#:( this sucks i hate seeing my friends in pain

[respectthepetty]

Pride Petty Watch (SOTUS) 2/5

Since so many people voted for the two blacklisted shows I was supposed to watch during Pride, it unlocked the wild card of me rewatching my sworn enemy SOTUS. I don't remember anything about the show, and the only thing I truly took away from it was hating Krist for the last eight years, so I'm settling in and revisiting the past to figure out why I forgot about every single plot point of this show including that Jan was in it and that Kongpob x M were the perfect ghost ship.

I left off praying that Arthit gets meaner before he gets nicer, which I consider as getting better before he gets worse, but since I'm getting Dangerous Romance flashbacks flash forwards, I doubt Arthit can commit to bullying Kong much longer before he turns full simp.

How am I not supposed to root for Kong x M when M looks so devastated every time Kong leaves his side to go talk to May. I know M likes May, but the way these scenes are set up, it's hard not to think that M likes Kong and he is in pain when everyone else gets his friend's time since he has known Kong SINCE JUNIOR HIGH!

Thrilled that Wad is always ready to lay hands first and ask questions later. Also excited that he is motivated by pettiness just like me, so the only reason he is playing in the tea product placement game is just to spite the seniors. Petty work makes the dream work. Amen.

The pink milk in this series needs to be studied because on one end of the spectrum, we in BL Land know the pink milk is a staple of a Thai BL (which is slowly coming back in Last Twilight, Only Friends, Addicted Heroin and I Saw You in My Dream), but on the other end, the show itself treats the pink milk like those dumb hot takes from people asking if drinking fruity cocktails makes a man a fruit, or if sucking on popsicles makes a man want to suck a dick, or if eating food in general makes a man queer. It just feels as if this show treats Arthit that way every time he orders it, like "GOTCHA, QUEER!"

If I were that food vendor, and Kong started popping out with these little nuggets while Arthit just kept threatening him, their business would be all up in the group chat because I'd be messaging all my friends that these two gay guys were practically foreplaying right in front of my salad pork skewers.

So of course Arthit would show up to the game just to stand there and glare at a man drenched in sweat from playing a hard game of basketball like the internalized-homophobic asshat he is.

God, some things never change.

WE GOT COCA-COLA MONEY?!

I gasped not because of the note on this conversation but because of the comment coming from AN OPENLY GAY MAN on the hazers squad. I am not Thai, so the only way I can relate to the hazers is through Greek life (fraternities and sororities), and even a long long time ago, I knew openly gay men in frats, and they pulled ALL the girls since girls felt safer around them than the straights, but the look Prem and Arthit are giving Tuta when he says this is what I'm laser-focused on because they show toleration rather than acceptance. I'm taking those looks personally.

Arthit continues to say Kong's face is annoying, but he never says it's ugly. Sir, I see your gay awakening on the horizon.

AND M WITH THE FUCKING LOOKS AGAIN! He is looking at Kong on stage then looking at May looking at Kong on the stage, and I know where this is going, but my god does it feel like M is sad because he believes Kong is straight and wouldn't reciprocate the feelings he has for his best friend SINCE JUNIOR HIGH!

I have made it clear that I do not like Krist (I believe his acting is flimsy but I can't even act like I like people, so who am I to judge), but I don't think the people behind the filming of this show liked him either because these opening title cards between the parts of the episodes are doing him dirty.

Excuse me, little stage presenter, I need to know what the fuck was going on with this performance that they had a western theme with modern guns. Was it Big Sean's "I Don't Fuck With You"?

And why is Jan looking like Taylor Swift in "Teardrops On My Guitar"? This show was in 2016, but the styling and hair are in 2003.

Now the judges are coming for Kong, and Lord knows he is going to answer in the most uncontroversial way because Kong refuses to pick a side against hazing and the boy he likes being punished by.

*eye roll* I did not think I'd make it here this quickly, but I'm on Arthit's side because Kong IS annoying. Jan's character looks full-on Stockholm Syndrome into the camera when Kong is answering, yet homeboy is just over there giving the most ridiculous reason of "our hazers have their reasons for hazing us" and now I see the direct line to GMMTV forgiving parents for abuse (Double Savage!).

Kong can play basketball really well. He remembers everyone's name. The whole class wanted him to be president. He is great in school. Now he is the Freshy Moon. Marsha, Marsha, Marsha. I hate this kid.

M, my most beloved, now I see why you're quiet a lot.

I appreciate M for also stating that Kong is just great at everything without trying, but it also feels that he is hyping up his boy because he has been IN LOVE WITH HIS SINCE JUNIOR HIGH!

In a room full of people, only Kong notices that M is unhappy, and now I see the direct they-are-married-but-not-a-couple line to Peaceful Property. New understands these roles well.

THE QUESTIONS THAT NEED ANSWERS! Can you run 54 laps, Arthit? Can you squat 200 times, Prem? These freshmen won everything, yet Arthit is still being a dickwad, and he just got his ass off of school probation. Bold move, sir! I want the juniors to suffer. Except for Bright. My boy has never done anything wrong, and if he did, he didn't.

I saw an umbrella in The Ex-Morning pilot trailer, and if that show doesn't give me a scene of these two arguing in the rain over the dumbest shit, then what is the point?

All those people watching Arthit, and none of his boys could run with him? If the purpose of hazing is unity, obviously the juniors didn't get that memo when they were being hazed as freshmen, so why continue the traditions that they don't even abide by?! Arthit is better than me because I would have crawled my ass back to my dorm before accepting their help SINCE THEY DIDN'T EVEN RUN LAPS! And now this little freshman wants to be up in his face. What's the point of the umbrella now?! He is a boy in a BL who has been in the rain for hours. HE IS ALREADY GOING TO DIE NO THANKS TO YOU UNHELPFUL DOUCHE NOZZLES!

I was just on Arthit's side, but then the show decided to tell me that entire seniors-hazing-the-juniors thing was a setup, and mixed with most of the images on Arthit's door being black-and-white, and one of those images being Charles Manson's Rolling Stone cover, I'm back to hating him again. So in case anyone is still following along, I now hate both of the leads. Can I get M and Bright back?

Kong says several times that Arthit can punish him, then he irons Arthit's clothes. If this show would just lean into the kink of it all, I would embrace everything about it. If Kong could just be a masochist dom, I would be delighted. JAPAN, COME HERE RIGHT NOW! Fuck remaking Love in the Air! Remake this kinky shit instead!

This is what a sado sub looks likes and Japan would know exactly what to do with him. Now I'm mad that I'm watching the babygirl-fication of a perfectly good jerk.

Well hello there you two! You wanna make out before going to the hospital? Maybe keep it all a secret from everybody else? I'm so pissed that I can't remember this plot now because I don't think they will be a thing BUT THEY WOULD BE PERFECT!

And I'm still rooting for my boy M to get his best friend since unlike Arthit, M can at least acknowledge that his friend is pretty to his face. No internalized homophobia here but probably because M isn't even a homo. I've sailed ships with less.

😬🥴🙃 Thank you subtitler for keeping the word. It's important. So are the looks that I'm taking personally. And BRIGHT IS THE ONE TO SAY IT! So I like M now and only M. Everyone can eat dirt and choke.

Arthit's nickname means warmth? I'm starting to remember why I forgot this show. Like Celine Dion, "It's All Coming Back to Me Now"

And I hate it.

[trans-axolotl]

roommate who went to the ER is doing better, but now third roommate is super sick and might Also have to go to the ER bc they cannot keep anything down either. it just keeps happening this week

[stormyrainyday]

this entire year has been flop after flop why am i losing so bad your honor i am literally just some guy

[minhmynchi]

(venting in the tags ignore this lol)

[the-acid-pear]

These two lines really make me feel like Susie is only a bully for, let's say, survival reasons. But that's as coherent as i can get so i'm going to ramble the rest of my thoughts on the tags.

[weedle-testaburger]

ok i had to do one more ultra-specific british train meme. i'm sorry

[steampoweredskeleton]

.

Ignore

[my-chemical-rot]

If life doesn’t get less stressful than this then what even is the point -_-

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Gala Buddies

Sam Manson glares out across the sea of the rich, snobby ‘elite.’ The people mingling with one another, all fake smiles and false niceties slipping from their lips easily. Every face a mask they put on to hide their true selves from the view of the public. They made Sam sick. She hated Galas, particularly the ones that took her away from Amity.

So of course, her parents had insisted that they simply must attend the gala in Gotham being held by none other than Bruce Wayne. They couldn’t miss out on the opportunity to see their old pal again.

Though Sam thought it was more like they wanted to suck up to the man for some business venture.

Or try to set her up with one of his sons again.

At least she got to see Gotham’s architecture. That was a positive, she concluded. She’d get some cool photos out of the trip to show Danny and Tucker back home. And maybe she’d get to see one of Gotham’s infamous vigilantes up close, she could try to learn anything from gauging the way they handled themselves that might be useful for Danny.

Sam readjusted her stance, the fabric of the obnoxiously pink dress making her legs itch uncomfortably. Her mother had gone through her luggage before they left when Sam hadn’t been looking and slipped in the monstrosity she was currently wearing, and removing the dresses she had selected for this torturous night. She was becoming moodier, and ‘crabbier’ as Tucker and Danny might have put it, by the second.

Maybe she could ‘accidentally’ trip into the chocolate fountain and ruin the dress. At least then she’d be getting some form of retribution for being forced into the frilly cocoon of humiliation. And it’s not like her parents would be able to scold her too much in front of all the other rich schmuks attending the party. As Sam was eyeing the chocolate fountain she noticed in her peripheral vision a person approaching her.

“Not in a party mood I take it?” Asked whoever had walked up to her.

Sam turned to examine the guy in front of her. He looked to be roughly her age, dark skin and a fancy suit that he looked uncomfortable in. A nervous energy permitted off of him, Sam guessed he wasn’t used to these sorts of events and was unashamedly out of his depth.

“Nah, not particularly,” Sam offered with a shrug, “you seem like you want to be here as much as I do.”

“Ah yeah,” the guy rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly, “I’m kinda only here because my brother didn’t want to be here alone and most of our other siblings were unavailable aside from my sister and I. But now he’s off talking to a friend of his that happened to be here, and my sister’s disappeared to who knows where.”

“That’s rough buddy,” Sam offers him a sympathetic smile.

The guy snorts before asking, “did you just quote Zuko?” And Sam grins. He holds out his hand to her, “Duke Thomas.”

Sam shakes his hand, “Sam Manson. Nice to meet you, Duke.”

Duke visibly appears to relax a little and the air of nervousness around his somewhat dissipates. He shifts of his feet for a moment before deciding on something. “So,” he starts, “if you weren’t stuck here what you normally be doing with your time?”

“Probably playing Doom with my two best friends back home,” Sam doesn’t mention anything about the ghosts. She hopes Danny and Tucker are alright in their own.

“Oh cool,” Duke smiles and Sam would be lying if she said she’d never seen someone so perfectly embody literal sunshine like he did. “I usually play videos games with my siblings. Mario Kart can get super competitive though.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at that, intrigued. “How competitive?”

Duke grimaces slightly but looks amused at the same time, “well, tables have been flipped and expensive things broken. And everyone lost Alfred’s cookie privileges for a week.” He ground out that last part as though it physically pained him.

“Damn. They must be some good cookies if you’re that bummed about it.”

“Your have no idea. Alfred’s cookies are the best thing in the world. Fights have broken out over them.”

“Your family sound insane,” Sam chuckles and quickly adds, “in a good way.”

Duke grins at her, “yeah they’re kinda crazy sometimes, but they’re great. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

“It must be nice, having siblings like that.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“Nah,” Sam shakes her head, “only child.”

Before either of them know or Sam and Duke have been talking for nearly the entire gala. They remained glued to one another chatting even as one or both of them wanted to grab something to eat from the buffet table. Their interactions didn’t go unnoticed by Bruce and the others.

Sam couldn’t remember the last time she had such a normal and fun conversation with someone other than Danny or Tucker.

The end of the night came too soon, Sam felt. Things were winding down and people were bidding others farewell. She could see her parents speaking with Bruce Wayne, possibly thanking him for a wonderful night.

“Looks like I’ll probably be leaving soon,” Sam deflated a little.

Duke pondered something for a moment but seemed to reach a decision quickly. He pulled out his phone and offered it to Sam, “here, give me your number. We can keep talking later. If you want that is.”

And Sam couldn’t find any reason to say no, especially when Duke was smiling like that. “Sure,” he took the phone from his hand and added her number into his contacts. She pulled out her own phone and handed it to him to add his number in too.

“Well then,” Duke fighters with the end of his suit jacket.

“Sammikins!” Pamela Manson called out, “it’s time to go sweetie.”

“I’ll talk to you late?” Duke asked with a smile.

“Yeah,” Sam smiled back, “talk to you later Duke.”

[s0dium]

rubs hands together…

sneaking off to fuck gojo after telling your friends you weren’t fucking with him

Warnings: Semi-Public sex, degrading, intense orgasm, Gojo lets out a whine, rough fucking

You never liked lying; it always left a sour taste in your mouth, a guilt that lingered like a stubborn shadow. But this lie was so easy, so much fun, the words practically glided past your lips;

"Gojo? No way, I'd never sleep with him."

Of course, your friends believe you, and why wouldn't they? Out of everyone, you've been the most critical of Gojo Satoru—his 'holier-than-thou' attitude and his playboy tendencies. "He makes me sick," you would whisper as he passed by, "I'd rather die than be one of his flings."

Yet here you are, hands buried in Gojo's white hair, letting him pepper kisses along your neck and jaw. It's clear now: not only are you a liar, but also a hypocrite.

Your friends would have a heart attack if they could see you; pinned against the bathroom wall, legs wrapped around Satoru's waist while he feverishly thrusts into you.

You are practically babbling from how good he's fucking you, the friction of his dick dragging in and out of your walls is enough to make you drool.

"Ngh~" You whine. Fuck, you where practically seeing colors every time his dick brushed your cerxix.

"Shit, Look at you. You aren’t even making any Goddamn sense.” Gojo avowed. “You like it when I fuck you stupid, huh? Thought you didn't want to be one of my flings?” Gojo coos into your ear, his words dripping with sarcasm. His hands dig into your ass, holding you up against the bathroom door. "Can you hear them baby? Your little friends are right outside aren't they?"

You throw your head back against the door, your mouth partially falling open so heavy gasps and moans escape your lips undeterred.

“Come on, talk to me baby, tell me how good you feel, how good im fucking you," Gojo groaned, keeping up his brutal pace, his breathing becoming jagged and irregular. He was close, and you were as well. You could practically taste your orgasm on the tip of your tongue and your hips bucked up to meet Gojos in a weak attempt to match his pace.

“S’good,” you slur out, “m’so happy..huuh…” You hated it but both you and Gojo felt it; it was as if you were made for each other, your cunt sucking him in with each push and shove that hit at just the right spots. With every brush of the tip of his dick against your cervix, black spots filled your vision and pushed you closer to your high. 

“You gonna cum baby?" You almost miss it but Gojo lets out a whine. "Come on pretty girl, cum, fucking cum” Gojo's hand flew to rapidly rub your clit back and forth, hurtling you towards your orgasm. Your pussy tightens so hard around Gojo’s cock that he has to stop his thrusts, your mouth grows lax as you feel yourself splitting in two, coming with his cock buried deep inside you. 

“That’s it,” Gojo fucks you through your orgasm, pouring the last of his strength into chasing his own high. His thrusts became sloppy, hips stuttering before he stilled his hips flushed against your, burying himself in your creamy cunny.

“Shit shit shit.”

Gojo’s grip tightened significantly, a loud moan of your name slipping from his lips as his own orgasm washed over him, coming so hard he sees white. Even though you were both oversensitive, he continues to ride his orgasm, lazily thrusting into you until it starts to become borderline painful.

"So, we on for next time baby?" He coos.

[pyramid-of-starrs]

Attention Seeker

Frat boy Yunho x Fem Reader

Summary: You and Yunho have been in the "talking phase" but when you see him entertaining another girl you want to get a little revenge. When he catches you he gives you all the attention you had been waiting for.

Genre: Smut, angst, pwp

Word count: 4k

Warning: Angst, bratty behavior, y/n is kinda annoying sorry, aggression

Smut Warning: Spit... like alot of spit, unrealistic anal, anal play, vaginal sex, oral sex (F receiving, both holes), fingering (both holes), cum play, this is honestly just filthy as hell, bratty reader, mean dom Yunho, choking, slapping (chest and vagina)

A/N: This is alot lowkey sorry lol, kinda missed some points but I think we hit the mark.

Commission submitted by: @thespiffynerd - "I would like to request a filthy nasty mean dom Yunho idea. Ass eating, breeding, spitting in the mouth, degradation, a little bit of pain like biting, smacking, etc. Maybe Y/N flirting with one of the band members too much too get Yunho’s attention or a co-worker at work trying to always ask Y/N out."

Minors DNI

Smut under the cut

Finally, quiet, the only noises filling the room was the sound of your lips on Jongho's. The painful thought that maybe this wasn't the best idea dawned on you but you had to remind yourself that, yes, you and Yunho were in the "talking phase" and, yes, you were the one that told Yunho you weren’t looking for a relationship right now. And yes, you both agreed to not see other people but it wasn't like you were doing this to hurt his feelings. Yunho was a sweet guy, but he still had his player ways, you couldn't blame him honestly, birds of a feather flock together, his entire friend group was known for running through people, when he invited you too this party he had already been surrounded by a group of women, it's expected from such a popular guy. The issue was the fact that when you tried to get his attention, he decided to ignore you, but maybe you were crazy? So, you called for him again.

"Can't you see I'm talking?" He said as the girl he was talking to giggled, your eye twitched, so you made your way to the more secluded upstairs of the house where you found Jongho, alone in an LED lit gaming room, one conversation led to another and next thing you knew your lips were on his. You could taste a very faint hint of beer on his breath, you hated the taste but loved escaping the feeling of a hurt heart. It's not like you were heart broken or anything, you two had only been talking for a month but he kind of made you feel special, but oh well, mightiest well ignore the feelings now.

Jongho pulled back from the kiss. "Oh shit..." You were confused why he pulled back, you opened your eyes to see his eyes fixated on something ahead of him.

