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roosterforme · 4 months

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Sundays Are for the Boys | Hangman x Reader

Summary: Football Sundays are a sacred tradition amongst Jake and his friends, and he's quick to make sure you know that. But when the boys discover your favorite drink in the refrigerator, Jake makes an exception to his rule.

Warnings: Fluff, language, a tiny bit of smut, 18+

Length: 2600 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Written for Pick Your Poison! Banner by @thedroneranger

Dating Jake came with one firm rule: Sundays were for watching football with the guys.

"I mean it," he'd told you months ago when you first started dating him. "I host every week. They come over around ten when the games start, and they don't leave until after the last game ends. No wives. No girlfriends. Just a cooler filled with cheap beer. Sundays are for the boys."

At the time, you thought it was cute that he wanted to spend the day with his friends. "That's adorable," you told him, kissing his cheek. But by the time football season arrived, Jake was already in his Dallas Cowboys jersey, shaking you awake on Sunday morning at nine.

"It's almost game time, Baby. The guys will be here soon."

You looked up at him from his bed with a little smirk. "You're really into this, huh?"

He kissed your forehead and started to pull you to your feet as you laughed. "It's a thing. I told you this months ago." He patted your bare butt as you looked around for your clothes from the night before. "It's week one, and the Cowboys play the Eagles in the early game. I love putting Payback in a bad mood."

You kissed him before you slipped your underwear on. "I know you do."

He was antsy, and you knew he wanted you to leave, but you also knew he didn't want to say it as he kissed you over and over again. "Baby, you gotta go," he finally whispered as you smiled against his lips.

"I know, I know," you replied, still amused as you finished getting dressed and packed up your stuff. "Go Cowboys."

Each week, your relationship progressed, but this little routine stayed the same. Jake would inevitably wake you up by nine if you weren't already up. He would be wearing one of his many Dallas Cowboys jerseys. He would walk you out to your car and tell you how much he loved you before you left him to entertain his friends.

But one Sunday, you woke him up with a blowjob on his birthday. And you took your time with it. Did you have a bit of an ulterior motive? Sure. But it didn't detract from the fact that you wanted him to enjoy himself, and you certainly made sure he did. He was coming hard at exactly 9:42 with his hand on the back of your head and his cock tapping your throat.

"Oh, fuck!" he groaned. "Fuck!"

You licked him clean and grinned up at him before kissing his hip and whispering, "I love you, birthday boy." Then you climbed out of bed, kissed his lips and started to get dressed. "It's almost ten. I'll head out."

You saw him waver a bit before he nodded. Then his doorbell rang, and you just knew it would be the guys starting to arrive. He kissed you deeply one more time before pulling on his blue and gray jersey and some gym shorts. "Take your time getting dressed. I'll go let them in."

"Sounds good," you replied. And twenty minutes later, after you'd fixed your hair and put on the tiniest bit of makeup, you waltzed out into the living room where there were now six guys spread out on Jake's sectional couch with an open cooler of beer on ice in the middle of the floor and bags of chips seemingly everywhere.

It was kind of fascinating, getting to catch a glimpse of this carefully curated world that he worked so hard to keep private. Your plan was to quietly sneak out the front door, but you had to stifle your laughter as you heard Bradley tell your boyfriend, "Your Cowboys look like a bunch of fucking pussies this week."

"You're one to talk, dipshit," Jake replied without missing a beat. "The Steelers are 2 and 4." He went back to sipping his beer.

"Both of you are delusional," Coyote told them as he cracked open a can and shoved a fistful of chips into his mouth.

You skirted around the outside of the room as you eyed them in their various colorful jerseys while you thought they were completely focused on the game. Then you heard Fanboy call your name. "You're leaving?" he asked, looking at you as he ate some beef jerky.

"Yeah," you said with a little laugh as Jake got up to peck you on the cheek. "You know, Sundays are for the boys and all that."

Just then, the Cowboys scored a touchdown, and Jake hoisted you up in the air as you screeched in surprise. Half of the guys groaned, and half of them cheered, but your boyfriend held you tight as he tossed aside his empty beer can and said, "You can't leave until they kick the extra point." So you just stayed there, your feet not even touching the ground as Jake held his breath, and then the Cowboys went up by one more point. Then Jake walked you to your car, nipping at your neck the entire way.

"Don't you have to get back inside?" you whispered as he filthy kissed you, pressing you against the driver's side door.

"I will," he grunted. "Feel like you're my lucky charm right now."

He kissed away all your lip gloss and messed up your makeup, but when you finally drove away, you had a smile on your face.

------------------------

"What are these things?" Reuben called from the kitchen. Jake turned to see what he was holding up.

"High Noons," he replied before focusing back on the game. "My girl's obsessed with them. It's like a fancy hard seltzer."

"Can I try one?"

"Yeah," Jake told him, knowing he'd just replace them later for you.

Javy was currently sitting on the floor, practically in tears as the Saints gave up another touchdown to the Dolphins. Mickey's loud cheering had everyone else laughing. "Dude, you'll lose your voice again like last week," Bradley told him as he accidentally spilled potato chips all over the floor before picking them up and eating them anyway.

"It'll be worth it if the Saints lose!" Mickey cheered.

"Hey, what's that?" Bradley asked Reuben as he chugged the High Noon can and belched. "Some sort of girly shit?"

"Yeah, it's fucking good."

A minute later, everyone was drinking them, including Jake. "This is delicious," Bob muttered.

"For real," Reuben agreed. "Your girl has good taste."

Bradley snorted as he opened another can. "Not in guys." He and Reuben started cracking up at Jake's expense while he rolled his eyes.

Then Javy was on his hands and knees crawling toward the TV and shouting, "Get him! Get him! That's a fucking sack! Fuck you, Fanboy! Fuck you, dude!"

The room was in chaos as Javy ground the potato chip crumbs into the carpet. When Jake's phone vibrated, he saw it was a text from you and realized he kind of wished you were here right now.

I miss you. Are you having fun with the boys?

He smiled as he checked the time. The Cowboys game would be starting in less than an hour, and they always seemed to play better whenever you were in the room for those fleeting few minutes before you left him to his Sunday tradition. He tapped his fingers on his thigh and contemplated texting you back.

"Hey, Jake, are there any more of these things?" Bob asked, holding up his empty High Noon can. It was a testament to how good they tasted that Bob was even drinking one in the first place. He absolutely hated beer.

"I don't think so," Jake muttered, almost to himself as he read your text again. "Let me check." He started his response to you and then finished it after he looked in his nearly empty fridge.

I miss you too, Baby. Where did you get those High Noons? The boys drank them all, and they loved them. I'm going to need to stock up.

When he looked up from his phone, Javy was on his back, kicking his feet in the air, because the Dolphins had scored another touchdown. "No!"

"Hey, Hangman, you're out of chips," Bradley complained, shaking the empty bag into his open mouth before frowning.

Now Mickey was dancing around Javy on the floor as the final score of the game flashed across the bottom of the screen. His Dolphins had beat Javy's Saints, and Reuben was already changing the channel for the next game that was about to start. But you had texted back again.

Why is that so adorable? I'm just about on my way home from lunch with the girls. Want me to stop and get another case or two? Maybe some snacks? I can drop them off.

Jake grinned; even the idea of you stopping by for a few seconds made him smile. He texted you back letting you know that he loved that idea, and then he stepped over the chaos on his floor and dropped down next to Reuben. Just as the intro to the Cowboys and Steelers was starting up, Jake said, "My girl's stopping by with more of those drinks and some snacks, so please behave while she's here."

"We will," they all replied in unison, though he highly doubted that would actually be the case.

Then the game started, and they were all distracted, because it was Jake's team against Bradley's team. "Your precious Cowgirls are going down," Bradley muttered, practically licking the inside of the chip bag.

Jake realized he was hungry too as he flipped him off, and he could hear Reuben's stomach growling. The Cowboys were looking terrible in the first quarter, and now Bradley was sitting on the edge of his seat as the Steelers were poised to score a touchdown.

But then, just when you walked in carrying some fresh High Noons and a platter of hot wings, the Steelers threw an interception, and the Cowboys ran it back all the way for a touchdown. "Fuck yes!" Jake shouted, practically ripping the food and drinks out of your hands to get to you. "Come here, Baby. Come sit on my lap."

"Seriously?" you asked, clearly surprised as Jake pulled you along with him while the other guys tore into the seltzers and chicken wings like they were wild animals. Well, everyone except for Bradley who was on his knees on the floor, staring at the TV in shock.

"Thank you for the food and the High Noons," Jake drawled, grinning against your neck as he held you close. "You're the best."

"You're welcome," you replied, really getting into the game now. "Cowboys are already up?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Bradley groaned. And it just kept getting better from there. Jake got to have you snuggled up on the couch with him while he ate wings and drank seltzers all afternoon.

When you tried to leave at halftime, the guys whined for you to stay, and Jake pulled you closer to him. "Baby, no. The Cowboys have done nothing but get touchdown after touchdown since you got here. I need you to stay."

You laughed and opened a High Noon for yourself with an amused look on your face. "Alright, Jake. Whatever you need."

-----------------------

When you woke up on Sunday with Jake kissing your neck and whispering, "Time to get up," you groaned. You were still exhausted from working all week, but you stretched and slowly got out of bed. "Where are you going?" he asked, reaching for you as you stood and looked at him.

"Home?"

He shook his head like he couldn't be more confused. "Why? Baby, the Cowboys play at ten. The boys will be here soon."

"Yeah...." you replied, reaching for your clothes. "That's why I'm leaving. Sundays are for the boys."

Now he was honest to god pouting. "But, I don't want you to leave. I love watching the games with you, and the guys keep my place cleaner when you're here. They actually belch less too. Really, overall, they are much less insufferable. And besides..." he whispered, grabbing your hand and pulling you back into bed. "I think you're my lucky charm."

"Really?" you asked as he pinned your hands above your head on the pillow.

"Mmhmm," he hummed as he kissed you. "You make my team do better, and you make me happy. Stay."

You were melting at his touch. "Well, how could I say no?"

The following week, Jake was opening a seltzer for you, and when you looked around, all of the guys were drinking them. Mickey tapped his can to yours. "These are delicious. I feel so sophisticated. You're a genius."

The week after that, Javy ordered pizza only after discreetly asking what your favorite topping was. "The rest of them would eat cardboard with red sauce on top of it, but I want to make sure you get the kind you like."

