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paperultra · 5 months

Text

candy stripes.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5,048 words Warnings: Swearing, hospital setting [A/n: Soulmate AU. :)]

sortiger (adjective): delivering prophecies of the future; having the qualities of being oracular

Nobody else can see the string but you.

You wish you didn’t. It has no texture, no weight, so you can’t understand why it can’t be invisible too. But the string demands attention with every use of your hands, seizes your eye when you wash dishes in the morning and brush your teeth at night, a garish and bloody red that matches the stripes of your uniform.

You hate your string and you hate the color red.

Miss Xinyu, the old lady in Room 30, has one too. At least, that’s what she had told you when you gained the courage to mention yours one day, not knowing what it meant and how much you would come to dread it.

“It’s your red string of fate,” she had explained. “It connects you to the person who understands you more than anyone else in the world.”

In other words, your soulmate. Your one and only.

Miss Xinyu says you’re a lucky ducky, knowing what your future holds.

Her string goes into the ground now. You don’t think being reminded of a dead person whenever you look at your pinkie is very lucky.

The biggest reason why you hate the string so much, though, is because you’ve always had a problem doing what you’re supposed to unless you want to, which causes a lot of trouble for a nine-year-old girl. You already have trouble being nice to patients who are mean to you, so how can you love and wait for someone you’ve never met? It makes you feel icky.

Why can’t you choose? How come you have to have one at all?

Your only source of comfort is that your string is very, very thin and runs out of the hospital. That means your soulmate, whoever they are, is very, very far away. You’d very much like it to stay that way.

But it doesn’t.

—

Nurse Taoh wants you to watch the patients in Room 8 while he finishes his charts. You don’t really want to, if only because it’s Nurse Taoh asking – he likes to order you around more than Dr. Gu – but you don’t want to get into trouble again, so you go.

(… And okay, you are just a little bit curious about the new inpatients. You only know three things about them: one, they were brought in together last night while you were in your room poking holes into your paper instead of correcting it; two, they’re a man and a boy, presumably father and son; and three, everyone says it’s a miracle they’re still alive.)

(Then again, you’ve seen many miracles here.)

The unit is quiet as you walk down the hallway. Quiet, but not silent, as your polished shoes squeak like little mice against the floor and you whisper the room numbers as you pass by them. Two, four, six – eight.

You stop and knock, three sharp raps against the brown wood.

“Hello?” You open the door and poke your head in. “My name is –”

The squiggly-patterned curtain that often separates patients for privacy is drawn, and you clamp your mouth shut as you realize the patient closest to you is asleep.

Shutting the door silently, you creep closer to the foot of his bed. The man underneath the sheets lies quietly; he is little more than a skeleton, eyes sunken and bones sticking out underneath blistered skin. His beard is long and scraggly, but it pales in comparison to his mustache, each side braided and sticking out to the sides.

He looks angry, even though he’s sleeping. You hope he’s not the type to wake up and yell at you as you tiptoe past to check on the boy.

You pass the curtain, catch a glimpse of the bed sheets, and see –

Red.

Your feet root themselves in place, the room suddenly devoid of air.

You stare. Blink hard, twice. Look again. Then, trembling, you look down at your hand.

Your eyes trace the string around your own finger, following down to the dip of it that barely touches the ground and back up over the blankets until it ends in a red loop around the boy’s pinkie, tied off with a little bow.

Your stomach turns.

Stumbling forward, you make your way to the visitor’s chair in the corner. You slump down into it and stare straight ahead at the curtain, refusing to look at the boy’s face.

He continues to sleep.

You don’t want him to wake up.

—

The boy does not stir during your first meeting, but that small mercy is quickly eclipsed two days later by a single bowl of chicken broth.

The look on your face is sour as you walk down the hallway again, the broth splashing up against the lid with each step. Because most of the patients in the hospital you live in are elderly, the staff have somehow gotten it into their heads that you simply must spend time with the boy in Room 8 because he is your age and you need to socialize with other kids. You very much don’t want to. Not with him, at least.

Dr. Gu is just leaving the room when you arrive. She gives you a quick smile, the corners of her eyes wrinkling, and pats your head.

“So you heard that the boy woke up, huh?”

You grunt, looking away with a pout. “Can’t you give this to him, Dr. Gu?”

“Nope. I have to finish my rounds,” she says. “Go in and have a chat. His name is Sanji. You’ll like him.”

“I doubt it,” you mumble underneath your breath.

Dr. Gu probably hears you, but she doesn’t scold you, merely patting your head one last time before you enter Room 8.

The dividing curtain is drawn this time. The window curtains are pulled back, too; it’s a somewhat cloudy day outside, but bright enough to sharpen the shadows on the walls and make the boy look even paler than you remember.

His eyes are closed as you approach. A sprout of hope that he might have fallen asleep again blooms in your chest – you’ll just leave the broth on the table, you think to yourself, and go about the rest of your day. Nobody said you had to watch him drink it.

