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pucksandpower · 7 days

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Young Love and Old Money

Max Verstappen x Stroll!Reader

Summary: Max quickly learns that life with the paddock’s favorite nepo baby as his girlfriend is never boring

You take a deep breath as the town car pulls up to the grand arched doorway of your family’s Montreal estate. Beside you, Max squeezes your hand gently.

“Don’t worry, schatje,” he says, “Your father will love me.”

You smile nervously. “I hope so. But you know how protective he can be.”

Max grins. “I can handle it.”

The driver opens the door and you step out into the crisp night air, your heels clicking on the cobblestone. Max follows, straightening his suit jacket.

Inside, the foyer glitters with crystal chandeliers. A maid hurries to take your coats. As she leads you to the formal dining room, your heart pounds.

This dinner needs to go perfectly.

Your father and Lance are already seated at the long mahogany table, chatting. They look up as you enter and break into smiles.

“Y/N!” Your father exclaims warmly, standing to embrace you. “So wonderful to see you, mon minou.”

You hug him tightly back. “You too, Papa.”

Lance grins as he hugs you next. “Hey sis. Long time no see.”

You playfully mess up his hair. “Too long, little bro.”

Finally, you turn to Max, who is waiting patiently. “Papa, Lance, you already know my boyfriend, Max.”

Max steps forward confidently and shakes their hands. “Mr. Stroll, Lance, it’s an honor to finally meet you both properly.”

Your father looks Max up and down appraisingly. “The honor is mine, Max. Please, call me Lawrence.”

You let out a small sigh of relief as you all take your seats. So far, so good.

The first course is brought out — a decadent lobster bisque. You all sip appreciatively.

“Delicious,” Max compliments.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” your father says graciously. “Now, tell me Max, how is your season going so far?”

You tense slightly. Here it comes, the interrogation.

But Max just smiles. “It’s been excellent. A few tough races, but I’m leading the championship at the moment. The car has great pace and I think we have a shot at the title again this year.”

Lance jumps in enthusiastically. “I saw your battle with Charles last race when I was rewatching the tape. Epic stuff, man!”

“Thanks, mate,” Max chuckles. “It was a fun one for sure.”

You exhale in relief. Max is charming them perfectly.

The conversation flows easily through the next few courses. You can’t help but gaze admiringly at Max as he seamlessly meshes with your family. He has a natural confidence and charisma that puts everyone at ease.

Over dessert, your father says warmly, “Max, I can see why my Y/N cares for you. You’re clearly an exceptional young man, both on and off the track.”

Max smiles, touched. “Thank you, sir. Y/N is very special to me.” He squeezes your hand.

You beam, your heart swelling. This is going even better than you hoped.

You finish up the chocolate mousse and set down your spoon contentedly. “That was delicious. This dinner has been wonderful, thank you Papa.”

“Of course,” your father says fondly. “I’m so glad you both could make it out here from Monaco.”

“Thank you for having me,” Max adds.

“Anytime,” Lawrence smiles.

You glance around the table happily. Your boyfriend fits right in with your family. Everything feels so natural and perfect.

“Daddy, could you please pass the sugar?” You ask amiably.

Immediately, both Max and your father’s hands reach for the small pot of sugar in the center of the table. They both freeze awkwardly for a second, before Lawrence pulls his hand back slowly.

You feel your stomach drop as you see the dawning realization cross your father’s face.

Oh no.

This is bad.

Lawrence’s smile becomes forced. “So tell me Max, what exactly does my daughter call you?”

Max’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Um, just Max usually.”

You sink down in your chair, wincing.

Your father lets out a hollow laugh. “Is that so? Because it didn’t sound like that to me.”

A leaden silence descends on the table. Lance glances between you all, smothering a smirk.

Max clears his throat awkwardly. “Well, uh, that’s just a casual nickname really ...”

Lawrence raises an eyebrow. “A casual nickname you say? For my daughter to call her boyfriend in front of her family?”

You close your eyes, willing yourself to vanish. This is excruciatingly embarrassing.

“Dad, come on,” Lance snickers, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “They’re young, it’s whatever.”

“No Lance, it’s not whatever,” your father snaps, an edge in his voice now. “I would like Max to explain himself here.”

Max holds up his hands placatingly. “Sir, I apologize if we’ve made you uncomfortable. But I assure you our relationship is completely respectful.”

You nod quickly. “Papa, he’s right. Can we please just move on?”

But Lawrence is unyielding. “I will not have anyone take liberties with my daughter, do you understand me, young man?”

Max looks properly chastened. “Yes sir, of course. I meant no offense.”

Your father bristles as he glares between you. The awkward tension hovers for several painful moments.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. “Papa, stop!” You blurt out. “I’m an adult now. You can’t control what I choose to do with my boyfriend.”

Lawrence looks stunned, then hurt. “Y/N, I’m just looking out for you ...”

“I know, but I don’t need protecting from Max. He’s wonderful and he makes me so happy. Can’t you let me make my own choices?”

Your father’s expression softens. He sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just … so hard for me to think of you growing up.”

You reach over and squeeze his hand. “I know. But I’ll always be your little girl.”

Lawrence smiles tenderly at you, then turns to Max. “Forgive my outburst, son. I can see how much you care for each other.”

Max looks relieved. “Of course, sir. I understand completely.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Crisis averted.

Your father stands, raising his glass. “To young love. May you always treat my daughter with the honor and respect she deserves.”

“I will, sir,” Max promises earnestly.

You all clink glasses, the tension dissolving. Conversation resumes, lighter and more relaxed now.

Later, as Max helps you on with your coat, your father claps him warmly on the back. “Thank you for making my daughter so happy. You’ll always be welcome in our home.”

Max’s face lights up. “Thank you, sir. That means the world.”

Lawrence winks. “I was young once too, you know. Just maybe keep the nicknames to yourselves around me.”

You all laugh together. Your heart swells with joy. Despite the awkward moments, the evening couldn’t have gone better.

As the chauffeur drives off into the night, you snuggle contentedly into Max’s shoulder. “Thank you for being so wonderful tonight,” you whisper.

He kisses your hair. “Of course, liefje. I would do it all over again for you.”

***

The sleek red Ferrari glints under the showroom lights as you and Max admire your reflection in the gleaming curves.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Max grins, running his hand along the hood. “I can’t wait to take her out on the open road.”

You smile at his childlike enthusiasm. “She certainly is gorgeous. You have great taste, babe.”

The salesman steps forward eagerly. “Yes, the Ferrari SF90 Stradale is our newest supercar model. Twin-turbo V8, 720 horsepower. She’ll do 0 to 60 in under three seconds.”

Max’s eyes light up. “Incredible. I think I’m in love already.”

You laugh. “Should I be jealous?”

“Never,” Max winks, pulling you in for a quick kiss.

The salesman smiles indulgently. “Why don’t we step into my office to finalize the paperwork?”

“Sounds good,” Max agrees, lacing his fingers through yours as you follow the salesman.

In the sleek minimalist office, you both take a seat across from the desk as the salesman pulls up Max’s file.

“Excellent. Everything looks in order, Mr. Verstappen,” he says briskly. “If you just sign here and here, we’ll get you all set up.”

Max eagerly scrawls his signature on the documents. You watch in amusement — he reminds you of a kid on Christmas morning.

“Alright, congratulations!” The salesman stands and shakes Max’s hand. “The SF90 is all yours. We’ll have her prepped and ready for you within the hour.”

“Amazing, thanks so much,” Max grins, standing up.

You’re about to follow him out when a flash of black catches your eye. Through the office window, you spot a brand new Ferrari model on display in the showroom.

“Ooh what’s that one?” You ask curiously, gazing at the aggressive curves and styling.

The salesman glances over. “The new 812 Competizione A. It is a limited edition 599-unit production run. Just unveiled last month.”

You feel a thrill run through you as you take in the stunning hypercar. “It’s incredible. I have to have it.”

Max raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? You want that one too?”

You turn to the salesman decisively. “I’ll take it. My family has bought from Ferrari for years, my name should be in your client database.”

“Of course, Miss Stroll,” the salesman nods, typing rapidly into his computer. “I see you right here. Let’s start the paperwork and we’ll get the car ordered for you right away.”

You grab your purse, immediately fishing out your black Centurion Card. “Just bill it to my usual card, thanks,” you say breezily, handing it over.

You can feel Max’s stunned gaze on you but you keep your focus on the salesman, reviewing the spec sheet and customization options.

This new Ferrari is just too sexy to resist.

Within minutes, the paperwork is signed and you’ve secured the very first 812 Competizione A destined to stay in Monaco. You grin excitedly — you can’t wait to get your hands on it.

“Thank you so much, just have it delivered to my place in the Fontvieille district when it’s ready,” you tell the appreciative salesman before turning to leave.

You lace your fingers through Max’s, still smiling about your new spontaneously purchased hypercar. “Ready to take your new baby out for a drive?”

Max is quiet as you walk back to the showroom, seemingly lost in thought. He stays silent as the gleaming red SF90 Stradale is pulled around, not even cracking a smile when the salesman hands over the keys with a flourish.

It’s not until you’ve been driving for several minutes, weaving along the coastal roads overlooking the Mediterranean, that Max finally speaks.

“That was 2.13 million euros,” he states flatly. “And you just ... bought it. Without a second thought.”

You glance over, taking in the unreadable expression on his face. “I mean, yeah, it’s a beautiful model. Why not just get it?” You say casually.

Max shakes his head slowly. “I just can’t wrap my head around having that kind of money. That you can just drop over two million without thinking twice.”

You shift slightly, feeling defensive. “I’m sorry, does it make you uncomfortable? I know I grew up with a very different lifestyle ...”

“No, that’s not it at all,” Max interrupts. He pauses, gazing out at the sparkling blue sea pensively.

“It’s just … I’m not used to being with someone who’s on my level. Financially, I mean. All my previous girlfriends, I always had to take care of everything. Pay for dinner, vacations, whatever they needed.”

He turns to look at you. “But you’re different. You have as much money as me, more even. You can buy a hypercar on a whim, no problem. It’s new territory.”

You chew your lip. “I don’t want you to feel emasculated or anything. If you want to pay or take care of things ...”

Max shakes his head again, more firmly this time. “That’s just it — I don’t. I like that you’re independent. It’s really ...”

He pauses, blushing slightly. “Sexy. That’s the word. It’s sexy that you have your own money and success. I’m not used to feeling that in a relationship before.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. That was not the reaction you were expecting.

Max glances at you almost shyly. “Is that weird to say? I just mean, it’s different than what I’m used to, but in a good way. Like we’re equals, you know?”

Slowly, a smile spreads across your face. “No, not weird at all. I get what you mean.” You reach over and squeeze his hand. “This is new territory for me too. But I like discovering it together.”

Max’s face lights up with that radiant smile that melts your heart. “Me too, liefje.”

Your conversation flows easily as you cruise along the seaside, the setting sun glittering on the water. And seeing the look in his eyes when he glances at you now — equal parts love and admiration — you realize just how right it feels.

Being with someone who can match you in every way is new and different for both of you. But you have a feeling it’s the start of something beautiful.

***

The energy buzzing around the paddock is electric as you walk hand-in-hand with Max towards the Red Bull motorhome. Fans line the barriers, cheering and shouting his name. Max smiles and waves, slowing to sign autographs and snap selfies with outstretched phones.

You hang back politely as he interacts with his adoring public. You know the drill by now, having attended countless races with your dad and brother over the years. Blend into the background and let the drivers have their moment.

“Max! Can we get an autograph?” A young girl calls out eagerly, brandishing a cap and marker pen.

“Of course!” Max says graciously, letting go of your hand to walk over.

You hang back contentedly, happy to let him have his moment with his supporters. You catch snippets of their supportive comments as Max signs item after item, posing for selfies in between.

“You’re the greatest, Max!”

“That last win was epic. Get that fourth title this year!”

“We love you so much!”

You smile to yourself. Seeing how much joy Max brings to these fans makes your heart swell with pride and affection.

As you stand waiting patiently, you overhear the girl lean over to her friend and not-so-subtly whisper, “Who’s the chick with Max? She looks kinda stuck up if you ask me.”

Your smile freezes. You see the girl jerk her head rudely in your direction, glaring at you.

“I know right,” her friend agrees in a carrying whisper. “Another gold-digger who managed to sink her claws into a rich man too blind to see what she’s doing.”

You clench your jaw, stung by their spiteful words. Who do they think they are, judging you when they don’t even know you?

Max is still occupied with the other fans, oblivious. You debate whether to just ignore the rude girls. But their jealous gossiping has sparked your defiance. Why should you stay silent?

Squaring your shoulders, you turn and level a steady gaze at them. “For your information, I don’t need a rich man. I am a rich man,” you state coldly.

Their eyes widen in shock, mouths dropping open stupidly. Clearly they weren’t expecting you to confront them.

Before they can react, Max is suddenly beside you, slipping his arm around your waist.

“Whoa, everything okay here?” His gaze darts between you and the embarrassed fans.

You take a breath, ready to explain it away. But Max doesn’t give you the chance.

“You know, if anything, I’m the one who got my claws hooked into her,” he announces, lips curving into a smirk.

Now it’s your turn to gape at him in surprise. The nasty fans look completely bewildered.

“That’s right ladies, I’m just a kept man,” Max continues lightly. “Her arm candy. A sugar baby, if you will.”

He pretends to examine his nails arrogantly and you have to stifle a shocked laugh. Is he actually joking about being your boy toy right now?

Max leans in conspiratorially. “Between you and me, dating a Stroll has done wonders for my bank account. I mean have you seen the new and improved garage decor?”

You smother your grin behind your hand as he prattles on, winking at you.

“So don’t worry about Y/N here, she can buy and sell me twice over.” Max presses a smacking kiss to your cheek. “Isn’t that right, schatje?”

Finally you can’t hold back your laughter anymore. Max joins in and the fans stare, unsure how to react.

“Come on sugar mama, we’ve got a race to win,” Max says breezily, steering you away.

Once safely inside the garage, you turn to him incredulously. “What was that all about?”

Max shrugs, his expression sobering. “I heard what they said. Just wanted to shut them up and defend my girl.”

Your heart melts. Standing on your tiptoes, you kiss him soundly. “My hero. Thank you.”

Max still looks bothered. “You shouldn’t have to deal with stupid gossip. Especially not lies about you using me.”

You slip your arms around his neck persuasively. “It usually doesn’t get to me. Let the jealous haters talk. We know the truth.”

He sighs, gently moving a strand of hair from your face. “I just hate anyone thinking badly of you. You deserve the world.”

Touched by his sincerity, you pull him down into a soft kiss. When you finally draw apart, an idea pops into your head.

“Although ...” you begin thoughtfully, “Maybe we should lean into it.”

Max looks confused. “What do you mean?”

You grin mischievously. “You’re my hot trophy boyfriend. I need to show you off and treat you right.”

Comprehension dawns on Max’s face and he barks out a laugh. “Well I won’t say no to being spoiled.”

He winks roguishly and you dissolve into giggles. The stupid gossipers don’t know anything. You and Max are just perfect together.

For the rest of the weekend, you shamelessly flaunt your new role as Max’s “sugar mommy.” At every opportunity, you shower him with over-the-top gifts and PDA in front of the other drivers and team members.

Designer watches, bouquets of flowers, bottles of decadent gin for his favorite drink — you deliver them all publicly to Max along with cooed compliments and kisses. You can see the amusement hidden behind his mock protests at being “objectified.”

The other drivers are endlessly entertained. Daniel teases Max about latching onto an heiress, while Charles jokingly asks if you have a sister he can date.

By the time Max wins on Sunday, cementing his spot at the top of the championship, the silly gossip from earlier in the weekend is long forgotten.

As you snuggle together on the flight home from the race, you turn to Max curiously. “So, how does it feel being a kept man?”

He pretends to consider it deeply. “Hmm, tough to say. The gifts and pampering were nice ...”

You swat his chest indignantly and he laughs.

“Kidding, kidding,” he assures, pulling you tighter against him. “Obviously I love you for you, not your money, schatje.”

His voice softens. “Thank you for this weekend. I know the gossip bothered you, even if you didn’t show it. I’m lucky to have you by my side.”

You tilt your face up to meet his lips, kissing him tenderly. No more words are needed. Being together says it all.

***

The roar of the crowd surrounds you as you step onto the red carpet on Max’s arm, cameras flashing wildly. He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze and leans in close.

“You ready for this, liefje?”

You take a deep breath and nod, pasting on a smile. “Ready.”

This is your big formal debut — attending your first FIA Prize Giving Ceremony as Max’s girlfriend. And with him just winning his fourth World Championship, all eyes are sure to be on you both tonight.

You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you begin the walk down the carpet, waving politely to the fans shouting Max’s name. He looks completely at ease, his fourth-straight title boosting his confidence even higher.

You, on the other hand, feel like you might trip over your gown at any moment under the blinding spotlights. But you keep your chin high, channeling the poise that’s been drilled into you since girlhood.

Perks of growing up in high society — you know how to fake it on a red carpet.

About halfway down, an interviewer steps forward, microphone in hand. “Max Verstappen! Congratulations on your fourth championship. How are you feeling tonight?”

Max smiles easily. “Thank you, it feels amazing. It was a great battle all season long so this one feels very satisfying.”

The reporter nods, then turns her attention to you. “And who is this lovely lady accompanying you tonight?”

“This is my girlfriend, Y/N,” Max introduces you proudly.

“Y/N, you look absolutely stunning tonight, if you don’t mind me saying,” the interviewer gushes. “That gown is exquisite!”

You relax slightly, warming to her friendly tone. “Thank you so much!” You smile.

“In fact, both of your outfits are fabulous,” she continues. “Who are you wearing tonight?”

Max’s face lights up. He squeezes your hand excitedly. “Funny you should ask — we’re both wearing custom Y/N Stroll originals!”

You have to resist the urge to giggle at the unconcealed pride in his voice.

The interviewer’s eyes widen. “No way, you designed these yourselves?”

You nod, enjoying her reaction. “I did, yeah. Fashion design is a bit of a hobby of mine.”

“A hobby she’s amazing at,” Max interjects adoringly. “She could have her own luxury brand if she wanted. I feel so honored to wear her work.”

You blush at his high praise. “Oh Max, stop. But thank you, that’s so sweet.”

The reporter seems thrilled at this exclusive scoop. “Incredible! It looks like you have some serious talent, Y/N. Any plans to pursue that more seriously?”

You hesitate briefly. Your father has been gently nudging you to take over his fashion business when he retires. But that’s still in the future ...

You decide to give a lighthearted answer. “We’ll see! Fashion does run in my family so it’s always a possibility.” You finish with a coy smile.

“How wonderful! We’ll be keeping an eye out for Y/N Stroll designs in the future then,” the reporter concludes enthusiastically.

You grin and wave as she lets you continue down the carpet, Max’s arm securely around your waist.

“See, that wasn’t so bad was it?” He murmurs in your ear.

“Not at all,” you admit. “I might get used to this whole red carpet thing after all.”

Max winks. “Stick with me and you’ll be a pro in no time.”

Your heart flutters happily. Being by his side just feels so right.

Inside the lavish venue, you’re shown to your table near the front with the other top drivers and their partners. Max pulls out your chair politely before sitting down beside you.

You chat with the other girls at the table, fellow WAGs you’ve gotten to know over the course of the season. They gush over the dress you designed, making you promise to create something for them too.

Soon, the lights dim and the ceremony begins. You clap loudly as Max wins Driver of the Year, bursting with pride for your champion.

Finally, the moment comes for the big one. The announcer begins the buildup, recapping the season’s epic title battle between Max and his closest rival.

"… And in the end, one man emerged victorious for the fourth time in his young but dazzling career,” the announcer concludes. “Formula 1 World Driver’s Champion ... Max Verstappen!”

The room explodes into thunderous applause as Max squeezes your hand and makes his way up to the stage, beaming. You watch with tears in your eyes as he accepts the trophy, looking so handsome and accomplished.

After the ceremony finishes, Max makes his way back to you, trophy in hand. You throw your arms around him. “I’m so proud of you!”

He hugs you tight, then pulls back, his expression earnest. “I couldn’t have done it without your support this season. Having you by my side means everything to me.”

Your heart swells and you kiss him tenderly. “You deserve this so much. And nothing makes me happier than being with you.”

Max’s eyes shine. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Max.”

