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whosjunglejim4322 · 3 years

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Alpha!Hybrid Au, SMUT, PWP, soft dom Yuta bc ur his baby, bestfriend!to lovers, arguing, pussy eating, jealousy, BREEDING KINK, unprotected sex (pls wrap ur willy), monster cock agenda

He's in trouble. The huge, colossal, has to hang his head in shame type of trouble. The worst part is that, he doesn't really feel bad about it, that kid had it coming and - fuck, no, he shouldn't think like that. But he can't fight the instinct, as hard as he tries.

"I'm so sorry, I really am I-" he stutters, trying to find the right words as you stomp away from him towards your room, continuing your maddening silent treatment that he knows only means he's really fucked up.

"I shouldn't have done...that, I know, I know." His voice is strained, desperate in his feat to prove his sincerity. It's nearly impossible to describe its magnitude when he has yet to admit how he really feels about you. It makes the whole situation that much worse.

"You...you actually growled at him, Yuta. Mark Lee. He's a friend of mine, a good friend! And you-" you've finally turned to face him, kicking your shoes off and slinging them to the nearest corner, your anger a tangible force. "you nearly scared him half to death!" You scold, still shivering at the thought.

He looks like a puppy whos just been reprimanded, no pun intended. He allows you to push past him to the kitchen, following behind you with urgent footsteps and continuing his pleads of understanding. This is eating at him in more ways than one.

"I couldn't help it, you know that-" you scoff, interrupting him while you turn to meet his wide, guilt ridden gaze.

"Don't give me that alpha bullshit." You know it's a low blow, probably the lowest you could muster but you're just so damn annoyed. He doesn't know what it's like to be a human so close to such a guttural sound as the one he used to establish dominance earlier tonight. It's like being next to a hellcat, the roar of an engine that reverberates throughout every bone in your body.

You'd been so shocked, so embarrassed for Mark that you hadn't even registered the fact that it licked such a hot flame inside of you, furthering your outburst and only igniting feelings that you shouldn't be having in the first place.

Your unrequited feelings for your best friend probably just add fuel to the fire, considering you're mostly angry at yourself for the way your body actually had the nerve to like the prospect of Yuta being jealous. You should be embarrassed.

"Hey, that’s not fair," He practically whines, losing his sanity with each passing second. "I'm not lying when I say that I couldn't help it." You know he's telling the truth, and he knows that he couldn't have fought it off even he wanted to.

He could smell Mark's change in scent whenever you laughed at one of his jokes, could see the way his eyes would linger on you whenever he thought no one could tell. It came to a head when the human boy actually had the audacity to slip an arm around you while in one of his laughing fits. The feeling was like a dam bursting, hot lava through his veins pushing the sound from within his chest.

You rip open the door of the fridge in search for a bottle of water, and he waits for your response, his heart pounding in his ears like thunder.

"He'll probably run for the hills next time he sees us, if he even wants to talk to me again at all considering the stunt you pulled-"

"Why is that such a bad thing?!" The words spill from his mouth like he hasn't got a choice, the truth so close to trickling off of his tongue. "He clearly has such an obvious, nauseating crush on you and actually thought he was being oblivious - he wanted his scent on you."

Yuta takes a step back, shoving his slim fingers into his raven hair before rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes, frustrated. Your heart suddenly thuds at an uneven pace in your chest, belly flipping wildly with a mixture of emotions.

Without even having to think about it you're stepping closer towards his trembling figure. He's got his fists clenched and you know his nails are likely digging into his palm, a habit formed from nervousness, or other emotions when they become too overwhelming for him.

"What are you even talking about, He doesn't-"

"Yes he does, I would know what it's like firsthand," surprisingly the words are easier to say than he previously thought, cathartic from the way he's held them in for so long. It's like once he starts he can't stop.

Your jaw has gone slack, body sweltering as you stare at him from a few feet away. He looks like he's holding on to the edge of ration, trying so desperately not to scare you away.

"I can barely think straight when I'm around you, it drives me crazy and that human - he was practically glowing from your presence alone and I couldn't stand it I- he doesn't even know what it's like to love you."

You feel like the wind has been knocked out of you, feet planted steady on the ground but somehow you feel like you're spinning. Your body feels like it's been lit like a live wire, his utter vulnerability and the sheer magnitude of the feelings swarming in his warm irises, spearing heat through your lower abdomen.

He looks pained, suddenly. More so than before and the need to reach out and touch him, to do something to soothe the agonized furrow between his sharp brows, feels borderline unbearable.

"I should go - fuck, I'm so sorry I'll leave I never should have even come tonight."

He's backing away further, nails still digging into the meat of his palms when your feet finally unthaw from shock, moving towards him before he can twist the doorknob.

It's like placing your hand on a heater, the temperature almost scalding. He's still shaking like a leaf in autumn, his breaths ragged and skin glossy.

He's still flinched away from you, as if scared to so much as glance up at you, and it feels like your chest is being cracked open.

"Don't leave, stop, okay?" The break in your voice catches his attention and suddenly his eyes are boring into yours, low and dark, riddled with too many emotions at once.

Your hands are suddenly grabbing his, much cooler than his scorching skin as you uncurl his fists. The crescent moons are already healing.

"You don't have to be sorry, I haven't been honest with you and I - I love you, too." You speak softly, bashfully almost as you pull him closer, stroking his cheek with the back of your knuckles. He feels as though he might combust.

"You...you do? Really?" He's dumbfounded, shaken from his core in a way that has him trembling in a different way all together. He steps closer and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek, the heat radiating off of him in waves.

You reach out, moving his dark, disheveled hair from in front of his eyes, chills rising from your skin as he leans into your touch. He looks dazed, lost in everything you say. He's so beautiful up close, golden and silky and glowing. You squeeze your thighs together.

You don't miss the way he glances from your lips and back to your eyes, nostrils flared slightly as you nod back at him. You even forget how easy it is for him to sense your emotions, to know exactly what it is you're feeling.

"Say it again." The timbre of his voice has lowered substantially and it has your knees weak as you grasp onto his sturdy shoulders, his pink tongue darting out to wet his unfairly plump lips. You're the one with the fever now.

"I love you, Yuta. I love you."

He groans.

"Oblivious, so oblivious. Don't even know how fucked you have me, do you?" His hot fingertips graze the side of your neck and you press your chest against his, the surface of your lips barely skimming past one another, noses touching.

Finally, with a fleeting permissive gaze into your eyes, he closes the space, giving air to your lungs and dousing gasoline on the blaze.

All at once he's crashing against you, soft mouth feverish in the way he suckles your bottom lip, wet tongue lapping into your mouth. He swallows your petulant whine, shoving you as gently as he can against the kitchen counter, needing to keep you steady against something.

Your fingers grip handfuls of his hair as your pelvises meet, rubbing against the other with a roll of your hips. It's like a magnetic force, stronger than anything either of you has ever felt.

