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lilyxlovelyy · 2 months

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Hi lovely! I’d love to see you write a one shot of Dallas Winston smut with hyper fem reader. Maybe they could be at bucks and making up for lost time bc Dally just got out of jail? Thank you 😊

Dallas x hyper fem!reader

Warnings: smut, fingering, p in v, oral f receiving, breast attention, very slight daddy kink hehe, don’t think there is anything else but idk

• Authors note: Hiii i am so glad u asked this cause i have been looking for inspiration and i love this idea!!

About 1k words.

You were over at the Curtis house because dal was supposed to be in jail for another six weeks so you had been spending some extra time there.

It wasn’t that you couldn’t live without dallas it was just that after a few months you have grown to miss him, his voice, his touch, everything about him you craved more than ever.

The gang was all over watching movies, playing cards, eating all of Darry’s food and such when suddenly Twobit noticed a special someone walking up to the house.

“Hey, YN you might wanna see this!” He said watching out the window so you got off the couch and peeked out from behind the curtain.

Your eyes widened when you saw Dallas walking up the driveway with a cigarette between his fingers. You quickly scrambled out the door running as fast as your legs could carry you until you were safely in his arms.

“Woah there princess” he said with a chuckle his New York accent shining through, you just giggled in response while still holding onto him. As he He slung his arms around you he felt the heat and wetness pooling between your thighs.

“Miss me that much, huh’” he grinned before finally pulling away from the hug.

“Yeah…” you mumbled softly with a cheeky smile.

“Well lets take you home and take care of that shall we”

“aren’t you going to say hello to the guys?” You asked softly and he shrugged

“eh they’ll see me later” he grinned and began walking back down the street so you quickly followed after him.

When you had made it back to bucks there was a party going on, you could tell by the red lights glowing from inside; but the party didn’t bother you because you both went straight up to his room not caring to say ‘hey’ to anyone.

He shut the door behind him and made sure to lock it securely.

Once the door was locked you latched you hungry lips onto his. The taste of cigarettes and prison food clung to his lips but you didn’t care, all you cared about was him. Finally being back in his arms.

His rough hands roamed over your body until he laid you down on his bed. He swiftly pulled your little dress down over your head carelessly throwing it away before moving his hands to your breasts. Groping and squeezing them. As little moans slip from your mouth. he grins and rips off your bra.

“Fuck I’ve been dreaming of these tits for months.” He smirks before leaning down and taking one in his mouth and sucking hard.

You entangled your fingers into his scruff hair. As you tug on his dark locks he scraps his teeth against your nipple. As he continues to suckle at your nipples you moved one of your hands down to your clothed cunt and rubbing hard.

“Aww baby you want daddy to touch you?” He smirks and you looked up at him with a soft whimper escaping from your lips.

He moves his hands down your body, over your hips and finally tracing his finger over you cunt.

“Your soaked doll” he growls as he peppers kisses down your neck which earns a moan from you. He slowly slips a finger inside your wet heat feeling the juices run down his finger. He doesn’t waste time to add another finger pumping them in and out at a fast pace. Your mouth is ajar as he continually pumps them in and out making moans spill from your soft lips.

“You gonna cum babydoll?” He asks as he peppered soft kisses over your soft tummy.

“Mhmmmh y-yes” you whimper as he roughly shoves his fingers deeper into you.

“Good girl” he whispers quietly as you cum over his fingers. He brings his fingers to your lips

“taste yourself baby” he smirks and you waste no time to wrap your mouth around his two fingers and suck off the sweet taste of your juices.

He smirks before pulling his fingers out and moving them to your hips. He grins before burying his face between your thighs.

“I gotta taste you first” he mumbles before dipping his tongue between your slick folds.

“Fuck I missed this” he groans against your dripping pussy making vibrations course through your body earning another whimper from you. as he lapped his tongue over your clit before digging his tongue back into your hole.

“Mhmmmh fuck” he groans, his voice muffled by cunt.

“Ohhhh I’m cumming again” you cry out and wrapped your legs around his neck pulling him closer. If that was even possible.

He rarely gave oral but he missed you so much he needed to taste you right from the source. As you came he licked it up with his tongue tasting all your sweet juices.

Once he caught his breath he quickly pulled away and moved his hands from you down to his jeans. He unbuckled his belt with ease and threw it aside along with his jeans.

You stared at his cock with lust in your eyes. He gave it one stroke before lining it up with your cunt and thrusting in. He was never the type of guy to go slow or really take his time but especially not now, he needed you and he needed it now.

He continues his rough assault on your pussy as your screamed out in pleasure. He bent his head down to roughly kiss and bite at your neck.

As you got closer to yet another orgasm he brought one of his hands down and started to rub your aching clit which sent you over the edge to extreme bliss.

As you pulsed around his cock he could feel he was about to cum.

“Fuck are you on the pill” he asked between grunts to which you simply shook your head so he swiftly pulled out and came all over your chest.

He collapsed beside you.

