#objectively bad when really YOU just didn’t like it lol

[twinklebitch]

idk if it’s just me but i feel like so many criticisms of this season boil down to expecting an actual play improv show to be as coherent and cohesive as a scripted piece of media.

and also i don’t think some of you have ever played dnd and it shows

[foxmulderautism]

purple prose might be another term that needs to be put on the high shelf of writing advice cause why does nobody seem to agree on what it actually means 😭😭😭

[unhealthyfanobsession]

I can’t help but laugh when people say Lucien feels “entitled” to Elain or is “being pushy” because WHAT LOL

“Hey Rhys, what’d you do when you found out Feyre was your mate?”

Rhys: Ah, yes. Well naturally I didn’t tell her, forced her into a bargain that ensured she would be stuck with me for a week each month and then stole her from her wedding and made her train for her own good!

“And Cassian? What did you do?”

Cassian: Um, I … didn’t tell her, got really mad when she started spinning out and then forced her to be stuck with me and to train for her own good!

“Cool. And Lucien?”

Lucien: I betrayed my oldest friend and travelled with her sister across enemy territory, risking my own life just to be able to SEE my mate. Spoke to her once and made the only suggestion that helped her feel better. Then I went off on another life threatening mission and found her father, tipping the scales of this war and then I left Prythian entirely, giving her space. I come to the city where she lives with presents once or twice a year just to check in.

Lucien is objectively the best male in this series lol. He isn’t even my favorite (because I have bad taste in men oops), but I can admit that he is objectively the best one. Like PLEASE!! It’s fine to ship whatever you want to but let’s not defame my boy for no good reason.

[twirlyleafs]

“Gold-digger.” (Pt2) (pt1 here)

Max Verstappen x reader

TW: nothing really, angsty? lol

A/N: oml so many of you asked for a part 2 and I’m just so happy you liked the first part!! thank uuu!!

~~~~

To say that you slept bad was an understatement. The moment Daniel let you in to his and Heidi’s hotel room you had started crying and it took almost half an hour before the couple got a sense of what had happened. They’d been at the dinner, hearing Maxs comments, and after piecing it together with what you were telling them now they began to see the bigger picture. Heidi sat with you on the balcony while Daniel made up the couch, insisting you should share the bed with his girlfriend despite your objection.

You hadn’t been able to sleep that much, and it wasn’t because Daniel’s snoring or Heidi’s tossing and turning. Every time you were about to fall asleep you could hear Maxs voice telling you what a shitty girlfriend you were, or you imagined him complaining to his friends that you used up his money like some sort of gold digger. You knew he didn’t think quite like that, and he definitely wouldn’t do any of those things but the knowledge of how he saw your whole relationship had you spiraling.

When Daniel woke, he was always an early riser, he found you already wide awake and anxious. The Aussie knew by the look on your face that you didn’t want to leave the safety of the hotel room alone and he quickly invited you to breakfast. Said and done, Daniel kissed his sleeping girlfriend goodbye before the two of you trudged out in the hallway. It was still early enough that everything was quiet and empty, the only sound being your yawn and Danny typing on his phone.

“You think they have pancakes?” You asked, rubbing your eyes as you walked. He hummed, looking up from his phone with a small smile.

“I hope so. I need some.”

“Yeah.” You scoffed. “Me too. And I need them to practically be swimming in chocolate sauce and-“ You stopped, both talking and walking, when you saw a door open further down the hallway. Daniel walked a few more steps, glancing between Max stepping out of the room and you with an apologetic pout. He must’ve told Max you were coming. Asshole. You met his gaze and he mouthed a sorry, making you shake your head before carefully looking over at the man standing in the doorway. He offered an unsure smile. Daniel grabbed your arm, giving you no choice but to start walking again. When the two of you reached Max he gave you an encouraging squeeze and patted Max on the shoulder before he disappeared down the hallway. You should’ve known you couldn’t trust Daniel.

“Hey.” Max said softly, making you look up at him. You took note of the dark circles under his eyes and judging by the way his face fell he probably noticed how red yours were.

“Hi.”

“You wanna talk?” Max opened the door a bit wider and with a soft nod you snuck past him into the room. You heard him let out a breath of relief and you found yourself being almost grateful that he seemed to be just as nervous as you were. You sunk down on the edge of the bed, watching as Max sat down in one of the chairs. He rubbed his hands over his face before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “How are you feeling?”

You shrugged and pulled your legs up under yourself, casting your gaze down on your fiddling fingers. “Not to good, I guess.” You answered honestly, Max answering with a soft hum, agreeing. Things were quiet for a while before he spoke up.

“Are you still angry?” You would’ve been annoyed at the question if it wasn’t for the genuine sadness in his voice. Instead you shook your head.

“No. Just a bit sad I think.”

“I didn’t mean to make you sad schatje.” His words were almost whispered. You looked up at him through lashes.

“Do you still believe we’re only together because you’re paying me?”

“That was never- that not what I meant.” He practically whined, shaking his head. “I love you.”

“You just don’t think I actually love you? I’m just using you for your money?” Max gave you a defeated look, shaking his head quickly.

“That’s not-“

“It’s exactly what you said Max!” You exclaimed, interrupting him. You felt the tears pressing behind your eyes again. “Do you know how much of a bad fucking girlfriend I feel like knowing that’s how you see us? Me?” His eyes widened slightly but he didn’t have time to say anything before you started talking again. “I mean, I would’ve paid for my own food, my own travels- everything! If I just knew you felt like that I wouldn’t have let you spend your money on me but you always insist and you’ve always told me you wanted to-“

“I do want to.” He intervened quickly.

“But you want to for the wrong reasons. You want to because you think you need to, because you think I want you to.” When your eyes met again you could tell Max didn’t know what to say. His mouth opened and closed again, no words coming out as his gaze faltered to the ground. You reached up and quickly wiped a stray tear, sniffing quietly as the silence settled. It felt like forever before you heard Maxs voice again.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t either.” You agreed.

“Let’s just-“ Max sighed, scratching the stubble on his cheek. “Let’s just go home, yeah?” When you didn’t answer he leaned forward slightly, trying to get your attention. You slowly raised your gaze to met his, both your eyes portraying to much emotions to process.

“I think I need to be alone for a bit.”

“Yeah, okay. Yeah sure.” He nodded, swallowing harshly. “I’ll- eh, I’ll go down to breakfast and you can order up? If you want to? And then I’ll text you when it’s time to leave for the airport?”

“No, Max.” You shook your head, face contorting in a sad frown. He paused, offering an encouraging nod. He wanted you to tell him what you needed, how to fix this. He was willing to do whatever you wanted. Or at least he thought so. “I think I need to be alone for more than a few hours. Like, I think I should travel alone back home, maybe even back to my parents for a bit. Just to-“

“Wait.” You hated the look of panic mixed with pure hurt that flashed across his face as he sat up a bit straighter. “Wait, no, y/n please.”

“I’m not saying that we’re breaking up Max.” You assured him, watching with a heavy heart as he stood, quickly making his way over to you. The second he sat down next to you on the edge of the bed his hands found yours and you could feel the panic seeping through his fingers.

“I get that I fucked up. I get that. I shouldn’t have said what I said, I didn’t mean it. Liefje please don’t-“

“Max.”

“Please don’t leave me. You know I love you, right?” With every word his voice lost its steadiness and you could practically hear his heart beating out of his chest. “I love you so much-“

“Max.” You interrupted him again, pulling your hand from his grasp to reach up and cup his cheek. “I know, alright? I know. I love you too.” His eyes flickered between yours, unconsciously leaning into your palm.

“Don’t leave.”

With a soft breath you leaned in to press a light kiss against his lips before shuffling closer, letting him wrap his arms around your body. When you placed your head against his chest he tightened his grip, terrified of letting go. The two of you sat like that, just holding each other for what felt forever. You thought back on the past twelve hours. The words that had been said, the insecurities that’d bubbled up. You knew Max never meant to hurt you, you knew that even before you entered his hotel room this morning but the conversation you just had cemented it. The man currently holding you tightly against his chest was the love of your life, no doubt about it, but that didn’t change the fact that all you could think about right now was money. His money, your money, how you could ever let him spend even one euro on you ever again. The thought had your insides churning and that’s why you knew you needed time. Time to process and figure this out before you could come back to him.

“How long?” You snapped out of your thoughts at Maxs voice, so quiet and gentle that you barely caught it at first. When you asked what he meant he let out a breath. “How long do you need? How long til you come back?”

“I don’t know Max. But I’ll come back. I promise.”

~~~~

Ten days. For ten days the only contact between you and Max had been an occasional phone call and a few pictures. He sent you updates on Jimmy and Sassy and you answered with pictures of your parent’s dog, Bongo. Other than that he gave you the space you’d asked for, no matter how much it hurt him not to constantly beg you to come home.

During your time at your parent’s house you’d spent your time just being. Going back to your roots. You hadn’t been brought up traveling the world in private jets or expensive boats and despite loving your life with Max it felt nice to just trudge around your parents backyard in your pajamas, throwing sticks for your dog to fetch. Your father was the most logical person in your life, he’d always been the one you’d turn to when you needed advice and this time it was no different. Your parents both loved Max and they were obviously upset when you came home crying, but after a few days spent talking and reasoning with them you finally saw the situation in a different light. Your dad’s words echoed in your head as you carefully slipped the keys into the door of your apartment, a deep breath leaving your lips when you stepped inside. You were relived to finally be home and you could almost feel yourself buzzing at the thought of seeing Max again. You spoke his name as you walked through the apartment, frowning slightly at the stillness of it. It took you a few minutes before you finally made it to Maxs office, stopping in the doorway when you saw him. He was in his gaming chair, one knee tucked against his chest and chin resting tiredly against it. The computer was turned off, instead his attention was on the toy in his hand as he bounced it slightly for Sassy to play with. You smiled softly at the sight, feeling your chest swell when you heard Max mumble something to the cat.

“Where’s Jimmy?” Despite your words coming out soft and quiet Max flinched, dropping the toy to the ground as he looked up at you. His eyes were wide and lips parted slightly as he took you in, trying to convince himself you were really there.

“You’re home.” He stated and you couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh, nodding.

“I told you I’d come back, right?” Max just shook his head, rising from the chair. In a few quick strides he reached you, immediately wrapping his arms around your body and pressing you tightly against his chest. Without a thought your arms snaked around his waist, feeling your whole body relax completely for the first time since before all this. You didn’t know exactly what it was that had you suddenly feel your throat closing up, the tears pressing behind your eyes as you turned your face even deeper into his shirt, but you knew they were good tears.

“Fuck.” Maxs voice was shaky, you could tell he was on the verge of crying too, and you squeezed him even tighter. “Fuck I missed you.”

“I missed you too Maxie.” You mumbled against his chest, breathing in his scent. You’d known you’d missed him while at your parents, but somehow you hadn’t expected to be quite this emotional reuniting with him. The two of you held each other for a moment, only separating slightly when Sassy pushed her way between your legs, loud noises leaving her small frame. As you leaned away from Max you chuckled down at the furry creature, softly assuring her that you’d missed her too, before your gaze moved up to your boyfriend. You found him already staring down at you, one hand reluctantly leaving your body to reach up and cup your cheek. When you leaned slightly into his palm you noticed him release a breath, finally a small smile making its way to his face. It disappeared too soon for your liking, a light frown taking its place.

“I’m so sorry.” He began, voice serious.

“Max-“ you sighed, but he shook his head and you pressed your lips together, deciding to let him talk. By the look on his face it seemed like he really needed to get this out.

“I realized a few days ago that I never actually apologized. I wanted to call and tell you straightaway but I didn’t want to disturb, I didn’t want to say it over text either but- baby I’m so sorry.” Max spoke slowly, he needed you to really hear him. “I never should’ve said any of that shit and even though I didn’t mean it like you think I did I should’ve realized how it sounded.” He paused for a second, hand slipping from your face to gently hold yours between your bodies. You nodded encouragingly, gently swiping your thumb across his knuckles as he continued. “For me it has always been sort of obvious that the things I have I’ve gotten because of racing. My dad always said that if I wanted something I had to be the best and I guess that just fucked with my head, fucked with the way I see myself and people around me. I’m used to people wanting something from me and somehow I applied that to you too, despite the fact that I’ve actually never felt like that with you. I fell in love with you because you made everything seem so effortless, like you just needed me and nothing else. You’ve never asked me for anything, even if you could and I’d happily give it to you, and I can’t for my life figure out why I would say what I said. I think it was my own insecurities, my fears, that had me place those thoughts on you and I can’t stress enough how fucking sorry I am for that.” He swallowed hard, bottom lip stuck between his teeth as he waited for you to answer. Your eyes trailed over his face and you contemplated carefully how to respond before eventually speaking up.

“I know you didn’t mean it like- like I thought in the beginning. I realize that now, after some time. I understand your point of view- or maybe I don’t understand it but I accept it. I know you Max, I know the way your mind works and your insecurities. But you also know me and it really hurt me to know that even the thought of me being with you for your money crossed your mind.” His gaze dropped down to your hands at your words, nodding. He was ashamed, you knew he was, and despite knowing he might deserve it you really didn’t want him to. Not anymore. With a soft breath you pulled your hand from his, reaching up to cup both his cheeks. When Max met your gaze again you offered a small smile, thumbs moving over his skin. “We all let stupid thoughts cloud our minds sometimes, that’s human. I’m not holding it against you as long as you promise me you’ll tell me if you ever actually feel like I’m somehow taking advantage of you. Or your money.”

