#red dial watches | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eddies-ashtray · 3 months ago

Text

white hot forever

Pairing: Logan “Wolverine” Howlett x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Most days exhaustion plagues him. But tonight, with his last dregs of energy, Logan cooks for you. Though he’s hungry for something far more enticing.

WC: 5.6k

Category: Smut (18+ ONLY, minors dni)

Content: Implied (non-specified) age gap, kissing, Logan throws reader over his shoulder/carries her, cunnilingus, unprotected pnv, reverse cowgirl, dirty talk, petnames (baby, old man, etc), beard burn, 1 single spank, some light nipple play, spitting, kinda dom logan/sub reader, light teasing/mocking, a dash of humiliation kink, lots of manhandling, an inordinate amount of animal metaphor/simile, mentions of logan’s exhaustion/aging due to the adamantium poisoning.

♡*♡*♡

His biceps strain against the thin cotton of his white button-down–the sleeves rolled up–as he finely chops a red pepper. His heavy hand lends to the particularly booming sound of the knife landing on the wood cutting board. But you don’t mind, content to observe from your ideal spot on the countertop of the island.

A half empty wine glass sits in your palm as your gaze lingers on the smattering of dark hair beneath the low-cut tank he wears under the button-down.

The kitchen smells of the sweetness of the cooking oil he used and the warmth of nostalgia. Faint memories from childhood of your mother bustling around the kitchen as she prepared dinner linger at the edges of your mind, brought on by familiar scents. When you breathe it in, you also catch lingering traces of Logan’s shampoo and, faintly, sweat.

“You ever…Ya know,” you pause, swirling the white liquid around. “Use the claws to chop an onion or something?”

Doing your best to suppress a smirk when Logan looks up at you from beneath his brows and pins you with a stern gaze, you hold his eyes.

You quirk a brow, waiting for his response as a snort threatens to bubble up.

A smirk cracks through his intense facade, crows feet deepening slightly. With an endearing shake of his head, he huffs a laugh through his nose. Logan’s a bit of a grump—even more so now that his hair has greyed and he’s let his beard grow somewhat unruly—but he’s not without a sense of humour.

“No,” his voice, though signed with a note of playfulness, is as gruff as always when he rests the knife on the cutting board. “But as you know, they’ve been useful for…other things.”

The word ‘other’ is loaded with intensity as the hand that previously gripped the knife handle lands deceptively gently on your right knee. It skates roughly up your thigh to thumb at the edge of your skirt.

You only hum in response. Despite the warmth of the kitchen, a chill runs up your spine and you shiver involuntarily. You’re not sure how he does that. Dial things up to 100 before you can even blink. It keeps you on your toes, even a few years in.

Now it’s his turn to quirk a brow–ever expressive–when his heavy gaze finally lifts from your legs.

Warmth begins to seep into your chest and stoke a small fire in your belly.

But the growing tension vanishes the moment a timer dings, shrill and intrusive.

Pulling himself away from your skin to tend to the sound, Logan bends at the knees to pull a steaming dish from the oven.

The crack of his joints is a quiet popping sound compared to the low grunt he releases when he stands back up to his full height to place the dish on the stovetop.

He tosses a worn out dish towel over his shoulder–the same one he’d used to pull the food from the oven.

Watching him carefully as he spins around in search of his whiskey glass, you remark, “You look handsome like this.”

You pass him the liquor, his large hand wrapping around the glass.

“Handsome like what?” he asks, a hint of a chuckle in his voice.

It’s not often Logan has the energy for this. Long days drain him now. Like sweet syrup from a tapped tree, a slow drip that takes and takes.

“Just–in the kitchen with me. Cooking…Taking care of me,” you say.

Another soft smile graces his lips and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek, a hand at your hip, and your face warms.

Gulping down a healthy sip of his drink, his throat bobs as he swallows the auburn liquid. When the glass clinks against the marble as he puts it down, you notice droplets linger in his beard. Once you’ve placed your own glass down you reach to thumb away the beaded liquid.

“Hm?” he hums, though it’s more of a growl when he does it, the sound rumbling up from deep in his broad chest.

“Just got some…” you trail off, expecting him to come to the natural conclusion himself when you lean in and cup his jaw. Feel the roughness of his beard against your palm as you swipe away the small droplet. “There.”

Logan leans briefly into your touch to kiss the soft skin of your palm in thanks. The gesture makes your heart ache.

You’re about to pull away, but Logan grasps your wrist in one strong hand, savouring your touch. He’s looking at you with an unexpected hunger behind his eyes as he feels the skin of your wrist beneath his rough palm. You can’t deny the way it revives the searing heat in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” The word comes out more breathy than you’d intended.

“Nothin’.” Logan shakes his head, holding your gaze. He releases your hand gently.

The word lingers in the air between you.

The way he says it–like it’s not really nothing–wires you right up again. You know he knows it too–his overly keen senses able to pick up the rhythm of your heart hammering against your ribcage.

You need to expel the energy or let the tension snap but can only think of the intoxicating scent of whiskey on his breath. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey.”

He’s quick to respond. “No? You want to?”

“Okay.” It comes out in a whisper. The atmosphere feels too fragile for any other tone.

Logan grabs the crystal glass, just another sip or two remaining. He steals another as he steps in front of you, his left palm falling to your knee to push your legs apart so he has room to stand between them.

He lingers above you and you lick your lips in anticipation, catching the way hazel eyes darken beneath furrowed brows.

Then, Logan looks away and you watch as he places the glass down on the counter and his palms flat beside your thighs, effectively caging you in so you’re trapped in his space. Logan is all you can breathe, all you can see, all you can smell as your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths.

Eyes finally returning to yours, his head tilts to the side–cocky, challenging. “Then give your old man a kiss.”

A whimper nearly escapes you before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and hungrily pressing your lips to his like it’s an order. It may as well have been, gruff as he is.

Logan grunts in response to your quick action, pulling your leg around his waist so your heel digs into the small of his back.

The roughness of his beard rubs your chin and cheeks, a pleasant sting against sensitive skin. Though you’re soon distracted when his hand leaves your calf in favour of greedily running up your thigh. They leave heat and tingling skin in their wake, and you gasp into the kiss when he gives the meat of your thigh a generous squeeze.

His desperation for you is matched only by yours for him as you wind your other leg around his hips to tug him closer. Grunting at your forcefulness, Logan finally slips his tongue into your warm mouth.

The whiskey on his tongue is overpowering as he kisses you like he’s starving for it–the meal he was making long forgotten. Warm hands brush up the length of your spine, eliciting a subtle shiver, before one of his large palms cradles your skull like you’ll shatter without the support.

His nose bumps yours as he deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth with fervour now. When his spare hand coasts over your chest to grab at your tits over your top, you arch into his touch with a moan like he demands it.

When you bite his bottom lip he growls, long and deep. A renewed sense of desperation claws at your skin as your kisses become increasingly wanton and sloppy. Tangling tongues generate sounds bordering on obscenity.

His claws may as well be dragging down your body, leaving bloody marks in their wake with the way his touch makes your skin sing. You hope he leaves bruises when he grasps at the flesh of your hips, pulling your lower-half flush against his pelvis.

You can feel him, hard and straining against his black slacks. It’s impossible not to moan, lips leaving his as your mouth falls open to release the breathy sound.

For a moment, you grind against his cock with your forehead pressed to his, using your hands wrapped around his neck as leverage. Feeling back muscles flex under your warm palms. The delicious slide of your soaked panties against his hardness is enough to drive you wild.

A gasp is pulled out of you when your clit catches briefly on his tip beneath clean slacks. Logan growls through clenched teeth, pressing you into him harder, fervently rolling his hips. The sound makes your pussy clench around nothing.

“Logan,” you whimper, aching for him as you pant into each other’s mouths. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he rasps before he’s scooping you up off the counter, hoisting you up over his shoulder. Squealing at the surprise demonstration of his great strength, Logan strides through the kitchen and towards the living room.

Desire burns deep in your belly as he carries you across the house like it’s nothing. He’s all broad chest, bulging biceps, and thick thighs. It makes you dizzy. You can’t help but reach out and pinch the meat of his thigh.

“Hey!” He barks.

Unsurprisingly quickly, Logan delivers a sharp smack to your ass and you yelp in shock, jolting against him. “So fuckin’ naughty.”

The lingering sting coupled with his gruff tone has you squirming in his hold, whining low in your throat.

In a single sudden motion, Logan manoeuvers you off his shoulder, dropping you onto the couch. And suddenly you feel deliciously small pinned beneath his hooded gaze. He towers over you. His staggering height emphasized from your perspective where you lay against the cushions.

He’s assumed that authoritative stance that has every atom in your body buzzing–his arms crossed over his chest. This paired with his hard gaze is a lethal combination. He’s got that look in his eyes, like what am I gonna do with you?

“Sorry.” Insincerity bleeds through your tone. You like to get him like this. To rile him up until he is more animal than man.

Hazel eyes narrow as he grunts, disbelieving your weak apology.

“You wanna be sorry?” He asks with a quick flick of his chin in your direction.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod. His chest rumbles with a deep sigh.

Unable to avert your gaze from his face, you bear witness to the glorious sight of Logan shedding his button-down. Your hips wiggle subtly in anticipation–though Logan would call it impatience. The cotton article is tossed carelessly over the chair by the couch.

He crouches down with a soft grunt, nods. “Okay.”

Swiftly, you are tugged to the edge of the couch by Logan’s hands on your hips. Your skirt gets rucked up your waist, exposing you to the warm air of the house. Though it feels far more jarringly cool between your legs where you’re hot and wanting, pussy weeping for the older man before you.

“So fuckin’ soaked already,” He mutters, more to himself than to you. The comment has pleasure boiling low in your belly.

“Logan.” He glances up at you briefly then returns his eyes to your cunt.

You watch with rapture as his nostrils flare, no doubt overwhelmed by your scent this close to your centre. A predator ready to devour its prey.

For the briefest of moments, Logan admires the wetness seeping through your panties, presses his thumb against the clothed, leaking well just to see your hips jump. Biting back a pathetic whine is far more difficult when his lips twitch into a faint smirk.

There’s a change in his eyes in a split second where brows lower and pupils dilate. It’s then that he rips your panties down your legs and you swear you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing. Gasping, you toss your head back between your shoulders, panting and warm all over.

His chest rumbles with a guttural sound, savouring the sight of you spread open wide and dripping for him.

Logan’s rough hands rub up and down your thighs, hungry. When they pause you swear you can feel his gaze burning a hole into the column of your throat.

“Eyes,” He demands.

You obey, catching a glimpse of him stuffing your panties into his back pocket from where he kneels on the floor between your legs.

The anticipation eats you alive, hips flexing, unable to remain still. Logan pins them down in an instant.

Everything quiets. Tunnel vision casts out any and all sound or sight besides him.

“Don’t move,” Is all he says before he’s diving in and devouring you, tongue hot on your sensitive skin.

“Fuck!” you cry, hands plunging into his hair.

He’s groaning the second his tongue licks up your cunt, dining on your taste. He gorges on you like he’s been deprived of your taste for far too long and he’s hollow without it.

You’re drunk and dizzy on the way his beard scratches against your skin. The way the thick hair rubs against your cunt and sensitive inner thighs. A carnal craving satisfied. He’ll pull away after and be covered in you, unable to kiss you without smearing your desire across your own chin.

The rough tug you give his hair causes him to grunt into you. He eats you out with zeal, an energy that so often eludes him these days.

“Feels so good…Shit…So-” you babble on, only half aware of the praise spilling from your mouth.

For now, you are not sorry about his overzealous approach. But you will be. After, when the burn becomes a sting. When you are unable to walk for a week straight without feeling the roughness of his beard between your thighs. When he’ll reach over while he’s driving and squeeze your thigh meanly as a reminder.

For now, you moan unabashedly as he nips at your clit harshly. Free roaming hands find warm skin, grabbing fistfulls of you. Rubbing your thighs, grabbing at your hips, spreading possessively over your stomach. Soon, his hand snakes under your top to squeeze at your tits, and you gasp sharply when he pinches your nipple between thumb and forefinger.

The fire in your belly rages on, burning bright, spitting ash.

“Logan,” You whine, long and drawn out, when he shakes his head back and forth animalistically, coating more of his beard in your wetness, your scent. He grunts against your pussy at the sound of his name hot on your tongue, the vibrations it causes driving you mad.

His roughness makes your cunt throb. You derive as much pleasure from the sensation of his tongue licking up your slit and circling your clit as you do from simply watching him like this. His eyes shut in concentration, locked in as he laps up your juices like it sustains him. Like he is taking his fill of you before he hibernates for the winter.

Just the obscene sounds of his hunger, the slurping and the groans emanating from deep within his chest are enough to prompt your hips to grind up into the pleasure his mouth provides. And he accepts all of it enthusiastically.

You get lost in it, his wet muscle prodding at your entrance, licking up your slit to spread the wetness he’d collected over your clit. He sucks it between his lips, causing you to groan.

Briefly, Logan pulls away, and you whine in protest. But his pause allows you to glimpse the parts of his beard that are now matted down with wetness. The sight causes warmth to spread across your chest, equal parts humiliation and pleasure.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he pants against your thigh, warm breath fanning over your puffy cunt. “Look at you,” he slurs, thumb rubbing over your pussy, spreading the wetness all over.

Your hips jump and you whine again. Logan growls a quiet, desperate sound before diving back in, practically making out with your pussy and inserting two of his thick fingers into your heat.

“Shit! Lo-” his name gets cut off with a girlish moan, a high sound only he could pull out of you, body completely overwhelmed by the excess of pleasure.

“There she is,” he drawls, voice muffled and thick with lust before enveloping your clit in the warmth of his mouth and sucking. Your grip in his hair tightens as your hips grind into his mouth and down onto his fingers. Fingers which curl up into the gummy walls of your cunt, languidly brushing that sensitive spot inside over and over.

Soon, slow movements evolve into quicker, but still consistent and deliberate, pumps into your weeping hole. It is precisely then that the ever-growing fire in your belly begins to consume you entirely. The moment Logan’s jaw goes slack and he begins to desperately lap at your cunt with a near entire loss of coordination, your vision goes white.

Your orgasm crashes over you, an all-consuming force as Logan continues to fuck you with his fingers. It’s like you are bursting at the seams, coming apart in his hands. Every cell in your body catches fire as you roll your hips into his hand, riding out the waves of your climax.

You’re panting as you come down, hips slowing to a stop as your body becomes over-sensitive to his touch. You twitch as Logan slowly pulls his fingers from you, his head falling to rest on your trembling thigh.

“You know…For an old man, that was-”

You suck in a sharp breath, hips jumping at the harsh sensation of Logan intentionally rubbing his beard over your already burning inner thighs. He chuckles lowly at your reaction, but is quick to soothe you, laying tender kisses across heated skin.

Your hands trail down from his hair, and stroke a thumb softly over his cheek. He allows the sweet touches to continue for several moments before he pushes off his knees with a grunt. Logan falls onto the couch next to you, legs spread wide. Eyeing him in your periphery, you can tell he’s just as exhausted as you; his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You’re still panting softly as you watch him, your limbs like Jell-O, skirt hastily pushed up past your waist, and top askew. The sight of him licking his fingers clean of you makes your clit twitch despite its sensitivity.

Finally, he finds your eyes.

“C’mere,” Logan rasps, patting his thigh.

It takes great effort for you to crawl into his lap, and you don’t do it without some assistance. Logan’s hands grip your waist, pull you so you’re seated sideways over his thighs so as not to further irritate the burn.

You wind an arm around his neck, tenderly stroking the hair at his nape.

Logan rubs over the dough of your thighs, thumbs caressing between the split of them. Later, he’ll help you gently rub soothing lotion into them, but for now he’s all desire as he gazes down at where his hands press lightly into your legs.

“How’s that feel?” he asks quietly.

You can’t help but squirm in his lap a little, feeling him hot and hard beneath your thighs.

“Mmh,” you muse, staring down at his hands on you, legs raw and tingling. “Good.”

You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, the warmth of his body beneath yours. “Yeah?”

You nod, meeting his eyes before cupping his jaw and scratching softly at his beard, feeling the lingering wetness there. Briefly, his eyes drift shut and he groans quietly.

“How’s that feel?” you repeat his question back at him, teasing.

Logan growls, grabs the back of your head, and desperately presses his lips to yours in answer.

You moan softly into the kiss, holding his face in your hands as you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue more than the whiskey now.

Then you’re trailing your hands down his chest and pulling away only briefly to tug his white tank off before your fingers deftly begin to undo his belt. The metallic clink it makes, the sound of leather sliding against cotton as it comes off, only makes your pussy clench around nothing as you whine into his mouth.

Your ardour makes Logan chuckle, breaking away from your lips in favour of kissing roughly down your neck. His hands now cup your jaw, allowing him to tilt your head back as his lips leave a trail of wet kisses across heated skin. You sigh as his beard tickles your neck.

“So needy,” he mumbles into your skin.

You groan and feel his smirk against the skin of your chest before he’s pulling your skirt and top off over your head and tossing them aside.

Wanting hands find their way into his hair again when he pulls away from your skin momentarily. He enjoys having you completely naked in his lap while he’s still mostly clothed. You can tell from the way his nostrils flare when he drags in a deep breath, the way his tongue wets his mouth before he pulls you close and latches onto your nipple.

He greedily licks and sucks and bites at one while palming the other in one large hand.

