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duramaters · 2 years

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Aches and Adoration // Part 1

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: It’s been a few years since you became a member of Dauntless and you want to brush up on your fighting skills. Getting Eric to help you was probably not your best idea.

Warnings: Explicit language, violence and injury, fem!reader

Word Count: 1.9k

You sat on a ledge overlooking the Pit, absolutely entranced by the testosterone fuelled dance below. It was a Friday and that meant Fight Night at Dauntless. A great hulking man with a ginger mohawk and braided beard had picked his opponent clean off the floor and flung him into the corner of the ring and you were pretty sure the poor man was already out cold before he hit the ground. Even from where you sat, high above the action, you could hear the rattling of his chest as the wind was knocked out of his lungs. It was brutal and bloodthirsty and you loved it. You had never really bothered to attend Fight Night before, much preferring the quiet of your room and a good book, but you had been dragged along by Will and Christina to watch their friend, the very unfortunate casualty now being hauled through the crowd.

“This is amazing!” You bounced slightly on the cold concrete and Christina let out a chuckle at your shameless enthusiasm. You continued to watch the redheaded hulk make a mockery of his victims until the final bell rang and people began to disperse. Looking over at Will and Christina with a glint in your eye you naively asked if they thought you would ever be able to do that.

“Not a chance in hell.” Will shook his head with a slight smile.

“You’d be crushed like a bug within the first five seconds.” Rolling her eyes Christina nudged your shoulder with her own to show that she was only teasing before standing up and pulling you with her.

“Wanna go get some drinks?” Will walked between you, slinging his arms around your shoulders. You shook your head at him, body still buzzing with adrenaline from the fights.

“Nah I’m gonna go back to my room and try to wind down or else I’ll never sleep.” Sending your friends a light-hearted smile you broke away from them and jogged up the stairs and along the concrete corridors to your room, mind replaying all of the different fighting techniques you had observed over the past few hours. As soon as you unlocked your door you headed straight to your bookshelf and gathered all of your old training manuals from initiation. You had only realised from watching the evening’s entertainment that you had almost forgotten everything you had been taught back when you were sixteen and new to Dauntless. No time like the present to brush up on your old skills, you thought. Hopefully muscle memory and a good trainer would allow you to regain at least some of your old prowess in the ring.

~~~

The next morning found you cross legged on the floor beside your bed scribbling down pros and cons for all the potential Dauntless members you could ask to help train you. Hours had passed, spent with you considering your options. You had deliberated asking yesterday’s winner but you knew his reliance on brute strength and size wouldn’t work with you. You needed someone cunning and ruthless who wouldn’t go easy on you. That last point was crucial but it sadly meant that you had to cross Tori off of your list, she was way too nice to beat you to a pulp just to motivate you to do better. The only option left was one you weren’t too thrilled about, but you had never really interacted with the man before so you refused to pre-judge him based on reputation alone. Eric Coulter definitely met your criteria – he was intelligent, aggressive and uncompromising, exactly what you needed. Unfortunately, Eric Coulter also happened to hate you on sight.

“Absolutely fucking not” he snapped at you when you had sidled up to him during his lunch and directed your bright smile at him.

“I haven’t even said anything!” you pouted. He was nowhere near as intimidating as you thought he’d be, tearing up chunks of bread and smearing them with butter. Inching closer to him on the wide bench you clamped your hands together in front of your chest ready to actually beg the man in front of you.

“Fuck off.” Oh, maybe you should have headed his reputation after all.

“Can I at least say what I came over to say before I fuck off?” You questioned him, raising an eyebrow as he continued to ignore you and focus on his food. You took his silence as a go-ahead. “I want to get back into fighting and I figured you were my best bet at actually getting good.” Hopefully flattery worked with him. He released a breath through his nose and you watched his jaw tick and his fists clench in what you assumed was an attempt to not punch you smack in the nose. You slowly slipped back into your previous position on the bench, putting precious space between you and the apparently seething leader.

“I’m not going to say it again.” Eric’s voice came out in a harsh whisper but there was no way in hell you’d be leaning in to him to hear him better. With a sigh you swung your legs over the bench and left him to his lunch, trying to hide the disappointment from showing through the drooping of your shoulders as you walked away.

~~~

It turned out that the ginger giant from Fight Night was a Dauntless born named Thelonious and he was more than willing to teach you to fight. A bit too willing, you realised in hindsight, but you didn’t have many other options since Eric had refused to even entertain the idea of training you. You had set out the mats and refilled your water bottle in preparation for your training session and had decided to perform some simple stretches while you waited for your new mentor to arrive. He entered the training room flanked by two smaller, but equally as intimidating men and one of them looked you up and down lecherously, forcing to you repress a shiver and subtly glance around to take stock of the rooms other inhabitants. You noticed a flash of green hair and recognised the woman who had done your first tattoo. Good, it meant you had a potential ally in case things turned nasty with Thelonious and his pals. Squaring your shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident than you felt, you stepped forward and greeted the man who had agreed to train you.

“Let’s get started, pipsqueak.” He said, grinning wickedly a you through his thick beard. He clearly only wore the braids during fights, probably so his opponent couldn’t use it against him. You made sure to take a mental note of this. “Be warned. I won’t go easy on you kid.” You nodded in understanding, now absolutely terrified at the prospect of sparring with a man you had seen obliterate at least ten people a few nights ago.

Before you had even had chance to brace yourself against the mat a thundering fist met your abdomen and you doubled over in agony, pretty sure that the man had ruptured your spleen with the hit. Another punch landed against your ribs and you were convinced you felt them shatter beneath his knuckles. The air left your lungs and all you could manage to utter was a soft “ooft” as you were thrown back across the mat. Laughter behind you had you tenderly turning your head to see the two other men mocking you while Thelonious was above you, smirking at your pitiful attempts to get off the floor.

“Stay down and leave the fighting to the men, yeah pipsqueak?” He high-fived his repulsive friends and without so much as a backwards glance at you they left the training room outwardly pleased with the damage Thelonious had delivered to your crumpled body.

“Come on.” A hand appeared in front of your face and you peered up to see a streak of green hair. “I think we should get you to the infirmary, that dick definitely did a number on your ribs.” She said, hoisting you to your feet and gently draping your arm over her shoulder. The walk was slow and hard going, but you made it with the help of your saviour.

“Come see me for a new tattoo when you’re all healed.” She winked and saluted you before diseappering down the corridor. A kind looking male nurse rushed over to assess your injuries, his incessant questioning about what had happened distracted you from the pain until his fingers prodded your ribs over your clothing. Your eyes screwed shut and your teeth clenched in reflex to the sharp pain.

“Fucking ow, dude.” You grimaced. He had the good sense to look sheepish and quickly removed his hands from your side.

“Sorry I’m new, let me grab someone else!” He rushed off and you couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty at how you’d taken your pain out on him. As you settled back into the bed, shifting to ease the pressure on your lower back, you heard voices approaching down the corridor. A rather harangued looking doctor entered the room followed by a man who was too focused on the tablet in his hands to notice you.

“You’re using way too many resources, we need to be practical and only administer medication to people who really need it. The supplies are too low for-” Eric stopped mid sentence when he finally looked up from his tablet and saw you hunched up on the bed. The doctor had delicately lifted your shirt and your new knuckle shaped bruises were on clear display. Eric’s eyes had zeroed in on the discolouration and he had fallen deathly silent.

“I knew you were a fucking idiot.” He muttered under his breath and his admonishing tone had tears welling up in your eyes. The doctor didn’t seem to have heard his cruel comment.

“And what is your professional opinion here Mr. Coulter? Does she need treatment?” Eric merely huffed in response and left the room.

“Is he always such an ass?” You looked up at the doctor with a watery, yet conspirational grin.

