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hongcherry · 1 month ago

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fed up || j.yh (m)

You know just how to rile up the usually sunny CEO.

�� Pairing: ceo!Yunho x employee!Reader 💛 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+)/Smut/Office au 💛 Word Count: 2.2k 💛 Warnings: Yunho is MEAN, bigDick!Yunho, dirty talk, rough oral (m. rec), face fucking, gagging, nicknames (pretty girl, (fuck)doll, baby, slut, toy), sir kink, size kink if you squint, secret exhibitionism, crying, very brief restricted breathing 💛 Author's Note: A WIP I've had in my drafts for too long 🚬 *sigh* also, hi 🥺 it's been a long time sorry :c

ateez masterlist | main masterlist

this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty! (ageless/minors/blanks blogs will be blocked)

“Mr. Jeong?” your voice rings out from the other side of his cracked door.

“Come in,” he replies, attention drifting away from his computer screen. He watches as you enter and close his door. You seem fidgety like you’re nervous or eager. He figures it’s the latter.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you question, stepping up to his desk, hands clasped together politely in front of you.

Yunho stands and rounds his desk languidly. His heart races knowing your innocence is fake. Your little mouth has been running all day, spewing flirtatious conversations with nearly everyone who stops at your reception desk.

“Did anyone see you come here?” he asks. He glances behind you at the door as if expecting someone to barge in.

You shake your head and reply, “No, sir.”

Yunho’s gaze shifts to yours. You’re staring up at him with those pretty eyes—eyes he loves seeing rolled back into your head as he ruins you.

He’s not dumb. He knows you’re playing with him, riling him up until he snaps. While Yunho’s frustrated with your need to test him, he’s also excited to give you what you want. He loves knowing you like it rough like him.

So with that thought in mind, he suddenly grasps your jaw and angles it upward. Your eyes widen as a small gasp falls from your lips.

“Want dick so bad you’ll talk up every man you see, hm? What? My cock isn’t good enough?” he taunts, eyes narrowing.

“It is! I want you. Just you,” you whine.

Yunho smirks at your true colors showing.

“Then come get it,” he replies. He releases your jaw and sits back down in his chair.

You stare at him, dumbfounded. He finds amusement in knowing you had expected—hoped—for more of a fight. You shouldn’t worry, though. He hasn’t even gotten started.

When you stand between his legs, he lowers you down and shuffles you back until you’re under his desk. He adjusts the height of his chair to make sure you have enough room to please him.

“Well, baby?” he prompts, giving one of your thighs a gentle nudge with his foot.

Yunho leans back while you begin palming him through his slacks. He’s not completely hard, but he knows he’ll be so soon.

“This all you gonna do?” he huffs. “I thought you were eager for dick.”

You frown and reach for his zipper. Though before you can touch it, he grips your hand.

He gives you a pointed stare. “You better make this good after the shit you did.”

Nodding, you reach for it again, but his grip tightens.

“You forget your manners, pretty girl?” he asks.

“No, sir.”

“Then respond,” he says with a clipped tone. “Are you going to make this good?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll make up for what I did,” you answer.

He hums and lets go.

You wait a second to see if he has anything else to say before unzipping his pants and pulling them and his underwear down.

Yunho suppresses the sigh he wants to emit when you free his semi-hard cock.

This time, you don’t waste any seconds as you lean in and kiss along his thick shaft. Your eyes find his when you lower your mouth, engulfing his fat cock as much as you can.

Yunho watches your mouth stretch. He loves how big he is between your lips. He hopes your jaw aches when he’s done with you, reminding you of his size.

Your eyes close to focus on your movements while you bob your head. Your cheeks are hallowed, tongue massaging the underside of his length as you suck.

Yunho releases a throaty moan. While it feels good to have his cock sucked, he needs to remind you why he really called you into his office.

Yunho grabs your head before he abruptly thrusts his hips as he brings you down.

You gag, eyes flying open briefly, then squeezing shut as you try to endure it; however, you’re not able to. You begin to pull away, but Yunho brings you down until your nose touches his skin. He moans at feeling his cock down your tight throat.

You dig your nails into his thighs and try to lift up again.

“Ah ah ah, no you don’t, baby,” he chides, gripping your head roughly to hold you still. “Bad mouths like yours need to be punished.”

You whine, but it only makes him moan from the vibrations. He stays still for a second before he rolls his hips up continuously.

“This is what you wanted, though. My cock fucking this filthy mouth,” he grits while he keeps sliding down your throat.

Your hands on his thighs tighten, tears running down your cheeks. You try hard to focus on breathing, but he’s fucking your face so roughly you can’t even focus on that.

You’re on the verge of tapping his thigh thrice, an indicator to stop, when he pulls out. You inhale too quickly and choke on your spit.

“Easy there, doll,” Yunho hums. He relaxes his hold on your head and gives you gentle pats. You appreciate the gesture, smiling up at him with reassurance.

Yunho opens his mouth to reply when a knock interrupts him.

“Mr. Jeong, I have a quick question. Can I come in?”

Yunho recognizes the voice to be Wooyoung, one of his department heads and a friend.

Yunho glances down at you, panic evident on your face.

“Make a sound and we’re done. Understood?” he questions sternly.

“Yes, sir,” you whisper.

Yunho sits up straighter and places a hand on his mouse to appear like he is working. He leaves his other on your head.

Yunho clears his voice before calling out to Wooyoung, who enters with a smile.

“Hey, boss,” he chirps.

“What can I help you with?” Yunho asks, returning the smile.

“So, San’s team says they need another week to gather the data for the presentation that’s supposed to happen in four days, but we’ve already delayed it by five, and I don’t know if the investors are going to be happy with another reschedule. What should we do?”

All the while Wooyoung’s talking, Yunho forces your head closer. He can feel your resistance and your tightly closed lips against his tip.

Yunho moves his hand to pinch your nose, cutting off your breathing. Fuck, does he wish he could see your face. He bets you look so cute panicked.

“Why does San need more time?” Yunho questions.

The moment Yunho feels your lips part to inhale, he pushes his tip inside and releases your nose. You make a small gasp that catches his friend’s attention.

“—aren’t giving him the info he needs—you okay, Yunho?” Wooyoung asks.

“All good, Woo. I just remembered we have that company dinner later this month,” Yunho answers and taps your cheek to indicate for you to move.

Wooyoung laughs. “That has nothing to do with this issue.”

Yunho holds back his moan as you bob your head on his tip. Your tongue swirls and licks his slit heavenly.

“Sorry, man. Busy day.” Yunho chuckles.

Wooyoung nods in understanding. “So, what do I do?”

Yunho sighs, but it’s more as a response to you taking a little more of him in your warm mouth than Wooyoung’s dilemma.

“Try to get San some backup. We can pause projects that don’t have immediate deadlines. Let’s try to shorten the—” Yunho inhales sharply when he feels your teeth graze his shaft teasingly. He almost shoves his cock down your throat in retaliation, but he knows that’ll surely alert Wooyoung of your presence. And while the thought of getting caught is thrilling, he doesn’t actually want that to happen. He wants you all to himself.

“What else did you remember this time?” Wooyoung jokes.

Yunho shakes his head and forces out a laugh. “Nothing you need to know.”

He feels you smirking as you continue to silently suck him off. Fucking brat.

“Okay,” Wooyoung answers, seemingly not needing Yunho’s advice anymore. “I’ll get San more help, so if we have to delay the meeting again, it’ll only be for a day or two.”

Yunho nods, glad Wooyoung understood where he was going.

“Sounds good. Thanks for the update,” Yunho says, rubbing your head gently.

“Anytime! I hope you get some rest soon,” Wooyoung replies as he walks toward the door.

“I will.” Yunho smiles.

Wooyoung leaves with a wave, plunging the room into an eerie silence. Your movements begin slowly.

Yunho lets the clock tick a few seconds to ensure Wooyoung doesn’t return with a forgotten trouble. When he decides the coast is clear, he yanks your head forward—forcing his cock to shove down your throat.

Your yelp is muffled, and your hands claw at his thigh.

“Thought you were real smart, huh, doll?” Yunho huffs.

He slowly rolls his chair back to get a better view, keeping your face against his pelvis. You stare at him with big eyes while crawling forward.

Yunho snaps his hips up once, causing you to gag and squeeze his thighs more.

“Bet you’re soaking through your panties, hm? Want my cock in your pussy too?” he asks almost mockingly.

You nod enthusiastically, watery eyes filled with hope. He scoffs.

“Greedy fucking slut,” he grunts and bucks his hips roughly once again.

You sputter, yanking from his cock so you can fill your lungs with oxygen. He slaps his dick against your face as you pant, permitting you a moment to rest. Some of your spit that coats his dick lands on your cheek. Yunho doesn’t bother to wipe it away.

“Come on, doll,” Yunho says and pulls you closer again. “You can take this.”

Yunho doesn’t give you a chance to respond or prepare before he sinks your head down again. His movements are swift and rough, moving your head however he pleases.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, feeling his tummy tighten with how close he is. “That’s my good little slut.”

You grip his thighs more, either for encouragement or as an attempt to pull away, Yunho’s not entirely sure. His brain is too foggy, and his only objective is to fill your small mouth with his seed.

Yunho still grips your head, but instead of moving you, he starts snapping his hips into your face. Your eyes sew shut, new tears flowing over your cheeks.

“You’re p-perfect. My perfect fuckdoll. Letting me use you how I want. Holy fuck, baby,” he rambles through frantic pants.

Yunho suddenly pulls out of your mouth and drags you up to your feet. His plan to come into your mouth changed when he got an idea.

Your hands fly back to grip his desk from the abrupt change.

He hastily lifts your skirt, pushing it into your hands until you get the message. Then, he yanks down your underwear slightly and holds it open as he rapidly pumps his cock.

White hot cum spurts onto the inside of your panties seconds later, some landing on your pussy. It pools on the fabric and dampens the material. Yunho bites his lower lip to quiet his moans, but they still rumble in the back of his throat louder than intended.

He curses and releases your underwear, the band snapping against your skin.

He falls back into his chair with his head thrown back as he lets his orgasm course through him.

You watch, unsure and overflowing with need. You want to let him have his moment, but you’re so eager to feel him inside you that you can’t wait any longer.

You take a step closer and begin to slide down your underwear.

Yunho grabs one of your hands to stop you.

“You don’t get to come.”

“W-What?” you stammer.

“I’m giving you what you want,” he coos in faux innocence. “Punishment.”

“No, please, Yunho. Please,” you beg, hands reaching out for him.

Yunho grabs both your hands but keeps you at a distance. His chest still rises and falls quickly, but when he speaks, his voice is steady.

“When you leave, you go straight back to your desk. Don’t even think about touching yourself.”

“Please, Yunho! I’m sorry I got you mad,” you say desperately. “You can do whatever you want with me—use me like your personal toy. Just let me come!”

Yunho makes no attempt to move.

“I expect you to be in my office an hour after closing. Maybe if I see you being good, I’ll fuck you nice and dumb,” he bargains and drops your hands.

You remain still, probably debating whether to beg more or accept your fate.

“You’d like that, right?” Yunho hums when you don’t answer. “No thoughts in that silly head of yours, just my cock filling your tight cunt?”

You nod with a slight frown. Your legs subtly rub together from the imagery he put in your head.

“Then go back to work and behave,” he demands.

You gulp, lingering in front of him as if he’ll change his mind.

Yunho tears his focus from you. He readjusts his clothes, raises the chair, and shakes his mouse to wake up his desktop.

In the corner of his eyes, he sees you hesitantly move away. Your walk is a little funny—no doubt from feeling his cum in your panties. Knowing he’s sending you back like that makes him smirk as he types in his login.

A/N: How do you guys like ATZ's new comeback????? I LOVE it so much! Lemon Drop is so refreshing, and do I even need to mention the visuals? Stunning. My fave song besides Lemon Drop is Castle. What's yours? ;o

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

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augustjoy · 8 months ago

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Three’s Company

This is just a lil blurb about Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan and you being in love! Based on the following Request: @satans-bitch Hi! Idk if you would be comfortable writing it, but I love the idea of Aaron hotchner x reader x Derek Morgan just all being so in love with each other. Thank u Xx – I took some creative liberties…I hope you like it!

Hotch x BAU! Fem Reader x Morgan

Word count: 883

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, Fem reader, pet names, poly-relationship (I’m not the most familiar with this lifestyle) canon typical violence, mantion of babies and pregnancy, Let me know if I missed any.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

So, neither Derek nor Aaron ever and I mean EVER thought they’d be in a polyamorous relationship. But let me tell you, when you arrived at the BAU, they both knew they had to have you. Aaron had gone to Dave time and time again seeking advice and Derek did the same with Penelope.

They’d both complain that there was no way you were interested, because clearly you like the other guy. Only, that wasn’t quite the issue.

You didn’t just like Aaron or Derek, you liked them both. They were so similar and yet so different and there was no way you could ever choose just one of them.

After many instances of the men fighting for your attention and affection, you pulled them both aside to have a serious conversation.

“I think I should leave the BAU.” You stated.

“What? No!” Derek blurted.

“Why would you think that?” Aaron inquired. “If our behavior has made you uncomfortable, I am so sorry. It was never my intention, and I would hate to see such a talented agent leave because of my idiocy.”

“It’s not your guy’s behavior that’s making me feel this way. It’s my feelings for you.” You said, gesturing to both men.

“Feelings for who?” Derek questioned.

“Both of you.” You blushed.

That evening you’d explained to the men that you had feelings for both of them and had the situation been different you’d have suggested a poly relationship, but you knew that it was too much to ask of two alpha males who’d never been in one before.

What you hadn’t expected to happen was for them to give you a quizzical look and then ask you to give them some time to think about it.

It had been nearly a year since then and the three of you had developed something truly beautiful. Aaron had been so stoic at work but at home he was soft, and he always did everything in his power to ensure you and Derek were both cared for.

And well Derek, he was clingy at home. Always wanting his hands on you and he’d come to really enjoy having physical contact with Aaron.

Like when you’d watch a movie, Aaron would have his arm slung over the back of the couch while you cuddled up into his side, and Derek would be sitting as close to you as possible, practically sitting you in his lap. This position would allow for Aaron’s hand to rest around Derek as well and that warmth became a comfort for him.

There had been another shift shortly after that, pet names…they’d been slipping out more frequently. And not just them men using them with you either.

“Sweetheart can you pass me my phone?” Aaron had asked, looking directly at Derek.

“Sure thing sugar.” Derek had replied.

You had been shocked initially, but it ultimately had warmed your heart to see them falling into this relationship more and more. Their comfort in this had been your main priority, you hadn’t cared about anything else.

Work had been the toughest part of this newfound dynamic. When any of you got hurt on a case, the other two couldn’t exactly hold it together. And with the team being out of the loop of your lifestyle, well they definitely suspected something.