“Logan,” you breathe his name like a prayer, pulling him closer with hands locked in his hair.

His teeth graze your nipple, tugging it gently. Gasping in shock, your face twists up at the intense mix of pleasure-pain that swirls around in your gut. He releases your breast, breathing harshly over your now damp skin.

Impatient and needy, you can’t help but squirm in his lap, rubbing yourself over his hardness. Surely, you’ll leave a damp patch on his clean slacks. The thought only spurs you on, movements becoming desperate.

His cock twitches beneath you, tip probably an angry red and leaking sticky precum you selfishly wish to lick up. “Fuck, need to feel you, sweetheart.”

The whine his proclamation elicits borders on pathetic, and in a rush you’re helping him tug his slacks down just enough that his cock can spring free.

“So pretty,” you whisper, dragging your middle finger across prominent veins that run down his length, prompting him to twitch and hiss through his teeth.

Saliva begins to pool in your mouth, but you’re tugged back to Earth when Logan grabs your waist, ordering you to ‘turn around’.

Body buzzing in anticipation, you allow him to manhandle you into the right position, savouring the feel of his hands manipulating your movements.

“There ya go,” He praises, pulling your back flush against his chest. His hand sneaks up your chest. When it reaches your neck, he presses gently so your head falls against his shoulder.

Your eyes meet as your chest heaves.

“Open.”

Eyes remaining on his, you part your lips.

“Don’t swallow,” Logan instructs gruffly, brow quirked. He may as well have pointed a finger in your face, stern as he is.

You nod quickly, and he leans forward slightly to spit thickly onto your tongue. It’s so obscene a tremor wracks through your body as heat spills into your gut.

Hand below your chin, Logan closes your jaw for you, allowing his saliva to mix with your own before putting his hand in front of you, saying, “Spit.”

You obey a little messily, some ending up dribbling down your chin.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he says, smearing the sticky mess over your already messy cunt. You whine, all high and breathy. Still slightly sensitive.

Finally, he adjusts you, shoving you forward in his lap so he’s at the right angle to thrust into your wet heat.

Tandem groans are released into the air the moment he fills you. A millisecond to adjust. To savour how deeply he fills you before his hands are at your waist to help guide your movements.

Using your own hands on his legs as leverage allows for slow, deep thrusts that make your body quake. Those first sweet drags of his cock against your slick walls are enough to make you shudder.

Reaching a steady rhythm, you begin to pant, the exertion it takes to ride him like this tiring you out quickly. Though Logan is quick to help, supporting you with strong hands as he guides you up and down. Still, you’ve yet to lose your vigour. Entranced by the slow roll of your hips, the way his cock reaches the deepest parts of you in this position. His strong thighs bracketing your body.

“That’s it…That’s it.” Logan grunts lowly, nearly delirious and wholly mesmerized by how your body takes all of him. How you stretch around him to accommodate his size. Hypnotized briefly as he hungrily watches the place where you connect.

A gasp evolves into a moan as one of his hands leaves your waist in favour of seeking out the sensitive button at the top of your cunt. Clumsy fingers toy with your clit, slipping around messily. Flames lick at your nerve endings. On occasion he loses his place, unable to maintain a perfect rhythm from behind you, but just as quickly returns to circle the bud.

Another hand moves to your belly, pulling your body backwards, his sweat-slick chest now pressed up against your back. You wish you could drag your nails down his broad chest, watch as he loses himself in the feeling. But the closeness this position allows is worth the sacrifice.

Being nearly immobilized pressed up against him like this, giving him full control of your body, it feeds some deep desire. It’s the reason your head has gone a little fuzzy. He knows it too. He knows it when you let a whine slip past your lips. When you begin to grind back against him needily.

“Feel good, baby?” he rasps. At the same time, he rubs his middle finger over your clit in time with a deliciously deep thrust. All you can do is throw your head back against his shoulder, another wanton moan clawing its way up your throat, directly into his ear. That’s all the answer he needs.

Logan grunts in response. Pistoning hips setting a rhythm that is both intimate and punishing, making you dizzy. His closeness makes you dizzy. Those low grunts in your ear are enough to drop pearls of pleasure into the pit of your stomach. All of it contributing to the growing fog in your mind.

You writhe against him, an arm wrapping around the back of his head, keeping him close with a hand buried in his hair. Your other hand remains locked onto his forearm as it flexes with each rub of your sensitive clit.

Logan begins to grunt animalistically into your ear, unabashed about his desire for you. You feel it in the way his strong arms grip your body, ensuring your security. In the way he lets moans and grunts and groans rumble up from his chest, unafraid to let you hear what you do to him.

His hands all over your body, the deep strokes of his cock that reach the deepest parts of you, his soft grunts in your ear–it all feeds the flames in your belly.

“Fuck. S-so full,” you mewl, overwhelmed tears springing to your eyes.

“I know, baby. I know,” he placates, tone edging on mockery. His voice sends shockwaves through your body. The sweet humiliation it brings presses into your skin like a brand, leaving it white-hot.

More. You need more of him.

Desperately, clumsily, you grind back into him enthusiastically, writhing in his grasp. The rhythm turns staccato and messy as a result. But it doesn’t matter. You just need more.

You whine, turning your head towards him and he gets the hint, meets you halfway and licks hotly into your mouth the moment your lips meet. Your hands twist in his hair.

It’s messy and uncoordinated and your neck hurts twisted to kiss him like this. But then there’s the fiery taste of whiskey. And you. And him, his cigars. And the pain–it’s worth it. It’s necessary.

When you break away, only a thin line of saliva connecting your mouths now, it’s to gasp. Your brows furrow, pleasure twisting your insides.

You go cross-eyed trying to hold his gaze, and he grins. It’s a wolfish thing. A flash of his teeth, lips kissed red and puffy. The sight makes your pussy clench around him.

A smile tugs at your own mouth, probably fucked out and hazy with pupils blown wide. It only grows when the hand gripping your waist skims over your hot skin. On its journey, he grabs at your tits, pinches your nipple. Every sensation now blends together, overwhelming you with pleasure.

His hand pauses at the base of your neck where it grazes over the stretched expanse of skin.

A teasing squeeze. Once. Your brows knitting together. Twice. Your mouth dropping open. His grip not quite tight enough to cut off airflow and elicit that floaty feeling. But enough to make you whine low in your throat. You are at his mercy.

Eyes drifting shut, you cry out, feeling your climax building at the pit of your stomach. Breathy moans escape you with each rub of his finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves, edging on overstimulating. Each sharp thrust drives you closer to that edge, setting your body alight.

“Y’gonna come, honey?” Logan pants, voice hoarse.

These escapades exhaust him now. You’ve witnessed the way it sinks into his bones after. But there’s also the hint of a grin in his voice. Along with desperation. Desperation to feel you fall apart. An indication that the pleasure he provides, the pleasure he receives, is worth the exhaustion. It’s rewarding for him.

Your answer is the most pathetic whine, high and wanton as overwhelmed tears blur your vision, threatening to spill over. “Uhuh.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, and you swear his fingers were made to make you come apart at the seams when he rubs over your clit like that. Like it gives him pleasure too.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless, barely moving over his cock as he pounds into you from below, his strong legs beginning to tremble.

“Yeah,” Logan repeats. Mockery is thick on his tongue, a faux pout playing at his mouth. You lose it.

Everything else falls away. Tingling heat spreads beneath your skin as you finally let go. Your body thrums with your release, the feel of his damp skin at your back, his hands on your body, how full of him you are.

Logan has little room to be cocky. Because the moment you begin to clench around him–cunt pulsing with each wave of your orgasm washing over you–he’s grunting curses into your shoulder, leaving bite marks on the tender flesh as his warm seed spurts into you.

He shudders with his release.

“Fuck,” he growls, grinding up into you, his grasp on your body tightening.

In a flash, he removes his hand from your throat. And, distantly, past your post-coital fog, you hear the sound of metal unsheathing rapidly. You glance to your right.

Retracting claws reveal three deep holes pierced into the faux leather, showcasing thick wire springs and white stuffing.

Blearily, you drag your hand down his arm, running over hair and slowly aging skin. Reaching his wrist, you bring his hand up to your mouth, cup it in both of yours. You smooth your thumb gently over the edges of his knuckles, watch for moments as the holes very slowly begin to close.

You kiss his knuckles thrice. Once over each slowly healing wound.

Eventually, the skin will mend. The wounds will be nonexistent. They will heal in time. But his body is exhausted. And every time the claws come out, the cracks in his skin take longer and longer to repair themselves.

He collapses beneath you, rugged breaths pulled from tired lungs.

Carefully, he slides out of you and you help him tuck himself back into his boxers. Press a kiss to his forehead.

A whisper of, “Be right back.” against heated skin before leaving on unsteady legs to clean yourself up. His desire is a slow leak down your thighs now.

If he were a younger man, still full of strength and agility, he’d have done this part for you. You know he wishes he could. Part of you wishes he could too. But you like to take care of him too.

When you return, he’s still sunken into the couch, chest bare and sweaty. He accepts the glass of water you bring him, gulps it down thirstily.

Cuddling up next to him now, you brush the sweat-damp hair back from his face. You’ll allow him to pull you close. You’ll hold each other, stroke the skin beneath his eyes tenderly. The fresh dark circles there. And he’ll press soft kisses against the lingering bite marks on your shoulder, whisper praise into your ear.

When his honeyed eyes catch yours, you know he longs to spoil you. To scoop you up in his arms and take you to bed.

But this takes a lot out of him now. It will be days–maybe more–before you’ll be able to do something like that again.

So, you’ll take care of him. He’ll insist on having you underneath him. Begrudge the fact that the exhaustion will have yet to be leached from his bones. But acquiesce the moment your hands reach beneath his belt.

♡*♡*♡

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

3K notes · View notes

facetubein · 1 year ago

Text

Bulova Men's Marine Star Chronograph Watch - Bold Design, Maritime Heritage

DEAL PRICE $179.99 LIST PRICE $450.00 60% OFF

Top 10 Features:

Six-Hand Chronograph Movement for Precision Timing

Sporty Nautical Appeal Inspired by the Marine Star Collection

Striking Blue Dial with Silver and Red Accents

Date Display and Signature Tuning Fork at 12 o'clock

Three Sub-dials for 24-hour, Running Seconds, and 60-minute Chronograph

Durable Stainless Steel Construction in Silver Tone

Mineral Crystal for Scratch Resistance

100 Meters Water Resistant for Land and Sea Adventures

Safety Fold Over with Push Button Closure for Seamless Style

3-Year Limited Manufacturer's Warranty for Peace of Mind.

BUY NOW MORE DETAILS ANOTHER ITEMS

#Bulova Men's Marine Star chronograph watch bold design maritime heritage sporty appeal blue dial silver accents red accents durable construc

0 notes

selineram3421 · 10 months ago

Text

Lovesick Alastor Headcanon

Alastor X Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ deer man is possessive/obsessive over you, hides it somewhat, very yandere coded but doesn't force you to do anything you don't like, suggestive/implied, hint at cannibalism, blood, ☺🔪 ⚠

This goes for almost all versions of the Reader. Child reader/platonic relationships excluded.

He's had his eye on you for a while now. Of course you didn't know since he always kept his composure.

You were a jewel among rocks to him.

Will do anything to make you fall in love with him. Not make but persuade.

Uses Vox as a dummy whenever he can to make himself look good.

Waits for you to approach him.

And when you do he's the happiest demon in Hell.

He likes when you wear red. Especially if you are covered in blood.

Its not yours, no. He'd never let that happen.

Literally crazy about you.

He doesn't do PDA but behind closed doors is a different story.

Alastor is a gentleman! He won't do anything unless you ask him to. Kisses, cuddles, hand holding, biting-

*cough*

Depending on what you like of course.

Only spills your blood with your permission. Fully consensual.

Likes holding you close or having you nearby. It calms him down when he's upset or too peppy.

When you are at the hotel, he likes whisking you away to his office for kisses.

Buys you jewelry, food, clothes. A lot of gifts that are in his colors. Maybe one thing you'll wear everyday with a microphone on it.

Everyone knows to STAY AWAY.

Of course Vox is an idiot and tries to woo you but fails miserably.

"You know how much I adore you my dearest.", Alastor caresses your face. "Jusqu'à la fin des temps ou jusqu'à ce qu'il n'y ait plus que nous." (Until the end of time, or until it's just us.)

Makes sure you're content and well taken care of.

Of course there are times when he does too much and you get upset.

"Alastor, please let me do this for myself.", you'll say with a pout.

"Forgive me my darling.", he kisses the top of your head. "You know I like taking care of you, but as you wish."

He shows off his demon form because he knows you like it.

Teases you about it later in your shared hotel room, until you're hiding your blushing face.

"I thought you liked my radio dial eyes?", he leans closer, purposefully turning them into radio dials. "￦as ¡ wr¤Ω&?", he asks, static more noticeable in his voice.

"D-don't!", you'll stutter and shiver, peeking through your fingers.

His smile widens and he'll continue transforming. "What's the matter my love?", he chuckles as he looms over you. "Trouble holding back?"

Falls in love all over again when you get pissed at someone.

Watches as you tear up said demon and cheers for you. "Save me a piece or two darling!"

Man worships and adores you.

No one will ever see you make the Radio Demon blush, but you don't mind. That's only for you to see.

He's yours after all.

Thank you to @the-friend-lol for making me the gif.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@ducky-died-inside @scary-noodlesblog @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @lbcreations-blog @+?

ML for Alastor🎙

#alastor #x reader #gn reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #alastor x reader #headcanons #hint at yandere reader #wink wink

4K notes · View notes

hoshifighting · 4 months ago

Note

Really enjoyed the screaming back reaction. Could you do one where reader actually leaves the house after an argument.

seungcheol doesn’t hesitate. the second you grab your coat and storm out, he’s right on your heels. “where do you think you’re going?” he asks, grabbing your wrist gently before you can reach the end of the driveway. “we’re not doing this, not like this. let’s talk, okay? i’m not letting you walk out.” he’s frustrated, as if the mere thought of you leaving makes his chest tighten, he wants to give you space, but the thought of you out there, alone and upset because of him, eats at him.

jeonghan watches the door close behind you, an incredulous smile tugging at his lips. “seriously?” he mutters to himself, shaking his head. he thinks you’re just blowing off steam, that you’ll be back in no time. but as the minutes tick by, then hours, his confidence wavers. the sky outside darkens, and with it, his composure. he finally picks up his phone, dialing your number with shaking hands, his voice frantic when you answer. “where are you? are you okay? please… just come home.”

joshua moves faster than you expect, cutting you off before you can make it out the door. “you’re not driving like this,” he says calmly, but there’s an edge to his voice. he takes the keys from your hand, his expression softening as he sees the anger and hurt in your eyes. “i’m not letting you go out there when we’re both like this. let’s just… let’s talk, okay? please?” his voice is gentle, coaxing, but firm, making it clear that he’s not letting you leave.

junhui feels his heart drop the moment you walk out, tears welling up in his eyes almost instantly. he tries to hold them back, but by the time the door closes, he’s already crying. hours pass, and he doesn’t move from the spot, tears still falling freely. when you finally come back, you find him sitting on the floor, eyes red and puffy, still crying. “i’m sorry,” he whispers, barely able to get the words out through the sobs. “please don’t leave me like that again.”

hoshi is livid. the moment you leave, he starts typing out a series of furious texts, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “so, you’re just going to run away?” but before he hits send, he pauses, the reality of what he’s doing sinking in. with a frustrated sigh, he deletes the messages, knowing he’s being childish. “damn it,” he mutters, feeling guilty for letting his emotions get the better of him. he paces the room, running a hand through his hair, not sure what to do next.

wonwoo stands frozen as you walk out, the sound of the door closing echoing in his ears. he doesn’t chase after you, doesn’t say anything, just stares at the door, his mind reeling. it’s only when the silence becomes unbearable that he snaps out of it, panic setting in. he grabs his keys, heart pounding in his chest. without even thinking, he pulls up the tracker he’d secretly put on your car for safety, his guilt mounting as he realizes he’s going to use it to find you now. “please be okay,” he whispers to himself, racing out the door.

woozi sits back at his desk, but the music project in front of him might as well be a blank sheet. his mind is elsewhere, replaying every word of the argument, each one more painful than the last. he’s never been good with emotions, and now, with you gone, he feels like he’s drowning in them. after what feels like an eternity, he can’t take it anymore. he picks up his phone, calling you over and over until you finally pick up. when you do, you can hear the tremor in his voice, the barely-contained sob he’s fighting. “please… come back,” he says quietly, the desperation clear.

minghao follows you to the door, standing there with his arms crossed, a scoff escaping his lips as he watches you go. “so, this is how you deal with things? running away?” he calls after you, frustration evident in his tone. he stands there for a moment, waiting for you to turn around, to say something, anything. but when you don’t, when you step into the elevator without even a glance back, his heart sinks. the door closes, and he’s left standing in the hallway.

mingyu can’t let you leave. as you make a beeline for the door, he moves faster, blocking your path with his broad frame. “you’re not going anywhere,” he says, his voice shaky. you try to push past him, your frustration boiling over, but he holds his ground, his eyes pleading. “please, don’t go,” he whispers, and when you hit his chest in frustration, the tears finally spill over. you collapse against him, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you tight as you both break down.

seokmin is a mess from the moment you walk out. he grabs his phone, typing out a series of long, heartfelt texts, pouring out everything he didn’t get to say in the heat of the argument. each message is more desperate than the last, filled with apologies and reassurances, but he knows none of them will reach you right now. with a frustrated sigh, he throws his phone onto the couch, his hands shaking.

seungkwan paces the room, his mind racing. he hates fighting with you, hates the way it makes him feel, the way it makes everything feel wrong. he’s torn between running after you and giving you space, his heart pulling him in both directions at once. he runs a hand through his hair, muttering to himself, “what do i do?” the thought of you being upset, especially because of him, makes him feel sick. finally, he collapses onto the couch, staring at the door, waiting, hoping you’ll come back soon.

vernon is left standing in the middle of the room, the silence after the argument ringing in his ears. he looks up at the ceiling, trying to process everything that just happened, but all he can think about is the way you left without looking back. the apartment feels different now, emptier, and the echoes of your argument replay in his mind, each word cutting deeper than the last. he sits down on the couch, burying his face in his hands, wishing he could take back everything he said.

chan feels his anger drain away the second you walk out, leaving him feeling empty, he knows he should chase after you, but his feet feel like they’re stuck to the floor. he slumps onto the couch, pulling a blanket over himself as if that could somehow make the ache in his chest go away. eventually, he drifts off into an uneasy sleep, the uncomfortable position on the couch mirroring the discomfort in his gut. when you finally come back, the sight of him curled up, asleep, and clearly still upset, makes your heart ache.