"What's wrong?" You asked as you looked over your shoulder to see a very obviously pissed Yunho standing in the wide door frame. You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

"What do you think you're doing Y/N?" He asked, his jaw clenching with anger.

You turned from Jongho to face him. "What does it look like?" you said in a condescending voice.

"Looks like you're sucking face with one of my closest friends."

"Wow really? You two look so much alike I thought he was you." the sarcasm radiated off of your tone.

"Hilarious." Yunho said, he walked over and grabbed you by your arm, pulling you out the room and down the hall as you squirmed and tried to pull away, your effort was wasted and only made his grip tighter. He pulled you to his room, once inside he flung you on the bed and slammed the door behind him and locked it.

"What the hell is your problem?!" You yelled at him as you sat up on the bed, no answer was given.

"I should be asking you that question." he walked over to you and stood at the end of the bed.

"You know what my fucking problem is don't act like a dumbass now." you started to match his energy.

"Watch your mouth Y/N."

"I don't have to do shit! Why don't you go back to ignoring me for your groupies an leave me alone, you didn't give a fuck about me then, why do you give a fuck now-" Before you could continue to bitch him out his large hand grabbed your face and shoved you into the bed, your head bounced from the force.

"Didn't I just tell you to shut the fuck up Y/N?" His energy shifted, the tension was heavy. You looked up at him as you brought your knees closer to your chest. "Take your shirt and bra off." You stared at him blankly.

"W-why should I?" You said, you wanted to do whatever he said but you wouldn't be you if you didn't act like a brat, Yunho would never admit it, but he loved your bratty ways. The tantrums you would throw when you didn't have your way, how you would purposely do things to piss him off, but the only issue was this time, you took it too far. You knew how much it annoyed him when his friends would flirt with you unknowingly, since they weren't aware that you two were a serious thing. Maybe you did go a bit far by purposely kissing the one person from his friend group that people joked was his twin, but all is fair in love and war, right?

Yunho silently walked over to the side of the bed closest to you, he leaned his large figure over you while placing his hand on the side of your head. He swiftly took his other hand and wrapped his long fingers around your throat while pushing you into the bed. "Either do what the fuck I say, or I'll make you regret it." He clenched his jaw while you noticed the veins popping in his neck. "Do I make myself clear?" his eye contact was severe and all you could do is nod while looking dead into his dark brown eyes.

He released your neck and stood back up waiting for you to follow his directions. You chose not to bullshit anymore and sat up, sitting on your knees directly in front of him on the bed, then removed your shirt to reveal a cute push up bra that made your tits look amazing. You unhooked your bra the as your 2 soft breast plopped out, you sat on the bed on your knees shirtless and looked back at him. "Well... now what?" you said with an attitude.

"Since you like putting on a show, put on a show for me. Play with them." He said while folding his arms, your face got hot thinking about him watching you play with your boobs, but then again you mightiest well have some fun and play along. You lifted both your hands to your chest, gripping both your fleshy mounds from the bottom, massaging the fat between your palms. Your eyes met his, you hoped to get his usual reaction from, he usually would be fighting to stay mad at you then realizing he couldn't resist you and fucking you into the bed. The vibe however was different this time, maybe you went too far, he just stood there with his arms folded watching you squeeze your boobs together while he had a scowl on his face.

"Aww what’s wrong Yuyu? Mad at little ole me?" A teasing smile on your face.

"Spit on them." He ignored your attempt to tease him and made his command, you did as you were told. You tilted your chin down, allowing the spit in your mouth to fall to the front. You pursed your lips and allowed the cold spit to hit one breast then turned your head and let it hit the other. Your hands wasted no time smearing the saliva around your nipples as they got harder. "Again." he demanded; you were a bit confused but again you listened. You spit on your breast once again, this time only a small bit coming out. "Come on you've spit on my dick better than that, how pathetic are you? Let me show you how you need to do it." Yunho gathered all the spit in his mouth and puckered his lips to spit a glob of spit directly on your chest, causing a shameless whimper to fall from your lips. "Go on."

You knew what he wanted, you rubbed the spit around your chest like lotion, coating every inch of you breast in it, some of it sitting on your hard nipple and dropping, causing a string of spit to fall down to your thighs. You closed your eyes to bathe in the feeling on your fingers pinching your nipples and the heat between your thighs pooling, you quickly opened them when a hard smack hit your wet boobs causing an intense stinging pain that made you groan. When you opened your eyes, you were greeted with Yunho once again taking his large hand and smacking your breast again, the pain made your chest throb, but it felt amazing. "Such a messy slut, take your panties off and show me how wet I know you are." You leaned back to sit on your butt, your wet hands reached under your skirt to remove your panties. "Now spread nice and wide for me." You bent your knees and spread your legs for him to see, your sopping wet cunt was on full display for him but you decided to reach down to spread your pussy lips open so he could see your gummy walls. "Mm, finally being good for me huh?"

"You've got me this horny I mightiest well listen so I can at least get fucked." You witfully retorted, his face showed that he wasn't that amused by your smart mouth.

"Rub your little slutty pussy for me." he scanned you up and down.

"Why when you're right here?"

"Because you and your bratty ass mouth haven't earned me yet."

"...fine." You took your two fingers and slid them between your wet cunt. You rubbed a few circles on your clit then slid back down to do the same to your hole, you whimpered while trying to ignore the burning sensation of Yunho's gaze. The speed of your fingers gradually picked up as you rubbed your needy nub, it felt good but masturbating with just your hand feels the same as when you try to tickle yourself. You moaned and whimpered the faster you went but it only made you needier for Yunho, your slick started to run down to your ass as you got more turned on, your mouth felt parched, so stuck in a daze knowing that he was watching you do this. "Y-Yunho please- I need you."

The smirk on his face made you want to knock it off of him. "Oh really? You sure you don't want me to go get Jongho?" He folded his arms as you continued to rub yourself, now using 3 fingers.

"Sh-Shut up! You know I want you..." You managed to groan out.

"Actually, I don't know that, you seem to be doing just fine on your own." He retorted.

"No- please I need you." You felt your yearn for him growing the more you rubbed your wet pussy as your hips rocked against your fingers just trying to chase your need for more.

"Where do you need me?" He asked with that dumb dickhead smirk.

"Here... please... I need you here." You said softly as your patience ran thin.

"Where is here Y/N?"

You whimpered as your clit started to ring, you knew he was just fucking with you at this point. "Down here o-obviously." You said between moans, Yunho was loving watching you fall apart in front of him, but he wanted to mess with you just a bit more and he had the perfect idea.

"Fine." He bit his bottom lip as he continued to carry a devious smirk on his face like he was up to no good. He climbed on to the bed, kneeling in front of your legs. "Down here, right?" He pointed down to your core.

"Yes ha~ hurry up"

"Okay, anywhere specific or-"

"Just fucking do something." You said no longer having patience for him and his bullshit. He gripped the underside of your knees and suddenly pushed them to your chest causing your ass to lift off the bed. "Hey what-"

He pushed your legs back more as your ass lifted more into the air, he was folding you with ease like a piece of paper, you could feel the sting of your muscles being stretched. Your needy wet cunt was right by his face since he was leaned into you. "Down here, right?" He looked into your eyes, and it made your face hot, this position made you feel so exposed and shy, all you could do is nod slowly. He drove his face down, tongue ready to taste your slick, you closed your eyes tight as you anticipated feeling his cold tongue on your hot pussy. Then there was another sensation that made you jolt, and your eyes shoot open, Yunho's tongue was on your hole but not the hole you thought. He was kitten licking your asshole and the feeling sent a chill down your spine. You have never had anyone stimulate your ass, he had never mentioned doing it so where is this coming from? His tongue worked on your second hole, tracing the rim with the tip of his tongue, the mixture of his spit and your slick coated your bottom as it drips down. You wanted to speak but couldn't the only thing falling from your lips were pathetic whimpers while you rolled your hips wishing you could have his tongue on your pussy too. Maybe that's what he was trying to do? Get back at your bratty behavior by avoiding where you really wanted him, but this didn't feel like a punishment. You had never felt this feeling before, it tickled but you also felt it in your pussy, it just made you want more.

"Fuck~ feels 'o good." You muttered, you couldn't conjure a coherent thought it was like you were in a trance. Your eyes rolled back as you firmly planted your head in the pillows under you, Yunho wrapped his pillow soft lips around your hole while his tongue continued to stimulate you before he pulled off with a pop.

"Finally ready to be good for me baby?" He said softly noticing your relaxed and submissive state, you easily folded as you nodded again. "Good." His mouth was quickly back on your asshole as he removed one on his hands from your leg. He used his two long fingers to slowly rub circles on your throbbing clit, it was like water putting out a fire, you couldn't help but moan louder, thank God there was a party going on down stairs or like usual Yunho's housemates would be banging on the door for you two to keep it the hell down. Your head rolled around the pillows as you breathed heavily, your fingers digging into the sheets below you.

"Make me cum Yunho, fuck" you said, then harsh slap on your pussy was felt making you wince. "What the fuck!" your eyes opened and looked directly at him.

"Is that how you ask?" He said removing his mouth from your hole again.

"Are you fucking serious? Just make me cum, God!" Welp the submissive soft girl act didn't last long, the attitude earned you 2 more slaps to your wet cunt before Yunho let you go making you drop back down on the bed with a slight bounce. He started to remove his clothes starting with his shirt then his jeans you sat up frizzled from the edging. “Oh? Finally going to fuck me?” You smirked smugly.

“God, do you shut the fuck?” Yunho said rolling his eyes, he crawled on the bed to hover his large frame over yours. As he pushed closer you laid back. "You have me, the best fucking dick you have and will ever get in your life, and you can't shut your whore mouth. Just sit there like a good pretty little bitch and take it. Got it?" He said looking you into your eyes.

You stared at him for a moment, all you wanted was to make him a little jealous but the look in his eyes was serious. All you could do is nod.

"Good, open your mouth." he said while gripping your chin. You slowly opened your mouth and before you could process what was happening, he spit directly into it, making you wince for a moment. "I don't give you 2 seconds of my attention, and you tongue down my friend. Don't worry though baby, I'll give you all the attention you needed." he smiled. "Swallow and turn around." You swallow as soon as he releases your chin, you turn to then lay on your stomach once he moves from on top of you to kneel on the bed.

You arched your ass into the air to present to him shamelessly. Your cunt was glistening, practically begging to get fucked by him. Yunho removed his boxers finally and got closer to you. He gripped the base of your shaft and rubbed it between your folds. You couldn't take anymore teasing, anymore waiting. "Please... please, I'll be good." you pathetically whimpered out.

"Will you baby?"

"Yes~ please." your hips started to move against his cock, you didn't even notice he had stopped. His tip rubbed against your clit ever so slightly just enough so you could feel some kind of friction.

"Say sorry baby, say sorry and I'll give you everything you need."

"I'm ngh~ I'm sorry baby, please, please fuck me." You began to drool on the pillow your face was on as you quickened your pace. Yunho pulled away and sunk his length into your needy hole. You moaned loudly; you could never really get use to his almost obscene size. The small sting turned to pure bliss, making your eyes roll back. He bottomed into you; your breathing spiked feeling his tip on your ovaries.

"Apology accepted beautiful." He wasted no time and moved his hips back in forth, pumping his dick into you. "So wet and tight, I must not fuck you hard enough. That must be why you’re acting up." His pace quickened. You couldn't form anything coherent as you felt your mind start to blank. "I already feel you squeezing me baby, already about to cum?"

"Fuck, fuck~" Your stomach dropped, your cunt clenched around his dick. His pace moving even faster as he felt your pussy hugging him, you came. Your mind filling with fog, your eyes completely rolled back, and you zoned out for a moment. You finally came back to earth, Yunho was still fucking into you when overstimulation kicked in. "too much, Yunnie it's too much ahh-" Yunho didn't want to make you uncomfortable but he knew you, he knew this was not enough for you. "Want... want more, want more please." Your legs were unstable causing you to fall into a collapsed doggystyle. Your pussy ringed as he pulled out of you.

"Are you sure? You want me to keep going?" Yunho asked as his large hands gripped your ass, and he massaged you with his thumbs.

"Yes... please." you begged.

Yunho separated your cheeks and spit a cold glob of saliva onto your asshole. He rubbed his long finger between your still throbbing pussy to collect your cum. He smeared the spit around the rim of your hole then glided one finger in. Your moans could probably be heard throughout the whole house. The sensation of his fingers in your ass could drive you crazy every time. Your hips wiggled as your pussy still leaked. He watched your reaction to make sure you were comfortable and added another finger. Your hole was tight, but he used his other hand to continue to rub your cheek just to keep you calm but your mind was so fuzzy.  You cried out as he scissored his fingers inside you. Before you could cum, he slowly slid back out.

“Did that feel good baby?”

“Yes mm~” you managed to mumble out. He spat onto his cock and aligned his tip with your asshole. You could feel the pressure of his dick on the rim and your mind could barely comprehend taking his thick dick in your ass, but it made your pussy leak even more.

“Think you could take me here baby? Do you want it?” He said smirking at you.

You looked back at his smug face, your face looking absolutely fucked out, you nodded to him. He wanted to tease a verbal response out of you but even though he would never admit it he was at his limit too. He pushed his length slowly into your tight asshole and you clenched your jaw while whimpering and grabbing the sheets under you. The mix of pleasure and pain was overwhelming, and he could tell it was a lot for you. He leaned his large frame down to kiss you. The kiss started actually pretty warm and wholesome until he continued to push into you. Feeling his cock drive deeper into you made you babble nonsense into his mouth until he finally bottomed out. He lifted himself back up.

“You have to relax a bit baby.”

After a moment you finally adjusted to his size in your unused hole. “Please ah~ please move.” You mumbled out. Not needing to be told twice he started to pump his long dick into you. Somehow you could still feel him in your pussy, and you could no longer think straight. Your mind was completely gone, your eyes rolling with every stroke he took inside you. Yunho's bottom lip fully being bitten by his teeth, biting deeper with every motion. You were so tight and wet around him; he thought your pussy was tight, but this was something completely different. This was both of your first time doing anal and absolutely won’t be your last, Yunho was going to have fun with you later. You started to fall forward as your body was growing limp, unconsciously running from him. He took both his large hands and wrapped them around your hips to keep you in place.

“Don’t run from me baby, take every inch of my dick.” He said in a low voice. He pulled out halfway then slammed back into your repeatedly, you cried out his name along with strings of “fuck” and other whiney words and phrases. You felt your stomach begin to tighten again.

“Yunnie I’m gonna cum- I’m gonna cum FUCK.” You slurred out.

He sped up his pace as his climax was on the rise as well. “Going to cum in your tight little ass, you want that don’t you. You want my cum to leak out of your asshole baby?”

“Please, please fill my ass, please, please ple- “before you could finish begging like a proper whore your pussy clenched around nothing and began to leak on the bed below you. You could feel Yunho pump into you once… twice… three times before his hot cum filled your ass. He pulled out slowly, still leaking as some of his cum got on your leg. He dropped his large body on the side of you and immediately started to kiss you.

“If I ever catch you with any of my housemates or anyone else in general, I’ll kill you both.” He said with his cute but serious puppy face. You were still breathing heavy but couldn’t help but to let out a breathy laugh.

“Well don’t go around flirting with other girls then, plus you were being an ass to me.”

“Oh God Y/n I wasn’t flirting; she was flirting with me, and I was just being nice. But… you’re right… I shouldn’t have been rude about it. I’m sorry.” He said as you turned on your side and he pulled you in closer by your waist.

“Thank you. And by the way being friendly, being flirty, synonyms.” You rolled your eyes.

“Jesus, for someone “Not looking for a relationship” you sure are jealous.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“So, the least you could do is be my girlfriend if your gonna act like that.”

“Hmm… I’ll think about it. First, we have to do the walk of shame to the bathroom so we can shower though.” You said as you slowly got up, wincing a bit at the soreness.

“Dude it’s like- “He checked his apple watch on his wrist. “4am. The party ended like an hour into us fucking. Everyone is either passed out or doing what we were.”

“Oh- well come on still, my ass hurts.” You both got out the bed and Yunho slapped you on the ass to tease you.

[heartthrobin]

the hate game (1)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 13.3k

warnings: enemies to lovers, so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, super grumpy!oliver, oliver's scottish accent (it's a warning in itself), alcohol consumption, super! duper! cheesy! (sorry not sorry)

an: just survived the worst two weeks of my life, but the fic is finally here! this fic was originally a full 50 chapter fic i had planned for wattpad like three years ago but i found my draft for it recently and decided it needed a revival. so enjoy it, and don't forget to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)

summary: the only thing more grating than Oliver's foul moods and his permanent scowl, has to be the fact that he's so damn pretty. you fucking hate him for it.

part two/final part

Movies, as is their premise, glamourise plenty of things - high school, politics, tiny Greek islands - but none more than the classic sucker-punch.

The teeth-crunching, blood-spitting moment where skin meets skin in a satisfying thump that sends an unsuspecting victim to the floor. Music plays and the hero grins, grabbing the girl round the waist: dipping low to kiss her.

What’s consistently (conveniently) left out is how bloody painful it is to be on the sending end of that fist.

The first, and only, time you’d ever punched someone was in second year.

It had seemed like a great idea in the moment, quickly succeeded by the mind-numbing pain that shot up your arm where knuckle met face.

You’d aimed for his jaw, but as it turns out: in addition to painful, punching someone wasn’t a particularly accurate sport for a beginner and your slippery skin found a round-tipped nose instead.

A collective gasp and a month’s worth of detention waited for you on the other side of your act of rage.

And sure, while afternoons in Snape’s classroom every Friday sucked: it was all worth it.

Every purple knuckle that throbbed with the slightest brush, the points lost to Hufflepuff, the pages and pages of Hogwarts Does Not Condon Physical Violence you’d been forced to write was worth seeing the trickle of blood running down from Oliver Wood’s nose.

To see that smug fucking look wiped clean from his face. To watch how he doubled over in pain, grappling onto his friend for balance.

“Tyler fancying you? Any bloke would rather snog a goblin.”

His little comment had earned him a broken nose.

It had been the start of a five year long feud.

It’s the reason - now - why the ground is racing up to meet you, the nose of your broomstick pressed down towards it and wind whipping so hard against your face it draws tears. You knock into the ground, catching yourself on wobbly legs. A few feet away, Oliver Wood has done the same.