The most recent had been Aaron, he had been shot while taking down an unsub. Thankfully it had been a flesh wound, but when you heard the shot and saw him go down, you couldn’t help the wail that tore through you. The paramedics had requested you step away, and Derek pulled you into his embrace to get you to comply.

“Baby he’s gonna be okay!” Derek said while holding you close.

“He was shot D! What if he’s not?” You cried.

“I know he’s gonna be okay baby. He has to be.” Derek mumbled the last part.

You looked up to see the tears falling from his misty eyes, and you held him tighter. The team sat by and watched the situation play out, fully convinced now that something was transpiring between the three of you. More than they had initially assumed.

The newest development had been the discussion of children. The guys had baby fever, they had seen you interacting with your sister’s newborn and you swear you saw them both drooling over the sight of you.

So…have you ever thought about having kids princess?” Derek posed.

Currently you were lying on the couch, your head in Derek’s lap and him pressed against Aaron. The movie playing, long forgotten as Derek combed his fingers through your hair and Aaron traced shapes on Derek’s bicep.

“Um, yes…I have thought about it. Why do you ask?” You sat up.

“Well, honey, we had a conversation about it the other day.” Aaron clarified.

“You two…had a conversation about me having a baby?” You questioned.

“About us…having a baby.” Derek said, gesturing to the three of you.

Your jaw dropped in shock. What had started as inappropriate flirting in the workplace had developed into a serious relationship between the three of you. One fueled by love, safety, and trust.

“I would love to have a baby with you guys.” You smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

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bluebellhairpin · 22 days ago

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Thomas Hewitt X Fem!Reader

Summary: Your Pa buys an old slaughter house, intent on using philanthropy to bring the ghost town of Fuller back to life. However that's where his kindness ends. When you have a nasty run in with some travellers, and your father pays no mind, the youngest of the Hewitt family rescues you. (wc.6.3k)

Warnings: MDNI 18+ (minors/ageless blogs DNI, you'll be BLOCKED). Illusions to domestic assault. Implied 'off screen' assault + rape. Canon-typical violence + gore. Blood. Cannibalism. Character death/murder. Implied reader's mum is dead. Reader is fem-body coded (referred to as she/her + called 'girl' + 'daughter') + is looked down on by Thomas (he's over 6'6, he's gonna be looking down on you probably).

Listening to: 'NFWMB' by Hozier - "If I was born as a blackthorn tree I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you, fuel the pyre of your enemies."

Masterlist || AO3 link

Fuller was nothing like Houston. That being said, you couldn’t say you hated it in this small run down town.

Sure, being so far away from literally everything had its downsides, but it was also so peaceful. The fact your father wanted to bring life back into the town almost made you sad. Not that you liked ghost towns, they unnerved you a little bit, it’s just Fuller had a way about it which you thought would be ruined by bringing people back in. For a ghost town, it didn’t seem so bad.

Something about how abandoned it was called to you, made you want to keep it as it was. What was wrong with wanting to keep Fuller how it was? Why did your father feel such a need to bring the city life so far out into the country?

When you moved in, there were only a handful of people still living here. In the last few weeks you’d gone slightly out of your way to try and meet them - some were more receptive to your moving in than others.

The first person you met was Mrs Luda Mae Hewitt, and very soon afterward was her son, Thomas.

There weren’t any working grocery stores in Fuller - there weren’t any working ‘anything’ in town, actually. The only place to go for anything was the gas station on the main road that by-passed the town.

You had a craving for chocolate - a contraband item in your home, thanks to daddy dearest - but the household had also run out of meat. With dinnertime approaching, you offered to do an errand run. Less than fifteen minutes later, you’d walked through the station’s front door.

An older woman sat behind the counter smoking a cigarette. She looked at you over the rim of her glasses, and you saw the tattered magazine she read shifted down. She was giving you attention.

“Afternoon,” you said, putting to practise the manners your mother had taught you all those years ago. You wanted to make a good impression, maybe make a friend, especially since your father had decided to give a negative preceding reputation. “Keeping cool?”

“Electricity circuited out. So no.” she said. You fought back the urge to cringe and wring your hands on your dress.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” you said softly.

“‘prolly be back up in a few,” she suddenly added. Her eyes looked at you like you were something to study. You probably should’ve felt on edge, but instead you just felt like you wanted to meet her standards. “My son’s having at it. He usually fixes it fast.”

“He sounds handy.” you replied, perking up and taking a tentative step toward the counter, eager to keep the conversation going.

“He has good timing.” She said, “He was bringing some meat up right before it shut off.”

“That’s right, I came for some of that,” you said, a reminder going off in your head as you turned on your heel to take in the display fridge you’d spotted on your way in. “Is it all pork? My Pa was hoping for beef.”

‘Hoping’ was a much softer word, in reality it was more like ‘demanded’.

“Tommy was bringing some beef in,” she started, then yelled “Thomas!” - the sudden yell startled you so that your heart started racing. By the time you calmed down enough to turn around and comment, there was a figure lumbering through the back door into the shop.

The sight of him stopped you in your tracks. He was huge. You’d never seen anyone like him in your life. He barely fit in the doorframe, effortlessly holding a box that was almost overflowing with packed meat, and he was looking at you like you weren’t supposed to be there. Like you were a deer in the store rather than a human.

You probably did look out of place.

“Tommy put that down and give the girl some beef.” The woman said. “We grow it special, nothing else like it in the county.” You looked over at her to find she was giving you the same study as before - but more intently.

Thomas made his way behind the display fridge, letting the box go with a loud thump, and then dropped a medium sized parcel from the box on the top of the glass.

You reached over and grabbed the package with both hands, smoothing your fingers over the cool paper, and then smiled as you looked up at him. Now he was standing by the window, you could see his eyes were a lighter brown than you expected.

“Thank you, Thomas.” His head ducked almost shyly, and let out a small gruff grunt before starting to unpack the rest of the box. You almost mimicked him, refraining from also looking away and instead turned back around to the woman.

You fished some money out of your pocket and placed it on the counter, watching as she counted the change. “It’s nice to meet you by the way,” you said, quickly adding your introduction afterward.

“Luda Mae,” she said in reply, then looked up at you with a smile - it was the friendliest she looked since you walked in. “Everyone calls me Mama. You met Tommy.” She nodded to the man behind you.

“Yeah,” you said, breathy. Then you shifted on your feet, eyes searching around the counter but unfinding. “Um, did you have any candy bars too?”

“We only have one kind right now, delivery comes in tomorrow.” Luda Mae, Mama, said. “You could come back.” You sighed. No, you could not come back tomorrow.

“I don’t mind, whatever you have will be perfect.” you said. Then almost before you could think, a large hand slid a wrapped up chocolate bar across the counter next to the packaged meat. Thomas.

You didn’t even hear him come over.

“Thank you. Again.” After you spoke, it looked like he wanted to do something else. He didn’t. You could already guess he wasn’t much of a talker. You didn’t mind.

When you went to pull out more money, Luda Mae tutted at you.

“Don’t worry about that.” She said, “Enjoy your sweets.” You looked over at her, a smile slowly creeping onto your face.

“Thank you,” you said, stepping away and making to leave. “I’ll see you around. I’ll have to have you over for afternoon tea sometime.”

Luda Mae just nodded at you. You caught Thomas’ eye before you left.

“Bye Thomas.”

Thomas watched from the edge of the window as your car drove away. He didn’t really want you to leave, you were very pretty, and you were nice. Nicer than any other girl he’d ever known.

You smiled at him. He loved how he felt when you smiled at him, as foreign as it was.

He was glad Mama knew not to make you pay for the chocolate. He’d have given you the meat for free too if he could’ve. Maybe he’ll try to next time you came in.

“You liked her, didn’t you?” Mama said. Thomas turned to her, looking past the greasy dark hair that fell over his eyes to find her stubbing her cigarette out. “You know her daddy owns the meat factory now. It’d be nice if you could get work back there again.”

Thomas knew Mama didn’t like what they did to the people who stuck around Fuller too long. The nosey ones, the ones in trouble. He still remembered how she looked when it first happened. Thomas didn’t mind the killing and the butchering though, it kept his family safe and fed. It was keeping you fed too, you’d taken some just now - so the factory wasn’t helping you yet anyway.

Until it was working again, he’d have to keep killing to look after you too.

“If you still like her, you should have her over. She’s nice.”

Nice - and pretty. Don’t forget the pretty part. He almost reached out and touched you from how pretty he thought you were, but he didn’t want to scare you away. You didn’t seem scared of him though, people never smiled at him and they were all always afraid.

You were different.

“Better get back to the house Tommy, get the rest of your chores done.”

He grabbed the empty box, then walked out the back of the store. The road was quiet, as usual. His thoughts weren’t though. They were full of you. Maybe he might go for a wander up near the old factory soon. He might run into you there.

Thomas hoped to run into you there.

The second person - or third person really, second time meeting someone new though - was Doreen.

She was a large woman, with a kind round face, and lovely eyes - did everyone in Fuller have eyes that called to your heart, or was it just her and Thomas? In her basket she carried a small tin of tea leaves, and when you opened the door to her gentle knocking, she almost let herself in.

“I brought them so we could sit down for a cup of tea,” she’d said, petting the top of the tin, “They’re the nice kind.” Whatever she meant by that went over your head. Nevertheless you guided her toward the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove.

Your father was out, not that him being home for a first time visitor would’ve been a problem, you just preferred it if he wasn’t around. It was better that way.

“Do you have scones?” you asked, reaching for the tray you’d conveniently pulled from the oven a few minutes ago. “I’m meant to walk some over to my Pa at the old factory, but I can spare some. They’d go well with tea.”

“That sounds just peachy dear,” Doreen said, falling into a chair at the breakfast table. Then after a beat, “I heard you met that sweet boy Thomas.”

‘Sweet’ was a nice word for him, one you agreed with - ‘boy’ felt like a stretch though, there looked to be enough of him to be considered a man three times over.

“I did, he was very kind to me.” You thought back to the chocolate you ate on the drive back home, how it made the roof of your mouth smooth, and how the kindness of the service station employee’s made you feel warm inside. “So was his Mama.”

“Oh yes, they’re both lovely. Luda Mae raised Tommy to be a right gentleman. He looks out for all of us. He likes you, he’ll look out for you too now you know.”

“He likes me?” you asked, almost too quickly. You turned back to the scones, feeling flustered as you heard Doreen giggle to herself.

Daydreaming about Thomas helping you out because he liked you - apparently - was going to go into your day-to-day rotation of wishing for a different life, that was for sure.

As you started halving scones and spreading jam across them, and fluttering about after making the tea, Doreen kept talking. In fact she talked most of the rest of the time she was visiting you. You barely spoke besides the occasional confirmation or denial of the rumours she’d heard about you and your father previously.

By the time she was gone you felt worn out, even though you barely did a thing after making up the scones and tea - but it was a good kind of worn out. The kind that left you feeling like your cup was full.

Then you walked back into the kitchen to see the cooled leftover scones on the stove and the reminder of your father had that content feeling disappear.

Thomas hadn’t been brave enough to approach you - he knew that the days the factory looked like it was running meant your Pa was there, and that you’d come visit him there twice a day to deliver lunch and afternoon tea.

He hadn’t interrupted your walks home yet though, he planned to. When he felt brave enough.

Doreen came over one morning when he was in the basement. Often he paid those visits no mind - ignoring her was less awkward than sitting down and drinking tea with her and Mama - he didn’t fit in that picture very well. But like a trained hound he heard your name, and he slowly creeped to the top of the stairs. Eavesdropping was rude, his Mama said, but he couldn’t help it.

He wanted to know what Doreen said.

She said you liked him.

Thomas’ hands almost flew to the front of his apron, clutching the leathery fabric like a lifeline over his thumping heart. Was she right? Was he hearing things? Did she really say you could like him like he liked you?

It was hard to believe, and Thomas had given up long ago looking for hope that someone might like him. Often there wasn’t a sign of it. But for the first time in years there it was, a light of hope. He grabbed hold of it, and he’d never let it go now.

Lunchtime would be too early to try and run into you - he didn’t want to put you behind on your chores, he didn’t want to make you late for your second errand in the afternoon - so he couldn’t go find you now. Besides, he had chores too.

Yes. He turned and went back down the stairs, determined. He’d finish with his chores here, clean up a little - scrub his hands at least, just in case he got the chance to touch you, or would it be too soon to hold hands? - and then time it to run into you on your way home for the day.

It was the perfect plan.

Your ankle hurt so bad.

Each step along the hot asphalt sent a hot wave of pain up your leg. Were you even going to make it home? You hoped so. Who knows what would happen if you passed out on the road. Heaven forbid they find you again - you didn’t think you’d handle anymore of what those men did to you outside the factory.

There was some god awful throbbing in the back of your head too. You reached back, touching your hair. It was wet, a bit warm. Pulling it back, you looked down to see red blood shining on your fingers. Great. Prefect. More mess to clean up when you get home.

This day couldn’t get worse.

Then a pain shot up from between your legs. It came so sudden that you stumbled on your feet, clutching your skirt as it cramped worse and worse. A yelp broke past your lips, and the basket you were barely holding on to slipped from your fingers, rolling across the road.

What did you do to deserve this? Nothing at all - which was the worst part. You did nothing wrong except being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and those men found you. Cornered you. Used you. They broke you apart and made you bleed, and walked away laughing as if they weren’t monsters.

To hell with them.

Despite it though, the hate you felt in that moment, you started to cry. Quietly tears ran down your cheeks, mixing with the blood from your nose and cracked lip. Slowly you started limping back toward home. But you stopped as soon as you started. Swaying on weak legs, you realized you didn’t want to go home. You’d find no help there, no sympathy either if the dismissal after your father saw you earlier was anything to go by.

You didn’t want to go home.

Thomas stopped in his tracks. It was you walking on the road towards him. Walking in the wrong direction, towards his home and not yours.

Was this a sign? Were you coming to see him like he was going to see you? No, that wasn’t it. He could tell. Something was wrong.

You had to have been confused, and as you limped toward him - unnoticing of him standing on the side of the road - he didn’t need to be told why. You looked like you’d been attacked by wild animals.

It made white hot rage bubble up inside his chest and seep from between his clenched fists, but as you bumbled closer it was soon replaced with a distinct feeling of dread, which settled in his stomach. He was the first thing anyone noticed in any room, yet you still hadn’t looked at him even though you were only a few feet away now.

God, there was blood dripping onto the road. Your blood.

He decided that he would reach out and try and get your attention, try and muster all the gentleness you deserved when he did it. When his hand landed on your shoulder, you stopped walking. You winced, stepping back and almost reaching up to swat away his arm, but you looked up at him.