“I promise.” He nodded quickly and you couldn’t help but let out a light laugh. Without another word you reached up on your toes, capturing his lips in a long awaited kiss. Despite the fact that it was supposed to be a short and sweet peck the both of you craved more, having been away from each other for way too long. Max deepened the kiss and it didn’t take long until he hoisted you up in his arms, lips instead attacking your neck and shoulder as he mumbled scattered declarations of love against your skin.

Later that evening the two of you laid curled up in bed, legs tangled together and Maxs head placed securely on your chest. As your fingers combed their way through his hair his drew random shapes against your skin, both of you enjoying the sounds of Jimmy and Sassy’s purring from the other side of the bed.

“I’d love you every time.” Max mumbled suddenly, making you pause for a second before continuing your movement.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’d find you no matter what, I’d love you in every timeline and every universe. No matter what any of us were doing I’d find a way to be with you.” His words were almost a bit slurred, the sleepiness thick in his voice, but you heard him loud and clear and it made your heart swell.

“I’d find you too Max. Even if you worked at a gas station.”

~

Tagging ppl who asked for pt2 <33 @brod16 @spookystitchery @witchsbitchestime @bingussthirdtoe @itsjustkhaos @tylerstacobell @ironmaiden1313 @bitchreader @sp1rl @marvelfangirl04 @kravitzwhore @darleneslane @amberpanda99

[dipperscavern]

hey!!! i’m mean jon anon (https://www.tumblr.com/dipperscavern/756299449931825152/post-resurrection-jon-snow-fucks-mean-mean-in-a) reporting with new thoughts!!!!

jon snow is an ass man, he just is. i don’t make the rules (… or do i?) if anyone asks him what is his favorite part about you, he will probably say your smile or your eyes or your passionate and strong personality…. even when he drunkenly slurs to you how much he loves that bum…

and it is kinda cute!!! when he stands behind you, his hand on your hip is dangerously close to your ass cheek, but not on it!!! he does absolutely not touch your ass in public, like bitch please he is a gentleman. a quick peck on the lips and a little pat on the ass.

but it’s his own punishment, he is polite and well spoken, he loves you and worships the ground you walk on…. if someone looks at you too much, touches you, flirts with you. he can’t be mean in public, he can’t bark them away from you. he is the king in the north goddamnit, if he wanted, he could have a messy fluid-disgusting make out session with you while grabbing and squeezing your ass and no one would dare to object, but his own morals and ideas of what is proper are digging his own grave.

so he just stares, and clench his fist. a little frown on his face, he is clearly discontent. and will complain later (possessive jon will be extended later….)

SO… he fucks you from behind, one side of your face on the mattress hips in the air. drunk in the view of your ass cheeks bouncing against his hips. clap clap clap fills the room with your whines and he really can’t help himself when his hands grab your cheeks, opening up for him to have the whole view.

pretty pussy drooling on him, little puckered hole winking. so inviting. he pushed his body on you, until his back is on your back, fully weight on you. your mind blurry by his big body and warm against you. his lips leaving kisses on your shoulder, with his left hand still on your globe and the other cupping your jaw, with his thumb making his way into your mouth without much a problem. he lets out a groan when you start sucking, so eager and dirty. with his finger alllllllll wet, he goes back to his initial position (of course, after leaving a quick kiss on your temple). spanks your ass with his left hand, making sure you are still open for him. enjoying your little jump. his right hand with his wet thumb, pressing so gentle against your tight hole.

you let out a gasp, clenching the sheets between your fists. jon you call out, on surprise. a humming noise is your response, his way of telling you he is listening, for you to go on. his thrusts are deep and slow now, making sure it’s not too much for his sweet girl. please you continue. you don’t even know what you are pleading for. faster? stop? more? jon still has his thumb in your hole, still thrusting. he knows what you want. but he’s going to make you say it (so mean :( ) please what, darling? and his thumb slowly entering makes you gasp louder for please, please i need it please- so bad- but he is not letting go so easy oh love, what do you need? want it faster or need this pretty hole fucked by my cock too? oh gods he is dirty mouthed when he gets like this, this side so brutally needy and rough to own all of you (like he doesn’t already own your soul). but even in your ditzy mind state you want to make the beast in him growl. in your whiny fucked-dumb voice you finally said any- please- fuck any of them- i’m yours. by the end of that night, you confirm your theory. jon snow is a gentleman but he fucks you like a mean man. dirty and disgusting. stuffs all of your holes and makes you say over and over again anything he wants.

ps.: i didn’t find anything in your blog that said something against anal, so if you aren’t into it i’m sorry 😭😭😭 ignore that part…

Hey so i actually need you to become a writer right now haha no biggie lol i’m only going a little insane

i’m not even an anal gal like that but… i’d do it. THE ACCURACY IN WHICH U POTRAY HIM HAS ME SHOOK. JON SNOW IS AN ASS MAN. the kiss on your temple his back draped over yours him humming letting u know he’s listening…. i’m so sorry i don’t have much to add you’ve rendered me speechless i’m just leaving this here haha (i need to be cas-evaced by helicopter)

[al-the-remix]

BuckTommy Whump Week Day 4: Prompts: Getting shot // Chronic pain

Another fic for @bucktommywhumpweek! I'm hoping to finish a few more of these before the week is actually over, lol. Rated: E ... I don't know if this really qualifies as whump (like my last whump week fic 💀) but I just can't help making them all sappy atm.

What people didn’t know about bullets was that they rarely went through-and-through in a nice neat manner; not through walls, or car doors, or flesh. They bounced around inside you like a rubber ball, inflicting the most damage possible. 

Buck had seen the aftermath more times than would have liked to. 

The memory of being called to his first GSW was a visceral one, it had been a domestic dispute and once they’d loaded the victim into the bus, Hen had rubbed his back as he’d thrown up into some nearby shrubbery. Buck could still feel the acid burn in the back of his throat when he remembered it. 

He’d seen cadaver photos in his text books, but those never compared to the real thing. The sheer volume of blood that poured out of people was enough to make him nauseous just thinking about it. The cartoonish version of a bullet hole that he’d carried around in his head for most of his life just hadn’t held up. 

Maybe it had been shortsighted of him, but Buck had never taken the time to consider what might come later; not until Tommy had taken Buck’s hand in his own and laid it over the meat of his shoulder and let Buck feel the little knobs of bullet fragments lodged there, like ball bearings trapped beneath his skin. 

“Do they bother you?” Buck asked, in wonder. 

“Not often,” Tommy replied, his hand still blanketing Buck’s as he let him dig his fingers into his shoulder muscle like he would be more than happy to just leave it there forever. “Most of the time I forget they're even there.”

Buck found that hard to believe. He couldn’t imagine having a foreign object stuck in his body and not obsessing over it every moment of every day. 

Tommy was giving him an amused, knowing look. 

“What?” 

“You’re going to be thinking about those for a while aren’t you?”

Buck huffed, rolling his eyes. It was a little unsettling maybe, sometimes, being understood so through and quickly by another person. He liked it; it made him feel all shivery and warm inside, but more importantly it made him feel daring. Bold. 

“Yeah, maybe I will.”

Tommy took Buck’s hand in his own: his palm big, warm and dry, and slid it down to rest on the muscular curve of his outer thigh. “There’s some more over here too,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows as Buck gave all the nice warm flesh there a squeeze.

There wasn’t a lot of talking after that, but Tommy had been right, Buck had thought about it for a while, his mind stuck on invisible scars and mementoes carried around inside you that no one else could see. 

///

Buck wasn’t sure if it was the thunder or the soft orange glow spilling into the mezzanine that woke him. Quiet noises came from the kitchen below, the muted purr of the kettle and the shuffle of Tommy’s socked feet against the tile. Tommy had still been in Buck’s bed when he’d fallen asleep hours ago, tucked up against Tommy’s side as Tommy read by the lamp light.

Buck pulled on his sweatpants and made his way down to the main floor, feeling oddly awake for 4 am. He rarely had a bad night’s sleep when Tommy was with him, taking up space in Buck’s bed and stealing his covers. 

Tommy sent him a guilty look when he noticed Buck, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been, not pulling honey from Buck’s kitchen cabinet. He was wearing one of Buck’s old hoodies and some sleep shorts. The circles under his eyes were dark and deep. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he whispered like Buck might be standing there in front of him, still asleep.

“I don’t mind,” Buck said and meant it. He wasn't the one with the shift in far too few hours.

Buck leaned back against the edge of the counter crossing his arms as he did, and settled in. He knew whatever was bothering Tommy would work its way out on its own, like a splinter buried beneath skin. He watched quietly as Tommy stirred honey into his tea. Buck was no stranger to sleepless nights and aching bones. Tommy had sat with him through some of the more recent bad nights, endlessly patient. 

Buck watched him closely, quietly analyzing the tilt of his body and the clench of his jaw as Tommy leaned against the counter opposite him. The cool light from the stove hugged the contours of his face, digging out dark wedges beneath those cheekbones that could cut glass. 

“Well, aren't you gonna ask?”

Buck shrugged. “I figured I'd just wait you out.”

Tommy sighed, setting his mug to the side. He was smart enough to know when he was on the losing side of a battle. “It's the scar tissue around the shrapnel I've still got in me. Every so often it begins to pull in uncomfortable ways and makes it impossible to get settled.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Tommy tilted his head like he was really considering Buck and his words. “Honestly I don't know, I normally just take an Ibuprofen and put on a movie or something and try to just ignore it.”

“Well, I think we can do better than that,” Buck said, and Tomy raised a brow, curiosity peaked.

With hands planted firmly on Tommy’s shoulders, Buck guided him back upstairs to bed and got him splayed out on his belly across the center of the mattress on a towel, sweater-less, with his arms tucked comfortably under his head. 

“Finally, just where I want you,” Buck teased as he straddled Tommy’s waist, reaching for the massage oil. He could feel Tommy’s laugh vibrate through his ribcage, muffled by the pillow.

Buck admired the span of Tommy’s back as he warmed the oil up between his hands, deciding where to begin. The bullet and shrapnel scars were faint now, Buck knew their locations by memory and feel alone. He started by smoothing his hands up the center of Tommy’s back, following the column of his spine and the thick muscles flanking it, getting Tommy warmed up and used to his touch before applying more pressure. 

Buck always preferred to talk while he worked, and with Tommy the smooth flow of words came easy. If he let himself, he could probably let his mouth run for hours, and Tommy would listen. 

“You know, I wanted to be a masseuse for a while.”

Tommy hummed, his eyes had drifted shut when Buck began to work on the tight knot of tissue just below his shoulder blade, he peeled one open now, offering Buck an amused look over his shoulder. “And which hunky guy did you follow that career into?”

“Ha ha,” Buck said, poking his fingers playfully into Tommy's side, just to watch him squirm. “Actually, it was after working at the ranch, there was this ex bronco rider, who had compressed his spine one too many times, mucking out stalls with me. He told me all about how his girlfriend had taken massage therapy classes to help him with his back because his insurance wouldn’t cover the treatment.” 

“Ah, so it was a hunky girl that time.”

Buck chuckled. He liked how easy it was to talk with Tommy about stuff like this; he wasn’t ashamed of  himself or his past, but he was wary of how people might perceive him because of it. He’d wanted so badly for Tommy to think of him as a serious person, to know that Buck was all in. That dating him didn���t imply some sort of unspoken risk–and with Tommy it never had. 

“You know me–I always liked the idea of helping people, I just didn't know how, yet.” 

“Maybe I’m being selfish, but I think you ended up right where you were supposed to be,” Tommy said, and groaned in pleasure when Buck really started working at the scar tissue webbed deep within his back muscle.

“How’s that feel?” Buck asked, anticipating Tommy's approval.

“Fucking awesome.”

Buck grinned. He knew he was good with his hands, but it was a whole nother thing entirely to be good with his hands for Tommy. Pleased with himself, a heavy satisfaction settled warm in the pit of his stomach. He loved everything about this: having Tommy pliable and relaxed beneath him, working slick skin over with his hands, making Tommy feel good, being able to help in some small way.

Buck shuffled down, straddling Tommy’s leg so he could work his fingers into the outside of Tommy’s thigh where he knew a metal shard the size of his thumbnail lived. That one had been logged in there when an IED had struck the lead vehicle in their convoy, and some of Buck’s satisfaction melted away as he thought about just how many close calls his boyfriend’s body was littered with. He was normally the one getting shit for taking risks, but in truth Tommy was just as guilty as he was. 

Tommy had gone completely boneless underneath him, his skin pink and a little shiny from having Buck’s oiled up hands all over him. He continued to rub gently circles into his skin even after he’d finished with the final shrapnel wound he knew of, running his nails lightly over the thick swirls of hair on the backs of Tommy’s legs. 

Tommy shifted his hips against the mattress, spreading his legs a little wider. Buck knew that move, and that satisfaction in his gut twisted and flared back to life. He slid his hands up the backs of Tommy’s thighs as slowly as he could handle.

“Are you hard?” he asked, worming his fingers under the hem of Tommy’s shorts when he reached them. 

“Yeah,” Tommy sighed. “That felt really good, but, uh, we don’t have to do anything, you must be tired and–”

He was starting to sound way too with it for Buck’s liking. Buck dug his thumbs into the soft inner flesh of Tommy’s thighs and let his hips roll in a slow, pointed drag along the back of Tommy’s leg so there was no way he could miss the semi Buck was sporting.