“Oh fuck” you breathed.

Your heart was pounding against your chest but Dallas wasn’t finished with you as he carried you to the bathroom.

#dallas winston #the outsiders #matt dillon #the outsiders 1983 #coquette #dallas winston smut #dallas winston x reader #johnny cade #sodapop curtis #two bit mathews #smut

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boynextdoors · 11 months

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#dal tag #wei #p #useranusia #awekslook #aleksbestie #dearestmillie #forvy #forpaulita

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jaidens · 1 year

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OMG JAIDEN CONGRATS SWEETHEART‼️‼️ can i get a pumpkin spice latte with extra whipped cream w/ miguel (if you’re accepting cobra kai requests if not with johnny (kk1) would be fine <33 ) if you need a plot i can elaborate!! anyway, CONGRATS I LOVE YOU SM JAIDEN <33 /p 🎉🎉

You still make me nervous when you walk in the room

pairing [s] : miguel diaz x reader

warning [s] : guys. make sure ur dentist is on speed dial. this was so sweet

a/n [s] : DAL!!!! hiii u sweetheart! i luv u SMMM

“Miggy,” Your voice is soft and hardly spoken. Miguel, while still half-asleep and barely opening his eyes, responds. “Mhm..?”

The sleepover ended awhile ago, Eli and Demetri passed out in Demetri’s bed: which ended up with you and Miguel asleep on piles of blankets on the carpeted floor. Your phone is plugged in far away, but the comfort of Miguel's feel and warmth is pulling you in closer to the devil of sleep.

Miguel's dark hair is messy against the pillow and his soft lips parted while quiet snores emerge from his mouth. You're watching as his nose twitches or the side of his mouth. It was small things he did whenever he was dreaming, and it was quite adorable. He passed out early after a long day of school and then karate practice, he was tuckered out. All he needed was you, a pillow, and a random movie on Netflix.

“I love you, so much.” You say quietly. “You’re the best thing that's, like, ever been mine.” You're sure if Eli or Demetri caught you like this, twirling your boyfriend’s hair on your fingers while gently kissing across his face, they would rip you to shreds. Miguel’s eyes flutter open after a particularly harder kiss just under his eye and he smiles.

It's lazy, almost hard to catch if you weren't staring directly at his lips. His tan-skin is visible under the moonlight that slips through the blinds in Demetri’s window. His arms wrap further around you, pulling you closer into his comforting wrap. Whatever wrap he has you in makes you suddenly even more tired, yawning against his Guns N’ Roses graphic tee.

With a nuzzle of your head, and his chin going on top of your head, you're far past asleep as you drift into the feeling of Miguel.

#miguel diaz #miguel diaz x reader #miguel diaz x you #miguel diaz x y/n

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dhampling · 6 months

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ivory tower 18+ ASCENDED!ASTARION X AFAB!READER, 4.6K

Something deeply sordid, raw; ungodsly. There’ll be no Lathandrian blessing for your young, no gentle welcome into some family fayre on the outskirts of the city; but you want this.

woah boy! my first ascended astarion piece, so please be kind! dal is back babey! woooo! thank you to @bhaalism and @lipstickghoulie for dealing with me while writing this i love you both endlessly. wc: 4.6k cw: afab reader, female language used. breeding, mind-control, p in v, ascended astarion, public fingering, private banging, great times all round, as always if there are errors no there aren't, creampies, yippee

Baldur’s Gate doesn’t sleep. Not really.

She sometimes slows just enough to find some purchase amongst the muddle, though - tiptoes lazy through highsun in soft linens, the burgeoning swell of soap suds and sunny rosemary through wide open wooden shutters. Lingering - sweat-soaking worn leathers, the sore of the flex in the arch of your foot splayed over cobble. As if to grasp at the memory, your fingers stretch out from your side and on to the dark oak of the armrest, in a moment of sheer jubilance. Summer. The sun. Wide bright mornings. Hopeful and hot as a bated breath.

The city ambles onward this evening, no different despite the inclement weather and the din of an early darkness. Half-lidded through dark streets as rain smatters the roofs with wet, glistening something dozy under the tall oil street lamps and swirls of ever-present heavy fog. Gurgling whilst each drain fills with water and swallows deep into the sewers.

Scatters the hay, bears the slip; sings a slow drunken stutter of thunder-wind whiling at the windows into the small hours. There’s a comfort to be found in it.

The harbour bell will go on to toll for every sail weary ship coming in from the fog; the crescent caress of the Gate’s waiting arms lit low with oily dots of amber. That even this late into the night the bands of trawlers on the dock work crates and barrels into cargo holds with worn hands and ruddy cheeks. The gulls and their scattering squawks. The flapping of their fat feathered wings up into the clouds.

From where you sit in the Ivory Tower you can hardly see anything at all. Fog obscures the streets to a point, other than the light patches under the oil lanterns out on the ramparts. The window runs dripping wet with condensation. Pools under the pane.

