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etfrin · 4 months

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❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter four | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | Coryo being Coryo, elitism, panic attack (nothing too graphic), mentions of death, mentions of blood (just a tiny bit), male masterbation near the end of the chapter | lmk if i forgot anything

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 they meet up in the library, Coryo has a panic attack, and low-key has issues 💀 but hey, he fucks his fist in the end of the chapter also let's his paranoia win lmao

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 reposting this!! Hope y'all like it!

beta read by @nowitsmissing

series masterlist | navigation | previous chapter

You didn't disappoint.

He couldn't help the heavyweight leaving his chest, his shoulders relaxing and his face in a smile (which he quickly hides) as he sees you. You were sitting on a chair, a stack of books in front of you, parchments all over the table, cookies in a box and you were writing something with your pen.

Was it instinct? Was it the bond? He will never know but you look up and meet his gaze. Your eyes narrowed at him, for being late he reasoned but he noticed that you relaxed as well, your body nearly sagging into the chair.

“You're late,” you greet him as he sits across from you. He shrugged, his eyes looking at the cookie and he ignored the clench of his stomach. He had cabbage soup again for dinner, the tasteless veggie didn't do anything to satisfy his hunger. It served as a reminder instead of why he needed to win the Plinth Prize.

He replied, “Death does that.” He tried to keep his voice sad yet composed. How sad could one be when you lose a family who is poison with perfect teeth.

“Should have stayed at home to mourn then.”

“I plan to do that at the funeral.”

Your eyes meet his briefly when you hear his answer, he notices that your eyes are red. Like it would be when you're crying. He couldn't wrap his mind around why you would be crying. Arachne was never a friend to you, a district girl, if anything you were the one who received most of her scorn. And yet you were with tears in your eyes, instead of him, a Capitol boy, someone with the same blood as hers.

What does that say about him?

“I plan to do the same too… She's family after all.”

Not yours. He wanted to reply but didn't. He gave you a nod and went back to his work. Ignoring the way your hand subtly (not so much) wiped the tear away from your cheek, and the growl of his stomach when he smelled the chocolate chip cookies sitting right in front of him.

Hours bleed and both of you were still working with minimal talking. He wanted to ask what you were so diligently reading and jolting down. His mind is plaguing him with the fact that you have better ideas than him. You seemed well prepared enough with all of the books that were left open around you.

You make a soft humming noise, “Your father was a co-founder of the Hunger Games.” You chuckled, though Coriolanus didn't know what was funny. “And here you're writing a proposal on how to improve the Games. Like father, like son.”

You give him a small smile. And then it turns into a frown when you notice that the cookies remain untouched. “I made these for us, ya know. I promise that they don't have cyanide in them. You can try but no promises if it's good or not. As the cook I am biased but I would love your opinion.”

His lips quirked up at your joke. You always had an uncanny sense of humor and you were never hesitant to showcase. He was glad to finally have permission to taste those mouth-watering cookies. “Thank you,” he manages to reply cordially as he takes a cookie for himself to munch on.

Your eyes were innocently wide as you watched him eat the cookie. You had stopped your writing, the quill resting on the side of your proposal. He realized that you were waiting for his comment, waiting for his approval. And he squirmed in his seat as he realized that you were hanging onto his words for something as simple as a cookie.

“It’s delicious,” he said, his tongue licking his lips to get the remaining cookie crumbs. He smiled a smile that wasn't calculated like every one of his interactions with his peers were. He smiled a smile reserved for a soulmate he couldn't have.

He sees your grin when you hear his opinion. Your face brightens up and you give your attention back to your work with vigor. It made Coriolanus realize your confidence was a facade, just like his perfection was. There was a certain joy in knowing that for Coryo.

And the bonus point is the fact that you asked for his opinion on nearly everything since childhood, even after getting closer with Sejanus, it's his approval you sought.

It was such a heady feeling that always fed to his ego and calmed his mind down from jealousy. Even if your proposal was better than his, in the end, it didn't matter if he simply lied to your face about it.

Soon, he was over with his proposal. The cookies were now finished and his body filled with the rare satisfaction of not having an empty stomach. He looks at you and sees that you are revising your written proposal now.

He bites his tongue to distract his mind from the fact of how pretty you looked like this. Your lips parted, your eyes focused (will it be focused on him like that if he ever kissed you, or will your eyes glaze over with pleasure?). He hated how he felt at that moment, like a teenage boy with a crush.

He decided to distract himself with something better. Your proposal. “I check yours. You check mine?” He suggested, quirking his eyebrow for an extra measure to convince you.

You frown for a moment and he has to fist his hand to make sure he doesn't come forward and smooth the wrinkles away. “Sure,” you reluctantly agree, a hint of hesitation clear in your eyes.

“What?” He smirks, leaning forward a bit (close, close, but too far). “Afraid I will steal your ideas?” He asked his tone just a tiny bit condescending.

You looked down. Backing away from his challenging gaze, taking the fun out of it. “More like you'll laugh at my face,” you muttered.

Now it was his time to frown.

“That was one time.”

“One time too many,” you replied.

And then you add, “Give me yours first, and then if I like it I will give you mine.”

He grits his teeth, already knowing that your district stubbornness won't have you backing away. “Fine,” he said and he held the assignment in front of you. Yours for the taking.

Your fingers brush his as you take over the papers. The touch sends an electric jolt down his spine as he retrieves his hand back quickly. His breaths are shallow and cheeks burning, eyes diverted away from yours as the soulmate bond flares up.

It happens rarely, often in the comfort of his home that he feels his need for you. Like an addict. His need to be close to you, his need to hold, kiss, and love you.

It's a phenomenon restricted to those who try to reject their partners despite knowing who they are. And what better example was for that than Coriolanus Snow.

He could feel the blood rush. A high that was crashing, and he was the urge to just fuck it. Fuck you, claim you against the shelves, kiss you. Something, anything that would calm his baser instincts. But it didn't work like that.

He wasn't a District animal, he was a Capitol boy and he won't be losing control in this manner.

But he was so close to it and the worst part of it all? You weren't even doing anything except reading his paper, your shoulders relaxed as you leaned back in your chair. Your tongue peeking out to lick your dry lips, as you flick over the next page.

One of your hands on the table and your fingers tapping an unknown tune on the wood of the table. It was overwhelming. He felt his senses going haywire and he needed to be away, alone from you.

He stood up, ignoring the sound of a chair scratching the expensive floor. “I'll be back,” he said, his mind anxious but his face had no expression whatsoever. You didn't even look at him, just nodded, and that somehow frustrated him.

‘Look at me,’ he wanted to yell, ‘Look at the state I am in because of you.’

But he didn't, so he rushed to the bathroom. Closing the stall with the lock, and pulling down the lid so he could sit on it. He takes in deep breath, pulling his sleeves up as he begins to feel his legs shake, tapping the tiles with a tic, tic noise. He begins to pay attention to the noise more than his chaos of the mind, letting everything simply fade away as his breathing gets to normal. It takes a while, his shirt now sweaty clinging to his skin, and his curls now messed with his hands constantly running through it. But he was feeling better now, despite his throat being parched.

After washing his face several times in the sink, he gets himself outside of the bathroom. He frowns when he notices the time. He was there for nearly twenty minutes. Embarrassing, how was he going to explain that? Fuck.

Turns out he didn't have to because you were gone. He feels bewildered as he reads the note you left on the table.

‘Had to go! Will submit your proposal along with mine by tonight!’

He grits his jaw, he hadn't permitted you to do such a thing. Even though a part of him did feel grateful that he wouldn't have to walk the extra mile to submit his work. He still felt angry though, and it wasn't admittingly your fault.

But you were the cause of it. And with the current circumstances, it's not like he could punish you for it. He wanted to, there's no denying that.

When he reaches home, his anger boils, waiting to be spilled around those around him. Grandma'am was asleep, he ignored Tigris when she had sweetly asked if you were present. He locked his bedroom door, it was a miracle he hadn't slammed it shut.

He was mad. He was frustrated, so much so that he couldn't explain. He lets out a growl, his hands in a fist, as if he wasn't sure that the wall would break had he punched it. He would have.

You weren't a drug (you were). He wasn't an addict (he was).

So why did he crave you so much? Why just a few moments alone with you has him in ruin?

‘District, district,’ he repeats in his mind, ‘You’ll never be Capitol. No matter how many proposals you write to damn your people. No matter how much money you have, or how many years you have lived in the Capitol.’

Even when he was lying on his bed, his breath was labored, his skin too hot. He couldn't stop replying to the time he had spent with you today. It was impossible not to.

You were so you.

Perfect. Flawed. Beautiful. Horrible. Everything and nothing. You made him feel like he had fire in his heart but he was a Snow. It was so jarring.

He was simply a teenage boy, and you made everything so complicated just by existing. You made him hot, burning, and fuck, he hated how he felt right now. That the anger melted away but the fire didn't. That the blood rushed from his head to his cock. He couldn't help it.

It's your fault that you made him succumb to this state. It's in you that he had one of his hands under his blanket, his eyes shut, his teeth digging into the flesh of his lower lip. He muffled a whine, as he gripped his hard cock.

The pain he felt as he bit his lips couldn't compare to the relief that came as he slowly began to stroke his cock. He strokes it slowly, savoring the sin he was indulging himself in. When he felt blood in his mouth from how hard he had bit himself, he used his free hand to muffle his soft groans instead.

He felt so boyish as he continues to fuck into his fist now, his hips rolling upwards as he continues. His pre-cum coating his length and acting as the lube. His thumb rubs against his sensitive, leaking cockhead. It makes him groan so loud that for a moment he feels like Tigris has heard.

He stops for a moment, his breathing heavy as he waits to hear footsteps. He doesn't hear one and sighs in relief. He begins to stroke his dick again, this time the pace quick and rough. His other hand wandered down his body to cup his balls, his face buried into his flimsy pillow, his teeth biting onto it. His saliva dampens the pillow, creating a wet stain that he would later feel embarrassed about.

He whines into the pillow, wanting to cum. He was so close, he just needed… needed…

You.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He groans and then moans your name as the mere thought of you has him cumming. His eyes roll back and he gasps, his blanket ruined. His cheeks burn as he realizes the cycle he's in but he couldn't care less when his bones are jelly and his mind is filled with euphoria.

When he did come back to his senses, he didn't let his shame overwhelm him. Instead, he changed his sheets, the stained ones in the laundry basket (it was his turn to wash tomorrow). He sat in front of his desk, ignoring how early light seemed to be sweeping into the room from the window. He takes out some parchment, quill, and ink.

He begins to write.

Just in case, you steal his work.

No point in trusting someone from the district, right?

NEXT PART

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luxebeat · 2 years

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The Executive’s Life: How Do Industry Leaders Work Smart and Play Hard?

