what they’re like in bed | multi x reader
summary: headcanons on what they’re like in bed
pairing: damon salvatore x f!reader, stefan salvatore x f!reader, klaus mikaelson x f!reader
a/n: heyyy guys, lmao this was random but i hope u like it im feeling h word
warnings: smut! 18+ please!!! descriptions of sex, oral sex, and general sextivities, mentions of erotic blood-drinking and blood in general (duh, vampires), brief breeding kink, let me know if i missed something lmao
nsfw below the cut !
damon salvatore -
ok this man is a sex demon, y’all can’t tell me otherwise.
while stefan was off being a lump of angsty vampire, damon spent his immortal years BANGING okay? (i personally believe that he’s bi, bc let’s be honest...)
damon has spent his time learning about everything there is about pleasure, especially mutual pleasure. he’s very big on making it good for his partner, because he wouldn’t risk his reputation with a bad sex experience
and i think damon is more long than thick, and he’s well aware of it.
honestly i don’t think there’s a lot of foreplay, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t take care of you. and that doesn’t mean he won’t go down on you afterwards.
he’s a big fan of having sex literally anywhere but his bed, even if you end up there eventually. you’ll be in the kitchen, the living room, pressed up against a wall, but eventually you’ll be wrapped in his sheets.
damon likes overstimulation because he likes feeling you get tighter around him, and lose a bit of your mind every time he gets you off
he’s also big on choking, and he’ll somehow get you to ask him to choke you, even if it was his idea (see: sex demon)
overall, damon is a good lay but he’s definitely a one night stand kind of guy
stefan salvatore -
stefano my man
he is a GIVER in bed. like, all he does is aim to please you and meet your needs
obviously with his humanity off it’s a different story, but this is soft stefan and all he wants to do is make you happy !!
this truly keeps me up at night but– stefan loves to go down on you. he lives for it, genuinely.
like, mans was a ripper for over half his life, and if he can’t drink human blood anymore he has to feast on something right? well, you are the something ;)
he can go down on you for hours, to the point you have to beg him to stop because you can’t possibly cum one more time. he loves everything about you, and that only amplifies when he’s got his face in between your thighs
unlike damon, i think stefan is more thick than he is long, and also unlike his brother he’s not cocky about it. in fact, when you first have sex and you see his dick for the first time, you tell him it’s big and he gets shy
stefan gives me big switch vibes, like he’d really love to have control over you (see: control issues) but i also think he’d like to vanquish that control over when he needs some way to wind down from the stress of his life
in those instances i think he’d love it if you were on top of him, riding him like your life depended on it, like he’d get to see all of you and touch all of you, but he could lay in his bed and relax finally
speaking of his bed, that’s where he prefers to have sex. his room is cluttered and comfortable, and it’s his comfort space, so of course he wants to take you, the girl he loves, into his safe space and have an intimate moment
but i think if y’all were really getting down and dirty, he’d bend you over his desk and fuck you from behind
OR he’d have you ride him in his desk chair, and he’d hold your hips and make bruises there the size of his fingerprints that he would kiss and apologize for afterwards
stefan is a lover at heart, and his partner’s needs will always be his number one priority. he is husband material!!!
klaus mikaelson -
skdfjssf i could go feral talking about this man, i’m not kidding
klaus is equal parts pleasure and pain, and he is always going to be the dominant partner.
after he became a hybrid, he only got more cocky and it shows in bed.
klaus has a huge cock, okay? like, huge. there’s no way he’s been walking around like that for a thousand years with nothing going on between his legs
he’s definitely prioritizing your pleasure and making sure you get off, but i think he’s into the whole delayed gratification thing. like he’ll tease you all day long, and then when you finally get into bed, he’ll draw it out for hours, it’s literal torture
he loves biting you during sex, especially super intense moments. he doesn’t do it like he would if he was killing someone, but he nips his fangs into your neck and tastes your blood, and it only gets him more riled up
he’s a whole HYBRID so he’s got mad strength, and he would absolutely fuck you against the wall in his study hard enough that books fell off the shelves
he loves doggy style (ha) or reverse cowgirl, because i think he’s a bit of an ass man and those positions allow him to still touch you all over, but also give him access to your ass at all times
he’s also big on pet names (love, darling, sweetheart) and he will use them during sex so often you question if he remembers your real name
ok y’all might not be ready for this but klaus has a breeding kink <3
HEAR ME OUT–
he literally got hayley pregnant, okay? he has a whole kid. seeing you with his kid makes his brain full on glitch.