“Always. Without fail.” She snickered and set about fixing your injuries.

~~~

You were perched delicately between Will and Christina at the dinner table when two large hands appeared on the table either side of your food tray. You could feel the softness of a t-shirt pressing against the exposed skin at top of your spine and when you leant backwards slightly in your surprise, the hardness of taut abdominal muscles pressing into your shoulder blades caused your breath to hitch.

“Did you learn your lesson or are you still desperate to fight?” You stiffened as you realised it was Eric’s hot breath tickling your temple. He backed up when he felt you shifting to face him, grunting at the bursts of pain radiating from your injuries. Will and Christina watched on with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation as you made eye contact with the man now towering over you.

“The only thing I learned was that I really ought to be able to defend myself against disgusting egotistical maniacs so that the next time that pig comes near me I can annihilate him.” You looked up at Eric, your saccharine smile contrasting your murderous tone. Eric’s responding smirk made your heart stutter and you had no clue if it was out of fear or something else entirely.

“Perfect.”

#eric coulter #eric coulter x reader #x reader #eric coulter x you #x you #divergent #fanficition #reader insert #fluff #kissing #mentor/mentee #jai courtney #jai courtney could smush me like a bug and i'd say thank you #smut #enemies to lovers #fem!reader #i know there aren't many of u left who still think about this man daily but those of u who do i hope u enjoy #no y/n #g writes

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reiderwriter · 5 months

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Can I request a Spencer babying the reader BAU and everyone on the team is so done with it but reader is confused and oblivious...?

A/N: Thank you for your request! I've been very much feeling post-Prison/ later seasons Spencer recently, so I hope you enjoy this fic!

Warnings: mostly fluff, implied age-gap, slight mentor/mentee dynamic.

Your first year in the BAU would've been tough had it not been for Doctor Spencer Reid.

It was tough still, but without him, you don't think you'd have been able to handle much of it. He'd been your mentor through each case, taking you under his wing when he wasn't on academic leave, teaching his criminology courses at the FBI Academy.

Those weeks were the hardest, and you found yourself moping about in the office, texting him once or twice a trip for advice.

On one particularly hard case, he'd come back into the office after you'd text. Not to consult on the case, but just to drop you off a chamomile tea and a pastry to brighten your day that little bit.

When he was back, your days were great. He knew so much, and you learnt so much from him so quickly, eagerly consuming his every word. You were so eager to please him that you often forgot others around the two of you.

“Spencer, if you're done fawning after Y/N we have a case to work on,” Emily gently chastised the man as he pulled out your chair for you, ready to sit down to hear the details of your next crime.

“Oh, Emily, thank you, but it's okay. Doctor Reid was just being considerate, I'm sure he'd have done it for anyone.” The shared glances around the room were filled with glib secrecy, but no-one commented further, leaving you slightly baffled.

Those shared looks between the other members of your team had become more common as of late, with each one more worrisome than the next. There was something unsettling about being the only one out of the loop, and as the newest member of the team, and the youngest, it often felt disheartening.

“Y/N, don't worry. Being the youngest member of any team is tough, but you're smart and you're holding your own.” With a pat to your head he walked away, lifting the weight off your shoulders slightly but not fully. You needed to get to the bottom of the BAU's non-verbal communications, and you needed answers.

Your first technique was interrogation. Surely one of them would break and tell you if you laid out your thoughts and feelings clearly.

Surely not, you found, as each member casually and softly blew you off.

“Y/N, you just need to think carefully about how certain members of the team act towards you. How familiar they are. How overly familiar they are.” Tara had at least told you that much, bit it had left you just as confused as the radio silence from the others.

“Everyone has behaved very professionally with me. You've all been very welcoming up to this point, which I appreciate greatly.”

“I wouldn't count gifting you flowers for your first successful case as the most professional act, Y/N,” she said as she sipped her coffee. “But I suppose that is just up to interpretation.

Doctor Reid had sent you flowers after you finished your first case. But there had been extenuating circumstances in that case. You'd both worked on the geographical profile on that case, and together had figured out the species of flower the unsub was using was only cultivated on one local flower orchard. It had cracked the case open and you'd found your unsub hours later.

So the flowers were an extension of that small joint success. That was all.

Your second attempt at figuring out what was going on was observation.

Partially taking Tara’s advice, you tried your best to track the moments when each of the weary looks would come your way.

Overwhelmingly, they seemed to be directed towards Doctor Reid whenever the two of you interacted.

You had to gently inform him of this, before it interrupted both of your abilities to work.

“Doctor Reid, do you know why Emily and Rossi are both currently watching us from between the blinds in their offices?” You whispered to the man, leaning in close to his ear. You were quite sure he didn't know, but a question seemed as good a way as any to broach the topic.

“I do, yes. It's best if you ignore them.”

His nonchalance in the matter shocked you, so sure you were that this would be news to him. You waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't.

“Why are they staring at us?” You finally managed to force the words out in a small squeak, forcing his eyes back to yours.

“Don't worry about it for now, I'll handle it.” He smiled down as you, and the bright gesture washed away more of the tension you'd been feeling in the office. You smiled back at him as he rose from his desk chair and carried himself to the stairs. You giggled when he winked down at you, just as you noticed Emily frantically hurrying away from her office window as Spencer knocked on her door.

As much as he told you to not worry about it all though, you really couldn't help yourself. You found yourself growing more clumsy under the watchful eyes of your entire team, galling more times than you'd care to admit into Doctor Reid's arms. He always caught you, though, and you were thankful you never did yourself serious injury.

You finally got the answers you'd craved out on a case about a month into your struggles.

There was something slightly unsettling about the way the female Sheriff was paying attention to Doctor Reid, and it made you uncomfortable. Your mouth ran dry when she touched his arm, but a small part of you warmed up again when he shrugged her off. Until, at least, you heard him explain why.

“I'm sorry, I'm a germophobe, so I'd really prefer you not touch me.” His voice was calm and steady; it really didn't seem like he was lying.

“You're not pulling my leg? I'm sorry if I came on too strong, but-”

“Why would I pull your leg, I said I don't like physical touch?”

“Well, there was that young girl earlier, Y/N was it? You had your hand on her back as you walked in, so I didn't think…”

The woman had made a good point, and you crept closer to the edge of the door to hear Doctor Reid - Spencer's response.

“Sheriff, if we're done here, do you think I could get back to my job?” You were almost disappointed in the change of topic, but you weren't all that sad to see the Sheriff remove herself from the room. Slipping in behind her you decided to test the new theory that had slipped into your mind in the last minutes.

You called out to him to grab his attention as you walked into the room but before he had the chance to turn and greet you, you threw your arms around his shoulders and pressed your body down against his, enveloping him in a back hug.

It was quite possibly the most familiar position you'd been in with him, but really it wasn't all that different from your usual proximity.

Unlike when the Sheriff casually brushed against him, he didn't stiffen, didn't pull away, but instead melted into your touch, looking up at you with a large grin.

You stood shocked for a minute before grinning back.

“Spencer, I think I know why everyone has been watching us for the last few weeks.” You said, causing his eyes to panic slightly as he acknowledged your words.

“The, uh, the Sheriff was just in here talking about a development either some of the DNA test results-” He desperately tried to change the subject, but you were locked in now, spinning his chair around to face you more as you came eye-to-eye with him.

“I know why the Sheriff was in here, Spencer, I heard it all.”

“It's not what you think,” you paused for a moment as your brow furrowed, trying to figure out if you'd somehow caught the wrong end of the stick.

“So our coworkers haven't been waiting for you to ask me out, having noticed large changes in your body language and attitude around me?”

“It's….exactly as you think.” His face was flushed with pink and your heart skipped a beat at the man in front of you. But you still had some questions.

“And you knew, but you didn't say anything to me despite the fact that I bought it up multiple times?”

“I'm…I'm not good with words," he frowned

“Are you good with dates?”

“Excuse me?”

“You're going to take me on a date when we get back to Quantico. After giving it some thought, Doctor Reid, it seems I've become quite enamoured of you.” You dropped into his lap then, sitting there like a cat pleased to take up residence on its owners legs. He stuttered for a few seconds but then found his voice again, face lighting up.

“Spencer. Please, Y/N, call me Spencer.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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eloves-writes · 4 months

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so it goes…

[coriolanus snow x reader]

desc: part 2 here! as dr gaul’s assistant, you find yourself alone in her laboratory bearing an unpleasant task with her other mentee, coriolanus snow, who you strongly despise. or so it goes … warnings: smut, oral sex (f receiving), slightly public sex, reader is wearing a skirt, think that's it but please lmk if i need to add anything! a/n: thank you so much for all the love on my last fic! and thank you anon for this request, i love and appreciate requests more than you know!!! enjoy this. will for sure write a second chapter if one singlular person expresses interest. mwah mwah mwah ily this work contains mature themes, minors dni

dr gaul’s lab was filled with weird and wonderful (but mostly weird) things. you sat, bored, on your side of the gamemaker’s desk staring at shelves and shelves of creatures of all shapes and sizes with various muttations. according to the clock beside you, it had been 30 minutes since gaul herself had left the room to ‘see to something’. it was often best not to ask questions when things like that happened, but you really wished she would come back soon as your work day technically ended in a few minutes and gaul’s second-favourite mentee came to visit her after hours almost every day. coriolanus snow was not necessarily an unpleasant person, not to you at least, but he was certainly unbearable. he was so up his own ass thinking he was better than everybody else that he failed to realise how much of a pompous twat he was. ‘snow lands on top’. god, those four words were practically all you heard come out of his mouth when he wasn’t sucking up to dr gaul or spewing fake niceties to any authoritative figure who would listen.

as you were thinking about how annoying he is and how pretentious his stupid hairstyle was, the door to the lab was hauled open by the peacekeepers who stood guard outside. thank god gaul was back, you couldn’t wait to get out of here. not that you weren’t grateful for this assistant’s position, because it was a highly coveted role for university students each year and you’d beat them all out for it. even snow. ha. even suck-up snow. fuck. snow.

the tall blond had entered the lab and was walking up to your desk with his usual self-assured smile and red uniform.

“y/n, good evening.”

“snow.”

his pleasant facade dropped for just a moment at your monotonous response.

“where’s dr gaul?”

you passive aggressively put down the pen you had been tapping on the desk.

“i don’t know,” you replied blandly, studying his face like you trying to read his mind. “she left like a half hour ago to ‘see to something’, but she’s not been back. i’d suggest you leave and speak to her tomorrow instead.”

coriolanus pulled a face as if thoroughly surprised that anyone could be anything less than cordial to him. it was a subtle change in expression, but you figured that’s what he was thinking.

“that’s quite alright, y/n,” he smiled mockingly, “i’ll sit right here and wait. nowhere to be tonight.”

“shocker,” you murmured, watching as snow sat in the empty chair opposite you.

the two of you stayed sat at gaul’s desk for almost 10 minutes before either of you said anything else.

“how is the apprenticeship going?” snow asked, trying to fill the awkward silence by feigning interest.

“it’s great. thanks. thrilling, actually. i’m having the time of my life. this is so much fun,” you retorted.

coriolanus raised an eyebrow and shifted in his seat. “you know, every one of gaul’s students wanted this apprenticeship. if you’re not enjoying it, i am more than certain that you could find somebody to fill the role.”

you huffed sarcastically. “oh good try, snow. i’m not giving it up that easily.”

“so i’ve heard,” he muttered.

before you could respond to that, the laboratory doors hauled open again and dr gaul finally returned.

“ah, coriolanus, good,” she welcomed, entering with purpose in her stride. “i have a small ask of the pair of you.”

there was no way in the whole of panem that this would be a ‘small’ ask, coming from her. coriolanus’ eyes widened in apprehension.

“don’t make that face at me, coriolanus snow.”

“sorry.”

“good. i must continue to deal with a situation that has arisen, i need you two to feed chupa before he gets too hungry. that’s all, then you both may leave and i shall see you," you watched her search for a rhyme, "before tomorrow’s eve.”

then she turned to leave, with you and coriolanus pulling faces of horror. ‘chupa’ was a particularly hideous and dangerous looking creature that gaul had advised you, on multiple occasions, to keep your distance from. and now she was asking you to feed him? sometimes it was like she wanted you dead.

“wait a minute,” you said hesitantly. gaul moved only her head to look at you and you regretted opening your mouth immediately. “sorry, dr gaul, you want us,” you motioned to yourself and snow, “to feed that,” you pointed at the cage where the beast appeared to be smirking.

“yes,” she replied plainly. “he will eat anything, but he most likes the small green snakes.”

with that, she left the lab again.

coriolanus looked at you, looked at chupa, then looked back at you. “what the fuck is that?”

you snorted, enjoying seeing him uncomfortable. “do you want to get the snakes, or shall i?”

“you get them,” he spoke quickly. “i don’t like snakes.”

you were suspicious at this apparently strong aversion to the slithering reptiles. perhaps they’d scared him when he was younger, and never shook it off. or perhaps one had bitten him. you imagined him flailing his arms and screaming and it made you chuckle to yourself as you took a jar half-filled with thin, forest green snakes. they weren’t venomous, in fact they were quite amiable and undeserving of being fed to the ugly brute in the cage beside you. regardless, you removed two snakes from the jar and placed it back on the shelf.

coriolanus was keeping his distance, making you do all the work. lazy asshole.

“can you open the cage?” you directed snarkily. he tentatively unfastened the top of the cage, standing closer to you than he ever had before. up close, he looked like a real person. a real person who was just as real as everybody else in the capitol, not any better. he smelt better than a lot of them though. like cologne and fresh roses. you mentally chastised yourself for noticing and tried to focus on the task at hand.

your snake-holding hand slid towards chupa’s mouth, which opened to reveal a large set of sharp fangs that seemed to be moving upwards

“be careful of the fangs,” snow warned from behind you.

“thank you coriolanus, i’m so glad you told me that. i was truly about to stick my fingers into his mouth,” you retorted sarcastically, starting to feed the snakes to the disgusting creature.

he mumbled something incoherent that sounded something like “i wish you would.”

“sorry what was that, snow? did you say something,” you asked, becoming more irritated by his unhelpful presence.

as chupa finished the tail of the second snake, he bit the air above him in an attempt to get your hand for dessert, making you rapidly withdraw your hand from the cage and leap backwards. coriolanus dropped the lid in shock and it thankfully fastened itself.

when you had leapt backwards, you had leapt backwards straight into snow’s arms that he had instinctively wrapped around you in protection. his arms were stronger than they looked through his uniform jacket, and his chest much more toned. it felt beyond strange to be this close to him. but something deep inside of you suddenly yearned to be closer, and you slowly rotated yourself in his arms to face him, hands pressed against his chest.

coriolanus was looking into your eyes like nothing else was in the room. like he had never seen a person’s eyes this close before. he was looking at you like you were most incredibly fascinating thing he had ever seen.

and maybe you were; he had grown used to the capitol women throwing themselves at him. he didn’t struggle to take them home, had no issues finding a date to all the various events he attended. then there you were- snapping at him and poking fun at him, and not even waiting until his back was turned to roll your eyes or pull faces. in what he deemed a cruel twist of fate, you were the only girl in the capitol who didn’t look at him like he was god, and you were the only girl in the capitol he truly felt something deeper than momentary lust for.

his lust for you was not momentary. it was perpetual. and having you this close to him, safe and protected in his arms, confirmed for him that you needed to be his. the world bent to the will of coriolanus snow. and so would you.

in an instant where your body no longer obeyed your better judgment, you pressed your lips to coriolanus’.

he kissed you back like you were a source of oxygen, using his advantageous hold of you to force you to walk backwards towards the rows of bookshelves behind gaul’s desk without separating your lips. he swiftly checked the door to make sure nobody had snuck in before your bodies were eclipsed by the cover of the well-stocked shelves and you were roughly pushed up against them. snow continued to kiss you, moving down to your neck to leave marks sure to raise questions the next morning, then down to your collarbone, unbuttoning your blouse as he went so that his path was clear to mark you with his mouth all the way down to the waistband of your skirt. his kneeled down before you and pushed up your skirt, looking up at you for approval. you nodded, still caught up in the moment. this was fine. this felt good. it really felt good when snow removed your panties and placed your legs over his shoulders, holding you up at the waist and running his tongue along your folds, earning a loud moan from you. he withdrew his head from you skirt to shush you, before returning his tongue to your centre and flicking it against your clit. you bit onto your knuckle to absorb the sound of the whimpers escaping you. where the fuck had he learned to do this? it felt heavenly, his mouth drawing you ever closer to release with his large hands digging into your hips to keep you in position.

“coryo,” you whispered. “coryo, i’m close.”

he began to hum in acknowledgement, sending you right over the edge. a moan slipped from your mouth as you came, feeling your slick drip onto his face. he continued to lap at your juices as you rode out your orgasm, a blissful haze washing over you. if these were the skills making snow so cocky, you couldn’t fault him for that particular trait any longer. he lifted his head and smiled at you like a man who was very aware you’d just cum on his face by his manipulation. he helped you take your legs from his shoulders with a satisfied smirk when they wobbled under the weight of your body, then he kissed you again, softer this time, to force you to taste yourself on his tongue. you reached your hand forward to his crotch, palming him through his constricting pants. he indulged you for a minute, then removed your hand and lifted it to his lips like a true gentlemen.