He’s marching towards you with the same ferocity that’s curdling in your chest:

“Tha’s blatching and you know it!” His accent is ringing, thick and blistering with heat like it always is when he talks to you. At you, rather.

The accusation is crystal clear, and loud despite the echoing din of the quidditch stands above. From the field where you're parked, you can hear the chatter and the cheers and the boos all conglomerating into a fuzzy uproar.

There’s still twelve brooms floating in the air, spewing irritated shouts from players in both yellow and red:

Just let it go, Wood!

Come on, Cap, can we just finish the match please!

You promptly ignore them. Oliver follows suit.

“What?” You scoff, face hot as a kettle on a lit stove. “As if Laurel and Hardy haven’t been elbowing my girls all game!”

It goes without saying that you’re referring to Gryffindor’s red-head twin-set of beaters.

“Bullshit.” He seethes, it’s purposefully quiet enough that McGonagall’s approaching figure doesn’t pick it up.

She, unlike yourself, is less patient and knobby vein-webbed hands come out to knock you both against your chests: widening the gap to a safe enough distance between the opposing captains.

“You two are exhausting.” And she sounds it too. Her glasses tremble at the edge of her nose, sun shining down on her aged face. "If one more match this season is interrupted because you two can't control your tempers, you will both be stripped of captainship and you will not fly until you graduate. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

But Oliver isn't looking at her. His eyes are focused on yours over her cloaked shoulder.

He's taking the predictable route of not replying first.

"Crystal clear, Professor." You resign to speaking first, skewing a grin at his anger-sewn face.

It’s another long boring moment before he cuts his gaze from yours, kicks up a patch of grass and grits through his teeth.

“Yes, professor.”

As can be imagined, things between you and Oliver Wood have been tense since the day he’d hobbled up to the hospital wing with a palm over his face and blood dripping down over his already red tie.

But with age, came ferocity, and what started as passing glares in the corridor melted into anger-drowned faces and sharp words flung with intent to scar.

Things got infinitely worse when you were elected captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team in the same year Oliver was made captain for Gryffindor. It stoked the already sizzling embers that made moments around him warm and stuffy and hard to breathe.

The murky history swirled with what should be friendly competition, instead frothing into a bubbling pot of annoyed teammates and exasperated teachers and more sessions of detention than you would have ever had if you'd never met the son of a bitch that is Oliver Wood.

It's what puts you in situations like the ones you find yourself in the middle of before you even know how you got yourself there.

"You two," Professor Burbage had never held you in particularly high favour. It was just your luck that Oliver received the same courtesy. "One more word out of either of you and I will be seeing both of you this afternoon for detention in my classroom."

It was even unluckier that she'd sat you two barely three wizards away from one another and one fly-away comment had blown out into another heat-filled exchange. It always does.

"But professor--" you try.

"Right then. I'll see you both at five o' clock."

Oliver sighs, hands running up over his head between chestnut locks: "Fucking perfect. Thanks, big-mouth."

"Would you like to make it two days, Mr Wood?"

He huffs like an angry dog, tightening the grip on his writing-feather but says nothing else.

The end of the lesson doesn't come soon enough and when it does, Oliver is first out of his seat. You're grateful for it.

Cherry bumps you in the shoulder where she throws her bag over it. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

You grin, despite the sunken feeling hollowing your chest with the acknowledgment that you're gonna be spending yet another afternoon at the mercy of an under-paid staff member alongside the hothead that was the Gryffindor captain.

"Come on, that wasn't my fault and you know it."

Her tight red curls dance when she shakes her head. They match her blood red tie. "Somehow it never is."

To your dismay, but not surprise, Enzo shares Cherry's views when he waltzes into step beside you in the corridor between Muggle Studies and Divination. His arm drapes over your shoulders and his tall frame shakes when he laughs.

"You know," his voice is thick and gravelly. "You two are gonna have to fuck it out eventually."

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you with a chuckle. The sentiment isn't anything new. "Oh, shut up."

The day folds blurrily between classes and lunch and greenhouse visits that by the time you look up it's just about five o clock.

Burbage's office door stares down at you.

The corridor is ghostly all the way behind you and it's emptiness means it's easy to make out Oliver's heavy footsteps down the stone floor. They're not slow, in an arrogant strut, neither quick like he has somewhere to be.

He trudges. Like the weight of the world is strapping him to invisible pins in the floor. It's easy to figure that your existence doesn't lighten his load any.

You don't turn. He simply falls into place beside you, keeping a good foot distance between your tightened shoulders.

The door opens.

Charity Burbage is insufferable in the way that she forces you and Oliver to sit almost on top of each other behind a scratched up desk where she can watch you under the curtain of her ratty blond hair.

You inch the chair dramatically away from Oliver's.

She's set a stack of pages by him and a wet stamp. "Stamp these and sign the date."

Additionally, she's dropped a stack of envelopes under your nose. "Tuck and seal. When you're done, you can leave."

You eye the papers. There must be hundreds.

To Whom It May Concern,

Hogwarts would like to remind all parents and guardians that the third-years will require prior permission before being allowed to visit the nearby village of Hogsmeade--

You jump when Oliver's elbow knocks yours (more violently than what was really necessary). He holds the first page out to you silently, face dripping with impatience.

When you take the page, his thumb brushes yours.

The paper is delicate in your fingers where you fold it. You tuck and seal, and by the time you've set it aside Oliver is offering the next page to you again.

His thumb brushes yours for a second time.

You find that it does for every letter that's passed on.

It's hard not to watch him out the corner of your eye. Oliver has this dark brown, nearly black, hair that's thick and almost too long and untamed all over. It's matched by bushy eyebrows and speckled freckles over the bridge of his nose.

If you didn't hate him as much as you did, you might think he was pretty. You might think that anyway.

Time stretches until the sun is setting the classroom afire with golden light and it's boredom that causes it, or possibly a desire to hear his voice at such tight quarters, but you speak.

"You know," it's soft enough that Burbage doesn't look up from her Witch Weekly magazine. "Even if - in some act of God - Scotland qualifies for the semi-finals, Luxembourg is gonna flatten them. I mean, think about it unemotionally, Wood: they have Luca Schmit as seeker. It's really a no brainer--"

"Are y’really just stupid or are you purposefully trynna start another argument?" His gaze flickers up to eye Burbage's desk warily, she still doesn't react.

Maybe it's both. After all, the subject of the Quidditch World Cup had been what put you both there in the first place.

You shrug, unfazed by his scathing remark.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Well don't."

His hand brushes yours again.

-

Every second Friday, generally at the tail-end of lunch, Hooch's grey barn owl swoops low over your head and drops a smaller-than-average white envelope right into your mashed potatoes. Cherry yelps in surprise every time.

Then you watch the bird drop the same over the Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.

Good afternoon,

Reminder of Captain's meeting this afternoon in my office. Six o' clock, don't be late.

Regards,

Madam Hooch.

The letter says the same thing it has since you became captain and it's a wonder you still take the effort to break the seal on the envelope.

But come six o' clock, you're traipsing towards the west end of the castle. Lavender streaks caress the sky under the last impression of sunlight through the ornate stone arch of the corridor windows and an autumn chill creeps up your arms where your sweater isn't thick enough.

Hooch's office is in a quiet alcove, nearly impossible to find if you didn't know where to look, and the lamps are lit. Beyond the door, you can hear voices: you grin.

The door creaks noisily where you push it open. Inside it's cramped and cluttered with shelves of quidditch equipment - broken brooms, punctured quaffles and loose kits draping every open surface - but it's warm and smells like leather and is maybe your favourite little room in the whole castle.

The quidditch legend herself, Rolanda Hooch, has her legs kicked up on her desk and the boys are standing ahead of it locked in animated chatter.

She's laughing at something they said, and smiles when you enter.

"Sorry I'm late, coach."

It's nothing new and she waves you in with a smile. "Come in, poppet."

"Merlin," Marcus' shoulder finds yours and the force of the bump nearly sends you off your feet. "You'd be late to your own funeral hey, Puffers?"

You laugh, shoving him back with as much force as you can muster against the giant brute that is Slytherin captain Marcus Flint. It barely nudges him but he barks out a laugh, rough like tractor tires over crumbly concrete.

"I'm worth the wait." You quip back, leaning around Marcus to wink at Roger Davies. "Isn't that right, Rodger?"

He flirts back, "Always, sweetheart."

Roger is the antithesis of Marcus: all pale skin, blue eyes and short blonde hair. Easy on the eyes.

Oliver lingers just behind him, the tallest of the captains. You catch his eye, face slipping into something more serious, and nod. "Hey, Wood."

He nods in return, curt like how a ministry wizard's might be.

"Right," Hooch sits up straight in her high-back chair. "There are just a couple things we need to get through tonight, we won't be long."

The dynamic between the captains would be easy, if not for Oliver.

You're the only girl and that made for tough beginnings. Marcus is naturally brash and brutish, but - as you found - easy to impress with a couple showy tricks on the broom. A single promise to show him how to pull off a Woollongong Shimmy had him eating out your hand: the favour of a couple Slytherins was generally hard to buy and invaluable to a plushy Hufflepuff such as yourself.

Roger popped out the womb with a wink at the nurse. Impeccably charming and impossibly negotiable. Beyond being slightly dim, it was hard to say a bad thing about the Ravenclaw captain

On the other hand, Oliver was … well, Oliver.

Hooch tapped the sharp end of a writing feather rhythmically at a spot on her desk, eyes roving her clipboard.

"Next week we're doing a clean up of the supply room down by the pitch. I've set you each up on days, the whole team needs to be down to help unless they're excused by a teacher: I want a written letter."

She offers a piece of parchment without looking up.

"As you all know, it's the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game next week."

You bump your elbow to Marcus'. He looks down and grins a mouthful of crooked teeth before turning to Roger. "Ready, pretty boy?"

Roger rolls crystal blue eyes, but he's smiling too. "Bring it on, tough-shit."

"Oy," Hooch interrupts them with a cool sigh, "The last thing, you all submitted your autumn practice requests for the pitch: Roger, Marcus, you have the days you want--"

They nod. Your shoulders stiffen.

"--Oliver, Y/n. You both want Wednesday afternoons. Monday afternoon is open, I'll let you two decide between each other who is gonna move their practice. I want a decision before tomorrow night."

Marcus is sniggering under his breath. The edges of your mouth sink into a frown, of course he wants the same day as me.

You can feel the heat of Oliver's eyes on the side of your face. You don't indulge him, keeping your gaze settled on Hooch's face.

"We'll figure it out, coach."

"Unlikely." Roger's quip is barely a whisper but you catch it.

"Alright." Hooch doesn't. "You're dismissed, go get some dinner kids."

The office door bounces back off the stone wall where Marcus tosses it carelessly open, echoing all the way down the empty corridor.

Frosty air chases over your face and the boys start down towards the Great Hall. Roger is complaining about a potions essay he hasn't started and Marcus is shrugging him off with a suggestion that includes something along the vein of blackmailing a sixth year into doing it for him but you can't focus long enough to follow.

"Oliver." Irritation is prickling at the surface of your skin. It flares into an almost rash when he stops walking, glancing over his shoulder with an unconcerned expression. "Who's giving Wednesday up?"

His arms fold against his chest. You're working extremely hard not to look down where his biceps stretch the seams on his Hogwarts jumper. "Well, you obviously."

Marcus barks another laugh, he calls down the corridor: "We'll see you kids at dinner."

"Yeah, don't kill each other! It's only practice!"

You huff in disbelief, unconcerned with the running commentary.

"Uh," you mirror Oliver by folding your own arms. "no it's not. Come on, we can negotiate like civil people can't we?"

Thick caterpillar eyebrows disappear beyond the overgrowth hiding his forehead. "Negotiate? I'm the one who wasted three hours of my life in detention last week thanks to your big fat mouth. Wednesday is mine."

"That was a joint effort, twat." You can feel where your throat is flush with rising anger. It wires your jaw tight. "Are you really so bloody difficult that we can't even come to a simple agreement?"

"Difficult?" His arms have shifted from his chest to perch against his hips. "Just because I'm not giving you what you want? Cry me a fucking river, darling. Sorry Puffers, but I'm not your precious Marcus or Roger. I'm not gonna fold just cause you bat yer pretty little eyelashes at me."

Pretty?

You blink in surprise. It's brushed quickly aside for more pressing matters. Your hands scrunch into fists at your side:

"Well. I'm not giving it up. I want Wednesday."

"Neither am I."

"Fuck you."

"In your dreams."

-

Oliver collapses loudly into the open spot at the Gryffindor dining table. His callousness knocks Archie's goblet of pumpkin juice across the shiny wooden surface between dishes of sausages and peas and roast potatoes.

"Bloody hell, what's got you in a mood?" He's patting down the table with a serviette, transforming it into a orange lump under his palm.

Shaking his head, as if it would joggle the thought of you loose, Oliver stabs a chicken drumstick from the top of a nearby pile with his fork. He doesn't respond.

"Wait, let me guess." Archie presses the elbows of his red jumper into the still wet surface beside his plate. "Something to do with your little Hufflepuff sweetheart?"

Oliver grunted around a mouthful, looking annoyed. "Not mine and not a sweetheart. A fucking brat."

Archie seems to find something funny, leaning back on the bench with a haughty laugh. "Right. What she do this time?"

"Wants the pitch the same day as me for practice." He's mumbling around a mouthful of chicken, tipping forward to shove a spoon teetering with peas alongside it. "Refuses to give in, despite the fact that she put me in detention last week with Burbage."

Shifting to the edge of his seat, Archie leans around Oliver's frame to find your figure across the Hall at the yellow-lined table. He nods, seemingly finding you. "Yeah, she don't look too happy either."

"I don't care."

Oliver is trying very hard not to give into the itch to look back.

"Whatever," Archie's gaze finds his again. "in better news ... I spoke to the twins just before dinner. They're still on for tomorrow."

He's twitching in his seat, eyebrows dancing and grinning around his words like a kid who's found a matchbox.

Right. The twins.

Specifically, Daisy and Delilah Dawson: two Ravenclaw sisters a year below Oliver.

They're peng, Archie had reasoned, you need a little fling to get your mind off quidditch. You're too strung up, mate.

And sure, they were, but Oliver had more important things to do than gallivant across Hogsmeade attached to the hip of some sixth year who just wants to earn her I Kissed The Quidditch Captain! badge.

He'd groaned and whined and glowered at the prospect. Was it petulant? Naturally, but spending five sickles on subpar hot chocolate and making false conversation with some Ravenclaw was a waste of precious time in Oliver's humble opinion.

His priorities are, as they've always been, crystal clear in his mind.

1. Win Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup 2. Refer to point (1)

There was little wiggle room for the introduction of girls into any spot on that list.

You're the only one who came almost close to the tight list. Only because if there had to be a third priority, "shove winning the cup in Hufflepuff's face" might just crack it. He thought about you significantly more than any other girl in the castle and maybe that might mean something if he thought about too long about it, but fortunately, he refused to.

Regardless, Archie was adamant and more than a little pathetic when he mentioned that Daisy only agreed to see him if he had a date for Delilah. It was all settled very quickly.

And it's in this show of loyalty to his dearest friend that Oliver finds himself walking the cobblestone path down into Hogsmeade on a crisp Saturday morning.

The little village is bustling with students - it normally is - and the crowd has him knocking shoulders with Delilah who's walking in step beside him.

He's uncomfortable to find that she's staring dreamily up at the underside of his jaw.

On Oliver's other side: Archie is talking Daisy's ear off, making another pitiful attempt at holding her hand. He doesn't quite manage it and Oliver can't tell whether it's because she genuinely doesn't notice or she just can't be arsed.

"So," Delilah's voice is light and sweet. Delicate. "You mentioned that you take Arithmancy? I've heard it's tough."

Oliver nods airily. "Yeah ... yeah, it's difficult."

He tightens his jacket closer over his frame. The wind is whipping between their bodies and he thinks that maybe she didn't hear him over it's howling if her confused expression is anything to go by. He finds he's not bothered enough to repeat it.

The entrance of Madam Puddifoot's comes into view at the end of the walkway.

Oliver’s relieved. It's freezing out here and maybe he'll be more in the mood for flirtatious conversation once he's gotten some food in his stomach (Archie had insisted they skip breakfast: we have to order something to eat, so we can sit longer).

There's a jingle of a bell overhead when Archie pushes the door open, standing awkwardly aside to let the ladies in first.

Inside the shop, it's more than busy: powdery blue walls barely visible beyond the sea of Hogwarts couples crammed around tiny circle tables and waiters in red uniform knocking the back of their chairs with wobbling trays.

There's music coming from ... somewhere, it sounds like The Weird Sisters and at the sound, Oliver can't imagine how this morning could possibly go any worse.

Oh wait, yes he can.

You could be sitting at a table right by the door across a too-small-table knocking knees with some Slytherin prick. Like you are right there right now.

Delilah tugs on his wrist, it's gentle and he almost doesn't feel where he's being lead between tables towards an open booth across the room. He falls unceremoniously down against the torn leather, eyes never leaving your table.

You haven't noticed his presence, he knows because your lips are stretching around a giggle he can't hear but can already imagine. You don't smile around him, that's for sure.

Oliver's stomach is frothing and bubbling and he's trying really hard to tune back in where Archie's knocking a menu into his hand.

Of course you're there. To ruin his mood and his day, because you're just bloody perfect at it.

"So, am I seeing you girls at the Quidditch match on Saturday?" Archie's voice carries somewhere over his head.

Delilah laughs. Or maybe it's Daisy, Oliver doesn't look.

"Maybe," she says, "Depends if Oliver's gonna be there. You're gonna be there, right?"

He feels a hand nudge at his forearm. Definitely Delilah.

His gaze floats back over the table to offer a fraction of eye contact, he nods. "Oh, uh ... yeah. Sure, definitely."

Archie saves him by speaking again and your table finds Oliver's attention just in time for him to watch the boy sitting across from you swipe away a smudge of hot chocolate over your cheek. You smile, looking bashful and a little bit flushed.

A suffocating, searing heat rushes from the soles of Oliver's feet up between his every organ and over every tendril of hair on his head. His jaw tightens.

Of course he recognises the pratt across you.

Ryo Yoshida.

Every girl in the castle's wet dream, if the rumours he's heard are anything to go by. With his fucking sleek black hair and his Japanese accent that had witches flocking to him in the dozens.