1K notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 4 months ago

Text

Actually, It’s Doctor

Max Verstappen x doctor!Reader

Summary: you worked hard to earn your title and Max is determined to make sure everyone shows you proper respect by using it

Warnings: misogyny and Jos Verstappen

The soft glow of the TV casts flickering shadows across Max’s living room as he lounges on the couch, idly scrolling through Twitter. You’re tucked into his side, head resting on his shoulder as you watch the highlights from last week’s race play on a loop.

“Liefje, have you seen these?” Max’s brow furrows as he angles his phone toward you.

Onscreen, the camera pans across the Red Bull garage, finally settling on you perched on a stool in the far corner. “... And there’s Max Verstappen’s girlfriend, Ms. Y/N Y/L/N,” the commentator’s voice booms out.

You shrug, unfazed. “It’s not a big deal.”

He shakes his head vehemently. “Not a big deal? Y/N, you worked your ass off to become a doctor. You deserve to be addressed properly.”

Reaching out, you place a calming hand on his arm. “Really, it doesn’t bother me. I know who I am.”

Max’s jaw tenses mulishly. “Well it bothers me. They can’t just disrespect you like that on international television.” He jabs a finger accusingly at the screen as the video replays the offending line.

“Max ...” You try to interject, but he’s already dialing, phone pressed tight to his ear.

“Hey mate, it’s Max. I need you to do me a favor ...”

You settle back with a resigned sigh, listening as Max lays out his grievances in rapid-fire Dutch. He’s not going to let this go, you can already tell.

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” Max ends the call with a satisfied nod before turning to you with those intense grey eyes. “There, all sorted.”

Arching one eyebrow, you regard him skeptically. “And what exactly did you sort out?”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “From now on, the F1 broadcast has been instructed to address you properly as Dr. Y/N Y/L/N.”

You blink at him in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that ...”

But Max just shakes his head. “Yes, I did. You’ve worked too hard and come too far to be disrespected like that.” His palm cups your cheek, calloused thumb stroking over your skin. “I’m so proud of you, schatje. And the world should know it too.”

Heat blooms in your cheeks at his words, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. Max has never been one for grandiose romantic gestures, but the fierce protectiveness in his voice, the conviction that you deserve to be recognized for your accomplishments ...

Leaning in, you capture his lips in a searing kiss, trying to convey all the love and gratitude and awe you feel for this incredible, complicated, passionate man. His fingers tangle in your hair as he deepens the kiss, bodies pressing closer together.

When you finally break apart, faces flushed and breathing ragged, Max rests his forehead against yours. “I love you, Doctor,” he murmurs teasingly.

You laugh, swatting at his arm. “Why Mr. Verstappen, are you trying to seduce me with fancy titles?”

��Is it working?” His eyes dance with unmistakable mirth.

“Maybe ...” You draw out the word coyly. “Although I do seem to recall a wise person once telling me that actions speak louder than words.”

Max grins wickedly. “Well, in that case ...”

He swoops you up into his arms in one smooth motion, your surprised squeal quickly morphing into breathless giggles. Carrying you bridal-style down the hallway, he kicks open the bedroom door with a wink.

“Let me show you just how much I respect and admire my incredibly brilliant, accomplished, sexy-as-hell doctor girlfriend.”

The door slams shut behind you with a decisive thud.

***

The bright flashes of cameras periodically illuminate the night as Max strolls down the red carpet, your hand tucked securely in the crook of his elbow. He cuts an impossibly dashing figure in his sleek tuxedo, but it’s the look of unabashed pride on his face as he glances sidelong at you that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

You smooth one hand over the deep emerald silk of your gown, trying to tamp down the nervous flutter in your stomach. This whole evening feels almost surreal — like something out of a fairy tale you couldn’t possibly belong in. Max Verstappen’s date at the illustrious FIA Prize Giving Gala ... who would have thought?

As if sensing your trepidation, Max leans in close, his warm breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he murmurs, voice dropping an octave in that way that never fails to send a shiver down your spine.

You bite back a giddy smile, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “Not so bad yourself, Mr. Four-Time World Champion.”

Max’s answering grin is all cocky charm. “Don’t I know it.”

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you continue posing for the photographers lining the carpet, Max’s steady presence at your side anchoring you. He squeezes your hip lightly, a silent reminder that he’s right there with you.

Suddenly, a voice calls out from the crowd. “Max! Max Verstappen, over here!”

A sharply-dressed reporter waves you both over, camera crew hovering behind him with bright lights. Max tugs you closer as you make your way through the throngs of people.

“Max, congratulations on another incredible championship season,” the reporter gushes, angling his microphone toward your boyfriend. He turns to face the camera with a wide smile. “Here with me tonight I have reigning four-time world champion Max Verstappen and his lovely date, Ms. Y/N Y/L/N.”

You tense automatically at the mislabeling, a small cringe already forming on your face. But before you can open your mouth to correct the reporter politely, Max is speaking up, the hard line of his jaw set in familiar determination.

“Actually, I’d appreciate if you could refer to her properly as Dr. Y/N Y/L/N,” he interjects smoothly, not even giving the reporter a chance to respond. “My girlfriend worked incredibly hard to earn that title, and she deserves to be respected for her accomplishments.”

The tips of your ears burn hotly, a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude flooding through you. You lay a calming hand on Max’s arm, opening your mouth to try and defuse the situation. But he barrels on relentlessly.

“It’s important to show that level of professional courtesy, you know?” His eyes blaze with conviction. “Especially for women who have overcome systemic barriers and discrimination to achieve such academic prestige. Using the proper titles isn’t about inflating egos, it’s about acknowledging the years of dedication and sacrifice required to reach that level of expertise.”

The reporter blinks rapidly, clearly caught off guard by Max’s passionate monologue. He rallies quickly though, nodding along with his points. “You’re absolutely right, of course. Thank you for that, Max, and my sincerest apologies Dr. Y/L/N. We should always aim to address people with the titles they’ve rightfully earned.”

“Exactly.” Max nods curtly, wrapping one possessive arm around your waist and pulling you snugly against his side. “Now, I believe you had some questions for us?”

The reporter visibly shakes himself before continuing on with the standard red carpet patter about Max’s season, his hopes for the future, and so on. You can’t focus on the questions though, too distracted by the firm press of Max’s palm against your hip and the low thrum of adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

Max never fails to take your breath away with moments like this — these fierce outpourings of protectiveness and respect that lay bare how much he values you and everything you’ve accomplished. The man has no qualms about wielding his global platform and considerable influence to ensure you get the recognition you deserve.

Finally, the interview wraps up and the reporter thanks you both profusely, his cheeks still tinged faintly pink from Max’s earlier dressing down. Your boyfriend just nods tersely before steering you further along the carpet, his large hand spread possessively across the exposed skin of your lower back.

You make it maybe twenty feet before whirling on him, tangling your fingers in the lapels of his immaculately-tailored jacket to tug him down to your level. His eyes widen momentarily in surprise before you’re crashing your lips against his in a searing, all-consuming kiss.

Max melts into you instantly, broad palms skimming over the curves of your waist and hips to pull you flush against his solid frame. You pour every ounce of adoration and devotion into the dizzying slide of your mouths, uncaring of the roar of the crowd and the bright flashes going off all around you.

When you finally break apart, his grey eyes are dark with undisguised want and his lips are curved in that trademark smirk that constantly sets your pulse racing.

“What was that for, Doctor?” He husks out, voice gratifyingly gravelly.

You shake your head slowly, still trying to catch your breath. “Just … reminding myself how lucky I am to have a man who loves and respects me so fiercely.”

A muscle ticks sharply in Max’s clenched jaw, the naked emotion simmering in his gaze rendering you breathless all over again. Then, a brilliant grin slowly breaks across his face, all boyish charm and devilish mischief.

“Well, in that case ...” He drops one last lingering kiss to your swollen lips. “Wait until you see what I have planned for later tonight.”

You can’t contain the giddy giggle that bubbles up from your chest as Max takes your hand once more, tugging you along the red carpet and into the venue with a wink. Whatever this man has in store, you have a feeling it’ll be a night neither of you will ever forget.

***

The sleek lines of Max’s private jet gleam under the harsh airport lights as you stroll across the tarmac, rolling suitcase in tow. A much-needed tropical vacation with you awaits at the other end of this flight — a chance to truly unwind away from the pressures and demands of the racing season.

Max can’t wait. Just a blissful week of sun, sand, and uninterrupted time with his favorite person in the whole world.

A blonde woman in a crisp uniform waits at the foot of the airstairs, offering Max a bright smile as you approach. “Good afternoon, Max!” She chirps in a saccharine tone. “I’m Kayla, and I’ll be your flight attendant today.”

You slow to a stop beside him, posture stiffening almost imperceptibly at the overly-familiar greeting. Max merely arches one brow, bristling at her use of his first name without any invitation to do so.

Before he can address it, Kayla seems to finally register your presence, gaze sliding over dismissively. She lets out a tinkling giggle. “Oh and you must be Max’s sister! It’s so nice to meet you, Ms. Verstappen.”

There’s an audible record scratch in Max’s brain as he processes the absolute audacity of her assumption. His mouth drops open, ready to unleash the full force of his outrage at her egregious lack of professionalism and respect.

But you beat him to it, bristling visibly in the face of her blatant disregard.

“Excuse me?” Your voice is low and clipped, laced with icy disdain.

Your sharp tone finally seems to penetrate Kayla’s vapid haze. She blinks owlishly, looking between the two of you with dawning confusion. “I just thought, since you were traveling together ...”

“Well, you thought wrong.” Max finds his voice again, steel underpinning every syllable. “Y/N isn’t my sister, she’s my girlfriend. The woman I love. And you’ll address her with the proper respect she deserves.”

Kayla’s cheeks flush a mottled crimson, eyes widening in mortification as she finally seems to grasp the gravity of her blunder. “I … oh, I’m so ...”

“Doctor,” Max interjects coldly, cutting off her pathetic attempt at an apology before it can start. “Her name is Dr. Y/L/N. Show her the bare minimum of professional courtesy or ...”

The unspoken threat hangs in the air between them, loaded and menacing. You lay one hand on Max’s arm, both a calming gesture and a bit of moral support. But there’s a glint of gratitude and admiration in your eyes despite your sedate expression, letting him know you appreciate his fierceness in your defense.

Kayla gulps audibly, seemingly realizing she’s overstepped in about the worst way possible. “You’re absolutely right, sir,” she rushes out, backpedaling rapidly. “I should never have presumed or spoken so informally. My humblest apologies, Dr ...”

“That’s enough.” Max holds up one hand, nostrils flaring in barely contained disgust. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

His piercing stare drops meaningfully to the monogrammed name badge pinned to her blazer lapel. “Kayla, was it? Well, Kayla, I suggest you turn around and walk yourself off this plane before I have someone remove you physically.”

The blonde blinks in shock, mouth working silently. Scrambling to process his words, she finally casts one last beseeching look towards Max. “But … sir, I was sent here to ...”

“Did I stutter?” Max snaps, all hints of affability evaporating completely. He jerks his head sharply towards the hangar. “Get off my plane, now. I’d rather fly with one less flight attendant than subject myself or my girlfriend to any more of your pathetically disrespectful behavior.”

That seems to finally sink in, Kayla’s porcelain complexion draining of what little color remains. She dips her head in a jerky nod before turning away, hurrying back towards the hangar without another word.

Max watches her retreating form for a few moments, muscles still taut with simmering irritation. Only when she disappears into the distance does he draw a deep breath and turn back towards you.

The pride and adoration written across your beautiful features instantly soothes some of the lingering embers of his temper. You pull him down for a searing kiss, not caring about any potential onlookers on the tarmac around you.

When you finally break apart, Max rests his forehead against yours, reveling in your closeness. “Sorry about … that,” he murmurs gruffly. “I just can’t stand people showing you so little respect.”

You shake your head, not even trying to conceal your grin. “Don’t apologize. I’m just glad I didn’t have to call her out myself.” Your expression softens as you stroke one palm over the tense line of his jaw. “Thank you for always having my back, for defending me like that. It means everything.”

The utter conviction and sincerity in your voice washes over him in soothing waves. Max feels the last knots of tension bleed from his muscles as he pulls you flush against his chest, breathing in the comforting scent of your shampoo.

“Always,” he vows simply. There are no words grand enough to encapsulate the depth of his devotion, his intense desire to protect and cherish and uplift you in the face of anyone’s disrespect or scorn. You are his everything, the prime motivator driving him to be a better man each and every day.

So instead, Max simply loops one arm around your waist, tugging you towards the jet’s waiting airstairs without another look back. This vacation, an entire blissful week alone together away from the pressures and prying eyes of the world, is exactly what you both need.

As he settles into the plush leather seating, Max makes a silent vow to ensure you never feel anything less than worshiped during your time here.

No hateful outside influences, no ignorant people speaking over or degrading your incredible accomplishments. Just him and you, exactly as you’re meant to be — deliriously, perfectly happy together.

***

The low hum of conversation and clinking silverware fills the upscale restaurant as Max tries his best to bite his tongue. Across the table, Jos nurses a glass of scotch, regarding you with poorly veiled disdain.

Max had hoped tonight might be a step towards mending the long-fractured relationship with his father. He should have known better.

You don’t seem to notice the tension though, chatting amiably about your work at the hospital and asking Jos questions about his life and experiences in racing. Your polite interest only seems to antagonize the older man further.

When you finally excuse yourself to visit the restroom, Jos turns that signature Verstappen glare on his son. “She’s a real piece of work, isn’t she?” He sneers. “Got to hand it to you, Little Miss Golddigger over here has expensive taste.”

White-hot rage lances through Max’s chest so violently he sees stars. He knew his father was an asshole, but openly insulting you like that is a new low, even for Jos. His fists clench convulsively atop the crisp linen tablecloth.

“Don’t you dare talk about her like that,” Max bites out, every muscle in his body pulled taut. “You don’t know the first thing about Y/N.”

Jos just scoffs derisively. “I know enough. Doctors make good money, but her own bank account clearly isn’t enough. She’s clearly after the next big fish.” His gaze drops meaningfully to Max’s watch — an ultra-rare Patek Philippe. “She’s a user, son. You could do so much better.”

“Are you serious right now?” Max can scarcely believe what he’s hearing. “Y/N is the most kind, caring, and accomplished woman I’ve ever met. If anything, I’m the one who doesn’t deserve her!”

His father lets out a harsh bark of laughter. “Oh yeah, I can really see how much she cares with the way she keeps trotting you out like a trophy to boost her own reputation.”

That does it. Max slams his palms down on the table, entire frame vibrating with suppressed fury. “Enough! I won’t just sit here and listen to you degrade the woman I love with your bullshit cynicism.”

Jos opens his mouth — likely to unleash another torrent of vitriol — but Max cuts him off with a curt slash of his hand.

“No, you don’t get to say another damn word about her.” His voice is low and menacing, achingly familiar echoes of a younger, angrier version of himself. “Y/N is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. She makes me want to be a better man. And you’ll show her the respect she deserves or so help me god ...”

The unspoken threat hangs heavy in the air between them. Max doesn’t even know how he planned to finish that sentence. Part of him wants to throw the whole table aside and … and what? Deck his own father right here in the middle of this fancy restaurant? The fact that he can’t dismiss the thought outright is deeply unsettling.

The harsh smack of footsteps against tile breaks the tension as you reappear, looking concerned at the obvious storm cloud over their table. “Is everything alright?”

Max blows out a harsh breath, raking one hand raggedly through his hair as he glances between you and Jos. Stifling waves of rage still roll through him, transmuting into an almost desperate need to get you away from his toxic father.

Without a word, he pushes back from the table and rises to his feet. Taking your hand in his, Max tugs you toward the exit, movements jerky and abrupt.

You follow without protest, though your brow furrows in bewilderment. “Max? What’s going on, where are we ...”

He cuts you off as you spill out onto the street, the cool night air doing little to douse the fire burning in his chest. Unable to properly explain with coherent words, not when the image of his own flesh and blood spitting such venom is searing into his brain, Max simply shakes his head.