you felt a little disappointed to not repay the favour, finally feeling content with your formerly repressed lust for the man.

but then he leaned down to your ear and whispered in a low tone, “you can owe me one,” before giving you one last lewd kiss and leaving you stood behind the bookshelves in the head gamemaker’s office with messed up hair and a realisation that you really wanted coriolanus snow to come and visit after hours again tomorrow.

#coriolanus snow #corio snow x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus snow smut #coryo snow #coryo x reader #hunger games fanfiction #tbosas fic #tbosas #coryo smut #coryolanus snow #coriolanus x y/n #coriolanus x you #corio snow #corio snow smut #president snow #president snow smut

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togrowoldinv · 10 months

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Best Closers In The City

Lawyer!Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

You are an associate to some of the most successful attorneys in the city. You’re invited to a special dinner with the partners. What happens when one of them asks you to be her mentee?

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, very muscular Natasha, degrading, overstimulation (sorta), strap on sex, oral (N receiving)

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 1, Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 2, Main Masterlist

When you got the job at Romanoff Danvers & Maximoff, you had no idea what to expect. Everyone said it would mean working over 40 hours a week without much praise, but you didn’t care.

You wanted to work for the best law firm in New York City.

You met Danvers, Carol, first. She is alluring, no doubt about that, but she is also brilliant. The woman has a reputation for cleaning up messes quickly and keeping the city safe.

You met Wanda Maximoff second. She oversees the associates, so you see a lot of her. She has the kindest smile you’ve ever seen. Despite being one tough litigator, she is genuinely kind and always asks you how you are doing. Not in a way to make small talk, but like she truly wants to know.

And that leaves Natasha Romanoff. You have seen her around the office, usually early in the morning or late at night, but you haven’t spoken to the woman. There is a sense around the firm that you don’t speak to Natasha unless you’ve made partner or she speaks to you first.

But you really want to talk to her. She is the managing partner, something you long to be one day. Plus, she is gorgeous. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about her in a slightly less than appropriate capacity.

Sometimes she would leave the office with a man or woman waiting for her outside. It was never the same person twice. You wondered what it was like to be them.

When you get to work today, Wanda waltzes into the bullpen with a notepad in hand. She prefers not to use technology.

“Good morning! As you all know, tonight is the annual partner dinner. Carol, Natasha, and I have been observing you all for a while now, so we would like to formally offer the following list of you an invite to the dinner,” Wanda announces.

She is met with chatters of excitement from all of you young, aspiring attorneys. None of you knew when this day was going to come, but here it is. Your chance for a seat at the table.

“I know, I know, it’s very exciting,” Wanda says, a chuckle escaping her lips. “Now here are the associates that will be joining us. Peter Parker, Kate Bishop, and Y/n y/ln.”

You fight the urge to stand up and do a happy dance. Instead, you share a smile with your fellow invitees and accept congratulations from others.

“See you all at 8!” Wanda says. She leaves the bullpen.

“I wonder which one of them picked which of us,” Peter says once the woman is out of sight.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“Each partner picks an associate. At least that’s what Mr. Stark told me,” he explains.

“Oh, I hope Natasha picked me,” Kate comments. You all laugh.

“Natasha doesn’t speak to any of us, and Carol doesn’t either for that matter. I bet Wanda picked all of us,” you reason.

“Just wait and see where we are placed to sit tonight,” Peter says. “I bet I’m right.”

You forget about the dinner mostly as you dive into your work for the day. But what Peter said does linger in your mind as you gather your bag before walking to the car that is taking you all to dinner.

You figured dinner would be at some restaurant, but the car arrives at a house. A huge one with glorious architecture. There are lions on either side of the entrance. A dark wooden door is up the stairs.

“Holy shit,” Kate speaks for the group as you walk to the door together.

Peter rings the doorbell and the door opens almost simultaneously. Carol is on the other side, a glass of wine in her hand.

“Hello! Come on in,” Carol greets the three of you.

“This is a very nice home you have here, ma’am,” you say.

“Oh, I wish I could take credit for this place. It’s Natasha’s,” Carol explains. “Follow me and we’ll go into the dining room.”

You follow the blonde. Your eyes wander around the house as you admire how perfectly put together the house is. There are very few personal decorations, but there are so many objects that you can imagine have meaning to Natasha.

When you enter the dining room, there are place cards at the table. One for each of you. You sit in your assigned seats and Carol scurries off to the other room to gather her fellow partners.

They file in one by one. Carol sits across from Kate, offering her a smile. Wanda sits across from Peter. And that leaves the seat across from you open. If Peter was right, then that means Natasha chose you.

She is last one to walk in. She sits in the chair across from you and looks up at you through her eyelashes. The woman is even more beautiful up close. Her red hair cascades over her suit lapels and her green eyes shine in the dining room lights. You wonder what that jacket is hiding.

You are admiring her when Wanda begins speaking, “Thank you all for joining us tonight for this very special dinner. And thank you to Natasha for graciously letting us have the dinner at her beautiful home.”

Natasha offers Wanda a nod and a soft smile. One of which Wanda happily returns.

“It’s truly a unique and sought after experience, so I do hope the three of you leave tonight with more knowledge about your chosen career. We picked you from the fine cloth of other associates,” Carol explains.

She looks to Natasha to continue the spiel. You all watch her intently and wait for her to begin.

“Yes, as Carol and Wanda said we invited you three here for a reason,” Natasha says. Her voice is velvety just as you hoped it would be. “It should also be noted that while we all are going to speak to each other tonight, there is also another element to the dinner.”

Subtle glances are shared between you, Kate, and Peter.

“We have decided to improve the tradition and give you each full access to us. You’re sitting from across from the partner that has chosen you to be their mentee, if you so choose to agree,” Natasha explains. She looks you directly in the eye as she says her next words. “And you will agree.”

There is a certain harshness to her tone that you don’t know if it turns you on or scares you deeply. You think it’s both.

Soon, the food is served and the group talks intently. Things about the firm come up, but you find that the women don’t only want to talk business. You see the way Natasha does not offer as much personal information as the others, but she throws in a couple of comments here and there.

After dessert, you are practically itching to ask when you get to learn more about the mentor and mentee relationships. Carol puts you out of your misery when she announces that that part of the night begins now.

“We’ll go to my study,” Natasha says to you. She stands up from the table and leads the way. You can’t help but notice the way her pants hug her backside.

When you enter the room, she closes the door behind you. You take a look around. The walls are lined with bookshelves except for one area where there is a stained-glass window. Pink roses are painted with a landscape of green around them.

Natasha notices you admiring it. “It’s one of a kind,” she says.

“It’s beautiful,” you comment.

“Thank you,” she says. She walks to her desk and gestures for you to sit in the chair on the other side.

You sit, but she remains standing as she takes the suit jacket off. You notice the way the buttons strain against her chest, and her arms are noticeably toned even through the mid length sleeves she is wearing.

“You might want to stop staring,” Natasha says, pulling you out of your trance.

“I’m sorry,” you rush out the apology.

“Mhm,” she hums. You can’t read her, so you don’t know if she was flattered or upset by your stares. Your nerves are at a high. “So, y/n, what are your career goals?”

“I want to- um- well- I want to make partner one day,” you say.

“That sounds reasonable,” Natasha remarks. She stands up from her desk and walks around to your side. Her hands grip the desk and she leans against it. Once again, your eyes rake over the tight-fitting shirt. “Why family law?”

“It seemed like the path where I could do the most good,” you explain.

“And that’s what you want to do? Good?”

“Yes ma’am,” you say. “Why did you-”

“I’m asking the questions, y/n,” she interrupts you, standing at her full height again.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“You’re too quick to apologize,” Natasha scolds you lightly.

You don’t know how to reply. She walks to her drink cart in the corner and pours herself a shot of what you presume is vodka and she swallows it quickly. You watch her every moment before she turns back around. You avert your gaze.

“Y/n,” Natasha says. She invades your space, her hand gripping your chin to force you to look up at her. “Do you know why I chose you to mentor?”

You try to shake your head, but her grip is too firm.

“No, I don’t,” you speak softly.

Natasha grins wickedly as she keeps her hand on you. Only she moves it to the side of your face, her fingers arching over your neck and touching the base of your hairline.

“I chose you because I think you’re intelligent. And you’re capable and hard-working,” Natasha explains. You feel your cheeks burning from the compliments. “But you’re also naïve, and you’re a bit of a pushover.”

Oh. There it is. Your eyes burn as you fight back tears, cursing yourself for being unable to handle criticism.

“I don’t tell you this to upset you, y/n,” Natasha says, her voice softening just a hair. “I can help you be better. You have the instincts. It’s just that someone needs to toughen you up.”

“Okay,” you say. “How did you- nevermind,” you remember you aren’t the one asking the questions.

“How did I what?” Natasha inclines you to continue.

“How did you even know all of this? You don’t speak to us associates.”

“Oh, I may not speak but I’m always listening,” Natasha says. “And trust me, sweetheart, I see everything.”

You shiver at her words. Everything means that she might have seen you watch her leave all of those nights. You avert your gaze, and her hand grip strengthens again.

“Tell me, y/n, have you been watching me?” She knows the answer, so she doesn’t bother waiting for you to speak. “Since you have been, maybe you would like to see more of me?”

“I- um-” you can’t formulate words.

Natasha releases you from her grasp and steps back so you can see all of her. She starts slow, unbuttoning her shirt. Each button strains and your eyes follow her movements. Her hands are deft as they move against her shirt purposefully.

When she gets to the last button, she looks you directly in the eyes and pulls the shirt away from her body. That uncovers her chest and her arms. Your eyes don’t know what part of her to look at first.

“Don’t just sit there,” Natasha says sternly.

You stand up quickly and she takes your hand. She brings it to her abs. Your other hand follows. You brush your hands over her abs, an undoubtable eight-pack, and she smirks. You move further up to her abdomen to her rib cage area and run your hands over a couple of tattoos.

Natasha didn’t seem like the type to have these, but they make her impossibly hotter. Your hands skip over her bra-covered chest and move to her biceps. The woman flexes her arms, and you feel weak in your knees.

“Do you like what you see?” Natasha asks, her voice is deeper than usual.

“I do,” you say. “Can I?”

She knows what you mean, and she reaches behind her own back to unhook her bra. The garment falls to the floor. You take one breast in your hand as you move your mouth to the other. You look up at Natasha as if asking for permission. She nods and you place your lips around her nipple.

You suck thoughtfully and lick around the perky buds, switching between breasts. Natasha makes beautiful sounds as you do so. When you kiss down her abdomen, she lets out a gasp. You fully intend to worship her entire body.

“Take off my pants, baby,” Natasha instructs you.

Your fingers work to unbutton and unzip her suit pants. Kneeling in front of her, you pull the pants down her legs. For some reason, you expected her to be wearing panties, but she is wearing black boxers. Her thighs are muscular and your urge to be between them increases when you notice the bulge in her boxers.

“Fuck Natasha,” you mumble. She lets out a chuckle.

“Did my good, sweet associate just say fuck?” She teases.

You answer by pressing kisses against the skin of her thighs that are revealed. Nat gets impatient and pushes her own boxers down her legs. All that she’s left wearing is a strap.

Natasha takes it in her own hand and directs it towards your mouth. You comply quickly and suck the cock. She moves her hips faster with every passing second, loving how you take the thick length.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” she says. “God, I’ve wanted to have you kneeling for me since the first day I saw you in the office.”

You groan at her words and continue your ministrations. That is until Natasha needs more, and she pulls you up by your shirt collar.

“Take off your pants,” she tells you. “Now.”

Nat doesn’t wait for them to reach the floor before she has you bent over her desk as she enters you from behind. It’s easy from how wet you are from the entire evening.

“You take my cock so well, baby,” she says, her mouth right next to your ear. “I know you’ve imagined this too.”

“I have,” you admit, your voice broken from the pleasure she is bringing you. She moves in and out of you, hitting you right where you need her every time. Her arms hold you tightly against her.

When Natasha places a few kisses on your neck, you whine, and her grip tightens.

“I’m gonna- fuck Nat- I’m gonna come,” you say.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” Natasha says. “Tell me how good it feels.”

You groan out a string of incoherent words as you come for Natasha. She feels the slick against her strap as she continues to take you from behind.

“Too much, Nat,” you mumble when she still hasn’t stopped her movements.

“Come on, baby, you can take one more,” Natasha says firmly. “You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

“Yes- fuck- yes ma’am,” you reply.

It doesn’t take long for you to come again. This time she relents and pulls out of you. Your head is fuzzy from the overstimulation, but you’ve never felt so good.

Natasha releases you from her grasp and you turn around to face her. She has an almost goofy grin on her face, and you know she is pleased with her work. But you remember she hasn’t come yet.

“May I take care of you?” You ask her, reaching for the strap again.

“I think you’ve earned it. Go ahead,” she says. Nat takes her own initiative to take the strap off of her hips.

You once again kneel in front your mentor, but this time you waste no time burying your face between her legs. You collect her wetness with your tongue and make quick work of finding her clit.

“Fucking good,” Natasha mumbles as you lick and suck. She holds onto your shoulders as you continue. It feels good to make a woman so strong feel weak in her knees.

You hum against her, and she is almost over the edge. All it takes is for you to add one finger to work in tandem with your mouth and she is coming hard against you.

After cleaning her up, you stand up to face her again.

“Come here,” she says, pulling you by your hips into her hold.

She kisses your lips slowly at first. Her tongue brushes against yours. But she picks up the pace and you’re left breathless from your first kiss with the woman.

“So, what did you think?” Natasha asks.

“I think I want to do that again,” you say, dumbstruck from the events.

“In due time, y/n. Right now we need to get dressed and say goodnight to everyone,” Natasha says.

She turns to look for her shirt and it’s then that you notice the tattoos on her back.

“Roses,” you say aloud. Your eyes glance back towards the window.

“Roses,” Natasha turns back to you and says. “You wanted to ask why I chose family law.” She puts the shirt back over her arms and back.

“I did.”

“My sister,” Natasha says. “We were separated as kids. I am still trying to find her. In the meantime, I can help other people.”

“And was she named Rose?” you ask, hoping you aren’t pushing.

“Her name is Yelena. But she loved roses, so I guess it’s my way of feeling connected to her.” You haven’t seen her speak this softly about anyone.

“That’s really beautiful, Natasha,” you say.

“Yeah,” she says. “Do you maybe want to stay for a little while after everyone leaves?”

“I’d love to,” you say, a smile on your face.

“Good because I want to snuggle,” she admits. You share a chuckle and finish getting dressed together.

You leave her study and everyone goes about their way except for you and Natasha. You stay at her house and learn everything about her. Talking all night, sharing kisses, and a couple more rounds of intense sex, you have a perfect time with her.

This isn’t what you expected out of working for Natasha Romanoff, but you will take it.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #lawyer!natasha #natasha romanoff comfort #wanda maximoff #carol danvers #peter parker #kate bishop #beefy!nat

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asterias-record-shop · 4 months

Text

you belong to me (c.s)

**warning, themes of owning and claiming people (more so emotionally but y’know), slight dubcon and cnc, saying no without really meaning it, toxic relationship, dark dark DARK fic

Coriolanus learned in life that he liked to own things. People. He didn't like to be owned, he liked to own others.

When him and Tigris fell on hard times, there wasn't really much he could do besides fake the fact that their family still had some sort of wealth. He had just gotten chosen to take Lucy as his mentee, and he despised the fact that he had gotten such a... throw away tribute.

Until she did that little stunt that got him all of the attention — yours included.

“Now Coryo,” you cooed as you came behind him, your hands slowly clasping his shoulders as you leaned down. “You are aware that you are still mine tonight, right?”

Coriolanus swallowed. He didn’t like to be told what to do, but with you, he had to. And he didn’t complain as much as he felt like he should when the orders came from you.

He felt his jaw clench, ticking as you leaned down, whispering in his ear. “I better not see her hands on you tonight,” your voice makes him shiver, and he hated that. “If I do… you should worry very much about your fate.”

He wasn’t sure why your threat on his life didn’t bother him. He knew that you would definitely follow up with that threat.

“Y/N,” your name was like honey on his tongue, addictive but too sweet. Like him, you liked to own people, whether they knew it or not, and he knew that you owned him. He hated that. “I want… I want-”

“Want to what?” Your hand gripped tighter on his shoulder, the Academy Rogue red making him shiver. He hated the effect you had on him. “You belong to me, Coriolanus. No matter how much you fucking hate it.”

“Stop.” He growled out, eyes darting around the library. What would Highbottom think of the daughter of one of the most prominent family’s in the Capitol being on him? “Stop it.”

“And if I don’t want to?” Your hand slowly clasped around his throat, inching up to hold his jaw and push his head back to look up at you. “You’re weak, Coriolanus,” your thumb trailed his lips, humming as you tilted your head down at him. “You wish I couldn’t tell how much you want me.”

That made him swallow, trying to look anywhere but you before your fingers slapped against his cheek.

“Look at me.”

Quickly, his blue eyes snapped to yours, Adam’s apple bobbing. He hated that you could read him so easily. You were just as twisted as he was, and he hated it just as much as he was infatuated with your twist of insanity.