He doesn't wonder why you're here with him.

Oliver is a proud man, but even he could admit that you're beautiful. Albeit reluctantly.

With your wide wet eyes that make him a little sick in a way that turns his stomach warm and the way you do your hair and those fucking dangly earrings that clink when you loose your cool on him.

That's without even mentioning the sound of your laugh - the one he only ever overhears - and your legs in the school uniform skirt and the way you look when you're diving on your broom under the light of a sunny day.

Alright, maybe he couldn't admit to all of it ... but you were okay.

Okay enough to crack a date with Ryo Yoshida or any other schmuck in the castle if you wanted.

"Anything good to eat here, Oliver?"

He pretends he doesn't hear her at first, but the kick at his shin under the table is harder to ignore.

Archie is glaring at him across the table. Dude, don't fuck this up for me.

Oliver's eyes find Delilah. She's scooted up close under his elbow and, to be fair to the poor girl, she was pretty too. Red lipstick smeared across her smiling lips, painted nails edging closer to his arm and perfectly styled hair sitting over her shoulder.

He nods, reaching for the menu: "Yeah. Actually, last time I had the Merlin Meal and it was pretty good."

She perks up, cherry red smile widening at his reply. "Oh, I thought that looked good!"

Training his eyes on the menu, Oliver wills himself not to look back at you. You're already souring his mood and you haven't even said a bloody word.

It's just what you do. What you do to him: infuriating him with the threat of an argument around any and every corner.

The waiter comes by and Oliver finds himself generous enough to gift Delilah with an arm draped over the back of her seat. She giggles and he pretends he doesn't notice when she mouths something that looked suspiciously like 'he's so hot' to her sister across the table.

Archie seems pleased too. Daisy has granted him, finally, her hand and his arm bends at an awkward angle to maintain the grip in hers under the table. He's positively beaming.

But despite Oliver’s best efforts to stay engaged, he still catches himself - only when it's too late - and his eyes are already glued to watching the way your jeans are hugging your thighs where you shift in your seat.

Your table is sat by the door. The chime of the bell calls for his gaze every time it tolls and every time he finds you let off a violent shiver in your seat as the autumn crisp rolls over your shoulders.

The door shuts again and you still.

Oliver can feel where the tips of his ears are burning red and his bones are itching: Ryo’s black suede coat is hanging over the back of his chair.

You’re still talking - hands rubbing together, fighting for warmth - he’s leaned over with his chin in palm to listen and his jacket sits unused behind his shoulders while you fucking shiver in the breeze.

It’s pathetic, really. He’s not sure whether he’s referring to himself or you: but Oliver is still looking and you’re still shaking like a leaf and he’s halfway to flipping tables to get to you and just give you his own fucking coat so you’ll stop shaking and stop annoying him—

“Oliver was just telling me about wanting to join the Hogwarts Choir.” He turns again to find Archie waiting with an expectant face, it's laced in a little bit of smugness: caught you. "Weren't you, mate?"

When he looks back you’re gone.

There's a short pile of sickles abandoned on the table and he hopes that Ryo at least had the good sense to pay for your drink after forcing you to sit in the freezing cold.

He shakes the thought off. Who cares.

In fact, he hopes you catch a cold.

-

The day passes like swimming through molasses: slow and sticky and exhausting.

It's nearly seven when Oliver presses a sympathy kiss into Delilah's cheek - Daisy allows for no such thing from Archie - and the two sisters skip off down the west wing corridor with a wiggle of their fingers over their shoulders at the boys.

"I think that went well." Archie's grinning, hands on his hip and glasses edging down his brown nose.

It's the first thing that genuinely brings a jolt of life out of Oliver all day. He teeters back on his heels, hands gripping his stomach where he laughs. Laughs like a madman.

"I think you need to get yer fucking head checked, mate."

The tail end of his outburst is simmering down, now barely a breathy chuckle, when a voice washes over him from down the other end of the corridor. "Wood!"

He'd recognise that voice anywhere. From the dead of sleep or the depth of the ocean.

He's slow when he turns on his heel, the remnants of his smile dripping all the way off the edge of his jaw until he's nearly frowning.

You're jogging, scarf bouncing at your shoulder with the movement, and coming to a stop right under his chin.

"What?"

There's a sharp edge to his tone - there always is - but he really hopes you haven't noticed how the syllable wobbled at the end. Now that you're right beneath his frame and not across the room, it's harder to ignore the lashes kissing at the corner of your eyes. You're wearing lip gloss and he knows it's for Ryo.

His stomach is churning and your face is twisting into something he is struggling to recognise.

"I--" your hands wring, eyes flickering behind to where Archie's watching curiously (you wave awkwardly). "You ... you can have Wednesday."

It's not what Oliver is anticipating. He almost takes a full step back in surprise.

"Why?"

Your eyes roll in a comfortably familiar way, "Because Hooch wants an answer tonight and one of us had to be the bigger person."

His brow tightens, eyes roving down the stitching of your sweater. It's cute. He's quiet.

"You not gonna argue?" You throw your words quickly, snatching them back before he can answer: "Perfect. I'll send her an owl before bed."

You're marching back down the corridor before he has chance to say anything else and he's watching your retreating figure with the hope - that he’s not gonna address - you’re not going to cozy up somewhere in the Slytherin dorm room.

“Well.” Archie’s running a hand over his thick black curls. “That was unexpected.”

Oliver huffs. “It’s been a weird day.”

-

An uneasy air has settled over Hogwarts.

It came in like a storm front, drifting in on the wind that dropped the article at the door of the castle. 

The same copy of The Daily Prophet has been doing the rounds between dormitories and class rooms all week: Sirius Black, Azkaban’s most infamous prisoner and recent escapee, has been sighted in Dufftown by an astute Muggle, The Daily Prophet reports. 

Dufftown. A barely twenty minute ride by carriage from Hogwarts bridge. 

It’s got the castle on edge, it’s got you on edge. Creeping around the castle like Sirius Black is gonna jump out from around any corner. 

Dumbledore stationing dementors at the edges of the castle was the tipping point for the cold drip of trickling fear in your chest that's become easy to ignore in daylight - when Cherry and Enzo are flittering around you between classes - but in moments like these, like now, when you’re on the tail end of a quidditch practice, grow like a poisonous black vine up around every nerve in your body. A Monday night, the team’s kit weighing heavy in your arms - broomstick tucked precariously in the bend of one elbow - and following the siren call of the dormitory showers. 

You’d promised the team you’d get them to the house elves before the upcoming match on Saturday. The match against Gryffindor. 

But for tonight, they’re gonna live in a pile at the end of your bed. 

You’re exhausted: calves burning, sweat sticking loose hairs to your forehead and probably smelling like wet socks and broomstick polish. 

The touch of night is suffocating the flicker of the corridor lamps. It’s long past the recently set curfew and you know that if McGonagall finds you out you’re likely in deep enough trouble to get you off Saturday’s match roster. 

Despite the prospect, you don’t dwell on it. You find you’re more worried about escaped Azkaban convicts: the echo of your own footsteps setting you further on edge. 

You’ve craned your neck over your shoulder enough times to form a knot there. Each time you’re relieved to find that Sirius Black hasn’t crept up behind you. 

Suddenly, the squeak of your boots against the stone floor are un-alone. 

Someone is marching and right in your direction. Your heart bangs wildly on the inside of your ribcage - blood turning to an icy slurry in your veins, but you don’t move. 

The corner is sharp when the figure turns into the corridor you stand and the scream is halfway out your throat when your eyes find his face. 

Absent is the matted black hair and sunken eyes you’re anticipating. Instead, warm brown rings reflect the fire of the lit torches. 

Your broomstick clutters to the floor, warm relief flooding down to your fingertips. “Fucking hell, Wood.” 

He looks just as surprised as you. Only for a moment, though, before his gaze is tightening in annoyance again. 

“I thought you were Sirius Black.“ 

“Well that’s stupid isn’t it.” 

You huff, shifting the weight of the team’s robes precariously between your arms: squatting to try scoop up your broomstick off the floor again. You’re halfway successful when it clatters loudly back against the stone floor. 

“What are you even doin’ out here so late? You know curfew is passed, don’t you?” His voice curls with something that might be mistaken for concern if you didn’t know who you were talking to. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

You’re reaching down again. A robe on the top of the pile slips off, landing beside the broomstick. 

“Aye right. Whatever, goodnight.” 

He’s brushing past you. 

In a movement neither of you anticipated, driven by the fear shooting up your spine again, your hand finds his wrist. “Wait—“ 

Oliver freezes: eyes dropping to where you’re connected. You rip your hand back, as if scalded. 

“I …” the words mash and wrestle at the back of your throat. “Could …”

You glance down the darkened corridor awaiting you in the journey back to your dorm before meeting his face again. It’s unreadable. 

His brow scrunches. “Yes?"

"Could you want me to walk my common room?” 

Embarrassment sears at your cheeks. On a normal day, you’d sooner go dancing naked under the Whomping Willow before asking Oliver Wood a favour but that was before the image of Sirius Black swum behind your eyes everywhere you looked. 

Oliver would be fairly useless if faced with the criminal, naturally, but at least you wouldn’t die alone. 

“Please?” Your voice is quiet and you think it’s the gentlest word you’ve ever said to him. 

There’s a long stretch of quiet. His eyes flicker between your face and the broomstick on the floor. It’s quickly stretching past the blurring boundaries of an appropriate time for consideration. 

You’re practically melting in embarrassment now, electing to make the decision for him. 

“Never mind.” You squat again, successful this time in sticking the broomstick back under your arm. The dropped robe is more difficult but you manage to replace it. “Forget I asked.” 

Oliver’s moving before you’re stood straight up again. He’s reaching for your broomstick, you instinctively yank it back but he sticks you with a firm look and his thumb is unexpectedly soft where it caresses over your knuckle wrapped around the handle. 

Your grip loosens and he perches the broomstick over his shoulder with ease. He surprises you again by taking half the load of laundry in your arms into his own. 

“C’mon, before someone catches us out here. I’m not doing any more detention because of you.” 

He’s already three feet ahead when blood rushes down to your legs, prompting them to chase after his figure. The movement is easier, lightened by Oliver’s surprise act of kindness. 

You fall into step beside him, half-tempted to comment on his willingness to share your burden, but knowing him, one wrong word and he’d dump it all back into your arms. 

It’s quiet. 

You don’t make a move to talk and Oliver doesn’t look your way. It dawns on you that Gryffindor dormitory is in the other direction and you’re still deciding whether to feel guilty or flattered over the fact when Oliver speaks. 

“Why’re you out here alone?” 

You look, met with the side of his face: it’s still like he hadn’t said anything at all. There’s a tugging instinct to snap at him. 

Why do you care? 

But his tone is perceptibly gentle enough that you think maybe, just this once, it won’t end in an argument. You test the tepid waters. 

“Uh …” your head knocks sideways, tilted as you speak. “I let the team come up early while I sorted the quaffles in the sports closet by the pitch. Didn’t want them walking up in the dark.” 

You’re tempted to mention that it was his team last week that left it in such a mess. You don’t. 

"And now you’re walking in the dark yourself? Smart move, princess."

Your breath hitches. 

It’s not the first time he’s called you that. Princess. A couple times over the years, usually in the heat of a spiraling argument, but never so benign. While still ungentle, the tone is soft enough that it rings in your ears.

You choose not to succumb to the antagonization of his reply. Humming, you shrug. "Rather me than them."

His eyes flicker, almost barely, to the high apple of your cheek. You notice in the corner of your eye how his jaw twitches, like he wants to say something. 

He seemingly decides otherwise because he focuses his eyes ahead of him and stays silent. 

The overhanging ceiling art is sloping down, air going sticky with the scents of the kitchen the further you go: it’s the trademark of the approaching Hufflepuff common room. 

Another two turns and it will be the end of your little journey with Oliver Wood.

"‘M surprised Ryo didn’t walk you up."

You're more surprised than you've been since finding him, eyes widening in confusion. He grants you another look out the side of his eye.

"How do you know about that?"

Oliver shrugs, shifting your broomstick to the other shoulder.

"The whole world saw your little date down at Madam Puddifoot's the other day."

Of course. Word travels faster through seventh year than a new Firebolt.

"Yeah. Well." You hum. "That's not gonna be happening again anytime soon.” 

It had all been good and well. The rush of having Ryo Yoshida, Hogwart's most eligible bachelor, ask you out and - to be fair - the date had been fine. Ryo was funny and made good conversation but nothing near thrilling enough to daydream over and you'd allowed yourself to brush over a couple red flags because of it, until Cherry came bursting into your dormitory less than a day after your date relaying how he'd caught her between classes to ask her out to the same spot.

"Why's that?"

You're confused now, why Oliver cares or how he'd become curious enough to actually ask. You're even more confused as to why you decide to answer him. You shrug, "He asked Cherry out the very next day. She said no, obviously, but that was enough to let the whole thing go."

You expect him to say something malicious, quip something spiteful about What you did you think would happen? You're nowhere near in his league.

He doesn't.

"He's an idiot."

Not for the first time in the last five minutes, you're not sure what to say. You think this is the longest a conversation has gone without an argument. You sigh, "Yeah."

The stack-up of barrels comes into view. You dig into you the deep pocket on the inside of your robe, emerging with your wand.

Oliver stops, eyes flickering between the barrels and his shining black boots.

You step ahead, tapping the barrels in the rhythm that's become second-nature and the entryway opens.

Turning to him, you offer out an arm and he sets the robes back into your hands. The awkwardness is stifling. He leans forward, tucking the broomstick under your arm, hand wavering to make sure it doesn't fall again. The gesture makes the hold in your knees wobbly.

He nods. "Right. Goodnight."

You nod back, so quickly that you hear your earrings jingle. "Yeah, g'night."

Oliver turns, marching back the way you came and you watch him: biting your bottom lip so hard you're half expecting to draw blood.

"Thank you!" It leaps from your mouth before you have you moment to let it marinate on your tongue. You wince immediately.

He pauses, turning halfway on his heel. He smiles, it's not wide enough for teeth, but definitely wide enough to have your heart falling through your stomach. He nods again and then he's gone.

-

Saturday arrives gloomy and dripping.

It makes for good quidditch conditions, but the chill in the air is still hard to ignore when you step out into mushy grass under stadium lights. The roar of the crowd nearly deafens you, but it'll only take a couple minutes in the air for it to burn down to a soft hum.

In the middle of the stadium floor: Hooch is standing with a whistle to her lips, her figure blurred by the drizzle. Oliver stands beside her, and behind you, your team is clambering onto their brooms and rising into the air with the freshly washed kit over their backs.

You go to walk, but the icy glance Oliver is sending your way convinces you into a jog. He's always impatient before a game, itchy, antsy.

"On time as usual." Hooch hums when you land beside her.

"Got the whole bloody school waiting on her." Oliver mutters but Hooch shrugs him off, pulling the game coin out from inside her robes.

"Perfect." She positions it so we can see, "Gryffindor?"

Oliver straightens out, chest swelling: "Heads."

Hooch nods and before you can suck in another breath, the coin is in the air. She catches it with a skilled hand, flipping and revealing it to the set of captains.

"Hufflepuff, first ball!" She shouts loud enough that the floating players can hear. They nod, some groaning.

The coach turns back on the captains, "I want a fair game kids, no fighting."

"Me and Ollie? Fight?" You smile, "Never, coach."

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Yes, coach."

Suddenly you're above the pitch, sucking in breaths of wet air and struck with that familiar feeling like you could conquer the world on just your broomstick.

The quaffle flies and you stoop to catch it, twisting around Alicia Spinnet to snatch the ball before she's even noticed you're there.

Rain pelts on heads and the game goes on.

Oliver is shouting like a madman from his place in front of the goals behind you - you’ve long learnt to drown it out. He does it half to annoy his own team and half to distract yours. 

You're spinning, flying, swooping and - as you predicted - the crowd has become a distant call, a blurring sight of yellow and red.

An hour passes and the game is already halfway into the next when there's a rise in the crowd. It's not the normal yells and whoops and hollers, but you still don't look up: you're calling over to Jane and Wyatt, your beaters.

“Get between the twins, and stay there!” 

Below, Harry Potter and your own seeker, Cedric Diggory, are flying in circles around each other. The call of Cedric's name is on the tip of your tongue when there’s another ripple of sound off the crowd and this one draws your eyes. It’s there for a second before you find the army of figures descending on the pitch. 

Your breath catches in your throat, freezing solid so you can’t swallow. 

The dementors are even more ghostly this close. You'd never seen so many.

A darkness is permeating the air, the sight of the supporters in the stand dissipating into black. They’re floating in from every corner, drifting at a pace that’s too fast for you to make a move in any direction. 

There’s a scream and your gaze finds the body falling through the sky: it’s Harry.

The ground is racing up to meet him and adrenaline drives your hand to tip your broom, to chase after his quickly disappearing shape when a blurry figure blocks your way. 

Someone yells your name but you don’t hear it. 

You’d never imagined examining a dementor, much less this up close, but even if you had: nothing your imagination could conjure up would ever come close to the harrowing darkness of its empty eye-sockets. 

Its silhouette spreads over every corner of your vision, black like night and blocking the view of the sky. Your nose is so close you could tip forward and meet it's silken cloak.

A cold washes over your body like you've never felt, like you're freezing over: ice creeping up your fingertips, shoulders and face.

Your brain looses all grip on thought, replaced with a seeping dread. It barely acknowledges where a scabbed, decomposing hand is reaching out to you.

Charcoal fingertips brush your cheek when you're tugged back, all the way off your broomstick.

There's not even a last coherent thought to panic when you're engulfed in a warm chest, a hand stabilising around your waist onto a new broomstick. It dips and the green grass is reaching up to you.

The new heat engulfs you through to your bones. You grasp blindly for the expanse of a thick veined neck, wrapping yourself around him.

Digging your face into his shoulder, it takes one glance at the scarlet robes to know who it is. Oliver's panting, one hand holding you against him while the other steers the broomstick down to the floor.

You're trembling, no thought occupying any space beyond Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, Oliver--

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

The voice is distant, said against your temple but echoing as if from the end of a long corridor. You don't register where hot tears are wetting your cheeks, erupting over your face without being called.

His words prompt you closer: a tight arm furling over his shoulders and wrapping around him like a vine around an old tree.

"O-Oliver ..."