he loves to cum inside you, the idea of you getting pregnant with his kid ultimately sending him over the edge.
he especially loves this when you are in basic missionary, maybe with your legs wrapped around his waist, and he’s already gotten you off twice, and you’re covered in a thin layer of sweat and panting, but you look up at him so sweetly and ask him to cum in you
and if you add a ‘please, daddy?’
he’s ready to marry you, right then and there
you have control over this man, and you know it !!!
im going feral
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The text post about “ your fav is fucking his fist rn thinking of you” please lord let it be for Steve ( I’m. Late I know)
a/n: heheh it is :) 1.5k words of male masturbation ayyye. also, if you have not already, go check out @heavenbarnes’ ficlet, which haunts me everyday. please stop reading if you are not 18+
Steve jerks off— a lot.
Even before the serum, when he was just any other violently hormonal grass-fed, free-range human boy, instinct couldn’t be denied. Even after a long period of reflection during his catechism days, he wasn’t able to make heads or tales out of why any creator might give two shits about whether or not Steve fucks his hand.
Now as a whopping 200-pound slab of grade-A, laboratory-engineered, serum-enhanced, super-soldier, if he doesn’t pump one out every twenty-four hours, it’s hard to focus on much else. All of that unbridled testosterone crawls right up behind his eyes and his brain fizzles at the edges, agitated like an animal in a cage.
So, although it’s mostly pleasure, it’s also necessity.
He knows that it’s best before bed because early mornings or while showering requires working within the constraints of a ticking clock; if he’s got a packed schedule and needs a quick rub, fine, but not his favorite.
He knows that he likes certain activities, and if he’s looking at porn, specific categories and maybe a few performers will fit a niche—but sometimes he’ll spiral into a hundred other videos and he’s stayed up one (or five) too many nights doing that.
More than anything, Steve knows nothing beats his imagination, and he knows the best lies you can tell are ones with a bit of truth attached to them.
So, he plays a little game.
He thinks about you.
Cheeky you, who’s always teasing him about taking life too seriously. So prim and proper, Steve, you purr, always Mr. Punctual. Aren’t you tired of being nice? Loosen up—go dancing, meet a girl, have a one-night stand; fuck with the lights on for once.
Hm. Sure he’d like to, but all he’s got is about forty-five minutes before bed because he’s frankly too busy (see: stubborn, see: not interested in just any girl) for anything else.
For forty-five minutes, Steve takes a moment of truth and runs warp speed into the burning sunset with it.
The time you put your hand in his hair to fix a flyaway before a press conference—what if you gripped it hard, instead? Your candy pink lip gloss on Friday evening—what if it smudged off on his jaw, his collar, his eager cock? How you looked lifting out of the pool with rivulets of water dribbling into the hollow of your throat—what if he pressed his cheek to it, drank from it?
(The expression that might cross your face when you realize Steve would very much like to fuck you with the lights on.)
When you kissed him on that mission in Thailand, sliding into his lap to hide the both of you in a corner nook of a restaurant. The taste of sweetened coffee passed from your mouth to his, and he couldn’t help but dart his tongue out. You playfully scolded him about taking advantage of a dangerous situation (it wasn’t), and despite all your usual attitude, it was surprisingly cute that you couldn’t make eye contact afterwards, making him want to kiss you again just to figure you out.
Last night—when you smiled, the glimmer in your eyes like a sliver of moonlit coin and if he blinked at the wrong time, he might have missed it. Your breathy laugh, your little giggle, how you raggedly pant while you spar, he thinks about those sounds mingled with his name. Your weight, a perfect amount of pressure crawling on top of him, mapping out the expanse of his chest.
He’d be happy just to watch, finally able to see you in glimpses not bordering voyeuristic like when you zip up in the hangar or concerned when you peel off layers smudged in gunpowder. No, you’d be relaxed and tangible, full and felt—breasts, waist, belly, the sides of your hips as you straddle him, pulling his hands toward your body and letting him touch you.