The week after that, Reuben and Bob both jumped up to get you a new can when yours was empty, and Bradley begrudgingly said, "I still like you even though Jake fucking ruined you by turning you into a Cowboys fan."

You started staying later and later, and you noticed that Jake filled the cooler with fewer beers and more seltzers each week. And on the last Sunday of the regular season, the guys showed up with a sad looking, half crumpled up gift bag and handed it to you as you rearranged the pretty charcuterie board you'd been working on for them.

"What's this?" you asked, peeking into the bag at some pink fabric.

"It's for you," Javy said. "You're one of the guys now."

Jake grinned at you from the open refrigerator where he handed out High Noon cans to everyone. "You knew about this?" you asked him as you reached into the bag and pulled out a pink Dallas Cowboys jersey with your own name on the back.

"Of course I knew about it, Baby. I had to tell them your size."

"Thank you," you whispered as you looked at it, tears filling your eyes and blurring your vision. "I love it." When you looked up at them, they raised their seltzer cans in a toast to you, and you ran to Jake's bedroom to get changed.

You had your own jersey color now amongst the rainbow of teams everyone rooted for, and Jake kept you close as the Cowboys played. The cooler of slowly melting ice offered up High Noons to you and the boys, and by the time it was getting dark outside, you were standing next to the TV with your hands in the air.

"Ready?" you asked them a little loudly as you giggled, but you weren't the only one who was tipsy and silly. "Here we go!" You led them in a hideous, off-key rendition of I've been waiting all day for Sunday night. After weeks of watching football, everyone had all of the ridiculous lyrics memorized, and it ended in laughter as you curled up next to Jake on the couch.

"I love Sundays," he said, his arm slung around your shoulders. "And I love you, Baby."

You kissed his cheek and whispered, "Sundays are for seltzer drinkers."

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You slowly infiltrated, and now Sundays are yours. Thanks @thedroneranger for making pretty mood boards like this one and letting us write about them. And thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

Don't forget to read the second part! This Sunday Is for My Girl!

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targaryenluvs · 4 months

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OUR LITTLE DOVE

pairings: dark!lucy gray x fem!reader, dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader, coriolanus snow x lucy gray

summary: you reunite with your dear songbird after the games, but it seems the capitol has followed her home, and taken an interest in the two of you. but it seems lucy gray is willing to share you with a certain peacekeeper, even if you aren’t.

warnings: crazy lucy n corio conspiring like evil doers, manipulation, chasing, primal play?? is that what is called idk corio enjoys hunting your ass down, kidnapping, drugging, forced into accepting a third partner?? nc touching, abuse of power (peacekeeper), power dynamics, kinda cheating (lucy n corio), guilt-trip, jealousy, threatening, self doubt and relationship problems, murder, betrayal

word count: 3.0k

a/n: lol i complain about wanting to write fluff but all my good ideas r so dark 😭 someone needs to give me tips on how to write girls cuz i have no experience would be easier if i was gay boooo!!

he was like a shadow, stuck to your back, always.

you’d complained to lucy numerous times that you didn’t feel comfortable around him when she played at the hob, knowing he’d be there, in the crowd. “sweetie, he was my mentor. he helped me so much in the games, i wouldn’t be here without him. you love me don’t you? so you need to learn to love him too, he’s a good friend a mine. i love you and i gotta get to the stage baby.” she explained as she ran around getting herself and the covey ready.

you were always front row. wanting to be as close to lucy as possible. she looked especially majestic tonight with flowers in her hair. as you listened to her sing you’d managed to forget about the certain blonde peacekeeper near the back. but he hadn’t forgotten about you, nor lucy.

you’d left to get a drink and you’d came back to an unfamiliar tune. you usually knew every song being played off by heart but this was new.

Everyone's born as clean as a whistle

As fresh as a daisy

And not a bit crazy

Staying that way's a hard row for hoeing

she sounded as angelic as usual and the crowd around you seemed entranced.

As rough as a briar

Like walking through fire

This world, it's dark

This world, it's scary

lucy smiled at you once, just once. which threw you off since you usually got a bunch. especially during new songs and songs about you. was this not also about you?

I've taken some hits, so

No wonder I'm wary It's why

I need you

so it is about me! you thought as you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sway to the music and singing. you’d hoped you wouldn’t miss a smile headed your way.

You're as pure as the driven snow

your eyes flew open as you stared at lucy, she was looking past you and to the peacekeeper. to coriolanus snow. you’d always been a rational person, you prided yourself on restraint but that restraint was hanging on by a thread. you wanted to jam a beer bottle into his neck. lucy was your girlfriend not his. and yet he smiled stupidly towards her as she sang and you could feel your heart clawing its way up. best to leave now rather than stay and hear more of the ever so driven man.

your head was spinning as you slumped to the floor, in one of your finest dresses yet worst mental states. of course, something had formed between the two. she was in the goddamn hunger games and he was her mentor. trauma bonding? he quite literally saved her life, coached her and you did what? sat at home and hoped.

hope could only get you so far.

your hope and faith in lucy gray baird was dwindling as her lyrics swirled in your head. of course she loved him. who wouldn’t? the man was undeniably eye catching. a capitol man. but you’d always imagined lucy staying away from the capitol, despising them. but maybe it wasn’t the captiol part but the man part. maybe she wanted a true life, a home, marriage and children and everything she could wish for.

what on earth could you provide her with?

“y/n?” it sure as hell wasn’t lucy calling out for you and you knew that. coriolanus’s reflection was prominent in the puddle before you as he neared. great, you sneered, would love to get to know you mr peacekeeper. please tell me how you stole my lovely girlfriend from me!

your chest felt oh so heavy as you heard his footsteps in the gravel, determined and unwavering as he made his way to your slumped body. “what do you want? you wanna gloat?” coriolanus stopped in his tracks, gloat? “why would i gloat?” you looked up at him annoyed, “rub it in my face. you practically stole my girlfriend from me.” coriolanus laughed. actually laughed and it made you want to strangle him with his stupid dog tags.

“sweetheart.” vomit. you wanted to vomit. maybe choking and dying on your vomit would be less embarrassing then this. why on earth was this fuck head calling you his sweetheart. “fuck off.”

you didn’t see him coming. and you certainly didn’t expect his demeanour to snap. but the large hand tangled in your open hair was a big slap in the face to your unreadiness. “you of all people don’t get to talk to me like that. do you know who you’re talking to?” you could hear his perfect porcelain teeth grinding at your words. god this man couldn’t handle an insult. wuss.

“what the hell is your- ow! problem!” you yelped as he dragged you into an alleyway. “you need to learn how to respect your superiors. if you’re nice to me, i can make your life easier. doesn’t it hurt? not being able to fully provide for your family? seeing them struggle? do you really think disrespecting a peacekeeper is going to help? i suggest you straighten your act and thank me for even looking your way. there are plenty of other girls here.”

but he didn’t want those other girls. he wanted you. you with the teary eyes and messy hair. you who he’d been seeing in his dreams and during the day. you with the kind smile and curious eyes. you who were so sweet and pretty but mean when need be. the y/n who was stupid enough to spit such hateful words at a peacekeeper. but he’d teach you. whether it be with words and lessons or actions and bruises. you’d learn your place, by his side and lucy’s, and underneath. but with such fearful, brown doe eyes watering up infront of him, the girl he’d heard oh so much about from lucy. how could he refrain from indulging?

his hand reached out to wipe away the few stray tears that fell as his left extended towards your right, which was clutching your head, where he’d grabbed you. “shh, let me help you.” your hand slowly retracted as your heart ran a marathon. the man was obviously unstable, going from a deceptively caring man to violent. coriolanus smiled at your actions, and it freaked you out. he caressed your scalp in an attempt to soothe, “good girl.” he cooed as your apparent saviour approached.

“sweetie?” lucy called out to you as coriolanus withdrew from your personal space. he walked over to her and she let him. he held her hand and spoke with, love? his voice was soft and comforting, his thumb again caressing the back of her hand as they talked, whispered, plotted? god knows, all you wanted was to leave.

was this your chance?

you tested the waters, slow and calculated movements as lucy nodded in agreement with him. but by the time they were done speaking you’d bolted.

but you sure as hell weren’t getting far with these two on your tail, poor y/n l/n. a little dove trying to spread her wings but they were bound to be clipped.

your feet were throbbing and begging for you to slow down. but your brain was in charge for once, your heart which yearned for your dear songbird pushed to the side as your head screamed and urged you to go. she was in league with him apparently. her seeing him corner you and not even batting an eyelash. did she truly care for you so little? did she want to rid herself of you? she could’ve broken up with you and let that be it. maybe the games had twisted her head.

even as you believed yourself to be gaining distance from the two you could hear the not-so distant steps of determined pursuit, headed your way. how would they kill you? slow and intimate? hasty and brutal?

“if you stop running now we won’t be mad little dove!” lucy shouted in warning as you felt yourself momentarily slow at her words. traitor. you thought to yourself as your body involuntary listened, she still had an affect on you. “she’s right, we love you, we won’t hurt you. unless we have to, don’t give us our reasons.”

“shut up!” you screamed. god, i know we haven’t talked in a while. last minute efforts right? maybe he’d listen to you, save you from your tormentors. you should’ve kept your head clear, focused on running. focused on your surroundings and if you had, you would’ve noticed the nearing tree roots, thick and protruding from the ground, ready to knock you down.

you crawled behind the tree, trying to catch your breath as your hands worked tirelessly to provide some form of relief to your aching ankle.

crack.

you’d been found. you fucked up.

“our little dove, ever the sprinter.”

his words had you lurching forwards in an attempt of fleeing but lucy’s cold hand on your ankle dragged protests and cries from your throat as well as you, back to them. “you should’ve listened before, we would’ve been nice. given you some time to adjust, but you can’t sit and think for a second can you?” coriolanus mocked as his hand trailed up your un-injured leg, “that’s okay, you won’t be doing much thinking from now on. we’ll be taking care of you, since you obviously can’t take care a’ yourself baby.” lucy’s voice was saccharine, like honey, and her smile was even sweeter. the familiarity and comfort of her presence was intoxicating, you felt at peace on one side and the other wanted to jump off a cliff. she lowered your guard and coriolanus slithered right in.

the prick in the side of your neck wasn’t painful, but their words were. “you’re with us now, we’ll take care of you, we promise.” and you were stuck, stuck with them for god knows how long.

you blinked away the sleep in your eyes, adjusting to the room. maybe they had killed you? in their own twisted way they’d keep you forever, in their memories and soul. coriolanus and lucy’s voices swam around your head and blended together. you were wrong. yay.