Tommy’s muscles jumped under his hands as he groaned. “Okay, Okay, you’ve made your point. Help me out of these–”

Buck was more than happy to peel Tommy’s shorts down his legs as Tommy lifted his hips obligingly. He had half a mind to just dump a generous amount of the oil on Tommy’s big pale ass and go to town, but he had a feeling that would probably ruin the [slowly winding] mood they’d built. 

In a show of what he considered great restraint, Buck slipped a slick hand between Tommy’s thighs, rolling his balls softly in the palm of his hand just to hear the noises he would make. Quiet chuffs and deep groans were muffled by the pillow as Tommy ground his hips in lazy circles against the mattress and back into Buck’s hand, and Buck was starting to think he’d never get over how good it felt to have another man like this: a big body to push and pull and work at until it ultimately unraveled.

Buck stretched up so he could press a kiss to the thick curve of Tommy’s shoulder, not caring one bit about the oil that still clung to his skin. He let his hand drift up and rubbed his slick fingers indulgently over Tommy’s asshole, gratified by the way he moaned and pushed into it. 

“You can if you want to,” Tommy said, breathless, and Buck could tell without even looking at his face how gone he was just from having Buck’s hands on him. 

“I have a better idea,” Buck said, pulling at Tommy’s hip. “Here–roll onto your side for me.”

It didn’t take Tommy long to clue in once Buck pressed himself all up along his back and reached for the bottle of oil again, slicking his dick up in the shallow space between their bodies. 

His body tensed when realization dawned. “Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Evan– ” 

And it was Tommy’s turn to lose his cool, his voice reedy and feverish, a thin tremor through his body as Buck maneuvered his thigh so he could fit his dick into that hot, tight space between them. He wrapped an arm around the barrel of Tommy’s chest, pinning him tight against his own as Buck took that first long, indulgent roll of his hips. 

Buck had always enjoyed fucking someone’s thighs–what wasn’t there to like–but there was something specific about the way Tommy got so worked up over it, even in the early hours of the morning after a sleepless night, even when Buck had just worked his body to jello with his hands, that rocketed the act up into the stratosphere.

Tommy squeezed his thighs around him, Buck could hear the labored cadence of his breathing and the obscene sounds of him fisting his own cock, as Buck fucked the slick give of his thighs. The way the head of his dick kept nudging up against the soft resistance of Tommy’s balls with every stroke was still just different enough to scratch at Buck’s brain in new and interesting ways.

Tommy’s fingers dug into his hair, pulling Buck’s face down so he could slide their mouth together at an awkward angle. The kiss was sloppy, Tommy kept sucking Buck’s tongue into his mouth and then breaking away to moan again and again as he got closer to coming. Buck could feel it all through his body, wound like a coil ready to spring. He wasn’t far behind, his plan to keep things slow and simmering had fallen through quickly. He should have known better; with Tommy pressed against him like one big throbbing pulse, overwhelming Buck’s senses with the musky scent of his body, and the sounds he made when he touched himself, and how good it felt to rut against him like this, the desperate slide of skin against skin, there was just no chance he was going to last.  

Buck buried his face in the hollow of Tommy’s shoulder, just above where that pale constellation of shrapnel lived, and stilled as he came in thick pulses all along Tommy’s taint, that little space between his thighs instantly going wet and frictionless. 

Tommy made a wounded sound, and Buck held him tight in the cradle of his arms as Tommy hitched his hips into his fist until he came. He was still pressing kisses against Tommy’s damp hairline when Tommy reached up and laced their fingers together, no longer shaking. 

“Well, I’m definitely not thinking about the stupid shrapnel anymore.”

“Good,” Buck said, allowing himself to feel smug about it. “My work here is done.”

“Not so quick hot stuff,” Tommy said, reaching back to pat him on the hip. “I expect your help de-oiling in the shower. I think this mess is a four-handed operation.”

“Yes, sir.” Buck peeled himself from where he’d been clinging to Tommy like a limpet.

He took a moment to admire the long, glistening stretch of Tommy’s body, limp and satisfied. Debauched, even.

"What?" Tommy asked, stretching his arms above his head as he rolled onto his back, offering Buck a good view of where his come was actively drying in his happy trail. Buck would have a fun time scrubbing that out.

"Nothing, I'm just happy you're here, with me."

Tommy face went immediately soft and he pressed up on his knees so he could pull Buck into one more lingering kiss before breaking away.

"There's no where I'd rather be."

[yuikomorii]

I got a question but I need an objective answer please. So I saw a lot of people complain about Yui being written in a very bad way in Ayato’s routes starting with More Blood and was curious if you think that she became a bad girlfriend as the story progressed?

// I will analyze Yui’s versions from Ayato’s routes and provide an answer at the end of this post.

More Blood:

Even from the first two chapters we are aware of the fact that Yui got a big crush on Ayato merely because of his looks and pleasure he gave her. At first sight, these reasons seem very superficial, but at the same time you can’t blame her completely for that. Yui went to a normal school and used to read magazines for teens, therefore it’s obvious she would have hormones and fall in love with someone who got features portrayed as the beauty standard.

It's understandable why some found her annoying, as she repeatedly cried for Ayato's love without making any real effort to earn it. Apart from giving him her blood, she didn't try to understand what he was going through, even when she noticed changes in him that made him crave so much blood.

Nevertheless, I believe that she did redeem herself in the last chapters, where she admitted being selfish and only thinking about her own desires, instead of focusing on Ayato’s struggles too. I know she paralyzed him out of jealousy and cheated on him in the bad endings, but in the good one, she’s actually a really loyal person. Yui waited years for Ayato to wake up from the coma and Ayato searched for Yui for years in his dream until he finally woke up. This ending confirmed the genuineness of their love.

In the After Story, Ayato planned to attend university for Yui's sake, aiming to get a job and buy a house. Yui helped Ayato with his studies and praised his skills. Initially, she fell for his looks, but in the After Story, she mentioned falling in love with him again because of his caring, determined, and hardworking personality.

Vandead Carnival & Lunatic Parade:

I really liked Yui in both of Ayato's routes and honestly, I can't find anything to criticize about her behavior.

It's not that Yui was a bad partner; it's just that Ayato was portrayed as too good, such as when he ran through flames for her or protected her from a bomb explosion. But that's likely because these are fan service games, where the love interests are designed to be your knights in shining armor. xD

Dark Fate:

I absolutely loved Yui’s portrayal in that route. It was the sweetest version of Yui I’ve ever seen, and I really enjoyed seeing her so happy and soft. Regarding her relationship with Ayato, he was truly the apple of her eye, lol.

The only problematic thing she did was pushing Ayato to face his abuser, Cordelia, even though he didn’t want to. I honestly don’t care if a character does something to another character, as long as it doesn’t affect them and the story, so since Ayato didn’t get mad at her for that, I didn’t mind it much either. However, from an objective point of view, I agree that doing such a thing is quite bad. Being in the presence of someone who ruined your life can trigger intense memories and forcing a confrontation removes the victim's agency in deciding how to cope with their trauma. Ayato might not have been mad at Yui for planning that, but if it had been Laito, I’m sure he would have shown why Yui was in the wrong.

Other than that, she was a kind and supportive girlfriend throughout the whole route, clearly having no ill intent, and I appreciate that she had an actual important role in the route.

Lost Eden:

Ok, I really can’t defend her anymore there. She literally had no redeeming qualities, no matter how many times she got the chance to fix herself. I discussed my thoughts about LE Yui in this post, but I’ll sum it up.

She tried to convince Ayato that despite Cordelia abusing him, she actually did it because she “cared about his future”, and then acted surprised when Ayato started feeling uncomfortable because of her words.

Yui knew the reasons behind Ayato’s behavior, yet when his brothers started mocking him, she didn’t even try to defend him. Everyone ganged up on Ayato, and he was on the verge of a panic attack, yet she remained silent.

Another terrible scene was in one of the last chapters, when Ruki admitted to turning the Vibora Clan and Church organization against Ayato out of envy, aiming to kill him. Instead of criticizing Ruki’s actions, Yui justified them and spoke ill of Ayato behind his back. I wouldn’t like to date someone who claims to love me but keeps hurting me without learning anything… It felt as if Ayato only continued being together with her because he had no one else. No wonder he didn’t marry her there.

Chaos Lineage:

I found Yui quite boring in CL in general, but she started off as determined and sweet in his route, so I liked that.

For most of the route, Yui’s entire personality seemed to revolve around Ayato, and she didn’t do much. There were many cheesy moments between them that made me cringe. Still, I’m sure a certain audience enjoyed those.

My only complaint is that when his brothers started treating Ayato unfairly, despite the fact that he came up with the idea of breaking the glass floor of the church, Yui did nothing to defend him, again.

However, I do appreciate that she gave him that adorable monologue. I just wish she had done it in front of others instead of only acting when Ayato was already insecure and sad.

Now… let’s see what kind of girlfriend Yui was in each route by judging her progress:

MB: Good

VC: Good

DF: Very good

LP: Good

LE: Very bad

CL: Decent

[2knightt]

The boys reactions if you asked to do their makeup?

the gangs reactions to you wanting to do their makeup!

!warnings!

1.fem!reader

2.mentions of putting concealer and foundation on, so like just imagine you bought ones that match them lol

3.swearing and minor violence at the end.

Johnny Cade ;

“johnnycakes, would you let me do your makeup?”

you said looking at your boyfriend sitting on your bed as you did your own makeup at your vanity.

“h-huh? like..on me?”

“yes johnny, on you.”

johnny wanted to object he really did but when you just stared at him he got nervous.

he just nodded his head yes because he didn’t want to disappoint you.

so you smiled as wide as you could and shot up out of your seat.

“really?! you’d let me?”

“huh uh…”

“EEK! well, sit down!!”

johnny sighs as he makes his way over to the chair.

johnny didn’t know what you were gonna do to him!

well, he did have an idea. he watches you do your makeup so often that he’s memorized your routine.

he has to admit, he was scared at first, but when you started to do his makeup he immediately relaxed.

johnny didn’t know you doing his makeup could be this relaxing.

he almost fell asleep!

johnny’s scared of the eyelash curler. he doesn’t like how close it is to his eye.

when you’re finished and you show him the finished product, he can’t help but look at himself at all angles!

“so? did i do good?”

“yeah, real good.”

Dallas Winston ;

only way you’re gonna do his makeup is if you have pity points!

if he forgot something special or you guys just finished settling an argument and he feels bad? you just got yourself dallas winston pity points!

put ‘em to good use.

but if you’re askin’ to do his makeup, i think you are!

“dal..?”

“yea?”

“can i do your makeup?”

expect him to slowly turn his head towards you with shock and disgust.

he has dignity!! he’s a cool tuff grease, what makes you think he’s gonna put ANY sort of makeup on??

“no.”

“well, do you remember the time that you got mad at me for like no reason? you still gotta make it up to me..”

“FINE. i’ll let you do my makeup. just don’t bring that up again.”

you smile as you grab your makeup bag while dallas groans.

if you have one of those cute lil headbands with animal ears on them please put them on him?? it’d be so funny??

“y/n are you fucking kidding me?”

“what do you mean dal? you look so cute!”

dallas has ZERO clue on what you do for makeup.

he doesn’t even know what concealer is.

when your finished he just blankly stares into the mirror while you laugh your ass off.

“this isn’t funny.”

“no-no you’re absolutely right! i-it’s just the fact that thee dallas winston is wearing makeup!”

Ponyboy Curtis ;

“gee, pony. im realll bored..”

when you started anything with ‘gee’ ponyboy knew you were gonna suggest something stupid.

“*sigh* what do you want to do, y/n?”

“you should let me do your makeup!”

ponyboy scrunched his face up at the idea, but the longer he thought about it, the more okay he was.

“okay, just don’t make it wear it out in public as some cruel prank.”

“i would never!”

ponyboy would also be another one to find you doing his makeup relaxing.

he doesn’t close his eyes though, he’s too busy asking and trying to guess what you do with everything.

“oh! what’s that for? is it to like…pluck my eyebrows?”

“no pony, it’s to curl your lashes.”

“what.”

he thinks you beating his face with a beauty blender is ticklish.

“stop moving!! im trying to blend out the foundation!!”

“it ain’t my fault it tickles!”

but when you’re done he definitely forgets it’s on and goes into the living room with the gang in there.

“WOAHHH WHAT’S ON YOUR FACE PONY?”

“you got something to tell us, kid?”

“OH SH-“

and now he’s running to his room to tell you to take it off as you hear the gang laughing like hyenas in the other room.

“y/n, y/n please take this off. i need to go get a pepsi.”

Sodapop Curtis ;

he is absolutely for the idea of you doing makeup on him!

when you asked him he smiled so bright, you could’ve sworn you looked right into the sun!

“love…you should like, let me do your makeup.”

“yeah!! let’s do it!!”

when you get your makeup out, expect him to be touching everything.

the second you put something down, it’s already in his hands.

“ew, why is it sticky?!”

“cause it’s a primer, babe. it’s supposed to be sticky.”

he puts you on his lap while you do his makeup so, ‘you can see better.’

yeah right.

so the whole time while you’re doing his makeup he has his hands around your waist with his eyes closed.

OH MY GOD PLEASE LET HIM PICK THE EYESHADOW COLOUR.

he may pick ugly colours that totally clash, but it’ll make him happy.