The hand over your waist tightens. "Sh ... it's fine. You're fine."

The broomstick lands shakily, Oliver's boots squelching into muddy grass. You barely realise you're back on ground when another hand is tugging you off, but you cling tighter to the sweaty red neck: shaking your wet face against his well-pressed robes.

"C'mon, princess ..." His calloused hands pry you from him, gently like you're a piece of china sitting on the very edge of a high shelf. "It's Pomfrey, she's gonna look after you."

You think you feel a kiss press into your hairline before you're being scooped up into a new set of arms. Madam Pomfrey is warm too, smelling like antiseptic and maple syrup.

There's another swell of noise erupting from the supporters above and you're being lead away.

Oliver watches your figure, slumped against the school nurse until you've disappeared into the medical tent.

His heart is going wild, slamming against the walls of his ribcage. Beside him his hands are shaking and he's sucking in thick gulps of air, he finds it still isn't enough oxygen.

There's another splatter where Angelina has landed a few feet behind him. She's panting too, tugging on the edge of his robes and pointing up into the sky.

"Wood!" She's frantic, "They won, Cedric caught the snitch!"

His mouth is dry when he swallows. Rain catches in his eye when he looks up, half the Hufflepuff team is no longer in the sky and the Gryffindors are all on their way down.

"I ..." feeling is returning to his fingertips, "is ... where's Harry?"

Angelina points in the direction of the medical tent. Above, the pitch is engulfed in a bright white light and Oliver catches the wispy end of a shining phoenix chasing between disappearing Dementors. It's a patronus. Dumbledore's, Oliver figures somewhere in his muddy brain.

"Is everyone else okay?"

Angelina nods. Her eyes flicker to the medical tent then back at him. "Is she?"

The image returns to him: the mass of darkness engulfing your figure in the sky. The terror that ripped through him like he was being torn apart from the inside, the whistle of the wind that stung over his ears and how it blocked out his mutterings of please, please, please--

He shakes his head. "She's too tough for her own good. She'll ... she'll be fine."

But it comes out like he's trying to convince himself more than Angelina.

-

Oliver doesn't see you for a few days.

Two, to be exact, and his skin itches the entire time. A deep itch, like it's coming from his bones.

It's only on Monday evening at dinner, with the Hufflepuff table whooping, that you come strolling back into the light of his eyes.

Your head is down, flushed with all the attention, and when you sit, kids are rising from their seats to tackle you into side hugs. He can tell you're embarrassed but he can't gather himself enough to care: the warm rush of relief flooding his stomach so much so that if he dared open his mouth it would all come rushing out.

You look fine. All limbs attached and smiling, it settles him.

He doesn't snap at Archie when he knocks his shoulder with a "you're staring" and his dinner suddenly looks more appetising when he peels his eyes off your figure down to his plate. He finds that he doesn't care as much as he usually does where Enzo's lanky arm is strung over your shoulder.

The week passes in a flurry.

While you share several classes, Oliver doesn't share a single word with you. It's hard not to notice that you're working very hard not to interact with him.

In Muggle Studies, you arrive late and keep your nose tucked deep into the pages of a textbook he knows you couldn't care less about. You're up and out of the classroom before he's even zipped up his bag. It's the same in Potions and Arithmacy.

While going days without talking to each other is not unusual, this time he can tell it’s on purpose. He pretends that he doesn't care.

The rain has cleared and when Friday arrives the sunset is red and orange and purple, granting Oliver with a rare enchanting view out his bedroom window where it's setting behind the East tower.

It's in this quiet, peaceful moment that Archie comes bouncing in with some news of a party happening in the Ravenclaw dormitory.

He's indifferent but Archie is nothing if not convincing.

"Come on, dude. You're literally a hermit crab." He sighs, falling back against his own poster bed across Oliver's. "There will be girls."

"There's girls everywhere, Arch."

His eyebrows wiggle, "And alcohol."

It takes a bit more pestering and the Weasley twins rushing in after him with the same news (and a far less patient approach) to get him up off his bed.

He digs in his cupboard for the last pair of clean jeans and a somewhat suitable purple jumper, tugging them on with a grumble, before he's being dragged by both arms - a twin on each side - across the castle to the West tower wherein resides the Ravenclaw population.

The common room is bustling with seventh years, he recognises them from all houses, and a table set up to the side with some trays of food. He's barely made himself comfortable when Katie Bell is shoving a red solo cup into his hand:

"It's Angelina's brew." She informs him.

He can believe that. The liquid is strong, burning down his throat followed by the barely there after-taste of pumpkin juice. Oliver downs the whole thing in one go.

The music swells louder and he's three cups of Angelina's concoction deep when you come tumbling through the entrance portal.

You're drunk yourself, he can tell by the way you're giggling and half leaning on Cherry Stretton. Bumping through people, not passing without leaning back to apologise to them tipsily, you head straight into the arms of Angelina and Alicia Spinnet. They smile in surprise, engulfing you in their arms.

Despite his and your long-held rivalry, it had done nothing to stop the rest of his team from sweetening up to you. The twins called you their favourite yellow tie at regular intervals and the girls found you nothing less than endearing. Oliver could lie and say he hated it.

Instead, he wrestles his way to where Katie is situated with more to drink, filling his cup and downing it.

-

The room is twisting in a flurry of colours and faces and it's the lightest you've felt in almost a week. You giggle against Enzo, his dreads tucked safely back in a bun while Cedric sets a Dragon-Barrel Brandy shot on fire and hands it carefully over.

Enzo's head knocks back, slipping the burning liquid down his throat with a wince. There's a cheer at his accomplishment, and suddenly Cedric's knocking your elbow: "you're next, Cap!"

After the match-gone-wrong, Madam Pomfrey had held you down in the infirmary until Monday morning. You were fed copious amounts of chocolate - in the form of bars and drinks and cakes and ice creams. By Saturday night you were - surely a couple kilograms heavier - and feeling fine, but Pomfrey was nothing if not paranoid:

"That was no light ordeal you went through, dear. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm happy with you."

In all honesty, you'd prefer if the whole school forgot it ever happened.

If Pomfrey didn't fret and your friends didn't come by every meal time and your team stopped sending you get better! letters and nobody mentioned it ever again.

More than anyone, you wished Oliver would forget. The ordeal, or maybe just you as a person.

You'd made a stupid decision under the heat of stadium lights and the influence of racing adrenaline, trying to chase for Harry, and he'd made a stupider decision coming to save you from yourself.

When it got quiet in the infirmary past dusk and Harry's shadowy figure was long since snoring in the bed across yours, you could feel Oliver's touch. Could feel it's strong hold wrapped around your waist and the voice against you the back of your neck and the lips at your temple.

You never reminisced long: for with his touch came the writhing, scalding fear burrowing a hole in your chest.

He could tease you, he will tease you.

Oliver had saved you from the clutches of a dementor moments from your soul being sucked out your body and you'd cried in his chest the whole time, refused to let him go in front of the whole school. It was a mortification you would never live down. And if Oliver decided he was going to use it against you, even once, you were sure you'd melt into the floor in shame.

It's what's made the Firewhiskey and Lemon squash concoction Cherry had handed you back in her room so easy to toss back. It stung and steam rose out your mouth where you'd panted for air. There was another ... and another, they went down the same.

The walk across the castle to reach the Ravenclaw Tower had been wobbly and you'd laughed with your friends loud enough to wake up the whole castle you're sure, but it dissolved the fear that clung to your bones. The fear that he was here, lingering between the people in the crowded blue common room.

Now the liquor is fading. Numbing to a dull buzz and you decline Cedric's offer at a burning shot, thinking about how proud you'll be of yourself when you wake up tomorrow morning in bed rather than wrapped around a toilet seat and hauling up guts into the bowl.

The party, not unlike yourself, is dimming.

Students are crawling away into all corners, each with their own excuse. I have a potions essay to do or No, dude, I'm too drunk for this or Flint wants us down at the pitch for drills at eight tomorrow morning, I gotta head to bed.

The crowd, though thinning, is beginning to clump into respective circles across the room. You glance annoyed at the fireplace where the flames crack merrily. Even with your short skirt and thin satin top, the heat of the common room is stifling.

Enzo is on his fourth burning shot, it's lost it's appeal to the crowd but he seems undeterred, knocking Cedric in the shoulder with the empty shot glass motioning: another! You yawn, playing mindlessly with the ruffled sleeve of your shirt.

"Oh no," A harsh tug at your hand draws you from the lure of sleep that's fogging your mind. "The night is young, no yawning!"

Cherry has your wrist in her grip, Enzo's in the other. He blinks blearily down at his friends.

"Huh?"

"Come on," Cherry's brown eyes roll far back in her head. "Fred says they're starting Seven Minutes In Heaven. Let's go join--"

"Seven minutes--?" you laugh between words, "Cher, are you mad?"

She whines, pouting like a kicked dog. "It'll be fun. Besides, when last did you have a good fucking snog? Too long, I say!"

Somehow, you're not only convinced across the room into a spot onto the floor in a circle of a couple others, but a drink has ended up in your hand and its contents quickly down your gullet.

For the nerves, you assure yourself.

Before you know it, Angelina - who's conveniently settled beside you - is topping up your plastic cup with a nearly empty bottle of Daisyroot Draught. "This is the good stuff. Katie stashed it in, her sister works at a brewery."

You smile nervously, nod, and take a tentative sip. The pre-existing buzz in your head convinces you it's not so bad.

In the circle is a couple Gryffindors you recognise, some giggling Slytherin girls, a Ravenclaw you can't name and three members of your quidditch team. There's an open spot on the side you don't take note of.

That is until Archie Kumar is steering a grumpy, visibly drunk Oliver Wood into the open place and collapsing beside him.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart sinking into your stomach like a stone. You're halfway off the floor, suddenly desperate for the loo, when Cherry - on your left side - drags you back down to the floor.

Maybe it's Katie's sister's brew, but you tumble too easily back onto your bum.

"Relax. Just don't look at him, okay?"

You suck in another breath, eyes trained on the white moon outline sewn into the rug. "Yeah ... okay."

It doesn't hold long and when you find the Gryffindor captain again, his gaze is trained on your face. It's stone cold. You gasp quietly and look away.

"Right!" George Weasley is on his feet, setting an empty Firewhisky bottle into the centre. "Who's first?"

Alicia shuffles forward on her knees, the first of the group to move, and the bottle goes spinning. It lands on the Ravenclaw boy. He grins and she does too: Fred wolf-whistles when they stand.

The "heaven" in question is a tall oak cabinet leaning against the back wall of the common room. The pair disappear into its depths and conversation rises again as the circle waits.

You sip your drink in large gulps, trying to hold conversation with Angelina against Oliver's hot gaze that's burning a hole through the side of your face. It's difficult: the Gryffindor girl is so drunk that she's talking with her eyes closed.

Seven minutes later, there's a chorus of "time's up!", Alicia and the boy emerge another ten seconds later. They're rearranging their clothes and Alicia is as scarlet as her quidditch robes. The boy is grinning like the cat who caught the canary. You're suddenly struck with the violent urge to throw up.

The game goes on like that, round after round. Lee Jordan and Jane Emmet (your beater), Katie and Wyatt (your other beater), Cherry and a pretty Slytherin girl you don't know - she's especially chuffed when she returns, red lipstick smeared over her chin.

You're working very hard not to look at Oliver, much less think about him, but it's proving difficult. Every time the bottle takes its spin, your stomach churns.

It had occurred to you during the time that Alicia and that boy were in the closet that there was a very real chance that Oliver could be called up when one of those pretty Slytherins take their turn at the bottle. The thought had made you down the last of your drink and immediately want to vomit it all back up into your cup.

The image of their slender arms curling around his criminally wide-set shoulders, Oliver pushing them back against the inside wall of the grand closet. Would he make noise? Would he sigh or groan against their lips or whisper something about how beautiful they looked tonight in their ears--

"Ollie, you're up mate."

You can't remember who said it, but the words stripped your gaze off Angelina and straight into the pooling brown eyes you'd been avoiding all week long.

He sighed, grumbling under his breath and only with a less-than-gentle nudge from Archie, did he lean up on thighs that flexed unfairly -- bloody hell, stop it! -- and wrap his hand over the neck of the bottle: it went spinning.

The only sound you could hear was the twist of the glass against the woven rug and the hum of your own blood rushing past your ears. It stopped.

"No fucking ways." Enzo cracked from two people down.

A hand landed on your shoulder, shaking you half off your arse: Angelina. "You're up, babe! Go!"

The bottle was pointing irrefutably at your little spot in the circle.

Oliver's face was as white as you'd ever seen it when you dared look up.

"I-I'm not going in with him--" It was the first thing that came to your mind and went spluttering out your mouth.

George was laughing so hard that he'd fallen all the way onto his back. The roar of the group was ear-splitting.

"There's no ways I'm going in with her!"

"Let's end this feud once and for all," Katie bellowed over their heads. "Captain versus captain!"

You're being knocked from all sides, hands crawling under your arms and lifting you off the floor. Across the circle, Oliver is experiencing the same and before you know it: the wooden doors of the cabinet are creaking open.

"Go on!" Lee's finger is piercing your side.

Oliver is beside you but you won't look. You take one last look over your shoulder at Cherry back on the floor, she does nothing but offer a sympathetic shrug and mouths "sorry, dear".

Your hand reaches before Oliver's, flinging the door open with maybe a little too much force. It bangs against the wall behind it.

"Let's get this over with." You mumble, only half concerned that he heard you.

You slouch climbing in, the top is low and the space is even more cramped than what you assumed. To your surprise, Oliver is stepping in after you. He takes his turn at slamming the door, shutting it this time.

It's dark inside, but not enough that you can't see. Light is peaking in through the cracks and he's leaned back against the opposite wall to you.

In the narrow space, your legs are twisting around each other to stand: his one knee situated between yours. In the dimness, he folds his arms and you notice for the first time the jumper he's wearing. The purple one, you recognise it as the one he's had for years. Time has taken its toll where the jumper is clinging to life around his frame, Oliver having grown at least three times wider while the jumper has remained the same size.

"Go on, Wood, give her a kiss!"

The voice is unrecognisable but it knocks your tongue back into your mouth where you'd been ogling at his torso.

His arms are folded, proffering you with a glare that could cut through steel. He makes no visible sign that he'd heard the shout at all. You mirror him, folding your own arms.

"I'm not kissing you."

His head cocks. "Oh, so you're talking to me now?"

You suck in a sharp breath. It's not the response you're anticipating. "What?"

"So we're playing dumb?" He leans just a fraction closer. You can smell the linger of alcohol on his breath, but it doesn't work hard enough to drown out the smell of peppermint that follows him around. "Doesn't suit you, princess."

"I'm not playing anything. I don't know what you're talking about." You double down. It's probably not sustainable but the heat of his body almost against yours and the thrum of liquor in your blood makes the decision for you.

"Y've been avoiding me all week."

"I haven't"

"You're a bad liar."

You swallow hard. Embarrassment is rising again, making your head spin. Oliver's chest is puffed up in anger, you can tell because you've had five years to learn the look like the back of your hand. Except, now - as it has been for a longer time than you care to admit - it's harder to focus on the waves of fury reflecting off of him when his face is just so ... beautiful. Nose scrunched and lips pulled tight into a grimace.

It's what makes you change tactics, you think.

"So what if I was? Why does it matter?"

His arms unfold, eyes rolling so far that his head knocks back against the wood of the cupboard.

"Why?" you press, "Did you miss me, Wood?"

"Maybe I did."

He's looking at you again. For what feels like the hundredth time just tonight, your breath escapes you in a rush and your lungs struggle to grasp back at it. Your face softens without meaning to.

You blink at him.

"You did?" It's a whisper.

His arms are still folded but something clement passes like a shadow over his features.

"No."

His face betrays his words, eyes soft and lip daring to curl up at the edge.

The air in the tight space goes cold. Or maybe it's your blood. It's more likely the look on Oliver's face: like he hasn't just turned your organs to slush. You're all the way sober now.

"I'm not kissing you." You repeat dumbly, but it's gentle.

Merlin, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

"You mentioned." He's almost, almost, smiling. It's gentle too.

The space between you falls quiet. You're suddenly overly focused on the brush of his knee between yours. His swirling brown eyes catch on the split of light creeping in past the hinge on the door.

It stays like that until your voice creeps nervously out. "I was embarrassed. Am, I am embarrassed."

A thick brow tightens in confusion. "Why?"

You huff, almost annoyed. Your eyes train on a dark spot by your intertwined feet. "Come on, Wood."

"What, about the match?" The alcohol thickens his accent.

Your silence seems to answer his question. The apples of your cheeks are warming again.

"What was I supposed to do, leave you to have you bloody soul sucked out yer body?" His voice is rising, "No, princess, I'm not apologising for that."

It's an outpour that you're not expecting. Oliver's clearly in the mood to shock and surprise tonight.

Your lips tighten around the words that are all fighting for the spot at the tip of your tongue. Silence reigns while they argue, he's still watching you with exasperation set into the lines of his face.

"Princess." You settle.

His expression twists again. "What?"

"You always call me that. Why?" It's a question that you buried long ago. But his proximity, in conjunction with the night you've had, unearths it.

It's his turn to look surprised. He grumbles some indiscernable Scottish blabber before-- "It's because y'are a princess. Spoilt and bratty. Always gets her way."

There's no malice to his response, you find. It draws a chuckle from the depths of your chest.

"Aye, right." You mimic his accent and his quip, one he's used many times at you.

He laughs. It's not a sound you hear often and it's setting your whole nervous system alight like a tangled bunch of christmas lights. His whole body's shaking with it, head resting back against the wood again, and you really do think you might grab him and kiss him -- when the door flies open again: seeping his whole body in yellow light.

Alicia's standing at the opening, grin wide as night is wide and clearly expectant on catching you with your tongues down each other's throats.

If she'd given you another three seconds she just might have.

"Oh." She slumps in disappointment, looking back over her shoulder and shaking her head to the expectant crowd. They groan collectively. "Well, love birds, your time is up."

You'd almost forgotten where you were. Oliver clears his throat, the ghost of his laugh impossible to find on his face, and clambers over your legs out into the common room again. He doesn't pass without brushing his hand over yours.

-

It's nearly three in the morning when Enzo finally lets up.