You leaned down, lips pressing firmly to his. You tasted so fucking perfect, something he could only describe as pure addiction.

He knew better than to kiss back, holding back a moan as you slowly pulled his chin, forcing him to open his mouth so you could dip your tongue in.

“Kiss me back,” your voice was breathy as the hand in his hair pushed down his neck and shoulder, beginning to unbutton his light blue dress shirt before your teeth grazed his lips. “Fucking kiss me back.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. He leaned up to chase your lips, letting out a soft groan as your teeth graze his lips. It felt stupid to be at someone’s mercy with just one touch, and normally he was the one doing the touching and another being at his mercy, but not with you.

“Look at you, finally understanding how to listen,” your voice turns into a coo as you pulled away, his lips still parted as though he was waiting for you to kiss him again. “You’re so pretty, Coriolanus…”

He swallowed as you pulled your hands off his body, humming. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Y/N,” he cleared his throat as you started to walk away, your tight skirt catching his eye before you turned around. “Is there something… specific you want?”

You hummed softly, your head tilting to the side slightly in thought.

He felt his fists clench. There was so much he wanted to do, so much he wanted to do to you. He could own thousands and all of them combined wouldn’t amount to the pleasure of owning you, the crown of District 1.

“Nothing I can think of,” you hummed, but then you smiled. “Surprise me.”

Coriolanus hated how big your house was. It was almost just as big as the academy, and that got on his damn nerves.

“Coryo…” his name coming from your mouth sounded like a siren song as you sat behind him on your bed, cooing in his ear. “What are you thinking about?”

He couldn’t lie. “How big your house is.”

His words make you laugh. “And why are you thinking about that when your thoughts should be me?”

“They are.”

His thoughts were always about you. How he wanted to claim and own you more than anything in the world, how he wanted to take everything from you and give it all back from his hand. He wanted to claim you, he needed to have you.

“They don’t sound like they are,” your teeth grazed his earlobe, kissing down the side of his neck with a soft groan. “What are you thinking about?”

He couldn’t lie to you. “How big your house is.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You miss it, don’t you?” He didn’t know what you meant until you grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up at you. “Your wealth.”

He did miss it, he really did. He knew, though, that he’d have yours soon enough. He didn’t even need to kill you for it, not that he wanted to.

“Yes.”

“Good,” you breathed against his lips, tongue trailing his lips before you pulled away. “I can give you wealth, Coryo.”

“I don’t want wealth,” he did, but he wanted what came with it. You knew what he wanted. “You know I don’t want wealth, Y/N.”

A soft hum escapes your mouth as you softly stroked his face, tilting his head slightly. “What do you want then? I want to hear you say it.”

“You.”

He didn’t say what he wanted of you though. He wanted to own you, every single part of you. He wanted to take everything away from you and give it to you from his own hand, to own you like you owned him now. He wanted you.

“You forget that you belong to me, Coriolanus,” you hummed into his ear, rubbing his shoulders softly. “Not the other way around.”

He did know he belonged to you and he hated that he loved it. He hated that he loved the fact that you owned him — body, mind, and soul.

He just wanted to own you instead.

“I’m okay with belonging to you,” he whispered, swallowing before groaning into your mouth once you kissed him. “Just as long… as I’m the only one that you touch like this.”

He wanted to be the only one you touched like this, but he wanted to be the only one who touched you more. He wanted to be the only one touching you, kissing you, fucking you, cumming inside of you, claiming you.

“Coriolanus,” you cooed as you brushed your mouth against his, your hands slowly pushing from his shoulders down his chest, slowly slipping off his blazer. “Why would it matter if you’re the only one?”

“Because I don’t want anyone else to have you,” his vivid is rough as he chased your lips, a soft groan leaving his mouth as you started unbuttoning his shirt. “I don’t want… I want you. Only you. I only want to have you.”

He hated how vulnerable you made him, but he loved it just as much.

“You’re so selfish, Coryo,” but your fingers pushing against his toned abdominal muscles made him swallow. “I think I know what I want tonight.”

There was many things you could have wanted to do.

“What?”

“I want to start working on our future lineage,” you whisper against his lips, pushing your hands up into his hair and softly scratching his scalp before you tugged his head back by his hair. “I’m going to bring your name back into its rightful place in society,” you kissed his lips again, humming. “And I’m going to show everyone how fucking powerful we will be. And how I own Coriolanus fucking Snow.”

He doesn’t protest to your words, no matter how much he wanted to fight back against you. He was thankful for the fact that you were going to bring you back into his formal place in life, and he would get everything he ever wanted — your estate, your wealth, your power.

He didn’t even have to kill you for it.

Nothing amounted to what he really wanted though — which was you. This would tie him to you forever, and that was what he truly wanted.

That’s why he didn’t protest as you started unbuttoning his undershirt.

That’s why he didn’t protest when your hands pushed down to his slacks, unbuttoning them and unzipping them, his hands even joining yours as you kissed against his neck.

That’s why he didn’t protest when your fingers trailed over the grooves on his strong abdomen, tracing his abs.

“I would be honored.”

Coriolanus enjoyed the sight of you riding him very much. He enjoyed the feeling even more, your perfect, plush walls clamping down on his cock as you rocked your hips into his.

Your head was thrown back, whines and moans escaping your lips as he kept his hands steady on your plush hips. “Fuck,” he cursed, unable to keep his eyes off of you as your hands on his chest kept you steady as you finally looked down at him. “You can go harder, you know.”

When your nails dug into his chest, he didn’t even know he said something wrong. He couldn’t control the slight gasp from his lips as he exhaled shakily, your hips starting to move faster and rougher.

“Don’t tell me what I already know,” you gritted out between your clenched teeth, holding back loud moans to save yourself some sort of dignity. Everyone would know very soon Coriolanus Snow belonged to you and he was the man who had his cock in your oh so desired pussy ever single night, but you wanted to save that until you announced you were pregnant with his child. “Coriolanus…”

When you finally moaned his name, he knew you were close and he would have to cum with you. He had been holding back ever since you started your rougher movements, his stomach visibly clenching as his chest rose up and down quickly to match his breaths.

You had been trying for a long time to get pregnant with his child, ever since your parents instilled in you that you were their last legacy and you needed to ensure that you had something to leave everything behind to if anything ever happened. For most of the time that Coriolanus was able to have sex with you since you claimed him as yours, publicly in the Academy’s library long before you kissed him by forcing him to eat you out while you studied — something he truly didn’t protest to — you took preventative measures, but not anymore.

You were ready this time, and he was more than happy to give you something that would make you his forever.

“Cum,” he groaned, his dominant mindset threatening to push through his forced submission act. You liked being in control, and if he didn’t listen, he knew he wouldn’t be able to feel you for a month. He couldn’t go that long, as it could’ve been his sixth punishment that sent him over the edge to finally take you as his own. Every punishment made the state of celibacy longer, and he had gotten so addicted to feeling your cunt around his cock that he couldn’t bear getting another punishment. The sooner you came, the sooner he was able to take control. “Please cum.”

Your hand moving from his chest to his throat made him groan, a slight pressure from your thumbs pressing against his windpipe as you got rougher in your thrusts. You were finally letting out all of your whines and moans he loved so much, chasing a high only he could give you.

“Don’t fucking try to take control!” Your other hand pushed into his hair, giving a sharp tug as you forced his head back, the pressure of your thumb preventing him from moaning. “You belong to me. I own you!”

He couldn’t stop himself, his hips snapping up into you and making your eyes roll back, hitting that spot that made you gush all over his cock. He knew your vision had gone white and you were in that state of pure bliss and orgasmic pleasure that he could finally take control like he wanted to.

Coriolanus was quick to force you onto your back, pulling your legs over his shoulders as your hands tried to hold onto something, anything.

“No, no!” You sounded like a spoiled brat who didn’t get her way, and in a way, you were. You weren’t in control anymore. “Stop it, stop it! You listen to me!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Coriolanus growled as he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. You squealed and tried to push him off, trying to take control again and even biting his lip. He groaned as you dug your teeth into his pale pink appendages, drawing blood so that when he pulled back, your mouth was stained red.

Oh but did he laugh, driving his hips forward so much so that you were pushed into a new position; your ankles crossed and forced over his left shoulder as he drove his hips so far against you that your ass was lifted off the bed.

“You fucking bastard-!” You spit out red stained saliva, saliva stained with his blood until his thumb gathered said saliva and forced it back into your mouth. You choked as he did that, teeth gracing his finger before he pushed the pad of his thumb back into your throat.

The action had you choking and gagging as his thrusts got rougher, the feeling of your walls fluttering and clamping down on his cock threatening to make him go crazy. He was so close, so so close.

“Spoiled brats need to learn their place,” he growled out, thrusting roughly with each thrust as he tilted his head back, savoring the feeling of your plush walls on the shaft of his cock and your hot, wet mouth around his thumb absolute bliss. “And who they fucking belong to.”

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, focusing on his thrusts as you squirmed and whined beneath him, letting out soft coughs between your moans as you swallowed. “Fine. You can have control this once.”

‘This once’. He knew by the time he was finished you’d be begging for more.

He groaned as he pushed his hips forward, scooting further up the bed and watching you squirm, a loud scream coming from your lips. He wasn’t even thrusting anymore, merely rolling his hips as he was balls deep inside of you. Each roll of his hips still pushed him into new places you’ve never felt, building the height of another orgasm at this new angle as you clawed at the sheets.

Your expensive bed started to creak at his thrusts, headboard slamming into the wall as tears welled in your eyes from the amount of pleasure he was giving you. “C-Coriolanus!”

“Say it,” he growled out the order as his hand moved to hold your throat just like you held his earlier, his other hand hoisting your legs farther up his chest which made you scream out. “Fucking say it.”

His hips moved rougher and faster as you sobbed, whining. “Say what?! What do you want me to say, I want to cum, I want to cum!”

He stopped his thrusts, something he barely managed to do without cumming himself. The stopping of his thrusts made you sob harder, trying to force your hips into his, but it wasn’t the same. You slapped your hands against his chest, tears streaming down your cheeks as his hand moved from your throat to your cheek, delicately wiping your tears.

“Fucking move!” You sobbed, whining as you continued to squirm.

“Say you belong to me.”

His words made to gasp. Your face was so outright shocked and offended, mouth agape and eyes wide as you stared at him, tears still pricking your eyes.

“Say you belong to me,” his hand moved back down your throat, putting pressure on your windpipe making you choke as he leaned down. Your legs being pushed farther down to your chest made you whine, but the slight spark of pain did nothing but make you want to cum more. “Or I swear you won’t cum ever again.”

Another sob racked your body, but your tears wouldn’t work on him. He knew you.

“Please Coriolanus, please!” You continued to sob, but his hand only tightened until you choked, sniffling as you rolled your eyes. “Fucking bastard.”

He knew those tears were fake.

“I belong to you,” you choked out, spitting the words as though they were a curse as you glared up at him. “I belong to fucking Coriolanus Snow.”

A sharp thrust of his hips was all it took for you to come undone, a true son of pleasure leaving your mouth as you came, but he still didn’t stop his thrusts. He pulled so far out of you that you felt empty, unable to even ride out your orgasmic high in pleasure before he slammed right back in. You felt your eyes roll back into your head, mouth still wide and agape but this time in pleasure as he continued to choke you, gasping for air.

“You belong to me,” he growled out, continuing to fuck and use you until he was on the verge of his first climax. “I am going to fucking get you pregnant.. I’m going to take everything away from you just to give it all back from my fucking hand. You will belong to me — mind, body, and soul — until your heart stops beating.”

He leaned down as you continued to sob, the feeling of being folded likw a whore not foreign but still ever the less slightly painful. “Your mind will learn that you can only depend on me,” he gave a sharp thrust, almost to solidify his statement, a snap of wood slightly knocking you out of your senses to alert you he broke your bed. “Your body will be turned on with just one graze of my touch,” another sharp thrust and a creak of the bed made you moan, because that was all you could do. “Your soul is mine. Tied to my own for the rest of eternity. Do you understand?”

You nodded mindlessly as he smirked, pulling your legs from his shoulders to wrap around his waist as he continued to roll his hips, moaning into your ear as he came a spurted hot, thick ropes of cum into your womb.

This was what you wanted, right? It had to be.

You felt your arms wrap around his back, moaning at ever lazy thrust as he pushed his hands down your body to feel your stomach. “You better get used to this, because there won’t be a day in our lives where I won’t fill you with cum. I don’t care if you’re pregnant or you’re nursing or whatever the fuck you’re doing. I will fill you with cum every single fucking day and you’re going to love every second of it.”

He watched you nod, your eyes hazy as you stared up at him, a slight laugh coming from his lips. This was the first step of getting you to depend on him mentally, and he loved it.

“I don’t care what you’re doing,” his thrusts get more steady, building back up the strength as your bed began to creak louder, but the sound didn’t even register in your brain anymore. Your eyes never left his. “I will be fucking you every single second. I’ll dump every fucking load into you, into every single one of your fuckable holes, and you’ll be my personal little cocksleeve that’s so fucking cockdumb and such a fucking whore that you’ll be begging and waiting for me. Right?”

“Yes,” you groaned, your hips starting to roll into his. “Yes!”

“Say it again,” he cooed softly, taunting you. You were finally his and he loved it. “Say you’re mine again. Like you mean it.”

“I belong to you,” you moaned out, nodding as he continued to thrust into you. “I belong to you!”

He laughed. “There you go darling… you belong to me.”

Oh you loved it.

I do not ever give consent to my work being published on other platforms or being translated at any point, even if it is a request. If my work is on any other platform, it’s without my permission. Your media consumption is not my responsiblity.

#c.s. ˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷ asteria’s version #the hunger games #a ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus smut #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus x fem! reader #coriolanus x reader smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x female!reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader smut #a ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfic

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here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can · 4 months

Text

’i know, sugar, i know.’

summary: finnick comforts reader after a nightmare

warnings: mentions of violence, death, pain, fear and forced prostitution (let me know if there’s more)

hot tears are running down your cheeks over already dry ones, like the adrenaline through your body. your hands are trembling as you hurry along the path that goes through victors village. it’s covered in sand. almost everything in your district is. sand from the beach, little stones and pieces of seashells, crushed under the peacekeepers’ boots. you’re running away. why? isn’t that obvious? you’re a victor, haunted by nightmares like every other one. where to? you don’t even know yourself. just away from your house, not your home. the house you got gifted in return for your cruel actions. actions that still haunt you and always will. you never wanted this. yes, before you did all of this you had to work hard to survive and still only barely made it. but was it really worth it? you know the answer. no.

definitely not.

when you win the hunger games, you can be free, live a happy life and the games are over for you. that’s what they say. well, guess what. that’s not true. the games never end, even if you won them. you can never really win. you aren’t free and president snow makes sure for you to know that.

your life had never been perfect but before you were thrown into an arena with 23 children that wanted to kill you, you were happier. the ones you killed yourself still haunt you, you see them in the scared, little kids at the reaping, your new mentees. the capitol is cruel. the four words repeat in your head. over and over again, the sand is hurting your feet but you don’t pay attention to that. you’re running through the village without stopping. you are just a kid. just a kid. 17 years old. you should be living your life instead of being sold to people at the capitol. but you can’t do anything about it. your family has no protection except you. you suddenly stop running. where’d muscle memory bring you? you’re standing at the end of the path in front of a house identical to yours.

finnick. your mind clears up and you find your original intention. the one you had when you left your house. you just want to see him, know if he’s okay, want him to tell you that it’s not real, that he understands you, that he goes through the same things. you want him to hold you close, whisper sweet words to you and wait until you fall asleep. without thinking any longer, you knock on the door. one, two, three, four seconds go by before the door opens. surprisingly fast.

finnick is standing before you, his hair disheveled but perfect, as always, wearing a white shirt and sweatpants. he looks alarmed but sighs loudly when he sees you. his sea green eyes are tired but as piercing as always. he seems to stare directly into your soul but not in a way that makes you uncomfortable.

‘y/n? what’re you doing here?’

‘i’m sorry i woke you,’ you murmur with a soft sniffle.

‘no,no, don’t be. are you okay?’ he asks with a worried frown. you weakly manage to shake your head before the adrenaline from earlier is completely gone. two muscular arms wrap around you, pulling you to his chest where you let out a choked sob. finnick’s heart breaks for you, seeing you like this. to him, it’s a miracle you’re not able to hear it shatter in your position.

without thinking much about it you wrap your legs around his waist and arms around his torso before he picks you up and carries you inside, closing the door behind the both of you. the next thing you know, you’re standing in the kitchen, feet now on the ground but still close to the young man’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and breathing as your crying slowly stops and your breath calms.