The only thing he knows is that he can’t subject you to any more of Jos’ cruelty, not tonight. Tomorrow he’ll try to find the words, to unpack whatever new trauma has been dredged up by his father’s verbal assault. But for now, he just needs to put as much distance between you and that devil as humanly possible.

Jos appears in the doorway behind you, and suddenly Max is whirling back to face him. He jabs one finger at the older man, a muscle ticking dangerously in his clenched jaw.

“And just so we’re crystal clear ...” His tone is biting, dripping with disdain and finality. “Her name is Dr. Y/L/N. You’ll address her properly or you won’t address her at all.”

With that parting shot, Max turns sharply on his heel, wrapping one arm around your slender waist as he all but drags you down the sidewalk. You stumble briefly to keep up before settling into pace beside him, head swiveling back and forth between his thunderous expression and the figure of his father staring after you both.

By the time the restaurant has faded from view, enveloped in the shadowy darkness, Max can finally feel the vise around his chest loosening somewhat. The chilly night air fills his lungs in great gulping breaths, methodically smothering the raging inferno of his temper.

Eventually, you slow to a stop beneath a streetlamp, cupping his cheek in one soft palm and angling his face down to meet your gaze. There’s so much tender concern and patience swimming in your deep eyes that it makes his heart stutter traitorously. After so many years of his father’s toxic influence, Max sometimes wonders if he’ll ever stop being bowled over by such simple compassion and care.

“Talk to me,” you murmur, thumb stroking soothingly over his flushed skin. “What did he say? What happened back there?”

His mouth works soundlessly for a moment before the words finally tumble out in a hoarse rush. “He … that bastard, he called you … he said ...”

You wait, saying nothing, just letting him gather his thoughts in the wake of such overwhelming emotion. How did he ever get so lucky as to have someone like you in his life?

Finally, the full truth comes spilling from his lips, every caustic barb and callous insult faithfully repeated until the weight of it all threatens to crush him. By the time he’s finished, Max feels hollowed out, wrung dry of the seething anger.

Studying your face carefully for any hint of hurt, any indication his father’s cruelty has sunk its hooks into you as it has him so many times before, Max finds only calm resolve. You shake your head sadly, fingers tangling in the soft hair at his nape.

“Oh Max … I’m so sorry he treated you that way.” You blink up at him, the picture of steadfast compassion. “But you know I don’t care what he thinks, right? His opinion means nothing to me.”

Max exhales a shuddering sigh, watching the vapor cloud in the chilly air between you. “I know, but that doesn’t excuse it. You deserve so much better than to be subjected to that kind of disrespect.”

A small, fond smile plays at the corners of your mouth. “Maybe. But that’s not your burden to bear, my love.” You rise up on your tiptoes to press the softest whisper of a kiss to his lips. “All I need is you.”

And just like that, the lingering clouds of anger dissipate, clarity washing over Max like a cresting wave. You are his safe harbor, his beacon guiding him home through any storm life throws his way. With your unwavering support, maybe … just maybe he can begin to unhook himself from the toxicity that has weighed on him for far too long.

One thing is certain — Jos Verstappen has been granted more than his fair share of chances in this life. If he can’t appreciate the incredible woman standing before Max, if he can’t treat you with the respect and admiration you’ve earned a million times over ...

Then he doesn’t deserve a place in your lives. Not anymore.

So for now, Max simply pulls you close, tucking you against his chest as he places a tender kiss to the crown of your head. He’ll figure out the rest later. For tonight, having you here with him is enough.

***

The pulsing bassline thrums through Max’s veins like a secondary heartbeat as his sleek sports car glides to a stop outside the trendy Monaco hotspot. He takes a moment to simply watch you in the flickering neon lights spilling through the tinted windows — the sexy drape of your curve-hugging dress, the mussed tumble of your hair thanks to his wandering hands, the bashful smile tugging at your lips.

You’re gorgeous.

And all his.

“You about ready to actually join our friends?” He teases, voice deliciously raspy. “Or should I just take you straight back home?”

You swat at his arm playfully, cheeks flushing prettily. “Down boy. We’re already late as it is since someone couldn’t keep their hands off me earlier.”

The heated look you shoot him from beneath lidded lashes sends a fresh wave of want crashing through Max’s bloodstream. How you still make him feel like a horny, lovestruck teenager with just a simple glance ...

“Worth it.” He drops a lingering kiss to the slender column of your neck, nipping teasingly at the sensitive skin. You shiver against him, his name escaping on a breathy sigh. For a heady moment, Max legitimately considers calling the whole outing off as a lost cause.

But the muffled thump of far-too-energetic techno filtering in from the crowded club breaks the spell. With a resigned sigh, Max extracts himself from your intoxicating orbit, climbing out of the car to offer you his hand.

“Shall we get this over with then?”

Laughing lightly, you accept his proffered assistance, sliding out onto the sidewalk in a swirl of sumptuous fabric. Max can’t resist hauling you in for one last, scorchingly thorough kiss, propriety be damned.

The club’s VIP section is already hopping when you arrive, music pulsing through the dimly lit space. Charles spots you first, waving with his trademark sunny grin.

“About time! We were starting to think you got lost,” he calls out teasingly.

Lando chimes in with a smirk. “More like they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N are late again — what a surprise.”

Max’s jovial expression shutters instantly at the inaccurate title. “It’s Dr. Y/L/N,” he corrects, a hard edge in his voice. “Show some respect.”

You slip your hand into the crook of his elbow, squeezing gently in a silent gesture of reassurance. “We’re also not actually married yet,” you remind Lando with an easy smile, trying to diffuse the sudden tension.

The banter continues to flow as you join the group’s semi-circle of plush couches, ordering a round of drinks. Lando waves a dismissive hand, undeterred. “Eh, close enough. It’s only a few months until the wedding, you’re already basically married.”

He cocks an inquisitive eyebrow at Max. “Speaking of which, I love that you corrected me on her title right away, but you didn’t say anything about me implying you’d be the one taking her last name.”

Max’s jaw tightens infinitesimally. “That’s because while I have no intention of changing my name,” he states flatly, “I certainly don’t expect Y/N to give hers up either. It’s not a Verstappen who went to medical school.”

The words are steely, leaving no room for negotiation. You feel a surge of affection and pride well up within you. It still makes your heart swell to hear Max be so definitively uncompromising on the importance of your career and identity.

Unable to help yourself, you rise up on your tiptoes to press a lingering, reverent kiss to his lips, fingers tangling in his hair. Max instantly forgets your friends, the bumping music, the very room they’re standing in as he focuses solely on you — his everything, his heart made flesh.

When you finally break apart, breathless and grinning, raucous cheers and teasing whistles surround you both.

“Oh my god, get a room you two!” Charles yells over the din, brandishing his cocktail like a weapon.

“Yes,” Lando chimes in, “why don’t you lovebirds go shag in the coat check already?”

The lighthearted taunting washes over Max and you, unable to dampen the warmth and contentment radiating between you both. He presses one more soft, unhurried kiss to your smiling mouth, savoring the moment just a beat longer.

With you by his side, loved and respected and cherished exactly as you deserve, Max knows he will always have everything he could ever want or need.

And in a few short months, you’ll walk down the aisle towards him to begin your forever together. How could life possibly get any better?

***

Max takes a steadying breath as the two of you pause outside the grand double doors. The distant sounds of chatter and clinking glasses filter through the heavy wooden panels, signaling that your guests are assembled and awaiting your entrance into the ballroom.

Turning towards you, Max’s expression softens into one of pure adoration. His eyes roam hungrily over the stunning vision before him — the elegant white gown that billows becomingly around your curves, the fresh flowers woven into your perfectly coiffed hair, the soft makeup that makes you radiate ethereal beauty.

“You look … angelically gorgeous doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he murmurs reverentially. “I’m the luckiest bastard on the planet.”

You let out a delighted giggle, ducking your head slightly with a bemused smile. “You’re hardly so bad yourself, Mr. Verstappen.”

His grin stretches so wide it threatens to split his face in two as he leans down to capture your lips in a lingering, blissful kiss.

All too soon, the sound of a throat clearing behind you breaks you apart. The Master of Ceremonies offers you both an indulgent smile.

“Shall we get this show on the road, then? Everyone is waiting for the guests of honor.”

Max nods eagerly, slipping his arm through yours as the ornate double doors are pulled open. The MC’s voice rings out, amplified to fill the cavernous ballroom.

“It is my honor to introduce, for the first time … the new Mr. Verstappen and Dr. Y/L/N-Verstappen!”

The room erupts with raucous cheers and applause as you take your first steps forward. But Max abruptly grinds to a halt only a few paces in, his brow furrowing in consternation as he turns back to the MC in confusion.

“Actually, her title is just Dr. Y/L/N,” he begins to correct automatically. “She didn’t cha-”

“Max.” Your gentle reproval cuts him off as you place a hand on his forearm. When he meets your gaze, you’re surprised to see the corners of your eyes crinkling with unmistakable mirth. “My name is Dr. Y/L/N-Verstappen now.”

The dumbfounded look on Max’s face would be comical if you didn’t find it so utterly endearing. “But you said you didn’t want to change your name. Your career and identity ...”

You shake your head fondly. “I didn’t want to give up my maiden name, no. But I’m proud to add yours to it — to take on the name of the man I love more than anything in this world.” Your voice grows thick with emotion. “We’re a partnership, Max. Forever and always.”

The words seem to resonate deep within him. In an instant, Max’s eyes are blazing with a fierce adoration so potent it steals your breath away. Without warning, his arms sweep around your waist as he dips you backwards dramatically, heedless of your squeals and the audience watching raptly.

His lips crash over yours in a searing, all-consuming kiss that seems to pour every ounce of his devotion into the contact. You melt helplessly against him as raucous catcalls and whistles erupt from the crowd.

When you finally break apart, flushed and grinning giddily, Max offers you a lopsided grin. “For the record, I fully intend to spend our entire honeymoon admiring Dr. Y/L/N-Verstappen in all her glory.”

The way your eyes dance with love and happiness is brighter than any ballroom chandelier. “I’m counting on it, Mr. Verstappen.”

Dr. Y/L/N-Verstappen. It has a wonderful ring to it, Max muses contentedly. His eternal teammate in life and love.

Nothing could possibly make this day more perfect.

2K notes · View notes

reyalvr · 5 months ago

Text

RUMORS!

I KNOW YOU HEARD THE RUMORS, YOU MUST GET OVER TO IT RIGHT AWAY!

synopsis ┊ ken sato- a remarkable name in the world of modern baseball- has graced japan with not only his presence, but also his skills as a key player for the yomiuri giants. from press conferences to media endorsements, it’s clear that his stardom has only intensified from his recent move. but what happens when you, his personal assistant, are left to deal with some more… serious rumors?

genre ┊ chaotic fluff, oneshot

pairing ┊ ken sato x gn-PA!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, ami is not the reporter depicted!

word count ┊ 2.2k

author’s note ┊ hiya! i recently found time to watch ultraman: rising and this fic was just writing itself in my head hehe… happy reading! (p.s. yes… the title was inspired from the new minions song)

THREE MONTHS. That was how long you had known baseball’s darling, Ken Sato. And in those three months, you had undergone every single PR nightmare you had ever conjured up in your mind prior to pursuing your career. You had worked with celebrities before- doing God knows what ‘til the waking hour on their every beck and call. But Ken, despite presenting himself as a laid back man, was an entirely new… experience.

From the Kaiju attack at his first game under the Giants, to the continuous streak of losses throughout the first half of the season, it seemed like the Gods were against you as you did your damndest to handle the damage control on his reputation. His ego didn’t aid you either- having to spin and twist multiple incidents to get reporters and media outlets off his back. You weren’t exactly sure what it was that kept you from quitting all in all, but the longer you worked under him, the thinner your thread seemed to snap.

You huffed an annoyed sigh into the cold air, picking up the pace as you jogged along the designated path by the bay. Your days off were scarce- not because of Ken’s schedule, but because of your own decision to be up to date with his spontaneous actions. Despite the rarity of solitude, you always managed to savor your time off. The music played at a mellow volume in your ears, the morning sun starting to warm your surroundings as you watched its rays splash hues of orange across the sky.

Your felt your watch beep against your skin, signaling the end of your morning run. Pausing by the railing, you leaned against the old metal bars as you checked your stats. You swiped absent-mindedly on the screen of your smartwatch, scrolling once you were sure that everything was in order. There was one thing that caught your eye, though, as you noticed the red notification bubbles on your message app were continuously going up. It was odd, yes, but not odd enough to be out of the ordinary- at least in your line of work.

Deciding not to bombard yourself this early in the morning, you opted to give everything a once-over once you made it back to your apartment. Whatever it was could wait- you were on your time and your pace. Besides, it couldn’t be that bad. Could it now?

IT DEFINITELY COULD, AND IT DEFINITELY WAS. You pushed on the gas as hard as you could, your tongue poking into your cheek as you continued to drive to Ken’s house. Of all the days that he decided to make perhaps the stupidest decision in his career, he chose today. Doing your best not to see red, you dialed his phone once more. The ringing played throughout your car as you maneuvered through the roads, and you swore for what felt like the umpteenth time that morning when you heard the tone of his voice message.

Hey, it’s Ken. Leave a message after the beep, and I’ll be more than happy to ignore it! Said his usual arrogant tone playing before the generic beep. You gripped the steering wheel harder, huffing angrily as you sharply turned a corner.

“Kenji Sato answer your goddamn phone right now! I’m ten minutes away from your house and when I get there, I better not be greeted with your supposed secret love child!” You yelled, pushing the red button once you finished your message.

Ah yes. The centerpoint of your current rage: Ken’s “leaked” one-on-one with a reporter about juggling baseball and his homelife. Someone on Ken’s staff had sent the article in your shared work group chat, and nearly all of his personnel had directly messaged you about the issue. It was inevitable for celebrities to get into a scandal once or twice, but one on this level would not be an easy fit to overcome.

You don’t exactly remember what you were doing prior to receiving the messages- all you knew was that you needed to get to Ken as soon as possible. Of course it just be a misunderstanding, hell it could even be a hoax! But knowing Kenji, anything could be possible. You neared the hill of his private property, driving past the gates as the security recognized your car.

You parked haphazardly at the front of his house, your feet stomping into the gravel as you made your way to his front door. His estate had numerous smart tech installed throughout his home, so you knew that each and every one of your moves were either being recorded or observed. You crouched slightly to be in frame with the doorbell’s camera, your anger slightly toned down.

“Ken.” You paused to narrow your eyes. “Open the door.”

For the next minute and a half you swore you could hear some sort of clash and bang from inside the house. You kept your arms crossed, raising your eyebrow from time to time when the clashing seemed to grow louder. After what felt like an eternity, the front door opened slightly. Not all the way, but just enough for Ken to peek out and smile at you- albeit nervously cocky.

The nerve.

“Hey, [Y/N]! What uh- what are you doing here?” He manages to cough out, roughly combing a hand through his hair. “I thought it was your day o-”

“Save it.” You reply, your gaze sharp enough to slice through whatever excuse he had at the ready. You held up your phone then, the article’s headline prominently bolded:

OUT OF LEFT FIELD: Ken Sato Strikeout? Nope! Love Child Home Run!

Ken��s head bent down to get a good look at what you were showing him, and you watched carefully as his eyes scanned over the article not once, but thrice. You let out an impatient hum, your mouth forming into a slight scowl as the both of you stood in silence. With your head tilted to the side, you dropped your hand back down and crossed your arms.

“Are you just gonna stand there or are you going to start explaining to me what the hell you’ve been up to these past twenty-four hours?” You question, moving past him as you enter the house.

Usually you would wait for Ken to let you in, but stalling would only hinder you from coming up with what to do next. The article had already been up for two hours, and you halted any statements from being made before you could get an explanation from Ken himself. He quickly tailed after you, nearly stumbling over himself as you stopped at his kitchen. You gripped the marble countertop, closing your eyes momentarily before you turned to face him once more.

“[Y/N] I swear, it’s not as bad as you think it is,” Ken says as he tries to add reassurance to his tone, but it doesn't mask the lingering tinge of falsehood.

“Oh, really?” You say, your eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Because in the span of two hours I have had thirty news outlets blowing up my- your management team for a response!”

He opens his mouth to speak, but stops again midway when you continue. “The headline I showed you was local. I want you to tell me exactly how and why you were on the phone with a reporter talking about your private life at God knows what hour. Now.”

You can see him swallow, licking his lips after as he tries to form the right words. He blinks a bit before pinching the bridge of his nose, tilting his head up as he lets out a deep sigh. When he opens his eyes he’s still greeted with your restive stance. Still he remains slightly hesitant, but he does end up recalling the remnants of his conversation with a reporter he had met at one of the parties he attended. Ken goes on to explain that he had only seeked out advice. His schedule, his personal life- he needed an outlet. You can feel yourself slowly untense, though you continued to listen to make sure all your facts were straight.

When he finishes his retelling, he puts his hands up slightly- as if he were trying to put you at ease. “I swear, that’s all I said. I thought,” He pauses, his brows furrowing in a way that made you slightly mad at yourself from blowing up at him. “I just thought I could have a normal conversation for once. ‘Guess I was wrong.”

