung to your hips with an intensity that hinted at marks to come, and his fervent kisses trailed from your cheek down to the pulse point on your neck, each one growing increasingly passionate and sloppy. "You belong to me," he panted, his thrusts becoming increasingly sloppy. "All mine," his voice, drenched in overwhelming desire, reverberated with a deep, primal hunger.

Your cunt clinched against him as your head lolled back on the pile of pillows.

Hawks deftly angled his hips, hitting that spongy, sensitive spot deep within you, and in an instant, your climax devoured you. Your walls clenched tightly around his throbbing dick, creating a frothy white ring at the base. "Oh, Keigo, yes!"

This was sufficient to push him over the brink too. His hips spasmed against yours as he released his hot semen deep within you. "Ah, fuck! My sexy baby bird," Hawks grunted, laying on top of you. "Took all of my seed so well. Hope you'll get round with my offspring soon."

#doumadonos sinful sunday 🔥 #sinful sunday #mha smut #bnha smut #my hero academia smut #anime smut #smutty smut smut #smutty blurb #asked and answered #sinful sunday anon #anonymous #divider by cafekitsune #hawks smut #keigo takami smut #keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader #hawks x reader smut

[t0yac1d]

MOOOORRREEEE SUB CARL 😍😍 I am insatiable and your writing is soooo *chefs kiss*

Since we’ve deprived him so badly, what about overstimulation? Completely milking his cock until he’s begging for a break 🥺🥺

(Side-note: happy birthday!!)

Hrs & Hrs (C.Grimes x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: Smut, overstimulation, p in v, sub!Carl, praise

Notes: I have so many Carl requests coming in so I'm happy to know that you guys enjoy them! And thank you for the birthday wish my love!

Word Count: 395

His body trembled, shaking and sweaty. His hair stook to his skin and his chest heaved. Breath airy and voice horse. His head was empty, dumb off the way you bounced on his cock.

His hands gripped and groped at your ass, tits, hips and thighs. He held you tight and close to him, he was overstimulated, you've already made him cum multiple times, and that was just from you giving him a blow job.

He didn't think he could cum anymore but from the amount of times he filled you, he found out he in fact could cum more.

His cum dripped out of your hole and soaked the sheets under you guys. He made you cum a number of times but you wanted more. You wanted him to fill you to the brim.

Carl whined as he came again, nails digging into your thighs. You stopped bouncing and started grinding against him, rolling your hips.

"Can't..can't cum anymore.." he stuttered, "Yes you can, I know you can. Just one more time, please baby?"

He pulled you close to him, your chest on his. He rested his head on your shoulder. "Give me one more, just one?" you pleaded, kissing his face and neck.

As much as he wanted a break, he also wanted to please you, to keep you happy and full. He looked up at you and gave you a nod. His lids were low from exhaustion but for you, he'd do anything.

You smiled and pull him in for a sloppy kiss, "Thank you, pretty."

He loves that, loves when you smile, when you kiss him all sloppily, when you thank him, and especially when you praise him. He loves hearing those words fall out your mouth.

That "one more" turned into a couple more. "You said one more," he whimpered, tears spilling from his eyes. "This isn't o-one more.."

"I know baby..I'm sorry, fuck, this is the last one- ah! s-shit..I promise,"

"T-this better be the last one..please be the last one..please.."

He babbled in the crook of your neck, pleads spilling from his lips. Your hips stuttered for the nth time, cumming around his cock once again and panting in his ear.

"You know how I said that this was the last one?"

"Uh huh.."

"How about one more.."

"Nooo,"

"Please Carl, baby pleaseee,"

#smut #smut smut smut #smutty #smut smut fic #fem reader #female reader #anon ask #sub!carl grimes #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes smut #carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #twd carl #carl grimes x fem!reader #carl grimes x you

[fleuraimer]

Overstimulation blurb pls

I love how Harry is so obsessed with her pussy so he keeps on making her cum / squirt but still not getting satisfied despite how overwhelming and teary eyed she got after 5-6 times she orgasms

sorry for the wait bestie 😭 i hope you like it!! 🩷

wc: 665

cw: smut, minors dni, 17+, overstimulation play, baldrry (he's so hot idc idc idc), and more. not proofread.

Harry has been sucking Y/N’s clit for almost two hours now. The only reason she’s consciously aware of that fact is because of his phone, bright blue light illuminating their bedroom ceiling, blurry numbers scribing one hour and fifty-two fucking minutes. His favorite torture device—a sage bullet vibrator that should be criminal for having so many settings—sits, unused, beside her shaky form.

He set a stopwatch. For what reason, she does not know. She honestly doesn’t have the ability to, though. It’s actually kind of hilarious to expect anything from her expect incoherent huffs and puffs, and garbled curses.

But Harry just loves to laugh.

“C’mon, Sweetheart, talk to me; tell Daddy how it feels.” His palms press down on the backs of her thighs, keeping her spread for him—he’s made her smear her messy pussy open for him too, though, for extra measure—her poor clit exposed to every sensation. The AC turning on makes her twitch, let alone Harry’s own hot breath.

“S’g—ood, Daddy,” she gasps, her eyes as puffy and red as her sensitive cunt. “Feels—” She mewls through the rest of her sentence, his tongue back on her button, laving over it, petting softly with the very tip.

It tickles a part of Y/N’s belly that sets the rest of her body on fire. How something so faint, so delicate, can be so utterly disgusting at the same time makes her head spin, in the best way.

Her head falls back on the mattress with a subtle bounce, her chest arching away for the sheets when his lips wrap teasingly her clit, toes wiggling as her feet flail, precious cries involuntarily slipping from her pouty lips.

“H,” she soughs, her hands abandoning post and finding the back of his head, nails scratching through the soft peach fuzz from the nape of his neck to the top of his head. Her head lolls around until her eyes find Harry’s once more, his cheeky, practically delighted smile felt before his slick mouth and pearly teeth (and sinful tongue) register through her vision.

Her brows draw to the center of her forehead as he flattens his tongue against the whole of her, the slippery tip dipping into her weepy opening before working back up to swirl over her swollen button until he feels her twitch, then starting all over again.