A hideaway of sorts within the manor. Newly reclaimed by Astarion in some deal with the quivering council in order to keep him sweet. Not that he has any armies of undead in his retainer to command as yet, but they don’t need to know that. There’s time. You’re still blessedly mortal and able.

Astarion.

He should be skulking the halls somewhere below with that unnerving silent step he’s taken to using. Your cheeks grow warm, the blanket over your shoulders pulled closer into your chest as you allow your mind to run wild; the scald of bliss to your brain like that of some ironmonger’s poker, split straight to the core.

Your love. Your lover.

Amongst his many newfound desires and passions seemingly includes the impetus to redesign a centuries-old palace from scratch, and while you doubt he has the want nor willpower to take the project anywhere near to completion you’re more than happy to indulge him during this burst of creativity. A designer’s eye. Lavish yet not ostentatious, he tells you. Your own private wing of the palace, and one you’ll share together. He has no need for his own private chambers. You’re the only one he wants to be beside. You understand that at its essence, it isn’t even necessarily a want to design for creativity’s sake, it’s important to you both to have every memory of the residence’s former owner gone. Every threadbare tread of carpet, every scuff on the wall; every painting being demounted by workers downstairs and shipped to the auction house first thing in the morning. You can hear them if you still enough, heart still beating in your chest and the low chunter of layman gossip.

The version of him you knew before his ascension was so very scared. Beautiful, but wavering. You loved him of course; and you always will - it was that version of him, the one lost in the wilderness that you fell for, and gods; you fell hard - frenetic and whiny, fleeting as light snow never to settle on the forest floor. Wild-eyed.

But this Astarion - the real Astarion, as far as he is concerned - has you completely and utterly enraptured each day you wake together, the same as ever, from the second your eyes open. Wrapped in those Daerlunian-import plush linens atop your gargantuan newly-installed four poster bed. Face of marble with those cattish dark lashes and eyes of carnelian crush. Enchants every room he walks into, as he always has.

You don’t know he’s with you until a hand ghosts your shoulder, sinewy; with those deft pale fingers deep encroaching on your collarbone in his grasp.

“I didn’t hear you, lover.”

“But I heard you.’

He circles round the velvet armchair, resplendent in his home finery. Not a crease to be seen. Voice soft, yet laced with a bristling concern.

‘Why do you insist on sitting up here?”

You err for a brief moment.

“I can hear the rain on the roof, here. See some bustle when the fog clears. The city goes on.” You shake your head with a smile as he crouches beside you, nestling his head in the crook of your arm.

“But it’s cold. Dark. Come down - I can light the fire in our sitting room if you like?”

“We have so many centuries yet to see together! What sense is there in not observing the world as it is now? Keeping record of the city as we saved it?”

His head lifts and his eyes meet yours, some churlish quirk of a brow in the low light.

“An archivist, now? Is that to be your profession alongside me? Whilst you raise our young?”

“If I wish it to be, yes.”

He laughs, a gentle low hum.

“Then an archivist you’ll be - the most renowned in all the lands. We’ll make it so.’ He stands once more and takes your hands from your lap, bringing them clasped to his lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

‘I’ll begin planning on your archives - I presume you’ll want a library? Or something similar in your wing, maybe even an office. Who knows?”

Astarion looks to the room around you, the shapes covered with old canvas and the rickety floorboards underfoot. Cobwebs in the corner. There’s no grimace nor displeasure. He simply surveys as cool as still water. Objective.

“I’ll have some of the merchants relay their contacts come morning too. If you insist on expanding your territory up here then it must befit you.”

“Befit me?” You grin now. His hold on your hands remains secure.

“If you want me to say it, then I suppose I will. As many times as it takes to get it through that heavy skull of yours.’

His smile reaches his eyes as he circles back behind your chair, fingers splayed over your shoulders once more in a deep round kneading pattern.

‘There’s nothing you won’t have if you want for it. Nothing too good for you to covet, my solace; Saviour to the whole Sword Coast and every plain mite within its bounds.’

There’s a small pause as he bows to kiss the top of your head.

‘And I thank the stars every day that I can provide for you. That you saw the potential in me and lifted me higher, to such profane glory amongst the swill of common man. That my gold, my influence, and terror, and each lift of my blade is at your command and yours alone. That you stayed at my side.”

He doesn’t like to mention the gods, hence the stars. Pointedly brings the grimace back into play, occasionally even furrows with the slightest twinge of anger brewing at his brow. The gods had no role to play in your shared victories. No divine intervention saved him from two hundred years of torment, from certain death after the crash of the nautiloid along that sun-soaked span of rocky beach;-

You did. You with your strange inclination toward the weak man he once was. The shell he lived in like a hermit crab on the shore, nothing more.

On bright days, you thank him for giving you time.

Time to live, time to breathe with full lungs. Time to allow you to burn your eyes in the beating sun with a silver pot of fresh coffee and whatever ridiculous spew the papers hold between the pages today.