The warm lights cast a sombre shadow on his features, and from this angle you notice the worn out expression painted on his face. The bags under his eyes are darker than usual, not to mention the fading bruises from his latest altercation with one of players from his opposing team. In front of you was not Ken Sato, this was Kenji; Simply a man who was thrust into a new life without the needed support.

“Well, no shit.” You say, finally breaking the silence, you fix your posture against the counter as you tone down the anger in your voice. “Jesus Ken, sometimes I wonder how you were able to maintain your career before me.”

At that he lets out a soft laugh, his dull expression slowly fading. “Yeah, I do too.”

You give him a puzzled look before you reply. “Are you mocking me?”

“No! No, I was being serious.” He says, his smile dropping slightly. “I know I haven’t been an easy task, hell you’re here on your day off for Christ’s sake.”

You hum at his words, narrowing your eyes slightly as you push yourself off the counter with another awkward cough. In all ninety days of working under Ken Sato, never has the man gotten this sentimental with you. You decide not to linger on his words, your attention going back to the problem at hand.

“Right, well,” You sigh, whipping your phone out in the process. “I need you to give me the name of that reporter. I’ll get the legal team to draft an NDA breach.”

He furrowed his eyebrows then, looking at you as if you’d said something odd. “I didn’t make him sign an NDA though?”

You only give him a smile, a hint of confidence plastered on your lips. “I know. I have my ways, Sato.”

“You’re a pretty good assistant, then.” He replies, the corners of his lips going up slightly as he keeps his arms crossed.

“I’m an excellent assistant.” You correct without looking at him, your fingers tapping away at your phone as you prepare the next steps of your plan.

Ken can only chuckle in agreement, tapping his fingers on his forearm as he awaits your next set of instructions. Within the next twenty minutes you’ve sent out the necessary details to your team, your legs kicking as you sit on one of his bar stools. He’s stood across from you, leaning on the countertop looking at you intently as you explain the response plan.

“And lastly,” You say, sliding out your hand. “Give me your phone.”

His head tilts, the same confused expression on his face. “Why?”

“Just do it,” Your hand curls, motioning for him to hand his phone over. “No, I am not installing a monitor.” You add when you see his mouth open to interrogate you.

He slides his phone over with a defeated huff, and you open a new contact page on his contacts. “If you need to talk, do it with someone who won’t leak your shit.” You say, sliding back his phone when all your details are settled.

“I have your number though, don’t I?” Ken questions, looking over at the number you inputted.

“You had my work number. Now you have my personal phone.” You point your finger at him before continuing. “Don’t abuse it. I’m still your assistant.” “Wasn’t gonna, sweetheart.” He says, an amused smirk mixing in with his addled look.

You quirk your eyebrow at the nickname. You shake your head, hopping off the stool as you make your way back to the front door. Ken follows behind you, hands in his pockets as he watches you leave. Before you can open the door though, you look back at him one last time.

“I mean it, Ken.” You say, making sure it gets through his head. “You have a problem, tell me. You need a solution, you tell me.”

“I know, I know.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile, nodding towards the door. “Go enjoy the rest of your day off before I start thinking you care about me.”

“I do. It’s my job to care about you, Ken.” You reply, giving him a look before you open the door. “Whether you like it or not, I’m your lifeline. At least until you get rid of me, which won’t be happening for a good while.”

“Oh yeah?” He jests, his cocky demeanor slowly coming back. “‘You so sure about that?”

“Extremely sure.” You’re standing outside now, slowly walking backwards. “Twenty minutes ago people thought you had a secret love child and that you were a terrible father. Now you’re back on the face of KFC as baseball’s darling.”

He’s taken aback. Was he actually booted off of his collaborations? He hastily checked his phone, scrolling through all his platforms. To his surprise, he was greeted with… his usual feeds. No sight of the article, no lingering gossip. His ads had doubled, his partnerships boosted on the products he had endorsed. He looked back up to say something, but you had already started your car. You backed out his estate, giving him a smile through the tinted glass of your windshield.

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. You were right. But who was he kidding?

You always were.

#✎ maxi’s works #ultraman: rising #ultraman #ken sato #kenji sato #ken sato x reader #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato x you #kenji sato fic #ken sato x you #fluff #ultraman: rising 2024

2K notes · View notes

mandarinmoons · 3 months ago

Note

Hello, how about Spencer with an outdoorsy reader. She is always on hikes and goes on long backpacking trips when he’s out of town for a case. Mostly because Spencer isn’t the hiking type.

Anyways what if when she’s just on a day trip while he’s working a local case and she finds a body. She calls him immediately and that’s when the team discovers Spencer has a girlfriend and she’s not what they expected.

I love this idea! x

The morning sun shone through the window as you were sitting by the kitchen table, admiring the dew drops on the glass and the gentle sound of the birds singing outside. It looked to be a perfect morning and with the air feeling so crisp and fresh, you were excited to go on the small hike you had been planning for the past few weeks. Work had been hectic and a little retreat to one of your favorite places was just what you needed.

After getting dressed, filling your water bottle and packing some snacks you took off to your destination. You thought about getting your boyfriend Spencer to tag along with you, but knowing how that went down last time, and that he was working, you had to enjoy the trails all by yourself this time.

“Spence, c’mon! We’re nearly there!”

You looked behind your shoulder to see how far behind Spencer was. You stopped and waited for a minute before you saw the lanky man in your view, breathing heavily and holding tightly onto the straps of his backpack.

“Hold on for a moment. I gotta…”

Spencer leans against the side of a tree, his face red and sweaty, even if he regularly chases down unsubs he’s clearly not used to hiking down these long trails.

Walking beside him, you offered your water to him, which he downed nearly half of it.

“How do you do this every week?”

“Practice my love, it takes practice.”

Chuckling to yourself at the memory, you walked ahead and took your time to admire the scenery around you.

It was nearing the end of summer and the leaves had already started to change colors and fall away from their branches, leaving them bare and withered.

Taking a few steps away from the route, you headed down your usual secret path to a small cliff that showed off a beautiful view to the town, a scene you were almost sure only you knew about.

Carefully making your way up the hill, you stopped in your tracks when you saw what seemed to be a shoe sticking out from the side of a bush.

Don’t let this be what I think it is

You were reminded of the case Spencer was working on and the details he shared with you flashed through your mind.

“Women in their late twenties to early thirties have been found dead in secluded areas, out in the woods and paths.”

You knew that with dating an FBI agent there was bound to be a moment where his work would entangle with your life, but you never expected it to happen in this way.

Slowly walking over to the foliage, your worst fears were brought to life when you saw a hand peek through the branches, covered in a crimson sheen, which was undoubtedly blood.

Trying to control your breathing, you pulled out your phone and dialed Spencer’s number. When the call connected through, your tongue went numb and you tried to figure out a way to explain your situation, which seemed impossible.

“Y/N? Y/N, are you there?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m here.”

“Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“No… no, Spencer I’m not-”, your breathing picked up and your head started to spin. You sat down on the ground to try and ground yourself a bit, breathing in and out through your nose to fight off the dizziness.

“Y/N, where are you?”

“I’m on the trail… Spencer, I think I found a body.”

The blinking lights on the police cars blinded you as you watched by the sidelines, a detective questioning you about how you made your discovery.

The longer you were questioned the more you felt the energy leave your being. Spencer took notice in your demeanor and quickly pulled you to his side as soon as the last of the questions were answered.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Tired.”

Spencer nodded and ran his palms over your arms, you weren’t cold and yet you weren’t able to stop shaking the entirety of the time you were interviewed.

“They’re about to wrap up the body and then we can go home, okay?”

Nodding as a response, Spencer guided you along to the car and let you be by yourself for a moment while he talked over details with his team.

Nearing his team mates, the last thing Spencer expected to see was a grin on some people’s faces.

“So, you and nature girl, huh?”

Derek was always one to make a quip over Spencer, which he didn’t mind, but regarding how everyone found out about this during such grim circumstances, now wasn’t the best time for jokes.

During the time Spencer was away, you managed to get comfy enough to close your eyes and get some snooze, but that was cut short by the engine being turned on and your seatbelt being clicked on.

“It’s okay, we’re going home.”

The car ride home was silent. Spencer would occasionally ask what you’d want when you arrived, but you didn’t have the energy to reply to him and simply replied back with either a nod or shake of your head.

You hadn’t felt this drained in a while. When arriving home you didn’t even have the energy to step out of the car and Spencer made his way to scoop you into his arms and carry you inside.

Inside the house, Spencer crouched down and took off your shoes for you, you looked down on him as his hands carefully undid the laces and slipped the shoes off, the gentleness making your heart clench.

“I’ll go make you some tea and we’ll lie down for a bit, how does that sound?”

Spencer looked up and his eyes met your glassy ones, tears threatening to spill at any moment.

“Oh honey,” standing up and taking you into his embrace, the tears took over and spilled over your cheeks as the distraught you faced today could no longer be hidden.

“How can anyone be that cruel?”

“I don’t know, angel.”

But that was a lie, Spencer did know how someone could be that cruel. In fact, he could list out the exact chemical reactions that needed to happen in someone’s brain in order for someone to behave in such an animalistic way, but he knew not to speak of them, at least not in this moment, because ignorance was bliss, and he did not want the only innocent miracle in his life to be tainted with the sorrows of his job, or should he say his primary life.

Taglist: @whoisspence @sreidisms @lanascinnamongirls @luvkatryna @sp3ncelle @iluvreid @khxna @keiva1000 @reidstheyfriend @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @kimm4710 @niktwazny303 @reidsdaisies @mindfullycriminal @cumulo-stratus @gayfor-rosadiaz @gubsbuubs @multifandomsimp69 @chyozai @deppfanatic @potatovoyager @indyvelazquez @nini123 @justlivinginadaydream @kers505 @dan-the-womans-blog

Note: The taglist will be discontinued at the end of the month so if you'd like to keep up to date with my latest fics then please follow me!

You can find my masterlist here!

Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

#spencer reid #spencer reid au #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid angst

944 notes · View notes

coldfanbou · 1 month ago

Text

New Hunger

I think Hanni's got an addictive personality in this fic. Let's see what happens. I'd like to thank @i-am-lifeform24 for the idea. maybe I make part 2 idk

Length: 2.6K

Hanni X Mreader

Hanni stared in disbelief at the bright red marking on her paper, “C.” Her heart dropped, and as soon as class was over, she went straight to her professor. “Miss Park! Why did I get a C on my assignment?”

The older woman turned to Hanni, her mind returning to Hanni’s paper. “If I recall correctly…” Miss Park taps her cheek, considering how to phrase her answer, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tells Hanni bluntly. “Hanni, be honest with me; you haven’t had sex before, right?”

“I-well, I…no.” She hangs her head, feeling embarrassed.

Miss Park takes a long breath and places her hand on Hanni’s shoulder. “Hanni, you understand how the body works, but you don’t understand the emotions behind it. My class is just as much about what our bodies do and how they interact as the emotions and sensations behind them. My suggestion to you is to have sex with someone. It will open your eyes to what I’m trying to teach, and if you want to, you can revise your paper and turn it in after our midterm.” Miss Park pats Hanni’s shoulder and smiles at the younger woman. “Sex is a great part of our lives, and you’re young. You should see what you’re missing out on. Find someone you trust.” She says before turning around and leaving Hanni in the classroom.

There’s a pit in Hanni’s stomach as she considers her professor’s words. “Is there really something I’m missing?” She asks herself before walking outside. She didn’t think there was anything she was missing out on. She looked at her paper again, the red C mocking her. Hanni considered who she should talk to when she remembered you were visiting the campus. She pulled out her phone and dialed your number, her heart beating quickly as the first and second rings passed.

“Hello?”

“Hey! I know you’re visiting my campus. Are you busy?”

“No, not really. I found the esports club, and I’m in their club room if you want to come and find me.”

“Just meet me in the center quad.” She shouts, her annoyed tone coming through clearly.

“Sheesh, alright, ms. pushy.” You say before hanging up and leaving for the quad. You find Hanni waiting for you on one of the benches. When she spots you, she stands up and rushes over. “Hey, how have you been?” She says, all smiles.

You squint at her, “What do you want?” Hanni chuckled, “Hanni, I already know you want something. Out with it.”

Hanni purses her lips and digs the toe of her shoe into the ground. “It’s not something I can say out here; let’s go to my place,” Hanni says, taking your hand momentarily before letting it go out of nervousness. You try to make conversation with Hanni, but your efforts are in vain as she stays quiet throughout your walk to her room.

“Is something wrong?” you finally ask her. Hanni gives you a simple nod and looks through her bag, pulling out a key.

“We’re here.” She says quietly, unlocking the door and heading inside. She shuts the door behind you and walks to her bed. Hanni’s space was small, with a little kitchen area by the entrance before you were immediately in her bedroom. You watch Hanni take a deep breath. “Okay, so this is what I need from you.” Hanni pauses and turns around, staring into your eyes, the brief silence deafening you both. As more seconds ticked by without a word, Hanni grew increasingly nervous before eventually blurting out what she needed to say. “I need to have sex with you.”

“You what?” You ask, your voice cracking as you wonder if you heard her right.

“Please?” Hanni says, clasping her hands together. “I really need to pass a class, and you know I do my best work when I can get hands-on experience.” The desperation in her voice continues to rise. “Just once, that’s all I need, and we never have to do it again.”

You rub your temples, annoyed that you’re contemplating her wishes. “Okay, so this is for a class? How badly do you need to pass this class? A better question: why do you need to have sex?”

“Because my professor said I didn’t understand what she was trying to teach me, and I need to have it so I know better. I need this super badly. I held off on this class because I thought it would be easy and I could use it my last semester. My grades are perfect otherwise; I just need this. So, please?” Hanni grips your shirt, shaking it. “You’re the only one I trust.”

“Fuck, fine, I’ll help you out,” you tell her, not looking forward to being with her. “I can turn in my midterm before you have to finish yours, so let me finish what I have to, then we can meet.”

Hanni wraps her arms around you, hugging you tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She repeats, crying into your chest.

“C’mon Hanni, stop crying, you’re ruining my shirt.” You whine as she holds onto you, rubbing her head into your chest. You crane your neck back and sigh, knowing there is nothing you can do until Hanni decides to let you go. Eventually, Hanni lets go of you and changes the topic of conversation, steering you toward what things have been like since you went your separate ways after high school. You wonder if this was really the time to have this conversation before you both settle into a routine.

When you were about to leave, Hanni grabbed your shirt and pulled it back. “Hey, um, is this going to be your first time too?”

“Yeah, it is. It’ll be the first time for both of us, so you better study up.” You tell her as you begin walking out. “I’ll text you the details when I finish my midterms. Don’t forget to respond so we can find a time that works.”

“Yeah,” Hanni sits in her room, feeling a little better about still not having sex yet. She lays back in her bed, considering what studying up would be. She pulls up her phone, her fingers tapping away at the screen, stopping herself just before clicking enter. Hanni’s cheeks turned red as she pressed enter; it was going to be her first time watching porn. The homepage showed her more than she expected: dozens of dirty titles and screenshots. The sight did turn her on, though; Hanni felt her body tingle when she looked at a woman in the throes of pleasure. At that moment, something clicked inside Hanni. Hanni tapped on the search bar, though, looking up “How to have sex.” and clicking on the first video. Hanni immersed herself in the video, taking in every bit of information the woman on the screen provided. One video turned into two, then three. The next thing Hanni knew, she was lying on her bed naked, her sheets soaked.

Hanni couldn’t wait to talk to Miss Park the next time she had class. She sat in her seat, rubbing her legs together the entire time. When class was over, she rushed to Miss Park. “Oh, Hanni, just the girl I wanted to see.” Miss Park said with a smile. “I got a few things for you,” she said, pulling out a bag. “After our last talk, I thought it would be good to help you on your little journey.” Miss Park smiles at Hanni as she hands over the bag. “I hope you enjoy them; now I’ve got to go. I look forward to your improvements.”

Hanni opened her mouth to say something, but Miss Park was out the door before she could. Hanni looked into the bag, reaching in and pulling out a box. She immediately dropped it back in after seeing it was a dildo. Hanni looks at the door before looking back into the gift bag. She wrapped the string around her hand, ensuring no one could look inside. She rushed to her dorm and sat on her bed, pulling out the toy and looking through the rest of the bag. It had lube and other toys. Hanni opened one of the boxes, pulling out the dildo. She placed it on her lap as she put the box to the side. Grabbing it by the shaft, Hanni couldn’t help but feel nervous. She stared at it, contemplating what she should do next. The toy taunted Hanni, pushing her to act on her feelings.

She rejected it, putting away the toy and hiding everything inside her bag. Hanni took a deep breath, sitting on the edge of her bed, her mind filling with thoughts of the toys. She began to touch herself, feeling her lower half get wet the longer she thought about the toys. It was all she could think about that night until she got your message. “I’m done with my midterm. When did you want to meet up?”

“Tomorrow.” She texted back. Hanni’s night was spent finalizing the few details of her rendezvous.