"Please, please." He begs sweetly. your hardened nipples rubbing him through his thin tee shirt, thigh suddenly hiked up around his narrow hips. You don't even have to ask what it is he wants, ready for any and everything he offers. It's like nothing else, kissing him like this, hearing the product of your effect on him. Your fantasies could never do him justice.

"Yes, Yuta." You reply through the desperate kisses he presses to your mouth, his forehead against yours, one hand locked at the nape of your neck. A sound a bit less menacing than the one that started this whole ordeal in the first place, vibrates through his chest and he's all too aware of the way it sends a satisfied tremor through your body.

"I've dreamt of this," he strains, as three dexterous fingers slip into the waistband of your bottoms, yanking them down at inhuman speed. Your gasp is against his cheek, before he's gone suddenly.

Not gone, in between your legs. You look down when you feel a hot puff of breath against the soiled patch in your underwear.

"so many nights I would cum to the thought of you, just so I could come over and not make a fool out of myself. Fuck, you have no idea."

His admittance has your thighs wavering as he pulls them apart, marveling at your clothed sex and running the tip of his slim index finger over your covered slit. He keeps you steady by the back of your knees.

He gazes up at you through the thick of his lashes, eyes topaz and thick with fog from the way your arousal has gotten him worked up. You can't believe this is actually happening.

"I- I do have an idea." He keeps his eyes on you while he mouths the innermost skin of your thighs, the feeling warm and ticklish, causing a whimper to fall from your lips.

"Tell me, baby, go ahead." Fuck, he still sounds so sweet despite the pure desire dripping from his tone. It's need in the rawest form. His teeth nip at your skin, softly, and it pushes the words from within tour throat.

"I've touched myself so many nights- to the thought of you and - ohhh, mmm," You throw your head back, muscles twitching as he places his mouth over the wet spot in your underwear, licking and sucking as if to torture himself. You feel the faintest prick of his nails against the back of your thighs before the feeling disappears, most likely him trying to stay centered.

"Yuta, please." You reach down, pushing his dark muss of hair away from his forehead, being driven mad by the way he's mouthing your pussy through such a thin layer of fabric. He's tempted to hear you beg some more, the sound unbearably sweet.

But he's too hungry for you to not only deny your pleasure, but also to deprive himself of such a delicacy. He all but rips the flimsy fabric from your lower half, lips parting with unbridled appetency from being so close to the sweetest source of honey.

He can't find it in himself to tease anymore, succumbing to his all consuming desire before you can gasp for the second time tonight.

It's heat, seering and wet and sloppy with the way he takes your clit into his mouth. The sounds are so raunchy, he's practically cooing against your sex while his thick pink tongue comes out to lap at your entrance.

If he weren't holding you up by the backs of your thighs you would have fallen straight to the floor by now, entire body fizzling with a burn that melts you to his touch.

"Mmm." He hums against your slit, dark lashes fanning against the highs of his cheekbones as he closes his eyes in bliss - nose pressed against your mound as while shakes his head back and forth. His plump lips - lips you've dreamt of being right where they are now, on your most sensitive of parts - suckle your folds before circling your swollen bud with the tip of his pink muscle. His wild hair tickles the inside of your thighs.

He's practically bursting from his jeans but he channels that energy elsewhere, cock throbbing angrily at it's neglect but he's too focused to care. He's wanted this for so long, never thought it possible. He always knew you smelled different around him, sweeter. He's not dumb. He knows the effect he has on you.

But now that he's sure, it's a whole different experience. You're dripping, barely able to hold yourself up as he eats you like a man starved. He kisses you as passionately as he did earlier, these lips just as soft and addicting as your others.

He takes his index and ring finger, spreading you open and licking at you with deliberate, indulgent stripes. The sight is too much to even witness, your best friend, your Yuta, heartbreakingly beautiful as he's always been. Except this time he's eating you out in the middle of your kitchen.

"Y-Yuta m'gonna - oohhh, fuck." He doesn't take this as a warning, he takes it as a challenge. You're not sure you can handle anymore, body on overdrive, spilling over with pheromones. This makes him all the more hungry, all the more enthusiastic.

After all, that is your bestfriend. Always going the extra mile for you, always there when you need him. His eyes open and he's peering up at you like you're the sun, strong hands wrapping around your soft hips and rocking your hips against his mouth.

You can all but read his expression, the urgency in which he wants you to fall apart. He coerces you with his penetrating gaze, and you wonder how you've held out from cumming this long.

All at once it hits you, a stroke of his skilled tongue while he moves you against it, making up for your lack of strength. The sound he lets out is close to a whimper, forcing your thighs open when they threaten to close around his head.

It's like having every single one of your nerve endings doused in pure euphoria, it fills you like a balloon and bursts into a thousand sparks. You're almost afraid he's not going to stop, that he's gonna lick you raw until he's kissing you again.

Your eyes are still closed shut from the magnitude of your orgasm, the taste of yourself suddenly on your tongue as his lips move against yours. Despite your state, you're quick to respond, spent but not completely satiated. Not when you know that this is really happening, that the line has already been crossed and more than that - he actually loves you back.

He's still holding you steady when your shaky hands paw at the waistband of his jeans, missing and stroking the firm appendage that's bulging out to the right.

He convulses, lurching against you before you're wrapped around his waist, being carried into another room you suppose but it doesn't take very long. Your back hits a bed and you realize he's carried you to your room.

So many nights spent with him here, binging countless shows that are really only entertaining because he's there to watch them with you, him letting you play with his hair and styling it every which way when you're bored and have nothing else to do.

But even bad nights as well. Nights where everything in the world felt so overwhelming, crying in his arms seemed like the only thing that could give you some sort of release. And he'd always be there, waiting and ready for you no matter what mood the day might have put you in.

You arch against him when he begins to mark your neck, right over your carotid artery, moving to the sensitive skin under your ear. You suddenly feel very alone in your nakedness and your patience is wearing thin, your eagerness to see him in all of his glory an emotion that you hadn't realized was so strong.

His chuckle is warm and familiar in your ear, his smile bright and provoking a strange surge of urgency to move through you when he hooks his finger onto the hem of his shirt and pulls it from his body.

You almost want to yell at him, to curse him for ever holding out on you this long. You've seen him shirtless before, he's spent the night and showered at your place plenty. It's just that, now, it's different. Completely different. And you're grateful for the way he allows you to marvel openly.

He's panting while your palms are placed on the lean, tanned planes of his body. From his shoulders to his chest down over his sides, you wish you could kiss every inch of him.

It's when your fingers pass the fine dark hair just under his navel that your eyes finally land upon the intimidating hard on he's sporting, his stare heavy as you go to to undo his button.

He helps you in pushing them down his thighs, before he places his forearms on either side of you, caging you against him while he kicks the garment off. Your hands wander any expanse of his brilliant skin as they can reach, and you know that he's basking in it.

Especially the way you breathe his name when his clothed cock nudges your naked center, reminding you that this is really happening and that he's going to be inside of you.