“uhh, oh! i like this red and…that purple!”

“…seriously?”

if you put lipstick on him, expect him to try to be kissing you all the time.

“soda!! stop tryin’ to kiss me, i’m trying to put the makeup away!”

“aweee, y/n doesn’t want my kisses…??”

let him have at least one and he’ll feel better.

he DEFINITELY keeps it on all day.

“what the fuck are you wearing?”

“you don’t like it stevey wevey?🥺”

he says while making duck lips in steves direction.

Darry Curtis ;

you have to ask when he’s tired.

because when he’s with you and tired, he’ll let anything you do slide.

so while he’s sitting on his chair with his head thrown back after ponyboy and soda are sleep, it’s the best time to ask.

“hey darry?”

“..yea?”

“since you ain’t doing much, can i..do your makeup?”

his eyebrows immediately tighten at the thought, but after 10 seconds he realizes theres no use in putting up a fight.

“sure doll. just be quick.”

and on that que, you’re rushing to get everything you need!

i don’t see darry liking the feeling of makeup, so this does infact have to be a speedy process.

he doesn’t ask what anything is, he trusts you enough to know what you’re doing.

he does not let you ANYWHERE near his eyes though, it freaks him out too much. but if you’re dead set on doing full glam, expect a long conversation of trying to convince him.

“do you really have to?”

“yes darry, eyeshadow and mascara is the KEY to any makeup look! especially with these pretty browns you have!”

when your done he’ll go look in the bathroom mirror and laugh a little before he asks for you to take it off.

if you’re feeling a little silly funny and goofy, do not take the lipstick off. let it stay there and pray it stays on ‘till the morning.

and if it does? you and the gang will have a field day oh my god.

“wow, super man! what do you do at night?”

“..what?”

“JESUS CHRIST DARRY, WHY DO YOU HAVE LIPSTICK ON?”

“…WHAT?!”

Steve Randle ;

unlike his best friend, steve isn’t one for makeup.

he’s ‘too tuff for any of that!’

bullshit!

all you gotta do is twirl your pretty hair and flutter those lashes and he’ll do it.

“aw, c’mon steve! it won’t be too long..”

“fine. but speak of this to anyone and i’ll tell them about last tuesday.”

and that’s how you got steve to sit down all nice and pretty to do his makeup!

he stares at you while you do his makeup.

he doesn’t have a goddamn clue what’s going on.

he barely understands foundation, so please be patient. he will ask what everything does too.

“whats that do?”

“this is blush steve, can’t have you lookin’ like a ghost.”

another one that picks out the eyeshadow colour, expect he actually picks good colours.

he is very aware of the what colours clash and what doesn’t, and he cannot be looking like a clown around you.

“pick which colours!”

“the cream and this blue.”

he is very nervous about the mascara, very.

but once you do one eye, he’ll even blink to help you!

when you’re done he thinks you did a great job!

he might even go terrorize sodapop for the jokes.

“don’t ya think i look pretttttyyy mr.curtis?”

“steve, get out of my house and never come back.”

Two-bit Matthews ;

he isn’t new to makeup in any shape or form.

so if you ask him to do his makeup, he’ll nod his head real aggressively.

“babyy…you should let me do your makeup.”

“i thought you’d never ask!”

his little sister has definitely put makeup on him before, but like, only kiddie makeup.

so when he seen the makeup you had?? he was astonished to say the least.

“woahh! you have actual eyeshadow, and real blush!”

he will sit there looking pretty, kicking his feet as you apply the highlighter to his face.

he licks off the lipstick as soon as you put it on.

he doesn’t mean too! he’s used to his little sisters chapstick that tastes like cherries.

when you’re finished his look, he WILL keep it on with pride.

he doesn’t care.

“two-bit, are you fucking serious.”

“yes i am. my wonderful girlfriend put it on, isn’t she just the sweetest?”

“…”

“I SAID, isn’t she just the sweetest.”

and now he’s a man with makeup, holding a switchblade, threatening someone to call his girlfriend sweet.

author notes ;

1. I LOVE GETTING REQUESTS SO MUCH PLEASEEE KEEP THEM COMING??

2.also, I HAVE 42 FOLLOWERS NOW??? I STARTED NOT EVEN 3 WEEKS AGO???

taglist-ish LMFAO:

@diorgirl444 - i remember you asked to be tagged..TELL ME IF U DONT LOL🙏

may 14th, 2023.

[chilschuck]

Hear me out...

Witch/mage half-foot reader x chilchuck? Iy would be cute i think?

Maybe they have that carefree, mad hatter-y vibe that makes chil grow white hairs every single moment lol

(sorry for any mistakes, english isnt my first language)

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ THIS IS SUCH A CUTE IDEA and i hope i did it justice!!! struggling to write for some reason lately but i got this out for you and i’m so happy that i finished it!!

— CHILCHUCK: x mage half-foot!reader.

꒰ warnings: ꒱ none, sfw + gn!reader!

꒰ wc: ꒱ 570

✦ hope this turned out okay!!! i am trying to get out at least one request a day! <3 enjoy!!

✦ You made it very known you were interested in joining the party, and Laios suggested it wouldn’t be too bad to have another magic user around. Since no one had really any objections to it, you became the party’s second half-foot member.

✦ With a smaller amount of mana than other races, you used your magic in smaller bursts. Even with having to be more observant of when you used it, you were definitely more of a carefree soul than the other members.

✦ Running headfirst into whatever monster made an appearance was common for you, and Chilchuck grabbing you by the collar and pulling you to safety with him was as well. You seemed to have a knack for making Chilchuck grow more gray hairs, whether it be by scaring the hell out of him with reckless behavior or disappearing for a span of time before popping up right behind him. (He didn’t want to guess what exactly you went off to do.)

✦ Chilchuck, when given the chance, would grab you by your shoulders to get onto you about your reckless behavior. To his dismay, you usually gave him that sly, carefree grin you always did. You two were definitely polar opposites in some regards, and Chilchuck had to routinely keep his heart from stopping when you put yourself in danger.

✦ That isn’t to say you weren’t skilled at what you do: even Chilchuck knew you had talent. It was more so that you had a bit more fun than needed, which caused the already older half-foot to feel like he’s aging more.

✦ All his concerns and reprimanding aside, he really did enjoy your company. Maybe it was your whimsical sort of outlook or the way you carried yourself, but he was definitely drawn to you. The first time he realized this was when you scared him so badly that he thought he had lost you. After letting him know you were fine and that it’s nothing some healing won’t fix up, he knew you had begun to grow on him.

✦ You made sure to tease him about his concern over your wellbeing, letting him know you were more than capable of taking care of yourself. Maybe even purposefully putting him on edge with some of your shenanigans just to see him freak out a little.

✦ Secretly, Chilchuck admired how gutsy you were, even if your mad hatter-like personality gave him heart palpitations. He wondered what it must be like to not have any concerns like that, sometimes catching his attention being solely on you and your work.

✦ It didn’t help that you and your personality were pretty charming, after all. Maybe he even found it cute how engrossed in certain aspects of magic you’d get. And how excited you got when you succeeded at something. Also how you’d sometimes catch yourself daydreaming and get lost in thought. The list goes on, much to his dismay.

✦ The half-foot would always deny it, but sometimes Marcille sees the way he looks at you and absolutely teases him. Apparently, it reminds her of a romance novel she read once, about a grumpy man and this mage that taught him how to live life to the fullest. Chilchuck swatted her away, trying his best to ignore the feeling in his chest at that. He definitely has some thinking to do… (And feelings to acknowledge!!)

— dividers by @/cafekitsune! <3

[fruvittea]

❀ ̊    🌱  ⊹ ‎  ̊  西村 riki ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ. x afab! reader | slytherin boyfriend! headcanons  .   ֺ  ָ   ֙⋆  🪽wc: 989 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ ⌗ warnings ➝ none | ˙  ᰋ  ─ [harry potter au] ˚  | ( fluff/fantasy ⁀✧ )

author's note! | 🎧💭—౨ৎ hii enjoy these headcanons, i've been in a harry potter mood LOL lmk if you want this to be a series for all the members >_<

want to read more? check out fruvittea's enhypen masterlist: click here !!

꒰ ୨୧ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

niki: you're mischevous yet soft bf!

...protective but in a quiet way ⨾

niki's not the type to make a big show of affection, but he'll always stand by your side when you need him

but if someone were to approach (usually if they were of the opposite sex) he would make it known that you two were together by small touches whether it be his hand brushing yours, or his hand on your lower back guiding you away from the person

if someone so much looks at you the wrong way, he's giving them the slytherin death glare and muttering something under his breath making you swat at his chest

...playful teasing is his love language ⨾

he oves to tease you about anything and everything, especially when it makes you pout (he thinks it’s adorable) or especially when it makes you blush

"oh, you forgot your potions notes? guess you’ll have to trade a kiss for mine.”

nicknames galore: niki loves giving you ridiculous nicknames to see your reaction "hey pumpkin puff, where are you off to?" or "good morning muffin, how are you today?"

niki will “borrow” your quill, scarf, or even your notes and make a show of not giving them back. “hmm, i don’t know… maybe if you ask nicely,” he teases, holding it just out of reach. he always gives in when you pout, but not without a cheeky grin

it is very clear to others that you two are together due to his teasing

... a little bit dramatic ⨾

any time you’re cold, he makes an overly dramatic show of wrapping his slytherin scarf around you, complete with a flourish

“you look much better in it anyway,” he says, smirking, while everyone else just rolls their eyes at his theatrics

if you’ve had a bad day, niki will tilt your chin up with his finger (like he’s in a movie) and ask, “who do i need to deal with? just say the word, and i’ll take care of it.”

he doesn’t actually mean he’s going to hex someone, but the way he says it makes you think he might.

if you’re mad at him, niki doesn’t just say sorry—he performs it. he’ll write you a heartfelt letter in perfect calligraphy or charm enchanted roses to float around your room with tiny notes that say “forgive me?”

... jealous (but mostly chill) ⨾

if someone is talking to you for too long, niki will casually slide up next to you and drape his arm over your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “oh, hey! didn’t see you there,” he’ll say to the other person, but his tone makes it clear: you’re his.

as a joke (but not really), he might charm small objects, like your necklace or bag, to glow faintly green whenever he’s nearby. “just so everyone knows you’re already taken,” he says with a wink.

niki’s not the type to throw a tantrum, but he might get a little quiet if he’s feeling jealous. when you notice, he’ll play it off with a shrug. “it’s nothing, really. just… you’re mine, okay? don’t forget that.”

if he ever feels like he overreacted, niki will find a way to make it up to you—whether it’s sneaking you your favorite treats from the kitchens or pulling you aside for an impromptu date. “you’re too good for me, you know that? but i’m keeping you anyway.”

... thoughtful in the cutest ways ⨾

he always notices the little things. niki has a sharp eye for detail and notices even the smallest changes about you—like if you’re wearing a new scarf or if your hair is styled differently. “new hair clip? looks good,” he’ll say casually, but the slight smirk on his face tells you he really means it.

niki remembers all your little quirks and habits, like how you like your tea or the way you organize your bag. he’ll have your tea ready exactly the way you like it when you sit down to study, without you even asking.

niki has a habit of slipping little notes into your bag or books—sometimes sweet, sometimes teasing. “don’t forget you’re amazing. also, i better see you at lunch, or i’m coming to find you.”

if you’re upset or stressed, niki will go out of his way to cheer you up, whether it’s with a silly joke or a dramatic reenactment of something funny that happened in class. “smiling already? good. that’s my job, after all.”

... future focused ⨾

niki doesn’t open up to many people, but with you, he shares everything—his goals, his ambitions, and the things he’s determined to achieve. “one day, i’m going to be someone important. and you’ll be right there with me, okay?”

if you mention something you want to do in the future—even casually—niki locks it in his memory. “didn’t you say you wanted to visit paris one day? let’s make it happen. i’ll start saving now.”

niki wants you to be just as ambitious as he is and constantly encourages you to chase your goals. “you’re capable of so much—you know that, right? don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

( #   .   by @fruvittea   𓂃  ♥︎ )

[bwabys-scenarios]

Kite hcs PLEASSEE i saw ur post abt him, the anon was right theres NOTHING on this man, if im lucky i can find a decent fic😔 ANYWAYS THANK U SMM

Kite SFW/NSFW HCs

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

warnings: oral(female and male receiving), creampie, fingering, fem!reader

!!REQUESTS OPEN!!

SFW

-this man is so affectionate behind closed doors. he loves to hold you, give you tender kisses

-he has very long hair, and lets you do anything you want with it! he will 100% wear little pink hair bows to work if you put them there!

-he’s such a softy. can’t be mad at you or upset for more than a second. you’re just so cute, he’ll just pay your head and say how spoiled you are

-he enjoys taking you out for nice, quiet dinners where he gets to see you all dressed up

-kite prefers giving you more sentimental, hand made gifts! like photo albums of your time together, baked goods, or cards he cut out himself

-he has a hard time relaxing when he’s away from guy for long periods of time. he doesn’t want to involve you with his work, but tries to be with you as much as possible

-he’s very patient, and it takes him nearly two years to confess his feelings to you. he knew he was in love when he watched you save an animal, despite the fact it was trying to kill you. he smacked you over the head after, but was touched by your kindness. that didn’t stop him from scolding you for putting yourself in danger lol

-he actually dislikes receiving gifts! he’d much rather just bask in your presence and get extra kisses than receive a material object

-he’s really bad at cooking, but a decent baker! he likes to make you lots of different sweets when you’re sad to cheer you up! he’s pretty good at baking bread as well~

-he can get pretty jealous. he’s a bit insecure, feeling like he doesn’t give you enough attention due to his job, so when he sees you hanging out with other men he feels… possessive. he won’t do anything, but will be a bit cranky. this can be solved by cupping his cheeks and reassuring him how much you love him!