Two days passed before you were finally able to meet with Hanni. She was losing control of herself as time got closer. She spent her time watching porn and playing with herself. The thought of the toys was in the back of her mind until she felt that her fingers weren’t enough anymore. She went into the bag, pulling out the dildo and the lube. In her haze, Hanni poured too much lube onto the dildo. She ran her hand along the shaft, trying to coat it evenly. She laid back, raising her hips as one of the videos she had watched said to, and pushed the dildo against her folds, moving inside herself slowly. A low guttural moan slowly filled the room as Hanni felt the dildo fill her cunt, her body stretching slightly around it. She was desperate for more; the pleasure she felt was like nothing else. She sped up the process, ramming the rest of the dildo inside herself and cumming. Hanni’s body tensed, her back arching and toes curling before the tension suddenly released, and a wave of euphoric pleasure washed over her. She lay in bed for a moment, her chest heaving as she recovered from her climax. Her body continued to get hotter, though, craving more. In time she was fucking herself crazy, pushing every in of the dildo inside her before eventually switching to the vibrator. Hanni turned herself onto her stomach and raised her hips as she slid the toy in and out of her cunt. Her dripping sex wanted more.

You knocked on her door, waiting for her to open it, when you heard, “It’s open!” You step inside the room, your senses bombarded by the sight and sound of Hanni. Her ass is raised toward you as she moves the toy deeper into her cunt.

“What took you so long? I need you,” she whispers. You’d never seen her act like this in all your years of knowing Hanni.” Hanni turns herself over and spreads her legs for you; her breathing is heavy as she tries to speak. “C’mon, take your clothes off so we can get started.” You pause and look around the room, noticing the used toy laid out and the bottle of lube. You put together what happened quickly after reading the label. The lube was laced with aphrodisiacs, and Hanni must’ve used it without noticing.

Hanni grew impatient as you were figuring out what was happening. She got off the bed, wrapped her arms around your neck, and pulled you into a kiss. Her warm lips melted into yours as she ran her hand to your bulge. You give in to Hanni, stripping down and pushing her onto the bed. Hanni keeps her hands around your cock. They were slick and slid up and down your shaft quickly, making you groan her name. Hanni grinned, hearing you call her name. “Feels good, right?” She said with a giggle. “I don’t think that I can wait thought,” Hanni pointed your cock toward her entrance and rubbed the tip against her folds. “Hmm, it feels different.” She placed your cock between her lips and held her legs apart, “I want you to do it. Fuck me.” Hanni felt dirty uttering those words to you, but it was what she truly wanted.

You push inside Hanni, her warm insides snuggly holding your cock as you push deeper into her. Hanni’s light moans filled the room as she felt your cock move inside her. It felt different than when she used a toy; it was much better. She never wanted you to pull out and wrap her legs around your waist. “So deep,” Hanni mumbles as you begin thrusting into her. You grip Hanni’s waist thrusting wildly as you enjoy your first pussy. Hanni’s walls clamp down on your cock when you’re deeper inside her, giving you the motivation to try and go as deep as possible. You press your lips against hers as your hands dig into her skin.

“I didn’t know you were such a slut,” You groan, not knowing what you were saying, both your mind and Hanni being lost in a haze of pleasure. Hanni’s moans grow louder as she listens to your degrading comment. For a reason, she didn’t know, it turned her on.

“I’m a big slut,” she whimpered, egging you on to say more things about her. You degrade Hanni further, mentioning how she clung to you like a fleshlight or how she moaned. Every comment earned you louder moans. It wasn’t long before you came inside her, but neither one of you was done yet. You pulled out of Hanni and flipped her over, placing one hand on her shoulder and wrapping her long hair around the other. You tugged on the hair as you slammed yourself back inside her cunt. “Yes!” Hanni screamed, loving the treatment you gave her. Hanni felt alive, understanding what Miss Park meant by emotions and sensations. You tugged on her hair, and Hanni tightened around your cock; she was getting close to her orgasm. You press harder and drive your cock into Hanni, struggling to hold your own climax. Close to your orgasm, your grip on Hanni’s shoulder tightens. You bury yourself inside Hanni, cumming inside her. Hanni melts as she feels your cock throb and your semen pour into her. She cums on you, and her body goes limp. She crashes onto her bed, and you fall on her, trapping her. Hanni moans softly, focusing on the warm feeling inside her and the throbbing of your cock.

You roll off Hanni and pull out. The empty feeling she has after leaves her wanting more. Now, knowing what sex was like, Hanni was craving it; the tingling sensation that coursed through her body was addicting. She straddled you and slipped your cock back inside. “Let’s go again,” she whispered. You and Hanni continued for two more rounds before your bodies gave out on you. You left early in the morning, a little sore from your fun with Hanni.

Hanni strolled into class the next day, a new energy blossoming within her. Miss Park noticed and, before class started, sat beside Hanni. “Looks like someone had finally got some experience. Was it good?” Hanni gave Miss Park a nod and smiled at her. “You know, if you ever want to explore some more, I’d be willing to help you.” Miss Park placed her hands on Hanni’s thigh, giving it a slight squeeze. “I wouldn’t mind playing with you a little at one of my parties.” She whispered into Hanni’s ear.

Hanni smiled at her and nodded. “I’d like that, Miss Park.”

#kpop smut #male reader #m reader #hanni smut #newjeans smut

913 notes · View notes

jaeeyaaasworld · 8 months ago

Text

Single Mother Next Door - CL16

Featuring: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Warnings: reader is a single mother, mention of an awful ex, reader was in an abusive relationship, Charles is literally so sweet that it makes my own teeth rot, GLASSES CHARLES (of course it's a warning)

Requested: Yes/No

"OH MY GOD, LANDO"

Charles yelled without even realizing, his headphones blocking even his own voice.

it was one in the morning and his loud laugh was resonating in the whole apartment.

what he didn't know was that, on the other side of his wall, there was a little eleven months old baby trying to sleep, with little success because of his loud yells.

the baby started crying right on the spot, making his mom run to him from the kitchen, where she was still cleaning.

"oh I know, baby"

you whispered, picking your baby up and trying to calm him down as possible, but as soon as the kid seemed to close his eyes for a little longer another yell came from the apartment next to yours.

you couldn't take it anymore, you had to do your stuff and quickly go to sleep to at least have a few hours of sleep before you had to get up and get your baby in daycare to go to work.

so, with the baby in your arms, you walked out of your apartment and knocked on your neighbor's door a few times.

Charles was turning off his stream and taking his headphones off when he heard someone knocking on his door, making him frown his eyebrows.

he looked at the time and it was 1 AM, who could be knocking on his door at 1 AM?

Charles got up from his seat and walked out of the room to go answer the door.

as soon as he opened the door he was met with a pretty young woman with a toddler in her arms, she was almost panicking as the baby in her arms was crying while hugging her neck tightly.

"hi, I'm the girl that lives next door. I'm really, really sorry to spoil your fun, but my toddler can't sleep and he keeps crying so can I ask you to, please, maybe, keep your voice slightly lower?"

you started rambling, rocking up and down with the baby in your arms to try and soothe him to sleep.

Charles slightly widened his eyes at the sight, gulping the lump that had formed in his throat.

"yeah, of course. I'm really sorry, I didn't know you had a toddler, I never heard him cry so..."

he started, as the toddler got up from your shoulder as he heard Charles' new voice.

his eyes were a bit puffy and his nose was a bit red from crying, he was watching Charles couriosly, making Charles smile at him while bending down slightly to see eye to eye with the sleepy toddler.

"hi, baby. I'm really sorry if I woke you up, I promise I will try to keep it down in the future for you and your momma"

Charles smiled at the toddler, making you smile at the interaction between the two.

"well, I'm sorry if I bothered you. I'm gonna go back to my apartment, see you around maybe..."

you said in an interrogative way.

"oh- Charles, nice to meet you"

he said with a smile.

"I'm Y/n, nice to meet you as well. oh- and thank you for understanding"

you replied with the same smile.

a smile that made Charles realize actually how beautiful you were.

you were tired, slight bags under your eyes as your tired smile stretched yours lips.

"i-it's nothing, really"

he stuttered out a bit and his cheeks turned slightly red as you entered back into your apartment, your toddler collapsing back on your shoulder as he tried to sleep again.

Charles closed his apartment door behind his back, his eyes still widened as he scrambled to search for his phone and dialing Lando's phone number.

Lando was the closest one to him, as he lived in the same apartment building in Monaco just two floors above him.

"what is it? we just got off the stream, Charles"

his friend asked, as soon as he picked up the call.

"is there a chance that you know a mother that lives in this building?"

Charles whispered to his phone, he now knew that his walls were thin as paper.

"I don- I don't think there's a mother in our apartment building, at least in my floor"

he said, thinking about the people that he saw enter or exit the hall while he was in there for any reason, but then he frowned his eyebrows.

"why are you whispering, mate?"

Lando asked his friend, confused on why his friend would whisper like that while he should be alone in his house.

"well, my walls are thin as shit and my neighbor can hear basically everything I say"

Charles whispered again, making Lando burst out laughing at his comment.

"are you serious, mate?"

he asked, still laughing as hard as Charles as ever heard and making the man sigh as he closed his eyes and started rubbing his fingers on his closed eyelids.

"yes, she is a mother and I've been keeping her toddler awake the whole night"

Charles said, making Lando laugh even harder at him and his situation.

"oh my god, mate. I would never want to be in your shoes. did she lash out at you or did she send her husband for you?"

Lando asked Charles, still giggling.

"no, actually she came to my door really calmly and asked politely if I could keep my voice down a bit"

Charles told his friend, throwing his own body on the couch while still keeping his phone to his ear to still hear his friend talk.

"and how was she? hot?"

asked Lando.

"Lando, you only think about this stuff... yeah, she's hot"

he whispered back to his friend and getting another laugh in return, but this time Lando's laugh made Charles smile and let out a small chuckle.

"go to sleep now, mate"

Lando said, a big yawn came from his side of his phonecall, which made Charles yawn with him.

"yeah, I better go to sleep now. goodnight, Lando"

Charles greeted, getting an hum from Lando as he hung up the phone, and he got up from his place on the couch to walk into his bedroom to get dressed in his pyjamas and go to sleep.

a toddler's cry could be heard from the other side of the wall, making him stop in his track and look towards the wall where the cry was coming from.

he knew it wasn't his fault this time, but he couldn't help but feel guilty for waking him up the first time.

so he felt in the right and a little in dept to try and make the baby calm down as soon as possible so that you could go to sleep and finally get the rest you needed.

Charles walked towards the piano in his apartment, sitting in the little seat that was in front of the black and white tiles.

he placed his hands on the tiles delicately and started playing one of his songs slowly and lowly, he was sure that the sound of the music could be heard from the other side of the wall, reaching his neighbor's apartment.

Charles slowly stopped hearing the sound of the toddler's cry, a smile showing up on his face as he kept playing softly for your kid.

after a few minutes he stopped playing, the sound of silence was so good, and just the thought that he was able to make your toddler stop crying fumbled with his heart.

he reluctantly got up from the seat and walked back to his bedroom, laying on his bed with his arm under his head, staring at his ceiling and still thinking about you and your cute little baby.

time skip: a week later

"mate- how is it going with the neighbor?"

Lando asked Charles as they walked into the hall of their apartment building, going towards the elevator while taking their home keys out of their pockets.

"I didn't see her since that day, but that night her kid started crying again and I played the piano for him"

Charles replied, pressing his floor button on the little plate in the elevator, and Lando gasped lightly at what he said.

"and it worked?"

he asked as the elevator doors closed with them inside.

"of course it worked, what did you think?"

Charles chuckled.

"I did it a couple times and he always calms down really quickly"

he said as the elevator dinged and the doors opened to Charles' floor, and as soon as the doors opened a man's voice yelling could be heard.

"please- calm down, there's people sleeping"

a little female voice was heard right after the yelling, making Charles and Lando both step out of the elevator and look more into the situation.

Charles' eyes widened immediately as he saw a man in front of your door, yelling and pushing you into the wall.

"you think I care about the people sleeping on this fucking floor? everyone should know here that you're a fucking whore"

the man yelled again, grabbing your jaw harshly and pushing you into the wall aggressively.

Charles couldn't take it anymore and he decided it was time for him to step in and stop the whole altercation.

he walked up to you two and grasped the man's wrist to yank him away from you, and the two men finished eye to eye, even though the man was slightly shorter then Charles.

"what are you doing, mate?"

Charles asked the man, putting himself between the man and you, as the man scoffed.

"and who are you, huh? her new play thing?"

he asked while gesturing his hands around, making Charles furrow his eyebrows and reach behind himself to flush your body to his back, your hands grabbing his shirt at his sides tightly.

"what if? who even are you?"

Charles asked, nodding his chin towards him and making a step forwards in almost a threatening way.

"you know, the father of the kid you are probably acting like a father to?"

the man said, making Charles realize that he was probably your ex and the father of your kid.

Charles stayed silent, deciding that it was time to end this whole thing right now before it escalated any further.

"when are you gonna let me see my kid, Y/n?"

the man asked, bending his body to the side to look at you, but Charles body blocked his whole sight and he couldn't even get a glimpse of you.

"when he is able to tell me what happens"

you say, getting into your house quickly and closing the door behind your back with a loud sound.

"this bitch-"

the man tried to get close to the door of your apartment, but Charles stopped him, basically getting in his face.

"if you don't get out of this building as soon as I can even think about it, I will get to know where you work, where you live and take everything down real soon"

he said, making the man take a few steps back, his face a little paler than earlier but still trying to be big and bad.

"and how would you do that, huh? who even are you?"

the man asked, making Charles scoff.

"you don't need to know, the only thing you need to know is that here you will probably see my face everywhere in Monaco and you will never be able to forget about what I did to your life"

the man started taking slow steps back, walking towards the end of the corridor, where the elevator was still open and waiting for him.

as this all happened, Charles realized that Lando was still standing there a bit shocked and staring at him like he was crazy.

"can you check that he really gets out? I need to check on her"

he said, turning towards your door as soon as Lando nodded his head at his request and walked to the elevator right after the man.

Charles softly knocked on your door.

"go away"

you said from the inside, making Charles' heart clench.

"it's Charles, can you open the door, please?"

he asked as softly and lowly as possible.

you slowly opened the door, letting him walk inside, careful not to step onto some toys that your kid had left around.

a little sniffle came from you that were behind him and Charles turned towards you to pull you into a tight hug.

"you wanna talk about it?"

he asked you softly, getting a shake of your head in return.

"it's okay, I don't need to-"

his words were cut off by a baby's cry that made you get out of the hug, but Charles stopped you while putting his hands on your upper arms.

"can I go?"

Charles asked, getting an hesitant nod from you and going towards the little bed that was in the living room to get the baby in his arms.

he started swaying side to side, humming lowly the melody of his song that he usually played on the piano to calm him down, while Y/n sat on the small couch that was on the side of the small bed.

the baby slowly started calming down, getting back to sleep pretty quickly so that Charles could place the baby back down onto the bed and sit on the couch next to you.

"he was abusive"

you started, making Charles look at you sweetly.

"you don't have to-"

Charles got cut off by you.

"no, I have to"

you said, taking in a deep breath and continuining on what you were saying.

"he was abusive, but when I got pregnant with Joe I decided that it was time for us to go. I couldn't bare loose my kid because of him, I lost already too much because of him. so I went away but he soon found out where I was working and where I was living and I had to change again. I was able to do eleven months living here, but now he found out and I don't know what to do. I mean- you were here now but you will not be here all the time and I would never expect you to and-"

you started rambling really quickly, making Charles stop you with an hand.

"you can trust me that he will not bother you anymore around here"

he said, drawing a low giggle from you that made his eyebrows furrow.

"did you threaten him or something?"

you asked jokingly as Charles smiled at your soft giggle.

"yeah, something like that"

he replied jokingly, with another low chuckle.

"thank you, anyway"

you suddenly said as Charles smiled at you.

"for what?"

he asked, even though he could imagine what it was for, he still wanted to hear you say that.

"for playing the piano for my son and for protecting me today"

you said, looking at him with a soft smile that made Charles' heart skip a beat.

"that's really nothing"

he said, returning the same smile back at you.

"hey, uhm... I know, maybe it isn't the best time to ask something like that but, would you go on a date with me sometime? nothing soon, I mean- if you're ready soon would be lovely but if you're not it's okay- I'll stop talking, yeah"

Charles rambled in embarrassment, getting a small chuckle from you on his side.

"I would love to, but Joe-"

you didn't even get to say anything that Charles already found the solution to any problem that could have popped up, as he probably had already thought about these type of problems.

"you could both come to my house and I could even play the piano for him so that he could fall asleep while you rest a bit with me"

he tried, making you chuckle and nod your head.

"then... tomorrow at 7 PM?"

Charles asked for confirmation, getting a nod in return as you both got up from the couch and walked towards your apartment door.

"well, goodnight, Charles. see you tomorrow"

you said, opening your arms to give him an hug.

"goodnight, Y/n"

he replied, tightening the hug just a tiny bit before letting go and exiting your apartment to enter his own.

time skip: the day after at 7 PM

a soft knock on Charles' door stopped his attempts at cooking to dry his hands on his apron to go open his door.

the sight of you dressed up in a cute dress with a big bag on your shoulder and Joe on your hip made Charles gasp slightly.

"you look so good"

Charles said, placing an hand on your upper arm to lean over and kiss your cheek, then turning towards Joe and taking him from your arms to throw him in the air playfully.

"and aren't you handsome all dressed up like a true gentleman"

he complimented the little kid, that was dressed up in a toddler sized tux, placing him on his hip and taking the big bag from your shoulder and placing it on his own shoulder.

"you look good as well, so domestic and so gentleman taking all my bags"

you complimented, smiling widely at Charles and getting on your tiptoes to place an hand on his shoulder to kiss his cheek.