It's thrill, swirling in your belly, and as potent as pure adrenaline when your curiosity and desire overpowers your nerves and you cup him through his underwear. Your expression gives away your exact thoughts, the unabashed surprise and wonder at feeling him like this.

His eyes seem to darken even more, if possible, as he tongues the inside of his cheek, smug.

"You want it bad, don't you?" He taunts, this side of him making you feel whiny in the best of ways. It causes you to pulse around nothing, the way he peers down at you with such a cocky, avaricious expression.

"Yes, Yuta I want it bad," you wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the soft hairs there as you pull him down to your mouth. "Please fuck me, please."

He grunts, his hand cupping your jaw one second and gone the next. You feel his knuckles graze your pelvis between your bodies, and you realize he's taking his underwear off, the butterflies suddenly in your throat.

You feel it before you see it, bare and naked against you, that is.

It's big. Bigger than you expected, and you already suspected that with confidence like his, it was generous in size. He drags it through your folds, hugged between the softness of your lips, nose nudging your jaw.

"You're so beautiful....m'so lucky baby, so so lucky." He pants, your thighs tight around his torso, heels digging into his lower back. Your cheek is pressed against his hair and the scent of his shampoo calms your raging pulse, your heart is surely giving away just how much this is affecting you.

The tip of his dick grazes your entrance and you throb, bucking up against him in a manner that causes him to groan, further grinding his hips against you and allowing just the head to begin pushing into you - the easier portion of him to take at first - before he suddenly stills.

"Condom, fuck I didn't even think-"

You interrupt his pained admittance, the words spilling from your mouth before he can even finish, your senses overpowered.

"It's okay, just fuck me raw."

This has his body convulsing again, a guttural sound reverberating in his throat as one hand suddenly cups your face, like its as breakable as fine china and as delicate as a honeysuckle. The expression on his beautiful face has you pushing up against the head of his dick again, his jaw tight.

"Don't just say that, please," He fights back the urge to plunge into you all at once, honey eyes locked onto your half lidded gaze as you writhe underneath him. "such a dirty fuckin' mouth, do you really mean that, darling?"

You're nodding fervently but he needs an answer.

"Yes, I mean it I really mean it, Yuta." You whimper, and its the confirmation he needs to continue. Slowly but surely - only as to not hurt you - he's sliding into you, and the stretch is more overwhelming than you thought it'd be, nails digging into his skin.

He watches your expression the entire time, thumb stroking your face and lips kissing the swell of your cheek.

When he's finally bottomed out, the fullness makes it hard to move, though it's not much of a setback when he's being so caring and attentive, prepared to make you feel good.

"Are y-you okay? Does it hurt?" He stutters, expression laced with genuine concern as he swallows. You don't even pretend not to stare at his neck, his chest.

"Just...it's just a lot, you're so big," He stifles a gruff sound in the crook of your neck, your hand rubbing up and down the hot expanse of his smooth back. The discomfort doesn't last long when you're here with him like this. "you can move Yuta, move."

You don't mean to sound so pressing but your body feels touch starved, like you want more and more and more. That desire is fulfilled when he begins to drag himself out of you before pushing back in, clamping his teeth into his bottom lip as he does so.

He's not slow for very long though, not by a long shot. In between making out he's on his haunches, looking down at the sight before him, taking in the squelch of your wetness around his thick cock while you paw at his waist.

It's different, so different and so good. You're all but shell shocked, mouth agape while he rolls his hips into you. Every time he thrusts back into you you’re jolted, squeaking due the depths he's managing to hit.

"Oh baby, you're taking it so well. Knew you would, always knew you would." He's breathless, gripping onto your hips with fervour, kissing you sloppily.

Everything feels so vibrant with him, so visceral. You're barely able to speak coherently, and it's causing a stir within his belly that threatens to burst. You claw at his waist when he thrusts at a particular angle and you keen against him.

"Ooohhh,Yuta Yuta Yuta." You coo, face suddenly covered by your own hands as you feel tears welling in your eyes from the way his bulbous tip massages that spongey spot deep inside of you.

Between just a breath, you're on your stomach, the absence of his dick leaving you feeling all to empty just for a second, before he's plunging back inside.

You fist the sheets while you rock back against him, the sounds leaving his throat deep and resonant. You're not propped all the way up, he knows it might be too much for you like that right now but it's enough. Enough for the dirtiest thoughts and needs to boil inside his blood, to spill from his mouth. Like he can't even help it.

"Mmm, wanna fill you with my cum like this, have you dripping with it. Bet you'd look s-so pretty, fuck." He's dissapearing inside of you at a faster pace and you go limp, his strength too much to try and keep up with along with the fact that his admittance is leaving you even more fucked out than you were before.

"Y-Yes, want you to fill me up Yuta. Oohh!" You're sure his fingertips will leave bruises but you're too gone to think about it, not when he's suddenly got a hand around the back of your neck, front pressed against your back while he pumps himself into you.

"Yeah? Bet you'd like that, walking around being stuffed full. I want you all - shit - all to myself, get you big and swollen." He shudders against your neck when a ripple of pleasure has him momentarily reeling, pace sloppy and fierce. You're gripping onto the sheets for dear life.

"Fill me up, I want you to give me your babies. Want you and only you."

This provokes something inside of him that he hadn't ever thought really existed, at least not when it came to how he would feel in this particular situation. It's a carnal feeling, seeping down his spine and into his hips and has him pistoling into you too fast-

He keeps going as thick ropes of his cum fill you up, more abundantly than you thought possible. You can feel it, the warmth in your insides and even as it trickles out and down the back of your thighs. He kisses the cheek that isn't pressed against the mattress, still groaning while he pumps it into you.

And he doesn't stop.

His dick is still rock hard, covered in his release and your arousal alike and the glide is like silk, the sound loud and invasive and perfect. You're reaching back now, carding your hands through his hair and he senses your need to touch him.

Once again, it's a blur before you realize the position has changed. You're on top of him and his knees are locked underneath you, heels raised on the mattress while he takes you like this from below.

You openly adore him for a second, like this. He's glowing in his post orgasm state, ethereal in all forms. His broad lips are pursed, slightly parted and kiss bitten to a pretty plum shade. His high cheeks match, and his hazy eyes stare up at you with all the admiration in the world.

"You like when I fuck my cum into you like this baby? Gonna make an even bigger mess for me?" He says it so sweetly you feel like you might cry, everything far too much for a moment while you bury your face in the safety of his neck, the scent of his skin sweet and familiar.

All you can do is whine really, the wanton sound pathetic and weak and adorable in every sense. He wants to give you the world more, the moon and stars.

"That's it baby, I got you. You can let go for me, my sweet girl. Bet your little pussy just wants to cum so bad."

His strong arms wrap around your body and cage you to his figure when the pleasure finally overflows, wracking your body like an earthquake and leaving you unable to do anything other than bear it.