-would love to get married and settle down in the near future. he sees a future with you, and wants to slip a ring on your pretty little finger as soon as he deals with that chimera ant situation…

-he will let you use any pet names with him, no matter how cheesy, he finds it absolutely adorable

NSFW

-he’s very much focused on your pleasure, making you cum on his tongue and fingers several times before he even THINKS about fucking you

-soft dom…

-he’s an ass guy, though feeling your thighs squishing his cheeks while he eats you out is also quite nice…

-likes to cum inside mostly, not for any particular reason, you just feel nice and warm and he’d prefer staying inside you as long as possible!

-he loves fingering you, curling them inside your cunt and feeling your walls tighten around them… makes him hard

-sex with Kite is slow, sensual, and sweet. he holds you hand, gives you lots of kisses and praise, and will do anything to make you feel good, comfortable, and loved

-he does have a thing for overstimulating you… seeing you cry and whine as he rubs at your puffy clit turns him on to no end. you’re really cute 🥰

-he’s pretty quite during sex, only speaking when praising you, or telling you how good you’re making him feel. otherwise it’s quite grunts, and soft moans

-you give him a blowjob and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him look so flustered. he’s swallowing thickly, looking down at you with half lidded eyes as the prettiest pink blush takes over his cheeks…

-“fuck, sweetheart, that feels really good…”

-he prefers calling you pet names like sweetheart, love, dear, and darling(used occasionally)

[hughiecampbelle]

Autopsy (Will Graham Oneshot)

Character/s: Will, Hannibal mention

Word Count: 1,363

Tag List: @locke-writes

A/N: Heavily inspired by the freezing temperatures that have come on suddenly :) I just love the winter and the snow. Something about it makes me feel alive lol. Anyways, I am having so much fun with these fics!!! I was really afraid I wouldn't be able to stick with it, and ik it's only the second day, but I have a good feeling. I have a lot more to watch lol bc I want to write for Hannibal too, I just feel like I can write Will better, if that makes sense? I know him better. Idk lol. I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated!! ❤❤❤❤❤❤

WRITING EVENT 🔪🩸

I still think of you. The words come to his mind as they have constantly, consistently, since the day you died. Not dead, he corrects, but murdered. The day you were murdered. Taken from him with violence, with cruelty, without remorse. Small things. Big things, too. Reminders. Lately, the change of the season, autumn to winter. The long, dark nights he searches in the linen closet for an extra blanket. The way the stars seem a little brighter. How the leaves, what remains of them, shudder in the wind. The hot water he shivers under, trying to warm himself up. The air is sharp, nipping and biting at his skin as he stands in the yard, in the road, in the woods. Shivering. The frost in the grass, on the pavement, sparkles, threatening to melt in the sunlight. The apples of his cheeks growing rosy, his face shielded by the collar of his coat, by the frame of his glasses, by the knit hat he wears that belonged to you. 

I still think of you, he chants. A quiet, naive, foolish part of him hopes you know. I Hope you can see him, feel him. He doesn’t bow to a higher being. He does not break his back and contort his spine in a manner of prayer. He does not step forward between the doors of a church, a temple, a house of holiness. This is as close as he’ll get to believing, to worshipping. Standing here, the temperatures dropping, the sky a watercolor painting of pinks and oranges, purples and blues, trying to stop his teeth from chattering. He can crawl into the minds of killers, of degenerates, of the insane. That is easy. The crime scenes spell it out for him in a language no one else seems to speak, to read, to understand. He can watch as they stab and slice and suffocate without flinching. A witness to the filth of humanity. What he cannot do, what he cannot understand, is your perspective. He has studied the autopsy reports. He has memorized every inflicted wound, every mark of self-defense. He has touched the objects, the weapons, that were used against you. But when he tries to get into your head, your mindset, there is a blankness that mimics untouched snow. 

Were you scared? Did you beg for your life? Did the infinity that is death creep up on you while you slipped away or was it thrust upon you like a white hot pain? Did you cry? Call out for your mother, your father, for him? They found you in the snow. A shallow grave dug before a storm, a blizzard. It made things harder. Slowed decomposition. You were missing for two weeks. That’s all. Fourteen days. He smiles despite himself. The absurdity of it all. He should have fought harder. He should have threatened until he got his way. Of course he had a bad feeling. They all did. But he wasn’t prepared for this. You didn’t come home. Your side of the bed sat empty, undisturbed. Your boots, your coat and hat and gloves hung with care by the front door, left on the mat so you wouldn’t track in slush and snow. The books you were reading, the case files you were analyzing, all waited on the coffee table, expecting you home at any time. Even the dogs, unaware of the situation, slept soundly. They knew where you lived. They stalked you for weeks on end. It was their pattern, their modus operandi. They wanted you. They loved you. And that is why they had to kill you. 

Killed because of him. His therapist disagrees. It wasn’t anything he did. It wasn’t anything he could have prevented. That’s a lie, he thinks, but doesn’t vocalize. A nervous habit: bringing your engagement ring to his lips, holding it there, before dropping it back on the chain around his neck. He waited a long time to get it back. Finally, Jack agreed. He hasn’t taken it off since. He tucks it under his shirt, the cold of the ring against his skin. You haven’t been sleeping, Hannibal states, and Will has no choice but to agree. Bruise-like circles painted beneath his eyes. How can he? How can he when the bed is so large and there is a gaping wound where you used to lie? How can he rest when he knows how you’ve suffered? The instruments used to hurt, to kill. He ends up downstairs, on the couch, his eyelids heavy. The image of your body on that metal slab. You must’ve been cold, that much he knows. You ran out without shoes, your socks, mismatched with silly patterns, thick with frozen mud. Without your jacket, without insulation, your thin shirt torn and ripped. Cut open. They were in your house. They watched you. How can he sleep when he sees a pair of eyes, bright in the dark, staring him down. Watching him. Waiting. 

It should have been me. The thought never leaves him. He can shun it away for a few fleeting moments. Between sips of coffee, tea. Before and after he spits his toothpaste in the sink. As he cleans his glasses on the hem of his shirt. Should, Hannibal points out, is a dangerous word. He nods, but does not comprehend, does not care for. The killer learned your routines. They knew when he would be out, when you were alone, when you were at your most vulnerable. He never should have. But how could? Don’t. This is my fault. The idea is sickening and, strangely, comforting. He ruminates. He sits for hours in the morning, at night, in the time between lectures and crime scenes. He goes over what he could put together. The house, your home, littered with investigators, with yellow tape and analysts. Collecting hair, fur, fingerprints. He has nowhere to go. Him and the dogs staying with Hannibal. Just until they’re done, he assured him, but he didn’t mind. When the time came to unlock the front door, to walk through and re-enter the life he’d put on hold, he couldn’t do it. Backed away from it like it was wielding a knife. Just recently has he been able to face it. It was as if nothing had ever happened. Your things right where you left them. Even the dishes, a glass, a mug, a plate, exactly as before, nestled in the sink. Dirty. Unwashed. Begging to be scrubbed clean.  They wouldn’t come after him, that he was painfully aware of. They got what they wanted. He was of no use to them. Not anymore. He could bloody his hands and knees, begging and pleading, but they are gone. Looking for their next victim. Their prey. If they’re not going to hurt him, hunt him down as they had done to you, he will punish himself instead. He will stand in the cold, the frozen temperatures, and wait. He will watch his own breath until it’s too dark, until the night takes over and the sky, inky black, mocks him. Another day you have not seen, experienced, lived. He will shed everything until the thinnest layer. He will put himself in your place, laying in the snow, waiting for his skin to grow numb. If he could he would bury himself. Dig his own grave. But the ground is too thick, too hard, and so he must wait. He must imagine. He must be patient. When it’s become too much, when he is sure he can no longer feel his limbs, he will drag himself back to the house, the dogs, the lonely bed. And he will try again the next night, thankful the winter lasts as long as she does. Dreading the days the sun waits to set and the snow melts, when the wildflowers bloom and the cold dissipates. It’s only been a year and yet, it’s felt like a lifetime. How much longer can he carry on without you? How much longer can he live this life where he cannot sleep, he cannot eat, he cannot find your killer? I don’t know, he shrugs. I don’t know.

[swift-creates]

category: Gen

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Dick Grayson and Jason Todd - platonic, some batfamily

warnings: blood and injury, fight scene, mention of gun and knives, minor swearing, a bit of unhealthy thought processes but mostly bc he’s dazed and out of it, present tense

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 31: Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”

Jason is injured during a battle, but Dick can’t protect him forever.

notes: fucked around and wrote a fic based on this drawing by @ashrayus as one does (I didn’t really know how to end it so just. have this lol) (also sorry if it’s OOC)

—

Dick has always been scared for Jason. That’s his baby brother, his Little Wing, the shadow at his back. Save for the broken time where he’d abruptly become an only child, Jason has always been there, and Dick has come to expect he always will be. Jason is older now — he’s the Red Hood, Gotham’s most feared crime lord, and is capable of single-handedly taking down some of the worst rogues in the gallery — but he will always be Dick’s little brother. Dick rarely has reason to be scared for Jason these days. 

Except for the times when he watches Jason stumble and finally fall to seemingly endless hordes of enemies, bleeding from a bullet to the gut. 

“JASON!” All strategy and codenames get thrown out the window, and he fights his way to his little brother, throwing a smoke bomb for cover and pulling him to safety. “Jay, look at me.”

“Ngh… Don’t need you to save me, Big Bird.” Jason tries to glare at him, but the effect is somewhat dampened by the way he doubles over in pain and leans into Dick’s arms. “Y-You need to get out of here.”

“Yes you do, and I’m not leaving you behind, dipshit.” He half-supports, half-carries Jason out of the alley, ignoring the strangled sound of pain he makes (or attempting to, anyway). He leaves the fight behind, and keeps going until the distance is between them is enough for him to feel comfortable setting Jason down against a wall. 

Jason’s black-and-white curls stand in stark contrast to the grimy grey-red as he grimaces, head tipped back against the brick. Dick smooths them back from his face more by habit than anything else. “Shhh. You’ll be okay, Little Wing.”

He knows it’s bad because Jason doesn’t object to the nickname. 

“Jay?” His brother’s eyes are fluttering closed, and he’s slumped against the wall, the hand held over his wound starting to loosen. Dick clamps one of his own in place of it, swearing. “Jay, if you die again without paying back the ten bucks you owe me I’ll resurrect you just to kill you myself.”

“Mmh…” is the only reply, and Dick can feel him slipping away — not again not again not again God please — despite every attempt to rouse him. Making this situation even worse is the slowly increasing volume of the mob catching up to them. He grabs a roll of gauze from his belt and quickly wraps Jason’s torso with it, then stands with both escrima sticks in his hands. 

There’s blood leaking from a cut on his cheek, and he’s pretty sure his nose is broken, but he’ll die before he lets them hurt Jason again. 

They come on in a rush, almost falling over each other in their attempt to reach two weakened vigilantes. He sweeps one aside, slams another into a wall, hits the first one with a stick and lets him fall to the ground, unconscious. The movements become instinct, strategy turning to survival, as they flood the alley, reaching to him, past him, their guns and their knives all hungry for blood. He barely dodges one bullet, feels another graze his thigh when he turns to swipe at a girl with white-blonde hair and a switchblade in her hand. He can’t go on like this forever. He has to. 

He’s reeling from a hit to the side of his head, about to lose his balance, when white smoke rises around them. Dick almost collapses to his knees in relief, but he makes himself stumble back to stand over Jason as familiar figures drop from the shadows and create a circle of safety in the chaos. 

“He’s here,” he whispers to Jason. “You’re safe now.” He curls up next to his brother, exhausted and bleeding, and pulls him close. 

Of course, that’s when a man with a gun decides to level it straight at Dick’s forehead. 

He grips Jason tight and glares at the guy, one stick left in his hand, trying to remember where he’d dropped the other one sometime during the fight. When, not if, the guy shoots, he’ll twist to shield Jason with his body, just in case his aim is wildly off. One bullet each seems to be fair. 

His finger tightens on the trigger, and Dick tenses, ready to move. 

Then a black shape slams into the man, sending the bullet careening into the darkness and the guy careening into the ground. Few have seen the Batman’s fury unleashed, and even fewer experienced it, but this unlucky sap will most likely remember this for the rest of his miserable life. He’s tossed to the side like a rag, and B makes a beeline for his boys. 

“Dick. Jason.” His hands search for injuries even as his eyes flick anxiously up and down them, the only outward sign of his worry. 

Dick melts gratefully into the embrace. “We’re okay. Barely.” All he wants to do is sink to the ground and be cuddled and carried back to the Batcave, but he can’t rest yet. “Jason — he got hurt. Bullet wound. I bandaged it, but…” 

“We’ll get him home.” Bruce kneels by Jason’s side, gently calling his name, but there’s no response. So what does Bruce do? Obviously he goes and scoops up all two hundred pounds of Jason into his arms and carries him away to the Batmobile like he weighs no more than Damian. Cass appears out of nowhere to support Dick, and he leans against his sister with a grateful smile. 