Business or pleasure? Why should executives pick, when they can have both? It’s no secret that organizational leaders have varying daily routines. For example, Dr. Anthony Fauci can work for up to 18 hours per day, while the co-founder of Tiny, Andrew Wilkinson, only works an average of 5 to 6 hours. However, even the busiest executives need to make time for top caliber meals, restful sleep,…

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#Andrew Wilkinson #co-founder of Tiny #Dr. Anthony Fauci #Executive’s Life #high-performing leaders #Industry Leaders Work Smart

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luvadosar · 2 months

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Random & weirdly specific SFW/NSFW Vox head-cannons because I lije him

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

SFW:

- Though he does drink coffee, he isn’t a coffee addict surprisingly, I feel like he wouldn’t drink coffee unless he absolutely thinks he has to. Also, he likes to flex his awesome coffee cup. His average cup of joe consists of probably 6-8 oz of coffee, like 10 sugar packs , & 2 oz of creamer.

- You probably realized my not so subtle hints towards Vox loving sugar, because of his eccentric demeanor and his loud self, he would obviously love sugary sweets, not as much as drinks though. Vox is like those type of people who survive off of 10 energy drinks per day rather than water, claiming it was “cool”. I wouldn’t be surprised if he started the monster can craze in 2020.

- HIS BEDROOM GUYS, his bedroom. The vast majority of his bedroom is, surprise, blue. It’s messy but in a “good” way? I don’t know how to explain it but his room is not food or clothes messy. It’s cable cord messy, like back of the tv hooked up to the gaming system messy LMAO. He doesn’t visit his room a lot; he doesn’t even call it “his room” but I am. Blue led lights everywhere, tv screens all over the walls just like his office. The man doesn’t even have a bed! I also think his room is filled with unsuccessful prototypes of his old VoxTek shit. If you’re super close to him he’d let you play with them <3

- If you want to “win his heart” I think you’re gonna wanna know a thing or two about technology. If not prepare for hours of him ranting about shit you don’t know. Because wdf

- Despite him being a bratty piss baby, he’s intelligent, he’s a fucking technology engineer, businessman, & founder of a huge company in Pentagram City for god’s sake . Just not emotionally and actually fun fact, smarter people have trouble connecting with emotions of other people, hence why he’s so manipulative and whatnot. (Smart people do stupid shit) I compare him to Elon Musk or something

- So his phone…whats on his phone?! Seriously what the fuck is on his phone. There is actually a ss of hell’s apps on one of the imps phone, I will post it here! But firstly the only apps that’ll be on his phone is VoxFlix, Sinstagram (even though he’s probably more of a stalker than a poster) Envee (TikTok), and all the other apps that come with the Vphone. He probably does not have the hell equivalent to facebook because “who the fuck uses hellbook” guys he watches porn btw.

- For a tiny small fraction of angst, though he has a relationship with reader…i dont think he’ll stop watching porn (not that he has a crippling porn addiction lmao…he watches it every now and then) unless you really get in your feelings about it. But then he’ll just think you’re totally overreacting.

NSFW

- Speaking of porn, his deep desires is to record a video of him absolutely fucking your brains out…or if youre a top…you absolutely fucking HIS brains out.

- (For my switches) First time he realized you top too, he was reluctant at first because, what would that do to his sweet repuation? If someone finds out? If someone finds him bent over the table, caught him pants down, getting penetrated by a dick (silicone or real), the risks of someone taking a pic and posting it for everyone to see especially Alas— sorry guys.

- (For my tops) BIG PISS BABY. Complains all the fucking time. About how much it hurts and wanting you to slow down for a second so he can catch his breath. Seeing him glitch at your nasty remarks. And if you’re a mean top, he fucking hates it so good but it feels so bad. Seeing him cry about the negative attention you’re sending his way, he craves nothing more than to be perceived in a positive light. Thats why he hates alastor cause he thinks he hates him so therefore he hates him back 🤷🏽‍♀️. But if you’re a nice top, get ready for needy Vox.

- Like I said he’s a power bottom if you’re a top, he just doesn’t know it yet <3

- Big sucker for praise. Wants to be called a good boy. I will admit he was shy at first about you commanding him to call himself a good boy for that sweet long awaited praise. Poor baby ;(

- “I-I’m a good…good boy..?” ^^^

- His cum is not blue guys 😔… his cum is milky, stiky like caramel, sweet like pineapple, and white like a sheet of paper.

- IT WOULD BE SO COOL IF I INCLUDE SCARY DETAILS ABOUT HIS DICK GUYS!! 👻👻 /hj

- Girth: 2.5in Length: 6-7in Tip color: #03cafc Number and placement of veins: 3 noticeable veins, two crossing diagonally from eachother and more closer to the balls, the other one is more closer to the tip Base color: #304891 Miscellaneous: slightly curved to the right (it’s barely there but if you look closely). Grower > Shower

yall i had to re upload because i came to my senses that i dont see vox topping at all like he’s too…HIM for that. 😭 im so embarrassed dont be alarmed if i say i will literally eat the nearest brick wall like a cake !

#hazbin hotel x reader #hellaverse #hazbin hotel #vox x reader #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon #headcanon

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guess-my-next-obsession · 1 year

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Drunken Serenade

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ ONLY, soft!joel, established relationship, flashback, alcohol consumption, unprotected piv, a lil dirty talk, creampie bc obvi, unedited bc i’m lazy)

word count: 2.5k

joel masterlist | joel playlist

It was no small feat holding the affection of Joel Miller. Though he often grumbled about hating how everyone was always “watchin” him in your small, second-chance town of Jackson, Wyoming, there was no escaping it.

Part of it came from being related to Tommy and Maria, the town’s founders for all intents and purposes. A larger part of it—the part that Joel hated most—no doubt came from his reputation of being ñ prolific at killing. Not many people could say they met someone that managed to survive for as long as Joel had, especially in the brutal conditions he often found himself in. To the people of Jackson, regardless if you were a fighter or a farmer, Joel Miller was a living, breathing legend.

And that’s what he was to you, too, for a while.

But now, in the dim lighting of Joel’s kitchen, Joel’s hands scrubbing the dishes after the two of you shared dinner for the 300-hundredth something time, he was just a man, a man you loved, humming softly to himself.

“Sounds pretty,” you complimented the unidentifiable tune as you slid your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his shoulder blade as he continued to scrub. “Do I know it?”

“No,” he answered with softness, the almost-clean pan in his hand preventing him from turning around and wrapping his arms around you. “Just somethin’ m’workin’ on.”

“Will I get to hear it in full one day?” You let go of him to stand at his side, grabbing the clean dishcloth that draped on the oven handle to dry the clean dishes sitting on the rack.

“Maybe,” he gave you a flicker of a bashful smile, his hip leaning out to bump into yours. “Long as you serenade me back.”

“Oh, you want me to sing for you, huh?” You couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped from your lips at the thought of your mediocre-at-best vocal talent gracing his ears again, Joel having heard it for the very first time one year ago at the bar. Your sloppy, drunken rendition of “I Have Nothing” last Valentine’s Day earned you his attention for the very first time, an attention that thankfully never faded.

One Year Ago — February 14th

“Let loose,” your newest (well—only, if you were being honest with yourself) friend in Jackson, Margot urged you on at the bar, sliding one of the shot’s of harsh, unrefined vodka she’d ordered towards you. “You’ve been babysitting that beer for the last hour. Come on.”

“I don’t drink,” you whined, the thought of alcohol alone enough to make you gag.

“Look, you’re single and alone on Valentine’s day in the middle of an apocalypse. There’s no better reason to drink.” You couldn’t argue with her logic, so you pinched your nose and tipped the shot glass back, the cold liquor hitting your uvula nearly forcing it right back up but you championed through it with a wince. “There ya go!”

“Jesus Christ—“ you choked on your beer as you tried to drown out the taste of the vodka still burning your throat. “You’ve had three of those! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m a masochist,” she joked with a chuckle before gasping at the sight of Tommy and Maria finishing setting up the karaoke machine on the tiny stage in the corner of the bar. “I’m signing us up.”

“Absolutely not!” You laughed as she walked up to the esteemed couple on the stage, Tommy handing her the sign-up sheet with a grin before finding you in the crowd and waving you over. You shook your head and tried to hide away, but he seemed determined.

“I can still see you!” he drawled out in his accent, Maria’s whistles finally getting you to make your way to the stage. “Here, have a look at the catalog. I’ll go get you another drink, you look like you might need some liquid courage.”

“Definitely.”

A few shots later, you were well past the point of courage and deep into drunken stupidity, the microphone in your hands as you unabashedly belted out the words to a near-impossible to pull off song, your voice breaking and cracking the entire time. Though crowd in the bar was mostly focused on their own conversations, you couldn’t help but lock eyes with a familiar face, though you’d never so much as spoken to the man before.

After all, what reason would the town’s school teacher have for chatting up the famous Joel Miller?

Clearly too drunk to care about your lack of acquaintance, you pointed at him as you sang, a wide grin on your face as you watched him try to calm the smile that grew on his.

“I have nothing! Nothing! Nothinnnnnnnnnng—“ your cracking voice softened into a mildly enjoyable breathy tone as you sang the last line, stretching your hand out for him as though you were serenading him. “If I don’t have you.”

“Well! That was definitely somethin’,” Tommy helped you off the stage while Maria continued to emcee, holding in her chuckle as you almost took a tumble down the singular step, Tommy quick to catch you. With a singular laugh, Maria ordered her husband to help sober you up a bit. “Get her some coffee.”

“I got it,” Joel stepped in, the deep mess of his southern rasp forcing your glassy eyes up to meet his. “Come on, Miss Houston. Let’s get a cup’a coffee in ya.”

You drunkenly slurred out your actual name as you allowed him to help walk you into the back kitchen, away from the drunken crowd. Joel chuckled and nodded as he got the coffee pot going, his back turned to you as you rested against the fridge.

“I know your name,” he replied, the simple sentence bringing a goofy grin to your face.

“Oh, yeah?” you flirted, biting your lip as you waited for him to turn around and grace you with eye contact. When he finally did, you literally felt your knees buckle, Joel’s eyes turning concerned for a moment until you steadied yourself.

“Lemme get you a chair.” He walked off to the office, returning a moment later with a wooden stool. He set it down by the metal island, ordering you to sit down with a pat onto the wood. “Take it you don’t drink often.”

“Never,” you corrected. “But I’m single and alone on Valentine’s day in the middle of an apocalypse, so…” you repeated Margot’s words from earlier before realizing you hadn’t seen her in at least an hour. “Margot! Have you—“

“She left with her husband ‘bout a half-hour ago,” he informed you before you had a chance to worry too much. “And you ain’t alone.”