He kisses the side of your head, makes sure to circle his hips while you pant his name over and over in his ear, pussy clenching around him and fluttering wildly. He can hardly believe he's actually just gotten to make you fall apart, that he is the one who has you nearly in tears against his chest with his cock buried to the hilt inside of you.

He doesn't dare move. Even after a few minutes, you're still shaking and twitching, and he holds you all the while. It's more than perfect, it's everything. That might be dramatic for some but for him, for you, it's like finally coming home.

Because, it's been so long. So long since the moment you two first met, and since you realized that this person was not someone you could live without. For so long, it felt impossible to admit your feelings.

The risk of losing each other was too great, excruciating even.

But now that you're together, in the purest form there is, connected in the most intimate of ways, and he wishes that he would have told you sooner. You both do.

Never again. You'll never slip through each others fingers, ever again.

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sickandvomiting · 5 years

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Trials and Tribulations (1/?)

So apparently our lovely tungle dot com decided to completely erase a couple of my fics, this being one of them. So here I am to repost, bc this is actually important to a major plot arc for the Blues Group.

“YES! Ah! That’s it!” Avi exclaimed, startling Morgan out of his momentary daze. Avi had called Morgan over to their place earlier in the day for help with a new song idea, but they had gotten rather stuck on a chord in the bridge and everything Morgan had been suggesting for the past ten minutes was shot down. Eventually Morgan just let Avi do their thing, zoning out for a bit as they plunked around on the piano, trying to find the exact combination of notes they were hearing in their head. Inwardly he was actually a little grateful for the break. He had been feeling a kind of gnawing in his stomach for the last hour or so that had recently blossomed into mild nausea, and the reprieve from constant conversation and singing was nice, although short lived. He absently ran a hand over his stomach as he turned back to Avi.

“Let’s hear it then,” he prompted, gesturing to the keyboard. The lanky pianist smiled, whipping around and starting from the beginning of the bridge, singing Morgan’s vocals quietly along with the accompaniment. When they got to the part they had gotten stuck on before, they looked pointedly over at Morgan and raised an eyebrow as they played the dissonant chord they had been agonizing over before finishing out the bridge with a flourish. It was beautiful, tones playing off each other and leading the ear in unexpected ways. Half steps are a thing of beauty, Morgan thought.

“Yes! That fits so much better than what I was saying,” he laughed, inwardly wincing a bit as the motion jostled his unsettled stomach.

“I know, that’s why I kept saying no to what you were saying, sugar” Avi replied, thick southern drawl curling their words. “I’d give my left leg for your perfect pitch.” They laughed as Morgan raised an eyebrow at them.

“And what exactly would I do with your left leg after said trade?” He smiled amusedly as Avi shrugged and went back to playing. “Seems like I’d be getting the short end of the stick.”

“Search me, darlin’. Maybe hit people with it? Carry it around to give people a scare?” they quipped back, not looking up from the keys. “It’s certainly long enough and white enough to pass for a fancy marble pillar, so maybe stick it on the fancy porch of a very small mansion?” they added, smiling down at the piano as their fingers flew over the keyboard.

Morgan laughed, but said nothing. Instead, he stifled a breathy burp behind his fist. He wasn’t quite sure what was making him queasy, but he was sure at this point that hunger wasn’t the culprit. The very thought of eating made his stomach roll uneasily inside him. Avi’s unnaturally warm room certainly wasn’t helping his case, nor were the strong smelling leftovers from their lunch a few hours earlier. Spicy Indian curry. Another burp rolled up his throat and his cheeks puffed out as he tried to keep it silent. Avi was too absorbed in what they were playing to notice anything else, for which Morgan was grateful. He pressed the back of his fingers against his cheek, feeling his flushed face. He was definitely too warm, but again, that could just be the heat of the room. Perhaps he was reading into things too much.

He sat in silence listening to Avi play for a few more minutes when his stomach let out an audible gurgle, which in turn elicited another belch. Maybe curry had been a bad idea. I need to get out of this room, Morgan thought. He stood slowly, being careful not to jar his quickly worsening stomach.

“Back in a moment,” he said as he stepped through the door. Avi nodded and waved a hand in dismissal when they could spare it, not really processing what had been said.

Morgan closed the door behind him, but unfortunately both the heat and the smell had already permeated the entire apartment. Pressing a hand against his gurgling stomach, he momentarily sagged against the wall before stepping into the bathroom and leaning over the sink. He looked up at himself in the mirror. He didn’t look particularly sick. No sunken eyes or terrible flush - if anything, he looked a bit paler than normal despite how hot his face felt. He stifled another burp behind his fist, tasting an offensive mixture of stomach acid, curry, and the coffee he drank earlier. He pulled his long dreads back into a ponytail and turned on the faucet, splashing some of the cool water on his face. It felt good on his too-warm skin, and he leaned down and took a sip from the stream. The cool liquid felt amazing. Maybe it’s just dehydration after all, he thought. After all, he hadn’t had a proper drink of water in longer than he could remember. And it didn’t seem to hurt him, so he took a slightly longer drink from it, and when that felt alright, another. He didn’t stop until he felt like he had rehydrated sufficiently, and was a little cooler to boot.

As he stood up to return to the room, the water in his now full stomach sloshed uncomfortably. He had only taken a few steps back down the hallway when it started churning and roiling with a newfound vengeance. The nausea came back so quickly and with such intensity that he had to support himself with the wall as he staggered back to the restroom as quickly as he could given that the floor was tilting feet. He clamped a hand over his mouth; salty saliva began to pool in his mouth and he gagged unproductively against his palm.

As soon as the toilet was in sight his stomach lurched, sending up a small torrent of water that spurted from between his fingers. He darted over to the sink and doubled over, heaving again. Mostly liquid sick splattered into the basin, a few droplets splashing back up onto his face and shirt. He took a moment to catch his breath, and bit back a gag as he darted over to the toilet and lifted the lid. No sooner had he collapsed to his knees than he pitched forward as another gush thundered into bowl, coming out his nose with the force of it. He panted toward the water, and screwed his eyes shut as his stomach rolled violently, more sick splattering into the murky water.

He let his mouth hang open expectantly as tendrils of drool and sick clung to his lips, but nothing else came. He knew there was more in there; his stomach was still churning and burbling like a boiling pot, but it seemed to be finished for the moment. He spit into the soiled water and grabbed a handful of toilet paper to wipe his watering eyes and the rest of his face before pitching it into the bowl. He grabbed another wad and blew his nose, almost gagging again as something dislodged that definitely wasn’t supposed to be there. He stayed kneeling for another minute, just in case, but when nothing happened he flushed the toilet stood cautiously. He made his way slowly back to Avi’s room, with small cautious steps, keeping one hand on his aching belly and the other on the wall since the room still felt as though it was pitching about like a boat on the water.