[jimbodyson]

I do enjoy that some people are wilfully ignoring the last two seasons of the CR cast taking part in writing TLOVM to call them bad writers and better improvers. like you can’t switch up now lil bro.

i also see a lot of people saying they are finding reasons to dislike the show, which i think is the wrong wording. people’s reasoning for disliking parts of season 3 are valid for them ofc. the problem is really finding reasons to call the show OBJECTIVELY bad, i.e. the saying that the writing is bad (when in reality; they just made changes to the source material that you didn’t like. which is fine! but not everything has to be so deep lol. And an even further problem is the way some people seem to be treating the cast like they’re like. idiots now. granted, ofc I haven’t seen a lot of it, just a bit. but people are just weird about them.

[slut4thebroken]

Promise

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Neil Lewis x reader

Summary | He’s a perv and lowkey a bad friend lol

Warnings | Smut, technically non con, masturbating, objectification, degradation, misogyny?, perv neil (again).

Words | 1.5 k

Notes | Ty to whoever sent the ask for this 🙌 Also this is barely proofread btw

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

“Give me a sec, I need to finish getting dressed.” You said, with only your head in the frame. Your hair was still wet so you must have just gotten out of the shower. He smiled and watched your head disappear, listening to the sound of clothes rustling until you were finally sitting down in front of your computer. “Hi.” You said through a breath of exertion from rushing to get dressed. 

“Hi.” He chuckled, but it trailed off when he noticed your top. You were wearing a very tight, very low cut tank top and no bra— He knew because he could just barely see your nipples poking through the fabric. 

“How was your day?” You asked and he had to force his gaze to move back to your face, finding a small smile on your lips. 

“Same as always. Went to work, came home. Nothing new.” He shrugged. “What about you? You were telling me about something earlier over text,”

“Right..” You groaned, already getting annoyed again at just the reminder of it. “You know that one coworker I hate?” 

“Yeah.” He chuckled quietly. 

“Well, she was there today.” You said bitterly, then started droning on about what happened. Honestly, he couldn’t listen to a word you were saying. He was watching your tits through the screen as his cock started fattening up in his pants— In his defense though… he hasn’t touched himself in like.. two days. So it’s only natural he’d get worked up so easily— especially because it’s you. He palmed his bulge beneath the camera, being careful not to move his arm too much. 

He waited as long as he could… Honestly, he did. 

“Hang on, I gotta turn my camera off really quick. I’m still listening though.”

“Okay.” You said, thinking nothing of it. He turned the camera off and you continued talking, gesturing with your hands, making your tits move in a way that had his mouth watering. Unable to wait any longer, he pushed his pants and underwear down just enough to free his cock and immediately started stroking it. His eyes fluttered shut and he bit his lip to stifle a moan as his head fell back. 

He was barely listening to your words, just wanting to hear your sweet voice and imagine you were saying something else instead… something far dirtier. Wanting to watch you again, he leaned his head back up and opened his eyes to study your face. Your lips looked so pink and pouty, and so fucking kissable— it drove him crazy. 

“Neil..” You called out, snapping him out of his trance. 

“Yeah?” He cleared his throat when he heard how raspy it already was. 

“I asked if you were listening.” You giggled— fucking giggled. 

“Sorry… I promise I am now.” It was so hard to talk with his cock in his hand, throbbing with need. 

“Why can’t you turn your camera on?” You suddenly asked, making him freeze. He never thought you’d actually confront him about it…

“I- Uh… I spilled soda all over myself and I’m still trying to clean it up, while being mostly nude… I can turn it back on if you want.” He said suggestively. 

“Okay okay, sorry.” You laughed, then continued talking. “Oh- I wanted to show you what I got the other day. It reminded me of you.” You smiled and then stood up, making his jaw drop. The tank top didn’t even reach your belly button and the shorts you were wearing rested low on your hips. 

When you turned around, he choked on a moan and squeezed the base of his cock, trying not to come right then and there. No wonder the shorts were so low… If you pulled them up any higher, they’d expose more than just the very bottom of your ass. You must not have heard him because you walked a few more steps to your bookcase, then started looking for the mystery object. His hand had a mind of its own and started stroking again as he watched your hips sway while you looked through different drawers and shelves. 

You bent down to look through the bottom half, sticking your ass out as if you were teasing him on purpose. He cursed under his breath when he could just barely see the outline of your pussy in the skin tight shorts. When you leaned back up, the fabric was even higher up on your ass now and when you turned around to walk back to the computer, he saw that your tank top shifted as well, exposing more of your cleavage and the swell of your breasts. They jiggled as you sat back down in the chair.  

“Are you sure you’re listening?” He suddenly heard through the trance he was in.  

“Mhm.. just keep talking. Promise I’m listening.” He tried not to say the words through a moan. 

“Okay…” You said skeptically, but continued anyway. He was enjoying the view of your tits, but he desperately wanted to see your ass again, so he bit his lip and tried to think of a way to get you out of the chair again. 

He waited until you were done talking before asking, “Is that thing up there new?” Your brows furrowed and you turned around to see what he was talking about. 

“The figurine thing? I guess yeah. You haven’t been over in a while.” 

“Can I see it?” You smiled and agreed and he watched you stand up and turn around, only letting you take two steps before stopping you. “Wait,” You froze and turned back around, leaning down into the frame so he could see your face. 

“What?” The way you were bent over exposed even more of your tits and he stifled a groan at the sight. 

“Nevermind, sorry.” He chuckled, playing it off. You seemed suspicious but eventually leaned back up and turned around to continue walking. You got up on your toes and reached up, making your tank top raise even more, now showing your entire lower back. He imagined seeing that when he had you bent over instead, squirming and moaning under him until he came on the cute little dimples you have. 

“I used a stool to get it up here.” You laughed, dropping your heels, making your ass bounce, and twisting around to face the computer. 

“It looks like you’re almost there.” 

“Really?” You turned back around and looked up, then started reaching again, making little groans of effort that had his cock throbbing. 

“Try jumping.” 

“Neil, do you have to see it?” You huffed, already getting tired of this. “Can’t you just wait until the next time you come over?” 

“But I want to see it now.” He made sure to make his pout show in his tone since you couldn’t see his face. You let out a loud, exaggerated groan in response, but kept trying. The first time you jumped, your fingers almost brushed it. He watched in awe and cursed under his breath at the way your ass moved when you landed. Is that how it would move when he plowed into you from behind? 

You jumped again, just barely touching it. When you landed, you pulled your top down, embarrassed by how much of your midriff was showing. Neil muted his computer for a moment, needing to let out the sounds while you couldn’t see that he turned his sound off. 

The tip of his cock was completely red now, pulsing and twitching in his hand as he neared his orgasm. He moaned loudly when you jumped again and his hips bucked up into his hand. 

“Fuuuck..” He groaned, tilting his head back, but not too far so that he could still see the screen. When you jumped again, you finally grabbed it and he turned the audio back on as you walked over. Just before sitting, you pulled your tank top down again when you noticed how much of your stomach was showing. You didn’t seem to mind that the added coverage on your stomach was at the expense of the coverage on your tits. Or you just didn’t know. 

You started talking about the figurine and where you got it, and he let out little uh huh’s or grunts in response. He genuinely had no idea what you were saying, but there wasn’t even a small part of him that cared. You put it down and suddenly stretched your arms up, leaning back in the chair to stretch your back with a low moan. 

He felt his balls tighten up instantly and he got to his feet, knowing exactly what he wanted to do. He rapidly fisted his cock as you leaned back up, your top even lower now. With a stifled groan, his orgasm finally crashed over him. Rope after rope of come painted the computer screen, right on your tits. 

“Neil?” You asked, but he couldn’t talk, not when his body was literally shaking from the intensity of the pleasure. “Are you okay?” He started panting quietly as he stroked the last bead of come out, then released his cock. 

“Yeah.” He said through a breath, flopping back down onto the chair. His cock was still twitching with the aftershocks of his orgasm, especially when he saw your come covered tits though the screen. 

“Are you sure?” You were so cute when you got all concerned like this. So cute, but so dumb. 

“Promise.” 

Taglist (join here)

@pedrisgatorade @lunyyx @faebirdie @idkdudsworld @nashja @rentaldarling @theoraekenslover @kaorisakamotofan @scorpiussage @naevisct @jimmywoosimp @cillianscrybaby @vivvive @ceruleanrainblues @mrkdvidal1989 @brooklynscherry-z @ohmysatansstuff @aviamulier @d1lf-loverthinqs @butlersluvbot @miyababby @n1ghtw1ngslver @mandowhatnow @baekhyunstruly @nashja @xxorazz @halleysc6met @crunchsworld @babaohhhriley @deceitfuldevout @gentyleman @lorelais-world @shroombloom-rry @pinguwrites @thatonesinglefriend @bernelflo @milktert @nyxxie.pooh @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @milkytomura @bigbossbabysworld @sheisthedxrkness @hanawrites404 @ll4n4 @olivialveshbc @feyresqueen @charlottegemyngende @ffionspreach @drcranessweetestdoe @madeinuk @hanawrites404

[iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin]

bully⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

wednesday, seok matthew— phys. ed

⋆˙⟡ zbully1 smut series masterlist! hanbin, jiwoong, hao, matthew, and taerae included. game day (group) chapter here. all 7 endings here.

⋆˙⟡ wc: 2.7k

⋆˙⟡ reader: femme afab (listed first, she/her are used a couple times) // gender neutral (alternate version listed second, no pronouns used at all to describe reader— scroll down)

⋆˙⟡ series summary: five bullies. six days. it's gonna be a hell of a week, babe. stay hydrated.

⋆˙⟡ wednesday summary: it's hump day... *ahem*. unfortunately you're being forced to play contact sports under the leadership of team captain matthew seok. no matter how many times he's made a fool of you in front of your whole gym class, it never gets old for him. oh shit. uh, (y/n)? you might wanna duck...

⋆˙⟡ warnings: explicit smut. 18+. minors do not interact. please read specific smut warnings under the cut! swearing. angst. slight dub-con. small injury/blood warning, no graphic descriptions. bullying. red-pilled, muscle pig soccer player matthew. please rest up for thursday. smut in gn and fem versions are slightly different due to logistics/circumstance. also i KNOW it's called football. chill. we can't all be from a cool country.

⋆˙⟡ bully scale: ★★★★☆(4.0)

EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: spanking (reader receiving), petting (reader receiving), pussyjob (google it if unfamiliar), slight dub-con but reader's honestly really fast to come around to this one lol, girthy!matthew, bullying/misogynistic.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

you stand in a straight line with your other classmates, facing the soccer field and your physical education teacher. eyes glued to your sneakers, you’re completely lost in thought. could anyone blame you after the past couple of days you’d had? 

unable to give hao an answer to his question yesterday, he’d simply laughed at you and left you in the orchestra storage closet to redress yourself in shame. you’d thought monday was bad, but tuesday was certainly your lowest point since starting university.

you’d made a vow that evening that something like this would never happen again...

right after you’d gotten off to the memory of it one last time.

your gym teacher, coach yang, blows his whistle to direct the class’s attention towards him. while you’re able to keep your eyes trained on him, your brain is another thing. to be fair, it’s not like you paid much attention during your wednesday afternoon gym class even without such a heavy distraction weighing on you.

signing up for a physical education class had been the last thing you’d planned on doing while at university, but after a small hiccup with class registration left you shut out of all of your best alternatives, you’d had to settle on the last course available: physical education studies— team sports.

though you didn’t mind exercising and even found it fairly enjoyable when on your own and blasting your favorite music, you’d thought you’d be finished with the stress and chaos of team sports when you finished your high school requirements. you understood each sport enough, but could never seem to put that understanding into practical use.

lightly jogging back and forth and pretending to look engaged until class was over had become your signature specialty. except when an object started speeding towards your face.

no matter how many times a gym coach practiced catching a ball with you, the newly implanted knowledge would always just dissipate moments later. when the recreational game would start and a ball came flying at you...

you’d just duck.

“i’ll take ducky,” a voice suddenly calls. your eyes dart to find the source of the dreaded nickname, unsurprised at the culprit they land on. but why had he just called you?

you blink at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “wh-... what?”

“were you paying attention, (y/n)-sshi?” coach yang asks, shaking his head and looking back at his clipboard. “can you explain it again, matthew-sshi?”

“oh, i’d be happy to,” matthew replies with a smirk. “we’re picking teams for soccer drills. wonhee and i are team captains.”

this unfortunately doesn’t answer any of your questions. if matthew was picking teammates of his own free will, why would he call your name?

“and you... want me?” you stumble, shaking your head when you realize how your question sounds. “on—... on your te—?”

“yeah, ducky,” matthew affirms, brow raised in a challenge as he smiles at you. “i do.”

you feel your palms begin to sweat as matthew’s fox eyes stare you down. this had to be connected to jiwoong and hao. you just weren’t sure how yet.

“(y/n)-sshi,” coach yang barks, pointing to the grass next to matthew. “let’s get moving.”

taking a deep breath, you walk over with your head down and stand behind your new team captain. he turns over his shoulder and winks at you.

oh help.