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sweets4dolls · 3 months

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ʚɞ 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎 𝒷𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎 ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

pairing: valentino + bunny!fem!reader

content warnings: smut, valentino (he's his own warning), virgin!reader, dubious-ish consent (its val), unprotected sex, first time, bleeding during first time, slight pain, not proofread

summary: after your mother traded your soul so you could take her place in hell, you find yourself living on the streets until meeting one of the v's.

falling from earth into hell really wasn't what you expected.

you didn't understand what you did, you thought you had been good your entire life. you did everything as well as you could, did what the Bible said, followed what your mother and elders told you to do to a t, so why'd you end up in hell?

of course the only thing you could do when you found yourself in your new surroundings was cry yourself silly, a mess on the dirty streets of the pride ring as you looked into a muddled pool of water, piss and trash to see your appearance had changed. it hadn't been altered by much, you were still wearing your bright cotton shirt with the puffed-out short sleeves and generously full skirt, despite the cloth being sleazily torn and dirtied from the fall. nonetheless, everything seemed to be the same except for a pretty pair of floppy bunny ears that sat atop your warm head of hair, making your doe eyes go wide and a hand wander to your backside, to your surprise feeling a coltish cotton tail attached to your form.

tearing up at your form, you just didn't know how to feel, your new surroundings paired with your new appearance made you overwhelmed. it wasn't before long a sinner tried touching you, making you scamper away into an alley where you took shelter in a cardboard box.

and it wasn't before long valentino found you. he had taken some poor soul out who had slighted him into the alley where you had been residing for a few days and shot them, making you cover your pretty bunny ears and your pretty body flinch, making val notice you.

"amorcito, come out" he drawled, originally planning on shooting whoever was there, but once seeing such a cute little bunny, how could he? you were just too precious, he couldn't.

"aww, such a precious bunny, are you lost?" he cooed, coming over to you and leaning over your much smaller form, invading your space.

"so sorry sir, I just, I-i don't really have anywhere else to go" you squeak, backing yourself up further into the wall of the alley, chewing on your lip anxiously, clearly nervous about being close to this man.

"how about you come black to my place, conejito bonito" he says, more of a demand than an ask as he's already walking back to his limo, knowing that you'll follow him, as you don't anywhere else to go, this is your best option.

so you trot after him, hopping into the limo, sitting opposite of him all stiff and rigid and on edge as he watches you, giggling at your nervousness.

"relax, conejito, I won't hurt you" a lie, but you can't do anything else less than believe him. seeing your still tense, he blows a plume of that vivid smoke in your face, letting it cloud your pretty little head as you instantly become more languorous, ears drooping.

"se siente bien, hm?" he says, chuckling as your smaller body droops over the seat, listening to him ask questions about who you are, what you did to get down here.

that question makes your big eyes tear up, your lip trembling slightly "I really don't know" as you babble your life story too him - how sheltered you were, how you went to a strict religious school, if you even entered into conversation with a heathen your mother would discipline you harshly.

of course, val nodded along, faking sympathy as you went on. "oh, poor baby" he fretted over you, but excited to have something as pretty and rare as you in hell with him.

even when he brought you back to the tower, you received stares from others who worked you, most hadn't seen anything as pure looking as you in hell before.

so late in the day, tired from the time and crying your eyes out, you clung to val hazily as he led you through the building and up to his room, laying you on the couch as he ordered kitty to bring you a drink.

feeding you alcohol and his smoke, it wasn't long before he had you on his lap, a saporously delightful mess, and you were snuggling into his chest like a good little bunny. "baby bunny, I'll let you stay here, but you have to do one thing for me" he tells you, making your doe eyes go wide as you nod your head with vigor. "anything" you say desperately with lips softly parted in a slightly foolish and endearing smile. he was a nice guy, and anything would be better than being out on the streets, right?

with that response, he's already on your lips, impatiently pressing his mouth into yours so hard you nearly choke on his tongue, making you push away form him.

"w-wait, we can't-"

"why not, bunny?" he says with faux concern. "its.. your only supposed to do that when you've married someone."

your words make him bark out a laugh as he eagerly leans closer into you, making your pretty face turn red at his actions. "what, its true!" you whisper, embarrassed.

"conejito, we're in hell. its okay baby, just let val take care of you, hm?" he says, not waiting for a response before he finds your lips again, tasting your sweet saliva and nipping softly at your lips, not wanting to damage his new baby bunny too soon.

"you sure?" you say apprehensively as you pull away once more, cheeks red and lips prettily puffy. "of course I'm sure, now let me make you feel good" he says, pushing you down roughly, drawing a small squeak from your throat as he holds you down, lightly kissing and sucking down you face and throat as a large hand travels up your shirt, harshly kneading at your soft breasts.

you gasp, chewing your lip as he does, looking away as he says "hm, how about I play with these pretty tits until they're sore, would you like that bunny?" he says, laughing at his own words as you toss your head to the side with a glowing blush, tail twitching at his talk.

nonetheless, you can't help it but writhe underneath him, your inexperienced body squirming as he groped you.

"v-val, I feel weird" you say, a not looking at him, eyes trained somewhere else across the room "oh, and you know what that means, pretty?" he says in between his sucking on your body, making you let out a noise of annoyance as you pout "course I do, m' not dumb" you say.

"good" he says, hand snapping your panties off cleanly, making you breathe in harshly and body jolt. "shh, don't worry bunny, you're gonna feel so good" he mumbles in your ear as his hand palms your pulsing pussy as your hips buck into his palm as you make pretty noises from underneath him.

"that's it, just relax, be a good girl for me" he says as he slowly pushes a finger inside you as his other hand grips your glossy hair, holding you down on the bed as he gently fucks you on his fingers, your hips rutting against them, making him tut you.

"now you want me to make you feel good right? so be a good baby bunny" he says as he grips your hair tighter making you whimper and squirm under him "I know, m' sorry, m' sorry" you babble as he continues to finger your virgin cunt.

just as your about to cum, he pulls away cruelly, kissing you on the cheek making you tear up as pretty tears cling tot he corners of your long lashes and mewl softly, hips now moving in the air, jutting up into nothing.

"I know, baby bunny, don't worry," val says as he pushes you down into the couch and unbuckles his heart-shaped belt. "just the tip, m'kay pretty?" he says, whispering in your ear as he slides his dick over your pretty folds, drawing whines from you, making it all the much harder to keep himself from fucking your virgin pussy right there and then.

"good girl" he draws out as you claw at the fabric of the couch as he slowly slides in, making you whimper out "hurts" as thick tears stream down your face. "I know pretty girl, just try to relax for me, mkay?" he says as he shoves himself into your still-accomadating pussy as his hand circles your puffy clit, making you sob prettily.

"good bun" he says in your ear as he bottoms out. you try to focus on his words as he stretches you out, crying. "aw, poor baby" he coos with an underlying tone of condescension, now starting to push his way in and out of your virgin hole, holding you down with a firm hand as he kisses your warm tears.

"take it like a good fucking girl" he says, starting to become more sporadic with his thrusts, making you let out a sharp choked sob as he fucks you hard, burying his face into your neck, the pleasure and pain becoming blinding as you throw your head back and cum without a warning, making him chuckle and speed up his own thrusts.

a few moments later, he cums too, pulling out and watching the cum leak from your pretty abused cunt. with a finger, he pushes some of the cum mixed with your blood back in, making your overly-sensitive body shudder.

looking up at him with wide adoring eyes, you ask him shyly "so can I stay here tonight?"

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #valentino x reader #valentino smut #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel

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messylustt · 7 months

Text

v.05.10.23 day three: power imbalance ( nsfw )

YOU CAN’T LEAVE — miguel o’hara: miguel is your boss. a cold man who everyone fears, but how does he react when you walk in with a resignation letter?

marks power imbalance. dubcon. blackmailing. possessive!miggy. p in v.

even though your posture showed confidence and provided you with false assurance as you walked down the lavish hall of the company you worked for, your hands still stuck to the letter you were holding. you’re praying your sweat isn’t sinking into the paper.

once you reach mr. o’hara’s office door, you straighten your spine even more and knock. there’s a few moments of silence before you hear the gruff and clearly annoyed voice of your boss. “come in.” you push open the door, careful to de-crinkle the letter as you brush at your skirt.

the moment you stepped inside and shut the door, miguel’s eyes darted up. “finished already?” he leans back in his chair, his gaze flittering across your clothes, your hand readjusting your pencil skirt. “um, no sir, the papers are underway. i just came in to give you this.” you walk over, your heels clicking along the shining floor as you offer the letter to miguel.

miguel grabs it off you, his gaze only then leaving your form to look at the letter. he pauses once he catches the first word, typed out in bold. ‘resignation’. “what’s this?” his voice is still as cold as always, as you paste on a smile. “a resignation letter, sir.”

“why are giving this to me?” he asks to which your brows furrow. “because i mean to…resign.” you thought it was obvious. you had thought he’d be secretly jumping for joy at the prospect of you leaving. with his scolding and hard stares you didn’t think he liked you very much. “again, let me ask, why are you giving me this?” what you didn’t know was that the first feeling miguel got at the thought of you leaving was one of distaste, a sourness in his mouth, along with a pit in his stomach. leaving? you were leaving?

“i’ve loved working here, it’s given me many opportunities — ” you begin in that polite tone of yours but miguel cuts in. “get to the point.” you press your lips together as you hold back from retorting something you’ll regret. “i’ve been offered a job.” you say a little more bluntly. miguel stares at you, that coldness in his eyes actually sending shivers down your spine. “you have a job.” he remarks, his tone still indifferent.

“i don’t think this job is fit for me anymore.” you say. “and what makes you think that you can decide that?” his question has you pausing, mouth opening before closing again. “i’m sorry?”

miguel stands, walking around his desk slowly as you twist your body to face him. “do i have to keep repeating myself, miss?” you slightly shuffle back as subtly as possible as he nears, head tilted down at you. “i don’t understand the question, sir.”

“then what makes you think that you could do well anywhere else?” miguel’s tone has turned a little harsher, as he’s neared. “that’s a bit out of line—“ but miguel cuts you off. “i’m your boss. don’t you want your boss to be honest? because you and i both know that this is the only company you’re fit to work at.”

you stare up at him, really holding back, as you grind your teeth. “you may have forgotten, or plainly not heard me,” you mutter out, more quietly. “but i got offered the job. that means someone is wanting me to be a part of their company.” you say, sparing a look to the side, pretending to be glancing out the window, when in reality you only wanted to get away from his sharp gaze.

but miguel isn’t having that, grabbing your chin, as he redirects your focus back onto him. your breathing hitches a fraction at the now close proximity between you both. “and who is this someone?” he practically sneers. you go to step back, but he tightens his hold on your chin. “no no, come on. it’d be rude not to share with your boss.”

“you aren’t my boss anymore—“

“you’re my employee, miss,” He follows with with your last name. “Even by your little letter you still have a month here.” he speaks lowly. you hate the fact that he’s right. your contract states that you must give notice a month before hand. “but you aren’t leaving.”

“you can’t decide that, sir.” you say evenly, grabbing his wrist, and pulling his hand away. miguel raises his brows, before nodding, looking to the side with a scoff, his tongue poking out against his cheek. “is that right?”

“yes.” you say, finally creating some distance. “you seem unnaturally confident today.” he remarks. “what happened to that timid little thing who brought me coffee? don’t tell me you’re feeling all empowered now since you think you’re leaving?” throughout his words he’s begun to step closer. your backwards steps are matching his, as he nears you again. “because that’s a little pathetic if you feel confident about getting away from here. from me.” your lower back hits his desk, making you jolt a fraction. “is that it? you’re happy about getting away from me?”

“this has nothing to do with you…sir.” you say, trying your best to keep your voice even and professional. “it doesn’t? oh, well that’s good.” he remarks, making your face contort in further confusion. “i wouldn’t want you going off and babbling on about what a terrible boss i am.” he’s neared you, body practically pressed up against yours as you fold your lips behind your teeth. “mr. o’hara — ”

“no, tell me. is it something i did?” usually one sounds apologetic when they say this, but miguel sounds the farthest from it, almost challenging you to speak against him. you stay silent, darting your gaze around and towards the door. miguel watches you closely, before he leans in towards your ear. “or is it something i didn’t do?” his almost intimate tone has your back stiffening. “because you know you can always talk to me.” his overly sweet and almost mocking tone has you gulping. “i want to treat my employees with…care, don’t i?”

“sir, again, this isn’t about you — ” but he again cuts you off. “but it is.” he remarks, his expression away from your line of sight and far too close to your neck. he’s eyeing your skin, down your throat and towards your beating pulse. “let me repeat myself.” his breath hits your neck, as he leans back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “you aren’t leaving.”

“…why?” exasperation has finally cracked through your tone, as he leans back to meet your gaze. “why?” he muses. then you’re suddenly being flipped around, body pressed right up against his desk as he bends you over, your chest squished against the expensive glass. your eyes grow wide when you feel his knee nudge your legs apart. a shiver runs down your spine as the cool air hits your closed pussy, the stretch of your skirt gaining miguel’s attention. you try to speak, to protest, but no words seem to surface, especially as miguel’s hands push your pencil skirt farther up, revealing your ass and panties to him.

“because you, have always been so good to me. so diligent. why would i settle for someone else when i have my perfect little assistant right here in front of me.” he continues, humming to himself as he strokes and manhandles your ass and thighs. “you can’t stop me from resigning.” you manage as you try to flip back around, but his grip on you makes it impossible. “i can do is a lot worse then that, querida.”

he then slips his hands into your panties making you squirm as he pushes them to the side. “you really think that you’d do well anywhere else? i take good care of you here, don’t i?” you can hear the zip and clank of his belt as you breath harder. “no other boss would treat you this well.” miguel pulls out his cock, pumping it a few times, but it’s already hard, his arousal having begun the moment you stepped into his office. “treat me well? you treat me horribly.” you hiss back, before you gasp as he pulls your panties up creating a string to rub right over your clit. you grip his desk, knuckles turning lighter.

“no, i’ve treated you far too well, because usually the moment that i want to fuck someone i do. i don’t care if it’s a work setting, hell, i don’t even care if someone sees. i’ve showed you restraint, because believe it or not you’ve actually been a rather helpful assistant to me. wouldn’t wanna scare you off. but you know what?” miguel pulls your panties to the side again, as he then, brushes the head of his cock through your wetness, his breathing heavier. “mierda…” he mutters out, eyes entirely focused on the way your pussy lips are hugging him, as your breathing stutters.

he leans over your body, grabbing your hair and pulling you back into him, a small groan leaving him as your ass pushes into him completely. “no matter what you did you always made me want to touch these pretty pussy lips of yours. and now…” he slips his hand down between you, widening your pussy lips with his fingers as he forces your back to arch even more. “now you’re gonna let me slip my cock inside you, and let me fuck you into my desk. you’re gonna let me do that, right?” his tone is demanding and full of manipulation, no room left for a ‘no’. “feel free to yell, call for help, because if you do just know that that little company who asked for you suddenly won’t be taking any new employees. along with every other business in the state.”

you gasp as he sinks into you, harshly pushing your skirt further up your body as his hips begin to move, thrusting into you. his hands find your back and neck, pushing you further down onto the desk. “widen your legs, querida…come on now…” he breathes, as his cock thrusts in and out of you, giving you no room to adjust to his size, as small hiccups and whimpers leave your lips, your body bouncing along the desk. “that’s it — ” he groans out, thrusting harder into you as your legs shake.

he scoffs as he watches your ass jiggle, slapping right up against his happy trail. his large hand squeezes and plays with a cheek, slapping occasionally just to hear you gasp for more breath. “can’t believe you came in here with that stupid letter.” each word is pronounced roughly with each thrust to match. “you really think that you can just leave? aw, my sweet girl, you’re a little stupid aren’t you?” he’s licking his lower lip, head slightly tilted back as he grips you harder, pulling you back onto his cock as all you can do is babble and murmur, your eyes threatening to roll back.

“who came up to you?” he breathlessly asks, switching the pace slower just to make you squirm. “hm? who offered you the job?” he tugs harshly on your hair when you don’t answer. “m-mr. dalton.” you manage, even though your throat is dry. “mr. dalton.” miguel repeats, as he lets your hair go, spreading your ass cheeks with both his hands, just to see the way his cock is sliding in and out of your dripping wet hole. “from that northside company?” he rhetorically asks. “i guess I’ll have to pay him a little visit then, won’t i?”

miguel leans over you, lips, tongue and teeth trailing your spine up to the back of your neck, as he continues to fuck you into his desk. “i’ll just have to let him know how unavailable you are. yeah…how you just love working for me far too much to leave.” he chuckles darkly into your skin, as your mouth falls open, your orgasm fast approaching. miguel’s hand slips around your thigh, as he rubs at your clit, making your grip tighten, your pants and heavy breathes fogging up his glass desk.

when miguel reached his orgasm, he barely let you finish before he was flipping you around and pushing you to sit on his desk, legs spread. you’ve barely caught your breath before miguel’s lifting one of your legs over his shoulder, your high heel rested on his back as his warm breath hits your sensitive pussy. oh he wanted so much more, as he whispered onto your clit. “tomorrow come in early. and that’s an order.”

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usedpidemo · 2 months

Text

More than you know (Nmixx Haewon)

“Miss Haewon, please see me after class hours later. I would like to talk to you.”

There it is. A rather predictable bookend to another dull lecture. She saw it coming from the moment she walked into the classroom.

She absolutely loathes hearing it.

Despite the comically indignant scowl she shoots you on the way out—and the mocking jeers from her friends that elicit embarrassment—by the time the final bell rings, she couldn’t wait to see you later on.

You’re excited, too—but for all the wrong reasons.

She’s the only thing keeping your passion for teaching alive.

—————

For the record, Haewon is not a bad student, not in the slightest. If anything, she’s par for the course. She’s not gonna be some summa cum laude, but she isn’t a sorry case, either. And that’s been the pattern with your students for years. They only care enough just to get by. Haewon is the most clear-cut example you can refer to.

Based on the rather intriguing stares she shoots at you, you’d be tricked into believing she’s actually interested enough in improving her future performance in class. Peeking through the laptop, catching glimpses of everyone’s grades. Her name is highlighted on the document, and the scores consist primarily of mid-eighties with some low-nineties. Clearly she’s nowhere close to a flunk or a future dropout.

Better than the high seventies and low eighties that the rest of your class averages.

“Sir, how many times do we need to go over this. I’m doing well for myself,” she remarks, giving you a look that says I told you so. The evidence is right in front of you, written in bold. “C’mon sir. Just let me go early today.”

And that’s when you make your first of many mistakes—feeding her the attention she craves. Where’s this energy when it comes to your lectures, you wonder?

Before you even entertain the thought, the scene has already gone completely sideways. Here’s a student with zero regard for following rules, and you’ve experienced your fair share of troublemakers. She’s sitting on the desk, pale skin in plain view from the off shoulder cropped sweatshirt that barely qualifies for the dress code. You’re looking—and she’s keenly noticing.

“Maybe another time, sir?” Haewon reads your mind like an open book. She’s purposely dressing improperly for two reasons: to piss off the higher-ups who hate her guts, and to make it easier for you to rip through her clothes. “I’ve got dance practice with the theater girls and I’m running late.”

“Well for one, you can drop the honorifics,” you reply, plainly, in a particularly weak effort to change the conversation. The attention you give her is short-lived; your focus returns to the unanswered emails and grades you need to fill. “Class hours are done for the day.”

It’s evidently not the response she wanted, because her arms are crossed and she’s pouting. You have to admit, she looks cute acting like that, revealing clothes be damned.

“Sir.” Haewon drawls out into a groan, bothered by the monotony of waiting when she has places to be. She won’t go as far as to knock your laptop down, but she’s considering it as a last resort. “You’re being a bitch right now.”

Anyone else in her position would get it—a verbal lashing that would get your teaching license rescinded and take you to court, but Haewon is the epitome of getting away with murder. You have no idea how she does it—how she manages to escape mostly unscathed from punishment. Even now while you drum on the keyboard, because you’re allowing her to call you a bitch without consequence.

Maybe because you like her more than you would openly admit.

She sighs. It’s a defeatist tone. A few moments later, you close your laptop and she perks up.

“Take a seat. I do want to talk to you about something important,” you tell her, knowing one hundred percent certain she’s not getting off your desk.

Haewon can’t help herself to a snarky comment. “Damn. Finally.”

By every conceivable account, this should be awkward, if not outright wrong. She’s still an undergrad, you tell yourself, staring into her sharp, alluring eyes. For as rebellious and as unruly as Haewon acts, she still listens to you. Hell, you’re the only professor she bothers to attend classes regularly for. She’d tell you she cares in her own twisted way. Look at how she dresses, for one. Your thoughts consist of mainly her in some cumbersome position, her lips letting out these desperate, heavy gasps. Your hands squeezing her taut breasts; the way her shirt accentuates the curves of her chest drives your imagination wild. You can spend all day planning how you intend to fuck her—

“Sir, you’re staring again.” A snap back to the present, where she’s grinning and leaning close to your face. So pretty. “I get it—I’m hot, but we’re on borrowed time, sir.”

