#i was a good writer too like someone told me that reading my fic was like reading a NOVEL | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bitchimasnake-sss · 4 months ago

Note

YOUR YUJI FIC WAS SO YUMMY 😳 I would love a part 2 if you’re ever up for writing it! 🥹

GUESS WHO'S BACK FROM THE FUCKING DEAD. ME. ME. I AM BACK AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH (im sorry i just missed writing). well, anyways, with me comes the power of horny <3

ps: this took me fucking four days to write and i don't even think it's good 😭😭 writers block is a bitch

🧸learning some lessons ft. yuuji itadori!

continuation of my previous fic "teaching some lessons", so, i suggest read that first to ensure you're fully immersed into the horny storyline. set-up: yuuji itadori. the quarterback, the guy you're giving "sex ed" lessons, and ofcourse, the brother of your childhood best friend sukuna. what could ever go wrong with this combination? nothing, i hope? warnings: contains nsfw concepts such as yuuji's first time, overstimulation, penetration, a bit of porn logic. and as always, sukuna, nobara and megumi are fucking menaces. stay blessed y'all, and minors DO NOT INTERACT I WILL FIND YOU AND HUNT YOUR ASSES. [ALSO A LITTLE BIT OF TOJI AND GOJO SLANDER IM SORRY] wc: 6.4k porn with A LOT of plot [like 70% plot im sorry]

"dude." megumi's usual nonchalant demeanor had faded in a matter of seconds. now, each of his drawled out words had a certain twinge of dread, "this is actually fucking insane."

"hm?" the pink-haired quarterback didn't even bother to dignify his best friend's statement with a proper answer. he was too busy rapidly pressing the controls, trying to get the shots right.

but megumi's hand had gone slack, the controller barely held limply in his palm. he turned to stare down the forementioned pink-headed idiot. he repeated himself, "yuuji."

"gumi—" yuuji hissed back, "we're losing, fucking focus."

"you just told me that you're fucking sukuna's best friend. her." megumi deadpanned, "the only thing i need to focus on is arranging your funeral."

yuuji hissed through his teeth as his player got shot right in the head and a definitive 'GAME OVER' flashed all across the tv screen. he sunk backwards into the comfortable couch at the fushiguro household. megumi shifted backwards too, slumping next to his best friend with a resigned sigh.

the house was eerily quiet, save for the sounds of the background score of the game playing in the background. yuuji knew tsumiki was out shopping with her friends, and gojo was out annoying the hell out of someone or the other (possibly, coach nanamin). who else was to be considered in the fushiguro household? toji fushiguro? he was an enigma. he came when he felt like and left just as soon. a model poster boy for giving people daddy issues, yuuji presumed.

"have i told you your couch is super nice?" yuuji asked as he stared at the overhead lighting before sweeping his gaze over the modern living room.

"multiple times."

the quarterback snorted, "you remember the time i got drunk—"

"—and tried to take the couch home. yes, i do. i also remember the time sukuna chased you with a knife cause you took his last pack of cheetos. imagine what he would do when you take his best friend."

yuuji pouted, giving megumi a side-eye he couldn't miss, "you're no fun."

"be for fucking real." the raved head sat up, turning towards yuuji at lightning speed. his eyes squinted in scrutiny, "you're the one making idle chit-chat as if sukuna isn't gonna kill you the moment he finds out what you and her have been up to."

"yeah but—" yuuji sighed, rubbing his palms against his face slowly, "is it really that big of a deal? i mean, it's just a few lessons here and there. it's not like she likes me or something—"

"—yeah, she probably won't. ever. considering she called you her little brother."

"oh, fuck off, gumi. that was when we were five."

"just pointing down the obvious."

"i knew i should have told nobara about the situation. she would have given much better advice."

"kugisaki would have laughed at you so hard, she would have cried." megumi got up, probably to get some more chips. as he left, he quipped over his shoulder, "you're catching feelings for someone who doesn't have that kind of interest in you, itadori. you will end up looking like an idiot at the end. and possibly dead."

well, maybe megumi fushiguro had a point. but that point was so goddamn hard to see with your thighs pressed on either sides of his face.

🧸lesson 04: maybe making girls cry is okay sometimes

"mhm- ngh oh my god. yuu." yuuji placed his tongue flat against your pulsating clit. you bucked into his face, pressing his mouth messily to your hot core as you showered him in breathless praises.

nobody was home. kuna was probably gonna be home later at night and so, you both had decided his room as the venue for your next 'lesson'.

you weren't even sure which numbered orgasm it was at this point. and you weren't sure if you even existed anymore outside of yuuji and his face and his tongue and yuuji.

red, hot need ran it's course through your body as the jock manhandled you. his calloused palms pulled your jerking hips downwards to steady them and then, pulled you hastily towards himself. yur jaw fell open, going slack at the torturous stimulation yuuji had the audacity to hum in approval when you momentarily went slack under him.

"yuuji, yuuji. yuu. pl-please please- stop. st-" tears pricked at your eyes as you called out his name in a futile attempt to get him to stop. your hands bunched at his sweaty locks, pushing and pulling to get his wicked tongue on your sensitive cunt to ease up.

but the jock was unforgiving.

his tongue dipped within you, your muscles contracting and spasming against his pretty face as his nose dug deeper against your clit. his tongue was fast, delving in and out of you methodically as you bucked and keened under his touches. the salty tears fell down your cheeks.

"yuu—" you mumbled in a weak voice and he finally looked up so as to assess the damage.

"hm?" his mouth finally parted from yours, messy and sticky.

and when yuuji looked up at you, he was sure this is the last sight he would see before he was condemned to hell for the rest of eternity. your eyes were watery, lips swollen and quivering. you could barely keep your vision straight before you clenched your eyes shut and tried to pry him off of yourself.

so fucking pretty that it made him ache. and that only pushed him to kiss inner thigh and lick a soft stripe up your gushing cunt, getting back to what he was previously doing.

"fuck fuck fuc— yuu, no. no more. p-plea— fuck." you stomach was full of something hot and molten, something jittery and unstable. something that sounded and tasted a lot like yuuji itadori.

the quarterback stayed on his knees, bringing his forefinger and thumb to pinch and rub your wet clit as your thighs shook, your eyes rolled backwards and your back arched. he grinned — a feral sight — as you finally came undone on his tongue again.

he finally pulled himself upwards, using his discarded tshirt to clean off his face. as he stood before you, all he could do was watch you awestruck.

you were heavenly.

your spent figure was slumped on his bed; t-shirt pushed up to expose your bruised tits and your legs pressed together as you tried to come back on mother earth. your eyes were still closed, cheeks wet from tears and yuuji had to stop himself from begging you to let him fuck you tonight.

but he abstained. of course not. that was insane. you would never let him go that far, would you? so, instead he chose to lie down next to you and pull you into his chest.

you nudged your cheek against his pecs, finding refuge in his warmth and he gladly let you, allowing a small smile on his face. his fingers came up to push back strands of hair from your sweaty forehead and then wipe away the salty tears that had made home against the plane of you cheeks. once he was sure you had caught your breath, he pressed a sweet kiss to your skin. finally, he mumbled, "sorry, did i go too far?"

you shook your head no, curling further into him with ease. and he let you. he shifted his position so as to allow your skin on his, so as to press his nose to your hair and smell that strawberry shampoo, so as to almost pretend for a second that you were his.

but you didn't let the show run for long. a few minutes later, as you felt the energy returning to your body, you attempted to get up.

the jock's eyebrows furrowed, he sat up with you, "something wrong? do you want something? water or—"

"—no, no." you turned to give him a weak smile, "i think i'm just gonna go shower before kuna is home and he finds me like this."

oh. ofcourse. how could he forget the ever-looming threat that was sukuna?

"can you walk?" he asked earnestly, offering you his tshirt so you could put it on, "i can walk you to the shower, if you want."

"i'll be okay, yuu." you poked your head through his shirt, trying to stand up. but your legs immediately wobbled and you lost balance, "—fuck. okay. i guess not."

yuuji offered you a smile, picking you up bridal style as you squealed at his action. a blush crept up your neck and face, "what are you doing?!"

"what? i think i should be responsible for the mess i create, shouldn't i?" he gave you a cheeky smile, the kind where the cut under his eye came alive and he grinned ear to ear. a boyish grin, perhaps. and you were fortunate enough to be on the recipient end of it.

you weren't sure what it was that you felt for yuuji, or what you didn't. all you knew that right now — as he carried you out of his room clad in a t-shirt that smelt like him — it was as if he was aware of the sudden jump your heart and wanted nothing more than to be the cause of your untimely death.

"you don't have to do this." you mumbled.

what did 'this' refer to, exactly? you weren't quite sure. was it the fact that he had entertained your drunken idea for such a long amount of time? or was if the fact that in the moments even when you weren't offering him something physical, he still looked at you as if you hung up stars in the night sky for him? maybe it was as simple as the fact that he was carrying you to run you a bath.

he stayed quiet and you repeated yourself louder, "really, yuuji, you don't have to."

"i want to." and that was all he said.

you felt his biceps tense under you as he shifted your weight on one arm and attempted to open the door with the other. he gave you a reassuring smile, and you nudged your face against his chest to hide your embarrassment at his simple answer.

once he finally was through, he walked into the lliving room, attempting to make his way to the bathroom down the hallway whe—

"YUUJI?!" a voice boomed from the door and both of you whipped your head to look at the man that stood there.

ever heard of divine intervention? yeah, this was whatever the fuck is the opposite to that. satanic intervention. cursed intervention, perhaps.

"ON—ONICHAN?!"

"CHOSO?!" you scrambled off of yuuji, hitting the ground with a muffled thud.

choso immediately looked away from his half-naked brother and the girl in his brother's t-shirt*.

(*yeah, okay, just try to understand the family dynamics for a second. choso [24] is the oldest and he has graduated uni and has a job now. sukuna and (yn) [21] are in their third year, and yuuji [20] is in his second. choso knows who (yn) is since you and kuna are childhood besties or whatever. so... yeah okay, back to the shitshow 👍🏻)

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" choso asked loudly, his eyes still averted from you both so as to not accidentally see your exposed form.

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?!" yuuji retorted as you hid behind his broad figure instinctively, trying to recover whatever ounce of modesty you had.

"I OBVIOUSLY HAD THE KEY TO MY OWN HOME?!"

"WELL, DON'T WALK IN UNANNOUNCED? DO YOU HAVE NO MANNERS?"

"yuuji."

"IM SORRY 'NICHAN!!"

and that is how choso found out about your little arrangement. and that is how you both decided to never have another rendezvous session at the itadori's.

🧸lesson 05: you got this, itadori!

"what the fuck?" megumi asked slowly, eyeing yuuji as the jock shoved some french fries down his mouth.

"YEAH, WHAT THE FUCK?!" nobara repeated, louder. to which, megumi gave her a side-eye, "we're in public, kugisaki."

yuuji took his time, sipping his coke before shrugging, "yeah, so, 'nichan found out."

nobara shook her head, "no. no. turn around 360—"

"—180. 360 makes a circle."

"die, megs. anyways, turn around and tell me that part of the story where you started—" the red-head shuddered, "—doing stuff with senpai. why?! how?! why?! how??"

yuuji took a bite from his burger before saying, "well, she offered."

"fuck that all. it's old news."

"for you. cause, apparently, i was left out of the loop—"

"—much sad. anyways, is choso okay with you and her? or is he gonna snitch you out to sukuna?"

"i mean, no. i don't think so, no." yuuji tried to steal a fry off of nobara's plate and she smacked his hand off, "ow kugisaki! whatever. he gave me a long lecture about how i should actually pursue her and officially ask her out if we wanna keep doing this. after that, for whatever unrelated reason, he cried about how quickly we grew up."

"virgin behavior." nobara stuck out a tongue, quickly reeling out of her disbelief over the fact that yuuji was getting some, "i mean, that's old-fashioned. you don't have to date her, you know?"

"but your brother's not wrong, is he?" megumi offered. "don't keep doing this just cause you want a way to get your dick wet."

"megs, it's not 1920. they are consensual adults and they can just fool around if they're on the same page."

"yeah but about that—" yuuji tried to sneak in a fry from megumi's plate now, "—i think i'm in love with her. and i am pretty sure the feelings are one-sided."

"huH?!"

"what?" the jock looked at the two dumbfounded, "i like her. she's pretty and smart and i think— i like her."

he didn't think he liked you. he knew that he was whole-heartedly, as stupidly as humanly possible, in love with you.

but he didn't bother mentioning the fact.

he didn't bother mentioning a plethora of things, in fact. first, that his heart had been offered to you at the ripe age of four when he first realized that sunlight got caught against your hair strands somewhat magically, and when you smiled, he smiled; and that when he cried, you kissed his imaginary wounds better even when sukuna made fun of him.

he didn't bother mentioning that when he asked you to marry him, there was only such a small part of him that was 'joking', the larger chunk of him would have exchanged his soul for some sort of forbidden alchemy to be with you.

he didn't bother mentioning that when he was thirteen, a slew of girls had asked to be his girlfriend, and he had turned down each one of them to sneak in his first kiss with you.

but all those years of pining just turned into a small ball of anxiety, ever-growing in his stomach. he knew you didn't feel the same. so, he didn't bother saying any of that. because, well, frankly, his situation seems just a tiny-teensy bit pathetic.

"i guess i just like her... just a bit." he repeated, more to himself than others.

"we heard the first time. and the second."

"DUDE" nobara's eyes widened, "she's sukuna's best friend."

"hey, what happened to the fact that we are consensual adults fooling around?"

"oh no, fuck that. i was humoring you." nobara shook her head, "sukuna's gonna murder you."

"yeah, i know." yuuji sighed, his playfulness replaced by something more mature, "i am not gonna ask her out. i think i'm gonna call this— whatever this is— off. i don't want her to lose her friendship with 'kuna, and she... well, she probably doesn't like me anyways."

megumi and nobara exchanged a sorry expression among themselves before looking back to yuuji. but the jock put on a smile, "ah it's fine, it was fun while it lasted." he leaned back in his seat, "wanna catch a movie after this? human earthworm is out."

so the quarterback had gone back home that day with a certain resolve. he would call this off.

he put on his lucky red sweatshirt, put on the cologne you had complimented once when he had gone for one of his lessons, and he put on his best fake smile. as he passed by sukuna in the living room, he guiltily looked away from him and walked out of the door as soon as possible.

"where ya going?" the tatted man asked, not looking up from his phone.

"nowhe—" he sighed, running a hand through his hair before he bent downwards to put on his shoes, "with gumi and nobara. we're going to the arcade."

"you've been hanging out with the fushiguro kid quite a lot nowadays. a lot of sleepovers."

yuuji's fingers halted, slowly fidgeting with the shoelaces before he threw sukuna a casual look, "he's my friend. and his dad is out of town so i go over. got an issue?"

"nah, do whatever." kuna met his eyes but then went back to his phone without saying much. a beat later, he continued, "well, let me know if you'd be home in time for dinner."

yuuji stood up, dusting off his clothes, "you're cooking today?"

"yeah, thought i'd invite her over. she likes that pasta i make."

at the mention of you, yuuji looked over sukuna once. a sharp sting suddenly erupted in his chest like someone had hit him. hard. and, so, without saying anything more, the younger itadori immediately left through the main door.

things must end.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

his fingers skimmed over the ringing bell in front of your apartment as his feet nervously shuffled around at the door. he knew you were on the other side, waiting for him. as the door swung open, he was face to face with your housemate.

"hey?" maki raised an eyebrow, a smug smile on her lips. she was dressed as if she was leaving to go somewhere, "she's in her room."

yuuji simply pursed his lips, nodded and moved past his senior. before walking into your room, he stalled in front of the door, threw his head back to catch maki about to leave, "kugisaki says hi, by the way."

and if yuuji didn't know any better, he would have assumed the glare maki gave was one well-intended to kill him.

he wasn't sure if the room was chilly or if the reason for goosebumps was something else, but nonetheless, he shut the door behind him and stepped into the room. as he came in view with the bed, he found you casually on your back, scrolling your phone.

"yuuji!" you smiled as you sat up, a familiar warmth spreading over your face at his presence. but he merely nodded, his lips drawn into a thin line.

"um," you fidgeted, standing up hastily and laughing to ease the awkwardness, "so, uh— did maki let you in?"

"yeah, she did."

"oh, well, she's going out, so we don't need to worry about her." you paused for a second before your expression fell and you tried again, "hey?"

but a same monotone expression fell across his face, "hey."

"um... is something wrong? in a bad mood or something?"

"not quite." yuuji rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the cold, wooden floors, "i wanted to talk. to you, i mean."

you nodded, although he didn't look up at you to register your expression. he continued softly, "we should stop this."

"what?"

"i—" he looked up at you, quickly sneaking in a steadying breath, "i wanted to thank you for the 'lessons'. it's been fun and i learnt so much, really. but you don't have to do it anymo—"

"why?" you interrupted, "did someone find out?"

"what? no."

"then?" you stepped towards him, your unyielding gaze trained on his face, "do you not... want to do it with me anymore?"

"no, ofcourse not." his eyes widened and he stepped forward in a desperate attempt to comfort you. his palms found purchase against your cheek, "no. that's not what i meant."

"what do you mean then?" you looked up at him, confused.

"i-" he looked at you softly, "i really can't ruin your friendship with sukuna anymore. we need to stop. it has gone for... for way too long, now, hasn't it?"

"—it's just been a few months."