“Huh?”

“You said you’re single and alone,” he replied, turning his back to you once more as the coffee pot began to fill the mug. “You ain’t alone.”

“Well, not literally, but—“ you shrugged, gesturing at yourself. “Not going home with anybody.”

“Well, gettin’ yourself drunk maybe put a wrench in that plan,” he chuckled, setting your cup down in front of you before walking to the fridge. “Need creamer?”

“No, I’ll just,” you took a sip of the hot liquid and hummed, enjoying the bitterness more than you did sober. “Pretty good.”

“I do pride myself on my coffee,” he walked off to the office and quickly returned with another chair, pulling it up to the island and sitting down in front of you. “You know how many guys out there would’ve been more than happy to keep you company tonight?”

“Oh, I’m sure there was a line,” you replied, your smirk growing into a smile as you watched Joel roll his eyes. “I don’t like any of the guys in town. They’re all too…brutal.”

Joel’s face fell a bit as he nodded, his knuckles tapping on the metal.

“I didn’t mean you—I just mean they’re all very…I don’t know,” you sighed and rested your forehead on the table.

“It’s alright,” he assured. “My ego ain’t bruised that bad.”

“I really didn’t mean you,” you spoke softly as your eyes met his again. “You’re not—I don’t consider you one of the guys in town. You’re like…untouchable to all of us, you know?”

“What?” He chuckled but his cluelessness was sincere.

“All of us women don’t see you as someone attainable. You’re…Joel. Too good for—“ Joel’s scoff interrupted your sentence before you could finish it, his head shaking.

“I ain’t too good for shit,” he corrected, his hazel eyes softening as he met yours. “And I definitely ain’t too good for you. Ask anyone in their right mind and they’d quickly tell ya it’s the other way around.”

“You trying to flirt with me?” you asked through. drunken grin, tilting your head at him. Joel chuckled and shrugged in response. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“Maybe you and I can talk about this when you’re sobered up—breakfast, tomorrow mornin’?” You didn’t try to hide the eagerness in your smile as you accepted his offer with a nod.

“I’d like that.”

After the dishes were finished, the two of you found yourself in the clawfoot bathtub Joel’s renovated house had been lucky to feature. You faced each other, your foot currently being massaged by Joel’s rough but tender hands.

“Your voice ain’t that bad, ya know,” Joel gave you a playful smirk, his eyes so focused on yours you could nearly feel his love for you deep in your soul.

“Well it was enough to get you to notice me,” you agreed with a smirk. Joel shook his head, his smile growing bashful.

“I noticed you way before that, trust me.” There was the tiniest hint of shyness—something boyish in his voice that made your stomach flutter, the look in his eyes just the cherry on top. “Only had the guts to ask you out ‘cause I thought you were too drunk to remember it.”

You gasped a chuckle, shifting over to sit on his lap, placing your hands on either side of his face as his rested on your hips. “You were crazy for ever thinking there was a chance I’d reject you. You’re a hunk, Joel Miller.”

“A hunk, huh?” he teased, bringing his lips to the base of your throat and giving your skin a soft peck.

“Mmhm,” you confirmed in a hum, the best response you could muster. Joel hummed back as his lips sucked tiny marks down the front of your chest until he was slipping your nipple into his mouth, earning the sweet sound of your breathy moans.

You tossed your head back, your hips rolling on their own accord, the slick drag of your cunt along the underside of his cock earning you a muffled growl as he kissed his way over to your other breast.

“Need you,” you whispered as you reached back and gripped his cock, lining him up with your heat before sinking down until you were flush with one another. Joel’s hands squeezed tightly at the sudden sensation of being buried in your heat, his lips pulling away from your nipple with a lewd pop. You grinned as you kept yourself still on his cock, your thumb brushing his cheekbone as you gazed down at him with contentment. “Love you, Miller.”

“Love you too, Miss Houston,” he replied with a matching, cheeky smile, his hands sliding up the curve of your spine and back down, resting on the globes of your ass and squeezing.

You lifted your hips almost completely off of him and locked eyes with him as you sank back down, Joel’s head tipping back against the edge of the tub. He moaned soft and sweet for you, his hands holding your waist as you started to bounce on him, your stare never leaving his as you began to target the head of his cock at your g-spot. He reached one hand up to cup your jaw, his thumb resting on your lip practically begging for you to take it into your mouth, and so you did. With a cheeky grin, you wrapped your lips around it and gave it a suck, humming at the whimper the act caused.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he praised, his eyes then traveling from your face down your torso until he was watching you spear yourself with his cock underneath the surface of the water. “Shit. You should see how pretty your pussy looks takin’ me.”

“Joel,” his words forced you to whine, your eyes squeezing shut as the tingling heat building in your core started to trickle down your thighs and up your spine. “Touch me and make me cum for you.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” His thumb found your clit, stroking imperfect circles over it as you started to bounce on him so hard he half-wondered if he might break you, but judging by your cries of praise, this was exactly how you wanted it. “God damn, darlin. Ridin’ me so good I—fuck—I’m gonna cum inside that pretty pussy.”

His free hand gripped your hip to leverage himself a bit as he met your bounces with sharp thrusts, the water splashing from over the edge of the tub but neither of you could bring yourselves to care about the wet floor with how close you both were to the edge.

“Shit, baby,” he growled, his neck straining as he tried to hold off his release until you hit yours. “Come on, gimme it. Lemme feel you—“

“Fuck!” you screamed as your climax hit you like a brick wall, your body collapsing forward into his arms. Joel held you tight as he pistoned into your still convulsing walls until every nerve in his body buzzed with the familiar feeling of euphoria, his cock pressing in deep as he spilled inside of you. His lips were pressed to your cheek, mumbling praise into your skin as your hearts raced in tandem, his hands stroking up and down the expanse of your back to ground you both.

“I love you, sweet thing,” he mumbled as he kissed his way to your lips, your head turning to meet him for a sweet, unhurried kiss. Joel pulled away with a chuckle, smiling at you before opening his lips to sing to you in his gruff but rich voice, “I have nothing if I don’t have you.”

“Sounds good when you sing it,” you mumbled, sleepy from the hot bath and hotter sex. Joel chuckled and leaned forward, pressing his lips to your temple.

“My favorite version’s always gonna be your drunken performance,” he husked back, bringing a smile to your face. “But I might be a little biased.”

“More than a little.” Joel laughed and nodded, squeezing you tighter.

“Oh well. Don’t care.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fluff #joel miller #joel miller reader insert #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #tlou joel #tlou fic #joel tlou

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palajae · 1 year

Text

i like you.

PAIRING ▸ dancer! niki x dancer! reader

GENRE ▸ dancer! au, a2ls, romance, fluff, humor

WORD COUNT ▸ 4.5k

SUMMARY ▸ a collab with one of the best dancers at your studio might not sound too bad. it would’ve been amazing, except for the fact that in the ten years you’ve known nishimura riki, you’ve only spoken a total of two words to your beloved dance partner.

AKA a try not to be awkward challenge.

NOTES ▸ like one kiss? not proofread, if i missed anything please let me know! // a merry merry christmas to anyone who celebrates it:)))

PLAYING ▸ i like you by post malone (ft doja cat). | series masterlist.

AS THE MUSIC ENDS, THE SOUND OF YOUR HEAVY BREATHING FILLS THE AIR.

Another day of practice, another day of exhaustion and a lot of sweating. Unbeknownst to you as you wipe your forehead with your shirt, a small group stands outside the door to your practice room, peeking in through the tiny window.

They whisper in awe after experiencing your performance, just separated by a mere door from a few feet away. Your fluidity, attention to even the tiniest details, the look in your eyes, it was all different.

No wonder it seemed like you were on another level, separated from the others since the beginning by an invisible barrier known as raw talent and skill.

The only other ‘one’ like you was Nishimura Riki, or more commonly referred to as Niki. Between all the trainees at your dance company, you two were different. You just stood out the minute you walked into a room.

If you were being honest, you’ve only interacted with Niki before at the company studio like... once. A total of five minutes in each other’s presence that consisted of bowing politely and greetings before he was called away by his sister. You forgot but probably said something along the lines of “good morning,” or literally anything else that couldn’t have made it any more awkward than it already was.

That was your first impression of Niki. Before that, you only heard of his impressive skill when you first joined over ten years ago, especially since he was the studio founder’s son. You heard all about how he started dancing when he was three and had kept going since.

Besides that, most of your time was spent practicing alone and occasionally with friends or instructors. And when competition season came around, it was even worse.

That was when more than half your day was spent in one of the practice rooms, going over your multiple routines and rehearsing until you physically couldn’t anymore.

Today was no different. The first competition was in about a week and everyone had been on edge. That meant no time to waste on trivial matters like- in your case- watching others dance.

Your friends understood how seriously you took dancing, because they were the same. Maybe they didn’t have as much passion as you, meaning they weren’t willing to sacrifice as much of their normal lives, but again that was what separated you from the rest.

There were plenty of events and sections that your studio entered in, and you yourself were no different, having entered in numerous ones already. All trainees were busy preparing for competition day, countless routines performed simultaneously.

A figure coldly pushes past the small crowd of dancers, knocking only once on the door before entering the room you occupied. They whisper in alarm and shock at how urgently he entered.

You gulp down water, head turning towards the sound from the entrance. You tilt your head in acknowledgment, “Instructor Woo. What’s up?”

The serious expression on his face sends alarms ringing through your body, but you try to keep calm. Maybe you were reading too much into it. Your teacher was always known as the cold and strict type when you first met, but after years your relationship had melted into a respectable junior-senior one.

“Follow me.”

Confused, heart rate beginning to pick up, you grab your stuff and follow him, ignoring the fellow bystanders waiting outside the door.

Once you’ve reached the safety and privacy of his office, you falter. Mainly because you weren’t alone- it wasn’t just the two of you.

Niki stands there with unreadable look as he spots you the same time you spot him. Recognition flickers in his eyes for split second before he glances away.

You cross your arms, barely addressing him. “What’s going on?”

You give your instructor a purposeful stare as if to say, why in the world were you alone in a room with him and Nishimura Riki?

He sighs, clasping his hands together. “Two dancers who entered in a couple performance just got into a minor accident. They’re on bed rest for at least a week.”

It was just like him to go straight to the point. You know exactly what he means, but you don’t understand why he’s letting you know.

You frown. “I’m sorry to hear that… but why are you telling us that?”

Niki side-eyes you, mumbling something along the lines of, “isn’t it obvious?”

You glance at him for a second before returning your attention to Instructor Woo.

“I apologize for bringing this upon you so late, but we need you two to sub in.”

No. No one does that. No one is given an event with less than a week to prepare. Especially not, your eyes slide to the boy next to you again, especially not if you had to work with someone who was essentially a stranger to you.