You get about five feet away, already planning to drop some books off to the other rooms, when the boy’s nose suddenly twitches.

His eyes open to thin slits. Your hope shrivels like a weed in the desert as he speaks.

“What’s that?” His voice is quiet and raspy.

Your eyebrow twitches. “It’s just chicken broth,” you say tartly, setting the tray down on the overbed table and turning it around so that it’s over his lap. You take off the lid and steam bursts from the bowl.

The boy reaches up to rub his eyes. The red string dangles from his pinkie, and you quickly look away with a scowl.

“Who are you?” he asks, scooting back to sit up more as he gradually becomes more alert.

Reluctantly, you give him your name. “Will you need help with the soup?”

He shakes his head. His gaze latches onto the contents of his bowl, and he stops, transfixed.

You scramble to stop him as he suddenly grabs the bowl and attempts to gulp it all down in one go.

“Don’t do that! You’ll throw up!” Without thinking, you seize his hands and pry the bowl away from his mouth. A few drops of broth splash over the blankets and his gown, and your irritation grows. Now you’ll have to fix that. “Drink it slowly.”

“I haven’t eaten anything for weeks,” the boy complains. “What do you know?”

“I’ve been studying medicine since I was a little kid,” you retort. “So I know a lot.”

He frowns. “You are a little kid.”

“I’m nine years old!”

“No, I’m nine! You don’t look as old as me!”

There’s no way this … this brat is the same age as you! Fuming, you let go of the bowl and jab a finger at his face. “I am nine years old and I know more than you! You can’t drink the broth like that!”

You’re met with silence. The boy’s eyes are wider than saucers. Pride wells up inside you at your ability to shut him up.

But then he puts the bowl down and seizes your hand, and your pride gives way to horror as he folds down your index finger and lifts your pinkie – the pinkie with the red string wrapped around it.

He lifts his own pinkie, the rest of his fingers folded. Your jaw clenches when you see how the string has shortened to mere inches, bridging the space between his hand and yours.

“Holy shit,” the boy says. The largest grin spreads across his face, and it’s blinding and scary and you hate it, you hate it. “It’s you! You’re my soulmate, aren’t you?!”

“No,” you reply quickly, whipping your hand behind your back and backing away. “No, I’m not!”

“But you see the string too! I knew I’d meet you some day. How come you’re”— he pushes the table away, eagerly but just gentle enough so no more of the broth spills—“how come you’re hiding it behind your back?”

“I’m not your soulmate,” you bark, panic rising in your chest. “Don’t you ever say that!”

You only catch a glimpse of the hurt that flashes across the boy’s face before you turn around and dash out of the room.

Mrs. Hong finds you in the storage closet later, curled up behind the shelves of gauze and IV tubing. She coaxes you out with a promise of rice balls and no questions asked. You wish all the adults were more like her.

—

The next day, Miss Jaylee hoists you over her shoulder like a human sacrifice and brings you to Room 8.

“I don’t want to see him! You can’t make me!”

“He’s refusing treatment and food unless he sees you,” the woman answers briskly, each of her steps jostling you up and down. “You don’t want to be responsible if Sanji dies, do you?”

“I don’t care if he dies!”

Miss Jaylee clicks her tongue and walks faster.

You flail, feeling a little guilty for your cruel words but too proud to take them back. Sanji couldn’t have heard you, anyway, and nobody here is going to let him die no matter what he does or what you say.

You hear a door swing open. Miss Jaylee walks into Room 8 and turns around, and you lift your head, glaring at Sanji as his face lights up and his cheeks turn rosy.

“[Y/n]!”

Your own cheeks burn in embarrassment at the position you’re currently in. This, you only now realize, is way worse than walking into the room voluntarily.

“How come they’re carrying you? Are you okay?” he asks.

“Let them treat you,” you snap, arms limp and dangling. “And eat your stupid food or I’ll get in trouble.”

“Okay.” You nod, opening your mouth to speak again only for him to continue, “But only if I get to talk to you afterwards.”

What is he, a prince?! What makes it so easy for him to demand such things?

“That wasn’t what you told them,” you protest, squirming, but Miss Jaylee only tightens her arm around your waist.

(“Be nice,” she warns. You growl.)

“It’s important,” Sanji stresses, looking pointedly down at his hand and then back at you.

You bite down on your tongue as the red string glimmers in the light.

Dr. Gu and Nurse Taoh stare at you expectantly. Your neck is starting to ache from craning it, and there’s a feeling that you’ll never stand on your own two feet again unless you do what he wants.

“… Fine,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

Only once you promise to stay does Miss Jaylee let you slide off her shoulder. You stand to the side, arms crossed impatiently as they take Sanji’s vitals and ask him some questions. He’s only half paying attention, head turning to look at you more than once, which you merely turn up your nose at.

“All right, we’ll leave you two to chat now,” Dr. Gu says. “If you need anything, just let [Y/n] know, okay?”

“Okay,” Sanji says.

With that, the three adults leave, and you and Sanji are left alone once more.