‘hey, it’s okay, i’m here. i’ll protect you, alright? promise,’ he softly mutters into your hair. you can feel his lips move against your scalp as guilt washes over you. you shouldn’t burden him with this. he goes through the same things and you don’t find him knocking at your door in the middle of the night. he’s been doing it for a year longer than you now and he’s never really talked about it to you and how he’s getting by.

‘i’m so, so sorry, finn’

‘there’s nothing to be sorry for, sugar’

‘but- but you don’t show up at my front door step in the middle of the night because of some-‘

he interrupts your ramble.

‘maybe sometimes i want to.’ he gives you a soft, sad smile. ‘c’mon now. tomorrow’s the reaping, we gotta get some sleep,’ he states and without waiting for a reply, he picks you up again and carries you upstairs to his bedroom. finnick crawls into the bed next to you and pulls you close to his body again where you both lie in a comfortable silence until you start talking.

‘i saw her again,’ you whisper. ‘the girl from 10. she was only 13 years old.’ your voice breaks. ‘she was just a kid. and i shot her, i killed her. i feel horrible. i’m a monster, finn.’

it’s true. you saw her again in your dream. almost every time your brain puts you back in the arena you see the little girl, your arrow in her chest, the clattering of your bow on the ground as you realise what you had done, the cannon that signals her death.

and then the booming voice that announces you as the winner of the 68th annual hunger games, the winner.

what a lie. no one ever really wins.

‘you were just a kid yourself. you didn’t want it, you were forced. it’s not your fault, sweetheart. you’re in district 4, safe,’ he mutters as you let a few silent tears fall onto his chest, dampening his shirt but he doesn’t care. finnick just wants to hold you, make it stop, protect you from the capitol, snow. if he could take all of your pain and fear away, he would without hesitation. without even thinking about it. ‘but so were you,’ you whisper. ‘you were 14, finnick, 14 and then 16. and now 19. it’s not fair.’ he repositions himself to look at you. there it is again. the sad smile. it says more than a thousand words. and you return it.

‘i know, sugar, i know.’

you fall asleep soon after but finnick stays awake for now, unable to bring himself to sleep as well. he watches your facial expressions shift, watches a frown form on your face as you mumble quietly. all he does all night is whisper sweet things to you and hold you close in the hope to ease your mind and help with the nightmares. he silently thinks about the situation you’re both in; forced into prostitution by president snow. an object to buy. he knows that you’re only doing it because you want to protect him and he only does the same to protect you.

ironic, isn’t it? he chuckles softly at the thought before silently vowing to find a way for you out of this, away from the capitol, into a happy and free life. maybe with him. you’d want that. a life with him somewhere down by the coast.

‘i love you, sweetheart, you don’t even know how much,’ he whispers and plants a soft kiss on your hairline before finally falling asleep with you in his arms.

a/n: please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it <3 luv ya also I’m laughing at the gif rn because it’s literally finnick casually laughing about his own death i love him

edit: i just noticed that finnick being 19 in this and the sentence ’tomorrow’s the reaping’ means that annie is going to get reaped the next day

#i love him so much #finnick x reader #finnick x you #thg finnick #finnick odair #finnick odair x you #finnick odair fluff #finnick x y/n #finnick odair x reader

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imagine-knowing-a-name · 5 months

Text

At Your Service

Summary: As a trainee mechanic, you apply for an apprenticeship at Stark Automotives on a whim. What you don't expect is for Tony Stark to reply personally with an offer to train you, and if that wasn't enough, a certain redhead also takes an interest in your sessions.

Word Count: 2303

Pairing: (Mentor/Mentee relationship for both) Natasha Romanoff & Reader; Tony Stark & Reader

Warning: None :)

A/N: Thanks for the response to my last fic, all the comments and reblogs kept me writing even with all my deadlines, and Mechanic!R was the clear winner of the last poll, so here you all go! Enjoy :)

»»————-　★　————-««

You rested centimetres from the cold floor with the sight of oil-covered gears, shafts, and pipes overtaking your vision as you rolled under the automotive.

"Does the axle cover come off?" you said after a short inspection.

"Yeah, those two hex screws, I'll get you the tool. You've worked out the issue?"

"It's meant to be 4-wheel drive and only the front wheels are moving; I'd guess a problem with the connector shaft meeting the rear axle."

"You'd guess or you'd know?"

"I can't know anything 'til the cover's off and I can see inside."

"Good answer," Tony replied. "Hand out."

As instructed, you stretched your arm until your fingers just about reached out from under the car chassis, where a tool handle was placed in your palm.

"One 5/8 hex screwdriver, that's the one you'll need."

"The screws are imperial?"

"'Course, kid, we're in America."

"Yeah, but you sell these cars globally; I just assumed-"

"Dear old dad set up factories all over the globe – allows for some regional differences in the schematics, then each production line just does its own thing. It's easiest for everyone."

You hummed your acceptance of his method, then started to undo the screws, until a light rock to the car paused you. The movement stopped, so you assumed it was just Tony leaning on the car and you moved to continue your work, until the hum of a motorbike -- the sound of which you'd previously ignored -- grew even louder. You jolted when the bike pulled into the garage, causing you to smack your head against the car's underbody and let out a low groan.

"Watch yourself, kid; are you alright under there?" Tony said from above. At your murmur that you were fine, he continued, "roll yourself out, there's someone for you to meet."

"Why's there someone under your car, Tony?" came a woman's voice -- the person to meet, you assumed -- "can't get under the car like the old days, hm?"

When you emerged, the bright light of the outside world temporarily blinded you; you could make out Tony's figure, and as your vision returned, you saw the newcomer's back was turned to you, so only an orange plait could be seen from under her bike helmet.

"Very funny," Tony scoffed, continuing the conversation before he pointed at you. The woman turned and you only just managed to stifle a gasp when you recognised her face. "This is an apprentice, wrote to me a couple months back asking to learn about Stark Automotives, so I've been training them since. Y/N, this is Nat. Nat, Y/N."

From the moment Tony suggested training you here, in the garage of the Avengers Compound, you knew there would be a chance of running into the rest of the team you'd spent your childhood idolising. But truthfully, you were too starstruck that Tony Stark himself had offered to train you to truly believe that moment of meeting the other Avengers would ever come.

Now here you were, facing the Natasha Romanoff, looking effortlessly cool with her white vest, jeans, and leather biker jacket...while you laid on the floor in a Stark branded boiler suit and a definite grease mark where you’d hit your head. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment when you realised that the Black Widow's first perception of you was seeing you smack into an object directly in front of your face. You only hoped the blush didn't show when you finally met her eyes.

"Good to meet you," she said cooly, holding her hand out, but her eyes tracked up and down as if sizing you up.

You took her hand instantly, about to ramble through an introduction before a slight gasp from her shook you back to attention. Your eyes snapped down to where your hands met, and you realised then that you still wore your gloves, coated with oil from working on the vehicle, and now you've smeared it all over her uncovered hand. You instantly broke away -- apologising profusely -- and grabbed sheet after sheet of blue paper roll, offering it to her to help clean her hand.

"I'm so sorry," you repeated again, but she shook her head and smiled at you.

"I've had much worse meetings. I'll happily take a little bit of grease over being shot at."

"Woah-"

"Hey, kid," Tony began. Both your head and Natasha's snap in his direction; you'd honestly forgotten he was still there. "Not to interrupt, but have you ever worked on a motorbike? I made a few modifications to Nat's, and now that she's so kindly brought it to us I can show you how they work."

"Do not lay a finger on my bike, Stark," Natasha growled in a tone that reassured you that if she had actually been angry at the grease before, you would have known.

"I won't," Tony scoffed with a roll of his eyes, "...Y/N will."

You gulped, eyes darting between the two Avengers as you were drawn into the fold. "Me? Tony I'm not sure that's-"

"It's essential learning. We don't just make fancy cars so you have to learn it all. Nat, you wouldn't deprive Y/N of this learning, would you?"

Natasha groaned, but eventually relented, crossing her arms and perching on the counter by the wall. "Okay, but I'm not leaving you alone with it. And Y/N?"

You looked up, fear probably showing on your face. Natasha smiled in return, and allowed you to see a glint of mischief in her eye, "give me a running commentary of what you do. I trust your honesty more than Stark's." She smirked at the last part, rolling her eyes as she pointed to Tony behind his back, an action for you and you alone to see. Something about it put you at ease, so you nodded, smiled back, then got to work, spending the rest of the session under the assassin's watchful eye.

»»————-　★　————-««

You watched the phone in your hand, hoping and waiting for those three little dots. Tony Stark was not a man famously known for his punctuality, but he’d been early to every lesson so far and now, ten minutes after you were due to meet, you’re starting to worry.

The worry wasn’t the lesson being cancelled so much as the worry that one of the other Avengers would walk in and accuse you of trespassing – there were still so many residents you hadn’t met, and without Tony present, you were just a stranger loitering unaccompanied in the Avengers’ garage, surely that looked suspicious. No matter the fact that you were supposed to be there and had gained authorised access with your security card, your anxieties continued to grow and grow.

Your heart rate sped up proportionately to the increasing rumble of an approaching bike. The seconds seemed to elongate when you knew there was no escape to being caught there alone. In the remaining time you had, you pulled your phone back out and, with shaking fingers, messaged Tony one more time – at least then you had proof, you kept your eyes on the device even as you felt the newcomer pull in and dismount from their motorbike.

“Let me guess, Tony didn’t tell you he’s away?” Your head snapped up at the familiar voice, face breaking into a grin as red hair broke free from under the helmet. Natasha had been showing up more and more frequently to your sessions, so her arrival was no surprise, but you were glad to have a friendly figure to justify your presence, lest anyone else appear. Natasha set her headgear to the side and hopped up onto the counter, following her usual routine; you watched her intently until you realised she was watching you too, still waiting for an answer.

"Oh, uh, yeah, no, he didn't- he didn't tell me. He's not coming?"

“He got called on a mission last night. Should be back in a few days, if all goes to plan, but I’ll have a word with him about keeping you informed.”

Her undivided attention unnerved you – Tony had always acted as a buffer before – so you fidgeted, avoided eye contact, and wondered what your next move should be. Thankfully, Natasha answered that last question for you: “It wouldn’t be right to send you home so soon,” she said, “And I am officially a Stark Industries employee still, you know, if you wanted…”

“Yes!” you exclaimed instantly, speaking before you thought. “I mean, yeah, if it’s no trouble. That would be awesome.”

“We both know I’d sit here and watch anyway.” She spoke softly and with a smile that you found yourself drawn to replicate, feeling more at ease in the spy’s presence. “Now then, I know about a lot of things but mechanics is an area where you might already have me beat, so how about something else?”

“Like what?”

“What do you want to know?” she shrugged, “Russian? Latin? Artillery? Archery? Wrestling? Weightlifting?” At your dumbstruck expression, Natasha smiled and realised she would have to make the choice for you, “how about the gym? You can impress Tony with your strength next time he makes you use that scissor jack.”

Your cheeks burn at the memory – neither Natasha nor Tony had said anything at the time, but both of them had needed to jump in and assist when you’d been unable to turn the jack enough for it to actually lift the car and fulfil its purpose. From Natasha’s warm smile, you could tell she still wasn’t mocking you for the incident, but you still nodded quickly and murmured agreement with her plan, before following her through the Compound towards the gym.

“Can I ask why you’re a Stark Industries employee?” you asked on the elevator, as a way to fill the silence and out of curiosity from her earlier words.

She laughed, “It was back in ‘09, we had to get intel on the newly revealed Iron Man, and the man behind the suit-”

“Tony-”

“Exactly. So, S.H.I.E.L.D. made some edits to the employee list, added my cover there, and I successfully infiltrated the company for as long as I needed. I only officially revealed myself at the 2010 Stark Expo – do you remember that? – and in all the chaos afterwards, they never officially took me off it.”

“I think I remember seeing it on TV – you were there?”

“I left before the explosions started, but I was around, trying to make sure as few people were in harm’s way as possible-” Natasha cut herself off as the two of you entered a space larger than any lecture hall, fitted with all sorts of workout machines – the majority of which you’d never seen in your life. “Here we are.”

“You use…all of this?”

She nodded, then paused, before pointing to a section in the corner where the machine structures and weights seem almost treble that of the current area. “That section’s for Steve, or Thor if he ever bothered to train. Us regular humans wouldn't move it an inch if we tried to use those machines.”

Natasha smirked and shook her head again, guiding you towards one of the regular machines: a chest pad adjusted to press against your front as you sat on the stool, while Natasha adjusted the weight and pulled the two handles back for you to grab them. With the position set, you looked up to her for advice,

“Pull the handles towards your chest and push them back to neutral, it'll work out your upper arms. That's where a mechanic will need strength the most, so aim for 10 repeats.”

Natasha watched carefully, adjusting your posture where needed, until you completed the set. You broke into a grin at the realisation that you'd managed it, one which Natasha happily replicated as she held her hands up for a high fives. “You'll be a pro in no time,” she promised, “ready to increase the load?”

The rest of the session continued in much the same manner – Natasha introduced you to different bits of equipment and perfected your form until your phone buzzed with a routine alert to mark the end of a session.

Natasha accompanied you to the door, smiling, receiving, and occasionally rebuking the many thanks you bombarded her with for stepping up. “It was truly my pleasure,” she said at last, “I'll make sure Tony is back next week, but if you want to do this again, you have my number.”

She squeezed your shoulder, turned, and began to walk back inside – all before you came to the realisation: “I don't actually have your number!” you shouted after her. Natasha didn't respond, but when you checked your phone only seconds later, a message had appeared in your notifications.

‘Yes you do :)

-N’

She really was some spy.

»»————-　★　————-««

Everything changed from then on: you walked in to Tony and Natasha arguing a week later, their sudden pause at your presence a very good indicator that they were discussing you, something they confirmed only moments later.

Next thing you knew, both Tony and Natasha had taken you on as their mentee, a session with each of them once a week, and neither of them wanted you to leave. Your apprenticeship was extended into the next academic year, where you moved even closer to the Avengers Compound to visit them more often, the two Avengers – not to mention the others they'd introduced you to – always making sure you were well cared for whenever you visited. Eventually, Tony even offered you a full-time job post-graduation as the Avengers' official mechanic, and who were you to refuse? You loved the work just as you loved spending time with your mentors, so you could think of no better job in the world.

»»————-　★　————-««

taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff & reader #natasha romanoff & y/n #natasha romanoff & you #tony stark #tony stark & reader #tony stark & y/n #tony stark & you #ikan writes #self insert fanfiction #reader insert #marvel #fanfiction #natasha romanoff fluff

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youkissedareaderinthedark · 9 months

Text

Dear Spa

Synopsis: The Belgian Grand Prix haunts the grid once again

young female mercedes driver reader x F1 2023 grid

(george is on williams with alex, logan is the reserve driver)

We can’t remember “before you”

“Hi!” You grinned into the microphone when an interviewer called you over, to stand beside your teammate, Lewis. “Hi Y/n” He pulled you into a side hug. “Y/n, Mercedes have been looking fast so far, what can we expect from you two today?”

“Well, we hope to get onto the podium, and if not that, then just into the top 5 would be nice”

“And Lewis, what are your expectations for the cars today?”

“I mean, as Y/n said, we’re looking for the car to be in the top 5 at least. We’ve all been working hard in the garage and at the factory and we can only hope it pays off”

“Okay, thank you two, good luck today” The interview said as you two walked away and into the paddock.

2023 was your first year driving for Mercedes, although your third year in Formula 1. Toto Wolff had recruited you from Alpine in the middle of 2022 and had signed you for four years to drive alongside Lewis Hamilton. Seeing as you were much younger than him, you had developed a mentor-mentee relationship with the British man, and he became one of your closest friends on the grid. He gives you advice whenever he can and defends you when the racing world becomes too critical of you.

Right as you were walking through the paddock, you feel two arms wrap around your shoulders. “Hola” “Bonjour” Two accented voices say. “Hey guys, you ready for the race?” You grin at Charles and Carlos as you throw your arms around their shoulders.

“Yes, I can’t wait to be ran off the track again” Charles teases.

Two weeks ago, you ran his Ferrari off the track without even realizing it when he was trying to overtake you. He’s not mad since he ended that race in P3, but he still doesn’t miss an opportunity to tease you about it.

“That was two weeks ago, Chuck. Forgive and forget” You reply

“Don’t worry Y/n, I’ll just wave when I pass you” The Spainard says.

“And are you going to impede me if you do?”

“If I feel like it” He smiles. You laugh “I’ll see you guys later, good luck” You call as they walk towards the Ferrari garage.

You see George, Alex, and Lando together next. “Hey guys” You smiled as you brought each of them into a side hug. “Y/n, so, you remember how we asked you to come golfing with us on Tuesday and you said no?” George asked.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Well, we asked Lily and Carmen to come along, so you won’t be bored when you join” He smiles as if he came up with the smartest idea possibly.

“Oh, seriously you guys?” You threw your head back as the trio smirked.

“Alright, I’ll come with you. I’m not golfing though”

“Aw thanks, Y/n, you always know how to make us feel loved” Lando said sarcastically.

“We’ll see you after the race, Y/n, good luck” Alex called over his shoulder as the three friends walked away.

“Good luck”

“Alright Y/n, you ready?” Lewis asked you as you stood across from each other in the Mercedes garage. You two were about to start your formation lap, but not without seeing the other off first.

“Of course. We’re going to do great, good luck” You smiled, then you remember you were wearing your helmets, so you hoped he could tell by your eyes that weren't yet covered by the visor. He removed the hands that were on your shoulders.

“Good luck”

There was during you...