“it’s a bit early for katniss, even if it’s one of her favourites.”

“she should eat something better.”

“better? don’t go all capitol on me now corio.”

he was smiling, you could tell.

“never lucy gray. but she’ll be weak for a few days, proper meals will help her regain some strength.”

you picked your head up and looked through the window, the lake was evident.

“alright, you go grab it and i’ll stay here.”

“why? so you can get more time with her? if anyone should get extra time it’s me.”

“now who was her partner first? oh that’s right, me. you’re acting as if i’m gonna pick her up and run away. if you’re that scared than we’ll both go. take her with us.”

coriolanus’s head whipped towards the cabin and you quickly flopped back down on the bed. you shut your eyes as you heard the door creak open. “gosh, doesn’t she look pretty?” lucy asked, knowing the answer already. “so calm, i liked her better when she was crying.” lucy hit him, “coriolanus snow!” he stroked the side of your face and you had to resist from turning your head and biting his fingers off.

“little dove.” your eyes opened again, turning your head his way tiredly. “we need to get some supplies okay?” you nodded as lucy went outside to gather the baskets she’d left out earlier on to dry. coriolanus’s hand dug into your cheeks as he forced you to look at him, “i told you i’d make you respect me. now listen, if you try anything when we’re in town i will never let you forget it. you’ll know who you belong to every single day. maybe i’ll pay your family a visit? an appointment with the hanging tree for being rebels? stealing?”

you shook your head violently as you began to cry, “you don’t want that? didn’t think so. you listen to me and everything will be fine. your family will get daily help and weekly groceries. they’ll never go hungry again. all thanks to their sweet little girl. lucy’s too nice, but don’t think for a second she’ll save you from me. you’re mine and if you try anything.” he leaned in to whisper, “i’ll strangle her with my bare hands infront of you.” his words were meant to scare you, and they did. but don’t you know? coriolanus snow doesn’t need a reason to do bad things.

coriolanus was wicked and ruthless when it came to what he wanted, if you had any hope of trying to get through this then you’d need lucy’s attention and help. so you nodded. “words sweetheart.” you swallowed your pride, your dignity, and you shook hands with the devil.

“yes, i’ll do what you say.” he straightened up, his white shirt a contrast to his dark thoughts.

“y’all ready to go?” lucy questioned as coriolanus grinned, “yes, yes we are.” he lifted you up and helped you dress, you hadn’t realised the fact that you were only dressed in his own white shirt, dress to you. he handled you like you were the most delicate object. as if he wasn’t hell bent on breaking you, over and over again. till you were fit to his standards. the captiol standards. the snow standards.

his, his, his.

with how obedient you were, he figured you’d do well in the capitol. which was exactly where he was meaning to bring you.

lucy walked in front of the two of you as you made your way through the woods. coriolanus’s hand was glued to your waist as he held you close, afraid to let go. you were at flight risk of course. his grip was tight and bruising. lucy’s humming distracted you at times, if you were delusional enough you could imagine it to be the two of you. your brothers far infront and the covey following. after an amazing afternoon at the lake, heading home for dinner, maybe a performance or the night shift.

your daydreaming was interrupted when you clocked coriolanus’s missing hand from your waist, and his arm now around lucy grays throat.

don’t you remember? you’d do well in the capitol! you were his! but not entirely, no.

not with her in the way.

you were frozen in place as lucy clawed at him before reaching out for you. a plea, a cry for help and aid yet you stood stuck in fear. a minute, two. she’d put up a strong fight, especially when you ran towards the two, pushing and shoving at coriolanus to let her go. but again, you fucked up.

here lies lucy gray baird, singer, victor, psycho.

obsessed? madly in love? you couldn’t think of another word, and as much as you wished to forget her, forget how she’d practically allowed another man into your relationship and let him kidnap you. her lifeless face and hollow eyes made your heart clench. but soon enough she was rolled over, thrown in a pre-made hole and buried. she’d survived the games but no one survived coriolanus snow.

“don’t forget what i said. don’t forget what you agreed to. you said you’d do as i say, i’m telling you to get up and follow me. we’re leaving district 12.” your face was painted with confusion as coriolanus clutched your face, “i’m going back, and you’re coming with me. don’t ask questions, just do as i say.”

and you did.

when he had you say goodbye to your family, a courtesy, a privilege he’d granted you. you kept it short and sweet, no questions just hugs and false promises of return.

when he ushered you onto the train and he wanted you to sit and be silent, you did.

through his time at the university, he wanted you close to him, living with him. and you did.

through his presidency campaign he wanted for you to charm sponsors and entice newcomers. you did.

when he wanted to marry you in a grand spectacle infront of the captiol and dress you up, you did as he asked.

when he held you down on your wedding night after tearing your dress off, biting and marking you down all over, pushing you down to your knees and took you all over the house, asking you to give yourself to him as if he didn’t take you anyways, you did.

you had no idea why at this point.

for your family? who hadn’t reached out in so long, even when they promised to talk to you every day? coriolanus had them all arrested, punished and hung for inciting riots and uprisings.

for your friends whom listened to your concerns of the capitol peacekeeper who hovered and didn’t make you feel crazy? each of them ended up dead in many different ways, hung, shot, a mugging gone wrong.

you didn’t know at this point and when you looked in the mirror you didn’t recognise the girl who stared back. a captiol sheep, dressed up in the finest silk dresses and slick heels yet the filth underneath the finery, jewels, and makeup weighed you down. each time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you, it felt like a peace of yourself was thrown away.

and as you clutched your swelling stomach, you couldn’t help but feel pity for baby number four.

maybe you’d grow up and find love.

maybe i’ll be able to take you all away from him.

maybe we’ll heal.

you thought, but in the back of your head, a little voice wouldn’t shut up.

you’ll always be his little dove.

#dark!coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader #lucy gray x coriolanus #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x reader #lucy gray x fem!reader #lucy gray x reader #lucy gray baird x reader #dark!lucy gray x reader #dark!lucy gray baird x reader #hunger games x reader

2K notes · View notes

tiorx · 1 year

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open world love nikki???

#open world dress up game.......

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kingcygnus · 1 year

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if someone five years ago had told me love dress nikki would have an open world game i would’ve thought they were trolling... my girl really has grown powerful, and you know what, good for her

#like from a 2d dress up game to a 3d dress up game more story heavy to now an open world where she flies ???#havent played the previous two games in years but every once in a while i like to go back and play them #wassi rambles

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forlix · 4 months

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‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.

— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.

words・6.4k

pairing・han jisung x female reader

genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn

warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut

playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han

a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡

smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare

Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.

It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.

So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.

Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?

Why can’t I follow?

Then he wakes up.

No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.

Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.

Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.

You see him.

Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways.

Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.

He hopes you like horror movies.

Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.

Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.

“Lix, hey!”

“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”

“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”

This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.

“Eventful night, huh?”

He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.

“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”

“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”

Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.

A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.

“I’d like that.”

He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.

Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.

Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.

You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.

It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.

You turn towards it.

In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”

A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.

“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.

“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.

The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.

He wants to remember everything about you.

It’s not often he wants to remember anything.

Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.

He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.

Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”

Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.

You do the stupid thing for him.

You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him.

The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”

“Gimme your lemonade.”

The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige.

You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.

The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.

“Open,” you murmur.

His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.

You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.

He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.

He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.

The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.

“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.

“You’re a monster,” he croaks.

You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”

One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.

“...and you still remember my address…”

A suckle to the lobe of his ear.

“...you can kiss me, for real.”

A trembling breath.

“And then some.”

Jisung moans, loudly.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things.

He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.

Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.

The back in his dreams keeps walking.

Jisung has never liked winter.

He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.

He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter.

And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.

This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.

When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.

His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.

Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.

“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”

“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”

“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”

Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”

“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.

“My bad,” he sighs.

“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.

“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”

The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.

“We’re waiting on one more person.”

He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.

“Who?”

Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.

“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”

Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.

In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.

This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.

But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.

“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”

You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”

“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”

Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Hey,” you reply.

Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”

Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.

It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.

He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jisung: do you have plans after this?

Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.

He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.

Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.

Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…

He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.

Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛

With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.

He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.

Or both.

He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.

Jisung: me too <3

When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.

As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.

He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.

“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.

“What did you realize?”

“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”

Jisung has broken hearts before.

There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.

He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds.

There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.

Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.

“Sure,” he answers.

He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.

Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.

“I like when we don’t talk, though.”

It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.

Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.

The glass fogs up anyways.

“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”

You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.

Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”

The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”

Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.

It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.

“W-why’d—where’d you go?”

He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.

“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—”

He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.

“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”

You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.

You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.

“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”

“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”

“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”

He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.

“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”

“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.

And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.

He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.

Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.

He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.

Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.

“You squirted,” he says.

“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.

He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.

Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.

He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.”

There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.

His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.

Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.

After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.

Snow comes a few weeks into the new year.

This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen.

The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”

He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.

Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia.

When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.

You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.

He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.

“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.

The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.

Only then do you notice the blizzard.

You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.

Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.

“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.

“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.

He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.

Your ribcage fucking throbs.

“You don’t seem excited,” you say.

He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.

“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.

“You don’t like snow?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.

“It’s a long story.”

Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt.

You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.

“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”

“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.

A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.

“You’re not driving right now.”

He breaks eye contact.

“Right?”

That was the plan, you read in his expression.

You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.

You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.

And you won’t.

“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”

“Stay.”

You’re not asking.

Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.

Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.

“You can stay, Jisung.”

He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.

It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.

In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

The inevitable question follows.

“Can I save the story for another time?”

“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

“We should.”

Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.

You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.

In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.

You wake to a black hole.

For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.

Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.

Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.

The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.

The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.

Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.

You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds.

But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds.

At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.

Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.

And you recognize him for the first time ever.

You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.

“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.

Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.

He’s been having this nightmare.

It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.

Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.

Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds.

Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.

This time, though, the snow tastes like something.

After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.

His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.

He wakes up.

“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”

You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.

“That’s—”

My shampoo.

A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.

“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I don’t want you to cry for me.”

“You died.”