--------

after about an hour or so of various training drills, you’re surprised to find yourself still in one piece. but so far, matthew had treated you like he was treating everyone else on your team: which is to say, not great but... tolerable.

you’d almost let yourself settle into the feeling of just being one of matthew’s undervalued teammates when a harsh blow of a whistle jolts you from your peace.

“listen up,” coach yang calls from the bleachers. “we’ll be moving on to shooting drills now.”

matthew’s eyes find yours, brow piquing as he smirks. “will we need a goalie, coach?”

fuuuuuck no.

“yep, every team should choose a goalie,” coach yang confirms, leaning back even further on the bleacher behind him. 

matthew walks toward you, smile growing wider with every step. you shake your head, eyes pleading with him to let you live. because that’s what putting you inside a goal was: attempted murder.

“please, matt,” you whisper, breathing getting shakier as he closes the distance. “please, don’t do this.”

he puts a hand on your shoulder and shakes you happily, announcing to the team, “lucky for us, we’ve got a volunteer right here! thanks for helping out the team, ducky.”

matthew slaps your back, encouraging you to take your place in the goal. 

“uh, hyung? should (y/n) really—?” a boy from your calculus class tries to save you, but it’s no use.

“yeah,” matthew interrupts, nostrils flared. “ducky really should. in five seconds or less.”

you dart off down the field toward the goal— which reaching in five seconds would be impossible, mind you— scrambling to make it in time before matthew makes an even bigger fool out of you.

when you finally reach the goal, you turn around and ready yourself for the drill to start. only, unbeknownst to you, the drill has already started.

and a soccer ball is hurtling through the air towards your head at 70 mph. 

you duck.

it’s who you are.

the ball flies so fast past you, hitting the back of the net and bouncing to the ground. you sigh in relief after narrowly avoiding a collision. you’re so nervous, you suddenly feel a bit of sweat forming at your temples. you reach up and wipe it with your forearm, bringing it back down to see that the liquid from your forehead is not clear...

it’s red.

“(y/n)-sshi!” coach yang yells, laboredly getting up from his reclined position on the bleachers. “oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

he (lightly) jogs over to where you’re sat in the goal, bending down to examine the injury. holding up a finger, he has you follow it back and forth and up and down until he shrugs.

“pretty sure the ball just grazed your skin,” coach yang deduces, holding out a hand for you and helping you to your feet. “who kicked that ball?”

all eyes dart to matthew. he nudges the grass with his sneaker shamefully. “i’m sorry, coach. she looked ready.”

“which part of her looked ready to you? the back of her head?” coach yang asks, rolling his eyes. maybe he sees more from his perch than he lets on. “take (y/n) to my office and get her fixed up.”

“but—,” you start to protest; the last thing you want is to be alone with matthew after all this.

“now,” coach yang asserts, throwing matthew his key ring. you start to walk back towards the gymnasium, wiping your forehead as it begins to feel damp again.

“yes, coach,” matthew agrees before falling into step beside you. he doesn’t speak, just fidgets with the key ring in his hand until you step through the door to the gym and find coach yang’s office.

he unlocks the door, holding it open for you. you step inside, looking around at all of the different sports equipment and trophies littering your teacher’s office. you jump as the door slams shut behind you and he notices your unintentional display of fear.

“jesus. am i gonna have to change your nickname to jumpy?” matthew snorts at his own joke before walking over to the cabinet beside coach yang’s desk. when he realizes you haven’t followed him, he turns around. “seriously, what’s your problem?”

“what’s—... what’s my problem?” you repeat, blinking back at him unbelievingly. “you kicked a ball at my head on purpose!”

“aw c’mon, ducky,” he says with a cute smile, taking a step towards you. “not like it’s the first time. maybe something else is on your mind?”

your body stiffens, at the taunting look in his eyes. “if you so much as put a hand on me, i’ll—.”

“me? touch you?” matthew interjects incredulously, tongue in his cheek as he grins. “the star of the soccer team has bigger dreams than putting his hands on you.”

the tiniest bit of confidence flickers in you as you think of the perfect reply. “th-thought hanbin was the star of the soccer team...”

“hanbin hyung is NOT—...” matthew starts to rage before seeing your expression. he exhales annoyedly and pats coach yang’s desk, “just shut up and sit down.”

“on—... on the desk?” you ask with frown. “there’s a chair right here.”

“easier to see with you closer to the light,” he answers dismissively, patting the desk again. 

you oblige warily, hopping up onto the open space on coach yang’s desk— feet dangling slightly off the ground. the position feels a little too vulnerable and you eagerly await for this all to be over.

“that’s what i hate about you intellectual types,” matthew says, bending down to open the filing cabinet drawer to the right of coach yang’s desk. he pulls out a small first aid kit, lifting the white box onto the desk beside you. “who the hell doesn’t know how to catch a ball? you think you’re so fucking smart, but you have no clue when it comes to the real world.”

as matthew opens the first aid kit and pulls out an alcohol wipe, he tears the packaging open with his teeth— his biceps flexing as he throws the wrapper into the waste bin by your coach’s desk. 

“then again, i’ve heard a rumor or two that you might know more than you let on,” he says with a soft smirk, gently dabbing the wipe to your bleeding temple. you flinch slightly at the sting. “i just find it hard to believe, ya know? honestly i’m kind of surprised that you have sexual impulses at all.”

matthew laughs to himself as he pulls out an anti-infection topical, twisting the cap off with his fingers. he lifts a q-tip from the kit and covers one side in the topical serum.

“was convinced that was the case after i tried to bag you last year,” he says, dragging the q-tip across your now-clean cut. “only to find out this week that you apparently do wanna spread your legs. just not for me.”

“you... you what!?” you shout, matthew putting the index finger of his free hand to your lips to keep you quiet. you glare at him until he finally removes it. “didn’t you just say you had more important people to—?”

“and i do. but ducky, think about the story of it all. the nerdy little prude letting the jock make a mess of her for the first time behind the bleachers. scared. helpless... euphoric,” matthew muses far too casually, tossing the q-tip in the trash and pulling out a bandage from the kit. he opens the wrapper, scrunching the paper up and laying it down on the desk next to you. “now that i know you’re... tainted... i’m just not as eager.”

“tainted?” you repeat angrily, shifting a bit on the desk. this is exactly the kind of shit you’d expect from matthew. “you really are nothing but a protein-addicted, misogynistic pig.”

he nods slowly, humming as he places the small, clear bandage on your cut— veiny hands delicately smoothing out the edges. “but you like that, don’t you, ducky?”

“no,” you deny quickly with a frown, head tilting slightly in confusion as matthew’s fingers linger at your temple. “i d-don’t...”

“mm, nice try. but this cute little wet spot right here says otherwise,” he retorts, placing a hand on each of your knees and pulling your legs apart with ease so he can get a better look at your clothed center. “i think you more than like it, actually.”

matthew starts to slide his hands up your thighs, thumbs grazing the insides as your cheeks flush. not again.

“two days in a row and you still want more?” he whispers, squeezing each of your thighs in his palms. “what? hyungs couldn’t satisfy you?”

you find yourself shaking your head involuntarily, matthew’s eyes lighting up with this news.

“can i quote you on that?” he asks with a grin, fingers on his right hand now brushing against your still-covered heat. “jiwoong hyung said you like this.”

he applies a little more pressure and, though you try to steady your breathing, a little whimper escapes as he finds your clit. 

“and hao hyung said you like surprises,” matthew says, looking up at you with lidded eyes— the tiny mole above his cheek visible in the fluorescent school light. if you didn’t know any better, you would swear he was about to kiss you. but instead, he takes a step back and folds his arms across his chest. “you’re all fixed. get up.”

luckily, you stop the pout from reaching your lips, sighing as you hop off of coach yang’s desk and onto the tile floor.

“oh, can you grab the bandaid wrapper?” he asks, putting the first aid kit back in the cabinet drawer. you turn around, looking for the paper wrapper and spotting it on the desk. 

you bend over slightly to reach it, yelping in pain when a harsh smack suddenly comes down across your ass. you fall slightly onto the top of the desk, chest flush against the wood and short-shorts riding up your thighs.

“were you surprised enough?” matthew teases, hands pushing at the seam of your shorts to expose more of you to him. “cause i’d really like you to let me fuck you now.”

“i’m—... i s-said i wasn’t gonna let something like this happen again,” you reply, shaking your head. couldn’t you just use your brain for once this week? 

“aw, ducky. that’s really fucking pathetic,” he coos patronizingly, hooking his fingers around the crotch of your shorts and panties and pushing them to the side. “making me so hard.”

“matthew, i can’t—,” you whimper, resolve fading fast as another sickening smack ripples across your ass cheek. “oh my god.”

you feel something start to rub against your dripping folds; it’s warm, veiny and thick. you hear a low, throaty moan escape the boy behind you, his hands gripping into your hips on either side. 

“so fucking wet for me, hm?” matthew rasps and, as you turn your head to catch a glimpse of him, he bites his lip. “bet you’ve thought about this for a long time.”

of course he’s full of himself even now. you don’t care much at this moment though. the first part of his statement is embarrassingly correct: you need him right now. arrogance and all.

you buck your hips back, wanting more friction. though he smacks your ass again in punishment, he can’t hide his hungry panting.

“fuuuck,” he breathes, grinding his length against your slit more passionately. with each rut, the tip of his cock hits your clit— rendering you a moaning mess. “easy. fucking told them it’d be easy.”

your high is steadily approaching as the abuse continues on your swollen clit, ears only filled with lust as you block out his mumbling. “matthew, please. i think... ‘m gonna—.”

“let go for me, little duck,” he coaxes, rhythm starting to falter. “yeah? then i can fuck y—.”

“matthew-sshi!?” coach yang’s voice suddenly bellows through the locked office door. “open this door right NOW!”

“no fucking way,” matthew whines loudly as you scramble off of your teacher’s desk— shifting the crotch of your shorts back into place as he slams a fist down on the filing cabinet next to you. “we weren’t finished! i thought i was gonna be the one to—.”

“one... two...” coach yang starts counting down, causing matthew to run to the door and open it immediately. such a petulant child, you think as you ignore the feeling of your arousal starting to drip down your thigh.

“are you kidding me!? this is the third person i’ve caught you doing this with in here this semester alone, matthew-sshi,” coach yang reprimands as soon as he steps inside, throwing his clipboard down on the floor and removing his baseball cap. 

was matthew about to face serious consequences for this? i mean, he did purposely injure you as a ruse to have sex with him... probably. 

“but you’re the team’s best centre-back. you’ve gotta support hanbin out there,” coach yang says with a sigh, matthew subtly rolling his eyes at the mention of his superior hyung. “i just can’t bench you for saturday’s game.”

“oh my god,” you whisper, eyes wide at matthew’s ability to evade punishment. it’s not just infuriating: it’s impressive.

“thank you coach,” matthew says, suddenly turning on that cute charm like the gumiho he must truly be. “i won’t let you down.”

“(y/n)-sshi,” coach yang calls, turning to look at you. “you’ll be cleaning soccer balls after every class until the end of the unit.”

“WHAT!?” you screech in shock. you’ve never received so much as a disciplinary warning in your entire academic career. “but—... but—.”

“you can clean the tennis balls next unit too, if you like,” he says, picking up his clipboard from off the ground and replacing his baseball cap onto his head. “and stop with the ducking, will you? i don’t need a lawsuit on my hands.”

you nod, your entire face burning as your coach looks anywhere but at you. you can’t say you blame him.

“c’mon, matthew-sshi. team meeting in fifteen minutes,” he instructs, walking out of his office. matthew starts to follow, but turns around in the doorway.

“meet me after practice, we can—,” he whispers, until a hand latches around the collar of his shirt and pulls him away, leaving you all on your lonesome in the small gymnasium office.

so... wednesday hadn’t gone how you’d hoped. no use crying over spilled milk (or spilled blood). thursday would be a better day.

but maybe purchasing a chastity belt wouldn’t be such a bad idea in the mean time.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

gender neutral version below

EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: spanking (reader receiving), heavy petting/stroking (reader receiving), assjob/intergluteal (google it if unfamiliar, it's not anal; no anal penetration), slight dub-con but reader's honestly really fast to come around to this one lol, girthy!matthew, bullying.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

you stand in a straight line with your other classmates, facing the soccer field and your gym teacher. eyes glued to your sneakers, you’re completely lost in thought. could anyone blame you after the past couple of days you’d had? 

unable to give hao an answer to his question yesterday, he’d simply laughed at you and left you in the orchestra storage closet to redress yourself in shame. you’d thought monday was bad, but tuesday was certainly your lowest point since starting university.

you’d made a vow that evening that something like this would never happen again...

right after you’d gotten off to the memory of it one last time.

your gym teacher, coach yang, blows his whistle to direct the class’s attention towards him. while you’re able to keep your eyes trained on him, your brain is another thing. to be fair, it’s not like you paid much attention during your wednesday afternoon gym class  even without such a heavy distraction weighing on you.

signing up for a physical education class had been the last thing you’d planned on doing while at university, but after a small hiccup with class registration left you shut out of all of your best alternatives, you’d had to settle on the last course available: physical education studies— team sports.

though you didn’t mind exercising and even found it fairly enjoyable when on your own and blasting your favorite music, you’d thought you’d be finished with the stress and chaos of team sports when you finished your high school requirements. you understood each sport enough, but could never seem to put that understanding into practical use.

lightly jogging back and forth and pretending to look engaged until class was over had become your signature specialty. except when an object started speeding towards your face.

no matter how many times a gym coach practiced catching a ball with you, the newly implanted knowledge would always just dissipate moments later. when the recreational game would start and a ball came flying at you...

you’d just duck.