“Right. I honestly forgot what I was gonna tell you,” you mindlessly drawl, searching through your desk for something. Something to temporarily distract you from the inevitability of the end. The rest of your paperwork lies unattended in the faculty room, you remember, but you’re not gonna step foot inside that place—not when the other professors are still around. Time is money. “But it’s definitely not your grades, that’s for certain.”

“What’s it about, then?” Her eyes continue to follow your every move.

You place a folded sheet of paper between you. She grabs it and reads through the brief content. The response is concerning.

“You’re leaving?” Haewon turns to you, stunned and gobsmacked. A rare expression coming from someone who’s usually indifferent toward everything and everyone.

Genuinely, you have no idea how to explain yourself. You had this all planned out since the beginning of the year; these two semesters will be your last, you were completely certain. You could have told anyone in the faculty. They’re decent people—as decent as they can be during the few times you actually interact with them—but they were merely coworkers and nothing more. You could have told your wife, who just so happens to be a fellow professor and colleague, but she’s one of the reasons why you’re leaving in the first place.

Word spreads like wildfire around campus, so you know to be careful, but this is straight recklessness. You call it mutual trust.

“Been thinking about it for a while,” you say, rather quietly, trying your hardest not to look her way.

“Let me guess,” she says, breaking the pretense of sympathy and concern for her usual caustic tone. “No one cares about your shitty class?”

You’re not remotely bothered by her comment, even if she’s speaking the truth. Though she could have used a nicer word besides shitty. “Part of it, yeah.”

“I seriously don’t understand why there’s gotta be a religious unit for a business degree,” she adds, fascinated by her own question. Even more so than listening to your lectures. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it either.” Truthfully, you seriously question why you’re even teaching here to begin with.

You’re employed by one of the top universities in the country; every parent would sacrifice everything just for their children to study here. It pays well by teaching standards, but the bar is in hell. Despite the prestige, the overall experience is no different than your time in public high school. Most of the students who do attend come from rich backgrounds; people who use the place as a dick measuring contest to see who is the richer person. These entitled scholars who are always on their phone—one of their many phones—and cheat to get ahead.

It happens so often on the regular that you eventually stopped caring.

“Hmm,” Haewon thinks to herself, running through every piece of information she has to weaponize against you. She knows you better than anyone, mainly because you share personal life details like they’re the daily newspaper. Not to mention the very reason she comes to the classroom in the afternoons: you.

Then she comes to a rather off the wall conclusion. “It’s Miss Myoui, isn’t it?”

You squint your eyes. Haewon glints up. A small opening.

After a brief pause, she piles on, smirking. “Did I touch a nerve? Poor you,” she says, shooting you a mocking pout that you mostly ignore. “I guess you haven’t had some good pussy in a while. I mean, there’s no reason for me to be here other than the fact that Miss Myoui isn’t letting you clap her ass. Maybe the rumors are true then—”

Before she continues to spill more information that anyone shouldn’t be allowed to know, you fire back with a sharp glare. She cheekily grins. By ignoring the flashing red light right in front of you, you’re purposefully walking towards your own downfall. It’s a trap; you know this. You know Haewon more than any other student. All her little tricks, all her crafty schemes.

God, you can already see how this is gonna end.

“So I’m right?” Haewon tilts her head, leaning slightly forward. Her smug expression, word choice, and mocking tone tests your patience—including your blood levels—and you’re failing by the minute. “Trouble at home?”

Your response? Nothing. Going word for word with her ultimately results in a losing effort; previous conversations with her leave you more tongue tied and in a rut by the end. Haewon is so natural at getting under people’s skin. It’s what she gets off on—wrapping professors and superiors around her finger with her mouth. And more often than not, she’s charismatic and charming enough that it’s entertaining, but no one wants to openly admit it except you.

It’s how she’s able to read you like an open book. Let personal information slip so seamlessly. The numerous discussions regarding her underperformance in class lead into intimate sessions where you and Haewon become more acquainted with each other. A little too comfortable at times, but you can see where and why she acts the way she does. And you had come to the conclusion that you can’t fix her. Many have tried—and failed. She does whatever she wants, and she’ll end up getting away with it.

You slide your laptop aside, ready to dance with the devil, going against everything you swore against. “Mmm—not quite, but you’re halfway there.”

Haewon smiles and her eyes flutter. Not in a patronizing, condescending way, but the sweet kind. Genuine. The soft side she’ll only let you see. “Miss Myoui not letting you clap, sir?”

“She does,” you say, dour. And I already told you class hours are done. Please don’t call me sir.”

“Right. Sir.” Haewon’s playful tone trails off with that loathsome word. She can’t help but smirk; it’s second nature to her. She’ll claim that you fell for that bait, but that was deliberate, you’ll say—even if she refuses to believe you.

After a brief impasse, “So—sir,” she follows, using her eyebrows and cadence to tease, her hands on the edge of her pants, teasing some underwear, “You need to fuck me again? Now? Is Miss Myoui not letting you have some lately?”

Turning your gaze away and to the desk, “About Mina,” you reply, drumming your fingers on the table, deep in thought, “I’m planning to divorce her soon.”

“Huh?” Her eyes shoot wide, her expression rather surprised at the sudden revelation. You’d think by how she teases you about your wife, she’d have a much more subdued reaction. Considering she knows facets of your rather strange relationship with Mina. “Well, I would tell you’d be fumbling big time, but you should know—”

“She’s cheating on me. I know.”

Now she’s genuinely shocked, completely caught unaware. She’d assume you to be particularly naive and clueless about campus rumblings, especially since she’d never see you outside of the classroom and in the faculty room. “Well damn. I honestly thought you didn’t know.”

“Can’t say it would be the first time I’ve heard about it,” you say, turning to face her again, cold and gloomy. Pointing your finger at her, “And before you say anything, no, I didn’t catch her getting eaten out in the faculty room.”

You say that with the utmost sincerity—and sarcasm.

Haewon hesitates, before answering, rather “I figured.” She understands that your poor eyes have seen some things you shouldn’t be seeing.

Truthfully, you’re amazed she hasn’t brought up the subject a lot earlier. Since the end of the previous academic year, you’ve noticed Mina’s sudden changes in behavior. She’s sending more text messages telling you she’ll arrive home later than usual, the frequent faculty outings she chooses to attend, the cancellation of plans scheduled months in advance—the biggest of which, a dinner date at a particularly expensive five-star restaurant on the other side of town that has a notorious 18 month waitlist that you miraculously booked for your anniversary. And that was five months ago.

People change, but Mina is an entirely different person to you now. You can hardly recognize her.

“I guess I should say I’m sorry for what happened,” Haewon says, pretty modest and empathetic in tone, but even during serious moments, she can’t help but remark, “But you were kind of loser material for a woman like her.”

You can only stare back, annoyed. She chuckles, heartily. Seeing your animated, cartoonish expressions only serves to amuse her even further and fuel her addiction of teasing you.

“Ah, I fucking love you, sir. You’re my favorite professor for this reason.” In an instant, the somber facade falls apart and she’s back to being her usual coy self.

“Among other things?” you question.

“Such as?” Haewon looks confused. It’s a bluff; you’re calling it now. “Such as what, sir?”

Placing a hand on her knee, you’re creating friction so intense that her mouth goes agape and her breaths grow heavier. “Such as the fact that no one eats you out better than I do,” you reply, inflection transitioning from formal to low.

“Oh?” She doesn’t believe what’s happening to you. “Sir,” her cadence dances in such a melodic and sultry way it’s gonna ruin you faster than anything she’s done so far. “You have no evidence to prove—”

Suddenly, Haewon goes tongue tied, unable to finish her sentence. That’s a first. And you didn’t need to lift a finger or use your voice. Your other hand finds solace around her toned waist, exploring her tummy, and it’s thankfully not restricted by any layer of clothing. So much pristine skin to claim as yours, you begin to lose your restraint—and there isn’t much left to begin with.

“I can take you to the faculty room and show you,” you mumble against her belly, the cold breath tickling her flesh that she trembles. Haewon’s senses float off, her vision growing dark as her hands impulsively latch onto your shoulders. In return, you peck her navel, her abs, until you reach her abdomen, a hair’s breadth away from her chest. Between kisses, you continue to feed into her want, “Or I can give you an example right now.”

“Please,” Haewon finds enough clarity to cup your face up and meet her in a lengthy passionate liplock. This is what she wanted from the start. “Indulge me, sir.”

The only thing keeping you two apart is the laptop dangling on the opposite side of the table, almost pushed aside while you were making out. You quickly place it on a random desk before closing the two classroom door curtains.

When you return to Haewon, she’s sitting atop your desk, playfully swinging her legs, smiling modestly. It’s only now that you recognize how pretty she looks. But behind that meek appearance is a demon, a temptress that only sees you as a conduit for pleasure. In her eyes, the only purpose you have to give is sex, and nothing more.

So push your chair forward when you sit down. Haewon’s legs are already spread wide, but the pants remain on them. She doesn’t like to do it herself.

“Won’t give me a cheating discount?” you say, looking up at her coy grin, placing your hands around the hem of her trousers.

“Technically—” she trails off, kissing you, “You’re cheating on her with me, sir.” Followed by another. Each one deeper, more intimate than the last. “Don’t act all innocent now, especially when we’ve been doing this for months.”

Then, Haewon consumes you—as in, devours you. Grabs you and makes out with you with a passion you wish she’d present during class hours. You’d be content to remain in this position for the rest of the day, even if the clothes never come off; he’s so passionate and fervent that it’s intoxicating. But it’s all planned. Elaborate. You’re familiar with her more than you ever want to be: how she loves to unbutton your shirt while kissing you, how she mumbles and hums softly against your mouth, how she whispers desires that end up becoming realized after the foreplay. In reality, she’s the one dictating the pace, the one calling all the shots, and you’re merely an instrument she uses to indulge herself.

And she wants it: everywhere, in every position—something you find too much to handle, and she’s already quite the handful. But it’s merely a delay of the inevitable; you’re going to fuck Haewon, you’re gonna pour all your cum inside her, and you can figure out the rest the morning after.

More often than not, your shirt ends up unbuttoned, but not completely undone. One of two layers keeping your impulsive desires in check. As you work Haewon’s pants down her legs, most of your lesser instincts are shown in full display. It takes almost tearing your own fingers off your very hands not to rip through her panties. Meanwhile, she’s lounging on the desk, enjoying the sight of you reverting back to something primal.

The way you fondle her creamy thighs, never finding their beginning and end, is like beholding a sculpture crafted by the gods. They’re meant to be worshiped, to be handled reverently.

And Haewon guides you through the process, commanding you like she has authority over you. Titles do not matter—they never have. “Keep going,” she says, as you leave delicate kiss marks down her thighs, slowly burying yourself into the inviting presence of her pussy. Peeking through the near-nonexistent layer of fabric, she shifts the lift of her legs, perching on your shoulders as she forces you into her suffocating warmth.

“Show me,” she gasps, brushing your hair with her hand, and that’s what sets the rest into motion.

Her legs clutch you into a breathless hold. God, she’s killing you slowly, and you don’t mind it one bit. At this point, you have nothing to lose. You might as well treat this as your last supper, your final meal before you have to say goodbye. She can strangle you with her thighs while you drag your tongue up and down her folds, suck on her clit, take in all her nectar—it doesn’t change the fact that Haewon is gonna fucking end you.

You might as well repay the favor.

And despite throwing caution to the wind, Haewon appears unprepared. Dazed and confused by the overwhelming sensation burning through her nerves, she trembles—and moans. She couldn’t be any less subtle if she tried; hearing her hit notes you never thought she’s capable of hitting only serves to be a minor distraction from her pulsating heat. You’re relentless, slowly picking away at her senses, at her sensitive cunt, knowing that no one can eat her out as well as you do.

“S-sir.” Haewon can only muster up a single word before her mouth fills the room with nothing but air.

Deep down, you despise the rather obstructive yet comfortable position you’re in. Your tongue brushes against Haewon’s folds, going back and forth to taste of her warmth and her clit. The rest of her frame lays atop the desk, trembling, unable to keep herself steady under your grip. She’s lost you somewhere in between, clinging onto the edges of the table for support. You can only imagine her jaw agape, her expressions twisting in pleasure, wriggling and tossing her head around as she aimlessly tries to find some semblance of control.

Her mouth is the only tool she can use to make some sense of this overwhelming bliss. And even that doesn’t amount to much. ‘Shit,’ ‘so good,’ ‘don’t stop—’ these are only some of the things she groans out as you trap her in a whirlpool of her own ecstasy. It’s still not enough. You want to prove her wrong; you want to remind her what’s important, and the only way you can make sure she truly understands if she fucking cums all over your face.

So while Haewon writhes and makes a damn mess of your desk, you continue to feast on her pretty cunt. She’s making sure every person in the building knows how good your tongue is, and it’s in character with how unabashedly shameless she behaves in front of everyone. Her legs kick sharply against your chair, so you end up where you were supposed to be from the beginning—on your knees. And yet it doesn’t deter you; if anything, you grow more attached to her pussy, savoring every taste and drop, taking piece of every little part of her as yours.

You can’t wait to explore the rest of her body and claim it as yours. On the off chance you’re able to rip her shirt off, your hands roam her tight, lithe figure. You’re met by layers of fabric, frustrated at the inability to grab her breasts in their natural form. She grabs you by the wrists; it’s a miracle she’s able to feel you through the waves crushing her to the desk. You suck on her clit hard. She lets out this guttural moan that sounds violent in nature, like you’re hurting her, when you’re actually doing the exact opposite.

And it’s how you play off each other for the most part. Your need to get Haewon naked is only matched by her desperation to cum. She doesn’t need to tell you directly how much she wants to. Her hands guide you beneath her shirt, and you press on the underside of her boobs in appreciation. You’re playing a dangerous game; you have no intention of letting go.

Surprisingly, Haewon holds up well. One look and it might appear that she’s a complete wreck: how her body trembles unceasingly, how she has half her shirt lifted to give you a better view of her chest for when you eventually come up for air, how helpless she is at even the slightest touch. You made her like this. It’s a habit she’s used to by now; she’s learned that a figure like hers is meant to be admired, to be used.

Before you grow comfortable with the habit, the idea that you can eat her out on the desk for hours, Haewon cums.

She keens and shudders through her surprise orgasm. It’s aligned with her playful nature to cum without your knowing, even though the signs were there all along. Your tongue works through the torrent of fluid, then the wave of slick that you drink up. Lap whatever your satiated bud allows. You can see remnants of her climax spill down the desk and to the floor, to her pants.

Even now, you’re still learning something new about your students. For one, you never knew Haewon squirts.

The wet desk would make for a perfect reference picture for when she questions your legitimacy again—but you have better ways of explaining yourself.

You give Haewon no reprieve; she mewls and whimpers as you lick her folds clean, till you settle into soft, gentle kisses. The situation is all sorts of fucked; she has places to be and friends to meet, but you have her on top of your desk, keening after eating her out and making her cum without a care. It’s gonna take an essay's worth of explaining the glaringly wet patches on her clothes and deep red marks over her skin.

Truthfully, she’d rather be with you than with her overbearing friends—but you won’t hear it directly from her lips.

Speaking of, you hear a phone ring. Haewon cranes her neck in the direction of her bag. “Sir, I need my phone.” She huffs, gasping for air, each word spaced out between deep breaths.

Regretfully, it takes every bit of your resolve to release your tongue from her warm cunt. You rummage through her bag and hand the phone over to her. It’s about picking up the pieces now, salvaging whatever you can make of the mess you made, albeit there’s hardly anything to save, even yourself.

“Don’t.” Haewon uses her loose toes to point at you, shifting herself into a sitting position on the desk. You’re halfway done with the first button on your shirt when she stops you. She’s tapping through her phone, texting some bullshit excuse to her friends. Knowing her, they’re most likely no better than her; they might be playing into your little secret, too. All it takes is one person, one word of mouth, before information spreads around like wildfire.

Like everything else about her, you had mostly left it up to interpretation. Forcing details out of Haewon is a near-impossible task. You were never really a good negotiator. The deal usually ends up like this: her panties for a bonus in her grades, her lips for a signed excuse letter, and if she was really in the mood, her pussy for a cheat sheet. Sometimes,

She sets her phone aside on the desk, hopping off the table to lay her hands on your exposed chest. Momentarily kissing you, she whispers, “Sir, I told them I would be a little late today. You should know better by now.”

Her fingers wring around the collar of your button up shirt, eyes ablaze with reinvigorated lust, lips curled in a pleasant smile. You’re so enamored with her, it drives you crazy. Even when she pushes you onto your chair, even when she rips the already undone shirt off your body, all you can do is pay attention to the stars in her eyes. Her warm, wanton gaze—both charming and alluring in all the right ways. She knows how to use every part of herself to near perfection.

The rest of your clothes couldn’t come off any faster. Your pants and boxers pool around your ankles, followed shortly by a dark cropped sweatshirt. You’re not given any time to savor the perfection that is Haewon’s naked figure; she’s straddled on your lap, stroking your hard cock with a delicate grip. She smirks, and she has every right to look smug. You’re left breathless, under pressure; if only you can see yourself in the mirror and see how needy you look, and the utter control Haewon has over you.

And you allow her; this is her specialty, this is what she’s built for—to fucking end you.

If your words allow you, you’d command her to get on her knees, suck your cock and take a warm load all over her face; this is the ideal position to make the move. But you can’t. Not when you’re missing the point.

Haewon is on the edge of your lap, running her hand around your cock, gathering spurts of precum on her nails and finger pads. She’s still winded from before, slow in her movements. The naughty look she gives your body never grows old.

“I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a question,” she starts, looking down at the little mess she’s making on your thigh. You’re too overwhelmed to breathe, let alone say a word.

“Be honest with me. I’m being serious for once.”

And she sounds like she means it. You gulp your throat as you enter the unknown.

Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, her expression deep in thought, something she’s not usually seen doing. And you feel the heat gradually building on your lap, but you’re paralyzed by anxiety for the sensation to register. She runs the other hand through hair to take a good luck at you: your rather sweaty face, somewhere between pleasure and tense.

“Tell me,” she sighs, running a hand down your shoulder to your elbow, before continuing, “Am I the best student you’ve ever fucked?”

“Yes.” The word comes out involuntarily, as if it were muscle memory. Like your body knows, and it knows itself better than anyone or anything else.

It draws a piqued reaction from Haewon. She raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “And what about Yoona?”

“And what about her?”

A reply you end up regretting almost immediately. Haewon doesn’t take bullshit for an answer, as evident by the cold, dour stare on her face. If there’s anyone who knows the ins and outs of university, it’s her.

It doesn’t take long for you to cave in. “She’s so tight,” you admit, sounding like a guilty criminal being interrogated. “But you’re still the best, I swear.”

“And what about Yuna? That exchange student Lily? Miss Minatozaki? You say that to just about anyone.”

In an instant, she goes from curious and passionate to downright frightening. It’s not supposed to be like this; normally it’s you who has the authority. Haewon can go on and on for hours if she wanted to. She has all the leverage, all the evidence, all the power to cause the end of everything, your life included. But she only wants one thing: the truth.

“They’re nothing compared to you. Promise. You’re still my favorite student.”

To a certain extent, you’re right; Haewon is your favorite, but for all for the wrong reasons. It has nothing to do with teaching her anything other than being a good toy, because deep down, she’s about as irredeemable as your peers make her out to be. Really, it’s about using her body, fucking her, pushing her to the absolute limits—anything to get your mind out of the numbing, monotonous work of being an actual professor. There are many good girls in class, including the names she mentions in passing, but this is a stark reminder that Haewon is yours, and you belong to Haewon.

“Then show me.”

And to drive the point even further, she sinks down on your lap, pressing her weight on your crotch—until her pussy meets your cock and you both disappear into the sea of pleasure again.

Haewon throws her head back, and she’s never looked more vulnerable, not even when you had her laid out on the desk. All this flesh and body to claim, and you have no clue where to begin. But that’s the least of your problems when she begins to glide up and down, rocking your lap with slow, agonizing thrusts. You end up blanking out and caring about the friction in your hips instead.

The slip of your cock in and out of her pussy when she rides you. Your palms press against her waist while you watch her slowly come undone: the moans, curses, and every sound in between, the rapidly twisting expressions, the hypnotic jiggle of her chest. Soon, you find a steady rhythm to match, and everything becomes effortless. Both of you pushing and pulling against each other’s bodies in an effort to get deeper. You forget you’re a professor and her a student, only two souls in need of sex during some trying times in your lives.