“And I would do it again.”

This response comes without an shred of hesitation.

You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.

Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through?

Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.

He saves you the trouble.

“Honestly?”

Your confession stills.

“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.

“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”

You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.

“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”

You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.

“Don’t go,” he exhales.

You kiss him.

It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.

The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.

Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

The night comes and goes.

The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.

Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.

You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.”

Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・ @automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten

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norrizzandpia · 4 months

Note

reader finding out that lando only pursued her bc one of his pr team told him to date somebody of her caliber

I love these kinds of tropes

One-Sided Fake Dating (LN4)

Summary: When Y/n has continuously been used for the image that has pristinely been constructed for her and the connections she has through relation to her parents, she has cultivated a dark image on the world, especially on love. However, when Lando comes into her life and shows her what it’s like to be wanted for who you are and not what you can provide, she begins to open up and she begins to explore what it’s like to be loved and to love. Although, nothing is permanent and what happens when the man she had thought to be better than everyone who had previously screwed her over turns out to be worse?

Warnings: angst, language, sexual references, i build this couple up just have them come crashing down, this one’s rough but all my posts are so its ok, family trauma, me being cliche when it comes to making up fake rich last names sorry sue me

Note: it’s a sad ending but AS WE ALL KNOW i cant take those so there will most likely be a part two lmk if yall want to see that

Part 2 link

She hated these things. Galas where men approached her for the last name written on her birth certificate and women fawned over her dress in order to become one step closer to the opportunities only she held access to. A drink in her hand, the little droplets leaking onto the ring adorning her finger, her eyes gazed upon attendees of the party her father had thrown. Men and women dressed to the nines in designer clothing, a rotten feeling manifested in her stomach. It was indescribably cold, something that settled within her and was a stark reminder that, in a room full of people ready to wait on her hand and foot, she was alone. Neither her father nor mother could make her feel any semblance of warmth, not when they exploited the image she had perfectly curated over the span of her life. The perfect, girl-next-door persona had been all she was destined for when she was birthed into the hands of Nick and Amy Winchester, two heirs to two successful oil businesses. Neither of them had truly made the effort to make her feel as though she was destined for more, other than a pawn in their Public Relations game.

She stared at them shortly, studying their faces and the way they moved about the room, wondering whether she had ever truly known them. Her parents were an anomaly, filthy rich and happy as ever. Although, no one ever knew what went on behind doors.

“Y/n Winchester, how lucky I am to finally meet you in person. I’ve heard so many great things.” A voice startled her from her deep mind, turning it back on to the mission at hand, putting on a front that she had everything she ever wanted.

Turning around, her gaze found that of Lando Norris, a man her parents had never shut up about, having been friends with his father and loving the way he so seamlessly fell into what they had always wanted her to be, but she never quite came close. This man was the image of the self-inadequacy she had been forced to feel from the moment she could slightly understand the concept. She despised him.

The fake smile she had flaunted for years graced her face, “Lando Norris, it’s lovely to meet you as well.”

He extended his hand to her, her fingers falling onto the bed of his as he pressed his lips to the back of her palm. The warm pressure spread up her arm and down her body as they held each other’s eyes. Something about the deep greenness of his made her want to know more, made the hatred and envy she had held for him diminish.

“I have to say you’re even more beautiful in person.” He whispered, lowering her hand but not letting go.

A tinge of red wrapped around her cheeks, “Thank you. You’re quite handsome as well.”

The entire thing felt incredibly mysterious. The way he cradled her hand; the way his eyes pierced hers; the way he was so intoxicating and the way she didn’t know why. She wanted more, wanted to know more.

Drowning in the confusion pertaining to her sudden change of feelings toward him, she couldn’t make out what he had been speaking about. As a result he simply stared at her with raised eyebrows, “Y/n, am I boring you already?”

She shook her head with a soft smile, “No, I’m sorry. Just got lost in thought.”

“About me?” He rubuttled quickly. So quick she couldn’t hesitate or think before she began nodding slowly. Her brain had shrunk at the hands of the smell of his cologne and all she could rely on was the years of PR training.

His eyebrows raised further, “Oh? Well, that’s a good sign considering I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you since you walked into the room.”

She choked slightly on her drink, not expecting him to be quite forward, “Sorry?”

He smiled a sinister smile, one that drew her in and made her want to run away all at once, “You’re intoxicating, Y/n.”

She cocked her head, “Is being bold your way of picking up women, Norris?”

He shook his head with a chuckle, “Being bold is my way of trying to make you fall in love with me. The women of my past are nothing like you, Winchester. I never wanted them to fall in love with me, however, with you,” He leaned in closer, “I want you all to myself.”

Pulsing between her legs told her this night would be ending very differently then she originally intended, “Is that so? I have to say, I’m not entirely opposed.”

His lips were centimeters from hers, his hot breath fanning her face, “Good because I was never going to stop until you were.”

—

In the light of the morning, Y/n’s mind ran wild at the consequences of what waking up in bed next to Lando Norris meant. He was known for sleeping around, for playing women and adding notches to his bedpost. Being another one of his past girls wouldn’t go over well for her image, an innocent and pure one that was meticulously portrayed so no one would see her as something inherently sexual.

However, as his arm slung over her waist, she couldn’t find it in herself to truly care. Sure, she was a bit panicked for what her parents would say, but with the memories of the night before and the dull aching between her legs, she knew this wouldn’t be a one time thing.

Throwing caution to the wind wasn’t something she typically did, but maybe she could try just this once.

His arm rustled on her warm skin, his eyelids creaking open as he stared at her, “Morning, Y/n.”

She giggled, “Not a good morning for you, Norris?”

His teeth peaked through in a flirtatious grin, “No, Winchester. It is a very very good morning.”

She turned around, slipping out of his arms and off the bed to pull her dress back on.

“What are you doing?” He asked, a grovel in his voice that made her never want to leave the quiet oasis of his room.

She turned around with a questionable glint in her eyes, “Leaving?”

He shook his head and propped his body up on his elbow, leaning over to grab her hand softly, “No, Y/n. Stay.”

There was a pleading in his eyes, one she had never seen in the media and one she had certainly never seen throughout the time they spent together. It made her give in.

She plopped back in bed next to him, his arm fell around her shoulders and he kissed her temple, “Why are you still in clothes?”

She laughed, thinking he was joking, but his hands over the soft skin of her arms as he pulled it down made the joyous sound dwindle down.

She certainly stopped laughing when his lips started descending down her stomach.

—

A persistent knocking on her door had her groaning and running over, “I’m coming!”

Her hand clutched the door knob, throwing open the door of her apartment near her university's campus, before she was greeted with the sweet image of her boyfriend.

She tilted her head with a soft smile, “Lan? What are you doing here?”

He pushed through the threshold, a nice smell of roses hitting her nose as he turned around to face her in her foyer.

“What’s with the flowers?” She questioned as he just stood there with an innocent smile.

He walked closer, planting a short kiss on her lips before whispering, “Happy three months.”

He held the flowers in between their bodies, continuing to grin at her as the occasion dawned on her.

She wrapped him in a hug, taking the red plant from his hands and kissing his cheek aggressively, “You are so cute! Thank you!”

He followed her further into the apartment as she went to the kitchen to put them in water. Questions flew from her lips, “How’d you know? Were you keeping track? You didn’t do this for our one month or two? Also, I thought we agreed to only celebrate the big ones like six months or a year? Was I supposed to get you something? Oh shit, Lan, I didn’t get you something.”

He giggled at her and shook his head, slithering his arms around her waist and pulling her into him when she was done with the flowers, “No, love, I just got a Snapchat memory that informed me it was three months ago today I asked you to be my girlfriend. I was going to ignore it, but I thought against it when I remembered how lucky I am to have you. I thought I’d just remind you of that.”

She blushed and wrapped her arms around his neck, “You’re sweet.”

“Only for you.” He murmured as she closed the gap between their lips.

At first, Y/n was a bit hesitant with Lando. With his past with women, sleeping around and never holding a commitment, she wondered if he would treat her a priority. Although, she was pleasantly surprised when he started speaking to her, treating her better than any of her ex’s. He was kind and gentle, compassionate, empathetic, understanding, and loving. He was everything and she was beginning to think he was her everything.

They continued kissing in her kitchen before she was reminded of the homework splayed out on the desk in her room, stress riddling her body once more. Lando clocked the tension, letting his hands rub up and down her back soothingly before softly speaking, “You okay, love?”

She tried to nod, but shook her head instead, her face pressing into his chest as she huffed, “No, I’m so stressed.”

Lando frowned, “Why? What’s going on?”

She led him to her room, his hand clutched in hers as she dragged him. When they reached her door, she opened it and he found a messy room drowning in papers and textbooks. The sight of it let alone made him panic.

“Christ,” He murmured. His hand squeezed hers in support as the two stared upon the mess.

Her voice became wobbly as she spoke, “I have so many assignments due and my room is a fucking shit show. I can’t think when it’s like this. It just adds to my stress. I don’t know what to do, Lando. I don’t have time to clean my room, I don’t have time to eat, I don’t have time to sleep. I’m fucking drowning.”

She choked up as her words felt suffocating. Lando was quick to pull her back into him, shushing her and caressing the hair on her head as she sniffled into his shirt. He led her to her bed, sitting her down and letting her lean on him, emotionally and physically. When she calmed down, he whispered into her hair, his lips having kissed multiple times there, “How about you sit at your desk, do what you can of your assignments, and I clean your room. I’ll make it spotless that way you don’t have to worry about it and then I’ll make some dinner, yeah? I can order in from your favorite place or I can make it myself. Whatever you want, baby. But, when your room is clean and the food is ready, you will give yourself a break. Trust me, laying with me on the couch and watching movies before going to bed at a reasonable hour will help you tomorrow so you can get more things done. You will get through this.”

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with glossy eyes, “You’d clean my room for me?”

He chuckled, hands cradling her face, “Of course, love. I’d do a lot more for you.”

🏎️

Four hours later, Lando had cleaned her entire apartment, ordered her favorite meal from a diner down the street, and plated it on the countertop of her kitchen. He was pleased with himself when he walked into her room, lightly pulled her earphone out and led her back into the kitchen where her face lit up at what he had done. Falling into his arms, she mumbled quick praises of gratitude into his neck, kissing at the skin as a thank you.

