#ominouschickens

[visceravalentines]

OOOOOOH BOY

for the Sinclair smut prompts can I please have Vincent with “show me” and “you can get louder can’t you”

Love your writing so much!!! Ur amazing ily ♥️♥️♥️

"You can get louder, can't you? Show me."

Vincent Sinclair x GN!Reader

You love him like this, fucked out and vulnerable. He started off strong, moving and posing you in the position he wanted. Vincent was a force of nature when he cared to be, when you drew it out of him, when you let him take what he wanted.

But now, a few rounds in, his long limbs were tired and trembling and his dark hair was caught in the sweat on his neck and brow and yet it wasn't enough, ever. So he laid back on the mattress and hoisted you on top of him and stretched those beautiful arms above his head, veined like rich marble.

You rode him relentlessly, a steady, patient pace mindful of how much he'd already given you. The muscles in your hips and thighs were burning, but god, the flush on the left side of his face was worth any amount of effort. His bottom lip was pinned between his teeth and soft, labored gasps fought their way free at intervals.

Your fingertips brushed his cheek, his chin, coaxing his mouth open, slipping two fingers inside. He sucked them obediently, gazing up at you with glassy-eyed adoration.

"Vincent, my love," you murmured. His eye fluttered closed and a low moan slipped around your fingers. "Beautiful boy." You withdrew from his mouth, bending low over him to graze your nose against his. "You can be louder for me, can't you?"

He licked his lip. His expression was earnest, eager to please. You kissed him, teasing his tongue, and dug your nails into the flesh of his chest. "Show me, pretty boy."

You shifted your weight and thrust down onto him with renewed force, winding your hips, pressing him up and against your walls, milking his length without mercy. His back arched, his head lolled back, his lips parted and he groaned like a tree in the wind. Your fingers spindled down his ribs as you crooned sweet and filthy praises. He squeezed the bars of the headboard in a white-knuckle grip, released a strangled whine.

"Vincent," you breathed, your eyes rolling back as you bottomed him out again and again, "baby."

He cried out, hoarse and helpless, hips rolling beneath you as he hit his peak, straining against the headboard, the cords in his neck standing out like they'd been lovingly sculpted by talented hands. Gentle, gratified moans punctuated his comedown.

When he finally had the wherewithal to open his eye and meet your gaze, a fresh wave of color graced his cheek. You beamed at him.

"Beautiful boy," you said, leaning down to kiss him, "beautiful sounds."

[brideofperpetua]

Just here to tell you that I’ve been re reading me & the devil for the millionth time because it is SO GOOD!!!! I can’t wait to see what else comes from it (be on the lookout for fanart from me because I just have to draw your babies being cute) ♥️♥️♥️

Omg! That is so incredibly sweet, I’m honored that you like my story enough to read it more than once 😭. Thank you so so much! 🥺🙏🏻♥️ Oh wow, no pressure of course but if you made art of them together I would be so stoked!! 😭♥️♥️

[visceravalentines]

Can I give a kiss to all three of the boys??? I am in desperate need of some lovin ?

You absolutely can and in fact we all need this thing so here we go:

Often during your weekends at Bo's, you awaken to find him already up and busy. This morning you wander out of the bedroom and he is curled up on the couch, peering at a Clive Barker novel through his reading glasses. He gets defensive every time he puts them on around you even though you've never said a word about it. A mug of coffee sits curling steam up in the sunlight. He looks up as you walk in and flashes you that heartbreak smile. "Mornin', pretty thing." You shuffle over, take the book from him, climb into his lap and take his face in your hands. You kiss him good morning, warm and sweet the way he likes his coffee. His chin is scratchy with morning stubble and if you didn't know better you'd think you were still sleeping, still dreaming, too golden and comfortable in his affection for it to be this real and tangible thing. His thumb plays at your waistband, a thought, a promise. When you break the kiss he immediately steals another, and another. He pulls off his glasses and with his nose pressed to yours, he maneuvers you onto the couch alongside him, wraps you in his arms and hikes your leg over his hip. "Was thinkin' 'bout takin' you to breakfast," he says, cupping your cheek, "but maybe we oughta stay in."