"come on. we both know we need to stop." he confessed, and as his words left you hollow, so did his touch. he pulled away from you and stepped back a teensy bit to allow you some space. "it will be for the best."

you looked at him for a beat. and then one more. finally, "kiss me."

and the jock obliged without any hesitation. his lips were familiar against yours, his hands on your cheek, and his body weight pressing onto you and pushing you backwards into the bed.

the back of your knees hit the wooden frame and you stumbled backwards, falling onto the bed with a muffled thud. but yuuji didn't bother following you and caging you underneath him. instead, he stood at the edge, waiting.

"yuu?" you asked softly.

"are you sure about this?"

and you weren't sure if he was asking that question to you or himself. you weren't sure if his fingers were shaking from the betrayal or the need to hold you against him. but you nodded your head anyways, "yeah. if this is it. if this is the last time then indulge in my stupid ideas one last time." you paused, "please?"

he nodded before swiftly throwing off his hoodie off of his torso an onto the floor. bruises from a few days before laid tattered across his tan skin and his biceps flexed and moved as he slowly caged you under him.

"fuck," he breathed in slowly, taking in your low-lidded gaze, "you're so fuckin' pretty."

your fingers found solace in his pinkish locks and you pulled him closer — till your skin smelt like his perfume and his stuttered breath hit your lips, "yuuji."

"hm?" his eyes ran over your face, and the adoration in his eyes made you feel like he would set the world aflame if you so as even asked him to.

"fuck me."

his pupils widened, cheeks flushed and a breathless gasp got stuck in his throat. at his reaction, you pulled him downwards, kissing him softly before the tendrils of passing seemed to nip down on both of you. soon after, you were nothing more than messy kisses, clashing teeth and wrong decisions.

"fuuck— ha-harder." he moaned as your fingernails sunk into his scalp, pulling him harder against yourself.

your hands travelled downwards to his chest and you pushed him away only to turn him around and straddle his hips. your pelvis rolled over his, the delicious friction driving you delirious as you peered down at the man under you — kiss-bitten lips, tousled hair, flushed cheeks.

yuuji itadori looked at you as if you were his god.

and you played along. rolling your hips, tracing a finger from his jaw down to his pecs as your lips traced the path with soft kisses soon after.

his hips stuttered, trying to meet your shallow teases before he mumbled out a soft, "take off your clothes."

you smiled, putting on a show for him as you slipped out of your tshirt. leaving yourself exposed to his preying eyes, you slowly took off the bra.

"shit, look at you." he raised himself on his elbows, coming upwards to softly kiss your warm skin before slowly licking over your nipple as another hand fondled the other. your head was thrown back at the feeling of his warm mouth on you while his fingers softly tugged at the other.

soon after that, you found yourself rocking yourself on his long fingers as he sunk his teeth in your neck, getting off on the pretty sounds you made as you rut against him almost as desperately as he was. when he caught you sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, trying to stay quiet, he pulled your face towards his and kissed you senseless. when he pulled away, his hot breath fanned over your lips, "don't. let me hear, please."

and so senseless moans tumbled down your lips as you you came, still rutting against his hand.

when your breath stilled and you finally met his gaze, all you could was breath out an airy, "fuck me, please."

flushed face, hazy eyes, your mouth parted so prettily at the end of the sentence. who was itadori yuuji to deny you of anything?

"say that again."

🧸lesson 06: fuck it up, itadori!

"n-no protection? are you... sure?"

god, he was adorable.

you held back a laugh as you re-assured him a millionth time, "i'm on birth control, so, no. trust me."

"hm. hm." his breath was caught in his throat as if it were a jagged rock. your hands on his torso felt warm — too warm — as if they would char him and you blinked up at him so prettily as you laid atop those pillows.

"i- one second. i-" his voice was thick, hands slightly shaking as he tried to guide his erection into your slick cunt.

"yuu," you cooed and he looked at you in part hope, part confusion. a laugh escaped you at his expression, "you look like a kicked puppy."

"so-sorry, imjustnervous—" he mumbled, his eyes avoiding yours.

"yuu," you repeated, "this is your first time, right?"

he nodded so softly that it was entirely too easy to miss it. you held back an amused grin, "let me help, okay?"

shockwaves ran through his body as your soft hand slowly took ahold of his dick and ran the tip over your clit, gathering your wetness on the mushroom tip. you both held back a choked sigh as your hand continued the same up and down, up and down, up and down motion till you felt as if yuuji was going to cry just from the teasing.

"h-hey—"

"sorry, sorry. no more teasin', i promise." you replied cheekily, fingers finally guiding him to your sloppy hole. and as the tip finally pushed past the first ring of feeble resistance, a shuddering gasp left the man above you.

pushing in inch by inch, you gasped at the sinful stretch of him filling you. your walls spasmed slightly against him, hugging him so sinfully tight that he wondered if he would pass out just right now. but he couldn't. so he commanded himself to keep moving forward till he was all but buried within you.

"s-shit." his breath was heavy against the dip of your neck and you ran a soft hand through his hair, "you okay, yuu?"

"ye-yeah." he shook his head slowly, descending down on you to sink his teeth into your skin again as he started moving slowly.

"jus like that— yeah."

at first his thrusts were slow and shallow, as if he was just testing the waters. but as you found you keening into his touches and moaning as his tip rubbed against a certain spot, he grew sure of his actions.

his thrusts were now harder, a bit more precise and his tempo increased as you dug your heels on his back and tugged on his hair to keep him going.

"jesus" you gasped, back arching off slowly as his lower abs caught friction against your clit and his dick started ramming into your with a periodic rhythm. "fu-fuck is it your fuckin first time? for fucks sake, yuuji ngh—"

his breath was laboured, a thin layer of sweat adorning his forehead and nose, "im a quick learner, fuck— you're shi-shit, you're so fucking perfect."

lifting himself up slightly, his hand snaked in between your bodies and he found himself thumbing at your clit with ease.

"yuuji—" your voice pitched up as his circles grew in pressure. already overstimulated from his administrations on your poor cunt, you felt the pressure building inch by inch till it grabbed ahold of your body and shook you to your very core.

under him, you grabbed hastily at the sheets, at the pillow, at his hair, at anything to keep yourself on this plane of consciousness as he kept drawing messy figures on your clit and fucked into your cervix with reckless abandon.

and that unsteady, familiar feeling grew and grew and grew till it turned your body to jello and burst inwards, "f-fuck shit, ohmygod im cummin im cummin im cumm— FUCK YUUJI—"

his fingers pressed hastily against your lips but the cockiness in his voice practically dripped off of him and onto you, "shh, someone might hear, pretty."

his thrusts grew erratic, nudging him more and more towards a certain, familiar kind of high. his face found solace against your shuddering body as he cursed and spilled inside you.

"fuck." he cursed one last time as he breathed you in, just laying atop you having spent himself.

he slowly pulled himself upwards, pressing a chaste kiss to your nose, and you gave him a spent smile, the kind that had quickly became his favorite. he slowly pulled himself out, and caught the milky white gushing out of your cunt.

and with that, itadori yuuji lost all sanity.

next you knew, your face was being pressed into the mattress, your cunt being ravaged by his unforgiving dick ramming in and out easily.

"fuc-fuck, sogood so fuckin' good—"

his chest was against your back, his weight pressing down on your so deliciously and trapping you under him. you pressed your face harder into the mattress, screaming out muffled renditions of his name as he softly pinched your clit.

"i'm sorry, baby, im so fuckin' sorry" but he sounded anything but sorry as he whispered hotly in your ear, both his fingers and his dick doing everything in their power to turn you into nothing more than a woman maddened with his touch.

your fingers sunk into the sheets underneath, your death-grip growing even more deadlier as he fucked into you as a man depraved.

"this 'sthe last time," his words slurred as he left sloppy kisses down your neck, "promise, i promise."

but those promises were nothing more than candied words on his pretty lips, because now he had you on top of him, your back against his chest, his heels digging into your mattress dangerously as he fucked up into you.

"yuu— yuuJI pleaseplease ple— fucking fuc—" your voice grew in pitch, unresolved tears falling down your face as his hands fondled your tits, tugging and tweaking the nipples to his liking, and your own familiar fingers toyed with your clit.

how could he go on for so fucking long? jesus fucking christ.

"i play varsi- fuck varsity," he answered softly, "this is nothin' for me."

he pressed a soft kiss to your neck as his cock split you apart for the nth time and you fell apart on top of the man who claimed to love you more than he loved life and reason itself.

"don't." his voice grew desperate, a hand coming to hold yours over your overstimulated, abused clit, "i didn- say you could stop, did i? keep going. please. one more. fuck. please."

"yuuji stop—"

"—give me one more, please."

"pleasepleaseplease—" you sobbed, your body arching off of him as he brought you to another one orgasm. you eyes rolled back into your skull, a bit of drool dangerously on your bottom lip, and your body went slack so as to let him do as he pleased.

your cunt gushed on his dick, spraying you both in your juices he thrusted into one last time, spilling into your overfilled pussy all over again with a breathless string of pants and moans.

the quarterback collapsed backwards onto your bed with you on top of him. he reluctantly pushed the weight of your sweaty body off of him, and instinctively pressed another kiss to your head.

his hand came up to push back the sweaty hair strands that stuck to you like second skin, and to thumb at the furious blush on your cheeks. your eyes fluttered upwards at him, you barely managing a smile, "thankyou."

"for what?" he turned to his side, taking every feature of you in with a small smile. a beat passed him by in the serene room before he found his heart weighing heavily and lodging itself between his lungs.

"you're so pretty" he found himself mumbling, "i wish i- i wish i could..." but he caught himself before he could make a fool of himself and confess to a passed out girl. he bit the inside of his cheek. maybe it was better if he just left wordlessly. "nothing."

you were asleep. he knew that. but then why did you snuggle closer and whispered a soft, "i love you."

"—huH?!" any and all sanity left the jock at this point. his eyes as wide as saucers as he stared down your softly snoring form, "what did you just say?"

but you said nothing, still softly snoring in your goddamn sleep and yuuji felt like he was going insane. did you say it??? did he imagine it??? is this a punishment from the devil (sukuna) itself??? what was real anymore? was he real???

and hey what does a panicked twenty year old does when faced with the possible conundrum of his crush of fifteen years having feelings for him?? he runs.

yuuji itadori never had put on his clothes faster than he did right this moment. hastily putting one leg into the sweats and then another, he dashed to make his way to the door. before stepping out, he looked back at you one last time.

fuck itadori, are you dumb?! she doesn't love you like that. it's the post-sex hormones. his consciousness begged in the voice of megumi fushiguro, which was a bit concerning cause was the voice of reason in his head megumi fushiguro?!

but that was not the issue at hand right now. his voice of reason could be questioned another time. right now? running. yes, that was the plan.

the lock softly clicked and he stepped out into the living room before closing the door ever so slowly behind him.

"done fucking?"

and yuuji's blood ran cold.

he whipped around to peer at a certain, tatted delinquent who was sat on the couch in the living room, "brother?"

"brother? huh?" sukuna laughed, the sound so chilling that yuuji felt his blood freeze ad turn into cement, "bringing out the formalities?"

yuuji's tongue got stuck in his throat and sukuna stood up slowly, holding up his hands in mock surrender, "she wouldn't pick up my calls, and i had a spare key. sorry if i'm fuckin imposing."

"'kuna," yuuji's voice was quiet, "it's not what he looks like."

"hm, it is not?" he flashed the younger itadori an amused smile, "ofcourse it is not. what do you think i think you both did?"

"fu-fucked?" the jock swallowed hard.

"bingo."

"i didn't." yuuji didn't know if he was begging for forgiveness, and if yes, then what for? for betraying sukuna's trust or for feeling satisfied that his brother knew of his conquests?

"you didn't? from what i heard, she seemed a little too happy in there." and now sukuna stood mere inches apart, his hand balled into a neat fist.

"kun—" but yuuji's right cheek bore the fate of getting punched by sukuna.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? MY BEST FUCKING FRIEND, YUUJI?"

the jock nursed his cheek, still reeling from the attack. but a certain flame came alive. he wasn't a fucking child. "YEAH, YOUR FUCKING BEST FRIEND."

sukuna looked at him in disbelief, "how fucking could you? she meaNS SHIT TO ME, YOU FUCKFACE."

"—SO DOES SHE TO ME."

the man stepped insanely closer, grabbing ahold of yuuji's hoodie's collar, "THEN WHY THE FUCK WERE YOU RUNNING AWAY FROM HER RIGHT NOW? HUH?"

the two boys heaved heavily, anger boiling hot through their veins. finally yuuji spat up, "she told me she loved me."

sukuna's grasp loosened, "what?"

"she fucking told me she loved me."

"and you're running?" sukuna looked at his brother with a strange look. disappointment, perhaps?

"i- it's a mistake. she doesn't." yuuji looked downwards, trying not to show his pain in his soft words, "and... i didn't want to fucking hurt you, asshole."

"so you're a coward?" the tatted man scoffed.

and yuuji pushed his brother back, "fuck you."

"no." sukuna's gaze hardened, "you fuck off, you stupid fucking dipshit. she told you she loves you, and you ran?"

"for fucks sake, sukuna" yuuji breathed in slowly, "i thought you'd be elated she probably doesn't."

"you fucked around with her for god knows how long, pretending i didn't know." sukuna stepped back, his words quieter.

"you knew?"

"i'm not dumb, of course i fucking knew." he paused, "and 'nichan told me."

"jesus fucking christ, 'nichan." yuuji looked down at the floors, "what now?"

"grow a pair, and actually ask her out."

"what?" the jock looked up, confused, "you- wait, you are saying i should ask her out?"

sukuna shrugged, "you've compromised her. you must follow through with the consequences."

"did you watch too much bridgerton? what the fuck is compromised??"

"i did, 'nichan made me watch it. pleasantly surprising, actually." and yuuji was immediately mentally slapped with the image of sukuna enjoying bridgerton.

"huh?" yuuji softly shook his head, "so... what? i like have your blessing or whatever to ask her out?"

the delinquent made a face of disgust, "i'm not a priest, what the fuck do you mean by blessing? yeah, just fucking ask her out."

"and what if she says no?"

"then i will remind you of your failure everyday in life."

yuuji looked at his brother awestruck, "thanks, kuna."

"don't. when you come back home, im gonna beat you to a pulp for fucking my best friend."

"i deserve it."

"fuck yeah, you do." the older itadori made his way to the main entrance, "go fix shit."

and as sukuna left through the door, itadori yuuji slipped back into your room, crawled back into bed with you, and held you close to his chest. softly, as a giddy smile overtook his features, he mumbled, "i love you too."

next morning you woke up next to a fully-clothed yuuji with a swollen right cheek.

"yuu?! why are you dressed?! and what the fuck happened to your cheek?!"

"i fell off your bed."

"what the actual fuck?!"

a/n: IM GENUINELY SO SORRY IF THIS SUCKS ASS, I GOT TOO MUCH INTO CHARACTER WRITING HELPPP!! i really hope it was atleast a fun read, and as i said it took me 4 days just to make it a bit coherent since i'm writing after so long. please forgive me and enjoy the meal. [sorry for any typos and such babes] tagging: @9rvm @jellibean2018 @peekawoocc @kingofthe-egirls @hugmevz [thankyou sm for sending in the request, i was already writing it here so i tagged you <3] misc.: divider by @plutism and header format by @si-eunnis plagiarism not authorized bitch.

#yuuji smut #yuuji itadori #yuuji x reader #yuji smut #itadori smut #jjk smut #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk yuuji #itadori yuuji #itadori yuji smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #teaching a lesson series

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kaq3yma · 2 months ago

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𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄 featuring hayato suo

syn: in which your nice, and kind housemate turn to an absolute different person because you gave your lunch to someone else.

⸻ cw: mentions of hayato suo with yandere tendencies, slight hurt, cameo tsubaki-chan, timeskip suo, aged up reader, and not yet proofread

qeena's brief note: (yayyyyy suo won the poll) ellooo, qeena's here with a (kinda) soft yandere! hayato suo (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡ idk how i did this but uhm okay, decent ig ૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎ა like i said, this fic is not yet proofread so do beware of typos/grammatical errors (i did this for one hour straight, no break + it's currently 2:21 ish (╥﹏╥) this fic is by far by longest fic to write on this acc but i still think it's a bit rush lol, idk how many words cus too lazy to count but it's long, not 5k words long but it's long. i hope my sayang, especially the suo girlies enjoy the fic, thank you, i love you, reblogs and comments are very much appreciated and happy reading xoxo 🩷💚

tags: @reapkusho @yueliie @littleplantfreak @meidiary @megutime @kajibunny @taronyuhunter @iid-smile @petitte-writer @kobunnie @kyanmapng & @w1nterszn (dm me if you want me to remove you from my tag. dm me if you want me to tag you on my next fic)

What would you address a person who cooks for you, iron your clothes for you, help you with chores, and share the same house as you if not your boyfriend? A housemate? Sure... Suo is your housemate and your friend. After you both graduated from school and got enrolled to a university, you and Suo live together for the sake of nothing, simply agreed that it'll be more convenient.

Now, Suo works for himself, he got his own business going around and he prefers to work from home which is why he do most of your tasks for you. You, however, work as an office clerk. Everyday, like usual, you'd wake up and get dressed as Suo ready your lunch box for you "Morning..." You grab your bag and your purse, putting on your shoes and your coat by the porch, waiting for Suo to come "Here, make sure you eat your lunch, alright? Even the vegetables." You look at him, face contorts in a mixture of disgust and reluctance "Sure..." He bids you good bye, one hand behind himself and he watches you disappears.

