#I had to edit this picture so much to get some of those folds out oh my god

[bayfuzzball7050]

Boy why you so gnarp gnarp 👽

[iannmin]

What kinks do you think San would have? <3

KINKS SAN WOULD HAVE ⁺₊❆⋆ 최산

🏷️ ⋆ smut, drabble, intentional lowercase, size kink, praise kink, breeding kink (serious), lingerie play, somnophilia, cum play (LOTS of cum)

🗒️ ⋆ RAHHHHHH WTF I’ve been wanting to write this SO BAD!!! thank you thank you so much for the opportunity skjdkskdksk i hope both sides of your pillow are nice and fluffy every time you sleep <3333 also i just couldn’t help but put the edit of long haired san hehe

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹ ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆

PRAISE KINK ⋆

no offence but sannie would be on the number one priority list for those who have praise kink. like can you see how he folds and gets absolutely all squishy and subby when wooyoung praises him? like his cheeks gets all flushed and hot,, he’ll probably desire the same with his s/o, whether it’s him giving or receiving. and to be honest san is more of a soft dom, so he’ll love reassurance. just imagine every time when he’s about to enter you he will most definitely whisper softly “you can take it baby, it’s gonna open up so well for me, your pussy’s gonna feel so good, hm?” (and I’ve noticed that san loves to say ‘hm?’ after his sentence a lot in his voice lives and it drives me absolutely crazy)

SIZE KINK ⋆

sannie is a total sucker for size differences and he absolutely builds his ego off of watching his s/o squirm under his huge frame. like just picture him headlocking his s/o from behind, broad chest sticking to his s/o’s back while just absolutely pounding the fuck out of them and whispering dirty things into their ear ughh. and do you remember that one fanmeeting clip of san’s back facing the audience and wooyoung is literally holding his neck attempting to kiss him??? he’ll probably look like that coming home to his s/o from a long day of work,, kissing them at the entrance as a ‘I’m home’ type of gesture. and also,, that’s probably why san hits the gym sososo much, it’s really just to assert dominance and feel big

BREEDING KINK ⋆

don’t even get me started with this once :,) like do you guys realise how traditional san is? like in terms of family and stuff he seemed to have grown up in a very traditional household where his father was strict on him and all that. like just look at how much respect he has for his parents and how well-mannered he is,, and especially do you remember when san mentioned that if he had a daughter he would raise her in a very princess way but if he had a son he would raise him like his father did in a strict way? so anyways,, the whole point I’m making is that san would probably want to start a family early with his s/o so that they can have cute little family outings together, and he can be a dad. so that’s where the feral breeding kink comes in. like he just goes absolutely bonkers the first time his s/o let’s him hit it raw after their marriage, or even better, when he learns that his s/o wants to try for a baby, so he makes sure to absolutely fill their cunt to the fullest, even going beyond his usual stamina of two rounds because for some reason he keeps getting hard after watching his white cum seep out of their hole and dripping onto their thighs :( P.S. he might even have a sex marathon with his s/o on the week their ovulating just to maximise his chances of becoming a dad

FINGERING ⋆

okay okay, I know sannie is a clean type of person and he doesn’t really like making a huge mess, especially when you see how clean and minimalistic his dorm room is but when it comes to his s/o, all morality just gets thrown off out the window. he goes pussy drunk and fingers them until they’re making an absolute mess. and I’ve seen some people commenting that he has chubby hands like cheese-stick fingers but won’t they feel so fucking good when their up in his s/o’s hole? i bet the stretch is a whole lot better with thick fingers like his and it’s definitely enough to get his s/o squirming and whimpering, even squirting.

SOMNOPHILIA ⋆

sannie treats women with so much respect and probably hates non-con stuff which is a great turn-off for him. but somnophilia? that’s his jam right there. the first time his s/o told him up front that they like being fucked awake no matter when, he was slightly hesitant, but he probably discovered a whole new world right there and then when he slid his dick into their unprepped cunt, the raw feeling being absolutely addictive. so even on days when his s/o looked absolutely unsexy, wearing a pair of kiddy-looking pajamas, he will still have a great urge to pull down those cartooned pants and fuck them. he just can’t get enough of the moment when their brows finally knit together and their eyes flutter open, raising their head from the pillow just to see him wrecking their pussy open, and that’s when all senses and feelings process in their brain and they start moaning and squealing.

LINGERIE ⋆

just a bonus kink here hehe,, and not to mention sannie is not the type to rip open the lingeries because he respects how expensive they are, but he’s more of the type to push their panties to the side and fuck them <3

[nataliesfirefly]

chapter 4 - ‘tis the damn season

a/n: new chapter for you!! a little longer than usual, but i had so much fun writing this one :)) the slow burn is slow burning, but we’re finally getting somewhere! it will pay off, i promise <3

chapter warnings: slight language

wc: 4.7k

series masterlist

The word ‘stress’ does not even begin to describe how you are feeling at the moment. This time of year is always the worst, right before Christmas holiday. All the final exams fall in the same week, right before the end of the term, and not to mention your final project for English; the essay.

Which wasn’t coming along too badly, you realize. You and Farleigh have actually made impressive progress, and not to be too prideful, but this might be the best essay you’ve ever written. But definitely not because of his help. No, you’ve done most of it. He’s just been there for… moral support? And… occassionally adding worthwhile things to the writing. Occasionally.

In fact, you unfortunately have started to grow fond of his presence and his company. He’s not a bad guy, you’ve realized. He’s quite funny, and has a certain way of dragging a giggle out of you or causing a smile to tug at your lips, in contrast to your usual resting bitch face. You’re going to miss those late nights spent in his room, considerably past curfew, meaning you typically had to sneak back to your own dorm as carefully as possible. You can’t seem to figure out why time goes by so fast when you’re with him, whether it’s because you’re trying to finish up a project or because of… other reasons.

Lately, you’ve also been finding yourself to be very nervous whenever he speaks to you. Your voice trembles, you suddenly forget your whole vocabularly, and that stupid blush that always creeps onto your face, feeling like flames on your cheeks.

You only have a bit of editing and revising to do on the essay before it is ready to turn in. Some finishing touches. Which means it will be ready to turn in next Friday, a week from today, the last day of the term before winter holiday.

You throw the covers off of yourself and yawn, climbing out of bed. This weekend will be brutal, since you’ve designated it to studying for exams, which means a few late nights spent at the library. But for some reason, you feel excited to go to class today. English class, specifically. You slip out of your pajamas and fold them neatly into a drawer.

As you step into your skirt and tug on your white button-up, you glance at your calendar posted on the wall. You feel warm just thinking about returning home to see your family in Bath. You picture your mother’s welcoming smile and your father’s comforting embrace, and those evenings you will spend gathered around the fireplace, regaling them with tales from your first term of the school year as you stuff your face with sweets. If you’re lucky, you’ll even get snow. The last time you had a white Christmas was… well, you can’t even seem to remember.

You observe yourself in the mirror as you work on tying your tie, suddenly hyper-aware of your appearance. You comb your fingers through your hair, realizing you haven’t brushed it yet. You step over to your chest of drawers and grab your hairbrush, dragging it through your hair quite aggressively. You’ve never cared much about how you look, it’s always been more of a personality thing. How others perceived you was what mattered, but not in a physical aspect.

But who are you trying to impress? You scoff sarcastically at the idea, shaking your head. You throw your brush onto your bed before grabbing a pair of black socks, pulling them up your legs. And finally, your trusty jacket, provided to you by the school. It doesn’t help much with the cold, but at least it looks cool with your uniform. You hurriedly step into your shoes once you’ve buttoned your coat and race back to the mirror, brushing through your hair one last time. Does it look okay? You think. Should I tie it up? Or at least do something with it?

No. You shake your head and bop yourself on the head with the brush. “That’s enough,” You say under your breath, as if to silence your own thoughts. You sling your bag over your shoulder and as you’re walking to the door, your stomach lurches as a sudden realization comes over you.

You’re trying to look good for Farleigh. What the hell are you on?! You slap a hand to your forehead and groan dramatically. Suddenly, you think of Clara and all her random appearances she’s been making, flirting with him and twirling her hair. What does she do differently?

Her skirt. She rolls it up on purpose to make it shorter. You chew on your bottom lip nervously as you return to the mirror once again. You tentatively roll your skirt up at the waistband, making it a bit shorter. You’ve always followed dresscode, the fingertip rule. But if she can get away with it, so can you, right?

You step back and admire your long legs and your thighs. Wait, what on Earth are you doing? Your face burns with humiliation. You’re basically trying to seduce a man. No, not even a man. A boy! An immature, stupid, extremely handsome boy.

You trudge back to your door determinedly, swinging it open and stepping out into the hallway, locking it behind you. You picture Farleigh’s face in your mind as you walk through the corridor and down the stairs. His caramel skin, his eyes that remind you of chocolate, his perfect teeth, his curls… Fuck.

And the weather isn’t helping. You sort of regret adjusting your skirt now, since you’ve just given the freezing air more opportunity to bite at your skin. It seems today you might actually be on time to class, though. You reach the door to the east wing and step inside, seeing a group of students gathered outside Mrs. Chasteen’s door.

You squint harder and realize it’s your class. You curiously walk over and spot Magdalena, so you tap on her shoulder.

She turns around and her face immediately brightens. “Hey! You’re early for once in your life.” She grins and you shove her playfully. “Oh, come off it. Is she not here today?” You point to the door and she quirks an eyebrow. “No, I think she’s here. Sometimes it just takes a while for her to get here, and we show up before her.” She shrugs. “But what would you know? You’re always dashing in at the last second.” Lena tsks and shakes her head, wagging a finger at you.

“Ready for holiday?” You ask. Her eyes brighten at the mention of the upcoming break. “Oh my God. You don’t even know how ready I am.” She lets out a sigh of relief. “But we have to get through those bloody exams first. At least we got our GCSEs done last year.” Lena nudges you softly with her shoulder. “True.” You nod in agreement. You truly believed those blasted tests were going to be the death of you.

At that moment, Lena’s gaze leaves yours and travels slightly upwards, to something in the distance. Or someone, rather.

“There’s your shadow.” She points with a quiet little giggle. “Wha-” You turn to follow her eyes. Shit. You immediately turn back to Lena, your heart racing as panic starts to set in. You start to feel hot, despite the cold air of the corridor.

“What do you mean ‘my shadow’?” You furrow your brows and tilt your head, hoping she elaborates. “I mean, you two are always together. And he follows you around like a lost puppy. I know I’m not the only one who notices it.” She lowers her voice to a hurried whisper.

“Maybe because we’re working on the final project together?!” You whisper back harshly. “Mm. Right.” She nods and crosses her arms, spinning on her heel to go chat with someone else. “Lena! Lena, don’t leave me!” You whisper-scream after her, but she doesn’t turn back for you.

“What was that about?” You already know it’s him before you even register who’s speaking. You spin around, much closer to Farleigh than you thought. You stare up at him awkwardly, pretty much eye-level with his chest. You step back cautiously.

“Uh. You know…” For such a large vocabularly you claim to hold, it seems to be failing you at the moment. “Erm. Girl things?” It comes out like more of a question than you mean it to. You feel that familiar burn scorching up your neck and onto your cheeks. Fuck, it always gives you away.

“Girl things?” He repeats, raising his eyebrows. “Yep. Like, periods and stuff.” You freeze, your brain registering what just came out of your mouth. Oh, good Lord. Your eyes shoot down to the ground as you suddenly become interested in the stonework.

“Oh. That’s… cool. I guess.” He replies just as awkwardly, and for a minute you think that maybe he’s nervous too. No, he’s not. How else would you reply to a girl who’s just randomly brought up periods? There’s not much you can really say to that.

“Not really.” You shake your head and shift your weight onto your other leg, glancing back up at him. You really need to work on keeping your mouth shut during awkward moments.

And then, for one sliver of a second, you see his eyes trail down to your legs, and then quickly back up to your gaze. He clears his throat. “Our teacher seems to be late today,” He remarks.

You nod quickly, grateful for the change of subject. “Yeah. Maybe she’s just as sick of this as we all are.” You gesture to your fellow peers. You look back up to him, meeting his eyes once again. You swear, if you could just swim in them you would. You would make them your home and never leave their warmth. He stares back at you, his gaze unrelenting. You feel yourself growing hot once again, like you need to go back out into that chilling wind.

And then, your favorite person comes along, cheerfully skipping through the corridor, her steps echoing off the tall walls. She pauses mid-step, turning to you and Farleigh.

“Oh! Hi, guys!” Clara grins, showing off her blinding white smile.

“Hello, Clara.” You mutter reluctantly. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. “Hey,” Farleigh replies. She steps oddly close to him, staring up at him with her baby blue eyes. Those must be her secret weapon, you think. She traces a finger down his chest and giggles. What the fuck is she doing? Farleigh’s face reddens and he looks down at her, a smile tugging at his lips. “What was that for?” He mutters. “No reason,” She shrugs with another giggle.

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt jealousy this strong. It’s a feeling that bubbles up in your stomach, clawing its way up into your chest, burning through your veins like a fire. It’s an unpleasant feeling, you realize, as you look at Clara and try to hide your distaste. How can he be enjoying this? Does he really like her? Your mind spins.

She steps back from him and flips her hair. “I really should be getting to class right now…” She says, looking around the hall. “You’d better get going, then,” You murmur under your breath before clearing your throat. The words kind of just slipped out before you could think about them. Clara glances over to you so quickly you swear she almost snaps her neck.

“What was that?” She asks with that saccharine smile playing on her lips. “I said you’d better get going, that’s all.” You smile right back at her. She looks like she’s biting back some snippy remark, before she flips the switch and smiles again. “You’re right. Don’t want to be late!” She winks at Farleigh before skipping off again.

You look down at your shoes for a moment, pondering what to say next before looking back up at him. To your surprise, he’s staring down at you, a look on his face that you can’t quite figure out.

“What was that about?” You ask, snickering nervously as if it’s humorous, when really the whole interaction made you want to die. He opens his mouth to speak, but then is interrupted by greetings from your classmates to Mrs. Chasteen. You turn around to see her turning the key to her classroom, fiddling with the doorknob before opening it. You decide it’s better to not talk about the Clara situation right now.

“So, you think we can get the essay done today?” Farleigh asks as you both walk to your usual table. “Possibly. If Mrs. Chasteen even allows us to work on it,” You reply, setting your things down and sitting. You tug at your skirt, which to your annoyance, continues to ride up your thighs. Fuck Clara and her stupid skirts.

“Look at her. She looks exhausted. Do you really think she wants to teach right now?” He subtly nods in your teacher’s direction. She’s sitting at her desk and sipping a mug of steaming tea, or perhaps coffee, you can’t tell which. She usually has bags under her eyes but today they seem more pronounced.

“She’s probably been grading a lot,” You mutter to him. He shrugs. “Or maybe she had a thrilling Thursday night out on the town,” He whispers, nudging you playfully with his arm. The heat of the proximity has you burning up, inside and out. It makes you want to snuggle up next to him and chase his heat, especially on this cold winter’s day. You remind yourself to laugh at his comment.

“Mrs. Chasteen? Going out? Yeah, when pig’s fly.” You giggle genuinely at the thought. “I’m serious! We should do a stake out,” A boyish grin spreads across his face, lazy and lovely and truly beautiful. You drink in the sight, taking in his features and wishing you could screenshot this moment with your brain and keep it tucked away for later.

“She’s married, you idiot.” You swat him on the arm and his stupidly charming grin only intensifies. “Well, you’d be surprised.” He leans back in his chair and spreads his long legs. God, you usually hate when men do that. But…

Your eyes betray you. Fuck, he’s so handsome. And tempting. You’ve never had such scandalized thoughts about someone before. You start to wonder what he would look like with his shirt collar loosened, or with the buttons undone. Or maybe with just his tie on.

You hear your name suddenly, interrupting your diabolical thoughts. “Are you okay?” Farleigh asks. Shit. You’ve spent too much time analyzing his appearance and imagining him with less clothes.

You already know your face is giving you away with the pure heat that warms your cheeks. “Oh.” You say stupidly. What the fuck?! You curse yourself internally.

“Yeah. I’m great. Sorry, I was just… thinking about–” Think. Think of something. An excuse. Anything.

“The essay. Mhm.” You nod aggressively almost to convince yourself rather than him. “What about it?” He asks, raising an eyebrow with intrigue.

“I think it’s gonna be… so good,” You lose your train of thought once again as your eyes focus between his legs this time. Did he choose tighter pants today on purpose, or is your mind playing tricks on you? Your tongue darts out to lick your lips before you glance back up at him.

His eyes widen. You freeze and immediately turn to face the front of the classroom with a loud swallow. Thank God for Mrs. Chasteen.