He repeats the action enough times for Y/N to lose count, her hearing staticky, vision blurry, thoughts nonexistent. It would explain why she doesn’t notice Harry’s hand falling from the back of her thigh, explain why when he starts fucking his tongue into her neglected hole, she whines at the loss of contact to her clit, fumbling to pull back on the hood with one hand as the other remains petting over his soft, clipped hair, as if to say Don’t forget about your pretty button, Daddy.

Though, forgotten is the last thing her poor overused clit is. It’s probably at the forefront of Harry’s mind, as a matter of fact, if the sudden touch of silicone to her pretty button is anything to go off of. Not to mention, the resounding buzz that quite literally rocks through her entire system.

Her soft cries are no longer soft. They’re loud and whiny, some guttural, but most sad little uh uh uh’s that get slurred through babbled curses. She doesn’t think of how pathetic she might look to Harry right now, she can’t (a fact that she’s wildly grateful for). All she can fucking think about is his tongue stuffed in her drippy pussy and the toy pressed directly on her clit.

She whimpers when he starts moving the vibrator from side to side, pointlessly smearing her arousal and his spit into her throbbing cunt. It fucking hurts.

“Stop with the crocodile tears, Princess,” Harry mumbles into her, scowling at the sight of her wet cheeks. “Cut it out before Daddy gives y’somethin’ to really cry ‘bout.”

He just had all the jokes today, didn’t he?

#writing #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writng #smutty fic #blurb #ask #requested

[cupid-styles]

ballerina + hockerry … so I hear you’re into pain 😗⁉️

YUPPPP!!!!! making this a continuation of this blurb !

2. "So I hear you're into pain?"

smut prompts

patreon | talk to me

. . .

Maybe hooking up with Malcolm after the hockey game was a mistake.

And maybe, just maybe, she'd only gone home with him because she knew word would travel back to Harry, and she for some reason wanted him to feel even shittier about beating him up on the ice.

When she left the hockey arena that evening, hand-in-hand with Malcolm, hoping one of Harry's teammates would snap a picture to send to him and ruin his night even more, she felt a bead of guilt drip down her chest.

The guilt only grew when Malcolm fucked her into the mattress that evening. He was fine, but nothing special. They clearly weren't compatible sexually — she kept asking him to smack her ass and pull her hair, but he'd only slow his thrusts to ask if she was sure.

Of course she was sure.

The following night, when she's at one of the local bars in town with a few friends from ballet, she wants to curl into a ball when she glances up from her wine to see Harry walking towards her with a smirk on his lips.

She can only assume where this is going.

"So," he simpers, bumping his hip up against the bar top to face Y/N, "I hear you're into pain?"

She grimaces, clenching her jaw as she sends a death glare his way. "Leave me alone."

"Was he even able to get it up with the way I punched his sorry ass into the ice?"

Y/N rolls her eyes, leaving her half-full glass behind on the bar as she turns around and meanders towards the bathroom. Harry's quick on his feet, determined to find out any other details about her night with Malcolm. In all honesty, his stomach dropped when he heard his teammates talking about her this morning. Apparently, one of them was friends with Roan, the captain on Malcolm's team, and Malcolm wouldn't shut the fuck up about her wanting him to throw her around.

Malcolm had allegedly thought it was weird. Harry couldn't be more turned on by the thought of grabbing her hips, issuing harsh smacks to her ass, spitting in her mouth, and choking her until her eyes rolled back.

But that was beside the point.

"You didn't answer my question," Harry catches up to her, cornering her in the hallway where the bathrooms are. Y/N huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. "Was he able to fuck you the way you needed, princess?"

"I told you to leave me alone." she mumbles, though she doesn't make a move to slip away from him.

"I'll take that as a no, then."

"Was he talking shit?" Y/N asks suddenly, a flash of hurt glinting over her facial expression. "Did he tell people about what we did?"

Harry shrugs. "Not exactly. Just about what you asked him to do."

"Pussy," she mutters.

He chuckles softly. Maybe it's the alcohol in his system, but when he glances down at her shorter stature, he can't help but admire how pretty she looks. He swears her eyes glimpse up at his lips, but her gaze falters a mere moment later.

"If it makes you feel any better," he murmurs, leaning forward slightly to catch the shell of her ear, "I would give you all that and more."

Y/N's face warms. Suddenly, it's all too much — he's far too close, and she realizes that he knows more information about her sex life than she ever would have wanted. She quickly presses her hands against his chest and pushes him away, nostrils flaring with a fire in her eyes.

"Fuck you," she spits, "You fucking wish you could ever get that close to me."

The anger in her words sends a chill down Harry's spine, and he's left alone in the empty bar hallway when she returns to her friends.

#sorry this isn't really smutty but #I'm trying to build their relationship up before they start fucking lol #bestie asks #writing #hockey h

[ghost-proofbaby]

OH SAY LESS 14 WITH ASTARION PLEASE

so this is my first time publicly writing and posting astarion, so please be gentle. higher word count solely because i felt the need to add lore because, ya know, first time writing him! also, i changed the line just a tiny bit to better fit the character and scene. ALSO, uh... this is a little fade to black. i'm sorry. it just got too long.

14. "Oh, you're hard to please."

warnings: foreplay, sorta fade to black smut (it's there if you squint your eyes), an ungodly amount of pet names, mentions of past sexual abuse and healing from it, technical game spoilers, not edited, 18+ so minors do not interact

pairings: astarion x afab!reader (no pronouns used)

wc: 4.4k+

join the smutty party! send me one of these smut dialogue prompts with a character

How long had it been since Astarion had actually enjoyed sex? Craved it, even? 

If he recalls correctly, it had to have started to become tainted well over a century ago. Somewhere between the first and the third victim, when he’d realized how every single beautiful soul he had entrapped were simply being lured to their own death. And then, the sour taste left in his mouth only became more pungent the longer it went on, the more he came to the realization of just how used he felt. His body was no longer his own – it technically hadn’t been his from the very second he’d emerged from his own grave, and Cazador had been waiting for him – and everything about the act became an old rehearsed dance that he’d grit his teeth through. A chore, something to make his stomach churn, something to regret. A means to an end. 