You continue typing in on your keyboards, busy attending works when your colleague, Tsubakino, came to you "Y/n-chan, still tending works?" You look at the pretty male before you, nodding your head with a pout "Yes, I got loads of them. I don't think I can make up for my lunch." Tsubaki look at you with a pitiful look "That's too bad, this lunch smells so good! Your boyfriend must've put a lot of effort into making it!" Your eyes widen at their absurd assumption "Tsubaki-chan, I told you we're housemates only, there's nothing going on!" They laugh, taking a sit beside you "Really? He takes good care of you, you always look neat and he made you lunches everyday. Even if you both are not in a relationship, I'm sure he has feelings for you~" Tsubaki put with a singsong tone, giggling when you playfully hit their arm.

You look at the neglected lunchbox siting on your desk. You really wanted to eat anything, especially Suo's food but you got so many works to do and you don't think you'll have time to eat "Tsubaki-chan, how about you eat them for me?"

You need not tell Tsubaki twice for them to snatch the lunchbox and open the lid. The immediate aromatic smell lingers in the air, almost make you wanted to yank the box back. You look up front, acting busy with your job, and eyes didn't glance back at Tsubaki as they begin indulge theirselves on the delicious dish.

"I'm home..." You smile, seeing Suo's head peak from the wall "Welcome back, come on, dinner's ready." You saunter to the table, taking a seat for yourself and put your stuff down "What are we having?" Suo only smiled at you, taking your lunchbox bag and put it in the sink "Secret... You'll know when it's ready." You wait patiently, watching him move around the kitchen until he came back with a plate of your favorite food "Suo!" You beamed, looking as excited as ever.

He take a set of utensils for you, smiling once again "Eat a lot, okay?" He pat you on the head before making his way back to the counter. You pick your utensils and begin consuming the tasty food Suo had prepared you.

"Su-" A loud thud and clanking shut you off, your eyes move from your food to his back "What's the mat-" This time, his voice cut you off, he speak in a calm, soft manner but it's quiet and low you can barely make it out if hadn't you hear properly "How unusual..."

"You eat everything, even the vegetables." Crap, did he caught you? Impossible, how could he-

"Never once would you finish your lunch, not with the veggies. You couldn't possibly be giving your lunch to somebody else, would you, Y/n?" The eye-patched man turn around, and he's no longer smiling. He look down at you, amble to your side and lean down "How hurtful, I made them special for you but you gave them to someone else."

"Suo, I..." He stood up, turn around and walk away. Before he does so, he turn his head slightly at you "You should hurry eat and shower. You smell... Different." He walk into his room, almost slammed the door and lock it.

That's the first time he ever got so mad at you. Over lunch? Sounds unreasonable but he did said he made them specifically for you and giving them to someone else does seem a bit disrespectful. You sighed, recontinue to eat your dinner in silent and went up to your room after washing the dirty dishes.

The next morning, you woke e up, shower and get dressed like usual. You went down to the kitchen seeing Suo, making your lunch for you "Good morning," He smile, acting as if nothing happened the previous night. You get your stuff ready, waiting for him until he came "Thanks," Neither of you said anything for a couple of minutes until you remark a "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gave my lunch to another person. I'll make sure to eat them by myself from now on, I promise."

He said nothing, one hand moving upward to stroke your hair and grin "It's alright, you promised... But, make sure this time you eat even the vegetables okay?" The mere mentioned of it stirred a sense of repulsion in you "But..." The male hardened look is enough to make you sighed in defeat.

"I'll try..." He smile, nodding his head in accepting manner and bid you off.

It's been a week since the incident of weird Suo encountered. You talked it out with Tsubakino and they started squealing excitedly, claiming Suo was feeling jealous, overprotective and they even said his behavior is a tendency of a yandere or whatever that means.

You're working on your desk when Tsubakino came up to you, unusually depressed "Tsubaki-chan, what's wrong?" The long-haired male sat down next to you, bottom lip jut out in frustration. Tsubaki started talking about this guy they're interested in and that they needed your help if possible.

Tsubakino plan for a dinner after work and how can you say no to them and their beautiful smile and gleaming eyes. You texted Suo, saying you won't be able to make it to dinner because your colleague wanted to consult about something.

Before you got a reply, Tsubakino started to wish desperately for a "no" reply but all you get was a "OK" sticker reaction from him.

"How boring!" They claimed, hugging your arm affectionately.

The dinner went well, Tsubaki asked every possible questions to you so you can help them with this "Ume-chan" guy. But, one thing didn't go as plan, Tsubakino ended getting so frustrated at some point they can't help but order one alcoholic drink after another. The pretty male couldn't leave you alone either so they got you drunk as well, only thing is, you're not as much as a good drinker as they are. Two cups is enough to knock you light.

Tsubaki help you got out of the place after, carrying you on their shoulder with a tired groan "Y/n-chan. You're such a light drinker!" You giggle at them, hiccuping a few times before passing out once again.

Tsubakino carry you as far as to a nearby stop and put you down, slouching you against the wall and get your phone. They begin scrolling through your contacts, searching for a particular name of somebody until "Suo <3"

"I knew you like him too!~"

"Huh?" Still drunk and wasted, you opened one eye to look around only to realize you're on someone's back "Suo!" You slurred, hugging the man's neck as he carry you "When you wake up tomorrow, you're so done." You giggle, hiding your face in between the nape of his neck "You're being childish, sho cute!~" You're very drunk right now so he'll let you off the hook tonight.

However when you wake up the next morning, you certainly did not expect yourself in Suo's room with him on the side. You tried to got up as sneakily as possible but he caught you, pushing you back to bed "Where do you think you're going?"

"My bedroom?" The male laugh, pushing his hair back and turn to look at you in the eyes "Just what the hell happened last night?" It's scary how sudden his mood can switched. One moment he's alright and the next thing you know is he's angered, eyes cold and facial indiffirent.

"What do you mean? I... I-" He pinned you down, his earrings dangle when he cage you in between his arms and lean down "Would it scares you if I said I don't like you going around with another person? Would it scares you if I said I don't like knowing another person ate the lunch I made for you? Would it scares you if I said I think of bounding you next to me, caging you like a bird so you'll stick close to me? Would it scares you knowing how much I like you... To the point that I'd rather die than losing you?"

People can ask the past you would you ever expect the calm, collected Suo to act so heart-wrenching and deeply saddened and you'd say no. Never in your wildest dream would you expect him to lose himself over you.

This Suo right here does not scares you, if anything, it surprises you. You never know your mere existence could affect one's being so much, much less Suo's. He said he'll die without you around. Is that a good thing? It doesn't sound like it but why is your heart pounding? It's pounding so hard you can hardly breathe. Maybe, it's because you're relief, relieved that he needed you as much as you needed him.

"I'll do anything..." He bury his face in between the crook of your neck "So just stick close to me, never went on dinner without me again. Never consult someone without me again. Never do anything without me, ever again."

"I'm sorry," His eyes widen, they expanded twice it's size when you put your arms around him, tightly embrace him in your warmth. He sought, pushing himself further onto you and hug you as tightly as he could.

You are not mad at him. You are hugging him, you are sorry even though he should be the one who's sorry - for feeding you off with his fake facade. His fake, nice, facade "No, I'm sorry-"

"I hope all pests leave you alone! You're only mine." The maroon-ish brown haired male continue hugging you tightly, sniffing on your sweet like a nectar scent "You sent me off everyday with these kinds of wishes?!"

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fraugwinska · 4 months ago

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Hiya Guys - Anyone up to read a fic I wrote to battle my little writers block? :> I know jack shit about Alchemy, so I drew a lot of my references and ideas from FMA - But I've already planned for a second part, and thanks to the lovely @impale-me-radio-daddy I have some good pointers and sources to dip my toes in more into the mechanics of Readers ability! ;> Until then: Have fun with this!

"Again, thanks, but no thanks, Carmilla. The whole 'overlord'-thing isn't my cup of tea."

The demon in front of you sighed, closing her eyes for a moment - maybe to not appear as aggravated as you knew she was. Carmilla Carmine has hounded you to join the other big players of Pride who called themselves overlords and acted like they were above everyone else. But you had no intentions or aspirations to mingle among the power-greedy wannabes and parochial moguls, as you told her - in much more diplomatic words - multiple times. The fact that she hadn't tried to force you into compliance only spoke about the power you held, almost wasted on you. Almost.

"I really think it would be...", Camilla started again, but your patience had run thin.

"...beneficial for all involved. It's like a broken record player at this point, no offense. And I hope you'll finally take my 'No' as an answer - Cross my heart, you'll be the first person to know if I change my mind." The warning tone in your voice and you standing up from the chair opposite to her office desk made her give you a sharp, cautious look, but she retreated.

"I understand. I won't press you on the matter anymore." She said, tactically calm, and raised her hands in surrender.

You just nodded her a courteous goodbye and exited her office, chin high as you walked down the corridors of her headquarters and out into the streets of the city. Hell was always busy, but the afternoons were the worst - everyone tried to do their last errands before nightlife took over Pentagram City and people weren't out for shopping or dinner, but for cheap and easy fucks or fights. A little kid - a cannibal child by the looks of its pitch-black eyes and sharp, pointed teeth - ran into you, preoccupied with its popsicle that looked too much like a tongue for your taste. Its mother, horrified, stammered apologies and pulled it hastily away, eager to get in some distance to you. You smiled at them - it may have looked a little malicious to them, although you meant it as genuine. But you knew she knew you were her. The one they called the Alchemist.

You made your way through the parting crowds, just wandering around. You had nothing to do really, and you generally enjoyed just walking through the city you've come to know for only a year. It didn't take long after your fall to get you the infamous name - Only the Radio Demon Alastor rivaled you in the speed you climbed up in the hierarchy of Hell. Tales were told, some true, some heavily exaggerated, some utterly ridiculous. Have you disintegrated demons into their very elemental parts? Yes you had. Have you taken out a whole district because you were catcalled? Not quite, you did that because those bastards from Mayhem Square decided to raid your laboratory and sprayed very vulgar and disgusting things on the walls after they destroyed your latest experiment. Have you sacrificed your loving family in exchange for the ultimate knowledge in alchemy before you died? Definitely not.

You laughed softly about the rumors. What loving family had been there to sacrifice to begin with? You were a war orphan. Abandoned and alone, only taken into a makeshift home and earning your living by signing up for human experiments when you were old enough to be smarter than just steal from abandoned crops and trash cans. If someone ever wondered if one could inject radioactive waste into a person and what the outcome would be, they would've found their answer in your blood and cells - a pinch of insanity, a lack of empathy and painful hallucinations. In exchange for your years of help and your resilience, you were offered a university tuition. You quickly took to science, studying biology, chemistry and, outside of the curriculum, alchemy. To the very last day, you wished you'd studied physics just to finally figure out the universal gravitation formula.

Your career had ended very shortly after your graduation, when you came back to work in the very same lab you've come to be tortured as a teen. But now you were the one experimenting on desperate souls that no one would miss. The only set rule you wouldn’t deviate on: No experiments on children. One of your subjects, overtaken by the pain your hands caused, had gone mental and stabbed you with the syringe you've used on them. Stabbed you many, many, many times. A fitting death, you thought. Your next time awaking, it wasn't with the sight of the tiled, sterile laboratory, but the busy street you just walked on.

It had been a throwback to your childhood, really. No home, no one you knew, no money. But now you had your power. And OH, what a power it was, effortless and gloriously embedded in your being. Paired with your absence of empathic feelings you quickly gained souls under your belt. Mostly lower-rank and no-name-demons, you left them intact, unless your scientific curiosity got the best of you.

Of course the Radio Demon had sensed the birth of another powerful sinner right below his nose and you had the displeasure to meet him not even a month after arriving. While Carmilla seemed to have the strong aspiration to have you among her fellow Overlords, Alastor's ambition went in a completely different direction. First he wanted to be sly and get you under contract, and when you laughed in his face, well... he wanted to consume you and your power, rip you limb from limb and put an end to your existence.

Alas, you were way too powerful for his liking. The moment his claws sunk into you, the moment he would break a limb and rend flesh, the wound was closed up and the bone repaired. You weren't just good at disintegrating - the principle of equal exchange applied to rearrangement and repair too. His conjured voodoo-minions fell apart into cloth, ash and thread at your will, and his ego took more than just one hit that you resisted, that you held your stance, didn't even move out of his way but buried your feet deeper into the ground with a cold smile on your face - that you were equally as powerful as him. If not a little more. Time and time again your paths crossed. Where Alastor was Entertainment, you were Rationality. Where he was Chaos, you were Order. He was looking for the end of his boredom, you for the ultimate knowledge. His smile a facade to hide his frustrations, your stone cold face a facade to hide the joy you felt with every missed blow from him. You were attracting opposites, the only overlap was your shared egocentrism - You knew he believed himself above you. And he knew you thought the same about yourself to him.

So that's why Carmilla was trying to convince you to join the overpowered. So you would change from an unpredictable threat to those hot-shots into a controllable part of them. What a shame, truly, that power was never something you aimed for. Your only ambition was to further your knowledge about existence, about the nature surrounding you, about yourself. You craved understanding and finding order in the chaos. Especially since Hell was the ultimate chaos.

Your thoughts came to a halt when you suddenly felt a strange sensation. You were just walking past the outskirts of the Cannibal Colony to round (and avoid) the Doomsday District to make your way back home, but now something had drawn your attention. A sixth sense, a force, an itch at the back of your head. Electricity was in the air, and you only had time to rearrange the particles of dust and debris around you into a makeshift shield when a black tentacle burst from the ground and smashed it into pieces. When the cloud of dust around you settled and you coughed, you were met with the sight of Alastor in the middle of the street, his smile as wide as ever.

"Normal people go for a courteous 'Hello', you know.", you stated and straightened yourself.

"Ah, but my darling, you and I both know we are not normal. Or people." Another tentacle darts at you from behind, its tip sharpened like a spear, but you were quick to dodge and let the appendage crash into a digital advertisement for VoxTech newest useless and frivol products. The screen flickered for a moment before returning to its previous content, but the damage was already done - the pole was bent and the screen had a hole in the upper-left corner. You turned back to Alastor, giving him a displeased glare.

"What is your issue with me today? Do I wear the wrong shoes? Maybe my hairdo isn't to your liking? You seem to be a little more... enthusiastic than usual. And not in a good way."

The Radio Demon twists his cane in his hands with a sneer, his burning, narrowed eyes not leaving you as you crossed your arms in boredom and tapped your foot.

"The issue on hand, my dear, is that you encroach onto my territory yet again. How about this: A final fight, you and I. The winner gets to decide if the loser is eaten alive or is granted a merciful death."

"Huh. You sound like you've had a really bad day."

With the flick of your wrist, you rearrange the ground beneath him, shifting solid stone and concrete into sticky bitumen and tar. You can't hide the grin when he struggles to stay upright, his polished shoes glued to the spot, but his smile doesn't falter. If anything, it widens.

"I take this as a yes, then."

Before you can even think of a comeback, your view is obscured by a swarm of his minions. They're coming at you from all sides, claws outstretched and snarling. With a roll of your eyes and a wave of your hand, you let them fall apart into their basic elements, pieces of stained cloths and clouds of foul smelling ashes falling all around you. Alastor's grin is as wide as ever and you see the telltale glow of his power around him - and before you can even blink, he's right in front of you, his shoes still sticking in the viscous black matter where he formerly stood, his claws reaching for your neck, your head. You feel his razor-sharp fingertips scraping the skin of your throat, not deep enough to really do any damage, but still droplets of your neon green blood dripping from the cuts. With a grunt you grab him by the lapels of his coat and throw him over and above your head, and while he flies through the air, his laughter echoes through the streets. He's having fun, you know that. But deep down inside... so are you.

"Your back alley voodoo tricks are getting a bit repetitive, Alastor. At least make it interesting."

He lands a few feet away, gracefully like an antelope on his bare hooves, and the static of his laugh sends shivers down your spine.

"Who am I to deny a dying lady her last wish?"

His shadow detached from his body, the pitch-black entity’s teal grin a stark contrast to his red, glowing eyes, the wickedly growing antlers and his pale skin. The immaterial monster opened its maw wide with a deafening screech, and it shot forward at blinding speed. You finally moved, darting away from the shade as it swished towards you - it almost looked like a morbid ballet as you avoided as much contact with the ground as you were able to, frantically thinking of what his shadows are made of so you could destroy it. He had never stooped down to use it in your fights, and you knew that they had to be more than just abscence of light, as sentient as it was. The basis of Alchemy was simple: You can't form something out of nothing, but if you knew the compounds, you were able to rearrange, dispatch or destroy almost anything. You tried to buy yourself more time to think by another high jump into the air, only to hear Alastors static next to your ear, a hand wrapping around your waist with a grip that was intended to hurt and another on your chin, holding your face in place. Your instincts told you to twist under and out of his grasp, to rearrange your skin into something harder to prevent his claws from tearing into you, but find yourself unable to move. A hiss from below you makes your eyes dart to Alastors shadow - it has your own in an iron grip, holding it hostage in its black claws.

"Is that interesting enough for you, darling?", the demon above you purrs into your ear, but the question was unnecessary, answered in his laughter and his ironclad hold of you, your body pressed against his, arms frozen mid air and useless like a marionette without it's player. His hold around you is painful - it would crush a lesser demon easily, but luckily, you weren't lesser. And you still could, even without the usage of your hands, will your side he pierced with his talons to at least harden enough with the iron you drew from your blood so he couldn't tear you apart that easily.

"It's certainly interesting that you have to resort to gagging my shadow to subdue me."

The words were all but pressed through your gritted teeth. You knew you wouldn't be able to escape at this point. This part of his magic, his shadowmagic, was one of the only things you practically knew nothing about. And lack of knowledge, as usual, meant lack of power. In this case - the power to get out, to flee and regroup.