“I’m glad you came. They were starting to get mad at me,” he says, then cuts straight to the chase. “How come you don’t want to be my soulmate?”

“Because I don’t want a soulmate,” you immediately reply.

“But why? It’s nice, isn’t it? Being special to each other?”

“You can’t be special to me. We’re not even friends.”

For the second time, Sanji looks hurt.

“…We’re not?” he asks. You shake your head. “But … you brought me food.”

You’re befuddled. “Because Dr. Gu made me,” you say, trying to ignore the disappointment on his face. “Besides, I yelled at you yesterday. Friends don’t yell at each other.”

“I thought that you were maybe just really surprised …” His voice gets smaller and smaller. “Some people get mad when they’re just surprised …”

“I wasn’t surprised. I saw it when you were still asleep.”

“Oh,” Sanji mumbles. He looks down at the sheets, scratching at the wrinkle in the thin white fabric. “Okay.”

He says nothing more. You fidget, wondering if he’s pretending to look like he’s about to cry or if he really is trying not to. You’re not good with people who start crying.

You chew on your bottom lip. Sanji tucks his hand with the string on it underneath his bed sheets, his eyes disappearing behind his tangled hair, and fine, you feel kind of bad whether he’s tricking you or not.

“I’ll only be friends with you if you don’t talk about being soulmates,” you finally tell him begrudgingly. “Not ever, okay?”

His head shoots back up. “Really?!”

“Only if you don’t talk about it! I’m serious.” You huff at Sanji’s sudden change in mood and click your tongue. “If you stay sad you might not get better. Don’t get the wrong idea!”

He nods, grinning bigger than ever.

Oh, dear, you think as he promises that he’ll be a really, really good friend, you might have made a mistake.

—

By the fifth day, Zeff, the man who was brought in with Sanji, is awake.

You hear them arguing before you see them, pushing a cart of books for Sanji to browse through as per your agreement the day before. They’re loud, and Sanji calls the man an old shitbag right as you knock and push the door open.

“I’m here,” you announce, and the two quiet down to look at you. You give Zeff a polite smile. “Hello, sir. I’m [Y/n].”

“Hello, little miss,” Zeff says, his features softening from the angry expression he’d directed towards Sanji a moment before.

“Why are you being nice to her and not me?” Sanji pipes up from his side of the room, all puffed-out cheeks and petulantly crossed arms.

“Because she don’t make my ears ring with nonstop whining,” the man answers sharply. “Now get a book and read so I can finally have some peace and quiet.”

“You get a book and read,” Sanji grumbles.

“What was that, boy?”

You cut in before they start bickering all over again. “Do you want a book too, Mr. Zeff?”

Zeff’s gaze flicks over to you once more, and your shoulders tense. The man takes a deep, calming breath, and then he sighs, reclining back into his pillow and closing his eyes. “No, thank you, little miss,” he mutters. “Reading’s no good for my head right now.”

“Do you have a headache?” He grunts in affirmation. “Do you want me to get a nurse?”

“No, no, don’t need any of that.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a headache,” Sanji accuses.

Zeff’s mustache twitches. “All you need to know is that you oughta stop yappin’ when a man wants peace and quiet!”

(Not again.)

As you give up and walk over to draw the curtains, Sanji says your name desperately. “Can we read somewhere else?” he pleads when you glance at him. “I don’t want to be stuck in here with him right now.”

Narrowing your eyes, you appraise his weak-looking frame, pointedly skimming past the red string that snakes over to you. “Can you even walk around yet?”

“Yeah,” he says defensively. He wriggles out of the bed sheets and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Holding onto the side rail, he stands up and grips the IV pole for support. Though he’s a little shaky, he shuffles a few steps towards you and smiles when he manages to do so. “See?”

Well, you think, if you and Sanji stay here, you’ll need to have some light in order to read. But it will probably help Zeff if the room is as dark as possible, so if you guys go somewhere else, Sanji’s lamp won’t need to be on.

“Okay,” you agree. “Wait here. I’ll get some slippers.”

Ten minutes later, with Sanji shuffling along in his slippers, IV pole in one hand and your arm in the other, the two of you arrive at the common room and find chairs in the corner to sit down in.

“These’re mostly history books and stories for old people,” you explain as you pull out the one cooking-related book you could find from the top basket of the cart. “This was the only food one I could find.”

“That’s okay.” Sanji takes the book from you and begins to flip through it. “Oh, this one’s about seafood in the South Blue! Have you ever had any?”

“No.”

“Me, neither. I’ll try it someday, though … hey, this fish looks like a fried egg!”

Against your will, you perk up. “… Really?”

For the next half-hour, Sanji fawns over the spices used on grilled Sea King meat and how to cook wine clams and the best fish for South Blue-style sushi. And it’s … not boring. He doesn’t hog the book, and the pictures are cool, and he asks you which ones you think are the coolest or would taste the best. Looking at a book with another kid is different from reading with an adult. It feels like you’re sharing, not like you’re being tested on your comprehension or how to pronounce long words.