It’s like your instructor already knew what you were about to say before you opened your mouth, holding up a hand to stop you in your tracks.

“I know we’re asking for a lot, but you two are the best dancers at the company. That’s a fact. We decided on you two for a reason- because we all know you can pull it off together.”

You’re speechless while Niki just stands there. With no reaction, Instructor Woo sighs and pulls out his phone. He taps the screen before turning it to show you and Niki.

Two people, you’re guessing the two that got in the accident, dancing to…

Havana?

Immediately, you shake your head. “No. I’m not doing that.”

He sits up straighter, “You don’t get to make a decision-“

You turn to Niki, “No offense, but I barely know you, and there’s no way we’re dancing to that song together.”

He shrugs, “None taken.”

“Y/n y/l/n.” At that, you almost shrink.

“What happened to your professionalism? You have less than a week to learn a new dance, what other choice do you have?”

Perhaps you should’ve taken the time before to watch Niki dance- even seeing him perform once would’ve helped and provided some familiarity.

Regardless, the stubbornness in you just tells you that it doesn’t fit your own style, and you don’t want to- you just can’t do a dance if it won’t be executed up to your standards. You won’t ever be satisfied.

You clench your hands into fists, “I’m sorry but I know I can’t possibly perform that dance as well as I want to in less than a week. Perhaps if I had more time to work on it, then I would agree but I don’t have the luxury, so I can’t. There’s only one other option we have and I’d rather take that risk for a better performance. I’m fully willing to take responsibility if it doesn’t work out.”

For the first time, Niki agrees with you, nodding along to your words.

Your dance instructor grumbles and you look at Niki before speaking up again.

“We’ll choose a song and choreograph it ourselves,” your voice sounded much more confident than how much confidence you actually had in yourself.

He drops his phone on his desk, eyes widen and mouth set in a firm line. “Do you know what you’re saying? A whole new dance in six- technically, five days?”

And you nod.

By the end, Instructor Woo has given up and left it to you two to figure things out. You feel grateful for the immense trust he has in you because honestly, you don’t have even close to enough trust in yourself.

The walk out of his office is silent. In all the times you’ve seen Niki around the company, this is the first time you’ve been so close to him. It’s strange seeing him up close, he was much more defined (and taller) than you thought.

“Hey, uh,” you say hesitantly, “I just wanted to apologize for saying all that without discussing with you first.”

Niki recognizes your words with a tiny nod and you bite your lip, unsure if you’re about to regret your next words.

“If you really want, we can just do the previous dance.”

But to your surprise, Niki frowns. “No, I’d rather make a new choreography that fits us better too.”

And he sees you smile for the first time.

You were grateful for the fact that you spent the previous month practicing and getting the hang of your other routines. Only because originally, your plan was to spend the last week leading up to competition day just finalizing moves and reviewing until after the bombshell that Instructor Woo dropped on you and Niki and your plans were mostly scrapped.

You supposed Niki’s plan was the same, due to one night that you walked into your planned meetings and caught the end of one of his performances. Judging by the slight shine off his skin and heavy breathing, he must’ve been dancing for a while.

“Hey,” you reply meekly. He gives a short greeting back before focusing back on a certain part of the choreo. As you get your things settled and start warming up, you realize you can’t stand the silence.

“Are you, uh, ready for competition? Besides our performance together?”

“Yeah. Maybe not as much as I would like but as Woo said, we don’t have a choice.”

You nod silently. “Then… should we decide on a song?”

“Okay.”

So far so great, you think internally with a grimace. You knew close to nothing about Niki and now you have to work with him for almost a week straight. Not to forget the fact that you’re almost always the first to speak to him. The long silence was starting to get to your head.

“Since this is a couple performance…” you inhale, “what kind of song would you rather do?”

Obviously his preference wasn’t the sensual and slower type, and if it was, it obviously wasn’t a dance he would want to do with a stranger like you (and neither would you). Even so, you could just tell that wasn’t a song he would pick.

He drums his fingers on the wooden floor, seemingly in deep thought. You forgot he also knew close to nothing about you as well and was probably taking your impression into account.

“How about Hip hop? RnB?” He looks at you questioningly, and you’re a bit shocked. Was that a lucky guess or did you just have similar styles?

Niki must’ve noted the look on your face because he scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Do you not like that?”

You’re quick to shake your head, “No no, that’s not it at all! Actually, I’d prefer to do those.”

“Oh. Cool.” He smiles thoughtfully to himself, although you miss it.

You hum, “I like you?”

Niki suddenly shoots up, mouth gaping as he blinks at you. “E-Excuse me? I’m sorry, but I barely know-”

You roll your eyes, becoming a little flustered as you realize the double meaning behind your words. “I-I meant the song, you idiot. Who would suddenly confess like that..” your voice ends in a grumble.

“It’s i like you by post malone,” your words come out unintentionally louder to get your point across.

“Ah.” He pauses for a moment before agreeing, ears reddening. “Sure. I like his music.”

Then came the real challenge. Creating a whole new dance from scratch.

Actually, you wanted to use that song for your own dance but seeing a bit of Niki’s dancing, you realized it would be a good fit for him too. You even brainstormed some moves but thinking about Niki’s reaction made you unsure.

It’s fine, you reassure yourself. You’ll come up with something, no matter what. The instructors chose you two for a reason. You needed to trust yourself and your partner.

You suddenly clap your hands. “Let’s get to it.”

You prided yourself on making others, especially strangers, comfortable with you. Even if it didn’t seem like it with your usual blank expression and valued independence. Yes you prioritized dance, but time with others was something you enjoyed. Niki wasn’t an exception, except that he was pretty shy by himself.

It surprised you a little, as from what you’ve heard from others he wasn’t like that at all. Then again, people said he was scary and like an annoying little kid at the same time so you couldn’t form an opinion right off the bat.

As you mapped out ideas, pieces began to fall into place. That was one of the things you enjoyed most about choreographing your own performance. The satisfaction as parts began to connect and your hard work began to show its efforts, it was the best feeling for you.

It helped that you two had a lot of experience under your belt- but that didn’t mean it was easy.

You both fall to the floor, drained. After more than 12 hours spent on experimenting new moves, you check the time. 4am.

You were used to it but adding on the burden of knowing you had about four and a half days left, your body felt heavier.

“How far did we get?” You breathe out, eyes closing.

“Almost one minute.” The sound of his husky voice makes you shiver and your eyes open. He must be tired.

You sit up, trying to lighten the mood. “Hey, that’s more progress than I thought. We’re almost a third done,” you remind.

“You’re right.” He groans while sitting up and your forehead creases in concern.

“Niki, here.”

You toss him water and he thanks you with surprise evident on his face. “Thanks.”

“How much sleep did you get?” Although your actions seemed like they were out of concern, you simply didn’t want your partner passing out on the dance floor. Not when you had several more runs to get through.

Niki runs a hand through his hair, “Three hours, maybe? I was practicing and didn’t realize the time…”

His words strike you in gut. Real hard, because you were the exact same. You don’t know the amount of times you had answered in almost the exact same way when others asked you.

You huff, “Go home and get some sleep, Niki. I want us both to be in our best condition since we have such limited time.”

He lets out a half scoff and half laugh. “You sound just like Instructor Woo. Why should I listen to you?”

“Okay,” you hold out your hand, “I want the water back. I bought it with my own money since the water here tastes like the sewers.”

He pauses mid gulp and you can’t hold back your laugh. Swallowing, he stares at you indignantly.

“Hey, take that back. Our company water is perfectly fine.”

You forgot he was the son of the CEO, but that still didn’t change your opinion. You make a sound of disapproval, “I don’t ever see you drinking it.”

Okay, so you got him there. He makes an expression like he’s been caught before breaking out in laughter and you can’t help but join in.

The song you chose, you think it really united your styles together. That could’ve played a factor in why you and Niki got along quickly. Or the shared pressure that you both felt in order to get this dance executed as close as you could to perfect.

It had only been a few days spent with Niki and yet you could (and would) already consider yourself friends. After 10 years of passing each other in the halls silently, it was suddenly like you knew him all that time.

Practicing was fun with Niki. He got you. Your humor matched, and the fact that you both learned the choreo quickly lightened a bit of the heavy load off your shoulders and made you less pressured. Countless hours of working hard paid off, making your miniature breaks with him even more worth it.

To the point you would go out for a treat to reward yourself for the hard work.

When he suggested ice cream, you gladly agreed. You paid for the both of you as Niki protested, leading to hours of bickering that didn’t stop during your practices. It only ended with a promise of next time, he would get it.

“I said it was fine, Niki.”

Your hands are on your hips, lips blowing out exasperated air as you shake your head again.

You knew he was stubborn but not this stubborn. He rolls over to lay on his stomach, eyes peeking up you. Even when half of his face was covered by his arms, you could see the displeasure written all over his face.

“You didn’t even let me pay you back!” He childishly objects, kicking his feet off the ground. You bite back a smile, fingers hovering over the play button.

“Are you done? So we can continue practicing?”

You hear a muffled no as he gets up, warming up his body.

“I’m not gonna give up,” he reminds as you approach him, getting into position. “Sure,” you agree with a grin, waiting for the countdown.

“Next time. I’m getting it.”

Next time? Taken by surprise, you start a second too late, glaring as Niki watches you with an amused yet fond look. You didn’t mean to get flustered but the longer Niki gives you that sly smirk, the harder it is for you to continue going on. When the section ends, you shove him and he snickers. You’re both breathing heavily but with matching smiles on your faces.

“Why were you looking at me like that?” You try your best to seem annoyed.

“What do you mean?” The fake clueless shrug makes you narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, so now you’re playing innocent?”

“Who was the one that couldn’t focus again?”

It’s because of you, you think silently.

You weren’t sure if you were the only one that looked forward to working with Niki all day, seeing his face light up and laughing for hours on end until your stomach hurt.

You really enjoyed seeing the side of him that many others couldn’t see, because it meant you had reached a deeper level.

It meant Niki trusted you- he trusted you to be a little more vulnerable and show more of himself to you.

You weren’t sure if you were the only one that felt it.

With about two days left, you two had been over the routine countless times. As much as you enjoyed the song, you were starting to get sick of hearing it again and again.

Everyone else at the studio recognized it too. They saw your dedication and time spent together, the younger trainees whispering a lot in awe.

Even at home in your bed quite late at night, while you were up texting your friends, they noticed it all too.

Don’t you think you’re spending a lot of time with Niki?

I’ve never seen you around hang someone so much..

him neither-

You frown while reading the messages, fingers already flying across the screen to type out a response. Your reasoning?

You both had an insane drive to win, and if that meant practicing 15 hours a day together, so be it.