It isn't hard to hold still, not when it's for him. All you have to do is sit back in your body and watch him, the way he coaxes smooth, supple curves from hard, unyielding blocks of wax or clay or marble or wood. He sculpts with his whole body, his whole self; even when he moves nothing but a single fingertip over the details of a face his entire form is taut and electric and alive in that way only artists get to come alive. You wish you could see his face. Whatever expression he wears as he works must be sacred, because you are nothing short of devoted to the idea of it. His gaze flicks up to you and your heart skips a beat. He measures, looking back and forth from you to this other, nebulous, almost-you being carved into existence. He wipes his hands on a towel and approaches you and halfway across the distance something changes in his stance. The creative frenzy slips, twists, softens and heats up at the same time. You can feel it; surely he can too. "You're doing marvelous," he signs, "I just...." He trails off as he reaches for your face, two fingers under your chin, tilting your head ever so slightly up and to the right. You aren't sure where to look. You meet his eye and there is something more than a creative passion glowing there. "Lower your gaze?" he asks, and you do. You inhale sharply as his hand lowers into view, holding his mask. You whisper his name, his first name, and his thumb caresses your cheek, and you close your eyes all the way and let him guide your lips to his and it is so much more than you ever imagined, the way he kisses you with unmistakable reverence, the way every color you've ever seen is now bursting behind your eyelids. You don't move, you can't move, you're his model, his muse, but his hand settles gently on your waist and you can't help but arch into him and it occurs to you that maybe this is what he has really wanted to do in all this time spent guiding your limbs into position and adjusting the angles of your face. And you decide then and there that you'll let him capture you however he wants, in paint, in clay, in his hands, in his bed.

All the other rangers one by one have retired to bed, but not you. And not Lester, never Lester. He's the first one in and the last one out, always. It's what makes him a good leader. But he's got ulterior motives tonight and so do you. When the last man hauls himself out of his seat and bids you goodnight, and the crunch of his footfalls disappear into the night, you get up and round the fire to the vacant seat beside him. He smiles that puppy dog smile at you in the light of the dying embers and cranes his head back to gaze at the stars above the treetops. "Nice night, huh?" You agree, take his hand and give it a squeeze. "Y'all ready for tomorrow?" The two of you will be striking out for the north side of the nearby mountain range, scouting out which trails need maintenance and which can be left for another year. You'll have two weeks of uninterrupted time together, just you and the stars. You didn't even bother packing your own tent. You answer in the affirmative and he drops his gaze back to you. "Should be a...pretty good time, I think." If you could, you would follow him back to his cabin, snuggle up beneath the quilt and count the hours together. But you'll have to wait just a little longer. "Sleep well, sugar bee," he says, "see ya in the mornin'." You lean in for a goodnight kiss and he meets you in the middle. He tastes like s'mores, all chocolate and honey, and his mustache tickles your lip. The air is crisp and he is warm and the crickets make it sound like you're the only two people on the planet. Even though it is late and you've already said goodnight, you sit and share each other's breath for so long it necessitates another round of goodnights when at last you pull away. He is reluctant to drop your hand as you leave the glow of the fire and you know without saying it out loud that you will both lie awake in your cabins, counting the hours, looking through the ceiling at the stars.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Bex!!! You’re my favorite smut author on this hell site, and I was wondering if I could get some tips from you?

How do you make words sound good and not like (penis goes in hole :))?

Also what are you secrets for writing dialogue, because yours is so good and I have to know how you make it sound so natural!!!!

(Feel free to skip) ♥️♥️♥️

Well hey there Ghost! 

Smut writing tips I can totally do! So I did a smut writing tips post a long while back and honestly it still rings true for a lot of it.

The biggest thing, the biggest and best advice is to ask yourself, what do you like?

I write for myself first and foremost and write more of what I like/want to see. Ask yourself what you like, what you want to see more of and try to fill that need. Everyone will write smut differently and focus on different aspects and parts and that is part of what is so fucking good about it. The fact that everyone does it differently helps keep it fresh and gives the beautiful amount of variety that we get to see and be treated to in the fandom. 

So look at pieces you like, dissect the word choices that you find hot, use a word finder for grabbing similar words, also just read, read. Reading and absorbing other’s works can be a great jumping off point, giving you loads of inspo. 

As for the dialogue front, that is trickier. I am a massive movie buff, I have watched a shit ton of tv and youtube and podcasts and am obsessed with dialogue and how people talk and pulling it apart. I think dialogue is the most important part in the writing I do, it really sells and makes or breaks characterization for me personally. I strive to write really good dialogue, part of what helps is being willing to re-work and also, speaking out loud. Say the dialogue, see how it fits in your mouth, rolls off your tongue, is it clunky or flows well?

This isn’t a hard and fast rule however because what flows well out of the mouth and on the page can be different. You can have a written sentence that flows great but when you try to verbalise it doesn’t sound right and there is nothing wrong with that. 

SO! The biggest asset is constantly consuming the works of others while thinking about WHY you like them as much as you. Also experiment a lot, don’t be afraid to screw around with flow, different words, vibes, have fun!!!

Also if you write and post anything you should totally send it my way so I can see it!