Plainly put, it had been a while. 

But then you happened. You, who hadn’t blinked an eye when the first time you met him, he’d literally threatened you with a gods damned blade to your throat. You, who had repeatedly trusted him, even when it had been an objectively stupid thing to do. You, who had always offered him the utmost patience and genuine understanding, to the point in which if he thought about it too hard, he’d probably cry. You, who had led your group of misfits with brain worms right into victory, with plenty of personal demons defeated along the way. 

Personal demons including Cazador. 

Maybe that’s when things changed for Astarion. He’d already fallen for you before your group had reached Baldur’s Gate, he’d already gotten to know your body intimately before ever laying eyes on that ridiculously oversized brain you somehow made look easy to defeat. But that had been different, hadn’t it? He hadn’t really wanted to do that (not meant as an offense to you – certainly not after all was said and done), but had thought he needed to. To gain your trust, to gain your protection. And in the end, it turned out he never needed to do such a thing. You’d never said it outloud, probably at risk of making him feel even more regret after you’d learned all his secrets and darkest corners, but he knew. 

And knowing that you didn’t view him as something purely sexual, as a means to an end, as an item to use – well, it had the opposite effect of his request to no longer be viewed in that light. 

“What are you doing?” he says as he quickly looks up from his current book he’d been pursuing the moment you’d entered the room. He hardly cared for the words on the page – he just needed a way to pass the hours until you were available again. 

It was a hard habit to kick. Being so codependent on you, even with the end of the world resolved and the gift of safety being handed over to him on a silver platter. 

“We received mail,” you’re grinning wickedly as you hold up an embellished envelope, delicate fingers pinching the parchment as if it were the greatest gift to ever exist. He’d argue the real gift at hand was the last three months – time spent with you, in a place he can call home. But nothing could impede on your good mood as you throw yourself down on the mattress beside him, “From Withers, of all people!” 

His brows shoot up for just a moment before his face twists up with something akin to distrust, “Withers? What in the Hells does that sack of dust and bones wan-” 

“A reunion,” you cut him off, the look on your face warning enough against his attempt at an insult. “He’s reaching out to all of us to bring us together for a celebration, to check in on everyone, let us see each other again. Apparently, we were the easiest of the bunch to find.”

Astarion quickly lets out a tut as he snaps the book shut and discards it on the bedside table closest to him, “Well, we certainly need to fix that. Soon enough all of those little shits are going to end up on our doorstep, preaching about the power of friendship and how they want to check in on us.” 

You snort at that, laying flat on your back with your hair wildly spread out in a makeshift halo behind you. The sight causes something to stir within him, his gut twisting as he watches the way your knees knock together before slowly falling apart, your legs settling down as flat as the rest of your body.

He hadn’t taken you since that night at his grave. Before the epic final battle, before the two of you had made the decision to settle down somewhere for some well-earned peace and quiet. 

The moonlight dances past the open curtains, and his breath catches in his throat at the way the blue shadows dance across your skin. It almost reminds him of the first time he’d seen you fight. It hadn’t just been the blood splattered across your cheeks that had really gotten the better of his curiosity (even if that’s what he had told you when you asked), it had been the sunlight. Those rays of gold that had mingled with your own aura of warmth after you had helped the tieflings for the first time. 

You put the sun to shame, truly. And he missed it – Gods, did he miss it – but he was content to bask in the peace of night for a few months more before he finally cut you loose from the leash to begin your next phase of adventures to find him a cure. You had promised him you would, had already dedicated plenty of free time to research, and all you really needed was his word to begin. 

He’s selfish. The two of you can find a way for him to walk in the sun once more another day; all he wants right now is to bury himself in your warmth, to slot his body between your thighs, to hear every breathy gasp and the way you’d practically sing his name-

“Star?” you’re looking up at him from an awkward angle, eyes owlish and chin tilted painfully far back as you clearly await an answer to a question he’d been too lost in a daydream to overhear, “Did you hear me?” 

He clears his throat and adjusts the pillows behind his back, keeping him propped up as he admires you, “Of course I did, darling.” 

“Then what did I just say?”

“Something about how we’re absolutely not going to this reunion, yes?” 

Your smile is nothing but patient as you flip onto your stomach. He watches the way your shorts ride up your thighs, how the top of the soft fabric bunches at your waist. His fingers practically twitch with the need to weasel their way under it, to press his cold fingertips into warm flesh and hear you preen. 

Whenever you’re ready, you had whispered to him one night shortly after saving the world. Just tell me when, and I’m yours. 

He was ready. Insatiably ready, really. 

“Very funny. I said we should go, though. It’d be nice to see everyone again, wouldn’t it? All our friends?” 

You’re still talking about this damned reunion. Astarion has half the mind to figure out a way to summon the insufferable skeleton right here, right now, and drive a dagger into his bones until he’s truly nothing but dust. Solely for the distraction. 

“Your friends, my dear,” he corrects gently, “We both know they’re only overly fond of one of us in this relationship, and it certainly isn’t the one that they repeatedly threatened to stake.” 

The furrow of your brows is impossibly cute – he knows that look of determination. It’s the same one you wore when he mentioned it was likely that the two of you would never find a cure to his condition. 

“Our friends,” you insist, “Karlach adores you, Star. And Wyll has always been proud of you, whether he told you as much or not.”

“And what of Gale?” 

Your lips twitch at that, “Gale… certainly wouldn’t stake you on sight.”

“Ah, yes,” he flourishes, trying to keep his eyes from wandering anywhere but where your hands press into your cheeks as you prop your face up to speak to him, “Not staking me. The ultimate sign of kinship.” 

Focusing is a losing battle when you roll your eyes, and he finds his mind overtaken with insatiable lust again. Imaginative ways that he could have your eyes rolling for him under different circumstances. 

“You’re not getting out of this. They are your friends just as well as mine – so argue all you want, but we’re going to the reunion.” 