He opened the door and the smell of curry hit him like a freight train. His stomach gurgled ominously, and for a moment he was sure he was going to be sick again right there, but the danger passed after a few seconds and he stepped gingerly into the room.

Avi turned to face him when they heard the door open and gasped. All color had gone from under Morgan’s dark skin except for a few reddish blotches on the apples of his cheeks, his eyes were red and puffy, and the way he hunched over and cradled his belly spoke volumes as to how he must be feeling.

“I threw up,” he croaked out, anticipating the question when Avi’s mouth opened to speak. His normally rich voice was raspy and shallow.

Avi sprang off the bench and crossed the room in two strides. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” they asked, despite already knowing the answer. Morgan was a very private person, and did everything in his power to keep from letting people know when something was wrong. Something about “showing weakness”, they remembered him say. They placed a cool hand on his forehead and tsked quietly at the warmth they felt.

“You’ve got a fever darlin’.”

They moved to guide Morgan to the bed, but even before they made contact Morgan’s eyes widened with sudden panic. His hand flew to his mouth as gagged, but it did nothing to stop the stream of sick from splattering down his chest and onto the floor, coating his shirt and shoes. The spray caught Avi’s skirt and shoes as well. He tried to apologize but got cut off but another gag. Avi frantically shoved their trash bin under Morgan’s chin just in time to catch the second wave, and held it there as he burped up another mouthful of sick. It fell into the bin with a crinkle of the plastic liner, followed by another larger wave. They turned their head away, closing their eyes as he spewed another gush into the bin, the sight and smell turning their stomach as well.

The bout ended just as quickly as it started, and as soon as he felt safe to speak, apologies started tumbling out of Morgan’s mouth as fast as he could say them.

“Oh my god I’m so so sorry I didn’t mean to oh my god I’m sorry there’s such a mess I’m so so sorry I don’t know what happened-”

Avi cut him off, shushing him gently. “It’s okay, Morgan. It’s not your fault. You’re alright.” They set the basin on the ground and wiped his mouth with a tissue. “Let’s get you out of these soiled clothes and clean you up, okay?” When he nodded, they grabbed his clean hand started steering him in the direction of the bathroom.

Morgan’s head was reeling. Stars danced about the corners of his vision as his head throbbed in time with his racing pulse. He leaned heavily on Avi for support when his knees threatened to buckle. His legs were trembling so hard he was sure the muscles would just give out and send him sprawling to the ground. His limbs all felt like jelly and his abs cramped and ached, as though every bit of energy in his body had been sapped up by the fit.

The trip to the restroom was a short one, but felt like it took far longer than the 30 seconds they really spent struggling to stay upright. As soon as they got there Avi all but dropped Morgan onto the toilet. He groaned at the jarring movement and sagged forward, curling both arms around his stomach, his head lolling against his chest. He always felt exhausted after throwing up, but this was something else. He was so warm. His eyelids were so heavy.

Avi turned on the faucet in their large bath, letting the water run until it was warm before plugging the drain. They then tapped Morgan’s cheek to rouse him, grimacing at the heat they felt there. Was it possible for a fever to shoot up so quickly? They bit their lip in worry as Morgan’s glassy eyes worked to focus on them, eventually settling on the bright floral tattoo on their chest, seemingly unable to look up any further. Or at least unwilling.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Avi said, more for their own benefit than Morgan’s. “Stay with me, sweetheart,” they whispered, brushing a stray dread behind Morgan’s ear and tipping his face up toward their own.

“‘M here,” Morgan mumbled almost incoherently, looking pointedly away from Avi in humiliation. “‘M just… so tired. Why’m I so tired?” His eyes turned toward them, searching their face for an answer, but saw only worry.

“I don’t know, sugar,” Avi answered, starting to tug at the bottom of Morgan’s shirt. “Arms up, okay? We’ve gotta get you cleaned up.”

“Mmmnh,” Morgan groaned, blushing crimson as Avi helped to strip him of his sick drenched shirt. They threw it unceremoniously into the sink before asking Morgan to stand and take his jeans off while they supported him. He obliged, albeit slowly and reluctantly, mind working through a fog as his fingers fumbled with the buttons and zip.

Once he was wearing nothing but his boxers, Avi helped him into the tub and turned off the water. It was a really nice tub, deep enough that he was mostly submerged, other than his shoulders and head, and long enough to stretch out his legs. Any other time he would have appreciated it, but right now the warmth of the water was starting to get to his head and make his stomach churn all over again.

Avi crossed to the sink and turned on the tap, soaking the soiled clothes-- those were a later problem-- while Morgan dispensed some soap onto a washcloth that was draped over the side of the tub. He shook his head as the sickeningly sweet black cherry scent turned his stomach, but there was some resistance to the motion.

“Shit,” he mumbled.

Avi whipped around, assuming that something bad was about to happen. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“M’ hair got wet…” he said, struggling to get the saturated locs out from behind his back.

Avi breathed a sigh of relief. This they could help with. They sat down on the edge of the tub and gently swatted Morgan’s trembling hands away before helping him sit forward enough to pull his long hair out of the water. They wrapped the dripping ends in a towel and wrung them out as best they could before using a big sparkly scrunchy to pull all of his hair up into a bun on top of his head.

“Cute,” they said with a wry laugh as Morgan stared at them incredulously.

“This a good look for me?” he asked, smiling halfheartedly when Avi replied “Definitely,” with a wink.

He resumed running the washcloth over his chest and arms, trying to get the dirty feeling off of them despite the fact that the sick had already been rinsed away. Avi excused themself to go change into some fresh clothes, and Morgan rested the side of his head against the cool wall as soon as they were gone. He sat completely still for a few minutes as his stomach churned, doing flips inside him. The nausea had come back again, and he burped openly against the tile, tasting acid at the back of his throat. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms protectively around his middle, curling in on himself out of sight under the water and bubbles. His shoulders jerked with another sudden low belch, and he suddenly felt that familiar tug in the back of his throat as spit pooled in his mouth. He was going to be sick again.

He struggled to get out of the tub but his legs wouldn’t cooperate and he slid back into the water with a splash. A trembling hand hovered over his mouth as his eyes scanned the room for a basin. The toilet was too far away, and the only trash can in the room was out of reach as well.

He gagged against his hand before calling out “Avi!” who appeared in the doorframe seconds later, wearing nothing but a pair of sleep shorts. “Tra- HEULP!- trashcan”, he said, head hanging pathetically over the edge of the tub. Avi scrambled to grab the bin and shoved it under Morgan’s chin just as a mess of beige slime spilled out from between his lips.

He took the basin with shaking hands and pulled it into the tub with him so he could sit up straight and wasn’t twisted around at the middle. He pitched forward as he was sick again, head ducking so far into the bin that his face (and everything coming out of it) was obscured by its sides. He heard the water sloshing against it as he retched up another wave and chunks of his lunch fell into the unlined bin with a shallow patter.