Your eyes told him you were scared, but then you took him in and for the first time in his life someone’s look changed from fear to relief. You were happy, not scared? To see him, of all people?

“Thomas,” you said, voice hoarse and tired.

Then, almost faster than he could react, your eyes rolled into the back of your skull and your legs gave way. He just managed to catch you, falling to the ground and putting his softer body between you and the hard road. You were limp in his hold. He wasn’t sure what to do. You were hurt, obviously, but he didn’t have much experience in the healing department.

Thomas wanted to help you. Taking you home would be the best thing - but then again you weren’t walking home. Did you not want to go home? He wouldn’t take you back to your home then. You’d go to his home. Mama would look after you, from personal experience he knew Mama was good at helping him feel better, she could help you too. He could even keep you safe from whoever did this to you.

He stood, effortlessly lifting you with an arm under your knees and around your shoulders. Your head lolled on top of his shoulder, and your shallow, warm breaths caressed his neck. He liked it, having you close. He decided then too that he would keep you, have you as his. Maybe it’d take you a while to settle into the idea, he didn’t mind. Even if you had to go home a few times before you felt the same, he’d wait. He was yours too.

So Thomas was going to keep you safe, and he’d kill whoever dared do this to you.

It was hot. Stuffy was probably a better word for it, like you were in a room with bad air circulation. When your eyes fluttered open, you realised it was a room - the stuffiness of the air made more sense then.

Something wet dabbed on your forehead, then slowly moved down from there to under your nose, then your chin. Someone was shushing you, cooing gently, blabbing about how everything was going to be alright now. It made a pang of hurt and longing go through your heart.

“Mama,” your voice was quiet, tired, a murmur in the dim bedroom. If you weren’t aware of your own voice, even you would’ve missed it.

“It’s okay, Mama’s here,” but that wasn’t your Ma’s voice, it was someone else. “You’re safe now. Poor thing.”

Safe? From what? Then, slowly, as you blinked away the blurriness in your eyes everything came back to you. That’s right. The factory, the men, and what they did to you. Even now, in a strange place but a place that felt safer than your own bedroom, the feelings of what happened to you crept up your spine. The fear, the disgust. The anger.

“Hey,” the woman said, grabbing your chin with the bloodied rag. You could focus now, it was Luda Mae. Did she find you somewhere? Decide to take you in and care for you?

That was nice of her.

“None of this frowning now. My boy is dealing with those monsters.” she said. “You don’t need to be upset. Your Tommy will be back soon.”

‘Your Tommy’? Thomas from the gas station? God, the thought of him being yours made your cheeks feel warm. Wait, why were you feeling all fuzzy inside over a man when you were just furiously angry at a group of them? You must’ve hit your head harder than you thought.

Luda Mae started dabbing at your face again, and you looked across at her from where you laid on the bed. Something about this was strange. Off-putting. You’re sure once you found out how you got here that the feeling would subside, but whatever it was was hard to shake.

Or perhaps the feeling, like the ache in your jaw and between your legs and over your hips, was just lingering from earlier. Oh yeah. Earlier. Your mind felt like a pinball machine, bouncing between the horror from before and the strangeness of now. You felt like you’d had a big day.

You settled back into the mattress, head resting back against the pillow, and Luda Mae hummed in approval. Eventually she set the cloth aside. Standing, she took the porcelain bowl she’d been using to clean you up, and looked down at you.

“Rest. I’ll come back up with some supper later.” She said, “Tommy will probably come see you when he comes home.”

“Where is he?” You asked before you could stop yourself. Why did it matter that he wasn’t here, home? Who knows, but you felt like it would be better if he was with you. Not nicer, but safer. Better.

Luda Mae just smiled.

“He’ll be home soon.” she said.

The first thing Thomas did when he came home was go and see you.

Well it was actually the second thing - but as soon as his hands were free that’s what he did. He didn’t care that he had blood all over his apron and up to his elbows, nor did he care that his left temple was hurting badly enough to make his eye squint. He just wanted to see you.

Thomas wanted to see that you were okay.

When he made it upstairs - ignoring any and all comments from Hoyt - he went straight to his room. It was the only place he could bear to put you down after he first brought you home. It felt like the right place to leave you too. He didn’t mind if it meant he gave up his room, he had a spot in the basement he could sleep in the meantime, for all he cared the room was all yours. As long as you stayed.

Pushing the door open to see you up against the headboard, alert and eating, made his chest swell with happiness.

Your lip was still swollen, and you looked uncomfortable where you sat, but when you looked up at him your eyes looked like they had when you saw him in the store. You weren’t scared of him. Even as he watched you take in his appearance from where he stood in the doorway, bloodied and half out of breath, you still didn’t look afraid. He didn’t know what to do.

So Thomas turned and left.

He spent hours trying to ignore it - the feeling - hacking at limbs and flesh, tearing skin from muscle, and hanging carcasses of men who’d rotted before they even died up to bleed out. He tried very hard to ignore that you were upstairs in his bed and unafraid while he was in the basement. He wondered if you’d be impressed at how easily he hauled around what remained of the men that treated you so foully.

They got what they deserved. If you didn’t understand that now, you would one day.

You guessed it was the next day, based on the amount of meals Luda Mae had brought up to you. During that time you hadn’t seen Thomas again, even though you did sort of want to.

You wanted to thank him, although you weren’t completely sure of the reason why - you just knew you wouldn’t have made it anywhere if he hadn’t brought you here, to his home. If he didn’t, you’d probably be in a ditch somewhere.

Thomas’ brother - Uncle? - Hoyt, had visited you between a toasted breakfast and a sandwich lunch. He didn’t venture further than the doorway - maybe Luda Mae had put a ban on entering the room? - and spoke at you for a while as he picked his teeth with a bone. His eyes unnerved you, but he didn’t seem less harmless than Thomas did, and to you Thomas was harmless.

Then dinner came.

The clock by your bedside read ten to six, and you really wanted to get out of your room, so you made your way downstairs. It was a slow process, painful too, but you were quiet and made your way to the kitchen without being noticed.

When Luda Mae turned around, she almost dropped her potato masher.

“Heavens above child. Make some noise next time.” she said. Then, “You’re feeling well then.” You noticed that it wasn’t a question.

“Still… sore.” you said warily, unsure of how much she knew.

“You will be until you heal up properly.” she said. Turning, you saw she now had a bowl of mashed potato in her hands, and she held it out to you. “Put that on the table in the dining room, won't you dear?”

Wordlessly you took it, but lingered near the doorway.

“You’re a quiet one,” she said, noticing your unsureness and eyeing you from where she moved a pot off the stove and onto a wooden chopping board. “Something wrong?”

“Where’s Thomas?” You asked. She smiled as if being let in on some secret.

“Tommy,” she said his name forcefully, as if you ought to call him by the nickname instead, “Is downstairs. He’ll be up in a minute for dinner. Now go.”

Downstairs, you thought as you turned and walked towards the dining room, like the basement? Maybe there was a cellar down there. Turning into the dining room, your steps faltered in the doorway.

“There she is,” Hoyt said, already sitting at the set table with the wheelchair bound, and presumably named Uncle Monty, sitting to his right. “Wobbly legs and all. The boy’s gonna be happy.”

You didn’t know how long passed as you stood there and took in the room, but you know it was a while because Hoyt’s smile changed. It was more forced now, as if his patience was running out. He was being patient though, which was more than you were used to at home.

“Sit down girl.” So, as if by muscle memory you slid the bowl of mash onto the table and sat.

Hoyt hummed at you, his smile changing back to hungry. He didn’t say anything more, just looked at you. Monty did much the same, except his stare was underlaid with traces of irritation. The air started to go thick until Luda Mae came in with a large pot.

“Oh good, y’all are ready,” she said. She sat down on your right, between you and Hoyt, then called for Thomas in such a way that it had your heart racing again just like the first time she did it in the gas station.

There was a loud grating noise from the back of the house, heavy footfalls followed after. The sound made your heart stutter, like it was something to be afraid of. You knew there was nothing to be afraid of though, not if it was Thomas. And of course it was Thomas.

You remembered seeing him earlier, yesterday maybe. He looked horrible, but he made no move toward where you rested in bed so you didn’t panic about it. It seemed like he just wanted to see you. Now he looked better. His hair was still greasy, there were still some suspicious stains on his shirt, and his apron was still shining with some kind of liquid, but in the slowly dimming Texan evening light his eyes were soft and kind.

“Sit boy,” Hoyt said. Thomas sat down across from you, next to Monty. The chair creaked beneath him, and his hands folded on the edge of the table as if waiting for a prayer.

“Say grace,” Luda Mae said, pointedly looking at you - your hands flew into the same clasped position, something about being downstairs in this room had you feeling on edge. As Luda Mae rattled off grace, you decided that no matter what happened you’d play along.

A little learnt voice inside your head told you it was safest for you if you played along.

Luda Mae finished her prayer, and the table got moving. Mash was dished out, and the pot opened to reveal a stew - the ladleful that made it to your plate looked bland, but it’s smell still made your stomach grumble. You hadn’t eaten since lunch, you didn’t realize how hungry you’d gotten.

For a while you ate and mostly kept your head down, only taking moments to look across at Thomas as he ate from his plate like a dog. You felt your head tilting in curiosity - his place had no fork, you realised he didn’t have any other way to eat. Why didn’t his family give him a fork when he was so nice?

A loud bang on the table had you jumping in your seat, dropping your fork onto the plate. You watched Thomas look up at you then look over at Hoyt. You looked toward him too, and found him smiling at you like a wolf.

“Too distracted looking at your man to hear me, girl?” he said, “He did save you I guess. Like that fairy-tale shit huh?” “No cursing at the table.” Luda Mae hissed.

“I’m sorry?” you said, voice quiet, and unsure about what exactly he was meaning.

“We had lotsa fun chasing those guys down for you.” Hoyt said, eyes tracking over your every feature. Your blood felt like it ran cold. Why would he bring this up now? You didn’t feel like eating anymore. “You’re a quiet one huh. Didn’t scream or nothing?”

You didn’t know how you made it into this situation, or how this topic came up, but you were feeling like you wanted, no, needed to run away. Fuck playing along, it wasn’t safe here.

Before you were able to work up the courage to stand and hide back in your room, Thomas sat up. The action coming from such a large man drew attention, and no one was looking at you anymore. He wasn’t looking at you either - he was looking at Hoyt, and his eyes weren’t soft or kind anymore.

“Alright, damn.”

“Hoyt, no cursing!”

“I’ll let her be.” Hoyt’s hands went up in play surrender, but you could tell he wasn’t done with you yet. Soon he was leaning back on the table and picking at your brain again. “And your daddy?”

“Didn’t help.” you mumbled, swallowing thickly, “Never does.”

“Can’t have that now, can we? Not to little Tommy’s girl.”

“That’s right,” Luda Mae said, quietly nodding in agreement.

“Don’t gotta mind those men, not even your daddy. You’re family now, see.” He then said, smiling proudly. “We know what to do with the people who mess with family.” His fork lingered around the stew. As you looked between him and the meat, you could see him watching you figure it out.

Those men were dead. You’d been eating them.

“Oh God…” you mumbled. Then chaos.

“The lord provides dear,” said Luda Mae.

“Helps those who help themselves,” Hoyt chuckled.

“No, no.” you said, head shaking back and forth.

“Girl’s freaking out,” Monty grumbled, “Tommy do something.”

“You worked her up Hoyt,” Luda Mae started, “You gotta be nicer to the poor thing!”

“Don’t blame me for her being so skittish, blame the sonsabitches who fucked her up yesterday!”

That was it.

You pushed your chair back and bolted out the door, behind you chairs scraped against the wood floor but you paid it no mind. You ran through the hallway and out the front door. Your legs barely got you down the stairs for the porch, weakly you stumbled to your knees, but pushed up from your palms to spot the driveway.

You had to get out of here.

Barely halfway down the dirt driveway you started slowing. You weren’t tired, and you weren’t regretting running. A car was coming your way, and you knew that car. It was your Pa’s silver BMW. You couldn’t do a thing except stand and watch as he pulled up to a harsh stop in front of where you stood barefoot in your nightgown.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he yelled, stepping out of the car enough to poke his head out. “You know I needed you at home, why are you here with these inbred redneck bastards?”

You didn’t know what came over you, but after you spent one last moment frozen to the spot, you snapped.

Your feet scrambled on the gravel below, and your hands thrust out ahead of you. Most notable was your scream - high pitched and banshee-like, full of rage. Your father barely had time to close the car door back on himself before you were beside him trying to open it again.

The back of your head was throbbing as you screamed insults at him, and yanked at the door handle over and over.

“I’ll kill you! You selfish asshole, I’ll kill you!”

Thomas knew how to get through the fields of wheat and maize without running into any of the tripwires or bear traps. He did set them.

He’d hoped that when you ran outside that you didn’t run though the fields like many before you had. He’d known you’d have to have been smart, and he was right. You ran up the driveway instead. That was good - you wouldn’t get hurt again, but also he could cut through the fields and catch up to you.

When he finally did, he was glad he went and grabbed his favourite toy before going after you.

You were so quiet, so kind. He’d loved you from the second he saw you because of how sweet you were. This version of you was nothing like the version that was sitting at the dinner table minutes ago.

This version of you was angry, flailing about against the strangers car so hard you’d reopened your split lip. And you were yelling. He learnt a few things from taking some seconds to listen - your vocabulary was less polite than he’d ever imagined, and this car had your daddy in it.

The man who made you walk home was in that car.

Thomas pulled at the cord of the chainsaw once, twice, then it revved to life. It was enough to make you turn and face him as he walked onto the driveway. He clocked the blood that dribbled from your mouth, and the tears down your cheeks, it was enough to make him slam the chainsaw blade down hard on the drivers side roof.

He hadn’t managed to cut through a car on the first try, too much resistance normally, but this was the closest he’d ever gotten. He kept at the door, watching as the man scrambled to the other side of the car. The chainsaw made it through the car though, and there was a sizable enough hole for Thomas to stick it and his arms through to keep chasing him.

He almost managed to get the man's arm before he burst through the passenger side door. He made to run away into the field, but you’d made it around the car and had picked up a nearby discarded fence post. You swung it at his head, and knocked the man to the ground.

Thomas was ready to finish the job when he rounded the car, but just as he was about to rev the chainsaw again you raised the stake. Though the man weakly raised his hands to protest, to beg for mercy, you drove the pointed end though his eye. The man screamed, he wasn’t dead yet.

Thomas set down the quiet chainsaw, and came up behind you. With a quiet but sure and strong arm, he lifted his fist up past your shoulder and head, and landed it on the top of the fence post. With a squelch and pop, the stake went all the way through and into the ground.

Now he was dead.