You know as you sit in comfortable silence that your time dwindles, and that your turning is inevitable. Your eternal wedded bliss is to be alongside him and will be as vivid in nature as all the colours of the astral plane, if he’s to be believed - and there’s no reason not to see his word as gospel. You can see each moment as crystalline as sea glass on sand. Forever with the man you love more than you’ve ever felt inclined to love anything. The bridal ceremony is but a drop in the vast ocean of your lives together.

He thanks you too. Often alongside you with eyes closed in some dozy recline, forearm hanging lazily whilst he takes the sun on his skin like a blessing. A loose linen shirt akin to the one he wore back at camp at the start of your journey together, strings wide open, a blaze of blinding flesh at the corner of your eye each time he shifts.

The veranda on a clear day. Astarion has assured you he’ll never take this from you. He’ll never take anything that you don’t willingly give him with a clear heart - and why would you give him your ability to bask in the sun, like a street cat in days-warm dust? What purpose does that serve either of you, beyond making you a less useful weapon in his prized arsenal?

At one point, all you wanted was to talk to him - and it rings true even now. The want to be the bearer of all his tales. To learn about him, to be close to him; to hear him tear the world apart with that dulcet snarl, walking alongside each other on the barren dirt trails out in the wilderness. Hop-skipping to keep up with his quiet gait. Giving him back as good as you got. The glimmer of his hair in the sunlight, the way he’d sometimes just stop.

Close his eyes. Feel the heat. The gentle burn of highsun on tender flesh. A soft inhale.

That morning out in the clearing after your first night together. Arms outstretched in a welcome to the light. It had taken a few minutes for it to click as you’d silently watched on, why his sun salutation was so fond. So open.

It’s to be a long engagement with regard to your transformation whilst the manor undergoes renovations. Reason after reason as to why now isn’t the ideal time to commit you to eternity. You know why he wants to keep a hold on your precious mortality for the time being, of course; and that keeps you from the forever embrace of his Dark Kiss. It never changes.

You’ll allow him to sire your children. You want him to. Crave it. Him.

Your very own lineage together, he whispers; frenzied by your ear as his fingers crawl the bare span of your thigh. He can breed you full like fate intended and you’ll have something - besides him - that’ll also last forever. Something of your own surpassing the death of all of your contemporaries. The Vampire Ascendant and The Saviour of Baldur’s Gate, flesh-on-flesh, skin smacking skin; his debauched groans and lewd whimpers as he buries himself inside you, your cooing breaths;-

You’ll wed normally too, for the interested eyes of the city. Some dull ceremony with the elites adorning all tables as gilded pieces might some decorative chess board, deceptive vows. Legally it makes things easier should anything befall either of you but the hassle almost makes the whole thing undesirable - gods, especially because he already treats you as some smitten newlywed might. Adores you. Follows you around the manor, stalking; like some wolf cub after its mother. Carries you to bed each evening and ploughs you senseless, until spit gathers in the corners of your wet, wanting mouth and you can’t see straight through grey-blear eyes.

He likes the idea of you taking his name by law. Melds with your own like it were meant to be, from the starter threads of whatever cosmic tapestry pulled you together, the marriage of your first name to his last, interwoven by a scholar’s hand in gold-shining delicate point.

Ancunín. The House of.

Tapestries. Large, spanning the halls. The Sarsantyr's over in Waterdeep - they’ll be able to create what you’re picturing.

A familiar gaze meets yours. It’s then that you realise you aren’t alone in your mind once more

“If you want tapestries, you only have to ask.”

“In fairness - you didn’t give me a chance to.”

He hums, tilting his head a little in the sun’s glare.

“I’ll send for them. The Sarsantyr's, yes? Have them pack up all their little-’

He pulls a face and lifts his hands in some kind of puzzled shake.

‘Sewing bits? Textiles? I’ll send carriages. They can come and stay in the lower rooms. Create the masterpiece you envision.” Astarion sniggers a little at the thought of putting them in the old dormitory while you remain lost in thought.

“Okay. Check them through first though, yes?

The real event - the wedding - will give you total ecstasy beyond your wildest preconception, you know this. Unfettered and euphoric. Books and books on the topic stacked clumsily beside your bed, reds and greens; the turning of a vampire bride in leather bound prose. You know what to expect in florid detail. You know to trust your lover, that the rabid creature you’ll become is only a temporary mental state precursing an eternity alongside him.

And yet, you wonder about the children. They’ll be here by then. However many he decides is enough, naturally; assumedly under the care of some hired help whilst you engage in your thoroughly bastardised pastiche of a wedding ceremony. You laugh now. He’s still in your head, mulling over your thoughts as soon as you can think them.