The wrinkles in her forehead had loosened by the time they made it to the couch, his legs kicked up as she sprawled out on him. There was quiet conversation of what they would watch before settling on The Holiday, a movie Y/n had loved since the moment she watched it when she was twelve.

As much as she loved it, however, she fell asleep twenty minutes in. Soft intakes of breath alerted Lando of the sleeping girl on him and he decided to stay there. He watched the movie all the way through, scratching her back softly throughout the entire thing. She moved a bit, but never away from him, always closer to him and his heart warmed every time.

When he laid her down in her bed and she whispered for him to stay, there was no argument in his mind. He stayed and he was beginning to think he always would.

—

“What’s your biggest fear?” Lando said into the darkness of the night as they sat in his car.

Y/n thought it over, knowing exactly what it was, but deciding if spilling that to him was appropriate in a five month relationship.

“Spiders.” She replied, fear taking over and forcing her out of what she truly wanted to say.

Lando looked over at her blankly, “What’s your biggest fear, Y/n?”

She laughed, “Spiders, Lan.”

He shook his head, “Tell me the truth, love.”

She exhaled a breath and began, “Going my entire life without making my parents proud.”

Her sentence hung in the air, her words hitting him as he searched for clarification, “You have made them proud, Y/n.”

She scoffed and shook her head as the feeling of Lando’s hand slipping into hers spread throughout her body in a grave reminder that he was there for her, “No, they have never looked at me long enough to see what I’ve tried to achieve and what I have achieved.”

His eyes bore into the side of her face as he listened intently, “No one knows that my parents are not who they portray themselves to be. Sure, they’re in love and they have fun times together, but they never wanted me. I know that, they know that, the staff, and the people they’ve employed to keep our image know that. They had me out of obligation, out of pressure from the outside world to have a child after they got married. I know they never wanted children, they’ve both said it to me before. From the moment I was born, I was not seen as a human or a baby who needed nurturing, I was seen as an object that could warmly slip into the narrative of their lives and compliment the rumors surrounding them. I was never meant to be anything else than their public pride and joy. Privately, I have never meant anything.”

Lando’s fingers grazed over the skin of her cheek, wiping a tear she hadn’t realized was there. He turned her face to his, forcing her eyes to see the love that ran deep for her, and stated so forcefully, “You are so much more than that.”

She stared at him, not knowing what to say to something that had never been reaffirmed in her entire life, and waited for him to continue.

“For them to disregard you that way shows how shallow they are. It has nothing to do with you. You are not nothing. You should’ve never been exploited and made to feel as though you served someone else. You are wanted. I want you, Y/n. That means something. I know it does because I love you and I want you.” He finished, wiping the tears that flowed down her cheeks.

In a broken whisper, “You love me?”

He smiled at her, leaning in and letting his lips rest just beside hers, “From the moment I met you.”

The words brought life back into her body as she softly giggled through the wetness on her cheeks, “I thought you were trying to make me fall in love with you. Didn’t think the plan was for you to fall in love with me too.”

It wasn’t, he thought.

He kissed her, “It’s hard not to fall in love with someone like you. You are my everything, Y/n.”

Right there. His last sentence echoed what had been repeating in her head for months. A person who loved her just as much as she loved them, what a sight.

“I love you too, you know.” She said, loving the way he continued to wipe residual tears and whisper soft words that contradicted the idea engrained in her head that she wasn’t meant for great things, that she wasn’t intelligent or a force to be reckoned with. Single-handedly, unknowingly, Lando changed her narrative and the idea that, once her parents were gone, she was useless.

He nodded, “I know. I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

He wouldn’t, that was the truth. What this relationship was built on, though? He couldn’t bear to utter the words.

Lies.

—

Galas. Something she used to hate, but, with Lando’s hand on her thigh and his jokes in her ear, she began to find fun in them.

“Don’t you think that woman’s dress makes her look like a flamingo?” Lando lowly whispered as he discreetly pointed to someone across the room that had a light pink dress on, ruffled with feathers.

His comparison was spot on and Y/n had to stop herself from snorting out her drink, “Lando! Stop!”

She giggled and he leaned into her, the two a picture of young love. There were others sitting beside them at the table, drinking expensive wine from expensive glasses and observing the famous couple. In the six months they had been together, the public had not ceased to stop talking about the two. Lando had skyrocketed to worldwide fame, larger than what he had possessed before. Y/n being the internet’s it girl, heiress to billion-dollar oil companies and a young woman who had everything everybody else wanted, forced Lando into a large spotlight. There was traction surrounding his name and because of his connection to her, his companies, his career saw an increase in brand deals, income essentially. By just being her boyfriend, everything tied to Lando had exponentially grown. McLaren included. It was everything they had expected.

A little too much wine in one of Lando’s coworkers was dangerous as he blabbered out, “I’m surprised you two are still together!”

There were a few knowing chuckles around the table as everyone eyed each other. Lando gave him a fixed glare, dark and challenging as he tried to plead with the drunk man to stop talking.

Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed as she leaned in, “What do you mean?”

The man threw his hands up as he leaned back in his chair, “Just with the way you two got together, I didn’t think Lando would stick around for this long.”

“Y/n, let’s go.” Lando stood abruptly from the table, his hand in hers as he tried to pull her from the situation.

Y/n shook her head as all eyes stared at her, “No, Lando, what’s he talking about?”

Lando pleaded with her, “Y/n, listen to me. It doesn’t matter. Please. Come with me. Let’s leave.”

She was stuck, wanting to pry into the man’s mind, but seeing the way Lando was begging her to comply.

However, at the end of the day, she was a curious individual.

“Sorry,” She stuck her hand out to smooth down the table cloth, “Can you please elaborate?”

“Y/n-” Lando started, but she just shook her head.

His mind raced as reality dawned on him and the moment where he lost her came to fruition.

Wine sloshed out of his glass as the man drank the last sip before he began, “Lando started dating you because of your last name.”

There was a lingering smile on her lips from previously wanting to keep a happy demeanor at the Gala, but the moment the sentence fell from his lips, it gradually faded.

Lando sat back down beside her and wrapped a hand around her arm, the other on her thigh, and squeezed harshly.

“Y/n, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

The man scoffed, “What are you talking about?! I was there! I was the one who suggested you approach her. I was the one who laid out what would happen to your career if you dated Y/n Winchester. Come on, Lando, don’t be a liar.”

Her heart beat slowly as she scanned the table, the others still sipping on their glasses as they watched the scene play out. Their expressions, lacking shock, made her realize that every person sitting before her knew that Lando’s love for her was a joke. Everyone, but her.

Her head gradually turned to the side, capturing Lando’s eyes with hers. There was still pleading within them, but, this time, he was pleading for her to still love him, for her to not leave him.

To hell with him, she thought.

“Is this true?” She asked, her tone cold and distant as she ripped her arm and leg from his grasp.

He shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face in anxiety, “No, well, kind of. Yes, but- Y/n,” He shot up from his chair as she made a move to leave.

She grabbed her purse which was hung over the back of her chair, her legs making quick strides toward the exit. Lando, being taller than her, walked quickly beside her, spewing out words that now meant nothing to her.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n,” He choked out. She didn’t have to look to know he was crying, “I didn’t know what I was doing. I was half drunk the night we got together, so were you. I always thought you were gorgeous. What I’m trying to say, fuck, is that it was never truly fake for me. You did mean something to me. You mean something to me. Y/n, are you listening to me?”

She threw open the doors to the party, letting the cool air coat the cold blood running through her veins, and whipped around aggressively to face him.

“Did you mean it when you said it?” She yelled, strong front trying desperately to stay up as she crumbled to pieces on the inside.

Lando shook his head in confusion, “When I said what?”

She stopped her foot on the ground, heel threatening to snap under the force, “When you said you loved me! When you said I meant everything to you! When you said I had purpose! Did you mean it?!”

She screamed at him and he stepped closer, but she put a hand up, “Don’t fucking come near me.”

Lando stood helplessly, “Yes, of course, I meant it. Y/n, everything was real for me.”

She cocked her head, “Was it? When did it stop being a ploy for my last name?”

Lando let his head fall to look at the ground, “The morning after we slept together.”

She groaned loudly, tears now falling freely from her cheeks, “Oh! How sweet! So, after you had sex with me, you started truly feeling something for me. If that’s even fucking true. You know, Lando,” She willed his eyes to keep her stare as she yelled, “You’re no better than everybody in there. I told you how I’ve never had anybody be in my life without wanting what comes with having a name like mine. I told you, I confided in you, how much it hurt for a ten word name to mean more than the feelings I have, to mean more than who I am as a person. You’re no better than my father, my mother, and everybody else who has exploited me in the past. Actually!” She continued, not caring that Lando was wiping tears off his face with his white button up, “Actually, you’re worse than all of them. At least, they were obvious with wanting me for the things I could give them. You made me think you loved me. You made me think that you fell in love with me for who I am. You made me think that I was finally being seen as a human being.”

Lando shot back, “I do love you, don’t fucking fight that. Don’t question that. I sure as fuck fell in love with you for who you are and I see you as who you are. Your last name doesn’t mean shit to me, Y/n.”

She hit his chest with her hand, “But, it did! It did, Lando, and that makes this fucking tainted! You’re just like them! You’re just like-”

She broke down into sobs, crying pathetically into his arms as he tried to coax her. The sound of betrayal was evident in the way she cried, a different kind to the one he heard before when her parents dismissed her or someone tried gaining something from her. This betrayal cut deep because of the love that clutched her heart and refused to let go even in the wake of what he had done. This betrayal ruined any semblance of trust she had with the world, demolishing it for anyone that tried to do what he attempted; to love her.

A moment went by, Y/n gathering herself and realizing she laid in the arms of someone she no longer trusted, and she forcefully backed herself away from him. Wiping her tears with his suit jacket, the one a bit too big for her because it was tailored to his frame and the one he had given her earlier in the night when she had grown cold, Y/n stopped meeting his eye.

“Delete my number from your phone. Never fucking talk to me again. You should be fucking ashamed of yourself.” She murmured, turning around and trying to walk down the dark street before Lando reached out to grab her arm.

When he forced her to turn around, his eyes were bloodshot and begging for forgiveness, begging for her, “Y/n, I love you. Please. Please.”