"oh- I'm trying to cook you pasta, the last time I tried cooking it was kinda crunchy, but this time, I put a timer on the right time"

he said, placing the bag down on a barstool and still holding Joe on his hip while he went over to the kitchen to check on the pasta he was cooking.

you watched the whole scene from the doorstep of the kitchen, watching your date cook in his kitchen with your baby on his hip like he was his own kid.

"Joe eats the same things we do, right? I did some research yesterday and google told me that eleven months old eat the same thing adult do"

he asked, searching your face for something to confirm or deny what he was saying and getting a sure nod in return.

the timer on his phone ringed and you took Joe from Charles' arms so that he could get the pasta out of the water and into the pan with the condiment.

he plated everything as you sat down at the table with Joe on your leg, Charles placed the plates on the table and you started eating with Charles feeding Joe a few times when you were busy eating yourself.

the conversation kept flowing between you two and Joe soon got full and wanted to get down from your lap, but you tried to keep him in your lap since you didn't know if Charles was okay with your toddler snooping around in his apartment.

"oh, no. let him down, please. it's alright"

Charles said, noticing how you didn't want to let your kid down, so you finally let Joe get on the floor and roam around, you and Charles watching him as he reached a chair to slowly get up on his feet.

"he can walk?"

the man asked as you took a sip from your glass of wine.

"not yet, he's getting ready for it"

you replied, putting the wine glass down and getting up to go clean the dishes out of habit, but Charles stopped you by gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist that was grabbing the plate you used.

"oh no, I'll do it, you can chill with Joe over here"

he said, taking the dishes that you used and took them to the kitchen to place them in the sink, you smiled as he put his apron back on and you leaned on the kitchen island with your glass of wine while watching your son trying to paddle around and falling to his butt sometimes.

you watched around his living room, as Joe got closer to his piano, and the long line of big champagne bottles on his shelf caught you eye.

"what's up with all those bottles?"

you asked him, as you put your glass down to go to your kid as he started crawling towards Charles' couch.

"they're the champagne bottles from my podiums"

he explained quickly to you, since he was trying to load the dishwasher as quick as possible to get back to you and your kid.

"that's so cool"

you said, smiling up at the bottles as you sat on his couch as your son kept crawling around the coffee table in front of it.

you looked at the time and noticed that it was already 9:45 PM, looking at your son and how he started rubbing his eyes with sleep, picking him up from the ground and walking towards the kitchen to let Charles know.

"hey, Joe is really sleepy, so I think is time for me to go back"

you said, a sad smile on your face, you really didn't want to go back to your apartment yet, but you couldn't leave your son alone to get back here.

"or you could let Joe sleep on my bed and you could come back here with me- I mean, if you want to and if your comfortable of course"

he said, rubbing his neck shyly, his cheeks slightly red from embarrassment, making you chuckle.

"are you sure? that would mean that you would have to endure me for the whole night"

you warned him, since you couldn't pick up Joe in the middle of the night to take him back to your own apartment.

but your warning made Charles chuckle and smile warmly at you as he closed the loaded dishwasher and pulled off his apron.

"I could endure your company my whole life and never get tired of it, mon ange"

he said, getting closer to you and placing his hand on your upper arm with a loving smile.

"oh- that's so cheesy of you"

you teased him with a roll of your eyes and a smile.

"I'm gonna play the piano for Joe as you put him to sleep, is that good?"

Charles asked, getting a nod from you as you walked towards his room with the lights turned off as Joe already slumped on your shoulder.

the first notes of Charles song started playing and Joe was already starting to relax on your shoulder as you started rocking your body to slowly pull him to sleep.

as the song was done for the second time you were getting out of Charles' room, pulling the door almost closed behind your back.

Charles noticed you really quickly, turning around in his piano's seat with a smile as you smiled back at him.

he placed one of his legs on the other side of the seat, so that you could sit on front of him.

he patted the seat in front of him to call you over and you sat with both your legs to the outer side of the seat, sitting between his legs as his right hand went on your lower back and his left hand rested on your thigh.

"you look so pretty tonight, have I told you already?"

he whispered in your ear as he rested his chin on your shoulder, his words and his breath on your neck made you giggle softly.

"yes, a few times already"

you said, turning your face towards him and smiling at him, your noses almost touching from how close you were to each other faces.

a small giggle came from him as your noses touched, left to right and then back right to left.

"I wanna kiss you so bad, right now. can I do it? can I kiss you?"

he asked in a whisper, making you smile and nod at his words.

your lips finally touched and the kiss was soft and slow, a soft smile stretching your lips as his hands pulled you closer by your waist and you placed your hand on his jaw, pulling him closer and closer.

he smiled as he felt your lips stretch in a smile, slightly pulling away to look at you and smile widely.

"why are you smiling?"

Charles whispered on your lips, making you chuckle and using your hand to fix some of his hair that didn't want to stay in their place.

"cause you make me feel good..."

you said, pecking his lips just to pull back again and leave him leaning forward slightly to chase your lips.

"... and safe"

you added in a whisper, making him smile widely and turn you around so that you were leaning your back on his chest as he moved your hair to one side to expose your bare neck and shoulder because of your dress.

"I will treat you and Joe better then him, you can count on that"

Charles whispered, placing soft pecks to the juncture between your neck and your shoulder and making you giggle as his breath slightly tickled you.

"I'm gonna trust you on that"

#formula 1 #formula one #formula 1 x you #f1 fluff #charles leclerc #charles x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc one shot #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

3K notes · View notes

gremlingottoosilly · 1 year ago

Text

Cleaning services (perv!Konig x fem!cleaner!Reader)

Konig needs help in decluttering and cleaning his house. Unfortunately for you, he takes quite a huge liking in having pretty things like you around. And he isn't very nice about it.

TW: Perverted Konig, age gap, Konig masturbates at you without consent, implied kidnapping, yandere Word count: 3754 This work on AO3

There is no shame in having a professional cleaner, König tries to tell himself.

Yes, he is a grown man with a very dangerous job that requires having a lot of responsibility. He holds the lives of his soldiers in his hands and risks his life every day not for the sake of his country, but certainly for the sake of his wallet and the reputation of KorTac.

Hiring a professional cleaner for his house shouldn’t make him feel humiliated and embarrassed, and he knows it. Cleaners are basically like soldiers – doing stuff that other people can’t for a certain amount of money, providing services for the clients who can afford it. Besides, it’s a support of his local community – after everything he took from the people around his town, it’s only natural that he would support this growing business of cleaning services.

There is no shame in having some nice old lady cleaning his house and watching over it while he is too busy trying not to kill himself or drown his head in liquor after a particularly rough mission. When you lose two guys on a run that was supposed to be the quickest task possible when you’re returning home with an injury that isn’t really that serious but brings your whole mental state into a very dark place, and when you’re forced to take 3 weeks of leave in the place you hate, hiring a cleaner to take care of everything really shouldn’t make him so ashamed of himself.

Even if he can clean his space – the house is just too big for only one of him, and his ribs still have this funny feeling of fantom bullets traveling around his guts. So, he dials up the number of the cleaning services because he is too fucking old to understand their weird website and messenger ordering, even though speaking with a human operator on the other half of the line is somewhat more humiliating that having no idea of how to use a modern interface.

There is no shame in asking for help, his therapist is trying to shrill it in his head all of the time and yet he is still hesitant when the cleaning professional is knocking on his door, finding this place surprisingly fast. König braces himself, thinking about all the ways he could avoid having a conversation – he drew a quick map of the place, put down the room cleaner shouldn’t be entering – his gun safe, mostly, already repeated in his head how he would greet them and swiftly extract himself from the situation.

“Guten Tag, please, come in. This is the map of the place, don’t go to the red door on the right, don’t hesitate to ask questions, I will be on the second floor.” He takes a few wide, swift steps to his door and stops. Thinks again, overthinking, thinking too fucking much about everything, anxiously checking on his phone to read the message that yes, his cleaner is here and he should probably open the door or they would burst down the window. “Guten Tag, come in. Map of the place is here, don’t go to the red door to the right, please hesitate to ask questions, I will be somewhere around the house, lurking in the shadows” He braces himself to open the door, ready to see that sweet old lady who would spend the next 8 hours cleaning his house and then turn back another day to rinse and repeat until his house stopped looking like a place where a very, very miserable man lives. (Even if this is true)

But, there isn’t a nice old lady with a bunch of cleaning supplies and determination to make someone’s life easier.

But, there isn’t a cold middle-aged woman with a very professional no-nonsense attitude who wouldn’t even talk to him before going straight to work.

But, there is a young girl. Well, not a girl, of course, if he had to guess you were somewhere around the “Too fucking young, but definitely legal” spectrum. Young enough to not be alive when he was already going to school, young enough to make him sweat, and definitely not old enough to be accepting a job where you’d have to spend so much of your life cleaning and scrubbing and sorting and…

There isn’t anything shameful in ordering a cleaning service when you genuinely need it, but you’re young and you’re pretty and he isn’t even wearing a mask because he is an old dumbass that forgot about it, and you look at him with your shiny eyes and…

Maybe, he should clean on his own – would definitely be less shameful.

— Sir? H…hello? Good morning? Can you hear me?

Yes, he can hear you.

Yes, he would love to hear you every single day of his life, when he wakes up and when he falls asleep.

— Ja. I apologize, I…thought it was mail.

It’s a dumb excuse, but he can’t really say that he was just too fucking mesmerized by your shiny eyes and perfect hair and nice figure and basically everything about you. He has this nasty habit of imagining a future with people around him – with people who just fucking want to be left alone, and yet he still stares and looks and it’s probably ultra uncomfortable for them – but he can’t help imagining the life with every cute lady in the grocery shop or elegant lady sitting next to him on a train.

He has a pattern – people who are not interested in him in the slightest. He has a pattern, a preference, cute girls, smart girls, popular ladies that were never even so much as looking in his direction. He could probably score someone now, having a colonel’s salary and honorably discharged payments, but he gave up on trying to find anyone. He has friends, company, has work where he spent most of his life anyway – he doesn’t need anyone, he wants to think.

Then you waddle into his life with a bunch of cleaning supplies and a small vacuum, barely able to handle everything in your hands. He rushes to help and envelops your hands with his – you are so much smaller in comparison, he has bear-like arms and horribly big everything. he feels awkward when he gently removes everything from your arms – when he tries to help by simply putting everything on the table of the next room.

König hated this house – it was big, it was empty, and the only reason he didn’t sell it was because Mother’s things were still locked in her old bedroom and every time he tried to clean it and evaluate the cost of the house, he decided that he will Do It Other Day. Coincidentally, all of those days were also followed by three-month minimum missions, making him utterly unable to do everything about this place anyway.

This is why you’re here – a hired cleaner, a sorter, you promised to de-hoard everything and see if there is anything of value. Perfect for someone like him, especially since he is paying you double for spending the whole day and a few days more in his house exclusively.

Now, he looks at how awkward your smile is, how you fidget with the edge of the broom you brought, and how you can’t even start a conversation because he is simply staring at you, staying in the living room of this dead, almost abandoned house. Now, he looks at how cute you are, how perfect, and remembers that he didn’t score with anyone in half a year already – not even in terms of sex, the casual flirting was also forbidden since half of his unit was transferred and the new people weren’t really fun of his tough methods of breaking rookies in.

When was the last time someone genuinely smiled at him?

Ah, he is staring again. Scheisse.

— Where do you want me to start, sir?

He wonders how much he should pay you to clean him instead. Would you be gentle? Rough? Would you call him a pervert, which he is, and then slap him and yell at him for being such a horrible old dog who is ready to pounce at every pretty girl in his presence? He would do anything that would set his mind free of the thought about Mom. Her bedroom. This whole house that he can’t call home ever since he turned 6 and understood why Father was always so, so angry.

— The living room. If it’s not too much.

He barely stops himself from talking more – you look weird, you loom surprised, you look at him like he is fucking stupid and, in fact, he is. Of course, it wouldn’t be too hard for you, you’re his clean, for fucks sake. You come here to clean, you get good money for it, he shouldn’t feel guilty for using your services because, in some way, he actually provides you with a job and a cute thing like you shouldn’t go to other houses, with old perverts that can do unspeakable things with the adorable worker.

Ah, yes, perverts like him. God, he is hopeless.

— Alright. Do you want to note something, like if there is anything I shouldn’t touch?

He would allow you to take your adorable, yellow glow-wearing hands to get into his personal savings and all of his bank accounts, if you’d want to. He curses under his breath, hating how professional you are – hard worker, perfect, simply a fantastic person who deserves more than working for him. You aren’t trying to shy away from the job and he almost resents you for it.

You’d make a good soldier, he thinks – you’re able to hear the orders and oblige to them, you’re obedient and came even before the discussed time. You’d make such a perfect private for his unit, he observes.

Ah, right, he was supposed to answer you. Shit.

— No. Just don’t go to the second room on the left.

— Alright. Anything else?

He grumbles under his breath, trying to get into the right headspace to deal with someone like you. König knows it’s rude, to just ignore and leave you like this – but if he were to stay in he same room as you, he would do something horrible, disgusting, and completely dishonorable to you. So, he leaves – escapes – to his office. Father’s office, mostly, the only thing here that belongs to him are some documents and useless papers – and a laptop that he drags to every other room anyway.

He doesn’t like this room, it reminds him of the worst episodes of his early childhood – yet, this is his only reserve. He doesn’t want to leave the house because the territory is secluded and if something were to happen to you, he would be the only one able to help. He also doesn’t want to leave his gun collection with you – he doesn’t want you to find it and freak out or hurt yourself.

This is what he tells himself, at least. He wants to be there with you, in the same room preferably, but horrible for his anxiety, because he wants this illusion, phantasm of having a loving relationship. Of having a woman in his life, a lovely housewife who would cook for him, clean for him, and would be absolutely spoiled with gifts and attention. God knows he doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body – but he will carve one out of his ribs for you.

And he only knew you for an hour tops.

König feels like literally the worst man alive when he spread his legs and starts stroking his hard, glistening cock. He brushes over the swollen, red tip, not allowing himself to have any lube other than spit and oozing pre-cum – he tries not to cum embarrassingly quickly, thinking about your perfect gestures and smiling face. How perfect you look in your cleaning uniform – not like maids from the occasional porn he was watching, but still beautiful. Your body is perfect even with all of those ugly layers and grey fabric – and he can’t stop thinking about the sway of your hips or glimpses of your legs under your dress.

He thinks about you, bent over his couch, trying to clean the especially dirty spot on the furniture – how the material of your dress would be tight around your ass. The image makes him grunt quietly, stroking his barely wet dick even more – the pain from the dry sensation only makes the pleasure all the sweeter. He is hard, was hard for the past 10 minutes as you were introducing yourself and whatever your deal is. He is dirty, perverted, knowing only your name and your face – and he is still stroking himself, thinking about paying you extra just so you’d get on your pretty knees and suck him. Would you be sloppy, messy, get his cum all over your face so you’d have to wash it off? Would you be experienced, eager, trying to get as much seed as possible with that pretty tongue of yours?

He is a lost cause because he hears the sounds of vacuum – you’re only a few rooms away from him, trying so hard to clean his house for him, to work through every bit of furniture and everything he acquired for the past twenty years or so – and he moans loudly, knowing that you don’t hear anything. You’re probably listening to music or some silly girl’s podcast about planets and gardens and maybe some university lectures. He��d pay for your courses, he would get you any book you want – having his salary and barely spending it made him softer in the saving habits.

He can afford to splurge on a pretty girl who just needs a rich Austrian mercenary to sweep her off her feet. But, he is old – but, he is a monster who preys on someone helpless, using her pretty face to jerk himself off, and he doesn’t even deserve your number, although he has had it since accepting the service.

His cock is big, angry red in his hand as he runs his finger over the bulging vein, teasing the sensitive flesh – always loud in bed, with grunts and moans of pleasure, he can barely contain himself now, only forcing his mouth shut when he doesn’t hear the sound of vacuum anymore. He strokes his dick fast, angry, and slams it into his fist, trying to make the pain last longer, so he won’t cum after a minute or two. He has the stamina to last longer – but it’s also the first time he was so horny since…he can’t even remember.

König thinks about putting you in his bed – like a perfect housewife, you would hug his waist with your legs, would allow him to lick and grope at your tits, and won’t scream too much when he’d force his tongue inside of your precious pussy, taking every last drop of your pleasure. He wouldn’t want to be forceful, angry, you’re too precious for this and too weak for his strength – but he can imagine slamming into you in a matting press, cumming inside and not even pulling out, warming his cock in the heat of your body.

Father would kill him for doing something so dirty in his office – but he is long dead, devil save his soul, and it’s König’s office now. Even when he barely uses it, even if he doesn’t really need this. It came in handy when he had to jerk off to the pretty cleaning girl who cleaned up after him – so, somehow, his father managed to improve his mood 15 years after he died.

He cums with a low groan, whispering your name – he doesn’t understand how a pretty thing like you still works here and wasn’t taken by someone else already, but he would take what he can get. Never the one to get the first dibs, never being someone’s first choice – he feels terrible for thinking about you in such a low way, but his pleasure sticks to his fingers and, at this point, it’s too late to feel bad.

Drying the tip of his dick with a tissue, he spends a good few minutes with spread legs, his soft cock laying on the chair, with cum still oozing out – such a waste, honestly, would be much better to stuff you full of his cock or even take your pretty ass, spread you slowly. Keep only the tip in, not pressuring you into anything more until you’d start moving yourself, like a good slut you will be.