You looked up along his arm, over your shoulder and up at him. The rage and pain slowly left your face and eyes, and their softness came back as the sun started to set for real.

Slowly, as if worried that he’d run away - he never would run from you - you turned and wrapped your arms around his large middle. His hand that wasn’t on the stake came to your back, pressing you closer through the thin material of your nightdress. It was nice to have you close, this time on purpose - nicer circumstance than last time, even if this occasion did now have a corpse.

He felt you mumbled something against his apron, too quiet and muffled from him to hear. His hand shifted from your back to your shoulder, then neck, finally your jaw. He tilted it up so you could speak again more freely.

“Take me back,” you said, lip quivering with emotion, “Take me back home Tommy.”

He just nodded, grunting softly as he guided you away from the scene. He’d come back and clean it up later. After all, that was his job - you’d never have anything to do with this side of the family business ever again, Thomas would make sure of it.

Then you smiled up at him with blood stained teeth, reaching for his hand and squeezing tight when you wrapped your fingers around his thick ones. You couldn’t tell, but he was smiling behind his mask. You’d be okay here.

Your Tommy would keep you safe.

#thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x female reader #thomas hewitt x you #leatherface x reader #slasher x reader #slasher x you #tcm x reader

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thechy-fychannel · 1 year ago

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I saw a few other blogs doing this so I thought I'd share my input on what I think would happen in the House MD universe in 2024:

the constant jokes abt house and wilson's relationship turns into the fellows jokingly writing fanfic abt their boss and his boy best friend. somewhere along the way they all get very serious abt the quality of it and it turns into a Whole Thing, a 150k+ novel that they vow to take to their graves.

house discovers the fic by accident and sends it to wilson. wilson discovers things abt himself and then he and house discover each other shortly thereafter.

house purposefully posts the fic online and credits the fellows by their entire full names so it embarrasses them more than house and wilson. It's never spoken abt again but it gets way more online attention than any of them expected.

wilson doesn't get how the Cloud works and accidentally uploads his and house's nudes to the google nest hub on his desk. He doesn't notice it until one of his sweet little old lady cancer patients points it out to him during their appointment. He throws the google nest hub into his trash can until he can figure out how to get the naked pictures off of it.

house has an alexa and abuses the hell out of it. sometimes ppl hear him screaming at someone in his office, only to walk in and find a robotic voice replying with "sorry, I didn't get that" and house throws it off the balcony.

wilson gets addicted to online shopping. house has to stage an intervention bc they do not have enough room in their closet for another pair of prada loafers and their kitchen is full of shitty gadgets that wilson bought off temu or something.

some right wing social media influencer comes in with a mysterious illness and ends up getting castrated as part of the solution. 13 personally does the procedure herself and house watches like a proud dad.

a patient reveals chase's grindr by shoving his phone at him and asking "is this you?" abt the headless profile with the ripped abs that says Dr. Feel Good, 0 feet away, in front of the rest of the team.

foreman finds the team doing tiktok dances bc house told them to learn it in order to understand their 15 yr old patient better.

chase medically murders mitch mcconnel and the entire hospital celebrates ding dong the witch is dead style.

there's a whole episode where house faces his transphobia bc of a trans patient that he connects with. the patient tells him to fuck off and go face his own problems instead of pretending to make it right by being nice to one trans person. And house does, even if he's not perfect, he really tries to do better.

13 gets her medical marijuana card and accidentally becomes the team's plug. her main customer is wilson who still supplies it to certain terminal patients. She hears "hey, can I hit your pen?" at least four times a day.

foreman buys a tesla and it blows up in the parking lot. they spend the entire episode trying to figure out who tried to kill foreman, but it turns out that teslas just do that sometimes.

there's an episode where house finds out that netflix is removing his favorite obscure tv show that ran for 2 seasons in 2002 and wilson recruits the team to hunt down a dvd copy of it without house finding out. they somehow manage to find one and spend a ridiculous amount of money on it, only to open the dvd case and find a copy of the porno wilson starred in that one time instead of the dvd of the show. park saves the day at the last minute by finding a copy of it in a box of dvds in her parents house.

#might fuck around and add more later if i can think of some more #chyanne speaks #house md #hate crimes md #medical malpractice md #hilson #dr. gregory house #dr. james wilson #remy thirteen hadley #eric forman #chris taub #chi park #robert chase #house md headcanons

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bleulikedaylight · 2 months ago

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Ms. Delinquent, Natasha

pairing: delinquent basketball captain! natasha romanoff x student council president! reader

synopsis: Y/N L/N, perfect student council president, gets paired with the school’s worst nightmare—rebel basketball captain natasha romanoff—for a major project. she’s late, annoying, and impossible to work with. but one unexpected moment makes Y/N wonder… is there more to natasha than the chaos she brings?

warnings: mild cursing + tell me if i missed anything !! | wc: 3.8k | genre: wlw (as always <3), romance, fluff, high school au !! ;p

note: hii !! thank you so much for reading my work. just a quick heads-up—english isn’t my first language, so i’m really sorry in advance for any grammatical errors !! T^T

also, feel free to send messages, asks, requests, or literally whatever—i love hearing from people, and i swear i don’t bite (unless you want me to? jk, i'm so cringe 😔☝️)

anyway, i just noticed i accidentally made a second blog instead of a whole new account… so if you follow me and an account with the username @definitelynotbleu followed you—that's me. that’s my main blog, because apparently, tumblr said “you can’t follow people using your side blog.” like okay. thanks, i guess? ☹️💔💔

i’m lowkey considering just making a whole new account and moving all my fics there because this setup is slowly driving me insane. BUT I’M ALSO KINDA LAZY SO. WE’LL SEE. also i haven’t even made a masterlist yet. i’m cooked. actually beyond cooked. overcooked. burnt. ashes. 🥀🥀🥀

(ALSO I’M SO SORRY FOR VERY LONG AUTHOR NOTES I’M JUST A YAPPER OKAY T^T)

part one ♡‧₊˚ part two ‎♡‧₊˚

The next day, you show up to school with a venti coffee, three hours of sleep, and a list of tasks color-coded in pastel highlighters. You’re not thinking about her. You’re not. You have work to do. You have plans. You are a woman of discipline. You are the student council president.

And then she walks into the classroom like she didn’t just emotionally destabilize you twelve hours ago.

She’s in her varsity jacket, gym bag slung over one shoulder, earbuds in. One of them falls out as she moves, and you catch the faint sound of Arctic Monkeys. Of course she listens to Arctic Monkeys. You hate that it suits her.

She sees you. She nods. Calm. Collected. Like last night’s heart-attack-inducing flirtation didn’t happen.

You scowl.

She smirks.

Wanda leans over to whisper, “You’re glaring like she stole your planner.”

“She might as well have,” you mutter.

—

You meet after school again, this time in the student council office. She shows up ten minutes early and eats all the jelly beans in your organizer tray. You tell her off. She just shrugs and asks for more.

Somehow, it becomes a thing.

Every day for a week, Natasha Romanoff shows up. Sometimes with food. Sometimes with new bruises. Once, with a notebook full of genuinely helpful project notes, written in messy, slanted handwriting. She has surprisingly good insights, you have to admit.

But it’s not just the work. It’s the way she listens. The way she leans back in the chair, arms crossed, watching you with something between curiosity and amusement, like you’re a puzzle she’s enjoying solving.

It’s unsettling.

It’s distracting.

It’s maddening.

Especially when she starts casually touching you. Nothing scandalous—just light taps on the shoulder when you make a joke, her knee brushing yours under the table, taking the pen out of your hand when you’re overthinking the sentence structure.

"Relax, President. You’re not writing the Constitution."

You swat her hand. “I am setting a standard.”

She grins. “Yeah. A very adorable, very high-strung one.”

You want to scream.

And then—she starts drawing on your notes.

Like, full-on doodling hearts on the margins when you’re focused on your laptop.

“You’re vandalizing school property,” you say, eyeing the tiny cartoon of a girl with your hairstyle next to one with her haircut.

“Correction,” she replies without looking up. “I’m customizing history.”

You blink. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Depends. Are you flattered?”

You throw a highlighter at her face. She catches it with one hand. You hate how cool that was.

—

It gets worse when she starts appearing outside of project hours. One morning, she joins you in line at the school caf. Orders black coffee and a muffin. Pays for your iced coffee without asking. When you try to protest, she tilts her head.

“What, you don’t like muffins?”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?”

You don’t answer.

Next time you go to your locker, there’s a sticky note on the inside door.

You stare at it for an absurd amount of time.

Wanda finds you still holding it twenty minutes later.

—

And then there’s the basketball practice.

You don’t normally attend. But your vice president is managing the halftime event and drags you into helping.

So you’re there, clipboard in hand, head spinning with logistics—until the buzzer sounds and Natasha Romanoff is suddenly there, sweat-soaked, breathing hard, hair in a messy ponytail, grinning like she just won the world.

She finds you in the crowd. She winks.

You look away so fast you almost pull a muscle.

Wanda catches the whole thing. “Do not make me be the one to say it.”

“Say what?”

“You’re falling for her.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.”

“I can’t stand her.”

“You stood outside for three hours watching her throw a ball into a net.”

“It was for the halftime event.”

“You made the flyer.”

You have no comeback.

—

Then comes Friday.

Project submission day.

You meet in the library to print the final version. Natasha shows up with two drinks—your usual order and something new for you to try. You hate how thoughtful it is.

“So, we’re done,” you say, double-checking the pages.

“We are.”

“No more late-night messages.”

“No more weekly meetings.”

“No more walks home.”

She says nothing.

You look up. Her face is unreadable.

“We’ll go back to being classmates,” you offer, almost as a question.

She nods slowly. “Right. Classmates.”

Why does that feel like a loss?

Before you can say anything else, someone calls her name.

A girl you vaguely recognize—varsity, volleyball, always surrounded by people. She walks over, all smiles and confidence, and hands Natasha a note.

“From me,” she says, touching her arm.

You freeze.

Natasha takes it, unreadable again. “Thanks.”

The girl walks away, not even sparing you a glance.

You stare at the paper. Then at her. You’re not sure what expression you’re making, but Natasha blinks.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say, too fast.

“You look mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Jealous?”

“What?! No!”

She leans in, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Relax, president. It’s just a love letter. Happens all the time.”

You bite your tongue. You’re not jealous. You’re not.

But you go home annoyed.

And when she doesn’t text you that night, you keep checking your phone anyway.

—

The next week is chaos.

Event week. Schedules, permissions, venue requests. You bury yourself in work. You avoid the gym wing. You skip the caf. You go out of your way to not see her.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because Natasha doesn’t chase you. She doesn’t text. Doesn’t show up. Doesn’t ask what’s wrong.

You don’t want her to. Except you do.

You hate her.

Except you don’t.

And then it’s Thursday.

You’re reviewing final logistics with your committee when the door opens.

Natasha walks in.

Everyone freezes.

You blink. “Can I help you?”

She walks up and hands you a folded paper.

“Coach needed this signed.”

You take it. “Okay.”

She doesn’t leave.

You glance up. “Anything else?”

She shrugs. “Just wanted to see you.”

You almost drop the pen.

Wanda chokes on her drink.

Natasha leaves before you can reply.

—

Later, your phone buzzes.

You stare at the screen.

You don’t.

That night, you can’t sleep.

Because maybe you miss working with her too.

Maybe you were wrong about her. Maybe she’s not a complete walking red flag. Maybe she’s just... complicated. Rough around the edges. Mysterious in a way that makes you want to keep learning more.

Maybe you’re in trouble.

And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

—

You tell yourself it’s not a big deal.

Just a message. Just a moment. Just Natasha being… Natasha.

And yet, three days later, you're still re-reading that "i miss working with you" text like it’s a published poem.

It’s embarrassing.

Wanda calls you out during lunch. “You’re staring at your phone like it owes you tuition money.”

“It’s none of your business,” you reply, stabbing your salad with unnecessary force.

Yelena snorts. “She still hasn’t asked you out, huh?”

“I am not waiting for her to ask me out.”

Kate raises an eyebrow. “Would you say yes?”

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t know.

Because maybe you would.

—

The rain starts mid-afternoon.

Hard. Fast. The kind that floods the quad and knocks down your color-coded event posters. Not metaphorical, poetic rain. Actual, annoying, soak-your-socks rain. You’re standing under the broken awning outside the school gym, binder clutched to your chest, watching your hard work dissolve into paper mush.

You’re in the school grounds, fuming, clipboard soaked, when she finds you.

“Event prep not going well?” she asks, casually offering her umbrella.

You don’t take it.

She holds it over both of you anyway.

“I worked so hard on those signs,” you mutter. “And now they’re dead. Murdered. By the sky.”

Natasha looks at the puddles like she can beat them up for you. “Wanna make new ones?”

You blink at her. “Why would you help me?”

She shrugs. “Because I like you.”

Your brain short-circuits.

“You what?”

“I like helping you,” she clarifies, emphasis deliberate. “You’re cute when you’re stressed.”

You sputter. She smirks.

“Also, I brought snacks,” she adds, pulling a plastic bag out of her varsity jacket. “Thought you might forget lunch again.”

You hate how well she knows you. You hate how that makes your heart do a thing.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

She hands you a rice ball. “So, what’s the plan, boss?”

You look up at her. Rain falling, your shoes soaked, everything a mess—and suddenly it doesn’t feel so bad.

“Plan is… save the event. Rewrite everything. Get glitter glue. Hope for divine intervention.”

Natasha grins. “Finally. A mission worthy of my talents.”

—

That night, you work together again. Just like before.

But it’s not just like before.

Now there’s this thing between you. A current, a tension, an almost.

She sits closer. Laughs more easily. Steals your pen, your snacks, your attention.

You tell her to focus.

She tells you to loosen up.

And at one point—when your hand accidentally brushes hers and you both freeze for half a second too long—you think: this might actually be something.

—

By Friday, everyone notices.

Wanda keeps sending you suspicious side-eyes. Yelena openly teases Natasha in front of you. Even the teachers are acting weird, like they’re expecting a plot twist.

You try to ignore it.

But it’s hard when Natasha keeps finding excuses to be near you.

“Forgot my book. Oh look, we have the same one.”

“Need help carrying that? You clearly skipped arm day.”

“You busy later? I found this new café. They have your favorite coffee.”

It’s maddening. It’s sweet. It’s maddeningly sweet.

You are losing your mind.

—

Then comes the night before the event.

You’re in the auditorium, double-checking lights and stage cues. Natasha shows up, of course. She’s holding a flashlight in her mouth and balancing a roll of tape on her head.

“You’re not on the logistics team,” you tell her.

She drops the tape. “Nope. Just here for moral support. And also to see your cute boss voice again.”

You try not to blush. Fail miserably.

“You’re annoying,” you say.

“I know.”

A pause.