Your friends didn’t believe it.

hmmmm nah

We keep hearing that niki never spends this much time with someone else

like, not even with his friends

You frown. You don’t even know what they’re getting at. With that, you leave their questions on read.

But those messages stay in the back of your head leading up to the performance. You don’t think it’s a good idea to dwell, all your time and energy needed to be on this final performance and your other ones, and you didn’t want to break the groove. So you hold back. At least, you try to the night before competition day.

The song ends and you don’t realize how much you’re ready to never listen to this song again. As much as you liked i like you (ironic, you know), the stress and trauma of the whole situation kinda ruined it.

At least you had Niki to share it with.

Satisfied with your performance, you look over at him and laugh, holding out a hand for a high five. He easily high-fives you back, grinning in content.

“Good luck, partner.”

Your smile unconsciously grows. “Good luck to you tomorrow, too.”

“Don’t sleep too late and stress about it, okay? We got this.” He must see through you and into the anxiety settled in your system since he was the one reassuring you, not the other way around.

“Yes sir,” you joke. “You too, though,” you add warmly and he nods, almost shy? to the point where you can notice the sudden shift in the air. You cock your head-

“I just wanted to say thank you… and I’m glad that you’re my partner.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, wandering around before deciding to settle on his shoes. You felt your heart pounding as the texts your friends sent echo in your head.

“Me too,” you reply softly.

The day of competition, you feel the familiar jitters in the pit of your stomach. Your duo with Niki came at the end after your solo performances, so you had some time to prepare yourself.

With all the chaos of calling performers and getting hair and makeup done, you hadn’t seen him at all. But you knew he was going to ace it. You only hoped you would too.

Your name is called and you exhale. It’s time.

By the end of your solo performances, you’re exhausted. But you can’t stop now. Ten minutes until you’re supposed to be called for your duo performance and you don’t know where Niki is. You were already dressed and waiting for your partner.

You asked several people if they saw him but to no avail. Just for a second, you decide to sit down somewhere with free space to rest your tired legs. Competition day was high energy and constantly draining, but that’s what you loved about it.

“Y/n!”

Your head whips up, glancing around to find the owner of the voice. Niki pushes past a few people, getting over to you while panting.

“Niki!” You call out, surprised.

He stops in his tracks. You say his name again, slightly concerned this time.

“You look really good.”

You cough, trying to hide your embarrassment at his sudden compliment.

“You do too.”

He fiddles with his hands, biting back a smile. “Thanks. Sorry I was late, my event ended 15 minutes later because of someone who didn’t show.”

You roll your eyes, “That’s sucks- I get it, don’t worry.” Eyes shining, Niki takes a step closer and your mouth falls shut.

It felt like he was about to say something, probably something important, but you hear your names getting called. You give him a look as if to say, go ahead and say it quickly, but he shakes his head.

Instead of words, Niki offers a hand and you gladly squeeze it, heart feeling like it was going to burst as you made your way to the stage.

Showtime.

Needless to say, you aced it. The cheering crowd and endless compliments from your fellow friends and dancers made it even more obvious. You didn’t get much alone time with Niki after the performance, but it was okay because you knew you would see him at the award ceremony.

Even Instructor Woo approached you both, clapping with an impressed look. “No wonder you two are the best, you did not disappoint me. I’m proud of you guys, keep it up.”

You share amused looks with Niki, having already joked and laughed to the point of tears from Woo’s cold persona.

The hardest part was the time for awards.

As they called out different categories and sections, you zoned out in your seat. How could you not? After a long week of practice, practice, and more practice, your mind flew through the past couple of days.

Meeting Niki again, getting to know him, adjusting your dancing together, having fun together, stressing together- all in the span of a week. Yet as he sat a few chairs from from you, you realized you didn’t want it to end.

You wanted to keep doing all those things with him. It felt like you had known each other for years, and besides the fact that most of those years were spent as strangers, you realize your time together was precious- it had just started. Regardless of if you won or not, you didn’t want Niki and you to be strangers again.

You didn’t want to lose him.

Just as that realization hits you, you hear the announcer call out your and Niki’s section. Your breath hitches as your hands grow clammy. Unbeknownst to you, Niki’s eyes flick over to you.

“And the first place is…”

You can hear your heart pounding, blood rushing. In that second, your eyes meet his. Everything without any words, you understand with that single glance.

You don’t, or do, expect your name to be called, followed by Niki’s.

Without even thinking about it, you rise up from your seat, fellow trainees and dancers cheering so loud the sound echoed in your head for days after, and even through all of that you can only focus on Niki.

People get out of the way as your body moves on its own, directing you towards him as he gets closer. Suddenly, you’re engulfed by Niki, his scent filling your nose as he picks you up and spins you around. That’s when you break out of it.

He’s laughing, you’re smiling.

“Congrats, partner.”

You laugh brightly, reaching to tussle his hair. “Congrats too. I’m proud of you.”

His gaze sucks you in- it’s like you can’t even force yourself to look away. You could care less about the surrounding people.

“Maybe after,” he starts carefully, and you swallow, “after the competition is over- do you wanna like, get out of here?”

A huge wave of relief washes over you. Maybe it’s the relieved pressure of finishing this performance or the way that Niki’s staring at you while biting his lips in what you think is nervousness.

“I would very much like that,” you pause and Niki looks visibly happier at that compared to just seconds earlier when you two were just announced as the winners. You shyly cough,

“-and I very much like you.”

Niki freezes at you abrupt confession. You avoid his stare, swiftly regretting your heat of the moment decision.

Without realizing it in your embarrassment, Niki swoops down to give you a quick peck. Very much in front of your whole company. Gasps and squeals fill the air, unless you just imagined it.

Now you’re the one taken aback.

“Me too,” he smirks while murmuring,

“I like you.”

Those three words you thought you were sick of didn’t sound too bad coming out of Niki’s mouth.

MAIN TAGLIST ▸ @precioussoulofmine @lov3niki @heesterical @jungwonize @rerequire @nvertheless @duolingofanaccount @hoeshii @love-4-keum @nyanggk

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mightypossibly · 4 months

Text

yandere!elite x GN!reader

contents: yandere, fluff, rough making out

summary: in the dead of night, a rich boy and his darling sneak out to their boarding school's indoor garden

“I love coming here at night,” he said, looking up at the starry sky. Even in the dim light of the glowing flowers around us, he looked incredibly beautiful. There was a bittersweetness to his beauty, like at any moment he could disappear and I’d only be able to glimpse him in my dreams and memories. He had deep brown eyes, warm brown skin, and long, spiraling locs. His form was lean and athletic from years of training. “I’m sorry I dragged you here… I just really wanted you to see this.”

“I’m not too mad,” I joked nervously. “I just don’t want to get caught up, you know.”

I didn’t want to be afraid when with him, but in the darkness of the night, I heard my heart racing. We sat in the Garden together. If it were any other time, I would have been ecstatic to be here. This was where the great Princes had gathered, ate and celebrated each other. This was a place of legend and lore… and all that didn’t mean much to my companion. He just thought it looked pretty here.

He had come to my dorm in stealth, and concealed me along with him. He had a strong predisposition for protection spells, particularly veiling. His being the descendant of the academy’s founders also got him special access into lots of different places here, at basically any time. His family handed him anything he wanted because of his talent, beauty and aptitude. They were fools for him, so there we sat, probably scot-free. Well, I wasn’t so sure about myself, which was one of the reasons I was afraid of being with him.

It was also because he was fucking insane.

He pulled me into a hug. He smelled like the sweet milk roses around us; sugary and potent. He kissed my neck and trailed his hand down my belly, all the way down to my lap. He then pressed his full, soft lips against mine. Deepening the kiss, he pulled me in tighter. I closed my eyes, knowing his was open. He liked to see every tiny flinch and expression I made, and it was his incentive to go faster, be rougher, and taste every inch of me.

“Mm… w-we shouldn't do this here,” I said, breathlessly pulling away.

He didn't miss a beat. He licked his wet lips and said, “We’ll go to a room, then.”

“S-Sure… um, mine isn’t the prettiest, but—”

He shook his head, his expression incredulous. His eyes were suddenly cloudy and distant. He stuttered, “I don’t want to impede upon something so holy…and private… That’s your… personal space. No, there are rooms here. I’ll show you.”

He stood up and pulled me up along with him. He took my hand and guided me to the maze-like Garden, until we came upon a waterfall. A line of stones led directly to it. He gestured me to go first, saying that he’d catch me if I fell. I carefully took each step, and he followed behind. I stopped at the last visible stone.

“Do I… just go in?”

“Yes, my love,” he said with a chuckle.

Rolling my eyes, I stepped through. Instead of getting drenched, I was met with a warm atmosphere. I now stood in a room that was cozy, with a blazing fireplace, a couple filled-up bookcases, a king-sized bed, and a faux fur rug. It was only a tad bigger than my own dorm room. It was surprisingly homely. I had been to his dorm room before, and it was much more grand, dramatic and large.

“I stay here most often. I wanted to take you here before, but I didn't want to do it that day. I was planning to take you here after we fucked in the Garden, but this is a good a place as any.”

I blinked, failing to process the true extent of his shamelessness. I said, in a scolding tone, “h/n!”

He grinned and said, “Do you like it? I decorated it myself. I definitely want to live in a whole cottage like this when I retire. With you, of course.”

I laughed. “Isn’t it too early to plan that sort of thing out?”

“I love these kinds of houses,” he replied happily, sitting down.

“No, I mean marrying someone. That’s something you have to plan.”

“Just tell me what you want in a wedding and we’ll do that.”

“That’s not what I— Oh, never mind.”

He furrowed his devastatingly lovely eyebrows. Caressing my face, he whined, “Have I upset you? That seems to be my talent these days. Please forgive me.”

How could someone with so much power at his disposal look so submissive? It looked as if he would yield to my every desire. I shook my head at him. I sat down next to him and told him he didn’t upset me at all. He kissed me when he heard that, slipping his warm, wet tongue into my mouth. He teased the entrance to my throat, and I moaned into him. My mind was getting murky as he fondled my chest, waist, thighs, and the warmth between them— he somehow moved both slowly and quickly, his warm fingers finding their way under my clothes. He laid me down and began to grind his groin into mine, embracing me with his muscular arms. He was heavy and strong, so my will buckled under him. He kissed my ear all the while, and thanked me for letting him get so close to me.