The touch on your waist disappeared for a second before appearing again, stronger now and accompanied with a pain shooting from where his fingers had dug themselves into the weak metallic coat underneath your skin. You hated the quiet whimper your body unwillingly let out at the sting, reminiscent of the scalpels that were used on you many times, so long ago. He chuckled, deep and guttural right below your ear before leaning his head down to your eye-level.

"Subdue you? Oh, no, no, no my sweet Alchemist. This fight is over, as you are well aware and I'm pleased to say that at last, I am the one victorious. The deal was the choice between eating the other alive or granting a merciful death. I just have yet to decide what option to choose."

He releases his claws from your jaw and rakes his nails down your neck and collarbone, his face inches away from yours, red eyes glowing even brighter and his smile that reached his ears with open delight as his claws tear deeper and deeper into you, his static now drowning out the sounds of your pained gasps as darkness grew from the ground, encasing you.

"I... really hate you, you know?", was the only thing you could bring yourself to hiss. His snicker was dark, malicious and infuriatingly cocky.

"Oh darling. I hate you more." And then it all went dark.

You opened your eyes. A blank, charcoal canvas stretched as far as the eye can see. A monochrome dimension for monochrome creatures. Everything had a certain damp feeling to it - the air, the atmosphere, even your own skin felt slick, damp and oily to the touch. Freezing. Unfamiliar and strange.

"Where are we?"

You still felt Alastor’s long fingers holding you in place, but the pain was gone, replaced by a burning heat where he pressed your back into his chest, a stark contrast to the coldness of the air surrounding you. Clean air. You felt no specs of dirt, dust or carbon on your tongue, the air tasted neutral and smelled void, the flavor almost painful in your throat.

"This, my dear, is a little pocket dimension I've crafted. To be specific - it's the one I've crafted the moment I met you."

Your eyebrows arched up, and his shadow let yours tilt your head just enough so you could see his face and his overly excited grin. His words struck a chord and the penny dropped - He, in his deluded mindset of superiority, had anticipated this day to come ever since your first encounter. This wasn't just a spur of the moment, he had planned this, crafted a punishment for the - to him - inevitable scenario that one day he'd finally get his comeuppance. Where he'd finally beat you. Planned to get you here to destroy you.

"It's not very... showy, considering it's created by Hells Greatest Showman himself." Your voice betrayed you. You wanted to sound bored, neutral, indifferent - but every syllable dripped with hidden defeat. Alastor had purposely created a place that you couldn't decipher, that held nothing you could use to defend yourself.

"Au contraire, darling. I think this is the most appropriate stage for our final performance."

His voice was dark, low, and vibrated from the bottom of his chest. His breath was hot and wet on the nape of your neck and the tips of his fingers on your chin burned. You could feel his excitement reverberating through his body. He was looking forward to this. To eradicate you. You closed your eyes. Rationality told you there was no use in defiance.

"So, Alastor. What's it gonna be? Are you a man of your word or aren't you going to kill me the way you've promised? What was it? Eat me alive or make it a merciful death?", you asked, but the only reply was his grip around you tightening and his teeth sinking into the crook of your neck. It was a pain so sharp and yet so tender that it made you almost moan. A pathetic whimper escaped your throat, and you hated how you could feel his lips on your skin curl into a smirk.

"My poor, little alchemist. I thought you, as a woman of science, knew that one has to define the terms you work with."

His fangs grazed the soft flesh of your neck, his tongue leaving a wet trail along the bite marks they had left. A shiver ran down your spine and your skin broke out in goosebumps. The grip on your jaw tightened and he tilted your head to the side, exposing your throat to him even more.

"Killing is just one mundane interpretation of our deal. There is more than one way to eat you while you breathe, my dear, and as for a merciful death... well..." His hand left your waist, wandered down over your hips to the hem of your pants and slid beneath. "... the meaning of that will depend on how this plays out."

The tips of his claws dragged over your underwear and your back arched, subconsciously pressing yourself against his broad chest as much as his shadow allowed it. He chuckled darkly at the reaction he drew from you, his fingers rubbing your core through the fabric, and your eyes fell shut in furious pleasure. You were unable to stop the whimpers and quiet moans that came from you, and he laughed at every sound he forced from you.

You understood the principles of biology and chemistry enough to understand why your body reacted the way it did to his touch. Hormones released, muscles tensed, senses sharpened, brain focused - and all that with one purpose. Carnality. Sexuality. Lust.

You understood the social components : Alastor, despite his infuriating personality, was a powerful and attractive demon. He was a sight for sore eyes and a feast for the hungry ones - you maybe lacked empathy, but you weren't blind.

What you didn't understand was that, despite your deep dislike you felt for the Radio Demon, despite the many times you've fought each other and how he's tried to erase you multiple times - your emotions were telling you that you craved his touch, wanted what he was threatening to do, what he was implying with his words and emphasizing with his actions, his hands working themselves towards your slicked heat and with his lips still on your throat.

And the worst thing was, he knew.

He could sense it, probably even taste it, in the scent of your arousal and the taste of the sweat on your skin. He could read it in your body language, how you subconsciously tried to move against his fingers, how your body melted into his when his teeth scraped over your collarbone and your breath hitched when he sunk them deep into the soft flesh of your neck once more.

The force behind his jaws was sharp and without any mercy, but it only lasted for a moment until it became deliciously soft and firm, his lips soothing your tormented skin after the beast within had taken its fill of your blood just as he breached the last physical barrier of your underwear and dipped two of his digits into you. He forced a soundless sigh from your lungs with the way his fingertips caressed you, igniting a feeling inside you didn't know you could feel.

The satisfaction you got from giving and receiving physical pleasures up until this point mostly to serve your biological needs, impersonal. The connection that existed between partners was short-lived and never personal, almost medical, with the barest minimum of any physical contact necessary, just enough so the mechanics of your hellish body came to the desired effect of pressure release to let you focus on more important matters.

But with Alastor, with his mouth still feasting on the sensitive, marked flesh at your nape and his dexterous fingers working between your thighs, nothing of what was happening was impersonal. Medical. There was no need - But want. A craving desire that arose like a hot flame deep inside you, making the pleasure you were given intensify and left you almost in a frenzy, to try and get more of it. A feeling almost animalistic, something raw and purely instinctual that you wanted to prolong instead of getting it over with.

There was no logic to the way your body reacted, no formula you could apply to ease your frustration at the way he touched you - he played your body like he knew it by heart, a strange turn of events. While you seemed so illogical in your behavior, he was strangely tactical. You were frantic, he was calculating. Every touch, lick and nibble was done with an intended purpose. And in return your reactions to it were completely without rhyme or reason. You couldn't stop the moans spilling from you as he dragged his long fingers in and out of you in an agonizing speed, the pad of his thumb teasingly rubbing over the little nub hidden between your folds, your hips were moving on their own, in sync with his movements as much as they his shadow's grip on yours granted you.

"I... don't t-think...", you gasped with another cruel flick of his thumb against your sore clit, "...you can c-count that as.. e-eating."

To your frustration his motions did slow down, the thrusts and motions he drew from you fading, the tension within building so painfully inside of you, uncoiling so suddenly just to be denied. His chuckle rumbled in his chest and he retreated his lips and teeth from your throat.

"I'm nothing but a connoisseur, darling - one has to prepare and season his meal properly in order to feast."

The sudden loss of contact made you whine in your throat as his hands withdrew, from your wetness as well as your neck and chin. The air felt even colder against your heated skin now, and you shivered when your limbs suddenly contorted, were rearranged by ghostly hands. From the corners of your eyes you could see Alastors shadow force yours into something of a bridge position, back arched, arms bound over its head and legs spread - and through the unexplainable connection between you both, your body followed, having no other choice but to obey what the immaterial shapes dictated.

Alastor stood aside, waiting, watching intently as your trousers were pulled messily down your legs by invisible claws, revealing the soft skin hidden beneath. They dragged the fabric over the swell of your hips, under your rear and over your thighs. For a few agonizing seconds everything was still, the monochromatic world around you in perfect silence, the only visible life your panting breath and Alastors everlasting static. When the last bit of fabric left your body and you were completely bare, he stepped in between your legs, raking his claws over the inside of your thighs before coming to a rest on your hip bones. He looked smug, he looked manic, and most of all he looked hungry. His tongue swiped his sharp teeth, coating them with thick, dark saliva, and you shuddered with a mixture of humiliation and anticipation alike.

"Well now, I think it's time to dig in, right dear? Especially since the table's so nicely set and all."

The impact of his burning mouth on your dripping sex was beyond the comprehension of words, all your synapsis concentrated at the singular sensation of the demon below you working his jaw with gusto and enthusiasm only a cannibal like him could, teeth and tongue and lips unabashed and unapologetic in their efforts to elicit sounds from you that bordered on the screams he loved to broadcast. You could feel him smiling at each and every breathless moan he wrenched from you, you could feel his cold red eyes burning holes into you as he kept eyeing you from below, tongue buried to the root in you, his claws pressing painfully into your flesh in a vice-like grip, threatening to break and rip at the soft skin when you tried to suppress the mewls in an effort to deny him his self-righteous satisfaction.

"Darling, I know you're normally the one who takes others apart - but I just have to wonder what you will look like undone."

You were pushed even closer, even more at his mercy as he forcefully shoved his face deeper between your legs, his black, twisted antlers piercing into your stomach, leaving dainty puncture wounds that stung and begand to trickle with your blood. Your breathing became more desperate with each minute, more keening and so much harder to keep steady - when one of his dexterous hands joined his mouth between your legs and curled the long digits deep inside you in search for the certain bundle of nerves - located an inch inside the vaginal opening, on the upper vaginal wall - that his skilled tongue had neglected so far. Your mind went blank and your whines became constant, unchecked and vocalized so much louder when he found what so many demons (and humans, if you were honest) thought to be a myth - the Grafenberg spot.

He hummed in self-satisfaction as you moaned shamelessly now as he rubbed and probed, curling, stroking, doing everything at once with his fingers on the spot while his mouth worked at your sensitive clit above, suckling hard, bordering on painful licking and even biting. You struggled in the immaterial grasp of his shadow, wriggling on his mouth, the intense, uncontrollable, uncontrolled and unrivaled sensations sparking from your core leaving you desperate for release, for any kind of relief, the pressure of it building so unbelievably fast in you, his movements, the vibrating static and his quiet laughter sending you towards a feeling that you knew, once experienced, wouldn't leave again. You hated that you loved what he was doing, hated that he was able to do what so many others had failed to, that your mind was consumed by pure, undulated desire for the damn Radio Demon as he - in a twisted sense of your own profession -destroyed and rebuilt you simultaneously with the same kind of unceremoniously fervent frivolity that was oh-so-characteristic for him.

Your eyes fell shut, a vocal and shuddering breath escaping you as you felt your end coming nearer and nearer, every flick of his tongue and every slight graze of his teeth were a thousand-fold amplified and yet purposefully too little to finally grant you the relief you yearned for so badly, to put out the element of fire within that threatened to burn you alive.

"Alastor... Please...", you managed between breaths. The words felt sour and sticky on your tongue, but you knew he was waiting for them. You had never begged for something before. Not for mercy when some of the researchers went over the limits of their set experiments on you. Not for recognition when papers you wrote were released in your colleagues name. Not for your life when the thick needle in the hand of the deranged patient rose to the sky, ready to strike. But for Alastor, you begged.

Your plea earned you a victorious glare and another harsh suck on your swollen nub that made you cry out in pleasure and pain. With a last stroke of his tongue in tandem with his fingers against the exact right spot and a firm flick to your clit, your climax felt like you were falling apart into particles and atoms, crumbling around the mouth of your arch-rival. He had been right. Definition was everything, one of the rare things the Alchemist and the Radio Demon could agree on - He promised death, and that's what he gave you: A metaphorical one, devastating, humiliating and everything but merciful. Each spasm was a shovel burying your pride, each sob as he licked you through the ebbing waves of your high a eulogy for the respect you had for yourself. But this death, as disgraceful as it was, was pure bliss, was what ascencion must feel like.

Your body was slowly released from its restraints, feeling heavier than it should as you were dropped unceremoniously to the ground, and you closed your eyes again, feeling oddly empty when he removed his mouth and fingers and stood up to his full height, towering above you. You didn't even struggle even though your limbs were free now, just sighed and turned your head to look up and face Alastor as you heard the clicks of his heels next to your face.

He looked disheveled and wild - a mess of tousled red hair entangled in sharp antlers and sticking messily onto his sweaty forehead, the corners of his mouth glistening with your fluids and his blackened eyes alight with mischief. You could see the outlines of a massive erection through his strained pants, a small consolation that the ordeal he had put you both through hadn't been above his biology too. But before you wasn't the jovial trickster that all of Pride knew and feared, and it wasn't the tactical torturer that had worked you over the edge of your emotions either. This was the animal, the demon within, the monster hell made out of a man in its essence - limbs cracked and elongated, spine twisted and curved, aura dark and almost glowing in green. And it was stunningly beautiful. It was such an incongruous appearance, contrasting his normally smooth, proper and almost human demeanor so much that it might become your new definition of a paradox.

His hand suddenly went behind your head and roughly grabbed you by your hair and dragged your head up, just enough so he could bend on his waist to be on eye-level with you. It stung beautifully at the roots, and you hissed at the delicious pain as you met his gaze.

"Th͑an͊k y͈͝o͔̲͒u̧ͥ f̌͌or̬ t̜ͦhe̬ͯͅ m͉̋ȩ̞͙al,͍ l̵̅͝it͓͙ͤt͘lè̍ A̰̞l̇c̭̙̕h̏̒emis̏͑t."

His voice was distorted and thick, it sounded sticky and heavy and even unhinged. For a moment, you saw his wish to bite you, to tear into your jugular and finally dismember you reflected in his ticking eyes. And in that moment, defying all logic and instincts, you would’ve let him do it. But the strike didn’t come, and the moment faded, along with his monstrous form. He shifted back to the demon you knew, hair still out of place but expression a mask again, a play, a facade. But there was a strange conflict behind his smile, a weird furrow in his cocked brows.

“I believe with that the deal is fulfilled.”

Alastor snapped his hands, and you fell, through darkness and light, fire and water and earth and wind swirling around you until you hit concrete ground. Quickly stumbling to your feet, you blinked. You were dressed again, back in Pentagram City, back at the exact spot where you turned the corner just before...

You whipped your head around, but the Radio Demon was nowhere to be found. The street before you was empty, car horns and gunshots and bomb explosions filling the air coming from the Doomsday District. For a moment you panicked - had it been just another one of your hallucinations? You thought you had left this special side effect of your brain behind in the living world, but you were smart enough to consider the chances of possibility. It would explain everything. Your hand snapped to your neck - no lacerations, no bite marks. Contradictory evidence. It didn’t mean that it hadn’t happened, but it increased the likelihood of the perceived experience being just your brain playing its cruel tricks on you. Just like it did now, flooding your nerves with a faint feeling of... disappointment.

You shook your head and sighed, turning on your heels to continue your walk home. When you put your hands in the pockets of your lab coat, a wrinkled piece of paper brushed your palm. Confused, you pulled it out and unfolded it, your eyes widening as you read it with a gasp that got stuck halfway in your throat.

Until next time, my dear. And if you ever crave more, there is always a table set for you. A.

It read in an obnoxiously neat, cursive handwriting. In a hue of crimson red.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #alastor smut #reader x hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hate fuck #reader hates to love it and loves to hate it #cryptic al makes an appearance

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fadingdaggerr · 13 days ago

Note

Hey, I have just read heaven’s gate ( Larissa weems x reader ) and absolutely loved it! Is there any chance for a part two? Thank you x

pearlescent (18+ minors, dni)

pairing: larissa weems x gn!reader

summary: part two of heaven’s gate | 4.5k

includes: lesbians too in love for their own good, fluff

warnings: kissing/making out, sexual innuendo, afab reader (no breasts described for r), smut (fingering (L/r), oral (L), thigh riding (L)) can u tell i like eating pussy

note: first non-melissa post in over a year to bring me back from hiatus. thank u for ur patience. i feel like those wattpad writers that are like “just got out of a coma here’s a fic”

The smooth paving of the highway becomes bumpy and uneven as you pass the final gas station between here and your destination. Every pothole the car jumps over is like a shot of espresso through your aching joints. After the last stop, you promised yourself to drive straight through. Another stop would mean another chance to acknowledge the numbing of your ass after five hours in the car, and with one hour left, you’re not risking it. You really weren’t kidding when you said that teleportation would be much more useful.

Cell service is quickly obsolete as you continue through the woods, scanning the road for any squirrels that may decide that today was the day. Drumming against the steering wheel, you let your mind wander. Maybe coming without telling her is a bad idea, but it also has the potential not to be. She had begged you to drive to her just two days after she left, and you would have, if only your client hadn’t walked in the door. Dueling busy schedules made two months pass like molasses, longing to drop everything and hitchhike if you had to. Would the lack of alerting her put her off? Gods, you hope not.

A sudden shift of turbulent driving to a slight jostle of cobblestone removes you from the swirling doubt in your mind, peeking towards the sign you’re approaching. Green and rusting, white lettering reads: Welcome to Jericho! The Salem of Vermont. You find yourself glad someone took the time to graffiti over the last bit.

Ignoring the anxiety climbing your spine, you keep going, and going, and going, and going, until you finally break through the treeline. Out of nowhere sits the cutest town you think you’ve ever seen, with little brick shops with murals and a gazebo with the remains of New Year’s decor still hanging on. It makes sense why people would want to come here, why she would choose to stay.