So perfect under him – the images and sounds of your voice are running through his mind, making him breathe heavily. If he was younger and had as much sex drive as before, he would already be hard – but he needs some time to relax, thinking about your pretty legs and adorable face.

It takes him a few minutes of listening to your sweet voice to understand that you were not, in fact, a hallucination or a mystical fairy coming to make him come. You were standing outside of the office door, looking embarrassed and clearly hearing at least some of his horny mumblings – you avoid looking at him, and your fingers are trembling when you tug at the sides of your dress. Guilt immediately rushes to him again, he looks at you like a perfect treasure you are – and he is a horrible monster trying to hoard all of it to himself.

— What is it, liebling?

Petname goes smoothly from his tongue and he can only hope that you don’t know German – he is too embarrassed to talk to you, too anxious, his newfound shyness is a result of both your beauty and the post-nut clarity that already made him feel like a monster. He contemplates just giving you money and sending you off, paying double for the false call, and leaving you a 5-star review so you won’t get in trouble with your boss.

You look so meek from his angle of view – he has to fight the urge to pinch your face, squeeze your cheeks, grab your waist in his firm hands, and just lift you in his arms, holding you to his bed. Maybe getting a nice set of cuffs to ensure you would never escape from him.

— I finished with the living room and…well, I just wanted to ask if you want the decluttering work to be done today or tomorrow.

He remembers how he basically paid you for a few days worth of work – and he smiles at exactly how perfect this decision was. Of course, you are a smart girl, a modest girl, you aren’t staying the night and would rather waste time on the road, much to his dismay, but at least he would see you for a few days already.

He might not even let you go after.

— Ach. Today, if it’s not too…

He stops himself again – of course, it’s not too much, you are a professional, not just a friend that comes to clean his place for a pack of beer and maybe some pizza. He doesn’t know how to talk to you, anxiety eats him whole, and he has to just avoid looking at you to avoid further embarrassment.

— Alright. I will do it right away then.

You smile awkwardly, your lips are twitching and he already knows that you could hear him moaning your name and sweet little praises while stroking his cock. You aren’t biting the hand that feeds you, not running away screaming at how perverted he is – poor girl, you probably need money more than you need personal safety if you’re fine with him heaving like this. If you were his, he would never allow you to be so careless.

He moves behind you in the most dreaded room of the house. Mother’s bedroom, a room that she only used for sewing and only allowed him in when he was extra whiny after another failed fight with his bullies. All of her thighs are here – ever since she passed away, he just moved everything to one room and locked it, barely bothering to keep a key. He hates being here, almost as much as being in Father’s office — this room smells like death and old paper and you scrunch your nose in an adorable expression when you take a step inside.

— I will divide everything into categories, alright?

— Gut.

You look at him nervously, clearly scared that he is watching over you now. It might feel like a logical decision – after all, it was his mother’s vintage things, who knows what kind of jewelry she kept here, something that he won’t even notice gone until it’s too late. You and him both know, however, that this isn’t the reason he is looming over you. A perfect obedient thing, you deserve something better than his affection, but he still locks his gaze with yours, looking at your hands and going through various furniture pieces.

You work like a fairy, not an ounce of laziness or exhaustion in your actions – even after you already spent a few hours cleaning his living room, you act like a Cinderella that got a bunch of magic mice up her rags. He licks his lips, looking at your perfect ass you as sit on your knees, starting with decluttering every little box there is.

— Can I just put it back in boxes or…

You look the the contents – vintage makeup, some jewelry, head pieces that don’t look particularly expensive but were definitely well-loved. You wonder who they belong to – probably a wife, or, maybe, some of his relatives who lived here. He doesn’t seem like a married or divorced man – he does, however, look insanely lonely.

It takes him a good few seconds to respond, too mesmerized by the little song you were humming a minute before. He imagines you in that old, chunky jewelry, some necklaces that cost more than your salary – and the thought makes him salivate.

He smiles, leaning closer to you – hot breath on your face, you shift immediately, scared. He is so fast for someone so big, his movements are perfect and his eyes are cold – you feel the chill deep in your bones when he moves even closer, his lips almost brushing against yours.

Suddenly, you are very aware of the fact that he locked the door to this tiny room when you both moved in.

#cod #call of duty #cod x reader #konig x reader #yandere konig #cod x you #konig mw2 #reader insert #yandere cod #male yandere #konig #konig x you #konig cod

4K notes · View notes

bengals-barnesbabe · 21 days ago

Text

Frustrated ~ a blurb

word count: who cares

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

Joe was pissed. That’s as simply put as anyone could make it. The second he left the coaches’ room after another bullshit meeting, he was dialing your number.

They lost to the Eagles and everyone is already blaming him. Sure, he was gonna blame himself anyway, but he’s actually starting to get sick of it.

Sick of the organization using him as a coverup. Sick of Taylor not taking any kind of responsibility. Sick of the media flaming him whenever he moves- since when did his hair have to do with how he played?

So when you arrived at his home, in his shirt with your phone up to your ear, he said fuck it. He took your phone, dropped it in your bag, and then chucked it by the door so he could grab your hips and pull you close until your lips shared one breath.

The kiss was harsh, his need to devour you taking precedence over comfort. His fingers gripped your hips as his tongue controlled your lips. He nipped, bit, and sucked on your plump lips until your back hit the couch.

You had no time to wonder how he had moved you without knowing because he was back on you. Sucking dark marks into your neck, moving the jersey, his jersey aside to kiss down to your breasts until there was too much resistance.

"Why the fuck are you wearing this?" His voice is breathless and gruff as he asks what's supposed to be a simple question.

"I watched your gam-

In a flash, his number is pulled off your body, and he's back on your lips, muffling any other words that could leave your mouth. "Fuck the game."

The next few minutes were a blur as clothes were tossed off and his hands seared their path down your body until he was gripping your bare thighs as you sunk down on his thick cock.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He sighs breathlessly, into your ear.

You whine in response, your tight walls trying get use to the burning stretch. Your nails creating crescent shaped indents in his strong shoulders.

Rough groans and grunts vibrate your skin as he leaves slick bites and purple bruises on your neck to hold back from fucking up into you too early.

“Baby, tell me I can move- please.”

A whimper and a light nod give him all the assurance to slowly lift you and give you a harsh trial thrust of his hips.

It doesn't take long for all your discomfort to fade away, and enjoy the pleasure of him kindly bullying your walls.

But you can't not notice his grip on your hips tightening while his hips meet yours hesitantly and almost too softly.

His pearly teeth buried in his plump lip til it's red and raw and his head thrown back but not from bliss.

You slow your hips down to a slow grind, lean forward, and make him face you. "Joe?"

Your small voice calls him from his head, from his frustrations with his job, and he tilts it towards you. "Yeah, baby?"

His voice is filled with a rough need, only one you can satiate. He needs to feel in control, to forget about the outside world, to use his frustrations and feel whole.

You watch the turmoil in his ocean eyes while he waits for you to speak, not knowing where this will go. You gently hold his head, run your fingers through his growing hair's sides, and lean your forehead against his. "You know I trust you, right?"

He blinks, his eyes narrowing, and then he nods. "I know."

You smile, then place a chaste kiss on his bitten lips. "Then ruin me."

And just like that, he flipped the switch and stopped thinking.

⋆ ┊⋆✿°.┊✾.⋆ ┊

Main Masterlist

#joe burrow x black reader #black reader #joe burrow x reader #bengals barnesbabe #nfl imagine #joe burrow #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow angst #joe burrow x black!reader #joe burrow smut #joe burrow blurb

604 notes · View notes

redfoxwritesstuff · 26 days ago

Text

CW: Smut, blood, knots, ruts Rating: Adult Summary: Alastor and his Doe have weathered the passing of the seasons, though he has failed to define their relationship and she's been too afraid to ask. Now, Alastor's Rut is upon him and it's time for her to return the favor. Follow up to Antler Play

“Alastor?” you called out as you stepped into your shared bedroom, fluffy doe tail flicking in worry.

Alastor had failed to join you for pastries over coffee. It was terribly unlike him and you feared you had done something to upset him. The relationship between you two was something strange. You shared a room, slept in his presence and yet you still were not totally sure what you were to the buck.

He had been acting strange the last few weeks, scenting you when none were around. The musk of him clung to you, as if you needed any additional way for him to show his claim over you.

Yet, you didn’t know what that claim was or what it meant for your heart.

The door slammed shut behind you. Fear jumped through your system, forcing a squeak from your throat as you turned, looking at the door shrouded in shadows. They were too dark, too deep for the amount of dim light that was in the room.

He was in here, somewhere. You knew that. You could smell him. The crackle of his power danced over your skin.

“Cher,” his voice came from the radio sitting on the fireplace mantle, the speakers lighting up the way his smile did when he was more radio demon than deer as he spoke. “Remember how I helped you?”

“Alastor?” You turned, heart pounding in your chest as you looked for him.

“I’m here,” his voice came directly over your shoulder as his arm wound around your waist, lifting you from your feet.

His presence was overbearing as he carried you toward the bed, only to set your feet down on the carpet. Facing him, you couldn’t stifle the gasp.

The antlers atop his head were heavy, wide and branched. Dark shadows clung to them, dripping from the tines. Bitter musk was thick in the air, making your mouth water even outside of your season.

You were a sexual being, in life and in death. While you learned your seasons made you made with desire, you were not immune to it outside of that time like Alastor seemed to be.

Trembling legs took you a few steps back from the advancing buck, eyes black as coal swallowed bright red radio dials that looked back at you.

It all made sense. The last few months, Alastor had been more affectionate. He scented you more. He hovered more. He watched over you more. You thought something had changed between you. Perhaps he loved you, but.. he had entered his season.

His libido was awakening as his body prepared itself for his rut. He was a buck, but the way he looked at you made it feel very much like he was a wolf, ready to devour you.

“Do you remember how I helped you last year?” Static was loud in your ears, but at least this time the words came from the man you had fallen in love with.

“Yes,” you whispered, heart pounding so heard in your chest that you were sure he could hear it.

“Will you return the favor?” Alastor’s bright red eyes ran slowly down your body, taking in each curve as he did so in a way he never had before.

“y-yes,” excitement ran through you, shooting down your spine as the large buck reached out for you.

“My doe,” his voice rumbled through the static, coming from all around you as he wrapped his arms around you.

Your feet dangled for a moment before you threw them around his waist. As he walked as if nothing out of the ordinary at all, shadows and tentacles ripped at your clothes. Stitching on the seams gave way. The fabric ripped- clothes fell from you in tatters.

Your body reacted instantly to the feel of him, to the feel of the static running over bare skin. The rich smell of forest and buck was all you could smell. Fire ignited in you, growing hotter with each deep lungful of him you pulled in.

Everything was happening so fast. As Alastor laid you on the bed, you realized he was naked. Never had you seen him bare and yet his clothes melted into the shadows without you even noticing. The bulbus head of his cock pressed into your waiting opening as he climbed over you, pushing your legs up and apart.

“You’re already ready for me,” Alastor said, though his voice came from all around as he thrust forward, length parting your walls in one smoothe stroke.

He throbbed inside you as his hips met yours. Or perhaps it was your wet cunt that was throbbing? You were not sure anymore as you arched into him. Gruff groans reverberated through his chest as he pulled from you, only to slam back into your wet cunt.

“Fuck,” you moan as his cock nudges your cervix, hot thick length spreading your core easily.

Each thrust came hot on the heels of another. Alastor set a brutal, violent pace as he reached down, grabbing your legs in his large hands. He pulled your thighs up, higher and higher, as he thrust into you. As your knees sank, so close to framing your breasts, Alastor groaned again.

Red radio dial eyes never left you as he thrust, hard and powerful, into your tight cunt, spread so open for him. Tentacles grabbed your legs, freeing his hands to hold your waist, pulling your core down to meet his hips in each painful blow.

It hurt to be taken by the Radio Demon but the pain felt so good, you couldn’t help the moans, prayers made up only of his name dropping from your lips. He shifted back, pulling your body down the bed a few inches just as the top of your head grazed the headboard.

He had fucked you up the bed. Reaching up, you braced yourself against the headboard. Alastor’s long arms made it easy for him to reach up, doing the same. The wood cracked as he used it for leverage, allowing him to thrust into you harder still.

“Fuck,” you moaned, fingers tangling in the bedsheets as he fucked into you again and again.

His grip on you was painful as he shifted, angling your hips and forcing your back into an arch. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your stomach, pushing out slightly with each thrust.

Desperate for anything, you dug your nails into his arms. You clung to where his skin shifted from the black stains of blood spilled that he could never wash away to the soft tan of his skin and the light covering of fur over it.

Sharp claws dug into your thighs. His hips slammed into yours, harder and harder, making you burn inside. You could feel every delicious impact, pulling breathless moans from your lips.

The pebbled buds of your nipples ran against the soft fur of his chest as he fucked into you, trying to reach as deeply as possible with each and very thrust.

“I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll feel my cock in your pretty little cunt forever Dear” Alastor growled out, voice coming from the radio speakers as well as the man over you, “and after we’re done, I’m going to fuck you again, and again, until you can’t take anymore, just to make sure you’re so full of my cum, nothing else will fit”

“Alastor,” you whined, voice airy as you struggled against the force of his cock pounding through your insides, driving you closer and closer to your orgasm. Heat built inside you, being pulled forth by the pheromones wafting off of him.

“You’re going to feel my cum inside you as you sit for breakfast around all of those pathetic sinners. You’re going to smell of me. Everyone’s going to know you are mine.” Alastor snarled through his promises, claws sinking so deep into your thighs that you could feel the trickle of blood running up your legs.

“When I’m done with you,” his voice flipped, coming from him and the speaker, changing nearly every other syllable. “you’re going to suck me clean before I fuck you again”

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling your head back as he continued to fuck into you. He couldn’t decide if he wanted our neck under his teeth or if he wanted your eyes on him as he forced you to cum on his cock. Did he want to taste you or see you as he marked you his?

“What?” You gasped out, losing track of where you ended and Alastor began.

“All you’ll be able to do is think of the way my cock fills you,” he promised, dark words pushing you closer to the edge. “The taste of my seed on your tongue. The sound of my voice in your ears. The feeling of my teeth in your neck. My hands on your skin. My claws gripping your hips.”

“Please, Alastor,” you begged for him, not knowing how to ask for what you needed. Never had you imagined him saying such things to you.

“Thoughts of me will devour your mind,” he swore and you were so sure he was right, “until you return to me, begging me to take you again.”

“Oh, fuck!” you cried out as his tongue ran over your neck.

“You will dream of me. When you touch your pretty little cunt, you’ll wish it was my hands. You’ll wish it was my cock. I will ruin you.”

You drug his face to yours, needing his kiss. It was the first kiss shared between you. What sweetness there was in it quickly dissolved into the fiery passion of mating. Sucking on his tongue desperately, you moaned and whined, needing him in all your holes.

You wanted nothing more than his full possession as you submit, your body pliant just for him as he continued his lust filled rambles, “You’re going to cum so much for me aren’t you pet, gonna drag my cum deep inside you while your little cunt begs for my seed”

Leaning forward, his lips found your neck. Folding over you, each thrust had more power yet. You wrapped your arms around him. The strong muscles of his lean back flexed and bunched under your touch. Your orgasm washed over you with sudden, drowning waves of pleasure. Accompanying your sudden orgasm was the grunting bleats coming from your lover.

His cock swelled inside you, pushing deeper and deeper with each thrust. The tip nestled against your cervix. Tears ran down your face as your opening was pushed wider with each thrust into you.

Teeth sank into your neck, grounding him in the coppery taste of your blood and you in the searing pain ripping through your body. It distracted you from the pain in your opening as his cock swelled; the base growing larger and larger as he rutted it inside you.

“Mine,” he growled as his body stilled, cock locked inside you as he shot rope after rope of hot cum into your fluttering cunt, painting your cervix with it. “Mine,” he rutted against you, hips rocking as he tried to push his cock deeper.

He stilled, lips placing soft kisses on bloodstained skin. Tall ears were pulled back, displaying the heavy antlers that clattered against the wall on occasion. Soft bleats filled your ears as your cunt continued to strain around his cock.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your skin, “I seem to be stuck.”

“W-what?” you gasped as he tried to pull his cock from you and failed, his base far too swollen to slip out of your hole.

Soft caresses smoothed your naked skin as he waited, peppering kisses along the bloodstained skin. He wrapped you up in his arms, dragging you to his chest as he rolled onto his side.

“Mine,” he rumbled, rubbing the side of his head against the top of your head, ensuring he pushed more of the musky scent of him onto you.

“What does that mean?” you whispered, unsure if Alastor was in any condition to answer you truthfully.

“My doe,” he said, running his hand down your back as his still hard cock, trapped inside of you with the large bulbous knot twitched inside you. “No other bucks will touch you.”

“While we’re in season?” you braved asking, hoping that his rut was enough like your season to allow for a moment of clarity post orgasm.

“Forever,” Alastor said, again scenting you. He ran his hooves up and down your shin, spreading the toes and smearing more of his scent onto you.

“Mine,” Alastor said as he held you close.

“Mine.”

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

#redfoxtober 2024 #redfoxtober2024 #Alastor x reader #Alastor x you #alastor x y/n #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x you #hazbin alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x you #hazbin hotel alastor x y/n #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor hazbin x you #alastor hazbin x y/n

444 notes · View notes