“Are you sure there’s no other way I might be able to…” he pauses with intent, finally lifting one of his docile hands to your cheek, letting his finger graze the skin with a feather light touch before it travels back into the mess of your hair, “Persuade you otherwise?” 

You almost fall for it, too. Your eyes flutter shut, your head tilts into his touch as if you were starved for the connection. But even with the lack of sexual intimacy, you both know there hasn’t been a day that has gone by in the last three months where Astarion hasn’t found a way to get his hands on you.

Holding your own, resting his cheek on your shoulder, spinning you like a child in the kitchen – he had quite the sudden arsenal of romantic gestures that didn’t involve old wounds. It had been awkward here and there, some of them landing and some of them leaving you both looking like fools, but he was trying.

Almost as hard as he was currently trying to not jump your bones. 

When you recognize the innuendo for what it is, however, you harden immediately. Your shoulders set, a frown settles, and your eyes open with set determination he knows he can’t falter without speaking plainly to you. 

“No.”

“No?”

You’re quick to lift yourself up onto your knees, putting distance between yourself and his hands, “The days of weaponizing sex are over. I don’t even want to joke about that.” 

And, oh, he’s finding himself in quite the mood tonight, because as soon as you’re retracting, he’s following. As you settle on the haunches of your calves, he’s lifting up from his reclined position, leaning forward so that his face is breaths away from yours. 

“I mean it,” you warn, narrowing your eyes and holding up a finger in that small space between you two. 

He tests his luck, wasting no time in snapping his fangs just millimeters from your skin. You both know he wouldn’t actually bite you, but it still humors him to see the way you whip your hand out of his reach. 

“Were you not the one who insisted that we ask before we bite?” you snap, and his smile only worsens. Like a cheshire cat, like a child never scorned by the world – he’s radiant and basking in the moment. 

He lets out a small hmph before saying, “You’re no fun, my dear. Come on – just play with me for a moment, won’t you?” 

Your face softens at his teasing tone, and he can see the way he’s withering away your defenses one by one. There was once a time where he’d done it with malicious intent, but this time around, it’s with nothing but good intentions. 

If you asked him, he’d go as far as to swear it on his own grave. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as if you’d done something wrong, and it makes more than half of his own playfulness drain from his face in absolute displeasure. Before he can so much as open his mouth to scold you about unnecessary apologies, you’re continuing on, “I just… After everything we’ve been through, it’s not something I find particularly joyous to joke about.”

What a rare thing, to have found someone to bare your soul and all your burdens to, and watch them offer to help you shoulder the weight without second thought or regret. 

He’s never met someone like you in all his years, and he might never again. 

“And if I told you I wasn’t joking?” he asks slowly, carefully, trying to choose each word with the utmost care, “I’m not weaponizing – I’m offering.” 

Whenever you’re ready. Just tell me when, and I’m yours.

He was ready. Very, desperately, sorely ready. 

The topic of the reunion is all but forgotten as you process his words, nose twitching as you decipher all that’s he laying out before you. “I want more than an offer.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He can’t help the small laugh that leaves him as he sits up properly, leaning into your space fully now with one hand pressing into the mattress just beside one of your thighs. He can feel the heat radiating from you, smell your blood rushing to your head as you try to be sensible. It’s a pitiful excuse for an internal war; all he has to do is close that conveniently small distance between your lips with his own, and you’ll have lost all sense of logic. 

“You’re…” you trail off, searching his eyes as if he holds the answer you’re currently looking for, “You’re sacred to me, Astarion. You must know that. And it will take much more than some joking offer to convince me to have sex with you when I know-”

“I’m not joking,” he’s nearly whining, letting his forehead fall forward to press to yours, “Gods, I am not joking about this. Cross my heart and hope to die again.” 

If he has to beg, he will. 

He’s spent two hundred years in an insufferable position of pure misery, pure shit, and the realization that he’s finally free has everything clicking into place. Proof of the change exists solely in the fact that he could have resorted to his tired old seduction routine from his life before to get what he wanted, but instead, he’s trying to just communicate. 

It was a novel moment. 

But he could appreciate it later, when the crotch of his pants wasn’t becoming increasingly uncomfortably tight and he wasn’t watching you closer than prey. When his stomach wasn’t so tight with desire and anticipation, just waiting for your word to indulge. 

“Do I need to beg?” he sighs, his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly from proximity. He catches the shiver that runs up your spine. “We both know I’m not particularly fond of it, but if I have to get on my knees for you- well, actually, that’s the entire point of what I’m asking.” 

You laugh at that, and his gut twists again, because it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever had the opportunity to hear. Something more breath than any vocality, something sharp and spelling out the loss of words on your tongue. 

Your silence is enough for him to push it all a step further. Forehead still leaning against yours, he properly presses his lips to yours this time, slotting them between softer than a feather’s caress. Finding home as he can physically feel himself steal your breath away. His fangs just barely nip your bottom lip, unintentionally but still eliciting a delicious reaction of a gasp that makes him graze you a second time just to feel the way you’re leaning into him more, becoming absolute putty in his hands. Pliable for his taking, and Gods, he wants to take you. 

Something snaps. 

All hesitation has vanished as he grabs at your hips quickly, making use of the way your brain has gone blank from a simple kiss in order to lay you out below him. He moves you with ease, incredible speed in slotting himself between your legs before he’s caging your entire body in with his own. The squeak that leaves your lips from his manhandling affects him even more than your gasps had, a low growl shaking his chest as he kisses you deeper. Tasting, begging, searching – he wants this, but he needs to know that you want this just as badly. 

Your hands find purchase on each of his shoulders, squeezing tightly as if needing something to tether yourself to. You pull him in closer for a second, eagerly returning the kiss, almost feverish in the way you drink him in. But the next, you’re pushing him away, a game of want and sensibility still clouding your judgment impossibly. 

You always were stubborn about things like morals. And, well, it wasn’t very moral to just jump right into sex with your traumatized boyfriend who had explicitly said not to view him in terms of sex, was it? 

It was Astarion’s own damn fault. 