Avi placed a comforting hand on Morgan’s back as he got sick for what felt like the umpteenth time that day. They rubbed up and down his spine gently, slender fingers occasionally dipping into the water. They expected his bout to end quickly like the last one did, but that didn’t happen. Morgan choked and spluttered and gagged into the basin as wave after wave of sick was forced up with painful heaves. The gushes got smaller and smaller until there was absolutely nothing left in his stomach, and even then powerful dry heaves wracked his frame, occasionally bringing up a trickle of yellow bile.

Nearly a full eight minutes later, Morgan collapsed against the back of the tub as Avi took the bin from him before it could tip into the water. Tears rolled down his cheeks and Avi swiped them away with their thumb before cleaning up Morgan’s face with the washcloth. Morgan moaned as his muscles seemed to give out and he slipped further into the water. Avi caught him before his face was submerged and held him upright, his face against their chest. He started to sob; whether it was from pain, from exhaustion, from embarrassment, Avi didn’t know. They leaned over the edge of the tub, pulling him in closer and holding him, allowing him to cry freely against their chest, hot tears running down their bare skin as they dropped from his eyes.

Panic surged through their body like electricity, making their fingers tingle and chest tight. Morgan didn’t cry. He never cried. When he did, you knew something was really really wrong. They they hummed gently against the top of his head, stroking his arm with one hand while the other supported his back.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you,” they whispered. They glanced around the room to find a dry towel to dry his tears with.

That’s when they saw it.

At the bottom of the shallow trash can.

Blood, mixed in with the sick. A significant amount.

They did their best to keep calm as adrenaline and panic coursed through their veins anew, and they quietly reached for their phone and pressed the emergency call button.

“911, what is your emergency?”

#my writing #morgan #avi #sickfic #my ocs #blues group #male vomit #emetophilia #illness #blood tw #fever

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cryingbilldenbrough · 6 years

Note

here’s another request for if you ever feel up to or inspired to write it: def more of the kasplon/bichie dynamic from the other kasplon thing i requested. like just the four of them in college together interacting as couples you know? a cute dynamic, imo.

okay so the other kasplon thing is this, in case anyone missed it! also this got LONG so i’m putting the rest under a readmore

ALRIGHT the concept is that before eddie and mike starting dating, eddie knew richie

they met on the first day of freshman moving in day when richie knocked on the door of the room bill and eddie shared

he was leaning against the door jam, big glasses and a hawaiian shirt hanging off one shoulder, dumb smile on his face

“you guys wanna buy some adderall?” he asks with an air of nonchalance that eddie KNOWS is bullshit, cause the kid’s eyes look a little wild and a little scared

and man, eddie is nervous about all of this too. bill seems like a nice guy so far but he also just spent like ten minutes unpacking framed pictures of his little brother and like, eddie didn’t bring a single picture from home and he feels like he and bill have nothing in common already

because eddie ran to college to get away from something and bill seems like he might be caught in the past

(he finds out later than the little brother is Georgie and Georgie is dead and he thinks he understands bill a little better than he thought)

anyway, richie asks if they want adderall and a comeback is falling from eddie’s lips almost immediately

“i think i’d rather you take it, spaz,” and fuck man!!! that was really mean!!! he doesn’t even know this kid and he’s already insulting him in like a really ableist way and eddie is scrambling to apologize

but richie is fucking dying

he’s doubled over, wild hair covering his face, and when he straightens he’s wiping tears from his cheeks

“i like you, kid,” he says, ruffling eddie’s hair

and then he invites himself in

and that’s pretty much how freshman year goes– richie invites himself into bill and eddie’s room and sits on their beanbag chair and steals their food and plays video games with bill

sometime during second semester eddie is pretty sure they start dating

no one says anything official, but bill starts spending time out of their room and comes back with wild hair and one time even a hickey

eddie assumes it’s richie that bill’s fucking around with only because richie has gotten even more Smug than usual lately

they don’t tell him they’re dating until the school year has almost wrapped up

cause it’s time to start figuring out where they’re going to live next year

eddie’s fully willing to stay in the dorms again, because living with bill turned out to be a lot of fun!! and eddie feels like he really blossomed into a young adult this year but he’s not sure he’s like, ready to get an apartment or something

anyway, eddie goes to bill first and is like, wanna live together next year?

and bill smiles apologetically, truly sad about it, and tells eddie he already has a roommate for next year– a kid in his composition class

and eddie’s like fuck man??? i don’t have any other options??? because yeah he made friends this year but god will any of them put up with him like bill does? with the pills hogging the medicine cabinet and the hour long calls to his mom back home that leave eddie near tears every time

what’s he gonna do without bill?

bill notices his discomfort and gets real quiet and later that night richie shows up, hair wild as ever

eddie’s curled up in bed watching netflix on his laptop and he feels richie jump into bed with him, sitting on his feet

eddie takes out his headphones and richie is grinning like a loon at him

“you’re a dummy, eddie spaghetti” he says

“don’t call me–”

“wanna live with me next year?”

“…..really?”

“i mean, as long as you’re cool with me and billy Boning Down at least three times a week” and he leans over with a hand held out for bill to high five

eddie looks at his roommate and bill is smiling with pink cheeks and god DAMN IT this is how they’re coming out to eddie?????

eddie fucking hates his friends

but he accepts richie’s offer and doesn’t even really mind when richie ruffles his hair and burrows down into his comforter to watch netflix with him

so come next fall, eddie returns to college after an agonizing summer spent missing his friends and his freedom

he and richie have a room closer to downtown this year, a little bigger space and it connects to the room next door with a bathroom AND a kitchen so they can actually cook instead of eating microwaved mac and cheese

(richie still eats a fucking lot of microwave mac and cheese)

and it’s not so bad because bill is over like all the time and he and richie are a couple but they’re not like, oppressively cute all the time

although, eddie does feel a pang of jealousy whenever they do something particular couple-like, such as coming home from dates and bringing each other coffee to class and going skateboarding all saturday afternoon

eddie wants that, you know?

anyway, it’s october when eddie meets bill’s mystery roommate

mike hanlon is probably the most attractive man eddie kaspbrak has ever met????

he’s tall and broad and has the nicest fucking smile and his eyes are kind and soft and his ass is GREAT

eddie knows he plays on the school football team and eddie really wants 2 see him in football pants oH GOD

anyway, bill introduces eddie as richie’s best friend which a) OW EDDIE’S POOR HEART and b) it’s the first time eddie realizes that’s true? cause holy shit yeah richie IS eddie’s best friend???