Hanging out with Sanji is okay when the string doesn’t sour it.

“So you want to cook all of these one day?” you ask after scanning through a full-color page of steamed Ocean Hawk feet.

“I want to cook things from all four seas,” Sanji says. His legs bounce with excitement. “That’s why I’m gonna find the All Blue.”

“What’s that?”

The boy glows.

“It’s where the North, East, South, and West Blue seas all meet. Think about it – fresh-caught fish from all over the world all in one place! I’ll be able to cook dishes no one’s ever cooked or tasted before.”

You’ve never heard of such a place. But Sanji talks about it with such conviction, such resolve, that you figure the All Blue could really exist.

“I hope you find it,” you say, and you mean it.

“I will.” Sanji closes the book. “And when I do, I’ll cook something just for you. A-As a friend.”

He peeks over at you, his eyes even brighter and bluer than before, his cheeks flushing a familiar red. And you find yourself believing him, just a little bit.

—

Sanji keeps his promise.

You know he still likes you (blech) and so does most of the staff (double blech). Nurse Taoh thinks it’s funny and teases you about your little boyfriend in Room 8 who always asks where you are. Mrs. Hong reminds you to be sensitive whenever you stop by to pick up meals. Dr. Gu tells you to tell her right away if Sanji ever does something that makes you uncomfortable.

But he never does. Sometimes his words spill out clumsily like a broken faucet and other times he blushes and stutters, leaving you to wonder what he’s going on about, but he doesn’t try to kiss you or hold your hand, and he doesn’t say a word about the red string that is very much still there. If anything, he just annoys you at times, with how nice he is to you and how sunny he gets when you eat lunch with him sometimes.

You’ve never seen somebody so happy to be in a hospital before, even if it’s just because he wants you to like him. It’s weird.

It’s on the eighth day of Zeff and Sanji’s stay that you learn not everything is how it seems.

You’d gotten in trouble the night before for digging holes in the garden – you had kept the seed from your dinner plum and wanted to see if you could make it grow, but Miss Jaylee had caught you while taking Mr. Hu out for some air – so you’re somewhat grumpy on your way to Room 8, two notebooks in hand.

One of them is blank for Sanji. He wants to record all the meals he’s gotten and write down how he would make them. The second notebook is full of your notes that you need to study for your quiz tomorrow.

Zeff is sleeping again when you enter. You move quietly across the room to where Sanji is lying with his back to the door.

“Sanji.” You can see his shoulders tense underneath the sheets, but strangely, he does not roll over to face you. “I have your notebook.”

No answer. That is even stranger.

Frowning, you walk around to the other side of the bed. Sanji moves to bury his face into his pillow, but not before you hear a very soft, wet sniffle.

“Sanji?”

“Sorry.” His voice is high and so muffled you can barely understand him. “You can just leave it on the table.”

“Why are you crying?” In the back of your head, you know it is not the most sensitive thing to ask. But for some reason, you need to know. “I won’t laugh or tell anyone.”

You hear another sniffle from the mop of blond hair. It takes a long time for Sanji to answer, but he eventually does.

“I don’t like hospitals.”

Your brow furrows. “Oh,” you say, somewhat surprised. Most people don’t like being in a hospital, you’re pretty sure of that, but you didn’t know Sanji didn’t like it this much. “Why?”

Maybe he’s tired of getting poked all the time, or the bland food, or the hospital smell. Nobody here can change that. Maybe he’s homesick. The hospital can’t fix that, either.

Sanji turns his head slightly and takes in a small, shuddering breath. “’Cause it … it makes me remember my mum … when she was sick,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear.

“… Oh.”

You had assumed, upon learning that Zeff and Sanji were not at all related, that Sanji was like you and never knew his parents. He’d never talked about having any before, only his time on the Orbit and with Zeff. But he does know them – his mother, at least. And she was sick. The memory is what’s making him so sad, and it’s yet another thing that the hospital can’t help.

You don’t want him to be sad. You did make him your friend, after all, even if he does annoy you sometimes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, standing awkwardly with his notebook still in your possession. You remember what Miss Jaylee has told other patients before. “That, um, must have been really hard for you.”

Sanji squeezes his pillow more tightly.

Should you go? Should you talk to him some more?

“Please don’t tell anybody,” he whispers before you can decide. “Especially Zeff.”

“I won’t,” you reply firmly. “I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”

“I’m sorry I can’t hang out today. I really wanted to, but, um …”

“It’s okay. We can do it later.”

“Okay.”

You set his notebook and a pen on the bedside table. After some thought, you refill his water and, after even more hesitation, fix the bed sheets on him a bit so they’re not as twisted up. That is the best you can do.

The red string follows you as you quietly leave Room 8, and you don’t think about it at all.

—

“How do you spell necessary?”

“N-E-S-E-S-A-R-Y.”

“That doesn’t look right. I think it’s S-S-A-R-Y.”

“Maybe you can find it in the book,” Sanji suggests, kicking his feet as he lies on his belly next to you.