She clears her throat. “I’m not feeling too well today, hence my late arrival. Feel free to work on your essay. Or whatever it is that you want to do…” She waves her hand dismissively and then continues organizing things at her desk. The chatter in the classroom resumes.

“Told ya,” Farleigh says, clearly happy with himself and his prediction. Normally, you would make some quippy remark about how this is the one time he’s right and he’d better enjoy it while it lasts. But instead you remain silent, pulling out your laptop.

It’s your last night to study and cram all possible information into your mind before finals week. You’re not even sure your brain has anymore room to store said information. Nevertheless, you feel slightly more confident about your tests than you did before your first night at the library on Friday. And, you and Farleigh finished the essay and turned it in.

You yawn and check the time in the bottom right corner of your laptop’s screen. Sunday, 10:03 PM. Your tired eyes widen and glance around. To your surprise, many students are still gathered here, almost every desk full. Lucky for you (and everyone else), the library has extended hours during the week before end of term exams. You believe it closes at three AM, since keeping it open any later would encourage students to pull an all nighter. Which they probably do anyways when they get back to their dorm.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and you spin around. “Hey.” Farleigh smiles down at you. Your heart almost leaps out of your chest at the sight of him. “Hi,” You respond, your voice coming out at a higher pitch than you expected. You cringe internally.

“You look like hell,” He says. His voice carries a teasing lilt, so you play along and poke him. “Let me guess, you’ve been here since… six?” He tilts his head in a way that reminds you of a puppy.

“Six thirty, to be precise,” You reply with a sarcastic eye roll. “Jesus. What a tryhard,” He shakes his head in mock disapproval. “Shut up. Showing up to study at ten PM is arguably worse. Do you always wait until the last possible minute?” You scoff but it turns into more of a giggle than you intended. He sits down next to you.

“I’m smart enough to where I can wait ‘til the last minute.” He flashes a grin at you before twisting in his seat to pull out some books from his bag. “Well, we’ll see once we get exam scores back.” You sigh.

“Oh, really? You wanna make a bet?” Farleigh questions in an oddly flirtatious tone. “Mhm,” Once you realize he’s staring at you, you feel a tingle shoot down your spine as you slowly turn to meet his eyes. His gaze is hot and heavy and it almost melts you on the spot. You inhale a shaky, quiet breath.

“What will you give me if I make a better grade than you?” He asks, his voice lower and seemingly quieter than before. An unfamiliar warmth spreads throughout you while an unwelcome swarm of butterflies makes their home in your stomach.

You cough loudly into your arm to interrupt the moment, mainly because you’re scared of how you would respond to such a flirtatious question. You don’t trust your mouth right now. Farleigh just laughs and returns to his textbooks, flipping through them.

Why does he say stuff like that? It only gets your hopes up that he might return your feelings. Which, of course, he never will. Why did you get cursed with this obsession? Well, you wouldn’t call it an obsession. Just a… crush. No, that sounds too childish. You just like him.

You spend the next two hours studying with Farleigh. You write each other calculus problems for the other to solve, or you quiz each other on vocabulary for English, or dates for medieval history. As much as you hate to admit it, you’re having fun. It’s almost as if time speeds up while you’re in his presence. However, your eyes are burning and you’re struggling to keep them open.

“Are you okay?” Your eyes snap open at Farleigh’s words. You had begun to drift off into slumber, slumped over in your chair. You sit up efficiently and nod. “Yeah.. sorry.” You let out a long sigh and attempt to rub the sleep out of your eyes with your fingers.

“You probably need to get some sleep,” He suggests, his voice soft as silk. Your eyelashes flutter as you fight to stay awake. “I’m okay, really.” Your last word is interrupted with a big yawn. You cover your mouth with embarrassment as he lets out a snort.

“It’s midnight. You need to get to bed.” He tells you more sternly this time. “Well what about you?” You question.

“Don’t worry about me.” He shakes his head and reaches his hand out, placing it on your shoulder. “I guess I’ve studied enough,” You yawn again and close your eyes. Just for a moment, if only to rest them. You think.

About ten minutes later you awake to the sound of Farleigh’s voice again. “Do I need to take you to your dorm myself?” Your gaze slides over to him as he packs up his things. You let out a sleepy hum of disagreement. “You can’t even keep your eyes open. C’mon.” He stands up and pats you on the back.

You groan and grip the side of the table to support you as you stand up. You just stand there and watch as he packs up your own things, depositing them into your bag. “Can you carry it?” He asks, his eyes full of concern. You nod. “Alright. Let’s go,”

You both walk back to the dorms, with your occasional stumble, along with his occasional hand on your shoulder. You walk up the stairs, sleepiness weakening your legs. You eventually make it to your door and glance up towards Farleigh while blinking rapidly to make sure you’re not dreaming.

“I don’t think I studied enough–”

He holds up a hand to silence you.

“No. We studied more than enough. Sleep is what you need right now. Our English exam is at nine tomorrow morning. Or, today, actually.”

You’ve never seen him act with such kindness and care. Why is he doing all of this for you? And why is he being so nice? It’s suspicious, you think. But you push the thought aside as you unlock your room.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” You smile in an attempt to convey your gratefulness. You’re a little too prideful to say thank you right now. “Goodnight.” He pauses for a moment, just like he did the first time you were at his dorm, like he wants to say or do something else. You stare into his dark eyes, willing him to do something. Suddenly, you don’t feel so sleepy.

But he just turns and walks away, probably back to his own dorm. Damn it! You feel stupid for being so hopeful. You step into your room and close the door angrily. He’s never going to admit anything, even if he also has feelings for you. Which you extremely doubt. And you’re never going to admit it either.

By the end of the week, you’re more exhausted than ever, but very relieved. Exams went smoother than you expected, and before you know it, you’re standing in front of a table waiting to get all of your results.

“Last name?” The random teacher whom you’ve never had asks, glancing up at you. You tell her your last name, and she fishes through a folder divided alphabetically by last name.

“Ah. Here you are.” She pulls out a packet and inspects it first before handing it to you. Your hands suddenly feel clammy compared to the smooth surface of the paper. Your heart pounds.

“Thank you,” You smile gratefully before turning around and quickly walking to the nearest bench to sit down and flip through the pages. A wave of relief crashes over you as you see your near perfect grades. Your lowest was a 96% on calculus, which you consider a pretty amazing achievement. You sigh with relief and close your eyes, leaning against the wall. You finished the fall term well.

You shove the packet into your backpack and put on your big coat and your beanie, preparing to venture out into the cold to pack up the last of your things to head home. Last night a huge snowstorm passed through London, so you delightfully woke up this morning to what looked like powdered sugar dusted upon the roof outside your window. It felt almost like the universe’s way of wishing you good luck on everything.

You walk outside on the cleared path with shoveled piles of snow hugging the sides. Breathing in the crisp yet calm air, you look around and take in your surroundings. The bustling groups of fellow students chatting excitedly about their scores, red cardinals hopping from tree to tree, snowflakes peacefully falling from the sky and joining the glittering snow upon the ground.

Suddenly, you hear your name being called from a distance, and then footsteps. You turn around to see Farleigh jogging toward you.

“Farleigh!” Unfortunately, you cannot hide your adoration whenever you see him and your content smile breaks into a foolish grin.

“So? How’d you do?” He asks with excitement. Oh, how the tables have turned. Usually he would start by bragging about his own results, and now he starts by asking you about yours. You quite enjoy how this friendship has grown.

“I did really good. My lowest was a 96!” You tell him. He beams, and then his eyes narrow. “On – let me guess – calculus?” He asks with suspicion. “Shut up!” You exclaim, punching him rather hard before turning serious. “Yes.”

He snickers and rubs his arm. “You pack a good punch,” He smiles, and you swear you can even see it in his chocolate brown eyes. You’re going to miss him over the holiday.

“So, what about you?” You ask while he falls into step next to you as you continue your walk. “Lowest was a 97. On history.” He cringes and you allow a satisfied smirk to break through.

“History?!” You giggle. “Shut up. My strengths are science and math, obviously.” He rolls his eyes. You’re beginning to love his sarcastic eyerolls. But then again, you think you always have.

“Hm. I thought you didn’t have any weaknesses. Academically, I mean.” You nudge him.

Farleigh shrugs. “Well, I wouldn’t call them weaknesses. I’m just better at some subjects.”

Without warning, he takes your hand and pulls you off the sidewalk and onto the snow. A squeal escapes you as he lets go, and then you look up to see him reaching down to pick up some snow. After he gathers a sufficient amount, he starts to pack it into a sphere. Oh no.

“Farleigh, no! Wait!” You scream, but it’s not really a terrified scream, more like a giggly one. But it’s too late. The snowball hurdles toward you and eventually crumbles once it meets your coat. An uncontrollable fit of giggles comes over you as you crouch down, packing snow into your hands.

You launch the snowball at him and he gasps with betrayal. “How dare you!” He shouts playfully. You’re so weak with laughter that you fall down into the snow. You look up to see a few other people joining in, throwing snowballs and running around. You can’t remember a time in the last few months when you have been happier.

Eventually, Farleigh sits next to you on the ground. You look up to see bits of snow adorably sprinkled throughout his hair. Something gives you the nerve to lean your head on his shoulder. He stiffens, only slightly, before relaxing and letting out a short sigh.

“Farleigh Start, I think I’m going to miss you,” You admit sheepishly. You can feel him turn his head a bit towards you, his breath grazing your hair.

“Don’t be dramatic. It’s only three weeks.” You recognize the tease in his voice. “But I tend to have that effect on people.” You can also hear the grin in his voice. You smile and make patterns in the snow as you both sit in comfortable silence.

[the-epic-hiram-lows]

Archie time! I will do this even though the board itself was mysteriously removed from the post (should I re-upload it, or keep it as an esoteric limited edition item?) Haters are fuming. For extra context, you might want to see the boneless version, which shows the original photos without color edits but still cropped.

As always, commentary is L-R, top to bottom.

This idea came so easily and so vividly to me that I almost feel like I can't take credit for it. It took surprisingly little time to find a good font as well. As for the meaning of it, I think it's pretty much what it says on the literal tin. Archie is often bruised, literally and figuratively, throughout the series. More often than not, the situations that bruise him were never his situations in the first place. He has a huge martyr complex- both a cause and effect of his need for psychic bandages.

As I noted earlier in this series, I told myself that using photos of the actual source material was cheating. After breaking that rule with Jughead, I wanted to double down on this (which I successfully did on Veronica's, whose board I started before Archie's,) but had to fold here. Aside from the fact it is nearly impossible to find a photo that looks like these four, how do you Archie Andrews from Riverdale? You cannot do so meaningfully. I chose this specific photo for three reasons. Firstly, of course, that it fit the color palette. Secondly, it looks like a memory. Thirdly, the way Archie is breaking the fourth wall of the photo. He is present in the moment but acknowledging the people off-screen looking back. While this is textually more of a Jughead thing, Archie is Riverdale. This is a subtle representation of the thin veil between Riverdale the universe and Riverdale the product. Its increasingly meta nature. In terms of composition, I didn't crop faces out, which would normally be my instinct. It didn't feel right. Archie wouldn't obscure the faces of his friends. They are everything to him- one of the reasons the picture is in the center row.

I originally found this quote doing research for Veronica's board. I thought it was very interesting from an 'abusive father intentionally makes himself vital to child to feed his narcissism' type of way, but at second glance I read it as mournful. This was almost certainly what the creator intended, but the context in which I found it confused my perspective. This is, of course, a tribute to Fred. A summary of Archie's psyche would be incomplete without one.

When I saw this pin, I thought 'Archie!' The original photo was lackluster, so I spent 2-3 hours photoshopping this pin onto a Riverdale varsity jacket. I eventually reached photorealism, where someone would easily accept there is a pin on that jacket, but at that point it didn't catch the eye. I had to sacrifice some realism for the sake of the mood board. After another hour or so, it is exactly Fine. In the end, nobody mentioned the jacket either way. Maybe that means I did a good enough job that no one consciously noticed it. Maybe it means I did all that for nothing. Who's to say? Either way, this pin is a bit off when you consider my intentions of representing Archie's psyche. This is something Archie hears, but doesn't say. I kind of justified it to myself by saying he would wear this as a way to laugh at those who think he is a fawn who should stay out of danger, but... I don't know. Maybe the fourth wall gets one panel as a treat? The more I think about it, the more I think I wasted that photoshop time on something that betrays my thesis statement.

Not my best work!

Firstly, let's call it like it is- this is, for the most part, a filler image. However, within that, I did have reasoning! Though it isn't ever alluded to through dialogue or camera work, Archie does have quite the thing for Converses. He often wears them throughout the series, and seems to have a good amount of variety in his collection. But, beyond that, Converses have been a staple of the American teen for generations. Archie, as we often state, is a representation of Americana. Though Converses are often seen in modernish counter culture, they also have a sincere athletic-but-not-an-athlete charm.

The first image I had for Archie, saved days (even weeks) before I committed to making a mood board for him. This is, again, less about his brain and more about him as an abstract. I will kick myself about that later. Actually, pretend I never stated this was supposed to be a psychological study. Pretend I said it was mostly focused on his psyche, but not entirely. Thanks. Anyway, this is embodies season one Archie. Pre-pilot Archie, even. Considering the fact Archie turned 16 during his affair with Grundy, the text stings even more.

Nothing I say about this picture will be as well-worded as @hauntingattheblackberrypatch's brilliantly apt observations on it, but nevertheless I persist. I immediately fell in love with the symbolism. In so many ways, and for some many reasons, Archie fights with his heart. When we examine physical fights Archie gets in, they are often matters of the heart. He is never violent without deeply emotional violation. He often uses his physicality on someone else's behalf- his way of showing he cares. Instead of a sleeve, Archie wears his heart on his boxing glove. There are probably dozens of layers to this sentiment that range from the fully literal interpretation I gave to an entirely psychological one, several steps removed from Archie's conscious thoughts. I think the visual provides enough for the viewer to pick and choose their metaphors, and they would probably be correct in their interpretation. If you saw the boneless board, you might have noticed I swapped the background of this photo. The plain background made me focus too much on the first and not enough on the heart, so to speak. It felt too cold. I wanted warmth, texture, and sentiment. I went with a photo of yellow flowers. Though they don't really read as flowers, the effect is there.

A view from inside the diner. Another fond memory. Or, if you choose, a stock photo chosen for its generic Americana charm. (It's both.)

Broad notes now! Like I said in the original post, I did this board instead of sleeping. I finished it about five minutes before my alarm went off and I had to get out of bed.

I wasn't 100% positive about the color scheme I'd end up with going in, but I knew I wanted Americana and primary colors, and I knew Archie's board would be less muted. I wanted it to feel like nostalgia in its least cynical form.

[fourseasonsfigs]

Springtime Snowy Mountain Frame (Handcrafted)

Today we have another piece from my favorite ultra light clay artist.

I had previously bought a scene-in-a-frame from this artist that was a little smaller, and a little more chibi style (Mid-Autumn, Snow Mountain Edition):

I really like the cute chibi style - you know cutie smiling figs are my weakness! But, I saw this little frame in her store and was immediately taken by how sweet the scene was. I do prefer full body figs, chibi or otherwise, so this half-body size was something I had to wrap my head around. Eventually I was like, wait, why am I dithering around about this? It made no sense! So I stopped, and tossed it into my cart.

The fig maker sent it in a hard box, and also well wrapped and padded to protect it. Additionally, once I unwrapped the plastic there was some synthetic cotton batting all around the figs. This is the infamous "pearl cotton". Why infamous?

Let me tell you, I was pulling out microscopically small, invisible coils of this stuff for AGES. I kept thinking I had gotten everything, and then I would take pictures and find a big coil threaded through their hair or curling around their neck, or tucked into one of those little folds.

The plaque wasn't affixed very strongly to the frame, and freely moved around. It ended up being held in place mostly by the little flower branch. I can't take this kind of anxiety, so out came the glue.

Before I fixed it into place, though, I thought I'd take a few pics so you could see the detail that it was hard to get otherwise.

Here we have the underside of the layers and layers of robes. Just amazing detail.

Without the frame I was able to get the best shot of Lao Wen's face.

I glued the piece down, and it's pretty solid. This thing isn't going anywhere anymore!

These little displays aren't easy to photograph, so I'm going to do my best to try and get as many angles as I can.

Here we have A-Xu's beautiful face with his hair utterly perfect, and the a rosy bloom in his cheeks. His hair really is amazing here, with some individual strands arranged into his neat high bun. He's also wearing a beautiful white pin in his black hair. I very much think of this as his married hairstyle!

A close up of the painting on the faces. I don't know how this artist manages to get so delicate a look, but she does an incredible job.

Here we get Lao Wen's mass of white hair, pulled back in his simple mountain hairstyle. A-Xu's hair also looks great from this angle! I also really like the open expression on his face - he looks light and free of worries and cares.