“You’re… kind of important to me,” you say suddenly. Quiet. Unexpected even to yourself.

Natasha looks up. Serious now. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Just… thought you should know.”

She crosses the stage, stops in front of you, eyes soft in the dim lighting.

“You’re important to me too,” she says. “And not just for school projects.”

Your heart flips. Or malfunctions. Or possibly explodes.

She leans in. You panic.

You shove a clipboard between you. “I-I still have to check the mic system!”

Natasha blinks. Then laughs. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Pres."

—

Later that night:

—

And then, the day of the event arrives.

Everything runs perfectly.

The crowd cheers. The booths look amazing. Your team is killing it.

And in the middle of it all—between speeches, music, and chaos—you feel her watching you.

She’s not trying to hide it.

You glance at her.

She grins.

You grin back.

—

The event ends with a bang. A literal bang.

Someone in the STEM booth miscalculates the chemical reaction for their demo volcano. You hear the fizz, you smell the vinegar, and then—

Boom.

Foam everywhere. It explodes so violently it hits half the hallway. Your shoes are soaked. Your socks are crying. Your bangs are sticking to your forehead. And right next to you, Natasha Romanoff looks like she just walked out of a shampoo commercial—except her face is covered in pink foam, and she’s wheezing.

“You’re laughing?! This is your fault—”

“How is it my fault that the Science Club can’t count?!”

“You egged them on!”

“I told them to go big or go home!” she says, wiping foam from her jaw. “They just… went nuclear.”

You glare. She grins. And then she reaches out—

Flick.

Right on the center of your forehead.

“Relax, Miss President. You look like a very angry bubble tea.”

“I swear, Romanoff—”

She brushes foam from your nose. “Still the cutest bubble tea on campus, though.”

You stare at her.

You forget how to speak.

You nearly combust on the spot.

—

Later that night, the chaos finally dies down. You’re still buzzing from the noise, the laughter, the adrenaline of pulling off an entire school event without anyone setting the curtains on fire (the foam doesn't count, okay). You sneak off behind the gym—because it’s quiet there, and because you know she’ll follow.

She does.

Varsity jacket slung over her shoulder. Tired eyes. Twisted smirk. That lazy, confident swagger like she didn’t just help you keep the student body from collapsing into absolute anarchy.

“Hey,” she says softly.

You look up from your clipboard. “You survived the foam-pocalypse.”

“Barely.”

She walks over, sees you shiver, and wordlessly drops her jacket onto your shoulders.

You go still.

“…Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She leans against the wall beside you. You're seated on the bench, curled under her jacket like a burrito. She watches you. Quiet. Soft.

“You did good today, Pres.”

You glance at her. “I had help.”

She shrugs. “I just followed orders.”

You roll your eyes. “You literally yelled at a sophomore to stop lighting incense indoors.”

“He was summoning good vibes.”

“He was summoning a fire hazard.”

She laughs. You bite your lip to hide your smile.

“…Can I tell you something?” she asks, voice suddenly quieter.

You nod slowly.

She shifts. Leans down slightly, just enough that you can see the way her eyes flicker nervously before she brushes your hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your cheek.

“I like you,” she says. “Not just for school. Not just for events. I like you, Y/N. Like, like-like you.”

Your heart stops. Your entire body goes still.

You stare.

Then—“Took you long enough.”

Natasha blinks. “Wait—what?”

You laugh—light and breathless. “You think I didn’t notice the forehead flicks? The snacks? The weirdly specific coffee orders? The way you walk me home and then pretend it’s not a big deal?”

Natasha looks faintly betrayed. “I was being subtle!”

“You’re literally six-foot-two and smirk at me like a YA love interest. Nothing about you is subtle.”

She gasps. “Are you comparing me to a Wattpad boy?”

“I shouldn’t, but yes.”

Natasha groans into her hands. “This is the worst confession ever—”

You reach up, grab her hands, and pull them down gently.

“I like you too, Delinquent.”

She goes silent.

Then she flicks your forehead again. “I knew it.”

“Ow?!”

“Deserved.”

You grab her collar before she can pull back and lean your forehead against hers, still giggling.

“You’re infuriating.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

You kiss her cheek. She actually short-circuits.

—

You barely sleep that night.

Too giddy. Too electrified. Too busy replaying every second of her smile, her laugh, the way she short-circuited when you kissed her cheek.

The group chat keeps blowing up—Wanda’s in full meltdown mode, Yelena’s already planning the wedding, and you… you’re floating.

But the world doesn’t stop just because your crush finally confessed.

The next day arrives fast. Loud. Demanding.

And before you know it—

The interschool basketball match begins.

You shouldn’t even be in the gym.

You’ve got student council paperwork spilling out of your arms, a working list of urgent tasks highlighted in pastel chaos, and three missed calls from your VP asking where the sign-up forms are. Your planner is a warzone, your phone is blowing up, and you haven’t eaten since breakfast.

But you’re here.

Sitting beside Wanda, Yelena, and Kate in the front row of bleachers, legs crossed, hands clenched in your lap, trying very hard not to watch the court.

You tell yourself it’s just for school spirit. You're here to support the school. Support the team.

It’s not about her.

It’s never about her.

Except it’s absolutely about her.

Because Natasha Romanoff is on the court, and for the first time ever, she’s… off.

Her passes are sloppy. She misses two layups in a row. Her defense is late. Her rhythm? Gone. There’s a visible crack in her composure—she’s snapping at teammates, cursing under her breath, yanking at the hem of her jersey like she can pull herself together through sheer will.

“She’s spiraling,” Kate says quietly.

Yelena’s brows furrow. “She doesn’t play like this. Ever.”

“She looks—nervous?” Wanda says, watching closely. “She keeps glancing at the bleachers.”

You force yourself not to move.

Not to flinch.

Not to let the burn in your chest show.

Because she is glancing. Over and over again. Her eyes are scanning the stands, sharp and desperate, like she's looking for something—or someone—and not finding them. Each time she doesn’t find what she’s looking for, her face hardens. Her jaw tightens.

“She’s looking for you,” Yelena murmurs, like she’s just realized.

You press your lips into a thin line.

“She thought you wouldn’t come,” Wanda whispers.

And for a moment, you almost don’t.

But then—

Then she misses another shot. The crowd groans. She slaps her hands against her thighs, furious.

And suddenly, you can’t take it anymore.

“God,” you mutter, already standing, “if I get suspended for this—”

You cup your hands around your mouth and yell across the court before your brain can catch up.

“ROMANOFF! PLAY LIKE YOU MEAN IT!”

The whole gym stops.

Like, actually stops.

Every head turns. The air shifts. Even the referee pauses.

And Natasha?

She freezes.

Her eyes snap to you instantly—like she’d been waiting for that voice all game.

And when she finds you?

Her whole expression changes. Like she can breathe again.

The corner of her mouth twitches. A breathless laugh escapes her. Her shoulders roll back. Then—

She moves.

Sharp. Precise. Lethal.

The Natasha everyone knows is back.

She steals the ball from the opposing point guard like it’s nothing, darts down the court, and scores with a clean, perfect shot that wipes out the tension from the past ten minutes.

From that moment on, the game shifts. Momentum tilts.

Natasha becomes unstoppable.

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until the final buzzer sounds—Natasha’s team winning by two points. The crowd explodes into cheers.

You clap automatically. Just once. Then grab your things, ready to disappear before anyone processes what just happened—

But she doesn’t go to her team.

She doesn’t wait for the trophy, or the coach’s speech, or the photos.

She runs.

Straight. To. You.

Through her teammates, through the crowd, ignoring her coach yelling her name and the players trying to high-five her.

You blink as she stops in front of you—sweaty, panting, eyes burning with something so raw it makes your chest ache.

“Hi,” she breathes, like the world’s been holding its breath without you.

You stare. “Hi?”

“You came,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I thought—” she shakes her head, words failing. “You weren’t there. I looked and you weren’t—”

“I was late,” you admit softly. “I had council stuff—”

“I thought I ruined everything,” she whispers.

You frown. “Romanoff—”

“I couldn’t see you,” she continues, like it’s been sitting in her throat the whole game. “I kept looking and you weren’t—God, I thought I lost you.”

You blink fast, something thick in your throat. “You didn’t.”

A pause.

And then—

“Can I kiss you?” she asks, not a tease this time. Just desperate. Just honest. “I—I need to know this is real.”

Your heart is pounding.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You can.”

She kisses you.

Right there. In the middle of the gym. In front of literally everyone.

It’s messy. Breathless. Charged with too much feeling and not enough time. Her hands slide into your hair, holding on like she’s still scared you’ll vanish.

Gasps ripple through the crowd. Wanda screams. Kate chokes. Yelena straight-up punches the air.

And when Natasha finally pulls back, she leans her forehead against yours and breathes, “Don’t do that again.”

“Do what?” you ask, dazed.

“Disappear,” she says. “Make me play like a rookie. Make me lose my mind.”

You grin despite yourself. “You were that bad?”

She scoffs. “I nearly fouled out looking for you.”

You try to look smug. “Guess you need me around, huh?”

Natasha leans in, brushing her nose against yours.

“Guess I do, President.”

The crowd is still roaring. Someone’s taking photos. The coach is yelling in the distance.

But all you feel is her.

And for the first time in weeks, everything finally makes sense again.

You sigh, dramatic and hopeless. “I’m so doomed.”

She kisses you again, softer this time.

“Yeah,” she murmurs against your lips. “But at least now you’re doomed with me.”

—

The next morning, Natasha walks up to you in the middle of the hallway.

She’s in her varsity jacket.

You’re in her hoodie from last night.

Everyone sees.

She stops in front of you. Smirks.

You squint. “Why do you look like you’re about to say something embarrassing?”

“Because I am.” She flicks your forehead again. “Hi, baby.”

Your entire soul leaves your body.

Wanda SCREAMS from across the hallway.

Yelena fist-pumps.

Natasha leans in, lips near your ear.

“Now everyone knows you’re mine, Pres.”

You elbow her. Lightly.

She catches your hand.

Doesn’t let go.

Then threads her fingers through yours like it’s always been that easy.

And maybe it is.

Because from the way your heart leaps, the way her thumb brushes yours—

You realize you’ve been hers all along.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you #mcu #natasha x reader #wlw #marvel #fanfic #black widow x reader #fanfiction

221 notes · View notes

godricgryffinsnore · 2 months ago

Note

James Potter × insecure!reader.

Ft. What makes you beautiful by One Direction.

You may have to listen to it to write this one.

[can't believe that I am asking this. Like. James Potter× reader.

Like...

Me: Harry, is your father available?

Him: Uh. Didn't you love me?

Me: The question remains the same Mr]

The Way You Shine ♡ : A James Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : James Potter x fem!insecure!reader

summary : James Potter falls harder for the girl who can’t see her own worth—and he'll do anything to help her believe it.

warnings : Insecurity, self-doubt, emotional vulnerability, mild angst, intense fluff, passionate kissing, cheesy songwriting, and chaotic Marauders banter. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della's note : I was deeply honored (and slightly unhinged) while writing this fic. The angst, the fluff, the chaotic songwriting session—I had way too much fun. James Potter deserves an award for Dramatic Romantic of the Year, and I’ll be accepting it on his behalf. Thanks for reading, and may your hoodies always be cozy and your Marauders always mildly unhinged. 💌

word count : 1.8k

main master list <3

banners : @cafekitsune and @dollywons

“Oi! Where’s my jumper?!”

James’s voice echoed through the Gryffindor common room like a badly-tuned trumpet. Sirius poked his head over the back of the couch, where he’d been braiding his own hair while Remus read a dog-eared copy of Wuthering Heights, and Peter ate something suspiciously green.

“You mean the one you draped dramatically over that chair two hours ago like you were in a bloody Shakespeare play?” Sirius deadpanned.

“That one, yes!” James whirled around, hair already a mess from panicked searching. “I was planning on wearing it to Hogsmeade. It’s—it's my fit jumper. The good one. The one that makes my arms look... armier.”

“You have other jumpers, Prongs,” Remus said without looking up. “And your arms always look like overfed noodles.”

“Overfed sexy noodles,” James replied, striking a ridiculous pose in the mirror.

But his tone shifted the second he spotted you walking down the girls’ dorm stairs. His eyes softened instantly, his whole frame going still like he was bracing for a windstorm made entirely of stars.

You.

In a simple jumper and jeans, hair tucked behind your ears, holding your bag like it might vanish if you let go.

You—his favorite view in any room. But gods, you didn’t know.

“Hi, James,” you said shyly, not quite meeting his eyes. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re early, darling,” he said, grinning wide. “I just missed you.”

Sirius fake-gagged. “You’re a menace to modesty, Potter.”

“Let him flirt in peace,” Remus added. “It’s been three days since their last date. He’s in withdrawal.”

You flushed deeply and looked down, tugging on your sleeve, and James noticed immediately. His brow furrowed just a little, his smile faltering like a flickering candle.

He noticed everything about you. That was the problem—and the gift.

── .✦

The Hogsmeade trip was beautiful. The snow had begun to melt, revealing soft, muddy paths and little crocuses blooming bravely through the frost. But you couldn't shake the ache in your chest.

James held your hand like it was his religion. He swung it between you both as you walked, peppering your cheeks with random kisses, drawing hearts in the condensation on the windows of shops you passed. You laughed softly, playing along.

But something gnawed at you.

Everywhere you went, you saw her.

Clarissa Banks.

All high cheekbones and perfect lashes and hips that swayed like they had their own music. She waved at James. He waved back politely.

And your stomach dropped.

You weren’t like her. Not even close.

“I—I’m going to go to the loo,” you muttered, untangling your fingers from his.

He blinked. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just give me a minute.”

But you didn’t go to the loo.

You sat behind Honeydukes. Alone. In the cold. Hugging your knees.

Because what if he looked at you, every day, and just... settled?

You didn’t have her legs. Or her laugh. Or her confidence. You weren’t the girl everyone turned to look at when you walked into a room.

You were... just you.

Unextraordinary.

Forgettable.

── .✦

“Mate, where’d she go?” James was pacing outside the Three Broomsticks now, hands flailing. “She said she was going to the loo and never came back. It’s been forty minutes. Forty. Who takes that long to wee?!”

“I mean, you did last week,” Sirius chimed in, “but you were trying to get a spider out of your pants.”

“That was war,” James hissed. “This is different. Something’s wrong.”

“Go find her,” Remus said gently. “We’ve got this. Peter’s already on his third Butterbeer. He won’t even notice you’re gone.”

Peter gave a sloppy thumbs-up, foam on his upper lip.

James didn’t hesitate.

── .✦

He found you behind Honeydukes, shivering.

Looking so small, so sad, so far away.

“Darling,” he breathed, dropping to his knees in front of you. “There you are.”

You looked up, startled. “James? I—what are you doing here?”