Still, she couldn’t meet his eye, softly and defeatedly whispering, “I will never be able to figure out if you love me for me or love me for what I can give to you. That is why this will never work. That is why you need to let go of my arm and let me go back to my apartment without you. That is why you need to let me go.”

He kept a hold on her arm and on the life he wanted them to have together, “Y/n, I can show you. I can show you how much you mean to me. Please, just give me another chance.”

She shook her head, “Goddamnit, Lando! Let fucking go of me! This is ruined! It will never be the same! You have done the worst possible thing. You have hurt me in the worst possible way. You have treated me the way everyone else has. I am not something you can use because you are greedy.”

He nodded his head intently, “I know. I know that. I always have.”

Fed up and emotionally distraught, Y/n ripped her arm from his hold and no longer did he reach out for her when her last parting words were, “No, you always haven’t. If you always had, you would’ve never approached me and we would’ve never found ourselves here.”

A/N: part 2?

UPDATE: part 2 posted

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hyunsvngs · 4 months

Text

hyunsvngbinimas !

pairing: lee minho x fem!reader

warnings: reader is a cat hybrid, perv!minho, heats, slick, kind of omegaverse but not, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, depictions of porn

Nothing is going right.

Minho’s apartment smells of those cliche candles that just reek of Christmas - spiced cinnamon apple strudel, or something like it. He’s burnt his cookies. His hair is covered in white sugary flakes that he’d tried to make snow for his gingerbread house with, and they’re currently melting into his hair from how stressed out he’s getting. Felix will be here any second. He’s freaking out. Felix always judges his baking.

He sighs, scraping the burnt remnants of his baking endeavours into the bin. Felix will have to be happy with just the gingerbread house. Anyway, Minho got him an amazing present for Christmas - a new headset for his gaming setup that had little holes for his white fluffy cat ears to peek through.

Being best friends with a hybrid wasn’t easy for Minho. Unfortunately, Minho had some weird affinity for cat girls and boys alike, and his computer was decked out with mountains of hybrid heat porn that would make even Felix’s weird friend Jisung stutter. Minho had gotten drunk one night and opened up to Felix about it, and had received an overly wet kiss on a cheek and a sweet chirp of “I’ll fuck you whenever, hyung”. Minho still blushes to the tips of his ears when he remembers it.

Felix’s hybrid status isn’t the only reason he’s reserved as Minho’s lifelong best friend. Felix is devious, weird, and a little bit evil just like Minho - he’s also always late, which really means a lot to Minho when he’s stressing out like this.

True to his nature, there’s a loud knock on the door approximately fifteen minutes after the meeting time after Minho had just put the baking tray of newer, more promising cookies into the oven. Minho throws his oven gloves to the side and then he’s charging over to the door to swing it open, ready to give Felix a fake lecture about being late to their designated day for exchanging presents.

Only, when the door opens, Felix isn’t alone. He’s standing on Minho’s doorstep with a wild smile on his face, a beanie pulled over his ears and his white tail swishing in excitement. Next to him is you.

And you’re, well, you. You’re a cat hybrid, too, sans-beanie and baring your orange ears for the world to see. You have a matching smile on your face, and Minho can’t help but fight his own smile back. It’s that contagious. Your fluffy winter dress is swaying around your mid-thigh, and when you turn to stop your suitcase from falling in the snow, your tail curls in annoyance.

Wait. You have a suitcase.

“Yongbok-ah,” Minho starts, his apron covered in flour. His apron is covered in flour. He’s a mess, and the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen is standing on his doorstep with a cute little dress on. He wonders if you’d let him flip it up and stretch your pussy open with his thick- no. He clears his throat, repeats Felix’s Korean name once again. “Yongbok-ah. What is this?”

“Your new roommate!” Felix beams, his smile stretching from ear-to-ear. Minho contemplates how he can kill him. “She was looking for somewhere to stay. Her landlord just kicked her out over Christmas, hyung, isn’t that so sad? Anyway, I remembered you saying you wouldn’t mind someone moving in to help with rent, so-”

“I work!” You blurt, cheeks sufficiently rosy pink and your bottom lip looking so biteable. Minho mentally chastises himself. He needs to behave. “I can pay rent, and Felix said you’d like me.”

Oh, he did, did he? Minho manages to drag his eyes away from you to stare menacingly at Felix, who only nods in agreement and smiles. Minho sighs, eyes flickering behind him. How quick can he do a deep clean of the house so that you think he’s perfect and amazing and maybe want to be with him? “I do have a spare bedroom.”

“Great!” Felix chirps. His eyes flicker between you and Minho. You haven’t taken your eyes off of him, tail swishing around your back excitedly. It’s orange with faint stripes in it, and Minho’s trying not to get hard in his pants over the way you’re grinning at him. Felix claps his hands together, gloved and muffled. “So, I’ve got to go now. Bye, hyung!”

“Y-Yongbok,” Minho blurts. Did he really just stutter? “What about your present?”

“Oh, give it to me another day,” Yongbok waves him off, already turning down the drive.

Minho scoffs. “What about my present, you little-”

Yongbok turns around. “She is your present, hyung. Silly.”

Minho reverts his eyes to you. He can feel how he’s widening them in shock, his bottom lip quivering. He wants to say something. He wants to talk to you, but how can he? You’re looking at him so expectantly and your dress has damn pom poms on it. He’s going to die. “Uh. D’ya wanna come in? I have cookies in the oven.”

“Great!” You say, and Minho’s convinced your voice is exactly how angels sound. You shimmy past him with your suitcase and leave it in the doorway, sashaying into the living room as if you’ve been there a million times. He watches you sprawl on the sofa in awe, stretching languidly. If he squints, he might be able to see the panties you’ve got on underneath your dress. “I love cookies.”

“Uh, yeah,” Minho says intelligently, kicking the door shut. He’s quick to follow you despite still being in his apron and having white specks in his dark hair. He tries to sit down casually on the sofa, and you gravitate towards his body heat, curling up beside him. “Have you had a roommate before?”

“A roommate?” You perk up, looking at him. Minho thinks he’s going to die. He’s definitely hard now, and he’s glad the apron is loose enough to cover it. You blink, and then you nod. “I guess so. In college, I stayed with a bunny girl. She was super sweet.”

A bunny girl? You two… lived together? Minho’s heart has stopped beating, officially. Maybe you’re still close friends. Maybe you can bring her over, when one or both of you are in your heats, and maybe you’ll let him watch if you-

Oh, Minho’s so fucked.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re so fucked.

When Felix said his friend Minho had mentioned wanting a roommate, you hadn’t expected him to be so sexy. Even standing on his doorstep with an apron covered in flour and a timid expression on his face, he was sexy. He’d shown you to the spare bedroom, nice as pie, and had waited while you got settled in to comfier clothes before getting on the couch with him. You couldn’t stop your tail from swishing when he fed you a cookie, warm from the oven, and you’d been looking at him with round, owlish eyes. He has to know. You’re wondering how much you can put down to kitty tendencies just to get closer to him.

“Can we cuddle?” You chirp, and Minho turns to you. He blinks, lips parted. His eyes are so dark, so round. “You know, kitty tendencies. I like the warmth. If it makes you uncomfortable, that’s okay-”

“No,” He shakes his head, patting his lap. “C’mere, kitty- sorry, God, can I call you that? Is that okay?”

You giggle, curling up in his lap. Your tail curls around his arm comfortably, and Minho chokes back a noise. You wonder if he’s alright. “Kitty is fine. I like it.”

Minho lets out a stuttered breath. “O-Okay, so- how do you want to do this? I can cook for us, if you wanna clean?” He shakes his head. You feel his body tense up from beneath you. His thighs are so broad and muscled you can’t help but nuzzle your nose into one. You’re purring before you even realise you are. “Actually, no. Don’t clean.”

“I can clean!” You insist, but he’s already protesting again.

“No, kitty. Please don’t. Please don’t clean.”

Why not? You screw your face up in a pout, but you can’t help but feel the most comfortable you’d ever felt. It feels domestic, almost, the way you’re curled up on his lap and he’s just letting you. He’s warm. He’s warm and toned, and you flip over to look up at him. God, he’s pretty - sharp nose, pouty lips, the cutest bunny teeth that would have you swearing he had to be a hybrid too if you hadn’t seen his human ears. You want him.

Minho looks down at you then, a smile playing on his lips. “Why are you staring at me, kitty cat?”

You blush, shaking your head. “No reason. Hey, do you wanna watch a movie? I’m not moving though.”

“Of course,” Minho chuckles, his shoulders shaking. You watch as he reaches over you to grab the remote, flicking through channels until he finds a decent Christmas one. He looks at you, almost hesitant with his spare hand raised above your hair. “I- Felix likes when I scratch his ears. Do you- would you-”

“Yes, please,” You nod eagerly, and he snickers at your response. His hand threads into your hair, fingertips rubbing absentmindedly at the start of your orange ears, and you purr. It makes him tense up again.

When you finally turn over to pay attention to the movie, it’s some stupid film about two people finding love at Christmas. You can’t help but hope you have a similar experience, and you definitely wouldn’t be disappointed if it happened with the man who’s currently stroking over your ears and humming a soft tune. It feels too easy with him, too natural, but you’re not one to complain.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re panicking. You’ve been living with Minho for a week now, and between him doing absolutely everything around the house and refusing to let you pay rent - for what reason you’re unsure - you’re determined to get him a good gift for Christmas. Christmas is only in a few days, and you just can’t find anything perfect scrolling through your laptop. You have goosebumps on your arms from how cold you are, but you’re so focused you can’t put an extra layer on.

You’re convinced you’re hallucinating when the screen freezes, turns blue, and crashes. What? You bang on the keyboard with clenched fists, ears flattening in annoyance. What’s going on? Has it… broken? No way. No way would this happen to you, not during the most important time of your life. You had to get Minho a good gift.

He’s sat on the sofa scrolling through his phone when you perk your head around the doorway - or perk your tail around, since that’s the first thing Minho sees. He grins, turning to you. God, his grin makes your stomach flutter.

“What’s up, kitty cat?” He muses, and you grimace.

“I- I was doing… something on my laptop, and I think it’s broken,” You say, voice quiet. Despite getting so close to Minho in the week you’ve been there, including even taking naps together on the sofa, you still can’t push past your silly little crush on him. Especially not when he scratches under your chin and feeds you cookies. “Nothing weird. I just- could I use yours? Just for an hour or two, and then you can have it back, and-”

“Of course you can,” Minho cuts you off. You try not to stare at his biceps as he leans over to grab his laptop, white t-shirt clenching tight around his muscles. You suppress a whimper as he hands it to you, and then you’re scurrying back to your room with a delighted squeal.