Lao Wen looks singularly focused on A-Xu's beautiful face. Who can blame him?

The top down angle gives a lot of nice detail on their hair styles - you can really see the bangs and the the wispy, soft look of the twists of hair. That hairpin alone is just so delicate.

For scale purposes, here the frame is with the original Snowy Mountain figs.

Material: Ultra light clay

Fig Count: 433

Scene Count: 30

Rating: Endless happiness

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

[marianomoreno]

7, 16, 19, 23, 26, 32

oof vin thank you so much <3333333 mwah

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

finding the perfect word or turn of phrase. i love editing i think more than "writing" itself (i dont see them as necessarily different processes), nothing excites me as much as writing and rewriting a passage until i read it and think Yes I Really Pulled This Off, maybe even "damn did EYE write this?". i love words and am eternally fascinated by how they mix and match and create image and sound and emotion.

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

honestly since theres always some paper lying around i havent had to resort to many weird things but i did once have to momentarily use things like knives or uh a package of sliced ham. hehe.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

i started writing as a small child, my parents made me love books from very young, everyone in my family would take turns reading to me 😭 i have very fond childhood memories of that. when i was very small before i knew how to write i would tell my grampa stories and dreams and hed write them down for me. then when i was a bit older i would make little booklets with mostly spy stories which was what i loved lmao. And then when i was around 10 i began drafting novels (and not finishing them)... HAVE i ever finished something longer than a short story. well no. thanks for asking. those are the bumps along the way i am more or less a slow writer and that means i end up getting really frustrated with long projects. ive been writing lh spn au for like 8 years now (DON'T TALK TO ME). i participate in various writing events to try and fight that lol. i dont know if this answers the question. maybe.

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

I don't have A Place in which i write but! for the sake of giving an answer. The room is big but untidy, books, paper, folded lawn chairs, a big collection of backpacks filled to the brim with paper. The computer is at the corner, between the foot of the bed and the window, and the window is open, and through the open window the cool night air flows. A cup of coffee on the black desk, to the left, a blunt to the right, no ashtray. The computer is a lot higher than the chair, so I sit with my legs under me so I can see the screen.

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

I'm a method actor when it comes to writing 😭 i think about the situation i focus on the feelings i try and relate to those same feelings in different ways, i experience them almost physically and then i try my best to put that physical emotion to the page. I'm not very cerebral when it comes to it, unlike with other things? I don't really regret it, i like experiencing a wide range of things even if those things are unseemly, i find great satisfaction in exploring those states of mind. cathartic!

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

I assume this means from someone else's writing. This line from Los días de la sombra is literally always on my mind. Death is a kindness, i suppose.

[erodasfishtacos]

Somethin’ To Write About

Prompt: MLB!Harry visits YN in the newspaper office after practice

Warnings: smut, 18 + minors DNI

If you would like to get two week early release, exclusive content/tropes, among other benefits - consider signing up for my Patreon for $3 a month :)

——

Harry and YN have been dating  for almost a year now.

It isn’t surprising that sometimes Harry is nearly insatisable with wanting YN because he had to wait for so long for to find her that now he couldn’t possibly get enough of her body.

YN isn’t much better because even though she’s been with other people, it had never been as electric and mind-blowing with anyone else - it wasn’t even an comparison, nothing and no one was even comparable.

Sometimes Harry finds his mind drifting off to daydream about her when he’s at practice, working out, in class, and he has to think of other sad thoughts so that he doesn’t get hard wherever he’s at.

She has that much of an affect on him.

Harry had a lot on his plate right now with baseball, he had some pretty important games coming up, and the whole university was relying on his to get them to victory.

He had class this morning but then went straight to the weight room before practice, he’d barely had time to stop, let along think but during a water break on the field - Harry jogs over to check his phone.

It had fallen all the way to the bottom of his duffle bag because he hadn’t touched it in hours now.

When he sees he has a message from YN, he unlocks his phone, and goes to his texts - his eyes nearly bug out of his head when he realizes it’s a picture.

Not just any picture though.

It’s a picture of her that looks like it was sent when she was getting ready this morning after she left the frat and went back to the dorm room she barely ever went to for long.

It’s a mirror selfie, it’s not necessarily the raunchiest picture ever but it’s still just down right obscene to him.

She’s in one of his shirts, as always, but the hand that isn’t holding the phone is drawing it upwards a bit - just enough to show off the soft, bite-able skin of her belly.

Her underwear was low on her hips, her plush hanging over the sides and he wants to leave bruises on them for days, her thighs thick and smooth.

The following text had said, miss you already ☹️

Cue a twitch.

Holy fuck, she was unfairly attractive.

And that was his.

He has to reign himself in for the rest of practice because he finds his mind wandering to those hips, to the thin skin of her inner thighs, to how pretty her puffy folds are -

Harry has to keep reminding himself to focus because all his mind is wanting him to do is think about his girlfriend which doesn’t mesh well with him needing to be the best player on the team.

When practice is over, he’s never run out of the showers sooner, and not staying to chat with any of his friends - even ditching Niall with no more than a wave before he’s headed towards Chancellor’s Hall.

YN is alone in the newspaper office as normal by this time, she was working on final edits, and waiting for Harry so that he could walk them back to his dorm.

”Hi baby,” YN smiles when he steps into the office, closing the door all the way, and switching the lock before he’s pulling down the little blind that blocks the window so no one can see in.

Confusion twists on her face as she watches him do that, he drops his duffle next to the door before he’s starting to stalk towards her.

“What‘s going on?” YN asks with a furrowed brow as she pushes away from her desk and spins her chair to face him more directly as he comes towards her.

”Wha’s going on in, I was trying to practice and I got a picture to my phone that distracted me,” Harry replies roughly, his voice was already getting deeper which was a telltale sign on his arousal.

YN still isn’t quite following, “It was just a mirror selfie?”

Harry chuckles lowly as he arrives in front her, his hand coming to lightly grip her jaw as she stares up at him, “A mirror selfie showing off your belly, your thighs, your hips.”

Cue YN giggles with a pleased expressions, “Oh my god. You’re so easy. I wasn’t even trying to be sexy. You just obsessed at this point.”

”You’re too pretty not to be obsessed with,” Harry hums as he bends down to kiss her - she responds instantly but squeaks out In surprise when he slips his tongue into her mouth and she realizes this isn’t just a peck.

”Harry,” YN pulls back to scold, a disapproving frown on her face as his lips just move along her jawline, down the column of her throat with want.

”What? You won’t give to me here? Can’t wait to get to the dorm,“ He responds with his hands moving to cup her breasts, feeling them out before he’s dipping under her shirt to pull down the cups of her bra and thumb at her nipples.

”We, oh- we shouldn’t,” YN gasps as he pinches at her hard peaks, flipping her shirt up and ducking down to wrap his lips around one - her hand automatically coming up to cradle the back of his head.

He gets a bit lost in it, switching back and forth to nip and suck at them while his other hand moves down to slip into the front of her leggings.

”Fuckin’ hell,” Harry groans when he feels the wet patch in the front of her panties, feels her swollen clit peeking through her folds, and pressing up against the the thin fabric of the material.

”We have to be quick, c’mon,” YN gets out through a moan when he starts pressing on her bud and feeling it out through the damp fabric.

”Yeah,” Harry drawls, his arousal just seeping through every inch of his body as he pulls her to stand up, they really could be caught if a janitor or another newspaper staff opens the door with a key.

YN moves to bend over the desk but Harry quickly shuts that down, “No, want to see you when I make you come.”

He shimmies the tight leggings and her underwear down her thighs until the clothing is just hanging off one ankle - giving him the room to lift her onto the desk and spread her legs for him.

Harry hurriedly tugs down his shorts before he’s stepping between her spread thighs, rubbing himself up and down her center for a moment before fucking in.

”Oh, H,” YN mewls in pleasure as his pace starts off fast and hard - the desk shaking and a jar of pens falling over in spilling as he grips her thighs and brings her into him over and over again.

“Stay quiet f’me, baby. Can’t get caught,” Harry pants against her lips as she claws at his back through his shirt, she smelled so good - like brown sugar and honey.

”Feels so good though,” She whines out when he hits her spot right on, keeping that rhythm and her legs curl around his hips as her tilts her head back and moans much too loudly .

“Baby, please,” Harry scolds again, he knows there may be other people in this building - he passed a few on the way in.

”M’close, gonna make me come, H,” YN tries to whisper but her voice is high pitch and shaky as the desk hits against the wall with each move.

”Okay, s’okay. Give it to me, sweet girl. Show me how much you love it,” He encourages, dipping down to rub at her clit and it sends her right over the edge.

She looked like an indecent work of art with her tennis shoes on, pants and underwear hanging off her ankle, her shirt up around her collarbones, and her bra cups pulled down.

Harry comes at the sight, muffling his moans into her shoulder as he rides out the waves of his orgasm.

”Should write an article ‘bout this,” Harry chuckles as he begins to clean her up.

YN rolls her eyes, kissing him one more time, and saying, “You’re really the naughty college frat guy hm? Fucking girls on the newspaper editors desk?”

Harry dimples at her, pleased at himself, “Am I that stereotypical if you’re the only one I’ve been with? Now let’s get out of here before the janitor comes.”

[beomglocks]

happy (very) 'belated' father’s day

summary : the only father willing to come to the dinner

pairing : dilf neighbor!soobin x (legal)!reader x beomgyu (?)

warnings & other: i wrote the day after fathers day, the title is edited bc im posting this like WAY later LOL, threesome (?), degradation, some beomgyu (no incest), sub!beomgyu if you squint like really fucking hard, definitely not a normal relationship, slight exhibitionism, some possessiveness, DON’T read if you’re uncomfortable with age gaps, edit: REwriting this, this one is for the dilf soobin stans, eat up, don't say i don't feed yall, enjoy <3, kind of proofread

w/c : ~4k

you realize it now.

after living side by side with mr. choi soobin and his son, beomgyu, for a couple of weeks, you’ve started to realize something quite interesting.

1. your mother has a liking for tall lean men.

2. she also has a liking for trying to set you up with the tall lean mens’ son.

now, you wouldn't say you're exactly opposed to getting close to beomgyu. he's conventionally attractive and he seems like a nice boy but you're very much more attracted to the one who created him. it made sense after all.

"give these to mr. choi for me?" your mother all but shoves the roses and chocolates in your arms. you look down quizzically at such gifts. "it's not valentine's day.." you trail off.

you have a strange feeling that soobin would be put off by such acts, not seeming to be as out there as your mother. she doesn't care.

"it's fathers day..well it was...yesterday," she shrugs, fixing her bombshell red lipstick. why was she doing herself up? well a certain mr. choi was coming over.

despite the fact that your own father was out of the picture, that didn't stop your mom from wanting to celebrate every holiday in existence. unfortunately, the only willing father in town to partake in your mother's antics was mr. choi.

he liked to rile her up, you notice. soobin liked to toy with your mother's clear affection towards him, just as he did you. he also liked to throw it in your face sometimes. you didn't say what you observed but you knew he liked to make her feel wanted by a much younger, much more handsome man.

without another word, you decide to give the outlandish gifts to your neighbor. you sigh, looking down at the gifts. some assorted chocolates, nice flower arrangements, and what seems to be a sealed note? you want to roll your eyes but a part of you wonders if soobin would really like these kinds of things.

when you get to the door and ring the bell, the door swings open and there's stands the man himself. he's more put together than you at the moment so you feel out of place even at the front step of his house.

"always a pleasant surprise~" he smiles. his eyes trail down to the gifts in your arms. "for me?" his eyes grow wide and his pouty lips, the ones which you suddenly can't stop staring at since they seemed to be stained cherry red, lay slightly agape.

"from my mom," you deadpan, holding the gifts out. "she's generous~" "overbearing," you correct. "we seem to have different views then," he shrugs. "where's my gift from you though? this can't be all," he ponders in faux thought.

you smile shyly, looking down in embarrassment. "what did you get me baby?" he teasingly leans down closer to you to properly see your face. "could it be perhaps-"

before soobin can place a hand on you, beomgyu comes from downstairs. he's looking sharp, which suits him a lot, you admit. his hair is parted, giving you a teasing view of his forehead. regardless of the fact that he's wearing casual clothes, a stark contrast from his father who dawns an all black attire, beomgyu still manages to make it work for him.

"we'll be seeing you at the dinner," soobin clears his throat, noticing your apparent staring at his son. you can tell that he feels off put by your slight attraction to beomgyu. however small or minuscule it may be its still there to him.

the dinner goes almost exactly how you thought it would. soobin and your mother hit it off, talking about whatever they could to distract themselves from their children for a while. to your surprise soobin barely interacts with you. he seems too occupied with entertaining your mom to pay you any mind.

you're not sure why but this bothers you. beomgyu is occupied in the bathroom at the moment so you can't help but glance in their direction every couple of seconds. your mom is currently leaning against soobin's broad shoulder, laughing at something he's previously said. so he’s a comedian.

you watch as he looks down at her with a satisfied smile on his face. you bite the inside on your cheek and as if on cue, soobin looks up in your direction and smirks. it's almost as if he's taunting you. you bite down harder until you taste something metallic in your mouth.

you're not sure where this feeling of jealously is coming from and you know it's not healthy but you can't help it. maybe you've gotten too attached to your older neighbor in these past couple of weeks.

beomgyu comes out of the restroom with a sigh, walking back into the living room where you are. he can feel a weird tension in your general area but decides not to comment on it. suddenly you stand up, catching beomgyu off guard.

"come on beomgyu!" you say loud enough for everyone to hear especially soobin. the man in question practically pauses in speech midway to look over at you and his son. he eyes you both, mainly giving you a glare that will be engraved in your mind but you don't care. he needs a taste of his own medicine.

"come on let's go to my room, i need to show you something~" you urge him along. meanwhile, you say those words while staring straight at soobin. you hear your mom assure him that it's ok, "the kids are doing their own thing." you knew you were being childish and petty but if soobin wanted to fuck around with you this is what he would have to deal with as well.

you drag beomgyu along to your room who seems quite eager to be in this position. all he knows is that there's a weird tension between you and his father but that's as far as his knowledge goes.

when you both arrive at your room you close the door behind you and lean back on it. "is everything alright?" beomgyu hesitantly asks. you sigh, ushering him along to sit on the bed with you. he looks around subtly at all the little items in your room. everything seems to reflect you well, in his opinion. "well.." you try to stall.

you look up at him through your lashes. "you like me right?" beomgyu stares at you with wide eyes, "i-i mean yeah?" he stutters at your boldness.

"then lets try something," you smile at him, casually pulling your shirt over your head. "let's see how long it takes for your dad to come see us in this position," you say to yourself.

soobin doesn't need to be a rocket scientist to know what's going on here. he knows you're being a brat on purpose but he doesn't care because it makes it all the more fun. he will say he's surprised that you're using beomgyu, his own son, to get to him.

at first, he was getting annoyed with how you seemed to take a liking for his son which is why he wanted to rile you up by seeming extra interested in whatever your mom had to say. now, however, he knew he had a plan for that. you were not going to outsmart him, he wouldn't allow it and he would just have to put you in your place.

"excuse me but i need to use your restroom," soobin makes up a bullshit excuse to get to where you are. "oh of course!" your mom nods at him, instructing him towards the one upstairs. perfect.

"ill just finish up the dinner then!" your mother offers. "great that's enough time to put this slut in her place," he thinks. he smiles at your mom heading for upstairs.

"beomgyu you look like you just saw a ghost," you chuckle lightly, looking down at him. "y/n," he groans at the sight of only seeing you in your bra. he reaches up to grab your breasts, fondling them as delicately as possible. "you can be rough," you offer.

without even bothering to knock on the door, soobin opens it to see you both on the bed in a lewd position. you shirtless on top of beomgyu. he sucks his teeth when you both look back in alarm at the door being burst open. "y/n," he chuckles, almost sadistically.

you can already see the look in his eyes and suddenly you feel bad for not only yourself but beomgyu as well. you try to subtly grab your shirt again in shame but soobin's glare stops you. "what do you think you're doing little slut?" he folds his arms over his chest. not even caring that beomgyu is in the room, he walks over to you and grabs your hair causing you to yelp in surprise.

"s-sir.." soobin narrows his eyes at you then they flit over to beomgyu. "sit over there," he motions to the beanbag in the corner of the room. "i want you to learn something from this." without another word, beomgyu scrambles over to the seat, his heart beating in fear and excitement strangely.

you feel heat rising up your neck and to your cheeks as well as your dripping pussy. "don't be embarrassed, im sure this was your plan all along," soobin tsks, shoving your face down into the sheets. you breathe out when he rips the skirt and underwear from your body without a second thought. the racy thong that was supposed to be his surprise for father's day discarded in a second.