You sat in your car as the thirty-second warning came on. Your car rested at the P6 position, Lewis in front of you and Checo Perez behind you. It was supposed to be a good race, the skies were clear, the stands were full, and all ten teams were optimistic.

“Alright everybody, as the red lights come one, everybody clears the track” The voice of David Crofty becomes audible.

You take a deep breath, tighten your grip on the wheel, and focus your gaze on the lights above you.

1...

2...

3..

4..

5..

“And its light’s out and away we go in Spa! Max Verstappen gets away with no trouble, Charles Leclerc following after him into Turn 1. Fernando Alonso isn’t as lucky, scrambling to get away from Carlos Sainz’ Ferrari behind him. Lewis Hamilton manages just fine, as does his teammate behind him, Y/n L/n, pulling away from Checo Perez easily”

There’s a lot you probably should be worried about, but you’re glad you're not. You navigate through the race pretty easily, both Mercedes staying in their respective places until Lap 17. Carlos overtook Fernando, and now your teammate is attempting to do the same.

“Alonso, about to lose two places as Lewis Hamilton closes in on him in Sector. 3 He’s going for it. Hamilton down the outside...can he pull it off? Yes he can! Lewis Hamilton P4 and the show isn’t over for Fernando here. Y/n L/n wants a bit of action too, she’s going for it, their nearing Turn 3...”

DRS is on and you’re not giving up. You go down the inside of the Aston Martin, you’re Parrell to him, you’re going wheel to wheel...

“They touch! Contact between Alonso and L/n! L/n gets turned around and- oh no! Sergio Perez hits into the side of her car! Oh my...that looked...” For the first time in a while, David Crofty is speechless.

Suddenly there is debris everywhere. It’s an immediate red flag and the reflexes of the drivers behind Perez are tested as they try to avoid the collision in the middle of the track. The crash caused Sergio’s car to slow down, but it also set your car forward again which allows his to accelerate again. The Red Bull pauses, waiting for the cars behind him to clear before moving forward and stopping his car at the limits of the track.

“What happened?”

“Who was that?”

“That..that looked bad. Who was it?”

“That was Y/n? Is she okay?”

It all happened too fast. As a Formula 1 driver, you needed to have the fastest reflexes possible, but this time, if you blinked, you’ve already missed half of it. You knew your car had been sprawled sideways across the track, you just didn’t know Checo Perez was a second and a half behind you.

It felt like the entire right side of your body had bowling balls thrown at it. You tried overtaking Fernando on a straight, so the Red Bull crashed into you with full power. Your hip felt the most force, but your legs were crushed under the dented medal of your car. You couldn’t even feel your right arm and it’s better that you didn’t. The crash knocked your head straight into the left side of your headrest and even with that bulky helmet, you were seconds away from unconsciousness.

For reasons you couldn’t figure out and didn’t have the time to, the words said in your last conversation swam in your head.

“Good luck”

If this is good luck, then what is bad luck?

You thought as your eyes closed. You didn’t have to find out, because the luck that was your life, runs out.

Eighteen cars are back in the pitlane, but Sergio Perez’s Red Bull remains out on the track. He turns off his car no problem, but his shaky hands cannot seem to unbuckle the harness that keeps him in his seat. He’s been in Formula 1 a long time, and he can’t thoroughly describe it, only as a terrible, terrible feeling, one you have all over your body. He’s only felt it once and he never wanted to feel it again. His body is in déjà vu, thinking of the terrible day in Japan, in denial of this day in Spa.

He pulls himself out of the car and sprints towards you. “Y/n!” He screams as loud as he possibly can. “Y/n!” He’s muttering curses and pleadings. “Y/n please” He lifts your visor to reveal your closed eyes. The Mexican swears again and looks around frantically for the medical team. He weaves his arms through the halo and starts shaking your shoulders. Segio doesn’t know what it’ll do but he doesn’t know what else he can do.

He unbuckles your harness as well before removing your helmet and balaclava whilst his brain is trying to remember the safety procedures he was taught. The man places two fingers underneath your chin where your pulse point is supposed to be. Except it isn’t, and Sergio Perez begins to panic. He tries to be still for a moment, watch your nose and your mouth and your chest for any signs of breathing, and places his hands over his own helmet covered face. His voice breaks. “Y/n”

Flashes of red lights dance across your reflective visor and the sound of sirens becomes audible. He keeps his head rested on the side of your car and his hands clasped together in a prayer, hoping that the crash could be undone. There are wheels squeaking against the track and footsteps rushing around and he feels a hand placed on his shoulder.

“Sergio, are you okay? Come over here, you need a checkup...” A marshal drones on but Checo’s mind is on you. That terrible feeling is drowning him, forcing him to remember how it felt when he learned Jules Bianchi died and how he promised to never let a friend die. Sergio Perez has been in Formula 1 a long time; he should know not to make promises you can’t keep.

But we never thought there’d be an “after” you

The Mercedes garage knows first. The message comes from a radio and Lewis thinks that no message that important should be given by a radio.

He’s angry first. The British man is not known for his rage, but it escapes him before he can control it. He’s been out of his car for almost 10 minutes by now, Toto telling him to come out when 20 minutes passed, and they hadn’t been given an update. Lewis was listening to the station the medical team uses, and he, like everyone else in the room, was still.

“We’ve completed the examination, there is no pulse. Y/n L/n is dead”

A calm, before the storm.

He grabs the radio before anyone can react and is shouting without even realizing it. “No you haven’t. You check and you check again and again until she walks back here, okay?” Lewis’s voice breaks and his heart knows it even though his brain is denying it.

“I’m sorry but she’s-”

“No, no, she isn’t anything. She is fine and you bring her back here right now. You tell her I need to talk to her, you tell her I need her right now” A sob slips from his mouth and he’s buried his head in his hands as if taking his eyes off the world would bring her back into it.

The normally stoic Toto Wolff has tears shining in his eyes and Susie is crying next to him. The engineers in the room don’t know what to do, only that they want to go home and miss you and try to convince themselves they’ll see you later, walking out of the hotel with a smile on your face, rushing to catch your flight.

The FIA knows your relationship with the rest of the drivers well enough that none of them will have the heart and mind to finish the race. They radio each of the team’s garage’s one at a time, breaking the news and informing them of their decision.

David Crofty and Martin Brundle know next, and they are graced with the gift of telling almost 400 thousand people that one of their drivers have died. David Crofty and Martin Brundle are well into their age and have seen a lot but seeing a young woman killed doing what she loved in a freak accident? No, that’s too much.

A heavy silence fills Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps and the fans are stunned into the silence of reality.

The drivers are questioning themselves for the first time since 2019. Charles Leclerc breaks down into tears and he’s not sure how many more loved ones he can lose before he crumbles completely. Pierre Gasly sobs at the thought of having to lay another bouquet of flowers at this track and this time, without you by his side.

Esteban Ocon is spiraling into déjà vu and Yuki Tsunoda is torn between comforting himself, Daniel Ricciardo, or making the trip to Alpine to see his best friend. In that moment, the Australian is sure he will never smile again because you aren’t here it mirror it or cause it. Carlos Sainz hopes he never loses one of his sisters but if he does, he knows it will feel like this. The Spainard only wished to protect you and keep you happy and is left crying while his wishes fall away just like his tears.

Fernando Alonso knows this is something that will be engraved in his mind for every second of every day for the rest of his life. People assure him, it’s not your fault, it was a freak accident, but it doesn’t feel like it. He knows how to defend, especially without making contact, so how do you explain this? The man is advised not to let the grief consume him, but he welcomes it, lives with it until November, when he announces his retirement and knows that it’s permanent this time.

Lando Norris, George Russel, and Alex Albon are in states of disbelief.

We were talking, not even two hours ago... she was supposed to go with us...

You were supposed to go golfing with the three, yes, but you were also meant to go through Formula 1 with them. Be there for every podium, every win, every World Championship the four of you always dreamed of winning. Now they just dream of getting one more minute with you.

Dear Spa, stop killing our friends

#formula 1 #f1 grid x reader #reader insert #driver reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 driver imagines #platonic f1 grid #angst

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julisthings · 3 months

Text

Noise 🎧

Carmen Berzatto x fem(reader)

Part 1!

Plot: You’re an up and coming chef who just moved to Chicago for culinary school. As you search for work while completing school, you stumble upon an old Italian sandwich shop.

Warnings: Excessive Profanity, mentions of smoking and anxiety

Themes: eventual smut, slow burn, mentor/mentee dynamic

Author’s Note: Lmk if you enjoy this and if you’re interested in more :D.

*Tick, Tick, Tick*

The train clammers along its tracks everywhere you go, the sounds are thunderous but calming to the soul. Many people may say cities like Chicago are too busy to live in, but the chaos and bustle is where you thrive. The streets are busy, the lights are constantly gleaming, and best of all the food is amazing. This couldn’t be a more perfect place to be, Chicago was where it was at.

As the pulse of the city continues to beat within itself, the bills rack up. Student tuition ain’t going to pay itself so you find yourself in a desperate need of work. You’ve been applying to numerous places but no dice. Dejected, you walk home from a failed job interview, but as you walk heavily in your interview attire you see a sign on a small sandwich shop saying “ Help Wanted”. Curious, you step into the shop seeing what this opportunity may offer.

The moment you walk in, you hear chaos in the kitchen. Yelling from the front to the back of the shop. The shop itself is quite shabby, not the cleanest but it has its charm. You walk up to the register to see a tall dude with a beard yelling profanities and crude remarks as all hell breaks loose.

*Ding Ding*

“Uh hi! I saw you guys were offering employing opportunities, is there anyone I could possibly talk to about it?”

The guy, mid fight, stops and looks at you confused. He looks at the front window then yells to the back of the shop.

“HEY CUZ! SOMEONE’S LOOKING TO TALK ABOUT YOUR BITCH ASS HELP WANTED SIGN!”

You hear a voice come from the back.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, WE NEED THE HELP RICHIE.”

…

*pots clamoring*

“ Fuck- I’LL TALK TO THEM IN A BIT JUST TELL THEM TO WAIT”

The tall guy looks back at you with slight annoyance from the interaction but he keeps his best to stay calm to you.

“Just sit tight sweetheart, that asshole will probably take a while. “

He points at the menu

“ Want to order something in the meantime?”

You look at the menu and see that there’s a new menu item with “NEW” in bold.

“Uh… I’ll just take the new braised meat sandwich.”

After you order your sandwich, you wait by the seats at the front of the store. Amongst all the chaos, the view outside is nice. You pop in your ear buds and once you get your sandwich you just stare out the window and eat.

The shop seemed to be having a slow day, only one person came in every other 20 minutes. Poor dudes. The owner seems to be dealing with other shit so you decided to give the sandwich a chance. As you grasp the crisp yet pillowy bread, the crackle of the exterior creates a beautiful melody to the ear.

*crunch*

You bite down.

Holy. shit. The first bite into the sandwich was pure magic. The meat was tender, braised to the perfect temperature with great aromatics. The vegetables pair perfectly to the salty savory flavor of the meat. Such complex flavors in one sandwich. Who would’ve thought a place like this would have something this special.

*CRASH*

You’ve waited for almost an hour at this point. You get about halfway through the sandwich before you hear a distant voice getting closer. A man with wavy golden brown hair appears looking stressed out of his mind. He argues with the tall dude with the beard for a bit before seeing you by the front.

*tap tap tap*

You hear footsteps behind you.

(C)“ Hey, uhm are you the person asking about employment?”

You turn around, face to face with piercing blue eyes. You take your earphones out.

“Oh, uh yes! I’m y/n, it’s nice to meet you“. *reaches out hand*

He shakes it firmly. His eyes look into your soul, they blaze with a determination and firmness but there’s a strange beauty behind their bluish clarity. Their borderline disconcerting and beautiful.

(C)“Yes, hi. My name is Carmen Berzatto but my friends call me Carmy. I’m uh the owner of this place and it’s really great that you’ve got an interest here.”

His eyes linger, along with an air that lasts a beat too long.

(C)“ Shit uh… Please! Come with me so we can talk about this further. “

He guides you towards the back of the kitchen. As you make your way through the kitchen you hear

“Corner!”

You whirl to the side as a tall burley man with a beanie comes through with a tray of bread. You try your best following Carmen as he keeps moving forward, you lag behind a bit. He says

(C)“Right, so uhm do you have a resume or anything?”

You look at him and remember you have your bag.

“Ah yes yes of course.”

You hand him your resume and as he grabs it he peruses through your credentials. As you look around in the meantime, amongst the chaos there’s a homey feeling about this place. You can see and smell the history of the place. Not only with the food, but a teeny bit of mold you see in the corner of the ceiling. As you recoil a bit from seeing that you find yourself face to face with an office door.

*Creak*

Close to smacking your head on the sudden change, you feel a rough callused hand gently cover your head.

(C)“Careful. There’s a dip”

You enter the office and Carmen sits down, putting your resume to the side.

(C)“ Sooo… what kind of positions are you interested in.”

“Ideally would like to work my way up from a line cook to a sous chef. Big dreams for such little time haha.”

His eyes light up a bit. Your charm has intrigued him.

(C) “Ha, ok. Driven I see. Well you’ve got some great heat in some kitchens. Good stuff on here. New Orleans, Vegas, Italy. Not a Chicago native huh?”

“ Yeah no I’ve just started settling. Already love it though.”

The sides of his mouth rise slightly.

*Tick, Tick, Tick*

(C)“ Ok, so what are you doing here? “

“Hm?”

He leans back on his chair

You stare at him unsure how to answer at first. You decide to just tell the truth.

“ I need a job. I have talent but you can’t ride on that forever. Got lucky in the past with it but I’m going to culinary school to get more refined. “

His face is hard to read. It gets you a bit more anxious.

“ Look I’ve got student loans to pay off and I just got here so rent ain’t cheap. Im not picky. A job is a job, so I’ll treat it like any other place. “

You can see a spark of excitement in Carmen’s eyes

“ For sure. ”

Carmen looks at you for a second and then looks at your resume. You can see his deep lines from all the furrowing he does with his brows. He sets it down

(C) “ We’re family here. If I say yes I gotta know if you’re a team player or not. Even if people get on your fucking nerves I gotta know if you’ll keep a cool head. “

You nod. Carmen sees this and shows a small smile and nods his head.

You beam

You smile widely

“ Yes chef!”

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #slow burn

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dark-fics-4-you · 3 months

Note

In crocodile tears, would coryo pretend to be some hero or something when he gets reader some medical help or like calls for help for her because I know reader would have to go get some medical help for her injuries, like would he say he found her like that and just stays by her side and quietly whisper to her that he can and will get away with his crime and will do much worse to keep his goodboy™️ image up

Or would he just leave her there to let her think about what he said and what he's done and like kinda talks to someone else about his victory and then they walk back towards reader and find her all fucked out and traumatized and coryo just acts all surprised and asks the other person to go get help while he 'takes care' of her before like the authorities or like the ambulance and tells her to stay silent and to just play along so that he could find some way to fix his mess

And if he does find some way to frame someone else for what he did to reader, would reader's parents thank him over and over again and like pressure reader to invite him over or something (y'know just so that coryo can see how similarly they grew up or something, also how furious would he be if he found out that maybe reader is actually just 'better' than him)

Sorry this was kinda long and scrambled up but I've been thinking about crocodile tears all day and I'm geeking out over your fics omg 😭

Please don’t apologize for how long it is, I loooove detailed asks <333

Crocodile Tears drabble

cw: noncon oral m!recieving, noncon kissing, gaslighting, manipulation, physical abuse

I think Coriolanus would 100% try to play himself off as the hero. This is the same night that his mentee won the Hunger Games. Everyone is already celebrating him, and then he reports that he not only found Reader, but that he helped ward off her attacker??? He would eat that attention right the fuck up.

Of course before this happened he would set the record straight with you, maybe he’d do it while he was pushing his cock deep into the back of your throat. “You’re not going to- fuck- you’re not going to tell anyone that this happened, do you understand?”

You looked up at him through teary eyes as his hand wrapped around your throat, urging you to slide your lips up and down his length faster. He couldn’t contain his groans as he watched the saliva drip down the corners of your mouth as you sloppily took all of his cock.

His voice was breathy, and his eyes were fixed on watching you. A far cry from the classmate he had admired many times before tonight, now you looked a mess, lips puffy and eyes red and tear filled. Coriolanus loved how pathetic you looked now. He wondered if you would ever dare to talk back to him again.

“If you ever tell anyone about tonight or about what happened during the Games, I swear to god Y/N, I will fuck you so hard that you’ll be begging me to treat you as nice as I did tonight,” he sneered at you and your stomach turned at his threat.

For a moment, Coriolanus really wanted to cum all over your face. He imagined forcing you to leave the building with his sticky seed dripping down your face and tits, he wanted you to feel humiliated as you walked past all of your classmates.

He knew that the rumors would spread like wildfire, your reputation would be ruined. On top of your friends either witnessing it firsthand, all of your professors would find out no doubt.

However, much more appealing was the idea of Coriolanus coming to your aid, of him saving you from an unknown attacker. If the entire Academy already thought he was a victor, why stop now?

After he came down your throat and forced you to swallow it all, you were surprised when he hurriedly pulled your clothes back on to your limp body, before dressing himself as well.

You were still too dazed to protest when he pulled you up, wrapping an arm around your waist and walking towards the party.

You felt so out of it, and your memory after leaving the control room was spotty, but you remembered seeing concerned classmates and hearing Coriolanus explain that he had rescued you from an attacker and that you needed medical attention.

You also didn’t miss all of your classmates thank Coryo for saving you.