“Yeah, maybe.” You flip through the pages of your textbook, searching for the correct spelling lest you get marked off again.

It is the tenth day. Sanji is doing alright, and Zeff is up and about with his new leg. Dr. Gu says they’re good to go, so they’re leaving after Zeff finishes breakfast. You’re not sure how to feel about it.

In the meantime, Sanji is helping you with your essay about scurvy. He knows quite a bit about it, which makes sense since he’s lived at sea, and you hope the perspective he’s supplying will impress Dr. Gu.

(“That’s why every ship needs a good cook,” he tells you proudly. “We make sure everyone eats right so they stay healthy.”

“That’s why you and Mr. Zeff are going to have a restaurant ship, right?”

“Mmhm.”)

Sanji rests his face in his hands, cheeks squished against his palms while you continue to scan through your textbook. You finally find the word in a photo caption and, with a triumphant noise, jot it down correctly.

Someone knocks on your door. The two of you turn to face it simultaneously.

“[Y/n]?” It’s Mrs. Guo.

“Yeah?” you call, already slightly irritated.

“Is Sanji there? It’s time for him to leave.”

A frown presses down on your lips. Sanji sighs and gets up as slowly as possible, taking his notebook with him.

“Coming,” he says.

The two of you dawdle on your way to the hospital entrance. You pet Cabby the dog when you run into him and his handler and stop by the kitchen so Sanji can thank the cooks. There’s no rush, not really, but an uneasy feeling continues to well up in your stomach anyway.

Upon arriving at your destination, Zeff waiting at the double doors with a giant bag of treasure slung over his shoulder, Sanji stops and turns to face you.

“I’m – I’m going now,” he says, as if just realizing it.

“Okay,” you say.

You and Sanji stand in silence for a moment before Sanji’s bottom lip starts to wobble.

Yours starts to wobble too. The uneasy feeling in your stomach bubbles up into your throat and behind your eyes.

“I’ll write you,” he blurts, voice cracking. “You’ll come visit, won’t you?”

“I don’t know.” You don’t know if they’ll let you. The hospital is busy and the ocean is big, bigger than you, and you don’t know it at all like Zeff and Sanji do. “But I’ll write back.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You are crying now.

For the first time, your arms wrap around Sanji, and he clings back as both of you bawl. Your tears and snot stain the shoulder of his brand-new clothes. Your uniform grows damp at the collar. It doesn’t matter at all.

“I don’t know if I’ll see you again,” you croak into his shirt, face hot and eyes blurry.

His grip tightens. “You will,” Sanji replies in between sniffles. “I know it. Even if it’s when we’re really old, we’ll see each other again.”

“Okay.”

You believe him. Not because of fate, but because you want to.

—

You write to each other every single week for the next ten years. You tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything.

—

“You seem nervous,” Nami says. “Don’t tell me a little bribery got under your skin?”

“No, no.” You wipe your hands on your thighs and try to relax against the back of the booth. “Just … not used to places like this, that’s all.”

The Baratie is nicer than you imagined. Sanji had kept you up to date over the years, sending newspaper clippings and recipe drafts as the restaurant he and Zeff founded grew in staff members and reputation, but seeing it in person is a whole different deal. You’re telling the truth when you said you’re not used to a place like this.

But it’s not why you’re nervous.

“Hey, look!” Usopp exclaims, pointing across the room. “I think those guys are gonna fight.”

The rest of you look. Near the kitchen, two men are arguing, and the pink-haired man sitting at the table stands up when the pirate shoves his food onto the floor.

Usopp sucks his teeth. “Yikes.”

Luffy leans forward in interest. Zoro simply stares, and Nami rolls her eyes.

One of the waiters approaches them. You watch as he tries to deescalate the situation, but neither party is having it.

The pink-haired man draws a gun.

Within seconds, the gun and both would-be brawlers are on the floor.

The waiter shoves his foot into the pink-haired man’s back to keep him down, then picks up the plate of bread rolls again, stepping over both groaning bodies with the ease of one who’s done it before.

He reassures the other customers as he approaches your booth. You’re not concerned about the fight so much as you are about the way that you know.

It’s been ten years, but you just know, even before he gets close enough for you to see the red string that trails up and disappears into the black of his pants pocket. Even before you see the blue of his eyes and the annoyed set of his brow, exactly the same as you remember.

He places the rolls down onto the table, and for the first time, you wonder what you want.

“Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambience is the food. My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?”

#aesthetic words prompt list #opla #one piece #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #opla sanji #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #fem!reader #soulmate au #woefully inaccurate portrayal of patient treatment and progression of recovery i'm sorry #usually i'd be more of a stickler but this is one piece where people don't die after 85 days eating nothing but their own leg #zeff and sanji definitely aren't ur typical patients anyway even in the opla universe lol

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imtryingbuck · 4 months

Text

Seven part two

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky comes from a well respected family, he falls in love with a girl who prefers the simple things in life. Follow their journey through the years.