"soobin-" a smack to your ass. "that's not my name."

he doesn't even give you a chance to correct yourself, messing with your sticky juices before entering his cold fingers into your hole. you try to stifle your moan by burying your head further into the sheets.

"god you're so wet," soobin comments. he slowly moves his finger in and out for a while, practically torturing you with how meticulous and slow he's being. "please," you whine pathetically. "please what?" he slows his movements to stare at you with a raised eyebrow.

"please f-fuck me, please, i need your cock," you beg shamelessly. beomgyu breathes heavily, trying to forget about his growing boner but not being able to ignore it. he painfully wants to do something about it but he's not sure if he's allowed to touch himself.

he opts for subtly dragging his hand to his clothed crotch and palming himself through his pants, as uncomfortable as it is. in the meantime, soobin rids himself of his own pants, shaking his head.

he lightly smacks your throbbing pussy and you jolt. "do you seriously think you deserve it? fuck, look at you, can’t wait to be fucked like a bitch in heat~" you whine, wiggling your ass wordlessly in his face to hopefully get what you want.

soobin rubs your clit with narrowed eyes, making sure beomgyu is watching. he could care less that beomgyu is touching himself. he drags some of your cum from your hole to your clit and sighs. "alright then.."

he aligns himself with your hole and without another word slips his cock in with ease, completely bottoming out.

you want to scream at how big he is but you're only left with ragged pants as you know you're unable to make any loud noises. it seriously feels like you could be torn apart at any minute but you love the feeling of soobin’s cock filling you out.

"you're so tight seriously," soobin breathes. he can barely move at first. the way his dick fits inside of your pussy perfectly. he almost wants to comment about how you were practically made for him. he's sure if he flips you over right now, he would see the outline of his cock in your womb.

after waiting a bit for you to adjust to his length he finally starts moving. "shit-" he breathes. you have to grip the sheets to stop yourself from yelling. soobin's hands find their way to your waist and when you look to the side just for a split second you can see beomgyu fighting for his life to not moan out loud.

"look beomgyu-" soobin says in between jagged breaths. "if you wanna fuck around with his pathetic slut this is how you treat her." a moan gets caught in your throat when soobin pounds into you at once. "ah- i-" a part of you wants to apologize and is trying to but he won't give you a chance to speak.

"isn't that right my slutpuppy? did you have something to add?" at the sound of the nickname your walls tighten around him and he sends a harsh smack to your ass. "you're enjoying this aren't you?" he rolls his eyes and sighs heavily.

soobin thrusts start getting faster and faster, beomgyu watching with his mouth agape at his father kissing and sucking at your neck to muffle his own moans. beomgyu can only bite his lip and noises from his throat barely pass his lips as he reaches his high.

soobin growls at seeing your eyes focus on beomgyu so he starts slamming his cock into you at an animalistic pace and you think you might break.

beomgyu bucks into his hand as he cums from the sound and sight of skin slapping added with the tiny noises you'd make. not too long after you feel yourself shudder, unable to warn soobin that you had come you squeeze your eyes shut and let out a whine instead.

"fuck- ok baby," soobin understands as soon as your walls squeeze around him. he pants a couple a times and as soon as he reaches his high he pulls out, pumping his cock to let his cum shoot out on your ass.

"s-sir," you moan. "shhh it's ok." soobin sighs heavily, coming down from his own high to tend to your broken state. he looks over at beomgyu, who's head is lulled to the side as he gazes at your sweat and semen covered body.

soobin sucks his teeth deciding not to say anything to the boy and let him chill for a minute. he shrugs his pants back on and carries you in his arms to the nearest bathroom.

you cozy up to his warm embrace, letting out a sigh. "baby we need to clean you off.." you hear him whisper. you almost completely forget that there's a dinner that's supposed to be happening and you cant just go to sleep with soobin like you'd want.

a sudden coldness hits your body and you shiver. "ok," you agree. his cum is already starting to dry on you and you want nothing more than to be cleaned like he offers. you're not sure how you'll explain your change of clothes to your mom but you're sure you'll come up with something later.

no words need to be spoken after what happened and you're glad because you're not sure what to say. soobin doesn't seem keen on talking at the moment either, too focused on cleaning you off, so you decide to stay quiet.

it's silent in the bathroom until you both hear your mother all out. "dinner's ready!"

you chuckle, breaking the silence as soobin looks up at you with a questioning eyebrow. “happy father’s day.”

[pemfrost]

Prompts: Superhero Photographer Peter Parker au. (whether or not he has powers or someone else like ben riley or miles (or whoever else you like) is spiderman and peter is just his nurse/suit guy.) Could be spideydevil. Maybe people shipping spidey and peter if their the same. fanfics being made. Peter parker not getting paid enough for this. Just have fun with it. Matt's friends making fun of the photos of him. unspoken rule of you don't screw with Peter. Btw have you seen moon knight? I been watching it. It's amazing. (Sorry if I asked this already I'm not sure if I did or not.)

I took a few liberties with the prompt n.n"

Sorry this took so long! I'm dealing with some stuff, but this was a nice distraction :)

Yes! Moonknight has been my husband's favorite comic for years and he's so excited to have more merch and fan content now. I never really got into the comics, but enjoyed what I did read. The show has been fantastic so far, thoroughly enjoying it!

This is a rough draft, I'll post it to ao3 whenever I get around to cleaning it up n.n I do have a part two in mind, so hopefully I'll get time to write that soon.

Back in highschool Peter would take photos of himself as Spider-Man by setting up a camera with a timer. It was simple, but those early photos earned him some money, some respect, and most importantly some plausible deniability whenever someone started to suspect he may be Spider-Man. But, pictures only did so much as the years went on. They're easy to steal, to take credit for- hard to sell.

Harder to monetize.

And Peter needed money. Not a lot, but enough to get by. Between college and his time as Spider-Man, Peter didn't have much time for a part time job. Being a hero didn't exactly pay the bills unless you unmasked, made deals, sold toys- none of which Peter was keen on doing. Someone somewhere was getting rich off selling Spider-Man merch but it sure wasn't him.

"Oh, that's him!" A small group of students near the biology lab gawked at Peter before folding into their group to whisper excitedly against the painted cinder block wall.

Peter was still trying to get used to the new attention.

Selling photographs might not make much money nowadays, but videos sure did. With some clever editing he was able to 'interview' himself, complete with action shots of Spider-Man swinging onto the rooftop where Peter pretended to wait. The short segments got him enough clicks on YouTube and tiktok to make decent enough money. He wasn't going to be rich anytime soon -or ever- but it paid the bills. He just hadn't banked on becoming so well known as Peter Parker.

The whispers got worse with each video. As his video's hits began to be measured in the millions, Peter began to wonder if it was time to stop. Truth be told, if some of his friends had it their way he never would have started.

"Hey, Petey!" A guy he vaguely recognized from around campus threw an overly familiar arm around his shoulders. His blonde hair was buzzed short and he reeked of too-strong body spray. "Mind asking Spidey something for me next time? I just wanna know how he deals with sweat when it drips down his-"

"I'll see what I can do," Peter said as he squirmed out of the embrace and made a hasty retreat down the hall to his last class. He just needed to get through his next class and he'd be home free until Monday.

“Hey-Yo!” The guy’s friend called after him, slightly too loud in the crowded hall. “Are you guys a couple? Like, why does he let YOU have access?” A few other students nearby murmured their own versions of the question as Peter disappeared around a corner.

Peter felt his face heat up, clenching his jaw to ground himself. Had he really fucked up that bad? That people thought- Well, if it wasn’t so dangerous he would have found it hilarious.

Thankfully, no one else approached him directly during class, afterwards, or on his way to the subway. Instead of heading home, he ventured to Matt's apartment for some much needed advice.

While M.J. would be the most obvious choice of friend to turn to for advice on such matters, Peter was taking any excuse he could muster to spend more time with Matt. He met Matt two years ago while Peter was a sophomore and they instantly hit it off. Two nerds who needed companionship while they studied, kindred spirits in more ways than they knew. They stayed in touch even when Matt started law school and then barely had time for much more than study sessions over takeout. Over the years their friendship brought them closer together, and now teetered on the edge of something more. Peter could feel it. Yet, neither of them gave voice or action to the desire which echoed in every lingering touch and longing gaze.

Bringing up the videos would lead to an interesting discussion. Peter would need to dance around the fact that he, Peter Parker, was, in fact, Spider-Ma. Despite their close friendship, Matt was not privy to such a personal detail of Peter’s life and he was desperate to keep it that way.

The walk from the subway to Matt’s apartment gave Peter plenty of time to sort his thoughts and come up with a rudimentary solution to his predicament. As he stepped off the elevator, Peter heard Matt’s roommate’s voice from down the hall.

“Well, then maybe you should tell him instead of being an overprotective baby about it!” Foggy shouted into the apartment before slamming the door behind himself. He slung a heavy looking messenger bag over his shoulder and made his way towards the elevator as Peter stepped off.

“Ah, hey Foggy!” Peter greeted, keeping his foot in the door to hold the elevator.

“Peter.” Foggy nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. “Any new Spidey videos?”

Peter groaned. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Foggy just laughed as the elevator doors closed.

Peter knocked slightly on Matt’s door as he turned the knob, correctly assuming it was unlocked. “Hey, Matt! Thought I’d swing over and study for my microbiology test.” He waited for Matt’s grunt of acknowledgement from the couch before he fully stepped into the familiar apartment.

Matt’s own classwork was splayed across the coffee table, thick law reference books at either end and a dozen or so individual documents organized in the middle. “You’re welcome to the chair. I need this space for a case study.” Matt leaned back, stretching his neck.

“Ah, I won’t distract you then.” He tossed his bag next to the oversized chair across from the couch. “What was Foggy yelling about?”

Matt stiffened slightly before shrugging, “Nothing. Why?” His nose crinkled as he raised a lip, “How much did you hear?”

“Nothing, really. Something about an overprotective baby? It’s not important, we should study.” He made a show of loudly pulling out his laptop.

They studied in silence for a while before Matt dropped one of his books to the table with a loud thud and blurted out, “You’re going to get yourself hurt!”

“Uh…”

“These… videos. Getting that close to a hero like that is going to make you a target. I warned you the first time you showed your face on them! It was fine when it was just your voice- but Peter! Spider-Man has enemies. Enemies who would use you to get to him.”

“Uh…” Peter blinked, not sure what to make of Matt’s outburst. “Why would some baddy want anything to do with some amature video guy like me? It’s not like they target M.J. anytime she interviews an avenger.”

“M.J. isn’t friends with them!”

“Who said I’m friends with Spider-Man?”

“Everyone! Some are saying you’re dating him- why else would you have such access to him?”

“I-” Huh, Peter hadn’t really thought about the optics before the comments made that morning. He was hoping to bring it up more eloquently, but Matt did give him the perfect opportunity to solicit advice. “People will always spread rumors, founded or not. How do I get them to stop… without actually stopping?”

Matt recoiled. “As your future lawyer, I advise you to stop. The rumors will never stop, and you’ll always be a target. You could be liable for any legal issues Spider-Man may cause if you knowingly withhold information. You- you could be compelled to reveal his identity.”

“But-”

Matt held up a hand. “End of discussion. I don’t want to know anymore.” He shifted his body to angle slightly away from Peter.

“Geeze. This is the worst ‘I told you so’ you’ve ever given me. What gives?” Peter crossed his arms and leaned back into the chair. He knew Matt couldn’t see him pout, but he stuck out his bottom lip for good measure.

“I need to study this case.” Matt squared his shoulders back and repositioned himself, gliding a finger over the document closest to him.

Peter scoffed, “Let’s pretend that you don’t have that basically memorized already. It won’t hurt you to take a five minute break and talk to me.”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Matt’s tone was firm. “Didn’t you say you came to study?”

“I came to ask you for advice, actually.” Peter shoved his laptop back into his bag. “I’ll leave you to your case study, then.”

“You don’t need to go.” Matt tilted his head, the closest to an apology Peter could expect while the other man was so agitated.

Peter hesitated. He didn’t want to be a burden, or a distraction. It probably had been a bad idea to ask Matt for advice anyway, he’d voiced his objection back when he was still just selling photos.

Matt sighed, visibly deflating. “I don’t have any advice to give you, Pete. At least none I haven't already given.”

“I know. I guess I should ask someone else.” He sat on the edge of his seat, still unsure if he should stay or go. “I don’t want to stop, Matt. I make good enough money from the ad revenue alone on these videos.”

“Then the rumors will continue as well. As will the comments and the jokes.”

Peter winced. “People will forget. Eventually."

"Villains won't. Will your boyfriend be able to guarantee your safety?" There was a sour note in Matt's voice.

Did Matt think… "That's not-" He stopped himself. What could he say to make Matt believe him? Besides the truth?

Matt stood and motioned towards the door. "Perhaps it would be best if we study independently."

Peter's mind raced. He didn't want to leave, especially not when Matt seemed so aggravated with him. "Matt, I-"

"Peter, please."

And what could Peter do except leave? Confess? Stop the endless dancing and tell Matt he was falling in love with him? Or, throw all his cards on the table and give Matt the complete truth?

Peter hung his head. Neither. He could do neither. For all the same reasons Matt wanted him to stop his films. He would never let Matt become a target because of him. So, without any other options, Peter grabbed his bag and shuffled out the door.

--

Thanks for reading ❤️

[ironmanfridgemagnet]

Sitting On The Shelf - Marcus White x Reader

Part 29 - Mateo's Last Day

SOTS Masterlist

"Oh I don't get it. Is he transferring or dying?" Garrett scoffed as the clips over Mateo helping a variety of different customers flashed across the screen. You weren't sure how long you'd been crowded in the breakroom to watch Mateo's leaving video for, but you knew that it was for far too long.

"How did you even get those clips?" You asked, leaning back to look at Mateo who only shushed you, his eyes entirely focused on the video montage of himself that was playing on the breakrooms tv screen. "Did you film them yourself or did you hire someone? Did Glenn do it?"

Bringing your mug of coffee to your lips, you took a long sip, allowing the warmth to fill you. Marcus had dropped you off at work on his way back home from your place, and his car - still missing it's doors - had made you freezing cold, to the point where you may as well have not been wearing you hoodie and Marcus's jacket, or your scarf and matching hat. You'd never been more thankful to walk into a cram-packed breakroom where Garrett had a cupful of coffee waiting for you.

"Yeah, Glenn, this is terrible." Dina scoffed, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had slowly dwindled down as she waited for the video to end, a glare now being shot in Glenn's direction at its longevity. 

"Oh, I didn't make it. Mateo did." Of course Mateo had made it; he was never one for subtlety, or for doing the bare minimum, so it made sense he'd put so much effort and time into his own goodbye video. Although, the more of it you watched, the more it started to feel like some kind of obituary at a funeral. 

"Shh! Pay attention." Mateo snapped, his eyes never leaving the screen as silence fell over the breakroom so that they could really take in his everlasting last words. "What am I gonna miss the most? Uh, the people? They're salt of the earth. Simple, basic. Just sort of harmless. Am I scared? Of course I'm scared."

"Wait, so um, who's asking you these questions?" A laugh slipped past Amy's lips as she asked the question that everyone had been thinking. She stifled the laugh behind her hand's as Mateo snapped his head to look pointedly at her. However, his eyes quickly returned to the screen, a shot of his taking his shirt off that was clearly edited eliciting gasps across the breakroom. 

"That is not your chest." Garrett scoffed, everyone in disbelief at the image that they had just seen of a chiselled and defined chest that was obviously not Mateo's. Mateo however, could not disagree more, his insistent that it was him making Garrett scoff again and even harder. "Then take off your shirt."

"I had a big breakfast." Mateo defended, rolling his eyes and folding his arms across his chesty as he turned back to the video as the screen began to fade to black My advice? I guess it would be leaving every place you work at a little bit better than when you found it. Did I do that here? Who can say? Yes. I think I did.

"Well, that was a massive waste of time."

"Okay, moving on. We have not had a tornado drill in eight years, so we really should..." As Glenn started to work his way through the morning announcements, the screen  buzzed to life again, baby pictures of Mateo flashing across it as he began to monologue once more. Groans echoed around the breakroom as people sunk into their seats and threw their heads back in exasperation, Mateo's agitating, grating voice reverberating around the room once more.

"How is it not over yet?"

————————————————————————

You finally managed to escape the breakroom, Mateo's awfully long leaving video over, and made your way to the display near housewares to set up a new one, alongside Jonah, Cheyenne and the man of the hour himself, Mateo. Taking yet another box from  Mateo, who was sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the display and resting against the box trolley, you placed the box on the table inside of the display, ripping it open and pulling out a stack of plates.