His long legs are sprawled across the midnight blue couch in the middle of the common room. Fiona, a lovely Ravenclaw girl you'd met just tonight, shrugs at you: "Don't stress it. He can crash here tonight."

The party is long since dead. Seven Minutes In Heaven had looped another three rounds before everyone had gotten their chance in the dusty cupboard and began to grumble in boredom.

You'd avoided Oliver's eyes the whole time again, sure that if you looked he'd be able to read the fondness on your face.

It wasn't long after that the last of the students dissolved in the direction of their respective bedrooms. With your dear friend in good hands with the Ravenclaws, you loop your arm with Cherry - knocking against her side towards the portal.

You've barely pushed it ajar when she breaks off you, "Hold on, I need to get my Transfig notes from Jacob!"

"Cher, it's three in the morning?"

Alcohol is directing her legs in the opposite direction clumsily, "I'll wake him. If I fail another quiz, Mcgee's gonna have my arse."

She's gone before she catches your call: "I'll find you outside!"

The portal creaks where you shove it open again. The corridor is dimly lit and colder than the common room and a shiver chases up your exposed legs.

"Bloody hell." You run a hand over your forearms.

It's quiet too, and empty besides the Gryffindor captain leaning against the stone wall closest to the entrance you've just emerged from.

"Merlin," your eyes find his. "Not you again."

The flush over your cheeks is warding off the chill.

Oliver shrugs. "Me again."

An awkward silence permeates. Against better judgement, you shuffle forward, leaning against the wall beside him. He doesn't react, arms folded and staring into the inky abyss of the corridor leading out to the rest of the castle.

"Why're you out here?" You ask, tucking your hands between your back and the wall.

"Archie." He huffs out, voice wrapped in annoyance. "He's in there with Penelope. I gave him ten minutes."

Ah, Penelope Clearwater. She'd joined the game in the last round. A good thing too because Oliver's friend was looking more crestfallen as the bottle spun again and again, surpassing him each time. Penelope had taken the last turn, ending up with her hair in every direction and Archie's spectacles leaning half off his face when they emerged from the cupboard.

"You?"

The eddy of average conversation is strange, but you find you like it.

"Cherry." You hum. "Something about quiz notes."

He drops his head back against the wall.

"That what they calling it now?"

It startles you, head tilting to stare up at the side of his face with a grin: "oh, Wood’s got jokes now? I didn’t know it was possible for you to make a joke."

His eyes flutter shut, a twinkle of laughter bubbling out of his frame. Tucking his head down to his chest, he shrugs against his own light chuckle. "I have them. I just don’t share them with you."

You giggle back at him. "Right. Well then you better stop smiling there, someone might walk past and think we’re friends."

He shakes his head, the sound of his snicker fading but leaving behind the imprint of a smile. "Nobody’s gonna think that."

You lean back again, eyes drifting over the low ceiling. Quiet falls again - not uncomfortable - and you let it linger for a moment. A thought tugs on a loose string in your mind, not a new one, but one you’ve carefully buried over time.

It comes falling out your mouth. "You ever think about how it might be ... if things were different?"

The question grants you a look out the side of his eye. "Different?"

"Y’know," you shrug, the very last remains of alcohol are ebbing and unsureness is replacing where it stood. "If we … we had—"

"If you hadn’t suckered me in the bloody nose?" His words are unexpectedly fond.

You laugh at him, "If you hadn’t deserved to be suckered in the bloody nose."

He draws in a long breath, not answering. It prompts you.

"We could have been friends." You whisper, more to your chest than to him really.

But he hears it. "We would never be friends."

It stings sharper than it should. Your shoulders go stiff and the corners of your eyes sting inexplicably, turning the corridor blurry. A dying fire revives in your chest, blistering the cave, reminding you why Oliver Wood has been nothing but a stake in your side since you were thirteen years old.

"Of course. How stupid of me, for a minute I forgot what an absolute arsehole you are." You push off the wall, intent in going to dig out Cherry from the depths of the Ravenclaw dormitory. "Goodnight, Wood."

An arm wraps around your waist, not unlike it'd done a week ago in the air of the quidditch pitch, lurching you into him until you're pressed back against the cool stone of the corridor wall.

Oliver looms over you, crouched so that your nose bumps against his. "Don't sulk, princess."

It all happens at once: his hands grab onto the fat of your hips, digging in there like he really does hate you, and lips crash against yours like maybe he doesn't at all.

He stays there, unmoving for a second that feels a year long.

Where the inside of your brain had been buzzing with runaway threads of thought, ribbons streaking out in all directions: they disappear in a sizzling light. Oliver Wood is kissing me.

You melt against him, tipping up onto your toes and latch onto muscled shoulders. He seemingly takes that as his cue, pressing you closer against his body with his arm - lifting you half off the wall.

He tastes like the remnants of Firewhisky and pumpkin juice, the flavour setting every nerve ending in your body on fire. Lips soft but persistent while his hands grip onto you like you'd dissolve into dust if he didn't.

It's aggressive, but familiar in that way. Oliver is nothing if not hot-blooded and his touch, darting between your hips and your face is turning you tipsy again.

"If you want a friend," It's muffled when he speaks, punctuating his words with hot wet kisses, "go be friends with Ryo."

It's only in this moment, with his desperation mirroring in the glimpses of sugar brown irises you catch where he's fluttering his eyes over your face, that it dawns on you.

"Jealous much?"

He growls lowly and it makes you giggle against him, your hands slithering up into the hairs at the base of his neck. Oliver shakes his head against you, still huffing in disbelief.

"Shut up." It's accent-heavy and bleeds a hole through the bottom of your stomach. "You're such a fucking brat."

"And you're a fucking prick."

He huffs lowly, you press harder to him: solidifying the sentiment. Somehow the bickering makes it all sweeter, like you're dissolving cotton candy against your tongue where his swoops over it.

You'd just about forgotten where you were when a creak echoes down the corridor. Halfway to ignoring it in favour of Oliver's touch, your situation dawns on you in the same moment it does him.

Like you'd both licked the end of a live wire, you and Oliver jolt back a foot, hands diving to your respective sides.

Cherry is standing against the light of the common room behind her, a lanky Archie parked beside her. Their eyes are wide and Cherry's hand is against her jaw in shock.

"Oh my god." She mumbles against it.

Blood is rushing to your face and out the corner of your eye, Oliver is running a hand over the hair that's sticking in all directions from the influence of your fingers.

Cherry is laughing breathily, eyes still wide and white in surprise. "Oh my god."

Archie's eyes are flickering between you and Oliver.

"Sorry to interrupt." He says, a smirk curling onto his features.

It jumpstarts your entire system. You step forward, grabbing Cherry by the arm.

"Well," you nod at Archie and at Oliver, not daring to meet his eyes, "goodnight then."

You march with fervour, half-dragging her in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room until your figure disappears behind the next corridor.

Oliver stands with his hands hanging at his side dumbly. He swipes a finger of his bottom lip, still tasting the strawberry lip gloss you'd left there.

"Can't say I didn't see this coming, mate." A hand claps over his shoulder.

He groans, running both hands over his face, and Archie shakes him lightly.

"So ... how was it?"

With another groan, Oliver shoves Archie's hand off of him. "Bloody hell, Arch."

Archie throws his head of curly black hair back, laughing so loud it bounces off the wall. "That good, huh?"

(part two/final part)

-

don't forget to comment and repost if you enjoyed :)

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[oukabarsburgblr]

Hi! Love your work! I dont know if your requests are open but Id love to see more of your Haikyuu work! Loved the the recent one and i just cant stop rereading it.

I wonder what would happen if reader was hit on by one of the other volleyball players before/after the matches. I just wanna see the three boys get jealous and protective honestly hahahd ofc if you dont want to write this its okay too! ( Ps. I also love ur Daisuke one, i love him hes so cute 🥰🥺 cant wait to see more of ur work )

drabble...aftermath of Karasuno

taglist : @ayuxiru @tehyunnie @rainnyydaysworld @webwanderer

i stopped working on my haikyuu fics bc i started s4 and i could NOT see atsumus face HAHHAHH idky i HATE HIM ARGH/jk. We love Daisuke in this household. Can anyone tell Daichi is my favourite? HAHA

this will be the last one for the crows CAW CAW

harassed, dark in general

Find out more under the cut!

[SCENARIOS LOADING...]

Another team harasses the manager!

[START SCENE]

"Hey! Karasuno's manager! Don't make such an ugly face."

A certain (h/c) frowned, being cornered by tall volleyball players from other schools. He had just went to retrieve the paper rosters from the organizers for their current tournaments at the Sendai Gymnasium where Preliminaries are being held when he was stopped by students from other schools.

"You look like you don't have a lot on your hands right now. Why don't you come with us? Free some tension...you probably need it." A hand grasped (m/n)'s shoulders to which the (h/c) swatted it away. "Don't touch me." He hissed as he tried to move past them but another shoved him back against the walls, them moving closer to the manager.

"Hey hey. We're all friends here, right?" Hissing in pain as the hand lodged in his shoulder pressed his nails further, crinkling his black jumpsuit. "Listen here, fucker. I don't know what household you grew up in, but go ride someone else's dick. Better yet, why don't you go suck each other off? Since you're so desperate for some action."

(m/n) spat, his foul mouth and his temper wasn't a good combination but it was the right mixture for this situation. He pushed the players' arm and was ready to leave until his hair was clenched painfully.

A yelp from (m/n) and the ringleader of the group pulled his face close. "Nice face but a repulsive tongue...damn and I thought we could do this nicely. We'll find a use for your mouth soon." "Let go, asshole-"

Fuck, who do they think they are? The only one grabbing my hair is usually-

"I suggest you let him go."

A heavy voice uttered from behind them, catching the attention of the group. Asahi clasped the hand that seized (m/n)'s head. "Before I break your wrist." He muttered with a death glare, the light in his eyes gone.

"Fuck! Is he the coach or something?!" One of them whispered, scanning his mature features. Someone grasped (m/n)'s hand, pulling him away from the group. "Learn how to take a hint when someone says they don't like you." Sugawara pushed the manager behind him.

"Or go die in some random dump, you trash."

He stated blandly, his voice losing any cheery tone he would always carry. How ironic. (m/n) could never be more glad that the third years were here, clenching the papers in his hand. He felt someone gently pull his bicep.

"Go." Daichi muttered. "The team's around the corner. Go see Kiyoko for..." He brushed (m/n)'s head, where his hair was tousled.

The only one who would usually, or rather the only one, grabbing (m/n)'s head, tugging his hair, digging their nails into his scalp was Daichi Sawamura.

The (h/c) didn't think twice to leave the scene, not leaving a glance to the yelling players who had harassed him, Daichi particularly approaching the one who had pulled (m/n)'s hair.

-

He didn't want to be here anymore, (m/n) lazily draped himself across the railings. Only one manager was allowed on the benches so he and Yachi had to sit up in the audience' seats but he asked for some alone time from Yachi, her concerned about him after hearing that he was disturbed by a team from another school earlier.

Hinata had jumped up and about when (m/n) returned to their team, demanding to know who had hurt his friend and Kiyoko checked his scalp, making sure nothing was broken and everything was fine. Tanaka was adamant on being a good senior and wanting to avenge his manager so he went to help the third years who were confronting the aggressors but immediately retreated, staying quiet when Ennoshita asked what they were up to.

The games started and the first match went well, battling up against a two meter player. Daichi didn't speak to him yet. (m/n) noticed a bruise forming on Asahi's jaw and Sugawara only smiled at him quietly.

Second game came around and (m/n) held back a flight of curses from his mouth when the team Karasuno had to play against were the same players who had cornered him earlier, their captain glaring holes into Daichi. He noticed a few of them were missing, specifically the bitchy ringleader.

"Hey, (m/n). Thought you'd be down there this time."

Oikawa approached his cousin, leaning onto the railings in a similar fashion to the (h/c). "I guess all third years in your team is staying huh." He poked (m/n). "Yeah." He mumbled. "Looks like yours too."

(e/c) glanced at the Seijoh team that were currently watching over Karasuno's briefing by their coach. He noticed a new player. Someone that has a tennis ball for a head.

"Well, we're gonna beat Shiratorizawa this year. I'm gonna show Ushiwaka who's boss." "You say that at every game." The setter slapped (m/n)'s back, the latter yelping and smacking his laughing cousin. "So gloomy and for what? Your team seems to be energetic-...well they're playing more aggressive than usual."

Asahi slammed the ball set by Kageyama, earning a point as the libero was unable to receive the spinning ball. The ace looked furious, his eyebrows furrowing as he asked Kageyama for a faster set. Sugawara was itching to get on the court, pacing around, warming his legs up so he could be ready when he had a chance to play. Daichi was silent, his usual words of affirmation to the team gone. Only Tanaka and Nishinoya cheering when they won a point.

"We're going to win. Against them at least." Daichi muttered, his eyes gazing up at (m/n) when Coach Ukai took a timeout and asked what was wrong and why their play styles had differ today.

(m/n) stared back but quickly looked away when he felt butterflies in his stomach. He couldn't tell what those insects were trying to tell him. Daichi had warmed his bed a lot for the past month, even his parents assumed he was his boyfriend by how often he had came over to his house.

Karasuno won a fast game. Two sets straight, 25 - 17 and 25 - 13. The last set where all the third years were deployed went by quick, Asahi shining as the MVP.

"Well, that's my cue. I wonder when we'd play against you, it'd be any different." "....It will." Oikawa raised an eyebrow. "Thought you'd support me this time. Given how your team lost on our last match." "But they'll win."

(m/n) peered at Oikawa, from the corner of his eyes. "My team will win beating yours, Tooru." The setter only stared down at the manager with a smirk.

"What's with the change of heart?" "..."

He didn't reply, only getting up to greet the team as he stood in the hallways, letting Hinata crash into him. Sugawara pulled the middle blocker off of him. "Now now. Stop causing trouble or Takeda-sensei won't let us watch the other teams play." They were done for the day and as requested by Kageyama, they went to see Seijoh's match.

Sugawara held (m/n) behind however, letting the team go first as they stood in an isolated staircase. He ran his fingers through (h/c) hair, his eyes squinting at the manager as he smiled reassuringly. "I hope you're alright, (m/n). We beat them for you. Those idiots. People who have nothing else to do but lay their waste on innocents like you."

The (h/c) hummed uneasily, leaning his head on the setter's shoulders and his fingers clutching onto the latter's jersey. "I didn't mean to talk to them. They cornered me." "I know, I know." Sugawara cooed, his other hand caressing (m/n)'s back.

A similar but earlier incident had happened, whereas a student confessed to the (h/c), who declined but Hinata excitedly told the team and Sugawara had an outburst in private, accusing (m/n) of cheating behind their backs despite them having no declaration, only taming (m/n) into their current relationship.

"Did I ever scare you? You look at me like I'm going to snap your neck at any second." The setter teased, his hand trailing over (s/c) neck, his fingertips pressing onto (m/n)'s Adam's apple. "No. You wouldn't." That was a bluff.

He had learned that Sugawara had the most violent tantrums out of the three. Paranoid, spiralling about what (m/n) does when he wasn't around. The (h/c) had learned what to say, what to do overtime, to ease the third year.

Said third year smiled at him. "If anyone ever approaches you, like earlier, scream our names okay." He always made sure to include Daichi and Asahi. "Remember, you're our favourite."

He winked at the (h/c) who didn't give much of a reaction, only hugging the setter. Was there any difference between those assholes and the third years in Karasuno? Both of those groups forced him, into these uneasy situations, Karasuno taking a longer approach.

Crows tend to build their nests with meticulous resolve, choosing the right twigs and taking the softest materials for the lining. Karasuno did live up to their name, (m/n) completely accepting his predicament, laying in the den Daichi, Sugawara and Asahi had woven for him.

Sugawara pulled (m/n)'s face up, smiling at him before pressing his lips to the (h/c) who opened his mouth when the setter swiped his tongue on his lips. "Let me hear you, (m/n)." The setter muttered as he pressed his wet muscle against (m/n)'s caressing his palate and pressing their bodies closer.

"Mmnff ahh! N-Not here Suga- ahk!" (m/n) choked when he felt a hand cupping his crotch, his breath shaky and coming out in stutters as he pushed Sugawara's chest. His cheeks were hot and he clenched his fist on Suga's jersey.

"Hahaha is it because we're in public? You'd be much more in trouble with Asahi then." The setter pulled away, letting (m/n) breathe as he dragged him up the stairs and they stepped into the auditorium seating. "Go. You owe me a date for this." He kissed the (h/c)'s forehead before pushing him to the row where Asahi and Daichi were.

The setter walked past them, opting to sit beside the second years, distracting them when they asked where was the manager. Said manager stood nervously, Asahi and Daichi silent, both of them sat in the furthest behind row, whereas everyone was sitting close to the railings to watch the games.

Usually (m/n) had no problem conversing with them, the third years constantly talking first but here they are staying silent. "...Good game." He referred to the two sets they stole from those assholes.

The captain didn't even look at him, only staring into space with a frown on his face. Asahi spared him a glance before beckoning the (h/c) to sit next to him. But as he was about to sit, the brunette pulled his arm, making him land in Asahi's lap instead.

"Huh? What are you-" He was silenced by Daichi's glance, his heart racing as Asahi adjusted him, placing him directly on top his crotch. "Sorry, (m/n)." The ace buried his face into the (h/c)'s shoulders. "Let me borrow you for a bit."

Here? In public? Where anyone could see him being used like a fucking-

His hands shook as he tried to peel himself off Asahi, but the latter only tightened his hold, crushing his waist with his muscular arms. "I'm sorry." The brunette mumbled apologies and (m/n) could feel his erection pressing up against his pants. He prayed the others wouldn't turn around. Daichi didn't move a finger, (m/n) couldn't read his face as he hopelessly squirmed in Asahi's lap.

He's going to see. He's going to look at me and see me like this.

His heart was beating fast, the ace still breathing heavily behind him and grinding his bottom on him. Daichi still didn't give any reaction. (m/n) felt his heartstrings pulled as the captain didn't give a damn of what was happening to him. Unintentionally, he glorified- favoured? Treasured the ravenette the most, the one who always seemed so distant from him yet was so close and quick to clog his throat-

Tears welled up in his (e/c) eyes as he turned his face away when he saw Tsukishima glanced at him from the corner of his sight. He genuinely prayed that no one else would see him in this shameful state.