In a way, you’re both meant to be. Fate is a strange entity.

Then Haewon regains some clarity, enough to be kissing you, moaning directly in your ear, demanding your gaze. Even when her hole swallows your cock, she still wants your attention. And even while you have it so deep in her cunt that she’s mewling, struggling for oxygen, she manages to form a coherent sentence.

“Tell me I’m the tightest. Tell me I have the best pussy you ever fucked.”

God, she’s so fucking tight you can’t fully comprehend it. Perhaps even more, and you’re used to using her. Maybe it’s all that pent-up frustration toward your dead end job, toward Mina, that makes her clench tighter. That’s now how pussy works; you’re just stretching her out really hard, but you have nothing sensible to conclude with. What you can tell, however, is that you needed this—and you needed it badly.

You’re thankful you closed off the doors and curtains to the classroom, because the last thing anyone needs to see and hear is the sight of Haewon riding you while you both moan about how good the other feels.

“Love this pussy,” you murmur, breathing against her collarbone, wanting a taste of her taut nipple. She has you in a tight bearhug that binds your hands around her waist. “Fuck—so—fucking—tight—the best—”

And that’s all she needed to hear. Every word—every sound—slips from her lips like it hurts, but she’s in total bliss. She moves her hips against the roll of your cock with deep emphasis, like fitting puzzle pieces together, and it sends you. You’re left even more breathless, more in awe at how fucking well Haewon takes your length. As if it was always meant for her.

Curses and praise aside, she’s never one to talk during sex. But then she makes the faintest comment about how your cock fits so snug inside her, and you honestly just lose it.

Once in a while, a certain inquiry is brought up. What’s your favorite thing about me, Haewon asks, when it’s supposed to be the opposite. You’re supposed to give out this very question to your students as a way to improve your teaching style and maybe come off as an approachable authority figure. As expected, it wasn’t helpful in the slightest. She then would suddenly come to you at the most random of times with this particular question, and you’d be preoccupied with numerous things—home life, school activities, the usual—to find an answer.

But right there, right as you spear deep into her tight, needy cunt, is where you figure it all out. It’s all in the little details. Your hand going up and down her arched back. The squelching of her pussy against your cock. The furious sound of your flesh slapping against hers. Her loose, shrilly whines while you bury your face between her chest, begging you harder. Her hands tangled with your hair and nape. All that while she’s bouncing on your lap at such a feverish pace; she’s going to break the chair you’re sitting on.

Before you know it, your tongue has traveled all over the most sensitive parts of her body: nipples, neck, and even pits.

Everything about Haewon is so ridiculous, you can’t believe how much of a challenge she has been for the longest time that you’ve forgotten how easily she folds. Like she’s meant to be used.

But no punishment is suitable enough; no amount of discipline can change her. If anything, it only fuels her goal to thread the needle even further.

“Gonna fucking cum, Haewon,” you hiss against her ear, blurring the line between kissing and biting her collarbone. Using all the strength in your hips, you have her legs spread as wide as they can over the chair, over your thighs. The squirt she releases as she crashes on your lap serves to fan the flames in your cock even brighter. It’s all but inevitable that you’ll pour it all inside her, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.

If you had any semblance of a spine, you’d never let her hear the end of it. The idea that her pussy isn’t getting its fair share of seed disgusts her. She needs to learn what boundaries are, and how not to cross said lines. At least there’s one lesson you can impart on her before you split, but you’ll save that for another day, because you cum.

You fuck Haewon so hard, she turns into mush that melts in your grasp. Forget the guttural groan you made; the aftermath is alarming. Her pussy drips with a huge load pooling on the chair and trickling down her thighs. You make sure you bury yourself to the hilt and unload inside her. The evidence is undeniable; from the smell to the sight of clothes and cum, there’s no concealing it—if there was even anything to hide, because your salacious activity could easily be heard anywhere in the building.

And lost in the madness is your train of thought; your body is reeling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you simply idle. Let your cock stay in Haewon’s warmth as long as possible. Let the setting sun bathe her pretty face in that lovely afterglow. Let her slowly recover and realize that you’ve been right all along about everything.

“Sir, you came inside me a lot,” she says, a little over a whisper, trying to take record of your work. Her eyes stay glued to the puddle of cum dripping down her leg, running a finger to taste you.

“For my favorite student, why wouldn’t I,” you tell her, caressing your hand up and down her back. Even through the climax, you never stopped.

The brief, peaceful respite is interrupted by, you guessed it, another phone. This time, it’s not Haewon’s. She moves gingerly bending down, almost tumbling over in an attempt to retrieve your phone from the depths of your pocket. Your only contribution is ensuring she doesn’t bash her head on the floor.

“Well, well, well,” she comments, looking at your phone with a familiar, sarcastic tone before handing it over to you. “Speak of the devil.”

On the screen are two missed calls and one new text, all from none other than Mina herself. A grim reminder of the reality you live in.

The message is as predictable as it reads. She won’t be home till late in the evening, which might as well be dawn of the next day.

“Miss Myoui is getting it. A hundred percent sure.”

She delivers it with such conviction that it might as well be fact. You’d be upset about the very thought—anyone would—but a glance at Haewon gives you an idea. One that leaves her curious.

“Sir? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You can already imagine it: the image of railing Haewon everywhere. On the table, against the wall, under the showers. Maybe if you’re lucky enough, Mina will go through that door and be greeted by the sight of her least favorite student getting fucked by her husband from behind.

You show her the text, and just like that, you’re both one and the same. A look of pride crosses her face, as if she’s accomplished an important milestone—and it’s quite a momentous one.

And what better way to celebrate than inside the comfort of your home.

—————

(A/N: Been down bad for Haewon since December. Also, NMIXX is actually good now! Their latest EP has some bangers, highly recommend Run for Roses and Passionfruit. The setting might be a bit more on the bleaker/less wholesome side, but I hope it's not uncomfortable/upsetting. Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #nmixx #haewon

940 notes · View notes

devildom-moss · 2 months

Text

Signs of Affection (kiss)

Part 2 of this request (Lucifer, Leviathan, Diavolo, Barbatos, and Simeon)

(Mammon x gn!MC) (Satan x gn!MC) (Asmodeus x gn!MC) (Belphegor x gn!MC) (Solomon x gn!MC)

(Suggestive)

Word Count: +4,100 (we aren't going to talk about the size difference between these shorts okay?)

Mammon

“Geez, that sucked. Two hours of silent studyin’ for an F? I got a different F for that guy: a big ‘fuck you,’” Mammon grumbled to himself with his hands folded behind his head as he walked out of his mandatory extra lessons – or rather, they could have been classified as lessons if he had actually learned anything. Instead, Mammon spent the first 5 minutes trying to read one paragraph four times and the next 3 minutes trying to read the following paragraph before he became acutely aware that the supervising professor for today was watching him. He was clearly disappointed and judgmental of Mammon’s ongoing failure to turn the page. For the rest of his lesson, Mammon alternated between daydreaming about you – twisting your image in his head into a variety of different scenarios from innocent dates to the most depraved acts – and counting how many times he could spot the first letter of your name on the page. At least with the latter, it looked like he was reading.

“Mammon! How was delinquent rehab?” you teased him from your spot on the bench outside of the class.

Mammon shrieked and jumped. “W-what the fuck are ya doin’ here?!”

“MAMMON!” The supervisor poked his head out of the door. “Stop yelling in the hall and go home before I decide to keep you for another hour.”

“Sorry, that was my fault, Professor Amy. I startled him.” You stood up and bowed slightly, hoping the astronomy – and somehow, simultaneously, art – professor would go easy on Mammon if you took the heat.

“Oh, it’s you.” You were right to hope; Amy’s tone instantly softened. “If you’re on your way home, please take this loudmouth with you.”

“Who ya callin’ a loudmouth, man?” Mammon growled. You cupped your hand over his mouth; better late than never.

“Yes, I’ll be on my way now. I was just waiting for Mammon to finish his lessons.”

“Does being an idiot pay off after all?” Amy mused aloud – mostly to annoy the muzzled Mammon. “Very well. Be safe on your way home.”

“Alright, thank you, sir.” You smiled at him and began to drag Mammon down the hall. You only uncovered his mouth once the professor had gone back inside, and you were safely out of earshot.

“’Thank you, sir,’” Mammon mocked you. “Fuck was all that? You ain’t fuckin’ that teacher now are ya?”

“No, you pervert. It’s called being polite. You’d probably get in less trouble if you tried it with a few of your professors.”

“What’cha doin’ bein’ all polite to him for, anyway? Guy’s not even a good teacher, and he clearly has a human kink. Just stay away from him.”

“I almost never talk to him outside of our classes.” You rolled your eyes at Mammon. His jealousy had been excessive recently. As a slight punishment, you decided to tease him. “And why do you know so much about human kinks that you can recognize it in someone else?”

“Shuddup. It ain’t like that!”

“Like what?”

“I don’t have a human kink or nothing,” Mammon yelled. His cheeks burned, and he blurted out, “it’s only you.”

“Sorry, what was that?” you teased, biting back your smile.

“I didn’t say shit. Forget it.” Mammon crossed his arms as he picked up his speed just enough to walk ahead of you, hoping to avoid showing you the blush that stained his face.

“Okay, Mammon.” You dropped it, allowing him a bit of his dignity.

You both walked in silence for a minute until, finally, Mammon slowed down and started to walk beside you again. His blush had calmed. He glanced to the side briefly, trying not to draw your attention, but you noticed and smiled at him. Why do ya always look so cute ‘n happy when you’re walkin’ home with me, huh? What gives? Mammon wondered. If something as simple as walking home could make you smile like that, you were going to start charming demons left and right, and Mammon had no intention of sharing any more of you than he had to. That’s why he was so annoyed by you being nice to that professor. Just thinking about the way that demon’s face softened around you was pissing him off.

Suddenly, Mammon remembered what you had said, and his cheeks reignited in a faint blush. Nervous and masking his shyness with aggression, Mammon asked, “Hey, were ya serious about that back there – about just waitin’ for me to get out?”

“Yeah, of course I was.”

“For real? Ya waited two whole hours?”

“For my favorite hole? Yeah.” You smirked.

“Shuddup!” Mammon’s face burned. “Now who’s bein’ a perv?!”

“At least we’re even.” You smiled sweetly, as if you hadn’t just said something so vulgar – on a public street, no less.

Mammon stopped in his tracks, confidence surging in him. You stopped and looked back, confused. He grinned. “Ya must really love the Great Mammon, huh?”

“Sure do,” you readily agreed.

“I knew it!” Mammon pronounced – as if the occasional doubt had never wandered into his head. While he still had the courage to act, Mammon grabbed the sides of your face and quickly placed a kiss on your cheek. He whispered in your ear, “Thanks for bein’ so sweet to me, MC.”

Before you could register what had just happened, Mammon took off running towards the House of Lamentation. He pulled out his phone, skillfully dodging random obstacles and other demons as he appeared to start typing something. Seconds later, your D.D.D. buzzed.

Mammon: First one home gets a real kiss from the loser. Deal?

You laughed and stared down the street, watching as Mammon increased the distance between you. There was no way you were going to catch up to him.

MC: Deal. 💛

Satan

Satan was utterly thrilled when he found out the library had finally received the book that he requested two months ago. He insisted upon checking it out immediately after class, and since you had studying to do anyway, you went along with him.

With his new book acquired, Satan joined you at the small table you had settled into and began to read. However, his attention’s lifespan was uncharacteristically short despite his initial excitement. Satan’s eyes wandered away from the page, drifting up to you. Each time he tried to refocus on the book, his gaze punished him for a failure to indulge himself by lingering on you.

Few things enticed Satan more than you – especially when you got that serious look on your face. He had tried to keep reading too many times to keep track of, and now he couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away from you again. So, he just sat there, watching you read over your notes, recopying the most relevant points on a fresh sheet of paper. You were being so diligent.

One of the awful things about demons is that the alarm bells that go off in your head when you think someone is watching you are stronger and scarier when that someone is a powerful demon – and the fear your innate human senses created under the predatory gaze of a demon like Satan, whose sin was a destructive and devastating wrath, was intense. It sent a shiver up your spine, and when you looked up to find Satan’s eyes locked on your face, you jumped in your seat slightly. He didn’t need to look so hungry.

“Please stop staring, Satan.” You looked away, trying to turn your attention back to your studies.

“You don't want me to stare at you?” Satan got out of his seat across the table and took the spot right next to you. He propped his chin up in his hand and stared at you up close, eyeing you up and down with a smug grin on his face. “I want to. What's the problem?"

“It’s a bit distracting to have your eyes on me.” That was at least mostly true. There was no need to mention he was also turning you on in public. “I’d rather you not just stare at me.”

“Is that all?” Satan laughed. “You don’t want me to just stare? Very well.”

Satan leaned in, slowly shutting his eyes, and kissed your cheek. His warm lips lingered on your skin and his hot breath tickled. You could feel another chill run up your spine when his eyes fluttered back open. Even when he pulled back, his mouth hovered just over your cheek.

Another set of eyes landed on you. From a few aisles away, another library regular was stunned in their spot, mortified to have witnessed the Avatar of Wrath kissing a human in the library – not that they hadn’t seen worse. They gave you an awkward wave before turning and walking in the opposite direction, abandoning the book they had been searching for.

“Satan,” you chided him.

“What?” Satan hummed, inching closer to your ear, and whispered, “Do you still want more?”

“Someone saw.” You felt a bit guilty about it, too. Their embarrassment matched yours; in fact, it may have been even worse. “Why did you kiss me?”

“I wanted to. And who cares if someone saw? What are they going to do about a kiss on the cheek? It’s fine.” Satan placed another kiss on your cheek before returning to whisper seductively in your ear, “Besides, we’ve done worse. Don’t act so shy and innocent now. Do you need a reminder of all the things we’ve done – or perhaps you’d prefer a physical demonstration?”

What did you do to deserve this? You were just trying to study.

Asmodeus

“You weren’t waiting too long for moi, were you?” Asmo rushed to the table that you had grabbed when you arrived. He had a grin on his lips, but that charming smile was a cover for the guilt and anxiety he felt about being fifteen minutes late for your date. He couldn’t figure out which pair of socks to wear to complement his boots and skirt – and in the end, he just ended up pulling on a pair of lace stockings. Usually, Asmo didn’t care if he was a little late, but the idea of leaving you all alone in a demon-infested night café didn’t sit well with him.

“I would have happily waited much longer – especially when you show up, looking this cute.” You smiled at him sweetly, and every inch of Asmo’s body burned.

“Ooh, you little charmer.” Asmo giggled. “Did you order yet?”

“Of course not; I wanted to wait for you.”

“Such an obedient human,” Asmo teased, leaning over the table and resting his chin on his hand. He stared at you affectionately.

“I’ve never been called that in my life.” You laughed, and that only made Asmo happier to have said it.

“Want me to go up and order? Just tell me what you want – other than me, of course.” Asmo got to his feet and waited patiently for you to relay your order. With a smile and a wink, Asmo booped your nose. “Excellent. Now make sure to enjoy the view.”

Before you could question him, Asmo spun around and walked toward the register. Each step was a deliberate effort to draw your attention to his legs and ass. Oh. That view. Asmo was a hopeless flirt, but he was awfully sweet, too. Besides, you couldn’t deny that it was a good view.

Unfortunately, as Asmo returned from placing the order, he was faced with the irritating realization that he was not the only view in the café. He caught a handful of demons leering at you – and one of them appeared to be approaching. Not on Asmo’s expensive, crystal watch. He hurried back to the table just in time to cut off the tall demon, placing his delicate hand over your shoulder possessively. With a haunting smile, Asmo stared them down. He announced – more to the other demon than to you, “I’m back, hun. Did you miss me?”

A shiver ran up the demon’s spine, and their eyes went wide. They weren’t about to square up with Asmodeus over a human – not after all the rumors they had heard about bloodlust being stronger in lust demons than those ruled by wrath. The demon awkwardly tried to escape by blurting out, “enjoy your date.”

The demon scurried away quickly, and you looked up at Asmo just in time for his menacing aura to dissipate. “That was weird, right?”

“Some people just can’t act right around cuties.” Asmo dismissed your worry with a lighthearted laugh.

“So, you get that a lot?”

“Sometimes, but I don’t mean me.” Asmo leaned down to whisper in your ear, “You’re so cute it’s drawing attention.”

“I’m not as cute as you, though.” You smiled. “Now, sit down with me.”

“Actually, I was hoping we could snap a few pictures first. Do you mind?”

“Sure, I guess.” You shrugged and started to stand, but Asmo used his hand that was still resting on your shoulder to push you back down into your seat.

“No need to get up,” Asmo cooed. He took a step back and leaned over your chair so he could get right next to your face and drape his arms over you. “This position is perfect.”

Asmo snapped a few pictures. With each one, he seemed to get closer until his cheek was pressed to yours affectionately. He asked you to make a half heart with your hand and completed it with his own. Then, catching you off guard, Asmo kissed your cheek tenderly, waiting a few seconds before finally snapping a picture. He immediately pulled his phone back and stood up to discreetly examine the photo. The shit-eating grin on his face spoke for itself. He was all too pleased with it.

“What was that?” You scoffed. You probably should have anticipated that level of physical affection from Asmo, but sometimes, he still surprised you.

“Hmm? Isn’t it obvious?” Asmo looked down at you, innocently tilting his head. “I had to mark my territory.”

“What?” Your eyes widened. Sure, Asmo was always teasing you and flirting, but you hadn’t quite expected that answer. Asmo giggled and bent over, getting indecently close to your neck.

“I had to mark you,” he repeated in a low, seductive tone. “Would you rather I leave a hickey on your neck right now instead? I’d be happy to.”

“Just be a good boy and sit down.” You sighed. It wasn’t that embarrassing, but all you could do was imagine Lucifer’s voice scolding you for indulging Asmo too much in public.

“Ooh, I do want to be your good boy. Okay.” Asmo grinned, biting back the urge to call you one of a myriad of unacceptable titles, and returned to his seat across from you. He pulled his phone out and started messing with it. “See, I’m behaving.”

You laughed. Something told you that he was not, in fact, behaving. It only took a few minutes of mindless chatting while he continued tapping away at his phone – a habit you were so accustomed to that it usually didn’t strike you as rude – for your suspicion to be confirmed.

Your D.D.D. buzzed with an alert from Asmo’s Devilgram. He posted the picture of him kissing your cheek with a pink heart emoji covering your face – for the sake of your privacy. That was decent of him. You smiled softly, certain that Asmo was watching you. It already had over 6k likes by the time you scrolled down to read the caption: Ugh. My date is so cute that they’re attracting all sorts of attention. No one else deserves to see that cute face tonight but moi~ What do you think, everyone, should I mark them for myself?

Asmo was spared a playful lecture when his name was called at the counter. You got up to help him carry the drinks and food back to your table. The barista seemed to be staring at you, but when Asmo put his finger up to his lips, they got flustered and looked away, returning to their work. Covering your face in the picture served another purpose: Asmo was hiding the gloss mark he left on your cheek. You didn’t need to know about it yet.

Belphegor

Belphie was lucky that you had chosen to sit in the back of the lecture hall where he could comfortably lean up against your shoulder and fall asleep without immediate repercussions. At least he was polite enough to nap on the shoulder for your non-dominant hand so you could continue to take notes as you listened to the lecture. Occasionally, you glanced down at his sleeping face; he looked so sweet, peaceful, and adorable.

The clock ticked down the few remaining minutes of the lecture, which was your cue to begin the wake-up process. Although Belphegor seldom cared what his brothers or the professor thought about him using you as a pillow during class, you found that it was easier to just wake him up before the complaints came rolling in. You set your pen down, pet Belphie gently, and whispered his name so that only he would hear you. A soft moan left him, and he nuzzled into your arm before leisurely opening his eyes with a content smile.

“Good morning, MC.” Belphie whispered into your ear.

Reluctantly, Belphegor forced himself upright and away from the warmth of your body just in time for the lecture to be dismissed. The professor and other students gathered their things and collectively made their way towards the doors. You, however, waited on Belphegor to shake off his nap and get to his feet.

“C’mon, MC. Catch up,” Mammon shouted from the front of the class.

“Give us a second,” you replied at a lower volume.

“Man, you two are so slow. I ain’t waitin’ around forever.” Mammon groaned and made his way slowly towards the door.

“He would know slow,” Belphie muttered just loud enough for you to hear as he stood up.

“Belphie,” you chided him, but your tone went ignored.

“Hey, can I borrow your notes later? Maybe we could review together.” There was a soft, sweet neediness in Belphie’s voice.