“I’m so weak,” he whispered. “I-I just can’t st-stop…”

I stroked his head in response, losing myself in the sweet feelings he was drawing out of me. He asked me to marry him a billion times in a row, and I breathlessly moaned his name....

divider by @/cafekitsune

#yandere #yanderecore #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x willing reader #soft yandere #underscore #obsessive yandere #tw yandere #yandere fic #yandere oc #yandere male

188 notes · View notes

saddestsquid · 13 days

Text

First Miguel fic + 250+ follower special ୨୧

I’d like to start off by saying THANK YOU SO SO MUCH FOR ALMOST 300 FOLLOWERS !! And 2000+ notes?!? omg. I checked my inbox a few times and saw 99+ notifs every time, and when I tell you I SCREAMED. As a new writer I can’t thank you enough for all the notes and sweet comments ! I’m so grateful, so take this fic as a thank you <33

Warnings: Miguel is hinted to have slept with socks on which….is a trigger on its own apparently 😥, potentially botched ass Spanish……(no Google translate was used tho, my French teacher taught me better than that), p in v, making out, grinding, slight blood, reader has no chill nor filter but Miguels lowkey into it, degradation, bondage, banter, oral, praise, etc.

a/n: Takes place before the whole Miles incident !! I love Miguel but I can’t forgive him for doing that to my son 🤨🤨 This could also be imagined as König, since they’re both huge stubborn men <33

Pairing: Female reader x Miguel O’Hara

Summary: Miguel is pent up and needs a release. Lucky for him, there’s a certain spider woman who’d do anything for him <3

Words: 4141 (DAMN I shocked myself w this)

. . .

Miguel runs his hand through his hair, grumbling when he feels it’s getting to a length that needs cutting again. Just another thing to add to his pile of responsibilities.

He pushes the fumbled blanket off to the side and lazily palms at his morning wood, finding the ministrations do little to help his raging hard-on. He’s shocked, mainly that he could still get one with how tense he’s been lately, but mostly that he’s actually annoyed that he has to jerk off. It feels like a chore to him now…though taking care of himself in any sense has since he became Spider-Man.

With a sleepy groan he drags himself up and to the bathroom. His mismatched socks are soft against the cool bathroom tiles where he turns on the shower. His muscles stretch when he tugs his white sweater over his head and tosses it onto the ground nearby, abs tensing and shoulders refusing to relax no matter how much stretching he did.

When the rest of his clothing join the heap on the floor he steps into the freezing cold shower, twitching at the icy droplets that felt like tiny icicles poking into his taut skin.

He hoped the temperature would make the nuisance go down, but it raged on, standing proud at its full height. Miguel never thought he’d find himself glaring at his own dick, but here he was, horny and heavily pissed off.

He reached down and tugged at his cock, rubbing his thumb over the angry red tip. He jerked profusely, yet all it did was leave him feeling unsatisfied and humiliated.

“Fuck.” He cursed, washing his hand off before aggressively turning the knob to stop the flowing water. He tried to remember what he had to do today while pacing the bathroom, but he couldn’t focus with his erection clouding his thoughts. Maybe if the blood would stay in his head…

He was an attractive guy, he knew that much. It would be easy to go out into the town and hook up with some stranger, but not so much so when he was in this constant sour mood. That sullen energy & resting bitch face paired with his looming height would scare any woman away.

Any sane woman.

You tied up the last of the criminals in your silky webs, smiling in victory. Unfortunately, the joy wasn’t long-lasting since as soon as you got home you felt boredom creeping up on you once again.

For weeks you’d been entertained by the intimidating founder of the spider society; Miguel O’Hara.You’d been bugging him for days on end, literally drooling at his feet and begging him to come back to your place.

He kicked you out multiple times, but like a cockroach you couldn’t be squashed—and neither could your need for him. You just couldn’t take a hint apparently. When he picked you up by the back of your suit and threw you back into your universe, all you focused on was how easily he carried you with just one of his big, veiny hands.

The way that suit hugged his defined chest so well, and his massive arms where you could see every vein…plus that prominent bulge? You were sunk.

He’d finally run out of patience for you when you ‘accidentally’ messed with the tech for his suit, almost making him go full commando in front of everyone in the spider society.(wouldn’t be the last time that happened…) He banned you for good, taking away your ‘multiversal gizmo’ without a second thought.

Your last words being ‘worth it!’ as you were flung back into your universe by the go-home-machine seemed like the icing on the cake to him despising you forever, but apparently that wasn’t the case because the man himself just appeared in your living room.

“Y/N.” He addressed nonchalantly.

You stared at him, jaw agape for a few moments before pinching yourself to see if you were dreaming. You had to be, he basically filed a restraining order against you. A really complicated, multiversal restraining order. Why would he ever voluntarily come to you?

You couldn’t even respond since your throat felt so dry .. . It seemed your body had other ideas of where to soak.

“Why are you so obbsesed with me?” He suddenly asked, paying no mind to your awkward silence.

“uhm-“

“I mean, you chased me around every day, eyed me down so intensively it was basically public sex and yet here you are, alone with me like you wanted, and now you’re speechless?” He stalked around your living room, circling you like a bird of prey.

You blushed up a storm and stood frozen in front of him, trying to discretely rub your thighs together.

He eyed you down, noticing your obvious ministrations but only chuckling. “Sometimes I had wished you were an actual spider so I could crush you under the soles of my shoes, but lately I’ve found myself feeling as horny and desperate as you.” He admitted with a smirk that revealed his sharpened fangs.

That confession had your mind reeling to the point all you could muster up was; “I would’ve let you step on me regardless.”

His smirk grew and he started to approach you until his shadow covered you completely. You had to tilt your whole head up to look him in his glowing red eyes now—but you couldn’t handle making the eye contact anyway.

“You are just a small little thing, yet I didn’t expect you to be all bark no bite. All those filthy things you said lingered in my mind..don’t you want to take care of what you started?” He asked in a deliciously low voice. The almost mocking manner he said it in made you feel called out, and you looked down at your hands and picked at your nails to try and calm yourself.

A clawed finger tilted your head up by the chin and forced you to look into his eyes. How could you forget—in all your time spent basically stalking him you noticed how he never broke eye contact with anyone that he was speaking to. It was both exhilarating and intimidating to see, and you felt that full force while finally being on the receiving end of it. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, arañita.” He ordered, and it sent tingles shooting up your spine.

You swore you heard your neck crack from how fast you looked up at him. He looked predatory staring down at you like that, eyes gleaming in the sunlight. “So? Will you finish what you started muñeca?” He asked, as if it was even a question to you.

“Fuck yes.” You agreed without missing a beat, making him chuckle darkly. “Needy thing.”

Before your mind could catch up you were suddenly being lifted by him and thrown on his shoulder with ease. He walked through the halls of your cozy apartment and waltzed into your bedroom without even searching for it, carelessly throwing you onto the bed.

You landed with a bounce on the soft comforter, feeling even smaller now with him standing above you. “Wha- how do you know where my bedroom is?” You asked when your brain finally decided to have a rational thought.

“I’ve done my research—wanted to make sure you weren’t a spy. It was a waste of time, really, you’re just a horny stalker.” He shrugged.

You stared at him with an offended expression (tho it was 100% true) and went to argue until your lips were suddenly sealed by sticky red webs.

“On your back.” He ordered.

You crossed your arms at him first until he repeated the command in a low, dangerous voice. “Now.” Any defiance you had pretended to have quickly left your body and you laid down flat on the silk sheets.

He stalked over to you, all big and menacing as always. He leaned over you and forced your wrists together, twirling more glowing silk around them until they were bound above your head.

He smirked down at you, leaning in to pepper kisses all over your neck. He sucked dark hickeys onto the sensitive skin of your throat, enjoying your muffled moans. While before he found your voice excruciating—he was now desperate to hear it crying out his name.

He stripped the webs off your mouth and you whined at the pain. The feeling resembled a bandaid being ripped off a fresh cut. He cooed pitifully above you and leaned in, whispering “Pobre araña, why don’t I kiss it better?”

You nodded desperately until his lips met yours with a slight sting. He growled into your mouth, swirling his tongue around yours and exploring your mouth until you were squirming. He nibbled on your bottom lip, sharp canines threatening to break the skin. He pushed his muscled thigh between your legs and pressed down on your clit with his knee, the pressure making you moan under him. Your sweet sounds drove him wild, and he couldn’t help but bite down lightly on your lip until tiny droplets of blood dripped onto his tongue.

He groaned at the taste, his animalistic split-DNA going wild. When he pulled back—lips reddened, hair tussled and fallen slightly in front of his face— you couldn’t help but stare. His face looked so much more chiseled up close, cheekbones perfectly defined and a jawline sharper than the claws currently resting on your hips.

His toned chest rose up and down steadily while he regained his breath, the familiar spider symbol on his suit growing bigger then smaller with each rise of his lungs like it was breathing.

“Let’s take care of these, Cariño.” He addressed your clothing as if it were nothing but a nuisance for him before slicing your shirt right off you. He did this with ease, big claws moving onto your bottoms and clawing those off as well.

“Hey! Those were nice.” You pouted, though apparently he didn’t appreciate that comment because you were now being tied up even worse than before. Webs spewed from his wrist and circled your body like serpents, tying around your waist, arms, and thighs. “Don’t be a brat.” He ordered, webs tightening in warning. Once satisfied, he admired the way they looked pulled taut against your soft skin. “Red looks lovely on you, amor.” He praised, a quick switch from his previous comment.

He lifted you and reached behind your back, unclasping your bra with one hand. He threw it onto the ground somewhere with your torn up clothes, focusing his attention on your soft tits.

He hummed in content, playing with your nipples and letting his webs circle around the soft flesh of your breasts. He licked and sucked at one while tugging on the other, making you moan and squirm under him.

“Fuck Miguel- ah! more!” You whined desperately, coaxing a chuckle out of the behemoth.

“Such a desperate slut.” He tutted, sucking marks all over your chest to match your throat. He kissed over the already forming hickeys, grazing his teeth dangerously close to your jugular. This man was massive, and made of pure muscle like a Greek god. He could easily hold you down without the help of his webs, but he wanted to focus full attention on you.

He finally moved down to where you needed him most, going to rip your panties straight off you before you rudely slammed your thighs shut. “You take off your suit first….” You whined, embarrassed at being nearly completely nude before him while he was still covered. He was genuinely offended by this, feeling like he’d just had a door slammed on his face, yet he grumbled and messed around with his watch until the hologram started to dissipate.

Your jaw dropped wider and wider the more you took him in. The man resembled a skillfully carved statue belonging to Olympus itself. His biceps and abs were enough to challenge even Ares himself. Your eyes trailed lower and lower, leisurely mapping him out until your eyes locked on the weapon between his legs.

His dick stood loud and proud against his toned stomach, and it was massive. The man is 6,9, you knew he’d be big, but this thing was around 9 inches and looked like it could rip you in half. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from it even if you tried—I mean—the thing was basically introducing itself to you. We’re talking hello, how are you and goodbye.

Miguel basked in your ogling, his ego swelling more than it already had since he first noticed your obsession with him.