He could have just acted like a normal person, initiated a normal conversation in which he renegotiated his boundaries. But you’ve been on his mind all day, and he’s long since proven since the very day that you met him that he has little to none impulse control. 

“My, my,” he murmurs, pulling back from the kiss, eyes wild, looking at you with even more hunger than he had the first night you’d given him a taste of your blood in camp, “You’re just an impossible thing to please, aren’t you? Do you want me near, do you want me far? Tell me, my love, what do you want?” 

He settles all his weight onto one of his forearms as the other slowly brings his hand to your side, caressing over the soft fabric of your shirt – a shirt he’s quickly realizing is actually his own. He recognizes those flowy sleeves, that lacing across the chest, the off-white tone that had seen better days. Given all its wear and tear, he’s almost sure that it’s one of his shirts he had grown most comfortable wearing during the nights of your adventures against the Netherbrain. 

It’s cute. A sort of domesticity that he can ponder over later, when your legs aren’t hanging on his hips and your breaths aren’t coming out staccato as he hovers just out of reach from you. 

“I want whatever you want,” you whisper. Your eyes flutter open, looking at him with pupils so dilated they could swallow him whole. 

“Let me be very clear, then,” he hums, cold fingers creeping their way to the hem of the shirt, slipping beneath with practiced ease to find the smooth skin of your hips below. They dance and skitter up, up, up until he’s brushing against your ribs, “I want you. I want that warm cunt of yours, I want to feel every gasp and breath as your walls squeeze around me. I want to fuck you until you’re unable to walk on your own two legs, until you can only remember my name. I want to watch you come undone, my dear, and for it to be my own undoing.”

Your lips quiver in anticipation, and he feels your thighs tighten their hold on him, “Such pretty words. And… and no ulterior motives? No sense of obligation?” 

“None at all,” he smiles, a predator closing in on his prey, “I’m choosing this. If you want it, if you’ll have me, then I’m ready, pet.” 

Pet. The nickname rolls off his tongue, and he can imagine your walls fluttering just as your eyes do. 

Your hands lift from his shoulders to bury in his hair instead. One cradling the back of his head, the other resting on the nape of his neck as you toy with a snowy curl. It unfurls him further, has him humming lowly as he dips down to recapture your lips and bring you into him even closer. Closer. He needs all and any space between the two of you to become nonexistent. To feel every inch of your skin pressed to his, to allow you to physically curl up into his chest just as you had his mind all those moons ago, to make a home in a room with your name on it already somewhere between his third and fourth rib. 

“Do you really have to doubt if I’ll have you, my love?” you mutter against his mouth, smile breaking the kiss momentarily before he’s back with a vengeance. You don’t care – you’re apparently in a chatty mood, dodging his kiss to get your last words in, “There’s been a space in my heart for you since the moment I first met yo-”

“Yes, yes, very romantic,” he interrupts urgently, suddenly tugging your shirt up, “But, truth be told, love? I’m hoping there’s a space between your legs for me at this moment.” 

You snort, eyes pinched shut as you attempt to shake your head at the ridiculousness of the words that just left his mouth. At any other moment, you might point out how the outrageous comment is just another defense mechanism, veering him away from having to acknowledge the gentle sentiment behind your own words, but now’s not the time. When you open your mouth, probably to say something exactly along those lines, he rolls his hips down against yours, pinning your lower half deep into the mattress. You feel just how hard he is through his trousers – it’s impossible to miss, but he’s deliberating being sure that you feel it as he lets the tips of his fangs sink into your bottom lip. 

The resolve of fighting against his wishes is quickly dissolved. One thing after another, and Astarion has you bare beneath him before any other distractions or annoying conversation can send the two of you further off track. Your, his, shirt is tossed to one side of the room. Your parents fly to the other side of the bed. Only once he has the entire spanse of your body nude and vulnerable to him does he take the time to pause, to look down at you with absolute adoration. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” 

He’s said those words to you a million times before. Consistently greeting you with them, muttering them in the dead of night, whispering them as he kisses you awake. But they never lose their weight. And certainly not now, as he’s looking down at you like it’s the first time he’s ever seen that freckle on your chest or the curve of your stomach barren before him. 

“Please, if you’re comfortable with it…” you start, voice laced with desperation, but he shakes his head. 

He’s full of interruptions tonight, “Consider me comfortable with anything unless stated otherwise for this moment, my sweet.” 

“Take off your clothes, Astarion.”

His giddy smile should annoy you. That smug satisfaction in finally, finally getting his way as he undresses himself at almost twice the speed that he had stripped you. And yet he knows you’re enjoying yourself just as much as he is. You’re reveling in drinking in the bare caricatures of his body, every inch and every curve exposed to you just as you are to him. And when his cool skin meets yours again, his body sinking right into that space between your thighs that you’ve granted to him, you let out a short gasp that reminds him that you want this just as badly as he does.

You’ve waited just as long as he has. 

It almost mirrors that night on his grave. The slow descent of his body against yours, the way he slides a leg up to spread your own even further for him as he crawls his way back home to your lips. Unlike that night, however, he isn’t taking quite as much care, his movements far faster and far more needy. 

He’s been waiting long enough. He’s denied himself long enough. 

It really doesn’t matter when the last time he had enjoyed sex had been, because all that he cares about is that here and now, in this moment with you, there’s not a trace of imperfections to taint his enjoyment. 

Cazador is dead. The brain has long since been defeated. You are both safe. 

As he sinks into your heat, the only thing on his mind is that contentment, overwhelmed with the feel and smell of just you. 

He’ll never be a slave again. Never be viewed as something to simply be used and disregarded again, if you have any say. And one day, some day, he’ll even feel the warmth of the sun again. Thanks to you.

But until that day, the warmth of your love is enough.

When you sigh his name out so delicately, jaw all but unhinging itself in bliss as your back arches in reaction to his touches, he knows he’s made the right choice. 

And he supposes he lied, in a way, earlier. 