“Didn’t you catch the lecture in your sleep like you usually do?” Sometimes Belphie’s ability to remember things that happened around him while he was asleep creeped you out. He was like an unassuming monitoring device if he wanted to be.

“Indulge me.” Belphie knocked his shoulder against yours playfully.

“I always do, don’t I?” You sighed. That was the unfortunate effect he had on you: you always found yourself spoiling him, even when he didn’t deserve it – or rather, especially when he didn’t.

You were just about to walk into the hall when Belphie grabbed your hand and pulled you back into the classroom before the others spotted you. He played with your hand, caressing you with his thumbs. His cheeks were stained light pink as his eyes flitted from your hand to your face.

“What’s the matter, Bel?”

Belphie closed the distance between you, springing forward to kiss your cheek. The sudden movement surprised you, but it wasn’t especially shocking; Belphegor had always been physically affectionate. He inched closer, causing his hot breath to ghost over your skin. His lips curved into a precious grin as he whispered in your ear: “Thank you for always spoiling me.”

The honey-sweet tone of Belphie’s voice was undercut by a sharp yell from the corner of the room. “I saw that.”

It was Solomon. He stopped shoving his books into his bag to glare at the back of Belphegor’s head. Unfortunately for Solomon, Belphie wasn’t bothered; he simply rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“Cool shit, bro.” Belphie replied in a condescending tone and lifted his arm up in the air to flip Solomon off. You watched Solomon’s jaw drop slightly as he physically recoiled. Sometimes Solomon forgot how rude Belphegor could be. It was hard not to laugh, but you really shouldn’t encourage his bad behavior by laughing. “Come on, MC. Let’s go.”

Belphie grabbed your arm and dragged you into the hall. He was attached, and he had no intention of letting you go anytime soon. In fact, he planned to stay glued to your side until his desire for your attention was fully satisfied.

Solomon

The warmth of Solomon’s hands as he caressed your cheek was nothing compared to the warmth of his praise and your own pride swelling in your chest. Solomon hummed, “You did such a good job.”

You had successfully used a heating spell on the first try, evidenced by the warmth in Solomon’s previously cold hands. It had been a while since you got a spell that Solomon taught you perfect right away – let alone one that required you to manipulate another person’s body (and you could worry about the ethical dilemma involved with that later). Neither of you had expected you to raise his body temperature at such an ideal rate and stop at the perfect temperature. Of course, Solomon trusted you not to hurt him, but he was impressed by your control. He wanted to test you further.

“Excellent. Let’s try something similar.” Solomon began to search his shelves for the right ingredients. He continued to talk as he scanned, “I want to see if you can cool down an external object with the same level of control. If you can do it, I’ll reward you.”

“Bring it on,” you accepted. Solomon offered you plenty of praise when you did well, but he so rarely gave you an actual reward for your work. It was exciting to imagine what you could earn. Maybe he would teach you a cool, secret spell or give you a magical item. But more motivating than a reward was the idea of making Solomon proud.

“That’s my apprentice – so eager,” he mused, grabbing a bottle of glowing red liquid.

“Oh, but no home cooking as a reward,” you added, sparing your future self from potential suffering.

Solomon whipped his head around with a pout before returning to his search. He found a beaker and brought everything to his desk. By then, the pout had reshaped itself into a smirk. “I didn’t have cooking in mind when I offered you a reward, so it looks like we have a deal.”

Solomon poured plain water and the glowing red liquid into the beaker. They failed to mix. You asked, “What do I have to do?”

It was simple – or at least that was what Solomon said. All you had to do was cool the contents of the container between 32 to 36 degrees below the freezing point of water. If the red substance dipped under 36 degrees below the freezing point of water, it would become unstable. If you failed, the ice and glass would break open. Solomon didn’t tell you anything about the red substance or what “unstable” meant for it. All you knew was that you had a four-degree margin of error.

“And you’re sure it’s safe?”

“I wouldn’t put my favorite apprentice in danger for a game, would I?”

With that reassurance, you focused your magic into the beaker. As the water slowly solidified, the red liquid became concentrated at the center until it was encased in ice. You just had to keep lowering it until something felt right. You stopped and nodded. Solomon inspected the beaker.

“A beautiful job,” Solomon praised you.

“Really? What did I do though?”

“I’ll tell you once the ice melts,” Solomon waved off your curiosity. “For now, it’s time for your reward. Close your eyes.”

You did as he instructed and listened to him moving about the room. His presence got closer until you could feel his warmth. He placed a soft kiss on your cheek, causing your eyes to shoot open and your face to burn. Solomon chuckled at your response.

“I could feel your cheeks getting warm. Did I embarrass you?”

“No. I was just surprised.”

“Really?” Solomon leaned in and kissed your cheek again. “I don’t know. Your face burns under my lips.”

“You’re a terrible teacher,” you retorted. That wasn’t what you were expecting, of course he flustered you.

“Oh? That can’t possibly be true. My adorable apprentice seems to be doing quite well,” Solomon laughed, all too pleased with his successful attempt to tease you. “You learn so quickly. Should we try something even harder? Think you can handle it?”

There was a seductive tint to his words, and you narrowed your eyes at Solomon. “Same shady reward system? Pass.”

“Nope,” Solomon leaned close, trying to entice you. How were you just now noticing how sweet he smelled? Was he wearing perfume or cologne today? You didn’t have time to linger on the thought. Solomon dropped his voice, and through a wicked smirk, he added, “even shadier. If you succeed, I’ll do whatever you ask for a full day.”

“And if I fail?” you asked cautiously.

“I get to punish you.”

(gift version - Beelzebub, Thirteen, Raphael, Mephistopheles)

A/N: These ones got really flirty. . . oh well. Uhm, leave me nice comments or something. I don't know. I feel like I'm forgetting to say something. . .

#requests #gn!mc #mammon #satan #asmodeus #belphegor #solomon #obey me short fic #obey me #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #obey me solomon #oh and enjoy a new OC. . .don't let me bring him back unless y'all have a teacher kink or something...

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imyourbratzdoll · 4 months

Note

Could I request Jack sparrow x reader fluff?

hello, of course you can! I hope you enjoy what I've written, I added a tiny bit of angst, but I'm hoping it made the fluff even sweeter.

summary - jack had fallen in love once but had lost it. does he finally find it again?

warning - little bit of angst, mentions of alcohol and killing.

the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips (deactivated)

Captain Jack Sparrow had only ever fallen in love once. But the love was kept a secret as you weren’t human and it was dangerous for a pirate to love, especially your kind. There was something about you that pulled him in, connected the last piece of his puzzle, calmed the storm that brewed inside him. This love was beautiful, until the day you became hunted, causing you to flee and Jack to continue to search the seas. He’d always lie and come up with some insane quest, but the true quest was to reunite with his love again.

Years passed by and Jack soon began to lose hope, he didn’t dare stop searching for you. But he was beginning to think that maybe you didn’t escape in time or that you had moved on wherever you were. Jack is thrown out of his thoughts as the ship rocks, he steadies himself by gripping the wheel tight. “Mr Gibbs! What was that?!” His hand moves to play with the light blue seashell in his hair, at least he had something of yours close to him.

“I don’t know, sir!” Mr Gibbs runs over to the edge, looking over, his mouth opening and closing as he watches a tail splash above the water before going back down. “A siren! My gods, Captain!”

Jack dashes over, trying to hide his hopeful expression. What if it was you? He’d be thrilled, but he’s with his crew and they wouldn’t waste a second without going for the kill. “No, how many?” He leans over, brows raised, eyes wide and arms in the air.

“Just one as far as I’ve seen, Captain. What should we do?” Mr Gibbs looks at him, thankfully the rest of the crew were too busy with whatever they were doing to pay much attention.

Jack waves him off, “Just one? Is fine! We will head to shore, I’m in need of more rum anyway.” He heads back, hoping that it’s you and that you’d follow him to shore. Jack could feel his heart in his throat, maybe some rum would do some good.

They head to the closet land, no one speaks a word. Jack too lost in his thoughts and Mr Gibbs watching him closely, the older man wasn’t stupid. He had heard of the stories, the time that a pirate fell for a siren. He just didn’t know said pirate was his current Captain. When they finally reached land, Jack did something unexpected, he allowed everyone to go before him. Not racing off for booze or women, instead he headed off the ship and down to the beach. The sun had set, and the moon was rising, but Jack could still see clearly.

As he moved closer to a rock formation, he noticed someone sitting on top. Your hair falling beautifully as always, your eyes that were once bright were now slightly dull and the smile was replaced with a frown. “Y–Y/n? Is that you, love?”

You nod, “J–Jack…” You felt the sobs in your throat desperately wanting to come out.

Jack rushes forward, his hand grasping your cheek while his eyes studied you. His own tears flowing down his cheeks. “My siren, my mate. The years I’ve waited for you.” He seals your sobs with a kiss, eyes slipping closed as he embraces this feeling. “I’m never letting you go again, love. Never.”

Your hands feel his face and hair, they stop, and your fingers touch something familiar, your eyes move from his face and land on it. “You kept it…” You play with the seashell, remembering the day Jack had surprised you with a date on the beach and after you had eaten, you grabbed his hand and swam together. You remember popping your head up and handing him the pretty blue seashell, telling him that if you were ever apart that you would always be with him.

“Of course, I did, love. It was what kept me going.” He stares into your eyes with a gentle gaze.

Your hands stay on him, not wanting to stop touching him because then he might disappear again. “It’s been so long, I thought I lost you… I’ve been searching…” Your bottom lip trembles and your brows furrow. “I love you, Jack.”

“I love you, my siren. More than words could express.”

From behind and on the ship, Mr Gibbs smiles, raising a glass in the air before taking a sip. He was happy his Captain found his love again, thankful that his clues for you to find them finally worked.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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fict1onallyobsessed · 1 year

Text

Name me a Reason

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader f.t Soap

Code named ‘Salem’ by your teammates, you found yourself in a rather difficult situation with Ghost and Soap. Somehow you had to find a building, regroup with the guys and find a safe house. Easy, right? No because you get shot.

“Salem.” Soap whispered into the radio. You held the button for the radio, eyes wide in fear he was in trouble. None of you knew where the other was, not even Ghosts direction skills could lead either of you to him. There were people everywhere, civilians or what not, soldiers carrying guns, and you had to avoid everyone. You gave him the go ahead to speak, pausing all of your movements to look for any sign of Soap running away from gunfire. “You know your name means ‘peace’ in the Bible?”

You signed, returning your eye back into the scopes glass to look for any sign of Ghosts location nearby.

“Since when does Johnny read the Bible?” Ghosts low voice came through the radio next just as you stood up, grabbed your gun and started running from rooftop to rooftop trying to get closer to the centre land. “Thought you out of everyone wouldn’t believe in shit like that.”

“I don’t. My midder had me go church ever’ Sunday.”

“Huh. I thought Salem meant undamaged in Islam-” Ghost started.

“I’m going to damage both of you if you don’t shut up…and it means none of those.”

You scanned your surroundings as you finally made it on ground, a small hope of the right direction only motivating you to push more, even though you had a bullet stuck in your shoulder and your left arm was basically useless.

You pressed the radio button again, your back pressed up against a wall as you looked around for any targets. When you saw none, you swiftly moved forwards through empty alleyways. You figured if you were going to get made, you’d do it when there was a group of Tangos. So, you needed to stay quiet.

“If we’re talking about names let’s talk about Soap.”

You heard him audibly groan followed by a hum from Ghost. You’d bet Simon already knew since their very clear ‘bromance’ was strong, but wanted him to say it again. When Johnny didn’t answer, Ghost spoke up.

“He can clean houses quickly.”

“What?”

“Expert speed and accuracy he told me.”

Soap groaned and quickly shut down the conversation, a new welcomed silence falling between you three. The building Ghost was in was one with a green door apparently, and you saw one just as such quite close to you. You made sure it was the right one before heading that way, leaving Soap to argue with the two of you that he wasn’t even close to that direction.

You don’t really know what happened next, but when the pain in your shoulder increased dramatically it took you by surprise. You fell to the floor and found cover behind a car, quickly reloading your gun before pointing it in the direction you were being shot at. As if one bullet wasn’t enough, now you had 3, and what sucked is you didn’t know if it was a clean shot. Taking three bullets out would fucking hurt.

You rolled underneath the car, your stomach flat in the ground as you pointed your gun at the targets legs. It wouldn’t kill them but it would disadvantage them, which was good enough for now. It took a bit but eventually you got the upper hand, only being left with two more Tangos.

There was conversation in the radio that you didn’t care pay attention to until your last target was dead. You were still under the car, now shooting down the last man. Checking around you to make sure you were safe before you decided to listen in.

“The mask…take it off.”

“Show my face?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Negative.”

“Are you ugly?”

“Quite the opposite.”

“Cocky bastard.” You whispered, knowing full well both he and soap heard you clearly. You grunted as you crawled from under the car, dusting yourself off before quickly rushing towards your designated building.

“Y/N? Can you confirm?” Soaps smirk could be heard even from the other side of town. You were trying not to get shot, while they talking about how hot Simon was.

There was a long pause and you took a deep breath in, eventually reaching up to press the radio button on your chest. You didn’t wanna over boost his ego, but who were you to lie when you knew damn well about Simons gorgeous face.

“Affirmative.”

“Damn right.”

“No fair, she’s biased.” Soap sighed.

“Shut up and get to that house. Simon, I’m coming in don’t shoot.”

“Copy.”

You pushed open the door with your hand tightly gripping your shoulder, blood seeping between the crack of your fingers as if to mock your attempt to stop the bleeding. You hadn’t radio’d in your injuries, which soon proved stupid.

“You’re bleeding?.” He was by your side at an instant, applying pressure with his own two hands and pushing yours away. To say that hurt was an understatement, but he led you to the nearest worn out chair and sat you on it. “How many?”

“Three. Did they go through?” You winced as he looked for any exit wounds, releasing your shoulder momentarily.

“Only two. We’ll have to get to the safe house first, there’s no meds here.” Ghost clicked the radio button; “Soap we need to move out, Salem’s shot.”

“Go. I’ll find the safe house. Send the location when you’re there. Signal should be better.”

It took you around an hour to find a car, drive to the supposed safe house and then even find the bloody building. Safe to say it was an hour you needed in order not to bleed out. Simon managed to patch it up enough but it was a temporary fix, and so the blood slowly started escaping the cracks of your fingers again.

You felt quite drowsy, head spinning as you tried to blink the white cloud in your eyes away. You’d lost so much blood and there was a bullet still lodged in your body, that itself was going to be a hard procedure.

Simon laid you on the floor, quickly getting to patching you up better. He talked and talked trying to get you to stay awake, but eventually everything did go black and your body went limp.

The lightheadedness turned to heavyheaded the second you woke up. Eyelids so heavy, the light just too bright, your left arm and shoulder bruised. Groaning, you reached up to hold you head, the annoying pounding carried on the more you moved. With that, you tried to slowly sit up, breathing uneven as your body was put under pressure.

“Don’t do that, your shoulders just been fixed.” His voice was too rough for your liking, the pounding only getting worse in your temples. Still, you listened to his orders and laid back down with a huff. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” You now managed to open your eyes enough to see him, his heavy duty gear on the floor while he kept his gun close. Your blood covered the sleeves of his shirt, but his hands were clean as if he hadn’t been digging into someone’s body looking for bullets.

There was a silence that followed, not a pleasant one at that. You could tell he wanted to say something just by the way he sat on the couch you were laid out on, but he didn’t. Soap wasn’t anywhere near either, and you didn’t have to look around to know that since he doesn’t shut up.

“Where’s Soa-”

“What we’re you thinking?”

“What?”

“Have you not been through basic training, (Y/N)?” He only now looked at you, turning his head sideways to make eye contact. His mask was still on, something you were expecting to see as you were in an unfamiliar place. “You call in injuries for fuck sake. I was right outside.”

“No. The first one I could handle but they ambushed me, there wasn’t even time for me to process it, Simon. I was so close to where you were there was no point. They were dead before I even noticed I got shot.”

He scoffed, shaking his head as he stood up walking wherever there was space.

“I could of helped. That’s the whole point of a team!”

“Did you not listen to a thing I just said?” You say up straight, swinging your legs off the edge of the couch so they could rest on the floor. “There was no time! I would of if it mattered. I was right outside the goddamn door-”

“Why didn’t you call it in the first time then?!”

You had no excuse for that to be honest, you just thought you could handle it and there was no point worrying the guys. You wouldn’t tell him that though, he’d try and contradict you.

“Stop screaming, my head hurts.” You looked down, your good arms scratching at your side as you tried to think of something to say.

“I just sat there for 2 hours trying to save your life. I wouldn’t of needed to if you would of just followed protocol.”

“Sorry I inconvenienced you. Next time just leave me to die.” You didn’t mean that obviously, in fact you didn’t even expect that to come out your mouth nor did he apparently because he paused for a second, staring at you.

“The whole point of this is for you to live. I cannot fucking lose you, (Y/N).” His voice was low but just above a whisper. He was vulnerable, something so rare you barely saw in him. But the second your head shot up at his comment his eyes went dark again. “And I’d appreciate it if you make that a little easier.”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, looking down in whatever you were feeling right now. You didn’t know if it was shame or embarrassment, or even maybe hurt. He meant the world to you too, and if the roles were switched you’d have reacted the same. “You’re right I should of called it in.”

You looked up at him from your seat, both of you staring at each other silently before he moved to sit beside you. Your head fell onto his shoulder almost immediately, eyes closing as his scent, with a tinge of blood, filled your nose.

“Don’t do that again.”

You nodded against his shoulder, cuddling as close to him as your body would go. Now the silence was bearable, a comfortable blanket of safety until he spoke up again.

“What does Salem mean, then?”

You shrugged; “Nothing, I thought it sounded cool to be honest.”

His shoulders vibrates in a chuckle. You both knew Soap wouldn’t believe you, but it was what it was.

“Rest for a bit. Soap will be here soon and air-evac tomorrow. The rain is too heavy for it to come now.”

You body was in a state of exhaustion already, so it took mere minutes for you to doze off again. Ghost just sat there, listening to you breathe silently and waited for Johnny to return. You took a mental note to apologise to Soap for leaving him alone because of your stupidity. But that was later, because righty now you just wanted to sleep, and where would you feel safer other than Simons arms?

THE END

THE SUCKS MY BAD BUT THIS MAN >>

He is bbygrl

#simon riley headcanons #simon ghost riley headcanons #simon riley request #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #cod ghost #ghost x reader #cod x reader #i don’t even write for men what am I doing #Simon Riley x female reader

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lilmoonbunny · 5 months

Text

Co-Workers to Lovers; Albert Wesker

Warnings: Cheating boyfriend (reader's bf, not Wesker), alcohol consumption, implied nsfw.

Working alongside Albert Wesker was… interesting.

He was cold, rude, blunt, and so on with all his workers, except for you.

He wasn’t a lot nicer, but there wasn’t the same amount of judgement, hatred, and annoyance in his tone when he spoke to you.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he would kill them, your co-workers would joke that he has a sweet spot for you.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have one for him also. Most of your co-workers hated you for the special treatment you got from Wesker, so he was basically all you had at Umbrella.

Your boyfriend wasn’t fond of your work-relationship with Albert, something about how he “didn’t trust the creep” and how “he’s trying to steal you from me”.

You never believed any of that, but then again, you never believed that your boyfriend would cheat on you either.

Well, until the night you came home from work earlier than usual to the sound of moans from your bedroom.

At first, you thought maybe he was masturbating. After all, it had been a while since you two had last had sex. Work Albert had been keeping you busy.

The moment you heard the female moans, you knew what was happening, but you couldn’t stop yourself from entering the room.

“Really?” You asked him, watching his face morph from pleasure, to shock, to anger.

“You’re home early!”

“Clearly.”

Without another word, you left the room as your boyfriend of three years rushed to put his pants on and chase after you, but before he could reach you, you had already left, beginning to walk in the pouring rain.

You didn’t know what to do or where to go, so you ended up back at work. They had beds for those doing 24-hour shifts, so you could just take one of those.

“I thought you finished for today. Why are you here, and why are you wet? You’re dripping on the floor.” Whilst his words would seem annoyed, there was an underlying tone of concern in Albert’s tone.

“My boyfriend cheated on me; I walked here in the rain. Sorry, Sir.” You whispered, avoiding eye contact.

Had you been paying attention, you would have noticed the way his jaw clenched in anger, but all you heard was an annoyed sigh followed by you being told to follow him.

He took you to his office, bluntly telling you to sit before leaving the room.

You waited, eyes still staring at the floor rather than the room around you.