Will you miss them? Will they be your last thought before you pass away; Astarion unable to complete this ritual alone as he was unable to before? Will your death lead to his, leaving your dhampir offspring to ravage Baldur’s Gate unsupported by the windfall of knowing parents? There’s still no hesitation, though. You will bear his young. You want to. The consequences either way are vast and long-lasting, and you’d rather be at his side than facing his ire-

“Love, what are these thoughts? What on earth is going on in that very pretty head of yours today?” His voice is a low drawl, pitying yet laced with affection. He sits straight in his chair whilst a hand lazily searches for yours atop the sun-warmed table; beyond the scope of the ramparts wall the low meander of city life continues on.

“Mulling things over.”

“You don’t need to do that, pet. Come now.’ He beckons you onto his lap and wraps his arms around your middle, hand searching for the soft pillow of your chest as your ass backs up to his abdomen.

‘You want me to make it better?”

You nod gently, the sun catching your eye in a particularly bright beam and making you squint.

“Please.”

“Poor thing. It’s okay.” As he coos; one hand finds the curve of soft flesh at your chest, holding the weight of your breast firmly as he starts lightly thumbing at the nipple through your nightshirt.

“There, now. Good girl.” Your head falls back onto his shoulder, a deep sigh as he lulls you into a new state of calm astride him. Birds sing overhead whilst you nuzzle his neck.

“I will miss this warm flesh of yours, you know. Terribly so.’ His other hand moves to your nightskirt, gently hitching the material bit-by-bit up your thighs until you sit exposed to the air. Nobody can see you from here - the faceless crowd little but colourful dots below; Astarion giving a small tense laugh as he feels your pulse quicken against him.

He toys with your skirt, edging ever nearer your exposed cunt; and your eyes flutter closed.

‘But the greater purpose… I just can’t let it go. Us. Our lives together. I sincerely doubt you want to wither away to age; to lose your extraordinary beauty-’

A gentle groan as he feels your warmth.

‘Do you, my most precious flower?”

“Of- Of course I don’t. I want to be with you, as we are; forever.”

“Then we’re going to need to make a concerted start on the only thing setting us back, are we not?” His fingers gently tap on the crux of your pubic bone, threateningly close to your clit. You feel the familiar seep of your slit leaking onto the bunched skirt fabric and you think of honey. Some kind of sweet glaze.

“Yes.”

As you sink further into him his fingers move down just a little to meet your clit; and in response to your delighted sighs he very lightly begins to stroke either side of the engorged flesh. There’s no urgency to his movement nor his demeanour; just a treacle-thick teasing grin as he turns his head to kiss your blazing cheek.

“Good.”

There’s something borderline celestial about the gentle way he touches you, coaxing more of your slick from you with every gentle jerk. He deftly motions ‘come hither’ with a soaking middle finger dipping lightly at your hole then brings your arousal up to wetten your clit once more.

“You want this, don’t you?” A finger slips down to your cunt, this time slipping and nestling deep inside as you feel yourself writhe on him. One arm scrambles around the back of his neck to support yourself while he begins to curl at your spongy spot, and the anchor of your arousal shifts free.

“I’ve been rifling through that glorious mind of yours these past few days and I see you now. You want comfort. To comfort. To seek shelter in those warm lights on the horizon, to know you aren’t alone in the late hours.”

You nod furiously, wincing, desperate to feel him deeper. Thicker. You need more, your fox-eyed paramour giving only the barest minimum he can do to watch you squirm.

“You, with my babe in arm;- oh the image alone does things to you, doesn’t it?”

It’s as if he’s creating the visions in your head as he speaks them, bringing them to the forefront of your mind in hushed coos and silent gasps. As if by magic, the only thing on your mind is a primal need for him to fuck you full. Nothing else, no mind for coffee nor completed manor renovations.

You will be round. You will brim with life before he turns you, and you’ll take to his seed the minute he offers it to you. You’ll accommodate him like no other across Toril could hope to. You wonder if he has the power to decide how many, as he adds another finger to your unbridled torment. If he could choose to speed the process up with a celebration of twins, triplets. An heir and two spares. Maybe he’d wait instead until the first was born, just to ensure the viability of his bloodline. A test.

He’s doing this; you become starkly aware as he withdraws his fingers, spiderwebs of glistening drool clinging to your inner thigh as he brings them between his lips and suckles. He’s giving you these ideas of grandeur because he can. Because you are his. Because you wouldn’t want to belong to anyone else, to be tied to any other notion of whatever a fulfilling life is, if it weren’t one shared wholly by him. With him.

“Let me take you inside, sweet one. Let’s take care of you properly, shall we? Curb this fever, hm?”

Please, you think. Please take this burning hole in my womb and make it full with you. Extinguish the flame with your unholy spend and give me children. Give me oud and orchids and a life of warmth, however long we both may live.

“Use your words, my love. Tell me you want this.”

“I want this. Please.”

On the bed you now lie, the room cool and dark; balcony doors open wide with light-billowing curtains. Sweat consumes you as your thoughts run wild, the smell of your arousal, clammy hands and deep breaths in the low light. Astarion approaches like something from a dream, shirtless now; smirk plastered cheek-to-cheek as he leans over your trembling form with confidence - your lust-addled fingers reaching for his steady form like a ship to harbour.