In an attempt to not draw more attention than an outsider already gets, let alone an outcast one, you don’t linger on viewing the quaint town of Jericho. There’s better views awaiting you later, at the very castle-like building you can see on the high hill. Looming in a shadow, one that doesn’t extend over the rest of the town, sits Nevermore in all its glory. The corners of your lips turn up into a small smile, the view is nostalgic, bringing back the memories of your time at Byron’s.

The memory brings a reminder to the forefront of your mind, and with cell service restored, now is the best time. Carefully, and without taking your eyes off the road, you navigate to your favorite contacts.

“Hello, my angel!”

You chuckle, “it’s just me.”

“Fuck, nevermind then,” Parker grumbles, “so you’re not there yet?”

“I’m pulling up in a second, just wanted to let you know now before I can’t.”

A characteristic cackle comes from the other end, “gonna jump her bones immediately, I see, I see. Can’t say I blame you, she makes me question things about myself.”

“This is exactly why I called you before getting here,” you chuckle, pulling through the front gates, “but I gotta go now.”

“Yes, yes, go get slutted out, harlot. Just please call me sometime, so I can talk with the love of our lives,” Parker begs.

“I’m telling Max you said that,” you deadpan, hanging up just as you hear a rushed wait!

—☽—

For a town so small minded, from what you’ve been told, you’re more than surprised to find that you are able to walk into Nevermore unnoticed. Some students stand around, talking amongst themselves, but none seem to pay you any mind, likely thinking you’re just another teacher. Using the anonymity to your advantage, you slow your pace, listening in carefully. A gorgon walks by you, the only student at this time that seems to be carrying any school supplies.

You mentally scold yourself for stereotyping her studious behavior before you focus in on her mind. Your consciousness runs through hers, searching through test anxieties and hockey tryout concerns, until you find what you need. The literature wing, I could’ve guessed that. Coming back into your own mind, you’re already speeding up the stairs before your pupils return to their normal size.

Passing another student two stories up, you pray the siren knows which office you need, yet they don’t. Neither do the werewolves or the seer. Do you guys even go to classes? You’re about to give up on the full surprise, headache seeping in from all the mindreading of anxious teenagers. Just before you exit the hallway entirely, you actually look up from your feet, and you mentally smack yourself upside the head for not just reading the plaques on the doors.

With a renewed pep in your step, you keep just shy of running as you read every door. Finally, you reach a door that has a newer plaque compared to neighboring ones, serif font unscathed by age. Professor L. Weems, Department of Literature. Your heart skips a beat at the mere sight of her name. Noticing the door being cracked open, you push it open slightly more, hoping your search ends here.

Hunched over an antique desk, red-framed glasses perched on her nose with a pen spinning between her fingers, she doesn’t seem to notice the attention on her. It’s hard to pry yourself away from watching her, when holding her is seemingly moments away. Pushing the door the rest of the way open, you knock on the doorway with shaking knuckles.

A huff passes scarlet lips as Larissa peers up, a brief, disinterested gaze passing over her features. The pen in her hand stills, falling to the desk with a small clatter. Blue eyes widen as she stares unwaveringly at you. Fidgeting under her gaze, you smile nervously, “was- uh- was looking for professor Weems? Know her, by any chance?”

In no less than a blink, Larissa is rounding her desk at top speeds, crashing into your body as her arms wrap around your neck. Nearly falling into the hall, you just barely keep the two of you up, leaning into her to walk her backwards. One hand grips her waist as the other blindly reaches for the door to shut it, quickly coming back to bury into her hair. Your face tucks into her neck, brushing your nose against her skin, breathing her in.

“You’re here,” Larissa says quietly, disbelieving.

“I’m here,” you mumble against her warm skin, “couldn’t wait any longer.”

A sigh of relief passes plush lips, “and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Surprise, it’s a noun,” you joke, pressing a soft kiss to the expanse of her neck, relishing in the way she shudders at the contact. There’s no reply except for her arms tightening around you, wordlessly telling you that this surprise is one she likes.

Pulling back from you suddenly, Larissa just stares at you, blue eyes taking in every feature, lingering on your lips before flicking back to your eyes. Your hand moves from her waist to cup her cheek, stroking soft skin that you’d been longing to touch. She takes the invitation, leaning forward to press delicate lips against your own, slow and savoring. Your tongue traces her lips, tasting earl grey and lipstick as she lets you in. No struggle or search for dominance, simply a familiar dance you’d both dearly missed. The hand in her hair stays in place, keeping her close as the other traces her cheekbone and jaw, memorizing the feeling of her skin. Every piece of you missed her, and all of those pieces felt healed the moment her lips touched yours.

Pulling away slowly, both of you keep your eyes closed, simply existing in this moment. It takes a while for either of you to move away, but you feel giddy seeing Larissa’s pink cheeks and smudged lipstick. Your thumb drifts to her lips, wiping away the mess you’ve made, ignoring that you are likely equally covered. Soft lips press into the pad of your thumb, gentle and sweet.

“I cannot believe you’re here,” she whispers into the small space between you, “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you,” you reply at the same volume.

It takes two hours for the halls of Nevermore to empty, students retreating to their rooms or to the quad, finally allowing a chance for the two of you to leave Larissa’s office. Silence seems to come over the school, however frightening it may be when dealing with teenagers, though neither of you mind as you simply exist in the spacious office. After weeks of phone calls that lasted most of the night, quiet amazingly comes easy.

Only a soft hum from the blonde breaks the silence, twisting her wrist to check her watch. Turning towards you slightly, she keeps a soft volume as she speaks, “how would you like a tour?”

“That sounds perfect, I only got to see the foyer and this hall,” you answer, nudging into her shoulder softly. “Was on a mission, I didn’t really get a chance to explore.”

“Sorry about that, but we’re not supposed to have visitors here,” she explains, “the campus has essentially been on lockdown since the nineties.”

You chuckle, reaching a hand out to draw her in. Her fingers slide across your palm before gripping, letting you tug her closer, “in that case, security might be too lax. I got in no problem.”

“You what?” Larissa stiffens, looking at you bewildered.

“I drove right through the gate, walked right in, no one even noticed me,” you chuckle, “just walked on up.”

Her lips purse as she tries to hide the laugh building in her chest, leaning in more, “you read a child’s mind to find me, didn’t you?”

It’s impossible to hide the wry grin on your face, “potentially.”

“Potentially,” she mimics, amused.

—☽—

Nevermore has officially put Byron’s Home to shame.

Every hallway is covered in paintings, Latin engravings littering every shelf, moon phases in different corners. It makes you wish you never set foot in that brick schoolhouse all those years ago. The conservatory alone almost made you weep; crawling vines and shining moonflowers, the feasting venus flytraps, and, your favorite, bleeding hearts. Larissa stands back and watches as your fingers ghost over petals, pressing lightly against the flytraps full belly, all with a deep fascination behind your eyes.

“I can’t believe you have this,” your voice echoes quietly in the room, “it- it’s incredible.”

Her silence throws you, immediately turning. The lost look in her eyes makes you falter, and where your typical instinct is to read, you instead step closer.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, reaching to run your fingers over her knuckles that stay clutching her shirt.

There have been many times where Larissa wished for different abilities, or no abilities at all. Right now, however, she wished for nothing more than your ability. She wished she could reach into your mind and see how you saw the world, how you see the flowers, how you see her. Seeing you now, how you watch her with more reverence than you grant what, in her mind, is a greater beauty, she knows she has a window into the limitless path your consciousness takes.

“Nothing at all. I just have one more place in mind,” she answers, hand lifting to stroke your cheek, lingering against your oddly cool skin. You nod wordlessly, letting your fingers intertwine with hers.

Hand held in Larissa’s, you let her lead you through the halls. She pauses to peak around every corner, terrified the two of you would be caught. Leading forward, more like tugging, she brings you towards a spiraling staircase. Letting her go first, she enters into a massive room, cool but comfortable, dark enough to rely on distanced golden lamps.

Floor to ceiling bookshelves line everywall, the familiar Latin etched into stone and wood alike. Ancient Greek, Cyrillic, and Tamil, first and second editions of texts you thought you’d only ever see inaccurate translations of. Sections of different outcast abilities, poetry from around the world, fables of the inception of different classes. Most have an unfortunate layer of dust over them, long ignored in interest of the clearly loved young adult section.

“You’re really trying to make me jealous,” you say breathily, “this place is incredible.”

“These are my favorite sections,” Larissa admits shyly, “I spend hours of my day here and never see another soul. It’s peaceful.”

“All by your lonesome?” There’s a slight mockery in your tone, “not alone now, are you though?”

Red lips curve into a smile as you step closer to her, fingers grazing up her side, slipping around her back to tug her closer. Hands rise to cup your face, eyes hooded as she takes you in. Pupils blown and lip between your teeth, she doesn’t want to deny herself the view nor the pleasure. Leaning into your space, her nose brushes yours, lips just barely ghosting.

You know she’s teasing, even with closed eyes, you can sense her smile. Tilting, you capture her lips, sighing at the contact. The moment your tongue brushes her bottom lip, a switch in Larissa flips, pushing you back into the shelving behind you. Sliding from your face, her hands grip your waist, clutching with an unnecessary urgency. Meeting her pace, your fingers weave into her updo, pulling hairs loose as you try to keep her closer than she physically can manage.

The muffled boom of a door on the other side of the shelf forces you to jump apart, wide eyes looking at each other like deer in headlights. Cheeks puff as you try not to laugh, Larissa immediately pulls you out of the library, forcing you into a jog as you run towards a different end of the building.

—☽—

Carefully, she guides you upstairs, praying that no other teachers or students are around to see her sneaking someone in. Both of you struggle to keep your giggling in, the juvenile nature of it all making you fluttery.

Coming up to a white door, you see another plaque reading Dormitory Parent. Unlocking the door with a strong wiggle, Larissa motions for you to walk in first, quickly shutting the door behind her and latching it. Leaning against it, she lets out a sigh.

Larissa doesn’t get a chance to move closer before your lips press against hers once more. This time, neither of you waste a second, no longer nerved up by the chance of someone walking in again. Timid brushing of lips is forgone as her tongue bullies its way into your mouth, stroking yours with a gentle dominance that has your knees weak.

Wanting hands grip at her waist as she pushes her backwards, leading you further into her quarters until you’re backed into a wall. Lips move from yours and trail down your chin to your neck, teeth passing over your pulse. A groan leaves your lips, hands scrambling to pull Larissa back to your lips, missing them greatly in the seconds they’ve been apart from yours. Feeling her smile against you makes your heart clench, needing more, anything she’s willing to give.

Pulling back from her lips only enough to speak, you ask, “bedroom?”

There’s no reply, only you being tugged from the wall and walked backwards further into the room. You’re so lost in her, her lips, her hands, her tongue, everything. The feeling of dropping onto the mattress is what brings you back in, eyes cracking open to see a lightly panting Larissa above you, lips parted and kiss-swollen. Lapis eyes flick over your face, expression similar to the one she wore when she first saw you, right on the cusp of relief and disbelief. She’s not unlike a goddess viewing her devotee.

Taking her moment of distraction as a tool for your benefit, you flip the two of you, happily taking in the new view of her beneath you. Hair of white gold splaying over the pillows, eyes wide, skin flushed, and entirely beautiful, Larissa Weems is a gift for your eyes only. The hand on her hip slides up, pushing the fabric of her dress with them as they climb. It’s a silent question, or more of a silent begging, hands impatient to feel her.

Larissa’s head rises off the pillow, lips pushing into yours, her hands going to yours to push them even higher, dress inching up more and more. As she wishes, you lift her dress, hands finding solace on plush thighs, laying your body between her legs. The familiarity of it makes you moan into her mouth, pure want running through your veins.

Hands close in on the lace covering her, lips moving to her neck for a chance to breathe, “can I take this off?”

“Yes,” she answers in a whiny tone, lifting herself off the mattress slightly.

You carefully, thought quickly, lower the zipper. Larissa strips the dress off her torso, letting your wanting hands take care of the rest. The world stops for a moment as you look down at her, skin luminescent against dark sheets, constellations of freckles dotted across her chest.

The blush crawling up her neck brings you back in, and you haphazardly shrug off your jacket and tear off your own shirt. Leaning back down, you forgo her lips to kiss down her neck, reveling in her skin beneath yours. Larissa moans softly as her hands wander down your back, around your torso, tugging at your belt, and you're quick to head her command. Greedy hands pull you back down on the bed, gripping at warm skin as your lips take purchase on her neck again.

Laying her back, you continue your path down, fingers taking her bra straps down with you. Eyes peek up to hers, silently asking permission. Larissa arches into you in response, and your lips wrap around a rosey nipple. Nails dig into your back as she moans beneath you, hips bucking against your. Satisfying her desire, you place a thigh between her legs as you continue to lavish her chest with affection.

An already soaked white thong becomes absolutely ruined as Larissa grinds steadily against your thigh, moaning huskily into open air. Continuing down, your thigh moves away as you near her heat. Fingers curling around the band of her panties, you pause, “may I?”

“Please, darling,” Larissa replies breathily, mouth hanging open as you toss the fabric across the room.

Mouthing at her thighs, you suck harder as you get closer, red marks painted across a white canvas. Reaching her slick pussy, your mouth nearly waters at the sight, descending on her immediately. Her hips rock just as quickly, trying to ride your face as your tongue swipes through her folds. Savory wetness covers your chin, nose just barely rubbing against her clit.

Tilting up, you allow your lips to wrap around her button, sucking gently. The gasps Larissa emits above you only egg you on further, hand moving from her thigh to her entrance. Your middle finger slowly pushes into her, pumping carefully before adding your index. Her walls grip your fingers snugly, trying to keep you there. Her hips never still, and you force them down with your free hand as you focus your attention on her.

Alternating between sucking and licking her clit, combined with your fingers increasing pace inside her, has Larissa’s voice growing horse, moans turning to pitchy whines. Long legs wrap around your body, holding you snugly against.

Heavy whimpers fall from her lips. “Please,” she begs, “more, baby, please.”

Denying her when she’s asking so nicely, so prettily? You could never. Your ring finger lines with the others, pressing into her quickly. The stretch makes Larissa cry out above you, heels digging deeper into your back as your tongue swirled around her sex. It takes little time for her breathing to grow hoarse, mouth hanging open as her eyes squeeze shut.

Her breath hitches and hips still, essence coating your fingers as you watch her chest rise and fall rapidly, eyes finally reopening. Slowing your fingers, you retract from her, but in no way are you done just yet. Letting go of her clit with a small pop, you drag your tongue down to languidly traverse her folds, taking in her full taste.

Probing inside her, you relish in the breathy whine that comes from her throat. Pulling back, you flatten your tongue, swiping across her cunt. Trailing up, passing her navel, the dip in her ribs, you take a quick pass over her nipple, swirling softly. Grabby hands pull at you, tugging you back to her lips. Moaning at her own taste, Larissa’s body arches into you, heat brushing over your thigh once again.

Hand trailing up from her thigh, you pull back from her lips, offering your fingers in place of your tongue. Fading red lips wrap around your digits, her own tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing. You can feel your eyes glazing over as you watch her greedily taste herself, gently and unknowingly grinding on your thigh.

Letting go, Larissa takes your stupor to flip you over. Staring down with cool blue eyes with a mysterious fire. Wandering lower and lower, they trace over your own underwear, slick from pleasing her. The whimper you let out only eggs her on, rubbing you over the fabric.

“Riss…” you manage out, already breathless from her touch, “baby…”

A low hum leaves her throat, hand sliding under to make contact with you. Long fingers slide through wetness as lips attach themselves to your neck. Two fingers slide into you, slowly, her thumb makes tight, firm circles over your clit, making you keen into her. The pressure building in your core, that had been steadily growing since the library, feels so overwhelming with her all over you now.

Feeling you trying to ride her slow hand, she speeds up, taking over for you as your moans quickly become airy. Under her lips, she feels your heart beating wildly. For her. All for her.

Her scent, her taste, her hands, her tongue, all of her was all over you. Her teeth scrape against your skin as her fingers curl, making you groan. The hand not in her hair splays across her back, desperate to keep her close. Feeling the want dripping from you, her fingers speed up, almost bullying gummy walls that cling to her.

Tugging her by her hair, you bring her to your lips. Open mouth and messy, you’re barely kissing, just moaning into her mouth as she presses harder to your button, bucking into her hand. You can’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed about how quickly she got you here, how quickly you’ve become putty beneath her.

Deciding she needs to taste her hard work sooner rather than later, her fingers just barely spread inside you, stretching you. The motion makes you erupt in a silent scream, clinging more to her as you feel the coil in your stomach begin to snap.

“C’mon darling,” she husks against your throat, “give it to me. I know you want to.”

Her words are your undoing, the sheer need in her voice and the feeling of her inside you was enough to snap the band. The whines from you turn into breathy pants, hands on Larissa still holding her close as her fingers slow. As she tries to remove them, you close your legs around her wrist, locking her in place. Her lips drag up your neck, capturing your own, sighing into your mouth as your fingers scratch gently at her scalp.

Lazy kisses last until the post-orgasm warmth leaves your body, shivering slightly at the cool air that you can finally feel tickling your skin. Legs unclamp her hand, allowing her to draw back. You nearly cum on the spot watching her suck your release off, moaning softly against her own fingers.

“Keep doing that and you’re not leaving this bed for a week,” you mumble beneath her.

She chuckles, rolling off to lay on the bed beside you, “I can’t say I’d be opposed.”

Just facing her, watching her chest rise and fall, rosy cheeks slowly returning to their normal color, you’re in awe. Freshly fucked and still perfect, Larissa Weems is a miracle. Laying on your side, you trace your fingers up and down her side, following the path of silver stretch marks and faint freckles. You push yourself forward, pressing yourself into her warm body, adoring how her arms immediately wrap around you.