You’re not that hard to please – not when it comes to him, at least. Not when it’s his hands trailing along your skin, not when it’s his lips and fangs nipping at every opportunity. And certainly not when it’s his name that’s being chanted like a prayer from your lips in time with every thrust, every stroke, every single movement with the sole purpose of making both of you come undone. 

Astarion no longer questions when the last time he enjoyed sex was in the aftermath of it all. With you, pressed into his side, sweaty forehead nuzzling his chest, the only thing he cares about is the next time he’ll be able to do so. 

“We’re still going to that reunion,” you murmur, half asleep, fading away from him quickly to fall into blissful unconsciousness. 

He almost doesn’t breathe in fear of disturbing you. He’ll waste the night away, laying here, still as a statue for your comfort. 

It’s no surprise when he refuses to put up a fight, instead his hand simply drawing soft stars across the back of your bare shoulder blades as he sighs, “Yes, dear. We will. Now sleep.”

“I love you.” 

The words tumble from your lips so carelessly, so easily and without hesitation, he nearly shakes you awake to hear them once more. Again and again, he needs to hear them, to be reassured that you feel for him as ardently as he does you. 

But he has the rest of your forever to hear them. So he lets you sleep, sending you away with a simple press of his lips to your temples as your breathing evens.

“And I love you, my dearest sun.”

#ghost's stories #smutty party #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion smut #astarion x you #my writing #there's a line in here that my best friend watched me write in real time IN PERSON that we both cackled about #i went 'i really shouldn't include it' and she went 'but it's HIM' #it's giving 'i'd rather be the only dark power inside you' #idk if this is good but it is what it is ya know #if the ending feels rushed it's because i felt terrible for how long it was getting lol #i just wanna love on the boy #i just wanna love him and he love me is that too much to ask #so many pet names i considered editing but the voices won

[toomuchracket]

keep dreaming (d word matty smut)

(pre-relationship. mentions of unprotected sex. basically, matty's in his bed and he simply cannot stop thinking about you...)

in an ideal world, matty wouldn't be doing this.

in an ideal world, he would have staved off the nerves, gotten a grip, bit the bullet, and asked you to come home with him. part of him thinks he should've - it's not as if he hasn't done it before, with girls nowhere near as beautiful and girls he didn't like half as much as you.

but that's the point, he thinks, that's why he didn't. you're too special to him for your first intimate moment to be a post-awards show shag at his house. granted, he'd fucking worship you if it was, both in bed and then out of it, for every subsequent minute of his life... but he'd far rather take you on a few dates and spoil you first, before getting you into bed.

you... bed... fuck. despite himself, matty can't stop thinking about it.

or stop from gently stroking himself to said thoughts, caving further into that little voice in his head saying "imagine what it would feel like if it was her hand instead of yours" on loop.

god, he's sick for this. but he can't help it. after all, matty knows all too well what your right hand - the hand you use to write memos to him at work, and therefore the one you would surely use on him in bed - feels like, wrapped around a part of his body. less than an hour ago, it had grasped his wrist as you tugged him to the dancefloor at the afterparty, beaming warmly enough to melt his heart and redden his cheeks.

and then it had slid down his hand and twisted to grip the tips of his fingers, and matty was a goner. he mimics the motion now on his cock with a breathy whimper of your name, and repeats it - this time, slightly more softly, slightly more like you would. shit. you would look so good wanking him off, matty thinks, the edges of your nails ever so lightly scraping against him as you move; those nails that kickstarted this specific fantasy of you giving him a handjob, after you excitedly showed him their design when you first saw him earlier, a design based on the band's newest album, described by you as "look, matty, you're all over my hands". he had smiled at the adorable gesture and kissed your palm in gratitude, but his thoughts had gone somewhere far dirtier - literally - at your words.

he's jumping the gun with thinking about his cum all over your pretty nails now, though, so matty goes back to imagining your handjob position - he thinks of you lying on your stomach in front of him, looking up that way you do when he tells you something interesting: those beautiful eyes of yours all sparkly and focused and knee weakening-ly distracting, pretty lips curved and cheeks lifted into a bashful little smile.

those lips... always so soft-looking (and feeling, matty's sure, given he's a frequent witness to your habit of religiously applying lipbalm) and definitely kissable, but even more so tonight, lined and glossy. the colour looked shockingly perfect on you, and when he first saw you earlier he'd had to shove down a memory of a makeup artist for a shoot telling him that the perfect lipstick colour is the same as one's nipples before he started spiralling. now, though, in the solitary comfort of his own bed, matty lets his brain wind itself into imagining yours, spots of that lipstick shade on your perfect tits - accentuated incredibly tonight by the black silk of your cocktail dress, it has to be said - and imagining the way they would brush against him as you moved forward to wrap your lips around him, the same way you wrapped them around one of the bottles of expensive champagne given to the band's table after they won.

fuck. matty's wrist speeds up almost involuntarily at the thought of you sucking him off, while his other hand threads itself into the bedsheets the same way he knows he'd thread it into your hair, sliding the soft waves of tonight's hairstyle away from your beautiful face. he knows you would smile around him at that, the same little sweet smile you give matty whenever he appears with a coffee for you or offers you a cig or does anything requiring a bit of thankfulness, followed by a little "thank you" and a hum of contentment when you get what you wanted or needed. it makes him swoon at the best of times - it would surely ruin him if you did it with his cock in your mouth.

matty speeds up his movement again, imagining you humming and moaning happily as you slide your mouth up and down his length, whimpering when the tip hits the back of your throat. ignoring the inkling of guilt that appears in the back of his mind as he does, matty wonders just how deep you'd be able to take him. not that he'd ever force you to do anything you couldn't or didn't want to, and not that it would matter, because he knows if you actually were to suck him off he'd have to fight not to cum immediately, but he has a sneaking suspicion that you'd try to completely deepthroat him - he knows how stubborn you are, and he's sure he's not hallucinating the way you blush whenever he thanks you for going above and beyond to help him out.