Word count: 2,948

Warnings: this one’s quite dark. fluff, angst, death, almost dying, being put into care, abuse in the care home, small mention of whipping a child. mentions of nudity of a child (just once and not detailed)

A/N: No description of reader other than she has curly hair.

Masterlist Series Masterlist

True to their word they let Y/n stay with them til Wednesday, letting her go on that day had filled them with dread.

“You can come back whenever you like, our door is always open to you sweetie” Winnie told her, meaning every word she spoke.

“Okay Miss Winnie”

Bucky had helped her climb over the fence and walked her to their spot, chewing on his lip until it bled a little he couldn’t stop worrying about Bunny.

When she arrived back to her house she was confronted by her father; by then she had grown use to his words and beatings, she knew when to scream and cry - when not too. She learnt that to make her unnecessary punishment easier was to take herself off to her special place that lived secretly and safely inside her head, the one place her father couldn’t hurt her anymore, she smiled with her eyes closed when she saw Bucky, Steve, Winnie and George in her special place waiting for her as her father’s fist slammed into her body over and over again.

Her tiny - in height and weight - body was slowly fading away as she danced along the flowery meadow hand in hand with her Ducky. Steve was sitting on the pillowy grass drawing, Winnie and George were cloud watching. Here in her special place there was fairies, unicorns, big pretty butterflies that she could ride and rainbows taking up residence in the bright blue sky. She had gasped and giggled when she saw the ducks waddling past with bunnies hoping alongside them.

That day however something was different aside from the new addition being Bucky, his parents, Steve, bunnies and ducks being there, there was blue and red lights flashing in the sky. She chose to ignore it as Ducky didn’t seem to pay and attention to it.

Bit by bit her safe place started to fade away, her eyes wide and fearful she tried desperately to keep ahold of Bucky when he too started to fade out. “No no no! Ducky come back!” She cried painfully just as everything she held sacred to her heart turned black.

She woke to blinding lights, fear overtook her whole aching body. A hospital they said, she had been in a coma they told her, when the nice nurse named Tilly told her it meant that she had been in a deep sleep, Y/n just nodded. Trying to speak but her throat hurt badly, Tilly had helped her sit up and drink some water telling her she had to take it slowly. Gently pushing the girls hair out of her face.

Y/n liked her instantly, maybe she’ll be my new friend too she thought to herself.

Doctor after doctor came in and out of the room they was in there to run checks whatever that meant. There was one doctor with bushy eyebrows who had asked Tilly to distract the girl in the bed as he took some blood, she hadn’t batted an eye when there was a sharp scratch from her arm, too engrossed in the story about the boy who stole a golden goose egg from a giant who lived in the clouds that Tilly was telling her about.

“Miss Y/n you have guests, do you want to see them?” Tilly asked softly from the door.

“O-okay”

In walked Winnie and George, Winnie gasped with tears springing to her eyes at the sight of the little girl who had stolen her heart the moment she laid eyes on her. George’s eyes dropped down to the ground, finding it hard to see the damage done to a sweet girl.

That Wednesday she had left the couple argued with one another over letting Y/n go back to the hellish nightmare that was no doubt waiting for her. Arguing back and forth that they should have done something different, Winnie pointing out that George had the money and influence to get Y/n placed into their care.

On Thursday when Bucky came back from over the fence telling them that his Bunny hadn’t showed up, they got a sense that something was wrong. The next day when the newspaper arrived Winnie dropped the cup she had in her hand at the front cover.

‘Local six year old girl attacked by her father is in critical condition’

She knew it was Y/n. Call it a mother’s instinct. But she knew.

Reading further down her heart broke at the words listing the many injuries that Y/n had, she read that the body of Y/n’s mama was found in Mexico on that Tuesday and an autopsy revealed that she had been dead for just over two weeks.

George rushed over to his wife where she stood frozen on the spot, a broken cup by her feet he called out her name and all she did was show him the newspaper. He held it within an iron grip as his hands shook. He blamed himself.

Even with George’s money and the power he held they wasn’t allowed to see her, he tried bribing the boss of the hospital who kept refusing, tried bribing the nurses and doctors but they too refused. They was told they had to wait to see if she would wake up for them to see her.

“Oh my sweet sweet angel” Winnie whimpered moving closer to the girl.

“M-Miss Winnie” even with a swollen face and bottom lip having several stitches she smiled widely at the woman, showing four more missing teeth. “Where’s Ducky?”

“Ducky’s at home sweetie, he-he doesn’t know your in the hospital darling”

“Why?”

“W-we haven’t told him yet. But we can bring him tomorrow if you’d like?”

“Yes! I miss him”

“He misses you too, a-are you comfortable darling?”

“I’m okay. Hi Mr George”

“Hello sweetheart, here we got you a present”

Pulling out a teddy shaped as a duck out of the bag the couple smiled as her face lit up.

“Ducky! It’s Ducky Winnie”

“It is, he’s super soft too”

George places the duck in Y/n’s good arm she instantly brought it closer to her chest. “Thank you so so so so much.”