“I missed you,” she whispers, as if she’s not sure you’d share her sentiment.

You press a kiss to her collarbone, “I missed you more.”

There’s a few minutes of silence before you feel Larissa chuckle beneath you. You hum in question. She squeezes you briefly, “would you like dinner?”

Another pause. You both giggle as you try to walk out of the room with a small waver in your steps.

—☽—

When your eyes open, you think it’s the sun cracking through the curtain that pulls you from the depths of slumber. A piercing ring breaks through the tiredness, bringing your attention to your phone. Your groan is met in tandem by Larissa’s, who shoves her head into her pillow further, arm tightening around your waist. Stretching in her grasp, you mentally prepare for what you know is coming. The little shit has a radar.

“No,” you say the moment you bring the phone to your ear.

“Oh sweet angel, I miss how nice you are,” Parker sing-songs, “did I wake you from your slutty slumber?”

“Yes, both of us. Dick,” you grumble, “you have zero consideration.”

“Give my real friend the phone, I’m done with you,” he says, though you know he’ll never leave you alone. Even when you eventually die.

“Baby, it’s for you,” you say as you pull the phone away from your ear. Larissa peeks one eye at you, clearly irritated. Parker, you mouth. You wish it wasn’t so endearing how quickly she perked up. Sitting up, she nods, motioning for you to put her on speaker.

“Hello, Parker,” she utters through a yawn.

“My love! How are you? Achy? Tired? In need of a better lover?”

“I’m great,” Larissa chuckles, “and yes, yes, and no, most definitely not.” Her eyes stay on you as she answers, peeking down at your lovingly annoyed expression.

The rest of the call is simply Parker talking at Larissa, rather than to her, while you shake your head at his antics. Curling back into her side, you let them talk as you watch her face. She seems at ease, a stark contrast from the stressed Larissa you’d seen when you first looked in her office. She’s less imposing, loose hair and smudged makeup, a smile playing on her lips as she listens to Parker’s plans for a surprise two month anniversary gift for Max.

In the walls of her bedroom. In bed with you. Breathing the same air. Perfection lies beside you.

note: if i could rewrite the entirety of part one i would. but i guess that shows growth in writing or whatever

feedback appreciated as always

#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #gwendoline christie #wednesday netflix #wednesday series #lgbtq fanfiction #lgbtq #lesbian

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levandright · 4 days ago

Note

HII this is my fluff wip tht i scratch away bc i hv too many smut reqs

Summary : One of them writes a love letter to get over their feelings, but it accidentally ends up in the other’s hands. Not knowing the letter is about them, they ask the writer for advice on how to respond to their own letter, sparking a chain of misunderstandings until the truth is revealed.

What i had in mind :

-Jake wrote it to y/n

-He accidentally lost the letter while he was walking on the hallway

-The letter ended up in front of y/n’s locker

-She picked it up and read it

-Told jake abt the letter (but they r both idiots) until somehow they figure it out bc it got obvious

Feel free to change the plot!! ( I might write a part 2 from ur fic if u make it <3)

Letter of the Heart

pairing : jake x f!reader ୨ৎ content / warning(s) : fluff, they're friends, funny misunderstanding cause they're idiots(jake specifically but its okay <3), highschool au ୨ৎ word count : 1k

synopsis. when y/n finds a love letter at her locker, she has no idea who it’s from, so she asks her best friend, jake, for help with what to say. jake, being the good friend he is, jumps in—giving advice, joking around, and even offering to “practice” her responses.

ᐢ..ᐢ lev notes : ended this on a cliffhanger hehe >:3 hope you like what i did mama belle <3 cause i had an awesome time, thinking of what to add on to make it more fun.

part 2 here!

it all starts with a love letter. jake, who’s been silently carrying a crush on you for ages, finally pours out his feelings on paper. he didn't plan on giving you the letter—it just something he wrote to work through his emotions. but the next day, while walking to class in a rush, the letter slips out of his notebook and lands right in front of your locker.

later, you spot the folded note, curious, and decide to read it. your heart flutters as you take in the words—gentle, vulnerable, clearly written by someone who has been holding these feelings close. but who could it be? the handwriting is neat, but familiar. intrigued, you decide to find out.

during break time, you bring it up to jake. “i found this letter outside my locker,” you say, holding it up, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “it’s… really sweet. but i have no idea who wrote it!”

jake, obliviously laughs. “a secret admirer, huh?” he teases, thinking of all the possible suspects. “what did it say?”

you blush reading a line out loud: “‘every time i see you smile, i feel like everything makes sense.’” jake’s heart skips a beat, hearing his own words, but he quickly pushes away the strange familiarity of it.

-------------

later that afternoon in the cafeteria. you hold up the love letter, cheeks flushed as you read through it again. you sigh looking to jake for help. “it says, ‘you make me believe in all the little things that make life beautiful.’ how… how am i supposed to respond to something like that?”

jake laughs, trying to brush off the pang of recognition he feels. did he… write that? he wonders but shakes the thought away, assuming it’s just an odd coincidence.

“maybe say something like, ‘i didn’t know i had such an impact on you!’” he suggests. “or if you want to be bolder, add, ‘tell me more about these little things.’ you know, just to tease them a bit.”

you beam, nodding. “that’s actually perfect! you’re a genius at this.”

jake chuckles, putting on a casual smile while his heart races. “just call me the love doctor.” he can’t shake the strange feeling, but he pushes it aside, too embarrassed to imagine he might be her admirer.

-------------

in the library the next day, you and jake go over the letter again, trying to analyze every word.

“whoever wrote this,” you murmur, pointing to a line, “has a way with words. ‘every time i see you smile, i feel like the world gets a little brighter.’ that’s… that’s intense. do you know anyone who’d say something like that?”

jake’s pulse quickens as the words ring a familiar bell in his head. that sounds like… something he would write.

trying to cover, he shrugs. “uh, well, it’s probably someone with a soft side,” he jokes, mentally kicking himself. “maybe they read a lot, or… watch a lot of rom-coms?”

you laugh, clearly enjoying the mystery. “could be… but it feels so genuine, like they really meant it.”

he tries to smile, but his mind races. could it really be… his own letter? the thought sends his heart racing, and he fights to keep his cool, feeling embarrassed that he might be guiding her response to his letter.

-------------

that night, as jake lies in bed, an unsettling thought lingers in his mind. could it actually be… my letter?

the more he thinks about it, the more familiar those lines sound, and his stomach twists with both excitement and dread. sitting up, he grabs his backpack and rummages through it, pulling out his notebook. he flips through the pages, looking for the tucked-away letter he remembers putting there. but as he gets to the back of the notebook, his stomach drops.

the letter isn’t there.

“no, no, no…” he mutters, flipping through each page again. but it’s nowhere to be found. he recalls that day in the hallway when he’d been rushing to class. it must’ve slipped out then!

jake groans, covering his face with both hands, completely mortified. 'she’s been reading my letter this whole time… and i’ve been helping her respond to it!'

-------------

as you sit in class together, you try to bring up the letter again. “so, about my response… i was thinking of adding a line about—”

jake quickly interrupts, laughing a bit too loudly. “oh, yeah, sure, whatever you think, it’s all good!” he blushes, then looks away. “i mean… i’m sure whoever it is would be thrilled with anything you say.”

you narros your eyes, studying his red face. “are you okay, jake? you’ve been acting really… weird since yesterday.”

jake scratches the back of his neck, glancing everywhere but you. “who, me? no, no, i’m fine. totally normal. it’s… totally normal for me to help you write a love letter to someone i don’t even know, right?”

he lets out a nervous laugh, mentally cringing at how ridiculous he sounds, and you just raise an eyebrow, watching him closely. is he blushing? you wonder, putting the pieces together bit by bit. but you don’t say anything yet, waiting for the right moment.

-------------

the next day, you read the letter over again, something finally clicking. as you recall jake’s reactions, the strange look in his eyes every time you talked about the letter, you suddenly realize the truth.

the next day during lunch, you turn to jake, a small knowing smile on your face. “jake… i have a hunch. about who wrote the letter.”

jake’s heart stops. “oh? who… who do you think it is?”

your eyes search his, twinkling with a new understanding. “i think it was… you.”

jake’s eyes widen, and his mouth opens, but before he can respond, the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. you stand up, leaving him stunned in his seat as you head off to class with a glance over your shoulder, you give him a teasing smile.

“see you after class, jakey~” you say with a playful tone.

jake is left sitting there, his heart racing, unsure of what you’ll say—or what he’ll say—when you finally meet again.

perm taglist.@honeybelleee @honeychocos @manaah02 @kozumesphone (open!)

requests. open!

©levandright

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olderthannetfic · 9 months ago

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Genuine question: what's the point of writing fanfic? As in, what's the purpose? No one in the fandom I'm in comments on fics and I even got told off by one person for doing so, as it "encourages bad writers and makes them think they're good". So it seems that it's a lot like book writing, where people work hard and are creative, but instead of getting paid and getting comments on the work, you just sit there silently hoping someone will press the kudos button and make a number go up. I feel like that time and work could be better spent on making something you might get some kind of profit off of. Don't get me wrong, I love doodling fanart, but I don't post it, as I'm aware that there's no point to doing so, and while it's a nice way to fill the time on a commute, it's not something that takes me as much time and effort as fanfic does. So... why do people bother? Sometimes I describe ideas I have and people I know in my fandom will tell me I should write it, but I don't see why. I get more interaction from just saying "imagine if [thing here]" than I would by sitting down, writing for hours, editing and posting [thing here], so what would the point be? I'm not punching down or going "haha women and their fanfic lol!", I genuinely do not get what the point is and this blog feels like it might have someone reading who knows the answer.

Do you make art for profit? Genuine question.

There's nothing inherently wrong with being motivated primarily by external factors, but it's not actually why a lot of people create things, whether it's books or recipes or doodles in a notepad.

I enjoy the actual process of writing.

I think many people lose sight of that aspect in an era where tons of <500-word fics that are mostly outlines and "Imagine if..." posts get disproportionate attention for being easy to consume. But the satisfaction of doing a bigger art piece and doing it right is real and motivates a hell of a lot of creation.

I suppose you might be thinking "Okay, but why not just write it alone and never post?", but I like sharing. Showing off my finished creation is part of the joy, and sharing with other people like me is too. But those aren't quite the same thing as worrying about kudos. It's like dressing nicely when you leave the house because you feel great when you know you look good vs. needing another person to tell you you look good.

To be honest, though, this type of feeling has grown in me the better I've gotten at a craft. The closer my finished projects get to the vision in my head, the easier it is to find them fulfilling and to be excited to share them. When I fall short of my own ambitions, it's discouraging no matter how much attention I might get from others.

I feel like it's time for my regular reblog of Adam Westbrook's video essay series The Long Game.

vimeo

youtube

The third and least known in the series is all about this idea of who you're making art for if you're not getting material rewards in the short term. It talks a lot about autotelicity—being internally driven instead of externally.

But if you really just want clicks, anon, start a blog that accepts anon asks and posts about wanky stuff. Actually tag things, unlike me, so people can find you.

No, writing for attention isn't worth it.

The time investment is too great and your brain will always fixate on the times people didn't respond instead of the times they did.

But that's not actually why most people write.

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ananxiousgenz · 5 months ago

Text

pssst. pssssssst. hey guys. look at what i got y'all (IT'S MORE JARTHUR COWBOY AU)

this one comes with several pieces of info you need to know first:

@percymawce-arts and I are writing this fic together!!! we have entered into writers matrimony for this fic and we are super excited about it!! I wrote the bare bones of the scene you're about to read and he added almost all of the flavor and spice (while i was laying on my bed in the family guy dead pose bc of how good he made it). make sure to go show percy some love for this too!!

this scene takes place after one where john and arthur chase after larson, but arthur refuses to shoot him, and john is more than a little pissed off about it.

and some trigger warnings: this scene contains some fighting (both verbal and physical), child abuse, religious trauma, homophobia, and some suggestive themes

and finally, i will tag @ellamenop and @izel-reblogs bc i have a feeling you will both enjoy this :)

“What,” John snarled, slamming the cabin door shut behind him, “the fuck. What was that?!”

“None of your business,” Arthur replied, ever so prim and fucking proper. He kept his back to John, maybe to hide his face, so John couldn’t read him. Maybe because he was too much of a coward to meet John’s eyes after that stunt. John didn’t care what the reason was. It was only pissing him off more.

“No. Fuck that. It's all my business.”

“I didn't fire a gun. How is that making you upset?”

“You had him right in front of you,” John rumbled, his voice as low and dangerous as thunder on the horizon. Arthur shivered. “And you let him go. You had the opportunity to kill him. To end this, all of this. And you let it slip through your fucking fingers.”

“Maybe I didn't want to kill him.”

“What the fuck does that matter? He's too goddamn dangerous to be left alive!”

“It's not that simple, John-”

“The hell it is! I’m sorry you feel conflicted or whatever it is that’s going on in that head of yours, but this isn’t about you! All you had to do was fire the fucking gun. He was right in front of you, and you didn't shoot!”

“No, I didn't!”

“Why?!”

“You want to know why?” Arthur shouted, whipping around to face John, at last. “Because I can't kill another person! Even someone as awful as Larson! I’m not like you! This isn’t easy for me, alright?!”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Arthur’s face fell. John could see the regret wash over his face like a cloud over the burning sun, but it only lasted a moment before he was collecting himself. Putting on that same mask of polite-until-you-fuck-with-me he always wore around suspects and targets. John had never had that face turned on him before. He hated it.

“So that’s what this is about,” John murmured, his tone dark. “You think it’s easy… You think I’m a monster, and you’d rather let Larson go free than be like me.”

“No, John, that’s not-”

“Who do you think made me that way?” John snapped. Arthur’s mouth closed so fast John heard his teeth click. “It was him, Arthur. It was Larson. And thanks to you, he’s going to go and do it to another lonely, scared Native kid with nowhere else to go!” John chuckled humorlessly. “Christ, Arthur, If that’s what you thought of me, why didn’t you just say it at the start?”

Arthur threw up his hands in frustration. “That’s not what I think of you, John. Jesus, am I not allowed to have a minor moral crisis over shooting a man?!”

“He’s not just a man! He’s a gangster! A robber! A killer! You told me so yourself!”

“So are you, John.”

“Yeah, and you shot me for it,” John reminded him.

Arthur growled and slammed his fist down on the mantle of the fireplace beside them, hard enough that John could feel the vibration travel through the floor. “Jesus fucking Christ, John, I wanted to let the law deal with him! Is that so hard to understand?!”

John took a step in Arthur’s direction. “Oh yeah? The same law that ripped me away from my family and home? The same law that turned me into a monster? Too little and too much for everyone all at the same time? The same law that drove human beings off of their lands and into reservations? That killed thousands of people like me?”

“The criminal law would have placed Larson in jail. Like he deserved.”

John scoffed and crossed his arms. “You think the law cares that he deserves it, Arthur? The law is punishment for those who don’t deserve it and ignorance for those who do. There’s no justice in it.”

“What, so that means it’s your job to deal it out?”

“Yes!” John yelled. “If it means he can’t hurt anyone any longer, then yes. And vigilante justice works a hell of a lot faster than the court system will ever manage!”

“I thought you were trying to be a better man, John.”

“I was trying to be like you,” John said venomously. “My mistake.”

That was the final straw. Arthur took a step forward without warning and swung his fist as hard as he could. It made contact with John’s ribs (he could feel them shift beneath Arthur’s fist), and John made a soft oof sound as the wind was knocked out of his lungs and he was knocked into the fireplace mantle, the corner of it digging into his shoulder.

The fight that followed was chaotic and messy in a way John had never experienced before, and when he tried to think back to it, it would only be preserved in blurry snapshots, like someone moving in the middle of a photograph. Arthur grabbed John’s braid and pulled. John clawed a deep gouge into his arm. He drew blood. Arthur twisted John’s arm. John cracked Arthur’s rib. Arthur knocked John’s legs out from under him, causing them both to go sprawling onto the floor. Arthur punched. John slapped. Arthur bit. John pinned. And then paused. And then…

In the midst of the fighting, John had ended up on top of Arthur, straddling his waist while pinning both wrists with one hand and grabbing a fistfull of Arthur’s shirt with the other. Both of them had frozen, the only movement the rapid rise and fall of their chests. Their noses were nearly touching, and John could feel Arthur’s breath fanning across his lips, staring into those dark, dark eyes. They weren’t so dark, John realized as he looked into them. They were brown, lovely and warm, with scattered flecks of gold and green nestled deep inside. Hidden gems, wide and wild with adrenaline, flicking back and forth across John’s face without any point of focus.

John’s eyes flicked over the rest of Arthur’s face. Freckles smattered across his nose and cheekbones. Loose strands of auburn hair falling messily across his forehead. The crooked corners of his nose from being broken one too many times. Smile lines beside his tired eyes. Lips like flower petals, soft and pale. Slightly parted and inhaling, exhaling. At some point, John realized he had let go of Arthur’s shirt and was cradling Arthur’s face oh-so gently as he examined it, dragging his thumb lightly over his cheekbone, caressing it. Down the bridge of his nose to his lips, his perfect lips. Arthur remained as still as stone, barely even breathing as he stared blindly back at John.

Somewhere behind the haze of the moment, John wondered subconsciously what would happen if he kissed Arthur. Because, the truth, he realized, was that deep down, in the pit of his stomach, he wanted. He wanted Arthur, in a way he had never wanted anyone else before. He wanted to be close to him, close like this. Closer than this. To be around him always, to hold him, to kiss him.