anyway, mike is polite and kind of shy and shakes eddie’s hand in a firm but soft grasp

he compliments eddie’s shoes and then invites him to play mariokart with him and bill

mike is pretty bad and eddie is pretty good and mike cheers eddie on to beat bill, knocking his shoulder against eddie and egging him on no louder than a whisper in his ear and eddie is GONE

it takes them a while to get together, mostly because they’re both kind of convinced the other is waaaay out of their league

and richie keeps inviting eddie to go out to dinner with him and bill and when eddie shows up, mike is there too which is fine bc he fits into the group really well but like?? is this a double date??? who does eddie sit next to in the booth?? who does he share popcorn with at the movies? does he call shotgun when mike’s driving them? THIS IS NEW TERRITORY FOR EDDIE AND HE DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO PROCEED

but eventually bill pulls eddie aside and says “d-dude, you g-gotta date mike. i had to l-listen to him t-t-talk about your fuh-fuckin’ eyes for like an hour last night. d-do it for me”

and eddie is like ME? HE LIKE ME???

so he gathers up all his courage (which is a fucking lot bc eddie kaspbrak is a BRAVE BOY) and goes to the football game with bill and richie one saturday

eddie doesn’t really care for football, knows like nothing about the rules, but he likes going to games

it’s cold and he bundles up in a hat and a hoodie under his winter coat and he drinks a fair amount of beer at the tailgate, beer that richie keeps shoving in his mitten-covered hands

they watch the game and eddie keeps his eyes out for number 43 and mike doesn’t play a whole lot but eddie spots him a few times!!! they cheer really loudly when he makes a run with the ball, moving the team forward like forty yards and richie’s voice is hoarse from yelling

they win and eddie shuffles out of the stadium with his friends

bill and richie want to go to a party across town and eddie hangs back

“i’m gonna wait for mike” he says and richie smirks

so eddie waits in the cold for a weird amount of time, watching drunk kids stumble out of the stadium and back into the real world

“eds?” he hears and he turns to see mike, sweaty and flushed and holding a duffle bag

he’s changed into a t-shirt and sweat pants and steam rises off his hot body into the cold air. his cleats are slung over his shoulder and eddie’s breath kind of catches in his throat over how beautiful mike looks when he’s flushed and happy in the winter air

“good game” eddie chokes out, slipping his phone in his pocket “you sure did… football… well…” and he flinches cause GOD WHO SAYS THAT

“thanks, man,” mike says and GOD ITS AWKWARD because there aren’t a LOT of people around, but there’s enough that eddie worries about the scene he might cause if he leans up to kiss mike right here

he’s drawn out of his panicking by mike dropping his duffle bag to his feet and taking a step forward

he wraps his hand around eddie’s neck and the other around eddie’s back and dips his head down and he’s kissing eddie, mouth soft and pressing into eddie’s with care and ease

(he smells like a fucking locker room and eddie isn’t even that grossed out by it)

eddie lets mike’s arm around his back support him and he relaxes into it, bending his knees and closing his eyes

kissing mike is everything he dreamed of and more, like coming home after a long day and curling up into bed

they hear a wolf whistle and break apart, blushing and giddy

it was one of mike’s teammates, a defense player with a kind smile

“fuck off ben,” mike says and leans back down to kiss the side of eddie’s mouth one more time

football saturdays turn into eddie’s favorite day of the week, despite him continuing to know NOTHING about the game

because he goes to mike’s room early in the morning and crawls into a warm bed with him, ignoring bill’s soft groan from across the room bc its FIVE A.M. GUYS, and wakes mike up with like lil kisses n stuff

mike gets dressed and goes down to the stadium and bill and eddie get ready to go down and tailgate

they meet richie, who has a cooler full of cheap beer, and they set up camp outside the stadium

richie steals all of eddie’s hand warmers and bill gets convinced to do a keg stand by the trailer next to theirs and eddie tries and fails to win a game of bag toss

they go in the stadium and get as close to the front of the student section as they can and eddie scans the players on the sidelines to find mike

he spots number 43 and waves, sticking his hand up in the air and hoping mike spots his red mitten

mike does and takes his helmet off so eddie can see his smile, waving back and making eddie feel like the only person in the stadium

mike scores a touchdown and they win and the students storm the field and eddie gets caught up in the rush, hand slipping out of richie’s

he’s disoriented and a moment away from just slipping out of the stadium and finding his friends later when a hand catches his arm

it’s mike, helmet tucked under his arm and his pads still on

he’s fucking soaked but he’s grinning so wide that eddie can’t help but smile back crazily

mike scoops him up into a victory kiss and eddie hears richie’s wheezy laughter and bill’s chuckle behind him

he lets go of mike so bill and richie can hug and pat him on the back

richie says something dumb about trying out for football next year if it means getting to make out on the field when you score

mike blushes and punches his shoulder and bill rolls his eyes

and eddie is so happy to have his boys in his life

send me headcanons/requests/prompts!

#bichie #kasplon #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #richie tozier #mike hanlon #it headcanons #HELLO I LOVE MY BOYS N WOULD DIE FOR THEM #college au #my writing #this got SO LONG LMAOOOOO #i just love the idea of eddie having friends who love n support him #and also a football player boyfriend who isnt afraid 2 kiss eddie in front of his teammates and coach

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shineethinks · 7 years

Text

shinee goes to the mall

onew:

drives the crew over (onew: for the last time jong we can’t all fit in your lambo / jong: WELL TAEMIN CAN JUST SIT ON SOMEONE’S LAP OK / tae: hard pass)

says “bye kids” and immediately heads to brookstone

stays in the massage chair the entire time

comes out clutching a mini helicopter

gets free samples at the food court

wants to go home soon

jonghyun:

“we would have looked so cool rolling up in my lambo”

easily distracted

large sweaters

sticks with key because he has no sense of direction and he’ll get lost if he doesn’t follow anyone

OH MY GOD THEY HAVE LITTLE DOGGY SWEATERS KEY DID YOU KNOW THEY HAVE LITTLE DOGGY SWEATERS??? WHICH ONE DO YOU THINK ROO WOULD LIKE??????? I’LL TAKE TEN

buys earphones every time because he forgets where he put them (he literally has a pair in every sweater pocket)

key:

loves all the clothes all the time but doesn’t buy something unless he thinks he absolutely can’t go on without it

buys random shit tho

he got this super weird looking humidifier once? he agonized over buying it bc it was on the pricier side but it was super ~*aesthetic*~ so he treated himself

makes jong carry his bags when he’s trying something on (jong: why must i suffer like this)

consoles himself with froyo when he leaves something he likes but not enough to buy it

minho:

cannot pass auntie annie’s without getting a pretzel

complains v loudly around jong that it’s soooo hard to find pants that’ll fit properly bc his legs are too long, gets smacked immediately

passed the piercing place on more than one occasion wondering if today is the day

“i bought a zen garden guys”

taemin:

must be supervised at all times

key had an aneurysm when he saw THOSE SHOES!!!!!!!!!!

he mostly goes with the flow - sometimes he hangs out with onew at brookstone

that weird kinetic sand?? love that weird shit

asks employees v specific questions about their products that they don’t know

visits the apple store a lot bc he lost his phone again

shinee left him at the mall once

#will minho ever pierce his ears??#taemin's gucci slippers #i can't with that boy #old man jinki #onew #jinki #jonghyun #key #kibum #minho #taemin #shinee #shinee scenario #shinee scenarios #going to the mall #ot5 #mall au

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dictacontrion · 7 years

Note

Here is my second question: Which you answered as a message to me. Can I ask another question? If I can, then here it is - What aspect of storytelling is most challenging for you? How did you overcome it, if you did? Or what strategies you employ to get yourself to write and face that challenge. #thankyou #asks #yay

Yes of course!! (and omg did i really? #fail)

Smut.