The sheets are soft on your legs as you make yourself comfortable again, and then you open the laptop. It has no password, which is just so Minho, and is covered in cat stickers. He must really like cats. The thought makes your tail curl in delight, and you try to calm your excitement as the laptop boots up.

Immediately, you take notice of the fact that his laptop is definitely a newer, more expensive model than yours. It makes you shy, embarrassed that you’re not paying rent to live in his house and still can’t even get a good laptop, but then you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. He has around ten files, labelled nothing other than numbers 1-10, and they’re neatly organised in a row across the screen.

Before you can even process what you’re doing, you’re clicking on the first one. You gasp, hand covering your mouth. You’re snooping. Maybe… maybe the files will help you learn what stuff he’s into, what kind of things he’d love for Christmas? Yeah. That’s why you’re looking. Definitely no other reason.

The first file has ten files inside it, all video files that are just begging for you to double click on. Could you watch them? Could you be nosy like this? Does that make you an awful person? You realise that yeah, you must be an awful person because you’re going to watch them. You’re going to watch every single one just to find out what they could be.

You don’t expect to be met with a cat hybrid being bent over a desk. She’s a girl, noted from the way the man’s speaking to her, and her slick is gushing around his cock. Your eyes widen, comically round, yet you can’t tear them away. Her tail curls around his waist, keeping him close, and her eyes roll back into her head. The camera is positioned to the side but it captures every single expression she’s making.

Is this what Minho’s into? Is he… into you? Would he fuck you like this, would he talk to you like this?

You’re clicking on the second video before you can even think of it. This one is recorded by the male, camera positioned to capture the cat girl’s tits as they sway and bounce enticingly. You want Minho to record you while you ride him like this. You wipe sweat off of your brow. She’s pretty, with blushing cheeks and ears flattened to her head as she moans in ecstasy. His pubic hair is drenched with her slick. You whimper. You want it. You want it with Minho.

He must jerk off to these, you decide, clicking on the third video. This one’s a little different - the girl is on her knees, slobbering and spitting all over a rather large cock. Is Minho that big? It’d be perfect to breed you, he could hit your cervix like that. You wipe drool off of your bottom lip. It’s suddenly very, very warm, and you feel like you can’t breathe. Imagining Minho’s cock is sending your senses into haywire, your whole body feeling like it’s been ignited with fire and electricity and-

“Kitty,” A voice from your door. You perk up. You’d left it open, just slightly ajar, and Minho is standing there with wide doe eyes. “Oh, no. You’ve seen them. I’m so sorry, if you want to move out I understand and I- kitty?”

You’re panting. Your eyes are glassy, covered in unshed tears, and your t-shirt suddenly feels like it’s stuck to you. Weren’t you just cold? You can’t remember. Your senses are full of Minho, Minho, Minho, and you want him to fuck you under the Christmas tree or bend you over the sofa or his desk or just take you on the floor, you aren’t picky.

“Minho,” You finally speak, chest heaving. “Minho, Minho, you- you- you like these? You- Minho, please, do you like these videos?”

He’s slow walking over to your bed, almost anxious to approach you. He sighs when he reaches the foot of the mattress, climbing onto it to sit cross-legged. He twiddles his thumbs. “Yeah. It turns me on. Yongbok- Felix said I have a kink for it. I’m sorry.”

“S-Sorry?” It’s so warm. It’s so warm. “Minho, Minho, I- I’m really warm. Are you warm? It’s really warm in my room, isn’t it?”

Minho’s eyebrows furrow. He reaches over, placing the back of his hand to your forehead, and you whine. Loudly. Just him touching your forehead with the back of his hand is enough to make your pussy drool slick into your sleep shorts, and you can’t even begin to question why you’re suddenly so wet, until Minho speaks. “Oh, kitty,” He coos, his hand moving up to scratch your ear. You hum, leaning into the touch. Your vision is blurry, but you can see him perfectly. “Oh, my girl. I’m so sorry. I think you’re going into heat, kitty. I’ll call Yongbok, and-”

“No,” You wail, surging forward. The laptop slides off the side of the bed with a loud clatter, and Minho doesn’t even blink, staring owlishly at you as you wrap your arms around his middle. You’re in heat. You can tell when his body hits yours, your pussy gushing and making even more of a mess just from his body, despite being clothed. “No. God, please, Minho, don’t leave. It’s you, I want you, I was thinking about you and me, and the videos, and-”

“You want me?” Minho’s voice is soft, and he swipes a thumb over your cheekbone. Your head is positioned on his chest, and you can smell him, earthy and woodsy and manly. He sighs, and then he’s speaking again. “I want you.”

“Please. Please, please, please, please, I need you, I need to see it, I need to feel you,” You’re babbling, sweat dripping down your temple, and Minho lets out an amused puff of air. “I- Minho, is- do you want to? Please.”

“You need to see it?” He chuckles, shoulders shaking. His eyes form crescent moons and you can’t even admire how cute he is through your haze of lust. “What’s it, kitty cat? My dick?” You nod eagerly, and Minho shakes his head in disbelief. “I want to kiss you first. Let me do it right, yeah? Let me do it how I want to. I need to treat you right.”

You’re still shocked when his lips press into yours, pouty and plush. He licks into your mouth and you have to avoid nipping at his bottom lip, until he does it to you and you deem it fair game. You’re devouring him then, nibbling on his lip and sucking on his tongue and encompassing your arms around his neck. He lets you push him into the mattress, lets you run your hands through his hair and pull away to nip at his neck teasingly.

“Kitty likes to bite, huh?” He huffs, and you nod, nipping him again for his cheek. Your tail swishes behind you, excited and playful, and you can feel how hard he is against your leg. “Better not bite like that when you suck my cock.”

You pull away from his neck in alarm, the milky skin littered in teeth marks and red bruises. “I can suck it? You’ll let me? Oh, please-”

His hand envelops in your hair, wrapping your hair around his fist and tugging hard. “Maybe later. I can feel how that pussy is drooling on me. You need it badly, huh? Need me badly.”

“Yes! Yes, yeah, since I saw you, I- I wanted you to fuck me through my heat so bad, pin me to the bed and just make me take it, and when I saw the videos I- Minho, I thought I was gonna die, and-”

Minho flips you over onto the mattress, your front planted against the bed. You let out a satisfied purr when he strokes your tail with one hand, and then he’s hooking his thumbs into your sleep shorts and yanking them down your legs. You feel the cold air hit your pussy and you moan, loud and high pitched, spreading your thighs to arch your back and present your pussy to him.

“Oh, would you look at that?” Minho coos, his thumb swiping over your hole. Your hole clenches with the lack of fullness, oozing more slick over his digit, and he groans. “Messy little pussy. God, do you want me inside you that bad? Little minx.”

“Please, please. Minho, Minho, will you fuck me? Look’it,” You whine, spreading your legs further. “Look at how wet I am. I need you, need you. M-master, please.”

Minho hisses through his teeth, and then his cockhead is pressing between your folds. When did he get naked? “You dirty little thing,” He whispers, his voice low. “Take master’s cock, then. You wanted to see it, how’s about feeling it?”

He sinks into you, all of his shaft in one go. It doesn’t hurt, only stretches you beyond pleasure, and your fingernails rip into the sheets with one loud moan. It feels insane, raw and veiny and pressing against your walls as if he was made for you. You let him grip your hips and arch you further, your tail wrapping around his waist to keep him close to you. It’s like the first video you saw, and the realisation has you whimpering into the sheets.

“God, you don’t know how long I thought about you like this,” Minho grunts, and then he’s thrusting. His pace is punishing immediately, your slick gushing and squelching around his cock messily and you can only hope his pubes are drenched in it. You want him to cum inside you, breed you, fill you up with kittens and mark you as his so that everyone knows. “Pliant, wet and so desperate for me.”

“Love it,” You slur, eyes rolling back into your head. You don’t realise you’re bouncing back on his thrusts, ass hitting the bottom of his tummy with every movement. He’s bent fully over your body, chest against your back and his lips whispering filth into your ear. “Love your cock, master, ‘s so big, I feel so full, I- hnnfg, master, master, will you breed me? Will you cum inside me?”

“Oh, kitty cat,” He moans, passionate, and when you try to look at him his eyes are rolling back into his head. His bunny teeth bite his bottom lip, almost drawing blood. His cockhead fucks against your cervix with every thrust, primal and intense. He wraps his arms around your front, hands clutching onto your shoulders to pull you back into him. “I’ll breed you, jagi. I’ll fuck you full until it has to take, yeah?”

You can’t think straight. Your pussy clenches around Minho’s cock almost painfully and it only makes him feel bigger, pulsing and throbbing inside of you. You need his cum. You need to cum - your clit throbs painfully with it. “Oh, oh, I need’a- master, master, I need to cum, I need to cum, please, hurts,” You huff, squirming beneath him. He reaches from your shoulder to pin your hips down into the bed, ensuring that you can’t thrash or wriggle anymore and he has full leverage to fuck you the way you need it. “It hurts! Ah, it hurts, I can’t, I can’t, I need to cum, I need to-”

“What’s stopping you?” He questions, hips starting to fuck you in a sinuous grind instead. The change in pace has your toes curling, hands scrabbling to find a better grip on the sheets as he lets you feel every inch and every vein of his length. “C’mon. Cum around my cock, and I’ll give you my cum, breed you full of kittens. Give it to me, jagi, c’mon, let me feel it.”

With a wail and a sharp inhale of breath, you’re cumming quicker than you ever have with any partner or even your own hand. Your pussy pulsates and gushes around him, and he grunts through your orgasm, trying with all of his might to fuck you through it. You try to thrash, to grind back on him through it, but he has you pinned down with a vice grip that only proves to make you cum even harder.

Minho’s hips press tightly against yours, and with a deep sigh, you feel his cum flood inside of you. You’re purring with the sensation of it, warm and thick and reaching your cervix with every messy pulsation of his load. You hope it takes, deep down inside you - you hope you’re swollen with it, that everyone knows he’s yours and you’re his.