“You want to feel it, little dove? Feel how you set me alight?”

He pries your wrist from him with gentle urgency, taking your hand under his and skating both downwards; down the plane of his tight torso, slowing to a stop just above his pelvis.

“Tell me - do you want to feel it?”

A small smirk plays at the corner of your lips, but he doesn’t seem to notice - watching the way your hand twitches under his.

“Hm?”

His groan is guttural. Thick. He doesn’t even try to mask it, eyes wide as his hand shifts yours just a little further down and over the blistering burn of his heavy cock through loose linen trousers. A hazy sigh as he moans a small whimper at your touch.

“Please, Astarion. I beg you.”

It’s like his fingers are enchanted, the way they reduce you to this sodden mess. Unable to think unless guided delicately by his superior whim.

“I need to bury myself inside you fully for this to take. I need your full attention, submission; your devotion to our lives together. Do I make myself clear?”

He’s giving you one final chance to withdraw. Your head clears for one sweet moment and you can do little else but stare at his bulge with heavy lids and your mouth agape.

“Crystal. I ache for you. Please, give this to me.”

You lift to meet him in a soft kiss, jaw slackened and cunt ablaze. Nothing else matters, no complications, nor possibilities of horribly mangled spawn from your womb as a result of your copulation. This scalding stupor that sends you insane won’t go away until he quenches it with his seed.

Your response has satisfied him, if the way he stands sharpish and unties his trouser laces is anything to go by. The glassy head of his cock stands purple at his stomach, leaking wild at the slit and red-hot as your hand reaches blindly for him in your hunger.

He gently taps you away and back down onto the sheets.

“Magic?” You hear yourself mumble, still amazed at how surely swollen he must feel with how sore he looks. Has to be.

“Just me.”

There’s a tenderness in his eyes as he crawls back over you, legs instinctively parting and lifting at the knee to accommodate him. Something that compels him to hold your face in the hand that isn’t supporting his weight and just look at you, fondly; for what feels like an age.

Then he shifts once more to angle himself, decidedly spending no more time on preparation. The heat of his cock against your slit is unlike anything you’ve ever known, dizzying yet pleasurable; hard and yet still yielding, and as he thrusts a shallow dip into your core you swear you see angels overhead. Yes, you’re ready. You’ve never been more ready for anything than you are for the sheer ecstasy you know he’s about to give you, and he’s going to give you it in droves. Seismic tremors as he shifts a little and you adjust to him once again.

He nods. He hears you.

Then, he snaps once more; and he’s lost.

Each glub of his cock meeting your spill as he ruts into you; the way you feel it running downward in long dribbles, with each and every mindless hump of his hips eking more honey from your cunt in spades.

You hear the sounds of your shared carnal pleasure and it makes you clench around him in some kind of self-perpetuating cycle. Groans and whimpers and moans and hisses and the frequent egregious slaps to your thighs whilst he chases his high.

He’s perfect like this. Halo of curls above you, voice silken as he calls you every pet name under the sun, his, always. Your legs ache already from being wound so tightly, interlocked around him, and you think of the prespill inside you already. How each fangy showman’s smile means he’s twitching at your cervix and leaking molten gold inside you with every thrust.

It’s not until he nuzzles down to your neck that you remember to offer it, potentially for the last time on this mortal coil.

“Are you asking?”

“Well, you didn’t offer.”

The immediate pang is one of violent nausea, subsiding quickly into a wooze coating the bottom of your stomach in black tar as he fucks upward. Unease. There’s something in his spit, you assume. Something that makes the gaping wounds a little more bearable, a little less raw as he kitten-licks the flesh between swallows. Ice courses your veins with adrenaline as it always does.

Astarion chokes down his first sip with an eager cough. The burgeoning panic wracking your limbs turns into a numbed haze as your lover feasts, big neat gulps whilst he clutches at your ribcage with fingers splayed deep and cock buried to the hilt, like a man starved. His hair tickles at your jaw, the smell of something herbal. Slightly lemony.

He splutters that he’s close and you feel yourself nearing your peak too.

There’s a profane desecration in what he’s doing, painting your walls in an attempt to get you pregnant. Something deeply sordid, raw; ungodsly. There’ll be no Lathandrian blessing for your young, no gentle welcome into some family fayre on the outskirts of the city. No villages to raise them, no cards nor flowers from friends or family; but you want this.

You want him to taint you in his particular shade of crimson, visibly; so the realms know who made The Saviour of Baldur’s Gate come to heel. The man who compelled her through sheer love alone and to whom she gave everything. The indomitable force for whom you’ll die, only to resurrect forever as his.

Visions of your turning don’t scare you - all lightning and thunder, the cries of your dhamplings in some nursery down the towering halls of your palatial wing; and yet you’ll be safe in his caress. He wouldn’t let a single thing happen to you. He won’t.

And as he cums; he calls your name.