You were embarrassed more than anything. First your boyfriend cheats on you for God only knows how long, and now you’re crying to your boss.

“It’s not your fault.” Wesker’s deep voice sounds from behind you, the weight of a towel being placed on your shoulder pulls you from your self-deprecating thoughts.

You shrug and he sighs again, taking a seat in his chair.

“Look at me.” You do.

It isn’t easy for him, not at all, but he does do his best to put on a somewhat kinder face and try to comfort you.

“He’s a moron. Don’t worry about that idiot. You deserve better.” He says. “You deserve me” sounds his internal voice, but he ignores it.

With a quiet sigh, you nod and agree. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Albert is quite fine, Dear.” The name causes you to blush and you silently pray that he doesn’t notice or will just pass it off as you being cold, but he isn’t stupid.

“Thank you, Albert.”

Wesker can’t deny the way his body reacts when his name rolls from your tongue, but he can sure as hell ignore it. He doesn’t need feelings. He isn’t capable of them, he tells himself.

“You can stay in my office for the time being. I finish in an hour or two, I’ll drive you back to my place.” It wasn’t an invitation, it was a demand, but one that you didn’t want to turn down.

“Thank you.” You repeat, and he simply nods, passing you some dry clothes, and leaving to return to work.

Once he finished work, Albert gathered his things and lead you to his car.

Being the gentleman he is, although it was only for you, he held the door open for you, enjoying the way you blushed and muttered a thank you.

The drive was quiet. It was late, dark, and you were both deep in your thoughts.

He was wondering if he had made a mistake inviting you to stay at his home until you were back on your feet. He didn’t know how long he could go without kissing or touching you, but it also didn’t sit right with him making you stay at Umbrella offices where it wasn’t safe, or with your cheating boyfriend.

However, all you could think about was how good he looked driving, his hands tightened around the wheel and the gearstick. There was something oddly attractive about it.

Despite him being deep in his own thoughts, he didn’t fail to notice and couldn’t help the smirk on his lips which made you blush once again.

“We’re here,” he said, quickly moving to open your door for you and lead you into his mansion house, enjoying the shock on your face.

“Thank you, Albert,” you smiled at him as soon as you two were sat with drinks in your hands. “It means a lot to me. More than you can imagine.”

“It’s no problem, Dear.”

Over the weeks that you had stayed at his place, it was safe to say that you and Albert had grown closer, the same as your feelings had grown more for one another.

Albert was working more to keep himself busy, as were you, but the drives home were becoming more and more painful each time.

It was obvious to him that you had feelings for him, but he was him. Albert Wesker isn’t exactly the king of relationships, or even friendships; he had betrayed everyone in his life, after all.

He couldn’t resist, however, placing his large hand on your thigh as he drove, enjoying the way you tensed up beneath his touch and a blush ran to your cheeks, but you remained silent.

Having enjoyed your reaction, this was something he began doing every journey. He loved seeing you flustered, even more so when you stuttered when he spoke to you during the drive.

“No need to stutter, Dear. It’s only us.” He would say with a smirk.

You didn’t know how much longer you could last without touching him either, but you were afraid of rejection. Sure, he touched you, but what if he didn’t want you to touch him.

He could sense your hesitation and didn’t expect you to ever do anything, at least, until you laid your hand on top of his that rested on your thigh, your head lying on the glass of the window. It was clear you were tired, and perhaps that was why you were doing it.

You fell asleep that drive, the sound of rain and feeling of Albert’s hand touching your own lulling you into a deep sleep, one that he didn’t want to wake you from., so he didn’t. Instead, he carefully lifted you and carried you to the room you had been staying in. Your room.

Your relationship grew closer from there. You trusted him and, scarily enough for him, he trusted you also.

You went out one night with your friends, Wesker telling you to call him when you were ready to come home, and he would pick you up; he didn’t trust anyone but himself to get you home safely.

You had talked about him all night, leaving your friends wondering what was happening between you both. That was when you finally admitted it to yourself: you loved him.

Whilst the thought had always been there, completely admitting it to yourself was terrifying, but it had to be done.

However, the only way you felt you could properly think on this was by drinking more.

When it reached 3am, you texted him telling him you’ll get a cab since he was likely asleep.

Don’t be stupid, I’ll come get you. I can’t sleep. Where are you? Came his immediate reply. He would never admit it, but he stayed up worrying about you.

He was there moments later, helping you into the car so you didn’t fall with a sigh.

“Are you mad at me?” You asked upon realising that he wasn’t touching you for the first time in weeks.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Then why aren’t you touching me?”

“You’re drunk. I’m not touching you whilst you’re drunk, Y/N.”

A blush ran up your cheeks at the realisation and your drunk self couldn’t stop the words leaving your lips.

“But what if I want you to? What if I want you to do more than hold my thigh?” You’d regret that in the morning, but you were too drunk to care.

Albert’s hand tightened on the wheel at your words, doing his best to calm his breathing before responding.

“You’re still drunk. I’m not taking advantage of you whilst you’re under the influence. If you still want it tomorrow, then I will.” Were the final words for the night before you fell asleep and he, yet again, carried you inside, the smallest smile on his lips.

The following morning you were terrified of facing him, remembering what you had said, so you stayed inside your room until noon when a knock came on your door.

“I know you’re awake, Y/N. We need to talk.” Came his stern voice that had both your heart and thoughts racing, assuming the worst.

“Okay.” Came your meek response as you opened the door, allowing him into the room.

It was silent for a few moments, before you offered him a seat beside you.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” He asked, staring at you. “Be honest, I won’t be offended if you say no.”

His words confused you, but as you stared at him, you couldn’t help but notice the way his pupils dilated whilst he stared back, lips slightly parted. You weren’t dumb, you knew what that meant. He wanted you the same way you wanted him.

Rather than responding, you closed the gap between both of you, his hands instantly moving to push the straps of your dress that you had failed to change out of down your shoulders.

Once you pulled away, breathless and half undressed, he chuckled quietly.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He teased, but you ignored it and pressed your lips to his again in desperation.

Maybe it had always been him since you met him. Maybe your cheating ex-boyfriend was just what made you realise that.

One-shot (Cheating Heart) coming soon!

#resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil imagine #resident evil imagines #resident evil fanfic #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil smut #resident evil wesker #resident evil albert wesker #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker imagine #albert wesker imagines #albert wesker fanfic #albert wesker fanfiction #albert wesker smut #wesker #wesker x reader #wesker imagine

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andvys · 7 months

Text

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 15

Warnings: slight angst, mostly fluff though. Steve is not really in this chapter, don't be mad, please. He will be back in the next chapter.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader, Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler, Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: You need reassurance after the horrible date with Ray, and your best friend is there to give it to you.

Word count: 4k+

A/N: The amazing flashback scene of Eddie and Steve was written by @hellfire--cult when we were going over ideas together, so credit goes out to her, also thank you for listening to my rambles and for sharing your ideas with me 💕 ps: if you haven't read any of her stories, go do it right now, do I wanna know? had me in a chokehold

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The bruises on Eddie’s knuckles don’t surprise you, it was to be expected after seeing Ray’s face but it still makes you freeze a little. All night, he has been hiding them from you, doing everything to keep you from seeing them but now you do, you see them clearly, the cuts and the bruised knuckles, you wonder if he has any others that may be hidden under his clothes.

With your elbows leaned against the counter and your face propped up by your hands, you stare at him as you watch him make the grilled cheese sandwiches. You aren’t hungry but Eddie always insists on making you something to eat when you come over.

Eddie can feel your eyes on him, he knows that you know. Yet, neither of you speak up about it. You act like nothing's wrong and so does he, but he knows that a conversation about what happened is bound to happen tonight.

“I don’t feel like going back to school,” you groan.

A smile tugs at his lips, he glances up at you after he flips the sandwich over in the pan.

“The good A student doesn’t feel like going back to school?” He chuckles.

“Shut up,” you snort, “just because I have good grades, doesn’t mean that I like going to school. Besides, you are the nerd out of the two of us, dungeon master.”

His eyes widen and he places a hand on his chest, dramatically. You try not to stare at his knuckles again.

“Me? A nerd?”

“Yeah, you’ve been studying way more than me!”

“I’m studying with you, sweetheart. You basically force me into doing it–”

“Because I want you to graduate, dumbass,” you exclaim, reaching for the bowl of grapes, you pick out one and throw it at him, giggling when it hits him on the forehead.

“Ouch! We don’t throw food around, young lady!” He says with a stern voice, pointing at you with the spatula.

You giggle, “I’m sorry, sir.”

Shaking his head, he huffs with a smile on his face.

“Are you ready for your gourmet dinner, queen?” He jokes as he takes the sandwich out of the pan and puts it on the plate.

“I’m always ready for Chef Munson’s amazing grilled cheese sandwich,” you grin, taking the plate from his hands, “it’s better than any other sandwich.”

He snorts at the nickname, smirking at you as he puts his sandwich on his plate as well.

“One of these days, I’m gonna bake you a cake.”

You raise your brows, taking your plate as you follow him to the small table.

“A cake? What kind of cake, Eddie?” You ask, sitting down on the chair.

“Whatever cake you want,” he chuckles, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

“I think we should make one together, that way nothing goes wrong.”

He frowns, mouth twisting and looking at you, offended.

“Eat your sandwich, you must be hangry.”

Eddie’s eyes flash with amusement when you giggle at his words, taking your sandwich, you look at him as you bite into it. He watches the way you chew it with a smile on your face, nodding at him.

“Good?”

“Hmm.”

He chuckles when you hold your hand in front of your mouth, “very good.”

He pats himself on the shoulder, jokingly.

After you both finish eating, you retreat back to his room with the candy you brought him from the store. Eddie gets comfortable on the bed, opening the bag of m&m’s and reaching for the remote to turn on the TV that he got from his old neighbor after helping him change the tires on his Chevy truck.

Eddie glances at you, watching the way you take a seat on his chair instead of the bed, next to him. You have been distant all day, you didn’t even hug him when you said ‘hello’, the way you usually do. He knows that you might not feel comfortable with physical touch yet but you hugged him yesterday morning and you let him kiss your hands, you didn’t seem to mind that.

He flips through the channels but he keeps watching you, watching the way your brows furrow. You look like you want to say something but something keeps you from doing so, so he gives you more time, waits for you to be the one to speak up, the way he always does.

He adjusts his pillows and leans back, offering you some of the candy, he holds out the bag to you.

You shake your head, giving him a small smile.

“Why are you so far away?” He asks as he puts the candy on the nightstand, “you can’t see the TV from there.”

He sees the way you hesitate when he pats the spot next to him, the way you seem to think of something that makes your eyes flash with sadness, the way your eyes then soften when they meet his. You push yourself up from the chair, you tug at your black sweatshirt as you walk towards the bed and finally sit down next to him. You lean back and pull your knees up to your chest.

“Are you cold?” He asks, eyeing you slowly.

You shake your head, murmuring a small ‘no’.

He still reaches for the blanket that he bought a few months back. You get cold easily.

He places the maroon colored blanket over your knees, giving you a sweet smile when you lay your head on your knees as you look at him with soft eyes.

“What?” He whispers, chuckling.

“Nothing,” you say with a smile that fades a little when you take a look at his knuckles. Eddie is surprised that you haven’t confronted him about them yet, how you haven’t asked or said anything. He wonders if you are mad or disappointed in him, or even scared – to think that you could be scared of him, makes him feel so horrible. He never wants you to be scared of him.

He sees the way your eyes lose focus, you get lost in your thoughts, he can see it on your face, the way it loses the smile completely. He tries not to stare, but he can’t take his eyes off of you, he too gets lost in his thoughts when he thinks of the previous night.

Neither of you pay attention to the sitcom playing on the TV, neither of you listen to the voices or the laughter, you are both too deep in your thoughts. Eddie clenches his bruised fist, trying not to wince at the ache in his side.

You stare at him and when your eyes meet again, you finally open your mouth to ask the question that has been lingering on your mind for the past two days.

“Do you want to have sex with me?”

Eddie freezes. His eyes widen and flash with confusion.

That isn’t your question.

You regret it, instantly. Yet, you repeat it, phrasing it differently this time.

“L-Like, do you expect me to have sex with you?” You ask nervously and with a guilty feeling in your stomach.

You never thought that that is what Eddie wanted or wants from you, you always thought that he was just your friend, the friend who loves you unconditionally and platonically. You never once thought that his touches meant that he wanted more and you still don’t believe that but Ray’s words have pushed you into a bad mindset, again. He made you feel insecure and so horrible about yourself.

You aren’t interesting, he said. You are nothing but a good fuck, that is what he said.

“W-What?”

You don’t look at him any longer, your eyes are filled with tears and you are looking down, unable to face him and it worries Eddie.

“Of course not, sweetheart,” he says softly, wanting to reach out to touch your hand but he decides against it, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable, “why would I expect that from you?”

You shrug, sniffling quietly.

“I-It’s just Ray, he said some really nasty things to me.”

Eddie tries to stay calm, he tries to keep his anger at bay, not wanting to scare you.

“What did he say?”

You lick your lips as you try to blink away the tears that you don’t want to fall, you glance up at him again, you look into his chocolate eyes, feeling a sense of comfort in your chest when you stare at them.

“He just, he was nice all night, we went to the movies and then we got some drinks and I-I thought that he really just wanted to hang out, to get to know me and just leave it at that, you know?” You say, finally telling him about the night.

He nods.

“But then, he took me to Lovers Lake and then he kissed me, a-and then he tried to do more and I didn’t–” you pause, taking a deep breath when you feel the disgust and the anger and the fear rushing through again, “I didn’t want it, I pushed him away but he was so persistent a-and I was so scared, Eddie.”

He stares at you, helplessly and angry at the man who did this to you. He has already done what he wanted to do, but he wants to do it again. He wants to hurt him, over and over again.

He can’t stand the thought of you being so scared, of you feeling so helpless and afraid and small.

“I slapped him and I tried to run but then he came after me, and then he said all these things to me. He told me that he never wanted to get to know me, t-that he just wanted to fuck me,” you say in disgust.

You clench your fists, not noticing how deep your nails dig into your palms, “cause apparently that’s all I’m good for, I’m a good fuck. I’m boring and not interesting enough to keep around, that’s why Steve dumped me. I am nothing but a good fuck, that’s all I am to others.”

Eddie stares at you in shock.

His soul is filled with anger and he wants nothing more than to go after him, again and again.

He takes no offense to your question, he knows the state you were in after Steve left you, the insecurities and the thoughts you were dealing with.

“It made me feel so, so worthless.”

Eddie’s heart aches at your words.

You sit there, making yourself as small as possible, you wrap your arms tighter around your legs as you pull them closer to your chest, you wipe away the tears of anger and hurt and you look down with a trembling lip.

“Sweetheart, I hope you know that he was full of shit.”

You hear the shakiness in his voice, you see the anger in his features when you look up at him, the mention of Ray is enough to fill Eddie with rage, you wonder what he looked and felt like when Ray was right in front of him.

“Guys like him are used to things going their way, when they don’t, they get angry and frustrated, you bruise their ego, they’ll bruise you back in some way,” he mumbles the last part as he thinks of the bruises he had left on you, “and this guy, he’s a fucking psychopath, I can tell you that much.”

He won’t tell you everything, he won’t tell you what Ray said to him, you know he won’t.

“Somehow, he knows how to fucking get to you,” he says, pausing to take a deep breath.

What does he mean by that?

“I-I mean, he knew how to get to you, he said things to you that he knew would hurt – but, it’s all bullshit, y/n, it’s all fucking bullshit. You are not boring in any way, shit, you’re the coolest person I know! You’ve always been the coolest person, sweetheart – even when you were still just listening to The Smiths and rewatching the same two movies every Friday, you were still the coolest fucking person on this planet!”

Your eyes widen, a smile tugs at your lips at his little outburst.

“The whole planet?” You ask, giggling.

“Yeah,” he smiles when he hears your giggle, “the whole planet, sweetheart.”

“There’s so many amazing girls you haven’t met yet though,” you point out, tilting your head.

“There’s no one more amazing than you.”

You smile but you don’t believe his words.

Eddie eyes your whole face as his crosses with confusion, sadness and disbelief.

You easily believed the words Ray said about you, but you struggle to believe his words. He thought you were doing better, he hoped so.

“I shouldn’t have just gone after him, I should’ve gone after Harrington’s hair as well.”

To hear him admit that he went after Ray doesn’t shock you, you knew it from the moment you saw Ray at the hospital.

You shake your head with a chuckle.

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your knee with his hand, “he was an asshole to you. He didn’t deserve you.”

“Eddie,” you whisper.

“It’s the truth, y/n. Steve never deserved you, he treated you like shit, he made you feel like shit.”

Eddie knew it from the start, from the moment you first talked, from the moment you first spent time together, he could see the pain in your eyes, the insecurities that you have felt just because of him. Steve had the best thing he could get; your love. But he threw it all away, he never gave you what you deserved, he never treated you like he should have, he never loved you like you should have been loved. He gave it all to her, all the kindness, all the gentleness, all the trust and the love, she got it all without having to fight for it, without having to ask for it, he just gave it to her, he gave her the things that you deserved.

Eddie would never admit it, but to see Steve treat his new girlfriend like the queen of the world, always made him so incredibly angry, that’s how he should have treated you when you were still with him but instead, he treated you like garbage, he betrayed you, he lied to you, he hurt you over and over again, he put other girls before you, he gave you nothing but pain and still, you stayed with him but he tossed you aside so easily and replaced you with another girl.

“You believed Ray’s words, right?”

You blink, looking down at your hands as you slowly nod.

“Because of Steve,” he mumbles quietly, “he made you feel that way first, right?”

Your heart drops a little, tears well up in your eyes again.

Steve made you feel like you were never good enough, like you weren’t interesting enough, like you weren’t the right girl to be a girlfriend, like you didn’t deserve to be treated like a girl someone loves, like you were nothing more than a side piece because that is how he treated you most of the time.

That is why his words had gotten to you. That is why you got drunk and high at a place you shouldn’t be at.

“Yeah,” you whisper, sadly.

Eddie looks at you with sad eyes.

He doesn’t hate Steve, not anymore. He can tell that he changed, he knows that he regrets his actions and the way he treated you but he can’t help but feel anger towards him at this moment.

You keep looking down, trying to hide the sadness on your face and tears in your eyes. Eddie reaches his hands out to you, slowly. He cups your cheeks and tilts your head up, eyeing the look on your face as he wills himself to speak.

“Listen to me, sweetheart. If I were him, I would’ve held onto you, I would’ve taken you on all the dates, I would’ve dropped all my shitty friends, I would’ve kicked Billy’s ass a long time ago, I would’ve never looked at any other girl if you were by my side, I would’ve treated you like the queen that you are,” he says, tapping your nose to make you smile and it works, it always does.

Your eyes soften and you melt into his touch, smiling sadly at his words.

You wish he would’ve done all of these things but, he never did.

“I would have never let a bad thought get into this pretty head,” he says, tapping your forehead softly.

“And I certainly would have never let you go, ever.”

Your brows knit, your eyes are glossy, again. You look into his soft brown eyes and you see nothing but the truth, he isn’t just saying that to make you feel better, to take away your pain. He is honest, he always is.

Eddie watches you, he watches the way your eyes skip over his whole face, the way they flash with sadness and with fear as you think about his words and then you say something that shocks him, a little.

“Please don’t.”

His brows rise up, surprise crosses his features.

“Please don’t ever let me go,” you whisper, your lip trembling when you reach your hand out to grab his wrist, “please don’t leave me.”

The smile falls from his face, his eyes widen with sadness. This time, he doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms, he hugs you tightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“I would never leave you, sweetheart. You will always have me.”

“Promise?” You ask shakily, just as you asked him once.

You need him to stay. You can’t lose him, not after you had lost Steve already.

“I promise,” he whispers, squeezing your sides as you hug him back tighter.

You close your eyes and lay your chin on his shoulder as you melt into his embrace. He radiates warmth and comfort, safety and something you can’t understand yet. Eddie smells like cigarettes but you don’t mind, the smell of his cologne and his body wash covers up the smell of smoke.

Eddie runs his fingers through your hair, finally holding you the way he has been craving to ever since that night.

“I’ll marry you one day.”

“What?” You ask, giggling.

“I said; I’ll marry you one day,” he chuckles, not pulling away from the hug just yet.

“Is that a proposal?” You joke, unable to fight the smile off of your face.

“Mhmm.”

“Where’s the ring?”

“I’ll give you one of mine.”

“I want the one with the black stone.”

“You got it, angel.”

You giggle again and he smiles at that.