Smut was without a doubt the hardest worst most challenging aspect of writing when I started writing fic, and even harder as an aspect of storytelling. I had no training in it, no idea what I was doing, and a very keen awareness of all the things that could go terribly, mockably wrong. Trying to write it felt roughly equivalent to tweezing my eyebrows in a room full of hungry mosquitos.

How to make it unawkward? How to keep track of the body parts and positions? What to call things? How to make it read smoothly? How to make it hot? How to make it *do* something and not feel awkwardly shoe-horned in for the purposes of that reader-attracting Explicit rating? (I have some feelings about those incentive/that whole train of thought but that’s another post.) Because if I was going to put myself through learning to write it, I’d be twice dammed if I didn’t learn to make it good in every possible sense.

I’m stubborn like that.

I would like to think I overcame it and the very lovely reaction to Endowment suggests I am not totally wrong, so here’s what I did:

1) found smut I really admired and read it over and over and absolutely took it apart to figure out what made it work in or as a story. Read different authors’ smut side-by-side for commonalities and differences. Came up with a working mental list of things I thought made smut work as part of a story.

2) combined that with a good long think about what I think sex can and cannot accomplish in human interactions and what purposes it therefore could and could not serve in fiction, and came up with a basic list of things I want smut in my work to do, like:

reveal someone’s motivations or state of mind

reflect the dynamic of the larger story (even if it’s a PWP and therefore not all on the page, it’s part of one)

reveal something about the people having the sex that could not be revealed through speech (maybe they say they’ve forgiven and trust each other, but are their eyes open or closed while they’re having sex and why?)

create a sense for the presence or absence of intimacy in a relationship (or for a person’s ability or inability to experience intimacy)

potentially forward the plot in some way (raising the stakes, cementing a bond, allowing for catharsis/letting the tension, creating a point of crisis, etc.)

turning the reader on (this last one is not at all universally held among writers and I know some who don’t like to consider that bit, so this is not to say that you should go tell writers that you’ve gotten off on their work, but for me personally being aware, in a generally abstract hypothetical way, of that possibility helps make the smut and smut-writing better)

(2a) I think it really really helps, if possible, to think about the very broad array of things that sex *can* and *does* do in human interactions rather than getting caught up in hand-wringing about what sex *should* (or shouldn’t) do in human interactions. Regardless of whether you think people only *should* have happy fluffy loved-up gentle monogamous tender sex with partners who fit within certain parameters (or should only have kinky rough emotionless sex with strangers) it is a true fact of the world that people have sex with all kinds of people and in all kinds of ways and for all kinds of reasons, and that sexual desire (or lack thereof) isn’t a separate thing from who we (or are characters) are. People who are scared, desperate, tired, angry, vengeful, callous, etc. have sex that reflects and enacts those feelings. People who are ill or injured have sex that reflects those experiences. People have sex that isn’t fluffy or tender or monogamous for a host of reasons that are very much about intimacy and closeness and understanding and emotion. People have sex that is fluffy and tender and monogamous and that can have all sorts of underlying feelings attached. People have sex that is mind-blowing and electric and full of chemistry and feelings. People also have sex that’s boring and rote, and sex that’s about one thing while attempting to appear to be about a different thing. People, in my experience, very rarely (compared to fic, anyway) have sex with people they barely know or former sworn enemies, particularly in office settings, but maybe I just need some different experiences idk. tl;dr: a mismatch between your smut and your characters/plot is going to make for a strange read. And strange morals and sexual ethics, if that’s something you care about.)

3) Did some research. It had been a minute (by which I mean several years) since I’d engaged with a penis and I was not really prepared to write accurately about them. (there is a scene in If Memory Serves where they have semi-clothed sex over a table and I legit agonized about how testicles would work in that scenario) So I googled and read guides and asked friends who I knew were chill about and up for talking about personal experiences with sex and bodies and scrutinized gifs for a while and read guides for and by gay men (many of which counter common fic scripts about sex, which I still find tricky to navigate but that’s also another post). It was not very different from research I’ve done about other things, except for not being able to do it in public.

4) Practiced describing bodies having sex. Not just randomly! But in the course of writing stories with smut. ngl this was a slog. Just lots of drafting and letting it sit and re-drafting and trying to laugh at the misplaced elbows and whatnot. I tried listening to music and that sort of helped (and I think the right music can be really instructive for writing good smut, in terms of how to pace things, how to create build-up, where to bring things up and take them down, how to get a good rhythm going, etc.), but mostly it was just a slog for a while.

5) thought about how I could write smut in ways that would feel less like a slog, how I could take this particularly hard part of writing and combine it with things that played to my strengths/could be combined with things I enjoyed as a reader and writer (strong personalities, emotion, intensity, dialogue) and avoided things I disliked as a reader and writer (long mechanical descriptions, staring at gifs of balls)

6) went back to #1 and thought about what made smut work mechanically, like:

careful POV choice

reflecting the moment in structural decisions about things like sentence and word length (essential for rhythm)

giving scenes a particular purpose or focus and using that as an anchor

taking word choice seriously (there’s a difference between a cock, a dick, a prick, a penis, a willy, and all the millions of horrible euphemisms people use. meat swords and whatnot. it is easy to want to blow this off bc it’s words for dicks, but there is a meaningful difference between saying that someone is sucking cock and sucking penis (or giving head, or giving a blow job) and the words you choose say something about your characters and their perspective, and therefore matter a lot)

focusing on desire, sensations, emotions, and reactions instead of mechanics

7) practiced. The unavoidable and most necessary. But better after #s 4 and 5, and when in scenarios that were about using smut to tell different sorts of stories or to story-tell in new ways, and when I was focused on combining it with the things I most enjoy writing.

8) had a really good beta who understood what I wanted the sex to do and told me whether or not it I was accomplishing that, and who was willing and able to be candid about what wasn’t working and tell me so. And I was, and had to be, willing to hear all that feedback and change things, from moving an elbow to rewriting entire scenes.

That’s more than you may have bargained for (and I have approx 90 more tangents about smut and fic and fandom that I am barely containing) but tbh I think the same basic process applies to any aspect of writing someone is trying to improve:

Read things you like

Think about what you like about them

Take them apart technically

Research as needed

Practice

Find ways of practice that you can enjoy and invest in

Get trusted feedback

Take trusted feedback seriously

Remember that it is never perfect, but that it does get better

Keep practicing

#on writing #smut #writing smut #fic #fanfiction #dcsays #yay asks!

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