"You know, I feel kinda bad that I got promoted and you guys didn't." Mateo flaunted, sitting against the display and not helping the rest of you to make it. However, the fact that it was his last day made you feel much more lenient then usual.

"Oh, is getting transferred because you're sleeping with Jeff considered a promotion?" Jonah sassed, eliciting a gasp from you that you smuggled under your breath as a cough. Meeting his eyes, you mouthed a conversation at each other, unaware that Cheyenne and Mateo were doing the exact same thing behind you. It was just loose lipped comment from people annoyed at Mateo unusually snarkier self on his last day in the St. Louis store;  but even that was quickly stopped as Jeff approached the four of you.

"Hey, there you are. Got your transfer paperwork right here. So just go ahead and fill that out and get it turned in to me with your Social Security card and we're good to go." Jeff handed a stack of sheets to Mateo, pulling off the top two and handing them out to you. After realising that they were being passed to you - of all people - you approached Jeff cautiously, taking them from Jeff's hands and skim reading over them. "Oh, and, Y/n I've got these disclosure forms for you and Marcus. All you've got to do is tick which box applies."

"Great, doesn't sound too hard." You weren't aware that you had to fill any kind of paperwork or form in after disclosing your relationship with Marcus, however, you weren't opposed; especially when it seemed that you only had to fill in a few piece of personal information and the nature of your relationship. 

Flicking through your two forms with Jonah, you stole a pen from his shirt pocket, clicking it open and beginning to fill out your details on one of the forms. Jonah came to stand with you, leaning over your shoulder as you leant against the table, and wrote things down onto the piece of paper. Thankfully, the disclosure form was quite easy to fill out, and after ticking the box defining your relationship as 'romantic' you moved on to filling out Marcus's form for him in his absence, knowing the details by heart.

As you finished up filling out both forms, you looked up to hand them back to Jeff to find him already gone, and a deflated Mateo left in his place. "Do undocumented people have documents?"

"No. No, we don't." You had missed out on whatever conversation had just unravelled between Jeff and Mateo, however, it clearly was serious as the mood had entirely soured and Mateo had just murmured a secret that could be completely lifechanging in the worst possible way if news got out.

"Wait, Mateo's undocumented?!"

————————————————————————

"Yes! So that's it." You had migrated to the breakroom, your whispered exclamation unnerving Mateo more then he already had been and sending him into a spiral of realisation as to what his un-documentation truly meant for his job, and potentially even his relationship. "Corporate's gonna find out that my documents are fake. I'm gonna get deported. And Jeff is gonna get back together with his ex. Oh, congratulations, Chad. You win."

"You know what? Maybe you should try talking to Jeff. Maybe he could he could, like, fudge the paperwork or something." Jonah's suggestion, not unlike normal, was useless in the grand scheme of the situation. Sure, a forged set of paperwork might help right now, but then what? What happens when that gets found out? And then its found out that Mateo is undocumented? Every course of action seemed like a slippery slope into revealing Mateo's secret to the world.

"Mmm. Great idea. "Hey Jeff, you know how you're barely even allowed to date me? Well surprise, turns out you're also illegally employing me."" 

Turning to face Jonah in your circle of trust, you looked at him in disbelief. The knowledge you'd gained was hard to come to terms with; more so in the fact that Mateo was at risk as long as anybody knew. "I just can't believe Jonah managed to keep that a secret... from anyone. Let alone me."

"And I'd marry you if I could. But I'm supposed to marry Bo and he already bought a tie." Cheyenne's reasoning was flawed, but the sentiment was what mattered in this moment. Mateo needed all the support he good get in terms of keeping things under wraps and ensuring he could continue life as if it was never an issue.

"I know I'm not your usual type  but I'm down to marry you Mateo." You offered, however, quickly began to retract on your statement slightly as you remembered that you were meant to be in a committed relationship that was supposed to get ran by corporate later today. "I'd probably have to run it by Marcus first though."

"That's okay. Thanks anyway." You wrapped an arm around Mateo's waist, giving him a tight squeeze and allowing him to rest his head against your shoulder, It didn't rest for long though, as his head shot up to face Jonah as he began to talk.

A hand was holding his chin, rubbing nervously at the flesh as he seemed deep in thought. "You know what? Screw it. I'll do it. I'll marry you."

"Ew."

————————————————————————

The four of you had moved your efforts and scheming over to electronics, the group of you crowding around a MacBook in hopes of finding some kind of legal loophole to Mateo situation that would allow him to suddenly gain a visa. However, you were still holding onto the idea of a proposal, knowing other options would probably be limited and short-term. 

"So you're not a refugee. You're not a special agricultural worker. Any interest in joining the military?" Jonah listed items off of the screen, scrolling further and further down the government website page in hopes of finding a solution to Mateo's lack of documentation. 

"Hmm, I don't trust myself with a weapon. I would like killing too much." Choosing to ignore the comment from Mateo, you went back to reading the government websites guidelines, your head pressed against Jonah's shoulder as your tried to crowd around the one computer screen.

"Oh, or you could just get beat up." While Cheyenne's face seemed to light up at the observation, Mateo's darkened, his brown creasing and jaw tightening. Running her finger across the screen, Cheyenne highlighted exactly what it was that she had seen to make her say such a thing. ""Person may be eligible for a special U.N. visa "if they are a victim of a violent crime, such as an assault.""

"That's crazy. I can't believe that's real." Jonah mused, an arm wrapping across your shoulders as you gaped down at the laptop screen, unbelieving in the fact it could be that simple to attain a visa. Sure, it wouldn't be fun to get beat to all hell, however, it was a much simpler and quicker method to getting a visa. 

"So I would just need to get punched." Mateo hadn't seemed to quite grasp the severity of the punch he would need to receive in order to get a visa out of it. Besides, by the time he'd need to show his social security card to Jeff, you doubted his 'special U.N visa' would be read

"No, it seems like you'd have to get your ass beat pretty bad."

"I could ask Marcus to come and beat you up so you can get your visa." You offered, Mateo's face scrunching up in disgust at your words; you were only trying to help, and, besides, it wasn't like Marcus wouldn't be capable of delivering a visa-worthy beating, you had seen his arms. "What? He's a hunk of a guy - and he's won four of the five street fights he's been in this month."

"Or, if you don't wanna get your ass beat, I'm still willing to marry you." Jonah countered your offer with one of his own, seemingly forgetting that Mateo had previously rejected his proposal at the thought of it alone.

"Oh, thank you, Jonah." Mateo sounded strangely relieved at the news, a deep breath leaving him as his hands fell to his sides. "When you put it like that the ass beating doesn't sound so bad."

————————————————————————

"What about "Sexual co-workers"?" Jonah offered his title to Dina and Garrett, who's whiteboard filled with labels for their relationship had gathered quite the crowd of forcible onlookers. 

Taking a bite into the sandwich you had picked up from the deli on your way over to the breakroom, you looked at your phone screen, not entirely focused - or caring about - the discussion that was going on in the background. If it was important, you were certain Garrett, or Dina, would call out for you by name.

"Awful." Dina scoffed, pulling the whiteboard marker away from the board at the distaste of Jonah's suggestion. From his right, you hit your hand against his arm, laughing at his suggestion as though you could come up with anything better for their 'situationship' - relationship even being too much of a word.

Garrett's face contorted into a frown at Jonah's suggestion, hoping that one of his best friends would have had at least an okay suggestion for his problem. "Just say you don't care."

"What about "Friends with-" Before Sandra could even put forward her suggestion, she was cut off by an agitated Dina and Garrett, who seemed quite unimpressed with her suggestions thus far.

"Say "Friends with benefits" one more time and see what happens." Dina wasn't one to hold back on threats against her subordinates - especially if it meant putting them back in their place, or for just casual conversation with employees who happened to be called Sandra.

"I was gonna say "Friends with" something else."

"Really?" It was obvious she hadn't being going to say something else. But under Dina's intense gaze and threatening aura, you too would try and protect yourself as much as possible. "What were you gonna say?"

Focusing more intensely on the sandwich you had been picking at, you returned your focus to your phone, reading through Marcus's responses to the messages you had sent telling him about your day so far. He'd so far thanked you for filling out his form for him, and had teased you about the fact you hadn't questioned the nature of your relationship. Romantic, he had replied, sounds like you want me to be your boyfriend or something. Taking another bite of your sandwich, you began to type back a response, heat warming your cheeks at the mention of Marcus being your boyfriend, the whole thing still not feeling entirely real to you. Unfortunately, your attention was quickly pulled away from your half eaten lunch, and boyfriend, by Garrett calling your name. "Y/n, you got any ideas?"

"I don't know, Gare. I just ticked 'romantic' on my form." Flashing the pair an apologetic smile, they seemed to be more receptive to your uselessness to the situation. "It would be good if they just had an 'other' box for these kind of situations."

"My friends and I would say that you guys are just chilling." Cheyenne added, the wildly different understanding of relationship status shocking the majority of the breakroom. Being just slightly older then Cheyenne, that line of thought wasn't entirely new to you, however, you could've sworn that just chilling was more so mouth stuff.

"Wait, full-on sex is now considered just chilling?" Jonah was astounded by the revelation, turning to Cheyenne with a wide-eyed expression of curiosity. 

"Uh-huh, and mouth stuff is hanging out, and hand stuff is pretty much, I like you but just as a friend." So that explained it, seems things had only escalated in the few years since you'd dropped out of high school: that time had slipped through your fingers without you even realising, only strange moments like these grounding you to the fact it had passed at all.

"Hmm. Wow, times have changed."

————————————————————————

Jonah was practically refusing to leave Mateo to his own devices, after leaving the breakroom and your lunch break behind, he'd chased him around the whole store with you hot on his tail, in a effort to get him to say yes to the easiest - and most painless - option of marrying him. "Come on! No, I'm not gonna beat you up."

"Oh, so you'd just rather I get kicked out of the country? I thought you were my friend." Mateo snapped, sounding as fed up with Jonah as you were at his insistence of Mateo's hand in marriage. There were other options and routes that Mateo could take, and you truly hoped he found one sooner rather then later; but that didn't mean he had to marry Jonah on the off chance other things didn't work out.

"I am your friend." Jonah stressed, a hand running down across his face as the three of you came to a standstill at an endcap. "That's why I offered to marry you."

"For the last time, I will not marry you, Jonah!" Silence seemed to settle over the entire aisle as customers stopped left and right to listen in to the conversation that was going on between the two men, the loud exclamation attracting more attention to the discussion then it had acquired previously. 

"I, I don't wanna marry him. I just think that he should wanna marry me." Jonah tried to excuse his actions to the crowd of customers who had just been going about their days prior to his and Mateo's too loud argument. "Never mind. Keep shopping."

"Look, I know you don't want to hurt me, but not doing this is hurting me. So if you're really my friend, please, beat the hell out of me." Mateo walked off with his final plea to Jonah, and it left you wondering why he hadn't taken you up on your offer to bring Marcus down to the store to come and beat him up. Maybe he hoped it would be a gentle beating, but enough of one to get him the visa - in which case you believed Jonah was the man for the case.

Loping your pinkie finger around Jonah's, you tugged him back in the direction of the breakroom to find your coats, hats and scarfs. Any physical fight within the store was best down out the back of the warehouse; the hidden and closed off back of the store the epitome of privacy, however, at any time of year, it proved incredibly cold. 

"It's okay, J. If we're both single when I turn 30, we can get married." Jonah quirked his eyebrow at you, surprised by the offer, though after everything the two of you had been through together, it didn't seem entirely inappropriate. "Since you're so desperate by the sounds of things."

With a laugh, you continued dragging him in the direction of the breakroom, pretending not to his his comment about how he wasn't desperate and was only trying to be a good friend.

————————————————————————

Jonah was practically running through the back of the store, determined to just get it over with and filled with anxiety about the whole situation. Though he'd never been one to handle stressful situations well, it was clearly, and quickly, seeming to get to him, his hands beginning to shake. You knew if you asked he'd blame it on the cold. 

Crashing into the door that lead out into the loading dock parking lot, Jonah pushed it open with the weight of his body, voice trembling as he pushed out into ice-cold. "Okay, let's do this. Let's rumble."

Jonah immediately created space between himself and the rest of you, running on the spot before leaning down and touching his toes. As he took in loud and deep breathes in a repetitive motion, he began to do deep lunges, stretching out his legs as he got ready to fight Mateo. "Why are you stretching your legs?"

"That's where the power comes from."

"Okay. How do you want to do this?" Mateo was bracing himself for what was to come, his face tightly scrunched up as though Jonah would punch him at any moment. It was quickly becoming a strange display to watch: Jonah trying to psych himself up and Mateo getting ready for what was to come and the visa that awaited him on the other side of it.

"Uh, I don't know. I'm not really much of a fighter." Jonah was becoming increasingly fidgety as time progressed, his hands alternating between forming fists and wringing at the flesh of his neck in nervousness. Cheyenne had looped her arm through your own, the two of you watching on in scared wait. Only God knows what could transpire in the next few minutes.

"I guess just start with a punch in the face?" Even Mateo was unsure of what to do in the fight he had planned, organised and was about to execute. It was a completely irrational idea. At his hesitance, Mateo rolled his eyes,  scoffing at the worried brunette. "Oh, come on. Uh, don't think of it as a hate crime."

"Well, I wasn't. But now I am."

"You could just stomp on his head." Cheyenne suggested suddenly, breaking the two men out of the weird trance they had gotten themselves into. Her enthusiasm was a nice addition, but not a plausible option considering Jonah's hesitancy to simply punch him in the face.

"It's not too late for me to call Marcus? Ask him to come down here?" Your hand shared with Cheyenne was pulled down your jacket sleeve to hide from the cold, the other was tucked into the jackets pocket. Your hat was a matching style to Cheyenne's, the pair of almost identical in terms of your outfit in the winter weather, only differing in colour so that it matched your scarf.

"Yeah, how about I just do this?" Jonah started to just roll his fists in a circular motion in the air before him, his eyes shut tight and head turned away from the three of you.  "What if I just kind of go like this? And you just sort of walk into it. Maybe this is better?"

"Come on, just hit me."

"Mateo, it's not that easy to just punch somebody that you're not fighting with." Jonah seemed to be on the verge of giving up entirely at this point, and leaving Mateo to his own devices.

"Fine. Then let's fight." Mateo began to circle Jonah who had put his fists up tightly, the two of them on the verge of swinging but never quite going for it. As they continued to walk around in circles, Mateo attempted to rile Jonah up, however, his punch never came - Mateo swinging for the brunette as he pulled his punch, retaliating before he had the chance to even hit him. 

"Oh my God! Jonah!" Pulling away from Cheyenne's side, you ran over to Jonah who was hunched over and cupping his jaw which was already beginning to glow shades of red and purple. Reaching out and cupping his face, you held his jaw in place, putting your cold hand over the bruise that was already beginning to form against his jawline. Jonah placed his hand a top your own, forcing the coolness against his skin to try and combat the red, hot heat of his injured face. "Can somebody grab him an icepack?"

————————————————————————

Jonah's and your hand had now, thankfully, been replaced with a proper icepack that he pressed against his jaw as his legs hung over the edge of the loading dock. You and Cheyenne were at his sides as Mateo stood before the three of you, Jonah's icepack pressed into your jacket clad shoulder as he face pressed into it. Your scarf had since been unravelled and shared between the two of you, it falling lazily over Jonah's shoulder and pulling the two of you together as he recovered from the stunned surprise of getting punched in the face.

"I could tell he hit you hard because it's the only time I've ever seen your hair move." Cheyenne admitted in a whisper, staring at Jonah in what you thought was awe as he slouched into your side.

"I thought it was gonna be one of those straight guy things where I hit you and you hit me back." Mateo sheepishly admitted to the group before him, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as he avoided Jonah's sharp glare. The poor guy had somehow ended up injured after what started as a simple enough plan to earn Mateo a visa - how far the apple had fallen from the tree.

"Why isn't pacifism a straight guy thing?" Jonah whined, a pout forming on his lips as he tucked his head deeper into your shoulder, hoping that he could ignore the pounding pain against his jaw, and the embarrassment of admitting to anyone outside the three of you that it was Mateo who'd hit him hard enough to make him bruise. Knowing what you knew, you considered it pretty heroic, though you wouldn't dare mention that to Jonah.

"So what are you gonna do now?" Cheyenne asked: the day was almost over and you'd made barely any progress towards Mateo getting his visa, or finding out another solution on how he could switch store, or stay yet still be with Jeff.

"Just, just talk to Jeff. He cares about you. You'll, you'll work it out." Jonah's advice this time was pretty good, the red-faced brunette, groaning into your shoulder as talking had hurt his jaw even more. 

"Go Mateo, it will be fine."