Asahi stopped bucking his hips when a high pitched heave escaped from the (h/c)'s throat, (m/n) holding in a sob as he carved his nails into the ace's arm. "Shh...it's fine. No one saw anything. They just think you're sitting on me." He whispered into the manager's ear who shook his head. Tsukishima saw him and he was one of the smart ones. The rest of Karasuno hadn't seen but what about the other teams? Strangers who might pass by their rows. He hated how his three seniors didn't give a damn about his pride.

Asahi didn't make himself obvious, he just wanted to loose some steam is all. In the end, he did use (m/n) like those harassers did albeit tamer than expected but the intentions were there nonetheless. (m/n) whimpered endlessly as he was placed to sit on the cushioned seat in the same one as the ace, still with Asahi seated close behind him. (s/c) hands trembled as he peered at the captain who cruelly ignored him the entire time.

A tear slipped down his cheek as Asahi cooed at him, apologising and kissing his ears while rubbing his waist. Ensuring the (h/c) that he didn't even got off or anything as he whispered sweet nothings with his apparent boner pressing against (m/n)'s back. The manager was much more prone to crying when they were in public.

His hands hugged Azumane's as he leaned back into the ace's body, his attempt to hide his figure as he pulled on the ace's black jacket. "Hic- you're so fucking- mean to me." (m/n) whined as Asahi peppered kisses all over his face, his stubble scratching against his skin.

"I won't do it again." The ace muttered, placing his chin on the manager's head. (m/n) peered up and noticed the forming bruise. His fingers went to delicately trace them. "I knocked his teeth out." Asahi mumbled.

"Would've done more if their manager hadn't come running." (m/n) flinched when he heard Daichi utter. The first he spoke around the (h/c) after the whole harassment he suffered.

Coarse rough fingers covered his eyesight, a fingertip pressing against his right eye lightly, brushing his lashes and the ace placed his face down where (m/n) had his hair violently tugged. "Tell me if you want him to lose more."

(m/n) didn't say anything, only nodding as he let the ace touch his body, caressing his chest and inhaling his scent. He didn't feel bad for the attackers at all. They dug their own grave for being assholes.

He caught Daichi staring at him, the captain still facing straight but his eyes gazed into the (h/c)'s face as he slowly returned his focus back onto Seijoh's match.

(m/n) managed to pull himself off of the ace when the games were over and Karasuno was preparing to leave. He made sure he avoided Tsukishima, not wanting to answer any of his probing questions. He had went ahead to wash the water bottles at a pipe when he heard footsteps behind him.

He looked behind him to see Daichi with the bottle carrier, the captain picking up the clean ones and placing it in its stations while (m/n) finished up the last one. A rare act of kindness from the captain to the (h/c). "Are there any others left?" (m/n) shook his head to Daichi's question.

The captain staring at him with dead eyes and (m/n) noticed the small blot of red on the edge of his knuckles. He didn't say anything, carefully pulling Daichi's hand and placing it under the tap, letting the water flow and washing the ravenette's hand.

Said ravenette stared down at him with his usual silence. At times like this, (m/n) could never tell what the captain was thinking. Was he observing on what he would do? No. Daichi was too confident in his...work. Of what he made of (m/n) (l/n).

Maybe he expected it. (s/c) fingers rubbed the knuckles, ridding the smell of blood and dirt as Daichi stood directly behind the manager. "Did they hurt you?" The manager shook his head again. "I'm fine. They didn't do much."

He could feel eyes boring into the back of his head, the captain glaring holes at the part where they pulled (m/n)'s hair. "It's good for you to know."

Know what? The manager wanted to ask but opted to stay quiet instead. He could feel Daichi leaning into his (h/c) hair, them letting the faucet run under their intertwined hands.

"No one else can hurt you." (m/n) carefully turned his head around and found black eyes staring down at him. "Not Suga and not even Asahi..." The captain muttered, his other hand gripping the manager's jaw, the latter letting out a small gasp.

"Only me. And it will stay that way as long as I'm here." He muttered, leaning so close to (m/n)'s face, the other baring a blank expression, knowing and not daring to show any sign of fear.

"Be aware and be good....I'll take care of you."

The (h/c) nodded, the grip on his jaw loosened and suddenly he was enclosed with a kiss. Daichi pressed against the manager and bit his lower lip, prompting moans as (m/n) shakily wrapped his arms around the captain's neck, his knees weak.

Both of them leaned against the sink and there was a faint sound of an ambulance siren that could barely be heard over the shaky gasps and lustful moans the manager spilled from his throat. It was wrong to love your abuser. (m/n) wouldn't call it love.

He would never care for someone like Daichi.

But he couldn't leave. There was no option for someone like him, he could only embrace and lay in the nest the third years made for him. A good first year to embrace their devilish intent.

[END SCENE]

I planned like a smut scene where daichi fucks him but im tired of writing smut tbh. Like i need inspo. But if u didnt notice daichis hand was bloodied bc he did sumth to the harassers which is why theres an ambulance in the last part.

Someone requested a sick scenario where reader gets sick and third years feel bad for him but tbh they wouldnt feel bad. Its just more of an excuse to fuck him over and ill give a very SIMPLE drabble for that bc ive delayed this way for too long

[SCENARIOS LOADING...]

(m/n) falls sick and the third years takes good care of him!

[START SCENE]

"Mmhhaa mmngg ahnn!"

(m/n) cried as he clutched onto Asahi's gakuran, his back against the wall and his legs wrapped around the ace's waist. The brunette's cock deep in him as they hid in an isolated bathroom stall, the third year pulling him in before classes were starting.

It was the norm for him. And he thought his body could adjust but he wouldn't notice he was slowly falling apart with how frequent the third years was using him for a quick fuck.

"T-Too fast! Ahn! Mmmn ahn ah ah!" His legs were shaking as Sugawara held his hips as he pounded his ass, the setter biting onto the manager's bare shoulder. The setter had whisked (m/n) away during their lunch break, him pulling the first year into the empty clubroom and bent him over the table to fuck his ass. He laughed when he found out Asahi had gotten to him first.

Daichi rarely took him during school hours or even school grounds for that matter. It was always the other two filling his ass up or suffocating his throat.

(m/n) choked as his head was pushed deeper into Asahi's crotch, his body naked as he sucked and licked at the dick while Sugawara was behind him shotgunning his bottom while grinding onto his naked butt. Saliva and precum was dripping onto the gym closet floor.

Sugawara always hold the keys and he'd use it as an excuse to stay behind, forcing (m/n) to help just for him to push him onto his knees and forced his cock into his mouth.

The manager knew his body wasn't feeling well that day. Seven rounds of sex in 8 hours was a record for him and a threesome in the mix? He went home sick and woke up with a sore throat and a burning fever.

(m/n) didn't go to school and he was glad he got to recover in his own bed but his mother suddenly barged in saying that his friends and his boyfriend were there to see him. The third years had neutral expressions when they entered his room, Sugawara easily conversing with his mother as she left the room, leaving her son alone with the monsters.

"I can't believe you actually got sick. I thought you were faking it so you could avoid me today." Sugawara grinned, sitting on the edge of (m/n)'s bed and placing his hand on the manager's forehead, pulling away and pulling out a fever plaster to paste it on the manager.

"I told you he was sick. He could barely stand when we were walking home and you thought he was faking it? You're scary, Sugawara." Asahi muttered to which the setter snapped back at him and they both argued over who had pushed (m/n) too far on yesterday's events.

Daichi ignored the two as he walked over to the bed, (m/n) could barely open his eyes, his skin hot and his head aching. He felt a hand pulling down his blanket and someone pushing his shirt up. A cold wet palm laid flat on his belly. The (h/c) squirmed but embraced the cool, his chest heaved up and down with slow breaths.

"Get better. Soon." The captain ordered. His dark eyes staring blankly at the manager. Sugawara turned to (m/n) and placed a kiss on his cheek. "You heard the captain." "Make sure to stay away from Suga."

The setter continued to yell at the ace, moving off of the bed and Daichi took the opportunity to take his place, his eyes now locking with (e/c) as he brushed his hand against (m/n)'s cheek fondly. "...I'll take care of you. I said I would." The ravenette muttered, the hand he had washed earlier trailing from his stomach to his chest, his hand under (m/n)'s shirt.

Daichi would only take him in his bed, in his room at nights after practice. Now, he was sick and laying in said bed with the captain looming over him, his eyes scanning his weak features.

(m/n) couldn't do a thing, letting the third year care for his sick body. They would come over after practice bringing homecooked meals they would make at Daichi's house. Sugawara often cleaned his body, using a wet towel to cool his warm limbs or helping him into his shower where he would- this made the manager's mom became more fond of the third years, letting them into her son's room at any time she was especially too busy to check in on her precious child.

The manager knew they were some sick fucks but he didn't expect them to go that far truly. Sometimes they would grope him, offering a quickie while mocking him by bouncing the (h/c) on their lap but Daichi was quick to stop them, especially Sugawara who was a bit too happy that (m/n) was weak in his hands, too frail to push away.

Asahi didn't do much, only going through the (h/c)'s belongings, digging through photo albums and taking some of his more personal article of clothings. Stupid pervert. He didn't even bother hiding it too. Daichi would force them to leave when it was almost midnight, him staying over and sleeping on a spare futon.

He was so attentive to the (h/c)'s needs, making sure he took his medicine and eating the required nutrition he needed. He kept his promise and (m/n) was able to recover in three days, returning to school after being deemed well enough by the captain.

Oddly enough, Sugawara and Asahi didn't pounce on him the second they met. Only ruffling his hair or hugging him and saying they were glad to see him well before leaving him alone. (m/n) thought that they finally got their senses knocked into them.

Until night arrived and (m/n)'s mother made a fatal decision to allow Daichi to check her son for another time.

"D-Daichi! I c-can't- urmff! Mmngghaa- ackk!" One of his legs were being held up as he laid on his side, his mouth full with fingers and his hole throbbing around the thick dick shoved inside him. The ravenette slowly rolled his hips, feeling (m/n) tighten around him as the manager shot cum from his penis onto the bedsheets.

He loved when the (h/c) would come on his cock, fluttering walls around his base was pleasure as he quickly thrusted into the overstimulated first year, (m/n) drooling and choking on Daichi's coarse fingers.

"Three days. You have three days to compensate." Rounds of sex to reimburse the captain. Not for the care he provided. It was just more of a reason for Daichi to fill his hole and he had warned the other two not to approach him, wanting to have his ass all to himself for the next few days.

(m/n) let the captain use his hole, his body to fulfill his lust. He wasn't sick any longer and Daichi had promised to take care of him. He could only hope the ravenette doesn't have any plans to stay around him for the long-term. Excluding the fact that they were neighbours.

[END SCENE]

I just love daichi so much rahhh. Going to see the movie next week. Remember this is the last one for karasuno so dont request for this team any longer lovies💋 If karasuno was intense just imagine the power play with shiratorizawa MUAHAHAHHAHA

[frudoo]

Trapped in the forest with a feral John Price could be hot 🔥

WOOF bestie you are so right 😩

Warnings: Non-con to dub-con, John Price is stupidly big. Fem!Reader.

“I know you’re out there, birdie.”

God, you hate his taunting voice, the lilt that makes it sound like he’s singing to you. You hate your friends for abandoning you in this creepy fucking forest, you hate the way every dead leaf manages to crunch beneath your feet no matter how quiet you try to be. You’ve been sneaking away from the giant man for what feels like hours but his voice never gets further away, always right on the brink of being too damn close.

“Nothin’ to be afraid of, girlie, jus’ wanna take care o’ya.”

His call is loud, somewhere behind you, before you hear a thud and then silence follows. You stop dead in your tracks—did he fall down and knock himself out? Maybe you ought to check, make sure he’s really down and no longer on your trail. Slowly, you turn around and take a few steps where you remember the thud to have sounded, but there’s no body slumped over itself. At least, nothing human.

You gasp at the sight of a whimpering dog with an injured paw, instantly kneeling down to try and help the poor pup. You hold her paw in your hand to examine it but there’s nothing wrong, no thorns or cuts in her pads. You furrow your eyebrows and pet behind her ears, cooing softly to her.

“What’s wrong, baby? Where’s your-”

Your sentence is interrupted by strong arms lifting your body up, one hand covering your mouth. You shriek, clawing at the man’s hairy arms as you try to kick free from his hold. It’s useless—he’s so much stronger than you, and the pain you’re inflicting doesn’t even register in his brain.

He knows what he wants, and he’s going to have it.

The ‘injured’ dog stands from her place on the ground and sprints away at the man’s command, full weight on her paw. Your stomach flips at the realization. He used his dog as a trap.

“P-please don’t hurt me! I’ll do- I’ll do anything, please!” You sputter, fat tears streaming down your face as the man lays you on the ground.

“Not gonna hurt ya. No, could never hurt my pretty girl, never,” the man murmurs, and despite the fact that he’s currently binding your wrists to the tree behind you with his belt, his words are gentle and seemingly sincere.

Once your hands are secure, he leans down to kiss you, frowning when you flinch and turn away before his lips are able to meet yours. He grunts and tries again, but when you repeat the action he cups your jaw in one large hand, keeping you still and finally pressing his mouth to yours. He tastes like tobacco and smells of it too, earthy and dewy much like the grass he’s trapped you against.

“Atta girl, jus’ submit t’me.”

There’s a wide smile on his face when he pulls back, thumbing away a string of saliva that remains on your bottom lip. Then his hands trail down your body, ripping open your tank top and pulling your tits out from the cups of your bra. You can’t hold back the moan that escapes your traitorous throat when he wraps his lips around one nipple and sucks, pinching the other between his thumb and forefinger.

“N-no, please…” you cry, trying to kick him away, but he just growls and suckles harder in response.

Damn your body for not fighting him harder, and damn your pussy for getting so wet from this. His hot tongue trails down your stomach while his large hands expertly undo your pants and pull them as well as your knickers off of you completely. He even tosses your shoes and socks aside, kissing his way from your toes all the way to your inner thighs, then planting his lips right over your clit. He groans against your cunt and you can see the way his hips buck against the ground as he tastes you.

In a similar fashion to the way he’d sucked your nipple, he does the same to your swollen bud, circling his tongue over it repeatedly. You’re gushing out abundances of your arousal much to your dismay—and his delight—and he dips his tongue into your entrance to drink it all up. You hate how good it feels, how tight the coil in your belly has gotten, how close you are to the edge. He slides his tongue through your folds and sucks on your clit once more and then you’re screaming, trying to fight off the euphoric waves as they overtake you.

The man’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he slurps up all of your juices. As quickly as he’d started, he pulls away, and those dexterous hands shove down his pants to allow his stupidly fat cock to bounce out. It’s obviously heavy, fully erect and yet still drooping away from his soft stomach, curved and slick with precum. You whimper at the sight, shaking your head as more pleas escape you.

“No! No, please don’t, sir, please… I’ll do anything…” You sob, legs still trying to kick at him even as he parts your thighs and settles himself between them.

“You’ll take my cock,” he responds gruffly, a low moan leaving his throat when he shoves the tip past the barrier of your pussy.

The stretch burns like hell and you scream at the intrusion, wrists desperately trying to tug free from their restraints so you can shove him off. It wouldn’t have worked, anyway, not with his strength and the determination he has to claim you. With a grunt and a hard thrust, he sinks all the way inside, giving you only a few seconds to adjust before he’s rutting into you wildly.

“Ah, so fuckin’ tight. Knew ya would be. Knew ya’d fit me so fuckin’ well.”

Cold sweat trickles down his freckled face and drips onto your cheeks, making you flinch every time you feel a drop make contact. His dick is stuffing you so fucking full, and all you can do is lay there and take it. The initial pain is gone and in its place is a revolting pleasure, one that makes you roll your hips against his. The man smiles proudly, using the backs of your knees to push your legs up to your chest.

“Yeah, feels good, don’t it, girlie? Can feel your cunt clenchin’ ‘round me. Fuckin’ cum on my cock. Do it. Give it t’me.”

His pace quickens tenfold, making your vision go white as his fat tip bullies your g-spot with every thrust. Your entire body convulses when you climax but he doesn’t relent, fucking you through your high and overstimulating you in the process. It doesn’t matter to the man mounting you, his eyes so far back in his skull you’re not sure they’ll ever return to their normal position. An animalistic growl escapes his throat and then you feel ribbons of hot cum spurting inside of you, filling you to the brim.

You hate the way his cum leaks out of you when he pulls out, spilling to the ground and wasting all of his hard work. After he tucks his dick away and gives you a passionate, tender kiss, he releases you from the restraints and scoops you up into his big burly arms, carrying you back to his little shack where his actor of a pup is waiting for him with a wagging tail.

Maybe the forest isn’t so bad, after all.

[thejujvtsupost]

Suguru Wants A Baby

F!reader holds a friend’s newborn baby, and it took exactly one moment for it to hit Geto. When he saw you holding your friend’s newborn, looking so natural and making silly faces to make the baby laugh, it clicked, he wants a baby with you. Your own little one to nurture and protect.

Notes: fem!reader, breeding kink, soft dom Geto, smut, vaginal sex, oral (f!receiving) and dirty talk. I’m serious this is literally just filthy - more under the cut.

Visiting with your friend who just had a baby boy was the highlight of your week. His little face and tiny feet had you cooing and making faces to keep him laughing.

Geto couldn’t look away from the scene, his pretty wife holding a cute baby so naturally- you didn’t think twice before getting him a bottle and burping him. You were happy to help your friend while her own husband was at work.

And when you were leaving, and you handed the baby back to your friend, your arms felt empty. You schooled your features before anyone could notice your utter disappointment and sadness.

Of course Geto noticed, which only made his thoughts run faster. If you want a baby, and he wants a baby… oh he was determined to give you a family on the spot.

He bided his time, as soon as you got home he would pounce. The car ride home was quiet but he didn’t interrupt your thoughts you were obviously deep into. He was patient, so patient despite his need for you, up until you started crying before you could take your shoes off.

“Sweetheart what’s wrong?” He held you to his chest and you buried your face against it. Shaking your head to deny any problem existing. “C’mon, let me in. I can’t help unless you tell me what happened.”

“‘Want a baby ‘guru, I’m sorry.” Your sniffles were breaking his heart, as if he’d ever want you to apologize for something like that.