“i’ll take ducky,” a voice suddenly calls. your eyes dart to find the source of the dreaded nickname, unsurprised at the culprit they land on. but why had he just called you?

you blink at the muscular boy, brow furrowed in confusion. “wh-... what?”

“were you paying attention, (y/n)-sshi?” coach yang asks, shaking his head and looking back at his clipboard. “can you explain it again, matthew-sshi?”

“oh, i’d be happy to,” matthew replies with a smirk. “we’re picking teams for soccer drills. wonhee and i are team captains.”

this unfortunately doesn’t answer any of your questions. if matthew was picking teammates of his own free will, why would he call your name?

“and you... want me?” you stumble, shaking your head when you realize how your question sounds. “on—... on your te—?”

“yeah, ducky,” matthew affirms, brow raised in a challenge as he smiles at you. “i do.”

you feel your palms begin to sweat as matthew’s fox eyes stare you down. this had to be connected to jiwoong and hao. you just weren’t sure how yet.

“(y/n)-sshi,” coach yang barks, pointing to the grass next to matthew. “let’s get moving.”

taking a deep breath, you walk over with your head down and stand behind your new team captain. he turns over his shoulder and winks at you.

oh help.

--------

after about an hour or so of various training drills, you’re surprised to find yourself still in one piece. but so far, matthew had treated you like he was treating everyone else on your team: which is to say, not great but... tolerable.

you’d almost let yourself settle into the feeling of just being one of matthew’s undervalued teammates when a harsh blow of a whistle jolts you from your peace.

“listen up,” coach yang calls from the bleachers. “we’ll be moving on to shooting drills now.”

matthew’s eyes find yours, brow piquing as he smirks. “will we need a goalie, coach?”

fuuuuuck no.

“yep, every team should choose a goalie,” coach yang confirms, leaning back even further on the bleacher behind him. 

matthew walks toward you, smile growing wider with every step. you shake your head, eyes pleading with him to let you live. because that’s what putting you inside a goal was: attempted murder.

“please, matt,” you whisper, breathing getting shakier as he closes the distance. “please, don’t do this.”

he puts a hand on your shoulder and shakes you happily, announcing, “lucky for us, we’ve got a volunteer right here! thanks for helping out the team, ducky.”

matthew slaps your back, encouraging you to take your place in the goal. 

“uh, hyung? should (y/n) really—?” a boy from your calculus class tries to save you, but it’s no use.

“yeah,” matthew interrupts, nostrils flared. “ducky really should. in five seconds or less.”

you dart off down the field toward the goal— which reaching in five seconds would be impossible, mind you— scrambling to make it in time before matthew makes an even bigger fool out of you.

when you finally reach the goal, you turn around and ready yourself for the drill to start. only, unbeknownst to you, the drill has already started.

and a soccer ball is hurtling through the air towards your head at 70 mph. 

you duck.

it’s just who you are.

the ball flies so fast past you, hitting the back of the net and bouncing to the ground. you sigh in relief after narrowly avoiding a collision. you’re so nervous, you suddenly feel a bit of sweat forming at your temples. you reach up and wipe it with your forearm, bringing it back down to see that the liquid from your forehead is not clear...

it’s red.

“(y/n)-sshi!” coach yang yells, laboredly getting up from his reclined position on the bleachers. “oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

he (lightly) jogs over to where you’re sat in the goal, bending down to examine the injury. holding up a finger, he has you follow it back and forth and up and down until he shrugs.

“pretty sure the ball just grazed your skin,” coach yang deduces, holding out a hand for you and helping you to your feet. “who kicked that ball?”

all eyes dart to matthew. he nudges the grass with his sneaker shamefully. “i’m sorry, coach. (y/n) looked ready.”

“which part looked ready to you? the back of the head?” coach yang asks, rolling his eyes. maybe he sees more from his perch than he lets on. “go to my office and get (y/n) fixed up.”

“but—,” you start to protest; the last thing you want is to be alone with matthew after all this.

“now,” coach yang asserts, throwing matthew his key ring. you start to walk back towards the gymnasium, wiping your forehead as it begins to feel damp again.

“yes, coach,” matthew agrees before falling into step beside you. he doesn’t speak, just fidgets with the key ring in his hand until you step through the door to the gym and find coach yang’s office.

he unlocks the door, holding it open for you. you step inside, looking around at all of the different sports equipment and trophies littering your teacher’s office. you jump as the door slams shut behind you and he notices your unintentional display of fear.

“jesus. am i gonna have to change your nickname to jumpy?” matthew snorts at his own joke before walking over to the cabinet beside coach yang’s desk. when he realizes you haven’t followed him, he turns around. “seriously, what’s your problem?”

“what’s—... what’s my problem?” you repeat, blinking back at him unbelievingly. “you kicked a ball at my head on purpose!”

“aw c’mon, ducky,” he says with a cute smile, taking a step towards you. “not like it’s the first time. maybe something else is on your mind?”

your body stiffens, at the taunting look in his eyes. “if you so much as put a hand on me, i’ll—.”

“me? touch you?” matthew interjects incredulously, tongue in his cheek as he grins. “the star of the soccer team has bigger dreams than putting his hands on you.”

the tiniest bit of confidence flickers in you as you think of the perfect reply. “th-thought hanbin was the star of the soccer team...”

“hanbin hyung is NOT—...” matthew starts to rage before seeing your expression. he exhales annoyedly and pats coach yang’s desk, “just shut up and sit down.”

“on—... on the desk?” you ask with frown. “there’s a chair right here.”

“easier to see with you closer to the light,” he answers dismissively, patting the desk again. 

you oblige warily, hopping up onto the open space on coach yang’s desk— feet dangling slightly off the ground. the position feels a little too vulnerable and you eagerly await for this all to be over.

“that’s what i hate about you intellectual types,” matthew says, bending down to open the filing cabinet drawer to the right of coach yang’s desk. he pulls out a small first aid kit, lifting the white box onto the desk beside you. “who the hell doesn’t know how to catch a ball? you think you’re so fucking smart, but you have no clue when it comes to the real world.”

as matthew opens the first aid kit and pulls out an alcohol wipe, he tears the packaging open with his teeth— his biceps flexing as he throws the wrapper into the waste bin by your coach’s desk. 

“then again, i’ve heard a rumor or two that you might know more than you let on,” he says with a soft smirk, gently dabbing the wipe to your bleeding temple. you flinch slightly at the sting. “i just find it hard to believe, ya know? honestly i’m kind of surprised that you have sexual impulses at all.”

matthew laughs to himself as he pulls out an anti-infection topical, twisting the cap off with his fingers. he lifts a q-tip from the kit and covers one side in the topical serum.

“was convinced that was the case after i tried to bag you last year,” he says, dragging the q-tip across your now-clean cut. “only to find out this week that you apparently do want dick. just not mine.”

“you... you what!?” you shout, matthew putting the index finger of his free hand to your lips to keep you quiet. you glare at him until he finally removes it. “didn’t you just say you had more important people to—?”

“and i do. but, to be honest, ducky, i couldn’t help but think about the story of it all. the nerdy little prude letting the jock make a mess of you for the first time behind the bleachers. scared. helpless... euphoric,” matthew muses far too casually, tossing the q-tip in the trash and pulling out a bandage from the kit. he opens the wrapper, scrunching the paper up and laying it down on the desk next to you. “now that i know you’re... tainted... i’m just not as eager.”

“tainted?” you repeat angrily, shifting a bit on the desk. this is exactly the kind of shit you’d expect from matthew. “you really are nothing but a protein-addicted, red-pilled pig.”

he nods slowly, humming as he places the small, clear bandage on your cut— veiny hands delicately smoothing out the edges. “but you like that, don’t you, ducky?”

“no,” you deny quickly with a frown, head tilting slightly in confusion as matthew’s fingers linger at your temple. “i d-don’t.”

“mm, nice try. but this cute little wet spot right here says otherwise,” he retorts, placing a hand on each of your knees and pulling your legs apart with ease so he can get a better look at your clothed center. “i think you more than like it, actually.”

matthew starts to slide his hands up your thighs, thumbs grazing the insides as your cheeks flush. not again.

“two days in a row and you still want more?” he whispers, squeezing each of your thighs in his palms. “what? hyungs couldn’t satisfy you?”

you find yourself shaking your head involuntarily, matthew’s eyes lighting up with this news.

“can i quote you on that?” he asks with a grin, fingers on his right hand now brushing against your still-covered heat. “jiwoong hyung said you like this.”

he applies a little more pressure and, though you try to steady your breathing, a little whimper escapes as he finds your most sensitive part. 

“and hao hyung said you like surprises,” matthew says, looking up at you with lidded eyes— the tiny mole above his cheek visible in the fluorescent school light. if you didn’t know any better, you would swear he was about to kiss you. but instead, he takes a step back and folds his arms across his chest. “you’re all fixed. get up.”

luckily, you stop the pout from reaching your lips, sighing as you hop off of coach yang’s desk and onto the tile floor.

“oh, can you grab the bandaid wrapper?” he asks, putting the first aid kit back in the cabinet drawer. you turn around, looking for the paper wrapper and spotting it on the desk. 

you bend over slightly to reach it, yelping in pain when a harsh smack suddenly comes down across your ass. you fall slightly onto the top of the desk, chest flush against the wood and short gym shorts riding up your thighs.

“were you surprised enough?” matthew teases, hands pulling at the seam of your shorts to expose more of you to him. “cause i’d really like you to let me fuck you now.”

“i’m—... i s-said i wasn’t gonna let something like this happen again,” you reply, shaking your head. couldn’t you just use your brain for once this week? 

“aw, ducky. that’s really fucking pathetic,” he coos patronizingly, hooking his fingers around the crotch of your shorts and underwear and pushing them to the side. “making me so hard.”

“matthew, i can’t—,” you whimper, resolve fading fast as another sickening smack ripples across your ass cheek. “oh my god.”

you feel something start to rub lightly in between your cheeks; it’s warm, veiny and thick. you hear a low, throaty moan escape the boy behind you, his hands gripping into your hips on either side. 

“so fucking ready for me, hm?” matthew rasps and, as you turn your head to catch a glimpse of him, he bites his lip. “bet you’ve thought about this for a long time.”

of course he’s full of himself even now. you don’t care much at this moment though. the first part of his statement is embarrassingly correct: you need him right now. arrogance and all.

you buck your hips back, demanding more. though he smacks your ass again in punishment, he can’t hide his hungry panting as he reaches his hand around to start working at your aching core.

“fuuuck,” he breathes, grinding his length against you more passionately. with each shallow rut, both the tip of his cock and his meaty fingers stimulate the arousal between your thighs even more— rendering you a moaning mess. “easy. fucking told them it’d be easy.”

your high is steadily approaching as the abuse continues on your swollen heat, ears only filled with lust as you block out his mumbling. “matthew, please. i think... ‘m gonna—.”

“let go for me, little duck,” he coaxes, rhythm starting to falter. “yeah? then i can fuck y—.”

“matthew-sshi!?” coach yang’s voice suddenly bellows through the locked office door. “open this door right NOW!”

“no fucking way,” matthew whines loudly as you scramble off of your teacher’s desk— shifting the crotch of your shorts back into place as he slams a fist down on the filing cabinet next to you. “we weren’t finished! i thought i was gonna be the one to—.”

“one... two...” coach yang starts counting down, causing matthew to run to the door and open it immediately. such a petulant child, you think as you ignorie the feeling of your arousal starting to drip down your thigh.

“are you kidding me!? this is the third person i’ve caught you doing this with in here this semester alone, matthew-sshi,” coach yang reprimands as soon as he steps inside, throwing his clipboard down on the floor and removing his baseball cap. 

was matthew about to face serious consequences for this? i mean, he did purposely injure you as a ruse to have sex with him... probably.

“but you’re the team’s best centre-back. you’ve gotta support hanbin out there,” coach yang says with a sigh, matthew subtly rolling his eyes at the mention of his superior hyung. “i just can’t bench you for saturday’s game.”

“oh my god,” you whisper, eyes wide at matthew’s ability to evade punishment. it’s not just infuriating: it’s impressive.

“thank you coach,” matthew says, suddenly turning on that cute charm like the gumiho he must truly be. “i won’t let you down.”

“(y/n)-sshi,” coach yang calls, turning to look at you. “you’ll be cleaning soccer balls after every class until the end of the unit.”

“WHAT!?” you screech in shock. you’ve never received so much as a disciplinary warning in your entire academic career. “but—... but—.”

“you can clean the tennis balls next unit too, if you like,” he says, picking up his clipboard from off the ground and replacing his baseball cap onto his head. “and stop with the ducking, will you? i don’t need a lawsuit on my hands.”

you nod, your entire face burning as your coach looks anywhere but at you. you can’t say you blame him.

“c’mon, matthew-sshi. team meeting in fifteen minutes,” he instructs, walking out of his office. matthew starts to follow, but turns around in the doorway.

“meet me after practice, we can—,” he whispers, until a hand latches around the collar of his shirt and pulls him away, leaving you all on your lonesome in the small gymnasium office.

so... wednesday hadn’t gone how you’d hoped. no use crying over spilled milk (or spilled blood). thursday would be a better day.

but maybe purchasing a chastity belt wouldn’t be such a bad idea in the mean time.