It had not been fine. Cheyenne had text you when she'd found Mateo after he'd spoken to Jeff: though he'd made the most difficult decision he could've, he'd done what would help himself, which you believed was a brave, almost noble, thing. Jonah however, was unaware of the fact, and as you helped him back through the store, he caught wind of Mateo entering and had decided that the element of surprise would be all he needed to get himself to punch Mateo square in the face.

Before you could stop him, he had already crossed the width of the store and swung hard at Mateo's face, Mateo's falling to the floor with a loud thud. "Ha. I did it! Whoo! You're welcome."

————————————————————————

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————————————————————————

Good evening guys!!! I wrote most of this while i was in a meeting lol, but it was funner that way.

I hope you enjoy this part!! Only 3 more parts and then we will be reaching the season final of season2 of supserstore where the drama will be cranked to the nines. I've got great plans that will make you want to tear your heart out and wish you'd never read SOTS in the first place. I CAN'T WAIT 😁😁😁😁

Anyways, you guys can forget about that for now, let the good times roll for the next few chapters. As always, have a lovely week, and i will see you same time, same place, next week!! <3333

[drakenology]

would you ever write abt hq boyfriend sending your nudes/videos of fuckin to a group chat -🐮

this- it’s wrong but so right at the same time. thank you nonnie.

Video Phone - ft. Miya Osamu, Nishinoya, Kuroo and Oikawa.

author’s note: ok like the way I had the perfect photo edited for this kind of hc. i had an idea like this but it rotted in the drafts heh. hope you like this!

warnings: smut, mentions of creampie, daddy kink, college aged bois, voyeurism?, male receiving oral, noya being a himbo, dirty talk, slight degradation

Osamu

would send them to the team for sure.

he likes showing you off.

like he highkey wants to do porn with you kssk so this is his way of uh.. getting your content out there

he’ll record everything.

sessions upon sessions saturate this man’s camera roll.

and why not share that with his friends? who is he to deny them the privilege of watching him fuck you into a dirty little cockslut?

you kinda like it so.. why not?

Osamu was feeling friskier than usual; which wasn’t a problem for you since the way that motherfucker looked at you with such unadulterated hunger was enough to wet your panties.

That ‘look’ got you riding his fat cock on the couch, Osamu’s hand holding his phone to record your sloppy cunt the other smacking your ass and fondling your tits.

You kinda knew he was going to send the footage to his entourage which was embarrassing at first. But you found yourself loving the lewd texts his friends send about you; the attention going straight to your pussy. Osamu noticed you liked being recorded when your cunt clenched whenever a camera was pointed at it.

“Ya like putting on a show for my teammates, don’t ya?” Osamu inquires, taking a thumb to toy with your swollen bud. You moan back at him, playing with your nipples and licking your lips as you bounced on his dick, feet planted into the couch. Osamu made sure to get that on film, the sight of you pinching at your nipples made him lose all sense of composure.

Poor boy had no other choice but to throw the phone off to the side to grab your hips and thrust upwards, your screams echoing through the living room. You drool as he praised your sopping wet pussy’s symphony, the sounds of your juices gushing all over his dick was the perfect touch to his latest addition.

“Mmm listen ta that baby, tape’s still goin’. Tell my friends how well I’m fucking ya, will ya? Scream f’me.”

Nishinoya

Yū loves taking pictures of you.

Naked or fully clothed.

He has about a million pictures of you; videos too.

Most of them were really lewd; your supple breasts or that sweet cunt he loves fucking.

even has a gnarly creampie video he revists when you’re not around to dump his load inside.

Tried to put them all in the hidden folder and-

Sent em by accident sksjjsj

looked up “how to unsend photos” a million times

no luck lmao.

Of course everyone saw it. Even Hinata was like “gah damn”.

But you told him you didn’t really mind. In fact it was kinda hot that his friends lusted after you.

ever since then yall have made fucking on camera a nice way to bond.

lol.

Nishinoya was embarrassed. Actually he was mortified. He had so much porn in his phone. This he knew. He was tired of directing people not to scroll when he showed someone pictures on his phone; knowing they were gonna get an eyeful of your dripping pussy clenching around his dick. So he decided to clean up his act and simply put all the personal porn in a hidden folder.

Maybe it was when you came into his room and kissed him on the cheek that made him fuck up. Either way, his whole team has seen you naked, spread out and getting absolutely wrecked about thirty different ways.

“Fuck sake, Noya. Didn’t wanna see your balls, man.”

“Shit, Y/N’s pretty sexy.”

“Y/N’s ass is pretty fat.”

“Omg her moans..”

“Woah woah woah! She’s MY girlfriend, don’t talk about her like that.... but ikr.”

You read the texts aloud as Nishinoya frantically tells the story of how it all went down for the third time just in case you didn’t already believe him. Poor boy was so worried you’d be mad. But you feel yourself get hot, the thought of one of his friends stroking their cocks to the sight of you all too intriguing.

So you convince him to record you sucking his dick. And what man would say no to that?

You take Nishinoya’s cock in your mouth, moaning around him as your eyes find the camera.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He huffs, so astounded he almost drops his phone. He loved it all; your drool covering his cock, the sounds of your gagging as you take him in the back of your throat, your enthusiastic moans. You blink at the camera as you completely swallow his dick whole, stuffing your mouth with his length as he groans filthy praise.

“S’ good baby. Fuck.” He moans, bucking his hips to fuck your mouth, balling some of your hair into a fist.

ahem.. yeah the groupchat got to see that one too.

Kuroo

Nasty mf likes sending these pics to the groupchat.

He takes the pics for the sole purpose of showing his friends how sexy you are, how well you take his cock.

He’s captain of the volleyball team; even in college he’s the coolest guy around.

Of course the captain had to have a beautiful cum dump girlfriend that the whole campus wants

He sends those videos and pictures because he knows you belong to him anways

why not let everyone know?

“Fuck, Tetsu!” You gripe, your insides coiling as Kuroo stroked your gummy walls from behind. He responds by gripping you by the hair, turning your face towards the camera for his potential viewers to see.

“Go on, baby. Let ‘em know who’s pussy this is.” He grunts, digging his thumbs into your hips as his cock pushed harshly against your spongiest spots.

You can’t say much of anything, his brutal thrusts muddling any words the came from your lips. Kuroo looks at the phone he has propped up against the lamp on his nightstand and smirks, his ego growing at the thought of his pathetic friends jerking off to you, knowing only be can have the real thing whenever the fuck he wants. He puffs out his chest, smacking your ass as you sob out his name.

“Yeah, baby. Tell ‘em who you belong to.”

Oikawa

also sent them by accident

but it was a happy accident to say the least

even though it was embarrassing at first, oikawa liked the fact he got to flaunt you like a trophy

he coaxed you into letting him record you when you guys fucked; never really letting you know he was sending them to his friends from time to time.

all your unmentionables on display for his buddies to jack off to in their spare time while he gets to pounds you out every night

you’re pussy’s too good to keep all to himself right? it’d be unfair

smug bastard.

You were minding your own business, laying in bed playing animal crossing on your nintendo switch when Oikawa sat on his haunches next to you. He got the most devilish idea and the overwhelming need to fill your pussy full of his cum clouded his better judgement.

You lay there, unaware your boyfriend was plotting to fuck you senseless. He slides your shorts and panties off, grabbing his phone to start taking lewd photos of your now naked cunt.

“Show the camera your pretty pussy, princess.” He coos, rubbing circles into your clit with his thumb. You bite your lip, still trying to play your game as slick starts to gather at your core, legs involuntarily spreading.

“Look at that delicious cunt.” His slender fingers eventually make their way inside you, the digits hooking to steer your attention away. You yelp, dropping your switch onto your chest as he pulls your hips towards the edge of the bed. He switched his phone to “video” and pressed record, taking out his gorgeous dick to tease it along your folds.

“Uhhn, Torū!” You groan, craning your neck to hide the lewd look on your face away from his phone.

“You want me to fuck you on camera, don’t you baby?” He asks sliding his length inside you. Without any time to adjust to his size, he’s pumping like mad, his hand holding one of your legs open to make sure he got every angle of your slutty cunt taking his dick.

“Shit, look how you’re squeezing me , baby. So fuckin tight for daddy aren’t you? Taking me so well.”

[roosterbox]

Inceptiversary Day Thirty One: A letter to Inception fandom.

@inception30daychallenge

(please note: I wrote this in a single sitting, and did not bother to edit it at all afterwards. No gifs, pictures, or emojis either - enjoy some unfiltered rooster, lol)

Dear Inception Fandom,

Well, my darlings. Here we are, eh? Twelve years on. Who could have known that one little two-hour movie could have inspired such fervent devotion? Where fanworks are still being produced with fair regularity. Quality fanworks at that; I’m not exaggerating when I say that this fandom might have, by and large, the best fics in any fandom I’ve ever had the pleasure of being in. Even stretching back to the kinkmeme days, the fics were on a whole other level. And I am incredibly humbled to have my own works counted among those numbers, however much they contribute to the aforementioned quality or not.

And the people. The PEOPLE. I love everybody at this bar. I would list every name to single out each and every one of you for individual praise and virtual smooches, but frankly, I wouldn’t know how to summarize even a tenth of what I feel for a lot of you. Particularly those of you I’ve known for over six years now. One of the kindest groups of people one could ever hope to encounter, let alone befriend. I don’t think y’all even know what a big difference your friendship has made over the years. It’s huge, believe me. I find it hard to articulate the depth of my feelings though, which is typical for me to be honest. One reason why I can never seem to get involved with Inception Positivity when they open up submissions - I get tongue-tied when my own feelings are concerned. It’s the INTJ in me, lol.

And now I’m getting lost in the word sauce again. Rambling on and on. Sorry about that. I guess if I had to summarize what I’d like to say (though summaries aren’t exactly my strong suit), it’d be something like… thanks? Dankeschön? For being your own lovely selves. For being so warm and welcoming that I still see new people being embraced into the Inception fold with open arms and hearts. In the words of Keanu Reeves, “You’re breathtaking!”

Here’s to twelve more years, I hope we’re all still around to see them! And still friends, of course.

With all my love,

Roosterbox

[duskholland]

imagine tom coming back from work a little bit grumpy from all the teasing texts you’ve been sending him while on set with a skirt on; and so when he gets home he immediately takes you to the kitchen counter and bends you over, only pulling down your panties midway on your thighs and just finger fucking you while you’re so loud but he makes you keep your head down while he pleasures you skshdhdhdhddh I canttttt

ooooft… I took this a step further than you asked because istg this ignited something inside me. extended warnings beneath cut but this is nsfw so 18+ minors dni !!!!!

—clearing out the askbox: smut edition—

extended warnings: dom!tom, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, light spanking but it’s not A Thing, fingers, hair pulling. yum.

——

You know exactly what you’re doing as you slip on your new skirt and take a few photos in front of the long bedroom mirror. The full-length glass means it’s easy to get the angles right, and you find yourself arching your back and bending in a way you know will drive Tom mad. There’s a smirk on your face as you send him a few snaps, following them up with a brief text that says only: do you like my new skirt?

It takes your boyfriend about an hour to respond, away on set shooting all day, but when your phone lights up with a burst of texts in quick succession, you find yourself biting at your lip.

Tom: are you trying to kill me

Tom: you know I’m in a skin-tight suit

Tom: you look so fucking hot

You smile, responding with a couple more pictures, and enjoying Tom’s slow disintegration from coherent sentences to a flurry of mismatched emojis. You torment him all day, feeling mischievous, knowing you’ll incur his wrath later for it, but enjoying the game. There’s nothing you like more than riling up your boyfriend.

When Tom finally arrives back from set, you’re in the kitchen cutting up some fruit. You hear the front door slam and immediately bite back a smirk, discreetly tugging up the band of your short skirt and straightening your back.

Tom storms into the kitchen, tossing his keys down on the table. As the sound of metal rattles through the air, he tugs off his jacket and throws it away, his eyes almost black as he stares at you, hard. There’s a warm flush to his cheeks, and his brown hair lies in a messy heap on top of his head.

“Hi,” you say, blinking at him innocently. You lean against the counter, facing him as he stalks towards you, rubbing his hands together like he’s on a mission. “Nice day at work?”

Tom wraps his hands around your hips, grabbing you roughly and pulling you close. “Shut up,” he mutters, eyes glinting. He presses a hard kiss to your lips before shifting his palms down to your ass. He flips your skirt up easily and grabs handfuls of your flesh, smirking when you whimper. “You know exactly what you did to me.” He kneads your skin for a while, lips biting at your neck, sucking deep aching hickeys to your throat until you’re whimpering at grabbing at his hair. “I was so hard all day in that fucking suit. Couldn’t think about anything apart from you and this tiny little skirt.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, earning yourself a glare.

“Turn around,” he says. Tom steps back, giving you a split second to follow his instructions before he’s pushing you into position. He bends you over the counter, your head hanging over the sink, and you moan when he spanks you roughly. 

“You know what I’m going to do?” He asks. “I’m going to finger you until you forget your fucking name. Gonna keep going until you forget about anything that isn’t me.” Tom accompanies his words with his hands, travelling beneath your skirt to tug down your thin thong. He doesn’t both to remove it completely, lets it hang between your thighs as he knocks your legs apart and runs two fingers through your slit. His mouth is at your ear, and you shiver as you hear the huskiness in his voice. “Going to make you cum, again and again, until you regret ever sending me those photos.”

You buck down against his touch, trying desperately to coax him into you. The presence of two of his slender fingers by your hot entrance taunts you.

“Please,” you whine, whimpering when he slips a finger up to briefly rub your clit. “Please, Tom.”

“Mm, well since you asked so nicely.”

A gasp leaves you when Tom slips two fingers into you. He moves slowly for the first few thrusts, opening you up, feeling your wetness soak his digits, but then he picks it up. You cry out, pushing back against him, feeling the presence of his warm body pressing up against yours as he curves his fingers and fucks you - fast. It’s sudden and intense, makes you whimper and tighten your knuckles around the countertop, overcome with the waves of warming pleasure.

“Tom,” you moan. You crane your neck back, wanting to take a look at his face, but you’re stopped in your tracks when Tom’s other hand grabs your hair and pushes you down.

“You don’t get to look at me,” he barks, voice twanging with his thick London accent. He presses your head down, and you have to bend your back as he pushes your face into the hollow space of the sink. “All you get are my fingers, darling. That’s all you deserve.”

With his fingers gripping tightly at your hair, pain arcs out from your head and travels straight to your cunt, just adding to the slick arousal between your legs. You find it so hot being manhandled like this - being spread open and fucked against the counter, Tom’s fingers unrelenting and firm as he brings you up to orgasm.

“C-Can I cum?” You ask, wheezing, voice tight.

“Yeah.” As he speaks, Tom thrusts his fingers with renowned energy, making you whimper. “C’mon, darling, let me feel you.”

You spiral into climax, your eyes screwing shut as your cum with a cry. There’s no room to move, as Tom’s pressing you into the counter, and that just ensures that your orgasm lasts for what feels like an eternity. He strokes at your g-spot, thumb wrangling your clit, and you cry his name, over and over again, whimpering.

He doesn’t stop.

“T-Tom,” you whine, shifting around. You try to raise your head, but he just pushes you down again, and you gasp as his fingers continue their work between your legs. Your bud pulses, tender from the previous orgasm but aching deliciously as Tom works you up again, never stopping. It only intensifies as he adds a third finger, stretching your wet cunt, making you shake. “‘S too much.”

He hums coldly. “Too much?” Tom asks, chuckling. “You didn’t seem to care earlier, when you were sending me all those photos, hm? Thought you wanted to get fucked.”

You can’t form words, your head spinning. The sounds of your wetness being thrust around as Tom edges you closer and closer to a second orgasm are lewd and provocative, and you’re clenching around him despite feeling overwhelmed. Your body craves release, and he knows it - knows you love nothing more than being completely at his mercy, bent over the counter, half-naked and exposed as he has his way with you.

Tom finally releases your head and uses that hand to slap your ass, causing you to whimper.

“Feel s’good,” you moan, feeling it building again. The warmth in the pit of your stomach swells faster this time as you feel Tom’s hand move between your legs, brushing you against your thighs, your folds, your pussy. His skin is wet with your arousal. “G’nna cum again, shit, Tom, I’m gonna cum.”

“Come on, darling,” he murmurs, voice drifting over you, “Let go for me.”

You groan as you cum again, whimpering and moaning with high-pitched noises that sound foreign in your mouth. Tom’s hand goes to your back, and he keeps you still, forcing you in place to feel every powerful, sensitive sensation spreading out from your centre. It’s more powerful than the first orgasm, leaves you gasping for breath and shaking, your cunt throbbing from the stimulation. Thankfully, Tom pulls his hand away from your centre, and you’re able to exhale properly.

