The Art of Smut

We are all guilty of searching Tumblr or Archive of Our Own for insight about our favorite characters. Maybe a bit more than just a POV date night.

I know I am definitely guilty of it. Just want to give a shout out to all the fan fiction writers who wrote smutty masterpieces featuring the Mandolorian Din Djarin (yes, daddy), Negan (don't judge me), Dean Winchester (we all have a thing for him, don't lie), Sebastian Stan/Bucky Barnes (gimme a boy with a traumatic backstory), and Captain America (that is America's ass).

That's my top five anyway, and I have no regrets.

But as we all know, there are top tier smut stories, I will cite the 'Sweet Girl' series featuring Din Djarin, the stories that we got back to time and time again for some, um, 'inspiration'.

But then we have all come across the dreaded stories that have smut so badly written, that you flinch and feel uncomfortable because it feels like it's been written by a 14 year old virgin.

Here's the thing about smut, well about writing in general, you base your writing off of what you know and then you build the imagination off of that. So if you'd had sex, you know when it's written badly.

Sex is a wonderful thing to experience, the ultimate form of intimacy and trust in someone else to accept all of you. It can be rough, freaky, kinky, soft, passionate. You can cry out of joy, I know I will cry from relief the next time I get it.

Good god it's been so long.

I want a man who's built like a viking to carry me over his shoulder and smack my ass as he carries me off to a bedroom. I want him to rip my shirt down the middle and to slowly kiss down my body, pin my hips down as he goes lower and lower to stop me from wiggling away from his grasp.

He'd growl at me to stay still and to relax and he'd eat me out like a man starved. He'd moan and bite and lick and do everything that drives me wild to make finish *arrive*. (just in case censors are here)

I'd be panting and flushed and whimpering as he sits back up and rips his shirt over his head and unzips his jeans.

He'd lean over me and kiss across my chest and neck while I run my hands through his thick hair and marvel at the tattoos littering over his body as he teases me. I'd whimper again as he smirks and chuckles deep in his chest and whispers into my ear that only good girls get a reward.

I'd beg and plead and tell him I'd do anything, that I am a good girl.

He'd yank my hair at the base of my skull to arch my back as he thrusted and I'd gasp and grip his shoulders and moan when I could take a breath. He'd start off slowly, letting me adjust to him and slowly build up a quicker rhythm that would hit deep, that *special* spot.

It would be an ecstasy fueled passionate experience, heart racing, skin flushed, muscles tightening, erratic breathing; building and building until you're on that precipice that just sends you over into an ocean of blinding pleasure that makes your back arch and toes curl and crying out.

He'd grip my hips as I *arrived* and groan as he felt my muscles contract and say in a deep gravelly voice that he's not stopping and start to-

Whew, I need a minute.

But you get my point, smut writing is a sensitive topic and a tough one to write without sounding like an inexperienced lover.