With the knowledge that you’re full of cum, your heat is slightly sated, and you blink through the fog while Minho sidles up next to you. When did he pull out? You huff and cuddle into his chest, and he reaches up instinctively to scratch over your ears.

“Good?” He questions, voice timid. You blink owlishly.

“Good?!” You shriek, lifting your head up to stare at him. “I’m enlisting you for the rest of my heat, and then every day after that. You’re mine now.”

Minho chuckles. “I think that’s the best Christmas present I’ve ever been given.”

“Well, I was actually looking for something to get you when my laptop broke,” You say shyly, and Minho turns to look at you with a wide smile on his face. “It’s embarrassing! Just have me instead.”

“I think I’m okay with that,” He yawns, eyes fluttering shut. “Nap. You’re gonna need to be fucked again soon.”

You wondered how he knew, then you remembered the videos on his computer. “That’s true. Merry early Christmas, Minho.”

“Merry early Christmas, kitty cat.”

#hyunsvngbinimas!#juno's fics ♡#lee minho smut #lee know smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #skz scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #lee minho x reader #lee minho fanfiction

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sweet-as-an-angel · 11 months

Text

Yandere Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

Warnings: 18+, Depictions of Smut, Implied Non-Con, Breeding, Kidnapping, Restraining, Yandere Miguel, Obsessive Miguel, Possessive Miguel, Implied Female Reader, Implied Gender-Neutral Reader, No Pronouns used for Reader Except ‘You’.

You took him in after you found him collapsed on the rooftop of your apartment, a thick, bleeding gouge along his side. And, initially, he was very suspicious of you, found your generosity – your eagerness to clean and dress his wound, to bring him a fresh change of clothes, to offer him a warm meal – a cause for alarm.

But, you made your intentions with him quite clear; that you only wished to help, to make sure he was fully-healed before he descended upon the world once more.

He did try to leave. Truly, he did. But your proclamations that he needed rest and the nice warm bed you’d offered him forced his body to succumb before his mind did.

As convincing as you may be, Miguel is still highly cautious of you. Tuning into his senses, trying to detect poison in his food or a hidden enemy in your apartment.

But, for the days he’s there, Miguel picks up nothing.

You tell him about yourself – anything and everything he’d like to know – often sitting by his side and answering every question he asks of you: your name, your job; the basics. And, eventually, he opens up to you. Marginally. Tells you a little bit about why he’s here.

He only tells you he - and his associates – are in pursuit of a highly dangerous target. Of course, he omits the part about the fate of the Multiverse hanging squarely on the success of this mission, and he just can’t seem to bring himself to as your eyes fill with wonder and curiosity, your attention solely on him.

And he can’t help but indulge you when you ask him if he has any stories about his time as a superhero.

He relents. Tells you of missions which bear little weight on the universe you reside in – nothing that could endanger you should you tell another soul. And you listen with an eagerness he wished his subordinates would display, even if only for theatrics’ sake.

You tell him how lucky the world is to have a hero like him – how lucky you are to even be talking to him, seeing as you’re just a civilian.

Your earnest nature makes something in him tick. Something he can’t place his finger on.

As the days fly by, he finds himself racking his brain for more stories to tell you, more tales to regale where he comes out on top, ever the hero he is.

It helps bury some of the guilt that lingers in his heart, fractals of a universe he’s shattered. Makes him feel as if he’s not entirely a failure.

Whenever you leave the apartment – for work or for shopping – Miguel wanders around, watches some TV, formulates his game plan for when he has to leave.

That last one brings him a little too much anxiety for his liking, so he often finds himself thinking of you instead to ease his nerves.

Something, initially, he’s somewhat shocked by. But the longer he does it, the more natural it feels. The more vivid his daydreams become.

He tries never to let them stray into lewd territory, but after he accidentally caught sight of you undressing, his mind has been urging him to visit some...unsavoury places.

He only permits brief trips there when you’re out of the house, and never for very long.

The two of you fall into a routine while he’s healing; you come home and prepare him dinner, he comes and helps you – even when you tell him he should be resting. Then, you eat together and watch a film.

One evening, close to his departure – Miguel knows he hasn’t long with you left – you fell asleep on him, your face resting on his shoulder.

He dared not move for fear of disturbing you, losing you.

Then, his heart…fluttered.

And, as you slept soundly on him, with all the trust in the world, he realised that nobody had been this close to him – physically – since…

Since he lost his universe.

The idea that someone could take this for granted, the simple act of trust, that they could take advantage of yours, shot through him, a bullet of realisation. And the pain only sears as he looks upon your face, oblivious to the thoughts racing through his mind, through the minds of others – criminals and low-lifes who would kill you for no reason.

He couldn’t leave you.

Not here, and not on your own.

He knows it’s selfish, but, in another vein, he believes he’s saving you. Being the hero you see him as.

The next day, he’s fully-healed. And he has a proposition for you.

“Go…with you ?” you say, eyebrow raised. “Miguel, I don’t underst-”

“You don’t need to,” he says. “But what you do need to know is that you’re not safe here.”

“What makes you think that ?” You cross your arms over your chest, as if to contain – hide – the suspicion growing there. Miguel brings a hand to the back of his neck, rubs it, tilts his head back.

“Listen, I just know things– things that make me qualified to tell you that you, on your own, in this universe, are not safe.”

Miguel knows he’s getting nowhere with you. Especially since he made no effort to explain his multiversal goings-ons to you when he first arrived. So, he shows you.

He takes you by the hand and, willingly, you go with him. To him, that’s confirmation – submission. Your compliance with his whims.

He brings you to a universe where everything is oddly…liminal. Like an early 2010’s Microsoft desktop wallpaper. Just green hills, a distant forest encircling the land, and a house. Big enough to fit a family of considerable size.

Made to fit you and Miguel.

By the time you realise anything’s wrong, out of the ordinary (aside from being shown inter-dimensional travel), Miguel’s dropping a bombshell on you.

“This is your new home,” he says, standing behind you. He’s so close you can feel his warmth against your back. He places a hand on your shoulder. Squeezes it. “Our new home.”

Any shock that overcomes you is overpowered with the sense of dread that you’ve walked right into Miguel’s trap. That, just as he’d warned you, someone had taken advantage of your kind, trusting nature.

You can fight as much as you want, but Miguel’s got his heart set on you. And your future here.

You see, while you were caring for Miguel, showing him the concern and attentiveness he’s been starved of for years, his mind had begun to wander. Wondered what you’d be like with him if you were always together. Wondered how you’d act if you were to care for a child.

His child.

He’ll try to convince you of this ideal, that this is right and is what’s best for you, but if you keep resisting, you’ll see his possessive side emerge. His anger.

Red eyes, pinning you to the wall, nostrils flared; he is not losing you. And if he needs to frighten you into this new life, then so be it. Though, he wants you to adjust naturally, to want what he wants, to, dare he say, love him as he loves you.

And if you’re not going to submit to him willingly, he’ll take it by force.

If you’re capable of bearing children, he creates a strict regiment wherein he takes you, filling you with his load. At first, this was once a day – every two days if he was busy.

Initially, he’d string you up to the ceiling by your legs after finishing, “To make sure it takes,” he told you. And it doesn’t matter how hard you struggle; his webs are steadfast. Stubborn.

But, as he became more ravenous, more enemaoured by the prospect of keeping you, of breeding you, he became sloppy. Desperate. The thought of you swollen with his offspring hits him while he’s at work, during the downtime between missions.

At which point he just takes care of himself, panting your name in the bathroom stall before finishing and returning to work as normal.

Then it became more frequent, occurring while he’s on missions, during integral moments. At this point, he tries to suppress it, save it for later. After all, it’s not like he has a choice.

And that’s when he’d come and pay you a midnight visit, girthy and stiff and eyes red with the carnal need to fill you again and again until your stomach bulged.

That regime he’d set up unravelled, and now he takes you at every convenience, every chance he gets, pinning you to a web and making sure you can’t struggle if you’re particularly resistant.

At first, he did feel guilty about this; guilty that he was the one hurting you, causing you to cry, to beg for him not to finish inside you as you told him you weren’t ready to have a child.

And, during this period, he would wear his mask. He thought it would offer him some protection against your tear-streaked, anguished stare, your pleas for him to let you go, to return you home.

It didn’t.

He tries to comfort you, to tell you that you’ll “Love being a parent – just give it a chance,” as he pumps his hot load into you, holding you close to him.

Depending on his mood, he can be very gentle or very rough.

When he’s gentle, he whispers in your ear, tells you how much you mean to him, how he loves you more than you’ll ever know.

When he’s rough, he’s merciless. And gone is the tender love he’d subject you to, replaced with growls and claims that he needs you, that he won’t stop fucking you until you’re filled with his offspring.

He has a web created specifically for when he breeds you – where he attaches you to it upside down, making sure your chances of pregnancy are maximised. He fucks you here too, sometimes. And while blood is rushing to your head from being upside down, Miguel’s pounding the life out of you, panting, sweating, moaning your name.

He can go for many, many rounds. His superhuman stamina and strength make him unstoppable when it comes to you.

He’ll keep going long after you’ve finished or while you’re unconscious and exhausted from his barrage, never ceasing until he stuffs his cum into you, holding you to him, pressing kisses to your face as he tells you what a good job you’ve done, how well you’ve taken him.

If you do end up pregnant, Miguel is never letting you go.

You can say goodbye to any chances of getting back to your universe when he finds out you’re bearing his child.

And you can’t hide it from him, either. His hearing and perception tell him you’re expecting even before you’re aware of it.

By that point, the only thing you can do is just accept that this is your life now. Doing so early on will make your existence with Miguel little more than bearable. Because if you aren’t excited or tolerant of this child, Miguel will string you up in your bedroom.

“For your own good,” he tells you, his eyes flickering down to your stomach. His eyes soften, fill with warmth. “And the baby’s.”

If he suspects you’ll try to hurt yourself or the baby, he’ll take drastic measures to ensure neither of those things happen; restraining you, placing you into an induced sleep, cocooning you.

If you can’t have children, he’ll simply take one from another universe and tell you that the two of you will raise them together.

If he suspects anyone or anything else is going to try to hurt you or the baby, he’ll destroy it. No questions asked.

He’s indiscriminate, too.

Even if it were one of his associates – someone he’s worked alongside for years – they’re all superficial to him.

His only concern is you.

And he’ll make sure you’re loved and cared for forever.

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

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