“So good for me,” he murmurs, pulling you up from the counter. There’s a dull ache in your front from where the jagged edge of the marble had been digging into you, but it fades when Tom spins you around and kisses you. When he pulls back, he uses his clean hand to cup your cheek, staring at you with warm, brown eyes. “That skirt drives me mad.”

You bite your lip, voice a little shaky as you watch him lick his fingers clean. “Thought it would,” you reply. Your breath hitches when Tom moves closer, and you feel the rise of his cock straining against his jeans.

“Mm, you were right.” Tom kisses the corner of your mouth, then pulls away to smirk at you. “Think I’ll fuck you now,” he mutters. “I like the sight of you bent over the counter for me.”

[pies-writes-and-more]

Hey I have a request!! Can you write a scenario with Bokuto, Tsukishima, and Sugawara where reader has a LOT of moles/beauty marks? I have 5 on my face alone, 3 in a line on my neck and more. It makes me insecure because it looks weird. Anyways, thank you sooo much! I absolutely love your writing!!!

Warnings: potential swearing as usual, insecurities about beauty marks/moles

Characters: Bokuto Kōtarō, Sugawara Kōshi, Tsukishima Kei, all with a Gender Neutral Reader (let me know if you find something gendered so I can fix it!)

A/N: thank you for the request darling! Sorry for the long wait!! Hope this is what you had in mind :) Also, all of them are right: you are beautiful!

Haikyū Masterlist

You didn’t understand why Bokuto seemed to only ever kiss your face exactly where you didn’t want him to.

You could stand in the mirror and point out things you didn’t like about yourself but your beauty marks were something you were self conscious about. You used to cover them up with light makeup every now and then but lately you hadn’t had the time or patience for it, so you just avoided looking at them.

But Bokuto, even after months of being together, seemed to somehow feel the opposite. He would press a kiss exactly on the moles on your face and when you were in private, he’d kiss the ones falling down your neck. He seemed so infatuated with them and you could never understand why.

One day he caught you trying to apply makeup again, finally sitting down and trying this new method that could cover up anything according to a makeup artist you’d seen on social media. His eyes wide and you could’ve sworn his hair drooped, “What’re you doing???” He screeched, immediately snatching your makeup from you.

“Bokuto!” You whined, huffing as you paused the YouTube video playing in front of you to pout up at him, “Give it back!”

He shook his head like a four year old, stomping his feet slightly, “Why’re you covering them?” He asked you, hands on his hips now.

There was no point avoiding the topic now. You sighed and glanced at yourself in the mirror, half of them covered and the other half just staring you in the face. “They’re ugly,” you whispered quietly, avoiding his eyes.

“Ugly?” Bokuto scoffed and sat down next to you, hugging his knees to his chest and setting your makeup down. “How could they be ugly?”

You had heard this before. All of your friends and family always went, “No Y/N, you’re perfect!” But it was always so fake. You knew they were just saying it to be nice.

But Bokuto just paused, watching you for a moment and handing you back your makeup. You blinked up at him in surprise, noting his small smile. “If it makes you feel better, go ahead. I want my love to always feel their best. But...” he let out a nervous sort of chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I really like them,” he admitted sheepishly.

You knew he was being honest just because of the rosiness that was touching his cheeks. He squirmed in his spot, now avoiding your gaze. “Why?” You asked after a moment.

Bokuto straightened his posture for a moment before carefully choosing his words, “Someone once told me they were places your partner kissed you the most in your past lives. And...” he hesitated, cheeks glowing red now. “And I’d like to think I was with you in every one of our past lives so I want to keep kissing you there so you’ll love me in our next life too!” He blurted out quickly, rocking a little in his seated position.

You just stared at him. Sure you had heard of that little theory too, but you hadn’t ever had someone seriously retell it to you. But hearing it from him... you looked at yourself in your mirror again. It didn’t change how you felt about them. You still weren’t a huge fan. But hearing Bokuto genuinely love them... at least it lessened your insecurity about him hating them.

“I think you’re beautiful, Y/N,” Bokuto continued after a second, smiling at you and scooting closer to you. “If you need this makeup to help you see how beautiful you are, then go ahead! But I think you’re the most perfect human being out there!”

Your eyes teared up slightly, just hearing how sure he was. He smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before immediately looking through your makeup bag, “Can I try?” He asked excitedly, holding up a mascara tube and lipstick.

“You want to try wearing it or putting it on me?” You laughed, your face no longer feeling hot with embarrassment and shame.

“Both!” Bokuto grinned, begging you to teach him what each product was. He always knew just how to cheer you up, no matter what.

He knew you still disliked your marks, but Bokuto would continue to kiss them every chance he got unless you ever asked him to stop. He still wanted to recognize you in his next life, so even if those weren’t the marks you’d have, maybe he could give you some others you’d like more.

Sugawara’s fingers always traced over the beauty marks on your face, beaming when he pointed out that you two were twins for having moles together. He always had a smile on when he talked about it, always spoke about it so proudly like it was a mark of status or beauty.

But unlike Sugawara, you weren’t all that proud of it and you didn’t just have one. You often just gave him a smile and switched the topic, and though you always loved the feeling of his fingers dancing along your skin, sometimes you’d pull away to do something or distract him with something else if you felt like he was touching your marks too much.

He hadn’t realized it before, but came to the realization that maybe you didn’t like your marks when he caught you editing a picture of the two of you, your fingers magically causing those little spots to just disappear.

“What’re you doing?” Sugawara frowned, hugging you from behind and peering from over your shoulder.

“Just editing that pic of us before I post it!” You told him happily - it was such a nice photo and with a few simple touches, it would be perfect.

Sugawara watched you for a little longer, confirming his suspicions before knocking you on the head with the side of his hand.

“Hey! Suga, what the hell?” You groaned, rubbing the top of your head slightly. “What was that for?”

“Stop erasing my baby!” He shouted at you loudly, making you laugh nervously at just how loud he was being.

“I’m not erasing your baby!” You insisted, shaking your hands in front of you. “Just... my marks.”

Sugawara’s frowned stayed on his face as firm as ever, “They’re a part of you. And I love all of you. I love every single inch of your skin, whether you have a mark or not. I love you because you’re not like a cookie cutter version of a person, you stand out in the most beautiful of ways. I want you to be different, I want you to draw all the attention so I can say that one is mine.”

You smiled a little at his words, hearing the conviction in his voice. But your eyes glanced sadly at the photo, just wishing you didn’t have them.

“Hey,” he spoke softer this time, touching your chin up to look at him, “If you really don’t like them, fine. We all have our insecurities after all. But please don’t tell yourself you’re less beautiful because of them.” His hand slipped your phone from your own, peering at your editing work. “You looked like a completely different person,” he admitted with a sort of sad smile. “Still beautiful. But different. I like the version I have here with me.”

Sugawara’s arms were suddenly wrapped around you in a rib-crushing hug, his voice telling you firmly all the things he loved about you and how much he wanted to scream to the world every single thing that made him crazy about you. Eventually you were practically unable to breathe in his arms as they just got tighter and tighter and the two of you fell on the floor laughing after wrestling for a bit.

The photo is eventually posted unedited like he wanted, and now when you look at it, you feel just a little bit more loved, regardless of your marks.

Tsukishima knew even before you two were going out that you were self conscious of your marks. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with them, to be honest, they made your face that much more attractive, but you hated them so he always pretended like they weren’t there for your sake.

But he had caught you picking at one of them, as if absentmindedly thinking you could tear it off and everything would be okay.

His eyes narrowed as he realized what you were doing, reaching over to swat at your hands, and glaring at you from across the library table where two of you were supposed to be studying.

“If you start bleeding, I’m not taking care of you,” he scolded you, though you knew for a fact that he had started keeping bandaids in his bags for you cause sometimes you were that clumsy.

“Sorry,” you responded sheepishly, folding your hands in front of you in an attempt to stop picking at them. Your eyes focused on the sheet of paper in front of you, but you weren’t able to actually pay attention to anything on it. It was like an itch you couldn’t get rid of, an obnoxious little bump in your otherwise relatively smooth skin. Why did it have to be there?

Tsukishima watched as your eyes stayed still on your homework, obviously not actually reading anything. He sighed and reached over again, poking at your nose, “If you think I’m going to let you destroy your grades and your perfect body, I’ll hit you harder than I have before,” he threatened. He meant to say it gentler, in a somewhat more supportive and comforting way but his words were still as harsh as ever.

You gave him another shy smile, trying not to show just how uncomfortable you were, “They just get annoying sometimes,” you told him after a moment when he didn’t immediately go back to his work. “I feel like if I could tear them all off... maybe I’d look better.”

Tsukishima’s nose scrunched up slightly in annoyance, tilting his head up so his eyes were glaring down at you, “Do you think I’m going to let anyone talk about my partner like that? Idiot, if I heard those words from anyone else I would have your head by now."

You laughed a little, thinking about how Tsukishima got upset if anyone even said something remotely mean about you (”The only one allowed to bully you is me, Y/N, forget anyone else’s opinions. They’re all beneath you anyways”), “I just feel so... spotted with them. I feel like everyone always looks at them and there’s so many of them I can’t even hide them all.”

Tsukishima listened, he really did. He didn’t wave you off like usual and tell you to forget your insecurities because you were definitely the most perfect person out there so you had nothing to be insecure about. He listened and then just sighed, leaning back in his seat slightly and watching you.

“I think you’re magnificent,” he stated quietly, his eyes dashing away from yours as a blush brushed over his cheeks and nose. “I don’t want you picking at them because you’re just going to hurt yourself and I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He paused for a second and then finally met your eyes. “Yamaguchi used to hate his freckles, but it’s probably the thing that I notice the most about him. They fit him so well in a way that I can’t describe. He wouldn’t be the same without them, he’d just be... someone else. Without your marks, you’d be someone completely different. I’m in love with you and all of you.”

You watched him as Tsukishima actually told you his emotions and spilled his love for you, a smile gracing your lips eventually, “I love you too, Tsukishima,” you mumbled after he finished, playing with your fingers.

“You better. Now come over here and give me a kiss before we start studying again,” Tsukishima smirked a little and you just rolled your eyes. You were going to argue back that he could just lean over the table and kiss you but he refused so you ended up having to go over to him, where he just pulled you on your lap and placed a quick kiss on your lips then on all the marks on your face. “Now go study.”

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[vibesandwonders]

“The what?”

“The Lord of the Rings,” Sam stops dead, and jogs back to him, “You serious? You said you read the Hobbit?”

“Yeah?”

“JRR Tolkien?”

“Yes.” Bucky runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

“But you don’t know The Lord of the Rings?”

“If you keep repeating it, maybe it’ll catch this time.”

Sam’s mouth falls open, “Mother of— they froze you before Lord of the friggin Rings?”

Bucky blows out a blast of annoyed air and moves to run, Sam grabs his forearm, “Stop that, we’re talkin—“

“—We are running.”

“Not anymore,” Sam leans his weight on Bucky and laughs, “Shit. I always forget that they popsicled you,” He shakes his head, “Tolkien, he wrote the Hobbit yeah, but like… ten years later he wrote a Trilogy, the Trilogy, like, the one to rule them all.”

“Are they any good?”

Sam practically squeals with laughter, his arm still looped inside Bucky’s, “Yes.” He says, emphatically, grinning so much that Bucky is tempted to smile back, almost, “The movies are good too.”

“Movies?”

“Moving pictures?” Sam grins wider, “Talkies?”

Bucky tilts his head, rolls his eyes, already ready to run again, Sam’s having none of it, he starts pulling Buck back the way they came,

“What about the run?”

“This,” Sam insists, “Is more important, we gotta head back,”

“It’s 7am.”

“Exactly, which means we’ve got time to hit the store on the way home,”

“Why?”

“Provisions, we’re gonna be busy all day, we need to have snacks and keep hydrated.”

“What?”

“Extended editions baby, this is a 12-hour Lord of the Rings lockdown,” He grins at Bucky, “Consider yourself absolutely blessed that I was nerdy as hell in high school. I gotta text Torres, tell him we are taking the day off.”

“You’re taking a day off, from being Captain America?”

“He’ll understand.”

~ Hours later~

“Bucky,” He sighs, and plants his palms on the kitchen countertop, “James Buchanan Barnes,” Nothing.

He takes his phone out and pauses the damn TV,

The man in question rotates very slightly, his eyes wide, red, in shock, also as pissed as Sam had quite possibly ever seen him, including the time he was kicked off a domestic flight home because of his ‘metal arm’.

“You good?” Sam asks,

“So they just left him? After he sacrificed himself to get them out and across the bridge of Khazad-dûm and away from the Balrog?”

Oh Jesus,

“The bridge of Khaza—" He stops himself, chuckles, can't help it, he shouldn't surprised by this and yet, "Yeah man, they couldn’t—“

“What? Walk out there and grab his hands? There were eight men,” He shakes his head incredulously, “Bilbo’s nephew, wouldn’t walk twenty feet to save Gandalf?”

“Wait wait, Are you crying man?” He smirks, teasing, “There are two and a half more movies to go Buck, and you’re already out here cryin’ your ass off, you gotta chill—“

Bucky regards him sourly, “Have you even read the Hobbit?”

“Not even gonna dignify that kinda hostility with an answer James.”

He unpauses the tv and digs through the fridge, a moment later, the TV pauses again,

“Sorry.” Bucky mutters, “I uh, I’m enjoying them.”

“I can tell.” Sam says, and again, a grown-ass man getting way too sucked in to a High Fantasy trilogy 60 years late shouldn’t be damn adorable, but it is, “You hungry, oh member of the fellowship?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, turns back around,

“Is there coffee?”

Sam grins, and starts filling the water kettle.

“We, are gonna take a break.”

Bucky spins, finger already on the remote to jump to the next movie, Sam shakes his head.

“You haven’t eaten yet, and this is our…shit, third pot of coffee.”

“But they’re taking the hobbits to Isengard.”

Sam cackles, “Yeah, you are indeed correct, that is happening, but, we got 8 more hours of cinematic masterpiece, and you— are gonna eat somethin’”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Would Aragorn not sustain himself while trying to rescue Merry and Pippin?” He asks dramatically,

Another eyeroll, but he stands and stretches, folding one of the new blankets that had somehow started appearing randomly inside his apartment.

“How do you feel about cookies?”

He watches the top of his head twist, but Bucky’s eyes don’t leave the screen, “Thought we were eating lunch?”

Sam laughs, “Thai?”

He texts Sarah, attaches a picture of Bucky swathed in a blanket, staring in fascination at the TV.

“He’s never seen Lord of the Rings.” And then a bunch of laughing emojis.

“So where’s Rohan in relation to Mordor?” Bucky asks over the top of the couch, “They keep talking about the Gap of Rohan, but then…”

“Google it.”

“You’ve got your phone.” Bucky argues, “Do library books still have the maps in the back nowadays?”

Sam’s already got his app open, Complete Works of JRR Tolkien, Hardback

He swipes and makes sure they have maps— New York freakin City, it’ll be delivered before they finish the second one.

“Sam needs to kill Gollum.”

He looks up at the mention of his name, grinning at the screen, then back at the microwave: he lost rock, paper, scissors, so popcorn’s on him.

“Smeagol?”

Bucky purses his lips, unimpressed, “He is clearly untrustworthy, “

“Sam’s also a little jealous of Frodo’s attention, they’ve been one-on-one for a while now,”

“I guess,”

“Frodo also sees a lot of himself in Smeagol, what he could have become…”

Bucky pauses the movie, “they’ve still got those elf-blades.” He mutters, “He’s talking to himself, and creeping off in the night, Sam should kill him, and tell Frodo he found him that way.”

“He was Aragorn’s best friend,” Bucky murmurs, his voice is a little choked up, “He came to defend the men of Rohan.”

“Mmmhmm.”

Sarah’s texted him back:

“Oh god, you found another geek.” She says, “Are ya’ll gonna like have a Star Trek themed wedding?”

Bucky’s got the second book open across his knees, his fingers holding it open so he can occasionally frown down at the maps.

“He died protecting him.”

“They had a bond.” Sam agrees, “Read the appendices, there’s loads more about the elves. Just wait until you get deep in the Silmarillion.”

“Yeah.” Bucky says, only half-listening, “Starting to think his ‘heir of Gondor’ schtick is getting old, man can’t even protect his friends— and where is Gandalf?”

“Are you shitting on Aragorn? Son of Arathorn?”

Bucky shrugs, “Just seems like he’s avoiding his calling, what he’s good at, born to do… running from it, cause he’s scared.”

“It’s a lot of responsibility he didn’t ask for.” Sam replies mildly,

“Tough shit. Sometimes you just gotta use the cards you’re dealt.” Bucky stands, “I gotta pee.”

“You think I should grow my hair out?”