“What am I—what are you doing here?!” His voice cracked, full of panic and something deeper. “You vanished. I thought you got kidnapped by Honeydukes gnomes or a—a jealous Slytherin, or—or the bloody wind!”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, voice soft. “Just needed... space.”

“From me?”

Silence.

His face fell.

“Oh, sweetheart...”

And then you whispered it. Quietly. Like it might shatter the world: “I just don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

You looked at him, finally. Tears clinging to your lashes. “Why you like me.”

The words hit him like a slap. His mouth opened, then closed again.

“I mean—look at you,” you continued, voice cracking. “You’re James Potter. You’re handsome and charming and funny and everyone likes you. And me? I’m... nothing. I’m not funny. I’m not pretty. I’m not—”

“Stop.” He leaned forward, both hands cupping your cheeks now. “Stop right there.”

You blinked at him, startled.

“Every bloody day,” James whispered fiercely, “I look at you and wonder if I’m dreaming. I wonder how the hell I got so lucky. You think I don’t see the way you wrinkle your nose when you’re focused? Or how you light up when you talk about books? You think I don’t notice the way you always give the house elves a little smile, or how you listen when someone talks, like they’re the most important person in the world?”

You sniffed. “But I’m not—”

“You’re everything.” His voice broke. “You walk into a room and I swear to Merlin, my heart trips over itself trying to get to you. I love you so much it aches, and I’m not going to let your mind lie to you like that. Not while I’m here. Not while I’m in love with you.”

Your breath caught.

“In love...?”

“I’d scream it from the Astronomy Tower if I thought it would help. I’d carve it into the damn sky.” He gave a broken laugh. “Merlin, I do love you. Madly. Ridiculously. Hopelessly. All of it.”

And he kissed you.

Fierce. Tender. Worshipful.

His lips pressed against yours like a promise. His hands tangled in your hair as you melted into him, all fear unraveling like smoke.

You weren’t perfect.

But to James Potter—you were more than beautiful.

You were his.

── .✦

Back in the common room, Sirius raised a brow as James strutted in with his jumper half off his shoulder, cheeks flushed, and your lipstick smeared across his mouth.

“Merlin’s balls, did you make out behind a candy shop?”

“Shut it, Padfoot,” James said, completely unbothered.

Remus smiled into his book. “He’s glowing.”

Peter blinked. “I’m just glad no one died.”

James sat beside you on the couch, pulling you into his lap without hesitation.

And there you stayed, wrapped in his arms, letting him kiss the self-doubt from your bones.

Because you’d finally started to believe it.

Maybe, just maybe—

You were beautiful.

And James Potter was never going to let you forget it.

── .✦

“Alright, what rhymes with ‘freckles’?”

“...Speckles?” Sirius offered, peering over James’s shoulder.

“Speckles?” James repeated, turning to glare. “Speckles? Really, Pads?”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said, snorting, “but you’re the one trying to write a love song that includes the words ‘eyebrow twitch’ and ‘shy hoodie girl.’”

James groaned dramatically, throwing his quill down. “It’s impossible. I’m trying to write about how beautiful she is and how much I love her even when she doesn’t see it—and all I’ve got is: ‘Your smile’s a spell, you trip me well... uh, I fell?’”

“That... is a mess,” Remus said from his seat, not looking up from his book. “Trip me well? What are you, a cursed shoe?”

“WHY IS NO ONE SUPPORTING MY MUSICAL GENIUS?”

“Because you’re writing a ballad and calling it The You of You,” Sirius muttered. “That’s not a title. That’s a riddle.”

Peter was sitting nearby, chewing through a massive bag of crisps. “I think it’s romantic.”

James slumped forward onto his parchment, dragging his hand down his face. “I just want her to know. I want her to feel it. That I love her—every weird little thing she hates about herself. Her awkwardness. Her hiding behind her sleeves. Her silence when she feels not enough. I love all of it. And I don’t know how to say it loud enough.”

The common room went quiet.

Sirius nudged him. “Maybe stop trying to say it perfect. Just say it real. Like you do when you’re with her.”

“That’s shockingly wise of you,” Remus said, eyeing him.

“Thank you,” Sirius said, flipping his hair. “I read one of your poetry books by mistake. It was traumatic.”

── .✦

Behind them, at the bottom of the staircase, you stood frozen.

You’d meant to come down for your forgotten scarf.

But you hadn’t expected to find your boyfriend declaring war on rhymes in your name.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest.

He loved you.

Not just the polished bits you tried to present to the world. Not the smiles you practiced or the clever lines you thought made you worth something.

He loved your silences. Your fears. Your hoodie sleeves and all the tiny things you tried to hide.

The you of you.

Merlin, what a terrible title.

And yet—you’d never heard something more true.

── .✦

James sat alone now. The others had wandered off, and he was still scribbling, muttering under his breath. He didn’t hear your footsteps.

“Hey.”

He jumped. “Buggering—you scared me!”

You smiled softly, sitting beside him. “Sirius let it slip.”

“Bloody traitor.”

You touched his parchment gently. “You’re writing me a song?”

James blushed scarlet. “It was supposed to be a surprise. A really romantic one. But it’s a total disaster. I’m not good at... poetic declarations.”

“You literally called my smile ‘a spell.’”

“It is a spell,” he said, suddenly serious. “You don’t see yourself, sweetheart. You walk into a room and change the air. You look at me like I’m something worth keeping. You make me want to write songs even if I’m rubbish at it. You’re magic, and you don’t even know it. That’s what kills me.”

You blinked rapidly.

“James—”

“No, let me finish.” He shifted closer. “You always get quiet when someone compliments you. Like you’re scared to believe it. But darling, I mean it. Every word. I love every cracked edge of you. I love your overthinking. Your second guesses. Your everything. And I’ll keep telling you until it gets through that stubborn, beautiful head of yours.”

And then—softly, tentatively—he began to sing.

── .✦

The Ballad of Beautiful You (terrible title, lovely lyrics)

You hide behind your hoodie strings, But I see stars in little things— The way you mumble, look away, How you still blush when I say— You’re magic made of quiet storms, Of half-said thoughts and nervous forms, But oh, my love, you steal my breath, You’re beauty dressed in tenderness.

── .✦

Your lip trembled.

“Say something,” he begged.

You didn’t.

You kissed him.

Hard.

Deep.

A make-out that stole the air from both your lungs.

Your fingers in his hair, his hands on your waist, lips moving like he was writing the song across your skin.

When you finally broke apart, you whispered against his mouth, “I love you.”

His forehead pressed to yours, voice wrecked with emotion.

“Then let me spend the rest of forever proving why you should.”

#della's inbox 𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡#della answered ⋆˚✿˖°#della 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter x insecure!reader #james potter fluff #james fleamont potter

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zepskies · 1 year ago

Text

A Crime of Passion

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader

Summary: When Beau Arlen decides to “make it up to you,” he’s damn thorough.

AN: I couldn't help myself lol. I wrote this last night. Here's a quick little drabble for the Take Me Home series, set directly after A Good Man Is Hard to Find!

Based on this request from @jessicalynnann.

Word Count: 550

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Implied smut, fluff, and a murder (of sorts).

Catch up on the TMH-verse: ⤵️

❤️ Take Me Home Masterlist

You just…you couldn’t stop laughing.

“All right, you done?” Beau asked.

You never thought you’d see this man blush so thoroughly. It made you laugh harder, though you tried to stifle it with your hands covering your face.

He had you laid out beside him, still skin against naked skin as the cool air began to dry your dewy bodies.

You were lying against him in an odd position, considering your bed now had a deep crack in the bedframe that ran all the way down the middle. It meant your legs were bent at an angle, almost like you were laying in a recliner seat.

You just couldn’t believe it.

This man had really broken your bed.

In fact, he murdered it. Killed it dead. Though you supposed it was a crime of passion, in this case. (You held in a snort at the thought.)

There were even a couple of screws that had rolled across the tile floor.

“Again, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I promise I’ll pay for a new frame,” Beau said contritely.

The truth was, he was embarrassed beyond belief.

Another giggle escaped you, though you tried to soothe him by caressing his cheek.

“Baby, it’s okay. This thing was old. I’m surprised it survived the move all the way from Chicago, honestly,” you said. The twinkle of mischief in your eyes made his face warm further.

“But how damn lucky am I,” you added, your lips curving. “My man quite literally shatters expectations when he makes love to me.”

And despite the unexpected cracking sound that had left you wide-eyed, it had been a spectacular finish. Even now, you were still tingling between your legs from how hard you’d come on his cock. (Twice.)

You slipped your bare leg between both of his and pressed a sweet kiss to his chest.

Beau fought it, but he had to smile at your words, and your affection. He sunk a hand into your tangled hair, first brushing his thumb against your cheek.

“You sure you’re okay then?” he asked.

“I’m more than okay,” you said. He felt the shape of your smile against his skin. You pulled back to meet his eyes. “Better the bed than my back, anyway. Jesus.”

Beau let out a sigh. Another giggle bubbled over and escaped you. You rubbed his arm.

“Think of it this way,” you said. “Now we can go pick out a new bed together.”

Beau tilted his head at that, and he nodded. A smile grew across his face.

“Now there’s an idea,” he said. It was probably too soon for him to broach the topic of moving in with you, but this could be a good first step.

“Right?” you replied in excitement. But there was something else dancing in your eyes. “We’ll just have to make sure the frame’s reinforced with titanium or something, because goddamn.”

Beau couldn’t help but laugh. He dropped his forehead against your shoulder while his own shook. You held him to you and didn’t bother to try and hide your own amusement anymore.

One thing you knew for sure?

There was no way in hell you’d ever let him live this down.

And one thing he would never tell you…

Beau Arlen was damn proud of himself.

AN: 😂 Well then. That was fun, and I hope you enjoy! ❤️

Keep Reading:

Here’s a one-shot set a couple of months after this one. It’s called S.I.N.G.:

Summary: Beau wishes you’d take this self-defense lesson a little more seriously.

▶️ Next Story: S.I.N.G.

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Take Me Home Masterlist

Big Sky Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @brianochka

@branj19 @globetrotter28 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @ades106 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

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@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @iprobablyshipit91

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#A Crime of Passion #beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x you #beau arlen x female reader #beau arlen smut #Beau Arlen series #TMH-verse #Take Me Home #beau arlen fanfiction #beau arlen fanfic #big sky #jensen ackles #big sky season 3 #jensen ackles characters #A Good Man Is Hard to Find sequel #zepskies writes

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itsbeeble · 7 months ago

Text

My Kink Is Karma

Summary: Sunwoo breaking up with you after three happy years was not on your bingo card. It's a good thing you believe in karma.

Genre: smut

Pairing: Kim Sunwoo x fem!reader

WC: 7.2k

THE BOYZ Masterlist MAIN Masterlist

PERM TAGLIST: @winterchimez @juyeonszn @flwoie @captain-brie

FIC TAGLIST: @sanaxo-o @from-izzy

WARNINGS: not edited at all tbh so please lmk if there's something that needs adjusting, Sunwoo kinda shitty in this, infidelity, credit card fraud (?), theft, oral (m and f receiving), making out, marking, p in v sex, overstimulation, swearing, a little bit of degradation, hair pulling, face sitting, fingering, and of course karma

18+ MDNI AGLESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

A/N: i miss being good at writing smut. Anyway enjoy this! Izzy has waited far too long and i'm sorry pookie :( I hope this is worth the wait

Sunwoo kicking you out on a random Tuesday afternoon hadn’t quite been what you planned for. In fact, you feel like you’ve been completely blindsided. Things had been going strong for almost three years— decent communication, his parents loved you, your parents loved him, and the sex was to die for. You had a shared group of friends, all of whom thought they would see the day you would get married if you could ever scrape together the money for it. You were young, sure, but you knew you loved him and wanted to spend the rest of your life with him, even if it meant spending your life savings on a cheap wedding and living in your parent’s basement for the next ten years.

It was humiliating for you and him, the way you clutched at his knees with mascara running down your cheeks, begging him not to do this. Not to leave you like this. Things were good, you thought things were perfect. Was it work? Was he stressed from work? Or, maybe, it was a prank. Something that Eric put him up to.

No, it’s just not working out. You had to leave, pack your things and leave the fucking apartment that was in your name just because he wasn’t as in love with you as you were with him.

Alas, here you were six weeks later, refreshed and over that bullshit relationship with your best friend who practically saved your ass with some speech about karma.

The nail salon is practically buzzing with life, techs and customers alike skirting through the small building in a blur of motion. You watch each person carefully, gnawing on your lip and tapping your feet against the tiled ground. Nervous habits that you had never been able to shake. Normally, a steady hand would be on your thigh or across your shoulders to calm you.

That steady hand, however, is no longer an option.

“You hear what’s going on with Sunwoo?” Hyori’s eyes turn to meet yours, the nail tech in front of her gently grabbing her hand to apply a fresh set of blue polish. You kiss your teeth, biting your tongue to hold back a stinging reply.

“Why would I care what that piece of shit does?”

Clearly, that doesn’t work very well. It does, however, bring you quite a bit of pain due to the sharpness of your teeth and the force you use to try and hold back the venom in your tone. The nail tech looks up briefly, breaking her focus on painting your stiletto-shaped nails dark green. You can feel the curiosity, the itch for drama in those eyes. Lucky for her, you’re in a very…dramatic mood, aching for a bit of karma.

“Well, I mean, he did leave you homeless, took your credit cards and ran you into debt that your parents very graciously paid off, fucked your sister…need I go on?” Hyori’s nail tech snaps her head up, eyes wide.

“That explains why I shouldn’t give a fuck. Why should I?”

“Well,” Hyori straightens in her chair, smiling so wide that you’re sure her cheeks are stinging. “I hear that he’s fuckin losing it lately. Like, destroyed his apartment so bad that the landlord kicked him out and he had to move back in with his parents.”

Your jaw drops open, an appalled noise coming out of your mouth. Some sort of half-laugh-half-scoff sort of noise that has heads turning in your direction.

“No way.”

“Mhm, apparently he was also getting with this girl who was, like, eighteen based on what Yerim told me.”

“Bitch, you better be joking right now,” you scoff. “What a fucking weirdo.”

“Don’t quote me on that,” Hyori shrugs. “You know that Yerim is notoriously unreliable.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Remember the whole pickle situation?”

“Fuck, don’t remind me,” Hyori groans, leaning her head back on her chair. “I genuinely couldn’t leave my house for weeks after that— I was so embarrassed.”

“You and me both, girl.”

It gets quiet for a moment, both of you thinking about the question but not wanting to be the first to ask it. The nail techs, in this silence, are able to finish both of your nails and usher you off to pay. You can tell, just by looking back at them as you leave the building, that they’re just a bit pissed about not hearing the full story, about not hearing what you’re going to do about this whole thing.