When you pull away and he sees that the tears are long gone, and a smile is playing on your lips, he pinches your cheek gently.

“There’s the smile I wanted to see,” he grins.

Your hair falls in front of your face when you look down at his hands. There are cuts and bruises on his knuckles, you are scared to touch them but you take one of his hands in yours and you softly touch the bruises with your fingers.

You don’t need to talk about it, it’s enough to look at each other to understand it all.

He watches you, again and he wonders what you are thinking.

He clears his throat about to speak up but you beat him to it.

“You know, I like your idea,” you say as you look at him through your lashes.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” he starts, already smiling at you, “we should get married when we’re both 30 and still single.”

You laugh, “that sounds like a plan.”

“A good plan?”

“The best. But, you don’t plan on spending your twenties without me, do you?”

He scoffs, “never, what would I do without my best friend?”

Your heart skips a beat and for the first time after the horrible days you have had, you feel the happiness rushing back. You feel comforted and safe, you know that as long as you have him, your best friend, nothing bad will happen to you. The look in his eyes, the bruises on his knuckles are the evidence that he will do everything to keep you safe.

This time, you are the one reaching out to touch him, you cup his cheeks and you surprise him when you pull him towards you to kiss him, to kiss his cheek.

“You’re the best, Eddie,” you whisper before your lips meet his cheek again, “you’re my favorite person.”

You don’t pay attention to the way his cheeks flush red, you don’t see the way his eyes flash with something you haven’t seen before.

Eddie stares at you for the longest time and he suddenly feels flustered when he realizes that you can see the redness on his cheeks and his neck when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the wall and then, he remembers what Steve said to him last night.

It all comes rushing in and it overwhelms him.

He squeezes your hand, clearing his throat, “I-I’m gonna get us something to drink,” he says as he practically rushes out of his room, leaving the door open as he makes his way into the kitchen. He raises his hand, running his fingers through his hair as he lets out a long sigh. Turning on the lights, he places his hands on the counter, gripping it tightly.

If only Harrington would have kept his fucking mouth shut.

Eddie was driving Steve back to his house, knuckles almost bleeding on the steering wheel, not a single word being said by neither of the men. Steve's temple was bruised, his fists as well and Eddie if he were to raise his shirt up, a bruise would be displayed on his rib.

The Harrington's house came into view and Eddie parked the car in front of it, waiting for Steve to come out. He heard the door open but it didn't close, making him turn to find Steve looking forward, eyes that Eddie could only describe as lost, yet with fire within them, as if angry.

“Munson.” It was the first time Steve has said a word to him.

“Yes Harrington?” And he was expecting a congratulations or a thank you or good job because of what they just did together to someone that hurt you. But Steve's gaze turned to him, a cold glare featuring in his eyes, and Eddie's face went rigid.

“You're a fucking liar.”

And then the door slams, and Steve Harrington goes back to his house, leaving Eddie Munson completely stunned inside of his van.

Shit.

The sound of the freezer door closing startles him a little. He turns around with a frown, he finds you walking towards him with a bag of frozen peas in your hand, without a single word, you grab his right hand, placing the cold bag on his bruised knuckles.

He looks down at you, swallowing nervously.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you whisper, finally addressing it. You look up with glossy eyes, a knowing look lingers in them, you did not know how to approach this topic but, you don’t really have to. You know why he did it.

“Sweetheart–”

“Thank you,” you whisper as a happy tear runs down your cheek because for the first time, you feel protected and loved after all these years of believing that you do not deserve this. Eddie proved you wrong, time and time, he proved you wrong and showed you that you do deserve this and more.

Eddie gazes down at you like you are the most precious thing in the world.

He wipes your tear away the way he always does before he pulls you into his arms. He holds you, he holds you tightly, like he never wants to let you go, like no one ever has before.

Eddie enjoys this moment, just standing here in the kitchen under dim lights with you in his arms before he has to ruin the moment.

“You should thank Steve too.”

He feels the way you freeze in his arms and he also feels how you don’t pull away.

“Steve was there too?”

“He was.”

You don’t say anything, you stay quiet and then you whisper a small ‘oh’ before you relax again and hug him tighter, pressing your cheek against his chest as you listen to his beating heart.

Eddie tightens his hold on you as well, he kisses the top of your head.

“Anybody that hurts you won’t walk away without a bruise.” He whispers.

Something changed and you can both feel it, you don’t understand it, not yet.

You should not be here.

You know that you should be far away from this place.

It was bad enough that you had called him three nights ago, that you had let yourself be vulnerable in front of him, that you had spent the morning with him, that you had let him drive you home, that you had hugged him. It was bad but it was nice, it was nice to be with him again.

To drive in his car, to feel his arms around you again, to see him look at you.

You never realized how much you missed it, how much you missed him.

Your thoughts kept taking you back to him, especially today. The record store was mostly empty today and you stood behind the counter, listening to the music playing on the radio and drawing in the notebook that Eddie gave you.

When Heroes by David Bowie started playing, you felt like you were being haunted, haunted by memories of you and him together.

You shouldn’t let your heart guide you here but it did, you let it, just like you always do.

You wanted to see him, to thank him for what he did but you didn’t want to see this.

You should be used to it by now, after months of seeing him with her, it should be easier, right? It’s not.

And as you stand there, watching him kiss her on his porch, smiling against her and brushing the curls out of her face, you can’t help but feel that it will never be easier.

He looks happy, happier than he ever did when he was with you and even though you let him go a long time ago, you still feel the ache in your heart, the hollowness in your stomach.

He used to kiss you like this, though he never looked at you the way he looks at her – with the light in his eyes and the smile on his face, the one that doesn’t look forced or fake.

You hear her giggle when he drops the keys to his house. He picks them up and pulls her back towards him, leaning down to kiss her cheek before he opens the door to let her in.

You never watched him so closely when he was with her, you always avoided it, not wanting to hurt yourself more than necessary but now, you can see it all, the love and the happiness in his features.

He loves her.

You always knew that he did, yet, somehow it feels like you understood it all just now.

He loves her.

He claimed to have loved you too and maybe he did, maybe he did love you but never like this.

A weird feeling settles in Steve’s heart and he doesn’t know what it is that pushes him to turn around but he does, he looks back as though expecting to see someone standing in his driveway but it’s empty.

He doesn’t see anything but trees and the empty streets.

He furrows his brows, almost confused to not see anyone.

“Steve?” Nancy calls from inside the house, “come on.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles to himself before he turns around and walks inside. He holds the door, not shutting it yet, he takes one final look at his driveway, staring at it for a long minute before he closes the door.

next chapter

tagging friends & mutuals

@mysticmunson @taintedcigs @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @wroteclassicaly @take-everything-you-can @trashmouth-richie @xxhellfiregirlxx @screammunson @nemesis729 @somethingvicked @sherrylyn628

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things angst

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 days

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Winter's King 13

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: Ahhh! I almost own a house.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The queen struts down the hall, the white satin limning her figure. She is shameless as she passes soldiers but she needn’t worry for their judgments. You peek up at the few errant eyes that follow her, though many pass without even a glance in her direction. Servants course through the corridors, busy with preparations for the morrow’s departure.

You think of asking Queen Jazlene whether now is not the best time. If she should be more concerned with her venture north. Of all she’s acquired of the queen’s former possessions, there is not a fur among her chests. Nothing more than a trim of squirrel or rabbit along a collar. The summer kingdom does not warrant the need. And certainly, you think, the king must be equally busied by the pending journey.

As ever, your duty keeps you silent. You do not know better than a queen. You bide her whims, not your own. You follow the soft whisk of the robes hem and your mind wanders in your stead. You think of the dark gardens and the king’s words.

‘Should I remain any longer, I might give it all up.’ He must be eager to return home. You can’t help but harbour your own impatience. For all you’ve heard of the Hinterlands, you cannot picture them well. You want to see them yourself. It is the only time in your life you really ever longed to see something entirely unfamiliar.

The queen stops and the soldiers on either side of the door shift, alert at her approach. The do not look welcoming. You wring your hands behind your back. What can you do but let the queen proceed?

“Let me through,” she demands, “I must see the king.”

“Your highness,” the rusty-haired soldier drawls, “he is not receiving--”

“He is my husband,” she sneers, “I am the queen.” She points to herself, “I give you orders, sir. Not the reverse.”

The other man huffs and tilts his head to the other as if to say, ‘don’t bother’. The first soldier raises his elbow to hit the door beside him.

“Your highness, you have a visitor,” he calls through.

“A visitor?” Jazlene scoffs and steps forward, grabbing the handles of the doors to try to force her way through. “I am more--” She shakes the doors as they offer resistance from the other side. You can see clearly through the crack between them that they are latched within.

The metal grinds inside as the lock is slid out of place. The queen blusters through as a dark-haired man stands by the left door, watching behind her as she blows in like a storm. You pause in the doorway, uncertain if you should go further.

The king sits at the table of his receiving chamber, maps unfurled and kept unrolled by heavy ornaments. He has one arm on the chair and his other hand against the tabletop. He watches his wife with his golden eyes, his lips straight and unamused. The man who opened the door, watches with a crooked grin.

“Husband, I have come to see you. As we have much travel ahead, I figured it was the best time for us to--”

“The best time?” King Geralt ponders flatly, “we ready for the ride north. We must anticipate the remaining rebels and assuage lingering acrimony. We must also account for the snows that will meet us in the Hinterland. This campaign has kept me long and the winter will be there to greet us.”

“Let the servants trouble for it,” she insists.

The man by the door flutters his fingers at you, “in?” He mouths.

You blink, uncertain. You step inside hesitantly and step to the edge of the other door. He pushes the left one shut and turns to watch the interaction with glee.

“You should trouble for it,” the king reproaches, “you should act as queen and so you should think of your people.”

“Husband, do not presume to educate me. I have had tutors all my life. I understand these things. I was borne to be a lady, to mind a castle--”

“A castle not a realm,” he shakes his head, “this is no banquet.”

“Ugh,” she huffs, “what has gotten into you? Last night--”

“It is today,” he insists over her, “I am occupied.” He shifts his chair pointed and frames an area on the maps with his large hands. “Jaskier,” he calls, “come, we must determine our way through Hare’s Pass.”

“Your highness,” the man jaunts forward bouncily and as he nears the table, he pulls out a chair, “Queen Jazlene, please, have my seat.”

The king looks at his companion with a deathly glimmer. The lord in his cornflower jacket is unbothered by the distaste aimed in his direction. He smirks back defiantly.

“Thank you, sir,” Jazlene simpers and sits with her back straight and her chest pushed out, “I think I’ve forgotten which one you are.”

“Lord Jaskier,” he intones, “I held the capital while the king claimed his beautiful wife.”

She giggles and runs her hand along the front of her robe, “oh, how valiant, sir.”

“Jaskier,” the king growls again, “put your mind back to the road--”

“We have it figured, your highness,” the lord rebuffs, “surely you should enjoy this time you have in one place with your wife.” Jaskier takes another stool and sits at the table, “I should very much like to know this summer queen better. You secret her away--”

The king sighs. His fingers tap in irritation on the table. He sits back and throws his hand up.

“I see you are no help, as usual,” the king snips.

“And you are tedious,” the lord smirks again. “My queen,” the man sits forward, his attention on Jazlene, “I traveled the summer lands once before. You see, I fancy myself a musician and as a young boy, I would play for the courts. I never ventured to Debray but I was at Harlowe. It is closeby.”

“I know Harlowe,” Jazlene brightens, forgetting her mission for talk of herself. “Yes, I went there often for their harvest fairs. Were you there when Lord Edmund was still alive?”

“Ah, yes, I believe he wasn’t there long after I left for the next county,” Jaskier artfully feeds her self-importance.

“He was a good man. Of the few my father respected,” she mourns with her hand to her chest. She shakes her head and pauses with a sullen sigh, “maid,” she snaps her head up, “bring wine for us.”

“No wine,” King Geralt counters swiftly.

“We have a guest, husband, surely we should entertain him according to etiquette. In these summer lands, we offer sustenance to our guests,” she argues.

“Bring warm milk then. You needn’t be glazed over with wine on the morrow--”

“I am the queen and I am grown, I will have wine,” Jazlene waves her hand at you tersely, “maid!”

The king glances at you. You stand in indecision. You can defy neither but in that moment, you must choose one or the other. His golden eyes drift over to the queen and back to you.

“Go, fetch wine,” he relents.

You bow your head and spin to set off on the task. Your thankful to escape the tension that floods the room. You can sense that the queen’s intrusion is unwelcome and yet that lord ignores the king’s mood. Almost as if he means to agitate him.

You weave through the disarray of the corridors down to the kitchen. Barrels of pickled foods and crates of dried goods are stacked, waiting to be loaded onto carts for the distance ahead. The king must still think of feeding his army, and now, a royal retinue.

You claim a bottle of wine amid the hectic furor and some goblets. You’re out of breath as you return to the upper floors and slow yourself to regain composure as you approach the king’s chamber. You’re let within without obstruction. Just the maid.

You cross to the table and set the goblets upright, then the heavy bottle. Jazlene ahems and taps the brim impatient before you can uncork the bottle. The neck moves away from your reach as Lord Jaskier snatches it instead. He opens it easily and pours the queen a cup as the king leans heavily on an elbow. As you glance over, you meet his golden eyes and quickly shy away. You see he is not happy. You thought by Jazlene’s measure, thing’s might have been improving.

You take your place by the wall. The king sighs. He does that a lot, as if he means to say something but will not. Lord Jaskier slides a goblet towards him.

“Drink and let loose, your highness, you can’t be surly upon the road,” Jaskier chides.

The king does not move. He glares at his company then looks at the ceiling. Queen Jazlene slurps loudly.

“How charming you are, my lord, a wonder his highness likes you so much,” she chirps.

“A surprise to me as well but I think my loyalty more tolerable than my other traits. Yet, you’ve yet to the king bellowing the most bawdy ballad. He is particular lively after a battle,” Jaskier winks at his liege tauntingly and receives nothing in return. “Mm, how about a game? The king is fond of those. How about it, then?”

The lord lifts his cup and holds it before his lips, watching the king in his cantankerous glower. Another sigh as he sits forwards and tilts a hand indifferently.

“If it keeps you from chattering,” the king mutters as he clears the heavy ornaments and rolls the map up. He focuses on that as Jaskier pulls a pouch free of his belt.

“This is one he taught me. The old king before him was fond of it too. The mind’s of rulers, hm?” Jaskier explains as he loosens the tie of the bag and pours out similar pieces to the ones in Geralt’s purse. “Have you played it?”

Jazlene keeps her hand on her cup. The king continues to clear the table, pushing aside the cup meant for him as he shifts the bottle off another map. He stands and gathers the rolled parchment. He approaches you.

“Bring these to my bedchamber,” he bids under his breath.

As you take them, your sleeves brush his and his fingers drag along the fabric of your dress. He stares down at you, his breath fuming like a hearth. You hug the maps and he backs away, returning to the table. You take your order and find your way through the east door into his bed chamber.

You set down the maps on the chest near the foot of the grand bed. His sword leans against the frame, tall in its sheath. You stop to admire the thick handle and its well-hewn grooves. It must be heavy.

You tear your admiration from the weapon and return to the receiving chamber. Jaskier reviews the rules as Geralt rolls his fingers against the armrest, bored by the explanation. You resume your vigil and stare at the wall.

Pieces are dolled out, dice are counted, and the round begins. The king is let to have the first turn. He plays the same as he did against you. It must be some strategy. The queen is prompted to have her go but she is silent. She hums and stares down at the table. Jaskier whispers behind his hand, drawing your gaze.

“Let her play her own turn,” the king insists, “isn’t any fun playing against two of you.”

“Your highness, I was only doing my duty as a royal advisor,” Jaskier returns playfully. “By all means, my beautiful queen, I am certain you are as a clever as you are elegant.”

Jazlene preens in the praise. She drinks some more wine then rolls a dice, seemingly without thought. Several of her pieces are plucked up by both king and lord. She pouts.

“Wait, what happened?” She mopes.

“Rules,” Geralt grumbles. “Jaskier, go on then, take my bronze.”

“I know your tricks,” the lord replies, “I will not fall for it. I’ll have your silver.”

Jaskier rolls the diamond dice and groans. The king takes his silver instead.

“You’ve switched out the dice, certainly,” Jaskier accuses.

“You whine about chance,” the king rebukes and rolls, taking even more silver from his advisor. “And again.”

He gestures to Jazlene and her brow ripples. You can see she doesn’t understand. She will want to use the square dice then, she might have the iron back that she lost. She uses the slightly rounded die instead. Jaskier is already counting her gold.

“I don’t understand,” she crosses her arms, “this game makes no sense.”

“It is your first attempt,” Jaskier assures her, “you will get better.”

“It’s boring,” she sits back and drinks more wine.

Jaskier has a swig of his own as he rolls. He claims his silver back from the king and some from Jazlene. She shakes her head and waves you over with her hand. You can see her goblet is empty as you near. You lift the bottle to pour as the king has his turn. He loses a few iron but doesn’t seem to mind.

The queen’s turn comes and you linger, examining her pieces. Your lips move slightly. Square, square, square. Your eyes flit up and find the king’s watching you. Oh no.

“Wine, maid,” Jaskier clunks down his cup with a hollow noise.

You move around Jazlene’s chair as she snarls under her breath. She rolls the triangle die. Her gold is all gone. She slaps her hands down and you rescind the bottle before you can pour as Jaskier’s cup wobbles. He laughs at the queen’s dismay and she sweeps away her pieces and dice before she can lose.

“It isn’t fair! I don’t understand.”

“If you don’t understand, ask. Do not be impetulant,” King Geralt reprimands. “You make a mess like a child.”

“Do not speak to me as one,” she spits back. “I am not!”

“Your behaviour would suggest otherwise,” the king says.

“Now, now, perhaps it would be fairer with a forth, eh? Trios always do prove imbalanced,” Jaskier intones.

As you go to pour the wine, you are suddenly pulled off your feet. You land in his lap and nearly drop the bottle. You hug it close as you notice the king lurch, sitting straight, only to stop himself on the edge of his chair.

“Eh, do not handle the maid as such,” he demands. “She serves the queen.”

“She may join us, yes? The queen could have an ally. We will play as pairs.”

“Let the maid go,” the king grits.

“Oh, do settle,” Jaskier unhooks his arm from around you. You stand and let your nerves settle, steadying your hands to pour the wine. “You are no fun, your highness.”

Jazlene giggles, “oh he certainly is not. So dour,” she sounds like Lady Rezlyn in that moment. Often the duchess would throw barbs at her husband shamelessly. “Even his games are dull.”

“You needn’t play,” King Geralt shoves his chair back and stands, “it was not my suggestion.”

“She is right. You are much too serious,” Jaskier remarks.

You leave the wine and back away. The air is thick. You feel as if you should go but cannot without dismissal. The king roils hotly as he exhales loudly.

“Far too serious,” Jazlene trills, “he hasn’t time for any sort of fun, has he? He must attend his kingly duties and yet, he neglects his husbandly ones.”

The king lets out a growl. He sneers at his wife as Jaskier’s laughter subsides. The lord looks alarmed as he peeks between the royal couples.

“Mm, suppose it is time I see to my own luggage,” he rises.

“No, stay, drink your wine,” King Geralt insists brusquely, “you and the queen can have mine,” he grips the goblet by the brim and shoves it towards Jazlene as the contents slosh. “You will find me attending my dour kingly duties, should you think to recall your own.”

The king spins and stalks off, hands in fists, and bulls through the doors. They slam behind him and make you jump. You blink at the wood as your heart pounds. For as much as the queen wants her marriage to improve, she is hardly helping herself.

“Ah,” Jaskier sits with a tut, “he can be a touch sensitive, can’t he?”

Jazlene laughs, though you hear the nervous rattle in it, “can’t he?”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #the witcher #winter's king

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jjongslutz · 6 months

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이희승 HEESEUNG 💋 911! I'VE BEEN A BAD GIRL [ MDNI. ]

IN WHICH there's nothing hotter than a man in a cop uniform. there's nothing more sexually frustrating than when he's never at home in said cop uniform

WARNINGS ⨯ fem!reader, cop kink (?), Men In Uniforms, hard dom!heeseung x brat!reader, spanking (flogger & hand), orgasm denial, handcuffs, use of pet names & name calling (bunny, doll, baby, slut, whore), sex toys (dildo, vibrator)

WORD COUNT ⨯ 2.9k

AUTHOR'S NOTE . . . this stems from that one trend where ppl stand next to cops to that one lana del rey song lolz 🙏

"911, what's your emergency?"

You smirk as you hear the familiar voice spill through the phone.