Some rhythmic prayer over and over again; and with each kick of his cock he loses some of his bedroom charm and hurtles back to earth, humbly enraptured. More candid. His weary muscles tighten as yours threaten your own release around him.

“Cum for me, now. Milk me.” in a heavy whisper whilst he strokes the soft flesh of your cheek; and you do. You cum harder than you can remember ever before. Each wave of sheer pleasure some blackout tidal wave as you writhe, staccato in his arms.

If you die during the ceremony, you’ll die happy. Should the younglings bite their way through your womb, it won’t matter.

You’re loved. He loves you, in soft kisses and gentle arms carried all the way to the waiting washtub. In the way he sponges your aching shoulders and brings a washcloth to your dazed face.

Baldur’s Gate doesn’t sleep, not really.

But tonight it will, in the patient, visceral bliss of calm before a summer storm.

#my writing #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion #ascended astarion #ascended astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion baldurs gate #astarion bg3 #bg3

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darrysgirl · 1 year

Text

Handcuffs || Dallas Winston

Warnings: p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, overstimulation, dom!dally, sub!reader, blindfolding, handcuffing

Summary: reader teases Dallas infront of the gang, making him really hard. he takes reader back home and punishes her.

Word count: 822

…

It was around ten in the evening, the whole gang, except from Darry since he was at work. I was sat on the couch on Dally’s lap, I couldn’t get comfy so i kept moving about, feeling something hard underneath me. “Stop moving.” Dally groans quietly in my ear. I kiss his cheek and continue to move around. He leans his forehead on my shoulder. “Fucking stop it.” He whispers, I go to get up, discreetly grabbing his crotch. I walk into the kitchen, getting myself a glass of water.

Dallas walks in after me, slapping my ass as he stand behind me. Pressing his crotch onto my ass, “You ever do that in-front of everyone again, you’re getting punished.” He tells me. I nod, turning the tap off as we go back to where we sat before. I sit down on Dally’s lap again, and I move around again just to piss him off. He puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes it, “What did I say in the kitchen, doll?” He whispers, “Don’t know, Dal. I didn’t listen.” I smirk as I take a sip of my water.

Dallas takes the cup out of my hand and places it on the coffee table. He pulls me up with him, “Me and Y/n are going home.” He tells everyone, my cheeks go red as I know what’s about to happen. “Okay, Dal. See you later.” Sodapop says, waving us off. Dallas grabs my hand and drags me out of the door and back to out place. We get to the front door, he unlocks the door and drags me upstairs to our room. He pushes me onto the bed, “Strip.” He says, I obey, stripping all over clothing off. “Lie down, doll.” He demands, I obey again.

He pulls two pairs of handcuffs out of one of the nightstands draws. He cuffs my hands to the headboard and then cuffs my legs to the bottom of the bed. “Why are you cuffing my legs?” I ask. “So you can’t squeeze your legs together or anything.” He tells me, I whine. I was dripping wet by this point, I was so turned on and needed him inside of me. Dallas runs his fingers through my wet folds, causing me to shudder. He slowly inserts one finger inside of me, I let out a low moan. “More.” I say, he shakes his head. He continues to slowly move his one finger inside of me, till I get towards an orgasm which he quickly denies and takes his finger out.

“Dallas.” I growl, he laughs. I was soaking the bedsheets, he shakes his head. “I’m quite thirsty, doll.” He says, slowly rubbing my clit, my eyes rolls back. “Gonna go grab a beer.” He tells me before walking out. “No, Dal. Get back here!!” I shout, whining at the same time because I needed to cum so badly. I try squeezing my legs together but I couldn’t because of the handcuffs. “Dallas!” I shout, “Be back up in 5, just finishin’ my beer!” He shouts back. I whine, trying to squeeze my legs together again.

It had been five minutes, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Dallas barges through the door, shirtless. He strips his pants and boxers off, leaving him completely naked. He gets in between my legs and slams himself straight into me. I scream out, cumming straight away due to how desperate I was and how much he edged me. “Dallas,” I whimper, I had become so sensitive. It hurt so bad but it felt so good at the same time. I was so close to my second orgasm.

Dallas was pounding into me, relentlessly. "Dal, it hurts." I whine, cumming again while pulling at the handcuffs. "You're doing so good, Doll. Takin' me so well." He grunts as he drills into me, I watch as he disappears inside of me, and so does he. This pushes him over the edge and he spills his warm cum inside of me. My legs were shaking and I was sweating. "You did so good, pretty girl." Dallas praises.

He picks me up and takes me to the bathroom, he places me on the toilet so I could pee. He wanders off into the bedroom and changes the sheets, putting the dirty ones in the laundry basket. Dallas comes back into the bathroom, and he carries me back into the bedroom. He places me onto the bed, helping me get dressed as we had to go back to the Curtis'. Once I was fully dressed, I sit at my vanity and freshen my makeup. When I looked presentable, we headed out the house. I lcoked the door behind us. Dallas wraps his arm around me, and kisses my head.