“You’re welcome darling” George says sitting down in the chair next to the bed.

Visiting hours had ended so the pair had to leave her they waited until she was asleep, gripping the duck tightly as she slept.

Telling Bucky that Y/n was in the hospital was a difficult conversation Winnie had to have, his tears soaked her dress as he clung onto her. They promised him that he could have the day off from his schooling so that he could spend the day with Y/n.

That night he slept in their bed.

Bucky ran through the hallways of the busy hospital, his hand gripping the different coloured strings dangling from the many balloons he made George buy.

“Buck slow down!”

“No! Hurry up”

In the elevator he wouldn’t stop bouncing up and down. He was the first one awake, gotten himself dressed and brushed his teeth long before his parents started to wake. George tried to tell him that the visiting hours didn’t start till ten which then set the chorus of why’s being thrown at him. Bucky watched the clock like a hawk and the second the hand struck ten he was dragging his parents to the door.

“Bucky we have to talk before we go in”

“Why? I want to see Bunny”

“Son, she has serious injuries and her face is very swollen, you need to be very careful with her okay”

“Okay dad. I promise, can we go in now?”

George nodded and let Bucky open the door carelessly dragging the balloons behind him, his feet faltered a little. Winnie and George slipped into the room behind him their eyes going from their son to Y/n who was fast asleep in the bed that made her look even tinier.

“Bunny” he whispered letting the balloons float up to the ceiling. “Ma…is-is-is she gone like granddad John?”

“No, no sweetie she’s just asleep” John being her father in law who drank himself to his grave when Bucky was five years old, Margret - George’s mother - thought it was important to make James see his grandfather laying in the hospital bed just after he had died. Winnie was against the idea and so was George but Margret always got her own way.

“She’s still pretty to me” he whispers again, he was afraid to speak any louder.

“She is, isn’t she” agreeing with her son “why don’t you go and sit next to her? It’s okay I promise”

“I-I don’t want to hurt her momma” Winnie had to grip ahold of George’s hand as he called her that, it was something he always called her but stopped shortly after seeing the body of his dead grandfather. One of the many things that Winnie blamed Margret for.

“Son you won’t hurt her I promise” George says, giving Bucky an encouraging nod when he looks up at him.

Bucky slowly walks over and sits in the chair next to the bed, his hand shakily lifts over the railing and takes its place in hers.

They’d been sitting there for over half an hour when Y/n started to stir, opening her eyes she slowly adjusted to the bright lights of the room, she felt a hand in hers and she looked over.

“D-Ducky!”

“Hi Bunny”

“You are here”

“I’m here.”

“Look Ducky it’s Ducky” she says trying to show Bucky the teddy his parents had gotten her.

“Hi Ducky. Bunny look-“ asking his father to get the bunny balloon he had to have as soon as he saw it “-it’s Bunny”

“Just like me!” She giggled.

“Just like you.” Bucky agreed.

Over the next few days Bucky and his parents even bringing Steve with them - who had brought a teddy bear of his own for her - visited her. When they arrived to the hospital Bucky and Steve taking off running to her room Winnie and George saw the two boys pacing up and down the hallway.

“Boys? What’s wrong?”

“Ma we can’t find Bunny”

“What do you mean her rooms righ-“

She cuts herself off when she looks into the empty room that Y/n had been staying in.

“G-George…”

George runs to the other end of the corridor where the nurses station was, Winnie had to physically grab hold of the boys in order to get them to stop pacing.

When George returned he looked at Winnie and shook his head “S-she was taken into care this morning-“

“But she hasn’t recovered”

“They don’t care Win, she’s poor-“

“Rich, poor it doesn’t matter she’s a child!” Winnie takes the boys hands in hers and started to drag them away, when Tilly called her name she stopped and look over to the woman.

“Yes?”

“Here, they wouldn’t let her take them with her” Tilly hands over the brown teddy bear named Bear that Steve had given Y/n and the duck she had named Ducky Junior.

“Sit still and don’t move!” Snarled Kristen one of the women who worked in the care home where Y/n was taken too.

“I-I need wee wee” she whimpered.

“Do I look like I give a shit? No.”

Ever since she was brought here she’s been so lost and confused, she thought that when the hospital room door came open it was going to be Bucky and Steve just like they promised the day before but instead there was a man and a woman who didn’t look nice, she looked over at Tilly who smiled sadly at her.

Y/n didn’t like Kristen or her friend Karen at all, they were mean and hurt her. Karen had made her take her clothes off and her panties and made her stand in the middle of the room whilst the older boys stared at her. Whenever Y/n was really nervous she would accidentally wee herself, when she was at home with her father she received a beating, it was no different to being here. She had received ten lashes across her back. All the other children flinched at her cries.

She was safer at home.

Day in and day out she took beatings from the workers and sometimes the other children, she tried so hard to escape to her special place but it was just a dark void now.

Day after day she got skinnier and skinnier, her hair was matted and her skin was filthy. Every night as she slept on the cold wooden flooring she would whisper out ‘good night Ducky’.