and it's not like he'd dissuade you from trying; at the thought of you, teary-eyed but turned-on, inching slowly down his length to take it all, throat closing slightly around him, lips and nose pressed against his lower stomach, moaning, he bucks his hips up again almost involuntarily with a whine, beginning to properly fuck his fist the way he would fuck your mouth if you wanted him to. would you swallow, matty wonders, take every last drop of his cum down your aching throat and clean off the tip with little kitten licks? would he let you?

or would he stop fucking your mouth as he feels the orgasm start to build, so he can fuck you until you both cum instead?

god. what a thought that is, matty gently coaxing your head up from his cock and kissing you, before rolling you onto your back and just burying himself inside you. he fucks his fist the way he would you, mixing slow, controlled thrusts in amongst shorter, sharper ones to rile you up, before setting a strong rhythm with his hips that - hopefully - would have you screaming for him. he groans your name at the thought of that, wanking desperately now - not necessarily desperate to make himself cum, but desperate to see your eyes roll back in time with his hips, your jaw drop in pleasure, those fucking tits of yours bounce with every thrust; to feel your lips on his as you kiss him like you're trying to devour him, your hot breath in his open mouth as you moan his name into it, your long, gorgeous nails digging crescents into his back, your legs quivering around his waist as you reach breaking point, and - the thing matty's most desperate for - your cunt clenching around his cock, as he circles your clit and pulls an orgasm out from within your very bones.

matty's so fucking close now, hips jerking wildly into his hand, eyes heavy and clouded with pleasure, a cacophony of moans and groans and cries of your name leaving his lips and turning to incoherent dirty talk as they meet the cold air of the bedroom. "ohhhhh, fuck, m'gonna fucking cum, baby, shit, need to fuck you, mmmmmmmph, gonna cum, gonna fucking cum."

there is, however, one final thing for matty to consider about his fantasies of you before he reaches his orgasm - where would he cum, if he was with you right now? he could pull out, and let you either finish him off in your hand or mouth, coating your throat or covering your pretty nails like he briefly imagined earlier. or he could finish himself over you, decorate your beautiful face, your gorgeous tits, your soft stomach and your thighs.

truthfully, he'd let you choose - he'd just be grateful for the opportunity to even get to do anything with you in bed, and you'd look perfect in any of these scenarios (and in any scenario in general, really). but if matty got to pick, and you were okay with it, he wouldn't choose any of them.

what matty would do is stay buried inside you and fill you up with his cum, thrusting through his orgasm with his head buried in your neck, feeling you milk his cock for everything he has.

it's a delicious thought, and it's what tips him over the edge; with a final groan of your name and a "fuck!", matty cums all over his own hand, whimpering and lightly stroking himself until he stops pulsing out white fluid, which flows over his hand to pool on his lower stomach, reaching the very edge of his hip tattoo. in the aftershocks of orgasm, he can't help but imagine you cleaning it off with your tongue; with his free hand, matty reaches over to grab a pillow he can groan into to calm down before he finds himself cumming to the thought of you yet again. christ. he really is into you, isn't he?

matty doesn't move for a few minutes - the orgasm was so strong and took so much out of him that he just lies on his bed silently, until his breathing regulates and he comes back down to earth a bit. when the liquid on his stomach starts to feel icky, that's when he finally moves, swinging his legs onto the floor and walking to the bathroom to shower. he cleans his body just fine, but the grossness in his brain lingers a minute longer - he really just got off to imagining fucking you, his trusted friend and colleague, like some sort of depraved teenager. jesus christ.

if only he knew you'd just grinded yourself to an orgasm on your pillow thinking of the exact same thing.

#mads muses #mads does writing #d word matty #smutty asks #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

[thesandsofelsweyr]

trick or treat

reaches into her treat bowl and grabs...

A Drabble Shortfic

I think a drabble is technically only 100 words so I'm calling this a shortfic to be pedantic. Also, this is just a quick & dirty warmup to get back into writing mode 😎

⚠️ cw: smut (⚤)

Your breath hitches as his calloused hands wrap around your waist, tight enough to bruise. He's never gentle when he takes you after a patrol, and although your pussy's sopping wet with want, his thick cock is still a lot for you to take in one brutal thrust. You close your eyes and breathe in the musky smell of his sweat that still clings to his leather, then dig two fists into your sheets as you feel his swollen tip kiss your flesh. But he doesn't stab you to the hilt this time. This time he pulls you down his length... slowly... ever so slowly... inch by inch by glorious inch until he's buried deep inside you, stretching you out, filling you up, twitching against your cervix. The keening moan that spills from your lips is like a hymn in worship to the gods.

#sands replies #ask box trick or treating #smutty sands #jason todd #female reader #arkham knight #red hood #arkhamverse #jason todd x reader #arkham knight x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd smut #arkham knight smut #red hood smut #jason todd imagine #arkham knight imagine #red hood imagine #jason todd x you #arkham knight x you #red hood x you #jason todd fanfiction #arkham knight fanfiction #dcu

[yanderemommabean]

Bee audio I wanted to share with everyone

AYE YO, YOU LISTEN TO GWA STUFF TOO? (Maybe not but GoneWildAudio takes me to the soundgasm website more often than not)

Glad to know the bee fever is alive and well still lol

-Mommabean

#smutty audio #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #mommabean #sonia bean #bean asks #bean confessions #yandere alien bees #ish i mean not really

[dxckgrxsonx]

The dick pic storyline is driving me absolutely feral, I need more, my love. Please, I am on my knees begging you 🙇‍♀️ 🙏

im chewing my laptop and maybe committing a few crimes because of the feelings. they're going to fuck eventually i swear!!

**

Sunlight yawns bright and weightless over the horizon, dawn dappled in lazy diluted watercolour brushstrokes.

Bronze scatters across the sky, endless wavelengths of vibrant colour sliding seamlessly into the other; gold hooks into blue and smudges talented fingers into the soft line of pink.

It’s been a long time since you’ve seen the blinding curve of the sun in the morning. You’ve missed the quiet plethora of colour. The silence. The absence of responsibility.

Watching the dawn break over the horizon is easy, it’s beautiful; makes you want to swallow the world whole.

You think of Jason and how sometimes, when you really make him smile, you get the same endless feeling in your chest.