"I love you, Doll." He grins, I look up at him and smile. "I love you too, Dal." I say, cuddling into his side.

#patrick swayze #dallas winston #sodapop curtis #johnny cade #two bit mathews #steve randle #ponyboy curtis #tim shepard #curly shepard #randy anderson #bob sheldon #cherry valance #the outsiders #dallas winston imagine #dallas winston smut

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acrylic-anxiety · 4 months

Text

things I thought were canon in mha but are probably just things the fandom made up that are so deeply ingrained in fanmedia, coming from someone who only joined the fandom a few months ago (correct me if im wrong)

(also not caught up on s7)

- literally any ships (rip, i know, but guys, no student relationships are canon as of rn)

- eijirou and mina went to middle school together

- denki probably has (absence) seizures due to overusing his quirk/bc storms

- red shoe theory (the quirkless have an extra toe joint and bc of that they need different shoes. unfortunately there's only one type, so doesn't matter if you're 5 or 80, you're stuck wearing bright red sneakers ://)

- erasermic. just the entirety of them being together. also includes erasermic fam. still rioting from when i found out erasermic is not canon >:((

- denki has adhd + dyslexia + dyscalculia (and probably a seizure disorder)

- hitoshi is in the foster system (and was probablg ab*sed bc of his quirk. includes mentions of muzzles and quirk suppressants)

- present mic was born with his quirk, deafening everyone in the room when he was born (includes mentions of muzzles)

- the bakugous (mitsuki and masaru) are either the best parents in the world (super attentive and caring) or suck and are probably ab*sive (quirk suppressants on katsuki any time he comes home, neglectful masaru, aggressive mitsuki)

- izuku is autistic (while not canon, i wouldnt be surprised, this is coming from someone with auDHD)

- denki's parents are both pro heroes (theres two pro's with electricity quirks. maybe?? maybe not?? we'll never know)

- endeavor is homophobic (i mean... im not saying he's not-)

- present mic was adopted by two moms

- eijirou has two moms (this one tho, so cute oml im screaming)

- the bakugous run a fashion empire (katsuki modeled for them before UA

- rooftop trio's full friend group included nemuri (a year ahead of them) and tensei (iida's brother)

- iida is autistic (ngl, if this aint the case im rioting)

- tsu never had a childhood, too busy parenting her siblings while her parents were at work or traveling

- back to the bakugous, they were too busy traveling to do photoshoots (mitsuki was the model and masaru designed clothes) to watch over katsuki, so he taught himself how to do everything (chores, keeping tbe house, cooking, etc)

- eijirou has depression/was su*c*dal in middleschool, the only thing keeping him from toppling was mina

- some mutation quirks are there at birth, others come in later. ex: toru (hagakure) was not born invisible, she turned invisible when out shopping with her mom (just imagine thinking "oh shit i just lost my kid at the store" and feeling something grab your leg with the voice of your kid but nothjngs there. wild, absolutely wild) just imagine this shit with the rest of our resideng mutation kids (whom i adore) koji, fumikage, mina, mezo, mashirao (would you consider hanta, kyoka, rikido, and mineta mutation quirk kids? bc i do)

- some kids come from all over the world (i like the idea of it, just how do they all know japanese then??) one i can remember rn were like denki is a 2nd gen japanese american, yuga we know is from france, hanta is latino (i adore this)

- mineta is great!! or mineta is a r*p*st (now, hes gotten better, i'll give you that, but hes still not great and i choose to hate him so im moving on-)

- the sports festival ceremony triggered a flashback for katsuki, making him feel like he was back with the sludge villian again

- izuku and katsuki co-wrote all might fanfiction and individually at one point had all might stan pages.

- fumikage, hitoshi, and kyoka rotate between the bakusquad and dekusquad

- the emosquad consists of fumikage, hitoshi, kyoka, mezo, katsuki, and shouto

- ochako has dad sneezes (loud asf and probably back to back) and katsuki has kitten sneezes (cute and singular) (no i will not explain further)

- while katsuki is loud and "angry" all of the time, you only really got to worry when he becomes deadly silent

- if you want tea on anyone, go to either mezo or kyoka. they know all

- shouto had many firsts after the dorms were implemented: first time trying ice cream, watching a movie, listening to music, trying certain foods, etc. bc endeavor either hated it, or didnt allow him access to it bc he thought it was a waste of time

- momo probably has an eating disorder, regardless of her quirk, due to her parents pressure as a high society family

- quirk related symptoms/damage. ex: katsuki's explosions causing low blood pressure and hearing loss. present mics causing hearing loss and chronic sore throats (maybe even repeat tonsilitis??). hitoshi getting migraines, insomnia, and nose bleeds from excessive quirk use.

- aizawa transfered to the hero course after winning the sports festival his first year at UA (i think it makes sense, what with him training hitoshi later)

(this is what i could think of rn, theres probably more, add on if you think of any)

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