"Oh, officer, I'm in big trouble." Your hand traces the black lace barely covering your skin rhythmically with your words.

"Alright, can you explain your situation to me?"

You put on your best impression of an innocent doll from a 60s movie. “Oh, officer…” You let your voice trail off, wrapping your hair around your finger. “I’ve been a bad girl.”

The man on the other end of the line hesitates. He recognizes your voice. You smirk. “Y/N.” His voice is stronger than before, but has no telling emotion. You sit quietly. “

“I miss you so much,” you whine. Simultaneously, your fingers find their way past your black lingerie, fingering lightly at your clit. You moan into the line.

Heeseung tuts. You hear shuffling from the other side before he comes back to the phone. “Don’t fucking touch yourself until I get home.” Then, more quietly, but with a hint of mischief. “Don’t be a dumb slut and get off while I’m not there. Or I’ll make you regret it.”

Heat flushes throughout your body, spreading to your fingertips simply resting against your cunt. You retract them in fear and excitement of what he’s planning to do with you.

After a few moments, you hum lamely, and the line clicks shut.

Now, all there is to do is wait.

You get to the bedroom and it proves to be more difficult than you thought as heat rushes to your core. Heeseung’s scent lingers in the air from before he left, the sheets feeling the ghost of his warmth, even though you know that’s just in your mind.

Lying down against the mattress, you spread your arms to feel the soft material tickle your skin. You turn to touch your cheek against the blanket, but your eye catches onto a silver glint coming from the closet.

Your eyes widen when you creep up to it, realizing Heeseung went shopping without your knowing.

A bright pink dildo stands tauntingly still in its box. It doesn't take much for you to shut down any internal debates before ripping it out of its confinement and getting yourself settled with it on the bed again.

You lather a generous amount of lube on the toy, stopping yourself from drooling at the size of it. With one hand, you force your legs apart while the other guides the dildo to your needy hole.

The stretch feels so good that you let yourself soak in it for a moment, feeling how deeply it goes into you. It touches everywhere you need it most and more, you're certain you could cum just from this. But you won't limit yourself.

You start pushing it in and out, soon enough developing a rhythm that you meet with your rolling hips.

It feels so good you don't even hear the click of the door unlocking, nor the footsteps which follow it all the way to the bedroom.

“Oh, bunny,” Heeseung says with a teasingly disappointed tone. “You couldn’t wait until I got home?”

His voice makes you instinctively close your legs, a poor attempt at hiding what you're doing despite a part in you deep down wishing for him to see it all. In the movement, the dildo slips from your hands and lands somewhere on the mattress where Heeseung can clearly see it. His eyes darken.

“Found your present early, didn't you, bunny?” You whimper at his taunts, but force yourself to nod confidently.

You whine. “You’re always away, sir…” Putting on your best doe eyes, you try to ignore the effect Heeseung’s hard gaze has on your core, making your insides twitch. “Don’t you want me to feel good when you're gone?”

Suddenly, Heeseung crawls up to you onto the bed and sinks two fingers into your wet hole. You gasp at the intrusion. “This—” He emphasizes it by curling his fingers. “—belongs to me. I make you feel good. Not some stupid toy.”

Nodding weakly, you resist the urge to moan dejectedly as he slips his hand out.

“Fucking slut,” he mutters. “Couldn't even wait until I get changed?”

You can’t help the whimper that escapes you.

Heeseung notices it, too. His lips curl into a menacing smirk, his eyes gleaming with passion at the idea that sparks in his mind. “Oh… does my pretty little slut like my uniform?”

You nod, but he doesn't take it.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, sir.”

His hand reaches into his belt compartment. “Maybe I should put it to good use then. Wouldn't you like that bunny?” He pulls out a silver pair of handcuffs, with a click! they open invitingly. “Put your hands behind your back, whore.”

As much as your pussy begs for you to listen to him, make this all go faster, you stop yourself. You want to have some fun. “No.”

Heeseung raises a brow. “No?”

“No.” You shake your head to stand your ground. Then, more teasingly, “No, sir.”

Your boyfriend lets out a venomous laugh, his tongue running over his bottom lip before he bites it. His eyes make you fear he’s going to pounce on you, but excite you in hopes that he actually will.

“I said,” he clarifies, stepping onto the bed again, hovering over your body. “Put your hands—” He grabs both wrists into one hand and pulls them up and over your head. “—behind your back.” You squeal as he uses his grip as leverage to toss you over, rolling you onto your stomach. Heeseung pulls your arms down and clicks the handcuffs shut around them. “You naughty little slut.”

Your face is buried in the mattress, and he makes sure of it by the way he shoves it down to make you focus on the feeling of his hand tracing your waistline. “I’m sorry, sir,” you attempt.

He tuts. “You’ll show me how fucking sorry you are.”

You know what that’s code for. The way he fumbles around in the bedside drawer is just further confirmation. Your ears perk up at the sound of him pulling out the flogger.

He runs the toy through his fingers, then traces your back with it. You flinch when he suddenly puts two fingers under the hand of your lace bra and snaps it against your skin. “You have the right to remain silent.” Heeseung leans to your ear, whispering in a breathy tone which tickles your skin. He pulls at your head to lift your face to his. “I’m going to spank you ten times, okay? And you aren't going to make a single noise. Every time you do, that’s another two. Got it?”

The flogger dances over your lace-panties and the skin exposed below it, a shiver running down your spine at the contact. You conceal a yelp when the first slap comes crashing.

“That’s one,” Heeseung announces.

Slap! “Two.”

“Three—” And another. “Four.”

You can already feel your skin reddening from where the toy hit you. It hurts so good. You wish more than anything you could tell him, but you bite your lip to keep from it.

That proves to not be enough when he suddenly switches from the soft but stinging flogger to direct and harsh contact from his hand.

“Ah—” The sound escapes before you can realize it's coming out. You try to cover your mouth, only to remember your hands are tied behind your back, so it’s nothing but a pathetic attempt.

Heeseung squeezes the skin he just slap, pinching at it. “Stupid slut can’t stay quiet?” He slaps once, then twice, quickly. It stings and weak breathes get caught in your throat. Thankfully, he doesn't focus on those. “Six. Seven,” he calls them. “Five more ‘cause you’re a whore who can't keep her mouth shut like I asked her to.”

You’re able to resist making any more after that, biting down so hard on your lip you’re surprised it's still intact. Not that you think you or Heeseung would mind.

“Twelve.” Heeseung rubs circles on the reddened skin, your body twitching sensitively underneath his touch. After setting aside the flogger, he crawls back up your body to lean and whisper against your ear. His thumb wipes across your cheek and you only realize then that you started crying. “Pretty.”

A shiver runs down your spine as Heeseung’s warm hands make their way to your thighs, spreading them apart for full access. You flush at the feeling of your hole desperately clenching on nothing.

Heeseung laughs. “Does my whore miss my cock?” he teases. “Show me how much you want my cock stuffing you full, bunny.”

“Please, sir!” You put on the niceties in hopes of helping your case. “I need it so bad, sir.”

It doesn't do much.

Instead of hearing the sweet sound of him unzipping his pants, Heeseung shuffles with your panties and pulls them off. Then, he reaches to your other side and grabs the dildo you discarded earlier.

He circles the you around your sopping hole to lather it up, before pushing it in without warning. Without time to adjust, either, Heeseung starts pulling it in and out of your pussy in a rhythmic pattern.

You can barely let out breaths at his speed, forced to moan with every thrust of the toy. It touches everywhere it did before, but infinitely better now that Heeseung’s controlling it. You want to stay like this forever and be right over the edge of coming undone under his touch.

The warmth you’re so familiar with and aching for burns from inside you and Heeseung can clearly sense it. He smirks behind you, placing his hand on the small of your back.

“You wanna cum?”

“Yes, sir,” you whimper between breaths.

He’s not satisfied. “What was that?”

“Yes, sir!” you say louder, breaking out into a moan as he pushes the dildo deeper, hitting your g-spot head on. “Please sir, please sir!”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he replies. You prepare to ride your high, but all of the pleasure is ripped away from you when Heeseung pulls the toy completely out of you, placing it tauntingly on the nightstand by your left.

You start to whine, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t be a brat, I’m giving you what you want.” He tuts as he starts to undo your handcuffs. A wave of relief washes over you as you can finally relax your wrists. “You’ve been a very bad girl, Y/N, you’re lucky I’m not locking you up all night.”

In a moment, he flips you over and straddles your hips to redo the handcuffs once more. You’ve grown accustomed to the burn of the silver against your arms that you can't do more than let out a shallow breath as he pulls it through the headboard and safely attaches your arms. Slowly, wearing an intense gaze, Heeseung stands up and admires his work.

Finally, you get a proper look at him.

There’s nothing particular about his uniform, but he makes it look so good you want to rip it right off of him. His belt tightens around his waist just right, holding all kinds of tools and weapons he might need on the job. You bite your lip at the buttons undone at the base of his collar, exposing just enough skin to not leave much to the imagination. His badge shines against the light reflecting from the mirror, catching your eye in the light of it.

Heeseung smirks. “How do you want it, bunny?”

You forget to answer. The way his muscles stretch the fabric around his biceps has you breathing deeply, wishing you could bite down on them, or even have them around your neck.

“Bunny,” Heeseung says more firmly. “I asked you a question.”

Now, you’re playing into the way his deeper, stricter voice makes you feel. The power he holds over you makes your insides twist. You squirm under his hardened gaze.

“I’m sor—” Your eyes slip down his body subconsciously. His bulge is obvious through his tight pants.

“Oh?” Heeseung raises a brow teasingly and bends to meet your lowered eyes. When your gazes meet again, his lips curl upward. “You don’t want the toy anymore? You seemed pretty desperate, using it like the whore you are before I gifted it. Do you think you deserve my cock? Is that what you want, slut?”

You nod, dazed. “Yes…” He eyes you. “Sir."

He doesn't reach down to unzip his pants like you want. He makes his way across the room to the closet and pulls out another box you haven't seen before. Raising a brow, he shakes it for your focus.

“Another gift?” you test.

He hums cryptically, playing around with the tap and pulling out an unfamiliar device. “Comes pre-charged,” he says contently. He presses a button and the toy starts to buzz in his hand.

A vibrator. Oh no.

He puts it on the lowest setting before nudging it between your legs. “Spread your legs a little before I have to force them apart.”

Your legs slowly move away, but not fast enough for him. Heeseung harshly grabs onto your thigh and spreads them open. You’re embarrassed at the sight of your desperate cunt, most likely red in desire.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, leaning in to give it a gentle kiss before placing the torture device—vibrator—right onto your clit.

Thankfully, he gets up to unzip his pants next. He pulls them down just enough to let his hardened cock spring free. It’s leaking at the tip, a glistening glazed white that you want to wrap your mouth around and lap up with your tongue. You let out a breath, trying to hold yourself together and rip away from the headboard you're handcuffed to.

Heeseung strokes it twice or thrice, but doesn't waste time in crawling toward you and aligning it with your mouth. He taunts you, holding it just out of reach for you to wrap your lips around it, but close enough to paint your mouth with his pre-cum. You lap your tongue over his leak desperately.

He laughs above you before shoving it in without warning. “Fuck,” he groans, going for a harsh thrust. “So tight. You take me so well.”

Impatience laces his thrusts, sporadically hitting the back of your throat. You try to steady yourself, head spinning from the vibrations on your cunt, twisting your wrists to grip onto the headboard, your fingers brushing against Heeseung’s which use the bed frame for the same reason.

He huffs from above. “Were you made for this? Is that why you take me so good? Whore, fuck, so good.”

Rolling back your eyes, you mewl at his words, choking back on his cock, but Heeseung doesn't mind. His hand comes down from the headboard to grip the back of your head, forcing it forward to take you deeper.

“Shit, I’m not gonna last—” He groans and curses under his breath, speeding up his movements with no remorse. “You wanna taste my cum? Feel it down your throat? Is that what a slut like you wants?”

Inside. Inside. Come inside me! Your mind screams. You moan against his cock and furrow your brows at the feeling of it hitting your throat.

The vibrations send Heeseung over the edge, making him double over the headboard and let out a melodic groan as his seed spills out of your mouth. Your head follows his movements as he slips his dick out of your mouth, only stopping at the resistance from your hands still tied to the bed frame. You settle with focusing on his movements.

With one hand, Heeseung strokes his cock over your torso, milking himself dry, producing the most beautiful sounds. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, but you force yourself to keep them open.

His other hand snakes down to the vibrator still comfortably nestled on your clit at an easy-to-take setting. He pumps it up two or three, you’re not sure, but it's enough to have your legs shaking and send you over the edge in seconds.

You moan out his name, your pussy soaking itself in your juices.

“Good girl,” Heeseung says, leaning in to give you a soft kiss on your forehead and reach up to undo the handcuffs. He places them safely on the side table and your wrists are finally able to breathe.

Still catching your actual breath, through dazed eyes, you take another look at Heeseung as he pulls up and redoes his pants. He lays down next to you, comfortably landing in your hold.

“You don't wear all of that when you’re just taking calls, do you?”

He looks away bashfully, as if a completely different person from the one pounding into you a few minutes ago. “No…” he says. “I thought you might like it—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

When you separate, you giggle, “I really like it.” Your hand glides down to his belt and hooks onto the buckle. “I really like it.”

He wiggles away from your hold. “Don’t start again, you won't be able to walk.”

“Maybe that's what I want.” Then, for extra measure, you add, “Sir.”

All he does is roll his eyes and playfully scoff at you as he gets up again. “Consider yourself lucky,” he says, retreating to the bathroom for a wet cloth to clean you up.

Or, to get the other toys you have stored in there.

You can only hope for the best.

 JJONGSLUTZ 2023

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 3 days

Text

Just Take It | Bonus Drabble 2

Summary: Jungkook gets mistaken as your father but jumps at the opportunity to show them exactly who he is to you. Pairing: Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 1.6K~ Warning: Suggestive language but nothing crazy lol a/n: So this is another ask by an anon and it was something I'm sure y'all have been curious to see so I figured why not make it a little longer 🤭 p.s. written in one sitting so barely edited Start from the beginning

"Here you go!" the lady at the register says, handing Jungkook one of the shopping bags.

She had been looking at the both of us, no doubt trying to figure out our relationship but went with the one that might seem the most logical with an age difference as big as ours.

"You're lucky! I wish my dad would still buy me clothes at my age. I miss those days where I wouldn't have to worry about anything, especially money" she says, no doubt trying to make conversation while she folds the rest of the clothes and places them inside the second bag

"No you see he's not my-" "She does call me Daddy but I can assure you, I'm not her father" Jungkook jumps in, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me closer, making things a lot more intimate than they had been before.

"I- um-" I stammer but Jungkook decides to make matters worse, looking to gain my confirmation. "Right Bunny" he says, placing a kiss on my neck and making me shudder, completely mortified by this whole situation.

"Oh would you look at the time! We better get going if we want to make it to that thing in time" I say while shaking off his embrace, trying to get away from here as soon as possible.

When I reach out to take the second bag Jungkook gets to it faster and already has a comfortable grip on the handle. "It's okay baby, I got it" he says, going out of his way to sound sickeningly sweet but also extremely intoxicating at the same time.

I smile painfully at him and squeeze out a quick thank you to him and the poor cashier and hightail my way out of there.

"I'm sorry sir I shouldn't have assumed" the girl apologizes but Jungkook tones down the playful nature and assures her that he understood where she was coming from.

"It's alright. I just like to embarrass her when I can" he admits and she laughs, understanding our dynamic just a little bit more. "Have a good day sir" she say, wrapping up the conversation and he returns the sentiment and thanks her for her help.

When he finally decides to leave the store he saunters out to me, his eyes clearly showing his continued amusement from the little spectacle he put on back there.

"I hate you" I pout and he chuckles in response. "Why do you have to do that every time?" I question, dragging out the last word and it only gains me and even more playful Jungkook.

"Because you look so pretty when you're looking at me like that" he says, placing both bags in his left hand and using his right to pinch my cheek, no doubt warm to the touch from the embarrassment I couldn't help but feel back there.

"Let's just go" I say, rolling my eyes at him and making my way out of the shopping center, him following with a bounce in his step before he catches up to me and grabs my hand, making me stop to look at him.

"Let me make it up to you yeah?" he say, the once playful eyes changed to one's full of hunger. I can feel my cheeks start to warm up again, this time from desire instead of embarrassment because I know exactly what's in store.

I don't bother to dignify his words with a response and simply continue on my quest back to the car but the fact that I've held onto his hand and made sure he was following me still made him chuckle, finding me absolutely adorable.

"That eager huh?" he asks and I huff in response. "I'm done with being in a bad mood today so you've got a lot of work to put in mister" I grumble and he laughs at my reasoning, knowing deep down I'm buzzing with excitement.

"Don't I always?" he says and I stop in my tracks, glaring up at him, "So you think I'm a piece of work huh?" I growl and he holds back his laughter, finding my efforts of being intimidating so endearing.

"No, I just love taking my time with you" he says, caressing my face and making my sour mood start to fade away, "Isn't that right Bunny" he says, leaning down and placing a chaste kiss on my lips leaving me wanting him even more.

"Shut up" I say and stomp away, done with his teasing and needing him to put his money where his mouth is. If he's claiming he wants to make it up to me then he's doing it in a very strange way.

"You know I thought this shopping trip was supposed to be fun and make me feel better" I say once he's finally caught up to me right before I take the crosswalk to get to the parking lot. "I'm having fun. Aren't you?" he teases, acting completely oblivious making me even more upset. "No, I'm not" I say through gritted teeth.

"Come on Bunny you know I'm just teasing" he says popping the trunk and placing the bags in it before closing it and going to open my door.

"Hey" he say, grabbing me by my waist and pulling me close, "You know I love you right?" he says once I've cuddled into his chest and I nod, breathing in his scent which always brings be a sense of comfort. "I love you too" I mumble and he kisses me on the forehead before letting go and opening my car door.

"Let's go home okay?" he say and I nod walking closer but before I'm able to sink down into my seat he smacks my ass. "OW! What was that for?" I whine, rubbing the spot he abused as he dryly chuckles. "That was for rolling your eyes at me back there Princess. Think I wouldn't notice huh?" he says in a deep taunting voice that he knows can push me into submission.

I shake my head and he gives me a mischievous smile before telling me to get in the car.

"I thought you were supposed to be making it up to me" I pout once he gets in the car beside me. "Don't worry Darling, once I'm done with you, you'll forget that you were even mad at me to begin with" he says so casually, making my stomach do a flip, my thighs always clenching together, thinking about what lies ahead.

"Just let Daddy take care of you yeah? Gonna make you feel all better" he teases and although I act like I hate it when he talks to me like that, I know he'll always make good on his word. "Don't call yourself that" I groan, trying to hide how easily the simplest words can make me so needy.

How has he trained my body to react to him so well. I guess it's my fault for letting him have his way with me time and time again. After all, he was my first and I wouldn't want it any other way.

"You okay baby?" he asks, concerned that he's truly made me upset from how I had spaced out for a second there. "I'm okay" I say plainly and he nods, putting the car into drive and starting on our short journey back home.

"Thank you Daddy" I say playfully making him choke on his spit, not expecting me to call him that since I had been so against it just moments ago.

"For what?" he questions through coughs and I can't help but laugh. "For all of the things you bought me today" I say and he leans over and grabs my cheek, turning me to face him to share in a sweet kiss while stopped at the red light.

"You're welcome baby" he says, rubbing his nose against mine before pulling back and sitting properly in the drivers seat, placing one hand on the wheel and the other on my thigh as we continue on our journey once the light turns green.

"Don't think you're getting away with not showing me how pretty you look in them once we get home though" he says squeezing my thigh and and letting me know exactly what he meant but he chooses to voice it anyway.

"Need to fuck you in that babydoll nightgown I got you" he growls, "Been thinking 'bout it since I saw it" he growls and I feel myself getting even more wet with every sinful word that drips from his lips.

"You can't just say that" I say, hiding my face in my hands and he chuckles, using one hand to spread apart my thighs with ease, rubbing a finger along my clothed center to see the damage he's already done.

"Baby's so worked up that she could probably cum from my words alone huh?" he taunts and he doesn't let up the entire time, making me absolutely helpless against him. He knows exactly how I want it and he lets me know that I'm not leaving to bed today, or tomorrow and maybe even the next day.

"Gonna fuck this little attitude right out of you" he says, pulling into the garage and shutting it behind us. "Upstairs. Now" he commands when he turns off the car and opens the trunk to pull out the bags, making sure to bring up everything because he meant what he said.

Wouldn't be surprised if some of the lingerie doesn't even last a day. But then again it never really does...

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