You finally snapped out of your trance when he bent down and slipped off your soaked panties, kissing up your leg as he did so. You spread both your legs for him and he took that as an invitation to lean in and lick a stripe up your wet cunt. You jumped, not expecting him to get into it so quickly, but you definitely didn’t complain.

He prodded a finger at your hole and pushed it in slowly, holding your hips down with his free hand. He made sure to be mindful of the claws adorning his fingertips since they wouldn’t go back down thanks to his clouded mind. The thick digit went in without much resistance thanks to how wet you were, until he pushed in a second and started scissoring them.

You moaned and whimpered at the stretch, two of his thick fingers the size of nearly four of yours. He pumped them in and out quickly, the slick sounds your pretty hole made for him music to his ears. Your slick dripped down his ring and middle fingers that he was ruthlessly pumping inside you and dribbled down his veiny forearm.

He massaged your walls and pushed against them, scissoring his fingers to stretch you as much as possible. He couldn’t hit your g-spot thanks to his clawed fingertips, so he sucked at your clit to fill that extra stimulation until your head was rolling back.

Something circled your waist and you figured it was his arm until you looked back down to see more webs. You would wriggle far too much without them, and he needed his other hand to spread your folds to drag a mix of his salvia and your slick around your twitching clit. You mewled at the overwhelming stimulation, bucking onto his face while he had a full on make out sesh with your pussy.

Only when he finally sunk four fingers into you and you were basically on the brink of tears with need did he pull away. Not without blowing on your sensitive clit, of course, just to see you twitch and squirm under the unrelenting grasp of his webs.

He stood up with a playful smile, freeing you from some of the webs just to pull you to the edge of the bed. Your ass met his pelvis with a slap when he yanked you by the ankle that quickly locked around his waist. He chuckled out something in Spanish that you didn’t understand, maybe along the lines of “Qué bonita putita…”. You didn’t bother to question it when he started to grind his rock hard dick on your drooling pussy, getting him all nice and wet to push into you.

Only when he was coated completely in your essence did he listen to your pleas and finally line his fat tip up at your hole. Even with the all the stretching, your poor cunt had to stretch to accommodate the swollen red tip. His pre-cum mixed with your juices when it finally popped in after some resistance, and he groaned at the warm feeling.

“So fucking tight, your poor pussy can’t take it, hm? You were so confident when you were begging for it like a desperate whore.” He growled, degradation making you clench Impossibly tighter around his head until he had to bite back a groan.

“Please Mig, I can take it.” You begged, rutting your hips onto him and trying to coax him deeper until he swiftly grabbed your waist. His claws dug into your skin, threatening to break through. He pulled back and you immediately assumed he was going to tease you again for being desperate.

Straight away you whined out apologies, stumbling over your words and pleas until he suddenly slammed back inside you, cramming 5 of his solid inches into your hole. You screamed, tears brimming on your waterline at the stretch. Your back arched off the bed and you squirmed away from the sting until he pulled back and rutted back in again, almost as if testing the waters.

With every drag of his hips his cock slowly got deeper into you until he was bottomed out completely. His tip kissed against your cervix and you looked down, amazed and horrified to see him crammed inside you so snugly. He gave you a moment to compose yourself—preoccupied on the bulge in your lower stomach.

“My good girl, fitting around me so perfectly. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He teased, dick twitching at the fucked out moan you gave in response.

It definitely was hard, yet his dick was harder. You could feel every single vein and ridge pressing into you, rubbing against your gummy walls in a way that left you drooling. You suddenly understood why he’d prepped you for so long. It wasn’t just to tease you, this just was not an easy thing to take.

“Move,” you pleaded, correcting youself when he raised an eyebrow, “please.”

He hummed, palming at the fat of your hips to see the way your skin sunk under his touch. “I don’t know Cariño…do you really deserve this dick?”

You gave him your best “are you for real?” face. This man was not about to make you beg when he was the one to randomly show up in your home. You’d been begging on your knees for him for months, and now he chooses to acknowledge it?

You made it your personal mission to go against everything he’s ever ordered from you, and the grind never does stop, does it?

“Like you deserve to kiss my ass?” You jest without hesitation.

You can see the way his whole face stretches; clearly dumbfounded at your response before he’s able to compose himself. With your cunt wrapped around him so tight and warm like that, it’s easy to forget the pretty spider underneath him is a little rascal.

“You were just whining a second ago, don’t try that,” He warned. “You’ve been begging for it for months, practically humping my leg in front of the entire Arachno-Humanoid-Poly-Universe.”

You groaned at his insistence on calling it that, even while balls deep inside you. “I didn’t sign up to fuck a geek,” you mutter.

“With the way you approached me I’m sure you’d fuck just about anyone, puta.”

You wanted to be insulted, but your words caught in your throat when he leaned close to you to whisper right into your ear; “Quit acting like you had any dignity in the first place and beg.”

His warm breath on your nape left you shivering. Miguel wasn’t human—not completely. With DNA mixed with a spiders, he was a predator; one ready to devour you whole.

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone really when you gradually let quiet pleas spill from your mouth. Miguel had half the mind to make you speak up, but he was loosing his thin amount of patience as is. With a satisfied click of his tongue, he pulled back until his flushed head was right at your entrance “see, was that so hard?”

You knew better than to try and answer at this point when he rammed his cock back into you. Huge hands gripped your thighs and pushed your legs into your chest while he bullied his dick further and further into your cunt.

Your pussy was embarrassingly loud for him, squelching with each brutal thrust of his hips. His muscled thighs were tense with the pure strength he put into slamming into you—beating your sensitive pussy in until it memorized his shape for life.

“Mig- ah! Holyfuck!” You screamed, draping your arms over his shoulders and scratching at his back like a cat post.

“Go on princesa, mark me up.” He encouraged and got a better grip on your thighs, pushing your legs out to a full spread. He had you displayed like a dinner feast and bent you like a lawn chair with your lower half on his toned chest. He was actually impressed at your flexibility, yet like always he chose the worst way to phrase it.

“I’m shocked, I never expected you to do any real training.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s what you’ve been wanting, is it not?” He gloated with such a shit-eating expression that you just had to wipe off his face. He sunk deeper into you when you pulled him in for a kiss and it had you clenching around him.

His thrusts got more erratic until your mind was clouded with only the sounds of his dick disappearing into your cunt. His hands were dragging you back onto him by the hips at the same time, so you could feel him bumping against your cervix with each thrust.

You were too fucked out to say anything other than broken moans and mewls of his name, and he wasn’t too far off.

“So pretty Cariño,” he groaned, “all for me? mierda- yeah, all for me.”

A string of loud mewls along with shameless moans poured out of your bruised lips in response. He pounded your pussy with so much vigour that you edged forward on the ruffled mattress with each rough thrust.

He massaged your throbbing clit between his fingers, laughing at the way they kept slipping around from how much of your own arousal was dripping down your cunt. Heavy balls slapping against your soft skin filled your ears when you felt that coil in your stomach start to snap.

“Pussys gripping me like a fucking vice- you gonna cum for me?” he teased, “look baby- look at how well this sweet little pussys taking me.”

He took your hand and lead it down until it was tracing the prominent bump in your stomach - You could feel every brutal thrust and see the way he ravaged your insides. You pressed down on it, getting impossibly tighter around him and the broken moan he let out was what got you.

He quickly tore a mind-numbing orgasm out of you - thick cockhead still splitting you open while he worked your clit. You soaked his cock and squeezed against it, shaking and crying under him until you could barely take it anymore.

He smiled in pride, sharp fangs showing and making him resemble the waiting mouth of a shark. “Such a good fucking girl, coming all over me like that. Look at the mess you’ve made,” he hummed, observing the noticeable white ring you left around the base of his cock.

His thrusts stuttered before stilling completely inside you. He made a noise akin to an animal before spilling his hot cum inside your welcoming heat with a shudder and a broken moan.

“Mfhm- mierda.. .” He cursed, his warmth filling you up so much it started to spill out.

You felt like a rag doll under him, half-asleep and smiling dumbly up at him. He chuckled and admired one last time how pretty you looked in his glowing red webs, wrapped around you like his own custom lingerie.

He sliced them off you and smiled warmly when you raised your arms out to him. He leaned in to let you wrap your arms around his massive shoulders with your legs now wrapping around his waist.

He picked you up with you curled into him like a koala - the warm sensation of his cum dripping down your connected bodies grounding you while he walked to your bathroom.

He pressed soft kisses to your marked up-neck while he ran a warm bath, rubbing at the indents his claws subconsciously left on your hips.

You didn’t remember exactly when you fell asleep; somewhere between when his large hands washed the cum off your skin or when he gently laid you down on your fresh bedsheets.

All you knew was that you woke up to the smell of clean laundry and noticed snacks and a water bottle left on your nightstand. There was a note too that you had to reach over to grab. His handwriting was smudged but fancy, and it was so adorably him that it left you smiling ear to ear.

“Had to leave early. Meet me in my office tomorrow and we’ll discuss how you’ll be living in my universe from now on ,seeing as how you’re now mine, mi vida.”

. . .

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spikezonebby · 5 months

Note

hi !! saw requests for song fics are open, may I request something angsty with fem!human!reader x megatron (idw) to ‘young and beautiful’ by lana del rey ? 🥹 <3 thank you in advancee

Young and Beautiful (IDW Megatron x Fem!Human!reader)

Word count: 1,070

Eighty years. Humans lived for a measly eighty years.

You change right before Megatron’s optics. Your hair grays, your skin sags, your bones grow thinner. Like the very universe was sapping you away from him. Vector Prime alone could grant him all the time he needed to write a poem about all of the moments he lived with you.

But how could he begin to write when every time he picked up his stylus, you were that much further from him? He longed to capture the feeling of you and immortalize it in a data pad, but then you’d touch your tiny, soft servo along his gray bottom lip plate and take him away. Remind him that you were his moment. Here for a second, gone in a blink.

You flare, you flicker, you fade.

You asked him once, if he’d love you even after you weren’t so soft. You weren’t so pretty. And your mind wasn’t as intact as it once was.

Megatron’s answer was immediate.

“Even once the spark of your life extinguishes, and I won’t stop even for a klik after.”

You may have lamented the way time and age changed you, but Megatron learns to see unique beauty in it. There was something beautiful in a life lived so long that you COULD age, it was a promise of peace and resilience. You lived, you fought, you came back again and again. A force so strong that it took time itself to put you down.

Megatron thought that was romantic. Not in the way of kisses in summer or dancing in the moonlight, but the cosmic way. In the way that atoms and space dust collect together and become new stars, or how he realizes, in the grand scheme of things, so, so many tiny and nearly impossible things had to happen for you to be his.