Don’t think for a second that he would leave your side, opting to ride in the ambulance with you, identifying himself as “Y/N’s boyfriend,” and holding your hand the entire way. The EMT’s thought he was whispering words of encouragement and that your panicked look was only due to your injuries and the trauma from the night, but it was actually because of the threats he was calmly hissing into your ear.

“Remember, you didn’t recognize the guy and you didn’t get a good look at him,” he raised an eyebrow and leered over you, “right?”

You nodded, trying not to attract any attention.

“And you don’t even want to press charges, right?” He purred in your ear, hand snaking to the back of your neck and clamping down. You tensed when you felt him grip the back of you neck harder, trying to get a small reaction from you that only he would notice. “Better to just try to move past all of this.”

When you finally arrived at the hospital and got wheeled to a room, you were greeted by your parents immediately, who tearfully attempted to talk with you.

You had only just opened your mouth to speak when Coriolanus interrupted you, “I’m sorry Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N, she’s not in any condition to be talking right now.”

“And just who the hell are you?” Your father demanded of the unfamiliar blond.

“I’m Coriolanus Snow, I saved your daughter tonight,” his head was held high and when he started recounting his twisted version of the events that had occurred tonight, only you could have spotted the devilish gleam in his eyes. “She’s lucky I got there when I did,” he concluded, “I just can’t imagine what might have happened to my Y/N…”

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘my Y/N?’” Your mother asked, looking up at Coriolanus incredulously.

“Well, I wish I was telling you under better circumstances, but,” he cleared his throat, pretending to be embarrassed, “Y/N and I have been dating since the day of our tribute assignments.”

When your parents immediately changed their tone and began heaping thanks and praises onto ‘your boyfriend,’ the man who had just raped you so brutally, he had sent you to the hospital, you felt like you could be sick, and the nausea swirling in your stomach had you reaching for the trash can by your bed and hurling the remains of what was left in your stomach into the bucket.

Coriolanus dotted on you, rubbing your back and whispering words of encouragement loud enough that your family could hear. His faux concern for you was so sickening, you would have thrown up again if you had anything left in your system.

You were in the hospital for 2 excruciating days, and several of your classmates came to visit, all of them bringing flowers or candy or other gifts, but you never got a moment alone with them because Coriolanus stayed by your side the entire time.

When your nosey peers asked you or Coriolanus to recount what had happened, Coriolanus would shut them down, insisting that neither of you wanted to talk about it for your sake.

And while it was true that you weren’t anywhere near being able to talk about what happened that night, that didn’t mean that you wanted him literally at your bedside and never leaving you alone with anyone, not even your family.

If they asked for time alone with you, his grip on your hand would tighten and you knew you had no choice but to tell them that you wanted him to stay in your room, “Mother, I- I just want him here right now, I would feel too anxious if he left.”

They always obliged, never forgetting to thank Coriolanus any chance they got, and by the time you were discharged and you thought you were finally going to have a moment alone to breathe, you were feeling more than ready for some space away from the horrible man.

However, to your horror, you realized that your family had taken what you had said in the hospital after being coerced by Coriolanus too literally.

When he followed you to the car, you thought he was just saying goodbye until he climbed into the backseat with you and you gawked at him before looking over at your parents.

“Oh yeah, we forgot to mention,” your mother warmly replied, “Coriolanus offered to come to our apartment for a few days to help take care of you. We figured it would be good, considering how much he helps your anxiety.”

You felt your stomach drop, a pit of anger and disappointment blossomed in your gut and it took everything in you to force yourself to smile and thank your parents.

Coriolanus’ hand squeezed yours and you tried your best not to cry.

After you arrived at the apartment, Coriolanus helped you out of the car, making you lean on him for support as he helped you to the entrance to the building.

The blond was taken aback by the street you lived on. It was just a couple blocks away from his, and he had walked past these apartments many times, completely unaware that you lived here. It was a modest apartment building, honestly not much better than the one Coriolanus lived in.

But how could this be? Wasn’t your family wealthy at least? As he made his way up the stairs, supporting your weight as you leaned against him with his arm firm around your waist, he couldn’t help but compare all of the similarities to his own apartment.

Hell, if anything your apartment may have been a tad smaller than the Snow’s, although yours was much tidier.

It was around dinnertime when you had arrived and you had just wanted to take a nap before eating, but instead you were treated to some excruciating alone time with Coriolanus, during which he lay in your bed next to you, holding your stiff, nervous body close to him and running his hands over the goosebumps that decorated your skin. Your breath caught every time he paused over one of the bruises that he had left on you, and you winced when he would press the pads of his fingers onto them, silently threatening you.

It felt surreal laying in your bedroom, the place that was supposed to be your safe space, with Coriolanus, knowing that he could overpower you and fuck you at any moment if he wanted. And that fear was exactly why you didn’t try to get away.

You winced when his soft lips came to your bruised neck and he kissed and sucked at the tender skin. The way he had one of your hands pinned, fingers digging in to your sore wrist, reminded you of the first night he assaulted you and you tried to blink away the tears forming in your eyes as panic rose in your chest.

“Relax, Y/N,” Coriolanus whispered against your throat between sloppily nipping at your skin. “I’m not going to do anything to you tonight, baby. Gonna wait till you’re all healed up so you can feel every fucking inch of my cock dragging along your walls.”

You let out a quiet sound at his words, but it was hard to tell if it was a sob or a moan and Coriolanus felt his cock throbbing against the material of his pants.

“Although,” he thought aloud, looking down on you and admiring your pretty, plump lips, which were glistening, wet with a mix of saliva and your tears, “maybe I should give you a reminder of what I could do to you if you decided to feel brave and blab about that night, hm?”

You fearfully shook your head and you were about to protest when your mother knocked on your door, letting you know that dinner was ready.

You looked to Coriolanus and he nodded with annoyance after a few moments of hesitation, allowing you to respond, “Okay! Thank you, we’ll be there in a minute.”

He sighed in frustration but got up and began pulling his shirt back on before he glanced over at your teary eyes and messy hair.

“Clean yourself up in the bathroom, you look pathetic,” he ordered and you ran some cold water on your face to try to make the puffiness go down.

When he was satisfied with your appearance, you dressed, trying to swallow your discomfort before you left the room, but when you sat down at the table with your parents for dinner, you still couldn’t believe how it felt to be eating family dinner with that man.

As Coriolanus regaled your parents with stories from the Academy and lies about how you had started dating, you realized that tears had begun falling past your waterline again.

And no one at the table noticed or said anything about it.

#coriolanus snow drabble #dark coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow #crocodile tears #coriolanus snow x reader #hunger games tbosas #tbosas #coriolanus snow

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anya-anya002 · 5 months

Text

𝔓𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔲𝔪 (i) *full*

ꜰᴜɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛᴏʀ! ᴀʟᴇx ᴛᴜʀɴᴇʀ x ꜰᴇᴍ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇɴᴛɪᴄᴇ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: you have a biology exam and you ask your friend’s father to help you study-

𝑰𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒔: age gap (21 f, 37 m), cheating, corruption kink (u gotta squint-), established relationship, mentor x apprentice relationship, medical kink/anatomical words….

(Guys…..I haven’t been to a med class in almost a year bear with me and Google-)

In the back of the funeral home was a small office; that’s where Mr. Turner authored the obituaries. Although small, it has a sort of coziness to it with its darkened navy walls stained with cigarette smoke. Then, to cover them were clippings from anatomical books he published. But now, it’s a dimly lit room with the familiar stench of cigarettes. You stood in the doorway with your bag in hand.

Your eyes were already focused on the person who occupied the room, Mr. Turner. His thick, brown tortoiseshell glasses perched on the tip of his nose as his fingers typed away on the laptop. A cigarette tight between his lips while his nostrils trickled out smoke like some kind of work fiend. But yet, he somehow looked peaceful. His shoulders slouched, and his hair ruffled. The blue light from the computer clashed against his face exposing smooth yet wrinkled skin. Yet, in all this time, he managed to keep his youth; you envy it.

“Mr. Turner,” you spoke. The air was thick with silence as the keys clacked. Then it stopped, his head turned to you, a blank expression worn as you stopped dead in your tracks. The lamps above the bookshelf cast ghastly shadows against his face, making his eyes glow.

“I, I was just wondering if you were being serious when you said you didn't mind helping me with my biology course last week.” you stammer.

“My anatomy test is in like three days, and I just can't wrap my head around everything,” you finished. Your words spewed out like vomit as you gripped the strap of your bag. While you were nearly panicking, Mr. Turner frowned. His arms stuck out tall while he stretched. Long, thick fingers interlocked as he let out a soft grunt and then returned to his position.

“Yea, I told Marie to let you know after she told me you're studying to be in mortuary science,” he said, a slight smile gracing his face. You nod, enter the room, and plop on the small, gray, squeaky couch. You looked at him, then at the brass clock that hung behind him, then back at him. Your nerves scorched at knowing that your friend told her father what you wanted to do.

“So, what’s the test on?” He asked. The cigarette ash fell onto the desk as he set it in the nearby ashtray. You paused, swallowing dryly before gripping the edge of the couch cushion you sat on.

“Uh...reproduction,” you said in a low voice. He hummed and looked at you again, his eyes a lot livelier.

“Hmm, do you have flashcards or no?” he asked, you shook your head ‘no.’ His index finger tapped the top of his knee rhythmically.

“Hand me your notebook,” Mr. Turner said, you scrambled and reached into your bag for it. You stood to hand it over, your legs rickety as you stood in front of him. His eyes peered up at you, scanning you up and down as he still tapped his finger against the desk. His gold band glimmered in the soft, yellow light as he clicked something off on his desktop. Flipping through your notebook for a moment lazily before speaking.

“Y/N?”

“Yea?” you perked up as he sat your notebook in his lap.

“Do you remember the barbeque your family threw that summer?” he asked, you sat down slow, still gazing at him while you nod. Both your eyes piercing into each other like needles before you blink. You were squirming in your skin as you nodded, vividly remembering the way his hands ran up your spine. Your cheeks heated up as you tugged on your top. Your ears rang from the silence, just the two of your gazing at each other.

“Yes,” you breathed to which Mr. Turner grinned. An almost crooked, hungry grin as he ran a finger through his hair. Bringing his chair out from his desk and sliding it right in front of you.

“How about we... study in a different way hmm?” he proposed. You nodded without a second thought, and the smirk on Alex’s face turned ghoulish. His dark eyes glowed within the small, dark room as you squirmed.

“Strip,” he commanded. You blinked, your whole body sweated as he stared you down. You slowly kicked your shoes off, each layer dropped onto the floor in soft thuds.

“Point to me where the vagina is,” he deadpanned. His warm honey, deep voice within the tiny room, like a bear growling within a cave. Once your jeans were gone, there was nothing left to remove. Your nakedness made you realize how warm it actually was in here. The beating in your chest turned into banging. You pressed your lips together tight, your hands shaky as you brought your arms to your chest.

“Y/N,” Mr. Turner said. You looked at him almost like your head was filled with cotton. His legs crossed to prop your notes against his slack-cladded knee. The lenses of his glasses now blocked by golden light as he waited.

“Yes, yes sir?” you asked. Your eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Anxiety began to bubble in your chest as he repeated himself.

“Point to me where the vagina is,” he said, even while repeating himself he just stayed purely monotone. As if you weren’t sat in front of him completely bare, he propped his head in his hand.

You scooted back on the couch, your body tense as you spread your legs, exposing your two puffy lips. Your eyebrows furrowed while your left hand reached down, past your stomach. Spreading your pussy lips with your middle and pointer finger.

“Do you need a mirror?” he asked, your eyes widened as Alex just watched you unfold. The idea of your cunt being seen back to you made a slither of shame appear in the pit of your stomach.

“It’s okay to need help, isn’t that why you’re here?” he cooed. You blinked, everything you thought about Mr. Turner may be wrong. You looked at him blankly, his fluffy shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a little half-up ponytail as he sat the book down onto the desk.

He leaned in close, the smell of bourbon and jasmine was faint while his eyes refused to stray from yours. Should you say something? Maybe you do need a mirror, you’d never know.

“Can you move your right hand for me?” he asked. The timbre voice rumbled through the room as he rested his hand on your ankle. Reaching down, the pad of your finger poked around. Cringing at the feeling of your finger poking at your urethra, almost like taking a big inhale of car exhaust.

But then that cringing vanished as you eased inside your hole. A soft gasp left you as your cunt began to stretch at the intrusion. Mr. Turner sat there unmoved, his eyes trained on your finger curiously.

“Is that where it is darling hmm?” He asked, a smirk bloomed on his face as arousal bubbled out of your little hole.

“Yes Mr. Turner,” you breathed. He hummed in approval then gently pulled your hand away, your finger removed from your cunt. His eyes went from yours down to between your legs. Your eyes clenched tight as he leaned closer. His breath ghosted against your legs, the follicles in your skin stood up as his closeness became ‘coke-headed’ close. His head hovered above your pelvis, his eyes looked down at the view.

“What a gorgeous thing Y/N/N,” Alex said. His thumb pulled the two thick lips apart to gaze upon the hole. His peer grew once more as he continued to gaze at your pussy.

“Tell me,” he began, his hands remove themselves from between your legs and ventured toward your inner thighs. They gripped the fat of your thighs tightly as he pecked your lips. Your eyes widened at the action,

“Now,” he said. His right hand and left leg untangled themselves, unzipping the golden zip of his dark green slacks. Fuck, the last time you saw him like this your own intoxication interrupted. But now there was no coitus interruptus, just you.

“I know you guys joke about the clitoris but….” Once he unzipped the slacks, the shade of this boxers were a deep maroon, but there wasn’t enough time to fully gaze once he pulled himself out.

Thick, that’s all literally all you could think, like any girl in a porno; will that thing even fucking fit in you?

“Which is more sensitive huh, the tip of my penis…or that adorable little clit of yours?” He asked, his cock ran across your slit, heat radiated off him. Fuck, he felt so warm, warmer than the room itself. Instead of static you felt fire licking up your sides.

“The clitoris?” You said, more like asked, maybe he didn’t catch the sudden inflection. Alex’s eyebrow raised, however…fuck he caught it.

“Are you sure dearest? Do you need an example?” He asked. Grabbing the base of his member and rubbed his tip against your vulva. That fire that licked up your sides, now seared them.

“Oh,” you shivered, his tip is flushed as he rubbed it against your clitoris. Mr. Turner groaned, eyes screwed shut while he see-sawed against your soaking slit. Deep-red tip moved in a circular motion as you whined, squirming against the couch as you gasp.

“Are you sure now?” He asked.

“T,the clitoris sir,”

“Hmm,”

His rubbing became faster, as if he was consumed by pleasure. Out of your control, moans continued to slip from your mouth as his thumb eased his tip inside. Gasps filled the room. Your eyes cracked open to see Mr.Turner, his glasses now perched atop his head as he clenched his eyes shut. His smooth, pale skin pasted in a thin sheen of sweat, his crow's feet now more prominent skin wrinkles like how one ruche cloth.

“Fuck-” he cursed, your hand that held your lips spread snaked to his. A fire blazed against your cheeks at the feeling of his hand against yours. Odd, such a trivial interaction sent your heart into overdrive and your scalp all prickly.

“Mr.Turn-”

“Alex,” he groaned out, his eyes opened while he reached down and gripped the fat of your thighs.

"Alex," you gasp. Your eyebrows furrowed as he gazed down at you, almost like he's never seen you before.

"Are we still studyin'?" you asked. Then you both went silent; your heavy breaths could be heard throughout the tiny office. This silence, however, was tensionless. Like a little break.

"No," he panted. His face leaned down to your ear. He hummed and slowly began to thrust inside. The feeling of his sheer girth nearly painful, your eyes screwed shut. Your hips felt wide almost like they weren’t supposed to bend like this.

The two of you panted as Mr. Turner’s hips rocked slowly. Watching your every move as his hips rolled against yours. Your legs burned slightly, making your face ball up as a hot tear rolled down your cheek.

“Alex!” You cried. Your hands gripped at his clothed shoulders. He ran his fingers up your spine all while tangling himself into him.

“Shh, shh, I know it hurts angel…you’re so tight though,” he cooed, to which you looked away flushed. Alex’s chuckles filled the room, still praising you sweetly as his hips pulled away from yours.

“Just breathe for me,” he continued, Mr. Turner’s lips pressed against the left side of your face. The rough hairs of his beard scratched against your skin. The pain slightly dulled as soft lips press all over your face. His little whispers and coos finally subdued once he felt your hips buck against his.

If you could take a picture of the sheer pleasure that appeared on Mr.Turner’s face. His lips curled into a large grin. His large hands ran over your breasts, his palms rough, calloused as he pawed and squeezed at your flesh.

“Al-“

“You’re gonna pass the exam-“ he blurted right before pounding into your cunt. You stare at him wide, the tip of his penis nudge against the swollen, spongey spot that made your entire body shudder and a loud moan to come from your lips.

The wallpaper appeared to be peeling or it may have been your head rocking up and down from Alex’s thrusts. His hair dangled down against his forehead as his cock plunged into your wet pussy, the squelches brought your hands up to shield your face. Embarrassed if you could still feel that with your nakedness on full display and your legs spread wide giving him a full view.

“H, How?” you finally squeaked, your eyes big as you gazed up at him. You would've been actually studying for said exam if it weren't for his cock that thrusted deep inside of you, nudging against your spot once more. He moved your hand away as you whine loudly, now able to fully look at him in the dim light.

“How can you fail the easiest exam in medicine?” he chided, his hips snapped against yours, a loud slapping sound filled your ears. His tip poked at the tight ring of your cervix. Your moans grew loud, echoing throughout the tiny, dark funeral home. The couch lurched with each deep thrust he made. His tip was kissing your cervix more as your pussy gush around him.