Sam hides his grin, making an effort not to stare at Aragorn on screen, who is currently smoldering with the best of them,

“I think you should do whatever makes you happy, Buck.” He takes a sip of his coffee (decaf this time) and stares fondly (not really) at the side of Bucky’s face. Sure, he’s distracted, but at least this time it’s not damn mission files.

Buck grunts, they’re sprawled next to each other on the couch, knees touching, blankets shared and spread between them. Between bathroom breaks and Sam occasionally poking Bucky to make sure he was still breathing, personal space had become even less of an issue than usual. Not that Sam was terribly bothered by it. They’re roommates, sorta? Partners?

A couple of guys.

“So, Arwen or Eowyn?” Bucky asks, still unblinking, Sam is pretty sure he unleashed a monster, cause this boy is a nerd. He’s already googled other trilogies, on Sam’s phone. Sam is pretty sure movie night might become a thing.

Buck’s still waiting on his answer, it’s a timeless question to be sure, Sam pretends to ponder it.

“Eomer actually.” He says, keeping his eyes on the screen, “Loyal, strong, and the man knows how to ride.”

actual fic here plus others, leave some love, say hi,

[homerforsure]

Whumptober No. 5

betrayal / misunderstanding / broken nose

(Hockey AU)

***

He’d always thought the night Jay took the picture would be the worst of it.

Buck’s hands were clutching the rails of Jay’s iron headboard, where Jay had wanted them, where Jay had placed them after stripping Buck of his clothes, saying “Don’t let go.” His slow, sexy, predatory smile was the last thing Buck saw before the silky black blindfold was tied in place. Jay was gone after that, climbing off the bed, telling Buck how good he looked and what he thought he might do and Buck had arched into the words until he was begging to be touched.

“Be patient,” Jay had purred, appeasing Buck with a single finger drawn shiveringly down his thigh. Buck could feel that he’d climbed back onto the bed, but Jay was too far away and he wasn’t teasing; he just wasn’t there. Stretching out longer on the mattress, trying to find him, he’d said, “What’s going on up there?”

Then the flash went off, the bright light cutting through the thin fabric of the blindfold. Jay swore, “Shit. Fuck,” and when Buck let go of the bed with one hand (one hand because maybe he misunderstood, maybe it was fine, maybe he’d laugh and put his hand back and they’d-)to push the tie away, he’d seen Jay, crouched above him with his phone in his hand.

If he’d asked, Buck might even have agreed. He liked posing. He liked having his body appreciated. But Jay’s expression was the alarm of being caught red-handed and Buck knew, knew with a sinking feeling of dread and betrayal, that Jay wasn’t just taking a memento to savor later. He was taking a picture of Rangers center Evan Buckley, naked, smirking, and vulnerable, to use exactly the way those kinds of pictures get used.

Buck forced Jay to delete the photo, made him prove that he’d done it, and then had somehow managed to get himself dressed and down to the street to get a ride without throwing up. His face burned the whole drive home and for half of the night.

And that was the worst of it until five years later. In a new city. When Buck was finally playing the way he’d always known he could. When he was finally earning the respect of his team and the hockey world at large. When he started thinking he might stay. That was when the anonymously authored post was retweeted and reblogged and shared and gleefully discussed on all corners of the hockey internet.

MY WILD NIGHT WITH AN NHL ALL STAR

The Good, the Bad, and the Kinky

His agent’s was the first text he saw when he got done with practice: “Do NOT respond yet. Call me first.”

It had taken another couple messages before Buck realized what he wasn’t supposed to respond to and in the meantime, the texts kept rolling in. Half of them from numbers he didn’t even have saved in his contacts.

“Dude, is that shit true?”

“Are you okay?”

“Do you know who it is?”

“You dog 😜”

“You never told me you were into that 👀”

“Ignore it, Buck.”

“We’re all with you.”

“Fuck that guy.”

“Hey if you need something to take your mind off of it💋💋💋”

“Evan, Mike from the Tribune. If you want to set the record straight, please give me a call.”

From the looks on the faces of his teammates as they tried to pretend they weren’t stealing glances at him, they were getting messages of their own. Hen was the first one to start to approach him with a look of concern, but Buck avoided her, grabbing his bag and sneaking out the door without bothering to hit the stationary bike like usual.

“What the hell did you do to piss this guy off?” Geoff said as soon as he answered Buck’s call. “More importantly, what else does he have on you?”

“Nothing!” Buck answered, nearly merging directly into another car as his hands shook on the steering wheel. “What do I do? How do I fix this?”

“I don’t know, Buckley. None of my other clients get up to shit like this. You need to get yourself a publicist. I’m going to get in touch with Grant and make sure they’re not already shopping you.”

His agent hung up and Buck’s phone continued to buzz and chime all the way back to his apartment.

There were cameras outside which there almost never were. Mostly only hockey fans cared about pictures of hockey players and the press was limited to the arena and their official events. Maybe one or two regular guys who Buck knew by name. It was just his luck that he lived in LA where there were almost more cameras than there were disasters to photograph.

“Buck! Do you know who the author is?”

“Have your teammates seen the post?”

“Are you worried about other former partners coming out with similar stories?”

Buck pushed past them, but the questions followed him inside. His phone didn’t stop. His mentions were a nightmare on every platform. He shut Twitter as soon as he opened it and saw his name in the trending topics. The statements put out by the Kings and Buck’s agent condemning the piece and the interest in it were drowned out by outlet after outlet picking up the post and sharing it out wider and wider.

Can you guess this NHL player by his sexcapades? (Hint: It’s exactly who you think)

Hockey players used to be the humble, hard working gentleman of sports. What happened?

Should the Kings trade Evan Buckley? Can they?

Nash should make Buckley sit for embarrassing the team like this.

Aw, man, don’t do that. Sitting’s a little tough for Buckley right now

🤣

And I thought it couldn’t get worse than the time he fucked that mascot in Carolina

{This post may contain explicit content}

😵‍💫

🤮

Excuse you, Gritty has standards

[98 more posts]

Whether from a latent masochistic streak or just because he didn’t want to look away and find that the story had gotten bigger while he was gone, Buck couldn’t stop refreshing the pages. He read Jay’s words over and over again as his stomach roiled. If it had all been lies, Buck wouldn’t have spent the morning pressed into the corner of his couch, hoodie pulled up over his head like armor. If it had all been lies, he could have made a fiery statement, condemning the mystery author and condemning everyone who thought they had a right to consume and critique another person’s sex life.

There were some lies, of course, but it was true enough that Buck’s heart clenched with it. True enough that he could remember how he felt when it was happening, during the three times they’d been together before the photo. Soft and desired and joyful. There was a part of him that was still exposed to Jay, that always would be, this man with the sharp wit and the sharp smile who got Buck bare, begging and biddable all to make him a joke. As he read the smug asides in the unforgiving narrative, he could hear Jay’s voice in his ear.

The sixth time he read it, there was an addition.

Edit: Ha ha wow this really blew up. Doing an AMA at 6 eastern if you’re looking for more dirty details.

And for the first time, Buck felt the burn of tears in his eyes. Furious. Powerless.

The buzz of his phone started making his skin crawl so he shoved it between the couch cushions and tried not to think about it. He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around, rocking just a little as he felt panic creeping in.

What else could Jay possibly have to say? Would he make up more and more audacious lies as long as he had an audience? Would an NHL team want to touch Buck when he was done?

Were there more pictures?

It was the fourth night, the night that Buck caught Jay. Not the first night with the blindfold. What if? Buck shuddered, sinking lower, deeper into the couch, folding himself tighter and smaller, trying to crush the mounting, hopeless fear. He was there for a long time.

When the gentle knock hit his door, Buck jumped and then crouched tighter into his ball. He didn’t answer. There was no one he could face right now.

The knock came again.

Then the door opened.

Buck was up like a shot, nearly falling over the coffee table as he whirled around toward the intruder. Eddie stood in the doorway, holding up one empty hand and pulling his key out of the door with the other.

“Just me.”

“What are you doing here?” Buck asked, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie to hide the fact that he’d been digging his nails into his palms for the last hour.

“Well, you took off. And you weren’t answering your phone.”

Hot shame flushed across Buck’s skin. Eddie knew. Eddie had seen the article and the articles about the article and the tweets about the articles and been shouted at by the cameras outside and Buck wanted to sink into the floor.

“Notice you didn’t take the hint.”

The attitude in Buck’s response didn’t faze Eddie at all, “Do I ever?”

And that almost made Buck feel like smiling, because no, no he didn’t. He said, “No. But there’s always a first time.”

Eddie came a little further into the apartment and Buck felt crowded. Eddie always seemed to take up so much space around him. Maybe it was just that Buck felt his presence most strongly than anyone else’s. Especially when he was like this: arms crossed, focused, not letting Buck wiggle out of a conversation that he didn’t want to have.

This time was no exception. When Buck turned and went back to the couch, compulsively refreshing the comments on Jay’s post again as he went, Eddie followed right after him.

“I came by to make sure you were okay,” he said and Buck flinched again, hating that Eddie knew. Hating that the team knew.

“I’m fine,” he answered, keeping his eyes down and away from Eddie. “Coach is going to rip me a new one tomorrow, but my agent hasn’t called me to tell me I’m being traded so yet so I guess that’s-”

“Who the fuck said you were being traded?” His voice was loud enough that Buck looked up, surprised to see the intensity of anger in Eddie’s face.

“THN. NHL Network did a round table on it too, but they didn’t think anyone would take me. Oh, then Kirk Davis did a radio interview.”

Everyone had picked up those soundbites. Even through the heavily bleeped broadcast, the future hall-of-famer’s opinion on Buck had been crystal clear. At least that wasn’t new information for Buck. Davis had all but refused to shake Buck’s hand when he first joined the Predators and was a big part of why his tenure there had only lasted until the trade deadline.

“Kirk Davis is a fucking asshole. There’s a reason they never made him captain.”

“He’s not the only one who said it.”

“Then he’s not the only fucking asshole out there.” When he didn’t respond, Eddie came around the couch to stand face to face with him, noticing the open comments page as he did. “Christ, have you been reading that shit all day?”

Somehow it made Buck laugh. “It’s the same shit I’ve been reading for 8 years. Since I got drafted. Buckley’s a distraction to his team. Buckley’s an embarrassment to the game of hockey. Buckley cares more about getting laid and partying than he does about winning. It’s guys like Buckley that hurt the NHL.”

His voice pitched up as he recited the familiar accusations, staring somewhere over Eddie’s shoulder because Eddie already knew all this about him. Eddie was the opposite of Buck in every way. He would never make himself the center of attention. He’d never do anything to make his teammates ashamed to play with him. He’d never be so stupid as to go home with a guy like Jay.

“Buckley’s finally getting what he deserves.” Buck whispered.

“Look at me,” Eddie said. When Buck couldn’t, Eddie reached out, setting a light hand on his shoulder that got tighter when Buck tried to shrug out of the hold. “Hey. Look at me.”

He moved his head into the space where Buck was staring into the middle distance and waited. Until Buck couldn’t help but flick his gaze to meet Eddie’s. Once he did, he found a furious compassion that startled him.

“You don’t deserve this, Buck. You did nothing to deserve this. It is not your fault. Nobody in our room thinks it is. Bobby doesn’t think it is.”

Buck shuddered under the weight of the words. He wanted to pull himself free and he wanted to step in closer, “My agent told me I should own it. Post a couple thirst traps and a middle finger on instagram and just wave it off like another classic Evan Buckley weekend.”

There was a time when he would have. Times when he had. But this wasn’t a ridiculous paparazzi photo outside a bar, it was… It was private. It hurt.

As if reading his mind, Eddie said, “That’s not what this is. Fire him if he wants to make you pretend this is okay.”

“I just keep thinking if I was anyone else. If I was someone good, they’d all go after him and not me. I didn’t even do anything to him, Eddie. I didn’t-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Eddie tugged him forward and his arms were tight around his back. Buck should have tried to fight it, but he couldn’t help but fall against his chest and cling on. “You are someone good,” Eddie said, making Buck’s breath hitch. “And if you weren’t, it wouldn’t matter. It’s wrong. They’re wrong.”

“I shouldn’t have trusted him,” Buck confessed into the soft fabric of Eddie’s shirt. “I was so stupid back then. I just wanted- I wanted him to like me. And I’m still- It still hurts that he didn’t. How fucked up is that? He did this. And I still just wish he liked me.”

One of Eddie’s hands moved up to cradle the back of Buck’s head. They were swaying, just a little, Eddie rocking them gently. “I know,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

He managed to keep from crying, but Buck couldn’t stop his breath from coming out in soft, stuttering gasps. Couldn’t keep his fingers from digging into Eddie’s back. If he thought about it, he could imagine this post too (Evan Buckley cried like a baby on my shoulder AMA), but Eddie would never do that. The warm heat of him against Buck’s chest was like a blanket hiding him from the world. It was the most vulnerable he’d been all day and the most sheltered.

Eddie didn’t let go until Buck pulled back and even then he didn’t go far, “Have you eaten since practice?”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to without throwing up,” Buck said honestly.

“Do you want to order something from-”

The timer on Buck’s laptop shrieked and they both jumped. Eddie recovered quickly, but Buck’s heart leapt into his throat. He’d almost forgotten. How could he have forgotten? Pulling away from Eddie, he turned off the timer and refreshed the post, looking for the link he knew would be there.

“Come on, Buck, really?”

Eddie reached out to slam the laptop closed, but Buck shoved his hand in the way. “I have to, Eddie. He’s doing an AMA. I have to-”

“I’m not going to let you torture yourself reading what a bunch of sick assholes have to say, Buck. No way.”

“I have to.”

“No, you-”

“Yes, I do!” He shouted it, standing up to look Eddie in the eye. “I have to read it. I have to see it now because if- if- if I wait and it gets reposted- I have to know if he has- I have to-”

“Buck,” Eddie said, putting his hands on Buck’s arms, trying to rub calmness back into him even as Buck’s heart-rate accelerated. “What does he have? What could be worse than what he already-”

“Pictures,” Buck yelled. “I have to know if he has pictures.”

A dark, dark look came over Eddie’s face and he stopped rubbing Buck’s arms to squeeze instead. “You think he has pictures?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Buck whimpered. He saw himself as if from above, stretched out long and lewd against Jay’s sheets. He imagined ten thousand other people seeing it. “He took- I caught him taking one. Once. But I don't know if it was the only one. I don’t- I can’t let them get out. If he has them, I have to know. I have to report the post. I have to-”

“No,” Eddie said.

“Yes, Eddie. I have-”

“I hear you. Okay? I hear you, but I’m not letting you do that. I’m not letting you put any more of that garbage in your head.”

“Eddie.”

“I’ll do it. I’ll report every goddamn post.” Lifting one hand, Eddie stroked a thumb softly along Buck’s hairline. “Let me do it. Let me protect you.”

Buck swallowed hard, fear and relief and longing fighting for control of the tears that were building up again. He didn’t want Eddie to see any of that. He didn’t want Jay’s words in Eddie’s head. But Buck really really didn’t want them in his own. He wanted someone to protect him. “Thank you,” he said, falling forward again to rest his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” Eddie replied, rubbing his hands firmly up Buck’s back.

Eddie wouldn’t let Buck sit on the couch while he monitored the thread. He fished Buck’s phone out of the couch and made him answer the important messages. From Maddie. From Bobby. From Hen and Chimney. Then he’d told him to order food from the Lebanese place they always ordered from when Eddie came over, asking for extra of the pickled turnips. All the while, Eddie’s fingers slammed onto the keyboard, that sound the only reaction he gave to any of the posts.

It should have been unbearable, letting Eddie comb through the messages. Even without seeing them, Buck knew what they were like. He blocked people every week for the same kind of thing. But Eddie had a defense against them that Buck never had: he didn’t believe they were true. Not even a little bit. He didn’t believe there was a chance that Buck was getting what he deserved for being a show off, for never being a points leader, for being open and soft hearted, for being himself. Eddie believed Buck deserved to be protected and he was ruthless about it.

“No pictures,” he said, a while later, when Jay had finally stopped replying to every comment on the page. “And the rest of it is… well. It’s nothing new.”

“Really?”

“Really. I think it’s done.”

Eddie closed the laptop as if by making that gesture of finality, he could make the words true. Buck, allowed back on his own couch, let himself believe it too. Let himself lean into the safety of Eddie’s arm over his shoulders, breathing in a deep sigh of relief as they caught the Canucks game.

The next morning, Jay’s story was hardly anywhere to be seen. It was replaced. By an essay in The Players’ Tribune. It excoriated Jay. It called out Kirk Davis by name and hundreds of online posters by their bad intentions. It praised Buck’s grace, tenacity, and backhand shot and it demanded respect and compassion and privacy from anyone who called themselves a hockey fan. And it wasn’t anonymous.