As you grew older, you grew more rapt by his poetry. You blamed it on growing old and sentimental, he argued you were always sentimental. You had always found it fascinating, but Megatron believed that perhaps you took some comfort in it.

“Do you think, because I love you… I’ll be there in the Afterspark waiting for you?”

You were resting against his neck cables, curled up between his shoulder armor and helm vents like a tiny glitch mouse. The ardent heat of energon pulsing up the lines of his throat felt good and helped soothe some of the arthritis in your hands. He had to rest his chin on his servo, propping his helm up at an angle to keep from squishing you, but he hadn’t the spark to stop you.

It’s a question that he’d pondered many times. For he who often pondered the nature of all things grand, the question of life after death was a philosophist’s energon and mineral tablets.

“You do not have a spark,” He points out, shifting his helm minutely to a position slightly more comfortable for you to tuck yourself under, “So I would not expect you to be held to the same rules and expectations of Primus.”

“But, your God is real.” You raise as a counterpoint, “Any proof that various human gods are real could be considered dubious at best.”

“That is a point for the high queries of gods, but what of your lack-there-of spark?”

“What is a spark but life?” You offer, gesturing with your hands and making the round shape of a spark before your breast. Megatron loathed to move you from your warm perch, so instead he tips the data pad in his servo so he can see your tiny reflection. You look comfortable, hidden securely in his collar fairings. “Perhaps I DO have a spark, but it’s simply just a different form. After all, energy cannot be destroyed. It merely changes form.”

You chuckle, knocking your knuckles against his neck cables. “Julius Robert Mayer.”

“A human philosopher?” Megatron asks, setting his datapad aside to instead settle for reaching up and touching his digit to your lap. You take the hint immediately, and hold his huge digit between your two itty bitty hands.

“Founder of the laws of energy conservation. Suppose most of us are philosophers in some way, though.”

You have to be, with lives so short and bright. Megatron keeps that thought private to himself, gently rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. You were feeling thinner and thinner these days. He hoped you ate well enough.

“So, what have we come to the conclusion of in this conversation?” You prompt, bringing back your point, “That there is no true way to say I do not have a spark, and that it’s ultimately far more likely that Primus and his Afterspark wait for me than say… The Christian or Hebrew concept of God.”

“For there are too many to count.”

“For there are too many to count.” You agree, “But it is the most commonly applicable and the most similar to Primus.”

“But,” Megatron clicks his glossa, a smile coming to his face. He loved it so when he could have these in-depth conversations with you. “That is also dismissing that humanity is a much younger culture than Cybertron was. Perhaps you will find proof that these things are indeed true, or perhaps something you had not even considered. Perhaps in the afterlife, you will have a veritable plethora of ‘heavens’ to choose from.”

“Then I’d choose to wait for you.” You say, “Or I’d choose some religion where I’d be reborn and I could fall in love with you again.”

“You could live again, redo all of the things you had missed. Unmake all of your mistakes.”

“You talk as if I considered you a mistake.”

He feels your tiny, cool lips press to the pulsing line of energon that is connected directly to his spark chamber. You laugh, giddy and sounding just as young as you were when he first met you. There’s a well of emotion there in his chest and, if not for millions of years of carefully cultivated control, he might have sobbed.

Instead, he settles for curling the whole of his huge, warm servo against your body, and recording this moment for all of time. The moment he writes on his spark that you wanted to be his in any life.

“I suppose it is not a mistake then, if you do not regret it.”

#transformers #mtmte transformers #idw transformers #idw megatron #reader insert #megatron x reader #request fill #song fic #Thank you for requesting!!#this got a lot more philosophical than i expected tbh

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belit0 · 9 months

Note

Heylloooooo. How are you doinnn?

Can you do a scenario where the reader offers to trim the hair of the founder's + indra + izuna. Their hair is so much damaged due to all the jutsu they practice and negligence. So the reader offers them a relaxing shampoo and hair trim.

Hey there!! Extremely tired, but holding up. I'm having vacations soon, so looking forward to that!

How are you nonny? Feeling and doing okay? 🤗❣️

I found this request so cute and funny that I had to prioritize it, lol.

Indra

- "I don't require any of that, my hair is fine, that's highly feminine, humiliating." It will take a lot of convincing, but both using good words and managing him without letting Indra realize exactly what she is doing, (Y/N) gets her husband to surrender to her hands. The Otsutsuki does not agree to step full body into the bathtub, bent over the edge and resting his bare chest on the fine cold marble. His hair rains down on the water and is submerged to a certain length, while she uses a cup to wet his scalp. Somehow, impossible in the awkward position but apparently possible for him, he relaxes so much that he stops protesting, accepting the washing in silence. Between massages, (Y/N) inspects the damage, and concludes that it is a sin for a hair as beautiful as Indra's, with golden highlights, to look so dull. Although he maintains impeccable body hygiene, he has no idea how to take care of his mane, dry and brittle from all the battles he's been through. He hisses when the water is too hot, and tries to end the whole situation, but once he's knee-deep in it, there is no way to escape. Indra does not usually turn his back, show his neck, or allow anyone to approach him with sharp objects while he is vulnerable and without sight, but today he makes an exception. After all, is his wife who we are talking about. With the cut, he's adamant about her not reducing its length, proud of its iconic longness, and (Y/N) only succeeds in cutting off the split ends. When he looks in the mirror, he complains about losing a lot of hair, even though he genuinely hasn't. A tiny child, in the body of the worst villain of them all.

Madara

- "Yeah... that might be nice... let's see if it gets me out of stress." He surrenders himself to (Y/N)'s magical hands like a cat, allowing her to manipulate his hair and do whatever she wants with it. The girl suspects that if she were to chop off his mane like his father had it, as relaxed as Madara is in his special bath, he wouldn't even notice. Either way, she gives up the idea of playing a joke on him and concentrates on soothing her husband's scalp, bringing the unique pattern of his hair back to life, and restoring a bit of its shine. Gentle shampooing here, cream bathing there, soft drying to keep it damp enough to cut... The Uchiha actually falls asleep while his wife washes his hair, and (Y/N) appreciates how deeply he trusts her, enough to unwind under her fingers. When his mane is finally clean, she wakes him up to get out of the water, pulling him out of the bathtub and sitting him on a chair. With the scissors, she gets rid of all the unsalvageable parts, removing the fire-scorched hair and leaving only the healthy, reducing the length by considerable amounts. Madara, ignorant of any decision she might make about the size or style of her cut, reads a book while sipping a cup of tea, seated cross-legged like a gentleman. Solely dressed in his bathrobe and with his hair full of hooks to separate it in parts, he looks like a lady enjoying a day at the spa. When she finishes, he doesn't even bother to evaluate himself in the mirror, oblivious to his image and unconcerned about what his wife might have done, fully trusting his judgment and accuracy. He is happy and loves his new/almost identical image.

Izuna

- "What? No, there's no way. I said no... well, thinking about it... no. Well, maybe yes..." Another little child. Izuna refuses to admit the damage to his hair, and a whole week passes from the official proposal (Y/N) did, about taking care of his image, until he decides to accept. Manipulated by candy and promises of steamy nights, the Uchiha can't say no, and hands over his mane for his wife to control as she pleases. His hair is considerably thinner than his older brother's, less dense and bushy, but the problem lies in those unruly strands at the back of his head, near the scalp. A mixture of straight and curly hair, how to treat it is a puzzle, but she is determined to find out. She can't get him to take a bath, Izuna claiming he already showered in the morning, and only manages to wet his hair at the kitchen sink, with the man reclining on top of the counter and trying to squeeze the length of his hair into the cramped space. Even though the experience is uncomfortable, he refuses to get in the shower again and insists they do it this way. Needless to say, the kitchen ends up completely soaked, the floor full of water and the cabinet as well, foam floating all over the surfaces. Once ready, they proceed to the cutting, and the Uchiha himself stands in front of the mirror, suddenly excited and engaged in the task, marking the limits he intends (Y/N) not to exceed. He becomes the leader of the situation, and is genuinely pleased with the result. Promises to remind (Y/N) about doing the same thing every month. Every, single, month. Without fail.

Hashirama

- "YES! ARE WE DOING IT NOW?!" In fact, he is the most excited of them all, and is the one who prepares the items (Y/N) might need. On his free afternoon, the Hokage looks for scissors with sufficient sharpness, and in the absence of the right ones, goes to buy them. He prepares his special shampoo, because we all know this Senju is obsessed with having perfect hair, and readies a bathtub with warm water for himself. All the things she intended to set up for him, Hashirama gets them in an hour and surprises her by sitting in the tub with the shampoo in his hand, smiling from ear to ear. He provides instructions on how he likes to massage his own scalp, which areas are sensitive, and where to pay special attention, guiding each movement without the need to physically control (Y/N's) hands. To make the experience more pleasurable, she follows each step, executing it the way he asks. He cannot finish without first applying one of the most expensive conditioners in the world, which he requires her to leave on for at least ten minutes. In the meantime, and with two cucumbers in his eyes, Hashirama relaxes. When he is dry and ready for the haircut, he suggests the idea of styling his hair in a similar way to what he used to wear when he was a child, and it is (Y/N) who has to get that terrible occurrence out of his head. Pouting, he agrees to sit in the chair and let her control this part of the process, without being in charge of the technical direction. He ends up with a cut the length of his middle back, and smiling because he loves it! According to her, there's not much difference from how he had it before, but he doesn't need to know that.

Tobirama

- "You don't need to take care of it, my hair is fine. And if needed, I can do it myself." He has an irrational fear of losing some of his incredible intelligence if he cuts his hair, and has a bit of trouble accepting the offer. (Y/N) can't stand the strawiness of his hair, and Tobirama refuses to admit that's true. Stubborn and dismayed by his wife's approach, he will first try to work it out on his own. He is extremely embarrassed when going to the beauty and cosmetic store, asking for help "for a friend who has bad hair", and accepting guidance on what products "his friend" should use from the young man who works as a manager. When he gathers the necessary information, he refuses to shop at that same establishment and goes to one at the other end of the village, just so the manager won't judge him. He waits until late at night to proceed, once (Y/N) is asleep, and begins his experiments. The problem is he treats his hair as if it were an object of study, misapplying products and cutting off parts he shouldn't have. In the morning and without having slept, he has to admit defeat amidst his own fatigue and disappointment, and agrees to let her take over. He created a mess on his head, with uneven strands and even somehow managed to stain it with a strange color, but nothing she can't fix. After solving the texture problem, using the same products but in the right way, she corrects the premature cut Tobirama tried to self-manage, equalizing each strand's length and leaving his hair presentable again. He won't admit he made a mistake, at least not without crossing his arms over his chest, closing his eyes, and pouting, but he does acknowledge how good his hair now feels.

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