What would happen if he took what he wanted instead of what he was told, for once?

He hesitated when he heard Arthur’s breath hitch.But then, when no resistance came, he leaned his head down ever so slightly (there was barely any bridge to gap, by that point), and then he was kissing Arthur. And it was like the world had been set ablaze.

As he pressed his lips against Arthur’s, every nerve in John’s body was alive. It felt like a jolt from a live wire, like a burst of fireworks that would light up the sky on the Fourth of July, like the sparking tang of gunpowder before the shot rang out. It felt like energy, pure and bright and hot and lighting him up from the inside. He felt Arthur’s body respond in kind, arching up to create a line of contact that started at their hands and continued all the way down to their tangled legs, making John shiver. He tasted like whiskey, sweet and sharp beneath the campfire smoke and aftershave, and John marveled at how such a strange and sinful combination could taste like it had just come down from heaven.

He kissed harder, chasing the taste. He nipped at Arthur’s lip hard enough to draw blood, adding a coppery tang to the kiss and eliciting a small moan from the back of Arthur’s throat. It only made John want more. He kissed him again, and again, and again, Arthur’s lips and tongue moving against his with a practiced skill that made John dizzy. He kissed him until his lips were swollen and his head was swimming with nothing but Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. He only pulled away when his chest was burning and there was no choice but to come up for air.

Arthur’s face was flushed, his eyes wide and twinkling. “Oh God.” His voice was hoarse. “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, John.”

And an unbidden memory surfaced in John’s mind.

He was back in boarding school, sitting for a mandatory midnight mass in the chapel, his posture ramrod straight. The priests had always been so particular about those masses. There was to be no slouching or fidgeting, and God alone could help you if you dozed off. John had been kneeing in one of the pews, focusing all of his attention on keeping his posture perfect and his eyes open and remaining somewhat alert.

In the midst of silent prayer, one of the priests, a Father McKenna, had thrown open the doors to the chapel, and dragged another boy up before the altar by his ear.

The boy had tears streaming down his disheveled face and his nose was red from crying, but the thing that struck John the most about him were his eyes. He just looked so… tired. Not the kind of tired that John was fighting, the kind where a seductive sleep was lingering at the corners of his vision, waiting for him to blink or close his eyes in “prayer” for a second too long. This boy looked like the kind of tired that shot through his bones and grew like rot and rust with every passing day, the kind that only shuffling off this mortal coil a bit too soon could cure.

Father McKenna said the boy had been caught ‘with’ another, with a fury in his eyes that made John wonder in the back of his mind if he had been possessed by the devil. He’d been too young to know what it meant to be ‘with’ another boy at the time, but he knew it must be evil. Father McKenna threw him down in front of the altar, and the boy- John vaguely recognized him to be a child named Alexander- just knelt with his head bowed, like he had accepted his fate before Fate came to dole it out.

Father McKenna was not pleased by this. He smacked the back of Alexander’s head. Hard. He didn’t respond. He picked up a hymnal and smacked him harder still. And still, nothing.

The priest was trembling with barely concealed fury now, and there was a steady pit of dread opening up in John’s stomach as he began to eye the doors, the windows. Any potential escape from the devil and the punishment that awaited him.

But there was no escape, there never was. So John sat, quietly, and watched as Father McKenna began to beat Alexander.

It was horrible, but somehow John couldn’t tear his eyes away, not even as Alexander’s screams tore through his ears and began to echo off the vaulted ceilings, pleas to stop and promises to never do it again ringing in John’s mind. Not even as the boy’s blood began to stain Father McKenna’s hands and drip onto the marble stairs, as vivid and crimson as sacramental wine. Not even as two of the altar boys had to drag Alexander’s barely conscious, barely breathing body down the aisle and out to the hospital wing.

John was trembling by the end of it. He felt like he was going to throw up. He dreamed of that moment for weeks afterward, never able to sleep without witnessing another religious sacrifice, another crucifixion, another martyr behind his eyelids.

Suddenly back in the present– but not really, never fully out of the past– John scrambled back off of Arthur and pressed his back against a wall, wide-eyed and sweating in sudden, sickening fear. In another life he might have missed the feeling of Arthur beneath him, his waist between his thighs, his lips against his. But nothing could permeate that fear. Nothing would ever be bigger than the fear.

“Wha– John?” Arthur asked. There was fear in his eyes too, but it was different. It wasn’t fear of hell or Father McKenna or whatever had become of Alexander. It was fear for John. It was concern. John closed his eyes against it. “John, what’s wrong? What–,” “Shut up.”

“What?”

“Just, be quiet!” John snapped. “Please, please, just–,” his voice broke. He squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to stave off an oncoming headache.

“Okay…” Arthur said, quietly. Gently, so cruelly gentle. John could feel the beginnings of tears burning behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut tighter. “Okay.”

“This…” John started. He didn’t want to say it. He knew there would be no coming back from it. No more fireworks, no more whiskey on flower petal lips. Never again would he be so close to Arthur Lester if he said it. But that was the point wasn’t it? Make distance.

Take what he was told, never what he wanted.

“This was a mistake,” John said, firmly. A lie, of course. Inside, his very soul was shaking. The strings of his heart were trembling in a tragic vibrato, a song with no recipient. But he’d always been good at lying. He stood, tossing his braid over his shoulder and brushing the dust of his shirt (his wrinkled shirt, stained with a speck of Arthur’s blood). “It never happened.” He didn’t look at Arthur, because he was a coward. He was everything Arthur thought he was, so he didn’t look him in the eye when he said:

“If you ever so much as mention this, to anyone, I won’t hesitate, Arthur.”

He opened the door to the cabin, ready to step outside, leaving everything he’d never known he’d wanted behind.

“I’m not you.”

#malevolent #malevolent pod #malevolent podcast #jarthur #private eyes #malevolent cowboy au #malevolent fanfic #an eldritch being and his wet cat #tw child abuse #tw religious trauma #tw violence #tw fighting #tw homophobia #tw suggestive

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allwaswell16 · 23 days ago

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A fic rec of One Direction fics that have a love triangle as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers. You can find my other recs here. Happy reading!

- Louis / Harry Endgame -

Δ Hold You Now by solvetheminourdreams / @cursethedaylight

(M, 131k, ex-fwb) When he accompanies his best friend to a family wedding across the Atlantic, he'll be forced to reopen old wounds and face his past—one that no one wants to hash out, but may just have to.

Δ Next to your Heartbeat (where I should be) by jaded25

(M, 130k, uni) when Louis returns after his year abroad, the boy who's got his arms wrapped around Harry isn't him. It isn't a stranger either, which should make walking away all that easier. After all, friend's don't lust after their mate's boyfriends.

Δ Midnight Dancers by hazmesentir

(E, 107k, choose your own ending) Nearly a year after One Direction ends, Louis finds himself with a choice to make: go back and fix the mistakes of the past, or take a risk on something new?

Δ Bless the Day Our Heartbeats Aligned by pleasinglouis / @pleasing-louis

(E, 97k, royalty) the one where after years of being gone, Knight Harry returns to his best friend only to find out that Louis is betrothed to another.

Δ Truth Be Told (I Never Was Yours) by JustForTommo

(E, 76k, exes) the one where Louis and Harry have a complicated past, Louis is getting married to someone that’s not Harry, and the universe has decided to have a laugh and make Harry the wedding planner

Δ All I Wish Not To Remember by thealmightyavocado / @avocadolouie

(E, 71k, Count of Monte Cristo) A tragic tale of timeless undying love, merciless revenge, and selfless sacrifice.

Δ Far Away. by dimpled_halo / @comebackassholes

(M, 57k, exes) Stuck in the past with "what ifs" and "what might have beens", he sees that his friends and ex (and possible love of his life) Louis have all moved on with their lives while he finds himself questioning his own life choices, past and present.

Δ I Would Take a Whisper (If That's All You Had To Give) by @fallinglikethis

(M, 40k, photographer Louis) Unfortunately, Harry has a boyfriend. Can Louis steal his heart despite the fact that it's already supposed to be taken?

Δ Big, Bright World by RealName

(M, 35k, office) It really was just a little crush in the beginning, nothing to be worried about. Louis had never really liked anyone he'd worked with in the past, but he was sure he could control himself.

Δ That Howling Infinite by @sweettartine

(E, 27k, uni) the one where Louis and Harry fall in love while reading Moby Dick.

Δ speak now or forever hold your peace by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze

(E, 23k, childhood friends) the one where Harry crashes Louis’ wedding. (A Love, Rosie AU)

Δ i don't want to close my eyes (i don't want to miss a thing) by hilourry

(E, 13k, mpreg) Louis is married to Liam and pregnant with his child. Liam isn't ready to be a father, but Dr. Harry Styles is more than willing.

Δ Do You Think The Tides Know by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove

(T, 12k, fwb) Zayn had known from the beginning that his summer fling with Louis was just that – a summer thing, and no more. He’d known that Louis’ heart was already taken, known that this was just a chance for Louis to learn more about himself and his sexuality.

Δ Fuck You For Ruining New York City For Me by galactic_larry / @galacticlarry

(T, 11k, exes) Harry met Louis in college and fell in love with him in record time. Louis broke up with him in their New York apartment, so Harry left the city for good. Except now he’s back, visiting with his new boyfriend.

Δ Wholehearted by sweetums / @darlou

(E, 10k, breakup) Louis meets Harry through a threesome his boyfriend sets up.

Δ to be a better man by devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain

(E, 9k, cheating) "He’s too busy crawling up my ass to notice anyone else.” Leon snarls, rolling his eyes in a dismissive shake of his head. “But if you’re so concerned, go see what he wants."

- Rare Pair Endgame -

Δ Until The End Of Time by alnima

(M, 60k, Niall/Harry, Niall/Zayn) Niall Horan has always been in love with Harry. And things are perfect until Niall meets Zayn.

Δ light somewhere, in the distance by wordsnnotes / @quelsentiment

(M, 26k, Zayn/Louis/Liam) a Zouiam love triangle set in the afterlife. Loosely based on The Good Place

Δ Eight Days by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 22k, Liam/Louis) Louis and Liam got hitched in Vegas, completely forgot about it for more than a decade, and it comes back to bite them. Sort of.

#weekly recs #ficrec #1dsquad #1dficvillage #hlcreators #hljournal

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megamindsecretlair · 1 year ago

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Sunshine

Pairing: Tyrone x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI., multiple uses of n-word and derogatory names. You are in charge of your own reading experience! Intentional use of AAVE. Porn without plot. Cursing, PIV, oral (both male and fem receiving), derogatory language, possession kink, size kink, all consensual.

Summary: At a house party, you meet Tyrone. Common sense flies out the window as you two sneak off for some fun.

Word Count: 2,462k

A/N: I...I have no excuses for myself. And I debated on posting this or not. But I've been feral since the movie came out and I've been gobbling up all the fics I can find. Just wanted to contribute. Of course Fontaine is fine, but I'm a West Coast girlie. Likes are awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers. If you're not Black, please don't reblog.

You bent over to get a tequila soda from the cooler when you felt a presence next to you. You looked up and it took everything in you not to drop your jaw. The man was gorgeous. Beautiful dark skin, thick with two C’s, and a wide smile. He licked them big, juicy lips and smirked at you.

He tugged on one of your braids. “You too good to be hanging around here,” he said. Oh god, his voice was fine too. No, he was dangerous. But you couldn’t make your legs move away.

“What you talkin’ about?” You managed to ask.

“You one of them good girls that always got her nose in a book,” he said. He sipped whatever was in his cup. From the faint smell of it, it was probably Henny. It always was.

You laughed and shook your head. “I know you’re not talking about stereotypes.” You pointed to his outfit and then pointed to a group of guys on the other side of the cooler. They all wore Khaki dickie shorts, high black socks, Chucks, and a sweatshirt or flannel. He noticed and chuckled.

“It’s comfortable,” he said. He took in your outfit: a short, blue summer dress and sandals. But the way he took the time to peruse you, study you, had you drinking out of your cup to avoid smiling like an idiot.

“Whatever. And what’s so wrong with having my nose in a book?”

“You too pure to hang around some hood niggas. Probably like them crew cut muthafuckas, right?”

You laughed and shook your head. If only he knew…the hundreds, if not thousands at this point, pages of smut you inhaled on a weekly basis. “Definitely not. What other stereotypes you got for me?”

“You got a curfew, don’t you? Some nice nigga in your DMs askin’ to take you out,” he continued.

A few other people at the house party moved over to grab drinks. You moved out of their way, moving closer to him. Damn, he smelled so damn good. The right mix of clean soap and cologne. He wasn’t the type to take a bath in it.

“Wrong, wrong, and wrong,” you said. He tugged on your braid again. You scrunched up your face, pretending to be upset. He grinned.

“I’m Tyrone,” he said. He held out his hand.

You introduced yourself and took his hand. He shook it but refused to let go. Instead he pulled you closer and kissed your cheek.

“I got to worry about someone comin’ to fight me over your pretty ass?” He asked.

“No!” You said with a laugh.

“Good, because I ain’t trynna catch a body over you,” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. Murder was not a sexy subject. And yet…

“Now sir, who said I even want to entertain you?” You asked. You sipped your drink. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of his.

He smirked and leaned in again. “Bet. Let me see them panties, then,” he said. He studied your body: your thick thighs, tummy, and chubby cheeks.

Shit. You laughed and ran your tongue over your teeth. There was a damp spot in your panties growing by the second. You desired this man. You were actively lusting after him. Everything in your head told you to walk away. He was trouble with a capital T. A verified hood nigga.

You grinned and took his hand, weaving in and out of people grinding on the dance floor. Tupac and Dre blasted through the speakers. Red solo cups were high in the air as people showed out.

You caught the eye of your best friend and waved. She noticed that you were holding Tyrone’s hand and she grinned, tapping her fist against the wall she leaned on. A man stood beside her with his hand on her waist. Both of ya’ll wasn’t making it home early tonight.

You tugged Tyrone towards the stairs. Everyone had converged into the basement with the strict promise not to disturb upstairs. That was already out of the window as multiple people were on the first level making out. But you wanted to do more than make out.

You pulled him deeper into the house, heading towards an empty bedroom. You checked the room and there was no one in it. Tyrone pushed you in and locked the door behind him. He turned on the light and grinned at you.

“Not so good, are you?” He asked. He pulled you closer. His warm hands circled your waist and pulled you flush against him, you could feel his thick cock against your thigh.

“Oh shit,” you gasped.

He chuckled. “You tappin’ out?” He asked.

Fresh arousal gushed out of you and you bit back a moan. “I want you,” you said. Your body was on fire from how much you wanted him.

As if that’s what he was waiting on, he crashed his lips against yours. His sexy brown lips kissed and sucked your bottom lip. He pushed his tongue inside. You tasted the Henny on his breath and moaned. You grabbed onto the sleeves of his flannel, needing something to hold on to.

He pushed you backwards as he continued to kiss you. The back of your legs hit the bed. Instead of pushing you on to it, he turned you around.

“Knees, pretty girl,” he said.

You dropped instantly. He chuckled as he looked down at you. He ran a hand over his jaw. “You always listen that well?” He asked.

“Only when I want to,” you said and grinned.

He took off his flannel and black T-shirt and removed his black tank. He worked at his belt, loosening it and pulling the zipper down. His dick sprang free with a light little bounce. You licked your lips.

Dicks were not pretty. Full stop. However, his was gorgeous. It was long and girthy and curved a little bit. The more you stared, the harder he seemed to get. He pumped himself a few times and tapped your lips with it. Precum painted a coat on your lips and you licked it up.

“Let’s see how good you are,” he said.

He sat on the bed and you scooted closer, looking at him while you lowered your mouth. You took the tip in first, getting used to the salty taste of him. You flattened your tongue and swirled it around.

“Stop playin’ and get to work,” he said. You giggled and really got to work. If he wanted to think you were a goody two-shoes, then so be it.

You sucked him in and got to work. You played with his dripping cock. You used both hands to twist as you sucked. Spit ran down his dick and you gathered it up with your fingers to properly lube him up.

“Oh, fuck,” he said. You saw his eyes widen and roll towards the ceiling. He grabbed the back of your head and pushed you down further. You gagged a few times but kept going, licking his fat tip.

“Damn bitch,” he groaned. “Help me bust this nut and I’ll take good care of you.”

You kept sucking and added more pressure. He jerked a few times. With no warning, hot splashes of cum hit the back of your throat. You swallowed it all and licked the corner of your mouth to catch the rest.

He panted as he watched you do it and his eyes grew darker. “Bed.”

You stood up, feeling your wetness between your thighs. You walked over to the bed. Before you sat down, he kissed you and bit your lip. “You’re mine.”

You sighed and your pussy clenched around nothing. Those two words were almost enough to undo you. He gripped your hips roughly and pulled at your dress until it was on the floor next to his clothes. Your panties came next. He rubbed it between his fingers once it was off of you.

“And I’m keeping these too.”

“No, you’re not. Those are mine.” The sharp smack to your ass was heard before it was felt. Stinging pain blossomed on your meaty ass.

You cried out and he did it again. He smacked you a few more times before you were pushing your ass against him for more. He chuckled. When it was clear he wasn’t going to smack you again, you climbed into the bed but you were moving too slow for him. He grabbed your legs and flipped you over like a pancake. Then he yanked you until half your ass was hanging off of the bed.

He knelt down slowly and spread your legs the farthest he could get them. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy too. Yeah, all of this is mine,” he said. His breath fanned over your exposed pussy making you shake.

“You can’t own pussy, nigga,” you said.