Alex moaned at the sight, his eyes glued between your legs before he spoke once more.

“I mean- we’re ‘reproducing’ right now,” he teased, you gazed up at him. If it were anyone else who said that, you'd get up and dip out, but it's not anyone. You shivered at the words clenching around him and hearing his moans in response.

“What’s that called Y/N?” Mr. Turner asked, eyeing you with curiosity. His hips still moved as you thought of anything to say yet the way his thick cock fucked into you deep dumped out all your words like a piggy bank. Easing against your spot as you moan.

“C’mon Y/N…what’s it called when you squeeze your cute little pussy around my cock?” He asked, a brow raised on his sweaty forehead as you shiver and clench around him again. Unable of an answer you blurt,

“Contraction?” You asked meekly to which he chuckled low. His laughter rumbled against your chest as you look up at him. Your big eyes couldn’t sway him however as he grabbed your leg and placed it on his hip, forming a pressure in your lower stomach akin to someone sticking a finger deep inside your belly button.

“Wanna try again?” He teased, the golden light tickled the sides of his face, shimmering through his locks of hair as he gazed down at you. However this time, you answered him,

“Vaginismus,” you said, still unsure. Your mind occupied on your friend’s dad’s cock thats stretching your walls.

Mr.Turner, or Alex tapped his chin, now actually serious. He gazes down at you. Scanning over your body as if you’re a text book or an anatomical diagram as the silence crept back in. Your chests heaving as he searched for an answer.

During that tense, confused silence you heard footsteps. As if not even the dead that rested here wanted you to finish upon hearing the loud, slow, clicking footsteps. Mr.Turner’s eyes widened as he paled—quickly, he scrambled. Pulling out of you, to your dismay. You began to whine softly, but he simply shushed you by pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Get dressed we’ll finish at some other time,” he whispered before getting up and adjusting himself. A scowl appeared on his face as he tucked himself back in his slacks and wandering out to investigate the noise.

Leaving you all to yourself in the empty room…

“Who’s here?” Mrs. Parks-Turner’s voice filled the quiet hall, to which you tensed. Your heart stilled, scrambling to get dressed once more.

“No one Vivi, just a video in my office…”

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒅: @rentsturner @harrysbestiee

*if you’d like to be tagged just message me ‘tagged’*

#anya—anya #my fics #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #funeral director! alex #mentor x mentee #arctic monkeys #full story #the bar🍸#mortuary au #Spotify #smut #𝔓𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔲𝔪🪦

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targaryenluvs · 4 months

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ok hear me out w this dark!finnick idea; post-74th everlark, snow’s trying to do damage control and tells finnick to date another victor, and finnick’s hesitance to date his former mentee— means ofc she’s picked :( it’s not like finnick would ever put on a show to get her purposefully picked, he’s totally a good mentor and he’s defiantly never thought of ruining her, but, might as well make the most of it

alternatively omg image finnick living through the rebel’s victory— but the aftermath of the takeover meant a lot of the ppl involved in the games (no matter how small apart they played) get to executed,, including the little capitol girl who was (barely) part of his team n helped him get ready (or mb his district escort, or just like a stylist idk). helpful, helpful finnick steps up n tells her he can totally help her but it’s going to involve her losing her capital ties n taking up his name (plus they really have to sell it, so good knows how far they’d have to go, but he’s always so willing n helpful)

these aren’t requests or anything, i haven’t slept in 30 hours and I watched like my nth finnick edit whilst procrastinating prepping for my applied physics final

first of all i know i always sleep at wild times but THIRTY HOURS?? BABY GO TO SLEEP!!!

second of all, i wish you the best on your physics final ❤️

third of all your mind works wonders!!

can you imagine him seeing her again for the first time after she’s picked?? imagine nervous finnick for the first time 😭

“just our luck huh? two idiots make fools of the capitol and we end up on damage control!” your voice was as always sweet and pretty. finnick wanted to bottle it up all for himself.

“who would’ve thought?” finnick smiled, the charm may have been turned on but god was he a mess inside.

“you look good finn, grown. how’ve you been?”

i’ve been patiently waiting for the next time i see you. he wondered if that would scare you off so he smiled instead, “waiting for my lovely mentor to show and she’s here now so great.” you giggled as your touched his bicep, and his pants felt tighter, god you were adorable. you may be older than him but he has grown, and now he towers over you, dwarfs you in comparison and he adores it.

“you look stunning per usual.” you grinned and took your dress in, a gorgeous baby blue dress, with tiny straps on each side and a slit on the right side. your neck looked oddly markable to finnick but he’d refrain for now. “and you look handsome, when’d that happen?” you teased him before pinching his cheek.

you still thought of him as the same little boy from four. he could tell, but he wasn’t a boy anymore and he’d show you that.

“who knows. now, we have people to see.” he linked his arm with yours as the two of you made your way from the foyer and into the den of the capitol, hungry eyes and touchy hands pounced at the opportunity to feel the capitols darling and diamond.

he would snap every hand if he could, you were his, even if you didn’t know it yet.

“yes. i’ll do it, i don’t want to- no i can’t die.” you were crying now and finnick felt bad, but you’d just agreed to marry him so he couldn’t care less.

“no tears honey, you get to live.” his voice was sweet and comforting, looking up at him you felt happy. you watched him grow up, you helped him through it and now he was helping you, you couldn’t help but feel grateful.

“thank you finnick really, you don’t have to do this.” he shook his head and wiped away your tears, “you’ve been by my side for so long it’s the least i could do y/n.” your teary eyes should’ve made him feel bad but the idea of your marriage had his own heart racing. and as you hugged him he felt his worries melt away.

you were locked in for life.

#kira and anon chat <3 #dark!finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x reader

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solar-wing · 5 months

Text

⚣ Mind Yours 🤫

⚣🤫 A/N → Custom Spiderman drawing done by daviid.art on Instagram! Check out his work! Thank you! Always credit your fellow creators people. Anyway, first Miguel O'Hara fic. I think this was born out of my genuine disdain for him story-wise for trying to *spoiler bleep sound*, but also, from the fact that I'd let this man eat me like a Sunday dinner: no leftovers. Yeah...I said it. WARNINGS: Bit cringe but oh well. Flirty vibes (towards the end), Jealousy & Possessiveness, implied size kink.

⚣🤫 Summary → Okay, let's recap: Being one of the newly invited members into the Spider Society or Elite Force (what is the official name for this place anyway), there's a lot to take in. For one and probably the most pressing, why the hell is Miguel O'Hara always in Y/N's business? Does that man not have an entire Spiderman Task Force to run? And seriously, WHAT IS THE OFFICIAL TITLE OF THIS PLACE?!

⚣🤫 Words →

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🤫

The Spider Society.

No, the Spidermen Elite Task Force.

Nah, that’s stupid too. What about the Spidey Watch Force?

Seriously?

Alright, names could be dealt with later. But, at some point, Y/N was going to have to figure out what the official name for this place was. It was enough when he was recruited by his mentor, Peter Parker B. Why he had the B on his hand, he didn’t initially understand until he came to HQ and realized just how many different versions of him there were.

Yeah, the B was necessary.

Anyway, Peter took him on as a mentor when their recruiting department, if that was the official title for it, singled him out as a candidate with high potential. He said that Y/N reminded him a lot of another one of his unofficial mentees named Miles. The recruit noted that he seemed to hear that name a lot around the place, but not always in the most positive manner. Especially from their leader, Spiderman 2099, or Miguel O’Hara officially.

Speaking of that dude, Y/N was getting more and more concerned with how much attention the guy seemed to be paying to him. He figured in the beginning, he just wanted to keep an eye on him to see how he was doing and make sure he was following protocols. It made sense, but as time went on and he continued to just always be around, that’s when the recruit started to get a bit weirded out.

Miguel was an interesting person, to say the least. Quiet and broody, a bit obsessive, and a lot irritable. but one who tended to have a flare for the dramatic. When he met the new recruit, most saw his interaction with him as typical behavior. However, those closest to him, like Lyla, Jess, and Peter, knew better.

When Peter brought Y/N to Miguel’s office to introduce the new recruit, which the Hispanic Spidey personally requested, he was his typical sarcastic and cold self. What surprised everyone was when he offered to personally mentor Y/N, saying Peter had more important things to deal with like his (at the time) pregnant wife.

Y/N appreciated the offer but chose to stick with Peter. He didn’t mention that Miguel sort of creeped him out and made him feel intimidated, figuring that would make things any better. Of course, his original mentor had to go and make it awkward anyway by gloating at how great of a mentor he had to be.

Jess, of course, disagreed with that statement.

There was no visual reaction from the Hispanic man, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he wasn’t happy with Y/N’s decision. But, could you blame the guy?!

Peter made training fun. He found ways to make things seem more fun and comical than they would’ve seemed in the moment. He always had a lightheartedness to his teachings and would use the most interesting (questionable) examples when helping Y/N solve a problem.

Miguel didn’t mentor that many people from what the recruit saw, and just from those sights, he could see why. He took things way too seriously. Always looking at things from a negative or sarcastic point of view. The man was stubborn as hell, refusing to believe that you could teach and guide without being an obsessive hard-ass 24/7.

In his mind, he was only teaching discipline and responsibility. Y/N made a joke saying his teachings are probably the blueprint for what sends people to therapy. Jess, Lyla, and Peter all laughed while Miguel just scowled from afar.

But, it didn’t stop there.

The more time Y/N spent in the task force, the more he noticed how Miguel was always finding reasons or excuses to be in his business. It wasn’t just routine checkups and one-on-ones as most would expect.

Miguel was virtually finding any way he could stick his nose truly where it didn’t belong. Y/N found it annoying and a bit obsessive, while Peter, Jess, and even Hobie eventually all saw it for what it was. Typically, most Spider-people were not known for being the most discreet when it came to someone they were interested in.

It started with small stuff; Miguel constantly calling Y/N into his for the smallest of things. He didn’t like how he handled this mission, should’ve called for backup on that mission, make sure he doesn’t interfere with canon events, yada yada yada.

Then, it started with small comments about whatever Y/N was doing. Him being on his phone too much, spending too much time goofing around with Peter and the other Spiders, and taking too many trips home when he wanted to see his family.

Anything that had to do with Y/N, the big-bodied muscled Latin had something to say about it, even when he wasn’t present. He’d come across some Spiders who had been partnered with the mentee on the last few missions. He overheard one of them making a suggestive comment and it did not sit well with him for obvious reasons.

The next day, Y/N was confused as to why he was suddenly being pulled from all missions with his previous comrades. Though he never did find out exactly why, he had a strong suspicion of who more or less was responsible for it. And not just because the order came directly from them, but that added to it

It only got more interesting when Y/N got his new mission assignments from Peter, and he saw that he was “coincidentally” paired with Miguel on all of them. The mentee looked at his mentor with confusion and annoyance and only got a shrug in response and an empathetic apology.

Jess and the computer hologram also gave him sympathetic responses but gave their friend and leader suspicious and not-impressed ones when they met with him later that day. Of course, Miguel played innocent and oblivious, acting as if he was only doing this to help improve Y/N’s abilities and skills out in the field since he observed some specific areas where he was lacking.

“Oh, you’re observing all right…” Peter mumbled under his breath to which Jess and Lyla both giggled.

Miguel was not tickled.

The missions, as expected, were a lot. On multiple occasions, Y/N felt like he was ready to either strangle Miguel or himself. Whichever came first was completely out of his hands.

Miguel was on him for every single thing he did, but the gag was that he wasn’t even doing much since the control freak would always push Y/N behind him, taking on whatever enemy or threat himself. He’d usually just end up doing things like crowd control, getting civilians and innocents out of danger, and jumping in whenever his leader got overwhelmed.

Yet, that wasn’t even the worst part.

During these “intimate” times together (if you could even call it that), Miguel would take it upon himself to start asking innocent little questions. Of course, only if you define ‘innocent’ as very invasive in Y/N’s personal business. In that case, Miguel was an angel sent from heaven.

There were many kinds of questions, but they mostly were focused on Y/N’s personal life, specifically his relationships whether platonic or non-platonic. If, by this point, it hasn’t occurred that Miguel doesn’t have a subtle bone in his body, especially when it comes to keeping his “possessive” nature under control, then let it be known now.

Miguel’s jealousy was obvious as shit.

Yet, the only one who was oblivious to it was Y/N, who was getting more and more irritated and frustrated with every question in his life about why he was talking to this one person, and why didn’t he accept Miguel as a mentor. Physically incapable of letting shit go.

That topic made frequent appearances in their conversations where Miguel would go into one of his sarcastic and moody rants about Peter not being a fit mentor and how he would do so much better. The man was petty and could hold a grudge, and this seemed to be one he would not let go of for a long time.

At some point, Y/N had enough and went radio silent. Not completely, though. He told Peter that he was taking some time off and gonna stay in his dimension for a bit, to give himself a break from Miguel.

When he returned home, he left his watch buried in his desk and turned whatever communications or alerts he could off. As you can imagine, this did not sit well with Miguel, who probably was the only one who was consistently trying to contact Y/N, demanding to know why he wasn’t reporting in for their meetings or missions.

He would’ve gone to Peter and demanded he tell him what was going on, but he didn’t trust that soon-to-be father would give him the answer he wanted. So, he took matters into his own hands and made his way to Earth–6998.

Imagine Y/N’s surprise when he came home to a tall, buff-ass, brooding vampire Spiderman waiting in his bedroom with his watch in hand.

“Oh my god! Are you serious? You followed me home, broke into my house, and went through my drawer? And you’re sitting on my bed with outside clothes on?!” Y/N snapped.

That last one was just plain rude.

Miguel moved himself off the bed, his mask still on hiding his mildly guilty and awkward face.

“Why haven’t you reported to HQ? You missed three assignments, and I had to fix and fight a bunch of anomalies on my own.” Miguel demanded in his usual gruff manner.

“Because I’m taking a vacation, that’s why. And said vacation starts with me now washing my sheets and you leaving.” Y/N huffed before bumping past the taller man. He roughly pulled his sheets and pillowcases off his bed, gathering them in his arms before stomping towards the door, heading for his in-unit washer and dryer.

Miguel was hot on his trail, though, not planning on following the smaller Spiderman’s order in the slightest.

He was the boss last time he checked.

“I’m not going anywhere until you explain why you’ve been ignoring me.”

Y/N rolled his eyes while grabbing the detergent and fabric softener off the shelves from above, “I don’t have to explain anything to you. You may be in charge when it comes to your little Spider Society or Task Force or whatever you freaking call it, but when it comes to my life and my personal business, I answer to me, myself, and I only.”

After setting the washer and turning it on, he closed the lid before turning around, being met with a towering and bulky frame standing over him, not giving him much room to move past considering the tight space.

“I’d appreciate it if you would move out my way,” Y/N irritably asked, though his tone indicated that it was definitely not an ‘ask’ and more like a ‘get the fuck out my way.’

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped acting like a brat and ignoring me.” Miguel retorted.

“Ignoring you? IGNORING you?! How could I possibly ignore you when you constantly force your way into my life every single day? I can’t do anything or go anywhere without you two steps behind me or constantly asking me something that is, quite frankly, none of your concern! So, again, I am going to ask as politely as I can that you remove yourself from my home and learn how to mind yours. And, just so there’s no confusion, I 100% mean sticking your nose out of my business!”

Y/N went to bump past the stronger Spidey before he felt a large and tight grip on his upper arm, his whole body being pulled back before being shoved against the adjacent wall to the washing machine. Miguel crowded him against the surface, his body dwarfing him in size and leaving any possible room for him to move or try to escape.

Miguel leaned down into the young Spider’s face, his mask dematerializing over his face, showing the smug and flirty expression that was hiding under.

“You are my business, and I’ll continue doing as I please until you get it through your oblivious, tiny brain. Now, I’ll finish your sheets while you go get suited up, put your watch back on, and bring your ass back to HQ. We have a mission tonight, and then, we’re going to have a nice, long talk after.”

“And, just exactly how are you planning to make me do that?” Y/N pushed back, even if a small part of him wanted to give in, considering how so not hot he was finding this.

He had a thing for aggressive and dominant guys; sue him.

“Well, for starters, I can easily just say forget the sheets, toss you over my shoulder, and drag you back to HQ, whether you like it or not. But, I’d figured it’d be more considerate if I allowed you to return on your own choice.”

There was a silent pause between the two males, Miguel’s red eyes staring deep into Y/N’s who held a defiant glint in his own irises. A silent challenge was being waged between the two, seeing who would cave first, and considering the position he was already in, it was safe to say the smaller Spidey wouldn’t be winning this one, no matter how many webs or one-liners he shot out.

“Didn’t think the word considerate was in your vocabulary. Fine. But, I’m just doing the mission, and then I’m leaving.” Y/N caved, still somewhat in a defiant mood. Really, he was pushing the waters to see how far he could go.

Miguel raised an amused eyebrow before leaning up, giving the smaller Spider room to move. Just as Y/N moved out of his grasp, he felt a hot sting on his rear end. His hands went to cover his throbbing tushie while turning to see a cocky look on his face, the guilty gloved hand with the claws extended caught in the act.

“Remember who’s in charge here. Mind yours, Y/N, and I’ll mind mine.”

☀️ | Miguel O'Hara/Spiderman-2099 | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

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