“I don’t remember you being here when I went to bed.” Jason rumbles as soon as he spots you standing by the window, voice thick and lazy with sleep. He rubs a hand through his hair, confusion thumbing gently against the tired lines of his face. “More importantly, I can’t remember the last time you were up this early. Everything okay? Do you need me to beat someone up for you?”

Your smile is automatic, reflective.

“I don’t need you to beat anyone up for me. I can do it myself.” Jason wanders forwards, steps eerily silent, and grabs you from behind, tucks you soft and warm against his chest. His fingers interlock against your stomach, trapping you in place, and you tip your head back to look at him.

Jason meets your gaze and doesn’t let go. It’s almost unnerving having his undivided attention. You find that you’re suddenly unsure.

It feels like the ground is shifting under your feet, feels like a fracture, a planetary faultline; like if you take one wrong step the floor will simply open right up, leave you falling into a hole with no bottom.

The look on his face is sleepy and thoughtful, you see him swallow.

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you have to.” Jason says after a careful silence. Pressing his mouth to the crown of your head he mumbles into your hair, “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe.”

Your heart swells in your chest and you think of how goddamn lucky you are to have him as your best friend.

“Oh good.” You sigh, relieved. “Because the real reason I’m here is because there’s this spider in my apartment and I think it wants to kill me.”

Jason laughs softly against the top of your head and then ducks down to tuck his face into the crook of your neck, “I’ll get my gun.”

“Breakfast first?” You choke, shivering at the feel of his lips so close to your pulse point.

“You just want free food from me don’t you?” Jason grins, teeth scraping the thin, sensitive skin under your ear. Your stomach flips, excitement snaking thick down your spine. Part of you thinks he knows exactly what he’s doing, and thinks he’s doing it on purpose.

“Well,” You admit, “I do love your cooking.”

Shuffling out of his hold when the sensation of his mouth against your neck becomes unbearable, you turn and finally settle your attention firmly on the chaotic mess of Jason’s hair. Strands stick up at odd angles from where he’s slept, soft curls knotted together on the side of his head above his ear. He looks dishevelled.

He looks unbearably domestic.

You feel suddenly fond, maybe even warm. But not in the same way you get when he sends you a video, or a photo. It’s different. It’s softer. Almost like stumbling into a patch of warm sun when you’re just starting to feel cold.

Unexpected. Comforting.

Jason yawns and stretches his arms above his head. The thick curve of his biceps catch your eye and you’re reminded of his strength, of how utterly big he is.

The sleeves of his t-shirt pull tight over the muscle and there’s something almost unhinged tugging at your ribs, wanting you desperately to sink your teeth into him.

A relieved little groan slips out of his pretty mouth when his shoulder cracks and you respond with an almost silent whine.

Glancing down you watch as his shirt starts to ride up, exposing a thin strip of warm skin. The sight of his tummy makes you lightheaded, makes you press your tongue to the backs of your teeth.

Dragging the tips of your fingers over his exposed stomach Jason sucks in a sharp breath. It’s almost like a flinch with the way his entire abdomen tightens up, muscles preparing for a hit you would never land.

It reminds you that not everyone touches him with the intent of gentle, almost innocent exploration. Even worse: it reminds you that the action is so well ingrained in his head that he’s been hit there more than once; that he’s been hit enough that every touch there is expected to bring pain.

It fills you with a quiet sort of hurt.

It’s the same hurt you get when you catch sight of bruises scattering dark and heavy over his skin. When you see his knuckles swollen and discoloured. When you watch him move out of the corner of your eye and see him wince because he’s pulled at a still healing wound.

Endless. Agonising.

The pads of your fingers sweep slowly against his skin, tracing the dips and grooves of his navel. You brush lightly over multiple thick, angry lines of raised scar tissue and Jason makes a small, desperate noise in the back of his throat—the healed skin horribly sensitive—and you can’t ignore the way you ache between your legs.

There’s the slightest brush of his happy trail against the pad of your pointer finger and you follow it down until you meet the elastic of his sweatpants. Tucking your finger just underneath the waistband Jason’s abdomen flexes and he quickly clears his throat, making you look up.

His cheeks are flushed.

You realise a little too late that he’s not wearing anything underneath his sweats.

“Can I put my arms down now?”

“Only if you make me waffles.” You reply, removing your palm from his tummy. “And let me use your shower. And also maybe take a little nap with me.”

Jason sniggers, amused. “Anything else?”

Your eyes slant to his mouth.

You think of the nights spent having his head in your lap. Fighting over who gets the last bite of food. Playing hide and seek in the middle of the supermarket because it makes him laugh. You think of the silly way you send each other stupid selfies. The way he plays pranks on you when he’s bored.

You think of how when he’s hurt and bleeding out somewhere in Gotham he calls you, says your name in that quiet, revenant way he does when he’s scared; almost like calling your name will save him.

It would be so easy.

“Uhh–no, that’s it.” You manage to get out, voice thick, distracted. “But I'll let you know if I think of anything else.”

**

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #ella writes #asks #answered #croimilis #💕💕 #I’ve got one more slightly smutty part planned #then there’s going to angst and feelings and action and aaaaaa

[ohwowimlonley]

horny full moon remus who's just obsessed with you

—

“Re- remmy no more,” you plead, tossing your head back onto your pillow, hips bucking up into his despite your words. Remus growls, pushing you down by your stomach and blanketing your body with his own and pressing your knees almost up to your tits.

“You can take it, my dove, I promise,” the words come out choked, hoarse, but you wither under them nonetheless. You can feel his cock pulsing deep inside your walls, seed spilling out from your entrance from his last two (three?) orgasms. You’re sure he’s overstimulated beyond belief, just like you, but he just can’t seem to stop.

#•megs ask box• #•megs smutty daydreams• #remus lupin smut #remus fluff #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin x you #remus lupin fic #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #marauders x y/n #marauders x reader #marauders fic #marauders x you #marauders smut #marauders moodboard #marauders era #marauders #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter smut #harry potter x reader #harry potter x reader smut #harry potter fluff #harry potter x y/n