“So,” Hyori sighs as you slide into her passenger seat, “what are you gonna do?”

“C’mon, Hyori…” you click your tongue, voice trailing off as you mull over your options. “You should know by now that I tend to make sure karma bites people right in the ass.”

“You and your fucking kinks, girl,” Hyori scrunches her nose, laughing quietly to herself. “Let me guess, you’re gonna make damn sure he knows he fucked up by fucking his best friend?”

“Eric? Nah, the kid’s cute but not my type.”

“I’m shocked, truly,” Hyori remarks. “What’ll you do then?” “You’ll find out soon enough, trust me.”

You never admit to Hyori just how much it turns you on that Sunwoo’s life is falling apart. You never told her how much you loved it when he crumbled and begged and pleaded for something. It was a secret, one that only you and Sunwoo knew about and that you ensured stayed between just the two of you before you left for good.

You most certainly don’t tell Hyori about how you touched yourself to the thought of him almost every night. How you thought about Sunwoo and only Sunwoo when you slept with a man. How no dates ever lasted that long because you always ended up comparing to how Sunwoo used to be. If she found out how you still wanted him, how you wished he would come crawling back to you even if it was just for one night, she would kill you on the spot.

The next time you hear about Sunwoo is exactly two months after your breakup. However, it’s less you hearing about him than it is hearing from him. You thought you’d blocked his number after the first week when Hyori had caught you drunk calling his phone, begging for him to come back to you and to try and make things work. Pathetic is what she’d called you when you’d burst into tears. Desperate is what you’d called yourself when she crushed it under her stiletto. He’d cheated on you, not the other way around, so why were you so desperate for him to forgive you?

Your good friend, Karma, seems to have hit him. His texts had been nonstop since the night before, and phone calls streaming in soon after that never seemed to end.

The first stream of texts were clearly drunk messages:

HFy bsby, plekde clal mfe

Im spory

Seh wasnt wothr if

Babyyyyyyyyy

Then came the voicemails, ones that you keep just for the future:

Hiiiiii baby! I miss you sooooo much, please call me back!

I know that I messed up, but I wanna make it work for us. The sex isn’t the same with her and no one could ever reaaaalllyyyy make me feel like you did. God, that tongue trick where you—”

The audio for that one cuts out, and you can only assume that his friends caught him in time. Something swirls through your gut like a snake—pride, perhaps. Something smug, knowing that you have made him just as desperate as you were. Another emotion curls around you, closer to sorrow knowing that you can’t have him anymore. You won’t have him. Not after what he did to you.

Your phone dings with another text and you put it on silent. The nail tech across from you, the same woman as last time, eyes it carefully.

“That the boy you broke up with?” She asks, painting your nails cherry red. You decided to keep the stiletto shape, loving the sharpness of it and how it accents each outfit you wear.

“Yeah,” you sigh and relax your hands a bit. “Hasn’t shut up since last night.”

“Why haven’t you blocked him yet?” She taps your palm and you slide your hand into the UV light.

“I dunno,” you shrug. Truly you don’t know the answer to that question. Do you miss him? After everything he did, do you really still love him?

“Hm,” The woman huffs and you sink back in your chair. “You should find out.”

“Hello?” Your phone sits on the counter as you cook dinner for yourself. Hyori is gone for the night, something about a date.

“Y/N!” The cheery voice of your ex-boyfriend catches you off guard and the spatula in your hand drops to the counter. “How are you?”

“What the actual fuck?” You turn off the stove, walk over to where your phone is, and stare down at it with nothing but shock on your face. “Why the fuck are you calling me, Kim Sunwoo?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says as if stating the obvious. “Why else would I call?” The amusement in his voice makes your eyes twitch and your teeth grind against each other.

“Is this some sort of sick joke? Did Eunbi put you up to this?” The feeling of your sister’s name leaves a bad taste in your mouth and you have to fight back a gag, placing the back of your hand over your lips.

“Eunbi?” Sunwoo sounds confused now and you can practically see the pout on his plush lips. The same lips that used to—

Down girl.

“Yeah, Eunbi.” You pick at a string on your t-shirt and huff. “My sister. The one you fucked in our bed? Remember her?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line and the the speaker crackles like Sunwoo breathed into it.

“Right. Eunbi. I forgot about that.”

Rage cracks through your veins, sending sparks through your body and your face begins to burn with it.

“You forgot that you fucked my sister?” You’re seething, your heart pounding and your breathing rapid. “Are you fucking kidding me, Sunwoo?”

“Listen,” he drags the syllables out like he had made just a simple mistake. “I only fucked her one time and she wasn’t even that good. I want you, Y/N. Just you.”

You scoff. “Well, you should have thought about that before screwing her and fucking up my credit cards, bitch.”

“Yeah, that I don’t have a defense for,” he sighs again, and there’s a rustling on his end of the line as if he’s adjusting his position or clothing. The burning in your cheeks eases as the silence goes on for a few minutes.

“Why did you call me, Sunwoo?”

“I wanted to talk,” he says simply. “Can you open the door now?”

Your body tenses when three knocks sound at your door. No fucking way did he show up here. For a few seconds, you refuse to move, rooted to your spot in the kitchen and reaching slowly to the knife holder next to you.

“Don’t reach for the knives, babe.” Sunwoo scolds and you drop your hand back to your side. “It was just me and I know you get nervous when you’re home alone.” The anger returns to your body in full swing and you slap your finger down on the red button to hang up. Your footsteps are so loud as you walk to the door that you know the downstairs neighbors will be pissed in a few minutes, but you can’t find yourself really caring about what they think about you.

The lock clicks and you swing the door open, stopping it just before it slams against the wall that you really can’t afford to fix at the moment.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You snap, and Sunwoo grins sheepishly at you. Fuck, he looks good. Too good. Pathetic, maybe, but still good. His jeans hang low on his waist, showing the band of his underwear, and his black shirt has had the sleeves cut off and the hem potentially burned based on how messy it is. His shoes are stained and your nose curls at the mystery colors that could either be crayons or some sort of food he got at a club. You really aren’t sure which; not that you care anyway.

What really gets you is his hair. When you broke up, it had been naturally black and curly. You loved running your hands through it at the end of the night, loved yanking on it to force his lips to move to your clit when he ate you out. It was arguably your favorite feature about him aside from those wide, gorgeous eyes. When you look at him now, his hair is streaked with blond, sloppily done as if he’d done it at home with a grocery bag, cheap bleach, and a few beers on a Monday night. Your stomach churns, but not with anger this time. You recognize the feeling of arousal that pours through your veins and nearly washes away the rage entirely.

“I told you I wanted to talk,” he digs his stained shoes into the dirty rug at the entryway, not looking you in the eyes. “You were ignoring my calls and messages, so I figured I’d stop by and see you. I miss you.”

The pout on his lips is what makes you cave, and you step to the side to allow him into the apartment. You watch him carefully as he tugs his shoes off, letting him gaze around at your new (hopefully) temporary home.

“Cute place you got here—”

“Cut the crap, Sunwoo.” Before I cave and kiss you senseless like a fucking moron. “You wanted to talk. What about?”

He gestures to the couch, pursing his lips as you move past him to take a seat as far from him as possible. It’s tense, the air thick with words that will remain unsaid as long as you can help it. It’s hard to control yourself, though. Hard to keep strong like Hyori taught you when the man you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with is sitting right there looking just so…

Fuckable.

Fuck, maybe you’re just desperate.

“I…” Sunwoo fidgets with his hands, looking down at his lap for a moment. “God this is harder than I thought it would be.”

You soften just a bit, your body sinking into the couch and your legs tucking underneath you.

“I wanted to apologize,” he finally gets out with a tight smile. “For, well, everything. You didn’t deserve how I treated you. I shouldn’t have…slept with Eunbi, and I definitely shouldn’t have run you into debt. It was horrible of me, and I’m sorry.”

You kiss your teeth and he looks at you hopefully. “It was really shitty, Sunwoo. We were together for three years.”

“I know,” he turns fully toward you and reaches forward to take your hands in his. “And I’m sorry.” You search his eyes for a hint of anything that might tell you otherwise.

A smile spreads across your lips when you find exactly what you’re looking for.

Lust. Desperation. The exact emotions that you’d been feeling for the two months it had been since you’d broken up. And, with those emotions found and locked into your brain, you know exactly how to play with him.

“Sunwoo,” you coo and he jumps at the sudden switch of attitude. Your hands pull from his and you let them dance across his thighs. His eyes flick down, watching your hands and trailing up your body ever so slowly and eventually meeting your eyes. “You really mean it, baby?”

His cheeks darken, his lips parting in awe as you lean toward him, your breath fanning his face and sending shivers down his spine.

“Baby,” Sunwoo’s palm comes to rest on your hip, his thumb sliding under your shirt and rubbing gentle circles. “I don’t— are you— I mean aren’t you angry?”

“Of course I’m angry,” you shrug but the smile remains on your lips. Slowly, you begin to move your hand from his thigh to his crotch and press down just enough for his breath to hitch. “That’s why I want you to fuck me.”

He doesn’t move, his hand frozen on your hip, unsure of what to do and how to proceed. Your lips are centimeters from his, your eyes half-lidded and waiting for him to move. He continues to stay frozen, his breath uneven and heavy, so you kiss him. Hard.

You kiss him like you’re drunk—messy and wet, just as you know he likes it. Your tongue pushes into his mouth, pushing at his and forcing him into action. Your heart leaps at the feeling of his hands yanking you into his lap and his chest rumbling with a low groan. His lips move against yours with just as much passion and ferocity, his tongue flicking against yours and shoving past it to try and breach your mouth. He’s holding you so tight, his head shoving forward so you’re forced to lean back, but you’re not one to let him win so you push him back, grabbing his hair in one hand and yanking at the strands until he’s whining your name.

“What, baby?” You coo, pulling away from his lips and licking at the string of spit that connects your lips. “Don’t you like it when I pull your hair?”

Experimentally, you pull again and Sunwoo’s jaw drops open with an airy moan. “Mm, that’s what I thought.”

You connect with him again, biting and sucking and licking at them, enjoying the sounds he makes while he tries to kiss you back. His hands are squeezing your hips so tightly, pulling you down to grind against his jean-clad cock. If he can’t kiss you, he’s gonna make damn sure that you have a hard time focusing. Unfortunately for him, you know all of his tricks. You know exactly what he does and when he does it. For example, if you suck at the skin just beneath his jaw, right next to his Adam’s apple, he lets out such pretty whines.

“Baby,” he gasps out, hips jumping into yours. “Fuck, w-why do you have to k-know me so well?” You just laugh, sucking at the soft skin until it’s practically bruised. Pleased with your work, you bite down just enough for him to yelp before pulling back to admire it.

“You know me, Woo,” you purr, leaning forward again to lick a stripe up his neck and to his lips. They part, his mouth opening for you to lean over and gently kiss him with your tongue delicately brushing against his. Although maybe delicate isn’t quite the right word seeing as the moment your tongue is in his mouth, he starts to suck at it. One of his hands slides from your hip to tangle in your hair, holding you close to him as he sucks at the pink muscle and ruts his hips up into yours. You gasp quietly, just enough for it to get his attention. Sunwoo’s eyes are screwed shut, his hands holding you so tight that you’re afraid you’ll be bruised in the morning.

Who are you kidding, though?

If you aren’t bruised in the morning, you may just kick him out.

“Sunwoo,” you murmur but your words are muffled. He just groans, pulling you closer if it was even possible. “Sunwoo, baby. We’re not fucking on Hyori’s couch.”

“Then we’ll take the floor,” he grunts, pulling away in annoyance. “I haven’t had good sex in two months, I’m not wasting any fucking time on switching rooms.”

You scoff. “I’m not fucking you in my living room.”

He goes to argue with you, but you’re already moving off his lap. “You can’t be serious, baby.” There’s a challenge in your eyes as you reach for the hem of your shirt. Any arguments he may have had are gone the second your shirt hits the ground, your breasts sitting so nicely on your chest with no bra to hide them from his view.

“I’m very serious, Sunwoo.” Your hands move to the band of your shorts, the corner of your lips pulled into a smirk as you slowly pull them down your legs until you’re able to step out of them. As if in a trance, Sunwoo slowly rises to his feet, dragging forward until he’s merely a foot away from you. He reaches a hand out to grab you, but you take a step back. His brows furrow and he tries again but you’re still backing away from him. His trance seems to hold, much to your amusement, watching your breasts bounce with every step away from him until you reach your bedroom.

“You knew that would work.” Sunwoo pouts, but it’s quick to turn into a grin when you finally let him touch you. Immediately he pushes you down onto the mattress, crawling over you until you’re caged beneath him, your eyes wide with lust and anticipation while he tries to figure out where to start. “Fuck, been too long since I’ve seen these pretty tits.”

Your thighs rub together and you draw your bottom lip between your teeth as he shifts down your body until he’s face to face with your chest.

He’s a millimeter away from wrapping his lips around one of your nipples when you suddenly grab his hair and yank him back up, keeping his face in front of yours as you shift onto your knees.

“What the fuck?” He whines, eyes glassy and confused. “What’d you do that for?”

“You didn’t think I’d make it that easy, did you?” You pout at him, mocking him, and his cheeks flush. “After everything you put me through, did you really think I’d make it so easy to get me again?”

“Well, I mean,” Sunwoo gulps, letting out a grunt when you pull his hair again. “Fucking— If you keep doing that, baby, I swear to god I’ll cum in my pants—” You just laugh at him, your eyes gleaming.

“You think a little begging is gonna stop me, Woo? What if,” you lean down until your lips brush against his ear, “I want you to do it?”

Another yank at his hair and his whole body shudders, his hips jerking violently into yours and his mouth dropping open. Loud moans leave his mouth, a bit of drool seeping out of the corner of his lips that you’re quick to swoop down and lick up.

You loved toying with him like this. You loved watching as he desperately tries to hold it together, to keep himself from cumming in his pants like a teenage boy but failing miserably at just one faint touch from you. Your hand falls from his hair, sliding down to his shoulder so you can push him to lie down on your mattress. He lets you, his eyes dazed and confused by what just happened to him but still staring at you with awe.

“You know what you can do to make it up to me, Sunwoo?” You slide his shirt up his torso and he follows your movements, grabbing the fabric once it gets too high and tugging it over his head.

“I’ll do anything, baby, please,” Sunwoo squeezes at your hips and pulls you down over his likely overstimulated cock. “Tell me what to do to make it better.”

“Let me sit on your face,” you purr, “eat me out like the good boy you are. If you make me squirt, I’ll even suck you off before I fuck you.”

“I thought I was fucking you?” Sunwoo cocks an eyebrow and you kiss your teeth.