Steve sighs into the darkness of his room, sweats shucked off, lube-slick hand feeling for his already aching cock. What’s he going to think about tonight? The small of your back when you lean over the pool table? The long, graceful shape of your fingers exploring his torso? Your face dazed, tipsy-tinged after a few drinks and sweet on his shoulder?
(He would have liked more of that. He could make you look like that if you ever asked.)
His hips move in careful circles, testing his grip, nudging at the tunnel of his fist like how your pussy would resist the first thrust until he wedges his way past it, slipping the head of his cock into your warmth. You’d be so, so warm. So soft and tight and perfectly fitted around him.
“Ah, fuck,” Steve mutters, eyes shut tightly.
He fucks into his fist, the sound of slick gushing out like wet slaps, like the hot clutch of noise your tight hole would make as he’d stretch it out—as he’d stretch you out.
He’s panting hander. You‘d look breathtaking on all fours, head turned around to see him rutting inside, jaw slack in disbelief that your body could keep taking him like this, like you could break any moment.
The pretty, pretty whimpers at the harsh punctuation of every thrust. They’d tear loose from your throat and you wouldn’t be able to bite them down anymore. You could unravel because of him—shattering because he’ll have gotten past your defenses, gotten so deep you could do nothing but arch back for more, needing him deeper, needing him to know you how nobody else knows you.
Steve’s mind races through each position— every arrangement of your arms and legs in uncomfortable ways you’d give into because he would make the burn delicious, blurring discomfort into pleasure, and how you wouldn’t care anymore because desire would be the drive— him behind the wheel taking you closer to that cliff’s edge.
He’s peeling off into the horizon now, moaning louder, bucking carelessly, blinded by the bright sun, by the white threatening to explode behind his eyes.
“Uhhhnn—” he looks down at his throbbing cock, swollen with friction and fiction, his other hand rolling the tender skin of his sac between his fingers. He squeezes a hair trigger tighter, in pulses, mimicking how you’d feel close to coming, begging for his release to fill you. Your hands gripping his hair for purchase, hard and frenzied, the scrape of your nails on his scalp. And finally, the abandoned, purely physical response of your body during orgasm, the undeniable wrecked wail of his name.
He’d be rough and gentle all at once, he’d make you taste yourself, clean up the mess you’ve made on him, and then he’d kiss it out of your mouth when he fucks you again. You’d be sore already, and sore the next day. He’d want to leave you aching, shuddering, babbling and delirious for more, for only him.
You’d cry, Steve, oh—my god—oh my god—feels so good, Steve. Fuck me harder, please. However you want—whatever you want, I promise.
You’d suck on his fingers, bite down when it became too much, too good. You’d shake, and shake, and shake and Steve— he falls.
Spun out, headfirst, off the steepest bluff of his inventions and crashes into open waves beneath. Your moaning mouth, your soaked cunt, your entire being an unprimed canvas waiting for his splatter.
And it’d be perfect.
He comes in ropes, gasping into the reverberating echo of his own breath, hips still moving, back still arched, wet slick dripping down into his fist where he keeps going, using it as another coat of lube. Maybe you’d squirt. Maybe you’d put your face in your hands, embarrassed, or maybe you’d lose all control and he’ll have to hold you up.
The second wave comes fast and better than the first.
The third, easy, only tinged with a prickle of rawness that makes his toes curl.
Steve’s chest is sweat-slick and heaving, heat rising off his body as he evens out, throat murmuring the syllables of your name in yearning. He nudges hair off his forehead with the back of his clean hand, and then he checks his clock.
Back to reality, forty-five minutes on the dot tells him he’s still punctual, as you say.
He cleans up, stretching his back as he ambles to the restroom before returning to bed, satisfied. And when Steve tucks himself in for another peaceful night’s sleep, he wonders what you do in the privacy of darkness and if your ritual is anything like his own.
Do you shuck off your lounge clothes? Do you fuck yourself beneath layers of covers with your fingers? A toy? Grab your tits and put your fingers in your mouth? Do you think about someone—do you think about him? His dick is still half-hard, half-raring for another session because the fourth and fifth time, when it hurts even worse, feels like coming up for breath after a drowning-- feels beyond good.
He’ll think about you some more tomorrow.
(He’ll think about making you come four or five times.)
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