One of the older boys had tormented her by laughing at how her father had killed her mother and had kept her body in the boot of his car for two weeks.

“No no no no no no you’re ly-ly-lying!”

“Am not! He was going to kill you too”

“Ma-mama not dead”

“Yes she is! I’m not lying!”

“M-m-my mama not dead!” She repeated over and over again as she rocked herself back and forth in the corner, her knees pulled to her chest with her hands over her ears blocking out the laughter from the other children.

A man wearing a fancy black suit came into the room she was told to wait in by Kristen, he sat down across the table from her and didn’t say anything for nearly 20 minutes.

“Is your name Y/n?” He receives a quick nod. “Do you know a boy called Bucky?” That has her looking up at the man, nodding once again.

“What does he call you?” Sighing he looks around the room and leans closer “it’s okay to speak, I promise”

“B-Bunny”

“And what do you call him?”

“Ducky”

He stands up and removes his coat before making his way around the table “stand up for me darling. I’m not going to hurt you, I’m a friend of George’s”

She stands up slowly, flinching when he puts his coat around her. “We’re going to play at little game okay? I’m going to pick you up and you need to put your head right here-“ he taps the space between his neck and shoulder “and your going to count quietly to a hundred”

“I-I only know up to ten s-s-sir”

“That’s okay, you can count to ten, ten times”

“O-okay”

“Come here darling, it’s all going to be okay I promise”

He lifts her up easily and her head goes to where he had pointed too, when he told her to start counting she did so.

Oblivious to all the men in the hallways pointing guns to the staff.

“You’re doing great darling” the man cooed into her ear. “Let’s go boys” he says, his tone much different from how he spoke to her.

The man got into a car shifting her so that she was sat on his lap, he nodded to the driver and the car started to pull away from the building of horror.

“I’m Howard Stark, it’s very nice to meet you”

The car slowly pulled up to a familiar house, Y/n looked at Howard with wide eyes smiling when he smiled at her.

“There’s a very excited boy waiting for you” he says watching her eyes shine.

“D-Ducky?”

“Yes, he’s missed you”

“I’ve missed him”

As the car comes to a halt the front door comes open, Y/n releases a small sob as she sees her Ducky come running out.

“Bunny!”

Howard opens the car door and helps the girl out just as her feet hit the ground she takes off running towards Bucky, who wastes no time in grabbing ahold of her and pulls her into his chest.

“My Bunny…”

George, Winnie and Howard stand together watching the reunion. Winnie cries freely as she sees the little girl, George tries to keep it together.

“Are you hurt Bunny?”

“N-n-no”

“Don’t lie to me Bun”

“I never lie Ducky” she giggles at his facial expression. Bucky cupped her face gently in his hands, slowly brought his head closer to hers and rested his forehead against hers.

“Y/n…” Winnie calls as soon as the pair pull away from each other. “Oh my sweet girl”

“M-Miss Winnie” she beams, looking at Bucky who nods and removes himself from her, Y/n took off running once again but this time directly into Winnie’s arms.

“My sweet angel I’ve missed you”

“I’ve missed you too”

No one notices George going inside just to return a few minutes later “Y/n” he says softly catching her attention and shes quick to pull out of Winnie’s arms and throwing herself at George who catches her easily. “How are you darling?”

“Happy Mr George”

“I’m happy too. Here these have missed you” he holds out Ducky Junior and Bear who are both instantly snatched from his hands and brought to her chest as she squeezes them, squealing with happiness that she has them back.

Winnie took her time in cleaning the many open wounds that littered Y/n’s small frame, placing kisses to her forehead every time she flinched.

Her heart broke when Y/n had told her what had happened and what that boy had told her about her mama, Winnie held her tightly when she confessed that Y/n’s mama was an angel up in heaven.

After dinner was made - where Bucky took Y/n’s plate and piled so much food onto it, he held her hand under the dining table. They let Bucky sleep in the bed with Y/n - not like they had any choice - the adults went into the living room and sat in silence when a throat was cleared.

“I would like to adopt her”

Tags: @cjand10 @unaxv @mcira @bisexualnikkisixx @kneelforloki @kandis-mom @sagebarness @sandyruston @scott-loki-barnes @nikkivillar @saltedcoffeescotch @scentedharmonymiracle @examinarei @sarcastickiddo @sadboiabby @unholyhuntress @8crazy-freak8 @ijustneedpopcorn @moonbeampillgoth @imcinnamoons @elmo-1066 @violetwinterwidow01 @suz7days @adoredire

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iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin · 3 months

Text

bully⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

wednesday, seok matthew— phys. ed

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

⋆˙⟡ wc: 2.7k

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

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

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

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

⋆˙⟡ bully scale: ★★★★☆(4.0)

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

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you’d just duck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh help.

--------

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

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

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

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

fuuuuuck no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you duck.

it’s who you are.

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

it’s red.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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gender neutral version below

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

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

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

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

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

you’d just duck.

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

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