This muthafucka bit your thigh. You yelled out. He bit your other thigh, harder. “I’m ‘bout to write my name on it.”

You wanted to argue. As much as you wanted this fool, there was no way in hell…

“Oh god.” You had no breath left in your lungs. Your entire body froze as his tongue began to play with your clit. He lapped up your juices and inhaled it. He ate it like a starving man. Like a nigga just released from jail.

You began to move away. It was too much and too intense. You pushed at his hands. His tongue dived into your pussy and you moaned and screamed. He locked his arms around your thighs and held you open for him to devour.

As his tongue fucked you, one of his thumbs pressed into your clit. You slapped at his hand. “I’m not stoppin’ so quit that shit,” he growled. You locked eyes with him. His mouth and jaw was covered with your juices. A mix of drool and your arousal dripped from his lips. He licked those same lips as he stared you down.

You nodded. He went back to eating you out like it was his full time job. He suckled and flicked at your clit. He rubbed his nose in it. Your belly tightened as your orgasm rose up inside of you quicker than it had ever come. You tossed your head back onto the bed as you screamed your release out. He kept eating you out through it.

As you came down, you twitched as he licked one last time. You stared at the ceiling questioning your life’s choices to bring you to this moment. Tyrone chuckled as he cleaned his face off with his tank.

“You think I’m done with you, bitch?” He asked.

The only thing you could do was half grunt and half laugh. No man was allowed to call you a bitch. And he’s done it twice now and you ain’t even mad.

He helped you sit up further on the bed. Then he laid on top of you, pulling you by the chin to kiss. His tongue swiped against yours in a deep, nasty kiss. As if he wanted you to taste what he did. You tasted yourself on his tongue and it had you moaning and seeking more.

He leaned up on his knees and pumped his dick. “This gon’ hurt, but you’ll be alright.”

He grabbed your knees and pushed them down against the bed. He ran his thick cock over your clit and gathered up as much lubrication as he could. He slid the tip in and you moaned. “Fuck, Tyrone!”

He leaned down and kissed you. “My name sounds pretty on your lips. Say it again.”

You refused. There was still an ounce of defiance in you. He slid in some more, stretching you.

“Shit, shit, shit.” It stung but it also felt too good to tell him to stop. He kissed you again. “Say it.”

“Tyrone, please…” you begged. He kissed you again. “That’s my bitch.”

He kept going. Inch by delicious inch until he bottomed out. He held himself off of you as you adjusted to the sheer size of him. He was easily the biggest you had ever taken and you worried that you would never want anything else. How could anyone compare after that?

He trailed kisses along your jaw and the corner of your mouth. He whispered how pretty you were and how you were his. “So fuckin’ pretty takin’ this dick.”

He kissed and nibbled on your neck until you began to relax. Then, he started moving. He pulled out and then went back in just as slowly. Nigga was a professional at this shit.

As you relaxed and got back to moaning and crying, he sped up his thrusts. “Shit, this pussy feel so good.” He looked down at himself sliding in and out of you. Your arousal gushed out of you, spilling down your ass cheeks.

He twisted his hips and hit a spot deep inside you. “Oh fuck!” Your hips bucked off the bed. You grabbed at the sheets beneath you.

“That’s it.” He chuckled as he kept hitting that spot, over and over. One hand gripped your leg to keep you open for him. His other hand pressed down on your belly. The added pressure had you seeing stars.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you stuttered as your second orgasm steamrolled through you. He kept driving into you.

“Tyrone…” you warned. Though you didn’t know what for. You didn’t want him to stop. Your body felt like it was both buried underground and six feet in the air. Your legs ached from him holding you open but even that managed to feel good.

“You can give me one more,” he said.

“What?” You asked pathetically. Ain’t no fuckin’ way.

“I want one more,” he growled. He kept pushing his thick cock into you. You tried to speak. To communicate that there was no way you could.

He only smirked at you. His cornrows were damp with sweat. He quickened his pace and moved his hand from your stomach. His thumb played with your clit.

“Oh, shit, wait,” you moaned.

“Ain’t no wait. Give me that shit,” he said. In no time at all, you were coming again and squeezing the hell out of his dick. He moaned and panted before pounding into you. He came on a hoarse moan, pushing so deep into you he probably did leave his name there.

Hot ropes of cum squirted inside of you, painting every inch of wall he could find. He dropped his weight on you as you panted together.

He kissed your cheek. “Goddamn, bitch. I’m never letting you go.”

You chuckled. Because you weren’t letting his ass go neither.

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Tyrone Files #they cloned tyrone smut #they cloned tyrone fanfic #they cloned tyrone fan fic #Tyrone x Black!reader #Tyrone x Fem!reader #Tyrone x Black reader #Tyrone x Fem reader #Tyrone x reader #Tyrone x you #Black writer

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toxicpineapple · 1 year ago

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writing tips masterpost

hello to my loyal tumblr followers... i am often asked to give writing advice but usually when people ask me this i'm nooooot completely sure what to say despite having a ton of advice to give. it's such a broad question when there are so many different things i can advise on, right? so i thought i'd make a sort of writing advice masterpost where i can compile the tips that i think people specifically in fandoms could benefit the most from hearing, OR that i wish someone had told me when i was still finding my footing as a writer.

hopefully this will be helpful to you. i am putting all of the advice under a read more since this is going to be a long one. let's roll!

✬ paragraph breaks are your friend

the fastest way to get me to stop reading a fic is if i click in and see that there are NO paragraphs made and the entire piece is in a huge block of text. no matter how good your work is, i just can't read it at that point. the giant paragraph makes me get lost, i can't focus on anything... it's a huge no.

the trick is you want your paragraphs to sort of act as a guide for your reader, taking them through the story, keeping them engaged. do not be afraid to do short paragraphs! i can understand wanting to shy away from one or two sentence paragraphs for fear of not having "enough substance" in your work, but the truth is, a thousand short paragraphs is ten times easier to read than a huge block of text.

realistically, you want to have a good amount of variety in your paragraph length. variety is key. readers will notice when your work gets formulaic, and some people will like that, but for others that can turn people away from your work. but don't force it! a paragraph should end at the end of a statement, or if the paragraph is getting too long then cut off the thought and continue in the next paragraph with a transitional phrase.

as a general rule of thumb, you want lines of dialogue by different speakers to be put in separate paragraphs. you also want to avoid doing huge chunks of narration or exposition in the same paragraph as you introduce a new speaker. just make a new paragraph! no big deal. i guarantee you your reader will be way more engaged and nobody is going to come at you for doing more rather than less.

✬ make sure the reader knows who is speaking and when

you don't have to end off every line of dialogue with "she said" and in fact i would really recommend you don't. but you ALWAYS need to have some kind of indication in the text as to who is speaking, otherwise the reader can get lost.

this doesn't necessarily mean that you always have to explicitly say who is saying what, though. if it is obvious in a scene who is saying something -- so for example, a scene where there are only two characters talking OR the dialogue has some kind of phrase, statement, etc that makes it obvious who the speaker is -- then in that case you can just let the dialogue speak for itself. sometimes in writing less can be more. you disrupt the flow of a scene if you start to exposit unnecessarily when the reader could reasonably work something out for themself.

✬ "said" is your friend too

related to the last piece of advice, here's another note: don't shy away from using the word "said".

don't overuse it, either. obviously, you don't want every single line to be "he says" "she says" back and forth, especially when they might be asking questions or shouting, in which case the word "said" probably isn't all that applicable at all. but it's a nice default. if you catch yourself busting out the thesaurus, my recommendation? quit it. just use said. it's not going to hurt you and the reader isn't going to mind.

but yeah, in the event that a character is raising their voice, whispering, inquiring -- there are tons of other words you can use in lieu of said and then an adverb. it's just context-dependent, and also, you don't really want to lean too far one way or another. like i said, variety is key. too much of the same breaks immersion.

✬ if you wouldn't say it yourself, probably don't use it in writing

another related tip. look, i get it. you want to spruce up your writing with synonyms. but the fact of the matter is that a lot of these words that "mean the same thing" on paper actually have wildly differing connotations and if you don't understand what those are you're going to look kind of silly whipping out a word you just found off the internet. we can usually tell, too.

your vocabulary will naturally grow and expand as you continue to read and learn. you don't have to try and force it to seem smarter in your writing. people who can write compelling prose and dialogue without throwing in fancy words they barely understand look a lot more intelligent than people who have a thesaurus at the ready 24/7.

✬ if there's a simpler way to say it, take it

this one can be sort of style-dependent, so if it's not your cup of tea then feel free to take or leave this tip, but in my opinion, taking a whole seven-line paragraph to describe a simple action wastes both your and the readers' time.

how many times have you read a fic where the main characters are having a conversation with these long rambling paragraphs between lines of dialogue? sometimes this makes sense! if you were writing a death note fic it would absolutely make sense for light or L to be pausing every few seconds to carefully analyse their opponent's move... but that's not always the case. sometimes characters are just making small talk.

i'm not saying you can't show off. you should show off where applicable. but there's a time and place. sometimes a scene benefits more from you taking the easy way to describe something and moving on. flowery language is great, but if you're meandering too much the reader will lose interest and attention.

✬ a metaphor is useless if nobody knows what it means

writing is subjective and highly personal. write for yourself first and foremost, and use the metaphors that feel right to you -- but the best metaphorical pieces, to me, are the ones that people can understand and identify with.

you've read a story like that, haven't you? with a reoccurring theme or motif that comes back into play at the end in a way that makes you feel so satisfied and complete? THAT'S what you aim for with literary devices like that. if you write a story that nobody can understand, with metaphors that just don't make any sense -- then you haven't really successfully told a good story, have you?

i understand wanting to have a magnum opus. i think it's easy to fall into the "misunderstood writer" mindset where you want your pieces to be so magnificent that only the likeminded will get it -- but writing is a form of communication. metaphor is just another means with which we can illustrate how we feel. you WANT your readers to understand what you're doing with the metaphors, you WANT the people who step away from your story to know what you were trying to say. you don't have to be obvious, just make it good. make it something that can be reasonably drawn from the text.

at the end of the day flowery language is just flowery language. that doesn't actually make your story good.

✬ grammar intermission

(.) period/full stop: used at the end of sentences. oftentimes not used at the end of sentences in dialogue, because lines of dialogue are considered a fragment of a larger sentence. use a period/full stop at the end of a line of dialogue if the dialogue is followed up by another complete sentence. example:

"i just went to the store," he said, scratching his head.

"i just went to the store." he scratched his head.

(,) comma: used in the middle or to separate different clauses (parts/sections) of sentences. used for incomplete clauses, AKA sections of the sentence that could not function as individual sentences. also used to indicate a slight pause. example:

she reached for the ripest banana, plucking it from the bunch.

a comma can also be replaced by a conjunction like "and" or "but". example:

she reached for the ripest banana and plucked it from the bunch.

(;) semi colon: used to separate different complete clauses in sentences, AKA sections of the sentence that are related but COULD function individually as their own sentences. example:

he sighed as he looked out the window; it had been so long since he stepped outside.

not to be confused with

(:) colon: used at the end of a line that leads into or introduces another line. example:

his fingers drummed restlessly against the window sill. it was finally happening: he was finally leaving this place.

(-) hyphen: used to connect compound words like three-years-old or hyphenated surnames like jones-smith.

(–) en dash: used to indicate ranges of time or distance, like 3–4 hours.

(—) em dash: a girl's best friend. slash j. but an em dash is used to indicate a few different things: an abrupt end to a thought or sentence, a "cut-in" where you interject something tangentially or unrelated before returning to the original thought, or a diversion in the sentence/thought. examples:

"no, listen, you don't understand—"

he scowled—an ugly look on his usually handsome features—and told her to be quiet.

it's not like she had wanted it to go that way—but when had it ever mattered what she wanted?

(()) parentheses: used to add additional context, information, or a semi-unrelated thought that would break the flow of an ongoing sentence without completely taking the reader out. example:

"no, i'm sorry. i just forgot to call you this morning," he said, looking away. (in truth, he'd sat by the phone for fifteen minutes trying to psyche himself into it, but hadn't been able to muster the courage.)

✬ show don't tell, and tell don't show

show don't tell is one of the classic pieces of writing advice that i do, often, think is correct -- but it's a little more nuanced than just never telling your readers what a character is thinking. you want the work to speak for itself without you implanting messages or themes into the reader's brain. at the same time though you don't want them to be doing too much work because it breaks immersion.

this ties into what i was saying above about simpler being better sometimes. you want to be concise especially in scenes that might call for it. a fight scene should be quick and snappy. no need to dig into the physical sensation of being enraged -- just say the character is pissed! but if a character is having a meltdown or panicking, you can get SO much more out of describing how that feels than just outright saying it.

✬ remember your perspective

another huge thing with show don't tell is that you don't want your character to be able to objectively say what everyone else is thinking and feeling -- unless that makes sense for them within the context of the story. really dig into it. DOES the character have a reason to know what their opponents, friends, etc are thinking? how well do they know the other characters? how attentive are they to the emotions of those around them?

it's better to focus on descriptions than labels in that case. say what face a character is making, describe their body language or tone. your character can have impressions, just make it clear that those ARE their impressions. and let your character be wrong! they do not have to be a completely objective source of information.

✬ when it comes to representation, if you aren't confident you can do it well, don't do it at all

i'm one of those people who's kind of of the opinion that white or cishet or otherwise systemically advantaged people have no place being the loudest voices in conversations about representation, least of all AS the representatives. if you are someone with systemic privilege and you choose to portray someone who is oppressed -- that's not necessarily a bad thing. but you need to be willing to do your research and have a sensitivity reader, and you have to be ready for people to say you did it wrong.

not much else to be said about that. your voice on the matter isn't actually all that important. there are people from the demographics involved who DO have stories to tell about themselves that will be MUCH more valuable than your perception of them, so it's honestly better to just let them tell it. that's how i feel.

✬ don't break the rules unless you know how to follow them. in other words, your rebellion should be obvious

a lot of times i see people breaking grammar or other rules and citing "stylistic" choices as their reasons why. which is all good and well, to an extent -- but you want it to be very clear that you ARE breaking the rules on purpose in a way that adds to the artistic merit of your piece.

if you don't know the rules, then it really just comes across like messy work. you both have to know how to apply the rules, and also how to break them in a stylistically significant way. if it doesn't make sense for the rules to be broken, if it says nothing... it's honestly better to just follow them. that's my take.

✬ don't be scared of names and pronouns

i said before that you want variety in your work, and that is very very true -- but it's also true that certain words like names, pronouns, etc will sort of blend into the background in writing. people don't notice them. that means if you're using a name or pronoun a lot in a scene to make it clear who exactly is being referred to...

hey. look into my eyes. breathe. it's okay. you do not have to resort to highlighting arbitrary characteristics of the characters. i know. just breathe. it's okay. use their names. they have them for a reason. it's all good.

this isn't to say that you SHOULDN'T do that, just do it when it makes sense to. if height is something the characters are noticing then use "the shorter boy". if age is relevant, eye colour, hair colour, whatever -- go ahead and use them. but don't be excessive with it. i should not be having to read the bluenette more than i'm reading shuichi's actual goddamn name.

✬ read

this is the huge one. reading other works informs your writing. it teaches you skills and tricks you can use. it helps expand your dialogue and your world view. it might even highlight to you things you do too much of in your own writing. read, all the time, whenever you can. it doesn't have to be books. it can be fanfic, articles, whatever -- just keep reading, because you will be passively absorbing knowledge during that time and it'll help you grow as a writer.

✬ practice

BOOOOOO TOMATO TOMATO TOMATO! SHE SAID THE THING SHE SAID IT!

but listen, it's literally just true. i write almost every day for at least a couple of hours and i have been on a trend of consistent growth for the past five years. go read my fics from 2019 if you don't believe me. i've grown fast and i've grown constantly. you just DO grow through constant practice, even if it doesn't always seem that way.

not only that, but you start to build confidence too. writing a lot helps develop those muscles to a point where you start to realise that you ARE that good and you DO have that dawg in you. or whatever. you just have to keep at it. you're not going to magically improve thinking for six months about how you want to be a better writer without practicing anything about it.

✬ yeah, betas are good

you want to have a good editor. i know that that can feel like having someone ELSE be the reason your piece is good, but that's genuinely not it. a beta reader is a second pair of eyes on your work, someone who can tell you about the issues and mistakes you're missing. they'll tell you when something doesn't make sense. they'll point out your punctuation errors. you don't NEED to have a good editor for every crummy little oneshot... but it's good to have one.

✬ numbers are fine and all but don't compare yourself to other people

i think almost everyone in some kind of creative pursuit wants to get some kind of acknowledgement for it. we want to be the best we can be, and it can be discouraging to receive utterly no validation along the way! i get it!!

just don't get caught up in crunching the numbers. you are not as good as your fanbase is. you alone know your skillset and you absolutely should not say "well this other writer got THIS much attention" because that'll just wear you down. it really will. external validation will only keep you going for so long, and you'll always end up needing more. you HAVE to build your own personal confidence first or you'll crash and burn.

✬ read your writing out loud

there is no quicker way to see if something is wonky in your prose than reading it out loud and seeing if it makes sense verbally. i highly recommend this to anybody who struggles with sentence flow. it's a good one.

✬ yippee hooray!

🥰 and that's what i've got for now. thank you if you made it this far, please take all these tips as you will, it is all subjective of course, these are just the tips that help Me the most when i sit down to write something.

please feel free to ask me for additional advice (on specific topics if you could!) at any time, i love encouraging new writers and i am passionate about writing so i will gladly offer support in any way i can, including beta reading works for anybody who might need that.

take care now 💖

#writing #writing advice #writing tips #fanfiction tips

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