He tilted your face up and kissed you, slowly at first until it gave way for his urgency. You had to push him back to breathe, “You okay? Not mad?”

Geto groaned and spoke against your lips, “I’ll give you as many babies as you want, right now. Say the word, please say the word. Tell me you want my babies- our babies.” He was spiraling, unwilling to get distracted by anything other than you.

“‘Need you- want your babies in me.” Your thighs had been clenching from the first urgent kiss for any semblance of relief.

He took his shirt off and threw it behind him. “Jump.”

And you did, your legs around his waist; his hands tearing your shirt over your head and tossed somewhere unknown. Your bra was practically ripped from your body, nothing was going to keep your body hidden from him.

You shrieked and broke your kiss when he tossed you on the bed, he didn’t waste time before getting the rest of your clothes off and diving between your legs like he would die if he waited any longer to taste you.

“Fuck this pussy is so good to me, gonna get you pregnant and keep you that way- cute and round, ‘won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.” You don’t know what came over him, but he was eating you out so good and adding his fingers to the mix, playing you like an instrument.

“C’mon need your cock, need you inside of me.” Hips unable to stop moving, your need for him only grew. You were more than wet enough, he typically pulled an orgasm out of you to make sure you wouldn’t feel pain from his considerable length and right now you hated him for it.

He pulled away from your folds and placed a hand on your stomach to hold you still. “Don’t rush me baby, my little pussy needs attention and I’m givin it to her. I’ll take care of you ‘n give you what you need.”

You moaned when he returned to sucking your clit and stroking you from the inside- it hit you so fast. Your orgasm caught you off guard and your legs snapped closed around your husband’s head. Your brain went fuzzy.

“That’s it sweetheart, so good f’me.” Geto took his time and let you come down nice and easy. There were few things he liked seeing more than your blissed out expression.

That’s not enough for him though, you were never left unsatisfied but you were in for a night of orgasm after orgasm. God he wanted to fuck his cum into you, breed you thoroughly until there was no possible way you weren’t pregnant. His pretty little wife round and swollen with their unborn baby- he couldn’t hold back.

Fully covering his body over yours to demand your attention, “How do you want it, how do you want me to breed you?” Your moan at his words was music to his ears.

“Need you deep” you pushed him off of you and flipped to your hands and knees, then arched your back and let your upper body rest on the mattress.

“Oh fuck…” your pink cunt dripping on display for him was too much for him to handle. Geto rushed to get the rest of his clothes off and lined up behind you and slid in.

As slowly as he could at first, he hadn’t stretched you out beforehand. But then you slammed your hips back onto him and- oh god he got so deep inside of you that you saw white. “Please- gimme everything daddy.” You looked back at him with glossy eyes and that was the last thread snapping. He drilled his cock into you with a pace that you didn’t know was achievable, you loved it.

“This what ya wanted baby? You need my cock in this little pussy of yours? Need bred like a good girl?” You wouldn’t be able to hear him over your own sounds if he wasn’t directly in your ear, his large frame dwarfing yours.

You could only nod with a high pitched keen that sounded like fuck me daddy. “Yeah ‘m gonna give ya every drop when this cunt milks me, gonna give ya baby after baby, keep ya pregnant for me. Just gotta stuff you full of my cum, knock you up.”

He’s losing himself in you, he pulls you up to your knees with his arm holding you up, his other hand holding your throat gently. The contrast between his thrusts and the care he put into his hand around your neck, only squeezing the side the tiniest bit to increase your pleasure; it had you fluttering around him.

“Pussy so tight f’me fuck feel me? Put your hand on your stomach, right over your womb m’bout to fill. Thats it, daddy’s so deep inside of you baby.” Pressing down over the bulge of his cock inside of you has you both getting loud in your shared pleasure.

It was over when he got his unoccupied hand down to your clit and rubbed it the way you liked, you tightened around him like a vice, your release squirted out around his cock and he spilled inside of you.

The few thrusts of overstimulation had you clenching tighter until a second mini orgasm followed.

‘S’good for me sweetheart, so good.” You’re not sure when or how it happened but you were laying on your side with your back against his chest, him still inside of you with his hand rubbing along your slightly bloated stomach. You let yourself be lulled into a nap from the post orgasm haze. Suguru sounded way too smug when he praised you.

Maybe you’d go again when you wake up- if you weren’t too sore that is…

Thinking about making a request? Check my bio to see if they’re open! <3

[rafesslxt]

Hiii! I love your work! I was wondering if you could write something where Mattheo and the reader are enemies with sexual tension and one day their friends lock them in a room together and won’t let them out till they fuck and they eventually do?

Thank you!!

Hii love, love the idea, hope u have fun reading. Thank you for your request 🤍☁️

SAY YOU HATE ME | m. riddle

summary: reader and mattheo hate each other so their friends lock them together in a room

warnings: pure filthy smut!, enemy‘s to lovers, insults, arguing, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, rough, fingering, sucking on fingers, coming inside reader

words: 3,1k

When Pansy, Draco and Blaise told me they have a suprise for me, I wasn‘t really convinced and sure it was some kind of prank but I also wasn‘t a quitter or a party booper so I sighed and let Pansy put the blindfold over my eyes like she wanted to.

She grabs me by my arm and starts leading me through our common room. We walk for like 5 minutes until they stop and tell me to be quit. I nod and take a deep breath when I hear them open a door. Pansy gently pushes me forwards and I can hear her smile while saying "Have fun you two." My eyebrows furrow together. What does she mean 'you two' ? I hear the door closing behind me with a few giggles so I take my blindfold off and turn towards the door. "What the hell guys?" I yell through the door.

"Oh so that's their plan." I suddenly hear someone say behind me. I spin around, seeing Mattheo Riddle sitting on the edge of a bed. "What the fuck are you doing here?" I ask him, my eyes looking at him and then around the room we're in.

"First of all, we're in my room , so I could ask you the same. Second, isn't it obvious to you what they're trying to do?" "Oh hell no!" Angry I walk back to the door and bang against it with my hands. "Pansy! let me out!" I hear them whispering behind the door before Lorenzo's voice speaks up. "You two will not get out until you talk about your problems." "Yeah or fuck them out." I hear Draco laughing. "Draco!" Pansy hisses.

"Guy's this isn't funny! I have things to do!" I answer, hoping they would do the right thing. But who am I kidding? "No what really isn't funny is how you two always argue with each other and ruin the vibe in our friend group for years now! So talk or never get out of there!" Blaise answers and I can basically hear him rolling his eyes before they disappear from the door.

I turn around then and look at Mattheo. "This is your fault! I hope you know that." I bitch at him, sitting on the other bed in the room that is Theodore's. He starts laughing and looks at me as If I have 3 heads. "Are you kidding me? If someone is responsible for this then it's you! You're the one who always acts like a bitch to me." "Hm, maybe I wouldn't act like a bitch If you wouldn't be such a pain in the ass with your stupid comments all day long."

He raises his eyebrows and leans forwards, his elbows on his knees now. "Oh you think so? Maybe I wouldn't have to leave stupid comments If you would consider using your brain for even a second."

My eyes widen at his comment. "Excuse me? You're just mad about the fact that I'm the only fucking girl in this school who isn't on her knees for you! Sorry Mattheo, not every woman thinks you're it."

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head at me, making his curls bounce slightly over his forehead. "This is ridiculous. As If I would even want you to be on your knees for me." I scoff at that. "Yeah why should you, right? Your type is dumb and brainless. Oh sorry, I forgot whore."

I see his face getting red and his jaw clenching. Suddenly he stands and walks over to me until he stands in between my legs, making me widen my eyes at him. He leans forward and speaks "What is your problem y/n? Why are you so fucking nice to everyone, acting like a little angel but are the biggest bitch the next second. Only to me of course. What is it that bugs you so much huh?" he breathes against my face, looking right into my shocked eyes.

"I - I just told you - you're always a pain -" "- in the ass. I know. But Draco is too. And I don't see you bitching at him like you do at me." "That's different. Draco is Pansy's boyfriend and I have respect for that." He scoffs at my excuse and to be honest, he was right. But why should I tell him?

"You know.. I kinda get a feeling, that you do want to be one of them." he starts, looking intensely at my lips. I swallow and look into his dark eyes. "One of who?" A smirk plays on his lips when he gets closer, making me back away a little until I'm just supporting myself with my elbows behind me, his body leaning over mine but not touching it. I feel his body heat around mine, my cheeks getting a little flushed at the warmth. He grins and answers me." " Dumb, brainless... a whore."

I gasp at his comment but before I could protest he speaks again. "Maybe then you would have a chance with me. Maybe that's why you're mad at me. Because your little brain always gets in the way and If it would just shut up for a second, then maybe you would have a chance." My eyes almost get stuck at the back of my head at how hard I just rolled them. "First of all, that doesn't even make sense. And like I said. I don't want you."

Then I feel his right hand on my waist, slowly tracing the bare skin on there due to my short crop top. "Then why are your cheeks blushing? Why aren't you pushing me away? You're so locked into my eyes that you're just laying under me like a little helpless thing." I swallow down the clump in my throat at his words. He'r right? Why am I still under him? Normally I would have smacked the shit out of him.

"See." he starts with a smirk. "You do want this. Me. You're just too stubborn to admit that I get under your skin all the time because you want me." I breath get's stuck in my lungs when I feel his fingers on my waist wandering over my stomach. "And you know what's the worst part of it? I just want you as much as you want me. I wanna taste every single part of your body." he whispers against my lips, now just an inch away from mine. "What?" I whisper back in shock. He want's me? What the hell is going on? Did they slip something in his drink too? Is that the actual prank? Him pretending to want me?

"You heard right.." his lips get away from my face again, switching towards the side of my throat. ".. I want you so fucking bad. And you're making me go crazy with your stupid comments all the time. Every time we're with our friends and you start insulting me, I just want to pull you near the first surface possible and fuck you stupid in front of them." After that his lips meet the skin of my neck, a gasp leaving my lips at the sudden contact. His breath was warm and his lips so so soft. Goosebumps erupt over my whole body instantly.

"Mattheo.." I whisper as a warning, but for what I don't know. "What? Are you scared that I'm right? Scared that you will let those walls down? That you let me take you?" I yelp when he bites down on my neck, leaving a light mark. "Come on.. tell me you hate me."

I want t, but I can't. The words just won't leave my mouth when my eyes start closing at the pleasure he's giving me on my neck. I starts kissing down towards my collarbone, nibbling at my skin here and there. Involuntary I arch my back, pressing my body against his.

His mouth moves down to my cleavage, kissing the top of my breasts. "Fuck you taste so good, y/n. Tell me you want this." I remain silent until he pinches my nipples lightly through my top, a whimper leaving my mouth.

"Tell me you want this too or I will stop. Come on baby." The little hairs on my neck raise when he calls me that. I slowly nod, my eyes still closed. "Words. I need words. And open your eyes for me." I slowly open them, looking right into his when I do so. "Say it.." he whispers against my lips, grazing them with his own. "I - I want you too." I finally say, putting a smirk on his face before he presses his lips against mine, his left hand finding my cheek.

The kiss is passionate and longing, leaving no air in our lungs. "Fuck, this is gonna be so so good." he groans against me, climbing on top of me now fully.

He pushes my legs apart with his knees, settling between them afterwards. When he lets go of my lips, breathing heavy, he works his way down with his mouth again, starting at my chest. I bite down on my lip and let my hands go through his curls, pulling on some strands. He groans when I pull, his hands roaming up my body until he squeezes my tits through my top. They slowly push my top upwards until my chest is completely exposed. He looks down at me and grins satisfied. "Fuck how could you hide that for so long from me baby? You're killing me." he groans and I see him pushing his hips down against the mattress for some friction. I think this is the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life. Mattheo grinding against the mattress because he's hard for me.

He starts massaging my tits, leaning down with his mouth, sucking on my nipple. "Oh -" I press my lips together, trying to be quiet. I pull harder on his hair, making him groan and grind against the mattress again. God help me.

"If you keep pulling on my hair like that I'm not gonna last another second." he breathes out when he lets go of my nipple. A grin forms on my lips when I suddenly got my confidence back. " Oh so you mean you will last longer than a minute?" He frowns at me before leaning down again and biting my nipple, while playing with the other one. "Mattheo!" I hiss loudly making him laugh devilish against my skin.

"I don't know If I want you to scream my name or shutting the fuck up." he chuckles when he starts pulling down my skirt. "How about you shut the fuc-" before I could finish my sentence he stuffs two fingers into my mouth. "Use your mouth for something good and suck baby." I roll my eyes but still do as he says. I run my tongue around the top of his fingers playfully, smiling while doing so.

I gasp when I feel his other hand on my clothed pussy. "Shit, you're soaked y/n. Fucking dripping." he says with his jaw hanging down and his eyes on my private part.

With two fingers he pulls my panties down, making me gasp at the cold air against my wetness. "You make me go crazy, you know that? Bet you're so tight - oh fuck yeah." he moans when he slowly enters me with his fingers he used to pull my underwear down. You could hear the wetness all over the room. I bit down on his fingers when he starts to pump them in and out faster. "Hm yeah fucking moan for me, come on." he bites down on his lip while watching my lips wrapped around his fingers. I buckle my hips when his thumb starts teasing my clit, only touching it for a short moment before letting go of it. I indeed moan around his fingers, closing my eyes.

"I'm so hard for you I can't believe it myself." he mumbles to himself, leaning down so his breath hits my clit, pulling a whimper from me this time. He pulls his fingers out of my mouth and I hear them working his belt. "Mattheo please.." "What baby? Talk to me.." "Mhh I need more.. wanna feel you." I completely forget my pride while he fucks me with his fingers.

"Wanna feel my cock inside you? That's what you want?" "Fuck yes - please!" He pulls his fingers out of me, smiling when I whine in protest. I look up at him and see him sucking my juices off his fingers, making my stomach flip. "Taste so good princess." he groans and bites his bottom lip after pulling his fingers out of his mouth.

I watch him puling his pants down his legs, kicking them somewhere in the room. He pulls his shirt over his head, making me gasp in surprise. I knew he is fit but that fit? "Wanna take a picture?" he asks me cockily. "You wish." I scoff but smile as I see him smiling too.

I look down at him and gulp when I see the outline of his cock. "Don't worry baby, you're so wet for me It will fit without any trouble." He grabs my ankles and pulls me towards the edge of the bed. He places my legs over his shoulders, groaning again. " If I knew all these things about you I would have fucked you way earlier. For example how flexible you are." I giggle and raise my eyebrows. "I have a lot more hidden talents." "I bet." he says with a heavy breath, taking his cock into his hand and teasing my clit with his tip, brushing it over it again and again. "Mattheo.." I whine, desperate to feel him.

"I want you to beg me, just likee the little whore you are." he grins wickedly at me, using my words against me. he starts dragging his tip over my pussy, pushing it against my entrance but not enough to enter me. "Please fuck me Mattheo, please. I need to feel you, please."

He doesn't waste a second, pushing his whole length into me. "Oh my god!" I almost scream, feeling him in places I thought would't even be possible. Mattheo groans, squeezing his eyes shut, his mouth wide open. "Oh you're so fucking tight, unbelievable." He starts moving his hips in a fast pace, thrusting harder against me every time a moan or whine leaves my lips.

"You feel so good - so fucking good inside of me - fuck." I star babbling, only spurting Mattheo on. "Yeah baby, that's it. Just feel how my cock feels inside you tight little cunt. Such a pretty pussy for me." I let out a loud whine and start to claw into his back.

"Harder." he groans, his left hand finding it way around my throat. I dig my nails deeper into his skin making him chuckle deeply and smile down at me with dark eyes. Oh shit. His grip around my throat tightens, making me even wetter, " You like that, baby? Who would have thought that our little angel is such a whore for me huh?"

His hips start to move even faster than before, hitting my cervix at some point. "Oh Mattheo -" I choke out between some broken sobs. I don't know when the last time was where someone fucked me this good.

He laughs like the devil himself and says "what baby? thought you do't want me hm?" I squeeze my eyes shut as I feel a deep feeling inside my tummy. "Fuck I feel your little pussy squeezing me, you're close?" I just nod and gasp.

He slowly down to which I whine in protest. "No, no please Mattheo. Don't stop, please." I beg him without a second thought.

"Tell me you hate me again. Come on." I shake my head and groan in frustration. "Why not?" "I - I can't" He grins in satisfaction and picks up the pace from before. My walls start clenching around him, my hips buckling up against him widely and without a rhythm. "Scream my name." Mattheo." "Louder, fucking louder so they hear how we talked about our problems." he grins. "Fuck, Mattheo!" Then it hits me, like a wave crashing over me when I come around his cock, spasming around him.

"God you're milking me, baby." he moans when he feels me around him. While my head get's dizzy and I only see starts around me, he gets even faster and rougher, making me whimper now that I'm so sensitive. "Fucking come again." he demands, his tone deeper now. " I - I can't Mattheo. I'm so sensitive." I whimper when he rubs my clit again and fucks me shard that the headboard of the bed crushes against the wall. Oh they could definitely hear us.

"I promise you can baby, come on, It will feel so good princess. Just one more, for me." he says, working his finger so delicious against me. My lip trembles when he pulls a second orgasm from me, leaving me a whimpering mess under him. "Fuck yes, yes." His movements lose their rhythm, pumping his cock into me with zero control.

"Nhg baby I'm gonna come - fuck - where -" "come inside me." I say, still feeling like I'm on a cloud. He let's out a quite whimper before coming, but I still heard it. Then I feel his hot cum inside me, his body falling on top of mine while he still ruts against me. "Shit.." he breathes out heavily when he slowly comes down from his high.

I see him swallowing when he looks down at me. "I'm gonna die If this is a one - time thing." he says, making my heart miss a beat.

"It's not." I whisper against his lips before kissing him with a smile. He slowly pulls out of me, we both look down. I see him smirking when his cum leaks out of me.

Suddenly the door opens, both of our heads turning towards it. We see our friends standing in the doorway with confused looks and mouth wide open. The only one that looked smug about it was Draco. " Told you so." he chuckles. "Wow.." Enzo whispers looking at us. "I think I hate you too, y/n." he says. Mattheo pulls the bedsheets over us and growls at him. " You wish." "What the fuck! Why on my bed?" Theo yells, making all of us burst out in laughter.

Thank you for reading! I think this is one of my favorites I wrote 😭🫶🏻

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