“Who says both can’t happen?” You retort, shifting your body until your dripping cunt is positioned right over his mouth. “Now get going before I change my mind and you have to fuck a pillow instead.”

Sunwoo wastes no time, his hands coming to grip your hips and pulling you down so you’re fully seated over his mouth. The motion earns him a quiet gasp, one of your hands coming to tangle in his messy hair and the other gripping your headboard. You’re more turned on than you’d let him believe, your cunt practically dripping into his open mouth, and Sunwoo’s body shudders at the familiar taste. You haven’t changed in the eight weeks it’s been since he left you, and neither has he. Truly he missed you, missed the way your body practically molded to his, missed the sounds you made, the way you spoke to him. Fuck, he felt like he was gonna burst in his pants if he wasn’t careful.

Your hips rock into his tongue, forcing the muscle to dip into you just a little more, dipping into your hole before swiping up to your clit. Sunwoo had, when you first started dating, developed this little pattern when he ate you out. He would drag his tongue as far down as he could, slowly work his way up until he found your clit, and would suck and lick and bite at the little nub until you were quivering and begging and soaking his face. He did this over and over, however this time it was different. He worked slowly, letting you work your hips over his face and letting you set the pace. His tongue laves over your clit with no sense of urgency, no hunger. His lips hardly move, but you can feel the way his breathing stutters and you can hear all of his little gasps and whines

Frankly, it pissed you off.

You wanted him to try to take over. You wanted him to try to dominate you, to drive you wild, to rough you up like he always wanted. Here you were giving him free reign to do whatever he would like, and he’s not taking it.

It’s not like him, and it pisses you off so you lift your hips off his face, rolling off his body until you’re sat next to him with a scowl permanently etched into your face. Sunwoo looks up at you, lips contorted into a pout and his eyes fully dazed with confusion.

“Why’d you pull away?” His voice pitches into a whine, his hands reach to grab at your hips and pull you back over him.

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” You scoff, leaning back against your headboard and watching him rise onto his knees to look at you.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He leans toward you, hand resting on your thigh, and you smack it away.

“Don’t fucking touch me unless you’re gonna make it worth it for me!” You snap, beginning to slide off the bad.

In that split second, it’s like something clicks in Sunwoo. His pout transforms into a smirk, his eyes glinting with something sly. He follows you off the bed, moving so fast that you could barely blink before you were pinned against your dresser, his hand on the back of your neck and the sound of his belt being undone fills your ears.

“You’ve always been such a brat, haven’t you?” He leans in close, his lips brushing the skin between your shoulder blades. You struggle against him, pushing your hands against the dresser to force him back, but he’s stronger than you and forces you back down until you let your body become limp and pliant in his hold. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it, baby?”

“Fuck you,” you writhe beneath him, the hand not holding you down sliding down your back and cupping your ass in his palm. “Let me go, Kim Sunwoo.”

He kisses his teeth, and you can practically hear the way he smiles smugly at you. “Is that really how you want to talk to me? After all, I’m practically in control of your pleasure here.”

“I can take care of myself just fine.” You retort and turn your head to attempt a glare in his direction.

“You and I both know that you don’t get nearly enough satisfaction without me,” Sunwoo purrs, squeezing the flesh of your ass in his large hand before slipping his fingers down to your sopping wet heat. “You never have.”

He’s right, but you’d rather take a lifetime of nearly worthless orgasms than admit it to his stupid face. Your eyelids flutter when his fingers dip into you, pushing at your pulsing walls and stretching out your cunt to his liking. It’s as if he knows you like the back of his hand.

Scratch that.

Sunwoo does, annoyingly, know you like the back of his hand. Emotionally, physically, any way he could possibly learn. He knew that you loved how it felt when he bit down on the junction between your collarbone and your throat. He knew that you loved when he was rough with you— pulling your hair, spanking you, choking you, bruising your hips with his fingers. He practically marked it in his brain every little sweet spot you had.

So yeah, when he plunges his fingers deep inside you and curls them towards your front wall, just brushing against that sweet spot inside of you and practically forcing a loud moan from your body, you’re a bit peeved. Your whole fucking plan going out the window because your loser of an ex-boyfriend just happens to know you better than you want him to. Why did you have to date him for so long?

“Fuck,” you hiss out and roll your hips back against his hand. “Fuck, Sunwoo, why are you so-o good with your hands?” You stutter, much to your own dismay, and he drops his head against your shoulder.

“Taught only by the best, sweetheart.” His other hand swoops around your front, his index and middle fingers driving against your clit roughly until you’re squirming and crying for him, your head falling against the dresser and your legs threatening to collapse. Sunwoo pulls moan after moan, sob after sob, any noise he knows you can make. He pulls them all from within you until your throat is raw and threatening to crack. “Gonna cum? Gonna cum for your ex-boyfriend, Y/N? What a sick little girl you are— dripping all over my hands, moaning for the man who fucked your life up. Do you feel dirty? Do you know how filthy you are?”

You arch your back against him, tears springing to your eyes as he drives you closer and closer to an orgasm.

“G-gonna cum, Sunwoo,” you gasp out, “fuck, gonna cum all over your hands like a dirty little slut!”

Sunwoo stumbles over his movements for a second, only briefly surprised by your words before he’s picking the pace back up. “That’s right, beautiful. You’re a dirty little slut, huh? You’re my dirty little slut.”

Your walls tense around his fingers, so tight he can barely hold his pace, and your eyes squeeze shut. A sharp bite of pain fills your veins as you bite down on your lip, drawing a bit of blood as you try desperately to hold back the sounds that you know he’s trying to pull out of you. You fail, whining his name and reaching a hand back to tangle in his hair, yanking at the strands as you cum. Your walls flutter around his fingers, your cunt gushing with your slick and dripping down his hand. Sunwoo draws his fingers out of you, leaving you empty but not without the feeling of his other hand rubbing at your clit. The pleasure is overrun with overstimulation, an ache that turns your cries into quiet sobs.

“Sun-Sunwoo,” you plead, trying to pull yourself out of his grip. Unfortunately, you find yourself still trapped between his larger body and the wooden dresser. “Pl-please, ‘s too m-much!”

“Oh, is it?” he coos in your ear, nipping lightly at the skin beneath it. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t realize you wanted me to stop.”

When he finishes his sentence he all but rips his hand away from you. Your body immediately falls slack, your arms barely having the strength to catch you as your ex-boyfriend pulls away and works at his belt. Sunwoo watches your trembling body, the smug glint in his eye returning.

“You’re an…an asshole.” Your teeth grit together as you stumble over to him, gripping his jaw in your hand and squeezing tightly. “A true asshole, Kim Sunwoo.”

His body falls back, his hands going from his belt to your waist as you work at the button of his pants. “You love me, though.”

You scoff, “you think I still love you?”

His eyebrow quirks. “Don’t you? Why else would I be here, in your bed, on a random night months after we broke up.” Sunwoo lifts his hips as he speaks, allowing you to pull his clothing down just enough to get his rock-hard cock out.

“Because I haven’t had a good fuck since we broke up,” you say simply, hissing as you sink down on him. You’d dated him for three years and even after all that time, the sting that came with fucking him never went away. “Shit, forgot how big you were.”

His grip on your waist tightens, his jaw ticking as your hips meet his. “And I forgot how tight your little pussy was. Guess we’re both taking a little trip down— son of a bitch—”

Sunwoo cuts himself off with a loud groan as you clench around him, lifting your hips slowly before dropping back down with a loud smack of skin against skin.

“Were you saying something?” Your words come out breathy, a quiet whine following soon after as you begin to grind yourself down on Sunwoo’s cock.

“You’re a fucking menace,” Sunwoo grunts, his eyes squeezing shut and his body going completely slack. His fingers slip from your waist, instead resting on the sides of your thighs. He lets you take control, lets you take as much as you want from him. “I missed you, missed your fucking cunt.” A tight squeeze against your skin before his jaw falls open and loud moans fill the air. You can’t bring yourself to laugh, your focus entirely on holding a steady pace and drawing the knot in your stomach back into place. The sting in your thighs is almost unbearable, almost too much for you, but you’d be damned if you didn’t finish what you started.

Your hands find purchase on Sunwoo’s chest, your dark green nails digging into his chest and breaking the skin. Slowly, ever so slowly, you raise your hips again and let them fall. His tip punches into the sweetest spot inside of you, pushing against it over and over as you repeat your motions. You let your body sink forward, your chest against his and your faces mere centimeters away from each other. You’re so close that you can see the tiny beads of sweat beginning to form on his face, the way his eyelashes flutter.

“Such a pretty boy, hm?” You murmur, dipping your head down and licking away a bead of sweat on his jawline. “So pretty, so good for me.” Your walls flutter again and Sunwoo wwhines, taking hold of your ass with both hands.

“C-can’t—” Sunwoo gasps out, but his words become choked moans. “Fuck, you- you feel t-too good.”

You laugh, sucking a hickey into his golden skin, biting at the purple mark when you’re finished. “Only the best for you, baby.”

His hips begin to thrust into yours, his hands holding your body in place as he chases an orgasm that’s so close that he can practically taste it. You watch as his eyes roll back, your own drifting shut as you let pleasure overcome you again. He doesn’t stop, and you don’t want him to, even when liquid spurts out of you and coats his lower body, your sheets, and everything beneath the two of you. Even when his cum drips out of you in thick white globs and smears against your skin. He doesn’t stop until his hips are jerking and not a single drop of cum can be pulled from his cock.

Your body is shaking, but you find enough strength to pull your body away from his, sinking to your knees in front of him. Sunwoo can barely lift his head to watch you, his hand lacing into your hair as you take his softening cock into your mouth and suck gently at it, moaning at the taste of your cum mixing together, You place your hands on both of his thighs, sucking and licking until there’s nothing left, leaving him half-hard and twitching in your mouth.

“You’re fucking insatiable, sweetheart,” Sunwoo moans so prettily, trying to tug you off of him. You giggle, letting him pull you off but dropping your head to give his balls the same attention you’d given his cock. “Son of a— baby, baby wait—”

You pull off him when he says that, laying your cheek on his thigh and watch him try to catch his breath. His chest heaves, his grip on your hair tightening and loosening repeatedly in an attempt to ground himself.

“Had enough?” Your lips press against his warm skin and he scoffs.

“You’re terrible.”

“Mm…is that so?” you press another kiss and he sits up, sliding his hand from your hair to your chin and grabbing it between his thumb and pointer to pull you toward him.

“I fucking love you.” The kiss he gives you is hot, wet, and messy. His tongue dips into your mouth pushing further and further until he’s practically in your throat before pulling back and staring down at you. “My little minx.”

You smile, eyes fluttering when he closes the gap between your mouths again.

“What the fuck? Sunwoo stares at you from the couch cushion, eyes narrowed into a glare. “You’re— what the fuck?”

“I want you out of my apartment.” You shrug, crossing your arms as you sip at your coffee. “Simple as that.”

“But I—” he shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes as he tries to comprehend what you’re saying. “I thought that you— I thought we had a good time. I thought you…that you wanted me back. I don’t— I don’t understand.”

“You thought I wanted you back?” You scoff, lips twitching into a smirk. “What gave you that idea?”

“Maybe the fact that you said you did!”

You kiss your teeth and set your coffee down on the counter behind you. Sunwoo watches your every move, feet tapping against the carpet beneath him.

“Sunwoo, do you know what my favorite kink is?”

“I don’t fucking know, somnophilia?”

You can’t help but laugh at his response, tilting your head back and putting a hand on your chest. Sunwoo, however, isn’t laughing. He looks at you with confusion and anger, a mix of emotions you can relate to all too well.

“You’re so funny, baby.” You’re close enough now that you’re able to sit beside him and let your hand tangle in his hair. You practically straddle him, one leg thrown across his lap and your lips sucking at his neck, adding to the…decorations you had left the night before. “But no, it’s not. Close!”

He leans into your touch, although it may be a bit reluctantly if the look on his face is anything to go off of.

“What is it, then? Hm? What, do you have some sort of like, secret piss kink?” He pulls your face toward his, kissing you and almost making you doubt your decision.

“Ew, Sunwoo,” you wrinkle your nose, scratching your nails lightly on the back of his neck and relishing in the goosebumps forming under your skin. “Karma. That’s my favorite kink.”

“And why is that?” He noses at your jawline. “Why would you wish karma on me, hm? Don’t you like how I touch you?” You tilt your head back, humming as he mouths at your throat.

“Of course I do,” you admit. “But I also have self-respect. And you fucked my sister.” He tenses, pulling back from you.

“I thought you were over that?”

“Why would I get over you fucking my sister?” you smack the back of his head and stand from the couch. “You’re a fucking idiot, Kim Sunwoo, and I truly hope I never see your face again.”

“You can’t be serious.” He’s standing too, reaching a hand toward you in a desperate attempt to get you to talk to him. “C’mon, baby. Isn’t this too much? We would be so happy together!”

“We tried that once before,” you push him back, forcing him closer to the door. “And it didn’t end well.”

“I made a mistake, so what?!” He snaps, almost dropping his shoes as you shove them into his arms. “I admit it! I was wrong! I shouldn’t have cheated on you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“I want you to get the fuck out of my apartment and never speak to me again, actually.” You open the door, waving your hand in a shooing motion. “Bye now!”

He tries to speak again, but the door slamming in his face stops him. You breathe out a sigh of relief, leaning back against the cold metal, and close your eyes.

“He took that shockingly well,” the door of Hyori’s room clicks shut as she steps into the living room, and you open your eyes to look at her. You smirk a bit, letting your body relax.

“I expected him to try fucking me again.”

“Honestly so did I,” she hands you the mug of coffee you’d set down and takes her seat on the couch. “Was it worth it?”

“Hm?” You tilt your head.

“You know,” she waves her hand at the door. “That. Was fucking him and kicking him out really worth it?”

You shrug. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, I at least got some good shit out of it.”

“A good fuck.” Hyori agrees.

“And some money.” You smile, that same smug smile that Sunwoo had been flashing you all night. It was almost uncanny, and you watch Hyori’s nose wrinkle.

“He paid you?”

“Ew, no, I realize that came out wrong.”

“Oh,” she sighs. “Thank god, I thought I would have to smack some sense into you and then take the money for myself.”

“No, never like that.” You shake your head and smile. “More like the money that was in his wallet.”

Hyori barks out a laugh. “Yeah, right. You had the time to get the money from his wallet between everything that…that was happening…” she trails off, sinking back in her cushion as you pull a massive wad of cash and a credit card out of the drawer in the side table next to you. “Holy shit, how did you…how did he not notice?”

“I’m a very good distraction,” you shrug.

“Why did you…why the fuck did you do that?” She’s appalled and, for the record, you completely understand why. However, you have a perfectly good reason.

You only shrug in response to her question.

“Isn’t it obvious? Karma.”

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